Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4963018.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Theo_Raeken_&_Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale_&_Stiles_Stilinski, Derek
      Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Theo_Raeken/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Malia_Tate, Kira
      Yukimura, Liam_Dunbar, Mason_Hewitt, Chris_Argent, Braeden_(Teen_Wolf),
      Alan_Deaton, Theo_Raeken
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt_Stiles, Eternal_Sterek, Angst, Torture, Aftermath_of_Torture,
      Psychological_Torture, Tortured_Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_is_a_Good_Friend,
      Scott_McCall_is_a_Good_Alpha, Deal_with_a_Devil, Possessive_Lucifer,
      Human_Lucifer, sterek, Slow_Build_Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Asshole
      Theo, Manipulative_Theo, Horror, Psychological_Horror, Emotional/
      Psychological_Abuse, Emotional_Manipulation, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Darkfic, all_the_trigger_warnings_imaginable
  Series:
      Part 1 of Bleed_Into_Me
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-09 Completed: 2016-05-09 Chapters: 24/24 Words: 194883
****** Bleed Into Me ******
by Weesageechak
Summary
     [edit, Nov 22, 2016] - here's another warning because some readers
     still catch it too late or do not take the tags seriously enough:
     this story slowly turns into a darkfic & contains extremely
     distressing scenes (drawn out, explicit descriptions of rape &
     torture & psychological torture) - please, for your own sake, do NOT
     read if stuff like that keeps you awake at night!
     ----
     Stiles knows that the past can stay the past, just never look back.
     Never question the hows and whens, lean back and enjoy your teenage
     life. Fix your Jeep, meet your friends, pursue your crush.
     And when you wake up in the middle of the night, never go down to the
     kitchen.
     Some lines should never be crossed, yes, some things never be said.
     It doesn't matter.
     The story has already begun.
      
     WARNING: contains scenes that might be troubling to some readers
     (explicit rape and torture); please do NOT read if you feel
     uncomfortable with this.
     [This story is an alternate version of Stiles Stilinski as Lucifer's
     toy, protective Derek and a whole bunch of monsters, inspired by (and
     with permission from) kingramses3.]
***** Chapter 1 *****
Dear Stiles.
 
You’re probably busy doing homework, fixing your crappy Jeep, being a teenager
and minding your own business, so I can imagine you don’t want to read this.
Everything has been quiet what with Derek and Chris gone and Malia in your life
– honestly, I can’t blame your wanting to feel secure once in a while.

Only that’s not gonna last. You know it.

So far you’ve lived through it all and – believe me, I’m proud of you. You’ve
grown, Stiles, and you’ve become the person I expected you to become.

That little boy, screaming for his Mommy, shaking like a leaf, scared shitless
by the monsters under your bed – he’s gone.

It’s your story now, Stiles. Only, you don’t know it.

Yet.

But you’re ready now, yes, it’s time. You don’t even have to do anything for
the moment.

Just look at me, will you?

Look.

At me.
 
 
Yours eternally.

L.
 
 
 
 
***
 
Picture a boy who’s running for his life.

The street in front of his parents’ house is empty, everyone’s asleep, the
verandas quiet except for the door he threw open that is still swinging ten
feet behind him.
 

Twenty.
 
 
Fifty.
 

The soles of his sneakers connect with asphalt again and again and again as he
hurries past mailboxes and neat front lawns, but no matter how hard he’s
pushing himself to go faster, he can’t seem to be getting away from it. In
fact, it’s catching up.

It must be because he can hear it breathe. He never heard that sound before,
wheezing and disgusting and otherworldly.

It’s flitting from shadow to shadow, spreading a darkness denser than the
night.

His lungs feel like they’re on fire but his short feet just keep going, his
mind looping a single thought.

Please, God, no, please, no, God, please…

His whole body is screaming but his little mouth is screwed open without making
a sound, as if he’s drowning, like he’s a slasher victim on mute. As if this
thing, whatever it is, is sucking all the noise out of him.

When he hits the end of the road and continues in the direction of the forest
the creature lets out a shriek.

It’s still in flight, massive and deadly and fifty feet behind him.
 

Twenty.
 

Ten.
 
 
 
***
 
“Sí, sí, sí… ¡Ya está bien!”

Dereks sweeped the bills into his pocket, a wide grin in his face. This was
getting better and better.

“Derek, what the hell are you doing?”

Chris had just entered the scene, his eyes darting around the room.

Screw his hunter’s instinct.

“Derek, we’re not taking commissions”, Chris said in a low voice but Derek
quickly gave him a pat on the shoulder to shut him up – unnecessarily so
because the shady group of locals wouldn’t have understood a word he was saying
anyway. They just stood there, glaring at this uneven couple.

“It’s alright. Come on, we gotta get going.”

He grabbed his partner’s upper arm and quickly pulled him out of the room into
the blazing desert sun, musing over the irony of the situation.

A werewolf pulling a hunter out of the danger zone, wasn’t that hilarious.
Well, or pathetic.

Partner… yeah, I guess we really teamed up, haven’t we...

They had lost track of Kate near Heroica Caborca which is about 160 miles off
the Mexican border if you go down federal highway 2. They’d been combing
ancient ruins in a hundred mile radius for her ever since but the local mission
church, La Purísima Concepción de Caborca, had turned out to be much more
fruitful. There was something seriously wrong with that place and, as Derek had
just found out this morning, the hunters in this area were even paying people
with a death wish to track whatever had torn apart these five nuns. The scratch
marks on the mutilated body parts certainly looked like they had been caused by
claws smaller and sharper than those of a wolf.

“Three more bodies…,” Chris mumbled while scanning the print-out Derek had
handed him. It was the English version of an article from a local online daily
newspaper.

“Yeah, fifty miles North-West from here,” Derek said. He had heard the story
directly from Eléna Vasquéz, head of the local hunter clan.

“Another mission church?”

Derek shook his head.

“The desert. Literally, in the middle of it. Arms and legs were strewn around a
Saguaro.”

Chris handed Derek the paper who put it back into his pocket.

“Maybe there’s something like a den nearby. In all cases, she can’t stay in the
broad sunlight so she must have found shelter somewhere. We have to check it
out.”

Derek nodded.

“That’s what I was thinking. Let’s pick up Braeden und get going.”
 
***
 
Stiles let himself fall back onto the bed, arms folded behind his head. He had
been staring at the ceiling for five minutes when Scott said, “So that’s… 47?”

No response.

“Stiles?”

Scott turned around in his computer chair.

“Stiles, I’m trying to do math here…”

“You and me both, brother,” Stiles mumbled, followed by a few less audible
words that sounded like ‘house,’ ‘crossing’ and ‘no way’.

Scott sighed and put his pen on top of the pile of unfinished homework on his
desk.

“You still thinking about that family?”

Stiles shot up from the bed and started pacing the room.

“What if the dirt mentioned in the article was mountain ash? They might have
tried to protect themselves. Maybe they were hunters –”

“Stiles! Relax. That wasn’t even in Beacon Hills County. It was just.. an
ordinary crime, man. Ok? Relax.”

“Re-”, Stiles started, pivoting on his heel to face his best friend. “Relax?
Relax?! Scott! Get real, everything has been quiet for far too long, you said
it yourself! I mean, what dismembers a whole family and then props up their
heads in a circle? Mh?”

“A serial killer?”

Stiles was shaking his head vividly. He started pacing again.

“You’re not connecting the dots, Scott. It happened in Greenbay County,
alright. The month before? Redding. That thing in June, a group of kids
massacred in a barn? Klamath Falls.”

Scott frowned and shrugged.

“So?”

“So?! Scott! It’s getting closer!”
 
 
 
That night, Stiles’ dreams were haunted by monsters lurking in the shadows,
drawing their circle closer and closer. He woke up kicking and screaming.

“What the…”

It took a full ten seconds for him to realize that he was safe at home in his
room.

Or, well – can you ever be safe in Beacon Hills?

Stiles got out of bed. His heart was racing and his t-shirt was soaked in
sweat. His dad was working the night shift so there was nobody home but him.

This feeling again. How did the doctor call it? Impending doom. A symptom of
his generalized anxiety disorder.

“It’s in my head”, he was mumbling to himself while he slowly climbed down the
stairs. “Everything’s alright, it’s just my survival instinct set off by
nothing whatsoever…”

The cruel feeling of being hyper-alert 24/7, of sensing a presence that was
closing in on him and then of the ground shaking when a panic attack was coming
on – it had all returned when the supernatural returned to Beacon Hills and he
deeply loathed this by-product. Well that and the real deadly danger they were
basically constantly in.

“Okay, everything alright here… moving on to the kitchen like a man,” Stiles
said out loud.

“Everything’s good here, everything’s-”

He froze.

The lights in the kitchen were on.

He was absolutely a hundred percent certain he had turned off all the lights
before going to bed.

He was shaking already. Awesome. Too much adrenaline is just… awesome.

But all was good in the kitchen. Everything looked normal. Except for that guy
sitting at the kitchen table, solving his Dad’s crossword.

“Stiles.”

He looked up.

And Stiles’ mind went blank.
 
***
 
“You fell over a chair and twisted your ankle?”

Lydia was staring at him, a small heart-shaped mirror in her left hand, an open
lipstick in her right and that how-dumb-can-you-be-look on her face.

“Yeah…” Stiles cleared his throat.

“How is that even possible? Breaking your arm, alright, but-”

“Lydia, don’t – overthink, ok? It just happened. I slipped.”

“You sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”, Scott said.

Stiles shook his head.

“No, it’s alright, man, really… I’ll just be limping for a few weeks…”

“Ok, boys, I have a lunch date. Gotta run,” Lydia said and threw her make-up
back into her purse.

“I’m leaving, too… homework,” Malia said slowly, frowning like she wasn’t sure
if there was anything worse than brooding over math problems on a sunny Friday
afternoon.

They said goodbye.

The two girls had just turned the corner when Stiles hissed, “Scott, there was
a guy in our kitchen.”

“What?”

“He – he just sat there and looked at me and said ‘Stiles’ with this odd voice
and then he was gone.”

Scott blinked twice.

“Er… that’s why you twisted your ankle?”

“Yeah that’s why I twisted my ankle,” Stiles said impatiently, “but I don’t
even remember falling.”

“What do you remember?”

“Just what I told you, I see this guy, he gets up, looks at me, goes ‘Stiles!’
and then he’s gone and I wake up and my ankle hurts like crazy.”

“Well, what did he look like?”

Stiles shook his head in frustration.

“I don’t know! It’s like – in my memory, he has no face at all even though I
was sure, absolutely sure that I was seeing him and-”

“Buddy,” Scott interrupted him, smiling, “You were just dreaming.”

“But what about my ankle? What about – what about Void Stiles?”

There. He said it.

And, avoiding Scott’s eyes, hoarsely, “It’s just… what if I’m doing it again?”

“What?”, Scott said, blinking, and then, “The murders? Come on, man, you just
had an extremely vivid dream. And,” speaking up because Stiles looked like he
was about to protest, “even if – and that’s a big if – this guy in your kitchen
was real and some kind of a monster, it is highly unlikely that he – or you –
were committing those murders. You said it yourself, nothing like that happened
tonight in Beacon Hills or any of the neighboring counties. Plus, you have an
alibi for each and every one of these murders, so… just don’t worry, ok? Get
your thoughts off horrible crimes and monsters for a few days.”

Stiles was slowly nodding, less than convinced.

“Come on, practice starts in ten minutes…”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy…,” Stiles muttered, limping after his best
friend, his swollen ankle stinging with pain.
 
***
 
“So, Lydia… you’re er… into fashion?”

Lydia took a sip from her Cappucino.

You’re freaking hot but, boy, can you be any dumber?

“Yes, I guess you could say that.”

“Ok yeah, I thought ‘cause…. yeah that dress looks really good on you.” He was
the captain of the neighboring town’s Lacrosse team and he was blushing.
Uncool.

Lydia put down her cup with a clink.

“Ah you,” she said with her sweetest smile, “you’re sweet when you’re nervous,
Andy, why don’t we talk about you last game – where was that?”

“Sacramento,” Andy said, breathing a little lighter now.

“Ah.” She took another sip.

“Yeah, did a dive for the goal three minutes before the end and made the
winning shot,” he added beaming like a first grader who spelt his name
correctly. Lydia was liking this date less and less.

“That’s awesome, Andy. So-”

She stopped, cup hovering in mid-air.

Andy frowned. It took him a few seconds but then he realized something was not
right.

“Lydia? You…. you having a stroke?”

“No,” Lydia breathed, eyes wide open, gazing at something beyond the crowd in
the café.

“Oh no no no no…”
 
***
 
“Oh man…,” Chris said. His eyes scanned the mess in front of him. It was hard
to tell how many people exactly had been slaughtered and strewn across the
field. Looked like a whole football match – or the jigsaw puzzle of one.

“I don’t think we’ll find a survivor,” Derek said stiffly. “And this wasn’t
just Kate. It must have been a whole pack – or flock – or… herd?”

“Are you sure Kate’s been here?”

Derek bent down over one of the unrecognizable heaps of flesh and started
sniffing. He grimaced and looked up to Chris. “Just like before, unmistakably
her scent. It’s faint but I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“I got some news,” Braeden said when she joined them. She flipped her cellphone
shut and put it into her leather jacket.

“There’s another incident, about 80 miles from here. Different location, same
result.”

Chris nodded and opened the map on which he’d been marking the locations of the
gruesome murders to track Kate’s movement.

“Campo…. California,” Braden said and Chris circled the name of the town with a
red marker.

“It’s definite,” he said grimly. He put a red line through the new circle
connecting it to the rest. Braeden stepped closer to look at the map. A five-
year-old could have worked out the pattern – the circles generated a straight
line.

“That means…,” Braeden said, hesitating. “They’re headed-” started Chris but he
was interrupted by a low, threatening growl that had him instinctively reach
for his gun.

He and Braeden both turned around to face Derek.

“We have to get back to Beacon Hills,” Derek snarled, his eyes glowing ice
blue. “And fast.”
 
***
 
Stiles was in bed, wide awake.

There it goes again, he was thinking. Hating his life just a little bit.

He lay there waiting for that feeling to wash over him.

“Just go to sleep,” he mumbled to himself, pressing his eyes shut.

That was ridiculous. As if anyone in that state of agitation could actually
sleep. It was physically impossible.

“Just calm down…”

He tried hard not to concentrate on anything in particular – but what the
freakin’ hell was up with that dude’s face? It’s like – he knew it was
somewhere in his memory but for some reason he couldn’t remember.
Maybe he had dreamt it after all, he wasn’t sure anymore… this wouldn’t have
been the first time his memory was fucked up and, quite frankly, it scared him
shitless.

There was something about that guy – like a –

He couldn’t put his finger to it.

Stiles punched the mattress and let out a frustrated snort.

What the hell did all of this mean?
 
 
 
After what felt like hours of tossing around and wracking his brain for the
elusive image, Stiles felt his limbs getting heavier. Maybe that was it, sleep,
finally, finally...

And yet that fear of someone – something – being down in the kitchen right now.

While he was still considering going downstairs and trying hard to come up with
arguments why he absolutely shouldn’t do that, his eyes fell shut.

He just had to… throw a glance … bestiary…
 
 
 
But maybe it was alright. It was alright and that’s how it was supposed to be.
 
 
 
Maybe this is how it begins.
 
 
 
 
Picture a boy who’s running for his life.

The hood of his precious jeep is bent all the way in from its encounter with a
solid tree, the driver’s door is smashing into it with a CLONK ten feet behind
him.

Twenty.

Fifty.

His ankle is screaming with pain but he keeps on going. He doesn’t have time
for this.

Thin branches whip about his body and face as he’s brushing past trees and
bushes, deeper and deeper into the forest. He can hear that thing crashing
through the underwood in the distance.

What was is that Derek once said about monsters? Something like: when they run,
they run?

Stiles pushes the thought away. And then he’s just breathing, breathing, trying
hard not to trip over a root while wracking his brain for a plan, a plan, just
a simple plan…

That thing is galloping through the forest, fifty feet behind him.
 

Twenty.
 

Ten.
***** Chapter 2 *****
             Why don’t you come inside? Please, come back inside.
                              No, he’s watching.
 
  
How strange it is to be waking up and breathing hard, like you just ran a
marathon.
Stiles sat up in bed, drenched in sweat again. Seems like this was becoming a
habit.
He rubbed his eyes and, still half asleep, let himself slide off the mattress,
onto the cold floor. The moment his feet hit the linoleum though –
“Fuck!”
It was his ankle. Stiles looked down. 
Oh, boy. It was way too early for his brain to figure out why but his ankle was
swollen and pulsating and – oh God, is it turning blue? Looked like he ripped a
tendon. But how on earth is that even possible? 
There was only one solution – he must have been sleepwalking. 
Cursing under his breath, Stiles hopped across the room to grab a pair of fresh
underwear and then limped in the direction of the bathroom like a dog hit by a
car. 
He wanted to cry but he didn’t, of course, what with him being a man and all. 
So much for Lacrosse in his senior year.
 
 
***
 
 
“Stiles, are you alright?,” Malia said. Lydia didn’t even take out her
earphones or look at him or acknowledge his existence in any way whatsoever but
that was ok because she was Lydia. After these quiet and peaceful weeks, with
mass murders happening only outside of Beacon Hills, she had slipped back into
general bitch-you’re-not-even-worthy-to-look-at-me-mode. Which was weird
because she was still hanging with them every day. But ok, whatever.
“Yup,” Stiles said only semi-successfully suppressing a pained expression while
he limped to his seat in the chemistry classroom. 
“But your ankle is really bad and I can smell that you’re confused and
agitated,” Malia said, looking at him earnestly. 
Don’t you just hate it when your gorgeous girlfriend who spent half her
childhood roaming the woods doesn’t get the common decency of ignoring
something you clearly don’t want to talk about? But then, he wasn’t sure about
the girlfriend part anymore. During the past weeks they had sort of drifted
apart and Malia wasn’t good at talking about touchy-feely stuff. 
Instead of answering Stiles just fell into his chair and took a deep breath. 
“Where’s Scott?,” he said when the teacher entered the classroom. Looking at
his best friend’s empty seat was like watching a trailer for the next big
catastrophe. 
When Lydia shrugged and Malia said, “Don’t know, haven’t seen him today,” that
knot in Stiles’ stomach tightened. He got out his cellphone and started
messaging Scott under his desk while putting on his God-this-class-is-so-
fascinating-face. 
When he hit send on a particular needy and borderline co-dependent message to
Scott, he got another message. 
>> Mason: Liam’s not here, can you ask Scott if he knows why, both not
answering messages 
Oh, boy.
 
 
***
 
 
Oh, boy didn’t even begin to describe it. 
Liam was knocked out, face first in the grass and Scott had taken so many
scratches and cuts that he looked like he was growing gills all over his body. 
But the worst of it was the smell. 
Scott had picked up the scent in his bedroom and followed it all the way here.
At first he thought that was their weapon. Liam had thrown up twice before they
even reached the outskirts of the forest. And, God, the things were ugly. 
Three of them had gathered in a clearing, just out of eyeshot from the town,
and one of them was still standing now, its eyes gushing out of their sockets
and looking in two different directions, its clawed hooves purple and slimy,
its fur ragged and missing in spots like the hide of a mangy dog. Pulsating red
growths scattered all over its body. That must be where that smell came from. 
Scott held his breath and attacked. It wasn’t difficult to take down because it
just stood there drooling and when Scott slit its throat it let out a snort and
collapsed. 
Scott was breathing hard. Wherever these abominations came from, they were
certainly a lot more dangerous in herds. 
Scott looked at the fleshy mess and smelled his claws. 
Ugh. He really hoped there wasn’t such a thing as whole h- 
He spun around. 
Why hadn’t he heard them before? The stench was numbing all his senses. 
What sounded like at least a dozen of them came stampeding through the forest,
loud and clear now. They were getting closer, clearly heading in the direction
of the town. He shook Liam who was slowly coming to and they both got up – Liam
still slightly swaying – and waited, facing the tree line, ready to attack. 
Scott saw them the moment they crossed the edge of the forest and his face fell
because he had been right. There were at least twelve of them. 
“Liam, go!!,” he yelled and threw himself at the leader of the herd – but his
claws only hit air. A shadow had come flying toward him and had taken the
creature down with one swift blow, a lot faster and far more elegantly than
Scott had ever managed. 
“Derek?!,” Scott said, flustered, but there was no time for this, not now. 
They took down whatever came galloping out of the forest and when they were
done bits and peaces of hot, steaming, red gore were splattered around them, an
eyeball here and there. 
Scott’s chest was heaving. “What the hell?!,” he finally managed to say. 
“You can say that again,” Braeden said, “I even had to get this.” 
She raised her weapon for Scott to see. It was a machete dripping with gore. 
Braeden walked over to the nearest tree, ripped a few leaves from a low branch
and started cleaning the blade. 
“Braeden… Mr. Argent! And Derek… it’s great to see you again! Perfect timing.” 
Chris and Derek just nodded. 
“What are you doing here? Did you find Kate?” 
Chris shook his head. “No, she’s always a few steps ahead of us. She seems to
be moving with a pack that is tracking and eliminating these things.” 
He tipped his head in the direction of the nearest heap of flesh. 
“There’s more?!” This day was getting better and better. 
“Yeah,” Derek said, an expression of deep disgust on his face that Scott
understood perfectly. “Only back in Mexico, some of them were humans – or,
well, at least we assume they have been at some point. These, however, must be
deer.” 
“How do you know that?” Scott considered the furry mess, convinced that no one
would have been able to tell what these things were – and that’s coming from
someone who saw them when they were still put together. Sort of at least. 
“Focus on your sense of smell.” 
“Yeah, thanks, I’m really trying not to,” Scott said grimacing. 
“If you manage to block out the stench of rotten meat, you can pick up all
kinds of different odors, the strongest of them – well, deer,” Derek said,
ignoring Scott’s remark. 
“Scott, where are your friends?,” Chris said, his piercing blue eyes fixed on
Scott. 
“In school, I guess.” 
“And no one else came? No one else picked up the scent?,” Derek said, alarmed. 
Scott shook his head. “At least no one joined us.” 
“Tell your pack, Scott, we will take care of the rest,” Chris said. Then he
bent down and Scott watched in horror as he scooped a heep of flesh into a
plastic bag he had taken out of his jacket. “And we really need to see
Deaton.” 
“Yeah, we brought him souvenirs,” Braeden said, smiling sweetly. 
Scott nodded. He didn’t have Stiles’ brain but it all came together in his head
now. Stiles had been right, as always. The massacres in Greenbay County,
Redding, Klamath Falls – the descriptions Stiles had read to him over and over
again excatly fit the picture in front of him. He needed to get more out of
Derek, Chris and Braeden but he also needed to get back to school as fast as
possible. 
“Let’s go, Liam.” 
Liam was still staring down into the grass, appalled. He tapped the severed
head in front of him with the tip of his sneaker and gagged when it rolled
over. 
Scott put his arm around Liam’s shoulders. 
“Come on, buddy…”
 
 
***
 
 
“You should be fine in a few weeks, Stiles. Even though I would like to know
how exactly you did that…” 
Stiles could feel the soothing coolness of Melissa McCall’s fingertips on his
ankle even after she had left the room. Honestly, sometimes he was jealous of
Scott having such an understanding mother – or, you know, a mother. 
He pushed the imagine of his own mother’s furious face far away from him.
Towards the end, she'd really only had two sides, furious and scared to death. 
Malia was clasping his hand when Stiles limped down the first floor hallway of
the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. 
In the car they were still talking about what Scott had told them earlier.
Malia had only believed him because she could smell the stench on his skin,
Mason had started hypothesizing right away but Stiles had said little. His
brain was working but as Malia drove his Jeep through the dim streets at
glacier speed he was still trying to find out what it was that he wasn’t
seeing. As always, there had to be a big picture. Things didn’t just happen in
Beacon Hills. 
“Mh?” 
“I said, I’m glad Derek’s here again,” Malia repeated. “He’ll know what to
do.” 
“Well, if you mean by that we absolutely need more of that destructive
agression we’ve had so little of during the past weeks, then I guess you’re
right,” Stiles muttered. 
“I mean, nothing against Scott,” Malia continued, “but when it comes to hordes
of monsters, he’s always so… so-” 
“So True Alpha?,” Stiles said. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.” 
She pulled into the driveway. 
“Thanks,” Stiles grabbed his bag, then looked up at Malia, “er… would you like
to come in?” 
“Er. Thanks. I get going I think, my dad’s waiting,” she said, avoiding his
eyes. “I’ll walk from here.” 
Stiles couldn’t help but feel hurt by her answer but he nodded and they said
goodbye. 
What was up with her lately? Not that she had been acting strange in general
but she was withdrawing from him and they hadn’t had sex in – woah, ages… not
that Stiles was in the mood for romance lately but a man has urges, right? And
he’s totally thinking of sex not cuddling. Plus, Malia’s idea of romance
probably involved hunting something or… running through the forest naked or –
actually, he didn’t really know. So what could he possibly have done wrong? 
“How’s your toe?,” Sheriff Stilinksi said when his son hobbled in. 
“Ankle, dad, my ankle,” Stiles snapped and his dad said, “Ah, right. Do you
have any dirty laundry?” 
“I’ll go check. And my ankle’s fine, just need to take it slow. I tore a
tendon.” 
“How-” 
“Practice.” 
“Ah.” His dad nodded with such a look of complete and perfect understanding on
his face that Stiles was really pissed. 
But the team needs you, what on earth are you gonna do?!! 
Dream on, Stiles. 
Nevertheless, a little acting, just for your teenage son’s ego’s sake… 
Stiles limped into his room, threw his backpack onto his bed, turned around,
pushed the door shut and jumped two feet into the air, landing – on his ankle,
of course. 
“What is wrong with you?!,” he hissed, his face contorted with pain. 
Derek shot him a dark glare. 
“Where were you last night?,” he demanded. 
“Good to see you, Stiles, how is your life, just great, and how was Mexico, oh,
you know, really hot and I hate hot weather and people and cacti and…,” Stiles
muttered and hopped over to his bed. This was the shitty end to a crappy day
and he was so pissed he didn’t even care that Derek’s face grew gloomier by the
second. 
Ok, maybe he cared a little? But seriously, how about all the non-intrusive
ways of coming to see somebody like ringing the door bell or knocking or, you
know, you could always call. 
The idea of being able to add Derek to his contacts brightened up his mood a
little. 1 missed call by Alpha Has-been. 2 new messages by Grumpy Asshole. So
many possibilities, so little space. 
“Are you done?,” Derek said coldly. 
“What do you want, Derek?” 
Stiles clumsily dragged his feet onto the bed and avoided looking at his
visitor. But man, he'd been in Mexico alright, he was really tan and Stiles had
to acknolwedge that it added to Derek's general sexiness, like that had been
necessary. Not that he was jealous or anything. And did he get taller? 
“Where were you last night,” Derek repeated, arms folded in front of his
muscular chest. 
Stiles took a deep breath. This guy was even more infuriating now than when
they’d last met. 
“I was sleeping, Derek, because I’m a teenager with a boring life and it was a
school night.” 
Derek stepped closer scrutinizing Stiles with his hazel eyes as if to assess
whether the boy was lying. 
“Then, why did I pick up your scent in the woods near my house?” 
“I thought you were in Mexico,” Stiles said, sounding only half as snappish as
he’d meant to. His heart had started racing. 
Which Derek, of course, heard loud and clear. 
“You’re lying,” Derek stated. “And you’re also lying to Scott.” 
Stupid werewolf superpowers. 
“I’m not!,” Stiles said forcefully. 
“It is vital that you tell me the truth, Stiles.” 
“I’m telling you the truth, even if the truth is none of your business. You’re
not in our pack, you’re not an alpha anymore and I’m no scared of you any-” 
Derek had hesitated only for a split second. Before Stiles could end his
sentence, Derek had grabbed his upper arm and yanked him onto the floor of his
bedroom. Ok, this was happening. Again. 
“Alright, alright, I’m scared of you, ok! God...” 
Why was it that Derek never left him with even one shred of his dignitiy? 
Stiles clutched his neck, certain that Derek meant to werewolf-scan him by
digging his claws into his spine which of course meant that his head hit the
floor hard. 
“Where. Were You. Last Night,” Derek snarled. 
“Ow, you’re breaking my arm,” Stiles said, cheek pressed against the linoleum. 
“Answer the question.” 
“I was sleeping but I dreamed I was out in the woods!” 
Derek’s death-grip on his arm loosened. 
“I’m telling the truth you goddamn – bully…,” Stiles said followed by a few
mumbled words that sounded a lot like 'Let go or I'll poison you'. 
Derek let go of him, apparently satisfied with Stiles’ answer, and stepped
back. 
Stiles rubbed his upper arm, glaring at him darkly and resentfully, 
Derek was just standing there, as if nothing had happened. 
“No, I’m glad you’re back, Derek,” Stiles said, “I really missed your dead
eyes, pointless violence and fuck-off-attitude.” 
“You sure it was a dream? And stop bitching, I went easy on you.” 
“It felt real but I woke in my bed – and I’ve never sleepwalked before, I asked
my dad,” Stiles mumbled. 
Derek nodded like it all made sense to him now. 
“Ok then,” he said and turned around. 
“Oh – ok then?,” Stiles said, clumsily climbing back onto the bed again. What
the hell was that all about? And, when Derek opened the door, “My dad’s down
there.” 
Derek stopped. 
“I know. He let me in. So I figured I should leave the same way.” 
“What?” 
Unbelievable. But he still had to be home by ten. His dad really needed to
check his priorities. 
Derek had already stepped into the hallway but then he turned back and Stiles
could see that he was actually grinning. 
The freaking maniac. 
“I’m glad I’m back, too, Stiles.”
 
 
***
 
 
The next day, the whole pack was gathered in the library to discuss recent
events. 
“So whenever we pick up the scent again – and it’s not really hard to miss,
believe me – we’ll all follow it, ok?,” Scott concluded. 
Liam and Malia nodded. 
“What about those of us who don’t have hyper-sensitive werewolf noses?,” Mason
said and Scott shook his head immediately. “No need for you to be there – I
don’t think they are dangerous for us but apparently they come in herds. You
better team up with Stiles, Lydia, Deaton and Mr. Argent to work out why
exactly these things are here.” 
They fell silent for a few moments and then Mason asked, “Are they really that
creepy?” 
“Like a nightmare, dude,” Liam muttered. 
“I don’t know,” Stiles said, “to me, a nightmare is running from something you
can’t see and you  know it’s getting closer and you can’t outrun it but you’re
trying anyway because you cling to dear life.” 
“Wow, that was precise,” Malia said. 
“Sounds like a little boy’s nightmare,” Lydia said who, for some reason, was
wearing mirrored sunglasses. “I just hope these things aren’t contagious.” 
Scott shrugged. “Deaton doesn’t know yet, but they certainly smell like
something you should keep away from.” 
“So we basically protect the city?,” Malia said. “Or the Nemeton? Maybe that’s
where they want go?” 
“That’s what I thought,” Scott said, “But Derek and Mr. Argent were certain
that the herd just passed it by without stopping. They were heading straight
for the town. Uh… I don’t think they’re very smart. Just…. ugly. And when in
herds, dangerous and highly aggressive.” 
“Heading for Beacon Hills from all directions of the continent. Well that’s
reassuring,” Lydia said. 
They fell silent again. 
“Lydia, I have to ask… what’s up with the sunglasses?,” Mason finally said.
“It’s… it’s sort of dark in here.” 
“Oh, just – been partying a little too hard, hangover, you know – bright light,
big no no.” 
Malia frowned. 
“You were home last night and then you complained about Andy not calling you
this whole morning.” 
Before Lydia could do or say anything, Malia had snatched the glasses from her
face – and the whole pack took a step back. 
“Oh my God, what happened to your eyes?!,” Malia said grimacing. “They’re all
red and puffy and – icky.” 
Irritated, Lydia grabbed the glasses from Malias hands and shoved them back in
her face. 
“Are you… crying?,” Kira said and Malia, needlessly, added, “Looks like you’ve
been crying for like a year.” 
Lydia, visibly agitated, threw her Ipod on the table and fumbled with the
headphones as if she had decided that the conversation was over. 
“Lydia,”Stiles said soothingly after they had watched her in silence for about
half a minute, “Come on, what’s wrong?” 
She stopped, hesitating, and finally threw the earphones back on the table.
Little drops of liquid were now running over her cheeks and dripping steadily
onto her leather jacket. Lydia let out a frustrated squeak and dove into the
big, purple bag that was resting in her lap. After a few seconds she had found
a tissue and started dabbing at her cheeks. 
While the others were watching, at a loss for words, Malia lifted the lid of
the bag and looked inside. 
“Oh my God, it’s full of tissues. There’s not even books in there. What’s going
on with you?” 
The whole group stared at Lydia. 
“I – I don’t know,” Lydia sobbed, “I can’t stop!” 
***** Chapter 3 *****
 
 
Don’t think I don’t feel for you, Stiles.
All your little worries and idiosyncrasies, they make sense to me. Your dad and
your friends mean the world to you. You wouldn’t be the same without them, yes?
I’m not a killer, Stiles. I’m a connoisseur.
I’m a sage.
You think this doesn’t have to happen, that there is somehow a way around fresh
monsters, a new showdown. But everything’s already in place.
Just hit start. Go out there and be yourself.
Can you feel it, Stiles?
 
This is how it begins.
 
 
  
 
 
***
 
 
“So is there a way to make it stop?,” Scott said, a deeply worried expression
on his face.
“Well… can’t say I have ever seen anything like it,” Deaton said slowly. He was
still pulling at Lydia’s skin, examining her bloodshot eyes. She didn’t seem to
be in pain, only a little embarrassed and – scared?
“You should go to the ER, Lydia, just to be sure. But if it’s not an infection
or,” he shot her a glance, “drug-induced, then it might be related to your
banshee powers. Banshees foresee death but they also grieve.”
“So… it’s like when she was screaming only now she’s crying?,” Stiles said.
“Well, have you felt like screaming, lately?,” Deaton asked Lydia, “or are you…
maybe suppressing it?”
“I think I would have been able to think that far by myself,” Lydia said
haughtily. “So of course not, I don’t feel like screaming.”
“What do you feel?,” said Scott.
“Stop looking at me like I’m your problem child,” Lydia said heatedly, “I’m not
sad – except about your choice of brown pants with a black shirt, Scott.”
Stiles was grinning while Scott still tried to figure out what his pants had to
do with anything.
“Anyway,” she hopped off the examination table, “take me home, Stiles, will
you? The Real Housewives of New Jersey is on in fifteen minutes.”
Scott, Stiles and Deaton exchanged a look.
“Stiles?,” Lydia yelled from outside.
“Coming!” Stiles fumbled the car keys out of his pocket.
“No Housewives for her,” Deaton said to Scott. “Take her to the ER.”
Scott nodded and rushed after them.
 
 
 
“Would you stop rolling your eyes, Lydia, so I can have a look at them?,”
Melissa said.
Lydia did and asked, “Mrs. McCall, where is the doctor?”
“You’re welcome to wait for four hours and see one,” Melissa said. She shone a
light into Lydia’s right eye. Then the left.
“Looks like an allergy. A really bad one.”
“An allergy?,” Lydia said puzzled and completely forgot to be annoyed.
“An allergy. Have you been close to any cats or dogs or are you allergic to any
kind of pollen?”
“Close?,” Lydia said with a blank stare.
“Yes, close, touching or inhaling something you’re allergic to,” Melissa said.
Lydia shook her head slowly.
“Ok, keep yourself hydrated, alright? And come here again if it doesn’t go away
within 24 hours.”
 
 
 
Lydia shook her head no to all of Stiles’s and Scott’s further questions. When
Stiles pulled out of the Martins’ driveway a few minutes later, watching Lydia
rummage her bag for her keys in his rear-view mirror, he couldn’t help but feel
deeply uncomfortable.
“There’s something she’s not telling us,” Scott yelled as Stiles shifted into
the second gear.
“You think?! So Derek’s loft?”
“Yeah, you can drop me off there…”
Stiles narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything.
Ten minutes later Stiles pulled the hand brake.
Scott didn’t move, he just stared at the dark building in front of them.
“Werewolf loft. You reached your desired destination.”
“Stiles?”
“Mh?”
“Derek will run with the pack again.”
“Alright,” Stiles said. Scott turned to him.
“He asked to be my beta and I – I trust him. I think Derek’s never really
wanted to be an alpha anyway.”
“That’s your decision, man.”
“He wanted me to get your ok as well.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, his mouth open in surprise. “Well, alright, he has my
blessing.”
Scott nodded slowly.
“Alright.” He took a deep breath and got out of the Jeep.
 
 
 
Stiles pulled into the driveway. All the lights in the house were out, his
father was working.
He sat in the Jeep for another minute, no motivation whatsoever to go inside
and start on his homework.
“Ow, dammit,” Stiles muttered and threw the car door shut.
Driving with his ankle – brilliant idea, just brilliant.
Before he reached the front door his smartphone started buzzing. He fished it
out of his pocket dropping his backpack, jacket and the three books he’d been
carrying.
Smooth.
Glad no one saw this.
He tipped on the screen to accept the call.
“Hello?”
All he heard on the other end was loud sobbing.
“Lydia?”
“It’s turning blue, Stiles. The skin around my eyes is turning blue!”
 
 
 
“Oh – my….,” Stiles started but stopped himself to not hurt Lydia. She looked
absolutely ghastly. The skin around her eyes was purple and netted with thin
red lines, the white of her eyes bloodshot. Her cheeks were still dripping with
tears.
“And that came on in what – thirty minutes?”
She spun around to face him.
“Ok that’s a lot of colors.”
“What’s happening to me?!,” she squeaked with an expression of – well, it was
hard to tell at this point, really.
Stiles opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it and closed it
again. There was no downplaying the fact that Lydia looked like she was turning
into a ghoul, head first.
“And there is this monologue in my head, I think I might be going crazy. For
real.”
“Er, you’re a banshee?,” Stiles unnecessarily pointed out. He was slouching in
her computer chair, eyes darting around the room as if the answer was hidden
somewhere between the piles of books and heaps of expensive shoes.
Man, Lydia’s room…
There was a time when he had given anything just to be in here – and then to be
the one person Lydia would call, the one guy she would turn to when her face
started rotting. Granted, all the others were out and busy with their gore-fest
but still. Isn’t that the dream?
These feelings felt like a hundred years ago. Old Stiles was gone gone gone and
he loved to think that a new, more awesome version of Stiles was in operation
now. Super-human Stiles. Werewolf-sidekick Stiles. Yeah, none of those sounded
good. He would come up with his superhero name later.
Stiles spun around in the chair while Lydia was dabbing make-up onto her cheeks
restraining a whimper every time she touched her skin.
“Lydia – why do you have eight hairbrushes? I mean, wouldn’t one-”
“It has never been like that. It’s not supposed to be like that.” Lydia threw
the foundation back onto the table, her eyes wide open like they might bob out
of their sockets any second, admittedly, she was starting to look borderline
insane. Not to mention unhealthy. But who knows what that meant for a banshee.
“Maybe that’s banshee level two,” Stiles suggested trying not to look at her
too closely. “Like… Super-Saiyajin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?!”
“Just trying to help.”
“Then make it stop! Make him go away.”
Lydia had crouched down beside her make-up table, knees pulled closely to her
chest.
“What did you just say?” Stiles was staring at her.
“Make it stop, please make it stop…,” Lydia mumbled. She was rocking back and
forth.
“No, before that.” He squatted down beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
“Lydia, you said ‘Make him go away.’ Make who go away?”
She raised her head and Stiles almost jumped.
Man, she did look horrible.
“Who are you talking about Lydia? Tell me!”
Lydia stared at him, her eyes blank.
“Not now,” she breathed.
“What? Lydia, who are you talking about? Have you seen something?”
“Not. Now,” she said forcefully. She had stopped rocking. Stiles determined
that instead of scared to death she now looked menacing which was oh so much
better.
“Er… any specific time that would suit you? Wanna check your calendar?”
“You don’t understand,” Lydia hissed. “He’s watching.”
 
 
 
 
“Claudia, please come inside, it’s freezing out there.”
“No. He’s watching.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“Wha- Stiles?”
“He’s always watching, John. Waiting. Right now, he’s inside, waiting for me
and I can’t, I just can’t…”
 
That dialog had been stuck in his head since he was a little boy, since he
overheard it while squatting in his room under that window he had opened just
an inch when his mother had stormed out onto the porch. He never stopped crying
that night because she was right, she was right, she was right… he was watching
her. Always. He had tried to stop but she was his mom, after all.
When the nogitsune told him, he had killed his mother, Stiles immediately knew
what it was talking about.
But this was different. This was a whole new story.
 
 
***
 
 
“Scott, on your left!,” Derek yelled but there were too many of them. The
stench was so bad that Scott thought he was going to faint. They were wheezing
and gurgling and slinking about the clearing.
Chris Argent’s arrows steadily found their targets but these creatures would
win by sheer numbers. It was about a hundred against seven and even if he
sliced two at a time, it seemed like four new ones sprung up instead. Kira had
almost been trampled earlier.
The creatures were desperately trying to get past them to Beacon Hills.
Scott didn't want to imagine what would happen when a herd of otherworldly
beasts came stampeding into town. They wouldn't spare old Mrs. Lambstock's rose
garden, that was for sure.
“Scott, down!,” Chris shouted but it was too late. What looked like a dense
line of mad and mangled horses was coming directly at him.
 
 
 ***
 
 
Stiles was steering his Jeep through rush hour traffic, muttering to himself
and shaking his head no time and again.
 
We’re doomed, Lydia had whispered.
“If that doesn’t fit the general mood...,” Stiles said drily.
Not like they were doomed but they were doomed.
Yup, sounded pretty final.
Also, Lydia was a drama queen.
Granted, when they had first found out that Scott was a werewolf and he was
still helplessly shifting between human and animal, he had told him that he was
cursed. Now that was articulate and  logical: curser, cursee. Curse.
But doomed?
What’s up with that… biblical rhetoric?
 
 
 
 
 
 
Cars were already pulling around, honking angrily at the dumbass who killed his
Jeep in the middle of Main Street because he can’t drive a stick.
Stiles was just sitting there staring at the brightly lit asphalt.
Everything in him was silent.
 
 
***
 
 
“Ok, so I think that’s it for me and then this guy just comes out of freaking
nowhere and takes the things down. Seriously, I’ve never seen such speed, even
Derek admitted that.”
It was the next morning, ten minutes before their first class. There was a lot
of chatting and laughing while people were swarming around them and into the
building.
Stiles tried to look fascinated but the way Scott was talking abou killing
lately made him uneasy. Sure, Deaton had said that these things weren’t animals
and were barely alive but still. It was weird. Like shredding these zombie
things was the outlet the wolf in him had been looking for – and needed – for a
long time.
“…and he told us he’d picked up the scent in his bedroom just like me. Can you
imagine that? I still can’t believe the people in Beacon Hills can’t smell it.
I mean, even now…,” Scott was saying when Stiles snapped back into the
conversation.
“Alright. So this superhuman dude comes along and saves the day?”
“Yeah and guess what – it took me a minute or so but then I recognized him and
– you sure you’re alright, man?” Scott raised his eyesbrows at Stiles who was
staring into the distance.
Stiles met his best friend’s gaze with silence. Then he nodded.
The whole gesture was so unlike Stiles that Scott glared at him uneasily.
“Ok, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I-,” he suddenly looked at someone
behind Stiles and said, “Hey guys!” Stiles turned around.
It was Lydia and Malia flanking a guy he hadn’t seen in a long time. Stiles’s
heart started pounding and, while the small group approached, he hoped Scott
wouldn’t pay attention to his heartbeat in this crowd of people gathering in
front of the school.
“How’s your – how are you?,” Stiles said to Lydia who was still wearing
sunglasses but looked at lot less puffy than yesterday evening.
“Brilliant,” she said and brushed her hair back in a trademark Lydia move. “It
stopped.”
“What? Just like that?,” Stiles said puzzled.
“Yep. Just like that.”
Stiles frowned at her and Malia said, “Scott, can I borrow your math homework?”
“Sure.”
Stiles was about to explain to Malia that the only person failing as hard at
math as she was Scott but Scott was already saying, “Stiles, this is Theo – I
told you about him, he was the guy who saved our asses yesterday.”
Theo grinned, nodded hi to Scott. Lydia and Malia beamed at him and it wasn’t
difficult to see why. Even measured against the general handsomeness of young
werewolves in this town this guy was exceptionally good-looking. Well, compared
to Derek though…
Stiles said hello but didn’t smile.
Theo quickly made a few steps towards them and put out his hand. Stiles shook
it reluctantly. Scott thought about giving Stiles a well-deserved slap across
the head but said instead, “You probably don’t remember but we were together in
primary school.”
“My parents and I moved back here last week because my dad was transferred back
to Beacon Hills. He’s an accountant,” Theo said.
“You should have seen him, Stiles, he was great yesterday. Saved my life.”
Scott smiled at Theo who smiled back. Stiles made a gurgling sound as if he was
choking on a piece of bread.
“Great,” he said finally. “Welcome back, Theo.”
Theo looked from Scott to Stiles, apparently detecting a weird atmosphere.
“Ok… I – I better run. Wouldn’t wanna be late on my first day. See you, Scott.
Stiles.”
He flashed his white teeth and turned around.
The second Theo had vanished inside the school, Scott grabbed Stiles and
dragged him away from the girls, over to the bicycle rack. It said a lot about
their relationship that Malia didn’t even ask and Lydia just completely ignored
the move.
“What’s wrong with you?!”
Stiles shook his head. He seemed sorry.
“I’m just – a little down. I’ll be alright again soon.”
He avoided Scott’s eyes. This behavior would have alarmed regular Scott – but
werewolf Scott sensed danger with all his senses.
“Something’s wrong with you, Stiles and – I’m sorry, I let you down ok?”
“Huh?” Stiles was so surprised that he looked up.
“When you told me about your dreams. Maybe-”
“Forget what I said,” Stiles interrupted. “It’s just that I’ve been – tired
lately… and I think – Malia is going to break up with me…”
“Oh… I’m sorry, buddy… you sure there’s nothing you can do? Have you talked to
her?”
Stiles shrugged.
“I don’t know, Scott, I can’t sniff emotions like freaking everyone here.”
Scott’s phone was buzzing.
They were looking at each other.
“You should take that,” Stiles said.
It was Derek. Of course.
“A herd is approaching Beacon Hills from North-East. Derek reckons they’ll be
here in half an hour,” Scott said after exchanging a few words over the phone.
“Is Derek ever capable of solving his own problem on his freakin’ own? You
would think all these muscles must be good for something…”
“I’m his alpha now, Stiles, he’s just letting me know what’s going on. And Theo
might be joining the pack, too.”
“Oh goody, I can’t wait for that to start.”
As long as his sarcasm wasn’t broken things couldn’t be that bad.
“We’ll see. But he’s a nice guy and he was really great yesterday.”
“You should keep away from Theo, that guy is bad news,” Stiles said.
“What? He was bullied a lot, yeah, but I wouldn’t call that bad news.”
“Scott, don’t you remember anything from primary school? Anything at all?”
When Scott looked puzzled, Stiles said, “That bird we found on Josh Feldman’s
front lawn?”
Scott tilted his head as if he was trying to catch an elusive memory.
“Yeah… that rings a bell… what does that have to do with Theo?”
“He stomped it,” Stiles said. “We were all wondering what to do with it and you
wanted to put it back in the nest even though Mr. Feldman said that wouldn’t
work and then Theo just stepped on it and crushed it.”
“Right… and you were pretty upset, weren’t you? Mr. Feldman had to call your
dad.”
Stiles’s cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat.
“I may or may not have cried myself to sleep that night, the point is-”
“Stiles, that was a long time ago. We all did stupid, childish stuff back
then.”
“All I’m saying is, people don’t change in essentials, ok? Theo was bullied
later because he was a weird kid who always destroyed other people’s stuff. And
he didn’t really care about it either. Just – don’t let him into the pack too
easily…”
“Ok, I really gotta…”
“And you can’t just skip school because Derek wants you to. You already missed
three days and it’s only the second week of the year, you don’t need any more
absences. And Theo was, is and always will be a brat and if he’s in the pack,
I’m out. I go full omega, I swear. ”
“Alright, dad.” Scott was grinning while Stiles dragged him towards the
building.
“I’ll just tell Derek you’re gonna take care of it…”
“And I will. Stiles is the man. Derek should know that by now.”
 
 
***
 
 
Scott’s phone had the chance to buzz with messages three times before Mrs.
Martin confiscated it and gave him detention for the rest of the week.
Stiles let his head hit the desk with a loud CLONK. Unbelievable.
 
 
“They dealt with it. Apparently, Derek had overestimated the number. But seems
like they keep coming…”
They were leaving the cafeteria. Scott gave Stiles his phone back.
“Alright. See? No problem at all. You pass the first math test next week and
then econ and chemistry, you graduate and we all go to college together. End of
story. And Derek-”
“He sounded pretty mad.”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I can picture that. Vividly.”
“I’m the alpha,” Scott said, grinning.
“My man,” Stiles said and slapped him over the shoulder.
“I told him it’s your fault.”
 
 
After dropping off Scott for detention, Stiles hurried along the empty
corridor. The double doors looked even more welcoming than usual.
The day was finally, finally over. Stiles could withdraw at long last. He felt
like throwing up and he’d rather do that in his own bathroom than in front of a
school of scavengers and vultures. And Theo. He grimaced.
If trouble had a name…
“Stiles?,” a clear voice behind him said.
Of course.
Stiles could almost hear the smug expression on his stupid face.
“A word, man?”
Nope. A world of nope. Stiles walked faster.
Only, Theo was a werewolf now and if he wanted to talk to him he would talk to
him.
He had grabbed hold of Stiles’s wrist.
“A word?”
Stiles was sweating. He nodded curtly.
Before he knew it, Theo had shoved him through the nearest door into an empty
classroom.
Stiles almost missed the times Gerard Argent had monitored every single corner
in the school and had gone full Umbridge on any group of teens putting their
head together. He’d rather face ten Gerards than this guy again.
“You’re clearly mad.”
It was a statement.
“Listen, I just want to run with the pack. Omegas don’t fare well on their own,
you know that.”
Stiles looked at him, coldly.
“Drop the act.”
Theo smiled mischievously.
“If I’ve ever done anything to deserve your – antipathy, I’m sorry.”
He looked downright innocent, with his hands shoved into his pockets and his
shoulders pulled up to his ears in a gesture of What have I ever done to you,
man.
“Are you done?”
“Oh, let’s see – yes. Yes, I think I am. In fact, I have to hurry, I promised
Malia to help her with her driving. Ah, a reaction, finally. You really can’t
pull off aloof Stiles.”
“You son of a- if you as much as touch her- don’t you dare talk to her-”
Stiles was breathing hard.
Theo shrugged. A smile spread across his pretty face but for some reason it
made him look less handsome than before.
“That’s gonna be difficult during a two hour drive. Plus, do you really think
it wise to forbid your girlfriend to talk to other guys? Don’t you trust her?”
Stiles just stood there, staring at him, his mouth half-open.
Theo stepped closer. He put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.
“I’m just kidding.”
He let his hand wander a few inches towards Stiles’s throat.
“We should really have a boys’ night, for old times’ sake… remember when we
really hit it off?”
He let his hand drop to his side and stepped back to take in Stiles’s
expression of – utter shock?
Or was it disbelief?
Theo raised his eyebrows.
“Get a grip, Stiles. No one likes a sore loser.”
He turned around and was out the door in a second.
Stiles thought he could hear him explode into laughter in the hallway.
But that was probably just his imagination.
 
 
Stiles ran out of the building giving a fuck about anyone seeing him, judging
him.
He was upset, he knew he looked it, mind your own fucking business.
Once inside, he threw his backpack in the direction of the passenger seat. It
hit the window and fell to the floor, books spilling under the seat.
He fumbled the key into the ignition, chest heaving.
 
 
He killed the engine twice before his Jeep finally took him away.
 
 
 
What he didn’t see was this.
Theo has slumped down against the wall, right around the corner, next to the
turqoise row of lockers.
Right now, he's holding up his right hand closely to his face like he wants to
sniff it. It's shaking.
Theo's looking at it with an expression of amazement. As if he’s never seen it
before.
He grabs it with his left to make it stop but you can tell from the way he's
rubbing his fingers, his shoulders tense and pulled up, his face twitching,
that it's not working.
 
 
 
When Stiles threw the door of his Jeep shut with a metallic CLANK ten minutes
later, Derek was already rushing towards him.
Apparently he had been waiting in front of the house this time to get to him a
minute earlier.
And, boy, he was mad.
“What the hell were you thinking?!,” he hissed and Stiles stumbled back against
his Jeep what whith the combined vibe of Derekness coming right at him and all.
“Could you please stop interfering? Scott should have been there this morning.
He’s the alpha. It’s his responsibility.”
Stiles tipped his head to one shoulder.
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
Then he simply walked around Derek and left him standing there.
To punch his Jeep probably.
Even though it would hurt to hear the sound of his baby denting in around a
solid werewolf fist, today of all days Stiles felt incapable of standing his
ground against Derek’s long list of imaginary alpha rules.
Stiles went inside and threw the door in Derek’s face who was apparently
following him.
Ok, so they were gonna have this talk.
When Derek pushed the front door shut behind him, Stiles threw his backpack
onto the sofa and said, “No need to be all pissed. You were fine on your own,
right?”
Derek blinked and made a few steps into the room.
“That’s not the point. I shouldn’t have been on my own. The whole pack protects
the town.”
“The largest part of which,” said Stiles, “is still going to school, so chill,
dude. And yeah, Scott’s the alpha – you don’t get to tell him what he’s
supposed to do anymore.”
He walked into the kitchen.
When Derek followed him Stiles took a deep breath.
“What do you want from me, Derek?”
“I want us to be on the same page. You’re Scott’s best friend and you have the
greatest influence on him. He needs to understand what it means to be the only
alpha in Beacon Hills. These things are only the vangard. Something’s coming. I
can feel it.”
He was calm again, looking at Stiles intently.
Stiles took two sodas out of the fridge and threw one in Derek’s direction who
caught it without even blinking.
“You just take off with Chris and Braeden – drop out of the pack without so
much as a word of apology and then you show up here one day and start bossing
us around again. I don’t know about the werewolf code but I reckon that’s not
how it works.”
Derek blinked.
“I had to track down Kate. It was my personal business.”
“So pack comes first, ok?! You said it yourself…”
Stiles opened his soda, went back to the living room.
Derek was leaning in the door, open soda can in his hand.
“You were mad that I left,” he said surprised.
“No way, dude,” Stiles said when Derek started grinning. “I just hate
hypocrites…”
Stiles sipped his soda and wished he could wipe that satisfied smirk off
Derek’s face.
They were silent for a few seconds, then Derek suddenly said, “There’s
something else I wanted to run by you. It’s about the guy we met last night,
Theo.”
Stiles kept his eyes fixed on his Xbox that sat in a lump of cables next to the
TV. He really needed a Halo night with Scott.
“I don’t like this guy, he’s sort of shady.”
Stiles suppressed a laugh despite himself. Derek Hale calling someone shady was
just absurd.
“There’s something off about the way he was right there to safe Scott. He said
he moved but he might have been thrown out of his old pack. I will try and find
out what I can. In the meanwhile, I need you to look out for Scott – and the
pack.”
Stiles nodded.
“I’ve known Theo when we were kids and, believe me, no one is less eager for
him to join than me. In fact, I really hoped to never see his stupid face
again.”
Stiles realized too late that his voice was trembling.
Derek looked at him surprised.
“Theo,” he said. He made a few steps towards Stiles. “Theo,” he said again.
His eyes were glowing blue for a second and then flickered back into hazel.
“Are you having a stroke,” Stiles muttered even though he was well aware of
what Derek was doing. He knew he was sweating. He knew his heart was pounding
wildly.
“What do you know about Theo,” Derek said. He looked like he had all his
superhuman senses set on Stiles who was visibly tensing up.
“I really despise him. Is that enough?” He tried to sound indifferent but his
whole body was playing against him. He quickly got up and moved away from Derek
who was slowly drawing closer, his eyes narrowed and piercing Stiles.
“Don’t you have someone else to bark at?”
“Tell me what you know about Theo,” Derek snarled.
Alright, definitely slipping into wolf-mode now. Stiles backed further away.
“I know for one he’s an asshole,” he said.
Then Derek closed the gap between them. He grabbed Stiles’s T-shirt and pushed
him into the wall next to the door.
“Tell me,” Derek snarled and this was not a new scenario but something was
different today.
First of all, Stiles’s heart was beating way faster than it should be, even for
Stiles. A split-second later, Derek realized that the boy was having a full-
blown panic attack. His whole body was trembling.
Derek let go of him and Stiles slumped down against the wall. He hugged his
shoulders, head bent down.
Derek was just staring at him, apparently unsure what to say or how to
understand what had just happened.
Then there was this knock on the door Stiles had been waiting for.
He closed his eyes, not caring now what Derek thought. He wanted to tell him to
stay but for some reason his mouth was not working.
Knock knock.
“Stiles? I know you’re home, I can hear you breathe. Can I come in?”
And then, as if through lips cracking into a sly smile, “It’s me. Theo.”
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek is alarmed. Some old memories revisited. Steo action.
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the glacier slow build, guys. This chapter will be a fast
     one again, I hope. Thank you for reading! Hope you'll like it.
Derek’s eyes were flaring ice blue.
His body had spiralled into defensive stance long before his thoughts could
catch up.
Time slowed down. He was ready to react.
He quickly tapped through his channels.
This scent, oddly strange and utterly familiar.
Derek loathed it so completely that his first impulse was to rip the person in
front of the door apart.
Just like the day before when Chris Argent had thrown him a puzzled glance but
no one else had noticed.
Stiles had sunk to the floor, head buried in his hands.
As if he wanted to make himself vanish.
The guy in front of the door was Theo of course. His heartrate was accelerated
which was normal for a person in expectation of an event – Stiles opening the
door in this case.
And then, like before, there was something else – he couldn’t really pinpoint
it due to the faint yet lingering stench of rotting meat that still pervaded
all of Beacon Hills. He was aware of it during every single heartbeat – and of
the fact that at least a portion of his vigilance was consequently deadened.
On the margins of his animal consciousness, his human mind was telling him to
work out the connection but as always, he would trust his senses more than
analytical reasoning because who had time for that when in danger. Or ever.
And this – a ridiculously everyday situation but it felt like life and death.
Then Theo shifted slightly in front of the door and a low growl escaped Derek’s
lips.
Go ahead, come in and I’ll shred your face.
He couldn’t do that of course, Theo was just a boy.
Derek was struggling to rein in his anger and teeth.
“Er. Alright. You have company, apparently,” Theo said in front of the door.
He had known that before of course but this guy was all small talk. As if Derek
had needed a reason to hate him when his senses already told him that he was
odd.
But Stiles couldn’t possibly know that.
What the mere sound of Theo’s voice did to the boy though – Derek couldn’t wrap
his head around what his senses were telling him.
“Derek, don’t pester my old friend too much, alright? See you in school,
Stiles.”
Stiles must have heard and felt Theo withdraw as well. He visibly eased up. Now
he only looked tired. He just sat there for a while and then slowly got up
without saying anything. He was embarrassed and he was still shaken up pretty
badly – from a guy knocking at his door.
Derek screwed his head to the left, then to the right but he couldn’t take in
any additional information except that the Stilinksis should really get rid of
that sofa, the smell of old cat piss was barely detectable, even for him, but
still revolting.
Alright. It couldn’t be helped.
“What was that about?”
Stiles didn’t look up. He slouched over to the stairs and started climbing
them.
“Old acquaintance,” me mumbled.
That answer was inacceptable of course and Derek knew that Stiles knew it.
He slid up the stairs behind him soundlessly.
It was weird. Against the foul smell hanging over Beacon Hills, he could smell
Stiles even more distinctly than usual. He smelled more than a girl than any
guy or kid he’d ever met – a particular piece of information he was saving up
for when he had to get back at him for something. And that was just a question
of time. Unless Scott or any of the others did it first. Maybe he should play
that card rather sooner than later.
Not now though. Now, Stiles was even more vulnerable than usual.
He had collapsed in his computer chair and was staring at the ceiling.
Derek silently moved into the room behind him and shut the door.
He knew that Stiles was mortified about his involuntary display of feelings.
Needless to say that Derek, for a change, felt utterly uncomfortable in Stiles’
room. Like he was spying on something intimate. Not for his eyes. Or any of his
senses.
“Stiles,” Derek tried and he thought it sounded considerate enough.
“You need to tell me what you know about Theo.”
“He used to bully me,” Stiles said with a raspy voice. Derek didn’t have to
hear it to know that Stiles was about to cry. He automatically took a step
back.
“Before I was friends with Scott.”
He wasn’t lying yet it didn’t make any sense to Derek.
“And he threatened to kill you?”
Stiles’s computer chair squeaked every time he swung to the left. Then to the
right. The sound was gnawing at Derek’s nerves but he successfully and
habitually suppressed the sudden rush of anger that made him want to shove
Stiles to the floor and throw the chair through the window.
“No,” Stiles said finally. “But he’s a bastard. You… got that, I assume. Evil.
Yeah, that sounds right.”
He turned around in his chair. He wasn’t crying but very pale and his cat eyes
looked weirdly glossy.
“Is that enough?”
He wanted him gone of course. But there was one more thing Derek needed to know
so he couldn’t care less.
“What does he want from you now? Why is he here again?”
Stiles let his gaze drop to the floor. Derek knew that he was about to lie.
Or, at least he clearly didn’t want to tell him.
“I can’t say for sure…,” Stiles said slowly rubbing his hands. “But yeah, I
guess he wants-”
He fell silent.
Derek watched in amazement how the boy seemed to change again in front of his
eyes.
What on earth was up with this Theo guy?!
“Stiles.” He sounded commanding now. He knew it was wrong but the information
was vital. Not just because Theo wanted into their pack but also because Stiles
sucked at protecting Stiles.
And protection he utterly needed. He wasn’t aware of it but he was the perfect
prey. He looked it, even smelled it.
Stiles was fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie.
“Please Derek, just leave…”
He looked him in the eyes now and for some reason that was all the persuasion
he needed.
But he would pursue this.
One thing was finally clear to him now, that Theo was somehow at the center of
it all.
“Don’t tell Scott…”
Derek nodded curtly, foot already on the windowsill.
There was no way he would go past that sofa again.
 
 
 
If someone had to see him in this state of fear and confusion – why did it have
to be Derek, of all people? Derek who can smell his anxiety, sense his panic
attacks and who is stoicism personified?
Then again – better than his dad probably.
It all made sense now, so much sense he wanted to scream and punch the wall.
How could this guy, after to many years, still push all his buttons.
He was new Stiles. Better Stiles. That kid screaming for his Mommy and scared
by the monsters under his bed was gone gone gone.
And he would not cry. He would call Scott and chat. Or Malia.
He got his smartphone out of his backpack, flicked through his contacts and
tipped on a name.
The only person so self-absorbed she wouldn’t notice the way his voice was
broken, thin and shaky.
 
 
 
“Hello?”
“Hi Lydia, I was just wondering how – how’s your face? And stuff…”
“Smooth,” Lydia said. She sounded amused.
“But thanks for asking. It’s way better. In fact, I look splendid again.”
“So,” Stiles cleared his throat. His voice was more firm now. “So it just
stopped and you’re feeling better?”
“Ya,” Lydia said. She seemed distracted.
“What are you-”
“Just painting my nails.”
“Ah. When exactly was it that you felt better? I mean, did something specific
happen or – I don’t know, did you do anything to make it go away?”
“Naa,” Lydia said slowly. “It was right after Stiles left, I think.”
“What?”
“Wait, is this you, Stiles?”
Stiles rolled his eyes.
“Oh my God. See you at school tomorrow, Lydia.”
 
 
 
Around 7 his dad came home. Stiles heard his car pull into the driveway and
then the distinct sound of his father’s footsteps on the porch, in the living
room, in the kitchen, in the living room again. He chucked his comic book onto
a pile of crumpled English and history homework that was spread out all over
his desk.
He ran out of his room and jumped down the first few steps – and then stumbled
and almost fell down the rest. That couldn’t be –
No freaking way.
“Look who I just met – Theo, can you believe that, Stiles! I hardly recognized
him! Unbelievable how time flies…”
His father squeezed Theo’s shoulder. Theo beamed back at him.
“I still remember Stiles’ tenth birthday, you scored eight goals. Stiles was
sulking for the rest of the afternoon, flat out refused to open his presents
and told us all to go home.” Sheriff Stilinski was laughing loudly. Theo
chuckled politely.
Stiles was silent.
“Are you still playing, Theo?”
“Not really. I skateboard, Sir.”
“Stiles is in the Lacrosse team,” Sheriff Stilinksi began and then seemed to
remember that any story about his son’s sports career would be sad and short.
“So tell me, Theo, how’s your mom and dad?”
“Wonderful, Sir. My dad is happy to be back with his old colleagues and my mom
got a new kitchen. Couldn’t be better.”
“Good for you. Glad to hear that. Ok, I’ll let you boys catch up.”
“I’m just here to borrow Stiles’ notes. I’ll be quick.”
Sheriff Stilinksi nodded.
“Dinner’s still warm, dad…,” Stiles said. He had only come halfway down the
dimly lit stairs, crouching against the wall.
When his dad had vanished in the direction of the kitchen, he slowly rose. His
arms and legs felt numb. He heard Theo climb the stairs after him.
“You still take great care of your dad, Stiles,” Theo said.
Stiles didn’t respond. He was staring at the door to his room as if expecting a
monster to burst out.
“How can you even be here,” he said hoarsely. “We banished you. How – is this
even possible…”
“Why don’t we talk inside…”
Stiles could hear that Theo was smirking.
“Come on. If we stay out here your dad – might hear…”
Stiles slowly walked into his room. He could hear Theo shut the door behind
them. Stiles was staring at his bed, silently praying for this to be a
different story.
Please, God, no, please, no, God, please…
But he knew it was futile.
He was already in the middle of it.
 
 
***
 
 
Scott had asked Derek to check for larger herds outside of Beacon Hills. A
welcome pause from Scott’s worried face and Liam’s constant gagging.
And the thrill of pushing his Camaro beyond 100 mph, God.
He should probably stop more frequently to sniff the air and listen to the
silence but not now. If there was one thing he missed about hunting Kate, it
was being out on the road. As cheesy as that might sound, there was something
epic about whipping down empty roads like nothing mattered.
Similar to his last mission, however, this trip was pointless but since it was
his alpha’s command – nevertheless, what did it matter where they came from.
Because come they would.
And the odds weren’t looking good.
The last time these things had started showing up in Beacon Hills his mother
had called a gathering of the Southwestern clans. They are dumber than
dangerous, she had said. But so many. They threaten to give away the existence
of the supernatural. And if we don’t take care of them this place will be
crawling with hunters.
We need to take care of them.
And then, one day, for no discernible reason, it had stopped. Just like that.
Derek had told Scott the whole story and wondered why Stiles hadn’t done that
already. Surely he remembered the abomination that had chased him into the
forest on a hot July night.
He wouldn’t remember all of it, of course.
For instance that, while running for his life, he had almost come as far as the
Hale house. How the thing was only a few feet behind him when Derek rid it of
its ugly head. How he had run for another minute until realizing the danger was
gone and then collapsing against a tree, eyes wide open in horror and shaking
all over.
The sheriff’s boy.
Stiles had always been magically drawn to the woods – a kid who could find
trouble in his own front yard. He tumbled into ponds and almost drowned, fell
from trees and broke his arm, tried to pat a squirrel and got a vicious bite.
Tried to pat it again, got bitten again and ran home crying.
Derek’s lips curled upward in a faint grin.
Stiles really hadn’t changed much since then. Still noisy, awkward, too curious
for his own good and incredibly smart. Forgetful, too, apparently.
Otherwise, he might have remembered the fifteen year-old teenager, dark hair
and hazel eyes and somewhat shy, who had carried him all the way back to Beacon
Hills and put him into the arms of his dad.
 
 
***
 
 
“So it’s really you, isn’t it.”
Stiles was looking at Theo.
He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was happening, this was
really happening.
It was like he was slipping through time, back to the long afternoons behind
the tool shed, the endless evenings at Theo’s house.
“How…”
Theo’s pretty face softened into a smile. He touched his fingertips to his
cheeks.
“I could have chosen a different vessel, yes, but this one is so – convenient.”
His smile widened.
“Good times, Stiles.”
“How for Christ’s sake-”
“Alright, alright.” Theo put up his hands and laughed light-heartedly as if
Stiles had argued that he awesome and he had to give in because, you know.
Stiles, in contrast, looked like he was going to throw up.
“You remember that year you had that ear infection? The Vanderbelts got a dog,
er… your mom died?”
Stiles was just staring at him.
“Brave woman, Stiles. I always thought so. I mean, she was terrified of you.
Just imagine – her own son…”
Stiles was trembling. If only he had said yes to Peter, then he could tear
Theo’s throat out and rip his face apart. He would come back, of course, but to
get the better of him just once, let him feel the pain, let him pay. His body
might be strong but nothing would survive Stiles’s hatred if he only – if he
could only...
“So you know how she – well. Died. To save you? Because she loved you anyway?”
No respone. Theo took a deep breath.
“I always thought this was so Harry Potter.”
He smirked.
“How could you come back,” Stiles mumbled. Somehow his voice wasn’t working
right anymore.
And to hear Theo talk about his mom, God.
And there was nothing he could do against it.
No fucking thing.
“So Mommy dead. Boy alive. End of story. Right?”
He took a step towards Stiles.
“But then you went ahead and died.”
Stiles could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
Dum dum. Dum dum.
The Nemeton.
Saving his dad.
Stiles was shaking.
“You died and were resurrected, all done properly and according to the rules.
And your poor mom’s involuntary sacrifice…”
Theo made a fist with his right hand and then opened it to mimic an explosion.
Then he closed the gap between him and Stiles.
For some reason, Theo’s hands were trembling. He put his fingertips to Stiles’s
wrists, touching them lightly, and looked down, fascinated.
“Reset this beautiful body to default setting. Your beautiful… beautiful body,
Stiles…”
The slight tremble was now in Theo’s voice as well.
“Stiles,” he breathed, their bodies still not touching.
“Isn’t it funny – how a short-lived and vulnerable creature like you would make
my whole body hurt with longing?”
Theo slowly raised his hands.
 
 
 
So this was it. This is how it began.
 
Stiles was staring at the wall behind Theo’s back with an open mouth and blank
eyes.
He wished he was dead.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Some Steo. Derek has an epiphany. Lydia gets a pet. More Steo.
That small tremble of your lips you’re trying to hide?
It’s not working. Because I know anyway, you don’t even have to look at me,
Stiles.
You would think that I can only feel your hatred but did you know that I can
hear your prayers, too?
It’s a little quirk of mine. I’ve been filtering your faint whisper out from
billions of voices, made it drip down mutilated bodies, sweep over blown-apart
crowds and let it hum across steaming heaps of flesh. Even now, I’m
eavesdropping and you’re talking to me when you’re not even talking.
It might be a waste of – power, yes. But it is vital to build up suspense.
You’ll see in time.
Because you’re the one, Stiles.
 
 
The chosen one?
 
 
No.
The one who got away.
 
 
 
 
 
“Stiles.”
Theo’s voice was soft.
“Look at me.”
Theo raised his right hand slowly, carefully, and cupped Stiles’s chin in his
palm. Stiles was so surprised by the tenderness of the touch that he forgot to
not look at him.
“Good.”
Theo’s eyes were hazel but brighter than Derek’s, his features so – pleasant it
was ridiculous.
“You know what I came back for, don’t you? Stiles?”
Theo brushed his thumb across Stiles’s cheek.
The warmth of Theo’s hand and the gentleness of his stroke were unbearable but
he didn’t dare to move.
Theo frowned and said, “Being in human flesh is exasperating. Being a teenager…
so different from a little boy.”
He laughed softly.
“I used to scare you with monsters and cut you with scissors. But this…”
He tilted his head slightly staring into Stiles’s eyes.
“This will be fun in a whole different way.”
 
 
***
 
 
“Scott!,” Derek barked and Scott quickly opened his door.
“Derek, what the hell?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I got that. It’s 10 p.m. man, turn the volume down. I’ve watched you
move like a killer without making a single noise.”
Derek smirked, walked over to Scott’s bed and sat down.
“Only when I want to.”
“How did you get into the house?”
“Please.”
Scott took a deep breath.
“What is it? Has Deaton found anything?”
“What do you know about Theo Raeken.”
Derek’s questions never sounded like questions but Scott was used to that.
“Let me guess – you’re telling me I should be cautious about letting him in the
pack. Well, you didn’t have to come here just for that – Stiles already gave me
a lecture this morning.”
Derek snorted. “Did he. I can imagine that. Vividly.”
He fell silent for a few seconds.
“Do you think he’s right?”
Scott shrugged. He walked over to his computer chair and sat down.
“In general, yes, I think. That would be way to quick, we don’t even know him.
He used to be a real brat and Stiles thinks people don’t change.”
“So do I,” Derek said immediately and unnecessarily.
“I – understand. But I think we should give him a chance eventually – not right
now maybe but over time.”
Derek was frowning at Scott. As alpha he might shield his emotions from him,
lie, plot. Like he himself had been doing at times. But Scott wasn’t like that
– he wouldn’t deem it necessary. His utter frankness was one of the reasons
Derek approved of him. Trusted him even.
“Don’t you smell it?”
“What? The monsters? Yeah, it’s everywhere but I think I’m getting used too
it…”
“No, Theo. Or on Theo. I can’t really tell which.”
Scott looked puzzled.
“Like a stench?”
Derek slowly shook his head.
“More like – I can’t describe it. His scent is so-,” he wrinkled his nose like
he was picturing the exact smell, “intrusive. All wrong.”
Scott was staring at him.
“You must have gotten that confused with the rotting pieces of monster.
Seriously, I couldn’t smell anything anymore that night.”
Derek hummed and fell into a brooding silence.
“But the next day my senses were back on track again and he just smelled like a
guy turned wolf. Nothing weird about that. And Stiles just doesn’t like Theo.
He was his best friend in first grade.”
Derek nodded. He knew that before, of course, because when he had picked up
Stiles from the ground that afternoon a lifetime ago there had been a faint
smell on the boy that he distinctly remembered, even now.
The boy had smelled like young green leaves and forest ground and cinnamon and
something – else that smelled foreign on him. It didn’t fit the sweetness of
his own scent.
Derek had buried his nose in his sweater, not comprehending how the scent of
someone else on him could be so fresh when he had clearly been on his own for
the past half hour.
While one riddle was solved now the whole thing made no more sense than it had
years ago  – Stiles had smelled like Theo and strangely so.
Like Theo had been hugging him seconds before that monster had tried to tear
him apart.
Derek’s eyes darkened like he had stepped into a shadow.
“When these things came to Beacon Hills seven years ago, I picked up Theo’s
scent close to them in the woods without even knowing whose it was,” he
growled, “It came back to me when we met him yesterday.”
Stiles was the particular detail of the story that Derek would keep from Scott.
It would certainly endanger the pack if Scott found out Stiles had known about
the supernatural in Beacon Hills before he had been turned. Had learned about
it, even, while he was already best friends with him.
Or had he?
It was more likely that Stiles had just convinced himself that he was having a
nightmare. The story Derek had told Sheriff Stilinski was, after all this. That
he had found the boy sound asleep under a tree.
He must’ve run out into the woods again to play and gotten lost, Sheriff
Stilinski had said. And then, That boy! What should I do with him, put him on a
leash?
And then he had thanked Derek.
Mr. Hale – Derek, right? – I’m glad that you found him before anything bad
happened to him. He’s got his head up in the clouds most of the time but he’s a
precious boy.
“So?,” Scott said, startling Derek out of his thoughts.
Human thoughts. Too many.
Derek growled with disgust.
“So, I think Theo is connected to these things showing up. He’s the red thread
and the way this guy has me on edge way more than the monsters – it tells me
he’s the bigger danger.”
Scott was looking at him as if he had told him he appreciated hand-painted
Victorian chamber pots.
“Derek, what the hell are you talking about? There was and is nothing weird
about Theo. Shouldn’t I be able to pick up the danger faster than you?”
“Well, yes…,” Derek said slowly, thinking. “Yes, you’re the alpha. But you’re
also more human than me. You trust your thoughts more than your senses. I’m not
like that.”
“Ok, right. But still, come on, Derek. Maybe you’re just getting a little
paranoid?”
He sounded uncertain and Derek knew it was because Scott really trusted his,
Derek’s, judgement and it surprised him. He really and truly was a member of
the pack.
And he had to be satisfied with Scott’s answer.
The alpha’s verdict was law.
 
 
***
 
 
Lydia was trying to squeeze through the kitchen door, two giant shopping bags
in hands.
“You need help, honey?,” her mum said frowning.
“Naah, I’m alright, thanks.” There was a metallic clutter as her bags scraped
the door frame.
“And how’s your rash?”
“Mh? Oh, better, the lotion’s really helping. I’ll be upstairs.”
“Please bring down your dirty dishes, I think they’re starting to smell.”
“Yeah, in a few minutes!,” Lydia yelled from the first floor.
Her mother sighed.
“I really wish she’d stop eating in her room,” she muttered and picked up her
cup of tea when she heard Lydia’s door slam shut.
Lydia let the bags drop to the floor with a loud clonk and immediately dove
into the bigger one.
“Sorry baby, I  know I should’ve been home sooner but there was so much
traffic,” she said, her voice muffled by the plastic.
She reappeared, pulling something out of the bag and shoving it behind her as
if to hide it, unsuccessfully so because her body barely covered a third of it.
It was a cage.
“Paws, Mommy has a present for you, darling.”
The cage was fairly big and looked heavy, with a pink plastic tub. Lydia began
dragging it across the bedroom floor.
“What do you think?”
She was looking across the room, face lit up in anticipation.
Sitting on her bed, its tiny body half sunk into the fluffy comforter, was a
bunny.
At least, it must have been one at some point in the near or distant past.
Its nostrils were oddly widened, the flesh around them bare. The were bloody
growths eating away at its cute ears and the white bone of its skull and
skeleton was showing in places. The name Lydia had given it was awfully
appropriate because the proportions of its legs were all wrong.
It looked like the product of a crazy genetic engineer who only had a rough
idea of what bunnies look like.
“It’s your new home,” Lydia sang, beaming at the little animal that was staring
back at her without a sense of comprehension in its eyes.
Maybe because in order to see you need eyeballs, the greatest part of which had
dripped out of its sockets and was presently sticking to its mangy fur.
Lydia set down the cage next to her bed.
The bunny just sat there, breathing.
“Mommy couldn’t get a bigger one, so sorry about that. When I asked for it, the
man in the shop looked at me like I was crazy.” Lydia pursed her lips to throw
her pet a kiss.
“I’ll be with you right away, darling, just have to set your new home up.”
In response, Paws trembled, opened its mouth and spit out a few chunks of what
looked suspiciously like semi-digested bits of internal organs.
“Oops,” Lydia said happily, “Mommy’s going to clean that up in just a minute,
baby…”
Paws just kept breathing.
 
 
***
 
 
Derek was crossing the gates of Eichen House, walking quickly in the direction
of the parking lot. God, he hated that – institution. The manner they caged
people, the politics of surveillance in there – sometimes, if he didn’t know
any better, he would think this was a crossgenre horror film instead of real
life.
Gothic meets sci-fi.
Or gore, considering recent events.
And the prequel had majorly sucked so he doubted this part would be any better.
He fished the keys out of his tight jeans.
But at least they were open to visitors 24/7, right?
If confronted with a mixture of bribe money and supernatural aggression, that
is.
However, whatever they had done to Peter, well wasn’t exactly the word he would
apply to describe his mental health state now. Derek gritted his teeth.
He had counted on Peter remembering more than he who had been a self-absorbed
teenager. On Peter giving him a hint at least, even if an involuntary one. But
as always, counting on Peter’s help was a dead end.
But the missing link.
It couldn’t be helped.
Derek sighed, letting his car keys rotate around his index finger.
He had to figure out the puzzle with his human side if he didn’t want his wolf
to hunt the woods in vain for the next few weeks. Lose precious time.
Somehow he felt like the answer was there already, just had to be read, but,
ironically, the only person who could do that was flat out denying his
assistance.
And for the first time ever, Derek couldn’t make him.
So it had to be bad.
And maybe Stiles already knew that.
Derek slid into his Camaro and pulled the driver’s door shut, blinking with
recognition as the words were hovering in his mind.
He knew.
Stiles already knew.
 
 
***
 
 
Theo used to play with him, yes. But it had been a different kind of game.
Stiles was in shock but it wasn’t the same kind of shock like when he had been
a ten year-old boy and Theo had let a rotten corpse crawl onto his bed at night
or pinned him to the wall and burned him with a lighter, slowly, for an hour
until Stiles would have been screaming with pain, only Theo had taken away his
voice.
Because that’s what he could do, Theo. Only for this hour, he had said.
Isn’t that what people say – you don’t just grow up, you mature?
Once Theo had torn away thick strands of hair from his crane with full hands
and then let it grow back again.
A spoiled kid’s game.
Stiles always wore his hair as short as possible after that.
But he had known from the way Theo had looked at him this morning that
something had changed. This was going to be a different story after all.
Just when he had been so certain that he wouldn’t have to think about this guy
anymore ever he appeared out of nowhere and changed the rules.
But maybe it had been him, Stiles, after all.
Who had changed the rules first when he had breathed new life into the Nemeton
together with Scott and Allison.
Theo was still clutching Stiles’s chin and it started feeling like the death
grip Stiles had been expecting. His fingers weren’t soft against Stiles’s skin
anymore but hard and strained.
Like he was holding back.
“Stiles.”
There it was again, this tremble with an edge of – frustration?
“How’s your ankle, Stiles.”
The warmth of Theo’s breath against his left ear made Stiles’s stomach flip.
“I twisted it slowly to see if you still make the same kind of face. Gently, so
your bone wouldn’t break.”
His grip around Stiles’s wrist had tightened. Stiles could feel Theo’s fingers
grow into claws.
“And you do, you still do. Even when you can’t wake up.”
Theo’s claws slowly dug into his arm slitting open his skin. But no deeper than
that. Stiles almost jumped when the pain shot through his body. It was like he
had snapped back from a trance. He winced and tried to pull his hand back and
Theo –
He was staring at his face, a weird smile frozen on his lips.
The sick freak.
Stiles felt like he was slowly returning to himself. Had taken him long enough.
“Did you just come here for that?,” he finally managed to say.
And then, “Lucifer.”
“Oho. We’re being frank now, aren’t we,” Theo said. “But that name is so
fifteenth century.”
“Fuck you. You’re nothing compared to the Nogitsune,” Stiles tried, his voice
raspy and broken. He knew this kind of boldness was infinitely stupid but that
was the way his courage worked, apparently.
Alert – scared – shocked – paralized, and now, downright suicidal.
It was obvious he had said the wrong thing. Theo had let go of Stiles’s hand.
He looked angered all of a sudden.
“That filth,” he spit out. “No punishment will ever be enough. He should have
known better than touching you, you of all creatures, Stiles. He thought I was
gone for good and oh, he is regretting it. These lesser spirits – they don’t
even know I can’t die.”
Theo moved suddenly, pushing Stiles against the wall with his flat hand. His
face looked strained now, his eyes were burning yellow.
If you didn’t know there was a difference you might confuse them with the eyes
of a werewolf before his first kill, the shade was almost identical, but not
quite.
“It wasn’t easy to hold back, Stiles, and I’m sick of it. This place is dull
enough already.”
Theo seemed to grow in front of his eyes and the horror of the sight paralized
Stiles despite his familiarity with it.
It’s just something you never get used to, I guess.
Lucifer demonstrating his power.
All of a sudden, the room seemed to shrink, like all the space was being sucked
out of it. Filled up with Theo’s terrible beauty.
Stiles pressed his eyes shut. He knew the darkness around them was crawling
with things.
He could hear them wheeze and click, a sound he thought he would never hear
again except in nightmares.
He was tensing his muscles, preparing his body for the pain.
But then something wet touched his lips and his eyes flew open in surprise.
Theo’s mouth was covering his and his kiss was greedy, almost violent.
Stiles tried to push him away but Theo had him pinned against the wall with his
whole body. His hands were slipping under Stiles’s t-shirt, clutching his
chest, digging into his skin.
Stiles was squirming, desperately trying to get away from the sharp claws.
He couldn’t breathe.
But the pain was bearable. For now.
Theo had done far worse to him. He wouldn’t kill him of course. Even if Theo
punctuated his lungs, he would just fix him up again and continue. Oops, my
bad. Here you go Stiles.
Good times.
“Boys?”
Theo froze. His chest was heaving, pushing into his own, and, oh God. Stiles
felt something hard pressing against his thigh. He closed his eyes and tried to
mentally disconnect from his body. He’d almost perfected the craft when he was
a kid.
“Do you guys want to watch the game with me?,” Sheriff Stilinksi said. His
voice sounded like he was right outside. They hadn’t even heard him come up the
stairs.
Theo had backed away a few inches, staring at Stiles’s face, eyes still yellow.
He looked furious about the interruption.
“Er, sorry dad,” Stiles said, trying to sound calm but he knew his voice wasn’t
perfectly firm. He cleared his throat.
“Theo’s about to leave and I still have to read a chapter for History.”
Theo had stepped back. For a moment he just stood there like he couldn’t quite
tear himself away.
Like he hated leaving business unfinished.
His tight, dark blue t-shirt was sticking to his sweaty chest and his skinny
jeans clearly revealed to Stiles that he had been right in assuming that Theo
was pretty agitated.
Stiles’s quickly turned his head away, still unable to wrap his head around the
whole situation, and as if that had been his cue Theo turned around and stormed
out of the room, all but knocking down the Sheriff.
“Did you guys fight?,” he said puzzled when the front door opened and shut with
a bang.
Stiles shook his head.
“That is – yes, he’s er… I guess he’s – really into Malia. He’s – er pretty
upset, yeah…”
Sheriff Stilinksi nodded, saying “Ah.” And then, “Strange, Theo used to be such
a gentle boy, not at all short-tempered… but I guess – being a teenager is
really tough. Right?”
Stiles gave him a faint smile that his dad couldn’t see of course because when
Theo had stormed out, he had quickly turned his back to the door.
He was praying that his chest wasn’t covered in blood. Or the floor.
God, the floor.
And his skin was burning but he didn’t dare to look down. Not yet.
“Uh dad… I’m really tired, so…”
“Alright. I’m not hovering. Good night, son.”
He pulled the door shut.
Stiles immediately sank to his knees, resting his head against the wall, his
mind completely blank.
He was exhausted. Shaky.
Like he’d survived a plane crash.
And there was more to come.
But he wouldn’t think about that now.
He closed his eyes, struggling to control his breathing. Not to hyperventilate.
Just breathe in.
Hold your breath for three seconds.
Out.
Hold your breath again, this time for five seconds. Then repeat.
Try it.
It helps.
You can’t breathe away the real danger though.
The pain, the monsters.
Doom impending.
But it doesn’t hurt to try.
Stiles feels like he’s in pieces but he slowly picks himself up. Like he’s his
own marionette player.
He wonders how Derek’s doing it.
Get up every morning.
But unlike Derek, Stiles still has his dad.
He raises his head and slowly walks to the bathroom.
Pretending that being alive is all that matters.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     Steo at school. Malia loves her cheeseburger. Derek joins them for a
     chat.
So he sorted out his priorities, yes.
Sleep, eat, go to school, take showers. Just act normal.
Smell emotionally stable.
Switch off everything even remotely related to feelings.
He did it before, he’ll do it again.
Only, when Stiles entered the classroom that morning, there had clearly been a
change in the seating arrangements because Theo was slouching in the chair next
to his as if it was his living room.
Stiles’s face darkened.
Theo’s face, of course, lit up when he spotted Stiles.
He smiled brightly and then waved – actually waved at him.
Stiles suddenly understood why Ramsay Bolton would enjoy flaying people. And
didn’t Theo sound slightly like Theon?
It was a thought he would hold on to. Maybe visualize.
He let himself fall into his chair trying hard to just ignore Theo. Don’t
acknowledge him, don’t even look at him, just – he doesn’t exist.
But he could still see him turn in his chair out of the corner of his eye.
And of course Theo was beaming at him. The smug bastard.
So, alright, you looked.
But it won’t happen again. Just focus.
Don’t think about his claws, or teeth or strength or speed.
Pretend like this little smile is not meant for you.
And especially don’t picture what he might do to you later.
Burn you, skin you, break your bones.
Because it won’t matter.
It’s not like there’s anything you can do.
 
 
 
“Yo, Stiles,” Theo whispered. They were ten minutes into the first lesson,
history.
Stiles shifted in his chair. He had somehow hoped that Theo would give him at
least an hour.
It’s ok, just ignore him.
Stiles was concentrating on the chapter he should have prepared for today. The
letters were dancing in front of his eyes. He hadn’t slept that night and it
started to show.
He felt like shit.
“You alright, Stiles? You look sorta – out of it.”
Stiles shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to be able to clench his
fists.
Don’t listen… just ignore him.
“I can see that,” Theo said in a low voice that sounded eerily close to his
ears.
Man. Not that again.
Stiles kept his eyes glued to the page while Mr. Yukimura was delivering one of
his monologues. He kept losing track though. Like his brain couldn’t string
together what he was hearing. The words were just floating around in his head.
Refusing to make sense. Mass murder, war, reservations.
Genocide.
He didn’t need wolf senses to know that Theo shifted a little in his chair.
Maybe curled his lips into a satisfied smirk.
Stiles couldn’t help it.
“Fucking bastard,” he whispered.
Theo tilted his head to one side.
“I’m not responsible for all the shit you do up here,” he said but Stiles could
hear that he was smiling.
“Mr. Raeken. Is there anything you’d like to share with us?”
Mr. Yukimura was looking at him sternly and Theo raised his hands in a typical
– well, Theo gesture.
“Sorry, Mr. Yukimura. Won’t happen again.”
He smiled at him and Mr. Yukimura immediately and visibly softened.
“Well… if you could read out chapter ten to us, Mr. Raeken.”
Unbelievable.
He probably had excellent grades, too.
As if the king of freaking hell planned on attending a good college.
But Stiles had forgotten how much Theo loved to play.
The rest of the hour was filled with Theo’s smooth, pleasant voice,
accentuating all the right words, pausing in all the right places.
How could it be that no one was suspicious of a person that perfect?
There’s always a catch, is the thing.
But apparently Scott had never watched a movie or read a book because when
class was finally over he came up to Stiles’s desk and said,
“Man, if Theo hadn’t distracted the old man – I’d just passed Kira a note and I
think he saw it.”
“A note?” Stiles blinked a few times. “How old are you, ten?”
Then Stiles realized what he had said.
“The only one acting like you’re ten are you. Stiles,” Theo said in a low
voice. Smiling at him.
He was leaning against his desk looking like he just fell out of a freaking
movie. Hands tugged into the pockets of his leather jacket, white shirt tight
over his chest and abs and that nonchalant frown on his face. Like James Dean.
Girls left and right were shooting him glances. God.
Was he the only sane person here?
Scott was laughing at Stiles’s upset expression and slapped him over the
shoulder. Kira looked as if she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to smile. She
seemed to realize that Stiles wasn’t looking so good.
“Ok, I’m off to AP Chemistry,” Theo said. He put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder
where it lingered for two or three seconds. Stiles’s stomach flipped. Luckily,
Scott was concentrating on not kissing Kira who said, clearly impressed, “AP
Chemistry?”
“See you at lunch Theo,” Scott said.
Stiles took a deep breath.
Six hours left. And then what?
It could only get worse after school. At least no one would be around to see
his face slip or hear him scream.
He threw a glance at Scott who was chatting with Kira and Danny and wondered
for what felt like the thousandth time if he should tell him.
But Scott was finally almost himself again. After Allison’s death, it had
seemed like that would never happen again.
Stiles shook his head and jumped to his feet.
There was no way in hell that he would tell Scott.
This was between him and Theo.
He would make sure of that.
 
 
 
“Aren’t you hungry?” Malia was looking at Stiles’s cheeseburger. It sat on a
plate in front of him, untouched.
“Not particularly, no,” Stiles said. It was true. He’d been feeling mostly
nauseous lately.
“Are you alright?” Liam was looking at him, frowning.
“You smell – anxious.”
“He always smells like that,” Malia said.
“Ok, could you guys all just – ok? I’m fine.”
Stiles almost swiped his coke off the table when he got up. He threw his
backpack over his right shoulder and turned around.
He knew Theo was watching him leave. He could feel his eyes burning into his
back.
But he wouldn’t follow him, not now. There was enough time later and frankly,
Stiles couldn’t bear the tension anymore.
Whatever it was, he wanted to get it over with.
Or maybe he should just go home. Lock himself in his room and pretend nothing
evil could get in there. It had never worked but still.
Worth a try.
Right now, it was the best plan he had.
He chuckled and pushed the cafeteria door out of his way.
Pathetic.
 
 
“What’s up with him?,” Mason said and Liam shrugged. Both were still looking at
Stiles’s empty seat.
“He looked really upset. Maybe he got a bad grade,” Liam suggested. Then he
threw Malia a glance. It was obvious that he thought it might have something to
do with her but didn’t dare voice his thoughts. Malia was not only stronger
than him but also a lot scarier.
Luckily for him, she was completely absorbed in finishing Stiles's burger but
Mason nodded yes to Liam. Yes, probably trouble with the lady. And then he
said, “Lydia? What’s that on your arm?”
“Mh?” Lydia blinked, bottle of water in her right hand hovering in mid-air.
“There’s something on your arm.”
Lydia took a sip and screwed the lid back on. Then she looked down at her
wrist. The sleeve of her silk blouse had slipped a little and revealed a patch
of flaming red skin.
“Oh that? That’s nothing.”
She shook her arm to make the sleeve slide down again and cover it up.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” Mason said. Tentatively. He wasn’t quite sure where
to put Lydia, yet. She was clearly hiding something. But that might also be his
own utter failure at understanding women since he had no interest in them
whatsoever. None at all.
Then again, Liam did, and yet, he was even clumsier with them.
No wonder Stiles had looked so out of it.
“Looked like what you had on your face, only now it’s on your arm,” Mason
added.
Lydia threw him a hostile glance that clearly said, Thin ice. Very thin ice.
“It’s just a little rash. I’m allergic to rabbit hair and I got a bunny last
week.”
She threw her napkin onto her plate and her long red hair back over her
shoulder. Conversation over.
When Lydia had walked away, Mason turned to Liam.
“She’s still acting strange. Shouldn’t we talk to Scott about this?”
They both looked over at Scott who was feeding Kira French fries.
“I think he’s busy,” Liam said.
“Then – should we investigate this? I mean do research and maybe go through her
room and stuff?”
He looked far too excited by this idea. Somehow Liam felt like the whole
interfering-gets-you-killed thing hadn’t quite gotten through to Mason, yet. He
still thought everything about the supernatural was just fascinating.
“I don’t know, man…,” Liam muttered. “Got a bunch of homework. I got an F on my
last math exam… my mum’s gonna kill me if I don’t study…”
Mason opened his mouth to give him one of his speeches, about how he had
freaking superpowers, and Liam quickly said, “Alright, alright,” just to shut
him up.
Really, suggesting to go through Lydia’s room – sometimes he thought that Mason
must have a death wish. And then, above all, Lydia was a banshee. It was hard
to tell what he found more unsettling, her aloof insanity or Malia’s affinity
for physical violence.
“Mason?”
But his friend was long gone. He was staring into space, eyes gleaming, a
dreamy smile on his face.
Oh no. Alright. So this was definitely happening.
Liam picked up his own tray, then Mason’s, then gave his friend a nudge with
his elbow.
“But I have Lacrosse practice first. Whatever plan you’re making up right now
has to wait until after, alright?”
“Alright,” Mason said, beaming. He shouldered his backpack and hurried after
his friend.
This was going to be good.
 
 
 
Wow, that went down the drain really fast.
Mason was still trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.
So there was Derek, just the most handsome man he had ever seen in his whole
life. He was furious, obviously, and was pinning Liam to the wall, flashing
these neon blue eyes at him and Mason tried hard to keep his mind out of the
gutter.
Help his friend.
Even though he would not want help. Being pushed into the wall by Derek Hale
was just so… oh, my.
Derek’s head snapped to the right, his eyes now resting on him, Mason.
“You’re apparently not getting how serious this is.”
“No,” Liam gagged because Derek hadn’t lightened the grip on his shirt. “He
thinks you’re hot.”
“Liam!,” Mason said and Derek said, “What?” and then he grimaced. “Ugh.
Teenagers. Can’t you keep it in your pants for five seconds?”
Mason was looking down at his feet. Liam threw him an apologetic glance.
“Guys, focus! Where is Stiles?”
“I already told you,” Liam said, his voice growing louder with every second.
Uh oh. Mason didn’t need wolf senses to know that his best friend was about to
lose it. God, Derek would tear him into tiny little shreds. He wondered if
there was time to call Scott.
But then Derek let go of him and said, “Relax. I’m in your pack, remember?”
“Ha,” said Mason. So that’s how you treat pack?
Derek ignored him.
“And I thought Stiles was with Scott but I saw Scott in the cafeteria, no
Stiles to be seen – so, where is he? Aren’t you supposed to be eating
together?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be less of a creep,” Liam muttered and Derek shot him a
menacing glare.
“You’re all helpless little puppies.” He spit out the words like wanting to get
rid of a bitter taste. “Of course I’m gonna watch out for you. I’m the only
grown-up here.”
Mason thought that Derek suddenly looked tired.
“So,” he said through gritted teeth, “please?”
“Stiles was upset because we kept bugging him with questions – because he like
– looked really down. Out of it, kinda. So he got up and left. No idea where he
is,” Mason finally explained.
Derek blinked.
“He left and no one followed him? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Why? He can go wherever he wants,” Liam said but there was an edge of
insecurity to his voice. “I mean, if Scott’s ok with it,” he quickly added.
Ok, they really did it this time. Derek looked furious.
“Have you idiots – any – idea what we’re dealing with here? There’s herds of
monsters flooding Beacon Hills from all corners of the earth and you’re all
acting like you’re on a field trip.”
“But Scott-,” Liam, unwisely, started to protest.
He was cut off by a low growl.
“Scott needs to listen to me now.”
 
 
 ***
 
 
He’d had half a mind to jump into his Jeep and drive until his tank was empty,
but then figured, what the hell. The only important thing was to keep up the
act as long as possible.
So he had calmed down again. Thrown some water into his face, taken a few deep
breaths.
Lacrosse practice would just be him watching the others play. His foot was
still hurting, but then, that wasn’t that much of a difference to before this
whole mess.
And it would take his mind off Theo at least.
Stiles rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks trying to look less – zombified.
He turned around and yeah.
Theo had this knack for timing.
Also, he could suppress his reflection in the mirror if he wanted to. Sneaky
son of a bitch.
The look he gave Stiles almost made his legs go limp.
He was smiling softly but for some reason that was the most terrifying thing
Stiles could have imagined. Why couldn’t Theo send that thing from The Ring
again to haunt him. He could at least have screamed properly and felt better
afterwards.
“I wanted to wait with this – prepare you… you know… Stiles. But seems like – I
just can’t. This body is so weak.”
He quickly stepped up to him. Stiles took a step back and ended up with his
back pressed painfully into the sink and Theo, well.
Way too close. Again.
And again he wasn’t touching him, not quite. It was like – Theo would lose
control the moment his body touched Stiles’s and Theo wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
He could not lose control. Even he wouldn’t be able to put Stiles back
together.
 
 
 
Stiles was looking at Theo, waiting.
This was it, right?
He wondered if Theo had sealed the room so no one could get in. Disturb them.
But no, that couldn’t be. He loved the game too much for that.
Then Theo grabbed his hips and jerked him forward. Pressed their bodies
together finally. Covered Stiles’s mouth, for a second only.
Then he was gone.
There was a low thump.
Stiles’s heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage.
It took him a few seconds to take in the whole scene.
Derek was standing in front of him, panting. Eyes blue but his features were
still human. Apparently, he had simply picked Theo up and thrown him against
the wall. Theo had collapsed on the tiled floor where he was slowly coming to
again.
“Derek,” Stiles finally managed, breathless. “Derek, run.”
Derek just stared at him, puzzled.
“Run, you moron!!!” Stiles was screaming now and Derek inadvertently took a
step back.
But it was too late.
“So… Derek.”
Stiles closed his eyes in horror.
Theo slowly got to his feet. There was a thin thread of blood climbing down his
lips and chin and there was blood pooling in his neck. Stiles could see it
getting soaked up by his white shirt. He must have hit his head hard. Derek
could have cracked his skull, werewolf healing powers notwithstanding.
He didn’t, of course, and Derek looked like he was still trying to figure out
why.
Wait a second.
He had obviously meant to take Theo apart with a single blow. Snap his neck,
crush him without caring about consequences. Or had he known that Theo was
stronger than him, stronger than Scott even?
It didn’t matter.
Stiles suddenly felt like throwing up.
Derek was dead dead dead.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     An anticlimactic showdown. Liam, Mason and Malia meet Paws. Theo
     can't stop bleeding. Stiles gets to fall asleep, finally.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you for kudos and comments - you guys make me want to keep
     writing <3
So, Theo has picked himself up again. He looks calm but that might just be an
act. Part of his little game. It’s really hard to tell. Probably though. You
don’t just crack the Devil’s skull and get away with it.
Derek doesn’t know the details of course.
So he’s just standing there not getting why the hell Stiles is so afraid. Not
getting why Theo was kissing Stiles when he, Derek, was certain, he was
attacking him. The image had only really gotten through to his brain when Theo
was already sliding down the wall, down a long dark streak of blood on the
tiles.
Run, is what you want to say now, probably.
Run and hide. Don’t ever show your face in Beacon Hills again.
You couldn’t even make it against the berserkers. Against Peter or Kate.
This though.
You have no idea what this is.
Stiles wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, shake Derek, push him out of
the men’s room, stall Theo, buy him time.
But he knew better than that.
Derek was already dead.
The question was just how much Theo would let him suffer.
 
 
Stiles was shaking.
“Please, Theo,” he breathed. “Let him go, please.”
His vision was blurry. The whiteness of Theo’s shirt bit into his eyes, the red
spots and streaks made him nauseous.
“What are you talking about?,” Theo said with a light laugh. He took a few
steps towards him, still swaying slightly from having been knocked into the
wall hard.
“Derek… you’re in Scott’s pack?”
Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s face. He was trying to get a grip on the rim of the
sink behind him, trying hard not to throw up.
“You’re pretty protective of Stiles – given that you just tried to kill me.”
There was no answer from Derek.
Why didn’t he answer?
Oh God.
Had Theo already sealed his mouth shut?
Stiles raised his head trying to zoom in on Derek but the whole scene kept
slipping out of focus.
Panic, stage four of six.
“You apparently misunderstood something, buddy.”
Thin fingers suddenly slipped into Stiles’s, his hand was tugged away from the
ceramic.
“That’s how it is,” Theo simply said.
What the hell.
“Don’t worry, Stiles,” he added as if he was reading his mind.
Please no. He couldn’t do that, right, read his mind? Even if he could, he
wouldn’t. He wouldn’t spoil the game like that.
“I wouldn’t hurt your pack.”
And then Stiles heard a low menacing growl. There was words in there, too, that
he could just barely make out.
“Stop screwing with me.”
“Oh please,” Theo said. “Who would want that.”
He squeezed Stiles’s hand.
“You’re scaring the crap out of him,” Derek now said. “An idiot could see
that.” He had come closer, slid into focus. Stiles could see him clearly now
and Derek’s piercing blue eyes were looking into his own. Worried? Searching
for an answer.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business. Right, Stiles?”
Now they were both looking at him. Waiting. Derek apparently wanted to know
what the hell was up with Theo. And Theo had just given him an ultimatum.
A way out.
Ok, so he did have agency here. Like a dog on a leash. This tree or that tree?
Pick for yourself. There’s a good boy.
“Stiles,” Theo said.
So this or Derek’s dead. More than dead actually.
Come on, Stiles. Get a grip.
It’s not like you really have to think about it.
“Er…,” he started hoarsely. “Sorry I – I didn’t tell you guys.”
He half-heartedly raised the hand that was still entangled with Theo’s and
tried to put a smile on his lips. He knew it came out just as mortified as he’d
intended.
“We – we used to be – a thing…”
Saying it felt strange, like this was not his voice, but it had to be because
his mouth was moving and Derek’s eyes were widening in surprise. Disbelief
even, maybe.
Usually he could tell when Stiles was lying but there was so much going on
right now. Derek probably didn’t know him well enough to distinguish the fear
of Theo from the fear of being caught with Theo, right?
So, to make absolutely sure Derek kept his nose out of this, he added, “These
monsters just freak me out, I’m constantly on edge because of that so – sorry,
I should’ve told you guys. I really meant to. But can you please keep it to
yourself, for now? I want to tell – er… Scott and Malia when I – when I’m –
when I feel ready.”
God, that was the fakest and most awful delivery imaginable.
Stiles was pretty sure Derek wouldn’t buy it but at least Theo was satisfied.
And maybe Derek got the warning.
Shut up and walk away.
“You’re lying,” Derek said.
Oh for God’s sake, Derek.
Don’t you ever know what’s good for you?
Stiles was about to make a suicide leap, either kiss Theo or scream at Derek to
get lost – the second one was clearly his favorite – when the door was pushed
open. Stiles immediately let go of Theo’s hand which provoked a smirk from
Theo.
“There you a- what the freakin’ hell?!” Scott stopped short when he saw the
blood on the wall and floor. Liam and Mason were right behind him.
Well, that was just perfect.
“What on earth happened here? What is wrong with you guys?!”
“A little misunderstanding,” Theo said, smiling. “Uhm, Derek here obviously has
some anger management issues.”
“What?,” Derek said staring at Theo. It was obvious that even he couldn’t
believe how quickly Theo’s aura could shift between menacing and happy-go-
lucky.
“Stiles, you alright? Practice started ten minutes ago,” Scott now said.
“I know… sorry, guys…,” Stiles muttered.
“Theo, did you know that you’re bleeding?,” Mason said. “Like – a lot?”
Theo put his hand to the back of his head. It came back dripping with blood.
“Right. I should take care of this, I guess.”
“Shouldn’t it close up by itself?,” Liam dared to say and blushed when Theo
looked at him.
“It already did but I guess it just bled a lot. I’m gonna go change.”
“You can use the showers in the locker room. Everyone’s out on the field
already.”
There was a pause.
Then Theo shrugged and said, “Ok, see you around guys. Derek, no hard feelings,
right?”
He raised his eyebrows.
Derek was staring back at him as if Theo was a madman. Which was definitely not
so far from the truth.
Stiles knew that right now, Derek was assessing just how dangerous Theo really
was and he could tell from the way Derek nodded curtly and narrowed his eyes
that he had decided he had underestimated Theo.
It was the way Theo had just let himself get beat up without letting his mask
slip even an inch. The way he slapped Scott across the shoulder now and nodded
to Liam and Mason. The way he looked back at Stiles with an impenetrable gaze.
He even gave Derek one of his little smiles.
Derek didn’t even blink and although Stiles desperately wanted everyone he
cared about out of it, he felt a deep gratitude towards Derek.
He gave him a nod and a brief smile.
Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head mumbling something that sounded a lot
like ‘Teenagers’.
“Derek can I talk to you for a second?,” Scott said and Derek nodded. They
lagged behind while the others left.
 
“Derek, you can’t just do that,” Scott said.
“Do what?”
He was already sick of this conversation.
“You’re my beta and in my pack we don’t just go around beating the hell out of
guys we don’t like.”
Derek grimaced.
“First of all, I didn’t beat the hell out of him. That would have looked
different. And, secondly – he could have defended himself.”
“Derek, come on, you gotta see that I have a point here.”
Derek hesitated for a second.
“I do. But I rest my case. Theo’s not right.”
Scott shook his head.
“You’re imagining this, buddy. He’s a nice guy and he’s getting along really
well with all of us.”
“What about Stiles.”
“Stiles – yeah, ok. But he’s overly paranoid as well. Come to think of it, you
guys are both crazy in this respect.”
“Scott,” Derek started. Ok. Last try. “Can’t you see that Stiles is terrified
of Theo?”
Scott looked puzzled.
“He – he’s been more anxious lately, yeah…”
“Because of Theo. There’s something going on between the two, Scott, and it’s
your responsibility to protect Stiles.”
Scott nodded slowly.
“Alright. If you’re so dead set on Theo being a bad guy I guess – I guess I
should look into that.”
Derek nodded.
“Ok, but do me a favor, alright? Stop being so violent. That’s not how I wanna
do things.”
Derek grimaced but Scott was looking at the blood-smeared tiles.
“Man, we gotta clean up this mess.”
 
 
Five minutes later, Derek was walking across the parking lot. He’d left his
Camaro parked in a side street because even teachers as slow as the ones at
Beacon Hills High might eventually notice an expensive sports car pulling into
the school parking lot every day.
Not that he was there every day. But, hypothetically.
So Stiles and Theo.
He let out a snorting laugh.
Please… not that he’d be too surprised about Stiles coming out of the closet
one of these days. Or that he’d care in any way. But if what he had sensed back
there had been sexual tension he might as well just shoot himself because
apparently his wolf was broken beyond repair.
Of course it couldn’t be denied that Theo had a curious fixation on Stiles. But
Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that plotting was one of Theo’s favorite
things. He didn’t even know how he knew that. He just did. Maybe because he was
not as good a person as Scott, or innocent like Liam and Mason.
Or Erica and Boyd.
And Isaac.
Great. That thought again.
As if he’d needed anything to further deepen his general feeling of self-
loathing.
He’d spectacularly failed as an alpha, yeah.
Maybe, and he would never stop hating himself for that.
But this he wouldn’t screw up.
Derek took the handbrake off and gracefully slid out from the row of parked
cars.
As always, Scott was half right. Violence might be pointless now.
Some other day, though.
“We’ll see about that,” Derek growled and floored the gas pedal.
And why was that ridiculous word stuck in his head again?
Something like Fa- or, maybe, Pa-
 
 
“Pawniel,” Lydia said. “But I call him Paws.”
“That’s er – cute name,” Mason said. They were crowding in Lydia’s room. Malia
was going to borrow one of her dresses for a girls’ night out – she really only
owned shorts and t-shirts, nothing fancy – and Mason and Liam had just tagged
along after practice. Being pack really had advantages.
Major advantages.
Malia had started stripping and rummaging through Lydia’s wardrobe as soon as
Lydia had closed the door behind them and Liam tried hard not to stare at her
boobs. Shouldn’t she be wearing a bra, anyway? Most girls did, right? He
blinked. What if – what if everything else he had ever heard about women had
been a lie?
“Lydia, your room smells weird,” Malia said. And then, “Hey, stop staring at my
nipples, you little creep!” She slapped Liam across the forehead and, because
she was Malia, his head hit the wall with a low thud.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. His face was slowly turning purple because she was
standing right in front of him now – still very much naked – and everywhere he
looked was just skin or boobs. Desperate, he just closed his eyes.
“Malia, could you not change in here? You’re making Liam uncomfortable,” Mason
said. “So, where is Par – Parn-”
“Paws,” Lydia said.
“Right. Paws. Where is he?”
“Yeah, I wanna see it, too.” Malia had donned one of Lydia’s silk tops, a dark
green one. She looked smashing.
“I’m not sure, Malia,” Lydia started. “You talk a little too much about how
good rabbit tastes.”
“Oh, come on. I would never eat your pet. That would be so rude.”
Lydia looked at her for a few seconds, then she nodded.
“Alright. Ok, fine. I trust you with him. But be careful – he’s so cute, you’ll
just want to hug him and cuddle him and eat him out.”
 
***
 
The locker room was lying in semidarkness.
It was empty except for Theo who was hanging over one of the sinks.
He was clutching the back of his head, staring at the blood that came running
down his cheeks and was steadily dropping onto the dirty white ceramic.
Disappearing into the drain, netting the sink with thin red lines on its way
down.
When he put down his hand, held it up in front of his face, it looked like he’d
dipped it into a fresh corpse. The sight made his stomach tingle pleasantly.
But this was not the time, not the place.
Theo stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Yeah, why didn’t it stop?
 
***
 
It’s hard to describe the expression of horror on Liam’s and Mason’s faces when
Lydia pulled the pink and purple cloth from the rabbit cage next to her bed. It
was almost like the fabric had sealed off the air in the cage from the rest of
the room and now the stench was leaking out. It was so dense they could almost
see it.
“I think – your pet is dead,” Mason said, coughing.
“No, it’s not,” Liam said. He had buried his nose in his his sweater. His eyes
were watering. “It’s one of them. One of the monsters.”
The cage looked empty but there was a rustling and crackling coming from the
plastic pet home next to the hay rack.
Yeah, the hay rack. Something icky was sticking to the yellow and greenish
straw. Liam tried not to look at it too closely.
“Ugh, what is that smell,” Malia said. She was reluctantly coming closer.
“Guys.” Lydia was chuckling. “You’re total drama queens, all of you. Have you
ever been to a farm? Doesn’t smell like roses there either, right? Get a grip,
seriously.”
She quickly unhooked the top grid of the cage, pulled up the little house and,
before they could really see anything, she had picked up her pet and hoisted it
out of the cage.
“Isn’t he beautiful,” she said and pressed the thing into Malias face.
Malia let out a high-pitched shriek. Liam and Mason had quickly jumped out of
Lydia’s reach.
“Oh God, oh God, ew ew ew…” Malia was hopping around the room. “That’s
disgusting. Where on earth did you get that? It smells like it’s been dead for
a week.”
“And why would you keep that in there,” Liam said, his voice muffled by his
sweater.
Lydia looked hurt.
She was stroking Paws’s mangy fur.
It was really hard to watch.
There was something red and gory dripping from its yellow fangs that slowly
made its way down Lydia’s arm.
“I sort of get why you have a rash,” Malia said, her face screwed up in
disgust.
“Ok, Lydia, please don’t get upset. But you have to get rid of that thing,”
Mason said.
“Paws,” Lydia accentuated. She took a step back. Then another.
Liam and Malia looked at each other. Then, because Liam’s face was already
yellowish, Malia nodded.
“Lydia,” she said soothingly. “I want you to hand over Paws. Now.”
Lydia had backed up against the wall, the bunny in her arms breathing rapidly.
Her lips were trembling.
“Guys? Guys what are you doing?”
But Paws had already taken a leap from her arm.
In what seemed like a suicide mission it hurled itself at Malia.
Just weird.
The bunny fell apart before it could reach her face but that had obviously been
its destination because her cheeks, lips and nose ended up sprinkled with gore
and slime. A large part of the mess landed on her beige flats.
“I don’t get how these work,” Mason said, simultaneously disgusted and
fascinated. “Gosh, it exploded right into your face. I bet it did that on
purpose. Malia, are you ok?”
“Eeeeeww!”
Malia was almost crying. She lifted her feet, one after the other, then started
tiptoeing out of the red and black puddle.
She was nothing compared to Lydia though.
The girl had collapsed onto her knees, tears already streaming down her face.
She was running her hands through the heap of blood and flesh, looking
miserable.
“Paws…”
And if Liam hadn’t been throwing up into her paper bin, he would have comforted
her.
 
***
 
Stiles had downed a cup of coffee.
Prepared dinner, enjoyed the meal with his dad, done the dishes and watched TV
with him for an hour or so.
It was almost midnight when he finally climbed the stairs to his room. He was
so tired he swayed a little when he pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his
head. But then, eight cups of coffee can really work magic. Magic, magic,
magic. He was still exhausted but weirdly wired at the same time.
Although nothing had really happened, this had been one of the most stressful,
panic ridden days in his life.
Not nothing, though.
It was with satisfaction that he kept picturing Theo slowly sliding down the
wall in his own blood again and again. He should write Derek a thank-you note
for that mental image.
Stiles had stepped out of his pants. His clothes were strewn all over the
floor.
He looked at himself in the mirror. The scratch marks Theo had left on his
chest, stomach and back the day before had not been as deep as he’d thought.
They were healing already. Instead of ripping open his skin, Theo had made a
few clean cuts that had quickly closed up again. Maybe he’d even helped a
little. Make them seal up more quickly.
Stiles’s face darkened.
Theo had done that on purpose of course. To be able to dig deeper later. Start
slow and gentle and grow more violent with time to keep it interesting as long
as possible.
He’d always been very strict like that. Very principled.
There had to be rules, was the thing.
Stiles slipped one of the old saggy and washed-out shirts over his head that he
only kept because they were so comfortable to sleep in. He shuffled over to his
bed and, without even turning the lights off, fell asleep as soon as he hit the
matress.
 
 
 
 
In his dream he was running.
He couldn’t go any faster, couldn’t breathe anymore, but the end of the street
didn’t seem to come closer.
And he couldn’t breathe.
Stiles’s hands shot up to his throat but there was nothing there, just his
sweaty skin. Stiles could feel his heart beat into his windpipe. Close it up.
Stiles.
His feet kept moving but nothing happened. As if he was running on a treadmill.
A rat race, Stiles.
“Stiles.”
His eyes flew open.
He was wrapped in darkness.
While he wasn’t sure where he was, he immediately knew that voice.
Theo gave him a minute to come back. Become conscious of his own body pressing
into the mattress. His t-shirt sticking to his chest and back.
His blanket had slipped onto the floor, he was shivering.
“You were running again, mh.”
Theo’s voice was soft. Soothing, almost.
Stiles couldn’t see him but he felt a hand on his foot. On his ankle that was
still hurting.
Oh no.
No no no.
He pressed his eyes shut.
Why did he have to be awake for this.
Maybe there was still time to bleed to death. Just get away from here quickly.
“Your heart is beating like crazy already. And we haven’t even started yet.”
The mattress bent under Theo’s weight. He must have climbed onto the bed.
A dark shape was hovering over him now.
Stiles felt Theo’s breath on the cold, sweaty skin of his throat and face.
There was a pause.
Then Theo said, “But it would be a shame not to see your face.”
And he switched on the light.
 
 
 
This is it.
The one scene that lures you into thinking this might be, after all, a romance.
Stiles gets pinned into the mattress, Theo is sitting on his hips. But then you
see Stiles’s shocked expression as his hands slide over his head by themselves,
higher and higher. Ending up glued to the bedposts. Like magic.
And then Theo draws the first drop of blood and he looks less and less human
and Stiles is screaming into his pillow praying that his dad is fast asleep and
you wish this was a movie. So you can take a framegrab. Turn it into a thousand
memes. That escalated quickly. Stuff like that, you’ve seen it before.
Lived through it even.
Pressed into your sofa or sprawled across your bed or, all retro, slouching
against a tree in the park. Looking sophisticated.
When what you’re reading was in fact – no, let me cut you short.
You were thrilled.
I know it.
Stiles though, man.
He can’t take it anymore, you have to understand.
You don’t know where he's coming from. What he’s been through. But it’s vital
that you understand.
Try and picture it now.
Feel his heart pounding.
See that glimmer in ten-year-old Theo’s eyes when he thinks about a new
cruelty. He is sitting next to him in school even.
Stiles has been hyperactive, hypervigilant, in class ever since.
Hear his mother say Stiles? with this frightened little shriek like she doesn’t
know her son anymore when she opens the door to his bedroom and catches a
glimpse of this abominable thing crawling across his lap and then flee from the
light cone falling in from the hallway. Like he’d been swapped and a changeling
is sitting upright in his bed in the dark petting his monster and staring at
her. Already waiting for her before she even opened the door. Watching her.
But he’s beyond fear now.
When he wakes up the next morning after what couldn’t have been more than one
or two hours of sleep, a deadly calmness has settled on his mind.
It’s all making sense now. The thing about this being the sequel.
And they’re all here for him, the monsters, their master and, strangely, this
outcome is relieving. Like a load off his mind.
So he gets up, takes a shower, gulps down his breakfast.
He can do this.
Not forever maybe but he’s lost his sense of time. So it doesn’t matter.
It’s his story after all.
He throws his backpack over his shoulder, steps out of the house and pulls the
door shut behind him.
 
The day is bright and clear, the sky above him empty as he walks over to his
Jeep.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     Steo in school, sterek out in the woods. Sounds about right.
Chapter Notes
     A lot of blabla in this one, sorry about that, guys. And sorry about
     the long wait :x but THANKS again for your support and passionate
     comments, you guys are amazing <3
                                    Stiles.
                       The lighter or the belt, Stiles.
                   Silent and searing, or loud and intense.
                               Which one today?
 
 
You park your car half a mile from the school because you like the way people
raise their heads from their textbooks and halt their conversations when they
see you coming. Even though all these teenagers, they mean nothing.
Just look at them.
Barely eighteen and their brains are full of shit already and you know that
they will be stumbling through life on autopilot, without ever stopping to
think.
But Stiles’s face contorted with pain is something you treasure and come back
to now and again, not too often though, because this feeling – the shivers the
image is still sending through your spine – it will wear out and leave you
wanting.
Craving more of these muffled screams.
The touch of his trembling fingers on your skin as he tries to grab hold of
your arms, jerk your wrists away and make you stop somehow, maybe, but he’s so
far gone already, so much in pain, that there is no strength to his grip.
And the way his lips quiver when you stop and he looks up to you, his cheeks
already stained with tears, and you know that he thinks you don’t know what it
feels like. That’s bullshit, of course, because you do. It’s because you know
exactly where to range fire on the scale of human pain that you usually start
out like that.
It’s neat and easy to regulate.
You’ve tried it on yourself, more than once. You were curious of course, about
this body. So you let the teasing little flame of the lighter dance around your
sensitive skin. Only a few seconds at first, the tip licking your wrist ever so
lightly. But soon you were cooking your index finger or burning through five
dermal layers on your forearm until you were hissing and wreathing and you had
to pull back, let the lighter flick shut again.
People used to call you a monster when, really, all you had was a scientific
interest in the human body and mind.
Stiles though.
He never used to call you that. That’s because he’s always been so much
smarter, on the emotional side.
With Stiles, there is no knowing what to expect. He has no filters. He has no
discourse for people outside of his brain. It’s why he’s so wired all the time.
Full of life.
That’s the thing about him, too, though. No matter how much you like to see him
raw and battered, you can’t do it all the time because it will wear him out,
leave him broken and dead on the inside, useless, just like the others. You
have to find a line, that is.
Torture, to you it’s not an atrocity. It’s a science.
So you learned exactly how much to deal his way with him still staying sane. If
others don’t interfere, that is.
Stiles’s mother?
It wasn’t your fault, it really wasn’t. That had been downright dumb and so
unnecessary.
And whenever you see the lines on his face – his lips pressed together firmly
in unspoken sadness, the frequent critical frown – you can’t help admitting
that he, Stiles, is still perfect, that what they did to him broke him in
exactly the right places but that the story might as well have ended
differently.
And humans, man, they’re so fragile, you know that better than anything. You’ve
been exploring their limits for ages and ages.
Everyone responsible for that particular mistake had to pay but the damage done
to your precious little boy is irreversible and it makes your stomach curl with
white hot rage whenever you think about it. About someone else but you leaving
their mark on his soul.
But not now.
This is your moment.
You stride through the crowd in front of the school, note the heads turning
left and right, and it’s hard not to smile.
About finding this body and making the absolute best of it. You know exactly
how pretty your face is and how these people crave something as beautiful as
you. Showing them what they can never get is worth staying alive for.
There’s Scott and as soon as he sees you he waves. There’s Malia and Kira and
they’re beaming at you and there’s –
There’s Stiles.
Half hidden behind his friends. He is just glaring at you. Pale.
Your gaze is now fixed on his face and it’s difficult, very difficult to break
away and look at the others again. Only let your eyes meet his randomly, like
it’s an accident. Like you haven’t been wanting to see the look on his face
more than anything in the world.
As you draw closer you catch that wet, feverish glimmer in his eyes and you
know it’s his body healing and fighting off infection.
And Scott’s smiling at you, shaking your hand when you join their circle. He
can’t smell his wounds, of course, none of them can. You were very careful to
not cut into his skin too deeply, not yet, and it had been so hard, so hard to
hold back.
It’s with pride that you realize it takes a true master to exert this kind of
controlled power over another’s body and none other than you could have done
it.
It’s what really, truly makes you great even though they’ll never know.
When you look at each of them individually, on the way from Malia to Kira, your
eyes meet Stiles’s again and this dark expression on his face, it’s all for
you. The others would never understand but he’s raw and open in front of you.
It’s like even now you can still hear him screaming and you know he must hear,
feel, the echo of it too, because he lets his gaze drop to the ground, not in
submission, you know that very well, but in defiance and it takes all your
strength, all your concentration, not to grab him and claim him, right then and
there.
You know that the faintest hint of something must have appeared on your face
because Scott says, “Hey, you seem really happy today, Theo, had a great
night?”
Oh, Scott.
Scott, Scott.
“Yes, you can say that again,” you say and run your right hand through your
hair and you can see Malia staring at the muscles on your bare forearm and then
quickly look away, blushing.
Stiles is wearing long sleeves, of course.
“Who’s the lucky lady,” Kira is saying and she smiles at you. Aw, she can be so
sweet. It would be satisfying to rip her eyes out and leave her screaming in a
dark alleyway but wasting like that is only for lower demons who will never
understand the significance of sustainability, so you put on a smirk and reply,
“That’s my little secret. But I can tell you this much – she is great and I
hope I’ll see her again.”
Your frank smile must have been too much for Stiles because he abruptly turns
around and, mumbling something about his stomach, hurries towards the building.
Scott is watching him disappear inside. You can see that he’s worrying about
his friend.
“Something wrong?,” you say.
“Er… no. I mean, yeah, he’s running a fever. Hasn’t been feeling too great
today,” Scott says and then he looks at you with something like… suspicion in
his eyes.
You raise your eyebrows because you feel intrigued. So, Scott is not as stupid
as he looks. He must have heard Stiles’s heartrate quicken earlier, maybe even
noticed how he started sweating.
You wonder how Scott explains away the smell of burnt skin on Stiles but just
then Kira says, “He also burned himself real bad yesterday. He should be at
Urgent Care right now, instead of at school…”
“Burned himself?,” you exclaim and it’s so obviously mocking you’re almost
surprised that these people keep mistaking it for frankness. You would be
surprised, that is, if you didn’t now how good you were.
“Yeah, put his forearm on the stove. Couldn’t you smell it on him?”
You wrinkle your forehead a little bit and put on a face like you’re thinking
about it.
“Now that you mention it… but with that smell of monster in Beacon Hills, it’s
really dificult to say.”
Then you laugh and shake your head like, Oh, this Stiles… and you say, “Man,
someone really needs to watch him. How has he survived all of the shit you’ve
been through?”
Kira is smiling and Malia is laughing because you are but Scott isn’t. His face
has frozen all of a sudden.
“I’ll better go look for him.”
And he turns around and leaves and your eyes follow him, a broad grin on your
face.
You never understood why people would still cling to dear life even when their
bodies are old and broken and useless but this boy, Stiles, has been teaching
you how great every new day can be, how full of anticipation.
The morning sun is blazing, the sky perfect and cloudless, and as you follow
the girls into the building, you can just sense great things lying ahead.
 
 
 
 
And then, to be trembling in your chair from being so close to Stiles without
being able to touch him, being almost high just from knowing how much you’re on
his mind right now while he feigns paying attention to the teacher, it’s all
you ever wanted. It’s foreplay.
It’s perfect bliss.
 
 
 
***
 
Stiles was slouching in his chair, trying hard to concentrate, but there it was
again.
Nausea.
Since he got up that morning he’d been feeling sick to his stomach. He’d
vomited twice within the first thirty minutes of being awake but then forced
down his breakfast nevertheless. His body needed the food to heal. And heal he
would and then think about a way out of this. There had to be one. And this
time, no one would die.
And Theo.
He was sitting next to him again and even though he never looked to his left,
Stiles could feel his presence, could feel Theo’s eyes brush over his body as
if by accident every time he let his gaze wander around the classroom.
And this way of his, this nonchalant smoothness paired with his pretend-frank
smile, it was making the girls crazy and the thought made Stiles want to throw
up again, then and there.
Soon they had to change classrooms for Econ. Theo would now spent an hour
sittting two rows behind him and Stiles didn’t even know if he should feel
relieved about that. He hated how his brain was stuck on the guy while he tried
to not think about last night.
Then again, there wasn’t really that much to think about, or to remember, even.
Just flaring pain and the weight of Theo’s body on his legs. He had been
careful not to look into Theo’s face at first and then, later, he’d been too
dizzy to make out anything around him anymore.
Pain like that, it makes you want to run up walls and tear out your own hair,
only you can’t because Theo keeps you fixated on the bed.
Not being able to move had been the worst of it, worse than the pain even.
When someone touched him all of a sudden, Stiles jumped. Scott had slid his arm
around his shoulders and was now looking at him, face full of worry.
“You don’t look very good, Stiles, you sure you don’t wanna go see a doctor?”
Stiles was going to laugh it off but he just couldn’t get his lips to curl up
into a smile so he just shrugged and wriggled out of Scott’s embrace. Scott was
his best friend, yeah, but right now he couldn’t have anyone touching him.
Theo was watching it all, of course, leaning against his desk, thumbs hooked
into the pockets of his skinnyjeans.
“Scott’s right, you look a little pale, man. You must have caught the flu or
something,” he said.
“Or something,” Stiles mouthed, then made a weird movement with his head that
was a half-hearted mixture of a nod and a shake, and said, “Yeah, I feel like
I’m coming down with something. I’ll lie down when I get home.”
Scott wanted to say something else but then they heard Malia say, “Lydia!” and
they all turned around.
Lydia had silently crept into the classroom and was already unloading books
onto her desk when Malia had spotted her.
“Lydia, I need to talk to you!”
Lydia shot her a hostile glare.
Stiles thought she didn’t look angry as much as – murderous. He knew that look
of course, he’d been in love with her for years before and, let’s just say,
there had been awkward moments.
Then he’d met Malia of course and she had kissed him, voluntarily even, and
he’d fallen for her quickly.
Had wanted to fall for her. It had solved a lot of problems.
Only now, when he looked at her, he felt so far away from her like they were on
two different planets.
Stiles felt a pang of guilt whenever he thought about it. Malia was this
beautiful and cool girl but she wasn’t Lydia and even now when he only had
friendly feelings for Lydia, Malia had never really taken her place in his
heart. Maybe they just weren’t meant to be.
And then there was this way she was looking at Theo. Even now, when she turned
to them with a helpless look, it seemed like she was first and foremost talking
to Theo. Like he could solve all of her problems, everyone’s problems.
“What am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me even though I apologized like a
hundred times.”
“Well, what did you do?,” Stiles said and Malia seemed to realize only now that
he was there too.
He felt anger rise in his throat.
No, it’s not her fault. It’s Theo, don’t take it out on your girl.
“I sort of… killed her pet.”
“You, sorry what?,” said Stiles and Scott just raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah it was really weird. She had this obsession with that bunny and, turned
out it was one of these things. I guess it had been a bunny when she bought it,
somehow, but like – caught it or something. And then got – zombified.”
She shuddered at the thought.
“It fell apart like all over me. So. Freaking. Disgusting.”
“Aah,” said Scott. “I’d been wondering about your-”
“Awful smell? Why thank you,” Malia said sourly. Then she looked at Lydia’s
back. The girl had slumped down into her chair in the first row and they could
tell from the way she had pulled her shoulders up to her ears that she was
clearly mad.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, buy her a new one maybe? And try not to kill it for a change?”
“Haha. You know you would have done the same, Scott. Plus, I didn’t even really
touch it, it sort of fell apart on its own. It was so weird. That she wouldn’t
realize this thing was – well, a thing. Not even when it had turned into a
puddle of gore on her bedroom floor.”
“Yeah, Liam told me about it. Guess we gotta keep an eye on her.”
He lowered his voice.
“It has definitely something to do with her banshee powers. She seems to be
reacting differently to these things than we are. I’ll talk to Deaton about it
later, my shift starts at 5.”
Malia nodded.
“I should buy her new pet. A dog maybe. I’ll never touch or eat rabbit again, I
swear…”
 
 
Stiles was grateful for Lydia being so weird that day because it gave him
something else to think about. Especially when he caught her handing Malia a
note during Econ that said Die, bitch!
The way Lydia had nodded slowly and darkly when Malia was staring at the
writing had been hilarious. To him at least, since he knew that the bunny had
only been a decoy. To confuse Lydia’s banshee powers probably. There was this
particular sentence stuck in his head, echoing through the years. Little Theo’s
voice when he said proudly, All the supernatural creatures bow down to me,
Stiles, except banshees, they’re badass rebels and they’re supposed to warn
people when I come to collect someone and stuff but they almost never do
nowadays.
They almost never do nowadays.
Why was that?
But whatever it was, Theo had obviously thought it wise to take care of Lydia.
So she was a threat somehow. To his little game at least.
Stiles was hoping she was ok but since Theo didn’t look like he was set on
killing this time, maybe everything was going to be alright. As alright as it
could be at least.
When he got up all of sudden, the others turned around. They were having lunch
in the cafeteria but he hadn’t even touched his meal yet.
“I’m going home, I’m super tired,” he said. That wasn’t even a lie, he was so
exhausted he was swaying a little.
Scott nodded and said, “Good idea, just get some rest, ok? Go see the nurse
before you leave.”
He nodded and quickly turned around.
Yeah, maybe getting the nurse to write him a sick note wasn’t such a bad idea.
Keep up the act as long as possible. Plus, he did feel sort of feverish.
 
 
An hour later, Stiles was stumbling along a narrow path seamed with dense
brush. He’d left his Jeep on the edge of the road and set off into the woods.
He’d been home briefly but the sight of his bed had made him back out of his
room again right away. Of course he knew he had to sleep eventually but he
wasn’t ready to give up control again so soon, not yet. Theo would be in school
until five so there was some time at least to regain balance.
He was nibbling at an apple even although he wasn’t hungry at all but he felt
that it might lessen his general shakiness. And being out here in the woods,
away from Beacon Hills, from all the noise and the people, had always calmed
his mind a little. As a kid, he’d often sought refuge under, or even in, a
tree, whenever he’d been helplessly overwhelmed by sensory overload.
Wait a second. You know these trees.
He’d been walking around listlessly for over an hour when he suddenly realized
where he was. In the distance, melting into the darkening sky, was the
blackened shell of the Hale house.
Derek wouldn’t be out here, of course, he’d returned to his apartment downtown
but still, what was wrong with him.
Admittedly, he had been thinking about Derek earlier. But only in terms of, I
wonder what that sourwolf is doing when he’s not creeping around the school.
Working out probably. He had to be at it constantly to keep this body in shape.
Even werewolves had to work out, right?
“Stiles?”
Oh, freaking hell.
There was the man himself gliding out of the shadows like a vampire.
“I though I’d heard someone. What do you want here?”
“I was just walking here minding my own business.”
Dere glared at him.
“Well, you should be minding your own business at school or in your room or
wherever but not here.”
“Who died and made you king of the forest,” Stiles muttered.
“Don’t be childish. It’s dangerous out here. I took down ten of these things
today and I can sense more coming tonight. The whole forest reeks of them.”
Derek looked at him sternly.
Stiles stuck his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.
“Alright, well. Good. So, I’ll just be..” He motioned back in the direction of
his Jeep.
“And you – go on being muscular and - wait, do you work out every day? Because
these abs are just freaking scary, dude, but then again, so is all the rest of
that superhuman beasty - thingthat you got going on there, so nevermind - what
are you laughing about?”
Derek had crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was grinning at Stiles.
“Nothing, you just seem to have snapped back to normal.”
“Yeah, so?” Stiles didn’t know why but when talking to Derek he always fell
into defensive mode pretty quickly.
“Nothing. I’m just glad about it.”
Stiles opened his mouth to say something but Derek’s frank smile puzzled him so
much he couldn’t come up with a witty retort.
“Even though you do look like crap.”
And there he was again.
“Please,” Stiles said. “You usually look like you’re a vampire, you know, skin-
wise, even though you should totally – wait, there’s no vampires, right?”
“Never heard of any.”
Derek was still grinning.
“Come on, you hyperactive little punk…”
“Wha- where?”
“Back to your Jeep. You obviously need to rest. Or eat something.”
“No! No, I mean, I’d rather walk around here for a bit. Seriously, I’m pretty
sure there’s no monsters here. None. Whatsoever. Yeah, I’d say this part here
is definitely safe.”
“You think? And then you’d do what?”
“Just… just… enjoying the fresh air and – looking at the trees and – I don’t
have to explain myself to you!”
Derek raised his eyebrows. Then he shrugged.
“Ok, let’s go back to the house. If you’re dead set against driving back now
you should at least not stay outside.”
He nodded in the direction of the Hale house.
“I just did some cleaning and I think I saw a few packs of spaghetti and canned
tomatoes in the kitchen.”
“You clean? Wait, there’s a working kitchen in there?”
Derek just rolled his eyes.
 
 
Yes, the kitchen was definitely working.
Stiles was sitting at the table, staring at Derek who busily set to preparing
an early dinner, like he knew what he was doing.
Usually, he would have teased him mercilessly because, come on, Derek Hale in
an apron? Please. But right now, he was far too tired for that and the colors
of the table and kitchen counter stung in his eyes. He blinked several times
but it only got worse.
Derek’s voice rose and faded and Stiles wondered what this house had been like
before Derek’s family had been killed. He hadn’t been a happy teenager, that
was for sure, but maybe he’d been a happy little boy.
Well, then again, maybe not.
He wondered what Derek had been like as a kid.
Stiles snorted at the idea of a gloomy little guy in the sandbox, throwing away
his sand pail because he couldn’t work with the other kids staring at him.
Derek glared at him and slammed a steaming plate of spaghetti down onto the
table in front of Stiles.
“Are you losing your mind?”
“Sorry, I just – nevermind…”
When he started eating he realized how hungry he was.
Derek just stared when Stiles emptied his plate in less than five minutes and
then craned his neck to check if there was more on the counter.
“Don’t you get anything to eat at home? You’re like a… famished puppy. Go
ahead, there’s more.”
He shook his head when Stiles downed the second helping exactly as fast as the
first one.
“Wow, mherek, you’m veary a goog cook,”
“If you hate chewing so much, fine, but at least swallow before you talk, ok?”
Stiles gulped down his last bite and coughed.
“And exactly what did you think I was doing when I was hungry?,” Derek added.
“Dunno… gut a deer?”
Derek let out a snorting laugh.
He collected the dishes and got up.
“But I meant to talk to you anway, Stiles, we might as well do that now.”
“Whaddup, sourwolf.”
“It’s about Theo.”
It was like something had yanked Stiles back to reality brutally. He realized
that he hadn’t thought about Theo once during the past hour. Now, of course…
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Derek set down the dishes, turned around and looked at him earnestly.
“You’re not really dating Theo, right? Come on, Stiles…”
“Why would that be so – hard to believe? Because being gay is something you
choose?”
He was getting defensive again.
“No,” Derek said, grimacing. “Of course not. Because you’re about the worst
liar I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
“Oh.”
"...and for all I care, you can mess around with whoever you like," Derek added
in a low-voice. He had turned around and was piling the dishes into the sink.
Derek was right about him being awful at lying but he needed to believe him,
just this once. He had to because he was Derek and because he would do
something utterly stupid and reckless if he found out who Theo was and it would
get him majorly killed.
Stiles was still puzzled by the fact that Theo had let Derek get away last time
but he figured that had only been because he’d just returned. Even now, all his
attention was still on Stiles. After a while, however, he would go looking for
other playthings, Stiles knew that, and he would make sure that at least none
of his friends got in his way.
So he said, “Stay out of it, Derek, ok?”
The brief surge of cheerfulness was definitely gone. He got up, ignoring that
sinking feeling in his stomach. It was like reality came crushing back, hitting
him hard, but he was so tired. So, so tired.
“Thanks for late lunch – or really early dinner. Gotta get home…”
Stiles was already out in the hallway when Derek said, “Strip.”
“What?”
Stiles stopped and turned around.
He must have misheard but he was almost certain that Derek had just said-
“Strip.”
Derek was leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed.
Stiles stared at him.
Derek started looking gloomier by the second.
“I said. Strip,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Wha-”
“Take off your shirt. Now.”
Wow. Derek could go from sort of cheerful to scary, inarticulate and crazy
really fast.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I just want you to prove to me that you’re gay.”
Stiles’s stared at him, mouth open, his cheeks slowly reddening, but Derek
rolled his eyes.
“Relax, I was joking. You smell like burnt skin and blood and I want to know
why.”
“I put my arm on the stove by accident. It’s not a big deal,” he muttered,
avoiding Derek’s eyes.
“Stiles,” Derek said, “come on. How dumb do you think I am?”
“I’m telling the truth, for Christ’s sake, why do you even care?!”
“You’re pack.”
As simple as that.
“Bye, Derek,” Stiles said but before he could turn around Derek was at his
side. He had grabbed Stiles’s arm to keep him from leaving, Derek-style.
Stiles should have seen that one coming but he really didn’t. Derek’s firm grip
on his badly burnt skin sent an unexpected flash of pain through his arm. He
yelped and his knees gave out.
Without thinking, Derek reached out and caught him by the shoulders which made
Stiles wince and whimper even more.
Derek immediately let go of him and Stiles’s knees hit the floor.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles muttered. He was breathing hard.
There was a pause and Stiles’s thoughts were racing. He needed a plausible
explanation. He fell down the stairs? He’d been making out with Theo and they’d
accidentally fallen down the stairs together? Or, he wasn’t actually dating
Theo but Theo was crazy about him and he’d been so annoyed by Theo that he
hadn’t been paying attention while preparing dinner. Yeah, that sounded
plausible. It wasn’t so far from the truth either. Except that Theo had no
sexual interest in him. And that kiss – well, whatever that had been.
But just when he opened his mouth to give Derek his long-ass hyper-plausible
explanation, Derek moved. Stiles only saw it from the corner of his eyes and
before he could do anything, his shirt was being yanked off his body.
The fabric scraped over his burnt skin painfully.
“Good God. What in God’s freakin’ – Stiles, what the hell?!”
Stiles just sat there, still on his knees. He didn’t dare look up to Derek
because, for some reason, he was ashamed.
“I…,” he started.
“Don’t give me ‘I’m into some weird shit,’ Stiles!,” Derek spit out. Stiles
felt Derek's eyes dart across his naked chest and stomach netted with thin
cuts. He knew the burns on his upper and lower arms looked really bad too. He’d
been feeling them every second of the day.
“Theo,” Derek said.
It wasn’t a question.
“No, he-”
“Stiles! What is wrong with you? Why would you cover for this piece of shit?,”
Derek yelled.
“Because.”
Tears were shooting into his eyes and Stiles hated himself for it. But he was
so tired. He’d been an inch away from breaking anyway and Derek screaming at
him definitely did the trick.
And he was so tired.
“Because you’d interfere and then he’d kill you, he’d slowly torture you to
death, all of you, just to punish me because that’s what he does, it’s what
he’s always done.”
He let his head drop to his chest and prayed that Derek didn’t see the tears
drop onto his naked stomach.
“So just stay out of it all, Derek. Please.”
Stop talking, Stiles.
Don’t lose control now, don't give in.
Because Theo, he will know.
He always does.
Derek didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then he chucked Stiles’s shirt at
him and said, “Don’t put it on, yet. We have to treat those burns.”
Stiles hurriedly wiped his face and tried to calm down.
It’s difficult to stop once you started crying, is the thing.
Derek didn’t comment on Stiles’s puffy cheeks when he came back five minutes
later. He just gestured for him to follow, so Stiles got up and did.
Soon, they were sitting next to each other on a large sofa in front of an empty
fireplace and Derek was carefully dabbing iodine onto Stiles’s cuts and burns.
Stiles whimpered every time he touched his skin.
He was also blushing, which utterly confused him. It was such a weird
situation, being nursed by Derek Hale, but he couldn’t deny that it felt good.
Safe, somehow, after Theo’s rough treatment.
Stiles wondered what time it was. He didn’t want Theo to show up here and
Stiles knew he would. But he didn’t feel ready to face the world of pain that
Theo would plunge him into again soon. Derek’s words startled him out of his
thoughts.
“This is really bad, Stiles. Some of these are deep. That must’ve hurt like
hell.”
Stiles didn’t respond. The word torture hadn’t actually fallen yet and he meant
to keep it that way.
“Let me get some bandages to put around your arms. Some of these look infected
already, maybe you better show them to a doctor tomorrow…”
He walked out of the room again and Stiles had half a mind to just leave but he
couldn’t bring himself to get up from the sofa.
And wow, Derek could be really nice and his aftershave smelt great. And he
seemed worried, sort of. Stiles knew he was, because the other man had said
little but had been as careful as possible not to hurt him. And he hadn’t asked
him any more questions.
And that sofa was damn comfortable. But he couldn’t let his guard down. He’d
have to go back home soon and he would have to be ready, prepared.
Unfeeling.
 
“I couldn’t find bigger ones, these will have to be enough,” Derek said when he
walked into the room, and then stopped short. Stiles had face-planted into the
sofa, one arm draped over the backrest, chin buried in the fuzzy fabric.
 
He was fast asleep.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Summary
     Coach yells at Stiles, Theo is being hormonal, Lydia is being a
     bitch, Derek is being a great cook and Stiles is being suicidal.
     So not much happening here.
Chapter Notes
     sorry for the long wait, guys; next chapter will be faster, I promise
     <3 please bear with me <3
Stiles was panting.
It was the perfect day to be working on his Jeep but he was running late.
He was hurrying along neat rows of hedges and the school building was slowly
drawing closer but it was already five minutes into the first period.
Econ.
Great.
Coach would probably be yelling at him for the rest of the time when he finally
got there.
Stiles’s ankle was radiating pain through his body but running like that, it
felt good.
He zigzagged around a jogger in a blue track suit and his shaggy dog and darted
through the gates, just barely maintaining his balance.
Just imagine he’d face-planted onto the asphalt. That would’ve been painful.
And awkward.
Of course, blurting into the classroom with his face on fire half a minute
later, sweating like a menopausal soccer mum, was a wholly different kind of
awkward.
“Stilinksi-,” Coach started, apparently so outraged at the interruption, and
his tardiness, and his laziness, his squeaky soles, and the lack of an apology
that he couldn’t decide which of these villainies to single out for a rant. So
he shut his mouth again and just stared at him, furiously.
Stiles slid behind his desk, shoulders pulled all the way up to his ears and
tried hard not to look at anyone in particular and explicitly not at Coach.
That was the only rule. Never look him in the eye after you managed to make him
this mad this early in the day.
His heart was pounding against his ribcage and now that he was sitting down he
felt like his face was melting. He tried to keep his legs still but that
wouldn’t help much if his head popped off his body.
He was already floating a few inches above his torso.
It was only when his heartrate had settled at a more bearable pace that he
managed to get a grip on some of the thoughts racing through his head.
Couch had fallen into one of his anger-spiked monologues and barked
“Stilinksi!” only at the end of every third or fourth sentence to point out
that Stiles’s behavior would yet have consequences, and Stiles was thinking
about Derek.
He couldn’t believe Derek hadn’t thrown him out of the house.
He couldn’t believe that instead of returning to his apartment downtown, Derek
had actually stayed with him, curling up under blanket on the floor – the
freaking floor – after calling the Sheriff so he wouldn’t worry about his son.
He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep and slept for twelve hours straight.
He couldn’t believe Derek had put two old plaid blankets on him. Not one, two.
They’d been the first thing he’d smelled when he’d woken up, disoriented, hair
disheveled, blinking into the sunlight. Then he’d smelled the bacon.
He couldn’t believe how – nice Derek had been.
Not mean or cold or violent or resentful and just barely grumpy.
Then they’d set out for Stiles’s car. No use taking the Camaro, she would’ve
gotten stuck within minutes. Too bad Derek didn’t drive a Ford Anglia.
So, for like thirty minutes Stiles had just shuffled through the leaves next to
Derek, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders pulled up to his
ears. Embarassed, sort of. Both of them, probably.
Like two random people who suddenly found themselves stuck with each other.
But then, not just any two people though.
Stiles could never relax with Derek.
But he must have, somehow, was the thing.
You don’t just fall asleep, basically in the middle of a conversation with
someone you’re not comfortable with.
Stiles grimaced and started scribbling down random words, pretending to take
notes.
This guy.
He’d all been like, ‘Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I fell asleep on your moldy
sofa.’
And then Derek, annoyingly, had not taken offense.
Which was clearly against the established rules of the Stiles-Derek-love-hate-
relationship.
He’d just muttered a short reply.
We’re pack.
Just the three words.
Or, well, two, maybe. He wasn’t sure. Right now, he didn’t really have the
nerve for linguistics.
“Stilinksi!”
Stiles jumped. There was stifled laughter from the back rows. Giggling. As if
being a teenager wasn’t hard enough without everyone scrutinizing you all the
time.
He tried not to put on too sour a face and scrambled back into his chair.
Man, he really needed to have his wits together during Econ.
 
 
“You alright?”
Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder, then let his hand linger and squeezed it.
As if he wanted to check just how much meat Stiles had on his bones. Luckily,
Scott had caught a spot that was not still burning so Stiles managed to not
flinch.
He nodded and tried to relax while Scott looked him over with his worried-dad-
expression.
So annoying.
“So why do you smell like-”
Scott lowered his nose onto Stiles’s purple hoodie.
Stiles screwed back his head.
“Dude, way too close.”
“Mothballs? And Grandma Pattie’s towels.”
“You mean like lavender and stuff? Yeah, I fell asleep under a pile of old
blankets.”
“Derek keeps his blankets perfumed lavender?”
“Yeah I – wait, what-”
Scott dragged him out of the classroom, grinning. Second period was chemistry,
first floor, at the other end of the hallway.
“Derek called me late last night to tell me that you’re at his place.”
Stiles blinked a few times.
“So why on earth would he do that.”
Scott was grinning apparently enjoying the uncomfortable look on his best
friend’s face. And isn’t that what best friends are for?
“Dunno, man, he just said you guys had dinner and then rented a movie.”
“What?! What the-”
Stiles swallowed and took a deep breath, too outraged to say anything for a
second or two.
“That lying filthy-”
“Relax, it was a joke… ha, you should’ve seen your face. He actually didn’t say
much, just that you passed out on his chouch after he found you rumbling
through the forest like a lost puppy.”
“His exact words?”
“Yup.”
“Figured.”
Stiles bit his tongue, fuming. Uncomfortable even, a little. And not just from
biting his tongue.
For whatever reason, he would have liked to keep the whole falling asleep and
drooling onto Derek’s sofa a secret.
“So, you spent the night at Derek’s.”
Oh, alright.
That’s why.
They were about to take their seats for the second period and Theo had closed
up to them. He wasn’t lounging in his chair, or running his hand through his
hair or any of the smug things he usually did.
As a matter of fact, he seemed tense.
Alert, the way he kept his arms by his sides without relaxing his muscles.
Keyed-up.
But maybe Stiles was just imagining it. Because he knew him so well, Theo.
Or used to, at least.
Let’s leave it at that, you don’t even have to think about it. About the way
your skin is still hurting and sore and cut up under the bandages.
Don’t go down that road.
“Hi, Theo, you here,” Stiles said, hoarsely.
He’d somehow managed to disconnect the pain on his arms and chest from Theo and
he’d rather it stayed like that, thank you very much.
It was then that he realized how much Derek had managed to take his mind off
Theo.
And that Theo hadn’t paid them a visit at the Hale house.
Yeah, why was that?
From the way Theo was staring at him now, Stiles wasn’t too sure Theo hadn’t
meant to.
What was up with that?
They took their seats when Mrs. Martin walked into the classroom. Theo lingered
for a few seconds as if he wanted to say something, then turned around and
slowly walked to his seat.
 
 
Stiles had to wait for lunch break to find out more. Not that he’d really
wanted to.
Especially not like that.
Not with his face slammed into the wall of the boys’ locker room. His cheek
pressed against the tiles and, God, who knows when someone had last cleaned
there. Not that that was the most pressing problem. He could already feel a bad
bruise coming on on his left cheek bone.
“Where were you,” Theo spit out. His fingers dug into Stiles’s wrist and
shoulder and, of course, Theo had placed his hands exactly in the right spots.
“Ow ow ow not at home and why would you care,” Stiles mumbled, breathing
against the tiles.
Theo let go of him and Stiles spun around, rubbing his cheek.
“Were you with Phanuel? No that can’t be, he can’t be down here anymore. I’ll
ask you one last time, Stiles, where were you?!”
Stiles was just staring at Theo. There was a ringing in his ears and an image
in his mind. 
A man getting up from his place at the kitchen table, putting his dad’s
crossword away and saying, Stiles.
Stiles.
“Stiles!”
Theo looked at him for another one or two seconds and then jumped at him.
Stiles’s back was being slammed into the tiles and he had pressed his eyes
shut, tensed up his whole body because he knew it was going to happen.
A moment later, his eyes flew open again.
What he had not expected was the wetness on his lips as Theo’s tongue pressed
into his mouth urgently. Hungrily even.
But there was no one behind Theo, this time, or in the doorway. No one except
the rows of dirty blue lockers and benches and the cool tiles pressing against
his spine as Theo kissed him violently.
When he bit down on his lip, Stiles pushed him away.
“What is wrong with you?! Are you a friggin’ vampire now?”
His index finger had found the spot on his lip, pressing against it now. The
blood was on Theo’s lips and chin as well.
And Theo, he raised his eyebrows. He seemed calmer now, more relaxed.
“What, do you want me to go back to our usual routine? Stiles, is that what you
want?”
“N-no, I didn’t mean-”
“No, we can do that.”
Theo rubbed his hands together and let his knuckles crack, the sound shooting
through Stiles’s body like an electric shock. A sound his own bones would be
making if he didn’t think of a way out of here soon.
He could just call for help? Or, something less embarrassing, like Fire! Fire!
And yet, he just stood there, frozen and pale, staring at Theo as if waiting
for him to make his next move.
Panicking already.
“So let’s just assume you were at Derek’s. What would you want there?”
Stiles just shook his head, his lips refusing to let out words.
“Mh, Stiles? When you knew we had an appointment.”
“Ha!,” Stiles finally managed and then, voice cracking up, “As if I – I-”
Theo had put his hand under Stiles’s chin.
“You what?”
Stiles was staring into Theo’s eyes, that pretty face and was he – no,
impossible.
Jealous?
And if so, was that a good or a bad thing?
Theo was stroking his cheek now.
“That’s going to turn into a bad bruise, beloved… unless…”
Stiles felt the spot warm up and he knew the redness was gone.
He’d always thought it ironic, that the devil could get his body to heal.
You would think he would only be capable of destruction, but really, healing is
not necessarily always a good thing. And good and evil, Stiles had abandoned
this terminology a long time ago and started to think more in categories of
cruel and empathic.
Or, cruel and empathic, the scariest of all.
Like Theo who was pressing his body into his now and, oh God, Stiles could feel
it again pushing into his hips, something hard.
He wasn’t sure if he preferred asexual monster-child Theo or – or this,
whatever the hell this was.
The next kiss was soft and almost gentle and then Theo was breathing against
his throat.
“I never knew you would be intoxicating on this level as well, Stiles… your
heart is beating so fast.”
Stiles didn’t dare move.
At least, no pain this time, right?
Only, then Theo’s hand slipped into his pants. His fingers squeezing around the
waistband, then feeling their way down his boxer shorts, feeling for-
“What the fuck are you – Theo, stop that, what the hell-”
He was trying to push him back like before but Theo clearly wanted to stay
where he was this time.
When his hand closed around Stiles’s dick, Stiles felt nauseous.
So that’s what this was going to be.
 
 
 
It hadn’t worked.
Stiles just wouldn’t get hard which had made Theo mad. He’d started jerking him
off with a firm grip and rather roughly and Stiles was whimpering and feeling
deeply uncomfortable and just wanted to vanish but didn’t dare move and then
the bell had rung.
The look on Theo’s face when he led his hand slide out of Stiles’s pants and
stepped back from him, though.
Stiles had just turned around mechanically, his feet carrying him out the door.
Nothing had happened but he felt violated.
But he should be glad, right?
Theo hadn’t crushed his hand or broken his leg.
And his cheek was pale and soft and definitely not purple but, for some reason,
it still hurt a little.
Soon Stiles was sitting in class again, trying hard to focus on the blackboard
but it was even more difficult than usual.
 
 
And then his pencil dropped to the floor.
There was a clutter and everyone turned around and looked at him and his
teacher said “Mr. Stilinski,” and Stiles mumbled “sorry, sorry” and inelegantly
scrambled to the floor to pick it up again.
He climbed back into his chair, cheeks reddening and heart beating fast.
That weird dude in his kitchen, he’d said something else.
And Stiles had just remembered what it was.
 
 
***
 
 
“So, Lydia… you alright again?”
Scott was looking at Lydia who was looking at her face in her make-up mirror.
“Lydia?”
She let the mirror click shut and met his eyes, a sour expression on her face.
“First you drag me to the library, then you interrogate me. What is this
supposed to mean, Scott McCall?”
Scott blinked.
“Scott McCall?”
“Yes,” Lydia said icily, “that’s your name isn’t it?”
“Yeah but – what’s wrong with you?”
“Listen, Scott McCall. I don’t have time to babysit you. We’re in a war.”
“In a what now?”
“War, Scott. War.”
“Ok? You mean the monsters, right? Because I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“I mean,” Lydia said, slowly, “that bitch.”
Scott turned around to follow the hostile glare Lydia shot over his right
shoulder. Malia and Kira had just entered the library. Kira waved and Malia
threw them a pained look and then they vanished behind a row of shelves.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never kid, Scott McCall. Never,” Lydia said haughtily.
“Lydia, you do know that Malia didn’t mean to kill your pet.”
“Paws.”
“Paws, right.”
“And yet, she did.”
Lydia was looking at him, strawberry red lips pursed, and Scott wondered how
the hell he was supposed to get her back to normal.
Why was it that Lydia was always the first one to freak out when something bad
was happening or about to happen? She was a great indicator for catastrophe,
really, but what did it mean?
Ok, change of plans.
“What do you know about Theo?,” Scott said when Lydia was about to get up. She
turned to him, purse in her lap.
“Who?”
“Theo. Raeken. Hanging out with us every day, good looks, sort of smug…”
“Oh yeah. Not much. Is he on the Lacrosse team?”
“No?”
“Is he on any team? At all?”
“No?”
“Then I’m not interested, sorry. See you around, Scott McCall.”
She flung her hair over her shoulder, threw him a final, condescending look and
strutted out of the library like the queen of Beacon Hills.
Scott was staring at her back and curly hair wipping with every step.
Maybe, just maybe, she was alright. This had always been Lydia’s normal after
all.
 
 
Lydia stepped out of the building five minutes later. She smiled at the guy who
was holding the door for her.
“Do we take your car?”
“No honey, not today. Did Scott say anything?”
“Not much but he’s getting suspicious.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“I think.”
“Then we have to do something. Eventually at least. I’ll keep you updated about
the next steps. And keep an eye on that Malia girl.”
Lydia nodded, beaming at him. Usually she wouldn’t just take commands from
anyone but with him, that was different. It made her proud.
That he had chosen her of all people.
He’d needed a banshee, yes, but there were other banshees around. Presumably.
But he’d sought out, specifically asked for, her.
That must mean something.
Right?
 
 
When Stiles walked out of the school, Derek was already there.
He was leaning against the Jeep, hands in his tight black jeans.
Stiles nodded and Derek nodded back. Smooth. That was going to be a ride full
of chatting and laughter.
“So, did Theo bother you today?,” was the first thing Derek said when they had
pulled the doors shut.
Stiles started the engine and said, “Yeah, briefly. He was furious because he
couldn’t find me last night. Apparently. But nothing happened,” he added when
he saw the worried look on Derek’s face.
Pff, Derek Hale, worried. About him, too. Hilarious, right?
“So, you think the Hale house is somehow off his radar?”
Stiles shrugged and steered out of the parking lot.
“Maybe… thing is, he can usually go anywhere he wants, alright? If you knew
what he was, then – well, it’s not normal for him to not get what he wants, is
what I’m saying.”
“So what is he?”
Stiles could feel Derek’s piercing gaze scrutinizing every inch of his face and
it made him really uncomfortable so he just shrugged.
After a few moments, Derek turned to look out the window.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” he simply said.
Stiles swallowed. There was this lump in his throat all of a sudden and it made
his eyes water. What the hell.
Stiles pulled out onto Main and shifted into the second gear.
The last thing he saw before turning onto Fourth Street was Theo walking into
the middle of the road in his rear-view mirror.
 
 
Stiles followed Derek inside the half-burnt shell of his family home.
“What’s that smell?”
Derek turned around, actually looking embarrassed.
“Er…. that’s lasagna.”
“Lasagna?”
“Yeah, I made lasagna.”
“You made lasagna?”
“You don’t have to repeat everything I say,” Derek muttered.
Stiles shook his head.
“Er, yeah, sorry, I was just – did you really make lasagna?”
“Why, don’t you eat lasagna?” He sounded pissed and his face had gone back to
grumpy.
“No, I love lasagna,” Stiles said quickly, “it was just, I didn’t think you had
a working oven here, I really didn’t, also, did you make that before or after I
texted you?”
Derek just shrugged and walked into the kitchen.
 
 
And it was splendid. Derek was the best cook ever, as good as Stiles’s mom
probably even and Stiles felt sorry when he thought about the microwave dinner
his dad was going to have.
Then he thought about his dad teasing him earlier and he felt less sorry all of
a sudden. He could really be a mean old man sometimes.
Shouldn’t you be spending time with other teenagers instead of a 25-year-old
man? Or with your girlfriend?, his dad had said after Derek had climbed into
Stiles's Jeep again. He could hear all the way across the yard so he must also
have heard the Sheriff add, He’s at least as good-looking as Malia though, so I
sort of get it, son.
Stiles had blushed wildly and tried to explain to his dad what it meant to be
in a pack but his dad had just laughed and slapped Stiles’s shoulder and told
him his funny bone must be broken.
His dad could be such a – dad sometimes.
When Stiles got into the Jeep, a gloomy look on his face, Derek was grinning.
He was laughing a lot about him lately.
Like right now.
Just because Stiles ate so fast that he regularly choked on his food. And had
the table manners of a wildling. But he really didn’t see what was so funny
about that.
“I take it you like my cooking?”
“Mmffegthelennt,” Stiles said. Then he chewed as fast as he could because his
phone was buzzing.
He gulped down the whole bite, coughed and said, “Stilinski here?”
“Stiles?”
Stiles’s face fell. It was Malia. And she was crying.
“Are you ok? Did something happen?”
“Yeah,” Malia sobbed. “Yeah, I – I need to tell you something.”
“Ok?”
Stiles’s heart was pounding all of a sudden.
In his head a memory from that afternoon was re-playing. Theo was walking out
onto the road again, slowly, only this time, Stiles could see his face.
He was smiling.
“I slept with Theo,” Malia was saying now, “and I’m so sorry.”
Stiles heard Derek turn in his chair but he didn’t care. He knew there were
tears on his cheeks but all that mattered now was-
“Malia, are you with Theo right now?”
“No, he left. Stiles, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I was so upset because of
Lydia and he was so nice to me. He drove me home and – and it just happened.”
“Did he hurt you?”
He knew his voice sounded strained.
“No. No, he didn’t. I wanted it.” Malia was still sobbing.
“I want to break up with you, Stiles. This has been coming on for a long time
now, you know it has, and I care so much about you but it’s just – we haven’t
had sex in ages, Stiles and it’s – it’s not working out.”
“Are you with Theo now?”
“No, I – I don’t know. It was just sex and I – I want to be on my own… Stiles?”
“Stiles?,” Derek said but Stiles was already out the door.
He’d dropped the cellphone and sprinted out to his Jeep. Derek had to walk back
to town if he must, it wasn’t that far, and Stiles really didn’t want him to
come along.
He wanted to kill Theo and he needed to do it on his own.
 
 
Theo, of course, couldn’t be killed and even though Stiles knew that punching
the smug grin out of his stupid face felt amazing.
“I knew you’d come. I probably didn’t even have to text you my address. You
would have found me anyway, right?,” Theo said. Then he spit out a mouthful of
blood and wiped his face with the sleeve of his black hoodie.
Instead of replying, Stiles jumped at him again. He knocked Theo from his feet,
put his knees on his chest and started hitting his face.
If he couldn’t kill him he wanted to hurt him at least, wanted to make him
scream for mercy but all Theo did was laugh.
His teeth were all bloody und his face was starting to get puffy but his eyes
were bright.
“That’s the spirit, Stiles…”
Stiles stopped and slid off Theo’s chest, mostly because his hands were
burning.
“You had no right – that was not the deal…”
Theo groaned and sat up. His face was already healing but there was blood
everywhere.
“You broke the deal, Stiles. You got away from me. How dare you get away from
me?”
The smile had vanished from Theo’s face.
“I looked everywhere for you. I was worried about you.”
“Worried?”
Stiles blinked.
“What are you fucking mad?”
“Mh,” Theo said and shook his head in disbelief. “You really despise me.”
“What the hell did you think, you dirty fucking bastard?! That we could be
friends?!”
Stiles was yelling now.
Theo took a deep breath. His face had healed completely and he wiped off the
rest of the blood with a towel he had brought along.
“Ok, you’re not ready yet. That’s ok, I understand.”
“You under-… what the-”
“Alright, let’s get this out of the way. I’ll leave your friends alone if you
promise to never talk to Derek Hale again.”
“What?”
Stiles picked himself up, grimacing. “You really are nuts. What do even care?”
“I – don’t. I was ok with Malia, alright? The two of you fooling around like a
bunch of – well, teenagers. But this Derek guy – I just don’t like the way he’s
looking at you. That’s all. I know you want to make me mad but – you don’t have
to go that far and get yourself into danger like that.”
Stiles just stared at him. He couldn’t believe it.
Theo had slept with Malia to get back at him.
To get back at him for making him jealous.
Theo actually thought Stiles was playing with him.
That was a whole new level of insane but it gave Stiles an unexpected
advantage.
A weapon.
“Yeah? Well… I’d rather spend time with Derek than with anyone else right now,”
he said, closely watching Theo’s face.
And there it was again.
His smile, stiffening a little.
“Don’t lie to me, Stiles.”
Funny thing was – he wasn’t and he knew Theo could tell.
So let’s play this little game.
“I feel safe with Derek, and better than I could ever feel with you. Do you
even know what that is, caring for someone?”
“I care about you, Stiles,” Theo said frankly and it made Stiles laugh loudly
and bitterly. All of this was so sick and twisted, he couldn’t even.
“You don’t know anything, Lucifer. Taking a human body doesn’t make you human.”
“Makes me more human than you would think,” Theo growled. “It makes me long for
you, Stiles.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I long for someone else.”
Now that was an obvious lie but Theo – he looked pained. Like Stiles’s words
had actually hurt him and it was all Stiles had ever wanted.
He didn’t care about later or tomorrow, he just wanted that expression on
Theo’s face to last, to deepen, so he said, “Ever since I first saw Derek I
thought about what it would feel like to touch his body and you know what?
Beating the crap out of you is sort of dull but punching Derek would be – the
most delicious thing imaginable. Yeah, you know… touching that smooth skin and
these rock-hard abs…”
There. That was the only language Theo could understand.
And he couldn’t tell Stiles was lying because his face had fallen and he looked
almost miserable now.
Why couldn’t he tell Stiles was lying?
What was it about Derek that made Theo feel so threatened and alert and
disoriented?
But whatever the hell it was, Stiles didn’t care. He was in control now and it
felt better than he ever thought possible.
“Sorry, buddy. What you were talking about, it’s being in love, even though you
probably don’t realize that, fucked-up king of hell that you are. And none of
your cheap tricks could make me fall for you.”
Also because he was straight, obviously, but since that would ruin his line of
argumentation Stiles chose to not point that out to Theo. And being who he was,
Theo might go ahead and claim a female body. Lydia's, for instance, and Stiles
couldn't let that happen. No, it was perfect the way it was now.
Theo looked hurt and Stiles greedily took that image in. He knew he had to
savor every moment because what would come after would be bad, really bad.
But it would be worth it.
And Theo was already looking gloomier and angrier. Less vulnerable and more
dangerous. His eyes were flaring yellow, “You know I can take Derek Hale away
from you and let him rot in the darkest corner of hell.”
“Hello, didn’t you just listen to me? Hurting my friends will only make you
more – more insignificant to me.”
“Does it… well… then there’s nothing I can do, right?”
“Nothing. Maybe be a little – less murderous.”
And maybe that was it. The magic key. The way out of this.
Maybe, if he just tried carefully – slowly and convincingly –
“We might – you know, everything might change if you wanted it to, Theo.
Lucifer.”
There was a pause. Theo had let his head drop onto his chest and for a wild and
crazy moment Stiles thought he was crying. But a second later he knew he had
made a mistake, a big big mistake, because Theo was obviously laughing, softly
at first. Then he threw his head back into his neck and roared with laughter
and he looked more like a madman than he’d ever done before and Stiles felt his
confidence slowly fade.
“Oh Stiles… Stiles, Stiles. I could do all that but it would be so unbearably
tedious.”
When Theo stopped laughing all the hurt and anger had vanished from his face
and he was smooth and cool again, smiling at him like nothing had happened.
Like his mask hadn’t just slipped the tiniest bit and Stiles was sweating.
He knew it was all falling apart and he'd probably just sacrificed Derek for
five satisfying minutes of revenge.
The only person he hated more than Theo was he, Stiles, himself.
Theo was slowly drawing closer until his face was a mere five inches away from
Stiles’s. Then he grabbed Stiles's left wrist and yanked it up to his face.
There was something thin and silver in Theo’s right hand all of a sudden and
Stiles’s stomach turned when he saw that it was a meat hook.
The kind you put into pigs and cows to pull them up into the air, suspend their
tortured bodies and let them bleed out.
Theo looked at it and pressed the metal against his cheek. He closed his eyes,
tilting his head a little to the right as if the hook was a fluffy pillow. He
opened his eyes and looked at it again and smiled.
Then he ran it through Stiles’s hand.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Summary
     Characters relaxing in various places and positions. Theo gets a
     slightly longer pause than everyone else.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you guys for your support and kudos and wonderful comments! I
     love reading your suggestions. You guys are the best <3
     edit: sorry to keep you waiting for an update - there will be a new
     chapter in the not so distant future :) personally, I can't wait to
     let Theo work on Stiles, finally, but that might just be the desire
     of my own twisted mind...
You’re panting.
Hot pain is radiating through your whole body but it feels right, to be running
like that.
You know you can’t go very far what with you having lost lots of blood but
soon, none of this will matter anymore.
It’s the perfect day to be working on your Jeep but you’re already running
late.
You need to get there in time and it’s about Derek, something bad.
If the sunlight didn’t sting in your eyes so much you would be able to actually
see where you’re going and – what?
What did you say?
No, it wasn’t you who said it but someone else, not Derek, and he’s whispering
into your ear, sweet things, saying your name over and over again.
“That’s right, Stiles. That’s good. Bleed into me.”
And there’s this guy behind him, a guy in a blue track suit, and you must be
hallucinating because your Jeep is blue and you were just thinking about your
Jeep. You force your eyes open and then there’s no one there but Theo and
you’re not running but you wish you were.
You wish you were but you know you’re really dangling from an iron girder in
some abandoned warehouse, your feet just barely touching the ground, and it was
all your fault, too, because you followed Theo, then provoked him and it all
seems like the well-earned punishment for being so incredibly stupid. So stupid
that you’re thinking about how you must have seen this coming.
How, maybe you really wanted this. And how you feel like you’re dying even
though you know Theo won’t let that happen.
He’s touching your face now, Theo, but you can’t really see him, the whole
picture is out of focus, somehow. But you still can’t shake the feeling that
he’s unsettled, restless. Maybe it’s the way he’s clutching that knife.
The way he is shaking your shoulders now and you smile because your body is
mostly numb and it’s impossible for him to inflict any more pain anywhere.
That must be what winning feels like.
“Stiles. Just look at me!”
And he’s cursing now, kicking a chair you didn’t even know was there and you
mildly wonder what he’s so upset about. Isn’t that all he wanted? He’s had his
fun and maybe he will kill you now and it would be alright because that would
separate the two of you forever.
It’s what Farnoelle told you, at least, back when.
It’s why suicide is always an option for you.
The room is swirling. Darkness is slowly creeping in from the edges of your
vision.
The other and much better option, of course, would be
 
 
 
“Derek,” Theo said before the other had even slid through the big gate.
And it’s only when Stiles heard Derek shout out in anger and astonishment that
it slowly sank into his brain that he was really there. He had found him.
God, no.
“Stiles!,” someone was howling, frantically, “Stiles! Jesus fucking Christ,
Stiles! What have you done to him, you sick freak?!”
“I’m the freak,” Theo said and there was this edge to his voice that made
Stiles desperately struggle to lift his head. “I’m the freak? You’re the freak
of nature, Derek Hale. Stealing another’s prey, it’s not what you beasts were
made for. Haven’t you understood anything? You listen to me. To me alone.
You’re my creatures, mine!”
There was a brief pause in which the only audible sound was the soles of
Stiles’s sneakers scraping over the concrete, trying to support his body and
help him take the weight from his arms.
Then a low rumble rose from the corners of the warehouse. At first, Stiles
thought it sounded like an earthquake but soon he knew it was something much,
much worse.
Theo was angry. More than that – he was thirsting for blood. Derek’s blood.
And Stiles didn’t even have to force his eyes open to know that the darkness
was crawling with things. Derek didn’t stand a chance.
 
Claws on the concrete, snarls and hisses and then the sickening sound of two
bodies violently crushing together in mid-air.
 
“No…,” Stiles mumbled and then, “Leave him – please, don’t kill him.”
“Don’t talk,” was the curt reply. There was a tearing and pulling at the chains
that held him upright and a few seconds later, his arms went slack and he came
crashing down, body limp like that of a marionette cut from its strings.
He had lost any sense of direction but someone caught him and was holding him
and it wasn’t Theo. Or maybe it was, Theo liked his little games. Whatever, his
body was screaming with pain and the only thing he really wanted was to black
out.
And he did.
 
 
The first thing he felt when he woke up was that hot palm on his upper arm. He
tried to wriggle and shake it off because he was certain it was burning through
his skin.
“Don’t move,” someone barked. “I’m taking away your pain.”
And then, adding in a low voice, “Even though I wish there was more I could
do.”
Stiles forced his eyes open and blinked. The room around him was slowly
slipping into focus.
He was at home in his own bed.
But, the warehouse and Theo and Derek.
He tried to get up but that hand, it was pressing down onto his shoulder now,
keeping him in place.
“Don’t you dare and try to get up,” someone snarled.
“Derek? What the – what happened – why am I at home? Oh God, my dad, did you-”
“Calm down, Stiles. Your dad went to run some errands an hour ago. I told him
you collapsed during lacrosse practice.”
“What?”
None of that made any sense.
He could see clearly now even though the colors were a little brighter than
usual and he vividly remembered Theo beating the crap out of him. He broke his
arm and leg and at least five of his ribs. And his flesh tearing around that
meat hook, a completely novel sensation of pain.
And fire, God.
The lighter hadn’t been enough for him, this time.
He'd put a torch to his arms and legs and chest until Stiles was vomiting from
the sickening smell of his own, singed skin.
So there was only one solution.
This was a trap.
This was a trap and it wasn’t really Derek sitting in his computer chair pulled
up to the bed. Reaching for his hand now.
No freaking way.
That’s Derek Hale we’re talking about here. Aloof, grumpy, mind-your-own-
fucking-business Derek Hale.
And Theo would never let him, Stiles, get out of that warehouse in one piece
unless to let him vanish in some basement, he'd made that pretty clear.
Because Stiles, he’d been naughty. Disobedient.
Sure, Theo liked that about him, right?
But he’d gone too far. Because of Malia.
Stiles swallowed and the grip on his hand tightened.
“Is it still hurting?”
“No, not really.”
It was true. His body felt numb and fuzzy. Physically, he was almost
comfortable even.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t told your dad anything else. Theo made your body heal
but – there was so much blood, God. And these tools he’d brought, and they were
all bloody, too. I thought – for a moment, I thought…”
Stiles turned his head to look at him. Derek looked pained and somehow paler
than usual.
“Is it really you?”
“What?”
“Or – are you… are you him… he, I mean, are you – am I still…”
“I got you home, Stiles, after I dealt with Theo.”
Stiles felt more and more awake by the minute.
“Dealt with him? Theo – he can’t be – dealt with.”
“I ripped his throat out. I would have torn him to shreds if I hadn't been
convinced that you were bleeding out like a pig suspended from that girder…
actually putting you up on meat hooks. Sick freak.”
Derek’s face was screwed up in disgust now.
“But then, when I got to you, your body was weak but healing…”
“Weird,” Stiles mumbled, “he usually likes to admire his work… he only lets me
heal when he overdid it. When he…” He trailed off and fell silent.
“When you wouldn't survive otherwise, yeah, I got that,” Derek finished his
sentence. And then, since it had apparently only dawned on him now: "Freaking
hell, Stiles... what were you even thinking?! What on earth... why would you
seek out that kind of - of torture? Sometimes I seriously think you'd be better
off locked up somewhere..."
There was a pause during which Derek just looked at him, shaking his head, and
Stiles was thinking how ironic it was that Theo and Derek weren't so different
when it came to their basic evaluation of Stiles's character.
But he didn’t know what to make of the look on Derek's face.
“How – how did you even,” he started but stopped because there was a knock on
the door.
When Derek said “Come in,” Sheriff Stilinksi’s head appeared.
“Is he up?”
“Dad,” Stiles said, embarrassed. Why did Derek have to bring him here?
Why did Derek have to take him anywhere at all? None of this was any of his
business. He could have gotten hurt. He could have gotten himself killed.
“God, son, what were you thinking? Not eating properly and then playing
lacrosse even though you caught the flu. I’m glad Scott called Derek to get you
home. I’m starting to like this pack thing.”
He smiled at Derek.
“Thank you for bringing my son home to me – once again. This time, you should
stay for dinner. I was thinking – pizza?”
Derek nodded politely.
“Thank you, sir.”
Stiles was staring at him, then at his dad, then at Derek again.
What did he mean, bring him home again?
As soon as his dad had left them alone again, his steps moving slowly and
heavily down the stairs, Stiles turned to Derek.
“What do you mean, Scott called you, and what the hell were you guys talking
about, are you sworn into some kind of secret society or what, and what do you
mean, you ripped Theo’s throat out? Are you crazy? You know he can’t be killed
right? He’s not a werewolf. How did you even manage to get out of there in one
piece.”
Derek had crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Glad you’re feeling better. I’ll answer that in reverse order. Don’t
underestimate me, Stiles. I was just stronger than Theo.”
“What? What are you even talking- Derek, you were never stronger than anybody -
like ever!”
“The puddle of blood I left Theo in would beg to differ,” Derek said,
glowering. “I think I know what he is, Stiles, and even though he can’t die it
will take him time to heal completely. And, you're welcome, by the way, for
saving your dumb teenage ass. Again. Alright, secondly, your dad was referring
to the last time I carried you home like a hurt puppy. And what I said about
Scott is made up. He can’t know. Ever. This is between you, me and Theo.”
Stiles blinked a few times and finally said “What?”
Derek rolled his eyes and got up.
“Just rest, Stiles. You’ll stay home for another day or two and remember – the
rest of the pack can’t know. This is way out of their league. So when - if -
you meet Theo in school ever again you have to pretend like nothing happened.
Can you do that?”
“Er yeah…,” Stiles muttered, avoiding Derek’s eyes. “Sure, why not…”
“Ok. Good. In the meantime, I’ll talk to Deaton. He might be able to help me.”
Stiles let himself fall back on the bed.
Who died and made Derek king of monsters? When he last checked, Derek was a
beta and not a particularly strong one. Fast maybe, yeah, but still. Too upset
and angry to fight properly. Too damaged to be a cold-blooded killer. Or not
damaged enough, maybe.
“And, Stiles…,” Derek said, hand already on the door. “I’m sorry about Malia.”
“Don’t be,” Stiles muttered into his pillow without even knowing why.
 
 
 
He was staring at the bloodied floor, a feeling of disbelief in his stomach as
his throat was slowly knitting back together.
He was freezing and hurting and didn't quite succeed in drowing out these
sensations. Didn't quite get to enjoy them.
But he couldn't and wouldn't abandon this body. Not unless absolutely
necessary.
Then a rhythmic clicking on the concrete told him that someone was coming.
Red heels stepped into his vision and a voice was saying, “Don’t lick the
blood, Paws, ugh, that is disgusting. No, not there! Come here, mummy is taking
care of you.”
When she bent down to pick up her puppy, her hair swiped through the puddle in
front of his face, soaking up the color, turning an even brighter shade of red.
“Lydia,” he choked, “Come to mock my demise? Move two inches closer and I’ll
shred your white, skinny legs. Nice shoes, though.”
He was looking up at her now.
The furry dog in her arms was panting, its little red rubber tongue sticking
out.
“I just wanted to get a good look at you,” she said and then screwed up her
nose, “and with Derek Hale beating the crap out of you like that you do look
pretty pathetic. Yup, you'll be here for a while. Here or wherever we put you,
am I right, Paws?”
“What do you know about that?,” Theo hissed but Lydia had already turned around
and was tiptoeing back to the large gate.
“What do you know about Derek? Lydia! Lydia!”
But she left him lying there and he knew it would be days until he would be
able to walk out of here again and claim Stiles for good. Until then he was
doomed to replay that moment in his head again and again.
That moment Derek Hale’s eyes had flared a deep and luminous green and he’d cut
him, Lucifer, down, just like that.
Doomed, he was Doomed. He was doomed.
Theo threw back his head, smashing it into the concrete floor, and let out a
gargling laugh that sent thick drops of blood flying through the air.
“Well played, Phaniel, old friend. Well played…”
 
 
***
 
 
When Stiles opened his eyes again, the room lay in darkness.
Derek was gone but pressing down on his legs, breathing through its tiny, open
mouth, was a bunny, blood trickling down its fur and ears and pooling on the
comforter already.
Stiles let out a sigh. Ah, great. So Theo would be well again soon and, man, he
really had a thing for bunnies. Stiles blamed that English teacher in fourth
grade who had made them read Alice in Wonderland. Zombie heralds. Harbingers of
zombification. Haha.
Theo’s humor had always, majorly, sucked like that.
And whatever Derek had done to him – had managed to do to him – it must have
been luck.
Sheer dumb luck.
And the next time wouldn’t be pretty.
“Come here you disgusting little fucker…,” he mumbled and held out his hand.
The bunny focused on him with its blind eyes and started moving mechanically,
traipsing through the fluffy landscape on Stiles's bed.
“You smell,” Stiles said when the bunny put its mangy nose to his fingertips
inhaling audibly now and this rattling sound, it could really make your stomach
turn because you know it’s from the shreds of its windpipe smacking into the
surrounding flesh.
“You’re digusting but that’s ok. I feel exactly the way you look.”
He pressed down softly onto the dark brown and red fur, ignoring the way it
felt slimy and icky and stuck to his fingers. The bunny ducked its head and
flattened its lacerated ears so Stiles could stroke and pat its whole body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
 
 
***
 
 
There were no visible wounds on his body and no matter how long he looked
himself over in the mirror he couldn't find an external mark to match the
fragmented memories of blazing pain caught in his brain like fish in a net. It
was so weird because he was incredibly tired, and his body was hurting even
though he was supposed to be healed and whole.
When he woke up the next time, Derek was unloading videogames onto his feet.
Stiles wrinkled his eyebrows and picked up the one nearest to him, GTA 8, and
turned it over in his hands.
"Where did you get these?"
Derek glared at him.
Of course he did.
"I bought them? Stop asking questions like an idiot."
"You-"
"Some of these are older but they should all run on your Xbox."
"Wow er... thanks, Derek, ehm... Scott's gonna come over later, he'll be - er,
he'll love these."
There was a pause during which Stiles was looking through the games and Derek,
apparently, was hesitating because when he opened his mouth again, he said, "I
- was thinking - I haven't played in a long time but I used to play Halo a lot
and I thought we-"
He trailed off, then quickly turned around and would have walked out of the
room without so much as a goodbye when Stiles said, "Great idea, Scott sucks at
Halo. When will you be back?"
He was looking at Derek, waiting for him to react and wondering how this dude
could look so much like a Calvin Klein model and yet, be so socially awkward.
Looks and social skills are not really related, sure, but Stiles had always
assumed that being blessed with a body and face like this would also, somehow,
give you a healthy sense of self-confidence.
"Whatever," Derek said now, rolling his eyes, and Stiles felt stupid. So he'd
mistaken Derek's obvious desire to get out of here fast with the wish to stay
and play Halo.
Story of his life.
Still, that kind of misjudgement had let to a ton of awesome post-Halo sex with
Malia.
"What are you laughing about?"
"Mh?"
Stiles wiped the goofy grin off his face - the one that always, inevitably,
showed whenever he thought about sex - and reminded himself that they were
broken up. For good, probably. She hadn't even called once during the past days
and he only knew she was ok because Scott was keeping him updated on what was
going on at school.
Theo, apparently, hadn't shown once during the whole week, so no problem there,
at least.
Derek was still looking at Stiles, eyebrows wrinkled. Stiles knew the smell of
monster-bunny was lingering in his room but he'd flipped the comforter the last
time he got up and Derek obviously didn't care about the stench. He'd merely
remarked that Stiles's room smelled worse than usual but that he wasn't
surprised, what with Stiles being there all day now.
Rude, right?
Theo, on the other hand, had created a whole series of zombified bunnies when
Stiles had been about eight or nine years old. He'd forced Stiles to dress up
in one of his mom's flower pattern dresses that was way too big for him, put
the matching purse in his hands and purple stilettos on his little feet, which
had led to a really awkward conversation about gender identity, the first of
several, and ensuing scolding because when Theo had placed one of his things on
his arm, it had ruined the dress.
You look so coy, Stiles, Theo had purred and adroitly decorated Stiles's face
with lipstick, way too accurately for a nine-year-old.
Coy, coy, he'd cawed.
While he hadn't exactly known what it meant, Stiles had immediately loathed
that word and was glad it had since returned to whatever Renaissance play or
novel Theo had picked it out of. Or, come to think about it, Theo hadn't been
up here for a while since the Middle Ages, so who knew where he'd picked that
up exactly. Actually, there was a lot of interesting stuff Theo could tell him
but when they were together all he wanted to do was make Stiles scream and
writhe and sob . As if all the centuries he'd left his mark on had only been
the prequel to this. To him, Stiles.
Stiles was so lost in thought that he only snapped back to reality when Derek
cleared his throat.
And then it was to say, "Derek, do you think I'm coy?"
"What? Stiles, why are you such a fucking weirdo?"
This silenced him for good and, mildly insulted, he slumped back onto the
pillows and turned over to face the wall.
"Later, grandpa."
And yes, this time Stiles could practically hearDerek roll his eyes.
 
 
He didn't really know what it was but something about him just kept pushing
Derek's buttons and, quite frankly, despite all the shit they'd been through
together, Derek's anger still sort of scared him.
Ok, scared is a pretty strong word. Let's say, Stiles had a healthy respect for
his moods.
Scott was more powerful, yes, and Theo, don't get me started, but Derek had
these moments when Stiles was reminded of the fact that he was a born wolf,
less human than Theo even. Plus, he could still make him almost crap his pants
when he flashed his eyes at him over the dinner table.
"Lord in - stop doing that for God's sake! JeeezusChrist... If you're so
annoyed why do you even come here every day."
Derek was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed in trademark-Derek aloofness.
"You said it before. I'm the pack grandpa. So eat your fucking peas."
Stiles glared at him but he did start shoveling the remaining vegetables into
his mouth, not bothering to chew more than once because he knew Derek hated
that.
This was unbelievably and ridiculously immature. All of this. And a little
surreal.
"Could you not be a pain-in-the-ass teenager for one evening?," Derek muttered
before returning to staring at Stiles in silence.
"Only if you drop being a freakin' pain-in-the-ass-cree," Stiles started but,
luckily for him, was interrupted by the front door flying open.
"Hellooo, Stiles?!," Scott hollered and, apparently, that evening Stiles's
whole peer group had unanimously decided to behave like cartoon characters.
When Scott appeared in the kitchen a second later, however, Stiles immediately
knew what was up. Scott was positively glowing and there was this huge grin on
his face.
"Oh. My God, you gotta be fucking kidding me" Derek said and got up.
"Where are you going?," Stiles called after him.
"Spending the night with grown-ups."
They heard the front door and then the engine of Derek's car.
"Old sourwolf," Stiles muttered. "You hungry?"
"No." Scott beamed at him.
"So you and Kira did it, huh...," Stiles said and got up. His ankle still hurt
but it was nice, not feeling raw and broken for a change.
Almost right again.
"Yeah...," Scott said, grinning.
"So, good, huh..."
"Yeah..."
"You know, sometimes I sort of get Derek. Dude, you're so high on endorphines,
you're almost floating..."
Scott's face fell a little and he said, "Sorry. Mh, you and Malia...?"
"She's gone, yeah. I told you before, it was gonna happen..."
There was this pang every time he thought about her but he wasn't particularly
heartbroken. Which was odd.
She'd been his first girlfriend, his first real love, yes?
So he sort of should be.
"Still won't tell me what happened?"
Stiles shook his head, "Nope. Sorry. Can't do."
"But it does have to do with," Scott was saying now, carefully, "with - Theo?"
Stiles's movements stiffened a little as he scraped the leftovers from his
plate and then put it in the dishwasher.
"I don't like him," he said, unnecessarily. Then he walked out of the room to
set up his Xbox, avoiding Scott's eyes.
"Stiles, please... you're driving me crazy here. I feel like - there is this
world of stuff happening between you and Theo and you won't let me in on it.
You even trust Derek more than me."
He sounded hurt and it seemed like his good mood was fading. He'd followed
Stiles into the living room and watched him clear the sofa of potato chip
crumbs and napkins and a brown leather wallet.
"Ok, I didn't want to do this..."
Stiles spun around when he heard a low growl. Scott's eyes were glowing red.
"Oh no, buddy, no freaking way..."
Stiles was slowly taking a few steps back, withdrawing behind the sofa.
Scott wouldn't dare go full alpha on him - or, would he?
"Derek's right, I'm supposed to take care of you. You leave me no choice, man,
I'm sorry..."
"Forgot my-," another voice suddenly said and then several things happened all
at once.
For one, Scott had actually jumped - Stiles couldn't freaking believe it -
towards the sofa, had actually hurled himself at him, but Derek who was the
master of surprise appearances had grabbed him by the neck and flung him into
the wall. The blow reverberated through the whole house and it wasn't the first
time that Stiles worried the crash might cause the whole thing to collapse.
Scott picked himself up rubbing his head and then he was just staring at Derek
who stood there, fangs and claws bared, panting way too heavily.
But not like he'd been exhausting himself before but like he was really mad.
Preparing to fight.
Scott's eyes were still red and he opened his mouth but he was too shocked to
say anything.
Derek craned his neck to the right as if to check for Stiles and it was then,
the very moment Derek's eyes found his, that he saw it and it sent his thoughts
racing.
What in the name of all the supernatural freaks of nature andGerard's Bestiary
was that.
Derek's eyes were glowing, yes.
But they weren't yellow.
Not even a little.
They shone a bright and piercing green.
Mechanically, Stiles took a step to the right, just to make sure.
Just to check if this wasn't, perhaps, due to the lighting or the weird
brownish shade of the living room wallpaper.
"What the...," he breathed and Scott was saying, "Derek? Derek?" and Stiles
knew excatly why.
Because it seemed like Derek was only half there, like he was in full beast
mode, and he wouldn't retract his claws or fangs.
"Derek, I'm - I'm your alpha, why would you-," Scott started but when moved a
step towards the sofa, Derek let out a low snarl.
"Ok, alright, I'm not going to hurt Stiles and I hadn't meant to, ok?," Scott
said, apparently understanding something that Stiles didn't.
What on earth did that have to do with him?
But it sure as hell had something to do with Theo.
Scott let his eyes switch back to brown and he held up his hands, fully human
now, again.
Stiles knew he should probably say something soothing to Derek, relieve the
tension somehow, but the other looked so - wildthat it made all the hairs on
his neck stick up. And, lately, it was easy to kick him into panic mode so he
just stayed where he was, unable to say anything.
For a few more seconds none of them moved but then, slowly, Derek relaxed his
shoulders. His fangs clicked back into his jaw and claws melted into his flesh
again, as his features smoothed and humanized. When the luminous green had
faded and all there was left was the familiar hazel in Derek's eyes, Stiles and
Scott simultaneously let out a deep breath.
"Derek, what the hell?," Stiles said and quickly circled the sofa, agitated as
hell now and, yes, his voice might just have risen an octave but you don't get
how wired he's already being all the time as it is.
Stupid adrenaline.
"What on earth was that?!"
"What on earth was what," Derek said, slightly frowning.
"Your eyes," Scott said and Stiles was deeply grateful because he wouldn't have
gotten anything more sensible than 'what the hell' out anytime soon anyway.
"They're green?"
Derek blinked.
"No, they're not."
"Ah-hu, oh hell yes they are," Stiles said, wildly bobbing his head up and
down.
Derek was grimacing and shooting him a look as if wanting to say: Stiles, would
you behave like a real person once in your life?
As if what Scott had just pointed out was so irrelevant that he might just
completely ignore the boy ever said anything.
"Green. G - R - E - green."
"First of all, Stiles, it's called hazel, thank you, you can google it. Second
of all, Scott what the hell was that? You would have logged into Stiles's
memory if I hadn't intervened?"
"Yeah, what's up with that?!," Stiles started, turning to Scott now. This
conversation was seriously giving him whiplash.
"Don't change the subject," Scott said quickly. "Did you even realize what you
were doing?"
"Protecting the pack," Derek said but Stiles thought that, surely, Derek must
have heard how lousy that answer sounded, too.
"I'm the alpha," Scott said and he let his irises bleed red, only for a second.
"And we agreed that we have to find out what's up with him because, seriously
Stiles, you look like hell."
Stiles was staring at his feet trying not to haat that involuntarily perfect
comparison.
"So, you suggested that yourself Derek, last week, remember?"
Stiles's head snapped back up and he looked at Derek but Derek avoided his
gaze.
"Unless...," Scott took a step toward them. "Unless - you son of a bitch. You
found it out on your own and didn't tell me."
The ensuing, awkward silence was enough proof that he'd hit the nail on the
head and, agitated, Scott kept going.
"And it does have to do with Theo, I knew it. And probably something about Theo
and Malia, too."
Scott could have these lucid moments that Stiles thought utterly terrifying. He
didn't want his best friend to read him that perfectly. Yeah, he'd always
wanted and expected Scott to be there for him unconditionally and he was aware
that this was sort of contradicting the other thing. But he'd had a friend once
who'd been in on every single thought of his, a really really great friend, and
it hadn't ended well for him.
He'd ended up being body-snatched. Hollowed out, right?
And Lucifer was what he'd gotten instead so you just don't mix certain things,
is what I'm saying.
"Guys," Stiles started. He was really tired all of a sudden.
"I'll hit the sack. Derek... fill Scott in on - everything, will you?"
"What?," Derek said for what was probably the five thousandth time that evening
and Scott was already looking deeply worried again. "You alright, Stiles?"
Stiles just nodded and shuffled up the stairs.
He'd hated sneaking around like that anyway. Behind his dad's back ok, it's
what you're supposed to do when you're a teenager, sneak around your old man's
back, but it was different with Scott.
He wanted him to know and, maybe, understand. But that might do stuff to
Scott's beliefs, opinions, his whole world view. Damage him, even if he wasn't
the one ending up burned and sobbing on an almost daily basis, obviously. But
it was still a lot to digest and Derek could do it because he had no faith in
humanity, none whatsoever, and he was this gloomy, cynical guy who would draw a
twisted sense of gratification out of messed-up stuff like that. But Scott?
So he really, really, didn't want him to know.
 
 
 
   
But then, things have to go a certain way.
Take their course, if you would.
You know that and since you're in control of this story you would be thrilled
about it, too, if this wasn't one of these particularly uncomfortable scenes.
The ones that you have to do because they're part of the movie but while you're
doing it you're despising it and you forget about the whole reason.
The larger picture.
But then this girl, she just walks right into the shot when you least expect
it, her heels click down onto the concrete exactly in the middle of your vision
and she just confirms everything you ever believed in.
Gets you grounded again, despite herself.
So you know where you're at, exactly.
She was here yesterday and the day before and before that. But this is
different. This time she brought you that ticket you need to finally get out of
here, and move on. A deal.
A plot twist.
It's not like you can get up anytime soon or even speak properly, because, yes,
he's shredded you that bad, you'll admit that, turned you inside out most
effectively.
This now, though.
It's in the books, yes, but they won't see it coming.
And that's what makes it glorious.
It seems like a cheap trick but, sometimes, that's just how things are wired.
So you turn your head on the concrete, the blood long dried and dark and flaky,
cheek scraping over the grainy surface, and you make a point of first twisting
the corners of your lips into a gentle smile and then looking up at her and
watch how, appearing slowly on her face now, is that smile of yours, like a
moth batting its wings together for the first time, finally.
***** DEREK *****
Chapter Summary
     How Derek met Stiles.
“Derek Hale,” the man said and it wasn’t a question.
Derek didn’t look up. He was on all fours, shaking uncontrollably but the tears
just wouldn’t come.
“Hum,” the man said. He was tugging at the sleeves of his navy blue suit. They
were way too long. The whole thing was ill-fitted, too big and saggy and that
color – but Derek didn’t notice any of these things. He was staring at the
concrete and the screams, God, the screams. He would be hearing them for the
rest of his life.
His chest was hurting like hell.
“Hum,” the man said again, “I’m sorry, boy. Your parents... I’m sorry. You see,
I couldn’t have saved them, too, wasn’t allowed to, that is. I’m not supposed
to interfere ok? Just.... ok? Sorry.”
His bright blue eyes were gliding up and down the teenager’s bare arms.
“That’s, er, some serious wounds you have there... third degree, yes. Ouch.”
He put his fingertips to Derek’s left shoulder, softly, and it was only when
the singed skin started healing, faster than usual even for a born wolf, that
Derek seemed to realize he was not alone. As the raw flesh was being sucked
back into his body he raised his head.
“I saved you,” the man stated matter-of-factly.
“....thank you,” Derek mouthed mechanically without really understanding what
was going on. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t. His mom and dad, his
siblings, his whole family.
Then he was throwing up again and the man in the blue suit looked like he
wanted to be comforting but didn’t know how. He stiffly patted his shoulder
twice then withdrew his hand and continued to simply look at Derek.
“So I saved you,” he started again, “and now you owe me. Correct?”
Derek wiped his mouth. He felt like dying.
“I’m Phaniel.” The man was apparently desperately trying to strike up a
conversation. Derek just stared at him.
“I’m Phaniel and I was the one who dragged you out of the flames. You would –
actually, should – be dead right now.”
“Like my family,” Derek whispered. No tears yet but the recognition finally,
slowly sinking into his brain.
Too late, it was too late.
“Like your family, yes. Again, sorry about that. So what was I was saying – ah,
yes. I have a favor to ask...” He paused.
Derek didn’t answer so the man just went on.
“I’ve been watching you for a while now and I think you won’t mind it too much.
See, you really are a born guardian, boy, yes yes.” He was beaming at Derek now
and Derek started thinking that whoever this guy was, he was apparently insane.
“Anyway – I need you to do me a favor. The Sheriff’s boy, Stiles – you know
him, right?”
Derek looked up at Phaniel. Then he mumbled, “Yes.”
“Perfect. I knew that, of course. You have an eye on him, ok?”
“....what?”
“Have an eye on him, er, get him out of trouble, watch his steps – just make
sure no one kills him. Alright? It might involve getting monsters off his back
– like the one you ripped apart a few weeks ago. Understood?”
“Whatever,” Derek said and the man clapped his hands, then squatted down in
front of him so he could look into Derek’s eyes who was still on his hands and
knees. He didn’t feel like moving anytime soon. He just wanted to crawl into a
hole and die.
When Phaniel raised his right hand, Derek started and his eyes suddenly flared
yellow.
“Good,” Phaniel said and smiled warmly. “Perfect.”
He put his index finger onto Derek’s forehead and Derek felt a soothing vogue
of warmth spread across his whole face.
What he didn’t see of course was how the yellow of his eyes was slowly turning
a bright shade of green.
Phaniel’s smile widened.
“Wonderful,” he said. “It won’t stay like that, of course, only, you know, when
you need it...”
Derek stared back at him.
“Don’t forget your promise, yes? Look after Stiles, alright? You’ll be doing a
great job and with a little help from me it won’t even get you killed.”
Phaniel rose to his feet.
He waved at Derek and vanished.
Derek blinked.
What the –
But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
Getting killed sounded pretty good right now.
After what felt like an eternity he slowly rose from the ground. His whole body
was aching.
Derek turned his back to the forest and to the threads of smoke rising above
the dark treeline. He felt – nothing. He was completely empty.
In the distance, the sound of fire truck sirens.
 
 
***
 
 
“So who was this dude?”
“I don’t know – he never told me.”
“So that’s how you survived the fire? Man... heavy stuff. And you accepted the
deal?”
Derek just shrugged.
Scott got up from the sofa and started pacing the room.
“So the hordes of monsters... all of this happened before – and Stiles, he
always knew. About – everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“This,” Scott said, more and more agitated. “You and me. Werewolves. The
supernatural. And he never told me. Man, I would be so angry at him right now,
if I weren’t so – fucking worried.”
“I don’t think Stiles knew about werewolves. But he did know about something –
much bigger. About Theo.”
“Ok, so what does that dude-”
“Phaniel.”
“Phaniel, right, what does he have to do with Theo? Wait – is he Theo?”
Derek grimaced.
“No? Scott, haven’t you been listening? Or are you being deliberately stupid?”
Derek jumped up from the sofa. Man, this was really getting on his nerves. Why
couldn’t Stiles just sort that out himself?
However, the thought of a miserable Stiles lying awake upstairs in his bed
right now soothed him again and he said, “Lucifer.”
“What?”
“Lucifer.”
“What?”
Derek took a deep breath. This was going to take forever.
“Theo. Is Lucifer.”
Scott blinked.
“So... you're saying - he's been lying about his name?"
Derek took another deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. This was
unbelievably slow, even for Scott.
“Theo is not a werewolf – has never been. He’s a demon. The king of demons to
be precise. He’s the devil.”
“The devil.”
“The devil. Satan, Lucifer, Moloch – however you want to call him.”
Scott looked at him – then started laughing.
“You almost got me, man. Derek, seriously, this is not funny. I’m really
worried about Stiles.”
“You think I’m joking,” Derek said, dryly, and when Scott saw his face he
immediately stopped laughing.
“Do you even know what that means?,” Derek continued, only barely containing
his anger now. “Or do I have to spell that out for you as well?”
“But – what? You – seriously? The devil? As in.... the Bible?”
“Or the Qur’an, yes. Actually all belief systems have a concept of evil.”
“Fire and brimstone?”
“Possibly.”
Scott looked as if he still wasn't quite sure whether Derek wasn’t mocking him
after all. He did have a fucked-up sense of humor.
“Burn for your sins and all that?”
Derek shrugged.
“All I know is that guy’s a freaking pain in the ass...”
He turned to the door.
“Ok, since you know what we're dealing with here now – have fun.”
“Huh? Where are you going?”
“Home,” Derek just said and his hand was already on the doorknob when Scott
said, “What are we going to do about Stiles? We have to find Theo and finish
him!”
“Didn’t you listen? He’s immortal. He can’t be finished,” Derek just said and
opened the door. “Anyway, since you're a way better babysitter than me, it’s
finally no longer my business. So have fun.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?! We’re pack!” Ok, maybe he was yelling a little
but seriously, what was up with Derek’s attitude?
Derek pushed the door shut again and rolled his eyes.
“Yes, we’re pack but I’m sick of nursing teenage boys with a death wish back to
health. So, keep me posted about the next pack meeting and say hi to Stiles.”
Scott opened his mouth to yell at him but a voice from the stairway said
quietly, “I didn’t ask you to save me.”
Stiles walked around the corner and then just stood there, looking at them,
face devoid of expression. How come Scott hadn’t heard him come down the
stairs? He had the strong feeling that Stiles had been listening for a while.
And... had he been that pale before? A sudden memory of Void Stiles sent
shivers down Scott’s back.
“I never asked you to do anything for me,” Stiles continued through grit teeth
and Scott understood that, for whatever reason, his best friend was furious. So
much so in fact that his hands were trembling.
“Oh, sure, because you can perfectly take care of yourself. Well, excuse my
interference,” Derek said.
Scott was looking from Stiles to Derek and back again, not quite understanding
what was happening. He was certain that the sole reason for Derek’s still being
here was his being worried about Stiles – so what was that all about?
“If I’m being such a burden, why don’t you get the hell out of here?,” Stiles
said, his voice now shaking with anger.
Derek looked at Stiles with surprise and then rolled his eyes and muttered
something that sounded a lot like ‘Teenagers.’
It was enough to tip Stiles over the edge.
“I don’t care about your – hallucinations – or weird dudes in blue track suits
or your freaking arrogance. Just stay the hell away from me! And yeah, maybe
like that you’ll be finally able to fucking stop whining about everything!”
They were glowering at each other in silence for a few seconds.
Then Stiles moved. His face distorted with anger he stormed out the door. When
he rushed past them, Scott could see that there were red specks of anger on his
cheeks and – was that tears?
What the hell had just happened?
“Infantile...,” Derek muttered. “And the attention span of a squirrel, even
when he’s eavesdropping. Who said anything about a track suit?”
 
 
A few minutes later Derek was steering his car through the streets, one hand on
the wheel, the other kneading his neck.
He hadn’t meant to get so – angry.
Why did Stiles always have to take everything personally?
He hadn’t necessarily meant to say that Stiles was a burden. And even if – why
would the boy react like that?
“GRAAAAH!!” Derek hit the wheel with his fists.
And why the freaking hell was he still thinking about that?!
Yes, it wasn’t Stiles’s fault, it was this Phaniel guy. He had done something
to him back when. He’d dragged his half-conscious body out of the collapsing
Hale house, touched his forehead and – messed with him. Somehow.
It had struck him just this afternoon. He’d been looking down onto Stiles’s
sleeping face and – all of a sudden – there’d been that image in his head. Of
himself bending down. Putting -
No.
Derek was wildly shaking his head.
It was high time that everything was getting back to normal.
Stiles was Scott’s freaking problem again now, finally. Rid of one burden. He
certainly wasn’t the right person to hold Stiles’s hand right now, Scott
wouldn’t fail his best friend and he, Derek, would take care of Theo.
When he’d returned to the warehouse Theo’s body had been gone. Derek had picked
up the scent of different people and he was pretty sure that at least one of
them knew into which filthy hole that thing had crawled to lick his wounds.
He would start with the most obvious suspect.
 
 
“Derek?,” Lydia said before Derek had even thought about ringing the doorbell.
Yep, that girl was still creepy as fuck.
He glared at her for a second. Then he just walked past her into the living
room. Lydia frowned.
“No, it’s not a bad time at all, please go ahead and come in.”
She followed him inside, then picked up a box of sweets and offered them to
Derek who simply ignored the gesture.
“Where is Lucifer?”
“Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Derek said. He was getting angry again.
“Is this about Stiles?,” Lydia said with a sigh.
“Wha- no, it’s about Spongebob Squarepants, yes, of course it’s about Stiles!”
Derek was massaging his temples. He needed a new pack asap.
“I knew you’re the Spongebob type,” Lydia said with a knowing smile that almost
made Derek yell at her. Lydia of course could sense the tension.
“And what’s bitten you?”
“Lydia, please don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been in the warehouse. I picked
up your scent and-”
He stopped and turned around.
A furry ball was sitting on the mauve sofa and was currently vomiting into the
spaces between the pillows.
“What the – hell is that? Lydia, it smells awful.”
“That’s just Paws, my cute little doggy-dog,” she said, picking the thing up
and hugging it.
“Whatever that is, it’s not a dog,” Derek said, grimacing. “Lydia, you know
that, right?”
Lydia rolled her eyes.
“Scott was right, you’re a hopeless pessimist.”
“Are you insane?”
“And concerning your – was that a question? Yes, I was there. Yes, I talked to
Theo. You did a good job tearing him to shreds, I must say. Then I turned
around, walked out again and got - - this cute pair of heels.”
She lifted her right foot but Derek didn’t even bother to look down.
“So you don’t deny that you’ve been helping Theo?”
Lydia put her puppy down next to her blue glittering heels.
“Helping him? Of course, I haven’t been helping him.”
She crossed her arms.
“He’s was up to something, an idiot could see that, and then it wasn't hard to
track him down. No offense but none of you is particularly sneaky,” she added
haughtily.
“What-”
“Could you talk a little faster, I have a mani-pedi at five.”
She was already stuffing her smelly mop of a dog into a handbag that matched
her shoes.
Derek stared at her. This girl was impossible.
“If you want me to tell you anything you’ll have to come with me.”
She grabbed her keys from the counter, threw a glance back at Derek and added,
“Taking a little care of your nails doesn’t hurt, you know? You’re not a cave
man...”
“Unbelievable,” Derek finally managed to say but Lydia was already out the
door. It was easier to get a clear answer from a Sphinx. Stiles used to say
that Lydia couldn’t help it but Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that she was
doing it on purpose. What on earth had the boy ever seen in her?
He snorted. Stiles was simply too easy to impress, horny teenager that he was.
And what’s a mani-pedi?
Just when he’d decided to get back to Lydia later, maybe when he could bring
Scott, he heard Lydia’s voice from the car, “Wait a second, Pawniel honey,
Mommy has to put on your seat belt...”
 
So... ah hell, then he’d have to find out what a mani-pedi was.
But it certainly didn’t sound good.
 
 
Why couldn’t he just have called Lydia from his car?
The fumes from the nail polish had almost made him faint but at least he’d been
able to extract valuable information.
Lydia wasn’t the traitor. She might not be completely conscious of it but she’d
even been helping to protect Stiles. Her story had been plausible, too.
How she’d known that there was something wrong about Theo from the very start.
How she’d been keeping an eye on him and quickly realized that he was just
playing at being a werewolf.
How she’d found out that she could track Theo even better when keeping one of
his monsters close by and, as she had stressed with a sweet smile, “Meditation
does the trick. Makes you forget about the smell, you know?”
Derek had to give it to her – he’d been impressed. She was incredibly smart
after all. Not like Stiles but still, very useful.
And then she’d met Phaniel.
Unaware of who he really was, she had immediately trusted him, had naturally
taken to helping him. Being a banshee she couldn’t interfere, of course, but
she had become his informant.
Derek wasn’t sure if he should be glad about this particular piece of
information. It opened up more questions than it answered. For instance, when
he’d asked her about the name of her dog – thing – whatever it was – and Lydia
had merely blinked and said that she would love to get navy blue nails this
time with little silver stars of glitter, thank you, and if they didn’t have
navy, royal blue would do as well. Clearly, it was a completely different
color, but a girl has to make sacrifices.
So much for an answer on why she’d named her pet Pawniel or Paws (“Because he
is so cute you just want to eat him up, don’t you just want to eat him up?,”
which Derek had politely declined).
Paws hadn’t made any valuable contribution to the conversation either except
for making strange noises in Lydia’s closed handbag that sounded as if – Derek
was pretty sure – he was tearing himself apart in there.
Which had left Derek wondering about Phaniel.
 
So the guy was still here and, despite everything, trying to look out for
Stiles.
Maybe he didn’t suck completely as a guardian angel after all.
 
 
***
 
Derek had buried his hands in his pockets. He was kicking a crumpled coke can
around and chewing on his lower lip. Yeah, it hadn’t been the first time he’d
gotten into trouble but why did Collins have to give his dad a call? His mom
would probably ground him for the rest of the year.
Whatever.
The can rebounded from the tires of a parked car. A cat scampered from under it
and disappeared into the nearest bushes. Derek threw her a dark glare.
He’d get his revenge on Collins sooner or later. Not that the other kids would
mind. That guy was an asshole. Peter called him the worst principal ever to
happen to Beacon Hills High.
Maybe Derek could get his mom to yell at him for no longer than an hour if he
explained to her that he hadn’t meant for it to explode into Collins’s face.
Not that she’d believe him. She never did.
“Whoa!”
He’d been so lost in thought he’d run into a boy who’d been standing in the
middle of the sidewalk and staring into the air.
He was picking himself up now and said “s-sorry,” with a high voice. A grade
schooler, he couldn’t be more than seven, maybe eight, years old. Or a girl, it
could also be – no, definitely a boy, even though his young face was as pretty
as any girl’s Derek had ever seen. The knees of the boy’s pants were worn out
and his shoes, pants and jacket were caked with mud as if he’d taken a short
cut through a swamp.
He was looking at Derek now, his big brown eyes wide open, cheeks flushed.
“You hurt?,” Derek said and, he couldn’t help himself, smiled at the boy who
quickly shook his head.
“Lincoln elementary?,” he added because the boy was still staring at him as if
he was an apparition.
“Y-yes,” he finally managed to say and then, a little breathlessly, “He
abolished slavery.”
“What?”
“Abraham Lincoln abolished slavery,” the boy stated as if reciting from a book.
“Yeah, I guess he did,” Derek said, frowning.
“He said all men are equal but he supported the killing of Indians because they
were in the way. Isn’t that weird?”
Derek blinked. “Yeah...,” he said, slowly, “strikes me as a little
hypocritical.”
The boy nodded wildly, “That’s what I said but Mrs. Johnson said I shouldn’t
say that and then she gave me a blue letter for mom and dad.”
He hung his head and stared at his muddy shoes.
“And that’s why you were playing down by the old factory instead of going
home?”
The boy’s head snapped back up. He looked really guilty now.
“Don’t tell my dad,” he said pleadingly. “Please.”
“Calm down, I don’t even know who your dad is.”
“He’s working in the Sheriff’s office, John Stilinski. I’m Stiles. My name is
really long and hard to spell so everyone just calls me Stiles. We live on East
Columbia Boulevard.”
“You shouldn’t tell me that. I’m a complete stranger.”
“But you asked me,” the boy protested.
Derek couldn’t help himself, he had to laugh. What a weird little kid.
“I didn’t really ask you. And you should definitely try and get rid of the mud
on your clothes before you get home.”
He nodded goodbye but the boy, clutching his backpack tightly, came running
after him, talking like a waterfall.
“What’s your name? My father probably knows you, someday he’s going to be the
Sheriff and he already knows everyone.”
Derek sighed.
Awesome. Now he would have to try and shake that kid off.
“I’m Derek. Derek Hale.”
 
 
***
 
 
Derek smiled.
That kid.
Stiles probably didn’t even remember that first encounter.
But enough of that. He could very well do without remembering that particular
sensation that had suddenly crept over his stomach when the young Stiles had
beamed at him and told him he wanted a leather jacket just like his. Not that
this was hard to explain either: it had simply felt good to be admired and
listened to for a change after his teachers and parents did practically nothing
but yell at him.
Derek threw a glance at his smartphone.
He was having way too many flashbacks recently.
Find Theo and finish the job, that should be number one priority now. Then he
could finally leave this town for good and never look back again.
 
So... someone had taken Lucifer’s body and if it wasn’t Lydia... who was it?
***** MALIA *****
Chapter Summary
     How Lucifer met Stiles.
She carefully lifts your head to pour water into your mouth and you’re almost
moved by the utterly human gesture.
Your head is in her lap and you look up at her beautiful face. Her beautiful,
human face. It makes sense of course, beauty just lies in that gene pool. It’s
one of the reasons you chose this body in the first place, yes?
You had to send your creatures away because they made her nauseous but they do
not serve any particular use anyway. They’re just for play.
It’s with her help that you slowly sit up again now. Your body is aching but
it’s an almost pleasant sensation. Your inner organs have long healed and your
skin is slowly, seamlessly knitting back together, too.
The rage that had built up in your chest though. It makes your blood boil
whenever you think about it. But it’s not important.
It’s not important because you will kill Derek Hale.
First, you will cut the tendons in his legs. So he can scream and writhe but
not run away. So he would still have the illusion of strength, of being able to
get out of it on his own.
That is essential.
They will grow back of course, so cut them again and again.
Torture 101.
Don’t spoil the game with your first move. It’s painful but bearable.
Foreplay.
Then proceed with his skin. Just scratch at it a little bit at first, so he’ll
know what is coming and, despite himself, he’ll start being afraid.
Savor the smell of fear, the look of panic creeping over his face.
You can use a little magic now to hold him in place. He’s superhuman too, after
all.
It’s only fair.
Either you continue on his skin or, if you want to get a little more creative,
you can twist his ankles and wrists.
But listen.
It’s very important that you do this slowly. You want to wait for that moist
cracking noise. It’s your raison d’être.
And the way his eyeballs would be gradually pouring out of his sockets by now,
as if he couldn’t believe you’re going through with it. And with that amount of
diligence, too.
Of tenderness.
Sometimes that’s what drives them even crazier than the pain. Their
incapability to understand what you are and why you’re doing this.
Please, God, no, please, God. Why are you doing this? Why, God, why?
Not Stiles of course. He understands perfectly. Never even needed to ask.
That’s why he’s your favorite.
He gets you.
The werewolf will also be a lot of fun of course. Like a windup toy.
And to watch Derek Hale slowly, slowly, slowly fall apart.
Simply delicious.
Until it gets boring, that is. He’s not, after all, and will never be, Stiles.
 
 
You press your eyes shut and the beautiful girl is swallowed by darkness.
Thinking about Stiles puts a hollow feeling into your –
Into your everything.
Which almost makes you chuckle.
Just think about it. You are emptiness incarnate. And yet, even you can feel
lonely. Although it’s more like a craving, really. Maybe you’d go as far as
calling it an addiction.
But who wouldn’t get addicted to these eyes, this skin, this utter fragility.
She’s stroking your hair now, again, and you let it happen.
You are willing to bestow that particular honor onto her, she’s been a great
help after all.
So you close your eyes and allow yourself to slip back to that moment eight,
nine, ten years ago.
Do it like this.
Close your eyes and picture his, Stiles’s, face.
Then let him age backwards, let his mouth and cheeks and chin and nose and eyes
and freckles become smaller and softer and it’s like you’re falling through
time
 
 
 
 
and onto this ugly tiled floor, moldy green with yellowish shapes on them.
Ducks maybe? No, elephants.
Ugh, disgusting.
This kitchen needs a carpet.
And what’s that smell.
It takes you one or two seconds to locate the strawberry cake on the counter.
It’s covered with a new and clean kitchen towel to keep the flies from feasting
on it and you immediately know what kind of family this is.
Well, you weren’t particularly looking for fun but since you’re already here...
But where are you, exactly?
And, the more pressing question, when?
Your claws click across the tiles as you turn around to throw a look at the
clock above a collection of framed family photos. Three people in front of
different, equally boring backgrounds. What a perfect and perfectly happy
little family.
If you had real eyes, you’d roll them.
Humans.
Now pause.
Only for a moment.
Because it’s exactly when the clock tells you that it’s 3:17 - a.m., obviously
- that it happens.
And – just think about that – it’s a pure coincidence.
You, the king of hell, lord of all evil, master of darkness and emperor of all
pain, come across the most delicious of toys – yes, by chance.
You’re still torn between wanting some fun here and now, and journeying to 1852
to witness the massacre and, obviously the place is right but the time isn’t
because the people in the photos, the people living here, they have the wrong
skin color – but who says you can’t have little massacre of your own?
The faintest of noises draws your attention to the door and you behold a boy,
maybe seven or eight years of age.
Human, with brown eyes and a pale skin and a few moles and freckles on his
face.
He’s standing in the doorway, obviously frozen.
Because your real shape is... well.
Humans are certainly not made to see it which is why you had planned on
snatching a body while drifting through time to not attract attention and spoil
the fun.
So the kid, he’s terrified.
His whole body is shaking and his eyes, they glide up and down your – form – up
and down, up and down.
And then, the unthinkable happens.
It wouldn’t have seemed possible what with his body trembling like this but he
takes a step forward.
Yeah, he’s scared to death but he just mustered up all his courage, you can
sense it, and braves – well, braves you.
And as if that wasn’t astonishing enough he puts his little forehead in
wrinkles and says, with a faint voice but determined, oh yes, so determined,
“Get out!”
He stomps his right foot and you’ll never forget the look in his young eyes,
gleaming with anger and the instinctive knowledge not only that you shouldn’t
be in his parents’ kitchen but that you are wrong and you scratch 1852 from
your bucket list.
Just think about that, you have been to the most horrid battles and serial
murders and they left you less than impressed. After a few millennia human
cruelty just becomes an endless row of annoying monotonies.
And now this.
Oh, you are intrigued.
The boy has grabbed a knife from the counter and is making a bold advance, his
frail knuckles white over the black hilt and the whole thing almost slips from
his grip, it’s so big and his hands are so small.
And what’s the most astonishing: he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance, that
he’s being utterly stupid – and yet he’s doing it.
Maybe it is the fact that he seems to have understood something about you –
about the dark, shapeless, crawling mass that is you – that makes you want to
know more about him.
To understand where that mind is coming from exactly.
But studying his parents doesn’t do much.
Because, yes, most of the times, you actually do that – stand by and observe.
Collect empirical data.
And his parents, yes, they’re good parents. And very smart, both. But so many
people are and yet they die in accidents and get massacred and starve without
anyone ever learning their name.
Without drawing your attention to them.
 
 
Here you take a deep breath and marvel at the power of chance.
That made you stumble across that particular human of all humans of all times,
not that he is special, but he is to you and who could have foreseen that?
So it was chance and even you have to bow down to it, yes, and its mode of
operation ultimately defies your comprehension which you must accept.
That’s the rules, remember?
You slowly nod and congratulate yourself again on the idea to snatch his best
friend’s body.
Sure, you could have slipped back in time a little further and made a game out
of this. Created a body of your own, slowly gained his trust...
You wouldn't really call yourself a romantic, no.
But there was something sacred about this moment in the kitchen.
It was supposed to be the beginning of it all. So that's where you started
watching, observing until, finally, you entered the game.
You chose little Theodore.
Convenient, very convenient.
So you moved, not only into Theo’s body, but into Theo’s house and family which
gave you the chance for a little extra fun.
Theo’s parents’ faces though – your human brain doesn’t really remember them
now because you played with them a little too heavily a long time ago, and,
naturally, you had to replace them more than once.
But thinking about them now – which is something you haven’t done in years –
puts a grin onto your face. They loved them both so much, their son and
daughter.
The twins they’d adopted as babies, yes?
And they’d be thrilled - thrilled - to see the family back together.
Who knew you were capable of mercy, too, and that girl – sorry, your sister –
she is whispering to you to call her if you need anything, just say my name and
I’ll hear you, I’ll be here right away, and she rises from the bed, walks
across the room and switches off the light.
Then she stands by the door, waiting.
You know what this is. The human behavioral codex would have you express your
gratitude now.
And why not.
Always play the game.
You wouldn’t want it to get boring, yes?
You must obey the rules, it’s as simple as that.
So you softly lean back against the bedroom wall and, relaxing your eyes in the
darkness of the room already, say, “Thank you.”
And then, with a little pause to impart meaningfulness, a sense of ownership,
to the next three syllables,
 
 
“Malia.”
 
***** STILES *****
Chapter Summary
     Then: Young Stiles hears about the Hale house fire.
     Now: An unfortunate encounter in the woods.
Stiles was breathing heavily, and not only because he’d run the whole way from
his house into the forest without stopping once.
He was so freaking mad he wanted to punch a tree – but rational enough to know
that that wouldn’t change anything except, maybe, add to the pain he was
already feeling.
Fine, if Mr. Derek Hale was so sick of babysitting him why didn’t he just piss
off?
For all he cared, Derek could crawl back into the burnt shell of his stupid
house or empty apartment or to wherever the cynical asshole usually withdrew to
wallow in self-pity and pessimism.
Oh, and it’s not like Stiles had asked him to stay and play computer games for
five hours. Derek had really had fun but then, all of a sudden annoyed, had
jumped up, declared that he had better things to do and walked out the door.
Only to greet him with a stern look an hour later in his, Stiles’s, kitchen,
and demand that he finally eat something, God, would you believe this dumb
teenager.
Derek made him so angry he almost forgot how much he was hating Theo at the
moment.
Ok, yes, he felt hurt.
There.
Happy now?
Yeah, and betrayed, too, maybe.
Derek treated him like an animal that he didn’t quite understand and couldn’t
get to behave the way he wanted.
Yeah, that’s what he was to Derek.
Basically a dog who kept pissing on his favorite rug no matter how much Derek
was making an effort to train him. Apparently being in a pack didn’t include
that you actually get a little bit of respect.
That arrogant piece of shit.
And why was Derek fucking Hale still behaving as if he were the fucking alpha
of their stupid pack? And, what’s more, why would Scott even let him?
Maybe Scott should get Derek’s neck instead of trying to log into that of his
best friend.
Stiles took a few deep breaths and wiped his face with his sleeve.
No he wasn’t crying.
These were just – manly tears of anger.
After a few minutes he had calmed down sufficiently to look around a bit and
figure out where exactly he was. He hadn’t really cared before – he’d just
wanted to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible.
Sometimes you just have to follow your impulse and get the hell out. That or
punching Derek Hale in the face.
But he was angry, not suicidal.
He felt calmer now which was not necessarily a good thing because feelings of
guilt and shame instantly started creeping over him.
Yes, you could say that he’d had sort of a meltdown which is just barely above
a hissy fit on the teenage dignity scale. And thinking about it more calmly
right now – he wasn’t even quite sure what had happened.
Derek had just been... well, Derek, but for some reason, this time had been too
much for Stiles to bear.
Maybe he was falling apart more quickly than he’d thought possible.
“Graaaah!”
He rubbed his cheeks and forehead and shook his head and tiptoed around a tree
as if getting ready to step into the ring.
Of course he wasn’t too eager to confront Derek right now. Then again, he had
seen Derek in the most impossible, embarrassing situations. He’d seen him get
beat up and electrocuted and vomit and faint.
But none of these impressions seemed to stick.
In Stiles’s mind, Derek was still – well, the biggest badass on the planet.
Yes, it was embarrassing to admit that.
But when he’d first met Derek, Derek had been wearing the coolest leather
jacket Stiles had ever seen. It had reminded him of the aloof handsomeness of a
superhero’s alter ego.
Stiles shook his head. He did not want to think about that right now. He wanted
to be angry at Derek.
Yes, maybe Derek had been the first person he’d ever consciously thought of as
handsome. And he had undeniably and instantaneously admired him what with his
smoothness and good looks. And despite being so grown-up and tall – well, in
comparison to Stiles, that is – Derek had listened to Stiles’s ramblings for
almost an hour before he’d dropped him off in front of the Stilinskis’ house.
Being taken seriously can sometimes really work magic.
At eight years old, Stiles had had an immediate crush on Derek, the same way he
admired Iron Man or wanted to be friends with the Flash.
It hadn’t lasted long of course because two weeks after that Stiles had spit
gum into Lydia Martin’s strawberry red hair during recess whereupon she’d
kicked him in the shins.
Stiles had been immediately in love.
But badass Derek Hale? Stiles was shaking his head again and said “As if” to a
nearby tree.
What he really wanted to know was if Derek had already been such a grumpy
sourwolf but he honestly couldn’t remember. The next time he’d seen him was
years and years later and by then, Stiles had already forgotten all about their
chance encounter one sunny afternoon.
Alright, alright.
Almost everything.
Ok, maybe he’d been thinking about it occasionally throughout the years,
wondering where Derek had gone and wishing he would pop up in school and
pretend to be his older brother, for instance when Jimmy McCain and Howard
Fisher had flushed a large part of his Pokemon card collection down a toilet in
the boys’ first floor restroom at Lincoln Elementary.
But he’d also prayed for his dad to secretly be Batman, so his eight-year-old
self was obviously not to be taken seriously.
 
 
***
 
 
“Hi dad!,” Stiles yelled and a second later he came flying down the stairs and
into the living room to greet his father who smiled at him, a bag of groceries
in hands.
“Careful son, I got two dozen eggs in here – you still remember what happened
last month, right?”
“Yeah...,” Stiles said and stopped short. “Yeah... I’ll just stay here.”
He turned around and took a seat on the bottom step of the staircase.
“Good boy,” his father mouthed and walked into the kitchen to put down the
groceries. Stiles followed him at a safe distance.
“Dad?”
“Mh?”
“Are you tired?”
“Tired?”
John Stilinski turned to his son and smiled again. His cleverness could be
almost creepy sometimes.
“Yeah, exhausting day today...,” he said and proceeded to stuff the fridge with
food. He took out a green Tupperware box and looked at it. “Do you think we’ll
finish the Curry?”
“Dad, we haven’t had Curry in two weeks!”
“Oh. Right,” Stilinski said and, still kneeling in front of the fridge, leaned
over, opened the trash can with his right hand and let the green box with the
Curry hover over it for a second. Then, instead of opening the plastic lid, he
unceremoniously dumped the whole box into the trash.
“What happened?”
Stiles was squatting on one of the chairs.
“Feet on the floor, son,” his dad said and Stiles let his legs slide down over
the seat. He’d grown at least five inches over the summer, so they were long
enough to reach the floor now.
“So? What happened?”
Stilinski let out a sigh. Stiles wouldn’t stop asking anyway so he might as
well answer now.
“Well, I can’t tell you the details but we had a big case today. I’m going to
have to go back to the office once you’re in bed.”
“Oh. Ok. Be careful.”
Stiles was watching his dad cram the eggs in-between a carton of milk and a box
with marinated chicken wings. There was an unhealthy cracking sound from one of
the cartons but John Stilinski ignored it and threw the refrigerator door shut.
“So, what happened?”
“Arson.”
“The crime of maliciously and intentionally setting fire to a building?”
“Yes,” Stilinski said frowning.
“So, who did it?”
“We don’t know – and even if we did, we certainly wouldn’t tell you. Have you
finished your homework?”
“We didn’t get any today. Whose house was it?”
John Stilinski took off his jacket, opened the fridge again and stared at its
contents as if he’d never seen them before.
“Can we have the wings with potatoes?,” Stiles said and jumped up from the
chair. “I can prepare the salad.”
His dad nodded gratefully, dragged the box of chicken out from under the eggs
and closed the door with his right foot.
“Don’t ever do that, understood?,” he quickly said when he saw his son’s raised
eyebrows. His mom had been very strict about where hands and feet belong (on
door handles and windows versus on the floor).
“Understood. So?”
“Oh, right. It was the Hale house,” John Stilinski said. The box of chicken
wings was inexplicably dripping with egg yolk, so he went looking for a towel.
When they did these TV shows about the big, unsolved mysteries of the world,
they clearly forgot to mention kitchens.
“We got a call at about four p.m. People reported a wildfire but, turns out, it
was the Hale house,” he continued, slowly rubbing the box dry, only to rip it
open a few seconds later, turn it upside down on the kitchen counter to empty
it, and then dump it into the trash can, on top of the green Tupperware box.
“You know, that old mansion in the forest, near Highford Creek. Not sure if you
can call that a house, however – well, not now anymore, definitely...”
When Stiles didn’t answer, his dad turned around.
“Stiles? You ok?”
His son blinked and closed his mouth.
“Yeah, sure. Was – was anyone hurt?”
Stiles handed his dad the frying pan he had dug out of a pile of freshly washed
and folded kitchen towels on the table, but he really wanted to sit down now.
His knees felt like rubber all of a sudden and his heart was beating like
crazy.
He wasn’t quite sure why.
“Mh... yes,” his dad said slowly, voice muffled now because he had dived into
the cabinet under the sink. A second later he re-emerged with salt and pepper
shakers.
“Actually... it was really bad. Er... I don’t know how much I can tell you son
– or how much I should tell you, you’re having nightmares as it is.”
“Tell me,” Stiles said forcefully and his dad turned around in surprise.
“Please,” he added meekly to soften the demand.
His dad frowned but then, after a short pause, said, “There was – quite number
of casualties... actually... actually, we can’t be sure right now, but it looks
like the whole family was locked inside the building.”
He watched in amazement how all the color drained from his son’s face.
“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said, looking guilty. “I’m sorry son, I
keep forgetting that you’re only eleven.”
Stiles quickly shook his head but was unable to say anything.
He helped his dad prepare dinner in silence and it was only when they were
doing the washing up that he dared address the topic again.
“Dad? Is it absolutely certain? That – that they’re all – dead?”
Stilinski shook his head.
“No, we don’t know any details and I doubt that my colleagues could find out
anything just yet.”
“Can you tell me when you know – only about the casualties, I mean. They’ll be
in the newspaper anyway, right, dad?”
Stilinski looked at his strangely quiet son – a sight he didn’t like, didn’t
like at all – and said, “Yes. Yes, sure, why not. I’ll call you as soon as I
know.”
 
 
***
 
 
Stiles was shuffling along the leafy and muddy ground. He loved the forest –
always had. His sanctuary as a kid – in both his dreams and waking life. To
him, the shadows had never held anything evil.
He well remembered the dread with which he’d gone to bed that night, worried –
fearing – almost convinced – that Derek Hale was dead. He’d only really met him
once, yes, but he never forgot anyone. And when he heard that Derek was alive
but the rest of his family wasn’t, his heart broke for him and he hadn’t quite
recovered from that pain.
Not quite, no matter how dislikeable adult Derek had turned out to be and how
much of a jackass he was being now.
Stupid, idiotically empathic Stiles.
“So you still talk to yourself in the third person? Go ahead, I wouldn’t want
to interfere, you seem to really be entertaining yourself...”
Stiles spun around.
A form was moving in the darkness but Stiles didn’t have to see anything to
know who it was. Surprisingly, he was neither shocked nor scared.
He just didn’t have the energy for either.
“Hey Theo, creeping around the bushes like the creepy fucker you are?”
“Well, you’ve always been one of the brightest candles on Mommy’s cake...,” the
voice said, “Strawberry, right? Stiles-y’s favorite.”
Stiles was immediately furious again but this time, it was a dark, toxic rage
laced with hatred.
“Shut up!”
“Do you still cry every time you eat strawberry cake? Because that’s not what
boy’s do... and I’ve been thinking for a long time – maybe you’d be better as a
girl, anyway, mh?”
“Shut the fuck up!!”
Stiles had located the moving form a few feet in front of him and was about to
hurl himself at it when something grabbed his hands and pinned them to his
back, holding his whole body in place.
The recognition that Theo was behind him sent a cold shiver through his whole
body. Then, what was that...?
Never mind.
What could possibly be worse than evil incarnate grabbing him from out of the
shadows, then dragging him along the narrow path and through puddles and bushes
and finally shoving him against a black Mercedes SLS AMG, face first.
“Ugh, now you left a grease stain on the window. And I had it cleaned so nicely
before....”
“You goddamn son of a bitch...,” was all Stiles could say.
So that’s how you do this.
Run meat hooks through Stiles’s hands, beat and cut the crap out of him, almost
have him bleed out over a dirty concrete floor, mysteriously disappear and –
buy a sports car?
Sounds like Ted Bundy’s bucket list.
“Ts, you really lost your edge, haven’t you,” Theo said and pushed Stiles onto
the passenger’s seat. He considered him for a few seconds, then put on Stiles’s
seatbelt with a sly grin.
 
 
“Aah... don’t you just love the smell of a new car?,” Theo said when the
Mercedes turned the corner with squealing tires a minute later.
“You do know that driving a car like this doesn’t overcompensate for a small
penis.”
Theo chuckled amused.
“People have been saying this since the invention of cars and, granted, there
is a certain validity to it. Not in my case, of course. Your childhood friend
turned out – quite nicely. The ladies would’ve loved him, I dare say...”
Theo half-turned his head, sending Stiles one of his sly smiles, but Stiles
avoided his gaze. He was staring out the window, caught in a mixture of fury
and helplessness.
“I thought you’d be happier,” Theo continued, mock-hurt, “I got this car
deliberately for you, you know?”
Stiles snorted.
“No, really, I thought, what Derek Hale can do, you can do better, right?”
He let out a soft laugh.
“And you seem to like this kind of showmanship...”
Stiles pressed his lips together, determined not to give Theo additional
reasons to mock him. And, quite frankly, he didn’t quite bear him saying
Derek’s name like that. Or talk about Theo – the real Theo. Or about Scott, or
anyone. He didn’t want Theo to know or think about any of his friends.
To have your name lingering in the back of the devil’s mind is not a good
thing.
Theo didn’t provoke him further. For the moment, he seemed to be satisfied with
sitting next to Stiles, throwing him a glance now and then, and smiling
knowingly.
For a split second, Stiles wanted to ask him where he’d been.
If it was true that Derek had defeated him and where he was taking him now.
Or, he could start begging him to leave his pack alone. Offer him a deal. Offer
himself in exchange for the others’ lives.
But he was so tired.
So he just sat there in silence as the car smoothly glided around corners and
down dark alleyways like a black snake in a pipe.
***** THEO *****
Chapter Summary
     Steo/ Stucifer all the way.
When Stiles got out of the car, he immediately recognized the house.
What fresh hell was this?
“Why are we at Malia’s?”
Theo locked the car and let the keys rotate around his index finger.
“You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you can guess.”
Stiles thought about dashing off into the woods, only for a moment, then
followed Theo into the house.
When Malia greeted them, apron tied around her waist, Stiles considered that he
might actually be hallucinating.
 “I made cookies,” she said, beaming at Theo. “Hi, Stiles.”
“Wha...,” was the only thing he managed to say.
Theo shrugged.
“Follow me when you’re ready, Stiles.”
He had already turned around and vanished in what Stiles knew was Malia’s
bedroom.
Stiles would have obeyed since experience had taught him that it was always
better to listen to Theo but his feet just wouldn’t move.
His eyes found Malia’s. She looked deeply uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” she finally whispered.
What on earth was going on?
Theo must have brainwashed her.
But why then was she tearing up now?
Stiles took a few steps towards her, his arm outstretched to touch her
shoulder.
Just to be absolutely sure that it was her and not one of Theo’s cruel pranks.
Then again – if it actually was her... he’d have preferred her turn back into a
mangy dog or something and Theo jump out of the adjoining room and yell
‘Gotcha!!’
Which had happened before.
“Malia, are you ok? What has he done to you?”
Malia retreated towards the wall, moving out of reach of Stiles’ hand.
“I’m so sorry... he – he’s my brother...”
“What? No he’s not,” Stiles said. “What did he do to you?”
Malia slowly shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks now. Her hands
were shaking so she hid them in the pockets of her apron.
“I – sorry.”
She vanished in the kitchen and left Stiles standing there, staring at the
closed door.
Half a minute later he could hear her sobbing, trying to muffle the sound with
the clutter of pans and pots.
He slowly turned and walked over to Malia’s bedroom.
It felt as if someone else was directing his steps, as if someone else was
lifting his arm now to turn the doorknob, then shove his body through the door.
Close it behind him.
“...where’s her dad?”
“Business trip,” Theo said.
He was sitting on Malia’s computer chair, feet on her desk.
“Where is her dad?” Stiles said.
His anxiety had given way to something like blood lust.
He wanted to murder Theo.
Didn’t even fantasize about how slowly he would do it or how he’d let him
suffer.
He just needed to end him, make him vanish from this earth.
It had been done before.
“A penny for your thought,” Theo said and got up from the chair.
“No one says that anymore since 1970.”
“Man, you’re in a mood today... ok, I’ll elaborate, if that makes you happy.
Yes, her dad really is on a business trip. That was the condition for me using
her house – that I don’t hurt him.”
Theo was watching Stiles’ face closely when he added, “And yes – she is my
sister – or Theo’s. You couldn’t know that of course, because when you came to
little Theodore’s house to play she’d already been taken away by Child Services
and put into a different foster family. Broke her adoptive mommy’s heart.”
He laughed softly.
“But well... she still had me, right?”
“So you slept with your own sister, you sick bastard,” Stiles spit out. “And
keep her as your house slave and make her cook and clean for you.”
This statement excited a loud laugh from Theo.
“Now you’re being a little dramatic. First of all, I may be the king of hell
but I’m not a sexist. She put the apron on of her own accord. Doesn’t do a lot,
though. She usually ends up covered in dough from head to foot whenever she
does anything.”
Theo’s eyes were gleaming.
“We mostly order Chinese. As for me sleeping with her – it was a lie,
obviously. I may be evil, but I’m not interested in these things.”
Theo’s lips twisted into a grin.
“Even though she suggested that I try it for a change. You know, instead of
ripping your flesh off.”
They were looking at each other.
Theo with raised eyebrows and a soft smile.
Stiles with trembling fists, his face distorted with hatred.
“Stiles, come here.”
“I’m not your dog.”
“Come here or I’ll hurt Malia,” Theo simply answered and Stiles hated, hated,
hated how easy it was for him to get whatever he wanted. He took a few,
hesitating steps forward.
Theo put out his hand.
Stiles stared at it in bewilderment for a few seconds. Then he slowly raised
his right hand and put it into Theo’s palm. It was warm and soft and his grip
was strong. He led Stiles over to Malia’s bed and made him sit down.
“I admit that I – lost control – a little – last time. So I’ll try and restrain
myself today. We’ll play a little game that I call Don’t Move.”
“How creative,” Stiles said. He felt like throwing up.
Theo knelt down in front of him.
“You’re heart’s beating really fast,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Ok, here are
the rules.”
He moved his hand and when Stiles looked down he saw that Theo was holding a
switchblade.
“I’m not going to tie you up or restrain you in any other way. But if you try
to escape, I’ll do to Malia what you wouldn’t let me do to you.”
All the feeling had vanished from Stiles’ arms and legs but he had the strong
suspicion that it would return immediately when Theo put the blade to his skin.
“The key, as always, lies in simplicity. I never understood the need for
complicated torture devices. There is nothing like the beauty-”
He put the tip of the blade to Stiles’ left forearm.
“-of a knife biting into flesh.”
“You’re quite the poet,” Stiles said and then, “Gnnnn,” as Theo drew the blade
a few inches down his arm. He didn’t look down but could feel that the cut must
be at least three inches long.
He hissed when Theo traced the line with his finger.
“Your blood. Stiles...”
Theo’s voice was a gentle whisper now. He held his hand up in front of Stiles’
face who grimaced when he saw the blood dripping down from Theo’s index finger.
When Theo put the blade to his arm anew, Stiles closed his eyes.
He didn’t even flinch during the next five cuts.
Slowly but surely, however, his arm was burning like hell. It became more and
more difficult for Stiles to pretend not to feel anything.
Theo now rose and gestured for Stiles to do so as well.
When Stiles got up he realized how tense he was. It was only with a certain
effort that he got his legs to unfold and support him.
Then he was facing Theo.
He could feel the blood dripping steadily down his fingers and onto Malia’s
carpet.
Theo was smiling at him. Of course he was.
Stiles had been a good boy so far.
And there was still that hint of defiance in his eyes that Theo cherished.
Stiles frowned when Theo raised the switchblade.
“Going to stab me after all, mh?”
“Don’t be silly,” Theo said.
He let the blade slide under Stiles’s t-shirt and, without even asking him to
get rid of his purple hoodie, he ripped it apart.
“Hey, I liked that shirt!!”
Theo frowned at the shreds.
“Linkin Park? Really?”
“They’re – I got that at a concert-,” Stiles started but then stopped himself.
He didn’t have to justify himself to that bastard.
Or to anyone.
And Theo could tell him what to do but he wouldn’t get him to become his
puppet.
He can’t tell me what to think.
He can’t tell me what to think.
He can’t tell me what to think, Stiles was repeating in his head as Theo slowly
drew the blade across his naked chest.
When he stepped back to stare at his work, Stiles looked up to the ceiling.
Classic Malia. To leave the lights on despite the fact that it was broad day
outside.
“Your taste really evolved,” he said and then bit his tongue.
Just shut the hell up, you moron.
Don’t give him ideas.
But it was too late.
Theo chuckled softly. Nodded.
“Yeah, it has, hasn’t it... but,” and he let out a laugh, “I’m still a sucker
for fire, I can tell you that.”
“N-no,” Stiles said and quickly took a few steps back.
“Ah!”
Theo tilted his head a little to the right.
Stiles froze.
Goddamn this fucking bastard.
“No, Theo, please, not the – the lighter, Theo, come one...”
Theo let the lighter click.
Then he let the palm of his left hand hover over the small flame.
“Hssssss...”
He sucked air in through his teeth and shook his hand.
The flame died.
“Already healing, of course, but still painful.”
When he heard the lighter click again, Stiles couldn’t feel his legs anymore.
“Th-Theo, please... Theo – c-come on...”
Suddenly, Theo was standing directly in front of him. He was so close that
Stiles could smell his aftershave.
And his mouth was still going, going, going but he didn’t know what he was
saying or what he thought that talking would do for him.
“Say my name,” Theo whispered.
“Th-Theo,” Stiles said.
“My real name,” Theo hissed.
There was a pause.
“Lucifer,” Stiles said.
He closed his eyes.
So he wouldn’t have to see Theo’s soft smile and his slow nod but he could
still hear him say, “I always thought there was such an odd ring to it...”
He moved Stiles’ purple zip hoodie further out of the way, carefully, so as to
gain more naked skin around his shoulders and not to disturb the thin lines of
blood that were drawing a delicate pattern across Stiles’ chest and stomach.
“Shhhh,” Theo said and Stiles realized that he, Stiles, was still talking,
begging.
He felt miserable.
But not ashamed.
He had passed ashamed the day after his tenth birthday when Theo had tried to
get him to cut the tendon in his own foot and he had cried for him not to ask
him to do that, please, not that but anything else, anything, just not that.
When he had looked up he had seen Theo’s satisfied smirk and he had understood
that it had been a test. He’d successfully felt for Stiles’ breaking point.
Then they had sneaked over to old Mrs. Benson’s. She had this really old cat
that was usually prowling around the birdhouse in her back yard even though she
was way too slow and fat to catch anything. Theo had poisoned the piece of
sausage but Stiles was the one who had dangled it in front of Whiskers’ head
until she started following it with her green eyes. Stiles had chucked it at
her paws and then watched her chew and chew and chew.
A despicable act of cowardice.
Right?
“Stiles?”
Stiles blinked and Theo slipped into focus. He was still holding the lighter, a
questioning look on his handsome face.
Stiles tried hard not to look at the flame that was still dancing from the
silver rim of the little box in Theo’s hand.
“So how will it be this time when you’re done with me? Mh? Lucifer? Are you
going to keep me here forever – maybe lock me up in the basement? Or – why
don’t you throw me into the pit right now, where you can break me more
thoroughly. And keep me from my friends and family effectively.”
Maybe attack was the best defense.
In any case, it was the only one he had.
“Stiles,” Theo said, frowning. “Stiles. I don’t want to keep you from anyone. I
just want to have a little fun – to make me feel alive. Is that so strange?”
“Couldn’t do something, I don’t know, regular humans would do? Get hammered? Or
a drug of your choice?” Stiles said. He knew his voice was shaking and so were
his knees and hands.
But maybe, if he could get Theo to talk... and to keep talking, always keep
talking.
“Drugs?” Theo said and let the lighter flick shut and when the flame
disappeared Stiles felt hope stir in his chest.
“And being the monster that you are-”
“Lord of all the monsters,” Theo interrupted him.
“Being the arrogant fucker that you are, you’ll keep me from my pack and, and,
from talking to anyone I ever knew.”
“Oh, you can talk to them, Stiles. Talk to them all you want. As long as you
want. I won’t keep you from it,” Theo said and he smiled gently, genuinely,
“Only what you will have felt will be unspeakable, not to be put into words.
But that’s ok.”
He clicked the lighter and the flame sprung up and Theo’s eyes sparkled.
“I’ll understand.”
And the pain ripped through Stiles’ body, ripped into his brain and caused his
thoughts,
his voice,
his vision,
to fragment.
 
 
 
 
 
Theo was towering over him and Stiles was on the bed now, and Theo was towering
over him, kneeling on the mattress, a black shadow rising over him because it
was gradually getting darker now, the room, and the light on the ceiling was
starting to throw shadows, and Stiles was being held down by magic force now
with Theo standing, kneeling, over him but barely touching him, their little
game was over, obviously, because there was no way in hell that Stiles could
concentrate on not moving anymore, now.
He wasn’t even thinking anything.
He just wanted to get his chest away, just move it out of the flame’s reach but
he couldn’t gain an inch, not even one – fucking – inch, but his feet kicked
the pillows, the comforter, the mattress, and Theo was breathing heavily even
though it was Stiles
 
 
 
 
on whose chest blood from the cuts was creeping, burning, into the raw, singed
and raw, flesh now and he wasn’t even doing anything, Theo, was just standing
over him and looking down on him and breathing heavily and there was sweat on
his, Theo’s, fucking forehead even though he couldn’t possibly see that,
Stiles, because he was thrashing around on the mattress, straining, craning his
neck, throwing his head to the right and left and right and left and right...
 
 
 
 
Blind, completely blind except for that
 
 
 
“Scream,” Theo commanded and his chest was heaving.
He was staring down onto him, Stiles, like a maniac and wasn’t that ridiculous?
If only Theo were crazy, it would all be so much easier to understand and maybe
he could even be messed with.
“Gnnnn,” was all Stiles said, biting down onto the pillow.
He hadn’t even screamed once even though his vocal chords felt oddly sore.
Or maybe he had.
He didn’t know anything but the pain.
The pain.
The pain.
The
 
 
 
 
 
 
Theo.
“Theo! N-no, Lucifer-”
 
 
 
 
 
 
Stiles felt like he was slowly coming to.
He hadn’t been unconscious, no.
That’s not what it was like, ever.
If only.
But Theo.
Somehow, inexplicably, he had stopped.
It had stopped.
The evil little flame.
His chest and shoulders, they felt –
Stiles moaned and moved his head and pried his eyes open.
Or – no they had already been open but he had forgotten to blink and they were
dried out and not seeing anything but now they were slowly letting in image
after image after image again.
Stiles blinked a few times and tried to breathe the pain away and focus on the
figure that was standing in front of the bed.
Motionless.
It was Lucifer and it was like a blackness was emanating from his whole body.
Theo’s whole body.
His whole body was tensed up and he was staring at the floor, or the pillows on
the floor, or a shred of Stiles’ t-shirt on the pillow on the floor, and he was
visibly trembling.
That couldn’t be good but Stiles was too numb and drunk from the pain to wonder
about this.
And then Lucifer said,
Theo said,
he ground out,
“It’s not... enough,” hands clenched into fists now. Stiles could almost see
his whole body pulsating with rage.
Then he exploded.
He let out a scream then picked up the computer chair and threw it into the
wall next to the bed with a force that made the bed and door and walls vibrate
dangerously.
“WHY IS IT NOT ENOUGH?!”
***** SCOTT *****
Chapter Summary
     Theo is angry. Scott is worried. A Sterek moment.
Chapter Notes
     Thanks for comments & kudos - you guys are awesome! Please keep
     reading <3
“It’s not enough,” Theo ground out, hands clenched into fists now. Stiles could
almost see his whole body pulsating with rage.
Then he exploded.
He let out a scream then picked up the computer chair and threw it into the
wall next to the bed with a force that made the bed and door and walls vibrate
dangerously.
 “Why is it not enough?!”
Stiles quickly slid down to the floor and watched with an open mouth as Theo
raged through the room. Stiles used to think that Theo wouldn’t be as creepy if
he only showed a hint of human emotion – a tinge of anger, or fear, or
frustration, only once, only for a few seconds.
Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Somehow, inexplicably, his rage made Theo appear even less human.
There were steps in front of the door and a second later Malia came running
into the room.
“Theo, what on earth is going on?!”
She was staring at the hole in her bedroom wall and the remains of her computer
chair and then she spotted Stiles.
“Oh my God, Stiles, oh God, what the – God, I’m so sorry, so sorry...”
She had knelt down next to him and was staring at his chest, then raised her
hands as if meaning to touch him and then let them hover in mid-air.
As if she didn’t know where to touch him, as if she couldn’t make out a spot
that was not singed or cut or covered in blood.
“It’s ok, Malia. I’m ok,” Stiles said, his voice raspy. “Stop apologizing –
please. It’s not your fault, ok? It’s not your fault...”
He held his breath and picked himself up.
Theo hadn’t punched him in the stomach this time but, God, it felt like his
skin had been torn to shreds.
And melted.
And that was the thing with fire.
Even when Theo stopped, the burning sensation never really did, as if there was
a shadow flame still licking at the sensitive spots.
Stiles would always feel it for a long time, even after the wounds had healed
completely.
“Let’s go, Malia...,” he mumbled and started limping out of the room.
“Malia?”
“I – I can’t, Stiles.”
She was still sitting next to the bed, looking forlorn.
Helpless.
“He’s not your brother. He just stole his body,” Stiles muttered.
They were both looking over to Theo who was still standing motionless in the
middle of the room, staring at the floor.
Who knew what he was thinking right now.
Stiles saw a thin line of blood making its way from Theo’s left ear towards the
neckline of his orange sweater.
He knew what it meant.
It had only happened once before.
When Lucifer had realized that he couldn’t see Stiles anymore because of what
his, Stiles’, mother had done.
From one moment to the next, Stiles had vanished from Lucifer’s radar and he’d
been mad, Lucifer.
Livid.
So furious in fact that he’d almost burst out of his human shell, yes.
Because that would’ve greatly increased his powers and heightened the
possibility of recovering Stiles, see?
He’d even started bleeding from his mouth and nose and eyes and his skin had
started to crack. Back when.
But apparently he was very attached to that body and he’d pulled himself
together at the last minute, just in the very last instant, and vanished.
Which had turned out to be the right thing for him, obviously, since that thing
that Stiles’ mom had done?
It had made it impossible for Lucifer to come close to Stiles, no matter in
which shape.
Lucifer hadn’t known that, not then at least, but Stiles was convinced that he
had guessed. Understood. And crawled back into some black hole.
And lay low.
Maybe slept or simply stared into the darkness, waiting. Waiting.
Waiting.
Maybe – maybe he’d do the same thing now.
Withdraw and think.
It’s not enough – what did that mean?
But Stiles didn’t really want to know. He just wanted him to be gone.
“Malia, don’t!”
But it was too late.
She’d already touched Theo’s shoulder and woken him from his trance.
He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.
Then at Stiles.
But before he could open his mouth a shadow came flying in and swiped Theo off
his feet.
Without thinking, Stiles fumbled with the zipper of his hoodie.
His fingers trembled, even after he’d successfully pulled the zipper up.
“Stiles, are you ok, man?”
It was Scott.
Scott was here.
Why was Scott here?
And the shadow – that was Derek, of course.
He was holding Theo pinned to the wall now, sending his fists into his stomach
again and again and again and Stiles could see blood spurting out of Theo’s
mouth and sprinkle his sweater and Derek’s face.
Derek didn’t even blink.
Malia who had retreated towards the bed let out a whimper, her eyes glued to
Theo’s limp body but she seemed unable to move.
Stiles suddenly thought he understood her.
“Derek, stop,” he said and then, with more energy, more determination, “Derek!
STOP!”
Derek’s head snapped in his direction and Stiles could see his eyes burning,
flaming, bright green and he was sure Malia had seen it, too. Derek took a step
back.
 Scott, whose hand was resting on Stiles’ shoulder now, said, “Why? Stiles,
Theo needs to be – we need to get rid of him.”
These words out of a true alpha’s mouth.
His pack was really meaning it.
They’d finally caught on, recognized the very real danger that Theo posed to
them. To everyone.
He was pretty sure that, if he stepped outside right now, he’d also find Liam
and Kira.
But for some reason, that thought didn’t make him feel very good.
“If you destroy his body – it’s no use, Scott. He’ll find a new one, soon,
throw another innocent person into the pit. Derek, come on, please.”
It was odd.
Watching Theo collapse on the floor now didn’t give Stiles the satisfaction
he’d expected.
Maybe because Malia was crawling towards her brother’s body, tears in her eyes,
arms outstretched to touch him.
Stiles understood.
Perfectly.
He’d been searching for Theo, the real Theo, the human inside this monster, for
a long time.
Until he’d understood that there was nothing left of him.
Malia would get it in time but now was definitely too soon.
Hope really is a little bitch.
“We need a plan. Ok? Scott?”
Stiles couldn’t believe he was saying this.
Scott looked at him, clearly hesitating.
“Let’s take him with us at least. Restrain him-”
“In your bathtub?”
Stiles raised his eyebrows at Scott and he thought he saw the hint of a smile
appear on Scott’s face.
“No, I remember you explaining to me in detail how that was the most stupid
plan I could’ve come up with, ever. No bathtubs or chairs or ropes.”
“He can’t be restrained,” Derek said now.
Stiles saw his eyes flicker back to hazel and it sent shivers down his back.
Which, again, was very odd considering the fact that his chest and shoulders
and arm and stomach screamed with pain from – well, it wasn’t Derek’sfault,
that was for sure.
“Stiles is right,” Derek added, “we have to find a way to take his powers away
from him.”
“Good luck,” Stiles muttered under his breath, “taking the fucking devil’s
powers away...”
“Stiles,” Derek said.
“Mh?”
There was a pause during which both Scott and Derek were staring at him.
“You’re like – totally drenched in blood, dude...,” Scott said but Stiles
shrugged and limped out of the room.
As expected they met Kira and Liam on the porch and Stiles wanted to tell them
to take Malia away but he knew she wouldn’t listen anyway.
And right now he didn’t even care. About anyone or anything. At all.
He really wanted, needed, to sleep. Escape.
Drown out reality.
 
 
 
“How is he?”
Melissa considered her son for a second, then continued stuffing medical
supplies back into the green satchel.
“He’ll be fine. Scott?”
She zipped up the First Aid kit, folded her hands on top of it and looked at
Scott.
“Stiles looks like – he was tortured. What is going on with you kids?”
Her voice wasn’t very steady and she knew that Scott could see that she was
tearing up.
Which she shouldn’t be ashamed of, right?
Obviously a fresh kind of monster was out to get the kids and no one could help
them, no one, no one.
She’d always believed – well, not in God, maybe, but in something. Like a force
or a being. And she hadn’t stopped back then, when she’d sat in her room for
days after she’d found out about Scott.
There hadn’t been a particular moment.
Her faith had just eroded over time.
Maybe the reason was her being so stressed out – so stressed out all the time
that she couldn’t catch a breath.
Like she had no capacity left in her for anything but worries and worst case
scenarios.
Or what she liked to call reality.
“Mh?”
“Mom, everything ok?”
Melissa nodded curtly.
“And Stiles – well, yeah... someone did that to him but – we can do something
about it. Him. I’m sure about that. I promise.”
“How can you promise that Scott? You’re a teenager, you shouldn’t have to
promise anything.”
“Ok, right. Please don’t tell Stiles’ dad.”
Melissa shook her head in disbelief.
“How can I – Scott, I’d want to know. I’d always want to know.”
“I know, mom. But I’m sure Stiles doesn’t want his dad to know and he’s still
the patient.”
Melissa took in a deep, long breath. Then she put the handle of the first aid
kit over her shoulder.
“Alright, Stiles should tell him that he’ll stay overnight and – if he calls
me, I’ll confirm that. But I won’t lie to him, ok? I can’t. Parents of
supernatural teenagers need to stick together.”
“Stiles is not...,” Scott started but then said, “Ok. Thanks, mom.”
And maybe that was the problem.
Stiles was so fragile, so human.
Scott was pretty sure that that was part of his attraction to Theo.
Well, to Lucifer.
Man, he still couldn’t wrap his head around everything Derek had told him.
“We need a plan.”
“I know,” Scott answered Derek who had just entered the kitchen.
There was a pause.
Then Derek said, “You should have let me rip his head off.”
Scott nodded.
He understood the feeling.
Stiles hadn’t let them see – he’d insisted on being alone with Melissa, hadn’t
even allowed Scott as much as a glimpse on his naked body – but they’d seen the
blood soak through the fabric of his hoodie earlier. They had smelled the burnt
skin.
“I’ll pay Deaton a visit. See if he knows anything.”
Scott nodded and Derek left.
A plan, yes.
What had stopped Lucifer the last time was the death of Stiles’ mom.
Which was awesome and so Harry Potter if it weren’t so tragic.
So what they needed was basically a human sacrifice.
Scott knew that Stiles must have been considering this option since Theo’s
return and he, Scott, would make damn sure that Stiles wouldn’t get the chance
to do it – to do anything that could put his own life in danger.
When Scott climbed the stairs to check on Stiles he wondered if it was
egotistical of him to think that.
 
 
Theo wasn’t in school the next day and neither was Malia.
Stiles wasn’t particularly surprised about that.
He just hoped that Malia was ok.
As ok as she could be considering that she was basically the devil’s flesh and
blood.
He’d almost ended up not going himself either.
To school.
He’d argued with Scott for full ten minutes and it had been Melissa’s gentle
pressure on Scott’s shoulder that had finally made him agree.
So he was sitting through Math and Econ and Chemistry, History and English,
mind comfortably numbed by pain medication and reminding himself to move
cautiously every time he got up.
He wasn’t too eager to bleed onto the floor directly in front of Coach
Finstock’s ugly brown loafers.
“So the question really is,” Stiles said hours later, carefully shouldering his
backpack, “where are the khakis that go with Finstock’s shoes and when will
he finally come out of the closet...”
Scott and Lydia just looked at him.
“You know – because he’d have to... er... hide them in a dark ass closet. Cause
they’re so – ugly.”
Nothing.
Total silence.
“Too soon? Okay,” Stiles mumbled.
Lydia frowned.
“That was horrible, Stiles, and you know it.”
“She’s talking about your pathetic joke, bro,” Scott added but he was smiling
now. “But I'm glad you’re back to normal.”
“Back to- you know, you can be a real jackass.”
Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder and Stiles flinched only a little.
“Look who’s here. The pack grandpa,” Scott said and they all turned towards
Derek who came across the parking lot, both hands in his leather jacket.
“Good thing the pack grandkids aren’t here,” Lydia said, pursing her lips.
“Yeah, Derek still scares them to death,” Scott said and Stiles, despite
himself, had to smile.
“I’m scaring who exactly to death?”
Derek had caught up with them.
“Liam and Mason,” Scott said.
Derek frowned at him.
“Mason’s a nice kid and Liam needs to get a grip already.”
“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Lydia said and Derek glowered at her.
“So... Deaton say anything?” Scott said and Derek slowly shook his head.
“But he’s working on it. I told him as much as I could yesterday. Stiles,” and
Stiles almost jumped because Derek’s tone was sharp and so was the gaze that
was piercing him now.
“D-Derek?”
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure...”
He followed him a few steps away from the group.
Scott could probably still hear them but was polite enough not to eavesdrop.
Werewolf etiquette.
 
 
“So, waddup, Derek. Shoot.”
Derek didn’t even shake his head at Stiles’ goofy grin.
“How are you, Stiles?”
Stiles shrugged which hurt despite the pain killers but he had decided to play
his part.
“Well, you don’t look ok.”
“But I am,” Stiles simply said. “For now. And-”
“Listen,” Derek interrupted him. “I meant to – apologize.”
Stiles blinked.
“For – yesterday. If I hadn’t pissed you off, you wouldn't have run out of the
house.”
Stiles shrugged again, this time too embarrassed to look Derek in the eye. He
had completely forgotten about his meltdown.
Theo’s eerie smile was haunting him but he hadn’t thought about apologizing to
Derek, not even for one second.
“That’s ok, man. I’m really s-”
“Forget it, Stiles.”
Derek made a step towards him and gave him a short, firm hug. He patted his
back twice and let go again.
Stiles didn’t know why but his knees felt like rubber all of a sudden.
“I never told you that, I guess... er...”
Derek rubbed his forehead, obviously at a loss for words, but Stiles didn’t see
it.
He was staring at his sneakers.
When did everything become so awkward between them?
“That night when er... Peter bit Scott.”
Then again – when had it ever not been awkward.
“And I was there, remember?”
Stiles nodded slowly, wondering why everything was so easy with Scott and Liam
and Mason and Danny and Coach Finstock and his dad and Malia’s dad and
everyone’s dad but so difficult with Derek.
“I wasn’t there because of Peter. Or because of the police. I was there because
of you.”
“Huh?”
Stiles looked up in surprise.
“W-what now?”
Derek watched Coach Finstock fumble with his car keys on the other end of the
parking lot.
“I was there because of you,” he repeated, “to keep you from getting bitten.”
Stiles blinked.
“I had picked up your scent and wanted to make sure you weren’t getting
yourself in trouble again. And then Peter – well, the Alpha – appeared out of
nowhere and I pushed you out of the way. And-”
“...and Peter bit Scott,” Stiles said.
“...yes.”
“... does Scott know about this?”
Derek nodded curtly.
“I told him. Yesterday.”
“And – why would you stop Peter from biting me?”
“Well, you were right in his way. He would’ve-”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Stiles was looking at Derek now.
“I know. I’m meeting Deaton in fifteen minutes.”
“You can’t just run away like that.”
“Ask Scott,” Derek just said, turned around and walked away.
 
 
“What are they talking about, Scott?”
Scott just shook his head.
“I’m trying not to eavesdrop.”
“But you did, just now,” Lydia said.
“Yeah... that was strange... just now...”
“What was strange? Derek Hale hugging someone and that someone being Stiles?”
Scott slowly shook his head again.
“No, not necessarily but...”
“What? Scott, you’re stressing me out. Just get it out already, God.”
“His heart just skipped a beat.”
Lydia frowned. She looked over to the boy and the teenager who were talking in
the shade of a tree but the only thing she could hear were Coach Finstock’s
curses.
“Stiles’ heart?”
Scott shook his head.
“Derek’s.”
 
 
 
“Did my mother have a look at your chest?”
“Mh? Oh yeah... yes. She said it’s starting to heal.”
Stiles was lying on the bed. He was exhausted.
But he also needed answers.
“So Derek – talked to me and – what’s that about getting Peter to bite you
instead of me..? Has the old sourwolf lost his mind now?”
“Can’t say anything about his sanity but... I can tell you what he said
yesterday.”
Stiles listened in amazement for a few minutes.
“So this dude – Farn... yall?”
“Phanuel.”
“You know him?”
Stiles nodded slowly.
Of course he did.
So it had really been him.
A few weeks back, down in the kitchen, after Stiles’ ankle had woken him up.
Even though, by now, he should know better than to go down to the kitchen at 3
a.m.
So he’d found a way, somehow, to get around Lucifer’s ban.
Just as Lucifer had found a way to get around his own.
These exorcisms really weren’t what they used to be anymore.
“So your mom’s – sacrifice...”
“Yup.”
Stiles just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Derek knew – had known
– about everything. Always.
Now, that would make things so much less awkward between them.
“And still – here he is. Theo.”
“Yeah, well...,” Stiles said, slowly sitting up in bed. “Technically, I died.
And that’s when my mom’s protection... it ended. Naturally.”
“Stiles...”
“I threw it away. What could be worse than causing your mother’s death, you
ask? Oh, right, causing her death and then throwing her sacrifice away.”
He let his head sink back against the wall.
“You saved your dad. Remember?”
But Stiles didn’t answer.
Yeah, he remembered. He remembered everything, always.
That was precisely why he couldn’t sleep anymore.
It was the only good thing about his stinging burning biting skin.
See, it was just this feeling. That whatever Theo did to him, it was right.
Fair, in a sense, even.
He deserved it.
***** THE BETA *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek's little problem. A mystery solved. Theo's back in school.
     Lydia has a magic purse.
Chapter Notes
     Stay tuned for the most bizarre chapter opening yet.
     Well. Sorry about that.
     Derek's POV is really hard, don't judge me.
You stroll down the long rows of deodorant, tools, microwave dinners and
magazines, and wavering over the shelves, softly, is “Good Vibrations” by the
Beach Boys.
“Hey, sicko!”
You consider the cover page of Home Improvement Now that is adorned by a black-
haired hottie with big boobs. These Kardashians really are everywhere.
“Yeah, it’s him – hey, over there by the porn magazines! Hey, Hale, are you
fucking kids in that leather jacket?”
You turn your head a little. Roll your eyes as soon as you notice the two
hipsters down the aisle, totally hammered, obviously.
And God, whoever allowed moustaches to time travel here from 1640 and terrorize
everyone’s sense of aesthetics must really hold a grudge against humanity.
“What’re you looking at, you creep? Wanna murder us like your whole goddamn
family? You sick piece of shit...”
You put down the magazine and leave the store but not to escape the hipsters.
What was really driving you nuts was the song.
And not all of it, not the whole song but – this particular line.
She goes with me to a blossom world.
Now that’s the actual line. Verbatim, yes?
Ok, here’s the thing.
What you understand, every time it comes on in your car, or pops up on TV –
and, granted, it’s not that often, it’s not like they play it 24/7 these days –
what comes out of the old radio, or your laptop, or the Sennheiser sound system
in your car, it’s She goes with me to a possum drool.
Possum drool, that’s not even a thing. Or a word.
It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.
When you first listened to it, and you don’t even know when that was, must of
been around 19... – ok, 1995... 96? – it’s what your kid’s brain twisted the
words into and even though you’ve heard it a hundred times now, even googled
the lyrics once there was google, then tried, strained your ears, just get them
to hear the right thing and yet, possum drool it is. So, apparently this cannot
be unheard. By you at least, and it’s – annoying.
How twisted are you exactly?
It doesn’t even really matter.
Right?
It’s not like everything else in your world is just peachy.
There’s kids being ripped apart by bombs every day in Gaza, all kinds of
peoples subject to genocide and neocolonial theft, hundreds, thousands of
people erring around the antisocial spectrum in our hyperinflated media
consumers’ world, everyone starving drowning bombing raping abusing stealing
scarring. Depressing stuff happening everywhere due to ideology or greed or
whatever. Hatred perhaps, who knows.
Ok, yes.
Yes, that’s all horrible but the thing is – it’s a really great song and all
you can fucking hear is possum drool.
 
 
 
All of a sudden the two hipsters from earlier that night resurfaced in Derek’s
brain and with them the butchered lyrics of Good Vibrations.
Had he been in human form, he would’ve shaken his head. Instead he snorted and
fell into an irregular trot.
What was astonishing wasn’t the recurring of an insignificant piece of memory
per se but that it kept happening after the shift. His wolfish senses were
supposed to drain out logical reasoning and rational thought and yet he was
haunted – again – by that stupid fragment of lyric. Or – non-lyric.
And what worried – unsettled – him about it, about this odd timing, was the
suspicion that Feniel had messed with his brain. It wasn’t working the way it
should be.
Right now, for instance, what seemed to form in the dense mist in front of him
but, as he knew, was really seeping out of the dark corners of his brain, was a
mental image of Stiles’ face and that wasn’t, couldn’t, be what he would
usually think of on the prowl.
Usually, he’d leave the human world and enter the world of scents, of hunger,
and of speed.
But then this guy came along, saved his life even though Derek hadn’t asked him
to and never would’ve even if he’d had the chance, then put his finger to
Derek’s forehead and twisted something around.
Derek hadn’t felt it then but it wasn’t like he had felt anything else.
But once he could think more clearly again, direct his mind to less depressing
things, he had started noticing.
This boy was on his mind.
And he couldn’t get his brain to snap back again.
It was like a fucking farce.
Possum drool, all over again.
He tried to listen to the right lyrics, kept forcing himself back to the
correct subject matter, the right train of thoughts and yet his mind kept
deviating.
Gradually at first.
Yes, he’d watched the boy. Well, he’d had to, right?
It’s not that he was bound by something like a heavenly contract or whatever.
But he’d given his word. Sort of, at least.
So he’d started watching him and, boy, Stiles got into trouble a lot.
So he stood by, watched, kept him safe.
Alive.
And human.
Feniel had been very particular about that one.
It got easier once he, Derek, had joined Scott’s pack. They were all looking
out for each other.
And then he, Derek, had started sensing Stiles in a different way.
At first, he’d thought it was because they were both betas of the same pack.
Initially, he’d truly thought it was normal to see Stiles in his dreams. Just
as an example.
Then he waited for the other pack members to show up as well but it was only
Stiles who sat on a flying cupboard in Beacon Hills High and Stiles who looked
up from an open grave in one of Derek’s recurring nightmares. Never Scott or
Liam or Mason. Erica and Boyd, yes. But that was a different story and Derek
knew it.
So, he’d mistaken the Stiles thing for the natural bond between the wolves of a
pack.
 Everyone would think that, yes? Every werewolf, at least.
Right?
God, it was so infuriating.
Ok.
So, naturally, coming back to Beacon Hills now after weeks and weeks in Mexico
– what’s more, coming back and joining the pack as a beta – he’d thought he
could relax, lean back again. It’s not like Feniel had ever told him what
exactly to look out for. Not good with words, that dude.
Still, things got calm, yes?
Yeah, as if.
Here’s the thing.
It started happening gradually.
For instance.
Every time Stiles left a room and his scent vanished with him, Derek felt
agitated.
Not much, but enough to worry him. He wasn’t used to losing focus and quite
frankly, he felt as if this was the reason why Kate hadn’t missed even though
his, Derek’s, speed was almost legendary, why he hadn’t been able to outrun
Peter, why fucking Kate had even managed to capture him and drag him to Mexico.
Why he never put down a single victory when he’d been an alpha, or properly
train his betas or do anything that an alpha usually does.
Why he had never really been an alpha at all.
Because, essentially, he’d already been something else.
Had been made something else at the end of an angel’s fingertip.
Stiles’ guardian.
Awesome.
The dream, right?
It wasn’t Stiles fault, don’t get me wrong.
Not at all and Derek wasn’t mad at him – not always, at least.
But it had dislocated a certain amount of his powers. Picture it like the side
effect of some drug or the symptoms accompanying a disorder. It’s not the real
problem but it comes with the problem and turns it into an even bigger problem.
Which was probably why, during these moments when his eyes turned green, he
might seem a little out of control to Scott, yes, but he felt so focused,
alive, so right, it was a miracle.
Ha.
No pun intended.
See?
There it was again.
He shouldn’t be thinking about word games and irony after wolfing out. He might
be cynicism impersonate as a human but as a wolf he was part of a different
kind of language.
Derek considered changing back in order to at least gain the human illusion of
control over his thoughts but then, luckily, the smell of rotten flesh and
dried blood seeped in through his snout and all his sense fixated on a few
shrubs and small trees about four seconds ahead of him.
Derek didn’t even flinch when a shape crashed through the bushes on his left.
It was Liam of course. He’d smelled it, too, the crawling mess of monster ahead
of them.
Half-human, half-wolf Liam wasn’t as fast as Derek but he’d be incredibly
strong one day.
Not that Derek would ever tell him that.
The young wolf had to make an effort to even fit into the pack as it was. The
last thing he needed was an ego-boost.
Liam roared and Derek reacted instantaneously.
He made a leap to the left with the incredible agility that only Derek was
capable of and just barely escaped the long talons of the thing that had been
lurking in the upturned roots of a tree trunk.
What the fuck.
His human thoughts just wouldn’t stop.
He couldn’t focus on his senses, not as he needed to, and this time, it had
almost killed him.
Oh great.
Now he owed his life to Liam.
Perfect, this night was just perfect.
“It was just this one... u-urgh. D-Derek...?”
Derek wasn’t particularly eager to shift back now but he knew he had to.
The tree trunk was huge. Derek considered it for a second, leaped on top of it,
shifted back and sat down, ignoring the steaming heap of monster that Liam had
just shredded.
“....you ok?”
Derek nodded courtly.
Liam threw him his jacket but Derek ignored it.
It hit the trunk and flapped to the ground.
“You throw like a girl.”
Liam blinked but didn’t respond. Derek knew he tried hard not to vomit. God,
this kid... probably even more chaotic than Stiles would be as a werewolf.
And there he was again, Stiles. In his thoughts like a leech, draining Derek of
his concentration and, quite frankly, his sanity.
Derek let out a growl and jumped up and Liam, taken by surprise, stumbled a few
feet back. Derek could hear his heart pound quickly.
“What’s the matter? D-did you sense anything? B-because I-”
“Scott’s coming,” Derek said. “Tell him, I went further east.”
He had already shifted back when he heard Liam mutter, “Where’s east?”
Derek slid into the darkness, straining his senses to detect even the faintest
hint of monster. He knew he should run with Liam. They might be the same in
rang but Liam was still his junior. Still, Derek needed to sort this out by
himself.
His lack of focus was particularly bad tonight and he wasn’t eager to endanger
his pack while they were taking down Lucifer’s hellish spawn.
 
 
“And then he just vanished?”
Liam nodded, opened his mouth to say something but then quickly closed it
again. He knew Derek was coming and that dude could get really creepy so nope,
no way in hell that he would say out loud what he was thinking right now.
Plus, he might be mistaken.
A second later they heard Derek’s steps outside and another two seconds later
the man himself was in front of them. He was carrying his leather jacket in his
right hand and was just pulling his t-shirt down. Apparently Derek had been
getting dressed while walking across the front lawn. Thank God it was dark
outside. Then again, old Mrs. McKay from next door probably wouldn’t mind a
glimpse at Derek’s body.
“So you really hunt as a full wolf now?” Scott said and Derek nodded.
“Um... isn’t that incredibly – I don’t know... impractical?”
“Keeps me focused. Keeps my senses sharp,” Derek answered.
Scott considered him for a moment.
“You are a man of few words and a thousand mysteries, aren’t you...”
Liam veiled his laughter with a half-hearted cough and Scott grinned at the
sour expression on Derek’s face.
“And how did that work out for you? Mh, Derek?”
“Well, Scott,” Derek said, his voice barely containing his anger, “it didn’t –
not very well, today at least. But you already know that because Liam just told
you.”
“Not very well, huh... so you say you couldn’t focus, not even as a full wolf?”
Derek shook his head, not sure where Scott was going with this.
“And, why do you think that is?”
Derek blinked.
“Well, if you have to know...”
“I’m your alpha,” Scott pointed out.
“Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out. Again.”
Scott’s grin widened.
“If you have to know – my human thoughts keep interfering with my wolf senses –
but that’s not half as funny as you think it is, Scott McCall.”
“First, that is hardly the way to address your alpha. You may call me ‘My Lord’
or ‘Your Majesty.’ Second – oh, it is very funny. Like, seriously dude.”
Derek threw Liam a glance who seemed to be shaking with nervous laughter.
“I... need to go call... someone,” he said and scurried out of the room.
“What’s the matter with you? Have you two lost your mind?”
“Derek, I’m sorry,” Scott said soothingly, even though he was still smiling,
“you really don’t understand? Even Liam can smell it and his wolf senses aren’t
particularly well-developed yet...”
Derek just glared at him.
“The reason you can’t focus? Come on dude...”
They were looking at each other.
“You really don’t have clue?”
“That – angel – he... he messed with my brain – I think, and-,” Derek slowly
started but Scott shook his head.
“Derek, you’re alright. Really. You’re just – seriously horny.”
 
 
Scott couldn’t be serious.
It was a conspiracy. It must be.
How could he exude horniness – yes, these had been Scott’s exact words –
without even being aware of it.
It wasn’t so very embarrassing per se – Derek could sense his alpha’s every
mood and change of mind and that wasn’t even talking about Liam who was so much
easier to read than Scott and in high puberty, too – but the fact that Derek
hadn’t noticed was a puzzle to him.
Why hadn’t he noticed?
Now that he thought about it Scott might be right.
Derek felt relieved and confused at the same time. Relieved because that was an
easy-to-solve problem. Yet confused because, well.
The only person constantly on his mind was Stiles.
Ok, whatever.
Derek put on his jacket und slid his right hand into the pocket to fish out his
car keys.
He wasn’t going to think about Stiles who wasn’t even here but back home at his
own house, all safe.
Derek would go grab a beer and, just to be sure that no unwanted thoughts would
interfere with him tonight, he would pick up someone. Anyone. He didn’t really
care.
Preferably female.
Derek’s lips twisted into a grin. He unlocked his Camaro.
“Piece ‘o cake...”
 
 
The first thing Stiles saw when he walked into the classroom was Theo.
He felt the blood drain from his face and hated himself a little for it.
The moment Stiles saw him Theo looked up and their eyes met.
Of course.
“Hey, watch out Stilinski.”
Someone shoved him out of the way because Stiles just stood there, mouth half
open.
He’d been sure Theo wouldn’t come to school anymore. They’d sort of reached
stage two, yes? Freakishly scary devil barely contained by his human vessel and
thirsting for blood, for sweat and, most particularly, for pain.
So, naturally, Stiles had thought that stage one – mock-harmless drop dead
gorgeous high school bad boy – would be tedious for Theo. A kid’s game he
wasn’t interested in anymore.
After all, wasn’t that what he’d said to – screamed at – the ruins of Malia’s
bedroom?
That it wasn’t enough?
That, basically, he wanted to, needed to, rip Stiles apart for gratification?
Was there any other way to understand it?
So why wasn’t he haunting some 19th century massacre? There had been enough of
them in California alone, Stiles knew that because little devil-boy Theo used
to tell him about them in the sandbox, right after he’d made Stiles cut his
pinkie and thumb and index finger on the shard of a bottle and bleed onto his
mud pie.
And, yes, ten is a perfectly good age to still be playing in the sandbox. Not
everyone can afford to be all grown up so soon. Like Mr. Derek Hale, for
instance, who was probably born 47. Stiles knew that Derek secretly listened to
the Beach Boys and, to his, Stiles’, mind, that would make Derek about a
hundred.
Thinking about Derek made him relax a little. Stiles tried to picture Derek’s
burning green eyes, think about what they meant and how he had beaten the crap
out of Theo a few days ago, and he finally managed to tear his gaze away from
Theo’s.
“Stiles, what’s wrong with you. And that’s my seat, move!”
Yeah, right, that was Sean’s seat. But where was his own?
He absolutely couldn’t remember.
“Hi, Theo,” a black-haired girl, Janine, now said, giving Theo a beaming smile.
Theo who was reading a book didn’t even look up.
And then Stiles, still only a few steps away from him, heard loud and clear
what he said next even though Theo merely seemed to whisper the words.
“Light of my life,” he said, “fire of my loins.”
Janine blushed wildly and stumbled into her seat next to Theo's, obviously too
agitated to take out her smartphone and tweet what had just happened.
Stiles tried to laugh sarcastically but the only thing that came out of his
mouth was a shaky whimper so he added, “Weird much?”
Theo lifted his eyebrows. He raised his voice a little and said,
“Nabokov.”
Stiles just stood there staring at the book cover that, in-between Theo’s thin
fingers, read Lolita. He knew it was his turn now to say something but there
was literally nothing he could think of. Nope, no verb or noun or adjective or
– grammar? God. Why did this dude freak him out so much.
Just turn around and fucking sit down, Stiles.
Instead, he watched Theo’s lips curl into one of his soft smiles and his,
Stiles’, knees started feeling sort of – rubbery.
“You should read it. Very insightful.”
“Don’t do that Stiles. Nabokov’s a creep,” said Lydia who had come strutting
into the room and stopped right in front of Theo’s desk, cherry red lips pursed
and arms akimbo.
Theo dropped the book onto his desk where it flapped shut, and leaned forward,
eyes fixated on Lydia now.
“It’s fiction, Lydia. The writer is not identical with the protagonist. You
know that, right?”
 “Ok then – Humbert Humbert’s a creep,” Lydia said haughtily.
Theo chuckled softly.
“I knew you’ve read it, Lydia. Probably try to be like her, too, mh? Did you
know,” and he tilted his head a little to the right, “that the book is based on
a true story? Only, in reality, it was a psychopath abducting a little girl and
trying to turn her into his very own plaything. Make her perfect.”
Stiles thought he saw Theo’s eyes darken and, following an impulse, he grabbed
Lydia’s arm.
“Ouch, Stiles!”
“Class is starting, come on,” Stiles said and tried to drag her away from
Theo’s desk.
“You don’t even come near him, Theodore Raeken!” Lydia managed to hiss before
Stiles pulled her away. Without even apologizing – in a consequently very un-
Stiles-ish move – he shoved her into her own seat two rows in front of Theo.
Son-of-a-bitch was always lurking behind them in every single goddamn classroom
and Stiles was pretty certain that he’d very soon feel the overwhelming urge to
jump up and dash out of Math. Or History or English, it was just a matter of
time until he couldn’t take it anymore. Right now, just the thought of Theo
staring at his neck made his hands tremble, and blur his ‘l’s and ‘m’s and
blotch his ‘i’s and ‘e’s.
The result of this day would be a very worn out Stiles and a bunch of illegible
notes.
 
 
It’s not that Theo was the complete and total center of Stiles’ fear.
Because that’s not how fear works.
It’s more a shifting of the ground under your feet. A hole of dense nothingness
opening up behind your right shoulder and threatening to swallow you. Bury you
alive in blackness.
A chunk of lead in your thoughts and your heart and weighing down on your
shoulders.
Stiles knew that Theo was the problem, yes.
But his mind twisted that around and projected his sense of danger onto –
everything.
His classmates looked very suspicious all of a sudden and being in the English
classroom didn’t feel safe anymore.
Then, going outside, saying “Sorry, Miss Matheson? I need to step outside for a
minute,” and then just trying not to run but slowly walk out of the room as if
he really just needed a restroom break, that didn’t help. Being in the hallway
or in front of the building seemed dangerous, hell, Stiles felt unsafe walking
about on a planet that was, face it, really just dangling in the sky.
Yeah, yeah, physics and stuff but his brain told him where the danger really
was and he felt it, too.
It’s what they call fight or flight, yes?
Only, with the devil literally on your tracks there’s nowhere to run to.
Nowhere, nowhere, fucking nowhere.
Stiles extended his hand to touch the trunk of a sycamore tree and it soothed
the turmoil inside of him a little bit.
It was just a panic attack. A huge one but still.
Can’t kill ya, right?
He waited for a few seconds and then fumbled his smartphone out of his pocket,
accidentally opened Angry Birds, then the Camera App then turned on the
flashlight until he could make his finger open Whatsapp and type,
‘Un henfrl swurht a lalerm must house et.’
He shook his head, took two deep breaths, deleted the message and typed, more
slowly this time,
‘I’m fine, need a moment, catch up with you in a few.’
Scott must have felt the panic rising and rising in Stiles’ throat so his best
friend was probably almost as much in agony as he was now. Well, not exactly.
Scott’s skin didn’t burn viciously and Stiles was glad about that.
Ok, alright.
Better.
A lot better. Good.
Stiles exhaled again and held his breath. Hyperventilating just made him feel
like he’d pass out any second which always stressed him out even more because
it just added to the anxiety, so he forced himself to breathe in slowly.
And out again.
Then he directed his steps away from the tree and the bicycle rack and back
inside through the double doors again.
Down the empty hallway, steady, always moving in the direction of his
painkillers, ibuprofen pills in a blister pack that was currently being
flattened in-between the history book and an issue of Amazing Stories in his
bag which was sitting next to his desk in the History classroom. And that’s all
he would allow himself to think about for the next minute. And maybe about the
wildly inaccurate drawing of the Moon People in the Amazing Stories cover art.
Four arms, really?
Until he could trust his legs again to not do the right thing and take flight.
 
 
“That’s not what it said on the blackboard and – is that a 3? No, a 5. At
least, it should be a 5,” Lydia said, staring at the topmost piece of paper of
a stack of loose sheets that looked like someone had squished five hundred ants
on them.
She was looking through them while walking down the hallways with Scott on her
right side and Stiles on her left. Stiles kept bumping into people.
“Wow, your handwriting is really illegible. And – were you in a coma during
History? Because it just says: ‘1523,’ ‘King Edward’ and... Cheeseburger? What
the hell.”
“Yeah, Lydia, that’s exactly my point – can you please lend me your notes?
Pretty please?”
“Fine.”
Lydia rolled up the sheets, tucked them under her left shoulder and started
rummaging through her bag while firmly squeezing three books and a bottle of
organic juice to her body with her right arm.
“Wow,” Scott said obviously impressed by Lydia’s dexterity but Stiles just
mumbled, “Sorry. Excuse me. Oh, sorry, Jim. Sorry,” to the people he bumped
into until Lydia had finally gathered all her notes from four different classes
out of seven different books (two of which were currently in the process of
being pressed against her chest, favorably pushing up her cleavage).
Stiles took the notes, thanked Lydia and threw a quick look onto the top page.
AP Chemistry. Ah, great.
He wasn’t even in that course.
But still better than trying to figure out Chemistry for dummies alone at home
later on. Like this, he could still call Lydia and get her to explain
everything to him step by step.
“Ok, I’ll quickly run these through the scanner in the library.”
“Don’t be late, Econ starts in 15,” Lydia said.
After Stiles had turned the corner, Scott was still staring at Lydia’s huge
purple bag.
“It looks like a giant flower on a foreign planet and it’s like Hermione’s
bottomless magic bag,” he said. “Do you always bring all your makeup to
school?”
Lydia tossed a strand of hair out of her face and stuffed a writing pad and
cherry red lipstick back into her bag while simultaneously putting on her cute
auburn leather jacket.
“Please. That’s not all my makeup. And I can do a full makeover while grooming
Paws and explaining ‘Zur Quantentheorie der Strahlung’ to you.”
She didn’t even turn her head to acknowledge the confused look on Scott’s face.
“Einstein,” she said as if that explained everything.
“Right,” Scott said and followed her into the classroom.
The second thing he noticed – after Kira who was smiling at him from her seat
by the window – was the absence of Theo’s disgustingly grinning face.
Directly followed by Theo’s absence.
Uh, great.
That couldn’t be good.
***** OMICRON *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles in the library. Chris Argent remembers a silly poem. Stiles is
     in for a plot twist. Theo's driving a nice car.
You force yourself to breathe in and out at a regular pace but, like the
predator you’ll never not be, you cannot suppress the manic gleam creeping into
your eyes, the excitement that’s slowly but surely bubbling to the surface. The
fact that people are throwing you glances, girls are flicking their eyes in
your direction, only contributes to your exhilaration.
You’re being watched. You always are.
That’s really easy to explain, too. Humans instinctively sense power. And
there’s hardly anything on the planet right now more powerful than you.
You can feel it pulsate through your veins and rush to your brain but since
you’re far more than human these feelings do not interfere with your thoughts.
Your plan.
Your eyes are already zeroing in on the brown double doors to the Beacon Hills
High library and it’s like – you can almost smell him already.
Ok, easy.
It’s vital that you don’t lose control now.
You push open the door and strut down the rows of books. Take a left at the
last shelf, go up the five steps of stairs and turn left again, up another
flight of stairs and walk down more rows of shelves until you reach the sign
indicating the letters ‘Ki – Kp.’ You inhale deeply and smell dust and paper
and, oh yes, there it is.
Caramel and coffee and something else you were never quite able to pinpoint.
The delicious cocktail that is Stiles.
He’s only a few feet away from you now, behind the door on your right. He’s
making copies of Lydia’s notes and as soon as you detect his moist heartbeat
your own heart rate goes up.
Everything’s so clear now.
What you have to do, what Stiles has to do.
It all makes sense. If your plan works out – and it would be ludicrous to
assume that it couldn’t given who you are – you’ll soon experience heights
hitherto unknown to you.
But, wait.
Before you go in, savor that moment. It’s one thing you learned, had to learn,
admittedly, to slow down and enjoy. Which sounds easier than it is because
you’re bored so fucking quickly.
That being said, do it now.
Stop in front of the door.
You can hear the rhythmic srrrrr of the copy machine and the ba-dum ba-dum of
Stiles’ heart.
Shut out the rustling and bustling of the library around you for a few seconds,
the smell of dust and skin and the shuffling of sneakers on the PVC floor, and
think back now.
Try and recall the moment in Malia’s bedroom. You stood there in the middle of
the debris and felt this rage boiling up in your throat and tugging at you from
the inside. It wouldn’t have been long and you’d have peeled out of this skin.
This beautiful, flawless skin.
And then it hits you.
Malia touches your shoulder and you flick your eyes over to Stiles who’s on the
floor and in so much pain, and it’s like an epiphany.
Who knew that being human would harbor all these possibilities? That it could
carry this kind of depth?
And when Derek Hale comes flying into the room – you really need to make a
mental note to torture this bothersome werewolf to death – it doesn’t really
matter. The moron’s in a trance – Phaniel’s work, of course – and they all
think he’s about to rip your human vessel apart, when, in reality, you’re the
one still in control of the whole situation.
You’re in control and you’re only starting.
The bliss of the discovery is pulsating through your body and is mending the
damage more quickly than Derek can inflict it, and the only reason you’re not
ending the green-eyed clown right then and there is that you don’t want to ruin
the sacred moment with piercing screams and gore. While that would certainly
underscore the significance of this particular moment, it would also be so very
inconvenient. Bits of flesh and inner organs everywhere and should Malia not
manage to clean up every last shred, after a few days, it would start to smell
and she wouldn’t be able to stop vomiting and, surprisingly, that’s something
you can’t help but find off-putting.
Also, you’ve realized that Derek Hale’s magic strength seems to give Stiles a
certain sense of security which is probably the only thing protecting his mind
from cracking. So, let them believe for a little longer that Derek can actually
hold you at bay. You finally know how to get gratification and it’s all that
matters right now.
 
Good.
Enough reminiscing.
You’re ready and, probably, even calm enough.
Start walking towards the door now. Extend your right arm to push it open.
It’s time to try out your theory.
Time to claim Stiles.
 
 
Time to sort this out.
Derek forcefully pushes the doors open. The whole situation makes him
uncomfortable so he really needs to get this thing over with as quickly as
possible. However, instead of stepping up to the enormous cross suspended from
the ceiling as planned and, well, getting it over with, Derek stops short and
looks around, a puzzled expression on his face. Damn these damn Catholics...
About fifty people are gathered in the small church and they’re all looking at
him. He just burst into the Northern Beacon County All Saints Congregation’s
Wednesday afternoon service. Afternoon service, Is that even a thing? Then
again, a good Catholic is probably in church every day.
Whatever, this is definitely awkward.
So change of plans. Maybe just apologize a thousand times, withdraw in
embarrassment and come back another time.
Or never.
Catholic churches are not really his piece of cake anyway. Way outside his
comfort zone. Then again, so was the mosque he’d just been to or the synagogue
he’d paid a visit this morning.
Derek understands neither hijabs nor kippas or frankincensce.
In fact, the very concept of religion always seemed kind of strange to him,
with the funny sounding words and bizarre little rituals. And what’s more, as
it turns out they offer maddeningly little explanation for a problem that’s
supposed to lie in their fucking area of expertise.
“Derek!”
Quick steps behind him. Rather than getting into the driver’s seat, Derek
pushed the door of his car shut again, puts the keys back into his leather
jacket.
“Chris,” he says matter-of-factly and turns to face him.
Yes, he’s on a first name basis with Chris Argent, has been for a few months
now.
If you think about it, it’s not really that surprising. During their time
together in Mexico they realized how much they actually had in common. They’ve
both lost everything that had ever meant anything to them and nonetheless have
to keep going somehow.
“That was kind of a...”
“Weird performance? Good to see you again, Chris.”
Argent gives Derek one of his calculating looks and Derek resists the urge to
cast his own eyes downwards. Pale blue eyes. That’s probably what Edgar Allan
Poe was talking about.
Finally, Argent gives him a brief nod. They shake hands.
“You, too, Derek.”
But why then does everything he says still sound like ‘I’m keeping a close eye
on you’?
“So. You seem... nervous.”
A statement.
Oh yes, Argent’s probably the best hunter Derek has ever seen. Except maybe for
–
“Not that I’m too eager to even ask for that, Chris, but – do you think it’s
possible that I talk to Gerard? We’re having a little – situation here.”
“Apart from the monsters you mean?”
Argent lifts his eyebrows at him and Derek nods.
“Yup. But directly... er, related to the monsters. Causing them, in fact.”
“Not necessary to beat around the bush, Derek. I do know about Lucifer. Deaton
filled me in.”
“Yeah, well... then you still don’t know the half of it.” Derek inhales deeply
trying to shut out thoughts about how tired he is and how little he wants to
talk right now. He hasn’t really slept much that night. Or at all.
“I’ll tell you the whole story if you take me to Gerard. It just occurred to me
that if anyone knows, it would probably be him.”
“About stopping Lucifer?”
They are walking over to Argent’s car now and Argent unlocks it.
Derek opens the passenger door and is momentarily startled.
The car still smells faintly like Allison.
Derek doesn’t have to flick his eyes to the back seat to know that her grey
sweater is still lying exactly where she carelessly threw it half a year ago,
and he can’t help but deeply pity Argent for not being able to pick up his dead
daughter’s lingering scent with his human nose.
But that’s the thing. It’s why they work so well together.
Their common – and only – goal is to protect Scott’s pack. Derek’s because it’s
programmed into his genes and Argent’s because his daughter died for them.
Derek puts on the seat belt and says with a smirk, “I didn’t know you were a
Catholic.”
Argent shrugs.
“Tried this and that... turns out that while they keep talking about sins and
evil they know surprisingly little about the devil and his – ilk.” The last
word is being forced out through gritted teeth. “And they’ll say stuff like:
come to the 3p.m. service and we can talk after, maybe have a nice little round
of ‘recite your favorite Bible passage’?”
Derek nods again.
“Figured.”
“And what did you want in there? Pray for heavenly intervention?”
Argent tilts his head at him and starts the engine.
“... I tried to – contact someone, if you must know and - can we please not
talk about it.”
Derek knows that Argent can guess the rest and can probably even sense just
exactly how stupid Derek is currently feeling. Trying to visit every place of
worship in Beacon County in order to send a prayer to Heaven, or Zion, or
Azeroth, or whatever the hell they call it, in order to contact a stupid
fucking angel – or whatever this dude really is, who knows – who never bothered
to show up when they – when Stiles – really needed him in the first place. Who
apparently likes outsourcing his own fucking job to clueless werewolves. Who
probably doesn’t even want to be contacted.
Derek’s idea seems so utterly idiotic now that he’s honestly ashamed of
himself.
Thankfully Argent contents himself with smiling knowingly but refrains from
further mockery. For now.
They take off with squealing tires which is completely unnecessary and, despite
everything, Derek can’t help but nod approvingly.
Yes, deep down they’re really more alike than either of them would ever admit.
 
 
As soon as you open the door your eyes fall on Stiles who’s sitting on the
narrow table that is pushed back against the wall right next to the copy
machine. He has both feet drawn up to his chest, his sneakers half-covering a
sign glued onto the table top that says ‘DO NOT SIT ON TABLE’ in bright red
letters. The copy machine is silent and the stack of papers that is sitting on
Stiles’ left tells you that he’s done but, for some reason, couldn’t bring
himself to get up and walk back to the classroom.
When the door creaks open and then shuts with a low thud Stiles turns his head
and stares blankly at you. There’s not even fear in his eyes. He just seems
tired and, somehow, this sort of puts the break on your excitement. Which is
not altogether a bad thing since, remember, you’re at school right now and you
need to act normal. Normal-ish.
“Theo,” Stiles says now as if you were just anyone who just happened to walk
in, like, totally by accident, and it makes you snicker. Yeah, he seems
fatigued and broken alright but he really isn’t. Come on, you tortured him into
unconsciousness not too long ago and yet, this remark was clearly meant to
challenge you. He’s still the old loudmouth, that is apparent, the same old
Stiles without a brain-to-mouth filter he’s always been.
Don’t let him fool you.
You can smell his fear now, his anxiety and stress level rising, but what he’s
really doing is inviting you to come over to him, to subject him again and,
this time, more thoroughly. Like – he wants to be taught a lesson. It’s in his
eyes that he keeps averted but – see that?
That just now?
He can’t help but glance at you and then pretend like he wishes you didn’t see
it.
Like he’s playing the abashed virgin and, at the same time, sends you a look
like Ha, you think I belong to you? You wish!
Stiles is really good at these games.
It’s one of the reasons he’s remained your favorite.
Ah right, there, see that?
The way he put the stack of sheets in-between you and him like a border, like
wanting to say Come on, come here, I dare you.
It’s enough to get your blood boiling.
You’ve drawn closer, standing right in front of him now and you admire his
face.
The thing about it is that he’s not the most handsome person you’ve ever seen
because, clearly, that’s yourself – or, well, Theo Raeken, your human vessel.
Stiles is not the smartest person you’ve ever met or the wittiest and yet.
And yet.
There’s just something about his mouth now.
About the way it curls downwards a little at the ends as if in displeasure and
becomes thinner because he’s so tense. About the way he hesitates briefly and
then locks eyes with you, a mixture of fear and defiance in them. The way he
seems to have complete control over every bit and piece of his face which gives
every one of his emotions this incredible depth.
He’d be a great actor, come to think of it.
And he’s raising his eyebrows in near mockery even though he’s so fucking
terrified of you.
Challenge accepted.
Your haughty smile widens into a grin.
Now deliver the line smoothly, the way you practiced in your head while walking
here.
“Just wanted to check on you. Stiles. I’ve been meaning to ask you something...
Er... do you want to meet at the Chipotle on Main Street after school?” Now
pretend like you’re hesitating, like you really want him to come but dare not
say so because you don’t want to pressure him, see, since you’re a normal
teenager who’s a little insecure despite everything, “It’s just a bunch of guys
meeting and talking about baseball but – thought you’d be interested.”
Stiles’ reaction is even better than it was in your head.
He’s actually rendered speechless for a few moments. Then, rather than pale, as
you expected, his cheeks flush, turn the faintest shade of red like he’s still
got it in him to be angry at you. Like you haven’t already taken everything
from him and acts of resistance are still meaningful.
“Fuck the hell off, Theo. Fuck. Don’t even come near me you sick motherfucker.”
You raise your eyebrows at him like Dude, was that really necessary, it was
just an invitation, and of course, of course, that gets him to add, “Why do you
even cling to your dumb fucking games? You want to torture me eternally and I
want to have you fucking erased from existence.”
He’s outraged, his heart’s beating so fast.
God, he’s in the palm of your hand.
He’s angry but at the same time, yes, a little confused. Just the tiniest bit
and you know a little voice in the back of his head is asking him if you are
really actually that evil.
Right now, he’s thinking ‘You are the devil, or... are you?’
That’s right.
Keep him guessing.
So you shrug.
You wait, then shrug a second time and frown and say with the slightest hint of
confusion, “Just asking, bro.”
The reaction is instantaneous.
Stiles’ feet hit the floor with a thump. He just jumped from the table and,
God, does he want to hurt you. You can see it in his eyes and the way his jaw
muscles move under his skin.
“You – you...”
Oh, the things he wants to say to you right now. He wants to punch you and yell
at you and punish you for everything you did to him but he can’t put words to
it all and you, you stand there and keep watching his mouth and all of a
sudden, you can’t take it anymore.
Enough played.
You stop Stiles mid-sentence by grabbing him by the shoulders, violently, you
really dig your fingers into his skin, not in a way that would draw blood but
in a way that has him yelp with pain and surprise and you crash your mouth onto
his and for a few seconds you don’t really feel anything because, spreading in
your body, is still the rush of endorphins from being able to just fucking do
that.
It’s why the game is so important.
You play until you feel almost human, almost humbled and mortal, and get a
sense of what normal people can and can’t do and then, all of a sudden, you
cross that border and get a taste of your own power.
Don’t do it too often because the illusion will wear out quickly.
But this – that feeling in your stomach and, quite frankly, your dick – that
has never happened before and it was totally worth all the years of playing and
pretending.
To elaborate.
You kissed Stiles before.
Remember?
Because you knew his friends would come in you kissed him to shock them and
Stiles a little?
And once more, way before that?
To see what his Mommy’s reaction would be when she ‘caught’ you two kissing on
Stiles’ bed? And yeah, it was hilarious. She got this really weird look on her
face and withdrew like she walked in on something she shouldn’t have seen and
then, the week after, dragged Stiles to a child therapist. Not really a
homophobe, his old lady, but deeply worried about her son’s troubling behavior.
Hilarious.
Right?
So you kissed him before but it was just a means to an end.
You didn’t pay any attention to what it felt like, you were too concentrated on
not missing a single second of Stiles’ shocked reaction. Heart bursting with
blissful anticipation.
Now though.
You can taste him on your lips and tongue, and then feel his tongue trying to
move out of the way like it’s really trying to wiggle out of his mouth just to
get away from you and you inhale Stiles’ scent.
Another heartbeat and then, as expected, he breaks away, grabs your shoulder
and pushes you from him. Then he just stands there, panting like he’s run a
marathon, anger boiling up on the inside.
Eyes narrowed in anger.
And you smile.
Because there we are alright.
You put your hands in your pockets and lick across your lips to show that not
only did you just actually do that but you can still taste him and he snaps.
He actually jumps at you, shoving you so hard you stumble backwards and,
because the room is so small, your back hits the wall.
And Stiles isn’t done yet.
He’s coming at you again, fist raised, and punches you with everything he has
and you can feel your skin bruise and crack instantly.
You turn your head back and just in time, too, to see him raise his fist again,
and there he goes, a second time, and even though his hand must hurt by now
he’s not done, not by far.
What you feel right now, it’s bliss and there’s an open, honest smile on your
bloody lips.
Stiles is exactly where you want him.
It’s happening.
You’re ready.
 
 
Of course they’d find Gerard sitting in a swivel chair rather than a
wheelchair.
Because he absolutely needs to turn around in it slowly as soon as someone
knocks on his door. Because he’s a fucking super-villain.
Derek rolls his eyes and he can just sense that this will be the first of many
times because they haven’t even started talking.
He follows Chris into the room and the nurse closes the door behind them.
Gerard who seems to have been doing a crossword turns around with his chair at
glacier speed, just as Derek expected, and says, “Well, well, well... Look who
we have here,” and Derek rolls his eyes again.
Aw, great.
This is going to be.
Just.
God, he feels so tired, he doesn’t even have spare energy for sarcastic
thoughts.
He lets Chris and his father exchange a few words and it seems like Gerard
already knows a great deal about the monsters.
Derek is not surprised.
When they were still discussing the matter in Chris’ car the thought struck him
– just for a moment – that Gerard might actually be on Lucifer’s payroll.
There must be a bunch of things that Lucifer has to give and that Gerard could
want.
Derek was surprised, shocked almost, at the realization that he’d been so
fucking busy shredding gooey monster-things that he never really thought about
the full impact of their recent discovery.
The devil actually exists, and then all the different shades of horrible to
that.
“So Lucifer is back.”
Gerard leans back in his chair and Derek wants to punch the smug smile out of
his old, wrinkled face.
Chris Argent is actually too shocked at his father’s reaction to even say
something likeYou knew about this and never told me?
Derek, on the other hand, feels like they’re already losing time, like he
should actually be somewhere else right now, and says, “Is there anything you
can tell us, Gerard?”
“Derek Hale. Rude and impatient as always,” Gerard says with the most
grandfatherly emphasis on every single word, drawing out the endings like he
belongs to a generation that was still brought up to a more sophisticated way
of talking.
“We could really use your help,” Argent says and the omitted word, father,
seems to linger in the room for a few seconds.
 “Yes, well, we could all use something,” Gerard huffs and Chris Argent narrows
his eyes.
“You’re going to tell me you knew all along where these... things came from?
That you know more than anyone else about them? More than the McCranstons or
Old Lima?”
Gerard raises his eyebrows at his son which makes his forehead look even more
like parchment.
“Lima, that old hag? If you ask me, when she dealt with that Drakar up in the
Black Hills, her mind sort of cracked. Her hunter instincts are a joke now and
she’s not even much of a potion master anymore. Has definitely seen better
days... and me knowing about the monsters? No, I didn’t know about them. But in
theory, I knew about Lucifer, of course. And so did you. Or, you had, if you
spent more time on our sacred teachings and less on collaborating with the
creatures you’re supposed to hunt down, that is.”
“So what are you saying?” Derek interrupts them. He’s been in a bad mood all
day and doesn’t feel like he can endure a fatherly lesson about teaching and
learning. From Gerard, no less.
“Can we or can’t we do anything about him?”
Glowering at Gerard.
Who is arrogant enough to not be offended because he says, “Remember what we
say, Chris. About balance. Remember our sacred teachings.”
And then he stops, startled but Derek doesn’t really see it anymore. He is
distracted for a moment, like he’s listening to a far-away call.
Someone is calling him.
It’s only when he realizes that the room has all the wrong colors and that both
Argents are staring at him in utter amazement that he understands what is going
on.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath and lets his eyes fade back to hazel. He’s
pretty good at it by now, at shifting between green and blue and hazel, that
is. Only how to access green, he’s not quite sure about that. Which is also why
they’re here.
“Holy God,” Gerard says and it’s obvious that Derek’s change of eye color is
the most stunning thing he has seen all day. Perhaps all week.
“What’s the matter? Derek?,” Chris says and Derek shakes his head curtly to
shut him up. As if their talking would keep him from hearing it.
“Omicron,” Gerard whispers.
“I beg your pardon?” Derek says, annoyed. Whatever it was, he lost it again.
The signal or whatever. He’s just hoping Stiles is alright.
“What did you say, Gerard?” Chris Argent flicks his eyes over to his father.
“Omicron,” Gerard repeats, now clearly agitated and he makes an effort to
actually rise from his chair.
“Omicron! Derek, do it again!,” he commands.
Derek blinks at the old man who has risen to his full height in front of him
now – he’s taller than Derek.
“Your eyes were green.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Don’t you know what it means?”
“Would I be here if I did,” Derek says drily. Yes, asking Gerard for help is
probably one of the lowest points he’s ever been at and he’s not sure if he’s
glad or worried that Gerard seems to know something about Derek’s new eye color
and sudden surges of energy.
The old man is still staring at Derek’s face as if the werewolf were an
apparition.
“Omicron...”
“You keep saying that but what does it mean,” Chris says sharply.
“You morons!,” Gerard responds and Derek can’t shake the bizarre image of
Gerard plotting world domination and cursing his evil sidekicks. You morons, I
said nuclear blast not fruit blast!
“Did you really think there’s only alpha, beta and omega?”
Chris Argent and Derek shrug.
Yeah.
That’s pretty much exactly what they were thinking.
Even though the memory of something is clearly creeping over Argent’s face now
and he says, “Does that have anything to do with that silly nursery rhyme?”
Gerard just looks at his son who sighs.
“Oh, come on, dad, you can hardly call that sacred teaching. It’s not even in
the book. Just a stupid story grandparents tell their kids.”
The dad seems to have done it because Gerard says, “I didn’t think my own son
would be so stupid to slight oral knowledge – the original form of knowledge
preservation. What’s in the bestiary is only a sad fragment of the stories we
once had about how the world is being held together. We once had because people
are too fucking arrogant to consider anything important that’s not written down
in a goddamn book.”
Derek and Chris both look at Gerard in silence.
Waiting for him to continue because it actually and truly seems like he can
tell them something useful about this whole mess.
Who would’ve thought.
“The Greek letters are only convenient symbols, too, because that knowledge is
not particularly Greek. It’s rather... global.”
Gerard considers the two men for a moment, then shakes his head and sits down
in his chair again with a face like his back and feet are aching.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters.
“But that’s just gibberish,” Chris says now. “It was something like... mh...
wait. Yes, that’s it: alpha, peak of day, beta, preserve and gather, gamma,
lead rho and tau astray, delta, home and harbor, epsilon... er...dark of night.
No, wait. Epsilon, bluest night. Yeah. But you can’t be serious, I mean –
children just like chanting bullshit like that because it sounds so odd. It
rhymes, for God’s sake.”
Chris Argent frowns, obviously trying to remember more of it, and Derek would
have found the whole thing entertaining if he didn’t have the pressing feeling
that he was missing out on something somewhere else at this very moment. He can
feel the energy bubble up in his throat and isn’t particularly comfortable with
it.
“Ok. What’s omicron? Just tell me,” Chris asks after a brief silence like he’s
given up.
Gerard pauses, probably for the dramatic effect, and then starts reciting
slowly, “Mu, the sister, nu, the brother, xi, us turn around, omicron’s
another, pi still stands-”
“-in balance,” Chris interrupts, finishing the line. “Yeah... I remember the
rest now. Rho, the end and sigma, the beginning, tau, hush, eternal silence,
upsilon, cry out in pain, phi, the spark and sacred. And so on. And there was
this little routine we would do. We’d all squat on the ground and whisper ‘tau’
and then jump up and yell ‘upsilon.’ Like a bunch of... well, kids. On ‘xi’ you
turn around and face the person next to you.”
“And what do you do on omicron?” Gerard says, patiently and in his most
teacherly voice, and Chris wrinkles his eyebrows again like he’s thinking.
“We raised our hands up like this, straight up in the air,” and he mimics the
gesture, “as high as we could and then, on ‘pi,’ we’d put them together like
this and form a roof over our heads.”
Gerard nods.
Derek for his part has had enough of the cryptic and slightly disturbing memory
session.
“Omicron’s another? What does that even mean?”
Gerard smiles suggestively, then responds, “Isn’t that clear?”
No.
It fucking isn’t.
Derek doesn’t have time for that.
“I’d love to continue this bizarre conversation but I really have to be
somewhere. Chris,” and he nods at Argent who nods back and within seconds Derek
is out of the room and on his way to Beacon Hills High. It’s within walking
distance.
Which gives him a full ten minutes to think about what just happened.
Omicron?
What was that supposed to mean?
Alpha, beta, omega – omicron?
He knew alpha, and beta made perfect sense to him as well, but what’s an
omicron?
Oh, and now, of course, he can’t get the stupid word out of his brain anymore.
And isn’t that all he ever wanted. More nonsensical lines to add to She goes
with me to a possum drool.
Possum drool, alpha peak of day, omicron’s another.
Fucking great.
So much for asking for help.
Derek was done with that for all eternity.
 
 
 
 
“What’s the fucking matter with you? Aren’t you into torture or something? So
what’s this supposed to be?”
Stiles is wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater again and again but
the taste in his mouth doesn’t go away. It just – lingers.
Theo for his part just stands there, smiling absentmindedly like the fucking
maniac he is. Lines of blood are making their way down his chin and Stiles
acknowledges his swollen lip with dark satisfaction.
“Why don’t you ever defend yourself?”
And why is Stiles still here, talking to that beast?
Something about what just happened unsettles Stiles. More than anything else
Theo could have done. It was just fucking weird is what it was.
He watches as the lines of blood are being sucked back into Theo’s skin.
“You’re always so negative, Stiles... But I tell you what.”
He wipes his mouth and even though it’s the same gesture Stiles made a mere
minute ago, by doing it he doesn’t look like Stiles at all.
“I know how much you like...,” Theo raises his eyebrows at him, “the whole –
torture thing.”
Stiles can only snort at the pathetic attempt at a joke.
“And, let’s be honest, it’s not like you could run from me. So...,” and his
voice is a soft whisper now and Stiles has to strain his ears to even catch
what Theo’s saying even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear what
comes next, “... why don’t we just pause our old game for a while.”
“Pause.”
Stiles can’t help but repeat the word, the whole situation is so ridiculous.
“Pause,” Theo says. “You know – exchange it for something new and more
exciting.”
He knew it, oh God.
And there he was thinking that Theo was behaving strangely but he was just the
same old monster, playing the same old games. Trying to find new ways to
torture him.
Because he gets bored so easily, Lucifer. He’s simply been around for too long.
“I give you my word to take a break on the torture. Listen – I’ll be a little
more gentle and you are gonna let me. Ok?
This isn’t good, isn’t good at all. Just leave, Stiles, fucking move your ass
out the door and go home. Or go catch the rest of the English lesson if you
must.
Just don’t let him get into your head.
“You want it to stop, right?” A soft chuckle. “Come on, Stiles. I know you do.”
“So what,” Stiles clears his throat that is really dry all of a sudden.
He’s actually considering this.
He can’t believe himself. He must be fucking nuts. Or desperate.
“If I said... yes,” coughing, “what can you offer me in return?”
Theo, hands in his pockets, droplets of blood on his green t-shirt, nods
approvingly. Like, you finally got it, you’re finally thinking about this, took
you long enough.
“I can give you my word that I will not cut up your skin any more. Or burn you.
Or whip you. Do any of the things to you that the two of us have had so much
fun with. Or make you do these things to yourself. Nothing that would qualify
as torture. Cruelty is just my nature but I can cut out the torture part. I
mean, that depends – would you like me to? You know...”
“No, spell it out to me. Just so we’re clear here,” Stiles says. He feels
empty, calm. It’s not a bad feeling.
It’s like he can finally glimpse the road ahead and it’s – okay.
It’s alright because he never even expected to get out of this alive, or sane,
to begin with.
“No restraining Stiles and torturing him, in body or soul.”
“No haunting Stiles in his dreams either.”
“No haunting,” Theo agrees, nodding.
“No more monsters.”
Theo shrugs.
“Whatever you say.”
“And you promise to never harm any of my friends – or any one in general.
You’ll just be a normal teenager.”
Theo frowns at him. Like this is a lot to ask and he really needs to consider
if Stiles is worth it. Then he nods once, slowly.
“You have my word. And I want-”
“I know what you want,” Stiles interrupts him, grimacing. He’s pretty sure that
he’ll back out of this if Theo draws him a picture. “I just wonder why. Didn’t
you say you’re, and I quote, not interested in these things?”
Theo smirks.
“Yeah, well... Times change, people change. You’re human, you should know
that.”
Stiles blinks at him suspiciously. This is so unlike Lucifer. He likes the
taste of Stiles’ defiance. But maybe that’s it. Defiant he’ll still be but on
the inside. So maybe Theo’s just thirsting for a different kind of resistance.
“So?”
“So...,” Stiles says slowly. “So... ok.”
Ah well, what the hell.
Whatever.
“Ok?”
“Ok.”
Theo smirks and extends both hands and Stiles stares down at them. He’s still
trying to wrap his head around what’s happening right now but there’s this
ringing in his ears, like an alarm clock someone forgot to turn off far away
and he can’t concentrate.
This is probably unbelievably stupid.
He’s literally making a deal with the devil.
But he ran out of options long ago so he takes Theo’s hands. They’re warm and
soft and his grip is firm. Thin purple threads shoot out from under Theo’s
sleeve and screw around his wrist. When they creep up to the tips of Stiles’
fingers he flinches but doesn’t draw his hands back.
An intricate web of interwoven purple lines soon covers their hands. It’s
glowing softly and pulsating like it has a heartbeat.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
It feels hot and tight and very – final.
After a few seconds the magic threads fade away and Theo slowly lets go of him.
Stiles feels exhausted all of a sudden so he shuffles over to the table but
then can’t decide where exactly to sit down so he continues to just stand
there.
“So... what happens if I break the vow?”
Good thinking. Ask that after you agreed to what’s probably a life and death
pact.
“I’ll get to take you with me.”
“With you?” Stiles rubs his eyes and forehead but the dizziness only grows
stronger. Like his brain is updating in the background and he can only run
simple bodily functions like breathing and standing upright and asking himself
whether he’s made a big, big mistake.
“Yeah. The only scenario in which I’d actually be able to take a human back
down to below. To my world.”
“And what happens when you break it?”
“If I broke it,” Theo says, “I would pay by giving up my key.”
“Your... what?”
“My key. That allows me to enter earthly planes. I would be stuck down there
for quite a while.”
“I thought time didn’t matter to you.”
“It doesn’t. I’m just putting this in words you’ll understand.”
“How come you’re so – tame? Answering questions and fuck,” Stiles says and,
God, why is he so tired, for God’s sake.
Theo laughs again.
“When have I ever not answered any of your questions, Stiles? And, truthfully,
too.”
Well, he was right.
Paradoxically, the devil has never been much of a liar.
Plus, he’s always loved lecturing Stiles which would have been interesting if
Theo didn’t have this fondness for bizarre and terrifying details about life
and death.
“So you’d be locked in hell, basically, is what you’re saying.”
“Hell.” Theo snorts and shakes his head. “I knew better words for where I come
from but if you want to stick to narrow-minded categories, please, feel free.
But yeah... that’s the thought, you see. It’s a vow between worlds – a firm
link between dimensions, if you will. Breaking it excludes me – or you – from
interacting for a while but given that I’m more powerful than you could ever
imagine the price I would pay is also higher than you can imagine. You’d only
lose your life up here. Since I can’t lose my life, I’d lose depth.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know. How to translate into temporal and spatial terms... well, let’s just
say, I’d be gone for longer than your reality would last on earth, to keep
things simple for simple minds. But don’t get any ideas. I’m aware of the
import of the vow. And I’ve never once messed up and it’s unlikely that I ever
will. It’s in my nature to respect it.”
“Oh. Good,” Stiles says because he can’t think of anything else. Despite what
Theo’s saying, there’s this idea in Stiles’ mind, of a world, his world, rid of
Theo. The smallest chance has just opened up for him and he can’t believe it.
He just has to get the fucking devil to break his vow – so to physically harm
Stiles or any other living creature on purpose. That shouldn’t be too hard.
Right?
Ok, maybe a little hard.
Seeing that soft smile appear on Theo’s face again now Stiles can’t help but
feel weak. Like he’ll never get the best of this thing in front of him. He’s
more powerful than anything Stiles will ever know – not only smart but beyond
concepts like intelligence or strength. So how on earth is he supposed to trick
him?
Granted, there’s this human vessel he’s inhabiting but how much impact can it
really have on him? He’s the king of hell – or whatever that place is called –
for God’s sake.
“Since we’re both on the same page now...,” Theo says, putting a halt to
Stiles’ train of thoughts. He steps closer and grabs Stiles’ wrist and Stiles
closes his eyes. He expected that, of course, but it’s still the weirdest of
all feelings when it happens.
When Stiles lets it happen.
First, Theo tugs at his arm and when Stiles doesn’t stumble forward, Theo
simply closes the gap between them with another step. Then he carefully puts
his mouth onto Stiles’ and lets his tongue slide in-between Stiles’ lips.
Stiles for his turn just stands there, frozen in place, struggling with himself
to bear it, stand still and fucking bear it. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s
allowed to do but he’s pretty sure that pushing Theo away isn’t one of the
things. So he manages to stand there, trembling fists in the pockets of his
sweater and focuses on the horrible and painful things that Theo could be doing
to him instead. He feels Theo lick at the insides of his mouth and nudge his
tongue to respond and feels like he’s going to be sick.
Then it’s over. Theo lets go of his hand and, God, finally, of his mouth as
well.
“That wasn’t too bad for a start.”
Stiles can’t say anything.
He just – he can’t.
It’s not enough, huh?
So that’s what’s enough for Theo?
What the...
 
 
 
“So – you basically only have to cheat on him and make him really mad, right?
That’s easy!”
Stiles shakes his head in exasperation. Even though he knew that his pack
wouldn’t get it right away, it was taking them ridiculously long this time,
especially Scott.
“He doesn’t have a fucking crush on me, Scott. That’s not what this is at all,
don’t you get it?! Plus, I told you, I agreed to be – he’s, Lucifer is-”
“They’re being exclusive per contract is what Stiles is saying, Scott. Didn’t
we cover that already? They’re not high school sweethearts with a really creepy
twist. Stiles is more like a partner in a business transaction. With... a
really creepy twist,” Lydia says with a little sigh. She was kneading her neck
with her right hand, left clutching an empty cup. Her stilettoes were resting
in a pile on the ground next to her purse. It takes a lot to get Lydia out of
her shoes. She’s kneeling on a folding chair with only her thin pantyhose
separating the skin of her legs from the metal of the chair. Let’s just say,
they’ve been here for a while.
“More coffee, anyone?” Deaton says, his palm resting on the handle of a white
coffee pot on the counter next to a set of knives and scissors. They’re in the
animal clinic but rather than a dog or cat or rabbit, Scott and Liam are
sitting on the examination table, feet dangling through the air, and both shake
their heads at Deaton, and so do Lydia, Kira, Mason.
And Stiles.
“Derek?”
Deaton turns around to face the man who’s resting in a chair next to the door
and who has been keeping out of the conversation so far.
In fact, he hasn’t said a word for more than two hours now nor has Stiles seen
him move even once and just when he thinks that Derek must be asleep the man
gives Deaton a curt shake of the head.
“So what – do you really expect us to stand by and watch Lucifer spread his
saliva all over your face?” This is Scott offering yet another variation of I
can’t allow Lucifer to hurt Stiles. Stiles takes a deep breath and waits for
the second part and Scott of course doesn’t disappoint.
“I just can’t believe you did that... what on earth were you thinking? You
can’t make decisions like that without considering us.”
Stiles is rubbing his eyes with both hands – he has been doing that so much
that the skin around them looks slightly red and sore.
“I think what Stiles was thinking of most of all is the pack, Scott,” Kira
says, softly. “And it gives us a real chance. We just have to come up with a
plan. Right?”
“He’s the fucking devil,” Mason says now and he can’t really get his voice to
not betray how much that terrifies and fascinates him, “you can’t outsmart the
devil. Haven’t you heard any of the stories of people trying to do exactly
that? No one ever does it without paying a big price.”
“Those are just folk tales,” Scott says but then adds with a look at Deaton, “I
know, I know... there’s some truth to them and all but still, come on. There’s
gotta be something. Derek – you sure you can’t somehow get rid of him?”
Derek lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t respond.
“And, you know, use your force like before?”
“Force?” Lydia snorts. “I’m tired and my eyes hurt and I’ve had way too much
coffee and if you start making Star Wars metaphors now, Scott, I swear, I’m
gonna murder you.”
“The only reason I’m even telling you this is because I want you all to stand
back,” Stiles interjects before Scott can bring forth any defense of Star Wars
metaphors. He feels like he’s been repeating that for hours now and it’s been
like talking to a fucking brick wall.
What Scott doesn’t get is this.
It’s not Stiles saying, Please, don’t interfere, I don’t want you to get hurt
and then Scott goes ahead and interferes and he does get hurt and so does
Stiles but in the end, because Scott was willing to sacrifice himself for his
best friend, everything will be alright. Because that’s how the world is
supposed to work.
Because in an ideal world, it’s the good will that counts.
Or like one of those movies, when someone says, Oh, don’t you dare do this!,
and then that person, right? He or she goes ahead and does it anyway. And
because of that all kinds of stuff happen and it’s really cool and in the end
everyone’s like, Gosh, it was so stupid but I’m really glad you did it.
Yes?
But this is not one of those stories.
Then Stiles’ phone goes ping and he’s almost glad about it – until he unlocks
it and has a look at the screen because there, bobbing around the icons, is the
bubble of a vintage photograph of children playing catch on a street in the
‘50s. It’s Theo’s Whatsapp icon. Stiles opens the conversation with trembling
fingers.
“Theo?,” Scott says and Stiles nods.
“He says he’s outside.”
Stiles bends down to grab his backpack.
“You can’t be serious. No way, dude. You’re fucking kidding me. You’re not
going out there.”
Scott jumps on his feet, determined expression on his face, seeming ready to
wrestle Stiles to the ground if necessary.
“I have to, Scott,” Stiles says wearily. “It won’t be so bad. I’ve known him
for a long time, I – I’ve literally grown up with him so...”
“You can’t be serious. You’re not going,” Scott growls, eyes flashing red but
Stiles isn’t impressed. “You’d rather I’m dead? Or worse than dead?”
“Well, no, of course not but – there just has to be a solution...”
Scott lets his eyes glide over every single member of his pack, silently urging
them to help him. Kira who got up from her chair puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Scott, I think we’ll have to let him go for now. We don’t have a solution and
Theo’s right outside. Stiles is not allowed to say no. And we – we can’t lose
him.”
She flicks her eyes over to Stiles who looks tired and lost and gives him a
forced smile.
“Be careful, Stiles. Ok? All – all will be well. I’m sure. Trust us. We’ll get
Malia back and we’ll come up with a plan, a really good one.”
The others mutter their agreement.
Stiles nods, turns around and walks out, just like that.
When he passes Derek their eyes meet and Stiles walks a little faster.
 
 
 
The night was dark and silent, the sky empty, cloudless, oddly starless.
Empty.
Theo’s sports car was parked out on the street. Stiles could see him in the
driver’s seat and he forced himself to nevertheless keep putting one foot in
front of the other.
He desperately wanted to be back with the others but Kira was right.
Stiles wasn’t looking ahead at scarring and burning and flaying. He was just
looking ahead at an evening with Theo.
It was gonna be alright.
***** KIRA *****
Chapter Summary
     It's Steo - Kira - Steo - St..... urk? (semi-Sterek? Sterek for
     sadists? nice-try-but-not-really-Sterek?)
Chapter Notes
     So I got sort of bored with things and thought – hey, why not twist
     the story a little. Yeah. That’s the result of that. Hope it’s not
     too weird. I just needed to think of a way to gives Scott’s pack more
     agency and, paradoxically, I think it might just work like this. Ha,
     I guess we’ll see.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles kept his eyes glued to the trees outside the window.
He was in Theo’s car again and they were probably headed towards Malia’s. Ah,
the déjà-vu. 
But this wasn’t the same car he’d been in before? Stiles couldn’t remember.
And it didn't really matter anyway. He was here and there wasn't anything he
could change about that.
And yet, he wasn’t – uncomfortable. It was nice and warm in the car. Stiles’
right elbow was propped against the car door, hand dangling in the air, his
left palm was resting on the leather seat next to his leg. Looking a little
stiff there, yes, a little tense. But who could blame him.
Right?
For all he knew they could be driving down the road to insanity.
He knew that Theo kept throwing him glances, smiling softly now and then as if
remembering a funny scene from a movie. Stop fucking staring at me like that is
what Stiles wanted to say. But what would be the point in doing that?
He was still trying to get over Scott’s anger at what he’d done, at the way
Stiles had basically handed himself over to Theo, and the looks his pack had
given him. Shock and worry.
Disappointment.
Only Derek, as always, had been different. That guy hadn’t even blinked. Maybe
it was because Derek was the one Stiles was least close with. Also, Derek was
always pretty rational about these things.
Like – there’s monsters, let’s kill them. There’s a problem, let’s solve it.
There’s lasagna on the table, let’s eat it.
Stiles made a pact with the devil, let’s accept it.
Not so suprising, yes?
Oh, it’s just Stiles. Again.
Stiles got himself into trouble again.
No, that was helpful. Really, Stiles wasn’t implying that he’d wanted Derek to
react differently. Derek had listened in silence and then he’d been the only
one who’d had the courtesy to simply accept what Stiles was saying, what he was
asking for.
No, that was good.
Fucking awesome.
“So... you told them, hm?”
“What?”
Stiles cleared his throat, said again, “What?”
Theo was staring ahead into the darkness, steering his car through silent
streets.
“Your pack,” he said, lips curling around the second word. Mockingly?
Stiles couldn’t tell.
“Yeah. I told them – to stay out of... this.”
Whatever the hell this was.
“And they didn’t take it well. Am I right?”
Theo shifted into third gear.
When Stiles didn’t say anything, he added, “Well, I’m not gonna hurt them, if
that’s what you’re thinking. I promised. Remember?”
He turned his head to look at Stiles for a second, then flicked his eyes back
to the road.
“And,” he shook his head a little, a half-smile, half-frown spreading over his
handsome face as if wanting to say, Honey, you know I like your friends BUT...
As if the whole situation couldn’t grow any more bizarre.
“They’re your pack. Scott, and Liam, and Kira, and all of them but it doesn’t
hurt to become your own person, you know.”
Stiles stared defiantly out the window.
“Especially Derek. Scott isn’t aware of it but that dude’s a loose cannon. I
mean... you’ll never know with omicrons.”
Omi-...what?
What’s an omatron?
Don’t listen to him. He’s just rambling because that’s what normal people do.
It’s all part of the game.
“You’re not even gonna ask?”
Maybe that’s how he tried to get Stiles to talk to him. Theo used to hate it
when Stiles ignored him no matter what he did. It was the best, and only, way
to punish him. Of course, the price he’d pay for it... was never really worth
it.
But since torture was off the fucking table Stiles pressed his lips together
and continued looking out the window.
“Ok. Suit yourself.”
They were driving in silence for a while and Stiles kept replaying the same
lines in his head over and over again.
Do not let him into your head.
Do NOT let him into your head.
Do not let him into YOUR head.
Do not let him into your HEAD.
If he didn’t let Theo provoke him he should be on the safe side for now.
It had always been his end game, Theo’s. Manipulation. After getting sick of
the lighters and scissors and ropes he’d try to mess with Stiles’ brain.
For instance. Once Theo had tried to make him believe that his parents were in
on a conspiracy with Mrs. Landon, his 4th grade English teacher who Theo had
claimed was secretly leading a witch coven. In reality, she’d only hated Stiles
because he’d been that kid. There’s one or two of those in every classroom. The
hyperactive troublemaker, talented, somehow, but, alas, an underachiever, she’d
seen it a hundred, oh, what am I saying, a thousand times, and, I’m sorry to
tell you Mrs. Stilinski, so sorry, but I’m afraid he’ll never amount to
anything at all.
Long story short, even though Stiles had never really bought Theo’s lies they’d
ended up putting a flattened rabbit into her briefcase when she wasn’t looking,
mangled ears sticking out from under the fake leather lid. Roadkill Theo had,
to Stiles’ disgust and horror, scooped up from the asphalt on Maple Street and
stuffed into his gym bag.
Stiles could clearly see it in front of his eyes now, that stupid bag. It had
been dark blue with red and yellow race cars on it and the rabbit had left
behind a permanent brown stain on the fabric, so they’d had to throw it out
after their prank. Little Theo’s smile had been mischievous. And, squatting
under the teacher’s desk – front row seats, you see – and waiting for the old
hag to discover the rabbit, scream and faint, so they could jump over her limp
body and rush outside before anyone could catch them, Stiles had had to
guiltily admit to himself that playing pranks on much hated teachers was a lot
better than rolling around in pain in the mud behind the old Beacon Hills power
plant, clutching his bleeding hand or singed wrist and developing a sepsis that
Theo would burn out of his body a day later with more fire.
Stiles was startled out of his thoughts when the car stopped. They were in a
McDonald’s parking lot. It was almost empty except for two cars at the other
end, a black Volvo and a dirty white pickup.
Theo turned the key in the ignition so the heat wouldn’t go out.
Stiles kept staring out the window, demonstratively ignoring that Theo had
unfastened his seat belt and turned to face him. Stiles didn’t have to look at
him to know that one of his smiles was playing around his lips.
Then he leaned over the gear shift and Stiles, without thinking, instantly
receded, drawing his upper body as far back as he could to get out of the way
of Theo’s face. The back of his head hit the window, Stiles said ‘Ouch!’and
Theo snickered.
“Oh, come on, Stiles... really?”
Stiles took a deep breath and tried to relax but he still flinched when Theo’s
hand slid around his neck. Theo pulled his head towards him and Stiles closed
his eyes.
The brush of Theo’s soft lips against his sent shivers down his spine.
Just hold your head still. Get used to it.
Admit that this is so much better than pain.
Theo’s tongue slipped into his mouth and Stiles smelled his aftershave and felt
the firm grip of Theo’s hand in his neck. A second hand grabbed Stiles’ right
upper arm. Apparently, he was still trying to pull back without really being
aware of it but Theo’s hands held him in place now and Stiles fought back the
urge to slap him.
When Theo’s lips glided down to the curve of his neck Stiles let out a gasp. A
new, different kind of shudder ran down his back and into his crotch and in
order to make Theo stop and distract himself from the feeling that was building
in his stomach all of a sudden, he said, “I – I’m not - into you, Theo. You
know that.”
Stiles could feel Theo inhale, breath cooling his skin, as if he tried to take
in as much of Stiles’ scent as possible.
“Is it because you haven't been with a man before? Are you uncomfortable with
my male body?”
He sucked on Stiles’ skin and Stiles clutched at the seats with trembling
fingers to stop himself from throwing open the car door and stumbling out into
the night. He felt his dick slowly harden.
And what the fuck was he supposed to do? How to get away from this?
“I’d hate to abandon this body but I could make changes to it, if you want...
Do you want me to become a girl, Stiles?”
“Th- that’s not what I m-mean... fuck.”
It wasn’t really about Theo being a boy or a girl, even though, admittedly,
Stiles did prefer girls.
Ok, if you must know, there was this one time when Stiles had developed a huge
crush for a guy, so you could probably say, he wouldn’t particularly mind
kissing a boy, if he happened to fall in love with one. But this wasn’t about
gender.
It was more about the king of hell leaving a fucking hickey on his neck.
“P-please stop, Theo, ok? Only for – just, please, give me a – a minute...”
When Theo reappeared there was a wide grin on his face.
“So hormonal... it’s really easy to press your buttons, you know that, Stiles?”
“Only because I let you,” Stiles said, panting. And why the fuck was he
panting?!
“And how’s that working out for you?”
 “I’m fucking disgusted, you son of a bitch,” Stiles spit out. His limbs felt
like rubber and there was this ridiculous mixture of desperation and horniness
rolling around in his stomach.
Still, better than the pain.
Yes, Stiles was preferring ashamed, uncomfortable and disgusted to the
scissors, the lighter and the needles.
“What are you looking at,” Stiles snapped because, well. Theo was at it again,
staring at Stiles to unsettle him. However, rather than dive straight ahead
into one of his little mind games, he shrugged and said, “You hungry?”
“Huh?”
“Ts.” Theo let out a soft chuckle.
“God, you’re a catastrophe, Stiles. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Fuck you.”
“Ok, then I’ll spell it out to you. We’re in a McDonald’s parking lot. You love
McDonald’s – ah, don’t deny it. I know you do. Since you’re also hungry... can
you add it up now or do you want to embarrass yourself further?”
Pause.
Stiles tried to calm down. God, he wanted punch Theo so, so fucking badly and
the mere fact that he could still actually taste him in his mouth only made the
urge stronger.
“Come on.” Theo motioned with his head for Stiles to follow him.
He got out of the car and Stiles took a deep breath.
Ok, that particular episode was apparently over.
So far so good.
He opened the door, let the soles of his sneakers touch the asphalt and climbed
out of the car. Theo was already walking in the direction of the brightly lit
building, then stopped and threw a glimpse back over his shoulder.
“You coming?”
Stiles threw the car door shut. He felt odd for a second when the blood rushed
back into his feet. But he was alright. He straightened his shoulders and began
trudging after Theo.
And maybe, yeah.
Maybe, being the devil and all, Theo didn’t really think about the whole range
of things he could do to Stiles now. Stiles for his part certainly didn’t want
to.
“A Big Mac and chicken nuggets,” he muttered to himself to drown out every
other thought.
And fries.
Lots of fries.
 
 
 
“No, I’m not turning around. Lydia, stop – Lydia, listen to – no, I already
told you.” Scott was clutching a cellphone to his ear but he looked very
tempted to just throw it out the car window. Luckily, the windows on Stiles’
Jeep wouldn’t open anymore so. They were on the safe side here.
Kira kept throwing her boyfriend worried glances from the passenger’s seat.
They were speeding down Main Street and not only was Scott going way too fast
but he was so angry that he was running the risk of ripping the steering wheel
clean out of Stiles’ beloved Jeep.
“Scott...,” Kira started softly, “Honey, calm down.”
“I am calm,” Scott said through grit teeth and Kira thought she saw his eyes
flash red.
Oh boy.
“No, I’m fucking calm and fucking perfect, everything’s just fucking perfect.”
Kira caught the smartphone before Scott could throw it over his shoulder onto
the backseat.
“Lydia? Hey... er, this is Kira? Y-yeah, I know you already knew that. Er...
yeah. Yeah, I get it. No, totally. Hey, listen. I call you back, ok?”
She pressed a button on the cellphone and then kept staring at with a worried
expression, as if she was waiting for Lydia to reach through the display and
strangle her.
“Er... Lydia thinks this a bad idea.”
“Oh really. Yeah, I caught as much. Well sucks to be her ‘cause I’m the fucking
alpha.”
“Please stop cursing?,” Kira said, her voice an almost inaudible whisper. She
hated seeing Scott like that. He was gentle and warmhearted and this just
wasn’t like him at all. Then again, protecting his friend no matter what was
very much like him so she should probably relax and deal with it.
“Where are we going,” she finally managed to say.
“Malia.”
Kira nodded. She had already guessed as much.
“What if Theo is there? What if he took Stiles to Malia's?”
“I’m counting on it. I intend to have a word with him.”
“I doubt your alpha instincts can help us with this. Really, Scott, this – this
is not the right time to mark your territory, we have to be very careful.”
Oh, no. She shouldn’t have said that. She should not have said that. It needed
to be said but Scott probably hated her now.
“S-sorry but... I – I think you’re not thinking clearly.”
“Theo can’t kill me, right? He’s bound by the contract he himself drew up.
Hypothetically, I could do to him whatever I want and soon as he throws even
one punch at me BAM!!”
Kira jumped in her seat.
“B-bam?”
“BAM, hell opens up, sucks this dickhead back in and – peace on earth.”
When he threw a glance at Kira’s shocked expression, he added, “Well, not
exactly peace but... Beacon Hills will be a Theo-free zone again.”
His expression softened.
“Sounds reasonable enough to you?”
Kira frowned but it was too late anyway. Scott was already drawing up to the
house. As soon as he’d turned the engine off, Kira unfastened her seat belt,
pushed the door open and jumped out of the Jeep. The house was lying in
darkness except for what Kira knew was the kitchen window. A dark and
motionless shape was watching them from behind the net curtains. Kira could
discern Malia’s wild curls that were throwing gigantic shadows onto the gravel
in front of her feet.
“Creepy,” she muttered but Scott was already at the front door. She didn’t have
to see it to know that he was half-wolfed out.
“Malia? It’s – Scott and Kira! Are you there?,” Kira yelled, voice shaky.
She stepped up to Scott, reached around his back and pulled at the screen door.
“She knows we’re here anyway,” she whispered in response to Scott’s silent
glare, “and she knows we know she knows. You, er, know?”
And indeed, as soon as they’d let themselves into the house, Malia appeared in
the door to their left, eyes glowing blue through the darkness of the living
room.
For about a second Kira was dead certain that the two would throw themselves at
each other and she’d be forced to watch a fight to the death, the love of her
life against her best friend in the world. She would stand over their mangled
bodies, holding Malia’s bloody hand in her left and Scott’s shredded hand in
her right and the only thing left would be to cry desperately. And she would be
sitting there for hours and hours, re-connecting them in death. And-
“Scott,” Malia let out a breath, “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Kira blinked.
But hey, to be fair, that might as well have gone down any other way. Better be
prepared for everything. And was she being pestered by intrusive thoughts about
worst case scenarios from which she emerged the grief-stricken heroine?
Maybe.
But the way Malia ducked down a little now – she might as well be hiding
something and maybe it wasn’t all in Kira’s head. She didn’t have wolf
instincts like Scott, all she knew was that last time they checked, Malia was
in on a game with Theo, so who knew.
Malia lifted her right arm and – please, don’t try to kill him, please don’t do
that, was all Kira could think but then Malia walked into Scott’s outstretched
arms and they hugged like old buddies.
Kira let out a sigh of relief.
All was good.
For now.
“Scott, I’m so sorry, I just-”
“I know,” Scott cut her short. “It’s alright.”
“I still can’t leave here,” Malia added, her face full of worry. “He’s my
brother.”
“...where is he?”
“They’re out to grab dinner. Er... Theo and – and Stiles. I – they sort of made
up, I think I finally got through to him. To Theo.”
Scott was holding Malia’s hands in his own. The touch of her alpha seemed to
soothe her because Kira could see her shoulders relax a little.
“What did you tell him?”
“Only that there’s more to being human than he thinks there is. It’s what I had
to learn, too. When I shifted back for good, you know. After I-”
“Yeah,” Scott said. So she didn’t have to spell it out.
“And that he should give it a try because he was so desperate, you know, living
like that in a teenager’s body, it’s not enough for him. He says he – he says
it makes him feel – dead.”
Scott nodded and Kira didn’t dare move. This was too good to be true. They
would take Malia back with them, she’d join the pack again.
Things would finally be like before.
“You talked him into the pact?”
Malia hesitated and Kira thought she saw a frown appear on her face.
“Me? No. It’s not like that at all, Scott.”
“Then explain it to us – you can do it on the way back. We’re meeting at my
place in thirty and we could really use your help.”
Kira couldn’t help but admire Scott’s optimism. As if Malia would leave Theo
behind, the boy she so much wanted to believe to be her-
“...brother. He’s my brother,” Malia was repeating now and Kira nodded. She’d
expected as much.
“He’s not really your brother. It’s just,” and Scott voice was very gentle all
of a sudden, “his body, Malia. Ok? Your brother is just not – not there
anymore.”
Malia pulled her hands back, more in agitation than anger. She was shaking her
head vividly and Kira was watching with mixed feelings. Scott obviously just
blew it.
“No, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Scott, you and the others, he
really is there, Theo, he really and truly still is. He’s been in there for
years.”
“But Stiles,” Scott started but Malia’s voice cut through his sentence harshly,
“I know what Stiles thinks but he’s wrong. Scott, he’s just wrong. The- Lucifer
explained it to me. Please, you have to believe me. He’s made the deal to
protect Stiles.”
“Pro-,” Scott started, then took a step back, considering Malia.
As if he could suddenly see her clearly.
“Lucifer made the pact to protect Stiles?” he said slowly and Kira thought he
sounded a lot like, So you say a ghost stole your pudding?
Malia was shaking her head again, curls bobbing to the left and right and left
and right in the dark living room.
“Theo. Theo made a pact to protect Stiles, his best friend. Theo made a pact
with Lucifer when he was still only a boy.”
Scott snorted and Kira’s right hand curled around her left wrist as if she
needed to hold on to something, thinking, Oh, don’t laugh, Scott, don’t. She’s
trusting you and is opening up to you and you’re destroying everything.
And indeed, when Malia spoke next she sounded a lot more – aloof.
“Yes, Scott. He made a pact to protect him from the omicrons that Lucifer’s
archenemy, Phenuel, was creating.”
“What?”
Kira couldn’t see his face but from the way Scott tilted his head to the right
now, she knew that he must look really confused. The gesture was so like Scott
– sitting behind him in math, Kira could pinpoint any shade of confusion, from
puzzled to bewildered to What kind of magic is this?! But it’s not like she was
always watching him. Because she clearly wasn’t, that’s ridiculous.
“What on earth are you even talking about?”
“Omicrons, Scott.”
“Don’t just repeat that word, and what the hell is that even supposed to-” He
stopped himself mid-sentence and then added, a lot more composed, “You know
what? I think he already got into your head. Lucifer. And Theo. Because they’re
clearly one and the same person that is playing with your emotions for your
dead brother. And they – he – whatever – is driving you nuts. You buy all the
bullshit he’s telling you and you know how I know he’s telling bullshit? He’s
the freakin’ devil. It’s what he does.”
Malia narrowed her eyes and Kira heard a low growl escape her throat, and, God,
she knew it, she knew it, they were gonna fight to the death and then because
Melissa McCall and Mr. Tate would be devastated it would be Kira’s task to plan
the funerals and she loved them both so much, how could she possibly be at two
different places at the same time because, obviously, two former friends who
tragically died battling each other wouldn’t want to share a funeral and how
was she even supposed to-
“I need help,” Kira muttered over her own thoughts and both Scott and Malia
looked over to her in surprise.
“What? Nothing,” she quickly added, cheeks reddening. “I’m good, you continue.
Talking.”
Malia shot her one of those looks so familiar to her, like Kira, why are you so
fucking weird?, and Kira’s frown dissolved into a nervous little smile. At
least her best friend was still herself.
That was good.
Right?
 
 
Half an hour later Stiles was shuffling across the parking lot again, hands
buried in the pockets of his jeans. Well, that had been – ok.
Theo could be surprisingly pleasant if he wanted to but Stiles wouldn’t forget
the past just like that. He knew Theo so goddamn well he couldn’t even relax
around, say, asleep Theo or almost beaten to death Theo, probably not even
around beheaded Theo. He was predictably unpredictable that way. You’d never
know when his mood would change again. Theo would wake up in the middle of the
night during one of those sleepovers little Stiles had dreaded so much but,
somehow, had never been able to prevent, and be all awake and bored all of a
sudden.I’m bored – Stiles had soon learned to live in constant fear of these
words.
However, Stiles had realized that Theo’s mood swings seemed to have become
considerably less. After all, he wasn’t the devil living inside a little boy’s
body anymore – he was the devil living inside a teenager’s body and it was
really hard for him to image Theo throwing a tantrum now. Stiles wasn’t sure if
he preferred this Theo to the one he’d known when he was ten years old because
right now, Theo was holding the car door open for Stiles, motioning for him to
climb into the back seat.
Not the passenger seat.
The back seat.
Oh, perfect.
Stiles’ heart started pounding in his chest almost instantly. He hesitated,
looked at Theo with a blank stare but when Theo raised his eyebrows, Stiles
swallowed whatever he’d meant to say or ask and just got in the car.
Better than pain, Stiles was thinking. He was certain now that this was a
different car because Theo's Mercedes hadn't had a back seat. There was this
little voice in his head telling him that Theo got this new, slightly larger
car exclusively for what was to follow.
“I’m glad you’re looking on the bright side,” Theo said and his voice was
muffled by the fabric of Stiles' sweater. Was he actually trying to cuddle with
him? By now, Stiles was really wondering just how high this night would score
on his what-the-fuck-scale.
“Wh-what?”
“You just said, ‘Better than pain,’ and, I believe, you might be right... for
now.”
Stiles pressed his lips together, turned his head away from Theo and stared out
through the tinted windows. Theo’s lips were leaving a wet trail on his neck
and in order to distract him from the way the feeling was making his skin
tingle Stiles tried to discern what was outside the window. Parking lot half-
lit up by the huge McDonald’s M, a dark car just pulling out of it and onto
Straitwood Avenue but Stiles couldn’t tell whether it was black or blue or –
dark silver?
There were three holes in the asphalt from what he could see from here and...
yes, grass and shrubbery seaming the parking lot. Like every other McDonald’s
parking lot.
There’s wasn’t a speck on the car windows, Theo must have had it cleaned very
recently. Or bought it recently. In any case, the interior smelled new, like
plastic and leather and, because it was a sports car, there was hardly enough
room for Stiles’ feet and the seats looked expensive and were hard and
uncomfortable.
At least – yeah, no way in hell that anyone could stretch out here, let alone
Stiles who was rather tall.
Good, that was good.
Unless...
Unless Theo decided to take him somewhere.
“Your heart is beating so fast,” Theo whispered. He lifted his head to look
Stiles in the eyes and Stiles was glad about it. His neck felt wet and hot and
sort of sore and even more sensitive than when Theo had started working on it.
It was almost like Stiles could feel every new lick of his tongue more
distinctly than the one before and he’d very, very much preferred if Theo just
cut it out altogether.
“Not bad considering that I’ve lived through all the ages of mankind without
gathering any personal experience, huh?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice all raspy and broken. “How come? The sudden
change of heart...?”
Keep him talking.
Just – try and distract him.
It’s all you got.
“It’s probably got to do with this body,” Theo stated matter-of-factly and
shrugged and leaned back a little, away from Stiles and Stiles felt like he
could breathe more freely all of a sudden.
“I’ve been wondering about that but, since I’m sort of stuck in time and place
here, I can’t really do a study of human emotion...”
“Can’t travel through time and look into people’s brains anymore, mh? Must suck
to be you.”
Theo ignored the sarcasm and said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles. You know very
well I can’t time-slip like this. I’d have to leave this body first.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“Ts. Different body, different sensations. I thought you would have understood
as much by now? Leaving Theo Raeken behind, that means leaving all his emotions
behind as well. And why would I want that. You know... right now, I enjoy being
an individual...” From the sound of Theo’s voice, Stiles could tell that he was
grimacing. Not that he was surprised though. Lucifer’s simultaneous disgust
with, and fascination for, man-made categories was almost legendary.
“Plus, this body is both a born wolf and a born coyote, you see... and, I must
say, I’m liking its sensitivity for scent and fixation on necks...”
Theo lifted his hand and let his index and middle fingers rest in the curve of
Stiles’ neck for a second, then he started tracing out the marks his lips must
have left there. Eventually, he leaned forward again and replaced his hand with
his mouth. Once more Stiles couldn’t do anything but sit there and bear Theo’s
tongue licking at his skin.
No, he would certainly not get used to that anytime soon.
"Mh. Glad you like it.” Stiles didn’t know what else to respond. He wasn’t in
the mood for conversation what with him trying his hardest not to get aroused
under the touch of Theo’s lips. A little, yeah, that was fine but the fact that
his dick was half-hard again was absolutely fucking unacceptable. That made two
times in a row in one night. He wondered whether Theo was even aware of what he
was doing there.
And when on earth was this ever going to stop.
Still. He shouldn’t think that, right?
Come on, Stiles, don’t be ungrateful.
Haven’t you wished for Theo finding another pastime, anything, anything at all,
please, God, I’ll do anything?
“Ha.” Theo chuckled softly, thoughts apparently still circling around the
meaning of human life. “It used to bore me, that talk about longing and desire
and addiction. I guess that was foolish of me. I understand a little better
now. Even the most evolved creature can yet learn, you see...”
“You’re so deep and humble, I want to vomit.”
“Used to be a time when I would have broken your wrist for a snide comment like
that...”
Stiles who was still staring straight ahead through the front window felt
Theo’s hands crawl over his body – right one cupping his neck and left hand
clasping Stiles’ left wrist and squeezing it.
Softly, at first, and then gradually exerting more and more pressure on it.
“Slowly, I’d have both crushed and twisted it so it would crack in three
different places. Remember?”
Oh, man, did he remember it.
Not long and Theo’s grip would actually do damage and Stiles started sweating.
“But, as per our agreement, I can’t do that now. I physically can’t... do you
feel it?”
And Stiles felt it.
It was like heat bubbling to the surface of his skin, like a pull that, he
could sense, would become incredibly powerful in a few moments should Theo
continue, a foreign energy that was sleeping inside of him and that was causing
a soft purple glow to radiate from every part of his body now like a light
flashing danger and admonishing Theo to stop. It wasn’t painful or even
uncomfortable. It was just the most peculiar feeling ever and yes,
it surpassed anything else Theo had caused Stiles to feel that night. On a
weirdness scale of ten, a nine, at least.
Theo released his hand and the warmth inside of him ebbed away. Stiles started
missing it almost immediately. For a moment there, it had made him feel almost
powerful.
“See? Devil proof... right now our contract could hypothetically be dissolved,
you know, when its power is acting up because I’m about to break it and then
you’d have to say ‘I release you’ or ‘I acquit you’ or something along those
lines in order to let me hurt you. But like this... you’re safe. With our pact,
I relinquished all my power, Stiles. And doesn’t that make you proud? That I’d
deem you worthy ? Only happens once in a millennium, you know... that someone
would be born whose body could contain the forces involved in a deal like
that.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. Then, when the meaning dawned on him, “W-wait.
Do you mean my death was actually one of the possible outcomes of this whole
thing? Theo?”
Theo sighed.
“Nah.”
Stiles suddenly felt the weight of Theo’s head on his shoulder and concluded
that he was done with the deep shit talk about feelings and memories and body
travel.
So was that how their weekends would go down from now on? Stiles being picked
up, then forced to live through a number of make-out sessions and then,
practically covered in the devil’s saliva, hop out of the fancy car to grab a
burger and fries at McDonald’s.
Hickeys, fries, surreal demonstration of supernatural power, more hickeys.
Insane really was the only word apt to describe the whole night.
Fucking insane.
Still, a much better adjective than terrifying and nightmarish.
Theo’s mouth found his in the darkness and Stiles, once again, refused to
respond but just sat there, stiff and immobile like a fucking rock, and let
Theo nibble at his lips and nudge his tongue and grab his hands.
Stiles was pretty sure that they looked like two seven-year-olds who were
trying to copy grown-ups but didn’t know what the hell they were doing there or
what it all meant. He felt the urge to scream growing stronger and stronger by
the minute.
Then Theo suddenly seemed to have had enough. He drew his head back abruptly
and pushed the car door open. It took Stiles a few moments to recollect himself
and realize that Theo was already sitting in the driver’s seat, looking back at
him and smirking and shaking his head like Stiles, you’re such a mess. Stiles
started moving, slowly, first his feet and fingers and then, finally he pulled
his whole body up from the back seat and stumbled out into the cold night.
“I’ll take you home,” Theo said when Stiles had settled on the passenger seat
again.
He started the engine.
Stiles tried to fasten his seat belt with shaky fingers. God. If he had to
describe what he was feeling right now he’d probably be forced to make up
words. There was just no way – he’d never thought – no, he absolutely couldn’t
say. From the moment he’d known that Theo was back, he’d been preparing for all
sorts of possible outcomes – but this? He could never have foreseen this.
And the thing was that he didn’t even know if that was good or an innovative
form of terrible. He wasn’t comfortable at all with Theo all over him, or even
next to him in the driver's seat, but then he wasn’t scared to death either.
What Theo did to him just made him feel so very strange.
“Want me to turn on the radio?”
“Mh,” Stiles said and jerked his head up and down to signal agreement and Theo
pressed a button somewhere, must have at least, even though Stiles hadn’t seen
him do it because soon the car was full of sound.
When I was young, it was more important, pain more painful, the laughter much
louder, Eric Burdon was singing and Stiles didn’t even wonder what version of
the song this was, the way he would normally do, 1967, 1969, 1972.
1985?
He listened without thinking about anything, words just passing through his
brain like billboards in front of a blind person.
Perfect and loud and devoid of meaning.
My faith was so much stronger then.
I believed in fellow men.
And I was so much older then.
When I was young.
 
So very, very strange.
 
When Stiles was alone again an hour and a half later he still couldn’t wrap his
head around the new Theo no matter how hard he tried. He was standing in the
middle of his room, staring at the Mets poster on the wall above his bed but
not really seeing anything. His thoughts kept going in circles, coming to the
exact same conclusion again and again and again. To Stiles’ mind, none of the
explanations his pack had come up with that afternoon and none of the answers
Theo had offered later, for the sudden change in behavior and his unheard of
interest in torture free relationships, had made any sense at all.
Then again, what Theo had been doing to him all evening really was just another
kind of torture and, oddly enough, that thought was a relief to Stiles. Because
he felt like that was the Theo he knew and who Stiles had developed a bunch of
coping mechanisms to deal with. Like this, he could at least relax a little and
not be scared shitless about the moment Theo would finally uncover the real
plan, the one about murdering everyone dear to Stiles and taking him down
below.
There was a knock on his window and Stiles jumped. He spun around, half
expecting to see Theo lurking outside of his bedroom window, Theo who came by
to tell him that it had all been a big fat hoax, the pact and the force Stiles
had felt, even the purple glow and everything, and that he was here to torture
him to death and, before that, have him praise Theo for his elaborate plan
to make his end game so interesting.
Instead, all he saw was Derek whose face was so pale it was almost glowing in
the darkness outside. Stiles walked over and unlatched the window and pushed it
open for Derek to climb inside.
Derek did so without even so much as a hello, how are you. He pulled the window
down, re-latched it then turned to face Stiles.
Still, no words were being exchanged, no greeting or apology or explanation for
barging in so late. Stiles remained silent because he was fucking exhausted
from the sheer amount of stress that being around Theo gave to him and Derek...
Well.
He was raking his eyes up and down Stiles’ body now and Stiles could just
fucking tell what he was thinking from the way Derek was looking at him with
the edges of his mouth slowly turning downwards, inhaling what must be Theo’s
scent all over Stiles.
And not just scent.
Theo’s spit that Stiles could still almost feel sticking to his lips and throat
and chest and – and neck.
And, sure as hell, that’s what Derek’s eyes latched onto now, the naked spot
between Stiles’ left ear and the neckline of his dark blue t-shirt. Stiles had
had the presence of mind to make a big fuss about how his throat was hurting as
soon as he’d set foot into the living room and how he would have to heat up
a cherry pit pillow for himself like immediately, before he was out of his
jacket even and then slam it into his neck. It had still been way to hot of
course and Stiles had, with watering eyes, smiled through the burning sensation
on his neck and throat that felt fucking raw without him pressing something
singing hot against them but his dad hadn’t noticed, had only frowned and
offered to make tea and when they’d sat down to watch the game, Stiles had
started feeling comfortable again in his own skin, finally.
The point here was that it was really hard for a guy to hide what must be about
ten huge, dark red and purple hickeys. Stiles had avoided examining the mess in
the bathroom mirror but that’s what it felt like.
At least, that’s what the things Theo had been doing to him had felt like.
And he had no long hair to cover them up, nor the excuse of wearing a
fashionable scarf that went with his dress, or his shoes, or his purse or
whatever.
So, a moron would know at first sight that Stiles had been sucking face with
Theo and, what’s more, it wasn’t like Theo had been careful or subtle or
anything. Stiles probably looked like he’d been attacked by a whole bunch of
horny teenage girls, like the ones that would sometimes follow Derek around
when he was out running errands.
Derek was still staring at the spot, face perfectly unreadable and Stiles was
blushing wildly. He almost wished he was back in Theo’s dark car. Somehow,
inexplicably, he preferred Theo’s wet tongue to this.
Standing in the middle of his brightly lit bedroom with the whole evening
spread out for Derek Hale to judge.
Stiles felt so fucking ashamed of himself all of a sudden that he wanted to
cry.
Standing there and having Derek scrutinize him wordlessly, he struggled to
force the feeling bubbling up in his throat back down again. He looked Derek
dead in die eyes in the attempt to not appear vulnerable but defiant, like
Yeah, that’s what I did, so what?!
As if he could hear Stiles’ thoughts, Derek smirked.
“How was your... date?,” he said matter-of-factly and Stiles made a face like
Derek just slapped him.
Shock at the unfairness of it all.
As if he’d had a choice.
The feeling of sheer misery in his stomach made way to something else entirely.
While on the sofa with his dad he'd managed to imagine himself a victim, but,
you know, a strong one, one that would pull through it all, emerge cleansed at
the end, a little broken maybe but stronger, so much stronger.
The final girl in a slasher movie, the one who survived all the horror and
carnage, winding up baptized with blood and gore and pain, both wiser and purer
than before.
Now, Derek was giving him the feeling that he was somehow dirty. That he’d
betrayed his pack even though that’s not how it fucking was.
At all.
“It wasn’t a date,” Stiles said and, when Derek raised his eyebrows, he hissed,
“you fucking well know that it wasn’t!”
He tried to calm down, to resist the urge to start yelling at Derek because his
dad was asleep in the room across the hall but he was so angry all of a sudden,
he didn’t even really know why. Maybe all the stress and repressed feelings of
being cornered and abused and harassed by Theo finally found their way to the
surface and just latched on to the next person they could find, completely
arbitrarily.
Or, maybe, it was something else.
Whatever it was, Stiles was done for the day, he was done just having to take
all the crap people shoved his way, Theo fucking using him like that and now
this, now Derek, whose only apparent reason for being here was to mock him and
tear him apart on the inside a little more.
He was fucking done.
“If there’s nothing else you have to say, leave. I can’t take any of your shit
now,” Stiles said and he knew his voice was shaking with anger but his eyes
were staring at Derek coldly. Yeah, these feelings might be out of control,
mis-placed, and maybe a little over the top but that’s just what abuse does to
you.
“I just came to check on you, Stiles. Scott asked me to,” Derek said calmly as
if wanting to make crystal clear that if it were for him he’d be at home in
front of the TV with a beer in hand. His eyes were still flicking between
Stiles’ neck and face. “His mom is home tonight, and he didn't want
to sneak out.”
“Good,” Stiles gritted out, “you saw me, you – saw how things went. Tell them
you did a good job. There’s the door.”
But Derek didn’t move.
Hands in his pockets, he tilted his head a little to the right.
“He scent-marked you. Like... majorly,” he stated.
“I’m aware of that,” Stiles hissed.
“Like a wolf, not like – what he really is.”
“So? What’s your fucking point?”
Derek was silent for a few moments, then, “You reek of him. Literally. It’s
fucking disgusting is what it is. All wrong.” He screwed his nose up in disgust
as if concentrating on exactly how repulsive Stiles’ new scent was to him and
that did it for Stiles.
“Get the fuck out of here!” he yelled and, pivoting on his heel, started in the
direction of his bed to pick up his baseball bat. He wasn’t thinking.
He was just livid.
Maybe he had to take Theo’s shit but he wouldn’t let anyone else mistreat him
ever again.
Bat in hand and the tiniest bit more composed, he added, “I swear, I’m going to
beat the hell out of you if you don’t-”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Stiles,” Derek sneered, “You couldn’t kick my ass if you
wanted to. And you know I’m right, about how wrong this is. Letting this thing
drool all over you – it’s like you’re not even part of the pack anymore.”
Stiles heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood pounding in his ears.
“Shut the fuck up, Derek! If anyone’s not a real part of the pack, it’s you.”
“Is that how it’s going to be from now on? You mating with that creature and
then attacking us for giving you hell about it?”
Stiles stood there, mouth open, bat dangling in his right hand, forgotten.
He just couldn’t believe it.
So this was the reason Derek hadn't said a word before?
Because he was disgusted by Stiles? It hadn't been empathy or understanding or
pity but shock about the prospect of one of his pack mates getting physical
with the creature that was Theo?
So this was what Derek was really thinking?
“I didn’t have a choice and no one’s mating anyone-” Stiles started, hoarsely,
but Derek interrupted him.
"You didn’t have a choice,” he repeated mockingly. “Of course you did, Stiles.
You just weren’t fucking thinking, it’s what you always do. You go out and do
stuff and then we’re left to fix it.”
Stiles reacted almost instantly.
The bat slid out of Stiles’ finger and hit the ground with a clutter – and,
man, Stiles’ dad must be a sound sleeper – and with a speed and force he didn’t
even know he had in him Stiles took a leap at Derek, right hand clenched into a
fist but before he could let it crash into Derek’s face the way he’d meant to,
Derek snatched his wrist and yanked Stiles’ arm down in a quick and fluid
movement, as if disarming him. As if he were Oliver Queen and not a fucking
werewolf.
Within a split second, Stiles found himself kneeling on the floor, upper body
hunched over so he was almost face planting onto the PVC, Derek pressing him
down and twisting his right arm painfully up against his back, then catching
his left and pinning it onto his back as well. Stiles was angry and hurting and
confused. He yelped when Derek pushed his arms up a little higher, right to
their breaking point, Stiles knew it, God, he knew exactly how much force it
needed for an arm to spring out of its socket, for his bones to splinter.
Only Derek wouldn’t be able to make them magically knit themselves back
together later.
“Fuck the – Derek, what the fuck... ouch! Owww, fuck...”
But Derek didn’t say anything, nor did he loosen his death grip on Stiles’
wrists.
And all of a sudden there was the memory of something, random words popping up
in Stiles’ brain and then, he remembered. It was Theo saying ‘loose cannon,’
loose cannon.... loose cannon, and ‘you never know with omicrons.’
You never know with omicrons.
Is that what it was, what Theo had meant?
Or was it really Stiles’ fault, his totally out-of-control-behavior that had
gotten them here?
No, a voice whispered to him while Stiles was struggling and breathing against
Derek’s painful grip.
No, Derek could just have stepped aside or caught your fist. Like he’s done
countless times before when fragile humans tried to attack him.
No, this was different.
It was Derek’s fucking knee pressing down onto Stiles’ back now and then his
left hand clutching at Stiles’ neck, not the way Theo had done before, but like
he wanted to strangle Stiles and could just barely bring himself not to.
Stiles’ whole head was being forced further down and his forehead hit the floor
and Derek’s claws were digging into his skin and Stiles heard him growl, “Don’t
ever try that again, Stiles.”
Then, a heartbeat later, the pressure on his neck and arms was gone.
Stiles let himself roll onto his side on the floor and then he was sobbing, he
didn’t even care if Derek was hearing it or not.
Derek hadn’t actually broken his arms but the way someone who was supposed to
be looking out for him, supposed to be his friend, had forced Stiles down on
the floor like a fucking criminal had just been savage.
The last straw.
Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.
He was lying on his back, pressing his palms onto his eye sockets hard, tears
drenching his cheeks, chest heaving with sobs.
The window was being pushed open and then, three seconds later, closed again.
Derek was gone.
 
Chapter End Notes
     For those who are wondering: hey, 18 chapters in, is this unsettling
     mess of verb tenses and bad jokes ever going to end (Make it stop,
     please make it stop!!)? ---
     I just suck at getting things done - ending a story always makes me
     sad (both when reading one or writing one) so in the past I always
     lost interest after like two years of chapter after chapter... ;
     plus, I'm one of the 5 crazy people on the planet who don't watch
     movies in one sitting because I want to have some more of the story
     to look forward to; then, sometimes, I forget all about it which is
     the reason why there's some movies that I've actually never finished
     watching.
     Ok, so I'm really bad at that but I'm very determined to give this
     story an ending eventually - I have it all planned out now, I think,
     and in a way that might actually work the way I want it to. But it's
     going to take me a few more chapters... every time I try to force the
     Sterek scene it just seems implausible and I end up deleting it...
     so, I will finish this but not just yet.
***** Pizza and Formaldehyde *****
Chapter Summary
     hard to say, it's really a steo, sterek, steo mess...
Chapter Notes
     trigger warning (yeah, a little late, I know) - rape, trauma,
     possibly PTSD - hurt Stiles all the way
Stiles thought he understood.
He’d picked himself up from the floor after over an hour, shuffled over to his
bed and flopped down without even undressing.
He’d grabbed his earplugs and put on London Grammar so he wouldn’t have to
listen to his own thoughts. When he awoke the next day, his phone was on the
floor and dead and he waited until he’d had his first cup of coffee to plug it
in and turn it back on. Then he called Scott and Lydia who’d both messaged him.
They didn’t sound as frantic as they could have though and Stiles guessed
correctly that Derek had probably filled them in. Told them about what he’d
called Stiles’ ‘date’ but probably omitting the part where he’d gone full wolf
on him, brutally pushing Stiles into a gesture of submission.
Yes, Stiles had come at him first but he’d been confused, angry, which Derek
had certainly smelled but chosen to ignore.
And Stiles thought he understood.
Since it was Saturday, he could kick back and push everything that might cause
him discomfort far away from him. No need to face anyone, he’d made that pretty
clear on the phone and Scott, of course, respected that. Maybe even understood
it.
His thoughts kept returning to Derek, and Stiles was still mortified about the
fact that the wolf had seen through him so clearly. Well, not that that had
been so very hard. Stiles had examined the hickeys on his throat and neck the
next day and while there were only three of them rather than ten as he’d
expected, they were big and red and just... very visible.
He’d be forced to wear a stupid turtleneck for the next two weeks and look like
the biggest douchebag on the planet.
Stiles just didn’t have a turtleneck face was the thing.
And what’s more, the night before he had reeked of Theo, and, a day later,
probably still smelled like him.
No wonder that Derek in particular had been repulsed by that. After all, hadn’t
Theo’s mere presence been enough before to cause Derek to snap and go
ballistic, hadn’t Stiles witnessed that more than once himself? Derek’s eyes
flash neon green, his face go blank, and suddenly the beta possessed the power
to pin the most powerful supernatural creature on the planet to the wall and
beat the crap out of him?
Stiles shouldn’t take it personally then.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself over and over and yet.
Yet.
He felt hurt.
Derek’s anger had left Stiles a little more empty than before and it took him
all weekend to get over it.
He spent all of Sunday in his room, doing his homework and studying, for God’s
sake, only to keep his thoughts occupied.
 
 
 
Stiles has since bounced back. He’s alright now.
Stable.
It’s Monday morning and he shuffles into the classroom for first period,
wearing a rather worn out zip up sweatshirt he’s pulled out from under his bed,
one of these high collar thingies that Stiles has zipped up all the way to hide
the red spots on his throat. He probably looks really douchy but still better
than a James Dean style upturned collar. Because only James Dean could ever
really pull these off.
He’s late, just as intended, so he can only give Scott, Kira and Lydia a nod,
then demonstratively ignore Theo, before he slumps down in his chair. Barely
five seconds later Coach Finstock is storming in and, after dropping a pile of
books on the desk, dives right into the topic with his trademark mixture of
aggression and confusion.
When they change classrooms for second period, they chat about insignificant
stuff, Theo following a few feet behind them. Stiles doesn’t have to turn
around to know that there’s a satisfied smirk on his face, doesn’t even need
Scott hissing in his ear ‘Dude, you smell like Theo,’ before they take their
seats in the chemistry classroom.
Yeah.
Yeah, he knows.
Derek had been pretty fucking clear about that.
And Theo smells at least faintly like Stiles.
His pack would just have to deal with it for God’s sake.
Stiles slams his books onto the table with more force than necessary and Mrs.
Martin raises her eyebrows at him. Stiles is getting angry again.
But he’s just saying, yes?
If he can deal with this shit – then his pack should sure as hell be able to as
well.
 
 
Still, Theo is playing it glacier slow today.
He waits until recess to torment Stiles.
 
 
Stiles is standing with a small crowd of people and, yeah, he never realized
how much the pack has really grown, it’s Scott and Kira, Lydia and Liam and
Mason, even Malia is there, untypically shy and blushing whenever she’s being
addressed.
Like she’s ashamed of refusing to choose between Theo and the pack. In fact,
Stiles had been surprised to even see her at school. Apparently, a few things
happened during the weekend but no one has bothered telling him about that yet,
about what exactly happened after Stiles had walked out of the animal clinic
and gotten into Theo’s car.
So, maybe it’s the fact that Stiles is in-between Scott’s pack and Lucifer now
as well that makes Malia’s decision to side with evil incarnate seem less like
a betrayal.
Or it’s simply the fact that, bound by his deal with Stiles, Lucifer has become
harmless to humanity from one day to the next – to anyone, that is, except to
Stiles himself. And, just as promised, Theo’s disfigured playthings have
disappeared from the woods around Beacon Hills, leaving the occasional limb or
eyeball behind but, if Stiles caught that correctly, the pack had apparently
taken care of that on Sunday – much to Lydia’s grief of course whose eyes are
still red over the renewed loss of her pet, Paws the Second.
Whatever it is, Stiles is glad that Malia’s back with them and that he’s only
feeling a faint pang and a tinge of shame every time their eyes meet. No big
deal. He’d be over it soon and then they can start being friends again.
And everything will be peachy.
Right?
Perfect.
 
All the trauma past and future aside, this week is starting off better than
expected.
 
Then, of course, Scott, who has been talking about a movie he and Kira went to
see on Saturday, falls dead silent all of a sudden.
Stiles doesn’t have to wait for that hand squeezing his shoulder to know that
Theo is here.
They all stare at him.
At him, Stiles and at Theo.
Wide-eyed.
With something like – disgust? – playing around their faces, with Liam and
Mason and Kira it’s a little more subtle, with Scott and Lydia very obvious.
And Stiles isn’t sure whether it’s only Theo.
Whether it’s not him, Stiles, too, who is starting to become repulsive to his
friends and pack mates.
 
Theo lets his hand linger on Stiles’ right shoulder and Stiles doesn’t dare
shake it off. Theo’s looking good, as always, Janine might even call him
gorgeous but well, that’s just Janine, right. That girl has been so into Theo
from day one that she’s rendered completely speechless whenever he’s near which
isn’t exactly great for her grades. And she’s not the only one.
This Monday morning in the first floor corridor of Beacon Hills High, people
are acknowledging with interest that Theo Raeken somehow seems to have grown
closer to Lydia Martin’s group of friends which is puzzling, shocking even,
when it had been widely understood before that they detested each other.
Seeing him stand with them now, however, is making a lot of sense to most
people. It’s only natural for the hot guy to eventually join the Lydia Martin
exclusive gang of the Beacon Hills High coolest and most fashionable. Lydia is
the girl every guy wants to date and every girl wants to be, Scott McCall the
captain of the lacrosse team, Liam a teenage heartthrob in the making, Mason
handsome and funny – and all the guys are just ripped like, come one,
seriously? – Kira awkward but wearing make up to school every day, plus she has
this long and glossy black hair and is pale and pretty and only wears expensive
brands, and Malia is just beautiful with her long tan legs and sweet face.
And then there’s Stiles Stilinski, the guy who’s standing oddly close to Theo
Raeken right now.
And people are looking Stiles up and down, letting their gaze linger on Theo’s
hand that is still on Stiles’ shoulder and it’s obvious what they’re all
thinking.
Just look at him. At Stiles.
What did he ever do to be counted among the popular kids.
Right?
Exactly.
I mean, you busted your ass to not be a total loser, to look fashionable and
skinny and like a sixteen-year-old hooker with your dark red lipstick and these
5-inch-heels you’re wearing and still –
Is Theo Raeken putting his hand on your shoulder?
No, he fucking isn’t.
So what did Stiles Stilinski ever do to deserve that.
Some call him handsome but no one can deny that he’s sort of weird, the way he
would fidget and blush and trip over his own legs.
Granted, he’s a senior now and he’s grown calmer and taller and his hair is
longer and – there’s just something undeniably attractive to his face and to
these cat’s eyes of his but the fact that he’s the one around whose shoulders
Theo Raeken is putting his arm now as if it were nothing, as if they were best
buddies, is just – unexpected, to say the least.
There’s a murmur in the hallway and Stiles is looking left and right,
apparently aware of the fact that people are talking about him.
And he’s blushing, well, how cute is that.
Alright, alright, he is sort of cute, this Stiles.
But Theo is so handsome.
Like, seriously, that face, and, he’s so fucking cool, just the way he talks,
did you hear what he said to Carver the other day when he asked him about,
like, was it the Columbian War or something? Whatever, he’s just such an old
soul and I think, oh my God, he’s looking over here, oh God, no, wait, don’t
turn around now but – what the fuck is going on?! Oh my God, did you just
fucking see that? Arlene, did you catch that on video?
 
 
Stiles is vaguely aware of eyes being flicked over to them now and again,
at Theo especially but then, people are just obsessed with singling out a
senior and endlessly crushing on him and when Theo suddenly leans in and gives
Stiles a peck on the lips, it’s like all the sound has been sucked out of the
entire corridor, from the math classroom to the teacher’s lounge.
“I’ll see you later,” Theo says, then turns around and walks away, amused smile
on his lips as he’s strutting through the crowd of students gathered in front
of their classrooms, students who aren’t even trying to hide their shocked
expressions, who are raking their eyes up and down Theo’s body shamelessly.
Stiles for his part is just standing there, rooted in place, cheeks very, very
red while all around him people start talking, whispering.
Oh, my gosh, did you see that?
Did he just kiss him?
Theo Raeken kissed Stilinski, no, seriously, I’m not messing with you!
What the – what’s going on?
Is Theo gay? Like, I thought he was into girls because he doesn’t look gay, do
you think he looks gay? Oh no, that’s such a pity, I thought he was so good-
looking...
God, people are so fucking stupid.
Look gay? What is that even supposed to mean? And why would that be a pity?
Stiles presses his lips together, directs his eyes back to his friends but
they, too, are staring at him. Only Malia doesn’t look particularly interested,
she’s flicking through her smartphone, but the others seem to be at a loss for
words.
Not like they didn’t expect it but it’s like – hypothetically knowing it is one
thing, but then actually fucking seeing the devil kiss your friend, entirely
different story.
So excuse the fuck out of them, if they’re a little shocked.
Well, not Scott though.
Stiles’ heart sinks when he realizes that that look on his best friend’s face,
jaws clenched, eyes narrowed – that’s anger.
Scott looks furious.
When their eyes meet, Stiles can tell that Scott is trying to hide it. He
frowns and forces his shoulders to relax and says, “So... Theo’s really...
like...”
“Ahem, we’re going to let you guys talk, kay?” Kira says, her voice a little
too shrill maybe and the others murmur in agreement and turn around.
“Sorry,” Stiles says as soon as they’re alone.
Well, relatively speaking. The corridor is still packed and there’s still way
too many people staring at Stiles but at least they’re not able to listen in.
“What? Don’t be silly, Stiles,” Scott says and slaps his friend over the
shoulder. “I should be sorry for letting that happen. It just-,” and, at a loss
for words, he looks around, lets his eyes glide over this and that, as if what
he wants to say were written out in big bright letters somewhere on the wall,
or the lockers, or people’s foreheads, “it just makes me so angry to see
Theo... claim you like that. That’s all. I feel like – I want to murder him –
no, I’m fucking serious. I want to claw his throat out so badly, it’s not even
funny anymore...”
“Please don’t,” Stiles says, and he knows he sounds tired. He just can’t have
another hour of explaining to Scott why he won’t be able to even come near
Theo. He just can’t do it.
They’re directing their steps towards the history classroom.
“Thanks to your deal I can now, can’t I?”
And here we go again.
“You apparently still don’t understand,” Stiles mutters. “He’s still – he’s
still Lucifer. He promised not to hurt you, yeah, but there’s still a lot he
can do to keep you from ripping his head off, Scott. Besides... Hellish power
just trumps alpha power... and even if – and that’s a big if, dude – you’d
manage to end him, he’d just come back. Take another body and come back to seek
revenge and then, there’s no deal anymore, no stopping him. I appreciate the
thought, Scott – but there’s nothing you can do.”
He takes in a deep breath, forces himself to say, “All things considered – it’s
good the way it is now. In balance, somehow. Okay?”
Scott shrugs and, to Stiles’ surprise, there is the faintest hint of a smile on
his face.
“Well, I guess then all’s up to Derek now.”
Stiles reaches for the door handle, frowns.
“You saw Derek beat the crap out of him, right?,” Scott says, “I think he might
be able to somehow – I don’t know, restrain him or something. Just beat him up
once every week so Theo’ll take seven days to knit himself back together. And
then, just do it again. That would pretty much incapacitate him permanently,
don’t you think? And,” interpreting the worried expression on Stiles’ face
correctly, “It doesn’t even matter if he hears us talking about this. There’s
literally nothing he can do about it.”
When Stiles doesn’t pull the door open, Scott reaches for the handle and,
giving Stiles one last encouraging smile, he shoves him through the door.
Stiles follows Scott to their seat by the window.
Great, rely on Derek for help.
Judging from past experience, Derek might sooner rip Stiles apart than Theo.
It’s like Stiles can still see Derek’s face scrunched up in disgust, hear the
words being thrown at him disdainfully again.
Letting this thing drool all over you – it’s like you’re not even part of the
pack anymore.
Derek made it pretty clear that by entering into a deal with Theo Stiles has
become Derek’s personal enemy. So, no, Derek won’t help him.
Why can’t Scott just let this one slide without making elaborate plans once in
a while?
It’s over and they lost.
Stiles lost.
But there has never been any chance of them winning in the first place anyway.
And why can’t Scott see that what Stiles got out of this is a million times
better than what they got before?
Best case scenario before his deal with the devil: Theo tortures Stiles to
death so fucking slowly, Stiles might still be able to graduate.
Worst case scenario now is Theo fooling around with Stiles for a while, then
getting bored and that’s that.
But there’s no way of getting rid of him right now.
Stiles has long accepted that.
He just wonders when Scott will be able to as well.
 
 
Stiles starts working out.
First thing after school is over on Monday he hits the gym and only leaves when
his legs are shaking so much that he can barely stand. On Tuesday, Liam and
Mason have to practically tear him away from the weight bench. But it’s not
like he gets so much exercise during lacrosse practice when it’s clear anyway
that he’ll stay benched until all eternity because he sucks, right?
On Wednesday morning, the muscle ache is killing him but it feels good. Not
that Stiles is into pain – there’s really nothing he’s into less – but it’s so
physically draining that his mind is completely empty and he’s already falling
asleep when he’s not even quite home yet. Theo of course has been frowning
about Stiles’ new-found passion for weight lifting and going for two-hour-runs
but there’s not much he can do to keep Stiles from it.
Ha, no torturing Stiles, no restraining Stiles, yes?
‘I guess I’ll have to wait for you to slip a disc,’ Theo says darkly on Tuesday
night after watching Stiles almost face plant into his soup. But Stiles still
gets what he wanted because Theo drives him home and that’s it for the day.
Not that Stiles is really fully awake to acknowledge his victory. He falls
asleep in Theo’s car, gets manhandled onto the couch in his living room and
only wakes up when his dad accidentally sits down on him in the dark after
getting home at 2am.
So, the whole thing may not be the most ingenious plan Stiles has ever come up
with but it buys him time to adjust to the idea of being Theo’s – well,
boyfriend would probably be the most accurate term.
Unfortunately, Theo was right. Stiles cannot possibly maintain that pace. On
Thursday, his feet almost refuse to unfold in the morning and his back and arms
and chest and everything is hurting so much that he decides a boy-on-boy make-
out session with the devil might just be the lesser evil.
So when Theo asks him on Whatsapp: Grab a coffee and later pizza and a movie?
Stiles only messages back: Ok., and tries not to think about how little he
wants to do that.
While listening to Mr. Carver, their history teacher, ranting about second
amendment rights Stiles gets this crazy image in his head of Lucifer sitting in
front of his laptop and googling how do human males date?
He snorts into his palm, a release of stress and anxiety more than a real laugh
but he still gets a stern look and detention for Friday.
Carver’s a jerk but this spurs a brand new idea in Stiles’ brain to wriggle out
of the next date – he just needs to cause enough trouble to be kept in school
until – or, wait, maybe he could get his dad to ground him? The last time his
dad actually locked him up in his room for punishment was when Stiles had been
about eleven. He had, for reasons he couldn’t remember any more, put a hole
into the living room wall big enough for him to climb through. Definitely a
plan to get back to another time.
Now though.
It’s not the coffee or the pizza part that worry Stiles.
But watching a movie with Theo, really?
People make out during movies.
People have hot and passionate sex during movies.
“Mr. Stilinski, is everything ok?” Carver is saying because Stiles is looking
pale all of a sudden.
Stiles shakes his head and the class watches him get up and leave the room,
head off in the direction of the bathrooms to throw water into his face. He
knows that Scott wants to follow him, is already messaging to ask what happened
but Stiles ignores it.
He doesn’t throw up but can’t calm down enough to get rid of that sick feeling
in his stomach either and when he shuffles back into the classroom, eyes
averted to the ground, he’s still a little shaky.
Because, yeah, the thing is: whatever Theo has planned for today, Stiles will
have to put up with it whether he likes it or not.
So it’s hardly a surprise that Stiles’ heart starts pounding the second he sees
Theo emerge from the school building that Thursday afternoon. The weather is
cloudy but warm and Stiles is waiting around with Scott and Kira. Students are
brushing past him left and right, chatting and laughing and checking their
phones.
Scott can probably smell the waves of anxiety rolling off of Stiles all of a
sudden – or he picked up Theo’s scent – because he spins around and watches
with a stony face as Theo is strutting towards them like he’s on the red carpet
at the Academy Awards rather than a boring and slightly run-down school yard in
Northern California.
“Hey guys,” Theo says and completely ignores the hateful look Scott is giving
him. When no one greets him back, Theo takes his hand out of the pocket of his
black jacket and extends it.
Stiles is just staring at it for a few seconds, not quite sure what he’s
supposed to do.
Then, very reluctantly, he lifts his left hand and puts it into Theo’s. Like
they’re in fourth grade again. He knows that people around them are watching as
Theo closes his hand around Stiles’ with a little squeeze, gives him an
appreciative nod.
And then pulls Stiles towards him and Stiles should have seen it coming but
yet, he really, really didn’t, so he stumbles into Theo's arms helplessly.
Just – embarrassing, ok?
“Get your hands off him,” Scott snarls and Kira touches his shoulder to calm
him down.
“Or what?”
Scott flashes his red eyes and Theo lifts his eyebrows, completely unimpressed.
“Scott! There’s people everywhere!!,” Kira says, looking left and right with an
anxious expression on her face, making sure no one saw that.
“I’m – fine,” Stiles mutters.
Scott doesn’t answer. In fact, he doesn’t do anything – he looks like he
physically can’t. His face is strained and body looking oddly stiff. He looks a
lot like a werewolf struggling to step over mountain ash but Stiles knows it
must be something Theo is doing because the bastard is smiling and lifting his
eyebrows at him.
“Really, Scott? Come on, I thought you were smarter than that...”
“Gnnnnn,” is all Scott can get out. Stiles can see that he’s sweating but he
can't even advance an inch towards Theo.
People are starting to throw them really weird glances and Stiles whose hand is
still locked with Theo’s nudges him in the side, says, “Please.”
And Theo nods.
“Let’s go.”
The second Theo turns away from Scott, the invisible barrier obviously
disappears because Scott stumbles forward and hits the asphalt hard which
excites a cruel snicker from Theo.
“You may be stronger than me but Derek will come for you, you son of a bitch,”
Scott snarls, picking himself up again.
Theo stops and turns around.
“Aw, sorry to disappoint you, Scott, but he won’t.”
Scott who is dusting off his jeans just glowers at him but Kira says, “Why?”
Theo lets his eyes rest on her and she blushes but does not avert her eyes.
“Because, Kira,” he says, “deal with the devil always beats pact with an
angel.”
 
 
“Do you come up with these badass lines all by yourself or is there a book for
that,” Stiles mutters as he stumbles alongside Theo in the direction of the
parking lot. Theo lets out a chuckle but doesn’t respond.
They’re still holding hands like a couple in grade school and, passing by a
group of sophomores, Stiles can’t help but notice the stares, the wide-open
mouths and did you see that’s. Stiles’ cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red
but Theo seems to enjoy putting on a little show because when they reach his
car – it’s the sports from last week again which by itself usually suffices to
draw everyone’s attention, even and especially, the teachers’ – he doesn’t
unlock it.
“Aren’t we getting in?” Stiles says, puzzled.
Theo, son of a bitch that he is, only responds with a smirk. He pulls Stiles
towards him by the hand and then pushes him up against the car.
“H-hey, what-”
“Smile. People are watching, Stiles.”
“I’m aware of that which is why I’d rather you didn’t,” Stiles mutters,
struggling against Theo’s body but Theo is just too strong. Stiles is trapped,
boxed in between the car and Theo’s chest.
“Ah, no fighting me, Stiles. Remember?”
Theo’s face is so close to Stiles’ that he can feel his hot breath on his skin.
In the distance, Stiles can see Scott and Kira still standing there, staring at
them and Stiles doesn’t need wolf senses to know that his best friend’s blood
his boiling with anger. Stiles for his part is pale, with bright red specks on
his cheeks that he always gets when he is agitated and when Theo leans in to
kiss him he’s already shaking from the adrenaline of being so close, way too
fucking close, to him.
“Stiles...,” Theo says and pulls back a little, giving Stiles more room to
breathe. He’s shaking his head in mock-disappointment. “You know that’s not how
people kiss...”
“What would you know about that,” Stiles shoots back.
“Stiles,” lower and more sharply this time with just a hint of anger, “we’re
doing this. You know what you agreed to.”
“You fucking tortured me, Theo, I can’t just get over that because you say so,”
Stiles hisses but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he bites his
tongue. Across the parking lot, Scott is still looking at them and Stiles knows
that he’s listening to every word they’re saying. It’s not like Scott doesn’t
know but – Stiles would prefer for his friends to think that this whole devil’s
boyfriend thing isn’t a big deal for him.
That Stiles is, you know, cool with it.
Guessing his thoughts – again, creepy much? – Theo leans in until his lips
brush Stiles’ left ear, and whispers, “You don’t want your friends to think
you’re being harassed, right? Come on... for Scott...”
Stiles doubts that watching his best friend kiss the king of hell back would
make Scott very happy but he gets the point. Besides, as soon as he's
struggling too much, he can feel that force acting up on the inside and this
time it’s not a feeling of empowerment but an uncomfortable pull.
Like Stiles is about to peel out of his body.
It’s warning him, making sure he respects the agreement.
Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down, Stiles is telling himself,
just forget about Scott and Kira and the fact that you want to cut that fucking
smirk out of Theo’s face and just-
Theo gives him a few seconds and when their lips meet again, Stiles is
prepared.
He starts moving his tongue, slowly at first.
Theo lifts his arms and wraps them around Stiles shoulders, leans in, and
Stiles can feel just how ripped Theo really is.
It’s like his chest and upper arms are made out of steel, like Theo’s a living
and breathing bear trap.
As if Stiles needed any reason to be even less attracted to the idea of making
out with Theo.
But okay, he can do this.
He can, he will.
Stiles lets his own hands glide further and further up, very reluctantly, and
puts them on Theo’s hips, lets them linger there and he can feel Theo smile
against his lips.
The sensations raging around in Stiles’ chest are impossible to capture.
Just like the week before, Stiles is uncomfortable, so deeply and desperately
uncomfortable, and yet, when Theo’s tongue is pushing into his mouth
relentlessly and it’s like Theo is trying to cover every inch of his chest and
stomach with his own body and his belt buckle is pressing into Stiles’ crotch
because, hilariously, Stiles is taller than Theo, it’s only then that Stiles
gradually, yeah – he’s almost – turned on.
The combination is making him nauseous and he tries to resist the urge to push
Theo from him and empty his stomach out all over the asphalt, unsure whether
he’d rather taste his own bile or Theo’s fucking saliva.
“Get a room, Bilinski.”
Stiles opens his eyes and they both turn their heads.
Coach Finstock is about to get into his shitty blue car next to them, a mixture
of a frown and a smirk playing around his face.
“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you exploring all your – options,” Finstock
mutters, “and it’s not like you’ve ever been a success with the ladies, right,
given how skinny and just plain awkward you are, but you’re a little too old to
be making out in public. Like, come on.”
He unlocks his car – actually has to stick the goddamn key in and turn it – and
opens the door. A drawn out creeeeeeeeek echoes across the parking lot.
“On a side note, though, Bilinski,” Finstock says and lifts his eyebrows at
Stiles, “Good catch. Raeken’s definitely a keeper.”
Then Coach is swallowed up by his car. He pulls the door shut – twice, because
it doesn’t close the first time – and all they can hear now is him muttering
while fumbling the key into the ignition.
“Let’s go,” Theo says, “better hurry before Finstock pulls out and accidentally
kills us.” He motions for Stiles to round the car and get in before Finstock
can start the engine. Which, judging from the curses reaching their ears now,
and the repeated thuds of Finstock hitting the steering wheel in frustration,
should only be a matter of hours.
Stiles climbs into the passenger seat. When he reaches for the seat belt he
can’t help but mutter, a sour look on his face, “Your name he remembers but
four years of playing lacrosse in this dump and I’m still Bilinski...”
Theo starts the engine, grinning from ear to ear.
 
 
 
Stiles is clutching his coffee pot, blowing at the steam.
“What?”
Theo who had been watching him in silence says, “Nothing. Do you want me to
cool your coffee?”
“No,” Stiles says back, and then, “... thanks.”
Of course Theo would lift his eyebrows at that.
“So civil today, Stiles. I’m proud of you. Seems like you really learned your
lesson.”
Stiles grimaces but remains silent, continues to stare at the white threads
that are rising from the black surface in the cup like ghosts from a dark pond.
“What is hell like?” he suddenly says, looking up.
“Hell?”
Theo takes a sip from his cappuccino. “You want to know what my world is like?”
“What else would that sentence mean?” Stiles says drily and Theo shrugs.
“Ok, well, if you want to know... it’s like nothing you can imagine, I guess.
It’s not Catholic hell, if that’s what you mean, it’s – the world below. Or,
inside, would probably be more accurate.”
“Inside?” Stiles frowns. “Like – core-of-the-earth-inside?”
Theo shakes his head and leans back, eyes turned to the ceiling like he’s
thinking.
“No, as in: dimensions. It’s the one that the earth wraps around. But it’s a
different form of existence. For instance, there’s no time.”
Stiles knits his eyebrows and wonders if Lydia would get any of this. Theo
probably wouldn’t have to dumb it down for her.
“Like... Interstellar,” he says and picks up his cup.
Theo nods slowly. “Well, yeah... I guess that’s a pretty good example even
though physicists always forget to factor in the – what you would call the
supernatural.”
“Aha.” Stiles tilts the cup and lets the coffee touch his lips, then puts it
back down.
Yup, scalding hot.
“And heaven?”
Theo sighs. “My world, your world – they're just different planes of existence.
Constantly interacting. People have understood that for a long time, I don’t
get why the 21st century Western world is so resistant to that concept. It’s
where you go when you die, too. You just – slip across.”
Stiles furrows his brow. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. But it seems
ridiculous, with Theo just sitting there harmlessly, Theo who could answer any
fathomable question – not like the ones Stiles had been asking when he was
younger, like Theo, why is the sky blue? – and just letting that opportunity
slide.
And maybe, just maybe, Stiles could learn to actually get something out of this
as well.
Theo is watching him.
“You don’t believe me.”
There’s this gleam creeping into his eyes, like he’s challenging Stiles to
contradict him, and Stiles suddenly remembers why this would never work, why
question time with Theo had usually been over really fast. Because Theo would
get bored and suddenly show a vivid interest in making Stiles bleed. Sometimes
it would take only a few minutes, sometimes all afternoon but Stiles wound up
crying every time.
And who knows what Theo will come up with now. Needless to say, that
mischievous look on his face alone is enough to unsettle Stiles, have him
almost spill his coffee, but he tries to act cool, says, “No, I believe you.
Surprisingly, even though you’re such a major dickhead, you're usually telling
the truth.”
He’s staring down into his cup again.
“Ok, maybe not always.”
Stiles is thinking of the wild stories Theo kept telling him about his teachers
and parents and friends and the next-door neighbor and the next-door neighbor’s
cat.
“You used to tell me stories to manipulate me but whenever I ask directly, you
never lie to my face. Why is that?”
Theo shrugs. “No idea. To keep you on your toes, I guess.”
“Mh.”
Before Stiles can say anything else the door of the small café goes ching and
Theo grimaces.
“Look who’s here. What a surprise.”
Stiles puts his cup down and turns around in his chair – and his face pales a
little when he recognizes the person who’s taking a seat a few tables down, who
is staring at them directly.
It’s Derek.
“Calm down, Stiles,” Theo says and rolls his eyes. “He keeps following you –
has to and, judging from the look on his dumb face, he’s not too happy about it
either.”
“Wh-what?”
Stiles turns back and stares at Theo who rolls his eyes again.
“Seriously, Stiles? Haven’t you understood anything?”
Stiles is too puzzled to be mad at that comment.
Derek has to follow him?
“Does that have anything to do with... with m-my – with Phenuel?”
Theo nods, empties his cup and puts it back on the table with a clink.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. It reeks of omicron...”
Theo smirks and puts a few dollar bills on the table. Stiles throws a look at
his untouched coffee.
“I’ll make you coffee when we get home. You’re drinking it black anyway, it’s
not rocket science. And even if it were...”
When they pass Derek’s table Stiles tries to avoid meeting his eyes but can’t.
Derek looks sort of tired, with dark bags under his eyes and, yeah, no wonder
when he has to follow Stiles around against his will, right?
Just when Stiles is directly in front of him Derek opens his mouth, looks like
he wants to say something but then Stiles is at the door, Theo’s hand in the
small of his back like they’re actually on a date, and then they’re outside on
the sidewalk.
It’s too late.
 
 
Home, of course, is Malia’s.
Her dad is there as well and it seems like he really and genuinely likes Theo.
Stiles wonders about the amount of brainwashing that was necessary to get a man
like Henry Tate to let a sneaky guy like Theo stay in his daughter’s bedroom.
When Mr. Tate shakes Stiles’ hand and smiles at him with glazed over eyes and
calls him ‘Jonathan’ the case is clear for Stiles.
“He’ll be alright,” Malia says but her shaky voice betrays that she doesn’t
quite believe her own words. “Don’t look at me like that, I’d never let him
hurt my dad, Stiles!”
Stiles shakes his head. From the looks of it, Theo already did. Malia just
doesn’t know what he got herself into – or doesn’t want to know.
Then Theo is back, he shuts the door with his foot and throws a pizza carton at
Stiles, drops another one on the desk in front of Malia. Then he climbs onto
the bed and slumps down next to Stiles.
The hole in the wall is gone and as far as Stiles can tell the room got a new
coat of paint. There’s a second bed where Malia’s dresser used to be. The house
only has two bedrooms and Stiles decides not to comment on how fucking weird it
is that Theo would want to sleep in a room with Malia when he could easily take
his money or work his magic to, say, add another room, or get a bigger house or
just get a house for himself.
Stiles stuffs his mouth with pizza so as not to change his mind about saying
something. It’s useless, would only make Malia nervous, cause her to worry and
freak out when she begins to understand that this is so like Theo.
He’d never stay on his own.
It would be too fucking tedious for him.
And Stiles can only guess how many mind games and brainwashing is necessary to
compensate for the loss of his favorite pastime.
To keep him entertained enough.
Then, suddenly, a thought crosses his mind and he says, mouth still full, “Mh,
wait, did you say Derek smells like Omahas?”
“Omicron. About time that you asked. I was starting to worry about your brain,
Stiles.”
“What-”
“Just as you made a deal with – well, with me, Derek made a deal with an angel
– a creature from the world above,” Theo says, “effectively making Derek Hale
an omicron.”
“Omicron?”
Stiles frowns, puts down his half-eaten slice of pizza.
Malia is sitting at her desk, back turned towards them. She is chewing in
silence. It looks like she’s doing homework because Stiles can hear her
sharpie scratching across paper.
“Rather than a beta, or an alpha, Derek Hale is an omicron who can never really
fit with his pack again,” Theo explains, “but remains an Other, you know... a
stranger, in-between earth and heaven – and will be until the pact is
resolved.”
“And when exactly will that be?”
Theo shrugs.
“No idea. The fine print is different every time, you see.”
“So it’s not like – like our... deal?”
“No. Just as the duties differ from deal to deal, so does the punishment for
breaking it. Ours is a life-time thing – it will only end if either one of us
dies or if one of us releases the other.”
Stiles nods. He’d known that instinctively the moment the thin purple threads
had reached his fingertips. That’s probably the ‘fine print’ Theo is talking
about.
The conditions, engraved into your brain, impossible to overlook.
So, basically the opposite of fine print.
“So, I could say ‘it’s fine, I let you out of it’ now and-”
“No, Stiles, if it were that easy the whole thing wouldn’t be worth very much,
would it.” Theo smirks, raising his eyebrows at him as if wanting to
say, are you even listening to yourself.
“Then, how do I get out? If I don’ want to die, I mean,” Stiles says.
Malia is sitting at her table, completely motionless. Stiles can tell that
she’s listening. Theo, however, doesn’t seem to be aware of it.
He takes another bite from his pizza, chews slowly, swallows, then says, “It’s
about timing, Stiles. You could only let me out of it if you said the words in
exactly the right moment.”
“And when would that be?”
“If I were on the verge of breaking the pact – then you could say the words and
let me.”
“Let you.”
“Yeah, let me break it. Let me get back to cutting you open, for example.”
Stiles grimaces. The gentleness with which Theo’s lips wrap around the word
‘cut’ sends shivers down his spine.
And what would that even look like?
Oh, Lucifer, please, making out with you is so much fun but can you please get
back to burning my skin with a lighter? I do miss the excruciating pain and
fear of death!
Or, maybe: Ah, I know how much you want to break my wrist and ankle, I can’t
bear to see that longing in your eyes, please, go ahead, I let you out of the
deal!
Yeah, right.
“That’s – that’s the dumbest thing I ever heard. Why would I ever want that?”
Theo shrugs again.
“That’s the rules, Stiles. And you could want that because... say, you’ve grown
attached to me and you’d rather go back to being tormented by me again than
have me banished from earth,” he says and gives Stiles a dirty grin.
Stiles only snorts, like Yeah, as if that’s ever going to happen.
They are chewing in silence for a minute. Stiles is staring at Malia’s back.
Her pen seems unstoppable now, it’s just flying across the pages. Weird,
usually she’s staring holes into the air more than she’s solving math problems.
But who knows, maybe there’s a way for Theo to make people magically understand
math. Stiles makes a mental note to ask him about it.
Now that he’s not dying from suicide to escape the devil’s torture, something
like that would really come in handy.
“So Derek’s an omicron... Scott’s an alpha, everyone else is a beta – what
letter am I? Rho? Sigma?”
“Memorizing the Greek alphabet just like the geek I always expected yout to
be...," Theo says. He closes his pizza carton and shoves it off the bed. It
lands on the floor with a thud.
“But I have to disappoint you – the letters only refer to supernatural
creatures. Hunters came up with that system to describe the supernatural status
of different species, you know... stuff like, how powerful they are, where that
power comes from and where their place is in the supernatural world. It was so
commonly used around 400 BC that it just... stuck. But you, Stiles – since
you’re not supernatural, you don’t fit into it. You’re just another human who
made a deal with the devil... oh, don’t look like that. You’re special to me.”
Theo’s lips widen into a vicious grin and Stiles’ heart sinks.
Conversation over.
Theo looks at him for a moment, then starts crawling towards him on the bed,
and Stiles knew it, he just knew Theo would do that. He pushes his pizza carton
away from him, then just sits there, leaning back against the wall, stiff like
a wooden puppet, waiting for Theo to touch him, trying not to freak out.
The thing is that, while Lucifer is behaving like a perfectly normal teenager –
well, most of the time, that is – there are still these moments.
Moments like this one.
When Theo jerks his head in Stiles’ direction in a not-quite-human movement and
Stiles is made once again eerily aware of what Theo is.
He reaches for him and Stiles can’t bring himself to meet him halfway. He just
continues to sit there watching as Theo draws himself up in front of him.
He smirks at Stiles who just stares back and then Theo is kissing him.
Stiles responds wearily with one or two flicks of the tongue but doesn’t even
as much as turn his head to make it easier for Theo to reach him.
He should, of course, have foreseen Theo’s next move.
Without breaking the kiss he grabs Stiles by his shoulders and manhandles him
onto his back, roughly pushing him into the mattress.
Stiles who suddenly finds himself facing the ceiling can’t even voice his
surprise because Theo’s tongue is sliding in-between his lips.
Theo’s chest is pressing down onto his own, holding him firmly in place and
Stiles is surrounded by the scent of his aftershave and shampoo and when Theo’s
hands find their way underneath Stiles’ t-shirt, starting to push it up, he
can’t take it anymore, it’s just too much.
“Theo, wait, stop,” he says, breaking the kiss by actually pushing Theo’s head
away with both his hands. “Can you – only for a minute. Please...”
Theo lets out a long drawn sigh, pushes himself up from the mattress and flops
onto his back.
“What is it now, Stiles?”
Annoyed.
“This is going – it’s all... too fast,” Stiles mutters. “If you don’t want me
to throw up all over the comforter you should give me a minute or two to
breathe now and then.”
And really, that feeling of nausea, it's growing worse.
It might be because his stomach is full of pizza. Or, it might be the fact that
just smelling Theo still causes Stiles to feel anxious and stressed out,
bracing himself for the pain, sending him flying into panic attack after panic
attack.
Theo rolls his eyes but says, “Fine.”
They sit there for a few moments without moving and Stiles thinks he can almost
hear Theo count down in his head. And sure enough, after what could hardly have
been more than two minutes, he turns towards Stiles again, mischievous smile on
his face.
“You do know that by being such a diva, you’re only enticing me to prolong this
as much as I can.”
Yeah, that’s what he thought.
Stiles is staring at the ceiling. How little enthusiastic he is being about the
whole thing, his visible reluctance bordering on disgust, doesn’t seem to
bother Theo at all. Rather, the more Stiles wants to push him away, yell at
him, punch him, run out of the room, the more fun this seems to be for him.
Go figure.
“Stiles?”
Alright then, since it can’t be helped...
Stiles takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes.
Nods.
Suddenly, Malia shoots up from the desk and Stiles flinches, startled. He can
hear the sound of paper being scrunched up.
“I’ll give you guys some space,” she mutters, and out she flies, slamming the
door shut behind her.
Stiles isn’t sure if he’s glad that she’s gone.
Having his ex-girlfriend watch him getting groped by the fucking devil, and
against his will too, would be the icing on the freaking cake of fear and
discomfort. Then again, with Malia there, Theo wouldn’t – there’s just certain
things he wouldn’t do, right?
But come to think of it...
From all Stiles’ knows Theo has literally no boundaries.
Absolutely shameless.
So, yeah, it’s probably best for Malia to just wait in the living room, have a
chat with her dad.
When slender fingers are wandering down his body feeling, searching, stroking,
Stiles takes in another deep breath.
Holds it.
God, thank God, Malia isn’t here.
 
 
What Stiles cannot see of course is that Malia is still standing in front of
the closed bedroom door staring at it as if she had laser vision. From the way
her nostrils quiver you can tell that she’s sniffing the air, listening,
waiting.
Waiting.
For what?
Then she pivots on her heel, without a sound, like a cat – like a coyote – and
quickly takes off in the direction of the kitchen.
The door creaks open, it’s just the faintest of sounds but Malia still throws
it an angry look as if making a mental note to fix that next chance she gets.
She lets the door click shut, eyes scanning the brightly lit room for a
heartbeat or two.
If you took a photo of this exact scene everything would appear perfectly
normal. You’d look at it and put it down again wondering why anyone would even
bother taking a photo of this in the first place.
The tapestry on the walls is yellowed and old-fashioned, everything is neat and
clean but a little worn from everyday use. Like the kitchen of a family who
make little money go a long way, who handle the few things they own with care.
You can imagine them come in here every day, preparing and eating breakfast,
lunch and supper, cleaning up together afterwards. Maybe they’d turn on the old
radio that sits on a shelf over the counter, too. You can picture it perfectly
– but they’re not here now of course, the room is lying in silence. Nothing out
of the ordinary, yes?
Prop up a video camera here though.
Different story entirely.
You could watch a two-hour-tape of the room and the only thing moving would be
the hands on the clock over the kitchen counter by the window.
It would be only after a few minutes – maybe it would even take you a little
longer – that you’d realize there is a man sitting at the kitchen table in the
right hand corner.
Sitting there, perfectly immobile, staring into the room with wide open eyes,
mouth screwed half open in an eerie laugh, frozen on his face.
Unseeing.
Malia shoots him a glance now, and it’s only from the way her gaze lingers that
you feel like you should look at him more closely, too, and then you start to
understand.
Yes, it’s Mr. Tate but he looks so different.
His skin doesn’t look like skin, his hair doesn’t look like hair. The colors
are correct but if you’d touch him you’d know the texture is all wrong. More
like plastic.
Or like the gooey consistency of a corpse steeped in formaldehyde.
Malia is hesitating only for a moment.
Then she walks over to the other end of the small room, leans across the
counter. Pushes the window up.
She draws herself up and climbs out into the night. Lets the window glide shut
again almost without a sound.
Malia’s outside but the room is still there.
Framed by the window, her figure is walking away from the house in the
direction of the forest, determined, her right hand closed in a fist, what
looks like a scrunched up piece of paper sticking out between her fingers.
A few moments later she gets swallowed up by the darkness and everything is as
it was before, almost like she has never even been here.
 
And the room just sits there, waiting for her to come back.
Hands crawling across the face of the clock above the kitchen counter at a
steady pace and without going tick-tock.
Muted, like the rest.
 
 
 
***
 
When Theo stops the car in front of Stiles’ house, they both look across the
lawn and over to dark windows. No one home.
Yet.
“Sure you want to go in there? It’s past midnight and you know that that’s the
time when bad things happen.”
Theo’s grinning at him but Stiles decides to ignore it.
“My dad will be home soon,” he says and unfastens the seat belt.
“Wait,” Theo grabs his arm to stop him from getting out, stares out into the
darkness, listening.
Listening.
“What is it?”
“I thought I heard something. Never mind. It’s probably just Derek Hale lurking
around your house again.”
Stiles tries to laugh it off. “As if he didn’t have anything better to do...”
Theo shakes his head, eyes narrowing.
“The fact that he can’t come between us anymore must drive him crazy, make the
powers inside him go nuts. He was in the library that day, you know?”
Stiles who was about to push the car door open lets his hand sink and turns to
face Theo.
“Derek? You – you mean last week?”
“He was outside the door listening to us making the deal,” Theo says nodding.
“I picked up his scent.”
“But what – why,” Stiles starts, utterly confused.
If he’d been there – if Derek really and truly had been there – why hadn’t he
kicked in the door?
How had he even known where Stiles was and what he was doing – what he was
about to do?
And what if Theo is lying this time, messing with Stiles, confusing him,
gradually separating him from his pack?
“I told you, Stiles,” Theo says, not smiling this time. He sounds weary, like
having to explain why ice cream melts over and over again to a five-year-old.
“He’s always been following you. God, Stiles, you’re supposed to be one of the
smarter kids. Your beloved guardian angel and my old – acquaintance – pushed
his job onto the next person he could find not long after he caught on to the
fact that he couldn’t, and would never, beat me to the game. Which just so
happened to be Derek. But since you willingly entered a deal with me there’s
really nothing he can do to protect you. Unless...”
There is a pause in which Stiles is staring at Theo and Theo is frowning,
thinking.
“The only weird thing is...,” he starts again after a while, “I really
wonder...”
Stiles’ mouth drops open.
He’s never ever heard Lucifer wonder about anything before. Ever.
Lucifer simply doesn’t have to.
Everything is always already crystal clear to him.
But now, he’s sitting in his car parked on the side of the street in front of
Stiles’ house, saying slowly, “The only weird thing is that he really should
have barged in on us, keep the deal from happening. It would have been the only
logical reaction. It’s probably why he was even there in the first place, his
powers must have called out to him. But then he was just standing outside, his
heartbeat calm and steady.”
Stiles blinks, furrows his brow.
“You mean, he wasn’t, like, agitated? Or angry or anything?”
Theo turns to look at him.
“No. Derek wasn’t surprised at all.”
 
 
When Stiles climbs the stairs to his room a million different thoughts are
running havoc in his brain. Derek, Theo, omicrons, the devil and heaven, humans
making a pact with the underworld, werewolves making pacts with angels.
The fact that he can still almost feel Theo’s hard-on pressing into his hips.
Nothing happened but the day will come when Theo won’t be satisfied with just
kissing and groping Stiles and the thought alone has him almost gagging in
disgust.
It’s all too much.
But whatever is going to happen, Stiles is too tired to think it through now.
He sheds his jacket in the hallway then walks up to his bedroom door, dragging
his feet and yawning.
Still, he’s less shaken up than he thought he would be.
Theo still scares the fuck out of him but Stiles can feel how it could truly be
better one day. And maybe he’d even get used to the constant touching.
Get used to him, too, the way Stiles had when he’d been a kid – it’s simply a
protective mechanism,yes, and they’re both older now, more rational and less
out of control. Maybe it will become something like a routine faster this time.
“Sleep,” Stiles mumbles but when he closes his door that option just goes
straight out the window.
It’s saying a lot about how tired Stiles is that he doesn’t jump three feet in
the air.
Or, he’s just so used to someone lurking in the darkness of his bedroom and
waiting for him to come home.
So he only says, “What the fuck, Scott?” and flicks his eyes from his best
friend over to Liam who’s sitting on Stiles’ desk, feet on his computer chair
to Derek who’s leaning against the wall next to the window, arms crossed,
looking tired and even grumpier than he did that afternoon.
As if he wants to make sure he’ll be the first one to be out of here once
they’re done with whatever this is.
“What is it now? I’m fucking exhausted...,” Stiles mutters, suppressing another
yawn.
Scott doesn’t respond. He inhales deeply, lets his eyes glide up and down
Stiles’ body. When he grabs him and turns him around, Stiles says, “Heeey, what
the fuck?!” and tries to shake Scott’s hands off.
“What the hell, Scott. I’ve just been groped for what felt like three fucking
hours straight so can you please cut it out?”
“Sorry man, just checking,” Scott says apologetically, lifting his hands like
okay, okay, I’ll stop.
“Just checking,” Stiles repeats turning around again. “What happened to
politely asking?”
“Yeah, guess we could have done that as well. Not as quick though..."
Stiles is staring back at him coldly.
To his mind, there’s absolutely no fucking excuse for bothering him right now.
Whatever it is, couldn’t that have waited until the next morning? They’ll be
meeting in school anyway, and, as Stiles was saying, he’s fucking exhausted.
He can still taste Theo’s saliva in his mouth, for God’s sake.
“Sorry, man...,” Scott repeats, frowning. “We’re here because we might have
come up with a plan.”
“Great,” Stiles says mockingly. He knows he’s being unfair but he’s been really
on edge for a while now, yes?
“And how did you even get in here without – I mean-”
“We’ve been practicing to suppress our scent,” Liam says, proudly. “Derek has
been teaching us.”
Stiles eyes flick over to Derek who doesn’t even move a finger at the mention
of his name, he just keeps standing there, arms crossed, and in trademark
brooding silence.
“Seems to have worked, too,” Scott says, nodding. “Otherwise, Theo would be all
over this room by now. Speaking of which... Stiles, you smell like you – took a
bath in – Theo.”
Stiles glares at him, mutters, “Yeah, that’s what it felt like, too...” With a
look at Scott’s scrunched up nose he adds, “But Theo’s scent never bothered you
before, so why-”
“I guess it’s just knowing what it means that’s so repulsive to me,” Scott
answers truthfully. “I’m so sorry, man...”
About all of this happening.
Yeah, Stiles knows.
“Derek says Theo’s scent makes him want to puke,” Liam interjects, eager to
contribute to the conversation and Scott rolls his eyes. “Not helping, Liam.
Derek’s programmed to hate it, so... I mean,” he adds quickly, “it’s not like
you disgust him or anything...”
Stiles raises his eyebrows at Scott. Oh really?
He can tell from the way the corners of Derek’s mouth are twisting downwards
now what he’s really thinking and it doesn’t particularly lighten Stiles’ mood.
“So what’s the plan?”
Let’s just get this over with.
“Huh? Oh right... yeah. We thought taking Theo’s scent off of you might be a
start. Even though it might take a while...”
Stiles frowns.
“Why?”
“Because Theo’s not just the king of hell. He’s also born a wolf, right?
Malia’s dad is also Theo’s dad, so-”
“Peter Hale,” Stiles says, puzzled. Right, as far as they knew Malia and Theo
were daughter and son of Peter Hale and a woman called the Desert Wolf. Stiles
had known that hypothetically but never consciously made the connection.
Wait – wait a second – that would make Theo Raeken the-
“Derek, he’s related to you,” Stiles blurts out, completely forgetting to be
angry at Derek.
“Go figure,” Derek grits out.
“Anyway,” Scott quickly continues, “He’s been scent-marking you – that’s a wolf
thing, Derek says, so it would really bother Theo’s wolf if someone else put
their scent on you. And it wouldn’t even be forbidden, er... we think you’d be
allowed to do that by contract because you’re still in my pack and stuff, Theo
vowed to respect your social life. Friends and family. Right?”
There is a pause.
“Now would be the right time to say: Yeah, man, well done!” Scott adds. “I
mean, it might really work. It’s the best we have, anyway.”
But Stiles is not impressed.
“Yeah, it might work and what then?”
“Theo will freak out, go ballistic and – problem solved.”
Stiles can only shake his head.
This again?
God, when will they ever understand.
“Scott, good thinking but – just how stupid do you think he is? Making him
angry won’t be any good. If anything, that will just make things worse.”
“Wh-”
“Because,” Stiles interrupts him, voice growing louder and louder with every
word. He can’t believe he’s actually still having this fucking conversation,
really has to spell it out to them again. For what feels like the hundredth
time.
“That’s what he feeds off, don’t you get it, Scott? Lucifer thrives on
resistance and anger and desperation. Plus, he’s much more than a wolf.”
“He’s much more than a wolf?” Scott repeats in disbelief. “Are you listening to
yourself? You sound like you think he's some sort of - invicible bat out of
hell.”
“Because he fucking is, Scott! He is! Why won’t you fucking get it
already." Stiles can’t help but yell which makes Liam almost slide off the desk
in surprise and Scott take a step back.
"I’ve had to deal with this for months and years all on my own and believe me,
I tried literally everything. He simply can’t be stopped. He’s the single most
powerful and ridiculously mean creature between heaven and earth. When will you
guys finally fucking get that?”
“Alright, calm down, Stiles. We get it, we’re sorry.”
Stiles feels empty. He doesn’t want to be angry at Scott.
“Just... don’t give up. I think we can get rid of him. Just – let me try, ok?”
Stiles, staring at his socks, shrugs but it's really more an annoyed jerk of
the shoulders like he's trying to shake off an invisible hand.
Scott won’t give up anyway so.
Whatever.
Scott carefully draws closer and Stiles averts his eyes when he wolfs out. He
can hear a soft click when Scott lets his canines drop, hands metamorphose, and
then carefully cups Stiles’ neck in his claws, pressing them gently against his
skin.
No one says a word when Scott starts slowly rubbing his neck.
Stiles wonders whether a werewolf scent-marking his pack mate looks more or
less ridiculous than the Twilight vampires sparkling away in the sun like a
bunch of ill-fed strippers.
Then Scott stops, a puzzled look on his face.
Picks it up again, this time exerting more pressure onto his claws, letting
them scrape painfully over Stiles’ already bruised skin.
“It’s not working, Scott.”
That was Derek’s voice. He pushes himself off the wall, walks over to where
Scott is clutching Stiles’ neck.
“It – it’s like it rolls right off his skin, like he’s somehow – But... It’s an
alpha’s scent and Theo doesn’t have a pack, he’s practically an omega. I should
be able to take it off easily.”
“Maybe,” Derek responds who is apparently particularly monosyllabic today.
“But, I thought – can Lucifer be an omega?” Liam says slowly and for once,
Stiles thinks that Liam might actually have a point.
Derek seems to think so as well because he says, “What I’m smelling on Stiles
is not just an omega’s scent. It’s something completely Other. It’s Lucifer.”
He spits out the last word and Stiles can’t help but feel exposed once again.
Dirty.
He wishes Derek would stop staring at him like that.
“Ok, so it doesn’t work. Thanks for trying Scott,” he says and shakes off
Scott’s claw with a jerk of the shoulder, “I’m gonna hit the sack now, so...”
Scott and Derek throw each other a look and Stiles isn’t liking this, isn’t
liking this at all. He shoots a desperate glance at his bed that looks so soft
and comfortable but before he can take so much as one step towards it, he’s
down on his knees all of a sudden, eyes wide with surprise.
What the hell.
In a grotesque déjà-vu, Stiles finds himself on the floor of his bedroom again,
only now Scott is there, too, who yells, “Derek, what the fuck! Easy!” and so
is Liam who Stiles can only imagine has this befuddled look on his face right
now like he’s not sure what to do or say.
“Let. Go,” Stiles mutters and starts fidgeting and wriggling out of Derek’s
strong grip. On the bright side, no knee in his back this time, so we’re
definitely making progress here.
“We have to try everything, Scott, you know that. And for fuck’s sake, Stiles,”
Derek says and he sounds really pissed off. “Just hold still for a goddamn
minute.”
So Stiles is crouching on the floor, knees pushing both into the floor and his
own chest painfully, letting Derek scratch his claws across his neck again and
again.
“It’s working,” Scott says after a minute, “I can’t believe it, it’s working!”
“But why? You’re not the alpha, Derek,” Liam says but Stiles already knows the
answer to that.
“Omicron,” he spits out, grimacing.
“Yes, Stiles. Omicron,” Derek says. “Angel power beats alpha power.”
He finally removes his hand and Stiles struggles to his feet again, looking
flustered and angry. He glowers at Derek and says, “Don’t try that again.
Remember that sentence?”
Derek meets his eyes with a deadpan.
“Er... alright. Ok,” Scott says, clapping his hands as if they’d just been
chatting and oh, look how late it is, we gotta run, gotta pick up the kid from
soccer practice.
“It’s working and that’s good right? I told you we can use your angelic powers,
Derek.”
He gives the man an encouraging smile that Derek of course doesn’t return.
Instead, he walks back to his corner, crosses his arms and sinks into another
moody silence.
“So, a few more minutes and we’re good to go into phase 2.”
Stiles takes a deep breath.
No, he won’t ask.
He doesn’t want to ask, really shouldn’t.
“Ok, what’s phase 2?”
But before Scott can say anything, Liam clears his throat. When they turn to
look at him his cheeks are slightly red. He’s staring at his phone.
“Ah... my mom, er... she just figured out that I sneaked out again. She, ah –
she sounds pretty mad... she says she’s going to ground me and put bars on my
window – I should really go. S-sorry.”
“Yeah, sounds like you should. What time is it?”
“Ten to two.”
“Shoot, my mom gets home at two... same thing here, even though I doubt she’ll
ground me. She’ll just stare at my with this, like, really disappointed look on
her face...” Scott shudders.
“Ok, we’ve got to run. Derek?”
Derek doesn’t say anything, just nods.
“Stiles, I promise you we’ll do everything we can to get you out of there
before – before something happens.”
Before something happens?
Before – what exactly happens?
But Stiles just nods, goes, “Yeah sure... see you tomorrow...”
Then it’s just he and Derek.
Derek and he.
“Aren’t you leaving as well?” Stiles says coolly and it’s strange to have this
invisible wall between them, like they’ve never even been close at all, or on
the verge of becoming friends.
As if Derek hadn’t been sitting here, in this exact room, next to this bed and
watching over Stiles only weeks ago.
What on earth happened?
“And what’s the matter with you anyway?” Stiles adds because Derek doesn’t look
like he’s even hearing him.
“What pissed you off so much that you’re in such a mood again, like
constantly?”
This excites an exasperated sigh from Derek.
“It’s Theo, Stiles. Lucifer.”
“Well, duh. Now you’re telling me...”
“Cut out the sarcasm,” Derek hisses and he’s taking a few steps into the room
again.
“You know about omicrons because... Theo told you, right?”
Stiles nods. “Yeah, but-”
“Did you stop to think about what that actually means, Stiles, for even a
second?”
Stiles frowns.
“I’m supposed to keep you away from that demonic crap. Then you just went and
did what you did and – now I can’t anymore. Do you even know what that’s like
for me, Stiles?”
Derek lets his eyes fade into luminescent green and, for some reason, it makes
him look almost wild, like an aura of power is emanating from his body and he
looks more inhuman than Stiles has ever seen him before as either beta or
alpha. The mere sight makes the hair on his neck stick up.
First Theo and now this – this evening has turned into a series of frame grabs
from a fucking horror movie.
“I can hear you, Stiles,” Derek snarls and his eyes are turning greener and
greener until Stiles can see nothing else but two emerald circles hanging in
the air in front of him.
“Don’t touch me, get away from me, please, someone help me, please, please
God...”
“Wh-what? I- I never said anything like-”
“But I can hear you think it, every time that monster comes near you, only now
I can’t fucking do anything against it.”
Stiles is backing off in the direction of the door and Derek is drawing closer
and closer, one small step after another.
But is this still Derek?
He is wearing his trademark leather jacket, tight jeans, ridiculously handsome
face but – he looks and sounds... otherworldly.
More even than Theo – less in control than Theo.
“I'm sorry if I don't handle you with kid gloves, Stiles, but I can sense the
amount of distress that son of a bitch is causing you, so will you please –
please let me do something about it, for God’s sake.”
Derek’s eyes fade back to hazel and now he only looks tired.
“I – can’t, Derek. I’m sorry...,” Stiles mutters, avoiding Derek’s gaze.
“Yeah, I know,” Derek says and then, “And I am sorry. For this.”
He hesitates and it’s long enough for Stiles to raise his head and go, “Mh? For
what?”
A second later, Derek has him pinned against the door.
“H-hey, what the – I get it, you want to scent-mark the hell out of me,
alright, but is that really necessary?”
Derek only grunts in response. Stiles can hardly breathe and for a second – for
a split second – he knows why Theo feels so wrong.
Why he would feel wrong even if he weren’t Lucifer, if they didn’t have this
neat little history of pain and despair between them.
Stiles inhales Derek’s scent and he’s so close now that Stiles can feel the
stubbles on his chin graze his cheek, his chest like steel but his hands on
Stiles’ wrists softer than expected and there’s something he remembers.
And just when a warm and fuzzy feeling - of comfort, of safety - is
washing over him, it happens and, in hindsight, Stiles should have known.
The fact that Derek has to snarl “Stiles – your eyes – they’re purple? What the
hell...” to draw Stiles’ attention to it, for him to acknowledge the powers
acting up in his own body, proves how – how tired Stiles is, right?
Tired.
And there it is, powerfully tugging at his skin from the inside and Stiles just
freaks out.
It's almost like he's watching it happen while already hovering a few feet
above his own body.
He’s begging Derek to let him go and when Derek doesn’t move, he starts kicking
and screaming.
“Sorry, Stiles, but I – I just – hold still!”
And then, “Thank God your dad isn’t home.”
He drags Stiles over to the bed and throws him down, face first. Stiles tries
to free himself but can’t even lift his head from the pillow because Derek has
a death grip on his neck and Stiles slides into full-blown panic mode.
All he knows is that Derek’s going to kill him, worse, he’s going to make him
break the deal and then Lucifer will take him away.
“Stiles, shhhh, calm down, God, I’m so fucking sorry...”
At least an apology.
That’s more than he got last time, right?
Still, Stiles won’t stop struggling as Derek pushes his claws into his neck
almost hard enough to draw blood, simply because he can’t, it won’t let him, he
can’t stop.
After what feels like forever, Stiles is shaking and worn out and he knows he’s
crying again and, because he’s been breathing into his pillow, also out of
oxygen.
So he stops kicking, turns his head to the side, breath hitching, trembling
fingers scraping over the sheets for a minute.
And then he just lies there.
Nothing has happened.
He’s still here, still Stiles.
Derek is rubbing his neck more gently again now, and after a while, Stiles has
calmed down a little.
The tug at his skin is gone.
He is worn out and embarrassed and, quite frankly, just miserable.
Derek takes the pressure off Stiles’ back and settles down next to his body.
Keeps brushing his claws over his skin.
Soon it starts feeling okay, just the steady pace at which Derek is doing it.
Calming him down more and more.
“See... just as Scott said. It’s a pack thing.”
Derek doesn’t voice his thoughts on why pushing Stiles up against the wall is
not possible but sitting next to him on his bed and dragging his fingers
across his neck is.
Stiles wonders whether he’s even making the connection at all.
He tries not to think about how Derek made him feel just now – before the
powers Lucifer gave him started acting up and, well. Almost killed him.
“Stiles?”
Pause.
“Mh,” he says, voice muffled by his pillow.
“Can I – try something?”
“....mh.”
“I just want to see how far I can go.”
Stiles thinks, turns his head.
“No holding me down,” he huffs. “And you still owe me an apology for the last
fucking time you did that. You – I just hate that, ok? It's fucking rude.”
His cheeks are still wet and red from freaking the fuck out five minutes ago.
He can’t see Derek’s face but, sure enough, “... sorry. I – told you, it’s
difficult for me to control it. It’s like my wolf times a hundred thousand...”
“Fine,” Stiles mutters.
He’s still pretty shaken up but nothing could have prepared him for Derek’s
next move anyway.
 
 
Derek is staring at Stiles’ neck for a second.
Ok, now or never. He has to try, must try, even though he’s not sure whether he
really wants to. He’s just glad Scott isn’t here to glare at him.
But does it even matter at all?
After what he did to Stiles – after what he had to do again just now.
He practically feels like a fucking rapist already anyway.
So he lowers his head and then lets his lips brush over the skin on Stiles’
neck, over the ugly bruises that thing left behind. That are turning an even
deeper shade of purple from Derek dragging his claws over them.
Stiles reacts exactly the way Derek would have expected him to.
It takes him two or three seconds to realize that yes, that’s Derek’s lips in
his neck, and then he jerks up from the mattress, crawls away from him and,
with his back to the wall, stares at Derek with wide eyes.
Shocked out of his fucking mind even though he’s so tired and - visibly beyond
fussing over small things like a peck in the neck.
But maybe that's it. It's the sheer amounts of stress Stiles has had to go
through this night, so that the stuff Derek is doing to him now might cause him
to crack.
Like, if Derek were holding him down now and forcing him into a kiss might just
send the boy over the edge.
Just look at him.
Cheeks puffy and wet, fingers trembling but his eyes are wide and glowing
purple and Derek wonders whether Stiles can sense the weird mixture of guilt
and heartache and - plain longing rolling off of his wolf – of himself – right
now. But it doesn’t mean anything.
It’s just the omicron powers tugging at him, yes?
It’s uncomfortable as fuck but he’s going to learn to deal with it. He’d always
known that there’s something strange to the way Stiles smells to him, like
caramel and coffee and wet earth, and so different to the way guys are supposed
to smell.
Take Scott’s scent, for example. He’s Derek’s alpha and his scent is good and
familiar, it means safety, order, belonging – being right. But he never really
thought about finding words to describe it, wondering what it reminds him of.
It’s just – Scott’s scent. What’s there more to say?
Stiles though.
God, it’s nerve-wracking.
It puts a wedge in the neat order of Derek’s thoughts and life.
He’s talking to some chick in a bar and God does she want to bang him but Derek
doesn’t go through with it because she doesn’t smell right. He meets up with
Scott and finds himself waiting for Stiles to come bouncing into the room
behind him.
He’s having some Derek alone time and there it is, the memory of Stiles’ scent,
and it’s the most fucking intrusive thing ever.
Derek ends up taking a cold shower.
Looking at Stiles now, the way he’s staring at him, eyes wide open with fear,
hugging his knees as if shielding himself from further harm – from Derek
harming him – the purple glow in his eyes slowly fading away, Derek decides he
can’t do it.
He can’t.
He fucking won’t.
If he has to live through Stiles shaking violently because of him, Derek, one
more time he’s going to claw his own fucking throat out.
Farnuelle will punish him but – it’s like he can still hear these convulsive
sobs that made Derek want to pick Stiles up and cradle him in his arms. Not
because – no, not like that but as his pack mate, his friend, for God’s sake.
But he just left him there like the most repulsive creature on the planet.
He thought he could deal with the aftermath, the self-hatred, the guilt but now
he finds himself – incapable of pulling through with it.
And maybe scent-marking Stiles would be enough. Maybe they wouldn’t have to go
through with their plan.
Farnuelle’s plan, not Scott’s plan.
If Scott knew about this, he’d probably end Derek.
And Derek would deserve it.
“Go to bed, Stiles...,” he mutters.
 Stiles slowly unfolds his feet as if he isn’t sure if Derek’s going to attack
him again.
“And,” Stiles says, clearing his throat but his voice is still raspy, “you’re
just going to sit there and attack me while I’m sleeping.”
Eyes narrowing.
Derek huffs, raises both hands as if wanting to say, fair enough.
“You still reek of Theo, so...”
“And to take his scent off, you have to copy what he’s doing. Right?”
Derek keeps his eyes averted.
“I’m not going to,” he mutters, “maybe we can do it without – if I just rub
your neck long enough. It might work.”
“You mean, it might actually work the way you told Scott it would.”
Derek sets his jaw.
Why does Stiles always have to be so quick, smarter than is good for him?
“It might.”
“Ok then.”
Derek lifts his head in surprise.
“What?”
“I said ok,” Stiles hisses, “Do what you have to do. It’s not like anyone’s
interested in what I want.”
He grabs his t-shirt with both hands and just yanks it over his head. Drops it
onto the floor next to the bed. Throws his right sock on top, then his left.
Then he unbuttons his pants, shucks them down over his hips and kicks them off
the bed, onto the pile. He’s kneeling on the bed in boxers and gives Derek a
very tired look.
“Have you never seen a body without abs before?” he mutters and slips under the
covers.
Derek, aware of the fact that his mouth is hanging half open, quickly shuts it,
swallows, and shakes his head like, No, that’s not it at all.
You’re fine, Stiles.
And to know, to fucking smell, where exactly Theo had his hands a mere hour ago
makes Derek want to –
“Go ahead,” Stiles mumbles into his pillow. “I’m alright now, I think. Just
don’t wake me.”
Derek extends his hand to touch Stiles’ neck. His fingers are shaking and he
knows he has to wolf out but he’s seriously worried that his eyes might turn
green instead of blue and that he won’t be able to think clearly anymore.
He takes a few deep breaths and lets the tip of his index finger slide across
his skin from left to right.
And back again.
The boy flinches, then relaxes against his touch.
“No kissing,” Stiles mumbles, “Th- Derek.” He sounds like he’s half asleep
already.
Derek shakes his head, then remembers that Stiles can’t see him and says, “No.
I – that was just – a test.”
Derek carefully lifts up a few strands of hair in Stiles' neck to uncover more
of the purple and bluish bruises.
That’s where he – God.
Fuck.
And his hands are shaking because he wants to grabs these shoulders and press
them down into the mattress and he wouldn’t be any better than the fucking
devil.
He’s already a close runner-up.
“I can’t...”
“Derek?”
“Mh?”
“Can you rub my back?”
Derek frowns. “What?”
“A massage.” Stiles lifts his head from the pillow, eyes moist and sleepy. “I
can’t sleep with you groping my neck like a... were-creep. Half-man, half-
pervert...”
“I’m not – I’m just-”
“Yada yada. Do it or get out.”
He lets his head flop back onto the pillow, closes his eyes.
Derek pulls at the sheets, uncovers Stiles’ naked back. His mouth is really dry
all of a sudden. He puts the palm of his left hand in-between his shoulder
blades. Then the right one.
Incredible. How can one fragile human body give off so much heat.
He starts making slow circles, letting his hands trail over Stiles’ shoulders –
that are rock-hard by the way, just as Derek expected, and no wonder
considering what Theo had been doing to him. What Derek had done.
When Stiles doesn’t complain, Derek puts a little more pressure into the
strokes. His fingers wrap around his shoulders and he starts kneading them, and
when Stiles lets out a soft moan of pleasure he feels like can’t think straight
anymore.
There’s no fucking blood left in his head.
“You know what just occurred to me?,” Stiles is mumbling into his pillow, “I
can never be with anyone, like ever. Like, I’m practically doomed to be a
fucking celibate for life. Whenever I even think about some cute girl, I can
feel this fucking purple venom pull at me from the inside. That just...
sucks... It’s fucking hard to get off like that...”
Derek swallows hard. He is pretty sure he doesn’t want Stiles to go into detail
about masturbation, so he interrupts him, saying, “We’re going to get rid of
him, Stiles. I promise. Then you can be with – with anyone... you want...”
“When your and Scott’s idiotic plan is finally working out, I’ll be old and
grey and can’t even get it up anymore...”
“I’m sure the ladies are going to love that.” Derek’s lips quirk as if a smile
tried to make its way to the gloomy surface.
“You must be exhausted. Go to sleep now. I promise, I won’t hurt you anymore.
Ever.”
 
 
 
 
 
Derek’s soles hit the ground with a low thud. Behind him, the Stilinski house
is lying in complete and utter darkness. Until ten minutes ago the living room
and kitchen had been lit up but Stiles’ dad has since gone to bed as well,
after checking in on his son and finding him safe and sound asleep, clothes
strewn all over the floor, shoes thrown into a pile in the middle of the
hallway like a fucking death trap.
Derek stares at the house and, from this angle, from the way the street lights
hit his skin, his face looks distorted, like he’s somehow not right, but it
might be an illusion, the neon light teasing the shadows on his face because
when he turns back to the street, his face is smooth again, and devoid of
expression.
And there in front of him, as expected, in-between parked cars on the side of
the road, is his cousin, is Malia.
They look at each other for a second.
Then, Malia turns around, crosses the streets, jumps over a fence and is gone.
When she has disappeared into the darkness, Derek advances. He sniffs the air,
waiting.
Listening.
Then he extends his right hand and opens the rusty mailbox that says Stilinski
on its side. He sticks his hand in and when it reappears, it’s clutching
something.
Derek pulls the lid up again to close the box, then opens his fist, looks at
it.
Sitting on his palm is several sheets of paper scrunched up into a tight ball,
so white, it’s almost glowing in the darkness.
 
 
 
It takes Stiles almost ten minutes to remember what happened the day before.
He sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning and the first thought that hits
him is an image of Theo smiling at him, staring into his eyes, craning his neck
in the most unhuman way imaginable and a shudder runs through his body.
God.
Thank you brain, for bringing it up before the first cup of coffee.
It’s only when he trudges into the bathroom to take a shower and is wondering
about the fact that he actually slept well despite everything, despite having
to get up after only four hours, and then wonders why his neck feels so fucking
sore, that it hits him.
The night hadn’t ended after he’d climbed out of Theo’s car, fucking glad that
Theo had stopped groping him all of a sudden and just driven him home.
There had been –
Stiles turns on the water and jumps, fuck, way too cold but at least he’s awake
now.
He swallows.
Awake and mortified.
His neck is throbbing.
Great. Looking fucking forward to another week of zipped-all-the-way-up-like-a-
douchebag-Stiles.
God, had he really been kicking and screaming and sobbing like a three-year-old
when Derek Hale had grabbed him, pushed him up against the wall?
What the fuck was the matter with him?
Derek wasn’t his enemy – Theo was.
Why was everything so goddamn twisted?
And then there was something about – he swallowed again – his mattress dipping
down because Derek was sitting down next to him and – starting to rub his back.
Stiles had asked Derek Hale to rub his fucking back.
But he’d been tired and Derek had freaked him out and –
Stiles pushes everything away from him and, like that, manages to take his
shower, using so much soap that his skin is still burning an hour later when he
walks into the classroom.
The panic had been rising steadily in his throat since he slammed the front
door closed and walked over to his Jeep, since he realized that Theo would
know, he would fucking know, no matter the ridiculous amounts of aftershave
Stiles had splashed into his face and, why not, his neck and down his back as
well.
The girls in the front row scrunch up their noses when Stiles walks past their
desks but his eyes are fixed on Theo even though he shouldn’t, he knows that,
for God's sake, but still can’t help it and Theo lifts his head, looks
startled.
Then narrows his eyes.
He draws himself up in his chair and snaps the pencil he’s holding in his right
hand, his right fist, clean in half.
“I think it’s working,” Scott whispers when Stiles sinks down into his seat,
knees all weak and rubbery, “God, did you have an aftershave accident? I have a
really sensitive nose, you know that right?”
Stiles still can’t say anything.
He’s fucking petrified without even really knowing why.
It’s not like the demonic force kicked him out of his own skin because he broke
his pact, clawed him out of his body and dragged him down to hell or anything.
Technically, Theo can’t harm him but fear isn’t rational and Stiles is scared
shitless.
When class is over, Theo is at his desk, quicker even than Scott would have
thought possible because he flinches when Theo snarls, “Stiles!”
He jerks his head, a stony expression on his face and Stiles shoves the books
into his bag with trembling fingers.
“Stiles, relax. You don’t have to obey him, you’re not his slave,” Scott
mutters, holding Stiles back by grabbing his upper arm but Stiles just shakes
it off with a nervous jerk.
Scott wouldn’t understand.
He just has to get this over with.
So he shuffles out the door behind Theo before the teacher is even done packing
up – she just throws them a surprised look, going, “Mr. Raeken. Mr. Stilinski!
What” – but they’re out the door before she can finish her sentence.
Stiles follows Theo down the hallway, his feet feeling numb. People are
spilling out of their classrooms, then stop and stare at the strange pair, at
least Stiles is convinced they’re all looking at him, they must perceive
something strange is going on, must see how Stiles is scared and Theo is
fucking livid.
They’re in the boys' locker room now and it's only the two of them again, no
one else, just Stiles and Theo and images of Stiles and Theo in the two mirrors
above the dirty white sinks.
Stiles backs up against the wall because Theo is clenching his fists, pretty
face scrunched up in anger. He staring at the floor like he can’t even look
Stiles in the eyes.
Like they’re married and Stiles just cheated on him.
It’s so fucking weird but Stiles does feel guilty.
“I – I didn’t want him to – I couldn’t – he just came at me,” Stiles says and
feels even dirtier. Because it’s not entirely true.
There was a certain point last night when Stiles wanted Derek to come at him
and be that only for the split second before the powers started acting up and
sent Stiles spiraling into a panic mode. And then he asked Derek to rub his
back like a fucking pervert.
But Theo takes two swift steps towards him and smashes his fist into the wall
next to Stiles’ face and Stiles jumps. He doesn’t have to look to the left to
know that the tiles shattered around Theo’s hand, that blood is pooling on the
floor below him already.
“I know, Stiles, I fucking know that. Fuck!”
He pulls his hand back and stares down at it, like it’s not enough, like he
wants to go ahead and do the same thing to Derek Hale’s head but he can’t.
Stiles wrecks his brain for something to say, fast, but can’t come up with
anything so he has to stand there and watch as Theo lets his head snap back up
and rake his eyes over Stiles’ body.
Getting ideas.
He puts his bloody hand onto Stiles’s shoulder and squeezes it with a
gentleness Stiles wouldn't - quite frankly, no one would - have thought
possible for a guy who just shattered his bones and split his skin when running
his fist into a wall in anger.
But there it is, a soft squeeze, and it terrifies Stiles.
Because Theo has always been deadliest when he is gentle, is at his most
dangerous when he's smiling, everyone knows that.
It's psychopathic serial killer 101.
Theo pulls him flush against his chest with a jerk.
“So Derek took your scent off...,” he says softly, his cheek touching Stiles’,
lips brushing over the shell of Stiles’ ear.
“Tell me how he did that... Tell me everything...”
Stiles swallows. His heart is pounding against his rib cage.
He really, really doesn’t want to.
“Stiles,” a little more sharply, more determined, “Tell me.”
“He, mh,” Stiles has to clear his throat before going on, he is hyper-aware of
Theo’s body pressing into his, Theo’s chin resting on his shoulder.
“He grabbed me and, sort of – basically pushed me down, so I – I couldn’t
move...”
Stiles can hear the door swing open out of the corner of his eye, see someone
stop, startled, then back out of the room again, going, “Oops, sorry...”
“Go on,” Theo whispers and Stiles shifts uneasily. His shoulder blades hurt
from being shoved against the tiles and Theo’s left hand – the one that’s not
covered in blood – is doing something down there, judging from the way it’s
fidgeting in-between their bodies, tugging at the rim of his pants, it’s
fucking distracting.
“And I sort of – freaked out, and, mh,” he stops because, holy shit, Theo’s
hand just slipped into his pants and Stiles can feel his cool fingers pressing
into his skin, creeping further south.
“And – then?”
“Er... he – he tried to – mh, like, kiss me – my neck, I – I guess... and,
Jesus,” Stiles takes in a sharp breath because, yeah, that’s Theo’s hand
wrapping around his limp penis.
“Derek Hale gave you a kiss – and what else?”
Stiles struggles to speak for a few moments because Theo Raeken is pressing
against him, clutching his freaking penis.
Oh God, it’s happening, is all Stiles can think.
It’s happening but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t, no, please, not now.
Then the thought that Derek might actually be able to hear him begging crosses
his mind and he tries to stop, drains out even his own thoughts by saying, “I
went to sleep and Derek just sort of – rubbed my back. To scent-mark me.”
“I see.”
Stiles stays rooted in place, body perfectly still, frozen, hardly breathing
even.
When Theo starts moving his hand, he closes his eyes.
He knows that nothing will happen, he’s too fucking wound up, a complete
nervous wreck but still, God, just the pressure of Theo’s hand on his dick
makes him wish the ground would open and swallow him up.
Can you die of shame and discomfort?
Or, would the more accurate term here be – rape?
Theo puts his other hand on Stiles’ neck where the drying blood makes his
fingers stick to Stiles’ skin. Of course.
Of course, Theo would also scent-mark him while trying to jerk him off.
Only, it’s not working.
Well, the scent-marking probably is but Theo’s hand is doing nothing.
Stiles is hyper-focused on his body, telling it to stay like that, to not move,
to focus on the thick sensation of misery and hatred pooling in his stomach.
The thing is just – they stay there for a while and Theo is gently stroking
him, running his hand up and down his penis and Stiles can feel it building up
gradually, second after second.
First, he’s miserable and shaking.
Then, he’s miserable and trembling.
Now, he’s miserable and weirdly turned on and despising himself for it.
He can hear the fabric of his pants rustle with every movement of Theo’s hand
and starts shaking his head slowly like, no, not here.
Not now.
Starts panicking which, what the fuck is wrong with him, only seems to turn him
on more.
Jerking off has always been kind of a stress reliever for Stiles and he always
knew that couldn’t be good. Why on earth is his body wired that way?
An involuntary gasp escapes his mouth and his eyes widen in shock.
Then tears are welling up in his eyes and he can hear himself pleading, “Theo,
please, don’t do that, please, not here.”
The whole thing becomes only more surreal when the door creaks open and Stiles
just knows, knows without having to look, who it is. That they've been here for
over fifteen minutes now and that would have given Derek ample time to jump
into his car, drive over to the school and just strut into the boys' locker
room.
Which explains how he could be standing here now, broad-shouldered and silent
and watching them.
And even though Stiles knows all that know, that Derek can hear him, that he
will -has to - come running as soon as Stiles is in distress, he still can’t
help it, he just can’t stop his thoughts from going,
No please, please don’t, no, help me, God...
Theo lifts his chin from Stiles shoulder and Stiles can feel his face move
against his cheek.
The muscles around his mouth are relaxing into a smile.
The motherfucking son of a bitch is turning his head just enough to lock eyes
with Derek Hale and give him one of his little serial killer smiles.
Luckily, the shock of someone entering, and then Derek of all people, makes
Stiles go limp again but Theo is still stroking him for a few more seconds and
Stiles is just standing there, holding on to the sinks that are on his left and
right because if he doesn’t, if he lets go, his legs won’t be able to support
him and he’ll just fold up on the floor like a fucking marionette cut from its
strings.
Then Theo pulls his hand out of Stiles’ pants and Stiles lets out his breath,
hadn’t even been aware that he was holding it.
“You can take my scent off of him again now, if you want, Derek,” Theo says who
turns to face the man standing in the middle of the locker room now and, yes,
oh God, it really is Derek, Stiles had hoped, had been praying for it to be
Danny or Liam or anyone else, even Finstock.
“Take off my boyfriend’s scent again,” Theo says, this time without a smile and
Stiles shudders at the way he says boyfriend, that he even fucking says it at
all.
“And remember that I’m the one who'll be taking him home today, and holding him
and touching him until he comes undone in my arms."
And with that Theo just walks out the door.
It’s silent for a few heartbeats and Stiles just wants to disappear, or to tell
Derek that he never meant for him to see this, hear this, wants to yell at him
to just fucking stop looking at him like that.
But he can’t face him, it’s impossible, so Stiles just lets himself sink into a
sitting position between the sinks, draws his legs up to his chest and hugs
them, face buried between his arms.
Waiting for Scott to find him and tell Derek he shouldn’t even be here.
Derek walks up to him, doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t touch his neck either.
When Scott is there with Kira and they pull him into a standing position, Derek
is gone.
 
 
Stiles is really trying to get a grasp, too, but today, it seems impossible.
To think that Theo made him – that he, Stiles, almost came in his own pants
right in front of Derek Hale’s eyes and at the touch of another guy, too –
Stiles’ head snaps up and Scott blinks at him.
“Mh?”
Stiles shakes his head, forced down another bite of his hamburger.
Right, they’re in the cafeteria and Kira, Liam and Mason are shooting him
worried glances across the table and Scott is trying to keep a conversation
about – something going. Cars or video games. Stiles doesn’t know.
It’s lunch break and Theo is thankfully keeping his distance, apparently
satisfied with what he managed to achieved again and Stiles can’t believe he
just thought the problem with all of this, with why he’d been vomiting his guts
out an hour earlier, was Derek Hale seeing him with another guy.
Another guy.
When it should be something like, Derek Hale seeing him so fucking close to the
edge at all. It wasn’t right. Just like Scott should never have to see that.
They’re all like brothers and it’s just – wrong.
Theo can do whatever but making someone watch was just – and Stiles pales a
little when he realizes that it will always be like that from now on.
Theo will come on to him, Stiles will force himself to bear it but will call
out in his mind for someone, something, to help him, and Derek will be there.
In school, outside of Stiles’ house.
In front of Malia’s house.
And because Derek’s a freaking werewolf he will be able to hear what’s going on
inside, what Theo will be doing to Stiles, with Stiles.
Oh God.
“Stiles.”
This time it’s Lydia’s voice.
She’s scrutinizing him coolly.
“You should go home.”
Stiles starts shaking his head but she cuts him short.
“You look like death, Stiles. Go home.”
So he does.
Fuck.
He thought he could deal with this but obviously he can’t.
He’s not feeling any better when he gets home.
He throws off his bag and jacket, then rushes into the bathroom to throw up the
hamburger – shoving that down his throat had been a bad idea, Stiles knew it –
and thinks he can’t go on like this.
It’s not possible.
It’s almost as bad as it used to be, back when.
Maybe worse because Stiles had already been damaged when it all began.
From the first time of having Theo as his playmate years ago, then, later from
the multiple times they faced literal death.
Then the void.
And Allison.
He feels like he's been so fucking damaged when all of this began already and
just doesn't have it in him anymore to face this.
Stiles goes straight to bed but despite being so sleep-deprived, he winds up
just lying there on his back, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember how
he did it last time.
How the fuck he managed to survive because, yes, children can develop crazy
protective mechanisms and they must still be there in his brain, somewhere,
somehow.
***** NOT FOR NOTHING *****
Chapter Summary
     mmh... steo almost all the way, I'd say
     (sorry, sterek lovers, we're gettting there, I promise)
Chapter Notes
     I think I went a little overboard with this one - ha, I've said that
     far too many times now; hope you'll still enjoy reading despite all
     the weirdness
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Theo does not keep his word.
He doesn’t take Stiles home that day, obviously, because Stiles drives himself
home after lunch, skipping PE class and lacrosse practice, and he doesn’t show
up later that day either to, what was that?
Hold Stiles and touch him until he comes undone in Theo’s arms?
It’s such a bizarre and old-fashioned thing to say that Stiles doesn’t know
whether he should laugh or vomit.
But that’s just Theo, talking like he walked straight out of the 1970s – always
the gentleman.
Gentleman psychopath – is that a thing?
Stiles gets out of bed around 5pm, looks at himself in the mirror and, yes,
this is the lovely face of someone who’d been chewed up and spit out again.
So he decides that it won’t do.
He will not be moping around and wallowing in this feeling of brokenness,
pitying himself, allowing himself to think that he got it worse than everyone
else on the planet.
It’s simply not true, yes?
There’s worse, there’s always worse, always, is what he keeps telling himself.
“Get a grip already,” he tells mirror-Stiles, then goes downstairs, gulps down
a glass of water and slides into his running shoes.
Puts on some music and goes for a jog in the woods, a short one because his
feet still hurt from his excessive work-outs, but still.
Allows himself to get so absorbed in the music that he doesn’t even think about
whether Derek Hale is lurking around here somewhere, pushes every single
intrusive thought far away from him, one after the other, so there’s only this
lingering, miserable feeling in his heart.
But that he can deal with.
See, the trick is to simply bear it, learn to live with it, and not allow it to
attach itself to specific images or situations or people. To keep telling
yourself that it’s just a feeling, no more and no less, and that reality isn’t
in fact a black pit of agony and pain and grief and death. It’s just a feeling.
It’s hard at first of course because that’s what your brain wants to do,
projection.
But when he’s home again, takes his second shower for the day, then dries
himself off, even does his hair, sort of, and jumps down the stairs to prepare
a nice dinner for himself and his dad no matter how little he feels like
eating, Stiles thinks he defeated it – himself – for the day.
Like he will be able to sleep later without wrecking his brain about this,
today, about what he could have done differently and what Derek might be
thinking of him right now and without worrying about the future, about what
Theo will do to him tomorrow or the day after, or next week.
It’s almost funny, how struggling with the void and the aftermath of the
nogitsune helped him prepare for this. That was when Stiles first realized that
you can be more than one person at the same time and that feelings are not
necessarily the truth, a knowledge that comes in quite handy right now.
So he can smile at his dad, smile and even really mean it, and they chat about
the sheriff’s day at work, about baseball and lacrosse and about the upcoming
exams.
Right, Stiles meant to study for that.
They do the dishes together and then Stiles goes upstairs and opens his
textbooks.
He finds it difficult to concentrate but knows the reason for it, too, tries
not to be too hard on himself.
It’s a result of the stress, can even be a result of his constant borderline
depressive mood, so he tries to be proud of himself, of the fact that he’s at
least trying.
Prepares himself a cup of tea, reads the history chapter for tomorrow.
And, yes, when he’s in bed an hour later he really is proud of himself because
he started out feeling really shitty and now – not so much anymore.
So everything he did was helping him get through this, one little step after
another, even though he didn’t believe in it at the time.
Okay.
Okay, Stiles can work with that.
 
 
When Stiles walks into the classroom the next day, he can’t help but roll his
eyes at seeing Scott sit there by the window, face full of worry and looking so
obviously uncomfortable that it’s almost funny, almost as if he’d been the one
Theo had tried to jerk off yesterday in the locker room instead of Stiles.
“I’m fine, man,” Stiles is saying before Scott can even open his mouth.
“Really. I’m good.”
Scott turns his head a little to get a better look at Stiles, and Lydia who has
been unloading books onto her table – why is she always carrying around five
times as many books as necessary for class, what for exactly? – stops and
throws him a side glance.
“You do look better today, Stiles. Your cheeks are, like, glowing – or are you
running a fever?”
She frowns and turns to face him.
“Or wait – you’re not actually wearing make up?”
Arms akimbo, leaning forward a little to get a good look at Stiles’ cheeks and
eyes, as if him scrutinizing his face in the mirror and then putting on
foundation and blush were an actual possibility.
“What’s up with you guys, God. I just slept well, is all,” Stiles says
defensively and pushes Lydia away by the shoulders.
“Honestly – I’m a lot better, like – yeah. No, I am. So just – drop it. Okay?”
“Stiles...,” Scott starts and he has this look on his face like he’s really
sorry, and Stiles already knows what he wants to say.
“Don’t lie to us – it’s completely unnecessary. Not to mention, futile,”
because Lydia is pressing her palm against Stiles’ forehead and when Stiles
manages to shake her off she tries to grab his wrist and feel for his pulse,
“so... how are you really? Come on, hit us. We can take it. I promise.”
“It’s fine, Scott. Really, I’m not lying.”
He isn’t and knows that Scott can tell he isn’t even though he still doesn’t
seem to believe him, eyes him warily.
“So... okay, then, since you’re obviously not going to say it, I’ll do it
before the – the abomination walks in here and I’m gonna be occupied with not
trying to murder him. Er... Derek – he said that yesterday, Theo tried to-”
“I think I might be into him,” Stiles pipes up and Scott’s jaws shut with an
audible click.
He and Lydia are staring at him, eyes wide with surprise, an odd mixture of
amusement and shock in their faces and it’s a really funny sight, to watch them
being torn between ha ha, very funny and have you lost your freaking mind?
“Come again?” Lydia says and her voice is shrill.
“I – think I might be sort of... into Theo,” Stiles repeats, and he blushes, of
course he does because – why, for fuck’s sake, would he even be saying
something like this?
He certainly didn’t think it through but it’s not the worst lie – or plan – he
ever came up with, yes?
And if he can get Scott and Lydia to believe him, they would have to get off
his back and accept his choices because that’s what friends do.
And maybe Stiles could believe it himself.
“You’re lying,” Scott says and of course he would say that.
“I’m just – it’s not easy for me to say this, ok?”
And that early in the morning, too, when Stiles usually takes until 10 a.m. to
be even half awake.
He doesn’t even speak before 8 a.m., for God’s sake.
“It’s – I’ve always been – into guys, too,” he mumbles, cheeks very red now and
Lydia, thankfully, goes, “I knew it! I knew it! I was right, I was right –
didn’t I tell you, Scott? That Stiles is swinging both ways?”
“Stiles is swinging both ways?” Danny is saying now. He’s in the row behind
them and just dropped the magazine he was reading onto his desk, leans forward
over it to better hear what they’re saying.
“Uhm. Yeah. I kind of – always have...,” Stiles mutters and tries not to meet
Scott’s eyes who has this awful expression on his face like Stiles has been
lying to him.
Like he could have been into him without telling him and their whole best buddy
thing had been a big fat lie.
“I sort of – had a crush on this one guy when I was only like eight or nine.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything. I had a guy crush on this actor,” Scott is
saying now like he’s trying to convince himself that Stiles doesn’t know what
he’s talking about. “Remember? The dude who played Thomas in The Maze
Runner...”
“Oh yeah, he’s hot,” Lydia says.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m gay, Stiles.”
“I didn’t say I was gay. I said, I was – more like-”
“Bisexual,” Lydia says and she has this satisfied smirk on her face that she
always gets when she is right and everyone else is wrong. “Or, possibly
pansexual. Stiles, would you say you’re more bi or pan?”
“Is that why you asked me if you can borrow my spare jersey? Because if you
spent the afternoon sniffing it, I swear-”
Stiles rolls his eyes and sighs.
“No, Danny, that’s not why I borrowed your shirt. I simply forgot mine. Because
I’m extraordinarily disorganized. Okay?”
He finally drops his bag down onto the floor, flops into his chair.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sott says and he looks disappointed. Hurt almost.
“I wasn’t really – I wasn’t sure, ok? Besides, do you see many people
discussing their sexual orientation while they’re still in high school?”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Danny starts but Stiles goes, “Shut up,
Danny. It’s just not easy, ok? To find out you’re not wired the same way
everyone else is wired.”
“Well, I’m-”
“No one wants to hear it, Danny!”
Danny lifts his eyebrows.
“Suit yourself. But don’t come running to me later when you have questions
about the – how’s. And the where’s.”
Oh, God.
Stiles closes his eyes and when he opens them again he wishes he hadn’t because
Theo chooses this exact moment to strut into the classroom, trademark
nonchalant expression on his face. He’s wearing white sneakers and a black
sweater and his skin is so flawless and hair perfect, it’s almost not fair.
He nods hello to Scott, of course he would, Theo just likes pissing off people
like that, puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder briefly when he passes by his
table on his way to the back row.
Apparently Danny has too many questions to be miffed at Stiles because he leans
forward again and whispers, “You and Raeken – are you – are you two, like – a
thing?”
Stiles nods his head, ignoring that sick feeling that starts pooling in his
stomach again.
“Damn, Stiles. You managed to get the hottest boy in this whole damn school.
Total respect.”
Danny leans back again but continues to throw Stiles admiring glances.
“This is not true,” Scott says calmly. “You’re exuding vibes of anxiety
whenever he’s near. Hell, I can smell your stress levels rise when we’re just
talking about him.”
“Scott, please... aren’t you... glad – about this? Makes it so much – easier,
okay?”
“If you can really tell yourself you’re into him – if you really feel even
remotely sexually attracted to this creep – then your condition is worse than I
ever thought it could be. It’s fucking Stockholm syndrome is what it is,
Stiles!”
Stiles’ heart starts beating faster because, yeah, he’s getting angry at Scott.
And at the fact that Scott knows him just too well.
That he’s making this so hard for him, Stiles, when everything could be easy.
When he just wants Scott to be happy, to not worry about something he can’t
change anyway.
“I get it, Scott,” he’s forcing himself to say, “and – and you’re right, ok?
Maybe it’s not completely healthy but – you heard what Danny said. Just look at
– at Theo.”
Stiles is uncomfortably aware of the fact that if Theo hasn’t been listening in
– which he probably has anyway – by now at least he’s certainly all ears and
smirks.
“He’s – really... good looking, like, ridiculously so, okay, and that’s not a
matter of whether you’re a guy or a girl – it’s a matter of whether you’re
blind or not.”
It’s almost surprising for Stiles to hear himself say it out loud because there
is a certain truth to it and he never really thought about looking at it from
this angle before.
If Lucifer were an old creep trying to grope him on a daily basis, he would
certainly be worse off. Right?
He could have taken Finstock’s body, for instance. Or, holy God, Gerard
Argent’s.
Just saying.
But objectively speaking, there’s really nothing to be disgusted about when it
comes to his body.
Good, that’s good.
Hold on to that thought, Stiles.
It’s not a crazy thing to think at all.
Ignore the fact that the way he smiles at you still makes you want to crawl out
of your skin.
Scott is looking over his shoulder and Stiles can tell that he’s almost shaking
with anger. Not necessary for Stiles to turn in his seat and see his best
friend’s eyes glow red to tip him off.
Scott has locked eyes with Theo and is flashing his alpha colors at him in the
middle of the history classroom.
Danny in the seat behind Scott is lifting his eyebrows at him.
Theo for his part is leaning back in his chair in the last row, edges of his
lips pulling slowly up into an arrogant smirk and Scott only lets his eyes fade
back to brown when Lydia hisses, “Scott!!”
Then he turns back and gloomily stares at his history book without opening it.
Like he’s thinking.
Stiles feels horrible but it has to be like that.
He has to do this.
 
 
Thinking about how attractive Theo is despite the fact that his smug face means
nothing but pain and fear to Stiles might just be the solution, the plot twist,
so don’t let it go.
Hold on to it, tell yourself – yes, tell yourself it’s okay.
That you’re lucky, even.
That almost every girl in this goddamn Scott wants to date Theo, judging from
the way they’re undressing him with their eyes and are almost fucking drooling
when he walks by and yet, there he goes, boxing you in in the locker rooms and
shoving his hand down your pants.
Isn’t that just – just great.
Then, when they’re changing rooms for biology, Scott goes ahead and ruins it by
saying, “Derek is handsome.”
He looks at Stiles coolly and Stiles can’t help but stare back with a puzzled
look on his face.
“What do you-”
“Oh, you know what I mean, Stiles. Since we’re being honest here.”
Stiles presses his lips together, walks a little faster.
“So you want to tell me that Derek’s not the guy you used to have a crush on.”
Stiles stops short and turns to face Scott.
“Oh, my God, will you just drop it. Maybe or maybe not, that was like years ago
so I don’t remember, okay?”
“You do remember.”
“Why would that even matter?”
“Because now it’s making a lot of sense how you would always get super nervous
around Derek. Like – more than usual, even for you.”
Stiles snorts.
“Even for me. Because I’m just sooo socially awkward and wound up all the
time,” Stiles says heatedly and very much not in favor of his argument
accidentally and very painfully slams his shoulder into the door frame on his
way out.
“Don’t dodge the question, Stiles.”
“Hell, yeah, of course I get nervous around the guy. Have you looked at him for
a second? Dude’s creepy, is what I mean, he has the evil eye, I swear. And he’s
been shoving my face into steering wheels or pushing me up against walls and
fences and whatnot ever since we met him and, oh, by the way, for a good
portion of that first year I used to think he was a murderer and a creepy
monster who was out to get us. So excuse the fuck out of me if I’m still a
little nervous around the guy. It’s not like – he lightens the mood whenever he
enters a room. The guy’s angry, angry and depressing, is what I’m saying. In
case you didn’t catch that.”
Stiles is panting and he just knows that these annoying red spots are appearing
on his cheeks again but Scott is just standing there and, absolutely
inexplicably, smiling.
“Oh, my God. You like Derek.”
“What? Hello! Scott, have you been listening to me? Were you just in a brain
coma?”
Scott’s smile widens.
They’re still in front of the lockers downstairs, the hallway is empty and
they’re definitely running late for biology and, to Stiles’ annoyance, Scott
doesn’t appear to be wanting to drop the subject any time soon.
“You have a crush on Derek Hale. How could I not have seen that.”
“Er, let me see – because I clearly don’t? What the fuck is wrong with you,
Scott? Seriously, what the literal fuck-”
“Oh, maybe you haven’t really been aware of it but you certainly do. Now we
only have to find out what level of crush we’re talking about here.”
Un-fucking-believable.
“Are we talking, level one, light bro crush because Derek is – well, Derek. Or,
level five,” and Scott pauses, looks at Stiles with a more serious expression
on his face, “about to be seriously head over heels.”
Stiles cheeks are starting to feel really hot and he’s at a loss for words for
a second there.
He knows his heart just skipped a beat, what he fucking doesn’t know is why.
Yeah, yeah, Derek Hale is crazily attractive and any girl or guy denying that
is just a big fat liar and all that crap. And yeah, Stiles has been more
attracted to other guys than your regular heterosexual male but it’s a
spectrum, okay?
And Stiles always considered himself to be on the heterosexual end of it but
maybe a little bit, like, an inch closer to the middle than, say – Arnold
Schwarzenegger or something. He’s never really been a manly man either but
gender identity has nothing whatsoever to with whom you find sexually
attractive. So maybe Schwarzenegger isn’t a good example because, really, how
could Stiles tell what the guy does or doesn’t dig.
So yeah, yeah, Derek’s hot, of fucking course he is, Stiles would be an idiot
to deny that, and that broody, hurt thing he has going on there? Please. The
man is gorgeous.
Oh, Stiles is thinking.
Oh, fuck.
“Okay,” Stiles mutters and his shoulders slouch. “Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, Derek
was the guy I used to have a crush on, like, the faintest of crushes, only for
a very brief period of time before I met Lydia – are you happy now? But I was
really young then and he was just – And if you must know, I’ve always been sort
of attracted to hot guys as well as hot girls but I favor girls, alright?”
Scott’s eyebrows slowly go up and Stiles wonders whatever happened to, But
Stiles, you don’t know what you’re talking about.
“And right now, I’d prefer to be thinking about – him. Theo, I mean. Ok? It
just – it makes it easier.”
He looks down at his sneakers adding, “because if Derek didn’t tell you, after
talking to me in the locker room for ten seconds and smashing his fist into the
wall, Theo stuck his hand down my pants. And while I don’t appreciate the
timing, I prefer to be – okay with it.”
Scott is shaking his head.
“That’s so sick, Stiles. Sick and twisted.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that,” Stiles grits out. “It’s just – can’t be
changed and what I said earlier, about – about Theo, I – think I might be,”
Stiles lifts his head, braces himself for the lie, or, maybe it isn’t a lie but
just an idea that’s starting to turn into – something?
Something real maybe.
“I think I might be falling for Theo.”
Scott’s expression hardens again.
“Falling for Theo?  What the – do you even know what that means? Stiles, you
want to tell me you’re starting to develop romantic feelings for the monster
that tortured you – literally tortured you until you passed out?”
“Yeah.”
“And that you feel no regret whatsoever that if you stay with Theo, you can
never be with Derek. Or anyone else.”
Stiles feels a pang at Scott’s words.
“No.”
“So if, say – Derek disappeared tomorrow, if he moved away and you were to
never see him again ever, you wouldn’t miss him, you wouldn’t feel regret.”
Stiles presses his lips together and Scott goes, “Ha! Regret. I knew it.”
“No, Scott, you don’t understand. Derek’s our friend, he’s my friend, okay? Of
course, I’d be unhappy – I’d miss him. But so would you. We’d all miss him and
it would really suck to lose him. It sucked when he went to Mexico with Braeden
and never even looked back once like – like we were nothing to him. But that’s
it. There’s nothing else going on between Derek Hale and me.”
Scott lets out a sigh and they start walking down the hallway and towards the
stairs.
“Just fyi, Stiles – I didn’t think it sucked when Derek went away with Braeden.
He had his reasons and I knew he’d come back. Besides, it was only for two
months. I didn’t miss him but if you did – if you really did – that should make
you think.”
 
 
 
Ah, great, more nerve-wracking, maddeningly complicated emotional crap to think
about.
Well, thanks so fucking much, Scott.
And there he’d been thinking he had it all sorted out. All his feelings stored
neatly where they belonged, anger to anger, hatred to hatred, affection to
affection. Friendship to friendship.
And then his best friend comes along like the diabolic kid in kindergarden who,
after Stiles had meticulously sorted all the Lego pieces according to color,
just tipped over the box and cackled maniacally and pointed at him.
Come to think of it, that kid was Scott.
Stiles should have known.
And whatever drove him to come out with half the truth and half a lie about his
sexuality on a Friday morning before history.
What’s more, before his second coffee, for God’s sake.
“Insanity,” Stiles is muttering to himself. “In-fucking-sanity...”
“Don’t be so hard on you, Stiles. A little weird maybe but insane? I hardly
think so.”
It’s Theo who is tapping his fingertips onto the table top, an inch away from
where Stiles dropped his forehead onto his arms and is resisting the urge to
repeatedly smack it onto the table.
“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you,” Scott says coolly from where he’s sitting
next to Stiles and puts his hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades.
“Aw, don’t be a sore loser, Scott,” Theo says with a smile.
“Stiles, did you think about what movie you’d like to see?”
Stiles, forehead still on his arms is shaking his head no.
“Stiles is coming over to my house today,” Scott says and Stiles knows he’s
staring Theo down right now. He can feel Scott’s palm pressing into his back
with a little more strength than necessary. Yes, definitely marking his
territory.
Then he feels a hand in his neck and it’s not Scott’s, definitely not, it’s
smaller and softer, and now Scott is rubbing his back and, nope, getting too
weird, Stiles can’t do it.
He lets his head snap up from the table and shoots up from his seat, ignoring
the momentary dizziness when his blood rushes down into his legs.
“I don’t feel like a movie. Maybe – I don’t know, Burger King? And, yeah, er...
video games, Scott? We do have that test coming up, I need to study...”
Scott goes, “Neat. You can have dinner with us,” and Theo is rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be such a nerd, Stiles. If that’s the reason you can’t make time for me,
I can just put everything you need to know into that small brain of yours. I
can give you my own memories, if you want. 1876, Custer’s Last Stand? That
sucker is ill-named but definitely worth a look. Even though I know from
experience that it just weirds teachers out... I guess the truth is simply too
scary for most people. Well, unless – you don’t want me to come over today?”
Theo isn’t smiling. He’s just watching Stiles.
And so is Scott.
“Yeah, Stiles. Maybe you don’t want Theo to come over at all? Could there be a
reason why you’d rather he didn’t?”
And it’s only then that Stiles remembers his brand new strategy.
God, what a moron he is.
Scott had him so confused with Derek momentarily that Stiles completely forgot
his lie and the fact that he had decided to believe it himself, so he quickly
goes, “No. No there isn’t. In fact, er...”
Oh God, please help me pull this off?
He looks down, and says, slowly, “Theo, can you come over tomorrow? Then we’d
have all day.”
And because that wasn’t really convincing, he takes a step towards Theo,
meaning to kiss him but then can’t get himself to do it, so he just touches his
hand lightly.
When he sees the angry expression on Scott’s face, however, Stiles isn’t sure
what the fuck he’s doing there. If he can’t convince Scott no matter what he
does, he’s currently just hurting his best friend. So he quickly pulls back his
hand, takes a step away from him again.
Theo who has been watching Stiles’ changing facial expressions looks intrigued,
like Stiles is being ridiculously entertaining this Friday morning. And
probably because he discovered the combined pleasure of making Stiles’ heart
beat faster while simultaneously pissing Scott off, he takes Stiles’ hand –
puts his thumb lightly against Stiles’ right palm, his fingertips just barely
touching the back of Stiles’ hand – and leans in, cheek brushing against
Stiles’ and it’s funny how Theo has to rise to his toes to do that.
“That’s going be our third date. Looking forward to it.”
And with these words hanging in the air he turns around and struts out of the
classroom, probably to sit in the cafeteria and have lunch all by himself like
every day while teenage girls take a seat at his table to stare at him and
secretly take photos with their smartphones and hoping that he’ll notice that
they’ve been working out or that they got a new haircut. Even though the whole
school is aware of the fact that Theo Raeken seems to have something going on
with that weird kid Stilinski, the rumors just somehow seem to be making Theo
even more attractive. Definitely more unreachable.
God, teenage girls are so screwed up.
Stiles is still frowning about Theo’s choice of words when Danny says, “Did I
just hear third date? So it’s going to be a big night, mh? Who would have
thought...”
Big night?
Why would that be a big night?
And does being kidnapped and get tortured until you pass out, and then,
sometime later, eating at McDonald’s really count as a first and second date?
“What did he – oh. Jesus Christ...”
Theo didn’t mean – sex, did he?
“You think he meant...?”
“No idea, man,” Scott says dryly. “Could be sex, could be sawing some innocent
guy’s limbs off, could be anything. He’s one mysterious son of a bitch.”
“Third date means sex,” Danny is saying from behind them. “And today’s
cheeseburgers in the cafeteria, so... better hurry up.”
“Sex?” Stiles is saying and almost tripping over his own legs because he’s
walking and simultaneously looking at Scott who, for some reason, refuses to
contribute anything to the conversation.
“Who knew that third date means sex?”
“Because it doesn’t.”
That’s Kira who’s catching up with them.
“I mean, it’s not like you have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,
Stiles.”
So they’re sitting down with their burgers – really the only edible thing on
the menu here which is why four sophomores are currently fighting over who gets
the last one and who has to put up with lunch option number two, rice stew,
brussels sprouts and, for some reason, one half of a peach – and Stiles finds
himself one more time too agitated to eat.
But he knows he really should so he picks up his burger – a kid sitting across
from them at a table is glowering at him while mushing his rice into an even
more disgusting pulp – and, guiltily, takes a first bite. Chews and swallows.
Takes a second one.
“So you’re going through with this,” Scott says who for whatever reason is the
only one in the whole cafeteria who actually likes the stew, is usually even
looking forward to having it, so he’s sitting next to Stiles, trying to look
determined and serious while shoveling rice into his mouth in-between words
which makes a hilarious picture and if Stiles weren’t so tense right now he’d
crack a few jokes about Scott’s disgusting taste.
“You’re really going to do this whole...” Scott is gesturing around with his
fork and Stiles shrugs.
“Yeah.”
Scott nods.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Then they’re eating in silence and listening to the others chatting.
 
 
“Mason? Er... a word?”
“Mh? Yeah, sure, Stiles. No, it’s fine, Liam, I’ll catch up with you in a
minute.”
They watch Liam, Scott and the others turn the corner and the hallway empty
slowly as students start disappearing into different classrooms.
When there’s no one in earshot anymore, Mason turns to him, looks at him
expectantly and Stiles doesn’t know how to start.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
“Uhm, you know what... er, never mind..”
And he wants to turn around and flee the scene but Mason grabs him by the upper
arm.
“Stiles, come on – what is it? I won’t judge – promise.”
Stiles bites his lips.
“Er... so... you know that – how... Er. Theo.”
Mason blinks.
“You’re with Theo now, yeah. I got that.”
Stiles gives him a curt nod.
“Ok, yeah. So you got that.”
“Ahem... yeah, it would have been pretty hard not to, don’t you think?
Considering that we haven’t been talking about anything else for the past two
weeks.”
“Right. And... so, he wants to come over tomorrow and I – think, he might,”
Stiles takes a deep breath. Why on earth is this so hard?
“And it might get – physical.”
“Physical.” Mason tilts his head, blinks again. “You mean what people in 2016
would refer to as sex.”
“... yeah.”
“And – you have questions about that.”
Stiles nods, looks to the ground.
“About how to – to do it,” he clears his throat, “you know, when – when another
guy - er... you know?”
“Ha, why didn’t you just say so? Gosh, Stiles, you just scared the hell out of
me. I thought – doesn’t matter now. Okay, yeah, I’ll tell you whatever I know.”
Stiles takes a deep breath and dares to lift his head again.
Wow, talking about awkward.
But he’d rather have that conversation here with Mason than with Theo. Or not
at all and just let Theo surprise him.
No, that’s definitely not an option.
“You might want to talk with Danny about that though. He’s had a couple of
boyfriends. Er – I only ever got to second base. Besides – you can always
google, right?”
“I,” Stiles clears his throat, “I just thought you had like, a few tips for me.
Su-suggestions. Or something.”
God, what is he even doing here.
Mason shrugs.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s get together in the library at 3, ok? But – are you sure you
want to do this? Because if you don’t, it’s sort of like – rape. You know.”
Stiles shrugs again.
Somehow he can’t seem to be able to bring out more than half sentences and
awkward jerks of the head.
“Stiles? Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I heard. Thanks. No, I – I think I want to do this. I mean, I will
– want to do this, anyway. So...”
Mason lifts his eyebrows.
“Wow, you sound convinced. Let’s talk later, ok?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Stiles watches Mason hurry down the corridor and can’t help but shake his head
at himself.
Is he doing the right thing here?
No.
No, definitely not.
But he made a choice and picked the best out of a lot of different worst case
scenarios.
So, yeah.
He can do this.
Besides – it’s not like there aren’t a few things he hadn’t always been curious
about.
 
 
“So first of all – always use a condom.”
Ok, this was definitely going to be exactly as awkward and horrible as Stiles
thought it would be.
They’re sitting next to each other in the library and while other students do
homework and scroll through Tumblr on their laptops, Mason is giving Stiles a
lesson in sex ed.
“But Theo’s like – supernatural. Can they even get STDs?”
Mason thinks about that for a second, then shakes his head.
“Probably not. Lucky bastards. But that’s not the only reason for using a
condom.”
“Mh.”
Please don't say it.
“You see, that kind of sex can get really-”
“Alright, alright. I – yeah. I can imagine it.”
“I’m not sure if you can,” Mason says with a grin.
“You see, when you stick your penis into another man’s or woman’s butt-”
“Alright, enough,” Stiles hisses, “God. I’m not sure I can deal with R-rated
conversations right now.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m having fun,” Mason says. “But seriously,
Stiles. If you can’t even bear the idea of having another dude stick his thing
up your ass – how exactly are you going to, like – actually do it?”
Yeah.
Yeah, that seems to be the point here.
“God, you’re such a pessimist...”
“Stiles.”
Stiles is staring at his hands. Somehow he can’t bear this look on people’s
faces as of recent – this expression of worry and sadness.
“You don’t want to do this. Am I right?”
Stiles shrugs.
There is a short pause during which Mason scrutinizes his face, as if wanting
to assess just how reckless with his own body and stupid in general Stiles
really is.
“God, this is so fucked up. How you basically sold yourself to protect us. By
the way – has anyone ever thanked you for that yet?”
Stiles looks up in surprise.
“Huh?”
“I mean, like – thanked you for basically sacrificing yourself. He can’t harm
us now, right?”
Stiles shrugs.
“I don’t want to act like I’m the big martyr. It was self-preservation, first
and foremost. I think, I kinda prefer the concept of butt sex to physical
torture.”
Mason gives him a shake of the head.
“Jeez... still. This is some tough shit.”
Another shrug from Stiles.
Yeah, it sort of is, isn’t it.
“So, given that you’re probably gonna have to do this and, let’s just assume
you won’t be able to wriggle out of it this weekend – er... you always want to
pay attention to hygiene. And you want to prepare yourself.”
“Prepare... myself?”
A confused blink.
“You know – stretch yourself out.”
The corner of Stiles mouth quiver, like he’s not sure whether this is a joke or
not.
“Because in case you lack the imagination, it usually hurts to press – big
things into small holes. Guy or girl, I don’t think there’s that much of a
difference, especially when you’re not exactly turned on.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to say.
Malia never seemed like she was hurting but then, as a were-coyote, she’d be in
heat once a month and it would usually be enough to just look at her to get her
going. So the only thing Stiles ever had to do was to always have a condom
handy.
The dream, right?
“And because I’m probably right in assuming that you’re not prepared for this
even a little bit, you can have this.”
Mason rummages around in his bad, then takes something out and discreetly
slides it across the table. It looks like hand lotion but when Stiles picks it
up and reads the label it turns out to be something else entirely. Stiles
cheeks redden and, God, why does he feel so – mortified? He’s not a teenager –
wait, he is.
Still.
Isn’t it ridiculous to not be able to discuss something natural and basic like
this without feeling awkward and sort of deviant? Plus, aren’t guys supposed to
be talking about this, like, all the time? So what’s the big deal? Why is he
sitting here, blushing like the proverbial virgin?
“Spear mint?”
Mason shrugs.
“Why not?”
“You just carry this around in your pocket?”
“Ahem. You’re welcome. And as I said – better safe than sorry.”
Stiles nods, swallows.
Lets the tube of lube glide into the right pocket of his sweater where it
nudges against his hips, seems to become heavier and heavier almost like it’s
going to pull Stiles down with it as soon as he’s going to try and get up.
“So, yeah... thanks, Mason. That was – something. Thanks.”
Mason gives him a nod and an encouraging smile.
“If you want to talk, you have my number. And... I’m sorry, man. I really am.
Liam and I’ve been talking and – we both wish we could do something for you. To
– spare you, you know.”
“Well. Thanks but. Yeah. You can’t,” Stiles says, and, because he can’t bear
this fucking atmosphere like it’s his last goddamn supper he, completely
awkwardly, gives Mason finger guns which makes Mason screw his face into a
weird mixture of a laugh and pitying frown.
“Yeah. We can’t. So, I just hope he won’t hurt you so bad. So... see ya.”
Stiles jerks his head goodbye and watches Mason walk away from him and turn
around before pulling the library door open, and give him one last sorrowful
look which makes Stiles so sad and guilty that he doesn’t move for a full
minute, just stares at the door hard like he’s waiting for it to move closer to
him, somehow.
God, this has to stop.
He can’t bear it, the way he’s making every single one of his friends miserable
and have them walking around looking like hurt puppies, like Stiles has
terminal cancer (which, by the way, Theo would never let him have so – yay,
him?). Liam and Mason should be worrying over grades (Liam in particular, from
what Stiles has heard) and crushing on boys and girls, Scott should finally be
allowed to relax again and give Kira his undivided attention, Malia was already
in way too fucking deep and Stiles knew, just knew, that she would get hurt
badly before all of this was over.
And Derek... well.
He doesn’t want to think about Derek right now.
About how what Stiles is doing with Theo is somehow the icing on the horrible
cake of emotional torture and helplessness that is Derek Hale’s life.
He can’t think about that right now because it would be the last fucking straw.
It would make Stiles do something reckless – like actually ask Theo to take him
away, just so his friends could one day be happy again. Which would be complete
and utter bullshit, given that the aftermath of losing someone, and to the
living and breathing devil no less, might just last a lifetime. None of them
has really ever gotten over Allison and Stiles doubts that they ever really
will.
So, no.
No rushing into heroic self-sacrifice to gloss over how scared he is, and how
sorry.
For all of this.
So he sticks his hand in his pocket and starts fingering the cool tube,
squishing the lube around in it by squeezing it between his thumb and index
finger which is a weird and strangely soothing sensation.
Fuck this.
The best possible solution would really be to somehow, somehow work the fucking
magic and develop feelings for Theo and as soon as everyone got to see how
happy they are, they’d have to fucking let go of this empathic tearing-
themselves-apart-over-Stiles’-misery crap.
Maybe Stile can somehow Stockholm-syndrome himself.
Or he’ll just have to learn how to become the most flawless and cold-blooded
fucking actor in the history of the universe.
 
 
I just hope he won’t hurt you so bad is a sentence that all of a sudden makes a
lot of sense when Stiles looks at his Youporn search results.
Ok, so it’s not like he never clicked on a video labeled gay or anal or toys or
tentacle.
He’s the kid who dragged Scott out into the woods one night to find a goddamn
corpse before the police would, just so they could have a good long look at it
and feel creeped out, for God’s sake, enjoy the pleasure of gagging and
whispering ‘Gross’ to each other.
So, yeah, Stiles had been curious.
And he’d never admitted this to anyone – never would, probably, because he’d
die on the spot from humiliation – he’s always wondered what it would feel like
to have – his prostate stimulated.
But just the way that sounds, right?
You don’t just go ahead as a straight dude who’s been having sex for only a few
months and tell your teenage girlfriend to please, stimulate my prostate. And
then he’d have to hand her a toy and face the horrified expression on her face.
Besides, Stiles can’t see a way anyone could do this, really, no matter what
age. There’s just some lines that people don’t like crossing, not even in their
heads.
Homo and hetero just don’t mingle.
It’s like the fucking apartheid and Stiles can’t shake the idea that this human
obsession with clear-cut categories and neatly stored everything might just
have something to do with racism and lynch mobs as well as with homophobia and
this fear of people who are bi or pan or trans or whatever, so not just plain
wrong according to hateful masses but completely and utterly undefinable. Like
you walk up to them and the minute they catch you doing something out of the
ordinary, like for instance wearing a girl’s dress with what’s clearly boy
features in your face, you become their personal Moby-Dick that they vow to
loathe and make miserable until all eternity. Maybe it’s the only way that
people can still think of themselves as some kind of old-age heroes.
Fighting for what’s right, for order in the world, even though they work a job
they hate and envy their neighbors.
And why does it even have to make sense in their heads what Stiles like? For
him, hypothetically, in his head, it’s very simple.
What makes it difficult is the constant fear of how people are going to react,
what they’re going to think of him and in how many different ways they’re going
to find him repulsive. The idea of this is so strong, so intrusive, that Stiles
can’t even really experiment in the privacy of his own bedroom.
He did it once though.
Turned on so much by God knows what that he felt like simply jerking off like
always wouldn’t be enough, Stiles worked a small vibrator into his butt. Some
guys had deposited the thing in his locker as a practical joke and when it came
tumbling out and almost broke into pieces of purple plastic on the floor Stiles
had laughed and played along by acting all caught and mortified. And, because
he knew these assholes didn’t expect him to, he’d stuffed the thing into his
bag, told the guys he’d throw it out rather than give it back to them so they
could smuggle it back into whoever’s big sister’s nightstand they had stolen it
out of.
Then forgotten about it.
Found it a few days later scrunched in-between the pages of his Physics
textbook (and God, that would have been a whole new level of humiliating),
turned it on and off again (because of course there were batteries in it) and
smiled doofily at the sound. Put it into his own nightstand because he figured
it might come in handy with the ladies one day.
So this one afternoon he locked his door and, without really knowing why,
closed the blinds (which is like a bat signal to the neighbors that he’s doing
something forbidden but Stiles of course was completely oblivious of that), dug
the vibrator out from under crayons and comic books and a half eaten box of
cookies and looked at it for about five minutes while turning it on and off
again.
Then opened his belt and unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down to his
knees, bent forwards and just went for it.
And it had been – weird. Hadn’t felt good at first at all.
As a matter of fact, it had simply felt plain wrong but he still started
stroking himself and, after a while there, pleasurable sensations started
pooling in the pit of his stomach and the weirdness of it all only seemed to
contribute to it, made it build up so high that Stiles saw stars in front of
his eyes when he finally came all over the floor.
It wound up to be the strangest orgasm Stiles has ever had (and that includes
that one time Malia refused to put down her pizza or turn off Dexter) and he
felt sort of ashamed of how much it had turned him on and how he couldn’t stop
thinking about it for several days afterwards.
So he shoved the vibrator into the back corner of the drawer and decided to
forget about it.
Sure, he could have thrown it out.
But he didn’t.
That was three years ago and, truth is, Stiles even forgot that he still has
that thing. Now, of course, on watching a buff dude with broad shoulders get
brutally butt-fucked – butt-raped would probably be the more accurate term –
from in-between his fingers behind which he’s hiding because, man, that looks
like it fucking hurts, his thoughts return to the bottom drawer of his
nightstand. Of course, porn isn’t really a good indicator of how this is going
to go down – at least, Stiles sure to God hopes it isn’t, Jesus Christ – but
Mason is probably right, it is vital to not go into this unprepared.
So, considering what he plans on doing – and what will probably happen, plans
or no plans – he should give it another try.
So he sighs and closes the website, gets up and walks over to his nightstand,
dives into the bottom drawer and there it is, glossy purple and just looking
plain obscene. He flicks it on and, yeah, even the battery is still good.
Turns it off.
Then locks his door and checks whether his curtains are completely closed, just
in case.
The only thing Stiles gets out of what follows is the horrifying conviction
that there is no question of whether Theo is going to hurt him or not. When he
did this before this one time, he didn’t really pay attention as to how deep he
put it in, he was more focused on the sensation of having something press
against his entrance and what that did to his erection.
Now though.
Bending over and, without being even faintly aroused, pushing the vibrator
inside an inch, he can only reach one certain and slightly terrifying
conclusion.
It will fucking hurt like hell, it already does when Stiles tries to work in
more than the tip and, holy God, how he’s supposed to bear another guy shoving
his penis in there, he has no fucking clue. What’s more, in and out,
repeatedly.
And then to enjoy it?
The idea is just insane.
Stiles drops the vibrator onto the carpet and then just sits there on his
knees, pants down, and stares blankly ahead.
 
 
When he walks into Derek’s apartment Stiles still hasn’t fully recovered and,
what’s even worse, hasn’t even gotten the chance to try again and maybe jerk
off doing it to at least simultaneously give himself a pleasurable sensation
and see what that does to the pain. He’d heard Scott drop his bike down on the
front lawn and had just had enough time to kick the vibrator under his bed and
unlock his door before his best friend came barging in and announced that they
were having dinner at Derek’s, just the three of them.
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Scott then and he’s doing it again now because
Scott pats Derek on the shoulder and says, “Looking good man. Have you been
working out even more recently?”
Stiles has been pretty clear about not wanting to see Derek – or anyone, really
– but the fact that Scott just turned their Halo night into a dinner and movie
at Derek’s loft night is just – suspicious to say the least.
And, yes, his loft is big and expensive and expensively furnished and extremely
neat and clean looking, if not to say sterile, and, yes, Derek is wearing tight
jeans and a black shirt and has these deep-set eyes that have a completely
undefinable color, it’s like the greenish and bluish and yellowish shades are
moving around when Stiles is looking at them for too long.
Yes, the man is gorgeous.
But it’s not like Stiles hasn’t known this before.
Derek is handsome but this handsomeness is in no way at all any of Stiles’
business. It has nothing whatsoever to do with him. He may look at the man and
marvel at how his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of a block of marble
and simultaneously so fucking – alive, like there’s a thousand thoughts raging
around behind this calm and composed surface. But none of this is for him,
Stiles, yes?
It’s really hard to tell who’s more handsome, Theo or Derek – Theo definitely
looks more boyish, innocent almost which is fucking hilarious, with his
youthful rebel kind of look and blonde hair and Derek looks like a man, is
taller and darker, but, yeah.
It’s not like Stiles has to decide.
He’s made his choice.
So he hardly speaks when they’re sitting at Derek’s big and expensive looking
table and eating the pasta he made – as Stiles noticed before, Derek is an
excellent cook and Stiles assumes that the love for neatness and order that his
apartment reflects also goes into the food he prepares. Derek is probably one
of those people who can make a meal taste exactly the way it’s supposed to
taste.
“This is awesome,” Scott is saying for what feels like the four hundredth time.
“All my mom ever makes these days are these weird salads. I’ve been feeling
like I’m starving lately. Thank God there was rice stew in the cafeteria
today.”
Derek scrunches up his face, obviously remembering the Beacon Hills High hell
kitchen and Stiles immediately goes, “Ew, Scott, that’s so fucking gross. How
you can even get that down your throat is beyond me, seriously. Er, the stew.
This is great, Derek, really. It’s perfect.”
Derek’s face relaxes into a polite smile.
“I’m glad you like it.”
They eat in silence for another few seconds, Scott shoveling his food into his
mouth in perfect oblivion as to the awkward silence between Derek and Stiles.
The last time they saw each other was when Theo had his hands down Stiles’
pants and told Derek he would make Stiles come apart under his touch later that
day. The fact that he didn’t is a moot point. Everything that Derek saw and
that Stiles didn’t say seems to be hanging in the air between them so when
Derek suddenly says, “Stiles, how have you been?” Stiles turns to him in
surprise and misses his mouth with his fork, just glues the pasta to his cheek.
“Er, good, good, yeah, like, good” – he said not spastically at all, Stiles is
thinking.
He wipes the sauce off his cheek with his napkin and when Derek is still
staring at him as if Stiles’ answer didn’t say I don’t want to talkloud and
clear, he adds, “Not done with homework – we have a test coming up. Er – and I
stopped working out for this week because my whole body still majorly aches...”
This prompts Derek to flick his eyes down to Stiles’ chest as if he could
somehow discern what exactly it was that was hurting merely by looking at him
hard enough.
“Good thing you stopped,” Scott says, “Dude, you really overdid it. Just take
it easy, it’s never good to just force your body through it.”
Stiles looks pointedly down at his plate that’s almost empty now.
Is he imagining this or are they suddenly talking about something else
entirely?
“I mean,” Scott is saying now, “you can inflict lasting damage when you overdo
it. But you probably know a lot about this, Derek? You could show Stiles the
whole how to – you know, how to weight lift without ruining your spine and
stuff.”
“Huh? Yeah, sure... there’s a gym in the building, I could show you some
things.”
“Great, then it’s settled,” Scott says and he’s beaming at Stiles who feels
compelled to reign in his friend’s enthusiasm.
Whatever he thinks he is doing – and Stiles feels like there is a double
meaning to everything Scott has been saying since their conversation this
morning – it won’t work out. If anything, it would cause more pain and, how did
Scott put it?
Regret.
So he says, “That would be awesome but, er... I’m sort of tired today and I
can’t tomorrow, so...”
Derek gets up and picks up his and Stiles’ empty plates.
“Oh, come on, Stiles. You should always make time for pack things.”
Stiles throws a glance at Derek’s back and says, “You know very well I can’t.”
Maybe he should have just let that one slide and instead give a vague answer
like, Yeah, cool, I’ll text you then, or something because Derek’s shoulders
visibly stiffen and maybe he’s slamming the plates into the dish washer with a
little more force than necessary now.
But Stiles might be imagining it because when Derek turns around to pick up the
rest of the dishes he looks as he always does, neutral and aloof.
When Stiles flicks his eyes back to the table, gets up to help Derek, he
briefly meets Scott’s eyes who looks amused because apparently he has been
following the way Stiles was watching Derek just now.
Stiles chooses to ignore it because it’s ridiculous.
Of course he would worry about Derek’s reaction, with Derek being an omicron
and all, and angel’s ally, and having the literal bride of Satan sit at his
dinner table.
But nothing beyond that, and that Scott would even suggest it – by looks and
demeanor that is – is plain and simple ridiculous.
Later they’re sprawled out over Derek’s huge couch and watching some action
movie because Derek’s an adult and adults have dinner and then don’t play video
games afterwards even though Stiles spots a PS4 tucked away in the cabinet next
to the TV and he knows from previous experience that Derek’s a huge nerd when
it comes to videogames.
Not this night, though.
This night, it’s almost like he’s babysitting them, the way he keeps offering
them juice and popcorn and the whole conversation never goes beyond boring
small talk about this movie or that baseball game.
Whatever got into Scott to suggest a boys’ night at Derek’s in the first place.
His apartment, though furnished now, still looks like it has way too little
personal stuff and Stiles could never really imagine what Derek would do with
an evening alone at home.
Probably share his time between staring into the air depressed and working out.
Derek’s not boring, though, and Stiles knows that – from the way he got to know
him, especially during the time he was taking care of him after the last Theo-
torture-incident, Derek can talk a lot when he wants to and it’s easy to have
meaningful and interesting conversations with him.
He has just been incredibly dull recently, almost like a person who is slowly
spiraling into depression, talking less and less often and showing less and
less interest in everything that’s going on around him, shoulders slouching and
eyes glazed and empty.
It’s painful to see him like this.
But Stiles can’t change it.
Soon they’re all dozing off and now they’re not so much spending an evening
like adults but a lot more like they’re seventy and fall asleep on the sofa
come 8 pm with their mouths open and their pants still on.
They haven’t spoken anymore in what feels like at least thirty minutes,
probably because that’s when Scott messaged Kira and then put his cellphone
down, closed his eyes and voiced how tired he was from the whole week.
Stiles feels comfortable, curled up on Scott’s right and the sofa is soft and
fuzzy and smells perfect. He absolutely shouldn’t fall asleep here out of all
places because tomorrow he’ll be meeting Theo and smelling like Derek Hale’s
fucking couch is probably not putting Theo into the best of moods and, God,
does Stiles want him to be in a good mood because maybe, just maybe, he’ll be
spared for yet another couple of days but then, Stiles doesn’t want to think
about this right now. He wants to think about how comfortable this is and how
right and good and safe he is feeling for once.
Yeah, there’s something to this pack thing, he has to give it to Scott.
Stiles vaguely registers Derek get up from where he’s sitting at Scott’s left
and walk over the fuzzy carpet. He expects him to pick up a glass and walk over
to the kitchen – maybe go to the bathroom or his own bedroom – but Stiles can’t
hear him move anymore. It sounds like Derek just stopped and now stands there –
wherever.
When the sofa dips down on Stiles’ right he faintly wonders what Derek means by
sitting down next to him but feels altogether too tired and comfortable to even
open his eyes.
What he can’t ignore, however, is how Derek suddenly has his hands on Stiles’
shoulders, the fact that he slides one arm under and around Stiles’ upper body
and then pulls him close, holds him there.
“Mh? Derek, what...” Stiles says and he feels too heavy to be awake and alert
and confused and Derek just goes, “Shhhh... sleep.”
And Stiles keeps his eyes shut and allows himself to sink into the embrace and
feel right and comfortable and safe, and sleep – he just wants to sleep.
There’s nothing else he’s really thinking of right now.
He’s not thinking anything at all.
 
 
The next morning he’s not sure anymore whether it really happened. He drives
Scott and himself home after they wake up again around midnight, drops Scott
off at his place and then drives the short distance to his own house and when
he pulls the Jeep up to the garage, he wonders whether it had been real –
whether Derek really wrapped Stiles in his arms while Stiles was almost out and
asleep.
Because if he did – if he’d really done that, it would change things.
It would mean that not only is Stiles occasionally thinking about Derek – Derek
is also thinking about Stiles.
Or, maybe not. Maybe it just means, I care about you, little brother, and can’t
show it to you because of the way you get sexually aroused whenever I shove you
up the wall and keep my body way too close to yours.
And that’s really the reason, too, Stiles has been almost certain of it.
When he locks his Jeep and shuffles up to the front door, dragging his feet and
yawning, he may be tired but he can still put two and two together.
The demonic forces started acting up when Stiles felt even remotely attracted
to Derek and drawn into the whole thing in a sexual way and he hopes to God
that Derek didn’t notice. Then, when he was exhausted and humiliated and Derek
was giving him a massage, he wasn’t really thinking about anything like that,
so he was allowed to have Derek touch him without having that force tug on his
skin from the inside, nudging him to stop.
That is really and truly horrible – like a mechanism in his brain that will
punish him for adulterous thoughts and, yeah, most of the thoughts one has
happen unconsciously so...
Yeah, he really needs to stay away from Derek.
So is that why Derek can cradle him in his arms like a baby and nothing
whatsoever happens?
Or is that because it simply wasn’t real?
Stiles has been almost asleep and it’s usually when you’re half-awake and half-
asleep that dreams can appear to be incredibly real, in the sense of full-blown
hallucinations. It’s a normal thing especially when you’ve been stressing out.
Stiles has moreover always been prone to that, as well as to sleep walking and
talking in his sleep, both evidence of what a nervous wreck he’s always been.
So, yeah, it probably didn’t happen, judging from how Derek was sitting at his
kitchen table when Stiles pushed himself up from the soft cushions, reading the
newspaper like a forty-year-old in 1950 and then acted all composed and normal,
was just his old, gloomy and monosyllabic self.
So it probably didn’t happen but Stiles wished for it to happen and while he
was about to fall asleep, already dreaming, his brain just fulfilled his wish –
which would be a completely different level of unsettling, yes?
Stiles closes his bedroom door and, thankfully, this time no one is lurking in
the darkness, waiting around for him to come home. He changes into boxers and
his old, saggy sleep shirt, makes a short trip to the bathroom – brushing his
teeth, throwing the dark rings under his eyes a sleepy look in the mirror – and
then, finally, climbs into his own bed, almost excited at the prospect of being
able to just sleep for the next twelve hours or so.
Not thinking beyond that.
Derek, Theo, Theo, Derek.
Way too complicated right now.
Just go back to sleep.
 
 
Stiles usually sleeps in on Saturdays and his dad knows better than to try and
wake him for breakfast so color him surprised when someone is shaking his
shoulder, going, “Stiles. Hey. Stiles! Wake up.”
God in heaven and mother Mary, what cruel and downright diabolical creature
could possibly –
Oh, yeah.
Right.
That cruel and downright diabolical creature.
The fucking Devil himself.
Stiles draws himself up to a sitting position like a zombie who has gone weeks
without human flesh or Dracula out of his grave and mutters curses under his
breath.
Theo lets out a laugh.
“What? I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Wow, you’re apparently still
not a morning person. Has anyone ever told you that you look like the Grinch
when you wake up?”
“No. Just you,” Stiles snaps.
He rubs his eyes and face and suppresses a yawn because he’s pissed and yawning
is for people who slept peacefully and get to wake up pleasantly and not
because Satan shook them awake.
“What do you even want, for the love of goddamn – we said three in the
afternoon, you major fucking dickhead...”
“Did we? I can’t seem to recall that.”
“Fucking yes!”
“Wow, you got a dirty mouth at eight a.m. in the morning.”
“It’s eight a.m. in the morning?!”
What the literal hell...
“Aaw, Stiles. You’re just – you remind me of why I chose you at least once a
day.”
Theo smiles at him sweetly – at least, Stiles thinks he does, he can’t really
open his eyes just yet, too early, way too fucking bright. Way too cheerful,
for God’s sake, and he feels literally too weak and tired to put up with it
right now.
Theo drags his index finger along the line of Stiles’ jaw, then tips his chin
up to look him in the – well, in the puffy clenched things that will, soon,
very soon, become his regular eyes.
Yeah, no.
Not a morning person.
And then, just because morning isn’t already synonymous with horrible, the door
opens and Stiles is pretty sure that his father’s in the room.
Yep, he’s standing right there, Stiles can see him staring at them wide-eyed
and working his jaw like he was about to say something and then the words just
died on their way to his lips.
Theo who still had the tip of his finger touching Stiles’ chin lightly when the
door opened let his hand drop down to his side quickly – but not quickly enough
for the sheriff to not see – and Stiles wants to punch him.
He knows the move.
It’s Theo’s oh, no, you caught us, I certainly didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry Mr.
Stilinski.
He doesn’t have to look up to see Theo’s lips twist into an embarrassed smile
and he’s fucking sure the guy’s running his right hand through his hair now.
Goddamn it, does Stiles loathe him.
But he’s a really good actor.
The sheriff clears his throat, looks around the room uncomfortably.
Clears his throat again.
“I – I thought I heard something.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir,” Theo says bashfully – fucking bashfully, “er, I didn’t
mean to intrude, it’s er... Stiles told me to just come up without waking up
the whole house. Ehm... without out waking you up, that is, I guess. Sir.”
Stiles who can see the room more and more clearly now immediately recognizes
the look on his dad’s face.
Suspicion.
He knows his son hates getting up early and the last thing he’d do would be
having a friend over at eight fucking o’clock in the morning.
“Okay,” he starts, slowly, eyeballing Theo. “Alright then, boys. Would you care
for breakfast?”
“Thank you, Sir,” Theo says, immaculate face relaxing into a bright smile and
the sheriff nods once, curtly, turns around and is out the door again.
“He’s not buying your act,” Stiles mutters. He’s struggling to his feet – oh,
it’s always, always a struggle, why is this so hard – and starts rubbing his
face.
“Oh, he will.”
Theo catches his hands.
Pulls them away from Stiles’ cheeks.
Stiles can feel a surge of adrenaline, of fear, and, all of a sudden, he’s wide
awake.
Staring back at Theo who, yeah, is looking gorgeous because of course he is.
Gorgeous and fucking terrifying.
“Hey, hey... don’t be scared, okay? I won’t kiss you.”
His smile widens and he lets go of Stiles’ hands, pulls back.
“Yet.”
 
 
When the clock strikes ten, Stiles feels like he might as well go to bed again
because he’s done. Completely and utterly done with this.
It’s not that a lot of things happened during breakfast, oh no, not at all.
Besides the sheriff not getting the bacon crispy enough, not the way Stiles
likes it anyway and Theo offering most politely to throw the strips back into
the pan, if that’s ok with you, Sir, just to get it the way Stiles likes them,
don’t mean to offend you, Sir.
The way Theo keeps watching Stiles’ fucking mouth when he’s chewing – he feels
like he might just be done eating.
For, like, forever.
And his dad sitting there and catching it – all of the freak show that is
Stiles and Theo.
And Theo just being subtle enough that it could never pass for an act but
rather seems a lot like he’s really not even aware of what he’s doing, like
he’s struggling to hide it, the things – what he’s feeling or whatever.
But, oh God, does he know what he’s doing.
Theo’s the best, has always been.
Then there’s a few loud knocks on the door and the sheriff jumps up and darts
through the kitchen and into the living room and even without werewolf senses,
Stiles can hear his dad hiss, “God, I’m glad you’re here, Scott, something
really weird is going on!”
Theo is cracking up, body shaking with silent laughter, and when Scott is
strolling into the kitchen behind the sheriff, he wipes away a tear and gives
Scott a wide grin.
And then, Derek is trudging into the kitchen, hands buried in the pockets of
his tight black pants and Stiles' heart just drops through the floor.
Derek has his eyes averted, mutters, “Morning,” and shakes his head no to the
sheriff’s question whether they’d like to join them, please, go ahead, there’s
still scrambled eggs left and he meant to whip up some pancakes later anyway.
“Er, we actually came to pick Stiles up – Stiles and Theo. We have this project
to do for history, er – we need to start really early. Sorry to barge in on you
like that.”
“History project?”
“Yeah.”
Scott is nodding his head vividly.
The sheriff furrows his brow.
“Alright, boys. But – why is Derek here then?”
“Er...”
Scott gets this blank look on his face like he fucking didn’t think any of this
through at all and Derek looks like he just wants to facepalm.
At least Theo’s having fun.
“Er, Derek’s here because – he knows a lot about – history.”
Good grief.
“And history isn’t a code word for strip club or alcohol or fake IDs.”
“No, Sir,” Derek pipes up. Clears his throat.
He looks tired.
Stiles knows that if there’s another person on the planet who might be even
less of a morning person than himself, it would be Derek.
“You know I would never allow that. It really is a school project. I still got
some books about the area and – photographs. Er, my mother used to tell me a
lot of stories when I was a kid.”
Stiles can’t help but stare at Derek.
That he’d mention his family, and in front of Theo, too.
He must really be wanting to get Stiles out of there.
The sheriff rubs his head in a very Stilinski move, flicks his eyes from Scott
to Stiles and over to Derek again.
“Okay. Sorry, Derek – I just had to check.”
Derek nods and stays silent.
 
 
Then they’re all in Derek’s car and Stiles doesn’t feel comfortable because the
way Derek speeds up and then all but floors the brakes at every red light says
loud and clear that he’s in a bad mood. Having the Devil in the backseat of his
car must be sheer agony for him and whenever Stiles catches a glimpse of
Derek’s eyes in the rear-view mirror he thinks he can spot a flicker of bright
green that spites the dark shadows the morning sun is throwing over Derek’s
face.
Theo for his part is just sitting there, looking out the window and watching
houses and trees slip by, humming softly to himself, like he doesn’t have a
care in the world.
Which is probably true.
No one speaks until the car pulls up to the Hale house and Stiles can no longer
suppress the urge to voice the thought that has been kicking around in his
brain.
“Scott? Where are you going with this?”
“If we can’t keep the bastard away from you,” Scott is talking over Theo’s head
as if he weren’t there, “I figured we might just keep him from being alone with
you.”
Theo pushes the car door open. He’s shaking his head.
“Oh, Scott. Seems like even I overestimated you... I have to disagree with
you.”
“Fucking color me shocked,” Scott says and his face just slams shut and he
looks livid all of a sudden, like he really wants to hurt Theo right now, right
there.
“Come on, Scott. You want to hit me so badly – just do it. If we have to go
through this again, so you’ll learn – go ahead. Maybe I’ll even let you hit me
once or twice just to have you get rid of that awful expression on your face.”
He scrutinizes Scott for a moment.
Shakes his head again.
“Jeez. Like a little kid who really needs to pee.”
“You fucking-,” but, surprisingly, it’s Derek who slides his arm around Scott’s
shoulders from behind and drags him away.
He’s not even looking at them.
“It’s not worth it, Scott. There’s nothing you can do. You’ll just wear
yourself out.”
Something moves inside Stiles’ chest when Derek’s hand slams down on Scott’s
shoulder and he shoves him in the direction of the house. Leaves him, Stiles,
to Theo, like he’s already given up, like he’d been telling Scott over and over
again that the plan is useless.
If Stiles wants to screw around with the Devil, just let him, for God’s sake.
Stiles knows that it probably isn’t like that but he’s uncomfortable and sad
and hurt and the idea just piles on the misery.
When he climbs out of the car, Theo is watching him.
No smile on his face, body stiff, sort of.
Eyes narrowed.
“What...,” he starts, then shifts his head to throw a look at Scott and Derek.
Lets it snap back again and screws his eyes around to glue them to Stiles’ face
in a series of most unhuman movements that make Stiles’ stomach turn.
“Interesting,” he whispers with a look on his face like he doesn’t, in fact,
find this interesting at all.
Stiles half expects him to push him up against Derek’s car then and there but
Theo just sets his jaw and nods for Stiles to move, just start walking already,
we don’t have all day and your goofy friends are already annoying the fuck out
of me.
So, Scott was at least halfway right, Stiles is thinking as he is shuffling
through the leaves behind Theo, eyes on the forest ground.
Theo can get jealous and not just in a sarcastic way, whenever he’s playing at
being human again.
But Stiles is just pretty sure that this won’t go down like anything Scott has
planned at all but might rather spiral into a fucking nightmare again pretty
fast.
He’s certain that he’d have had a few days before Theo would have grown bored
and wanted to do things, things that would agitate and frighten Stiles who was
beginning to get used to his constant presence once again.
A few days, maybe even weeks.
But from the way Theo’s staring straight ahead, not unworried and carefree
anymore but never letting Derek out of his line of sight anymore, Stiles thinks
– fears – Scott’s little plan might speed things up considerably.
No, don’t think like that, Stiles.
Just – try and relax, think of – rainbows, butterflies, whatever.
You don’t want to have a full blown panic attack on the front porch of the Hale
house with Scott and Derek and Theo all watching.
And if possible, try and not empty your stomach out all over the floor. It may
be blackened and burnt but Derek would probably not appreciate it.
 
 
When Derek turns around to look at you, his eyes are glowing bright green but
he seems composed, like the deadly calm before a storm, because Theo has
touched your hand, leaned over to you with a malicious smile edged into his
face and breathed into your ear,
“...and then let’s go home, Stiles. I want to fuck you.”
 
 
 
It got pretty ugly after that.
There was a lot of snarling and yelling and bearing of fangs but, the pact
being made and Theo being all smug and calm again, amused even, and very
satisfied with the reaction to what was mere words on his side, not much
happened.
Stiles got to see firsthand just how little his pack would be able to do
against the plague that is Theo.
Not that he hadn’t known.
But to see Scott and Derek strain against invisible chains, fully wolfed out,
Derek all but turning into an actual wolf, snapping their teeth at Theo but not
gaining so much as an inch was just.
It was horrible. Humiliating.
Stiles had to grab Theo’s upper arms and shake his whole body and beg him to
please, please stop.
“Are you insane? They’d rip me apart. Well, I’m not sure if Derek could, his
omicron powers are weakened by our deal but the wolf in him still wants to claw
my throat out. See that? And look at Scott,” and with an amused smile, Theo
flicked his eyes over to where Scott was trying to walk in his direction, right
foot oddly stuck in mid-air and veins pulsating on his throat, even his lower
arms, and Stiles was suddenly scared that he might have a heart attack or an
aneurysm. Yeah, Scott would probably heal but at that particular moment seeing
his friends like that scared him shitless.
And fear isn’t rational.
“... just look at him. He can’t do anything. So much for your pack, Stiles.”
And then the bastard turned to him, Stiles, with this earnest expression on his
face and forehead wrinkled like he was Marlon Brando who just went from staring
into the sunset to looking at the hot chick in the passenger seat, like Scott
and Derek weren’t still struggling to get to him, making odd choking sounds,
faces distorted and bodies frozen in mid-jump.
“I told you, I wouldn’t hurt them. Believe me now?”
Stiles quickly jerked his head up and down.
He and Theo certainly differed when it came to what qualified as hurting his
friends.
“Just relax a little around me, will you?”
And when Stiles dragged Theo away, he was screaming inside his head about how
he knew Theo wanted the torment, the turmoil, the misery, thrived on his,
Stiles’, anxiety and fear but it didn’t matter then.
Whatever the hell the guy wanted.
Stiles knew it wasn’t simple, and that Theo had always been a weird mixture of
predictable and unpredictable.
All that mattered was to get him away from Scott and Derek.
 
 
They’re sitting in Derek’s car that Theo is driving, magically, without the
keys but he still keeps his hand on the steering wheel and eyes on the road
like he’s an actual person driving.
Oh, how he loves to keep up the act.
Stiles’ hands, inexplicably, are shaking.
“Oh, Stiles,” Theo says with a laugh and raises his eyebrows, throws him a
quick look, gives him a shake of the head. “Come on, that wasn’t so bad, was
it?”
But Stiles can’t say anything.
Theo looks over to him again.
“Stiles, come on. Don’t freak out like that – nothing happened.”
Another laugh in combination with a frown, like Theo is actually thinking what
the fuck.
“Stiles, are you having a panic attack right now? What the – dude, seriously?”
But Stiles just stares ahead and everything is strange, the houses seem to
spill into the streets and the sky and trees blur and – oh, God, he isn’t
breathing.
He should be but he isn’t, he fucking can’t feel himself breathing and he just
knows he’ll run out of air any second, any second now, and then Theo has
already pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. He unbuckles
Stiles’ seat belt and not a second too soon because Stiles needs to get out of
here fast.
“Easy, easy, Stiles, hey!”
Stiles almost gets the belt wrapped around his throat but Theo quickly snatches
the thing, pulls it away from him and Stiles slams his whole body into the car
door, fumbles it open, and spills out onto the grass.
“Stiles!”
Stiles is inhaling, taking deep breaths but nothing comes.
It’s like there’s no air outside but how is that even possible, it was so
crammed and stifling inside Derek’s car with the wrong person where Derek
should be sitting but out here, it should be all good, he should be better out
here but he isn’t.
He’s going to choke, knees digging into the soil and fingers curling around
leaves of grass, ripping them clean out of the ground, roots and all.
“Stiles. Stiles!”
Theo is grabbing his shoulders. He tries to pull him into a sitting position.
“It’s alright. Can you hear me? It’s okay, you’re hyperventilating.
Everything’s alright.”
He slips his right hand over Stiles’ mouth and nose and presses down. Holds him
tight, so Stiles can’t kick himself free even though, God, he’s trying.
It’s not the most elegant, nor the most effective way to bring him back, but
it’s working.
After a few more moments of sheer panic, certain that Theo means to choke him
to death now, Stiles manages to shake off his hand – probably because Theo
removed it willingly himself.
Stiles crawls a few feet away from him, panting, tears streaming down his
cheeks. His chest still feels like it’s been wrenched into a tight box, like he
can’t fully inhale but yeah, he knows it was just a panic attack.
Some people are convinced they’re having a heart attack, others a stroke. When
he’s at his worst, Stiles thinks he’s choking because his diaphragm suddenly
stopped working.
Which – that’s not how it works and he knows that but it’s just – it’s pre-
rational and humiliating and he is forcing himself to not give in to the urge
and inhale again but tries to hold his breath a little and then exhale slowly
even though it feels awful and he needs airso desperately.
Theo is sitting in the grass a few feet away from him, rubbing his forehead.
He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s relieved.
“Jeez. Stiles... what the fuck, man...”
They’re squatting close by the car which is probably a good thing because like
this, at least no one can see them.
Stiles glares at Theo, then averts his eyes again.
He wants to make a snide comment about how you just don’t fucking slam your
hand over a person’s mouth when they’re having a panic attack but the whole
world is still spinning.
His chest aches – aftermath of too much muscle clenching and magnesium and
potassium getting pumped into his muscles and bones to strengthen them,
preparing for fight or flight, and thus now lacking in his blood and he feels
so fucking drained and shaky.
“You okay now?”
When Stiles doesn’t respond, Theo slides over to him and pulls him to a
standing position.
Stiles clumsily wriggles out of Theo’s grip, climbs into the driver’s seat.
When Theo pulls his own door closed, he shifts in his seat to look at Stiles.
Doesn’t say anything.
“What,” Stiles snaps after a few seconds of this.
“I’m not sure, I enjoyed this,” Theo says earnestly.
Oddly.
Then, all of a sudden, he slams his head back into the headrest and barks out a
laugh.
“Ha, good God. I’m fucking far gone down this road, Stiles.”
Turns his head to look at him again.
Another laugh.
“Your eyes are fucking amber. Did you know that, Stiles?”
Stiles blinks. Fumbles with the seat belt.
Finally manages to force out a shaky, “Wh-what?”
But Theo is laughing, still has his head thrown back and cackling maniacally,
breath hitching in his throat in the weirdest way Stiles has ever heard.
He slams the gear into drive, then floors the gas pedal, not even bothering to
wipe off the tears that start appearing on the corners of his eyes.
 
 
Theo has gone fucking insane.
Stiles has no idea what the hell is going on but Theo is still shaking with
silent laughter when he pulls up to Stiles’ house, puts the car in park.
He follows Theo into the empty kitchen where the other just makes himself at
home, sits Stiles down at the table and pours him a glass of water.
And when Stiles puts down the glass after three sips, says, “No, all of it.”
Stiles glares at him but picks the glass up again, puts it against his lips and
tilts it.
When Theo flops into a chair with a sigh he finally seems to have sobered up
again because he says, “I tell you what, Stiles...”
“Oh, goody, I can’t wait to hear.”
Theo raises his eyebrows at him.
“You seem to be feeling a lot better. Good. Anyway... that was the biggest
fucking panic attack I’ve ever watched you have – and you had them on a daily
basis when you were a kid.”
Stiles is staring down at the empty glass.
Yeah.
He knows.
“So I tell you what – I’ll shield your thoughts from Derek’s today. So he won’t
get pulled towards you.”
Stiles’ head snaps up, eyes wide with amazement.
“You can do that?”
Theo rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh.
“Of course, I can, Stiles. I thought the fact that Derek is forced to listen to
your thoughts and to stand outside and watch, completely helpless, was sort of
fun but – I guess I can do without that for a while. Obviously the stress is
too much for you.”
Stiles blinks.
He feels relieved all of a sudden, knows that Theo can sense it because he
smirks and adds, “And even though I’ll continue to keep them away from the
house, I’ll let them both out of my cage now, too. Just for you.”
“What? They're still trapped in there?”
Theo shrugs, draws himself up from the table.
“Well, not anymore now.”
He stretches and yawns.
“Look at that, you were right, I should have let you sleep longer. It’s not
even noon and I already feel tired.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to say. His thoughts are still lingering on the fact
that he could have asked Theo to erect a barrier around his thoughts long ago
and spared Derek the pain.
Of course, Theo probably wouldn’t have done it then.
Or would he? Had Stiles asked him, he might have.
Theo’s gaze wanders to the kitchen door.
“Let’s go to your room, shall we?”
 
 
Theo insists on doing their homework first, it’s almost hilarious.
He keeps pointing out mistakes to Stiles who is unfocused, distracted by all
the possibilities this new knowledge opened up to him.
“Stiles, it should be x², not -0,43. Seriously... are you even listening to
me?”
“Can you detach me from Derek for good?” Stiles blurts out and his cheeks
redden because that came out all wrong.
Theo leans back in his chair and looks at him for a moment.
“If you want me to.”
“Yes,” Stiles says immediately. “Yes, I want you to. Please do.”
Theo’s lips twist into a satisfied smirk and Stiles, once again, gets this
sudden urge to punch him.
“I want to protect him,” he says coolly and Theo nods. Keeps smiling.
“Fair enough.”
They look at each other.
“So – are you doing it or not?” Stiles says and Theo rolls his eyes again.
“I already did, Stiles. What, do you want me to say abracadabra?”
Stiles presses his lips together.
Good.
Now it’s really him and Theo.
Forever.
He shudders at the thought.
But Derek will be glad. Finally relieved of the burden.
Now his omicron powers should be almost useless and he can go back to being a
regular beta again.
 
 
 
Derek’s head snaps up and Scott and Kira turn away from the TV to look at him.
“You alright?” Scott says and Kira adds, “You’re really pale. Er – like, more
than usual, I mean.”
“He did it...,” Derek whispers and the others exchange a puzzled look.
Derek darts up from the sofa. Fists his hands into his hair.
“Fuck!”
They watch him pacing the room, not sure what to say.
“Fuck the – God, I knew it, I fucking knew it...”
“We need to get to Stiles, fast,” Scott says, alarmed, because this is suddenly
making sense to him.
But Derek doesn’t move in the direction of the door.
Instead he flops onto the sofa and buries his face in his hands.
“We can’t, Scott. And I think, Stiles is okay. Right now, at least.”
“But, what do you-”
“He cut the connection,” Derek hisses and looks up to meet Scott’s eyes. “I
can’t hear Stiles anymore.”
“But... that’s good, right?” Kira says and slowly, hesitantly lifts her hand as
if wanting to pat Derek’s shoulder, comfort him somehow but then decides
against it and instead grabs a strand of her own long, black hair and starts
twirling it around her index finger nervously.
“No, it fucking isn’t, Kira. It’s fucking horrible.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Now we can’t know when Theo is doing anything to him. Is that what you mean?”
Scott says, voice composed but facial expression stern.
Derek nods his head yes, yes that’s exactly what he means.
“Well... it’s not like that was useful before. Right?”
Scott has his hand on Derek’s back, voice a little softer now.
“It was just tormenting you anyway. We’ll come up with a pl-”
“There’s no fucking plan anymore, Scott!”
Derek jumps up from the sofa, shakes off Scott’s hand like it’s poison.
“There’s only one thing left I can do now, have to do and it’s fucking – I
can’t-”
His eyes dart around the room as if searching for a way out. As if he was
looking for an envelope labelled solution to all our problems that was just
sitting on a shelf somewhere around his apartment.
“Oh, screw this,” he finally spits out, turns on his heels and starts in the
direction of the door. Slides into his shoes, grabs his jacket and apartment
keys in one swift motion and then he’s out the door.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Scott is frowning, pulling himself slowly up from the sofa.
“One thing left to do? What is he talking about?”
“Should we follow him?”
Scott shakes his head.
“No, if Derek doesn’t want to be found, he won’t. I’m guessing he’s headed over
to Stiles’.”
“On foot? But that’s-”
“Derek’s fast,” Scott says with a half-smile.
 
 
 
“He cut the connection? But – can he just do that?”
Malia is sitting at her kitchen table that has been pushed away from the wall
and into the middle of the room. She is staring at Derek with wide eyes.
“He just did,” Derek grits out.
“He’s the devil. Of course he can,” a man in a blue track suit is saying. He
has a cheerful face and sparkling blue eyes and is sitting next to Malia who is
kneading her hands and frowning. The man, however, looks calm, relaxed even.
“There, there, girl... no need to worry.”
Is that – a Scottish accent?
Malia doesn’t even shoot him a glance. Everything about her, from the way she’s
pulling her shoulders up to her ears to the deep frown on her face says that
she doesn’t agree, that they should, in fact, worry.
A lot.
Derek who sits opposite Malia at the table flicks his eyes at the man in the
track suit.
“... what now?”
And then, “Phanuel?”
“It’s Farnoel, but never mind. Well – I’d say we proceed to plan B. We should,
we really should, shouldn’t we? Aha, yes. Yes, indeed.”
Derek is already shaking his head, not so much in disagreement but as if saying
no, no we can’t, we have to but we can’t.
“Oh, don’t be like that, Derek. Cheer up, will ya?”
Derek throws him a nasty look. Averts his eyes.
The man claps his hands and goes, “Then it’s settled.”
“It’s not settled,” Derek hisses, “Phanu- Far- I can’t do it, okay? I won’t. I
just – there has to be a different – and what the hell is up with your dad,
Malia?! This is fucking distracting.”
All three pairs of eyes settle on the fourth person at the table.
Henry Tate is sitting in his chair opposite Farnoel, perfectly immobile, hands
folded and resting on the table top, mouth and eyes screwed wide open. He looks
like a life-sized ventriloquist’s dummy.
“I told you Derek,” Malia says, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She
doesn’t look at her dad, keeps her eyes glued to the table top.
“It was Theo. He did – something to him.”
“But – how is that even possible? I thought Theo was forbidden to hurt anyone
now?”
Derek narrows his eyes and extends his hand to touch Mr. Tate’s doughy looking
skin.
Retracts his fingers immediately upon contact and shudders.
This doesn’t feel right and all his wolf senses are screaming freak of nature.
Wrong, monster, disease, don’t touch, hide.
“I don’t know, Derek,” Malia snaps. None of them has a lot of patience these
days.
“But he just did.”
“Well...,” Farnoel starts and both Derek and Malia roll their eyes. It’s
obvious that they dislike his cheerful demeanor.
“Technically he didn’t hurt him. I mean – looks healthy to me.”
Derek lets his gaze glide over Henry Tate’s milky eyes, his lips, teeth and
tongue that all look like they’re made out of plastic and thinks that he can’t
think of a more ridiculous label for the man than healthy.
“Except he’s not alive,” Malia mutters and Derek throws her a pitying glance.
It must be horrible to have your dad sitting in front of you – or, well, to
your left – but it’s somehow only his shell.
There and yet, unreachable.
The corners of his lips pull downwards.
Like Stiles.
He meets Phenuel’s gaze who had been watching him, this eerie gleam in his eyes
that makes the hair on Derek's neck stick up.
“Oh, that’s right, Derek. But only for now. Theo will break his pact. We will
make him break it and banish him from this world. Patience, I’d say. Patience.”
Right.
Dude can read his thoughts.
Derek keeps forgetting that.
If Phenuel weren’t on their side – if he weren’t an angel – no way in hell
would Derek trust him. The guy freaks him out and he can tell that Malia feels
the same way.
Hell, even Phenuel knows.
Is amused by it.
As a matter of fact, Derek thinks he’s just as creepy as Theo.
“With the tiny difference that I heartily despise torture and physical
mutilation,” Farnuelle throws in and Derek’s jaw drops open.
Damn it.
He did it again.
Sneaky son of a bitch.
“Watch your language,” Farnual says and winks at Derek who darts up from the
table.
“I stand by what I said. I won’t do it. And I won’t let you use someone else
for it. There has to be a different way.”
Phaniel folds his hands on the table top, all but imitating Henry Tate and
blinks up at Derek.
“I thought so. Ah, humans... since you’re not willing to make that sacrifice-”
“It’s not a sacrifice, it’s-”
“Let’s move on to plan C,” Phaniel says, raising his voice to drown out Derek’s
protest. His friendly smile looks almost threatening right now.
Derek can’t put his finger to it, but there’s something wrong with it.
Just as something’s wrong with Henry Tate’s face that is frozen in the
creepiest laugh Derek has ever seen.
“What’s plan C?”
“I’m glad you ask, Malia. We’ll talk to Stiles.”
“Talk to him?” Malia mouths, her frown deepens and Derek goes, “That was an
option?! What the fuck, man?!”
“When? When do we talk to him? Because-”
“Calm down,” Faniel says with a laugh. “Calm down, kids. No, Derek, this hasn’t
been an option from the beginning but it is one now. If I’m not completely
mistaken – if I’m not mistaken, then Lucifer,” and he lowers his voice, his
smile widening, “is starting to get jealous. Of you, Derek.”
That silences both Derek and Malia.
“Yes, yes, he’s the devil but he’s very attentive. When you gave Stiles the
silent treatment this morning-”
“I didn’t give him the silent – that’s ridiculous,” Derek immediately says but
the angel raises his right hand and Derek’s mouth just zips shut.
Derek throws him an angry looks but flops down into a chair and crosses his
arms.
Waiting now for what he has to say.
“As I was saying. We might be able to get Lucifer to break his pact without you
getting physical with Stiles, Derek, or, you know, scent-marking him all the
time.”
Derek is just staring at Phaniel wide-eyed and it’s hard to tell whether it’s
in disbelief or because the angel forgot to unzip his mouth.
“Jealous? Does he even have feelings like that?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Malia. Everyone does. Anger, jealousy, frustration – even
psychopaths have these. And Lucifer isn’t a psychopath. He’s Other, just as I
am but – the human vessel he has taken into possession. Your brother,” and he
gives Malia a gracious nod, “has had a great impact on him. Shaping him, if you
will.”
“But I... I thought he’s gone. My brother is all gone.”
Her lips are quivering and Derek puts his hand on her knee, pats it twice,
soothingly.
“It doesn’t work like that, silly girl,” the angel says and his blue eyes
sparkle. “Soul and body, body and soul – that’s a myth, the two can’t be
separated. Transformed, yes. Immortal, yes, if that’s what you want to call it.
But separated? Not really.”
“So... so they’re still there? Both of them?”
Malia shoots her father a look.
“Dad and – and Theo? My brother, Theo, I mean?”
The angel shrugs and yawns, looking bored, and almost annoyed, all of a sudden.
“Yes, yes, probably. It’s hard to tell just how much Lucifer has allowed
himself to melt into Theodore Raeken – the actual Theo, I mean. But from what I
can tell, they’re almost one now. Which is splendid for us. You see, Malia,
your brother had the biggest crush on his best friend Stiles when he was just
eight years old and these feelings seem to keep growing and we can use them
against him. They’re his weakness and our weapon. And whether it’s Lucifer’s
obsession with Stiles or whether that’s Theodore, who knows. It’s not
important.”
Derek shifts in his chair.
“Actually,” he says, frowning, “it does seem important to-”
But the angel will not be interrupted.
Derek falls silent, obviously involuntarily once again because his hand shoots
up to his mouth and then he’s just staring at Phaniel, anger written all over
his features.
Phaniel, however, pulls himself up from the table, the cheerful smile all but
gone now which makes him seem cool and hostile.
Dangerous.
Yes, despite the track suit.
“Good, good. I’ll talk to Stiles and, you know – nudge him a little bit in your
direction, Derek” – a look from Derek that is a mixture of confusion, surprise
and vexation – “but I’ll need a different body for that. And to be honest with
you – I am starting to grow tired of this old man. Oh, I loved his blue eyes
but still – wearing this track suit and yet, never seems to have worked out
even once in his life. Good grief, humans... whatever it is that Lucifer sees
in you. I have never quite understood.”
 
 
 
Stiles puts his pencil down.
Pushes his textbook far away from him. Theo picks it up and puts it onto the
pile on the floor.
“I’m proud of you.”
“I’m not ten,” Stiles mutters.
“And yet – you did your homework and studied and ate your vegetables like a
good boy.”
Stiles grimaces.
“You’re such a... a pain in the ass...”
“And here comes your dad.”
And Stiles can hear heavy footfalls in the hallway only a second later.
His dad had come home two hours ago.
They’d had dinner together and Theo’s story as for why Derek’s car was in the
driveway had been almost hilarious.
Something about Derek’s alleged love for ceramic ducks and a yard sale at Mrs.
Potter’s.
Now there’s a soft knock on the door, a careful “Boys?”
“Come in, dad.”
The knob is being turned and the sheriff’s face appears in the door.
“Everything good here? Just, er... wanted to check.”
When he sees them sitting at Stiles’ desk, he pushes the door open wide.
“You’re still working?”
Stiles shrugs and Theo says, “Yes, Sir.”
The sheriff narrows his eyes at the ‘Sir’ as he always does like he's obviously
thinking that Theo is just a little too polite.
Just a touch too smug.
He’s the sheriff after all.
“Well, that’s a first...”
“It’s not like I never study, dad...”
“I didn’t say that,” the sheriff says and holds up his hands, like wanting to
add, alright, alright, don’t get mad at me.
“Okay so... there’s still pie in the fridge and, er... I’m going to bed now –
my shift starts at six.”
“Alright.”
Stiles gives his dad a little smile.
“Goodnight, dad.”
But the sheriff doesn’t move.
“Will Derek pick up his car anytime soon?”
A shrug from Stiles.
“Probably.”
The sheriff looks at his son.
Then flicks his eyes over to where Theo is sitting with a faint smile on his
lips and it’s clear what he really wants to ask.
Why he’s still standing here.
“So, Theo... when do you have to be home?”
“Before midnight, Sir.”
It’s around nine p.m. now.
Awesome, Stiles is thinking.
Still plenty of time.
Will this day ever end?
“Alright then. Stiles can drive you home.”
“Goodnight, Sir. We will try to keep it down.”
A frown from the sheriff and Stiles heard it, too.
What an odd way to put it.
“We won’t play video games,” Stiles feels himself compelled to add.
To clarify.
“Yeah. We won’t,” Theo says with a smirk and Stiles wants to melt into the
floor and vanish.
His dad throws Theo another suspicious look, nods slowly.
“Okay. Good. Goodnight, boys. Drive safely, Stiles, and try not to hit Mrs.
Wilkinson’s cat.”
“This stupid animal is suicidal, I swear,” Stiles mutters and his dad shakes
his head. Closes the door behind him.
They listen as he walks down the hall, opens and closes the bathroom door.
“Phew,” Theo says, lifting his eyebrows, “You’ve got some explaining to do,
Stiles.”
“What the-“
Stiles turns around in his chair, glowering at Theo.
“You son of a bitch, what’s up with these stupid smirks and suggestive – oh,
we’ll keep it down, Sir’s.”
“Just having a little fun.”
“You bastard.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. As a matter of fact, you should be proud of me. Who’d
have thought I’d ever be satisfied with less than the smell of burnt skin. The
sound of your muffled little shrieks.”
Stiles pales – he can’t help it, the sheer memory lets his heart beat faster –
and Theo’s smile widens.
“But... really, Stiles... now, that I think about it – now that I concentrate
on it – I am dissatisfied. This is fucking tedious. I could go home now but –
there’s nothing for me to do there, either.”
He lifts himself up from the computer chair and swivels it around, so he can
put his arms onto the backrest. Lowers his head and rests his chin on his
folded arms.
Suddenly he looks a lot like ten-year-old Theo, mischievous smile on his face,
the long sleeves of his hoodie hiding his buff arms.
And Stiles knows that look.
He doesn’t even have it in him to argue.
The sooner they start, the sooner Stiles can get this over with.
Stiles lets out a sigh and pushes himself up from his chair but when he meets
Theo’s eyes he suddenly hears himself say, “I need to take a shower.”
Theo lifts his eyebrows.
“Well – okay. But hurry.”
Stiles flees into the hallway.
His knees feel like rubber and maybe, if his heart weren’t pounding like that,
he would have heard his dad leave the bathroom.
“Stiles?”
“Mh?”
Stiles freezes on the spot, almost as if his dad had caught him trying to sneak
beer upstairs.
Alcohol.
Brilliant idea.
He needs to get alcohol.
“Theo still in your room?” his dad says in a low voice and even though he knows
that Theo’s a were-something, he clearly still doesn’t get supernatural
hearing. So Stiles just nods his head and wants to squeeze past him, quickly
vanish into the bathroom but his dad grabs his wrist. Softly pulls him back.
“What are you doing?”
“I gotta pee, dad." And, dryly, "May I?”
“That’s not what I mean, Stiles. I mean what is going on?”
And he gives him with one of his piercing looks, like he already knows Stiles
is up to something. Or, even worse, he knows his son well enough to tell that
he's scared, even in the dark of the hallway.
Any other day, Stiles would have laughed it off, cracked a silly joke, given
his dad finger guns and said something stupid like ‘All good, see ya tomorrow
in broad daylight. Daddy-o.’
Now though.
All he can do is force his lips up into a crooked smile, shrug and say, “I
don’t know what you mean.”
Good God.
Pathetic.
Obviously, his dad is thinking the same because he grabs him by the shoulder
and goes, “Stiles?”
“What do you want to hear from me, dad? Theo and I are friends, okay? You never
asked me weird stuff like that when I hang out with Scott.”
And because he really doesn’t mean to snap at his dad like that he, adds,
“Sorry dad, I’m just – really stressing out about this exam next week. I’ve
been studying all day and still don’t really get it. Theo – he’s willing to
tutor me, so...”
There’s a short silence, then his dad says, “Okay.”
Pats his shoulder but doesn’t sound too convinced.
“Okay, son. Er... don’t overdo it.”
Stiles jerks his head, something in-between a nod and a shake and escapes into
the bathroom.
God.
Fuck.
He’s shaking.
Because he halfway expects Theo to follow him into the bathroom, he moves
quickly. Undresses, hops into the shower. Thinks about shaving anything.
Decides against it.
Dries himself off.
Brushes his teeth and drops his toothbrush into the sink twice because for some
reason he forgot how to curl and uncurl his fingers.
Aw, great idea.
Go get a shower and buy time.
Fucking brilliant.
The worst of it all is probably the fear of what is to come, worse than the
thing itself.
This impending doom.
Then again.
He used to think the same thing when Theo was still torturing him for a pastime
and it turned out every time that the expectation of pain is, in fact, never,
never as bad as the pain itself.
But that’s over now, right?
But fear doesn’t work like that. He rationally knows he escaped that kind of
torment for good but somehow not every part of his brain has caught on yet.
So, you’re good, Stiles is thinking, staring into his own eyes in the mirror.
All good.
He seems to hear Theo pacing in his room which is total bullshit of course
because Stiles doesn’t have supernatural hearing and besides, Theo is sneaky
like a cat. But still.
Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, pulls up his shoulders
and shuffles back to his room. Pauses in front of the door for a few seconds to
listen for his dad’s snoring but can’t hear anything.
When he pushes the door open, Theo is standing in the middle of the room, a
frown on his face.
“What in ‘Okay but hurry’ didn’t you get?”
Stiles just shrugs.
He’s already beyond talking and Theo can see that clear as day because he lets
out a sigh.
“Will you relax already? I’m not going to eat you alive.”
“Well, sorry for being fucking terrified of you,” Stiles hisses. “Can’t really
say that past experience has proved you perfectly innocent.”
“I never claimed I was innocent.”
He takes a step towards Stiles. Then another one. Lifts his hand and strokes
Stiles’ right cheek. Brushes his thumb over his moles, traces his jawline with
the tip of his index finger.
“And neither are you. Stiles...”
Stiles stays rooted in place, whole body frozen and Theo frowns at him again.
Doesn’t remove his hand.
“You won’t ease up, hm...”
“It’s hard for me to believe you’d even want me to relax,” Stiles finally
manages to say. Theo is way too close to him right now, so he’s really proud
about the halfway snide comment.
“Well, I’d lie if I said I didn’t enjoy sensing a certain level of tension
here, Stiles.”
And he pokes his index finger into Stiles’ chest.
“I love that I can push your buttons and yet – yet, to a certain extent, you
remain unpredictable.”
He tilts his head and Stiles stares back at him, wide-eyed.
Unpredictable.
That’s it.
That's the solution.
His way out.
“Let’s see... how do I want this...”
But Stiles knows – all of a sudden he knows how this will go down and a wave of
relief washes over him.
All this time he had accepted the role of victim when in reality, in reality
he’d always had agency.
To a certain extent, yes?
He flops down to his knees in front of Theo which seems to actually startle him
because he goes, “Wha- what are you-”
But Stiles is already fingering Theo’s pants open.
He’s not loving the idea but, oh God, so much better than bending over and
waiting for Theo to hurt him.
When he looks up at him, Theo’s the wide-eyed one.
Stiles is staring into his eyes while pulling his pants open, arranging himself
in front of Theo and unbuttons his boxer shorts because, thank God Theo is
wearing a pair that allows you to just reach in and take his dick out without
even having to tug them down and when Stiles does it, Theo’s jaw actually
fucking drops.
He looks confused, uncertain.
Not sure what Stiles is doing, whether he approves of this or not and Stiles
can feel euphoria rush through his body and making the skin on his stomach
tickle. He’s satisfied with himself.
That's the other side of anxiety - when it finally fades away Stiles is usually
left with a feeling of ecstasy. Connectedness, like everything is making sense
all of a sudden and he's on top of the world and fearless.
Empowerment.
Makes the suffering almost worth it.
It’s enough to make him smirk at Theo which apparently unsettles him, Theo,
even more because he seems to want to pull back but Stiles, he won’t allow it.
“So, what does it feel like to have some guy have a death grip on your dick,
you fucking asshole?”
Without waiting for an answer, Stiles ducks down and opens his mouth.
Puts the tip inside. When he sucks two inches more into his mouth he can feel
him harden immediately.
Hears Theo suck in a breath through his teeth.
Stiles feels him grow in his mouth and when he looks up, Theo’s cheeks are
flushed.
He still has this look of utter confusion on his face and if Stiles didn’t have
a dick in his mouth right now, he’d throw his head back and cackle
hysterically.
God, he feels like he's losing his mind.
As it is, he just chuckles around Theo’s dick, eyes still locked with his and,
for some reason, Theo’s body stiffens. For once he has absolutely nothing to
say.
What Stiles is doing has wiped the smug smile off his face.
Huh.
Who’d have thought.
Then he just goes for it. Slides his mouth up and down Theo’s dick, completely
not caring about the fact that halfway through, Theo curls into fingers into
his hair, hands actually fucking trembling and once or twice makes a jerk with
the hip as if meaning to pull away.
Then lets out a hiss or a choked ‘Hmm’.
As if having Stiles’ mouth on his dick is awesome but having Stiles in control
almost unbearable.
After a few minutes or so Stiles' euphoria has ebbed away a little and rational
thoughts start popping up in his brain, stuff like what the fuck are you doing,
man and God, this is disgusting.
But it’s too late now.
He slides his tongue to the left and right, flicks it over the tip and Theo
suddenly goes, “Stiles. Stiles, stop!”
Absolutely breathless.
Grabs him by the shoulders as if wanting to push him back.
Stiles can’t help it, he stops and gives Theo a nasty grin.
Lets his dick slide out of his mouth – Theo lets out a moan, then immediately
bites his tongue.
His face is flushed.
“What the fuck, Stiles,” he breathes. “What the literal fuck.”
Stiles shrugs.
Yeah, that sentence is currently flashing in his head in bright red letters.
What the fuck are you doing, Stiles?
And, a classic: Who the hell are you?
“What’s the matter, Theo? Not going according to plan?” he says coldly.
Looks up to Theo who’s mysteriously speechless again for a few seconds as if
Stiles were mutating into a monster front of his eyes.
Stiles wraps his right hand around Theo’s hard dick and Theo lets out a very
unmanly sound, looks down at Stiles with this helpless expression on his face,
obviously torn between wanting to slap him and oh God, please don’t stop.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he finally manages to grit out and Stiles
shrugs again.
“Weird. Just a few hours ago I was thinking the same about you. Now,” and he
gives him another cool look.
“Do you want me to finish or not?”
Pause and a silence during which Theo is trying to catch his breath.
It’s almost funny.
King of hell and, yet, so utterly confused by his own arousal.
Kind of cute, almost, if Stiles didn’t loathe the guy.
And, oh, he's as calm as death right now.
While he's sitting there, watching Theo, waiting for his reaction, Stiles feels
nothing at all - no fear, no euphoria anymore either. He's empty and fucking
calm.
He could commit a murder like this without blinking an eye, as long as it
lasts, at least, before he spirals back into extreme anxiety.
Then Theo moves, finally.
He gives him a curt nod of the head, averts his eyes, humiliated, and Stiles
smirks.
“Yeah. Thought so.”
He lowers his head and takes Theo’s dick back into his mouth and Theo
immediately goes, “Oh, God. Fuck.”
Stiles can feel that he’s trembling, knees will probably give in soon, so he
turns him around by the hips, shoves him into one of the computer chairs.
Slides his mouth up and down Theo’s dick and God, this is fucking exhausting.
His jaw muscles are starting to ache.
Forces himself to ignore the taste in his mouth.
Asking himself what on earth he’s going to do when Theo comes.
Then doesn’t really get the time to come up with an answer because it only
takes a few more seconds until Theo lets out a choked moan and starts spilling
into Stiles’ mouth and no way in hell will Stiles swallow that.
So he just lets it run down his chin and drip into his lap.
Moves his tongue.
Theo grabs him by the shoulders and this time, he pushes him away. His dick
slides out of Stiles’ mouth and Stiles spits out the rest of the come. Doesn’t
really care where it lands.
He did it.
He actually fucking did it and he doesn’t even gag but he’s still feeling sort
of numb on the inside and – gone. Like this isn’t really his body.
Depersonalization at its extreme.
That might be a factor.
Theo is panting and staring at him. There’s drops of sweat on his forehead and
for the first time, Stiles is thinking that maybe he’ll be able to avoid Theo
sticking his penis up his butt.
He’d been looking at this all wrong, yes?
He could be the one doing it and Theo the one taking it.
“I’m tired,” he says. And then, “What happened? Someone muted you, finally? Who
was it? Write down their name, I want to send them a fucking gift card.”
“Stiles,” Theo starts. He shifts around in the chair. Tucks his penis back into
this pants and buttons them.
“You – made quite a mess.”
Stiles shrugs.
“That... that was-”
Stiles holds up his hand.
“Don’t wanna hear it.”
Don't wanna spoil this comfortable nothingness inside of me with self-loathing,
thank you very much.
Then, “I’m tired Theo. It’s really late, so...”
Theo looks at him. Wipes his lower arm across his forehead.
“Okay.”
Takes a step towards him.
Stiles closes his eyes when Theo brushes his lips over his. There’s still come
sticking to his chin and probably all over his face.
“You surprised me, Stiles,” he whispers.
Stiles doesn’t open his eyes. He just wants Theo to vanish.
 
 
Five minutes later, Stiles is alone again, finally.
He still can’t fucking believe he did that.
He's feeling less numb and more anxious by the minute.
Oh, this is not good.
This is going to be horrible.
What the fuck was he even thinking?
His clothes are on a pile in a laundry basket and he’ll be turning on the
machine next thing tomorrow. Since Stiles is usually the one doing the laundry
his dad probably won’t think it's odd.
Stiles picks up his toothbrush, his hand hovering over the sink for a few
seconds. Then puts it back again. He really shouldn’t brush his teeth a fourth
time.
But he can’t get the fucking taste out of his mouth, it just – lingers.
And it’s incredibly disgusting.
Fucking repulsive.
Whatever woman ever claimed she likes the taste of sperm?
Big fat liar, if you ask him now.
His cheeks and chin are glowing red because he soaped them down and then
scrubbed at them for far too long, only stopped when he realized that he to go
to school again the day after tomorrow and twenty-four hours might not be
enough for his skin to go back to normal if he managed to make it raw and sore
now.
 
 
Later he is lying in bed, staring into the darkness.
Yeah, this is an interesting turn of events.
He feels dirty and used but, oh well. He also feels like he managed to pick the
best option out of a row of really shitty scenarios once again.
So, yay him, right?
When the tears start coming, and the almost irrepressible urge to vomit, he
keeps telling himself that he could be lying here with a sore butt, not only
feeling used but fucking raped.
Which – that certainly didn’t happen, right?
He was the one who initiated it.
Stiles is not a victim, yes?
He’s in control.
Total badass.
So stop shaking, for God’s sake.
 
 
It’s around one a.m. when Stiles hears a car door get pulled shut outside.
That’s Derek finally coming to pick up his car and it sounds like he's trying
to make as little noise as possible.
Stiles wonders how long he had to wait around until he could come near the
house again, until Theo lifted the barrier. Whether he'd waited and tried again
and again or whether he was just like, Oh, right, my car, completely forgot
about that ten minutes ago. What he’s thinking right now – whether he thinks
that he, Stiles did it. With Theo.
That they did it and that’s because Theo shut him out of Stiles’ thoughts.
Whether that’s a permanent thing now or whether Derek can hear him again or,
God forbid, see the pictures that somehow won’t stop going through Stiles’
mind.
 
When he hears the car pull out onto the street he buries his face in his
pillow.
He somehow expected Derek to come up to his room, knock at his window or at
least throw a glance inside. To, like – see if he was okay, yes?
Whether Stiles wanted him there to see his puffed up lips and smell Theo’s
sperm all over the room or not was a moot point.
He really, really didn’t.
But he’d been staring at the spot where Derek’s face should have appeared any
second nonetheless, any second now.
And nothing.
Emptiness.
Nothing.
 
Chapter End Notes
     So, I meant to put a real steo rape scene in this one and then -
     couldn't do it (that will probably go into the next chapter).
     Also, it may appear weird that Stiles asks Mason for advice - but I
     thought of it more as a cry for help from Stiles rather than this
     'let's sit down and talk sex' that the conversation then turned into.
     Plus, no matter how curious Stiles is, he's still a teenager in the
     TV series, so I figured it would be legitimate to assume that he
     doesn't simply know everything and that to be prepared as well as
     possible would seem like a logical way for him to deal with the
     situation.
     Oh, well, I don't know what I'm doing here. ^^"
     Maybe logic and coherence will magically happen in my next chapter.
     Probably not though.
***** In the Dollhouse *****
Chapter Summary
     Steo, Steo, Steo - and Steo?
     but Derek's in there, too
     and so are: dolls, hellhounds, Scott, Malia, a peach tree and a tube
     of lube
Chapter Notes
     so, you guys are so awesome!! I can't believe people are actually
     still reading this and your comments made me so happy that I sat down
     and wrote another chapter right away; there's weirdness in this one,
     too, as always (and you will go "what? what the hell is this again
     now?" more than once probably) - hope you'll enjoy nonetheless
     oh, and - MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!
     I feel the need to stress that I tried putting a lot of horror into
     this chapter, the 2nd half especially that contains a rather explicit
     rape scene, and that reading it might be really distressing to some
     people
     I want to point out that this is, fortunately, fiction (!) and we
     write stuff like that to make sense of the horrible things happening
     in the world (like rape which is an atrocious crime), and maybe for
     catharsis - at least this is how I think of it - but of course NOT
     because we'd want any of this to happen - to anyone
     anyway - do NOT read if you're not comfortable with this, just skip
     the chapter, or at least the second half of it
                                        
                                        
                                        
                                        
                Can you make that Derek can’t hear us? Please?
                                        
                                      No.
                                        
 
 
Derek vanishes.
His black sports rolling out of the Stilinski driveway after midnight and
pulling out onto the street is the last Stiles has heard from him.
Alright, it has only been a week but still.
Scott is worried. So Stiles is worried.
And Theo – Theo isn’t amused. He doesn’t want to listen to them talking about
Derek, discussing why he’s up and gone this time. Like he couldn’t fucking care
less about his pack.
About Stiles.
Theo keeps watching Stiles’ mouth – even when the sheriff isn’t there to see
it, really like he can’t help it and it annoys Stiles. He dropped the I’m so in
love with Theo act in front of Scott but then, doesn’t deny it either. He’s
never really been the – physical type, like making out in public or even
holding hands. Way too awkward.
So it’s not particularly strange that Theo just sticks around and no one
acknowledges it, especially not Stiles.
The next time he sees Theo is Monday morning and sometimes he really wonders
what the guy does on his days off, when he can’t torment Stiles but neither bug
anyone else, not even drown a puppy in the lake behind the old factory.
He’s probably just working out all the time.
Whatever it is, the thing that Stiles did to Theo Saturday night – it seems to
be enough for almost three full days. Lasts him that long.
Funny because so does Stiles’ urge to throw up.
Theo only starts getting fidgety on Tuesday, after they had the first of three
exams for the week – the one that Stiles has lovingly dubbed the week of
horrors – trying to get Stiles to show up at Malia’s after school but Stiles
shakes his head.
Nah, sorry bro. Gotta work out.
Gotta study.
Just – don’t want to, okay? Jeez.
The first two times Theo just nods. The third, he sets his jaw and narrows his
eyes. Then nods.
 
 
It’s Thursday morning, right after the fourth period. Their teacher has left
the room and Scott and a few others ran to the loo. Stiles is thinking about
whether Derek went back to Mexico and then whether Braeden is still in Mexico,
when Theo knocks onto his desk twice to draw his attention.
“Today after school,” he says.
Not a question.
Stiles slowly shakes his head no, no not today after school. Doesn’t offer any
other kind of explanation and, clearly, Theo has had enough. He slams his hand
down onto the table top, almost breaks it and Stiles isn’t the only one to jump
in his chair. Janine drops the books she’d been holding and is blushing wildly
when Theo throws her a condescending look.
“Ridiculous,” he mutters and, yeah, he’s in a bad mood.
He turns back to Stiles and hisses, “So what – this was a one time thing then?”
Stiles just stares back at him.
He’s so not going to answer that right now.
The whole room is listening in.
“Don’t get cocky, Stiles. You can’t pull this off. Do you know who I am? Did
that slip your mind?”
Stiles sets his jaw, finally gets a grip.
“Yes, I do remember - sort of hard to forget, too. Calm down, okay?,” and in a
lower voice, “I can practically already hear the gossip-”
“I don’t fucking care about the gossip, Stiles. I don’t fucking care about
anyone or anything. You – you don’t dare do this to me. You fucking don’t.”
And Stiles believes him.
God, does he believe him.
This has admittedly been a busy week and not meeting every day is fine but he
can’t reject Theo. It’s not in the deal.
“Alright,” he says, his voice almost a whisper now. “Alright, alright. Drive me
home after school.”
Theo huffs out a “About fucking time” and struts out of the room, bumping his
shoulder into Scott hard on his way out.
“Watch where you go, asshole,” Scott hisses and, a second later, “What the hell
was that about?”
“Trouble in paradise?” Danny says with a dirty smile on his lips and Stiles
rolls his eyes.
Keep up the act.
Keep up the goddamn act.
“He just – we had a little – disagreement. Ahem. He hasn’t been in a good mood
this week.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” Danny says. “Whew... talk about horny..”
Stiles goes, “Whatnow?” while Scott mutters, “Eew, don’t fucking say that,
Danny.”
“Well, if you want to keep your boy happy you can’t just – let him have some
once and then keep turning him down like that.”
Stiles, stupidly, says, “How did you know?” and Scott’s jaw drops.
Danny shrugs nonchalantly.
“I know the signs.” Then leans in and lowers his voice. “And come on, Stiles,
you look at every single guy in Beacon County and I dare you to find a hotter
one than Theo Raeken.”
Again, without really noticing the look on Scott’s face, Stiles pipes up.
“He’s not that hot. I mean, that’s not, like,” he swallows, “why I... er - like
him. Or anything.”
“No. Totally.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face, Mahealani.”
“If I were with Raeken, I’d at least know exactly where to put my face. But
alright, challenge accepted – who does even compare to him, just in terms of
looks? I dare you to give me one name.”
And Stiles, of course, of fucking course, immediately goes, “Derek Hale.”
What the literal hell is wrong with him today?
He’d been turning the question of where Derek is, whether Derek is fine, I
wonder if Derek met someone and that’s why he left, around in his mind that the
words just spilled out of his mouth.
And as everyone knows, as soon as that happens, they can’t be reeled back in
again.
Danny’s smile widens.
“Oh. Oh, yeah. Completely forgot about Hale. Yeah, okay – I see your point,
Stiles. Gotta give it to you.”
Then, in a lower voice, “But you really shouldn’t be saying that. I mean, if
that’s what you’re thinking you should end this rather sooner than later
because to me it looks like Raeken’s already in deep.”
“In... deep?”
Stiles gives him a puzzled look.
“Yeah, like – head over heels.”
A blink. Stiles tilts his head a little, mouth agape.
“For...”
“For you, dumbass!” Danny says and shoots him an incredulous look. “Seriously
now, Stiles?”
Stiles wants to sit Danny down and explain to him in detail how Theo can’t
really fucking feel and what Danny thinks he’s seeing is just his anger at
having his favorite toy taken away from him momentarily. But when he moves his
jaw, somehow only a few odd sounds drop out of his mouth, something like “Meep”
or “Meeks” and Danny turns around and walks away, shaking his head.
When he’s almost at the door Stiles can still hear him go, “For whom...
unbelievable...” and hopes to God no one else in the room listened in on this
brief yet mortifying conversation.
Well, except one person, obviously.
Stiles finally remembers that Scott is standing right next to him. He has an
odd expression on his face, one that Stiles didn’t expect in the least.
He looks pained.
“You alright?”
“Stiles – I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about now, man,” Stiles mutters and picks up his bag.
Puts it over his shoulder. It’s a rhetorical question.
Stiles doesn’t really want to know what Scott is sorry about this time but
Scott being Scott, of course he goes ahead and says, “Derek will come back.”
Stiles stops.
Only for a second, then starts towards the door.
“I don’t care.”
Oh, nice try.
Fucking try again.
“He didn’t leave us – you. I think – it was just too much for him. With Theo
cutting his connection to you – not even being able to check whether you’re
okay anymore...”
Out in the hallway, Stiles pivots on his heel.
“Derek doesn’t fucking care whether I’m okay. He – it’s not like that, we’re
not like that. He just – just pulled a Derek. That’s all.”
His heart is pounding in his chest and when Scott doesn’t respond, just gives
him a look full of worry and pity, Stiles snaps and all but yells, “Will you
stop looking at me like that?! He’s up and gone again and quite frankly, it’s
better for all of us. Can we please stop discussing this every single minute of
the day? It’s annoying.”
Also, it fucking hurts.
He starts in the direction of the chemistry classroom and Scott follows,
lagging a few feet behind as if meaning to give him some space. He isn’t angry
at Stiles.
Because he knows him so well.
And because he’s a werewolf and Stiles is saying more with his heart rate and
vibes of stress than with his words these days.
The only thing Scott heard loud and clear was, You’re right Scott.
You’re right.
It was more than a guy crush and if Derek hadn’t left, I’d never found out.
If I weren’t dating Lucifer, I’d have never known how much I’d like to be with
someone else.
Curl my hands into his silly leather jacket and pull him down to kiss me.
Cover these ridiculously perfect lips with my mouth.
“Gotta pee,” Stiles snaps, “Don’t follow” because his breath is already
hitching from suppressed sobs.
Thank God the guys’ bathrooms also have cubicles.
Stiles darts into the nearest one and slams the door behind him.
Locks it, smacks the lid down and climbs on top of it.
Then he’s just squatting there, hugging his knees and trying not to let anyone
outside know that he’s hiding in here and sobbing like a fourteen-year-old
girl.
God, this is fucking perfect.
Not only is he still nauseous, now he’s also fucking heartbroken.
Yeah, he does think of Derek that way.
Never explicitly but – this attraction, it has always been there and this is
the first time Stiles ever really admitted it to himself.
And it’s fucking too late.
God, he wishes – he wishes, he’d never understood.
 
 
His heart is still aching painfully when Theo drives him home that afternoon.
Stiles had to bear the humiliation of having to walk into the chemistry
classroom with red spots on puffy cheeks and must have looked extraordinarily
doofy, even for him, when trying to hide it. Not that people usually look at
him. But Kira frowned and Scott certainly understood.
So, now it’s finally official.
He’s the most pathetic kid to ever walk the floors of Beacon Hills High.
And Theo – Stiles is pretty certain that he caught it as well. He’s silent when
he’s driving them to Chipotle, doesn’t drag Stiles inside but just allows him
to sit in the car while he’s picking out their food.
Drops a burrito into his lap ten minutes later without a word.
Stiles is still munching on it listlessly when Theo pulls up to his house
twenty minutes later.
They walk inside and once again Stiles feels guilty for being grateful that his
dad is working the late shift. At least no 'Oh, you look beaten down today,
son, what could be the matter? '
Stiles thinks that maybe he overreacted, too.
When these feelings hit him he got really scared for a second. Or an hour or
so.
But he hadn’t factored in his own anxiety, his current stress levels. That
stuff usually blows all your feelings out of proportion.
So the reason he's fucking miserable right now and wants Derek to just – just
be here and talking with him might be a general expression of his desperate
wish for someone, anyone really, to come and get him, be nice and gentle. To
free him.
Of this.
This is looking at Stiles.
“You’re spilling your food all over the floor.”
Theo takes the burrito out of Stiles’ hands. Walks over to the counter, opens
one of the cabinets. Takes out a plate. Drops the burrito on it, wrapping paper
and all, and puts the whole thing down on the kitchen table.
Then shakes his head, throws him a look like, Jeez.
“Being around you is like a fucking rollercoaster. What the hell’s the matter
now?”
Stiles wants to shoot a mean comment Theo’s way but when he opens his mouth his
chin wobbles dangerously so he quickly shuts it again.
Good God.
He really is a mess.
But no wonder, it’s all too fucking much.
All he can do is stare at his sneakers, wishing he could just tell, beg, Theo
to leave, whatever is necessary to get rid of him but he’s this close to
breaking down sobbing, so no.
Staring down at the floor in dead silence it is.
He can hear Theo move away from the table and come towards him and when his
hands wrap around his shoulders, Stiles’ whole body stiffens.
He wants Derek to pull him into a hug, oh great, he fucking is in love.
No, he isn’t.
He’s imagining it.
It’s because he can’t deal with any kind of loss right now, any kind of change,
and Derek leaving – again – was the last fucking straw.
It’s because, in his mind, he’s painted Derek as the complete opposite to Theo,
the light to Theo’s dark, his aloofness and gentleness to Theo’s obnoxious
obsession with him.
That’s all.
That is fucking all, period, end of story.
God.
“Stiles... what am I supposed to do with you?”
Stiles' chest heaves because the way Theo is holding him right now doesn’t feel
all too bad. Yeah, he desperately needed a hug and although it’s the wrong
person, awfully wrong in fact, Stiles takes it.
Stands there while Theo presses his cheeks into Stiles’ shoulder, has him boxed
in with these ridiculously buff arms of his.
“You can tell me – tell me all about it...”
Stiles doesn’t respond.
“Anger I know.... repulsion... but sadness? What is it?”
“I just – need time...,” Stiles forces out.
“Okay,” Theo says after a few seconds. “Okay. Time I can give you.”
He lifts his head and rests his chin on Stiles’ right shoulder, his lips close
to the shell of his ear so Stiles can feel his hot breath when he says, “I’ll
ease you into it, Stiles.”
And he’s holding Stiles’ body flush against his own.
Moves his right hands down from his shoulder.
Lets it rest on Stiles’ hip.
Down, further down, and fucking ease him into it?
That's the opposite of giving him time!
It’s only when Theo’s hand is sliding into his pants that are tight, way too
tight for that, that Stiles suddenly thinks,
NO.
No way.
This can't be happening.
I averted it, remember?
He can’t just go and have it his way anymore, yes?
It's he, Stiles, who is in control, who gave this monster a blowjob and had him
practically begging for more throughout the past days so what is this now? It's
not supposed to go down like this.
Maybe he could do it again, Stiles.
Make Theo practically writhe under his touch.
Again.
Do it now.
Or it’s too late.
But Theo’s hand is already touching him down there and Stiles whimpers because
he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t, please, and the moment is over.
He lost, this time.
He’s not cool and empty and fearless.
He’s fucking scared and miserable and uncomfortable.
It was all an illusion.
He doesn’t have it in him to stay in control, he feels drained and weak and
Theo is working him, he’s pulling him even closer and working him and Stiles
can’t move. He feels the bulge in Theo’s pants press into his hip and feels the
urge to clear his throat.
Clear it again.
What is he doing, what the hell is he going to do because just like that time
in the locker room, Theo’s adroit fingers seem to be doing something. It’s all
a confusing mess to Stiles and he thinks - he's thinking -
God, this is wrong, so, so wrong but starting to feel really good and Stiles
needs to feel good, so desperately.
So he leans in.
Rests his head against Theo’s.
Lets out a sob.
God, he's pathetic.
Closes his eyes.
“You’re liking this? I helped you a little bit there...” Theo is whispering and
he sounds breathless and Stiles doesn’t understand.
“Helped...?”
“As much as I love your hurt and pain, baby, I need you to feel better right
now,” he breathes into Stiles’ ear. “But don’t get used to it.”
Stiles wants to throw his head back and laugh hysterically because he feels
fucking horrible despite the growing arousal. Despite the fact that his breath
is hitching in his throat and he’s not even embarrassed about it.
“I don’t want you to,” he mumbles into Theo’s sweater. "Stop fucking messing
with my - with me."
“Are you sure?” Sounding mischievous again, less breathless. “Because my
fingers are all wet. You’re leaking, baby.”
“But-” Stiles starts and then something horrible happens.
Absolutely fucking horrifying.
The front door slams shut.
It takes him a second to even process the sound.
Before his head snaps up, eyes wide in horror.
There’s a frown on Theo’s face and he says, “Ha. Didn’t even hear the car.
Curious.”
And Stiles completely panics.
His pants are open and Theo somehow doesn’t seem to want to remove his hand and
while they can hear the sheriff drop his shoes onto the floor in the living
room, take a deep breath and say, “Stiles? You’re home?” Stiles hisses, “Get
your fucking hand out of there, get it out!”
He darts away from Theo and tries to fumble his pants closed but his hands are
shaking and the button keeps slipping through his fingers.
Theo just stands there, watching Stiles like this is all really amusing and
Stiles wants to fucking murder him.
Just when he gets the job done, hands zipping up his fly, his father is in the
door and Stiles closes his eyes for a moment.
He should have run.
Because pants zipped or unzipped, his cheeks are burning, lips puffed up from
having been close to orgasming a few seconds ago, he’s fucking sweaty and
Theo’s hand is glistening like it’s wet, Stiles can fucking see it.
And, well.
There's this bulge in his pants.
Stiles can feel it.
And he knows it's very visible.
It doesn’t help that his own hands are pulling his shirt down as far as
possible now, before Stiles can stop himself from doing it.
Because the only people who do that are people who're trying to hide an
erection.
His dad’s reaction, too.
He’s really reading the room, flows along perfectly with the awkward tension
because he blushes – God, Stiles has to close his eyes – and stutters, “Wh-
what’s going on in here?”
Theo doesn’t make an effort to explain anything which – maybe it's better like
this.
There’s nothing good he could have said anyway.
He’s clearly enjoying this. Dropping the bashful act for now, too.
Stiles clears his throat but can’t get his voice to not sound broken, like he’s
talking around shards of glass.
“Er, dad – it’s – it’s not how it looks.”
Oh, fucking perfect.
Come up with the archetypal excuse of someone who has really messed up.
Who has just been screwing your best friend or your sister or, simply, a
fucking guy, when you walked in.
“Then how is it, son?” It comes out sharply and Stiles swallows. He could
really use a confidence boost right now but Theo is just standing there,
smirking, and Stiles can see his dad’s eyes dart over to him.
“Is this about Malia?”
Stiles blinks.
Malia?
“What? No!”
It really isn’t.
Stiles hasn’t even been thinking about her anymore for – he doesn’t know for
how long now.
“Then what is it about? What are you two up to?”
“Nothing, Sir,” Theo says and the sheriff immediately goes, “Theo, I swear to
God-” but Stiles interrupts him.
Defeated.
He doesn’t look his dad in the eye when he says, “Please, dad” – I can’t deal
with you right now, but of course he can’t say that because he doesn’t want his
father to see how broken he is.
So, instead, he adds, “... I – we... were just – just trying - something.”
Oh, God.
His father furrows his brow.
“Stiles, you’re not ten years old anymore-”
“Unfortunately,” Theo throws in cryptically while Stiles says, “I’m still –
never mind...”
He drops his gaze down to the tiles.
“Can we please talk about this later? Please, dad?”
Raises his head.
“We can talk about this but – later, okay?”
“Alright, son,” the sheriff says, a little soothed by the pleading look Stiles
is throwing him. “But we will talk about this.”
Stiles nods his head up and down, yeah.
Yeah, we will, and I’m not happy about it but I understand.
He starts in the direction of the door and Theo, being the bastard he is, is by
his side all of a sudden and curls his fingers around Stiles’ right hand.
Fucking takes his hand, squeezes it once as if to say, mockingly of
course, Stay strong.
We can do this, together.
God.
Stiles fucking hates him.
His dad saw it, understood it, Stiles just knows he did but he doesn’t want to
stop and turn around to catch a glimpse of the look on his face.
Walks right through it all.
Shakes off Theo’s hand in the dark living room and storms up the stairs.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Oh, this is perfect.
It’s the small things, right?
You follow Stiles to his room even though he shuts the door right in your face,
because of course he would.
He’s crying, too.
You can hear the tiny sobs, muffled by his pillow and it takes you back years
and years to that one time.
That one time after you’d done something particularly nasty to him. He’d rushed
to his room, this room, remember? And hid under the blankets, curled himself up
in them so tightly that you’d have needed scissors to get him out of there
again.
Which – you had the scissors.
They were dangling from your index finger and reflecting the evening sun as you
were standing out in the hallway, in front of Stiles’ bedroom door.
And you’d made a decision – the most important one you’ve ever made.
Yes, it was right here, in this very spot.
You were about - nine years old, maybe?
Remember.
Stiles was bleeding and crying and you, out here in the dark hallway, scissors
in hands - you'd used up all the matches, yes, they were in a small pile of ash
behind the house - had to make the decision. Pick the right way.
You had two options.
Look back now.
 
 
One.
Do it.
Go in and break him completely.
Give in to what your trembling fingers are longing, aching, to do. Sneak
inside, cut the blankets away from his body, layer after layer after layer but
then do not stop when you get to his skin but cut right through.
Flesh, grease, tendons?
Snap.
Snap, snap.
Dig the blades in, twist, make the mess you’ve been longing for because, ah,
sometimes, it’s so hard to keep it neat and clean.
Break the boy.
And it really would, too.
Not because you’d kill him.
You can fix that, right?
But because once you shatter the illusion of control, make him see that he is
utterly at your mercy, he won’t be unbroken ever again.
And you can’t feel mercy.
But you’re smart, know the game well, have perfected it.
So take away the boy’s last sanctuary and you’d destroy him.
For good.
Oh, you don’t care about Stiles, no.
But you’d get bored.
The secret is to balance it out, hope and fear, pain and bliss, and you know
from experience that once you get too greedy, go all the way, you
lose interest.
You’d have your human toy sitting there in front of you, blurry-eyed and broken
and all goddamn yours and you’d not want it anymore.
Beyond repair.
And you don’t like things that are worn out.
You like them shiny and new again every day, trembling for you, whispering
‘please, don’t’ for you alone like this time you might listen, like it will get
them somewhere finally after all this time.
Hope and safety are the two most important illusions, is what I'm saying.
Take them away from him - and you'd erase Stiles.
Leave behind an empty shell.
And do you want that?
 
 
Two.
Keep playing.
Keep Stiles, guard him. Cherish him.
Polish him.
Let him become shiny and new again.
Back away from the door.
Drop the scissors down there, right where you’re standing, not onto the carpet
but onto the hardwood floor so Stiles can hear it and he will, he will, even
through layers and layers of blanket because he’s listening for it.
Hoping, hoping so fucking much for that miracle.
Then give him his moment.
Hell, give him the day or weekend or week.
Even though he’s wrong, couldn’t be more wrong, let him believe he defeated you
because he escaped.
It’s what you had to learn, too.
Humility.
Just because you have this power you don’t have to be showing it off all the
time. It will spoil all the pleasure. Stay humble.
Even though Stiles is the one creature you want to know about it, too,
sometimes it’s better to withdraw.
 
 
And you did.
You chose option number two.
You turned around that day and walked down the stairs.
Left Stiles with the illusion that by hiding in his bed he can be safe from
you.
 
 
And, years later, you know that that's why you still have him, Stiles.
It's why you never really broke him, never completely, never went all the way.
It's about discipline.
Self-restraint.
 
 
You open the bedroom door and walk inside.
He’s in front of you now, looking ready to punch you but also looking so
fucking broken and it’s delicious, God.
Fuck, it’s stirring things in your chest you didn’t even know were there.
It’s your human side and you know it, too, and it’s really spicing things up.
So this would be the moment to back away again because Stiles is right there at
his breaking point, you can see it, the way his cheeks are flushed in a mixture
of hatred and misery and his eyes, God.
These fucking eyes.
Okay now, the thing is this.
It’s different now.
You’d never known – expected to –
Okay.
So despite who you are, what you are in this universe, you’re in too deep
already. You let yourself get dragged down into something so utterly human that
you yourself – you – are trapped in the web and it’s, God, words can’t describe
it.
It’s a fucking rush.
It’s bliss, it’s ecstasy.
Just looking at him right now, his paleness and moles, his nose and cheeks and
hair makes you want to touch yourself.
It’s something you’d never known before and the fact that it was Stiles who
gave it to you, who first showed you is –
Well.
It certainly makes him special.
Sure, it was you who picked him, who turned him into this, but you have to
admit, yes?
You find yourself thinking about his penis and the wish to cut him and burn him
pales a little in comparison. It’s still there though.
It always is.
The tug towards scissors.
Your eyes searching the room for something, something to try on him, on Stiles.
But right now - right now, you're looking him in the eyes and you just knowthat
this is the moment.
You need to back off, give him space but holy shit.
You also want to fuck him.
 
 
You’ve seen it happen so often, people screwing around, and it bored you but
you were never on this side. Never engaged like this before, never.
There is a difference between observing and being.
You knew how it worked, what it looked like.
In theory.
And that’s the thing.
You’ve never experienced it before and it changed you, you know it.
Scares you sometimes even, yes, you have to admit that.
But then you embraced it.
Moved along.
Made the deal with Stiles.
To know all of it. Understand the human condition to its entirety, finally.
It’s why you chose to walk the earth in the first place.
Lucifer of Earth.
Right?
 
 
“Get fucking out of here!” Stiles hisses and if his father weren’t downstairs,
he’d be yelling the words.
“Get out, get out or I’ll kill you!”
You don’t answer, can’t, you grab his wrist and tug at it, oh, he’s yours, he’s
all yours.
Try to kiss him and he bites your lip and the taste of your own blood makes you
smile as it always does.
You mean to throw him down on the bed, tear of his pants and get your relief,
you must have it, you’re aching for it and it will be so good, too, but when
you're pinning both his hands to his back you feel it.
The pull at your skin.
It hits you hard.
Wipes the smile right off your face.
It’s like you can hear your own words echoing through time and space.
I can’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you, not phsycially, won’t hurt you.
An endless loop, reverberating in your brain.
Singing in your blood.
You made the deal.
You stick to it.
The realization is almost too much.
You’re panting and your dick is aching and you want to, you want to touch him,
need him, God.
You need him so badly.
This feeling in your chest?
It’s unbearable.
You’ve never longed for anything, not like that ever anyway.
But it’s the right thing – the deal is smart. It’s why you made it, yes?
Because it’s perfect.
So you back off.
Drop his hands.
Move backwards in the direction of the door.
You’ll soon be glad about it, you know that, yes, you’ll soon see you did - the
deal made you do - the right thing.
Because it would have broken him.
And you don’t like broken things.
You like them shiny and new.
Forever changing, never the same.
And Stiles is the most alive thing you’ve ever known.
“We finish this today,” is all you manage to grit out and your voice is
shaking. Then you’re out the door.
And you meant it, too.
But when you’re out of the house you know it’s not the truth.
That you won’t be able to make it and you start running.
You can move quickly among the shadows of cars and trees and houses, one of
them.
When you’re in the forest, you shake off your human form and are, once again,
glad, that you chose this vessel, a supernatural one – and a particularly
strong and agile one at that.
Not rapture but a grim kind of satisfaction.
You made the right choice.
Always.
You move faster as a coyote, flick through the forest. When you’re far enough
from the city, from anyone and anything, you must have been running for more
than half an hour total but it’s still there.
It’s still fucking there and it’s agony.
You shift back into your human form, completely naked now, all muscles and
raging erection and you let out a whimper and a long, drawn moan.
Drop down to your knees on the forest ground.
God, fuck.
Wrap your fingers around your dick and start jerking your hand up and down,
violently, not even caring if you rip your skin open or not. The anger that
it’s not Stiles who’s doing this, combined with the tension, the primal need to
bury yourself in him, are almost unbearable.
But you chose this.
You wanted this agony and you throw your head back into your neck, bare knees
sinking deeper into the wet ground, breath coming in short, hissing pants, like
screams.
Scream you would if you had it in you right now.
Close your eyes.
 
 
 
 
 
Stiles is pacing his room.
What is he going to do, what to say?
Before he’s even halfway made up his mind, calmed down even a little bit,
there’s a knock in his door. A soft, “Can I come in?”
Stiles darts across the room, throws the door open.
He didn’t really mean to but it’s the stress, the anxiety. Transforms all of
his movements into clumsy jerks and jumps.
“What is going on, Stiles? Please, you have to tell me.”
Stiles is already shaking his head.
“You’re clearly not alright, so what is it for God’s sake? Should I call Scott?
Because I will if you don’t tell me this instant-”
“I’m not straight,” Stiles blurts out, “Dad. Okay? I’m not. How you thought I
am.”
The sheriff takes a deep breath. Walks over to Stiles’ bed and sits down on it.
Rubs his forehead.
“That’s all, Stiles?”
When he looks up, Stiles can see that he’s exhausted.
The eyes of a man who’s seen far too much and half of it supernatural so Stiles
nods immediately and vividly, yes, yes.
Yes, that’s all, I swear, that’s all.
The whole fucking story.
Another sigh from his dad.
“That’s not – did you really think I’d have a problem with that?”
He sounds exhausted.
“So much so that you thought you have to hide it?”
Disappointed.
Oh, no.
Stiles can’t fucking do disappointment right now.
“Maybe I have a problem with it...,” he mutters and he flops down next to his
dad. “It’s just – I feel weird.”
There is a silence.
Then Stiles says in a low voice, cheeks burning with shame, “When you just
walked in – I didn’t know you’d be home so early – Theo was kind of – jerking
me off.”
His dad lets out a frustrated sigh.
“You don’t have to tell me that. God, Stiles. I really didn’t – I could see
that, for God’s sake.”
Then, quickly, “I mean, not literally see, thank goodness. But it was obvious.
You’ve never been good at hiding things, Stiles.”
Stiles goes “Mh.” then falls silent.
They sit there for about half a minute, staring ahead, thinking.
“Did you – is that what you want?”
Stiles shrugs.
Time for lie number two.
Or – is it really?
“Yeah, I – it’s different from a girl. I think – I think I like both... er – it
might just be, you know. A phase. Or something.”
“Oh, Stiles,” and his dad finally turns to face him. “Don’t say that. It
really, really doesn’t matter. There’s a ton of stuff that’s so much worse than
– just today I had to knock on some woman’s door and tell her that her daughter
died in a car crash this morning. It was a fucking nightmare.”
He lets his head sink into his hands.
“It’s why I went home early. It was just – too much. Sorry I took it out on you
– I was certainly not in a good mood when I walked in and I – I shouldn’t say
that but that Theo kid-”
“You hate him,” Stiles says.
“So much,” his dad responds with a crooked smile.
Stiles goes, “Ha...,” shakes his head, can’t help but smile faintly back.
He’s calmer now.
This went better than expected and he feels – okay with this out in the open.
“Well, this shouldn’t influence-”
“It’s okay, dad. Really. I used to not like him – in fact, I sometimes still
don’t. The fact that he’s Malia’s brother...”
“Oh, right.”
His dad frowns.
“What’s up with that?”
Stiles shrugs.
“Don’t know. Just – just happened. Before I knew it, we were fooling around in
her – his bedroom, er, he kissed me and... I don’t know...”
Now they’re both rubbing their foreheads, at a loss for words.
Painfully aware of how awkward this is.
“Still, better than if you'd come home with, I don’t know.... Greenberg, or
anything. Coach Finstock,” the sheriff offers and Stiles goes, “Eeew, dad, come
on! What’s wrong with you?!”
“Just saying. There’s worse. Ahem... how’s Malia feeling about this?”
“Mh... I don’t really know. She’s okay with it, I guess? She was the one who
broke up with me, after all.”
Another silence and they’re both thinking the same thing.
How Theo had always been unnaturally fixated on Stiles – thank God the sheriff
doesn’t know the extent of it – and how maybe his sister had seen that she was
somehow in the way.
It’s the first time Stiles ever thinks of it that way.
Looks at it from this perspective.
 
“So... what now? Theo and you – are you two dating now?”
Yes.
“No. I thought... I’ll just see where this goes. Is this weird?”
Oh God, it’s so weird, you have no fucking clue.
“No, it isn’t. It’s legitimate, especially at your age. Better than to grow up
and wonder forever. Miss the moment, you know.”
He puts his hand on Stiles' shoulder, gives it an affectionate squeeze.
“I just – it’s not how I ever saw myself and, like, don’t know - what to be
like, now.”
The truth, for once.
Surprisingly, his father’s face relaxes into a smile.
“Oh, that’s easy. You’re just Stiles.”
Stiles turns to him and nods, slowly, yes.
It’s actually that easy.
Just Stiles.
Sounds good to him.
 
 
Theo hasn’t been in school for the past couple of days and, according to Malia,
hasn’t come home either and Stiles wonders.
It’s a different kind of wonder from when he was thinking about Derek –
actually, he still wants to know where Derek is.
But they’re both gone now and Stiles is finally relaxing a little again.
Starting to heal slowly.
Gets back two As and a B on his tests, a pleasant surprise. Talks with Scott
and the others about how this school year seems to just drag on and on and on.
How it feels like they've been in twelfth grade for years.
And then, on a Wednesday after lacrosse practice, when they walk out into the
parking lot, it’s just sitting there.
Black against the dark blue and reddish sky, it’s Derek’s Camaro.
There it is, in the almost empty parking lot, next to Stiles’ dirty blue Jeep.
And leaning against his Camaro, sunglasses, white teeth, perfect hair and all,
is Derek.
Scott immediately goes, “No way, Derek’s back, whooooooo!”
Stiles who’d been laughing and joking earlier just falls silent.
Then they’re walking over to him and Derek is looking good.
He got tan. Or maybe Stiles is just imagining it.
Anyway, he takes off his sunglasses. Smirks at them all.
Nods hello.
Derek and Scott hug and then Liam is there, too, and Mason, and they greet him,
a little shyly, but happily nonetheless. He is sort of their big brother, after
all.
After a few minutes of Where have you been’s and good to have you back’s and
oh, my God, these sunglasses are super douchy (that’s Scott’s comment, of
course), Derek finally turns to Stiles.
He gives him the most open smile Stiles has gotten from him in, well – maybe
ever.
Who knows.
He certainly couldn’t care less right now.
He takes a step in Derek’s direction, then another one, then shoves him with
both hands, with as much force as he can muster, so hard that Derek stumbles
backwards, almost slams into his car, drops his glasses.
“Where the fuck have you been, you asshole!? Huh? What on earth were you
thinking, just – pissing off like that? And then, not even an apology? We could
have used you here, you jerk, we – just-”
And he throws his arms up in the air, like he’s too upset to even put words to
it.
Derek looks – well, shock would probably be the best word to describe the look
he’s giving Stiles. Like he absolutely didn’t see that coming.
The others also have bewilderment written all over their faces.
Well, everyone, except for Scott, that is.
He looks composed when he says, “Why don’t we give you guys a minute. Liam,
Mason, care for McDonald’s?”
Mason rolls his eyes.
“Scott, you know that I never care for McDonald’s...”
But they all turn around and leave, only throwing one or, maximum, two glances
back at Stiles over their shoulders.
“Stiles, what – what on earth is the matter with you?”
“What – what’s the – are you fucking kidding me right now?”
God, he wants to slap Derek so badly.
He feels like he really, really wronged him.
And he says so, too.
“You let us down, Derek. That’s the matter. You – you did it again, you just –
up and left. And I really wonder what goes on in your brain whenever you do
that. Do you just, like – wake up in the morning and go, mh, gee, I haven’t
disappointed my pack in a while now, it’s about time, har har. Or what? Mh?”
Derek blinks.
Moves his shoulders for his leather jacket that had peeled halfway off in
Stiles' attack to slide back into place again.
“That’s your best impression of me?” Frowns. “I don’t talk like that.”
Stiles jerks his head, throws his hands in the air like I’m waiting, stop
trying to lighten the mood, it’s not working.
And Derek sighs.
Runs his hand through his hair.
“Jeez, Stiles... I was gone for two weeks. Not two years.”
“Yeah, well, you might’ve as well,” Stiles says, corners of his lips pulling
downwards. He’s still fuming and no, this is not childish at all.
He has a right to express his feelings – the feelings of the whole pack, that
is.
Because Derek let all of them down.
You don't just leave whenever you feel like it, it doesn't matter for how long.
It's irresponsible.
Something could have happened.
They could have needed him.
“I just visited my sister.”
“Oh, don’t even-”
“Cora? Skinny, dark hair, horrible manners?”
“I’ve met your sister, yeah.”
Arms crossed over his chest like wanting to signal that he won’t let Derek
wriggle out of this one.
“Yeah, so, I felt like she needed my help with a few things.”
“Aw, how great. And it never even crossed your mind to call or leave a note,
like, not even once, no?” Stiles is shaking his head when he says this,
grimacing, and Derek lets his hands drop down to his side. He looks at a loss
for words and it gives Stiles a grim kind of satisfaction.
Serves him right.
“I – sorry,” Derek starts, slowly. “I wasn’t aware-”
“Well, you should’ve been.”
“I – I figured if it wasn’t for long, you know – I would have called had I gone
back to Mexico.”
“Fucking awesome, Derek. You know what, why don’t you just go ahead and go
right now? You wouldn’t even have to bother calling since I’m, like, right
here, you just tell me and you’re good to go.”
And he demonstratively turns around to walk away.
Remembers that his Jeep is parked next to the Camaro and turns around again,
muttering, “Need to go this way,” under his breath and that seems to do it for
Derek.
Stiles doesn’t even know what hit him.
One minutes he is staring dead ahead at his Jeep, determined to hop in and
drive off. Maybe cry a little on his way home.
The next, Derek is wrapping his arms around his chest and pulls him back into a
bone-crushing hug.
Stiles goes, “Woah,” as he’s almost being lifted off his feet. Turns around in
Derek’s arms to hug him back.
Acknowledging that yes, this was exactly what he wanted and he can even deal
with the light pull of magic piping up on his inside. As long as they’re
hugging, it won’t grow stronger, there’s no danger and Stiles says, “Just –
never – okay? Do that again,” his voice muffled by Derek’s jacket.
God, this feels so good and so right.
Just where he should be which is, yeah.
It’s fucking heartbreaking.
But he doesn’t think about it now, just leans in, feels the pull growing a
little stronger, a little more uncomfortable but bears it. Is not freaking out
like the last time it happened.
“Sorry,” Derek says over and over again. “Sorry, Stiles. I wasn’t aware. I’m so
sorry.”
Then lets go of him and when they look at each other now, it’s like the wall
that has been growing between them?
It’s almost gone.
Which is great.
At the same time, so fucking horrible.
Because he and Derek, they can never become – what has Danny called that?
A thing.
But oh, alright then. Stiles doesn’t need that. No, he doesn’t. Derek’s back,
he’s sorry and that’s that.
It’s enough.
Stiles probably isn't even really in love or anything.
No, looking at Derek right now, he thinks he just really missed him. It’s a
fine line between bro-hood and being in love with someone, Stiles is thinking.
Ok, yes, fucking yes, he does have a legitimate crush on Derek Hale.
Because, like, this leather jacket? The curve of his jaw line, the dark hair
and hazel eyes, strong arms and broad shoulders?
The way his voice sounds when he says ‘I’m sorry, Stiles,’ chipped and full of
emotion.
Fucking hell, the man is gorgeous and Stiles missed him like crazy. He’d missed
him even when Derek had still been there but they hadn’t really been talking.
But whatever Derek’s feeling. Like, who knows.
Who knows why he’s not being a sourwolf right now but is genuinely smiling at
Stiles, even though Stiles actually physically attacked him five minutes ago,
and is looking more relaxed than Stiles has seen him in weeks. Maybe even
months.
Maybe ever.
Probably his sister, lots of daylight and healthy food.
Whatever.
Yeah, whatevs, still. It’s great, Stiles thinks.
And Theo’s not even around to spoil it.
There’s no pressure there and Stiles can just imagine Derek returning his crush
maybe a little bit, maybe just the tiniest bit.
Then Derek ruins it by saying, “Sorry, Stiles. You know you’re like a brother
to me, you guys all are, and I – I didn’t want to let you down.”
Stiles’ face slams shut.
What a painful blow after this surge of happiness.
Derek acknowledges the instantaneous change in Stiles’ facial expression with a
confused frown because, yeah, as always, Stiles’ face is like an open book. Not
in the sense of, he’s thinking this or thinking that but rather in the sense
of: happy, in a silly mood, about to crack a dumb joke, uncomfortable, really
uncomfortable, pained, pained a lot, stress, more stress, etc.
“What – what’s wrong?”
Stiles shrugs. Forces his face to relax into a smile again and says, as calmly
as possible, “All good, Derek. I – sorry I jumped at you. Ahem – sorry you got
dirt and dog poo all over your sunglasses.”
“What?!”
And Derek immediately bends down to inspect his glasses. Then sighs and rolls
his eyes at Stiles who gives him finger guns.
Derek picks up his glasses.
“You’re still your doofy self.”
“Yup. I am. Doofy and awkward Stiles. It's my thing.”
Derek’s lips widen into a smile again.
“I’m glad.” He nods his head, once. “No, I’m genuinely glad, I was worried,”
then stops himself. “Never mind that now. Er... How’s Malia?”
Stiles blinks.
What an odd question.
“She’s – also good, I guess?”
Derek nods, slowly.
“Alright, I should – probably stop by her place. I’ve been sort of worrying
about her. With the whole – Theo thing and all...”
Stiles’ gets a cold look on his face but Derek doesn’t see it.
He mumbles something about driving over there right now, asking Stiles whether
he wants to come, then saying that it’s probably better if he didn’t because of
Theo and all. Rubs his sunglasses clean with his brown t-shirt.
Stiles feels himself nodding his head up and down, going, “Yeah. Yeah, sure.
No, you do that. Absolutely.”
They must have said goodbye but Stiles, somehow, doesn’t remember it when he’s
sitting in his Jeep five minutes later, driving himself home.
God, that was a wild ride.
Furious, bursting with joy, a little less joyful, fucking miserable.
He can see what Theo meant when he called his emotional life a rollercoaster.
So Derek and Malia.
Well, she’s gorgeous.
He’s gorgeous.
It just – fits.
Stiles can’t believe he never thought of it before.
He never saw them together except at pack meetings anyway but from what he just
caught from Derek’s embarrassed ramblings, he’s been taking care of her lately,
throughout the whole Theo crap.
That’s just – great.
Not that Stiles would have needed his support or anything.
I mean, it's not like Stiles is the one who's in the fucking center of this
horror.
Don’t be unfair, he tells himself while steering down the road to his house.
Malia has been really suffering and you know it and you wanted her to
feel better.
Yes, Stiles even wished for someone to come along and take care of her. Someone
new she could fall in love with.
So, there.
He got his wish.
Besides, would he rather have Derek vanish forever or that he’s here in Beacon
Hills with them and dating, yeah, Stiles’ ex-girlfriend but someone who is also
one of his closest friends?
Second one, definitely.
He parks his Jeep, wrenches the car door open – this is getting harder and
harder every time, he really needs to fix this – jumps out onto the grass.
No time for sadness, let alone heartbreak.
Stiles gives the neighbor’s cat a tired smile.
Walks up to the front door, then starts rifling around in his bag for his keys.
Derek’s back.
Yay.
Right?
 
 
 
And so is Theo.
He walks into the classroom on Monday morning as if he hadn’t just missed a
whole week of school. Seems like he deposited an excuse with the teachers
though because they all smile at him and say stuff like ‘Glad you’re feeling
better Mr. Raeken’ and ‘You’ll catch up again in no time’ and Stiles thinks
it’s almost hilarious.
Yeah, Theo’s such a badass alright.
But then he really is because his number one rule is, as Stiles very well
knows, No matter how much you hate it, always play the fucking game. Your
future You will thank you.
Theo throws him a look then walks right by him to his usual seat in the back
row.
Even says “Looking good, Janine,” half-heartedly and, oh, Janine.
Poor girl, blushing wildly and who knows what Theo would have done to her
without the pact. She’d have been the first to go down in a feast of gore and
blood in the slasher movie that Beacon Hills would have turned into.
As it is, all is still well below the surface, unusually calm.
Even Stiles’ dad dropped a comment on the matter just last night. About how
this past month had been the longest time he’d gone without coming across yet
another supernatural abomination that scared the shit out of him. Well, he
hadn’t said it exactly like that but, you know, along those lines.
Stiles had understood.
And it's okay for him that Theo is back.
Besides, Stiles never really expected him to just stay away, not for longer,
anyway.
With their pact, there’s literally nothing Theo can do out there to entertain
himself.
Stiles goes, “Ha!” when the thought crosses his mind that Theo might always
accept a human life, fall in love and start a family. You know, settle down.
The idea is hilarious.
“Would you like to comment on that, Mr. Stilinski,” Mrs. Hunt is saying coolly
and Stiles shakes his head, mouthing, “Nope, Ma’am. Uh-uh.”
Then, and he doesn’t really know why, Stiles turns around. Meets Theo’s eyes
who’s looking at him directly.
Caught, quickly turns back again in his seat and finds Scott staring at him so
he goes, “What?”
Then, for the rest of the period, just focuses on his textbook and the odd maps
with which Mrs. Hunt is covering the blackboard – “Sorry, Ma’am, is that a
dog?” – “That’s Canada, Mr. Stilinski.” – and scribbles down notes.
 
 
“So, are you going to tell me where you were or would that ruin that
mysterious-son-of-a-bitch thing you’ve got going on there?”
Theo slams his locker shut and turns to face Stiles.
He’s looking perfect as ever. Buff, handsome, smug, the whole package. Maybe
the tiniest bit more hollow around the cheeks than when Stiles last saw him.
Theo huffs out a small laugh, like “Ha,” and shoulders his bag.
“What’s the matter with you today, Stiles? First you look me in the eyes and
now all this talking to me voluntarily? You’re really full of surprises...”
Stiles shrugs, leaning against the lockers.
“Figured it’s exhausting to pretend like you’re not there. What with you having
such a presence and all.”
Theo shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips.
“Tss... you’re just...”
“What?”
Frowning, Stiles pushes himself away from the lockers with his elbow and almost
loses balance for a second.
Smooth.
“I’m what? No, go ahead. I can take it. Last week’s Stiles is not this week’s
Stiles.”
“Obviously,” Theo says.
Pauses, the expression on his face growing more serious.
“I fucking missed you, Stiles.”
“Oh,” Stiles’ mouth hangs open.
Did not expect that.
“Okay,” and then, “History’s next, so” and he turns around but, for the second
time in twenty-four hours, two strong arms slide around his shoulders and pull
him into a tight hug. He can feel Theo’s chest move into his, Stiles’, back as
he inhales deeply.
The people around them are staring, looking almost as surprised as Stiles.
Oh, great.
Public display of affection.
Stiles’ favorite.
Fucking worse than a display of chopped off arms but okay.
He can take it.
This week’s Stiles, and so on.
“Well, look at that....,” Theo says with his head resting against Stiles
shoulder. “You’re clearly not drugged and yet, no anxiety. No additional
anxiety, I should say, there’s still your regular stress levels.”
“Just – being relaxed today. Playin’ it cool. And stuff.”
Theo lets out a laugh and finally removes both head and hands.
“God, you’re such a doofus... unbelievable.”
Stiles chuckles nervously.
“I should disappear more often.”
“Yeah, talking about that, where have you been?”
Theo sighs and they start walking down the hallway. Stiles can feel about
twenty different pairs of eyes following them.
“You’re really scared I’m up to something, mh,” Theo says and Stiles quickly
shakes his head but can feel his heart beating more quickly and Theo pats his
shoulder. “Ah, there we go. Anxiety. Worry. STress. So I’m right.”
Maybe, yeah.
Stiles is having a great day with Derek being back and all – yes, despite the
Derek and Malia thing, and besides, he still has the hug Derek gave him
yesterday, right? – and he just wants to prevent Theo ruining it.
Take precautions.
Besides, he was bound to relax a little, even around the Devil himself.
It’s what happened last time, too.
After a while you just go back to normal.
“Well, couldn’t you guess?” Theo is saying while they’re slowly climbing the
stairs. Suddenly, Stiles is wondering where Scott is, whether he saw Theo hug
him, what he’s thinking now.
Aw, there goes his good mood.
Fucking great.
“Why should I? Guess what you’ve been up to, I mean. How would I know what you
like? Maybe – catching butterflies with your mouth? Dunno, really.”
“Well," Theo starts, slowly. "Since you didn’t give me what I wanted and it’s
impossible for me to get gratification anywhere else, I had to withdraw. I
thought you figured that out for yourself, Stiles. Or I’d have broken the deal,
you know? I was just out in the woods around Beacon Hills, mostly in animal
shape but not always.”
Stiles stops and frowns.
“So, what you’re basically saying is that you were running around the woods
naked and jerking off all throughout the past week?”
Theo lets out a laugh again.
They walk into the History classroom and there’s Scott and he’s shooting Theo a
hateful glare but Stiles ignores it.
He’s thinking.
So, Theo was about to break the deal?
That – that means, without the deal he’d have – gone and raped Stiles?
Stiles swallows.
And now his anxiety levels are definitely up where they were before.
For a moment there he had almost forgotten that Theo was fucking creepy.
“You alright?” Scott says and Stiles nods.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
It’s just strange to see how his brain works sometimes.
 
 
But, despite everything, Stiles really is better, even this afternoon.
He parks his Jeep on the gravel in front of the Tate house, hops out and walks
over to the front porch, soles of his sneakers making the familiar scrunching
noise with every step he takes.
Man, he’s walked up to this house so many times, and in all kinds of mood.
Fidgety and uncertain of whether Malia was really into him.
Cheerful, silly, relaxed and happy. Admittedly, half of the time it had just
been horny.
Recently, scared, terrified.
Today’s mood would probably rank as okay.
Zero, maybe leaning towards a negative one or two out of ten which, well.
Stiles is probably the person most surprised by that.
And he expects his mood to drop to a minus five, at least, very soon but – what
he’s doing here, it’s just smart.
Catch Theo now while Stiles still feels stable.
Feels like he can deal with it.
Let Theo do a few things. Stiles has to, after all, respect their pact. Theo
can’t just hold him down and fuck him but neither can Stiles really reject him.
It was dumb luck that Theo had apparently been so turned on last week, his
needs so utterly opposed to those of Stiles’ that he had to withdraw. But he’d
have never, never broken the deal, so.
Yeah.
Sort of logical, the way it went down.
It makes a lot of sense to Stiles.
He grabs the handle and wants to pull at the screen door when he throws a look
over to the peach tree in front of which Mr. Tate has always kept a few kitchen
herbs. Parsley, sage. Rosemary.
Thyme.
Stuff like that.
He can’t spot anything small and green and leafy though because a black car is
parked under the tree, right in front of where the herb bed should be.
Stiles’ heart almost stops.
Then picks up a crazy speed, like it wants to beat out of his chest.
It’s a Camaro.
How could Stiles not have spotted Derek’s car when he pulled up to the house?
He certainly didn’t expect it to be sitting there, looking completely out of
place in the rather shabby front yard. That might be a factor here.
“What – the...”
“Are you coming in or not?”
Theo is holding the door open for Stiles and must see all the color drain out
of Stiles’ face. His gaze is still glued to the Camaro, he just can’t seem to
be able to avert his eyes.
“What – what-”
“Derek’s here,” Theo says, grimacing. “Or what did you think it meant. And,
man,” he frowns, “your heart’s beating like crazy.”
Narrows his eyes. Throws a dark glare at nothing specific, grits out, “This
dude.”
They’re almost in Theo’s and Malia’s bedroom when the kitchen door opens and
there they are.
Malia who says, “Hey, Stiles,” almost inaudibly and gives him a faint smile and
Derek who has his hands in the pockets of his tight black pants. Also says,
“Hey,” after a short pause.
He looks a lot gloomier than he did the day before and no wonder.
Stiles registers him standing close to Malia, closer than would be normal for
two people who are just friends. From here it looks almost as if Malia’s back
is touching Derek’s chest and for the first time, Stiles remembers the fact
that they’re cousins.
Well, true love can’t be stopped, yes?
What was left of Stiles’ good mood is certainly gone, gone, gone now and he
just shakes his head at Malia’s question, no, no he already ate, really, but
thanks, then quickly follows Theo into the room. Doesn’t even wait for him to
close the door but slams it shut himself.
Theo lifts his eyebrows at him.
“Fucking annoying,” he says then and walks over to the desk. Looks at an open
book that’s lying there, probably to memorize the page number. Flips it shut.
“So are they like – dating now?”
Stiles voice comes out all chipped and hoarse. He clears his throat but it
doesn’t make the lump go away.
“Why would you care?” Theo says, coolly.
Stiles doesn’t really know what to say. He thinks that Theo might already be
guessing it anyway. With all his brilliance and supernatural senses and knowing
Stiles way too well.
“Just want to make sure, Malia’s okay,” Stiles says.
“How – can Derek even be here?”
Don’t fucking say his name, idiot.
You know your heart skips a beat every time you do it now, it’s why Scott
somehow won’t stop grinning knowingly whenever they’re talking about him. Why
he keeps dropping Derek’s name randomly into conversations like, Man,
Finstock’s heart is the same color as Derek’s leather jacket. You know, black?
Or, Did you get the Math homework done? Derek. It was fucking impossible,
especially the one on page 53. Derek. A nightmare, if you ask me.
But who knows what Lucifer might pick up, really.
“Pheniel took away his omicron powers. Or, lifted them, I should say.”
“What?”
Stiles certainly didn’t expect that.
“Yeah, now the dude’s back to being a regular beta. Weak, boring and still an
insult to the ground he’s walking on.”
His lips pull down in disgust.
“If only I could make him vanish,” pausing like he’s considering this, “But no,
I can’t. Deal forbids it.”
“What?” Stiles repeats. “Phenuel is – he’s here? Like – on this planet?”
Theo shrugs.
“Yeah. I always thought so.”
“But- but-”
Question after question suddenly pops up in Stiles’ brain.
First of all, the guy is supposed to be his, Stiles’ guardian angel. The last
thing Stiles knew was that he just barely managed to transfer a part of his
powers onto Derek before Lucifer banished him from Earth. Then the death of
Stiles’ mom banished Lucifer.
Then Stiles underwent the resurrection ceremony, ritually sacrificed his life
for the Nemeton and Lucifer was free.
But what about Phenuel, then?
If he’d been here all this time – why not just protect Stiles himself?
Why let Derek struggle with the task and leave Stiles so poorly protected – why
let Stiles make a deal with the Devil? Again, the dude was supposed to protect
him.
Unless – unless...
A horrible thought is forming in Stiles’ brain but is interrupted by Theo
saying, “I’m guessing he is gathering his forces. He has dissolved the deals
with all the other omicrons, too, lifted his powers off them. I checked.”
“What?” Stiles goes again.
Theo rolls his eyes.
“Seriously, Stiles? You’re exceptionally slow today.”
“There’s other omicrons than Derek?”
Theo shrugs.
“Of course? What were you thinking? That Derek is somehow special? Farniel had
a whole army of omicrons parade around you, Stiles. Your neighbor’s fucking cat
is one of them, for Christ’s sake.”
“Snuzzles?”
The suicidal thing that would always jump onto the hood of his car and hiss and
scratch at the windshield wipers when Stiles was about to either pull in or out
of his driveway?
Then another thought strikes him.
“So I did hit it with the Jeep!”
Oh, damn.
“Yeah, you did,” and Theo laughs, “you fucking killed the thing at least twice.
But being an omicron and invested with angelic powers, it-”
“Just came back to life,” Stiles completes the sentence and flops into the
computer chair, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“So... that’s what you were really doing.”
“Of course, it is, Stiles. Did you really think I spent a whole week
masturbating and hunting rabbits?”
And then, his eyebrows going slowly up, “I’m not you, after all,” at exactly
the same moment that Stiles shoots out, “I’d have done it.”
Theo smirks.
Shakes his head at him.
“You ate rabbits?” Stiles says, slowly, kind of a bummed out expression on his
face. “And – why would Phaniel need his powers back now? Where is he, how did
he manage to come back? Why didn’t – why didn’t he contact me?”
“I have my theories. We’ll see.”
Stiles is swiveling around in the chair, staring at the ceiling.
“Anyway,” Theo starts again. “I didn’t lift my defense against fucking angelic
powers shield around you, just so you know. With our deal, it’s especially
strong.”
“That sounds like something that's being taught in Hogwarts,” Stiles is saying
slowly, lost in thought. “Except for the cussword. And... is that where Derek
went? To seek out Phanuel?”
Stiles knows even before Theo nods his head.
“Yeah. I guess so. Or the other way round. Anyway, he’s visibly more relaxed
now that he’s – detached from you again after all these years. Still, snooping
around here like the son-of-a-bitch that he is...,” and his face darkens. “Is
just so like him. Getting in the way, even when it’s none of his fucking
business anymore.”
Stiles feels like crying.
Derek lied to him.
He lied to him before he fucking hugged Stiles and apologized to him. Visiting
his sister, my ass.
The man really has a knack for ruining even the most random nice thing he does.
Maybe his smile had been genuine, and the same probably goes for his apologies,
Stiles wouldn’t want to doubt that. They are pack mates after all. But
everything else...
Why didn’t Derek just tell him?
Stiles knew he was being a burden.
He wouldn’t have been mad at him.
Right?
Why not say: Stiles, I couldn't fucking bear being connected to you like this
anymore so I spent two weeks hunting down an angel and forced him to dissolve
our pact.
“Do you want to make Derek pay?” Theo says and his voice is suddenly very close
to Stiles who starts and lets his head snap back up.
“Why, er, ever would I want that?”
“Oh, don’t think I don’t know. I’ve seen the way you look at him before anyone
else has, Stiles.” And then, voice perfectly calm and composed, “And you
wouldn’t believe how much I wanted to fucking hurt him for it.”
“You can’t,” Stiles says, stupidly, and Theo’s expression hardens.
“Oh, don’t be mistaken, Stiles. I still can.”
And, closer to his ear, halfway squatting next to the chair now, next to him,
“You came here for something specific. Didn’t you?”
Stiles sets his jaw.
“Alright then... I’ll spell it out. You showered. You even brought the lube
Mason gave you.”
“How-”
“Don’t fucking underestimate me.”
Theo turns Stiles around with the chair, grabs both his hands and pulls him to
his feet.
Stiles somehow can’t find it in him to look him in the eyes.
There’s no going back this time.
“No interruptions. I made sure of that,” Theo says, confirming what Stiles’ had
already guessed. He knew Theo had pulled some kind of magic trick to keep Derek
and Malia from entering the room.
“And because I waited so patiently for this, I erected an additional barrier.
So they can’t leave the house. Trapped in this dump for as long as I want.” His
lips twist into a grim smile.
“Special treat for me.”
Stiles closes his eyes.
“But – wouldn’t that,” he clears his throat, “qualify as – torment?”
“Oh, good point, Stiles. As a matter of fact, no, it wouldn’t. After all, by
keeping them here with us, I’m protecting them. There’s wild things outside,
you see...” and he nods his head over to the window, nudging Stiles to take a
look outside.
Stiles walks over to the window, puts his hands onto the frame, and stares out
into the darkness. All he can see for a few moments are the woods, dark yet
patterned by the lines and dots of gravel and veins of leaves and bark of
trees.
When Stiles catches sight of something flicking past the window, he shudders.
God, he knows these things.
They’re really dense shadows, nothing more, big as cars but somehow the night
seems ablaze with an odd, reddish gleam. Like it’s on fire, but in a different
dimension.
“Hellhounds,” Theo says and Stiles closes his eyes in horror for a moment, “The
most loyal of all servants. I called them just to have a reason to trap Derek
here. They’re waiting to drag everything human down with them and they’re even
allowed to do that, Stiles. I’m still the Lord of the Lands of Fire, after
all.”
“Hell,” Stiles corrects him with a hoarse whisper. He throws another look
outside. There must be at least ten of them out there, scaring rabbits and deer
to death, galloping over the parked cars with invisible hooves and flitting
around Mr. Tate’s peach tree.
When Stiles was a kid, out of all the monsters Theo summoned to show him, these
things had most terrified him. Looking back now, Stiles thinks that the most
horrible creatures had all been spirits of fire and brimstone, their eyes
terrible and flaming and dark as coal pits, their horns pillars of smoke that
were curling and uncurling from the shadow structures of their enormous heads.
Stiles had always thought they bore a strong similarity with the Red Bull, the
beast that has driven all the unicorns into the sea except for one, and the
first thing Stiles had ever been consciously afraid of. The film had given him
his first ever nightmare, the first one he remembers anyway, when he was about
five years old.
Maybe that’s why Stiles had preferred the little abominations Theo created by
breathing flames of life into roadkill to entertain himself, mangled bunnies
and dogs with oddly twisted limbs and exploded torsos.
Stiles starts when Theo’s warm body is pressing against his back.
He’s still watching the beasts of hell spiriting over mounds of grass and the
roots of trees, their auras setting the night on fire and coloring the moon
blood red.
“There is a beauty to it, isn’t there?” Theo breathes into his ear. “It’s the
big secret, too, balance. Light and shadow, good and evil. See how they’re
dancing around each other? They can’t be separated.”
Stiles wants to make a snide comment, something along the lines of, oh, shut up
and write a sonnet, for God’s sakebut, somehow, his lips won’t move.
Theo is right. It’s beautiful.
Beautiful and terrifying.
Probably Theo’s two favorite things.
His chest is hot against Stiles’ back, burning, really. It’s only slowly
dawning on him that Theo isn’t wearing a shirt anymore.
Stiles slowly turns around, tries to duck away from the heat of Theo’s body.
And, yeah, so are his pants, socks, shoes, basically everything that would have
spared Stiles a look at Theo’s muscles and, well, erection, all in a pile on
the floor next to his bed.
His body is glowing in the darkness and, well.
Stiles hates to say it but – yeah. He looks – okay. He – yeah. Stiles would
even use the word perfection but, well. Theo’s not Derek.
“When did you-”
“It’s a magic night,” Theo says and when he smiles this time, flames seem to be
dancing across his face and Stiles tries to back away and bumps into the
window.
When Theo kisses him, Stiles moves his head as far back as he can, skin
pressing against the cool glass but then thinks, oh, what the hell.
He can’t escape.
It’s Walpurgis Night out there and besides, the demonic powers wouldn’t let him
anyway. He needs to fulfill the pact, feels the forces tugging at him
powerfully, creating, for the first time ever, a sort of longing in the pit of
his stomach that is utterly opposed to his strong desire to run and hide.
His repulsion has even ebbed away a little.
Stiles eases into the kiss and when he presses his eyes shut he can even try
and forget that it’s Theo who is curling his tongue around his. Is biting his
bottom lip, Jesus Christ.
“Ouch,” and Stiles breaks the kiss, hand going up to his mouth.
But Theo doesn’t respond, just motions for him to move already, walk over to
one of the beds and Stiles obeys.
Tries to not look at Theo’s dick and, God, how the guy even has muscles down
there.
He’s obviously moving too slowly, because Theo grabs him by the shoulders and
shoves him down onto the floor in front of the bed. Then he’s tugging at
Stiles’ hoodie, tries to pull it over his head, let’s out a growl of
frustration when Stiles pushes his hands away.
He sighs, closes his eyes.
No going back.
No going back now.
And pulls all the layers over his head, shirt and hoodie, in one swift move.
Then he’s sitting there, staring at the carpet in embarrassment, crossing his
hands in front of his chest.
“Pants,” Theo grits out. “What’s taking you so long, hurry, for fuck’s sake.”
Stiles looks up to him, expression going from mortified to cold within a
second.
“Only at my pace, asshole.”
Theo glowers at him.
“I waited for fucking forever for this, Stiles, don’t you dare-”
They’re probably both feeling the pull at the same time because Theo’s mouth
snaps shut and Stiles’ hands go down to his pants and, before he even knows
what he’s doing, he’s unzipping them already. Pushes them down over his hips
and then he’s shuddering, almost fully exposed to Theo’s gaze who rakes his
eyes over every single one of his moles, or so it seems.
Just for the heck of it, Stiles pulls off his socks, too, wants to push them
away from him but then doesn’t. He really doesn’t want to unfold his feet.
His boxer shorts and knees are the only barrier from the thing in front of him
right now and Theo – well. His hand went down to his own dick and he’s probably
not even conscious of it either.
There’s a surge of heat in the pit of Stiles’ stomach when he watches Theo’s
fingers wrap around himself.
He quickly looks away.
God, this – this is happening.
But when Theo all but jumps at him, has already grabbed him by the shoulders
and his fingers are digging into Stiles’ skin painfully, Stiles remembers.
He fucking remembers and he can’t believe he even forgot about this, for as
much as a split second. He pushes Theo off of him with as much force as he can
muster, going “Wait. Stop!”
The other doesn’t answer, just narrows his eyes like, why the fuck are you
still talking?
Stiles clears his throat, keeps his eyes averted. He knows the answer before he
even asks the question but still.
Still.
He just has to ask.
“Before we-,” pauses and swallows, “Can you make that Derek can’t hear us?
Please?”
A pause.
Stiles thinks he can hear a sizzling and crackling, like embers burning
outside.
Like the whole fucking forest is on fire.
And for all Stiles knows, it might be.
Theo is squatting in front of him, palms of his hands on the floor, left and
right to his legs. His face is unmoving but his eyes are strangely alive.
He looks so otherworldly that Stiles can feel the adrenaline surge, hear the
sound of his own blood rushing through his body, drowning out the sound of
flames but he still catches Theo’s answer.
“No.”
And then, voice all hard and cold. “I want him to fucking listen.”
Stiles moves his jaw and finally manages to force out, “Okay. Alright, so no it
is. Just like that, really? I mean-” His voice is really shaky now because Theo
is leaning in, is clearly aiming for his mouth but this conversation isn’t
fucking over yet.
“But if you don’t snap your fingers and soundproof the room, nothing will
happen in here. There’s some board games over there in the cabinet and, I
swear, I’ll make you-”
“Stiles,” Theo says in a low voice and it sounds so threatening and Theo looks
so furious, Stiles immediately shuts his mouth. “You can’t fucking blackmail
me. Don’t even try.”
And he grabs Stiles’ knees and forces them apart.
“Hey, what-”
Before Stiles knows what’s happening, Theo has curled his hands into the fabric
of his boxer shorts and is dragging them down over his hips.
“Hey, you – fucking – stop that-”
Stiles tries to pull them back up, tries to kick Theo or at least get away from
him and he’s glad that at least no one is watching this. He must look
absolutely pathetic, the way he’s clinging to the last bit of fabric that’s
protecting his dick from the fucking Devil’s claws.
But of course it's no use.
After a struggle of maybe thirty seconds, Stiles is sitting there, completely
naked.
Theo extends his hand and drops the boxers down onto the carpet. He still has
this dangerous expression on his face like he might snap any second but then,
of course, his lips twist into a mean grin, of course they do.
“I usually appreciate your effort to get away from me, Stiles, but I can’t have
it now. So you either cooperate or I’ll petrify you in the position I want you
in. I don't need kanima venom to do that.”
“Well, first of all, you’re not even allowed to do that,” Stiles says
immediately. He has crawled away from Theo, is crouching by the bed now, frame
pressing into his naked back.
“Try me,” Theo says and Stiles swallows.
Stares at him.
He really doesn't want to - he'd rather be able to move.
Cooperate and retain at least a little bit of agency for himself here.
So he breathes in and out again.
Tries to calm down.
Then nods and says, “O- okay. Alright. I’m – yeah.”
Theo doesn’t smile. His face looks strained like he has to make a real effort
to not shift and drag Stiles onto the bed with his teeth.
“So how – how should I-”
“Stiles!” More a snarl than a word, really, but Stiles still catches it, no,
okay, he got it.
Message received.
Loud and clear.
“Okay, okay, okay. Okay.”
And he unfolds his legs and arms and looks over to Theo, decides that he can’t
bear it. The dude looks really dangerous right now, so no eye contact
whatsoever it is.
Works for him.
“Bed,” Theo hisses and Stiles turns around to climb on top but a hand grabs him
by the shoulder and pulls him back with such force that Stiles is sent flying
back onto the floor.
Hits it hard.
“AH! Ouch, God! What the fuck-”
“On your knees.”
Oh, boy.
Theo’s eyes are glowing yellow and orange and Stiles could swear there’s a
tinge of red in them as well. He stumbles onto his knees, thinks about it for a
second then puts his hands onto the mattress. He thinks he knows what Theo is
going for here.
But Stiles might just die of a heart attack before that.
“Ok, so... so you could send your hell beasts back to – to hell,” Stiles voice
comes out shrill and high and shaky. God, he’s so fucking scared right now. He
needs to keep talking.
Talk through it all, Stiles.
Usually Theo would put on a smug smirk and say something like, But their whole
point is to let me keep Derek and Malia inside and torment them without
breaking the deal so why would I possibly want to send them back?
But Theo just snarls, a low and frightening sound and Stiles knows that he’s
already far gone. Keeps his eyes glued to the wall when Theo manhandles him
into the right position. Then closes his eyes when he feels him rub up against
him, his dick pressing against Stiles’ butt, their thighs touching.
“So, no foreplay or anything, not even Jesus Christ,” he cries out because Theo
is pushing his dick against his butt and the thing is so hard it already hurts,
and Stiles feels like he's already bruising, it’s ridiculous, and Theo
is tugging at Stiles’ hips, too fucking aroused to even know what he’s doing.
The fucking maniac.
“Hold on for a second, that’s not – stop that, it won’t work like that.”
Stiles turns around and holds up his hands.
“Just wait – for half a minute, okay? Just – give me a few seconds.”
He starts slowly moving in the direction of the pile of clothes on the floor
while Theo falls back onto his ass and he’s fucking panting, rubbing his
forehead. Stiles has never seen him like this before.
He’d lie if he said that it doesn’t give him a kind of grim satisfaction to see
him this helpless, this desperate.
Hey, wait a second.
Maybe he can yet turn everything around.
Pretend like, yeah, yeah, I'll let you fuck me but then - go for a blowjob
instead.
It was enough last time, too, right?
Ok, he can pull this off.
Just move quickly and try to keep calm.
Stiles reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and fishes out the tube of lube.
Then he crawls over to Theo – the very last thing he wants to do but, oh well.
It’s not like he has a choice here.
“Let me – let me help – okay?”
He grimaces and extends his hand to grab Theo’s dick, is already bending his
head but Theo slams his hands down on his shoulders hard.
“Fucking no,” he grits out and he looks really pained now, face all distorted,
veins pulsating on his throat and arms. “Inside you.”
Stiles swallows.
“O-okay,” voice cracking.
Well.
Worth a try.
His fingers are trembling when he unscrews the tube. He squeezes some of the
green stuff onto his index and middle fingers and because his hands are shaking
he spills half of it, has to give the tube another squeeze to get enough of it
onto his fingers.
Then just stares down at it.
He really doesn’t want to do this.
And, man, that stuff has a really strong smell. It’s like wrapping yourself in
a piece of spearmint gum. It bites his nose and makes him sway a little.
As if Stiles didn’t already feel like vomiting.
He's right in front of Theo now.
Their knees almost touching.
Both of them naked, and it's so weird.
A mixture of horrible and really awkward.
Like, one second, Stiles feels like a rape victim. Like he got dragged down
into the psychopath's rape pit and is at his utter mercy now which - is not so
far from the truth. It's terrifying and nauseating and just - completely
freezes him on the inside.
Then, the next, he feels like the teenager he is, experimenting with a friend,
and they just went from horny to really awkward to what the fuck are we even
doing here?
 
So, yeah.
This is a mixture of both.
And could it get any stranger?
Aware that they've been sitting there for a minute in silence, Stiles swallows.
He expects a rough shove, a barked command, what's taking you so fucking
long?!, but, surprisingly, is met with perfect silence from Theo.
Stiles dares to raise his head.
Theo is watching his every move.
He seems calmer now. His eyes are glued to Stiles’ face.
“Come on,” he says now, sounding more like himself again which is – which is
good, right?
Really hard to say.
Horny and out of control or calm and plotting.
Pick your favorite Theo.
Stiles can't.
He hates them both so much.
“Come on, Stiles," Theo says and it sounds more urgent now, forced.
"Do it.”
The lube is dripping from Stiles' fingers and he looks down at it.
Knows exactly what Theo wants to see.
He holds his breath without really knowing why, then reaches around to slide
his fingers in between his butt cheeks.
God, this is fucking awful.
Theo is watching like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen and now
Stiles’ face is on fire and, good God, why, why does he have to do this?
Because you made the fucking pact. Because you’re the biggest idiot on the face
of the planet, he tells himself and tries to slip his index finger in but finds
that he can’t.
Not with Theo watching like this.
He’s just too – tense.
So he closes his eyes.
Tells himself to relax.
Come on, just – easy.
Imagine you’re at home in your room.
Alone.
Think of – boobs.
But his mind is a total blank.
He still manages to work his finger in about an inch and he doesn’t know
whether it’s the lube, whether he’s allergic to it or something but it burns
like hell.
He grimaces and pushes his finger in further, has to lean forward a little to
do it and he can hear Theo hiss out a breath.
 
God, this is awkward and - painful.
They sit there like this for about five minutes, Stiles fingering himself,
suppressing the sobs that try to make their way to the surface because one,
he’s so uncomfortable, he wants to die and, two, this fucking hurts, burns, and
he thought he’d be done with fire, no more fire, it’s what Theo promised, yes?
And Theo, completely naked like Stiles, with a raging hard-on, staring at him.
Watching.
Huffing out small breaths like he’s so fucking turned on by this.
When Stiles finally unclenches his eyes – he has two fingers inside himself,
only the tips but that’s enough, and he can feel the muscle slowly relax around
them – he can see that Theo’s hands move up to his dick, once, then again, but
he forces them down onto the floor again every time, buries his palms in the
carpet.
When their eyes meet, Theo breathes, “That’s enough.” and then, “Come here,
Stiles.”
Stiles lets his fingers slide out and hisses because why the fuck is it still
burning like this?
Theo’s already in front of him and Stiles quickly turns around before the other
can grab his hips again. There’s red imprints of Theo’s fingers on his skin
already and Stiles can’t shake the thought that before this night is over,
he’ll be sore and raw.
Everywhere.
Oh, goody.
Can’t wait for that to start.
His heart is fluttering, he’s waiting for the pain.
At least the wait and fearful expectation isn’t long. Theo doesn’t let it drag
on and on.
For some reason he is more composed now, seems to have himself under control a
little more because he doesn’t shove his dick all the way in at once.
Good thing because Stiles would have screamed and Derek – would have heard him.
So would have Malia.
Stiles hopes to God, no, prays, begs, that Malia has turned the radio all the
way up in the kitchen.
But had she done that - shouldn’t he, Stiles, be able to hear it here in the
bedroom, too?
Theo puts his left and right hand onto Stiles’ hips, yeah, thought so, and
presses his dick up against his butt and this time, the tip slides in
effortlessly and Stiles lets out a gasp and a whimper.
God. This is going to be so fucking painful.
Their pact is evil. How on earth does this not qualify as torture?
Theo doesn’t stop. He just pushes his dick in, slowly, yes, but without
hesitating and while he lets out a long, drawn moan, Stiles’ chest is already
heaving with sobs.
“Ah. God, fuck,” he forces out, “s-slowly, please, not so – ah-”
Jesus Christ.
Who knew this could hurt so much?
And then, Theo slides out and in again and he’s already trembling, shaking, and
it’s enough.
Stiles presses his teeth together, almost bites through his lip and Theo spills
inside of him. Stiles' eyes wander over to his pants on the floor. There’s two
condoms in the right pocket but it’s too late now.
He can already feel it dripping out of him and sticking to his thighs and it’s
the most disgusting feeling ever.
Stiles lets out a sharp breath, hopes that the burning sensation will not
linger.
Lets his head fall back into his neck.
Stares at the ceiling while Theo's sperm is trickling down onto the carpet,
white drop after white drop.
 
 
There is a room above this one.
It’s a small attic room, barely big enough for an adult to stand in and it’s
crammed with stuff.
All the things that the Tates didn’t need anymore and then, after his wife and
daughters died, Mr. Tate couldn’t bring himself to ever throw away.
He never goes up here.
No one does.
So the things just sit here all by themselves.
Old hairdryers, a rocking horse, lots of boxes and worn suitcases and things
wrapped in newspapers. Photos in frames, leaning against a wall, at least fifty
of them. On a low dresser, piled on top of each other in an open cardboard box,
dolls in torn little dresses, cracked ceramic heads on their small torsos.
A teddy bear with yellowed stuffing hanging out of a slit in the belly. It’s
sitting on one side of an old dollhouse that is, like everything else up here,
covered in a thick layer of dust.
It’s sitting in the middle of the room like it’s its core. The center to which
everything here relates.
Look at it more closely now.
It’s beautiful.
With its little windows and pillars and balconies coated with white enamel,
roof red and green ivy climbing up the wall. There’s curtains in the windows,
with pink and red flower patterns. Hinges on the right indicate that the front
could be opened. The rooms would be big enough for any of the dolls to sit at a
tiny table or a miniature sofa.
Sitting on the other side of the dollhouse is Mr. Tate.
He’s leaning against it, his head sunk onto his right shoulder, almost touching
the dusty roof. His mouth is still screwed open and, it’s weird, there’s dust
in it and on his teeth, there’s a layer of dust on his eyes, too.
As if he’s been sitting up here for just as long as the other dolls have.
One of them.
One of them.
Maybe the dust just settles a lot quicker up here than anywhere else in the
world because next to Mr. Tate, back resting against his left shoulder and feet
splayed like a rag doll, is the man in the blue track suit and he's covered in
dust, too.
Immobile just like everything else.
Unbreathing.
His face is so cheerful, mouth pulled into a broad smile, wrinkles around his
eyes.
He wouldn’t fit in the dollhouse though, the chairs would be too small, the
tables too tiny.
You’d need a bigger house to play with him.
 
 
 
A few feet down in the room below, Stiles tries to moves his hips away from
Theo, so his dick would slide out of his butt.
“So, that took you five seconds,” he coughs out because, as always, his mouth
is quicker than his brain and Theo reaches around his hip, pulls Stiles’ back
flush against his chest so he can’t move away from him.
“Dude, you’re heavy.”
Stiles’ knees are already feeling sore, from the way they’re digging into the
cheap plastic carpet.
But Theo doesn’t answer. He’s inhaling and exhaling, trying to catch his breath
and his dick is still inside of Stiles and it still fucking burns and why the
hell is it still in there?!
The whole thing was fucking disgusting and the most uncomfortable Stiles has
ever been in his life but, thankfully, Theo came after what couldn’t have been
more than half a minute and they’re done.
It’s over.
So why the fuck.
“Get off of me,” Stiles mutters and tries to pull away from him but Theo is
starting to move his hips. His skin feels hot and sticky against Stiles’,
probably the combination of sweat and sperm and Stiles almost gags.
“Oh no,” he mutters when he feels Theo’s dick inside of him - feels it, like
it's growing again.
Theo picks up a slow, lazy movement. Lets an inch slide out of Stiles, then
pushes it back in.
“You can stop now, this wasn’t the deal.” Then, pleadingly, “Come on. Please.
This fucking hurts. I can – we can do this differently. Please. Theo. Stop.”
Theo does stop.
His fingers are still digging into Stiles’ hips painfully but he halts the
movement of his hips.
“And what would you want to do?”
Wow, a full sentence.
Yeah, dude really, really needed that orgasm and, God, the stuff is still
dripping out of Stiles.
“What would... I want to do?”
“What would you give to me so I won’t keep fucking you? Tell me, Stiles. Tell
him.”
“What?”
He doesn’t really want to know.
Don’t say it.
Please, don’t say it.
“He’s listening.” A short pause. “They both are.”
And Stiles closes his eyes.
“Sitting at the kitchen table. Haven’t spoken a word in half an hour. They can
hear every single fucking breath you’re taking, Stiles.”
Stiles can’t help it, a sob escapes his mouth.
“So tell us – draw us a picture.”
Stiles shakes his head, no, no he fucking won’t you cruel son-of-a-bitch,
never, never.
Never.
So Theo thrusts his hip forward, shoves his dick all the way in and, caught by
surprise, Stiles cries out.
Immediately slaps his hand over his mouth.
Laughter from Theo and Stiles – Stiles wishes he were supernatural so he could
turn around and rip his fucking dick clean out of his body.
But he can’t.
He can only take the thrusts and Theo’s voice comes out ragged, cut up.
“Come on, tell them, Stiles. Tell them all about how you dropped to your knees
in front of me, and because you wanted it, too, and sucked me off like a good
boy. How you smiled at me while doing it. How you’d do it again.”
It’s ridiculous, how even Theo’s dirty talk is meant to hurt Stiles, hurt Derek
especially, and they can already hear them fucking, God, hear Stiles’ pained
whimpers that still come out no matter how hard he's pressing his right hand
down onto his mouth.
He’s almost on the floor with his chest now, supporting himself with his left
hand and right elbow, struggling for balance, and Theo feels huge and hot and
hard inside of him and he’s picking up speed, and it hurts, good God, it hurts,
it hurts.
Fire and brimstone, holy shit.
When he hears Theo grunt, breath hitching in his throat, Stiles knows they’re
done talking.
He’s gnashing his teeth, biting down onto his bottom lip, alternates between
saying, “No, please, no,” and crying out in pain when Theo starts thrusting
into him with more speed.
More force.
Stiles can see stars in front of his eyes and, really, this isn’t torment?
This isn’t fucking torture?
Just because Stiles has to let him do it, Theo is still raping him, and he
seems to enjoy the tension. The fact that Stiles has to contribute. It’s what
seems to make this even more delicious for Theo.
Theo is leaning over again, lowering himself down onto Stiles’ back without
putting his full weight on him and while still moving inside of him, he goes,
“You feel, ah, God, ah, holy – fuck, you’re so – perfect, Stiles.”
Then he does the one thing, the one fucking thing that could have made this
whole mess even more horrible than it already is, more painful.
More humiliating.
He reaches around Stiles’ hip with his right hand. Then wraps it around his
limp dick.
Stiles immediately starts spitting out insults, trying to pull away from him
with a much force as he can, although he’s feeling so weak, raw and open and
just – pain.
“You fucking bastard. I want to fucking murder you, you – ah,” but Theo’s
thrusting into him roughly now and Stiles’ sentence is cut short by a yelp of
pain. He doesn’t think of Derek anymore. He thinks of not fainting.
Theo is stroking him, the movements of his hand clumsy and erratic, he’s so
fucking turned on, so incredibly close to the edge.
And, God, when is this ever going to end.
Make it stop.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.
There’s a choked sound from Theo, a mixture of a laugh and a moan.
At this point, speaking has become almost impossible for him. Again.
“We’ll – do it – together – this time. You – don’t know how – this gets me –
going. Stiles.”
I can feel it, Stiles is thinking, God.
I can fucking feel it.
 
 
 
“No, Theo, stop.”
Someone is panting.
Skin scraping over plastic, getting rubbed fucking open on the carpet.
The smacking noise of sweaty skin against skin, among the most nauseating of
all the sounds.
“Please stop, it hurts, it hurts.”
A cry of pain, like “Aaah” that turns into, “God.”
“Derek?” someone is saying, a soft voice, so much closer to him but all Derek
can hear is Theo’s voice, and Stiles’ voice and, yeah.
The sound of the two fucking.
Derek is petrified.
He can’t move.
Wants to slap his hands over his ears, wants to fucking claw into his own skull
and rupture his eardrums, for God’s sake, but he can’t move.
It’s like listening to Stiles huffing out pained breath after pained breath is
the only thing telling him the boy is still alive. The closest Derek can come
to control over the situation right now.
This will be his fucking nightmare for the rest of his goddamn life.
Sitting at the kitchen table, locked into Theo’s fucking dollhouse, listening
to Stiles getting raped.
The flames outside this time.
Oh, the irony.
The forest is being engulfed in shadow fire and here, inside, it’s cool and
safe but what’s important to Derek, what he wants to protect, cradle, fucking
own, is being destroyed nonetheless.
Is being used, fucked raw and sore.
He can hear it.
Theo’s dick sliding in and out of his – of Stiles.
And he tried getting into the room, oh God, did he try.
They both did.
While Stiles was still talking to Theo inside and it was only slowly dawning on
Derek what was to come.
When Theo started undressing, Derek started losing control. Malia did, too.
Soon they were hissing and throwing themselves against doors, walls, fucking
clawing at them with all they got. But from what they could follow of the
conversation inside, from the way things just went down – turned into this –
Derek knew.
They both did.
The sound just went one way.
It's a fucking funhouse of horrors.
No sound of Derek or Malia calling out to Stiles, trying to break through,
pleading with Theo, offering themselves, went in.
Stiles’ breathing and sobs came out and with their supernatural hearing,
they're still there, all the sounds, even the tiniest rustle and faintest cry.
Derek was tearing out his hair, screaming, dropping to his knees.
Then, when it started, Malia just took Derek’s hand.
Pulled him away.
Sat him down at the kitchen table.
And they’ve been here ever since.
“Derek.”
Malia puts her hand over his own. “You’re breaking the table.”
Derek turns his head for what feels like the first time in years, his neck is
stiff, and he looks Malia in the eyes. Then down to his hands. His claws, that
is.
The wood around them has cracked and splintered and dug into Derek’s skin but
he doesn’t care, oh God, he wants to feel the pain.
Or nothing at all.
He wishes he were dead.
“You know he can’t kill him,” Malia is saying now. Her hand is still covering
his and she’s giving it a little squeeze but Derek just blinks at her.
“He can’t torture him anymore, he-” but she falls silent.
Maybe heard how ridiculous it sounds.
Because now Stiles is begging Theo to take his hand off his dick, to fucking
stop touching him, to stop, to go away, to please stop, take what he needs and
be done with it.
To kill him.
And Theo’s moaning now, it’s a low sound, almost a snarl, followed by quick
breathing, ragged, choked sounds like he’s right on the edge.
They just sit there.
Sit and listen, wait.
After a while Malia says, “It’s over.”
And repeats it.
“It’s over. Let’s go to him.”
 
 
 
“Stiles.” Theo’s breath is hot against his ear. “Baby?”
Stiles doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes. His butt is throbbing with hot,
flaming pain, hips, knees, bridges of his feet, elbows, all sore. His penis
still limp.
He didn’t come.
Didn’t even get slightly turned on.
And Theo was too far gone to focus on what Stiles would need to get hard, his
thrusts too erratic to do anything but damage.
When he threw his head into his neck and cried out, Stiles knew it was over.
Was too numb to feel it but he knew from the way Theo’s fingers dug into his
skin and he started trembling, so he just flopped to the side and Theo didn’t
even catch him, couldn’t, really, because he was fucking shaking with his
orgasm, not hearing anything, not feeling anything else.
It's almost funny.
How he used to preach control to Stiles when this – this seemed to sweep him
clean off his feet. Yeah, he’s the fucking King of Hell but then gets so turned
on by this, he doesn’t even know what hit him.
“They can come inside now. They’re coming here,” Theo is saying now, then,
again, “Baby?”
“Don’t,” Stiles forces himself to say but, oh, he doesn’t want to speak.
His mouth tastes like blood.
“They can’t see me like this.”
There’s a rustle and the sound of Theo walking across the carpet.
Then Stiles gets wrapped in a blanket and he whimpers when Theo moves him.
Finally opens his eyes and is met with a look on Theo’s face like – confusion.
Worry?
Yeah, Theo looks fucking worried alright.
Stiles wants to slam his head into the floor and laugh and laugh.
But even breathing hurts so, no.
Not today.
Theo’s furrowing his brow and he says, “Stiles?” a little louder now and then
another voice is calling out his name and she sounds hysterical, almost.
“Stiles? Oh God, Stiles! Oh God, oh God, oh no.”
Malia is sobbing wildly and she’s squatting down by his side. There’s tears and
snot running down her face and she tries to cover it with her right hand but
it’s shaking heavily so she’s not doing anything except for getting strands of
hair stuck to her wet cheeks.
He wants to tell her he’s okay but he feels like he ran out of energy.
Can’t speak.
Just close his eyes.
Theo picks him up and snaps, “Don’t even come close,” and then, “Derek!”
All Stiles can think is, God, no.
No, no, no, no, no, not him.
Not like this, no.
Theo is carrying him out of the room.
A few moments later he puts him down again.
Tells him that he needs to clean him up.
Says something like 'Holy shit, Stiles, did you bite through your lip?'
The light in here is too bright.
The bathtub too hard.
When he opens the blanket, he lets out a surprised hiss, Theo.
“What the-,” he mutters and then falls silent.
There is a long pause.
So long in fact that Stiles opens his eyes a little, just cracks them open the
tiniest bit. When they get used to the light he opens them wider and again,
there’s Theo.
He’s still naked and his body is glistening with sweat. His hair is messed up
and sticky and he’s staring at Stiles, is moving his eyes over his body, over
the damage he did.
It’s weird, so utterly out of character even.
But then, Stiles starts thinking.
Is it really?
Didn’t little Theo also whisper sweet apologies, tell him softly that he was
sorry, so sorry, when Stiles was sobbing and clutching the wound Theo had
inflicted on his chest, his wrist, his thigh?
Even apologized when he went too far?
Once, he’d given in to the rush and accidentally broken several bones in
Stiles’ right arm. As soon as Theo had heard the awful crack, he’d stopped,
eyes wide. There’d been this expression of horror on his face that a little kid
would get who played too hard with his favorite toy and then accidentally broke
it.
No, he wasn’t without emotion, Theo.
He was just twisted.
All wrong.
Stiles closes his eyes again, waits for it to happen.
He doesn’t have to wait for long.
A hot palm presses down onto his sweaty chest.
And, getting sucked into it, getting reeled in inch after inch after inch, is
the pain, the soreness, the raw and open flesh.
Stiles inhales.
Feels like he can finally breathe freely again.
Theo just fixed him.
Not because Stiles would have bled out or anything, no, he didn’t go that hard
on him, Theo. Didn’t rupture his colon, didn’t tear his sphincter. It was just
large bruises and sores and scratches.
But because he went too far, measured against what he’d meant to do tonight at
least.
The way Theo is still staring down at him now.
Stiles doesn’t have to open his eyes to see it.
He knows exactly what it is that’s unsettling Theo.
Yes, he knows him that well.
It’s the loss of control that comes with this.
Usually, Lucifer makes a plan to hurt and hurt he does.
Wants to mangle and kill. Does that, too.
Covers Stiles skin carefully with wound after wound after wound, like he’s
following an intricate pattern that’s already laid out in the human brain he’s
borrowing.
This though.
Theo doesn’t even know what this is.
Hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, not like this anyway, and yet.
Yet.
Happen it did.
 
 
Theo removes the blanket from under him, then picks up the shower head.
It’s one of these cheap, plastic things and it’s all but falling apart. Stiles
knows it well from the showers Malia and he took together after fooling around,
Malia calm and cheerful and Stiles just freaking happy that he got some.
When Theo deems the water neither too hot nor too cold, he starts letting it
run over Stiles’ legs, then moves further and further up his body to wash blood
and sweat and sperm off the healed skin.
Knees.
Thighs.
Penis.
Stomach.
Chest and hands.
Finally face and hair.
Soon Theo is rubbing at his skin with a sponge carefully, like he could do any
damage now, it’s ridiculous, and while Stiles is getting all cleaned up, is on
the best way to being new and shiny again soon, he imagines himself back months
and months, back in the tub of ice water, getting held down by Lydia and
telling himself to not struggle because he could shake her hands off so easily
and ruin the whole thing.
What he hadn’t known when he climbed into the tub was this.
The ceremony had already begun and because of that it wouldn't be like drowning
at all.
So as soon as Lydia pushed him under, he wasn’t scared anymore and knew exactly
what to do.
That moment was sheer bliss.
How he opened his eyes and lungs and breathed in.
Relaxed into death.
 
 
As the water is streaming down his face, Stiles lets his head rest against the
ceramic and imagines himself back there and powerful.
He’d resurrect all of them.
Start with Allison.
She’d spring up from the ground, laughing and beaming, brown hair flowing
around her.
Next is Derek.
He’d make him all new, heal him, let him forget.
Then Scott, his dad, Malia.
Take away their pain and what they’ve seen and were forced to do.
All the others, the victims and casualties, Derek’s family, even Victoria
Argent, and finally, finally his mom.
In the bathtub of this dollhouse with hell beast dancing around them, Derek and
Malia in front of the door, one sobbing, the other staring ahead with a blank
look, and Theo scrubbing at his body in complete silence, Stiles is doing a
ceremony until everything, everything is good again.
***** Echo *****
Chapter Summary
     Last night's echo. Stiles finds himself a new voice to fill his head
     with. Derek is unable to, somehow. Video games with Scott, then more
     games with Theo.
Chapter Notes
     so, my dear, wonderful readers - I loved every single one of your
     awesome and carefully crafted comments <3 you guys are the best - and
     I'm happy about the kudos I'm still getting on this story
     you make me want to keep writing & I hope you'll like this chapter
     and will enjoy reading it (or be deeply unsettled which is really the
     effect I'm going for here)
     again: big (!) trigger warning - this chapter contains a scene that
     may be revolting to some readers - if you're among the faint-hearted
     (as I am on certain days), please do NOT read (or just skip the part,
     it's towards the second half of the story)
 
 
 
   “Shadows present, foreshadowing deeper shadows to come.” (Benito Cereno)
 
 
 
 
 
The water though.
It’s like Derek can still hear it running down Stiles’ body, washing off sweat
and sperm, pooling in the tub and pouring into the drain, taking it all off his
healed skin like it never happened when Derek knows it fucking happened, will
always see it in Stiles’ face from this day onwards.
The blood from his lips, too.
Derek had caught a glimpse of Stiles’ face when Theo carried him out of the
room, had also smelled it on him. It hadn’t been much – just a thin stream that
had been smeared across Stiles’ chin by the back of his own hand when he’d
tried to wipe it off during – earlier.
And when they were out of the room it was still there on the floor, Stiles’
blood, droplets of it sunk into the fabric of the carpet and hugging the
synthetic fibers and Derek can smell it, or he thinks he can, imagines it
there, but he can’t really focus on it because it’s just so fucking loud in his
head that he can’t sense anything, can’t feel, smell, hear a thing over the
sound of the goddamn water running, running, running, running, running,
running.
 
 
 
 
Theo is driving the Jeep.
Fully dressed again, of course, but hair tousled and lips fuller somehow,
redder, cheeks slightly flushed. It’s the unmistakable, seductive look of
someone who just had orgasmic sex.
He is gazing out into the night, a soft smile on his lips.
His calm, smug self again, apparently.
“Has anyone ever told you that your Jeep is a piece of trash?”
He lets his gaze drop down to the wheel.
Then up again.
“This thing is not only loud, it’s a lethal hazard.”
Stiles has his face turned away from Theo. He’s staring out into the darkness
and if you went around the car – a sort of tricky undertaking at 70 miles per
hour – and pressed your face flat against the side window, you’d see that his
eyes aren’t focusing on anything out there, like he’s lost in thought, like he
lets the whole landscape just pass through without even realizing it’s there.
He doesn’t react to that soft chuckle either, doesn’t blink an eye, even
though, from experience, Stiles should know that that’s something to watch out
for, be alarmed by.
It usually means that Theo is thinking of something that amuses him.
And with him, that’s never a good sign.
Even if he isn’t plotting, what he’s thinking about, what puts a smile onto
these perfect lips is usually deeply unsettling nevertheless.
“You know, Stiles...,” Theo’s saying now, lips wrapping gently around every
syllable, “I almost... don’t miss gutting people... when I can have you like
this.”
A look over to the passenger seat.
Eyes back on the road again.
“For now.”
Stiles, of course, doesn’t react and Theo, well.
He frowns.
A few more seconds of nothing from Stiles and he sets his jaw.
It’s like his senses just won’t fucking tell him whether Stiles can hear him or
not but, oh, Stiles can hear him alright.
It’s like Theo suddenly acquired banshee powers. Even the softest whisper hits
Stiles like Theo just slapped him.
He wants to cover up his ears, slide further away from Theo even though he’s
already on the edge of his seat but the gear shift between them is just a lousy
barrier and he has considered pushing the door open and hurling himself out of
the vehicle at full speed twice.
It’s not like he’s so scared right now.
No, not at all, see, that’s not it.
Because the horror part?
It’s in his past already, done with, over for the night.
Stiles has put that behind him.
And nothing could be more horrifying than what Theo had managed to pull off so.
No, Stiles isn’t particularly anxious right now.
He just doesn’t want to listen to this guy anymore is all.
His voice is making Stiles nauseous, it feels like bugs crawling around under
his skin. Every time Theo just breathes in and out it’s like he’s yelling at
him.
And these audible sighs, he’s doing that a lot right now because Stiles is not
even physically reacting to his words, his heart rate speeding up or his stress
level rising.
Nothing.
Like Theo’s not even there which -
He can’t have that.
Like he’s irrelevant and that’s the only thing Theo will never live to be.
He will not be ignored.
So he says, voice all cold and sharp suddenly.
“Just get a grip, Stiles. You’re being pathetic.”
It’s like these words broke the spell.
Stiles is not tearing up but his eyes are suddenly moist, like it’s the verbal
cruelty that finally got to him, not all the stuff that happened before, and
Theo gives him a nod, face relaxing a little.
Like saying, what exactly did you expect Stiles?
What kind of an outcome did you think you were in for?
That you’d somehow be spared, protected?
That you’d turn out to be special, purer than the others and that’s why he
picked you – and that’s what you’ll eventually turn against him, use on him,
causing him to make mistakes? Small ones, at first, so tiny he himself won’t
notice until – until it’s too late.
But you’re not special.
There’s no such thing as purity either.
Oh, you thought that’s how this story would go down, that you’d be taking him
down with the sheer goodness inside of you, that unspoiled, untainted part that
cuts through his darkness like a blade and that he, Lucifer, had felt so
attracted to, and that would finally, in the last reel, become his demise?
This is not a horror movie.
Or, maybe, just in the back of your mind, you’d considered – were bold enough
to consider the possibility that he might fall for you – change for you,
despite himself, become more human?
This is not a teenage romance either, one of these more twisted ones that
you’ll find in the dark corners of the internet.
You literally made a deal with the devil.
Nothing good could possibly come out of that, not for you or for anyone.
It may be your story but it’s not your game, Stiles, and, in your heart, you
always, always knew.
You knew it, made the deal anyway, had to, even, got to live with it.
So, yeah, get a grip already, Stiles.
Get a fucking grip.
 
 
Theo follows him into the house even though Stiles, he –
Aw, hell.
What the fuck ever, man.
At this point he doesn’t even care anymore.
So, Stiles, he walks in, slides out of his shoes, throws his jacket someplace,
he doesn’t even know where it lands, will certainly be looking for it tomorrow
but right now?
Oh, man, the house could be burning to the ground around him and he would still
be going to bed right now, staring ahead into the darkness of the living room,
stair case, hallway, with this determined look on his face and blinking not
often enough, mouth a grim line.
Well, look at that.
Ten minutes since he told himself to get a grip and he got a grip.
He’s not anxious, he’s not stressed, he’s – calm.
The eye of the fucking storm.
When he walks past the bathroom, however, what he realizes is this.
There’s something wrong with this calmness.
It’s not – he shouldn’t be feeling so sick.
Like the whole tension, stress, guilt, hatred, pain?
It drained out of his heart, even his brain, and there’s no more ache, no
intrusive images or anything, but then it all just pooled in his stomach,
somehow.
He’s almost past the door when he knows he won’t make it.
Turns around and darts into the bathroom, almost faceplants onto the tiles,
sprinkling them with blood from his nose, lips, forehead, finally physically
feeling the hurt again that Theo took away from him.
And funny, how you can still vomit and the stuff hurts, burns, coming up your
throat even though you haven’t eaten in hours.
He feels like hell.
God.
Like he’s finally coming crashing down now, his eyes watering, his knuckles
stretching whiter when his fingers clutch the toilet seat, hold on to it hard
like they want to melt into it but are still trembling.
And even though he’s kneeling in front of the toilet, feeling like he’s dying,
he can still hear Theo let out the softest sigh, it’s ridiculous.
As if in exasperation.
Then he follows it up with, “Stiles...” and, we can only assume, a shake of the
head.
It does nothing for Stiles except heighten the urge to turn his insides out
right here, right now.
Theo is leaning in the doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest. It’s like
he’s waiting for Stiles to unglue himself from the tiles, the ceramic, so Theo
can finally leave, almost. Because if you look at him more closely now, Theo,
his eyes are sort of red. Like he’s really tired and, given that he just fucked
Stiles’ brains out, he probably is.
Yeah, sure, he could – make it disappear, the way he made the bruises on
Stiles’ body vanish, his split lip and purple hip and sore butt.
Technically, Theo doesn’t even have to eat, right?
But that’s not how the game works.
So he’s leaning in the doorway, lets out a yawn, then rolls his eyes.
The thing is just that Stiles – he doesn’t stop.
After a while, Theo advances into the bathroom.
At this point, it’s really just bile that Stiles is coughing up and his face is
all red and his cheeks wet and he can’t see anymore, his eyes are clouded.
A hand is pressing into his back but Stiles, he can’t feel it of course.
What he does feel though is when the same hand slaps him on the shoulder hard
like you would slap someone who’s passed out after a night of drinking to check
whether you can still wake him up, bring him back, just hit him hard enough, or
whether he’s already too far gone. Dead almost, already. That’s usually not how
it is but there’s that second of shock anyway.
That brief moment, just for a heartbeat when you’re actually considering the
possibility that there’s death right in front of your eyes.
Theo grabs Stiles by the sweater and drags him backwards, away from the ceramic
and into the middle of the bathroom.
Stiles is disoriented for a moment, has no idea what just happened.
One second he was vomiting his guts out, the next he’s lying there on his back.
Well, maybe that isn’t all too bad because he’s panting, gasping for air, and
that’s when he realizes that he hadn’t taken a breath for about half a minute
when Theo had broken the spell, torn him away from his own spit and vomit.
“What the hell, Stiles?!”
The light on the ceiling is biting into his eyes cruelly so Stiles puts his
right arm over his face, shields himself from it.
“What was that, Stiles? Just fucking explain to me,” and Stiles is getting
dragged into a sitting position roughly, “how the fuck you still haven’t
understood a thing about my healing powers? I can’t do anything when you’re
like that – when you’re getting worked up like this over nothing, without
physical damage. When you don't want to heal.”
Then Theo is clutching his sweater, is shaking him and Stiles wants to ask him
whether he’s insane because, clearly, the last thing you do with someone who
just vomited for ten minutes straight is give him a good shake, but he’s in no
mood to justify this almost irrepressible urge to vomit due to, well. This
irrepressible urge to vomit.
It’s still there.
Feels horrible.
Also, his head is wobbling back and forth on his shoulders as Theo is shaking
him mercilessly, grips him tighter so his fists are pressing into Stiles’
throat, causing him to gag, and are probably ruining his sweater as well.
Theo stops after what feels like a minute but must have been less, and locks
eyes with him – at least, Stiles thinks that that’s what he’s doing. He can’t
really see right now.
“You won’t heal like this,” Theo is saying again now, like he feels the message
hasn’t really hit home with Stiles yet who is limply dangling from Theo’s fists
like a doll, “Not when you’re making a fucking scene like the biggest bitch on
the planet – when you’re being so fucking hysterical. Cut the shit out,
Stiles.”
This statement, or maybe something in the way Theo’s delivering it, is
hilarious to Stiles and a grin is slowly making its way to his lips. Pulls the
corners of his mouth apart so they become thin and stretched and sort of white.
Theo’s reaction now though.
Pretty priceless as well.
He’s staring at Stiles, at the way he’s grinning back at him like he knows
something, has understood something that Theo hasn’t and Theo – he’s seriously
taken aback for a moment.
Eyes wide in a mixture of disbelief and, maybe, shock, too.
Like Stiles is losing his mind right in front of his fucking eyes when he,
Theo, had been so – careful. Yeah, sure, he’s gone a little overboard on the
whole coming in Stiles’ ass thing earlier, it had just been so good.
Perfection.
So beyond belief that he’d not even been able to make Stiles come with him, had
not even thought of it before his first orgasm, because in these moments
leading up to climax?
There’s no fucking words.
When he was clutching Stiles’ hips, was riding him almost, his head thrown back
into his neck, sweat running down his forehead, eyes squeezed shut and mouth
half open, just breathing out moans and ‘Oh fuck’s was really all he allowed
himself to do. To not lose himself in this kid.
But he hadn’t been out of control.
Had he been – then Lucifer wouldn’t even be here right now and Stiles,
presumably, in tiny shreds on the floor of Malia’s bedroom, that ugly green and
red carpet that looks like someone just took last year’s Christmas tree and
ironed it out.
Felt like it, too, itchy and prickly and, quite frankly, just uncomfortable.
It speaks to how fucking gone Theo had been from the moment he’d pressed his
chest up to Stiles’ back by the window that he hadn’t even taken note of the
germy, disgusting thing that they were fucking on and that he’d have gotten rid
of long ago anyway if Malia weren’t so ridiculously and unhealthily attached to
it.
So, the fact that he really meant to take Stiles on the bed – Malia’s of course
– but then didn’t even make it, had to shove his dick into Stiles’ ass then and
there mere feet away from it, is a little alarming, to say the least.
But then again, maybe certainly the pact would save Stiles from a fate like
this. Would send Theo back to the lands of fire before he could actually do
anything, not that he cares.
Or would it?
Maybe he’d have to actually break it first, kill Stiles accidentally, really
hurt him in a way he’s not allowed to, and then the powers would rip Lucifer
out of his human flesh while simultaneously putting Stiles back together. Maybe
what’s in this deal is this kind of justice. Because if thoughts or almost’s
were enough to banish Theo?
He’d been long gone, holy shit.
So how the deal is doing it exactly, Theo doesn’t really know, nor care.
He’s never broken his word before.
And never will either.
But you can see in his eyes, Theo’s, that the way Stiles is actually laughing
in his face right now is unsettling him.
There’s something about Stiles’ mouth locked in this grotesque grimace that is
bizarre.
Like he’s seen it before.
“Stiles.”
Theo lets go of his sweater and shakes him again, just once, but roughly, so
his head falls forward abruptly and Stiles’ mouth snaps shut, rows of his teeth
meeting with an audible click.
“Don’t fucking – do that,” Theo grits out.
He doesn’t wait for Stiles to respond but jumps to his feet and pulls Stiles’
limp body up with him. Then starts dragging him across the tiles, out of the
bathroom, Stiles’ feet getting caught in the rug that only peels away again
when it gets stuck in the doorway, is simply too big to fit through.
In the hallway, Theo has to wrap Stiles’ right arm over his shoulder and keep
it in place by clutching his right hand, pulling it downwards so Stiles won’t
slide off, collapse and just lie there, legs and head on the hardwood floor,
torso on the carpet, and cackle maniacally until his dad comes home and trips
over him.
Then they’re in Stiles’ bedroom and Theo halfway shoves, halfway throws him
across the mattress.
Considers him for a moment.
Huffs out a, “You’re such a weirdo,” because he has apparently decided that
it’s nothing.
What he just thought he saw on Stiles’ face, this odd laugh?
Not worth thinking about.
Stiles is just freaking out a little, Theo can clearly sense that now and
Stiles’ lethargy during their drive over to the house, the calmness and lack of
emotion that seemed so out of character, especially considering what Theo had
just done to him?
That was already a part of it.
The calm before the fucking tornado.
The emptiness before feelings and thoughts, the whole fucking chaos, came
crashing back down and almost, almost take Stiles away with them.
Almost.
Because he hasn’t snapped, Stiles, not yet. Isn’t vomiting anymore, or even
gagging, or being empty or upset or – crazy.
Rather, he’s pulled his feet up onto the mattress as soon as his body hit the
comforter, then rolled over and started snoring like a toddler falling asleep
in the middle of throwing a tantrum.
What a completely odd series of behavior.
Not out of character for Stiles though.
Theo is considering his back, the way it’s moving with every breath he takes,
slightly pushing into the mountains of fluff and softness that is his
comforter. Like Theo cracked an oyster open and found Stiles lying there
embedded into the jelly, sleeping peacefully and beautifully like nothing had
happened, like he’d just come home from school and gone straight to bed and he
hadn’t vomited his guts out earlier, like Theo hadn’t fucked him so hard Stiles
had practically passed out afterwards. Like he hadn’t made Derek and Malia
listen to it. Like Stiles hadn’t just fucking freaked him out for a second
there, granted, but only for a split second.
No.
He’s sleeping.
Like a baby, too.
Theo is staring at Stiles’ body lying there and his thoughts take him places.
Dark places full of fire and chains and Stiles’ ecstatic moans. The ones he,
Theo, has yet to hear after all which is – he’s not particularly happy about
it, okay?
Anyway.
Just when Theo is about to turn around and walk out of here, Stiles pushes his
body upwards on the mattress, uncurls and, taking in a deep breath, his head
finds his pillow because of course it would.
Stiles and his pillow, God.
Theo remains rooted in place like he’s glued to the floor, listening to this
breath going in.
Out.
In.
Out.
There’s a smile on his lips now and no one is there to see it, to piss off, so.
Could it be genuine?
Because he does have these, Theo, real smiles.
Just because, when he’s standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest,
watching Stiles, everything is making sense again.
See?
That’s what he’s talking about.
That’s what he means, what he likes.
What he’d been looking for for so long before he met Stiles.
This capacity to change, to surprise – even him.
Startle him out of his routine of five hundred thousand years.
Have him, Lucifer, go from fucking orgasmic to annoyed to worried to – the
tiniest bitstartled, just a tinge of surprise? And back to satisfied again,
calm, content. Amused even, and all of it within less than two hours.
Back to – to this low-key agitation that’s already building in his stomach
again and almost, almost makes him stick that hand underneath Stiles’ sweater
to press against his hot skin, feel that life vibrate underneath his palm with
every intake of breath.
It’s what makes him almost
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
lose his mind, or that’s what Derek’s thinking anyway.
That if he has to stay in this house any longer, stand in this fucking room
where it all happened for as much as another second he might not even make it
back to his apartment anymore. He might as well go straight to Eichen House.
That’s how seriously fucked up he is.
Because a few seconds ago, Malia said this.
“What do you think it meant when Stiles was asking about us?”
This is an hour later and she’d stopped sobbing, was sort of composed again,
her voice shaking only a little, only if you listenedfor it anyway, then looked
at Derek, eyes wide with the memory of – something.
The expression on Derek’s face had immediately hardened and he’d turned away,
facing the window, glossing over his fear of the one thing none of them has
acknowledged yet, going, “All is calm now. I can’t sense anything – can’t hear
anything either. I should-”
“No,” and there’s an edge to her voice, like –
Panic?
She doesn’t want him to leave.
Understandably so, right?
“Then come with me,” Derek says and he knows he’ll be done talking very soon,
will fall silent within a matter of minutes. Forming thoughts in his brain and
passing them on to his mouth, making his tongue and lips wrap around the words
- it’s just too stressful. Too exhausting.
So he tries to get it all out before that happens. “You can stay at my
apartment for the time being, it’s not like your dad – like he’ll need you. Or
anything.”
Both their eyes go up to the ceiling, almost as if they’re being pulled up by
invisible strings attached to – something.
Something up there.
“....right. He won’t need me anymore,” Malia says. She’s looking at Derek
again, now, and there’s an expression on her face like she almost resents him
for pointing it out.
Derek turns around and walks out of the room. Now that he’s so close to
finally, finally getting out of here, he feels like the air in the living room
is poison. Too thick to be sucked into his lungs anyway. He walks faster, right
hand reaching out to push the door open, but before he can put his foot on the
front porch, Malia’s voice, out of the depths of the pitch black living room,
reaches his ears and it’s thin and stretched, more like an echo, “I think it
means that Stiles is in love with you.”
Derek’s right foot meets the floor, one inch away from the doorframe and he
turns around slowly, menacingly, but Malia, she’s just standing there, you can
see the dark shape of her slim body move with the breaths she’s taking in and
out. She doesn’t seem too impressed by the look on Derek’s face even though,
with her coyote eyes, she can probably see every wrinkle in it clearly.
“It didn’t mean anything,” Derek grits out, then repeats it as if wanting to
make clear it hit home, and that they’re never going to talk about it again.
“It didn’t mean anything.”
But Malia is stubborn, always was.
“You heard his heart beat when he asked whether we’re dating, I know you did,
Derek. Stop pretending like you didn’t. It’s disrespectful to Stiles.”
“Don’t fucking talk about him like he’s dead!” Derek spits out, “he’s not – it
doesn’t – just fucking cut it out!”
And then he finally lifts his boot over the doorsill, lets it land outside and
proceeds with heavy steps in the direction of his car that is by now covered in
leaves with sooty spots like the residue from a gunshot, oddly shaped like the
imprints of hooves, covering the windshield, hood and roof, and he’s not even
waiting for Malia to follow him.
She’s fast, she’ll catch up.
And when he turns that key in the ignition he’s so fucking scared, holy shit.
It’s not even funny anymore.
That, after what he heard Lucifer do to Stiles, what he, Derek, heard them both
do together, there could still be something that would make his heart ache more
heavily, more loudly. That could legitimately make what just happened in
Malia’s bedroom even more horrible.
That that would even be possible.
It’s unreal.
What Stiles said though.
It’s what he’d said before they even started kissing that had made Derek try
and get into the room desperately, with as much force as he could muster. Maybe
he’d also tried to drown out anything else Stiles could possibly say. For Malia
to not hear.
Derek is scared shitless of what it had really meant and Malia, she knows all
about it. From the way she’s looking at Derek right now, from where she’s
sitting in the back of the Camaro, has squeezed her long legs into the tiny
space behind the passenger seat for the sole purpose of being able to stare him
in the eyes in the rear-view mirror, all determined and calm, it’s obvious.
She knows.
That the fact possibility that Stiles could have developed feelings for Derek
would make this the most horrible thing that could have ever happened.
Because think, just think about the meaning.
It would mean that he, Derek, could have had Stiles long ago. That they could
have had time together, memories even, before all of this started.
Not that he’d wanted that or even ever thought of it but – hypothetically
speaking.
That what Stiles had had to do with Derek in earshot in all likelihood not only
irrevocably damaged Stiles but also broke his heart.
And Derek, he’d called him a brother just the other day, God.
He used to think that Stiles and he were just too different, that that’s why
they just never clicked as friends.
Now he thinks that, maybe, they’d really always been too close to each other.
Felt so oddly comfortable around one another, interacting so naturally, it had
just been – strange. It was probably Stiles’ crush that Derek had sensed and
that had made things weird between them.
And to think – to think that Stiles could, under different circumstances, want
to be his, Derek’s, right now is – it’s so horrific, so fucking terrible that
Derek returns to the only possible solution.
The thing he’s kept telling himself so many times over, he’s only half aware
he’s saying it out loud now.
“You’re mistaken, Malia, and even if – if it were true – it was because of the
bond. It was Ferniel’s way of ensuring I’d be keeping my word. Because I’d be
more attached to him.”
Then falls silent like he said it all.
“Fine,” Malia’s voice is heated, “Good. Turn this fucking nightmare into an
even more twisted version in your fucking brain, Derek.”
It sounds like she means to say more, but then doesn’t.
She has turned her eyes away from him but he’s still throwing her glances like
he dares her to go on. Like he’ll stop the car and fight her if he has to.
But it’s pointless.
She’s so stubborn.
Besides, they’re both listening to the echo of water that seems to be all
around them, slowly seeping into the interior of the car. Like it’s a destitute
vessel, drifting helplessly down a dark river, slowly disappearing amid the
waves that extinguished the fire and drove away the hell beasts and Derek, he
just wants to wrap himself in that sound.
And forget.
There’s nothing else to do anymore anyway.
 
 
Later that night, he’s thinking that he might be lying to himself here.
Or maybe he’s just confused?
Can you be so traumatized you get turned on by the memory of rape, the echo of
pained moans?
When he’s finally managed to calm down enough that sleep doesn’t seem like a
completely ridiculous concept anymore, what’s there in his head is Stiles’
breathy moans, not of arousal but of torment, from the mere force of Theo
pushing into him and Derek – he can’t fucking believe himself.
When he realizes that after bleeping out Theo’s words and heartbeat and
movements, his whole loathsome person, and the cries and the begging, what
still remains, curling and uncurling in his brain like a parasite, is Stiles’
forced breathing, Derek wants to dart out of bed and jump straight out the
window.
Not even open it beforehand.
Just go right through the glass.
God, he’s so fucked up.
There’s no words for it.
He has to do something to make it stop, now, or he’ll start touching himself
which – yeah, it might be a mere bodily reaction to extreme stress, his
personal alternative to throwing up maybe, but there’s nothing more damaged and
twisted he could think of doing after the horrors of this night.
Fanual lifted the pact on him alright but what he did to him, what he’d twisted
around in Derek’s brain?
It’s still not right. Never will be, probably.
Derek gets up, determined, lets his feet slide over the mattress and connect
with the cold hardwood floor.
This has to stop.
And he walks into the living room where Malia is wide awake on the sofa.
Probably heard him turning about in bed for over an hour, too.
Waiting for him.
 
 
 
The next day hasn’t even really started yet and Stiles is sick of it already.
It’s not that he’s particularly worried about facing Theo.
But he’s tired of feeling like this.
When he's taking a shower, then goes down to the kitchen to swallow his cereal,
he’s not really thinking of anything yet.
Ah, the bliss of early morning oblivion.
But it starts when he’s in his Jeep and driving to school.
Because he has to go to school, see?
Not going is just not an option.
What would he have done anyway?
Lie in bed and face the fact that not even wrapping the sheets around him as
tightly as possible can do away with the distinct sensation of Theo letting his
penis slide in and out of his ass?
As a matter of fact, it’s here with him right now, he can almost feel it going
in and out, an echo of the strangest and most uncomfortable sensation he could
ever imagine.
When Stiles is sitting in the classroom – it’s all empty, too, he’s a little
earlier than usual today – he still can’t wrap his head around the whole thing.
It’s like the night is a blur and he can’t really believe it happened. Like
he’d been so drunk he blacked out and only now discovers how the night ended,
awful memories seeping in piece after piece, horrible bit after horrible bit.
Theo Raeken put his penis up his ass.
Stiles is shaking his head and he feels like throwing up again, holy hell.
This actually happened.
And Stiles knows it hurt even though, right now, he can’t remember that too
clearly anymore. Probably because Theo took away every last hint of bodily ache
yesterday night, before he soaped him down and, God, there’s a sudden image of
Theo, face perfectly devoid of expression, lifting Stiles’ penis with his right
hand and moving the shower head around it, so the water would reach every inch
of Stiles’ body, even the sperm and sweat and ooze that had pooled between his
thighs.
Good God.
Stiles covers his face with his hands, cheeks burning in shame and disgust and
he doesn’t even know why. It’s sort of ridiculous to feel ashamed because your
rapist saw you like this.
Isn’t it?
Or, maybe, it’s just logical.
The consequence of having your bodily integrity completely taken away. You look
at yourself in ruins and all you feel is shame. Like it was you who did
something wrong.
Stiles goes, “No... no.... no... God,” and that’s how Scott finds him, just
sitting there, head still buried in his hands and he puts his hand onto Stiles’
shoulder softly, so gently Stiles wants to scream.
Stiles’ head snaps up and they look at each other.
Scott worried, maybe a little surprised and Stiles – well.
He has this expression on his face like he’s absolutely shellshocked to look up
and find his best friend standing there. Like it’s the last thing he would ever
have expected.
“I – I – h-hey,” Stiles starts but soon realizes his mouth is not actually
making words and falls silent.
Scott frowns.
You can see that he’s highly alarmed now and that’s when it hits Stiles.
No one told him.
Holy God.
Scott doesn’t know.
Stiles was raped last night, two members of his pack being forced to listen to
the whole thing and no one, no one told the fucking alpha.
Stiles doesn’t even know how to react.
He’s braced himself for pity and hours and hours of worried looks and having to
block attempts of getting him to talk about his feelings.
But this?
This is beyond – anything.
He doesn’t even know whether to feel glad or infuriated.
It certainly says something about how Derek and Malia are feeling.
Stiles is still staring at Scott, mouth halfway open, when Theo walks in and
Scott, yeah.
It certainly doesn’t seem like it sometimes but he can be quick, a fucking
Sherlock when he has to.
Stiles watches it happen, the way Scott darts around the moment Theo enters the
classroom, how the two lock eyes and the corners of Theo’s mouth pull up into a
smirk and he doesn’t even take his hands out of the pockets of his black
sweater like he doesn’t even care that Scott is about to murder him, and just
when it seems to hit Scott – his eyes widen and he inhales sharply, just once –
just when Scott seems to get it, Stiles decides that he’d rather he didn’t.
But it’s too late.
Scott turns back to Stiles and stares at him for another second, jaws moving
like he wants to say something but can’t put words to what’s going on inside
his head and that’s when Stiles’ brain starts working again, finally.
Sweet Jesus.
About time.
“It’s alright, Scott,” and his hands go up like wanting to say, Easy.
Easy, it’s not worth it.
“It er.... it wasn’t – so bad.”
Oh, dear Lord, what a pathetic attempt.
“Ok, it was bad but now it’s over, alright?” His voice is a whisper like Stiles
is scared anyone could hear them even though, clearly, no one around them is
giving a shit about the way Scott McCall is just standing there, an expression
of utter freaking shock on his face.
“S- Scott? Just – calm down, okay?” Stiles is saying now because the way Scott
is looking at him?
Quite honestly, it scares him a little.
And he can’t deal with the tension right now.
Then Malia’s there next to Scott all of a sudden even though Stiles hasn’t even
seen her come in, and she’s wrapping her hands around Scott’s upper arms to
pull him away, out of the classroom. For a talk.
When they’re at the door, she looks back over her shoulder to Stiles, only for
a moment.
Then nods.
And Stiles understands.
She’s not going to tell him.
Whatever she’s going to say, Scott is not going to learn the truth, not from
her at least, not today either, and Stiles feels grateful.
He knows there’s no way anyone could explain this mess so it wouldn’t break
Scott’s heart and, to his, Stiles’, mind, three traumatized people in one pack
are more than enough.
 
 
Stiles doesn’t even have to ask what it was exactly that Malia told Scott
because as soon as he’s back by his side again, sliding into the seat next to
Stiles, he turns to face him and goes, “Is it true that he – can make you feel
good – while-”
“Yeah,” Stiles says right away and he’s relieved, somehow.
Okay, he feels like crap, yeah, but, you know, relatively speaking.
“Yeah, it – he can do that – did that. So, that’s one positive aspect.”
He’s not even lying because Theo can do it – make Stiles feel good. He’s done
it before but not yesterday and, yeah – why is that?
Scott doesn’t say anything else, just stares down at his own hands, at the way
they’re clutching the textbook as if he wasn’t the one telling them to do that,
somehow, but no, he doesn’t say anything because their teacher has walked in
and she’s already talking about – whatever, Stiles isn’t listening.
And Theo clearly meant to do something for him, Stiles, last night but then,
somehow, couldn’t.
Stiles knows Theo is staring a hole into the back of his head right now, he
doesn’t have to turn around and see it.
He can almost feel Lucifer straining his brain like he doesn’t know either,
isn’t sure why he reached around Stiles’ hips, grabbed his penis, but then
wound up doing nothing but damage.
 
 
When Theo catches up with him an hour later in the hallway, a minute after
their teacher wrapped up the session by giving them a ton of homework, Stiles
knows he’d been right. Theo really had been thinking about this because as soon
as Stiles is within earshot he says, “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”
Ah, Theo’s familiar fondness for just hitting Stiles in the face with it,
without offering any sort of introduction or explanation.
Stiles slams his locker shut.
“That’s a crappy apology, considering-”
“It’s not an apology.”
They’re looking at each other while people are streaming in and out of
classrooms, bumping into Theo because he just stands there, in the middle of
the hallway.
“Don’t be a complete idiot, Stiles,” and the way he says it, too, it’s like –
he’s annoyed and all Stiles can think of in terms of an answer is, “Are you
kidding me right now? You’re insulting me? Like, are you fucking kidding me
right now?”
He yelled that last sentenced but, thankfully, it’s so loud in the hallway that
not many people take notice. A few girls, certainly, who rake their eyes up and
down Theo’s body because, yeah, because he’s just that handsome, so much so
that you want to look at him forever.
Not Stiles, of course.
He’s already turning around, away from Theo, when a hand closes around his
upper arm.
Oh no, he didn’t.
He wouldn’t fucking dare.
Stiles’ looks back over his shoulder and there’s so much hatred in his eyes
that everyone but Lucifer Himself would have recoiled. As it is, Theo confronts
his gaze with coldness. Like he decided to drop the act for once, almost.
“You don’t understand, Stiles. I’ve been around for millennia and I learned
control. It’s an art and I brought it to perfection.”
No response from Stiles. He’s just glaring at Theo like he can make him go up
in flames if he just put enough loathing into his gaze. Theo conveniently
ignores it. He doesn’t have time for this right now, clearly, has something on
his mind and he will be heard.
“But this. It’s like I came into existence all over again and have to start
from scratch. And I’m already struggling hard to stay in control, more than you
could ever fucking understand, Stiles.”
“With my deficient human brain.”
Icy.
“Yes, Stiles. With your fucking narrow horizon.”
Theo is still clutching his arm, keeping Stiles from getting away from him, but
then doesn’t say anything either because, yeah.
Because there’s literally nothing more to say and he’s only waiting for Stiles
to challenge his words.
After a few moments of silence and intense staring, grim and determined on
Theo’s side, full of burning hatred on Stiles’, Theo uncurls his fingers, lets
him go. He even raises his hand as if to show Stiles that he’s no longer
restraining him, that Stiles is free to go wherever the fuck he pleases now.
And then he’s turning around – has the nerve to actually fucking turn his back
on Stiles, like he dares to walk away from him not the other way round – and
muttering something under his breath that sounds like, “Why do I even bother,”
like Stiles is just so fucking stupid, so pathetically human he’d never get it
and Stiles –
He snaps.
You can almost hear it, the soft click in his brain when it happens.
“Locker room.”
It comes out as more like an angry hiss than actual words, like Stiles was
speaking Parsel, but from the way Theo’s body stiffens Stiles can tell that he
heard him, oh, he heard him alright.
Stiles has already turned around so he doesn’t see the expression of – well,
surprise, probably, on Theo’s face.
Is walking down the hallway, in the opposite direction of where he should be
headed.
Once he’s here in the locker room, he even has the time to turn around slowly,
consider the dark blue lockers with their dents and scratches, that’s how fast
he walked. The fresh plaster on the wall because, yeah, Scott’s pack must have
demolished the room at least twice within the past two years.
The worn sinks.
Stiles knows them so well.
Like the palm of his own hands.
He’s stared down at them in a state of both joy and horror.
Fear, too, God, so much fear.
This now, though?
There’s no words.
It’s the single most peculiar state of emotion Stiles has ever found himself
in. Like he’s slowly descending into madness and he only realizes now with a
mixture of astonishment and amusement that that’s what this feels like
obviously. Fascinating.
A few moments later Theo is here, is closing the door behind him and his eyes
are never leaving Stiles’ when he advances slowly into the room.
There’s so many things Stiles could say, too.
I can’t go on like this.
I have to either die or survive, it’s the waiting part I can’t deal with.
But then he just stands there and looks at Theo who is looking back at him,
face still calm, with just the lightest frown like he’s either amused or
irritated but can’t decide yet, will have to gather more data, is waiting to
see what Stiles is up to
 
 
now.
No, you listen to me now.
This is it, Stiles.
You want catharsis, yes?
Right.
We understand, because so do we.
We feel with you, see?
All the suffering, the torment, the utter darkness?
We’ve been there with you, have watched you walk through it all. We’ve been
next to you the whole time, for God’s sake.
But our voices can’t reach you, you can never hear us yell, Look out! Hide!
He’s coming for you! And, God, we want you to hear us so badly.
We ache for you, don’t you understand?
Desire you, even more than he does.
So, now that you’re finally listening, let me take the chance and say this.
Explain it to you a little more, yes, so you’ll get what this is.
Because it’s really simple, too.
It’s your initiation, Stiles.
Through skin, fat, blood, tendons, bones.
Alright?
It’s essential that you get this.
You’ve never seen it coming either, we know, but it’s okay.
Because while you’re dying on the inside, we’re not only feeling your pain,
we’re also starting to get bored.
What we need, Stiles, is the same that Theo does, as Lucifer does – we need you
alive and kicking. Not a dead shell. Because that’s only entertaining for so
long.
And it’s not because we’re like him, Lucifer, either. It’s because we love you
so much.
More than you could ever begin to understand.
We won’t ask you to, either. To understand.
Just know this.
You need to let this behind you.
Heal maybe, even, if you’d prefer to. Whatever suits your fancy.
Do what you have to do to stay Stiles. Even if we might be looking at you a
little differently from now on, frown whenever we read hear your name in the
future, like you grew up to become someone, something we’re not quite sure we
approve of, do not concern yourself with that now. It’s not important.
The thing is, you need to move on from this spot because you’re starting to
dissolve into the shadows in front of our very eyes and – it’s with a certain
horror that we’re acknowledging this.
It’s the one thing we’re most afraid of.
So, listen to me now, Stiles.
Do it now.
You know what.
Don’t just tell yourself.
Do it.
See what happens.
 
 
 
 
 
 
The way Theo’s eyes widen when Stiles opens his right hand – Stiles finds it
hard to take his eyes away from it. He’s watching Theo’s face closely while he
extends his arm, then turns it and uncoils his fingers, palm facing up to the
ceiling.
He packed the lighter when he’d already been on his way out this morning, had
thrown it into his bag without even really knowing what he was doing.
Oh, but he knows now.
Thinks he’d really meant to do this all along anyway.
Theo is frowning like he doesn’t really get what Stiles is telling him here.
It’s hilarious.
“I promised you, I wouldn’t-” he starts but Stiles cuts him short.
“Not me,” he says. “You.”
Theo blinks, once, twice, then snorts out a condescending laugh.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Stiles.”
But Stiles doesn’t respond. Just looks back at him.
“What – seriously now? This is what you want? How you mean to get your
revenge?”
Lifts his eyebrows at him.
“Sometimes you crack me up, Stiles.”
“Not revenge, you son-of-a-bitch,” Stiles says back, face grim and determined,
“Just what I need to keep on doing this.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Theo says again. “That’s not you, Stiles. You’re
not cruel. What you need is – safety,” and he spits out the word like it’s a
pathetic thing to want but then, he, Theo, didn’t expect anything else from
him, has long accepted these weaker streaks of Stiles’ character, “Love. You’re
so freaking fragile, Stiles. You need to be cradled and held on a regular basis
like a freaking toddler.”
Stiles’ face relaxes a little which is – there’s an odd timing to it,
definitely, and Theo must think the same because his frown deepens.
When he speaks his voice is all calm and so – silent, the unbroken, mirror-like
surface of a dark pond into which a madman dumped thirty corpses that are
rotting there on the ground unseen by those above, heavy chains climbing up
their feet, milky eyes already dissolving into the green water.
“Try me.”
And Stiles moves his fingers that are curled around the lighter, positions his
thumb on the wheel, ready to strike it and summon a flame.
Theo lets out a snort again, rolls his eyes.
“Fine,” he says and shrugs.
“But I have to disappoint you, Stiles – I tried that out on myself more than
once and I can deal with it. I heal, too. You know that.”
“Just shut up,” Stiles says and Theo shrugs again. Then extends his right hand,
palm facing the floor.
Stiles strikes the lighter and a small flame springs up from the silver box.
“I think what you’re forgetting here, Theo,” he says while moving his hand in
an upwards direction, carefully so the flame won’t go out, is watching his own
movement, too, with concentration, “is how the human brain works. You see, you
can never remember how bad the pain really is – unless you’re feeling it...”
He flicks his eyes up to Theo’s face.
“...right now.”
And lines his hand up with Theo’s palm.
Nothing happens for a moment but the flame licking at soft skin.
Stiles has his eyes glued to Theo’s face.
It takes a moment – another one.
Wait for it.
And there it is. Theo winces.
Then lets out a hiss but still keeps his hand there, elbow trembling a little
like it really wants to pull away but Theo isn’t allowing it.
“Aah,” and he finally draws his hand back, clutches it to his chest.
“See? That’s what I mean,” Stiles says and lets the flame disappear.
Theo is staring at him.
“Is that all you can take?”
Stiles’ hand it still extended and he is lifting his eyebrows at Theo.
“If you want to keep fucking me – you’re going to have to take it. You promised
to give me what I need, remember?”
And he lets the flame spring up once again.
“It’s what I need.”
Theo looks down at his own palm and Stiles can see the rest of what must have
been a raw spot, pink and moist with the thinnest and most delicate pattern of
bloody lines like cuts, get sucked back into his hand.
Then their eyes meet and Theo grits out, “Fine. But you’re getting cocky,
Stiles. Careful.”
Stiles shrugs.
“What do I have to lose.”
It’s not even a question and Theo, he frowns again. Like he’s not sure whether
he did this – whether he has, in fact, done more damage to Stiles than he
thought possible.
Or whether it’s merely a side of Stiles’ character he hasn’t encountered
before. Because he’s full of surprises like that.
“Stiles, I-”
“Don’t fucking flatter yourself, asshole,” Stiles says like he's exactly
guessing what Theo is thinking. “I always meant to do that, from the first one
of your little torture sessions I wanted to make you feel – understand. You
just broke down the barrier last night, is all, the last bit of restraint. So?”
And he waves the lighter through the air.
“Am I skipping English for nothing here?”
Theo sets his jaw.
“Fine.”
Looks at the lighter, then back up again.
“Fine. But I want to get something out of this, too.”
“This is not-”
“This is the deal. Consensual. Remember?”
“What you did to me last night was not fucking consensual, you piece of shit,”
Stiles spits out and there it is again, that smirk on Theo’s face and Stiles
strikes the lighter almost without being aware of it. He knows where he wants
to put it, too.
“Well, I already told you, it wasn’t supposed to go down like this. But apart
from that, Stiles – I’m Lucifer. What did you expect from a deal forged in the
fires of Hell? Of course it benefits the Lord of the Red World.”
Stiles jumps at Theo, his right hand with the lighter lifted and he slams it
into Theo’s cheek at the same moment that Theo’s arms reach his shoulders.
Wrap around him.
Stiles’ eyes widen with surprise.
His hand seems glued to Theo’s face and even though he can’t see it, he knows
the flame is licking at Theo’s skin, upwards from where the rim is pressing
into his cheek, putting a red burn mark onto his face that reaches up to his
eyelashes and singing them, curling into his orbital socket and tapping at his
eyelid that had quickly squeezed shut upon contact.
Stiles put the lighter on maximum, just to be sure.
The thing is, Stiles can’t see what the little flame is doing – his flame now,
for once, his alone – because Theo has pulled him flush against his chest, is
holding him, fucking hugging him with his big arms like his life depends on it,
his right cheek pressing into Stiles’ and his body stiff, all tense.
He lets out a hiss, is pressing his teeth together but he never lets go of
Stiles who feels – peculiar.
After what must be about a minute, Stiles takes his thumb off the button and
Theo lets out a small whimper. The flame disappears but not so the pain, Stiles
would know.
He knows everything about this, see?
Theo’s body relaxes against his and now he’s leaning against him, his hands and
arms draped limply around Stiles’ shoulders.
Stiles pulls back because he wants to at least look at what he did, what he
managed to do, before it’s all gone again.
“Like what you see?” Theo says and he’s smiling even though a part of his cheek
is missing and it makes him look crooked, somehow. Stiles wasn’t aware that the
little flame would have that kind of a reach. Could burn into his skin that
deeply.
The left side of Theo’s face is raw and open and moist, his eyeball – Stiles
has to avert his gaze because he’s starting to feel sick again.
“See, I told you, that’s not you,” Theo is saying softly now but Stiles narrows
his eyes. Maybe he doesn’t like seeing it. But hearing Theo pant and hiss
because of a pain he, Stiles, is inflicting – it gives him a grim kind of
satisfaction.
Gives him back control.
Agency.
All the things he’s been longing for so desperately.
That momentary rush of power that comes with evolving from being a victim to
being a perpetrator, from someone who gets hurt to someone who’s inflicting
pain. Inferior, superior. It’s easy.
He needs that to go on.
When he faces Theo again, the skin on his cheek is pink, his mouth intact, his
eye white again, in shape.
His eyelashes are growing back.
“You’re no fun at all,” Stiles mutters which excites a laugh from Theo.
“Fun? Oh, Stiles... what, you want me to not heal? I can do that for you but –
I always took your pain afterwards. Remember?”
“I’m not imitating you, asshole,” Stiles spits out. “I just hate you so much I
want you to fucking hurt.”
There’s tears in his eyes when he says that.
Silence from Theo.
Then a nod.
“Okay. Yes. I understand.”
“I don’t want you to fucking understand! I want you to suffer.”
“Alright,” Theo says and this smugness, this fucking calmness, Stiles wants to
hurt him so badly for it, so instead of thinking about what to do next, making
a plan, he slams his right hand down onto Theo’s upper leg.
He’d been clutching scissors, you see, had already taken them out with the
lighter and kept them in his left hand all this time. Then, when he’d dropped
the lighter, had curled his right hand around them and they go right through
the fabric of the pants like a dagger, through skin, flesh and Theo lets out a
gasp through grit teeth.
Not more than that though.
When Stiles takes his eyes away from his own hand and the blood that is already
welling up around his fingers, drenching Theo’s pants, and looks up, he can see
that Theo’s face is distorted with pain but he’s silent.
Just pressing his teeth together but not letting out another sound. Is
breathing the pain away. So Stiles, he lets his fingers slide up to the handles
and even though they’re trembling and slick with dark red blood he manages to
thread them through the two rings.
Opens the scissors with as much force as he can.
Then slowly turns them.
Theo goes, “Gnnnnn,” and squeezes his eyes shut, lips pulled up from his teeth
and he’s swaying a little, almost falls over but, surprising them both, Theo
and himself, Stiles quickly puts up his right foot so Theo can rest his
body against it.
Stiles wants to see all of it, is the thing.
Not miss a second of Theo’s face distorted in pain, so he can’t have him fall
over and ruin his, Stiles’, angle here.
When Stiles starts cutting, Theo’s makes a pained sound like, “Ha!”
His breath is coming out all ragged now, hitching in his throat and Stiles, oh,
he doesn’t think it’s enough just yet.
Theo is now almost draped over his knee, head sunk onto his left shoulder,
muscles flexing on his throat and arms, and tears streaming down his cheeks,
not because he’s really crying but because it hurts so much, Stiles knows it
does and – he’s making a mess.
Theo’s pants, they’re shreds now, clotted into mushy bits of flesh, the odd
mixture of blackish red and yellow that you get when you’ve cut deep enough to
have gone all the way to the white core, to the bone.
He can use both his hands, too.
So he picks the lighter back up, snags it up out of the dark red puddle below
Theo’s knee with his index and middle fingers. It looks like it’s drenched in
blood, too, but it’s still working.
Yes, taking the scissors to cut through flesh and tendons and layers of fat and
muscle, as well as the lighter to singe what he can reach of the soft, raw
flesh that he dug up out of Theo’s thigh might be a little redundant.
There’s only so much pain you can feel, see?
And Stiles, he stuck the scissors in so deep, and with so much force, too, they
went straight into the bone. He felt it, almost like cracking your spoon
through the surface of crème brulée, only so much more powerful, and he also
knows from the way the blood has drained out of Theo’s face.
He looks like he’s going to faint.
Not smiling anymore, but his eyelids peeled back again and he’s looking at
Stiles, has locked eyes with him and Stiles – he doesn’t feel the urge to gouge
them out of their sockets.
It’s Theo’s silent gaze that finally does it.
Stiles doesn’t want to see this anymore, any of this.
None of it.
His fingers uncurl and the scissors slide off his slick knuckles. Doesn’t even
take them out of the hole he dug, just stares down at the mess, then at Theo’s
face, registers the greyness in his handsome features.
Theo’s panting but his breath comes out flat and sort of thin.
“Severed – artery,” he forces out and closes his eyes. Like he doesn’t have the
strength to keep them open.
“Oh,” is all Stiles can say to this.
What – does that mean Theo’s bleeding out?
And a soft smile on Theo’s lips confirms that, despite the pain, he can guess
exactly what Stiles is thinking.
“You killed me,” he says. “Ha. You actually – gnnnnn... did.”
Stiles doesn’t feel anything.
He’s just empty.
Not satisfied either.
It felt good while it lasted. It had to be done.
Now, though, he’s not in the void anymore but it’s still inside of him and it
feels foreign.
He retracts his leg, the one that was holding Theo’s body in an upright and
stable position, and Theo just collapses on the floor. Looking down at him now,
at Theo, at the way he’s bleeding and panting and looking like death, Stiles
just feels like hugging someone.
Reaching out to someone who will shield him from the horrible sight.
That he caused, too.
“You’re crying, Stiles...”
Was that – a question?
“Of course you didn’t kill me. But because you needed this – I’m going to heal
like a were – not the... otherworldly... being that I am.”
Yeah, right.
Supernatural healing that would knit his artery, his bones and tendons in maybe
thirty minutes. Or just flicking his fingers and be fine again.
“Fuck...,” Theo grits out. He tries to pull himself into a sitting position.
Fails.
Coughs and turns his head a little to meet Stiles’ eyes.
“You’re satisfied now?”
Stiles doesn’t respond.
He just sits there, staring down at all the blood.
God, why is there so much blood.
The color of it, too.
Stiles has never seen it before.
Like something that comes out of the depths of a human body and should never,
never be exposed to light because when you spot that eerie shade of dark red
bleeding into muddy brown?
There’s no hope anymore.
And it’s everywhere, Theo’s shredded blue pants, his black sweater and hands
and throat and face and all over the tiles. And it’s on Stiles, too, like they
both took a swim in brains.
It legitimately looks like he slaughtered Theo which –
That’s not completely inaccurate.
So Stiles is just sitting there, staring at what he has done, asking himself
why the redness bites into his eyes like that even though the lights aren’t
even on in here.
Not even wondering why no one has come looking for them yet.
Then Theo is pushing himself up with his hands. His face is still pale but he’s
breathing more smoothly again.
When he crawls over to Stiles, the gaping hole still there in his thigh, like
some monster just bit a huge chunk out of it, Stiles doesn’t even flinch.
He’s not sure anymore who’s in control right now, who’s playing with whom
exactly.
Nor does he care.
Theo is on his knees now, lifting his hands, they’re all bloody from having
been placed in the pool of dark red ooze on the ground and Stiles can feel
drops hit his cheek and throat, sprinkle the color all over his, Stiles’, blue
sweater, but he doesn’t move out of the way, just lets Theo pull him into a
tight hug again, lets himself get wrapped into this weird mixture of
strangeness and comfort.
Over Theo’s right shoulder, he can see Malia leaning against the wall. The door
is closed though, so she must have been here for a while but for how long
exactly, Stiles can’t be sure.
Malia has heard him do worse. Now she has a picture to go with her new
impression of him, Stiles.
He closes his eyes, waits for the door to swing open and click shut again or
Theo to let go of him.
Then Malia has been gone for a while and they’re still there on the floor,
Stiles wrapped in Theo’s embrace, cheeks wet, feeling miserable but at the same
time the tiniest bit relieved, like he can breathe more freely again.
Like he dug that space he desperately needed out of Theo’s thigh and it was
exactly the right thing to do.
The right place to look for his peace of mind.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Stiles isn’t sure whether the nod that Malia had given him this morning also
meant that she was going to cover for him in general. But he thinks, it
probably didn’t.
So he’s pretty sure she told Scott about what she saw.
About Stiles slicing into Theo’s leg like it’s the most terrific thing to do,
that anyone could be doing.
He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him either.
It’s like he’s back in the void, except –
Except, he isn’t.
So, what is that saying about him now, exactly?
He doesn’t know what Theo did in the locker room afterwards, either. Whether he
wiped the blood off, soaked the gallons Stiles had spread on the tiles up with
some piece of cloth the way a human would do it. Or whether he took the easy,
the otherworldly, way out.
He doesn’t know because after what felt like an eternity, Stiles pushed Theo
away from him and, without another word or a look back, disappeared in the
shower room. But he soon discovered that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of all
the blood.
He could have gone back, ask Theo to clean it off of him.
Yeah, right.
He’d rather have gone back to being tortured himself than do that.
It would have come close to admitting that what he had done hadn’t been very
well thought through. That he’s made a mistake even.
So he stood there, rubbing off the blood from his hands and all, then grabbing
a clean pair of pants and sweater out of his locker, but he just knew he
couldn’t go back to class.
He reeked of blood.
And not just the nosebleed kind.
The kind of stench that comes with a massacre, with scattered brains and
carnage.
To be honest, he can still smell it a little on himself and he doesn’t
completely hate it, either.
Because he wanted this, see?
It’s just the thought of Scott noticing it that makes him cringe.
Scott wouldn’t understand. He just couldn’t.
That comes with being a true alpha, and, simply, a regular human being. Just
the things someone who is whole would find disgusting.
Immoral.
So Stiles went straight home, wrapped his blood-soaked clothes in a plastic bag
he found in his locker, threw the whole bundle into his gym bag and carried it
out to his Jeep but, even though he didn’t feel guilty, he still couldn’t shake
the sensation of carrying around a dead infant, it was just so heavy and moist
and compact.
No, not guilty, but the horror he felt at what he’d done, had been able to do,
almost erased last night, replaced it with a completely different kind of
haunting.
Good.
That’s what he was going for.
A terror that was his own, of his own making.
That he had chosen, basically, and caused, from beginning to end.
And maybe he’d do it again.
It would be his dirty little secret, the reason why he’d be able to look his
dad in the eyes in the future and just lie, why he wouldn’t get all agitated
and nervous over the final exams anymore or over whether he’s making a fool of
himself or not.
He’s grown up.
That bundle on the back seat of his Jeep?
It’s the token of his initiation.
He cradles it in his arms when he’s jumping out onto the gravel, the way you’d
hold a newborn, close to your chest but carefully, alert to its every movement
so as not to hurt it, or worse, crush it.
It’s in this strange mood that Stiles looks left and right and finds Derek
there, sitting in his car some twenty feet away, parked by the side of the
road.
Stiles just unlocks the door and walks into the house, as if he didn’t hear
Derek get out of his car, the distinct sound of someone coming quickly across
the lawn.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to confront Derek either.
Just – what’s the point?
What happened yesterday night, it’s so far away now for Stiles, feels like it
happened in a different lifetime.
He doesn’t want to talk about it.
And he will murder everyone who dares to make him recall sensations and images,
drag that whole thing up out of the depths of his subconscious.
Derek seems to be aware of this though, and not too eager to talk himself.
He follows Stiles into the house and it takes him about five minutes to even
open his mouth for the first time.
Stiles has dropped the bundle onto the kitchen table where it clearly doesn’t
belong and Derek is flaring his nostrils, like he can’t believe he is actually
smelling this much blood, Theo’s blood no less, oozing through the fabric.
“I just wanted to check if you’re okay,” is the first thing Derek says and he’s
staring at Stiles’ back who is rummaging around in the fridge, looking for soda
cans that are cold enough.
“...figured.”
And he turns around, pushes the fridge shut with his right knee, Converse still
on his feet and Derek just stares at him.
Like he expected any reaction from Stiles, just not this.
Stiles isn’t calm. That’s just not him.
He’s nervous, cheeks flushing and hands trembling and blurting out something
embarrassing before Derek is even in the kitchen yet, not this smug son-of-a-
bitch who just dropped a bundle with his own blood-soaked clothes onto the
table and then dug a Sprite out of the fridge.
Offers one to his guest as well.
Like they’re both adults and they’re just talking.
In fact, it freaks Derek out so much that he actually finds himself saying
something out loud he swore to himself he’d never, never talk about, “Malia and
I aren’t – we’re not dating.”
 “Okay?” Stiles is saying slowly, “And you’re telling me this because...?,” but
of course he knows exactly why Derek would even mention it. Stiles’ lips have
become thin and stretched because he’s pressing them together and he’s looking
back at Derek coolly, as if daring him to go into detail, to spell it out, to
tell him exactly where and how he’d heard Stiles ask about it. Like they’re
random acquaintances and Derek just offended him by blurting out something way
too intimate that he shouldn’t even know of, like his childhood nickname or the
dirty details of a recent break-up.
And something in the coldness of Stiles’ voice nudges Derek to do exactly that.
“I’m a wolf, Stiles,” Derek shoots out – and an idiot, clearly, because he
can’t stop talking.
“I heard – sensed how you meant it.”
He didn’t really, though, but alright, they’re really talking about this now,
okay, good, even though Derek was the one who walked out on Malia after she
threatened to talk the subject to death, even afterwards.
Even after what they had done, had had to do to stay sane, to summon new
sensations that they could cling to for dear life rather than the horrors of
that night.
Why is it that he came here again?
He can’t really remember.
Something about wanting to see Stiles’ face. Form his own opinion about the
damage. Maybe soothe the guilt he was feeling, too, let Stiles tell him that it
wasn’t his fault.
Because he can be an egotistical dickhead.
Or, maybe, it was this.
To hear, with his own ears, what he, Derek, meant to Stiles, even though he
doesn’t even know why he’d ever want to hear it.
“And how did I mean it?” Stiles says after the long drawn silence. Still this
terrible, cold look on his face, smell of blood still seeping into Derek’s
nostrils, almost as intrusive as the persistent noise of water in the back of
his mind.
“You were hurt because you thought there’s something going on between Malia and
me that you didn’t know of.”
Aw, great.
Painfully frank Derek Hale is back. Derek could do well without that awkward
son-of-a-bitch.
“I want you both to be happy,” Stiles says simply and takes a sip from his
Sprite.
Not nervous.
Not a lie.
Why is this so unsettling to Derek?
So instead of dropping the subject the way any clever man would have done, he
says, “You threw the question into the room as if you didn’t want Theo to know
that you actually cared for an answer.”
At the mention of Theo’s name, Derek can see Stiles flinch, can pick up an
irregularity in his heartbeat and it hits him.
He knows what this is, what he's hating about this whole situation.
It’s still Stiles.
Stiles is still there.
He’s still there, just not for him, Derek.
His awkward stuttering and nervous blushing and clumsiness still exist but
they’re not for him to see anymore.
They’re all – his.
Theo’s.
Theo is the one who pushing Stiles' buttons, who – who Stiles will be reacting
to, forever.
And it makes Derek so furious all of a sudden, he doesn’t even really see the
kitchen anymore, has these black spots appearing at the edges of his vision and
closing in quickly.
He may not be an omicron anymore but he’s still a beta who knows his territory
and who will not fucking have this.
Even though there is this human voice in the back of his mind that expresses
mild surprise at Derek’s sense of entitlement, he can’t keep himself from
gritting out, “I know you care about this, Stiles, and the reason I’m here
right now is to tell you that nothing’s going on.”
The truth yesterday.
A clear lie today, obviously, but Stiles is not a were. He can’t smell Malia’s
saliva on Derek.
“So you just thought you’d come here and – ease my mind,” Stiles says and he’s
sounding dangerous now in a way Derek has never heard from him before.
“You thought you’d just barge in and make me talk through the whole fucking
night,” and he’s yelling now and, there, his cheeks are flushed, finally, and
Derek, shocked at both Stiles’ and his own behavior, goes, “Stiles,” meaning to
soothe him but Stiles just talks over him.
“So you thought you’d sit me down and tell me all about what you heard and then
make me fill in the blanks. Remind me of what happened while making me spell
out to you what I feel for you,” Stiles says and he looks livid, “you
egotistical motherfucker.”
These words hit home and Derek’s heart is aching, completely inexplicably,
while he goes, “That’s not – I’m sorry, Stiles, I didn’t mean to – that’s not
what I meant– not at all, I wasn’t implying-”
“Just stop fucking talking. God! We all got it. You’re the straightest, whitest
dude around here and you just wanted to let me know that you don’t judge me for
having had a fucking crush on you for like, forever.”
Silence.
They’re staring at each other, Stiles panting, he’s so angry, there’s red spots
on his cheeks and his eyes are moist while Derek, well.
Derek looks shell-shocked.
Like his anger from earlier just collapsed into itself and he can’t believe he
said what he said and he can’t believe he heard Stiles say what he did.
After a while, he swallows, says, “Stiles-”
“Fucking leave,” Stiles grits out and, yeah, these are real tears now. They’re
on his cheeks and then, even running down his throat like there’s a lot of them
coming out of his eyes right now, and quickly, too.
“Don’t ever show your face around here again, just go to – to Mexico, or lie in
some bitch’s fucking bed, it’s what you’re best at anyway.”
Derek sets his jaw, reigning in the expression of surprise and hurt.
He should leave now.
There’s nothing that could be said between them that could fix this mess.
But then, Derek can’t leave like this. He just – he can’t bear it.
“Stiles, I... I didn’t – we’ve been close to each other like that, I know. It
makes sense to me now. But you know that I could never – I could never
reciprocate-”
“Liar,” Stiles interrupts him and Derek feels like crying.
What the hell is happening here?
“You’re either a liar or a fucking coward. Or both.”
Derek can’t say anything to that.
He’s still sure that what he’s feeling for Stiles could never develop into
something serious, not ever become similar to what he could feel for a woman
anyway, but his heart is aching nonetheless.
“At least Theo’s honest with me.”
Derek’s jaw drops.
Stiles did not just say that.
“At least – Stiles, are you insane?” And, tilting his head to the side, “What’s
up with Theo’s blood over there anyway. What the fuck have you been doing?”
Stiles grimaces.
The soda can is still in his hands, only half-empty but forgotten.
“You know what we’ve been doing. We’ve been fucking, Derek.”
“I didn’t mean-”
“He’s been shoving his dick up my ass, and even though the concept is
disgusting to you, surely your memory can’t be that bad?”
“Disgus-what? It’s not – don’t fucking say –”
“And whatever we’ll be doing is not going to be any of your business either.
Maybe I’ll suck his dick again. Maybe he’s going to ride me right here on the
floor. You know. Just two gay dudes having fun.”
Derek’s hands have, to his own mortification, shot up to his face, but at least
he manages to keep himself from slamming them over his ears.
“Don’t fucking say that, Stiles, like you’re some kind of – of dirty hooker.”
Stiles lifts his eyebrows, tears dried now, almost gone.
“Dirty hooker? That’s pretty accurate I think. If you consider someone giving
sex and expecting safety in return. Yeah. I guess, I’m his whore. And he’s
going to use me in any way he wants. And I’ll let him, too.”
They look at each other for a few more moments.
Derek has no clue as to how the fuck they even wound up here. How the
conversation ever turned into this. He should have walked out earlier, as
expected had made everything so much worse by not doing it.
He can’t even move now, stays rooted in place, so after about a minute of
silence or so, Stiles just turns on his heel and leaves him there, glued to the
floor between the table and the fridge, and there he remains, hearing Stiles
climb the stairs, shuffle over the carpet in the hallway, dragging his feet.
Heavy footfalls in his room.
Stiles has been sitting at his desk for almost ten minutes when Derek can
finally make up his mind, get himself to go, to leave.
When he’s behind the wheel of his Camaro, anger has returned, together with the
guilt and this horrible ache. He wants to murder someone, anyone, make someone
pay when he was the one who has messed up for good now.
It’s the fucking icing on the cake of disaster and would usually be enough for
Derek to really leave. And never return.
Ever.
Maybe end this, kill himself, finally.
But this – what Stiles just said to him?
It changes everything.
Makes Derek think of things he’s never allowed himself to think of before.
Because it doesn’t even matter anymore.
He’s a horrible person, and he’s not even trying to hide it or struggling to
make people think better of himself. It’s about the showdown that Farnuelle had
been planning and Derek – he’s okay with it now, finally, willing to contribute
the way it had been intended for him to. As a werewolf, not an omicron.
To save that last intact bit of Stiles’ character, the last fleck of innocence
Theo has not yet managed to sully.
They have to do it.
Sacrifice it all for it, if necessary.
It’s the one thing Derek’s going to live for now, and it will be worth it.
He just knows it will.
 
 
 
Stiles can’t sleep that night.
He’s so mad at Derek, the only thing he does for what feels like hours is lie
in bed and stare into the darkness while his thoughts are spinning around
everything Derek said, hateful comebacks shooting into his mind without Stiles
being able to stop himself, only becoming angrier and angrier with every unsaid
thing.
Just when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, that’s it, he’s about to go
insane – it all stops.
It happens suddenly, too.
As if someone opened his skull and sucked out all the poison.
Then this deadly calm that settles on him all of a sudden.
It’s the weirdest sensation and Stiles immediately knows something is going on
and yes, that should unsettle him, but for the moment he’s just glad about a
moment of peace.
He swings his feet out of bed, lets his bare soles connect with the floor.
When he gets up he feels weak and shaky – that’s another thing about being
really angry for hours, you forget to drink and you’ve been way too agitated
for far too long so when you finally come to again, snap out of it, your body
is screaming neglect.
Stiles shuffles across the room, gets his feet momentarily entangled in the
jacket that he dumped here earlier and almost faceplants onto the floor.
Curses under his breath, his heart beating loudly.
It’s only when he’s out of the room, making his way on tiptoes down the dark
hallway, unwilling to turn on the light – he knows every corner in this house
like the palm of his hand, yes? – it’s only then, when his right foot is on the
stairs already that it hits him.
He has been here before.
Not exactly here, in this moment, but here, at night, alone, feeling weird like
someone – something is calling him.
Is pulling him downstairs.
Three times to be exact.
He knows what time it is without having to flick his eyes up to the glow-in-
the-dark hands of the living room clock.
When he sees light seeping through the crack underneath the kitchen door,
oozing out onto the dark living room floor – something that never, never
happens because neither Stiles nor his dad ever close that door – he isn’t even
surprised. Yes, his heart is beating like crazy and who can blame him, right?
While he isn’t scared rationally, his body still reacts to the possible –
likely – danger.
So his brain is going, ‘What could anyone possibly do to me right now that
hasn’t already happened?,’ but then, he’s shaking nonetheless.
Stands in front of the door for about half a minute.
No sound from inside and – of course not.
Angels suck the noise out of any room they’re in, it’s the weirdest thing.
Stiles never really quite understood it. It’s like being locked into an empty
and completely soundproof room where you’re slowly being driven crazy by the
terrific loudness of the utter lack of sound. There’s no echo either, not even
the sound of your own heartbeat.
Stiles has always ever associated this kind of silence with one other thing
only.
Death.
Strangely enough, right?
Because you’d expect them to be light-bringers. Life-givers. That sort of
thing.
So, needless to say, angels have weirded him out from the first moment he ever
happened upon one. Which was, incidentally, here, in this very kitchen.
And he isn’t disappointed now, either.
When he pushes the door open and sees – her he knows exactly who it is, too.
They look at each other.
Stiles can’t seem to be bothered to speak. He’s clutching the fabric of his
grey t-shirt as if trying to hold on to it.
The eyes on this thing.
God.
They’re blue, yeah, but the color is all wrong.
Nothing should ever be that blue.
Not strong and piercing and beautiful like Derek’s but pale, somehow, watery,
and just – still.
Rigid.
Stiles finds himself unable to avert his eyes, but the thought of Derek does
ease up his tension a little bit. Reminds him that until five minutes ago he
was so angry, he was seriously considering just driving over to Derek’s stupid
fucking loft and knocking his goddamn teeth out.
And – she knows, of course, because she says – and as soon as she does Stiles
desperately wants for the silence to return because her voice is just awful,
just the frequency at which it’s swinging, nothing should ever sound like that,
“So heartbroken.”
You know that shit is happening when your guardian angel shows up in the body
of a really hot chick with long, blonde hair, and makes snide comments about
your love life.
But then, she’s wrong, so damn wrong, he’s not heartbroken right now, no. He’s
fucking angry again.
“How dare-,” he starts but it comes out rather pathetic, because his voice
isn’t working right. While he’s watching a mischievous grin appearing on her
face and she starts looking more and more like the Cheshire cat, just this
disembodied mouth suspended in the air, Stiles takes a few quick breaths in and
out.
“... how could you – even show up here? How dare you – I mean, where were you?”
As his voice is growing louder it’s also becoming steadier. More determined.
“What the fuck is this supposed to be? Mh? Where were you – where were you
yesterday?”
Yesterday night, yeah.
Because even though he’s successfully pushed it far away from him, it’s still
there.
It still happened.
“It’s not important right now. Stiles. It’ll end soon and it won’t be important
anymore. Do you understand that?”
“What? What’s wrong with you?,” uncurling his fingers from his shirt and
gesturing, “Aren’t you supposed to be like – my – guardian, or something?”
She’s watching him.
Cat-like.
Still and waiting.
“But of what use could I be when my charge makes a deal with the Devil,” she
says. Blue eyes never leaving his.
And – she’s testing him.
Even more, provoking him because, her grin widening at the edges, “The
savagery, though. Stiles.”
And she makes a step in his direction that has Stiles inadvertently back away,
toward the door that is, strangely, closed behind him even though he never
heard it shut.
“Ah. The savagery.... clawing a hole into Theo Raeken’s human shape, causing
him agony, killing him, if not for his superhuman power. That you are capable
of this, however, I always knew.”
A composed smile. Satisfied, almost.
“Stiles.”
“Don’t – just stop – don’t say my name like that,” Stiles grits out.
Like an incantation.
Bewitching his senses and carving a way for this voice to seep through layers
and layers of consciousness. Pleading him to listen, to understand. Stiles,
uttered in supplication.
A goddamn prayer.
She seems to know exactly what he means even though he, Stiles, he can’t get it
out, just can’t.
He’s standing there, in the dimly lit kitchen, clock over the counter
announcing that it’s ten past now, the palms of his hands pressing against the
wooden door like he’s trying to melt into it and disappear.
These awful eyes, though.
They’d probably find him still, no matter what.
She’s shaking her head now, and it’s a graceful gesture, making her long wavy
hair glide over the surface of her silken gown and it looks like it’s floating
around her, like the hair of a drowned woman.
And who knows where on earth he – she – found this new body again. It might
have been entangled in driftwood, plastic bottles and coke cans, washed ashore
by the movement of the river, for all Stiles knows.  
“His influence on you is greater – far greater than I would have thought
possible,” and her voice is a whisper, like the soft murmuring of a brook and
Stiles can feel her words reverberate in his brain without really making sense,
“That you would shy away from me – from me of all creatures. Stiles... don’t
you understand? It’s his doing. Lucifer. You let him into your body and into
your brain and – it’s almost too late. But we can yet make this stop.”
Advancing further into the room.
“You... want this to stop. Don’t you? Stiles.”
Her face has changed, somehow.
Lurking.
Reading him.
Scanning his insides with these watery blue eyes and Stiles – it’s almost too
much for him.
His stomach twists and that’s only when he registers how scared he really is.
Apparently aware of her effect on him, Phaniel stops.
“You don’t have to understand now, Stiles. All I ask of you is to stand by when
Lucifer breaks his deal. Because he will break it. And soon.”
“Phanoelle,” Stiles starts, his voice coming out a lot thinner than he’d
intended again.
“Farnial,” she corrects him.
“He’ll never – you can’t get rid of him. You – you know it. How can you even be
here? What – why did you never tell me about – about omicrons?”
Another gracious shake of the head.
“No time now to explain, Stiles. Not necessary either. Just know this.”
And a ghostly smile is playing around her lips again.
“Derek reciprocates your feelings even though he isn’t aware of it. Not only
that. He loves you deeply. Fervently.”
“Wh-what?”
And blood is shooting into his cheeks almost immediately.
“That can’t-”
“It’s the truth. You know I would know this, Stiles. There is but one truth.
You and Derek are meant to be together – Lucifer was never meant to walk the
Earth. I gathered my powers, nurtured them in different living creatures and am
strong enough to exorcise it – him – now. All I ask of you, Stiles, is a small
sacrifice, utterly insignificant compared to the great good you will be doing.”
Stiles feels like the last of his strength is being sucked out through his
eyes, merely by the act of looking into hers.
Like he has this odd urge to open his mouth now, screw it wide open, and
facilitate the process.
“You can bring history back on its right course now, Stiles,” and her voice is
growing shriller now, gnawing at his eardrums, “All you have to do is keep him,
keep Lucifer by your side when I’m doing it by repeating his name to him. Do
not allow him to escape. You’ll have to find out which one works best – Lucifer
is not his real name, you see – but I think we – you and I, Stiles – have
sufficiently worked on him becoming Theo Raeken. Truly being he now.”
“...what?”
“There is power to a name, you see? Stiles,” and she smiles knowingly.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you that if spoken correctly, if you say it the right
way, a person’s name can summon that person himself, almost? That for some,
speaking is praying, and when I say Stiles, you cannot but hear me – and
listen?”
“What kind of bullshit is this.” Stiles can feel another bout of irritation, of
anger surge through him, giving him the courage to pipe up. “So you’re
basically saying, Th- Lucifer is like Rumpelstiltskin, and when I say his real
name, he’s gonna explode. Or what.”
Pheniel is slowly shaking her head in exasperation, a soft sigh escaping her
lips and Stiles, he is almost surprised by it. He didn’t think she was actually
breathing.
Certainly doesn’t look like it.
“No. Well – maybe your idea is scratching the surface. The more closely he was
bound to you, Stiles, the more Lucifer became – truly and fully became – Theo,
melted into his body, into his mind. Into this kid who, at the age of seven
thought that your face, Stiles, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever beheld.
It was little Theo’s capacity to marvel at your beauty, at your grace, Stiles,
that made Lucifer choose him. He was intrigued. He was longing to feel the awe
himself, to be humbled, alive, like this.”
“So? What does that have to do with anything?”
Stiles lips are quivering.
It has been some time since he really thought about his best friend from
childhood days – the real thing, anyway, the real person. Little Theodore that
he’d met on his first day at school, when he, shy and awkward and somewhat
teary-eyed to be away from his mother for so long, had slid into the small
chair next to Stiles.
“It has to do with everything, Stiles,” and – is she sounding a little
impatient now?
“But it will not matter whether you understand or not. All you’ll have to do,
Stiles – listen to me, Stiles,” so sharply suddenly that Stiles almost jumps,
goes ‘Jesus...,’ “is keep saying his name that I will not repeat here lest he
should hear it now and show up and disturb us, ruin the plan. You will keep
saying his name to keep him by your side, his powers clipped, too, by the pact,
so I can do the exorcism.”
“The exorcism,” Stiles repeats, grimacing.
“Yes, Stiles. The exorcism. Will you do it - will you help me?”
And Stiles almost shrinks under her gaze now which is – powerful is really the
only appropriate term.
He nods.
Yeah.
Yeah, he will do it.
He wants for this to end. Desperately so.
To be free. For Derek to be free despite – despite the dude being a complete
and total dick. A handsome dick, for God’s sake, handsome and fucking adorable
even, sometimes.
Yes, and Stiles is nodding vigorously now, he’ll do it, fuck, is he gonna do
it.
Just wait and see.
 
 
 
When he’s tossing around in his bed, later, her words are still haunting
him and he just knows he’ll never be at ease again.
Hadn’t she mentioned a sacrifice, too?
Maybe she sensed – knew, certainly, somehow, that Stiles – no.
Whatever, even if – she, Fanial, said it herself. Lucifer had been messing with
Stiles’ mind for far too long, for so long in fact, Stiles wasn’t even sure who
he was and what he wanted anymore.
He should feel relieved though, is the thing.
But maybe he just can’t anymore, isn’t capable of this particular sensation
anymore with Satan having a firm grip on his mind. On his heart even.
Yeah, most likely, right?
So he’s telling himself to relax, to sleep now, all will be good, it will be
over, soon, but with Theo’s name echoing in his head, almost as if he can hear
himself, Stiles, muttering it like an incantation, like a prayer, in the not
too distant future, Theo, Theo, Theo, he can’t sleep, he just fucking can’t,
physically impossible.
Stiles would be happy about another, deeper, a more final, silence.
 
 
 
Like the hauntings of this week will never end, Theo is the first thing in
Stiles’ mind the next morning, and so is the translucent, ethereal shape of
his, Stiles’, guardian angel and the stunningly beautiful body she chose for
this particular visit - chose explicitly for him, Stiles can only assume.
So different from the fat old guy with cheerful lilac eyes he met some months
back down in the kitchen. Stiles had been more trusting then, too. While he’d
been certain it had been a dream, just an imprint of Pheniel on his memory -
Stiles had  been certain his guardian had been banished years ago, see - it had
seemed to him like the good-natured spirit had been reaching through the worlds
to warn him.
Now he isn’t so sure anymore.
From what she had said, the way everything had gone down had been exactly
according to plan, her plan.
Stiles snorts out a cheerless laugh when he puts his Jeep into park.
So Lucifer, he’d really been lagging behind all this time, not getting the big
picture, his archenemy’s plan that had been slowly but steadily unfolding.
And all he, Stiles, will have to do is to keep saying his name once it all
starts – whatever it is, that Fanual has been planning, plotting.
Should be easy.
It wouldn’t even matter if he told Theo all about it right now.
Stiles is pretty sure that the plan will be of a kind that will make it
physically impossible for Lucifer to avoid it. Is probably already in its last
stages, too.
Otherwise, the angel wouldn’t have shown up for this little fyi.
These creatures just always treat you like you’re dumb and going to ruin
everything with your blatant humanity, Stiles is thinking to himself while he’s
walking across the parking lot.
But then, that’s exactly how Derek treats him, too.
Derek reciprocates your feelings even though he isn’t aware of it. Not only
that. He loves you deeply. Fervently.
These exact words.
Ridiculous.
If that is true – then what the fuck is wrong with this dude?
Stiles isn’t even sure he cares anymore.
As he pushes the door open, holds it for two girls who slip into the building
after him, he’s thinking that after everything Derek said – the way he’s made
completely and perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to fall in love with a guy
– it doesn’t even matter if Derek’s secretly crushing on him or not. If he
should even be in love with him.
Because can you really be in love when you refuse to be?
Right.
You do have a say in this.
Stiles is strutting down the hallway, boys and girls disappearing into
classrooms to his left and right, and he feels like he’s suspended from
strings.
Like he’s a human puppet and all these goddamn supernatural and otherworldly
creatures are fighting over who gets to steer him through the ridiculously
bleak alleyway with run-down houses, garbage just dumped onto the sidewalk next
to the shells of burnt-out cars, that is his life.
Dance for them, dance.
When he walks into the classroom, his face is grim. He nods hello to Lydia,
acknowledges Malia, shakes hands with Scott who doesn’t let go of his hand
after their two seconds, is clutching his arm to his chest and staring into his
eyes meaningfully, as if trying to tell him telepathically that all will be
fine.
All will be good soon, I promise, Stiles.
I promise.
Stiles frowns, immediately understanding, of course, that they’re all in on
Phanuel’s plan, even Malia, have been, maybe for a long time now, and Stiles –
he isn’t sure he’s liking this.
It irritates him, like he’s being rushed to a decision here, is requested to
put his signature to some long-ass contract he hasn’t even gotten the chance to
read.
He needs more space to think.
To recover first, yes, then to think.
Then Theo walks into the classroom – it’s always in this order, Theo’s usually
the last to arrive, probably because he likes a good entrance, the way these
girls’ and occasional boy’s jaws drop a little and their eyes widen just at
beholding his figure, his pleasant face, shifting in their seats, sending him
smiles and Hey, Theo’s, wanting, needing for him to notice them.
Before he passes Stiles’ table, he gives him a small and knowing smile, not as
bright as usual but conspiratorial, almost. As if meaning to say, I see you,
Stiles.
I see you clearly.
It’s about what Stiles did to him yesterday, of course, about Stiles torturing
the fuck out of him, killing him, almost, if he ever could be killed, and it’s
the most unobtrusive, the most affirmative gesture Theo’s ever given him
probably, and Stiles – he decides he needs to think.
 
 
When Scott says, “I’m riding with you,” Stiles just nods, not sure if he’s
liking this or not.
The thoughts in his head, they’re just way too loud, he needs time and space to
sort them out.
“It’s okay, er... I don’t think Theo will bother me today...”
Scott climbs into the passenger seat.
Doesn’t respond which –
It’s odd.
If that’s not what this is about... is Scott going to talk about the plan then?
Discuss details with him, fill him in?
“So... er... yesterday night, Phanuel-,” Stiles starts, hesitantly, and pulls
the driver’s door shut, but Scott cuts him short.
“Malia told me – about yesterday. About you and Theo, she – she saw you.”
He has turned in his seat, is facing him and looking him in the eyes with a
determination that makes Stiles want to push the door open again and run for
it.
Oh, he thinks he knows what this is.
But Scott wouldn’t – surely, he couldn’t –
“And I just want you to know it’s okay.”
There.
He said it.
Stiles stares at him open-mouthed.
There’s just something about the way Scott said it, too – this look of worry on
his face, a tone of – of pity, almost.
“What – do you mean?”
“I just – I’m so fucking sorry man, about all of this,” and he puts his hand on
Stiles’ shoulder, giving it a short squeeze, “And I just wanted to – to let you
know,” he’s taking a deep breath now, like this is really difficult for him to
say, “that I’m not judging you.”
“Why – would you judge me?”
It came out more coolly than Stiles had intended but he really feels like
someone dropped a bucket of ice down his throat that is slowly filling up his
stomach now.
He hadn’t felt ashamed before.
Now he does.
As soon as Scott sees the expression on his best friend’s face, he immediately
goes, “No, no, that’s now – I meant, should you think I could be judging, you
know, I mean-,” and he takes his hand off Stiles shoulder, buries his own face
in it now, “ugh, why is this so hard. It’s just – Malia said you saw her, too,
and that you might be feeling, like – that that’s why you’re avoiding us. I
just – want to make sure you know that we – we all understand.”
They all understand?
So they all know about it, then?
Awesome.
Fucking great.
Stiles, however, doesn’t have it in him to give two fucks right now, he feels
drained like that, so he just says, “It’s okay, Scott, I wasn’t thinking that.”
Not until now, at least.
“And I wasn’t avoiding you either, I just – a lot – happened, okay? During the
past two days and it’s a lot to digest, too, so... I just need – time.”
“I get that, man...,” Scott says and his hand is on Stiles shoulder again now,
“I totally get that. Er... if you ever need anything – you know, right? We’re
there. I’m there. Derek too.”
The mention of Derek’s name does something to Stiles.
Like Scott tugged at an invisible string that is threaded through his whole
face and causes it to screw up, for him to purse his lips and narrow his eyes.
“What the matter?”
Stiles doesn’t respond.
He turns the key in the ignition and then it’s too loud for them to really talk
comfortably anyway.
Not that any of his conversations with Scott have been comfortable during the
past weeks. But maybe they can go back to normal again, sometime.
Maybe even soon.
Who knows.
 
 
They throw two frozen pizzas into the oven at Scott’s house and take one of
Mrs. McCall’s creative salads out of the fridge. All in all, it’s a good
combination and leaves them feeling like they had a healthy meal.
“I swear, it’s all I’ve been eating for weeks here. Goddamn salads... I mean
they’re really good, yeah, but at a certain point you’re just like – can’t we
ever have real food in this house again?”
Stiles laughs but it sounds a little forced – maybe because he feels like
screaming on the inside.
It just hasn’t been enough time for him to recover but Scott – he wouldn’t be
his best friend if he didn’t catch on right away, so they finish their meal in
silence.
Then flop down in front of the TV to play Halo for the rest of the day and
Scott only throws him a side glance once every ten minutes or so, when Stiles
gloriously screws up again.
He just can’t focus, but Scott doesn’t comment on it, so the day passes in
relative peace and quiet, even for Stiles.
If only his mind would stop going as well.
 
 
Not a word passed between them about Phanuel, or about the plan he mentioned to
Stiles, until Scott says, “I’d ask you to stay here for the night but – he, er,
I mean, she seems to think it’s better for you to – to go home tonight.”
Stiles who had been rummaging around in his bag for his car keys – he keeps
dropping them in there because he’s a little paranoid for them to fall out of
his pants or jacket pockets – stops and looks up.
“You saw him? Her, I mean?”
Scott nods. Grimaces.
“Creepy, somehow.... and you’ve known her before?”
Stiles shrugs.
“Yeah. She came to warn me a few times, you know... it’s supposed to be her job
anyway...”
Gloomy.
“Yeah... yeah, right. Well... I’m not too happy about it either, but – Derek
says it’s the only chance we got. And I think he’s right.”
This name again.
Stiles finally fishes out his car keys.
He’s not going to say anything about Derek.
He thinks he might be done with the guy.
For good.
And it hurts just a little to think about it like this.
“He and Malia have been planning this for a while,” Scott goes on, seemingly
oblivious to Stiles’ change in demeanor, “Theo seems to have done something to
Malia’s dad, even though he promised he wouldn’t. I think she’s given up the
hope of getting her brother back, too.”
Silence while Stiles is struggling to get into his jacket.
Just hearing Scott talking about this gets him so agitated, he doesn’t even
know why. He just can’t bear having anyone put thoughts into his brain right
now, when he already has so much going on inside there as it is.
Wants to shield himself from it all.
He feels this desperate urge to curl up into a little ball and sleep. Not know,
see or hear anything.
“Do you – do you think he’s still in there?”
Startled out of his thoughts, Stiles goes, “Huh?”
“Theo – the real Theo, I mean. Since... you have spent – like, time with him.
You know him. Right?,” talking more quickly and blushing because, yeah, it’s
clearly the most ridiculous euphemism Stiles ever heard, “Do you – do you think
there’s hope? Something we can do?”
“I – don’t know...”
And he really doesn’t.
There’d been a time when he’d been asking himself the same question over and
over again on a daily basis, when the desperate wish to retrieve his then-best
friend out of the pits of Hell had been on his mind almost constantly. He’d
cried about it, too, way too often.
But that was years ago.
“I think,” he says, “from what – both have told me – Lucifer and Phanual, I
think – he might be there but... inseparable from him. You know?”
“How that?”
“I really don’t know, man. And I don’t care anymore. Listen, it’s late, I
should – really get going, alright? Sorry, Scott, don’t wanna be rude. Spending
the day like that was awesome, just-”
“It’s alright,” and Scott gives him one of his genuine, heart-warming smiles.
“Your dad will be home by 8 today, right?”
Stiles nods and turns to go.
Just when he walks out the door, he can hear Scott say, hesitantly, like he
doesn’t really want to bring it up but like he thinks Stiles should know
nonetheless, “Don’t worry, okay? Anymore, I mean. Phoniell said he – she’d be
watching over you now, and that – it should be fine for tonight. It’s the only
reason I even let you go. Okay?”
Stiles lifts his right hand for Scott to know that he heard him, appreciates
the concern, too.
Then he’s in his Jeep, letting out a long drawn breath, not even thinking about
whether Scott can hear it or not.
Silence again, finally.
It’s not Scott, it’s just – just too much.
He’s overwhelmed and he can still hear the echo, like Farnielle looped his
thoughts, Theo, Theo, Theo, Theo, and it’s driving him freaking insane.
 
 
When he gets up the next morning, he doesn’t even know what day it is.
It’s only after a moment that he realizes it’s Saturday again and – where the
hell has the week gone?
Sucked into the pit with everything else probably, Stiles’ sense of integrity
and safety and joy and – but no.
First, have breakfast with your dad.
You can’t let him see you like this.
Not as long as you can somehow avoid it.
Remember?
Like this, with that sour look on your face and nothing but darkness on your
mind, it’s not enough. Try harder.
So Stiles shoves scrambled eggs into his mouth, bacon, and pancakes, and
listens to his dad rambling about work and about his new intern who’s watering
the plants way too often.
Like, way too often.
Stiles nods and smiles politely, and then they do the dishes together.
Before he goes up to his room, he promises to vacuum, yeah, yeah, he’ll do it
alright, maybe also a little cleaning upstairs, too. Because he’s a good boy
like that, Stiles.
Then he’s already sitting down at his desk, trying to focus on school work but
it’s pointless.
Stops again after ten minutes.
Turns on his computer and starts googling random things.
May or may not have clicked on a Supernatural fanfiction.
Then starts playing games, and that’s what he’s still doing four hours later
when his dad knocks on his door.
“Son?”
Stiles goes, “Mmh,” eyes glued to the monitor.
The door opens.
“Er... Theo’s downstairs.”
“Mh,” and then, because his dad doesn’t leave, “tell him to come upstairs.”
“Did you vacuum your room?”
“...no. Not yet.”
“I hate to be that kind of father, but could you-”
Stiles slams his finger onto his keyboard a little louder than necessary, rolls
his eyes.
Why can’t everyone just leave him alone, just for the weekend?
“Okay, I’m doing it. I’m coming.”
His dad nods, opens the door wider.
Stiles leaves the computer running and follows his dad down the stairs.
So he’s a regular teenager today, isn’t he?
Having to tell his playdate that he has to clean his room first.
Theo just smiles and nods, and then he sits in Stiles’ computer chair while
Stiles runs the vacuum through his room. Rather than go through his computer
for games or the like, Theo, of course, is watching him closely, smirk on his
face like he can hardly suppress the snide comments which doesn’t exactly lift
Stiles’ mood.
What a shitty day this is, and it certainly won’t get any better.
For once, however, Stiles is not thinking about what may lie ahead.
He’s just pissed in general, he really hates cleaning but usually doesn’t fuss
about like that, like a ten-year-old.
He vacuums hallway, bathroom, his dad’s room that is meticulously clean
otherwise, then carries the vacuum back downstairs, for his dad to use in the
living room.
Runs back up, and picks up the dirty laundry in his room and a few other things
that had been lying around on the floor, and Theo, of course, has already
cleaned up his desk, put his comic books back onto the shelf, everything
related to school into drawers. He could help him with the rest easily, too,
without even having to get up, but of course Stiles’ darting around in front of
his eyes, dropping and then having to pick up single socks on his way out,
actually sweating because this is more exhausting than it looks – that’s far
too entertaining.
Fifteen minutes later Stiles has cleaned the bathroom, wiped down the mirror in
his dad’s room, and is back in his bedroom to change the sheets. This is the
moment Theo chooses to get up and walk over to him.
“Maybe you should wait with this.”
“Mh?”
Stiles looks down at his own hand clutching his pillow, then up to meet Theo’s
eyes and Theo - he lifts his eyebrows.
“Wow, you’re – wired today.”
Stiles drops the pillow back onto the mattress. Averts his eyes.
Yeah, he’s not feeling too well.
“Hey – hey, what’s the matter?”
An irritated shake of the head.
The last person he needs to comfort him right now is Theo.
That would be the single most ridiculous thing ever.
Plus, he doesn’t need anyone.
He just wants to be left alone. Not forever, just for a few days.
To de-stress.
“Is this what you need again?”
And before Stiles can stop him or even knows what’s happening, Theo has grasped
his hand and put Stiles’ palm onto his own thigh, that’s how close he’s
standing to him now.
They can hear Stiles’ dad vacuuming downstairs, knocking over a chair, cursing.
“What-” and Stiles draws his hand back, cheeks flushing.
“You seemed to enjoy it for a while yesterday.”
“That’s not-”
Why the hell is he blushing?
But he knows why.
He still can’t believe what he did.
“I don’t regret it,” Stiles says and he takes a step back, putting more space
in-between their bodies.
“And you shouldn’t,” Theo says with a wide grin. “You did a good job, too. A
little too messy perhaps but... to feel your anger like this...”
Stiles can see him take a deep breath and that’s when it returns, like a fist
hitting him in the stomach.
The fear.
“Uhm... I don’t – I’m not angry anymore, so...,” and it’s the truth. He really
isn’t, not at Theo anyway, strangely enough.
“So, we can just – just put this behind – us, and, er... yeah, still got a lot
to do, so...”
Theo has his fingers in the pockets of his jeans, just the tips though, because
the dude is so buff that his pants just barely fit him.
Stiles, involuntarily, is staring down at them now, acknowledging with growing
unease just how tight they are.
“Why don’t you tell your dad not to disturb us for the next two hours.”
Stiles is sweating, but not because he’d been running in and out of his room
until about five minutes ago. He’s legitimately scared and Theo, of course,
knows all about it because he adds, “We’ll do it right this time, too, Stiles.
I’ll do it right. The way it was supposed to happen.”
“But-”
“No buts, Stiles,” smile tight-lipped now, menacing, “Do it.”
Stiles turns around and walks out of the room, hating himself a little for
giving in to this bastard so easily. But does he really have a choice?
He knows he doesn’t.
His dad is putting away the vacuum and Stiles starts, hesitantly, “Er... dad?
I’m done upstairs. Is there – should I do anything else. Like, outside, maybe?
Mow the lawn or stuff?”
“No, Stiles, that’s fine,” and the sheriff turns to face him, “You’re free for
the day, son.”
And he gives him a wide, a genuine smile and Stiles – it just hurts.
“Ahem... good. Okay. Er... so... Theo and – and I, we’ll be in my room. And...”
He’s staring down at his socks and, God, his cheeks are heating up, he can feel
it.
Stiles really didn’t mean to make it this awkward.
His father lifts his eyebrows at him, but doesn’t help him out.
Apparently, he wants Stiles to spell it out for him, so Stiles goes, “Can you –
maybe, like, not bother us for the next couple o’ hours,” and then, quickly,
“There’s this game, er, Theo got this new game and we-”
“Alright,” his dad says, interrupting him, “understood. I – will give you guys
some space.”
And then, to Stiles’ complete and utter horror, his dad steps up to him and
pulls him into a hug.
“If you’re happy, son, then I’m happy. You know that, right?” Lets go of him
again. “Okay?”
Stiles isn’t sure whether to laugh or break down crying. He really feels like
both right now.
This is so fucking twisted.
“Thanks dad,” he says, giving his father a crooked smile, then quickly turns
around before the sheriff comes up with a bunch of questions that, Stiles could
practically see it, had started surfacing in his brain and that could turn out
to be more or less horrible, depending on what his dad was currently thinking
they were about to do, ranging from ‘So, you two are really dating, mh?’ to
‘Are you being safe?’
Stiles makes a quick visit to the bathroom, unsure of what to do exactly, then
decides not to shave, just to quickly clean himself and when he’s drying
himself off, his hands are already shaking.
Walks back to his room a few minutes later and when he pushes the door open,
Theo is already sitting on the mattress, back resting against the wall and he’s
apparently been looking at the exact point where he knew Stiles’ head was about
to appear and Stiles, he feels like all his blood suddenly drained from his
head. Like he’s going to faint.
Oh, fuck.
So this is happening.
He hadn’t expected for it to be so soon, had really believed Theo would give
him more time than just a day or two.
Stiles closes the door behind him.
Turns the key in the lock, just to be sure.
Then walks over to the bed without Theo even having to ask.
Knees weak, gaze averted.
As soon as he touches the mattress, Theo is already reaching for him, his hands
grabbing Stiles’ shoulders – but then, releasing him again almost immediately.
Like he told himself to go easy on Stiles. To hold back.
So he just tips Stiles’ head up by the chin and lowers his lips onto his and
Stiles, he just lets it happen.
He’s sort of used to kissing Theo by now, to his taste in Stiles’ mouth, to the
way his tongue curls around his hungrily.
It’s okay.
Theo is a good kisser, too, so, hypothetically speaking, Stiles might be able
to enjoy it, even, if it weren’t for.
Well.
For what would come after.
Theo pulls away after only a few seconds and he’s already breathless, it’s such
a weird thing to see, to watch, his cheeks are flushed and he’s – yeah.
He’s undeniably handsome.
And Stiles – he will do this.
Can do this.
With Theo trying not to hurt him, this time, he thinks – he thinks he might
hate it, yes, but maybe it won’t utterly shatter him like last time did.
Even though, when Theo pulls his sweater and t-shirt over Stiles’ head with one
rough tug, Stiles thinks that he’s still feeling way too sore on the inside.
Like it inflicted a wound on his soul that is still, all these hours later,
open and aching. He feels emotionally raw and knows, just fucking knows, he’ll
also be feeling it physically soon.
Theo is grabbing his shoulders again, wants to pull Stiles into another kiss
but Stiles quickly says, “Can you – please be careful?”
And Theo halts. Pauses in his movement to look at him.
“Please? Because if you’re not, I’m going to jump out there.”
And Stiles nods over to the window.
Wow.
Threaten suicide.
How grown-up of you.
But deep down, of course, Stiles realizes that rather than being childish, he's
really feeling utter freaking desperate here.
Theo pulls his hands back and nods.
Then says, “Okay. Just – undress and get under the sheets.”
And, to Stiles’ surprise, he gets up from the bed.
Unlocks the door and walks out of the room.
Stiles unbuttons his pants with trembling fingers, shoves them down over his
hips, knees, kicks them onto the floor.
Socks, too.
Clothed in nothing but his boxers, he crawls under the comforter, resists the
urge to wrap it around him tightly, then he just lies there, facing the wall.
He used to think he’d be safe here, in his bed. Safe from him.
It’s the one place he always went to when he couldn’t take it anymore.
His last refuge.
Not anymore, obviously.
When Stiles hears the door open, then close and lock again, softly, his heart
starts beating so fast, so loudly, he can feel it in his throat and stomach,
too.
There's a rustling, the sound of sweater, and shirt, pants, boxers and socks
being peeled away from skin.
A brief silence.
Then the mattress dips and the comforter is being lifted.
When a naked body slides underneath and presses against his, Stiles shudders
even though Theo’s skin is hot and smooth.
Theo pulls the comforter tight around them, like meaning to keep Stiles warm.
His left arm reaches around Stiles' body, pulls him flush against his chest and
stomach. Stiles can feel his penis, hard and big already, press against his ass
and he swallows. He’s still wearing boxers, so it’s not skin on skin but – it
will be, soon enough.
After a minute or so – Stiles heart doesn’t seem to want to slow down anytime
soon – Theo starts moving his hip, rubbing up against him.
Then stops.
His hand that had been pressing into Stiles’ naked chest disappears and the
comforter moves. Stiles grabs it and holds it tight, so it wouldn’t slide off
his body. He can’t face the cold air in the room.
The nakedness.
Theo is bending his whole upper body backwards, away from him, seems to be
reaching for something on the nightstand.
“Do you want me to do it?”
Spooning Stiles again, Theo lets a tube of lube dangle in front of his face.
It’s not the one Stiles got from Mason but a bigger one, all black with silver
letters on it, looking bizarre. Vulgar, somehow. Stiles suddenly wishes he'd
have thought of closing the blinds.
“No,” he says curtly, shoves his left hand upwards and reaches for the tube.
Snatches it out of Theo’s hand who chuckles softly.
Stiles unscrews it clumsily, and as soon as the cap is off, the stuff already
comes welling up and spilling onto his fingers. It’s gooey and almost
transparent and smells faintly like lavender.
Seriously, why do these always have to be scented?
Theo takes tube and cap out of his hands again, obviously because Stiles will
otherwise get that stuff everywhere before he can screw the cap back on
himself.
“Is that enough?”
Stiles just nods his head up and down on the pillow.
He cups his hand around the dabs of lube on his palm, tries to not rub his
sticky fingers over the comforter even though, yeah. It doesn’t really matter,
he’s going to change the sheets anyway, right?
And either way, he wouldn’t want to sleep in them tonight, not after – Stiles
swallows again.
Theo tugs at the fabric of Stiles’ boxers, pulls them down to help him and
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut.
Doesn’t even protest.
Theo has moved his hip, pulled back about an inch to give Stiles some room, but
not enough for Stiles’ knuckles not to brush over his penis when he sticks his
fingers in-between his own butt cheeks.
Oh, this again, God.
How he fucking hates this part.
But then again, it’s not even the worst, there’s more, horrible stuff to come.
Stiles works in the tip of his index finger. Obviously, he didn’t really think
this through at all, because of course the lube is everywhere on his left hand
except for his index finger, so he has to curl it into his palm, rub it up and
down for a second or two.
Then try again.
This time it glides in smoothly and there it is again, that hot, burning
sensation and Stiles sucks in a breath.
He can feel Theo’s hips move, like he wants to rub up against Stiles but then
can just barely keep himself from doing it and – it’s not helping.
Like, at all.
God.
And if you don’t think this isn’t uncomfortable as fuck, try shoving your
finger into your ass without being turned on even a little bit, and see if you
like it.
No?
Yeah, thought so.
Then Theo’s palm is resting on his back, in-between his shoulder blades, and he
says, “Shhh... relax...”
And Stiles does.
His shoulders, his whole body seem to soften a little, and while it doesn’t
lessen his discomfort it does numb his urge to cry and hide.
He knows that it’s all that Theo will do for him for now, but it’s enough,
suffices for him to be able to work in a second finger and breathe, just
breathe, and get used to the feeling.
After a while – maybe five minutes, maybe more, Stiles pulls his fingers out
after having turned them a little, pushed them in a bit, then pulled them out
again. He lets his palm, still sticky and gooey, rest on his left hip, doesn't
even care that the comforter is sticking to it. Doesn’t say anything, but Theo,
of course, gets it.
It means he’s ready.
He’s moving behind him, Stiles, now and Stiles isn’t sure what he’s doing, but
a few moments later he hears a rustling, like someone ripped open a pack of
candy, and realizes that Theo is putting on a condom.
Aw, great.
How thoughtful.
He doesn't even have to see it, the thought alone suffices, together with
feeling Theo shift on the mattress, to make this even more real for Stiles
which - he feels like he's going to pass out, staring at the wall with his
vision all blurry, trying not to jump up and dart outside.
So Theo really wants to fuck like a bunch of – humans here.
He must also have spread some of the lube on his dick because when he slides it
between Stiles’ butt cheeks it feels slick and cool, even though it’s rock-
hard.
Stiles' breath is hitching in his throat already and his heart is fluttering,
God, he’s fucking scared shitless of the pain he’ll be feeling soon, soon
nothing but pain, and Theo says, “Shhhh,” again, and then, “Stiles, relax,” and
he’s moving his hip, and his hand is down there, too, helping him get ready,
find the right position, the right angle.
Then finds it.
Stiles can feel the tip press against his entrance and he’s already biting his
lip, bracing himself.
“It’s okay, Stiles,” Theo says now. Doesn’t move, his left hand clutching
Stiles’ hip bone, his right still on his dick, pressing into Stiles’ butt
cheek. It’s the only contact he has with Stiles’ body right now, too, has
pulled back a little, so he can do this.
“Just – fucking – shut up,” Stiles mutters. “Do what you have to do.”
“I jerked off earlier,” Theo says and lets out a small laugh, “Believe me, I
didn’t want to, but I promised you to show you that this can be fun, too... I
promised to help, remember?”
Grim silence from Stiles.
He’s pressing his teeth together and wonders if this bastard is mocking him, if
this is another one of his little games, telling him it will be okay, it won’t
hurt, and then just slam into him without Stiles knowing what hit him. But he
won’t play along.
He doesn’t have hope.
“But I think it might not even be necessary,” Theo goes on and Stiles bites
down onto his lip harder because he can feel Theo pressing against his entrance
now, moving his hip forward and soon – soon.
“When you’re this – this wound-up,” Theo’s saying now and he lets out a breath
between words because yeah, because he’s so fucking turned on, “it shouldn’t
take – take much to – to also get you going. That’s how this – how this works
anyway.”
And he gasps and there it is.
The tip slides in.
Not easily, no.
Theo is forcing it in slowly because even though it’s all slick and slimy and
so is Stiles’ hole still, from the lube, you see, he’s also so fucking tense
that his muscles are clenched and he really, really doesn’t want this, so.
God.
But it’s in now.
It’s not much, an inch maybe, but it already stretches Stiles more than his
finger ever could have, it’s so solid and large and there’s tears in his eyes
already.
Theo quickly grabs his hips because Stiles is inadvertently curling away from
him, pulling his feet up to his stomach, but even though Theo is so much more
gentle now than last time, so much so that there’s really no comparison, his
grip is firm, holding him in place and it hurts a little, yeah, but that’s
nothing against the burning sensation in his ass.
Like Theo stuck a torch up there. Like he means to rip him open.
He pushes his dick in further.
Another inch.
Then another.
And Theo doesn’t have a short dick either.
Rather the opposite.
Stiles turns his head, buries it in his pillows and muffles his pained whimpers
as best as he can.
He can hear Theo go, “Gnnnn,” then breath in and out quickly, can hear him say,
“God, you’re tight. Fuck.”
And he isn’t inside of Stiles completely, yet, hasn’t bottomed out and probably
won’t either right now because Stiles might scream.
He currently doesn’t even know how he’s going to bear this once Theo starts -
moving.
But Theo – he’s doing something odd now.
His chest is touching Stiles’ back again, he has bent his upper body forward,
and Stiles can feel something wet and hot in his neck. Theo’s licking him,
nibbling at his skin. Kissing it.
Kissing it, dragging his teeth carefully across his skin, pressing his lips
onto the wet spots and Stiles can hear it, too, and it really sounds like
they’re about to do it, like they’re doing it, just from the kissing noise and
Stiles – he shudders.
Kisses to his neck just do that to him, he can’t help it, and Theo, rather than
starting to move, is carefully shifting his hips to the left and right now,
slowly and without moving inside of Stiles a lot.
Then, apparently satisfied with his position, he makes a small but quick
movement, like he’s tapping Stiles on the shoulder lightly, only it’s not his
shoulder, and it’s not Theo’s index finger either.
He does it again.
And again.
And again, and it becomes this soft, rhythmic movement of Theo jerking his
penis up inside of Stiles, only a little, without shoving it further in.
Like it’s in the exact right position and Theo says, “It’s okay, Stiles. Just
let it happen,” and he’s pressing his mouth onto his skin firmly now and Stiles
– he can suddenly feel it.
Theo just loosened him up a little, just the tiniest bit, and he – holy shit.
Stiles suddenly knows what he’s doing, too.
When a shudder runs through Stiles’ lower body, shoots into his own dick, he
knows what that spot is that Theo is dragging the tip across. The reason why he
worked to get into this exact position.
“H-how do you know how to do this?,” the words stumble out of Stiles' mouth,
blurring on their way out because he’s feeling hot, way too hot.
“Instinct,” Theo says and he’s smiling against Stiles’ skin.
“N-no, take it – cut it – out- stop!”
“Really, Stiles? So you’re saying you’d rather get raped?”
“This is rape, too,” Stiles grits out and, holy shit, his penis just twitched
and it’s growing hard, he can feel it, Lord.
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
“Maybe,” Theo is saying now, “but you also like it.”
“It’s a bodily reaction, nothing more,” Stiles says and he really is fighting
back tears because he’s so fucking confused, because he doesn’t want for this
to happen, really, he doesn’t, at the same time, the way Theo’s dick is
stretching him feels hot, all of a sudden, feels dirty and good, and Stiles is
hard now, he most definitely is, penis sticking out, pushing into the
comforter.
As if that weren’t already enough to deal with, Stiles can hear footfalls in
the hallway. His dad is checking the bathroom, probably dump his laundry into
the basket on top of the washing machine, then walks over to his bedroom for
whatever reason ever.
Theo of course chooses this exact moment to let himself slide out of Stiles an
inch more and that’s when he really hits the spot, rubbing over it inside of
Stiles and Stiles lets out a moan.
He didn’t really mean to either, like – is it normal that this bastard is able
to stimulate him like this when Stiles has only done it to himself once before?
Wouldn’t it rather take practice, a long time to sensitize him, to mold his
insides into the perfect shape, for his nerves to react in the exactly right
way?
Probably.
Yeah, Stiles is pretty sure of it.
“Gnn,” and he’s suppressing another moan and this time, he’s almost certain his
dad heard it.
He seems to stop outside, in front of the door as if to listen, only for a
moment. Then his steps are moving away again quickly, in the direction of the
stairs and it’s only when he can hear his dad downstairs that Stiles allows
himself to go, “Haaa, oh-Gah...”
He meant to say ‘God,’ but, you know.
Can’t really get it out anymore.
The weird thing is, the fucking oddity here, that the more agitated Stiles
becomes, the more nervous and stressed out, the hornier he gets. Like it was
enough for Theo to tip him over the edge, to make him slide into that specific
mood, and now everything just adds to the tension building in his dick.
Fucking perfect.
Suddenly he knows he’s going to come.
He just knows.
He’s going to come, rocking on Theo’s dick, and it’s in that moment, that
Stiles stops caring.
He fucking wants to – God, needs to feel it.
And this is so good, too, holy shit.
Were he stroking himself now, with his own dick so fucking tight and full of
blood and patterned with veins already, he’d be spilling all over the sheets
within the next ten seconds, but apparently this is not how this is working
here.
Stiles is not used to the particular sensation and every now and Theo's
movement is still not quite right, too slow somehow and almost the perfect
angle but not exactly and - he's doing this on purpose, Stiles just knows he is
when he needs this so badly right now. He arches his back, pushes it up so Theo
slides into him a little more and lets out a breathy moan and Theo chuckles. It
sounds ragged, too, but the son-of-a-bitch is obviously still calm enough to be
entertained right now.
Stiles doesn’t care.
The feeling of having this large, pulsating thing up his ass is sensational and
his eyes have rolled back into his head. Stiles’ movement made Theo lose the
spot momentarily, his dick sliding too far into him, but Stiles is already
trembling on the inside a little and just the feeling of stretching around
Theo’s dick is enough to send shudders through his body, for his dick to leak
pre-cum.
The way it should be anyway, finally.
God.
“I – I just want you to know – that I’m not doing anything here, Stiles. It’s
just mechanical. No manipulation.”
“Don’t – care,” Stiles grits out because he really, really doesn’t.
He needed this so, so much.
To be feeling this good.
Theo’s hand is on his left wrist suddenly, wrapping around it, pulling it away
from Stiles’ dick and Stiles whimpers. The bastard actually manages to hold him
tight in a way that Stiles can move neither of his hands anymore.
The pressure, the tension, is sheer agony.
But with Theo not rubbing over the spot anymore, it doesn't build anymore
either. Just lingers, like a tower out of toy blocks that's already slanting,
about to tip over, just about to but not quite, not quite yet, anyway.
“Please,” he breathes, “please.”
Can’t even articulate what it is that he wants, holy God, needs, so badly right
now.
A hoarse laugh from Theo that turns into, “Shhh-it,” when he shoves his dick in
completely, bottoms out for the first time and, yeah, that most definitely
hurt, and when Theo does it a second time, pulling out almost completely now
and pushing back in with one quick, forceful movement, Stiles gasps.
What follows is five minutes of the most insane mixture of pleasure and pain
Stiles has ever experienced.
Completely nuts, he couldn’t describe it if he had to.
It’s this mad succession of wanting Theo to stop and needing him to go on, and
the latter especially culminating whenever the tip drags across that particular
spot a few inches over his rim but not in the right way.
When Theo comes, his dick jerks and he moans softly for the first time, the
first sound from him louder than breathing, Stiles wants to cry.
This is it now?
This is supposed to be the fucking end?
What the fuck is this supposed to be?
And he’s swearing and pulling away from Theo, too angry to touch his own dick
that is only halfway hard now.
He’s not in the mood to jerk off, not here, not in Theo’s presence anyway and
he’s fucking disappointed even though – he should be glad he didn’t come,
right?
When Stiles turns around, shoots up into a sitting position far too quickly –
realizing he still has his boxers around his thighs and gripping them, yanking
them up and shoving his dick back inside mercilessly – he catches sight of Theo
who is standing there now, in front of the bed, and sliding off the condom.
He wraps it into a piece of tissue, throws the small bundle onto the nightstand
where it lands with a moist thud.
He’s completely naked of course and, God, these muscles. Theo is looking down
at his dick, cleaning himself off with another tissue, chest still heaving.
Face flushed.
He looks – Stiles has to swallow.
What the fuck is happening here.
“Stop fucking messing with me,” he mutters, just because he’s so confused, and
Theo turns his head to look at him.
His blue eyes meet Stiles’.
“I didn’t really. Only loosened you up a litte, but I think you felt that. The
rest was all you, Stiles.”
And of course, of fucking course, there’s this dirty grin on his face now.
“Don’t worry. You’ll come alright soon. Just give me five minutes. Okay?”
“Get out,” Stiles says, but, this time, he’s not sure he really means it.
He’s still turned on and looking at this sweaty, muscular and stark naked dude
just – yeah, he always thought nothing could get him going like looking at
boobs or a vagina, touching, or even thinking of touching, a girl's private
parts, but – seems like he was mistaken.
Looking at Theo’s ass now does something to him.
Theo, of course, catches his gaze, and Stiles quickly averts his eyes, face
flushing redder.
“Ha,” Theo says, shaking his head and smiling, “You want to be on top, don’t
you.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Yeah, right,” grinning mischievously now. “You want to know what I think?”
“I most certainly don’t.”
“I think you’re torn between wanting to stick your dick into a tight hole and
wishing for me to continue stimulating your prostate. Until you spill.”
“Don’t fucking,” and Stiles can’t help it, he buries his face in his palm, “say
that. God.”
The point is that he can somehow feel his rim pulsate, like the tension that’s
still there in his dick is somehow stretching into his ass and even though his
hole feels sore and bruised, it also feels wide.
Smooth, somehow.
Like it would be so easy to slide a cock inside now.
Easy and delicious.
Holy shit.
Theo really needs to leave.
But of course, the son-of-a-bitch just stands there, grinning from ear to ear,
flashing his perfect teeth at Stiles, and says, “I think you need to come
here.”
And he bends down, reaches for another condom and, what the hell – is that a
whole stack on Stiles’ nightstand?
When did Theo even put them there?
Stiles flicks his eyes from Theo’s finger clutching the condom up to his face,
to the wrinkles on his forehead because he’s lifting his eyebrows at him now,
Theo, saying with a voice that’s somehow rough, like he’s talking around
shards,
“Come here, Stiles.”
***** Alpha, Beta, Omicron *****
Chapter Summary
     Steo action. (Eternal?) Sterek. Theo is majorly pissed. STEO.
     (ah, so predictable...)
Chapter Notes
     so, here it is, my wonderful and perfect readers –
     NOT the last chapter :D of course not, there is one more and a short
     epilogue – but it’s all written, just needs to be edited & uploaded.
     I won’t be able to make it today, but the rest of the story should be
     up by tomorrow night.
     and, please bear with me through this one – I wrote parts of it
     seriously sleep deprived (...lol?) and it shows, I think. really
     sorry for that, but it’s so long I couldn’t go back and fix
     everything; I want the story to be up before all of this month's
     craziness starts...
     sooo – still hope you like it, my beloved ones and that I didn't
     screw it up too badly <3 <3 <3
                                        
                                        
                            ... I see you, Stiles.
                                        
                            Yes, but – is this it?
                                   The end?
                                        
                                        
                                      No.
 
 
 
                                      ***
 
Sheriff Stilinski turns the page of his newspaper munching his cereal, but from
the way he’s grimacing and working his jaws you might think he was trying to
chew down a bowl full of rubber bands.
He’s never had cereal at 4 p.m. in the afternoon either. For him, that’s a
breakfast thing and the last time he’s not preferred eggs and bacon to milk
was, well.
Let’s just say it has been a while.
Yeah, okay, he was kind of hungry.
But he’d have been alright with a bagel, too, or a Pop Tart. Or, ugh, a banana,
whatever.
He turns the page and harrumphs.
Another series of suicides over in Treesprings County. Man, the numbers just
won’t drop.
Horrible.
What the hell is wrong with this world.
Sheriff Stilinski lifts the spoon slowly up to his face, his eyes never leaving
the page. Almost misses his mouth, too, but then shoves another spoonful of the
stuff into his mouth and starts chewing.
Chews, and chews.
This wholegrain stuff, right?
Really not his favorite.
But it’s basically the loudest kind of food he could find.
Not that there’s so much noise coming from upstairs, no, the boys have been all
in all pretty – measured.
But, you know, it’s just – the bed.
It creaks.
Plus, it’s pushed up to the wall in a way that there’s this gap between the
bedframe and the plaster, about one inch maybe, and every time they – someone –
moves around on the mattress, the bed hits the wall with a thud.
Not very loud, either.
Just this low and faint sound that, somehow, seems to go through John’s marrow
and bone, almost like a scream.
Stiles and Theo.
It’s – the sheriff halts, shakes his head.
Yeah, he’ll definitely need some time to wrap his head around this.
Puts another spoonful of the healthy disgusting stuff into his mouth.
Picks up chewing around on it again, listlessly.
Swallows.
God.
The stuff is just awful.
How can his boy even get it down.
Used to that they would’ve had Cookie Crisps at home, or Cheerios. But you
can’t do that today anymore either, not when you know how freakin’ unhealthy
this stuff is.
He wouldn’t really care if it were just about him, you know, but you gotta
think of your kids.
And he wants Stiles to be healthy. Have at least one home-cooked meal a day,
cut down on the sugar as best as he can. Have some, you know, salad, and stuff,
on a regular basis.
He just wants to make sure Stiles will be okay. That his son will get the best
start into adult life John could possibly offer him, considering.
You know.
Considering.
There’s a soft moan coming from upstairs, and even though it’s muffled by the
several layers of wood and drywall and plaster that are in-between his son’s
room and the kitchen, it’s still pretty audible and, well.
It’s Stiles’s voice, too. He’d know it anywhere, no matter how faint.
The sheriff blushes and lets his spoon land in the half-empty cereal bowl with
a mixture of a clutter and a splosh.
He pushes his chair back and it scrapes over the tiles which he usually hates
and would reprimand his son for doing, but right now, any noise that drowns out
what Stiles is doing with that dude up there – that malicious kid, Theo, no
less, with the nonchalant smirk like he’s constantly plotting, out of all the
available teenage boys his son could have picked – nope, John can’t do it.
He just can’t.
Another moan, louder this time, yup, most definitely Stiles, that turns into
something like a breathy, “Ah-ahhhh...,” and the sheriff darts up from his
chair.
Screw the cereal.
He abandons the bowl and his newspaper and all but rushes out of the room,
grabs his jacket and keys on the way out.
The sheriff had been planning on getting a new set of electric hedge clippers
for literally years now, the more fancy kind that are a mixture of garden tool
and man toy, but never really found the time to just leisurely stroll through
the aisles of his favorite hardware store and chat with the assistant about the
pro’s and con’s of a SuperSmith 3000.
But something tells him that today is the day.
It’s this Saturday that Sheriff Stilinski will finally pick out another way too
expensive piece of garden equipment that he will be far too happy about. A lot
happier than anyone should be about hedge clippers anyway.
And who cares if they don’t really need them.
Having to listen to his teenage son getting physical with his boyfriend in
whatever way – or even be in the vicinity of the house while this is happening,
and constantly worrying about what this smug jackass might be doing to his boy
– he’d gladly spend five hundred dollars they really don’t have, just so he
won’t go ahead and ruin it for Stiles by doing something like, you know.
Kick in the door to his bedroom, for instance – the door Stiles locked earlier,
too, John had acknowledged the distinct click of the key in the lock with a
sigh and a roll of his eyes – and just put a pair of handcuffs on that smug
son-of-a-bitch who is currently up there, in bed, with his son, and – doing –
But, come on, why does it have to be Theo Raeken?
John never had a problem with Malia. On the opposite, he’d been rather worried
about the girl at first, Stiles had just been this – this clumsy teenager and
girls are, you know. Fragile and all. In fact, even after having been married
for years, John had never really figured out their deal.
Now, however.
And they’re picking up speed, from the sound of it, and he needs to get out
here, fast. Stop eyeballing the closed door to his study behind which there’s
his safe, and behind the safe door, there’s two guns, his service weapons,
carefully stored away and ready to be used.
For work.
In an emergency.
Theo would heal, right? He’s a were- whatever, too, this kid. As if the Raeken
boy needed anything to make him appear more dangerous to the sheriff, to make
his, John’s, instincts  scream even louder that there’s something wrong with
this kid.
That he should really be tasered, rather than just let into his son’s room like
that.
Into his bed, even.
But, John, he won’t do any of these things, no.
No.
He’s a responsible adult, a good father, and he can deal with his son growing
up. Having a love life. Boy or girl, he doesn’t really care, so long as Stiles
is happy.
And, boy, is he sounding happy right now.
So he’ll walk out of the house, is doing it right now in fact, just get out of
here and into his car and drive to the nearest hardware store. Spend his
afternoon there.
Maybe pick up a packet of condoms for Stiles on the way back.
God.
When he’d decided to be a dad and ensured his wife that he’d be there, always,
that he could deal with the diapers, and the lack of sleep, and, later, the
fits of teenage anger and bouts of stubbornness, that he’d find a way to afford
clothes, and food, and college, it hadn’t been a lie, he’d really been up for
all of that, and more – but no one, no one ever said anything about this. Told
him it would be like that.
You think coming to terms with their sexuality is hard for teenagers?
Well, go and ask their parents.
 
 
 
 
 
Stiles has cooled down.
He’s put on a shirt, pulled up his boxers and has this strong urge to just
shove Theo out the door,
Yeah, that’d be better.
He really needs to be alone right now to appreciate the full extent of his
humiliation here. To wallow in mortification and self-pity for the next few
hours.
Because earlier, you see – well, until five minutes ago, to be precise – Stile
shad been somewhat aroused – alright, alright, he’d been really turned
on, holy shit – by Theo Raeken.
The dude’s still standing in front of him, stark naked and looking gorgeous –
yeah, there’s really no other word for it – gorgeous and insanely buff and
Stiles is trying very hard not to stare down at his dick.
It’s limp now because Theo shoved it up Stiles’ ass earlier and, God.
He doesn’t want to turn around and look at his bed that must be reeking of sex.
Then again, he also feels like he can’t face Theo anymore.
And, God, he still has this urge in the pit of his stomach.
That low-key agitation like he really needs to jerk off but can’t right now and
that means he’s gonna be antsy and just wired for the rest of the day.
And Theo – the maniac is still staring at him, perfectly comfortable with the
fact that Stiles looks so unsettled, so destroyed.
“I gotta... mh, my dad’s probably wondering...”
“He left. Earlier. Couldn’t bear listening to his baby boy’s pleasure screams
anymore, I suppose.”
Theo’s smile deepens and there’s this sudden surge of aggression in Stiles’
stomach, probably a side-effect of the lingering arousal, and an image shoots
into his head, of himself cutting – literally cutting that stupid fucking grin
out of Theo’s fucking face like he’s the fucking Joker, God.
He’s so pissed, and angry, and humiliated, he doesn’t even know what to do,
where to turn.
Fuck.
So that’s what it's like when you’re not catatonic after having been raped, but
feel the full extent of what you’ve done.
Just toss that last shred of dignity, of self-respect, into the bin right next
to your desk.
Then lie in bed, silently and unmoving, wallowing in your shame.
Preferably for the next couple of years.
“I need to,” Stiles starts, eyes still glued to the floor, but Theo, of course,
interrupts him.
“I think you need to come here.”
Stiles’ head snaps up and now he’s narrowing his eyes, grimacing.
Putting as much poison into his words as he possibly can when he spits them
out.
“I don’t fucking care what you think. I can’t stand the fucking sight of you
anymore.”
“Aw, Stiles, how childish. And perfectly pointless. But that does give me an
idea.”
And he tilts his head a little, as if he’s thinking.
Smiles again, sweetly like he’s made a decision.
Then, darker, menacingly now, almost, “We’re not done, yet. Not by far.”
Okay, he won’t do this.
Stiles won’t waste his breath.
Arguing with Theo is so pointless.
Stiles starts in the direction of the door, quickly, and Theo – he steps aside.
Makes room to let him pass and, on a second thought, that should have tipped
Stiles off. But he’s currently too angry to be alert.
He flings the door open – and stumbles backwards letting out a horrified yell.
Holy shit.
What fresh hell is this?
Theo – he caught him.
Stiles is hanging limply in his strong arms that are wrapping around his whole
chest now, slowly, and he’s breathing in and out quickly, heart almost beating
out of his chest.
Eyes still on that – that thing that is lurking out in the hallway.
That’s looking directly back at him with a lidless stare, pupils blown white
and black. Eyes being the only thing on its body that is not rotting, not dead
and mangled but oddly alive, rolling to the left and right. Then back to Stiles
who has slammed his hand over his mouth, trying not to gag.
He’s seen so many of Theo’s creatures in all states of decomposition, but this
one’s new. It looks like someone crossed a horse that’s been dead for a week
with one of the Elves floating beneath the surface of the Dead Marshes.
“Fucking – close –  the door,” Stiles forces out squeezing his eyes shut, but
then he realizes that this thing?
It’s breathing, and it’s the most disgusting sound Stiles has ever heard.
“Holy – what the literal fuck-”
“Relax,” and Theo’s chuckling. “She won’t hurt you. But I could never say no to
you, so...”
And the door flies shut, closes on the horror outside, shuts it out.
Stiles struggles out of Theo’s grasp and turns on him, furious now.
“You fucking promised, you scumbag! You promised!”
Theo lifts his eyebrows at Stiles’ heated face.
“I promised to not torture anyone, or breathe life into anything already dead.
This is Mah-Gog. She’s the keeper.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?! Let me out of here – just – make
this thing go away!”
“Now, that is hurtful. Stiles... just because her exterior doesn’t happen to
strike your fancy... and she has a right to be here, just like you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?!,” and he’s really yelling now, “You – just –
fucking get out!”
But Theo just stands there with this trademark nonchalance like he's conversing
about the weather.
“You see, I’ve developed a liking for the particularly beautiful and the
extraordinarily depraved.”
His smile pulls into a mischievous grin.
“And, I trust that, in your heart, you’re familiar with both, Stiles.”
But Stiles doesn’t even know what Theo’s talking about.
He really wants to rush out, either to get his baseball bat or to just leave.
Vanish.
But this thing, okay?
It’s still breathing outside very audibly, and – what the fuck is he supposed
to do?
The shock of seeing its rotten features and strands of hair stuck to gooey
flesh runs too deep and he’s pretty sure that if he happened upon it a second
time, he might die on the spot.
So he tries to calm down.
Maybe talking is an option.
“What’s – it keeping?”
Theo goes, “Mh?” because he has turned to the mirror door of Stiles’ closet and
is considering his own naked body, his muscles and limp penis, with a pleased
smile.
“Oh. Everything.”
“It’s – she’s keeping – everything...?”
“Everything.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense whatsoever. God,” and Stiles buries his face
in his hands, is rubbing his forehead frantically but it doesn’t make the
headache go away that he can feel gradually coming on.
“Tssss... sense,” and Theo turns around to face him again with a soft shake of
the head.
“Oh, Stiles... sometimes you’re so – human, it surprises even me.”
“Oh – oh, yeah?”
Stiles wants to say something hurtful, voice his hatred and anger and
frustration, this utter helplessness, but from the way Theo is smiling at him
now – a different kind again, a knowing smile, this time – he just knows he
lost.
Again.
He feels all the strength, the desire to resist, drain out of his heart and
brain and limbs in an instant. So he closes his eyes, only for two heart beats,
and says, “What do I have to do?”
He’s tired again, now, can’t do this anymore.
Maybe letting Theo use him once more, even though he clearly already had his
fun, is indeed the easiest way out.
He just – fighting this evil smirk is so fatiguing. It just never ends, no
matter what Stiles does.
Theo is like a perpetual motion Jack-in-the-box. Only, like, you know.
More muscular.
So Stiles is really considering to just go through with it and try not to focus
too much on what’s happening.
“I see you’ve made a decision.”
Stiles doesn’t even shrug.
“You’ll make it go away then?”
“Sure. And her sisters, too.”
“Her sis-? – you know what, I don’t even want to know.”
There is a pause during which Theo is considering Stiles – or not, Stiles
doesn’t really know, nor care.
This has been happening a lot recently.
In the middle of a fight, or even a conversation, Stiles would just deflate,
collapse into himself, feel too tired to go on all of a sudden.
Fall silent, in the very middle of it.
Confirm people’s opinion about what an odd kid he is.
But Theo, he knows why this is, too.
Because, honestly, all euphemisms aside, he has broken Stiles.
Not all the way, no.
But only just enough.
Stiles jerks his head up when he hears a rustle. Yeah, there’s still that
condom in Theo’s hand, but rather than rip the wrapper open he drops the whole
thing onto the carpet right where he's standing.
Motions for Stiles to move a few feet to the left, then turn around.
And Stiles obeys.
The lights flick on, as if by magic, because, as Stiles realizes now, the sun
is setting outside and it has been gradually growing darker in here, more
difficult to see.
And he won’t have that, Theo.
Because for what he has in mind here it’s vital that Stiles see – everything.
Theo has positioned him in front of the mirror, back toward it, and he locks
eyes with Stiles who, for some unfathomable reason is sweating.
Theo’s right hand is reaching down now, closing around his own dick.
When he starts stroking himself, Stiles swallows.
Suppresses the urge to throw his head back into his neck and laugh
hysterically.
It’s just so odd, the way they’re standing there facing each other, Theo
completely naked and jerking himself off with these slow, smooth movements,
dead serious expression on his face. Like they’re doing some kind of weird
ritual that somehow requires for Theo to come all over the floor.
He’s already hard again, too.
Stiles is still forcing himself to not look down, to not watch what Theo's
doing, but – it’s like he can still see it, out of the corner of his eyes, even
though he's trying to focus on a spot on the wall behind Theo.
Damn the cold neon light that his dad just had to put in because ‘you need at
least one bright lamp in your room, son, you’re not a vampire,’ but Stiles
stands by his opinion. He really doesn’t.
Stiles mouth and throat feel really dry all of a sudden and he swallows again,
but can’t get the itchy feeling to go away.
“Come here,” Theo says, but Stiles doesn’t move. Just stays rooted, back facing
the mirror. If he took one step backwards he could touch its smooth, cold
surface, melt into it.
He has this inkling of what Theo is about to do and he really doesn’t want to
turn around. If there’s one face he’s even less eager to see than Theo’s, it’s
his own.
But of course Theo won’t have it.
He jerks his head, repeats, “Come here, Stiles,” with an edge to his voice like
he’s going to make him. And Stiles moves, finally.
“Don’t act like a baby, Stiles. I won’t hurt you, haven’t we been over this?
God, you can be so exhausting. Do you want me to put on music?”
Stiles quickly shakes his head.
No, because then he wouldn't just have to take his pillow and comforter out
into the garden later and set them on fire, he'd also have to throw out
whatever CD Theo would pick and then never listen to the band or any comparable
one ever again. And Stiles is sort of attached to certain songs, singers and
bands.
So, no, he'd rather if Theo didn't put on music.
The steady breathing outside the door seems to have stopped, but Stiles, he’s
dreading its return.
As soon as he’s within arm’s reach, Theo’s hands shoot up, and he clutches
Stiles' shoulders, gives them a forceful tug that makes Stiles stumble forward.
Then he pulls him into a tight hug.
Arms sliding around Stiles and, again, Stiles just feels odd. Even though Theo
had just been spooning him earlier for at least an hour.
But Stiles is pretty sure, he’ll never get used to this.
To what it feels like when these arms are screwed around his body and he’s
being pressed against the warm, broad chest that's a lot softer than you’d
think it is. To have the Devil himself put his chin on your shoulder and inhale
– a long, drawn breath, and then go, “I need to have you. Now.” What it's like
to feel the shudders these words send through your spine all of a sudden so
you’re really surprised at yourself. Shocked a little, even.
And, you could have started your list with this, but because it’s so vulgar and
so fucking horrible and sends you into the weirdest mixture of fear and
arousal, you’re going to mention it now, as if in passing. As if it weren’t
dominating all your senses.
Theo’s rock-hard dick pressing into your thigh, exactly where it meets your hip
bone, and – seriously now?
The dude just had like the most violent orgasm ever not even fifteen minutes
ago.
Yeah, seems longer, right, but that’s only because Stiles
really, really doesn’t want to be here. It’s like every minute on the clock
above his desk that he spends either gazing at Theo’s naked body or feeling it,
is ten in reality.
Okay, the dude is all kinds of supernatural, and he’s a teenager, too,
technically at least, but does it really make sense that he’s almost panting
again now? That the way he’s rubbing up against Stiles so his dick that is
squeezed in between their bodies is moving back and forth, catching on the
fabric of Stiles’ boxers, tugging them to the left and right, that the way he’s
sucking at Stiles' neck as well now, is so incredibly fucking needy? Quite
frankly, Stiles doesn’t even know what’s happening.
Apparently, there’s no such thing as low-key with this guy.
And, okay.
Stiles’s neck is just – a very sensitive zone.
It’s probably littered with red bruises from earlier already, feels really sore
as a matter-of-fact, but Theo doesn’t seem to care.
“Just – just make them disappear again, later... okay?” Stiles is saying now,
voice hoarse, maybe to drown out how nervous he’s getting.
How turned on.
“No,” Theo is breathing against his neck.
Then he finds a spot about an inch below Stiles’ ear lobe and when he sucks on
it, Stiles closes his eyes.
Only for a moment, but it’s enough for him to be really horrified when he
realizes what he just did.
How he basically leaned into Theo's mouth.
“Okay, no,” he says and pushes Theo away from him, palms of Stiles' hands
pressing against these shoulders that, oh God, yeah - do feel a lot like steel.
Theo, clearly, doesn’t appreciate being told to move because he clutches
Stiles’ body to his, pulls him even closer.
“Your body is ready for me,” Theo mutters, voice muffled by the fabric of
Stiles’ t-shirt, and, to Stiles’ utter dismay, Theo’s right hand is obviously
looking for a way into his boxers. Then finds it. It’s cupping Stiles’ butt
cheek and no matter how much Stiles is wriggling and struggling, there’s really
nothing he can do about it.
And when Theo’s fingers slip in-between them and touch his hole, something odd
happens. Without Theo doing anything, too. Theo isn't doing a fucking thing to
ease Stiles into this, but Stiles isn't even sure he wants to struggle anymore
right now.
It’s nothing personal either.
Not like he’s suddenly okay with Theo or anything.
Because he fucking loathes the guy and wants him to die a slow and painful
death.
But being held like that – and, you have to understand, he can’t even really
see anything right now, Stiles, since he’s facing the wall and Theo’s hugging
him tightly, like he wants Stiles’ body to bleed into him, wants to bathe in
Stiles’ scent and make his clothes come off like this, dissolve under the
friction.
And then a finger pushes into Stiles, glides right in and even though it burns,
it also sends shivers through Stiles’ whole body and right into his dick that
yeah. Gives a little jerk. Stiles knows there's a wet spot on his boxers now,
right where the tip is nestled into the fabric and locked between his and
Theo’s bodies, but he doesn’t care because Theo, he’s pushing his finger in
deeper and then turning and twisting it a little, carefully and Stiles – he
lets out a moan, both a sound of pleasure and desperation.
That feeling surging through is body is so intense that Stiles’ feet are
becoming weaker and more rubbery with every second that he can sense his hole
closed tight around Theo’s finger. Theo holds him even tighter as if
afraid Stiles might just slip through his arms and Stiles – he lets him.
And then, there’s just something to being looked at like you’re the most
incredible thing this person has ever seen in their whole life.
Which is what Theo’s doing, now that he has finally let go of Stiles again, has
removed his finger so slowly and gently that Stiles had to suppress the urge to
scream. Theo's looking at him like that now, yes, like Stiles is some kind of
present he got, and for Theo, that’s pretty fucking meaningful, too.
He’s older than Stiles could ever imagine, has walked through more ages than
Stiles’ mind could capture, could even begin to put words to, but then, when
he’s staring at Stiles like this, eyes moist and cloudy, cheeks flushed and
lips redder than Stiles has ever seen on him before, slightly parted and hair
tousled, he looks so fucking young all of a sudden.
Like they’re really just two teenagers who are head over heels for each other
and who want nothing else than to get lost in each other’s bodies, to touch
each other everywhere, lick each other hungrily and then that feeling of having
him bury himself deep inside of you that you’re craving right now, even if the
whole world was burning to the ground around you.
Which it might be, at least metaphorically speaking. For some places on the
planet, literally, too.
Fire and brimstone, Stiles never really understood.
But seeing Theo’s eyes, he thinks he does now.
And almost like it happens unconsciously, like it’s not he who’s doing this,
Stiles moves his right hand. Grabs the fabric of his t-shirt and yanks it over
his head in one swift movement.
He closes his mouth – was probably drooling a little, too, but it doesn’t
matter – and swallows and Theo, he doesn’t even say anything.
No snide comment, no condescending chuckle, not even a smirk.
He’s panting, is all.
He grabs Stiles’ hips and Stiles, obedient and also feeling a little like he’s
drunk, turns around.
Because, clearly, Theo had meant to take him in front of the mirror. Make
Stiles see all of it and look himself in the eyes while he’s getting fucked.
Let the humiliation really sink in this time and give him a mental image to
torment him to the end of his days.
But Theo lets out a, “No,” and his voice is so raspy and broken that it takes
Stiles a moment to understand.
Theo is already shoving him down onto the carpet, forcing Stiles to lie on his
back, plastic bristles biting into his sensitive skin. His boxers get yanked
down over his hips and legs and dumped somewhere, Stiles doesn’t see because
he’s clutching the carpet now, fingers scraping over the scratchy surface,
trying to hold on to something but finding nothing.
Holy mother of God.
That feeling.
Theo’s already inside of him and he’s moving – Stiles doesn’t even know how it
happened exactly, it just slid in so easily. Okay, he might also have blacked
out for a few seconds there, yeah, could be.
Theo has Stiles’ feet draped over his muscular arms so his upper body his
resting against his though, even though – the word is not quite accurate
because what he’s really doing is pushing into Stiles hard, the thrusts way too
strong for anyone to be able to enjoy them and Stiles gasps with every movement
Theo is forcing onto his body.
And it hurts, burns, yeah, but, at the same time – there’s this edge of
pleasure to it, too.
The way Theo’s dick drags across that spot on his inside and Stiles can feel
the tip of his own dick slide across Theo’s smooth skin – he let go of Stiles’
legs to be closer to him and to be able to pin his hands down on the carpet so
Stiles wouldn’t give in to the urge to touch himself and thereby soften the
pain.
Heighten the pleasure.
“Ah, too – too – much – not,” Stiles is trying but Theo is leaning forward now
and catching his lips with his mouth, sucking out whatever it was Stiles meant
to say, and in order to do that, Theo goes all the way in now, bottoms out and
Stiles – yeah, he might have screamed a little, sound muffled by Theo’s tongue
curling around his.
Because this is really only the third time Stiles is doing this.
You don’t just get used to someone moving around inside of you like that within
a few days, and, to these painful thrusts, maybe never.
When Theo pulls back – and not just a little, but he slides all the way out –
Stiles is seeing stars at the edges of his vision, black spots dotting the
ceiling and closet, top of his desk, and backrest of his computer chair.
“Breathe,” Theo says, “It’s okay. Breathe, Stiles.”
And Stiles does.
Isn’t sure why he’d been holding his breath.
He gets pulled up into a sitting position, then manhandled onto his knees and
Stiles doesn't resist, just assumes the position Theo wants him in clumsily.
His cock is hard and pulsating and Theo – when on earth did he even put a
condom on?
Stiles who is looking back over his shoulder at Theo lets out a mildly
surprised chuckle that grows louder, turns into a hoarse laugh when he can see
Theo frown.
He might be going insane.
Then again, you have to admit, just seeing this buff dude with a rock-hard
dick, face all flushed and just looking like sex and body dripping with sweat,
veins showing all over his arms and throat and even his chest, black condom on
his dick that’s glistening with slick – and then to have this guy pull off a
quizzical look, like, right in the middle of it all?
It’s just odd.
“You okay?”
And that might be the single most human thing Theo’s ever said to him and
Stiles – he just reacts.
Nods yes.
Completely forgetting for a moment who he’s dealing with here, that’s how far
gone he is, holy shit.
He’s on all fours now, feet sprawled and Theo is positioning himself behind him
and when Stiles turns his head back again to face his closet – there it is.
He’s looking at his own face in the mirror and if he didn’t know it was him, he
wouldn’t have recognized it.
Just the way his lips are full and red, looking almost bruised and hair all
messed up, it’s not –
He doesn’t hate the sight of it.
It’s astonishing but he doesn’t cringe at beholding his own face, his arms just
barely supporting his weight, that’s how shaky and weak he’s feeling, Theo’s
hands left and right on his hips and he’s staring down at Stiles’ ass, as if in
concentration, and Stiles – he isn’t repulsed.
Maybe because he’s never seen himself like this before.
Like this isn’t even him but someone else, someone who lets himself get fucked
in the ass in front of a mirror, watching his own mouth open in surprise at the
first thrust.
Then he’s already being shoved forward and he loses balance, tips over and
would have almost faceplanted onto the carpet if not for Theo catching him.
And not just that.
Theo's arm is reaching around Stiles’ upper body and then Theo pulls him
upwards so Stiles can lock eyes with himself again. This arm is screwed around
his chest, holding him in place, muscles clearly defined beneath Theo's skin.
It’s an odd position they're in now, Stiles' ass sticking out and back
bent backwards, kneeling like he means to settle comfortably on his shins but
then isn’t, no. Theo is holding Stiles' upper-body in mid-air with his right
hand around his chest, left clutching Stiles' hip and pulling it backwards so
they remain connected, and Stiles knows that it hurts - not just his knees and
the soles of his feet that are scraping over the carpet, the whole position
that is unnatural and exhausting, but the way Theo’s dick now barely stays
inside of him - it's such a weird angle.
But Stiles doesn’t care, God, he doesn’t care.
Theo is not pulling out and pushing in anymore, either.
He’s making these short, jerking movements with his hips and Stiles feels like
he’s being dipped in a tub of hot water, starting, strangely, with his stomach
and dick, like it’s running down his legs and upwards over his chest and throat
and the skin on his face and making it tingle, getting his whole body to
shudder and short moans to drop out of his mouth. And he’s not whispering them
either but is making these drawn, throaty sounds that if anyone were in the
house right now, they’d most certainly hear them.
And they'd hear how close Stiles is to the edge, too.
“Look,” Theo is saying now and Stiles vaguely registers that Theo’s hand isn’t
on his left hip anymore but has wrapped around Stiles' dick.
He can see it in the mirror, too.
The way they’re lined up behind each other, Stiles falling forward a little
with every movement but straining to stay in position, to not ruin what is
happening and Theo holding him, his mouth halfway open and shoulders moving
because his chest is heaving.
Stiles’ dick sticking out.
His own hands are clutching Theo’s right arm, the one that’s draped across
Stiles' chest.
Interesting.
Stiles hasn't even registered he’s doing that, but now that he thinks of it
it’s making perfect sense, because he has to hold on to something, needs to
know that he’s safe, that he’ll be okay, with that feeling building inside his
body and him being so close to the edge, so fucking close, that he might just
lose himself.
Theo is sucking at his neck again, almost angrily, hungrily, and his body is so
hot and sweaty against Stiles, and then it happens.
Theo knows before Stiles does because he lifts his lips from Stiles’s skin,
raises his head and watches him in the mirror, eyes dark and cloudy.
What Stiles sees while he is coming apart, while his body is being rocked by
what could easily be the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced, it’s his
dick shuddering and come shooting out of the tip, and something about seeing it
makes Stiles moan louder, sends him over the edge a second time within a few
seconds.
He never even knew this was possible.
Then his eyes are closed and he’s being wrapped in that darkness, waves of heat
still running through him, his dick jerking violently and Theo’s body
everywhere, his hand stroking him, his cock penetrating him, his back, thighs,
hips, pressing against his, chest slick and sweaty and hot on Stiles' back and
his voice – Theo's voice a breathy, ragged whisper, lips almost touching
Stiles' ear, and he’s directing Stiles through it all, from beginning to end,
like he’s fucking voicing over Stiles’ orgasm, going, “That’s good, let it
happen, it’s okay, Stiles, let it go, you’re fine, come for me, do it now,
that’s good...”
And the most twisted thing of it all is that Stiles does.
He lets Theo talk to him, fucking listens to every word he's saying. And Theo
keeps talking, even though he's shuddering himself now, words stumbling out of
his mouth all chopped up because he’s coming hard in Stiles’ ass, but he’s
still whispering to him. He’s still holding him.
And Stiles is not even hating it.
It’s hilarious, almost.
The most twisted fucking thing anyone could ever come up with and when Stiles
lets himself fall forward, is being lowered carefully onto the carpet by Theo,
and his, Stiles's, dick is still twitching and his come is everywhere, sticking
to both his body and the carpet, even drops on the mirror, and he can feel
Theo’s dick slide out of his sore and bruised butt, Stiles is chuckling.
 
 
 
 
Then he’s sobbing and he doesn’t want to get up from here ever again.
He’ll just plain out refuse to.
Drags his arm across his face, leaves it there.
It’s not so much about what he’s done either. It’s about what he has become.
And he’s shattered, so raw on the outside and inside that none of Theo’s
soothing words can get him to snap out of it, not even when he’s using his
angrier voice, is commanding him to.
It’s only when a car pulls up to the house – not his dad’s but someone else’s,
faster, more expensive, engine running more smoothly, that Stiles is making a
first effort to get a grip.
 
 
And yes, it’s really this house that the car stops in front of, and there’s
someone getting out now, one pair of shoes hits the gravel, then another one.
And another one. The car doors slam shut.
Voices down there, too, and Theo is pulling him up, dragging Stiles’ naked body
up to his own for Stiles to rest against his chest, ass pressing against Theo’s
limp dick and they’re both sitting on the floor, Theo cradling Stiles with the
same kind of gentleness he used to, a long time ago.
Come to think of it, there’s really not that much of a difference.
Just like when he used to make Stiles bleed all over and then, afterwards, hold
his little shivering body tight, comforting him. Whispering to him.
Saying his name over and over again, like an incantation.
There hadn’t been anything sexual in the gesture then, just the urgent need to
be close to the body he’d worked on.
As if to finalize his claim over Stiles. Like the boy’s desperate, pained yelps
and the jerks of his limbs when Theo put the needle, or the scissors, or the
lighter, the matches and the knife, to them were beautiful to him, moments of
perfection.
But beauty always removes, puts a distance between the object and its beholder.
So, whenever he’d been done with Stiles, had performed his ceremonies on his
body with the diligence of an artist and the precision of a surgeon, Theo had
had this wild desire to touch him, had sometimes pulled him into a hug almost
frantically, but had more often resisted the urge and, by sheer discipline
only, let Stiles get away, because he knew the boy needed to believe he managed
to get away from his tormenter because he wanted to, and not because
Theo let him.
So he’d always been capable of this astonishing gentleness and to feel it is
almost physically painful to Stiles, yes.
A tenderness, too, that makes Theo’s cruelty stick out even more sharply, like
a perfectly crafted relief pushing, straining, out of the smooth marble surface
that is Theo’s humanity, all defined but warped, three-dimensional and
unnatural and impossible to un-see and yet.
And yet.
That softness and the careful, almost loving devotion to Stiles’ body, they’ve
always been there in the background, the foundation for it all, the very engine
for anything Theo’s ever done almost.
Stiles can see clearly now.
And, while they’re listening to Derek, Scott and Malia walk up to the front
porch, talking to each other in low voices, he’s resting in Theo’s arms and
he’s perfectly still.
Lucifer has changed, yes, but not in essentials.
Stiles though.
He closes his eyes in horror.
He’s going to have to face his best friend, his pack.
And he’s not even ready to face himself.
 
 
 
 
 
***
 
 
“You’re a piece of work, Stiles, God... fucking incredible.”
Theo watches while Stiles is fumbling with the button on his pants, not
dignifying Theo’s comment with an answer.
They both desperately need a shower but no time for that. Scott, Derek and
Malia just let themselves into the house and Stiles already called down to
them, telling them that he’s coming, wait a moment, just give me a minute.
They must know that Theo is here – must hear the two heartbeats, maybe smell
his scent in the house, and, in a few moments, they’ll also get Stiles’ puffed-
up face, his red eyes.
Piece of work, yeah, well.
Theo’s an asshole and a fucking rapist but he might be on to something.
When Stiles turns the key in the lock, opens the door and walks out into the
hallway he can hear Theo follow him.
Stiles doesn’t even brace himself, just walks down the steps.
Then stands in front of them awkwardly, hands in the pockets of his jeans,
trying not to see them flare their nostrils and grimace at the overwhelming
smell of sex that Stiles is exuding, a nauseating mixture of sweat and sperm
and lube, and it's on Theo too, probably, because, well. Knowing Theo, he
wouldn’t think of taking it off before following Stiles into the living room.
He couldn’t pass up this perfect a chance to piss Scott and his pack off.
“So,” Scott says because Stiles can’t really get any words out, just hovers,
awkwardly, not looking at any of them but sensing the dark looks on his
friends’ faces nevertheless. Derek, especially, seems - withdrawn.
‘Oh, what does he have to be pissed about,’ an obstinate voice in Stiles' head
pipes up.
It’s not like he’s been such a good friend to you.
Or to anyone.
The faint surge of anger gives Stiles the strength to raise his head, look
Scott in the eyes and say, “Hey, uhm.... something up?”
God, just the way every one of them knows exactly what the problem is, but then
they all pretend like everything’s just fine. Like they’re enacting the most
painful and painfully real rendition of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.
“We came to pick you up,” Scott says but how he says it makes Stiles almost
snort out a cheerless laugh. Like Scott is trying to put as much meaning into
the words as possible, but it just comes out menacingly.
In addition to that, Scott cannot pull off the Don’t-worry-it’s-going-to-be-
fine look at all. He just looks constipated which makes the whole scene a
completely new kind of hilarious. And sad.
“Okay. Gonna grab a few things,” Stiles says and he turns around.
He doesn’t even ask what for? or to go where?
It has to do with Phanuel’s plan.
He just knows it does.
“Wow, being in a pack must be so great,” Theo’s voice in the living room behind
him drowns out Stiles’ footfalls on the stairs. “The whole pack is coming to
escort you to a sleep over. And where’s it gonna be, mh? What place has Farmiel
picked out?”
Stiles freezes on the stairs.
Then turns around, slowly.
They can’t see him of course, because Stiles had almost reached the top step
already. Can’t glimpse the shock on his face, nor can he see the horror in the
eyes of his friends.
So Theo knows.
He knows.
He always knew.
Oh God.
So, his guardian angel had been wrong.
Stiles is really never going to get out of this.
Even though it’s what he, Stiles, had always been telling everyone else –
Theo’s the literal Satan, he’s always one step ahead, the King of fucking
Sneaky, it’s basically his job – yet the horror at the realization is almost
too much for him.
He needs to sit down.
Because whatever they’d been plotting, whatever Phanialle had been carefully,
diligently working towards here, it's never going to work out now.
Never.
Because the Devil has already put a wrench into the whole thing. Long ago
probably, too.
Because he's the fucking Devil.
You can’t beat him at his own game.
Which would be – literally every and any kind of game.
If he’s one of the players – then you’re lost.
Have always been, too.
You’re Young Goodman Brown, you’re Reuben Bourne, you’re Reverend Hooper.
It doesn’t matter that you don’t know it yet.
What matters is that you fucking will.
In time.
And then you’ll be the only one to see clearly which – that’s even more
horrible than if you’d never known.
Just like Stiles who’s clutching the banister, staring ahead into the darkness,
feet and ass planted on the wooden steps, unsure of whether he’ll ever be able
to rise again, not even feeling his own soreness anymore.
Not feeling anything, really, except overwhelming recognition.
“I'm going to fucking end you,” Scott is snarling in the living room and from
the sounds of it, he has hurled himself at Theo – or has tried to, Stiles can
hear claws scratching over the hardwood floor like a puppy who’s being lifted
in the air by the throat and whose feet are still barely touching the ground,
frantically trying to to get a hold.
“How dare you – how dare you fucking touch him? You goddamn bastard! You
monster!”
Wow.
Scott is really losing it there.
Stiles can’t move.
It’s over.
Game over.
Finally.
Eternally.
 
 
 
 
Hours later Stiles turns over in bed, not his bed.
He’s wide awake in this strange room, all the sounds and smells unfamiliar,
their wrongness intruding on his senses, irritating him.
Stiles told them he was in no mood to keep anyone company right now – hell,
they had all seen how it is, clear as day, yes.
When Malia had found him frozen on the stairs, she’d pulled him up and hugged
him, then told him to not cry which - it hadn't made any sense to Stiles.
He hadn't been aware that he was crying had been the thing.
He’d told them he wanted to be alone, but they’d still made him tag along, to
Five Guys for dinner, then over to Scott’s place for sleep because he sure as
hell couldn’t stay in his bedroom, they’d all known, and Stiles had been the
only one to not get it.
As if he’d forgotten about his mindless sex marathon with Theo Raeken.
Malia had set to work in his, Stiles', room – changed the sheets, picked up and
discarded two bundles of tissues into the trash with a look of utter disgust on
her face and Stiles couldn’t blame her, he couldn’t, really, because, yeah, he
was disgusting, he knew all about it – and Stiles had listlessly and numbly
thrown a few things into a duffel bag.
It’s almost hilarious that, obviously, he had believed.
Despite better knowledge, completely against reason, even, the things his
guardian angel a.k.a. the terrible and beautiful lady in his kitchen had said,
these words had sparked hope in his chest.
It’s only now that he’s realizing his mistake.
And the oddest thing of all is how they’d all been sitting in their chairs at
their local Five Guys like they were only playing at being all normal and human
and okay and whole, munching down fabulous cheeseburgers and fries
and not talking about how gloriously their plan had failed – and Stiles didn’t
even know what the freaking plan had been – not touching upon the fact that
Stiles’ guardian angel was, obviously, the biggest douchebag and loser on the
face of the planet.
No wonder evil is reigning supreme in this world.
Ignoring the fact, too, that Stiles had thrown up before, thankfully while
they’d still been at his house, and hadn’t let anyone into the bathroom except
Theo.
Who Stiles couldn’t get rid of anyway.
He didn’t come to dinner with them though.
Something about how he preferred Chipotle.
Stiles hadn’t even touched his fries, and he knew how grey and disgusting his
face looked and how he was still fucking reeking of sperm.
His own and Theo’s.
And, considering, you know, probably also of vomit.
God, he was disgusting.
He'd hated himself so fucking much he'd wanted to make himself disappear, and
the fact that neither Scott nor Malia had really managed to look him in the
eye, that just – to Stiles, it spoke volumes.
Only Derek, yeah, his eyes had flicked over to him in-between bites and Stiles
had really wished they wouldn’t and he honestly hadn't understood how Derek
even managed to get his burger down, what with his super keen sense of smell
and all.
Malia and Scott had obviously been disgusted, right?
So here he is now, Stiles, stomach empty, thank God, and annoyed at having to
adapt to this new environment when there’s already so much going on inside his
head.
He’s at Scott’s – in Scott’s bed, as a matter of fact – and even though his
best buddy’s bedroom should be almost as familiar to him as his own, it just,
strangely enough, isn’t.
It feels foreign.
Something’s off in here and Stiles just can’t put his finger to it, and it’s
driving him crazy.
It’s making him fall apart.
Scott isn’t here, he’s sleeping in his mom’s bed because being the pal he is,
he knew Stiles needed some space and -
They’d made him shower earlier, yes.
His thoughts are not coherent, they're tumbling about in his head without
making sense.
Going to Malia’s had been out of the question.
Stiles rolls over in bed and faces the door and he isn’t even surprised to find
Malia standing there. In his, Stiles’ mind, standing by gloomily, and watching
him, is now inseparably connected to the very idea of her.
She doesn’t say, Can’t sleep?
I’m sorry about what happened.
We’ll find a way out of this yet, for you, you just wait and see.
Because she isn’t fake like that.
Or – is she?
She seems strange to Stiles.
Fits the room.
Just as off, just as oddly wrong.
Shifted, a little.
Like she’s only playing a part, that of being Malia when she’s really not.
And Stiles – he doesn’t think he’s going insane.
He knows this is the truth.
Malia is next to the bed now and her hand is feeling Stiles’ palm.
“Cold,” she says.
“Mh,” Stiles responds.
It’s neither no nor yes, not even an attempt.
It’s just a sound.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
Stiles is staring at her, unblinking, and Malia frowns.
Like she’s wondering whether she should address what’s going on with Stiles’s
face right now, but then decides she’d rather not, smart girl, and she
continues, “Theo turned my dad into some weird rubber doll.”
Silence.
While that sounds sort of funny, her face implies that it’s not.
That saying it out loud freaks her out to the degree that she needs almost a
whole minute to speak again.
“Theo has done something to him – a while ago – that made my dad, like... 
sucked his soul out or something, or... I don’t know – killed him on the inside
and turned him into some sort of machine, and he looks – off.”
Like you, Stiles thinking.
Like you, but go on.
“He would only move at certain times, like, for instance, when you came over to
the house and he was almost normal, he...” She seems so intent on getting her
story out that she doesn’t even realize what day this is that she’s
referring to.
What night.
“That’s when I knew he isn’t my brother, Theo. That’s when I knew there’s –
there’s no hope. Not like this.”
Her hand is squeezing Stiles’ but Stiles doesn’t move.
Just this lidless stare.
He’s feeling like a fish in a bowl a little here, yeah.
Ha, what an odd image.
He should get a goldfish.
Name him Conrad.
“It’s so – and then he just – vanished. He’s gone. I confronted Theo about it,
but he’s just the perfect liar and sneaky – fucking – son-of-a-bitch,” and her
chest is heaving, she’s so angry Stiles can feel it, her grip on his hand is
painful now, “claims that he doesn’t  know anything about it, but
will investigate,” and she snorts, “God, fucking – okay. Never mind. So – I
think we’ll still go through with the plan. Phaniel – scares me, but it’s the
best shot we have and Theo-”
“Don’t say his name.”
Stiles is mildly surprised.
The voice almost didn’t sound like his, it was so angry and broken.
“What?”
Her face is only dimly lit. The light out in the hallway also sort of mitigates
the darkness a little in here, so he can see her puzzled look.
“Don’t fucking say his name.”
“Whose name? Theo’s?”
“Shut up!”
He yelled that one and before he knows it, he has darted up from the mattress,
pillow landing in the floor. He's clutching his hands over his ears,
so furious, he wants to hurt her.
Why can’t she stop saying the fucking name, he just doesn’t get it.
You tell someone to stop, beg them, and they still don’t, what are you supposed
to do with people like that?
Mh?
Why – the fuck – can’t they listen?
This is everything that’s wrong with this world, it’s – Stiles can’t do this
anymore, he’s so tired.
He only registers vaguely that Malia is backing off with this expression on her
face like she’s horrified which is hilarious if you think about it, considering
how she is the fucking oddity in here, she’s the one pretending to be Malia
when she’s not and Stiles doesn’t fucking play anymore.
He’s done.
He will – he won’t –
“Shhhh, Stiles,” and he’s being pulled into a hug. No idea whose arms these
are, though. Not Malia's, that's for sure.
Stiles doesn’t know what’s happening, but when he feels a shirt in his face,
feels his face on the smooth fabric, he can feel that he’s grimacing.
Like he’s crying.
“Holy – Malia, what the hell happened?”
It’s Derek’s voice and, yeah.
These are Derek’s arms too that Stiles is struggling to get out of,
desperately, like he’s currently being choked to death while the people in the
room are chattting about his condition.
“He’s – he – he went nuts when I said – his name,” more cautious now,
obviously.
“He keeps saying I’m not Malia and – something about buying a fish.”
A noise from Derek, like he understands.
“I didn’t mean to – I thought – I’m sorry,” Malia is saying now, but Stiles
can’t see her. His face is still buried in Derek’s chest.
He’s calming down.
Is realizing only now what and odd reaction it is to hug someone who’s clearly
going insane.
Stiles swallows.
Holy shit.
That’s what that is right?
He's losing his freakin' mind.
It's over now, but - it lasted long enough for Stiles to completely freak out
on Malia and, apparently, cause everyone else in the house to wake up.
“I know,” Derek is saying now and Stiles can feel his throat vibrate when he
speaks. “It’s – it was all too much. It makes you – see things, say things. I –
I remember that from when-”
But he falls silent.
Stiles swallows again.
He’s trembling now, for real.
“Good Lord, what on earth is going on in here?! You do realize I have to get up
in two hours, Scott?”
That’s Melissa McCall.
No one apologizes and Stiles wants to make up for it by yelling how sorry he
is.
Because he really truly is.
For being such a piece of shit.
But he literally can’t get himself to physically do anything but shake
violently.
“Stiles?”
Derek’s arms slacken, like he relaxes them – or lets them get pulled apart by
someone else? And Stiles, somehow, inexplicably, is relieved.
He shouldn’t be, he knows that, because now Scott’s mom is getting dragged into
this, but – she at least doesn’t expect anything from Stiles. Her touch is
always soothing and her caress so motherly, it’s the closest Stiles can come to
feeling safe right now because Derek's embrace?
It was stifling.
Stiles lies back down on the bed and lets her feel his forehead, doesn’t even
flinch when a light is being switched on and she’s examining his face, voicing
her disapproval at how seriously fucked up Stiles looks.
Not her exact words, but, you know, along those lines.
Stiles obediently swallows whatever it is that she shoves in-between his lips
after having felt for his pulse, after having Scott tell her that nothing
is wrong with Stiles physically, not they they knew of at least, they hoped,
God, they really hoped.
But maybe she could make sure.
They could all leave and she could make sure.
And questions are being answered for him.
No, Stiles doesn’t need to go to the ER, he probably just needs some rest.
Stiles nods his approval.
What would they even tell the doctor and nurses?
That Stiles slipped into full-blown paranoia for a moment that made him think
Malia was an impostor? Awesome, they'd send him to Eichen House and we all know
how that one ends, right?
Stiles means to weigh in, but then cannot even follow the conversation.
Probably because he’s already falling asleep.
 
 
 
When he opens his eyes the next day he feels worse than he’s ever felt before.
Physically.
His mind is a lot more peaceful, however, than he thought possible.
Except – except he’s mortified.
He knows what happened.
What this had been.
He’d had a meltdown.
Bordering on plain weirdness.
He knows all about it too, of course. About how, after an extremely stressful
day, you can get a massive panic attack while lying in bed and trying to fall
asleep. It happens when your body is relaxing and you think - you think you're
fine now, it's over, you made it.
And then the panic attack hits and - depending on the day, right, it can make
you think - it can make you think your parents were replaced by aliens or
someone poisened your food. But then it stops and you know you were being silly
and you know, there's nothing wrong with your brain. Because as long as you can
look back and go 'Nah, I was just being crazy, it wasn't real' - you're fine.
So, yeah.
He's fine.
He's fine, but - that wasn't the first time this happened to Stiles is the
thing.
But Stiles had always figured that it had been because he’d only been a kid
then, more vulnerable.
Back when.
Theo had been there every time, too.
And afterwards Theo had left him alone for longer than he’d usually have.
Weeks, once.
So Stiles could recover, oh yes, Stiles understands now.
And yesterday, holy shit, his whole pack had been present and Stiles – he
buries his face in his hands.
Walks out of Scott’s room and into the bathroom.
He can hear them all talking downstairs, has no idea what time it is, but since
it’s Sunday, it doesn’t really matter.
Wow, these bruises on his neck.
It’s where Theo kissed him, of course.
Even though it rather looks like he’d tried to suck Stiles’ blood through his
unbroken skin. Impossible to cover that shit up.
Too many, plus too little knowledge on Stiles' side about how to apply make-up.
Not that he happens to have any on him either.
And his ass is hurting like hell.
He doesn’t have to lift his shirt – oh, look at that, Scott’s shirt, now when
exactly did that happen? – to know that his hips must be blue and purple, too.
Stiles bruises easily and Theo had been – okay, no, he hadn’t actually been
violent but they’d had sex twice.
And quite heatedly.
Shame is burning like hot coals in the pit of his stomach when he thinks about
it.
Because his pack knows.
And because Stiles fucking enjoyed it.
He almost decides to sneak out the window like the embarrassing and ungrateful
son-of-a-bitch that he apparently is, but Scott catches him before he can go
through with it.
Must have heard him unlatch the window.
Had probably been listening for movement upstairs, too, for any hint that
Stiles might be up.
Scott puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and gently directs him down the stairs
and into the kitchen where Mrs. McCall and Malia are having breakfast and
waiting for them. The two women are smiling at him when he enters the kitchen,
genuine smiles, like they’re really happy to see that he’s up and just freaking
glad that he can actually walk down here himself.
Stiles avoids their gaze and takes a seat, muttering, “Sorry.”
And then things get a little better.
Turns out, they understand.
They really do, and they forgive him.
For being so fucking weird.
Malia, apparently, is currently crashing, or, you might say, living, at Scott’s
place, in the room where Isaac used to stay, and she and Melissa McCall seem to
get along so well that Stiles suddenly feels like he is being fussed over by
two mothers which – it’s not too bad.
Sure, he doesn’t deserve it, but – he can pretend, right?
 
 
When he’s home again, he’s already missing Melissa’s soothing touch on his
shoulders, the way she’d put her hands there to say, it’s gonna be alright
Stiles.
And she can believe it, too, because she doesn’t know the truth.
Stiles does, but he appreciates the effort.
So he’s home now, still feeling utterly wrecked from so many things at the same
time, it’s exhausting to even list them.
He’s staring at the carpet, eyes fixed on a spot he’s discovered there - that
he, Stiles, put there when he came all over the carpet. One of many probably,
but he’s only inspecting this one right now, when his phone starts buzzing.
He jumps like it’s the last sound he ever expected. Darts over to the desk to
answer his phone, then to the dresser because that’s where he really dropped
it.
Stiles doesn’t even bother checking caller ID when he swipes his finger across
the screen – because who is gonna call him, Satan? Harhar, hilarious – so he’s
surprised to hear Derek’s voice at the other end.
“...hey, er. It’s Derek. Er.... I was wondering if – are you there?”
Stiles quickly nods, then remembers that Derek can’t see it and says, “Yeah.”
Clears his throat.
He knows he should be angrier and all, but giving someone the silent treatment
is just not him – he can keep that up for 24 hours tops and even then, he’s
usually really hurting inside.
Right now, he’s mostly mortified and wondering just how much of a pathetic
spazz Derek really thinks he is.
God.
Back to having a crush on the dude.
Fuck.
“I was wondering – er... would you mind meeting me for a brief talk?” Then
quickly adds, “Nothing bad, just – er. Nothing bad, not gonna – not gonna
repeat any of the things I, er... were so much of an asshole to say before.”
“You really were an asshole,” Stiles says which is met with silence on the
other end.
“...but yeah. I guess you can come over. It’s not like I’m gonna do a lot of
school work anymore today anyway, so....”
“I meant, like, more of a – could you meet me at Bernie’s in an hour?”
“That Cafe on Main Street?”
“Yeah.”
“Well... okay? Sure. I’ll be there around five.”
They say goodbye and Stiles pushes the end-call button.
Now what on earth is this about. Stiles really hopes it’s not Derek’s renewed
attempt to make Stiles talk through stuff. But then, he said it won't be, so –
yeah.
But he sort of gets why Derek wouldn’t want to come to Stiles’ house to talk.
His room probably still reeks of his and Theo’s combined bodily fluids and
just.
Ugh.
Right?
 
 
 
The door chimes as Stiles pushes it open. As soon as he sets a foot into the
crammed place that’s mostly filled with students and way too much furniture –
that’s probably why it’s been such a trendy place to be recently, tsss...
hipsters, God – he spots Derek who’s already waiting for him at what’s probably
the table farthest away from the windows.
Derek looks up, and their eyes meet and Stiles’ heart skips a beat.
Oh, that’s not good.
Ever since he admitted to himself that he had more than a little man crush on
the dude, his heart does that. Like every single friggin time. Very annoying.
The Cafe is self-serv, so Stiles turns towards the cash register, all the while
feeling Derek’s eyes on him. He orders a latte and, while waiting for his order
he keeps his back deliberately turned towards where Derek’s sitting and still
staring at him, Stiles tells himself that he shouldn’t be so confused and
awkward.
Just think of the things the dude said to you, and, yeah, not so long ago.
But when he picks up his cup and starts walking toward the table, he has these
intrusive thoughts about this whole scenario feeling like a first date.
Shut up, internal Stiles.
It’s not.
It most definitely is not, what is wrong with you.
Plus, most uncomfortably, the images from the previous day are also lingering
in his mind, of him, Stiles, screwing Theo, and coming completely apart and
moaning like some chick in a porn movie.
Also his ass is so freaking sore, Stiles has trouble walking like a normal
person, and not like someone who got roughly buttfucked only 24 hours earlier.
He still can’t believe all of this happened. That he had sex with Theo and not
just once, not just twice, but three times total within the past few days and
he still feels like he’ll never get used to it, even though this is gonna be
his life, obviously, from now on until all eternity. Or until Lucifer gets
bored.
God, he’s such a mess.
Derek obviously thinks so too, because as soon as Stiles has walked up to the
table, he considers Stiles’ pale face with a worried frown, but then doesn’t
comment on it. After all, he’s seen Stiles yesterday evening. So he’s of course
familiar with the very visible hickeys on Stiles’ neck, the ones that the shop
assistant couldn’t help but stare at for a few seconds before she took his
money and finally averted her eyes down to the register.
Derek’s gaze is lingering on his neck, too, now, and Stiles uncomfortably tugs
up his sweater.
He wasn’t really thinking when he ran out of the house, or he would’ve put on
something else.
Stiles takes a sit, puts down his cup (thank God, he made it here without
tripping and accidentally dropping the steaming hot thing over someone’s
scalp), and clears his throat.
Looks up at Derek who stares back at him, obviously not even thinking about
saying anything in the foreseeable future.
Well, good.
This is not awkward at all.
“So... what’s up?”
Derek straightens his back and clears his throat, then clutches his own cup
that is half-empty already.
“Er... I – meant to – apologize.”
Stiles blinks.
He did expect something like that, but it’s really not like Derek needed to
make an appointment with Stiles specifically for that. While Stiles always
figured Derek would be more the old-fashioned type, you know, writing love
letters to a girl and buying flowers, from experience he knew that he was big
on avoiding uncomfortable situations.
Preferably by leaving the fucking country.
So.
Yeah, color Stiles surprised.
“O-kay? Ahem. Right, er. Apology accepted. If you never repeat any of that
stuff ever again, that is.”
Derek flicks his eyes up to Stiles’ face and immediately goes, “I won’t.”
Then they dive into an awkward conversation about what Stiles is doing in
school right now, and whether Derek is more an Xbox or PSP person, and Stiles
is asking himself more and more what this is. After about fifteen minutes (that
feel more like forty-five) - Derek’s cup is empty - Stiles decides it’s time to
voice what he’s thinking.
“So – you didn’t ask me to come here so we could chat about how much you like
MMORPGs,” and, to Derek’s frown, “I’m assuming..”
“As a matter of fact – no. I – actually, I asked you to come here because I
wanted to do this in a, like – a more neutral zone. So you – er – can walk
away, I guess.”
A crooked smile, mixture of an embarrassed frown and a ‘haha, just kidding,’
that, somehow, looks adorable on his face.
“Okay?” Stiles says because he doesn’t really know what else to say.
Then, because another silence is about to descend on them and Stiles really
can’t bear the tension anymore, “Shoot.”
Derek shifts in his chair, takes his leather jacket from the backrest and
throws a glance into Stiles’ cup. It's almost empty. Somehow, whenever
Stiles hadn't known what so say, he'd taken a sip, so, with the whole
conversation being awkward as hell, he'd sort of downed his steaming hot
coffee. Great. A blistered tongue to go with his bruised neck and sore butt.
Just - pain everywhere, like it even matters...
“Where are you parked.”
Okay?
Starting to get really odd here.
“Next to the JC Penny.”
Derek snorts.
“Typical. At the other end of the parking lot.”
“Well, I didn’t see your fancy-ass car sitting right outside either,” Stiles
says defensively.
“My – so you think my car is pretentious.”
Stiles gulps down the last sip of one of the worse lattes he’s had in his life.
“Ahem. I thought that goes without saying.”
Derek snorts out another laugh which somehow relieves the tension a little.
Still.
It’s hard for Stiles to forget all the crap that happened to him and between
them throughout the past weeks, so the silence that ensues because he’s walking
behind Derek out of the Cafe is a rather gloomy one.
“Okay, we’re outside. Now, shoot. Tell me that I didn’t just drive all across
town for a half-assed vanilla latte.”
Derek mouths vanilla latte with a grimace, like it’s Stiles fault for ordering
something so ridiculous. Then he starts walking, apparently just assuming that
Stiles will follow.
“Er – Derek?”
“I – don’t know how to say this, okay?”
Derek’s walking fast, like he’s trying to outrun the conversation.
“It was wrong of me to say all these things to you, especially when – when-”
“Yeah, I got that,” Stiles quickly cuts him off.
He’s not ready to discuss what Theo did to him.
Never will be, either.
“I really meant to check if you’re okay and I – I don’t even know why I said-”
“Alright, I got it,” Stiles grits out. God, what in I don’t fucking want to
talk about it is Derek not getting?
They’re at Stiles’ Jeep now and Stiles is about to get in, sort of pissed off
at Derek for being so fucking weird, when Derek says, “I hate that he’s fucking
touching you. Okay? I fucking – want to rip his throat out. It shouldn’t
be him, alright?”
Stiles freezes.
Turns to him, almost dropping his keys.
“What?”
“It’s not just because you’re pack, either, it’s the way he looks at you, like
you’re his possession or slave or something and I... I can’t deal – fuck, why
is this so hard?”
Derek is rubing his forehead with both his hands, then runs them through his
hair and it looks like he wants to pull fistfuls out of his scalp.
Stiles has never seen him this agitated before.
Never.
“I – think I might have been the biggest illusional dumbass on the face of the
planet because from the moment he first put a finger on you, I just... God. And
he knows it, too.”
Stiles stares at Derek struggling to put into words what he’s thinking, and he
feels compelled to, somehow, respond, so he clears his throat and says,
“Okay...?” and it comes out squeaky and he’s pretty sure Derek didn’t catch it
because when he looks up to Stiles he’s already rambling again.
“It’s – I admit that I – maybe ......that you- Fuck, I’m just – I’m not good at
stuff like that.”
He falls silent, a hint of red around these marvelous cheekbones and it’s hard
to tell whether it’s from frustration or from something else.
Keeps running his right hand through his hair like this is driving him nuts,
like he might snap any moment.
It’s enough for Stiles to stare at him, mouth agape, hand still on the door of
his Jeep, but completely forgetting that it’s sitting right next to him and
that he really meant to get in until a few moments ago. Get in and just leave
Derek standing here.
Derek pipes up again, goes, “So what I’m – saying is... I...,” but then he
doesn’t finish the sentence, just stares Stiles in the eyes as if hoping he’ll
find the words that are still missing for it to mean in there somewhere.
And how is Stiles supposed to react to that?
He might be dreaming – he might be completely delusional, yeah, but to his ears
it sounded like Derek just admitted that while Stiles had been crushing on him,
fallen for him a little bit, even, Derek had been liking him right back.
Yeah, Stiles knows that having to witness what he had, Derek, had been about
the last fucking straw for him, but Stiles had figured it was the same as it
had been for Malia or would have been for Scott, for all his friends. But this
– feels different.
Does that mean that Stiles hadn’t been mistaken?
That Derek’s habit of throwing him silent glances, a little more frequently
than you’d expect, had always meant something?
Other than anger, that is.
Or maybe it had really been annoyance with Stiles in the very beginning, when
every time Stiles had even opened his mouth, there’d been this incredulous look
on Derek’s face, either a good how dumb exactly are you? or simply an I can’t
believe you’re still fucking talking.
But then it had gradually changed, and the looks of unvoiced annoyance had
turned into – side-glances.
But Derek’s face in these moments Stiles had caught him staring?
Absolutely unreadable.
So – so maybe – maybe it had meant something, hadn’t just been that Derek had
been tired or whatever.
So... what are they going to make of it now?
What is he, Stiles, supposed to say?
It’s just one of the oddest situation Stiles has ever been in with this man, in
a positive sense that is, and, quite frankly, one that he never saw coming
either.
Then again, he also never thought he would get brutally raped one day with
Derek in earshot to overhear everything, so. Guess you could say, you’ll ever
know what the future holds.
Derek is still standing there, gaping at Stiles like he forgot how language
works.
Stiles clears his throat for what must be the hundredth time now, infinitely
awkward and his cheeks are very red, too. He looks down at his own sneakers and
has finally made up his mind to say something, when he’s being grabbed by the
shoulders.
His head snaps up, just in time to realize that Derek’s face is really close
and a moment later, Derek is already kissing him, pressing his mouth down onto
Stiles’. It ends up being nothing more than a peck on the lips, nothing
passionate or anything, but when Derek pulls back his face is bright red and
because his hair is sticking up oddly on the sides from him repeatedly fisting
his hands into it, he does look legitimately mad.
Wild.
Stiles can see him swallow, then open his mouth to say something, then abruptly
and very not smoothly, turn around and quickly walk away, and his shoulders are
so stiff, his whole body so tense, he looks more like one of those humanoid
androids than the fast and agile wolf he really is.
Uncanny, almost.
Stiles is following his retreating figure, is still standing there and staring
ahead minutes after Derek vanished between the cars.
That.
Wow.
It – okay.
Stiles finally shuts his mouth, turns to his Jeep and gets in, so seriously
confused and fucked up that the tears start coming as soon as he’s turned the
key in the ignition.
 
 
 
He’s not sleeping in his bed.
Turning and turning on the mattress that Scott usually crashes on whenever he
sleeps over and that Stiles dumped on the floor by the window, far away from
his closet with its big sliding mirror door, the images keep haunting him and –
he might really go insane. Stiles feels that it would be a logical consequence
to all of this.
Has he calmed down?
Yes, a little.
Is he okay?
Holy fucking God, no.
No, he’s not okay.
And about Derek – Stiles is – he is legitimately so confused that he doesn’t
even know whether he’s happy about what happened.
The kiss, that had been too quick for the supernatural powers inside of him to
act up, so all’s well with the pact.
He won’t be peeling out of his skin any time soon, thank God.
That would be about the last thing he’d want to deal with right now.
But Stiles has spent a lot of time and energy on convincing himself that not
only is he really not in love with Derek Hale, but that the guy’s a huge
dickhead and just not worth fussing over.
That the only reason Stiles is feeling what he’s feeling is because he’s just
deeply and irrevocably traumatized. Fucking damaged beyond repair.
When he turns to face the wall beneath the window he lets out a frustrated
sigh. Lingers in this position for a few moments, then rolls flat onto his back
again.
His hips are bruised and raw and sensitive and lying on the side – his favorite
position to fall asleep – just not an option.
He buries his face in his hands, rubs his forehead and eyes, but it doesn’t
help, there’s a gnawing pain in his head and he won’t be able to shut down his
thoughts, not anytime soon.
What is he supposed to do?
What is he supposed to fucking do?
 
 
 
 
On Monday morning, a gloomy atmosphere is looming over the classroom. For most
of the boys and girls in here, the reason is their upcoming SATs and the
pressure is so strong and heavy you can almost touch it. Joanna had a nervous
meltdown just this very morning right in the middle of History when she
accidentally snapped the tip of her sharpie while taking notes about Louis
Fourteen.
Stiles and Scott, however, as for them, they couldn’t care less about test
scores and college applications. And the reason for that of course is currently
reclining in his seat in the back row, like fucking Geoffrey on the Iron
Throne, showcasing a disgusting nonchalant grin that literally nothing can wipe
off his stupid fucking face.
Bragging over how he can, and will continue to, fuck Stiles no matter what
Scott says, thinks or intends to do about it, seems to be his new favorite
pastime.
Not explicitly, thank God, but, nevertheless, Theo’s dirty smiles and allusions
to certain sounds that Stiles made or what his face looked like during climax –
it’s making Stiles nauseous.
God, he just hates the smug son-of-a-bitch.
It doesn’t really help that Theo hasn’t even tried touching him or invading his
personal space in any way. Stiles’ butt is still hurting, not the throbbing
kind of acute soreness, but it’s still there, low and lingering, impossible to
ignore.
Then, after lunch, it suddenly seems like there might in fact exist one single
thing in the entire universe that could do away with Theo’s extraordinarily
cheerful mood.
Derek started texting Stiles during fourth period.
Stiles usually keeps his phone on his desk at all times, you know, just in case
- it’s an old habit really, more than anything else – and hidden from their
teacher’s eyes, shoved halfway underneath his textbook and when the display
lights up, Stiles discreetly turns it around so he can throw a look at the icon
that popped up.
It’s a Whatsapp message by Derek Hale – an empty icon, of course, as if Derek
would bother uploading a picture to his account – and Stiles can feel his heart
rate pick up speed. He sweeps his finger across the display and taps on the
icon.
>> Pack meeting my place, 4pm sharp
Right.
Derek is exactly the kind of guy who’d omit prepositions, but then make the
extra effort and key in a command to not be late.
When Stiles turns his head to face his best friend, meaning to shoot him a
quizzical look as in, why isn’t the pack meeting scheduled by the alpha?, he’s
met with such an open and genuinely happy smile that he understands.
Scott already knows about it. He probably set Derek up to message him, too.
Stiles really needs to have a word with him. You don’t just ship your human
friend with Mr. Sourwolf when he’s sort of engaged to the Lord of Hell.
Scott raises his eyebrows expectantly, as if nudging him to respond and Stiles
rolls his eyes.
But then he does message back.
>> ok
>> Who died and made you alpha.
And then, because Stiles is Stiles no matter how shitty and fucking broken he’s
feeling on the inside.
>> let me rephrase
>> what series of unfortunate events eliminated everyone else on the list and
left you in charge of this
Then Stiles is staring at the display and when nothing happens for at least a
minute he starts worrying he might have pissed Derek off or, worse, hurt him,
but then the display lights up once more.
>> very funny stiles
Stiles is grinning silently down at his phone and thinking that yes,
he is funny as fuck, screw Derek Hale’s dry sarcasm. Ignoring the meaningful
smile his best friend is shooting him now.
God, Scott can be so – so embarrassing. He’ll make a great dad one day.
Stiles messages back two or three more times, not paying attention to anything
their history teacher is saying, but then, the good woman never paid any
attention to her class either so, it’s really just fair.
Bickering with Derek on Whatsapp is the most normal Stiles has felt in ages.
Makes him almost forget the wild and driven look in Derek’s eyes when he
confessed – was it a confession? – that he likes him, or at least that’s how
Stiles chose to understand it anyway.
When he walks out of the classroom later, he isn’t, for once, upset anymore.
Nervous, yes, but no excessively so.
In fact, he’s sort of curious about what’s going to happen now, even though he
knows he shouldn’t be.
Because what good could he expect from the future, right?
When Stiles feels Theo’s gaze linger on him he turns his head to meet his eyes
and there he is. Theo is leaning by the door, face not cheerful, lips a grim
line and looking over to where Stiles is swiping his textbook into his bag.
Ignore him.
Theo has no right to spoil every little thing in your life.
So Stiles closes his backpack and swiftly walks past him and out into the
hallway, just pretends that the dude didn’t position himself there on purpose
to talk with Stiles on his way out. The thing is – Stiles is not to crazy about
Theo demanding to see his phone. Not that he has to hide his conversation with
Derek, but – he just can’t take any shit from Theo today.
And it would have worked, it really would have – if it hadn’t been for this:
when Stiles walked out of the classroom he accidentally brushed the doorframe
with his right hip, lacking, as always, that smoothness of movement that others
just naturally possess, and the sting it sends through his lower body, just
from bumping against the wood with his bruised skin – it’s a painful reminder
of what reality looks like.
Yeah.
Still Theo’s.
Forever and fucking always.
 
 
 
And he should have known, too, Stiles.
That Theo wouldn’t just stand idly by, not say anything about the way Stiles is
being sort of cheerful today, so out of character for him lately.
During lunch, Theo sits at their table, and he doesn’t nonchalantly drop his
tablet down opposite of Stiles the way he’d usually do.
He lowers it down slowly and with intent, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ and
then lets it smoothly and completely soundlessly, connect with the table top.
And Stiles, he swallows.
Once, twice.
And he hasn’t even started on his soup yet.
That pleasant and light feeling in his stomach?
It’s gone and he really wonders what Theo’s fucking problem is.
It’s not like Stiles is so different today.
Yeah, he’s probably less depressed and empty than he should be after a fucking
involuntary sex marathon with that bastard, but, you know.
You can’t always be down. At a certain point it either gets you and shatters
your will to live or, you bounce back, somehow, a tiny little bit.
For self-preservation.
Just when Stiles decides to ignore Theo and focus all his attention on Malia
and Mason who are discussing some action movie, never at ease of course as long
as Theo’s so close to them – just when Stiles’ spoon touches his lips and he
realizes that the soup is too fucking hot and his mouth is still hurting from
yesterday’s coffee, his phone buzzes.
Theo immediately goes, “Who is messaging you?”
He doesn’t even pretend like he’s about to eat.
His casserole and salad sit in front of him, still warm and untouched, but they
might as well be a chewed-up rat. (And Theo’d probably have more fun with the
rat. He’d never particularly understood eating anyway.)
Stiles shrugs, takes the time to tilt his spoon and let the soup trickle into
his mouth and thinks that it tastes way too much like coconut for a dish that
supposedly doesn’t have any coconut in it, then swallows and says, “We
scheduled a pack meeting.”
Quickly adds, just to be sure, “And you’re not invited.”
“You’re lying,” Theo immediately says, even though Stiles knows that Theo knows
that he isn’t.
Because he isn’t.
But his heart might have skipped a beat nonetheless.
Stupid thing.
Can’t catch a break.
He feels Scott scoot close to him, like he wants to shield Stiles from Theo
merely through the act of being as physically close to his best friend as
possible, says, “Can’t you just fucking leave him alone for a minute? Go sit
somewhere else – preferably where we don’t have to see your stupid face.”
Stiles’ heart is beating loudly now and Scott turns to look at him with
surprise, but Stiles is watching Theo whose eyes widened, only a little bit,
and if Stiles weren’t so alert all the time, if he didn’t know Theo’s face
almost as well as his own, he might not have noticed.
As it is though, he does notice and then he knows it’s too late, something bad.
“It’s Derek, isn’t it.”
Scott frowns and Malia is still talking with Mason and Liam, oddly loud now,
too, as if they’re trying to keep themselves from listening in.
Keeping up the pretense of normalcy for as long as they can.
Stiles doesn’t say anything.
He just sits there, shoulder pressing into Scott’s, and stares back into Theo’s
eyes, lips pressed firmly together. Mind a blank.
“I see,” Theo says and it’s in this low voice that scares Stiles the most
because it’s only ever so fucking calm after Theo made up his mind about
something.
“Didn’t Malia tell you?”
And as soon as her name drops out of Theo’s mouth, Malia falls silent. Because,
yeah, of fucking course she’d been listening in. They all had.
Her back toward Theo and she doesn’t turn around.
But she doesn’t continue talking either.
And for Stiles – he can’t help it, he should know better, he really should, but
he just can’t help it and he says, “Malia, tell me what?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But he knows Theo isn’t full of shit, just from the way Malia’s shoulders
stiffen and she’s still not looking at them. Something is up, it’s painfully
obvious.
And Stiles – oh yes, he remembers alright.
Had almost completely forgotten about that, too, for a moment there.
He’d been in a really dark place when he’d assumed that Derek’s with Malia now
– who is his niece, after all, and Peter Hale’s freaking daughter.
After yesterday he just figured – or no.
In fact, he hadn’t even been thinking about it anymore at all.
It all comes back to him now though, and with such force that he feels like
someone dumped a bucket of ice into his stomach.
“Tell him,” Theo says now because no one has been speaking a word for at least
half a minute now.
Malia abruptly rises and, without turning around even once, slides the handle
of her backpack over her shoulder.
Stiles can see Scott throw her a shocked look which – that really doesn’t make
things any better for Stiles.
Theo, however, seems to be in a particularly bad mood since last period because
he grabs Malia’s wrist so abruptly that Stiles doesn’t even see it happen.
He doesn’t turn it or squeeze it. Just keeps her from getting away and says,
“Tell him. He has a right to know.”
Only now does Malia lift her eyes and when Stiles sees the pained expression on
her face he decides he doesn’t want to hear.
But, yeah.
Too late.
“Go on, sister. Tell your ex-boyfriend all about the night you spent with our
uncle.”
Malia flicks her eyes to Theo’s face and, looking repulsed now, shakes him off.
“You’re not my brother,” she grits out, her voice a little broken and then
she’s storming off like she’s really angry now.
Or crying.
It would make a lot of sense to Stiles.
Because that’s exactly what he feels like doing right now.
“You fucking piece of shit,” Scott is saying now and he doesn’t even sound
hateful, only surprised, really.
Probably at how after everything he’s done, Theo can still come up with
innovative ways to hurt Stiles.
Theo puts his smug smile back on now, finally, like he had it stored away only
temporarily. Then he picks up his fork and starts eating as if he didn’t have a
care in the world while Stiles is staring down at the bowl of cold soup in
front of him, his eyes really moist, and Scott is staring at Theo like he wants
to drag him over the table and rip his head off and Mason and Liam look at each
other, then flick their eyes down to their respective plates in silence.
Only Lydia who is sitting next to Mason does not seem infected with the
contagious gloom that has settled on the table.
But she’s not eating either, she’s – she’s being really weird, to tell you the
truth, and it speaks to how troubled everyone else is that no is really paying
attention to it.
But we’re here to see it so, let’s zoom in for a little bit.
She’s staring straight ahead and it’s her banshee look, the one she gets when
she has one of these intrusive thoughts about someone close to her about to
die, empty eyes, hand with her spoon hovering in mid-air, whole body rigid and
all her senses focused on that powerful sensation within her.
Only, it’s all wrong.
Because rather than the usual expression of shellshock on her face that quickly
turns into horror, the corners of her lips are pulled up, her whole mouth
locked in an eerie grin and her eyes, too.
Look at her eyes.
They’re white, yeah, still.
Still.
But something in her face is moving, transforming.
And that white around her pupils is already patterned with thin red lines that
are stretching beyond the eyeballs and bleeding into the pale skin above her
cheekbones like they’re alive and about to make their way all over her face.
And the purpleness and swelling?
There’s hints of that around her eyes already as well.
But she doesn’t seem to notice or, if she does, she’s not the least unsettled
by it because she’s staring ahead like she can see into another dimension that
happens to be folded into this one, dense and compact and sitting right in
front of her and with the grin only widening into what is now a very visible
expression of glee, she says, “Soon.”
Blinks.
Opens her mouth and when she speaks again it’s like her voice is vibrating,
like she’s holding back a scream and it’s growing more and more difficult for
her with each syllable.
“Soon now. Very soon.”
 
 
Stiles is not crying during Econ.
Because that would be – that would be pathetic.
Right?
So he just sits there, listening to Finstock rambling about whatever, staring
at his textbook hard and wiping away – he likes to think of it as the outward
sign that he’s really fucking done.
Malia who’s sitting a few seats over keeps throwing him looks and so is Scott,
but none of them can do anything and Stiles already feels humiliated enough
without them trying to comfort him.
As if there’s anything anyone could say at this point.
Theo, thankfully, is sitting behind him in his usual seat but when they walked
into the classroom ten minutes earlier he looked really pleased with himself.
Fucking asshole.
After another five minutes or so, Malia has taken to her phone and she’s
texting furiously until Coach calls her out on it. He snatches the thing out of
her hand and it says a lot about how engrossed Malia had been in whatever she’d
been doing because she is legitimately surprised - or, well, shock would be the
more appropriate term for the expression on her face when she watches Coach
Finstock lift his arm high in the air and mutter about how no one fucking
respects him anymore, his speech as always laced with expletives.
She darts up from her chair and Stiles doesn’t have to see her face to know
that she’s this close to snarling, maybe even to shifting right here in the
middle of the classroom because that’s how fucking on edge they’ve all been
when Coach, all of a sudden, and with his hand almost in front of his face,
just about to throw a look at the display, freezes.
Frowns.
He’s not looking at Malia or at her phone, but at something – someone in the
first row.
He’s looking at Lydia and then he slams Malia’s phone down onto her desk and
takes a few angry steps across the classroom so he’s standing right in front of
her and looking even more gnomish than usual.
He screws up his face in disgust.
“Holy – hell, Martin. What on earth is going on with your face?! You look
freaking baked. Oh, God, don’t look at me, ugh - nurse, right away! Mother of
Christ...”
Stiles is craning his neck to get a better look at what’s going on because now
the girls sitting next to Lydia are also looking at her and, judging from the
looks on their faces, obviously simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by what
they’re seeing, and Scott is going, “Lydia. Lydia what’s the matter. Lydia,”
under his breath.
He is about to get up, but then Lydia is already out the door, accompanied by
the girl sitting next to her.
Malia who has snatched up her phone and, while Coach was still ranting, had
been unceremoniously dumping everything on her desk into her backpack,
straightens back up now and, nodding once to Scott, darts out of the room.
Stiles knows she will follow Lydia and make sure that everything is fine.
Whatever this is again.
Stiles doesn’t have the energy to care.
He feels like his heart is filled with shards.
 
 
Derek’s waiting in his car and he looks the way he always does, hands on the
wheel and eyes fixated on the school building like the person he’s waiting for
might slip by him if he as much as averted his eyes for only a second.
Leather jacket, sunglasses.
The latter especially necessary today because he’s tired. Not that he’d give a
fuck about the dark bags under his eyes, but when he’s like that he has a
harder time focusing. The bright light and loud colors are overwhelming.
But with the dark veil between his eyes and his environment he can cope – at
least he can deal with it right now, with this situation.
But his memories of the past few days?
That’s just a whole other story.
First of all - he can’t fucking believe he kissed Stiles.
He keeps picturing it, the way it must have looked. He, Derek, being all stiff
and awkward and creepy, catching a teenager’s mouth just when he’d been about
to form a sound of surprise at the way Derek had grabbed him and pulled him in,
and Derek still can’t fucking believe it.
He must have looked like an idiot.
Stiles must have thought he’s insane.
Derek couldn’t remember what his lips had felt like.
His heart had been beating too loudly and when he’d snapped out of it he’d
already been in his car, had started the engine shaking his head repeatedly,
wondering out loud ‘what the fuck just happened, what the hell was I thinking,
God, what the...’
And he still does, honestly.
That’s – he wasn’t supposed to kiss him.
That hadn’t been the freaking plan.
Like – it had probably done the job.
But Derek hadn’t meant to, no way.
Only, when he’d been struggling with the words that just wouldn’t come out even
though he knew exactly what he was supposed to say, he’d been staring at
Stiles’ lips and it was like something had snapped inside of him.
He’d never been good with words and just kissing the girl without fussing
around is his go to move. Always works, too.
Plus, he’d had these intrusive thoughts before. Had found himself watching
Stiles’ lips move and then an image flash in his mind of himself, locking faces
with him, dragging his tongue along these – fucking NO!
Derek hits the wheel.
Stop freaking thinking about that.
That boy’s lips are not for you, not like that.
End of story.
He had put his sunglasses onto the passenger seat and is rubbing his forehead,
and when someone knocks on the window, Derek almost jumps.
Almost.
He doesn’t, of course, because he’d been waiting for Malia and had heard her
come up to the car.
Derek rolls the window down and Malia’s face appears. She’s bending down, right
hand resting on the roof of the Camaro and Derek bites back a ‘Don’t fucking
touch my car’.
She looks as tired as he does.
Strained and maybe it’s him, maybe he, Derek, is the reason for that.
Because when she’d asked him whether he thought something was wrong with her,
he’d never answered.
When he’d told her he didn’t want to talk – but he didn’t want to do anything
else either – she hadn’t said anything.
She’d just been sitting there, on the sofa, and started to cry.
Or maybe it isn’t him because Malia says, “Stiles will be out in a minute, make
sure you don’t miss him. I gotta stick with Lydia, she looks – her face keeps
doing that again. You know, just like right before Theo showed his face in
Beacon Hills a few weeks ago. Says she feels like screaming.”
Derek nods.
Understands.
“Good. That means the plan is working.”
Malia frowns.
“I don’t know, Derek. Didn’t Phanuel say banshees are harbingers of darkness?”
Derek picks up his sunglasses and puts them back on.
He smirks and says, “Yeah, and it will be very dark around the bastard very
soon. Sounds accurate to me.”
“I don’t know...”
Malia straightens back up and lets her gaze wander for a few moments. Then her
head appears over the passenger seat again.
“Ok, there he is. Don’t screw it up.”
“I won’t,” Derek says and he fucking hopes it’s the truth.
“Good. I’ll make sure Lydia gets home safe. See ya.”
Derek just nods, rolls the window back up.
A moment later he is out of his car, glimpsing Malia’s retreating figure out of
the corner of his eyes. And there he is, Stiles, a little way off from the big
double doors out of which students come pouring, spilling out into the late
afternoon sun. Stiles is talking with Scott and Danny, looking thin and pale.
The way he’s been for a long time now and acknowledging it makes something in
Derek’s chest ache.
It’s fucking wrong is what it is.
That kid who Derek got to know as saucy and constantly talking, usually all
eyes and smiles, and look at him now, gloomy, silent. Depressed.
Like Beacon Hills is slowly fucking destroying him.
A miracle, really, that he’s still sane enough to go to school.
Derek’s taking big, swift steps in their direction and he can tell from the way
Scott’s back straightens a little that he picked up his scent already, or maybe
the distinct sound of his boots on the asphalt.
Derek slows down a bit and sniffs the air, but Theo doesn’t seem to be out
here.
Perfect.
The moment Derek joins the small group and Scott says ‘Hey, man’ and Danny’s
lips pull into a smile, Stiles’ eyes meet his and holy God.
He’d been crying.
Derek had thought Malia had been full of shit when she’d messaged him. You
know, exaggerating to make absolutely sure Derek would be there in time as soon
as school’s out.
Stiles’ eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot – because of him?
Derek’s genuinely at a loss for words for a moment and that’s all it takes for
Stiles to straighten his back and turn to walk away.
Derek of course quickly reaches for his hand – more instinctively than
consciously – and he can see Scott shake his head and mouth ‘No!’ Within a
split second Derek has dropped Stiles’ hand again, but Stiles is already
opening his mouth to attack him and the anger in his face, it’s even worse than
when he’d accused Derek of not caring about his pack.
Even worse because this is purely personal.
Stiles doesn’t seem to care even a little bit about hiding it.
His cat eyes have settled on Derek’s face and Derek shrinks from the look in
them. Anger, hurt.
Heartbreak.
“Don’t fucking talk to me,” Stiles spits out and then he turns away and is
about to march off, and he really would have, had Derek not held him back.
More forcefully this time, because he’s starting to get angry himself now,
Derek.
“No, I need to talk to you before the pack meeting. Now.”
Derek knows it came out with a snarl because Stiles looks shocked for a second,
scared, his amber eyes wide open so Derek can see the redness in them clearly.
His wrist is still in Derek’s hand, but he stopped struggling against it.
God, this is so fucking wrong.
Scaring the shit out of a teenager who’s as deeply traumatized as Stiles. Who’s
already getting abused on a daily basis.
But Derek has to do it.
It has to be like this.
Apparently, Scott disagrees because he has his hand buried in his palm and is
muttering ‘can’t fucking believe this, what are you doing man’ and the guy
Derek knows as Danny is watching everything with raised eyebrows, like he’s not
sure whether he should be entertained or worried.
Derek lets go of Stiles wrist only to have him by the upper arm within an
instant, ready to manhandle him over to the Camaro and dump him in the backseat
– or in the trunk if he has to.
Just – Stiles has to listen, okay?
They can’t afford more misunderstandings.
There’s no time for that.
They’re running out of time.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!”
It’s Theo’s voice, but Derek has never heard it sound like this, probably
because, yeah, come to think of it, Derek has never heard Theo yell before.
That son-of-a-bitch is smugness incarnate, he simply doesn’t need to raise his
voice.
He’s walking over to them with swift steps and he looks extremely pissed.
People are turning around, of course, whispering, wondering who or what made
Theo Raeken angry.
Just seeing the filthy little rat makes Derek’s stomach turn. He hates Theo
with every fiber of his being and, oh, the things he’d do to him if he only
could. But he’ll get his revenge, is going to smell his blood again, and not
just on Stiles’ clothes or on the tiles of a bathroom floor. He’s going to
fucking take him apart.
And before, he’s going to make him pay.
Soon.
Very soon.
“What the fuck, let go of him.”
Theo’s in front of him now and Derek can feel his fingers being pried from
Stiles’ upper arm as if by invisible force.
“Er... don’t you – have to be anywhere, Danny?” Derek can hear Scott saying to
which Danny responds, “Nope. No way in hell, Scott, I’m not gonna miss this.”
Danny seems mesmerized by the way Derek is being thrown off of Stiles now as if
by magic and it must look strange, ridiculous, even, with Theo a few inches
shorter than Derek and, compared to him, looking as dangerous as a poodle does
compared to an actual wolf.
Purely based on looks, that is, yes, only judging from outward appearances,
from Theo’s blond hair and sweet face.
But look him in the face more closely for a few seconds, Theo, and you’ll know
he’s deadly, a true predator, more than Derek could ever be.
Because there’s no kindness behind these blue eyes.
Only the will to power.
“Theo, people are watching,” Scott says, but Theo seems like he couldn’t care
less. He has locked eyes with Derek and he’s so angry, he’s panting. Derek
knows he should be scared, yes, he knows what Theo is, but – for whatever
reason, to him, this whole situation is fucking hilarious.
Derek feels the urge to throw his head back and cackle maniacally, but he can
feel Stiles tremble next to him, hear his heart beat fast – faster. Waves of
anxiety and stress are rolling off of the kid and the sudden surge of glee
Derek had been feeling, it fades away again immediately.
“We have a pack meeting,” he says to Theo.
“I don’t fucking care. You touch my boyfriend again and I end you.”
Not that Theo can push his buttons so easily, but it’s that term coming from
that little rat’s mouth – and meaning Stiles with it, too – that makes Derek
livid.
Makes him so angry all of a sudden, in fact, that it takes all he has to not
flash his eyes at Theo, to not bare his fangs and hurl himself at the bastard
right in front of Beacon Hills High.
To not ask Fernuhal for his omicron powers back.
But he knows it wouldn’t be wise, he knows that’s not the plan and he doesn’t
need Scott patting his shoulder lightly and mutter, “Easy, dude... not here.”
Yeah, people are staring.
So fucking what?
Let them look all they want.
They’re only gonna see what they want to see anyway.
Two dudes fighting over that lanky senior, Stiles Stilinski, and there’s
already a reel of gossip in the background, a soft murmur that Derek can pick
up due to his supernatural hearing.
Did he say – did you hear that – yeah, Theo called him boyfriend – so they’re
really dating, oh my God...
“I’ll take him to your stupid meeting. And pick him up again, after,” Theo says
coldly. Stiles behind him doesn’t say anything.
He’s staring down at his shoes.
“And don’t you dare,” Theo’s now saying in a low voice and he steps into
Derek’s personal space for the threat to really hit home, to make absolutely
clear that this is meant for Derek alone, “don’t you dare fucking scent mark
him again. If I sniff your stink on him ever again, I’m gonna find a way to
make you pay for it.”
Derek snorts condescendingly.
That little shit can hiss and spit threats at him all he wants. Derek’s not
gonna buy it.
“Yes, Derek. I’ll find a way. And you know what would be a good idea? To
make him pay for it.”
Derek is not impressed.
He knew Theo was going to say that.
But still, when Theo turns around and puts his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and
Stiles is not even trying to shove it away, Derek thinks that they already
waited too long.
And while this is a sufficiently rational thought, his heart is beating
angrily.
He turns around because he has to, briskly walks away without a word of
goodbye.
Okay, well – that probably means he screwed up.
Fine, alright.
Maybe he did.
But he’ll get another chance to talk to Stiles.
Another chance while right now, there’s really nothing he can do here. He can
only fuck it up even more thoroughly.
And Derek has learnt his lesson.
He knows when to walk away, finally.
So he does.
What does give him a grim kind of satisfaction though is knowing that while
Theo, admittedly, sort of pushes his buttons, Derek pushes Theo’s buttons right
back and the fucking devil – Devil – might despise Derek even more than vice
versa. It’s obvious.
It’s obvious because Theo is still standing there in the midst of the crowd in
front of Beacon Hills High, his arm around Stiles, and watching Derek get into
his car, like Derek is the single biggest threat to the fucked-up thing Theo’s
got going on with Stiles here.
When he catches Derek looking over to them, Theo pulls Stiles closer.
“You better fucking enjoy it while it lasts, motherfucker,” Derek grits out and
slams the door shut.
 
 
 ***
 
“Okay, just explain this to me for a second. What on earth makes you think that
Farnoêlle would be able to ban Th- Lucifer with a simple spell?”
Stiles is rubbing his temple and staring down at his hands.
This must be the most awkward pack meeting they ever had. Even the ones after
Allison’s death - they’d been horrible, yes and just – sad.
Everyone had been so broken.
So they never really talked about it, but there’d still been this silent,
mutual understanding between them. They knew each other’s pain. It had been
their own.
This though.
Stiles is broken and everyone else is – just being awkward and weird about it
to different degrees.
Derek is leaning in the doorframe to the hallway, preferring gloomy silence to
taking a seat at his own table. Malia looks like she’s on the verge of tears
and hasn’t spoken a single word since they got here. Kira flicks her eyes to
every one of them individually and lets her gaze linger for a few seconds as if
pleading the person to just say something, anything, or put on a more cheerful
demeanor. But speak she doesn’t either. Liam and Mason are obviously too scared
to pipe up, like they know this is really not about them and Scott, even though
he’s the only one inclined to talk, seems down, sad.
Lost in thought.
“Well, I told you before... it’s not the best plan – I don’t like it because we
know so little of how it’s supposed to work. But it’s the only shot we got.”
“Mh, okay,” Stiles says and cranes his neck. Stretches his back. He feels like
he’s been sitting in this stupid fucking chair for hours.
How come that Derek’s furniture looks so expensive and yet, is so utterly
uncomfortable?
Except, maybe, the sofa.
The sofa’s okay.
“But... from everything you told me, it’s not like any of you guys matter for
the whole undertaking anyway, right? Like – Fanial’s bound to do it, whether we
like it or not.”
Scott nods his head, just once.
“Exactly. And that’s what I don’t like about this whole thing. What if – I just
don’t trust this. What if something goes wrong? Maybe we should try and get him
– er, I mean, her, to postpone it, just for a while until we come up with
something better, or-”
“No,” a harsh voice barks from the corner and they all turn to look at its
source.
Derek has pushed himself away from the wall and is walking up to the table, a
determined look on his face.
Stiles averts his eyes.
Looking at Derek lately just makes him want to cry.
“No, we can’t fucking afford to lose any more time. That bastard’s already done
enough.”
“I agree,” Malia says, quietly and darkly.
She’s not lifting her eyes up either but she looks like she might fight you if
you argued with her.
“But what’s the point,” Stiles suddenly finds himself saying, “what’s the
bloody freakin’ point when it’s not a good plan and she screws up? Mh? What if,
like – the spell doesn’t work, mh? Theo’s always a step ahead, remember? Theo
knew Faniel was planning something and he-”
“Don’t fucking say his name,” Derek grits out.
“What, has he put a Taboo curse on his name now? Like, he’s gonna pop up in
front of us if we say it too often?”
Stiles has no idea why he’s being so obnoxious.
He just – this whole thing tires him out.
Plus, no one bothered to tell him what the plan was last time, or what it is
this time.
Is it the same, has it changed?
Is his guardian angel going to turn Theo into a ferret and then feed him to a
rhinoceros?
No one knows.
The only thing Stiles knows is that Theo has his fancy sports parked down in
front of the apartment building, right next to Derek’s Camaro, and he’s
listening to music and staring at the entrance door, waiting for Stiles to
emerge.
So yeah, if they’re taking too long, Theo might actually barge in and drag
Stiles down with him and, as a punishment, take him right there in the car, for
everyone to see.
It’s what he whispered into Stiles’ ear anyway before sending him off, when he
leaned over, brushed the shell of Stiles’ ear with his lips while Scott was
standing there, watching, clutching his motorcycle helmet, hands trembling,
like he was really tempted to smash Theo’s windscreen with it.
“Listen, maybe we just need to trust him – her, for once. She’s your guardian
angel, after all, right?”
Scott is giving him a crooked smile that Stiles doesn’t return.
After all this time with Theo he’s not even sure what any kind of religion has
to do with it all. From everything Theo explained to him – about balance, about
the essence of the universe – it’s making less and less sense to him.
Not religion per se, or the concept of a God (and that was so wild when Theo
explained it, Stiles isn’t sure he understood any of it).
But the idea of good and bad guys.
If you can’t see the good they’re doing – who tells you they really are?
Who tells you that there even is such a thing, this clearly defined imaginary
border, good guys on the right, bad guys on the left?
“We told you all we know, buddy, I’m sorry... I thought – I thought you’d be at
least a little relieved,” Scott says and, it’s funny, every time someone speaks
it’s like they’re disrupting the thick and heavy silence that settled on the
loft the moment they entered.
“All we know is that the plan involves Derek because he used to carry the
omicron powers and, even though Farniel took them back, they’re still his. Or
that’s how she explained it to us anyway. When the time is right, Phanoel will
give Derek the combined powers of all the omicrons and – and Derek will be able
to off him. I hope.”
Stiles frowns.
Even though he hasn’t been feeling up to it lately, his brain is still ringing
alert at Scott words and telling him that this is in no way logical.
“Okay, maybe I don’t get how angelic powers work, but – this sounds stupid to
me. Why would it work now, when it always failed in the past? Clearly, Lucifer
is more powerful than a random angel. Why would giving all his powers to Derek
even change anything? Mh? Just explain that to me.”
He’s leaning back in his chair as he says this, not even caring about the
slight, even though the angel is probably listening in.
It’s not like he ever did a good job at protecting Stiles anyway.
Scaring him shitless, yeah.
But shielding him from evil?
Please.
Dude is a fucking failure.
“Farniel is weaker than Lucifer, that’s true,” Derek says very slowly, like
he’s talking to a child. Stiles lifts his head, but Derek is talking to the
table top.
“That’s why he needed omicrons. By making pacts with creatures of this world,
he nurtured his powers. Grew them in many different bodies.”
Stiles can’t help but grimace.
That sounds – weird.
And a little disgusting.
“And by taking them back in, they became – more. Bigger. Stronger. And Lucifer
knows about this, of course. What he won’t see coming is how we’re going to get
him.”
“And how exactly will that be?”
Stiles knows he’s sounding snippy. He really wants to know. It’s just – this
sounds so fucking dumb he can’t even believe he’s still listening.
He’s made peace with the idea that Lucifer is invincible long ago and that’s
that.
“That’s where you enter the stage, Stiles,” Derek says and they’re looking at
each other for the first time. So many unsaid things between them.
“We’re going to use his affection for you.”
Okay, that did it.
Stiles throws his head back and laughs.
It’s a loud laugh, too, but entirely joyless.
No one says anything.
Derek waits patiently for Stiles to calm down.
“Yeah-heah, right, dude. Okay. I’m not even gonna tell you you’re delusional.
Just keep on living in your little dream world, in that fun house my beloved
guardian angel has apparently set up around you.”
“You don’t see clearly, Stiles.”
“Oh, I see clearly - I can see how this is going to go down perfectly,” Stiles
says, “believe me. It’s gonna be a colossal fucking failure. Because Lucifer? I
fucking know the dude. I know him really well.”
Awkward silence settles on the room yet again.
Stiles looks Derek in the eyes, lifts his eyebrows, as if challenging him to
contradict him.
To tell him that no, Stiles, you don’t know your rapist, your abuser.
“I fucking look into that abyss every single day, okay? It’s pointless. Theo
doesn’t feel. He just – wants.”
And with that Stiles gets up from his chair.
It’s only when the others start moving that he is reminded of their presence.
“Mh, okay, er... so we didn’t really come to a conclusion,” Kira says and Scott
puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.
Stiles looks away, when Scott kisses her on the cheek.
Scott speaks a few closing words, tells everyone to be vigilant, that they
might have to react quickly and to never put their cellphones on mute. Everyone
nods and mutters their agreement.
Stiles throws a glance at his phone.
It’s 5:15.
They didn’t take as long as he’d told Theo.
“Stiles, a word?”
Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek.
“Please.”
The man looks so utterly defeated and Malia so sad, the way she’s still sitting
in her chair over there even though every one’s moving about and talking with
each other now in hushed voices that Stiles ends up saying, “Ugh. Fine. But
hurry. He – he’s waiting for me.” Averting his eyes when he says this.
Derek nods.
Stiles follows him into the bedroom, a room he’s never seen before. There’s a
king size bed, a desk with a laptop and a stack of loose sheets on it, two book
shelves and a purple sofa.
Stiles thinks how ridiculous it is that such a fancy ass place wouldn’t have
more than one bedroom, or at least a study to take guests to in case you want
to talk to them in private.
But maybe there is.
Who knows.
“I didn’t sleep with Malia,” Derek blurts out and Stiles stares at him.
“What?”
“That’s – Malia messaged me, she said Theo dropped some hints and – it’s true,
we did – we did sort of make out,” Derek averts his eyes, runs his hand through
his hair in a very Derek move.
“It was wrong. Completely. We just got out of – of there. You know, that night,
after... I thought I’d go insane, I swear. Just – hearing – listening.... I
can’t even...”
He stops, takes a deep breath.
“It was like – we both needed to feel something else, just – I was the one who
initiated it. But I was also the one who pulled back.”
At this he lifts his eyes and they land on Stiles’ face.
“I couldn’t – I couldn’t do it. Not just because – of how fucked up it would
have been. I couldn’t do it – when I really wanted...”
But he never finishes the sentence.
It doesn’t matter.
It’s enough.
Stiles rubs his cheek, at a loss for words.
“We’re sorry, Stiles. Malia and I both are and we feel guilty as hell about
what happened and – about what almost happened. But... what Theo smelled was –
that. You can ask him. He knows nothing else happened. He’d have smelled it on
her, but he’s just a lying, raping scumbag. He – hey, Stiles.”
Because tears are trickling down his cheeks and he doesn’t even know why
anymore.
Not because he’s happy.
He’s still heartbroken.
So confused, too.
It’s just a fucking mess, he’s a fucking mess, and it’ll never end.
Stiles doesn’t care what Scott says.
He knows it will never fucking end.
Derek wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a tight hug, then places his
hand in Stiles’ neck and, regardless of what Stiles heard Theo tell Derek
earlier today, Derek starts scent marking him. He’s rubbing his scent into
Stiles’ neck slowly but with determination, dragging his index and middle
fingers in slows circles across his skin.
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m so sorry. So sorry....”
Stiles closes his eyes.
Derek’s whispered apologies blend in with the murmur of voices from the sitting
room until it’s all one gentle and incomprehensible blur, just noise.
A spacious silence to partake in, disappear behind.
 
 
 
 
When Stiles gets into the car, Theo doesn’t say a word, he just looks at him.
Stiles shoves his backpack into the footwell – he’d brought a few books and his
laptop with him, just in case – and puts the seatbelt on.
“Okay, what?”
He pushes his head into the headrest. Then turns it to meet Theo’s eyes.
Stiles is surprised to find that Theo is not, in fact, mocking him.
He’s frowning and considering Stiles’ face as if trying to figure something
out.
“You’ve been crying.”
Stiles snorts.
“Just start the damn car.”
Theo lets his gaze linger on Stiles’ face a few moments longer but Stiles is
staring ahead, at Mason who just exited the building and is waving awkwardly at
Stiles. Then quickly drops his hand as if it just occurred to him that Theo
might think Mason means him.
They’re all scared of Theo.
Even Scott.
Even Derek.
Stiles knows it’s true.
Then Theo finally starts up the engine and backs out of the parking spot.
“He scent-marked you,” he states matter-of-factly, looks left and right – in a
slightly better mood Stiles would roll his eyes at Theo getting a kick out of
doing something so utterly human – and pulls out onto the street.
Stiles just shrugs. Stares down at his dark blue backpack. He got it for
Christmas last year. With all the monsters hitting Beacon Hills, Stiles had
started taking his laptop over to Scott’s house for every pack meeting and his
dad had been worried he might end up breaking it. Stiles had explained to him
again and again that laptops were meant to be taken along, but then again, his
dad had had a point, what with Stiles just dumping it onto the back seat of his
Jeep and all.
“You let him scent-mark you,” Theo rephrases, but Stiles only shrugs.
“You got his stink all over you,” grimacing, “I told him – I told him I
wouldn’t allow it,” Theo grits out.
“I fucking told him I’d make you pay.”
A third shrug.
“I know. I heard it.”
“Don’t just fucking sit there and talk back to me like a little shit!”
Stiles narrows his eyes. Finally turns his head slowly and drags his eyes over
to the driver’s seat, to Theo’s face who staring ahead into the darkness,
through a spotless windshield, and looks utterly displeased.
Angry, even, judging from the way his fingers are gripping the wheel.
Like he can just barely keep himself from turning the car around, speeding back
to the loft and knocking Derek’s teeth out. Not that he could, with the pact
and all. But, the wish is there, clearly.
“What do you even care,” Stiles says and he watches Theo’s face and, really,
there it is. Stiles’ eyes widen a little in surprise as he catches Theo
throwing him a side-glance, like Stiles hit a sore spot. Like there’s something
there, about Derek, that he’d rather hide from him.
“What – are you jealous?”
Impossible.
Im-fucking-possible.
Well, okay, Theo had been jealous before, it’s not like it’s an unheard-of
trait of the Devil’s character. But that was a different kind of jealousy. Like
the way a kid would want the toys all the other kids are playing with, just to
make sure they’re not better than his.
But this now, it’s almost as if –
“Do you have a crush on Derek?”
The words just drop out of Stiles’ mouth before he can stop himself and Theo –
his face, sort of, un-clenches. It’s interesting to see, how he goes from
majorly pissed to dumbfounded within a second.
“What?”
And he lets out an incredulous laugh.
“Wha– did you just fucking say that?”
Takes his eyes off the road and turns his head to stare at Stiles for far
longer than it would be possible for any actual human driver without wrapping
his sports around the next tree.
“Did you just – Stiles, are you losing your mind?”
Stiles wrinkles his eyebrows.
“Why would that be so unlikely?” Stiles mutters, “What do I know about your
sick and twisted mind?”
A smile settles on Theo’s face and Stiles averts his gaze again.
“I’d say you know more than anyone and anything else. Here and beyond.”
“Okay, then why would you even care? You don’t care about, I don’t know... my
dad giving me a hug.”
Theo takes a deep, audible breath – and it sounds a lot like a sigh, like
someone feeling so much that he just doesn’t know how to put words to it, but
then, the thought is ridiculous. It’s like Stiles said. Theo doesn’t feel.
He just wants.
And him wanting Derek is actually not that far-fetched. It sounded like a wild
idea at first, but the more Stiles thinks about it, the more it actually makes
sense.
Not as in, Theo wants to fuck Derek.
But as in, he’s still Satan and Satan needs to torture, and he hasn’t done that
in a while now, and Derek would be the perfect object. Theo has remarked on
more than one occasion, too, that if he were allowed to torture anyone to
death, he’d pick Derek.
Come on, anyone would, probably, in all honesty. Not to death maybe, no. But
just in general. Do something to his body and watch his reaction. After all,
the crazy and depraved seem to have a thing for chaining Derek up and tearing
him to shreds while occasionally licking his stomach.
Kate Argent, am I right?
And Stiles – he understands just the tiniest bit.
Not the whole burning the Hale family alive, but – that you’d want to chain up
the old sourwolf and do things to him – it makes sense.
It’s – hot.
Stiles lets out a soft snort.
God, there’s really no hope for him, is there.
He catches Theo throwing him glances, and frowning, like he desperately wants
to know what Stiles is thinking.
But he doesn’t ask.
Doesn’t bark at him either.
He just pulls up to the Stilinski house and follows Stiles inside without
exchanging a further word with him.
 
 
Stiles would rather if Theo just fucked off, but he figures he, Stiles, is the
one to blame for the fact that Theo is still there after dinner. He messed up
all the chances of getting rid of him himself with permitting Derek to scent-
mark him. ‘I just don’t like other people’s dirty hands on what is mine,’ had
been the simple, and final, explanation Theo had finally given him.
Then Stiles’ dad had called from the kitchen and invited Theo to stay for
dinner.
And then Stiles had had to tell his dad that Theo would stay overnight, too,
and his dad had frowned but, thankfully, not said anything. Just nodded even
though he’d looked very unhappy and Stiles – his head is still a lighter shade
of red, even half an hour later, God.
When it had been about Malia, Stiles usually hadn’t been able to suppress a
grin and his dad had shaken his head and smiled.
This now.
It’s different.
A part of it is because Theo’s a guy, yeah, and Stiles understands. Hell, he
still can’t wrap his head around it himself.
And then, the other part is because Theo is – well. Theo.
“Okay, boys, game starts in a few minutes. Let me get some snacks – Theo, soda
or beer?”
Theo smiles politely and says, “A soda is fine, Sir.”
“Alright,” the sheriff says and nods. Theo passed the test. Stiles can’t help
but roll his eyes at how much of a dad his father can be. Like Stiles is a
teenage girl bringing her first boyfriend home to meet her parents.
“Make yourself at home, Theo. Er... Stiles, could you give me a hand?”
Stiles follows his dad to the kitchen and Theo walks over to the sofa.
His dad is already rummaging around in one of the cupboards and dumping packets
of chips and sweets onto the counter.
“Uhm... I don’t think we’re gonna eat all of that, dad...”
“Can you close the door, Stiles?”
Uh-oh.
That’s never a good sign.
“Dad, you know he’s got supernatural hearing, right,” Stiles mumbles, but he
still closes the door.
“Well, then I guess I’ll just hope he’s polite enough not to listen in on
private conversations.”
Stiles looks down to his socks.
If his dad knew.
Oh boy.
He can never find out.
Never.
“So...er... what – what is it?”
“Stiles, look at me.”
And Stiles does.
He lifts his head and swallows.
“Are you okay with this?”
“With... what?”
Stiles swallows again.
Lately his mouth has this tendency to go really dry in the middle of
conversations.
“With this,” his dad repeats, gesturing vaguely to the door behind which Theo
is sitting politely on the sofa, feet on the floor and ready to jump up as soon
as Stiles and his dad reappear and help them carry out the snacks and drinks.
“Dad, he’s – he’s my boyfriend.”
“But why are you so uncomfortable?”
“I’m not – I mean... this is – not easy for me... okay?”
“I get that son, it’s not easy for me either, believe me. Just this morning, I
went out and bought something called the Binford Super-Shears and a pair of
extra protection earmuffs. And I didn’t necessarily think of the hedge clippers
when I got the ear muffs.”
Stiles is staring at him, mouth agape and cheeks slowly reddening as it dawns
on him.
“Oh, God...”
“And I don’t have a problem with my son exploring his sexuality, just not – in
earshot, okay?”
Stiles is working his jaw, but somehow, nothing comes out that sounds even
remotely like language, just an awkward sound in the middle between ‘God’ and
‘sorry’.
“And I could honest to God live with that, it’s just,” and he stops,
considering his son for a moment, from brown and yellow striped socks to his
face that’s still beet red.
“You’re not happy, Stiles.”
“Mh?”
Stiles’ head snaps up.
“You’re not happy, you’re walking around like – honestly, the last time I saw
you like this was after Allison’s death. Is there some monster you’re fighting
right now that I don’t know of?”
Oh, hell yeah.
But Stiles slowly shakes his head.
“Okay. Is it school? Are you being bullied?”
Another shake of the head.
“Tell me that it’s not Theo.”
“It’s not Theo.”
The sheriff rolls his eyes.
“That’s not what I-”
“No, I’m fine, dad, really,” Stiles quickly says while feeling freaking
miserable on the inside and he knows it sounds pathetic and totally fake, so he
adds, “Don’t you like – Theo? I mean... I thought he’s like – okay, he’s a guy,
but he’s uhm... polite, straight A’s – like, the perfect guy to bring home as a
date.”
“Well, yeah – if this was 1972!”
Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that.
“Stiles, listen. I don’t want you to feel pressured, okay? It’s not about
who I like. But I keep getting these vibes from you, like – like you don’t even
want to be with Theo.”
He’s fixating Stiles now, with his piercing dad look that Stiles finds very
hard to resist. You’d think he’s a good liar, but he’s always had a hard time
bullshitting his dad. Not because he’s the sheriff, no. But because
Stiles cares about him. Deeply.
Then his dad makes it all even worse when he adds, after a short pause,
“Almost, like – yeah, like you’re scared of him.”
Oh, fuck.
He’s gonna cry.
Stiles is gonna stand there in the kitchen in front of his dad like a ten-year-
old, hands buried in the pockets of his saggy jeans, head bent forward, and
start crying.
And he’s so miserable and lonely and humiliated that the only thing he can
think of is to, somehow, get out of this situation because he knows from
experience that once you let go, once you let someone in just the tiniest bit,
it’s like tugging away one piece from a house of cards. Before you know it,
everything will come tumbling down and you’ll never know how to fix it either.
So, rather than think about what to say, being the cool and calculating
motherfucker he wishes he were, Stiles opens his mouth – and blurts out the
truth.
“It’s because I didn’t – at first.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh to cover up the sob that had been making its way
to the surface. Still staring down at his socks.
“What?” his dad goes after a few seconds as if he thought the sentence over
once, then a second time, and it’s still not making sense.
“I – I...”
Okay, Stiles thinks. Here it goes.
“I was – I had a crush on Derek. Okay?”
“Derek Hale?” his dad says like there could be a confusion as to the Derek
they’re talking about. Like there’s just so many Dereks running around in
Beacon Hills.
Just making absolutely a hundred percent sure that there isn’t a girl at
Stiles’ school who’s called Derek. Like – you never know with names these days,
right?
“Yes, dad, Derek Hale,” Stiles says with a deep sigh and he’s finally brave
enough to lift his head, only to find his dad looking at him with the most
incredulous expression on his face Stiles has ever seen. His look when Stiles
told him he was dating Theo was nothing against this.
“Don’t act so shocked,” Stiles mutters. “I – had a stupid crush on Derek and he
– like, he’s just not into guys. And Theo – was really nice to me, and...
that’s what you’ve been seeing, I think...”
Not completely the truth.
But not really a lie either.
“He’s, like... a sweet guy,” and if Theo could listen to Stiles’ heart beat
right now – which he probably is anyway – he’d immediately detect the lie, but
his dad is still too befuddled to notice.
“You – what? You’re in love with Derek Hale?”
“Crush. It was a silly crush,” Stiles corrects, his cheeks crimson.
“A silly, stupid fucking crush,” he adds under his breath and his dad doesn’t
even go, Language, Stiles!
He’s still blinking wildly, like moving his eyelids up and down helps him
making sense of this.
“So – so this,” and he gestures towards the door, towards the sofa and TV and,
especially, towards Theo, “is your rebound relationship?”
Dumbfounded, completely.
“You’re saying you went out and said yes to Theo because Derek said no?”
He sounds a lot like a man who just learned about his son’s secret life as a
hooker.
“It wasn’t like that. Okay, at first, yes – but I started liking him, okay?
He’s – a handsome and sweet guy.”
Oh, boy.
“Oh, boy,” the sheriff goes and slaps his hand over his eyes. Rubs them like
this conversation is draining the life out of him.
“I’m happy, dad.”
“Well, I don’t see any of it.”
“You will,” Stiles immediately says and this is the full truth again. Then
Stiles reaches over to the counter, picks up two packets of chips and a handful
of Snickers bars and quickly walks out of the kitchen.
His dad will see him happy.
Not because Stiles will be - that option went out the window the moment Lucifer
put one of his hooves down on the surface of this planet, like millions of
years ago.
But because Stiles will learn.
And when he walks into the sitting room, Theo is looking directly at him, no
smile on his face, Stiles is thinking, Try harder.
Try fucking harder, Stiles!
 
 
 
They’re all lounging on the sofa, the TV is on but Stiles can’t enjoy the game,
he can’t even relax because here’s the thing.
Theo is pissed.
Majorly so.
And it’s probably about the conversation he had with his dad in the kitchen.
Stiles knows Theo heard the whole thing and being supernatural and, on top of
that, Satan Himself, he knows that Stiles lied when he said Theo was sweet and
good to him.
He also knows Stiles told the truth when he said he’d had a crush on Derek and
even his dad could apparently tell that Stiles had really meant that he’s in
love, as in, way more than a crush and happening right now.
And Theo will let him pay for it.
Stiles can tell from the way he hasn’t shifted around on the sofa since the
game started. He knows that Theo is so focused on reigning in his anger that he
has no brain space left for playing at being human. And for Lucifer, Lord of
the Firelands, King of all the Demons, probably the most powerful creature
presently walking the Earth, that says a lot indeed.
And Stiles is – oh yeah, he’s scared.
Not as scared as when Theo could still physically hurt him but still.
Experience has shown that he’d always find ways to be cruel.
Needless to say, Stiles regretted what he said from the moment he sat down next
to Theo and felt him perfectly immobile next to him, body all rigid. Like he’s
been dead twelve hours.
It freaks him out.
But then his dad, on Stiles’ left, seems a little relieved. Lost in thought,
too, yes, but he doesn’t sound wary or displeased when he says, “Do you care
for Skittles, Theo?”
Stiles knows that his dad is gonna give him a talk about how wrong it is to
date someone just to avoid being on your own, but for now, he seems to have
made peace with the idea of Theo Raeken on his sofa, next to his son, and, yes,
taking his son’s hand now, too.
Because on being addressed Theo moves for the first time in thirty minutes,
like someone switched him on again. He leans forward and grabs a handful of
sweets out of the bowl the sheriff is holding out to him.
Politely says, “Thank you, Sir,” and when he leans back again, dropping a
couple of blue and red ones into his mouth with his right hand, he slides his
left up from where it had been resting on the sofa.
Lets it settle on Stiles’ hand.
Maybe the sheriff sees it, maybe he doesn’t.
But Stiles knows it has begun – the game.
Not the one on TV.
The real one, out here, with Stiles and Theo as the only players.
And this is how it starts.
 
 
 
 
Stiles is staring at the TV screen, but he’s not seeing anything.
All his senses are focusing on the back of his right hand against which Theo’s
flesh is soft and warm.
Then Theo moves and Stiles resists the urge to close his eyes. His heart is
almost beating out of his chest but he stays put on the sofa, copying his dad’s
‘yes!’s and ‘no!!’s, pretending that he’s just as immersed in the game as the
sheriff is.
Cover it up.
Walk right through it all.
Pretend like Theo doesn’t mean you when he leans in and whispers, barely
audible for you even though his voice is right next to your ear, “Show him how
happy I make you. Stiles...”
Stiles almost jumps when he feels something wet and hot and only realizes after
a second that Theo just licked his ear.
The fucking maniac.
Stiles turns his head, only a little, as if his dad would get suspicious, were
his son to face his boyfriend during what must be the most frustrating game
he’s seen all season.
But the sheriff is too upset about what’s happening on TV right now to hear his
son say in a low voice, “I had to tell him something.”
Theo lets out a soft laugh, like Ha! and looks down at his own hand still
resting lightly on top of Stiles’.
“And you chose to go with the truth.”
“So fucking what,” Stiles whisper-hisses while his dad goes, “Ryan, nooooooo!
Come on, you guys!!”
“What do you even fucking care? You want to see me suffer, Theo,” and the
anger, thank God, it’s making room for itself in his chest, like it always
does, pushing fear and sadness to the margins of his consciousness.
“What’s the difference between putting a lighter to my skin and shattering my
fucking heart? Thought you enjoy both, since you always seemed to like seeing
me in pain.”
Theo’s lips are right at Stiles’ ear again and Stiles shudders from feeling the
hot breath burn over that spot that is still wet from Theo licking it.
“I’d like to put a lighter to your skin right now, Stiles.”
Theo’s hair brushes over his skin, tickling him, as Theo drops his head down to
Stiles’ neck. Puts his lips down. Kisses him, once, and Stiles closes his eyes.
For a couple of reasons.
“I’d put the flame right here,” and he tilts his head and breathes a kiss onto
Stiles skin about an inch below his ear and causing goosebumps to spread over
his body.
“And I’d let it linger and cleanse you of that feeling in your heart...”
Another gentle kiss.
“... until all you feel is white-hot pain.”
This time he sucks at Stiles’ skin right in the crook of his neck and Stiles
can’t hold back a gasp. Luckily, the TV is too loud for his dad to hear.
“It’s good pain, Stiles,” Theo is saying now and he reaches around Stiles’
shoulder with his right hand, then lets it rest on his upper arm. Pulls his
head back to look Stiles in his big, wide-open eyes.
“It’s oblivion. A different sense of time. Anything alive is never more in the
Now than when they’re in pain.”
Lips pulling apart, widening into a smile.
“The color of your eyes...”
And he lifts both his hands, shifts on the sofa so he can cup them around
Stiles’ cheeks.
They look at each other for a second, Theo smiling, doting almost, and Stiles
staring back at him, wide-eyed.
It’s then, in this moment, that an idea hits him.
Something Stiles has never seriously considered before.
It suddenly occurs to him that Theo is looking at him like Stiles – like Stiles
is making him happy. Yeah, even though it’s not his sex-brain talking, Theo is
still looking at him like Stiles is the greatest thing he ever saw. And Theo
has seen freaking pterodactyls swoop majestically across prehistoric Earth.
For the first time ever, Stiles suddenly imagines seeing something like
affection in Theo’s gaze. Genuine affection, that is.
As in, he might be capable of love, after all.
But then again, it’s really hard to tell, what with Theo’s next sentence being,
“The urge to make you writhe and scream is growing stronger, Stiles. Be a good
boy and make me forget – then maybe,” and he lowers his voice even more, so
Stiles can barely catch it when he says, “maybe I won’t think of something to
make you regret your betrayal.”
“Betr-,“ is all Stiles manages to get out, one and a half outraged syllables,
before Theo covers his mouth with his lips.
But then, because Stiles doesn’t do anything – which makes it sort of hard to
passionately kiss, really – Theo pulls back after a few seconds.
“Stiles?”
“You alright, boys?”
The sheriff’s voice makes Stiles turn around so fast he’s certain he heard
something in his spine crack.
“Uhm. Actually, I – dad – can you pass the nachos?”
Smooth.
“No, thanks,” Theo says, politely as always when Stiles offers him the bowl,
but his grin is dirty.
And as expected, as soon as Stiles puts the bowl down on the coffee table and
the sheriff’s gaze is glued to the screen again, Theo’s hands are on Stiles’
shoulders once more, pulling him in.
“Do I make you happy, Stiles?”
Fucking no.
But Stiles isn’t gonna answer that.
So he sits there, stiff like a teddy bear with too much stuffing, while Theo
has his face buried in his neck again, trying to ignore the shivers Theo’s lips
are sending down his spine.
“So you’re saying I don’t? I don’t make you happy?”
Nope.
But still, don’t answer that.
It’s a trap.
“Okay then... maybe we should make daddy Stilinski watch. Just so you’ll enjoy
being alone with me in the future.”
It’s the faintest of whispers against Stiles’ neck, next to Theo’s fingers that
are massaging his skin with slow, lazy circles. Taking the last bit of Derek’s
scent off.
“You – wouldn’t do that.”
Not a whisper.
Stiles is too shocked to keep his voice down.
That Theo could do to his father what he’d done to Derek hasn’t even occurred
to him.
Until now.
But he wouldn’t.
That would be against the rules, yes?
And Theo loves the rules.
Hell, he made the rules.
“You – you wouldn’t.”
Desperate, yes, and Stiles isn’t even ashamed of it.
Next to him his dad is following the game and seems oblivious to what his son
is doing, probably because Theo and Stiles are leaning back and his dad is
literally on the edge of his seat.
Stiles, for his part, doesn’t even know whether they’re watching football or
baseball.
“You – wouldn’t hurt-”
“I wouldn’t,” Theo says and it sounds final and Stiles closes his eyes, as
relief washes over him.
Holy Mother in Heaven.
Theo can scare the shit out of him like nobody’s business without even lifting
a finger.
“...as long as you keep playing I’m interested in keeping everyone sane.”
Theo probably said safe, but that’s what Stiles heard anyway.
And he knows what he has to do.
Feeling utterly defeated once again, he opens his mouth, lets his jaw drop only
a little bit to signal that it’s okay, yeah, go for it.
When nothing happens and Theo is just sitting there, leaning back comfortably,
Stiles frowns.
Meets Theo’s amused smile with a gloomy gaze.
Of course he knows what the son-of-a-bitch wants.
And, fine, it’s not like Stiles has a choice here.
Besides, they’ve done worse.
A lot worse.
So he leans in, finally, and brushes his lips over Theo’s. Then scoots over, so
his right thigh is pressing against Theo’s left. Then thinks ‘Aw, hell, fuck
it’ and takes Theo’s right hand.
And goes for it.
When you close your eyes and picture someone you actually want to be kissing,
it’s not even that bad. And again, Stiles has to admit that Theo knows what
he’s doing.
For what it’s worth, he’s a good kisser.
Makes it easier for Stiles to forget, yes?
Theo’s left hand is cupping Stiles’ neck and he’s running his thumb along the
curve of his neck again and again and, all in all, it’s – it’s okay.
Not enough for Stiles to completely tune out who Theo is and what he’s done to
him but, you know.
As close as it gets.
And Stiles, he’s sort of immersed.
So absorbed in fact that he doesn’t really feel his dad shifting uncomfortably
on the sofa next to him. Maybe it’s because there is so much room between their
bodies now, what with Stiles sitting almost in Theo’s lap.
Or maybe it’s because the combined sensation of Theo’s lips and his fingers are
making him dizzy. Plus, he’s sort of trying to concentrate, okay?
He’s got a job to do here.
Saving his family from the freaking Devil is a good enough excuse for not
noticing his dad is staring at them until his dad clears his throat.
Twice, actually, the second time considerably louder to drown out people
screaming and yelling on TV, and Stiles pulls back, startled.
It doesn’t really help that there’s a moist, disgusting smacking noise when he
pulls his lower lip literally out from in-between Theo’s who had been sort of
sucking on it.
Good God.
This is mortifying.
“Uhm. There’s a TV in my room, I can-”
“Sorry, Sir,” Theo says because Stiles is too embarrassed to answer. Theo’s
hand is still in his neck and he’s holding Stiles close and it must be the
oddest sight to his dad. Especially after what Stiles told him.
So Stiles forces his lips into the most genuine smile he can muster and says,
voice a little shaky, “Sorry, dad, er.... is it okay, if we’re heading
upstairs?”
This time, Stiles means it exactly the way it comes out and even though his dad
gets this look on his face, Stiles thinks he did a fairly good job at
pretending like he really wants this.
Like he can hardly wait to get upstairs and rip Theo’s clothes off and get his
hands all over his body.
Which is – a good body right?
It’s not that hard to believe.
He makes a point of taking Theo’s hand and pulling him up with him from the
sofa. When Theo bends down to pick up one of the bowls, the sheriff says,
“Leave it,” with a dismissive gesture.
“Good night, boys,” and he sounds as defeated as Stiles is feeling when he
takes Theo up to his room, Theo’s hand burning in his palm like he’s clutching
hot coals.
 
 
 
Half an hour later Stiles has brushed his teeth, and changed into his sleep
shirt and boxers and they’re sitting on his bed and making out like two
teenagers who do it for the first time.
Somehow, it seems like he can’t get past that certain stiffness with Theo, that
awkwardness, but Theo seems to enjoy it.
Even though he’s agitated, Theo, the way he always gets after a while, reaching
for Stiles’ hand impatiently, then dropping it again immediately as if he’s
telling himself to be patient, to take it easy.
After a minute or so Stiles pulls back.
“Can we just... lie next to each other?”
Stiles may sound a little desperate, but that’s because he really is, so – sue
him.
“You can stay here but can we just not... not do anything else, please? Theo?”
Hearing his name from Stiles’ lips seems to do the trick because Theo frowns,
starting to shake his head slowly. Then halts the movement and huffs out a
breathless laugh.
“You’re killing me here, Stiles.”
And really – Theo’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes, somehow, moist.
It’s with a certain resignation that Stiles acknowledges he knows Theo well
enough to know this look.
It’s arousal, right there in his face.
He’s turned on.
Like – majorly.
And when you drop your gaze down to his lap you’ll find proof of it too, the
kind of evidence no one could overlook, really.
There’s a visible bulge in his skinny jeans that he already had to unbutton and
he probably still can’t be sitting there completely pain free right now.
“Theo, come on.”
Theo laughs, loudly this time.
“Don’t say my name like that, Stiles.”
“Just leave me alone for tonight, please, Theo.”
Theo runs both hands through his hair and curses under his breath. He’s looking
at the ceiling like he needs to clear his head but can’t while Stiles is
looking at him.
Stiles doesn’t really understand, but it seems like hearing him say his name
like this, pleadingly, like Stiles is turning to him, needing him to be a
certain way for him, Stiles, is turning Theo on even more.
“Holy shit, how did I ever make this pact,” Theo suddenly says and Stiles feels
like he’s missing something. Like a big chunk of the conversation has been
chopped out of his memory and dumped in the trash bin next to Stiles’ desk.
“Stiles, you can’t ask me to just not touch you tonight,” and, yes, from the
way Theo is looking right now, all ruined here in front of him on the bed, it
seems like he’s actually considering it. Even more – like can’t not do what
Stiles is asking of him.
But the thing is this.
Just asking Theo to not torment him has never really been an option.
And God, has Stiles ever pleaded with him, fucking begged him to stop, begged
on his hands and knees and sobbing, crying for him to stop for only a minute,
give him air to breathe, please.
So – what’s different now?
Why is Theo not throwing him down onto the mattress and ripping his boxers off
with is teeth, but is still sitting there, saying once again, “You realize
that’s a fucking obnoxious thing to demand, right?”
“I’m asking you, Theo. Please.”
And Theo meets his eyes.
The look he’s giving Stiles is clouded, he seems a little dazed by how much he
really wants to fuck him right now, but it seems like he’s searching Stiles’
face for a clue as to whether he’s serious or not.
And understanding hits Stiles in the stomach, almost sweeps him off the
mattress.
The difference here, it’s not Theo.
Theo who hasn’t changed, who has always been the same in essentials, pact or no
pact.
It’s him, Stiles.
He never asked Theo to spare him while believing Lucifer wouldactually listento
Stiles. He’s never spoken to him with this amount of – of trust.
While he’s still Stiles’ freaking nemesis, he actually trusts Theo to not cross
a certain line right now.
But why – why is that?
And it’s with a certain fear that he’s looking at Theo now, a completely new
kind of fear.
And Theo huffs out another laugh, in the middle between a snort and a moan.
“Fuck,” he says, runs his hands through his hair again, “Fuck. Stiles. You
can’t fucking – this stupid pact...”
Oh, yes, right, this too.
Consensual.
Stiles is beginning to see.
Clearer than he has ever before.
And he scoots over to Theo, closer to him and does something he never thought
he would do – completely voluntarily, at least. He takes Theo’s face in his
hands, cups them around Theo’s flushed cheeks and thereby perfectly mirrors
what Theo did earlier that night and he feels, yes.
Powerful.
And it’s so elating, such a fucking rush, that Stiles leans in and kisses him.
Just to prolong the feeling of having Theo absolutely melt under his touch.
Then leans back a little to see the ruined expression on his face.
“I need you to give me some space tonight,” another kiss, “Please, Theo.”
Theo is panting.
He’s looking at Stiles with these wild eyes, like he wants to throw him down
and just fuck into him, but he can’t, he’s mesmerized by Stiles’ fingertips and
by the brush of his lips.
It’s the ecstasy of Stiles kissing him because he wants to and it makes Theo
almost come apart, then and there.
And Stiles knows all about it.
His heart is beating loudly even though he feels calmer than he ever has in his
life.
And it’s not an empty calmness either.
It’s a heavy silence in his chest and head, a comfortable darkness that huddles
up against him, wraps around his shoulders and stomach and back, head and arms
and legs, everything.
He feels safe and powerful and that’s what makes him take Theo by the hand and
tug at it, gently, making him move so Stiles can flip the comforter back and
they can both slip underneath, and Theo reacts.
First he scoots a little to the right and climbs down from the comforter – with
a clumsiness Stiles has never seen on him before.
Then he shoves his pants down with his free hand, probably because they’re
hurting him, because he can’t take the tightness anymore and Stiles suddenly
finds himself nodding, yes.
Yes, go ahead.
I’ll let you do that before we sleep.
Theo’s cheeks are red and his lips look swollen like he bit them repeatedly,
but it’s just the look of someone near climaxing. He reaches into his boxers
and then his dick is in his hands and he’s stroking it or, rather giving it
violent jerks, his eyes never leaving Stiles’ who mildly wonders how on earth
they got here.
It’s so odd, how Theo is still clutching his hand like he’s holding on for dear
life and Stiles is alternating between staring back at him or looking down at
Theo’s penis.
The sounds he’s making, too.
Stiles can feel himself getting turned on, but he won’t act on it.
And it’s okay, too, just this dull kind of arousal that you learn to live with
as a teenager.
Plus, Stiles is hurting too much for that still, both mentally and physically.
But he does lean forward once more to kiss Theo on the lips who moans into his
mouth and licks at him hungrily.
Then Stiles pulls back again and that’s all it took, just these ten to twenty
seconds and Theo is coming and - watching it happen is the weirdest thing.
Stiles has seen it before, yes, but never with a mind that’s sort of at ease.
Not thinking of anything. Just acknowledging the fact that shortly before
Theo’s shoulders start shaking and his chest begins heaving violently, his eyes
roll back into his head and he lets out a moan, just one, soft and drawn. Then
he’s looking at Stiles, a veil over his eyes, cheeks flecked with red spots and
Stiles can feel the streams of come hit the fabric of his own boxers and shirt,
but he doesn’t really care.
Theo’s whole body goes limp and he falls forward, panting, and Stiles catches
him.
He doesn’t really know why he did it.
It was more of an impulse than anything else.
He almost immediately shifts but doesn’t drop him, no. He lowers Theo down onto
the mattress, carefully almost.
Then, unsure of what just happened – not concerning Theo, but himself – Stiles
moves away and grabs a Kleenex from his nightstand to gather Theo’s come with
it, wipe it off as best as he can.
Theo watches Stiles get up and change into a pair of fresh boxers that’s not
soaked in come, a new shirt.
No words ares being spoken while Stiles walks over, flicks off the light, then
makes his way back to his bed in the dark, and lies down next to Theo.
Pulls the comforter over both their bodies.
No fussing around.
No complaints.
Not even hatred, only low-key displeasure that he has to share his small bed
with another person.
Theo doesn’t put his arm around him, doesn’t even try to touch Stiles. He’s
still breathing more heavily than usual, lying on his back and staring ahead
into the darkness, but he isn’t bothering him, and Stiles’ last conscious
thought is, again, accompanied by mild surprise, sort of a heavy, but delicious
sadness,
So, this is it?
This is how it’s going to be?
It’s not what he ever really imagined for himself, and he’ll take a long time
to heal.
But it’s okay.
He’ll learn to have his moments and he’ll change enough so the past won’t
matter so much anymore.
 
 
 
 ***
 
When Stiles wakes up, it’s a sudden coming to consciousness, like someone
slapped him.
His eyes are wide open and what he realizes immediately is this.
This is different.
Something – feels off.
He’s lying in his bed alright, walls around him where they should be, the dark
outline of his lamp just barely visible against the even darker ceiling, and,
turning his head a little, there’s his nightstand with the familiar stack of
books on it, his clock with the glow-in-the-dark hands (2 a.m.) and the box of
Kleenex that he used to make a point of hiding in the top drawer because
nothing says ‘I jerk off’ like a box of tissues on a teenage boy’s nightstand.
Until the whole Theo thing had started and Stiles sort of stopped caring.
That’s it.
He isn’t there.
Theo.
Stiles reaches out, feels the mattress to his right, but it’s empty, cold.
Like no one has been lying there until recently.
His blanket is wrapped tightly around his body, too.
No additional pillow.
“Theo?”
He says into the darkness and right then, right when the sound of his own voice
should hit his ears, but doesn’t, Stiles knows what’s up.
He sits up in bed fast, eyes darting around the room.
His heart is beating violently.
When he puts his naked feet on the carpet there’s no shuffle, no soft swoosh.
Stiles walks over to the window, pushes the curtains out of his way, then
unlatches and opens it, and it gives in to Stiles’ hands effortlessly, glides
up smoothly and silently.
The street outside looks like it always does, rows of mailboxes, houses in all
shades of dark against the night sky that’s so blue it’s almost black, almost.
Leaves of trees moving in the light breeze, parked cars, a cat on their
neighbor’s wall, blinking her lantern eyes up to Stiles like she had been
waiting for him and Stiles stumbles a few steps backwards.
The silence out there is even worse than the one in here.
It’s not completely soundless though, no.
More like the room, the house, the neighborhood, are under a giant, air-tight
sarcophagus and someone has sucked all the air out of it, replaced it with
something breathable but thicker, somehow, a dense but transparent filler in
which sound travels only with effort, only when Stiles claps his hands in front
of his face vigorously and with rising panic, he can hear a faint echo, like
he’s clapping them in the distance, like his arms are half a mile long.
And Stiles knows what this is, too.
It’s the trademark soundlessness. Hers.
Phanuel.
But it has never travelled so far, never up to this room, not like this.
Makes Stiles feel like he’s being steeped in some sort of preservative that has
already been sucked into his lungs, drawn into his blood, every fiber of his
body during sleep, and it’s too late.
But – why would he think that.
Shouldn’t he feel relieved?
Glad that it – this is happening?
His guardian angel has done something to the night, yes, but he’s one of the
good guys, yes?
Never mind what Stiles thought before, Feniel is still trying to protect him,
right?
Save him.
Stiles slowly turns around in his room, as if trying to decide what to do, who
to call. It never occurred to him yet to turn on the lights – maybe because he
feels like that might trigger some sort of chain reaction, like as soon as the
spark from the light bulb hits whatever this room, this town is filled with –
not air – might ignite and set the night on fire.
Then Stiles’ eyes find the letter.
It’s sitting on his desk, propped up against a stack of books that seemed to
have been piled on top of each other deliberately to hold the white envelope on
which Stiles can make out his own name blinking over to him in the darkness.
STILES.
Big letters penciled onto the surface with the sharpie that’s lying next to it
on the desk, like the person who meant to leave it behind had forgotten to
address it to him, had seen the sharpie and, following a sudden impulse, put
Stiles’s name down there.
Like Stiles, if he found a closed letter on his desk in his room without a name
on the front, would think, Gee, I wonder who that is for?
Stiles walks over to the desk and picks the envelope up.
It’s heavy and thick, like someone shoved more pages into it than would really
fit.
Stiles stares at it for a second, at the big but not necessarily clumsy,
writing, then rips it open unceremoniously and when the sound comes out
completely wrong, like a choked record rather than the sound of torn paper, he
shudders.
Pulls the sheet out of the envelope and, coming out with it, are two smaller
letters which of course explains its weight. They land noiselessly on the
floor, one on top of Stiles’ feet and Stiles can see that words are written on
them as well, but not with sharpie, several lines, what looks like addresses,
penned down in thin, fine lettering.
Stiles just lets the empty envelope drop to the floor as well, then lifts his
gaze to look at what he’s holding in his hands.
It’s a single sheet of paper, folded twice to fit in the envelope and Stiles
opens it with trembling fingers.
He makes a few steps over to the window, then tilts his hand with the paper so
the faint light coming in from the streetlights and moon, ghosting over the
floor and Stiles’ naked feet and hands, would also illuminate the writing that
looks like someone hurried over the surface, dropping uneven black letters all
over it, rather than lingering on wording or elegance.
Tilts his head a little, too, and starts reading the letter that starts with,
 
 
 
Stiles,
it is going to happen soon, and, I fear, I will not be entirely able to
influence the outcome.
So when you read this, it means that things have taken their foreordained
course and Lucifer has been dealt with, finally.
But I want you to not worry and, please, understand.
I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and reached the conclusion that,
yes, it is worth it.
I’m talking about the greater good, and the words have never meant more to me
than now. It has to be like this, Stiles.
Please pass the encased letter on to my sister (address on the envelope), the
other one to Scott. He’s a good guy.
I cannot write more, I have to focus now, or it might yet fail.
But know this.
That keeping you safe is the thing that matters most to me and be ensured that,
even though I wish I’d lived differently, being able to choose the way I’ll go,
and why, makes me happy now almost.
Yours eternally.
D.
 
 
 
Stiles lets his hand with the letter drop, like it’s too heavy.
He’s standing in the middle of the dark room, facing the window.
Eyes closed and who knows what he’s seeing there.
More darkness, probably.
***** LUCIFER UNLEASHED *****
Chapter Summary
     . . .
      
      
     . . .
Chapter Notes
     edit: you guys, there's an epilogue :* (I uploaded that as Part 2)
     (rather than a summary, I thought I'd just let the emptiness sit
     there...)
     final chapter and a last twist, as I hope. love me or hate me, there
     was no other way. or, maybe I just didn’t think about it hard enough
     – or, could be that I’m just that cynical.
     anyway, if you’re like me and you can’t bear NOT knowing beforehand
     whether a character is going to die or not, then go down to the note
     at the end that'll tell you
     thank you all for being so wonderful, for encouraging me to continue,
     for sharing your thoughts and inspiring me <3 <3 I feel blessed to
     have you as readers - I hope you'll like (or at least do not
     completely hate) the ending that I concocted
See the end of the chapter for more notes
 
                          I had seen birth and death,
                      But had thought they were different
                          (“The Journey of the Magi”)
 
 
                                I see you now.
                              (Stiles Stilinski)
 
 
 
 
D.
D for Derek, isn’t it?
D_____ .
No time to sign his full name, no time to explain, just – no time.
Only this.
Derek is going to die.
No – if Stiles is to believe the letter Derek left for him, he’s dead already.
Stiles opens his eyes and the soundless darkness hits his pupils.
He blinks several times but the room is still slipping in and out of focus and
Stiles knows, this isn’t Farnoêlle’s doing.
It’s the panic rising in his throat.
“N-no,” he says to the room, but his voice is still strangely muffled by the
weird atmosphere that Stiles woke up to.
“No... no, Derek... no....”
And he’s running his hands through his hair, accidentally drops the letter,
picks it back up, then has to move, is moving, shifting around, then pacing his
room, staring ahead, but not seeing anything, and he’s going to scream, he
knows he’s going to scream, God, oh God, please.
For the first time in his life he knows how Lydia feels.
He needs to – he has to fucking do something, must – call – just call Scott or,
or – anyone, just – get help. This isn’t happening, please.
Don’t let this happen.
Stiles stumbles over to his nightstand, picks his phone up and unlocks it. His
hands are shaking so violently that he only manages to hit the icon upon
tapping the display for like the fifth time.
His thoughts are looping just this one word.
No – no – no – no – no – no – no...
But it makes sense now.
It’s all making sense.
“Fuck!!”
Frustrated, Stiles throws his phone against the wall.
There’s no sound when it breaks apart on contact and drops on the carpet in
pieces.
Then his knees can no longer hold.
Helplessly, Stiles drops to the floor, his whole body shaking and he’s hugging
his shoulders, eyes wide open.
Because he knows, yes, he knows.
It’s why the angel’s plan will succeed after all.
It’s why Derek agreed to go along with it, it’s why he believed it would work.
It’s also why he’d apparently been hesitant for a long time.
Afraid.
It’s why angelic pacts aren’t comparable to deals with the devil.
They’re exactly the same – unjustly favoring the party on behalf of which it is
forged.
Not deal with an angel.
Deal for an angel.
It’s why Scott and the rest of the pack have always only had half of the plan,
like one half of a photograph that the angel has ripped apart, the one with the
beach and the sunset, while Phanual is fucking clutching the piece with the
bloodied corpse in a deck chair under a large umbrella.
It’s why the angel’s plan has never really been a plan at all.
It has never been about tricking Lucifer.
It has been about overpowering him.
And what is stronger than a human entering into a pact, lending their bodies to
heavenly powers?
A sacrifice.
The ultimate sacrifice.
Offering their lives up to the supernatural powers like brave little soldiers.
Giving your life itself.
A sacrifice so powerful, not even Lucifer could withstand.
It’s why it has never been about saving Stiles at all.
Or about any human whatsoever.
It has always, from the very beginning, been about power.
The thoughts are running wild in Stiles’ head while he’s breathing in and out
heavily, but not getting any air, it’s not working, it’s not – okay, focus,
focus, FOCUS!!
And he jumps up, fingers clutching strands of his own hair, but he just opens
his hands and lets them flutter to the carpet, then darts out of his room,
almost braining himself on the door frame in the darkness.
“Dad,” he breathes out, his voice not really working, even if it could spite
the foreign silence, “Dad, dad...,” and he throws the door to his father’s
bedroom open. Finds it empty, the bed made like no one lay in it in a long
time.
Maybe ever.
Stiles is alone in the house.
And he’s also alone in this neighborhood, the only living, moving, breathing
thing with the exception of the cat on the wall in front of the house, maybe.
It’s why no one comes running, no one so much as sticks their head out the
window, no light goes on in any of the houses when Stiles screams.
No, this can’t be true.
What is this – where has Faniel trapped him?
And why?
What is going on?
Stiles is still breathing too much, too fast, he’s lightheaded and Derek, Derek
is dying and he isn’t the only one and Stiles can’t do anything about it and
there’s no one who could, no one, no one –
And then he stops.
Drops to his knees in front of his dad’s bed.
That’s right.
There is one.
One – creature who could do something, and who would, Stiles knows it to be
true, who would if he only asked.
If he offered whatever.
And Stiles starts, desperately weak at first.
“Theo...”
Then louder, more determined, “Theo.”
At last, he’s yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs even though his voice
barely seems to make it a few inches out into the viscous night, that tenacious
silence that is wrapping around him tightly like a huge transparent chewing
gum.
“Theo! Theooo!”
And he’s sobbing in-between words, “Theo, you fucking son-of-a-bitch...”
He has to hear him.
He can't have been extinguished. Stiles will only believe it when he sees it.
And then Stiles’ ears pick up a sound that he didn’t make, it’s faint, but it’s
there.
“Stiles... Stiles?”
It’s coming from the hallway.
Stiles jumps up – his knees, they can barely support his weight and his legs
are shaking so badly as he spills out onto the hallway, hits his shoulder hard
on the doorframe on his way out once again, doesn’t care.
“Theo – Theo-”
“Stiles, where the fuck are you?”
And right in front of him, Theo is shifting into focus.
He looks like a hologram, the way his image is flickering and a little fuzzy
around the legs.
Solid, then transparent again and Stiles understands.
Something that Faniel said.
Hasn’t anyone ever told you that if spoken correctly, if you say it the right
way, a person’s name can summon that person himself, almost?
And he repeats Theo’s name, is calling out to him, wanting him here, by his
side, for once.
Needing him here.
And it works, of course it does.
Stiles knows it does because it’s part of Phanual’s plan.
Why would he have told Stiles otherwise?
But Stiles has made a decision.
Spinning around himself in his room, tearing out strands of his own hair, it
popped into his mind, what it is that he has to do and he can’t think, can’t
reflect on it right now, no time, Derek’s dying, no time.
Stiles just knows.
“Stiles! Stiles, talk to me, Stiles!”
Theo is shaking him violently and from the way he’s gripping Stiles’ shoulders,
it seems like he wants to make sure Stiles is real, not just opaque but flesh
and blood.
“Fuck, I can’t hear your heartbeat in this – I woke up and you were gone,
nowhere in the house and-”
“It’s Ferniel,” Stiles says and repeats it and clutches Theo’s wrists to make
him stop, to make him listen.
It is vital that he listen and understand.
“It’s Ferniel and he’s doing this and he got Derek to sacrifice himself and you
gotta – save him – make it stop, it’s not supposed to, it’s not-”
“Stiles, Stiles, calm down! What the hell are you talking about?”
Theo’s voice sounds like someone is messing with the volume and it’s driving
Stiles crazy, but at least he can catch the words.
“This, this, all around us, the – the soundlessness, he – she did this-”
“Stiles,” and Theo shakes Stiles’ hands off with determination and grabs his
shoulders tightly to make him listen, “Stiles, I know. I know, calm down, all
is good. Calm down.”
“No you don’t understand, dumbass,” Stiles is yelling and he’s shaking and
writhing and Theo has trouble holding him steady, “You don’t fucking – it’s
Derek, Phanuel got him to sacrifice himself, you gotta stop the – the ritual or
whatever this is, you gotta save him, Theo, please, please-”
Theo blinks, an expression of surprise on his face.
Then he reacts instantly.
He lets go of Stiles and then he’s in the bedroom, moving so fast that Stiles
can barely see it. When he stumbles into the room, Theo has picked Derek’s
letter up from the floor, is frowning over the lines, but only for a moment.
Then his eyes widen.
He lets his hand with the letter sink and turns around and Stiles doesn’t know
what to make of his expression.
Horror.
“Theo, wh-”
But a noise from downstairs is stopping him.
Someone is moving around downstairs, it sounds like chairs are scraping across
the tiles, like a table is being dragged through the room below this one, and
Stiles shouldn’t be able to hear it, but since he does he knows it’s meant for
him. And he turns around and follows it without thinking, doesn’t even hear
Theo call out to him.
“No, Stiles, don’t!”
Stiles hurries down the stairs and it’s easy now, not like the air is resisting
his every movement. So Stiles would know he’s going the right way.
When Stiles walks into the kitchen, he is not surprised about the scene.
The table has indeed been pulled back from the wall. It’s in the middle of the
kitchen now, chairs pushed out of the way as if to make room around it.
And then, there’s Faniel, beautiful and ethereal, hovering near the fridge and
its whiteness looks oddly dirty and used next to her chiseled, luminescent
paleness.
And then, there’s Derek.
Living, breathing, from the looks of it.
Now, that does surprise Stiles a little, admittedly.
Also, he’s relieved, so relieved, holy shit.
“Derek,” he starts towards him, “Derek, wh-” but a tight grip wraps around his
wrist, pulls him back.
Stiles tugs at it angrily, turns around to tell Theo to let go, but is met with
a stern look.
“That’s not Derek.”
And Theo is addressing Phanualle now.
“Am I right? Old friend?”
When she speaks, her voice protrudes through the room and goes right into
Stiles’ brain, makes it vibrate, as if the silence were especially made to wrap
around it, channel it.
“He’s not gone, if that’s what you mean.”
They have locked eyes and Stiles thinks he can feel the tension – the power.
Almost like, if he stretched out his hand, he could touch it.
But then, Theo won’t let go of it. Of Stiles’ hand.
He’s still clutching it tightly and Stiles – he’s glad about it.
It’s like Theo’s hand is the only thing keeping him from slipping into this
reality completely, dissolving into the silence.
Become a part of its odd density.
Theo’s stepping into the room now and shoving Stiles behind his back, almost as
if shielding him.
“You pulled a nice little trick,” he says, grimacing, like, in his head, he’s
really calling the angel names.
“You set up a dimension around Stiles just to lure me here? Why go out of your
way like this?”
Stiles has a hard time following.
For one, he’s absolutely wrecked from the massive panic attacks he’s just been
through, his whole body is still trembling in the aftermath. Then, second, his
eyes are on Derek’s features that are, if not lifeless, then completely
indifferent. What’s more horrible is that Derek seems to be looking back at
him, Stiles. Cognizant, that is.
Recognizing him.
And not caring.
But besides that, is sounded like Theo just said that Pheniel created a
separate dimension – like this is, in fact, an alternate dimension, set up for
a sole purpose. To trap Stiles in here, make him panic and call out to Theo.
Right.
Call him, say his name, summon him.
Because –
“Well, it’s not like you would have come, had I been the one saying your name.
Isn’t that right, Mylord?”
Theo doesn’t even snort or chuckle or roll his eyes.
He’s apparently beyond sarcasm and condescension because all there is on his
face is this deadly coldness, like his whole features are locked in it, and
Stiles understands that that’s the look Theo gets when he realized something
went horribly wrong.
For him.
“I knew you were an obnoxious little worm, Fannial. I should have gotten rid of
you long ago.”
And he’s gazing at her beautiful and soft features with a look of utmost
disgust, as if he could see right through the flesh and spot something nasty
there. Something dead.
“But then, Mylord, if I understand correctly, you never hit the right
frequency. And you never succeeded in banning me completely.”
Smiling evanescently.
“Because I couldn’t say your name right, it didn’t work properly,” Theo is
saying now and it sounds grim. Bitter.
The truth.
“Oh yes, the syllables, they’re ever changing,” Farnoelle says and she lets out
a melodic laugh that sounds like two voices wrapped into one and makes Stiles’
head swoon.
He rounds Theo slowly, carefully, and attempts yet another advance into Derek’s
direction, but Theo keeps him from moving further into the room, this time by
simply wrapping his whole arm around Stiles’ upper body, pulling him into a hug
and keeping him there, flush against his hot chest that is heaving in anger.
“I will not be summoned,” Phonoél is now saying haughtily and her eyes fall on
Stiles, “I will not be called or sent anywhere I do not choose to go. Unlike
the Lord of the Lands of Fire who lets himself be called by a human boy.”
And then she speaks to Stiles directly.
“You see, Stiles – to call Lucifer into another dimension, to make him fold
himself into the hole – willingly – it did not just take anyone to do that. I
could not have accomplished it. It had to be you.”
Her words weigh so heavy on Stiles’ ears and mind, he wants to scream.
“What did you do to Derek?” he forces out, even though it takes him quite an
effort to barge into these two ancient beings conversing – yes, in a language
that he, Stiles, can understand, at a pace he can follow even, but not meant
for him.
“Did it not say in the letter?” Faniel says with a slow, dismissive gesture.
“In any way, you guessed right, Stiles. He gave himself up for you – but,
ultimately, for me. You see, the vessel has to agree or I cannot take it.”
“So – so – he-”
Swallows.
Panic rising again, he wouldn’t have thought it possible. He would have assumed
that, by this time, he’d be incapable of falling apart even further.
“Calm down, Stiles,” Theo grits out. “It’s just a spell. Derek is fine.”
“Ah, yes, he is fine,” Phanial says. “Right now. But he won’t be anymore in a
few – what do you call it? Minutes.”
Stiles is blinking and Theo doesn’t react either, so Faniel continues without
interruption, ends her sentence with, “...for thou wilt slay him, Mylord. To
retort to a language that weighs more heavily for an important occasion like
this.”
“But – but you’re my guardian angel,” Stiles says, eyes wide open and his voice
raspy and even though he cannot hear it, Phanual seems to catch it.
Well, not surprisingly.
She made the silence after all.
The silence is made of her.
“I was just using terms you would understand, Stiles. And if you know Lucifer
as evil, as I trust you do – I am, indeed, his counterpart. His opposing
force.”
“She cannot bear bowing down to me, Stiles, none of them can,” Theo says
bitterly, “Or understand my fixation on life, human life in particular.”
“He is cruel, Stiles. You know that. Listen to your heart,” Faniel says and her
watery blue eyes seem to penetrate directly into his soul.
It’s not only uncomfortable. It’s fucking maddening, like an ice cold hand
reaching into his soul and – twisting around things.
“And yet, are you so different? Using – using him- you filthy little-”
“For the greater good,” she says with finality and then flicks her eyes over to
where Derek has been standing throughout the whole exchange, perfectly
immobile.
“He is Lucifer, Stiles. He is the Devil. Do not forget that,” Phanuelle
continues but she is looking at Derek, her blue eyes gazing at him now as if
she’s telling him what to do telepathically.
“I can hear your thoughts, Stiles. I can read your mind. I know what you feel
at all times. And it’s the strength and depth of your emotion that made this
possible, Stiles, and I want to thank you for that. Stiles... And I beg you,
please remember what you wanted before – what you’ve always wanted, Stiles,
even though you feel like you’re going insane, and like you do not know right
from wrong anymore. Do not give in to this. There is a right. There is a wrong.
Always.”
She lifts her right hand and it looks like she’s casting a spell, but it’s
probably just showmanship.
“Rid yourself and this universe of him and free the Here and Now of the vilest
of all creatures. Forever. Derek.”
And Derek turns his head to look at her, and Theo, who is still pressing Stiles
to his chest, is forcing words into his ear now, “Remember what I told you,
Stiles, trust your instincts! There’s no such thing as purity. It’s about
balance.”
He’s holding him so tight, Stiles can hardly breathe, and he seems desperate,
almost, Theo. Like he knows what’s about to happen.
Because a moment later, Stiles is being wrenched out of his arms, away from the
warmth of his chest and stomach and from this scent that is just Theo – the
only thing familiar to Stiles in this bizarre kitchen that looks like his but
isn’t.
It’s the oddest feeling, how his whole body is being tugged across the room and
then the force, or invisible strings, or whatever it was – it’s just gone again
abruptly and Stiles almost topples over. Slowly, clumsily, turns around to
throw a look back at Theo who’s straining against, yes, invisible chains would
probably be the best term.
He looks a lot like Scott did that one day in what feels like a different
lifetime, when he tried to hurl himself at Theo but just – couldn’t.
Like he’s in pain, and his eyes are flashing a deep yellow bleeding into red
around the edges and he’s baring his fangs and Stiles can practically touch the
vibes of sheer power rolling off of him.
But it’s no use.
That must be Farnial’s combined omicron powers Scott had been talking about.
So, apparently a part of what the angel had told them is true. And it seems to
be working.
But he certainly never said anything about this because now Phaniel commands,
her voice mesmerizing, “Derek. Derek. Do it.”
And before Stiles can even ask, before he can even wonder, Do what, how and to
whom?, it’s already happening.
Derek is in front of him all of a sudden, and his hand shoots up to grip
Stiles’ neck and push his head down so Stiles is bending over. Derek’s fingers
are hurting him and just – what the fuck is going on.
He thinks he can hear Theo snarl and throw expletives at Phanial who stands
silently by, so apparently Theo knows what this is.
And then Derek speaks for the first time.
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I really am,” and Stiles suddenly finds himself hunched
over the table thinking, Oh.
Alright.
So that’s what this is for.
The table.
That’s why it is where it is.
Not that Foeniel would have had to physically push it into the middle of the
room for this purpose, not in a dimension that consists of nothing but her
thoughts. But it served as a way to summon him, Stiles, down here.
“Derek,” Stiles forces out, not sure if the calling-someone’s-name-thing is
working with him, too, but it’s definitely worth a try. Derek is pressing his
upper body and head onto the table, flattening Stiles’ cheek on the table top
and bruising his cheek bone and, yeah, as good a shot as any, so he keeps
repeating, “Derek, what the fuck are you doing. Derek, listen to me. Derek!
Fucking stop!”
Because suddenly he feels a hand tugging at his boxers violently, working them
down over his hips.
Stiles can’t believe it.
“Ah, it’s no use, Stiles. Your voice cannot reach further than your breath.”
But Ferniel’s explanation is pointless. Stiles wouldn’t have spoken anymore
anyway.
The relief to see Derek alive has given way to a silent horror.
Stiles stares ahead at the cupboard in the brightly lit kitchen, the counter
with the coffee maker and knife block on top while Derek is moving behind him.
Stiles knows he’s opening his pants.
Then he can feel him grab his butt cheek so forcefully as if he were planning
on ripping it clear out of Stiles’ body.
And then it’s already there, at Stiles’ entrance and he – he can’t believe this
is happening.
This is not fucking happening and the only thing left for Stiles to say,
ridiculously, absolutely fucking ironically, is,
“Theo – help-”
Well, it does make sense, all irony aside, as in Theo being the only one
present willing to stop this.
Not just willing.
Stiles can hear him thrashing against the door and he’s snarling, he’s going
totally nuts over there.
But it doesn’t change anything about Derek’s dick pushing up against Stiles’
hole and it feels like a piece of wood that Derek tries to clumsily insert into
Stiles’ butt and he fucking cannot believe this is happening.
It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.
Stiles can hear a frustrated growl – for some reason Derek’s voice travels
easily, just like Farnoelle’s – and then Stiles yells out in pain, even though,
of course, it comes out as a muffled yelp, like Stiles is pressing his head
into a pillow and is not, in fact, being bent over a table in his own kitchen
by Derek Hale who just pushed his thumb into Stiles’ butt hole in what seems
like the somewhat apish attempt to pull it open.
Then Derek’s finger feels moist suddenly, and Stiles doesn’t know whether it’s
something Phanual did or whether Derek actually spit on it, but a moment later
Derek rips his finger out and Stiles bites down onto his lower lip to stifle,
completely needlessly, another yell.
Then closes his eyes. Says, “Theo, please, help me, please...” but even in the
other reality, it would have come as a mere whisper really.
He has not yet struggled against Derek’s grip and that’s because he physically
can’t.
He’s totally and completely frozen.
Deer-in-the-headlight-immobile.
He can’t move a finger and not because of something Pheniell did. It’s because
he’s fucking scared to death.
He went into shock.
...and then Derek is pushing into him.
And Stiles’ vision goes black.
 
 
 
 
 
 
So there actually is a worse.
Stiles should have known.
There’s always something more soul shattering than what you experienced before.
Probably because Stiles went into this already broken.
And if Stiles were to be taken out of this scene and given time to think and
marvel and reflect, he probably couldn’t say what is worse, really.
Being coerced into sex – which is effectively rape – by Theo with his ex-
girlfriend and the dude Stiles is in love with forced to listen to the whole
thing.
Or being bent over the kitchen table by that very guy and, with Theo forced to
watch, being fucked so roughly, so savagely, that Stiles knows he’s bleeding
after the third thrust.
Derek is raping him, and that’s already the euphemism, and he’s going at a rate
that Stiles knows, too, that he will not survive this.
And the pain, God.
The pain.
Around the edges of his mind Stiles is wondering whether Derek had seen any of
this coming. Whether he’d suspected that Pheniel would use his body as a
machine to get back at Theo and, while doing so, destroy Stiles.
Curtains up and enter his very own guardian angel.
Old Stiles would have had a few dry comments about the irony, the fucking joke
his entire existence seems to be.
New Stiles – the one bent over said table – is hurting.
He’s drooling onto the table top and his saliva is mixing with the stuff
trickling out of his eyes and his cheeks are scraping over the wooden surface
and his feet are numb.
Then, all of a sudden, Derek’s hand in his neck is gone.
And so is Derek.
No longer held up by brute force, Stiles slowly slides off the table. Collapses
on the floor. Tries to move, sit up, or anything at all, but can’t. Too
painful.
He knows he’s seriously injured.
He felt it tear.
He’s panting and trying to breathe the pain away but it’s so overwhelming that
he can’t see.
It’s only when he hears Theo frantically call “Stiles!! Stiles, breathe!
Fucking stay with me, don’t you dare-” that he finds it in himself to force his
eyes open.
Stiles peels back his eyelids and makes the room slip into focus, even though
it hurts his pupils. The neon light seems brighter than before.
It’s Theo, a few feet away from him, and he has wrestled Derek to the ground
and this is it.
The moment.
It’s either Theo or Derek now.
Only one of them will come out physically alive in this reality – a fight to
the death.
The ultimate showdown.
That’s what Derek was talking about in his letter even though he certainly
didn’t think it would go down like this.
And just as anticipated, Theo is struggling with the forces of his pact that
seem to be running wild, Stiles can see it, he has trouble lifting his arm but
still does it and there’s blood pouring out of his ears and eyes, along with
black stuff that seems to be oozing from his whole body, every crook and fold.
Lucifer is literally about to burst out of his shell.
This is it.
The end.
 
 
 
 
Then Stiles comes to – or that’s what it feels like.
Only a second has passed, if at all, but he can suddenly see a little clearer,
the pain a little less vivid maybe or maybe it’s because he saw Ferniel shift
at the edge of his, Stiles’ vision.
It’s in this instant that he knows what he has to do.
He takes a deep breath.
Then he speaks.
“Theo! I release you.”
It happens instantly.
Theo falls forward, comes crushing down onto Derek, collapsing on top of him
from the sheer force of having the powers of the pact ripped out of him.
Stiles did it.
He said the words.
He lifted the pact.
Freed Lucifer.
Unleashed him.
For a few heart beats nothing happens.
Then Theo darts up and he looks over to Stiles, just one quick glance.
And then he’s already lifting his claw, ready to leap at his victim, the
deadliest creature on the planet again.
Ready to kill – Derek?
Is it-?
Not bound by a human pact, no restraint for his cruelty, for his lust to
mangle, shatter and kill.
And, oh, does he ever want to.
For a moment, it might seem like Stiles picked Lucifer over Derek.
Like he unbound him and thus gave him the ultimate advantage over him.
Like it was he, Stiles who picked the winner in this fight to the death.
But – understand.
You have to consider that, Stiles and Theo, they exchanged a look. A meaningful
one and, knowing each other deeply, Theo understood instantly what it was that
Stiles wanted him to do.
And it’s not to kill Derek.
Because the desperate wish to save Derek is what got them both into this in the
first place.
So, when Theo jumps, it’s not at Derek who’s on the floor under him, exposed to
his sharp claws and weak and utterly helpless, knocked unconscious.
No, not Derek.
Theo hurls himself at the angel who has been watching the scene with nothing
less than shellshock written into her beautiful features – and Theo’s vision is
red and all he can see is his prey, he’s needed this, been craving it.
And Farniel?
Before Theo can hit her she moves out of the way swiftly, with otherworldly
speed and then she does the weirdest thing.
Stiles can’t really be sure because he’s still in shock and he’s losing blood,
too, but it looks like Phanuel is transforming.
Or, no.
She’s shedding her skin and it’s absolutely fucking disgusting, the way the
head is twisting out of the blonde woman’s mouth that is grotesquely widened,
coiling and uncoiling, an ugly little thing with white, dead skin and long
black hair being born out of the human vessel and the word Nagini shoots into
Stiles’ head, he doesn’t know why.
Then the body is just lying there, mouth locked in a bizarre laugh, but
otherwise looking normal, skin as doughy as it was before, but now the word
macerated seems more fitting.
Blue eyes glazed over, a white foggy film settled on them.
And that thing that just literally fucking crawled out of a grown woman’s body
and hit the tiles with a disgusting wet splosh – it’s frail, the size of a
child, with long black hair and horrible face – it’s locked in a deadly embrace
with Theo.
With Lucifer.
Because Stiles can see his power clearly now, can see him clearly, the way his
fire is illuminating his skin and burning through his eyes and he understands,
for the first time, how large he is. That his human body can just barely
contain the powers of this ancient creature.
And the thing that is Fenuel, no less cruel than Theo, if not as ancient and
powerful, her horrible shape apparently some kind of replacement vessel,
something she would use to travel from one host to another, built out of the
internal organs of the lifeless body in front of the fridge.
And the way they’re holding on to each other in this struggle for power, for
existence, it’s like an embrace, and they’re not moving and neither is Stiles
who cannot believe the scene unfolding in front of his eyes.
But something is moving in the kitchen, something human.
Derek is coming to.
He’s sitting up where Theo knocked him out a few seconds ago and his eyes
immediately find Stiles’ who’s crouching by the table, back pressing against
one of the wooden feet and hugging his knees and bleeding even though he
doesn’t seem to be aware of it.
But before Derek can start making his way over to Stiles, pick up where he left
off, fulfill his order, the whole world shifts.
Tilts, somehow.
Like someone took a huge knife and cut the whole world in half.
It’s something Theo did.
Lucifer.
Because he’s moving now, and he’s got Feniel by her arms and black hair and her
black and white features look absolutely nightmarish as a hole – a literal hole
in the ground, in the middle of the fucking kitchen big enough to swallow them
whole – opens up and Theo starts working, pushing, dragging her toward it.
She’s clutching at the air, her nails scraping across the floor and Stiles’
vision blurs.
He doesn’t know whether it’s because what Theo is doing is making this
dimension crumble away, or whether it’s because he, Stiles, isn’t feeling the
pain so much anymore because he’s bleeding out. Who knows.
Then the room suddenly fills with sound, like all the noise – from the rustling
of leaves to Farnoelle’s shrieks that sound more human now and less
otherworldly – all the sounds had been accumulating on the edges of this
reality, bending around it, and the moment it collapses, they come crashing
back into it and are making Stiles’ ears ring.
The last thing he sees is Theo’s face, and he looks wild, savage, the way he’s
dragging Phanuel down into the pit, her hands reaching out – to him, Stiles?
Her macerated mouth oddly forming around the word ‘Please!’ as Theo’s dragging
her down.
Calling his, Stiles’, name even, but in vain, her pleas are met with emptiness,
empty looks and immaterial space that he – she – it cannot hold on to.
Then they’re both gone.
Huenial, Stiles’ guardian angel of yore.
And Theo.
Stiles’ eyes close on the vision of the hole sealing itself up, the blackness
being so abruptly replaced with the ugly patterned tiles again like it never
existed, only to get replaced by another blackness, the one Stiles is slowly
sinking into now and, quite frankly – it’s not all that bad.
On the opposite.
Never has the rustle of clothes, the shuffle of knees on the floor sounded so
good to him and if that’s the last thing he is to ever hear, he’d still be
content.
To Stiles even death itself will be filled with noise now, alive.
 
 
 
 
 
---
 
Stiles comes to to the rhythmic beep of a machine.
Once he is conscious of himself, then of his body and the sound in close
proximity, the world falls back into place.
He opens his eyes. Turns his head.
Even before the room in front of his eyes starts making sense, someone shouts,
“Stiles!”
It’s Scott.
Right.
He’s in a hospital bed.
Something happened.
Something bad.
“He’s gone,” Scott is saying eagerly and he’s by Stiles’ side now, by the bed,
talking to him in a low voice, “You did it, Stiles, you banned him, you banned
Lucifer, you – woah.”
He frowns, then lifts his eyes up to the monitor. It’s then that Stiles
realizes there’s tubes attached to his arm.
“I can’t feel my legs,” he says and his voice sounds raspy. His throat is
hurting like hell. What the hell is going on?
Scott puts his hand gently down on Stiles’ right shoulder to keep him from
sitting up.
“My – my legs – my-”
“It’s okay,” Scott says and the smile has vanished from his face. He’s looking
earnestly at him now.
“You’re okay, you’re – you were hurt pretty badly. Life-threateningly. Derek –
he brought you here. Ahem – I think I’m gonna call someone, let them know
you’re up. And I gotta call your dad. He asked me to come here after school
because he had to go back to the station. I’m so glad you’re okay, man. I’m so
fucking glad, oh my God...”
“Where is Derek? Is he alive? Where – where is he?” Stiles says and it’s slowly
and with a barely audible voice because he remembers.
It all comes back to him now.
The letter, Feniel in the kitchen. Derek down there, too and keeping Theo –
“Where’s Theo?”
Another frown from Scott. He turns around to the door, then back to Stiles,
alarmed. Flicks his eyes over to where a red button is dangling on a tube that
is wrapped around the rail, in reach of Stiles’ right hand.
The emergency button.
Like he’s considering pressing it. Like he isn’t sure whether Stiles can be
left alone, even for a second.
“Derek is alive, yeah, he’s fine. He snapped back. Phanuel had put a spell on
him. And Theo is gone. It worked. The plan worked. Stiles, it’s okay now.”
“It worked....,” Stiles is saying, slowly.
Darkly.
“Yeah. Derek told us what – what happened.”
“...and what did he tell you?”
Scott is staring at Stiles.
“What he – what he did.”
Stiles nods, once.
His neck, throat, arms and eyes are hurting, even his nose feels sore and
inflamed. But his lower body, everything from the navel down – nothing.
Fucking nothing.
He clutches the rail, attempts to draw himself up again but Scott keeps him
down with more determination this time.
“Stiles, you’re not supposed to move.”
“My legs, my-”
“It’s from the anesthetic,” a voice is saying now from the door. A man in a
white coat, apparently the physician, is advancing into the room, attended by
two nurses one of whom immediately reaches up to the monitor and the other
starts asking him questions. The man introduces himself as Dr. Pearson and one
of the nurses as Nurse Abboud, the hopsital’s SANE.
Then turns to look at Scott.
“Uh, right,” he says and pats Stiles’ shoulder lightly, carefully as if afraid
he might break him and says, “I’ll be outside, okay?”
Then Stiles is staring at the ceiling, answering questions and doesn’t resist
when his arm is being picked up or the blanket thrown back, not even when the
doctor starts feeling his abdomen. Tells him something about heavy internal
bleedings, explains what part it was that they fixed with the operation.
So he had an operation.
An emergency operation as Dr. Pearson clarifies.
Because he’d lost a lot of blood.
It happens, Dr. Pearson says, nodding and throwing a look down at his
clipboard, as if to make sure he’s really talking to the correct patient.
Looks up to Stiles and says it again.
It happens.
Then tells him that Nurse Abboud is going to check on his wounds, meaning the
one that she can reach apparently, because Stiles, with the help of both
nurses, has to roll onto his side.
When his gown is being lifted he closes his eyes and bites down on his lip.
Then is startled by the pain – not in his butt.
His lip.
His lower lip, mh.
Yeah, he remembers biting it. Biting it hard.
Which would explain the stitches.
And how he can’t really speak properly.
“Mr. Stilinski, Nurse Abboud is our certified sexual assault nurse examiner,”
Dr. Pearson tells him while one of the nurses, not Nurse Abboud but Nurse Smith
or something, is wiping the blood off his chin.
She doesn’t look him in the eyes while doing it.
“I want to talk to Scott,” Stiles says. Then, to Nurse Abboud who’s helping him
lie on his back again, “Sorry, but I – I have to.”
“I assure you, Nurse Abboud is an excellent-”
“No,” Stiles interrupts him. “I need to talk to my friend. Now.” Then,
pleadingly, “Please.”
The doctor frowns, exchanges a look with the nurse who nods.
“Five minutes.”
The doctor walks out of the room together with the other nurse while Nurse
Abboud smiles at him. As soon as they’re out of the room, she says, “Before I
am legally allowed to leave I need to ask you one question, Mr. Stilinski.”
Her voice is gentle and soothing.
Stiles nods and the nurse, who had waited for him to signal his agreement, goes
on.
“Mr. McCall is your friend, right?”
Stiles nods, not sure where this is going.
“Has he – at any time – pressured you – or hurt you in any way?”
Well, if you count the times Scott tried to kill Stiles because he couldn’t
control his shift...
“What? No, no he hasn’t, why would you ask that?”
“Have you ever felt uncomfortable around Mr. McCall?”
Stiles blinks and, when it’s slowly dawning on him, with determination, “No.
Scott hasn’t hurt me in any way at all. He hasn’t done anything to me.”
Nurse Abboud checks a few boxes on her clipboard and nods.
“Thank you, Mr. Stilinski. I’ll be ready to talk to you whenever you are.”
Stiles nods and he wants to smile at her but can’t. Thinks that yes, he might.
Maybe he’ll talk to her, yeah, he might.
But first he has to make sure what the official version is.
And find out what the fuck happened.
Apparently they didn’t do a very good job at covering it up this time.
Nurse Abboud smiles at him, then turns around. She opens the door softly and
says, “Mr. McCall.”
As soon as Scott is in earshot, Stiles says, “What did you tell my dad?”
Scott’s smile immediately fades away.
He waits for Nurse Abboud to close the door behind her, then he draws a chair
up to Stiles’ bed, an ugly white plastic thing that looks like a cheap lawn
chair.
They look at each other and when Stiles doesn’t look like he’s going to speak
anytime soon, Scott sighs.
Runs his hand through his hair and says, “Okay, uhm... you really want to know,
mh? Not wait until you feel better?”
Silence and a steady gaze from Stiles.
“Okay, where to start. Er.... best thing is probably, I start with my mum
getting the phone call from the hospital. That was yesterday morning. I was
getting ready for school and she came up to my room and, like – I already knew
something was wrong, you know, from the way she looked at me, er.. okay, sorry,
I’m, like, rambling – so she said that she got this call from the hospital
saying that you were brought in and you were severely injured and that your dad
had been notified and he’d asked for me. So I got ready, mum drove me over and
she stayed even though she wasn’t working yesterday.”
Scott takes a deep breath, and he doesn’t look at Stiles when he says this.
“Man, I think I freaked out a little. I called Kira and told her to call
everyone and – God, I’m so fucking glad you’re here and alive and – I’m so
glad.”
And he leans over, halfway raises from the chair as if meaning to hug Stiles,
then remembers the reason he’s here for and the fact that Stiles might not
appreciate physical contact, so he just pats his hand gently.
“Okay, but,” Stiles starts, then swallows. The images in his head keep coming,
memories, more and more coherent and – quite frankly, Scott should have added
‘sane’ to his list because that’s a real fucking miracle.
“But – what did you tell my dad?”
Scott gives him a helpless look.
“There wasn’t much I could do. When I got here, you were still in surgery and –
I didn’t even really learn what happened for like hours after that. No one
would talk to me. Your dad – he was livid. He wouldn’t explain anything, he
just asked one question after the other and I could piece together a few things
from what he was asking, but nothing definite and, God, it was driving me
crazy...”
He’s rubbing his forehead now.
“So what you’re saying is... my dad – knows?”
Scott doesn’t ask ‘what’.
He just says, with a small voice, “Yes.”
And then, “Sorry, man. And – and sorry that – Derek, he really didn’t know-”
“Where’s Derek? I-,” and Stiles shifts uncomfortably on the mattress. He might
be imaging this, but his body seems to be hurting more and more by the minute.
“I thought he was going to die. I thought he was dead, holy shit...”
“Er, no, he’s okay. He was just under a spell. It had something to do with his
omicron powers, I’m still not really getting it...”
Then Scott falls suspiciously silent and Stiles narrows his eyes.
“So where is he now? Is he here too?”
And he turns his head as if Derek were hiding behind a curtain or in the
bathroom.
“And, by the way – why do I have a room for myself? I mean, my health care
coverage sucks...”
“Apparently, that’s the normal procedure. You’ll eventually end up in a two or
three bed room soon, that’s what my mum says...”
“Standard – procedure? For – teenagers with supernatural injuries?” Stiles
says, frowning.
Scott doesn’t look at him when he responds, “Er, no. Sexual assault victims.”
“What?”
It’s only now that he’s understanding why Nurse Abboud would be here.
Why the hospital’s SANE would be wanting to talk with him.
“They, like – want to make sure you feel comfortable and, I think, also that
you’re safe, you know...it could be a family member or a close friend. So
they’re carefully picking the people they even let into your room,” Scott
explains and he seems to be reciting his mother’s explanation.
Stiles is staring at him, mouth agape.
Yeah, he figured from the way the nurse had been fingering his butt, and from
the doctor’s elaborations that they’d fixed what Derek had done to him – it
just never occurred to him until now that this might have consequences.
Serious consequences.
Someone is going to get punished for raping Stiles.
Because rape is a horrible thing.
It’s just – Stiles is so used to having things happen to him by now, to this
utter helplessness, that he never even considered seeking counseling or
anything like that.
And, somehow, his eyes are moist now.
He’s not ready to touch on what happened just yet – let alone all the other
times.
But he needs to ask the question.
So he does.
“Who did it? I mean.... I know... I mean, who do they think did it?”
Scott lifts his head at this and looks him in the eyes.
Stiles can see that he’s tired, pale.
“They – the police, they think we don’t know. It was reported right away and –
the official story is that Derek found you out in the woods, uhm.... and that
was sort of easy to believe because Derek was devastated. He wouldn’t talk when
he brought you in and they honestly wanted to put him in the psych ward for the
night, but mum convinced them that he just needed some space to digest what he
saw. Told them Derek is a close friend and all. And, as for your dad, er...
from what he said – from his questions – apparently there was the body of a
woman in your kitchen? She’d been missing for three weeks and – he wanted to
know whether I knew her and told me no one can know that that’s where you were
found. I think he needed time to get rid of it – or, rather, like – put it
somewhere where she can be found. Or something.”
Stiles is looking down at his hands.
Of course.
Phanuel’s body.
The vessel.
The human shell the disgusting slimy black and white thing had spilled out of.
“What did you tell him?”
“Everything,” Scott says immediately and when Stiles’ head snaps up, he
continues, “I had to, Stiles. You should’ve seen your dad, he was – he had a
right to know. And we didn’t have a right to conceal – anything. I – fuck, I
don’t know how I manage to screw up so magnificently all the time, I’m supposed
to be the alpha...”
“There’s nothing else you could have done,” Stiles says because it’s the truth.
Scott sighs.
“Well, I think differently. Anyway, he knows about Lucifer. About Theo – about
– your mum, too. How she died – because of him. I talked with him for like two
hours and – I regretted it pretty soon because I was really scared he’d just
fall apart. But like – he just listened to all I had to say, to all my answers,
and then he went out.”
Uh-oh, is what Stiles is thinking now.
“Went.... out.... to do what?”
When Scott doesn’t answer right away, Stiles repeats, more loudly, “To do what,
Scott? He went out to do what?”
“Find Derek.”
Oh fuck.
Stiles tries to facepalm, but his hand still hooked up to the machines so even
the slightest movement hurts, makes the needles twist beneath his skin, and he
quickly puts it down again.
“He wanted to hear what Derek had to say and – Derek was still here and your
dad took him to the same room we’d been in. It’s like a small room on the
second floor they have for things like that, to give family members bad news
and stuff. I was outside and I couldn’t help but – listen in and – he told your
dad. That’s how I know what happened.”
“What did he tell him?” Stiles says mechanically.
He really doesn’t want to hear, to remember.
Not when the images are ghosting around in his brain as it is.
Memories of fear and desperation.
And pain.
But they are sort of dulled, like he’s not only numb on the outside, but on the
inside as well, like it will hit him with full force once the medication that’s
currently being pumped into his body wears off entirely.
“What, Scott? Say it.”
“He – just kept blabbering about how he was the one who did it. Who hurt you.”
Scott throws Stiles a look, then averts his gaze again, says, “And your dad put
two and two together, I think, because he said something like ‘You-,’” and
Scott pauses, but probably because Sheriff Stilinski had paused here as well.
Or, maybe not.
“...You – raped my son?’ And Derek was like, ‘Yes, yes, I was the one, I didn’t
mean to, but I did’ – and it was clear that Derek was beside himself, I mean...
he was sobbing. Like – violently.”
Stiles is pressing his lips together, pulls the corners of his mouth down.
He doesn’t want to hear this.
But he has to.
Bu he can’t take it.
But he has to.
“But I think your dad would have shot him if I hadn’t barged in. Mum was there,
too, and we tried to get some sense into him. We managed to piece together that
Derek had agreed to give his life up for you – Ferniel had told Derek he would
get all the omicron powers, but that his body could only hold them for so long.
That he would have enough time to off Lucifer, but that everything, internal
organs, cells, his brain, everything would be destroyed in the process. Humans
aren’t built to carry angelic powers detached from their source like that, not
so much of them anyway. And apparently, there had been a plan to make Lucifer
jealous before, but – it was abandoned because Derek had seen how much distress
it caused you – that he would have to – basically rape you to even get near
you.”
Scott falls silent.
They’re not looking at each other.
Stiles is staring at the wax curtains, white and sterile like the rest of the
room, and remembers.
The reason why Derek couldn’t touch Stiles to make Theo jealous.
The reason why Theo had even gotten jealous in the first place.
Because of the things Stiles had felt – wanted – whenever Derek had been too
close, and how the powers had started acting up to protect his deal with Theo
and Stiles had panicked.
So, yeah.
Rape had basically been the only option.
It’s all making sense to Stiles now.
Derek had abandoned the plan.
But Fanial had not aborted the mission.
Only Derek hadn’t known.
“He didn’t know,” Stiles says. “It’s not his fault.”
And then, because it really is the truth, “He’s – he’s a victim, too. We both
are.”
“So...,” Scott says, and it’s like he’s treading very carefully.
Almost like he doesn’t know whether he’s even allowed to talk about this.
“So it’s true? He – Derek – did it?”
Stiles nods, just once.
“Made Theo watch,” he says and wonders about how simple it sounds.
How the words don’t capture how it really was at all.
“Dude that’s....,” Scott starts, then stops. Takes a deep breath, starts again,
“That’s....”
“It’s okay. Now,” Stiles shrugs and he doesn’t even know why he would say this
because nothing is fucking okay, nothing.
“And – what happened then?”
“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah, er, let me see.... so we got all of this out of him in
these maddeningly tiny bits and pieces and then I called Kira, and she stopped
by together with Malia and they picked Derek up. Wasn’t easy,” and Scott lets
out a whistle, “I think, he – I don’t know what he would have done. I’ve never
seen him like this. And we still didn’t know whether you’re okay, just that you
had lost a lot of blood and that that kind of surgery is difficult. Sometimes
impossible.”
Scott runs his fingers through his hair again, as if the memory alone is
fatiguing. Stiles doesn’t say anything. He keeps silent and waits for Scott to
continue.
“Then your dad said,” but he turns around. It’s Nurse Abboud. She knocked and
is sticking her head in now, reminding Scott with her soft voice that Stiles
needs rest and that half an hour is up. And Scott nods, tells her he’ll be out
in a minute.
“Okay, so your dad put Derek in custody – he is officially a suspect after all,
I mean, logically, because he brought you in – and the pack is watching him,
they’re all outside and Parrish is letting Kira and Malia stay right in front
of the cell. I think – I think your dad really understands, but he’s – he was
just very angry. And I get it. I can’t fucking believe this happened.”
Scott falls silent, then he slowly straightens his back, rises from the chair.
When the door opens again, Scott is already saying goodbye.
Stiles gets another almost-pat on the shoulder, a sad smile and the promise to
wait outside, but Stiles tells him to go home and get some rest.
He’s just realizing that Scott must have been here since yesterday.
So Stiles repeats that he’s fine, or he will be, as Scott is already walking
out and Scott turns around at the door and smiles – and he’s gone.
It’s only when the doctor is in the room again, checking his vitals and asking
more questions, that Stiles remembers that he’d meant to tell Scott that it
wasn’t his fault either.
 
 
 
Talking to his dad is really tough.
When the sheriff walks into the room and Stiles can see that he’d been crying,
he feels like throwing up.
Then he can’t get the words out, John, is just sitting there, in the exact same
spot that Scott had been sitting in and even more oppressed than Scott, more
awkward and even more – devastated.
Halfway through, he just gets up and hugs Stiles and almost unplugs the heart
monitor doing it.
Stiles keeps apologizing and his dad keeps telling him he needs to rest and not
worry about him and, please, don’t apologize, Stiles, God – but Stiles can’t
help it, he feels so fucking guilty, he wants to die.
And how maddening is it that after everything, everything he’s been through, he
still hasn’t managed to go out of this with his own father in blissful
oblivion?
But no way in hell is Stiles telling him anything that Scott hasn’t blurted out
yet and – okay, Stiles isn’t blaming Scott, yes?
He’d have done the same thing, probably. Had it been Scott, Stiles would have
told Melissa, too. Because it would be cruel and disrespectful not to.
And, granted, the damage, literally, had already been done. When Derek had
dumped Stiles’ limp body on the hospital steps – at least, that’s how Stiles
imagines it happened – there had been no going back.
And if Derek hadn’t done that, Stiles would have died.
Yeah, okay.
He gets that.
Because the person – the creature, the one fixing him up usually, making him
physically whole again, he’s –
“So... Lucifer, mh?” John is saying now after a horrible, almost five minute
long silence.
“Yeah,” and Stiles shrugs.
Because he really and absolutely has nothing else to say to that.
“But he’s – Theo is definitely-”
“Gone, yeah,” and Stiles’ voice, oddly, is hoarse all of a sudden, like he’s
getting a cold. Well, he might be, from the way his throat is hurting.
“So it’s over...”
A nod from Stiles.
“But we thought that so many times...”
“He’s gone. I saw it. I saw him disappear. He dragged – Feniel – he dragged the
monster down into the abyss. Down to hell. They’re both gone.”
“You’re – Derek called him your guardian angel?” the sheriff says, frowning,
like he never heard a more ill-fitting description in his entire life.
But that reminds Stiles of something.
He’s exhausted even though he slept before his dad had come in right after
work, his eyelids are closing almost on their own accord, but he needs to sort
this out now.
“Derek, you have to let him go, please.”
His father’s expression hardens.
“Please, dad, he – he didn’t do anything.”
“He did this,” his dad says coldly and with a curt nod in Stiles’ general
direction and Stiles gets it.
“That’s not true. Lucifer – Theo did this. Fanualle did this. But it’s not
Derek’s fault, he was – it was – rape for him, too. He needs your help, dad.
I’m scared – I’m scared he might do something to himself – okay? What Scott
told me – I need to talk to him. He needs to come here, dad. Or just, let me
call him. Please.”
After this speech, Stiles leans back a little and falls silent and he knows he
won’t be able to speak again, not now. He’s so tired.
He hates for his dad – for anyone to see him like this, but he can’t help it.
There’s nothing he can do and even though he’s still on pretty heavy pain
medication, his breath comes out rather ragged because it hurts, he can feel
it.
Oh God, can he feel it.
Everywhere.
He won’t be able to move for a while.
And then his dad who has risen from the chair is saying, slowly, “........okay.
Okay, son,” and even though Stiles can’t see it because he closed his eyes, he
knows the kind of look on his face. That trademark mixture of worried dad and
cowboy.
“I’ll see what I can do, okay? But don’t ask me to forgive. I can’t fucking
believe that filth sat on a sofa with us and I didn’t – I didn’t see-“
Stiles’ eyelids snap up in an instant.
“Dad,” and it’s almost reprimanding because they’ve been over this about ten
times now within the past hour, “Dad, you couldn’t have known. You couldn’t
fucking have known, okay? Just – believe me. He was too cunning, too evil, too
–”
“Stiles-”
“No, listen to me. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not Derek’s
fault. It’s not even their fault, they are creatures striving for power.”
“So then, whose fault is it?” the sheriff says and Stiles’ eyes flutter closed
once again and when he speaks, it’s so faint that his words might be mistaken
for a long, deep breath.
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not about guilt.”
 
 
 
 
---
 
Ten years almost to the day after the Hale fire, the town gossip is, once
again, centering on the youngest surviving member of the family – except for
the girl, Cora or whatever her name is, of course, but no one knew about the
girl then. So this week, the people of Beacon Hills – at least the ones old
enough to remember the fire – have been debating about whether or not Derek
Hale killed the Sheriff’s son.
He had been seen getting into a squad car in front of the Beacon Hills Memorial
Hospital and young Jace Johnston is very adamant about the fact that Derek had
been handcuffed and had had this ‘wild look on his face like he killed
someone.’
Now that, everyone is ready to believe.
Young Derek Hale had been a different story – with so sweet a face that many of
the mums at school couldn’t help but pat his cheek whenever they came to pick
up their kids and Derek had always smiled and said ‘Good day, Ma’am’ so
politely, and in those days he’d been around a lot, the Hales had been a
respectable family in Beacon Hills.
So when young Derek Hale, barely sixteen, sweet face and even sweeter nature,
had been seen at the police station that fateful day, face blank and eyes
glazed and unseeing, the town’s heart had collectively broken for the poor,
orphaned boy and Bethany Wilson had told everyone who wanted to hear it (and a
few people who didn’t) that it would have been a mercy for the boy to die in
the flames as well because, if you think about it rationally, what would a kid
want here, alone and afraid without his family? What would his purpose in life
even be?
No, a kid needs his parents, someone to keep him on the right track, to say
hello to when he gets home and there had been this rumor – a silly but
persistent rumor – that it had been some kind of divine punishment for Derek to
stay behind.
Because, no matter how down to earth and respectable, there had always been
something peculiar about the Hales that people recognized but couldn’t put
their finger to and when called out on it, everyone would have vehemently
denied that it was only the envy they secretly felt because all the Hale kids
seemed to be good looking and excelled at sports.
And no one was surprised to see Derek Hale grow into a handsome but gloomy man
who lived with his sister Laura up in the burnt shell of a family house, an
eremite, one of these people you seldom ever meet and when you do you wish you
hadn’t. Then he disappeared and people said he either killed himself or got
sucked into the criminal world that he, from outward appearances at least,
seemed to belong to already anyway. Nothing sweet about that face anymore,
nothing innocent.
And then he was taken in for the murder of his poor sister years later. Nothing
surprising here either, everyone knows that murderers can’t help but return to
the scene of their crime. That they feel this irrepressible urge to confess.
What was peculiar, however, was how he managed to escape – it was an open
secret that a few days upon being apprehended, Derek had just vanished out of
the prison cell, like he had simply melted into the floor.
Ha, a few people joked he might have made a deal with the devil for that sole
purpose because soon after he was cleared of all charges and everyone felt that
couldn’t be right. No, surely, just look at that immobile, unsmiling face – and
you’d see it around more often after that, at the gas station or grocery store
even though Derek clearly still avoided people and came out mostly at night.
Much like a bat.
And now this.
Derek Hale had reportedly shown up at the town hospital a couple of days ago,
looking all bloodied and disheveled and, quite frankly, just savage and in his
arms the immobile body of Stiles Stilinski, the sheriff’s very own son, wrapped
in a blanket and looking like death.
Peculiar, peculiar indeed.
And shocking. To think that there are people who still believe him innocent,
even after this. Okay, you might argue that a murderer would rather bury his
victim in the forest where no one could find it – the way Derek Hale had
presumably interred his own sister, just think about it. Awful.
Terrifying.
But Derek dropped the boy in the hospital and only left a few hours later in
the deputy’s car – handcuffed and shoved right into a cell where he most
certainly belongs, yes.
So now people say that young Stilinski is either dead or dying because the
sheriff had been seen distraught und with red-rimmed eyes, a horrible sight
because he is supposed to be the town’s strength and vigilant eye.
And today, Derek Hale walked out – once again – cleared of all charges and a
free man, and this isn’t a rumor either, several people saw it.
Although the man is clearly a danger to the public, it’s ridiculous.
With his deep-set eyes and the dense beard he had grown during his brief stay
in the cell. No one knows as of now what it is that he’d been taken in for –
but it’s only a matter of time, really.
People cannot linger on that for too long, however, because another piece of
shocking news hit the town today, or least those families who still have kids
in Beacon Hills High. It is said that Theodore Raeken who had just moved back
here with his family about a year ago – Theo who had reminded many of the older
people of Derek Hale at this age, so sweet and polite and an excellent athlete
– that Theo has been reported missing. Apparently he hasn’t shown up in school
all week without notifying his teachers who had first tried to reach his
parents and then, on the third day, sent someone to drive over to the house and
knock on the door. One of the reasons for the teachers’ worry was that, okay,
this is the most ridiculous of all the rumors, but, you know, people like
clinging to silly ideas – it is said that there was reason to worry about him
because Theo had been romantically involved somehow with the sheriff’s son –
the very one who is dying in a hospital bed right at this very moment.
And that Theo might have gone wild at the news of his sweetheart’s death – or,
worse, that he might have had something to do with it, but – yes, these are
wild rumors indeed and, quite frankly, only the teenage girls at Beacon Hills
High really believe it, with their way too lively imagination and unhealthy
obsession with star-crossed lovers.
The much more logical explanation is that these two things have nothing to do
with each other whatsoever. Theo might show up after two weeks, getting home
from college interviews or something, and find that his parents forgot to
notify the school but have instead gone on a camping trip because, in all
honesty, the Raekens have never really been up to it anyway. Juliet with her
hair sort of undone and never wearing any make-up, not even when she was in
high school, and Thomas, always a little disorganized, friendly, yes, but also
sort of strange, and what was it that he’s doing for a living again? Something
about insects.
It is really hard to believe that two such people had managed to bring up a kid
like Theo – he isn’t their own, of course, just adopted and, ask anyone, it
shows, you know, that Theo isn’t really a Raeken. But still. It’s sort of
unfair, isn’t it? To be blessed with a kid like him when you did nothing,
really, to deserve it.
Then of course, this afternoon, they were both found chopped up in the basement
of their own home. The reason the police had even gone in was because when
they’d rounded the house, the back door had been found wide open – and,
apparently, it had been like this for some time, too, because there had been
leaves and dirt everywhere in the kitchen. So they’d gone in, done a quick tour
of the house, just to be sure, and that’s when they found them, dumped into a
plastic tub in the basement, next to Thomas’ vast collections of insects.
What a shocking discovery – and needless to say, now everyone is making the
connection to the Hale fire even though, unlike the Hales, Thomas and Juliet
Raeken had probably not been innocent in all of this. The people they had
always associated themselves with and God knows what they had gotten themselves
into in those five years they had been living out of town – just saying.
This is a lot to talk over for one single day, so many things to keep track of
and if that weren’t enough, in the evening the town talk returns once more to
Derek Hale because, just think of it – he had been seen walking into the
hospital in fresh clothes and shaved but still looking out of it. Several
visitors had seen it and old Mrs. Bennet who lives right adjacent vows that she
saw his car, and that car is really hard to overlook or mistake for someone
else’s.
So it must be true.
And whatever Derek could even want there.
The next day many people would conclude that he probably came back to finish
what he started, but others would reason that you wouldn’t just walk in the
front door if that’s what you’re up to.
But then, with Derek Hale, there’s no real telling what he might and might not
do. He doesn’t think like we would, you know, rational and planning ahead.
The guy’s a madman.
 
 
 
“Dad, you don’t have to stay here,” Stiles mutters. He’s lying in bed, the way
he has been for the past days and painfully aware of how pale and disheveled
and unshaven he looks. And that’s not his only reason for distress.
He has been talking with Nurse Abboud who is wonderful, yes, but Stiles still
refuses to go into details of what happened and he still claims that he doesn’t
know the guy who did it, or why he did it, and the Nurse has explained to his
father in a private conversation about Stiles’ condition that Stiles is
severely traumatized and that she strongly advise that he be taken out of
school and out of his present life for at least six months.
That he needs to learn how to deal with his trauma and his post-traumatic
stress and that a closed clinic would be the best, indeed, the only, reasonable
choice for this. She would not recommend Eichen House, however, but an
institution a little more removed and specialized on victims of sexual assault
and young adult trauma. She brought brochures of two eligible places, if he
would just have a look at them, please.
But Stiles, he refuses to go. He will not be taken away from his friends and
his family and he is dead-set on going back to school as soon as possible and
graduating with the others in six weeks.
Even more than that – he insists on seeing the person who found him, Derek
Hale. After much resistance from his dad, and initial objection from the
counselor, Derek Hale is indeed ordered into the hospital and he is expected
around 8 p.m., a time that was deliberately chosen because most visitors will
have gone home by then and the doctors and nurses, especially Melissa McCall
who scheduled the visit, are very aware of the town gossip and protecting
Stiles, shielding him for as long as they still can, is their utmost priority.
Stiles has already had dinner and the sheriff is presently pacing the room even
though he has been told more than once that he is not to agitate his son in any
way. But it seems like he can’t help it just like Stiles can’t help repeatedly
tugging at the sleeves and shoulders of his ugly hospital gown that makes him
vastly uncomfortable, even more than he would have already been anyway.
“Dad, could you please stop, you’re making me nervous.”
The sheriff stops and turns to face his son. He runs his hand through his hair,
sighs – and then takes a seat in a chair over by the table.
“Sorry, son. I’m just having a hard time convincing myself not to shoot him on
sight.”
And he puts his right hand down and lets it rest on his service weapon for a
moment. Then drops it, like he is really tempted to draw it out of the holster
on his belt.
Stiles rolls his eyes.
This again.
“Dad, how many times have I told you that Derek is a victim here, just like
me?” and then, in a low voice, “he probably needs counseling more than I do,
honestly...”
“Okay, and I’m trying to accept it, but – you need to be a little patient with
me, son. I’m sorry I have to ask this of you, but if you want to go to local
counseling and graduate with Scott and the others, there will be a few rules-”
“Sure. Lock me in,” Stiles mutters gloomily.
 “-for your protection, Stiles,” the sheriff says and he sounds upset.
“Only ever for your protection! After everything, I just can’t – you have to
understand. I can’t leave you alone, especially not with him. He might still be
under some kind of – of supernatural influence.”
At this, Stiles can hardly suppress a smirk, no matter how miserable he’s
feeling right now. There is some truth to his dad’s words. Being supernatural
in Beacon Hills is not unlike being on some really heavy stuff sometimes.
“But he isn’t,” he says aloud. “The- Lucifer and Faniel are gone. Any kind of –
of pact is dissolved and Derek is not controlled by – by anyone or anything,
okay?”
And he’s certain of this, Stiles.
His father sighs.
“Okay. But that’s not the only reason I will stay put.”
Stiles blinks. He looks across the room to where his dad is sitting who is
staring gloomily back at him, his mouth a grim line.
Then, when recognition hits him, Stiles buries his face in his hands, growling,
“Dad, oh, my God...”
“I don’t know what your feelings presently are for this man and I’m not going
to ask-”
“Dad!”
“-but there will be no – no dating or anything, not until you’re better and I
can be sure you’re not suffering from some kind of Stockholm syndrome, no
matter whether you still like this dude or not. Unless,” and the sheriff
narrows his eyes, watching his son intently as the says this, “unless this was
all bullshit, too.”
“It wasn’t bullshit,” Stiles mumbles, his cheeks very red.
His father nods, once.
“Okay, then. I believe you. But you’re not going to be alone with the guy, not
for any time soon, and you’re free to do anything you feel comfortable with
doing in my presence. Not to punish you, son, I want to make this very clear,”
and his voice softens, “For your protection. Okay?”
Stiles nods curtly.
He had already been told he wouldn’t be able to have sex, especially not anal
sex, for a long time. If ever again.
Something about his colon being lightly torn in several places and it needs to
heal completely because, should it rupture, he would just bleed out. There
would be nothing anyone could do about it.
And Stiles does not even want to go into the complications he’s presently
having as a result of this, not just the pain. It’s mortifying.
He swallows, struggling to push the memories far, far away from him.
Not now.
He can’t be thinking of it all now, not when Derek – and then there’s a knock
on the door.
 
 
 
When Derek is led into the room by Melissa McCall who gives Stiles an
encouraging nod, then closes the door to leave the three of them alone, Stiles
thinks his heart might stop for a moment.
Just looking at Derek who is staring back at him – he is feeling so much.
Really troubling stuff, too, and he has no fucking clue how to sort it out.
Derek looks like he’s been taken to the scaffold and is now awaiting execution,
the way he stands there, stiff and pale, almost gaunt, like he hasn’t eaten
anything in days, and a pained expression on his face. Eyes wide, too, like
he’s scared or shocked.
Stiles can see Derek’s eyes dart all over his body, as if to make sure no parts
are missing.
Then, reluctantly, he lifts his eyes up to Stiles’ face and there they linger,
like he’s mesmerized, like Stiles’ gaze is, somehow, depriving him of his power
to speak.
The sheriff, of course, doesn’t say anything either, he just sits there, his
eyes never straying from Derek’s shape, arms crossed over his chest, as if
there were really a slight possibility that he might otherwise draw his weapon
on Derek.
So Stiles has no other choice than to open the conversation himself, even
though there’s probably a thousand things he’d rather be doing right now.
Plus, he doesn’t really know what to say. Quite frankly, he wanted to make sure
that Derek was alive and well with his own eyes, but he hadn’t really thought
beyond that. He is still struggling with the pictures in his head, and with the
guilt and misery and depression and has not brain space left for rationalizing
of any sort.
So he clears his throat and says, “Ahm... Derek.”
Derek doesn’t even nod, but now his eyes flick over to the window, just once
and quickly, almost as if he were about to throw himself out there and just
flee the scene.
And Stiles wouldn’t blame him either.
But there is something he meant to say to Derek, yes, and since hell will
sooner freeze over than the sheriff give in and leave the room, now is as good
a time as any.
So Stiles clears his throat again and prays that his voice will stay steady and
that he won’t break down sobbing or anything. He can never know these days,
it’s maddening.
“I just – I asked you to come here because I wanted to tell you – that it’s not
your fault, and – thank you. For trying to save me.”
Stiles has averted his eyes to the window, so he can’t see the bewildered
expression on Derek’s face.
At least, he’s finally inclined to speak because he says, “Stiles, how can you
say that?”
And he takes one step towards the bed – just one, then stops, as if thinking
that he might not be allowed to approach Stiles. That he forfeited the right to
be near him or, worse, that he couldn’t be trusted around him.
“I shouldn’t,” he starts, but then doesn’t finish.
“I should have-”
Like he’s overwhelmed or something and when Stiles finally manages to turn his
head, forces himself to look at him, Derek’s eyes are suspiciously moist and he
keeps rubbing his right temple and Stiles has to admit, he does look like a
madman.
It’s painful, to see him like that and to know that Stiles is, all things
considered, the reason.
“It’s okay, Derek,” he says, his own voice raspy. “Alright? Please, just – you
did what you could and you – hell, you were willing to sacrifice your life for
me, I mean, come on, that letter? It scared the shit out of me, man, honestly.”
“Stiles, I’m so, so sorry, I can’t even tell you how-”
“Stop it, okay? I don’t even wanna hear about it. There’s nothing – nothing to
be sorry for, and that’s that,” and then, because Derek’s mouth is still moving
and Stiles is pretty sure he won’t stop, he quickly says, “How’s – Malia.”
Derek’s mouth snaps shut and he doesn’t answer for a while.
Just when Stiles thinks he won’t at all, he goes, “She’s – okay, I think. At
least – she’s healing. They buried her – her dad, yesterday.”
“What?!”
Stiles stares at him and this time, it’s Derek who has his gaze averted.
“Yeah, they found him in the attic, looking the same way as – as that woman.
Er... it’s clear that – she did this. She used him,” and Derek is talking with
more vigor, all of a sudden, and with bitterness, “this witch, she did all of
this. Guardian angel, my ass. She was as evil as Theo.”
And then, suddenly, Derek looks up to Stiles, shocked.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said – I didn’t mean to remind you-”
“It’s okay,” Stiles says with a dismissive gesture. “Really, I can say Theo’s
name. I always could. Theo – see? There. I don’t have a problem talking about
him.”
But his voice grows a little faint toward the end of the sentence and he knows
his heart is beating so fast. But then it has been since even before Derek has
entered the room.
“Okay, but Malia is dealing with it you say?”
Derek nods.
“Better than I thought she would, er... she’s angry, really angry and – sad.
And fucking worried about you, Stiles, God, we all are,” and at this his hand
goes up to his face again and he’s rubbing his eyes like he only realizes now
how tired he is. “But I don’t think she’ll do anything reckless. No, she has
the pack, you know? She’s not alone.”
“And she has you,” Stiles reminds him and Derek shrugs.
“You – stick around, right? You’ll be here? You – won’t do anything reckless
either, right?”
No answer.
“Derek? Derek, promise me.”
Derek finally lifts his eyes and looks at Stiles for a long time until he says,
slowly, “Yes... yes. I promise.”
“Okay, good.” Stiles lets himself fall back on the bed. The conversation
combined with the chaos of feelings inside of him, are tiring him out. “Good.
Don’t ever do that again, okay? I mean, like – doing something as stupid as
sacrificing yourself for me.”
“I won’t,” Derek says and it sounds bitter again. “I thought – I believed him –
her. The whole guardian angel crap. I believed it.”
“It’s okay,” Stiles quickly says again. “I believed it too and – and I think it
wasn’t really a lie, we’re just – we’re too human to understand, probably.”
It’s the conclusion Stiles has come to in these hours when he’d been alone and
awake and had dwelled on what he could have done differently and what it all
meant.
Heaven, hell?
Theo had been right, at least it’s what Stiles is thinking now.
These are just concepts, ill-fitting to reality that is so much bigger, so much
larger, wider, whole universes folded into every second of existence.
Theo had really told him the truth.
Phaniel hadn’t been the good guy, just like Theo hadn’t been the bad guy. But
neither had Theo been good in any way. The words are simply too narrow to even
begin to capture these two.
Ancient creatures with hearts and minds so deep any humans would lose
themselves in them and Stiles, he had gotten caught in a struggle for power
beyond his understanding. Deep and uncertain like the abyss Theo had dragged
the angel into, and then they had vanished.
Theo.
Stiles swallows.
There’s a whole world of feelings relating to Theo that he’s successfully
managing to keep locked up so far, fear, panic, guilt.
Regret.
He’s not going to touch on it now.
So he holds Derek’s gaze and tells him, with a steady and determined voice,
“Come back, okay? If – if you don’t mind. I would – like it if you came back
tomorrow.”
“I – don’t know...” Derek says, his voice trailing off. He shifts uncomfortably
and Stiles knows he wants to turn and look at the sheriff who hasn’t moved
since Derek entered the room and who’s staring at Derek so hard that Derek can
probably feel it burning a hole into his back.
“You can’t leave,” Stiles says, “At least not as long as we’re still here, not
as long as we haven’t graduated.”
Silence.
Then Derek says, “Okay.”
“Promise again?”
“I promise.”
“Okay,” Stiles nods, relieved. Good. Derek wouldn’t break his word.
“So, you, er.... you need to rest, I – I should...”
“You can come closer to say goodbye, you do realize that, right? There’s no,
like – spring guns installed around the bed, at least not that I know of and my
dad has promised to not shoot you. Also, I don’t bite,” Stiles says and,
surprisingly, the hint of a smile appears on Derek’s face, only to be swallowed
back up again by a look of insecurity, even fear, almost, when he reluctantly
approaches the bed.
Turns around to the sheriff finally, now, who nods.
Up close, Derek looks even more forlorn and the sight is so painful to Stiles.
Derek hesitates.
Then he bends down, stiffly, but before he can screw his arms around Stiles’
shoulders, Stiles has fisted his hands into Derek’s dark blue t-shirt.
Following a crazy impulse, he pulls Derek down to him and, craning his neck to
reach up to his face, presses his lips onto Derek’s.
For a moment nothing happens. Then Derek moves his lips against Stiles’ and
puts his arms on his shoulders, not rigidly anymore but carefully.
Then after what couldn’t have been more than five seconds, Derek pulls back,
eyes wide with shock and he goes, “Sorry, sorry, oh, my God, sorry...”
Stiles rolls his eyes and let himself flop back onto the mattress.
“Just shut up, old sourwolf. I kissed you, not the other way round...”
Derek’s hand goes up to his mouth and he’s still staring at Stiles.
The sheriff behind him has buried his face in his palm, but it’s not a gesture
of desperation or grief, this time, it’s rather a God, whatever went wrong with
this kid.
Yeah, read the room, Stiles.
Read the room.
But when Derek’s hand drops down again, there’s a smile there, on his lips,
almost despite himself and it’s mirrored on Stiles’ face, the first genuine
expression of happiness in days.
Maybe weeks.
But Stiles – he knows he’s still got a long way to go.
And it’s not just fitting back into life, going back to school, running with
the pack again.
Not even coming to terms with what happened, healing, you know, all of that.
He’s going to go to therapy, he had to promise his dad, and he feels like it’s
the right thing to do, too.
No, it’s going to be fine.
He’s going to be just fine.
If it weren’t – if it weren’t for –
Okay, so here’s the thing.
There’s this one moment that Stiles can’t get over, and it’s not the torture or
the rape, the pain and agony and fear of death. Because these, yeah, are huge
problems and he’s getting help and he knows it’s not his fault because that’s
the first thing he’s had to learn, he’s not guilty in any way, even though he
sure as hell feels like it.
No, none of that.
It’s the one moment – he doesn’t really know when it happened exactly –
sometime while he was reading Derek’s letter and comprehension had dawned on
him.
That moment of inexplicable fear, of horror.
So, that’s normal, right, and in hindsight, it makes even more sense.
He’d been scared to lose Derek who wasn’t – isn’t – just a friend but he’s the
dude Stiles has always had feelings for. And then, reading this – you’d panic,
yes, it’s what any sane person would do.
But mingled into that fear, sneaking into Stiles’ heart through the backdoor
had been a different kind of fear, of horror – relating to Theo, you know, yes,
we can say his name, too.
It had something to do with Theo because he’d been the one Derek had set out to
annihilate.
The reason he had written the goddamn letter in the first place, and it’s both
their deaths, not only Derek’s, but Theo’s, too, that Stiles had suddenly
become aware of while reading.
And – okay, so that’s what he's not getting here.
No matter how long he thinks about it, how long he – and it’s present, oh so
present, because, Theo isn't dead, no, Stiles unbound him from his pact and he
has vanished. Probably forever. Yes, but that means he’s still around
somewhere.
Has to be, somehow, right?
Only, now he’s less human again and, depending on how that fight went down,
maybe cannot access earthly planes anymore, who knows. But he still got his
human body and -
He’s unleashed, Lucifer.
Yes, but for a moment, for this particular moment while reading Derek’s letter,
Stiles had been convinced that they had been about to die, Derek and Theo.
And it’s that feeling that Stiles is dwelling on, trying to understand, to
dissect it. Make sense of it and it deeply unsettles him.
What he’d felt – what he’d felt then, deep down in his heart, what had been
making his vision blurry and panic rise in his throat.
It hadn’t just been the fear of losing Derek.
It had been the fear of losing them both.
 
 
 
Is this it?
Is this – the beginning?
 
 
Yes.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     don’t worry, I don’t do major character death; ugh actually really
     hate it (I’m basically STILL getting over Allison, okay?!), so Derek
     will be alive and well; okay, let me rephrase that; he’ll live
     don't forget reading the epilogue :)
     also - I have no idea how people would behave when watching a
     baseball game, obviously
     and, lastly, sorry for probably getting hospital procedures all wrong
     - I did not do as much research as I should have (even though it's an
     important topic, too, the whole hospital politics of dealing with
     rape victims), so what I did was write it the way I felt I would want
     it to be, a safe space and people who care
      
     ...... <3 thank you all for reading, you guys are the best <3 <3
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