Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1934061.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall, Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin,
      Jackson_Whittemore, Alan_Deaton
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Fae_&_Fairies, fae!Stiles, Childhood_Friends,
      Friends_to_Lovers, Eventual_Happy_Ending
  Collections:
      Sciles_Reversebang
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-07-11 Words: 10509
****** i remain in shadows growing wings ******
by aeneapsych
Summary
     Growing up, Scott’s only friend was Stiles. Problem was, Stiles was
     imaginary.
     But when Scott gets bitten by a werewolf, he finds things weren’t as
     they seemed, and that Stiles is very, incredibly, real.
      
     “I've never left, Scott,” Stiles said, and he pinned Scott with a
     look that made his heart catch in his throat. “I've always been here,
     by your side. You just weren't always able to see me.”
Notes
     My submission for the Sciles Reversebang 2014. The beautiful art that
     inspired me can be seen here, by SuperfluousEmi. Beta’d by the always
     amazing BK.
See the end of the work for more notes
Scott doesn't remember a time when Stiles didn't exist. It seemed like every
important moment of his life so far included Stiles. When Scott slipped on the
rocks by the stream in the preserve and broke his ankle, Stiles was there to
keep him company as he cried, waiting for his mom to find him. Stiles
celebrated with Scott after he won his first pee wee football match, running
through the woods and playing the best game of hide-and-seek ever. Then, when
Scott's dad left, packing his bags in the middle of the night and sneaking out
before Scott woke up for school, Stiles sat in the closet with Scott while he
hid from his mom. He hadn't wanted her to see him cry because he felt like his
dad leaving was his fault. Scott knew better now, but sometimes when he saw his
mom pretending not to be sad, he felt a sharp ache in his gut, thinking that
maybe if he had been good enough, his dad would have stayed. Scott's favorite
thing about Stiles was that he knew exactly when Scott didn't want to talk
about something, when he would rather go outside and play instead of sit inside
and mope. Scott didn't have many friends, but Stiles was always there when he
needed him.
As Scott got older, he started to realize what he hadn't when he was little:
Stiles wasn't real. Well, not in the way Scott or his mom were real, or the
kids down the street that came over and smashed his ninja turtles that one
afternoon. Sure, he looked real enough, with long gangly limbs, and pale skin
peppered with moles and freckles, brown hair sticking up in a mess on the top
of his head. Stiles could touch things, trees and rocks and toys and such, but
never Scott. Which was okay, Scott guessed, because boys didn't normally touch
all that much according to his dad, but sometimes he wanted to be able to hug
Stiles when he was sad, or hold his hand as they raced in between the trees. No
one else besides Scott could see him. Scott spent almost an entire summer when
he was eight trying to convince his mom that Stiles was real, setting up
elaborate traps and breaking two plates from his grandmother's china set before
his mom put a stop to it.
By the time Scott was in middle school he rarely saw Stiles anymore. Sometimes
he would join Scott in his bedroom as he played video games, making comments
like how if he just used the two-handed axe he'd be able to kill the orc in the
cave and move on. Sunshine streamed through the messy strands of Stiles' hair
as he lay on Scott's bed, flat on his stomach with his chin propped up on his
fists, reminding Scott of the way the light would peek through the leaves when
they spent afternoons together in the woods. Most of the time Scott was alone
when he was at home, the house quiet when his mom worked double shifts,
achingly devoid of Stiles' incessant chatter and bright laughter.
The next couple of years were hard for Scott. Kids at school could be mean,
even more so to the awkward, asthmatic kid who didn't have many friends, but he
kept his head down and studied hard for his classes, practiced lacrosse in his
backyard so he could be good enough to try out for the team when he got to high
school. Scott made a couple of friends, other quiet kids who didn't quite fit
in which the other cliques, but no one ever compared to Stiles. Even though
Scott could go for weeks without thinking of his old friend, suddenly Scott
would see something that reminded him of Stiles: a warm patch of sunlight, a
loud laugh from across the courtyard at school - and a warm rushing feeling
would flood him with thoughts and memories of Stiles. His mom had stopped
asking about him too, and Scott knew she was probably happy that he had quit
trying to convince her that his imaginary friend was real.
In high school things began to look up for Scott. All of the practice paid off,
and he made the lacrosse team, even if he only warmed the bench during games.
He met a wonderful, beautiful girl named Allison Argent, who was new in town,
her family having moved away from Beacon Hills before she was born. They dated
for a time, but eventually decided they were better off as friends. Allison's
best friend Lydia Martin, and her douchey jock boyfriend, Jackson Whittemore,
who also happened to be on the lacrosse team with Scott, sometimes hung out
with them, albeit reluctantly. Scott could go for weeks without thinking of
Stiles, but whenever he did, he couldn't help the pang of guilt for forgetting,
and he often wondered how an imaginary friend from childhood could affect him
the way Stiles did.
During winter break junior year, Danny, Jackson's best friend and goalie on the
lacrosse team, held a bonfire party in the empty lot behind his house. Nearly
everyone at school had shown up, invited or not, and Danny's older brother had
brought in several kegs. The four friends had ended up in the woods surrounding
the lot, stumbling around with several others wanting more privacy from the
chaos around the bonfire. They had been separated from the rest of the group,
and found themselves standing in front of a burned-down shell of a house.
Jackson had begun to complain loudly, pulling at Lydia's arm to get her to
leave, when a harsh cry came from inside the house. Allison turned to look at
Scott, and without a word started towards the front door of the house.
“Allison!” Scott cried out as he ran towards her, following closely behind as
she pulled the warped door open and stepped inside. He began to shut the door
when Lydia pushed it open, pulling Jackson by the hand to join them.
They followed Allison around the house, Jackson making snarky comments and
continuing to complain, Lydia hissing at him to shut him up. Scott kept silent,
the quiet, eerie feeling of the house sending chills down his spine. Once they
reached what looked to have been a family room, complete with a half-burnt
couch, Allison stopped.
“I think this is the old Hale house,” she said, a frown on her face as she
looked around. “My dad told me about it before we moved here.”
She opened her mouth to say something else when a massive black shape crashed
through the ceiling, falling on top of her. Scott shouted and dove toward her,
Lydia and Jackson's screams distant in his ears as he focused on trying to find
her amidst the rubble and dust. Once he got to her she was coughing, doubled
over with ash flying from her hair. The black shape that had fallen was gone,
but Scott had a feeling it would be coming back, and they needed to get out of
the house. Scott held out a hand to help Allison up from the floor when
suddenly the air was knocked out of him as a heavy, fur-covered mass plowed
into him. A sharp pain ripped through his side and Scott howled in agony. The
heavy weight of his attacker disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Everything
was a blur of noise and movement as Scott tried to roll himself onto his back,
but the pain was too much. Strong hands grabbed him under his armpits and
lifted him bodily, and the wound in his side flared up, white hot. The
mysterious stranger dragged him out of the house, and Scott watched dazedly as
Allison, Lydia, and Jackson followed, similar looks of horror on their faces.
The stranger laid Scott gingerly on the ground and came around to face him just
as the other three joined them outside. Introducing himself as Derek Hale, the
stranger gave them a rushed story about a house fire, a catatonic uncle, and
what Scott could've sworn was werewolves. He pleaded with them to leave the
woods and not return, and said that he would find Scott tomorrow to help him.
Before he left he made them all promise not to take Scott to the hospital, and
to trust him that it would be in all of their best interests. Once Derek was
gone, Scott felt even worse, the pain still hot at his side and his mind a fog
from everything that had happened. He could feel himself begin to drift in and
out of consciousness as Jackson and Allison argued over how to get Scott out of
the woods.
Allison knelt down beside Scott and put a hand over his chest. “Why did you do
that, you could've gotten killed,” she said, a sad look in her eyes.
“I couldn't let you go in there alone,” Scott answered, straining to keep his
eyes open a little longer as he felt Jackson grab hold of his shoulders to lift
him again.
Allison said, “I can take care of myself.” Scott just smiled in response, too
exhausted to speak.
Someone picked up his legs and Scott looked down his body expecting to see
Lydia. He let out a shocked gasp as he realized it wasn't her after all, but a
tall, slender teenager about their age, with a sharp cheekboned face dotted
with moles below unruly brown hair.
The boy looked up from his grasp on Scott's feet and smiled, and Scott's heart
climbed into his throat. “You're an idiot,” the boy said and shook his head.
Everything became too much and Scott's vision began to waver, but he croaked
out, “Stiles?” before he felt himself start to pull under.
“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles replied. “I'm here.”
~~~~
“Scott.”
“Scott!”
Gasping for breath as he sat up, Scott looked around to find himself in the
back room of the veterinary office where he worked with Dr. Deaton. He clutched
the edges of the metal examining table he was sitting on as he tried to get his
bearings. Allison stood next to the table with her hand on his arm, a pinched
look of concern on her face.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I...” Scott began, stuttering out a few unintelligible noises as he turned to
find Lydia and Jackson staring back at him. “I'm fine, I guess.” He felt fine,
but he knew there was some reason why he shouldn't.
“Lemme see,” a voice said from behind Scott, and a hand came around to grab at
his t-shirt, yanking it up to reveal his side. “See? Completely healed. I told
you.”
Healed? What had happened to Scott before he passed out? He reached down to
touch the unmarked skin there, before comprehension dawned.
Scott shifted on the table and found himself facing what looked like a grown-up
Stiles. “Stiles?” he asked, reaching out to touch, anything to anchor himself
to reality when everything felt more like a dream. “Is that really you?”
Stiles, and really it had to be him, it couldn't be anyone else with those
mischievous brown eyes, replied, “Of course it's me, Scotty.”
“He suggested we bring you here,” Allison said, and Scott whipped his head
around to look at her.
“You can see him?” Scott asked, voice cracking slightly. “You can see Stiles?”
Jackson snickered in the background and made a comment that questioned Scott's
current mental state. Lydia smacked him on the shoulder.
“Why wouldn't I be able to see him?” Allison asked, her concerned look
deepening. She turned to Lydia and said, “Maybe we do need to bring him to the
hospital.”
“No!” Stiles protested. “No hospitals, he's fine. I promise.”
Scott merely responded by gaping like a fish. He knew he should be concerned
about why he might need to go to the hospital, but all he could focus on was
the fact that his childhood imaginary friend was standing before him, flesh and
blood and completely visible to others.
“How are you here?” Scott managed to get out, moving his hands from Stiles'
shoulders down his arms, squeezing slightly and feeling the trim muscles
underneath. He shook his head, completely amazed that he was finally able to
touch Stiles, after all these years. Clearly, he must be dreaming.
“I moved to Beacon Hills, just a few weeks ago,” Stiles explained, glancing up
at Allison. “I told them how we used to hang out when we were kids, every time
you went to visit your aunt in San Francisco. I was at the party tonight, and
saw you walk into the woods, so I followed, and...” Stiles shrugged.
This was... wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Stiles wasn't from San
Francisco. Stiles wasn't even real; Scott knew this. If he was real then Scott
wouldn't have spent so much time when he was younger trying to convince his mom
of it, and he certainly never hung out with Stiles when he went to visit his
aunt.
“Stiles told us how close you two were,” Lydia said. “It's sweet. Wasn't it,
Jackson?”
Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes. “I still don't understand why we brought
McCall to the creepy vet's office.”
“Dude, I told you that what happened to Scott can't be fixed by a regular
doctor,” Stiles said. “We'll wait for Deaton to come back and he'll help us
until Hale can get here.”
Memories began to come back now to Scott, of being attacked and bitten in the
burned out shell of the Hale house, covered in dust and ash. Of searing pain at
his side, flesh ripping and tearing. Being dragged out of the house by Derek
Hale, who was just a teenager when the rest of his family were burned alive in
their home several years ago.
“You seem to know more than you're letting on,” Lydia said, one eyebrow cocked.
“What aren't you telling us?”
Stiles sighed and wiped a hand over his face. “There's a lot I'm not telling
you, and now isn't the time. Look, just believe me when I say I know what
attacked you in the old Hale house, and I know what bit Scott, and I know why
the bite has already healed. I know you heard Derek mention werewolves, so
don't play dumb and try to pretend that didn't happen. Just face it, your lives
are going to be different from now on and there's nothing you can do about it.”
At the mention of werewolves, Scott's heart began to pound, his head feeling as
if it was going to explode. He couldn't be serious, things like werewolves just
didn't exist, but neither did previously imaginary friends.
Lydia looked like she wanted to protest, but Allison jumped in. “Alright,
fine,” she said. “This is the craziest shit I've ever heard, but I know what I
saw and I know what I felt when that thing attacked me, and it wasn't human,
and it wasn't an animal. So, let's just wait for Dr. Deaton to get here, and
then hopefully Derek will be here soon too.”
“It's almost five in the morning,” Lydia said. “I have to get back home or my
mother is going to kill me.”
“Go, all of you,” Stiles said. “I'll stay with him.”
Allison looked worried, her eyes shifting between Scott and Stiles.
“Scott,” Stiles said, looking at him directly and grasping onto one of Scott's
arms. “Tell her you'll be safe with me.”
Scott looked into his friend's eyes, and even though he couldn't explain what
was happening, or even really know if he was awake, the answer to that was
simple: “I'll be safe with Stiles,” Scott said.
~~~~
Allison left with Lydia and Jackson in tow a few minutes later. Dr. Deaton
wouldn't arrive to work for another couple of hours, so Stiles helped Scott off
the examining table and into the back office where Deaton had a small couch and
a blanket. Stiles made Scott lie down and covered him with the musty fabric.
Stiles sat down in front of Scott's legs, teetering on the edge of the couch.
“Obviously, we have some things to talk about.” He laughed and placed a hand on
Scott's knee.
“I'd say so,” Scott replied, flicking his gaze between Stiles' face and hand.
“How about let's start with how you're here.”
“I've never left, Scott,” Stiles said, and he pinned Scott with a look that
made his heart catch in his throat. “I've always been here, by your side. You
just weren't always able to see me.”
Scott shook his head, and it felt like he was trying to clear cobwebs from his
brain. “That doesn't... that doesn't make any sense. You weren't real, Stiles.
You were my imaginary friend when I was a kid. Unless all of this is a dream,
or I've gone crazy, I'm not sure which.”
Stiles had looked away again and was fidgeting with the blanket on top of
Scott's leg. “You're not dreaming, and you're not crazy. It's actually pretty
simple: I'm your fairy guardian.”
A sharp, loud laugh burst out of Scott's mouth, unbidden. “You're kidding!” he
shouted, feeling ridiculous that he was having this conversation, even if it
was in his head.
“I'm completely serious,” Stiles said, and he turned to look at Scott again.
“Why is that so hard to believe, when just tonight you got bit by a freakin'
werewolf and you're gonna turn into one yourself?”
Scott felt his pulse start to race, and he sat up, swinging his legs off the
side of the couch. “I can only handle one thing at a time, okay?” As much as
Scott wanted to believe this was all a dream, everything just seemed too real,
from the smell of Deaton's office, to the rush of blood pumping through his
body. It was almost as if he could feel himself getting better, stronger, since
he woke up here in the vet's office. He remembered getting bit, he remembered
the pain, and seeing that previously damaged skin so completely healed now,
Scott knew something wasn't right. If his life really was turning into a horror
movie, he wasn't sure he could handle something as incomprehensible as his
imaginary friend being real. There were only so many strange things a person
could take in one night.
Stiles stood up next to him and held out a hand. “Come outside with me,” he
told Scott, crooking his fingers in a way he used to when he wanted Scott to
follow him deeper into the woods. It was that tiny gesture that made Scott grab
Stiles' hand and pull himself to his feet. Stiles kept a grip on Scott's hand
as he led them towards the back service entrance of the office, and outside to
the employee parking lot. He let go his grip and stepped backwards from Scott.
“Just... give me some room, okay?” Stiles asked.
Scott nodded, noticing how he could make out fine details, like the pattern on
Stiles' shirt and the color of his eyes, more clearly in the dark than he ever
could have before. He shivered in the cool air.
Stiles pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to Scott, who caught it
without even thinking about it. A smile spread over Stiles' face and he sighed,
tilted his head back to look up at the stars. He lifted his arms from his
sides, fingers spread out and stiff, and Scott thought he could see the air
ripple over Stiles, the way it does on a hot day, almost like a mirage. Then
suddenly a loud crack sounded through the air, echoing in the empty parking
lot, and wings, incredibly large and wonderfully golden in color, unfolded
around Stiles. They flapped slowly several times, and Stiles floated into the
air, his gaze still on the heavens, eyes closed with a look of bliss on his
face.
Scott stood rooted to the spot, a wordless cry slipping from his mouth. Stiles
was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. A greenish, silvery shimmer
danced over his skin, the glow radiating out from his body. His wings looked
paper-thin, almost translucent, and there was a thick webbing that ran through
them, dark brown in color, like moving tree branches. They beat steadily,
keeping Stiles afloat a couple feet off the ground. He finally opened his eyes
and looked down, their normal amber color now burning bright as they focused on
Scott.
“Need more proof, Scotty?” Stiles asked, the familiar smirk on his face the
only thing that reminded Scott of his childhood friend.
“I don't... Stiles, what are you?” Scott stuttered out.
Stiles pulled in his wings, bending them slightly to lower himself to the
ground. He landed softly, his toes barely touching the pavement before he began
to walk towards Scott. “Fairy, fae, sidhe, seelie,” Stiles said in an odd
echoing voice, his wings folding in further as he stopped in front of Scott and
reached his hands out to grasp Scott's shoulders. “All of those are names my
kind has been called over the millennia. We're older than the human race, and
we've lived amongst you this whole time. Just like the werewolves you've now
joined, we've lived in the shadows and blended into your societies. There are
different types of us, serving different... purposes, jobs, if you will. I'm
one of the ones the old fairy tales are about – a guardian of a sort, assigned
to certain children when they're young to protect them. We get paired off when
we're young too, so we age with the children, live our lives alongside you.
You're mine, Scott.”
Scott tore his gaze away from Stiles' glowing eyes long enough to track the
shivery movement of colors across his skin, down his neck, over his collarbone.
There was no more denying this now, not with such incredible evidence in front
of him. “I'm yours?” Scott asked, the question simple and complex at the same
time.
Stiles nodded, moved one of his hands from Scott's shoulder to cup the side of
his neck, his thumb coming up to rub along the edge of Scott's jaw.
A flush ran up Scott's chest into his neck, and he asked, “But why now? Why can
I see you suddenly now when I couldn't for the past couple of years?”
Rearing back, Stiles bared his teeth in a mock growl and held his hands in
front of him, fingers crooked in an almost comical display of claws.
“Werewolves, dude.” Stiles laughed, and the glow on his skin began to recede,
the otherworldly air and way of speaking drifting away from him. The air around
him shivered like before and in between one blink and the next, the wings were
gone.
“So, because I'm a werewolf now,” Scott said, “that's why I can see you again?”
Stiles turned around with a flourish. “Yep,” he replied, dragging out the word
and adding a pop at the end. “Most of my fae abilities don't work on other
supernatural creatures. Just the normal ones we all have,” Stiles said and he
jerked his thumbs back, gesturing to where his wings were previously. “Like
hiding my wings, making my skin look human, my voice normal, those still work.
But guardian fae like me normally don't show themselves to their humans once
they reach puberty. Helps keep the imaginary friend thing going.” He shrugged.
“Does that mean I could see other... uh, fae, like you?” Scott asked. He had a
brief thought of hundreds of shiny people flying around Beacon Hills. He wasn't
sure if that was awesome or terrifying.
Making a face, Stiles replied, “Yeah, I guess so. But there's not many of us
here in town. It's kinda lonely, actually, in terms of my kind. I pretty much
spend all day following you around and watching you... heh, you know. Do, your
thang.” He chuckled, and Scott was reminded again of the goofy friend from his
childhood.
Scott laughed along with Stiles until he had a thought, and he froze. “Wait,”
Scott said, pointing at Stiles. “Dude! Do you watch me in the shower? When I
jerk off?” Scott's mind began to flash through all of the possible embarrassing
things Stiles could have witnessed throughout the years.
Stiles rushed forward, eyes wide. “What? Give me some credit, man! I am always
considerate of 'Scott Time', okay? I give you your privacy.”
The fact that Stiles knew that Scott referred to jerking off as 'Scott Time'
was enough to tell Scott that Stiles wasn't being completely truthful. He
decided to let it slide though, since they had some more serious things to talk
about.
“What am I going to tell my mom?” Scott wailed, all of sudden hit with a wave
of worries, now that he was convinced this was all real. “What's going to
happen on the full moon? Am I gonna kill someone? Holy shit, Stiles, am I gonna
kill somebody on the full moon?” Scott felt the ground slip out from under him,
and the horizon began to spin around him. Panicked, Scott's breath cut off, and
he gasped and wheezed, straining to pull in more air.
“Scott, hey,” Stiles said, and then he was holding Scott up, grounding him,
allowing him to breathe again. “Derek Hale will be here soon, and he'll tell
you everything you need to know. Relax, breathe with me, Scott.”
“Derek, was he the one that bit me?” Scott asked, still fuzzy on the details of
his attack.
Stiles shook his head. “No, Derek didn't bite you. Plus, he's not an alpha, so
he couldn't turn you even if he wanted. Derek will help. The Hale family has
protected Beacon Hills for a long time; they're trustworthy.”
After a couple more minutes of Stiles assuring Scott that everything would be
okay and he wouldn't be alone in this new chapter of his life, they went back
inside the clinic to wait for Derek and Dr. Deaton. Scott was still unsure of
why his boss would be able to help too, but Stiles convinced Scott that he
shouldn't doubt the man.
They scarfed down a couple energy bars that Scott kept in the drawers behind
the front counter while they waited, Scott asking how Stiles was able to eat
when he was invisible to most humans. Turns out Stiles didn't have to eat, but
he sure did enjoy it when he had the opportunity. It would explain where all
the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies Scott's mom often made seemed to have
disappeared.
A little before six the front door opened, the jangling bell announcing their
guest. Derek Hale staggered in, shirt and jeans ripped, scratches down his
face, dried blood caked in his hair and on his clothes. Scott ran forward to
catch Derek before he could collapse onto the floor and managed to get both
arms around him just in time. For as heavy as Derek looked, he felt
surprisingly light in Scott's arms, and Scott wondered if this was yet another
side effect of his new 'status'.
“Shit, dude, what happened?” Stiles asked from behind them. He ran over to
kneel down next to them on the floor.
“I killed him,” Derek spat out. Black blood oozed out of the corner of his
mouth.
Scott watched as one of the smaller cuts on Derek's face began to heal, the
skin slowly pulling together. “Who?” he asked.
Derek coughed, spitting up more blood, and said, “My uncle, the one that bit
you. He wasn't supposed to,” he paused to lean over, more hacking coughs
shaking his body, “wasn't supposed to turn anyone against their will. We don't
do that.”
“Peter Hale bit Scott?” Stiles asked, flailing backwards onto his butt. “Wasn't
he catatonic?”
“Apparently it wasn't that serious,” Derek said as he looked over at Stiles.
“Who are you again?”
Stiles waved awkwardly, “Hey, I'm Stiles. Scott's friend.”
Derek studied Stiles for a moment before he said, “You're not human.”
Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at Derek. “You got it buddy. Ten points
for Gryffindor if you can guess what I am.”
Scott chuckled at Stiles' reference and wondered if Derek would be able to
guess what Stiles was. Did werewolves know much about other supernatural
creatures?
“You smell.... like leaves and sunshine,” Derek said as he wiped blood from his
face with the back of his hand, smearing a line across his chin. “Fae, I'm
guessing.”
Stiles whooped in excitement. “Yeah, wolfman knows his stuff!”
“I don't know what kind, though,” Derek continued. He shifted his legs under
him as if to try and stand. Scott scurried backwards and stood up to help Derek
before he pitched forward.
Standing up to help Scott lead Derek to the back examination room, Stiles said,
“Guardian, actually. I've been with Scott since... well, since we were both old
enough to walk.”
“I don't understand,” Scott said as they shuffled along. “How do you remember
stuff like that when I can barely remember being that young. And know things
well enough to be my guardian.”
Stiles shrugged. “It's just in my biology. We're born knowing what to do, who
to protect.”
“Sounds almost like a soulmate,” Scott murmured.
They helped lay Derek on the exam table that Scott had just recently vacated,
and Stiles said, “That's exactly what it is, Scott.”
~~~~
After Scott and Stiles cleaned the blood off of Derek and ensured all of his
injuries had fully healed, Deaton finally showed up to the clinic. During a
heated discussion between Derek and Deaton, Scott learned that Deaton was
apparently incredibly knowledgeable in werewolves and other supernatural
creatures, and actually used to work for Derek's family in some capacity, but
was now mostly retired. At this point Scott wouldn't have been surprised to
find out that his mom was an ancient vampire queen and his dad was a time-
traveling Scottish Highlander.
Deaton and Derek gave Scott a list of basic things to work on before the full
moon, like keeping his pulse rate low (so, no video games), staying away from
any activities that might get him too excited (apparently no lacrosse, either),
and attempting to control his change at a slower pace (decided after a briefly
disastrous incident which resulted in two large shelves full of supplies
crashing to the floor). Stiles promised that he could help with that, and
reminded everyone present that he had supernatural healing abilities too, thank
you very much.
It was close to lunch time when Scott and Stiles finally left the clinic after
arranging to meet up with Derek next Monday for training, and Scott was so
hungry he felt like he could eat a horse. When he expressed this sentiment out
loud in terror to Stiles as they climbed into an old, dusty blue Jeep, Stiles
ensured Scott that werewolves usually didn't eat animals and suggested they
stop at Wendy's instead. Scott wanted to be disgusted with himself after he
polished off four double bacon cheeseburgers and two large fries, but he
honestly didn't care at that point. What he needed now was to collapse onto his
bed and sleep for a good twelve hours.
“Wait,” Scott asked Stiles as they pulled out of the restaurant's parking lot,
“If you're always around, where do you sleep?”
“Guest bedroom,” Stiles said, slurping the last of his soda obnoxiously. “I
used to sleep in your bed with you when we were younger, but had to stop when
we got big enough that you would have felt me there.”
“You slept in my bed with me?” Scott asked.
“Hey,” Stiles said, indignant, “it was like a slumber party every night, buddy.
You should be excited.”
Scott threw up his hands but decided to cede that argument. “And where'd you
get this Jeep?”
“I acquired it,” Stiles said. And no matter of pushing made Stiles tell Scott
any more on that matter.
When they got to Scott's street Stiles pulled into a small thicket of trees and
turned off the Jeep. He twisted around in his seat to face Scott and said,
“Look, I only showed myself to your friends because when you got bit I...”
Stiles cleared his throat and shook his head, pausing for a few seconds. “I was
afraid you were going to die and I lost all my concentration when I ran over to
help you. And since your friends know about me now, and think I'm your friend
from San Francisco, I can't really keep hiding from your mom. You did have that
group of friends you used to hang out with when you visited Aunt Lissa,
remember? Maybe we can say I'm one of them and my family moved to town? That
way I only have to hide at night and we can just pretend I'm hanging out at
your house a lot.”
Scott figured that it was as good an idea as anything and agreed with Stiles
before they hopped out of the Jeep.
“This is weird,” Stiles said as they walked up the stairs of the front porch.
“What’s weird?” Scott asked.
Stiles shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone through your front door
without having to slip around you or something awkward like that, so you didn’t
know I was there. It just feels like we’re little kids again.” He smiled at
Scott, a fond look on his face.
Scott stopped with the key halfway turned in the lock and asked, “So why could
I never touch you before either?”
“You could have,” Stiles replied. “It just helped keep the imaginary friend
thing going.”
“I hated it,” Scott murmured. “Hated not being able to touch you. It made me
feel lonely sometimes when I knew I shouldn’t be. Not sure if that makes any
sense.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said and he wrapped his long fingers around Scott’s bicep,
squeezing for a second. “And if it makes you feel any better, I hated it too.”
An odd, fluttery sensation appeared in Scott’s stomach hearing that and he felt
his cheeks heat up as he pushed the door open to let them inside.
Stiles skipped past Scott and threw his hands up, walking backwards. “And, hey!
Now we can touch each other whenever we want.”
Scott spluttered while trying to find the right words to respond, and Stiles
gave him an exaggerated wink before slipping into the kitchen.
After grabbing a couple bottles of water, they climbed up the stairs side-by-
side, shoving each other playfully as they went. Stiles stopped outside the
guest bedroom, hovering at the threshold.
Scott laid a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and turned him back to face him. “C’mon,”
he told Stiles as he stifled a yawn. “No point in hiding in there any more.”
Which was true, at least while Scott’s mom wasn’t around, but a deep part of
Scott’s mind told him that the real reason he didn’t want Stiles sleeping in
there was because he was afraid if he lost sight of Stiles for too long, he’d
lose him forever again.
~~~~
Scott was woken up by a light touch trailing down his stomach, a warm hand
settling on the outside of his thigh. He adjusted his hips, rolling them
backwards, ass pressing against Stiles’ erection. Gasping when Stiles tucked
his hand inside the waistband of Scott’s boxers, Scott reached behind him to
cup the back of Stiles’ head. Stiles’ long fingers wrapped around Scott’s cock,
and he squeezed gently, thumb circling on the head, smearing precome. Scott
bucked his hips forward, fucking into Stiles’ fist, gripping Stiles’ hair in
his fingers to anchor himself. Stiles burrowed his face into Scott’s neck, his
lips warm and wet against the delicate skin there, and began to slide his fist
along the length of Scott’s dick at a slow, leisurely pace. A whine pulled
itself from the back of Scott’s throat and he pressed his hips harder into
Stiles’ grip, urging him to move faster, hold tighter. It felt as if every want
and need Scott had ever had to touch and be touched by Stiles was culminating
into this one moment, like an itch buried under his skin, hot and incessant.
The slow fog he awoke from was clearing, and now Scott could sense everything
at a heightened state; the sound of Stiles’ breathing against his neck, the
smell of sweat and a muskiness that Scott could only describe as arousal, the
feel of Stiles’ hard cock through the cotton of their underwear, sliding
against the cleft of Scott’s ass.
“Let me, let me,” Stiles murmured into Scott’s neck, his voice broken and
strained.
Scott turned his head towards Stiles as much as their position would allow and
said, “Anything. Anything you want.”
Stiles pulled his hand from Scott’s boxers and slipped from behind him, pushing
Scott’s shoulder down onto the mattress so he could straddle Scott’s lap.
Leaning down, Stiles pressed an urgent kiss to Scott’s mouth, and Scott could
feel Stiles’ hands shake as he gripped the sides of Scott’s face.
“Stiles...” Scott began to say when Stiles sat up, breaking from their kiss,
panting as he stared at Scott, eyes wide. His throat felt tight, and Scott
tried to swallow, the rough, aching sensation overwhelming him. Stiles’ tongue
peeked out to trace along his lower lip, and Scott trailed the movement with
his eyes. “I need…” Scott tried again, seemingly unable to finish a sentence
with how everything was building up inside him.
“I know, Scott,” Stiles said, and he kissed the edge of Scott’s jaw before
sliding down, hands trailing over Scott’s chest as he settled himself between
Scott’s legs. He tilted his head up to look at Scott and slid Scott’s boxers
from his hips, down past his thighs and calves, pulling them off his feet and
over the side of the bed. Burying his face into the crook of Scott’s hip,
Stiles grabbed underneath Scott’s knees and pushed, opening his legs further.
He dragged his nose through the thick hair surrounding Scott’s dick, and Scott
shivered in response, clutched at the bedsheets, hearing the fabric pop and rip
as his claws sprung free. Stiles licked a tentative stripe up the underside of
Scott’s cock, his eyes locked on Scott’s, a question in his gaze.
Scott nodded and placed a gentle hand on Stiles’ head, pressed down lightly,
urging Stiles to keep going. Heat engulfed the head of Scott’s dick as Stiles
wrapped his lips around him, his tongue pressing against the underside. Stiles
bobbed his head, each time swallowing more of Scott’s length until his nose was
nestled into the dark tuft of hair. Scott clenched his stomach muscles in
concentration, not wanting to buck up into Stiles mouth, and a low growl curled
out from his lungs, startling him. A muffled laugh bubbled out of Stiles, the
vibrations shooting straight up Scott’s dick and into his gut. Stiles finally
raised his head, lips sliding along Scott’s dick, leaving a wet trail of spit.
“There’s the reaction I wanted,” Stiles said, a string of saliva connecting
from his bottom lip to the tip of Scott’s dick. Scott reached out to break the
connection, rubbed his thumb along the wetness of Stiles’ lips before he
pressed it inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sucked on Scott’s thumb, eyes closed, a
look of quiet, contented pleasure on his face. He let go of Scott’s thumb and
said, “I’m going to suck you again, and I want you to come in my mouth.”
Scott’s eyes rolled back in his head, but Stiles didn’t give him a chance to
reply, simply taking Scott back into his mouth again, his pace quicker than
before. It wasn’t long before Scott began to feel his orgasm building, and he
scrambled to find a place for his hands, wanting to touch Stiles but afraid of
hurting him with his claws. He finally settled on pressing the heels of his
hands on Stiles’s shoulders, fingers splayed out, while he lost control of his
hips and bucked once, twice into Stiles’ mouth as he came, hard and fast, white
flashes of light popping beneath his eyelids. He felt Stiles crawl up his chest
and set his hands next to Scott’s head, resting his forehead against Scott’s.
Stiles slid his cock in the crevice of Scott’s hip, muttering unintelligible
words, his breath warm on Scott’s face, until he was coming in short, jerky
movements as he shot over Scott’s stomach and chest, warmth pooling in his
belly button.
They laid side-by-side, chests heaving as they tried to take in more air, too
tired to care about cleaning up the mess. Scott laughed suddenly, his head
spinning with thoughts, and asked, “What was that?”
Stiles turned over on his side to face Scott. “You didn’t like it?”
Scott could hear the worry in Stiles’ voice, so he turned over as well to look
Stiles in the eyes. “No, I loved it. I just… wasn’t expecting it, I guess. But
it makes sense, if I think about it.” He smiled, and watched as the nervous
look on Stiles’ face disappeared. The urgent ache from before had now turned
liquid and warm, flowing through his body as they lay there, happy and sated.
It didn’t matter if Scott hadn’t expected this, it felt natural, and real, and
that’s all that he cared about.
~~~~
After a few days, they set up a routine. Stiles would hide himself from Scott’s
mom before school, and would stay invisible as Scott went to his classes.
Stiles told him it wasn’t too difficult to keep up the invisibility, but Scott
still felt bad that he had to hide from others. After school was out, Stiles
would show himself to others again, the boys hanging out in Scott’s room, or
outside at the lacrosse field practicing, or in the woods fooling around. They
joined Allison, Lydia, and Jackson on Friday nights to go to the movies and for
pizza after, and Scott couldn’t help but notice how much happier Stiles was
when he didn’t have to pretend to not exist. Lydia seemed to take quite a
liking to Stiles, teasing him in the way she did so well, snarky comments
masking what Scott knew was actual fondness. Scott couldn’t be happier with how
Allison felt about him and Stiles’ relationship, after he told her the first
week. Scott knew not every couple remained friends after they broke up, and
Allison’s genuine acceptance and joy at seeing Scott and Stiles together was
more than he could have ever asked for. Even Jackson, who normally wasn’t nice
to anyone that wasn’t Lydia, admitted he thought Stiles “wasn’t too bad”. From
Jackson that was practically an admission of love.
A couple times a week Derek met the boys in the woods to help Scott continue
his werewolf training, stressing the upcoming full moon and the need for
safety. Stiles always argued, both while Derek was there and after he left,
that he had all the information he needed to help Scott, but Derek insisted he
be there, saying that Scott was part of his pack, and pack was family. Scott
thought that Stiles’ hesitancy to trust Derek had nothing to do with disliking
him, but a more basic jealously of taking away Scott’s attention. The day Scott
told Stiles this, Stiles became so angry he knocked down an entire copse of
trees, branches and leaves flying around in a whirlwind before he settled down
and apologized. He told Scott that he didn’t want to act like that, he knew
Scott had other friends and people who cared about him who he had every right
to want to spend time with, but going for so long without real interaction with
Scott and having it back now, it made it difficult sometimes. He didn’t want to
share Scott, and Scott understood the feeling, knew the way his stomach
tightened into knots when he caught others staring at Stiles when they were in
public, girls and boys flirting with him before Scott could make it known that
Stiles was taken. The first time that happened, Scott took Stiles back to his
bedroom and fucked Stiles’ throat until tears ran down his face, then
apologized over and over after he came, until Stiles finally pushed him onto
his back on the bed, telling him how it was the hottest thing he’d ever done
before, and made him promise they’d do it again.
One of the tricks Derek taught Scott was to keep his heart rate low, that it
would help him keep the shift under control. This was going to be especially
important around the full moon, and Derek advised that Scott keep himself as
calm as he could for the couple days before and the day of, even taking off
school if he needed to. Luckily, the full moon was happening on a Saturday, so
Scott didn’t worry about having to pretend to be sick for his mom, which was
never a good idea for a son of a nurse, who could spot a fake illness at one-
hundred yards. Stiles came up with an idea to go camping in the woods the night
of the full moon, tent and sleeping bags and everything, that way they’d at
least be away from Scott’s mom and he could tear through the woods if he needed
to, with Stiles and Derek there to keep watch. Derek declined the offer to camp
with them, but promised he would be near enough that he could hear Scott if
they needed help. In the days before the full moon, Stiles helped Scott
practice keeping his heart rate down, using a heart monitor he stole from the
locker room while Scott was at lacrosse practice. They sat in the woods in the
afternoons before dinner, Stiles teasing Scott with kisses, pulling away when
the beeps alerted them that Scott’s heart rate was too high. The urge to keep
kissing Stiles was the best incentive Scott could imagine, and it didn’t take
long before he could will his heart rate lower in seconds. The promise of
mutual blowjobs at the end of the night didn’t hurt either.
~~~~
“Tent?”
“Yep,” Scott replied.
“Sleeping bags?” Stiles asked as he continued on with his list.
“Uh huh,” Scott said, sighing quietly as he tried to placate Stiles and his
anal retentive packing tendencies.
“Mosquito repellant?” Stiles asked as he rustled through one of the several
bags he decided were absolutely necessary for their one night camping trip in
the woods.
“Stiles!” Scott said, finally having enough. “It’s too cold for mosquitos, I
told you that before. We just need the tent, our sleeping bags, some food and
water and that’s it. Plus a change of clothes in case I rip through mine…”
Scott really hoped all the preparation would make this first full moon run as
smoothly as possible, but Derek warned him that bitten wolves had a tendency to
acclimate to the change pretty slowly for the first several full moons, and
that he shouldn’t be surprised if he wolfed out so hard tonight he forgets most
of it. Scott just has to put his trust in Stiles and Derek to keep him safe,
and to not let him hurt anyone. Stiles had kept a brave front up until this
morning, when he started freaking out and making endless lists, all of which
were currently laying on every surface of Scott’s bedroom. Scott wasn’t really
that worried, although he didn’t want to tell Stiles that now, especially with
the state he was in. He knew it would be like talking to a brick wall. The only
thing Scott was worried about bringing was currently in his pocket. Everything
else was just comfort.
After a huge dinner of lasagna that Scott’s mom had stuck into the oven before
she left for her shift, the boys grabbed their bags and headed out to the
preserve in Stiles’ Jeep. They walked for about fifteen minutes before they
found a nice bare clearing of grass and dirt, surrounded by trees on every
side. Setting up the tent and cursing at how difficult it was to put together
properly, Scott watched the worry on Stiles’ face slowly fade away. There was
something about the woods that calmed the both of them. So many memories of
their lives together had been amongst these trees, and Scott couldn’t think of
a better place to spend the scariest night of his new life as a werewolf.
Looking at Stiles, who was bent over with his hands inside a huge duffel bag,
Scott couldn’t think of anyone else he would want to spend it with.
“Dude,” Stiles said as he straightened up with a bag of marshmallows, and packs
of chocolate bars and graham crackers in his hands, “fuckin’ s’mores time!”
The sunlight faded away as they built and ate their s’mores near the campfire,
laughing when Stiles got melted sugar and chocolate all over his face, and
Scott tackled him to clean it from his lips, both of them falling back onto the
leaf-covered ground, kissing each other slowly at first. It quickly turned
heated, and Scott could feel the beast inside him claw up his chest, wanting to
come out and break free, to mount and claim Stiles. Scott focused, listened to
Stiles’ deep breaths and sighs, his low moans when Scott kissed down the column
of his neck, and he tamped the feeling down, tamed the wolf inside him wanting
to get out and take control.
Scott pushed himself to stand over Stiles and held out a hand. “C’mon, let’s
get in the tent.”
Stiles grabbed his hand and Scott pulled him up, kissed him again, a sweet peck
of lips, a sharp, quick bite of teeth on his jaw. They unzipped the tent and
climbed inside, moved the sleeping bags and pillows around into a nest of
sorts, trying to get as much cushion as possible on the firmly packed ground of
the forest. Shedding their clothes and climbing under the blankets, they
flicked off the camp light and settled down next to each other.
“Can you see like I can?” Scott asked. “In the dark?”
“I can see that bottle of lube you thought you were sneaky enough to hide from
me,” Stiles responded.
Scott laughed, felt his cheeks heat. “I just thought, maybe…” They had been
teasing each other over the past couple of weeks, fingers circling and pressing
over each others’ holes while they sucked each other off, and Scott wanted
more, wanted to know what it felt like to be inside Stiles, for Stiles to be
inside him.
“You want to fuck me?” Stiles asked.
Breath punching out from him, still not used to how bold Stiles could be with
his words, Scott said, “Yes, god, yes. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay, are you out of your mind?” Stiles asked as he swung a leg
over Scott’s hip to climb into his lap.
Scott sat up and wrapped his arms around Stiles, kissing his neck as he
squeezed and massaged Stiles’ shoulders. The smell that Scott always associated
with Stiles, a light musk mixed with grass and earth and rain, was the
strongest here, and it drove Scott crazy, never able to get enough. The wolf
began to climb up his ribcage again, so Scott reluctantly moved away from
Stiles’ neck to kiss his lips, and was rewarded with a small bite to his mouth,
Stiles’ sucking Scott’s lower lip between his own. Stiles leaned away and Scott
watched him fumble through the pockets of Scott’s pants to pull out the bottle
of lube. When Stiles snapped the top off, Scott held out his hand wordlessly,
waiting for Stiles to squeeze some of the cold liquid onto his fingers. Once he
did, Scott reached around to Stiles’ ass, slid his fingers in between his
cheeks as Stiles hugged him tight, rocking slightly in his lap. Stiles tucked
his head into Scott’s neck as Scott circled one finger around the rim of
Stiles’ hole, shivering as he felt the tight muscle clench when he pressed
lightly against it. He held his breath, so eager to feel the heat and tightness
inside of Stiles, and gasped when his finger breached through, the lube easing
the way as he slipped inside. Stiles moaned and bucked his hips, which rubbed
their erections together and Scott let out an exclamation at the sensation.
They stayed like that for several moments, Stiles rocking in Scott’s lap,
rubbing their cocks together awkwardly as Scott slowly fucked his finger into
Stiles.
Stiles bit down on Scott’s earlobe and whimpered, “More, Jesus, fuck. Scott,
give me more, please.”
Scott added a second finger and Stiles’ movements became more erratic, the
speed no longer allowing for enough friction on their cocks.
“Just a little bit more,” Stiles panted out, “a little bit more and I’ll be
good. Oh god, Scotty, please.”
Stuffing a third finger into Stiles, the tight muscle constricting around him,
heat building inside of Scott as he thought about that tight warmth surrounding
his cock, Scott watched in amazement as a soft light began to fill the tent,
and it took him a moment to realize in the haze he was in, that it was Stiles’
skin glowing. Radiating silvery green light poured from Stiles’ skin, dancing
constantly in waves and patterns that seemed to hypnotize Scott. The insides of
the tent walls reminded Scott of the northern lights he had seen on TV before,
beautiful multicolored displays against the dark sky.
Stiles broke Scott from his reverie when he cried out, “Now, Scott, fuck, now!”
Scott pulled his fingers out of Stiles and too impatient to change positions,
lifted Stiles in his lap to hover over his cock, moving him minutely until he
could feel the swollen head of his dick press against Stiles’ fluttering,
clenching hole. He grabbed Stiles’ cheeks and pulled them open, easing the
slide onto his dick. Tight, incredibly hot softness engulfed him, and Scott
threw his head back and howled as Stiles fully seated himself. Stiles rocked in
place for a few moments, whimpering and moaning into Scott’s neck. Scott
brought his head back upright and buried his face into Stiles’ neck, uncaring
at the way it roused his wolf, and he fucked up into Stiles, slow and steady at
first, but quickly turning erratic and sloppy. Stiles didn’t seem to care, if
the moans and curses he made into Scott’s ear were any proof. Tightening his
legs around Scott’s middle, Stiles lifted himself up, trying to match Scott’s
thrusts and rhythm, pushing a grunt out of Scott each time he dropped his
weight back onto Scott’s lap. Stiles threaded his fingers into Scott’s hair and
tugged hard, the pain in Scott’s scalp only urging him on further, making his
hips thrust harder, faster, into Stiles.
Scott felt his fangs begin to elongate, and before he even had a chance to
think about controlling himself, a loud, echoing crash came from outside their
tent.
“Shit,” Stiles breathed out, falling backwards from Scott’s lap as he let go of
his grip around him. Scott winced as his dick slid out of Stiles at an
uncomfortable angle, and opened his mouth to wonder what the noise could have
been when it happened again, this time louder and closer.
“Scott,” Stiles said, his voice calm but his face pinched with worry. “Scotty,
we gotta get out of here. Whatever that is got past Derek, an alpha werewolf,
so we do not want to be here when it finds our tent.”
They rushed around in the tent looking for their clothes, knocking over the
camp light and cursing as they tried to dress in the confines of the space.
Stiles struggled with the zipper on the tent door, letting out a frightened
whine when it didn’t budge, so Scott slashed his claws through the thin
material, ripping a huge hole in the wall. Scrambling to their feet as they
exited the tent, Scott’s ears perked as he heard the sound of heavy footsteps
coming towards them. Stiles shouted, urging Scott to follow him away from the
campsite, but the wolf inside of Scott couldn’t hear him, didn’t want to. All
it knew was that there was a predator coming to attack, and the last thing it
would allow itself was to run away with it’s tail between it’s legs like a
coward. Scott roared, and the creature, whatever it was, incredibly tall and
painfully thin, crooked arms and legs spinning around as it ran in a horrific
visage, entered the clearing and barreled directly into Scott, knocking him
over. His flesh seared and burned as Scott landed in the dwindling campfire,
and he rolled onto his side to get out of the dying embers. A huge shape flew
over Scott, and he looked up in time to see Stiles’ wings rush over him,
delicate yet strong in their movements. Scott watched as Stiles crashed into
the creature and they fell to the ground, rolling around as they fought each
other. Long, spindly needles shot out from the creature’s limbs, piercing
Stiles’ glowing skin, but nothing seemed to deter Stiles from continuing to
fight back. After what seemed to Scott like an eternity, Stiles overpowered the
nightmarish creature and snapped his neck, yanking hard until it’s head tore
away from it’s body, a disgusting sound of ripping flesh accompanying the sight
of the detached spinal column sliding out of it’s torso.
Scott heaved himself onto his knees and stood up, felt his burnt flesh begin to
knit back together, before leaning down to help Stiles to his feet. He tugged
Stiles up, clasped his hand to pull him towards him so he could kiss him, feel
him, know he was safe and alive when the arrow slid through Stiles’ stomach
with a wet thunk. Stiles looked down at it, then up at Scott, eyes wide and
mouth gaping.
“No,” Stiles mouthed, no sound coming out, and then he was gone, his body
disintegrated into ether, leaving behind a silver green cloud of dust floating
around Scott’s body.
~~~~
It was hunters that had killed Stiles, a local group who had caught wind of a
fae in their town, and the arrow was made of iron, the only thing that could
truly kill a fae. Derek had found Scott in the clearing after dawn, had dragged
himself there through the forest when he awoke from the creature’s attack.
Scott had been numb, in complete disbelief over what happened, and it took him
several days to even speak, knowing that if he had opened his mouth every
secret would have come spilling out, unable in his grief to hold it back. Derek
had helped him, as much as he could, telling Scott’s friends and his mom that
Stiles’ family had decided to move back to San Francisco, and that Scott was
distraught from losing him so suddenly.
Derek and Scott had a small funeral in the woods, right in the clearing where
they had spent the night of the full moon.
“Was any of this even real?” Scott asked Derek, tears streaming down his face
as he knelt on the cold ground. The forest no longer held the same comfort it
used to, the trees dark and looming, no sunlight peeking through. It even
smelled terrible, dank and rotten, like the inside of a cave.
Derek nodded, promised Scott that of course it was real, hadn’t it felt real?
Scott was unable to answer him. The only thing that felt real now was his
grief, the sickening, gutting feeling that lay like dead weight in his stomach.
To have the person he had loved most in his life become real and solid only to
be ripped from his hands so suddenly, surely that couldn’t have happened. Life
couldn’t be that cruel.
Scott had another year left of high school, and he floated through it, head
heavy and filled with fog. His friends tried their best to cheer him up, make
him go out, do regular things, but for the most part he spent his days doing
homework, working at the vet clinic, and helping Derek when he needed a hand
with any supernatural issues. By graduation, he had begun to come out of his
shell again, finally giving in to his mother’s threats and spending some time
with Allison, Lydia, and Jackson. Derek had started a pack, a few misfit
teenagers from Scott’s high school whose lives needed a change, needed
something more in them. Scott would join them sometimes as they trained, but
his heart was never fully in it. Derek knew, he understood, and he respected
Scott’s distance. Eventually he would come around, but for now, Scott still
needed time to mourn.
He got accepted into the veterinary medicine program at UCLA, and over the
summer he was able to distract himself by planning for his move to school. He
was determined that once he got there, his life would start anew. He’d have a
new place to make new memories, new spaces and people and smells that didn’t
remind him at every turn of Stiles and what he lost.
The first week of September, Scott packed up his things, new bed sheets,
posters, towels, shower shoes, everything he’d need for life in the dorm, into
his mom’s old car and left for Los Angeles. He cried in the car on the way
down, tears blurring his vision as he left the only town he’d ever lived in,
left so many things behind, left Stiles. When he got to the campus it was hot,
almost stifling, and he found his parking spot and started to unload his car.
Wandering around, he spotted the sign on the side of a building, letting him
know he found the right dorm. He trudged up the stairs, balancing several
boxes, trying to look like they were heavier than what he could actually carry,
bumping into other students rushing around in their own panics and excitement.
Scott reached his floor and counted as he passed each door, stopping at an open
one that had to be his own. He shuffled awkwardly into the room, navigating
around piles of boxes that his roommate must have brought in earlier.
“Hey!” called a familiar sounding voice, and Scott barely caught himself before
he dropped his boxes.
Heart beating a million miles an hour, Scott slowly lowered them to the ground,
then willed himself to look up.
A tall, lanky boy, brown hair tangled and messy, geeky black-framed glasses on
a face scattered with moles and freckles that Scott could have mapped out in
his sleep, stood in front of Scott, hand held out in greeting.
“Hi,” he said with a wide, warm smile, and Scott’s heart pounded in his chest.
“I’m Stiles.”
END
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