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There, There

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Stiles was fourteen when he woke up to a searing pain on his left wrist. He dad practically flew into his room, eyes wide and gun drawn. He took in his sons hunched form as sobs wracked his small body. The Deputy moved over to his son, arms wrapping around his body as he hushed the boy. Stiles slowly calmed down, his sobs changing into sniffles as his father rocked him back and forth slowly. Stiles didn't say anything for a while, neither did his father. They sat there in silence until Stiles pushed his arm out, wordlessly showing his father what was wrong.

There across Stiles small left wrist in delicate cursive writing was a single initial and a last name.

D. Hale


For the first year after Stiles' mates name was etched into his skin, the boy was a nervous wreck.

He was always looking at every person's wrist he met, trying to find the G. Stilinski he knew should be there.

But eventually Stiles stopped looking. Life went on, he knew that the chances of finding your mate once you knew who they were was slim. The world was huge after all. It's not like the world made it easy for people anyways. You couldn't just google their name or open a phone book.

No, it was all about destiny and if you are meant to be you will be. Which to Stiles fifteen year old brain was absolute, 100%, bullshit.

So Stiles gave up hope on ever finding his mate, grew bitter with the thought of eventually finding them year after year.

Until eventually, Stiles just didn't care. Hate sat in his stomach every time he glanced at his wrist. Hate for a person he didn't and might not ever know.


His father tried for a few years to make Stiles understand that it will happen eventually. That he would be able to feel the unmistakable pull when he finally met his mate. Always as he spoke he would rub his wrist, where the delicate cursive sat, still there even after all the years she's been gone.

M. Summer.


He met Scott when he was eighteen. They were college roommates and soon best friends. He tried not to be jealous every time he got a glance of the A. Argent on his wrist and the matching S. McCall on Allison's own wrist, that appeared one night they were all hanging out in Scott and Stiles dorm. Stiles had to leave the room as Allison burst into tears. His own angry tears threatening to break free and slide down his face.

Of course he eventually sucked it up, congratulating the couple with sincerity. Pleased that his best friend was lucky enough to find his mate. Pushing the jealous monster to the back of his mind and letting hate for the unknown person fuel him.


It was his third year of college that Stiles met Danny.

He had started wearing a bracelet, just big enough to cover the small font on his wrist, hiding from himself and the world who his mate was.

Danny's wrists were bare when Stiles met him. It wasn't until their eight month anniversary that the small font appeared on his arm. The same time that Danny's best friend came banging on Scott and Stiles apartment door, his own wrist red and bright from where the writing had appeared.

J. Whittemore.

D. Mahealani.

Stiles broke up with Danny so he didn't have to dump Stiles instead.


Stiles moved to New York as soon as he graduated. Scott followed him, Allison in tow as they moved into a two bedroom apartment.

Stiles was twenty two now, starting a job at a bar downtown while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. He had a degree in English and not a single clue what to do with it.

Scott was starting a job at some gym as a personal trainer. He was ecstatic, considering it was exactly what he wanted to do. Allison was working at the Law firm her family owned, being a paralegal as she was working on becoming an actually lawyer in school.

Stiles life was okay at the moment. The anger he usually felt settled into a small feeling that was always there, but it was small. At the back of his mind where he could forget about the fact that he was alone and actually be somewhat happy for once.

At least until he met him.


"Stiles wake the fuck up! I want food!" Stiles groaned as Scott pounded on his bedroom door, his eyes opening slowly and glancing at his clock.

"Fuck you, asshole! I only got home from work 4 hours ago!" Stiles had the late shift at Howl, the bar he worked at and had stayed even later with his friend Isaac, getting drunk while the other man laughed.

Scott didn't respond to Stiles, just banged on his door again as he walked by it. Eventually Stiles got up, throwing on a pair of tight jeans and a t-shirt with some weird computer related joke on it, he brushed his teeth and met Scott in the front hallway, some colourful words falling from his lips in a greeting.

"How drunk were you last night, dude?" They had just left the building and were walking down the street towards their favourite diner. They served the best breakfast food ever and Stiles needed some greasy ass bacon and home fries right about now.

"I don't understand how every time Isaac suggests we have a drink I end up drunk while he's barely even buzzed." Stiles mumbled with distaste. Isaac drinks the same amount as Stiles every time. If not more! Yet Stiles still hasn't seen the older man drunk. Asshole.

Scot just laughed and patted Stiles on the back, walking silently the rest of the way. They were seated quickly, being the only other people in there besides a couple at the back. Apparently people don't like to have breakfast early on Saturday mornings.

As soon as Stiles had coffee in his hand he felt better and once he was taking a sip, his bad mood about being woke up early was forgotten.

Until Scott grabbed Stiles wrist, pulling it towards him.

"I forgot you had this man, why do you cover it?" Stiles ripped his hand away from his best friend, trying to calm his anger as Scott stared at him with wide eyes.

"Don't." Stiles hissed out, mind filling with anger. He must've taken off his bracelet last night.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to upset you, Stiles." Scott's eyes were still wide, staring at Stiles with confusion.

"It's okay. I'm sorry I snapped. I just - I have some issues when it comes to this whole mates shit. I don't really want to talk about it." Stiles got out before Scott could ask. He knew his best friend would ask if Stiles wanted to talk about it. Try to get the other man to open up instead of keeping his emotions locked up.

Stiles didn't want to tell him the only emotion he really had was anger. Pure, red hot anger for someone he didn't even know.

Scott nodded and gave Stiles a smile, which Stiles returned as their food was set in front of them.

They ate in silence, the previous moment forgotten as they devoured their food. They didn't linger after they were finished, splitting the bill and heading for the door. Stiles pulled his phone out as it vibrated, laughing at the photo Isaac sent him of Stiles passed out on top of the bar.

He was too busy replying to notice that someone was holding the door open for him. His eyes strayed to the handle of the door, seeing a strong hand holding it. Out of old habit Stiles glanced at the exposed wrist, his chest tightening as he saw the delicate writing there.

Stiles eyes moved up against his will, following the arm until his brown eyes met a pair of green ones. As soon as their eyes met Stiles felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, his body going rigid as everything in him screamed the same thing:


Without giving himself a chance to think of what he was doing, Stiles pulled his arm back and swung, catching the man in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards.

Without another glance Stiles turned and left, anger boiling inside of him as he tried to ignore the want and need to go back to his mate and see if he was okay. To be near the one person who could finally make him whole.

But he ignored all of that and stomped off. Heading as far away from the man as possible.


Scott caught up with him after a few minute. Some of Stiles anger had subsided and he was able to feel how much his hand hurt.

And how much he needed to go back to his mate.

"Stiles will you slow the fuck down!" Scott yelled as he grabbed Stiles arm, twisting so they were facing each other. Stiles blinked, ignoring the angry tears running down his face.

Scott didn't say whatever he was going to say as soon as he saw Stiles face. He just pulled him into a big ass bear hug and let Stiles angrily cry into his shoulder in the middle of the sidewalk.

There are reasons why Scott is his best friend.

Eventually Stiles pulled away with a mumbled 'I'm okay' letting Scott wrap his arm around Stiles shoulder as they walked the rest of the way home.

Ignoring the pain in his chest, which he knew was about his mate, he let Scott push him into bed and crawl in beside him, mutter to Stiles about everything and anything until Stiles finally fell asleep.


When Stiles woke up again it was 6pm. Scott was no longer in the bed beside him but Allison was, curled up against Stiles back, arm wrapped tightly around his torso. It wasn't a weird sight to see the three of them cuddling or even sleeping together. They were misfits brought together by the two qualities they all had in common.

Single parents and no siblings.

So naturally they looked to each other for those comforts they missed growing up. And yes, that meant cuddling and sleeping together.

He moved out of Allison's arms, going to the washroom and showering. After he was dressed he found Allison in the kitchen putting a frozen pizza in the oven. She didn't say anything as she passed Stiles a bottle of beer, twisting open the cap on her own and taking a long sip.

"When Scott gets back from work in a hour were talking about this. But for now, pizza and beer." Stiles nodded, once again ignoring that feeling in his chest. God is this how it's going to feel like all the time? Was being without your mate really this annoying? Whatever. He could can used to it. He got used to the feeling of anger and sadness when he was looking for his mate. He could get used to adding loss to that.

Scott got home only twenty minutes later. Coming home early from work. He kissed Allison as she passed him a beer, letting her pull the pizza out of the oven as Scott sad beside Stiles at the counter. They didn't have a dining room table, only bar stools at the island.

They all grabbed a slice of pizza and started eating, waiting for Stiles to approach the topic first.

He waited until after his second slice before speaking.

"It showed up on my wrist when I was fourteen. For a full year I checked every wrist of every person I met, until eventually I just have up hope. I was so fucking angry at the fact that I might never find my mate. So angry at the bullshit about destiny that instead of having hope that someday I would find my mate I felt anger at ever finding them." Stiles couldn't help but grip at the counter, trying to control his anger at the feeling in his chest. It was slowly getting worse.

"I started wearing the bracelet in hopes that even if I did find my mate they wouldn't know it was me. But that blew out of the window I didn't have to see his wrist, as soon as I saw his eyes I knew. I was just so mad that finally, after eight fucking years I found him." Stiles took a deep breath, knowing that saying what he was going to say would hurt him.

"And now that I found him I want absolutely nothing to do with him. I never want to see my mate again." Stiles hissed out, the angry tears finally flowing down his face. The pain in his chest over his confession was too much to bare, he clutched his chest and tried to control his breathing, but it was too late.

He hasn't had a panic attack in years. Not since he was sixteen and thought he saw his name on someone's wrist. He followed that person until he could get a better look, heart falling when he realized it was his name.

They had to call his father to come pick him up from the mall where he was sitting on the floor trying to breathe.

Stiles had told Scott about the panic attacks, so he knew to get Stiles on the floor and to place his head in between his knees. But it didn't matter. Stiles couldn't breathe. The overwhelming feeling in his chest that he knew what about his mate was too much.

The pain he felt when he said he never wanted to see his mate was too much. Somehow he knew it wasn't just his pain he was feeling, it was his mates too.

Faintly he heard someone banging at the door and Scott telling Allison to stay with Stiles as he went to answer it. Suddenly it was like he could breathe again, he took deep breaths as the pain in his chest dulled. Strong arms wrapped around him and he gripped back without a thought, eyes closing as he slipped into unconsciousness.


When Stiles woke up next he felt better then he had in years. He glanced at his clock as he yawned, noting that it was now just past midnight. He stretched and immediately froze when he realized there were two strong arms wrapped around him, and a body presses against his back.

He knew who it was almost instantly, and his anger hit him in full force.

Stiles ripped himself out of the man's arms, leaping out of bed and turning so he was facing the man. In the dark all Stiles could see was glowing red eyes. He blinked and they were gone but he could still see the outline of the man in his bed so he stomped over and turned his light on, taking a deep breath before turning to face his mate.

And god did Stiles regret doing that.

He was perfect. Dark hair with dark stubble to match. A perfectly sculpted chest with dark hair leading down just below his belly button. He had a jawline that could cut glass and his eyes held such an impossibly dark look that Stiles couldn't help but shiver as he caught his eyes.

Of course Stiles mate was basically a Greek god. Of course.

That was going to make hating him so much harder. 

“Get the fuck out.” Stiles hissed, pointing towards his door and leveling the gorgeous man with a murderous look. The man just raised one eyebrow at him, his look darkening into something more angry as he regarded Stiles. He stood up slowing, pulling his shirt up from where Stiles assumed he had tossed it on the ground. Stiles ignored the pang of want as he watched his mates back move as he pulled the shirt on. Goddamn those muscles. 

He also ignored his mates ass as he bent over to slip on his shoes, straightening up after and facing Stiles a full on glare set on his face now. 

Stiles swallowed thickly, letting his eyes meet the other mans, ignoring the feelings of want and need that surged through him. 

“I said, get. Out.” Stiles hissed again, pointing, once again, at his bedroom door. 

All Stiles had for a warning was a low growl (an actual fucking growl) before he was being shoved into the wall behind him, his mate pushed flush against him, red eyes in his face. 

“You don’t get to tell me to fucking leave after you punched me in the face and left me.” Stiles basically stopped breathing once his mate spoke. His voice washed over Stiles filling him with a warm glow. God leaving this is gonna suck. 

“I can tell you to do whatever the fuck want considering you’re in my fucking room!” Stiles couldn’t help yelling at the man, trying to push back against his chest, his brick wall of a chest, jesus christ. 

“Why are you pushing me away? I am your mate.” The growl was back, making his words vibrate through Stiles body. 

“I don’t give a fuck who you are! I don’t want anything to do with you! I don’t want a fucking mate!” Stiles had to close his eyes against the pain in his chest as he spoke the words again. His mate basically froze against him. He was so still that Stiles had to open his eyes to look at the other man, breath catching at the look on his face. 

He looked so lost. 

The look only lasted a moment before he was ripping himself away from Stiles and out his bedroom door. It wasn’t until Stiles heard the front door slam that he let himself fall to the ground, pain and sadness flooding him.