Chapter Text
He grabs his shoulder trying to move it forward as he tips his head over to try to get a closer look at his back. The floor sways a little, and he tilts as he grasps the cool ceramic of the bathroom sink, “Please, please, please be there…” He finally stops trying to turn his neck a full 360 and stares at himself in the mirror, “Well, fuck.”
He’s not freaking out. He’s not. The oxygen in the air feels really thick and heavy in his throat as he paces the floor, running his hands through his hair, and mumbles out an incoherent string of words. He pauses his cohesion of words to sit down on his bed, “High school. Highprecisely that starts this morning. This morning when high school starts.” He lets out a loud laugh that shatters the silence that surrounds him. It's just that this entire situation is almost exactly what happened to Scott two years ago. At least, now he has some knowledge about how lycanthropy works, and the skill it takes to control it. Grabbing his pillow he presses it to his mouth and lets out a scream. The sound is muffled, but in his empty house, it ricochets from the walls and fills his ears. Not that he didn’t place himself in Scott’s shoes, but it’s so entirely different when it’s your life that’s changing and not your best friend's. He doesn’t even really remember what happened last night. He knows that his car broke down coming back from that dineLiln second street.
Murmuring along to the words of some old country song he hears a little sputter from Roscoe, his jeep, and he quickly pulls over to the side of the road, “Not on my watch lil lady.” He pops open his hood and takes a look. All these years of taking care of old Roscoe have made him into a kind of mechanic, looking over everything he realizes his coolant tank is empty. He taps the side of his jeep, “No problemo, senorita Roscoe. Get you fixed up in no time.” He reaches the handle for the back seat, and he hears a noise. Now, Scott is known for scaring the crap out of Stiles, even before he got those crazy wolf powers, and since he’s turned he’s been even worst. Stiles turns his head, moving his body so he can look out into the woods, taking in his surroundings he realizes he did pull off to one of the creepiest roads in Beacon Hills. It reminds him of that chilling episode from Spongebob where he keeps missing the bus, and the street light is flickering and he thinks he had nightmares about that episode for a whole month when he was seven. He shakes off the feeling of being watched and opens the passenger door that’s on the driver’s side searching for the jug of water he keeps for emergencies like this. His hands find the handle, “Bingo.” Smiling to himself, he heads back to the hood, opens the radiator cap, and pours the water in slowly. He hears a crunch of a leaf right behind, smiles, starting to turn around, “Sco–” The jug drops from his hands, spilling the rest on the pavement below.
A hand grasps the back of his head roughly, and he thinks, “Definitely not Scott,” right before a searing white pain shutters through his body. The hand releases him, and he throws his head back screaming then he sinks to his knees.
This morning when he woke up, he hoped it was a bad dream. Maybe he imagined the hand, and it was just a rabid squirrel that bit him? Stiles was a realist, kidding himself was going to help no one. He had to accept the fact that he was bitten. So far he hasn't felt any different, maybe a little warmer than usual, but so far so good. He shakes his head, gets ready for school, and before he knows it he’s walking side by side with Scott.
Scott crinkles his nose, looking over at Stiles in distaste, “Dude.” He leans forward sniffing, “Dude.”
Stiles raises his arm sniffing his pit, “I don’t stink,” he defends. Scott shakes his head, “No, no, no…” he placates. “You smell like a wolf.”
Stiles' eyes widen his pink lips parting slightly as he remembers that this isn’t a normal day, and fuck does his ADHD meds even work in his new condition. Is he cured? Or cursed with nothing to ease the symptoms, bound to live his life in disarray. How will he survive in college? The workforce? He needs his medication to work damn it! Realizing Scott is still talking he tunes back in.
“…why the heck do you smell like a wolf?” He tilts his head like a confused puppy, and Stiles has to resist the urge to pet his black fluffy hair.
walkles touches the back of his neck scratching the ghost feeling of a strong hand gripping it. “I got bit.” Scott splutters and stops in the middle of the hallway. A pair of freshman girls walk dead into the middle of his back, dropping their phones. Stiles catches both of their phones before they hit the ground, flashes the girls a quick smile hands it back to them, and murmurs out an apology. They look surprised, flushing red that a senior guy is actually paying them the time of day, they giggle and take off again. Scott is still looking at him incredulously. His crooked jaw selling his disbelieving expression.
“Is this real life right now?” softly whispers Scott as he looks up like he’s asking the universe.
“Or is this just fantasy? Yes, dumbass, it’s real life,” he slaps Scott at the back of his head, smirking when Scott actually yelps.
Scott with his eyes bugged out and dark eyebrows raised says, “Dude!”
“Dude.”
Scott finally resumes walking as Stiles surveys the people around him walking slowly, thinking that they probably have another good five minutes before the first bell rings. “Why didn’t you call me? Who bit you?” Scott's eyes narrow at him. “Are you okay?”
He looks down at his shoes seeing his gray shoelaces graze the ground as he walks, he raises his head and looks at Scott, “I just… I was in a daze– shock, most likely– and…” His eyes find a spot off in the hallway to stare at, taking a deep breath he continues, “I guess I was used to being the sidekick and was in denial that boy wonder got a promotion to NightWing.”
Scott puts his arm over Stiles’ shoulder, “We’ll figure it out together like we did when I turned. Besides, I told you. No one’s a superhero any of the time.”
Stiles face does a weird expression between a grimace and amusement, “Not even some of the time?”
Scott laughs, “Nope!”
Stiles joins in feeling better around Scott. It’s like something settled inside him when he saw Scott this morning. He felt peaceful. Taking a deep breath trying to inhale more of Scott’s scent, he halts. There’s a sharp sizzle that goes down his spine, his head comes up with his nostrils flared. There’s a delicious scent wafting in his nose notes of charcoals, rainforest, and then that hint of danger! danger! With furrowed brows, he moves Scott behind him, and a beginning of a deep rumble starts to emanate from deep within his chest.
Scott wraps his hand around his wrist and pulls him into the nearest bathroom. “What the hell was that, dude?”
Stiles still isn’t settled, and he wants to race back out there and fight whatever the hell had that scent of pure danger. He tries to let out an exasperated sound, but a growl comes out instead. “I don’t know. Something didn’t smell… right.”
Scott puts his hand on his crooked jaw contemplating the next course of action. “Uh, you sure you want to go to school right now?” Stiles scoffs, “As if Dad would let me skip the first day of classes. I’m good.” Scott goes to grab his shoulder, and Stiles jerks away, “Dude, I’m good.” He raises both his hands in surrender and lets Stiles walk past him to their shared homeroom.
Stiles walks with a purpose. He just wants this day to be over as soon as possible. It’s like someone got a cutip, saturated it in that scent, and stuck it in his nose. He drops his backpack on the ground with little care, and slumps over his desk, trying desperately to breathe in his flannel’s warm scent of home. Scott rubs his back for a second before sitting down at the desk to the right of him. Stiles let out a rumble at the contact and finally lifts his head up, except when he does it isn’t Scott’s warm brown eyes that he’s looking up to. No, these eyes are a mixture of the forest; they have the deep blue of the sky, the green of the leaves, and even the yellow of the sun. He never wants to stop looking at them, but that scent hones in on him like it’s just for him alone to smell and he is suddenly reminded of that scene from Twilight when Bella comes in and Edward covers his nose, although Stiles refuses to do that. The teacher, not recognizing him, gains his attention, but Stiles notices his eyes glance over at him every ten seconds, and he keeps his ear pinned to Stiles’ direction. His scent puts him on edge, it’s like an annoying child constantly tap, tap, tapping at his shoulder. He really didn’t know that scents can talk, but this one is directing a challenge to him. You know when dogs suddenly still, their tails stick up straight, and their ears stand up at attention? Stiles doesn’t know if the reason he doesn’t want to look away is that the guy is so damn beautiful, or if he deems him a threat; he is striking with black hair, hazel eyes, and a leather jacket, life is not fair.
Stiles has a thought, getting his notebook out of his bag he scribbles a note to Scott.
Werewolf?
Scott nods and scribbles something back.
Yes.
Stiles stills. Could it be? Stiles isn’t the one to just believe something, because the circumstances look right –his dad taught him that– but it’s a huge fucking coincidence that he got bit, and a random ass wolf is now in his fucking classroom looking at him. He’s going to get down to the fucking bottom of this. He balls up the paper and sends a heated glare to the wolf still conversing with the teacher. The bell rings, and the rest of the class comes pouring in. He notices a pretty blonde girl standing right beside the wolf, along with a shy curly-haired blonde guy standing behind them both. Stiles glances at Scott, and he nods. There’s a wolf pack in town, great.
The teacher claps her hand when the classroom gets settled. “Ok, class, I know most of y’all know each other,” She looks at the group to the side of her, “It’s a pretty small town, everyone knows everyone.” She turns to the class again, pulling down her cardigan, “So, we have a couple of new students this year. I want y’all to welcome them as we do down south, with a bit of southern hospitality,” She points at each one of them as she continues, “this here is Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, and Erica Reyes. We’re happy to have some fresh faces ‘round here!” She gestures toward them and when they say nothing, she quickly hides her awkward grimace into a smile. Clapping her hands together, “Well, we are gonna go ahead and get started. Y’all can take a seat.” Flattening her dress out with her hands she turns around and starts writing on the board.
The three wolves stalk toward Stiles and Scott and branch off towards the back of the classroom. There are two other kids back there, but the blonde, Erica, simply smiles at them and sends them scrambling towards the front. He can feel their glares travel along his back as he tenses. This was going to be a long day.
Understatement of the year.
They were everywhere. At lunch he got acquainted with the fourth member of their posse, Boyd, broad shoulders, standing at least a foot above everyone else. He was stoic and barely cracked a smile. The only time Stiles even saw a faint smile is when Erica’s pale hand traveled up his dark bicep. Stiles had to admit they looked damn good together, and everyone in that whole group looked good enough to be models. Then, they were in gym class throwing dodgeballs at him. Thankfully he was clever and faked sick to Coach Finstock and he sat it out. His pride meant nothing compared to the consequences of him stalking over to them and ripping them all to shreds. They all rubbed him the wrong way. His jaw was clenched so hard, that he thought he heard his teeth crack.
He felt something hit the side of his head. His ears ranged for a moment, standing from the bleachers the ground looked like moving water, and he didn't feel steady on his feet at all. He felt a deep growl rising up within him as he looked up and sees Erica’s painted red lips say, “Oops.” She smirked and flipped her hair turning her eyes back to Coach.
“New girl!” Erica raised one perfect brow in response to Coach’s yell.
“Good throw! Lacrosse tryouts tomorrow. Be there!” Coach’s eyes were wild with joy. He needed someone on the team like her, the guys would be hesitant to hit her, but she wouldn’t be.
Stiles kept his head down trying to hold back the shift. His heart pounded against his chest, and the tips of his fingers tingled with an unfamiliar ache. “Nurse’s office Stilinsk!” Coach ordered.
Keeping his head down, he nods, grabs his bag, and walks through the gym doors. He keeps walking all the way out to the parking lot. It’s the last period, and besides, he’s not sure if he can keep it together any longer. He pulls out his phone from his flannel pocket, sending a quick text to Scott about his destination. Then he hears a knocking on his jeep’s windows. It immediately makes his insides tighten in fear. Forcing his body to pretend like nothing wrong, it’s probably just a teacher, he turns and sees Derek Hale. He stands there with his eyebrows basically touching his nose, arms crossed over his chest like he has better things to do. He lets a short growl when Stiles froze in shock, and gestures for him to roll the window down. Stiles raises a brow, and in turn, Derek somehow manages to lower his brows even more. He reaches down and manually rolls his window down, but the window gets stuck. He glances up at Derek and sheepishly smiles. He bangs his hand on the door and then it starts rolling down again.
“Uhh, what can I do for you dude?” Stiles wants to faceplant. Here he is in front of the only other werewolf he knows about besides Scott, and he calls him 'dude'? Seriously? Not only that, but Derek smells like when his mom and he used to go out in the preserve and lie down. The birds chirped in the distance. The smell of the growing Brazilian Cedarwood trees wafting in their noses, and the intangible pulsing waves of love that they shared. He still feels that Derek is dangerous, and it makes his shoulder blades hurt to resist that niggling feeling that he should be putting distance between them.
Derek's nose flares, “Stay out of our way, and we’ll stay out of yours.” Stiles feels his neck crack as he tilts his head back to stare at Derek in confusion.
Like dropping a match in gasoline his anger flares in roaring flames,“ Me? Stay out of your way? Tell that to fucking Erica who hit me in the head with a dodgeball! So, I’ll do what I fucking want when I fucking want to.”
–
There should be foot-like trenches engraved on the floor of Stiles’ bedroom, as he paces back and forth complaining to Scott, “Can you believe the nerve of that stupid idiot?” He runs his hands through his hair, crosses his arms, places them by his side, and crosses them again. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, his frustration presents itself as a deep long growl that only goes noticed by Scott. “Honestly! You’d think I pissed in their dog bowls bro.”
Scott lets out an offended, “Bro…” His eyebrows turn up the insult that can be directed towards him too.
Stiles stops his angry pacing for a moment to let out a, “What? I’m a wolf boy too now.” He lets a chuckle escape his throat. “What did you smell from them?”
“Uhh… I’m not sure I remember,” Scott says hesitantly. He knows that Stiles is probably on a tightrope. He remembers when he first turned.
Stiles footfalls thud like drum bass, and the fast beating of his heart bounces off the lockers until Scott has to put his palms over his ears. His blood rushes more forcefully down his veins as his anger topples over. The growl he releases reverberates through the locker room. Scott can feel his claws extend, the sweetness of blood lust makes his sense so much sharper.
Scott doesn’t like to remember that entire scene, but he remembers coming close to killing Stiles, coming close to wanting to kill him. Irrationally blaming him for any problems in his life. It wasn’t fair at all to Stiles who had just wanted to help in any way he could. Scott remembers wanting his cake and wanting to eat it too. He wanted to be human but without crippling asthma. He wanted to be the star quarterback, but without turning furry once a month, he wanted his best friend without being a friend in the first place. So, he walks on eggshells. He steps carefully, looks down, and tests it out before he takes even a small step because he intimately knows what the turn is like. He is surprised when all Stiles does is nod, and say that it’s ok. He jumps when he feels a hand on his back.
“Easy. Easy. Easy… it’s ok,” Stiles tells Scott like he can smell his anxiety. Scott tilts his head with his eyebrows furrowed, and he does feel better with Stiles’ calming hands rubbing circles on his upper back. He is so confused right now. This time two years ago, Scott was an absolute menace. Stiles is handling the turn like he was born for this. The roles are flip-flopped; instead of Scott calming Stiles down, it’s vice versa.
“I’m good, dude. What about you?”
Stiles doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to feel. He doesn’t even know how he felt when he was just human. If he’s feeling anything right now, he’s in denial about it. He has a lifetime of experience denying his emotions, and in turn, he doesn’t know what it’s like to live in his feelings. Doesn’t know what it's like to lack self-awareness enough to be completely consumed by his feelings. He's always talks himself out of anything he feels:
“They didn’t mean it that way,” He’d say after he was insulted to his face.
“I shouldn’t be sad right now, there’s no reason to be," his knees are to his chest as tears trickle down his face.
There is always an excuse that he can give himself for why he should not be feeling what he is. As if he were an alien inhabiting another's body, completely cut off from his humanity.
He shrugs and rises to his feet, “You think he’s the one who bit me?”
Scott's eyes follow Stiles as he stands, “I don’t know, maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Scott brushes eraser shavings from his jeans that somehow were leftover from his last period of Algebra class.
“Coincidence?” Stiles sputters, his hands coming up shaking like a display of fireworks. He's ready to argue until a thought flashes in his mind pulling his body taut for one second as he voices it, “Smell my use to be bite spot, I haven’t washed it since it was bleeding!” Stiles feels really proud of himself when he comes up with that idea.
Scott’s nose comes down on his shoulders so he can get a good whiff. “I don’t know man. There’s something familiar there, but honestly could just be the smells of people you passed by in the hall today,” Scott grabs his bag. “Look, I have to head home or mom will be pissed at me. Let me know if you need me.” Scott is almost down the hall when he shouts, “Don’t stay up all night!”
There’s something fishy happening in Beacon Hills, and he’s gonna get to the bottom of it. As his dad used to say ‘twice is a coincidence, and three's a pattern.’
There in the silence of uncertainty, a howl unleashes like a long sword coming from a sheath. It claims Stiles as a victim; his body is strung, like an arrow is pulled to be released, and then his eyes flashes. It is a bright orange color on the precipice of red standing there like it only needs to be pushed off the ledge.
Stiles is out the window before Scott can leave. Scott forgets about his mom’s anger, and races after his best friend.
Deep in Stiles's core, he feels a pull yanking him along, like a rope tied around his waist; a leash that his owner pulls like he is an insubordinate dog.
“Stiles!” He hears Scott running after him. He doesn’t spare him a glance, though his mind is reaching out to Scott. A small part of him wants Scott to tackle him, pin him down so he can’t run towards whoever howled.
He tries to slow down, but his body is thick like lead as he attempts to pull himself to a stop. His feet leave deep prints in the mud as he tries to grab a branch that would stop his momentum.
His mother left a black hole in her absence that sucked happiness, and control like a thirsty child with a straw trying to get to the last dregs of juice out of a cup. His father would come home after a long day of work, pour himself a glass of whiskey, and snores would welcome Stiles as he came down the stairs in his Star Wars onesie excited to talk. For so long he didn’t have any control over his circumstances, but now he tried to gain control in any way he could. He would not let some Alpha try to rip away the control that he has crafter with his bare hands.
He lets out a roar as his body stops, The rope that pulls him snaps from the pressure. The roar has pulled the beta shift from his body how a dentist extracts teeth.
Scott almost runs past him, throwing his hands out to balance his body but he manages to stop in front of him. Scott’s body looks wired, almost electrocuted in a way, as cold surprise floods through his body. “Dude, your eyes!”
Stiles is panting against a tree trying to calm down. Another howl sounds, a calling for Stiles. This time he doesn’t feel the rope wrapping around his waist, he just feels tired from all the sudden movement. He looks at Scott as his words hit him, “What about em?"
“Red.”
“The fuck?” Stiles pulls out his phone and doesn’t even have to take a picture. The glow emanating from his eyes is enough for him to see it in the reflection.
A howl sounds again; rough, gargled, and frustrated.
“But isn’t that the Alpha that bit me? I thought Deaton said either the Alpha spark passes to you, or you kill for it. I haven’t killed, and that Alpha isn’t dead.” Stiles' heart begins racing, and this time it’s not from the run.
“I don’t know dude, but we’ll ask Deaton after school tomorrow.”