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The thing is, Stiles didn’t share anything of himself, ever. No one at school knew much about him, and yeah to be fair he had been a social pariah up until his best friend was turned into a werewolf, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to share anything with anyone anyway.
There had only ever been one exception, and well since they were now deader than dead, he maintained his non-sharing rule. A part from his father and mother, no one knew his name. Stiles had invested a lot of money and time into making sure it never got out. He cried and pleaded with his father to not put it down when he first started school, and his mother had supported the decision wholeheartedly. John Stilinski never understood why his son hated his own name, he never would. Stiles couldn’t share with him what it meant, and his mother would never betray him like that. And so, citing reasons of a personal nature (and reasons of ‘his real name is too complicated for anyone to spell correctly’) he was registered under Stiles Stilinski at school.
Later when Stiles was older, he would destroy all copies of his birth certificate, and anything that had his name written on it. He had also destroyed anything with his mother’s name, which had caused the biggest fight between him and his father. That fight had solidified in Stiles’ head that his new confidant would never be John Stilinski, could never be. And so, Stiles shared nothing. He trusted no one with the secrets. He became so outspoken about everything else that no one ever felt the need to have him share, they thought he already was. And yeah, maybe it was kinda lonely, but he had to do it, because that is what his mother would have wanted.
~~~
“You can’t just expect me to be okay with Creepazoid having any say here! I mean for fucks sake he has conspired against you the whole time. How can anyone be onboard?”
“I didn’t ask for opinions, so free feel to shut up now.”
“I agree with Stiles, this is not a good decision.”
“Again, opinion noted and disregarded. He stays.”
“At the expense of us?”
“Erica, back off!” The Alpha command had all the wolves backing down, until it was only Stiles left. Erica and Boyd were sitting closest to the kitchen on the concrete floor of the loft, watching Stiles and Derek square off.
“It isn’t right,” Stiles locked his jaw and met the werewolves angry gaze straight on. “He is a murderer and psycho killer.”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est,” Isaac, who was sitting on the loveseat with Lydia, muttered. Derek’s head snapped around to face him and Isaac lowered his gaze to the floor. Jackson, sitting with his back to Lydia’s, knees snorted and the glare shifted to him. Lydia examined her nails, trying to feign indifference. Her other hand was gripping the arm of the loveseat so tightly that Stiles thought she would sprain it.
“Again, opinion is not necessary. This is not a democracy Stiles,” Derek turned back to face him once he was sure everyone else had been sufficiently cowed. Stiles stepped closer, bringing his face into Derek’s personal space.
“Well maybe it should be!” His voice was raised, and his was shaking with rage. Derek’s features started to sharpen, they became more animalistic the more riled up he became. Stiles tried to remember why he had to fight for this, and held onto the fire he needed to face the angry alpha wolf.
“Maybe it should be, because this time you are acting like a tyrant,” he continued, voice softer, but no less angry. “Peter is a menace. He has tried to kill you and undermine you at every turn. He terrorised Lydia and everyone else in this pack and you think that just because there is another threat, he should be forgiven and allowed back. Nuh uh. No way. Let the bastard die alone, like he deserves.”
“Shut up!” Derek roared. Stiles focused all his efforts on remaining still, even with the fear thickening his veins. He watched the anger shift Derek’s features in that of the wolf’s, and then watched them shift back. A malicious glint appeared in Derek’s eyes, and Stiles braced himself for the next barrage.
“You are assuming a little too much, don’t you think Stiles,” Derek ‘s tone made a shiver go up Stiles’ spine, and somehow he knew what was about to happen, like seeing something coming toward you in slow motion, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“You assume that I care about anything you have to say. You assume that anyone else actually wants you, the pitiful human to protect them. And your biggest assumption is that you are even part of this pack. Well lemme clear something up for you. I don’t care about anything you have to say. None of the werewolves need a pathetic and snivelling human defending them, because unlike you they get that this is my decision. And finally, to be clear, you are not pack. You are not wanted in my pack. Ever.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. His heart was pounding against his chest, and he could feel it in his eardrums. An energy surrounded him, fierce and powerful. And then, it was gone, like it had never been. Erica went to say something, but couldn't. There was nothing to say. She stood up, as did Boyd and Isaac. Lydia clutched Jackson’s shoulder, her mouth parted slightly. The silence in the room was only broken by Stiles’ ragged breathing. Slowly it even out and Stiles stepped back from Derek, towards the door.
“Okay,” He said. And with that he was gone and out the door before anyone could move.
~~~
And maybe, sometimes he needed to let it out a little. He would unfairly test his dad. Ask him to sign those permission slips for school, and see what he would put down. Never had his father slipped and written his true name, but every once in a while Stiles wished he would. If Stiles had the courage, he would try and see if his dad knew about its power, about the secrets. But Stiles couldn't, something always held him back.
His mother used to tell her history in the form of bedtime stories. Of how the world had been so different, so fresh, so amazing. How after a long time she lost interest in daily life, and wanted to spend more time exploring, but that her father wouldn't let her. She’d say that she fell into John Stilinski’s arms without a second thought, knowing that he would be her forever. And once, when she was in hospital, she told him that it had been worth it. One lifetime with John and Stiles had been worth more than a thousand with anyone else.
Stiles thought most of the tales of monsters were fictional. He thought that she couldn't be telling the truth. And as he grew older, and more distant from everyone, he doubted her more and more. Maybe she had been right about the monsters, but the myths and legends she had put so much faith in were rubbish. Because they meant nothing in the end. She had died, and if any of it were true she never would have. She left, left him here with nothing. No way to contact her family to find out more, no way to ever find out the truth and no way to restore any faith he might have had.
Which is why Stiles hated her a little bit. He had killed her, and yet he still hated her. Hated his name, hated her name and hated this one lifetime bullshit. So yeah, he had trust issues. He had an over active personality, and he would talk nonstop at anyone that would listen. But he had no faith left in anything, until some of it came true.
~~~
“Stiles, son,” his father was standing at his bedroom door. Something in his voice made Stiles glance away from the laptop screen. His Dad was haggard and worn, and there was still a tightness around his eyes and mouth that hadn't left since the first time Stiles had come home covered in bruises and spouting fallacies. Stiles looked down at his shoes, and held in the need to fix this, because he knew it was unfixable.
So he swallowed it down and asked “Yeah?”
“We need to talk.”
“If it is about the whole Jackson thing again I swear that I can get him here to prove to you it was just a prank. I mean, we hang out now, sorta. There are like no hard feelings whatsoever, and I get that it was a shitty thing to do. Although maybe a little part of me thinks that his douchebaggery throughout the years led to Scott and me wanting him to suffer a little bit…”
Stiles rambled on, until his Dad shook his head. And so, he trailed off with a little sigh.
“No Stiles,” The Sheriff began, “It isn't about that.”
“Then what-“
“Just come down to the lounge. This needs to be done sitting down.”
His Dad led the way, and grabbed them both a soda from the kitchen before sitting down.
“There isn't any easy way to say this, but you need to hear it,” John was fidgeting in his seat, and Stiles wondered if maybe he had received his dramatic flair from his father, and not his mother after all.
“Your mother’s family have contacted me. They want to meet you.”
And there it was. Stiles’ face furrowed. He watched his Dad watching him and wished he could see what John saw, because Stiles had no idea how to feel about that.
“I don’t know why now. I don’t know why they contacted me first, especially because they know how I feel about them. I don’t even know why they have left it until you were 17 to meet you. I do know, that regardless of how they worded it, it is your choice.”
John fell silent, and Stiles tried to process it.
“How did they word it?” The first thing he could grasp onto he did.
“It doesn't matter how exactly, but they are very arrogant,” John tried to placate his son, “and sometimes they forget manners when they talk at you.”
“Where are they now?”
“Your Grandfather said he was in town, so I would imagine that he would be staying at one of the motels. He gave me his number so that you could call him,” John reached into his wallet and pulled the business card out, handing it to Stiles.
“What would Mom want?”
“Oh son, she would want you to do whatever you needed to do.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think that they are bunch of idiots for not wanting to meet you earlier.”
“Dad c’mon. Do you think I should meet up with them? Do you think that I should even give them the time of day considering that they didn’t even show up when she was in hospital, let alone to the funeral?”
“Stiles,” his father moved quickly and hugged his son tightly. Stiles felt like all the air was escaping his body. Like he was a shrivelled husk of a human. Useless, worthless, empty. His breathing was sharp, and his Dad just held him until the panic subsided, hushing him. Soothing him.
“I think it doesn’t hurt to go and meet him,” John began “And to ask the questions you need to ask.”
“Yeah ok.”
“But only do it if you want to.”
“Dad, you were right the first time. I think I need to talk to him.”
~~~
“You can’t keep coming here Stiles.”
Stiles remained silent, something that was frightening to his best friend.
“You are in my pack, you’ve even said it yourself,” Scott stood in front of the apartment building, blocking Stiles’ path the door.
“He has lied to us, manipulated us, and has now put so many people in danger that we don’t know how to get out of,” Scott continued, “And you want to what? Be friends with him and the leather squad?”
“You are friends with Isaac,” Stiles pointed out, refusing to look anywhere but at the door.
“Yeah, well that is different.”
“No, it really isn’t. You can sympathise with him because of your dad, and all the shitty things he did to you and your mom. You see him as another you, a werewolf with a shitty background who turned it around somehow to become an okay person. You see Isaac as yourself, except this time you can help him.”
“Okay, so tell me how you being friends with Derek is anything like that at all Stiles. News flash: You are not a werewolf. You don’t have a crazy psycho sorta dead uncle. You didn’t lose your whole family to people that only hunted your species. You two have nothing in common and yet you think that being his friend is a good idea? The guy hates you! Why can’t you just see him for the bad news he is!”
“I lost someone Scott,” Stiles began, softly, but by no means cowed “and losing my mom damn near killed me. Do you remember what I was like that summer?”
Scott deflated a little, and nodded. The image of Stiles, in his room, with scissors in hand and long curly hair laying in jagged pieces around him, done because his mother liked his shoulder length hair. The young boy, who was normally so active and so full of life, was diminished. A shadow of what he'd been.
“And yeah, it sucked. But I had my dad to help. Now imagine having the only person who kept those memories alive torn away from you, and that the loving and gentle uncle from your memories had been driven mad by grief. Imagine living in that torment, and not having a single friend.”
Stiles glanced at his best friend, and then up to the window were he could just make Derek’s figure, pressed up against the glass.
“And that is your answer.”
~~~
Werewolves were real, and Stiles was the one to figure out that Scott was one. It was Stiles who figured everything out. He used Deaton, and the internet and the brains of others; but he was the one who knew. And he knew because of what his mother had told him. He knew these things because it was in his blood.
And yet, it didn’t magically fix anything knowing that his mother had been right. It didn’t make him turn around and open up. It didn’t fix his paranoia about his name; in fact it made it worse. And it didn’t fix that he had doubted his Mom, whom he still resented and whom he still had discredited.
Stiles had new friends at school, thanks to werewolves. And he had new enemies.
~~~
“Scott was right you know,” Derek said once, in the early hours of the morning whilst lightly stroking Stiles’ arm.
It was the darkest part of the night, and they lay tangled in each other. There was no light, it was the new moon. Stiles breathed in Derek, and felt more connected to the Earth than he had ever before. He was tired, bone tired. Soul tired. His whole being had been consumed by their actions, and he had let it be consumed. Stiles sat up, shadows moving as he did.
“About me stopping?”
“Yeah,” Derek huffed back, twisting onto his back in order to see Stiles better.
And Stiles doesn’t know what to say. It has been nights like this that he has wanted to share his secrets. He was wanted Derek to see all that lay within him, through the dark murky shadows and straight into his electric vibrant soul. Something has held him back, and it is the same thing that is holding him back now.
~~~
And Stiles was nervous about calling his mother’s father. But he did, and now here he was, standing out the front of one of the biggest houses he had ever seen. Stiles had been convinced they’d meet at the shitty motel on the outskirts of town. He had it in his head that they wouldn’t want to be surrounded by society. Boy had he gotten it wrong.
The front door opened, and a man, who looked to be the same age as his father stepped out.
“Grandson!” His voice boomed. Stiles was at the curb, meters away, and he heard him loud and clear.
“Grandfather,” he replied and started his march up the driveway. His grandfather met him half way. There was no hug, and no teary eyes. Instead they met and sized each other up. Stiles was uncomfortable in his presence, and disliked how young he looked. His grandfather clearly had no idea what to do in this situation.
“Father,” called a voice from the porch, “why not bring my nephew in, so that we can all meet him.”
Stiles looked over towards the voice of his mother’s brother. Again, he looked young. Stiles knew that they would, but he didn’t realise it would bother him so much.
“Grandson?” His mother’s father held his arm out, palm facing upwards in a sign of welcoming. Stiles gathered his courage and moved towards the house, ignoring his grandfather’s token gesture. The man on the porch smiled beatifically when he stepped into the house.
“Be welcome nephew,” he said, and Stiles felt a shudder go down his spine. The house felt too big, and yet he knew it really wasn’t big enough for his mother’s family.
They both directed him into a very formal sitting room, with big windows that overlooked the garden. Stiles wondered idly if the sunlight was a factor in their decision to buy the house (because he knew without asking they owned it, some of his mother’s stories had sunk in at least) or whether the whole ostentatious grandeur was the biggest draw card.
“So,” he began looking at his shoes, “You wanted to see me.”
“Grandson, of course I did. You are the only child of my only daughter,” his grandfather said. Stiles remembered that he had another five uncles, but had no idea where they could be, and to be honest could care less.
“That hasn’t seemed to matter before,” Stiles said, still looking at his shoes. “In fact not once have I met you, not even at your only daughter’s funeral.”
Both men winced at the funeral comment, and when he looked up and met his grandfather’s eyes he saw unshed tears.
“How could I bury my own child?” His grandfather whispered. Stiles’ uncle got up and placed himself behind his father’s chair, hand on his shoulder.
“How could you not be bothered to meet your own grandchild?” Stiles offered back. He felt the years of resentment build up, and it began to overflow.
“How could you deny my existence for all of my life and then come running back in? How could you disown your only daughter if you truly loved her that much? How could you bring your face back into this town without thinking there would be consequences?”
The air was heavy between them. Stiles felt electrified, he was empowered and emboldened. His mother’s family looked on, with pride (and yeah that was not the emotion he expected) on their faces.
“You are strong,” his grandfather said softly.
“He is powerful,” his uncle added.
And with that Stiles felt the power disappear, like someone had pulled the plug from the wall. He was drained, too tired to deal with this bullshit.
“Well, as enlightening as those cryptic comments were, I am outta here,” and he stood up. “Thanks for abandoning me for all those years and then not even taking any blame for it. Have a nice life.”
“Sit down.”
And the weight of the words found Stiles back in his chair, unsure of why he had caved in.
“We have things to discuss grandson, and you will stay until we are finished. Is this clear?” His grandfather’s voice was loud and booming. It made his bones ache, and made Stiles want to obey just so he didn’t have to hear it again. But Stiles was too stubborn to follow anyone’s orders.
Which is why he pushed past the weight keeping him still, and stood up. If the shock on his relatives’ faces was anything to go by, what he had done was no easy feat.
“No,” Stiles gritted out, past the pressure to sit and stay, “it’s not clear. I am leaving. I came as a courtesy to my dead mother, and I thought you could clarify things. But yeah, I can see that is not going to happen, so I am going to leave before you make me do something I will regret.”
Stiles began marching towards the front door. His grandfather remained seated, but his uncle followed him.
“Nephew,” his voice was soft, “Please do not make me use your name.”
“How would you even know it?” Stiles countered, but began to feel the stirrings of fear.
“I kept in contact with your mother, and when she died she had to release it to someone else until you were old enough to do so.”
“And what, my dad wasn’t good enough?”
“No. No he is not like us nephew, and you know that as well.”
Stiles stopped moving and looked at his uncle. If what he claimed was true, maybe it was worth while listening to them for a little bit longer. Not everyone had abandoned his mother.
~~~
Stiles was the first of the group to see through the magic that had been lain all around town. He saw through the enchantments, and saw what was actually happening. Firstly, it was all the wildlife. It grew and died at exorbitantly fast rates. This was something he attributed to the presence of his mother’s family, but couldn’t be sure.
Secondly, there was the strange behaviour of his classmates. There were vacant expressions on teens that looked exhausted, with clothes and hair all mussed. Stiles wasn’t sure, but this one didn’t seem like the stories his mother had talked about in regards to her family. Instead, it seemed a lot more sinister.
And finally, the icing on the cake, a part from teens that looked older and more worn each day, and plant life dying and blooming in rapid succession; was the looks he was garnering. People were touching him, stroking him, talking about him. Stiles finally looked, looked properly, and saw that he had a slight glow to him, which seemed to grow stronger each day. He shone, like a star, and this he could blame on having had contact with his grandfather. It was their trade mark after all.
All of these were mildly concerning, especially his peers, but it became more sinister when the werewolves of the town started to look the same. Glazed looks, ravenous hunger, and general madness. Stiles had up until that point been calm, and was happy to leave the other creature alone (it hadn’t seemed to do too much harm) but messing with his friends directly had consequences.
~~~
“You glow,” Derek had scared him half to death, by sneaking up behind him for umpteenth time. Stiles turned around, million-watt smile ready.
“It could be all the sex I am having,” he smirked, and his boyfriend/fuck-buddy/friend/alpha-wolf smiled back.
“Sometimes, I feel this pull to you,” Derek put his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, and his nose into his neck. “I am drawn to you like a moth to a flame. That shinning soul of yours is a beacon to my aching one.”
Stiles stepped out of his embrace. Derek had a dazed look on his face. The comment itself was weird, and Stiles frowned. He looked down at his hands, and when he couldn’t see them, concluded it was a dream. But his dreams these days meant something, surely this did as well.
“Drawn to me huh? I guess I am irresistible,” Stiles continued on dreaming, why worry about something that could mean nothing.
“mm,” Derek hugged him, “I am out of control, I have no say. I can’t believe we have been together. I am too old for you but I can’t help myself.”
And at that, Stiles realised what the dream was telling him. It made him sick, and he woke up, in his bed alone, with the memory that he and Derek weren’t together anymore. That thought did nothing to curb his agony. He was a monster, just like his grandfather.
~~~
“What brings you back so soon grandson?”
“I need a favour,” The words pained Stiles to say, but he had no knowledge of what was happening to his people (the people in his town). His dad had come back from patrol last night, hair mussed, clothes all dirty, feverish look in his eyes and deep cuts all over him. Things had escalated.
“Oh?” Those majestic eyebrows rose and Stiles gulped, suddenly nervous.
“Yes. There is a creature here, that is causing harm to the people in the town. I need it stopped.”
“Why should I stop it, it is only doing that which is in its nature?”
“Grandfather,” Stiles was furious, and had to control his temper before it got the better of him. “Would you not do it because I asked it of you?”
“Grandson, I would give you the moon, the stars and the universe if you wanted it. However, I am disinclined to give you anything when you are choosing to die instead of live with your family.”
Stiles’ jaw dropped a little. He had no way of responding to that, because he knew on some level it was true. He had refused, point blank, to ever accept this side of himself, and therefore could not ever be with his mother’s family like they wanted.
“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles’ voice was small, when he finally found the words. His grandfather smiled benevolently, and open his arms. Stiles sank into them, and let himself be surrounded in love and magic and family for the first time.
“Grandson, you must know how much it grieves me still, that my only daughter chose to die. I wish with all my heart that she had not, and yet I cannot find it in me to regret her bringing you into this world.”
“Grandfather,” Stiles forced the words through his thickening throat, “am I the reason she died?”
The embrace grew tighter, and Stiles felt the weight of his Grandfather’s love and mercy settle upon him like a warm blanket.
“Not you directly Grandson,” the words were heavy and Stiles stifled a sob, “indeed my daughter made her choice long before she chose to have you. John Stilinski and the mortal life captivated her. Your birth sped along the process but she was already dying.”
“I don’t want to be like you,” Stiles heard himself say the words, but could not bring himself to regret the truth.
“And I would do anything to make you like me,” his Grandfather’s whisper quiet words sent a shiver down his spine.
When Stiles pulled back from the embrace, the love was written all over his face, and Stiles tried to make himself believe that he had imagined it.
~~~
And when he has his back to the wall, Stiles tends to lash out. He can’t help it. It comes from years of fear and anxiety over his nature, over his name. So when Erica and Boyd come to him for help, and Stiles is stretched thinner than a sheet of paper trying to do just that he can’t control his reaction. The hurt and fear overwhelm him.
“We need your help!”
“And I’ve told you, I am not able to give it. What if Derek finds out that you came to me? That you undermined his authority? He is your alpha, I am not even pack.”
“You don’t get it do you Stiles?” Erica spat, body vibrating with her barely controlled rage, “He was trying to drive you away. Derek was scared for you, and needed you safe. But now we are all in danger from this creature.”
“And yet the issue remains,” Stiles turned bodily away from Erica and Boyd, walking towards his next class.
“It is going to kill us all!” Erica howls after him.
Stiles waits until he is out of sight and sound for the werewolves before doubling over and gasping. He head hurts, the whole world is spinning nonstop, over and over, and the air won’t go into his lungs, his mortal lungs, and he looks down at his hands and they glow, and he knows it won’t go away this time and if anyone sees him there is trouble coming his way but he can’t contain it, and maybe never could and oh god he needs to breathe!
A hand settles on his shoulder, lending him the strength to push the anxiety away.
“Nephew,” his uncle looks resplendent, even in the grimy high school hallways.
“This thing is here because of me isn’t it?”
“Ah,” his uncle sighs and begins walking outside. Stiles follows until they are both in the woods. School is the last thing on his mind.
“That is complicated.”
“Then help me uncle, help me uncomplicated it!”
His uncle frowns and takes a seat on the forest floor with a grace that Stiles has never known.
“It is in part due to us coming here,” and Stiles gapes and little at the admission. “However, it has awoken due to your awakening, was can be attributed to us.”
“Then why can’t I find a way of destroying it?”
“You have great power, but no discipline. It sees this, and takes advantage of your weakness. Including those you would call friend.”
“Grandfather said he would not help me,” his tone is bitter and his uncle smiles sadly.
“No nephew, he said he would if you would chose us over this mortal life you had thrust upon you,” then his uncle looks upward.
“Your mother did us a wrong by going about her death the way she did. She also ensured that we did not see you until you were near grown. In fact we could not, due to a binding oath.”
And suddenly Stiles gets it. His mother bound them. She had had that power over them, even as a mortal. And he looks into himself and sees the same power.
“Did she really give you my name?” He asks, curious if that were true.
His uncle stands up and moves to whisper it in his ear. He feels a tingle, a shiver race through him that he has not known in eons. The power, the beauty behind it all. And Stiles’ name is in this virtual strangers hands.
What he didn’t realise is everything listens in the forests. The trees, the streams, the wildlife, the soil; and well, the werewolves as well.
~~~
Stiles and Derek meet once after their fight in front of the rest of the pack. And that once solidifies their divide. His family is here, and he has his dream to confront.
“Derek Hale,” Stiles begins, “I release you from the bonds I placed upon you.”
Derek snorts and looks away. “Stiles, whatever crazy pill you’re on… you know what I don’t care. Get out of my way.” And he brushes past Stiles without a second glance.
Stiles feels lighter. He hopes whatever enchantment that he cast is now long gone. He feels wrung out and tired, so he heads home. Wondering how this even became his life.
~~~
“Hullo Stiles,” Peter is creepy at the best of times, but even more so now. The danger level has been sitting on high alert for a while now, and Stiles knew that Peter had something to do with it all.
“Hiya zombie-Peter. How was your latest stint under earth? Missing it yet? I would be more than happy to help you back there,” Stiles’ smile is feral, and his power hums underneath his skin.
“You know I don’t think you will be helping me in that way dear child,” Peter starts stalking towards him. Stiles holds his ground and tries not to flinch once Peter is close enough to smell.
“I know that if you don’t back off I may have to kill you, and trust me when I say that I won’t be that torn up about it either.”
“Now Stiles, that is just mean. I am here to help you, to help you help me in a way.” Peter’s tone is taunting, and Stiles swallows down his fear.
“Have you been feeding it?” He asks, knowing the answer already.
“Oh dear one, we will have so much fun together.”
“I don’t think so,” Stiles snarls, hating the smug look on Peter’s face.
“Oh bright one,” and the title makes Stiles break out in goose pimples, “I know who you are. I know something no one else does. And I am going to use it to my own advantage and you will not be able to stop me.”
Stiles’ legs buckle in shock. How did he know? Who gave it to him? Then he gets it, that day in the woods Peter must have heard. That makes two who know. And he intends to make it one less tonight.
“Where is it Peter?”
“Devouring, feasting, destroying. Someone you love dear. Someone who doesn’t have the power of a lycanthrope to slow it down. Someone unprotected.”
Stiles goes pale, and still. His dad. Oh god not his dad too.
“That is of course,” Peter continues, “unless you accept what you are and come with me.”
Knowledge hits him like a speed train. Peter can’t control him unless he becomes like them. He can’t harness Stiles’ power unless he is at full power. And this knowledge makes him bark out a laugh. Then another. Until suddenly he can’t stop his fit of hysterics.
“Stiles!” Derek’s voice breaks through his madness, and Stiles sees the rest of the pack surround Peter. Peter snarls, and his flash alpha red. Derek snarls back, changing, his eyes also flashing red. And Stiles somehow knows how it will end before it even does.
~~~
Stiles knows he doesn’t want to become one of them. In fact he likes his mortal coil just fine. He would miss his dad, and not be able to live with the whole outliving everyone thing. So his mind is made up. He will keep in contact with his family, because now that they are here he knows that they will be again, but he won’t accept just to get rid of the creature. Instead he will tackle it alone, and kill it himself.
When he informs his uncle of that decision, Stiles feels a pang of guilt at the resignation and sadness he sees. But he can’t live his whole life to up to everyone else’s expectations of him. Instead he must forge his own path, make his own way.
And so he tracks the creature down, and finds out that although his slight awakening (a stirring if you will) has given it an extra boost, there is something else that is controlling it and helping it feed. And there is no need to guess who.
~~~
Years and years later, Stiles can still picture the exact moment perfectly. It was like a painting, or a high resolution picture. The details were so precise, and so permanently sealed in him that he couldn’t ever for a moment forget.
Their bodies were scattered. The creature had drained them, and killed Peter. Somehow it kept on going, kept devouring. And Stiles knew that he had to stop it. His power was all but gone, and yet nothing he did had phased it.
“Grandfather,” He called out, and in a flash his family stood beside him. His uncle pulled him close and a made to flit away again but Stiles held his ground.
“Please Grandfather, I am begging you.”
“I know Grandson, but I cannot. You will die and wither like them, therefore I cannot bring myself to care about those you love more than your family.”
The monster was in its final stages. Their souls were being devoured. Derek was dead, all vital signs at a standstill. And Stiles was helpless in his hurt and rage and exhaustion.
“If I change?”
“Then I will intercede.”
“So be it,” and with that he accepted.
His uncle smiled serenely, and told his Grandfather his name. Stiles gasped in shock and his Grandfather spoke it, and he felt the command lay heavy on him. There was nothing he could do, but live through it. Through the burning pain, the light that shone so bright it shamed the sun.
It disappeared quickly, and when it did the scene in front of him was much changed. Everyone was well, and safe. No one could look at him. Stiles still shone, too bright for mortal eyes. He felt too much and needed to get away. And so in a flash he and his family left.
~~~
This was the last happy memory of them he had, which was now tainted by time and by his own nature. In it, Derek was fighting with the pack, training them. Everyone, including Scott and Allison, was laughing, enjoying a lazy day to fool about.
“Hey Stiles,” Isaac called, “can you please tell Derek to stop acting like the only adult around here.”
“That’s because he is the only adult around here!” Stiles snipped back, smiling in Derek’s direction.
“The way you werewolves age means that he will look like that, and you guys like that for a lot longer than you think. You are all welcome to mature though,” Allison added.
“So what, we will age and they will remain perfect?” Stiles huffed.
“’fraid so,” She replied grinning.
“Hear that guys?” He called out. “Does this mean when I am no longer young and beautiful I will be traded in?” And a few sniggers were heard.
Later, when he and Derek were alone, Derek told him the sweetest thing he had ever heard.
“I will love you when you are no longer young and beautiful, because you are the only thing I will ever truly love with my broken soul.”
And Stiles never shared the words back. The next week, there was the fight and soon after, Stiles left for good.
In his happy memory he always added an ending for the two of them, involving and house and children. Peace and tranquility. But his family would never let him leave them, and so he remained as he was. Whilst the rest of the world changed around him.