The first day he was home Stiles would have been jumping for joy if he wouldn't have ended up flat on the ground if he tried. Instead he'd allowed his dad and Scott to help him out of the car, up the path, and into the house with minimal complaining on his part.
He'd been given some time by himself and as he looked around his room and took in the faded bedsheets and the light coming in through the windows, he couldn't help the huge grin that grew across his face. He shook off his slipper and stuck his socked foot into the sunlight. It felt amazingly good and Stiles almost groaned at the feeling. He was so relieved to be home.
The more he let the sun's heat sink into his foot, the more he wanted to lie down in that patch of light and let it soak through every bone of his body until he was nothing but contented feelings and lax muscle.
His dad calling to him had him frowning as he looked around. He had a moment of confusion spiked with a little fear. He was standing with aid of his cane, in the middle of the patch of sunlight. He had one arm out of the sleeve of his flannel shirt and both slippers off. Stiles couldn't remember moving from his bed.
He took a slow step back out of the sunlight and carefully put his shirt back on properly. He was taking deep breaths and trying to stop the shaking in his hands when his door opened and Scott stuck his head in.
"Your dad's putting lunch together for us. You need help walking?"
Stiles gripped his cane tighter and forced out a wiry smirk. "Yeah. I don't want to know what dad classifies as a good lunch. Do we even have anything edible or is the fridge a direct portal to high cholesterol?" He made a mental note to go through the kitchen and throw out all the crap that had inevitably made it's way into the house while he'd been gone.
Scott snorted his laugh, causing Stiles to stumble into him a bit as he placed an arm around Stiles' middle. "Sorry. Um, I saw bacon and some other kind of cold cuts when I had a quick glance the other day. I don't know how much worse it's gotten."
Stiles decided yelling that his dad's bacon days were over and that there'd better be a salad waiting when he got to the kitchen, was a better use of his time than worrying about whatever had happened before with the sunlight.
***
Stiles sat back in his chair and dropped his pen on the desk in front of him before running his hands over his face and scratching at his scalp. It had been two days since he'd come home and his physical health was getter better. His mental health was another matter, but Stiles was a pro at hiding internal angst. It helped that everyone expected him to have some kind of anxiety at any given time.
He didn't have to worry about school for a while, due to getting better, and his dad was watching TV downstairs, so he'd been working on the problem his abduction had brought up. So far, all the information he had was inconclusive. He'd been taking his displeasure out on a poor unfortunate stress ball, stabbing it with his pen so many times it had broken open. Flicking the pieces off his table into the rubbish bin with a snarled, "Fat lot of good you did," Stiles rechecked what he'd written in the back of one of his text books along the margins.
Normally he would have put his findings up on one of his boards, but that allowed anyone who visited his room to know what he was working on. Including his dad. A book was the safest place to hide his research from any prying eyes. Who would look in a statistic school book? Not him. He'd avoid it, if nothing else.
He'd listed all of the 'chance' moments he could remember. All of the lucky breaks that allowed him to do something that was important. Things that could be, and had been, written off as spectacularly good fortune. The list included having his bat hold up the beams under the Nemeton (when werewolf and human strength were failing), and getting phone reception in La Iglesia in time to help his dad save Lydia and Mason. He'd also added holding Derek up in the pool for hours. Because while he had stamina, he didn't have that much, and looking back, what he'd done was impressive and also somewhat impossible for him.
There was also the time he'd gotten his jeep to work when he'd really needed to be somewhere. It hadn't wanted to start but he'd just pleaded with it and it had kicked over. The next day he'd gotten in to drive to school and his jeep had refused to go. He'd been reduced to calling for a tow to the mechanics and hitching a white-knuckled ride with Scott on the back of his motorbike. The mechanic had scoffed at him when he'd said it had been working the night before because apparently his car had numerous damaged components which meant it wouldn't be able to go anywhere, let alone start.
There were a few other things.
Forgetting homework and having the teacher be called away suddenly, canceling the class, in two separate classes, on the same day. And then having that repeat in another class the week after when he'd forgotten to study for a quiz.
The weather clearing during a whole-week storm for the time it took to have a lacrosse match, after Stiles had taken a bet against Liam that the game would still be on, only for the storm to crash down over them at exactly the time the last ball had made it into the net as the game ended.
Deacon had told him he had a spark and he'd certainly used something to be able to use mountain ash at least, but Stiles was a bit confused by his findings. His research told him a spark was an external manifestation of an internal belief. Coming from within him, Stiles should be able to use his spiritual energy, for want of a better word, to make things happen outside of himself. While it looked like he could and had been doing that, Stiles thought being able to manipulate the weather, without meaning to, had to mean something else was going on. He'd found reference to witches being able to do something similar, but it apparently took a lot of focus and sometimes even a group to control the outcome.
That certainly didn't cover Stiles' half-felt wish to have the rain stop long enough for him to win four Ant-Man comics. Nor did it explain that when he'd made the bet, he'd been certain the rain was going to stop for that period of time.
Stiles was beginning to believe Deaton was wrong. Maybe it wasn't a spark but something else. Maybe he was something else.
He flipped open another book, this one Physics, because he was nothing if not paranoid, and looked at the back section where he'd scribbled in the notes pages. Here, he'd drawn a line down the page and written up the top in bold and underlined: 'What is Stiles?' Underneath the title on the left was a 'Human' check list. On the right was 'Other'. There were points written under each.
First under 'Human' was: 'Born of human parents.' This was immediately followed on the 'Other' side with: 'Could have possible genetic ties that are not known (as yet),' because he wasn't leaving anything out.
The check points went on.
'Human: Does not physically change into supernatural creature.' 'Other: Has ability to make things happen with only belief. (May or may not be spark related.)'
'Human: Does not have extra strength or extra ability with the five senses.' 'Other: Has developed ability to heal faster than normal. This could be related to kidnapping injuries only. Have not yet tested.'
For all his wanting to know what was happening, Stiles was not keen on the idea of hurting himself to find out if he healed from cuts or anything more damaging. He'd had enough injuries lately. So he wasn't going to go there just yet, if ever.
Here is where the 'Human' side of the list ended, but the 'Other' side kept going:
'Able to be poisoned by contact to iron. Resulting in body decomposition and probable death without intervention.'
'Ability to project spirit (astral projection?) and to some extent, interact with other people while in spirit form.'
This one gave him pause, because what if it was something that anyone could do, if close enough to death and friends with a banshee?
He added one last point:
'May be able to survive longer than humanly possible with no water.'
He'd been held by the man for two weeks. In that time, Stiles couldn't remember being given a drink or anything to eat. It was possible for a human to live ten days without water, but that was seriously stretching it. Normally, the rule was just three. It was three weeks for food, so it was the water which had him questioning. The man may have given him some when he was unconscious, but Stiles doubted it.
Looking at the information, Stiles shook his head. He didn't have enough to form any concrete conclusion and he didn't know how to go about getting more information without talking to Deaton, which was just not going to happen, so he was essentially stuck.
Although ...
Stiles looked over at the sun coming through the window near his bed. His desk window had the shade shut and he wasn't going to open it anytime soon. He'd been avoiding the sun's beams as the idea he may have lost time, even for a minute, was enough to petrify him and send him into a cold sweat. But. There was something there. It was almost as if he could feel the sunlight calling to him if he listened. Which was insane. Right?
Stiles turned his chair around fully until he was sitting just outside the rectangle of light that fell on his floor. He needed answers, didn't he? Slowly, he put his hand into the sunlight, ignoring how badly it was trembling.
***
"Stiles?" His dad was shaking his shoulder gently when he opened his eyes.
Stiles looked around quickly but breathed out in relief when he found he was sitting on his floor.
"What are you doing?"
"Um. Meditating?" He waved vaguely in the direction of his folded legs.
His dad's eyebrows rose in disbelief and amusement. "Meditating." He stepped back and crossed his arms. Stiles hated that pose. It meant his dad needed further proof to believe whatever it was that he was saying.
"Yeah?" Stiles coughed. "Yeah. The hospital therapist said it could be good for me." That, technically, wasn't a lie. She had told him that. Stiles had had the same reaction as his dad to the suggestion, though. He looked for his cane and found it near his knee.
His dad stepped forward and reached down a hand to help Stiles onto his feet. "You're meditating."
"You've said that." Stiles took a somewhat wobbly step out of the window's patch of sunlight.
His dad snorted. "Yeah. And I'll say it again. Possibly with even more skepticism. Because my son, who under normal circumstances has no ability to sit still what-so-ever, just told me he was meditating. Don't you need to be able to focus for that?"
"Hey! I can focus!" Stiles exclaimed.
His dad laughed at Stiles' expression. "Yes, for about ten seconds at a time." He let Stiles' elbow go when he could stand on his own and after a few more seconds of chortling at his expense, sobered enough to ask, "Seriously? Meditation?"
Stiles nodded while feeling a pang of guilt for the lie. But perhaps it was the truth. He couldn't remember anything after putting his hand in the sunlight. Did that count as mediation?
His dad frowned. "Did it help? I mean, is it something you've found you need? Ah. I mean ..."
His dad was floundering, so Stiles helped him out. "I guess. It's not something I'd normally do, but maybe? I haven't done that much, so I don't know."
His dad nodded and lost his frown. "Oh. I called you earlier, but you didn't answer. Because you were 'meditating'." He held up curled fingers.
"It doesn't need air quotes, Dad."
"Oh, yes, it does. But as I was saying, you missed lunch. Come and I'll make you something." He turned to walk out the door.
"You know, I love the caring and everything, but I can make myself something to eat," Stiles called after him.
"I know. But this caring comes with a price." His dad looked back at him. "It's time we talked. This is what's called caring and sharing. So get your butt moving."
Stiles waited until his dad walked out of his room and down the hallway before he deflated just a little. "Well, crap."
***
Stiles sat across from his dad in the kitchen and picked at his rice salad, making sure he took a bite when his dad was looking, even though he was nervous enough he might spit it back up again.
"You don't have to look so worried, Stiles." His dad had a sandwich in front of him. A chicken on rye. It had been amusing to watch his dad make it as he'd wanted corned beef but couldn't find the tin which Stiles had thrown out that morning. "You're not in any trouble. Why do you think you are? What have you managed to do since you were in hospital?"
Stiles opened his mouth, not even knowing what he was going to say.
His dad held up a hand, forestalling him. "On second thought, don't answer that."
Stiles closed his mouth.
"I just wanted to talk. So much has been going on, it's been ages since it's just been you and me, at home, sharing a meal."
Stiles took a moment to just look at his dad. He mumbled, "I'm sorry."
His dad shook his head, "No. There's no cause for that. You did nothing wrong." He reached over and held Stiles hand. "I was terrified, Stiles. I couldn't think straight." His eyes started to get watery and he rubbed a hand across them. "But I believed somehow you'd help us to find you, and you proved me right."
Stiles had to take his hand back and wipe his own face.
"You're so brave, Stiles. You're still being brave. I know it's hard. I see what it's doing to you. But you keep going. You always have. I'm in awe of you."
Stiles couldn't help the shaking that started as his dad spoke. It made his shoulders jolt with the effort of holding back. When it didn't stop, he put his face in his hands. A deep shame was welling up from within.
His dad pushed his chair back and Stiles was pulled into a deep embrace which smelled of aftershave and soap and everything that meant home to him. His dad made soothing noises and rubbed his back as Stiles started to weep silently. Very soon, all he was capable of was hiccuping and wiping snot over his dad's shirt.
His dad sat back down when Stiles had taken a couple of deep breaths and was calmer.
"I'm not brave, Dad." That confession hurt.
His dad was confused. "Stiles?"
"When I was taken, at the end, I couldn't." Stiles' voice came out small and tired. "Dad. I'm sorry."
"For what?"
Stiles hadn't any idea when he'd sat down that this was what they'd be talking about. He'd assumed his dad would ask about kidnapping details and had been gearing up to give a mix of half truths. But his dad had told him how much he loved and admired him. God. He was not a person anyone should be admiring. His dad needed to know that.
"Before I was rescued I thought there was no way I was getting out. I'm not brave. I gave up and was waiting to die."
His dad's chair screeched across the linoleum, making Stiles flinch. His dad searched his eyes with a strange kind of desperation, then hugged him again, this time so tightly he had trouble breathing.
"Stiles, let me guess, you're feeling like you somehow let yourself down, let me down, let everyone down."
Stiles shrugged his shoulders in the confines of his father's arms.
"But, Stiles, you're wrong."
Stiles leant his head against his dad's stomach.
"God, Stiles. Okay, I grant you, I can't fully understand what you went through. But what I saw was enough to make me feel like I was dying myself." His dad blew out a ragged breath. "I'm asking you, Stiles, and I expect the truth. Do you want to die now?"
Stiles pulled his head up so fast he almost hit his father's chin where he was bent over him. "No!"
He could feel the relief flow through his father's frame, making him sag a little, before he squared up and stared Stiles down. "Then here's how it is: You were in a very dark place. You were hurt and dying. You were almost dead, Stiles. But you're alive now. And you want to live, now."
Stiles nodded his head.
"That's bravery right there. You don't let that bastard win by giving up." His dad was fierce in his words and in the way he held onto Stiles. "Let me and your friends help you heal. I know you're holding something back, but I'll wait for you to tell me what it is. Just don't take too long, okay? Doing that can be more detrimental than you know. I've seen it."
Stiles leaned back into his dad. He was warm and comforting and loved Stiles so much. Yet in spite of all of that, for some reason he couldn't promise to do what his dad wanted. So he hugged him, and then shooed him back around the table to finish his sandwich. His dad tried to hide his disappointment but failed. And even though he hurt from putting that look on his dad's face, Stiles still didn't say anything.
***
Stiles' dad finally had to go back to work properly instead of the sporadic times he'd been putting in. He was on a double shift and Stiles was alone in the house for the first time since he'd been taken. He'd let his dad know that everyone was going to come over, and while it was the truth because they were going to have their movie night, his dad was under the impression they were coming over during the day. Stiles didn't tell him otherwise.
This meant he had several hours to do what he'd been contemplating since his 'meditation'.
He stood just outside the patch of sunlight in his room.
Stiles had worked out when he was six that no one could see into his room from the neighboring houses, for which he had been increasingly thankful for these past few years. He was thankful again today, because he really didn't want anyone to witness what he was going to do next.
He'd double checked that the camera was not on in his bedroom. He'd even gone so far as to disconnect the program, because he couldn't put it past his dad not to turn it on while he was at work. He did not need his dad to witness this. There was a chance that his dad may worry if he couldn't connect through to the house but Stiles felt reckless enough to risk it.
He took a deep breath and started to take off his clothes. It was difficult standing using a cane while also undressing so he wobbled over to the bed to sit. When he had nothing but his socks on, he took a cursory look at his body. He would never consider himself as anything great, but before the kidnapping he was passable. Not so much right now. He still had a lot of weight to put back on and bones showing through had never been something he'd liked the look of, especially on himself.
On the plus side, his skin wasn't gray anymore. But the bruises that covered his body were still all sorts of interesting colors. He took his socks off and looked at his healthy toenails. They were a big contrast to his fingernails. He'd lost one the other night in the shower and had thrown up even though it hadn't hurt. Having to pluck the dead nail from where it was hanging on by a thread was just wrong.
Stiles stood up, rhythmically tightening and relaxing his fingers around his cane. He was considerably worried about loosing time and uniquely justified to be so. But he had to know what was going on, and somehow he knew the sunlight would help him understand. Feeling rather self-conscious, Stiles walked into the window's patch of light. A feeling of complete rightness came over him as he stood there. He shuffled around until he was facing into his room and sat down. Then moving himself into position, he lay down with his whole body in the light.
Stiles could feel the sun on every inch of him. It was sinking into his pores, lighting up the dark spaces inside him. He watched the dust motes floating above him and took in how quiet everything was, how still everything had become.
***
Stiles was standing in the preserve. He didn't have his cane and didn't need it. His legs were solid underneath him with none of the weakness he'd become used to. He also had on his favourite hoodie and a pair of jeans. It seemed his dream-self, curtesy of his superego, didn't want to walk around in the forest while naked.
He looked to his right and choked out a surprised noise. There, through the trees, was the Nemeton. He could feel a wave of something pulsing out from the stump. It moved like a heartbeat and Stiles swore he could hear it too.
Thump-thump-thump. Each thump was pushing the power in and out, like the Nemeton was breathing.
Stiles swallowed nervously and looked around.
Coming out of Winter, the earth was still hard but the snow had turned the ground cover to mush in places. There were evergreen trees further off, but where Stiles was the trees had bare branches and the sunlight shining through gave everything a sepia photo tint. There was also a distinct electric charge running through the air, separate to the Nemeton's pulsing beat, like everything around him was vibrating on a level different to normal.
The laughter that came out of nowhere made him jump in shock. It was light and airy with a masculine undertone. It swept around him, dipping and pitching. A swirling mist started to appear, lying just above the ground not far from his feet. It slowly coalesced into a more substantial shape, twisting in on itself until it had grown to almost head height. Stiles was certain there was someone hiding inside it.
The laughter stopped and a poignant silence settled.
Never one to back down, especially when scared, Stiles asked the shape, "Who are you?"
"We are whatever we wish to be," a voice whispered right into his ear and he flinched, rubbing the side of his head on his shoulder to get rid of the tingling feeling that followed.
A stroke of something unseen ran down his cheek like a caress and the laughter came again. The shape hadn't moved closer, but Stiles was certain the touch was from it. A shiver crept up his spine and made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"We like you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
"Yeah?" Stiles crossed his arms over himself. "Why don't you explain what's going on then?"
"There are many things going on, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles," the whisper sighed, and the mist shape swayed from side to side. "The wind is blowing in the top most leaves. The sun is being covered by cloud. The Tree is crying for a hand to heal it. And roots are pawing through the earth to find a heart." The shape stopped swaying though the mist continued to swirl. "Ask your questions. We will answer you."
"Not understandably though," Stiles counted. "The tree?" He shot his eyes over to the Nemeton. Why did it always come back to that damn stump?
"Yes. The Tree. The Tree is withering. It is searching. It called for us but we will not help it."
"Why are you here, then?"
"We found you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
"Me?" Stiles wanted to run. But he also wanted to understand and that need overruled his flight response.
"We saw your spirit, we saw your spark. We saw your courage and your manipulations. We saw you breathing fire, we saw you crying rain. We saw everything there is about you."
"Okay, creeper much? And?"
"And we choose you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
Stiles swallowed around the lump forming in his throat. "Chose me?"
"Yes!"
The shape flowed forward, and Stiles stumbled back onto the ground. He stared up at the shape as it floated closer.
"Why?" He was leaning back on his elbows but couldn't make himself scramble away.
"We saw you."
"You saw me," Stiles paused. "And you chose me." He took a deep breath. "For what?"
"Because we want you."
There was the feeling of being touched again, but this time it ran from the top of his head all the way down his chest, over his groin, causing an unwelcome twitch, and down to his toes. It was cool and possessive like he'd just been marked for ownership. He felt violated.
"Hey! No bad touches! My person is my own! This is a triangle of no-go! Hands, or whatever, off the body!"
This time he managed to shuffle backwards. He hit the roots of a tree and backed up until he was against its trunk.
The laughter came again. "You will want us to touch you, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
Stiles shook his head, vehemently.
"You will want us to be close to you. You will want us to fill you up. You will want us."
"No way, never in a million years!" Stiles ignored the twisted jolt he felt at the whispered words.
"Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. Yes."
Stiles was ready for this to be over now. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" he called out to himself. He rubbed at his eyes and looked up.
The shape was gone.
Stiles quickly pushed himself up the tree trunk until he was standing. He stepped over the tree's roots and turned around warily. His eyes stopped on the Nemeton. The heartbeat was still pulsing power, and Stiles swore it was closer this time, as if reaching for him.
Like the Nemeton saw him.
Stiles turned and ran.
***
Stiles gasped as he opened his eyes. He rolled over onto his side and started to dry heave. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" He screwed his eyes shut and then blinked them again. He was still in the sunlight and got up as fast as he could to crawl out of it. He sat himself in the corner next to the shelves, as far away from both windows as he could get.
"Holy fuck!" He needed a shower. He felt dirty and scared and so very worried.
His cane was near the sunlight patch, so Stiles moved slowly and reached for it by lying on his stomach. He griped the end and pulled it back to him, sitting up and breathing hard. He couldn't take his eyes off the light as he wobbled to his feet. He shuffled backwards and edged out of the door and crept down the hallway to the bathroom, still looking behind himself.
It wasn't until he had the door to the bathroom closed, the window blind shut, and was sitting under the hottest water he could stand that Stiles turned his full attention to what his body was telling him. Then he lay down on his side, with his head out of the shower stall, and shook and shook while his vision swam and he couldn't breathe.
***
When Stiles finally surfaced from his panic attack, he was depleted and his chest ached. There was a killer headache dancing black dots before his eyes and it took him a long while to sit up enough to reach the shower tap and turn off the water, which was running cold. His dad was going to hit the roof when he got the next water bill. He managed to grab a towel from the rack and dry himself while lying down. He pulled the towel around his hips and lay on the floor of the bathroom.
The sunlight meditation or dream, or whatever the hell that was, had seriously scared the bejesus out of him. He raised a hand above his face and noted the slight tremor in it. He sighed and shivered as he was quite cold.
Groaning, he rolled over onto his side and managed to get himself up on his hands and knees in order to crawl slowly out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. He dragged his cane with him, so thankful his dad had not been around to witness the dive into stupid he'd just done. Or the subsequent panic attack or crawl of shame.
He was surprised to find there was an afternoon glow in the sky when he got to his room. He'd been out of it for a long time in the bathroom it seemed. Plus, he had no idea how long his mediation had lasted. Stiles pulled himself up onto his feet and held on to both his cane and the doorframe before taking a careful step into his room. He kept going until he stood by the window shade, pulling it down until his room was dim and all the direct sunlight from the day was gone. Turning on his bedside lamp made him feel slightly less stupid about the whole thing; as if he was going through the motions for completely normal reasons such as it being nighttime, when in fact it was not. Continuing the charade, he found some sweat pants and an old favourite shirt, putting them on and curling up on his bed, covered in blankets.
***
Stiles had forgotten about the movie night. He'd been sleeping on and off, waking from bad dreams, until his phone rang near his ear on the bedside table. It was new, a gift from his dad.
He groggily answered it. "Wha?"
"Stiles? Are you okay?" It was Lydia.
"Mmmm," he answered and pushed his face into his pillow. He'd dozed through phone calls before, he could do it again.
There was mumbled conversation on the other end, and Scott got on. "Stiles, I'm coming inside. You in your room?"
Stiles nodded his head once.
"Stiles?"
"Uh?"
"I'm coming in."
Stiles was sinking further into sleep when Scott pushed open the door to his bedroom. He was panting a bit with adrenalin, but calmed down as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Stiles? Are you okay?"
There was nothing but concern in his voice, so Stiles accepted he needed to open his eyes. His bedside lamp was still on from before and it cast a dim glow over his room. "Yeah. Just sleeping."
"Thank God." Scott scowled at him. "You just about gave us heart attacks, man!" He raised his voice and turned his head toward the door, calling, "He was just sleeping. Give us a sec."
"Who else is here?" Stiles asked.
"Lydia. She called you when no one answered the door. I turned up just as she did. Malia and Kira are on their way. Liam, Hayden and Mason will be a bit longer."
Stiles looked at him in confusion.
"The movie night? Stiles, are you sure you're okay?" Scott placed his hand on Stiles' forehead.
Stiles pushed it away. "I'm fine." He sat up and lay back against the bedhead, disguising slight dizziness with a yawn and arm stretch.
Scott was still watching him, worried. "You want to go back to sleep? We can do this another time, you know."
Stiles smiled, because Scott's concern was genuine and heartfelt and Stiles loved that he had a friend who cared. Better than anything else was the fact it was Scott, because Stiles would always remember what it was like when he believed he'd lost the right to that forever. "Nah, man. I'm just a little spent. Give me a hand and we'll make this movie night one to remember. You bought food, right? Because I'm good for fruit and water but apart from that, there's nothing."
Stiles made grabby hands at Scott who smiled and helped him up. There was only a little vertigo, which he ignored, picking up his cane from where it rested against his bedside table. He waved it towards the doorway as Scott held his other arm. "Let's get this party started!"
***
Stiles was regretting movie night halfway through the first movie. He was still so very tired, but he dared not fall asleep.
Lydia hadn't been impressed when she'd seen him, checking his pupils and even his tongue to make sure he wasn't getting sick. When he'd joked about getting sicker, not sick, she'd flicked his arm with a fingernail and told him not to make light of his situation so soon after everything.
It probably would have ended there, but Malia had just arrived and asked, "Joke about what too soon?"
And Stiles had promptly answered, "My almost demise." He could admit he was a real ass at times, especially when he was tired.
Lydia had glared at him. "Not funny, Stiles!" She'd then ignored him, continuing even after Liam and Mason had arrived.
Apparently Hayden couldn't make it because of a surprise dinner with her sister. Liam had been a bit bummed at first, but Scott and Mason soon had him laughing at an in-joke Stiles didn't get.
Kira had turned up not much later, bringing a range of Japanese snack foods in the brightest packaging Stiles had ever seen, blushing and saying her dad had sent them over. Stiles was excited to try them and was going to ignore his nutrition plan so he could partake in all the chemical weirdness of a foreign country.
Malia and Kira had started a conversation about the last class they'd had that day and how much their teacher sucked for giving them a weekend essay, while they made a ton of popcorn for everyone and placed it in several bowls. Their camaraderie in the face of weekend-homework-horror ended when Malia had put ketchup and tabasco sauce on her popcorn.
She'd shrugged, unrepentant, at Kira's exclamation of horror. "More for me," she said and placed a huge handful in her mouth.
Just before everyone had finished getting their snacks and drinks together, Stiles had shot Scott a look and tilted his head towards Lydia who had moved to the living room. Scott nodded and managed to get everyone into a conversation when he asked what they thought of a new teacher who had started at their school a few weeks back.
Stiles had given him a grateful smile, then followed Lydia.
Lydia was staring at her phone, a tight frown pulling at her features. Stiles was pretty sure the frown was for him, not whatever she was looking at.
He'd crawled onto the couch next to her, put his arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry. It wasn't funny."
"No, it wasn't," she'd agreed, dropping her phone in her bag.
"Thank you, for saving me."
She turned to look at him. "You're welcome." She'd leant over and kissed his cheek, and he'd known he was forgiven.
Fast forward a quarter of an hour or so; during which time an argument occurred about which movie to watch, a subsequent scuffle until a coin toss had been agreed upon, everyone settling into comfortable places and the movie starting, and it all left Stiles feeling every inch of his fatigue and wishing he was in bed, no matter that he loved having everyone over.
He blinked wide and stifled a yawn. Lydia tutted a little from her position next to him on the couch but pretended not to notice when he glanced her way. Stiles turned back to the movie. He didn't even know what they were watching. It was familiar, but also not. He actively watched it for a bit before he worked out it was the remake to Point Break.
He groaned out loud. "Seriously, Mason?"
Mason had won the coin toss and had first choice. He looked back at Stiles from his position on the floor.
Stiles shook his head. "Man, the original is a classic! Watching the remake is like spitting on everything good about a surfer cum bank heist cum bro movie!" He blinked when everyone laughed. "What?"
"Dude, you backed Mason's choice! You were his second!" Scott guffawed.
"I did?" Stiles did not remember that. "No way, I wouldn't!"
Scott laughed even harder, and Liam was grinning like an idiot. "You totally did, Stiles," he agreed. "You said, and I quote: 'That movie is the bomb!'"
Scott rolled off the couch and onto the floor. That was a bit of an over-reaction, and Stiles smirked in satisfaction when Malia hit Scott in the leg when he bumped into her. But she was laughing at Stiles too, and nodded her head at him.
"No! Now I know you're making that up! There's is no way." Stiles frowned to himself while everyone cracked up again. "Maybe I did?" he ventured, and Lydia snorted beside him. He flicked her a wounded look. "But I didn't mean it. I plead to being physically tired, so any crappy judgements I make about any movie can not be held against me!"
"Well, in that case, you forfeit your right to choose one for the night!" Kira exclaimed. She leant over from her position on the couch and high-fived Mason.
Stiles was affronted and it showed, because everyone started laughing again. "I feel like I've been set up," he muttered darkly and narrowed his eyes at Kira. "You, I will watch, for you have proven yourself to be masterful." He pointed two fingers at his eyes and turned them on her.
She giggled and threw a chip at him.
***
Stiles fell asleep before the movie ended. Another movie was playing softly when he woke up some time later. He was laying down and there was a pillow under his head and a blanket covering him. He was about to turn over and sleep some more, when he heard the pack talking about him. He tried to open his eyes but was still so tired that he slipped back into a semi-doze.
"He's looking better, isn't he?" Kira observed.
"Yeah. He's not as zombie-like now. But he still looks tired and depressed," Malia answered.
"Something's bothering him," Lydia mused. Stiles felt her hand brush over his forehead.
"You mean like the fact he was kidnapped and tortured and almost killed?" Mason questioned dryly.
"No. Yes, of course. But not just that." Lydia sighed.
"I agree," said Scott. "There's something else. He feels different."
"You mean through the pack bond?" Liam was curious. "I can't feel it."
"Yeah, the bond, but I wouldn't expect you to. It's mainly just because I've known him all my life. I mean, of course he's going to be changed after what happened, but it's not that." Scott sighed. "I'm not explaining myself very well."
Stiles managed to open his eyes for a bit before they shut again.
"Shh. He's waking up," Kira said.
But Stiles was slipping further into sleep.
***
He was pleading to be let go, but the man was ignoring him. Stiles had given up on threats and bargaining his way out. While he could still talk he was trying to reason with the man. He wouldn't tell anyone anything if only he was allowed to leave. It filled Stiles with a sense of shame to be reduced to begging, but he was loosing his voice and his ability to walk. Time was running out.
"Shut up." The man squatted down to look at him where he sagged against the cell wall. The man shook his head. "Let me explain this again. You're not leaving. At least, not alive. It's important that you die. Do you get it, yet? Do I need to spell it out for you? You need to die!"
Stiles turned his head away, then because he couldn't leave it be even though he knew the reason already, had asked wearily, "Why?"
"Because you are fae filth! You can try to hide it with your glamours, but I see you!"
"I'm not fae," Stiles told him. He'd said it before, more than once. He wasn't sure why the man was so adamant about something that was so very wrong.
"Don't give me that! The iron is poisoning you, just like I said."
The man gestured to the band around his neck, and Stiles conceded quietly to himself that it burned him with cold and made him feel nauseous and scared.
"You keep telling me you're not, but it's all just fae trickery. I know how you warp your words and mislead with truths that sound like lies and lies that sound like truths! You won't leave by such means. You will not use your magic and disappear either. I have made certain of it." The man punctuated his speech by waving his hand around.
It was a fairly large cell, for which Stiles had been grateful, because after his vomiting spree the man had not cleaned up apart from wiping down the floor with some towels. It was still pretty rank over in that area, so Stiles had edged away as far as he could. He couldn't smell it anymore, but he had to be stinking just as bad. The man hadn't even given him any water to wash out his mouth. The taste had been foul and Stiles had used spit to clean up best he could. Going to the toilet had been better. The man had given him a bucket and toilet paper at least, which he'd removed after Stiles had finished. With no food or water given to him, Stiles hadn't needed it again after the first day.
There were a set of tiny windows, up high near the ceiling. The light ran across the celling but never ventured lower than a foot down the walls. Being the end of Winter there was still a chill in the air, and Stiles' skin goose-bumped from contact with the floor and walls.
"The walls and ceiling are steal, not as strong as pure iron but it has enough in it that you can't leave while you're weak. The door is reinforced with it too. The floor is iron aggregate concrete. You are enclosed by the very metal that is deadly to you and your kin!" The man stared Stiles right in the eye. "You struggle to live but ultimately you will fail. Your death will help me, so no, you're not leaving. Stop asking."
Stiles watched the man stand up and leave through the door. It shut with a quiet snick and he was alone again.
***
Stiles was breathing heavier than normal when he woke up and it took him a minute to place where he was.
"Hey, bro," Scott said soothingly to Stiles when he flicked a glance at him. "You're good. You're safe. You're at home."
Stiles struggled to sit up and backed himself into the corner of the couch, the blanket twisting around his legs. Everyone was looking at him and he wanted them to leave. He pulled his legs up, put his face on his knees, and wrapped his arms around himself.
Lydia stood up from where she'd been crouched beside him on the floor. "Okay, movie night's over. It's late, so we should go."
There were murmurs as the pack said quiet goodbyes to Stiles, which he ignored. Lydia dropped a kiss on his head which had him sinking further into the couch. There was more soft talking near the front door and then it opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Then it closed and there was wonderful quiet.
Stiles tentatively lifted his head to find Scott watching him in concern. Holding a hand out low, Scott walked towards him slowly.
Stiles had to snort. "I'm not a wounded animal, Scott."
Scott dropped his hand and looked a bit sheepish. "Well, you can't really blame me."
Stiles had started shivering, and Scott placed a hand on his bent knee. The warm comforting feeling flowed into him, just like at the hospital, and he had to ask, "Can you give warmth like you take pain? Is that a new wolf thing?"
Scott shook his head and laughed a little. "No. Why?"
"Oh. Well, it's just that. You're very warm." Stiles winced at his explanation and tried to explain it better. "Every time you touch me lately, I feel this warmth on my skin. Even through blankets."
There was a look of confusion on Scott's face, a hint of disbelief.
"I'm not trying out some lame come-on line here, Scott. It's what I feel." Stiles tried to twist away from Scott's hand, but Scott moved with him so the warmth remained.
Scott had a slightly amused glint in his eye. "I didn't think you were. Besides, we both know who you really like." He ignored Stiles' intake of breath. "But what ever it is, maybe it's a good thing. You need some comfort and warmth right now. If you can get that from me, it's all good." Gently tugging the blanket from around Stiles' legs and retrieving his cane, Scott handed it to Stiles and helped him stand up. Then, holding onto Stiles' shoulders, Scott said, "Now, we're going to get ready for bed, and then I'm going to hold you and give you all the warmth you need."
Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He couldn't help it.
Scott turned a bit red. "In a strictly philia kind of way, which you already know, dumbass, and we're doing this because you need it. And so do I."
"Philia? Still using your word-a-day dictionary, I see." Stiles nodded and grinned. "Color me impressed."
"Shut up, and let me help you to your room."
***
Stiles had to admit that lying in the warm embrace that was Scott in all his werewolf glory was absolute bliss. He had a line of heat all the way up his back and wrapped over his chest. He was so glad that it didn't invite any non-brotherly thoughts though, because he'd had trepidations about this course of action. Sure, they'd slept near each other loads of times, but Scott had never given him a full body hug in bed before and Stiles had worried it may set off some kind of reaction.
Maybe he was still too sick for his body to respond like it usually would. He had to admit he hadn't touched himself since he'd been kidnapped. Even picturing Derek didn't have the normal physical reaction.
He sighed, and Scott tightened his grip. Smirking a little evilly, Stiles then moaned and flexed. Then did it again. Just because he knew what would happen.
"Stop it, Stiles!"
Stiles shook in quiet laughter, making Scott's arm jump over him.
"Quit it! I swear, you're worse than anyone I've ever met. Now stop it, and go to sleep!"
"You'll still respect me in the morning though, right, Scott?"
"Stiles! Shut up!"
Stiles laughed some more. He was still smiling when he'd finally calmed down and closed his eyes. He rubbed a hand over Scott's forearm. "Thanks, bro," he whispered into his room.
"No worries. And Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"I'll still respect you in the morning."