Stiles groggily started to come to. He was getting annoyed with all of the passing out and waking up he'd been doing. It didn't make him any less angry that this time he'd been knocked out by Deaton. He was lying wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. It was nighttime, and his dad was sitting on the other couch with Melissa.
Stiles slit his eyes and didn't move.
"This can't be happening again. It just can't." Stiles' dad had his head in his hands. "Why is it always my son? He doesn't deserve this."
"Noah," Melissa said firmly, "all of them go through too much, I agree. But it's the world we live in."
"Then we'll leave! You can't tell me Beacon Hills is the same as everywhere else. It's a damn beacon for God's sake!"
"You wouldn't leave, even if you truly believed it was the best thing to do. You wouldn't abandon this town and its people."
"I would if it would keep Stiles safe!"
"It wouldn't, Noah. One, it's Stiles. He'd find trouble wherever you moved to."
Stiles' dad groaned in weary agreement.
"Two, Stiles wouldn't leave his friends. And you saw him with Derek today. You think he'd walk away from that?"
"That's not new on his side and I'm pretty sure Derek would follow him anyway."
Stiles tried not to squirm. Okay, so pretty much everyone was aware of his feelings for Derek. He could deal with that. But what was this about Derek following him if he left? Not that he was going anywhere, Melissa had that right. Stiles was shocked his dad was talking about pulling up their lives just because bad stuff was happening.
"We'll work this out, Noah. Scott's coming soon. When he's here we'll make a plan. Isn't that what our boys do best?"
"Yeah. Although their plans could use work." They both laughed a little. "But they always pull through. You're right, Mel."
"I'm a mother. I'm always right."
Derek chose that moment to walk into the living room. "You're awake," he said to Stiles.
Stiles' dad and Melissa turned their faces towards him so he rolled his eyes and sat up. "Yeah." He leveled a glare at Derek. "I'm extremely pissed at you. You helped that bastard inject me and knock me out!"
"It was necessary, Stiles."
"Necessary? I wasn't going to hurt anyone!"
Derek crossed his arms defensively, clenching his jaw. Stiles expected him to get angry and fight back. But he remained stubbornly silent, looking away.
Stiles couldn't keep a hold of his anger. He reminded himself that Derek was trying to help him. He pushed the blanket off the couch. "Come over here, Derek, please."
Derek sat down on the end of the couch. Stiles forgo pussy-footing around and scooted over, leaning into him. Derek wrapped tentative arms around him and Stiles hugged him back.
"That's our cue to go." Melissa pulled Stiles' dad up by the arm and they left the room.
When they'd gone Stiles said, "Don't do it again, okay? If that's the only option, talk to me. I can't take being knocked out, it's not something I want to go through again."
"I'm sorry." Stiles could feel Derek's sigh. "But you need to understand, you weren't acting normal."
"This is me. I am acting normal," Stiles insisted, and Derek snorted. Stiles moved to give himself some space. "No, listen, every time I turn around, someone is watching me, trying to get me to talk, monitoring me. Then you ganged up on me. I wasn't going to sit back and take it."
"Stiles, it scares me that you honestly believe you're acting like yourself right now. You're smarter than that."
Stiles frowned. "I've been under a lot of stress."
"Deaton is right, you're justifying your actions."
"Don't talk to me about that bastard!" Stiles immediately tensed up. Derek placed a hand on his arm and Stiles could feel warmth begin to seep into him. "Just like Scott," he mumbled. The feeling made him relax and he sighed a little in pleasure.
Derek's eyebrows were in danger of slipping down his face if he frowned any further. "Stiles, I'm going to try to say some things now, and I need you to listen to me, even if what I say makes you feel angry or scared."
"Okay." Stiles shuffled closer to Derek again. "It okay if we sit together?"
"We've been sitting together all day," Derek pointed out, but moved so Stiles could lie against him. He picked up the blanket and draped it around them both.
"Yeah, but we never used to before. It's new, and we haven't actually talked about it. I know it's pack bonding but I want to make sure it's okay with you."
"You know that do you?" Derek said, somewhat amused. "It's okay with me, Stiles."
"Awesome." The warm feeling had travelled through pretty much every part of Stiles' body. It was a drug and he was quickly becoming an addict. "You can do the same. To me, I mean. I'm all good with the touching."
Derek sighed out against the top of his head where he'd tipped it into Derek's shoulder. "Now we have that cleared up, I'm going to talk now. No more changing the subject or interrupting, okay?"
Stiles said nothing.
"Stiles?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I allowed to have an opinion, now?"
"God. Would you just," Derek sighed. "Never mind."
Derek shuffled them around a bit until Stiles was completely curled up in his arms. He didn't mind being man-handled in the slightest if this was the outcome.
"Stiles, you said you were fae." Stiles tensed, but Derek shushed him before he could deny it. "I'm not asking you to talk about it. I'm going to tell you a story my mother told me about the wild folk. There was a time when Beacon Hills had their fair share of them. The preserve was their home and they lived and died without most humans coming into contact with them. There was the odd sighting here and there; someone would mention lights coming from the woods, hear laughter that came from nowhere, the even rarer occurrence of someone disappearing off the trails. But for the most part the only humans in Beacon Hills who knew of nature's spirits were druids and the emissaries of the Hale Pack."
Stiles shuddered at the mention of the druids. Derek rubbed a hand over his arm.
"By the time my mother was Alpha, the wild folk had almost moved on. It happened all over the world, a lessoning of natural magic, of belief in the supernatural. My mother never mentioned if she personally had any dealings with them, but she did say one thing. The Wild Folk, the Fae, the Sidhe; they smell like the wilder parts of nature to a wolf's nose. They make fur stand on end. They confuse the wolf's instincts and are always tricky and can hardly ever be trusted."
"Do you believe that?" Stiles whispered.
"It fits with what Scott scented in the preserve. If they've come back, it explains what's happening to you."
"No. Do I smell wrong to you?"
"No! And fae don't smell wrong. They're supposed to smell more natural than anything else."
Derek placed his nose into his neck, and Stiles' eyes fluttered shut. He tipped his head back to give Derek more room. Derek took several deep breaths. Stiles' mouth dropped open.
"You smell like Stiles," Derek mumbled, and Stiles couldn't think. "You smell like someone I want to be around. Someone who I care about. Someone who makes me laugh and makes me exasperated. You smell like someone who's been very sick but is healing. You smell tired and worried and scared. You smell like someone I want to protect."
He took another deep breath that had Stiles clutching the blankets hard so he wouldn't end up sitting in Derek's lap.
"If I go deeper, I can smell the change. Scott could only get the barest hint of it because it's hidden. Now I know what to scent, it's more vivid to me than just a supernatural smell. I can smell earth, sunlight and rain. I can smell a wild electricity. It makes me want to change into a full wolf so I can smell it even better."
Stiles shivered. Derek ran a hand down Stiles' cheek and cupped his jaw.
"Holy fuck," Stiles whispered. He could feel a stirring down in his groin and, while elated that his body was finally getting back on the same page as his emotions, he wished it wasn't happening right now. "I used to say you needed to use more words."
"You understood me anyway." Derek pressed in. Any closer and Stiles wouldn't have to move in order to be sitting in Derek's lap, Derek would do it for him.
"I, yeah. Because it was you. You're easy for me to read. Most of the time."
"Only because you took the time to learn how." Derek could kiss him if he chose to, he was so close, looking into Stiles' eyes. "I'm going to tell you one of the reasons I stayed. It was so I could learn how to read you, too."
Stiles was in a movie, he must be, no one says things like that in real life. Not to him anyway. At any moment, someone would yell 'cut!' and Stiles would be go back to his real life where Derek was a fantasy he jerked off to. He tried to stop the pounding in his heart. "Your mom said fae weren't to be trusted. Do you trust me?"
Derek moved back with a self-deprecating smirk. He still had his arm wrapped around Stiles, but Stiles could breath again without being overwhelmed. "You? Yes. Without doubt. Even with you being what you are now. But I don't trust whatever this thing is that has a hold of you. And it's there, even if you don't believe it."
Stiles opened his mouth and closed it again. He was considering telling Derek everything. "I have books." As soon as he said it he squirmed, feeling wrong, feeling anxious.
"Books?"
"The things I know." Speaking was difficult. "In my room."
"Okay. I'll check. Just breathe."
Stiles huffed out a little laugh at that. Just breathe. He took a breath, then another one.
***
Lydia and Derek were going through the books in Stiles' room while he did nothing to help them.
At first they'd asked which ones they needed and he'd just raised an eyebrow in answer. He hadn't actually considered how many books he had until he'd been asked numerous times if they'd found the right one. He was happy his text book idea worked. They hadn't even glanced at his school pile.
Eventually, they'd kicked him out of his own room because apparently his "smug face was not helping". Lydia's words.
So now he was in the study watching Scott who'd brought over new information from Deaton. Stiles didn't touch any of it.
"Stiles, seriously. Stop it with the staring and the smirking," Scott demanded while he flipped through Deaton's loose notes.
Stiles was feeling particularly petulant for some reason. "Nah, I'm good," he declined.
Scott shot him an unimpressed glance.
Stiles had to hold in his snigger. He was acting strange, he knew it. But he couldn't stop. There was a weird sensation inside of him, like a shifting, a tilting of the world and suddenly everything was clearer, visible in a whole new way. He tipped his head to the side, contemplating Scott. "Would you rather I tell you how stupid this all is? It is you know." He drew out the last few words, mocking.
Lydia had entered the room as he spoke and she sucked in a shocked breath. Stiles didn't understand the reason for her expression, but it was obvious she was worried. He took a step towards her and she stepped back. "Stiles," she whispered, her eyes wide. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth.
Stiles took a breath and something slid into him, under his ribs and along his lungs. Heavy and thick. Hot and cold. Full of a vicious muddled substance. It was fear, only not his own. This was familiar. The pull, the slippery feelings condensing inside him.
Stiles smiled widely.
The fear settled his anxiety. His head was clear, his heart strong. He liked it. He would swear he could feel Lydia's heartbeat beating in his own chest, picking up pace.
He took another step towards her.
"Stiles?!" Derek had come into the room, stepping up behind Lydia.
Stiles glanced at him once, disinterested. Lydia was more captivating right then, her eyes shinning and her hand on her throat.
"Scott, grab him!" Derek yelled out, pulling Lydia to his side.
Stiles hissed as his prize was taken from him and he went to jump forward but was grabbed from behind, Scott's arms holding his by his side. He struggled for a bit, surprisingly almost breaking free, until Scott roared out his name.
"STILES!!!"
The Alpha roar shook him down to his core and Stiles sagged, blinked, and shook his head.
Everything shrunk back down to normal. The feelings and clearheadedness were gone, replaced by his normal weariness, his worry, and his lethargy. "Fuck." It was like coming out of a dream. "Lydia?"
Lydia stared at him, obviously shaken up by what had just happened.
What had just happened? Why had he wanted to do that? It was just like ... Just like the Nogitsune. Bile rose up in Stiles' throat but he swallowed it down. "God, Lydia. I'm sorry, I don't know why I did it."
"It's fine," she stammered. "I'm fine."
Derek moved out of her way as she turned and left the room. Derek watched her go then turned back with a frown.
Stiles shrugged helplessly, at a loss as to how to explain something he didn't understand.
"You alright if I let you go?" Scott asked him in concern.
Stiles shook his head. He was probably as freaked out as Lydia was. Maybe more. "I don't think so. No."
"Want to talk about what just happened?"
"No." Even though he didn't want to, Stiles pulled himself out of Scott's hold. He leant heavily on his cane, which he hadn't let go of, and rubbed at his face with one hand. He was done. He was too tired and just wanted to forget the whole thing.
Through his fingers he watched Derek and Scott exchange worried looks, words exchanged silently through frowns and head shakes. Derek left the room quickly.
"Stiles? Don't worry about it, okay? We'll fix it," Scott told him with a forced calm. This was Scott trying to hide his own worry from Stiles. He'd never been able to do it but he kept trying, the leader in him wanting to keep his pack members secure and safe.
Stiles felt anything but.
***
Everyone had convened in the study once Stiles' books were found. They shared them out and Stiles tried not to react too negatively when they started to read.
Derek was reading his History book. In it, Stiles had recorded his memories of the sunlight meditations. This book was the most damning of them all. Stiles had picked it up off the desk where Lydia had put them and held on to it until Derek had gently unclasped his fingers.
His dad put down the Physics book, and Stiles braced himself. "I honestly don't know whether to strangle you or hug you," his dad began.
"Sounds pretty normal," Stiles observed.
"You're an idiot for all you're so smart. Your actions lately have been reckless and placed you in danger. I know you're under the influence of something supernatural, but dammit, you're going about this the wrong way!"
"What way should I be doing things?" Stiles was honestly interested to hear what his dad would have done in his place. "I didn't ask for this. I'm working things out, I'm coping, I'm not putting anyone in danger." He suppressed the memory of what he'd done to Lydia.
"Listen to what your dad's saying! You're putting yourself in danger!" Derek growled.
"You're being insufferable and pig headed," Lydia agreed. That was the first thing she'd said to him since he'd frightened her.
"But now we know everything you know, right?" Scott asked. He was holding the Statistic book in his hand and waved it for emphasis.
Stiles hummed non-committedly. They could take that however they wanted. "Contrary to popular opinion, I know how to ask for help. I just can't talk about it. I won't."
"It's a Fae thing," Scott nodded. "Deaton said Fae are incredibly secretive. It's just their nature."
"Are you're telling me that my son has even more reason to lie?" his dad asked, aghast. "You're kidding right?"
Stiles barked out a laugh. His dad glared at him, causing him to snort.
"Basically, yeah," Scott shrugged, apologetic.
"I have a Get Out of Jail Free card!" Stiles teased.
"Stiles. Shut. Up." His dad was not amused.
Scott picked up a page from Deaton's notes. "There's also no way to turn him back."
"Try it and you'll regret it," Stiles threatened.
His dad asked Scott, "Is Deaton sure?"
Scott twisted his mouth. "Yeah, and Stiles reaction just then was what he told me would happen when I mentioned it. He'll fight us if we try to change him back."
"There's nothing to change!" Stiles sneered at Scott. "I am whatever I choose to be!"
"The mist-creature said that too, Stiles," Derek reminded him. "You wrote it down."
"So what?" His anger was growing.
Lydia frowned at him. "Stiles, what you're saying is completely not you. You've never wanted to be anyone but yourself."
"I am myself!"
"To be human," she corrected.
"Well, I've changed my mind. People can do that, Lydia." He gave her a cold stare. He didn't care right now about what he'd done to her. She was pissing him off.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Stiles, you're being mean. You're scaring me on purpose and being rude and all I'm trying to do is support you."
Scott interrupted before Stiles could say the cutting words that were bubbling up on his tongue. "It's because we're pushing him. Saying things that make the Fae part of him worried. Deaton explained it's why his behavior has been so up and down and why he's being so aggressive."
"You haven't seen me aggressive, Scott." Stiles needed him to shut up.
"You bit me," Derek cut in. "Twice."
Stiles scowled at him. "It didn't do any permanent damage and you deserved it!"
Scott shook his head at Derek, then spoke to Stiles, "It's not in your nature to use physical force first when you can use words to hurt instead."
"And so very effectively," his dad agreed.
"Deaton said he's still in a period of transition. It's why his scent is mostly the same as it always was. And why he's erratic in his emotions."
"I'm right here, you know," Stiles grumbled.
"Yeah. And I'm saying all this in front of you so you know what we're going to do. We won't try to change you. You're Fae. That's it. We'll deal, like we did the werewolf stuff. I've got your back, bro."
He held out his fist and Stiles bumped it, immediately feeling better at Scott's words. "Thanks, Scott."
"I don't like this." Stiles' dad pushed back his chair and stood up.
"He's still himself, Sheriff," Scott pointed out.
"Is he really?" His dad paused, as shocked by his own words as Stiles was at hearing them. "I just mean I'm having trouble that you're not the same boy you once were."
Stiles waved a hand half-heartedly. "That makes no sense. I haven't been a kid for ages, Dad. I grew up. And, okay yeah, changed species. But it's like Scott said, and he should know. I'm still me. Just with a little extra."
"Which we don't know that much about!"
Stiles shrugged. "We'll learn."
"It's supposed to be sunny, tomorrow," Lydia ventured. "We could help you with the sunlight thing."
Stiles was skeptical. "You want to do that?"
Lydia gave him an affronted glare. "Why not? I'm curious. I want to see it." Her expression softened. "Besides, I'm here to help."
Stiles' breath caught. "You are the bestest Lydia that ever Lydiad, I swear. I don't deserve you."
"I know, but you've got me anyway." Lydia raised her eyebrows, a teasing expression crossing her face. "I hear you even had a ten year plan."
***
Stiles was pacing slowly around his darkened room the next morning. His cane made little thumping noises on the carpet. He'd not slept. It had been the same for his dad. He'd been up, moving around, when he should have been sleeping, instead of worrying about his son.
His son, who in the next while was going to go into a meditative state and try to contact a supernatural being who at this point was of unknown character. Were they more neutral good or did they lean more to true neutral? Stiles tended to land on the chaotic good side of things himself, but what if the creature who chose him was chaotic evil? Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and then up into his hair. He needed to stop profiling people using D&D alignments. Too bad it worked so well.
This was a stupid idea. No. He'd had stupid ideas before. This was beyond that. This was ... He couldn't even think of a word that was more than stupid. Wait. Insane. Yes. This was insane.
"Stiles."
What had he been thinking? He had no idea what was going to happen. What if he convulsed or drooled or talked funny? Or worse, what if he sparkled? What if being there put them in danger? What if someone got hurt? There was so much that could feasibly go wrong. This was such a bad idea!
"Stiles!" His dad was standing in the doorway, watching him with a frown. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm good." He paused at the scoffing noise his dad gave. "Don't ask if you know the answer."
"Silly me. Having hope that at some time in my life my son may answer that question with the truth."
Stiles pointed a finger at his dad. "You are the source of my sarcasm. The fact that no one really knows this has caused me undue stress. And numerous detentions. You need a warning label. I may stitch it to your uniform without you knowing."
"And you get your need to change the subject when you're uncomfortable from your mother. She was in a class of her own, but lately you're up there."
"Only lately? I feel like I'm letting the team down."
His dad sighed. "By the way, Derek's arrived and he's doing the cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof thing better than you are."
Stiles snorted, "Don't let him hear you say that. He hates dog jokes enough as it is. Add cat ones and you may loose a limb."
A displeased rumble came from the other side of the house, loud enough for them to both hear it. They grinned at each other.
"Those who eavesdrop rarely hear things they want to!" Stiles sang as he slowly walked out of his room, his dad behind him.
Derek was standing at the end of the hallway, glaring at them both. "It's not eavesdropping when you're a werewolf!"
Stiles walked towards him. "Do you say that to get out of speeding tickets? I'm sorry, officer, I was running too fast because I was needed at the latest crime scene! Could you let me off with a warning? I am a werewolf, you know."
"I don't get speeding tickets!" Derek replied, and held out his hand. Stiles took it and ended up in his personal space.
"Hi," Derek said, giving Stiles one of his sweet smiles.
Stiles swayed into him a little. "Hey," he replied.
Stiles' dad coughed. "Seriously? You're as bad as each other!" He walked past them, shaking his head.
Derek dropped Stiles' hand and stepped back a pace. Stiles immediately missed the feel of it. "What was that about?" he asked, frowning after his father.
Derek cleared his throat. "No idea." He crossed his arms. "I wanted to ask, are you sure you want to do this?"
"Do you mean the possibly incredibly bad idea of doing another meditation but with all of the people I'm closest to in my life bearing witness to any fatally embarrassing moments that may occur?" Stiles asked.
Derek frowned. "Yes. Exactly that."
"No, I really don't actually." Stiles came to the conclusion as he said it.
"I was surprised when you agreed." Derek ran fingers over his stubble.
Stiles wanted to reach over and follow the path with his own fingers. He stopped himself from moving forward. Pack bonding did not include constant molestation. As far as he could tell. Instead, he shrugged and turned in the direction of the kitchen. "What can I say? Lydia is a force of nature and she scares me a little." And he may have felt guilty enough about what he did to her to feel pressured into agreeing.
"Just a little? She scares me a lot."
"I would make a joke about the big bad wolf right now but, admittedly, she scares me a lot, too."
"Who's this?" asked his dad, as they came into the kitchen.
"Lydia. She scares Derek and me. But don't tell her that. She needs no extra power."
Stiles hooked his cane on his elbow, opened the fridge and leaned on the door. His dad had just filled it up with fruit and vegetables and all things healthy. How he must have hated that shopping trip. Nothing was appealing, so Stiles shut the door and saw his dad watching him.
"What?" he defended. "I'm not that hungry!"
His dad shrugged. "Don't care. You're still getting better. Just because you walked the length of the house without adding to your injuries doesn't give you a gold pass. Sit. Eat some fruit if nothing else."
His dad pushed him gently towards the table. Derek pulled out the chair for him.
It was like a coordinated dance as his dad got him to sit, removed his cane, and Derek placed a mug of tea in front of him. His dad then then set a bowl on the table within easy reach. Derek pushed the fruit bowl, a new item in the Stilinski household, towards him.
"This is how being king would feel, I'm betting," Stiles murmured, taking the proffered fruit knife from his dad.
Derek sounded amused when he quipped, "But without the power to start a world war."
"Stiles doesn't need to be king to do that," his dad said, as he sat down with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Stiles had never been a coffee drinker, what with taking Adderall, but he'd always liked the smell. Police were coffee drinkers and he'd spent a lot of time at the station. Coffee smelt like childhood memories to Stiles.
He started slicing an apple into his bowl. "When's everyone else arriving, and have you had breakfast?" he asked Derek. "Because if you haven't, you should. Breakfast is the meal of champions and all that. Or so say the people who make Wheaties." He frowned into his bowl. Maybe he needed yogurt with it.
His dad sighed at Derek's raised eyebrow. "Go with it. He's nothing if not contrary. What's good for him is not always good for everyone else."
Derek watched Stiles almost cut himself with the knife. He winced but said nothing.
Stiles put the knife down. "So, they're coming when?" he asked again.
Derek was frowning at the knife like it personally insulted him. "Lydia mentioned before lunch, so you can use the optimum time or something."
"Makes sense. Right before, during, and right after midday are supposed to be the highest UV times. So if we want the most sun that's the time to do it." Stiles took a bite of his apple and picked up a banana to start peeling it.
"You know the most random things," Derek told him.
"Everyone does," Stiles shrugged. He'd been told that before, only not always in a positive manner.
"Not everyone says them out loud. All the time," his dad quipped.
"You're a funny man. My randomness is part of my charm." He held out the peeled banana to Derek who, after a pause, broke off half and bit into it. Stiles put the tip of his half of the banana into his mouth and sucked until it pulled off from the rest of it.
Derek made a choking noise, then coughed. "Food went down wrong," he explained, waving off Stiles' concern.
"You need some water?" Stiles asked, swallowing the banana in his mouth.
His dad palmed his face and muttered, "My God."
Derek nodded. "I'll get it." He got up and went to the sink. Stiles watched as he bent over to turn the tap on. The light from the window put highlights in his hair.
Stiles' dad shook his head and picked up his cereal. "And that's me done with my breakfast," he said to himself. He placed the bowl on the sink's drying rack and clapped Derek on the shoulder. Derek cringed, and Stiles' dad smirked. "I'm going to head out for a bit, give me a call when everyone's here." He shook his head at Stiles again before walking out of the kitchen.
"Don't you dare go to the diner for doughnuts! They'll tell me, I've got sources!" Stiles yelled out.
"That's a stereotype! Just because I'm the Sheriff doesn't mean I like donuts!" his dad yelled back, as he opened the front door.
"You do like donuts! Your actions help perpetuate the stereotype!"
His dad's answer was to close the front door behind him.
Derek turned back from the sink, a bemused smile on his face. "Would he really go get donuts?" He sat back down at the table with a glass of water in hand.
Stiles ate a bit of apple and groaned internally. He should have put yogurt on it. This was going to take ages to eat. "If he thought he could do it without me knowing, you bet he would. He assumes I'm so strict because I want him to suffer. It's to even out the fact that he sneaks stuff all the time."
Derek got up again and went to the fridge. He perused the food list and open the fridge door. While he was moving things around inside he said, "Maybe he sneaks stuff because you're so strict?"
"It's a vicious circle, I'll admit."
Derek placed a tub of yogurt on the table and went to get a spoon from the drawer. Stiles watched silently. When Derek handed the spoon to him he still didn't say anything. Derek blushed under his scrutiny, which made Stiles want to hug him.
"Um, what's up with the yogurt?"
"You didn't like your apple. You like yogurt and it's on your list." Derek was clearly flustered. He reached for the spoon in Stiles' hand.
"No! No. Yogurt is good. I'll have yogurt." Stiles fumbled the lid and splattered yogurt on the table but eventually he had his fruit covered. That done, he scoped up an obscene amount onto his spoon and sucked it into his mouth with a moan. "Thanks," he mumbled around it, "Really." He licked off the remaining yogurt and put the spoon in his bowl. "I really do like strawberry."
Derek cleared his throat, his face strangely blank. "You're welcome."
***
After breakfast, Stiles had started to seriously regret what he'd agreed to do. He'd been pacing for a while but his legs had gotten wobbly so he'd had to sit. Derek had reached over to where Stiles was rhythmically clenching his hands in his lap. He'd placed his own over them and rubbed his thumbs soothingly across Stiles' knuckles.
Stiles would have liked to ask Derek for a hug, but he didn't. The hugs from yesterday had come so naturally, and while Derek was still touching him today, Stiles didn't know how to instigate the bonding thing, so he let Derek's actions tell him when he could go further. He was totally getting more out of it than he should be, but when it was so good to be near Derek he ignored the fact he was taking advantage.
Even with Derek's hands making him feel all warm, he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his growing anxiety. His dad had come home, taken in the situation, and wanted to call the whole thing off. For some reason, Stiles had said no. Why had he said no? There was his out. Fuck his inability to do the right thing by himself. He couldn't do this!
Stiles' dad was talking to Derek over his head, but Stiles wasn't listening because something had just occurred to him. Did he need to take his clothes off for this? He placed his face on Derek's hands and tried not to hyperventilate.
His dad's hand came down heavy on his head. "Breathe, Stiles."
Stiles choked out a laugh. Damn breathing. Overrated. And okay, panic attack coming.
Derek gently turned one hand over until it was cupping his chin. Stiles moved his head a little until he got comfortable and his cheek was resting against lovely solid warmth.
"Breathe, Stiles. In and out."
Stiles wanted to laugh again, because, seriously? Telling him to breathe right now was not helping because he. couldn't. breathe.
"Stiles." Derek's other hand was running through his hair. "You can do this. In, then out. Do you need to count?"
Stiles counted shakily, "One." Breathed, and said, "Two." Kept going until he got to five and was relatively calmer.
His dad murmured something about 'fastest working technique'.
Derek removed his hand from Stiles' head. He couldn't contain the disappointed sound he made at its loss. Derek's hand came back, slowly, gently. And when Stiles sighed into the touch, fingers started combing through his hair again, making his scalp tingle. It was like Derek's hand was attached to a well of feel-good feelings and Stiles was just sucking them up through his pores.
Scott had been wrong when he said it wasn't a wolf power. It so was and Stiles wanted to bottle it. Mostly Derek's because he was the most awesome, and then Stiles would have this feeling whenever he wanted it, which would be all the time because it felt so good.
Had he told Derek how good it was? No, that would sound wrong, but he could tell him he appreciated it, right? That was still along the acceptable parameters of pack friends, right?
Stiles snuggled his face into Derek's hand and hummed a little. So good.
He made a sound of protest when he was suddenly moved, but then he was being picked up and held against Derek's chest which he loved loved loved, so he sighed again and let Derek do whatever he wanted. Because he was awesome and Stiles loved being held by him.
"Shhh, Stiles." Derek said, but Stiles wasn't talking to anyone.
"It's getting worse. His emotions are all over the place. They change on a dime," his dad observed.
"We'll work it out. He'll get better," Derek said.
Stiles rubbed his nose against Derek's neck where it wasn't covered by his shirt. So nice.
He was being placed down on something soft. His bed. He snuggled down into the well-known comfort and opened his eyes when Derek placed the blankets over him.
"You just need some sleep, Stiles. You're still so tired and worked up over everything." Derek brushed a hand over his forehead.
"All I do is sleep." Stiles hated this. He was always falling asleep and waking up. It's all he did anymore.
"Because you're not as well as you think you are. So just sleep and rest."
"Lydia."
"Your dad will explain what happened and we'll work something out. Sleep now, Stiles."
"Not a child."
"No. You're Stiles, who needs sleep because his body and mind are exhausted."
"No."
Derek chuckled. "Always so stubborn."
"No, 'm not."
***
Stiles woke up and rolled his head over on his pillow. He resented the hell out of the fact that he was incapable of going one day home without apparently having a panic attack, or passing out, or falling asleep while people were over. Derek was wrong. Stiles knew exactly how sick he was. He just didn't want it to rule him.
Checking the clock, he found he'd slept for four hours. The morning was almost over and, he guessed, if they weren't here already, Scott and Lydia would be arriving soon.
He sat up slowly and found his cane. It was propped up against his bedside table and he grabbed it as he pushed his blankets off. He needed a shower. And a change of clothes. He'd only put his t-shirt and sweat pants on this morning but sleeping in them made Stiles feel gross.
Someone had opened the window shades in his room. The sunlight was streaming in, moving towards him. Floating wisps of heat and air, beckoning to him as he stared.
He needed to touch them.
Stiles took off his shirt and stepped into the patch of sunlight.
***
Stiles was back at the Nemeton and the sun was shining brightly through the trees. The little zips of electricity in the air were stronger today and pricking his skin with tiny teeth. He could feel the pulse coming from the Nemeton, beating steadily in and out. It hadn't gotten any stronger than the last time, which was a good thing. The idea of the Nemeton being able to grow that pulsing energy didn't sit right with him.
He squinted at the Nemeton until he could make out the pulse. It was like a fog, edging and flowing like a tide being sucked back in then pushed out with each heart thump. It glowed from inside. Hypnotic.
Stiles took a step forward, towards the tree. The pulsed swelled and reached for him. He stepped back so quickly he stumbled. "Note to self: Stay away from the creepy breathing tree. Got it."
"Well met, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
This time, the form walked out from between the trees. There was the shape of legs moving and feet taking steps towards him, but it was still mostly condensed air that shifted and reformed over and over.
The touch-not-touch flittered across Stiles' side and around his waist like a hug. For some reason, he didn't find it off-putting this time.
Stiles had thought of little else last night; what to say, what could happen, what he could ask that would give him the information he needed. He'd done some intense Googling about fairy tropes and he had an idea what may help him.
"Well met," he answered.
The form stopped when it was close to him, and they watched each other. The form had no face, but it didn't need one. Stiles could feel its amusement, its curiosity. He didn't get a feeling of outright evil and that had him relaxing a bit.
"Can we talk? Have a conversation? Sit and get to know each other?" he asked.
The form floated closer to the ground, legs crossing. Stiles sat too. The form waited. Stiles mentally went over some of the 'rules' he'd read last night. Be polite. Be forthright. Do not try to manipulate a fairy as they will take it as a personal insult. He'd laughed when he read them. Because it summed him up. It's how he wanted people to act towards him, even if he didn't reciprocate. Even before all of this.
"You told me that you chose me. I know I'm not really human anymore. Everything is really confusing and I'd like you to clarify some things, if you will."
"We have been waiting for you to come back to us, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles. We will converse with you and enlighten where we may."
"First, why call me that?" It bugged him.
"Because it is who you are. You are Stiles. But it is not your true name."
That was also something that had struck a chord with him. In fairy law, names had power and to give yours meant you gave power over yourself to others. He'd been blessed with everyone calling him Stiles due to his first name being so difficult for non-Polish people.
"Yeah, um. Okay. First big question and I guess the most obvious. Are you Fae?" He was pretty sure, but really, why have doubts?
"Yes!"
Stiles could feel its gleeful pride. He couldn't help a small twitch of his mouth "What kind of Fae are you?"
"The best kind! Wild! Untamed! Free! The wind! The rain! The sunlight! The earth!" The Fae's form shook and stretched like it was reaching up to the sky as it spoke.
Again, Stiles could feel the glee it had in being what it was. What it must feel like to be so secure, to feel happy to be who you were. He wanted that.
"Are you, do you ... fuck."
"Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles."
"What? That's not what I meant."
The Fae laughed a delighted laugh and a touch slipped over Stiles' hips. It went lower, inwards. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms across his knees.
"Don't!" he warned. "Am I Fae?"
"Yes. No."
"Care to expand on that?"
"You are Chosen Fae, in midst of change. You are wild, but you are tame. You are becoming one of us, but you are not one of us. Not yet."
Stiles nodded. "I'm still changing. I'm not fully fae yet?" What more was going to happen to him? Was he going to start growing wings and sprinkle pixie dust everywhere? Was he going to turn into something like what he was talking with? Was he going to become so unrecognizable as to be a complete stranger to his dad, to his pack, to Derek?
"Yes."
"How long will this change take?"
"It would already be done but after we chose you, you disappeared. We could not find you. And now there is something that is slowing the change. It disrupts us to touch you."
"Disrupts, like a magnetic field?" Stiles had read up on iron too, trying to work out why it poisoned Fae. The most believable he could find was maybe iron's unique magnetic abilities did something to a Fae's body chemistry through something called ferromagnetism.
The Fae's form swirled and warped. "It pulls at us. Takes and moves. We can not come together."
Stiles was quiet for a while. "I was kidnapped. I was poisoned by iron and almost died. I'm still sick, but getting better. I've been told it's happening faster than it should, but I don't know. To me it feels too slow." That was a confusing thing to admit. By human standards he was healing too quickly. But he was still so weak and it shouldn't be that way.
As Stiles had been talking, the Fae in front of him had hissed and swayed towards him and back again. It had touched his face and he hadn't even stopped talking. He was beginning to believe the Fae wouldn't hurt him. That it cared for him.
"Iron! Poisoned! Killed and sick!" The Fae was furious but not at Stiles. "We will hurt the one who did it!" Its form became more solid, becoming a nose and an angry mouth, before they vanished into swirling air.
Stiles shouldn't have been pleased by the Fae's reaction. He would work on that later. "No one knows where, or who, he is."
"We will find him. Show him to us."
"How?" Stiles edged back as the Fae come right up to his face. There was a bit of fear then. He was stupid for letting his guard down.
The Fae's air floated around Stiles' head. "Let us in."
At those words, just like what the Nogitsune had said to him, Stiles crab-crawled backwards as fast as he could. "Fuck! No! Not ever!" His heart was pounding so fast he could feel it in his chest like a hammer. It hurt.
The Fae moved back again. "You are afraid of us?"
"Yes!"
"Why? We are the same."
Stiles could tell it was honestly confused. He couldn't help the bit of sympathy that rose up in him. "I'll explain. Just, don't come near me, okay?" The fae didn't move, so Stiles took a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. I was possessed by a dark fox-spirit. It manipulated events so I had to let it inside my mind. It took over." He wiped a hand down his face. God. He'd never told anyone about that. Never had to say the words because everyone who needed to know had lived through it. It was still so much a part of him, what the Nogitsune had done. He may not feel so much guilt over everything as he used to, but he wouldn't really be okay ever again.
The Fae was quiet for so long after Stiles spoke that he had time to sit back and just take a second to center himself.
"We found the dark around your heart." The Fae's voice was soft, like it was concerned for Stiles. "We saw the Tree's mark. But you say there is more?"
"Not anymore. We got rid of it. It's gone."
The Fae swayed back and forth. "No."
"No? What do you mean, no?" Stiles went very still. "It's gone."
"Do not be afraid. The fox is gone." The Fae whispered as it slowly moved closer to Stiles. The touch came back to his face, slid over his side, around his middle and floated away. "But possession leaves influence. We see it now." The Fae's air form was right next to Stiles' nose, touching quickly and softly around his cheeks. "The influence stayed. Fixed your deeper instincts. Turned you more tricky. Turned you more devious. We found you and celebrated at the pureness of your self. We chose you because you are so much like us. Fox helped to grow that in you."
"I'm not a fox," Stiles whispered. Tears gathered in his eyes. "I don't want to feed on chaos and other people's pain."
"No. It is not you. It left only influence. It's possible fox saw the trickster in you, too. Liked it as we do. Chose you for it. Was at home."
"He felt a kin-ship with me?" Stiles wanted to vomit.
He had to admit, he'd been curious. Why him? Why had the Nogitsune gone for him? The easy answer was because he was the weak one out of the three of them: Alison, Scott and himself. He was easy pickings, and he'd been the curious one too, he'd opened the door instead of closing it. But he'd always guessed there had to be more. Now, perhaps he had that reason. But to find out it may have been because the Nogitsune saw something familiar, that his soul appealed to it? No!
Sure, he could admit there were times he had a dark thought or too, may have used his skills to get what he wanted. But it couldn't be.
And yet, the Nogitsune had used his knowledge to hurt those he loved, because Stiles knew how to do it. He'd had it all there, waiting to be plucked out of him. He'd actually been thankful the Nogitsune had been focusing more on causing lingering chaos then ultimate death, or no one would have survived.
It was just like a Fae would do. Just like he would do, if he had to. If pushed far enough. Stiles wasn't a good person. He'd had people say it to his face more often than he liked. He'd joke about it, but really, he agreed.
He put out a hand and touched the Fae where its chest should be. It was like putting his hand in warm water. He pushed. "Back off a little, yeah?"
The Fae swayed back to its original position.
Stiles passed a hand wearily over his eyes. "Do you hurt people, humans, other beings?"
"Yes! But no." The Fae was moving like it wanted to touch him, but wasn't. Which was strange because it had never held back before that Stiles could tell. "We are capable, like all. Sometimes we hurt because we don't understand. Sometimes we hurt because we do!" Again there was a sliver of pride, quickly squashed.
Stiles was quiet. People were always hurting others by accident. He hurt people all the time without meaning too. The Fae was right that everyone was capable of it. Was the Fae prideful not because it hurt others, but because it had the power to protect itself?
Stiles had felt that before. It had been twisted to the Nogitsune's need to feed off chaos and connecting emotions, but he acknowledged the pride it had that it could feed itself, keep itself alive. That it was powerful enough to do so for a thousand years.
What if the Fae was happy because it liked that side of itself; that it could keep itself safe if needed? How could Stiles judge that, when he'd wanted it for himself?
"Will I change so much that I won't be me?" What he really meant was, would he change so much he wouldn't care to try to be a good person anymore? But he couldn't bring himself to say those words.
There was a touch, this time to his shoulder. He reached up and placed a hand there. The mist-like substance curled around his fingers for a quick second before drifting away.
"Your were chosen because you are like us already. You have magic already. You are wild already. You are chaos and control. You run in nature. You know the world of us and the mortal one. You thrive on being curious and tricky. You are honorable. You are loyal. You are fully loved. You love fiercely. You were Fae already in heart, mind and soul. We chose you, we change you, you are you."
Well, he'd known that hadn't he? Read the descriptions of Fae and noted a resemblance to himself. It was just more pronounced now. Like he was becoming more himself. Even if there were parts of him that were more charged now than they'd been before the Nogitsune, it was still him deep down.
"I feel —"
"Yes, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles?"
"I feel right. I feel like me. Am I still me?"
"Yes. Only no."
Stiles sighed again because this was a heavy load to work through. "Because now I am Fae. Or will be. What does that mean? Am I going to start kidnapping people and make them dance in mushroom rings until their hearts give out?"
"What would you do, Stiles-who-is-not-Stiles, if given the choice?"
"I don't want to kill anyone." But not wanting to was not the same as not capable of it.
"Then that is your choice."
"I won't suddenly become a murderer?"
"Unless you choose that path, no." The Fae's form swirled and stretched lengthways, lying down on the ground.
After a moment's hesitation, Stiles lay down next to it. He had no fear of it anymore. At some point he'd come to accept that at least towards him, this Fae had no hurtful intensions.
"So, being Fae is open to interpretation, then?" He placed his head in his hand as he lay on his side.
"We are whatever we want to be," the Fae said with obvious joy.
Stiles snorted out a laugh. Its high opinion of itself was appealing. "I said that to my friends. I am what ever I choose to be." Was he really? Could he really be?
Stiles watched as the Fae's airy form started to stretch over towards him, as close as it had ever been. Not quite pressed up alongside him but so close his skin had goosebumps. The moment was fixed. The atmosphere charged. It was just the Fae and Stiles.
A touch ran up his thigh, and he sucked in a breath.
He reached out a hand to where the Fae's face should have been. His fingers went into the condensed air. There was a human-shaped cheek and thin jaw line, a pointed chin and, when he tripped his fingers up a little, smooth flat lips that opened up under his fingertips. The mouth smiled and his fingers could feel sharp teeth, a tongue.
The mouth closed over his thumb, and Stiles moved forward slowly.
The mist closed over his face.
A hot lance of pain ripped down over his chest and he screamed.