strangers - stiles stilinski
summary: you decided that he’s a stranger to you a long time ago, but what if tragedy strikes and the only person that could help you is him?
word count: 4.8k
warnings: cursing, fights, angst, slight fluff, vomit?, a little violence
a/n: so sorry i have been mia for months, i moved out and am finally living (as in not being stuck in my room all the time) i have this enemies-to-lovers fic siting for the longest time in my draft so hope yall like it! the italic bolded ones are flashbacks in case it gets pretty confusing. and i would like to apologize beforehand 🤠
masterlist
Strangers—they’re not always the people we don’t know. Some of them can be by choice, someone we chose to forget.
Sighing at the thought of another dreadful day at school, you drag your feet towards your first class. Your muscle memory kicking in, you pick the seat at the back corner, trying to be as unnoticeable as possible as you wish you can hide under a huge invisible cloak. After dumping your bag onto the floor next to the table, your body lazily sinks into the chair. Shuffling inside the pocket of your hoodie, you take out your phone and click it on, looking at the time.
7.50 A.M.
For once, you are early. Class starts at 8, so you have an extra 10 minutes to waste. As you begin to think about ways to kill the time, you hear two familiar voices growing louder as they enter the class.
You know those voices by heart. The voices that would always cheer you up when you were sad, the voices that continuously came up with jokes every day, but also the same voices that have shattered the only living soul you have left. How could one bring so much joy but also pain?
“Come on, Stiles. Star Wars? Again? Don’t you have any other movies to watch for our weekly movie nights?” you grumbled irritatedly.
“Last week, Scott picked some lame-ass rom-com and forced us to sit through it so this week it’s MY turn for revenge.” He emphasized the ‘my’ and crossed his arms across his chest, smirking at the thought of his genius evil plan.
“Fine, but next week I’m making you watch Spiderman.”
His curled lips dropped flat instantly. “Spiderman? Y/N, you know I am a DC man. Why would you do this to me?” he whined in disbelief which earned a maniacal laugh from you.
“Well, as you said before Stilinski, that is MY turn for revenge.”
Losing yourself in your thoughts, 10 minutes have long passed as the coach abruptly enters the classroom.
“This is the right class, right? Yeah, I think so.” He mumbles to himself as he places his stuff onto the teacher’s desk and clears his throat.
“Since I’m busy today, you will be doing a pair project.”
And the class goes wild.
“Hey, shut up. I’m not done yet.” Coach yells which gradually silences the class.
“Before all of you got too happy, I will be picking the pairs. Some of you depended on other students too much and that is not good.” He shakes his head, trailing off the subject.
“So, uhm, I’m just going to write the pairs on the board and the instructions. While I’m at it, please for the love of God shut your mouth.”
You are surprised. As a generally unlucky person, today doesn’t seem so bad. You won’t have to sit through coach’s lectures for 2 periods, which you consider as a total win.
However, your triumph does not last long as the words written messily on the board haunt you.
Pair 3: Y/F/N Y/L/N, Stiles Stilinski
Fuck-
“Okay, so all you have to do is collect some general information regarding the market structures and make a mind map. Simple. Now, huddle up with your buddies and get to work.”
Even after everyone starts grouping up with their partners, you are still slumped in the corner, not having any sort of will or energy left to interact with Stiles Stilinski.
Thankfully (or not), Stiles decides to make the first move, his silhouette towering your sitting figure. As you strictly look at your phone, a loud screech filled your ears, Stiles noisily dragging a vacant chair next to your table.
“Y/N,” he called in a tone you can’t quite comprehend.
God.
“Yeah,” you replied bluntly, glancing up.
“I- um, I wanted to say-“
“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you.”
In fact, you actually can. Hell, you even know what he’s about to say. But you do not brace yourself for this. You can barely look at him, let alone talk to him.
“Hey, movie night at 7?” You nudged on Stiles' arms, startling him, busy going through a bunch of papers on his desk.
“Uhh, no. I’m busy tonight.” He glanced to you for a second then proceeds to occupy himself.
“Okay, how about tomorrow?”
Missing your best friends, you were determined to get the band back together. Stiles and Scott had been exceptionally busy for the past few days and you were not quite sure why.
At first, you thought maybe it had something to do with the new girl, Allison. Scott seemed to be all over her. But then there was that creepy peculiar guy, Derek, who was borderline stalking them. They started to ditch you alone, running off to some secret mission, and you were tired of it. Why were they keeping it from you? Did they not trust you enough?
“Also busy,” he muttered, his focus still fully on the pile of paper. Your mouth gaped to come up with something that would get them to spend time with you but was interrupted by the ringing of the bell. In a flash, Stiles stood up, aimlessly gathering his papers, and zoomed out of the class, leaving your deadpanned state unattended.
From the widely-opened door, you could see Stiles rushing over to Scott. He told Scott something inaudible unless you got some sort of super-hearing, but from the look on Scott’s face, it must’ve been urgently distressing. Both of them bolted out of the school together without you, once again.
“I’ll do the monopoly and monopolistic competition and you do perfect competition and oligopoly. I’ll draw the mind map after school,” you state clearly and monotonously, wanting to quickly get this over with.
“Y/N, I-“
“Is it unclear?” you snap, rather cold.
“No, but-“
“Okay, then. You better start reading.” You heavily lift your book out of the bag and drop it on top of your table.
“What the hell just happened? Scott? Stiles?”
Your quizzical eyes darted waveringly between the two jittery boys, confused and infuriated.
Earlier, the boys had invited you, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson to come over and study. For a while there, you were hopeful. You thought that this small gathering could be a step closer to things going back to how it was, but displeasingly, you were absolutely mistaken.
“I don’t know, it’s-“
“What kind of lie are you coming up with now huh, Stiles? I know you know something!” you confronted.
“Y/N, we didn’t-“
“Oh, you think I didn’t notice? That guy Derek? Then both of you suddenly went M.I.A for days? And don’t get me started with the ‘Sorry, Deaton needs me at the clinic’ or ‘Sorry, my dad called me, gotta go’. We’ve been friends since we were 10 for fucks sake!”
Gladly the three of you were left alone because you were furiously shouting at this point. Allison offered to drive Lydia home the moment she sensed the unnerving tension between the three of you.
“And now, even after whatever that thing is just almost killed us, you still think I don’t deserve to know the truth?”
You shot the two boys death glares through your teary eyes which they actively try to avoid. They looked miserably guilty, something you currently want them to feel.
“You know what, I’m done. Don’t bother chasing after me to explain. I can just ask Allison.” And with that bitter statement, you left the two stunned boys standing frozen on the front porch.
Both of you are quietly reading through the materials and highlighting the key points. You silently thank Stiles for not trying to initiate another awkward conversation, which probably is caused by your previous intimidation.
Luckily, time seems to fly as the bell rings, indicating the end of the class. Not wanting to spend another second in this hellhole, you immediately left the class.
Following that incident, Stiles and Scott tried to reach you for days. Your phone would constantly light up once every few hours with either Scott’s or Stiles’ name lighting up the lockscreen.
After a week or so, the calls eventually came to a halt. You were relieved the ongoing calls that you have convinced yourself were bothering you stopped. But deep down all those denials, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that they gave up on you so effortlessly.
At the same time, you couldn’t blame them either. You were pretty ruthless.
Things never went back to normal. You avoided them at all cost, stop sitting at their table, vowing to never speak to them ever again.
You knew that keeping grudges would eventually hurt you more than it should but you were headstrong.
They did not trust you. They lied to you. They have made their bed and now you’re just simply letting them sleep on it.
However, this didn’t stop you from being attentive towards them. From time to time, you tried to keep tabs on them by checking in with Allison. But that was until she passed away.
The news left you completely devastated and heartbroken. Even though you were not on good terms with Scott and Stiles, you were still close with Allison.
She was your best friend. She patiently supported you through the heartache of losing your two best friends, she taught you how to stand strong independently, she gave you hope on the brighter days that had yet to come, but most importantly, she trusted you when Scott and Stiles didn’t.
You were also aware of the whole void situation, which pained you more than you thought it would. The thought of the vibrant, eccentric Stiles going through unspeakable agony and remorse wrecked you.
During Allison’s funeral, you decided that letting your distant facade down just for a day to console the pack won’t kill you.
Approaching them after the reception, a surprised look was painted on each of their faces, especially Scott and Stiles. You gave your condolences to everyone and hugged Stiles and Scott, something you haven’t done in ages. Their bodies stiffen from your unexpected action, but soon they melt into the hug and cling onto you tightly, finally accepting that you were really embracing them.
After pulling apart, you excused Scott to give you and Stiles a moment alone.
“Stiles, I know you’re thinking that this is your fault but listen to me, it is not. You were not in control. You were not you. You did not do this.”
Upon hearing comforting words from his long-lost friend, he let out an excruciating sob. Instinctively, you pulled him into your embrace once again as he squeezed you tighter.
You might not be able to forgive him yet but at least you could be there with him through this disastrous nightmare.
The whole day, you try to steer clear of Stiles or the pack. You know he’s trying to get a hold of you, probably wanting to discuss the unfinished project; but we don’t need to add more to the plate, don’t we?
Once school ended, you quickly rush home. From a distance, you can hear Stiles call out your name. But being the excellent evader you claim to be, you ignore them.
Just as you think the day can’t get any worse, the doorbell in your house chimes, indicating a guest present on your doorsteps. You sigh, knowing who is standing behind that door and this time you can’t dodge it.
So much for being an excellent evader.
“What?” you ask, getting straight to the point.
“We haven’t finished our project. I want to help you do the mind map.” He stares at you innocently, fumbling with his hands.
After all these years and he still got those puppy eyes.
“It’s fine, I can do it myself.” You try closing the door but he beats you to it.
“Come on, Y/N. I don’t want you ratting me out to Coach for forced labor, so please just let me in and we’ll work on it together,” he whines, hand still holding the door open.
Even after everything, you still can’t bring yourself to decline him. You have always had a soft spot for Stiles, which you are planning to terminate because it is starting to be troublesome.
“Fine,” you grunt in defeat.
A favorable grin is plastered on his face as he steps into your house.
Things seemed to change after Allison’s death. You noticed fresh faces joining the pack while familiar ones went away.
But out of the several new members, one had caught your eye the most. Her name’s Malia if you’re not mistaken; a snarky brunette, who’s built like a model too by the way.
From what you could tell from the persistent PDA, she was dating Stiles. Yeah, you weren’t exactly in a position to have a say on it, but you were getting real sketchy vibes from her, or so you thought.
“Stiles, you’re still coming over right?” you heard Malia speak to your ex-best friend as you opened your locker across from them.
“Yeah, definitely. I’ll teach you maths too since you’re so bad at it.” You tried not to overhear their conversation but you just couldn’t help it.
“Thanks. You’re the best!” she cried out as she treaded away from Stiles, a pang striking your chest.
Maybe, you’re just slightly jealous.
Okay, slightly was an understatement.
It seemed like you’re still unable to completely erase your suppressed attraction towards him, even when clearly he had.
To minimize any sort of unnecessary interaction, you try to fully put your focus on the project—which works. For the past 15 minutes, the two of you are settled in your living room in silence, minding your own business.
At least until Stiles decides to be clumsy and drop his plastic cup, water spilling all over the floor. You roll your eyes and grab a cloth from the kitchen to clean up the mess.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he curses under his breath as you are drying up the floor.
“It’s fine.”
No actually, it’s not. This situation right here is not fine. You’ve had the shittiest day at school and to make it even worse, Stiles decides to show up uninvitedly at your house which is supposedly your only stress-free zone.
“I’ll help you clean it up.” He squats down, trying to get the cloth from your grip.
“No, you don’t have to.” You don’t want him to cause any more inconvenience, even though you know very well he doesn’t mean it.
“I want to help Y/N, I-“
“What, Stiles? You want to help? Then please for the love of God, leave me alone!” You stand up and snap at him, a bit too loudly. You feel bad for being too hard on him when he’s only trying to help, but you’re unable to extinguish your growing anger.
He straightens up, his once warm face turn into an enraged frown.
“Is this still about what happened back then? Fuck, Y/N. I’ve said sorry, Scott has, thousands of times. But you still don’t want to forgive us. So tell me now Y/N, what should I do, huh?”
The sudden increase in his volume catch you by surprise. He has always been so radiant and carefree, you have never seen him this mad. But despite that, the rage inside of you still does not subdue.
You let out a humorless chuckle.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Stiles. You think that I get to choose not to forgive you, that I’m the evil one and maybe I am at some point. But don’t you dare pull the victim card here.”
Your sight becomes blurry as your eyes start to sting from all the overwhelming emotions but you can care less.
“You lied to me. You left me alone, confused, scared, even after knowing very well how my mom lied to me about my father abandoning me. You know how much I relied on you and Scott, but you still broke my trust. You hurt me. And you think a bunch of “sorry”s will immediately fix that? It’s not that simple, Stiles.”
You’re not screaming as loud as you did before. The tone of your voice softens as a new emotion takes control over your body—pain.
Frustrated, Stiles rummages through his hair while letting out a scoff.
“But it’s not just a bunch of “sorry”s isn’t it? We kept on calling you after that day. We tried approaching you at school. Fuck, I even tried to be nice to you earlier today. But guess what I got in return? Another silent treatment. Why can’t you just fucking move on already? You’re being too overdramatic. No wonder your mom lied to you.”
Bang. His words hit you like a bullet, piercing right through your heart.
Your once agape mouth closes shut, your furrowed eyebrows straighten. Stiles has crossed the line this time.
“Get out,” you spat, emotionless.
“Y/N, I didn’t mean to-“
“I SAID GET OUT, STILES,” you yell at the top of your lungs, frightening him. With horror painted all over his face, he immediately picks up his bag and exits your house, too frightened to say anything else.
As the door shuts, more tears start to flow down your cheeks. You are exhausted. Today’s fiascos have drained every ounce of energy you have left, leaving you like a corpse.
After getting your lifeless, sickly self to shower, you directly plop into your bed, curling yourself in the soft quilt of your blanket. Needing an escape from this dreadful reality, you flutter your eyes shut, instantaneously falling asleep.
You wake up to your accustomed alarm, growling at the blaring sound you set. Finally having enough will to get out of bed, you head to your bathroom.
Turning on the lights, your reflection in the mirror stares back at you.
Gosh, you look dead.
Your skin is as pale as a sheet, your eyes are puffy with prominent dark circles forming under them, your hair is messy and icky. You feel disgustingly terrible.
Dabbing a whole lot of concealer on your skin, you get ready for school; deciding to put whatever catastrophe that had happened yesterday behind you.
Fortunately, you only have one class with Stiles for the day. The day goes by pretty fast and to your delight, pretty decent too, probably because you spend a few periods in the infirmary.
But again, the universe seems to find so much pleasure in inflicting pain on you.
Midway through the class, a sharp sting strikes your head. Interrupting Mr. Yukimura, you excuse yourself to leave the class.
As you reach the empty halls, you feel an eerie sensation creeping all over your body. Alarmed for some reason you don’t know, you scan the halls hastily. You can see nothing, but you do hear something. A bug-like, rattling noise gradually fills your ears, followed by a raspy, unearthly wheeze.
What the fuck is happening?
You’re shivering, cold sweats covering your body. Not being able to stand the unknown terrors, you abruptly sprint to the vacant locker room.
Bad idea. Should’ve picked a more crowded room.
Securing yourself in a room alone definitely does not make you feel any safer. The rattling has stopped but the ominous feeling only grew more prominent.
You are about to escape before sudden nausea hits you. Before you knew it, your knees drop to the floor, your throat retching, vomiting a slimy, ink-like substance.
Now you are horrified.
The door to the locker room flies open, showing two familiar figures. Their eyes find your unusually glowing whiskey-colored ones.
“Fuck, she’s one of them,” Stiles spoke, eyes fixated only on you.
Scott rushes over to you as Stiles stands still, trying to let the sight in front of him sink in. While bracing your fragile body to a steady sitting position, Scott checks in on you with a few “are you okay?”s to which you shake your head.
“What is happening to me, Scott?” you question, panic in your eyes.
After hearing a very complicated and detailed explanation about chimeras and the dread doctors, you are left speechless in front of all the members of the pack who came running right away at the bad news a while ago when you were still seated frozen in a shocked haze.
“Okay so, let me summarize everything,” you mutter so softly to the point it sounds like a whisper while standing up, Stiles hands instinctively finding your body to support you.
“I am a chimera, which is a scientifically-made supernatural creature. The dread doctors, the psychos who are behind this, are going to take me away,” you enunciate to the pack—more like to yourself—to prove your understanding of the matter in which Scott nods in return.
He then tries to come up with a plan to save you from being taken, but you’re not really listening.
Even though you look composed, you are actually on edge, occasionally convincing yourself that everything is under control.
From the very little you heard, basically, they plan on keeping you here in the locker room for the rest of the day—something to do with the telluric currents.
After the plan is finalized, everyone departs for their appointed roles, leaving only one person behind to watch over you.
Out of everyone in the pack, why him?
“I have a spare shirt in my locker, do you maybe want to change into them?” Stiles pointed to your now stained white T-shirt.
You are about to refuse the boy’s offer but looking at the matching black splatter on your shirt and the floor makes you feel queasy, so you comply.
“Okay, we’ll go to the boy’s locker room and leave this mess here.”
“We should clean it-“
“No, you’re not in the state to do any work. I’ll ask someone to clean it up later.” He grabs your arm and leads you out the door to the boy’s locker room, which is no different than the girl’s, pretty disappointing.
Stiles rummages his locker for a second before handing his grey shirt to you.
You stare at him, waiting for him to give you some privacy to change your clothes. But it seems like he isn’t getting the memo.
“What?” he blurts so blatantly as you sigh in return.
Oh God has he always been this slow?
“Are you planning on cheating on Malia? Because I’m about to change here and unless you’re blind, you’re going to have to see me pretty much naked.” His jaw drops at your snarky remark. His face growing warmer as it’s tinted with a crimson color.
“O-Oh yeah, of course. I’m no longer dating Malia though but uhh that’s not important. I’ll turn around- Or do you want me to leave the room? I can do that.” He fidgeted, totally taken aback and flustered.
“Don’t leave me alone, please. Just turn around.”
Both of you are astonished by your statement. But it’s the truth. Alone, you were petrified. At least being with Stiles makes you feel a little more secure.
Just a day ago you were shouting for him to leave, but now you practically begged him to stay. How ironic.
After you have changed into his cozy oversized shirt which for the record smells like his aftershave that you liked, you keep away your dirty shirt, sit on the bench beside him, and thank him.
Once again, silence befalls the both of you. The air between you two today has somehow shifted from yesterday. It’s still thick and tensed, but not full of rage and resentment.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he mutters after a while with his head low.
“Stiles-“
“No, I have to say it. You were right. I was so stupid. I should have never blamed you for not being able to trust me. I’ve hurt you, Y/N, and I deserve this.” His regretful honey eyes are fixed deeply into yours.
Despite the guilt building up inside your body, you do not reply to him straight away. You need time to process this.
Are you still mad at him? Yes. But do you feel bad for being mean towards him? Also yes.
As you are contemplating, the door to the locker room swings open, revealing Scott and the others.
Liam is clutching a large navy duffel bag in his hand, its contents still a mystery to you. Lydia and a man who you aren’t familiar with are carrying a bunch of radio transmitters. Malia is holding a steel bat, which later on is passed over to Stiles.
Once they are all inside, they start to get busy. Lydia, Stiles, and the guy—Parrish, according to what you heard the pack calls him—go around the room, placing the equipment all over it. Malia and Liam are near the door, pushing the shelves to cover all the exits except the main one. And Scott is hovering over the duffel bag which was placed earlier on the bench across you.
He slowly zips the bag open, inspecting it. Being your inquisitive self, you lift your head up to get a better view. But before you get a sight of anything, Scott zips it back close and takes it with him.
After everyone’s done with their designated tasks, they all gather to form a small circle, yourself included.
“Okay, Lydia and Parrish, you two stay in the car outside. Malia and Liam, stand by in the halls. Me, Stiles, and Y/N will stay here. Got it?” Scott instructs clearly to which everybody nods and proceed to their assigned areas.
All of them seem so prepared as if they are properly equipped for battle, except you.
Minutes have passed as there is no sign of the dread doctors. You are sitting quietly on the bench, fumbling with your fingers as Stiles and Scott pace around the room.
Your eyes darted from the two mobile boys to the duffel bag resting on the bench in front of you. Now, you’re curious.
When Scott isn’t looking, you swiftly slide to the opposite bench and zip the bag open, uncovering a bunch of weighty chains.
“What are these for?” Your voice echoes through the noiseless room, earning glances from them both.
“I brought them, just in case.” Scott moves closer to where you are.
“In case of what?” You don’t quite understand what he is implying.
“In case we have a chance to catch one of them,” Scott answered composedly.
“What?” Stiles snaps from behind Scott.
“If we can’t make the school a fortress, maybe we can make it a trap.” Scott’s attempt to explain to the two of you only receives a scoff of disbelief from Stiles.
“And you’re making her the bait?” he questions sharply.
“That’s not what I said-“
“Yeah, right.” Stiles rolls his eyes as Scott glances over to you, an apologetic look plastered on his face.
You don’t know what to feel about this situation. Yes, you are hurt that Scott possibly considered you as bait. But rationally, he does have a point. At the same time, you are also impressed at Stiles' initiative to immediately defend you.
“Wait a minute, I hear something. I’ll go out and check it. You two stay here.” Before any of you can protest, Scott fleets out of the room.
And then there’s two. Awkward silence once again engulfs the two of you. But this time, you’re the one who breaks it.
“Thank you, for defending me,” you utter gently as he sat beside you.
“Of course, Y/N. Always. I will always protect you.” He grasps your hands into his, giving you a reassuring smile, relieved that you finally drop your cold exterior.
The long-awaited moment of truce you two are sharing is sadly interrupted by the familiar rattling noise that unexpectedly appeared, causing you to stand up, followed by Stiles.
“Stiles, I hear them,” you quiver, fear rushing through your body.
“Me too. Hey, Scott?” He forms a half-circle using his palms, cupping them around this mouth. He continues to call out his best friend’s name a few more times before he retreats.
“Where the fuck is he?” Exasperated and worried, he restlessly gazes around the room.
“They’re coming, Stiles.” Feeling hopeless and discouraged, you put your hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his agitated body. You have accepted your fate. They’re taking you away.
“No, I’m not letting them take you.” His hands caress the sides of your arms, tears forming in his eyes.
“They will.” Your palms cup his face, thumb wiping away the warm teardrops streaming down his cheeks.
Mirroring your actions, he also cups your cheeks, staring at the little details of your face, memorizing them like it’s the last time he’ll get to be close to you.
Then he tilts his head and leans closer, shutting the distance between your lips. Fluttering your previously widened eyes shut, your lips passionately brushed along his plump ones as your hands fall from his cheeks to his chest, heart pounding loudly, warmth radiating throughout your body.
Just as he initiated it, he pulls away, honey eyes never leaving yours.
“I will find you, okay?” You nod as shadows appear behind Stiles’ figure.
The dread doctors.
He also sensed their presence as he immediately snatches his bat from the bench. He commands you to stay behind him which you obey.
Cowering behind Stiles’ figure, they have the two of you cornered and helpless. He tightens his grip and aggressively swings his bat at one of them but to no avail. Inching closer, they shove him away, grabbing a hold of both your arms.
You’re hysterically crying out for help, vigorously attempting to break free. Forcefully holding you still, they jab a sharp needle to the side of your neck as your limp body dropped to the ground. Your vision turns dark, the last thing you see is Stiles’ unconscious body lying in front of you.
