This is my fic for the Glompfest!! Iâm so exited to have finished this and had lots of fun writing it. I hope you guys love it tooooo.
âNo, no, no, the storm really isnât that bad, I promise.â Stiles is practically on his knees at this point to beg with the woman behind the counter. Her name is Sharon and her flight attendant uniform is neatly pressed to perfection.
âThank you, sir, for your input but I believe company policy is to listen to our licensed and trained meteorologist.â The woman quips, she types something out on her computer primly before turning back to him. âThe next flight leaves tomorrow morning at seven, weâll arrange to have you on that flight but no one is leaving the airport for the next eighteen hours. Is that all, Mr. Stilinski?â
âYes,â he sighs, pulling up his rolling bag handle and reshouldering his satchel. âThanks for your help.â He takes the new ticket sheâs printed out and walks back to the waiting area. He pulls out his phone, sitting down and looking around to be sure no one is near the little alcove he had found earlier. He pulls one long sleeve up and swipes his thumb over a rune of silence, keeping an eye out as he goes. He dials and listens to the ringing while he situates himself into a more comfortable position with his satchel propped up against the wall behind him to lean on.
âStiles, whatâs up?â Scottâs sleepy voice comes over the phone. It was late for both of them.
âHey Scotty-boy. Iâve got good news and bad news.â
âAlright, you donât sound out of breath or in pain so good news first.â
âGood news - I stopped the aloviti. Bad news - humans are easily scared by testy weather and Iâm stuck at OâHare until tomorrow morning.â
âDamn, I really wanted you here for the McGreg pack arrival.â Scott sighs and Stiles sinks into his satchel more with the weight of his best friendâs disappointment.
âI know, and I wanted to be there too. I was gonna strike the fear of Stilinski into them.â Sott laughs and Stiles smiles. He knew Scott was stressed, trying to bring together packs and forge alliances. If he were just trying to bring packs together it wouldnât be too hard, just a lot of territory disputes and pack politics. But no, this boy wanted to go all out and get werewolves to partner with hunters.
Stiles had countered that plan before it was even halfway out of Scottâs mouth. There was no possible way anyone else would be willing to shake hands with the men and women who killed so many of them and forced them into the dark ages of hiding and living low. But Scott was determined and Stiles did what he could to help his best friend. It had taken time but over the years, with successes and failures behind them Scottâs plans for supernatural peace were coming together.
âItâs alright, buddy. Youâll get here when you get here, just stay safe, okay?â
âOf course, dude. When have you ever known me to get into unnecessary trouble?â Scott just scoffs and hangs up with a quick good-bye. Stiles chuckles as he puts his phone away. He starts to pull out his book, a new mystery novel written by one of his fae friends in Orlando when his stomach makes an obnoxious growl.
âWell, I guess I need food then.â He mutters to himself, taking up his stuff and looking for a map. He spots one near the end of the hallway heâs in, connecting two wings of the airport. He looks over the map and does his best to locate the food court when the hairs of the back of his neck stand on end and his spark sizzles under his skin. Someone is watching him, intently by the feel of it and his magic isnât too happy about it.
He resumes his search and nods when he finds what heâs looking for. Maybe his glamour over his rune tattoos arenât strong enough after so much energy being drained in travel. They probably still look like average tattoos but thereâs bound to be a lot of them and his undercut wonât be covering any of the ones crawling up his neck and around his throat. He walks in the direction of food and tries to take the feeling with a grain of salt but he canât seem to shake it loose.
As he walks, he rubs at his shoulder, easy to mistake as him rubbing at soreness from where he satchel could be digging into the muscles. Really heâs activating a rune to sweep the nearby area for threats. His spine jolts with the shock of predator pinging on his magical radar, somewhere behind him and the the right, prowling at a slight distance. He doesnât look but he knows  itâs a supe with teeth and claws, it felt animal and proud - a wolf without a doubt.
He keeps walking, Panda Express in his sights but he knows that itâs going to be a while longer before he gets anything to eat. He feels the wolf draw closer and sticks his hand in his jean pocket, feeling the vial of mountain ash and the small baggie of wolfsbane.
âHey, honey, I think I found a good place to rest over there,â a smooth voice carries a bit, a scruff surrounded lips pressing to his temple to whisper âfollow me and donât make a sceneâ as a hand, lightly pricked with too sharp nails presses to his lower back.
âWerewolves and your theatrics,â Stiles sighs, giving into the shove heâs given to keep moving. He takes a moment to look at his âcaptorâ from out of the corner of his eye and damn, thatâs a hot hunk of man. Damnit, Stiles, no objectifying the kidnapper. Mage-napper. Whatever. You havenât even been napped long enough for Stockholm Syndrome.
A few moments later, Stiles finds tossed into a closet, lock somehow picked by wolfieâs claws in an amazing show of dexterity. Heâs still righting himself from the stumble when Hot Guy pushes up behind him (donât go there, now is not the time) and closes the door, plunging them into darkness.
âWell, this is bringing me some fantastic flashback of seven seconds in heaven from middle school. And when I say fantastic, I mean traumatizing -â
âNo, man, you donât get it. I had to kiss Greenberg and he had this weird like, tongue rashâ Stiles shivers for emphasis, ânever again. And donât get me started with Sandra Blueguard -â
âI said shut up.â The werewolf hisses, noises of fumbling coming from his direction. Stiles assumes heâs looking for a light.
âAnd I had a story to finish,â Stiles huffs, snapping his fingers (he didnât have to, but he had to keep up appearances) to bring a ball of light to the tips. âAs I was saying -â The werewolf turns around with a snarl and swipes at his hand, effectively extinguishing the light.
âAre you insane? Someone could see you!â
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