well, personally i'm a fan of ignoring a problem until eventually it just goes away. stiles: a little more than 150 pounds of pure awesome. 150 human pounds, to clarify - because unlike some people i don't howl at the moon or have magical superpowers. i track the tag stillnotawolf and am a continuance of this. my life gets pretty gruesome sometimes, so keep an eye out for potential mature content. mutuals only
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{ under the cut are owed replies/starters etc. hit me up if you want to plot! craving some good ‘ol. shippy stuff. Or maybe just shippy pictures. Or maybe just a ship. Okay, I want a ship. I want to own the Black Pearl. }
{ —;; ➳ people I owe things:
➳ @warriorhedalexa
➳ @sullenalpha
➳ @screamxqueenxlydia
➳ @ofnotendingwell
➳ hit me up if you’d like me to do a thing for you!
Stiles is not rushing. He is absolutely not rushing. He is 100% against the very idea of rushing. That, of course, doesn’t change the fact that he’s here 4 hours later than he should have been (Deaton’s fault - not his. How was he supposed to know that Diagon Alley was a real place? When he was told that the little pouch of sand that the man had given him was ‘floo powder,’ and that he’d have to jump into a fire to get to the district, Stiles had laughed. This - this isn’t anything to laugh about!) and now has less than sixty minutes to get the ingredients to combat wolfsbane before one of their pack freakin’ dies. To death.
“Crap.” Stiles looks at the list in his hand and doesn’t know where to start, but he figures that walking into the first shop he sees can’t hurt.
Of course, that’s before he manages to open the door and knock someone holding a huge box of supplies completely over, because that is just his luck.
Stiles is pointedly not snooping around Derek’s secret hideout as he waits patiently (well, kind of patiently, if your definition of patient means pacing back and forward through his place and texting Scott every five minutes with an update - ie. He’s still not here!) for him to get back. He’s pretty sure that he’s almost trodden a path into the floor beneath but he can’t seem to help it.
“Ugh,” He runs a hand through his tousled hair, wondering not for the first time why it’s always him who has to be the messenger. Stiles’s pretty sure that Jackson (the jerk) could have just as easily sent an email, but no, he had to get Lydia to manipulate the token human into telling Derek that, surprise, they’re going to have to deal with her ex-boyfriend’s stupid face again.
Stiles doesn’t even know why he’s still here, to be honest. If it weren’t for Lydia’s pleading sighs and Scott’s stupid puppy dog eyes he’d be happily playing video games at home. As it is, he’s not surprised when he has to settle for a real-life jump scare when Derek’s right freakin’ there as he turns around.
“Aauugh!” Stiles almost drops his phone, clinging to the plastic by the tips of his fingers. His coffee, though, isn’t so lucky. It falls to the ground with a wet sound before exploding all over the werewolf’s shoes.
Stiles bemoans the loss of caffeine internally, self preservation instinct overriding the urge to yell at Derek for making him almost have a heart attack and taming his outburst to a mild, “Hey, Derek.”
He never LIED to Stiles but it didn’t mean he told him everything. Scott didn’t plan to tell Stiles that Theo killed him because he did not want to see that pain in the eyes again. IT was the only thing h couldn’t bear anymore
It wasn’t the first TIME he kept a secret.
He never told him either that sometimes he woke up screaming BECAUSE he had a nightmare about a nogitsune with his face who twisted a sword inside of him.
Actually Scott just stopped to talk about anything. How much he hates to be a werewolf. How he felt when Allison died in his arms. HOW terrefied he is each day of his life because he’s too weak to protect anyone.
He can’t protect anyone.
– ( * ░ &&. ➳ text under the cut for length —–;;
“I do. BECAUSE it wasn’t Theo who broke us apart, it was my fault. BECAUSE I was too scared after everything. Sometimes I … I walked through school and starred at the faces of teenagers like me. Ad I wonder if they are really just teenagers. And each customer who comes at the animal clinic, I wonder if it isn’t maybe a hunter who wants to hurt us. And you all look at me and see something I am not. I’m eighteen years old, I struggle ith my homework and sometime I cry when nobody is around.”
Scott stopped and swallowed. The blood was rushing through his veins and he did hide his face in shame.
“ BUT you looked at me like that and I didn’t want to disappont you. Because you saw something in me I am not and I WAS scared you would leave if you would see that too. But this was how I pushed you away and now I am not sure if I can ever fix it again.”
“You all?”
Stiles is incredulous, because this is Scott, this is his best friend. This is the guy who’d seen him lose his freakin’ mind and told him that it was okay afterwards. Embarrassment and humiliation curl deep and heavy in his gut, and Stiles is mortified to feel the corners of his eyes pricking with tears.
“Scott.”
Frustrated, he blinks away the physical vulnerability and bites his lip. Tasting the tell-tale tang of blood, Stiles continues.
“Scott, you’re such a freakin’ idiot.”
Stiles’ heartbeat echoes in his own ears, although for all the attention he pays it the organ might as well not be there. The idea that Scott thought he’d think any less of him for being human makes Stiles sick, and hey, maybe his heart doesn’t exist because he sure as hell has no other explanation for the way it feels like someone’s just blown a giant hole in his chest.
He has to take a moment to get it together; the room becoming smaller with every passing second that he doesn’t say something and the air between them going thin. Stiles can feel the body heat from the other teenager radiating out in waves, and it’s the corner of Scott’s chapped lips, raw and damaged, the hollow look of Scott’s cheeks, the way that Scott is trying to hide his face.
“I saw my best friend.”
Stiles reaches out, calloused fingers pressing against the line of Scott’s jaw to make him look at him, listen to him because freaky werewolf senses or not, Stiles needs to know that Scott can hear what he’s saying.
“I saw my best friend dying a little bit every day and not being able to tell me why. I saw my best friend throwing himself head first into danger like it didn’t matter whether he came out of it alive or not. I saw my best friend -”
Breathing raggedly, Stiles swallows against a raw throat before he meets Scott’s eyes, dropping his hand.
“I saw my best friend choosing to be alone, rather than have me.”
Stiles tries not to be relieved at the replies he receives, but a selfish little part of him is glad that he’s not been entirely replaced, which is stupid because he’s the one who left. He’s the one who replaced them. Sighing frustratedly, he thumbs out a reply.
text: [ okay, big guy, no need to bring out the *feelings* ]
text: [ although, NGL, i’m intrigued about all this maturing you guys have done ]
text: [ when I went to Scott’s house he was baking ]
text: [ he was *baking*, Derek ]
text: [ and it tasted awesome! what happened to the ‘i’m just gonna eat ramen until i die,’ scott that I knew? ]
text: [ where’d he go? ]
Stiles idles by his phone, gazing forlornly at the last cookie Scott’d given him to take home. It does taste awesome, and Stiles has missed years of being able to ingest these. What was he thinking?
Clarke watched him fumble with his snacks, and had she been in a better mood– she would have been more of a help, instead, she took one of the baskets next to the counter and slid it to him with the pump part of her heel. Satomi had gotten a call from the former alpha in question, he wanted to be sure all of them were at least trying to stay alive, so they sent her.
In reality, Brett, who had actual experience with the pack might have been better, but apparently he had history with one of the betas and she was more likely to play nice.
“I’m aware, I go to school with you”
The blonde replied in a bored tone, checking her watch before looking back to the boy on the floor.
“Ah, he’s not as dumb as he looks, folks. Yes, Derek sent me.”
Sighing exasperatedly, Stiles eyes the basket at his feet, wondering if it’s worth his ego to try and balance his haul across the store to the till. With a huff, he decides that the chance of dropping half of what he’s carrying along the way is too high for his liking, especially with a potential werewolf waiting on the sidelines with their potential super-reflexes. Stiles lets his supplies fall into the plastic container, pointedly not meeting the blonde’s eyes.
“Great,” Stiles makes his way through the store, assuming that the teenager will follow him, “Just awesome.”
If Derek sent them, then it’s probably pack business. Pack business means a whole heap more babysitting and werewolf angst and Stiles isn’t too keen on signing himself up for that if he has any other choice, especially if it means following a person he’s never met -even if she is intimidating as hell.
“And I’m guessing that it’s super top secret and very important but you can’t tell me why?”
Stiles subtly glances at the other; he’s getting a particularly Erica vibe off of her, what with the heels and attitude, and he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t want to piss her off - especially if she goes to school with him. Not that, y’know, he totally believes that. There have been one too many new students and not all of them have been exactly who they say they are (cough, Allison Argent, cough).
The register attendant finishes scanning his items and reads him the total with almost as much emotion in her voice as a wet sponge and Stiles tries not to freak out about the fact that he’s spending almost as much as he spends in a week for himself and his Dad on one day of werewolf-chow whilst he hands over a couple of folded notes, hefting the bags up onto his shoulders as he waits for an answer.
He wonders if he’s important enough to be told the truth.
Jesus he wanted to throw his phone. Derek didn’t really like the thing that much as it was. Text messages annoyed him even more. Especially when you had fingers like his trying to type on that stupid tiny keyboard wasn’t the easiest thing.
[msg] hey do you know how to call someone?
[msg] oh forget it.
Derek got frustrated and dialed the number and waited for Stiles to pick up. It was completely and totally pointless to try and discuss this over text message anyways. Tapping his fingers on the desk as he waited for him to pick up Derek cleared his throat. He still didn’t know that he believed what he had read.
“Whoah, heeey, Derek!”
Stiles picks up after less than two rings, anticipation lighting up his nervous system with hot bursts of electricity because Derek doesn’t usually call him - that’s not what they do. Hell, Derek doesn’t usually text him back, either, unless it’s to tell him to ‘shut up,’ so this is kind of a big deal (big enough that it gets italics in his mind, anyway).
“So, I’m gonna take this call as a confirmation that you read all of my texts and you’re super grateful to me for filling you in - which, by the way, you’re welcome - and want to go out and Grr the bad guy—s?”
Stiles breathes in quickly, forcing a few more words out before the Alpha is able to interrupt him.
“Uh,” Stiles stops in his tracks, an unopened packet of Reese’s between his teeth and arms full of copious amounts of junk food. He probably looks more than a little crazed, but having to take part in a pack meeting with no snacks is more than enough reason for it.
---- He regrets ever getting between two Betas who have not been fed.
“Hi?” The candy falls from his mouth and Stiles swears lightly before trying to bend over and pick it up. Various brands of potato chips leave the net of his arms as he stoops, joining the chocolate on the ground, and he wonders not for the first time why he thought it’d be a good idea to go werewolf grocery shopping without a basket.
Finally righting himself, he secures his hold on everything and takes a second to look at the teenager in front of him. She can’t be much older than he is, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen her in his life. Sadly enough, this isn’t the first time Stiles’ been accosted by random strangers in the middle of a convenience store. He imagines it won’t be the last, either.
Scott took a deep breath and walked upstairs. He KNEW now or never mattered. All he wanted was his best friend back. of course he did not expect Stiles just to hug him and forget about it. But he had to try to win him back and if it would tak forever then it was okay, as long as he knew there was a CHANCE. The alpha lookd at him before he sat down on the well known chair.
“I KNOW that you do not want to talk. “ He could smell it. “But please let me explain what happened.” Somewhere he had to start but right now it was hard to focus. “ I … I am sorry. “
A long time ago his dad’d told him that he could see Scott and Stiles being friends in their fifties. Stiles had laughed, said “probably,” and gone back to beating Scott at Mario Kart in the other room. It hadn’t even been a question at the time, even if the idea of being fifty had been almost unthinkable because he didn’t know about Scott, but Stiles planned to stay young forever.
Now, with the dim light of his dilapidated childhood lamp illuminating the worried lines of Scott’s face, Stiles wishes more than anything that he could return to the time where all they had to care about was passing calculus and dodging Jackson on their way back from Lacrosse tryouts. This blows on a scale of epic proportions, and it’s not fair that Scott’s looking at him with his huge puppy dog eyes because Stiles is pissed. He’s hurt, and he’s freakin’ feeling like he’s been sucker punched to the gut because what if he and Scott end up like his Dad and his high school friends. What if Theo and Stiles’ own stupid decisions mean that they stop talking to each other for good?
Stiles can’t. Scott - his Dad - Melissa - they’re all he’s got left.
“Don’t,” Stiles doesn’t give his lips permission, but they part with the words anyway, hand coming up to stop Scott from being Scott and apologising for things that aren’t always his fault. He stares at his fingers reproachfully, because it looks like he can’t even control his body, the traitor.
“You don’t need to explain.”
And Stiles might not be able to give him much, but he can give him this. He can put aside his anger and let Scott have an easy out - an option to put aside the nights of silent resentment and betrayal and commiserate on something other than the fact that they’ve been shitty friends to each other lately.
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
titsay
areudirty
