What Bright Eyes You Have, Mr. Wolf.
The accident wasn’t his fault. If there was anything he could stand by, it’s that he was a good driver. With Sheriff Stilinski for a father, Stiles had been drilled into being a conscientious driver since the moment he was allowed to sit behind the wheel. It didn’t hurt that the deputies got their kicks out of pulling him over almost every time they saw him out driving that first year.
Constantly thinking your dad’s deputies were going to catch you speeding or doing stupid stuff tended to make a guy paranoid.
Therefore this? This? Was most definitely not his fault. The jeep was nestled against a tree where it had just brushed the trunk, luckily he hadn’t crashed the vehicle when the steering had given out and he’d had to use his e-break to stop from veering off the trail. Of course the one time she breaks down would be when he’s in the preserve.
“Great. Just fucking great.” He wasn’t mad at the jeep, it wasn’t her fault. She was getting up there in age, it had been his mom’s car after all. Even when she had it the jeep had been a fixer upper. Then again, so was Stiles. They made a good pair.
Stiles was a photographer, and had been thinking that the preserve would be a good spot for some shots, seeing as not many people came this far out. He’d entertained the idea of maybe even visiting the old Hale house, only a burnt out shell now unlike it had been when he’d been much younger. Stiles doesn’t really remember the family all too well but his dad told him once or twice about visiting them there for a cookout because Talia Hale used to be a lawyer.
All he really knew about it was that it had burned down one day and that their teacher had told them Cora Hale was in a better place now. She had always sat at near the windows in his class. From what he remembered, which wasn’t much because this had been before he’d been diagnosed with ADHD; she had been nice. There had been many tears in class that day, but the funeral had been private and the only surviving members moved away immediately after.
Stiles understood completely, when he’d lost his mom he’d tried to run away because he kept thinking every woman with dark hair coming around the corner was her. He couldn’t imagine magnifying that feeling to eleven. He turned off the jeep and climbed out to assess the damage.
He heaved a sigh as he got out, checking over the jeep as if that would magically fix it. Seeing as Stiles was already out here, so he grabbed his camera and decided he might as well get what he came out here for. Before leaving the jeep though, he called his dad.
“Hey kiddo.” When he picked up, the Sheriff sounded surprised. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today, everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand over his face as he willed the jeep to fix itself with a long stare.
“Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?” His dad knew him too well.
“That’d be because there is. I am fine, but the jeep’s steering went.”
“St-”
“I’m fine.” He reiterates because knowing his dad, the man won’t believe him until he can see for himself.
“-iles.” Dad continues over him. “I told you to get it checked out before going out there. You’re lucky you aren’t wrapped around a tree.” And yeah, okay that was fair.
“Did you miss the part where I told you I’m fine?”
“Did you miss the part where you almost crashed your jeep in the preserve? Alone?”
No, he hadn’t missed that part. But making it into a big deal wouldn’t make the bearings fix themselves. “I’m sorry.” Stiles says quietly, knowing that the anger in his dad’s voice is really just concern in disguise. Stilinski men didn’t really talk about feelings, they had more of a ‘ignore it until it goes away’ philosophy for the most part.
“I’ll send someone out to pick you up. Where are you?”
Stiles lets out a choked out laugh, which makes his dad sigh. But really, there aren’t any signs in the preserve- how would he know exactly where he was? “Listen, I’ll be fine for now, I know my way out and if I need to I’ll just walk home.” Not that he wanted to, it had been a thirty minute drive to get to where he was, it would be a bitch to walk home in the summer heat.
“No no, I’m going to send Parrish to go pick you up, just keep to the main trail. You did stay on the main trail, didn’t you?” The suspicion in his tone, asking for confirmation that he actually followed the one request he’d been given this morning, would have been a bit offensive if not Stiles’ track record. He had a tendency of finding himself on the opposing end of his dad’s rules a few too many times to have a right to be offended when he was doubted at this point.
He’d even been locked in the holding cells at the station a few times before his dad had realized he was using that as an excuse at school to not do his homework.
“Yeah, Dad. Scouts honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“Only because they kicked me out.”
“I’m not sure why you’re surprised, most people don’t appreciate it when you burn down their tent.”
“Okay, but it was an accident!”
His dad knows better than to try an argue, because its obvious that Stiles is right (it’s not like he threw a flaming a marshmallow on purpose okay?) so all he gets is a heaving sigh on the other end of the line. They end the call when Stiles is forced to promise that he really is going to stick to the main trail while taking his pictures and waits for Parrish to come rescue him and his Jeep.
The preserve is a gorgeous place, a canopy of green shelters out most of the sun, filtering through enough light that it’s not too dark to see but still provides shade. He should be grateful the Jeep didn’t give out in the middle of the street, the summer sun would have cooked him alive if he had to wait for someone to pick him up. A blessing in disguise then.
Stiles takes his camera, placing the strap around his neck and holding it gently with one hand so it won’t swing as he walks. He’d started to really get into photography when he’d seen the crime scene photographers cataloging a robbery one time when he’d come with his dad to work. After his mom had died he’d done that for a while.
He’d stuck to his dad like glue for those first few months until Melissa had coaxed him into staying at their place with Scott more often then not after that. And well- he still was a bit clingy to his best-friend.
Scott- who he would have called to rescue him if he wasn’t busy with his schoolwork. Though they were both attending university, Scott had also signed onto a bunch of committees and had decided to just stay at the school dorms for the summer. Stiles on the other hand, had come home for the summer and planned on getting a summer job. Only- the job part hadn’t happened so here he was, the first week of July and focusing on his photography he’d been neglecting since September due to being busy with his studies.
It felt good to have the camera in his hands again. It was a familiar and grounding weight around his neck that helped him express himself in a way he’d never expected to. When he’d first gotten into the hobby he hadn’t expected himself to have enough of an attention span for it to last, throughout most of his life Stiles had gone through several phases- none of them had lasted other than lacrosse and photography.
Photography helped him say things he didn’t have the words to. Could force someone to see from his perspective when all else failed to show it from how he saw things. It was a soothing practice if nothing else.
The ground is covered in leaves, forgotten pine needles and groupings of ferns that have been scoured away from the main path. It wasn’t quite what you’d call a road, for the most part it was still too over grown. But enough people had come and gone through it time and time again to the point that you could follow it well enough. The Jeep fit perfect for these roads, small enough and equipped for the rougher terrain- despite that, Stiles always cringes over every bump on the road.
He gets a shot of Jeep, pulled up by the tree he’d nearly hit and dirt giving her a dusty look. He takes a few more before he’s satisfied and slowly wanders down the trail.
It’s when he’s getting a shot of a crow perched on a branch farther up in the canopy that he hears the quick paced sounds of running. At first he assumes it’s a deer, but those tend to be rather quiet, due to being a prey species. The running is closer now, crashing through the brush without a care for whoever might hear it.
Stiles can feel the moment his heart kicks up, because it lurches so hard it almost hurts him. “Hello?” He calls.
No answers.
Please be a rabbit. Please be a rabbit.
The crashing slows down, it’s closer now. Whatever it is, it’s aware it’s not alone anymore. In fact the silence that follows is almost jarring. Even when it’s quiet in the preserve, it’s never quiet in the preserve. There’s birds, squirrels and other small animals constantly chattering and tweeting. It’s never... It’s never like this. This kind of quiet is when there’s a predator nearby.
“Shit...” He gulps, backing away from the noise. Leave it to Stiles to have his Jeep break down and get eaten by a bear. All in a days work, right? Are there even any bears in Beacon Hills?
He clutches his camera to his chest as if it’s going to protect him if whatever animal is stalking him chooses to pounce. With his heart in his throat and his nerves shuddering through him like electricity, he wonders if he runs fast enough he’ll be able to lock himself in the Jeep.
It’s only now he realizes that he wandered off farther than he’d meant to.
At this point he’s probably fairly close to the old Hale house actually- not that it will do him any good knowing that now. Stiles starts over thinking.
What if no one finds him? What if he actually dies. His dad would- oh god his dad.
The bushes shudder as a huge body lunges out at him. Stiles shrieks, throwing his arms up but it does nothing to stop the heavy weight knocks him down.
“PLEASE DON’T EAT ME!” He yells even though as he hears it, he’s not stupid enough to think the animal will understand. Or care, for that matter. The ground is hard and digging into his back but the thought is lost when he both hears and feels a nose snuffling against his face and neck.
“Fuck fuck fuck-” He panics. Of course he does. Stiles can feel his breaths shortening and getting caught in his too tight throat. A familiar prickle at the back of his scalp of terror shoots through him.
Against his will he opens his eyes and-
A wolf.
Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201896/chapters/35257895