It’s 1841 or 1920 or 1987 and Stiles Stilinski made one mistake too many. He’s a boy without a home, or a wanna be blues musician, or someone just looking for a little luck with handful of graveyard dirt and and thimble of candle wax. Hoodoo is in his blood either way, and hoodoo is what seals it—because when he goes down to the cross-roads on the dark side of town (and it doesn’t much matter when it is, who he is, what he is) he doesn’t come back.
Stiles knows all about the practice. His mother (grandmother) (great grandmother) (father) all told him the same things. You do the job work, you take the ends, and you put them in the ground by the railroad tracks or the cross-roads somewhere deep and dark and late.
And you never, ever, look back.
Stiles looks back.
.
It’s a century, or the next hour, or a dream and he’s still Stiles—but not. And he’s a demon—but not.
It wouldn’t much matter if it weren’t for the girl (child) (woman) (daughter) with her arms wrapped around his neck, pressing her chest down against his body like she wants to drag him all the way back down into hell. There is earth on her breath and a wolf’s scent draped across her shoulders like a pelt. It smells young and its impossible not to know: she is the hunter who will become hunted.
“I want it.” She says with a little girls petulance (a woman’s anger) and he would give it to her. He would give her everything—because he’s a teenage boy (but not). She breaths into the hollow of his throat and he feels like he is on fire. “I want respect.” And underneath that he can feel the vein of contention pull taught. “They train women to be leaders—such bullshit.”
“You know what it will cost?” Stiles feels the crooked stretch of his smile before he knows what he’s saying. It’s like this, sometimes, where he is (but isn’t) there. “No freebies, no take backs, Ms. Kate.”
“Ten years, right?” Her smile is old and brittle—like ten years have passed in a heart beat while still being ages away.
He nods and she kisses him. Kate tastes like fire and brimstone, like cheap soda-pop flavored chap-stick and scorn. Stiles laughs into the kiss because he knows, then, what what will happen, what has to happen.
What happens after the fire, though, now that’s something unexpected.
.
It’s not a moment later (or a week) (or a month) (or a year) that he lands back in Beacon Hills. It’s home (and not) and its so unchanged he doesn’t quite see, doesn’t quite remember there are things to be done and people waiting for a deal.
The wolf-scent is back. Babyfaced manchild (boy) (teen) (wolf) with an older sister (mother) (beta) (alpha) holding him taught against her side. Her eyes glow red and Stiles watches the teeth under her lips sharpen.
He grins, half bows, and then laughs in their faces. “You can’t destroy me.”
It’s as good as true—but not.
“That’s not why we’re here.” The wolf-woman (Laura, her name is Laura) says but there is a growl in her throat that promises yet.
Stiles cocks his head to the side and walks a wide circle around the pair. “Oh?” It’s a mocking thing he can’t quite control. “Oh?”
The boy-wolf (Derek—this is Derek—the one Kate loved and hated) growls deep in his throat but it’s a rattling thing, a dying thing. Stiles tuts, shushing him just out of reach.
“We want to make a deal.” Laura says and Stiles turns his attention back to her.
“It will cost you.” He says but she grins—a wolf smile under a pretty face that has gone white with grief.
“No,” She answers. “I think it will cost you.”
That is the most interesting thing that has happened all day (week) (month) (decade) and Stiles laughs again, delighted. “That so?” The laughter subsides into a thoughtful sort of silence. “That so?”
Laura nods. “Let us be your hounds for now.”
“Until the Argent woman.” Stiles nods as they do, pretending to think about it. “It will have to be a deal, you know.”
“I do.” She looks to be stealing herself for it—the kiss to seal their world into this subsection of hell but Stiles walks up to her and waves a finger back and forth in front of her nose.
“Oh, no.” He smiles again. “Not you.” He points at Derek. “I think I would prefer a matching set.” The howl is no surprise and neither is the lung towards him—all teeth and fur and fury. Stiles grabs him by the shoulders, throws him down on the dirt, and then leans down into the wolf’s face. One day, soon, he will be broader than Stiles—but that is a long day coming (ten years) (ten days) (ten minutes) for this pet and he will never, ever best him. “Come on, what’s a little kiss Derek?”
Its a taunt and both know it. Behind them Stiles can feel Laura fighting with her urge to protest—to try to rip Stiles off her family even if it would be futile(knows its futile).
Derek tastes of grief and tears but Stiles knows (will know) how he tastes before he tears Kate down to the rack and then he will taste of vengeance and fury.
“Good dog.” Stiles says and gets up, patting down the broken in jeans he’s work for a week (a month) (a year). “Lets go home.”
Laura grabs Derek by the shoulders, presses him close enough that her nose disappears into his curly flop of hair, and says nothing.
Stiles doesn’t look back once. He simply says, “Scott will just love you.”
Back at the end of s2 at some point, Raya asked me what I thought Teen Wolf would be like if the show took place a year after the fire, rather than six. My first thought was THAT WOULD BE ADORABLE but then my second thought was NO WAIT THAT’D BE HORRIBLE. Genuinely traumatizing things happen to them as is, so imagine how awful it’d be to a bunch of 11-12 year olds and a maybe-16/17 year old. I’d totally watch it.
I don’t remember anything about being 11/12, so?? ALL I KNOW IS THEY’D BE TINY. I actually have a whole line up of sketches of the kids as uh, kids, but Stiles and Allison were the only ones I liked the result of so shhh.
Made myself sad when I realized Stiles’ mom is potentially in the process of dying at that point too. \o/ Awesome.
And now there is fic! Thank you, hydrae, for your gorgeous and inspiring art & AU! <3
fjdshjkfds ohhhh my gosh, thank you!! This is so adorable and great, and bb!Stiles made me sad and I just jdhkjgfd EVERYONE GO READ IT.
Back at the end of s2 at some point, Raya asked me what I thought Teen Wolf would be like if the show took place a year after the fire, rather than six. My first thought was THAT WOULD BE ADORABLE but then my second thought was NO WAIT THAT’D BE HORRIBLE. Genuinely traumatizing things happen to them as is, so imagine how awful it’d be to a bunch of 11-12 year olds and a maybe-16/17 year old. I’d totally watch it.
I don’t remember anything about being 11/12, so?? ALL I KNOW IS THEY’D BE TINY. I actually have a whole line up of sketches of the kids as uh, kids, but Stiles and Allison were the only ones I liked the result of so shhh.
Made myself sad when I realized Stiles’ mom is potentially in the process of dying at that point too. \o/ Awesome.
I didn’t know I needed this in my life until now. BUT I REALLY REALLY NEED IT.
the day after the fire, Derek and Laura run. they run far and they run fast and they don’t come back until the property tax is due up and the county is threatening to take their land away. it’s /Hale/ land, and even if there aren’t that many Hale’s left now, it’s going to stay Hale land. Laura starts looking in to renovation costs and they stay in a tiny little apartment on the outskirts of town in the meantime. but they stay.
* the night before the first day of school, Laura and Derek argue about Derek returning to Beacon Hills High. he doesn’t want to, she does. it’s more like Derek stating his displeasure than an actual argument though, because Laura is his legal guardian and Laura is his Alpha, and Laura’s decision is law. in every sense of the word. Laura leaves before Derek’s obstinance actually drives her to raise a hand to him, because Derek has had the look of a battered housewife in his eyes ever since the fire and Laura isn’t going to be the one to add to it now. she goes for a walk in the woods to cool her head. * the night before the first day of school, Stiles falls asleep curled on the foot of his mother’s hospital bed, and nurse McCall doesn’t have the heart to rouse him or his father sleeping slumped in the hard-backed chair next to the bed and kick them out at the end of visiting hours. she lets them sleep. she calls home on her break and tells her son that she loves him, and to make sure that daddy didn’t fall asleep on the couch with a lit cigarette again before he goes to bed. Scott sleeps with his inhaler next to his bed because sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and he just. can’t. breathe. * the night before the first day of school, Allison cries herself to sleep in a new, big, empty house. she isn’t going to know anyone in this new school, in a new town, and she’s tired of always having to leave her friends behind. the only thing unpacked in her room is a brand new compound bow. * the night before the first day of school, Laura meets her comatose uncle out in the middle of the woods, and gets her throat torn out by the same man who used to read her Dr. Seuss books before bed when she was a child. her last thoughts are for Derek. and for that look in his eyes that she’s going to end up adding to anyway. * the night before the first day of school, Peter’s first official business as an Alpha is to cut his niece in half to keep her from coming back. there’s no point in doing a job if you aren’t going to do it well, after all. * the night before the first day of school.
Allison is tall for a fifth grader, tall for a girl, and when they all stand in line to go to lunch Stiles only comes up to her shoulder. but Ms. Kachowski sat her next to him and Allison had bit her bottom lip and asked if she could borrow a pencil when she couldn’t find one in her bag. and she looks just as lost as Stiles felt this morning when his dad had to drop him off at school like his mom always used to do. Stiles holds her hand as he shows her the best table to eat lunch at, the best ball to play with at recess. Allison is tall, but she looks small when she frowns, so Stiles makes sure that she doesn’t.
Stiles holds her hand until her daddy comes to pick her up after school, and she waves at him from the window as they drive away. he waits for his dad to come pick him up too. he doesn’t, must have forgotten. Stiles sits on the curb next to Scott, a boy in his grade but a different class, and wonders who forgot to pick Scott up as well. twice a teacher comes by to ask if someone is coming for them and Stiles and Scott say ‘yes’ both times, even though Stiles is pretty sure they both know nobody is coming for them. Scott’s sort of mumbling into his knees the second time like he does, anyway.
they sit and watch the high schoolers walk home in silence. Scott shares a string cheese with Stiles.
the moon is out early today. still light out, but it’s big and round and full and draws Stile’s gaze before he spies the vice principal walking toward them with a frown. Stiles hops to his feet and grabs Scott’s hand to force him to do the same. waves like he’s just spotted someone he knows, and drags Scott into the middle of a group of teenagers surging past. probably just finished with a club sport. one or two look down to give them curious looks but most assume that they’re someone else’s little brothers and ignore them.
they stick to the middle of the group until Stiles can’t see the school anymore, can’t see the vice principal’s worried face anymore, and then they wade back out like explorers in the Savannah. except instead of tall grass it’s sharp elbows and sweat soaked t-shirts and lumpy gym bags they have to traverse.
Stiles stops them under a large tree near the edge of the woods, lets go of Scott’s hand, and Scott fumbles in his bag for a moment and pulls out an inhaler. takes two puffs. asks Stiles: “why did we leave?” and “how do you say your name again?”
“just call me Stiles.” Stiles says, wrinkling his nose. even he has a hard time pronouncing his name, mom’s the only one who’s ever been able to say it right. dad never even tried, called him Sport instead. and he explains: “the vice principal was going to make us sit in her office until she could find someone to take us home. which is embarrassing. and Dad’s working and I don’t want them to bother him. your mom works at the hospital, right? you probably don’t want them to bother her either.”
“Dad was supposed to pick me up.” Scott says, and then blinks a bunch of times in quick succession. frowns and brings his inhaler up to his mouth again.
Stiles wonders if holding Scott’s hand will make him look any less small like it did Allison. decides it couldn’t hurt. Scott’s fingers twitch uncertainly in his grip for a moment before squeezing back. “it’s fine.” Stiles reassures him. “we can walk home on our own. it’s not like we’re kids or anything, we’re /fifth graders/ now. practically teenagers. and they walk home alone all the time.”
“alone?” Scott echoes uncertainly, squeezing his hand even tighter.
“well.” Stiles amends. “not alone alone. we can walk home together. I just got a GameCube and Super Smash Bros. Melee, and you can call home and leave a message so your mom knows where you are when she gets off work. it’ll be fun.”
Scott says: “well…”
“it’ll be fun.” Stiles says again. stubbornly. not much has been fun since his mom started bruising real easy in the Spring, even less since she started coughing up blood. but he’s almost certain that this would be.
“okay.” Scott says, barely getting the word out before Stiles starts dragging him past the border of trees. “wait!” he says, startled. “why are we going through the woods?”
“shortcut. duh.”
“oh. right.”
the sun’s completely disappeared beneath the horizon before Stiles is willing to admit that he’s lost.
that they’re lost.
“we might be lost.” he tells Scott stoically. and then, “sorry.”
Scott wheezes in quiet panic at his side and clutches even tighter to Stiles with one hand, to his inhaler with the other. “it’s really dark.” he says tinily, coughs, takes a hit from his inhaler.
“naw.” Stiles says. “it’s a full moon out tonight, it’s practically as bright as the sun.” Scott gives him a doubtful look and shakes his inhaler slowly up and down. he doesn’t say anything though. “look.” Stiles tells him, squares off to look him in the eye. smiles. “all we gotta do is find our way out, right?” Scott nods uncertainly. “so I’ll climb a tree and see where the treeline ends and we’ll be fine. we’ll be home and playing Mario in no time. okay?”
Scott nods again. slowly. shouts: “wait!” when Stiles makes to let go of his hand. “you’re leaving me down here?” his voice trembles a little on the last word. he has possibly the most deadly puppy eyes that Stiles has ever seen. it’s pretty unnerving.
“not for long.” Stiles promises. reaches up to pat Scott on the top of his head. makes a face because Scott’s chin is level with his eyes, and he doesn’t remember everyone being taller than him the year before. Scott’s chin is sort of lop-sided. “‘m just gonna climb up, look around, and climb right back down. five minutes.”
Scott frowns thoughtfully. “do you have a watch?”
Stiles looks down at his wrist. just checking. “nope.” he says. says: “why don’t you count? it’ll make the time go by faster while you wait and that way you can, like, punch me if I take longer than five minutes.”
“but I don’t want to punch you.” Scott says, and Stiles finally lets go of his hand. turns around and starts climbing a tree to the sound of Scott counting steadily behind him. “one. two. three…”
Stiles climbs. and climbs. and climbs. he scrapes his palm on the tree bark and can’t hold back a shout.
“sixty-fiv— Stiles? are you okay?”
“yeah! ‘m fine!” Stiles shouts down over his shoulder. settles himself on a sturdy branch and shakes out his hand. rubs out the smear of blood on the front of his hoodie. it’s red, it’ll be fine. Dad won’t even notice. he looks right, and then left. then spots the end of the treeline straight ahead. and the house just beyond it, his house. “ha!” he knew he wasn’t lost. they were just taking the scenic route.
“ninety-one, ninety-two, nintey-thr—” Scott’s steady counting cuts off suddenly in a scream.
Stiles feels all of the air leave his lungs in one sharp burst at the noise. like he was punched in the gut. “Scott!” he shouts. heart racing in his chest as he scrambles down the side of the tree, loses his grip and falls the last six feet to the ground in a tangle of limbs. twigs and leaves shower down around his head.
Scott is a sad, small little pile of clothes and a dark mop hair and tanned skin and red beside him.
“Scott.” Stiles’ voice breaks in the middle. he blinks away the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes and bites viciously on his bottom lip when it starts to tremble. “Scott.” he says again, and presses a hand shakily to Scott’s shoulder.
a whimper, thin and low, muffled into the leaf strewn ground reaches his ears. Scott rolls over onto his back and turns his tear streaked face to look up at Stiles. dirt streaked too. “something bit me.” he says tremulously, and points at his side with fingertips stained red.
Stiles props Scott’s head up in his lap, pets his brow. drags the hem of Scott’s shirt up to his uneven chin and looks. “I think it was a dog.” Stiles tells him, trying so very hard to stay calm. touches his fingers to the edges of the bite and wipes away the beading blood as gently as he can. “I don’t think it’s too bad. can you walk? we’re practically right in my backyard, and we can clean you up and call and find out whether your mom is home yet or not.”
“or not.” Scott mumbles, brushes Stiles’ hands away from his side. “she’s not supposed to be home until tomorrow morning.” he eases himself up into a sitting position with a grimace, then to his hands and knees, then standing. “and that musta been a really big dog.” he says sourly, leaning his weight into Stiles’ shoulder as Stiles wraps an arm around his waist, careful of the bite.
they stumble their up way to Stiles’ house like they’re running a three-legged race, Scott muffling cries and whimpers into Stiles’ neck until his shirt collar is soaked through. Stiles doesn’t mind. it stops him from crying too. the cruiser isn’t in the driveway, Dad is either still at work or at the hospital. there’s no way for Stiles to be certain because there’s no note on the kitchen table.
Mom always left a note.
it means they can take care of everything without getting in trouble though. no one has to know that Scott almost got eaten by a rabid dog in the woods tonight.
“I hate dogs. I’m never having one.” Scott announces fiercely as Stiles cleans the bite with anti-bacterial wipes, and rubs away the fresh tears that streak down his cheeks. Stiles wets a rag and lets him wipe off his face and hands. takes Scott’s shirt and shoves it under his bed, and gives him a new one that doesn’t have teeth marks in it. Scott assures him that no one at home will notice he’s wearing a different shirt.
Stiles knows that no one will be cleaning under his bed any time soon.
Scott leaves a message on his home phone telling his mom he’s staying the night at a friends and Stiles does his best to cover up the bite with Neosporin and about five different neon colored band-aids arranged in a star pattern.
they eat PB&J and play Mario Kart and Super Smash Bros Melee until they fall asleep on the floor of the living room, crumpled on top of one another. twisting around each other so like a curlicue. the only proof they have that the Sheriff ever came home when they wake up the next morning early, crusty eyed and yawning, is an empty bottle of scotch in the trash can that wasn’t there the night before.
Stiles takes it out of the trash and puts it in the recycling, and he and Scott start to get ready for school without saying a word. no one ever called to checkup on Scott during the night either. before they leave Stiles insists on taking a look at the bite mark again.
when he peels off the band-aids, there’s nothing underneath them but clean, unmarked skin.
I’LL STOP REBLOGGING MY OWN ART NOW BUT I HAD TO REBLOG THIS FOR EVERYONE TO READ
