Part 1
Into the night
Desperate and broken
The sound of a fight
Father has spoken
It was a nice day. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud in sight. It wasn't too hot yet, although it was pushing more towards summer than spring. But with the newborn leaves scattering light, it wasn't too hot on the forest floor.
Derek lay in a small patch of grass, eyes closed, limbs spread out around him. Small streams of light struck him, warming patches of bare skin. While he was never shy about running around without clothes, he had the added surety that no one would find him here anyways. No one ever came this deep into the woods, not since a little girl had been found dead last year torn to pieces by "some wild animal." Peter had laughed when he read it in the paper, an unsettling sound that put Derek on edge.
The sharp cry of a hawk broke through the air. A tense silence followed after and Derek's eyes looked to the sky, wondering if he could catch a glimpse of it. He managed to see the stripped tail feathers of the Cooper's hawk just before it disappeared behind the canopy of trees. Once it was out of sight the steady hum of birds returned, secure of their safety with the predator out of sight. He could hear the faint scratching of a squirrel in the leaf litter nearby, and in the distance two deer drifting towards him.
The truth was Derek wouldn't mind living like this. He'd always felt more at home running around the forest than he ever did in his family's large house. It wasn't that he didn't like being around them—he was a werewolf after all, and the desire to have a pack was in his blood—it was just that the woods offered him a sort of freedom he could never explain.
When he found out he'd inherited the ability to shift from his mother, he'd spent hours running around the woods that way, barely heeding his parent's warning to be careful and not to get caught (after all, wolves didn't live in California anymore), his sister's teasing him that if he stayed that way for too long he'd get stuck as a wolf. After his family died, Derek spent a lot of time in that form, thinking about how he wouldn't mind if he did. It was easier to cope that way; he could feel the pain pulling at him, knew it was there, but he didn't dwell in it. His instincts took over, telling him that he needed to keep moving to survive. So he did.
When he was a wolf, his existence didn't feel so hollow either. There was no dwelling in the past, no questioning it all. There was only here and now, only instinct. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of himself when he shifted—he recognized people, understood language—it was just that his thoughts were stripped away to the bare minimum, divested of human tendency to reflect and moralize. He simply was, in his truest and most honest form.
Closing his eyes, Derek gave a deep sigh. He knew that he should be heading back, that it was getting late and Laura would be waiting for him. After the fire, she never questioned him when he went off like this but she always held that same concerned look in her eyes when he returned. He hated it.
Picking himself up off the ground, he stretched for a moment before turning to make his way back. He only made it three steps before a sharp pain ripped through his chest.
He collapsed onto the ground, barely catching himself in time. Holding himself up by shaking arms, his eyes went wide, staring blankly at the forest floor. He knew before his brain even processed the thought—there was something terribly, horribly wrong.
The pain surged through him again and it took every ounce of his energy not to cry out. Deep within him he felt the shift; the connection he held to his alpha, to his sister, was weakening rapidly. Something was happening to her, and he knew that she needed him, could feel the fear and pain reverberate through their bond that pulled him in her direction. He scrambled to get up, his body shifting before he could even think about. He moved faster this way, claws digging into the soft earth, propelling him forward through the trees, seamlessly ducking and weaving his way through any and all obstacles before him. He could still feel their bond, clung to it as he pushed himself harder and faster as he desperately tried to reach her.
Yet he still wasn't fast enough. As abruptly as the pain had hit him, their tie was severed, and there was a sudden emptiness where their bond used to be, leaving nothing but the wrenching agony behind.
Derek stumbled, the lack of a bond throwing him off and leaving him directionless and lost. He lifted his head to the wind, desperately trying to pick up a scent, a feeling, anything, but there was nothing.
Laura had died.
He knew it in his bones, knew what that feeling meant. He was alone, without a family or a pack, and once again he only had himself to blame.
There was a vague feeling beneath the pain, something else tugging at him, wanting to bond to whatever new alpha had taken over. The feeling only sickened him, and he shoved it down as deep as he could.
He could already feel his instincts taking over. Just like after the fire, he felt his primal side urge him to keep moving. Even when all he wanted to do was curl up on the forest floor, waste away until he was nothing. Instead, he did the only thing he could do in this form: raising his head to the darkening skies, he let out a long howl.
The sound carried off into the woods, a low, sorrowful thing that reverberated off the trees. He couldn't bring himself to care that he wasn't supposed to howl, wasn't supposed to make his presence known. A tiny part of him even hoped for a call back, something to let him know he wasn't alone. But his call was met with a deafening silence, cementing what he already knew to be true. He was truly alone now.
Lowering his head, he stared off into the endless rows of trees before him. He was up on his feet before he knew it, trudging through the underbrush. He didn't want to wallow in the sorrow that he knew was threatening to take over, but mostly he didn't want to feel that familiar pain, the same one that had seized him after losing his family—instead, he let his instincts take over, allowed himself to get lost in his wolf. He took off, running through the trees with a freedom he'd never allowed himself before because he knew he'd always have to change back. Now, he was free to never change back again.
Derek broke out into a full run, relishing in the feel of dead leaves and moist earth beneath his paws with a new found reverence; he had no plans to ever grace his human body again, and this world was finally his.
.
.
Stiles was staring blankly at the television screen. There was some sort of documentary on about Adelie penguins, but Stiles wasn't really listening. It was still weird to be home—well, in this house—again after so many years. What struck him as odd was that nothing had changed at all—not even his Star Wars bed sheets (which he had promptly replaced upon returning). It was like time had stopped when he'd left, only to resume again right where he'd left off.
Well, there was one major change: the TV. There used to be a massive box television that rested snug into the entertainment center. Now there was a large, sleek plasma set atop a TV-stand that held a cable box and a handful of DVDs. He imagined he would have been stoked about the upgrade had he been here.
A sound off in the distance suddenly caught his attention. He swore it was a howl; a sad, painful sound unlike any he'd ever heard before. It tugged at his heart in a way he couldn't describe, and for some reason Stiles felt the urge to return the call. I know how you feel, buddy, he silently thought to himself, even though he was ninety-percent sure it was just on TV because as he'd been told many times, there are no wolves left in California, Stiles.
Stiles did turn his head, however, when he heard the familiar sound of the cruiser pull up into the driveway. The sun was just setting, bathing the living room in a muted orange glow. This was first night his dad had come home before he went to sleep.
He listened as he got out of the cruiser, trudging his way up the three short steps to the front porch before opening the door. There was a noticeable pause after he stepped into the house, as if taking a moment to realize that Stiles was there, before he continued his routine of shedding his jacket, hanging it up, and removing his shoes.
"How was school?" His father's voice was gruff and a bit haggard, exhausted after a long day.
Stiles didn't move to look over at him, rather continued to stare blankly at the television. "What do you care?" was his reply, speaking the first answer that came to mind. Sure, it wasn't the most mature response, but it had been nagging away at him since he'd returned.
A deep sigh filled the air behind him. "Stiles, don't start with this."
"Don't start what?" He didn't even try to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. "I just asked a question. A fair one, too."
"How was that a fair question, Stiles?" came the exasperated voice of his father, "You're my son, of course I care about you."
Stiles had to hold back a laugh at that one. "Care about me. Care about me? You shipped me off to a boarding school the first chance you got! I don't see you in years and that's all you've got?"
"Dammit Stiles!" His father's voice had raised a noticeable degree—he knew he'd struck a nerve. "Will you never let that go?"
Instead of brushing it off, of ending the conversation here like he normally did, he kept going, kept pushing him further. He wasn't sure what was driving him this time, but something in him kept pushing. He couldn't let this go, couldn't keep tip-toeing around the issue like they had been doing for the past three weeks. "What, leaving a scared kid who'd just lost his mother all alone with a bunch of strangers? Yeah, sorry if I'm a little pissed about that."
His father took a deep, measured breath. "I admit, maybe that wasn't the best way to deal with the situation, but what the hell was I supposed to do? You were impossible to deal with! I couldn't..." He sighed, his voice dropping. "You were just too much. I couldn't deal with you and losing her."
That was about all Stiles could stand to hear. "Yeah, I distinctly remember you not 'dealing' with her at all."
"Stiles—"
Before he could respond, he stood up and walked straight for the door. "I'm taking a walk."
"Stiles, get back here!"
He let the screen door slam behind him as he walked down the steps of the back porch. He couldn't say he was surprised when he didn't hear his dad coming after him, but was glad all the same; he needed space right now.
He walked through the backyard, heading straight for the line of trees that framed the edge of their property. There was a well-worn path that lead into the woods, one his mother had used often, but was now overgrown with disuse. He remembered his father always warning him to stay out of the woods. 'There are a lot of wild things out there, Stiles,' he'd said, 'and I don't want you to get hurt.' The funny thing turned out to be that he didn't even have to leave home for that to happen.
He wasn't sure when he started running, but before he knew it his feet were carrying him deeper and deeper into the forest, repaving the trail his mother had burned into his memory. The light was fading fast, but there was still enough penetrating through the trees that he could see well enough to dodge any major obstacles.
He kept pushing himself, savoring the burn in his lungs that reminded him how long it had been since he'd run this hard. It was freeing running like this, running without a specific goal or destination in mind. He was never really one to receive the coveted 'runner's high,' but he couldn't deny the way it was able to clear his head when he focused on the pain, on the air burning tracks down his throat and the ache of his muscles grasping for whatever oxygen his blood could provide. It centered him in a way that nothing else could. He'd joined the track team at his boarding school mostly out of boredom, but after a while it proved the only thing that kept him sane.
He let his mind drift as he ran, let idle thoughts flow through uninhibited. It was fairly quiet out, except for the lingering calls of birds flittering through the trees and the dull thud of his feet over the underbrush. He remembered running through the woods as a child, how much his mother loved to be outside whenever she could. She would probably love it out here now, he thought to himself as he looked around, watching the light just beyond the trees fade to purple.
That was his last thought before his face became intimate with the ground. He felt, rather than saw, something massive slam into his hip, causing him to fall ungracefully to the forest floor. The momentum he'd built up from running made it impossible to stop himself with his hands, and it was only when his body collided with a tree did he finally stop skidding through the mess of twisted leaves and branches. Through all of this, he was only vaguely aware of the sound of something else tumbling through the forest.
There was a moment when Stiles didn't dare move, afraid of what he'd just hit. But once the shock had worn off, his body decided to let him know just how much it didn't appreciate that landing. The part of his hip that took the full brunt of the impact was throbbing, along with the right side of his body that had worked with the tree to stop him. His arms and legs stung in various places where he was sure to find a myriad of cuts and scrapes later.
He groaned as he pushed himself over onto his back, his eyes closed as he took in deep, slow breaths. All he could think in that moment was, of course this happened to me.
However, a sound off to his right caught his attention, and he finally opened his eyes to the darkening tree tops above him. It was then that he remembered that he hadn't run into something, but rather something had run into him.
Very slowly, Stiles turned his head in the direction of the sound, which he now recognized as the low growling of a very unhappy animal. When his eyes finally caught sight of it, all he could see was a giant mass of black where there should have been trees. Yet, the longer he stared and his eyes adjusted to the light, features slowly began to take shape and reveal the form of a… wolf?
A very, very large wolf.
"What the—" Stiles bolted upright, pushing himself back against the hard bark of the tree. The beast didn't seem to like the sudden movement, and made this clear through increasing the volume and ferocity of its growl. Stiles' eyes were blown wide and his chest rose in fell rapidly with quick breaths. Stiles was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that there was a wolf standing in front of him. All his life he'd been told that there were no wolves left in California, yet the creature in front of him was far too large to be anything else.
Granted, he had never actually seen a wolf up close. For all he knew this was just some mutant breed of giant dog that he'd never heard of. Maybe it'd outgrown its home and its owner let it out into the woods, kind of like how people released boas into the wild after learning just how big they could get. Or maybe, just maybe, this was some experiment gone wrong and now he was staring down a bloodthirsty, laboratory-grown monster that was hell-bent on getting revenge on mankind for creating it. The eyes staring back at him, practically glowing, only fueled this theory further.
Stiles was going to die because some evil scientist couldn't keep his experiments properly locked up.
While his mind was running away with the possibilities of what was standing in front of him, the beast must have decided that Stiles wasn't much of threat after all. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but the growling had quieted, although it hadn't stopped completely.
Because he was, well, Stiles, and talking his way out of a bad situation had been his forte since middle school, he couldn't really say he was surprised when his brain decided that talking to the creature would be a good idea.
"So," he began, trying to keep his voice even. He'd heard somewhere that you weren't supposed to show predators fear or they'd see you as prey, and even though he was sure that was a lost cause at this point, at least they couldn't say he didn't try. "Um... he-hey giant, angry, wolf-dog-thing? I'm, uh... I'm really sorry about that. But I didn't mean you any harm. Seriously," he said as he held his hands up in surrender, as if the creature would even know what that meant, "totally harmless here. So could you please, I don't know, not eat me?"
Stiles swore the creature actually huffed at that, as if amused by his little show which, hey, rude. He was just trying to make nice, and he'd rather keep all his limbs, thank you very much.
For a long moment it just stood there, staring at him as if deciding whether maiming and killing him was worth its time.
A stillness settled over them, the air tense with inaction. Stiles tried to relax, knowing that if he seemed tense, the creature would probably take that as either him getting ready to fight or flight, neither of which would result in a good outcome for him. However, the creature's intense gaze (that seemed to stare into his fucking soul) didn't help any, and just when Stiles was about to say screw it and collapse onto the leaves beneath him, it took a step forward. Then another. Then another. It kept walking towards him until it was only a few paces away, then it stopped and just... stared.
And well, there was only so much Stiles could handle.
"Dude," he let out on an exasperated sigh, not even realizing he'd been holding his breath until he spoke, "what's with all the staring? Deciding whether I'm ripe enough or something?"
The wolf—Stiles was just going to call it that, because that's what it looked like, especially this close up—flicked its ears forward when he spoke, tilting its head slightly at his words. Stiles could only call the expression curious and he would genuinely laugh at how ridiculously adorable that looked if he didn't remind himself that this creature could very easily kill him if it so desired.
It took another step forward, extending its head in order to sniff at him. Stiles knew he was still sweating, and figured that he probably didn't exactly smell the best right now, but he sat still, letting it sniff him to its heart's content—at least it wasn't sinking its fangs into him, and he counted that as a win. The wolf, after finding whatever it was looking for, breathed out harshly before pulling back, the gust of air drifting over Stiles' face. It gave him another long, lingering stare before baring its teeth and snapping at him. The sudden action made Stiles flinch, but before he could do any more the creature turned sharply and retreated soundlessly into the darkness of the trees.
Just like that it was gone, leaving Stiles confused and overwhelmingly relieved.
The next day at school, Stiles couldn't stop thinking about the wolf. Most of his attention was taken up by staring out of the window, watching the tree line as if it would be right there, staring back.
He almost wouldn't have believed it had happened if it hadn't been for the numerous cuts and bruises that had fully bloomed overnight. He'd been horribly stiff in the morning, and even one of his teachers asked (not in the least bit subtle) if everything was alright at home. The cuts on his face didn't help, but he'd said he was fine, and after a longsuffering look she'd given up and let him go.
When the last bell of the day rang, he sprung up from his seat, rushing to his locker to get everything he needed to complete his homework, leaving the excess behind. As he made his way to the student parking lot, he was stopped by Scott.
He remembered Scott McCall from before he'd left; they were friends, but just. They'd only been friends for just under a year before his father shipped him off. He hadn't talked to him since then.
Well, until he'd returned halfway through the year. Scott had remembered him, and had been the first person (the only one, really) to talk to him. Once his novelty had worn off, he'd become just another face in the crowd.
So far, he was pretty sure he preferred it that way.
"Hey man, you busy tonight? Me and some of the guys are gonna go out after lacrosse practice."
"Um, yeah, no that sounds great, but I uh, I got something I gotta do."
Scott raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "On a Friday night?"
"Yup," Stiles replied with a definitive nod. "Research. If I don't do it now, I'll never get it done." He knew that was a poor excuse to use to get out of going out, but he was desperate to get home and start looking into whatever it was that had happened to him last night. And, in his defense, at least his was telling the truth. Well, sort of.
"Dude, you are way too dedicated to school. This what that private school teach you?"
A grin spread over Scott's face, and Stiles knew he was just teasing him. He smiled back and nodded, running a hand over his buzzed hair. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that. They were always on our ass about getting things done early. There was no such thing as late credit, I can tell you that."
"Bummer dude," Scott said, his face falling. "I'm pretty sure I'd fail if it was like that here."
"The wonders of public education," Stiles said as he clapped his hand on Scott's shoulder. "It was good seeing you—maybe we can catch up some other time?"
"Definitely," Scott replied with a bright smile, something that hadn't changed since they were kids.
Stiles couldn't help but return the smile before he turned and walked to his car, throwing his bag in the passenger seat before pulling away.
The second he got home he wasted no time rushing upstairs to his room and jumping on his laptop, tapping his fingers anxiously on the desk as he waited for it to boot up. When he was finally able to log in, he immediately brought up Google and then... just stared.
He realized he had no idea what to search for. Phantom black wolf-dog thing sounded ridiculous, and whatever results he would get probably wouldn't be very helpful.
With a sigh, he started with the first thing he could think of: wolves in California. Scrolling through the results, he noticed two different sites pronouncing that wolves had, in fact, been introduced back into California since there last sighting in 1924. He could feel his heart pick up in his chest as he read over the words; maybe he had found a wolf out there.
His heart dropped not soon after he'd he searched further into it; he realized that it had simply been one gray wolf from an Oregon pack that wandered into northern California. Another article delved into the controversy of having wolves back in California, and whether the potential for more was a welcome return or not.
After about an hour of more random Google searches, he finally gave in and looked up 'large black dog with glowing eyes'. Most of what came up were site explaining the symbolism of seeing one in dreams. But Stiles knew he hadn't been dreaming; he had cuts and scrapes to prove it.
Finally he simply typed in 'black dog spirit' because he was never one to leave out a supernatural answer. He'd always been convinced there were paranormal things out there, a belief his mother had fostered in him when she taught him how to make faerie houses out of elephant ears. He was still convinced that faeries had lived in them.
He was immediately greeted by a page that delved into the mythos of the "black dog"—a nocturnal apparition closely associated with death. It was supposed to be larger than normal dogs as well as have glowing eyes, just like the one he'd seen. The more he read, the more he began to wonder if what he'd seen was one of these.
He continued to read, noting the different manifestations based on locale. Most were centered in England and surrounding countries like Scotland and Ireland, but it even stretched into the European continent. He also noted the various name each one had based on local legends—Gytrash, Tibicena, Oude Rode, Striker, Ogen, Nahual, Shug, and a whole host of other names he couldn't pronounce. One, however, stuck out to him and made a smile creep onto his lips: Padfoot.
"So that's where you got the name," he murmured to himself as he remembered the years growing up buried in the magical world of J.K. Rowling. Maybe it wasn't so far away after all.
Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in his chair as he took in a deep breath. He glanced out of his window, surprised that the sun had fallen so far in the sky.
"Geeze," he sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Still staring out of the window, he looked down at the trees below. Like a fence they stood in a neat row, separating the world of suburbia with the unknown wilds that lay just beyond the tree line.
Turning back to look at his computer, the screen still on the black dog article, he suddenly got an idea. Closing his laptop, he leapt up from his chair and ran downstairs, heading out the back door and towards the woods.
He knew it was unlikely he'd find it again—the woods extended a few acres behind his house before eventually linking up with the Beacon Hills preserve which stretched on for miles—but he at least wanted to try. The creature had wandered into this part before, maybe it would again. Plus, it was still daylight, and he would be able to fully see what the creature looked like.
Determination pushing him forward, he set out into the woods. He followed the old path he and his mom used to take until it tapered off, setting off unto the unknown parts. He wasn't sure how far he'd go, but he made sure to play close attention to his surroundings and stayed on a fairly linear path so he'd know how to get back.
After walking for about thirty minutes, he was sure he was far enough away from civilization. All he could hear around him were the birds and the trees and the rustle of squirrels in the underbrush. He even stumbled upon a deer, but he was never able to get close—once it noticed him it bolted in the opposite direction.
With a sigh he plopped down onto a fallen log, staring up at the sky. There was still plenty of daylight left, but he wasn't going to risk another night encounter, at least not when he didn't know the woods enough yet.
As he sat, staring off into the trees, it dawned on him how stupid this plan really was. There was zero chance he could find the creature on his own, and only by dumb luck would it stumble on him again (and even if it did, it would probably bolt just like the deer).
"What are you even doing, Stiles?" he whined as he laid lengthwise across the log. "You should be hanging out with Scott, trying to make new friends. Not sitting in the woods waiting to see a demon dog that tried to maim you."
He was seriously beginning to rethink his life choices.
After an hour of talking to himself, playing with whatever he could find in the leaf litter, and chasing squirrels (he would never admit to that last one) he became firmly convinced of the absurdity of this plan.
He was wandering around now, kicking up leaves as he went, and suddenly he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He looked all around him, but saw nothing but rows and rows of trees. He was sure he was just projecting at this point, and with a deep sigh decided it was time to go back.
Honestly, what else was he expecting?
So if he was asked why he went back out every day afterwards, he honestly wouldn't have an answer.
On the Friday of the second week (after forgoing another outing with Scott, who he was sure was beginning to get suspicious) he returned to the same log he'd visited the first day. Sitting down, he stared off into the trees that had quickly become familiar to him. He'd wandered around a fair amount of the woods now, at least within two hours distance from his house, and he could actually find his way around pretty well.
He was debating whether he'd go even further today, start mapping new territory, when something in the distance caught his eye.
He turned his head sharply in the direction of the movement, but he saw nothing there. He was about to brush it off as a squirrel when a sound from behind had him turning around and coming face to face with the creature from all those nights ago.
It stood only yards from him, staring intently with eyes that still seemed to glow even in the daylight. It was slightly smaller than he'd remembered, but still larger than any dog he'd ever seen. In fact, seeing it before him now left only one thought in his head: wolf.
"Holy—" Stiles yelped before falling backwards over the log. He cursed under his breath, pushing himself up onto his elbows as he looked back over at the creature, the one he was now about ninety-three percent sure was a wolf. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Yet, with an exasperated sigh, all he could manage was, "You're not even moving and you still managed to knock me over. Great."
Stiles heard a soft noise, and when he looked back at the creature he noticed its head was tilted, ears perked forward. It took a step forward, then another. The creature looked... amused.
"Are you going to eat me now? Cause if you're going to eat me, I'd love it if you could just get it over with. Faster is better in this situation, I think. Well, I wouldn't actually know; not like I've ever been eaten alive. Obviously. But, you know, just going from the painful dismemberment portion, I'd assume that faster is better. Less torture-y and all that."
Stiles knew he was ranting. He knew he was talking to a potentially bloodthirsty creature that didn't understand anything he was saying. But he also knew he'd prefer to live, and maybe his talking would distract the creature enough that he wouldn't want to eat him. Or maybe the creature would want to shut him up faster. He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance either way.
But the creature didn't seem interested in eating him. Nor did he show any interest in his words. It just keeping moving forward until it was mere inches from him. Stiles could feel his heart pounding away in his chest, and he wondered if the creature could hear it too.
It walked around him, sniffing the air above him every few seconds. When it seemed content with its inspection, it stopped at his side, staring down at him curiously.
Stiles couldn't help but notice just how blue the creature's eyes were as it stared at him; they truly did look like they were glowing. But there was something off about that. Not the glowing part—that was weird enough on its own—but the blue. His brow furrowed in confusion; wolves didn't have blue eyes.
He blinked, and suddenly the creature was no longer there. Another moment passed before he regained his wits and noticed the creature sprinting back off into the woods, as if something had spooked it. It was then that Stiles looked down and realized his hand was outstretched towards where the creature had been. He hadn't even realized he'd done it.
Dropping his hand to his side, he cursed his inability to control his own limbs. If he hadn't been so lost in his own curiosity about the creature's eyes, he wouldn't have scared it off like that. Although, that thought alone was enough to give him pause. Why would it be willing to get so close to him, yet freak out when he tried to touch it? None of this was making any sense, and all it managed to do was make Stiles itch for more.
A smile touched his lips then. A potentially murderous creature was inches from Stiles, and all he wanted to do was go out and find it again. There had to be something wrong with him.
There probably was.
He went back to that same spot for nearly a month, hoping to see the creature again. Only once had his dad asked about it, and he'd merely replied that he was doing research on something in the woods for school. At least it was partially true. His dad didn't ask about it after that.
Another day passed, then another. Stiles figured he should give up, but he was too stubborn for that. One day, as he sat straddling the log, staring off into the endless woods before him, he contemplated going deeper. He knew the area well enough by this point that mapping out new territory would be a welcome break to the monotony. If he was going to keep this up, he might as well do something useful until he found the creature again.
The creature that was standing a hundred or so yards away from him, staring at him like it had always been there.
He startled when his brain finally recognized what it was looking at, nearly falling back over the log again. "Dude, you can't keep doing that!" he whined as he regained his balance. "I understand it goes against your stalker-ish nature, but some noise would be nice."
It didn't move, merely stood still within the trees. Somehow it looked like it didn't quite belong there, yet was perfectly at home.
"Alright, well, look," he began as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, "I'm sorry I freaked you out last time. I wasn't trying to hurt you or anything." He left out the thought that it should be him who was the scared one. "I just... I dunno, I let my thoughts get ahead of my control. I didn't realize what I was doing."
It still didn't move.
Stiles let a full minute go by in silence, only the sound of birds chirping and the wind through the branches to fill the air. He began to think of all of this through the creature's perspective, what it must think of him. He wondered if it had ever seen a human before, and if it had what the experience was like. He wondered if a human had ever harmed it.
"I know this may all seem really strange," he began again, feeling completely insane explain himself to a creature that didn't understand him, but needing to all the same, "but really, I don't want to hurt you. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. All this time looking for you... I just can't seem to get you out of my head."
He closed his eyes, mentally cursing himself for that. "Dear God, I sound like I'm in a romance novel. That is totally not what I meant. I mean, it is, but not like that." He forced himself to stop speaking, take a deep breath, and clear his head before continuing. "That night we ran into each other—literally—I'd heard you howl. The way it sounded..." He finally opened his eyes and looked back up, surprised to see the creature now only a few yards away. "I know how that feels, to be lonely. I understand."
The creature stared at him, like it had so many times before, completely still. Stiles consciously kept still, not wanting to scare it off like he had last time.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but when it finally moved, it stepped closer than it had ever been before. They were nearly eye to eye like this; he was always a little taken aback when reminded just how big the creature was.
Taking a steadying breath, he slowly let his hand come up, never looking away to make sure it was ok with this. The creature never moved, not even when he felt his fingers lace into the fur of its neck.
He dropped his gaze then, watching his fingers card through the threads of pure back. It was thick, course on the outside, but soft further down. He let his hand wander a bit, but never stray too far.
"Beautiful." The word left his lips of its own volition, spoken on a gentle breath.
It pulled away then, their eyes locking one last time before it turned around. Only this time it didn't run off, merely walked back towards where it had originally come.
"You know, I think I'll call you Grim," he said before he could stop himself, a slow smile forming on his lips as he remembered the name from the list of black dog spirits. "It suits you."
The creature stopped moving, pausing for a moment before looking back at him. The look on its face seemed disaffected, like it was very much not amused. It was almost too human.
"I'm Stiles, by the way!" he called after it had turned back around. The creature kept walking, never sparing a glance back towards him until it disappeared into the forest, as much the figment as when it arrived.
Stiles didn't worry this time though. He knew he'd see Grim again.