Title: The Stilinskis' Travelin' Show
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairings: Derek/Stiles (main); side Scott/Allison and Jackson/Lydia/Kate
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is this show on MTV. Unfortunately, I like watching it with slash goggles on.
Rating: PG-13 (NC-17 in future parts)
Warnings: AU, utter crack!, mild angst, character deaths, quite possibly erroneous understanding of circus life
Author's Note: Unbeta'd all mistakes are my own.
PROLOGUE
Stiles supposes that this whole hot mess started when his father took in that wolf man.
It was a dark and stormy night (like, no, seriously.) They were wrapping up a show in Bumfuck, Nowhere USA, when Stiles' father heard it: a loud crash-bang followed by distressed screeching and a stomach curdling howl. It appeared to have come from the animal pit. Every able bodied hand rushed to the scene and they all gawped at the sight of a half man, half wolf like creature, crouching at the center of the pit, which was grotesquely covered in feathers and blood. Stiles would have found it funny – the covered in feathers bit – if it weren't for all the damn blood.
Plus, the wolf man? He looked fucking rabid, dude!
Until now, Stiles doesn't know how their crew did it, but after 20 minutes of chaos they had the wolf man subdued, bound and put in a steel cage. The Stilinski's Travelin' Show lost about two flamingos, half a dozen chickens and even a fully grown female lion. On the upside, they seem to have gotten their latest attraction.
The next morning though, it seemed all they did have locked in a cage was a very muscular, very fatigued, very naked young man.
Stiles tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he was naked.
He was watching from several feet away – watching his father who was stood next to the cage attempting to speak to the man in his trappings. The latter looked up at Mr. Stilinski with a mixture of hate and dread – with copious amounts of hate. And for a split second Stiles wondered if reinforced steel cages were all the hype they're manufacturers claimed them to be.
But then –
Then his father leaned in close to the cage to gingerly slip his hand through a couple of bars and Stiles barely stifled a whimper at the insane shit he was witnessing just then.
As it turns out, his alarm was in vain when the man – wolf man – took Stiles' father's offered hand in his and gave it a very human and surprisingly polite shake.
That night, Stiles stumbled upon new copies of the play bills for their upcoming shows on his father's desk. One of the entries read: Derek, THE TEEN WOLF!
And that's where all the hot mess started.
CHAPTER
-1-
One Month Later
Stiles swears he's not ogling the Strong Man because Stiles Stilinksi does not ogle. He's also not camped out in said Strong Man's tent to watch him lift impossibly heavy things nor is Stiles watching his muscles flex and turn taut and…
Alright, so maybe he is ogling. But it's not exactly Stiles' fault Jackson looks so fucking hot in his barely-there loin cloth. The Ring Master's son pulls his coat over his lap then to conceal his very obvious hard on. He's struggling – quite ineffectually – to summon very unsexy thoughts to quell the fucking forest fire in his jeans.
"Give it up, Romeo. No matter how hard you stare, it's not exactly possible to make Jackson reciprocate your feelings out of sheer will."
Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. He snapped his head to the side only to find his best friend, Scott making to sit down next to him. He resolutely ignored how hot and prickly his cheeks were beginning to feel.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Stiles finally got around to glancing at his friend from where his eyes were downcast to his beaten sneakers. He wasn't so surprised to find that Scott was smirking at him knowingly. But beneath the jibe, his dark eyes were warm, apologetic even.
It made Stiles feel a gagillion times worse.
"I know," he sighed. "He and Lydia are practically joined at the hip. Well, if Lydia wasn't already literally joined at the hip with Kate."
Scott chuckled at that. "True. But even if he weren't, I don't think he'd be amenable to liking dick."
"I don't know, Scott. I could probably turn him around. What with my cock being magic and all."
"Dude, you're so fucking gross!" Scott whelped but there was no heat behind the words. "Seriously though, how do they do it, man? With Lydia being all Siamese and shit?"
"Do what? Make the relationship work or do the dirty?"
"Both!"
"Beats the shit out of me, dude. But they do. And so far it looks like things are going great. Too great, if you ask me."
Scott playfully bumped his shoulder against Stiles', the latter noticing belatedly how bitter he just sounded.
And so what? So what if he was secretly and painfully pining away for the Strong Man, however pointless it was? And so what if Jackson didn't really even give him the time of day? (Which was sort of unfair considering he's the Ring Master's son after all. That had to count for something, right?) And so what if Jackson apparently thought Stiles was a bit annoying, at best?—
Still, things weren't so bad. Not with his best friend Scott around, traveling along with him this summer.
The Travelin' Show took their homecoming retreat to Beacon Hills early this year, a couple of months before the regular kids started their summer break. Stiles wasn't exactly enrolled in a proper school like everyone else was. But his dad still wanted him to have an education and everything. Yet ever since Mr. Stilinski's wife died, he wasn't exactly comfortable being without Stiles around, trailing his side. The Ring Master or The Sheriff (as he was lovingly addressed by his staff) was an old softy at heart. A bit emotionally constipated, sure. But you know, softy. And he showed his apprehension and separation anxiety by giving Stiles piles and piles of menial chores just so he could say his son was needed enough to make him stay.
All he really had to do was ask.
Stiles didn't actually mind. In fact, he preferred traveling with his dad, caravanning around the continental US of A! He despised school but that's not to say he was equally opposed to learning.
An agreement of sorts was unwittingly formed shortly after when Stiles indoctrinated himself into being his dad's permanent and personal lackey. It was also about the same time his dad cashed out on a tutor flexible enough to travel along with them.
Anyway, it was on one of their previously mentioned Beacon Hills homecoming did Stiles meet Scott. The minute Stiles mentioned traveling circus, the two were inseparable. And this particular summer, Mrs. McCall, Scott's mom, finally caved in and agreed to have her son tag along the summer circuit. Provided he pulled his weight.
So Scott was temporarily hired as a stage hand. And he was so fucking excited about it, too.
But while Stiles knew Scott was still dorkily all-hyped about the show after all these years, he had his suspicions that maybe his friend had an ulterior motive to coming.
And here she walked in now—
"Allison." They both said. Though knowing Scott, it was more a sigh than an actual statement.
Allison Argent was the resident Tight Rope Walker and Trapeze Artist but she occasionally joined in Jackson's act to nimbly walk on whatever object The Strong Man was lifting with one arm.
Scott fell for her the minute she walked out on the line, suspended one hundred feet in the air.
"Hey, Romeo? Staring isn't exactly cute. It's actually kind of creepy. Scratch that, it's a lot creepy."
Stiles couldn't help it.
For all his jokes, Scott had the decency to duck his head and blush. And Stiles counted it as a win because turnabout is fair play. However you looked at it.
The pair had lunch at the Lion's Den.
Yes, an actual den with actual lions but this is a circus show after all so it's all pretty normal.
They didn't exactly eat in the den. Stiles and Scott mostly just wolfed down their sandwiches, the two propped up on the bleachers as they raptly watched Feeble Mr. Finstock the Lion Tamer waggle about the sunken ring, assuaging the lionesses to climb and sway in strategically choreographed motions – athletic and agile, graceful yet powerful and somewhat hypnotic.
Their routine changed every two weeks. But let's face it; one could only make lionesses do so much with a flick of the wrist and a couple of soothing words.
This week though, the eccentric Tamer had outdone himself.
Then again, he always does. That's Bobby Finstock for you.
Feeling full and significantly entertained, Stiles figured he could take a quick nap before he resumed doing his "Executive Assistant to the Ring Master" duties later that afternoon. It was mostly just paperwork today anyway.
It's become a focus of hilarity that while Mr. Stilinski for all his pragmatic and serious ways possessed an uncanny quality of showmanship (he had been quite the magician back in the day), Stiles on the other hand, for all of his quirks did not appear to show any inclination for any such talent worthy of a circus billing.
Awkward and quirky Stiles was just that, awkward and quirky.
He was basically every other 17 year old boy going through puberty, which isn't all that special when compared to the other exciting and flashy performers they had in the show.
Stiles liked to read.
And he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge about local and foreign supernatural lore throughout the world as well as a whole 'nother jumble of weird factoids zipping about in his head. Things nobody even knew were real or true.
Or found interesting, really.
He was alone in his little bubble of imaginings. Sure Scott was there to talk to about his interests but the same fiery, geek-boy passion wasn't as strong. Half the time too, Scott would insist on talking about Allison and Stiles can only barely restrain his eye-rolls for the sake of being polite during the best of times.
The weary teen sighed, half a yawn and half wistfulness as he unlocked the door to his very own trailer (which his dad finally agreed to let him have because his books and several hundred flannel shirts were taking up too much space in the one they previously shared.)
He had every intention of flopping down on his cot to generally pass out. But because this is Stiles' life, he was never that lucky.
Stiles would deny that the sound he made was a squeal. It wasn't. It only sounded like one, okay? He wouldn't even have made such an incriminatingly girly sound in the first place if he had not opened his door to find a werewolf lounging about on his desk chair – flipping through his comic books.
How Derek got in with the door locked, Stiles will never know. Not like he wants to know either.
The surprise "visits"were becoming more and more frequent as of late. Stiles would almost always find the wolf man in his trailer either rummaging through his things or scanning his books and basically just hanging around the place. One time, Derek even lazed out on the cot to ultimately fall asleep there for 10 whole hours.
Honestly, Stiles shouldn't even be surprised anymore but Derek did that to him. He was a werewolf for fucks sake! Who can – apparently – magically walk through locked metal doors.
A werewolf who could easily tear Stiles' throat out for kicks.
The moment Derek was officially enlisted on the bill, he subsequently developed an "attachment" to the Ring Master's son. Well it wasn't so much an attachment as it was a gravitational pull. This was both baffling and a hairsbreadth away from incredulous. Not to mention fucking insane! Surely, Derek didn't find Stiles that amusing (because no one else did, that much was painfully clear) for him to go on about doing shit like this.
Or maybe Derek just liked scaring him?
That's what Stiles thinks. In fact he's positive Derek has made it his life's mission to undo Stiles every chance he gets. With his scary voice, his sharp claws, his brash and brooding demeanor, his hard-set jaw, broad shoulders, electric-blue eyes and…
"Dude, what the actual fuck—?"
"You've updated your Superman comics," came the cool reply. It wasn't a question.
Stiles let his mouth hang open. He didn't respond for several seconds because… what is the etiquette for situations like this? More importantly, how the hell do you tell a werewolf to leave your stuff alone without getting said werewolf mad and without getting torn to pieces? And Stiles has seen Derek angry, like that one time during the full moon...
Stiles had nightmares for days.
He shudders at the memory.
Derek suddenly looked up then, diverting all his attention towards the teen sagging against the door. His face completely neutral… or frustrated, Stiles doesn't know. Because Derek only has one look about him: the don't-make-any-sudden-movements-or-else-I'll-tear-you-apart look. That's what everyone calls it. It also comes in varying degrees of intensity. Stiles is just thankful that it's set to low this afternoon.
"You do have your own trailer. You know that, right? It's the one with your name on the door, in big bold letters."
The werewolf quirked an eyebrow and Stiles would have flinched if he wasn't already gritting his teeth really, really hard.
"Like I said, you've updated your Superman comics." And with that, Derek returned to his reading.
It was several minutes later when the wolf man spoke again. Several minutes Stiles used to "tidy up" his living space while carefully avoiding making eye contact with the unwelcomed company. He wanted to look busy (so he could go about getting his pulse rate to return to normal.)
"Stiles," Derek's voice cut through the thick veil of unease the teenager has ensconced himself in. "Just sit down and calm yourself. Your heartbeat is deafening and distracting, I can't understand what I'm reading."
Stiles hurriedly obeys. He perches himself awkwardly on the edge of his tiny bed, Derek following his every move.
"By the way, you smell horrible. You've been hanging around Finstock's tent again, haven't you?"
"If you don't like how it smells in here you could always, y'know, step out."
Derek eyes Stiles thoughtfully – searching the teen's face for something Stiles isn't completely sure what.
Whatever he finds though, Derek isn't pleased with it. He frowns a little. Or his general, everyday permanent frown deepens.
"I get it. Your house, your rules." He stands and makes for the door but not before he noiselessly returned Stiles' comic book in the exact same spot he found it.
With his back to Stiles, Derek adds, "the lions make you smell horrible but it's tolerable. Jackson (he practically snarled) on the other hand? Well, unpleasant doesn't even cover it."
If Derek slams the door more forcefully than he intends to, Stiles doesn't notice. He's too preoccupied with cringing in embarrassment at the fact that even the werewolf knows he has a thing for Jackson.
Was he really that obvious?
Well, obvious enough that Derek literally smelled it on him. Stiles might as well have had an erection pointing in the general direction of the Strong Man's whereabouts.
He opts to skip the nap entirely in favor of staring at his trailer's low ceiling. What's left of his dignity won't allow him to anyway.
TBC