Stiles' pencil tapped against his desk rapidly. Come on, come on, come on, he thought, his eyes narrowed at the clock, Move a little more to the right. That's it…you can do it…
"Señor Stilinski, are we interrupting something?" His teacher asked. Stiles never did like Spanish.
"Wha—no, no…I was just—"
Ring. Ring.
He skyrocketed out of his seat before the teacher had a chance to hold him back.
It was the end of the day, and a Friday, no less. Children whooped and hollered through the hallway, jogging toward lockers and making out gratuitously against…okay, now that could not be sanitary. How did they even do that? Bodies were twisting in ways bodies shouldn't twist, and—nope, he was getting off track.
He pushed through the hoards of people, getting a few "watch where you're going, asshole" remarks on the way. They just didn't understand that he had places to be, things to do, groceries to buy. The last thing Stiles wanted was for his dad to get fast food again. Like the sheriff needed much of a reason to hit the drive-thru.
His backpack was empty, thanks to having already finished his homework for the weekend. It's not like it took long. Stiles was a grade A slack-off, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of doing the work. He normally didn't have the time, that's all. Plus, he was a senior. Teachers were slack with him and the rest of his classmates.
The sun beat down on him when the double doors swung open. He squinted, jogging down the steps two at a time. Stiles never did keep many friends, which helped him get home now. They would have only slowed him down. Friends were a liability, moochers during group projects, and…yeah, not worth his time.
Stiles hopped in his jeep, hoping the car actually started this time. When the engine roved, he pumped his fist. Success! He backed out, managing not to hit any other students on his way, and turned toward the supermarket. Eggs, milk, lettuce, and dressing not filled with creamy goodness. That's all he needed.
Yet, he came out with bags full of packaged snicker doodles, boxed chicken fried rice, and cartons of apple juice. He still had the salad and eggs, but hey, he could just hide the rest from his dad. A growing boy had to eat things not vegetarian like.
It was already getting dark when he finally came home, but the car was in the driveway. Inside, he found his dad in front of the T.V., watching the news, of course. Stiles wasn't sure his dad had the power to switch to cartoons. Too busy worrying about the safety of others to care about his own physical health or mental well being.
"Hey, dad," Stiles greeted, taking the groceries into the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready soon."
"No rush," the sheriff said, turning to greet his son with a small smile. "How was school?"
"Same old, same old," he shrugged.
"I know that tone. You're lucky I don't have to do parent-teacher conferences anymore."
"I do the work," Stiles huffed, unpacking food as he looked for hiding places. Sometimes he even showed up on time. "Señorita Rodriguez just doesn't like me."
"Does it have anything to do with you not paying attention in her class?"
Stiles stopped what he was doing so he could look properly appalled. "No. I only fell asleep in class twice. Now she won't let me forget it."
He couldn't see his dad's face from the kitchen, but he could hear the sigh. "How you keep your grades up is beyond me."
"The important thing is that I do keep them up." Stiles placed the snicker doodles behind the breadbox and continued tossing his dad's salad together.
"In other news, the web-slinger of Beacon Hills has stopped yet another bank heist. Reports say that yesterday, the masked vigilante hung three robbers upside down from the rafters until police could reach the scene," the Bigfoot sounding anchorman reported.
"Can you believe this guy?" The sheriff groaned from the couch. "One day, we're going to catch him."
"Isn't he helping you?" Stiles asked, listening as he absentmindedly tossed the salad. Lettuce flew everywhere, unbeknownst to him until he dared a glance.
"There are laws for a reason. The police have enough trouble trying to round up criminals. We don't need to worry about someone else trying to play hero. He will get arrested."
"I don't know, dad. He sounds kind of smart," Stiles shrugged, leaning closer toward the living room.
There was a silence that lasted forever, then "Not in that outfit."
Stiles tried not to fling salad everywhere in rage.
"We are having more than salad tonight, right?" The sheriff asked.
Stiles looked at the counter, hands on hips. Well, maybe his jeans and jacket just wouldn't cut it as a chef. "Nope. Unless you want a veggie burrito."
"Salad is fine," his dad said, a hint of disgust at the memory from when Stiles made the burritos two weeks ago.
"I'll make something more substantial tomorrow night," Stiles promised.
"We could just go out to eat," his dad suggested.
"So you can get a burger with extra everything and fries that have been sitting for over a week?" Stiles huffed, putting lettuce in a bowl for each of them, drizzling a little dressing on both. "I don't think so."
"It's not going to kill me to stray every once in a while," his dad chided.
"Yeah, well," Stiles paused, stepping back into the living room and sitting beside his dad, "I don't want you to take that chance."
The sheriff took a bowl, giving Stiles a knowing look. He wished his dad would stop giving him those looks. "I'm not going anywhere."
"As long as you keep eating the green stuff."
The two of them sat together, watching the news and talking about pointless stuff until his dad fell asleep around midnight. Long days at the office meant late nights for Stiles. He took the bowls and put them in the kitchen sink, heading upstairs quietly so as not to wake his dad. A squeaky step would be his arch nemesis right about now.
He got upstairs and walked to his room, locking the door behind him. Who knew what could be lurking the streets at this hour. He didn't want to risk missing a night and finding out about a homicide the next morning. The thought made him shiver.
Stiles opened up his closet door and grabbed the red and blue suit. He nodded a couple times, getting hyped for his night out. It was time to bust some bad guys.
The night was quiet for the most part. A slight breeze blew across Stiles' mask as he looked out over the city. The rooftops were his second home. The place he found solitude when schoolwork and worrying over his dad became too much. It helped that he got to smash some people in the face for anger management, but for the most part, he liked the silence. It meant no one was screaming.
Stiles' legs dangled over the edge, swinging to and fro like a child. Every time he heard sirens, he thought it would be something worth checking out, but nothing ever came up over the police scanner he brought. Maybe he would get lucky and not have to kung fu someone into submission.
A shrill shriek told him otherwise.
He tucked the scanner into his usual hiding corner, looking out to pinpoint exactly where the noise came from. It was a really good thing he didn't have an issue with heights. From fifteen stories up, he could see a girl in a lavender coat watching a man run away from her, purse in tow.
Without thinking, he fell from the ledge, arms spread as the wind whipped by. It wasn't until Stiles was about seven stories up when he shot the first string of web. It made contact with his target, allowing him to swing through the streets freely. He continued doing this until he was above the thief. He timed it just right so he would drop over top the mugger. He had done this plenty of times before. Nothing new.
It would have been perfect if a leather-clad bodybuilder hadn't stepped out of nowhere and took the thug down on his own. Stiles rolled when he hit the sidewalk, softening the impact. His head whipped back around to see the man throwing a one-two punch, making the mugger fall to the ground, dazed. Seriously, the hits were so quick Stiles wasn't sure he saw it right.
The man jogged back to the lavender lady to return her purse. Stiles went over to the mugger, tilting his head at the sight of the groaning man who rolled from side to side in agony. The savior for the night came back, a perma-frown across his face. The guy was rugged, short black hair and a five o'clock shadow to match. He wore jeans and a leather jacket; a white tank-top underneath barely covered his tan chest. What was this guy's deal? Didn't he know Stiles was the hero around here?
"Thanks for the help, buddy," Stiles said in a chipper tone. "Nice to have a sidekick every once in a while."
The guy's frown somehow deepened. "I'm not your sidekick."
"So you are a sidekick, then?" Stiles retorted. "Because I can talk to your manager and we can work something out. They get you on weekdays, I take you on weekends."
"Are you always this appreciative after someone helps you?" The other guy grinned tightly.
"Could both of you shut up? My head is—" the guy on the ground tried saying before Stiles shot a small web across his mouth, making him mumble frantically in return.
"Dude, we were talking," Stiles said dryly.
"I was leaving," the burly man said, turning on his heel to walk down the alley closest to them.
They both listened when a loud alarm went off about two blocks down. They turned to each other, and though the guy couldn't see, Stiles was smiling.
"Race ya?" He asked.
"I'm not going to race—"
Stiles didn't hear the rest because he was already climbing up the closest building.
He did that until he was in a good range to start swinging again. He didn't want to get to the scene by foot until he knew what he was up against. He was a sniper in the night, a hero in disguise, a…
God dammit, now who was joining him?
It looked like the bearded guy again, only this time he was joined by a girl whose skin was pasty white, with black hair that reached her shoulders. Another guy in sunglasses joining the two, with short black hair that was just a little longer than bearded guy's hair. Stiles really needed some names after this. Why had he never seen them before? They looked ready to kick the whole town's ass. But not in an: I'm-going-to-rob-a-bank way. It was more like a: we're-here-to-fuck-shit-up way.
Stiles watched them carefully as they approached the sight. The alarm was just to a small convenience store, but they looked ready for much more than that. Couldn't they just solve the problem without the theatrics?
Oh…right. He was wearing a skin-tight blue and red unitard.
To Stiles' surprise, two people walked rather nonchalantly out of the store. Twins, in fact. Both looked kind of preppy to Stiles. He could practically smell the after-shave emanating off them. He stuck his tongue out at their smug faces, only to lick the inside of his mask. Ew that tasted awful.
"We don't want any trouble, guys," one of the twins said, giving a sarcastic smirk to the group of three. Stiles stayed hidden on his perch, definitely not wanting to miss this.
"It's not like you idiots to rob a convenience store," bearded man taunted. "Did you finally get kicked out?"
"We have our reasons," the other twin said. "So, if you'll get out of the way, we'll be out of your hair."
"What did you take?" the girl asked.
"That's none of your business," the other twin said. Stiles was getting whiplash.
"We can't let you leave," sunglasses boy said.
"Fine," the twins said at the same time.
That was when Stiles realized there was more to them than biceps and identical faces.
One twin sped off in one direction, an inhuman speed that left Stiles blinking twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from sleep deprivation. The twin only got a few feet before he abruptly stopped. The other twin hadn't moved at all.
"What are you going to do with us?" One twin smiled. "Her powers aren't fully formed yet. She won't be able to keep us here."
"But we can knock you out long enough to find what you stole," bearded man said.
"That's a big if," one twin said. Stiles was losing track of who said what with them.
In the blink of an eye, bearded man was fighting the one who had tried to dash off. The twin looked to be struggling, but he still managed to get a few good punches in. The other one started fighting the kid with sunglasses, twisting left and right to avoid hits. The girl stood her ground, each arm outstretched toward a twin. He couldn't see her face from where he crouched. What was she doing? Was she why the guy wasn't running circles around them?
Did Stiles help or did he let them take care of business? He could probably go find something else to do, honestly. Guys with super speed weren't in his area of expertise, and the three seemed to have a hold on this.
Of course that would be when the one twin kicked the kid with sunglasses so hard that he went flying into the girl. They both fell to the ground and the twin…shit, he poofed out of existence. Gone in a cloud of smoke. He reappeared seconds later by the other twin, and then with another poof, they were both gone, the bearded guy left swinging at air.
Well that was…something.
Stiles' curiosity got the better of him. He jumped off his railing, swinging right beside the couple on the ground. They were standing up slowly when he approached, and were so startled by his entrance that they jumped in surprise. Stiles gave a small wave.
"Nice night for crime fighting," Stiles greeted.
"Who are you?" the girl asked, looking at him with wide eyes.
"A nuisance," bearded man remarked dryly.
Stiles waved his hands along his body's length. "Really? Does the suit not give it away?"
"Oh my god, you're the guy," the one with sunglasses said, the brightest smile of all smiles on his face. "The one that's always in the news."
"Yup. That's me," Stiles said with pride. He pointed to the three of them. "But who are you?"
"Scott," sunglasses boy smiled, extending a hand. Stiles shook it. He seemed pretty cool. "Scott McCall. This is Allison Argent, and that's Derek Hale. What's your name?"
"Uh," he paused, figuring they wouldn't be able to actually pronounce his real name. He looked around to make sure no one else was in sight. Scott seemed the trusting type, and it didn't seem fair that Stiles didn't return the favor. It would be like kicking a puppy. "Stiles. Stilinski."
"The sheriff's son?" Derek asked, his tone insinuating that he didn't quite believe Stiles.
"That's my dad," Stiles shrugged. "So what was up with all that?"
"Aidan and Ethan," Allison sighed. "We've been trying to get information out of them for months, but we haven't come close."
"Information? What kind of—" Stiles stopped, realizing he had a bigger question in mind. "What was up with the poofing and—" he stopped again, his hands moving around to demonstrate what he was trying to say, "the zooming. And you guys…do you have, you know...what they have? Can you...you know..."
"You mean can we shoot webs like you?" Scott asked, smiling. Really, did the guy ever not smile? "I wish, dude. We can't do that. We can do other things, though."
Scott couldn't see the face Stiles was making, but he felt it was an appropriate expression for: please fucking continue.
"We should go somewhere more private," Allison suggested quietly.
Scott nodded to her, turning to Stiles after. "Do you wanna come with us? We've got a place just on the edge of town. You're more than welcome to."
"Are you gonna take me to your freaky murder house where you can murder me?" Stiles asked.
"If we wanted to do that, we would have done it already," Derek huffed.
"Oh, well excuse me," Stiles said, putting both hands in the air.
"Please? It'd be cool to have you over," Scott coaxed. Dammit. How was Stiles supposed to say no to that?
"Fine, fine. Take me to your humble abode," he bowed, waving for them to lead the way.
"Think you can keep up with my bike?" Scott asked. He pointed to a motocross bike parked nearby.
Stiles looked him up and down. "Are you challenging me to a race?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. Then he grabbed Allison's hand and they both laughed the whole way to the bike, hopping on. "Because I'm gonna win!"
An annoyed huff came from Derek as he sauntered over to the bike parked just behind Scott's. Stiles chortled, sticking his wrist out.
"Yeah, because I have to get to the place," Stiles shot back. Next time though, it was fair game. If there was a next time, that is.
All four of them reached the house after what felt like miles, mixed with running and swinging. Once they were out of the city, Stiles had to rely on his legs and the trees mostly. Thankfully his escapades protecting the city had put him in decent shape, not that he enjoyed running any more than usual or that his form was more graceful. There was a reason he didn't join track. He hated it. Lacrosse was enough for him. It wasn't easy warming the benches. It was better than having people question how his reflexes were so good though.
The place was not what Stiles had expected. At all. Like…ever. It was huge. It had to be bigger than the White House. How did anyone live like this? Stiles' house wasn't small but shit it wasn't this.
It was gated, as should be expected with a palace this size. The stones were dark brown, a black roof sheltering the massive building. The grounds were massive, going for miles. Stiles couldn't see it all from the gate, but it could fit…a lot of football fields. A lot.
"Welcome to the Institute," Scott said.
"Excuse me," Stiles deadpanned, leaning closer to make sure he heard that right.
"Not that kind," Derek mumbled, pressing a few buttons on a keypad. The gate opened and Derek was the first one to ride through, twisting and turning up the long driveway. Stiles ran across then, nodding his head proudly when he was a couple centimeters past the gate.
"I win," he said with a smile.
Scott laughed before revving off ahead of him. Damn. Did not think that one through.
Once he huffed and puffed his way to the top where Scott and Allison waited, he gave them a sarcastic grin.
"Thanks for the lift, guys. Really helpful."
"My bike only fits two," Scott shrugged. "Bug Derek for a ride next time."
"Oh because that would be so much fun," Stiles said dryly.
"That or walk," Allison grinned.
"Come on. We'll show you around," Scott said, waving for Stiles to follow.
"You still haven't told me what you can do," Stiles reminded them. Had they conveniently forgotten?
"Oh, right," Scott said, running a hand through his hair. "But you have to take the mask off."
Stiles groaned. "You promised you'd tell!"
"It's safe! I swear no one will tell your secret," Scott assured him. "You just can't tell ours."
Stiles looked around. They were out in the middle of nowhere. The chances of someone from his school being out there were slim to none when this gargantuan castle was the only thing standing. He sighed, reaching for the hem of his mask. Stiles slowly pulled it up until he could feel the breeze against his cheeks. He ran a hand through his hair a few times, his eyes darting from the ground to Scott.
"Here I am," he muttered, spreading his arms out. "Tada."
Scott grinned, putting a hand on Stiles' shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. Without warning, his free hand pulled the shades off. Stiles was taken aback to find a pair of red irises staring back at him.
"Nice to meet you, Stiles," Scott said, still grinning like an idiot. "I shoot lasers from my eyes. The shades just hide the discoloration, though. I promise not to fry you."
"Thanks, bro," Stiles said. He turned to Allison. "What about you?"
"Telekinesis and telepathy," she shrugged. "I don't have them mastered like I should, but I'm working on it."
"Deaton says she's got a lot of potential," Scott beamed.
Stiles looked between the two. "Are—"
Allison began waving her hands frantically. "No, no, we aren't together." Scott's eyes widened when he realized what Stiles was about to ask.
"We're just good friends," he said.
"Right. Well, that's cool." He bounced on his heels. "So—"
"I try not to. Sometimes it gets ahead of me, or other people start projecting loudly, but I can't hear anything unless I focus," Allison interjected. Stiles nodded a few times, wondering if she would actually keep her word on that.
"Could you please stop focusing, then?" Stiles asked, the words falling out in an attempt to beat her to the punch.
"Sorry," she mumbled, giving him a tiny grin. "I was curious."
"Uh huh." Stiles' eyes narrowed.
"Come on. This way," Allison said quickly, walking ahead of the two.
Stiles walked side by side with Scott, passing through the grand double doors into the luxurious school. "She really doesn't do that often," Scott whispered. "She respects our privacy."
"If you say so," Stiles muttered, looking around the foyer. Then again, she didn't think to just look through his brain when he first approached. Maybe Scott was right.
The castle—because that's what it was—had a dark wooden interior with a white ceiling. Plants were spread throughout to add some color. There were too many doors for Stiles to keep track of, a ton to each side of him. It was a real classy looking joint. The only thing was that it's castle like appearance didn't strike Stiles as being a school. There was no way people learned how to do math here.
"You guys live at the school?" Stiles asked.
"We all do," Allison answered.
"All?" Stiles only now comprehended that a school had more than three people.
"Yeah, all the kids," Allison said, giving him a funny look.
"How many people are actually here?" Stiles asked slowly, a little frightened of what the answer might be. The place could house an army.
"I lost count," Scott admitted. "It grows every year."
"I've never heard of this place." Stiles was dumbfounded as to how it had slipped past him for so long.
"It's been here for years. Deaton worked on gathering children like him until it became this. When the students finish school, they either become teachers or leave with a better sense of who they are and how to control their power," Allison explained. "I want to be a professor next year like Derek."
"He teaches?" Stiles asked in disbelief.
"He works with us in the danger room. It's the place where we practice using our powers. Deaton had to coerce him into helping us when we found him, but he's not that bad," Scott said.
"Not that bad anymore," Allison clarified. Stiles snorted. He couldn't imagine grumpy pants being a good teacher.
"So where are you taking me?" Stiles asked.
"The kitchen," Allison smiled. "Scott's normally hungry after we go out."
Stiles' mouth fell open. "Me too, bro!"
"We stock the fridge every night because I eat as much as half the students!" Scott smiled.
"Dude, all I had was a—"
And then they got to the kitchen. Boy, what a kitchen it was. There were stainless steel appliances, and dark wooden walls everywhere. An island the size of Hawaii and a long breakfast table as well. Bay windows that showcased a completely dark yard and oh god was that cake he saw?
"Alright! Kira baked today." Scott grinned, going for the pedestal with the wonderful looking chocolate cake.
"Who's Kira?" Stiles asked, sitting down at the bar and looking at Scott expectantly. He better have plans of sharing that cake.
"My girlfriend," he beamed. "She's pretty awesome."
"I love her already," Stiles said, smiling when Scott cut a piece and slid the plate to Stiles.
"Watch it," Scott warned playfully.
Stiles took a bite of the heavenly goodness and was so pleased to find out that Kira wasn't a terrible baker. It melted in his mouth, the gooey chocolate running down his throat. Allison poured a glass of milk and sat it down beside his plate. She took a seat beside Stiles when she finished pouring herself one.
"I feel like you're trying to bribe me into something. Is this how you got Derek to teach?" Stiles eyed them warily.
"This is just how it is," Allison said calmly, taking the plate Scott slid to her. "Except during training. We don't hold back then."
"Everyone's pretty relaxed here," Scott added, taking a seat and eating some of his cake. There was the slam of a door and the pitter-patter of feet soon after. Scott blushed. "Well…most of the time."
"Jackson! We are not having sex if I have to be up early tomorrow!" A girl hissed as she made her way into the kitchen.
"Dammit, Lydia! It's been a week!" A man growled back, his voice barely above a whisper. He followed the girl, his expression seething.
The girl was short; waves of red hair cascading down her back. She had wide doe eyes and full lips that were pursed in agitation. The guy was taller than her, short blonde hair and a lean physique that Stiles was envious of. He was in nothing but boxers and she was in nothing but a blue nightie. And fuck she was breathtaking.
"Oh. We have company," she sighed, irritated.
"Who's this," Jackson asked, pointing an accusatory finger at Stiles.
Stiles gave him a blank stare. "Are the clothes really not a giveaway because I can make something more noticeable."
"Fuck you, too," Jackson retorted.
"This is Stiles," Allison introduced. "Stiles, this is Lydia, and that's Jackson."
"So you're the one everyone's talking about," Lydia said, walking over to stand beside Allison. She glided her finger along Allison's plate, taking some icing. Stiles looked away before she put that pretty finger to her lips.
"That's me. The one and only," Stiles muttered. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say you two have powers as well."
"Wow. A genius, too," Jackson deadpanned, giving him a look of absolute hatred. How did one person hold so much hostility?
"At least he's not a ball of fur," Allison grinned. "Jackson can shape shift into a wolf."
"Stop making it sound like it's a bad thing," Jackson hissed.
"What about you?" Stiles asked Lydia.
"Sonic screams that could throw you across the room," she said, her tone proud, "and excellent hearing if I focus."
"Impressive," Stiles nodded. Even though he had excellent hearing, too. Not that he would ruin her boasting.
"More impressive than spider webs," she taunted, her lip curling up.
"That's what he does?" Jackson asked, sounding less than impressed.
"I could run circles around your little wolf claws, okay?" Stiles defended. Jackson was really getting on his nerves.
"Prove it," Scott said, smiling. Stiles' eyes widened. He thought Scott was on his side?!
"Come by the school tomorrow afternoon. We'll put you through some danger room obstacles, and you two can compete for bragging rights," Allison suggested.
"I can beat him. Easily," Jackson huffed.
How was Stiles supposed to say no now? His manly pride was at danger. "Uh, I'll be here at two. Prepare to lose."
"Whatever," Jackson said dryly. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and left the kitchen without even a hint of a goodbye.
"I need my sleep for tomorrow," Lydia said, sauntering toward the kitchen entrance. Stiles did his very best not to watch her walk away. "Goodnight."
"Night, Lydia," Allison said, finishing off the rest of her cake.
"As exciting as this has been, I should get home," Stiles said, standing up. "My dad and all."
"So will you be here tomorrow?" Scott asked.
"Yeah," Stiles said, "I'll be back."
"Cool," Scott nodded.
"See you tomorrow, Stiles," Allison waved, heading off in the direction Jackson and Lydia had gone.
"Thanks for everything tonight, by the way," Stiles said, offering his hand. "It wasn't the worst thing I've been through."
"Anytime," Scott said, taking Stiles' hand. "This place is home to everyone, mutant or human."
"I'll remember that," Stiles grinned, walking toward the front door. So that's what they called themselves?
Okay, so apparently he wasn't the only one with special abilities. It was a lot to take in and he thought he had handled it rather well. Was that a good thing? Was it bad? Did his father have them on radar, too, or was that just Stiles he loved to threaten unknowingly? He just didn't know.
Stiles forgot that not everyone was in bed, and didn't look up until he was running into something. Well, someone, by the sour face looking at him. Derek lifted a furry brow, eyeing Stiles up and down. He was in black sweats and a white tank top this time, his large as hell biceps showing.
Oh. He had almost forgot. "So, Derek, what's your power?" There had to be a reason Deaton wanted Derek teaching. He presumed he had a cool power. His bedside manners could use a little work, though.
Derek didn't say anything, just lifted a fist close to Stiles. Abruptly, three razor sharp claws sprung out of his knuckles. Stiles had to say he wasn't expecting that.
"Bet that's useful for pumpkin carving," Stiles grinned.
Derek's two outer claws retracted, leaving the middle one up just for Stiles. Aw. How sweet.
"You have any other tricks?" Stiles asked, more serious this time.
"I heal quickly. Now weren't you leaving?" Derek mused, stepping around Stiles to walk in the opposite direction. Stiles turned around to watch him leave, wondering what in the hell that guy had stuck up his ass.
Stiles shook his head, walking outside and into the cool night air. Not quite home sweet home, but he wouldn't cross it off the list yet. Tomorrow would tell him where he stood with these guys.
A/N: Hello! Fair warning, I'm new to writing sterek. Nice to meet you all!
I thought I'd give this story a go after seeing a cool manip on tumblr with Stiles as Spider-man and Derek as Wolverine. The story seems to write itself, so I'm really looking forward to this one. I hope I matched up all the other characters to a good mutant/power.
See you next update!