Title: Rattling the Bones in Your Closet
Author: Sunshineditty
Fandom: Teen Wolf Future Fic (diverges from the events of season 2)
Word count: 5,829
Rating: T for language
Inspiration: "O Death" - Jen Titus, "Voodoo" - Godsmack, "Closer" - NIN, and "Bones" - Little Big Town
Summary: Stiles needs a little loving care after fifteen years of being the biggest BAMF the military has ever seen. Who better to mend the broken pieces than the man he left behind?
The air in Beacon Hills was different from anywhere else he'd been to, and in the last fifteen years, he'd traveled to a lot of places – civilized and remote – to be able to make that kind of comparison. It held a hint of winter crisp mixed with soil and wildness, plus the indefinable aroma of human habitation; it was both familiar and jarringly unfamiliar at the same time. This area had represented home to him for the first eighteen years of his life and someplace he'd always thought he'd come back to, but things changed.
He'd changed.
Now it was just the town where both his mother and father were buried; where he'd briefly touched something so incomprehensibly inhuman, he still had dreams of it years later, wondering if the insanity of his life now had forced his mind to create supernatural creatures to explain the awful tearing things humanity willingly did to one another under the guise of a higher calling or being.
Then he remembered Scott. Jackson. Lydia. Erica. Danny. Boyd. Isaac. Allison. Derek.
They were real, even if nothing else ever seemed to be any more.
The man they once called Stiles shifted uneasily at his wandering thoughts, uncomfortable with the conflicting feelings those names engendered, because he had no ties to this world any more. Not since Dad was killed in a drunk driving accident five years ago and left him orphaned for good. Of course, at thirty-three, orphan didn't mean the same, but the scared ten-year-old boy who watched his mother waste away with cancer, still lived inside the hardened man of today, and whispered the word over and over, until he wanted to break his ear drums so he wouldn't have to listen to the whimpering sobs any more.
But how can you outrun a ghost who lived inside your brain?
It was the numbers that saved him once again from the inanity of his own looping thoughts; he remembered the months of agony, surgeries, and physical therapy, as well as being forced to deal with a psychotherapist to head off any post-traumatic stress disorder he might have as a result of his "trauma."
Trauma, what a fucking joke. He was a soldier doing his patriotic duty in a country whose people hated everything he stood for and would stab him in the eye rather than look at him. It wasn't a trauma, it was goddamned mercy mission of peace that fucking blew up in his face – literally.
2,3,5,7,11,13,17,19,23....the familiar rhythm of prime numbers burrowed through the haze of memories and allowed the shell protecting him from his trauma to snap around him again, pushing away all those pesky buzzing responses to emotional stimuli. He was a lot better when he didn't have to think, which would surprise anyone who knew the boy he'd been, but then there wasn't anyone left who really knew him. Except maybe Jensen and Eames, but they weren't around anymore. No one was. He was alone. Again.
Orphan.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Uh, are you okay?"
He smoothly turned, the safety on his Beretta M9 already off as he brought it up to the forehead of the smaller female standing behind him. A small pink tongue swiped across plump lips was the only indication of her discomfort. It took him a moment to understand he was standing in a cemetery in Beacon Hills, California in the United States and not one of the many war-torn hell holes he'd been dropped into over the years. And she was no insurgent intent on killing him, but an innocent young girl a few years into her teens (though he had seen girls her age wrecking shop on their enemies, but she didn't have the smell...er...look of them).
"Don't sneak up on people when they're shouting crazily to themselves in the middle of a deserted graveyard," he muttered in warning, slowly pulling the gun away and holstering it. He might've been honorably discharged for medical reasons a year ago, but he was still a trained killer with sharp reflexes, even amidst a small mental break down.
"I'll remember that for next time."
He flicked his gaze over her and noticed the subtle clawing of her hands, which accounted for her unusually cool reaction to him. He wasn't sure who was more startled by his crack of laughter: him for actually finding something amusing, or her for amusing him. One hour in this town and already he was brushing up against the other. He was tempted to ask her if she was part of the Hale Pack, but he figured if she was, it would tip the others off to his presence, and if she wasn't, then it wouldn't do to out himself as a knowledgeable human.
"What are you doing here anyway? Isn't it a school day?"
Her caramel-colored colored-eyes flickered away from his at that, a clear indication of guilt. He wasn't up on the latest schedule of Beacon High, but he was pretty sure students were expected to be there at eleven am on a Thursday in September.
"What's it to you?"
He shrugged, already tired of this conversation. He wasn't sure why he bothered to talk to her after understanding her true nature. Maybe because this was the first time he'd talked to someone in three days?
"It's not. None of mine. But you better have a good excuse in case your Alp...parents finds out you skipped class."
Fortunately for him, she didn't seem to notice his slip of the tongue, and she scowled at the hastily substituted word instead.
"My dad can't tell me jack shit since he cut classes a lot when he was my age and my step-mom can go fuck herself."
He raised a brow at the vitriol in her voice, disconcerted by his reaction to the stark anger and misery in her small pale face: he wanted to gather her into his arms and rock her in comfort, a dim memory from then flickering in his mind about how wolves needed touch when distressed. It wasn't a natural reaction to a man more used to the caress of polymer and fiberglass than human flesh.
"So you thought to haunt a cemetery instead of going to the mall or the movies? That's not weird at all."
"Today's the anniversary of my mom's death."
He sucked in a breath and gave into his inner urgings to brush his arm against hers. She flinched involuntarily and stepped back, her hands curled into claws again, her eyes wide.
"Who are you?"
"No one who will hurt you, I promise." He shook himself free of the past and knew he needed to leave, now. This was supposed to be a simple intel mission: visit the lawyer who'd been hounding him for years about his father's effects and then leave, no one the wiser about his presence in town. He looked over the teenager once more, memorizing her gamine features and dark hair so he could avoid her for however long he was here.
"Sorry about your mom and all. I'll leave you to grieve."
Even after all these years, he still knew the fastest way through the grounds and disappeared into the brush on the periphery of the graveyard before she could hold him there any longer.
Hannah Nicole McCall watched in astonishment as the man – and he was only a man as far as she could scent – melted into the surrounding brush as silently as any wolf she knew. The whole meeting was utterly odd and so far out of the ordinary, even given her day to day life, she was distracted from her sadness. There'd never been a moment of fear despite the gun he'd held to her head and his seemingly crazy behavior, which had initially attracted her attention when she first saw him. Even stranger, her wolf urged her to bound after him, take his long-sleeves in her teeth and drag him to the Alpha.
As if her thoughts had summoned him, she suddenly smelled her Pack Leader and she closed her eyes in defeat.
"Hannah."
The whiskey-smoke voice rolled through her, her wolf obediently showing her belly, even as the human side instinctively tilted her head sideways to bare her throat.
"Derek, I can explain..."
His hand clamped down on her bicep – funnily enough the same one the mysterious guy touched – and whirled her around into his embrace. She gladly curled into his hug, feeling better as Pack bonds tightened around her, wordlessly assuring her she wasn't alone, despite how utterly wretched and out of place she felt. Hannah might not be welcome in her own home, but she would always have a place with the Pack.
"You shouldn't worry your father like that. He was frantic when he got the call you weren't at school."
And just like that, the comfort dissipated and well-worn bitterness took its place.
"He forgot what today was, didn't he?"
She felt more than heard Derek's sigh. "He didn't forget, Nanna. He just didn't think you'd cut classes to come here." She peeked up at his face and saw him roll his eyes at her father's stupidity. Despite being the Head Beta of their Pack, Derek and Scott didn't always see eye to eye, and she knew she was often a bone of contention between them, though she wasn't sure why.
"Am I in trouble?"
Derek's large hand came to rest on her hair, smoothing down any stray tendrils, running through it to where it ended just below her shoulder blades. "Ordinarily I'd say yes, but today's special, so I'll let it slide."
Hannah rested her forehead against his muscled chest again and just let his scent – leather and freshly split pine undercut by a hint of cinnamon and apples – roll through her, easing the pain and anger and sadness until it was a small knot in the pit of her stomach. It never truly went away, and probably never would, but it was easier to bear right now. His kiss to her forehead was very comforting and she sighed with relief.
Suddenly Derek stiffened and he dropped his head to her neck, scenting her deeply. She knew if any outsiders would see them now, it would look sexual, but it was a triggered response to the new smell on her. She'd momentarily forgotten about the stranger and knew Derek had finally caught a whiff of him.
"Why do I smell gun-powder? Who touched you?"
It was the Alpha speaking, the wolf close to the surface at the potential threat to a pack-mate.
"N-n-n-o one," she stuttered, wolf whine in her voice. She knew the absolute authority in which Derek ran the town and she didn't want the stranger to run afoul of him. It was an unwritten yet ironclad law that no humans could touch wolf-kin, but she'd never seen the guy before so he couldn't have known. And while he was insane in the membrane, she didn't think he would harm anyone. Maybe?
"Don't lie to me!"
"I don't know. He wasn't anyone I'd ever seen before."
"Hunter," an epithet and death sentence rolled into one.
She pushed away from him, and shook her head frantically. "No, no, no. I don't think so. Unless hunters have their people buried here."
The wolf-face faded back to human though Derek's green eyes were still Alpha red.
"What?"
Hannah pointed to where she first saw the guy pacing, his hands slapping at his head as if he were physically trying to stop the voices from speaking. She'd watched him for a while, intrigued by the thick white scars spread across half his face and the fluid way he wove through the graves, even as she realized he wasn't fully cognizant of his surroundings. He'd finally made his way close to where she stood now, startling her into speaking when he kept muttering "shut up," in a sing-song voice.
Derek released her and strode over to where she indicated; it was an older part of the cemetery that was separated from the rest by a wrought iron fence and was filled with small mausoleums and stone-faced angels hovering protectively over their skeletal charges. Hannah watched as her Alpha sniffed the air and was lead unerringly to the exact headstone the stranger stood before earlier. He read the name of the dead and startled her as he threw back his head and howled, his human throat seemingly incapable of producing the Alpha roar calling his Pack to the hunt.
The roar forced the change on her, and Hannah melted into her wolf-form, gray and black striped fur sprouting as her bones twisted painfully, dropping her to all fours panting with exertion. Soon enough she joined his throaty call, her voice adding to the cacophony and within moments their song was enriched as the other wolves responded, a warning to anyone listening.
A hunting they would go.
The town of Beacon Hills had a long and varied history, starting with its initial founding at the behest of itinerant gold-miners who lost their way to Sutter's Mill. Unfortunately for them, they had chosen a site already under the protection of a small native American tribe and a wolf-kin pack. The written records of the dispute were long lost, though oral recounting of the bloody drawn out war were still carefully passed down among descendents of the survivors; the right to the land was finally won through the might of a hastily arranged militia formed from an Army garrison stationed nearby, forcing the remaining natives to leave their ancestral home and the wolf-kin to melt even further inland.
Eventually, however, the memories and stories of men who became animals faded, until the Pack could return, carefully seeding their presence among the village, watching from the shadows as it grew into a town. Unlike other wolf-kin in the area, the Hales had learned to co-exist with humans, even welcoming them into their Pack, thus adding to their power as the number of wolf-bitten swelled to equal the number of wolf-born. It was through their integration that they realized turned members could mate with wolf-born and produce more wolf-born, though the offspring were always Betas or Omegas, never Alphas. Later it became clear non-turned human pair-bonds could also mate and produce with either wolf-bitten or wolf-born, though there was a fifty-fifty chance for the child to be either fully human or latent wolf.
The wild divergence of genes and traits of such mixed heritage enabled the Hale Pack to withstand diseases and problems that decimated many of their rivals; it also empowered their territorial pushes because they weren't forced to kill born Alphas out of fear he or she would eventually try to dispose the current Alpha once they came of age. Instead they were sent off to start their own packs and a civilized manner of passing the Alphaship developed as California, Oregon, Washington State, Idaho, Utah, Nevada, and Colorado were colonized by Hale descendents.
As a result, by the time Derek Hale was born, the old way of killing the former Alpha to gain the power had been abolished and the much tidier form of wolf-kin primogeniture was established. Laura, Derek's oldest sister, was reared as the next Alpha, and he was relegated to Beta status. This was all he would've ever known had Fate in the form of Kate Argent not stepped in and completely upended a century's worth of tradition by killing the majority of his pack and starting the chain of events that forced Derek to do the unthinkable and take Alphaship by fang and claw in the way of his ancient ancestors.
In the seventeen years since, Derek had known little peace, always battling some outside threat as he sought to stabilize and protect his young pack-mates; eventually he'd wrested an accord with Northern California based Hunters, entered into mating agreements with three surrounding packs, and expanded his power base in Beacon Hills by integrating his wolves into the fabric of the community before revealing the existence of wolf-kin. It made strategic sense since a good portion of his original wolf-pack were children of high-profile citizens and the humans benefited from their presence through low incidence of crime-rate; Beacon Hills was awarded Safest City in America five years running. And it also gave a wider pool to select new potential pack members from, a process which Derek had streamlined with the help of Dr. Deaton, basing his decisions on genetics and familial history.
Therefore, when Derek raised his voice in demand, no one batted an eye as several furry wolves burst through doors and ran down Main Street towards the cemetery. The responding howls provoked a similar response in drivers as fire engine or ambulance sirens, cars immediately stopping at lights regardless of color or pulling to the right side of the street. It was an awe-inspiring sight for the uninitiated, but old hat now for the older members of the community.
Boyd and Scott were the closest, so they arrived ahead of the others, skidding to a stop before their still human Alpha, the run barely winding them despite the unexpected change. Hannah delicately stepped forward, her tail half-cocked behind her, and touched noses with the Head Beta and the older pack-mate.
Derek ignored them, his eyes focused on the headstone for John Edward Stiliniski, one of the best men he'd ever known, rage threatening to score his bones even as harsh satisfaction filled him. It rankled his wolf to give way to its human side and lie in wait for their prey to come to them instead of running them down, but Derek knew he had to out wait the enemy in order to eradicate the problem at the root. And it seemed his patience was going to be rewarded.
When he scented his seven Enforcers, he finally turned to face them, not bothering to hide his emotions. They'd been through so much in the intervening years and were the core of the pack; he couldn't have done anything without their help.
"For the first time in five years, someone came to the Sheriff's grave. We need to track the stranger and find out who sent him and why. There's no way this is a fucking coincidence." He beckoned Hannah and she came to rest against his leg. "Memorize the smell overlying Nanna and find me our prey!"
Seven wolves wove in a seamless pattern, Hannah at the center, both to scent her and also to reestablish Pack as the dominant smell. In one flawless turn, all the Enforcers headed in the same direction as the stranger, following his scent as easily as if he'd laid a trail down in blinking neon arrows.
Derek's smile was feral and wholly non-human, but there was no one beside a wolf-kin child and voiceless ghosts to witness its furious beauty.
The subtle darkening of the sky alerted the Stiles shaped man to the encroaching evening and he carefully backtracked through the forest until he hit the old deer trail leading to where he'd hidden his rental. He hadn't been completely sure if the teen was a Hale wolf or not, so he'd made damn sure he wouldn't lead anyone back to the house since he didn't want anyone to know where he was. He'd originally intended to visit the lawyer, but the sounds of wolves on the hunt had forestalled that plan. He didn't know for sure if they were after him, but the cries so close to his accidental meeting was too coincidental, so he decided better to be paranoid than unprepared and split the rest of the day between lying down a confusing scent trail and making certain to cover the real one up so they couldn't actually find him.
It struck him as funny that many of his methods, while refined in the military, were originally taught to him by Derek himself. The two years he'd spent under the Alpha's tutelage had instilled an incredible focus that eventually led to one service nickname of "Ghostwolf," an ironic moniker he'd shrugged off because it was too painful a reminder of what he'd left behind.
He hadn't spoke to any of his former friends in nearly eleven years and while part of him regretted cutting those ties, a larger part of him had relished the freedom of becoming his own man without the Beacon Hills baggage. Used to being the weakest and least important member of the Pack, all too fragile human compared to preternatural strength, he'd blossomed in a structure that enhanced and reaffirmed his gifts until he'd become a top dog in his chosen field, a sop to the burning resentment of the eighteen year old boy in love with a stern and broken Beta-turned-Alpha.
Upon reaching the rented jeep, he opened the door and hopped inside, ignoring the welter of mud and leaves falling from his clothes and skin onto the seat and floor. Nostalgia struck him hard as the engine turned over, even though the sound was nothing like the purr of his beloved blue jeep, now long lost to time and distance. He bowed his head against the steering wheel for a moment, the phantom touch of Derek's hand at his neck so strong, he expected the frowning wolf to be seated next to him when he opened his eyes.
"No, no, no, no. Go, go, go. Stop, stop, stop."
The repetition of the sounds soothed his upset and the past vanished when he snapped on the headlights and drove back towards town.
Derek was no longer smiling as he sat at the head of the large rectangular table in the dining room, listening to his Enforcers explain how they'd been unable to run the prey to ground. Though Beacon Hills was firmly in his grasp, the city was large enough to hide newcomers, though eventually he would be sniffed out. The Alpha was dissatisfied because his rage had had no outlet for five years and to have someone so close slip away frustrated him to no end. The other wolves understood his feelings, but could offer no comfort.
"If Hannah could sketch the guy she met, we could circulate the picture and turn everyone into watch dogs for us."
Isaac's suggestion was valid and him putting forth his idea showed how far along he'd come in building his confidence since the terrible days of his human childhood and the subsequent power trip he'd gone on during the initial phase of his turning, when Derek was still unbalanced as his power fluctuated between Beta and Alpha.
"Scent and sight. Do it."
The short sentences and curt tone were the stressed tones of an Alpha on the edge and no one dared meet Derek's eyes in case it might be construed as challenge.
Scott nodded, immediately retreating from the room in search of Hannah. She'd moved into the Pack House a few weeks before school started on the pretext of needing more hands on training, but everyone knew it was because she didn't get along with Scott's mate Nancy, and it was easier to keep peace by separating the two females.
Boyd exchanged significant glances with Lydia and Jackson, both of them urging him to do something about their Alpha, but his mood was one where only fucking or fighting would assuage the fury. Derek hadn't had a consort in months, so no help there, and no one in their right mind would step up to offer a flesh ritual to him right now. Boyd idly thought about calling for a puppy pile, but figured the others were still too cowed by their failure to feel comfortable enough to touch the Alpha. He didn't have a mate to drain off the emotional impact, so the Pack Bonds were forced to do it instead, and it would make it so much sharper with skin to skin contact.
"I'm going running," Derek announced, the wolf in his voice, which precluded his betas from offering to follow. It didn't matter, they all knew where he was going tonight anyway. It was where he always went in a grip of mad emotion.
Hannah watched as her father stepped across the threshold into her room, his hands running up and down his jeans as he watched her uneasily. Part of her relished his nervousness while the other half mourned the easy loving relationship they used to have. She'd been five when her mother was killed in a territory dispute and nine when Derek had arranged a contractual mating for Scott with a neighboring pack. In the four years between, the two McCalls had developed a close bond, both mourning the beloved woman they'd lost, and became each others' worlds. Scott, the only child of a single parent, had known her pain intimately so he tried to juggle his duties as a traveling vet with keeping her as his number one priority, and it had worked for the most part. The slack was taken up by the rest of the pack, but most especially Derek.
When Nancy first came into their lives, Hannah had been prepared to accept the other woman, approaching the age where the mysteries of womanhood were on her horizon and she wanted a mother's touch. Unfortunately, Nancy, the third daughter of the other pack's Alpha, had no intention of accepting her mate's daughter, though that sentiment hadn't become clear until a few months after the ceremony. The systematic breakdown of Scott's and Hannah's relationship could be laid at Nancy's door as she undermined both their efforts to maintain a loving and close bond, while Nancy played everything off as the injured party being attacked by her ungrateful step-daughter.
Now five years later, Hannah lived with the Alpha and her father attempted to beget children on his second mate to no avail and Nancy's continuing bitterness.
"What do you want?"
He straightened at the snide tone, a growl low in his throat.
"You will treat me respectfully as your Head Beta."
Hannah's wolf immediately submitted to him, whining in apology despite her very real disgust with him, but she was glad he couched it in wolf terms rather than familial ones.
"Alpha wants you to draw a picture of the man you met today so we can find him."
The fourteen year old nodded quickly, gathering the necessary items from her desk drawer before retreating to the window seat in the corner, her favorite place to draw. Scott paced back and forth for the first few minutes, listening to the scratch of the graphite pencil over the thick paper. He desperately wanted to reach out to his daughter, tell her how much she reminded him of Allison, how much he missed Hannah and wanted her to come home, but as always the words were stuck in his throat. His wolf whined softly in his chest, distressed by his roiling emotions and wanting to stroke their pup, but he ignored everything and stuffed it down as his usual wont.
"Done," she told him quietly, her lower lips tucked between her teeth as she held out the drawing. Scott nodded his thanks and grabbed the page, not bothering to look at it, just relieved to escape the room and get away from the sight of his many failings as both a man and a father.
Derek shifted from his four-legged form to the upright Alpha one and jumped to the second story window. It was pathetic, but he'd kept the Stilinski house exactly as John had left it, including the shrine to the son he'd lost to the bigger world so many years ago. Derek had never understood why Stiles had cut the ties so thoroughly when he'd left Beacon Hills; he'd always expected the boy to come back home after college as the rest of the pack did, but the military contract he'd signed to get more money to cover his school expenses unexpectedly came due, and he'd been sent overseas, but at the end of his four year hitch, it inexplicably became eight and then a career, the implication being Stiles no longer considered himself Pack and subjected to Alpha's Law.
The window was well-oiled and didn't squeak as he lifted the pane, remembering how it used to whenever he would come here. Despite the passage of time, Derek always thought he'd still find Stiles seated at his computer desk, fingers dancing madly across the keyboard as his ADD riddled mind ping-ponged between five tracks of thoughts that had nothing to do with each other, but yet somehow made sense to him if no one else. Derek was often by irritated by the boy, but towards the end, he'd been fascinated and then reluctantly captivated, wondering what it would feel like to bring that incredible mind to focus solely on him. The age difference had ceased to be a problem by the time Stiles was eighteen, but Derek had kept an iron control on his wolf for so long, he didn't know how to let go and then it was too late.
He quickly stripped his clothes off, neatly folding and putting them on the chair in the corner. A small smile stretched his lips as he remembered the day he found it there, Stiles commenting if he was going to be a creepy creeper of a sour wolf, he might as well be comfortable instead of looming like a big loomy supernatural creature and making him all nervous. It was the first overture of a friendship which eventually became one of the most important relationships in his life, something he hadn't realized until it was stripped so unceremoniously, leaving him bereft of the solace and companionship he'd taken for granted. And master strategist, though he'd been able to replace that with the father who begat such a brilliant mind. It would probably surprise his wolves that many of his plans were derived from Stiles' research, the meticulously detailed notebook he left behind that held Machiavellian ideas for conquest.
Derek crept across the floor, allowing his mind to pull back the years to the heady days of arousal spiced by fear, pretending Stiles slept in the bed. It was completely sick and wrong, but on days when he needed something more, he would roll around on the sheets, scenting them with his body and cum, as he wished he'd done when his boy still lived here.
He sighed in relief at the familiar feeling of the crisp cotton against his bare skin, his wolf growly but willing to indulge in the fantasy, enjoying the heat of another body against his.
Wait.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Scott returned to the dining room where the other Enforcers were still seated, their eyes turned towards him.
Danny was the first to reach out, sensing his pack-mate's distress, nuzzling against his throat. Scott accepted the comfort, and was soon surrounded by Erica, Jackson, and Isaac, all of them trying to rub against him. Boyd rescued the crumpled paper from his fist, smoothing the edges, though his eyes were more on Lydia's face than the drawing. Her strawberry-blond brows were drawn into a fierce scowl, her anger palpable; Allison was her best friend and Hannah her god-daughter, so naturally she was incensed by Scott's poor parenting skills.
Boyd shook his head at the mess, even as his wolf sympathized with Scott's pain. His gaze dropped to the picture, the harsh black lines revealing a short-cropped haired man with thick scars crawling over his face in a serpentine pattern that made no sense. It obscured the right side, pulling on the skin below his eye and cutting through the crease of his lips, creating a strange upturn similar to the Joker from that Batman movie. Hannah was a fantastic artist, pencil her greatest medium, and she'd managed to capture both sadness and a certain craziness in the oddly familiar face, though if pressed he wouldn't be able to explain what he meant. The body was unremarkable, tall, thin, and covered in a long-sleeved shirt over camo pants tucked into black boots.
"Hey Lydia, does this guy look familiar? I feel like I've seen him before."
The other wolves turned at his words, Scott's emotional pain forgotten for the moment.
Lydia crowded next to Boyd and stared at the picture. "He does, but I can't quite place him." It was irritating because she felt like she should know him; the jawline and that mouth sparked a foggy recollection of someone. Swiping it from Boyd's fingers, she held it up so the others could see it.
"Who does this look like?"
Scott stepped closer, finally looking at the sketch his daughter drew. He tilted his head and blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. It'd been a long time since he'd seen his best friend, but even with scars, it looked like...
"Stiles?"
A/N: This is my first foray into this fandom, so I'm just getting my feet under me. I'm not quite in tune with the characters as I am with other shows, but hopefully this was interesting enough to continue following me on their journey. Thanks for reading!
tbc
