It was dark and raining, which was so totally Stiles' luck that all he could do is glare out of his windscreen. Of course his goddamned jeep would break down on him in the middle of nowhere at the ass-crack of whatever time it was. That was his life after all.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, resorting to calling his dad to come and pick him up, and let out a frustrated sob when his phone wouldn't even light up. Of course it would be flat. Of course it would. He resolutely smacked the steering wheel, but instantly regretted it when his hand smarted.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? His engine wouldn't even turn over, his phone was flat, he was in the middle of a back road, having chosen to take a less noticeable route, so that his father would not get wind of the fact that he had left town. After all, Stiles was allowed to travel through Beacon Hills basically unchecked, but if he was planning on leaving the county, he needed his father's permission. Understandably so, but kind of annoying at the same time.
Either way, he was now probably a half an hour drive from Beacon Hills, on a small, barely even there road that was surrounded by thick woods on either side in the middle of the night. He was so dead. So so so dead. The Sheriff was absolutely going to kill him when he got home... If he got home.
What were the chances of a car driving by? Was there a chance? Most people didn't take this route, which was exactly why he had. Gah, Stiles hated how he tended to overthink things.
Stiles chewed his lip thoughtfully, the frown not leaving his face, as he glanced at his backpack sat on the passenger seat. Inside that bag was the reason he had even left Beacon Hills to begin with. Several thick, overly priced books. Seriously, it better be worth it.
The books were about runes. Stiles had got the idea several days before, when he had gone to the cinema and watched The Mortal Instruments. The use of runes in the movie had struck him. Everyone he knew was handy, and had superpowers. There was Scott and Isaac, even Derek and Cora, with their werewolf powers, Lydia being a banshee, Allison with her huntress skills... and then there was Stiles. Annoying, hyperactive Stiles that just required saving.
He had then began to wonder, as the movie progressed, if the use of runes was even possible? So, as soon as he had gotten home, he begun his research, looking to the very bowels of the internet, trying to find something useful. But the problem Stiles had found with the internet was how not everything was useful, or even truthful, and trying to find anything on the paranormal was almost impossible.
But, he had eventually found about the little new age shop, a two-hour drive away. So, of course, Stiles decided it was appropriate that he take the little trip and see if the shop, Morrigan's Cove, sold factual books. It had taken a little bit of persuasion for the owner of the shop to even mention the books, let alone sell them, but Stiles had literally worn the man down with his talking. He just talked circles around him, until the man finally caved.
Ultimately, Stiles didn't know if he had actually won that round, or if the man did, selling the books at such a ridiculous price that Stiles had actually winced as he pulled out the cash. He tried to blank the dent in his wallet from his memory. He would only find out when he got home and started to work.
But it didn't seem like Stiles was going to be getting home anytime soon with the way his luck had gone. He was still glaring at the bag, contemplating its worth. If the books were of any use—the way the bloody things cost, they better—Stiles decided it wasn't worth the risk to leave them there, sitting on the seat of his car, in the middle of nowhere, especially if he was planning on leaving the car there on the side of the road.
Stiles grabbed the bag and sighed heavily. He opened the door to the jeep and sighed again and finally clambered out of his stupid, no good, broken jeep. He slammed the door shut behind him, glared at the blue metal he could barely see in the dark, and then patted the door gently.
"Sorry, old girl. I'll come and get you tomorrow, I promise," he whispered to the jeep in a soothing voice. Stiles paid no heed that it was just a car and couldn't actually understand him. Scott was a werewolf and could understand him, after all.
He turned his back on the jeep, and started to walk. Within minutes, he was soaked to the core; his thin jacket doing nothing to keep him warm. Of course it would be the day his jeep breaks down that he decides to go without his normal seven layers of clothing, but what could be done now?
He didn't know how long he had been walking for, but it felt like forever. The bag with the big heavy books in it had begun to way down on his shoulders, causing them to ache, and his feet were certainly not enjoying the continuous walking he was doing.
Stiles could barely see the road under his feet, the moon barely even visible in the sky past the clouds, and it wasn't like it was a full moon, so even without clouds blocking its shine, it would be basically useless anyway. He groaned as he walked on, cursing his life and his luck.
Speaking of his luck, he was sure he heard something. Something somewhere behind him, or beside him, he didn't know. He couldn't see properly. Either way, he could hear something. It sounded suspiciously like heavy breathing, and Stiles had to hold his breath to make sure he wasn't just hearing his own breathing. It's not like his was quiet or anything, he was puffing quite heavily from exhaustion.
It was when something shoved into him, sending him sprawling forward onto the tarmac of the road, that Stiles really began cursing his stupidity. Maybe he should have just stayed in the jeep and prayed a car drove by. But, no, he decided to walk.
His chin hit the ground, and he bit his tongue from the force. The taste of blood flooded his mouth, his chin throbbed where he had grazed it, probably also bleeding. With wide eyes and his breathing now coming in quick gasps, Stiles tried to pull himself away from whatever had pushed him over. He heard deep laughter, and then a heavy weight landed on him, pinning him down.
He could feel warm breath on the back of his neck, his bag being shifted around his back and he clawed at the ground, trying to get away from whoever, whatever, was sitting on him.
"Get off, get off!" he screamed, struggling. He could barely move, and the wind had been knocked quite proficiently out of him. Terror was seeping through him. He had absolutely no idea what was on him.
A hand trailed down his side, where his thin jacket and t-shirt below it had pulled up in his tumble, displaying pale skin. The fingers of whoever was on him were cold, freezing cold, and sent shivers down his spine.
"You smell delicious," a deep voice whispered in his ear, and Stiles turned his head, trying to get the away from the moist breath. The man behind him chuckled. Well, Stiles had no idea if he was a man, but he was male, whatever species he was.
"I don't know whether to kill you, or play with you," the voice whispered again, the hand on Stiles' side still caressing him, while his other one went into his hair and ran through the strands. Stiles wasn't sure if he was wishing he still had his buzz cut or if having hair was better at keeping those weirdly cold hands away.
Stiles was writhing, trying to get his body out from beneath this... this whatever the male was. Maybe he was just a human killer? No, Stiles could never get the lucky. The man let out a breathy laugh against Stiles' ear, moaning.
"I'm thinking you want to play, little one," he whispered into Stiles' ear.
"NoNoNoNo!" Stiles was chanting, his breath coming in short gasps, the fear turning his body almost as cold as the hands touching him. He wanted to get away, wanted to get out from under him. The darkness, and the man sitting on him made Stiles feel like he was suffocating. He couldn't see properly and couldn't breathe properly. Was this how it was all going to end for him? A complete surprise, like someone that didn't know anything about the Supernatural, and that it actually existed in their fucked up world? God, how was this even his life.
Suddenly, the man was swearing in his ear, and pushing himself up off of Stiles, and Stiles barely managed to hear the man run off, but he could hear a car coming towards him. Stiles wasn't sure if he was relieved, or if he was being passed from one bad thing to another, so he just remained laying on the ground. Not that he would be able to get up, even if he wanted to, his body having gone numb.
The car had stopped, several metres away. Stiles wasn't sure how far, not having the energy to even look up. Footsteps rushed towards him, then a large hand fell on his back, just above where his bag was still resting. Stiles flinched.
"Stiles?" The voice was familiar. So familiar, and definitely safe that Stiles let out a shocked sob. He turned his head, and saw Derek kneeling next to him, his face illuminated by the headlights that were coming from his car. His hair was wet, but his eyes were wide, and his mouth was twisted in confusion and worry. It wasn't an entirely familiar expression, but it wasn't entirely new.
Stiles managed to pull himself to his knees, his relief palpable, even to Derek, who didn't remove his hand, keeping it there to steady Stiles.
"Oh, my God!" Stiles gasped, lunging forward into Derek, and wrapping his arms around him. Derek fell backwards slightly, but managed to not fall entirely, his arms returning the gesture, holding Stiles to him.
"What happened?" Derek asked. Stiles peered up at him, his own eyes wide and wet.
"I don't even know. Why are you here?" he asked the older man. Derek hadn't been anywhere near Beacon Hills for months. He and Cora had left just after the Alpha Pack and the Darach had been sorted. And while Stiles wasn't entirely devastated about the two Hales leaving, he hadn't been too happy either.
"We were coming back to town. Cora needs to settle down and finish high school, and we figured that Beacon Hills was the devil we knew, so we were coming back," Derek muttered, staring down at Stiles, as though he was trying to figure something out. "We saw your jeep a few miles back, and when you weren't in it, we decided to keep an eye out for you. We could hear your heart beat, it was all erratic, and we could hear someone else, but didn't know who they were. No one else was here when we got here. Stiles, what happened?" Derek demanded, the frown on his face such a familiar sight that Stiles felt himself relaxing.
Stiles actually smiled slightly.
"The jeep broke down. My phone was flat. I was stupid enough to walk. Something pushed me over, held me down, threatened me and then ran off when you turned up," Stiles said, decided to leave out the actual comments that the being had said to him. He didn't need to relive that. Derek nodded along with him, before standing up and pulling Stiles to his shaky feet.
"I'll give you a lift back to town," he said. Stiles' smile was huge and almost painful.
"Thank God, for a moment there I thought you were going to leave me on the side of the road," Stiles said, half joking. He actually had no idea what Derek would do. But he figured, if the man was willing to let Stiles cling to him, then he wasn't going to leave him. Derek rarely left Stiles alone and in danger. That was more a Scott thing to do, Stiles thought guiltily.
Derek didn't even deign to respond, instead, he turned towards his car, which was not the Camaro, to Stiles' surprise, but was rather a dark SUV, and climbed in. Stiles walked towards the car as well, but, seeing Cora in the front passenger seat, took the seat behind her.
"Hey Cora," he greeted her as he clipped his seat belt. The younger Hale sibling smiled at him.
"You alright, Stiles?" she asked him, to which he nodded. Derek began driving. Stiles stared out his window, realising that his hands were shaking quite badly, and that there was probably blood dripping off his chin. Of course, Derek hadn't mentioned that, the man too used to the sight of blood probably.
The two Hales in the front seats didn't speak for a while after they began driving. But Stiles was not blind to the continuous glances he was thrown through the rear view mirror, nor was he blind to the concern in them. He was probably throwing them off with his silence, which was something he did often. Be silent, that is.
After a few minutes, Stiles and Derek caught each others eye in the mirror, and they stared. The concern Stiles could see in Derek's eye just brought back the memory of being at the loft just after the Sheriff had been kidnapped, when Ms. Blake was trying to tell Derek that Stiles was lying about her being the Darach. Derek had stared at Stiles, with Stiles begging for the man to believe him, and Derek staring back, the look in his eyes one of extreme concern.
The concern for Stiles was something he didn't think he would ever get used to. At the time in the loft, it was something Stiles wanted, needed, but right now, right now, Stiles didn't think he could handle the concern without feeling like he was going to fall apart completely. He was barely managing to contain the outright ugly sobbing that was threatening to start at any moment and if Derek continued to look at him like that, it was likely to start sooner rather than later, and Stiles didn't want to be in front of anyone when that happened.
He tore his eyes away, unable to continue looking at the man who had, once again, saved him. But, what did he save him from? Was it just some man that was out to kill, or rape him? Or was it some type of monster that was intent on killing him.
"You smell delicious."
The words floated through his head, so loud and clear, like they had been spoken inside the car, rather than in his head, and Stiles gasped, his head turning this way and that, looking for the person the voice belonged to. Of course, the only other people in the car were Derek and Cora, who were both staring at him, Cora having turned fully in her seat, while Derek's eyes were once again on him in the rear view mirror.
"What?" he asked them, trying to play cool. Both of them narrowed their eyes at him in an almost identical fashion, and Stiles felt laughter bubble up inside of him. Sure, it was slightly hysterical laughter, but laughter was laughter right?
"Your heartbeat, Stiles," Cora was saying. "It sky-rocketed."
Stiles shook his head, but the girl's face remained serious, despite the laugh that was spilling from Stiles' lips.
"I recognised a tree? It was happiness?" Stiles tried, not even caring that they could tell he was lying by the way his heart probably skipped a beat. God, he hated werewolves. He wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for werewolves.
Which is total bullshit because he wouldn't even be in this mess if he could have kept his curiosity under wraps all those months ago when he had dragged Scott out to look for that dead body.
The dead body that was the older sister to the two werewolves sitting in front of him. Shit. God he hated himself. He wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for himself. Gah.
The two werewolves were still staring at him.
"Oi, watch the road!" he snapped at Derek, who actually listened and turned his eyes back to the road. Cora, however, didn't turn back around; instead she kept her eyes, and her entire body, facing Stiles.
"Whatever happened, Stiles," she began, her voice soft, gentle, as though she were afraid she would startle him, which, yeah, given the circumstances he had just suffered, he would probably startle pretty easily. "You're safe now." Her eyes were boring into his, pleading with him to believe her.
When Stiles first met Cora, he hadn't particularly liked her. Sure she was hot, but, she was too surly and too much like her brother, but as they got to know each other, he had started to like her, like he had started to like her brother. And he had saved her life, like he had saved her brother's life. It was like a pattern, Stilinski saving the Hales. And killing them, in Peter's case.
Stiles knew what Cora meant. Knew that she meant he was safe with them. That nothing would happen to him whilst he was with them. But that wasn't exactly true, because a lot of pain had happened to him whilst he was with them. But, so not the point, those were under completely different circumstances, after all.
Stiles nodded his head. Even if his hands were shaking, and his blood was cold, and his chin and knees and hands hurt, a headache building behind his eyes the size of Australia, he would pretend he was alright just so they would stop being concerned with him. Even if there were an honest to god reason to be concerned, he would pretend otherwise.
This was the very reason he had gone to Morrigan's Cove, so that he could learn to protect himself in some way, so other people wouldn't have to, and on the very drive back from purchasing the ticket to safety, he had been attacked. It was so his luck.
"You know. I'd gone out of town to buy something to protect me," Stiles began, muttering, not sure if he was talking to them, or just voicing his thoughts in general. "And on the drive back home everything turns to shit," he raised a shaking hand to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail absentmindedly. "My life sucks."
Derek snorted. Cora reached a hand back to him, and rested it on his shoulder. Stiles resisted flinching. Cora didn't miss it though, and her eyes narrowed.
"Stiles..." she began.
"I'm fine," he whispered, pushing her hand off him, and rubbing his face, avoiding his chin like the plague. Seriously, that shit hurt. He closed his eyes and rested the side of his head on the window, appreciating the coolness of it, unlike the freezing cold of the man's hands.
The rain was getting heavier, and Stiles realised he was wearing wet clothes. With everything that had happened, he forgot that it had been raining on him.
"Where are you guys going to be staying when you get back?" Stiles asked, needing the subject to be changed entirely and for the focus to be off of him.
"Derek's found us a proper apartment. One that we can actually furnish and live in, and hopefully not be attacked in," Cora answered him, obviously realising what he wanted. She shot him a small, understanding smile. "It's actually not far from your place," she admitted with a small shrug. Stiles nodded his head, showing he was still listening, despite closing his eyes.
"You should check it out with us?" the girl offered. Before Stiles even had a chance to respond, Derek interrupted.
"Maybe tomorrow or something. I think Stiles needs to get home and into bed. I'm betting the Sheriff isn't going to be to happy with him for being so late," the older Hale said.
It was Stiles' turn to snort. Understatement of the century. His father was going to absolutely skin him alive.
"Not to mention, he looks like he's going to pass out at any moment," Derek said.
Stiles' eyes flew open at that statement and he sat up straight, and glared at the man, who was smirking at him in the mirror. Stiles really wanted to make some type of snarky comment, but his mind came up blank, and he ended up just shrugging in agreement. All he wanted to do right now was take a nice hot shower, scrub the strange man off his skin, and curl up in bed and sleep for a year.
Yeah that sounded nice.
With those thoughts floating pleasantly through his head, he smiled benignly at Derek, surprising him. Derek just shook his head in return. Stiles definitely prided himself on being able to keep people on their toes, even if it was unintentional.
"I thought he had ADHD, not bipolar," Cora whispered to Derek, but not quiet enough that Stiles missed it. He glared at her, and immaturely, he poked his tongue out at her. Hey, it's not like he was an adult, he could still be childish if he wanted. And after the night he had had, he was sure he warranted the need for childish antics.
Stiles relaxed into his seat, as Cora and Derek had a quiet conversation in the front of the car. He once again closed his eyes, and let the quiet comfort of the car wash over him, lulling him into a light doze, the voices of his saviours a pleasant murmur that washed over him.
Before Stiles even knew it, Derek was leaning over him, shaking him gently awake.
"You're home, Stiles, time to wake up," the older man was whispering, and Stiles blinked owlishly up at him. He had not realised he'd actually fallen asleep. With jerky movements, Stiles undid his seat belt and climbed out of the car, Derek's hand on his arm steadying him as he went. Stiles was about to walk away with a nod, when Derek handed him his forgotten backpack.
Stiles stared at Derek a moment, eyes not wavering, watching the green he could see because of the street lamp several feet away.
"Thank you, Derek. Honestly, if you hadn't turned up... Thank you," Stiles murmured, as serious as he had ever managed to be. Derek nodded his head.
"I'm glad I was there to help," was his reply, his voice honest and earnest. And Stiles believed him. He turned away from the werewolf, and walked up to his front door.
With his still shaking hands, he managed to put the key in the lock and undo the door. He had barely shut the door behind himself when he heard his Dad's fake cough behind him. With his eyes closed, he put the bag on the floor beside the door, and slowly turned, opening his eyes as he did so, to see his Dad standing there, arms crossed, heavy glare gracing his features.
"Heya, Dad," Stiles said awkwardly, giving a small wave. The glare just deepened as the Sheriff took in the state of his face.
"Where the hell have you been? It's after midnight!" Dad yelled, stepping forward. Stiles stepped back, his eyes wide, his back hitting the door. His Dad's eyes widened in return, and he took a step back as well. He suddenly seemed unsure. It was very rare that Stiles actually backed down when his dad was yelling or telling him off.
"Uh, my car broke down," Stiles managed to say after a deep breath. He stepped forward. This was his Dad; he wasn't going to hurt him. He was just angry. That's all. No need to get all worked up over nothing, idiot.
"Why didn't you call me?" Dad demanded, his voice weaker than it had been.
"Because my phone was flat," Stiles murmured, before racing forward and flinging himself into Dad's arms, silently begging for his forgiveness. Dad wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back soothingly.
"It's okay, Stiles, I was just worried." The anger had obviously fled, and Stiles sagged in relief. "What happened to your face?" Dad asked, and Stiles felt himself re-tense. He didn't want to have this conversation again.
"I fell over on the side of the road, hit my chin, bit my tongue," he said, not even bothering to fake a laugh. Dad would easily believe this as the truth because Stiles was, after all, a klutz. The thing was, Dad knew about werewolves and all that now, but he wasn't even sure if this was supernaturally related, so why get Dad worked up when he'd never see the man that had attacked him ever again? Hopefully.
"Stiles..." Dad said, shaking his head, amusement evident in his tone. "Go shower and head to bed. We'll talk in the morning," he said, squeezing his son once more before letting him go and pushing him towards the stairs. Stiles stumbled in the direction gratefully and basically bolted up the stairs.
He stood under the hot spray of the shower, relishing in the heat. He let the water run over his face and over his body, his eyes closed, breathing deeply. After several minutes of relaxing, he began to wash his body, scrubbing hard at his side, the side where that man had touched him, caressed him. It actually hurt, a dull ache that he hadn't noticed before.
With a glance down and a heavy gasp, he saw a dark mottling of bruises up his side. The man hadn't been pressing that hard, why on earth had it bruised. He felt his knees buckle, and he landed in the bottom of the shower painfully, his eyes unable to leave the marks that littered his side.
His breath caught in his throat. Stiles closed his eyes, counted to four and opened them again. The bruises were still there. He poked at them. They twinged.
"What the hell?" Stiles whispered. He glared. He pouted. He frowned. And with the water rushing over him, he could easily deny that he cried.
Obviously, not human. Obviously, monster. Just his goddamned luck.
He stayed in the shower until the water went cold and his skin had pruned and his tears were no longer tears but just water from the shower. His breathing had returned to normal, and the bruises still littered his skin.
Un-fucking-believable.