Notes: So, I liked reading about Stiles with magic, and thus I wanted to write work in which Stiles has that. I have about three chapters down. I'm not going to keep this in perfect concordance with canon, but I'm starting at the beginning of season one and adding a lot of Stiles and Derek. I'll add more tags as more characters make appearances and more tags as they are needed.

I'm not a great erotica writer, but I plan on throwing some in here at some point.

Stiles fidgeted on the couch, energy buzzing through him, like he'd had copious amounts of energy drinks. That was the problem: he hadn't had any energy drinks. His dad had thrown him in the house before running back to the station—with strict instructions not to leave. Well, that blows. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

With all the extra energy, and his next scheduled dose of adderall not due until the morning, he couldn't focus on his homework. Couldn't even focus on playing video games or watching a movie—for once. His ADHD hadn't been this bad for years. It completely felt like he had never taken any medication at all.

Working on the computer was proving to be equally impossible. He rose off his desk chair and paced around the room. He tried texting Scott, but his best friend didn't text back. He gave up after three attempts and flopped onto his bed. Still, he couldn't help be sit up a minute later.

Stiles walked downstairs and rummaged around the refrigerator, looking for something to eat, but nothing looked appetizing. After looking for the other half of the dead body last night, and the weird encounter with Derek Hale in the woods this afternoon, the sound behind him caused him to whirl around. Some old guy, total creeper status, leaned against the counter.

"Mr. Stilinski," Creeper said. His bald pate dully reflected the low lighting of the kitchen.

"Um. Hey. Who are you?"

"Who I am is of relative unimportance to you. We have become aware that you have been activated. Please tell me who activated you?"

Stiles pulled at his clothes, confused. He poked himself in the stomach. "Sorry to break it to you mister creeper, but I'm not a robot. Pretty sure you have the wrong guy. Pretty sure your breaking and entering. Pretty sure my dad will arrest you."

The old man smiled. Totally creepy. "I'm well aware of your father's role in this community. And I am well aware that you are not a robot."

"Um. Could you please leave then? You're kinda freaking me out."

Creeper unfolded his arms. "You are completely unaware, aren't you? You're mother told you nothing?"

"Dude, that's a soft spot. Fuck off." Stiles moved slowly toward the kitchen knives.

The guys held up his hand apologetically. "Forgive me. I did not expect to find the Investigator completely unaware. Such things rarely happen."

"Investi-who? What are you talking about?" Stiles had his back to the fridge now, but he was curious. This man knew his mother. His eyes flicked to the back door and then to Creeper. The door was locked.

"No need to be afraid, Mr. Stilinski. I am only here to see who activated you, and since you do not know what that means, let me explain."

Stiles nodded once. "You've got a couple minutes before I call my dad."

"No need. You have magic, Mr. Stilinski. Inherited from your mother."

"I—what?" Stiles was at a loss. "I have what? From my mom?"

The man sighed. "If you would like the full explanation, will you allow me to gift you her line of memories? She requested they go to you when the time was appropriate. It seems that this is the time."

"Uh… that sounds painful." Stiles gave up on his quest for knives. "And weird. Definitely weird. And kinda creepy. Weird and creepy. Yup, that explains it pretty good."

The man said nothing, still leaning against the counter. Stiles drummed his fingers on the refrigerator door.

"Okay fine."

Mr. Creeper took a few steps then leaned forward to touch his fingertips to Stile's temples. His hands were surprisingly cool and dry, callouses a bit rough on his head. Images flooded his mind, smells, tastes, snippets of half-heard sounds, the feel of fabrics and hot water. Laughter, tears, and ever-present memories.

But the memories were jumbled, like they'd been put in wrong order, that they didn't belong to him. He looked up at the man as he drew away. His name teased against the flush of new memories.

"High Councilman Aelfrick?"

He nodded, looking pleased. "Yes."

"I—I know things?"

"The memories are new and fresh. They will absorb into your normal memories, but they have been tagged as not-yours. You will know they are not yours. It will help keep you sane, and make the transfer process… easier."

The High Councilman leaned up against the counter again.

"I have some questions. Like a lot of questions. I don't know where to begin? Can I ask questions? Am I allowed to? Are you allowed to answer them? If not, I totally understand, but man this is kinda cool."

Aelfrick shook his head. "No questions tonight. You will be contacted again. We need you trained and ready to face the dangers again."

"But—?"

The man puffed out in black mist, and for a moment Stiles thought the entire encounter was completely made up, until he had the strange memory of seeing himself running around the house as a four-year-old, and a feeling of contentment coloring the vision. From his mother.

Holy shit. Magic was real.