Alright! This is my first Teen Wolf story, and I'm really excited! There will be OCs, but first and foremost this is my try to write my own additional "season", so OCs are pretty much a given. Allison lives, because fuck it. This can be placed post season 3. Romance will, most likely, not be the focus of this one, but there *will* be pairings.
Feedback would make my day.
Enjoy!
Stiles rocked back and forth on his feet, glancing at his watch every so often. The night air was warm and humid, making his shirt stick to his skin like a wet towel. He tugged at it, making a face. It reminded him of the nights he awoke screaming, the pyjama glued to his sweaty torso; It reminded him of his father engulfing him in a strong hug, practically choking the panic out of reminded him of the tears and the pain and the breathlessness.
The after effects of the Nogitsune were still there, and Stiles knew they would be for a while; but they weren't as bad as they used to be.
Shaking his head to distract his mind, he let his eyes wander. The dark forest stretched out behind him, but as he looked at it, he didn't feel afraid. Instead, a deep calmness settled over him, washing away the nervousness. The familiarity of it was peaceful.
"Come on, Scotty," he mumbled. "I'll give you another five minutes before I drive the fuck home."
The minutes ticked by, but Scott was nowhere to be seen. Stiles began to run scenarios through his head; Scott having an accident with his motorcycle, Scott having a run in with hunters, Scott being distracted by his girlfriend Kira – and the longer he thought about the possibilities for Scott's lateness, the more unsettled he got.
Scott wasn't late, never. Never that much. It just didn't happen.
Stiles readjusted his backpack and took a step forward. "Scott! If you're out there playing a prank on me; come out or I'll shove that batch of wolfsbane I have in my pocket up your ass!"
SIlence.
Nothing.
Exasperated, Stiles let out a sigh. "You've got to be kidding me." He'd driven out here in the dead of night, prepared to get shit done, and now his partner in crime was not showing up, leaving him standing at the edge of the woods with a flashlight and a backpack full or ropes, karabiners and other 'let's-find-another-corpse' equipment.
Stiles shook his head. He knew waiting was a lost cause at this point. Slowly, he made his way towards the blue, battered cheep standing at the roadside. The streetlights above him flickered momentarily, making him pause and take a look over his shoulder.
Months of being exposed to supernatural bullshit had made him sensitive to everything pointing towards supernatural bullshit; and flickering lights were up there on his list of 'hey that seems strange, there's supernatural bullshit happening'.
Stiles stared at the forest for a good minute, but nothing happened.
Shrugging his shoulders, he grabbed the doorhandle. He was about to step into the vehicle when he heard leaves rustling behind him. Turning around, his eyes widened in shock.
Nothing could've prepared him for the sight of his best friend rushing towards him, a feral look on his face, his eyes glowing blood red.
"Sco-!"
Scott snarled viciously as he threw himself at Stiles, and Stiles knew there was nothing he could do but close his eyes.