Flare
Stiles is alone when his Mark flares into existence.
Small favors, yeah? He's alone, and he's home, and so there's no one to interrupt or interfere.
He doesn't panic. That's important to note, that he doesn't panic. He's the son of a law enforcement officer, and a former civil rights activist specializing in Matches, which along with being a nosy borderline genius means Stiles knows more about Matches and Marks than most – and definitely more than he should. A lot more than he should, in fact, which is why his non-panic is noteworthy.
Because he should. He really really should.
Instead he goes through a mental checklist. The magic, or whatever, in the flare, that causes the Marks registers with the Council pretty much instantly. Once the newly Marked pair shows on their radar S.O.P. for the Council is to notify the dominant half, and to send out a patrol to pick up the submissive to deliver them to a training facility.
Nine out of ten times that patrol consists of local law enforcement. Between the time needed to drive from the sheriff's station to the Stilinski home, and the Council's paperwork, that means Stiles has a minimum of fifteen minutes (for some reason it never takes less than five minutes from the flare to a patrol being sent out. More sometimes, but never less). If it's decided that having the sheriff – or his deputies – pick up his own son is bad form, a patrol will be sent from one of the surrounding towns, meaning it'll take at least half an hour.
Provided, of course, that a patrol is sent to the house at all. It could be it won't. It could be that Stiles'll get a call instead. It all depends on his Mark. He could end up being labeled dominant. Because Stiles? Does not feel like a submissive, and haven't ever. There's not a bone in his body made to bow down to someone else. So it's entirely possible he'll walk out of this a dominant.
Of course, that takes luck, and Stiles... Well, Stiles is rarely lucky.
He isn't this time either.
As he stares at his Mark – small, grouped, filled red, made to fit inside a circle of some kind – in the bathroom mirror Stiles still doesn't panic. He feels nothing, really. Then determination takes over. When he walks back into his room, dressed again, he's a man (because age means nothing right now, his situation has turned him from boy to man) with a mission.
There's a letter for his dad already written, waiting in Stiles's box of memories. Still, he rips out a page from one of his notebooks, grabs a pen and sits down to write another one. He's got eight minutes. Eight minutes and one piece of paper, and a lifetime of love and regrets to share. It's not enough, and it's too much, and yet Stiles is going to give it his best shot, because it's his dad, dammit, and there's nothing else he can do.
He sips on a glass of water as he writes, trying to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth as he focuses on putting words on the emotions spinning inside him.
It's the hardest thing he's done since his mom died.
There's two minutes left on his countdown when the doorbell rings. Stiles jumps in his chair, not expecting anyone quite yet, and now, now he panics a little. Did he miscalculate? Has he mistimed things too badly?
It's not his dad, nor is it any of the deputies, that much Stiles can tell from the surveillance camera. The man is wearing civilian clothes, but that doesn't mean anything. He could still be part of a patrol, with the rest of them hiding out of sight. He could be nobody, just stopping to ask for directions or wanting to talk about his god. Or he could be Stiles's Match.
Stiles really, really wants it to be some crazy, here to talk about the second coming of Christ, or why the G.O.P. should have their votes, but. Track reccord indicates he's not.
Patrol or Match then. Stiles's money is on his Match. Not just because a patrol really shouldn't have gotten here so quickly, but because of a glimmer of something inside. Well. Better go out and say hello then. After all, this man is Stiles's Match, the one person in the universe he is supposedly most compatible with.
It would be rude to not at least meet face to face, now that they have the option and there's no Council representative to stop them.
His Match is named Derek, and he's stupidly hot with the cutest smile and the most adorable bunny teeth. On the outside he's the kind of partner Stiles would never have dreamed of being allowed, and something makes Stiles want to believe that he's just as amazing on the inside. Everyone he's ever met would say that Stiles has really lucked out.
(Remember? Stiles and luck? Yeah.)
He swallows down a lump and prepares to say something, anything, when Derek tilts his head as a weird twitch travels across his face.
"Is something wrong? You... You smell strange. Wrong."
I smell? Oh no...
"You're a were?" A quick flash of red answers his question. "Oh fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't think... I thought whoever I was Matched with, they'd feel shitty for a while, but it'd be okay in the long run. I didn't plan on my other being a were." Because while humans can walk away from a broken Match, can love outside their Marks, weres...don't. The Mark changes them, and if they lose their Match they lose themselves. A Marked were rarely survives their Match, and out of the ones who do the lucky ones get put down immediately.
The possibility of his Match being a were just might be the only thing Stiles did not plan for.
"I'm sorry, Derek."
And those words, just like the ones waiting upstairs for his dad, are not nearly enough. Unlike his dad however, Derek doesn't have a lifetime of "I love you" to soften the blow. He's got nothing, and now he never will.
"What do you mean?" A deep breath, a sniff, another red flash as Derek snarls at Stiles around dropping fangs. "What did you do?"
"I'm sorry. I am. In my defense, I never in a million years figured I'd be Matched with a were. But Derek, I made myself a promise years ago that I wouldn't accept being labeled a submissive. I'd rather die."
That brings another snarl, followed by a whine.
"I won't survive sub-training, not my soul. My body might make it, but everything that makes up me? It'd be gone. And so I decided that I'd rather die wholly me and fully in control than have the Council and their trainers kill my soul. I'm sorry I'm dragging you down with me, but I'm not changing my mind over someone I've know all of three minutes."
Not that changing his mind would do much good. Stiles knows his body, and it's telling him that the poison he swallowed right after identifying his Mark is doing its job. By the time the patrol comes it'll be too late.
"There's nothing wrong with being submissive! Do you even know any subs? Because I do, and–"
"Yeah, I know a couple of submissives. More importantly, I've met a couple both before and after their Marks showed, as well as before and after sub-training. And what happened to them? I won't let that happen to me."
There's more though, and well. Might as well share with the class, right? The longer Stiles talks, the more time the poison has to do its job, and less chances of Derek thinking of grabbing him and going to the hospital.
"My mom was a civil rights activist. The last two years of her life she focused solely on Marks, and Matches. She was part of a network that was trying to figure out why the Council insists on Matches being one submissive and one dominant, and what it is that causes the differences in the Marks.
"See, she, and the others, had noticed that people who hadn't an ounce of submissiveness in them would still be labeled subs, and come out of sub-training a completely different person. We're always told that it's because during training they learn to let go of their inhibitions, and that meditation teaches them to see who they truly are, without fear and stubbornness clouding things. Except mom's network were finding more and more evidence that pointed to it being less meditation and training, and more torture and breaking.
"They found stories, documented ones, of people dying during training, where the bodies were cremated before the families were even notified. And that wasn't even the worst part. One of the women in the network had a college girlfriend whose Mark appeared when they were together. Neither of them were out, and since the girlfriend's family was less than accepting they agreed to pretend she was alone when the Mark flared. So Mary, she went home. Next day she found out that her girlfriend had been sent off to sub-training.
"She wasn't going to accept that though, not when she loved her, and not when her bossy dominant girlfriend was completely unsuited for life as a sub. Took almost three months, but Mary managed to track her down and kidnap her. Only, instead of her girlfriend she had a perfect little sub on her hands, begging to be allowed to go back to her Match."
"That happens. Some people are happy to be with their Match you know."
"Oh, I know. I'm not denying that, not at all. One problem though. I told you they were together when the Mark flared, right? Well, Mary saw it happen. And her girlfriend's Mark? Should never have gotten her labeled submissive. Her original Mark that is. Because the one she had when Mary found her? Wasn't the one that formed with the flare."
And right there is all the proof Stiles needs to know that the Council is corrupt, and he'd rather die than be at their mercy. He'd planned on taking up his mom's fight once he got old enough, but that was before. Having a Mark, and a Match, changes things. There's only one way for him to fight right now, and this is it.
"Are you saying that someone changed a Mark?"
Derek sounds outraged, as if someone has pissed on something he holds holy, and Stiles can't help but find it a little endearing. He wants to blame the Match, but it's probably just him. And Derek. Don't forget Derek, and his general level of adorable.
"Yeah. And it's not a onetime occurrence either. Mom's network had proof of dozens of cases, both when it came to changed Marks and suspicious deaths, and that was with working in secret. They had proof of the Council and law enforcement covering things up, like with Mary's girlfriend. They had testimonies from medical professionals who had been unable to find anything to support the dominant/submissive labeling. They had testimonies from witches whose Marks had never been registered by the Council, as they lived in warded communities, and who never developed dom/sub tendencies when in a relationship with their Match.
"They basically had a fuckton of proof that the whole system is corrupt, and they were going to bring it down, the Council along with it.
"And then my mom died. Hit and run, her and one of the network's most important witnesses, a psychiatrist who used to work at a training facility. The rest of them went underground after that."
His dad had been left alone due to not knowing anything about his wife's activities, and Stiles had been overlooked on account of only being nine. Big mistake. Big, big mistake.
"Sub-training is about breaking a person so completely nothing of their soul or spirit remains, and then turn the shell of their body into a well-train pet. A possession. I've know since I was nine that I would die before I allowed myself to be sent to a training facility. I didn't know about you though. I didn't know I'd be killing you as well. And I'm sorry, Derek, for what it's worth. I'm so sorry that you got dragged into this – that I'm doing this to you.
"The worst thing is, I think we could have been amazing, if only the world was different. In a society – no, in a world where our Marks meant we could be together as you and me instead of as dominant and broken I would have loved to be your Match."
And he means it. Looking at Derek Stiles sees everything he could ever have wished for, and if he could have that and his soul intact Stiles would have reached for it with both hands and never let go. He would have counted himself lucky.
He feels another flare, this time in his soul instead of on his body. There's an echo of that same flare in Derek's eyes, and it hurts. The teachings of their culture tells them they're are meant for each other, and yet that same culture also teaches them that they can only be together if one of them is broken completely first. It makes no sense. It makes Stiles want to scream and rage and curse.
Instead he reaches out and takes Derek's hand in his, braiding their fingers together. This, right here, is all they get. So he'll take it.
Derek's whole body shudders, his eyes flashes back and forth, and he takes large deep breaths with his mouth open. Then he squares his jaw, and uses their linked hands to pull Stiles against his chest. And Stiles lets it happen. He lets Derek hold him tight, and bury his face in his neck, and breath in his scent.
It's a good place to be when the end comes he thinks.
When the next flare comes Stiles is not alone.