Summary: Stiles is lost. He feels weak and alone, but he doesn't want anyone to know. He'll get better and help the pack. He just hopes that he'll be accepted and that he isn't getting in over his head. With some imagination and knowledge, he'll go far. Stiles will do anything for the pack.
Author's note:
So first fanfic. I hope it is well received. I know that stiles is a little angsty...ok alot. but it will get better. I hope to make it a long one and post by monthly.
The Untapped, The Harnessed, The Released
Story 1: The Untapped
Chapter 1: Aftermath
Stiles put on a smile and suppressed the tumult of emotions that was about to crush him as he grabbed a blanket from his jeep for Jackson. No one but Scott saw his pain as the now-resurrected Jackson embraced Lydia, the love of his life and he was going to keep it that way. He handed the blanket to the couple.
He started to assess the damage to his baby, focusing on anything but the people around him. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as he had thought. A small victory, perhaps. He would blame it on pulling too fast into a space at Wal-mart and hitting a light pole that had suddenly jumped out of nowhere, if his dad ever asked. However, it was just another lie. It just added to the litany of lies and reasons that he was losing his dad's trust. So maybe it wasn't really a victory after all.
Derek, Peter, and Isaac left in a group. Scott joined the Argents to talk to Allison, and Stiles was left with Lydia and Jackson. He sighed internally. Opening the driver's side, he got in the blue Jeep before he told the others: "Let's get you home."
The drive was quiet. No music. No talking. Not even any audible breathing. Stiles, for once, found solace in the silence. He kept a composed face so that the others couldn't see the pain, the grief, and the anger raging inside of him. He hoped that Jackson wasn't acquainted enough with his new powers to pick up on his emotions.
His inner-mantra kept repeating that their destination was Just a little farther. I can make it; it was the only thing delaying his inevitable breakdown. If he could get to Jackson's house and out of the werewolf's range of hearing, he could let go of the last few hours of pain and defeat. As Stiles dropped them off, he swallowed the lump in his throat, putting on his best smile and saying with surprising sincerity: "I'm glad that you're okay, Jackson." And he was. He was glad, that Lydia didn't have to watch Jackson die. That she didn't have to suffer the pain of losing the person she cared for the most and who cared for her as well.
As the door to the house closed, Stiles sped off, flying through the neighborhood. He had to get to home. As he drove, tears streamed down his face. He pulled off the road to recollect himself. He had to see the road in order to drive.
Why is this happening? To me. My friends and my dad. This will never be over. I can't have peace. Or happiness.
After a few minutes, he got back on the road. As he drove, he replayed the night's events, the victory on the field, the savage beating, the last minute heroics, the horrible death, and the tragic loss of his hope for his love life with Lydia. He was numb. No one had his back.
I need to help myself. I have to change. I can't be the liability anymore. I have to figure it out. But that is for the morning.
As he turned onto his road, he buried it all. He put on the face of a champion for his dad. But when he pulled into the driveway, he noticed that his dad's cruiser was missing, which surprised him. He walked into the house and entered the kitchen, where he found a note:
HAD TO GO INTO WORK.
I'LL SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.
LOVE, DAD
Stiles let out a sigh of relief. He could finally put this day behind him and move on. He could finally start over. Tomorrow was going to be the start of a new beginning.
I will be prepared. I can know what is coming. I will… NEVER be in the position again. I can't handle that. I will let her go. I will no longer pine for someone who does not want me. I will protect me and those I care about above all.
He collapsed onto his bed and drifted off to a fevered sleep of lacrosse giants, flying fists, and heart-consuming lizards.
Stiles woke up in a panic. He tried to control his breathing in order to stop the oncoming panic attack from reaching full force. The sun wasn't even out yet, but there was absolutely no way that he was going to be able to go back to sleep now. No way that he was going to face those nightmares again. He glanced over at his clock, noticing that it was only 5 o'clock in the morning.
He got in the shower to rid himself of the film of sweat that he had developed throughout the night, and he was about to rub one out to erase the nightmares from his mind, but he was far too sore from the game and the beating of the night before. His flanks and ribs had an uncountable number of fist-sized bruises. He palpated his ribs, feeling for any breaks. He was lucky, though, finding none. His left shoulder, however, was pretty much one big bruise caused by a nasty side check from one of the bigger defensemen.
He changed into some sweats and a clean t-shirt, he decided to go to his fall-back plan to clear his mind: research. 'Research and make a plan,' he thought to himself. He decided that his plan would be named 'Weak Me to BAFM-Me Plan' or 'We MeT BaMP' for short. So, research, start training, and then be ready for the next shit storm. He started looking up martial arts classes, survival training, how to hide weapons on his person, and even laws for getting a gun permit.
Oh, he thought as an idea popped into his head. I could ask dad to take me shooting again. It'd be a great way to bond. And we haven't anything that like that in a long time. Plus, it would be great practice.
He continued on with the first step of his plan. He worked for a good 4 hours. Then he went down to start breakfast and make coffee. He noticed that the cruiser still wasn't back. He finished with breakfast, and just as he was finishing up, the sheriff finally pulled into the driveway. Stiles put away the Tupperware he was going to put his dad's portion in and plated the food.
John Stilinski was surprised to see Stiles up with breakfast on the table. Stiles could tell that his dad was tired and he was glad that he made food for the lawman. John sat down and started to eat. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Stiles' curiosity got the best of him.
"So, why did you have to go back to work?" Stiles blurted out and winced.
His dad give him the 'really Stiles?' look and continued eating.
"Come on dad," he whined. "Look, you stayed out all night and look perplexed. I can help." He wiggled his eyebrows to add emphasis to the fact that he was right. However, it was more comical than convincing, and it caused his dad to spray coffee over him and the table.
After John cleared his airway of coffee, he relented. "Jackson Whittemore's body went missing from the morgue. But, when I went to the Whittemore's house, he answered the door. How can you explain a dead boy walking out of the door of the morgue without the security cameras picking it up?" He let out an exasperated breath.
Stiles, quick on his feet, answered guiltily with a lie. "I can't guess about the tapes, but there are cases where after a person was declared dead their hearts start back up," He stated quite matter-of-factly.
"I guess. But there was a lot of blood loss at the field." He sighed.
"The body is an awesome machine," Stiles retorted.
The sheriff nodded, deciding to just let it go.
After he finished, he said, "Well I need some sleep, try to be quiet?"
"Okay, goodnight Dad," Stiles said as he started cleaning up.
"Oh, and Dad?" Stiles asked hesitantly.
"Yeah son?"
"Do you think that we could go out shooting sometime? We haven't done it in a while, and it would be nice to spend some time with you." He said cautiously.
His Dad chuckled in reply "Sure son. I'm glad you're not too embarrassed to be seen with me."
"Never, Dad." Stiles said, practically beaming now at the bottom of the stairs.
When Stiles finished the dishes, he went to his room. He debated on whether to keep researching, or to go see if Scott was up. The thought of Scott brought back the emotions of last night. He was angry with his best friend, the one who was supposed to have his back. Did Scott even notice that I was gone after the game? Did Scott even check to see if I got home or if I was all right after Jackson confessed his love for Lydia, destroying my heart? He looked for his phone. It wasn't in his room, so he decided to check his Jeep. But it ended up not being in there either.
Damn. It must have fallen out of my pocket at the warehouse. He sighed. Great, that's exactly where I want to be today. He logged on to his computer and turned on his phone's GPS in order to check where it was. Yep, there it is. I could buy a new phone. No. That will just cut in to the We MeT BaMP fund. He grabbed his keys and left a note for his dad in case he woke up before Stiles got back home.
He parked a few blocks from the warehouse in a parking garage so that if a deputy came by they wouldn't tell his dad that they saw it.
Stiles took a deep breath and walked in. It looked different from last night. It was brighter as the light streamed in from the upper windows. He could see the I-beam rafters and the wet cracks in the roof where it was leaking. There were boxes and crates stacked against the walls. Someone must have come back and cleaned up most of the blood from last night. However, he could still see the black spots from Gerard and the rust-colored spots that the wolves left. But luckily all of it could easily be mistaken for spilled paint. The thoughts of the battle he missed made him gag.
He found his phone, surprised that it was, by some miracle of god or the universe, undamaged. He checked it, sighing as his suspicions were confirmed: no texts or missed calls from anyone. He saved the day, and no one even cared. 'This must be how Spiderman feels...' But before he could continue wallowing down that road of self-pity, he heard a voice coming from outside. He wasn't able to make out whether the voice was male or female, though. He walked hid as quietly as he possibly could behind some crates next to the door. He was surprised to see Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morrell entering the room. He started moving towards them, but then quickly rethought his planned greeting. Why are they here? Why are they together?
"Did you clean up their mess?" Miss Morrell asked.
"No, Jacqueline. You don't give Derek enough credit." He said stoically.
"If anything, this is more Peter's handiwork than Derek's," she countered dryly.
"It's still Derek's pack, and he chose Peter. It's the same thing." He replied disparagingly. "I would think that you would know that with your degree, or at least with your knowledge of werewolves." He smiled at her indignant huff.
"I guess you're right, but he did choose Peter against your counsel," she snapped.
Deaton ignored her and turned. They walked outside with Stiles following close behind, making sure to stay within earshot.
"Looks like they missed a spot." She remarked, uninterested.
Deaton grabs a test-tube from his pocket and fills it with the black sludge.
"Are you planning on getting your hands dirty?" Ms. Morrell asked amused.
"I do what I have to." Dr. Deaton replied.
"Good. I never liked you being retired anyway." She chirped gleefully.
He swept his hand over the black puddle and muttered something. Stiles saw a light green glow from the black ooze before it disappeared.
He wondered aloud with a smirk. "Whoever said I was retired?"
They walked away, heading out of town, and more importantly, away for Stiles' Jeep.
Stiles waited until they were out of sight before running to his baby. He tried to grasp what he had just saw and heard. His mind was going into overload. Was that magic? Who are they really? Can I learn from them? He rushed home to do more research. If I can do that on top of physical training, then I'll definitely be on par with the pack!
He spent the rest of the day on We MeT BaMP, adding magic to the list. That part had him completely stumped, though. There were way too many sources. Witchcraft. Shamanism. Alchemy. Thaumaturgy. Necromancy. Gross. Cosmic Magic. And the list just went on and on. It was too much. He needed a teacher, and it definitely couldn't be a stranger. 'SO Deaton.' He glanced at his clock.
7:30 PM.
He went to make dinner, his dad watching ESPN in the other room.
As he was busy, John came into the kitchen. "So, what are you doing after school on Monday?"
"No plans yet, just studying for finals. Why?" Stiles asked.
"I get off at four and thought we could go shooting like you asked?" He replied.
"That would be great. I can study tonight and tomorrow so there'll be less to do on Monday. Next week is basically just reviews and the start of exams and the only thing I really need to study for is chemistry. That way Harris has no reason to fail me because he hates me and you interrogated him." Stiles stated with a grim chuckle.
"Do you really think he would fail you just because of that? Should I talk to him again?" John asked in his concerned parent tone.
"No dad. PLEASE don't." Stiles begged.
"Okay," John said unconvinced.
After dinner Stiles saved all the We MeT BaMP work and hid it better than his porn on his computer and broke out his books. Homework was now part of the plan. He needed free time and could not let his grades slip tipping off his dad.
He finished studying at eleven and went back to the We MeT BaMP. The day's research showed a Chinese Martial Arts Academy in town was the cheapest with the most styles and weapons to learn. In addition, he could go early in the mornings, and then be back in time to shower before school or even some of the jobs that he was looking at. He also found some part time jobs around town that he could work over the summer. So, the plan was to go job hunting, get a job, get a spot in the next CMA class, talk to Derek about joining his training sessions, and then talk to Deaton about magic. With that, he went to bed.
Stiles woke up at a decent hour this time. He only had to get up once during the night because of a nightmare, but he was able to fall back asleep pretty quickly. He got in the shower, put on some fresh clothes, and decided to grab something to eat. His dad was gone by the time he hit the kitchen. After breakfast, he printed off the list of businesses that he wanted to apply to before making his way towards his Jeep.
Most of the places that he went to didn't seem to hold much promise. Around eleven, he had only one place left. It was a used bookstore down town. As he pulled up, he noticed that it was a hole in the wall. It was a small one-story shop shoved between a four-story office building and a five-story apartment. The other buildings looked like they were leaning over the bookstore. The store desperately needed a new coat of paint as well, as the current black coloring was starting to flake off, revealing a would-be light wood, but it now had a gray tint from the paint. The tarnished gold letters read "The Poisoned Pen."
Well, that's not creepy.
He walked into the store, surprised by the warmth and the length of the shop. It felt more like a study for the wealthy rather than a shabby old book store. It had an old-fashioned gas lamp refitted with amber colored florescent lights. The walls were covered with bookshelves, and there were six chest-high bookcases creating aisles perpendicular to the storefront. He walked over to the counter, which was located in the middle of the shop close to the right wall. It was more of a huge oak desk, stained dark, with a computer and a tall backed leather chair. In front of the counter was a sitting area with three large chairs made of suede and ebony in color. A small round coffee table, that matched the desk, was in the middle of the chairs. And on the counter was a little sign that read:
Ring bell for service.
He wandered the stacks for a while, trying to build up the courage to ring the bell. It took a good fifteen minutes because he got the feeling that there wasn't an application that he could fill in and just walk out afterwards. There was definitely going to be some kind of interview involved. He shook his head, said to himself that he might as well get it over with, and finally rang the bell.
"Be there in a sec," a melodic voice echoed from somewhere in the store.
"Okay," Stiles replied, busying himself with the books in the sitting area. The cases at the front were mysteries. After seeing the price on a first edition Hardy Boys set, he backed away and looked at the other side. New age? What genre is that? He looked at the books and found that they were about magic and mediation. Wow, maybe I can learn something here after all. But Deaton is still my best choice. As he started reaching for a book, he heard footsteps behind him, causing him to quickly drop his hand back to his side.
Stiles was surprised to see a woman in her early twenties standing before him. She was about six inches shorter than he was, though. She had Goldilocks-like curls that were pulled into a tight ponytail. She also sported a swimmers build, and Stiles noticed that she was very attractive. She wore a low cut Watchman shirt, jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places, and black calf length boots.
Stiles stared with his mouth slightly agape. He really wanted to work here if she was going to be his co-worker.
"How can I help you today?" she asked pleasantly, her voice like smooth silk. She had a stack of books in her hand.
Stiles shook himself mentally. "Um, I'm looking for Adriana, for the job opening," he told her, holding up the Craigslist post.
"Of course, have a seat," she said with a smile.
Stiles sat down in one of the large chairs. The woman set the books on the counter, taking a seat directly across from him.
"I'm Adriana, but you're welcome to call me Ana for short," she urged kindly.
Man, she's my boss?
"I'm Stiles. How long has this bookstore been here? I drive by all the time, and I've never noticed it before," Stiles told her, slightly confused.
"My family has sold books here since the town was founded, but there have been a few fires during the years, and the name has been changed a lot. My grandmother was a little grouchy when she named it the last time it was rebuilt. And with a name like The Poisoned Pen, business has been a little slow," she said bemusedly.
"Then why don't you just rename it?" Stiles asked.
"I guess it's something to remember her by," Ana said sadly.
"I understand," Stiles replied, smiling sympathetically.
"So, what brings you here?" Adriana inquired with a twinkle in her eye.
"Well, for starters, I really like books and knowledge. If I can work somewhere that has those things, then I feel like I'm not wasting time," He said automatically.
"Anything else?" Ana pressed, trying to find out more about her possible employee.
Stiles paused. He was unsure of how to answer. The flood of emotions that he'd been keeping bottled started to surge. But, he tightened his grip, and looked her in the eyes before giving his reply. For some reason he knew beyond any doubt a he could trust her and she would not repeat it. "Some things happened this semester, and I need to make sure that I'm ready for what's next. That means having disposable income, and I don't want to ask my dad for more money. I have a plan for the summer, and this job is step two," he said with passion and determination.
She looked at him puzzlingly, obviously deep in thought. But then her eyes started to lose focus all of a sudden, to the point that Stiles felt that she didn't even see him anymore. Then, with a sudden nod of her head and a refocusing of her gaze, she spoke. "Can you start on Tuesday after class?"
"Y… yes," he stammered, shocked that she made a decision so quickly.
"Good. We'll talk about your hours and salary when you come in. I'll help you get to the next step in your plan. Good Luck," Ana told him eerily, and he thought he saw sadness flash across her face.
With that, Stiles left. He thought about the magic books, and how he would have time to look over them. But there was this constant nagging feeling that just wouldn't go away. He couldn't really place it, but Ana's sudden distraction made him feel uneasy. But she was helping him with his plan, so he decided to just push it to the back of his mind and worry about it later.
Feeling victory at landing a job so quickly, as well as the steady progression of his plan, Stiles decided to skip lunch and go to Derek's instead of the academy to maintain his momentum. The CMA class will be easy because he's paying for it. He's going to have to bargain to train with the pack. So he was on to step three.
"Derek?" Stiles called as he made his way down the stairs and into the Railroad Depot. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Derek appeared virtually out of nowhere, causing Stiles to jump.
Derek smirked icily before he spoke. "Why are you here, Stiles?"
Stiles straightened himself up before looking Derek in the eye. "I want to train with the pack. I'm willing to be your research bitch, and if the need arises, I can get access to police records."
"No," Derek scoffed.
"Why?!" Stiles demanded.
"You're not in the pack," Derek stated matter-of-factly.
"Fine. What do I have to do to get your help?" Stiles asked.
"Get Scott to join," Derek replied.
"No! I will not manipulate him to get what I want," he snapped, noticing as Derek winced at the statement. He mentally noted the reaction for later analyses.
Stiles stared at Derek, trying to think of a different angle to approach the situation from. "Fine, I'll join the pack," he stated, determined to achieve his goal.
Derek looked stunned. He thought it over briefly before saying "Okay." He took a step forward, shifting into his hybrid form before reaching for Stiles. Stiles jumped back, and a look of confusion flashed across Derek's face.
"No, as a human," Stiles informed him.
"If you're not a wolf, you're not in the pack," Derek growled as he shifted back.
"Why? Give me one good reason. As a human, I can do things you can't. Like cross mountain ash. Hell, I can even make an ash barrier to stop any new wolves from killing on the full moon if you want. And who knows what other skills…" Stiles said before Derek cut him off.
"What happens if you get knocked out? It doesn't even look like you can protect yourself," Derek said coldly, looking at the cracked lip and bruised cheek Stiles was sporting.
"But that's why I want to train with you! So I can defend myself and help." Stiles said, his voice rising as his anger raged. Part of the reason for his face was a message, never delivered, to Scott and Derek.
"No, I won't have breakable humans in my pack," Derek said stoically.
"What, you had humans before!" Stiles lost it and was now shouting angrily at Derek.
"AND THEY'RE ALL DEAD!" Derek roared, unable to control his wolf.
Stiles didn't back down, though. "REALLY DEREK? That's your reason? Are you still that poor little teenage boy giving in to his emotions? If you can't get past that and trust anyone, everyone in your pack is going to die. Again. And this time, it will be yourfault!" Stiles hissed, his voice controlled and calculated.
Derek took a step back, as if he had been punched right in the gut. "Get out," he said dazed.
"Not until I'm in the pack," Stiles fumed.
"Get out before I kill you." Derek had recovered and was ready to make good on that threat.
Stiles gave him a you're-dead-to-me look before replying. "Next time you come to me blood stained and hiding from the cops, remember this." And he left without looking back.
After Derek heard Stiles' Jeep pull away, Peter stepped out. Derek gave him a look, daring him to say something.
Ignoring the look, Peter said "I wish you had let him finish that part about 'other skills'. That might have been important, especially with the ash circle. You probably just cost us a powerful ally."
Derek just shrugged and turned his attention towards his weights, hiding his pained expression. At least that way he'll be safe, even if it means that I can't be with him, Derek thought to himself.
"And he was right. You need to get past Kate," Peter sighed.
In a flash, Derek had his claws around Peter's neck. "And what would you know about that?" Derek said darkly.
"Everything, dear nephew. How she seduced you, tricked you. I forgave you, now forgive yourself," he said despondently. Derek could smell the sympathy rolling off him.
With a huff, Derek released him. "I'm trying."
Stiles drove to the Academy, finding an outlet for his anger in his reckless speed. So, step three is a bust. But I have other ways to train and track the crazy in town.
As he pulled up to Beacon Hills Chinese Martial Arts Academy, it was a simple gym that filled three store fronts. Signing up was simple, and he paid for thirty days of classes to start with. The office manager said he could start on Wednesday morning, and that he could come as often as he wanted because no one signs up for that class. He left with a book of styles that he was told to pick from. Then he headed over to Deaton's.
Stiles knew that Scott was at home and didn't have to worry about running into him there. He walked into the Vet's office, waiting for Deaton once he was inside. He was surprised to see Isaac walking of one of the exam rooms, though.
"Hi Stiles. What's up?" Isaac asked him. Isaac was concerned he smelt the flare of Stiles agitation when he walked in. He hoped to be friends with Stiles like his blossoming relationship with Scott.
"I need to talk to Deaton," Stiles replied harshly.
"He's just finishing up a procedure. He'll be out in a second."
"Okay." After an awkward minute of silence, Stiles decided to break it with some meaningless conversation. "So why are you here?"
"Deaton gave me a job to help out when Scott is off or when they're really busy. I'm starting to learn to run the funeral home, but I can't take it over until I'm 21." He said as he smelt more anxiety from Stiles.
"Cool."
With that, Isaac went into the back again and Stiles waited some more. After a few minutes, Dr. Deaton came out with a smile on his face. "How can I help you today?"
"I was hoping that we could talk private," Stiles said, glancing towards the back.
"No was else is here," Deaton told him, acting oblivious.
"I don't think you'd want Wolfy to hear what I have to say," Stiles said, pointing in the direction in which Isaac made his exit.
Deaton looked confused. "Okay, we can use my office."
"I bet," Stiles said knowingly, causing Deaton to look concerned.
After shutting the door, Deaton looked expectantly at Stiles.
"I was wondering if you could teach me magic?" Stiles asked.
"And how would I do that?" Deaton said leery.
"I saw you and Ms. Morrell at the warehouse. The black stuff disappeared after you made it glow," Stiles said.
Deaton gave him an incredulous look. "You know how to find trouble, I'll give you that."
"But I can, right, the thing with mountain ash was magic. I didn't have enough, but I still managed to complete the circle."
"Fine. But under one condition," Deaton said authoritatively.
"What is it? I don't have to give up my soul or anything, right?" Stiles joked.
Deaton chuckled slightly before speaking. "Get Derek's permission."
"Why!?" Stiles asked in annoyance.
"He's the alpha for Beacon Hills, and also someone that I promised to protect. Training a new witch can cause more trouble than it is worth. Witchcraft corrupts easily," Deaton said hesitantly. He looked like there was more to be told, but he decided to hold off.
Stiles just turned and walked away, slamming the door shut behind him.
"What was that about?" Isaac asked concernedly as he walked into Deaton's office. "He looks as though he's capable of killing someone. He smelled of pure rage."
"That's not good. Tell Scott to figure out why he is so mad." Deaton instructed. Then, as an afterthought, "But tell him to be subtle."
Isaac just nodded as he pick up the phone.
GET PERMISSION! From Derek! I can't believe this. I'll just do this on my own. Stiles rants on his way home. 'I can't take this. Why is it that others expect help from me but I get none in return!' Stiles' eyes landed on the CMA book and he decided that he was going to hide it in his room and do research; but as he arrived at his house, he saw Scott waiting there, and Stiles was unsure of whether he'd be able to rationally talk to him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and stashed the CMA book in his backpack, heading to the house with a smile.
Author's note:
Next one in three week at the latest.
Thanks to slytherinprincess8870, Bloody Queen Mary and my roommate for betaing.