Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

Author's note: This story has been pre-written and has a total of 7 chapters. It will be updated weekly.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

...

It wasn't really in his life plan to get a tattoo, because, y'know - huge freaking phobia of needles over here, thank you very much! - but Stiles kept reading these things about images and words imprinted on a person's skin actually having power in the magic books that Deaton had given him. (There were actual emissary books in the world, who knew?! They would've been helpful a year ago, but whatever. Deaton was still vague and cryptic as all fuck, but the books were helping now. A bit. It was hard to think of anything as helping, especially after the nogitsune, but Stiles still couldn't sleep without waking up screaming, so he figured reading these books were better than the alternative.)

So, Stiles ended up in the same tattoo parlour that Scott had gone to, and while the tattooist didn't exactly laugh him out of his shop, he did raise his eyebrow and ask if Stiles would really be okay with this. He nodded firmly, determinedly. He had survived being possessed by an evil firefly and mind-fucked by a evil fox spirit, he would survive this too.

Of course, his determination didn't mean that Stiles' phobia of needles had magically disappeared. He gulped nervously when the needles and tattoo gun were produced, pulled his shirts off, kind of thrust the artwork at the tattoo artist, and threw himself face down onto the chair to hide. Stiles would be much better if he didn't have to see the process.

The guy was surprisingly kind, keeping a hand on Stiles' body to steady him, and then he started to draw on his back slowly and carefully. Stiles eventually stopped shivering in fear and let himself just enjoy the feel of the marker on his skin. It was kind of soothing, and distracted him from the thought of a bajillion needles following the same pattern soon after.

Stiles checked the drawing in the large mirror, suggesting a few alterations here and there regarding colour and size of the lines. The tattooist nodded in agreement - no laughter or biting remarks in response - clearing a few lines from his skin with a wipe before redoing the lines and waiting for his confirmation. Stiles looked at the thick black lines working their way down his spine, smaller connecting lines becoming a system of roots along his shoulder blades and back of his ribcage, and down to his lower back. A few even looked like they were curving around his ribs themselves and Stiles had to admit that it looked pretty freaking awesome. He gave a broad grin, nodded firmly, and went back over to the chair.

In hindsight, Stiles probably should have told someone where he was, because they were all still on Stiles watch (it was like neighbourhood watch, but with werewolves, and focused completely on Stiles instead), and the fact that he hadn't been seen by anyone in or outside of the pack all day probably made them all go on high alert. This was confirmed when the tattoo parlour door basically burst open off its hinges, and Stiles looked over his shoulder to see Derek in the doorway, close to wolfing out and a mix of anger and worry exuding from him. (No, seriously, Stiles thought he could actually see the emotion rolling off of him. The tattooist kind of stepped back, muttering something about letting him talk to his boyfriend in private before he bolted from the room at Derek's low growl.)

They have a hushed argument - what the fuck are you doing, Stiles?! - Don't talk to me like that, you overgrown pup! - No one's seen you all day, and then I follow your scent here?! You hate needles! - Only when I can see them. I'm doing this, Derek! - Let me see what you think is so important to get permanently tattooed on your skin. It's different for humans, don't give me that look! - Oh, you're such a fucking hypocrite. There, happy? I'm not leaving, Derek. Well? What do you think? Don't just stand there and stare at me, you idiot... Derek? - Uh. You... You should get it. It's powerful, isn't it? - Yeah, it is.

And just like that the argument ends. Stiles called the tattooist back into the room, and while he seemed calmer than when he first burst into the store, Derek didn't seem inclined to leave. Stiles didn't exactly mind his presence there, actually. Derek wasn't forcing him to leave, and he's actually a calm port in the shit-storm that Stiles' life has become at the moment. Stiles was grateful when Derek took his hand a few minutes into the tattoo being applied and leeched his pain away. An hour later, Stiles was still holding Derek's hand even though the pain had dulled to a constant ache and he didn't need to take the pain away.

Another hour passed and the tattoo was finally finished. Stiles was given care instructions to make sure it wouldn't get infected, his back was wrapped in cling wrap and bandaged up, and nope. He was so not thinking about the amount of blood he could see or the needles on the table. Nope-nope-nope.

Derek helped Stiles out to the car and drove him back to the loft when Stiles said he didn't want to go home yet. His emissary-in-training bag was sitting in the back of his Jeep and Derek carried it upstairs at Stiles' request. He made a salve to help with the power conducive part of the tattoo, and Stiles needed to apply it as soon as possible, or he'd end up with nothing more than a pretty tattoo that may not help his powers at all.

He babbled this all out to Derek who didn't even seem to be listening, but when they get upstairs, Stiles found himself being directed over to Derek's bed. Stiles was kind of emotionally exhausted after getting a tattoo and didn't protest as Derek helped him take his shirt off, followed by the bandages and cling wrap. Derek was calm and soft as he asked how much of the salve he needed to apply, and what Stiles intended to do with the parts of his back he couldn't reach on his own, and well, Stiles didn't have an answer for that. He'd probably try to rub it all over his back with his shirt or something.

Derek rolled his eyes - and there's the Sourwolf we all know and love! - and made Stiles lie down on the bed. He went to the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth, and started to gently clean the drying blood from Stiles' back, before he started applying the salve. Stiles bit back a moan of pain as the salve stung his skin and the mixture combined with the blood seeping out his back. Then the salve started to cling to the tattoo and the pain shifted until it began to feel kind of nice, and then even better than that. It kept building until it felt even better than ice cream, than sex, than the feeling the nogitsune had when it thrust the sword into Scott's stomach. Stiles actually arched off the bed, and stopped breathing because this felt even better than his need for oxygen, and he blacked out completely, slumped onto the mattress. Derek tried not to worry too much - Stiles' body had literally glowed as he arched off the bed - and carefully applied the rest of the salve to his limp body, hoping he'll be all right.

Stiles woke in the morning to find his back completely healed, and the magic inside him kind of thrummed and pulsed, and it feels delicious as it ran through his body, connecting to his veins and arteries like the tree roots on his back. He had actually successfully managed to connect his magic to his body so the next time he has a panic attack, he won't accidentally burst all the windows in the school again (it was one time, but it was enough to get Deaton giving as many books to Stiles as he could, then suggested he work on controlling his emotions; like he hasn't been doing that since he his mother died when he was six years' old).

He let out a sigh of relief, shifting and stretching his back and shoulders, and Stiles licked his lips, realising he felt thirsty enough to drink the Beacon Hills river dry. (Although, after they found Matt's dead body in the water? No.) Stiles padded out to the kitchen, drank four glasses of water in a row until he's all sloshy, and grinned slightly when he saw Derek curled up on the couch. In the early morning light, Derek's tattoo stood out brilliantly against his skin, and Stiles wanted to touch it, to feel the power beneath it, the meaning behind it. He walked over quietly and did exactly that, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt everything that Derek had ever felt since getting the tattoo burned into his skin. Guilt, sadness, grief, anger, so much guilt. Stiles pulled away, his body heaving silently.

Okay, so that wasn't his smartest idea ever. Stiles was torn between a hundred different emotions. He wanted to leave, to run, to apologise, to scream, to do anything and everything he can to make Derek realise that it wasn't his fault, but he doesn't know how to do that. Instead, Stiles simply nudged Derek over and curled up around him on the couch. He gingerly pressed his hand against Derek's triskelion again, and instead of taking emotion, he pushes it in instead. He watched Derek's shoulders lose a bit of their tension, and Stiles relaxed slowly as well, eventually letting his hand slip away before he turned over to get comfortable. Their tattoos touched and he shuddered as the feelings intensified, but in a really seriously good way. Stiles hugged his arms to his chest and let himself fall asleep, even as he tried to keep thinking of positive things for Derek's sake.

Stiles didn't expect things to change overnight, but he hoped it would like a seed growing and spreading out roots inside Derek until he emotionally healed.

...

End of first chapter.

Thanks for reading!