I'm the Hero of This Story

by MyUniversalWorld

"Your name is Stiles?" Derek spoke out of nowhere, twisting in his seat to look at him, lips twitching. "No, wait, is that supposed to be your superhero name? An alias? Like Superman or Captain America? Stiles." In which powers are acquired, the Argents are even more villainy than normal, and the Hales know a lot about being superheroes. (Loose superhero!AU/Magic Stiles)

"Your name is Stiles?" Derek spoke out of nowhere, twisting in his seat to look at him, lips twitching. "No, wait, is that supposed to be your superhero name? An alias? Like Superman or Captain America? Stiles."

In which powers are acquired, the Argents are even more villainy than normal, and the Hales know a lot about being superheroes. (Loose superhero!AU/Magic Stiles)

"Oh my god, no," Stiles shook his head desperately from his vantage point on the couch.

Laura frowned.

"Why not?" She asked, eyebrows drawing close. Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Jackson entering the room, flanked on both sides by Danny and Lydia.

"Because it looks like crap," Jackson eyed the wallpaper with disdain, seating himself across from Stiles. The sky began to darken, clouds covering the formerly shining sun. Peter chucked a pen at him from where he was sprawled across a loveseat. "Jackson, you better not make it rain. The house isn't completely fixed yet." He chided, before turning back to the discussion at hand, obviously taking amusement in the argument.

Laura looked down at the wallpaper, "It does not!"

Scott laughed, "Sorry, Laura, it kinda does."

Stiles gestured to him, "See! They agree with me! That color is not nearly awesome enough for our lair."

"Lair? I thought we were the good guys," Danny remarked, stretching, his wings extending along with his arms. Lydia gave him a questioning look, "We are? Lair applies to Superheroes, too." Stiles nodded in agreement. Laura huffed, throwing the paper down and crossing her arms. Scott waved his hand in her direction and her expression calmed a bit, before she turned her glare on him, "I know what you're doing Scott!" She focused her attention back on the other occupants of the room, "I've tried everything! You guys are impossible to please!"

Derek remerged from the back room, grinning. "Not everything." He held out a paper to Stiles. The boy looked over the elaborate comic strip, eyes widening. Laura muttered something under her breath, but gathered around the pair.

"Did you draw this?"

Derek nodded, grin still in place, but more sheepish now, bordering shy, "Our adventure."

6 months ago

"Yes! No, Scott, I know-! Yes, I know it's late, but you gotta hear me out! No, this isn't like the raccoon incident, what are we, kindergarten?"

Stiles cradled his cell phone precariously between his chin and his raised shoulder, tongue poking out in concentration as he pulled the blinds shut, stumbling down the stairs and zipping up his hoodie. Coins rained down from the shelf near the door as he reached blindly for the flashlights he knew his Dad kept stashed.

"No! Okay, yes, I'll—No, man, you need to just tell her already. Oh my god, shut up about Allison for a second, I need to tell you something of the highly important variety!" He flailed his hands, before remembering that Scott couldn't see him. Force of habit, he guessed. "I saw my Dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even State police!" The gangly boy couldn't keep the excitement from seeping into his voice, grinning when he heard Scott sigh over the line.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods." Stiles scanned the room, wracking his brain for all the things he needed. Shrugging, he shoved a few dollar bills into his pocket; anything else he might need was already in his jeep. He made a face at Scott's reply, sarcasm lacing his voice when he replied.

"No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body."

Stiles locked the door hastily, slamming it behind him and racing out to the jeep, sending Allison a quick text to meet him outside her house and giving her a rundown of the situation before skidding away from the curb, attention once again commandeered by trying to convince Scott.

"Nobody knows yet." He shrugged to himself. "Just that it was a guy, probably in his late twenties."

The brunet could practically feel the question mark forming over Scott's head.

"That's the best part!" He cursed, fumbling the cell phone as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision with a familiar looking silver Porsche – Jackson. Distantly, he wondered what the other teen was doing out here so late, but he was in no position to judge, so he raised his hand, resisting flipping him the bird, and peeled away in the direction of the McCall house. He raised the phone back to his ear, leaning forward against the steering wheel. "They only found half."

Feeling dramatic, Stiles hung up. When he arrived, Scott was shifting his weight awkwardly on the front lawn, gripping the hilt of a worn baseball bat. Stiles popped the passenger door, gesturing for him to hurry up. Scott slid in next to him and smiled in his usual good-natured, Scott sort of way, "Is Allison coming?" Stiles shook his head, circling back around the town and turning onto Allison's street.

"I tell you there's a dead guy in the woods waiting to be discovered and you ask if Allison is coming? Unbelievable." Scott opened his mouth to reply, but the brunette girl was fast approaching, rapping on the window when the door wouldn't open.

"Sorry," Stiles mouthed, smacking it a few times until he heard the lock click, "Betty's side doors are very temperamental."

Allison shook her head with a smile, dislodging the clip in her hair. She brushed it away, looking a bit nervous. Stiles caught her eye in the rearview mirror and she leaned forward, elbows brushing the backs of their necks. He stifled a snicker when he saw Scott practically swooning, pinning the girl with large, lovesick eyes.

"So, we're really doing this?" She inquired tentatively. "Looking for some dead body, I mean."

Stiles nodded in earnest, cracking a smile when he heard Scott groan, muttering under his breath about Lacrosse practice and first line. "Of course! Besides, you two are the ones always complaining that nothing ever happens in this town." From the looks on their faces, they seemed to regret saying so. Stiles started the countdown in his head, watching Scott's facial expressions with amusement through his peripheral vision.

"I was trying to get a good night's sleep for practice tomorrow." The excuse.

"Right, because sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort," Stiles countered, pulling up to the heavily wooded entrance and slipping out, shaking his flashlight until it reluctantly flickered on. An old, beat up sign was painted with the words: BEACON HILLS PRESERVE. Grinning, he scrambled up over the rusty chain, setting off onto a random hiking trail and tossing the other two flashlights over his shoulder. He heard Allison giggle, which probably meant that Scott hadn't managed to catch the device. Stiles paused, flashlight cutting a thin path through the gloom, and turned back to his companions, who had no trouble catching up once he had stopped.

"Just out of curiosity," Allison began, slinking up beside him and poking him between the ribs in a rare burst of sisterly affection, "Which half of the body are we looking for?"

Stiles was stumped, but his pace didn't slow. "Huh. I didn't even think about that."

Scott grinned from his other side, scanning the area and waving his flashlight around, casting eerie shadows over the thick, towering trees that rose up all around them. Leaves crunched beneath their feet, completely concealing the ground below. "And what if whoever killed the guy is still out here?"

He flashed his tongue at Scott, before giving a start at the sound of dogs barking and his father's familiar drawl, ducking behind one of the trees, the harsh press of bark scraping along his back, poking him through his shirt. Scott and Allison mimicked his actions, his heart slamming against his ribs as he motioned for them to keep quiet. For a moment, everything was still.

"Nothing here," Stiles heard his Dad say, a trickle of sweat running down his spine like a finger dragging along his skin, pulling a shudder out of him. He breathed a sigh of relief as he listened to the barking fade, voices retreating into the darkness. He pushed away from the tree only to find himself staring into the eyes of Lydia Martin, her mouth turned down in a scowl.

"Oh my god-!" He exclaimed, scrambling backward into the bark. Danny and Jackson watched him with identical unimpressed expressions. Scott caught his eye and raised his eyebrows, motioning to them. He shrugged, watching Allison detach herself from the soaring plant and converse with Lydia in hushed, urgent tones.

"What are you two idiots doing out here?" Jackson sneered, and Stiles turned his chin up defiantly, eyes hard.

"We could ask you the same," Scott replied coolly, hand closing around Stiles' elbow. Danny dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head.

"You're looking for the body?" Lydia asked, incredulous.

"It's not like you guys aren't doing the same," Stiles rolled his eyes when the group said nothing, starting off in a random direction. He didn't manage to get very far though, because a pale-faced Allison had gripped his shoulder, tugging him another way.

"Come here, I think I know…" She trailed off, quickening her pace. Before long, they had hit a clearing, encompassed by the pale light of the moon, high above them. A howl sounded somewhere far away and goose bumps raised on Stiles' arms; this was rapidly turning into the scene or a B list horror movie. He almost missed the body, stumbling over it and releasing a muffled shriek, skittering onto his feet. Gingerly, he nudged the body over with his shoe, exposing a man with a chiseled face and lifeless pale blue eyes, staring up at them unnervingly. Stiles heard Scott make a distressed whine in the back of his throat, but Allison looked like she was really going to be sick, crouched next to the body, hand extended as though to touch his arm, which was covered in inky black tattoos.

"Eugh, I think I'm going to throw up," Stiles muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

"I thought you wanted to find the body, Stilinski." Jackson bit, apparently in the same predicament as Stiles, and the rest of the group for that matter.

"I didn't know that entailed seeing a bunch of guts in the moonlight, thanks."

Sirens rose in the distance and Danny looked around worriedly, "Guys, I think the police—"

"Allison?" It was Scott. The brunette girl had passed out in his arms, her own limbs dangling uselessly at her sides. Lydia made a distraught noise, shaking her a bit. Jackson and Danny placed comforting hands on her shoulders, and Stiles leaned against Scott's bicep, eyebrows furrowing. A faint glow was visible through Allison's shirt, located directly over her heart.

"What's—" Stiles remembered reaching for her collar before everything went dark.

---

The world was blurry when it came into view again.

A persistent beeping was resonating around the room and Stiles winced as a headache took root in his temple, sharp pounding matching the rhythm of the heart monitor. He attempted to raise his hand and sit up, but found himself restrained by a pair of dull handcuffs, tying him to the bed. Fighting away a wave of nausea, he lay back down, recalling the events of the night previous; prowling through the woods with Allison and Scott, avoiding his Dad, running into Lydia, Jackson, and Danny, and…

Right. Collapsing next to a mangled corpse.

Wincing, he craned his neck, scanning the area for any sign of his best friends, hell, even Jackson would be a reassurance at this point, but his surroundings consisted only of a tangle of tubes and medical machines and boring gray curtains blocking all else from sight. He could hear the echoes of heart monitors though, just loud enough to be audible, but he supposed that they could be anyone's. He was in a hospital after all. Blinking, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the harsh white lights and attempted to wet his dry mouth.

With a start, he realized that someone was looming over him, a scowl set firmly in place. Stiles' eyes widened and his lips parted to scream, but a large hand was already muffling the sound. Feeling reckless, the boy bit down on the man's finger, mildly impressed that he didn't move an inch, before returning to fearful. His pulse spiked wildly, if the heart monitor was any indication. The man's eyes flashed up to the machine for a moment, before turning back to him. Stiles studied his face, eyes lingering for a moment when he realized that, damn, this man was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

"I'm going to remove my hand, but you have to promise you won't scream," The man said, voice low and harsh. Stiles nodded earnestly, eyes wide. The man stepped back, releasing him, and Stiles let out a long breath, moving to press a hand to his chest, but only succeeding in digging the cuff furthering into his wrist. He made a frustrated noise, hissing, and momentarily forgot the guy who could possibly be a murderer, jangling the handcuff. The man rolled his eyes, and, were those claws? A second later, the cuffs were hanging uselessly off the bed's plastic railings, giving Stiles no time to ponder what he thought he had seen. He rubbed his wrists absently, breath still coming short.

"Am I allowed to retract my promise? I mean, would you kill me if I screamed?"

The man looked agitated, hand darting out and gripping him by the scruff of his neck. Stiles yelped, but forced himself to stay quiet. For all he knew, this guy could be insane and have a knife imbedded in his lung if he so much as squeaked. Or, worst yet, he could be the murder. The proposition was fearsome, seeing as he was the one who wanted to go find the body, but he noticed, for all this person's menacing, he seemed more irritated than murderous.

Plus, he was still insanely good-looking. Were there good-looking murderers? That would be a real waste, Stiles assumed, dishing out a bit of natural beauty to psychopaths. He noticed that the hospital was nearly deserted in the wing that the man had taken him, the cool leather of his sleeve an odd, pleasant feeling against the heated skin at the back of his neck.

"Uh, you know, I'm not the most valuable—"

He licked his lips, almost cutting himself on his own teeth when the man dumped him in an empty room, clothing flying after him.

"Stay here," He warned, before slamming the door and striding down the hall. Stiles sighed, looking down at the clothing in his hands. Mystified, he realized they were his own. Dad must've brought them, after all, the shirt he was wearing yesterday was coated with blood. That probably didn't look good for him. Stiles began to dress himself after coming to the conclusion that it didn't really matter how the clothes got here, since they were a better option than the hospital dress he had been manhandled into. He hesitated on pulling his shirt on about halfway through getting it over his head when he spotted a peculiar looking scar. The door opened again at that moment and Scott was dumped unceremoniously on top of him, the pair of them getting tangled up in Stiles' shirt. Stiles rolled to his feet, only to be knocked down again when the full weight of Jackson Whittemore was chucked at him and, really, what was with this guy and throwing people at Stiles?

He pushed Jackson away, brushing off his shirt and seating himself next to Scott. Jackson glowered, but said nothing, crossing his arms. The door opened again, and the missing members of their group arrived, walking all on their own. Apparently, crazy dude thought they didn't deserve to be treated like captives. He was about to say so, before he puzzled it out for himself, catching sight of the breathtaking brunette and the older man smirking a bit creepily, blue eyes glinting, standing on either side of him.

Allison's eyes were puffy, as though she had been crying, and Stiles and Scott both immediately started for her. The strawberry blonde at her side glared them down. Allison waved them off, giving a sweet smile and placing a gentle hand on Lydia's arm in an attempt to placate her. The duo returned to their seats, uneasy.

Danny settled into an armchair beside Jackson, who was still standing, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The girl cleared her throat, holding up a hand no doubt to halt the stream of questions Lydia was shooting off with her eyes alone.

"My name is Laura Hale, this is my brother Derek, and my Uncle Peter," Laura gestured to both men with a smile, twining her slim, ring laden fingers together. "I'm sure you're very confused about everything that happened, but we only have a few questions," She said, voice edged with sympathy. Stiles felt himself soften for a moment – something in her eyes reminded him of his mother, despite the age difference – before he stiffened again. Chris Argent had seemed sympathetic, truly, before tossing Scott out by his ears and threatening him with a gun storage. Pleasant family, really.

"Are you investigators or something?" Lydia shot her a withering look from where she was perched on the armrest of a couch, hand splayed over Allison's back. The brunette was doubled over, hands buried in her face. Peter's impish smirk widened, and Laura's eyes twinkled.

"Something of the sort," She replied, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "We're here to help you…" She grimaced, searching for a word through a multitude of hand gestures, "Adjust."

Jackson gave her a sarcastic, mock-quizzical look, "Oh, what is this, a new school prep?"

Derek growled, but Laura placed a hand on his chest, "Sorry about Derek, he's a little on edge today. And no," She replied, treating Jackson's mockery like an actual question, "We heard about the girl, and the group of teens who were found, unconscious, near it. We were curious."

"So we're like some experiment to you," Lydia said hotly, "Looking at us because you were 'curious.'" Allison winced at the word experiment.

"Not at all," Laura smiled graciously, exposing perfect, pearl-white teeth, "We want to help you."

Scott had his head buried in his hands, as though he were trying to block something out. Stiles cast one last worried look over to him, before rubbing his own temples, his fingers tingling, "Help us with what?" He asked bluntly. This was all really suspicious; the group of strangers basically kidnapping them and then telling them they wanted to help, but not what they wanted to help with. Laura sucked in a breath, sharing a glance with the man – Peter, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

"You don't know?" She looked worried now, eyes large and concerned, scrubbing a hand over her face.

Peter snorted, "Well, this will take some… explaining, seeing as I've never actually seen those who weren't born with…" Laura waved her hand, as though batting away a bit of smoke. "Never mind," She cut him off hastily.

"What happened that night?" Laura inquired curiously, head cocking in an almost birdlike fashion. Lydia and Jackson looked like they wanted to protest again.

"Nothing," Danny, surprisingly, was the one to speak up, "We were wandering around the woods looking for a body and we found it. That's it." He shrugged, rolling his shoulders a few times. Surveying the ragtag group, Stiles noticed they all looked a lot more beat up than they had a few days ago. Scott was clutching his head, and bruises lined the backs of his hands, there were lines around Lydia's eyes, ones of pure exhaustion, and Jackson looked like the before version of a drug awareness poster. Danny kept dancing his fingers across his back, the shirt he was wearing stretched taut, and Allison seemed completely miserable, tears staining her cheeks and shirt, lips worn from bites.

Laura nodded, listening intently, "What happened in the time between you finding the body and you becoming unconscious? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"There was this light," Stiles' voice was nearly a whisper and a shock to even himself; he didn't know why he had said that, but now that everyone was looking at him, he felt the urge to try to explain and simultaneously not tell these people. They were strangers, he reminded himself. He grappled for the right words, "I saw the body, tripped over it actually, gross stuff," Scott gave a little chuckle, "Then I was on the ground. The light was probably just sirens or something." He finished coolly. Derek was giving him a strange look, as though he could tell Stiles wasn't lying, per say, just not telling the whole truth. He looked like he was going to say something, but Mrs. McCall burst into the room before he could, door nearly flying off its hinges. His father was close behind, panic written all over his face.

"What are you doing in here?" Melissa proclaimed, eyebrows drawing close. "How did you get out of—" Her voice dropped an octave, probably from guilt. Stiles just shook his head, he and Scott sharing a glance.

When they turned back to the Hales, they were gone.

"Where the hell…?" Jackson's eyes widened in confusion and even a mild dose of fear. Stiles didn't notice anything after that, other than the way his father swept him up into a hug and the way that the skin over his heart burned like a fresh wound.

---

Scott spent the next day at his house.

Melissa and his Dad had decided to keep them home from school, at least for now. Stiles knew if he played it up, Dad would let him stay home forever, but he couldn't. Scott, though, seemed to be considering it, from the cheerful way he let himself in, settling into Stiles' couch without a second thought. Stiles hadn't actually noticed he was there, unfortunately, leading to a puddle of milk on the floor and a bit of broken glass lodged in his toe. Scott had apologized profusely, before going to play Call of Duty in the living room.

Stiles chewed messily on a large bite of his sandwich, watching Scott's face scrunch up in concentration, twisting and turning in an attempt to gun down a few virtual people, pixelated blood splattering over the screen.

"So, man, how you holding up?" He asked. Scott shrugged, stealing one of his chips.

"What do you mean? I mean, the dead body still haunts me, which is all your fault by the way, but…" He hesitated, "Nothing out of the ordinary."

Stiles nodded, swallowing heavily. "How about the others? Are they home right now, too?"

Scott paused, checking his phone. "Well, I know that Allison is. Her parents are pissed, but the other Argents," Scott was referring to Allison's grandfather and aunt, who had come by about three months ago and were perpetually around, Kate giving Stiles and Scott sly grins from across the parking lot, or Gerard tapping their lockers at school. He, Stiles assumed, was on permanent residence, seeing as he already got a job as school principle. "Have done pretty well at keeping them at bay. That's what she told me at least." He placed the controller on the coffee table and turned to Stiles. "Do you think I should go over?"

Stiles snorted, "Her dad hates you, remember?"

Scott deflated, puppy eyes making a debut. Stiles' heart melted still, even after all these years of being Scott's best friend. He nudged the other boy with a smile.

"Don't sweat it, man, he'll come around eventually. Just…" He shrugged, "Man up, I guess. Tell her how you feel. Although I'm seriously wondering how she hasn't noticed with the eyes and the dramatic sighing and the—" Stiles laughed when Scott shoved him into the pillows, holding his hands up. "Hey! It's true! Why do you think he hasn't thrown me out on my ass yet?"

He resurfaced from between the couch cushions, stomach growling. He rubbed it, groaning, "I could really go for some curly fries," He pined wistfully. "Maybe if I wish hard enough, they'll appear."

Scott snickered, "Maybe."

Jokingly, Stiles splayed his fingers out in front of him, wishing hard, "Abracadabra." He whispered, laughing.

"Holy crap."

Stiles' eyes flashed open, grin still plastered in place, "What? It actually worked didn't it? I knew I was secretly magic."

Scott was staring at the table, though, waving his hand, eyes wide in disbelief. "Yeah."

"What do you mean, yeah?"

There was a panicked gleam in Scott's eyes when he turned back to him, gripping his forearms. "I mean, yeah!" Rolling his eyes, Stiles turned back to the table.

And there it was. He stared, unconvinced.

A steaming heap of curly fries.

Stiles pulled into the school parking lot the next day, staring out over the wheel of his jeep.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" His dad had asked them both. He assumed they had looked a little insane at the time, just coming off swallowing the fact the fries were in fact real, even making his father try some, and that they had no idea how they had gotten there. Alarmed, they nodded gravely, Stiles still staring down at a curly fry, before rushing up to his room. Dad had looked tired, but agreed to having them go to school the next day. There were no major damages to their person, after all, so nothing was keeping them from going.

Dark circles lined the bottom half of Stiles' eyes; he had stayed up late researching.

The sound of Scott getting out of the car jarred Stiles out of his half drowsy state, tugging his own door open and almost tripping. Allison was waiting for them at the entrance, smiling and looking like nothing was out of order in the slightest. She threw a teasing grin at Stiles as he held the door for her.

"I had to do a lot to convince my Dad to let me come to school to day, you know," She murmured jokingly, adjusting the strap on her bag. Scott trailed after her without a second glance back and Stiles sighed, checking his watch, before scurrying after them. Something black caught his eye. He raised an eyebrow, plucking the feather off the floor as the bell rang for class, getting caught up in the flurry of students hurrying to and fro. He pocketed the feather, taking his seat behind Scott and going through his routine of unpacking and then turning to stare out the window.

"Good to know you could make it, Mr. Stilinski." The teacher called, but he just flapped a hand. He wasn't late, after all, he simply wasn't very good with teachers. Jackson and Danny skidded into class just as the final bell carried out it's last meager ring. The teacher said nothing. Scoffing at the hypocrisy, Stiles leaned back in his seat. Maybe he could get a nice long nap.

"Mr. Stilinski!"

He was stupid to have hoped anyway.

Stiles clutched the plastic tray, finger catching on a ridge. He pulled it back with a hiss and almost sent his food flying. Settling the meal carefully on his and Scott's claimed table, he rose back to former height as Lydia walked by, smiling. She just gave him a strange look, brushing past him with ease. His shoulders slumped, but he supposed it wasn't all bad. She was at least noticing him nowadays. He sat back down, watching her walk away. The girl looked a bit tense, eyes sharper than usual and her gait stiffer. Of course, it could just mean that she and Jackson were fighting or some girl pissed her off, but Stiles couldn't help, but think—

Crash!

Lydia's tray was laying on the floor and the girl had her face cloaked by her hair, she gasped, clutching at her head, before sprinting out of the cafeteria. So it wasn't just him. He shared a look with Scott as he passed him and Allison. Allison looked nervous, tugging Scott along with them as she followed. Lydia was in the bathroom, huddled in a stall, if the familiar heels were anything to go by.

"Lydia?" Allison asked tentatively, resting her palm against the door.

"Go away," Came the reply. Lydia's voice was rough, and she coughed a few times.

"Are you alright?"

"Don't you understand what go away means?" There was no bite to it, though.

Allison sighed, flattening down on her stomach and sliding beneath the space between the floor and the stall. Scott and Stiles waited outside awkwardly, trying not to listen into the two girls talking. Stiles caught small snippets without meaning to.

"What do you mean…"

"No! You can't tell…"

"…But they might have…"

"I can hear everything…"

Stiles sat back against the far wall, staring down at his fingers. He had been able to make stuff appear, right? If he wasn't going crazy, that is. He closed his eyes, more for experiments sake than anything, and visualized the cup. Sweat formed at his eyebrows, but when he opened his eyes the cup was held loosely in his grasp, the weight familiar in his grip. Scott was staring at him, eyes wide.

"Dude…"

"I wasn't hallucinating, then." Stiles muttered, taking a sip and wincing. The coffee was still piping hot.

"Yeah—" Scott was cut off though, by a door slamming open and Allison looming over him.

"Where did you get that?" She demanded. He raised his eyebrows.

"Uh…" He looked up at Scott questioningly, wondering what he could say. The other boy shrugged helplessly.

"He… made it?" Scott supplied. Stiles pulled his knees to his chest, balancing the cup there and tying his shoe.

"What do you mean, he made it?"

Lydia looked stricken, reaching out to swipe her fingertip over the rim. The cup tipped and Stiles' hand shot out to catch it, breathing coming a little quicker at her proximity. She leaned away as he blushed, redirecting his gaze to the mug.

"He means that Stiles made it appear," Lydia stated matter-of-factly, gesturing around in the universal meaning of magic and wizardry. Allison ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip.

"This is all my fault." She said ominously, twisting her hand into the braid curled into the hollow of her throat. He looked at her quizzically.

"Um, I'd like to figure some stuff out as much as the next guy, but us having a conversation in the girl's bathroom looks a little suspicious, don't you think?"

She nodded, eyes far away, and offered him a hand. Lydia was staring at him intently, eyebrows furrowed and Scott placed a hand on his shoulder. Before Allison could say anything, however, the bell rang. The two boys groaned in unison, mourning the loss of their lunch, before setting off to retrieve their bags. Allison dug her boot into the ground, twiddling her fingers behind her back.

"What do you mean, this is all your fault?" He heard Lydia ask. "You didn't ask to be an experiment."

Stiles wondered what the hell his life had become.

The locker room was full when Scott and Stiles arrived, shoving their way through other members of the time in various states of undress. They noticed that Danny was nowhere to be found.

"Bilinski!" Finstock called over the mass of other kids. "You're playing goalie!"

He would be overjoyed, had it not worried him slightly that Danny wasn't there. After all, he had made a mental note to check on both Jackson and Danny at practice, see if they were having any of the same… symptoms. Upon making his way out to the field, clad in heavy lacrosse gear, he thought about the newly formed powers. Now that the initial shock had mostly worn off, he was realizing just how cool this was.

A smile made it's way onto his face of it's own accord. That is, before he caught sight of tall, dark, and creeper staring at him from the edge of the woods. His eyes widened, and Derek smirked as he was caught in the head by a stray ball. Stiles flipped him the bird, muttering under his breath. Derek seemed to hear him, which was an insane thought seeing as he was on the other side of the field, his eyes sharpening. Stiles turned his focus back on practice. Found Jackson. The boy was wearing his usual cocky grin, hand circling the lacrosse stick with the steady grace of someone who practiced a lot. A whistle cut through the air and a ball was soaring towards him.

Almost by magic (he laughed internally at that, even as it wasn't the time to be making jokes), the ball shot straight into the net of his stick. Stiles stared down at in in disbelief. Jackson's expression mirrored his own, before being replaced by anger and annoyance. The sky above darkened. Stiles looked up at the fast approaching clouds and back to Jackson's fuming face.

Crap.

"One more try," He heard Jackson say to the coach, steadying himself. This time, Stiles lowered the stick, making sure the ball hit the goal. Jackson straightened, infuriating smirk back in place, and the clouds disappeared. Stiles cursed internally. They had the give the weather powers to the most temperamental kid at this school, didn't they? Who they was, Stiles still didn't know. He met Allison's eyes from his stance at the goal post. She was staring up at the receding clouds. He swallowed. Derek was leaning against a nearby tree, head tilted upward and his jaw set. Well, point for him for getting this right.

The next kid was someone he hardly recognized. That is Isaac Lahey, moron. The one your dad questioned for some grave robbery?

The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Lydia.

Shrugging it off, he squared his shoulders. Isaac ran for him, swinging the stick, and Stiles brought up his own to catch it, stumbling back a bit from the weight of the ball when it landed.

For a moment, he swore he saw Isaac's eyes flash. Stiles shook his head. It was probably his imagination, but then again, he had thought the curly fries were his imagination. Scott met his eyes as he stepped forward. Stiles tried subtly to motion to Derek, who was still standing in the tree line. Scott nearly twisted his neck trying to get a glimpse of him.

A searing pain burned through his chest and he gasped, clutching at it. Scott turned back to find him on his knees, breathing hard. He staggered off to the locker rooms, shucking off gear at random, and clawing at his chest. He could see it glowing now, through the sheer cotton tee shirt he was wearing.

A second later, his back slammed hard against the wall. Derek stepped away, giving him a once over. His eyes were glowing. Fear rose in his throat like smoke, suffocating him.

"What are you doing here?" He managed through the pain still throbbing at his chest. Derek's eyes locked in on his hand, pressed over his heart, streams of light pouring from between the cracks in his fingers.

"Making sure you don't get yourself killed," He snarled, flinging Stiles' hand away and pulling at the collar of his shirt. Uncomfortable at the way his body was reacting, Stiles pressed himself further into the wall, cheeks burning against his will. Derek's hand stilled, hovering over the markings at Stiles' chest. They were dark now, looking eerily similar to a curling black tattoo. Derek traced a fingertip over the marks, making goose bumps rise on Stiles' arms.

"Custoditio ignes consurrexistis," Derek said in a hushed whisper, pulling his hand back as if he had been burned. Stiles straightened out his shirt.

"Latin?"

Derek mostly to himself, stepping backward. "Derek—" Stiles needed to talk to him, to ask him about what was happening. He had a feeling the sullen man would know, but his hand met air and Derek had already disappeared. Nonplussed, Stiles fished his phone out of his pocket, trying desperately to remember what Derek had said. He came up blank.

"Ignes… Cust… Cust Ignes exist?" Stiles muttered to himself, fiddling with his phone. The burn was gone, light dying down to a faint glow. He exited the lockers as he heard Finstock yelling practice was over early. Sharp pinpricks rained down on him and Stiles sighed, pulling his hood up. Scott sidled up beside him.

"Are you okay, dude?" Stiles nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Scott let out a relieved sound.

"I saw Derek," He began.

A sinking feeling twisted itself into knots in Stiles' stomach. He fiddled with his shirt collar, hanging limp from the stretching. "Yeah, me too." Before he could say anything else though, Lydia was standing beside him, her frilly umbrella poking him in the temple. She didn't offer to let him slip under and so he was forced to trudge to his car under the cold sting of rain.

"Custoditio ignes consurrexistis," He remembered suddenly. Lydia looked at him like he had three heads.

"'Guarding fires have risen'?" She translated. He nodded, running off towards his jeep and typing the words into his phone.

"Guarding fires have risen," Stiles spoke aloud to himself again, to commit it to memory. Scott was soaking wet when he slid in beside him.

"What does that mean?" Scott asked, confused. Stiles shrugged, almost crashing into a silver Porsche. Even in through the limited view of his rearview mirror, he could see the pile of black feathers piling up in the backseat. Jackson glared, laying hard on his horn.

"I don't know."

---

He typed it into Google that night, after properly prodding at the skin over his chest. It didn't hurt when he touched it, surprisingly, so he let himself trace over the symbols engraved there, mystified.

"Guarding fires, guarding fires…" He chanted to himself, scanning over the page. The first was just old supernatural based movies and crazy cult websites. Bored, Stiles clicked idly on the images page. He froze, hand flying up to his chest on instinct when he found pictures of the marking on his chest. A quick link on one of the pictures hurled him into an author's website. Not just any author, apparently. Stiles felt overdramatic for gasping.

Jordan Argent.

He pulled up Skype, hoping desperately that Scott was online. He was. The picture was grainy when he answered.

"Dude, you have to hear this." He breathed, when Scott was clear enough to see.

"The last time you said that, I found a dead body and got chained to a hospital bed."

"You're gonna hold that one against me forever, huh?" Stiles waved his hand, pulling down his shirt and pointing at the markings. "Do you…?"

Scott nodded solemnly, shoving his own shirt away, "I thought they were just scars."

"Do they hurt?"

He nodded again. "Sometimes. There's this weird light thing that happens…" He motioned with his hand, as though some invisible explosion were happing right over his chest. Stiles noticed that Scott's "scar" wasn't over his heart, but curled around the edges of the space between his collarbones.

"Well, remember how I said I saw Derek?" Scott nodded intently, "Well, he cornered me in the locker room. Said something like, 'I'm keeping you from getting yourself killed' then pulled my shirt down," Scott made a face. "I know! And then he said something in Latin and ran off."

Scott's eyebrows drew together, "That's really weird."

"I know right? So, anyway, I did some research on the Latin that he said. Lydia translated it for me—"

"She did?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Why do you sound so surprised? You're not the most ladies' man of ladies' men, if I do say so my self. She did it by accident anyway. Like I was saying, I found the mark in Google Images. Apparently, it means 'Guarding fires have risen.' This guy, Jordan Argent was writing about it."

"Argent? As in Allison?" Scott looked completely perplexed.

"The very same. It's… this is really freaking me out, man. I think…" He swallowed, shaking his head, "I don't know. I mean, what are we? Mutants?" For a second, his eyes lit up, "Oh my god, Scott. I've been looking at this all wrong. We're like Superheroes!"

Scott grinned.

"So… Has anything weird been happening with you? I mean, supernatural wise?" The other boy looked uncomfortable, rubbing his forearm.

"Yeah… It's weird, man. I can, like, feel stuff now."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, "I can feel things too, Scott. That's called being human. Feelings," He snorted, wiggling his fingers. Scott shook his head, frustrated.

"Feelings, exactly! I can feel them. I can even see them sometimes, like when Jackson was getting mad the other day, I could see heat waves all around him, and when Allison was panicking, I don't know, I kind of tried to push some calm into her and it, well, it worked."

Stiles thought about that. "Dude, that's kind of really awesome. And kind of like that one vampire dude from twilight." Scott made a face and disconnected, pointing behind him. Derek was leaning against his window, clad in the usual depressing all black attire. Stiles jumped a foot in the air, cursing and glaring at the man.

"You figured it out." Derek said it matter-of-factly, not as a question, but Stiles felt the need to answer.

"I did." Stiles shocked again when Derek made a low sound. If he was one for wistful thinking, he would even assume it was a laugh that wasn't mocking. He inclined his head toward the window.

"I assume you want answers to anything Google couldn't find you, right?"

Stiles was hesitant; on one hand he did want answers, but on the other, he didn't really want them from Derek Hale. Sighing, Stiles shrugged on a red hoodie, resigned to the fact that Derek and his family were probably the only ones that had any idea what was going on.

"And you have them?"

Derek smirked, sliding the window open and hitching a leg over, but Stiles pulled him back. Derek raised an eyebrow as Stiles' hand lingered and he pulled it back hastily.

"If we're leaving, we're taking the front door." The man rolled his eyes, but followed Stiles, who grabbed his bag on the way out, gathering the papers he had printed messily and shoving them in. Lydia was waiting outside, glowering at, astonishingly, Isaac and that blonde chick who sat behind him in English. Erica Reyes. Laura waved at him from a shiny black Camaro, smile large and shiny as ever. Stiles turned back to Lydia, glaring at the two teens holding her forearms in a death grip.

"So, these are your minions?" Stiles asked Derek, who scowled at him. He gave both a slow once over. "Shabby group you got here. I bet you don't even pay them! Even though you're obviously loaded, judging by this car." For all his faulty confidence though, sweat was gathering at the hollows of his bones, and his nervous anticipation was practically tangible. He tapped his fingers against his thigh, shifting his footing several times. Lydia was giving him large, urgent eyes.

Stiles, I swear, if you don't make them unhand me—Lydia's voice was clear in his mind, loud and angered. He sighed, raising his arms in a universal, 'What am I supposed to do about it?' gesture.

"You kidnapped Lydia, too?"

Laura rolled the window down, leaning out. "Not kidnapped, she was willing."

"I didn't agree to this," The girl in question snapped, struggling against Isaac and Erica's iron hold.

"You weren't cooperating." Peter's voice rang out from behind the wheel and Stiles was suddenly very relieved that he wouldn't be getting into the back. Speaking of. Stiles shoved his keys into Derek's face.

"I can drive!" He blurted. The gangly boy took a deep breath, starting over. "You said something about giving me answers. Well, I don't want them from you if I have to worry Lydia is getting treated like some sort of hostage." Lydia gave him a grudgingly respectful look. He lowered his eyes to meet all the unfamiliar faces. "I'm sure there's other ways to get those answers. I could go looking for the Argents—"

Derek's eyes flashed, jaw tightening. His fingers curled deep into his palm and Stiles flinched on instinct. Erica growled and Lydia hissed, shrieking when Erica's newly formed claws drew blood.

"Lydia!" Stiles called, shoving the blonde away without a second thought. Taken by surprise, the girl staggered back and Isaac moved to steady her, releasing Lydia's arm. "Are you okay?" She brushed him off, flipping her hair back.

"I'm fine. I just want to know what's going on," Her voice took on a desperate tone and Laura exited the car, blowing hair out of her eyes.

"Who knew you would be so much trouble," The girl muttered. Stiles glared.

"Would you all stop being so damn vague about everything? Just tell us what's going on!"

"You're turning!" Derek's voice exploded through the panic.

"Into?"

They quieted.

"We don't know yet…" Laura added in tentatively. Lydia made an impatient noise, whipping out her phone and raising it to her ear.

"Who…?"

"Allison. You said she'd have answers right? At least, the Argents in general. They seem like the better option than the Leather gang." Stiles snorted, texting Scott hurriedly.

"The Argents are not the better choice," Laura said resolutely. Her eyes were hard, glinting in the low light still shining from Stiles' window.

Stiles shrugged moodily. "At least they have real answers for us, not random late night kidnappings and Latin phrases."

"Latin? What are you talking about?"

Stiles pointed to Derek, who was still hunched sulkily in the corner. "Ask your brother dearest," He traced the markings with his fingertips idly over the shirt. "Custoditio ignes consurrexistis. Guarding fires have risen." Laura made a surprised noise, grabbing for Lydia's wrist and flipping it. The other girl was too surprised to protest, trying to pull away, but Laura held firm. Inked out on her pale skin were the same markings over Stiles' heart, curling up her palm and around her ring finger. Lydia struggled again, still listening intently to the ringing in her ears from the phone, and Laura freed the appendage, consulting Peter, who was watching the whole affair like it was a particularly good drama.

Scott pulled up on his bike, breathing hard. He discarded the vehicle on the side of the road, taking a deep gasp of his inhaler. Stiles ran across the yard to meet him.

"Bro, what's going on?" Scott demanded, craning his neck to look over the other boy's shoulder. Erica was watching them hungrily, like she longed to spring the distance between them and tear Stiles apart. He shivered. Erica's eyes were golden now, and her claws were long. So, he wasn't hallucinating that day.

"I don't—" He began, but the screeching of tires stopped him short, Jackson's silver Porsche nearly slamming into the Camaro. He slammed the door, Allison trailing him. Someone was caught in the doorway to the backseat, tugging hard at something feathery and black.

"What the hell is so urgent?" Jackson wrapped a protective arm over Lydia's shoulders. Thunder boomed in the distance. Stiles groaned and almost missed Danny walking across his yard. He gaped at the boy.

"Dude, you have wings!"

Danny looked tired, and the wings quivered, unfurling from where they had formerly been molded against his back.

"I know." He sighed.

"Stiles!" It was Scott. "Duck!" He dropped to his stomach. Scott was doing the same and Allison was yelling something. An arrow was imbedded itself in Erica's shoulder. He ran for her, breaking it and tossing it away.

"Oh my god, are you…" His voice dropped off as he gaped, watching the skin stitch itself back together. The girl pushed him off, taking another arrow to the stomach. She snarled ripping it out. Stiles scrambled to his feet and felt a hand shoving him into the Camaro beside Scott and Allison. The door slammed shut, the sleeve of his hoodie getting caught in it as it peeled away from his house. Laura's hands were tight on the wheel of the car.

"Where are the others?" Stiles asked, raising an octave in panic, thinking of the glimpse he got of Lydia's terrified face.

"With Peter. He got into Jackson's car and are taking the others. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd are going to take care of the hunters."

"Hunters?" Scott screeched as Laura pulled a particularly harsh turn. Allison spoke up before the Hales could answer, voice rough.

"My family. The Argents. We're hunters," She held up her hands, swallowing, as Derek turned in his seat, growling. Scott glowered at him. "I only found out two months ago, a little after my Aunt Kate and Gerard got here. I guess I owe you guys an explanation. They said that I had powers, that I could… I could help humans with it. They were doing a bunch of tests and I didn't want to say no, you know… because they're family," She shifted uncomfortably. Derek's glare didn't lighten. "I can… They told me I can… bestow powers, in a way."

"Power manipulation," Laura supplied helpfully, the car slowing a bit as they hit the woods. "The ability to bestow powers on yourself or others and erase, steal, and mimic those of others."

Allison nodded, a small smile appearing for a small moment. "Exactly. They had me… There were so many bodies," Her shoulders were shaking, and Stiles realized with a shock that she was crying. "The man we saw… He was one of the… One of the ones I…" The brunette looked like she was going to be sick. "I didn't mean to… They said I was helping people…"

Laura sighed. "We know, sweetie. Derek…" The man had turned away though, staring hard out of the window, arms crossed. Stiles leaned back.

"Well, at least we aren't getting shot at anymore," He said cheerfully. Laura laughed and he swore he caught Derek flash a hint of a smile. Allison slumped, obviously grateful at the change of subject. They sat in silence, watching trees fly by.

"Your name is Stiles?" Derek spoke out of nowhere, twisting in his seat to look at him, lips twitching. "No, wait, is that supposed to be your superhero name? An alias? Like Superman or Captain America? Stiles."

"No," Stiles exclaimed furiously, offended. Beside him, Scott was howling with laughter. Derek turned back to the window and Stiles glared at the back of his head rest, muttering, "Would you look at that, Derek's got jokes." He saw Derek's lip quirk in the rearview mirror. Laura smiled at Stiles fondly, reaching around and patting his knee as they pulled up to the half burned skeleton of a house. Stiles stepped out of the car soon as it stopped, freeing his sleeve.

"Hey, there's something even creepier than Derek!"

He glowered, stalking off into the building. The lair, Stiles thought to himself, amused. The den? Since they have animal superpowers apparently. Brushing his thoughts away, he caught sight of Jackson's car. A trail of feathers led from it to the decaying front door and spots of snow dotted the ground, quickly melting to puddles. He straightened his shirt, leaving Scott to comfort Allison and elongating his strides.

"So… how does this work? Since you seem to know a lot about… everything." Stiles asked Laura, who was waiting for him on the porch, holding the door open. He stared into the gloom hesitantly and she grinned.

"Nothing's gonna come out and bite you," Peter guffawed from the kitchen at what was probably some inside joke. Stiles stepped forward, unease gripping his insides. "And what do you mean, how does it work?" Laura left the door ajar, probably for Scott and Allison. Not like they couldn't just push the door over; it looked like it was going to collapse on the stop.

"I mean… how do we… use the stuff?" Laura seemed deep in thought, perching herself on the counter in the kitchen. Stiles took a seat on a plastic red stool. The kitchen, it seemed, was at least a little more renovated than the rest of the house, filled with charred furniture and bad memories.

"Well, I do know that you can't over exert yourselves," Stiles saw Jackson, Danny, and Lydia scooting into hearing range. "It's called the tremor effect. Use your powers too much, you start to tremor. It's your body setting off a warning before you, ultimately, collapse."

"How long until that happens?" Danny asked, wings fluttering absently, a feather catching in Jackson's mouth. The other boy shot him a look, scooting away. The others were listening intently.

Laura shrugged. "It depends, changes with practice or even how you acclaimed these powers. Allison and my family were born with it, which usually means that we can sustain usage for a lot longer, if we don't do anything too strenuous. You all on the other hand, are still adjusting to the powers, so you'll probably won't last as long."

Jackson shook his head, "I still don't know what the hell is going on. Danny looks like some crazy demon angel, Lydia is in my head even more than usual, half of your little leather cult has a pair of wicked claws and glowing eyes, just… I'm almost sure this is a dream, but at least I'm not turning into a freakshow."

"You haven't noticed that the sky goes boom every time you get mad?" Stiles snorted. "Might as well just give you white contacts and call you Storm." His eyes widened and he turned to Peter and Laura.

So, we're like... The Justice League. The Avengers. No, no, we're the fucking X-men!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly, grinning and staring down at his hands, turning them over as if they weren't just pale appendages, but the key to his newly forming superhuman powers.

Derek stared at him blandly from the doorway, emotionless. "Shut up."

He jumped. Again.

"God damn, would you stop that! You're not Slender man, stop trying to freak me out by popping up out of nowhere." Laura stifled a laugh. Peter didn't even try to pretend he wasn't chuckling. Scott and Allison stumbled in, holding hands, and Stiles threw up his hands.

"Finally!"

The other members of the room looked at him strangely, but he didn't really care. He was tired and he just got shot at with arrows and he has superpowers, which is kind of great, and now Scott and Allison were together and he wouldn't have to listen to the desperate pining noises and mating calls Scott liked to spew. Hallelujah.

Allison seemed to get it though, and beamed. Lydia, though, felt the need to break into his euphoric rants.

"Who were those people that were shooting at us?"

Laura sighed, cupping her hands around fresh coffee that made Stiles' mouth water. Peter pushed a cup toward him and he sniffed a few times, hoping it wasn't poisoned. Peter's smirk was ever fearsome.

"They were hunters. The…" Allison nodded, "Argents. They've been tracking us for a while now, and I'm sure they heard about you all, especially with those," She motioned to the inky scars curling around various parts of their bodies. "Setting off every monitor within a hundred mile radius. You all are… attracting predators, I'm afraid." She winced. Stiles took a deep swig of the coffee.

"Why are Allison's family tracking you?" Danny inquired.

"Because we're werewolves. And our families have been after each other for decades. We've been following you all around the country for about four months. We were more than surprised when you arrived in our territory." Laura's green-gray eyes sparkled. "We've been trying to figure out a game plan for awhile now, but…"

Allison swallowed, "You want to kill them."

Laura spluttered, back peddling, "No! Not at all, Allison! We're just trying to keep them from creating more casualties, especially those of our own kind."

"Your kind?"

"Mm. The reason that the man you found was cut in half was because that is one of the only was to keep werewolves from regenerating."

Stiles tapped his nail upon the counter. "Do you know what Kate and Gerard are planning?"

Allison shook her head, but Laura nodded slightly. "We know that they were using Allison to steal the powers of various werewolves, the especially strong ones with extra powers. They most likely want to extend those powers to other hunters," Laura met Allison's eyes, voice softening, "They're going to come looking for you, you know. They'll tell you that what they're doing is the right thing, that they want to make humans stronger, and they do, but only to kill more of those who are different from themselves."

The other girl raised her hand in understanding. "What do you want me to do?"

A shrug. "You may do as you please. I can't ask you to chose me and my side over your family, but you could be very helpful, if you do decide to help us." Peter leaned against the counter next to Stiles, "We do need to hone your powers, all of yours, even if you don't want any part in our politics or our pack."

Scott spoke up, "Can you help us understand… everything?"

Peter scoffed, "Who do you think we are? Mediocre supernatural beings? Of course we can."

---

Understanding, as it turned out, was really freaking hard.

Stiles leaned his hands on his knees, doubled over and trying to catch his breath. Scott looked like he was going to puke, and Jackson was quickly getting frustrated, thunder crackling in the distance.

"There you go!" Peter called to the huffing boy, "Tap into those emotions!"

Stiles crawled over to where Scott was sprawled on the grass outside the Hale house.

"I miss Allison," Scott complained, head lolling. Stiles smacked him in the shoulder.

"Ugh, we both feel like dying and you're still thinking of Allison." A dopey smile overtook his face and Stiles held up a hand, making gagging noises.

"Don't. Don't even start with me." Scott shrugged and groaned as Derek got closer. "God, can we switch teachers? Please?"

Those puppy eyes were way too effective. Laura grinned, having heard the boys' conversation.

"I think it would be a good idea to switch it up, don't you Derek?"

Derek growled, holding out a hand to Stiles.

"So..." Stiles puffed, visualizing a string, watching it slide through his fingers in his mind's eye, as he was instructed. Derek was watching him carefully. "…I don't suppose…" The string was falling to pieces. He opened his eyes, hand full of bright red thread. He groaned, nausea rising. "You can do that cool bone thing…" He panted, "Like Wolverine?"

Derek actually snorted. "Shut up, Stiles, and focus."

"But can you?" He whined in an attempt to get out of the string exercise. A mug he knew well was one thing. He learned all he had done was teleport the objects. In this, he was actually creating it out of nothing. Derek rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "This isn't the X-Men, Stiles. No matter how much you might want it to be."

"Is it—"

"It's not the Avengers either."

Stiles slumped, shoving Derek's shoulder halfheartedly. He didn't budge. "Sourwolf." He closed his eyes again, but he imagined his mother instead. She was sitting in a rocking chair, knitting red thread together into a scarf. Stiles approached, brushing his fingers over the fabric.

"May I?" She smiled, eyes bright as his own. His heart ached. She was so alive in these daydreams, so real, that it felt like she might even be there when he opened his eyes, holding out the red scarf to him like she did so many years ago on a particularly frosty winter morning.

"Always."

His eyes snapped open and Derek was staring down at him, lip quirked. The red thread had knitted itself together into a soft, red scarf. Stiles jumped up, forgetting his exhaustion momentarily.

"It worked! It worked!" He danced around, almost slapping Derek in the face. The man made an agitated noise low in his throat, catching Stiles hand. He stilled, heart skipping a beat as a spark ran up his fingers, before Derek pushed his hand away with a gruff, "Lesson is over. Go take a break."

Stiles bounced happily back to the house. Lydia was watching TV, books spread around her, having finished her lesson two hours ago; unfair. He stared down at the scarf, grin fading as he tucked his pinky into a small hole in the scarf.

He missed his mom.

The slam of a door jarred him from his memories and, frankly, he was grateful. He didn't really like delving into the stack of reminders telling him that his mom was gone. Allison was standing at the door, grinning like a maniac and untying her scarf from her neck.

"I know when they're meeting," She panted breathlessly. Derek appeared out of nowhere, Laura, Peter, Jackson, and Scott in tow. Scott and Allison shared a kiss so sweet it could rival the sound of babies cooing. There was a thump on the roof and a exuberant laugh before Danny came tumbling down through the ceiling. They watched him, no one saying a word. Stiles had to say, it was almost comical.

"You know where who are meeting?" Derek demanded as Jackson extended a hand to Danny. Stiles grinned at him and was startled when he actually grinned back, before they both turned back to watch Allison and Derek's exchanges. After all, it was still odd to consider the fact that all of this was real life. The lessons, the Hale house and the fact that they had met there for the past three days, the Hales themselves. Stunningly gorgeous wasn't the half of it. Plus, Stiles enjoyed hearing about their evil villain counterpart. The Evil Argents. It had a good ring to it, despite the fact that it was still Allison's last name too. Stiles studied the girl; she was taking it much better than he would've, but after all, she'd been dealing with it for two months – the dead bodies, the manic gleam in Gerard's eye. Okay, he didn't know about the manic gleam, but they could play along for his benefit, else he would start thinking this over too much and everything would go to hell.

"Aunt Kate said that I needed to buy myself a dress for the "party" in two weeks. She said that we were going to present me to the "circle," whoever that is. She said she wanted me to practice everything she showed me, since I would have to be able to bestow the powers they gathered onto all the members." Allison dug something out from her bag, thrusting it forward. It was a necklace, an elaborate pattern carved into it. "Gerard gave this to me, said it was how it would get me anywhere our family was concerned, then he went on this rant about always choosing the family, but it got me everything I needed."

Stiles grinned, "So, the old man went all Godfather on you? Will you wake up with a horse head in your bed?"

Allison shuddered, dropped the necklace into Derek's waiting hand, "I hope not."

Derek was turning the necklace over in his hands, frowning. He tossed it to Laura, before stalking off. Stiles heard a door slam in the distance, reverberating throughout the whole house.

"What's up with grumpy dwarf now?" He inquired, half curious, half annoyed at Derek's innate ability to make everything even worse than it already was. Scott shrugged, but Laura was staring after him sadly, before examining the pendant for herself.

"I think…" The Alpha began, holding the piece of jewelry out to Allison, "That this was your Aunt's. Old family heirloom."

Allison raised her eyebrows, "Yeah, it was. She told me. How did you know?"

Laura, who was half turned away, smiled sadly.

"Because she gave it to Derek."

---

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Stiles stared up at the ceiling, tossing a ball against it absent mindedly. He was oddly calm tonight, even through the rush of thoughts of his. He kept finding himself back at what Laura had said. Because she gave it to Derek. He wondered what it meant, trying to puzzle things out in his head. He could, of course, just ask one of the Hales, but Peter would give a slippery answer that left him more confused than anything, Derek would… Well, rip his throat out with his teeth, as he had threatened before, and Laura would ask why. Stiles found himself asking the same question. Why did he want to know? Why was he so eager to figure things out about the Hales? Maybe it was the mystery, the complexity. He had always liked mind games and Derek Hale was basically a Rubik cube wrapped in a edgeless puzzle and masked by a hard exterior.

Stiles wanted to solve him.

He followed the ball with his eyes, the rhythm; up, and back down. Up, and back down. He held his hands out, closing his eyes and envisioning the ball halting in place, suspended in time. He grinned when he opened his eyes, allowing himself a small whoop of satisfaction before the ball smacked him in the face.

"So much for that," He grumbled, tossing it away. Sighing, he flopped back against his pillows.

Who was Derek Hale?

"Stiles."

He flailed, tumbling off the bed and throwing a pillow out in the general direction of his "attacker." When he resurfaced, he saw that Derek was holding the pillow in one hand, suppressing a grin. He huffed.

"What are you doing here?"

Derek shifted from foot to foot, before tugging at a red square peeking out of his pocket. Stiles' red scarf.

"You cheated, today." Derek smiled. "Scott told me."

Stiles sighed, grabbing the scarf. "I thought that I had made it. I didn't realize 'til I was back in the house and you seemed… occupied." He acted out the motion of stomping away, sound effects and everything. Derek just shook his head, throwing his leg over the window sill.

"Are we… I mean, are we going to help you spy on the Argents?" stiles asked hesitantly. Derek looked uncertain. He just shrugged.

"Goodnight, Stiles."

Stiles waited until he heard the sound of the Camaro's engine purring, staring down at the red fabric in his hand and pressing it to his nose in a rash gesture. It smelled like aftershave and something spicy, as if Derek had been rubbing his face all over it. Stiles smiled.

"Goodnight, Derek."

---

"We're going to have to teach you a lot," Laura replied when Stiles asked her the same thing he had asked Derek the other night. "If you even wanted to put yourself at that sort of risk. The Argents don't just hunt werewolves, you know."

Stiles nodded. "I know. I mean, I've been reading, and listening to what Allison and Lydia have to tell me about the Argents, plus I've met some of them. Hardcore people. But… I want to. To help, I mean." He worried his lip between his teeth, the stack of books he was carrying in his arms almost falling as he stumbled over a loose floorboard. Laura kicked at it. "We have to fix that." He gave her a look and she smiled.

"I know you want to help. I would too, if I were in your position. But we don't know if any of you are ready for something as serious as battle, especially since we'll be fighting against Allison's family. I can try to teach you as much as I can, but…" She looked uncertain, "I just don't know. You would be really helpful, though, if everything works in the long run."

The boy nodded again, staring out at Lydia and Allison shooting arrows in the yard, backing into the kitchen and setting the frail looking books down in front of Peter. He was occupied, obviously, pulling a large, leather bound one from the shelf above the sink. The man slammed it down in front of him, jostling his newly made coffee. Stiles yelped, scooping up the mug and holding it close. Peter waved his hand, "I'm sure you can just zap more into reality." He paused, stripping himself of what looked like plastic gloves, grinning when he caught Stiles' eyes following the movement.

"Magic proof gloves," He explained, answering Stiles' unvoiced question. "They're limited edition. Anyway. I want you to read that."

Stiles eyed the thick book wearily. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that it was sealed shut by a peculiar, pulsing metal carved with odd symbols. "But… It seems like you can't even touch it."

"I can't," Peter grinned wickedly, leaning his forearms against the counter, "But I think you can. Go ahead, lay a hand down."

"What… what is it?"

Peter made an impatient noise. "A grimoire. Nothing bad is going to happen, I promise."

Reluctantly, Stiles stretched out his palm, laying it flat against the metal. He hissed, more in surprise than actual pain, when a sharp edge dragged along his index finger, drawing blood. A droplet splattered across one of the symbols, dying it red. Peter raised his eyebrows but said nothing, watching intently. He kept his hand pressed against the book, a shiver of power running from his fingertips to the top of his shoulder.

With a whirring sound, the book shuddered and the locks began to untangle themselves, unwinding until the cover fell open. Stiles' blood from previously leaked onto the crisp white page, twisting until it formed words. He grimaced. That was gross.

Genim Stilinski.

Stiles' eyes widened; he hadn't seen his name in a long time. "What does it say?" Peter murmured. He turned to the man, confused.

"You can't read it?" Peter shook his head. He began to translate, but the scarlet substance was moving again, shifting.

Do you bear the mark once more?

"What do you mean, once more?" Stiles felt like it was laughing at him.

It was with you when you were born, Genim. Don't you remember? Your mother had it erased from your skin, but it marks you through to your skin, bones, and in your blood.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Who are you?"

I? I am Evanthe, though no soul has asked for a time. I am in the procession of werewolves, but my master bound me, kept them from ever opening me.

"Will you help me?"

With your quest? The tinkling laugh resonated once again in his mind, I'm afraid I can be of little service in the physical sense. But I can share with you the secrets that I keep, especially those of the Argent family.

Stiles nodded slowly, "Do I have to… pay a price for your help?"

Just a drop of blood, every time you are in need of my services.

He grinned. "Like a genie?" An indignant sound rose in his head.

I am nothing like your cartoon lamp dweller. I provide my assistance only because of the kindness of my master's heart, of the lessons he instilled inside of me.

Evanthe went silent and the page turned, blank as day. Sighing, Stiles reached around, drawing the sharp edge of metal from the binder and pulling hard. It came away with a snap, morphing into a chain. At the end, a stone black as obsidian shone in his had, narrowing into severe tip. Peter raised his eyebrows.

"This is Evanthe," Stiles said, motioning toward the book, shuddering in anticipation as he poised the pointed tip over his finger. "In return for her help, I draw blood. She said she can share the secrets that she keeps. Apparently, she knows a lot about magic, or something, and a lot about the Argents." The blood spilled onto the pages, and Evanthe's laugh circled the room, audible even to Peter, who reeled back. "I didn't know it was… alive." He exclaimed in wonder. Stiles' blood transformed itself into a scarlet dragon, spitting warning fires out of the page when Peter's hand got too close. He drew it back, a mournful expression.

"I hope you know I'm exceptionally jealous of you for the first time ever."

Stiles snorted, placing a hand over the page, the blood wasn't sticky under his fingers, like he thought it would be, but smooth, blending into the pages. The dragon preened underneath stroking hands, soaring up the page and exploding in a flurry of sparks. Words began to appear.

"Can you read this?" Stiles asked, frowning in concentration. Peter huffed.

"Human, I thought I already told you I can't. Must you make me state things I am not good at more than once?"

Stiles shook his head with a small smile, reading the words aloud.

"There are two types of spell casters that exist in this world: The born and the created. Like a pack of wolves, beings of magic can be of a coven, or travel alone. The 'soleus magicae' are those who live in solitude, " He began, settling himself into a stool and taking a sip from the mug he found lying around. "Many spell casters who were not born in magic must take time in unlocking their magic. You, Gen-Stiles," He corrected himself hastily, much to Peter's curiosity and Evanthe's amusement. He blushed, continuing his reading in his own head, to avoid further slip ups. "Are a strange mix of the two, for your mother had your marks burned off, but the magic ran untainted. To unlock your powers, you must find them within yourself, even with this assistance I shall bestow upon you." His blood ran back up his fingertips, curling around his hand. When he pulled it away, it was marked with an eye.

"What—" He turned to look at Peter, but he was gone. Evanthe chuckled, before the sound was cut short and the book closed of it's own accord, locking once again. Stiles slung the pendant over his head, gathering the book and sliding it into his backpack.

"Is that my mug?"

Stiles grinned, covering the word 'Derek' that was inscribed upon it in dark ink. "Nope."

Derek glared, rolling his eyes and sauntering out the front door, Stiles hot on his heels. Outside, a small fire had started, where the grass was lit. Jackson was staring down at it with pride. Lydia was twirling herself around, seemingly flying, eyes shining an almost unnatural green, next to Danny who flapped his wings lazily, circling them. Scott was stroking Allison's hair, watching the lines disappear between her forehead and he rubbed the pads of his fingers over her skin.

It seemed peaceful, routine. Stiles smiled, settling into a chair.

"You told me once that werewolves have something extra too."

Derek propped himself up on the table, watching Allison and Scott with an odd mix of hatred and envy. At least, Stiles assumed it was envy. He was envious.

"Yeah. Laura can portal, Peter can run…"

Stiles laughed, "I can run, too."

Derek scowled, pointing out a silvery blur. "Like that?"

"Not exactly, but you know, when it's raining—"

The other man pressed a hand to his temple, "Just… stop talking."

"I feel like you say that a lot."

"Only to you."

Stiles made a face, moving over to stand by Scott the moment Lydia fell out of the sky.

"Lydia!" He ran forward, but Laura was already there, materializing out of literally nothing and catching her. She lay her down on the grass, Jackson rushing over. Danny landed next to him in a flurry of black feathers. The girl was twitching, eyes fully consumed by the emerald color.

"I don't…"

Laura passed a hand over her head, "Derek."

Derek appeared, running a hand over Lydia's arm, ignoring both Stiles' and Jackson's possessive growls. A moment later, he shook his head, retracting his palm.

"There's nothing I can do, since nothing is wrong."

"What do you mean nothing it wrong, she just fell out of the sky!"

Derek shrugged, "There's nothing I can heal, at least."

Stiles started to protest, but a burning sensation over his heart, and now his palm, stopped him short. He curled his fingers into a fist and gasped.

"You can help us, Allison," A blonde woman said encouraging, smiling. "You can help us change the world as we know it."

Allison swam into view, biting her lip. Tear tracks stained the pale skin beneath her eyes. "I don't- I can't, Aunt Kate. I would if I could, but I can't."

Gerard planted a hand on her shoulder, smiling as well. "Yes, you can, my love," He took her hand, guiding it toward the body on the table. "Just like this…"

The fragment of a memory exploded, Stiles falling to his knees, clutching his head. He crawled over to Lydia, brushing questions away and pressing her fingers into the newly formed tattoo at the center of his hand, nearly screaming from the pain of taking the full brunt of memories that weren't hers, before shoving her hand away and running to throw up in the bushes. He sat back, dizzy. The cool breeze was welcome and he sighed. From this distance, he could see Lydia sitting up, pushing Jackson away as he helped her stand. He closed his eyes, trying to push the memories out, his head throbbing.

"Genim?"

"Hi, mom." He waved halfheartedly, taking his seat beside her. She took his hand, turning it over and stroking the mark.

"I see you met Evanthe," She smiled, tugging at the necklace. He nodded. "And you took the visions from Lydia. My brave boy."

"What happened to her? Why did she see what she saw?"

His mom leaned against him, "You've gotten so tall," She breathed, "She's a powerful girl, that one. With her powers, came even the rare ability of precognition as well as the entrance of other's minds. When it was unlocked, she didn't know how to block them and so her mind just stored them."

"I used to be in love with her."

A smile played around her lips. "Used to be?"

"I think I've changed my mind."

"Does your head still hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Then open your eyes."

He blinked slowly, eye lashes fluttering. Scott was standing over him, hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man."

Scott beamed and Stiles felt himself become more energetic, attitude soaring. "You're awake! I was beginning to think you were dead."

He rubbed his head, taking Scott's offered hand. "Not exactly."

"I saw what happened with Lydia? What did you do?"

"Took her visions," Stiles sighed, "You know that one movie with Tom Cruise and those three blonde kids? Minority Report?"

Scott stared at him blankly. "Really? You've never seen that movie? The one where he got his eyes cut out and replaced?" Nothing. "Ugh, you. Anyway, there were these kids, precogs. They could see the future and even the past. I think Lydia can do that, too."

"That's so cool," Scott grinned, raising Stiles' hand. "You got a tattoo?"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "Yes, and I'm gonna start wearing leather jackets and get tongue piercings and ride a motorcycle."

"So, it appeared."

"Spot on, Scotty boy."

Scott shoved him, laughing, "I knew it, Genim."

Stiles flailed, "Don't call me that!"

Derek fell into step beside them. "Genim?"

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up and storming into the house. The laughter that echoed behind him didn't make him regret his choice. He flipped open the grimoire, toeing off his shoes and jumping onto the couch. Derek lifted his socked feet, placing them carefully in his lap as he took a seat beside him.

"Peter gave you that?" He looked surprised. Stiles nodded, pricking himself the with necklace. Derek watched the string of blood drip onto the page.

"Ow, God, okay, too deep, too deep…" Stiles murmured. Derek glared, taking his hand in a surprisingly gentle grip, cradling it in his own and bringing it up to his lips. The cut sealed itself before Stiles' eyes and Derek rolled his own, releasing his hand.

"There, all better." And he turned to the TV, clicking in on like nothing had happened while Stiles just stared in shock at his chiseled profile. A familiar twinkling chuckle rose up in his ears and he blushed, looking down.

"Shut up, Evanthe."

Derek looked at him strangely, smirking, before turning back to some sitcom.

I said nothing, Genim. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, my ass you said nothing."

Evanthe laughed. What is it that you require?

"How does all of this work? I mean, you… When am I allowed to call on you? Do you sleep, or…"

I sleep. You may call on me anytime you are awake, but I don't believe it is good for your health to constantly be drawing blood. That is, she made a sound near to a snort, If your werewolf is not around.

"He's not my werewolf," He muttered, but Evanthe was gone and words were pouring over the pages. Derek angled the book so he could see, "You can read that?" He was incredulous.

"What is everyone else seeing?" Stiles proclaimed, "Because it's in English to me."

Derek chuckled. "Of course it is. I see a bunch of symbols that keep moving around."

"Huh." He skimmed the page. "Oh, this is about the Argents."

Your Argents have been around for decades, "protecting" the world against the supernatural – beings of magic, werewolves, vampires, other subcategories.

"Vampires are real?" He nudged Derek, who had gone rigid. Some of the tension left his shoulders.

"I've never met one."

"What if zombies are, too! There could be an actual zombie apocalypse." He was elated.

"You do know that's not a good thing, right?" Derek cocked his eyebrows sarcastically. Stiles shrugged, going back to reading.

They have enforced their weapons and now, with the Argent daughter Allison being born in magic, they have the ability to create an entirely new race of superhunters.

"But she won't side with them."

Maybe so, but they will do whatever they can to convince her to ally herself with them, especially at that party on Friday. You will need a plan, using either your wolf as brute strength or the precog as your spy.

Stiles shook his head, "They would recognize her. Lydia is her best friend."

I see. What about the other Hales?

"Laura, maybe. We want to be there, too, though. In case anything goes wrong. I talked to Scott about it, Lydia and Allison, too. They all agreed. Lydia said Jackson, this is can't believe, and Danny feel the same."

I see. Well, I suppose battles have been won through the blind charge.

"Is there anything I really need to know? About my… magic?"

You need to know that when you really want to let it in, let others in, you have to accept the fact that she is gone. She helps you with your magic, I already know, but you are keeping yourself from your full potential by her being the only way you can access it. Let it come from you, not your bloodline.

Stiles closed the book, and simultaneously closed his eyes.

"I can't."

He felt someone settle onto the arm rest next to him and looked up to find amused green-gray orbs staring back at him. Laura curled her lip, eyes flicking toward Derek and back to him. He made a noise of protest, but didn't move his feet from the other man's lap. Lydia snorted, sitting at his feet.

"I didn't get to thank you earlier," She whispered to him, placing a hand on his wrist. "I can take them back now."

Stiles shook his head, "I got rid of them."

"How?" She sounded desperate.

"I… had some help." He held his palm up, displaying the eye and tapping his temple with his free hand. Lydia ran a finger over the mark, eyes flashing; he remembered when he would've killed for her touch. She gave him a knowing look when she found the memory, but didn't pull her hand away, winding her fingers with his. Allison and Scott settled next to her, Scott laying his head on Stiles' thigh. Danny and Jackson turned the channel to some Lacrosse game, catching Derek in a conversation. He showed them the grimoire, explaining how it worked, grinning when Evanthe formed his leftover blood into a horse, rearing up and snorting fire from his nostrils.

He tried to ignore the way his heart stuttered when Derek placed a casual hand on his ankle.

---

Derek swung through his window that night.

"You know, I don't see why you don't just ride home with me after lessons," Stiles said, closing one of the books he had borrowed from Peter. Derek made an amused noise, leaning against the wall. Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Do you sleep in those clothes or something?" He pushed the book away, Derek nestling into his desk chair.

"No." He scooped up the book he had just put down fluidly, snapping it open and returning to his place. Stiles fidgeted in the silence. "Did you need something?"

Derek shook his head, before returning to the book, "Just wanted to borrow this."

"You can keep it. It's Peter's."

"I know."

"So…" He twiddled his fingers, "Then why are you still here?"

Derek's eyes were like a storm, swirling bouts of emotion. "Do you want me to leave?"

He didn't sound hurt, he didn't, Stiles chanted to himself.

"I… No, you… you can stay. But I'm going to sleep. I hope you can read in the dark." He reached out and hit his lamp until it cloaked them both in a heavy darkness, brimming with words unsaid. Derek raised his head, eyes glowing in the way he had seen Peter's do a few times, when the man felt like scaring him as he came out of the bathroom or into the house.

He laughed and Stiles swallowed.

He was so screwed.

---

Laura lay a paper down in front of them the next day, after they came over from school.

"What's this?" Danny asked, pulling his shirt off and freeing his wings. Jackson and Scott ducked out of the way as he flapped them experimentally.

"Battle plans." Stiles nearly ran into Scott's back, Evanthe's voice reciting the words to an explosive spell in his ears.

"Ours?"

Scott shook his head, "The Argents'. Allison managed to get a copy, saying she wanted to be very familiar with the area. They want to attack the Hales."

His eyes widened, "When?"

"After the party, to prove their power." Laura replied, reading over the torn piece of paper. "Hopefully we can stop them before then, though."

They shared nervous glances, anticipation hanging heavy in the air like static. Jackson's voice was gruff when he spoke, "So, they're gonna try to kill you?"

"Torture us, maybe, on the side," Peter leaned against the doorway. The pitter-patter of rain started up on the windows and Stiles moaned, chanting a quick spell for protection as Lydia created a barrier over the house.

"You had to make it rain, didn't you?" Jackson just glowered. "Shut up, Stilinski." He wiped his hands over his jeans. "Do we have a battle plan, too? Or are we just charging in there like a bunch of morons, flailing like chickens who just got their heads cut off?"

Laura sat wearily. "We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves, in case something goes wrong. If you're captured, you send a warning. Lydia," She smiled at the girl, "Will be monitoring everyone. Allison will pretend like she's going along with their plans, Scott will try to keep things calm as possible, especially if someone starts to get suspicious. Stiles and Lydia can both get under the radar as friends of Allison's if none of her immediate family catches them. Derek, Peter, and I will try to take out Kate and Gerard. Danny and Jackson will keep watch. If everything else fails, Jackson can just electrocute everyone in the building."

"Why don't we just do that?"

"Because not everyone in there is guilty. Some follow a code."

Scott nodded, "And they're Allison's family. She'd be homeless if we did that."

Stiles scoffed, "They're Allison's bat shit crazy family."

No one argued.

"Not that I'm not looking forward to Kate's insane villainy rant and all, but what are they even planning anyway? Like, as a whole? I mean, I know about the whole 'superhunters' thing, but…"

Laura rubbed her eyes; Stiles saw that they were lined with dark circles. "They want to exterminate supernaturally gifted individuals, but I think they want to expose us as well."

Stiles nodded. "You should go sleep." Lydia agreed. "You've been working really hard lately."

She truly was tired if she didn't protest, just shuffled off to her room, nodding to herself. Peter stepped out of the shadows once she was gone, grinning like the cat who had just caught the canary. They groaned.

"Training time, kiddies. I'd suggest you tell Jackson to make it stop raining or beg Stiles to ask the book, else you'll be knee deep in mud." Danny shoved his friend and he grudgingly calmed himself, the rain slowing to a light drizzle.

"Now," Peter clapped his hands together. "Hand to hand combat." Scott made a surprised sound.

"Why?"

"Why?" Peter's eyes were blazing with amusement and passion, "What, do you think you can strike down the Argents with your good looks? If you are going to this party, you need to be prepared to move and move fast. You can't always rely on your powers. I know that some of you play Lacrosse, Allison is an Argent herself, and Lydia picks up on things incredibly," He winked at her, and she looked torn between preening and being creeped out. "But you need to be able to do more than the offensive avoidance maneuvers," That was aimed at Stiles, who scoffed, "And you need to learn how to use a weapon." He gestured to the table that was set out behind him, plucking up a sword and swinging it through the air with a practiced hand. "It's much easier to use weapons like this, rather than the guns that you humans enjoy so much nowadays. There's more range and you don't have to worry about restocking bullets."

He tossed the sword off to Scott, who was expecting it, catching it in a firm grip and twirling it with a smile. Peter surveyed the table again, grabbing two daggers. "These. Easy to throw, easy to stab people with, a lot like guns because there isn't a lot of range and when you throw them, usually you don't get them back. But they're useful." He shrugged, catching the cardboard cutout in the heart and holding up a bow and arrow. "Allison's signature. Long range, but it takes a bit of time to get the arrow in the bow if you haven't been practicing. We've got a bunch of other stuff," He waved his hand dismissively and stepped back. "Pick something you like, try not to kill yourselves, then come find me. When I've taught you all, I'll partner you up and you can hack at each other all you like."

Lydia, Stiles saw, went straight for the flamethrower, grabbing a few daggers on her way. Danny seemed to be testing the weight of spears while Jackson swung out at the air with a curved sword, grinning wickedly.

"Is that a bat?" Scott laughed, and Stiles moved to stand beside him, feeling the magic pulsing from the wood. "Not the normal kind," He replied, placing a hand on it. It elongated into what looked like a machete. Peter snorted from where he was reading a book, watching Lydia throw daggers like a trained assassin.

"How did I know you would chose that?" He called to Stiles, who was swinging it, watching bursts of light run up the tip. "It's enchanted. It came from the man who gave us the grimoire." Stiles nodded, walking over to him.

"Am I holding it right?" He asked, swinging outwards. Peter smirked, adjusting his hand. Stiles tested the grip a few times, before slashing out at the cardboard cutouts Lydia hadn't already burned or imaled, beheading it. Peter nodded approvingly.

"You can fight with your powers as well, it just has to be balanced. And the hunters will have much more practice than any of you, so you'll have to be fast and use you advantages well." They made various sounds of agreement, still practicing. Peter gathered them, showing them how to duck, how to spot weaknesses in the way they walked or swung. Stiles saw Derek a few times, peering out of the doorway as he was paired with Lydia.

"I don't want to—" He began, cut off by narrowly avoiding a puff of fire licking at his hoodie. He stripped himself of it, grinning, both their hands glowing with spheres of energy. "Oh, it's on, Martin."

---

Friday, it seemed, rolled around far too quickly.

Stiles wiped his hands on his slacks, looking at Lydia, who was dressed in a beautiful gown, a swath of scarlet fabric. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. No, I can't believe this is even real life." She nodded, threading her fingers through his, her marks pressing into the eye tattoo at his palm.

"If I die, you can tell Scott all my stuff is his," Stiles grinned, pulling her forward and flashing the copy of the pendant Allison had given them. The bouncer nodded, pulling the door open for them. Lydia smirked charmingly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. He nudged her just the slightest bit when he felt the air grow a fraction colder. She rolled her eyes, stepping forward. It wasn't the Argent house, rather a rented place a few miles out of the actual town, filled with beautiful white staircases and marble floors. The ceiling arched high above them, stained glass inked with a painting of a sunrise over angels bearing their marks.

Well, maybe it wasn't rented.

People were milling around, smiling and drinking from champagne flutes. Stiles could see various types of weaponry dangling from their belts and strapped to their backs, visible through their pressed suits and ball gowns. Lydia simpered at him, sashaying off into the fray. She called out to him, but the procession had already started. A blonde woman was tapping the microphone, smiling out at the crowd. An odd shape was covered by a velvet curtain behind her.

"Hello, everyone, thank you for taking your time out of your busy schedules to attend this meeting. My name is Kate Argent," She dimpled, holding up a glass. "I know it's short notice, but there have been some discoveries in our… line of work," A few chuckled at that. "I would like to keep this condensed, so I'll just present it to you. I give much of my credit to my lovely niece, Allison," The girl stepped forward, smiling nervously and raising her hand. "And my father, Gerard," The man beamed, pulling the curtain away. A machine, whirring and beeping, stood before them. It was a mixture of glass and metal, like a snow globe on a pedestal. What looked like golden sand swirled around inside of the globe, forming odd shapes and pictures.

"Now, I'd like to show you the completed works of Jordan Argent," She grinned, crooking her finger…

Directly at him.

"Stiles," She crooned into the mic, "Won't you come up here and show us all the benefits of the evolvenda?" He swallowed, walking up the steps, onto the stage. In a moment, she was placing a gold-sand covered hand over his chest. He forced himself not to scream, feeling the magic flowing around him. He heard the crowd gasp, seeing colors and beauty where he felt only pain. Kate pulled away and he gasped, hoping the occupants of the room were too star struck to notice. Distantly, he saw Lydia looking up at him in horror. Allison mouthed, "Sorry." But Kate was already talking once again.

"Now! Do you see what we can become? We can eliminate all other species that may do us harm, the half men, half beasts, the half breeds, the banes of our very own existence! Why were they granted powers we ourselves were not? Now we know. I can give you such powers! I can help you accomplish what we've always wished to! Are you with me?"

The crowd rose up in a frenzied roar, forming a line at the stage. Stiles watched as a hunter was told to drink the sand, eyes blackening. Gerard smiled at him, waving a knife. He saw Chris and Victoria looking upon the scene, faces impassive, before the door flew off it's hinges. Isaac, Boyd, and Erica burst in, claws extended, Jackson following up behind them, bolts of lightning flashing as sheets of rain blew in from the doorway. Danny swooped inside, overhead, kicking outward. Fighting began, the whole party exploding in chaos, but Stiles only caught the beginning, the confusion, before Gerard had swiped the knife across his cheekbone. He hissed, holding his palm to his face. Kate yanked it away, holding them behind his back.

"Move and I'll kill you." She said in a low, happy tone, leading him off by prodding him in the back. He struggled for only a moment, to tell if she was serious, before deflating. Gerard looked furious, but stayed back, holding Allison. Kate looked around, searching for anyone. Stiles caught Danny's eyes before she threw open a door, eyes wide. She handed off the knife to a fighter scrambling for a weapon, eyes glinting.

"Help m—" He managed to mouth before Kate was shoving him down the stairs.

"You can join us," Kate said, "We could use talent like yours, when we set the evolvenda on the city." Stiles' eyes widened and he tripped, but Kate's hands were already there to steady him, prodding his back with the handle of the taser she had produced from her belt.

"You're setting it on the city?" She smiled sweetly, "Well, milder, of course, and in return, we get the life essence that helps it run."

"Wouldn't that kill them?" He ground out as he was shoved to his knees, Kate chaining his hands behind him.

The woman clucked, "Oh, no, no, no. You see, we only take a small amount and we replace it, of course, with our own dark energy. The machine makes the human being crave the feeling, to have life's problems off their shoulders. They'd become our slaves, in a way, if only to get more of that feeling."

Stiles attempted to glare at her over his shoulder. "I'd never join you." He resisted the urge to spit in her face.

"Aw, Stiles. What a shame. I liked you from the start," Kate mock pouted. Gerard's handy knife work was stinging now, blood trickling down the front of his torn shirt, blooming scarlet over the collar. He glared at her and she smiled.

"How about we go out there and tear your little werewolves apart?" He tried not to react, but felt his jaw tightening instinctively. "Or maybe that Scott fellow? Chris seemed to have half a mind killing the kid and I'm certainly not opposed. Or that little redhead you took a liking to? Allison told me all about that." A flare of protectiveness started up inside him, but he just turned his head away. She gripped his chin tight, tilting it up to look at her. "Or how about Derek. We could just have a ball with him, right? Skin him like the animal he is."

"Don't touch him." Stiles' voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, magic igniting inside him, yet his chains held strong – magic heard Peter's voice in his mind. "They're limited edition."

Kate smiled maliciously, eyes glinting. "Oh… sweetie. You're in love with him aren't you?"

Stiles glowered, struggling against the chains. She just watched him with that same infuriating curl of the lips, tapping her Taser against her thigh, before dropping to her knees and stroking his face.

"Well, let me tell you a little secret, mmkay? Derek," She pressed the taser into the slot between two of his rib bones. "Will," a shock ran through him and he screamed, "Never," Kate was laughing, "Love," She leaned up, pressing her lips against his ear. They were sticky. "You."

Lydia… He tried weakly. She probably couldn't hear him. Battle was still going on upstairs, after all. It was just him and crazy Kate. He closed his eyes, body spasming and sweat wetting and matting his dark hair, plastering it to his face. He could hear Kate fiddling with something metallic, blades skimming each other's tips in a dangerous dance. Stiles strained against the chains again in a futile last attempt.

"Mom…" She looked up from her perch on the bed, folding quilts, her face erupting in a magnificent smile.

"Hi, my lovely boy," She reached over, pulling him down next to him. Stiles leaned against her shoulder, near tears. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

"I don't know, Mom." His eyes shone with tears unshed. Her hands stilled in their folding and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his head.

"Don't worry, Stiles." He looked up when she said his name; she had never called him anything but Genim. "I believe in you."

"If you were alive…" He swallowed, "Would you approve of Derek?"

"I'd approve of anyone that you loved, because I trust you."

"I miss you."

She smiled. "I know."

"Evanthe said…" He wet his lips.

"That you have to let me go," He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. "That doesn't mean you're losing me, Genim. It just means that I'll exist only in your memories, rather than in your hopes." He swiped at his eyes, and she rubbed his tears away like she used to, after a particularly bad fall. "Don't be sad. Remember me for all the good times, not for the bad." She pulled a chain over her head, slipping it around his neck. "A small parting gift, to help you with your magic," She pulled him into a hug, and he winced when she pressed a burning hand into his shoulder. When she pulled away, there was a small handprint there, and she was smiling at him.

"I love you."

He opened his eyes, feeling his mothers' ring press into his sternum, turning towards the floor when he noticed that his cheeks were stained with leftover tears. His shoulder still burned and when he peered at it through the rip in his shirt, he saw that it was glowing. Kate reemerged from wherever she had gone, twirling a blade expertly.

"I could just stab your little werewolves right through the heart," She grinned, tugging a hand gun from her belt. "But a wolf's bane bullet would be much more fun. The slow torture as it reached their bloodstreams…" She shivered in delight. Stiles made a face.

"I wonder why Allison didn't get your psycho gene," He wondered aloud idly. Her gaze hardened and she turned away from him.

"Good-bye, Stiles. I hope, when I return, you'll have changed your mind." She shot him one last, self assured smirk, before walking back up the stairs. He waited until he heard the door slam before letting his mind scramble.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit. Evanthe, the one time I needed you—"

There was a loud booming noise before the far wall exploded inward, a piece of brick catching Stiles in the face, and, okay, really, he couldn't have gotten a black eye in a more badass way? Jackson and Danny stood over him a moment later. Danny was grinning and Jackson had a proud look on his face. He grabbed one of the flying chunks of plaster and brick, slamming it down against Stiles' handcuffs. They fell away after the third time and Danny held out a hand, steadying him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, helping him up the stairs. Stiles waved them off, though his head was throbbing and the gash across his cheekbone was leaking blood. He swiped his hand across it, wincing, and stumbled up the stairs.

"I'm fine! Come on, we have to go!"

"What, why?" Danny and Jackson kept an easy pace with him. Lowering his hand to cover his mother's handprint, feeling the spark of magic spread through his body, Stiles held his hand out to the door marked with an array of symbols – death, protection, possession. The door burst into pieces, flying out in front of him. He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet, before running into the fray. The party was in chaos, hunters fighting with Lydia, who's eyes were glowing, a whirlwind flying up around her. Scott was fighting back to back with Isaac, swinging out with a sword he had stolen from a nearby weapons table, amping up irritation and making the hunters more and more clumsy. He saw Erica being launched over their heads from the second floor, Boyd following after her. Laura was locked in battle with Victoria Argent, Peter dancing around Gerard and Chris. Kate, Allison, and Derek, though, were nowhere to be found.

"Kate went all stereotypical villain and told me her scheme. She wants to grab her family and skedaddle with the machine and set it over Beacon Hills. Which would not only enslave our families, but it would strip us of our powers." Jackson nodded firmly and Danny tossed him a dagger. He fumbled it, nicking his finger, and the other two laughed. He shrugged it off, rolling his shoulders.

"You know, I don't really—" Jackson rolled his eyes, shoving him forward. "Go, Stilinski! You're the one who volunteered us!" He held up his hand, ducking a hunter who swiped at him, eyes glowing black. Ugh, a superhunter. Just his luck. He swung out with his dagger, catching him in the stomach. The man staggered, but the wound was already closing. The hunter straightened, grinning and imbedding a blade in his shoulder before he could react. Searing pain ran up her arm and he held up his hand, blowing the man into another group approaching with a quick wave of energy. Gasping, he pulled the knife out with a quick jerk, reciting the healing spell Evanthe had taught him. The pain ebbed away, but slowly. He caught sight of someone running up the stairs and ducked around fights, kicking out at a few hunters who aimed blows at him. Lydia had taken care of most of them though. Danny was circling, whooping with glee and kicking people into unconsciousness. Jackson had started up a mini snowstorm, sending the hunters pin wheeling across sheets of ice, and the werewolf trio were bouncing off each other like acrobats. Stiles smiled, scurrying up marble steps and almost slipping, grabbing the banister. The fighting was more subdued here, and he easily snuck up on stray hunters who were guarding doors.

Stiles tiptoed up the second flight of steps, peering around elaborate white pillars. No one. He straightened, turning, and found a bow notched at his face. He threw his hands up, "Allison! It's m…" He trailed off, seeing the dark gleam in her now-blackened eyes. "Oh, damn, she got you, too. No wonder you went along with her creepy plan." Allison nudged the arrow's tip at the bottom of his chin.

"Don't talk about Kate that way." He felt panic rising; he couldn't see any of the sweet, caring Allison he knew in those lifeless eyes.

"Allison… Allison, it's me. Stiles! One of your best friends? Scott's best friend?" Nothing. Just that cool, steady gaze and an arrow aimed directly at his throat. A clapping started up behind them and Stiles whirled around. Allison pressed the arrow into his back, and he shuffled forward.

"Good job, Allison. You caught him. I was afraid he would actually be a nuisance, seeing as he escaped." Gerard grinned as he surveyed the gash he had made on Stiles' face. He couldn't see Allison's reaction. He glared at the old man, feeling the handprint on his shoulder heat up, but pressed his fingers into his thigh. Through the thin material of his pants, he could feel the heat from his hand; the eye tattoo.

"I didn't get to thank you. I can take them back now."

"I got rid of them."

"How?"

"I had some help."

"I've… changed my mind." He smiled at the man standing before him, who looked pleasantly surprised.

"Is that so? Well, my boy, I'm afraid second chances aren't much valued in this household."

"Kate told me that you would, that you could use my… talents."

"That we very well could, but you see… We have Allison," Gerard gave a large, proud smile to his granddaughter, who was still holding the bow against his spine. "But you would be very useful to us. How do I know you're not lying?" Stiles grinned.

"Get one of your newly wolfed out hunters to tell you. I can't lie to them. But you don't need to do that. I could prove it to you right now. I could get Lydia and Scott to join me. They would bring the others." Gerard shook his head, smiling maliciously now. Stiles swallowed, but forced the awkward smile to stay on his face.

"To prove your worth, you have to kill them." Stiles only nodded, lowering his head and raising his hand.

Slowly, he turned his back on Gerard, as though considering this, and, much to Allison's shock, slapped a hand onto her chest, over her heart, before she could react. (He felt a little creepy though, since he was practically feeling up his best friend's girlfriend). It was gratifying , though, to see she still had some semblance of emotion. He whirled around, using her as a shield to put between him and an outraged Gerard. Stiles crouched, holding the now pliant Allison close, his head starting to throb as he began to drain the dark-energy from her. The man was fuming.

"What have you done to her!" He held his sword like a baseball bat and Stiles held Allison forward.

"You swing at me, she goes down, too." He warned, slipping around Gerard as sneakily as possible.

"I'd rather have you gone than her here!" Stiles threw out a hand, holding Allison around the waist. He winced; she was going to kill him for this. A moment later, a burst of blood was erupting from his leg. He fell, clutching at it. Slowly, Stiles stopped, so as not to kill him from blood loss. It was strange how this was the exercise that would help him in the end – the red string, imagining pulling it out of a tangle. He reopened his eyes and set Allison down, placing a protection spell over her; it wouldn't last long, but he assumed no one would be killing her anytime soon and the effects of the dark energy would be gone soon, now that they had left her body. Steadying himself, he was suddenly grateful for the mass amount of adrenaline flooding his system, balancing out all the other substances. He covered the handprint with his own, trying to expel the dark energy. A bit ebbed away, only enough to allow him to keep running with his own clear thoughts.

As he rounded the next set of stairs, he could hear low murmurs – Derek and Kate.

"…love him, too." A laugh. "But not the way you loved me, right, Derek?" Derek growled and Stiles saw, from his perch behind a pillar, that he was crouching, claws and teeth elongated.

"You loved me enough to tell me everything. All about your darling little family of beasts. Aren't you glad I burned them all down? Aren't you grateful they're gone?" Derek lunged at her and she grinned, darting away. As he stepped closer, Stiles could see that there were claw marks at her cheek and the hilt of a knife embedded in Derek's shoulder. He pulled it out just as she aimed the gun. Derek was rolling to his feet, just as the gun fired.

"No-!" Without thinking, he jumped, watching the blue-tinged, wolfsbane bullet fly straight through the air and right into his side. Pain spider webbed up his abdomen. He could hear Kate laughing.

"I knew you would take my warning seriously, Stiles," She sounded positively euphoric. A large roar sounded and her laugh was cut short, gurgling. There was a thump and Stiles could see her land right next to him, throat slashed. Derek crouched beside him, rolling him over. He smiled, feeling the handprint pulsing.

"Derek…" He felt hands on his own, on the wound at his side. A bit of the pain fell away, but Stiles knew it would hurt Derek. He pushed him back with weak, shaking hands. "My mom…" He smiled, lip quirking softly. "She approves… of you…."

"Peter-!" He heard Derek calling out, the pain in his voice tangible. It was a wretched noise and it bit into Stiles' heart. "What am I supposed to do?"

His hand fell limp and there was a rise of voices in his ears before everything went black.

---

When he woke up, the first thing he thought was, "I'm so glad I'm not in a hospital."

The second thing he thought was, "Derek Hale is staring at me." Of course, that prompted the inevitable jumping, before he checked himself for handcuffs. What if it was all a dream? Derek's lip quirked, his hand reaching out to cover Stiles'.

"It wasn't a dream," He said softly. He had said that aloud hadn't he. Derek chuckled, "Yeah, you did."

Stiles groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. "I really need a brain to mouth filter."

Derek shrugged. "Yeah."

He pressed a hand to his side, his middle wrapped in gauze, and hissed. "Ow, okay, I'm remembering things now." Stupidly, he prodded his side. "I got shot, protecting your werewolf ass," He shot Derek a look, but regretted it from the guilty expression that made it's way onto the other man's face. He rolled his eyes, "I don't regret it, Derek, God. I'd take a thousand bullets if it meant you were safe." A burst of satisfaction ignited inside of him when Derek smiled, fingers tingling where they met his. Derek moved to reply, before his eyebrows furrowed and he moved away, towards the door. Stiles mourned the loss of his touch. There was a rush of indignant exclaiming as Derek threw the door open and his friends fell forward, steadying themselves.

Lydia and Allison jumped him first, faces pressed into his neck. He laughed when they hit him on the shoulders.

"You're never ever allowed to scare us like that again, do you hear me?" Scott jumped on him, not careful at all around his bullet wound, just the way he liked it. He grinned, shooing him away and clutching his side.

"Oh, sorry, bro!" Scott scrambled off, wiping his eyes. Stiles erupted in laughter.

"Dude, are you crying?"

"No!"

"Aww, you're crying for your buddy Stiles!"

"Stop talking about yourself in third person! I'm not crying!" Stiles pulled the boy in as Lydia and Allison let him go, smiling. Scott sniffled against his collarbone, nudging him until they were both under the covers.

"I miss best friend time, don't you?"

Scott smiled, eyes still shiny. "Yeah," His voice was thick. "I miss best friend time."

"Oh, you two are such an old couple," Jackson called from the corner of the room, arms crossed. Stiles beamed.

"Oh, Jackson, you know you were scared. It's okay to admit to having feelings. We won't tell a soul."

Scott laughed, and Lydia and Allison threw themselves over him. Grudgingly, Jackson moved over to sit at the edge of the bed, Danny spread out on the floor. Derek slumped in the corner, watching him with alert eyes. Stiles rolled his own, waving a hand at him.

"Ugh, Derek, get over here." The others sent him sly grins, vacating the space next to him. (Scott, though, refused to budge an inch, arms crossed stubbornly.) Derek perched himself carefully at Stiles' side and, feeling reckless as he did the first time they met, took his hand.

"You're not going to bite me this time, right?" Amusement laced Derek's voice. Stiles shrugged, grinning.

"Maybe."

6 months later

"Oh, haha, very funny." Stiles pointed at the strip of comic where he was being swept into Derek's arms, reading aloud, "'And our favorite damsel in distress was saved.' I'll have you know that I am the hero in this story. I don't need to be saved." Derek gave him a small, private smile, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I know," He whispered, his breath warm and Stiles would be a liar if he said he didn't melt a little. He leaned up to slot his lips against Derek's laughing into his mouth when the rest of the room groaned. Someone – Lydia – threw a pillow across the room, the cushion landing solidly on Derek's head.

"Ew, get a room!"

Stiles just chuckled, nuzzling into Derek's neck.

"So, are there going to be any new adventures?" Stiles asked jokingly, "You know, since the last one was actually kind of fun—"

Scott shook his head, "Oh my god, shut up, Stiles." The room was, for once, in mutual agreement.

Stiles laughed, full and loud, patting Derek's chest as he grumbled about nearly dying. Peter stretched like a cat, spine arching fluidly, checking his phone as it vibrated against his thigh. The man raised his eyebrows, smirk widening.

"I hate to ruin the mood, actually I don't really care, but we might have another problem."

"We'll never catch a break, will we?" Allison asked, smiling and adjusting her crossbow.

"Never." Stiles' smile was crooked.

"Nope," Scott popped his 'p' sullenly, "Never."

"Never." Jackson and Danny agreed. Lydia nodded, leaning into Jackson's shoulder.

"What are we facing now?" He asked curiously.

Peter grinned.

"Alphas, apparently." Laura raised her eyebrows, reading over Peter's shoulder.

They would all be just fine.

---

AN: Hi, Everyone! So, this was first posted on Ao3, if it looks familiar! I hope you liked it! It was my first Sterek/Teen Wolf fic ever, so... XD Um, review, subscribe, and I will be writing more stuffs in the future! ^^

-Hela