The Stilinski Files
Author's Note: Like many fans of late, I've become increasingly dissatisfied with TW canon and the way the show has run for the last two seasons. This is why I haven't written like I used to, but thank the Muses for the wonderful world of AU.
This fic is centered around everyone's favorite jester, Stiles Stilinski, and is only loosely based on canon.
Be advised this is AU. Scott hasn't been bitten, and other elements also differ.
I dedicate this fic to the Muses (may their inspiration guide my hand), and to all the Sterek shippers who feel snubbed by Jeff Davis and crew. Keep on shippin!
Warnings/Tags: #AU #Alive Hales #Witch Stiles #Human Scott #Vampires #Multiple pairings #OCs
Prologue
Beacon Hills, a rural town in northern California where the unexpected happens, and the unexplained is commonplace.
My name is Stiles Stilinski. For over a century my family has maintained an uneasy peace with the local werewolves, the Hales.
My dad is the local sheriff, but me and my younger sister are witches. You heard right!
I inherited this thing called the spark, but males don't usually lead covens, so I'm the ambassador to the Hales.
I've been given this mission, and my guess is things in Beacon Hills are about to turn way weird. Call it future sight...
Chapter One
Ambassador
Sixteen year old Stiles Stilinski awakened to the light of a sunny day pouring through his bedroom window, but his sleep hadn't been very restful.
His first official mission as his family's ambassador was only a day away, which meant he'd been increasingly restless the past week.
The smell of fresh coffee lured him from his bedroom, but a quick stop to bathroom was in order.
He kept his hair buzzed, so there really wasn't much point glancing at himself in the bathroom mirror. It wouldn't be messy, but he supposed it was a witch thing.
His mom had once said some witches have an affinity for mirrors. Usually it was indicative of a keen scrying sense.
Stiles wouldn't look into the mirror too closely or he might see things he'd rather not. There was simply something he admired about his buzzed hair and playful whiskey-colored eyes.
Most male witches wore their hair long, but some were of the opinion that cutting it short was more beneficial. Stiles held with that view.
Finally the smell of coffee was too tempting, plus he knew Alyssa was likely awaiting him.
Sure enough, a pre-teen girl only a few years younger in age was sitting at the kitchen able waiting. She had their dad's blond hair and blue eyes in contrast to Stiles, who took after their mom, but their pale complexion was just the same.
"Morning," Alyssa greeted.
"Good morning," Stiles replied, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.
She watched him pour his coffee and take a chair before speaking.
"Nervous about the mission?"
Stiles chuckled and took a swig of coffee before answering her.
"If you only had any idea. You know I sleep poorly enough already."
"Yes," Alyssa said. "Well- you know someone has to do it. Its a formality, but who knows how they'd take it if we ducked it?"
His sister's 'they' were the Hales. Every ten years a member of their family signed an extension of the peace treaty in place with the Hales. That duty now fell to Stiles.
He doubted he had anything to worry about. The Hales weren't dangerous to them and helped to protect the town. The treaty was mostly a formality, but that didn't make Stiles overly keen to go among 'their kind'.
"You're right," Stiles said with a resigned air. "I'll simply have to do it."
Alyssa actually gave him a small, sisterly smile.
"Mom would be proud Stiles. God, you must resent me."
"Why would you think that?" he asked, quipping an eyebrow.
"You're the one with the spark and everything. Yet mom left me the Book of Shadows."
"Its fine," he assured her, and really it was.
Stiles was content with the power he had. Besides, he could still use the book, but only if his sister willed it.
"Speaking of the book," Stiles said suddenly. "I wanted to do some scrying and a spell might be useful."
"Careful Stiles," his sister warned, expression suddenly concerned and serious. "I know you pride yourself on your scrying, but don't go too far or see too much."
She needn't have bothered. Stiles knew well the risks.
To be continued
