So this came to me seemingly out of nowhere.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Teen Wolf. They are just little creatures that run around my head and tell me what to do.
Vigilem
Chapter One: Five Years
Five Years. It had been five years since that devastating night in the rain when he realized how much of a weak human he was, how he shouldn't be so tangled up in the supernatural because it was only going to kill him.
It had been four years and seven months since he moved to New Orléans to attend college with no major just to get away from Beacon Hills and away from everything that he had grown accustomed to - all the werewolves, kanimas, witches, hunters, incubi, and pixies. Pixies. Back then, he thought about how ridiculous it was that pixies existed but vampires didn't. They scoffed at him when he said it was a supernatural impossibility.
It had been four years and two months when he stopped answering phone calls from anyone from Beacon except for his father. Four years and one month when he stopped trying to even keep the conversation going in texts because let's face it. He just didn't want to be involved anymore, to be the one person that managed to guilt trip into coming back to research something they couldn't find an answer to.
It had been three years and eleven months since he began working at the college bar and grill. He was a waiter, and all the regulars loved him, even asking for him specifically. He realized that he actually did like both guys and girls, even though he knew that way before three years and eleven months ago.
It had been three years and five months since the college sophomore had decided to take a new way home, hoping that it would be shorter because he needed to get back to his apartment before old Miss Flowers could stop him outside his door on her way out to walk Mr. Mittens her cat for the last time for the night and talk about things like how the guys or girls he kept bringing home weren't good for him or how he should keep his hair long because it was nice.
It had been three years, four months, and three weeks when he used the shortcut for the fifth time. He had his first encounter with a vampire that night, but he also met someone that night. He met Ariel.
Ariel.
Ariel was five foot six inches full of blond hair, blue eyes, tan skin, leather jackets and black boots, knives, and tattoos. Well, they weren't actually tattoos, but the college freshman didn't know that. All swirling designs and sharp edges. That's what first crossed his mind when he caught sight of one of the markings on her ankle as she kicked the vampire who just took a bite out of his neck in the face. The second thought was 'Who the hell is this chick?' as she matched the vampire hit for hit, eventually punching him straight in the chest where its unbeating heart was.
He was surprised when the vampire began to gasp for air before turning gray, and then into a pile of ash. A small pointed piece of wood laid on top of the ash, and Ariel was removing what looked like a simple wrist brace from her wrist and throwing it onto the ground. He caught sight of another marking on the inside of her wrist, more crawling over the palm of her hand, and thin one twisting into designs on her fingers.
She had walked up to him and grabbed his chin to tilt his head to the side and get a good look at his neck. He couldn't do anything except make a disgruntled noise, which she in turn tightened her grip and righted his head so she could stare hard into his eyes. Being the hyperactive person he was, he blinked rapidly at her and began to tap an impatient beat on the side of his leg.
"Stop that," she had said sharply as she dropped his chin and placed both hands on her waist. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets so his hands would stop moving. Instead, he began to rock back and forth on his heels. Ariel's dark eyebrows - he tried to recall the genetic mutation that caused naturally blonde hair and dark eyebrows, but it wouldn't come to his mind - furrowed in confusion. "You were just attacked by a vampire."
"I know," his calm voice came out, smiling in that awkward way that he always did.
"You aren't freaking out."
"I've been attacked a lot by supernatural creatures."
"Like what?"
"Werewolves, witches, pixies, incubi, and now I can add vampire to my ever-growing list."
Ariel didn't have anything to say to that, her mouth moving like a fish out of water. He shrugged half-heartedly, thinking about how he probably wouldn't have to worry about Miss Flowers because she would be in bed by the time he was done here. And then there had been a knife at his throat which did in fact cause him to have a spastic moment and flail his body around, making a stinging thin line to cut into this skin.
"What are you-"
"Who are you?" Those bright blue eyes had darkened a bit, narrowing ever so slightly. When he replied with the comment about being an innocent bystander who was just walking home when he was attacked by some pale, dead psycho and now was going to have his throat sliced by the girl who just saved him from said pale, dead psycho, Ariel pulled away and slid the knife back into the holster on her other wrist that was concealed by her leather jacket. "You're in shock."
No, he really wasn't. But she grabbed his wrist and began to pull him along with strength that he was really surprised she even had. He kept trying to convince Ariel that he really was okay, but she just kept on a'pulling until they reached a sleek, black... At first glance, he thought it had been a Camaro, and there was no way in hell he would ever get back into one of those. But after another look, he realized it was just a harmless Mustang.
It had been three years, four months, and three weeks. since Ariel took him to the Supernatural Studies professor, which now that he thought about it, shouldn't have been that surprising that he was involved with the real supernatural. His name was Tristan Stafford, he was originally from England, and he wasn't covered in markings like Ariel was. Markings that covered a lot of her skin, he realized when she pulled off her jacket to leave her in a fitting red tank top that showed off her back and shoulders.
He asked why Tristan wasn't covered in the markings as well, to which Tristan began to explain what they were. He cut Tristan off though, because he knew what they were. "They're runes." Both Tristan and Ariel looked shocked that he knew what they were, more so that he could point out certain ones and tell what they symbolized.
It had been three years and three months since he finally talked Tristan into teaching him after telling Tristan that he didn't want to be weak anymore. He didn't give in at first, but his back story about his high school career of fighting the supernatural as a weak human tipped him over. He had left out the part about that day in the rain five years ago, though.
It had been two years, eleven months, and two weeks since he realized how much muscle he had actually put on. Ariel teased him that he wasn't the lanky kid that she saved on the street. He didn't know why she called him kid when they were the same age.
It had been two years and six months since he was finally allowed to get his first rune drawn on him. He had practiced them on other things like protection for his apartment and truth on Ariel's new knives (which landed straight and true like she had drawn them on there herself). When he asked why Ariel had them permanently all over her body, she replied that Tristan was actually her uncle and that he moved here when her parents died in a raid on a dark Fae coven who were stirring up trouble. She had been learning since she was twelve.
It had been two years and three months since he killed his first supernatural that was breaking the Vigilem (that's what people who did what Ariel did are called) code without Ariel there to back him up.
It had been one year and eight months since Ariel was killed. He got his runes tattooed on by Tristan in her honor. Tristan said the ink was laced with the concoction they used for any other kind of rune. His whole body was red and raw for a week because he got them all done at once.
It had been one year since Tristan told him that he needed a break. He didn't listen to Tristan, but instead trained harder, because it was the supernatural that always seemed to rip him to shreds physically, emotionally, and mentally. The training helped.
It had been seven months since he graduated from college. His dad showed up to watch him get his diploma even though they barely talked anymore. He didn't bother to hide the tattoos that covered his skin. His dad didn't seem that bothered by it, but was shocked at the lean muscle he had stockpiled onto himself. His dad asked if there was anybody special in the picture. He immediately thought about Ariel even though there was never anything romantic about their relationship. He told his father 'not anymore'.
It had been four months since he was drunk dialed from a number he didn't know. He listened silently as the voice he would recognize even after nearly five years on the other end talked and talked and talked. When they asked him to come back, he sat there in complete silence with his fists clenched so tightly that his dull nails were drawing blood. Eventually he hung up without answering.
It had been a month since his dad told him that he had to come home now that he graduated from college. His dad said that he no longer had college as an excuse as to why he was staying away and that everyone missed him. He told his dad he didn't care what they thought.
It had been four days since he finally gave into his father's begging and packed what little personal belongings he had, including his weapons, books, journals that held everything he had encountered, and trunk of ingredients. Tristan gave him Ariel's Mustang. Tristan told him to be safe and to hesitate to call him if the need arose. He packed his things and began the drive back to California.
It had been a day since he moved temporarily back into his old room.
It had been thirty minutes since he decided that he needed a large amount of coffee.
It had been two minutes since he pulled into the coffee shop's parking lot.
It had been thirty seconds since he got out of the Mustang and began to walk towards the entrance.
It had been seven seconds since he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the person in front of him.
"Stiles?"
It had been five years since he had seen Derek Hale face to face.
A/N: So let me know what you guys think! Reviews are fantastic. I would also love to know if you want me to continue this!
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!