"Stiles, when are you going to talk to me again?" Peter huffed under his breath. He really wasn't used to being ignored and this had been going on for almost an hour now. There were only 7 students in AP Spanish and, as the demon had gotten them back with time to spare, they had gotten comfortable seats at the back, away from everyone else. Even with the time Stiles spent puking.
Stiles just ignored the demon King and focused on re-reading the Spanish book they had to do a report on. They were finishing their practice essays today and Stiles was just tweaking his as he'd finished it at home. Plus, it gave a great excuse to ignore the asshole next to him, even though he was the only one around because of their little bubble of empty space.
Most of the school had heard about what had happened with Erica and, although it wasn't uncommon for Stiles to be loud, he usually didn't yell at other students. That, combined with the slightly scary new kid not leaving his side, there were a few seats between the two of them and the other students.
"It's not my fault humans have such weak stomachs," Peter grouched under his breath, slouching even further in his seat. He had read this book when it was released over 200 years ago and had already conjured up a finished report. It was technically his own work, it was his thoughts on the book, like he was going to actually do the whole writing thing when he could just make it appear. It was annoying that he couldn't just leave when he was bored, and even more annoying that his bonded wasn't actually talking to him to alleviate at least some of the boredom.
Peter sighed again. It was times like these that he remembered why he didn't do contracts anymore. There was so much downtime.
He was quiet for a bit, sat in the almost silent classroom full of student's pens scratching the paper, their keyboards tap-tapping on their laptops and the rustle of pages turning as they read. Peter sighed again and stared out the window, lamenting the lack of view.
When over half the lesson had passed, Stiles gave up the pretence of checking his work. He had finished it the other night, he just wanted to stop Señora Cátala from coming and asking him about the book. He had made the mistake of letting her know he was fluent, not just passable like the other students. She liked to be able to talk to him about the books they read and he really wasn't in the mood to do the talky-talk today. Finally putting his papers to the side, he decided to doodle. He didn't want to make a whole caffufle of getting out his laptop and doing his college work. He had made good progress in his free and he could finish the last bit off at home before the deadline easily. His hands were burning slightly and he had this compulsion to put a pencil to the page and he was just tired enough not to question it.
Peter's attention was drawn back to the Spark as his bonded heatMagik flared up suddenly, a wave of petrichor making him think of the forests after rain. As Stiles drew, he watched the flow of Magik through the man-child's veins. The gold rush was lighting up Stiles from the inside, all flowing down to his palms, his fingers cradling the pencil as it made its marks on the paper. The Spark didn't seem to be thinking, just letting his hand move, the lead of the pencil creating a darker mark on the paper with each unthinking pass. A long tailed Y with four diagonal bisecting lines along the vertical line was stark against the rest of the white page. It was a harsh sigil with strong endings. Peter recognised the Celtic origins, the Ogham language creating the sigil for Blackthorn. A blasting mark. A way to control the flow of Power. Also, ridiculously powerful when used correctly.
Looking at the dazed, almost blank look in the Spark's glowing eyes, he tried to grasp just how smart the man-child would need to be to have these things just flow out of him without thinking. The grasp on languages and sigils and how to use them would need to be immense, plus the ways to use the different elements to create even stronger runes. Pitkis Abbadon looked at his Contract holder and didn't regret answering the call to this fascinating human.
It was less than 5 minutes, but when Stiles seemed to come back to himself, he looked shaken. No one around had even noticed something monumental had just happened. A Spark just had the innate power inside him Create something. And Peter got to watch it happen.
The tendrils of growing panic jumping through their bond to Peter made the demon fully take in Stiles' expression. Wide eyes and shivering jaw, panic was starting to set in as the man-child stared at the rune under his quivering fingers.
"P-Peter, what just happened?" Stiles breathed, trying to stay quiet in the still almost silent classroom.
Throwing out his own Magik, Peter tossed up a silencing circle. "Stiles," Peter said in a normal volume. The Spark flailed before realised no one was turning around or glaring at them for making noise. Seeing the dark shimmery circle around them, he put the pieces together and just went straight back to panicking. Peter spoke over Stiles suddenly loud breathing. "Stiles, it's just your manifestation. You are going to have outbursts sometimes until you can control it."
The frightened panicked looked Stiles threw the Demon almost made him want to chuckle, if not for the increased panic he could feel down their bond. It was starting to make him twitchy as well. "Stiles, you need to calm down." Pitkis' eyes flashed red as he leaned forward to place his hand on Stiles' arm. He had noticed the flush of warmth when they had touched earlier and it had seemed to help calm Stiles down. Might as well try again. The shocked look on Stiles' face almost made the Demon go into a panic himself and backtrack, the instinct to move his hand away almost getting the better of him. Just before he was about to take his hand away, he felt Stiles' muscles relax slightly and the man-child breath out harshly. He was still panicked, the sharp smell of sweetly rotten fruit clogging Peter's nose. It completely covered the smell of petrichor from before. He both enjoyed and hated that his sense of smell was getting stronger the longer he was in his human body, especially when his nose was full of the sickly sweet stench of panic.
Checking to make sure the teacher hadn't noticed anything awry yet, Peter moved his chair to sit next to Stiles, right next to the Spark. He felt the almost static electricity pushing against his human skin the closer he got to the man-child. The jittery energy the Spark was giving off had manifested as a prickly electric shield. It would have been uncomfortable if Peter were human.
When he could sit with his hand on his bonded arm, shoulders pressed together and his new leather boot nudging the less classy sneaker, he finally felt the last tendrils of panic fade from their bond. Even as the Sparkling calmed, his voice shook slightly as he asked again, "Peter, what just happened?"
"Your Spark is intuitive. I've heard stories of Magik users where the Magik is an almost sentient part of them, helping them create and understand only by using the host bodies to go through with the action." The Sparkling eyes widened in renewed panic and a choked sound escaped his frozen throat. Peter hurried on saying, "But I can't sense the sentience in your Magik, it's just newly manifested. It's just like a, uh what do you call it these days, fizzy soda? A carbonated infused drink that's been shaken up and opened a bit too early before it could fully settle. Your Magik needs flow out to release the pressure bit by bit after being released so suddenly before it had was completely ready." Peter really tried not to think about the need to calm the Sparkling down and the emotions he himself was feeling at the moment when he thought of Stiles in distress. The Spark was his Contract holder. That was all.
There was around 10 minutes left of the lesson. The silencing circle was still strong around their little area. When Stiles had processed all their information, he seemed to settle slightly better back into his seat and, consequently, against Peter. Peter realised how much they were touching and tried to compute it. It had… it had really been a long time since someone other than Stiles had willingly stayed in contact with the King of Demons. He didn't know what to make of the warmth in the bottom of his gut.
After a few minutes of watching the oblivious students and teacher carrying on with their work, Stiles spoke up. "Am I going to hurt someone?" He asked.
"I don't know," Peter replied, the truth coming out unthinking as he was still having a bit of sensory overload at the amount of contact.
Stiles was quiet again. He looked down at the rune on the page in front of him, sifting through the runes he knew and languages he had studied when preparing to summon a demon. It felt longer than just a few weeks since he had Summoned Pitkis Abaddon. He had spent weeks researching and re-researching everything, almost a month of his life he had dedicated to understanding the occult, a subject he had avoided as much as he could when his mother… After his mother grew sicker. He recognised the celtic origin and scrambled around in his brain for the meaning. It suddenly clicked. Blackthorn, a possible blasting rune. Maybe… Maybe it would help him control his outbursts, or, at the very least, be able to direct them a bit better. No more exploding light bulbs would be a good start.
Checking the clock at the front of the classroom, he saw there were less than 3 minutes left. Reluctantly, Stiles pulled away from the demon to start packing up his stuff. Peter seemed to shake himself slightly when the Spark removed his forearm from under his hand. The demon moved his chair back to his desk and, after making sure he had scrawled his name on his paper, also started packing up his stuff. He did it physically rather than using his shadows, needing to do something with his hands.
The both of them had stood and walked through the now broken silencing circle by the time the bell rang, book reports in hand to drop on the edge of the professora's desk on their way out. They ignored the looks of the other students, the muttering of their classmates about them.
"One more lesson till we can go home, right?" Peter asked, not even thinking about the use of the word home.
Stiles didn't pick up on it. "Yeah, two more blocks, but we've got a free last period." Stiles kept his pace steady, avoiding people's gazes. He was just so fucking tired of their shit lately. So he helped out Erica. So he shouted. So he didn't fucking spaz out anymore. So fucking what. "I'm so glad no-one else is in this class," he muttered pushing his way in. He was so ready to go home.