A/N: Wow, it's been way too long. My bad, haha. Thank you to Minx1993 and Alikai for your comments!
Part 2
To hold eternity in an hour
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Stiles loved it out here. He'd never been partial to outdoor activities, only running with the rest of the cross-country team as training, but he'd never appreciated being outside like he does now.
It was quiet out here. Well, peaceful is probably a better word. It was never really quiet. Between the birds and the bugs, the wind moving through the leaves and the countless creatures scurrying around the forest floor, it could never really be quiet.
He didn't notice it at first, not really. Sure he'd heard them, but he couldn't really tell the difference between two different species of birds, didn't know that there were more than just squirrels running around. He had been particularly surprised when he stumbled across a family of wild turkeys which, as it turned out, were not quite as shy as most of the wildlife he'd encountered. He'd came away from that one with a fairly nasty cut on his leg.
There was also the fact that he'd never been this deep into the woods, never realized just how large Beacon Hills Preserve really was. He'd taken out a map at one point, realizing that he hadn't even scratched the surface on the area it covered. Yet every time he went out, he was going deeper and deeper into the woods and had to start learning how to use landmarks to find his way back since no paths penetrated this deep.
He never felt scared though, not really. Grim was almost always with him when he ventured out into the forest and he had an odd feeling that even when Grim wasn't there, he was still somehow watching over him. He knew that was delusional but he wasn't inclined to think about it too hard. Besides, what dangers could Beacon Hills Preserve really present? Stiles was pretty sure Grim was the largest predator around, and he had yet to maul Stiles.
That had been a particularly persistent question nagging at the back of Stiles' mind for a while now: why was Grim here? From what he could tell the creature was a wolf (however much larger the creature was to the average wolf, and the eye color that still gave him pause) and wolves didn't live in California anymore. More than that, wolves didn't live alone. In his research he'd found that while wolves could be solitary for a variety of reasons, they tended not to live long on their own, either finding another pack to join or falling victim to the harsh world of a pack animal living with no pack.
Disease was one of the biggest reasons wolves got kicked out of a pack, but Grim didn't look diseased or malnourished. He moved with the ease and grace of any healthy predator. Perhaps his disease was allowing Stiles anywhere near him.
Ever since the day Grim let Stiles touch him, Stiles had been coming back regularly. He usually showed up after school when he could manage it, and almost always on the weekends, sometimes spending the entire day out in the woods. He would always tell Grim when he thought he was going to be back, if he could make it the next day or not. He felt crazy for talking to a creature that couldn't understand him, and he never knew whether Grim still showed up on days he didn't.
His dad had stopped asking where he was going, and he was fine with that.
.
.
They didn't do much at first. Stiles would just follow Grim around for a while, like a duckling, something that Stiles was convinced amused the wolf. He would talk during these walks, about his day or whatever meandering thought he had. It was stupid, he knew, but it was nice just having someone (something, his brain reminded him) to talk to, despite the lack of ability to talk back. Between the psychiatrists and his dad, maybe that was why he enjoyed it so much. And yet other times he wouldn't say anything, just listening to the world around him while enjoying the companionship.
Stiles wasn't sure what Grim got out of their odd arrangement. But, as he thought back to that night he'd heard Grim's lonely howl, he wondered if he was just looking for companionship too.
Of course Stiles very much understood his stupidity for running around deep in the woods with a potentially dangerous creature. Truly, he did. Maybe he was just masochistic enough not to care, or maybe deep down he truly believed Grim wouldn't hurt him. He hoped for the latter.
Currently, Stiles was staring up at the trees as he moved through the forest, distracted by the streams of sunlight cutting through the leaves in such a way that gave everything around it a mystical, ethereal feel. Grim was only a few yards ahead, appearing unnaturally present among the trees. Probably for my sake, Stiles mused.
It was starting to get hotter now, school having already ended and summer well underway. He'd been anxiously awaiting the end of school, although probably not for the same reasons as the rest of his classmates. For him, summer meant he wouldn't have to restrict his time in the woods to the few hours he had to spare on weekdays.
Still, even though it felt odd, Stiles worried he would be impeding the wolf somehow, as if it had seasonal wolf-things to do that couldn't be done while Stiles was around. Grim may have just been indulging his curiosity, perhaps curious himself, but would soon grow weary of his constant presence. As it were, Grim seemed completely at ease to let Stiles follow him around, so Stiles never pressed the point.
At present, however, Stiles was still distracted with the dappled light coming through the trees when he nearly fell to the ground tripping over a rock.
"Son of a–" he bit his lip as he righted himself, taking a moment to make sure he didn't sprain his ankle (by some miracle he hadn't). "Please ignore that, you saw nothing," he began as he looked up to where Grim had been, but stopped short when realized Grim was no longer there. He whipped his head around, looking to see if he'd moved off in some other direction when he wasn't paying attention, but Stiles couldn't see him. Couldn't hear him either.
"Uh, Grim?" he called out tentatively. "Grim!" he called louder, taking a few steps forward while looking around. "Hey buddy, where'd you go?"
He picked up to a light jog, wondering if Grim had merely outpaced him while he was lost in thought. But after a minute or so of calling out to him with no response and no sound of the wolf around, Stiles couldn't help but feel the sting of abandonment. Yeah, Grim was a wild creature, had no obligation to stay by Stiles's side and cater to him while out here, but still. He thought they had something special.
The thought made Stiles snort. "I'm sure that's what everyone thinks before their pet tiger eats them."
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Stiles's neck stood up, a tingling feeling spreading down his limbs. Something had changed, but he couldn't immediately tell what. He looked around again, yet, to his unease, saw nothing.
"Grim?" he called out again.
It was the birds. They were louder, calling over one another with increased frequency. A warning.
His brain came to this realization the moment before he also clocked a streak of black headed straight for him.
It was all instinct. His feet moved before his brain did any more processing and he was running through the trees at full speed. He didn't dare look back but glimpses of black in his peripheral caused him to zig zag, changing direction in the hopes of putting distance between him and his pursuer.
But the thing chasing him... Was black. Grim was black. Wait a second—
And just as he had that thought, a solid weight hit him from behind, causing him to (gracefully, he will always defend) fall to the ground, body rolling forward down a slope, only coming to a stop as he became buried in a sea of... Leaves. A massive pile of leaves.
Stiles let a moment pass. Then he sprung his head up, bringing his arms up so that he could rest on his forearms as he looked around. He was literally laying in a giant pile of leaves that had naturally collected due to a depression in the earth.
The crunch of leaves sounded behind him and Stiles turned to look. There stood Grim, tongue lolling out as he panted, the most pleased look on his face Stiles had ever seen.
It was kind of embarrassing how long Stiles' mind took to piece it all together. From the vanishing act to the flashes in his peripheral vision—Grim had effectively herded him here.
He could only stare with his mouth agape.
"You... YOU," Stiles began, his already fast breaths getting heavier. "You... You could have killed me!"
Grim's tongue disappeared as his mouth snapped shut, his head tilting in a look of curiosity. As if the thought was a weird one to have. As if to say, but you clearly didn't.
Grim walked forward until he was next to Stiles and proceeded to bury his nose in the leaves, as if sniffing for something, but not a moment later flung his head up, a smattering of leaves following suit, raining lightly over Stiles's head. Grim's tongue reappeared, along with the self satisfied look.
Stiles couldn't help it. He laughed. He laughed loudly, fully, his whole body shaking with it, with the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. He balled up his hand in the damp leaves, grabbing a good handful before tossing them at Grim.
Grim leapt away in reaction (beautifully, gracefully, ugh, Stiles hated him), avoiding most of the barrage but ending up with a few catching in his fur. He barely had time to shake them off before leaping out of the way of another assault, Stiles hot on his tail.
They chased each other light-heartedly for a while, Stiles running after Grim, getting just close enough to reach before Grim would whip around and turn Stiles prey. Stiles in turn would mimic Grim's tactics, letting him get close before stopping short and turning sharply, reaching out as if to catch him, and Grim would obligingly turn prey for Stiles.
Stiles was laughing all the while, relishing in the most fun he'd had since returning to Beacon Hills.
.
.
Stiles closed the door behind him as he returned home, body somewhat sore from the impromptu chase session. He headed straight for the fridge, staring hungrily for contents he could scavenge that didn't require cooking.
"What exactly is it you do out there all day?"
Stiles dumped the necessary items for making a sandwich onto the counter before glancing back at his father, dressed in his sheriff's outfit. "What's it matter?"
"I just worry. It's not exactly the safest place to hang out, Stiles."
Stiles snorted to himself at that. "Yeah, I think I got that covered."
"What does that mean?"
Stiles looked up at him, taking in the Very Serious look he had on his face and refrained from rolling his eyes. "I jest, I jest," he said instead, holding his hands up briefly in surrender before going back to assembling the sandwich. "There's really not that much out there, and I'm pretty sure all those deer are more afraid of me than I am of them. Although the big guys can get real testy–"
"Stiles, stop acting like a child. You know hunting is allowed on the preserve, running around out there isn't safe–"
"Oh," he cut him off in kind, "So I'm acting like a child, then? Perhaps one you can't handle?"
His father sighed deeply, and while Stiles didn't particularly feel up for a fight, he did relish in any small defiance he could get at. "Look, I haven't seen anyone traipsing around where I go, and I'm a human, not a deer, so I can see bright yellow vests. If I see one I'll be sure to yell at the top of my lungs: human! Please don't shoot!" He put on a mock bright smile. "Ok?"
His father ran a tired hand over his face. "That doesn't make me feel much better."
"Well, it'll have to," Stiles shrugged, taking a large bite of his sandwich. "Y'know you should count yourself lucky. I could be running around drinking, or doing drugs! Given our history it's not that much of a stretch."
Stiles noticed the look that crossed his father's face, one which revealed he hadn't even thought of it, but now that he had... "No," Stiles said, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes this time, "I am not doing drugs, or drinking. Would you like me to pee in a cup? Say the alphabet backwards?"
"I have the night shift," his father said in a clear attempt to get out of the conversation. "Please don't burn the house down."
"Can do!" Stiles called out as his father walked out the door. On a scale of 1 to 10, he'd give that interaction a solid 7.
.
.
It was unbearably hot. It was one of those days that made you think THIS is what they mean by global warming and we're all doomed, the planet is destroyed, it's too late. It was really just hot and humid, and mid-afternoon; statistically the worst time of day to be outside in this weather. But Stiles had gotten into another argument with his father that morning that left him extremely agitated—even now his skin felt too tight to his bones, and a restless energy floated through him that wasn't helped by the sweat trickling down his back—yet the last thing he wanted was to go back to his house. He was dying.
"I'm actually dying," he groaned aloud, Grim finally picking his head up from the ground where he was lazing in the shade of a tree, bedded down in a pile of leaves. He must have been feeling the heat too. "How do you do it? Covered in all that fur—and black, too! Just a natural heat sink. Definitely not made for this weather. You're gonna go extinct. We all are. Succumbed to global warming, the lot of us. Millions of creatures lying dead on the ground, the sun baking us to crisps, nothing'll be left but our bones, bleached white in the midday sun–"
Grim stood from his spot on the ground, turning away from Stiles and heading off into the woods.
"Hey!" Stiles called out, groaning as he stood to follow obediently, unsure how moving in any way helped the situation.
Especially when that moving turned into hiking as the generally flat land turned into steep hills, and Stiles was beginning to think he really was going to die. As they reached the top of a particularly steep hill, his irritation reaching its peak as this hike was so not helping, he suddenly heard what must have led Grim out here: water. And sure enough, when Stiles lifted his head to look out further through the trees, he could just make out what looked like a stream cutting its way through the forest.
"Oh, you beautiful, beautiful creature!" Stiles called as he hastened to follow Grim down the hill, finding a renewed vigor in his steps.
When they reached the stream, Grim stopped at the edge to take a long drink, and Stiles swiftly began removing his sweat soaked clothes. He debated for a moment whether to take off his underwear, but figured with his luck it was better to play it safe, lest the one time someone encounter them it would be with him running around naked.
When he turned back to the water he startled a bit to see Grim staring at him, and ridiculously he felt the tips of his ears go red. "I know, I know, I am quite the specimen to behold," he said as he held his arms out. "Please, drink your fill." When Grim only continued to stare at him, Stiles felt the burn begin to spread to his cheeks, then instantly felt stupid for caring what a random creature what thinking when staring at him. Easy prey, probably, he thought sardonically to himself.
"How old are you anyways?" he said as he dropped his hands to his hips. "Three? Five? You know, technically, I could be contributing to the delinquency of a minor–"
Grim suddenly leapt at Stiles who jumped away, laughing loudly at his own stupid joke. He jumped straight into the water, but immediately let out a yell when his brain caught up to the feeling of the water on his skin. It was cold—borderline freezing—which meant it had to come from up in the mountains.
"Oh my god!" he yelled as the odd sensation of his legs freezing while the rest of him was still being subjected to the summertime heat. "You could warn a guy!"
Grim stopped at the edge of the stream, watching as Stiles waded deeper out into the middle of the water until it reached the bottom of his chest. While the water was moving, the current was particularly lazy, so it wasn't too much of a strain to fold his legs beneath him and let his body drift a bit.
"You coming in?" Stiles called out to Grim as he waded further back, giving room for the wolf to join him. "There's no way you're not dying, too. C'mon!"
Grim watched him for a bit longer before making his way further down the shoreline. He stopped at a place where the stream ran much more shallow, a buildup of rocks creating a bridge the wolf used to wade into the current. There the water came up only a few inches above his paws, and he settled down into the water so that his lower half was submerged while leaving the top of him dry.
"I shoulda known you were too much of a diva to jump in," he teased, wading over to flick water over Grim's nose. The wolf simply licked the stray droplets off of his snout before lowering his head to settle on his forelegs, his nose keeping perfectly just above the water's surface. Stiles rolled his eyes and waded back into the deeper part of the stream. "Suit yourself."
As Grim lay in shallower waters, Stiles entertained himself by diving under in the deeper parts, relishing the freezing cold of it before coming back up for air. When he was thoroughly cooled off, he began drifting around lazily, and at some point began to tell Grim the story of how he got kicked out of boarding school. A story, he noted, that involved at least four other people, yet he still held the honor of being the only one kicked out over it.
"I like to call it 'A Prank Gone Awry,' but they insisted on using words like 'wanton destruction of school property,'" Stiles rolled his eyes at the memory, letting his hands splash limply back into the water. "But like, look, maybe don't keep a bunch of volatile chemicals in a poorly locked room around a bunch of teenagers."
Grim's ears suddenly perked up, swiveling around as he lifted his head to stare down at the water with marked interest.
"You're not even paying attention to a word I'm saying, are you?"
When Grim only continued to stare intensely down into the water, Stiles sighed, taking it as unspoken affirmation. However, the longer the wolf stared with such a singular focus, the faster Stiles' itch of curiosity turned the corner into uncertainty.
"Uh, you're freaking me out a little here dude," he said as he looked down to the water he was currently wading in. "Should I be worried about something?"
Grim then stood without taking his eyes off of the surface, walking a few paces one way before turning back, his head moving to the sight or sound of something beyond Stiles's perception. Then he lifted his head and stared directly at Stiles, making a low, almost whining sound.
Utterly confused, Stiles moved to wade through the water towards Grim, but right as he began making his way towards him, Grim turned his attention back to the water with a distinct intensity.
Not a few seconds later, Grim dove his head beneath the surface, coming back up with, of all things, a fish in his mouth. The fish was a decent size too, not the small sort of thing Stiles saw darting around when he first waded in. Stiles could only watch open-mouthed as Grim carried his prize to the shore, dropping it on the bank while the fish thrashed desperately for its freedom. Grim then proceeded to, quite happily, chow down on said fish.
And Stiles was still staring. He knew, intellectually, that Grim had to be eating something out here; he was, after all, a predator. However, he figured his diet was solely composed of the massive deer population running around on the preserve, maybe the odd rabbit or two. Moreover, he'd never actually seen Grim hunt anything (although with him around, clumsy and loud, he'd never really anticipated it being something he would be party to). To watch him grow so focused and intent on his target, scoping out the prey and go in for the attack, was oddly beautiful, and quite impressive, however quick the hunt was over.
Grim made quick work of his meal, trotting back over to the same spot and staring up at Stiles expectantly.
And then it clicked.
"Oh," he nodded, "I see now. I'm just a fish wrangler to you." Grim dipped his head down, and while the gesture probably wasn't intended as a yes, it still made Stiles laugh. Well, it was the least he could do for him.
"Alright alright, I get the picture."
Stiles waded further back, circling slowly through the water. He found a spot to crouch down in before keeping himself still for a few moments, letting the fish settle into his presence. Up ahead of him, Grim kept his eyes trained on the water, front legs slightly bent, ready to pounce.
Then, as loudly as he could, Stiles sprung to his feet, allowing his arms to slap the surface of the water as he trudged forward. Just like before, it only took a few seconds more for Grim to snatch another fish from beneath the surface.
Despite their initial success, Grim only managed to catch a few more in their continued attempts, although Grim looked more than pleased with himself by the time he finished off his last kill, and opted to rub himself around on the grass in reward. Stiles rolled his eyes, but figured that meant hunting time was over. He pulled himself out of the water and hummed happily when he spotted a nearly flat rock he could lay against while he waited for his body to dry off. After spending so long in the cold water, the heat was actually quite nice against his skin.
Stiles let his mind drift to the sound of the stream, dozing lightly in the heat of the afternoon. Grim had settled down not too far from him after he'd rolled around to his satisfaction, and seemed to also be taking an afternoon nap.
Sometime later Stiles' mind came back into focus at a peculiar sound, and then all at once the peace that had settled over them broke. He opened his eyes to find Grim standing, facing into the trees and letting a deep rumble resonate from his chest. His hackles were raised, making the already large wolf appear even larger. Stiles immediately sat up once he realized what was happening, eyes scanning the trees for whatever threat Grim was trying to intimidate, but before he could spot it himself another wolf—same large size, yet gray instead of black—tore out of the underbrush and came directly at Grim.
The fight was all vicious snarls and snapping teeth. Stiles watched with a growing sense of horror as they went for each other's throats, teeth tearing into each other, neither letting the other a moment to rest. There was, however, a moment when the gray wolf looked up at Stiles, and their eyes locked.
The wolf's eyes were red.
It was barely a second, yet just enough time for Grim to use that to his advantage. Within the blink of an eye Grim had latched onto the wolf's neck, dragging it further into the trees, yelps and growls following them as the fight continued, although now the gray wolf appeared to be trying to make a retreat.
Soon enough they were completely out of sight, and Stiles only noticed how hard he was breathing when the sounds of their fight faded into the air. Knowing they were a good distance away, Stiles rushed to pull his clothes back on, stopping only as he pulled on his last shoe.
There was someone watching him.
He thought, briefly, that he was losing his mind. As if compelled, he looked up into a darkened part of the forest, expecting to see something there, but... he was staring at nothing, really, an area only darkened by the topography and surrounding woods in such a way that it created a deep black shadow. Stiles felt like a kid again, staring at a dark shape in their bedroom, waiting for it to move, or, perhaps, convincing themselves that it had moved in their cloying state of fear.
Stiles felt the hair on his arms stand on end and he knew, he knew he wasn't imagining it. The shadow was moving, the whole thing shifting—or, rather shuddering, as if to be a trick of the wind rustling leaves and changing its shape. He had that feeling of eyes watching him, and he stared into the void of inky blackness searching for them, searching for a tint of yellow—
Stiles' heart leapt into his throat when he turned at the noise behind him, the panic in his chest easing somewhat when he saw that it was just Grim walking towards him. By the time he'd turned back to the darkened overgrowth, however, the feeling of being watched was gone. It was once again nothing but a particularly deeply shaded spot, branches moving in and out of the shadow as a breeze passed by.
Grim was noticeably worse for wear. As Stiles made his way over to him, he couldn't help the sympathetic hiss he made as clocked more and more injuries. While he couldn't see the full extent of the injuries beneath the black fur, he saw the places matted with blood, saw the stiff way he held himself as he dipped his head to the water to drink.
Stiles made sure to stop a few paces away, not wanting to get too close when he was like this—injured animals and all.
"Grim, I..." He shook his head, wrapping his arms around his middle as he looked at what appeared to be an open gash on his back leg. "I feel like this is all my fault. I'm so sorry." He swallowed thickly as Grim lifted his head to look at him. "I mean, if I hadn't complained so much you wouldn't've have taken me out here and–"
He stopped as Grim turned away from him, walking back into the woods with a gait that belied his injuries. He turned back to Stiles, giving him the same look he always did when he intended for Stiles to follow him, before continuing on. With a shaky breath, Stiles obediently followed.
By the time they arrived back where Stiles could easily make his way on his own, Stiles felt wrung out. Apparently, there were other wolves out here, along with something else Stiles wasn't ready to give up as just a manifestation of paranoia and fear. But more than that, Grim was injured, and he couldn't help but feel responsible for it all.
"Hey, look, is there anything I can do?" he asked when Grim had stopped walking, turning away from the path back to his house to face the wolf instead. "I mean I know there's nothing I can do but... I dunno, there's an animal hospital my friend works at and we can get you looked at, just lie and say you're a dog or something."
He took a few steps towards Grim, his hand outstretched with his palm up as he'd done before to show Grim he meant no harm. "Waddya say, buddy?"
Grim looked at Stiles' hand for a long moment before taking a step back.
Answer enough, Stiles dropped his hand and with a sigh. "I get it. And I'm really sorry about all this, I just... Please stay safe, ok? Don't like, wander off into a ditch to die. I know you guys are wont to do that sort of thing."
Grim flicked his tail once before turning and wandering off back into the depths of the forest. Not sure how to interpret that response, Stiles reluctantly made his way back to his house.
He didn't see Grim the next day, or the next. He told himself it could be any number of reasons why the wolf hadn't come back, told himself not to get too worked up over it just yet. But then a week went by and he couldn't stop himself from thinking the worst, from going further and further into the woods with each outing, from feeling his anxiety spill into outright panic at the thought of never being able to find him, of never knowing—
And then, on the tenth day, Stiles found himself staring at the wolf, looking no worse for wear as he stood in front of Stiles.
Stiles didn't cry.
Stiles didn't cry, but his eyes burned and his cheeks hurt with how big he smiled at the stupid creature, who probably had no idea what it meant for Grim to be standing in front of him.
"I'm really, really happy you're not in a ditch buddy," he finally said on a shaky breath, following along as he always did as Grim trotted through the trees.
And if they didn't go quite as far into the preserve anymore, didn't return to the stream even on the hottest of days, well, Stiles found it within himself to not complain.
.
.
About a month later found Stiles laying on his bed, his laptop beside him playing an endless stream of trash reality tv.
Stiles knew this day was coming; it had been eating away at him for over a week. He'd skipped his usual forays into the woods, instead wallowing in his bed as he watched Gordon Ramsey yell at people for undercooked food.
The sky outside was dark despite it being midday, a storm readily looming on the horizon, so it wasn't like Stiles would have chanced a day out anyways. How fitting though, he thought to himself, that it would rain today.
As Gordon pulled a chef into the "scream closet" as a friend had previously dubbed it, Stiles' hand wandered to the chain around his neck, pulling the necklace out to hold the pendant between his fingers, moving it back and forth.
Nowadays he kept the necklace beneath his shirt, having replaced the thin silver chain with a longer, thicker one after being teased one too many times about his "girly" jewelry. The pendant was a simple teardrop shape, and set in the center was a single gray-ish, opalescent stone. It had been a birthday present his father had given his mother the year she was pregnant with Stiles.
"He was all worked up because he felt embarrassed he still couldn't afford a diamond," Stiles recalls her telling him the story, recalls her rolling her eyes with a fond smile as she laid under the beige hospital blankets, a bright yellow scarf wrapped around her head, "making all these promises that one day I'll get you something as precious as you are." Her eyes welled up with tears as she'd clutched at the necklace, her smile only growing brighter. "I still don't think he understands what this necklace means to me, how perfect of a gift it was. Certainly better than any diamond could be, that's for sure. But he's a stubborn man, you know," she'd finished with a sigh, throwing a wink towards Stiles.
Stiles closed his eyes at the memory, letting the necklace fall loose from his fingers. The pressure that had been lingering in his chest the past week started swelling, and it took every ounce of his control not to simply yell out into his room. His limbs ached, and his legs felt restless tangled in his sheets.
Ripping them away, Stiles stood and walked out of his room. He didn't know what to do, or where he was going, but he needed to move. He made his way down the stairs and into the living room, but neither the couch nor the tv held any interest to him. He turned his head at a sound in the kitchen, making his way over to find his father packing food away in a cooler.
"You're going to work."
His father looked up, his face immediately giving away that he'd clocked Stiles's tone. "Yes," he said easily, "I picked up an extra shift to help one of the guys out. Plus, I figured you might want to be alone–"
"Why am I here?"
His father blinked, clearly caught off guard by the non-sequitur. "Stiles," he said, but let his voice fall off when Stiles didn't fill the silence for him. "Look, can we not do this now?"
"When? When exactly would be a better time for us to 'do this'?" Stiles shot back with air quotes. "Never? Should we just push it aside and ignore it for eight years and hope it becomes someone else's problem?"
"Stiles," his father said, the warning clear in his tone.
"What? It seems to have worked out pretty well for you before, so let's just keep the ball rolling, shall we?"
"I am not doing this with you right now–"
"Or ever, so we've established."
His father threw his hands up in exasperation. "What is it you want, Stiles? Please, just tell me."
"I want you to explain why the hell I'm even here! Why drag me back here when you clearly want nothing to do with me? Why not ship me off to another place where you can pretend I don't exist? What, are you on step nine of some self-help program where you have to pretend to atone for your sins to get a gold coin?"
"Stiles, that's enough!"
"Oooh, did I hit the nail there? Is that what this is all about then—some half-assed attempt to make yourself feel better, to pretend to take care of your only son for a year before the world wipes you clean of all responsibility?"
"That's not— It was never about that, Stiles."
"Oh really! What was it ever about then!?"
"Look, I tried–"
"Oh-ho, that old song and dance. You tried, huh? Why didn't you try harder? I'm your son–"
"And I'm your father!" he yelled, finally letting his voice loose with the anger Stiles could see was building inside him. "And you wouldn't listen to me!"
There it is, Stiles thought to himself. He was always too much, too difficult.
"You don't understand what it was like!" his father continued into the sudden silence. "I had just lost Claudia and you... you wouldn't listen to me! You did everything to make our life harder, my life harder, and I just, I couldn't..." He stopped, his breaths coming in deeper, like he was trying to calm himself down. "I wanted you to have a good life, Stiles. I wanted you to be able to grow up and be happy, but you were just so angry all the time, and I couldn't... I didn't know how to help you. No matter what I did–"
Stiles scoffed loudly, the ache in his chest now burning in his throat as he swallowed around nothing. "No," he shook his head, "you wouldn't help me, didn't want to, because it was too much effort."
His father shook his head, but no words followed and Stiles knew that his father was only trying to convince himself that what Stiles was saying wasn't the truth.
"I get it, you know? I'm a lot, I'm too much, but Jesus dad, just admit it to yourself that you didn't want me. Not without her."
Stiles turned away and pushed open the back door, not surprised in the least that he didn't hear it open again by the time he'd made it to the tree line.
.
.
Stiles couldn't say he was surprised Grim wasn't where they usually met up. He'd been MIA for a week and it wouldn't be a stretch for Grim to think Stiles had moved on. Yet, while the thought was easy enough to accept, after what had to be an hour of sitting around waiting, Stiles became irritated. He had been coming out here nearly everyday since the summer started, and even when Grim didn't show, Stiles sat out and waited for him.
God, he was pathetic. There it was again, too much, too needy.
A sound to his left made him look up to find the wolf making its way towards him.
"Nice of you to show up," he said, toneless, and the wolf stopped in its path towards him. Grim flicked an ear somewhat restlessly, but made no move to continue forward. "You know," Stiles continued, "you don't actually have to bother with me if you don't want to. I don't need you to entertain me."
The wolf huffed and began walking towards Stiles again, but stopped short, jerking its head up in surprise when a rock landed near him. "I was being serious. You know, if you have other, better things to do, just go do them. Don't waste your time here with me."
Grim pulled his ears back, an obvious sign of agitation, but Stiles just glared back. Stiles picked up another small rock, throwing it towards Grim as he had before. He wasn't trying to hit Grim, not really, and Grim seemed well aware of this fact, not even flinching as the rock landed well behind him. But it was enough to get the point across, as a moment later Grim turned around and began heading back in the direction from where he came.
And watching him go... Stiles couldn't pretend it didn't hurt. Couldn't pretend he didn't feel the panic well up inside of him, didn't feel his irritation immediately turn on himself for his own stupidity. Too much, always too much.
"You know it's the anniversary of my mom's death," he finally said aloud, giving it truth, making it real.
Grim stopped and looked back at him.
"Cancer," he said, under the pretense of explaining it to Grim. "She'd been fighting it for a while, you know? She knew. We all knew it was going to happen. But it's that stupid thing inside you that hopes, you know, so desperately hopes that some miracle will happen, that some magical cocktail of drugs will combine perfectly to heal her, or, or that she'll be the case that doctors drool over and want to study because her cells beat it somehow and her body won, it beat the unbeatable–"
He cut himself off; he was rambling, letting his anger at a situation he couldn't change get the better of him again. He clenched his hands into fists, and took a deep, slow breath.
"Anyways, I don't need yours or anyone else's self-flagellating bullshit. I don't need your pity."
Grim stood in place, looking at Stiles motionlessly for a minute before he cocked his head to the side in the way dogs do when their owners speak to them. It was somewhat disconcerting to see Grim express such a trait, and an odd sensation crept over Stiles' skin. He could feel the hair on his arms begin to stand as Grim took the steps required to cross the distance between them, his mind somewhere between "if I don't move he can't see me" and "run." Which made no sense because Grim hadn't made a single threatening move on Stiles since their first encounter, so why was his body acting like there was something important he should be seeing?
Then Grim, the absolute menace, bit him.
With no preamble, without so much as a growl, Grim bit down hard on Stiles' left calf.
"What the fuck!" Stiles shouted as he jerked back at the same time Grim turned and leapt away. He hadn't bitten him hard enough to break skin—his teeth hadn't even punctured Stiles' pants—but Stiles could tell it was hard enough that there'd be bruising later.
Despite the pain, Stiles immediately took off after Grim, following him through the woods. Grim wasn't going slow like he usually did, but Stiles' anger propelled him to run with all he had, determined not to lose sight of him.
They ran. They ran and ran, further and further into the woods, Grim not letting up and Stiles not wavering.
Grim finally did stop when they reached a break in the trees, and when he did Stiles all but collapsed onto his knees, taking in deep breaths, punishingly finding little relief from the muggy air. When he looked up at Grim, the wolf looked completely unaffected by the run.
"God, you're an asshole," Stiles said around deep gulps of air. Grim sat down with what Stiles considered a self-righteous look, although he was sure he was just projecting.
But when he was finally able to catch his breath, he felt... drained, almost hollow. He sat back on his feet and gave a nod to Grim. "Yeah... yeah, okay, I guess I deserved that."
After another minute he finally looked up and took in where they were. It was a decently large clearing in the trees, and at the center stood a large house. The house itself seemed old, but only in that it looked settled into its place here among the trees; it was clear someone had fixed it up relatively recently. There was a car sitting in a paved space on the right side of the house, but the tarp covering it revealed it hadn't been touched in a long time by the amount of debris on top.
As Stiles finally pushed himself up to stand, a deep roll of thunder sounded and the skies opened up. Not particularly enjoying the idea of getting soaked, Stiles muttered a curse and made a beeline for the house, climbing up the few steps to the landing of the porch that wrapped around the entirety of the building. The wood groaned under his weight as he turned back to see Grim staring at him, not making a move to get out of the increasingly heavy rain.
"C'mon!" he called out, waving him towards the house, "You're gonna get soaked!"
Grim didn't move, only stared in the direction of the house.
"Dude, c'mon on! I don't bite, I promise!" He snorted at the phrasing, adding with only a little bit of heat, "Unlike someone I know! C'mon buddy, no one likes the smell of wet dog!"
Grim seemed to react to that, his head jerking back as his body followed suit, his feet moving him away from the house.
Stiles frowned, wondering if it'd been what he said (stupid, he can't understand you), then turning to glance at the house before looking back at him. "Grim?" he called out, his voice unsure. Grim finally stopped moving backwards and turned his eyes to Stiles, but still didn't move forward.
Did this place mean something to him? Grim had been the one to take him here though; was it him? Was it Stiles being this close to perhaps what Grim considered somewhere safe, a private shelter he was invading?
Stiles moved to go back down the porch steps; while not excited by the prospect of getting drenched, he also didn't want to overstep his place, ruin anything of meaning for the wolf.
But his movement was met with movement in turn, Grim seemingly snapping out of his previous inclinations and instead trotted over to where Stiles had stopped on the bottom step. With an odd sort of hesitation Stiles had never seen in the wolf, Grim carefully made his way up the steps and onto the porch, mercifully walking further down the length of the house before shaking the water from his fur. Stiles waited until Grim finally settled before walking over to join him.
He sat down at first, watching the rain pour down in a sheet that blurred the line of the forest and beyond. Flashes of lightning brightened the sky in brief intervals, but the time between them and the rolls of thunder assured him that they weren't at the center of it. The trees swayed only in a lazy dance, and the sound of water falling from ill-maintained gutters soon splattered louder than the droplets hitting the roof. He tried to let his mind drift, to think of anything else, but he found his thoughts relentlessly circling back to the day.
Eventually Stiles laid back against the wooden floor, pressing his side along Grim's. "What do you do with it?" he spoke softly, shaking his head. "What do you do with all the pain? Because I... I don't know what to do with it, and some days it feels like that's all that's left inside me, like it's taking over, bit by bit, and that's all that'll be left."
Grim made a sound somewhere between a whine and a grunt. Stiles moved to pull away, but Grim moved away first. He shifted, pulling his body up briefly to turn around, then proceeded to lay his head down on Stiles' chest as he settled back against him.
Stunned, Stiles looked up at him to see Grim now staring back at him with eyes that seemed to say I understand. Stiles let his head fall back to the ground and closed his eyes, tears spilling over his cheeks. The weight of Grim's head pressed against the ache in his chest like a hug, and Stiles couldn't help but reach up and bury his hand in the nape of Grim's neck in return.
They sat like that, the rain ebbing and flowing over an unknown amount of time, beating out a pattern on the roof that quieted the rest of the world.
When the tears had mostly dried and his thoughts finally, mercifully floated looser than they had before, he took a long, slow breath and said, "You're not real. I'm hallucinating all of this." A heavy breath blew over his face, and for the first time that day Stiles felt the ache in his chest ease.
.
.
Stiles wasn't sure how long they laid there, but the rain had let up some time ago and the parting clouds revealed that the sun was beginning its evening descent. Stiles took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the rain-soaked forest, before letting his breath out slowly. "I should probably head back," he said aloud. Grim made no move to get up, and Stiles would have believed him asleep if he didn't see his ear twitch at his words.
He let the fingers still buried in the fur of Grim's neck smooth through it, coming up to scratch gently behind his ears. "Believe me, I don't really wanna go either. But my dad might actually send the whole department after me if I don't go back soon, and no one wants a bunch of trigger-happy cops around your beautiful mug."
Grim finally opened his eyes but still made no move to get up. If Stiles had to give his expression a name he'd call it curious, and as if right on cue his tail began to swish back and forth. It was too slow to be anything close to wagging, but it brought a smile to Stiles's lips all the same.
"What, has no one ever called you beautiful before? Because I gotta say, that's truly a shame. You're gorgeous," he said, unable to keep the reverence out of his voice as he traced his fingers between Grim's eyes, letting his hand fall back behind his ears. It was the most intimate Grim had ever let Stiles be with him, and made Stiles want to stay all the more. "You're... you're quite something."
A low, painful sounding whine sounded deep in Grim's chest, and a moment later he pulled away from Stiles to stand up. Heaving a sigh, Stiles followed suit, pitching himself up to standing. He walked back down the steps of the porch and headed towards the tree line until about halfway into the clearing where he stopped at the realization that he actually had no idea where he was.
Usually, when they went out, if they ventured farther than he'd gone before, he would pay enough attention to their direction and any useful landmarks to get himself back. But as distracted as he was, Stiles hadn't paid attention to anything but Grim when he'd run here, and as such was... a tad lost.
He glanced back at the house—surely if someone had lived here, there'd be a path that led out of the preserve he could follow—but before he could even fully turn to investigate the rear of the property, Grim descended the steps of the porch and trotted past Stiles, glancing back only as he reached the tree line.
"My knight in shining armor," he mumbled sarcastically, although there was no real heat to his words, even if it was Grim's fault he was lost.
Although who was to say for sure Grim was taking him back? Stiles let the thought pass amusedly through his head as they walked. "I'm just wandering off into the woods again, to blindly follow a wolf for the rest of my days. Is that what this is?" Stiles mused aloud. "You run me out here so I get lost, I have no choice but to follow you around forever..." Stiles snorted, shaking his head at the thought. "Of course not. I don't think anything would want me around them all the time. What a sad little pack we'd make."
Ahead of him Grim suddenly stopped, his head lifting and turning sharply to their right. Stiles stopped moving as well, instantly on alert, worried the same wolf from before was about to strike again. But when he turned his head to look in the direction Grim was, he was surprised to see what looked like a person in the distance.
"Oh," Stiles breathed, "surprised it took this long, honestly." The person was partially hidden behind a tree, but Stiles could tell he was facing them. While the person was dressed plainly in a jacket and jeans—an odd outfit if their intention was hiking, Stiles thought to himself—they weren't in camo gear, so Stiles didn't think it was a hunter.
"Totally won't be offended if you take off," Stiles said to Grim as he raised his hand toward the stranger, going for a friendly wave, "but I don't think he's any harm."
When Stiles dropped his arm and looked down at the wolf, a sense of dread filled his veins. Grim was staring straight at him, and he looked... he looked scared.
It was such a painfully human expression, so clear Grim's blue eyes, Stiles felt his breath catch. He'd never seen anything like that on Grim's face, not even when the other creature had attacked him.
In the next moment Grim was coming at him, his full stride propelling him towards Stiles in a matter of seconds.
Then, two things happened at once.
Grim leapt up, slamming his body into Stiles's side as the sound of a gunshot reverberated through the trees.
Stiles knew something was wrong the second he hit the ground because it felt like he'd taken a sledgehammer to his left shoulder, and there was no way it had been Grim. In contrast, the area of his hip Grim had hit barely hurt, just the left over feeling of being shoved particularly hard that was barely noticeable over the feeling of WRONG radiating out from his shoulder.
Stiles stared up at the tree tops, swallowing hard, his brain trying to make sense of all that had just happened. On instinct he tried to turn, to push himself up, but was instantly met with a burning sensation, spreading across his entire chest along with the feeling of his shirt pulling at his skin with a heavy wetness that hadn't been there before. He looked down and sure enough his shirt was soaked almost black, the tinge of red giving away what he knew to be blood.
This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening; this was all some sort of cosmic joke, it was a dream, Stiles would wake up and laugh and brush it off like he did all his father's warnings. But the pain kept spreading and it hurt, it hurt so bad and it wouldn't stop and Stiles could feel it getting harder and harder to breathe—
And then his lips started tingling. At first it was just a sensation among many, not something his mind paid more than half a thought to among the flaring pain, until it started spreading. His ribcage felt like it was collapsing in on itself, air harder and harder to come by, and he couldn't move. His left side increasingly felt like it was no longer connected to him—attached, but not functional, a tumor weighing him down, ignoring his attempts to control it. The pain was still there, or, rather, his body knew on some objective, logical level that the pain should still be there, but it was growing more and more distant, the world pulling away from him or him pulling away from the world, Stiles didn't know.
His breathing slowed, and with an aching clarity the world shifted focus.
As Stiles' mind began drifting away, the leaves of the trees above him blurring into a green, swaying mass, a loud sound tore through the stillness that had settled around him. It wasn't a growl, or the familiar howl he'd grown accustomed to over these past months. No, it was a roar, a deep, bone-chilling sound that seeped into his flesh. Yet, the sound only calmed him. He knew that it wasn't directed at him, but rather was for him. And that... well, wasn't that something.
Making friends with monsters had its benefits after all.
He knew he'd been shot. He didn't know why, or who the person was, but he'd heard the gunshot, he knew the sound, and he knew the thing that ripped through his flesh was a bullet. But what he didn't understand was the tingling, the numbness that was spreading through his body and tearing his mind away. Was this what it was like to get shot? It seemed odd, but he'd never been shot before. Maybe this was shock, maybe he'd hit his head particularly hard when he landed and was suffering brain damage to boot. But then his vision blurred, and the world above him became an indistinct mass of shapes and colors.
He idly wondered if, perhaps, this was just what dying was like.
"Stiles!"
The voice was rough, unused, and suddenly very close.
"Stiles!"
That time it was shaky.
A calloused hand touched his cheek, and Stiles couldn't help but lean into the warmth he could still feel. He tried to focus on the figure above him, but all he could identify was a dark blur. He wanted to reach out, touch the hand on his face, but his limbs felt like lead.
"I can't..." He wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but whoever was above him spoke before he could continue.
"You have to hold on. I'm going to get you help, but you have to hold on, ok?"
He pressed his lips together, attempting to nod his head, unsure if he'd managed it. But suddenly there were arms pressing beneath his body, lifting him from the ground as if he weighed nothing.
He wanted to scream at being moved, but between the burning pain and blinding numbness, he couldn't do more than choke on the sound. It was probably too late, but he couldn't get the words out and the arms holding him pressed in just a little too hard, desperate. Who was he to disappoint them?
He'd see his mother soon.
Perhaps it wasn't the worst thing to die.
