When his eyes catch the light the right way, its like looking into silky pools of melted chocolate. They could be amber, or gold, or deep and dark, like the bark of an ancient oak tree. He looks at you and you just can't help but hold your breathe. To feel a little flutter in your stomach. To stare at them for a little while, as they graze around to look at the world thoughtfully.
He laughs like summer rain. Thick and warm and sweet. Like there's no care in the world. Like nothing at all could ever hurt him, and if it did, he was so glad he got to be here for the ride. It carries through hallways and over rooms of people with so much ease. It comes out like a song that I never want to stop playing.
But his brain. His quirky, manic little brain. That's where the gold is really at. Behind his honey eyes, under his song bird laugh, his brain takes the whole show. Its like a train that never runs out of coal. He's witty, so much so that I often catch myself marveling at some of the things that come out of his mouth. He's smarter than I could ever hope to be. Easily piecing together clues and reading between the lines. Always two steps ahead, but still walking at your side. People underestimate him, but that's their worst mistake. Because he is kind, thoughtful, loyal... smart. He is who parents dream of their children being when they grow up. He is the person who people look to when they need a hand, or a hug. He is everything I'm not.
And I hate him.
Irrationally, thoroughly hate him. And I hate it.
He was a stupid high school moron when we met. When Peter bit Scott. When we were all forcefully thrown into each other's lives without a choice. He was always there, always at Scott's side. Always ready to take that stupid fucking bat and go to war for his best friend, against the worst kind of monsters the world had to offer. Against me. He was always there.
His existence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to me in the beginning. I actually found him rather annoying. I had never met someone so willing to put their chest to mine, look me in the eye, and dare me to swing before. Especially not someone as scrawny as he was. I think now, in the end, I love him more because of that.
And here I am. Broody, mysterious, perpetually grumpy. I don't remember the last time a laugh crossed my lips. It has to have been years. Maybe a decade. I don't smile. I don't lounge around and watch TV, or go out to get drinks with my friends. As if there were any to have.
This life is lonely. Solitude is safe though. There's no one to worry about. No one to look after. But at the end of the day, when my bed calls me to sleep and the silence fills the room, I think of him. Before my thoughts sink into sleep, they're always of him. Always. Sometimes, the thoughts don't go away, and for hours, the thoughts roam behind my eyelids. Of his messy hair, and his sarcastic smiles, and his cute ass...
Anyways.
...
"You're leaving?!"
"Yeah."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean, I. Don't. Know."
"You can't just-"
"Stiles, shut the hell up and help me take these bags to the car, or I'm gonna punch you in the face. A lot."
Fuck. I have to stop threatening him. One of these days he's gonna realize that I never go through with my threats and test my limits. Neither of us are ready for that.
I let go of a deep breath, letting my shoulders relax. My jaw hurts from clenching so hard.
I have to leave. The FBI is actively looking for me. "Mass murderer". Cops all over the state are on high alert and the cash rewards are posted everywhere. There's no corner, crack, or crevice in Beacon Hills that's safe. Hunter's caught wind through their little Boy Scout bitch groups and are crawling around me like roaches. Last week was almost the end. Some kid and his dad shot me in the arm with Wolf's Bane. They almost had me, but Scott was right behind me. He was able to lead them off my trail and Stiles took me to Deaton once we were sure it was safe to go out again. They had been hiding me for weeks, and Stiles was LOVING it.
"Well well well, looks like I'm harboring your fugitive ass yet again. So, 'Miguel', did you pack clothes this time, or did you need to borrow another shirt?"
That one had earned him a smack on the back of his head. At least this time there was no steering wheels around. Its called growth.
"Well, you can't just go on your own. You need someone to help you. What if you get shot again? Who's gonna cut your arm off then, huh? Probably not me but I can hold your hand while they do it, or..."
He raised his eyebrows and looked at me hopefully. He was right. Being alone had always been my strength. Its why I survived for so long. How I was able to go years without being hunted, without having to turn anyone. I was the alpha of a one man pack. Me.
But now... things are different. At any moment, the walls could come down and it could all be over. Either the FBI would have me behind bars, stuck in a cell with a toilet in the corner and no freedom for the rest of my life, or the hunters would find me and torture me in ways that made Mexico look like child's play. The stakes have never been so high. It feels like the shoe is about to drop all the time, and I won't be able to come out of this one. I need help, as much as it makes me hate everyone and everything more. And it would be stupid not to take Stiles with me. He knows what the FBI wants and he knows how they'll get it. He could end up saving my life.
But I hate him. And I hate the idea of spending the indefinite future stuck next to him. Pretending like I don't think his jokes are kind of funny. Trying not to get caught when I look at him for a little too long. Acting like... I wouldn't give anything for him to look back at me. Its torture.
"Fuck. Alright. Fine. Pack a bag and be quick or I'm leaving you here. You have five minutes."
"Hell yeah, Batman and Robin! But this time can I be Batman because honestly the whole Scott alpha thing really put a damper on my self esteem and-"
"STILES. Five. Minutes."
"Jesus okay I'm going."
He jogged upstairs and shuffled around for a few minutes. I'm pretty sure I heard him fall at one point, but that's not shocking. He has two left feet and a keen ability to trip over anything and everything. Sometimes nothing at all. And he was about to have my life in his hands. Shit.
"Alright, I packed and bunch of socks and underwear. Hopefully where we're going they have a washing machine. You get kinda stinky sometimes too, after the whole full moon werewolf thing."
"You're two minutes over time. Get in the Jeep. We're leaving. Now."
"Would now be a bad time to call you a sourwolf?"
This was going to be an excruciatingly, horrendously long drive. Either I was going to fuck him or kill him, and both options sounded marvelous right about now.
"Load your GPS. We're going to Washington. I have a safe house there where we can stay for now. We may have to move again in a couple of weeks but for the time being its secure."
"Road trip!"
I scowled, brushing past time and out to the car. It was dark, and being outside this late would usually be a mistake, but it was either now or never. The hunters still think I'm dead or dying somewhere in the woods, waiting to collect my body. They're out in trees, bushes, up the hills and in the ditches, waiting for me to come out. Waiting for me to beg for help. But they were going to be waiting a while.
Stiles slid in next to me. The smell of his cologne instantly filled the cab. My fists ached with how hard I was restraining myself.
"So, do you wanna hear my road trip playlist?"
This was going to be a long ride indeed.
