Ambling slowly through the crowded hallways of the school, Stiles contemplated his last weeks in the hell hole of Beacon Hills. Graduation was nearing, so was the promise of a new life, a new start, without...them.
Passing each classroom was bittersweet, and left Stiles in deep thought. He trudged mindlessly onwards, clutching his bag like a vice. Passing a map illustrating the sprawling layout of BHHS, he paused, staring at a coloured square, showing more than he ever thought it could. He walked on, speeding up minutely.
It seemed like an eternity before he reached Class 4HJ.
Peering in to see if the room was occupied, the teen slipped inside, dropping his bag on the floor, sitting in one of the vacant seats. Dim light filters through the window, highlighting trails of dust flying around the room. Lightly resting his chin on the back of the chair, Stiles stares, taking in the sight of the room where so many of his memories were created.
Eyes turning to the back of the room, Stiles stood up, making his way to the final set of desks. Leaning down, he looked under the table, tracing a finger along the surface to search for one of the more physical aspects of his memories.
Finally, his hand brushes over two sets of initials, and a date.
S.S S.M 12/05/06
Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall. Stiles' breath hitches and his eyes widen, tears stinging against the unforgiving air. Memories of hushed delight and excited rebellion fill his mind, shadows of a long-ago, destroyed time resurfacing.
There had been a supply teacher, they'd left the room and Stiles managed to convince Scott that it'd be a good idea to "Leave their mark." Years later, Scott had left his own mark, not so physical, on Stiles, and he wanted nothing more than to make it disappear.
Bringing shaky hands to rest over the initials, Stiles draws power from the nearby forest, willing the wood to grow back, to shroud the mark left there, drawing the ink away from the indentations. Taking his hand away, he looks at the spot and sees nothing but smooth wood. The usually simple action of using magic drained his energy, leaving him wilted on the floor, kneeled next to the desk. Slowly leaning back, Stile's head thunks against the wall and his eyes close. Shakily exhaling, he tries to relax, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
The door opens, making the teen jerk upright, scrambling to a standing position, that stiffens when he sees the intruder.
Scott.
Stiles stiffens, eyeing his abandoned bag next to the door, and the wolf blocking the only exit. Scott shifts uneasily, eyes flitting between the exit and the scared teen in front of him, his heartbeat skyrocketing. He walks forward, taking a wary stance. As they stand in silence, Scott takes in the appearance of the boy he used to spend every waking minute with. His frame had filled out, and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there for a long time.
As he stares, the sickening wrongness of the situation strikes him. Stiles was with Peter. Not him. The older wolf had warped his opinion, and he needed to change that! Suddenly, he realised the boy's skin was unmarred, and he didn't seem to be injured in any way.
"How did you heal?" He asked brusquely, watching the teens eyes widen, and his breathing hitch.
Stiles shrugged halfheartedly, unwilling to talk to his former best friend. He'd betrayed him so much, and had yet to utter even an apology. He edged backwards, back hitting the wall. Shit.
Scott stepped forward, eyes confused, head tilted to the side. "What are you now?" He flared his nostrils, searching for a change in scent, but found nothing but the stench of fear.
Stiles remained silent, hands clenched at his side and eyes flitting to the door.
"I forgive you, Stiles," Scott says, earnestly staring at the teen. He inched closer, reaching out a questioning hand. "I can get the pack to forgive you, too, I think. If you tell us what you are because you could help the pack, Stiles!" Scott grinned as if that was the best news he could've broken. "That's what you wanted, right?" His face had broken into a full grin now, and he walked forward another step, now standing directly in front of Stiles.
Stiles stared, computing what he just heard. Clenching his fists, his breathing became laboured, and he straightened, meeting eyes with Scott. "You can't forgive me, Scott." He murmured, voice trembling with barely contained rage.
Scott blinked, then shook his head. "I can, it's okay, dude!" He reached an arm forward, grabbing Stiles shoulder.
The air crackled, and suddenly Scott was thrown across the classroom, landing with a pained grunt against the blackboard, bones slowly mending and knitting back together. His eyes flared red, and he glared, equal parts confused and angered.
"You can't forgive me, Scott, because I didn't do anything wrong." Stiles continued, walking forward, picking up his discarded bag from next to the door.
Scott stood up, staggering forward. His face darkened, and he refused to consider how wrong his opinion was. "You hurt us all, Stiles!" He roared, "You left us in the forest alone and vulnerable!"
Stiles turned, slowly, eyes hard, then his lip quirked upwards, an unpleasant grin contrasting the venom in his eyes. "I...Left you?" He asks, incredulously, watching Scott nod uneasily. Stiles chuckled, eyes going dark. "Y'know, I made some great friends when I left your pack." He spat the word, disgust clear in his tone as he ridiculed the idea of the unruly teens ever having any other relationship than strained loyalty.
"Peter's pretty great too," He continued, smiling fully now, almost manic. "I'm happier than I have been for a long long time, since before this werewolf bullshit!" He snarled, fingers curling in barely contained rage as he watched Scott scramble upright, staring at him wordlessly.
Stiles ambled forward, reaching down to retrieve his discarded bag, never taking his eyes off of the teen in front of him. His composure wilted, and suddenly he was the anxious, scarred boy he was who hid in the masses of crowds, slipping through corridors innocuously. Scott frowned, then slipped a hand on Stiles' shoulder.
"I get that you're angry..." He mumbled uncomfortably, evidently unbelieving of his own words. "But you belong to us." His voice was lower than a whisper but grated on the other teen's ears as if it was a trivial whine.
"Peter's corrupted you, Stiles." Scott murmured.
A sharp breath leaves the Werau's chest, and he stares wide-eyed at his former best friend. Taking deep breaths, he tries to steady the loud thumping of his heart reverberating in his ears. He gulps, steadying his feet on the ground, swaying slightly.
Scott stands next to him, torn between a sense of smug satisfaction, and a new feeling of wariness. Stiles had changed. As he debated walking away, the other teen spoke.
"You were.." Stiles began, struggling to find the right words. "The most arrogant, yet somehow...the kindest, the best person I knew." He finishes, smiling, shadowy memories of hushed giggles and breathless conversations filling his mind. Scott smiled gently, a hope of the boy's friendship returning. Stiles remained impassive. "Now, I know you're still arrogant, still the biggest imbecile I know." Stiles bit out, words enunciated harshly.
"And you still don't have the ability to see change." He whispered. Head falling. "You've hurt me...so fucking much, Scott!" He says, voice raw with sudden emotion. The Were narrows his eyes, unwilling to see past the accusation.
"I was so hurt. I still am..." Stiles admits, almost an afterthought. "And Peter, my dad, Nadia, Penny..." Scott tilts his head confusedly at the new names. "They're helping me like you never did." Stiles finished.
He opened the classroom door, walking forward. "Don't try to contact me, and pass that on to the rest of your...pack." He says cooly, voice hard. Scott scrambles forward, barring the way desperately.
"Stiles!" He shouts frantically, unsure what to say. Stiles comes to a halt, smirking lightly. Scott had it coming to him. He places a hand on the Weres wrist, tightening when Scott yells, trying to pull away. His eyes flash red, then slowly change to a glowing blue, pained roars filling the room. Stiles let's go, watching silently when Scott stumbles away, crashing into a desk behind him, cradling his now burnt, scalded wrist.
"You killed my innocence, Scott. You just didn't realise it" He murmurs, before walking through the door, ignoring the stunned looks of students filing around the door to the classroom.
Scott lay limp against the floor, ragged breathing slowing to a strained whimper, as he stared at the slowly healing skin of his arm. As he staggered upwards, his eyes flashed, and he stiffened. Staring into his reflection in the murky windows, he growled, eyes widening, showing the piercing blue glow of a killer. Scott was no true alpha now.