Chapter 3

There was a decent chunk of time where Stiles talked (i.e. whined) a lot, and Derek just growled with gradually increasing viciousness until there was full fang and claw action going on. At that point, Stiles deemed it beneficial to his continued existence on earth to not be alone with Derek Hale in the forest anymore.

So Stiles found himself lying on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling and wishing his magical powers included the ability to sink into the ground, when his father's keys jingled in the door and, still using his Sheriff-voice even though he was already in his own home, he yelled, "Stiles! Please tell me you didn't get into too much trouble today."

Stiles couldn't hold back his wince at that because his dad always asked him to please not get into too much trouble, and Stiles always disappointed him in ways so bad, his dad didn't even know. Still, he answered with his customary "Define trouble, again?", which his dad always blessedly ignored (in the way that he managed to ignore many of the far-spanning quirks Stiles exhibited in his daily life), so Stiles got to pretend like he wasn't really lying to his dad, and his dad got to pretend that Stiles was a sincerely normal, extremely well-behaved kid with perfect grades and stellar sporting-skills.

For the most part, Sheriff Stilinski upheld very low standards for his only son, consisting mainly of "don't do drugs", "try not to cause any major public or private property damage", and "avoid getting arrested", and, in return, Stiles attempted to stay alive and in school and only occasionally harbored fugitives.

Stiles winced again.

Then, because Stiles was not a coward, he got up and ate a nice, heart-healthy dinner with his father, and did not unceremoniously burst into hysterics whenever the house creaked. Admittedly, Stiles might have been overreacting, but Stiles had never interacted with any other fairies. In fact, barring his mother and uptight, I'm-only-worried-that-you're-going-to-expose-the-secret-of-fairies-to-the-entire-world-and-then-where-would-we-be Dain, Stiles had never even met another fairy, but he'd heard stories.

Most fairies were tricksters, harmless enough unless you got them really pissed off, but a trickster in a town with werewolves and hunters could be a disaster. Also, from what little Stiles knew, fairies weren't exactly share-care-alike. If one was moving into his town, did that mean that he was going to try to push Stiles out? Or was he just a passer-through? Stiles was pretty sure that a lot of fairies lived semi-nomadic lifestyles, but what if this one didn't.

And what was with that note! Was it suppose to warn him? Scare him? Or maybe it was just for the LOLZ. Stiles was pretty sure a lot of fairies did stuff just for the LOLZ. Just look at Stiles. Still, even for-the-LOLZ-ing could get out of hand. Just look at Stiles.

Stiles was panicking and pacing and maybe hyperventilating a little bit when a sudden rap on his window sent him all but flying out of his own skin. It was only by years of practiced secrecy and Dain's near-constant threats ("I swear to you, Stilinski, on all that is holy and pure, I will have your head if you don't pull your wings in right this second!") that he managed to not expand his wings, and a damn good thing, too, because who would show his stupidly grinning face but Scott my-best-friend's-been-lying-to-me-our-entire-lives-and-I-don't-even-know-it McCall.

His smile slipped off his face, though, as he slid through the window. "Dude, what's up? I could here your heart beating a block away." Stiles knew it was an exaggeration because Scott couldn't pick up a heart beat two rooms away (unless it was Allison's) but he got the point.

Stiles tried to lean against his bed casually, but he missed and nearly brained himself on his bedside table as he plummeted toward the floor, wrist painfully connecting with the corner of his bed while his arms flailed uselessly in an attempt to halt his fall. Then, when he attempted to lift himself up off the floor, his ankle got caught in the sheets from his bed (which probably wouldn't have happened if he ever made his bed like his dad told him to) and he was once again sent sprawling onto the floor. Once he finally managed to stand, being extra careful to avoid any objects that could force him to embarrass himself further, Scott was staring at him like Stiles had been dropped on his head repeatedly as a child.

"Dude, seriously, are you alright? I mean, you're clumsy, but that was-"

"I am not clumsy!" Stiles said merely as a means of avoidance because he so was. "I'm just tactfully unaware of my surroundings."

Scott wrinkled his nose in a way Stiles affectionately dubbed his my-best-friend's-kind-of-really-strange look. "I don't think that's a real thing, man."

Stiles looked at Scott very pointedly, because he could. Honestly, if Stiles tried he probably could convince Scott that it was advantageous to be completely oblivious to his surroundings (like Scott needed more help in that department), but this was neither the time nor the place.

"Anyway," Stiles proceeded, deciding that the conversation had been duly diverted from talking about his minor panicking, "what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

Scott's face was suddenly very serious. "Derek." Stiles didn't flinch or scream or hide in his closet, but he wanted to. "Although, I don't know what he was on about. He just said, 'Scott-'" and, really, his Derek impression was spot on "'-you should talk to Stiles. Now.' So, what do you need to talk about or is Derek just being crazier than usual?"

"Derek is a dick," Stiles said, forcing his voice not to come out as a squeak, "and doesn't know what he's talking about, and you should never listen to anything he says. Never, you got that, Scott? We no longer listen to Derek's opinion on anything. In fact, we should totally team up with the hunters to kill Derek. I bet that would get you back on Allison's good side."

Scott's eyebrows were doing an impersonation of a unibrow. "Stiles, what's going on? Is it Derek?" Man, Stiles had even mentioned Allison. What was more distracting than that to Scott?

"It's not Derek," Stiles said before he realized that he was admitting that it was someone.

"Who then? You know you can tell me anything. I can help."

"Listen, Scott, now's just not a great-" except Scott was giving him sad-puppy eyes and he totally could tell Scott anything and those eyes and Stiles was totally caving. "Fine. I may kind of have something to tell you."

Scott perked up, eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement over pulling the information out of Stiles and trepidation over just what that information might be.

Stiles took a deep breath. "Yeah, so, I'm kind of a fairy."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Be serious, Stiles."

Stiles didn't say anything. He just looked Scott straight in the eye and watched as his face slowly changed for annoyance to confusion to horror. "You are being serious. Seriously?"

Stiles chuckled nervously because Scott was looking at him a little like he'd never seen him before, and Stiles had had nightmares about that look, and - "There might be a little bit more."

And that was how Stiles ended up standing in front of everyone while Derek looked on expectantly and Scott just kept looking flabbergasted.

Immediately following Stiles' admission, Scott had demanded proof, upon which Stiles (begrudgingly) showed him his wings. Scott had gaped, mouth hanging wide open, for almost five straight minutes, but then, instead of the "How could you not have told me?"s and "I thought we were friends."s that Stiles had been expecting (read dreading), Scott had squared his shoulders, stuck out his jaw, and declared, "Pack meeting."

Scott then, for some godforsaken reason, dragged Stiles back into the woods to Derek's house where he was suddenly and viciously surrounded by some of his closest friends and worst enemies. No one looked very happy.

"Why," Lydia began, angrily flipping her hair (and she was so good at portraying her emotions via hair-tosses), "do I have to be here?" Jackson tilted his head in a way that said, "Yeah, we hate and are better than all of you, remember?"

Jackson had actually developed something of a heart since the whole kanima-almost-dying-werewolf-Lydia thing happened, but that didn't make him pleasant to be around, and while Stiles would always take any opportunity to be around Lydia, the circumstances were not ideal. Hell, pretty much any situation would have been more ideal.

Derek growled a little, his three subpar betas flanking him on either side. "It's not exactly like I'm thrilled to welcome you all into my home."

Eyes darting judgmentally over the ash and soot and general filth of the room, Lydia scoffed. "Some home."

Then Allison, blessed Allison, hiding behind Lydia and trying not to look Scott in the eye, who was there even though she had been making it her business to avoid these kinds of situations since the whole mother-dying-going-kinda-crazy-but-then-not thing happened, cleared her throat a little, and finally looked up from the floor. "What Lydia means is we're just wondering why we were all called down here."

"That," Derek said, eyes super intent and a little amused (damn him), "is a question for Stiles."

Suddenly, all eyes were on him, and Stiles felt a knot the size of Scott's obliviousness ball up in his stomach. "Oh, hell no. There is no way I'm doing this in front of all them. Not in a million years; not if you paid me a million dollars; not if you paid me a million dollars every day for a million years. Not-!"

"Stiles," Scott whimpered, and his eyes were doing that puppy thing again, and then suddenly Allison and Isaac were throwing him these hurt, aren't-we-innocent looks and damn them all.

"Fine, Jesus Christ. Just- Stop looking at me like that. Scott! Call off your demon herd, I'll do it, I'll do it."

Scott smiled triumphantly (and maybe a little deviously) and motioned for Stiles to speak. The only problem was that Stiles' mouth had suddenly decided to stop working. Like, at all. He'd never had this problem before. He didn't know what to do. The silence was going on for so long, he had to say something; he had to-

"Oh, for Christ's-sake, Stiles is a fairy." Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Derek in the face or hug him in relief. At least now it was out there.

Then, after three long seconds of silence, Stiles heard six snickers permeate the air. "Oh, for the love of- Are you guys serious? Is that the only joke you can think of?" Then he heard a seventh snicker and looked over to see Scott covering his mouth with his hand because of course he just got it.

"I expected better from you, all of you- Well, O.K., maybe not Jackson, but Allison, really? I thought we were friends." But they were all still snickering, some grown to giggles and even a few out-right laughs, and most of them looked like they thought maybe Stiles had gone off the deep end this time, so Stiles did the only thing he could think of to shut them up for a few seconds. "Fine, if you won't listen, then maybe -" and his wings were out, in all their glory, and suddenly Stiles missed when they were laughing at him.

Well damn, Stiles thought in a sudden moment of horrifying clarity, maybe Dain was right.