Quietly, Stiles turned on the coffee machine and listened to it gurgle as he popped a piece of a bread into the toaster. He had refused to look at himself in the mirror that morning, and he, no doubt, looked terrible. In his mind, he was counting the hours. Ten hours since he and Derek and had sex and he had left. Sighing, Stiles leaned on the counter and stared at the ground, crossing his arms. When the toaster popped back up, it startled him and he jumped a good foot. He grudgingly walked over, picking up the piece of toast, ignoring the burning sensation. Taking down a small plate from the cabinet above the coffee maker, and getting the butter out of the fridge, Stiles sighed again as he slathered butter across the toast.
"What's got you being so melodramatic?" His father's voice rang out and Stiles swiveled his head so hard in the direction that he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "And so jumpy." His father noted.
"Just one of those days." Stiles shrugged and turned back towards his toast.
"Nightmares?" His father's voice softened.
"Sure." Stiles lied through his teeth. It wasn't that he still didn't get nightmares, but they were easier to escape than they were before. In response, his father hummed. "Aren't you going to work?" Clearing his throat, Stiles opened the corner cabinet and grabbed a mug from the top shelf.
"I am." Grunting out the words, the Sheriff took the coffee pot and poured it straight into a travel mug, filling it up about halfway. "You know," his father startled, and Stiles hummed saying he was listening, "I always found it funny that I'm the only one in this family that puts creamer in my coffee." Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw his father open the fridge and take out hazelnut creamer.
"Interesting observation." Stiles said as he poured coffee into his own mug. "I like straight coffee because it's black, like my soul." He joked but a part of him felt like there was some truth to it. "Now shoo." he coughed to clear his throat prior to taking a sip of his hot coffee. It didn't matter that it was scalding and he lost all his tastebuds. "I'm missing out on my quiet time before school starts, where I can relax before being surrounded by jackasses."
"Language." His father shook his head. "I'll message you when I have my lunch. You going to Derek's after school for the pack meeting?" Stiles swallowed and forced himself to maintain eye contact despite the anxious, dreading feeling rushing over him.
"Yeah. Scott'll want me there, but I'm stopping at the vet beforehand."
"Just behave." At those words, Stiles just grinned and his father waved a hand of dismissal at him before turning and walking away. The grin fell away though the second his father's back was turned and let out a quiet sigh. He downed the rest of his coffee and set the mug down near the sink, telling himself to not forget to wash it before he left for school.
He forgot.
Walking into school, Stiles was immediately flanked by Isaac, who looked on the edge of a breakdown. Pulling him off to the side of the hallway, near his locker, Stiles waited until Isaac had calmed down enough to be able to talk.
"What's wrong?" He demanded.
"Dude," Scott jogged up to them, dodging out of people's ways, "your heart is racing. What's wrong?" He repeated Stiles's question unknowingly. Isaac just shook his head.
"Can I…" Isaac paused, "is it okay if I stay with you Scott? At least for tonight."
"What happened?" Stiles insisted.
"Derek kicked me out again." There was a kicked puppy look on Isaac's face. "He was fine yesterday, he was great even, but this morning, he was just...an asshole." Scott and Stiles shared a look, and nodded to each other.
"Of course, man." Scott cheerfully said, trying to brighten the mood. "You know my mom loves you, and you can stay as long as you like, you know that."
"What'd he say?" Angry, Stiles practically growled out the words. Derek had every right to be angry at him, but not Isaac.
"Nothing." Isaac winced. "Just threw another pot at me." When Stiles went to open his mouth, Isaac intervened. "I'm fine. It didn't hit me, and I'm more upset by the fact that he ruined his new flower pot." Isaac frowned. "He was going to try to start a garden this year."
"Why'd he throw it?" Scott asked.
"He was in a sour mood and I kept asking him questions. I was at fault." Isaac shrugged.
"No, you weren't." Stiles actually did growl the words out this time. "I'll talk to him after school. I'd go now but I'd probably punch the motherfucker." Both Scott and Isaac looked at him with matching stupendous faces. Instead of responding to their reactions, Stiles stalked off, his already sour mood turning worse.
When he got to AP Lit, he practically slammed his books down, startling Lydia from her reading. Stiles huffed as he plopped down on his seat, his backpack being tossed next to his feet.
"What's got your boxers in a twist?" She arched an eyebrow.
"Oh, don't start." Stiles bit out and when her gaze just hardened, he sighed. "Besides, it's briefs, not boxers." He grinned, trying to throw her off scent.
"You can try, Stiles, and you're in luck since class is starting. But you will tell me." She warned out just as the bell rung it's annoying tune.
Stiles slouched down in his chair, avoiding eye contact with anyone and just stared at the chalkboard in front of him. This class couldn't end soon enough.
Soon enough, was not soon enough though.
The fourty-seven minutes stuck in the class felt like a lifetime, one he didn't want to participate in. About halfway through, he had completely zoned out and he'd started focusing on the thin white scars on his wrist. A part of him was saying his sleeve shouldn't be rolled up and that someone would notice, but a part of him didn't care. It wasn't that he didn't think of harming himself. He always did. It was a constant, nagging reminder in the back of his mind saying he needed to hurt himself. He learned to accept that he'd always live with that.
A side effect of self harm that only those who dare to partake in it know the true horror of the addiction. Telling someone not to cut is like telling a druggie to put the needle down or an alcoholic to put the beer back in the fridge.
It's just gotten easier for him, Stiles internally concluded, to resist those urges.
He had them a lot on the way to Hawaii, and even in the "Aloha" happy state. It's just gotten easier to tuck the thoughts away and focus on better, happier things.
"Stiles," Lydia grabbed his hand, and Stiles blinked back into reality. Everyone, even the teacher, was gone from the classroom. Everyone but Lydia and him. "What is wrong?" Her eyes were filled with concern, and when they darted down to his wrist, his eyes followed.
He nearly jumped a few feet at the sight. His fingernails had scratched away the top layer of his skin, leaving it red and raw, and slightly bloody.
"We're skipping. Your mental health is more important than school." Lydia demanded. "Get your stuff and let's go. Also, hand me your keys. I'm driving." He did everything without complaint. There was no way he'd win any argument. Begrudgingly, he handed over the keys and followed her.
The ten minute drive to her house was in silence. She didn't even put on the radio, which is how Stiles knew he was in trouble with her. As soon as she parked, Lydia hopped out of the car, and went right up to her front door, unlocking it. Quietly, Stiles followed. Unsure as to what else to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets and went with her as she led him to the kitchen. Lydia motioned for him to sit down, and he listened. Then, it was silent, her just glaring at him and him trying to avoid eye contact.
"Something happened." Lydia stared him down, a hard glare causing her eyebrows to furrow. Stiles opened his mouth to argue back, but he let out a sigh and his shoulders dropped.
"Yeah." He said softly, staring at the tea in front of him.
"What?" Suddenly Lydia was next to him, and she sat down on the adjacent stool. "This looks like it's eating you up and from the way Isaac was today? It looks like it's eating up Derek too." Stiles opened his mouth to oppose. "Don't you dare lie to me Stilinski. I'm still not given enough credit for my intelligence."
"Maybe you are psychic." He muttered under his breath before leaning forward on his elbows and rubbing his eyes with his fists. There was a moment of silence and Lydia's hand settled on his shoulder, her way of saying that whatever it was, she'd help out. Consciously, he leaned into her touch. "Derek and I—" Stiles struggled to say it so he lifted his head up and motioned with her hands at her.
She slapped him.
On the shoulder.
"What the hell?" He exclaimed, jumping in his seat.
"What did you say?" She demanded.
"Why am I suddenly the bad guy?"
"Since Derek is currently moping and you're beating yourself up which means that you did, or said, something that dug you in a hole. What did you say?" The glare on her face was back, and it was fierce. For a second, he wondered when she and Derek got so close but then remembered that she had helped him out during the summer. Sighing, he played with the spoon in his tea.
"I told him I was confused." Stiles admitted after a while, and got another slap on the shoulder.
"What else?"
"That—it shouldn't have happened?" He spoke quietly, like a child getting disciplined for breaking an expensive vase. This time, she didn't slap him. No, she punched him, not holding back any strength. "Stop doing that!" He brought a hand up to rub his shoulder.
"I should punch you again! Maybe in the face this time." Lydia raised her voice. "You two morons...you both infuriate me so goddamn much! And you're lucky it was your shoulder, not your face. Now get off your ass and get over there and talk to him."
"I don't want to see him." Stiles stood up.
"You're sure as hell not staying moping here." Lydia glared. "You're eighteen, yet you're acting like you're five. You love him, and don't you deny it because I've seen it. So get off your ass, and get over there." Stiles put his hands up in surrender, but he knew she was right. The queasy feeling in his stomach never went away though as he walked out of the house, hearing her sigh of indignation behind him.
Needless to say, he didn't head over to Derek's. Instead, he ended up near the veterinary clinic, watching as Deaton got out of his car with a bag of groceries in one hand. He started walking over when the vet/druid dropped his keys trying to unlock the clinic's door.
"Thank you, Stiles." Deaton said, rebalancing the groceries. "I was beginning to wonder why you were standing over there. We can talk inside." Stiles wanted to roll his eyes. Of course the vet knew he had been watching.
"So I read that book, about Sparks, like you told me too. It's really cool and everything, and I'm going to have to save most of it in the grimoire I'm making, but I still don't fully understand why you had me to read it." Stiles watched Deaton carefully, and noticed a split second of happiness on Deaton's face.
"Now that we confirmed that you are, indeed, a spark, we can begin lessons. Lucky for you, my next appointment doesn't start for another hour and a half, so we shall begin immediately." Deaton said, motioning for Stiles to follow him into the back room, the same room that he almost had to saw off Derek's arm and the Nogitsune stabbed and twisted a sword into Scott's stomach.
"I'm sorry, how did we confirm I was a spark?" Stiles's mind clearly wasn't connecting something here.
"The book." Deaton simply put, as if it explained everything. When Stiles's baffled expression, Deaton began talking. "The book wasn't in English, but Ancient Druid writing. However, with your magic, it was able to change it to your natural tongue in your mind, allowing you to read it. Otherwise, it would've been gibberish to you."
"So if my natural tongue was French, it'd translate it to French?" Stiles asked, and Deaton nodded. "Sweet. What about sign language?" There was no reply as Deaton went to the other side of the room, leaving Stiles in the doorway.
"Before we begin, I'd like to see that scratch of yours. I need to make sure it's healing up alright." Deaton set down the brown grocery bag on a counter.
"No need too." Stiles grinned at Deaton's confused face. "It's all gone. I went to Derek's, he took away the pain and in the morning, it was gone."
"Hmm." Deaton hummed, looking like he was considering a few options. "Did you pass out at all by any chance?"
"Yeah, how'd you know?" He suddenly became guarded and unsure.
"I have a theory." The vet tapped his fingers against his chin before turning around. Next thing Stiles knew, was a scalpel being thrown at him at an abnormal speed. He put up an arm to protect him and the scalpel lodged itself in his forearm.
"What the hell?" Stiles pulled it out, and examined it. "Where's the band aids?"
"Just watch." Deaton stared at Stiles's forearm with a thoughtful look. Cautiously, Stiles did as he said. After a second, his eyes widened. "The fuck?"
"Language." Stiles ignored Deaton's comment. He was entranced by the way his skin was pulling itself back together before the cut was no longer there, just the small amount of blood drying on his arm. "My theory would be proved correct then."
"What theory?"
"That you can heal yourself. That's probably why you passed out. Your body was healing and then Derek was draining away your pain. With no pain, your body didn't know what it needed to heal, and began freaking out, and therefore, you passed out. In a way though, it caused you to heal faster. Very intriguing…"
"Wait—you're saying that I healed so fast because Derek was taking my pain and because I'm a spark?" Stiles stared incredulously at Deaton.
"Stiles," Deaton sounded a little impatient, "you believed that you've been reading ancient Druid writing, but you're having difficulties grasping this concept? Yes. It explains why you passed out too. Your body was healing too quick and from a result, couldn't expend any extra energy in keeping you awake."
"You didn't think of telling me this before?"
"I didn't know before." Deaton snapped out before changing back to his calm mood. "I apologise. I forget that you're new to this. All that I know about Sparks is in that grimoire I gave you. Those notes are compiled from years of research and purposely searching out creatures to gain information about them."
"I'm sorry too." Stiles said.
"Let's get on with today's lesson, shall we?" The druid motioned for him to sit down, and Stiles complied. "We're going to work on focusing on the balance of light and dark on a small scale. The whole point of the emissary is to give advice, while also balancing nature. Now do as I do."
"Hey Dad, I'm home!" Stiles loudly called out the second he opened the door from the garage to the kitchen. "I mean, of course it's me. Unless you're expecting someone else. In that case, it's not them. It's me, your only son."
"Hey son, it's your dad. Come into the living room?" Something was off in his father's voice. Setting his stuff down, Stiles hurried to the room. A huge feeling of relief came over him when he saw his dad just standing there.
"What's wrong?" Stiles questioned, looking at his father's serious expression. Wordlessly, his father held out a cream coloured envelope.
"This is for you."