Author's note: Hello! Thanks for reading. Also, it might seem like it in this chapter or future chapters, but Stiles and Derek aren't a thing or like eachother. This isn't edited btw! :D
Chapter 4: Derek Hale
Stiles and Scott were in the woods after school, searching for Scott's inhaler. The warlock absently noticed his friend's need of it vanishing. He knew his best pal since they were little was a werewolf. He wondered how he would approach the subject.
"I don't - I don't know what it was. It was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball. And that's not the only weird thing. I - I can - hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear. Smell things."
"Smell things? Like what?"
"Like the mint - mojito gum in your pocket." Scott replied, pointing to said pocket.
" don't even have any mint - " he pulls an old piece of gum that he doesn't even remember when he bought, no surprise on his features. "mojito - So all this started with a bite."
"What if it's like an infection, like, my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?" Stiles scoffs at his friend's melodramatic tendencies.
"You know what? I actually think I've heard of this - It's a specific kind of infection. Stiles said sarcastically, rolling his eyes when his friend gave him a shocked, fearful look, as if he would drop dead from some mysterious disease.
"Are you serious?" he asked
"Yeah. Yeah, I think it's called - lycanthropy." the warlock said, fighting back a grin at his friend's reaction.
"What's that? Is that bad?
"Oh, yeah, it's the worst. But only once a month." he said, laughter bubbling up.
"Once a month?" Scott asked, giving a look of confusion.
"Mm - hmm. On the night of the full moon." Stiles howled mockingly, grinning when Scott gave him a pissed off look. "You did get bitten by wolfy at night in the woods!"
"Hey, there could be something seriously wrong with me." he replied, giving the magic user an offended look.
"I know! You're a werewolf! Rrr! Okay, obviously I'm kidding. But if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it's 'cause Friday's a full moon."
They kept walking until Scott stopped. He looked around, clearly remembering something from that night.
"No, I - I could have sworn this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running. I dropped my inhaler." he muttered, wiping leaves off the forest floor to look for said object.
"Maybe the killer moved the body." Stiles replied absently, glancing around when he felt a strange magical energy. It wasn't a bad type of energy, like a dark one of something or someone that thrives off of causing harm. But it was foreign yet familiar.
"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like 80 bucks.
Stiles was about to reply when the energy grew stronger. It spiked and he looked up from his friend to see an imposing figure. I muscular guy with a scowl, green eyes zoned in on them. Stiles hit his friend to get his attention. Scott looked up, not knowing there was a man there until he spotted him. He quickly got up as well, standing beside his friend.
"What are you doing here? Huh? This is private property." the man said, frowning at the two of them. Stiles took but a moment to recognize him.
"Um... Sorry man, didn't know." he mumbled, trying not to let his eyes glow with the magical presence of Derek Hale.
The man's green eyes seemed to be a bright blue to Stiles for a split second before reverting back to the original color. Stiles shivered, a faint outline of a huge wolf seemed to cover the man if he looked close enough. It was hardly visible, and he doubted anyone without magic would notice.
"Yeah we were just... looking for something... Hum, forget it..." Scott looked strange, like he was trying to figure something out. He gave a searching look at Derek, like he wanted to know something.
Dreck throws an object, Scott's inhaler, at Scott. He catches it with ease, looking down to stare at it before pocketing it.
"Okay, I have to go to work." he remembered, looking back to Stiles.
"Dude, that was Derek Hale ! You remember, right ? He's just a few years older than us." Stiles said, remembering the weird tingling magic he felt surrounding Derek all those years ago.
"Remember what?" Scott asked, confused.
"His family. There was this fire that killed his family like, years ago." the warlock replied.
"What is he doing back?"
"Don't know... Come on." Stiles said, making his way back to his jeep, Scott following.
"It's... lonely. To... be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow. To... be special and, and have to pretend you're a fool. I know how it feels, I understand." Loneliness and pain build in his chest.
"All those jokes about you being a coward... I never really meant any of them. I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met. Guess I was wrong." Anger and frustration. He's such a prat! He doesn't even know what he's talking about!
"You are more than a son of your father. You are son of the earth, the sea, the sky. Magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You are magic itself. You can not lose what you are."
Acceptance, and contentment settle, and a drop of happiness as well.
"How could you hope to understand?"
"I do understand, believe me."
"You don't know what it's like to be an outsider! To be ashamed of how you were born; to hide who you are!" Understanding flooded through him. He got it. He felt the same.
"No man is worth your tears." He was just trying to help, but he was just making it worse.
"Dracan! Nán dyd ǽlc áciere miss! Eftsíðas eom ála cræt! Géate' stǽr ábære gárrǽs! Géate cyre. Mé tácen átende diegollice. Car grise áþes." Stop! Listen! I command you!
Stiles awoke with a gasp, tears tumbling down his cheeks. Why? Why do they keep happening? What were these dreams? They were getting worse, and he didn't know what to do. When he had his mother, he had someone to confide in, to understand. He doesn't know how to tell his dad, how to admit to his fear and tell him about the visions. They weren't magic related, he was sure of it. If it wasn't, then that meant they were his memories. But how could that be? He doesn't remember any of those dreams.
He looked at the clock, to find out it was 4:43 a.m. Lovely, he still had hours before he had to go to school, distraction. Now all he had was silence, which wasn't good. With nothing to do, he was left with his thoughts. He didn't want to think. He just wanted something to distract him from where his mind was taking him.
Deciding research was the best option, he opened a new tab on google and tried to find what is happening to him. But all he found about vivid, strange dreams were sleeping disorders. That didn't help him. He knew that it wasn't that. These dreams were't delusions. He would be able to tell. Well, he thinks he would.
Only 30 minutes have passed and he quit searching, which was usually unheard of for Stiles Stilinski. Usually he could research anything he could think of for hours on end, but for now he was too mentally exhausted to bother anymore.
The dreams should just be dreams, but it felt more than that. They seemed so familiar, yet so foreign. Those voices sounded so normal. He couldn't recall ever hearing and saying what was mentioned in the dream, and yet he felt as if it happened. It was just a feeling, yet, but a strong one.
Deciding that studying and silence didn't sit well with him, Stiles chose to go for a walk in the woods. Of course he knew of the dangers, he just didn't care anymore. He had his phone and his magic, and that was all he needed.
Leaves crunched underneath his shoes as he walked, barely sparing a glance to his surroundings. Stiles kept his gaze forward, making sure to keep walking without tripping, one foot in front of the other. He was slightly cold, considering it usually was chilly in the night and early mornings, and tired, but contented.
The woods and just nature in general were always calming to him. Being cramped up in his room didn't always sit well with him. Being anywhere inside made him feel constricted, like chains were clutching at his body, and he couldn't break free. His magic worked like any parts of his body, acting when it was needed or not, involuntary, like a reflex. So when he panicked, his magic panicked. His magic was most calm outside, because he body was more calm. It felt like home.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't recognize the familiar magical signature till it was right in front of him. Derek Hale. Usually, Stiles didn't like being around anyone else even remotely similar to him, having the same strange energy inside them. Mostly this is because most magical beings, while not a whole lot, had not so good intentions. But looking into the green eyes of Derek, he didn't see any of that. He recognized loneliness and stress, but nothing even close to evil.
"What are you doing here again?" Derek asked, practically growling. Stiles thought that it didn't match his eyes, which he heard were windows to the soul.
"Sorry," Stiles said, usual sarcasm and jokes pushed far back and leaving a dreamy, ancient expression. His eyes weren't glowing, but they were a pale, icy blue. "I didn't notice I walked all the way to your property." And he really didn't. How long has it been? Did he really walk that far.
Derek seemed to be studying him, as if searching for something. His eyes widened slightly when he looked into Stiles's eyes, noticing how they weren't whiskey colored anymore and held a more haunted expression. He didn't seem to know what to say, but Stiles didn't mind. He walked passed Derek, not caring that he was still on private property, and kept trudging, staring up at the trees and humming a tune he'd never heard before.
"I can't live like this, the world isn't going to change. All I've known that was consistent was war, and violence. I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember any of this. this spell has to work." a voice mumbles so quiet that they must have been to himself. A book with a different language swims into his view, and he recognizes it, knows how to read it.
A new, vague image filters through his vision and he chokes. Men, men who were selfish and viscous, stood in front of him, old and rusty weapons in hand. He can't breathe, a sword slides into his into his back, as easy and quick like butter, and he can't feel for a split, blissful, second. Then pain erupts and he cries out.
Everything starts to fade, the last thing he sees are cruel men, searching his person for anything of value. In those last minutes, he feels not only pain, but acceptance. He wants to die, he let himself be killed. The pain becomes too much, and he blacks out.
Derek didn't know who this kid was, other than the friend of a newly bitten werewolf, but he didn't smell exactly human. His scent was similar to one, but it also had power, power that isn't exactly human. Derek hasn't encountered a teen like him before. One minute this guy, that he heard the new beta call Stiles, was sarcastic and witty, and very outgoing, and then the next he changed. He seemed ancient, older, and wiser. Derek didn't know what to make of him.
He was going to kick him out of the woods when he noticed the change. One moment the kid seemed tired and agitated, and the next he took on a dreamy expression. His eyes clouded and he looked at him as if he just woke up. His eyes seemed blue when he could of sworn they were brown. When he walked, he seemed slow and trudged, as if he was sleepwalking. He went through the forest with no clear destination in mind.
He was shocked out of his stupor by an elevated heartbeat and a pained gasp. Derek turned back to Stiles to see him staring into space. He ran over to where he walked and saw a haunted, pained look in his eyes. He was staring into space, seemingly seeing something that Derek couldn't. Tears came to his eyes and he fell to his knees. He leans forward and chokes, dry heaving. It seemed like he was having a nightmare.
Stiles seemed to be barely able to hold his body upright for himself, and Derek tried to help him stay up. Stiles cried, harder and Derek could smell fear and pain. He crouched down and held onto Stiles's harm, trying to ground him. Then, he screams, and Derek winces because of his sensitive ears. The body in his hold suddenly slumps, practically deadweight.
What just happened?