FIC: Congregation (Teen Wolf, PG13)
OMG I WROTE FIC. AND I WROTE TEEN WOLF FIC WHAT IS MY LIFE.
Title: Congregation
Author: alianora
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Sterek
Summery: He could also start his own ministry. The Ministry of Stiles. Stiles' Badass MoFo Church for Badassess and Werewolves.
AN: written for trope_bingo square
On a whim, wired on way too much caffeine and leftover adrenalin from the latest round of Bash-the-Betas, Stiles ended up on some weird little werewolfy church's website while researching something vaguely related. Two weeks later he received a formal certificate and letter proclaiming his clergy hood and ability to perform weddings, funerals, baptisms, and assorted other ceremonies. He could also start his own ministry. The Ministry of Stiles. Stiles' Badass MoFo Church for Badassess and Werewolves.
He laughed and stuffed the entire thick envelope behind the ever increasing (and increasingly unsteady) pile of Stuff-That-Might-Matter. Which was different than his Stuff-That-I-Haven't-Lost-Yet and on the complete other side of the desk from Shit-I-Should-Really-Throw-Away.
And he promptly forgot about it.
Mostly.
Until a few weeks later, when he was again up way too late because sleep is for suckers, digging through Stuff-That-Might-Matter and swearing under his breath at ogres and werewolves and whatever else weird supernatural shit that might exist for fucking up his priorities and his life and how the fuck he was supposed to help out this time when the Alpha pack was hanging around being freaky because they were creepy and freaksome and wanted to make sure Derek had his shit together as alpha.
Which he totally didn't, like, at all. Stiles would make a way better Alpha, and the vast majority of the time, Stiles couldn't walk more than twenty feet without dropping something, tripping, or blurting out something embarrassing. And Derek's pack was a mess of angry teenagers and hormones and stupid, all led by an Alpha who had no idea how to process any sort of human emotion and frequently showed caring through growling and slamming people into walls, not that Stiles was bitter or anything.
Whatever, though. The alternative to Derek was the Alphas removing Derek's spine through his toenails or something equally traumatizing and non survivable, and putting one of their own spare Alphas in. Which was a NO and a HELL NO because Stiles had met the Alphas, and the chances were good that Stiles' very pale, fragile body would be torn apart so his entrails could be used as decorations and his pinky bones used as toothpicks if they took over.
It's really for everyone's best interest that Derek's spine stay firmly rooted in Derek's body, but other than stupid, suicidal ideas, Derek had no real plans as to how to keep his spine in his body and his pack in one piece. Or how to keep his pack from going to pieces from the inside out.
Which is where Stiles usually comes in. He's the Giles of the group, regardless of the others continued ignorance of the fact, and he's the one who makes the amazing plans and keeps them all from being very dead. Generally while other members of the pack (read: Derek) yell at him to stop getting in the way and attempt suicidally stupid things that Stiles has already told him not to do. Because he's an asshole. An idiot asshole. With amazing abs. Nevermind.
But Stiles has been around and around and around everything remotely possible, and nothing short of fleeing for the hills seemed to be a workable plan that would keep them all alive.
He collapsed backwards onto the floor in the decimated pile of Stuff-That-Might-Be-Important and glared at the ceiling. The thick packet of Stiles' clergyness had landed beside him, and he flicked his thumb over the torn flap meditatively. Maybe there was a Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Town ceremony in there, complete with official license of Fuck-Out.
Stiles waved his hand formally at the ceiling. "I now pronounce you formally Fucked. You may now leave without an asskicking," he intoned solemnly and nodded to the imaginary crowd. Dropping his head backward, he banged it against the floor a few times in frustration before groaning and lurching to his feet.
Food. Food would help. He still had the church envelope in his hand, so he just took it with him, pulling the papers out and trying to flatten them enough to read them while he attempted to walk quietly enough down the steps not to wake up his dad.
He was halfway through a turkey and cheese sandwich when his mouth suddenly fell open, dropping bits of lettuce all over the forms in front of him. Stiles reread the letter in his other hand a few times before he dropped the sandwich completely and shoved it out of the way so he could spread out all the information.
Werewolfy church, he thought giddily. Which made Stiles some sort of werewolfy preacher. He speed read his way through everything in front of him, a plan starting to form somewhere in the back of his head. It wasn't strong enough to take a good look at it yet, but Stiles had faith in his ability to bullshit his way through until the pieces came together enough that he could haul them out into the light of day.
He grabbed up all of the papers off the table and hastily shoved them back in the envelope, trying to hold his leftover sandwich in his mouth and shove his feet in his shoes and his arms in his jacket all at the same time. He had to run back up the stairs to grab his phone out of his room, which was less than awesome, because Stiles is all over the place and loud when he's walking at a regular speed, and his dad is still asleep and hopefully will stay that way as Stiles rushes back down the stairs and out to his Jeep to make his way over to the burned out wreck that Derek and the rest of the pack hopefully will be found tonight.
Stiles spends the drive trying to poke around past the flashing lights of "A plan! A plan! I have a plan!" that is giddily bouncing around his brain. Unfortunately, the plan itself is being coy and elusive, and Stiles can't get anything more concrete than something about religion and belief and preachers, with vague references towards ceremonies and the importance of bonds between the pack members.
As he pulled into the woods towards the Hale house, his phone rang. No, not rang, that's way too mild a description. Stiles' phone started to scream, the for-emergency-only screech that he had programmed it to play when everything has gone pear-shaped and royally fucked. Stiles floored it, the phone continuing to scream from the floorboard as the Jeep bounced it out of the passenger seat while hurtling over tree roots and the crappily kept track. Stiles barely glimpsed the fast moving form in his headlights as he gets to the edge of the property, but it's enough to show that it's not pack, and that's really all Stiles cares about. He hit the gas again, squeezing his eyes almost shut in horrified anticipation and bracing himself. The crash of hitting the Alpha sent a horrible jolt through his skull and his skull against the driver's side window with a dull crack.
When he can open his eyes again without throwing up, Derek is there, hauling him out of the car by one arm and propelling him forcibly towards the door of the house. The burned up, more than half falling down house. Because that offers awesome protection from Alphas who want to kill them all and roll in their innards.
Stiles might have managed to stutter out some of that, but Derek ignored it in favor of shoving Stiles' poor aching body inside and slamming the door behind them. Derek whirled on Stiles and advanced, and something inside of Stiles' head where he keeps things he isn't ready to deal with yet made a weird breaking noise and now Stiles knows the plan and what the hell was he thinking, this is a terrible plan, and if the Alphas don't kill them, Derek will remove his spleen but it will work. Before Derek can do more than grab Stiles' shirt and haul him closer to be snarled at, Stiles has already ducked under Derek's arm and grabbed for the envelope shoved in his jacket pocket.
"You gotta sign this, Derek," he blurted, his hands shaking as he tried to find the right form. "This is insane and you can kill me later but you need to sign this, it will make the Alphas go away because you're stable, and seriously," he laughed nervously, "that's all they want, a stable Alpha, and this will show them you're stable, I swear." He shoved the form at Derek and fished a pen out of his pocket.
A snarl from outside the locked door made him jump, but he shook his aching head and refocuses.
"What the hell," Derek started, but Stiles shook his head and interrupted, hands pushing the wrinkled paper against Derek's chest.
"No time, just sign it!" He grabbed Derek's hand and forced the pen into Derek's fingers. "Listen, it's crazy, and you'll hate me later probably." Stiles fumbled through the rest of the envelope, throwing random papers onto the floor around them as he hunted for the one he wants. He swore as he dropped the packet and dove down onto the floor to finally grab the one he was looking for.
"Come out, come out, little Alpha," a voice croons from outside. "We've given you plenty of time to prove yourself."
Derek flinched away from the voice and looked down at the form in his hand in confusion, and Stiles snatched it back away. If Derek got time to think about it, he won't do it, because he'll freak out and get all weird and it will work, ok?
"First apostle of the Church of Stiles," Stiles rambled as he smoothed out the papers with trembling hands. "We'll go down in history."
A sharp bang against the door had Derek snatching the paper out of Stiles' hands. "Where do I sign? What am I signing? How will this help?"
Stiles threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Will you stop asking questions?" He grabbed the pen out of Derek's hand the second Derek finished and scrawled his own name onto the form before grabbing Derek by the hand as the door began to slowly disintegrate under the deliberate fists of the Alpha Alpha.
Stiles' brain dizzyingly informed him how dumb of a term that was, but he ignored it in favor of finishing what he was doing. "Derek, I trust you."
"What? Stiles.."
Stiles shoook his head again, half laughing. "No, this is the important part. The other parts don't even matter. Listen, just listen to me, ok? I trust you." Stiles took a deep breath, trying to ignore the increasing shards of wood at his feet. He squeezed Derek's hand. "Do you trust me? You have to say it." Stiles knew that both his face and voice were pleading, and he might be embarrassed about it later, but for now he had more important things to focus on. "Please, please, just say it."
Derek looked shocked. He licked his lips, his fingers flexing in Stiles'.
Stiles was increasingly aware of the cheerily whistling Alpha who would soon be in the room with them to eat them. Patience was not a strong point of his, but this was too important to rush.
"I do." Derek nodded, face unexpectedly vulnerable in a way that made Stiles' heart gave a sudden thump in his chest. "I do trust you."
"Yeah?" Stiles asked hopefully.
The door gave way.
----------
Two hours later found Derek and Stiles sitting on the dirty floor of the house in front of the now empty door frame, staring down at the single crumpled piece of paper in between them.
"So, it's binding?" Derek sounded a little dazed, but Stiles couldn't help but notice the startling lack of anger. Maybe it was just shock.
"Yep," Stiles nodded, his fingers moving restlessly on the seam of his jeans. "I don't think it's exactly legal, but it's definitely binding."
Derek poked at the paper. "I wouldn't have signed it if I had known what it was." His eyelashes against his cheeks were ridiculous.
Stiles had to look away, and he ran his hands down his legs to tangle in his shoelaces. "It's less the paper, and more what we said," he admitted. "We could've signed a piece of notebook paper, and it would have worked the same." His fingers tied knots and more knots in his laces. "But saying..admitting that we had a bond, of whatever sort.." He shrugged and tucked his hands back into the pockets of his jacket.
"I still wouldn't have.."
"I know."
Derek looked up at Stiles, and his face still had that unexpected openness behind his eyes, and Stiles cleared his throat. "Thank you." Derek's voice was low. It made Stiles want to lean closer.
Stiles nodded jerkily. He exhaled. "So," he said. "Now what?"
Derek was still watching him, and a small helpless looking smile twitched at the corner of Derek's mouth. "Now we get to figure out how to tell your dad you got married in a werewolf mating ceremony to a guy he's arrested twice."
"Are you sure the Alphas won't come back and kill us? It would probably be less scary."
END
Posted at dreamwidth and lj. Comment somewhere!
Title: Congregation
Author: alianora
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Sterek
Summery: He could also start his own ministry. The Ministry of Stiles. Stiles' Badass MoFo Church for Badassess and Werewolves.
AN: written for trope_bingo square
On a whim, wired on way too much caffeine and leftover adrenalin from the latest round of Bash-the-Betas, Stiles ended up on some weird little werewolfy church's website while researching something vaguely related. Two weeks later he received a formal certificate and letter proclaiming his clergy hood and ability to perform weddings, funerals, baptisms, and assorted other ceremonies. He could also start his own ministry. The Ministry of Stiles. Stiles' Badass MoFo Church for Badassess and Werewolves.
He laughed and stuffed the entire thick envelope behind the ever increasing (and increasingly unsteady) pile of Stuff-That-Might-Matter. Which was different than his Stuff-That-I-Haven't-Lost-Yet and on the complete other side of the desk from Shit-I-Should-Really-Throw-Away.
And he promptly forgot about it.
Mostly.
Until a few weeks later, when he was again up way too late because sleep is for suckers, digging through Stuff-That-Might-Matter and swearing under his breath at ogres and werewolves and whatever else weird supernatural shit that might exist for fucking up his priorities and his life and how the fuck he was supposed to help out this time when the Alpha pack was hanging around being freaky because they were creepy and freaksome and wanted to make sure Derek had his shit together as alpha.
Which he totally didn't, like, at all. Stiles would make a way better Alpha, and the vast majority of the time, Stiles couldn't walk more than twenty feet without dropping something, tripping, or blurting out something embarrassing. And Derek's pack was a mess of angry teenagers and hormones and stupid, all led by an Alpha who had no idea how to process any sort of human emotion and frequently showed caring through growling and slamming people into walls, not that Stiles was bitter or anything.
Whatever, though. The alternative to Derek was the Alphas removing Derek's spine through his toenails or something equally traumatizing and non survivable, and putting one of their own spare Alphas in. Which was a NO and a HELL NO because Stiles had met the Alphas, and the chances were good that Stiles' very pale, fragile body would be torn apart so his entrails could be used as decorations and his pinky bones used as toothpicks if they took over.
It's really for everyone's best interest that Derek's spine stay firmly rooted in Derek's body, but other than stupid, suicidal ideas, Derek had no real plans as to how to keep his spine in his body and his pack in one piece. Or how to keep his pack from going to pieces from the inside out.
Which is where Stiles usually comes in. He's the Giles of the group, regardless of the others continued ignorance of the fact, and he's the one who makes the amazing plans and keeps them all from being very dead. Generally while other members of the pack (read: Derek) yell at him to stop getting in the way and attempt suicidally stupid things that Stiles has already told him not to do. Because he's an asshole. An idiot asshole. With amazing abs. Nevermind.
But Stiles has been around and around and around everything remotely possible, and nothing short of fleeing for the hills seemed to be a workable plan that would keep them all alive.
He collapsed backwards onto the floor in the decimated pile of Stuff-That-Might-Be-Important and glared at the ceiling. The thick packet of Stiles' clergyness had landed beside him, and he flicked his thumb over the torn flap meditatively. Maybe there was a Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Town ceremony in there, complete with official license of Fuck-Out.
Stiles waved his hand formally at the ceiling. "I now pronounce you formally Fucked. You may now leave without an asskicking," he intoned solemnly and nodded to the imaginary crowd. Dropping his head backward, he banged it against the floor a few times in frustration before groaning and lurching to his feet.
Food. Food would help. He still had the church envelope in his hand, so he just took it with him, pulling the papers out and trying to flatten them enough to read them while he attempted to walk quietly enough down the steps not to wake up his dad.
He was halfway through a turkey and cheese sandwich when his mouth suddenly fell open, dropping bits of lettuce all over the forms in front of him. Stiles reread the letter in his other hand a few times before he dropped the sandwich completely and shoved it out of the way so he could spread out all the information.
Werewolfy church, he thought giddily. Which made Stiles some sort of werewolfy preacher. He speed read his way through everything in front of him, a plan starting to form somewhere in the back of his head. It wasn't strong enough to take a good look at it yet, but Stiles had faith in his ability to bullshit his way through until the pieces came together enough that he could haul them out into the light of day.
He grabbed up all of the papers off the table and hastily shoved them back in the envelope, trying to hold his leftover sandwich in his mouth and shove his feet in his shoes and his arms in his jacket all at the same time. He had to run back up the stairs to grab his phone out of his room, which was less than awesome, because Stiles is all over the place and loud when he's walking at a regular speed, and his dad is still asleep and hopefully will stay that way as Stiles rushes back down the stairs and out to his Jeep to make his way over to the burned out wreck that Derek and the rest of the pack hopefully will be found tonight.
Stiles spends the drive trying to poke around past the flashing lights of "A plan! A plan! I have a plan!" that is giddily bouncing around his brain. Unfortunately, the plan itself is being coy and elusive, and Stiles can't get anything more concrete than something about religion and belief and preachers, with vague references towards ceremonies and the importance of bonds between the pack members.
As he pulled into the woods towards the Hale house, his phone rang. No, not rang, that's way too mild a description. Stiles' phone started to scream, the for-emergency-only screech that he had programmed it to play when everything has gone pear-shaped and royally fucked. Stiles floored it, the phone continuing to scream from the floorboard as the Jeep bounced it out of the passenger seat while hurtling over tree roots and the crappily kept track. Stiles barely glimpsed the fast moving form in his headlights as he gets to the edge of the property, but it's enough to show that it's not pack, and that's really all Stiles cares about. He hit the gas again, squeezing his eyes almost shut in horrified anticipation and bracing himself. The crash of hitting the Alpha sent a horrible jolt through his skull and his skull against the driver's side window with a dull crack.
When he can open his eyes again without throwing up, Derek is there, hauling him out of the car by one arm and propelling him forcibly towards the door of the house. The burned up, more than half falling down house. Because that offers awesome protection from Alphas who want to kill them all and roll in their innards.
Stiles might have managed to stutter out some of that, but Derek ignored it in favor of shoving Stiles' poor aching body inside and slamming the door behind them. Derek whirled on Stiles and advanced, and something inside of Stiles' head where he keeps things he isn't ready to deal with yet made a weird breaking noise and now Stiles knows the plan and what the hell was he thinking, this is a terrible plan, and if the Alphas don't kill them, Derek will remove his spleen but it will work. Before Derek can do more than grab Stiles' shirt and haul him closer to be snarled at, Stiles has already ducked under Derek's arm and grabbed for the envelope shoved in his jacket pocket.
"You gotta sign this, Derek," he blurted, his hands shaking as he tried to find the right form. "This is insane and you can kill me later but you need to sign this, it will make the Alphas go away because you're stable, and seriously," he laughed nervously, "that's all they want, a stable Alpha, and this will show them you're stable, I swear." He shoved the form at Derek and fished a pen out of his pocket.
A snarl from outside the locked door made him jump, but he shook his aching head and refocuses.
"What the hell," Derek started, but Stiles shook his head and interrupted, hands pushing the wrinkled paper against Derek's chest.
"No time, just sign it!" He grabbed Derek's hand and forced the pen into Derek's fingers. "Listen, it's crazy, and you'll hate me later probably." Stiles fumbled through the rest of the envelope, throwing random papers onto the floor around them as he hunted for the one he wants. He swore as he dropped the packet and dove down onto the floor to finally grab the one he was looking for.
"Come out, come out, little Alpha," a voice croons from outside. "We've given you plenty of time to prove yourself."
Derek flinched away from the voice and looked down at the form in his hand in confusion, and Stiles snatched it back away. If Derek got time to think about it, he won't do it, because he'll freak out and get all weird and it will work, ok?
"First apostle of the Church of Stiles," Stiles rambled as he smoothed out the papers with trembling hands. "We'll go down in history."
A sharp bang against the door had Derek snatching the paper out of Stiles' hands. "Where do I sign? What am I signing? How will this help?"
Stiles threw his arms up in the air in frustration. "Will you stop asking questions?" He grabbed the pen out of Derek's hand the second Derek finished and scrawled his own name onto the form before grabbing Derek by the hand as the door began to slowly disintegrate under the deliberate fists of the Alpha Alpha.
Stiles' brain dizzyingly informed him how dumb of a term that was, but he ignored it in favor of finishing what he was doing. "Derek, I trust you."
"What? Stiles.."
Stiles shoook his head again, half laughing. "No, this is the important part. The other parts don't even matter. Listen, just listen to me, ok? I trust you." Stiles took a deep breath, trying to ignore the increasing shards of wood at his feet. He squeezed Derek's hand. "Do you trust me? You have to say it." Stiles knew that both his face and voice were pleading, and he might be embarrassed about it later, but for now he had more important things to focus on. "Please, please, just say it."
Derek looked shocked. He licked his lips, his fingers flexing in Stiles'.
Stiles was increasingly aware of the cheerily whistling Alpha who would soon be in the room with them to eat them. Patience was not a strong point of his, but this was too important to rush.
"I do." Derek nodded, face unexpectedly vulnerable in a way that made Stiles' heart gave a sudden thump in his chest. "I do trust you."
"Yeah?" Stiles asked hopefully.
The door gave way.
----------
Two hours later found Derek and Stiles sitting on the dirty floor of the house in front of the now empty door frame, staring down at the single crumpled piece of paper in between them.
"So, it's binding?" Derek sounded a little dazed, but Stiles couldn't help but notice the startling lack of anger. Maybe it was just shock.
"Yep," Stiles nodded, his fingers moving restlessly on the seam of his jeans. "I don't think it's exactly legal, but it's definitely binding."
Derek poked at the paper. "I wouldn't have signed it if I had known what it was." His eyelashes against his cheeks were ridiculous.
Stiles had to look away, and he ran his hands down his legs to tangle in his shoelaces. "It's less the paper, and more what we said," he admitted. "We could've signed a piece of notebook paper, and it would have worked the same." His fingers tied knots and more knots in his laces. "But saying..admitting that we had a bond, of whatever sort.." He shrugged and tucked his hands back into the pockets of his jacket.
"I still wouldn't have.."
"I know."
Derek looked up at Stiles, and his face still had that unexpected openness behind his eyes, and Stiles cleared his throat. "Thank you." Derek's voice was low. It made Stiles want to lean closer.
Stiles nodded jerkily. He exhaled. "So," he said. "Now what?"
Derek was still watching him, and a small helpless looking smile twitched at the corner of Derek's mouth. "Now we get to figure out how to tell your dad you got married in a werewolf mating ceremony to a guy he's arrested twice."
"Are you sure the Alphas won't come back and kill us? It would probably be less scary."
END
Posted at dreamwidth and lj. Comment somewhere!