Fic: Destiny Sucks (1/3), Sterek, NC17/18
Title: Destiny Sucks (1/3)
Author: Beren
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC17/18
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Jeff Davis et al. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: under age sex
Summary: When Stiles sleeps he goes to the white place he, Scott and Alison visited when they sacrificed themselves. He keeps seeing a white wolf there and he knows it's important, but he's just so tired.
Author's Notes: I wanted to get this out before 3b since I've been writing it since the end of 3a. It doesn’t take into account the teasers we've had for 3b, but runs from where 3a left off - and it takes no notice of the birthdays given out for the characters because they make no sense. Hope you all like it and thanks to Soph for the beta.
Word Count: ~21,800
Links to other parts: Chapter 2 LJ | Chapter 2 DW -- Chapter 3 LJ | Chapter 3 DW
My Fanfic Listings (LJ) | My Fanfic Listings (DreamW) | My Fic on AO3
Chapter 1 Sleep of the Dead
"Stilinski!"
Stiles jerked awake and blinked without really seeing anything until Finstock came into focus. The dream was still floating around his brain and it was difficult to concentrate, not that that was anything new these days, even with his Adderall.
"Sorry," he mumbled, doing his best to force his brain into gear.
Finstock frowned at him, but surprisingly said no more and just continued with the class. That was, until the end: "Stilinski, a moment of your time."
Stiles dragged himself to the front of the class rather than the door and prepared to be yelled at.
"What's up, kid?" Finstock asked and shocked him.
"Um."
"You look like you haven't slept in a week, actually, make that two," Finstock said. "Have you gotten into something you can't handle?"
Finstock was worried about him, Stiles realised he had to look bad.
"Insomnia," he said, because he couldn't be bothered to pretend, "ever since my dad ..." and he trailed off.
It wasn't quite the truth, but he couldn't exactly tell the coach he was having vivid dreams about darkness and wolves that just seemed to suck the energy right out of him every night.
"What do you have next period?" Finstock asked, without commenting on that.
"Math, Mr Lyle," he replied, not sure where the conversation was going.
He really did not expect Finstock to wave a set of keys under his nose.
"What?" his brain couldn't cope with such weird behaviour at the best of times so right then it had no hope.
"The keys to my office," Finstock told him. "If you move out the chair and the ball box it's very comfortable. I will tell Lyle you are on special assignment with me for the next hour. Get some sleep, Stilinski, before you fall over and break something. Bring the keys back when you're done."
It took him a couple of seconds to process that.
"Thank you," he said and Finstock dropped the keys into his hand.
"But, Stilinski, if anything else is touched, your ass is grass."
"Yes, coach," he said and shuffled out.
When he made it to Finstock's office, he pulled out the chair and the ball box, set his phone for ten minutes before the next class and then sat down, putting his feet on the box. He went out like a light as soon as he remotely relaxed.
As he opened his eyes onto whiteness he wanted to cry. It was the same every time; he fell asleep and he woke up in the white place. He was on a white dais surrounded by a black moat and he could see the nemeton in the distance. There was always a white wolf as well. It had started in the distance even further away than the nemeton, but this time it was standing next to him on the dais. It looked at him with eyes as white as its fur, just slightly ringed in red and he collapsed to his knees beside it.
He was so exhausted. It felt like he hadn't slept properly in weeks. Ever since he, Scott and Allison had sacrificed themselves he had been having dreams. At first he had just felt a little tired, but over the last week it had been getting worse. They weren't even nightmares, it felt as if he was living two lives and never resting.
The wolf nudged against his face, urging him to look up. He was so tired all he wanted to do was lie down, but the wolf was insistent. When he finally lifted his head he saw another wolf, far off, past the nemeton, and this one was black. It seemed familiar somehow, but he didn't know why. The white wolf leaned into him, supporting him as he sagged, but he did not take his eyes off the black one.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, because he just felt so lost.
Sound lanced through his head, so loud he thought his ears would burst and he was thrust back into the real world. It took him a few seconds to realise it was only the alarm on his phone and he blindly reached out to turn it off. It couldn't have been that long, but he already knew time in the white place and time in reality were entirely separate things. Dragging himself up, he felt worse than before he had tried to sleep. His limbs were like lead, his thoughts too slow and too fast in alternate blocks and he was swimming in a sea of fatigue.
"Give keys back," he said to make sure he knew where he had to be going.
It took more effort than he wanted to admit, just to keep that straight in his head. By the time the bell rang he had just made it to Finstock's classroom and he stood there swaying as the tide of the freshman class broke over him.
"Stilinski," Finstock said as soon as the man caught sight of him hovering in the doorway, "you look worse than you did before and I didn't think that was possible."
"Coach," he said, holding out the keys.
He was supposed to be stepping forward, he knew that, but he just didn't seem to be able to find the energy. Everything around him was kind of shiny where he was looking and going dark on the edges. It made him feel very surreal and it was only as everything moved far too fast that he realised he was pitching forwards. Mercifully everything went black before he hit the ground.
"Stilinski," he heard someone saying, "everyone calls him Stiles."
"Stiles, Stiles, can you hear me?" someone closer asked and he felt something being put over his face.
He did his best to reply, but all that came out was a mumble that never had a chance at being real words.
"Well done, Stiles," the someone said, "do you think you can open your eyes for me?"
He tried, he really did, but his eyelids were so heavy and every time he managed to flick them open they fell back closed too quickly. It was frustrating and he desperately wanted to do as he was asked, but it was so hard.
"Hey, it's okay," the person told him, "you're doing fine. Just relax for me and breathe, the oxygen will help make everything clearer."
"Do you know if he's ingested any substances?" another voice asked from further away.
"Stilinski's always been clean," Finstock replied. "He said he's been having trouble sleeping. His father is the sheriff and you must have read about the disappearances; the kid's been different since then, but it's been worse over the last week."
"People don't usually collapse from insomnia," the other voice said.
"Stiles," the person looking after him grabbed his limited attention, "I'm just going to put an IV in your arm. You're showing signs of dehydration so that should help. It will sting a little, but I've numbed the area so it won't for long."
The warning didn't really help, he still grunted as the needle went in, but the paramedic, he decided it had to be a paramedic, was right, it didn't last long.
"He's set up," his carer said.
"Right," the other one replied, "let's get him to the hospital. Thank you Mr Finstock."
Something jostled and there was a click and then the sensation of more motion. Stiles wasn't really with it enough to figure out exactly what was happening, but he knew they were moving. He didn't even have enough brain power to worry about where.
"Stiles!"
At that sound his brain woke up a bit. His thoughts screamed alpha before they informed him it was Scott and his body tried to respond on pure instinct. He even managed to open his eyes in time to just about make out Scott's worried face.
"Hey, aren't you Melissa McCall's son?" his paramedic asked.
"Yes," Scott replied, "what's wrong with Stiles."
"That's what we're hoping to find out at the hospital," the other paramedic said.
"Look," Scott said, "I'm his best friend, can I ride along, I can help with contacting his dad and everything?"
"I don't know..." one said.
"The kid opened his eyes for him," the other countered quickly, he was definitely Stiles' favourite, "and his mom's a friend."
There was silence for a while and Stiles let his eyes drift closed again.
"Okay," was the eventual agreement, "just keep out of the way, okay?"
"Sure," Scott said and when a warm hand settled on his arm Stiles felt a little better.
His confused thoughts were only just ticking over and at the touch they settled on, 'pack, alpha, safe', and it never occurred to him he really had no reason to be reacting like that since he wasn't a werewolf. He fell asleep with Scott's hand on his skin and, for once, he didn't dream.
~*~
The next time he woke up he almost panicked, because he was staring at white, but he blinked and a perfectly ordinary hospital ceiling came in to focus. The first thing he noticed after that was there was a hand in each of his, on one side Scott and on the other his dad.
"Hey," he said feeling woozy, but actually somewhat better than the morning.
"Hey there, kid," his dad said, smiling at him, "how are you feeling?"
At least the lines of worry eased a little on his dad's face seeing he was awake.
"Like road kill," he replied, "but better. Did I really faint in front of Finstock?"
He was probably never living that down.
"Yeah," Scott said looking him over with the anxious little frown, "according to what Isaac heard after they carted you off, you went down like a felled tree."
"And do the great minds of the medical profession have any idea why I did that?" he asked, hoping that maybe there was a perfectly rational explanation.
Scott and his dad shared a look.
"They've done lots of tests," his dad told him, "but so far they can only find symptoms. You're exhausted and undernourished."
"But I eat all the time," he protested, because that didn't make any sense.
"Son," his dad said in a very serious tone, "is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
"Like what?" he asked genuinely not getting it.
"Have you been eating, really?" his dad asked.
Then he got it.
"Yes," he said emphatically, "I have been eating and I have not been doing anything like throwing it up. I do not have an eating disorder, I just can't sleep properly."
"Stiles," his dad said in a gentle, but firm tone, "your symptoms aren't for insomnia."
"That's because it's not insomnia," he said, finally giving in to the reality that something had to be going on, "I sleep here, but I wake up somewhere else. The white place, where we went," he explained and looked at Scott. "There's a white wolf and a black one too now and every time I try to sleep I end up there. Except this time," he added, not sure what that meant.
"How long has this been going on?" his dad asked.
"About a week," he replied. "I've been having dreams ever since that night," they both knew what he was talking about so he didn't have to specify, "but it wasn't bad until this week. I tried to ignore it."
Both Scott and his dad gave him The Look for that.
"This sounds like it's nemeton related," Scott said, standing up and pulling out his phone. "I'll give Deaton a call, see what he says."
Stiles just nodded and Scott quickly exited the room to make the phone call.
"Hey, kid," his dad said, reaching up and smoothing his hair back from his face for him as if he was six again, "do you think you can sleep some more? You look like you need it."
"I'll try," he said, because he was still wiped out.
"I'll be right here," his dad promised him as he closed his eyes.
It didn't take long, he was that exhausted and his body and mind were more than happy to succumb to sleep.
He woke up curled next to the white wolf and this time he couldn't help it, he buried his face in its fur and cried.
~*~
"Stiles, you need to wake up now."
He didn't want to move. At least the wolf's fur was soft and it seemed content to just let him lay there. How long it had been he had no idea, but he'd stopped crying a while ago and now he felt kind of empty.
"Please, Stiles, everyone is worried."
He ignored the request.
Something touched his arm and he felt like he had been connected to a battery. His nerves crackled and it hurt. He woke up gasping to find his hospital room full of people. Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Ethan, Aiden and Scott were all there, all holding hands in a semi-circle with Deaton inside it and his dad and Scott's mom standing off to one side. Scott had a hand on his arm and he realised what had woken him.
"I'm sorry we had to do it that way," Deaton said, "but you were not responding."
"There again," he said feeling utterly drained.
"And being pulled back there time and again is draining you mentally and physically," Deaton said, "so we had better find out why this is happening."
If he had had the energy, Stiles would have laughed; that was kind of obvious.
"Thank you everyone," Deaton said, turning and smiling at all the worried faces, "you have been most helpful, but if you would now mind waiting outside. Scott, please stay, I believe you are acting as a partial ground to Stiles, and, of course, you Sheriff."
"See you soon, Stiles," Allison said and gave him a smile as everyone filed out.
"What was that all about?" Stiles asked once they had gone.
"You were very far away," Deaton told him, coming round the side of the bed now, "and you energies were very low. Your pack leant you theirs to bring you back."
Not long ago Stiles probably would have questioned at least some of that statement, but he had seen so much recently he just accepted it.
"Okay," he said. "What now?"
"Now I would like you to tell me exactly what you see when you are pulled onto the other plane," Deaton said, giving him a small smile of support. "Scott mentioned you were seeing wolves, can you describe them to me?"
That at least was easy.
"It's mostly one," he said, remembering the soft feel of its fur; "it's huge and white and it has white eyes ringed in red. When I first started dreaming it was far away, but now it's right beside me."
"And what else do you see?" Deaton asked.
"I'm always on this platform," he replied, "and it's surrounded by a black moat; it looks like tar. I touched it once and my hand just went straight through it as if it was nothing; it was like reaching into space. I can see the nemeton as well, but it's a long way away and there used to be walls, but now it's just white forever. Just before I collapsed at school I saw another wolf, it was black and a long way away too. It felt familiar though."
Deaton was looking at him in a way that made him a little uncomfortable.
"You know what it means, don't you?" he said.
For a moment Deaton hesitated, but then nodded.
"Can you fix it?" his dad asked.
"There is nothing to fix," Deaton replied turning and looking at everyone in the room in turn, "what is happening here is not an aberration. It is unprecedented, but it is a natural cycle."
"The why is it killing my son?" his dad demanded and Stiles thought that was pretty strong wording until neither Scott nor Deaton disagreed.
"Beacon Hills is awakening," Deaton said, "and not only do we have a true alpha," he looked significantly at Scott, "but now we also have a white wolf."
"What's a white wolf?" Stiles asked, because if he was asking questions he didn't have to think about the whole death part.
Deaton gave him one of those 'all my attention is on you and I can see into your soul' kind of looks.
"You are," Deaton said.
That didn't make any sense at all.
"Have you been sniffing mistletoe?" he asked and Deaton actually smiled.
"What does it mean?" Scott asked the sensible question.
"A white wolf is a human who runs with wolves, a kind of emissary, but linked to the pack at a far more basic level and with far more extensive powers; the ultimate of which is the ability to become a wolf without ever being a werewolf."
Stiles opened his mouth to respond to that, but he honestly had no idea what to say.
"If Stiles is one of these white wolves, why is he sick?" Scott asked.
"Because he has yet to find a ground."
Stiles looked at Scott: "I thought you said Scott was grounding me?"
"And he is, to some extent," Deaton replied, "because he is your alpha, however the connection is fragile, it only works while he is touching you."
"But why me?" he asked. "Why did this happen, I never asked for it?"
"The white wolf you see when you sleep is the personification of the power," Deaton said. "When you sacrificed yourself for your father you must have attracted attention. The closer the white wolf came to you in the other place, the more the power awoke in you, but the transition from one to the other is draining your reserves. The only way to stop it is to assimilate the magic into yourself properly."
"And, just in the aim of full disclosure, if I wanted to do that how would I?"
"You need to find your ground within the pack. The amount of power a white wolf can command is truly impressive, but nature does not like such imbalance. To be able to wield such power a white wolf must be bound to a pack, an individual within the pack to be precise. The individual also gains in power from the connection and the pack gains in strength. Usually it would be the alpha, but you two do not have the right connection."
Stiles was pretty sure he didn't like the word 'bound'.
"But we're like brothers," he said and he honestly couldn't think of a closer connection he had to any of his friends.
"And that would be the problem," Deaton said and looked just a little apologetic, "the bond is usually that of mates."
Part of Stiles was ridiculously relieved that Scott wasn't his match after that revelation, because 'eeeew' he and Scott did not have that kind of relationship. However, then he processed the implications.
"But none of them like me like that," is what he blurted out.
Before Lydia had kissed him that idea would have filled him with joy, but, frankly, what the whole kissing incident had done was wake him up to the fact all his fantasies were just that; fantasies. He loved Lydia, a lot, but not, so much, like that anymore.
"And they're all involved with other people," he pointed out.
"And he's only sixteen," his dad pointed out.
"I'm seventeen in eight days," he protested and tried to sit up, before realising he just didn't have the strength for it.
All the fight went out of him as he sagged back against the pillows.
"Unfortunately, the situation does not seem to be concerned with the ages of those involved," Deaton replied. "Scott is far too young to be a true alpha under normal circumstance, but Beacon Hills is very far from normal. There is also nothing to say there could not be three people in a mating bond."
Stiles wasn't sure whether to be outraged or really turned on by that idea, but he didn't have much energy to react anyway so it didn't actually matter.
"I cannot believe you suggested a three way with my dad in the room," is what he decided to say.
"I can't believe you suggested a three way to my sixteen year old son," his dad said and seemed somewhat stuck on that last point.
"I am sorry," Deaton said and didn't really sound it, "but this situation needs to be resolved. Stiles saw another wolf while on the other side, that is the visual representation of his balance within the pack. He must find out who it is and bond with them or he will eventually die. Scott can keep him grounded and allow him to recover some of his strength, but that solution will not last forever for obvious reasons."
"Love you, buddy," Stiles said to Scott, "but I'm not holding hands with you for the rest of my life."
Then something else occurred to him.
"If I'm seeing a wolf does that mean the one I'm supposed to find is a wolf, or is that just because they're part of a wolf pack?" he asked.
"I am not sure," Deaton replied.
"And how am I supposed to know which one to pick?"
"Once you are feeling better I suggest you follow your instincts," Deaton said. "You should already be sensing the draw, but it is possible you are simply too exhausted."
It was all a bit much to deal with and he was so damn tired. There were so many questions he needed to ask, like 'why me?' several hundred more times before it started to make sense.
"And what if I don't want this?" he decided to simply be direct about it. "What if I say no? How do I get rid of it?"
Deaton actually looked shocked at that question, as if someone refusing such power had never crossed his mind.
"I don't know," Deaton replied. "Stiles, this is not something that just happens, you were chosen for a reason."
"And maybe I don't want to be chosen," he replied, because, hell this thing had almost killed him and he was so not the person to have a ridiculous amount of power; his impulse control was terrible.
The universe seemed to like taking his life and turning everything about it inside out and he was sick of it.
"Then that is something you need to take up with the white wolf you have been seeing," Deaton said, "but not yet; you are far too weak. What you need right now is rest."
At least that was one thing Stiles could agree on.
"Scott, do you mind not letting go for a while?" he asked in lieu of anything more sensible to say.
"Sure," Scott said.
"Cool," he decided, "then I'm going to go back to sleep and maybe this will make more sense when I wake up."
It was amazing what he could manage when he needed to and when no one argued with him he drifted right off.
~*~
He woke up once in the middle of the night to find Scott was in the bed with him and it was very cosy, but he went straight back to sleep almost immediately. He was finally getting the rest he needed and his body was taking full advantage. No dreams, no white wolves, just complete, uninterrupted rest.
When he woke up again, Scott was snoring in his ear and he was feeling so much better his brain decided it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
That was about how the rest of his day went as well. He ate, he slept thanks to Scott and the hospital finally let him go home that evening. Then he continued to just eat and rest for the next day as well. Since Scott had to go to school he didn't sleep while Scott was away, but he curled up in front of the TV with his dad, who had taken compassionate leave, and did nothing except watch bad TV. Day three after his collapse was a Saturday and he was feeling well enough to want to find out for himself what was going on.
"I want to go back to the white place," he said as he and Scott sat playing video games.
"You still look like a strong wind could blow you over," Scott replied, giving him a very critical look.
"But now I'm having trouble sleeping because I keep wanting to know," he replied. "It's time."
"Are you sure?" Scott asked.
He nodded; he had been thinking about it all day. It was just a fact that he wasn't back to full strength, but he wasn't even sure that was possible in the current situation. He needed to understand and he needed to understand right now.
"Give me an hour," he said, "finally making the whole decision, if I don't wake up after that, call Deaton and get everyone back together to pull me out of it."
The little frown between Scott's eyebrows said his best friend was not overly happy with the plan, but he could also tell Scott was not about to object.
"I'm going to text everyone to be ready, just in case," Scott said and Stiles could live with that, so he agreed.
The fact that he was still tired meant it wouldn't take much for him to fall asleep, so he made himself comfortable on the couch as Scott sent his text. He heard beeps of acknowledgement from Scott's phone only seconds later and knew that the pack was primed. It did make him feel more confident even if he didn't say so out loud.
"Ready?" Scott asked, sitting down in the chair right next to him, but just out of reach.
"As I'll ever be," he replied. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Scott said and it was all sincerity.
Wondering how long it would be before he dropped off, Stiles closed his eyes. It would be just like his rebellious brain to refuse to sleep now he needed to. However, when he opened his eyes to see how long it had been, Stiles found himself kneeling next to the white wolf on the dais, almost exactly how he had expected. It probably wasn't good that he couldn't tell the difference between waking and sleeping anymore.
"Um, hi," he said, suddenly feeling awkward, which was totally ridiculous.
The wolf looked at him, those haunting eyes glowing gently.
"Look," he decided to go for it, "I don't want it, okay? I'm not the right person for this sort of power."
The wolf's expression did not change.
"I know it's an honour, but I'm not the right guy," he continued. "I'm just Stiles and I have enough trouble with what goes on in my head without adding a whole other dimension of possible shit. I'm the spaz that has panic attacks in hallways and just does things because for a second they seem like a really cool idea."
His companion yawned.
"Now that's just rude," he said, feeling silly for talking to a wolf for a few seconds. "Why didn't you give it to Allison, she's human and a lot better at this supernatural stuff than I am."
Now he finally got a reaction and he was pretty sure the wolf had just raised its eyebrows at him.
"I mean she can be a little trigger happy, but... oh okay," he admitted when the 'eyebrows' rose higher, "Allison might have been a bad choice. Then how about just not giving it to any of us?" he suggested.
The wolf turned its head on one side as if considering this and then looked to the left. Stiles followed its eye line and frowned at the whiteness for a moment. It took a little while, but his vision adjusted and he could see dark shapes in the far distance. As he looked at them something cold curled in the pit of his stomach and he immediately looked back at the wolf.
"What are they?" he demanded.
For just a moment the wolf bared its teeth and confirmed what Stiles was thinking; the shapes were bad. They were a long way off, but he knew, without any idea how, that they were focused on Beacon Hills.
"It's the nemeton isn't it," he said, putting the facts together; "they're coming because it's awake."
The wolf slowly blinked, which Stiles took as a yes.
"Are they coming together?" he asked, because that thought was terrifying.
The wolf looked away and he took that as a no.
"They're why you came to me," he didn't need to ask that, he already knew the answer.
The wolf stood up and stepped closer to him, pushing its head into his hand. It almost felt like an apology, but Stiles knew there was no choice now. There was no way he could leave Beacon Hills unprotected.
"So I have to find my ground," he said, more to himself than the wolf.
As the white wolf nudged his shoulder, he took the hint and looked up and there was the black wolf. It was still in the distance, but closer than before, maybe because he was beginning to accept the truth. The idea of being bound to someone didn't actually scare him as much as it might have done. He had never been the type to go into something with half his heart and this sounded like a whole heart kind of gig. What had him worried was the fact he did not get to choose. All the mystical crap was choosing for him and he didn't like that.
Deaton had assured him his instincts would help and he had to admit the whole wolf pack stuff was distinctly stronger than anything he had felt as an average human, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with it.
He knew it was going to be hard, but then nothing in his life had been easy for a long time now. Maybe his ground would give him some control, because he dreaded to think what would happen to an ADHD human wolf.
~*~
"You don't feel anything, do you?" Scott said as they shared a packet of peanut butter cups.
Stiles shook his head. It had been a whole day since he had been to the white place and spoken to the wolf. However, he didn't seem to be getting anywhere.
"They're my friends," he replied, "and they've all been really nice about this mess, I mean Allison and Isaac actually invited me..." he shut himself down as he realised Scott really didn't need those details, "sorry. But, nope, nothing. The closest I get to anything is you and, yeah, so not going there."
"Well we could if ..."
He looked at Scott's very unsure expression and half wished it might work; but that way lay madness.
"Thanks, man, but totally can't get into that headspace even if we are sharing a bed for the foreseeable future. Sorry," he added, because he really didn't want to wreck Scott's life as well.
Scott just elbowed him in the side in a sign of bro solidarity.
"Deaton was so sure," Scott said after a few moments silence.
Stiles just nodded; it had sounded like a done deal. He wasn't even worrying about male or female anymore, something that had bothered him until he realised that it wasn't really and he was over thinking the whole thing, but there was just nothing. He felt pack instincts, which was new and a little bizarre, but not anything deeper.
"What if this isn't the whole pack?" he asked, because he'd exhausted all the other possibilities.
"The only other werewolf in town is Peter," Scott pointed out.
"Brain bleach!" Stiles cried and made a horrified face. "I so did not want that mental image. Besides, he's so creepy and plain crazy he is never going to be pack. What if the rest of the pack isn't in town? I was seeing the wolf far away, what if that means they're not here?"
"Jackson?" Scott asked, but sounded dubious.
"Hell no," Stiles replied; "nothing could ever make me want to sleep with Jackson."
That really only left two possibilities.
"Derek and Cora," Scott said, following his reasoning, "but Cora is Derek's family and Derek and I were never pack, not really."
"But at the end you were," Stiles said as it started to make sense. "You were fighting together and not just out of necessity; you both cared. The whole giving up his alpha status for Cora; what if it changed Derek enough that you're finally not frenemies anymore? What if everything that happened made him pack and maybe, through him, Cora? It would be just like you to adopt someone without either of you realising it."
Scott's expression was unsure, but he definitely wasn't denying it.
"We could call Derek and ask," Scott suggested, which if that didn't say huge amounts Stiles didn't know what did.
It was only a few months ago that Scott had eyed Derek like an enemy. Stiles pulled out his phone and hit the right contact.
"Hello," came from the other end of the call.
"Hey, Derek, it's Stiles," he replied.
"Yes, I know, your name flashes up when you call."
Still typical Derek then.
"Okay, so this is going to sound like a weird question, but where are you?"
"The loft," Derek said.
"The loft where," Stiles said and wondered if Derek was now addicted to open warehouse type spaces.
"Last time I checked I've only ever had one," Derek replied.
"Wait, what, you're back in town?" he checked, possibly looking at Scott a little wild eyed.
"Yes," Derek replied. "I need to see Scott, I think something might be going on."
"Going on how?" he asked. "And for the record, Scott's right here listening in on the conversation."
"Hey Derek," Scott said.
"I'm not sure," Derek said without acknowledging the hello, "but I'm pretty sure I was drawn back."
Stiles almost dropped the phone.
"By what?" he asked, trying to sound perfectly innocent.
"Dreams."
Stiles handed the phone to Scott and did his best to just breathe.
"We'll be right over," Scott said and hung up.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god, it's Derek," Stiles said, because the whole idea sent his thoughts zooming off in all directions.
"We don't know that," Scott pointed out.
"Yeah, of course we don't," he replied in a very sarcastic tone. "I've been seeing a black wolf with blue eyes," he paused, he hadn't realised that part before, it had to have been sitting in his subconscious, "and Derek gets summoned back here by dreams. It couldn't be him, whatever was I thinking?"
"You never mentioned the blue eyes," Scott said.
"I didn't remember until just now," he defended himself. "My brain hasn't been firing on all cylinders for days, hell, what am I saying, it never fires on all cylinders, and I only saw him in the distance. It only just registered. Oh god, what are we going to tell him? I don't see, 'hi, Derek, fancy fucking me now?' going down very well."
"We tell him about the white wolf," Scott said in what Stiles suspected was supposed to be a reassuring tone. "It's a werewolf thing, he might already know about it."
Frankly, Stiles wasn't sure if that terrified him more or less.
"Come on," he said, standing and pulling his keys from his pocket, "before I panic and run off to become a monk or something."
Scott didn't argue, just followed him as he walked towards the door.
~*~
On to part 2
FB3X Drabble Cascade #42 - prompt of the week is ''Life, the Universe and Everything"
View more lists from Wittegen Press
This entry was originally posted at http://beren-writes.dreamwidth.org/268916.html.
Author: Beren
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: NC17/18
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Jeff Davis et al. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: under age sex
Summary: When Stiles sleeps he goes to the white place he, Scott and Alison visited when they sacrificed themselves. He keeps seeing a white wolf there and he knows it's important, but he's just so tired.
Author's Notes: I wanted to get this out before 3b since I've been writing it since the end of 3a. It doesn’t take into account the teasers we've had for 3b, but runs from where 3a left off - and it takes no notice of the birthdays given out for the characters because they make no sense. Hope you all like it and thanks to Soph for the beta.
Word Count: ~21,800
Links to other parts: Chapter 2 LJ | Chapter 2 DW -- Chapter 3 LJ | Chapter 3 DW
My Fanfic Listings (LJ) | My Fanfic Listings (DreamW) | My Fic on AO3
Chapter 1 Sleep of the Dead
"Stilinski!"
Stiles jerked awake and blinked without really seeing anything until Finstock came into focus. The dream was still floating around his brain and it was difficult to concentrate, not that that was anything new these days, even with his Adderall.
"Sorry," he mumbled, doing his best to force his brain into gear.
Finstock frowned at him, but surprisingly said no more and just continued with the class. That was, until the end: "Stilinski, a moment of your time."
Stiles dragged himself to the front of the class rather than the door and prepared to be yelled at.
"What's up, kid?" Finstock asked and shocked him.
"Um."
"You look like you haven't slept in a week, actually, make that two," Finstock said. "Have you gotten into something you can't handle?"
Finstock was worried about him, Stiles realised he had to look bad.
"Insomnia," he said, because he couldn't be bothered to pretend, "ever since my dad ..." and he trailed off.
It wasn't quite the truth, but he couldn't exactly tell the coach he was having vivid dreams about darkness and wolves that just seemed to suck the energy right out of him every night.
"What do you have next period?" Finstock asked, without commenting on that.
"Math, Mr Lyle," he replied, not sure where the conversation was going.
He really did not expect Finstock to wave a set of keys under his nose.
"What?" his brain couldn't cope with such weird behaviour at the best of times so right then it had no hope.
"The keys to my office," Finstock told him. "If you move out the chair and the ball box it's very comfortable. I will tell Lyle you are on special assignment with me for the next hour. Get some sleep, Stilinski, before you fall over and break something. Bring the keys back when you're done."
It took him a couple of seconds to process that.
"Thank you," he said and Finstock dropped the keys into his hand.
"But, Stilinski, if anything else is touched, your ass is grass."
"Yes, coach," he said and shuffled out.
When he made it to Finstock's office, he pulled out the chair and the ball box, set his phone for ten minutes before the next class and then sat down, putting his feet on the box. He went out like a light as soon as he remotely relaxed.
As he opened his eyes onto whiteness he wanted to cry. It was the same every time; he fell asleep and he woke up in the white place. He was on a white dais surrounded by a black moat and he could see the nemeton in the distance. There was always a white wolf as well. It had started in the distance even further away than the nemeton, but this time it was standing next to him on the dais. It looked at him with eyes as white as its fur, just slightly ringed in red and he collapsed to his knees beside it.
He was so exhausted. It felt like he hadn't slept properly in weeks. Ever since he, Scott and Allison had sacrificed themselves he had been having dreams. At first he had just felt a little tired, but over the last week it had been getting worse. They weren't even nightmares, it felt as if he was living two lives and never resting.
The wolf nudged against his face, urging him to look up. He was so tired all he wanted to do was lie down, but the wolf was insistent. When he finally lifted his head he saw another wolf, far off, past the nemeton, and this one was black. It seemed familiar somehow, but he didn't know why. The white wolf leaned into him, supporting him as he sagged, but he did not take his eyes off the black one.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, because he just felt so lost.
Sound lanced through his head, so loud he thought his ears would burst and he was thrust back into the real world. It took him a few seconds to realise it was only the alarm on his phone and he blindly reached out to turn it off. It couldn't have been that long, but he already knew time in the white place and time in reality were entirely separate things. Dragging himself up, he felt worse than before he had tried to sleep. His limbs were like lead, his thoughts too slow and too fast in alternate blocks and he was swimming in a sea of fatigue.
"Give keys back," he said to make sure he knew where he had to be going.
It took more effort than he wanted to admit, just to keep that straight in his head. By the time the bell rang he had just made it to Finstock's classroom and he stood there swaying as the tide of the freshman class broke over him.
"Stilinski," Finstock said as soon as the man caught sight of him hovering in the doorway, "you look worse than you did before and I didn't think that was possible."
"Coach," he said, holding out the keys.
He was supposed to be stepping forward, he knew that, but he just didn't seem to be able to find the energy. Everything around him was kind of shiny where he was looking and going dark on the edges. It made him feel very surreal and it was only as everything moved far too fast that he realised he was pitching forwards. Mercifully everything went black before he hit the ground.
"Stilinski," he heard someone saying, "everyone calls him Stiles."
"Stiles, Stiles, can you hear me?" someone closer asked and he felt something being put over his face.
He did his best to reply, but all that came out was a mumble that never had a chance at being real words.
"Well done, Stiles," the someone said, "do you think you can open your eyes for me?"
He tried, he really did, but his eyelids were so heavy and every time he managed to flick them open they fell back closed too quickly. It was frustrating and he desperately wanted to do as he was asked, but it was so hard.
"Hey, it's okay," the person told him, "you're doing fine. Just relax for me and breathe, the oxygen will help make everything clearer."
"Do you know if he's ingested any substances?" another voice asked from further away.
"Stilinski's always been clean," Finstock replied. "He said he's been having trouble sleeping. His father is the sheriff and you must have read about the disappearances; the kid's been different since then, but it's been worse over the last week."
"People don't usually collapse from insomnia," the other voice said.
"Stiles," the person looking after him grabbed his limited attention, "I'm just going to put an IV in your arm. You're showing signs of dehydration so that should help. It will sting a little, but I've numbed the area so it won't for long."
The warning didn't really help, he still grunted as the needle went in, but the paramedic, he decided it had to be a paramedic, was right, it didn't last long.
"He's set up," his carer said.
"Right," the other one replied, "let's get him to the hospital. Thank you Mr Finstock."
Something jostled and there was a click and then the sensation of more motion. Stiles wasn't really with it enough to figure out exactly what was happening, but he knew they were moving. He didn't even have enough brain power to worry about where.
"Stiles!"
At that sound his brain woke up a bit. His thoughts screamed alpha before they informed him it was Scott and his body tried to respond on pure instinct. He even managed to open his eyes in time to just about make out Scott's worried face.
"Hey, aren't you Melissa McCall's son?" his paramedic asked.
"Yes," Scott replied, "what's wrong with Stiles."
"That's what we're hoping to find out at the hospital," the other paramedic said.
"Look," Scott said, "I'm his best friend, can I ride along, I can help with contacting his dad and everything?"
"I don't know..." one said.
"The kid opened his eyes for him," the other countered quickly, he was definitely Stiles' favourite, "and his mom's a friend."
There was silence for a while and Stiles let his eyes drift closed again.
"Okay," was the eventual agreement, "just keep out of the way, okay?"
"Sure," Scott said and when a warm hand settled on his arm Stiles felt a little better.
His confused thoughts were only just ticking over and at the touch they settled on, 'pack, alpha, safe', and it never occurred to him he really had no reason to be reacting like that since he wasn't a werewolf. He fell asleep with Scott's hand on his skin and, for once, he didn't dream.
~*~
The next time he woke up he almost panicked, because he was staring at white, but he blinked and a perfectly ordinary hospital ceiling came in to focus. The first thing he noticed after that was there was a hand in each of his, on one side Scott and on the other his dad.
"Hey," he said feeling woozy, but actually somewhat better than the morning.
"Hey there, kid," his dad said, smiling at him, "how are you feeling?"
At least the lines of worry eased a little on his dad's face seeing he was awake.
"Like road kill," he replied, "but better. Did I really faint in front of Finstock?"
He was probably never living that down.
"Yeah," Scott said looking him over with the anxious little frown, "according to what Isaac heard after they carted you off, you went down like a felled tree."
"And do the great minds of the medical profession have any idea why I did that?" he asked, hoping that maybe there was a perfectly rational explanation.
Scott and his dad shared a look.
"They've done lots of tests," his dad told him, "but so far they can only find symptoms. You're exhausted and undernourished."
"But I eat all the time," he protested, because that didn't make any sense.
"Son," his dad said in a very serious tone, "is there anything you'd like to tell us?"
"Like what?" he asked genuinely not getting it.
"Have you been eating, really?" his dad asked.
Then he got it.
"Yes," he said emphatically, "I have been eating and I have not been doing anything like throwing it up. I do not have an eating disorder, I just can't sleep properly."
"Stiles," his dad said in a gentle, but firm tone, "your symptoms aren't for insomnia."
"That's because it's not insomnia," he said, finally giving in to the reality that something had to be going on, "I sleep here, but I wake up somewhere else. The white place, where we went," he explained and looked at Scott. "There's a white wolf and a black one too now and every time I try to sleep I end up there. Except this time," he added, not sure what that meant.
"How long has this been going on?" his dad asked.
"About a week," he replied. "I've been having dreams ever since that night," they both knew what he was talking about so he didn't have to specify, "but it wasn't bad until this week. I tried to ignore it."
Both Scott and his dad gave him The Look for that.
"This sounds like it's nemeton related," Scott said, standing up and pulling out his phone. "I'll give Deaton a call, see what he says."
Stiles just nodded and Scott quickly exited the room to make the phone call.
"Hey, kid," his dad said, reaching up and smoothing his hair back from his face for him as if he was six again, "do you think you can sleep some more? You look like you need it."
"I'll try," he said, because he was still wiped out.
"I'll be right here," his dad promised him as he closed his eyes.
It didn't take long, he was that exhausted and his body and mind were more than happy to succumb to sleep.
He woke up curled next to the white wolf and this time he couldn't help it, he buried his face in its fur and cried.
~*~
"Stiles, you need to wake up now."
He didn't want to move. At least the wolf's fur was soft and it seemed content to just let him lay there. How long it had been he had no idea, but he'd stopped crying a while ago and now he felt kind of empty.
"Please, Stiles, everyone is worried."
He ignored the request.
Something touched his arm and he felt like he had been connected to a battery. His nerves crackled and it hurt. He woke up gasping to find his hospital room full of people. Allison, Lydia, Isaac, Ethan, Aiden and Scott were all there, all holding hands in a semi-circle with Deaton inside it and his dad and Scott's mom standing off to one side. Scott had a hand on his arm and he realised what had woken him.
"I'm sorry we had to do it that way," Deaton said, "but you were not responding."
"There again," he said feeling utterly drained.
"And being pulled back there time and again is draining you mentally and physically," Deaton said, "so we had better find out why this is happening."
If he had had the energy, Stiles would have laughed; that was kind of obvious.
"Thank you everyone," Deaton said, turning and smiling at all the worried faces, "you have been most helpful, but if you would now mind waiting outside. Scott, please stay, I believe you are acting as a partial ground to Stiles, and, of course, you Sheriff."
"See you soon, Stiles," Allison said and gave him a smile as everyone filed out.
"What was that all about?" Stiles asked once they had gone.
"You were very far away," Deaton told him, coming round the side of the bed now, "and you energies were very low. Your pack leant you theirs to bring you back."
Not long ago Stiles probably would have questioned at least some of that statement, but he had seen so much recently he just accepted it.
"Okay," he said. "What now?"
"Now I would like you to tell me exactly what you see when you are pulled onto the other plane," Deaton said, giving him a small smile of support. "Scott mentioned you were seeing wolves, can you describe them to me?"
That at least was easy.
"It's mostly one," he said, remembering the soft feel of its fur; "it's huge and white and it has white eyes ringed in red. When I first started dreaming it was far away, but now it's right beside me."
"And what else do you see?" Deaton asked.
"I'm always on this platform," he replied, "and it's surrounded by a black moat; it looks like tar. I touched it once and my hand just went straight through it as if it was nothing; it was like reaching into space. I can see the nemeton as well, but it's a long way away and there used to be walls, but now it's just white forever. Just before I collapsed at school I saw another wolf, it was black and a long way away too. It felt familiar though."
Deaton was looking at him in a way that made him a little uncomfortable.
"You know what it means, don't you?" he said.
For a moment Deaton hesitated, but then nodded.
"Can you fix it?" his dad asked.
"There is nothing to fix," Deaton replied turning and looking at everyone in the room in turn, "what is happening here is not an aberration. It is unprecedented, but it is a natural cycle."
"The why is it killing my son?" his dad demanded and Stiles thought that was pretty strong wording until neither Scott nor Deaton disagreed.
"Beacon Hills is awakening," Deaton said, "and not only do we have a true alpha," he looked significantly at Scott, "but now we also have a white wolf."
"What's a white wolf?" Stiles asked, because if he was asking questions he didn't have to think about the whole death part.
Deaton gave him one of those 'all my attention is on you and I can see into your soul' kind of looks.
"You are," Deaton said.
That didn't make any sense at all.
"Have you been sniffing mistletoe?" he asked and Deaton actually smiled.
"What does it mean?" Scott asked the sensible question.
"A white wolf is a human who runs with wolves, a kind of emissary, but linked to the pack at a far more basic level and with far more extensive powers; the ultimate of which is the ability to become a wolf without ever being a werewolf."
Stiles opened his mouth to respond to that, but he honestly had no idea what to say.
"If Stiles is one of these white wolves, why is he sick?" Scott asked.
"Because he has yet to find a ground."
Stiles looked at Scott: "I thought you said Scott was grounding me?"
"And he is, to some extent," Deaton replied, "because he is your alpha, however the connection is fragile, it only works while he is touching you."
"But why me?" he asked. "Why did this happen, I never asked for it?"
"The white wolf you see when you sleep is the personification of the power," Deaton said. "When you sacrificed yourself for your father you must have attracted attention. The closer the white wolf came to you in the other place, the more the power awoke in you, but the transition from one to the other is draining your reserves. The only way to stop it is to assimilate the magic into yourself properly."
"And, just in the aim of full disclosure, if I wanted to do that how would I?"
"You need to find your ground within the pack. The amount of power a white wolf can command is truly impressive, but nature does not like such imbalance. To be able to wield such power a white wolf must be bound to a pack, an individual within the pack to be precise. The individual also gains in power from the connection and the pack gains in strength. Usually it would be the alpha, but you two do not have the right connection."
Stiles was pretty sure he didn't like the word 'bound'.
"But we're like brothers," he said and he honestly couldn't think of a closer connection he had to any of his friends.
"And that would be the problem," Deaton said and looked just a little apologetic, "the bond is usually that of mates."
Part of Stiles was ridiculously relieved that Scott wasn't his match after that revelation, because 'eeeew' he and Scott did not have that kind of relationship. However, then he processed the implications.
"But none of them like me like that," is what he blurted out.
Before Lydia had kissed him that idea would have filled him with joy, but, frankly, what the whole kissing incident had done was wake him up to the fact all his fantasies were just that; fantasies. He loved Lydia, a lot, but not, so much, like that anymore.
"And they're all involved with other people," he pointed out.
"And he's only sixteen," his dad pointed out.
"I'm seventeen in eight days," he protested and tried to sit up, before realising he just didn't have the strength for it.
All the fight went out of him as he sagged back against the pillows.
"Unfortunately, the situation does not seem to be concerned with the ages of those involved," Deaton replied. "Scott is far too young to be a true alpha under normal circumstance, but Beacon Hills is very far from normal. There is also nothing to say there could not be three people in a mating bond."
Stiles wasn't sure whether to be outraged or really turned on by that idea, but he didn't have much energy to react anyway so it didn't actually matter.
"I cannot believe you suggested a three way with my dad in the room," is what he decided to say.
"I can't believe you suggested a three way to my sixteen year old son," his dad said and seemed somewhat stuck on that last point.
"I am sorry," Deaton said and didn't really sound it, "but this situation needs to be resolved. Stiles saw another wolf while on the other side, that is the visual representation of his balance within the pack. He must find out who it is and bond with them or he will eventually die. Scott can keep him grounded and allow him to recover some of his strength, but that solution will not last forever for obvious reasons."
"Love you, buddy," Stiles said to Scott, "but I'm not holding hands with you for the rest of my life."
Then something else occurred to him.
"If I'm seeing a wolf does that mean the one I'm supposed to find is a wolf, or is that just because they're part of a wolf pack?" he asked.
"I am not sure," Deaton replied.
"And how am I supposed to know which one to pick?"
"Once you are feeling better I suggest you follow your instincts," Deaton said. "You should already be sensing the draw, but it is possible you are simply too exhausted."
It was all a bit much to deal with and he was so damn tired. There were so many questions he needed to ask, like 'why me?' several hundred more times before it started to make sense.
"And what if I don't want this?" he decided to simply be direct about it. "What if I say no? How do I get rid of it?"
Deaton actually looked shocked at that question, as if someone refusing such power had never crossed his mind.
"I don't know," Deaton replied. "Stiles, this is not something that just happens, you were chosen for a reason."
"And maybe I don't want to be chosen," he replied, because, hell this thing had almost killed him and he was so not the person to have a ridiculous amount of power; his impulse control was terrible.
The universe seemed to like taking his life and turning everything about it inside out and he was sick of it.
"Then that is something you need to take up with the white wolf you have been seeing," Deaton said, "but not yet; you are far too weak. What you need right now is rest."
At least that was one thing Stiles could agree on.
"Scott, do you mind not letting go for a while?" he asked in lieu of anything more sensible to say.
"Sure," Scott said.
"Cool," he decided, "then I'm going to go back to sleep and maybe this will make more sense when I wake up."
It was amazing what he could manage when he needed to and when no one argued with him he drifted right off.
~*~
He woke up once in the middle of the night to find Scott was in the bed with him and it was very cosy, but he went straight back to sleep almost immediately. He was finally getting the rest he needed and his body was taking full advantage. No dreams, no white wolves, just complete, uninterrupted rest.
When he woke up again, Scott was snoring in his ear and he was feeling so much better his brain decided it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
That was about how the rest of his day went as well. He ate, he slept thanks to Scott and the hospital finally let him go home that evening. Then he continued to just eat and rest for the next day as well. Since Scott had to go to school he didn't sleep while Scott was away, but he curled up in front of the TV with his dad, who had taken compassionate leave, and did nothing except watch bad TV. Day three after his collapse was a Saturday and he was feeling well enough to want to find out for himself what was going on.
"I want to go back to the white place," he said as he and Scott sat playing video games.
"You still look like a strong wind could blow you over," Scott replied, giving him a very critical look.
"But now I'm having trouble sleeping because I keep wanting to know," he replied. "It's time."
"Are you sure?" Scott asked.
He nodded; he had been thinking about it all day. It was just a fact that he wasn't back to full strength, but he wasn't even sure that was possible in the current situation. He needed to understand and he needed to understand right now.
"Give me an hour," he said, "finally making the whole decision, if I don't wake up after that, call Deaton and get everyone back together to pull me out of it."
The little frown between Scott's eyebrows said his best friend was not overly happy with the plan, but he could also tell Scott was not about to object.
"I'm going to text everyone to be ready, just in case," Scott said and Stiles could live with that, so he agreed.
The fact that he was still tired meant it wouldn't take much for him to fall asleep, so he made himself comfortable on the couch as Scott sent his text. He heard beeps of acknowledgement from Scott's phone only seconds later and knew that the pack was primed. It did make him feel more confident even if he didn't say so out loud.
"Ready?" Scott asked, sitting down in the chair right next to him, but just out of reach.
"As I'll ever be," he replied. "Wish me luck."
"Good luck," Scott said and it was all sincerity.
Wondering how long it would be before he dropped off, Stiles closed his eyes. It would be just like his rebellious brain to refuse to sleep now he needed to. However, when he opened his eyes to see how long it had been, Stiles found himself kneeling next to the white wolf on the dais, almost exactly how he had expected. It probably wasn't good that he couldn't tell the difference between waking and sleeping anymore.
"Um, hi," he said, suddenly feeling awkward, which was totally ridiculous.
The wolf looked at him, those haunting eyes glowing gently.
"Look," he decided to go for it, "I don't want it, okay? I'm not the right person for this sort of power."
The wolf's expression did not change.
"I know it's an honour, but I'm not the right guy," he continued. "I'm just Stiles and I have enough trouble with what goes on in my head without adding a whole other dimension of possible shit. I'm the spaz that has panic attacks in hallways and just does things because for a second they seem like a really cool idea."
His companion yawned.
"Now that's just rude," he said, feeling silly for talking to a wolf for a few seconds. "Why didn't you give it to Allison, she's human and a lot better at this supernatural stuff than I am."
Now he finally got a reaction and he was pretty sure the wolf had just raised its eyebrows at him.
"I mean she can be a little trigger happy, but... oh okay," he admitted when the 'eyebrows' rose higher, "Allison might have been a bad choice. Then how about just not giving it to any of us?" he suggested.
The wolf turned its head on one side as if considering this and then looked to the left. Stiles followed its eye line and frowned at the whiteness for a moment. It took a little while, but his vision adjusted and he could see dark shapes in the far distance. As he looked at them something cold curled in the pit of his stomach and he immediately looked back at the wolf.
"What are they?" he demanded.
For just a moment the wolf bared its teeth and confirmed what Stiles was thinking; the shapes were bad. They were a long way off, but he knew, without any idea how, that they were focused on Beacon Hills.
"It's the nemeton isn't it," he said, putting the facts together; "they're coming because it's awake."
The wolf slowly blinked, which Stiles took as a yes.
"Are they coming together?" he asked, because that thought was terrifying.
The wolf looked away and he took that as a no.
"They're why you came to me," he didn't need to ask that, he already knew the answer.
The wolf stood up and stepped closer to him, pushing its head into his hand. It almost felt like an apology, but Stiles knew there was no choice now. There was no way he could leave Beacon Hills unprotected.
"So I have to find my ground," he said, more to himself than the wolf.
As the white wolf nudged his shoulder, he took the hint and looked up and there was the black wolf. It was still in the distance, but closer than before, maybe because he was beginning to accept the truth. The idea of being bound to someone didn't actually scare him as much as it might have done. He had never been the type to go into something with half his heart and this sounded like a whole heart kind of gig. What had him worried was the fact he did not get to choose. All the mystical crap was choosing for him and he didn't like that.
Deaton had assured him his instincts would help and he had to admit the whole wolf pack stuff was distinctly stronger than anything he had felt as an average human, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with it.
He knew it was going to be hard, but then nothing in his life had been easy for a long time now. Maybe his ground would give him some control, because he dreaded to think what would happen to an ADHD human wolf.
~*~
"You don't feel anything, do you?" Scott said as they shared a packet of peanut butter cups.
Stiles shook his head. It had been a whole day since he had been to the white place and spoken to the wolf. However, he didn't seem to be getting anywhere.
"They're my friends," he replied, "and they've all been really nice about this mess, I mean Allison and Isaac actually invited me..." he shut himself down as he realised Scott really didn't need those details, "sorry. But, nope, nothing. The closest I get to anything is you and, yeah, so not going there."
"Well we could if ..."
He looked at Scott's very unsure expression and half wished it might work; but that way lay madness.
"Thanks, man, but totally can't get into that headspace even if we are sharing a bed for the foreseeable future. Sorry," he added, because he really didn't want to wreck Scott's life as well.
Scott just elbowed him in the side in a sign of bro solidarity.
"Deaton was so sure," Scott said after a few moments silence.
Stiles just nodded; it had sounded like a done deal. He wasn't even worrying about male or female anymore, something that had bothered him until he realised that it wasn't really and he was over thinking the whole thing, but there was just nothing. He felt pack instincts, which was new and a little bizarre, but not anything deeper.
"What if this isn't the whole pack?" he asked, because he'd exhausted all the other possibilities.
"The only other werewolf in town is Peter," Scott pointed out.
"Brain bleach!" Stiles cried and made a horrified face. "I so did not want that mental image. Besides, he's so creepy and plain crazy he is never going to be pack. What if the rest of the pack isn't in town? I was seeing the wolf far away, what if that means they're not here?"
"Jackson?" Scott asked, but sounded dubious.
"Hell no," Stiles replied; "nothing could ever make me want to sleep with Jackson."
That really only left two possibilities.
"Derek and Cora," Scott said, following his reasoning, "but Cora is Derek's family and Derek and I were never pack, not really."
"But at the end you were," Stiles said as it started to make sense. "You were fighting together and not just out of necessity; you both cared. The whole giving up his alpha status for Cora; what if it changed Derek enough that you're finally not frenemies anymore? What if everything that happened made him pack and maybe, through him, Cora? It would be just like you to adopt someone without either of you realising it."
Scott's expression was unsure, but he definitely wasn't denying it.
"We could call Derek and ask," Scott suggested, which if that didn't say huge amounts Stiles didn't know what did.
It was only a few months ago that Scott had eyed Derek like an enemy. Stiles pulled out his phone and hit the right contact.
"Hello," came from the other end of the call.
"Hey, Derek, it's Stiles," he replied.
"Yes, I know, your name flashes up when you call."
Still typical Derek then.
"Okay, so this is going to sound like a weird question, but where are you?"
"The loft," Derek said.
"The loft where," Stiles said and wondered if Derek was now addicted to open warehouse type spaces.
"Last time I checked I've only ever had one," Derek replied.
"Wait, what, you're back in town?" he checked, possibly looking at Scott a little wild eyed.
"Yes," Derek replied. "I need to see Scott, I think something might be going on."
"Going on how?" he asked. "And for the record, Scott's right here listening in on the conversation."
"Hey Derek," Scott said.
"I'm not sure," Derek said without acknowledging the hello, "but I'm pretty sure I was drawn back."
Stiles almost dropped the phone.
"By what?" he asked, trying to sound perfectly innocent.
"Dreams."
Stiles handed the phone to Scott and did his best to just breathe.
"We'll be right over," Scott said and hung up.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god, it's Derek," Stiles said, because the whole idea sent his thoughts zooming off in all directions.
"We don't know that," Scott pointed out.
"Yeah, of course we don't," he replied in a very sarcastic tone. "I've been seeing a black wolf with blue eyes," he paused, he hadn't realised that part before, it had to have been sitting in his subconscious, "and Derek gets summoned back here by dreams. It couldn't be him, whatever was I thinking?"
"You never mentioned the blue eyes," Scott said.
"I didn't remember until just now," he defended himself. "My brain hasn't been firing on all cylinders for days, hell, what am I saying, it never fires on all cylinders, and I only saw him in the distance. It only just registered. Oh god, what are we going to tell him? I don't see, 'hi, Derek, fancy fucking me now?' going down very well."
"We tell him about the white wolf," Scott said in what Stiles suspected was supposed to be a reassuring tone. "It's a werewolf thing, he might already know about it."
Frankly, Stiles wasn't sure if that terrified him more or less.
"Come on," he said, standing and pulling his keys from his pocket, "before I panic and run off to become a monk or something."
Scott didn't argue, just followed him as he walked towards the door.
~*~
On to part 2
FB3X Drabble Cascade #42 - prompt of the week is ''Life, the Universe and Everything"
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