Krampus Night (gift for happyevraftr)
Title: Krampus Night
Author: chase_acow
Recipient: happyevraftr
Pairings: Derek/Stiles and secondary nonexplicit groupings which could be spoilery include -> Isaac/Erica/Boyd, Scott/Chris Argent, Peter/Lydia, Finstock&Greenberg, Danny/OMC [highlight to view]
Rating: Mature
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: Angst, possession, some emotional vomit, multiple POVs, and attempted rhyming.
Summary: "All I know is that this carnival popped up out of nowhere over night, fifty year old paperwork filed itself, this weather is bizzaro, and my dad doesn't see anything wrong with any of it."
Author's Notes: I don't normally write like this, so it may be a complete disaster, but it was fun for me and I hope it's entertaining for you. Thanks go to asya_ana for a beta and comma wrangling. Any mistakes left are totally mine because I can't stop tinkering.
The Krampus come in the dead of night.
Contrary to popular belief, Stiles didn't actually blurt out every spare thought that flashed through his head. For one thing, he would have been arrested, tarred and feathered, or possibly sent off to the French Foreign Legion if he tried. His preferred method of communication took a lot more work, and maybe it didn't always pay off, but he at least was entertained. Often, only he was entertained.
He'd like to think the detective shows he used to watch with his dad helped inform the method to his madness. After enough sarcasm, misdirection, technicalities, and lies of omission Stiles could tell the unvarnished truth and not be believed. He learned a lot in conversations like that.
So when he actually needed to ask a question, he found it more difficult than it should be.
Because he was Stiles, he waited until Derek knotted him, pinning Stiles' body to the bed with the force of his dick and possibly his eyebrows before Stiles asked. It wasn't cheating exactly, it was more an exercise in strategic dissonance. Derek's normal reluctance to engage in human emotion melted away like a dam made of sugar when he was inside Stiles. It was Stiles' superpower. His ass was super.
If wolves would admit to purring, Derek would be going louder than the ancient lawn mower his dad still insisted he use in the summer. Stiles smiled at the rhythmic scratch of Derek's stubble while he lipped around the corners of Stiles' shoulder blade. He brought Derek's hand up to his mouth, kissing the pads of his fingers and licking the last bit of stickiness from Derek's palm. Their rhythm was easy, and the heat between them full of possibility.
After four months of being together-together and not just friendshiply adjacent, Stiles knew Derek's heartbeat as well as he knew his own.
He waited until he caught his breath, shifting his shoulders while Derek spooned against him and continued to roll their hips forward and back in unison. He loved this, the thirty minutes tied together where he didn't have to be Stiles, the irritating ADHD puny human. He could be something precious. He gave Derek his body, and he wanted something in return.
Apparently, Derek didn't agree.
Derek slid away, his body stiff as he made sure the only parts of them touching was the tops of his thighs to the bottom of Stiles' ass. The knot would take another ten minutes before Derek would be able pull out entirely. The temperature in the room plummeted, but the blanket was out of reach, forcing Stiles to gingerly curl up, counting the seconds away.
Okay, Stiles would take it all back. Nothing was more awkward than being physically unable to leave a conversation.
Knots sucked.
Looking for the child who has faced love's slight.
"Stiles, you know that voice in your head that points out what a stupid thing you're about to do? Right before you do it? Well, mine is howling right about now."
"Don't be such a scaredywolf," Stiles said without taking his eyes off the circus tent looming too close with every step they took.
Scott sighed, following his friend down the rocky path to the public lands of the Preserve. Sometimes he thought Stiles had been born without that little self-defense voice. It was the only excuse he could find for half of what they got up to when they were kids, and most of what had happened since he'd been bitten. He was just glad Stiles had texted him first before he set out to investigate the woods again. Somehow they always ended up back out here. Usually running for their lives.
"Stiles," he said again, speeding up to walk by Stiles instead of trailing behind. "Maybe we should try to figure something else out?"
"Yeah, I remember how much you helped dig through the banker boxes in the basement of the sheriff's office," Stiles answered, taking the uneven steps down three at a time. "I sneezed for three hours while you went all sleeping with the enemy."
"He's not- It's not like that," Scott stuttered, hating how Stiles always seemed to end up controlling their conversations. "He's not my enemy."
"All I know is that this carnival popped up out of nowhere over night, fifty year old paperwork filed itself, this weather is bizzaro, and my dad doesn't see anything wrong with any of it," Stiles said, flipping the tail end of his scarf over his back. He shivered again despite the blazer pulled over his hoodie, black over blue. The colors blended to make Stiles smear like a bruise over the gray landscape. "I need to know out what's going on."
Years of friendship helped Scott to translate that to Stiles needed something to distract him from whatever fight he and Derek were currently not having. None of the betas knew what happened, but they were all dealing with the fallout of an absent Stiles and a hateful, sulking Alpha. Isaac texted Scott updates on Derek, and even though he never asked for anything, Scott knew Isaac was upset Scott never did the same to update him on Stiles.
Scott wouldn't stand by while anything hurt Stiles, not even the pack that Stiles chose over him.
"Okay," Scott said, turning the collar up on his own jacket. It wasn't just the cold; the air was heavy and wet, clutching his skin. The fog that rolled through town froze this close to the creepy tent; ice crystals hung in midair and cut into any bare flesh. "Let's check it out, let's just be smart about it."
The Krampus come in with hoof prints of ice.
The boys were over at her house, studying for finals in theory, but actually having a Christmas movie double feature. They'd finished Die Hard and Selena Kyle was about to take a header out of a high rise office building in Batman Returns. Erica didn't mind; she'd watch the cheesy romance movies with her mom and sister later. Spending time with her boys was worth getting Bs on her tests.
They hadn't had much of a chance to spend quality time together since Mamma Stiles and Papa wolf started fighting. She'd be grateful to Derek for everything he'd done for her for the rest of her life, but sometimes she felt guilty wishing he wasn't quite so fucked up in the head. She had a vague idea that they might have to intervene if Derek and Stiles hadn't figured their shit out by Christmas.
That was for later though, and possibly with some input from rePeter the Undead, who was still the best at the sneaky plans. Right then, Erica just wanted to cuddle closer to Boyd and Isaac and leach their heat. She'd swear her room wasn't so cold when McClane had been shooting up Nakatomi Plaza. She was so busy shivering and trying to psych herself into getting up for a blanket that she didn't notice Isaac's creeping. She jumped when Isaac shoved his cold nose into her neck, landing half on top of Boyd.
"Hasn't your mom ever heard of a heater?" Isaac asked, weaving an arm around her to sneak his hand inside Boyd's sweater.
Erica glanced over at the Galileo thermometer sitting on her dresser. The multicolored glass bubbles had been floating in the middle earlier, meaning it was nearly seventy, but now they all jostled at the top. It couldn't have been more than fifty-five degrees in her room anymore.
"Whine more," she griped, rubbing her own nose on the soft material of Boyd's sweater.
"He's right," Boyd rumbled with his deep voice that she would never get tired of listening to. He rolled over on his back so he could curl one arm around Erika and the other around Isaac. "It is too cold in here for movie watching."
"You have something else in mind?" Isaac lifted an eyebrow and shifted his hips to prove if nothing else that he had something else in mind.
Somehow, the three of them just worked together, their own private triskelion inside the pack. Once Scott finally shut down Isaac's romantic overtures, Isaac had easily folded in with them, and it didn't feel like a consolation prize for any of them. Derek shrugged and said sometimes threesomes just worked better for wolves. Peter had asked if he could watch.
Boyd rubbed his hand down Erica's back, dipping his fingers into the back pocket of her jeans. "I could think of -" he paused and cocked his head toward the window. "Do you guys hear that?"
"No, Boyd, not all of us were blessed with your bat ears," Isaac said, pouting at the shift in conversation. "What is it?"
"It's a parade!" Erica shouted, clambering over both of them and kneeing Isaac in the gut on her way. By the window it was even colder, ice crystals already glazing the corners and her breath fogging the glass. Low hanging clouds blanketed the town, completely obscuring the forests and hills around them. From her second floor window, she could barely see where Main Street curved toward the business district. Flocks of people blocked the cross streets, but she could see floats and people in costumes. "C'mon, losers, let's go."
Shining light on the children, both naughty and nice.
"Greenberg, I will fail you for the next six years if you do not get those stupid reindeer horns off your head," Bobby yelled through the glass of the coffee shop as the bane of his existence walked by with a group of his fellow lacrosse players.
His eye twitched a little, but he covered it by taking a deep drag of the salted caramel cocoa. He didn't trust the whole 'peace and goodwill' shtick of the season. Except for Jackson's early defection, the lacrosse team had been suspiciously drama-free this year. Whatever bug had bitten half the team last year had mellowed out, and even that Bilinski kid had seemed happier.
Bobby didn't trust it, and he was going to keep digging until he figured it out.
He grabbed his to-go bag and nodded at Mrs. Binks sitting over in the corner. That lady practically ran the town's gossip market, and he didn't want a repeat of the candy cane incident from last year, so he tried to be nice to the old bat. The second he stepped out on the sidewalk, someone jostled him and didn't bother to apologize as they used their sharp little elbows to poke their way to the front of the crowd spilling out into the street.
Even though it was almost dark, the last light of the sun reflected through the fog, lighting it up until he had to blink away tears. It almost felt like standing in the middle of a cold fusion light bulb until his eyes adjusted. He surreptitiously felt for his balls to make sure they hadn't frozen away. Visibility wasn't more than a block in any direction, and he still had no idea why all the monster children were lining the street.
Bobby walked down the block until he got to a spot where the crowd was a little thinner and his players were loitering like the bunch of shiftless vagabonds they were destined to grow into. He shoved the shortest kid to the side and took his place. "What the hell's going on here, Greenberg?" he demanded, making sure he was loud enough they could hear him over the crowd.
"It's a circus parade, Coach," Greenberg answered quickly, with a tentative smile. His reindeer antlers were crooked and jingled slightly when he shook his head trying to get his hair out of his eyes.
It was not endearing at all.
"I can see that, Greenberg," Bobby gritted through his teeth, turning away from the first figures that broke out of the fog bank. He glared at Greenberg, "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm blind?"
"N-no, Coach," Greenberg dropped his eyes and the other guys took a step away from them leaving them standing alone in a circle.
Bobby snorted, and shifted so his shoulder bumped against the kid. The beginning of the parade was almost even with them now. It wasn't like any Christmas parade he'd ever seen before. No Santa, no scantily clad Mrs. Clause, no politically incorrect little people. There wasn't any garish red and green mixed together in vomit-inducing swirls. Nothing about it was a TV winter wonderland.
Instead, it looked like some kind of homeless performance art. A dozen actors wore moth-eaten shaggy suits ranging from dark gray to dirt brown and walked on some kind of stilts made to look like cloven hooves. Black goat horns curled up from their heads, and their yellow eyes with slitted pupils were the only spot of color on them. They prowled down the street, stalking some of the littlest children and beckoning at the older ones.
The smell was…well, Bobby had nearly lost his sense of smell from so many years spent inhaling the putrid scents of high school boys in their locker room, but even he could tell it was bad.
The floats rolled by slowly, pulled by gaunt elephants and bulls harnessed one right after another. A white lion stared down at them, licking its chops like it had already tasted human and decided that's what it wanted for its holiday dinner. The circus ringleader rode a giant black horse, tossing candy from a bottomless bag as he called out the shows scheduled for their one-night-only performance.
"Well. Looks legit," Bobby said, shrugging and patting Greenberg on the chest. "You boys have fun. I've got Honey Boo Boo on my DVR. Here."
He left the white paper bag in Greenberg's hands and was almost far away enough to miss Greenberg's surprised voice, "Hey, they're snickerdoodle. My favorite."
The Krampus will crown a new Lord of Yule.
"Something's wrong."
Derek snorted and didn't bother to look up from the boxes he was loading into the back of Peter's truck. "It must be Monday," he said, shoulders flexing as he wedged in a bag so nothing would crunch the spruce tree taking up half the bed. If they ever weren't in trouble it would be time to blog about it and throw a party.
"I am not joking," Chris Argent said, getting between Derek and the last box so he had no choice but to look him in the eye. "I got a text from Scott. Something weird's going on."
Maybe all the Christmas carols were getting to him, but somehow Derek managed not to paint the sidewalk with Argent blood. He let out a hot breath, steam curling over his head as he wished Argent was stupid enough to start something and give him an excuse. Even with all the extra training abuse he'd put his body through since he'd made Stiles take a walk of shame, he still felt ready to explode.
"I'm still surprised by how much you and Kate are alike. Should I warn Mrs. McCall to take out fire insurance now?" he asked, forcing a sneer onto his face. Losing Scott, not to the hunter's daughter, but to the hunter himself still rubbed him raw. The fact that the kid had actually straightened himself out with Argent's supervision made up for it only a little.
Behind them, Peter coughed loud and long in a way that sounded suspiciously like words.
"What?" Derek snarled.
"Just commenting on a pot calling a kettle black," Peter answered, a sparkle in his eye and a bounce in his step as he took the last bag out of the cart and loaded it.
"And just how is Lydia Martin and her nightmares?" Derek asked, wondering how even his worst sins deserved being saddled with his undead uncle.
"Touché."
Argent literally growled to regain their attention. "We can go to therapy later for men with inappropriate age relationships. Right now, we need to find out where Stiles and Scott are," he said, pausing when Derek snapped to attention. "That's right, I thought that would get your attention."
"What do you know?" Derek asked, feeling his front pocket to make sure he still had his cell on him. He knew it was a fruitless gesture; Stiles hadn't answered any of his texts. Not that Derek could really blame him after his own non-answer to Stiles' question. "Where are they?"
"Scott's never going to win the prize for coherent writing, but from what I could make out in his texts, a Krampuslauf has come to town," Argent said, steel in his eyes as his fingers twitched for the gun hidden somewhere on his body. "They set up at the Preserve. I think they came for Stiles."
Derek flinched, not at the accusation, but at the truth.
"Peter, take the truck back to the house and set things up like we talked about," Derek said, tossing the keys over. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
He followed Argent to his SUV and slid into the passenger seat. If anything happened to Stiles because of him, Argent wouldn't have the pleasure of being his executioner. He'd do it himself.
"Are you sure we shouldn't bring Peter with us?" Argent asked, immediately cranking the heater to combat the cold that Derek hadn't been in the mood to notice before. "We could use some extra muscle against this many Krampus."
"No," Derek said, holding the door handle tightly as Argent peeled out of the parking lot and sped down the road. "Peter doesn't go anywhere unless we have a plan and an exit strategy. He'll betray us one day, but I'm trying not to make it easy."
He knew Argent would understand that. If there was one thing he and the hunter had in common, it was betrayal.
Transforming the child into a monstrous fool.
"Do you want some more peanuts?"
"No thanks," Danny said, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle unfolding in the circus ring. He had to stifle the urge to leap forward and help as yet another sad droopy clown got bashed in the head with a full weighted bowling pin. "I don't think this is safe."
Nick played lacrosse for the team two towns over, and it was the first time Danny really felt good in a relationship with someone his own age. Even his parents weren't complaining about the extra gas money since they liked Nick too. They were going to go see The Hobbit, but neither of them could resist the flyers promoting the scariest Christmas circus on Earth.
Now Danny kind of wished they had. It was definitely the most violent circus he'd ever seen, and he couldn't help glancing over at Stiles every few seconds.
The ringmaster had pulled Stiles from the crowd first thing, claiming they needed a new Lord of Yule. He had thrown a balding furry cape over Stiles' shoulders and placed a crown with fake antlers on his head. At least, they had started out as gimmicky accessories, but now Danny wasn't so sure. The cape was fuller, fitted him better and clung to his shoulders no matter how he moved. Danny couldn't actually tell where the crown connected to his head; the antlers rose up seamlessly, wide across his forehead. The light of the torches glinted off them, and even across the tent he could sense the weight of them. Distinctly not plastic.
Stiles turned his head, shifting in the throne, and Danny locked eyes with him. Stiles' eyes had changed from the warm doe-eyes he knew. Instead, they were coldly burning yellow.
"Come on, we need to get out of here," Danny said, lacing his fingers with Nick's and tugging him off the bench. If he had learned anything in the last weird year, it was that Stiles would always be in the middle when the shit hit the fan. He really didn't want another trip to the hospital this close to winter break.
Nick held him back. "But we haven't even seen the lion tamer yet," he said, though he didn't even frown, his expression was just…vacant.
Danny swung around. Everyone in the crowd looked the same, and he finally noticed that there wasn't anyone over the age of eighteen crammed into the rickety stands underneath the big top. Even some of the grade school kids where there without parents. With a sinking feeling, he also noticed that one of the giant horned and masked performers stood by each of the exits.
"Please let this work," Danny said under his breath right before he stretched up to kiss Nick. It was a dry press of lips, but he wanted so badly to have someone he could lean on and share his secrets with instead of keeping everyone else's secrets. He wanted a little magic for his own life every once in a while.
"Danny?"
"Oh, thank Jesus," Danny said, pulling Nick behind him down the steps where he instantly collided with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. "What's going on?"
"Something bad," Boyd said quickly. He was breathing hard and there were claw marks through his sweater. "Derek's behind that creepy cotton candy machine over there. Go ask him what the plan is and we'll keep them off you."
Danny would have pitched a bigger fit, but Nick huddled against his back, and they were drawing a lot of attention crowded together in the aisle. He didn't get involved in the werewolves' business much since Jackson left, but he knew he'd need them to get Nick out. Nodding tersely, he split from them to cut behind a shorter section of stands the way Boyd had pointed.
Even though he knew Derek wasn't Stiles' cousin Miguel, that was still the first thought Danny had when he turned the last corner and came up short right beside him and Allison's dad. The two men looked like they had been arguing for a while, and they weren't about to stop just because Nick and Danny were their new audience. Violence was near palpable in the air between them.
"Derek, it's not Stiles anymore," Mr. Argent shouted, holding onto Derek's jacket by the tips of his fingers. "Do you hear me? We have to stop it before it kills all these children!"
Derek jerked away and twisted to Danny, his eyes crimson soulless things. "You and the pack make a distraction and get everyone out. I'll make sure there aren't any casualties," he curled his claws out and jerked his head to the side as he finished wolfing out. "Anyone goes near Stiles, and I'll kill them myself."
The Krampus will feed them the souls of their friends.
"I've got to help!"
Chris restrained Scott's quickly healing body, struggling when his fingers slipped on tacky blood. The Krampus were ignoring them for now, all their attention riveted on Stiles and Derek, but he knew if they tried to interfere they would be torn apart. "No, Scott. Listen to me," he spoke softly, forcing Scott to calm down to hear him. "Derek has the best chance right now. Let him try."
Everyone had made it out but them, though he could still hear Derek's pack nearby fighting to corral a lion. The bulls and elephants had torn the tent apart before the Krampus themselves put the animals down. The vicious cold spread inward, making the ground crack under the strain. They were probably going to die; he'd never heard of a newly turning Krampus regaining their mind. A stake made from birch was their only release, and Derek had made sure Chris went in empty-handed.
"Stiles, I know you're in there somewhere," Derek began, slumping on his knees into the throne and Stiles' legs. His jacket was a lost cause and even his Alpha body was having a hard time healing all the damage he'd taken just to get that close to Stiles. "Don't feel guilty. They're going to find a way to get you back, and don't you waste a moment feeling guilty over me."
Scott mewled and hid his face against Chris' shoulder. They had spent most of their training teaching Scott to control his werewolf side, to hide it at all cost so he could live a normal life. Chris hadn't spent any significant time around Scott when he was turned, but it wasn't what he thought it would be. He wasn't repulsed or scrambling for a weapon.
The body in his arms was just Scott, not a monster. His hair was slightly coarse instead of silky, and it stood up bristly from his sideburns. Scott's ears were longer, infinitely more sensitive, but they were soft and velvety when Chris brushed his cheek along them. He felt tiny sharp pain where Scott's fists curled into the back of his shirt under his jacket, but his nails weren't claws trying to rip him inside out. Scott was the same person that Chris had grown to care about.
Some werewolves were monsters, but not his. Not Scott, and not Derek's pack either. He wished he would have figured that out before the pack was ripped apart with him as an unwilling audience.
Derek took Stiles' talon-tipped hand in his own and pulled it to his chest. "This belongs to you," he said, coughing hard enough blood dripped down his chin. "It has for months, Stiles. I never thought anyone would want it again, not after everything it's been through, but you did. That's what I should have said when you asked. Take it and be free."
Chris held his breath waiting, and he could tell Scott was peeking through his hair too. He'd never thought that Derek had that kind of love in him, had the balls to put it into words, but he was realizing he hadn't been half the man he thought he was either.
The horned crown hit the ground and rolled away.
The Krampus hissed in displeasure, but melted away, rotting into the earth and taking the cold, unnatural white light with them.
Left in the dark, all Chris could do was hold onto Scott and listen to Derek and Stiles try to reassure each other. They murmured softly, but Chris didn't want to listen in. He held Scott close, cradled between his knees and said a quick prayer that wherever Allison was, she was safe and learning to happy again.
Finally, Scott cleared his throat, unnaturally loud, and startled all of them. "So," he asked, "did anyone think to bring a flashlight?"
Chaining the child forever to the Krampuslauf's dens.
"Wow, did you guys do all this?"
Lydia turned to see Stiles climbing out of his jeep and staring open mouthed at the Hale house. She took a couple of steps backwards and looked up at her handiwork again. "I supervised, Peter did the actual work, but it was Derek's idea," she said, admiring the clean lines of the lights following the roof and garland wrapping down the house. The sleek stencil cut out of Santa's sleigh and reindeer next to the chimney was barely visible against the twilight dark sky. "He would have done it himself for his apology if he weren't too busy rescuing you."
She waited for some kind of smart remark, an instant denial that there was anything Stiles couldn't do on his own just fine, but there was nothing. Lydia twisted quickly, so worried that something had happened that her heel slipped on the loose gravel of the driveway. Peter was there in an instant, cupping her elbow to keep her from falling.
"Good, I'd hoped we'd get to see you before we left," Peter said to Stiles as he held out the shawl she'd sent him inside to retrieve. "I'm glad to see you're no longer growing horns from your head."
"Yeah, it would have sucked to try to shower with them," Stiles agreed, shoving his hands into his red hoodie. He glanced back at the house and the cutout snowflakes adorning all the warmly lit windows. "Thank you both for helping him with this. It looks great, really."
Lydia paced over to him and traced his cheek until his lifted his head to look at her. "You're welcome, Stiles," she said, and leaned in to kiss his other cheek.
"You know, Lydia, if you ever get over this whole Stockholm syndrome you've got going on, we could still have smart, gorgeous babies together," Stiles said, even as his body posture sent a completely different signal.
She would have rolled her eyes at him if she hadn't seen Peter beat her to it by a second.
"So, is grumpy-pants in there?" Stiles asked, practically vibrating his need to run straight inside.
"Waiting for you under the mistletoe," Peter answered, cupping Lydia's hipbone as he cuddled her into his side. "Which he's allergic to, by the way, so don't roll around in it, or let him eat any of it."
Stiles shook his head, a soft grin tugged at his lips, but he turned and climbed the front porch without any hesitation in his steps.
"Do you think if I were possessed by a monster other than you, you'd be able to save me?" Lydia asked, waiting as Peter opened the passenger door and helped her up into the truck. The lace of her skirt pulled at the tops of her thighs, and she soothed it down with her fingers. "Would I kill you and then lick the blood from under my nails?"
"Sweetheart," Peter said, leaning in to rub his nose against her temple. "You've already ripped my heart out of my chest."
"Merry Christmas, Peter," Lydia said, lightly scratching her nails over his chest.
Unless the lover can make their amends.
Author: chase_acow
Recipient: happyevraftr
Pairings: Derek/Stiles and secondary nonexplicit groupings which could be spoilery include -> Isaac/Erica/Boyd, Scott/Chris Argent, Peter/Lydia, Finstock&Greenberg, Danny/OMC [highlight to view]
Rating: Mature
Word Count: ~5000
Warnings: Angst, possession, some emotional vomit, multiple POVs, and attempted rhyming.
Summary: "All I know is that this carnival popped up out of nowhere over night, fifty year old paperwork filed itself, this weather is bizzaro, and my dad doesn't see anything wrong with any of it."
Author's Notes: I don't normally write like this, so it may be a complete disaster, but it was fun for me and I hope it's entertaining for you. Thanks go to asya_ana for a beta and comma wrangling. Any mistakes left are totally mine because I can't stop tinkering.
The Krampus come in the dead of night.
Contrary to popular belief, Stiles didn't actually blurt out every spare thought that flashed through his head. For one thing, he would have been arrested, tarred and feathered, or possibly sent off to the French Foreign Legion if he tried. His preferred method of communication took a lot more work, and maybe it didn't always pay off, but he at least was entertained. Often, only he was entertained.
He'd like to think the detective shows he used to watch with his dad helped inform the method to his madness. After enough sarcasm, misdirection, technicalities, and lies of omission Stiles could tell the unvarnished truth and not be believed. He learned a lot in conversations like that.
So when he actually needed to ask a question, he found it more difficult than it should be.
Because he was Stiles, he waited until Derek knotted him, pinning Stiles' body to the bed with the force of his dick and possibly his eyebrows before Stiles asked. It wasn't cheating exactly, it was more an exercise in strategic dissonance. Derek's normal reluctance to engage in human emotion melted away like a dam made of sugar when he was inside Stiles. It was Stiles' superpower. His ass was super.
If wolves would admit to purring, Derek would be going louder than the ancient lawn mower his dad still insisted he use in the summer. Stiles smiled at the rhythmic scratch of Derek's stubble while he lipped around the corners of Stiles' shoulder blade. He brought Derek's hand up to his mouth, kissing the pads of his fingers and licking the last bit of stickiness from Derek's palm. Their rhythm was easy, and the heat between them full of possibility.
After four months of being together-together and not just friendshiply adjacent, Stiles knew Derek's heartbeat as well as he knew his own.
He waited until he caught his breath, shifting his shoulders while Derek spooned against him and continued to roll their hips forward and back in unison. He loved this, the thirty minutes tied together where he didn't have to be Stiles, the irritating ADHD puny human. He could be something precious. He gave Derek his body, and he wanted something in return.
Apparently, Derek didn't agree.
Derek slid away, his body stiff as he made sure the only parts of them touching was the tops of his thighs to the bottom of Stiles' ass. The knot would take another ten minutes before Derek would be able pull out entirely. The temperature in the room plummeted, but the blanket was out of reach, forcing Stiles to gingerly curl up, counting the seconds away.
Okay, Stiles would take it all back. Nothing was more awkward than being physically unable to leave a conversation.
Knots sucked.
Looking for the child who has faced love's slight.
"Stiles, you know that voice in your head that points out what a stupid thing you're about to do? Right before you do it? Well, mine is howling right about now."
"Don't be such a scaredywolf," Stiles said without taking his eyes off the circus tent looming too close with every step they took.
Scott sighed, following his friend down the rocky path to the public lands of the Preserve. Sometimes he thought Stiles had been born without that little self-defense voice. It was the only excuse he could find for half of what they got up to when they were kids, and most of what had happened since he'd been bitten. He was just glad Stiles had texted him first before he set out to investigate the woods again. Somehow they always ended up back out here. Usually running for their lives.
"Stiles," he said again, speeding up to walk by Stiles instead of trailing behind. "Maybe we should try to figure something else out?"
"Yeah, I remember how much you helped dig through the banker boxes in the basement of the sheriff's office," Stiles answered, taking the uneven steps down three at a time. "I sneezed for three hours while you went all sleeping with the enemy."
"He's not- It's not like that," Scott stuttered, hating how Stiles always seemed to end up controlling their conversations. "He's not my enemy."
"All I know is that this carnival popped up out of nowhere over night, fifty year old paperwork filed itself, this weather is bizzaro, and my dad doesn't see anything wrong with any of it," Stiles said, flipping the tail end of his scarf over his back. He shivered again despite the blazer pulled over his hoodie, black over blue. The colors blended to make Stiles smear like a bruise over the gray landscape. "I need to know out what's going on."
Years of friendship helped Scott to translate that to Stiles needed something to distract him from whatever fight he and Derek were currently not having. None of the betas knew what happened, but they were all dealing with the fallout of an absent Stiles and a hateful, sulking Alpha. Isaac texted Scott updates on Derek, and even though he never asked for anything, Scott knew Isaac was upset Scott never did the same to update him on Stiles.
Scott wouldn't stand by while anything hurt Stiles, not even the pack that Stiles chose over him.
"Okay," Scott said, turning the collar up on his own jacket. It wasn't just the cold; the air was heavy and wet, clutching his skin. The fog that rolled through town froze this close to the creepy tent; ice crystals hung in midair and cut into any bare flesh. "Let's check it out, let's just be smart about it."
The Krampus come in with hoof prints of ice.
The boys were over at her house, studying for finals in theory, but actually having a Christmas movie double feature. They'd finished Die Hard and Selena Kyle was about to take a header out of a high rise office building in Batman Returns. Erica didn't mind; she'd watch the cheesy romance movies with her mom and sister later. Spending time with her boys was worth getting Bs on her tests.
They hadn't had much of a chance to spend quality time together since Mamma Stiles and Papa wolf started fighting. She'd be grateful to Derek for everything he'd done for her for the rest of her life, but sometimes she felt guilty wishing he wasn't quite so fucked up in the head. She had a vague idea that they might have to intervene if Derek and Stiles hadn't figured their shit out by Christmas.
That was for later though, and possibly with some input from rePeter the Undead, who was still the best at the sneaky plans. Right then, Erica just wanted to cuddle closer to Boyd and Isaac and leach their heat. She'd swear her room wasn't so cold when McClane had been shooting up Nakatomi Plaza. She was so busy shivering and trying to psych herself into getting up for a blanket that she didn't notice Isaac's creeping. She jumped when Isaac shoved his cold nose into her neck, landing half on top of Boyd.
"Hasn't your mom ever heard of a heater?" Isaac asked, weaving an arm around her to sneak his hand inside Boyd's sweater.
Erica glanced over at the Galileo thermometer sitting on her dresser. The multicolored glass bubbles had been floating in the middle earlier, meaning it was nearly seventy, but now they all jostled at the top. It couldn't have been more than fifty-five degrees in her room anymore.
"Whine more," she griped, rubbing her own nose on the soft material of Boyd's sweater.
"He's right," Boyd rumbled with his deep voice that she would never get tired of listening to. He rolled over on his back so he could curl one arm around Erika and the other around Isaac. "It is too cold in here for movie watching."
"You have something else in mind?" Isaac lifted an eyebrow and shifted his hips to prove if nothing else that he had something else in mind.
Somehow, the three of them just worked together, their own private triskelion inside the pack. Once Scott finally shut down Isaac's romantic overtures, Isaac had easily folded in with them, and it didn't feel like a consolation prize for any of them. Derek shrugged and said sometimes threesomes just worked better for wolves. Peter had asked if he could watch.
Boyd rubbed his hand down Erica's back, dipping his fingers into the back pocket of her jeans. "I could think of -" he paused and cocked his head toward the window. "Do you guys hear that?"
"No, Boyd, not all of us were blessed with your bat ears," Isaac said, pouting at the shift in conversation. "What is it?"
"It's a parade!" Erica shouted, clambering over both of them and kneeing Isaac in the gut on her way. By the window it was even colder, ice crystals already glazing the corners and her breath fogging the glass. Low hanging clouds blanketed the town, completely obscuring the forests and hills around them. From her second floor window, she could barely see where Main Street curved toward the business district. Flocks of people blocked the cross streets, but she could see floats and people in costumes. "C'mon, losers, let's go."
Shining light on the children, both naughty and nice.
"Greenberg, I will fail you for the next six years if you do not get those stupid reindeer horns off your head," Bobby yelled through the glass of the coffee shop as the bane of his existence walked by with a group of his fellow lacrosse players.
His eye twitched a little, but he covered it by taking a deep drag of the salted caramel cocoa. He didn't trust the whole 'peace and goodwill' shtick of the season. Except for Jackson's early defection, the lacrosse team had been suspiciously drama-free this year. Whatever bug had bitten half the team last year had mellowed out, and even that Bilinski kid had seemed happier.
Bobby didn't trust it, and he was going to keep digging until he figured it out.
He grabbed his to-go bag and nodded at Mrs. Binks sitting over in the corner. That lady practically ran the town's gossip market, and he didn't want a repeat of the candy cane incident from last year, so he tried to be nice to the old bat. The second he stepped out on the sidewalk, someone jostled him and didn't bother to apologize as they used their sharp little elbows to poke their way to the front of the crowd spilling out into the street.
Even though it was almost dark, the last light of the sun reflected through the fog, lighting it up until he had to blink away tears. It almost felt like standing in the middle of a cold fusion light bulb until his eyes adjusted. He surreptitiously felt for his balls to make sure they hadn't frozen away. Visibility wasn't more than a block in any direction, and he still had no idea why all the monster children were lining the street.
Bobby walked down the block until he got to a spot where the crowd was a little thinner and his players were loitering like the bunch of shiftless vagabonds they were destined to grow into. He shoved the shortest kid to the side and took his place. "What the hell's going on here, Greenberg?" he demanded, making sure he was loud enough they could hear him over the crowd.
"It's a circus parade, Coach," Greenberg answered quickly, with a tentative smile. His reindeer antlers were crooked and jingled slightly when he shook his head trying to get his hair out of his eyes.
It was not endearing at all.
"I can see that, Greenberg," Bobby gritted through his teeth, turning away from the first figures that broke out of the fog bank. He glared at Greenberg, "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm blind?"
"N-no, Coach," Greenberg dropped his eyes and the other guys took a step away from them leaving them standing alone in a circle.
Bobby snorted, and shifted so his shoulder bumped against the kid. The beginning of the parade was almost even with them now. It wasn't like any Christmas parade he'd ever seen before. No Santa, no scantily clad Mrs. Clause, no politically incorrect little people. There wasn't any garish red and green mixed together in vomit-inducing swirls. Nothing about it was a TV winter wonderland.
Instead, it looked like some kind of homeless performance art. A dozen actors wore moth-eaten shaggy suits ranging from dark gray to dirt brown and walked on some kind of stilts made to look like cloven hooves. Black goat horns curled up from their heads, and their yellow eyes with slitted pupils were the only spot of color on them. They prowled down the street, stalking some of the littlest children and beckoning at the older ones.
The smell was…well, Bobby had nearly lost his sense of smell from so many years spent inhaling the putrid scents of high school boys in their locker room, but even he could tell it was bad.
The floats rolled by slowly, pulled by gaunt elephants and bulls harnessed one right after another. A white lion stared down at them, licking its chops like it had already tasted human and decided that's what it wanted for its holiday dinner. The circus ringleader rode a giant black horse, tossing candy from a bottomless bag as he called out the shows scheduled for their one-night-only performance.
"Well. Looks legit," Bobby said, shrugging and patting Greenberg on the chest. "You boys have fun. I've got Honey Boo Boo on my DVR. Here."
He left the white paper bag in Greenberg's hands and was almost far away enough to miss Greenberg's surprised voice, "Hey, they're snickerdoodle. My favorite."
The Krampus will crown a new Lord of Yule.
"Something's wrong."
Derek snorted and didn't bother to look up from the boxes he was loading into the back of Peter's truck. "It must be Monday," he said, shoulders flexing as he wedged in a bag so nothing would crunch the spruce tree taking up half the bed. If they ever weren't in trouble it would be time to blog about it and throw a party.
"I am not joking," Chris Argent said, getting between Derek and the last box so he had no choice but to look him in the eye. "I got a text from Scott. Something weird's going on."
Maybe all the Christmas carols were getting to him, but somehow Derek managed not to paint the sidewalk with Argent blood. He let out a hot breath, steam curling over his head as he wished Argent was stupid enough to start something and give him an excuse. Even with all the extra training abuse he'd put his body through since he'd made Stiles take a walk of shame, he still felt ready to explode.
"I'm still surprised by how much you and Kate are alike. Should I warn Mrs. McCall to take out fire insurance now?" he asked, forcing a sneer onto his face. Losing Scott, not to the hunter's daughter, but to the hunter himself still rubbed him raw. The fact that the kid had actually straightened himself out with Argent's supervision made up for it only a little.
Behind them, Peter coughed loud and long in a way that sounded suspiciously like words.
"What?" Derek snarled.
"Just commenting on a pot calling a kettle black," Peter answered, a sparkle in his eye and a bounce in his step as he took the last bag out of the cart and loaded it.
"And just how is Lydia Martin and her nightmares?" Derek asked, wondering how even his worst sins deserved being saddled with his undead uncle.
"Touché."
Argent literally growled to regain their attention. "We can go to therapy later for men with inappropriate age relationships. Right now, we need to find out where Stiles and Scott are," he said, pausing when Derek snapped to attention. "That's right, I thought that would get your attention."
"What do you know?" Derek asked, feeling his front pocket to make sure he still had his cell on him. He knew it was a fruitless gesture; Stiles hadn't answered any of his texts. Not that Derek could really blame him after his own non-answer to Stiles' question. "Where are they?"
"Scott's never going to win the prize for coherent writing, but from what I could make out in his texts, a Krampuslauf has come to town," Argent said, steel in his eyes as his fingers twitched for the gun hidden somewhere on his body. "They set up at the Preserve. I think they came for Stiles."
Derek flinched, not at the accusation, but at the truth.
"Peter, take the truck back to the house and set things up like we talked about," Derek said, tossing the keys over. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
He followed Argent to his SUV and slid into the passenger seat. If anything happened to Stiles because of him, Argent wouldn't have the pleasure of being his executioner. He'd do it himself.
"Are you sure we shouldn't bring Peter with us?" Argent asked, immediately cranking the heater to combat the cold that Derek hadn't been in the mood to notice before. "We could use some extra muscle against this many Krampus."
"No," Derek said, holding the door handle tightly as Argent peeled out of the parking lot and sped down the road. "Peter doesn't go anywhere unless we have a plan and an exit strategy. He'll betray us one day, but I'm trying not to make it easy."
He knew Argent would understand that. If there was one thing he and the hunter had in common, it was betrayal.
Transforming the child into a monstrous fool.
"Do you want some more peanuts?"
"No thanks," Danny said, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle unfolding in the circus ring. He had to stifle the urge to leap forward and help as yet another sad droopy clown got bashed in the head with a full weighted bowling pin. "I don't think this is safe."
Nick played lacrosse for the team two towns over, and it was the first time Danny really felt good in a relationship with someone his own age. Even his parents weren't complaining about the extra gas money since they liked Nick too. They were going to go see The Hobbit, but neither of them could resist the flyers promoting the scariest Christmas circus on Earth.
Now Danny kind of wished they had. It was definitely the most violent circus he'd ever seen, and he couldn't help glancing over at Stiles every few seconds.
The ringmaster had pulled Stiles from the crowd first thing, claiming they needed a new Lord of Yule. He had thrown a balding furry cape over Stiles' shoulders and placed a crown with fake antlers on his head. At least, they had started out as gimmicky accessories, but now Danny wasn't so sure. The cape was fuller, fitted him better and clung to his shoulders no matter how he moved. Danny couldn't actually tell where the crown connected to his head; the antlers rose up seamlessly, wide across his forehead. The light of the torches glinted off them, and even across the tent he could sense the weight of them. Distinctly not plastic.
Stiles turned his head, shifting in the throne, and Danny locked eyes with him. Stiles' eyes had changed from the warm doe-eyes he knew. Instead, they were coldly burning yellow.
"Come on, we need to get out of here," Danny said, lacing his fingers with Nick's and tugging him off the bench. If he had learned anything in the last weird year, it was that Stiles would always be in the middle when the shit hit the fan. He really didn't want another trip to the hospital this close to winter break.
Nick held him back. "But we haven't even seen the lion tamer yet," he said, though he didn't even frown, his expression was just…vacant.
Danny swung around. Everyone in the crowd looked the same, and he finally noticed that there wasn't anyone over the age of eighteen crammed into the rickety stands underneath the big top. Even some of the grade school kids where there without parents. With a sinking feeling, he also noticed that one of the giant horned and masked performers stood by each of the exits.
"Please let this work," Danny said under his breath right before he stretched up to kiss Nick. It was a dry press of lips, but he wanted so badly to have someone he could lean on and share his secrets with instead of keeping everyone else's secrets. He wanted a little magic for his own life every once in a while.
"Danny?"
"Oh, thank Jesus," Danny said, pulling Nick behind him down the steps where he instantly collided with Boyd, Erica, and Isaac. "What's going on?"
"Something bad," Boyd said quickly. He was breathing hard and there were claw marks through his sweater. "Derek's behind that creepy cotton candy machine over there. Go ask him what the plan is and we'll keep them off you."
Danny would have pitched a bigger fit, but Nick huddled against his back, and they were drawing a lot of attention crowded together in the aisle. He didn't get involved in the werewolves' business much since Jackson left, but he knew he'd need them to get Nick out. Nodding tersely, he split from them to cut behind a shorter section of stands the way Boyd had pointed.
Even though he knew Derek wasn't Stiles' cousin Miguel, that was still the first thought Danny had when he turned the last corner and came up short right beside him and Allison's dad. The two men looked like they had been arguing for a while, and they weren't about to stop just because Nick and Danny were their new audience. Violence was near palpable in the air between them.
"Derek, it's not Stiles anymore," Mr. Argent shouted, holding onto Derek's jacket by the tips of his fingers. "Do you hear me? We have to stop it before it kills all these children!"
Derek jerked away and twisted to Danny, his eyes crimson soulless things. "You and the pack make a distraction and get everyone out. I'll make sure there aren't any casualties," he curled his claws out and jerked his head to the side as he finished wolfing out. "Anyone goes near Stiles, and I'll kill them myself."
The Krampus will feed them the souls of their friends.
"I've got to help!"
Chris restrained Scott's quickly healing body, struggling when his fingers slipped on tacky blood. The Krampus were ignoring them for now, all their attention riveted on Stiles and Derek, but he knew if they tried to interfere they would be torn apart. "No, Scott. Listen to me," he spoke softly, forcing Scott to calm down to hear him. "Derek has the best chance right now. Let him try."
Everyone had made it out but them, though he could still hear Derek's pack nearby fighting to corral a lion. The bulls and elephants had torn the tent apart before the Krampus themselves put the animals down. The vicious cold spread inward, making the ground crack under the strain. They were probably going to die; he'd never heard of a newly turning Krampus regaining their mind. A stake made from birch was their only release, and Derek had made sure Chris went in empty-handed.
"Stiles, I know you're in there somewhere," Derek began, slumping on his knees into the throne and Stiles' legs. His jacket was a lost cause and even his Alpha body was having a hard time healing all the damage he'd taken just to get that close to Stiles. "Don't feel guilty. They're going to find a way to get you back, and don't you waste a moment feeling guilty over me."
Scott mewled and hid his face against Chris' shoulder. They had spent most of their training teaching Scott to control his werewolf side, to hide it at all cost so he could live a normal life. Chris hadn't spent any significant time around Scott when he was turned, but it wasn't what he thought it would be. He wasn't repulsed or scrambling for a weapon.
The body in his arms was just Scott, not a monster. His hair was slightly coarse instead of silky, and it stood up bristly from his sideburns. Scott's ears were longer, infinitely more sensitive, but they were soft and velvety when Chris brushed his cheek along them. He felt tiny sharp pain where Scott's fists curled into the back of his shirt under his jacket, but his nails weren't claws trying to rip him inside out. Scott was the same person that Chris had grown to care about.
Some werewolves were monsters, but not his. Not Scott, and not Derek's pack either. He wished he would have figured that out before the pack was ripped apart with him as an unwilling audience.
Derek took Stiles' talon-tipped hand in his own and pulled it to his chest. "This belongs to you," he said, coughing hard enough blood dripped down his chin. "It has for months, Stiles. I never thought anyone would want it again, not after everything it's been through, but you did. That's what I should have said when you asked. Take it and be free."
Chris held his breath waiting, and he could tell Scott was peeking through his hair too. He'd never thought that Derek had that kind of love in him, had the balls to put it into words, but he was realizing he hadn't been half the man he thought he was either.
The horned crown hit the ground and rolled away.
The Krampus hissed in displeasure, but melted away, rotting into the earth and taking the cold, unnatural white light with them.
Left in the dark, all Chris could do was hold onto Scott and listen to Derek and Stiles try to reassure each other. They murmured softly, but Chris didn't want to listen in. He held Scott close, cradled between his knees and said a quick prayer that wherever Allison was, she was safe and learning to happy again.
Finally, Scott cleared his throat, unnaturally loud, and startled all of them. "So," he asked, "did anyone think to bring a flashlight?"
Chaining the child forever to the Krampuslauf's dens.
"Wow, did you guys do all this?"
Lydia turned to see Stiles climbing out of his jeep and staring open mouthed at the Hale house. She took a couple of steps backwards and looked up at her handiwork again. "I supervised, Peter did the actual work, but it was Derek's idea," she said, admiring the clean lines of the lights following the roof and garland wrapping down the house. The sleek stencil cut out of Santa's sleigh and reindeer next to the chimney was barely visible against the twilight dark sky. "He would have done it himself for his apology if he weren't too busy rescuing you."
She waited for some kind of smart remark, an instant denial that there was anything Stiles couldn't do on his own just fine, but there was nothing. Lydia twisted quickly, so worried that something had happened that her heel slipped on the loose gravel of the driveway. Peter was there in an instant, cupping her elbow to keep her from falling.
"Good, I'd hoped we'd get to see you before we left," Peter said to Stiles as he held out the shawl she'd sent him inside to retrieve. "I'm glad to see you're no longer growing horns from your head."
"Yeah, it would have sucked to try to shower with them," Stiles agreed, shoving his hands into his red hoodie. He glanced back at the house and the cutout snowflakes adorning all the warmly lit windows. "Thank you both for helping him with this. It looks great, really."
Lydia paced over to him and traced his cheek until his lifted his head to look at her. "You're welcome, Stiles," she said, and leaned in to kiss his other cheek.
"You know, Lydia, if you ever get over this whole Stockholm syndrome you've got going on, we could still have smart, gorgeous babies together," Stiles said, even as his body posture sent a completely different signal.
She would have rolled her eyes at him if she hadn't seen Peter beat her to it by a second.
"So, is grumpy-pants in there?" Stiles asked, practically vibrating his need to run straight inside.
"Waiting for you under the mistletoe," Peter answered, cupping Lydia's hipbone as he cuddled her into his side. "Which he's allergic to, by the way, so don't roll around in it, or let him eat any of it."
Stiles shook his head, a soft grin tugged at his lips, but he turned and climbed the front porch without any hesitation in his steps.
"Do you think if I were possessed by a monster other than you, you'd be able to save me?" Lydia asked, waiting as Peter opened the passenger door and helped her up into the truck. The lace of her skirt pulled at the tops of her thighs, and she soothed it down with her fingers. "Would I kill you and then lick the blood from under my nails?"
"Sweetheart," Peter said, leaning in to rub his nose against her temple. "You've already ripped my heart out of my chest."
"Merry Christmas, Peter," Lydia said, lightly scratching her nails over his chest.
Unless the lover can make their amends.