#empath!stiles

Scott and Stiles became Scott, Stiles, and Isaac after that. Isaac became a Stilinski a year later. Stiles soon had four buffers against the emotions of the world, Isaac giving him a soft type of content that he usually only felt on rainy days surrounded by his parents. The problem with relying on buffers was that one day they’d all eventually change so much that they no longer offered the haven they once had and Stiles would be left bereft in a chaotic world of other peoples’ emotions. 

The first to change was his mom. He started to feel emotions from her that didn’t make sense, but the most common one was confusion. His mom would suddenly stop in the middle of doing something and a burst of it would engulf the room so strongly he’d scrunch his face up in a mirror image of hers. Stiles was scared to tell his dad something was wrong, until Isaac had ran up from behind him and hugged him tightly trepidation, worry, fear fill Stiles’ senses instead of the warm  love that usually enveloped him when Isaac hugged him. He turned to ask the boy what was wrong, but a wave of confusion hit him as he locked eyes with his mother. She smiled and rubbed a hand down his arm, pleasant surprise this time filling him as she asked who the boy behind him was. She told Stiles he needed permission before bringing a new friend over, despite the fact that Isaac had been living with them for six months at that point. After that things had progressed too quickly. His mother was a less powerful empath than him, but at the height of her illness Stiles couldn’t be in the hospital wing she stayed in due to the emotions she couldn’t control, only project at full volume. Nurses quit or requested a different patient every few weeks, not understanding why they were so upset all the time, but knowing it had something to do with the screaming woman in 203. 

It was on one of those days that his mother’s unending terror had been too much, that Stiles had stumbled into a room and immediately screamed a feral, angry thing as pain, hatred, loss, wrath slammed into him without warning. Isaac and Scott hadn’t been far behind him as he ran away from his mother’s screams and pain, but at the sound of his anguished scream they’d burst through the door and did the only thing they knew would calm their friend. They hugged him with every ounce of strength they shared in their small bodies, unaware that the love, fondness, sympathy surrounding him was what actually calmed him down. It also helped that the wall of emotion had receded at the sound of his scream, and even muted itself. Curiosity, hope, and wariness flowed between the dark emotions as Stiles took in the bleak room around him. A man was laying on the hospital bed in the corner of the room, his body eerily still for the emotions Stiles could still feel coming off him. He wanted to ask if the man was okay, but that was a stupid question. Better questions flooded his mind, but his friends were feeling more and more worry by the minute in that dark, barren room. He blanketed the room in calm and peace, the boys on either side of him relaxed instantly, and the emotions filling the room eased instead of the muted feeling they had been after his scream. He asked Scott and Isaac to get him an apple juice, the boys reluctant to leave Stiles in a room alone with a comatose stranger, but ultimately giving in to his puppy eyes. 

Stiles approached the man in the bed, noting the burn scars traveling up his neck and face. 

“Something horrible happened to you. I’m sorry for the pain you have felt. The screams that fill this wing are my mom’s. She doesn’t remember me anymore and it hurts, it hurts like you hurt. I’m not ready to lose my momma, but neither is daddy. I’ve got to look out for Scott and Isaac so I can’t let them see me cry. I’m gonna cry now. I’m sorry.” Stiles apologized.

He truly was deeply sorry in his very being that anyone had to go through something that made them feel the way this man did. He was sorry that the man didn’t ask for three grieving boys to stumble into his room and couldn’t even tell them to leave. He was sorry that the man had to hear his mother’s screams. He was sorry that the man had to feel his mother’s fear when she had an episode and couldn’t stop herself from projecting. But mostly he was sorry all he could do for the man was fill the room with peace and cry at his bedside. He let himself cry for just a moment before grabbing the man’s hand and covering him head to toe in calm, content, peace. He hoped it lingered on the man for as long as possible. Scott and Isaac returned with his apple juice and more hugs as they left the room with the comatose man. 

In the wake of his mother’s death Stiles also lost his father. Not in the literal sense, but something was broken inside the man. He didn’t see the boys anymore. Didn’t greet them with smiles and hugs like he once had. Didn’t smile or hug at all. Isaac backed away, fear rising in him each day the newly appointed sheriff got closer and closer to the man he’d once saved Isaac from. His grip harshed on the back of Stiles’ neck, no longer the warm comfort it’d once been. Now a means to bodily move his son or reprimand him. It was in those moments that Stiles was struck still and silent by the overwhelming grief, pain, loss, hopelessness, devastation that was consuming his father. His father’s pain was not an excuse to treat his sons like the were ghosts in his home, one of whom looked too much like the woman he loved to stomach even looking at. He hurt Stiles sometimes on accident, but he didn’t even acknowledge Isaac’s presence in their home. The boys formed a bond in those months that would never break. 

Stiles spent his days sneaking out of the house while Isaac and Scott played video games and Melissa slept. He would sneak down to the police station and project love, hope, forgiveness, peace in alternating patterns and at varying degrees. In the end he wasn’t sure if his projecting helped his father or if the breaking point had finally changed things. The breaking point had been Isaac flinching away from Stiles’ father when the man had tried to ruffle his curls like the past few months he hadn’t been leaving bruises on his other son’s neck. Isaac had flinched, a whimper escaping him and fear bursting out of him so strong Stiles had pushed his father away from his brother and snarled at him. Melissa had come running down the stairs, sleep mussed hair and bleary eyed, Scott peeking out from behind her legs. She’d shouted his father’s name just as the man had wrenched Stiles away from Isaac by the neck. She gathered the three boys behind her and released a torrent of angry, scornful words that had hit his father like a train. Stiles had focused on his father’s emotions, reading them as they came to him in a flurry: anger, indignation, shock, pain, grief, fear, self-loathing, regret, remorse, devastation, guilt. 

“I know you’re in pain. I know you miss momma. I miss her too, but I don’t like you right now dad. And you scare Isaac, and that makes me mad. You’re not allowed to scare him anymore, okay?” Stiles stared at his father, the secret of how adeptly Stiles actually did know his father’s pain bare and raw between them. 

“And you can’t be mean to Stiles anymore!” Isaac demanded, though it came out much weaker than he had probably intended. 

“Yeah! No more hurting him!” Scott yelled, his twelve year old fists clenched by his sides. 

Stiles’ father dropped to his knees and sobbed. The sound earth shattering in Stiles’ ears when accompanied by the tidal wave of sorrow, grief, guilt, regret. 

“I’m going to keep the boys at my house until you get sober and get counseling.” Melissa said, her resolve strong in the face of his tears. 

While they stayed with the McCalls Stiles still sneaked out to project positive feelings to his father. 

The boys moved back in with their father after his three month stint in rehab with a grief counselor. Isaac was more wary than Stiles to return, but Stiles could feel the cleanse his father’s emotional state went through. They had bunk beds, but Isaac slept with Stiles most nights when they first returned. Stiles would wake up every time the other boy had a nightmare and he would project safe emotions to his brother until he settled. He would check in on his father’s emotions through the night too. Melissa called every night before bed for the first month to make sure the boys were truly settled back home and safe. Stiles was happy to be home and happy to see his father healing and healthy again, he would never be the safe haven he’d once been. Stiles still thought that one day, maybe even one day soon, they’d be a family again. 

Three years later, Stiles had his family whole again, but lost his last two buffers, Scott and Isaac. Together. All at once Stiles was alone in the ocean of emotions around him. The problem with both of your adopted brothers being werewolves when you’re an empath is that they get more tactile when you can no longer handle the emotions whirling through their minds at any given time. Supernatural creatures were louder than humans. Stiles had grown stronger over the years, but there was nothing he could do to stop the events of their sophomore year. Well perhaps he could’ve stopped the events if he hadn’t been the one to drag his sweet loyal brothers out of their beds in the middle of the night to go find the source of the overwhelming emotions coming from the preserve. They’d been heading towards the area Stiles had felt the spike of sorrow so sharp it’d brought tears to his eyes when he’d picked up on more emotions. 

Pain, hatred, loss, wrath, grief was approaching fast. Too fast to even warn his brothers to run before a massive angry alpha werewolf had tackled Scott, biting his side immediately. Stiles vomited as Scott’s pain and fear throbbed through him at the same time Isaac’s horror slammed into him from behind, all mixed with the creatures emotions. It was too much. He couldn’t shut out Isaac and Scott’s emotions like he could strangers’ emotions, they were as apart of him as his own. He couldn’t fight against the strength of the alpha’s emotions either. 

Stiles tried to breathe, tried to shake off everyone else’s emotions so he could focus. But the alpha reared back and snatched Isaac off the ground, its teeth sinking into his ribs. Isaac screamed. Scott cried out, too weak to scream. The alpha howled. And Stiles gathered every ounce of terror filling his brothers and himself and ROARED. 

The alpha dropped Isaac, his body bounced once on the ground before laying too still for Stiles’ heart, and passed out. Stiles took a moment to breathe and gather his strength again. He blanketed his brothers in safe, love, calm, peace before calling his father. 

“Stiles? Why are you calling me? We’re both home?” His father listened to his panicked, exhausted breaths for a moment before finishing, “Unless we’re not. Okay. Where are you? Why aren’t Isaac and Scott there to calm you? I’m putting on pants and coming to you kiddo, but I need you to find a way to tell me what happened and where I’m going.” 

“Alpha. Bit. Boys. Preserve. Hale House close?” Stiles was hyperventilating, the adrenaline morphing into panic as he realized the ramifications of the night. 

Stiles heard his father stop shuffling and gasp and was glad he couldn’t feel his father’s emotions from this far unless he tuned into them on purpose. 

“Okay. Okay kiddo. We’ll deal with it. I’m coming. I need you to put pressure on the wounds and tell me if you see any black goo seeping out of them. You don’t have to speak other than that so try to focus on your breathing and on stopping the bleeding.” His father was much better in a crisis than he ever would be. 

Stiles forced his wooden legs to carry him to his brothers. Isaac had rolled relatively close to Scott, which made checking them both over much easier. He dropped to his knees between their limp bodies and, putting his father on speaker first, shined his phone’s flashlight onto Isaac’s unconscious body. 

“Oh god dad. His body bounced. It fucking bounced off the ground like a ball. What if he’s bleeding internally? How do I fix that? How do I save him?” He shined the light onto Scott and almost vomited again. 

He whimpered his oldest and closest friend’s name as he took in the sight of his torn side. 

“It bit them so violently dad. There’s more wound area than I have hand area. I can’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect them. I can’t save them. Daddy please hurry. I can’t do this alone and I can’t lose them. I can’t.” Stiles muted his end of the phone and let out a sob so violent his entire body shook. 

He had long ago stopped letting anyone see him cry for fear that he’d project it and make someone else sad. He couldn’t stop the torrent of tears spilling out of him. He threw his head back and screamed through his grief and sorrow. He’d always felt better after being able to release the emotions inside him that way, even if it was a rather violent coping mechanism. 

He could hear his father saying his name and asking him to turn off the mute, and mechanically did so, the last of his scream still echoing around them. Then he heard a sound, a whimper he hadn’t expected to hear. His head whipped to the limp bodies of his brothers but neither stirred, and it was then that Stiles remembered he had turned his back on an unconscious alpha werewolf. The same alpha that had just violently attacked his family unprovoked. He stood as he spun around to face the creature, but there was nothing in the spot it had collapsed in. The alpha got away. 

-

High school was hell after that night. His brothers didn’t understand why he flinched when nothing was happening, why he would dodge their touch when he used to run headlong into it, why he no longer wanted to share a room with Isaac. Stiles could’ve told them about being an empath, but things were so complicated and he didn’t want them looking guilty every time they had a strong emotion. It wasn’t their fault supernatural creatures were loud, and it wasn’t their fault Kate Argent lured Laura Hale into the preserve that night and killed her. Peter Hale had been comatose until the moment the alpha spark slammed into him full force. He followed the scent of blood to the sight of his nieces’ murder and attacked the first foreign thing he came across. It was Peter’s grief Stiles had felt so sharply he’d bolted out of bed and raced to Scott’s house, Isaac in tow, so that they could go hiking through the woods to find the source. 

Scott and Isaac were the least to blame for their new found werewolf status, and the only thing Stiles felt as they had to deal with Peter Hale’s rampage and Derek Hale trying to force them under his rule was guilt. 

Peter had asked him if he wanted the bite that night in the garage, but Stiles had been too busy being relaxed by his muted emotions to be properly scared of his threats. Stiles could feel the fondness, intrigue, humor rolling off the man when they interacted, but every time he saw anger flash in those sapphire eyes he didn’t feel it as strongly as he suspected. Something about Peter seemed familiar and despite everything Stiles found himself fond of the man as well. Then he tried to attack Scott, Isaac, and Allison and Stiles had to stop him. No matter how much Stiles found the man curious and charismatic he had to pay for what he did to Scott and Isaac, and Stiles would not let him lay a single claw on an innocent again. He would overwhelm the man with whatever emotion it would take to stop him. As Jackson threw the molotov cocktail Stiles felt a blast of terror so strong he stumbled, but knew it had come from the man that had already burned once. Stiles granted him the only mercy he could in that moment. Numb. Sleep. Peace. Each emotion as strong as he could project them, and Peter’s eyes snapped to his just before the cocktail exploded and Peter’s eyes closed as he passed out. Peter would not live through this sleep, but he would not have to be aware of burning alive again. 

After Peter’s death, Derek became alpha and bit Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Gerard Argent became principal and made sure he threatened the fledgeling pack at every opportunity. Jackson somehow became a kanima just from Derek’s nail stuck in his neck, which: ew. The whole time Scott and Isaac were caught up in running and fighting, Stiles was distancing himself so that he could learn to mute their emotions. He could mute human emotions unless they were touching him, but supernatural emotions were more projected and harder to mute. 

Stiles found himself going on runs through the preserve more than was probably safe, but it was the only place in Beacon Hills that there was rarely people. And he’d sense a supernatural creature before it got close enough to attack, he’d grown in power since the night Peter had bitten his brothers. He had never thought he’d have to use his empathy as a weapon, but here he was with a blunt sword he had to sharpen as fast and as safely as possible. Out in the preserve he could practise putting animals to sleep or easing their fear of him enough to pet them without worrying about anyone seeing. 

He’d went for a run after Scott and Isaac’s lacrosse game, which was probably a bad idea since Jackson may or may not have died that night. There’d been so much fear and worry in the stands that Stiles had to escape to the peace of the preserve. Which is how he found himself surrounded by fifteen grown men armed to the teeth. 

“Woah! What do you need all those for? Mr.Jones killed the mountain lion a while back now, so there’s nothing out here nearly dangerous enough for you to need all that for!” 

They only stepped closer, silent in their menacing, and Stiles could feel the violence in their emotions. 

“Right? Cause if you guys think there is something dangerous out here I need to get the hell out of here!” Stiles was trying to keep his panic at bay. 

They were here for him, but none of them had the right combination of emotions to make him feel like they were going to kill him here. They were going to take him. Probably to Gerard. 

Why would Gerard want him? He was just a human as far as anyone knew. It didn’t matter at that moment, what did matter was soothing the itch for violence in these men. 

Stiles started projecting little tendrils of friendly at each man as they closed in on him. He was knocked unconscious, not by a pistol whip to the top of his head, but a punch to his temple. The last thing he thought was ‘At least my empathy softened the blow somewhat.’

Stiles didn’t stay unconscious long, the amount of hands on him as they carried him into a house and down the stairs into a basement torture chamber was enough to jolt him awake the moment they lifted him. They threw him down in a way that sent his body skidding across the harsh concrete ground and landing under two sets of bare feet. Stiles groaned as he felt not only his pain, but also the two above him’s pain and fear. 

He lifted his gaze away from the men assembled in front of him and to the teenagers hanging from the ceiling above him. Erica cried out when she saw him, Boyd thrashed against his restraints in an attempt to free himself. Stiles had to mute their emotions as best he could, though it was incredibly hard when those emotions were about him. Their fear was for him. He had felt the resignation on them when he’d been thrown at them. They were ready to die, but wanted to fight for Stiles to live. Stiles hadn’t even truly considered them friends until that revelation. He’d be damned if they were going to die on his watch. 

Gerard finally made his appearance, spouting racist bullshit and throwing surprisingly strong punches. Stiles could take it, would take it. He had to if he was going to get the ‘wolves behind him out of here. There was too many people and he didn’t even know where they were, but Stiles would figure it out. As Gerard picked him up by the collar of his track jersey and punched him back down onto the ground Stiles sent tendrils of wariness into the men behind Gerard. As the geriatric bastard stomped on Stiles’ ribs, Stiles sent a wave of guilt into the men. He noticed one slip out the back while Gerard was distracted by Stiles hacking up blood. 

Moments later Chris Argent came striding in and Stiles felt guilt, regret, worry as he looked at the brutalized teenagers. Good. Stiles couldn’t hear what son said to father, but Gerard spit on Stiles and followed his son upstairs. Stiles had leaned so heavily into Erica and Boyd’s emotions so as to avoid feeling even an ounce of Gerard’s that he gasped when he could pull his senses off of them. Stiles sent tired at the men watching them wearily and all but one left. Stiles simply projected sleep at the three other people in the basement and waited for them to sag. Once he knew everyone in his vicinity was sleeping he cast his awareness through the house, relieved to feel nothing. They’d trusted one man to watch a beat up human and two restrained werewolves, but they didn’t know who Stiles was. 

Getting Erica and Boyd down and into the car was the most physically painful hour of his life. When they woke Stiles told them the hunter left to guard them told him to take the other two and get out before he changed his mind. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. What they needed at that moment was somewhere safe and somewhere comforting. Stiles could do that for them. He blanketed the car in safe, calm, peace, contentment, love and soon he could hear Erica singing along to the radio quietly from the back seat. Sometimes he really wished he could project onto himself. 

After that Stiles had more people’s touch to dodge. Erica and Boyd claimed Stiles with the brand of fierce loyalty he’d claimed them. With every dodge Stiles sent love back to make sure they didn’t feel rejected, his four puppies always smiled back at him like it was a game. Perhaps it was a game, one that Stiles wouldn’t handle losing very well. 

A plan was hatched to dispose of Gerard Argent, Stiles knew what Scott was like when he was planning something. After a little bit of snooping Stiles decided he needed to step in and help Scott with Not Doing That. 

“But I think it’s clever.” Scott defended, his brows furrowed. 

“It is clever. I’m honestly shocked you thought of something this devious, I’m usually the devious one.” Stiles laughed, his hand casually coming up to rest on Scott’s arm despite the overwhelming  flow of his emotions. 

Sometimes he really missed touching and being touched. Scott was his first buffer against the outside world, maybe Stiles could just take an aspirin after they touched and it’d be okay. Even if he did want to smile like an idiot and scrunch up his face in confusion, offended and cry from heartbreak and fight something. 

Werewolves were a tsunami of emotions and Stiles only had a raft made of touch starvation and devotion. 

Scott had to repeat his question twice before Stiles could focus on it, “So why cant I do it?” 

“Well buddy the thing is you don’t know a lot about werewolf culture yet, right?” 

Scott nodded. 

“And you know I’ve been researching the hell out of it at lightning speed? Well something I learned was that an alpha’s bite is precious and a gift. You and Isaac are different because Peter was drowning in lost pack bonds and need new ones immediately. But think about Erica and Boyd.” 

“Derek scouted them.” 

“Okay meat head. I would’ve said looked for them, but sure.” 

“Shut up, man. I’m telling you I understand.” 

“Fuck yeah! Okay so now that we’re on the same page of ‘Operation: Force Derek to Bite Gerard to Kill Him’ being not good, let’s brainstorm what to do next.” Stiles fist bumped Scott and they fell back onto his bed together. 

Isaac joined them soon after offering his own insights. Stiles called Erica and Boyd when the three of them came to another impasse about what to do. 

Soon Stiles’ bedroom was full of teenage werewolves, and he was starting to freak out. He opened the window for fresh air, but Derek launched himself onto his roof at the exact moment it opened. 

“Sweet Baby Yoda, you scared the hell out of me!” Stiles gasped, clutching his chest while Erica snickered. 

Derek frowned at him, “Why are you having a pack meeting without me?”

“We aren’t voting you off the island, alpha mine!” Erica chirped. 

“Yet.” Boyd followed gravely. 

“Well that’s reassuring.” Derek deadpanned back as he approached his four betas. He scent marked each of them before reaching out and placing his hand on Stiles’ head. 

Grief, self-loathing, guilt, worry, fear, pain 

It slammed threw him so hard Stiles could only stumble backwards as tears welled up in his eyes. Derek’s emotions were always muted unless they were strong, but this was the first time they’d touched when Stiles was too sensitive by everyone else to dilute what he took in. 

He hit the ground and dropped his head, Derek following suit to check on him.

“Stiles? What just-” 

“Stiles darling, come now. Up you get.” He didn’t know where Peter came from or how he was able to lift him by his shoulders without sending a single emotion to Stiles, but Stiles didn’t care. 

He let Peter guide him out of the room. He hadn’t felt anything from Peter except content, humor, interest, curiosity since the man had returned to the world of the living, but now he truly felt nothing from the man. He tried to slump back into Peter’s chest, but the man stopped him. 

“Not yet, pet. I haven’t perfected the full body charms yet.” 

Stiles hummed an inquisitive sound as Peter sat him on the couch. 

Peter sat beside him, close but not touching more than the hand on his leg. 

“It took me longer than I would’ve liked, but yes I did indeed say charm. I’m going to make full body mute charms and you’re going to gift them to the pack and your father, so that they will actually wear them. You don’t have to tell them what you are, love, but if you keep up like this you’re going to burn yourself out. I am not quite ready to say goodbye to the little boy that screamed when I could not.” Peter caressed Stiles’ cheek as he spoke, his thumb wiping away dried tears. 

“You know? How? They make mute charms? Will you show me how to make them?” Stiles’ mind was starting to whirl with the possibilities, “If there are mute charms, could I make singular emotion charms? So does that mean you only have a hand mute charm on? Is it the ring? That’s new right? I don’t want to tell them what I am. They’ll feel guilty for every emotion they have if they know it impacts me. Can the charm be any material or does it have to be silver? That is silver right? I wouldn’t burn myself out. I totally got this. But the charms are so cool!” Stiles took a big breath as his rapid fire inquires petered out. 

He smiled sheepishly at Peter’s calm, but amused expression. 

“Sorry they got excited and I was already excited, so a feedback loop kicked up. Add in the ADHD and it’s rough. You said I screamed when you couldn’t? When?” 

Peter brought his hand around and placed it on the back of Stiles’ neck, a warm comforting weight, before answering, “We’ll unpack all your charm questions later, okay? As for how I know and when you were able to express my emotions when I couldn’t, the answers are the same but slightly different.”

Stiles nodded, leaning back into Peter’s palm.

“You stumbled into my hospital room and screamed the minute the door was shut, I didn’t understand why this eleven year old was in my room or why his scream sounded like he felt every single thing I was feeling. I wasn’t very aware at that point, but the visceral emotion in that scream sounded like my own. And then you filled my room with such nice feelings I thought for a long time it was a dream.”

Stiles’ eyes are wet again as the memory of that day finally floods back in. 

“And then I felt Laura die and the spark pass to me. I was blind in my fury and grief. I found her body and howled with every ounce of grief within my tattered soul. I was searching the area to figure out who did it when you three stumbled into my path. I felt your sorrow for your brothers as if it were my own and I ran.”

Stiles remembers the whimper and squeezes the hand on his thigh with his own. 

“And then, my sweet sweet boy, I died. I was burned alive for the second time, but you saved me the trauma of experiencing it. I don’t know how I knew it was you who granted me the numbness that took over my body, but when I looked at you trying not to show anyone the emotion I saw in your eyes, I knew. I knew you were the little boy. I knew that once again you were here to save me from pain.” 

Stiles wiped his watery eyes viciously, mad at himself for tearing up in front of Peter. 

“I vowed that if I could make it back I’d repay you. And these charms are how I plan to do that, pet.” Peter moved Stiles hand away from his eyes before slowly moving in and kissing each sensitive eyelid. 

“Where do we go from here, Peter?” Stiles whispered, his throat too full of emotion, for once it was his own.