#sterekmagic

Stiles doesn’t really know how he got here. When his family moved to Beacon Hills after his dad accepted the position as the town’s new sheriff, Stiles was excited that their new home was so close to the forest. Before, he didn’t have much room to roam in his full shift form, but now he has so much space. It helps settle something frantic in him, being surrounded by so much nature. His favorite thing to do is to shed his human skin in favor of his fox form and trample through the forest, pretending that he’s a fierce warrior defending his land or taking a nap in the warm sun.

The first day he started his exploration, he smelled the wolves. Aware that it was never a good idea to trample through a werewolf’s territory without getting permission first, Stiles avoided any area where the scents were fresh enough to single an obvious territory line. But that left plenty of open space for him to explore.

Or at least, he thought that it did. The large animal currently carrying him further into the werewolf’s territory might prove otherwise. Really, he doesn’t even know how he got caught. One minute he was digging happily under a fallen tree trunk, and the next he was in the air surrounded by the scent of wolf and danger.

For a moment, Stiles considers shifting and running away, but he imagines that those teeth would tear through his throat before he could get too far. So he holds himself still and, with his heart racing frantically in his chest, waits for the wolf to decide his fate.

The wolf makes an approving sound, stops walking, and carefully sits Stiles on the forest floor. Before he gets the chance to run away, a large paw pushes him onto his side. Then the wolf curls around him, placing his snout across Stiles’ back, and huffs into his ear.

Stiles can’t believe it. A cuddly werewolf was the last thing he expected. He can’t really complain, because the alternative involves snapping jaws, too much blood, and fox for dinner. But he’s still surprised. That shock heightens when a rough tongue runs across his ears, grooming and scenting him. He yips softly in surprise, and the wolf purrs. When he’s satisfied, he tucks his head down and closes his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t fall asleep, can’t get over the fear that, even though he seems friendly, the wolf is still a predator. But he doesn’t run away either. Instead he watches his companion, enjoying the way that his wolfy eyebrows jump with his dreams.

Half an hour later, the wolf wakes up with a wide yawn. He looks so pleased when he sees that Stiles is still there. Tentatively, Stiles stretches up and bumps his snout under the wolf’s chin. The overwhelming smell of fresh rain and forest soil gives away the wolf’s pleasure, and Stiles continues to be confused. Not only with the wolf, but also with himself. Seeing his companion so happy warms something inside of him up that he hadn’t even realized was cold.

The werewolf lets Stiles go a few minutes later, watching as he makes his way back through the forest but never stepping in to stop him from going home.

As soon as he walks in the front door, his mom bursts into laughter. “Did you find a friend in the forest today, dear,” she asks when her laughter trails off.

He frowns at her and replies, “I’m not sure,” because that’s the truth.

When he goes back the next day, the same werewolf is waiting for him. He brightens up when he sees Stiles, barks at him, and then turns and runs away. He’s inviting Stiles to chase him, and even though it confuses him, Stiles does. When the werewolf finally allows himself to be caught, he grooms Stiles again. This time though, Stiles returns the favor, crawling over his back in order to reach the wolf’s ear.

They develop a system after that. Even though Stiles still doesn’t know who the werewolf is, and even though his mom laughs every time he comes home smelling like a strange werewolf, he goes to the forest every day and frolics with the wolf.

When Stiles realizes that summer break is almost over, meaning that his time with the werewolf will come to an end, it makes his chest ache. He wants to sulk, but tries not to; he doesn’t want to take up any of his time with the wolf being sad.

It’s on a Saturday two weeks before the school year starts when his mom wakes him up. He grumbles that it’s too early to be awake, but when she says, “There are people here to see you,” he notices two new heartbeats in the house. And then he recognizes the scent. He’s out of bed and into clothes so fast that he nearly falls down trying to tug his pants on.

Waiting in the living room is a boy a few years older than Stiles and an older woman. The woman is beautiful, dark in a way that Stiles’ mother is light. But the boy takes all of Stiles attention. His nervous expression melts away when Stiles shows up, and his multi-colored eyes brighten. With short black hair, tanned skin and the beginning of a very impressive beard, Stiles would describe him as beautiful too.

The woman, his alpha and mother, smiles brightly at her son’s dumbstruck expression. “It’s a pleasure to finally met the person that has kept Derek so occupied all summer,” she says. Stiles’ gets stuck on the name – Derek. “We thought that it would be a good idea to get you acquainted in your human forms before the school year starts Your mom says that you’re going to be a senior this year. Congratulations. Derek will be starting his second year of college here in Beacon Hills. He didn’t want to be far from the pack.”

Stiles isn’t really paying attention. He’s too busy cataloging the cute bunny teeth peeking out from Derek’s parted lips. “I’m Stiles,” he says when the woman’s voice trails off.

The werewolf blushes, and when his ears turn red Stiles wants to coo at him. “My name’s Derek.”

“It’s nice to meet you, like this I mean, because I obviously know you as a wolf but this is different.”

Stiles’ mom laughs. “He was pouting all day yesterday because the start of the school year meant that he would have to spend less time in the woods with Derek.”

Derek’s mom laughs too. Stiles flushes in embarrassment. “Mom!”

She shakes her head and gestures for Derek’s mom. “Would you like some tea,” she asks.

The other woman accepts with a smile. “That will give the boys some time to get to know each other in this form.”

Laura's voice rose, whether because she was angry or scared, Derek couldn't tell. He tried to tell her that he hadn't meant to worry her, but all he could croak out was, “Sorry.”

Then a new face appeared in front of him, with a pair of warm amber eyes and a small smile and a series of little moles. Derek liked the moles; they were pretty.

"Hey, big guy," the new face said. "You've been hurt pretty bad. I'm going to help you, okay?"

Derek tried to ask who the man was, but what came out was, "Angel?"

The man laughed. "Something like that. This may, uh, hurt a little."

There was no way it would hurt more than it currently did.

The man placed his hand on Derek's forehead, and with his other hand, started tracing along Derek’s abdomen, near where he'd been shot. Even through the pain, the gentle touch felt nice and cool, a blessed counterpoint to the burning pain.

And then the burning got worse.

Derek jolted, trying to get away from it, but the man held him down. It felt like someone had jammed a hot poker into the bullet wound and kept making it hotter, so hot Derek couldn't stand it. His fangs lengthened and he roared, digging claws into whatever was closest to him. He had been wrong, so wrong; it hurt far more than it had before.

Then the man let go and Derek could move again.

He lurched up off the couch and onto the floor, and vomited black goop onto his mother's favorite rug.

He shakily crawled back onto the couch. He felt sick, but his side was no longer on fire, and the burning had subsided to a familiar soreness that always accompanied his healing.

He wasn't going to die. He would be okay.

"Derek!" Laura was by his side with a steadying arm. "How are you feeling? God, you absolute--"

He patted her arm. "I'm okay, Laur. It's okay."

She buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him hard, and Derek rested his cheek on her head.

His eyes focused again on the young man kneeling in front of him, with the moles and the amber eyes. He smelled of spice and magic, and regarded Derek with a shrewd gaze.

Now that he was no longer delirious with pain and wolfsbane poisoning, Derek drew back at this strange person in the middle of their pack space. "Who the hell are you?"

The guy snorted and wiped his hands on his jeans, long fingers decorated with tattooed runes that Derek couldn't stop staring at. "Not even a 'thank you' for saving your life?"

"Sorry," Laura said. "He's wary around strangers."

Derek stiffened. "For good reason."

"Derek!" Laura scolded.

He ignored her, and fixed his glare on the man. "You still haven't answered my question. Who the hell are you?"

           It was a Saturday morning, but it wasn’t that early. There was no reason for Stiles to not answer the front door. There was only one person in the house, and going from the rapid heartbeat Derek knew it had to be Stiles. But there was something else off about it, too. Like Stiles was terrified. But of what? What could be so scary in his own home?

           Derek moved to his bedroom window instead, and as soon as he picked the lock and the seal was broken, the smell of blood hit him. Derek was immediately on high alert, throwing open the window so fast that he feared it may have cracked form the force of it hitting the top. He pushed himself into the room, shouting for Stiles. He could hear the boy’s heartbeat in the house, close by, but he wasn’t in the bedroom.

           What was, however, were blood-soaked sheets. It was fresh blood, too, and all Stiles’.

           “Stiles!” Derek shouted again, rushing from the room and tracking Stiles by his scent to the hallway bathroom. Derek pounded on the door once he found it locked. “I will break down this door, Stiles!” Derek threatened, hand already twisting the lock to the point of breakage.

           Stiles’ breathing was erratic, like he was having a panic attack, so Derek didn’t waste another second. Kicking in the door, Derek almost lifted it off of its hinges as he flew into the small bathroom.

           Stiles was sprawled on the floor in a fetal position, curled towards Derek. He was indeed having a panic attack. Derek fell to his knees and reached out towards him, but as soon as he touched Stiles his instincts kicked in and his veins turned black, immediately sucking pain. If Stiles was in this much pain for Derek’s instincts to override him, something was truly wrong.

           “Stiles, what —”

           It was then that Derek noticed the wings.

           Sprouting from Stiles back, above dried blood drips down his spine, were two small blood-soaked pairs of wings.

           Derek continued taking Stiles’ pain even as he stared in utter confusion at what he was witnessing. Stiles’ breathing picked up again, the panic seizing his lungs, and Derek snapped into action. He moved Stiles so that he was sitting rather than lying and took one of Stiles’ hands into his own. Ignoring the fact that it was covered in dried blood, he brought it to his neck and sought out his pulse point with Stiles’ fingers.

           “Follow my breathing, Stiles. In, out. In, out, Slowly. Let’s do this together, okay? In for seven, out for twelve. Can you do that for me? Stiles?!”

           Stiles looked blearily at Derek, eyelids fluttering, but he nodded and followed Derek’s instructions. Slowly, they managed to push away the panic attack. Derek continued to take Stiles’ pain the entire time, but seeing the hunched shoulders and the furrow of his brow, he knew it wasn’t doing as much as he’d hoped.

           Once Stiles got his breath back, Derek asked, “Stiles what is this? Why do you have wings?”

           Stiles swallowed thickly. “You tell me!” he hissed. “I just woke up this way this morning! My back was killing me yesterday, and now, suddenly- wings!”

           “Do you. Do you think they’re still bleeding?” Derek asked, not wanting to touch them and cause Stiles more pain or blood loss.

           Stiles shrugged his shoulders and winced at the movement. Derek took the swell of pain away from him. “I think, maybe, it stopped.”

           “You lost a lot of blood, going by your sheets. Think we should —” Hospital wasn’t an option. Whatever was happening to Stiles, Derek wanted it far away from human or hunter eyes. “Call Melissa?”

           “Maybe. Can you get me a drink?”

           Derek reluctantly let go of Stiles as he stood, swaying on his feet slightly from all the pain he’d taken. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

           Derek dashed down to the kitchen and retrieved a glass of water. In a split second decision, he also grabbed the jar of peanut butter left out on the counter and a spoon from the drawer before going back upstairs.

           “Drink all of the water. But then I think you should eat some peanut butter, get something in you,” Derek suggested as he entered the bathroom.

           Stiles downed the glass in one go. He must have been feeling better, because he smirked a little and said, “Can I have it with toast, maybe?”

           Derek suddenly felt embarrassed. “Oh, um, I can —”

           “Teasing, Derek,” Stiles assured him, winced as he scooted closer to Derek as he settled himself into a crouch. “This is fine. Thanks.”

           “I’d like to clean up your back, make sure you’ve stopped bleeding.”

           “You know where the towels are. Grab the old ones this time, please. Preferably ones with blood stains already on them.”

           Derek mock saluted him. “Sure.”

           Stiles grabbed for the spoon and peanut butter and unscrewed the jar as Derek ducked out of the bathroom. He stopped in Stiles’ bedroom to strip the bed of the blood-ruined sheets. He tossed them in a pile in the corner and fitted the bed with new sheets. Then he grabbed the worst towels he could find before going back into the bathroom.

           Stiles was propped up against the sink, head tilted back against the base, eyes closed.

           Derek immediately dropped to his knees, shaking Stiles’ shoulders to rouse him. It took nothing for Stiles to stir awake, because he hadn’t been asleep. “Aw, look who cares,” Stiles slurred, his speech showing his exhaustion more than he ever would.

           Derek snorted. “Of course I do,” he replied as he turned on the taps in the bathtub and wetted the towel. “Now, face your back to me and eat some more. No passing out on me. You can sleep when you’re clean.”

           Stiles was silent but for the scraping of a spoon on the edges of a plastic jar and the smack of his lips enjoying the spread. Derek cleaned around the wings, first, and found that they seemed to have sprouted out from between his shoulder blades. The skin around them was raised and bumpy, like thick veins connecting Stiles’ back to the wings. The wings were stained too, though Derek moved to clean those second, gently brushing wet fingertips over each delicate feather to reveal the chocolate brown color that they were naturally.

           “Derek?” Stiles spoke his name so softly Derek probably wouldn’t have heard it had he not been a werewolf.

           “Mhmm?” he responded, fingers gently caressing the skin around Stiles’ wings, taking pain where he could.

           “What is happening to me?”

           Derek stilled, dropping his hands to the stained towel in his lap. “I don’t know, Stiles. But whatever this is — if it’s a curse, if you’re a were-bird, if it’s permanent — we will figure it out together, okay?”

           “Okay,” Stiles breathed, head ducking towards his chin. “Thanks.”

           “We’re pack,” Derek said, thumbs brushing the tails of each feather on the right wing. A shudder ran through Stiles’ body. “No need to thank me. Do you want me to call Melissa?”

           Stiles hesitated and then shook his head. “Not right now. I’d rather it just be you who knows, for now.”

           Derek, though he knew he’d stumbled into this situation and that it could have easily been anyone else in the pack in his position, found himself flattered. He felt his cheeks heat up.

           Pushing away the thoughts, Derek helped Stiles to his feet and lead him into the bedroom, where he would be more comfortable.

           “You should get some rest,” Derek suggested, settling Stiles down onto the edge of the bed.

           Stiles ran his hands over the cover sheet. “You changed the sheets,” he said, reverently.

           “Of course. Now try to get some rest. I’ll be here when you get up. I’ll do some research,” he told Stiles as he tried to smile comfortingly. He wasn’t sure if he achieved it.

           Stiles inchwormed his way up the bed until his head came in contact with one of the pillows. He snuffled into it, eyes unable to even open when he responded, “Good idea.”