Chapter Text
It was frickin’ freezing out so Stiles stopped at Starbucks for a peppermint mocha on his way to pick up his best friend Scott after his shift at the veterinary clinic. With the worst winter storm in decades rolling in just in time for the holiday season, the only people crazy enough to be out for a coffee fix at this hour were him, and Derek Hale. The painfully gorgeous man was lingering in favorite booth despite the weather, and Stiles couldn’t help but spare a few seconds for an appreciative leer. The Hales were hands down the most prominent local family, super rich and all unfairly attractive, particularly Derek and his sister Laura. Together they had pretty much put a bullet through the head of heteronormativity in their sleepy little town just by living there. Forget Masters and Johnson. Back off, Alfred Kinsey. In Beacon Hills they had the Hale Scale. Simply have the alluring twins stand six feet apart and place the subject between them. Whatever their final position was as they tried to pick which sibling was hotter became their number, the extreme 1’s and 6’s belonging to those who simply lost control of sexual urges all together and jumped one of them on the spot. Stiles wasn’t ashamed to admit he was one of those who would just end up with whiplash trying to stare at both of them at once.
He played it cool as he walked to the counter to order, not wanting to be one of those poor pathetic souls caught “Hale Watching”. Derek spent so much time in that same booth scowling down at his laptop Starbucks had awarded him free coffee for life as a special thanks for the hordes of non-fat latte swilling twittering teenage girls his presence attracted.
The man’s head suddenly snapped up in adorable dog-like motion as something outside caught his attention through the frosted window.
“Squirrel!” Stiles whispered, subtly mimicking the gesture. Not subtly enough from the glare he got as Derek slammed his computer shut and sped out the door. The guy must have ears like a fox or something.
“What can I get for you?” the barista asked.
“Two venti peppermint mochas,” he replied automatically. Derek’s face had been scrunched up in a degree of consternation that could only come from recognition. Stiles tried to quash the thrill he felt at just being noticed by the beautiful older boy but it was losing battle. In the lonely desolate wasteland that was his social life this was practically a Christmas miracle.
***
“Come on, Scott. I have to get home.” And get away from the lingering scent of death and antiseptics. It wasn’t exactly like a hospital but the season made the unpleasant associations that much more painful for him.
“Deaton got called out to the Marks’ ranch outside of town. I have to finish putting extra bedding in all the cages in case the storm knocks the power out before he can bring in the gas powered generator.”
How could he argue with someone with an unlimited supply of cold and lonely puppies on hand? “Fine. What’s so important that a vet has to make a house call with a blizzard on the way?”
“Someone broke into their barn and braided flowers into all the horses’ manes before setting them loose. The poor things were terrified. One fell in a ditch and broke its leg.”
“That’s just great. My Dad’s already running on his last nerve, driving out there during a snowstorm to get their statements is going to give him a coronary.”
Beacon Hills had become the site of what had to be the most prolific and vicious Prank War in human history. The weird thing was nobody seemed to know who was behind it. Nonetheless, the town had suffered an escalating series of practical jokes that had long since left funny behind and become downright dangerous. It was funny when someone had somehow filled the indoor pool at the High School with small reef sharks. The psychadelics in the punch bowl at the Historical Society Holiday Fundraiser had been inspired. But after someone sabotaged the traffic lights during rush hour and caused a massive pile up the Sheriff’s department had declared war, but so far hadn’t found so much as a fingerprint. His Dad was working round the clock and the strain was beginning to show.
“We can get out of here sooner if you’ll help me clean the litter boxes,” Scott said hopefully.
“I think I’ll just hang out in the waiting room.”
“Suit yourself.”
Stiles left Scott to it and went back out front. He was halfway through the divider separating off the back area when the clinic’s door slammed open admitting two struggling figures holding a...thing between them.
“Help!” Laura Hale cried. She and someone Stiles recognized as her uncle, Peter Hale, were trying desperately to restrain a snarling creature that looked like Lon Cheney’s bodybuilder cousin, all claws and teeth and glowing blue eyes.
He slammed the gate shut, desperately willing the flimsy barrier to keep the walking horror flick on the other side and away from him.
“Where’s Alan?” Peter demanded, his own eyes flashing yellow as the wolfman renewed his snarling efforts to get free.
“Holy shit is that Derek!?” he shrieked. The werewolf in question was wearing the same clothes and looked…similar, minus the signature brooding eyebrows which seemed to have migrated down to the guy’s cheeks and taken root, growing into wildly overgrown sideburns.
“We don’t have time for this,” Laura growled, hauling her brother and uncle forward, only to be stopped a few inches from the gate like they’d slammed into an invisible wall.
Stiles poked the painted wood in disbelief, hoping the word “Gotcha!” might magically appear on it and prove this was all an elaborate gag. “I don’t suppose I’m on Scare Tactics?” he squeaked in the stunned silence.
“Stiles!” Peter barked, because of course he knew his name, “We need you to open the gate and get Alan. Derek’s been cursed by the Fairy Queen and he’ll die if we can’t break it soon.”
“He…he won’t be back for hours,” he stammered.
Peter titled his head thoughtfully for a moment, considering him “Then you’ll have to do it.”
“Right, the curse of the Fairy Queen, of course.” He must have had a death wish, either that or sudden reordering of his entire worldview combined with the double dose of Adderall he’d taken earlier had finally driven him crazy, because he opened the gate to let them through.
“Stiles what’s going on out…Jesus Christ!” Scott yelled as the three werewolves shouldered past him into the exam room, Stiles trailing behind.
“Get him up on the table,” Peter ordered Laura who lifter her twin with inhuman strength and plopped him down on the cold steel.
“I guess shoving a fireplace power down his throat isn’t an option?” The Hales looked at him like they too suspected he’d cracked. “Ha ha ha, just kidding.” His voice was shrill and borderline hysterical, words spilling out in a rush. “It’s fairy magic, right?”
Scott fumbled in his pocket for his inhaler “Werewolves,” wheeze, “Fairies,” wheeze, “Magic.” He took a couple puffs, looked at the scene in front of him, and took another for good measure.
“I mean isn’t iron supposed to destroy it, you know ‘cause it’s toxic to them. Oh! I know! Scott does Deaton have iron supplements for sick dogs or whatever.”
“Uh, sure? Med cabinet,” he said pointing to a glass case.
Peter walked over and drove a clawed hand through the glass, cuts healing before their eyes as he pulled out the bottle of pills “Let’s give this a shot. Get me some water!” He opened the bottle and poured the pills onto the table between Derek’s feet while Laura held him down. Peter scooped them up handful at a time, crushing them into a cast of the inside of his hand and dumping the powder back in. “Water.” Stiles handed him a dish he’d filled at the tap. The werewolf poured it in, put the cap back and shook vigorously, mixing it.
“This is never going to work,” Laura snarled through her fangs. She had fangs. And it didn’t make her any less smoking hot. Stiles needed lots of therapy. A stiff drink, or twenty, and then lots of therapy.
“It’s a shredding hex,” Peter snarled back, “It’s ripping his guts apart; the iron will disperse rapidly if we can make him swallow it.” He walked around to stand opposite her. “Sit him and hold his head back.”
Laura did so as he uncapped the iron solution and shoved the mouth of the bottle between Derek’s lips without ceremony. The werewolf had enough presence of mind to swallow at least, chugging the whole thing in a couple huge gulps, and immediately went limp and lifeless.
“You!” Laura shrieked pointing a claw at Stiles as her faced transformed into a female version of her brother’s werewolf face. At least she kept her eyebrows. “You killed him!”
“Meep!”
“Leave him alone!” Scott yelled bravely before flinching back against the wall when she whirled on him with a roar.
Peter, meanwhile, just rolled his eyes theatrically “Calm down, Laura, he just unconscious. Please forgive my darling niece, she gets a little excitable around this time of the month. He nodded at the Full Moon visible through the narrow window.
“Nah, it’s nothing,” Stiles dismissed with a wave. Because werewolves. Fuck.
“The iron bought us a couple of minutes,” Peter continued, “It’s weakened the spell enough for his body to fight it off but it didn’t break it.”
“Can’t you just give him more?” Scott asked.
“There isn’t any. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Right now he has iron poisoning but we heal fast. In a few minutes his system will purge it and the hex will kill him. Stiles will have to dispel the curse magically.”
“Say what now?” Stiles squeaked.
“Are you insane? This kid?” Laura demanded.
“He’s got a spark; he closed the seal against us on nothing but pure instinct he can do it.”
“Maybe he’s got the potential but he doesn’t know how.”
Peter held up a clawed hand and shrugged.
“No. No way. You are not an Alpha, Uncle Peter, you could paralyze or even kill him. Even if you don’t you can’t control it well enough to pass on a specific experience.”
“How about we let Stiles decide? What do you say, Mr. Stilinski?”
“I’ll do it,” Scott offered stepping forward “Whatever it is, let me do it instead.” Stiles was going to buy him a new bike.
But Peter shook his head. “It has to be Stiles. Please, please help me save my nephew.”
Stiles stared at the man openmouthed. He looked at Laura who was holding her breath waiting for his answer with tears running down her face. Suddenly he couldn’t see them as the mysterious and beautiful Hales, or a real life pack of movie monsters. He just saw a family watching someone they loved die. Just like he had watched his mom die. “Tell me what to do.”
“Come here,” Peter gestured to the space beside him. Stiles moved into place and let the man take his wrists. “Place your hands here,” he moved them to rest on Derek’s forehead and lower abdomen.
“Gyah ha ha!” Stiles shrieked as the werewolf’s glowing blue eyes snapped open and bored into him, one hand clamping down on the arm over his stomach for a moment before he passed out again.
“I think he likes you,” Peter mused.
“Are you kidding!? He nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Relax. Now close your eyes, take deep breaths and focus on what you need to do. The information you need will come to you but you have to concentrate.”
Stiles did as he was told. Once his heart rate had slowed to a non-potentially pace he said “Okay, ready.”
“This will sting a little, but remember: concentrate.”
Stiles felt the werewolf’s claws pierce the back of his neck in a moment of searing agony and then he could feel the man in his head! He couldn’t make any sense of the images and memories tumbling through his mind so he just kept silently repeating “Help Derek. Help Derek.” like a mantra. Suddenly something clicked. A reel of experiences unfurled as Peter’s years of research into magic and mythology became available to him like he’d done it himself. He didn’t even bother trying to comprehend what he was taking in, just let it guide his thoughts and hands. His mouth was moving, whispering something when he felt Derek’s skin burn under his fingers like a hot skillet. The werewolf’s body arched into a bow but he kept going until he sensed the malicious hex shatter like a diamond struck at the right angle, glittering shards of power tearing at his mind as he screamed.
He collapsed forward, head spinning while he tried to piece together what the hell had just happened. A warm hand was stroking his hair. When he opened his eyes he saw Derek, back in human form, staring at him with a blank expression “You okay.”
“Fine.” He was. Except for the embarrassing fact that he was sprawled over the guy’s chest like it was a comfy couch. “Sorry!” he barked, lurching upright only to be caught by Peter when the vertigo caught up with him again.
“Take it easy there, Stiles. That certainly was an experience.” The man sounded thrilled.
“You need to cut your nails. Asswolf,” he mumbled.
Laura let out a peal of laughter. “Who told you his secret nickname?”
“Speaking of secrets, what are we going to do with these two?”
Scott evidently didn’t like his tone. “You’re going to leave us the hell alone is what,” he said pushing Peter aside to take over Stiles support duty.
“It’s mother’s decision. She’ll want to thank Stiles personally anyway. That is if they think they can manage not run down Main Street screaming “Werewolf!” until then?”
“We won’t say anything,” Stiles assured them. His head had begun to unscramble and the enormity of what had just happened what he’d just learned, set in.
“Good,” Peter said, clapping his hands together, “Help your brother up. We need to get back to the house and join the others. The Fairy Queen has crossed the line trying to kill one of ours. Tonight we hunt for blood.” Stiles tried not to quail at hearing how excited the man sounded at the prospect.
The three werewolves left without further ado, Stiles and Scott staring after them dumbfounded.
“Did that just happen or did the pharmacy make a mistake with my Adderall?”
“Right there with you dude,” Scott said eyeing his inhaler like it might sprout wings and fly away. Not that that would have surprised them after…everything.
“Let’s just go. You can explain the mess to the werewolf veterinarian extraordinaire tomorrow.”
“Me?”
“Don’t give me indignant face. You’re the one who didn’t close up on time.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” Scott admitted, “But dude, werewolves! And you totally saved one! With magic!”
“You are way too excited about this,” Stiles mumbled.
“Excited? I thought I was gonna puke when that guy stuck his claws in your neck.”
“Peter. His name is Peter Hale.”
“You know them a little, right? Because your Dad’s the Sheriff and Talia Hale’s the mayor?”
“Yeah, that’s how.” It still hadn’t…settled, but Stiles got the impression that he now knew a lot about the Hales. The counterspell had only been a tiny slice of what he’d seen of the werewolf’s consciousness. He chuckled under his breath a little when he remembered lying on Derek’s rock hard chest while the werewolf stared back at him uncomfortably. A Christmas miracle indeed.
After he dropped Scott off at his house Stiles went home, fully intending to break into his Dad’s liquor cabinet and retrieve a bottle of Jack. Hopefully the alcohol would dissolve away the remnants of Peter in his head. The man was hot, sure, but was a little too old and that whole mind-sharing thing had been almost bad touch levels of intimate.
He didn’t get the chance. Not five minutes after he’d gotten home there was a knock on the door. Sighing, he went to answer it. Whoever it was, no one came calling at the Sheriff’s house at this time of night to bring good news. But instead of one of his Dad’s deputies he found Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom, when he opened the door, still wearing her nurse’s scrubs under her heavy coat. His heart froze when he saw the look on her face.
It was devastated.
“No,” he choked out. He’d dreaded and planned for this news every day of his life. While Melissa was saying something about a car crash and a deer part of his mind was running down a checklist of things he had to do. The life insurance and financial documents were in the lockbox in the office. The funeral home had to be called, there were relatives to contact, and since he was sixteen he’d have to set up a meeting with Child Services to work out getting Melissa temporary custody of him.
But that methodical, analytical part of him was wholly overshadowed by the agonized wail of denial that was burning through his brain. He had to get out there.
Melissa was calling his name but he couldn’t stop, not yet. He got in the Jeep and floored it, leaving the empty house behind him as the snow began to fall.