Chapter Text
Stiles swore this was the last time he’d ever fight a troll.
He was tired, muddy, and somehow soaked from the top of his head to the bottom of his jeans. Because of course, a freaking troll had decided to make himself at home in their territory—he was not a good guest, mind you.
And all that talk about them being friendly and vegetarian? Bullshit. Yeah, full-blown bullshit, even if Scott thought otherwise. They didn’t sing, nor were they all bright sunshines with colorful skin. They were big, grotesque, violent, and had a taste for flesh — an unhealthy taste for human flesh, specifically.
They were also dumb as a rock, but that didn’t change the fact that Stiles was sick of throwing little magical fireballs and being treated like a rag doll.
Earlier that week, he’d noticed the signs — the torn-up deer carcass by the creek, a dismembered fox, tufts of bloody fur that looked too clean to be from a coyote. He knew something was off.
And because his life was now a circus of supernatural shit happening every other day, he tried to talk to Scott. But oh, surprise — the guy didn’t seem to care enough to actually go and investigate with him.
Which led directly to the current situation.
Stiles had thought, Well, if Scott won’t go with me, then I’ll go and have a quick look myself.
Rookie mistake.
He’d stumbled across the troll’s cave and had to call for backup. Derek didn’t scream at him, but that didn’t mean the wolf wasn’t mad. Oh, Derek was pissed as hell — but that was just another day in Stiles’ life.
Either way, he just wanted to go back to bed.
He regretted his life choices for the millionth time that day as he wrapped his arms around his torso when his back hit the floor — again — from the sheer force of that dumb thing.
“We just have to wait until sunrise; after that, we'll be okay.”
Oh, how beautiful was the innocence of ignorance.
“Right, Derek?”
Well, if they were farther up north — in Europe, or Norway to be more specific — they’d be more than okay. But they were not. They were up on the coast, in California — United States, to be specific. So this troll was definitely not affected by the sunlight like the ones in Norway.
How nice it would be to be there, with the beautiful landscapes, the food, the handsome people. Instead, he was trying to get up with the help of the curly-haired, puppy-like wolf.
“No, Isaac, we are not going to be fine!”
Ugh. Stiles really wanted to rip his ears off right about now. His head was pounding like crazy, and the high-pitched tone of Erica — or maybe it was Lydia, although she usually kept quiet during fights — was drilling through his skull.
“Didn’t you hear Stiles? They’re not turning into rocks, you absolute idiot!”
“Nor are they going to sing, Scott.” If it wasn't for his ribs, Stiles would probably be laughing by now — but they hurt, so he just snorted.
“No need to be a jerk, Peter.” Scott bit back.
How were they having such an easygoing conversation while Boyd was flying through the air directly toward him?
And he had just gotten up — only to have Boyd crash into him like a cannonball. Awesome.
The roar — did trolls roar? Stiles wasn’t sure — although he was convinced Boyd had just given him a concussion. Where were those super instincts and werewolf reflexes when he needed them?
Anyway, the troll made some kind of strange noise when, finally, Derek managed to stab it with a funny-looking branch.
The big body collapsed, and a few birds flew out of their nests up in the trees.
Stiles blinked, taking in the sudden stillness — finally, some peace and quiet. He scanned the area: the family of bunnies lay in a puddle of blood near where Erica had been thrown, the fox's body was still there… and so was the corpse of that poor woman — Rachel Thompson, he thought. She used to work part-time at the new coffee shop.
Fuck. And Scott wanted to keep the thing alive.
There was also some kind of animal torn apart near the troll’s legs and… Huh. The deer was gone.
Stiles thought there was a dead deer earlier.
Scratch that — Stiles was sure as hell there was a deer earlier. It had a chunk of meat missing on its back. He remembered because that's how he’d found the troll — freaking eating that poor thing.
But now, it was gone.
Weird. Really weird.
“I really hate that we had to kill him.”
The sad tone only made Stiles snap out of it and want to scream. He loved Scott, but he hated that black-and-white view of the world he had.
“He killed one deer — which is magically gone, by the way — a family of bunnies, a fox, and a human, in just one day, Scott,” Stiles finally said, getting up again with the help of the body that had brought him to the ground. “What did you want to do? Speak to him and say, ‘Mister, we are sorry to bother you, but could you maybe keep the killing to a minimum?’”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure next time they’ll welcome us with singing and dancing.”
Peter could really be a piece of shit sometimes, but he was funny — the bastard.
"That's enough. It's dead, and it won't kill anymore.” Derek’s voice made everyone shut up in an instant, the air somehow tense despite the outcome of the fight.
There was a beat of silence — heavy, uneasy.
Stiles blinked, then slowly raised a hand. “Okay, but can we go back to the part where I said the deer’s body is missing?”
Because seriously — he wasn’t hallucinating. That thing had been there. Half-eaten, stomach open, blood everywhere. He’d almost thrown up when he saw it. And now it was just… gone?
In Beacon Hills things just didn't disappear.
Nobody answered him. Not right away, at least. Isaac shifted uncomfortably. Lydia frowned, her eyes scanning the treeline like maybe she’d find a clue written in leaves.
“Maybe you thought there was a deer when there wasn't?” Scott said, hesitant and unsure, as Stiles’ eyes fell on him.
Was Scott for real right now?
“Are you for real right now? Stiles literally told us on the call there was a troll eating a deer in front of him.” There was a reason Stiles loved Lydia so much.
“Yeah, and he was also kinda green when we got here.” It was a surprise to Stiles how much Jackson had grown as a person. Ever since he came back from somewhere in Europe last year, Jackson had actually become… tolerable.
“You know, he had this weird puke-y face he gets when Derek’s too close to him.”
Forget it. Stiles hated that jerk.
“I’m sure it could be something else. Deer can look like foxes if they’re dismembered.” A groan escaped Erica, who had made her way to his other side where Boyd was supporting him. He may or may not have sprained an ankle. Whatever.
“Scott, most of the time Stiles is right, so if he says a dead deer is missing, then it’s missing.”
Warmth spread through Stiles’ chest. It felt so good to be spoken for. For once, he felt seen. He felt — somehow — like a part of everything. He didn’t feel lonely.
And Scott asked what was so good about being in Derek’s pack.
“Let’s just go for now. When we’re all cleared and healed up, we can come back and see if something seems out of place.”
Green eyes looked at him directly.
Derek’s gaze sometimes felt heavy on Stiles — not in a bad or uncomfortable way. Stiles felt like he could see right through him. It sent a shiver down his back.
“Aye aye, captain.” He let out a sigh and leaned back against a rock with the help of Isaac and Boyd, ignoring how every inch of him hurt.
It had been a rough couple of weeks — months — years, really. Well, more this month than anything. Since the Nogitsune shit, things have been tense.
And Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He knew everyone walked on eggshells around him. He knew Derek had put his betas on babysitting duty the first few weeks after he was “back to normal,” for Christ’s sake.
But there had also been good things — like the pack slowly becoming one. Together.
Since the Argent shitshow, everyone had been skeptical of Derek’s ability to lead, but he proved them wrong soon after that. Things then seemed like a blur: Erica and Boyd coming back home. Derek apologizing to them. Jackson’s sudden arrival. Peter’s weird redemption arc. Then there was the fight with the alpha pack.
And the slow, painful realization that his friendship with Scott was hanging by a thread.
Scott wasn’t a bad person. But he wasn’t all that understanding of Stiles, either. It took a big toll on their friendship when Stiles decided that enough was enough and joined Derek’s pack for good.
Then Allison left for the summer, and Scott was alone, and everything was good again — until she came back, and everything was not so good anymore.
And look, Stiles loved Allison. It just so happened that she might be the reason Scott put Stiles at the bottom of his priority list. And what bothered Stiles so much about that was that even when lives were at stake, he was still at the bottom of that shitty list.
It was all a big soup of mixed shit — a pack of people who did care for each other, but were too emotionally constipated to try and communicate their feelings.
Sometimes, Stiles felt like he was dealing with kindergartners.
And he had fallen behind when he was in kindergarten, so it was a shock.
The point is: everyone is part of a big, kinda happy, kinda functional pack. Derek’s the alpha, the werewolves are his betas, Lydia is his Banshee, Allison is his Hunter, and Stiles is his half-human, half-void, half-spark kinda thing.
But at least they’ve come far enough to like each other, care for each other, and — most importantly — trust each other.
So that’s what matters the most.
At the end of the day, when things are shit and Stiles feels like he can’t rely on Scott anymore, there’s a bunch of people who care enough to try and understand him.
He learned that the hard way — with him wanting to die after taking the lives of innocent people and all.
But now, he had a pack. And god, he hated fighting for his life every other week, but if that meant keeping them safe, then he would do it all over again.
Even if Jackson acts like a jerk. Even if Scott doesn’t answer his phone when Stiles is covered in magical dust of a thousand pixies.
Derek has also come far.
He’s become a better leader — Stiles noticed it after he came back from his demonic foxy-shit possession. He rebuilt the Hale house and actually started to train his betas in a non-painful, non-torturous way.
Although, to his credit, he’d been doing that since Boyd and Erica came back. So maybe it was just the desire to provide a proper home for his pack, then.
Also, he is less… throw-Stiles-on-every-flat-surface-y.
Which Stiles likes to think is a win.
“You good to walk by yourself?” The deep voice of Peter brought him back to reality.
Lydia was, as always, perfect, already assessing Jackson’s healing wounds. Isaac stood near Allison and Scott, chatting warmly — although the latter seemed rather uncomfortable. Erica was helping Boyd pop his arm back into place. Stiles would never feel comfortable hearing bones crack like that.
Derek seemed busy talking on the phone. Probably with his dad. Oh, boy. That usually meant trouble. Stiles hoped his dad wouldn’t make a fuss and instead put all his energy into the dead body of Rachel.
Stiles sighed, trying to get up from the rock with the current wolf at his side. “Yeah, creeperwolf. Nothing a good night's sleep can’t heal.”
He was so glad Peter had gotten better. He’d discovered that, aside from Lydia, the man was clever as a fox. It was good to have someone else on the official Hale Research Team™.
“If you say so, Little Red.” A groan escaped Stiles’ throat. He hated that nickname.
Peter just laughed, one hand pressed casually over his middle as Stiles limped back toward the clearing, where the troll’s dead body still lay.
“Isaac, could you please stop toying with that thing?” Stiles stopped as soon as he spotted the youngest beta poking the troll’s back with a stick.
“Whatever, Mom.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and kept moving toward Derek. God, he really wanted a shower.
“Ready to go, Sourwolf?” he asked as Derek ended the call.
Derek rolled his eyes at the nickname and slipped his phone into his pocket. “All cleared up. Your dad’s coming. Told me to take you back to the house — he’ll probably be working late.”
Stiles sighed. He figured his dad would be working late.
It must be hard trying to explain Rachel’s death without dumping the whole supernatural truth. They were lucky the troll hadn’t eaten her yet. He had just… killed her. Probably planned to eat her later.
Either way, he was fine staying the night at the Hale house. He’d done it before.
And he’d never say it out loud, but he loved how cuddly everyone got after fights. Even Derek—in a subtle, grumpy-alpha kind of way. But he was Stiles, so obviously, he noticed.
“All right,” he nodded, turning around with Peter’s help. He whistled once, loud and sharp, to get everyone’s attention.
The betas hated it when he did that. But it worked. So Stiles didn’t care.
“I’m sure you heard Derek. So — whoever’s on babysitting duty, aside from Lydia and Allison, you come with me back to the house. The rest of you are on Troll clean-up duty with Big bad over here.”
A chorus of groans followed, but no one argued.
That was another thing Stiles had started noticing lately, and by “lately,” he meant over the last couple of months: the betas had started listening to him more.
He figured it was because Derek had been more open to his ideas and planning. Or maybe everyone had finally realized that Stiles wasn’t just some weak, squishy human.
Well… he was a spark, after all. At least that’s what Deaton and Peter kept saying.
He could do magic now — actual, real magic — so he supposed it was true. Still, part of him worried it might be leftover rot from the Nogitsune. Although Deaton, Peter, Derek — hell, even Chris Argent — had all insisted it wasn’t that.
That it was him.
Still, the doubt never fully went away. Sometimes, he wondered if it ever would.
What was his life?
“What? Is something on my face?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes when he noticed the way Peter was looking at him.
“Not at all. Just figuring some things out,” Peter replied, his tone smug. That was never a good sign, not in Stiles’ experience.
“…Okay, if you say so. And then you wonder why I call you Creeperwolf . ” Peter just laughed at him.
Whatever. Stiles could deal with that later. Right now, he just wanted to change his pants and wash troll guts out of his hair.
“He’s laughing because of how Derek was looking at you, by the way.” Erica’s sudden statement made him pause mid-step, halfway to where Allison, Lydia, and Isaac were waiting.
“I’m taking that as you’re on babysitting duty?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow, confusion plain on his face.
“Nope, it’s Isaac’s turn.” A pout formed on Erica’s face as she added, “I tried to convince Derek to let me keep an eye on you instead, but he said it was my turn last time.”
Stiles snorted and resumed walking, grateful he wouldn’t have to deal with the troll’s corpse.
“Because you were on babysitting duty last time. It’s my turn now,” Isaac said, the moment they were within earshot.
“So now we’re just openly acknowledging Derek made all of you take turns watching me?” Stiles looked at them incredulously. He knew they were babysitting him but he wasn’t sure if he should feel touched or insulted. Maybe both.
Peter gave him a pat on the back and one of his signature shit-eating grins. as he guided him toward Isaac.
“He has a sprained ankle, several cuts, and probably a concussion.” Damn werewolves and their ridiculously accurate senses. But… yeah, Peter was right.
“Got it. We’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Allison said gently, flashing him a warm smile.
“You all know I can take care of myself, right?” Stiles muttered.
Peter patted Isaac’s arm and gave him one last smirk before heading back to Derek.
“You better take good care of him, Lahey,” Erica said, her voice light but her eyes sharp. Isaac growled low in response.
Erica ignored him and leaned in to rub her head affectionately against Stiles’ cheek before heading back toward the others.
It was still a little weird — how used to all the scenting and physical affection Stiles had become. At first, it was awkward, kind of too much.
But now… now it made him feel like he belonged.
He even caught himself scent-marking the people he cared about. His dad sometimes gave him a weird look when he did it, but never said anything.
“All right, let’s just ignore Stiles and pretend he can’t hear any of you,” he muttered under his breath.
“Let’s go. I think I might have to burn this dress — it’s completely soaked in troll blood,” Lydia announced, sounding utterly disgusted.
With that, the group began moving toward where Roscoe was parked.
Stiles handed his keys silently to Allison — because there was no way in hell he’d let Isaac drive his baby.
Along the way, he tripped twice, which made Lydia and Isaac visibly tense.
But Stiles was tired. So tired.
And honestly? No one could blame him.
Thank God it was Friday.