Archive of Our Own

Stiles' brow furrowed as he erased a bit off his sketch and then he poked his tongue out in concentration as he drew another line in its place. He'd been working on this drawing for a while now, a little over two years specifically. The end result of this drawing, once he finished it, was something he'd been planning since before his mom died. They'd talked about it together, his plans for his eighteenth birthday, well not all of his plans but this part.

His dad had grudgingly given his approval. It was clear he wasn't happy but it was better than when he'd found out about the werewolves so that was a plus in Stiles' book. Not that he needed his dad's approval, once he turned eighteen he'd be old enough to go on his own, but it was still nice to have his dad's blessing.

Dropping the pencil on his desk, he looked at the completed sketch. Squinting his eyes, he looked at it critically, tried to picture what it would look like with different colors, thicker lines, on a flesh-colored background. He had an appointment with the artist next week; it's why he'd been working so hard to finish his sketch. He couldn't wait to see what the artist did with it.

Flipping his sketch book closed, he rubbed his eyes and looked at the time.

"Fuck," he said quietly, seeing it was well after midnight. He shut off the light and climbed into bed, drifting off to sleep, his fingertips absentmindedly resting over his heart.

Stiles parked the Jeep and looked around. He'd done all the tricks his dad had taught him and made sure he wasn't followed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. This wasn't something he wanted the pack involved in, hence the extra precautions. It was his and his alone. He grabbed his sketch book and hopped out of the Jeep, slamming the door shut. Meeting the artist at a coffee shop was risky, but this wasn't a back alley kind of thing and no way was Stiles going to lurk in an alley like he was ashamed of what he was doing. He just made sure they picked a coffee shop on the outskirts of town, one he knew none of the pack ever went to, mostly because it wasn't as good as Starbucks, and it was too far away from the Hale house. The tattoo shop itself was in Beacon Hills, almost at the center of town, and Stiles didn't want to risk going there more than once, which was why he'd opted to meet here instead.

After getting his coffee, he sat down at a table and waited. Wasn't too long before a good looking guy with floppy blue hair and tattoos up and down both arms came in and ordered a coffee before looking around. He nodded at Stiles, paid for his coffee and made his way over.

"You Stiles?"

"Yup."

He set his coffee down and stuck his hand out. Stiles stood up and shook it.

"Name's Marcus."

"Rumor has it you’re the best tattoo artist in Beacon Hills."

Marcus shrugged. "I do fairly well. Lemme see what you got."

Stiles pushed the sketch pad over and sat quietly drinking his coffee while Marcus flipped through it, finally stopping on the final drawing. "This is good stuff. Ever thought about designing tattoos for a living? Could use some new blood in my place."

Shaking his head no, Stiles set his coffee down. "Yeah? You think it's good? And no, never thought about it. I'm a bit high strung, not sure that's what you need in your place. Plus, my hands aren't very steady, in fact, I'm kind of a spaz."

"Not asking you to ink, asking if you might wanna draw for me."

"Draw," Stiles coughed, clearing his throat as the word squeaked out. "Draw for you? Seriously? You like it that much? I mean, yeah, that would be great, um, I'm not out of high school yet, and I'll probably be going to college next fall somewhere, don't know where yet, not even sure what I'm thinking about studying. I always liked art though. My mom was an artist, kind of a free spirit, balanced my dad out."

"You talk a lot."

A nervous laugh slipped out and Stiles grabbed his coffee again. "That's why I got decaf," he replied, lifting it in a toasting gesture.

Marcus laughed. "You're a funny guy. We're gonna get along great. Now, wanna tell me about this drawing? I work better if I know the feelings, the emotions behind it."

Stiles spent about twenty minutes giving Marcus the background story, leaving some of the most private details out, the part about werewolves and some of the bits about his mom. When he finished, Marcus sat back, staring at the drawing. The silence was hard for Stiles, he fidgeted, bouncing his leg up and down, and fiddling with the wooden coffee stirrer.

"I can do this." Marcus looked up at Stiles, finally, his eyes bright with excitement. "I can do this, it's going to be a beautiful tattoo. How big did you want it? And where were you thinking about putting it?"

"I'd like it to be about the size of my palm, maybe a bit smaller, and I want it on my left upper chest."

Marcus reached across the table and grabbed Stiles' hand, opening it up and looking at his palm, and then he looked back up at Stiles, his brow furrowed. "Okay, I think we can do that. Can I get a copy of the drawing?"

Ripping the page out of his sketch book, Stiles handed it over to Marcus. "This one is yours. I think I finally have it the way I like it."

"Cool. Let me work with it, gimme a week? Same time, same place?"

Stiles looked around, making sure there was nobody he knew here before turning back to Marcus and nodding his head. "Works for me. We've got some time, my birthday isn't for another month."

"Perfect. See you next week, Stiles."

Marcus stood up and shook Stiles' hand and Stiles watched him leave. He slumped back into his chair, unconsciously chewing at the skin around his thumbnail. He stayed for another fifteen minutes before getting up to leave himself.

Stiles took two showers that night, taking extra care to use the shampoo and the soap with extra fragrance. He sprayed some cologne on when he was finished as well. Anything to mask the scent of a new coffee shop and Marcus. He didn't want any of the nosy werewolves sniffing out where he'd been or why. It was none of their damn business. His father had agreed to the tattoo, but not before he turned eighteen. That was all that mattered to him.

He was deliberately late to school the next morning so he had to sit in the back, away from Scott and the other betas. Although, between Scott's wounded look and Erica's suspicious one, he kinda figured he wasn't exactly being subtle about avoiding them.

There was nothing he could do about lunch, they all sat together, so unless he ended up getting a lunchtime detention, he was going to have to talk to them at the very least. He just hoped the Irish Spring soap did its job. He sat down at the table and immediately stuffed some of his curly fries into his mouth. Stiles knew he had a tendency to babble, even more so when he was nervous. He really didn't want to risk blurting something out. Of course, that's exactly when Jackson decided to prove what an utter douchebag he really was.

"Ewwww, Stiles, why the hell do you smell like Irish Spring? You reek!" Jackson's face twisted up into a grimace and instantly all eyes were on Stiles.

He could feel his face coloring so he chewed slower, trying to give his brain time to come up with something, anything. Swallowing hard, he grabbed his Coke to wash it down.

"Took a shower this morning," Stiles shrugged, shoving more fries into his mouth.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Why do I sit with you pigs?"

Jackson frowned. "We're not pigs. We're wolves."

The conversation turned and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the pointed looks he was getting from both Scott and Isaac, because really the two of them could fuck right off. It's not like either of them paid him any attention anyway. In the past two years, they seemed to have achieved best friend status, leaving Stiles behind.

As soon as he finished his fries, he downed his Coke in one gulp, grabbed his bag and jumped up. "Gotta go. Laterz."

Quickly, he headed out of the lunch room, feeling their eyes on him as he did. Within seconds Erica and Boyd were flanking him.

"What's up, buttercup?" Erica asked, sliding her hand around his elbow. "You're acting not you and you smell off."

Resisting the urge to pull his arm out of her grip, Stiles rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that whole smelling thing is gross?"

"You," Boyd deadpanned. "Why do you smell nervous? You got something to hide?"

"Nope, nothing to hide." Stiles jerked his arms out of their grasps and turned around, walking backwards. He raised his hands up and spun in a circle. "See? Nothing. Whatcha see is whatcha get. Just plain old Stiles."

Erica narrowed her eyes suspiciously and leaned forward, sniffing him.

"Hey! Look, it's English class. A class which I have to be in, right now, alone, or with my other classmates, which are not you. See you later."

He ducked into the classroom, closing the door behind him and breathing a sigh of relief before making a beeline to his desk. Slumping down into his seat, he willed his heart back under control. It was hard, especially given that Boyd was currently staring at him through the window and clearly giving him a look that said 'I'm watching you.' Stiles rolled his eyes and pulled his stuff out for class.

That night he sat at his desk, fingering the silver pendant. He remembered exactly when his mom had given it to him.

She handed him a purple box. "I want you to have this, Stiles."

"What? No, Mom, that's yours, you love that, you're gonna be fine-"

"Stiles."

Stiles went limp and took the box from her, stroking his finger over the crushed worn velvet, tracing the outline of silver on the outside.

"Open it."

He opened it, and there nestled in purple satin was the silver pendant he'd seen her wear so many times. Carefully, he lifted it out, fingers tracing over the Aries sign. "Why the wolf's head?" he asked curiously.

"You'll understand someday. The wolf and the ram are stronger together, especially when joined at the heart. Remember that Stiles."

He still wasn't sure what she meant by that. Setting the pendant aside, he pulled out the purple satin and stared at the two earrings hidden underneath. Both were mini replicas of the pendant. Hands trembling, he lifted them out, holding them up to the light.

"Stiles, listen to me, this part is important. The earrings. They'll come in handy some day. You'll know what you need to do when the time comes. They'll keep you safe, they'll bind you forever, but they'll keep you safe."

Fuck, he hoped she was right about the safe part. The binding part he wasn't so sure about, his research had turned up nothing concrete. He was just going to have to take his chances. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his contacts. Thumb hovering over the name, he took a deep breath and typed out a quick message. He read it over several times and hit send before he could chicken out. That was it, things were set in motion. There wouldn't be any turning back now.

Gently, he placed all the jewelry back in the box and hid it in the dark confines of the back of his desk drawer. He needed to work on his homework, because his Adderall was going to start wearing off and then he wouldn't be able to concentrate and it wasn't anywhere close to time for his next dose.

He'd barely cracked a book open when he heard Derek slide into his room.

"Why the hell does it reek of that awful soap your Dad uses?"

Sighing, Stiles turned around in his chair. "Because I ran out of mine and had to use his? Something you need?"

"Scott said you were acting weird at lunch today."

"Huh, didn't think he'd even notice, let alone talk to you about it. Again, why are you here?"

"You were acting weird. You're pack. I was checking on you."

Derek stood by the window, glowering at him, hands shoved into his pockets. Stiles didn't know what to think. His position with the pack was tenuous at best. Derek had never really stopped acting like Stiles’ very existence was irritating him like a fly buzzing around his head. He still pushed Stiles into walls, got all up in his personal space, but lately the tone of things had changed.

A lot of things had changed in the last two years, after the Alpha pack, Gerard, the fae, and numerous other bad things that had come their way. Somehow, Stiles always found himself right smack dab in the middle of it. He'd saved their lives too many times to count and was spending time learning mystical Wicca type stuff with Deaton.

Derek had been relying on him more, protecting him more when things got ugly, and got angrier faster when Stiles got himself in trouble. It rubbed off on the pack. Jackson was doucheier, and well, things with Scott hadn't been the same since that whole thing with Allison's creepy grandfather who'd beat the crap out of Stiles as a message that only Derek had gotten.

"Stiles?"

"Sorry, sorry, got lost in my head there. I'm fine. See?" Stiles held up his hands, gesturing to himself. "Totally fine."

He watched as Derek closed his eyes and inhaled. Red eyes stared back at him when Derek opened his again. "You don't smell fine."

"Really? How do I smell then?"

"Frustrated, resentful, and anxious, like you're hiding something."

"Hmm, well I have a test tomorrow in a class I abhor, so that probably explains just about all of that. And you're interrupting my study time."

Apparently oblivious to Stiles' wishes that he leave, Derek sat down on the bed, his back to the wall, feet stretched out in front of him.

"Fine. Make yourself at home Derek. My Dad's working late tonight, so you should have no problems there. I need to study though."

Stiles turned back around, determined to ignore him and tried to concentrate on his textbook. It wasn't the first time Derek had been creeping in his bedroom, in fact it had been happening a lot more as of late. Annoyed, Stiles tapped his pen against the desk as he tried to read up on, ironically, the social behavior of groups. He snorted. With his experience, he should already have a master's degree in that subject.

He shifted in his seat, anxiously glancing at his phone and praying to whatever deity existed that his earlier text wouldn't be answered anytime soon. Fuck his life though because that's when his phone started buzzing.

His heart tripped over itself in his chest when he recognized the number. Resolutely, he ignored it, knowing the caller would call back, understanding that now wasn't a good time to talk.

"You gonna answer that?"

"Nope. Studying."

"Maybe you should."

"They'll leave a message."

Instantly Stiles felt heat at his back, Derek's head hanging over his shoulder. "You're hiding something."

Grabbing his phone, and shoving it into his desk Stiles turned around angrily. "So what if I am? I think I've earned the right to a little privacy. My idiot best friend got bit by a werewolf and now I'm buried in this werewolf shit all the time. I've saved your asses more times than I care to remember. Held your heavy ass up in a pool for two hours while a lizard that turned out to be the douchebag that's been torturing me since kindergarten held us hostage. I got my ass handed to me by a geriatric psycho, and I'm not even going to discuss what the Alpha pack did to us, or the fucking Fae. At best I get disdain from most of you, at worst…whatever. I've got a fucking test tomorrow and I need to study. Stay or not, but be quiet."

He turned back around, facing his desk, but could still feel Derek at his back. A huff of breath ghosted over his neck and he shivered. Lips grazed his skin. "This isn't over," Derek whispered softly, his hand coming to rest briefly on the back of Stiles' neck. Then he was gone and Stiles let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

Two hours later he glanced around, then poked his head out the window. "Derek? Derek?" When he got no answer, he pulled his phone out and hit reply.

"Stiles. Better time to talk now?"

"Yeah. I need a favor."

Clutching the vial tightly in his hand, Stiles walked down the darkened street. He was meeting with Marcus again, to check over the final artwork and make his special request. His nerves thrummed with excess energy, his heart beating a staccato rhythm inside his chest. Good thing there weren't any werewolves around because it was so loud Stiles was pretty sure a human could have heard it. Relief started to seep into him as the darkness bled away to a soft yellow glow coming from the coffee shop where they'd met before.

His nerves getting the better of him, Stiles jogged the last few yards to the door, and the bell rang as he opened it and stepped inside. The barista behind the counter barely glanced at him while he ordered his stupidly expensive cup of coffee. Bouncing from side to side on his toes, Stiles grabbed the coffee, doctored it up a bit and made a beeline for the table he and Marcus had shared the previous time. He barely had time to take a sip when Marcus appeared, purchasing his own cup of coffee before joining Stiles at the table.

"You okay? You look a bit keyed up." Marcus nodded toward Stiles.

Sighing, Stiles, tried to still his movements. "Just anxious to see what you came up with is all."

"Well, then let's not keep you waiting."

Setting his coffee down, Marcus pulled a folder out from inside his jacket and slid it across the table toward Stiles. Slowly, Stiles opened it, licking his lips as he looked the picture over. His breath caught in his throat and he reached out a finger to trace the lines. It was perfect. It looked exactly like his drawing, like the pendant, the earrings.

"Thank you," he whispered, still tracing his finger over the picture. "It's exactly what I wanted."

"Great. Now you just need to call the shop, set up an appointment –"

"Wait." Stiles pulled the vial out of his pocket, turning it over in his hand. "There's something else."

"Okay."

He set the vial on the table. "I need this mixed in with the ink."

Marcus picked up the vial, shook it. "This silver?"

"Yup. Can you do it?"

"Yeah, question is why."

"It's private." Stiles answered, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Fair enough." Marcus sat back, twirling the vial between his fingers. "I can mix it, gonna take a bit of time, make sure I get the consistency right. You did right having it ground into a powder. It'll make it easier to suspend in the ink. Call the shop on Friday, we'll set up an appointment for you to come in and do your ink."

"Sounds good."

They finished their coffee in silence and Stiles stayed behind while Marcus left, vial in hand. He sat for fifteen more minutes before swallowing the last of his coffee, tossing his cup in the trash, and heading out the door. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walked back to where the Jeep was parked, ignoring the feeling he had that he was being creeped on. Fortunately, his Jeep started right up and he drove home.

The lights were off when he got there, his dad's car absent from the driveway. Stiles made his way upstairs, too drained to do much else. He hadn't realized how much of an emotional toll this whole thing would take. Sitting down on his bed, he hung his head, elbows rested on his knees. Shuddering, he took a deep breath.

"Stiles."

It was a testament to just how done with everything he was that he didn't even flinch when he heard Derek's voice. "What."

Then Derek was beside him, nose buried in his neck, and Stiles stiffened.

"Why do you smell like Chris Argent?" Derek growled, blunt teeth closing over Stiles' pulse.
Stiles turned his head, baring his neck, giving Derek the submission he needed. "I – my – the Jeep stalled. He drove by and gave me a jump."

He knew his heart was pounding, he could just about smell the stink of his own fear, his lie. He only hoped that Derek thought it was because he was chomping on Stiles' neck. Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Derek's tongue lapped at his skin, his teeth biting in, marking Stiles.

"Stiles?"

"Y-" Stiles coughed, cleared his throat, tried to make his voice less squeaky. "Yes?"

Derek pulled his mouth off again. "Don't lie to me. You smell like Argent and a stranger. And next time your Jeep breaks down, call me." He bit down again, widening the mark.

There was no way Stiles was going to be able to cover that up in the morning. A whimper escaped his throat and he went boneless in Derek's grip. With a growl of satisfaction, Derek pulled back, his hand on Stiles' jaw, turning his head, obviously admiring his handiwork.

"Are you done?" Stiles snapped.

The grip on his jaw tightened and he felt Derek nosing along his neck.

"Yes, no. Maybe. It doesn't really matter does it?"

"No," Stiles said in resignation, going limp in Derek's hold again. They'd been skirting this line for so long it felt like forever. Derek scented him, marked him, treated him differently, but he never actually explained why, he just did. It was part of why the Alphas…nope, Stiles wasn't going to go there, not tonight, he was too tired.

"Why do you smell like Argent?"

"I already told you, the Jeep stalled. He helped get it started again. Just in the right place at the right time."

"Why is your heart jumping around like you're lying to me?"

"I don't know, maybe because you're chomping my neck and leaving a mark behind the size of Texas. I'm never going to be able to explain that to my dad, and I don't look good in turtlenecks or scarves. Which means I'm going to have to get up early so I can run by Lydia's so she can work her magic again and cover up another one of your huge ass marks. Which by the way, why am I the only one you ever do this to? You don't do it to Allison."

"That's because she has Scott and she's better than Katniss with a bow."

"Did you just reference The Hunger Games? Wow, pop culture reference for the win. Now, are you done? Because like I said, I'm gonna have to get up early which means I need to get to bed."

"Yeah, I'm done. Stay away from Argent. You know he's trouble. We may have an alliance with him right now, but it's tenuous at best. You know that."

Stiles waved his hand, toeing off his shoes, and pivoting so he was lying on the bed. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

He was already under the covers and asleep by the time Derek finally crawled out of the window.

"Sure you want to go through with this kid?"

Looking across the breakfast table at his dad, Stiles nodded his head. He knew his dad wasn't asking him because he was afraid Stiles was second guessing himself. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sure. I just…"

"I know, son. I know." Sheriff Stilinski's gaze dropped down to his bowl of oatmeal and Stiles felt the twist of guilt in his gut.

He hated making his dad worry and the last couple of years had been brutal. It had been easier once he'd let his dad in on the whole werewolf thing, kind of like when Buffy's mom finally understood what it meant for her daughter to be a Slayer. But it didn't help that he made his dad worry and he'd had enough worry in the last two and a half years to last him a lifetime.

"Think it will work?"

Lifting a shoulder in a half attempt at a shrug, Stiles shook his head. "Don't know. I mean, it should. I talked to Deaton about it, even talked to Ms. Morell about it and wow is that bitch creepy. I thought Allison's mom took the cake with creepy but I think Ms. Morell might be even creepier. Although, nobody is as creepy as Allison's grandpa, that dude was just completely fu-," Stiles coughed. "Messed in the head. Anyway, between them and my Google translations of those diaries of Mom's I'm pretty sure this will work, kinda like the whole mountain ash thing. I just have to believe while it's being done, you know amidst all the pain and whimpering of course."

"Want me to go with you?"

Stiles shot his dad a hopeful glance. "Yes? No." He sighed. "I'm a big boy, I think, no I need to do this on my own, you know? I mean, it's Mom, or at least a part of her, or you know, what feels like a part of her, kinda poetic that even now she'd be protecting me in some way."

"Son, you have no idea. Your mom would have gone and did go to great lengths to protect you, to keep you safe."

"And yet I just keep stumbling headfirst right into trouble. She would be so proud," Stiles mumbled bitterly.

The Sheriff reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "She would be. I am. At least you face it and don't run from it. And that time with the Alphas –"

"Dad, I don't –"

"I know, I was just going to say," the Sheriff's voice broke and his fist clenched on the table. "I don't think anyone could have been braver, not after what they –"

"Thanks," Stiles said softly.

The Sheriff nodded and they ate in silence until Stiles got up to clear the table. He was standing at the sink rinsing his dishes when his father spoke again.

"When?"

"I'm supposed to call today for an appointment. He knows I want it sooner rather than later. So, hopefully soon?"

"Have you told –"

"Nope, and I'm not going to. He was already suspicious about Chris."

"I don't blame him," his Dad muttered under his breath.

His hand tightened on the glass he was holding and Stiles had to count to ten and concentrate on loosening his grip. "It was just for this. It's not like I have some unholy alliance with Chris Argent."

"Yeah, but that's not how he's going to see it."

"Well, then he'll just have to pull on his big boy alpha werewolf pants and deal. I'm doing what I need to do for me. All Chris did was make me some silver dust."

"Out of your mother's earrings."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't know about those either."

"Stiles!"

Angrily, Stiles spun around, wadding the towel in his hand up and throwing it on the sink. "Look, he doesn't tell me everything either. He didn't warn me about the Alphas, that they were here, what they could do, and look what happened? I mean, I know it was because he thought keeping me out of it would keep me safe, but it didn't, did it? And Scott, don't even get me started on Scott. I haven't actually spent time with my best friend, wait, I can't even remember the last time. There was momentary concern after the thing with the Alphas, but let's face it, I haven't been really high on his radar since Allison and now Isaac. So why the hell should I bother telling him what I'm planning on doing. It's not going to affect him anyway."

He took a deep breath but before he could get going on the next part of his rant, his father was right there, hands on his shoulders, squeezing. "Breathe kid, breathe."

"I don't know what I'm doing," Stiles said softly.

His Dad dropped his hands and pulled him into a hug instead. "You're doing something incredibly brave and wonderful to protect you and the ones you love."

Stiles laughed into his Dad's shoulder, the sound muffled. "You make it sound like I'm going off to war."

"Well, in a way, aren't you? I mean, won't this tattoo kind of be a declaration of sorts?"

"Yeah," Stiles mumbled, his hands clenching the back of his Dad's jacket. "Yeah, I guess it is. I'm obviously picking sides."

The Sheriff pulled back, looking Stiles in the eye. "I think those sides were picked a long time ago. You're just broadcasting it, making it permanent."

"I'm just afraid –"

Hands squeezed his shoulders. "He won't. It will be fine. I've seen the way he looks at you, believe me, I know these things. Just trust your instincts, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I've gotta get to work. I'm not on the late shift so, what's for dinner?"

Stiles chuckled. "Just for that, I'll grill some steaks and even let you have a loaded baked potato."

"Atta boy!" The Sheriff pulled him in for a hug, before grabbing his jacket and his hat and walking out the door.

"You okay kid?"

Clenching his teeth, Stiles nodded.

"Good. Helluva birthday present. Okay, I'm just gonna clean your skin, put the transfer on and then get started. This isn't very big so I'll have no problem getting it all done in one go. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you have to lie still."

"Nope, I got it. Took a double dose of my Adderall, I should be fine. Okay if I talk though? I mean, tell me if it's not. Actually, maybe I won't talk, mind if I move my lips though? Might be better if I keep the talking in my head."

"We'll see. Let's get you in the chair and get started, then while I'm cleaning your skin, we'll see how much talking makes your chest move. Left upper chest right?"

"Yeah."

Stiles took off his shirt and settled back into the chair, looking around the shop as he did. It was quiet, empty, but then he'd known it would be. He'd told Marcus about his requirement for secrecy, so they'd set this appointment up purposefully and Marcus had assured him they would be alone. Stiles had his phone, had his Dad's number pulled up if he needed him.

He closed his eyes as Marcus cleaned his skin, feeling the coldness of the antiseptic and smelling the astringent scent. Stiles knew he was taking an awful risk; there would be no way the wolves wouldn't scent the cleaner, the blood, the ink, the silver, his mind helpfully supplied.

"Okay, I'm transferring the design. When I finish, I want you to look it over, make sure it looks okay and then I'll get started."

Paper was laid against his skin and pressed, Marcus' strong fingers smoothing over it. He probably left it on longer than was necessary, but Stiles figured Marcus had probably just picked up on his desire for perfection.

"Take a look."

Stiles opened his eyes and looked down and then into the mirror Marcus was holding up for him.

"It will look a bit different when I'm done, obviously, the silver will give it a bit of sparkle. We'll see. Won't know for sure until it's completely healed. But I suspect the right light hitting it? Will probably make it sparkle a bit."

"Perfect," Stiles said, snorting under his breath about sparkling just like those fake vampires Derek hated.

"I thinned the ink out as much as I could, couldn't do it more or the ink wouldn't set right. It's a bit more viscous than normal ink with the silver mixed in, but it should be just fine. Might be a tad more painful but you probably won't notice it. Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Closing his eyes, Stiles laid back, took a deep breath and started to think. The wolf and the ram are stronger together, especially when joined by the heart. This will work. The silver etched into this tattoo will protect me. I will never be vulnerable again. I am the spark. The wolf and the ram are stronger together, especially when joined by the heart. I am the spark.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, believing with all his heart that it would work, just like the mountain ash had worked two years ago. His skills were more advanced now, it didn't take as much concentration or hope as it had back then. Which was a good thing considering the needle that was repeatedly poking into him right now and holy fuck that was painful.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly, repeated it until the pain subsided enough for him to concentrate again. His lips moved as he whispered his mantra now under his breath; he was sure Marcus couldn't hear it, or at least if he could he was ignoring it.

The pain seemed to ebb and flow and even Stiles knew he was floating on endorphins now, thank merciful Zeus for those amazing things. He was feeling no pain now and could fully concentrate on his mantra and believing in this tattoo. Time lost meaning and before he knew it Marcus was wiping the site off one final time before letting him take a look at it.

"Stiles, I'm finished. I think you're going to like this."

Opening his eyes and blinking to clear his vision, Stiles looked into the mirror and there it was, his drawing on his skin and it already had a silvery sheen to it. He repeated his mantra one more time and looked at Marcus. "It's perfect."

He bent his head down to look at it on his skin, he wanted to touch, to stretch the skin out, see if it really did shimmer but just as he reached for it, Marcus slapped his hand away. "Don't touch. Not yet."

Stiles jerked his hand back. "Sorry." An anxious laugh escaped as he watched Marcus clean it and dress it. They talked through the aftercare instructions and then Marcus helped him out of the chair. They made small talk while Stiles dug for his wallet and Marcus started cleaning up. Stiles handed him the money and they shook hands. "Thanks man, it looks fantastic. You do great work. If I decide to get another one, I'll be sure to give you a call."

"Anytime, it was great working with you. And think about what I said, you know, drawing for me."

Marcus walked Stiles to the door and opened it for him. "Be careful out there, it's a full moon tonight and you know what they say about those."

"Yup. Thanks again." Full moon, Stiles knew all too well about those and he really hoped all his wolfy friends were out doing their wolfy thing far away from here. It was one of the reasons he'd scheduled this for tonight.

The chilled air made him shiver as he walked quickly back toward the Jeep. He stopped as he heard a wolf howl in the distance. It was far away so he got into the Jeep, started her up and headed for home. He sent his Dad a text once he was inside the house letting him know he was back and everything had gone fine.

Stiles: Dad, Home now, things r good, Tatt is good.

Dad: Stiles, Can't wait to see it. Night, son.

Dropping his wallet and keys on the counter, Stiles trudged up the stairs and left his bag in his room, grabbed a clean shirt, before heading straight to the bathroom. Once there, he stripped off his shirt and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His skin was red and angry right now, sore. He wanted a shower in the worst way, but he knew he'd have to wait until at least the morning. He was too tired to be careful enough not to get the tattoo site wet.

He brushed his teeth and shrugged on the clean shirt and went back into his bedroom. The window opened and he spun around in shock. "D-Derek! Wh-what are you doing here?" he stuttered out, stepping back.

Derek's eyes flashed red, the hair on his sideburns growing and his claws elongating. "What did you do?" he demanded.

Stiles backed up again as Derek pushed forward, crowding him up against his bedroom door. Derek's nose found its way to Stiles' neck, burrowed in, sniffing. "You smell like Argent, that man, ink and blood, and something else. Why? What did you do?" he growled.

"N-nothing."

"You're lying. I can smell the lie and I can smell the blood. What. Did. You. Do?" Derek punctuated each word with a nip at Stiles' throat. Before Stiles could answer, Derek nosed at the edge of his shirt and pulled back, eyes still red but widened in shock.

Stiles didn't stand a chance. Derek's claws were out and his shirt was in ribbons in the blink of an eye. For several long seconds Derek just stared at his chest, at the shiny covering over the tattoo. The silence grew until Stiles couldn't stand it anymore and had to say something.

"I did it for me," he said quietly. "I know I need to explain things to you, the design, the contents, everything, but you have to understand, I did it for me. You left me out of so much stuff, you kept me in the dark, let me get hurt, the Alphas, they…my mom had some diaries, she was – she was more, more than Deaton or Ms. Morell. She would have put them to shame. There was stuff in there about the Argents, about your family, you. She knew Derek. She knew. All those years ago, I was just a kid and she knew. So yeah, I did it. I did it to protect me, to protect my dad. And to make certain that what happened with the Alphas will never happen again. Ever."

"Stiles," Derek snarled, dipping his head down, nosing gently at the bandage covering the tattoo, a whine slipping out.

Stiles reached up and cupped the back of Derek's head, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, his heart settling down to a more natural rate and his lungs letting out the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

"Stiles, you have no idea what you've done."

A grunt was ripped from Stiles' throat when Derek nudged at the tattoo again with his nose.

"Why?" Derek whispered. "Where did you get the design?"

"I drew it. I mean I based it off something in my mom's diaries, but I drew it myself."

Derek lifted his head up, licking at the edges of the bandage, sucking up a mark on the corner of it. "That makes it more powerful."

Swallowing hard, Stiles licked his lips anxiously. "M-more powerful?"

Pulling his mouth off Stiles' neck, Derek drew back and looked him in the eye. "You really don't know do you?"

Shaking his head and frowning Stiles held up his hands in surrender. "Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That tattoo? You did it as a symbol of protection right?"

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, still not sure where Derek was going with this, but pleased that he recognized the tattoo for what it was. "Yeah, I bound it to me, to our pack, to keep me safe, to keep all of you safe."

"You did more than that. You bound yourself to the pack. To me. You became our guardian, our protector. You bound yourself to us forever. We belong to you and you belong to us. You belong to me. Forever."

"Wait. What?"