Chapter Text
“Should I make out the wedding invitations?”
Stiles swallowed his mouthful of soda.”What?”
Lydia smirked. “Well, you and Derek have seemed awfully cozy lately. Just wanted to be supportive.”
“Oh, yeah, because that’s exactly why I went into wildlife preservation.” He rolled his eyes. “Beastiality jokes.”
Besides, Stiles wouldn’t call him and Derek ‘cozy’ precisely. More like Stiles could put on a collar without getting his hand bitten off. It had been a rough road since he had been hired at the wildlife preserve and immediately assigned to be the grumpy wolf’s personal handler. The rest of the staff had been pretty supportive about it, if by supportive you mean being absolute dicks. Even Scott, Stiles long time best friend, teased him mercilessly about his apparent romance. And, given it was Scott’s fault that Stiles ended up working here, that was so not far.
See, it had all started their sophomore year of highschool when Scott had fallen in love with Allison Argent, daughter to Chris Argent and owner of the new Beacon Hills wildlife preserve. Wanting to spend as much time as possible with her, Scott had begged Stiles to work at the preserve with him over the summer, and like the sucker he was Stiles had agreed. One summer turned into a permanent part time job, and Stiles had eventually decided that working at the preserve was what he wanted to do with his life. Scott, forever the romantic, had decided to follow Allison into the field as well. Which is how they all ended up going to the same college (a few hours from town), getting matching degrees (zoology, to be exact), and all being hired at the Beacon Hills preserve (no small part owed to the fact that Allison was, once again, daughter of the owner).
It just so happened that on that particular year that they graduated, in fact in that particular summer, Mr. Argent decided that he was going to expand the preserve to feature an all new wolves exhibit, shipping in a small pack of four. And, at first, Stiles had even been excited about the prospect. He and Scott were going to be the head caretakers of an entire section of the preserve, which sounded pretty damn important. That was of course until Stiles met Derek.
Derek. How to describe Derek... well, he was big, for a wolf. Black fur, bizarre red eyes, he looked more hellhound than Canis lupus. And one hell of a temper, like really, not that Stiles was saying that he was Snow White or anything, but wow. He had never felt that an animal would hate him more than Derek did those first few weeks. And that was saying something, given that Scott hadn’t even been able to walk within five feet of the wolf before setting Derek off. Apparently Stiles didn’t even have the worst of it.
What he did have, however, was a hard ass time doing anything remotely like training for Derek. It wasn’t like the wolves had to be domesticated, but there were wildlife shows put on by the preserve that were suppose to educate guests. And given that Derek was the alpha of his pack, well, it was kind of important for him to be in the show. But even getting a collar on the mutt, much less strutting about onstage... no amount of positive reinforcement via warm hotdog bits seemed to change his mind.
But Stiles was nothing if not tenacious once he was set on doing something. So while Scott paraded around with one of the calmer wolves, Isaac being a personal favorite though Boyd and Erica eventually getting comfortable enough to go onstage, Stiles had done his best to slowly gain Derek’s trust. And it had worked, to a degree.
The truly annoying part was the co-workers, Stiles had been quick to find out.
Lydia had been the worst of it. She was in management, never really working with the animals but still devoted to the preserve. Stiles had wondered why he had ever garnered a crush on her in high school, for all that they were pretty good friends now. She had called Stiles months of effort to get Derek not to try to bite his hand off ‘wooing’ and would tease him mercilessly about the fact that he spent Saturday nights at the preserve rather than on dates. And while Stiles mostly took it in turn, knowing that it was all harmless teasing, it still stung a bit how true a lot of the remarks were. He had to admit that he had spent more time getting Derek to like him than any of his previous relationships.
Stiles finished his lunch quickly, stuffing down his sandwich before Lydia had a chance to direct a few more blows his way. It was Monday, which meant they didn’t have a show to worry about, which was probably why Scott was taking his sweet time chatting it up with Allison. As Stiles walked to the wolf section of the preserve he couldn’t help but wonder if Lydia had a point. Maybe he should stop working so much and try to find some sort of romance life of his own. He had definitely slowed down since college.
Of course that thought dissipated as his wolves came into view. Because yes, they were Stiles’ wolves, through and through. There was energetic Isaac, who was apparently in love with Scott, and really, how was it fair he got all the beastiality jokes when Scott got his face nearly licked off daily? Isaac had a tawny coat and was long and lean, particularly keen to wrap himself around unsuspecting legs. Erica, the ice queen of the pack who didn’t take sass from anyone else despite being the only female, was lounging on the ground. Her coat was the lightest, white with golden highlights. Her mate Boyd was curled around her, a wolf who was always calm and never rushed, though fiercely protective of his mate the first few days of arrival. He was almost as bulky as Derek, and his coat was dark brown.
Derek, of course, was seated at the small rock outcrop at the edge of the enclosure, keeping an eye out for his pack. It was odd, the fact that he hadn’t taken Erica as a mate despite being the obvious alpha. Really should have gone against all his instincts as a wolf. Stiles wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. For a few days he and Scott had assumed that Boyd had been the alpha, but the wolves submissive behavior towards Derek had spoken otherwise. Though it was somewhat sappy, Stiles had wondered if it was because Derek had lost his mate before arriving here, and he wasn’t ready to move on.
Stiles locked the entrance behind him as Isaac came bounding up, quickly tangling himself in Stiles’ legs. “Okay, okay!” he cried, laughing as he bent down to scratch behind the adolescent’s ears. “Yes, I know you’ve been a good boy Sir Isaac, but Scott will be here soon to give you all the attention you could possibly want. So I gotta go give your supreme overlord there some love.”
Isaac whined as he wiggled his body, pressing his nose against Stiles’ pocket.
Stiles stood. “No. You know these are for Derek.” He patted his pocket. “Scott will be here with treats for you soon, so stop being a baby.”
Isaac let out one final whine before bounding away again, knowing when to admit defeat. Stiles was glad the preserve didn’t have a strict no-interaction policy with the animals. Though these were wild animals, and thus would always be dangerous and need a level of caution when being handled, they were animal ambassadors for the public showing that all animals deserved to live and be protected. And that meant that the handlers had to train them to a certain degree, in order to interact with them in shows.
And speaking of interaction, Derek was now eyeing Stiles with a mixture of anticipation and distrust. Stiles hated to think on how he would be received without a pocketful of treats. He walked up to his charge with an easy going smile. “Why hello there King Sourwolf, nice to see you would be so kind as to allow me within your territory without even barking your head off. Such a courteous host, I must say. And how are we feeling about a little bit of collar training today?”
Derek’s head sank at the word collar, his ears pressed back. He was just above Stiles on his rock outcrop. Stiles held it up, a simple red collar with a steel chain leash. It was really meant to be a last measure if a wolf decided to try to break free during a show. Derek absolutely hated it.
Stiles took out a treat, showing it to Derek, causing the wolf’s ears perked right back up. “Yeah, you know what this is. Can you be a good boy and stand for me?”
Derek slowly straightened his hind legs, showing that he obviously didn’t care to do so one bit. But stand he did.
“Good boy.” Stiles let Derek grab the treat. He wasn’t going to bother asking the wolf to get down from the boulder he was on. It would be easier this way to put on his collar. He knew that looming over Derek was a pretty big no-no, and he hated getting dust on his khaki pants from kneeling. “Now I want you to hold still while I put the you-know-what on.”
Derek stiffened, but didn’t move. He let Stiles slowly wrap the collar around his neck, clasping it comfortably tight. Stiles didn’t like to admit this to anyone, but sometimes he made up dialogue for what the wolves were saying. It made him feel a little less lonely when Scott wasn’t around. Right now he imagined Derek saying something snarky like, “How about I put a collar on you and see how you like it?”
“Well, I do have to say that red is my color. I would probably look pretty nice with something like that wrapped around my neck.” He reached out and stroked the side of Derek’s neck, a pleased smile smacked on his face. “You’d get all the bitches with that look, I’m sure. If, you know, you’re into bitches. I go either way myself, so who am I to judge?”
Derek continued to look unimpressed.
“Wow, way to put my hard work into perspective dude. You wouldn’t even let me touch you that first week, remember? I literally had to put treats on the ground before you would eat them. And now look at us, thick as a pair of thieves. Almost makes me want to propose on the spot. You think my dad would be too freaked out if I brought a wolf home as my fiance? He took the liking guys thing pretty well, so maybe...”
Derek sat down and began to scratch his neck, his claws rubbing against the collar.
Stiles sighed. “You sick of my banter too? God, no wonder I can’t get a date if I can’t even hold a conversation with someone who can’t talk. Not to say you can’t talk, I’m sure you communicate in all sorts of ways we don’t know about yet, but-”
Derek leaned forward and gave Stiles face a large lick, from the bottom of his chin to the tip of his nose.
Stiles cringed backwards. “Ugh, dude, gross! This was not what I had in mind when I thought about getting some tongue!”
Derek looked awfully smug as he scratched his neck again.
+++
The boxes were coated in dust, fine powdery stuff that choked the air. Stiles wiped one off with an impatient hand, his palm quickly coated in grey. He made a face at the offending appendage and went to grab a dust cloth.
“How long have these been here?” he asked his father, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Most of it is your mother’s things.” The Sheriff opened a box and took out a blue and white polkadot dress, rubbing the worn fabric between his fingers. “So not for awhile.” His voice held a trace of hollowness.
Stiles patted his father’s shoulder. “We’re doing the right thing. She wouldn’t want this stuff to rot up here in the attic. I’m sure that dress will look amazing on someone.”
The Sheriff chuckled. “Not as amazing as your mother. Do you remember this dress? She bought it for your eighth birthday party.”
Stiles squatted down in front of another box. “Yeah, I remember.” He opened it, the tape old enough to simply rip apart. “But I don’t think we can really pull of the polkadot look, so to charity it goes. That’s what we agreed on, remember? Only the stuff we can use or is really important.”
The Sheriff nodded and paced the dress reverently into the bag designated for clothing. “I know.”
They fell into an easy routine after that, speaking little, recalling a memory here or there. It was good they waited so many years to do this. For a long time it had been too soon, too fresh of a wound to pick at. But sadness scars over with time, a cut that never fades but becomes part of you, a memory of fresh pain. Now was the time for cleaning though, for bittersweet memories to be shared between them.
“Huh,” his father grunted, holding a dark blue text with tea colored pages.
“Hmm?” Stiles put down a necklace and walked over. “What’s that?”
“Don’t know.” He turned the text over, but there was nothing printed on the binding. “Your mother always was a bit of a pack rat with family heirlooms. Seems like this may be one of those.” He opened the book and blinked down into the page before handing it to Stiles. “Well I’m useless here without my glasses. You have a look at it.”
Stiles scanned the text, black and thin, the handwritten letters intertwining like a spider’s web. “Book of Magicks...” Stiles smile wrapped around his face. “Whoa, seriously awesome.”
The Sheriff scoffed. “Magic. Your mom was always going on about that sort of thing. Purifying spirits, good luck charms. Always seemed pretty hokey to me.”
Stiles remembered. Little chants that were sing-song light, whispered to him at night. Teas with strange herbs that had her giggling about being a hedgewitch. A gem- what was it? Something for protection, something she had made into a necklace for Stiles’ first day of school that had rested against his chest. He had worn that so much as a kid. Was is still in the house, trapped inside one of these boxes?
“Mind if I keep it?” he asked, flipping through long paragraphs and strange symbols.
The Sheriff waved a flippant hand. “I doubt Goodwill has many wizards perusing its bookshelves. Go right ahead.”
+++
Allison scrunched her nose. “I doubt keeping bloody gloves on the table is very sanitary for our work environment.” She was in the process of taking off her own gloves, thick leather that went all the way up her forearms for when she worked with the birds of prey.
Stiles glanced up from his book. “Well sorry princess, next time Derek gets his leg sliced open, i'll just leave it be.”
Her brows knitted. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Hell if I know, I came back from dinner to find his hind leg with a three inch scratch. Any deeper and I would have recommended stitches.” He turned a page. “Isaac was sulking pretty guiltily though. I’m sure it was just some rough housing that got out of hand. I bandaged it myself, so no need to worry. He’s not even limping.”
“Well, nice to see you care so deeply,” Allison scoffed.
Stiles didn’t bother to reply. There was no need for Allison to know how he had basically panicked at the sight of blood, flailing so hard Derek had flinched away. How he had petted and cooed and worried over the wolf as Scott went to go get supplies. How he had slowly wrapped the bandage around the Derek’s leg, whispering sweet nothings to calm him down, swearing Scott to secrecy when the horrible event was all over.
There was no need to tell Allison this because Stiles was sure she would hear all about it in embarrassing detail tonight. And speaking of his soon-to-be traitorous best friend, Scott chose that moment to make an entrance, a white rag spotted with blood pressed against the his forearm.
Allison swooped forward. “And now what’s happened to you?”
He gave his bravest smile. “Derek swiped me with one of his claws when I was holding him down for Stiles earlier. I guess the big, bad wolf isn’t the only one to have earned a battle wound today.”
“I wouldn’t call getting yourself hurt through stupidity a battle wound,” Stiles snarked from his chair. It wasn’t Derek’s fault Scott hadn’t held him down properly.
Scott snorted. “I guess only Derek gets you on Mama Hen mode. So sorry your lifelong best friend doesn’t even get an ounce of concern.”
“Mother Hen?” Allison asked, biting her cheek to hold back a giggle.
Scott deposited the rag next to Stiles’ gloves, going for the first aid kit. “Oh you should have seen him today, calling Derek every pet name in the book. I’m pretty sure Der-Bear was my favorite-”
“Shouldn’t you two be leaving now?” Stiles was quick to cut off. He didn’t like the way Allison was holding in her sides to hold back laughter. “It’s not like you got stuck on the night shift for the second day in a row.”
“That’s because I’m not the one who told Lydia she put on too much eyeshadow right before she assigned shifts,” Allison was quick to remind him.
Stiles sniffed. “Well, it was true.”
Scott finished taping the bandage to his arm. “All right, all ready to leave.” He turned to Stiles. “Make sure to take care of Der-Bear, don’t want him getting an infection or anything now.”
If Stiles wasn’t holding a precious family heirloom, he would have chucked it straight at Scott’s head. As it was he waved goodbye without looking up, Allison chirping a good night before the door shut behind them. God, he needed to get some better friends.
Still, he wasn’t just reading the book to ignore teasing. The first dozen or so pages had been filled with small rituals and descriptions of items, mostly for purity and protection. Some of what he had read had reminded him of little things his mother would do from time to time. Soon after Scott and Allison had left though he turned the page to find a section that looked different from the rest of the book. The pages were older, the yellow of a smoker’s fingers, and crinkled as he touched them. The words were in another language, Latin maybe, or Gaelic. He definitely couldn’t make heads or tails of what was being said.
But these pages had a different feel to them. Pictures of grotesque creatures and diagrams littered the pages. Someone with small, neat handwriting and a blue pen had written notes on certain sections, translating the odd word, things like mountain ash and monk’s hood. He finally settled on a page that was nearly fully translated, the bold title underlined with blue letters.
Transfiguration of Animal to Human
Stiles grinned. “Whoa, what have we here?” This was straight up Harry Potter looking stuff. He scanned the page, but only a few words were translated, things like blood and moon and sacrifice. Very spooky stuff. Unlike the rest of the pages, there was what looked like a short poem scribbled into the side right next to a chunk of indented text. In parentheses on top of it was the sentence, Words of power need no one language!
Well, how could Stiles possibly resist?
“By silver moon I call by blood,” he began, his voice holding the mimicking mimsy of a chant, “to change that which is beast onto my own.”
The full moon shone through the office windows, the table lamp casting a golden glow across the room, throwing hazy shadows onto the wall. A light gust of wind rustled past the window, whistling against the glass. The heater groaned with a metallic clank.
“Let memories from me be taken, and let him know that which human I have known. A sacrifice to nature thus I give, a brother given freely to the wild.”
The animals were silent all throughout the preserve, not a call to be heard. The parking lot was empty besides Stiles’ beat up blue jeep. The sky was like a solid blue piece of construction paper, white cut outs for the autumn moon and the few stars and shone past the town’s light pollution.
“Let that which my heart desires be known, and to this night the bond be forever forged.” Stiles shook his head. “Come on man, that doesn’t even rhyme.”
Placing a piece of scrap paper to keep his spot, he got up and stretched his back, grabbing a flashlight off the table. His eyes skirted back to the white rag that Scott had been using to cover his cut. He picked it up with two fingers, confirming it free of blood. Which was odd, because he definitely noticed blood on it earlier. He put the towel down to then notice that his gloves had no blood stains too, and now he was a little weirded out, because he definitely remembered getting blood on those...
He shook his head. Maybe Allison or Scott had replaced the items when he wasn’t looking. He didn’t remember them doing so, but there were tons of rags and gloves around the preserve, and he had been pretty wrapped up in reading his book to ignore their teasing. He shrugged and flipped on his flashlight.
It wasn’t like the blood just vanished into thin air, right?