Chapter Text
Stiles’ parents had the happiest, gushiest, a-typical connection that you could hope to hear about. They had met in an interview and within that month they had bonded. Just like that, they had instantly known that they were going to love one another. A lot of people gave them flack for being too quick, but when you felt a connection, you felt a connection, or so they always told Stiles. And from that day on the Stilinskis were the happiest pair of bondmates you would ever hope to find in Beacon Hills, and when Sentinel Stilinski became Papa Stilinksi, and then only a few years after that Sheriff Stilinski, his bondmate was always there to guide him along his way. His loving wife and the beautiful mother to his son. And after her death he would never be the same again, the emotional wound too jagged to fit another Guide within his life, like a puzzle piece with only one other matching cut-out, now gone forever.
Was it too much that Stiles wanted the same? Okay, when he was younger he was expecting to be the Sentinel in the scenario, but it wasn’t too surprising he turned out to be a Guide. After all, he was the one that always kept a cool head, who always thought things through and came up with a plan. He couldn’t even count the times he had to pick up the pieces of Scott and put it back together, his comforting words like crazy glue. And it wasn’t even that big of a deal that Scott got to be a Sentinel and he didn’t, that Scott got the crazy senses and the superhero abilities, it really wasn’t.
Okay, Stiles had to admit. Sometimes, even a year after the fact, it still sometimes stung.
But at moments like those, weak ones where could do nothing but pity himself, he would remember the way that Scott had screamed that first day. How he couldn’t open his eyes because the sunlight burned like citrus, how he had shoved his hands against his ears because the noises were so loud it felt like his head was going to rip apart. Being a Sentinel had its downsides, from zoning to berserking, and Stiles was kind of glad he never had to deal with that, ADHD was bad enough for his concentration, no thank you. And besides, Stiles’ mom was a Guide, and she was one of the coolest, most badass people ever. There was no way he could feel too sorry for too long being what she was. He only wished she could be there to tell him how to deal with it.
Because there were definite downsides to being what he was, and the whole epidemic of there not being enough Guides for the current Sentinel population was definitely the root of just about all of them. Isolation was just about as fun as it sounded. The fact that Stiles could only have physical contact with Guides and Normals was bad enough, but it was particularly vexing that both his own father and his best friend were cut from that list, which was just total bullshit. Like either would ever attempt to bond with him, ew. But rules were rules, even when they absolutely sucked.
The only time he could come face to face with an unbonded Sentinel was when he was being interviewed, and even that was with a chaperone Guide. Not that that ever went well. He’d even been scheduled to meet with Scott, which was really bizarre but nice to be able to see him in person again (they frequently texted, messaged, and video called of course) even if that bond was never going to happen. Lydia had been a wet dream in heels, but it only took Stiles a minute or two to realize he was so far beneath her that she would need a microscope to see him. Erica, another one of those rare females that only made up 5% of the Sentinel population, had been somewhat flirty, but hope was lost as soon as Boyd came to the Tower. Which was a double whammy, because he had hoped to become friends with the guy, but Guides always moved in with their Sentinels once they were bonded. And thus to another part of the Tower.
Well, they weren’t in a tower exactly. In 2001 after the attack on the New York Towers the government had gotten a bit paranoid about their youngest generation of Sentinel and Guides, and so had begun constructing schools in little out of the way places that were less likely to be the focus of attacks. Which is why Stiles dad had been located as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills, normally a paygrade far below that of an active Sentinel. But the Tower still included all the bells and whistles, spas and work out rooms, honeymoon suites, and of course a special section just for unbonded Guides. And no matter how comfortable it was, a prison was still a prison.
Of course Stiles understood the need for such a thing. Unbonded Guides were like catnip to Sentinels, and it only took a whiff of someone compatible to set them off. So, really, the best thing to do was to just get bonded. Problem solved. Find a nice Sentinel, move in with him or her (though most likely him, and Stiles was well enough into his sexual crisis to know that, like most Guides, he was pretty okay with that) and get the protection to go out into the real world. No more Rapunzel shit in the cruddy Beacon Hills Tower. But of course, Stiles being Stiles, he just could not bond. He never once, no matter who he interviewed with, no matter how hard he tried, felt that spark that his parents had so often talked about. He never felt like anyone was the one, so why even bother to give it a try?
He just had to keep hoping that his one and only would come soon.
+++
Derek Hale was really not having a great day. Or morning, as it were, because it was currently 5am and he was running on three hours of sleep and two cups of coffee. He fought the urge to slump against the side of the house that he was currently pressed up against, his eyelids feeling like lead and his mouth still tasting of the breakfast sandwich he had crammed down his throat. Bagel, bacon, egg, cheese, and of course the bitter after-wash of coffee. He cataloged them all as he willed himself to calm, for his jittery heartbeat to return to an even rhythm. He gripped his glock, the feel of hard plastic against his calloused fingers calming his breath to an even tempo.
His partner was on the other side of the door, and Derek could hear the sound of his feet crunching against the browning grass as the man shifted his weight nervously. Bloomsburg or Greensfield, whoever it was that Argent had assigned for him this particularly shitty morning, the sky a watery gray as the sun slowly made its appearance. Derek shot the man a glare. He knew the perp was a Normal, but that didn’t mean shit. It didn’t mean they could take any chances with this one, who'd been on L.A.s wanted list for months, a dealer in a ring that had been busted wide open. Sources had just been able to ping to his location, a duplex outside the city limits. Just Derek’s luck that the information had come in so early in the morning, and that he had been the one to take the case.
The living room TV turned on, the cheerful voice of a talk show personality wishing the viewers good morning. Derek closed his eyes to concentrate. Light footsteps against the carpeted floor, moving towards them. Not heavy enough to fit the perps description, but not a child either, probably a woman. Girlfriend most likely. And yes, there it was, humming from a distinctly female voice, a catchy pop tune that was on every radio station Derek skipped past. She opened the fridge to grab something, a container with liquid. Milk most likely, as the next thing she grabbed gave the jiggle of cereal flakes in a cardboard box.
Derek opened his eyes and turned towards his partner, shaking his head. The Normal nodded, understanding that this wasn’t their perp. Derek jerked his head towards the door, indicating that they were going to force their way inside, eliciting a nod in return. Good, the cop wasn’t stupid. Maybe Derek would ask his name when all was said and done.
He waited until the telltale sound of the lock clicking open and the twisting of the door handle before springing in front of the door, and in one quick move he had his hand over the mouth of a frightened woman, painfully skinny and still in her pajamas. He pointed the gun to her head and gave her a look that some of his more friendly co-workers called a death glare and the less friendly ones his bitch face. She trembled beneath his hand but remained quiet, her knees locking together.
“I’m not going to judge who you live with,” he whispered to her, “but I will tell you that I’m not afraid to arrest you for obstruction of the law. You’re living with a very wanted man.” He tightened his grasp on her mouth when she said something in protest. “Shut it. You can plead ignorance all you want, I don’t give a damn. But if you scream I will arrest you. So if you don’t want to end up in the jail cell next to your boyfriend, I suggest you remain quiet.”
He could smell her sweat, that acrid scent of fear rolling off her skin, mingling with her milk drenched breath and cheap perfume. It was a lie, of course. He was still going to arrest her for abiding with a criminal, but it was for the courts to decide if she was innocent. He did not need her messing with his operation right now. He motioned for his partner to take her, and as soon as he let go of her mouth she gave a wretched, warbling scream.
God damn it. Derek threw her to his partner and took off like a shot, racing up the stairs which creaked and moaned from the action, the handrail a flimsy iron that would probably fall apart in his hands. He tried to focus on the upstairs, and cursed under his breath as he heard a window slide open. The perp was definitely awake then, and given that the house had a wooden awning in front of the bedroom window did not bode well. Derek slammed open the door just to see the man jumping onto the ground, his wife beater stained a nasty yellow and his boxers an obnoxious red. But Derek had caught his scent, the overwhelming smell of nicotine which lay over sweat, aftershave, and some liquor he had spilled on his clothes last night. Derek didn’t even hesitate to dive out the window right after him.
The jumped from the awning to a neighboring bush was jarring, but Derek was in good enough shape that he could land light enough, his ankles protesting the action but his adrenaline pumping high enough that he could barely be bothered with the pain. He took off running down the street, the scent of his prey pulling his instinct like a leash. He only had to obey that urge to run, to seek, to take down. Prey, he thought, a mantra that ran across his mind as he surged forward. Prey prey prey.
The perp wasn’t a hard man to catch. Barefooted, just waking up, an extended gut, it was barely a minute before Derek was upon him, crashing into his back. They fell into the pavement, but the man was an eel in his arms, twisting around, hand extended. A sharp gunshot rang across the neighborhood, and Derek felt the hot pain in his upper arm, falling back in painful shock. The man didn’t even blink before he took off again, the gun cradled against his chest, his yellowed shirt splattered with droplets of dark red.
Derek only allowed a moment for himself to be in shock before launching himself upwards and running forward again. He didn’t even bother to place a hand on his wound, the blood pouring down his arm. Instead he clutched his Glock ever tighter, a small thread to the humanity when all he wanted to do was hunt. Chase, catch, kill. To sink his teeth into the man’s jugular and feel the warmth of the blood that gushed forth. He let his senses overwhelm him, the cold pavement beneath him, the smoggy city air before him, the sounds of people shouting surrounding him. He ran forward, pain forgotten, all that drowned in a heated rage.
The perp turned around and lifted his hand for another shot. Derek could see every individual cell of skin, every tiny hair upon his flesh. In one swift motion he raised his own gun to fire, right into the man’s hand, forcing him to drop the gun, staggering back as he cried out in pain. Derek growled as he slammed into the man, forcing him on his back, his skull hitting the sidewalk with a sickening thud. Derek’s hands wrapped so easily around his neck, and the sight of the man’s eyes bulging was so perfect, so right. His stuttering lips as he grasp out, “Okay, I give up! I give up!” But it wasn’t enough. This man had hurt him, and caused him to bleed, had been prey, was still prey. His life was Derek’s to extinguish with large, tight hands. His life was forfeit the moment he decided to fight back.
Later Derek would have argued that he would have let go, eventually. After the man had passed out, after he had been neutralized as a threat. But it was the icy sting of a tranquilizer in Derek’s arm that made him let go, made him slump forward as its toxins flooded his veins. He blinked behind him to see his partner running up, already calling it in. As he fell onto the sidewalk, his body crashing into the coughing, bleeding perp, he saw his wolf standing above him, looking down at him with solemn blue eyes.
+++
“You bonded with Allison? She hasn’t even been here for two months!” Stiles shouted into the computer screen, glaring down at Scott’s smugly guilty face. “Dude, not cool! She was my friend, who am I going to hang with now?”
“I can’t help it, it just happened! I can’t explain it, it just- it just felt right, okay?” The stubborn set of Scott’s crooked jaw told Stiles just how not-sorry Scott was for that happening. “I’ve been waiting to bond just as long as you have. I thought you would be happy for me!”
Stiles opened his mouth to argue, only to shut it again. A moment ticked by before he started to rub the back of his head with an exasperated sigh. “Look, I am dude, I am. You and Allison are going to be amazing together, I know it.” Even if Stiles had never seen them together, it wasn’t hard to tell they were a good match.
“Yeah. She makes me feel...” Scott looked off towards the corner, his eyes glazing over. “Complete, dude. Totally, utterly complete. Like I never even knew what was missing until I found her.”
Stiles couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that followed the statement. It was just as his parents described their relationship. Inevitable, almost. It was common knowledge that quick bonds tended to be the strongest. It was the unsteady, long courtships that tended to flash hot and cold that were more likely for divorces. And upon that line of thought...
“How are Lydia and Jackson doing? I heard they finally tied the knot.” So to speak, anyway, and not that Stiles actually heard anything, persay, it was just that Jackson hadn’t been in classes in the past few weeks. But he could put two and two together, and it was no big secret that those two had been courting for the past year.
Scott made a face. “Dude, you were so right about that guy. Total douche. Not saying that Lydia is personality of the year, but still, ugh. I don’t know how you put up with him for so long.”
Stiles heart sank just a few inches further. And educated guess as to Jackson’s bonding partner was one thing, but the cold slap of truth that it was Lydia was another thing altogether. Stiles had known that it was never going to happen, but he couldn’t help but keep up the hope that maybe, one day... He had grown out his hair, started wearing some semi-fashionable clothes. Even worked out, turning his straggly frame into a lean one. But really, who could compete with Jackson? The guy wasn’t so far off when he made the claim that he was everyone’s type.
“I’m guessing he’s sickeningly popular already, as always?” Stiles deadpanned. It didn’t matter that Jackson was a shit Guide, no true skill at shielding or guiding. But that just showed what a pretty face can get you in life.
Scott shook his head. “Actually, I don’t think people like him at all. You know, Sentinels are usually really... dominant. And Jackson already wants to try out for Lacrosse, bragging how he’s going to make captain by next year. And everyone’s wondering why we can never see his animal. It’s not like he’s Deaton or something, he’s not nearly mysterious enough to pull that off.”
Stiles smirked. “It’s a snake, dude. We had to tell the class when we introduced ourselves. And you probably can’t see it because he has a really hard time manifesting it. He’s a pretty shitty Guide, truth be told.”
And the pairing did make a bizarre sort of sense. Both snakes and foxes, Lydia’s animal, were known for cunning and deceit. It once again brought up the question of if spirit animals were manifestations of ones personality. It was well known that families tended to pass down animals, but didn’t families also tend to pass down personality traits? And it was never a sure fire way to know who would be a good bond for who. After all, what did Allison’s hawk and Scott’s coyote really have in common, other than the fact that they would look cool together? And none of the research that Stiles had come upon had helped him shed some light on his own animal, that was for sure. At least nothing that he wanted to admit. Okay, perhaps there were some things he had in common with it. Like twitchiness and energy, long term commitment and planning ahead.
“I almost punched him in the face the other day,” Scott admitted. “Maybe that’s why the higher ups decided to go ahead and let me and Allison bond, so she could keep me under control.”
Stiles whistled. There wasn’t much people could do to get his mellow friend riled up. “What did he do?”
“Eh, well, it’s stupid.”
“Come on dude, you have to tell me what he did! Don’t leave me hanging!”
“Well...” Scott scratched the back of his neck. “He kept calling you Squirlinski.”
It took a moment for Stiles to remember how to talk. “What?” he squeaked out.
“I mean, I know you’re kinda sensitive about your animal and all. Not that you should be! Squirrels are awesome dude, I love squirrels, it’s just... the way he said it, you know? Like you were- well, just douchy in general-” Scott’s head perked up and he looked to the side. “Oh shit, I think Allison’s waking up.” And judging by how happy Scott was by that fact, it seemed that the bonding ritual was still very much ago. “I gotta go dude. Bye!”
“Wait, Scott, you can’t just-”
But it was too late as Scott signed off without another word. Stiles felt a nauseating mixture of contempt and jealousy. Of course he was proud of his friend for finally bonding, but that didn’t make the taste in his mouth any less bitter. And even if their animals had nothing to do with who they bonded with, Stiles couldn’t help but wonder how many interviews had gone south as soon as the Sentinel caught sight of Stiles’ squirrel, darting about the room. Stiles had a hard enough time making himself stay still for minutes at a time, much less his bizarro animal extension.
It would definitely take a Sentinel with a lot of patience to put up with Stiles and his squirrel both. He just had to hope that person would come, and soon. He was giving so sick of this bullshit waiting.
+++
Derek wasn’t, at the best of times, a patient man. He could fake it as well as the rest of the adult world, but to be honest he was more of an on the move type of guy. He could sit for hours during a stakeout without a stray thought, he could read files all afternoon for a case he had been assigned, but in truth as long as he had a purpose, he had the will. It was not knowing that really ate him up inside. And as he sat outside of Argent’s office, his arm in a sling even though the bullet had barely grazed his bicep (really, he had worst, his body was covered in scars of battles past), all he had to do was sit and stew about what sort of punishment he was going to have for losing control. Again. Damn, he was ashamed to admit it, but it was starting to be a regular occurrence for him now.
“You can come in now, Hale,” he heard the deceptively chipper voice calling from the office.
Derek steeled his nerves and walked in. Victoria Argent was not, at the best of times, a friendly figure. She was chief of police and head Sentinel of the L.A. police department, and there was no one who could even insinuate that she got the position anyway than fighting tooth and nail for it. She was the whip of the office, and Derek could easily imagining her killing anyone who got in her way. Perhaps slowly. A poison, maybe airborne, watching and smiling as her victim died.
“Sentinel Hale, so nice of you to join me today.” Argent’s perfectly applied lipstick and eye crinkles did nothing to hide her predatory smile. It was hard that this woman, who seemed more steel than flesh at times, was actually a mother. Derek couldn’t even imagine what evil spawn she had birthed. “Please, take a seat.”
Derek stiffly sat down. This was Argent’s usual M.O., a kind smile, an invitation to relax. Sometimes she even brought cookies into the office. But only the most novice of rookies fell for that act, and they quickly learned.
Argent glanced down at her case file, tutting softly. “Another case of losing control, hmm? I thought we already went over this, Sentinel Hale. Have you been taking your Guenidine like a good boy?” She didn’t look up when she said this, but there was something in her flat voice that showed that it wasn’t really a question. More of an accusation.
An accusation that Derek really couldn’t argue against. “I was called early in the morning to go immediately to an assignment, and the after effects of the drug don’t allow me to have full access to my senses until the affects ease after a full hour.” He made sure his tone was professional, emotionless. This was an explanation, not an excuse.
At that Argent did look up, and her eyes slanted just slightly. “It also keeps you from tearing out perps throats, apparently.” She gathered the files and evened them out with loud, distinct taps against her desk. “One time of this happening I could look past, perhaps even two. But this is your third strike, Hale. Tell me, you watch baseball I’m sure. What happens after the third strike?”
Derek clenched his fist, losing his cool long enough to bark out, “You can’t take me off the force! I already have cases that are undergoing investigation-”
“Which you will debrief whoever I assign those cases to.” Argent raised a meticulously plucked eyebrow. “Do not argue with me, Sentinel Hale. This is not a negotiation, this is a judgement call. You’re too dangerous to be out in the field.”
“Then what am I supposed to do? Are you going to tie me to a desk job?” Derek had to hold back his growl. “I’m one of your best agents, and don’t bullshit me Argent, I know it.”
Argent sighed. “You’re right, you are. And I cannot discount that. So I’m going to give you two options, because I’m feeling particularly nice this morning.” She opened up her desk drawer and pulled out a pamphlet, dropping it onto the desk with an ominous plop. “You get yourself a Guide and I give you back your badge. Otherwise you will be given a desk job, before you get someone killed. Including yourself.”
Derek looked at the pamphlet with dread. It read in cheerful print, Beacon Hills Tower: Your New Guide and You. Fuck.