Chapter Text
Stiles walking through the woods late at night was not unheard of. After the merging of the packs, the human would often be found whistling and strutting his way through the burly, not necessarily kind nature of Beacon Hills forestry, accompanied by his bat in case he met a pissed off creature in the moonlight. Scott and Derek had formed an alliance a little after they had met, which took a lot of getting Scott’s proud head out of his ass on Stiles end. Isaac was still a prick to Stiles however, he should get Derek to kick his ass. After all, Derek had practically adopted him after a confession that the reason the werewolf had been pushing him away was because he reminded him so much of his sister Cora, who died in the fire. After that, the two had become much closer, and Stiles still saved his ass on the daily, but now the favor was returned.
Tonight, he didn’t have his bat. It would only be for a short while and he wouldn’t need to lug it around- plus he forgot it in his room and by the time he noticed, he was too lazy to turn back and get it. Besides, it was chill out here for the first time in months. He needed to relax. Stiles began doing a little dance, humming under his breath and making wild hand gestures as he danced his way towards a more obscure area, with a short log or something in the grass. His jeans and hoodie weren’t dirty yet, but they would be if he tripped over something. “And a one, a two, a- OOF!”
His foot caught on the log and he tripped over, slamming his jaw into the ground. The boy groaned in pain, cupping the injured area as he sat up and looked at what had tripped him. Yeah, his clothes were definitely screwed now, great.
What he saw had him scrambling up onto his feet, hurt jaw and dirt forgotten. That wasn’t a fucking log.
“Oh, shi- please don’t be...”
A boy, about his age, lay in the grass. Deeply tanned, eyes shut, dark hair and harsh breathing. He was dressed in a white shirt, denim jacket, and jeans, shoes too muddy to be seen.
“Okay, at least you’re not...dead...” Stiles sort of nudged him with his foot, staring down at him when a mark on the strangers wrists caught his eye. Squinting and crouching down, he held it up for further examination.
Oh, no, no, noooooooo....
“Shit,” He hissed, pulling out his phone with a shaky hand, dropping the boys wrist and shooting upwards, dialing a familiar number. “Fucking- Pick up, Derek!”
A voice rough with sleep answered his prayers. “...Hello? Stiles?”
“Derek, there’s a kid in the woods with the bite, I don’t know how long it’s been, but he’s not dead, so-“
“Wait, slow down,” There was shuffling on the other end of the phone, “The bite?”
“Yes, on his wrist, just like Scott’s- kinda. This one looks more neat, I guess?”
“Has it started to scab up?”
He rolled his eyes, crouching once more to take a look. It had- it was now flecking over, still dark with blood, but indeed scabbing. “Uh, yeah.”
Derek sighed with relief. “Okay, good. Just stay there. If he wakes up, don’t startle him.Do you know where you are?”
“Um...kinda? I’m behind my house. Past that stupid stream that Erica fell in two weeks ago. Stupid fucking stream.”
“Okay, I’m coming. Stay with the kid.” Click.
Stiles sighed deeply, looking back stranger. He was still asleep, breathing easier now.
Why did he look so familiar...?
The human wracked his brain. Tan skin, black hair, looks like a model, stranger to Beacon Hills...
His amber eyes widened.
Oh, his life is so fucking ironic. Really. The universe loves him SO MUCH.
“That’s freaking Damian Wayne.” He stated to no one at all. That why he knew him. His father presented his picture on the news a few weeks ago, claiming his was kidnapped or taken or something. Probably by criminals. I mean, come on, Stiles realized the Wayne’s were the same vigilantes on the streets at night within three days of just looking at how they acted. It was pathetically easy. Also he had a crush on all the Robins, sue him. Dick was beautiful and flexible (if you know what he means), Jason was even hotter, Stephanie reminded him of himself and so of course he imagined them dating for like three weeks, Tim was amazingly smart and beautiful but too twink-like, much like Stiles himself, and Damian was just all of that wrapped into an Arabic package, so boom. Boner. But like, not right now.
“Damian Wayne, werewolf,” Stiles began talking to himself, spinning around to to stare at the sky while he monologued dramatically, “Great. Awesome news, Mr. Wayne sir, your son isn’t dead, he’s just across the country in the middle of the woods, clearly about to turn into a creature that Hollywood does no justice, he’s fine. Everything is fi-“
“Why are you talking to yourself?”
Stiles didn’t scream. He didn’t. He just made a noise and jumped about his height into the air, flipping around to face the boy who was now wide awake and holy SHIT those eyes were beautiful. Splotchy green, almost like Derek’s, but almost unnatural.
Ah, crap. Was he already a supernatural? Were they about to have another Kanima situation? He couldn’t handle another Jackson,
“Um...hi. You’re Damian Wayne, right?”
An apprehensive nod.
“Alright. Well, you’ve been bitten by a werewolf. Please believe me.”
“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter... and I do. Because something like this has happened before that I know of. And weirder shit, too. What is your name?”
“...Oh, wow. You believe me. Thank god. Er, Stiles. My name is Stiles.”
Damian nodded, looking around. He seemed to be adjusting well to his new senses- or he just wasn’t showing it.
“Tell me, Stiles. Is it true that when you’re a werewolf, and you kill the one that turned you...”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He simply looked to Stiles with deep crimson eyes.
Oh, shi-