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Chapter Text

It was lunchtime, and Stiles was preoccupied. They’d been in the cafeteria for about an hour, making plans for Lydia’s party on the weekend, and he wasn’t sure he’d heard a word of what anyone in the pack had said. It wasn’t until Lydia grabbed him by his shirt collar and literally pulled him into the conversation that he started paying attention.

“Stiles,” she snapped, “would you please get your head out of your arse and explain to Scott why I’m not letting him DJ on Saturday?”

“Come on, Lydia,” Scott whined. “The music at your parties is always so boring! I’ll play all the classics – the Macarena, YMCA…”

“Not a chance,” she hissed, eyes fiery. The pack had agreed to Lydia’s party because they’d thought it’d be a good way for them to blow off some steam after everything that had been going on, but given how wound-up she was getting over the preparations, Stiles was starting to wonder if it’d been such a good idea.

And then, of course, there was the other thing.

“Seriously, Stiles,” Isaac’s voice broke into his thoughts, “what’s up with you today? You look like you’re possessed or something.”

Stiles flinched, and Alison gave Isaac a whack. He realised his mistake a second too late. “Shit, sorry man, I forgot-”

“It’s cool,” Stiles tried to smile at him. He’d been doing his best not to think about the Nogitsune, but it wasn’t Isaac’s fault that he couldn’t get it out of his head. He still didn’t feel quite… right.

“So,” Scott said suddenly, in an endearingly transparent attempt to change the subject. “Who’s bringing the popcorn to mine tonight?”

Shit. “Sorry man,” Stiles said quickly. “I forgot – I can’t make it tonight.”

Malia raised her eyebrows from the end of the table. “I thought we were all supposed to suffer through Star Fights for you tonight? Isn’t that the whole reason we’re going?”

“Firstly, it’s Star Wars, as you know,” Stiles replied through gritted teeth. “And I know, but… I have to see a friend.”

“A friend?” Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. She leaned slowly across the table, tilting her head to one side. “What kind of friend?”

Stiles bristled. “You don’t know him.”

“Oh, so it’s a him,” Lydia replied, her eyes lighting up mischievously. “Who is this mysterious stranger?”

Stiles glared at her, aware of the blush that was creeping up under his collar. “He used to go to my summer camp, okay? And frankly, he’s none of your business.”

“I’m sure you can bring him,” Kira piped up, smiling sweetly at Stiles. “The more the merrier, right Scott?”

“Sure,” said Scott, giving Stiles a curious look. “Whatever you want, man.”

Stiles tried not to let his panic show. “No, it’s cool, really. He’s flying in, just staying with us for the weekend – he’ll be jetlagged and stuff.”

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles,” said Alison kindly. “We can just meet him at the party!”

Stiles was stuttering. “Well, I’m not sure-”

“It almost sounds like you don’t want us to meet your new friend, Stiles,” Lydia smirked. “What’s so special about him?”

“Nothing,” hissed Stiles, his face growing hot.

Lydia watched him with amusement. “If it’s nothing, then where’s the harm in just introducing us?”

Stiles clenched his fists. “Because,” he said heatedly, “He seems to be only friend I’ve got who’s still human, and if it’s alright with all of you, I’d like to keep it that way.”

There was a brief silence. Stiles cringed inwardly.

“Sorry, sorry – I’m not saying that you guys aren’t human, I just-” he sighed. “He’s my mate, and he’s only here for a little while, and I just want to keep things as normal as possible.”

Scott patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s cool bro,” he smiled. “We get it.”

Stiles gave him a grateful nod, and stood up to leave, deliberately not looking at Lydia. As he walked away he heard her call “Have a nice night! Can’t wait to hear all about it!”

Shit.

***

Newt felt the plane touch the ground with a thump, and his stomach lurched. A tinny American voice welcomed him to Beacon County, California, and he tried to push down his mounting sense of panic. He wasn’t really sure why he was freaking out – he was just going to meet an old friend, right? It was just Stiles.

Stiles.

Fuck. Stiles would be at the gate, waiting for him. He probably looked like shit. 7 hours on a cramped plane didn’t exactly do wonders for his appearance – or his smell, come to think of it.

The last time he’d seen Stiles in person was nearly three years ago, on their last day of summer camp. They’d been best friends then, and if Newt hadn’t had to move back to England, it probably would’ve stayed that way. They’d always promised to visit each other, but life had gotten crazy for them both – Newt was settling back into school and finding new friends, and in the last year or so Stiles had seemed… preoccupied. This weekend was supposed to be their big reunion – the troublesome two, back together. Newt had been sick with anticipation for months. Now he just felt sick.

With difficulty, Newt pushed his worries from his mind. He focused on the mundane task of getting off the plane, and the unbearable waiting while people slowly shuffled down the aisle. Limping up the bridge to the gate, Newt was struck suddenly by how tired he was. The world outside the windows seemed unnaturally dark – what time was it? He briefly imagined just passing out here, on the air bridge. Would Stiles worry about him? Maybe the airport staff would assume he was meant to be on the next flight, and just trundle him onto the plane. Maybe he’d just wake up back in London, miles from this crazy place. Right now, that seemed like a much more desirable option than walking out into the airport and facing the guy he hadn’t seen in three years.

The guy he hadn’t seen since…

But he was at the gate already. And people were swarming off the plane behind him, almost pushing him through, and he had to work not to get his huge bag stuck in between the doors, and suddenly the crowds parted, and… there he was.

Stiles had grown up. And he looked good. They’d Skyped almost every other weekend when Newt was at home, but seeing Stiles in the flesh was… different. He’d filled out since Newt had last seen him; grown taller and broader, and he held himself differently – less like the weird, bouncy kid Newt had known, and more collected somehow.

At that moment, Stiles looked up and caught sight of him. “Newt!” he yelled, his face lighting up in a way that made Newt’s throat constrict. He pushed his way through the crowd and swept him up in a hug so tight Newt could hardly breathe. Jesus, did Stiles go to the gym now? Newt pulled back, and looked into his friend’s face.

“Hey,” he said, and suddenly he was flooded with a feeling of relief. This wasn’t going to be weird. This was Stiles, still one of his best friends, and he was getting to actually see him. He grinned. “How the bloody hell are you, you shank?”

Stiles smiled from ear to ear. “Good to see you too, loser.”

***

“Lydia, what are you doing?”

Lydia turned to look at Scott with an innocent expression on her face. “What do you mean? I’m just on the computer.”

“Doing what?” Popcorn scattered as Scott stood up from his position by Kira on the floor. Isaac cried out in annoyance, but Malia just reached across happily and started to eat the popcorn off the floor.

There was a map on Lydia’s screen, with a blinking red dot in the middle of it. Scott leaned in, perplexed. “Lydia, what is this?”

“Tracking device,” she said nonchalantly. “I installed it after all the Nogitsune nonsense, so if anything happened to Stiles, we’d know where he was. I just forgot to remove it, that’s all.”

“Hold on, you planted a tracking device on Stiles?” Scott exclaimed. “Lydia, you can’t just do that!”

“I was concerned for his safety!” She threw her hands up defensively. “It’s non-invasive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Scott stared. “That is so far from what I’m worried about – wait, what do you mean?”

“What I’m interested in,” said Alison from the floor, “is what you’re doing looking at it now. Are you stalking him?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Just… checking up on him, that’s all.” She turned to Scott with a smirk. “You’ll never guess where he is.”

Scott turned away irritably. “No, I won’t, because it’s none of my business – and none of yours, either! Stiles doesn’t want us involved. We ought to respect that.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “So you’re telling me you’re not even the slightest bit curious?”

“I am,” said Malia, from around a mouthful of popcorn. “Where is he?”

Lydia grinned wickedly. “At the diner by the woods. If that’s not date territory, I don’t know what is.”

Alison mirrored her smile. “Do you think we ought to… check on them? Just to make sure they’re safe, and everything.”

“Don’t you dare,” Scott warned. “Guys, we told him we’d leave it alone!”

“Oh, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Lydia briskly, standing up. “Come on, team. It’s time for a recon mission.”

***

Stiles stared at the blonde-haired boy sitting across from him. Newt’s head was drooping over his milkshake, his hands fiddling with a packet of salt absentmindedly. It was almost midnight, and Stiles knew he should be getting Newt home – his dad was surely waiting up for them, and Newt looked knackered – but he couldn’t bear to let the night end just yet.

It had been easy. So much easier than he’d expected – he thought there’d be lots of awkward conversation, or weird small talk like there sometimes was over Skype. But as soon as he saw Newt coming out of the gate at the airport, he knew things were going to slot right back into place.

He stared at the British boy as Newt leaned back in his seat, his shirt riding up a little as he stretched. Stiles was struck by the fine lines of his neck and shoulders, by his delicate elven features. He’d always given Newt shit for being the prettiest boy he knew, and not much had changed – except now, he was less pretty and more… well, beautiful. He’d grown tall and almost elegant, languid in his movements and with that chocolate-rich deep voice…

Newt looked up at him suddenly, startling him out of his reverie. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” replied Stiles quickly, blinking.

Newt raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring at me again. Have I got a milk moustache or something?”

“No,” Stiles smiled. “I’m just happy to see you again, you dork.”

Newt grinned. “Course you are.”

“Tell me more about your friends,” Stiles said, leaning forward. “I want to hear about who you hang out with.”

Newt shrugged. “You’ve met most of them on Skype. Everyone’s pretty much the same – Gally’s being even more obnoxious than usual, if that’s actually possible, and Minho’s just got captain of the track team, which is cool.” He tilted his head to the side. “Oh, and this new girl just moved in across the road. Teresa. She’s cool, I like her a lot.”

“Teresa, hmm?” Stiles raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Just how much do you like her, Newt?”

Newt gave him a complicated look. “Not like that, Stiles.”

“Sure.” Stiles grinned at him. “Oh – how’s Chuck?”

Newt rolled his eyes. “You and bloody Chuck. I should’ve just brought him down here!”

Stiles had met Newt’s youngest friend, Chuck, over Skype a few months back, and they’d got on like a house on fire. There was something about the little guy Stiles couldn’t help but like.

“Anyway,” continued Newt, “we talk about my friends all the time. I’m actually in the right country now – when do I get to meet yours? I’m keen to size up this Scott – and the ‘insanely beautiful’ Lydia.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Well, as much as I know they want to meet you…” Then suddenly, something over Newt’s shoulder caught his eye. He broke off, staring at the other side of the diner. He could’ve sworn-

“What is it?” Newt turned around sleepily to look in the direction Stiles was staring. “Did you see someone you know?”

Stiles shook his head quickly. “No. It’s nothing.” He stood suddenly, and smiled down at the blonde boy. “Come on, let’s get you home, buddy. You look like you might pass out on the table.”

Newt rolled his eyes, but obediently stood and with a huge yawn, limped out of the diner towards Stiles’ jeep. As Stiles held the door for him, he caught a flash of red hair from behind one of the booths, and he smelled Isaac’s ridiculous cologne. Those fuckers. Gritting his teeth, he turned and followed Newt outside.

Chapter Text

Newt woke to sunlight streaming through the window. He sat up slowly, bleary-eyed. What time was it? His mouth felt like sandpaper, and he could feel the beginnings of a thumping headache coming on.

He pulled the covers off, and realised with a jolt that he was in Stiles’ bed. The Star Wars duvet should’ve been a giveaway. He seemed to still be in his clothes from yesterday, and it struck him that he didn’t know how he’d ended up here – the last thing he really remembered was leaving the diner with Stiles. Maybe he was more jetlagged than he’d thought.

He found himself looking hungrily around at Stiles’ room, taking in all the posters on the wall and the books on the shelves. This was where Stiles spent every day, studying and hanging out with his friends.

And probably jerking off, a little voice in the back of his head said.

Wait, what the fuck? Where did that come from?

Newt stood quickly, aware that he was blushing even though there was no one else around. He padded out of Stiles’ room, trying to banish that sick little voice to the back of his mind – and then he heard Stiles from the end of the corridor.

He was talking to someone on the phone, in a harsh whisper. “You had no fucking right to be there, and you know it. I told you, I don’t want you guys hanging around – it’ll just get complicated!”

Newt stopped, staring at Stiles’ back as he continued to hiss down the phone. His fists were clenched, the muscles in his shoulders tensed. Newt was struck by a sudden desire to walk up and put his arms around him; to feel his muscles melt back into calmness. Instead, he cleared his throat, and Stiles spun around to look at him.

“Everything alright?” he asked in a low voice.

Stiles nodded, but Newt was close enough now that he could hear the voice on the other end of the phone. “Is that him?” a girl’s voice asked, excitedly. “Ooh, he’s British. Love it.”

“Shut up, Lydia,” Stiles growled through gritted teeth. He turned away from Newt. “Remember what I said. Butt out.” He slammed the phone back into the cradle, and took a deep breath before turning back around. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Newt, amused. “What was that about? Was that the Lydia?”

“The wicked witch herself,” Stiles muttered. He smiled at Newt. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry, again. Not the best morning greeting. How are you, anyway?”

Newt stifled another yawn. “Feeling better, I think. Sleep helped. Um, by the way…” he looked up at Stiles suspiciously. “How exactly did I end up in your bed last night?”

Stiles snorted. “You passed out on the drive home, bro. I practically had to carry you to bed. You’re lucky you weigh next to nothing, or I would’ve just left you snoring in the jeep.”

Newt narrowed his eyes. “I do not snore,” he grumbled, although he could feel himself blushing at the thought of Stiles carrying him to bed.

“Newt, I shared a cabin with you for two whole summers,” Stiles laughed. “Trust me, you snore.” Newt rolled his eyes, but Stiles threw an arm around his shoulders and led him down the stairs. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you some breakfast.”

***

They had the day off school because of some teacher’s meeting, so the pack had stayed over at Scott’s place. Having Melissa working night shifts could be useful that way. Lydia was already up when Scott woke, sitting at the table looking perfectly groomed, despite having spent the night on the floor. He would never understand how she did it.

“Morning,” he said blearily, shuffling towards the coffee machine. He glanced over, and saw her glaring at her phone thoughtfully. “You ok?”

“I just talked to Stiles,” she said, tapping her nails against the table. “Turns out he spotted us last night.”

“What?” Scott whirled around. “Shit. Shit shit shit. You said he’d never see us! He’s going to murder me. He’s never going to trust me again.”

Lydia lifted her eyes skyward. “Relax, Scott. It’ll be fine. Maybe it’s even a good thing! Now at least he knows we’re serious about meeting this guy.”

Scott put his head in his hands and groaned. “He’s going to hate me.”

“I don’t see why,” Lydia said briskly, standing. “It’s his fault for not telling any of us. We’re a pack, we’re not supposed to keep secrets.” She sighed and grabbed her bag. “I mean, I get him wanting something normal, but – we’re his friends. He can’t just pretend like we don’t exist.”

Scott lifted his head. “I guess.”

Thinking about it, he supposed he was a little hurt by Stiles’ secret-keeping. He told Stiles everything, like really, everything. Stiles had never really talked about his friends from summer camp, and Scott thought he was okay with that – but maybe he wasn’t. He and Stiles were supposed to be best friends, and Lydia was right. He didn’t like Stiles treating him like he was somehow a threat to this other guy.

He looked at her. “So what do we do?”

Lydia put on her jacket, and smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m on it.”

***

They were eating breakfast (Stiles’ homemade, low-cholesterol scrambled eggs, which Newt seemed unconvinced by) when Stiles’ phone began to buzz. When he saw it was a message from Lydia, he pushed it aside, and turned back to his eggs.

Newt watched him with raised eyebrows. “You’re not going to check that?”

“It’s nothing,” said Stiles shortly.

“Jeez, you’re cranky in the morning,” Newt grinned, stretching out. His thin limbs seemed too long for the chair they were confined in. Stiles found himself again watching the way Newt’s arms moved; how the muscles around his chest constricted as he stretched. There was something spellbinding about his movements.

Okay, Stiles was being weird.

His phone buzzed again on the table. Newt gave him a look, but Stiles ignored it. “What do you feel like doing today?”

His words were interrupted by more frantic buzzing from the phone. Newt glanced down at it. “Honestly? I feel like finding out what kind of bloody crisis you’re ignoring.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Newt-”

But before he could react, Newt had snatched the phone off the table, and was standing up, tapping on the screen. “Ah, Lydia,” he said in a singsong voice. “What could this goddess have to say to us, I wonder?”

Stiles stood, glaring at him. “Give it back, Newt.”

Newt grinned. “Come and get it.”

He danced out of Stiles’ reach, still tapping his way through the phone – “really, Stiles, you still haven’t changed your password?” – and trying to reach the message. Stiles managed to grab hold of his shirt and pull the smaller boy towards him, struggling to reach the phone held in Newt’s outstretched hand. When he couldn’t, he grabbed him by the waist, bringing him to the ground with a thump and pinning his legs while he reached for the phone.

“Get off me, you big lump,” Newt giggled, squirming to try to get out from under him.

Stiles was laughing now too. “Not a chance, pipsqueak.” He rolled over so he was on top of Newt, still reaching for the phone. They were both wheezing with laughter and struggling absurdly, but at last, Stiles managed to catch hold of Newt’s wrist, and wrestle the phone from his grasp. Holding it close to his chest, he collapsed on top of Newt, exhausted and still shaking with laughter.

“Um- Stiles-” Newt gasped from underneath him. “Can’t- quite- breathe-”

In alarm, Stiles rolled quickly to the side, letting Newt sit up. His face was pink, his eyes wild and bright. He grinned at Stiles. “Far out, you’ve piled on the pounds.”

Stiles reached out to cuff him around the head but Newt ducked out of his way, crawling back to the table with another giggle. Stiles felt the phone buzz in his hand again. Bloody hell, Lydia. What was it?

Newt was collapsed in his chair, still recovering. Stiles looked down at the four messages waiting on his phone, and sighed. He might as well check them.

Stiles. Think I might’ve found something – I need your help with it. Come over?

Did you get my message?

Stiles. Earth to Stiles. This is urgent!!

I need you. Stop making out with your British boy and answer me!

Stiles stared at the messages in concern. It did really seem urgent – and after everything that had happened with Lydia, he couldn’t ignore her when she needed him. He’d promised never to do that.

“Um, I have to duck out for a sec,” he said to Newt, who turned around to look at him with wide eyes. “It’s nothing major, Lydia just needs my help with something.”

“I can come with you!” Newt said, smiling enthusiastically. “I’ve been wanting to meet Lydia – it’ll only take me two seconds to throw on some clothes-”

“No,” Stiles interrupted. Newt’s face fell, and he struggled to continue. “That is, um, it’s sort of a personal thing. I think Lydia wants it to be just me. You know, um, girl stuff. I’m good at girl stuff. I’m the… girl one.”

Newt looked a little perplexed. “…okay?”

“Great,” smiled Stiles. “Awesome. Okay. I’ll only be like half an hour at the most – there’s food in the fridge, and you know how to do the television and stuff…” He was already grabbing his coat and keys. He ran to the door, and turned back to see Newt still sitting at the kitchen table, looking downcast. He felt a sudden, unexpected twist of guilt, but he shoved it away. He was doing the right thing here. He had to protect Newt. “See you!” he called out as he left, but he didn’t hear Newt reply. He pulled out his phone.

Okay. See you in five.

***

Newt sat at the kitchen table for a while after Stiles left, wallowing in embarrassment. He knew Stiles was secretive about his friends – he’d never been willing to tell Newt much about them – but it wasn’t till he watched him try to lie about Lydia (Stiles had always been a terrible liar, he had a habit of licking his lips and darting his eyes around) that he’d realised Stiles actively wanted to keep Newt away from them. Was he ashamed of Newt? Newt cringed inwardly, and put his hands over his face. What was he doing here? Stiles clearly couldn’t even bear to be around him. He rested his forehead on the table and groaned out loud.

It was at that moment that the doorbell rang.

Perplexed, Newt raised his head off the table. Stiles couldn’t be back yet.

It rang again, more impatiently. Slowly, he got up and walked to the door. He briefly remembered his mother telling him never to open the door to strangers. He hesitated.

Fuck it.

He swung the door open; to reveal one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, standing on the doorstep. She had long, curly red-gold hair, and striking green eyes. As he stood, stunned, one corner of her mouth turned up in a knowing smile.

“Oh hi,” she said, in a sugar-sweet voice. “You must be Stiles’ British boy.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Lydia Martin.”

Chapter Text

Stiles drove at a maniac pace back to his house, fuelled by a growing sense of fear. No one had answered when he went to Lydia’s, and after calling most of the pack (even though strictly speaking he wasn’t talking to any of them after their stalker-behaviour last night) he still hadn’t figured out where she was. Stiles felt his palms grow slick on the steering wheel – what had happened to her? He needed to head to the police station – there was a good chance she might be with Parrish – but he had to tell Newt first. He couldn’t just leave him sitting at home, waiting for Stiles.

As he pulled up to the driveway and got out of the car, he heard Newt’s laugh through the open kitchen window. It took him by surprise – Newt must be on the phone to someone. Who would he be calling in America?

It was then that he heard a distinctive musical giggle, followed by a voice he knew all too well. “Oh, Newt!”

His body stiffened, and he felt his hands clench into fists. He wrenched the front door open, slamming his way to the kitchen.

Inside, Lydia and Newt were sitting side-by-side at the table. Newt had his arm around Lydia, his hand over hers as they lifted a teacup in the air. He looked up at Stiles, and his cheeky grin faded on his face. But Lydia’s smile grew even broader.

“Stiles!” she exclaimed with enthusiasm. “There you are, finally! Newt here’s been keeping me company while we waited for you – look, he’s teaching me how to drink tea like a proper Brit!” She fluttered her eyelashes at Newt beside her, and he beamed in response.

Stiles gaped at them. “But… you told me… to come over,” he panted, staring at Lydia in anger and confusion.

She giggled infuriatingly, and set the teacup down. “Oh is that what you thought? Sorry Stiles, I was asking if I could come over. Classic text mix-up, I suppose.” She smiled defiantly up at him, a challenge behind her eyes.

Stiles clenched his jaw. “Lydia, can I talk to you for a second? Out here?”

She raised her eyebrows in mock-surprise. “Ooh, alright then.” She stood up, and flicked Newt a wink. “Be right back.”

To Stiles’ immense annoyance, Newt winked back.

Fuming, Stiles stepped into the lounge with her, closing the door behind them. “Lydia. What. The. Fuck.”

“Is something wrong, Stiles?” she asked innocently.

“Did you really just fake an emergency so you could sneak into my house and meet Newt?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lydia replied firmly. Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, and she flicked her hair impatiently. “Look, I don’t know why you’re keeping him such a big secret anyway. He wants to meet us, Stiles! He’s upset you haven’t introduced us already, I can tell. We’re not going to go full-wolf on him or anything – we just want to be friends with your friends!”

“This wasn’t your call to make, Lydia,” Stiles snarled. “I’m trying to protect him. He’s the one bit of my life that’s actually kind of normal, and you have no right to come in and fuck that up.”

Her eyes turned hard. “Oh. Right. I’m sorry, I guess I forgot for a second there that I was some dangerous, repulsive monster. My bad.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean-”

“Then what do you mean, Stiles?” she snapped. “Because all I can see going on here is you ignoring all your friends, and that gorgeous boy sitting in there feeling like shit because he thinks you’re embarrassed of him!”

Stiles stepped back. “He thinks that?”

“Yes, you idiot,” she hissed. “He’s here for one freaking weekend, Stiles, and you’re keeping him hidden away like there’s something wrong with him!”

Stiles flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with him. That’s not why-”

“I know, Stiles,” Lydia said impatiently. “I know why you don’t want to introduce him to us – although I think it’s ridiculous – but he doesn’t. Do you want to make him feel like he’s not good enough for your friends?”

 Stiles’ face grew redder. “No,” he mumbled.

Lydia smiled, and rocked back on her heels. She knew a victory when she saw one. “Good. Then bring him to the party tonight.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Absolutely not.”

“Bring him to the party tonight,” she repeated, ignoring him. “He can meet the whole pack, and you can be there to be his little watchdog and keep him safe.” She smirked at him. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Stiles hesitated, glaring at her. But finally he rolled his eyes skyward and gave in. “Fine. But,” he held up a finger, “I have one condition.”

“Hit me,” she said sarcastically.

“You are not allowed to hook up with him.” Lydia burst out laughing, but Stiles continued. “Lyds, I’m serious. He’s a really good guy, and I don’t want him getting all broken-hearted over you.”

Lydia stopped laughing, and looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Oh, Stiles,” she said softly. “I really don’t think I’m his type.”

***

Stiles was upstairs, taking a shower, but Newt still hadn’t moved from the kitchen table. After Lydia had breezed out with an airy goodbye, Newt had thought she’d be the last of Stiles’ friends he met – he’d never seen him look so angry before – but to his amazement, Stiles had announced they were going to see her again tonight. At a party. With all his friends. Stiles said he wanted to “show Newt off”.

Newt was bloody terrified.

There was nothing for it, he decided. He needed help.

He checked his watch. It was 1am in London right now. Minho would undoubtedly still be up gaming. Grabbing his laptop, he logged into Skype and called his best friend.

“Newt, my boy!” Minho yelled as he answered, his face luminously bright and far too close to the camera. “How are you finding the colonies, ya shank?”

Newt rolled his eyes, feeling instantly better. “Good to see you too, slinthead.”

“So, what’s the deal?” Minho leaned even closer to the camera, still yelling. “Sick of it already? Reunion with the boyfriend not what you expected?”

“We’ve discussed this, Minho,” Newt said crossly. “He’s not my boyfriend. And quit shouting at me – your voice doesn’t actually have to cross the ocean, you know.”

“Hilarious, Newty,” Minho grinned. “Okay – what’s really up?”

Before Newt could reply, the light flicked on behind Minho, and Alby’s cross face entered the frame. “Minho, what the shuck are you yelling about? Do you have any clue what time it is?”

Minho rolled over like a puppy. “It’s Newt, Alby!” he crowed. “Come say hello to our departed brother!”

Alby looked into the camera with a face like thunder. “Hello, Newt.”

“Sorry, Alby,” Newt said, trying not to giggle. “I forgot how bloody loud Minho is.”

“Oh, he loves it,” Minho said dismissively. “Anyway, tell us what’s going on!”

Newt hesitated. “Um, well, it’s sort of stupid.”

“It can’t be that stupid,” Alby said resignedly, sitting on the bed. “What do you need?”

Newt flushed. “Well, Stiles asked me to this party with his friends tonight, and I’m just kinda stressed about meeting everyone.”

“Stressed?” Minho said incredulously. “Newt, this is ace! Your boyfriend’s finally taking you to meet the family!”

“Minho, for the last time, he is not my bloody boyfriend,” Newt hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I told you, Stiles is straight.”

“Oh, no one’s really straight,” Minho said dismissively.

Alby turned to look at him. “You can't say that. You just started dating Teresa.”

“What?” Newt cried. “Since when?!”

Minho winked at him. “You’re missing out on all the good goss, mate. Wish I could fill you in, but I never kiss and tell.”

Newt suddenly heard Stiles’ footsteps on the landing. “Shit, I’d better go.”

“Seriously?” Minho pouted. “Fine. Okay, quick-fire advice though: don’t dress like a twat, don’t act like a twat, and if you can swing it, hook up with some guy that’ll make Stiles jealous.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Newt replied.

“Seriously, Newt,” Alby said with a smile. “His friends’ll love you. And if he’s got any sense, this guy should too.”

Then with Minho still yelling advice, Newt hung up the call just as Stiles entered the room. He looked down at Newt with his hair damp and tousled, droplets still clinging to his eyelashes. He smiled. “All good?”

If he’s got any sense, this guy should too.

Newt nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “All good.”

Chapter Text

They had a whole day to kill before the party, and Newt announced that all he wanted to do was go to the arcade. The last time they’d gamed together, Stiles had managed to scrape a victory over Newt (helped by a tiny bit of cheating, although Newt didn’t know that) and the British boy had been training for nearly three years to take back his title.

On the way over, they stopped to get a pizza (“because those bloody omelettes don’t cut it, Stiles”) and sat in the park to eat it.

While they were steadily working their way through the box, Newt turned to Stiles. “So, what’s the deal with tonight?” he asked. “I mean, what’s happening, exactly?”

Stiles shook his head. “Honestly? I’m not that sure,” he said, through a mouthful of pizza. “I didn’t pay enough attention when everyone was planning, and now Lydia’s being all mysterious – I just know she wants us there early, to help set up.”

“Me too?” Newt asked, carefully.

Stiles smiled at him. “Yeah. It’ll be a good chance for you to meet everyone, before we all get too drunk.”

“Before you get too drunk, you mean,” Newt grinned back. “I haven’t forgotten the last time we drank together.”

Stiles burst out laughing. “Oh my god, when you nicked that bottle of sherry off creepy Call-Me-Hank! That stuff was foul.”

Newt giggled. “Not as foul as you when he asked if we’d been drinking.” He sat up straight and imitated Stiles’ voice. “‘No, sir, camp counsellor Call-Me-Hank, I don’t believe in alcohol consumption. It rots the mind and jiggles the liver.’ Bloody useless.”

“From what I remember,” Stiles said wryly, “I wasn’t the one puking in the bushes at the time.”

Newt laughed. “Fair call. Bloody hell, I thought the camp leaders were going to murder us for that.”

They sat for a while in companionable silence, Newt plucking at the grass by his feet while Stiles polished off the rest of the pizza.

Then, Stiles suddenly turned to look at him. “Hey, dude. There’s something I need to warn you about, with tonight.”

Newt looked up, grinning. “Oh don’t worry, I know you’re all a group of bloodthirsty vampires,” he said, loftily. “There had to be a reason you were being so secretive. It’s alright, I’ll fill up on onion rings before we go.”

Stiles stared at him. “We’re not vampires,” he said, too quickly.

Newt raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I was kidding, mate.”

“Right,” Stiles smiled back uneasily. “Haha, yeah, me too.” He cleared his throat. “Um, but it’s actually something else. You know Lydia?”

“I do now, no thanks to you,” Newt said cheerfully. “I see what you kept going on about, though - she really is drop-dead-gorgeous, isn’t she? It’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “Well. Sort of. Look, anyway- I just mean- don’t let her hook up with you tonight, yeah?”

Newt swung around to stare at him. “What?”

“I saw how you were this morning,” Stiles said, flushing, “and it’s cool, it is – it’s not because I still like her or anything, because I don’t-”

“Stiles,” Newt cut in, “it’s really not…”

“No, dude, I just want to warn you. She’s an awesome person, but she doesn’t treat guys all that well, and-”

“Stiles, seriously,” said Newt, wide-eyed.

Stiles babbled on, not looking at him. “I just don’t want it to get awkward, because you’re both my good friends and I know something might happen, but-”

“Stiles, I’m gay.” Newt blurted out.

There was a brief silence.

“…Pardon?” Stiles asked, eyes wide.

Newt’s face was flushed. He stared down at the ground. “I think Lydia’s really cool and everything,” he said slowly, “but I’m not going to hook up with her because I’m not attracted to her. Because she’s a girl.” He steadfastly avoided looking up. “And I like boys.”

“Oh,” Stiles said lamely.

Newt was now puce red, and violently ripping at the grass by his feet, still not looking at Stiles. “I only realised a little while ago, and I meant to tell you before but I felt weird doing it over Skype... And then I thought I’d tell you when I got here but it never seemed like the right moment, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, so if you’d rather I just left or-”

He was cut off as Stiles pulled him into a clumsy, tight hug. Newt blinked for a minute. And then he hugged him back.

There was a long moment of silence. Newt could feel his heart hammering against Stiles’ jacket.

“So… you’re cool with it?” He asked, pulling back and looking at Stiles.

Stiles grinned, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, I’m cooler than cool. I’m ice cold.” Newt snorted and brushed his hand away, but Stiles looked at him earnestly. “Seriously, Newt. Thanks for telling me. I’m happy for you.”

Newt nodded, and smiled a little. Then before he could tear up or anything embarrassing, he leapt to his feet. “Come on, shank,” he said to Stiles, offering him a hand up. “Let’s go to this bloody arcade. Gay or not, bet I can still smash you at Space Invaders.”

Chapter Text

They got to Lydia’s a few hours before the party was due to start. Stiles hadn’t managed to win a single game at the arcade, so he had to put up with a triumphant Newt blasting “We Are the Champions” the whole drive over.

He didn’t say anything to Newt, but he knew the real reason he’d been playing so miserably. He just couldn’t focus on the games – he was still trying to get his head around the revelation from the park. He wasn’t surprised, exactly… in fact, now he knew, a lot of other stuff made sense.

That night by the pine trees…

But he just hadn’t expected it, not really. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but there was something he found distinctly… disconcerting about knowing Newt was gay. He was starting to worry he might be secretly homophobic, or something. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about it?

He glanced across at the blonde boy, who had his eyes screwed shut and was head-banging along to the song, his mop of hair flopping back and forth. Stiles tried to shake himself out of it. This didn’t change anything. Newt was one of his best mates. He just needed to relax.

He parked the jeep in front of Lydia’s house, and they both jumped out. Stiles looked across at Newt. “You ready for this?”

Newt gulped. He had gone a little green. “Sure,” he said, in an overly-bright voice. “Let’s meet everyone.”

Stiles smiled at him, and threw an arm around his shoulders. “You’re all going to get along great.” He tried to hide his own anxiety as he marched Newt up the steps to Lydia’s front door.

Lydia swung the door open before he even had the chance to press the bell. “Newt!” she squealed, ushering the blonde boy inside. “So good to see you again! Come through here, we’re just setting up.” She hooked her arm through Newt’s and pulled him away without even looking at Stiles.

“Oh hello to you too, Lydia,” he called pointedly, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.

He followed them into the living room, the floor of which was already entirely obscured under a sea of brightly-coloured balloons. “Everyone!” Lydia hollered. “Come meet Newt!”

Several heads popped up from under the piles of balloons, and Scott and Isaac leaned around the corner. Lydia started pointing to them, her linked arm still pulling Newt in close. “Here’s the crew! That’s Scott, Isaac, Allison, Kira, Malia, Liam, and- wait, where’s Derek?”

A disgruntled dark head surfaced from a balloon pile in the corner. “I’m here,” Derek said crossly, a half-inflated bright pink balloon still between his teeth.

Stiles snorted, turning to Lydia. “You managed to rope Derek into this too?”

Lydia flicked him a wink. “He owes me one.” She turned back to Newt. “So, there you go! That’s everyone. And everyone, this is Newt, from London.”

Stiles’ friends all called out hellos at once, and Newt waved back hesitantly, his eyes wide. Stiles could practically see his brain trying to hold on to everyone’s name. He stepped in quickly. “Okay, I think Newt has now been sufficiently overwhelmed – how can we help?”

Lydia waved a hand towards the back of the room. “You go help the boys with the tables, Stiles. Newt, Allison and I need your help putting up the streamers.”

Allison peered out from behind a pile of crepe paper. “Oh yes, that’d be great Newt!”

Newt glanced at Stiles nervously, but nodded. “Sure thing,” he said.

And before Stiles could protest, Lydia was ushering Newt away, and Isaac was yelling at Stiles to “come help with these stupid tables.”

This was not good.

***

This was so good!

Newt had been anxious to part from Stiles, but he was surprised by how much fun he was having. Allison was just as easy to get along with as Lydia – she was quick-witted and clever, but he could see she was kind too. They stood looping streamers around the banister of the staircase, Allison and Lydia quizzing him about what thirteen-year-old Stiles had been like at camp.

“Did he bring his stupid pillow with him?” Lydia asked, winding a streamer slowly down the railing.

Newt laughed as he helped her. “Yes! Does he still do that? We thought it was just a camp thing – someone nicked it off him in the second year, but they had to give it back ‘cause he was going mad from sleep deprivation.”

“Poor Stiles,” Allison smiled. She turned to Lydia. “Remember when he thought he’d left it at your place?”

Lydia groaned. “How could I forget? He practically had the whole sheriff’s department marching through my bedroom, before he thought to look under his own bed. Useless.”

Newt giggled, and felt a warmth spreading through him. This was what he’d hoped it would be like with Stiles’ friends. They seemed so lovely – he couldn’t understand why Stiles hadn’t introduced them sooner.

Lydia looked up at the finished staircase. “Good job, team. I think that’s all the streamers.”

“Time for a break, then?” Allison asked hopefully.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”

They walked in to discover everyone else already sitting around the table, chatting. Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Oh, good to see all my volunteers working so hard!”

“We’re done, Lydia,” whined the tall boy with curly hair (Isaac?). “Besides, I’m pretty sure Derek was going to go full-wolf if we made him blow up any more balloons.”

Newt wrinkled his forehead. “Full wolf?”

Isaac suddenly clutched his leg in pain. “Ow!” he cried, glaring accusingly at Stiles. Then he glanced up at Newt, and his face grew carefully blank. “Oh,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. Just an expression.”

“Let’s sit,” Lydia said smoothly, and Newt gratefully sank into a chair beside Stiles.

The group’s conversation resumed, and Stiles turned to Newt. “Dude, I want you to meet Scott properly.” He grabbed the shoulder of the olive-skinned guy beside him, turning him to face Newt. “Scott, this is Newt.”

Scott gave him a puppy-like smile, and reached out a hand. “Cool to finally meet you, dude.”

Newt smiled back, and let go of a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding in. “Likewise,” he said, taking Scott’s hand and shaking it lightly. There was a brief silence. “Um,” Newt continued awkwardly, “so, you and Stiles have been friends for like, ages, right?”

“Yeah,” Scott said firmly. “He’s been my best friend since we were kids.” His voice was just a little too loud, and Stiles gave him a look.

But Newt just nodded. “I see. So, can you tell me – was he born this much of a dickhead, or did it just develop gradually?”

Scott looked at him for a moment, and then he burst out laughing. “Been this way as long as I can remember,” he said cheerfully.

Stiles whacked them both around the head. “That’s right, just bond over your mutual hatred for me,” he said, his mouth turning up at the corners.

Scott winked at Newt and reached up to give him a high-five. Newt felt that lightening in his chest again. He caught Stiles’ eye, and Stiles smiled at him with something like pride.

But then Allison held up her phone. “Shoot, it’s already six – shouldn’t we be getting into our costumes, Lyds?”

Newt was sure he’d misheard. “Costumes?” he asked, trying to ignore his rising sense of panic.

He looked at Stiles, whose brow was furrowed. “You didn’t tell us this was a costume party, Lydia,” he said, slowly.

“Didn’t I?” Lydia asked nonchalantly. “Oh well, don’t worry – we’ve got something for you and Newt anyway.”

Newt’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh no,” he babbled. “I mean, that’s so kind of you, but I’m not really a costume person-”

“Don’t be silly, love,” Lydia said with a smile. “You’ll look lovely. Allison, Kira – you want to help him out?”

Allison and the quiet girl by Scott stood and advanced on Newt. He looked up at Stiles in desperation, but Lydia already had a firm grip on the other boy. “You’re coming with me, Stilinski,” she said sweetly. And before Newt could say anything, he was being pulled away by Allison and Kira, with Stiles staring at him helplessly as he disappeared.

***

“I’m not wearing these.”

Lydia rolled her eyes for about the fifteenth time in five minutes. “Stiles, just put them on.”

Stiles glared up at her over the tiny red boxers she’d handed him. “This is absurd. You’ve forgotten half the costume. I am not going to a party in my underwear.”

“Of course not,” Lydia said impatiently. “That’s why we got you these.” She held up a pair of devil horns. “You’ll look great! It fits perfectly with the theme.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Stiles asked acidly.

Lydia smiled at him wickedly. “Sinners and saints.”

“That is so stupid-“

“Oh, just wear the freaking costume, Stiles,” Malia said irritably from the other side of the room, where she was donning what looked worryingly like a rabbi’s robes. “You’ll look hot.”

Stiles looked up at her in surprise. “…You think so?”

She sighed in exasperation, and turned to look at him. “Stiles, you know I don’t pay that much attention, but even I can tell you have a good body. You never show it off.” She shrugged, turning back around to the mirror. “You should.”

Stunned by her honesty, Stiles looked back down at the boxers in his hands. “I guess… I could give it a try? If everyone else is in costume too?”

“Stiles, Isaac and Allison are coming as Adam and Eve,” Lydia said, eyebrows raised. “Trust me, you won’t look the most ridiculous. Now get dressed,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ve got a party to run, and I want you and your devil-may-care attitude there.”

“You’re so lame,” Stiles called, but she was gone already. He put the boxers on the bed, and took a deep breath. This couldn’t be that bad, right? He stood up, and started getting changed.

***

Walking down the stairs, Stiles was relieved to see that no one turned to look at his ridiculous get-up. The party already seemed to be in full swing, with people flooding through the door and most of his friends already out in their costumes. He caught sight of Scott and Kira in the corner of the room – Scott seemed to be dressed as a priest, unfortunately – and he could see Lydia flitting about, looking radiant as the goddess Aphrodite. But no matter where he looked, he couldn’t spot Newt.

At that moment, he heard a loud wolf-whistle from behind him. Swinging around, he saw Allison standing above him on the stairs, grinning. Lydia was right – her Eve costume was pretty shocking. It seemed to consist just of underwear, and some strategically-placed leaves. “You look good!” she called.

“You too!” he replied, maintaining firm eye contact and trying not to blush.

“I have someone to see you,” she said, still grinning, and stepped aside.

A boy walked out from behind her, and Stiles caught his breath. It was Newt, but not as he’d ever seen him. He looked… luminous. He was wearing nothing but a pair of white shorts – and they were short – and a lot of silver glitter. Tall, white wings sprouted from his back, and his golden curls were framed by a silver halo. Stiles caught himself staring at his friend, unable to tear his eyes away, His shoulders, his chest, his flushed, nervous, perfectly-constructed face.

Holy shit. Newt was beautiful.

And Stiles wasn’t sure what to do about that.

Chapter Text

Newt descended the stairs slowly, his pale face flushed behind the glitter. “Hey,” he said awkwardly. “Um, cool costume.”

Stiles tried to stop his eyes from travelling down Newt’s glittery torso. “Thanks,” he squeaked. He cleared his throat. “You- you look…”

“Idiotic, I know,” Newt said wryly.

“No,” Stiles answered, a little too forcefully. “Not idiotic. I meant-”

“Stiles!” a voice called, and Stiles turned to be confronted with… all of Isaac.

“Dude,” he said, in both admiration and disgust, “that is a seriously skimpy costume.”

Isaac flicked him a wink. “Well, I’m trying to inspire original sin, right?” He turned to face Newt, who Stiles could see was having difficulty tearing his eyes from Isaac’s barely-covered nether regions. “Hey man, it’s Newt right?”

Newt blinked quickly, and looked up. “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

“Cool costume, bro,” said Isaac with a grin. “Might bring you luck tonight. The ladies love glitter.”

Stiles cringed, but was surprised to hear Newt respond cheerfully. “Actually, I’m hoping for a different kind of luck. Not so into the ladies.” He smiled brightly at Isaac, like this was no big deal.

“Oh, right,” said Isaac slowly. He gestured to his costume. “So… you’re more of an Adam and Steve guy, then?”

There was a brief pause. Then Newt laughed aloud, “You could say that, yeah.”

“Cool!” Isaac grinned. “That’s cool, man.” His grin turned to a smirk. “In that case, you should be looking to have a chat to Danny.”

Stiles felt irrationally irritated at this. “Isaac, Newt’s not going to be into every gay guy we know just because he’s gay, you know. That’s the stupidest-”

“Is that him?” Newt interrupted, pointing across the room. Stiles followed his gaze.

Danny, too, was stripped to the waist (were shirts outlawed at this party?) and dressed as some sort of Roman god or something. An ivy wreath encircled his head, and his abs practically glistened under the party lights. Stiles thought he looked tacky. Newt, clearly, did not.

“Bloody hell,” the blonde boy breathed, staring at Danny with wide eyes. He looked up at Isaac, and gave him a crooked smile. “You wanna introduce me?”

Isaac chuckled, and clapped a hand across his back. “Come on, my little angel.” And before Stiles could stop him, Isaac was leading Newt’s glittering figure across the room, to where Danny and his infuriating abs stood.

***

The party was only an hour in, and Stiles was much drunker than he’d meant to be. Maybe it was his position that was the problem – he’d taken up camp right by the punch bowl, because it was the prime position to supervise Danny and Newt. It also meant that in order to not look like a total creep, he had to keep drinking glasses of punch. He had lost count after about seven, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem.

Danny and Newt seemed engaged in some deep conversation; Newt was looking at Danny with his serious brown eyes and nodding along as he spoke. Then the taller boy said something and Newt threw his head back in laughter, having to grab onto Danny’s bicep to steady himself. Stiles narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t quite figure out what was making him feel so uneasy. He felt protective of Newt, sure, but Danny was a good guy. Stiles liked Danny – and what was more, he was probably the only one at the whole party who was actually human. He was a safe choice for Newt. Stiles should have been happy.

He watched as Scott approached the two and Danny turned to face him, slinging an arm casually around Newt’s waist and pulling him in closer as they talked. Stiles gritted his teeth. He felt sick. Maybe he’d been drinking too much punch after all.

“What the hell are you doing, Stiles?”

He spun around, feeling inexplicably guilty. Lydia stood staring down at him, hands planted firmly on her hips and one eyebrow raised. Stiles gulped.

“Uh, hey Lyds,” he said weakly. “Cool costume.”

Lydia looked across the room to where Newt and Danny stood, still chatting to Scott. “Really, Stiles? This is getting ridiculous. I’m not having you spend my whole party just lurking in corners spying on people.”

“Spying?” Stiles scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His speech was more slurred than he’d intended, but he tried to remain dignified. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing carefully, “I need the restroom.”

Lydia watched him staggering off across the room, and sighed to herself. She supposed she’d have to sort this out, too.

***

Lydia approached the two of them just as Newt excused himself to grab another drink. She winked at him as he wandered past, and he gave her a sheepish grin.

“Hey, hot stuff,” she said, sidling up to Danny. “Having fun?”

“I’ll say,” Danny replied, staring wistfully at Newt’s retreating form. “He sure is something, isn’t he?”

“It’s the accent,” Lydia replied. “Gets you every time.”

Danny sighed. He turned to look at her. “Is Stiles aware that the dude’s completely in love with him?”

Lydia looked up at him with a smirk. “This is Stiles we’re talking about. He doesn’t even know he’s in love with Newt, let alone that it’s reciprocated.”

“Idiots,” said Danny, shaking his head.

“So,” she continued. “Can I steal Newt? You’re doing a great job on the jealousy front, and everything, but I think it’s time we cut to the chase.”

“Does this mean I don’t get to hook up with a cute British boy?” Danny said regretfully.

“I’m afraid not,” Lydia smiled. “It’s all in the name of true love, though.”

“Fine,” said Danny, rolling his eyes. “It’s a waste, but if it helps pull Stiles out of the closet, I’m cool with it.”

Lydia beamed at him. “You’re the best. Besides,” she continued, “there are plenty more fish in the sea for you, sweetie. Including that one in the corner that won’t stop looking over here.”

Danny turned to see a young, dark-skinned boy staring at him. When he caught his eye, the boy blushed and quickly looked away. “He looks about twelve, Lydia,” he said in exasperation. “I’m not a cradle snatcher.”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m just saying, he’s kinda cute.”

Danny looked over to the corner more thoughtfully. “You’re not wrong,” he muttered. He stood for a moment, then suddenly he was pushing his way through the crowd towards the young boy. Lydia smirked. She was too good, really.

She turned to see Newt walking towards her looking bewildered. “Where’s Danny?”

“Oh, he got a phone call,” she said smoothly. She grabbed Newt’s arm, and started steering him through the crowd. “But you and I, sweetie, need to have a little heart-to-heart.”

Chapter Text

Stiles was pretending to dance, but he was really using the grinding bodies around him to hide from Lydia. He wasn’t really sure if what he was doing counted as dancing – that last glass of punch made him feel more coordinated, but he doubted he looked it – but he was flailing his arms as best he could anyway, and no one seemed to care. In fact, someone seemed to like it – he noticed with a kind of lazy amazement that a girl across the floor was looking him up and down approvingly.

She caught his eye suddenly, and flicked him a wink, followed by a very clear come hither motion. Stiles, thunderstruck, hurried to obey, flailing across the floor towards her as fast as his drunken limbs would carry him. He drew close, and before he knew it she was pulling him in, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing herself up against him. “Hey,” she breathed, all beer and cigarette smoke.

Stiles gulped. “Um, hi,” he replied. Was this really happening? Hot girls did not just come up and wrap themselves around Stiles. This was not a common occurrence. This was breaking some law of the universe, he was sure of it. But then the music changed, and she started to grind up against him, and the laws of the universe seemed much less important suddenly.

“What’s your name?” he yelled over the sound of thumping bass.

The girl looked up at him, grinning. “Caitlin!”

“Caitlin,” he repeated, and then he suddenly felt something click into place. He stared down at her. Her face came back to him – the hospital, the virgin sacrifices. She’d been going camping. “Oh my god, you’re Caitlin. You and- your girlfriend, she’s…”

“She died!” Caitlin shouted back enthusiastically, still dancing.

“Yeah,” Stiles stared at her. “Are you okay?”

She beamed at him, pulled him closer. “I’m really drunk!”

And then her body was pressed really close to his, and all thoughts of death and camping and virginity were driven from his head. And if at the back of his mind, Stiles felt a bit weird about grinding up on a dead girl’s girlfriend… well hey, he was really drunk too. And drunk Stiles was more than willing to let this happen.

***

Newt followed Lydia obediently through the crowd – not that he had much choice. She maintained a firm, manicured grip on his arm, and she was surprisingly strong. Newt didn’t think he could’ve broken away if he’d wanted to.

Then they suddenly came to a halt, and before he knew it she was swinging him with force into… a closet? She closed the door with a flourish, and suddenly they were very close together. The smell of her cherry lip gloss was almost overwhelming.

“Um, Lydia,” he began hesitantly, because oh my god Stiles was right and he really didn’t know how to turn someone like Lydia down-

“Relax, Newt.” She took a half-step back and leaned against the closet wall, looking almost bored. “I didn’t bring you here to molest you. I know which team you play for.”

Newt laughed nervously. “Right, okay. Uh – so what are we doing here?”

Lydia eyed him appraisingly, her green gaze travelling up his body alarmingly slowly. Then she looked him full in the face, and gave him a Cheshire cat smile. “We’re here to talk about you and Stiles.”

Newt could already feel himself blushing. He fought to keep his voice casual. “Me and Stiles? What do you mean?”

“Oh, don’t be boring,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “You’re infatuated with him. It’s obvious. We can all see it.”

Newt gaped at her. He searched desperately for something to say, some joke or throwaway line that would convince her she was wrong, but he came up empty. Instead, he just put his head in his hands, and shrank back against the wall. “Shit.”

And then Lydia was there, her arms around him. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said soothingly. “We’re all on your side! You’ve got the whole pack rooting for you. In the least creepy way possible, that is.”

He just groaned, and sank further down the wall. “Oh, shit.” He looked up at Lydia, filled with despair. “Does Stiles know?”

“Oh, God no,” Lydia snorted, standing up. “That boy wouldn’t be able to tell his arse from his ankles – he remains painfully unaware, don’t worry.”

Newt felt a small sense of relief flutter against his overwhelming humiliation. He breathed out slowly. “Well, that’s something.”

“Something we’re going to fix,” said Lydia with a smirk. “Tonight is the night, Newt. You’re going to tell him.”

“Excuse me?” Newt stood, scrambling up the wall. “Are you mad? There’s no way in hell that I’m telling him.”

Lydia rolled her eyes again. “Newt, did it ever occur to you, while you were off perfecting your tragic pining, that you might not be alone in your crush? Did you ever think about whether Stiles might feel the same way?”

Now it was Newt’s turn to snort. “Please. You said you know what team I play for? Lydia, Stiles and I aren’t even playing the same sport – he’s obsessed with girls. They’re all he ever talks about – I don’t see him suddenly swinging the other way any time soon.”

“Oh, Stiles likes girls,” Lydia smirks. “I endured years of his weird staring and awkwardly flirting, I know that better than anyone.” Newt ground his teeth, and she stepped closer to him. “But that doesn’t mean that’s all he likes, Newt! Sexuality’s a spectrum – and as far as Stiles’ spectrum goes – well, you’re on it. Trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?” Newt snapped. “I literally met you this morning. I know you’re trying to help, Lydia, but you can’t help me. You don’t even know me.”

“No,” Lydia said slowly, arching a perfect eyebrow. “But I do know Stiles.” She stepped closer again, and suddenly her snarkiness was gone. She looked up at him earnestly. “And Newt, you have to believe me when I say this: he’s different around you. He’s lighter, more colourful – he’s practically buzzing whenever you’re in the room. He looks at you like I’ve never seen him look at anyone – not even me.” She twinkled up at him. “He likes you, Newt. I know it.”

Newt felt his face flushing. He wanted so desperately to believe her, but-

Lydia seemed to read the doubt in his face. “Look at it this way,” she said, more briskly. “You’re leaving on Monday, right? Worst case scenario: he doesn’t feel the same about you, you have a day to walk around feeling awkward, and then you get to fly home and use the distance to forget about the whole thing.” She tilted her head to the other side. “Or, you can refuse to tell him, have a day to walk around feeling awkward about being in love, and then fly back across the fucking ocean so you can keep pining from a safe distance. It’s your call, kid.”

Newt breathed out. “Fuck,” he said, for want of a better response.

“Newt, he likes you,” Lydia repeated, grabbing hold of his hands. “I’ve only seen you together for a day, and I know. Quit being so fucking boring, and do something about it.”

Newt looked down at her, held her fierce gaze. He felt something tighten in his chest. He had to do this. If he didn’t do it now, he’d always wonder about it – and he didn’t think he could bear that. He nodded. “Okay.”

And with a deep breath, he turned and stepped out of the closet.

(The irony was not lost on him.)

***

“Here.”

Caitlin plonked herself down next to Stiles on the staircase, and handed him a beer. “Dancing’s thirsty work.”

Their hands brushed as he took it. He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

Caitlin gave him a long, calculating look. Her eyes darkened. Then suddenly, she had both her hands in his hair, and she was pulling him down towards her. “Oh,” he mumbled as their lips met. “Oh, okay,” and his heart was thumping about a mile a minute, and her hands were tangled in his hair, and she tasted like peppermint, and ashtrays, and cheap beer. He felt his head begin to spin. He broke away, staring down at her in wild confusion. “Um,” he gasped, bewildered. “I…I thought you liked girls?”

“I do like girls,” she smiled back. She paused, tilted her head to one side. “Do you?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, heart still thumping.

Her eyes grew even darker. “Great,” she breathed, and they were kissing again, her lips hot against his.

But this didn’t feel right – he was still too confused to focus. He pulled back again, looking down at her. “So, you also like boys?” he asked slowly, trying to wrap his head around it.

“Absolutely,” she said matter-of-factly, and Stiles felt himself nodding. That made sense, actually. He was cool with that. Then Caitlin took his hand, and blinked up at him. “Do you?”

Stiles stared at her, confused. What? “What?”

She smiled again. “Do you like boys too?”

Did he?

He didn’t know how to reply. He’d never thought about it before. He made jokes about liking guys all the time, to Scott, and Danny, and his Dad, but he’d never actually considered it… He looked away from Caitlin, his mind still racing – and then he froze.

Across the room, he saw Newt. And everything fell into place.

Newt was staring at him, his expression unreadable. The light from the cheap disco ball was shining down on him, catching that stupid silver halo. His blonde hair shimmered as the light danced across it, and it was reflected in the glitter that clung to his delicate torso. Newt’s whole body seemed to glow.

So, you also like boys?

Not boys. Just one. One perfect, mysterious, enigma of a boy with a British accent and a face like an angel, and oh. Stiles was so stupid.

But then Caitlin was laughing a shimmery laugh, and pulling him back down to kiss her again, and he had to break away a third time. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing hastily. “Shit, I’m really sorry – this is nothing to do with you, believe me, you’re so far out of my league it’s insane, but…” he took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to do.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “Okay?”

And that was enough for Stiles. He swung around without a second glance, looking for Newt. He had to tell him – now, immediately, before he lost the courage and he let his stupidity win. But as Stiles looked across the room, he saw that Newt had vanished. Stiles scanned the whole crowd of gyrating bodies, but the blonde-haired boy was nowhere to be seen.

And then, just as he was giving up hope, he caught sight of a glittery silver wing disappearing out the back door.

***

“Newt!” he yelled, shoving his way through a throng of people and out into the darkness. “Newt!”

He could see him up ahead, trudging across the lawn with his pale skin luminous in the moonlight. He started to run towards him. “Newt, hold up!”

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Newt called back without turning around. His voice sounded oddly thick. “Go back inside.”

“Please, dude, just stop,” Stiles huffed, jogging to catch up with him. “I need to talk to you.”

Newt was walking faster now. “Go inside,” he said again. His voice grew louder. “That girl’s waiting for you, just – just leave me alone.”

Stiles caught up, reached out to touch his shoulder. “Newt-”

“Bloody hell, Stiles,” Newt spun around to face him, and Stiles realised with a jolt that he was crying. The blonde boy blinked angrily, and took a ragged breath. “Go away. You’ve obviously got better things to do in there, can you stop bloody hassling me?”

Stiles moved towards him, hand reaching up to touch his face, “Newt-”

But Newt cut him off again, stumbling away from him. “No,” he choked, and it sounded like a sob. “No, I- fuck, Stiles, I can’t do this any more. I can’t just keep watching you-” He scrubbed his palm across his face and took another uneven breath. “Lydia was right, it’s worse than anything else. It’s not your fault – go back, fucking make out with as many girls as you want, you’ve got every right. I just- I can’t be there anymore.”

Stiles stared at him – at the tears still glistening on his cheeks, his heaving chest, his wild, despairing eyes. He felt an ache in his whole body, a kind of awful desperation, and he couldn’t bear it any more.

He closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips against Newt’s.

There were no fireworks, no heavenly choruses descending from above. The kiss was almost violent with urgency, and it caught Newt off-guard – he made a small, surprised noise in the back of his throat, and then lost his footing, stumbling backwards. But Stiles grabbed him as he fell; he wove his arms around the smaller boy’s waist to hold him steady. He felt Newt’s breath hitch. And then his arms were reaching up to Stiles’ neck, fingers tangling in his hair, his body melting against him. The kiss grew deeper, sweeter. Stiles pulled Newt closer to him, parted his lips with a soft sigh. And Newt gasped as their tongues touched, arching his back and making these little fucking breathy noises that made Stiles’ heart stutter. Fuck, kissing Newt was something entirely new. It’d never felt like this before.

They broke apart at last, breathing heavily. Stiles could feel Newt’s heart thudding in time with his. Newt’s eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed and still marked with dried tears. “Bloody hell,” he breathed, and Stiles could only laugh shakily, pulling him closer to trace the lines of his face. He leaned in again, and this time Newt closed his eyes, pale eyelashes laid against his cheeks and his soft lips already parted. Stiles bent to touch their lips together.

And then he heard something.

It almost sounded like the roar of the wind, but Stiles knew better. This wasn’t the wind in the trees – this was a howl, a wolf’s howl. It came from the other side of the house. Stiles jerked away from Newt, turning around to look in the direction of the sound.

“Stiles?” Newt’s voice was alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

The howl came again, and this time Stiles could hear a harsh snarling too, and the gnash of sharp teeth. He spun back around, pushing Newt away and holding him at arms’ length. “Newt,” he said, breaking off as he heard another howl, this one louder and angrier. His heart was thudding, panic rising too fast inside his chest. He forced it down, and looked into the blonde boy’s eyes. “Newt, listen. I need you to go. Now.”

Newt stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“Please,” Stiles had already started pushing him backwards, away from the house. “Please, I need you to do this for me. Just- get out of here, all right? Get as far away as you can.”

 Newt’s eyes were wide, shock and betrayal reading clearly on his face. “You’re doing it again,” he whispered, still staring at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles was distracted by more sounds of snarling from the house. “Look, Newt, you’ve got to-”

“You’re fucking doing it again,” Newt cried, and his voice was almost a yell. “Three fucking years, but nothing changes. Are you still as scared as you were back then? Still ashamed of me?” Tears were filling his eyes again, and he blinked them away angrily. “Or is this just your unique way of fucking with me?”

“Newt, please,” Stiles begged. The sounds were growing louder and louder, and Newt was small, and fragile, and dangerously human. Stiles needed him safe. “We can talk about this later, just get out of here.”

Newt stared at him, his face twisted in pain. “Fine,” he hissed, and though he was shaking, his voice was perfectly steady. “But this time, I’m not coming back.”

And with that, he turned and left, stumbling blindly across Lydia’s lawn and out her gate. He didn’t turn around, but Stiles could see how his shoulders shook, how he scrubbed his face angrily. He felt that ache in his chest again, and he longed to run after Newt, to catch him in his arms and tell him to stay. But he needed him safe. So instead, he watched until the blonde boy was out of sight. Then with a deep breath, he turned and ran towards the sounds of the werewolves.

Chapter Text

Stiles rounded the side of the house to see the pack standing in a ring out the front, facing something. As he drew closer, he saw what that something was.

Peter stood tall, observing the pack from a few feet away with his glowing blue eyes. His features were wolflike around the edges, but he seemed composed, nonchalant. Scott and Isaac were half-changed, too, teeth stretched into snarls. From the noises he was making, Stiles could guess it was Isaac who’d been howling. He could see from the way they stood that it was only a matter of time before a fight started.

He edged closer, reaching Lydia’s side. “Hey,” he muttered. “What happened?”

“He just showed up,” she hissed back, still facing forwards. “The boys caught his scent just now, and found him watching us. We’re safe, I ringed the house with mountain ash before we started, and I’ve just closed the circle.”

“Smart,” Stiles breathed back, and shifted a little to get a good look at Peter.

The werewolf seemed to notice this movement, snapping his head around to lock Stiles with his gaze. “Ahh, Stiles,” he purred. “So kind of you to join us.”

“What are you doing here, Peter?” he asked in return, trying to act relaxed even though he knew Peter could hear his heart rate increasing. “Surely hooking up with teenagers at parties is a new level of creepy, even for you.”

“If you wanted an invite,” Lydia added sweetly, “you should have just asked. I always leave room on the guest list for dirty old men.”

“Oh, we both know I don’t need an invitation for your parties, dear Lydia,” Peter replied smoothly. “Or have you forgotten what fun we had together last year?”

Stiles felt Lydia stiffen beside him, and he reached out discreetly and took her hand.

“You’re not welcome here, Peter,” Scott growled. His eyes flashed red. He was barely containing his wolf. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Peter just laughed. “Oh, look at Scott McCall, the true alpha. How you do terrify me.”

“You heard him, Peter.” The voice came from behind him, and Stiles turned in surprise, to see Derek walking out of the house. He hadn’t even realised the older wolf was still here. Derek wasn’t changed at all, and his voice sounded more resigned than angry. “Leave.”

There was a small pause, and then slowly, Peter inclined his head to Derek. “Whatever you say, nephew,” he replied bitterly. “I get the hint.” He stood, glanced around at the pack once more – and his eyes alighted on Stiles in sudden interest. “You smell good, Stilinski,” he breathed, drawing closer. Ignoring Scott’s warning growl, he leaned in, and inhaled deeply. Stiles jerked back in surprise.

“That smell doesn’t belong to you,” Peter said slowly. A smirk danced across his lips. “Did you get laid, Stiles?”

Stiles clenched his fists. “Go to hell.”

Scott’s growling was growing louder, and he moved to stand a little in front of Stiles, shielding him. Peter just laughed again, drawing back and beginning to move towards the forest. But then he turned back to look at Stiles, tilting his head to one side. “Whoever he is,” he said softly, eyes calculating, “he smells very pretty.” Then with one last catlike smile, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows of the woods.

***

Lydia was exhausted. They’d tried to clear the party out after Peter left, but the punch had clearly taken effect – almost everyone was helplessly drunk, and it was nearly four in the morning before she managed to kick out the last partygoers. Then there was the clean-up – scooping vomit from the sink, scrubbing someone’s blood off the kitchen floor, and the alarming discovery of a used condom (in the greenhouse, of all places). It had to all get done before her mom got home in the afternoon, so she and the pack didn’t make it to bed before nearly six am. Barely an hour after that, Stiles had rung her (he’d snuck out of the house after they were done) babbling about needing to talk to her, urgently. So here she was, in this miserable diner at seven thirty in the fucking morning, with Allison and Scott (who’d said they needed breakfast) being awkward beside her, and some truly atrocious coffee. This had better be good.

Stiles looked even worse than she felt. Lydia watched as he charged through the door at high speed, face grey and frantic, and barrelled towards them. He reached their table, and without drawing breath, croaked “have you guys seen Newt?”

They stared at him. “I thought he went back to yours?” Lydia asked, bemused.

“So did I,” Stiles swung into the booth across from her and sat down, running his hands through his hair. “He left before the Peter thing, I thought he must’ve headed home, but he’s not there now. Dad said he never heard him come in.”

“Why wouldn’t he have gone home?” Scott asked, leaning in.

“Because,” Stiles said, looking pained, “I fucked up. Oh man, I fucked up so bad.” He buried his head in his hands.

“Stiles,” Lydia said slowly. “What did you do?”

He didn’t look at her. His voice came through muffled, hands still hiding his face. He sounded like he might be sick. “I kissed him.”

“What?!” Allison rocketed up off her chair, grabbing his arms from across the table. “Stiles, that’s fantastic!”

“Finally,” Lydia said, smirking.

Scott just looked confused. “You kissed… Newt? Wait, what?”

Lydia gave him a shove. “Get with the programme, McCall.” She turned back to Stiles. “Okay. So you finally made a move. Explain how exactly this qualifies as ‘fucking up’?”

“Was it a really bad kiss?” Allison asked helpfully. “Did you washing-machine his mouth with your tongue, or something?”

Scott straightened up, reddening. “You promised never to talk about that!” he cried, sounding outraged.

“I wasn’t-”

“Guys,” Stiles hissed, cutting them off. “Can we stay on track here?” He huffed out a breath as they grudgingly turned back to him. “The kiss wasn’t the problem. It was what happened afterwards. I- I heard Peter, and you guys wolfing out on the other side of the house, and I just freaked out – I didn’t want Newt to get hurt.” He looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes. “So, I told him to get out.”

“Ah,” Allison said quietly.

“Yeah.” He gave her a stricken look. “And I couldn’t tell him why, so he just thought I was trying to get rid of him or something, like I was ashamed of him, and he had this look on his face, like…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Okay,” said Lydia slowly. “I get it. That’s bad. But it’s not the end of the world, Stiles.” She reached across and took his hands. “We’ll just think of an excuse for why you had to leave, and then you can find Newt, pour your heart out to him, and announce your newly-realised love to all of us so he knows you’re not embarrassed about it.” She gave him a kind smile. “It’ll be okay.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Stiles said tiredly, pulling away from her and running his hands through his hair again. “It’s… I’m not… he…” he made a low sound of frustration and sat back, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asked slowly.

“Stiles,” Scott cut in, “I think you’d better tell us the whole story. From the start.”

***

“It was the summer after my mom died,” Stiles began. “I… I wasn’t in a good way. I couldn’t sleep, I barely ate, I kept having these panic attacks that no one knew how to stop… Dad didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to leave me alone in the house all summer. So, he packed me off to the ‘Sandford Summer Camp for Troubled Teens’.” Stiles almost smiled. “Which was, basically, the worst idea in the world.

“My dad meant well. He was trying to do the right thing, I guess, but man, that place sucked. I mean, imagine it – it’s this whole happy-clappy songs-around-a-campfire kinda gig, but full of the saddest kids you’ve ever met in your life. I was rooming with this guy who’d seen his dog get hit by a car a few years back and had lost the will to speak. He’d just lie on his bed all day, staring at the wall. It was tragic.

“Anyway, so there’s miserable me in this sea of other miserable kids, being forced to do inane ‘resilience-building activities’ with the really enthusiastic camp leaders cheering us on, and I think I’m about to lose it. Then about the third day in, I’m walking past this cabin and I hear some British guy cussing a leader out because he’s trying to confiscate his comic book. So I look inside, and there’s this skinny little blonde dude with his leg in a cast, brandishing a Star Wars comic at the camp leader, who’s trying to grab it. And then he sees me, and he just goes ‘run!’ and chucks me the comic, and before I know it, I’m sprinting all over camp and hiding from the leaders, just trying to keep this dude’s comic safe.

“Long story short, I got away, and I managed to return it. I guess we were friends from then on. We didn’t talk about why we were there – I know Newt’s reason had something to do with him breaking his leg, but I’ve never asked. We just… hung out. He made things feel normal again. He got me to laugh, when I didn’t think I ever would. He-” Stiles broke off here, twisting his fingers together. “He got me through the summer, you know? I might’ve lost it without him.

“Anyway, so we went home best mates, and we stayed in touch during the year pretty well. But the next year… things were different, somehow. We still had a great time together, and it was as easy as it’d ever been, but there was this new kinda… tension. Like an undercurrent running through our normal interactions. I couldn’t figure it out. That is, till the last night.

“Newt was heading back to England that autumn, cause of his mom’s new job, so it was the last night we were gonna have together at camp. There was some lame campfire going on at the time, so we’d snuck out to the woods – I’d found some beers in the camp leaders’ fridge, and we were just hanging out. Then…” Stiles paused, squinting down at his hands in his lap. “Then, the mood changed, I guess. I don’t know what it was – the woods, the beer, whatever – but I suddenly looked at Newt, and realised how much he meant to me. Not just as a mate, but… everything.

"And then… I sorta, just, kissed him. Without even thinking about it, you know? I just did it, before I could stop myself, and he didn’t really react, and it was just so weird all-round. And then it was over, and…” Stiles broke off again, making a low, keening sound in the back of his throat. He put his head in his hands once more, his voice continuing muffled. “And then... fuck, I was thirteen, you know? I didn’t even know you could like chicks and dudes the same way, I just freaked out. I was terrified that we’d get caught, and my dad would find out, and they wouldn’t let me see Newt again, and…” he sighed out a deep breath. “And so I asked him to go. I said I needed him to leave me alone, and he just… did.”

“Oh, Stiles,” Lydia said softly.

“And then the next day, we were all leaving, and it was normal again, and we just didn’t talk about it. He went to England, and I started high school, and we just acted like normal friends. We’ve never mentioned it again. Until…”

“Last night,” Allison said sympathetically.

Stiles clenched his teeth. “Yeah, til last night, when I acted like the biggest fucking dick in the world, and did it to him again.” He moaned, and dropped his head to the table. “Christ, no wonder he hates me.”

“Oh, rubbish,” Lydia said briskly. “He doesn’t hate you, Stiles. This is just a misunderstanding.”

He looked up at her hopelessly. “Then why hasn’t he come home?”

“Has he… gone gone?” Scott asked from the other end of the table. “Like, back to England?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, he can’t have – his plane’s not till tomorrow, and his suitcase and stuff is still back at mine. I just don’t get where he could have gone. He doesn’t know anyone here – I’m half-wondering if he just got lost trying to get back, it’s not like he knows his way around at all.”

A distant warning bell went off in Lydia's head. “Stiles,” she said slowly, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding, “what if Newt isn’t avoiding you on purpose? What if he’s trying to get home, but something – or someone – is stopping him?”

Before Stiles could answer, his phone started ringing. His face lit up as he checked the screen. “It’s him!” he crowed, overjoyed. His voice was eager as he answered. “Newt?”

But the voice that came next was decidedly not Newt. Lydia could hear it even from where she sat across the table, and it sent familiar chills down her spine. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Guess again, Stilinksi,” said the voice of Peter Hale.

Chapter Text

Newt awoke for the millionth time that night, a metallic taste in his mouth. His arms were still suspended above him, and the ache in his joints that had started an hour ago was turning into a burning pain. He shifted restlessly, trying to lower himself to the ground more, to take the weight off his shoulders.

This was a mistake.

From across the room, he saw the man glance up, registering Newt’s movement. His face stretched into a slow smile, his eyes glittering. “Awake, are we?”

Newt froze, and hung his head again, but it was too late. The man who called himself Peter had risen, and was moving impossibly quickly across the room. He stood in front of Newt, his head tilted to one side. “Are you feeling any more cooperative yet?”

Newt looked up at him. Peter was handsome, with an angular face and piercing blue eyes. But there was something about him – a slight twitch at the corner of his eye, maybe – something that made him look just a little unhinged. Newt did not find this reassuring.

He stepped closer now, so he was right in Newt’s space. He leaned towards him, smiling a little. “I asked you a question,” he said, lightly. “Do you know how to answer questions?”

“I told you,” Newt croaked. Even to his ears, his voice sounded raw, and desperate. “I don’t know what you want. None of your questions make sense!”

“It’s not hard, Newt,” Peter breathed. Newt wished he’d never told him his name – he said it with such menace. “Just a yes or no will do.” He spun around, and began pacing. “Either you can tell me whether Scott McCall has built a new pack, or you can stay swinging here until you rot. It’s your choice.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Newt moaned. “I don’t even really know Scott! Please, I have no idea what’s going on here-”

“Enough.” Peter’s voice came out low and guttural, almost a growl. He turned back around, and it might have been the lighting, but it almost looked like his eyes were… glowing. Then he moved closer, and Newt knew he must have been suspended for too long because he was almost definitely hallucinating – hair seemed to be sprouting across Peter’s jaw as Newt watched, and when he raised a hand, his nails looked impossibly long and sharp, almost like claws. “I’m getting tired of your excuses. We’re going to try a more hands-on approach.” Without warning, he lashed out with his hand – his claws – and Newt leapt back instinctively, cringing his body upwards to dodge the blow.

He heard a clatter on the floor as he did so, and looking down, saw that the sudden movement had dislodged his phone from his pocket. Peter’s eyes flicked down to where it lay on the floor, and then back up to look at Newt. A slow smile crept across his face. “Now that gives me an idea,” he purred.

***

“Guess again, Stilinski.”

Newt’s blood ran cold. Stiles. That was Stiles on the other end of the phone. Until now, Peter hadn’t mentioned Stiles – he’d only been asking Newt increasingly weird questions about Scott. But now, he was right there, talking down the phone to Peter, and – shit, Newt had to warn him. He longed to cry out, but the fact that Peter had duct-taped his mouth was making it difficult.

“Should I be flattered that you recognise my voice?” he heard Peter say. “Look, I’m afraid I don’t have much time for small talk. I’ve got a guest over – in fact, I think he might be a friend of yours!” Peter turned to look at Newt, his eyes glittering. “Newt, would you like to say hello?”

And then before Newt could react, the tape was ripped off his mouth, and Peter had placed the phone against his ear. It was a second before he had the presence of mind to croak out “Stiles?”

“Jesus, Newt.” Stiles’ voice came through, crackly and distraught. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Holy shit – I’m gonna get you out of there, okay? I swear to God, whatever it takes-”

“Don’t, Stiles,” he rasped. “Don’t, you can’t come here, he’s-”

He broke off as Peter lazily lifted a hand and hit him across the face, hard. He cried out, and for a moment things went black. When he opened his eyes, the world was spinning, and he could hear Stiles yelling his name through the phone.

But Peter had lifted it to his ear again. “Sorry, Stiles,” he said calmly. “Newt can’t talk anymore. But now you know how very serious I am.” His voice grew colder then, his face dispassionate. “Be at the old warehouse at midday today, and we can talk. Bring the triskelion. Make sure to come alone.” He looked up, and his eyes met Newt’s. They were glowing again. “I don’t think I need to explain the consequences for Newt if you don’t.”

***

Stiles looked down at the phone in his hand. His whole body was shaking.

“Stiles?” Lydia reached out and grabbed him. “Sit down, now.” She lowered him into his seat, and he didn’t resist. He was just staring at his phone, his brain still whirring. He felt like he might be sick.

“Okay,” Allison said in a low voice – because after Stiles had started yelling into his phone, the people in the diner had become way too interested in their conversation. “So Peter has Newt.”

“And he wants the triskelion,” Lydia murmured. “What does that mean?”

Allison furrowed her brow. “He must be building his power again. Derek always said the triskelion was powerful – maybe Peter wants it so he can gain more control?”

“That must’ve been why he was at your house,” Scott said to Lydia. “He was trying to see if Derek had it on him.”

“And when he couldn’t get it, he decided to try a new approach,” Lydia said slowly. “Because he knew Newt was close to Stiles.”

“You’re all brilliant,” Stiles said hoarsely, and the others started, looking at him in surprise. “Now that we’ve finished deducing all the facts, can we figure out how the fuck we’re going to get the triskelion by noon?”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going?” Lydia asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I have to.”

Allison shook her head. “Stiles, that’s crazy! He could kill you!”

“He could kill Newt,” Stiles snapped back. “He might be half-dead already – I’m not just leaving him there with Peter.”

“You walk in there unarmed and alone, he’ll just kill you both and take the triskelion,” Lydia said firmly. “You’re not going.”

“What choice do I have?” Stiles cried out, ignoring the shocked faces of the wait staff around them. “It’s my fault Newt’s there, Lydia. He shouldn’t have been involved in any of this – I’m not letting anything happen to him.”

“Stiles,” Scott said, but Stiles was ranting now.

“I know it’s not smart,” he continued. “It’s dumb and it’s impulsive and it’s not the Lydia Martin way, but I don’t give a fuck anymore! It’s four hours till midday, Lydia! We don’t have time to be smart-”

“Stiles,” Scott snapped. “Shut up. I have an idea.”

***

Newt had never been good at guessing the time. And surprisingly, hanging from his roped-together hands in the middle of an abandoned warehouse seemed to only make it harder. He had no idea how long Peter had been gone for, how long he had been dangling there alone with this sick feeling in his stomach.

But when Peter walked back in, anticipation oozing off of him, Newt knew it was time.

Peter had taped his mouth again before he’d left – “hostages are best seen and not heard” – and stood a few feet away now, watching him with those unnerving blue eyes. “You are pretty, aren’t you?” he said softly.

Newt tried to give him a baleful glare, but he felt more like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m impressed with our Stiles, really,” Peter continued. “He’s always been one of those dull repressed types, but I’m sure a pretty boy like you could change all that.” He stepped closer, traced a finger down Newt’s cheek. “You have potential, Newt. It’s a shame that you’ll have to die.” His voice was horrifically calm, like he was discussing when the next bus came. “Still, sacrifices must be made, I suppose.”

He looked up suddenly, and his head cocked to one side, as if he were listening to some far-off sound. A crooked smile stole back across his face. “That’ll be him,” he breathed, and turned to face the entrance.

Newt's breath hitched as Stiles walked in. He'd desperately hoped the boy would be smart enough to stay away, to stay safe - but Newt couldn't deny feeling a heady rush of relief at seeing him there. Still, he'd never seen Stiles like this. He looked like a soldier, with a dark leather jacket and his face still as stone. His jaw tightened momentarily when he saw Newt hanging from the ceiling, but then he turned to face Peter, and his smooth mask was firmly back in place. “Peter,” he said without expression.

“Good to see you, Stiles,” Peter smirked back. “Nice jacket.”

There was a muscle jumping in Stiles’ jaw. “Let’s get this over with.”

Peter looked amused. “You have what I want?”

Stiles pulled a strange ornament from his jacket pocket. It looked wooden, and was carved with a series of spirals. He nodded in Newt’s direction. “Let him down, and you can have it.”

“Let him down?” Peter asked innocently. “Why, certainly.”

He raised a hand – those claws again – and slashed it swiftly over Newt’s head. Newt felt the ropes break, and then he was falling without warning – his legs buckled under the sudden weight and he hit the ground, hard. He felt something in his arm crunch sickeningly, and bit his tongue to stop himself crying out.

“Jesus, Peter,” Stiles said in his normal voice. Newt heard him take a step forward.

Then Peter had a hand in Newt’s hair and was yanking him upwards, pressing his claws to his throat. “No, Stiles,” he said softly, still smiling. “No closer until I have what I want.”

Stiles looked stricken. He stared at Newt, at Peter’s claws resting against his bared skin. “Fine,” he said urgently, “here. Just… just let him go.” He threw the ornament at Peter, who lifted his claws from Newt’s throat and caught it deftly.

“Ah,” he said, looking down at the object in his hand. “The triskelion.” He smiled at it for a moment, then in a sudden motion, threw it aside with force. It hit the wall and cracked in two. “Always was an ugly old thing,” he said cheerfully.

Stiles was staring at him in shock. “What the hell?”

“Oh, Stiles.” Peter sounded almost pitying. “You don’t really think I’d go to all this trouble just to get a useless family souvenir, do you?”

Stiles shook his head, still looking bewildered. “But you said-”

“I lied,” Peter said smoothly. He let go of Newt and stepped slowly forwards. Newt struggled to stay upright. “What I want is far more important.”

Stiles gulped visibly. “And what… what do you want?”

Peter gave him a catlike smile. “You.” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, and he laughed aloud. “Oh, not like that, Stiles. Don’t flatter yourself.” He tilted his head to one side, moving closer. “No, it’s not your body that concerns me – I’m more interested in your mind. You see, your little boyfriend here hasn’t been terribly helpful.” Stiles’ eyes flickered over to Newt anxiously. “He seems to be convinced that “werewolves don’t exist”, and he has very little to tell me about our Mr McCall. But you, Stiles,” he breathed, fixing Stiles with his blue-eyed gaze. “You have a wealth of information to impart. You remember it all. Such a smart boy.”

“You’re right,” Stiles said breathlessly, staring at him with bright eyes. “I am smart.” And then he brought his wrist to his chin, and said calmly, “Guys. Now.”

That’s when things got chaotic.

Chapter Text

Shattering glass rained down around Stiles. He stood still as the werewolves leapt from the top windows – Scott, Isaac, Malia. They landed, fully wolfed out already.

Peter stared. “I should have smelled them,” he said, stunned.

An arrow whistled past. Allison stood at the door, Kira at her back. “You underestimated us,” she smiled.

Peter’s eyes glowed blue. Stiles heard Scott roar behind him, and begin to charge. At that point, Stiles decided it was time to get out of the way.

He leapt aside, letting the werewolves clash head-on, and ran to where Newt was slumped on the floor. The blonde boy was watching the fighting with wide eyes. Specks of glitter still clung to his bruised face, and his angel wings hung brokenly down his back. He looked beautiful. And terrified.

Stiles reached him, put his hands on his shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly. He crouched down, gingerly removed the tape from Newt’s mouth.

Newt snapped his attention to Stiles, and started speaking at top speed. “Stiles,” he said urgently, his voice hoarse. “You need to get out of here. Now. Peter’s not… he’s not human, Stiles, there’s something really weird happening, and…” His eyes roamed over Stiles’ head, to where Peter was flinging a snarling Scott across the room. “And… Jesus, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

“Hey.” Stiles gently tilted Newt’s chin up, so he could look him in the eyes. “It’s okay. Look at me, just at me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He risked a look over his shoulder – Scott and Malia were successfully driving Peter back towards the exit. Carefully, he reached down to the ropes on Newt’s wrists. “Is it ok if I untie these?”

Newt nodded, his eyes fixed determinedly on Stiles’ face. An arrow flew past and he flinched.

Stiles glanced up. “Do you remember the last night of camp?” he asked abruptly.

Newt blinked at him in surprise. “You mean the night when… when you…”

“When I kissed you, yeah.” Stiles was moving his fingers as fast as he could. He could feel the knots starting to loosen. Behind him, the sound of the fighting drew closer.

“I remember you telling me to go,” Newt said in a brittle voice. “I remember walking home from the woods alone, getting lost in the dark. I remember you pretending to be asleep when I got back.”

The fighting grew louder still. Stiles kept looking into Newt’s eyes. “That,” he said softly, “was the second-biggest mistake of my life.” He felt the ropes beneath his fingers give way.

Newt’s eyes were shining. He stared into Stiles’ face with a kind of wonder. But then his eyes shot up suddenly, and he was shuffling backwards, trying to pull Stiles with him. “Move!” he yelled, and before Stiles could react, he felt strong hands reaching around him, claws tearing into his sides as he was hauled to his feet.

“Nobody moves,” Peter roared, his breath hot in Stiles’ ear. “Or I rip him limb from limb.”

Stiles watched his friends halt, stricken. Kira and Allison slowly lowered their weapons. Nobody spoke.

Peter’s heart thudded against Stiles’ back. Stiles could practically hear the older man’s mind whirring, calculating his next step. This wasn’t going to be good. He longed for someone to just do something, to make a move, but-

“Hey, Peter.” A clear, crisp voice. Stiles swung his head around. Newt was standing with one arm cradled against his chest, his eyes blazing. “Go fetch.”

He drew his good hand back, and hurled something – the triskelion. It hit Peter square in the face, and the werewolf snarled, falling backwards. His claws tore across Stiles’ chest as he fell, but he let him go – Stiles hit the ground, gasping for air.

Allison was loosing wolfsbane arrows now, and Peter’s howls told Stiles they were finding their mark. Peter stumbled away, Kira’s knives and Allison’s arrows hissing past him as he ran for the door. He made it before Scott or the others could reach him, and bounded out into the night. He was gone.

But – that meant they were safe. Stiles turned back to look at his friends, and felt a rush of glorious relief. They were okay. They were all okay.

And yet, none of them looked that relieved. In fact, they were staring at him with something like fear registering on their faces.

He noticed, then, that the ground beneath him was wet. Looking down, he saw with some surprise that his t-shirt was soaked with red. Long gashes ran across his chest and up his sides. He felt a hand on his shoulder now, somebody shaking him and shouting into his ear, but it all felt somehow far away. He was distantly aware of letting his head hit the ground. Something came into his line of vision – a figure running towards him, with glittering wings and a halo of blonde hair. An angel, he thought dreamily. That’s nice.

And then the figure reached him, and it was crying, and yelling something that he couldn’t hear. There was the strangest buzzing in his ears. The angel took his hand and said something more, but his eyes were sliding closed now, and he was so tired, he just needed to rest, just for a second.

He closed his eyes, and let the world turn dark.

***

The first time Stiles awoke, it was to searing pain, and a lot of noise. Harsh colours raced by, and he was dimly aware of someone screaming. It might have been him, he couldn’t be sure. Thankfully, it didn’t last long, and despite the loud voices in his ears, he accepted the darkness back gratefully.

The next time, things were quieter. Silent, actually, except for a repetitive beeping somewhere to his left. It was hard to open his eyes – everything seemed blurry – but he could feel that he was lying on something soft, with plastic-y sheets – a hospital bed. The pain was distant too, but he could feel it still, rumbling under his skin like it was biding its time.

There were voices out in the corridor. He pushed through the morphine fog and tried to listen in.

“…don’t understand. How did you get anywhere near him without him knowing?”

“It was my idea…” that was Scott! He was ok! Stiles wanted to yell out to him, but his brain wasn’t doing a great job of connecting to his body at the moment, so he just kept listening. “…something Deaton had, blocked his senses…couldn’t smell us.” Stiles could only hear things brokenly, in bits and pieces.

Then there was a deeper voice – his dad’s. Crap. “How…how deep did the claws go?” He sounded hesitant, afraid.

“Not deep enough.” Someone growly. Deaton? Derek? “He won’t turn.”

Stiles wondered who they were talking about. He was keen to join in the conversation but really, all this listening was exhausting. He stayed awake long enough to hear someone say “Lydia’s talking to Newt about it,” and then the darkness hit yet again.

The third time, he woke up to pain. Not the rushing, excruciating pain he’d felt before, but a definite discomfort. He was still in the bed, the heart monitor beeping reassuringly beside him. Stiles shifted, trying to adjust himself on his pillows, and groaned when his side erupted in flames.

“Woah! Hey, careful there.”

Soft hands descended and gently pushed him back into place. He opened his eyes in surprise.

He looked smaller, shrunken somehow. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and a bruise stood out livid against his cheekbone. But when he smiled, it was still like the sun coming out.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How’re you feeling?”

About sixteen million replies rocketed through Stiles’ head, but all he said was, “you look awful.” He winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth – great, awesome opening line, Stilinski.

But Newt was smirking. “Nice to see you too,” he replied. “And not to be petty, but you’re not looking your best either.”

Stiles grimaced, and tried to sit up again, but Newt’s hands were on his shoulders before he could move. “Okay, seriously?” he said. “Stop doing that. If you rip your stitches again I think Scott might tear my throat out.”

Stiles’ eyes flew wide. “Scott?” he croaked.

“He’s okay,” said Newt, exasperated. “They’re all okay.” He paused, looking at Stiles carefully. “Must be something to do with the werewolf healing.” His voice was overly casual.

Ah. Right. Stiles cleared his throat. “Um, Newt-”

“It’s okay, Stiles.” Newt, amazingly, was smiling at him. “Lydia explained the whole supernatural-beings-next-door thing to me. I get it.”

Stiles stared. “You do?”

“Well, not entirely.” He laughed shakily. “I mean, it’s a lot to take in. But at least it explains why you’ve been so weird for the last year or so. And why you didn’t want me to meet your friends. And why I ended up chained to the ceiling with some mega-creep talking about how he was going to kill you-”

“Newt,” Stiles interrupted, pained. “I… I can’t even begin to…” He paused, took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For everything. For lying to you, for putting you in danger, for letting you get dragged into the enormous clusterfuck of my life, I just…” He sighed, and shut his eyes. “Thank you for coming. But I’m okay. You don’t ever have to see me again.”

There was a long pause. When Stiles opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see Newt still standing over him, looking almost bored. “Are you done?”

He blanched. “I… yes?”

“Right then.” Newt clapped his hands together, and sat back down. “Apology accepted. Now, what time do the nurses bring you food? I’m so stealing your little jelly thing.”

Stiles gaped at him. “What?”

The blonde boy rolled his eyes. “Alright, you can keep the jelly – but to be clear, if they have one of those wee pudding cups, it’s mine.”

“Newt, listen-” Stiles shook his head, struggling to sit up and wincing again.

“Okay, stop.” Newt stood, his hands back on Stiles shoulders. “I told you to cut that out. And seriously, please stop apologising. You nearly got your guts torn out while you were saving me back there – I’m pretty sure that makes us even.”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but Newt steamrolled right over him. “Look, Lydia told me why you made me leave the other night. After… after we left the party.” He looked at the ground, cheeks a little pink. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. And I’m sorry I ran off like an idiot – you were just trying to protect me. I get that now.”

Newt paused, but Stiles could tell he wasn’t finished yet. He took a deep breath in, ran his hands through his hair. “Look.” He shut his eyes and breathed in again. “Yesterday you told me that our last night of camp, when you told me to go, was the second-biggest mistake you ever made.” He paused again, and his eyes flickered open. He stared right at Stiles. “So I need to know. What was the biggest?”

Stiles’ breathing was shallow. He could hear the heart rate monitor beeping like crazy beside him as his heart thumped in his chest, but he forced himself to meet Newt’s gaze, to tell him. “My biggest mistake? Not kissing you the second you got off that fucking plane.”

Newt’s eyes widened. There was a slow, never-ending moment when he just stood staring at him, mouth slightly open, that stupid glitter still scattered across his cheeks. And then he kissed him.

There wasn’t much grace to it. Their lips crashed together so fast Stiles felt his teeth clack, and Newt’s sudden weight on him sent a jolt up his side that made him hiss in pain. Newt drew back almost instantly, whispering “shit, shit, sorry, I’m so sorry,” but Stiles just reached out and pulled him back down, slower this time. Newt caressed his cheek gingerly and lifted his chin, kissed him soft and slow. His hands curled around the back of Stiles’ neck, rubbed soothing circles at the base of his scalp. His leg found its way between Stiles’ thighs, and he shifted ever so lightly downwards, just enough to make Stiles’ breathing quicken. Everything about it was gentle, but he could still feel his heart rocketing like crazy, at this, at Newt, at everything that this meant. The heart monitor beside him was going berserk.

It was probably that last factor, actually, that brought the nurse crashing into his room a few seconds later. Then of course she was followed by his dad, Melissa, Scott and most of the pack, who all tumbled through the door looking wild. Stiles didn’t even notice until Newt was suddenly peeling away, rocketing off of him and into the chair beside the bed at superhuman speed.

Half the pack immediately began whooping and cheering, of course, most of it led by Scott. Lydia looked unbelievably smug and Allison’s eyes were filled with proud tears, but the Sheriff just stood open-mouthed. Stiles tried to seemed nonchalant, but if Newt’s flushed cheeks and red lips were anything to go by, he looked pretty wrecked. He could see Newt’s hair standing on end from where he’d run his fingers through it. Despite the audience, he caught himself wanting to do it again.

“Well, Stiles,” his dad said slowly. “Looks like you and I are overdue a little chat.” Then, suddenly, he cracked a huge smile, and spun to look at Melissa. “And it looks like you owe me ten bucks.”

“Dad,” Stiles said, stunned. “You… you were betting on me getting with Newt?”

The Sheriff laughed. “Oh no, son.” Before Stiles could relax, he added, “we were betting on how long it would take.”

Stiles’ spluttering reply was lost in the cheerful uproar from the pack at that, which Melissa calmed down with some difficulty. “Alright, you hooligans. This is a hospital, not a frat party – Stiles is fine, so you can all head back to the waiting room.” She ignored Isaac’s pouting and shooed them out, beckoning the other nurse with her.

The Sheriff stood grinning at them both for a moment longer. “Well, now that we’ve made sure you’re not having a heart attack, I’ll uh… leave you boys to it. But do your best to maintain some decorum – this is a hospital, for Christ’s sake. I’ll be outside. Right outside.” He gave Newt a meaningful look, then sauntered out, still chuckling to himself.

Newt turned his crimson face back to look at Stiles. “Okay. Not the way I wanted your Dad to find out.”

Stiles just shook his head, stunned. “I think he knew all along, really. I’ve always been so bad at lying to him…” He looked up then, suddenly feeling shy. “So…you want this?”

“If by this you mean you stinking out the sheets in a hospital bed, then no.” Newt smiled at him. “But if you mean this as in us then- yeah. Yeah, I want this. That is – if you want it too?”

Stiles beamed. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I could work with that.” He watched a blush travel up Newt’s cheeks, and laughed aloud. Then a thought hit him. “Wait a second, didn’t your flight leave this morning?”

“Oh, yeah,” Newt grinned. “Turns out when you’re in the hospital being treated for dehydration, because you’ve been hanging from the ceiling for too long, it’s kinda hard to get your bags packed. That one’s long gone.”

Stiles winced. “Shit man, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be.” Newt put his hand on top of Stiles’, fixed him with a glowing look. “This was worth staying for.”

They sat like that for a while, fingers interlaced, listening to Stiles’ heart beat a steady rhythm. Stiles felt overwhelmingly peaceful, and calm in a way that he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the pain meds. For the first time in a long time, things just felt… right.

Then Newt glanced over at him thoughtfully. “So your Dad knows about the whole werewolf thing, then?”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, that one’s kind of a long story.”

“Well,” Newt said, leaning in closer to him. “I haven’t booked my flight back yet.”

Stiles fixed him with a look. “So?”

“So…” Newt smiled slyly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

And when he leaned in this time to kiss him, Stiles made sure to keep his heartbeat steady. After all, all the people he loved were outside the door, waiting for him – but right here, right now, in this room… Well, this was none of their business.