Archive of Our Own

RIP

Noah Eli Stilinski

Claudia Christiana Stilinksi

Stiles looked down at the gravestone in front of him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he told his parents that he missed them, needed them with him.

Both of his parents were dead.

He’d been an orphan for two weeks.

The headstone didn’t respond to him. Didn’t tell him how much or if his parents missed him. Stiles couldn’t ask it what to do. What does he do now? He’s not eighteen for nearly a month. He doesn’t want to go to a foster home.

Things with Scott had been rough lately or he would’ve gone to stay with him and Melissa. Instead, two months earlier, the werewolf had decided he was better off without Stiles, he couldn’t possibly understand what Scott was going through. He needed to be around his community. He actually said that. His community. He needed to be around people who got him. Stiles found it laughable that it was a group consisting of Jackson Jackass Whittemore, the ice queen herself, Lydia Martin, the freaking werewolf huntress, and the three people Stiles thought he could make friends with as they were just as lost as him. Erica, Boyd and sometimes even Isaac.

Those three had at first accepted him into their numbers. Erica and Boyd especially due to their time in Gerard Argent’s basement. They had helped each other get out and agreed to keep it between them after they all lived through the drama of Jackson beating the kanima and becoming a real wolf. Jackass.

Once Scott left him, however, none of the rest of them would talk to him again. They wouldn’t sit by him in class. None of them even acknowledged him. Once or twice, he thought he saw Boyd or Erica looking at him, but before he could do anything, they turned their backs. Thankfully, they’d all finally graduated, and he wasn’t exposed to their indifference anymore. But now Stiles was nearly a legal adult who had to face adult problems he was nowhere near prepared to figure out.

He was an orphan, with nobody to turn to, no support. He had the deputies at the sheriff’s station, but the thought of talking to any of them right now makes him ill. The last time he trusted a deputy ended with his father dead. The deputy broke protocol and got his father killed. He wouldn’t be able to look at him or anyone in a uniform from the sheriff station. He might lose it if he did.

Stiles turned from the only parents he would ever have, leaving them in the cold, dark ground. The only consolation was knowing they were together wherever they went. Wherever dead people go.

Stiles began the long walk home. He could have driven to see his parents, but he was usually a mess when he left the cemetery. Every time he got in his jeep, he smelled the dried lavender his mom left in the glove box. It made him choke up. He couldn’t drive like that.

He arrived home, keeping an eye out a block in advance for any strange cars parked at the house. Nobody had contacted him regarding foster care or social services of any type. He kept an eye out just in case he needed to avoid the house. He checked the mail which was always a mistake. Stiles’ last parent had just died two weeks ago and he had yet to figure out how to pay the bills that were due from having a funeral and hospital bills. A sheriff’s life insurance didn’t stretch as far as he thought it would.  He felt overwhelmed at being an 18-year-old and already being in debt. At least he graduated from high school now and he could get a job. College was no longer in the cards for him, not when the debt was just going to keep piling up. Companies that want their money weren’t going to be willing to wait until he graduated from college to pay them.

The mail included several bills. More bills. And one envelope made of thick yellowed paper, a wax ‘M’ on the back. It had his full name on it. He opened it up, his stomach twisting for some reason.

“Dear Mieczysław,

I am so very sorry to hear of your loss. I will be there in a few days. You aren’t alone.

Most sincerely,

Elijah Mikaelson.”

Stiles had no idea who this guy was, but he looked at the date on the letter and realized that ‘a few days’ would be today or tomorrow. He didn’t know if he could trust whoever wrote the letter. Something was pinging his instincts.

He sighed, but knew he had to do it, he had to be prepared.

Getting into the jeep, he blared heavy metal from the stereo to keep his mind off being in the jeep again. Alone.

He made his way to Derek's loft; thankful it was a weekday hopefully either Derek or Peter would be home and could answer his questions.

Jogging up the stairs to the loft, he found himself winded quickly. It took him a moment to think about why and he realizes he hasn’t eaten in a week. He’d been living on coffee. His stomach was always so knotted and nauseous, he couldn’t keep anything down. That was a problem for future Stiles.

Knocking on the door, he heard someone approach. The door pushed open, and Derek was there, in all black as usual. Stiles should tell him he’s an emo bastard, but he doesn’t have that right as non-pack and non-friend.

“What do you want Stiles? You don’t belong here,” Derek said on a growl, eyes flashing red.

“I just have a question. I got this weird letter,” Stiles started.

Derek stepped right in front of him, a deep growl resonating in his chest. He jabbed Stiles in the upper chest with his fingers. “Not. My. Problem,” he said, shoving Stiles backward with each word. “Now stay the hell away from me and my pack or I’ll make you stay away. Permanently,” Derek said and slammed the door in his face.

Granted, Stiles was numb much of the time, but that hurt. Yeah. An actual physical threat. How far they’d come from the friendship that had been born after their time in the pool when Jackass was the kanima. They were there over two hours and eventually they both lost their enmity and started talking. Stiles knew Derek was panicking so he started telling him about the characters in the Avengers movie. Derek eventually started conversing with him, asking questions and deciding which one he thought was cooler. Stiles really thought that was a turning point for them. A turning point where they could smile when they saw one another instead of growling and threatening to rip his throat out - with his teeth.

Stiles stumbled back down the stairs, still in a state of shock and went over to his jeep.

“Stiles, wait,” came a familiar voice.

“What do you want, Peter? I’m leaving, don’t worry, I won’t soil your precious pack with my presence,” Stiles said, bitterness dripping from his words. Along with hurt but he couldn’t hide that.

“I have nothing to do with the crowd who decided to kick you out of the pack just because you’re a squishy useless human,” Peter said like he was writing a grocery list. Also known as bored.

“They actually made a decision to kick me out?” Stiles turned green. “It wasn’t just a couple of assholes, huh? They actually sat down, had a conversation about me being a weak, useless human then decided as a pack to kick me out,” Stiles clarified, hurt tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Yes, Stiles, that is what one can infer from my words. Now, you said you had a letter from someone?” Peter asked, holding his hand out.

Stiles looked at him, unsure if he could trust him. He definitely wasn’t handing over the letter to Peter of all people. Though at this point, he didn’t have anyone he could trust. “I just wanted to know if you recognized the name.”

“Alright,” Peter said, swinging his hand telling him to spit it out.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Stiles said and watched Peter’s face to see the minor twitches the face gets when he was holding back or about to lie. His father taught him how to do that just this year. It’d made communicating with people much easier and it made dealing with the wolves too truthful. He knew when he was being lied to by them. It happened all too often before he’d been booted to the curb.

Peter’s eyebrows wiggled in his attempt to stay neutral. “Mikaelson. Damn. Haven’t heard that name in an age. You’ll want to stay away from him,” Peter said with a nod.

“Why?” Stiles asked. “How have you heard of him before? Do you know him?”

Peter scoffed. “As if anyone actually knows Elijah Mikaelson. I know of him and that is enough for me, thank you very much.” Peter saw the confusion on Stiles’ face. “He’s a vampire, Stiles.”

Stiles knew his face went slack. “What? Vampires are real?”

Peter sighed. “Oh child, where the hell was Derek when you kids needed Supernatural 101 class? Yes, vampires are real. They do suck your blood out of a vein or out of a blood bag or even from animals.” Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head at the look on Stiles’ face. “No, they don’t sparkle, don’t even ask,” Peter said, seeing a twitch of Stiles’ lips and the tiny smile that appeared on face. The momentary mischievousness was adorable but wouldn’t tell him that.

“I wasn’t going to say a word,” Stiles assured him, eyes wide.

“Sure. Anyway, your Elijah isn’t just a vampire, Stiles. He’s an Original,” Peter said.

Peter acted as if he was drawing back the curtain and Stiles was supposed to ooh and ahh for him and his announcement.

“An Original what?” Stiles was lost.

“Oh my god, Stiles! An Original vampire along with several brothers and sisters. One of the very first vampires ever made. Ever,” Peter told him, getting serious.

“How long have vampires been around?” Stiles asked, swallowing hard. He had an ancient vampire coming to his house? Did he even have time to run? What did this guy even want with him?

“At least a thousand years that I know of. Could be more. The Mikaelson family are the original vampire family. The mother knew a witch who turned them into vampires so they wouldn’t get eaten by the local werewolf pack. And here they are. Elijah is supposedly a gentleman. I say supposedly because nobody I know had ever been able to find him or anyone that knew him. You may know a friend of a friend of a friend whose brother knows a guy who worked with Elijah. But then you hear he did something to someone, and you know Elijah was there, in the background, getting shit done. Do you understand?” Peter asked.

“He’s coming to my house,” Stiles whispered, eyes big with fear.

Peter reared back. “Why?”

“I guess it has something to do with my dad dying,” Stiles said on a shrug.

“I would suggest getting the hell out of here,” Peter said turning to walk back to the loft.

“Why did you help me?” Stiles asked.

Peter stopped and turned to him. “You’re helpless Stiles. It would weigh on me if something happened to you. Besides, no matter what my dear nephew says or those children say, you don’t just kick people out of the pack, human or werewolf. It’s just not done. It can hurt someone to break their bonds like that. It just isn’t done. This is me making up for it. Good luck, Stiles,” he said and walked away.

Stiles stood there before shaking his head and getting into the jeep.

He couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling through his mind. Dad is dead. Really dead. He was up to his eyeballs with spanking new debt. Scott isn’t his friend anymore. None of his friends are his anymore. Derek threatened him with violence. Peter told him they all sat around and voted him out of the pack. That was enough to deal with. Now add some maniacal original vampire, a real fucking vampire, apparently ancient and he was coming for Stiles. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Hurrying home, he made a quick search to make sure nobody was in the house. He went and got out the small case of magical objects he kept on hand and grabbed the small book on bottom. A book of spells. He looked it up and damn if Peter wasn’t right. Vampires are real. There are only a few things that could detract a vampire.

He found some vervain in the woods behind his house, comparing the purple flowers with the picture online and nodded to himself. He gathered salt and other herbs that he had in the kitchen that he didn’t use anymore because he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

He mixed together the ingredients and thinned it out with alcohol. He then went and wetted every window and door, chanting the words in the book, asking for protection from harm, protection from negative influences. When it was done, he somehow felt the house shiver. He knew the spell had taken effect.

The next several days had him feeling stupid. Nobody showed up, even though he’d stayed at home the whole time so he couldn’t be taken by surprise. He slept downstairs so he could hear everything, holding his dad’s rifle to his chest.

One week later, Stiles was a wreck. He was constantly waiting for the hammer to drop. He still couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a time. His heart was keeping a steady hammering in his chest and he was lightheaded, the room swimming around him especially when he stood up.

He spent the time researching vampires and the name Mikaelson but wasn’t able to find much, much as Peter had said. There were more parodies of vampires than actual vampires.

So he went about his daily life, feeling like a fool for believing the note. On the other hand, he didn’t have to live in fear that an ancient vampire wanted to hurt him. And gave him a letter of warning. Doesn’t that negate the whole thing?

Stiles made another trip to see his parents and to see if anything came of his dad’s promised memorial, which he’d been able to help with that first week. There was supposed to be like a sheriff’s star that would be displayed in town hall that would have his father’s name. No news in that arena, he just got lots of fake sad smiles.

Walking back home, the tear stains on his cheeks renewed. It seemed reasonable to think his face was half salt from the amount of crying he was doing.

He wasn’t paying attention when he got out his keys and went to open the door.

“Mieczysław Maximilian Stilinski. I haven’t seen you in an age,” a cultured voice with a slight accent came from the left.

Stiles turned to look, his heart pounding with fear. The man was good looking, but that didn’t bode well. Derek Hale was good looking and see what that got him. He had deep brown hair styled very neat and precise. He had dark brown eyes, nearly black in the shadows, and looked vaguely European. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, jacket buttoned, and shiny shoes polished well.

“Elijah Mikaelson, I take it?” Stiles asked, pissed that his voice shook with nerves.

“I am. You have had a pretty hard time of it, haven’t you, dear one?” Elijah asked, his expression one of sincere concern.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Stiles said, tone as dry as his mouth.

“Well, if you would be so kind as to move the vervain in your doorway, perhaps we could go in and talk,” Elijah said. There was a hint of a threat, but Stiles wasn’t so sure that was what Elijah was thinking. A hunch, call it.

Stiles considered him. “How do I know you won’t hurt me? Suck my blood? Leave me for dead,” Stiles asked, though that last one wasn’t as horrifying as he should think.

Elijah frowned. “Of course, I don’t mean you harm. Weren’t you told about me? Noah or Claudia never said?”

“No. I don’t even know who you are other than the letter you sent me. How did you know them?” Stiles was desperate for any word about his parents.

“I met your mother many years ago, as we shared some magical interests and we got on very well,” Elijah told him. “When I came to visit your mother one year, she was pregnant with you and married to Noah. We enjoyed chatting and discussing the world, the three of us, anticipating your birth. When you were born, they asked me to be your godparent and of course I agreed. It is an honor and a privilege. I have seen you several times over the course of your life. Then your mother stopped communicating. That’s when I found out she had passed away. I stopped in to check on you from time to time, but with the number of wolves in this town, I didn’t think it was smart to reveal myself,” Elijah said.

“Why are you worried about werewolves. According to the very little I found about vampires, you pretty much kick ass and take names, right?” Stiles asked, unable to help himself. Knowledge was knowledge, even if it came from a possibly evil source.

Elijah smiled at him proudly. “You’re absolutely right. But the thing most don’t know is werewolf bites are toxic and potentially deadly to vampires. I’d rather not take the risk at this point. I have important work to do,” he told him, taking a step closer.

Stiles swallowed hard. “What kind of important work do you have? Are you going to kill me?”

“No, Stiles, you’re mine now, why would I want to kill you?” Elijah said, frowning at him.

“What do you mean, I’m yours now? Speak plain English, I swear to god, all of you supernatural types like to speak in riddles and beat around the fucking bush. I’m done with it,” Stiles said, his exhausted and frayed nerves getting the better of him. “Tell me what you want or leave!”

“Alright. Stiles, after I met your mother and father, they asked me to be your godfather. And as a godparent, should the parents die, the godparent moves in to take care of the child,” Elijah told him, trying to ease into it.

“We’re related?” Stiles asked, his face even more pale.

“Only in the way godparents and children are but yes. I will take on a more parental role for you,” Elijah said.

“But I will turn eighteen in a couple weeks. I have to go it alone now. Freedom,” Stiles said and limply waved his arms around. “You’re really my godfather?” And ember of hope flickered alive inside him.

“I am. Stiles, you don’t need to fear me,” Elijah told him slowly, hoping he would hear the sincerity in his voice.

Why was Elijah weaving back and forth? Nope, it was him. “Okay, your first job is to catch me,” Stiles announced, and the world went black, his body collapsing on the porch.

Elijah, thankful for his vampire speed, scooped Stiles up and walked around to the back of the house. He turned the corner and found the attic window didn’t have any vervain blocking it. He waited to make sure nobody was around and leaped up onto the roof and then up onto the overhang, then to the window. Supporting Stiles with one hand, he jerked the window open, and took his godson into the house. It was a good thing Claudia and Noah had invited him in years before, otherwise he might have had to wait outside for Stiles to wake and give him permission.

He got Stiles settled in his too-small bed, looking around in curiosity. He hadn’t been around someone of Stiles’ age since the Gilbert children, but he never took a parental role toward them. His godson had once had a happy life here, parents who loved him, friends. Elijah would be able to offer material things until they could build a bond.

Walking through the house, Elijah opened the windows to let out the stale air the rooms seemed to consist of. Stiles was still in his bed, passed out. By the shadows under his eyes and his see-through pale skin, sleep was much needed. Taking in each room, Elijah noted all the things that needed to be improved. If Stiles insisted on staying here, they would have to fix the house up to Elijah’s taste. Or at least his tolerance.

The refrigerator was empty except for some brown apples and some milk that was very much past date, going by the smell, as well as a bag of moldy bread on the counter. He quickly threw it out of the house; a vampire's nose was, of necessity, sensitive. It was clear Stiles hadn’t been able to take care of himself once his father died. The child was an orphan now, even if he was almost eighteen, the age of maturity in this country. It didn’t mean that Stiles could take care of himself and deal with all that went along with his parents dying when he was so broken down.

Elijah got out his phone and started getting his different resources in order. Food to be delivered in the next hour, thank goodness for modern services. He had his staff open his Manhattan house. He hoped Stiles would agree to go to New York with him. It was the place to be. Stiles was at the age when New York would just be a playground. Not to mention the amazing colleges.

“Speaking of,” Elijah muttered, as he wandered, spying a basket in the hall filled with letters. There were several envelopes there. Elijah smiled proudly seeing the names of the colleges. Berkley, Harvard, MIT, and the ones he was hoping to see, NYU and Columbia. GWU was a surprise but if he really admired his father, maybe that was his choice as a lot of FBI agents went through that college.

By the time Elijah heard Stiles heart start beating faster, the groceries had already been delivered and put away. He had a meal for him. It was pleasant to cook again, he didn’t have cause to do it very often.

Footsteps stumbled into the bathroom and then down the stairs.

“Coffee?” Elijah asked, seeing Stiles jump.

“Oh shit. I thought it was a dream,” Stiles muttered. “You’re real, huh?”

“As far as I know. Sit, I made you something to eat,” Elijah said and served up the best grilled cheese with three different exotic cheeses, and tomato bisque.

Stiles stared at the food and went over to drop in a chair. “I don’t know if I can eat this,” he whispered. “My stomach is still kinda hating food.”

“I know. This will give you energy. I made you some ginger tea as well that will help your stomach settle,” Elijah said, stepping closer to him and sitting down.

Stiles was nibbling on his sandwich, closing his eyes as the cheese and bread hit his mouth. “Wow. I’m gonna marry this sandwich,” he said between bites that steadily went from nibbles to full bites.

Elijah was pleased about that, he found he enjoyed caring for the young man. Typically, he would hand the care of his human friends over to their human caretakers. He took a deep breath, enjoying the ginger tea he was also drinking. He cocked his head to one side and took another breath.

There was a scent hidden in Stiles’ that was alarming. He could sense Stiles’ magic hidden inside him. But something was blocking it.

“Stiles, do you have any magical ability?” Elijah asked casually.

Stiles shook his head. “Nah. Well, I mean, one time I completed a mountain ash circle when I ran out of the ash, which was pretty cool.” He was working on his soup, the sandwich getting dipped every so often.

“What would you think if I told you that your mother had magical abilities?” Elijah told him.

Stiles' head shot up. “What do you mean?”

“She had quite the spark, though she never used it. I guess there were some people she’d lived with for a time when she was your age and they used her for her talents. She said it made them all lazy and violent just because they had access to magic. It was a dangerous situation, not to mention the hurt she felt at being used by her supposed friends. She vowed never to use it again and didn’t as far as I know. Your dad knew and supported her in that. You, meanwhile, have quite a bright spark,” Elijah told him.

Stiles stared at him. “Are you serious? You’re telling me I’m like Harry Potter?” This couldn’t be real, could it? Wouldn’t Deaton have told him? Warned him? Anything?

“No, you’re not like Harry Potter,” Elijah said with a roll of his eyes.

Stiles sighed in relief, shaking his head.

“Basing my knowledge on your mother’s powers and my knowledge of magic, you have more power than Mr Potter and you don’t need a wand or words. It is all based on will,” Elijah told him. “We need to find your mother’s grimoire. I wonder where she would put it,” Elijah said looking around the kitchen critically.

“My mother had a grimoire? Wait, if she had magic, if she was that powerful, why didn’t she save herself?” Stiles wanted to know, the tears already gathering again, always close by, ready to drown him in grief again.

Elijah rested his hand on Stiles’. “I don’t know why she didn’t heal herself, Stiles, and I’m very sorry I don’t. If we found her grimoire, we might be able to solve part of that mystery. But the reason I brought all of this up is to find out who is blocking your magic,” Elijah said, getting back to business.

“What? Who would do that? Why would they do that?” Stiles asked, beyond confused. “How do you know? Sorry, someone usually shuts me up by now.” Stiles gave him a wan smile.

Elijah smiled at him, charmed by his godson. “Someone who wants your power could block it. You can’t feel it because it’s blocked, but I can smell someone else’s scent on you, blocking your natural scent. That other scent is the person stealing and blocking your magic. We can follow that and find the person,” Elijah told him. He could see how overwhelmed his charge was. It was time for a distraction. “Would you like to accompany me on the hunt?”

Stiles frowned. “What hunt?”

Elijah tugged his cuffs back in place. He found calm in controlling his exterior. “The hunt for whoever is stealing your power and blocking it from you. It makes you smell different, sour, and that can affect everything about you. So, we find who took it and get it back, and then we punish them,” Elijah said, a distinctly violent twinkle in his deep brown eyes.

“I'm in! But no killing,” Stiles said, holding up a hand. “Unless there is absolutely no other choice or someone else is being threatened.” Aside from his stipulation, he was thrilled to be included. Though he still felt somewhat guarded, Elijah was convincing him that he really wanted what was best for Stiles.

“Fine, I’ll just make him sorry,” Elijah said, with a half-smile.

Stiles nodded with a grin. “Sounds like a good plan. And yes, I want to go! Why are you letting me go? Derek always tried to keep me out because I’d just be in the way.”

Elijah growled under his breath. “I am more than capable of handling anyone we come across. Don’t forget what I am,” he said with a wink. They would discuss the Hale pack and his opinion of them when the magic thief was stopped.

“True, true,” Stiles said, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, I don’t know who would try to steal my power.”

“Do you have any magic workers in the area?” Elijah suggested. They may as well narrow down the search before he used his nose to direct them.

Stiles’ eyes went wide. “Dr Deaton. He's a druid and used to be the emissary of the original Hale pack. Do you know anything about the Hale Pack?” Stiles was surprised to see Elijah nod. “Okay, cool. Well, he was the one to tell me about the spark and gave me mountain ash. But everything he says is twisted around and he’ll talk you around a topic to make you forget that he never actually answered your question,” he said with sneer. He really disliked that guy.

“How often do you see the good doctor?” Elijah wondered; certain they had their culprit.

“He’s a veterinarian and has a clinic at the edge of town. Scott, my best … well, he isn’t my best friend anymore, but he works there. I go about once a month to help with any puppies or kittens that need to be socialized and held,” Stiles said, and his voice went quiet, his stomach immediately twisting. “Holy fuck. They were draining me each time I went there, weren’t they?” Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. Yup. He ran.

Elijah stayed where he was while his godson went to vomit in the toilet. Damn this town a thousand-fold. These people used his godson, stole from him, weakened him and didn’t have a problem treating him like shit.

Stiles could be heard going upstairs and disappearing in the bathroom up there, the shower coming on after a minute.

Elijah cleaned up the mess from the food, storing the cheeses and left-over soup in the fridge. Though he didn’t think his godson would want to eat tomato soup or grilled cheese for a while.

Stiles came back down the stairs, dressed in ratty jeans and shoes, a faded t-shirt that said I will be flogging you today against a pirate skull. On top of the shirt was a threadbare red flannel that was too big. It was probably his father’s. Elijah saw him dip his nose into the collar and close his eyes for a moment. Poor child.

Stiles came into the room. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

“As you wish,” Elijah said with a small smile. “Would you like to drive?”

“Better not, I don’t know if I’d be able to drive it back if I freak out or start crying again,” Stiles said staring at the floor.

“There is no reason to feel shame or embarrassment over mourning for your family. They are worth mourning. No worries, I am happy to drive,” Elijah said and gestured at the door. “Shall we?”

Stiles really liked Elijah’s car, it was sleek, black and though it was relatively modest, it had a growl to it that showed off the power hidden in the engine. Kind of like Elijah. His jeep was probably embarrassed to be seen next to it. He got that, looking at Elijah in his crisp suit and Stiles in his oldest clothes. He’d kept clothes as he grew up, they always meant more to him. He was wearing clothes he wore freshmen year of high school. Elijah would probably prefer him to change but he didn’t say anything about it. His godfather was turning out to be pretty cool.

Elijah left the windows down so he could detect the scent. Since Stiles was pretty certain the vet was the one doing this to him, they were starting there. The drive was quick. He parked and turned to Stiles, holding up a finger. “Stiles. Before we go in there, two things. If anything physical or magical begins, I want you out here and in this car. It’s been spelled by a friend of mine, and you won’t be hurt if you are in it.”

Stiles nodded and patted the upholstery. “That’s pretty freaking awesome. What else?”

“I apologize ahead of time if there is violence. I am trying to contain my fury at this man. He has been hurting you for years I am guessing,” Elijah said, his eyes bleeding black.

“Yeah, I guess so. Yeah, four years, holy shit. Does that hurt the magic at all?” Stiles was oddly concerned for his missing magic. It almost felt like it had some sentience to it but was still his.

“No, but it suppresses it, makes it hard to do things, makes it hard to do what the magical person is bidding it to do,” Elijah explained. “The doctor would’ve had difficulty working the magic he stole. Remember what we talked about. I need to be able to trust you,” Elijah said, his dark eyes intent. “Promise me.”

Stiles looked into the vampire’s eyes and realized this was a serious moment. The man was holding him to his word and there was something in Stiles that didn’t want to let this vampire down. He wanted to be liked. Maybe he wouldn’t leave Stiles or give up on him or kick him to the curb. “I promise to leave if there is any violence, I am to leave immediately and get in the car. If you end up deciding someone needs to die, I am warned, which, thanks for that. I don’t do well around blood. Like at all. Like a paper cut can have me pass out.” Stiles shuddered.

Elijah barked out a surprised laugh.

“What?” Stiles asked, not at all shocked that he was now nauseous, having thought of all the gross blood stuff that his mind kept pulling up.

“I find this the best kind of serendipity. I am your godfather, a vampire. You are my charge. A human who doesn’t like the sight of blood. I see mealtimes being very messy,” Elijah said with a warm chuckle.

Stiles groaned and threw his head back dramatically onto his seat. “Oh my god, that is serendipitous,” he stopped and erupted in laughter.

Elijah joined him and for a minute everything was easy and they both got the idea that maybe they could do well together.

“Shall we?” Elijah finally said, surprised by his own reaction to the humor. He wasn’t typically a lighthearted kind of person. Stiles seemed to pull it out of him. It was a nice change.

Stiles wiped the tears away. Tears of laughter this time, which is what Elijah wanted for him. “We shall,” Stiles said in his best, slash worst, British accent.

“No,” Elijah said, shaking his head as he slid from the car with a grace Stiles would never be able to possess.

“Oh shit,” Stiles murmured looking at the back of the vet clinic. He saw the familiar green motorcycle. Getting out his phone, he tapped a message on the phone and showed it to Elijah.

Scott is here, that’s his bike out back. He is a werewolf. He’ll be able to hear me and will defend Deaton if he thinks the man is in danger. He puts Deaton above everyone except his mom.

Elijah noted with a sharp nod and began moving to the door. They walked in and stood there a moment, taking everything in. A young man around Stiles’ age came around the corner. He was oddly proportioned in his jaw. Looked like he was lop-sided. Was he punched as a child?

“Stiles, what are you doing here? It’s not the seventh of the month yet,” Scott said, his tone nasty and mean.

Elijah nudged Stiles a bit as the teens scent went bitter with hurt and disbelief.

“Stiles is not the one who wished to come here. I’d like to speak to the druid,” Elijah said, polite and stiff before straightening out the cuff of his sleeves. The baby wolf didn’t know who he was talking to.

Scott sniffed the air, so obviously a wolf thing. He would end up telling the world about the supernatural from his inability to hide his own nature.

“What the hell are you? You don’t smell human or like a wolf. Tell me why you’re in my territory?” Scott demanded.

Elijah tilted his head. He wasn’t going to be riled by a child. This boy was like an angry puppy who needed his nose smacked. “I would like to see the druid.”

“No. You’re not getting past this door,” Scott said, gesturing at the little half door that led to the back.

“Get the druid here or I will be forced to show why I’m not the least bit intimidated by him or you,” Elijah said, bored.

“No! You need to leave now. Stiles, why would you betray us by bringing a stranger into the territory? You thought you were out before, you are now, you'd better leave Beacon Hills and never come back!” Scott shouted.

“Scott, calm,” Deaton said as he came into the waiting area. “I am the druid you spoke of. How can I help you, Mr…?”

“Mr Mikaelson,” Elijah said, with a cold smirk.

Stiles couldn’t have been having more fun if he tried. He knew Elijah could smash the two of them into the ground. Playing with them first could be fun.

Deaton went as colorless as possible, his hands shaking as he tried to smooth down his shirt in a movement to hide the trembling. “Mr Elijah Mikaelson?” his words were just a whisper.

Straightening his cuffs, he sounded bored. “Indeed. The one and only. Now, I happen to know that you have been draining Stiles’ magic for years. You are going to give that back and then you will face your punishment,” Elijah said, hands folded in front of him. “The question is, do you want to give the magic back or do you prefer every bone in your body breaking at the same time?”

Deaton shook his head, sweat beading and dripping down his face.

“Fuck this. Leave now!” Scott cried. “You’re giving me no choice.”

"Scott, shut up, you don't know who this is," Deaton wheezed.

Elijah just tilted his head and looked like he was judging Scott and finding him incredibly lacking.

"You don't mess with Deaton!" Scott charged Elijah.

Stiles was about to run like Elijah told him to when he saw Elijah shake his head. Stiles stayed where he was with a nod.

This all happened quickly and then Scott was inches away from Elijah.

That was the moment Stiles decided Elijah was cool as fuck.

With one graceful twist of his wrist, he grabbed Scott and threw him into the wall closest to him.

Scott was groaning on the floor where he’d landed. It was clear, he had several broken bones and there was a disgusting crack every time they reset themselves.

“Now, Dr Deaton,” Elijah said, stepping into the area Scott said he couldn’t. “Look at me,” he said.

“No, I know what happens if I look into your eyes,” Deaton whined. With Scott not there to protect him, he had to defend himself and he knew Elijah would break him easily.

Proving that, Elijah had a quick grip on the back of Deaton’s neck and raised him in the air. “I was hoping I could avoid violence, but I’m afraid that’s not possible. Now, I could see how fast you heal by throwing you like I did with Scott. Would you like that?” Elijah’s tone was light and nearly playful.

Scott groaned. “Stiles, how could you do this to me? You brought a freaking monster to this town. You are hereby an enemy of the Hale pack, and we will get our revenge,” Scott swore, growling at Stiles, like he was trying to eviscerate him with his thoughts.

“Silence, Mr McCall, you’re being very rude when I literally have your boss’s life in my hands,” Elijah said as if he was reading from a newspaper.

Stiles was loving this. His godfather was a total badass.

Deaton gets another violent shake from Elijah who didn’t look like he was even worn out from holding the man in the air.

“Look at me,” Elijah said.

“No,” Deaton whimpered then cried out as he was shaken again.

Deaton looked like he’d had enough of the pain. Stiles was insulted. He’d been able to withstand hours of actual torture. This was nothing. Wimp.

Unable to handle it, Deaton opened his eyes and Stiles noted a slight change to Elijah’s eyes.

“Now tell me the truth. Yes or no, you have been blocking and stealing Stiles’ magic for years now,” Elijah said, sounding as if he was talking to a child.

Stiles supposed all of them were children to a being like Elijah.

“Yes, I have,” Deaton said, and Scott gasped.

“Tell me exactly how you’ve been doing it?” Elijah demanded with a little warning shake.

“I have been draining Stiles’ spark. I needed it more than he did, and I had waited long enough,” Deaton said, his tone bitter.

Elijah growled, the sound so low, Stiles could feel it vibrating in his chest. “Explain,” Elijah commanded.

“I needed the power, so I found a spell to slowly drain a spark without killing them. That’s what I’ve been doing. I had Scott call Stiles in to help play with the puppies and kittens. With him close like that, it was easy to manipulate a spell to dampen Stiles’ power and then direct it to come to me,” Deaton said, ending on a whimper when Elijah shook him extra hard.

“Why?” Elijah demanded.

“Because this town belongs to me! I was supposed to rule over the werewolves, but his damn spark won’t cooperate with me,” Deaton broke, his fury getting the better of him.

Scott couldn’t take it, wouldn’t even consider the thought. “Deaton, are you lying because he’s making you? I can help you,” he said, eyes pleading with the vet to deny what was right in front of him.

“Scott, grow up. Stop the wide-eyed innocent act,” Deaton said on a burst before he tightened his lips and looked away, still held up by Elijah.

Scott’s face crumpled and his big eyes were filling with tears. “No, I can’t believe it,” he whimpered.

“Listen to his heart, McCall, I know you know that much by now,” Stiles said, joining in.

Scott paled and shook his head. “Stiles, you have to believe I didn’t know! Deaton must have put a spell on me, wanting me to get you here once a month,” he hoped.

“I don’t have to believe anything you or your pack says, so that’s a ‘you’ problem, not a 'me' problem,” Stiles said, shaking his head when Scott didn’t respond. He turned and saw Scott running out of the clinic and then the loud motorbike started. Way to be an adult, Scott.

“Release the spell,” Elijah commanded.

“No, please, I’ll do anything, just let me keep it,” Deaton pleaded. “I need it! Stiles doesn’t need it! I do!”

Elijah looked back at Stiles only to see him nodding in a silent answer. There was going to be violence, but it wasn’t toward him and Elijah had it under control. Stiles turned away and then turned back when he heard Deaton scream. It didn’t seem as if Elijah moved, but Deaton was bleeding from the mouth and wasn’t breathing right.

“Right pocket. Smash the crystal,” Deaton finally whispered, sweat dripping down pale cheeks.

Elijah released him and Deaton fell to the floor, gasping. Elijah straightened the cuffs of his sleeves as he knelt next to the doctor. “I feel it necessary to inform you that if there is any sort of trap you are hoping to set off, I will thrust my fist through your chest and rip out your heart. Are we clear?” His tone was light, but the threat underneath was completely clear.

Deaton nodded. “Right pocket. Crush the crystal,” he repeated.

Elijah quickly retrieved the small purple crystal from his pocket, he turned to Stiles who was holding a hammer he’d found in the utility closet. Elijah winked at him.

“This is going to release your magic, it’ll probably hit you pretty hard, it could be disconcerting and confusing. I’ll be with you the whole time,” Elijah told Stiles.

“Wait, please, it was the only thing keeping cancer from killing me,” Deaton moaned.

“As my dear godson says, it sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Elijah said with a wink at Stiles. He lifted the hammer and crushed the crystal on impact.

Deaton screamed.

Stiles gasped and cried out as his chest was infused with heat and power. It felt like home. It felt whole, like he’d been waiting for this his entire life. Elijah warned him it would be disconcerting, but it wasn’t. It was like his entire being, his entire self was suddenly there. It settled something in him, and he felt it, like an ocean in his spirit, waves lapping at the shore. He knew if he wanted to, he could make it calm, nary a ripple of waves. He also knew he could take this power and do anything he needed to. He was powerful. He was Stiles.

Then the waves became more urgent, the spark was lighting up inside him. It seemed to be speaking to him. Enemy. Must defend. Enemy is nearby. Destroy.

With that, Stiles threw his arms out and suddenly, the windows were shattering, they were all rocking as if an earthquake had just happened.

“That was mine!” Deaton yelled as loud as he could, not minding that he was covered in shattered glass.

“It was never yours, dark druid,” Stiles intoned. He walked to Deaton and just as his godfather had done, crouched down next to him, straightening the shredded cuffs on his plaid shirt. “If you come near me or my spark or my family, I will end you. I know that now. It’s not confusing or overwhelming as my godfather thought it might be. No, in fact, it’s clarity. I understand things much better now. My magic and what I can and can’t do, the latter list being very small. I also understand that you are evil and if I get so much as a scent of you, I will kill you. Oh, I forgot to mention that part. Yeah, I’m okay with killing now. I understand that's Scott’s way and admittedly my way for the most part. Keep the peace. Give a second chance. Naw. That never really works if you watch the movies. I’m sorry, Deaton. Then again, maybe not,” he said with a dark smirk.

Elijah was so proud of his godson and smiled broadly when Stiles stood and moved away from Deaton.

“Shall we?” Elijah said, waving his hand toward the door.

“We shall,” Stiles said and strolled smoothly to the car. It was probably the most graceful he’d ever been. He wasn’t even trying either. His spark could improve his clumsiness? “Why am I not clumsy anymore?”

“I would hazard the guess that the missing parts of your spark were hindering you. With your spark completely returned, those missing parts are able to integrate,” Elijah mused as they headed back to the Stilinski house.

“Thank you, Elijah. Thank you for taking me there and supporting me. It’s been a while since I felt like someone was on my side. So yeah, thank you,” Stiles said and moved to the porch, digging his keys out.

Elijah stood there for a moment, smiling and feeling a bit humble. He really enjoyed this young man. Now to convince him to get the hell out of this backward town.

When they were inside, sipping more ginger tea, Stiles sighed. “So do I have a chance to go live with you?”

Elijah nodded with a smile. “I’d really like that. It’s what I hoped. I think you’d love New York,” he told him. “Speaking of which, you have some letters over there,” he said, pointing at the counter.

Stiles got up and grabbed them. College letters. “I was saving these to open when my dad was here. He was so excited for me.” He sniffed and shook his head. “Okay, well, let’s see what they say,” Stiles said.

Five minutes later Stiles is stunned, surrounded by opened letters. “I got into all of them,” he muttered, staring at Elijah in shock. “Even MIT!”

Elijah beamed at him. “I am very proud of you, Stiles. You’ve obviously worked hard and let them see the real you. So, any college spark your interest?” Elijah was smiling wide.  He couldn’t help it. His godson was incredibly powerful and incredibly intelligent. It was the best mix.

Stiles turned red and looked through the letters again.

“Do you know what you want to study?” Elijah asked.

“I want to get my MA in history and archival history. I’d love to maintain a museum or some sort of ancient collection. I want to be an expert in antiquities.”

“That is an excellent choice. Okay, well, let’s do some research and figure out which college supports that program,” Elijah said, pulling out his phone.

Stiles just stared at him for a moment. This was already a deeper conversation than he’d had with his father about his education. Elijah was getting involved, helping. He smiled softly then grabbed his laptop and joined in the research.

Half an hour later, they sat back. All of them but two had his preferred program.

“You know I love NYU. What they stand for, what they offer,” Stiles said, hesitant.

“If you did live with me, the college is just a mile or so away. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with dorms and such. Unless that is something you would want,” Elijah said, wanting to have his godson around so they could bond. Stiles was now his top priority.

“Maybe if I was going to a college with a friend or whatever, but with being new to this power stuff, I would prefer to stay with you. Do I need to bring anything?” Stiles got a blank document to start planning out what he needed to do with the house, the life insurance, packing, sorting, storing, etc.

Stiles learned quickly that having an ancient vampire assisting him, everything went faster. They packed the boxes into the moving truck at night so Elijah could do his fastest movements and not be seen. Most of the stuff was going into storage or to the thrift stores. Stiles knew eventually he would have to go through everything. Today was not that day.

For now, he took most of the content of his room. Books, movies, comics, clothes, a couple of photo albums from the good years. His pillow because he couldn’t sleep without it. Obviously.

He also had a bottle of his mother’s perfume and his dad’s cologne. The scents were unbelievably settling, he could breathe a bit easier.

He and Elijah take a break to eat some pizza and/or blood and relax. Stiles was able to use his Spark to filter out the smell of the blood. It was so easy, he barely thought of it before it was done.

“I’ve finally gotten word to someone who knows a couple of magic workers. They work independently and apparently could only be found if it’s a problem that they could help with. Their names are Celestia and Ahmet. I’ve known their names all of my life, so that gives you a hint at how ancient and powerful these two are. They have agreed to meet with you.” Elijah would only get the best for his godson.

Stiles tilted his head. “That is at once terrifying and exciting! I have so many questions," he said, rubbing his hands together.

“I’m glad you’re excited,” Elijah said. “It’s hopeful.”

Stiles gave him a smile. “It is very hopeful.”

The next morning, they made the last trip to the storage unit. This time he left the Jeep in the unit. He took one last inhale of old lavender and closed the door. Stiles couldn’t explain how he knew what to do with his magic, but it was like breathing. He just did it. He held his hand on the metal lock of the storage unit door. Pushing his power into the lock and door, he knew it would never be broken into. It wouldn’t open unless he commanded it to.

“This is so fucking awesome,” Stiles said, shaking his head and grinning. “I can’t wait to tell Scott," he said and then his enthusiasm died. “Never mind. I’m gonna go do some last minute clean up,” Stiles said.

“Sounds good. I have a couple errands in town to take care of and we’ll still be able to make our flight at noon,” Elijah said.

“See you later,” Stiles said and headed upstairs.

Elijah waited for him to disappear up the stairs before raiding the drawer he’d found the night before while helping pack. It was a pile of bills and if he gave his godson anything, it would be a safer more secure future. Since Stiles’ bank had a branch in Manhattan, he could use some money of his own, just to get him started. Elijah found money so inconsequential, he thought nothing of putting five million dollars into Stiles’ bank account. He would earn more if he did well in his studies.

Back at the house, Stiles was sweeping and mopping and throwing any available sheets over what furniture he could.

Elijah walked in and was happy to see the progress Stiles had made. “I was thinking, I should have a couple of books on sparks in my library.”

Stiles’ eyes went big. “You have a library?” Was it Christmas?

Grinning, his godfather nodded. “Yes, we do. I have more in the different places I spend time in. Maybe I can hire you as my archivist after you graduate,” he suggested with a wink.

Stiles’ eyes went even bigger. “Really? I’d love that!”

“Excellent, we’ll talk more later. Are you ready to go?” Elijah asked, grabbing Stiles’ backpack and his bag from lacrosse and easily carried them out of the house.

Stiles looked around the only home he had ever known. It felt like he was dying with them and this was a much needed change. He’d live a new life in New York. He couldn’t wait.

“I love you, Mom and Dad. I’ll always love you,” he said and walked out. He locked the door and put his hands against the house. He pushed a spell into the house to protect it and to warn off potential intruders. Or wolves. Or cancerous druids.

Stiles left the house and got in Elijah’s slick, black Porsche. It was a smooth ride, that was for sure.

“I want to talk to the pack,” Stiles announced.

“May I inquire as to why this is necessary? Aren’t these the people who shut you out and left you alone?” Elijah didn’t want Stiles to hurt further. He’d been through enough.

Stiles nodded. “Yep, the very same one. But don’t you know that the hero always gets one last shot at telling all those who shit on him to fuck off? They never deserved me. They underestimated me and that was that. I want to show them what they’re missing,” Stiles said, giving jazz hands with sparks shooting out his fingertips.

“Alright, I can understand the need. We will have the same agreement as we did at Deaton’s. If I feel violence is necessary, I will not hesitate,” Elijah warned him.

“Okay, just please don’t kill anyone. Most of them are my age, just kids. Talked into a life they thought would be so much different. They’re still assholes, I don’t question that. But they’re still kids,” Stiles said. “I want them to be sorry and regret the way they treated me as long as they live. I want them to see what they gave up.” He gave Elijah directions as they went.

Elijah would bet money Stiles was seeing himself as older and more mature which was a given when one gave thought to how much he’d lost.

“Alright. No death. But roughing up is okay?” Elijah asked with a grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes, grinned, and shook his head. “If someone really deserves it.”

“Excellent. Well, let’s do this so we can get to the airport,” Elijah said, pulling into the parking lot and finding a spot, parked the car safely away from other cars.

“Absolutely,” Stiles agreed. “I’d like to try something first. I don’t want to give them time to notice we’re here. I’m gonna try a spell to block any sounds we put out. Then we can slam the door open and kick some bad friend ass.”

Elijah smiled. “I like the way you think Stiles.”

Stiles put both hands on Elijah’s head before doing the same to himself, pushing silence into their bodies.

“One more thing,” Stiles said and popped out his phone. He sent a general message to Scott, saying hello. He got no response.

They got up to Derek’s door and Elijah stilled him. Listen, he mouthed to Stiles.

Stiles nodded and pushed extra power into his ears. This spark thing was a cinch, though he still wanted to learn more.

“Why is Stiles texting you?” Jackson demanded.

“Give me my phone back,” Scott whined.

“He’s a loser. Delete him from your phone,” Jackson demanded.

“Fine. If it’ll get you off my back,” Scott said and Stiles heard clicking on his phone, his claws must be out. “I don’t know why you’re so gung ho, Lydia, you’re human. You may have banshee blood, but it doesn’t help the pack.”

“He didn’t tell them about Deaton,” Stiles whispered.

“Interesting. We’ll have to make sure they’re all well-informed,” Elijah said with a wink. Stiles nodded.

With a single thought, the door flung open, revealing Stiles and Elijah.

Derek growled. “What the hell, Stiles, do you not remember what I said last time you were here? And now you bring a stranger into my den?” With a loud growl, he rushes toward them only to hit a literal wall that appeared in front of Stiles and Elijah.

“If you make another move against Stiles, I will be forced to become very violent,” Elijah said, straightening his cuffs. “Scott knows I am more than capable of doing so.”

Stiles noticed he did that with his cuffs when he was getting serious. At least it wasn’t pointed at him.

Turning to the pack, he smirked at them. “I am here to say you all fucked up. The weakling little human who couldn’t possibly be worth anything is actually a kick ass magic dude,” Stiles said with a wicked smirk. “I am not the person you assumed I was and had no interest in. And yet, look,” Stiles said and let crackles of lightening come out of his fingers. Then he lifted the couch most of them were sitting on and had it levitate for a moment before spinning quickly and touching back down. “I guess I’m more than just a useless human, right? If I took someone out, that would be helpful right? Or maybe I need to have money. I have plenty now. So, I fit every single thing that you said was unwelcome in your pathetic band of puppies. But screw you guys, I’m out of this fucking town for good. Scott, thanks for the betrayal, willing or not, you still lost my number, so big fuck you.” Stiles called Scott’s cell phone to him, Scott squawking the entire time. He checked to make sure his information was wiped out. He sent it back to Scott and turned to his next subject. “Jackson. Suck a dick and die. Derek, oh Derek, the guy who hates having me around and yet always called me to complete some sort of research or mystery solving. I could pull up any information at the drop of a hat,” Stiles said. He called forth his mother’s grimoire, surprising both Elijah and himself, though they kept quiet and acted like that was supposed to happen. Stiles had simply called for a magic book that would benefit in a moment like this. “What do you know, I have a book here, ready for any kind of research. So, I gotta ask, why are you keeping me out of the pack? I can out research Lydia. I can kick the asses of Jackson, Boyd, Erica, Scott, and Isaac. Probably even yourself. I can do anything, my godfather has made it so." Stiles looked around. "Nothing to say? No worries. Rot in hell, Hale pack. If I ever catch you sniffing around my territory, should you even be able to figure out where that is, I will bring pain and suffering. I will take that as the start of war.” With that Stiles turned and walked away.

“Stiles, stop!” Scott called. “What you’re doing is wrong. You’re not meant to be doing magic. Deaton told me so,” Scott ran toward him, puppy eyes out in force.

“Do you not remember just a few hours ago that we learned Deaton was using you to get me within distance to block my power and transfer it to him? Remember that? Now, tell me I need to listen to anything that monster has to say about me,” Stiles growled getting in his face. “Did you know it eventually would have killed me, once he sapped the last bits of magic out of my body. Dead. How’s that for killing, huh? Does that fit into your little Susie and Johnny life goals, Scott? I don’t care if he was tricking you or not. Every time I look at you, I think about that clinic and what the man was doing to me. How would you feel?” Stiles looked at the pack who were all looking a little nauseous and confused. “How would you feel if a part of you was missing for your entire life, an entire facet of your personality and who you are. Then you find out someone you trusted tricked you over in order to continue stealing and sapping you dry. Think about it as if it was your wolf. You’ve lived years without it because it’s been stolen from you. How would you feel?” He noticed Derek shuddered at the thought.

“Stiles,” Erica said on a whimper. “I’m so sorry. I’m glad you got your groove back.”

Stiles gave her a wink. “Anyway, that’s all I came for. Enjoy your lives, stay out of mine. You wouldn’t believe the power I have at my disposal,” Stiles said and wanting to finish with a big splash, he grabbed Elijah’s hand and with a single thought transported them to right outside Elijah’s car.

Elijah blinked at him; his dark eyes wide. “That was … different.”

“I totally didn’t think it would work, but it didn’t hurt to try. It’s as good as a sassy Z-snap,” Stiles said on a breathless grin. “Why didn’t you tell them who you were? Going by Deaton’s reaction, your name carries a lot of weight in the supernatural world.”

“I didn’t need to. This was your moment, your vengeance. You did very well, Stiles. I’m proud of you,” Elijah said sincerely.

Stiles felt a blush burn his cheeks. “Thanks. I wouldn’t have minded seeing them shiver in fear.”

“I think you did a fine job on your own,” Elijah told him.

“Okay. I was awesome. Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

“I concur,” Elijah said with a genuine smile.

They slipped into the car and Stiles never looked back, though he could feel eyes on the back of the car. He was done with them. They should be happy now.

“What the hell was that?” Jackson cried as they all stared at the spot Stiles and the scary guy were standing before they vanished.

Derek looks lost and ashamed.

“What the hell happened, Scott?” Erica demanded. “What happened with Deaton?”

Scott shrugged, a frown on his puppy face. “I guess Deaton was stealing Stiles’ magic. Every month on the seventh, I was to bring him to the vet clinic, so he can help me walk the puppies and love on the kittens.”

“You tricked him into being torn apart using puppies and kittens?” Jackson said with a scoff. “I mean. I’m a bully and a dick, but that shit is just cold as fuck.”

Lydia was still steaming over being told he could research better than her. But she had to admit, he was definitely filled with power, she could feel him. “What about you, Derek, what’s got you looking so guilty? The fact you shoved him out of the pack and ripped up his bonds? Or the fact you were a dick to a super powerful mage who could make you sorry with a twitch of his finger.”

Derek growled at her. “He doesn’t belong with us. I don’t care what he can do.” Anger was much easier than guilt.

“Really, so someone as strong as him wouldn’t be good in a fight with… um, how about Deucalion and the Alpha Pack,” Erica said, her fury evident down to her curled blonde hair. “He could have levitated their asses and then squashed them like bugs. But, no, you have to be elitist assholes!” Her face shifted and she roared at Scott.

Jackson shook his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up. You saw what he was doing, that would have been epic in a fight. At that rate, we could get rid of Scott altogether. Since he doesn’t want to be friends with Stiles, why do we need him? Let’s get Stiles back and get rid of Scott. Votes?” Jackson lifted his hand.

Every hand but Scott and Derek’s went up.

“Wow. Thanks guys,” Scott muttered, cheeks red from being called out.

“Hey, we could’ve had a massively powerful guy on our side, you fucked it up,” Boyd said, quiet and intense.

“I didn’t fuck up,” Scott said. “And you guys were just as mean to Stiles as I have been,” he whined. “You all voted to kick him out. Don’t try to change your tune now. We were all awful to him.”

“I never claimed him as best friend and brother, either,” Jackson pointed out. “You’re the only one who claimed him and then denied him. You should be out.”

“Scott, you’re the one who pushed him out first,” Lydia noted quietly. “I mean Derek was an asshole about the whole thing, but he didn’t let it spill over until you did.”

“I’m gonna miss him,” Erica murmured against Boyd’s shoulder. “He was nice to me Before.”

Boyd wrapped a hand around her. He knew what it meant to her that Stiles had helped her through an epileptic seizure. He’d hidden her from view as much as possible, positioned her on her side, made sure her airways were clear. He even sacrificed his favorite hoodie to use to block the view of Erica going to the locker room because she lost control of her bladder.

“I’ll miss him too. I’ll always be grateful. In more ways than one,” Boyd agreed.

Cora gave him the eye. “In more ways than one, explain.”

“You know this whole I’m a Hale so I Must Speak With My Eyebrows thing,” Jackson said. “It’s really irritating. Now, Boyd, what do you mean?”

Boyd and Erica looked at each other. “It doesn’t matter now,” Erica said. “Go ahead, tell them.”

“I don’t know if any of you remember that we followed a sound we thought was werewolves into the woods the night of the lacrosse game. When we left the pack. We heard these ATV’s and realized it was a trap. It was the Argents. Allison kept shooting us with arrows. I thought she was supposed to be nice and, on our side,” Boyd said, shaking his head.

“Allison wouldn’t do that,” Scott cried, indignation leaking from his pores.

“Jesus Christ, McCall, get your head out of your ass. She is a hunter, plain and simple. Your little lovey-dovey romance will end the moment her granddaddy tells her to kill you. You know, to show family loyalty. Pass the test. Et cetera,” Lydia said, pursing her lips. “We were all wrong. But we need to admit we were wrong and stop hiding what Allison did to so many of you.”

Scott kept shaking his head. “No, this isn’t right.”

“Boyd continue,” Derek demanded.

“So, Allison shot us until we couldn’t run anymore and then they blindfolded us and took us to the Argent estate. We figured that out afterward. So, we wake up and we’re strapped to these like wire fences, hanging there, being electrocuted. They questioned us a couple times, but most of the time they were stabbing us or punching us as they went about their murder-evil ways,” Erica took up.

“Then someone new fell down the stairs into the basement,” Boyd said, eyes haunted.

“Stiles,” Lydia breathed.

“Yeah,” Erica whispered before hiding herself back in Boyd’s shoulder.

“They strung him up across from us. Looked like they’d already started on the way over. He was already bleeding,” Boyd said. “It became this circle of misery. If they were beating up Erica, Stiles and I would start egging them to come pick on us. Then when Stiles was, we tried to stop them. Same with me. The thing was though, Stiles always got it. If it was me, it would be me and Stiles. Erica, then Erica and Stiles. They were torturing him,” Boyd said. He turned murderous eyes to Scott. “Your fucking girlfriend was right there, did you know that? She was there, hitting all of us. Learning how to punch correctly. And all of it was done to Stiles as well. He doesn’t heal.” A single tear trailed down his face.

Erica swallowed hard. “He started trying to free his wrists, twisting them back and forth until he was finally able to squeeze his hand through. Stretching as far as he could, he was able to hit the kill switch on the batteries and electric fencing. He stretched himself so hard, he popped his arm out of its socket. But he did it without screaming, to help us. Then we were able to free him the rest of the way. Stiles saw a laptop at the last minute with a thumb drive stuck in it. He grabbed the drive and we got out of there, Stiles leading the way. He’d been blindfolded when they’d brought him down to the basement, but he was awake the whole way. He had counted steps and turns and rooms, like he had a photographic memory,” Erica said.

“He does,” Scott murmured.

“What?” Lydia demanded. “Then how he is not top of the class?”

“ADHD, can’t concentrate. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know the stuff,” Scott said. “I always admired that about him.”

“Enough. Back to the story,” Derek demanded again.

“Anyway,” Boyd said, standing. “Stiles got us out of there. I don’t know if we would have been able to without him, werewolf powers or no.” He walked over to his backpack and pulled out a thumb drive. “I keep this here to remind me.” He went up to the tv and stuck the drive in, powering up the screen. “This is graphic,” he warned.

There were several video files on the drive. Boyd clicked on the first one.

A view from the Basement oriented them on the left side being where Erica and Boyd were strung up, full in beta shift, but not crying out. It was evident it had been a while; they were tired and covered in sweat.

Two people walked into frame, Allison and Gerard Argent.

“So, Allison, when you hook up the animals to the fence, you run it from over here,” Murder Grandpa was saying, showing her the equipment.

They watched in horror as Allison practiced handling the controls for the electric fence.

The video ended.

“No. No, that’s not, she wouldn’t, no that’s not real!” Scott cried, tears running down his face as he saw the girl he loved learning how to torture.

Boyd clicked on the second video. Again, it was the same view in the basement, this time the right side of the screen found Stiles hanging there from a bar on the ceiling. His face was already swollen.

Allison and Grandpa walked in the room again, this time, Grandfather was demonstrating how to punch the soft spots without killing too quickly.

Gerard took Stiles' shirt and pushed it up and over his face. “Don’t’ block the eyes, though, isn’t that right, Stiles? So you can see every single thing we do to you. You’ll be a good message for Scott. I know he’s thinking of betraying me, but with you as an appetizer, maybe he’ll choose to do the right thing.”

Scott got up and started pacing. “No! No! She wouldn’t do this!”

“Look at the fucking video, McCall!” Jackson shouted.

Scott looked just in time to see Gerard punching Stiles before helping Allison form a proper fist before showing the swing and where to hit. “No,” Scott shouted and ran to the bathroom where everyone heard him puking.

“What’s the last one,” Derek asked. “And why are these such specific videos.”

“Stiles assumed it was to have that as proof should it become necessary. Proof that Allison helped Gerard, to prove a point or to use as a weapon against her. Maybe they were going to keep them and send the videos to Scott,” Boyd said. “We’ll probably never know and that’s okay. I don’t want to know anything about that family ever again. Unless they’re dead. Then I’ll feel better.”

“Yeah,” Erica scoffed. “I’ll feel safer.”

“I thought he’d betrayed me,” Derek muttered.

Everyone’s eyes moved to him.

“I thought he was working with Scott and Gerard. I just figured if Scott had a plan, Stiles would know about it,” Derek said, holding his hands open helplessly. "That's why I've been so cruel."

“He had no idea about it,” Scott said from the door. “I kept him out of it because I figured he always comes up with the plans, this time it was mine.”

“You mean you didn’t want to tell Stiles so he could tell you how stupid your plan was,” Lydia said, plucking at her skirt. While she wasn’t as nice to Stiles as he deserved, he was always nice to her. Called her Goddess and told her she’s beautiful and intelligent. She would miss that.

“I’d say maybe put Stiles in charge of planning, but you fucked up and kicked him out of the pack,” Jackson said.

“You sure have changed your tune,” Erica accused. “I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him, we just don’t like each other. At least I’m straight up with it,” Jackson said, checking his watch.

“I could call him, apologize,” Scott said.

“Did you not hear him telling us to leave him the hell alone? What the hell is wrong with your hearing, not to mention the consent issues. Jesus, just leave him alone,” Derek said, shocking them all. “We’ve all done enough harm. Let’s show how we care by just letting him go. Let him get on with his life. Meeting’s over. Everyone go home,” Derek said and went to stand by the window.

Quietly, they all filed out, an eerie silence filling the air.

Ten minutes later…

“Everyone go home, alpha Derek said,” Erica snarked.

The entire pack was standing in front of Stiles’ empty house. Including Derek.

“I couldn’t just leave it as it was,” Derek mumbled. “I had to at least try to apologize.”

“Well, since we’re all here,” Lydia said and walked forward, always in the lead.

Until she wasn’t.

Lydia hit an invisible wall and bounced backward, only saved by Jackson and Boyd grabbing her arms.

“What the hell?” Lydia shrieked. “How did he make a freaking protection barrier. A magic barrier?”

“Wow, Stiles is so bad ass!” Scott cried. “Imagine what life could’ve been like if we hadn’t fucked everything up. Me most of all.”

“Got that right,” Boyd said.

Just then all the lights came on and all of their phones buzzed at the same time.

Lydia read the text out loud. “I told you to leave me alone. The next time you try to contact me, it will not go well for you. I left Beacon Hills. That is the last thing you will know about me.”

Erica choked back a sob and then gave into it. “Why did we do it, Boyd? Why did we follow along while everyone was doing mean things? We should’ve stopped them, instead we joined in just to feel like we were part of the pack. Take me home, please,” she asked weakly, holding onto Boyd’s strong arm. At least she still had him.

Jackson put his arm around Lydia and she pushed away from him, not really sure what she was feeling. Disappointed? Sad that she lost the chance to have what would’ve been an amazing friendship maybe. There was also a very loud part of her that realizes Stiles was much better than she was and she had no way to fight back and prove herself. Maybe she did need to prove herself. Decision made, she walked with Jackson to his Porsche, ready to accept the scholarship to MIT. She was going to prove to the world she could be amazing. Damn did she wish she had some of his power, though.

Isaac left, catching a ride with Erica and Boyd.

Derek and Scott were the last two there.

“You wanna try it, don’t you?” Derek asked with an eye roll.

“Maybe I would be able to break through. Strictly on the goodness in my heart. A true friend,” Scott said, sounding slightly crazy.

“Or maybe you should respect him for once and leave him the hell alone,” Derek growled. “Now get outta here.”

Once Scott was gone, Derek turned to the house. He could smell that it was empty and things have been moved around. He really was leaving. Gone.

“I’m truly sorry, Stiles. I’ll try to become the Alpha I should’ve been to you,” Derek said, just in case Stiles could hear him.

His phone beeped and he eagerly grabbed for it, only for his stomach to drop.

This user has blocked your number. Any more contact with this person could result in a lawsuit.

Derek closed his eyes. All of them were blocked. Scott included.

They’d lost out. There would never be another Stiles. You’d always have the broody shut in, the intelligent bimbo, the puppy in human skin, the asshole(s). But there would only be one Stiles Stilinski. He wished the rest of the world luck. They were going to need it.

Stiles had his nose glued to the airplane window. “Look, you can see the Grand Canyon!”

Elijah smiled and sipped at his blood. There was no saying you couldn’t enjoy your favorite beverage in a teacup.

They were flying in style and Stiles was having the time of his life.

He’d already made his way from one end of the plane to the other. Then he had to inspect every single door, drawer, cupboard, closet, and cubby hole. Stiles had asked for permission, which Elijah respected.

“I just wanna look at everything. See if there are any hidden goodies in this thing,” he had warned Elijah with a mischievous grin.

He had way too much fun with the small drink cart that he pushed up and down the aisle, making the actual flight attendant giggle into her hand.

Then there was the tiny oven. Stiles had one of each dish of standard airplane food. They’d offered him a panini or some caviar. He’d declined, too excited to try the chewy burrito, the mac n cheese that didn’t move. He just giggled and kept eating. Then he had to see if he could fit in the overhead compartment.

He could.

Elijah just kept an eye on him, a soft smile on his face. It looked like Stiles needed a moment to be his age. To be a teenage kid. Not an orphan. Not a college student. Not moving across the entire country and leaving behind everything and everyone he knew. Just a kid who had a lot of energy. He was enjoying it, to be honest. Stiles was nothing like he expected. He was sharp and sweet while being brutally honest and very generous. He experienced life. He didn’t just move through life. He experienced it. Being able to see it through his young godson’s eyes made him look at things he’d glazed over for way too many centuries.

He found himself saddened when he thought that Stiles wouldn’t be around for centuries. He would have such a short time with him. Eighty or ninety years are considered a long full life. But you can’t possibly experience the things life has to offer in such a short time. He would have to fill Stiles’ time with experiences. Take him to see the Great Wall of China and the wilds of Africa. He’d probably love Stonehenge.

“How much longer?” Stiles asked, peering out the window.

“Shouldn’t be another half an hour, give or take, sir,” the flight attendant said.

“Thanks, Lisa,” Stiles said and flashed her a smile.

Elijah was again proud. Most people don’t see the flight attendants. They were just there, like the seatbelt or the seat. But seeing them, remembering names, that was special. It was odd that it was such a rare thing. Humans are impolite beings.

By the time they got off the plane, Stiles was starting to get tired. A quick energy drink pepped him up enough to watch the drive, pointing at things and asking Elijah if they could see that, and that, and that. Elijah assured him they’d visit all the tourist-type places before school started. Beaming, Stiles went back to the view, though his eyes were growing heavy.

They reached the brick townhouse and Stiles dragged himself in, barely able to see he was so tired.

Elijah took his arm and escorted him to the guest room he would be having until they redesigned his room. He thought it would be a good idea to connect two rooms so Stiles could have an office of his own. He would probably start helping Elijah with book collecting and they may need to expand the library.

Stiles stripped down to his shirts, boxers and a sock and fell on the bed, out immediately.

Elijah smiled and put a throw blanket over him and shut the door on his way out.

The next morning, over coffee and blood, they discussed the day.

“I was thinking we could plan your new room and office,” Elijah suggested.

Stiles eyes went wide. “Really? An office for me?” he may have bounced a little. Okay, he was bouncing around like a bouncy ball on speed.

“Yes. You’re going to have a lot of schoolwork and I’m sure you’ll want your own mini library. I have plenty of room here, I don’t see why we can’t make use of them. Nobody else is moving in,” Elijah said and opened his laptop. “I typed up a supply list and some things I thought you might enjoy.”

Stiles beamed at him.

Turns out Elijah is a huge NERD. Stiles loved that so much. Elijah loved office supplies and organizers anything you can write in or on with anything with ink or lead. He had a supply closet for goodness sake! Stiles wanted a basket to go shopping and had to snort when Elijah showed up with a little basket. It was adorable. Seriously.

They made a list of furniture stores and decided to take a cab. Stiles wanted the experience and after the first ride, Stiles was fine with the subway. Or car. Or walking.

By the end of the day, they had found and arranged for delivery most of the office and bedroom furniture he would need. They decided to look at bedroom sets while they were nearby. Stiles found one in a deep cherry that he just loved. Elijah had been impressed and said as much.

It was a good day and a long day. They kicked back with four large pizzas, a liter of soda and a blood bag. They were all set.

Stiles blossomed under Elijah’s care. His godfather was always home when he needed him to be. There were no double night shifts. Elijah always wanted to know what Stiles thought of something and why. They talked for hours about everything. They weren’t just godfather and godson, they were friends. It was a damn good feeling.

NYU was perfect for Stiles. He immediately made friends and started study groups for his entire course load.

He and Elijah expanded the house library to take over the entire upstairs of the house which had just sat empty. They might have expanded the supply closet too. Shut up. You know you love a good pen and some post-it notes. He and Elijah shared that love. The ancient vampire was a closet nerd of the highest order. It was awesome to know that this tough, badass vampire loved pens, collected them. Even the glitter pens. A bit different from the guy who threw Scott at a wall.

Stiles had been learning more and more about his magic after spending a weekend with the most amazing couple. Celestia and Ahmet. He’d learned quickly that these two were the top. The most powerful, the most mysterious, the most life changing. Everywhere they went, they helped people and mentored them.

Celestia and Ahmet only answered a call if they felt they had something to give to the person. When it came to Stiles, they were just passing through the New England states and Celestia had felt a tug from Stiles.

“You have a past hurt, sweetling. You’re gonna have to let that go,” she eventually told him.

They spent time talking and arranging several different mentors that would work with Celestia.

“Why do I have the feeling this isn’t the usual way this is done?” Stiles asked her.

Celestia was tiny with darkly tanned skin and lavender hair that was the most beautiful shade. Her partner, Ahmet, stood at least six and a half feet tall. He was bald and had huge hands. He would sit behind Celestia and feed his energy to her when she needed a boost.

Stiles learned so much from them, how his Spark came to be, what it was like, what he could do with it, what he should never do.

“Think Aladdin, kiddo, you can’t raise the dead. Isn’t going to happen. If you even attempted it, the universe would fight back, and I don’t think you’d like to experience that.” Celestia lectured.

“Not even a little,” Stiles agreed. “I don’t think I could do it anyway. It would just end up hurting someone. Whether the person being brought back or the person they loved who they would eventually hate.”

“I love the way your mind works,” Celestia said, smiling proudly.

“I’m having those off-the-cuff remarks again, huh? Sorry.”

“Don’t ever worry about it, Stiles. I get you,” Celestia said with a wink and a flip of her gorgeous lavender hair. “I want you to be practicing. Try and figure out a new skill every night. Be careful and be smart about it.”

The practice of learning a new skill is what lead Stiles to figure out that he could levitate. Yep. His scrawny ass was floating in midair. He began meditating that way in his new meditation room, compliments of Elijah for making the Dean’s List for the fourth semester in a row.

He had his legs folded, fingers touching his knees. He’d filled out over the last two years. Elijah wanted him to train in some sort of martial art discipline. He’d chosen Aikido and found that if he used his spark like Adderall, he could find that inner calm that most martial arts disciplines require. He became lean instead of lanky. Athletic instead of skinny. He had muscles and a visible six pack. He may have celebrated by eating a cheeseburger the size of his head. It was worth the two-hour belly ache.

He was nearly done with his master’s degree on his way to his doctorate in Archives and Public History. He was already curating Elijah’s books and odds and ends collection. It was glorious. It was Elijah’s life story. There were settee’s from the seventeen hundreds, a piano from 1894, a letter penned by Edgar Allen Poe. It was Stiles' dream job.

He wanted Elijah to let them open a museum together. His own museum only showing his pieces. It could be worth a lot of money and get them more collectibles. Elijah was considering it.

They’d become good friends along with Elijah having a more parental role. He always made sure Stiles had what he needed and what he wanted, though he did it in a way that surprised Stiles every time. Stiles was grateful for everything he had and was always thanking Elijah to the point he asked Stiles to stop.

They got along famously and could have gourmet food one night and the next they were shoving curly fries and pizza down their throats.

Elijah loved Stiles being at NYU. He was one step away from having a bragging bumper sticker. He was kind of adorable about it. His dark brown eyes would light up at every story Stiles told about his classes and professors. Unlike high school, Stiles was loved by all his professors. He never got less than a 4.0. That was helped by Stiles having tutors for the subjects he was hesitant about. He even managed to graduate a year early, thanks to the help. It got him a master’s degree, graduating with all honors.

Elijah was a true parent the day Stiles graduated, camera at the ready, taking pictures and videos of Stiles receiving his certificate. He treated Stiles and his group of friends to an afternoon at their favorite restaurant, ending with a night at a popular nightclub. Elijah stayed in the background to keep an eye on Stiles, but he let them do what they wanted.

Stiles was filled with joy and relief. He had started college grieving, in debt and lost. With Elijah’s love and support, he’d graduated college with honors, he had a large group of friends that adored him as much as he adored them. He had a career waiting for him, thanks to his godfather. Elijah had changed his life and Stiles would never be the same. He made sure to tell Elijah thank you and to show him that he was going to live the best life that Elijah had helped to frame. He learned only two months into college that all his debts and the house had been paid off and the house was now in Stiles’ name. Yet another worry his family had erased.

He knew he was blessed. Who knew a kick-ass vampire who was over a thousand years old would come into little Stiles’ life and give him a family, hope, and a future?

Always and forever.