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When Stiles is born, John Stilinski looks to his wife and says, “ This is private property? Is our son going to grow up to trespass?”
“It could be worse,” Claudia says, cradling her perfect baby boy. Her own soulmark reads excuse me, but I don’t think you’re allowed out here! “Better that he is a troublemaker than a suck-up.”
John groans. “How many times must I say it, Dee? I had a hall monitor phase that went overboard.”
She bats her eyes at him. “Of course, Deputy Stilinski. My mistake.”
John’s mark reads excuse me, but I don’t think it’s any of your business, is it? The Stilinski family has a long history of having unlikely matches.
That’s why no one is very surprised when Matt comes into the picture.
/\/\/\
Stiles has seen him around school, of course. Matt is the new kid in their year. Shy, camera-obsessed, geeky enough that he raises Stiles’ place on the social hierarchy. He catches him watching him one lunch time, eyes intense when Stiles gets picked up by his dad in a cop car.
Later on, Stiles will tell himself that Matt had known even before they’d said their first words. Like fate, he’d tell Scott, excitedly, in the next period. He must have liked me before he even knew we were soulmates!
It happens at the start of a double. Math, to be exact. Not the most romantic of settings and not something that Stiles will cherish telling his kids but normal enough that he doesn’t question it at the time.
Matt sits next to him, watching him curiously, until Stiles’ ruler gets elbowed onto Matt’s side of the desk.
“This is private property,” Matt frowns, pushing the ruler back over, unaware of how Stiles’ heart skips a beat.
“That’s my! You’re my! Matt!” Stiles squeals excitedly. Matt’s own eyes go wide.
His carefully put together expression melts into a smile. “I’m Matt. Matt Daehler.”
“Stiles Stilinski.” Stiles resists the stupid teenage urge to kiss him in the middle of class. He’s done it! He’s found his soulmate! Scott is going to freak!
Later that day, Stiles invites Matt over to meet his dad and they show each other their marks. Stiles’ is on his inner forearm. It’s liable to be shown whenever his sleeve rides up and he’s never been as cautious about hiding it as some people are with their marks. Matt’s is on his collarbone, in smudged and dark ink. That’s my you’re my Matt
“We’re really soulmates.” Stiles grins, reaching forward to hug the other boy. “I can’t believe it!”
Matt stops him, frowning apologetically. “Sorry, Stiles. I’m just not ready yet.”
Sheriff Stilinski gives Matt a firm and sober handshake at the door. He seems relieved that Stiles may have lost the family curse. Matt, after all, is a perfectly nice boy.
Stiles’ broken heart mellows into an understanding - he won’t push his soulmate. He won’t be one of those guys. He just needs to get Matt to trust him, to know that for Stiles, this is it.
/\/\/\
It starts with the little things, at first. Matt refuses to touch him. He doesn’t like Mario Kart or Stiles’ inane chatter. The first time he tells Stiles to shut up, Stiles flounders around like a fish without water. He’d always thought his soulmate would love him like he was, not expecting him to change. Matt isn’t supposed to find him annoying.
After that first day, Matt barely ever shows him his soulmark. They see each other everyday but Stiles feels like they are two boats in the night, sailing past, never communicating on a deeper level. Stiles learns about Matt’s fear of water. He is grateful when he shows him his pictures - mostly of pretty girls which he admires, something they have in common. He plays lacrosse, is polite to his dad, and doesn’t push Stiles out of his comfort zone.
Stiles pushes away the disappointment and tells himself that people change. Just because he and Matt aren’t the perfect fit right away doesn’t mean they never will be. He tones it down, buys his own camera, and listens to Matt’s long-winded rants about the popular kids. He stays home when Lydia Martin invites their entire year to a pool party due to Matt’s fears and he tells the boy he loves him, even when he doesn’t say it back.
“Thank you, Stiles.” Matt says, instead. His eyes are dark in a way that Stiles understands. Scott never got it, because although he too only had one parent in the house, he’d never seen one die. Death changes you. Funerals change you. Grief changes you.
Letting go changes you more than losing does.
Stiles’ hand itches to hold Matt’s but he resists. His soulmate isn’t a physically affectionate person. That’s fine. Stiles can live with that. Stiles can live with anything.
/\/\/\
Stiles can’t live with this.
“He beats him, you know? Bad. He told me that he locks him away. In a freezer box, I think.” Matt’s words come out in a rush. His eyes are red-rimmed. He hasn’t slept. “We need to do something.”
“I’ll tell my dad,” Stiles offers, grimly. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You can’t! Stiles, you can’t do that.” Matt’s voice goes urgent and he grips Stiles arm so tightly it hurts. “He’ll get away with it. He’s done this before and gotten away with it. His younger brother, do you really think he died in combat?”
“What.”
With surety that comes from knowledge, Matt spins his web. “Camden. Camden Lahey. He didn’t die in Iraq.”
“How do you know this?” Stiles leaves his arm in Matt’s grip even though it hurts. At least it’s something. At least he’s being touched. His soulmark doesn’t tingle like Hollywood says it will when he’s being touched by his soulmate. But the world isn’t rainbows and puppies and movies are inaccurate representations of reality, aren’t they?
Matt glances to the side, antsy. “Why can’t you just believe me, Stiles? I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m yours, aren’t I? I’m yours.”
Stiles laughs jerkily. “What are you asking for, Matt? If not to tell my dad, then what?”
“I’m asking you to help me save Isaac.” Matt swallows, fingers tightening like a vice. Stiles winces. “I can’t do it alone. I need you to keep a lookout, to help me plan.”
“Plan what? ”
“Plan Coach Lahey’s death.”
/\/\/\
Of course, Stiles says yes. He placates Matt, stomach churning with anxiety, until he has Scott on the phone. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to say. My soulmate is a homicidal maniac who I think is lying to me. Our love story probably begins when he’s behind bars. Do you know anything about the consent laws for conjugal visits?
He and Scott talk back and forth about a beach trip they’ve been planning since they were ten years old. All they need is a car, a license, and for Stiles’ dad to unbunch his panties long enough to let them leave. (Or an alibi good enough to fool both of their parents.)
Tonight, Matt texts him. I’m doing it tonight. Meet me outside Lahey’s house at 6PM.
A few moments later, another text pings on his phone. Stiles, I love you.
Never has the son of a sheriff felt more like a piece of shit walking into the station. He smiles at Deputy Fresco and waves at Officer Davies who always brings in donuts. He sits and waits on a plastic chair outside of his dad’s office, hoping to prolong this for as long as possible.
“Shouldn’t you be in school, son?” The sheriff’s face draws together in concern. “When you truant, you usually don’t rub it in my face so much.” He’s hiding a smile.
Stiles thinks soon he won’t have anything he needs to hide. Stiles barges his way into his dad’s office, dragging him in behind him.
“What’s this about, then?” John Stilinski asks, suspiciously. “You didn’t vandalize Mr. Harris’ car, did you? I told you that I can’t help you if you-”
“Matt wants to kill Isaac’s dad.” The words spill out of him in a rush.
His dad’s face goes tight. He takes out his pen and starts an official statement under Stiles’ name. “How’d you know this, son?”
“He told me. He-” Stiles wants to weep with it all. He’s definitely caught the family curse. His voice goes high and panicked. “I think Matt’s a bad guy, dad. A really bad guy. I’m going to have to visit him in prison and I don’t want to be a prison wife, I-”
“Slow down. Tell me what happened from the beginning.” He frowns. “What’s this about killing someone?”
“He asked me.” Stiles gasps. “He asked me to help him do it, dad.”
The sheriff looks thunderous by the time Stiles has finished his statement and soulmark or not, Stiles doesn’t think Matt is going to be allowed any visitors. Beacon Hills Juvenile Detention Centre, not prison, it seems, for attempted murder which he pleads guilty to, is not nearly far away enough.
It doesn’t help when his dad tells him that Matt’s mark washes off with water. It was all a lie.
/\/\/\
Matt doesn’t leave it at that. He’s ticked off that Stiles foils his master plans that apparently had bigger ramifications than a single murder. Matt had been gunning for around seven deaths, if Stiles’ tally is correct.
Stiles shoves Matt’s letters in the bottom of his desk but can’t make himself burn them. He doesn’t write back but somewhere out there, sleeping like a baby, is a boy who will grow into an adult who will be released back into society. A boy who knows Stiles’ name and seeks revenge.
Not for eight years, if he doesn’t get out earlier for good behavior. Matt has never been impolite so Stiles isn’t holding his breath.
Scott meets a girl, Allison, who shares his hopelessly romantic desires, and Stiles slowly unwinds until he meets someone in a coffee shop. Well, behind a coffee shop, rummaging around in the bins.
Stiles has recently gotten into the habit of dumpster diving for spare parts. Circuit boards are expensive and Stiles is not a natural at putting them together.
“This is private property.” A pause. “But I guess I can let this one slide.”
Stiles’ heart stops for the second time in his life to see a blonde girl with braces leaning against the wall. Her clothes are baggy and she gives off a nervous vibe. Cautiously, one burned, twice shy, Stiles says, “Did Matt send you?” He wouldn’t put it past that sadistic fucker.
Erica shrugs, apologetically. “Sorry, Stiles. He paid me to say it. Not sure why but I could use the money.”
Shakily, Stiles leans against the bin, feeling a panic attack rising up in his stomach.
“Are you okay? Sorry! What did I-?”
Even here, Matt is following him and ruining his life. Everything between them had been a lie. Everything Stiles had settled for, like he wasn’t worth reciprocation or affection, had been manufactured in order to gain an accomplice.
Erica apologizes, and it seems like she means it, but it’s too little, too late. “I swear I didn’t know.”
Soon everyone knows. Stiles’ soulmark is posted on a subreddit called r/markorblemish. Over 1000 people upvote or downvote the post asking whether or not Stiles’ mark should be considered a blemish; a mistake. The majority says it is. The most upvoted comment is: js, I wouldn’t want a mark that makes me culpable for a crime.
Matt pays a variety of people in Beacon Hills to say it to him. Stiles becomes desensitized to it and no longer reacts with panic attacks. He tells himself they’re just words. Soulmates are just people. Fate is just the passage of time. In his letters, Matt says he’ll stop when Stiles comes to visit.
Stiles never visits.
Matt never stops.
/\/\/\
Stiles is sixteen years old when Scott gets turned into a werewolf. At first, he doesn’t believe it but the evidence stacks up against him. They find the other half of Laura Hale’s body buried outside of the burnt down remnants of Hale house.
Derek Hale finds them at the perimeter, a muscled adonis chiseled from moodiness.
“This is private property,” Hale informs them, tersely.
Stiles groans. “ Fuck. I thought he’d be sick of this by now.” Hale’s eyes go wide like he’s been electrocuted. Stiles laughs, bleakly. “If you really need the money, man, I’m sure there are other ways to come about it.”
Scott frowns, affronted on his best friend’s behalf. “Leave Stiles alone, whoever you are.”
“He’s Derek Hale.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “To think I thought you were cool before this, dude.”
“Before what?” Hale’s face has gone from shocked to desperate. “What did I do? Stiles, he said your name was?”
Wow, he’s really playing into it. Maybe Matt paid him extra. Stiles huffs, kicking his converse into the ground. “Scott, c’mon, let’s go. I don’t want to deal with this shit today.”
“Yeah, buddy.” Scott nods like a man on a mission. He spits to Derek, “You should be ashamed of yourself, man. Ashamed. ”
They walk off, arms linked together, while a brooding Derek Hale jogs back to his house.
/\/\/\
Hale turns up on Stiles’ doorstep that night. Except, not on his doorstep. He's lurking outside of his window. Stiles thinks when he tells his dad, he’ll have a heart attack. Best cut down on his saturated fats again.
Stiles jerks away from his laptop when he sees two brooding gray eyes zeroed in on him through the window. He flails to pause his video - HOT HUNKS 69 FOR HOURS - and opens the window, frowning intently. “What do you want, Hale?”
“What did I do?” Hale asks, urgently. “Is it my age? I can wait. I’m not a creep, I promise.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, letting the man into his bedroom. To be fair, it’s the middle of the night and Stiles has a baseball bat by his bed if he needs it. He closes the window to stop the cool air from getting in.
“You can’t expect me to be buddy-buddy with you when you’re getting paid to say my soulmark.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, defensively. “Or did Matt not tell you? Those words are mine, you sicko.”
Hale takes a break from being brooding and emotionally constipated to scratch his head, perplexed. “Paid?”
“Yeah. Matt. Matt Daehler? Maybe he told you a different name, I don’t care. Maybe you saw a craigslist add and wanted to make a quick buck! Maybe you-”
“I have your words too,” Hale claims.
Stiles scoffs. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
Hale starts to take off his shirt.
“Woah, woah, keep it PG-13, dude!”
Hale huffs, removing the shirt and turning around. Below a black triskele tattoo are the words fuck, I thought he’d be sick of this by now.
Stiles’ throat goes tight. Deja vu. He’s been here before. “Wait there.” Hale waits by the window patiently as Stiles runs the bathroom tap over a handtowel. He rushes back to the room and hands it to him. Stiffly, he says, trying to ignore how Hale’s muscles are bulging and big in the moonlight, “Wipe it off.”
“What?” The man cocks his head, holding the handtowel like it’s a precious object. “Wipe what off?”
“The words.” Stiles can feel the tears coming. Not now, not now. He seriously does not want to cry in front of God's gift to mankind. “Wipe off the words. Please.”
At the embarrassing crack in his voice, Hale does as he’s told. The words don’t come off. “Believe me now?”
“That doesn’t prove anything. It could be permanent marker.”
Hale bites his lip, considering. “What about we touch?” Stiles waits for him to elaborate. “Soulmates feel a spark when they touch. If we don’t, you’ll know I’m lying to you.”
It’s such an earnest tempting offer that Stiles nods woodenly. He knows it’s not true. He knows that Matt is playing some sort of long game to torment and humiliate him. It’s not even believable! Why would Derek Hale and his steroid-physique be fated to shrimpy blabber-mouth Stiles Stilinski?
Like he’s a spooked animal, Hale walks forward and puts his hand on Stiles’ cheek. There’s a bzzt of energy, an exchange of emotion. Stiles feels awe, relief, guilt. He can only imagine what Derek is feeling from him.
“How did you do that?” Stiles jerks his head away. “Is there a shock device on your hand or-” He searches Derek’s hand and hates how it zaps him again, gently, reassuringly. “-is it some sort of hypnotism? Please, call it off, Hale. I can’t do this again.”
“I will find who hurt you, Stiles,” Derek promises. He presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “I will protect you now.” When the man’s eyes glow blue, Stiles just stares, deciding that come hell or highwater, he’s definitely fucked.
/\/\/\
“And it turns out he’s a werewolf too!” Stiles says, emphatically.
“How old is he, again?” Scott frowns. “Thirty?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “He’s, like, twenty-four, and he has this ‘nothing until you’re eighteen’ rule!" He pouts.
Scott’s expression eases. He says, sagely, “Your dad is going to hate him.”