Chapter Text
EDITED:1/8/24
Many supernatural beings in Stiles' circle often ponder how he could be happy without having found love, while others simply pity him. Even his closest friends are unaware that he is over a thousand years old, a time during which he has discovered his true love, Edward Cullen.
When Derek announced his desire to visit family in Forks, Stiles was overjoyed. Despite the chaos in Beacon Hills keeping them apart for three years, they remained in touch, sharing daily life updates.
Stiles recently learned about a girl named Bella or Isabella Swan who seemed infatuated with Edward. Stiles was annoyed by Edward's descriptions of Bella as creepy and obsessed, especially since she had quickly discovered Edward's secret.
"Earth to Stiles, hellooooo," Lydia chided, clearly annoyed by his daydreaming. She resumed, "As I was saying before being rudely ignored, Derek, are you sure it's wise to meet these people? It's odd they contacted you so suddenly. It doesn't seem safe," she remarked, applying lip gloss. "They're not Hales anymore; they've married into the Cullen family," Derek noted, focused on the road. Stiles' heart raced at the mention of the Cullen name, but he tried to appear calm, gazing out the window.
"Everything okay back there, Stiles?" Derek inquired via the rearview mirror. "Yes, I'm fine, just forgot my medication," Stiles replied, massaging his neck.
He silently wished for a pleasant journey this time.
Stiles' beauty sleep was abruptly ended by the screeching tires of a car, jolting him forward into the back of the passenger seat. His eyes snapped open, and through the window, he saw a stunning house made mostly of glass, with a group of people scattered across the lawn.
His gaze landed on a familiar face, recalling the time he first saw Edward during the Spanish influenza epidemic. He quickly opened the door, his eyes locked on Carlisle, who returned the stare.
"Hello dear, I have seen you many times before, but you kept refusing to speak to me," Carlisle said, looking at Stiles.
"Hello..." Stiles replied slowly, shifting his gaze from the man to the ground.
"I didn't know you knew these people," Derek remarked, eyeing him with suspicion.
"Correction, DOG, he knows Carlisle," Rosalie snapped, her teeth clenched, as she moved closer to her husband.
Derek growled, sizing her up with a look of surprise.
"I've never seen a wolf like that before," a girl with a pixie haircut commented from Derek's far right.
"You have different types of wolves under your standard werewolf classification system," Stiles explained, turning to the girl.
He elaborated, "You have Classification A; these are the normal wolves in Forks, unaffected by the moon, their lycanthropy a gift passed down through generations. Type B wolves, like the one you just saw, can be born or bitten, and are somewhat influenced by the moon. Unlike Class A, they don't transform into wolves unless they are born as such, though there have been rare instances of bitten wolves acquiring this ability. Then there's Class C wolves, which are triggered by a gene that can only be activated by taking a life, causing the person Transforming every bone in the human body into that of wolves is excruciating," Stiles explained, looking up from the ground to meet the shocked faces around him.
"How could you possibly know all this?" Peter inquired, marking his presence.
Feeling a set of piercing eyes on him, Stiles looked up at Derek and simply said, "Research."
Time had passed, and he still hadn't seen his beloved husband. Meanwhile, Mrs. Cullen had kindly prepared dinner, although the pack noticed that none of the Cullens were eating. Mr. Cullen's behavior was unsettling to Stiles; he observed him entering the house and eating, which was surprising enough to fuel Stiles' suspicion that Mr. Cullen considered him a vampire.
"I don't mean to pry, but I've noticed that none of you have touched the food. Is there a reason?" Derek asked, glancing up from his plate at the Cullens.
"Well, you see—" her response was cut off as the door burst open.
And there he was, Stiles' beloved husband finally in sight. Edward seemed to breathe again, taking a deep breath as he gazed at his beloved before his mouth opened in astonishment.
"Stiles?..."
The sound of his name in such a heavenly voice prompted him to raise his head, his eyes meeting those of his beloved.
"Edward, oh my Edwar—" His utterance was cut short as Edward hastened towards him, enveloping him in a tight embrace, tilting his head to bury his nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.
"Oh, Stiles, it's been too long. I've missed you, my dear," he whispered, nuzzling into his neck and drawing a long breath.
"How do these two know each other?" Emmett inquired, his confusion genuine as he had never witnessed Edward being so intimate with anyone.
"This is Stiles, my husband," Edward announced, pulling Stiles in closer, now observing the astonished looks on the faces of both his family and that of his spouse.
"Hold on, husband? You must be joking; you can't be married. We've never seen him before, you've never spoken of him, and what about Bella?" Emmett objected, trying to remember if he had ever encountered Stiles previously.
"Well, my children, if you've been paying attention, you would've realized that Edward has not been intimate with Bella since he arrived," Carlisle says, giving Stiles the most curious look he can muster.
"And you, young man, I have seen you before. However, every chance I had to speak to you, you've never even glanced in my direction, no matter how much I tried to engage you, you've never responded," Carlisle says, looking at Stiles, expecting an answer this time.
"And your friends, do they know?" he asks, now turning towards the pack of wolves who are gawking, speechless at the revelation they've been given. In the corner of the room, Derek stands, giving the wedded couple a ferocious snarl.
"Know what?" Scott demands, his attention now on Stiles. "Stiles, answer me, what is he talking about!" Scott says, now irritated with the silence in the room.
"I'm, I uh, I- I can't tell you—" Stiles is cut off by Edward, "he's not human."
"What!" Scott shouts, standing up from his chair, now facing Stiles completely. "If you're not human, then what are you?"
"He's a spark," Edward continues, feeling the aura around the room becoming suffocating.
"It's not so bad," Peter interjects, startling them. They all turn their heads to Peter. "Until you realize that the last spark recorded in supernatural history was last spotted during the Spanish influenza outbreak in 1918. And before that, another sighting in 1756 of a man named Mischief Bennett, who, now that I think about it, looks very identical to our beloved Stiles. So, if I'm right, Stiles is about a thousand years old or more and has been lying to us," Peter concludes, folding his arms over his chest with a smug look on his face, while Stiles wishes the ground would swallow him up.
"Is this true, Stiles?" Derek finally speaks up, looking devastated, feeling betrayed.
"Yes, it's all true; he's not lying," he says, looking down at his feet. He was hyperventilating, struggling to breathe, and then suddenly, his world dimmed to a dark atmosphere before he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.