Chapter Text
“Well warned to beware with whom he dar'd to dallie.”
― Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene
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It was a bad plan.
They knew it was a bad plan before they’d even gotten in the car. Stiles swore it like a mantra under his breath as they ventured further in the woods in search for a ring of mushrooms. Even Derek, being brought to his knees by the Fae Queen’s guard, felt it necessary to remind Stiles of it as though he had forgotten.
Unfortunately they’d run out of options after plans A through G had gone so horribly wrong that the only two players on the board were the two of them and Liam of all people. (He’s honestly still unsure how plan C ended with all the betas except the youngest contracting wolfsbane poisoning, just like he has no clue how Lydia managed to get arrested executing plan E).
With Liam helping Deaton treat the other wolves it was really only up to Stiles and Derek to try and salvage this and find a magical current strong enough to defeat the nth villain of the week. (This time some amateur asshole had decided to perform a demonic ritual of all things, without the needed components to shut the rift between earth and hell that it created. Stiles was going to burn any necronomicon looking book he came across in the future).
The Fae Queen was much more amused by their plight than they were, twinkling blue eyes, the same color as glaciers, flitting between them as a mischievous smile spread across her face.
“What do we have here,” She started, her voice echoing across the small clearing they found themselves kneeled in, tinkling melodically, beautifully, despite the predatory look in her eyes. The gaze settled on Derek.
“A shapeshifter,” Her tone was perfectly polite yet it didn’t fail to convey the disgust dripping off the word. Derek, ever the attack first, think later kind, bared his teeth at her, growl building up in his chest. A spear, which the guard had rested against the floor once they sat kneeling, returned to its position to the back of Derek’s neck, unnaturally sharp blade needing no pressure at all to slice effortlessly into the skin, letting a small bead of blood dribble down the blade.
Stiles’s hand found Derek’s without much effort and squeezed it, trying to convey what he couldn’t say out loud.
Trust me.
The growling died down, Derek schooling his face into a carefully blank mask, and the spear thudded back to its standing position a moment later, letting the cut on Derek’s neck heal.
The Queen’s eyes fell for a moment on their conjoined hands before she turned to look at him. There was a flash of something in her gaze that Stiles could not identify. Too quick to make out. But her grin sharpened into something nearing hostile as she spoke.
“And a Little Ember. We haven’t had one of those for our court in a very long time,” He felt the words that she was not saying and knew he had to tread lightly.
“My Queen,” He started, figuring he better be safe than sorry. “It was not our intent to tread into your court without invitation or warning. If it pleases you, we will leave.”
Her smile, if possible, sharpened further and she let out a shriek of a laugh that seemed to bore a hole straight through his skull.
“Clever little one, aren’t you?”She said, leaning over in her throne, a sharpened nail dragging slowly over Stiles’ cheek, biting into the flesh but not hard enough to draw blood. Derek’s grip on his hand tightened but Stiles did not dare to look away from the Queen’s eyes.
“No,”she said, “It would not please me.”
Stiles fought against his body’s urge to slump over in relief and terror. They couldn’t leave yet after all but any moment longer in the Queen’s presence could spell certain death or eternal imprisonment. The rift buzzed in his hoodie pocket, contained for now in its own little magic sphere. It needed at least a few more minutes to absorb the ambient magic so it could be nullified, leaving them with the much easier task of dealing with any straggling demons.
He swallowed hard against the ball forming in his throat.
“But what of you? Little Ember. What is it you desire? If it pleases you I can make it come true.”
Her words were buttery and sweet but Stiles knew a trap when he saw one. He scrambled for a reply that wouldn’t end with them eternally indebted to the fae court.
“I want for nothing, My Queen, Nothing you could grant me that I cannot realize on my own.” He landed on, It was the truth. He had everything he could ever want already. His job, the pack, his dad. The queen did not seem to agree with this sentiment. She glances again at their conjoined hands.
“Oh, is that so? Do you know it is unwise to lie to the fae, child?” Fear shoots through him, he was aware that lying to the fae was something undoubtedly unwise. Did he want something right now? Besides getting the fuck out of there? Something he couldn’t do on his own?
He decides to backtrack.
“My lady, I would not dare to lie to you at the present moment,”He can feel Derek’s nerves spike as he says it. While lying to the fae was always unwise one could get away with it if they were clever enough. Stiles had just all but sworn he wouldn’t dare, cutting off one of their possible escape strategies.
The Queen seems pleased by the promise, but the edge to her features does not fade.
“Clever you are, but you lie all the same. You might not realize it, but you lie,” True panic starts to build up in his chest. He was going to get them killed. Fuck Fuck Fuck. He didn’t even tell his dad he loved him before they left. FUCK.
The same shrieking laughter from before filled the clearing, joined in by the melodious chittering of the guards and any surrounding fae, all waiting patiently for their Queen’s verdict. Stiles’ thoughts rushed. If he could get his hands in his hoodie pocket without being decapitated maybe he could unleash the rift. Sure that wasn’t ideal, it would probably rip open the fae realm and maybe possibly create a black hole. But at least that would be a quick death as opposed to whatever the Queen would come up with.
“No matter,”She said and Stiles felt his heart seize. Were they safe? Did they somehow catch the fae Queen on a good day? “I will grant your wish anyway. I do so love a show,”
Nevermind. They’re Fucked.
The Fae Queen points her wand at him and Stiles only has a split second before a blast of purple light shoots out the tip, just enough time to register Derek lunging for him, covering his body with his own.
Time stops for a moment, the world a miasma of swirling colors and lights. For that brief terrifying moment all he knows is the warmth of another body, a rough hand at the back of his head, the ghost of a breath against his neck.
Then they’re unceremoniously dumped on a hardwood floor. Derek, whose actions would at any other time be seen as heroic, lands on top of Stiles, knocking the wind right out of him. He flips off easily, crouching down and on guard as Stiles tries desperately not to lose his lunch on top of everything else.
He struggles to sit upright, wrinkling his nose as his hands meet the sticky floor. Derek’s guarded stance had quickly changed into something close to baffled as he looked around. Getting to his feet, Stiles could understand why.
They were in a bar.
It looked perfectly ordinary, between the sticky hardwood floors and a dozen or so red booths, it looked just as unremarkable as any other dive bar Stiles had ever had the pleasure of entering. It was such a disturbingly ordinary sight that Stiles wondered, if for a brief moment, if the last hour or so was a drunken hallucination.
The look was completed by the appearance of a middle aged bartender who stepped behind the bar mechanically, hands moving smoothly to grasp at the bottles around him.
“Hey, uh.. excuse me!” Stiles says, ignoring the growled warning of his name from the werewolf beside him. The man doesn’t look up, instead grabbing the shaker from behind him.
“What is going on here?”Stiles asks and Derek moves to stand beside him. “And what the fuck does the Queen want from us?” He growls.
The bartender ignores their questions, instead sliding over two glasses.
“A bounty hunter and a Nulu Orange Brandy,” his voice is monotone and Stiles has a feeling this man had been here for a very long time. He waves his hand in front of the bartender's face but he does not react at all, eyes staring blankly ahead.
“Definitely some kind of fairy hell,” he mutters as he inspects the drinks. It’s his favorite cocktail.
A blend of Rum, Pineapple juice, coconut liquor and prosecco. Derek lifts his own glass, the Rum that Stiles knows he loves, and he reaches out to stop the werewolf from taking a sip.
“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,”
He takes the rift from his pocket and gives the sphere a small shake, luminescent sparkles twirl around the suspended blackened tear, albeit far less than when they were in the Queen’s presence herself.
“We’re still in the fairy realm, Don’t eat or drink anything until we figure out how to get out of here.” The werewolf grunts, setting the drink back down and surveilling the room once more. There’s no visible windows around, the room lit up by exposed bulbs hanging down from the ceiling and a couple of neon signs on the walls advertising what beers they had in stock. The far wall was covered in thick velvet curtains, supposedly covering up the windows, and just left of it was a door.
They shared a look. Surely there’s no way that it would be that simple. No way that they could just walk out. Derek seemed to think it was that simple, marching up to the door with no regards to Stiles’ frantic protest.
The man grappled for the werewolf’s wrist, twisting him away from the door with as much strength as he could muster, which, while nothing on a werewolf’s strength, certainly was a step up from when he was 17 and blundering around the supernatural world on hopes and prayers alone.
“What?” the werewolf growls and Stiles lets go of his wrist like it burned him.
“We don’t know what’s out there,” He says and the wolf grunts, annoyance bleeding through his features.
“I was about to find out before you interrupted me,”He counters and Stiles fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Every day he wonders if his current life was simply karma for all the bullshit he pulled on his dad as a small child all the way through teenagehood.
“Derek I’m serious,”
The werewolf glares at him and Stiles takes an involuntary step back. There’s real heat in those eyes, not just (admittedly deserved) annoyance.
“And I’m not?”The wolf snarls and Stiles wonders if the desire the Queen had seen was his passive intrusive thoughts of getting mauled by the werewolves around him on a daily basis. Less of a want and more of a fear but who was he to shame the Fae Queen’s kinks like that.
“We can’t just open doors like we own the place, we’re still under her reign!”He hisses, voice considerably lowering in volume as he suddenly remembers the Queen’s words ‘I do so love a show’. She was likely watching them then… Great.
“And whose fault is that?” The words sting as if Derek had physically slapped him.
“Excuse me?” He understands that they’d just narrowly escaped a very dire situation and were still very much in deep shit, but at least he hadn’t been the one to openly threaten the Fae Queen by baring his fucking teeth at her.
“You heard me, If you hadn’t lied to the Fae Queen of all people-”
“Hey! I didn’t lie! She’s just messing with us, we knew this could happen!” They’d gone over the possibility of this very scenario in the car. They both knew Fae weren’t exactly as fair as they liked to pretend they were and the ‘You may not know you’re lying’ bullshit was just the kind of thing they would pull to trap innocents in the court.
“Yeah well whose fault is it that we’re here in the first place?” Derek countered, like a child, though Stiles could see the wind visibly leave his sails.
“We both agreed it was our last option” He reminded the werewolf in a soft voice, remembering with sudden clarity that Derek did this. Derek lashed out when he was scared. They’d faced a lot of bad guys over the years they’d known each other but both of them knew the Fae were way out of their ballcourt.
“It was a bad plan,” The werewolf mutters, shoulders slumping. Stiles could feel his own panic restlessly claw at his cool and composed shields.
“Did you have a better one?” The answering silence speaks for itself. “Exactly,”
For a moment they stand by the entrance in silence, both unwilling to be the one to break it, to voice out loud that they might be well and truly fucked.
Derek, it seems, is just as unwilling to acknowledge that there might be no way out of this mess, gesturing at the door again as if Stiles was stupid and needed things to be spelled out plainly.
“Well it’s better than sitting here and waiting! We don’t know how much time has passed while we’ve been here Stiles! The answer isn’t just going to come stumbling in-”
The bell above the door makes an obnoxiously loud tinkling sound as the door is pushed open, a tall lanky figure stumbling through the doorway, the expanse beyond is a blinding void of white light, forcing them to look away.
When Stiles manages to blink the spots out of his eyes he wonders if the drunk hallucination theory had more merit than he’d given it credit for.
In front of them stood a man, early to late 20s with a face Stiles would recognise anywhere. That being because it was his own. The man smiled, something not unkind, and Stiles noticed then his eyes which were yellow and serpentine in nature. The eyes quickly left Stiles’s own, settling instead on Derek who instinctively bared his teeth, low growl rumbling in his throat.
“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…”