Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THEN

Going by those God awful action movies his youngest niece forces him to sit through, there’s no doubt in Peter Hale’s mind that he’s currently in the middle of an absolute shit-show from which there would be no coming back from.  If this was a movie, then he was caught in one of those timeless moments represented by extreme slow-motion when death is breathing down the back of your neck and you ask yourself THE question.  It didn’t matter what question as it was unique to the individual, although frequently it was the plaintive ‘why me?’ to the equally as common, but more prosaic ‘where did I go wrong?’.  Less likely he thought was his own – ‘why the hell did I think zone outs were a bad thing?’

Since coming online 18 months ago, he’d been foolishly proud of the rigid control he had on his enhanced senses, ones far beyond those of any other wolf or Sentinel.  Contrary to Deaton’s dire warnings of instability and control issues regarding this extremely rare double whammy to his senses as a werewolf Sentinel, Peter Hale did not have feral episodes thank you very much - not unless he wanted to that is. 

Even if there was a Guide strong enough to fill the hollow empty space inside him and stop the pain from senses that were suddenly too sharp, too acute that he lived with every day – there would be no random bonding to a stranger that could endanger the pack and most importantly there would be absolutely no zone outs for the Left Hand of the Hale Pack. 

A Left Hand couldn’t afford to be compromised and yet now he wished Deaton was right in his instability warnings and that he could find oblivion in a zone out.  What he wouldn’t give to be so lost in his senses that he can’t feel anything, for the agony of being burned alive is nothing compared to feeling his pack bonds breaking, one after the other.  Feeling the members of his pack, his family die, and hearing their screams and howls abruptly end until all there is are his own screams, the sizzle of his flesh as it cooks and the muffled whimpers of the pup at his back.

He didn’t even know which child it was he was protecting, had only instinctively reached out and grabbed them as the ceiling had started to collapse, only to find himself cut off from the rest of the pack when it partially crashed down.  The wolf in him howling in fury at being trapped so effectively.  For all his wolf strength and his much vaunted Sentinel senses, he is helpless. 

Before they’d all died, he’d looked across the nearly destroyed basement and seen through the flames and burning debris to meet his sister’s eyes.  The hopelessness in them something he’s never seen in her before, not even when David – her Sentinel mate - died in the same car accident that had brought Peter so unexpectedly online as a Sentinel and caused Talia’s Guide status to transition into dormancy. 

That bleakness had frightened him like nothing else ever has and he’d wished Grey was still with him, that he’d not sent his spirit guide to get help, because at that moment he would have sent the big silver wolf to his sister’s side in a heartbeat while she had that strange look in her eye.

“Take care of Cora.” Talia had rasped out, voice broken with rage, grief and smoke.  It’s something he wishes he hadn’t heard so clearly above the background agonized screams of his family so loud in his ears as they burned, the smell of cooking flesh – thick and sweet and horrible in his nose - yet he had.

“What?  Talia…” 

He recalls angrily wondering why she felt the need to ask because he will always care for his nieces and nephews, for any of the pack’s pups, she knows that…she knows that and a chill had run down his spine as he’d considered what she was actually asking. 

“DON’T YOU DO THIS…DON’T YOU DO THIS.  I CAN GET US OUT.”  Peter had argued furiously, shaking his head in denial, before finally begging.  “Please.”

“Not this time Peter.  There’s no way out for us.”  Her eyes had gone soft with anguish for a split second before the grim determination he’s so familiar with turned her eyes Alpha red. 

“No pain.”  Talia had bent down and kissed the brow of her youngest, who she’d been sheltering with her own body, and with a gentle twist of her hands snapped his neck just as the sleeve of her shirt caught alight. 

Peter’s throat constricts as he remembers feeling his pack bond to little 5 year old Daniel break, howling in despair and rushing to the barrier that their burning house coming down on top of them had created, to throw himself against it, again and again, needing to reach them. Needing to save them. 

He’d roared in anguish and fury as she’d all too calmly patted out the flames on her clothes before giving each of the pups a quick and painless death.  Raged and pulled at the burning timbers that caged his pack in, dialling down his sense of touch to ignore the agonising pain from the flames as he witnessed her offering the same to the older pack members.   When it was done he’d been nothing but a shell, a scorched shuddering remnant of himself.

He’d cursed the dangerously creaking beams above their heads, loud as thunder and yet still not loud enough because he could hear Talia as if she was standing right beside him.  There’d been no accusation, no condemnation in her voice which is what he’d expected, what he deserves for his failure to protect the pack - only sorrow, resignation and an almost forgotten affection.

“I’ll see you later Petey-pie.” 

Shocked rigid, he’d only been able to stare.  It’d been so long since she’d called him that, not since he was a kid.   The impact of hearing his nickname from her lips even greater considering they’d been at increasing odds over the past six months.  When she’d not been sending him off across the country to pointlessly ‘liaise and negotiate’ with packs they already had treaties with, Talia had joined in with their Emissary in seeming to disagree in principle with every little thing he suggested rather than his ideas and plans actually lacking in merit. 

“Not if I see you first Tally-tail.”   He’d whispered the expected reply, his throat so raw and swollen his healing ability couldn’t keep up.  The bands of grief, anger and guilt tightening around his chest until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.  Like he still can’t breathe.

The clarity he’d seen in her eyes then may have been brought on by pain and suffering, but it’s a return of the sister he thought he’d lost over the past six months.

“Stop him, Peter, don’t let him hurt anyone els-”

With an ear-shattering crack, the rest of the ceiling on that side of the basement collapsed completely and the pack bond that’s always been the strongest and brightest, the one to his sister, his Alpha, was gone after a few flickering pulses.

Frozen, he strained trying to hear or sense any signs of life from beneath the burning timbers from anyone.  Anyone at all.

There’s nothing.

Cora whines brokenly and with a disorienting rush of light and sound, Peter’s back in the here and now, shaking off the horror and numbing grief, needing to find a way out for the pup.  Growling in frustration he spins desperately searching for escape through the fire, mind racing, heart beating fast and hard. 

Nothing’s changed with the entrance to the escape tunnel, it’s still blocked by mountain ash they can’t cross and a sharpshooter further back in the tunnel using wolfsbane bullets to pick them off if they do manage to get through and come too close.  The collapsed ceiling has left a gaping hole above them, but that route’s impassable - the upper floor is an inferno.  He may have risked it himself, not with Cora though.

He misses it the first time, the way the heat has damaged the wall plaster behind them, bubbling and cracking it from midway to the floor in two distinct straight lines about 4 feet apart.  What catches his attention the second time, is the way the flames near those cracks flicker violently, being driven back as though...  Striding towards it Peter gouges into the wall with his claws, the plaster crumbling away as he pulls and yanks at the aged bricks and mortar relentlessly until he finds a cavity where a strong draft is coming from.  A bricked-up basement fireplace. 

“Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.”   Why the old fireplace doesn’t appear on any of the plans of the house and tunnels he’s memorised he’ll think about later when he digs up and gnaws on the bones of the Hale Left Hand who dropped the ball on recording the changes. 

If there is a later.

Crouching, he peers up into the chimney and gulps down a couple of deep breaths when cool sweet air rushes overs his face from the down draft.  He quickly drags Cora into the cavity so she can breathe easier and to give her some protection from the heat and flames, there’s enough room that she can stand without ducking, not hunched over like himself.  He can feel her coughing hard as her smoke-filled lungs tainted with wolfsbane and mountain ash receive a burst of clean air.

With a grunt, Peter breaks the smoke shelf off giving him a better line of sight up the brick flue.  The orange glow of the fire from the floors above is distracting, but not so much that he can’t see the pale yellow glimmer of stars when he dials up his vision to see beyond the chimney’s narrow confines.  He doesn’t need to reach for the stars to escape though, just to the ground floor will do and then he can break through the chimney wall to the outside.  Stretching awkwardly, there’s just enough room for him to pull his fist back and punch into the ash pit of the ground floor fireplace directly above them.  

Peter chokes and spits as the ash and dust drops onto him with a heavy thump as he widens the opening, rubble falling and surrounding his feet.  Cora maybe a pup, but she’s smart and not lacking in balls.  She shrugs off his scorched leather jacket that hangs off her small frame to move the debris without him asking, so he won’t stumble as he clears the way above them.  When he’s done, Peter hauls Cora into his side.   Turning her tear-stained panting face to his he growls above the fierce roar of the fire. 

“Climb onto my back and don’t you dare let go.” 

Choking from the dust, she gives him a thumbs up before wrapping her thin arms and small hands tightly around his throat.  With Cora secured Peter begins to climb.  The pain of her touch is indescribable and it’s not just the burns, as an unbonded Sentinel he’s been increasingly aware that he’s less and less tolerant of others touching him. 

Over recent months it’s physically gone from minor irritation of his skin to actually hurting him and as a wolf it’s been wearing him thin mentally not being able to seek out his pack mates for comfort through scent and touch.  The only ease he’s found is sometimes with Cora, strangely for a non-Guide her scent had been more refreshing to his senses recently, but it’s mainly with Derek, a latent Guide, that he’s comfortable enough to touch.  Not that he’s been getting so much as a pat on the back lately as the usually sweet-natured teenager has been surly and secretive and avoiding him as much as possible when he’s been home from “negotiations”. 

As he climbs he stretches out his senses to locate the Hunters surrounding the house, his hearing able to pick out thumping rapid heartbeats and cruel laughter all too easily.   Is it the pain and grief causing such confusion to his senses?  When the wards broke, the links he and Talia had to them as Alpha and Left Hand had warned of an army breeching them and entering their territory, but now…his senses are telling him there’s only a handful of strangers surrounding their house.  Not enough to warrant the full-scale evacuation of the pack. 

It doesn’t make sense.  How did they break the wards which are at the furthest points of their territory, miles out from the house, and yet when the pack immediately tried to escape the hunters are already in place with their murderous trap?  It’s not possible, they should’ve had at least a couple of minutes to get out before they arrived and a wolf let alone a Sentinel should’ve heard them and smelled them too.  For all their incredible senses and magical warding somehow, someway they got blindsided.

He doesn’t have time to puzzle it out though.  Reaching through his bond links, Peter hopes to feel more than he suspects are actually left to gather the strength to do what he needs to.  Inwardly wincing at the losses, the few bonds that remain aren’t enough for him to hold onto his sanity, his reason, even though one of those bonds is now Pack Alpha it’s still not enough.  Peter lets go of his iron control and allows his senses to scatter wildly and succumbs to the sweet release of a Sentinel feral drive with an ease that should concern him, but doesn’t.  This is all that’s left, the only answer.

A handful of Hunters or an army…it doesn’t matter.   With a feral drive he knows he won’t stop, won’t give into the agony of his burnt carcass until Cora is safe and those responsible for the murder of his pack have paid in kind, with blood and pain and death.  Peter welcomes the familiar ache in his gums and fingertips as his fangs and claws emerge to their fullest extent only to freeze as an unearthly screech rings loud in his head.  It’s entwined with a wolf howl that he recognises as belonging to Grey and a young voice crying out brokenly. 

“Help him Faro, please.”

Even cracking with anguish, that voice makes both wolf and man sit up to attention.  For one moment he’s tempted beyond all reason to find the owner of it instead, to find the sobbing boy imploring someone or something to “hold on”, but a wolfsbane infused cloud of choking smoke slams into his face again and the evidence of Hunter treachery is too much to ignore. 

The Sentinel and wolf creed to protect the pack no longer applies, leaving only Peter’s hunger for vengeance.

The world slips away and only madness remains.

NOW

Stiles Stilinski looked across the parking lot to the little crowd of students waiting near the yellow school bus and felt the contents of his stomach curdle.  Which was a shame really, considering his Dad had gotten up super early and whipped up his special occasion banana and choc chip pancakes for them both this morning.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” 

Dragging his gaze away to meet his Dad’s concerned eyes, Stiles notes the flare of his nostrils as he scents the air between them and forces a grin while nonchalantly opening the window to let some fresh air in.  Silently praying it’s enough to dilute whatever’s causing his Dad to frown so severely and maybe settle his own wildly flip-flopping belly too.

“Yeah of course.  Who wouldn’t want to be trapped on a bus with Coach and a bunch of high schoolers for the next 11 to 12 hours?”  He grimaces.  “Name calling, inane stories that go off in weird tangents, strange smells and that’s just Finstock.”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably as his Dad turns towards him in his seat, the thoughtful regard in his expression is something Stiles is all too familiar with and it always makes him nervous as hell.  What makes him even more nervous is his Dad flicking the switch on the dash for the SUV’s White Noise Generator so they can’t be overheard.

“You know you don’t have to go…Deaton’s offer is-”

“I’d rather not think about what Deaton’s offering if it’s all the same with you.  He’s made it quite clear he doesn’t think I should go.”   Stiles’ eyes dart from the green ‘on’ light of the White Noise Generator to the group standing by the bus and back to his Dad as he sighs and closes his window again.

“Stiles.”  His Dad has that same pained look on his face when he gave him ‘THE TALK’ a few years back and it makes him cringe inside.  Please God no, he can’t go through that again.  “Bonds can be platonic.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know that, but I don’t want...I don’t think-” Stiles squirms trying to find the right words which has never ever, ever been a problem before in his whole life.

“Dad, Deaton’s a level 5.  What’s a Sentinel that powerful wanting with a Guide that broke down and burned out when he came online and registers as a level 1, maybe a level 2 on a good day?”  Sucking in a ragged breath, he forges on.  “It’s weird, I don’t get why he’s so persistent when there’s no way he could ground his senses on me.”

“Forgiveness.  Closure…I really don’t know.  Maybe you remind him of his sister, she was his conservator so they were real close or just maybe he thinks you’re a pretty great kid who’s had some really bad luck.  You’re not dormant and you have needs as a Guide that he may be able to satisfy and while he maybe a Level 5 Sentinel he’s also a Druid, his control has always struck me as pretty damn impressive.”  His Dad’s face has gone pale and instantly drawn and Stiles curses himself for bringing up that fucked up day he came online.  He personally can’t remember it at all, but he knows his Dad has vivid awful memories. 

“Great.  Thanks Dad, so either I remind him of his dead sister or I’d be some charity case for him.”  Stiles bites out, looking down at his clenched fists.  He does feel sorry for Deaton tragically losing his sister in a fall on a hiking trip, absolutely-he’s not that much of an asshole, but pity isn’t a foundation for bonding in either direction.  “Bonded for life to someone 30 years older than me because they feel sorry for me is not what I was hoping for and don’t tell me you don’t have a problem with the age difference either.”

When his Dad doesn’t say anything, Stiles lifts his gaze to find him staring at him blankly, but before he can even start to worry that his Dad is inexplicably zoning out, it’s over in an instant and...there’s the eye twitch he was hoping for, letting him know that his Dad isn’t 100% sold on the idea either.  Kudos to his Dad though, he bounces back pretty quickly.

“Look that came out wrong, I meant that Marin was a strong Guide and smart too and it’s not charity wanting to help others.  He’s the director of the regional Centre-”

“Part-time.  The rest of it he’s the local vet for God’s sake and before that he was Emissary for the Hale pack and look how well that turned out.”  Stiles snipes, annoyed that his Dad seems to be giving Deaton extra credit for simply holding the position, particularly as there wasn’t a huge Sentinel and Guide population in Beacon Hills, not anymore.  The Hale house arson attack had sent shockwaves through the psionic plane with the deaths of the Hale Pack, a pack bloodline rich in Guides, and the resultant scarring to the psionic landscape of Beacon Hills made it a less than desirable location for Sentinels and Guides to settle down.  Newcomers were rare and if they did come they were more than likely supernaturals drawn to the nemeton, which seemed to counter the effect of that scarring if they also happened to be Sentinels or Guides as well.

His Dad rolls his eyes. 

“Okay.  So, he’s a part-time director, that doesn’t mean his mandate to protect the Sentinels and Guides of Beacon Hills is any lesser.  He promised your Mom before she…before she passed-”  His Dad’s voice thickens as he swallows hard.  “-to oversee your care and development as a Guide and I know you’ve refused to let him retest you the past couple of years, but Stiles I think it hurts him to know that he’s not been able to really help you recover what you lost.  Maybe he thought that this was a way for you to secure what you do have - to stay local, near the Pride, near family and friends and receive the benefits of bonded status without having to endure a Sentinel search which you might find…distressing.” 

Slumping down in his seat, Stiles really hates it when his Dad is reasonable and sorta makes sense.  What he’s really saying is Deaton wants to protect him from the inevitable failure of a Sentinel search for someone rating as low as he does.  

Stiles isn’t naive, he knows the stats.  Level 1 and 2 Guides are 85% less likely to match with a Sentinel – even a low ranking one.  For the majority of these Guides it’s not an issue, the powerful urge to bond simply isn’t there as they don’t have the strength or high sensitivity in their empathic abilities that requires a Sentinel to shield them. 

If they do have the bonding urge even with limited abilities, as Stiles does, just getting a Sentinel’s interest if their name appears on a potential match search would be nearly impossible considering Sentinels are naturally drawn to Guides of the same level or higher than their own.   A Sentinel can jump a few levels if they bond with a higher level Guide, for some it’s satisfying the innate need they have to protect the tribe to the best of their abilities and others it’s all about the prestige.  When it comes down to it, Sentinels and Guides are still human and still subject to all the strengths and weaknesses of character that the rest of humanity has and who doesn’t want to be the best. 

So unless a miracle occurs and he just happens to literally bump into his perfect match Sentinel on the roadside writing him up for a speeding ticket, ‘a la’ his Mom on her post-College road trip, then his best chance is to go through the S&G Centre matching system because he’s really not that lucky. It’s not impossible he tells himself and hopes to God that’s true, because this drive for a Sentinel, it’s not just a want for Stiles, something instinctive tells him it’s an absolute necessity.  The pressure of that instinct had only grown as he’d gone through puberty, pushing him to know more.

In Stiles’ records, that he’d ‘acquired’ through not totally legit means – meaning he owed Danny his first born child or at the very least a kidney for such a huge favour - Deaton had speculated that without the catastrophic psionic event that was the Hale House fire that had rocked the West Coast and stricken so many members of the local S&G community there had been every indication that he would have been a mid to high level Guide if he’d been able to develop normally.  During the trauma of the fire, Sentinels went feral and many Guides went into empathic shock at feeling the pain and fear of the pack, their suffering projected by so many injured and dying Guides, while others came online for the first time.  At 10 years old Stiles was the youngest to come online and one of several that broke unable to shield properly under the onslaught.  Some of those others had died.    

Sometimes he wishes he’d never been that curious to go digging and know what he could’ve been.  Sometimes he wishes that Deaton was wrong and that he’d always been this way.  He doesn’t doubt the man though, not when only a few years prior to the fire the Druid had been the first to recognise Stiles’ spark before he came online for what it was and not the ADHD that he’d been diagnosed with, allowing him to go off the meds he’d had to endure for so long. 

What’s worse than reading his record is he can still vividly recall the sympathetic pat on the shoulder Deaton gave him after all the tests he’d run after his breakdown had come back at the ridiculously lower end of the scale due to his empathic abilities being severely damaged – ‘unstable and inconsistent’ were the actual words the vet had used to describe them along with ‘instances of high-level ability that disappointingly are so brief and infrequent as to be negligible’.

Ironically, it was only due to Deaton’s training and nurturing of his spark in the years before the fire that had undoubtedly saved his mind and his life.  It had latched onto his Guide abilities during the backlash before it and most everything else was burned out or warped by coming online so young and so horribly and of all the damned remnants to be left with, the powerful urge to bond was one of them.  Could he satisfy that need with Deaton, a level 5 Sentinel?

Even if the bonding was successful with the disparity in their levels, whenever he tries to picture being bonded to the older Sentinel it makes him shudder - living their life together with Deaton so rarely projecting his emotions it would be so very calm and predictable and boring as batshit, even sex would be…ewww.  Jesus, would he call him Mr Stilinski in bed too.

That was a step too far he tells his too vivid imagination, but it’s too late.  Bad enough picturing a platonic bond, but what if Deaton wasn’t asexual as Stiles had always thought, what if he wanted to…and Stiles was still a virgin…and no, just no.  No to a platonic bonded life of celibacy and a HELL NO to the other thing that he is in no way ever in this lifetime going to think of again.

Is he pathetic for dreaming of someone to slot in that gaping empty space he feels inside and not just out of pity or convenience?  Yes, says the cruel voice of doubt in the back of his head.

“I guess, but I’m sick of arguing about this with him and with you.”  Stiles finally answers, rubbing his suddenly damp palms up and down his thighs.  “I don’t care if it blows up in my face, I need to try.  I don’t want a platonic bond Dad.  I want my Sentinel, the one just for me and I want them to feel the same about me, that it only matters that we’re together.”

Stiles ducks his head, studying his hands intently - embarrassed by revealing something so private, knowing that his Dad can hear the lie in the pitch of his voice, the uptick in his heartbeat and can scent it from the sweat and pheromones on his skin.  He does care, he fucking cares so much it hurts.

“I know I can be a bit much sometimes…and…and if I somehow manage to get a match-” Stiles gnaws on his unsteady lower lip.  “What if they…what if they meet me and don’t want me?”  He shakily blurts out his worst fear.  Much as he’d love to dwell in self-delusion he can’t ignore that he struggles to fit in, struggles to connect with people and is more likely to annoy or irritate than befriend no matter how hard he tries.

“Oh kid.  If they don’t want you they weren’t the right one to start with.  If it happens you’ll know, they’ll know.  It’ll work out.”  While his Dad’s smile is reassuring, his eyes are still worried.

Stiles nods wanting to believe it so bad, but his Dad doesn’t know about the reputation he’s garnered at school.  The words that follow him around that he ignores and pretends not to hear and sometimes the ones he shrugs off that are said straight to his face because he promised his Dad he wouldn’t get into any more fights unless it’s in self-defence.  He doesn’t get why some people think they have the right to call him strange or feral or freak because they feel something they don’t understand when they’re around him, not like with other Guides.  

Other Guides draw people to them with their natural sensuality, he’s felt it himself, the soothing warmth of another Guide’s aura like stepping into a hot bath or the heavy lassitude after a deep tissue massage.  His isn’t like that, at least from what he’s been told, it’s wild and chaotic, abrasive rather than soothing and just plain wrong.  He blows out a long breath.  That’s the very least of his differences to other Guides. 

“There’s something more worrying you though, I’ve felt it for a while and I was hoping you’d come and talk to me about it.”  Stiles winces guiltily, as his Dad draws him in close.  With skin contact he can pick up his Dad’s emotional tone swiftly changing from worry and anger to a sad aching hurt.  He presses back into the warm broad palm that cups the nape of his neck and soaks up the comfort of that touch, lets himself wallow in that familiar calm strength.

“I thought maybe you’d started having nightmares again.”  Stiles flinches, swallowing hard as an image of the burning man flashes through his mind.  He shrugs in response to the gentle squeeze of his neck trying to choose his words carefully and not let slip that they never really stopped.

“Sometimes.”  He settles on, trying to sound offhand, but isn’t sure he pulls it off entirely when his Dad tsks in disapproval.

“But, that’s not all is it?”  His Dad frowns, puzzled and Stiles recognises that look – the one where his Dad is working through the evidence to find the truth.  Sheriff John Stilinski looks out through the windscreen to the parking lot.

“I know Whittemore’s kid is going and he likes to give you a hard time, I’ve been tempted to talk to him about his boy’s attitude, but I know you’d hate that.  If he keeps going on like he has though I can’t promise I won’t…I’m just glad Scott’s going too so you won’t be alone.” 

Stiles can’t help but stiffen at the mention of his best friend’s name.  He wondered could he even call him that now.  What did you call someone who you’d once been so close to that you’d pinky-sworn to be each other’s bonded at age 7 and now ten years later were practically estranged?

It’s been a year since one Allison Argent had walked into their classroom and Stiles had felt the feather-light brush of her empathy sweep over the room’s occupants and known that life was never going to be the same again.  Of course he was happy that his best bud had found his Guide and to be honest, Stiles had thought Scott was punching above his weight because Allison was the whole package not only as a Guide, but as a person too.  Strong, kind and gorgeous.  Part of him kinda didn’t blame Scotty for forgetting about him as his bond developed with Allison, but another part was sad and angry that his so-called best friend had so easily left him behind.

Other Sentinels and Guides who bonded didn’t seem to have a problem with keeping up friendships once they’d transitioned out of their nesting period, unlike Scott who couldn’t seem to answer his phone when Stiles called, he was lucky to get an infrequent text every now and then.  What burned him more than anything though was how Jackass Whittemore seemed to not have a problem in keeping up his bro-ship with Danny after bonding with his Guide.  Yet, with one loaned pen to his Guide, Scott had turned away from him and never seemed to look back.

It sucked and he wasn’t jealous.  Not really…well not much anyway, because Scott and Allison were perfect together.  It just made him wish for something he wasn’t sure he would ever have, his own Sentinel, one made just for him.

“Is everything okay between you and Scott?  Now I think about it, I’ve not seen him around much lately.” 

Stiles shrugs and forces a lightness he isn’t anywhere close to feeling in his tone and a tightening of his shielding so he didn’t project his emotions all over his Dad, which was a possibility even with his limited empathic abilities simply due to proximity.  He didn’t want his Dad to worry about him, he’d done that too much over the years as it was.

“Nah Dad, you know what it’s like for us teenagers.  Even without Allison in the picture now, there’s school and homework, lacrosse training and Scotty’s working for Deaton too at the clinic…there’s just not enough time in the day.  But, you know I still see him at school.”  It was true Stiles tells himself sternly.  He definitely saw Scott in class and by the lockers and over at the ‘cool kids’ table during lunch.  That they didn’t really talk anymore apart from Scott’s occasional carelessly tossed ‘Hi’ in his direction made his chest hurt to think about and he had to quash that feeling hard so his heartbeat didn’t kick out of rhythm and give him away. 

At least Scott’s spirit guide, Josh, would still come and see him.  Sometimes he’d wake in the morning to the river otter propped up on the pillow next to his head, whiskers twitching wildly as he chittered and whistled in his ear, which was kinda like talking to his ex-bestie he supposed. He just had to believe it.  Believe it and forget about the sad look Josh would give him before he disappeared like he knew that his Sentinel was breaking Stiles’ heart.  Not surprisingly, those were the days that Scott seemed to go out of his way to avoid him the most, but then he was one of the rare online Sentinels in Beacon Hills that were able to actively communicate with their spirit guides and he didn’t know what Josh said to him he just knew the look on Scott’s face was the one where he’d just been kicked in the teeth.

His Dad maybe a widowed Alpha Sentinel and his senses blunted by the loss of Stiles’ Mom and her Guide abilities, but he wasn’t by any means dormant – he could still pick a lie quicker than any Sentinel Stiles knew.

“Uh huh.” 

Swallowing hard at his Dad’s neutral ‘I know bullshit when I hear it’ tone, Stiles doesn’t even attempt to stare his Dad down, just waits patiently until Caleb abruptly leans in between the front seats from the rear where he’s been listening and head butts him affectionately.  Stiles laughs and threads his fingers through the lion’s thick mane to give him a good scratch under his massive chin, the tension easing out of his shoulders as he does.                                                                                

“You’ll miss me won’t you?”  Stiles asks, expecting the soft chuffing sound of agreement from his father’s spirit guide, but not the gruff ‘yes’ from his Dad.

“I know you said you wanted to do this yourself, but what if I take a couple of days emergency leave.  You, me and Caleb...we could drive up to Cascade together and meet the bus at the hotel, no hormonal teenage Sentinels and Guides trapped in a tin can.  Whaddya say?  Wanna take a road trip with your old man?” 

Stiles tries to picture it and damn if it didn’t sound perfect.  He’s so tempted and his mouth is half-open ready to agree when the crackle of the Police radio band interrupts his thoughts.  Hearing his Dad curse under his breath as he answers the call makes him feel marginally better as he mentally waves farewell to the idea of a family road trip. 

His Dad’s a Sentinel, but above all that he’s a good man first.  To protect the tribe was an imperative that Stiles thought his Dad would’ve possessed even if he wasn’t one.  It’s enough to see the apology in his Dad’s faded blue eyes as he finishes talking to Lorraine in Dispatch and feel the nuzzling warm fur from Caleb’s vigorous cheek rub to know that they were disappointed too.

“I guess I’ll see you on Friday.”  Stiles offers his Dad an easy out. “No junk food old man and if you’re out in the field you take Parrish with you in case you zone out.”  He warns sternly.  The junk food he’d let slide if his Dad lapsed, but he wouldn’t be so forgiving of him not having a conservator Guide to back him up on the job.   Not that he really thought it would be an issue as his Dad seemed to enjoy Parrish’s company.  Stiles suspected it was mainly because the other Guide didn’t flap around his Dad trying to ground the ‘poor widowed Sentinel’ like some other Guides tried to.  It didn’t hurt that he was pretty easy on the eyes too.

“Yeah, yeah.”  His Dad replies.  “Good luck with the testing son, just be careful okay.  Remember what Deaton said – there’s people and organizations out there that would take advantage or worse if they knew about the side-effects of the backlash and at your level you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.”  Stiles winces, the truth is brutal and his Dad gives him the courtesy of not lessening it in any way.  Nodding in agreement, Stiles returns his hug fiercely before slipping out of the SUV and dragging his duffel bag with him. 

The curdling in his stomach intensifies at the reminder of what they were doing here at God-forsaken o’clock in the morning, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon.  Each year the High School in conjunction with the local prides and Beacon Hills S&G Centre arranged for all latent and online Senior students to visit Cascade, Washington for education, training and extensive sensory or empathic level testing beyond what they receive at their local Centre.  It was also the first official match search for those that had not already found their Sentinel or Guide ‘organically’, whatever the hell that meant, or as Stiles liked to think ‘for those that had not met and instantly bonded over the fresh produce at the local farmer’s market’.

The S&G centre in Cascade was the first to be run by the Sentinel and Guide Council in the US, starkly different to the previous bleak and forbidding ESU (Enhanced Senses Unit) ones created back during the Cold War era under the joint-jurisdiction of the Federal Departments of Justice and Defence.  The ESU may be defunct now, but there were still other similar ‘take advantage’ organizations his Dad and Deaton worried about that gave him the heebie jeebies thinking about what could potentially happen to him if he slipped up.  Covert experimentation and forced bonding had still occurred after the Supreme Court’s ruling on the emancipation of Guides fifty years ago and even to this day there were still those who thought of Guides as little more than slaves who should be immediately removed from their families after coming online and forcibly paired with an ‘appropriate’ Sentinel for the greater good.

It wasn’t until Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg had taken that old ruling and basically shoved it up the asses of those bigoted dicks when another Sentinel had been blatantly presented to Sandburg as a better option just prior to their bonding that real change began.  Ellison and Sandburg’s primal reaction to the interference had sent a shockwave across the country and Sentinels and Guides had responded to their Alpha Primes call with such an unprecedented level of unified calculated aggression socially, financially and martially against the ESUs that the President had stepped in and shut them down before the government collapsed.   

Alpha Prime Sentinel Jim Ellison and Alpha Prime Guide Blair Sandburg had dragged the United States into the 21st Century and beyond, away from the outdated and biased treatment of Sentinels and Guides that unfortunately still persisted to this day around the world.  The S&G centres that they established were run very differently to the old ESU’s, the testing and training they conducted was always done with the best interests of the individual Sentinels or Guides that attended rather than the organization or the State.

The data coming out of the centres had shown a drastic reduction in the number of zone outs for Sentinels and empathic blow outs in Guides proving that when Sentinels and Guides were allowed to choose and bond on their own, the pairings were frequently more effective and powerful.  Sandburg’s last published paper that Stiles had read a number of times, theorized that the mythology of soulmates throughout history originated from Sentinels and Guides bonding with their perfect chosen match.  Suicide had been very rarely given as the cause of death for Sentinels and Guides who were force bonded in the past, considered to be impossible due to the instinctual imperatives of ‘serve and protect the tribe’, however, the number of in the line of duty or ‘accidental’ deaths for Sentinels and Guides plummeted to record lows too.

It was all so affirming and empowering it made Stiles really proud to be a Guide, even one as low level as himself, to believe he could make a difference to the tribe.  He was so conflicted, he ached with the wanting of it.  Of them, his Sentinel.  His soulmate.  Yet, another part of him was anxious and scared, because at the moment he had hope and could keep going on those dreams, but if the Cascade Centre confirmed that he didn’t have a match, the thought of carrying this cold empty space inside him for the rest of his life was frighteningly bleak.

“I’ll be careful.”  Stiles promises, shaking off those dark thoughts and giving his Dad a sloppy salute, relieved to see the affectionate eye roll his Dad makes as he waves back.  He watches him drive away with Caleb’s massive maned head sticking out the passenger window to roar a last goodbye and extract a promise to call as soon as they arrive in Cascade. 

“Yeah, careful.  Right.”  Stiles mutters under his breath as he shores up his shielding once again and walks towards the bus.  It doesn’t escape his notice that of the small group of students only a couple acknowledge his approach.  Facing him is the new girl Kira with a beaming smile and a rapidly waving hand that makes it look like she’s about to achieve lift off and Danny with a tilt of the chin that he interprets as a friendly s’up. 

Jackson looks momentarily startled when he turns and sees him, but quickly recovers, smirking maliciously at having his favourite target in range.

“What are you doing here Stilinski?  I didn’t think they could register Guide levels as low as yours.”   

“Or Sentinel egos as big as yours, but still here we are.”  Stiles snaps back, startled by a throaty laugh from behind him.  Turning his head slightly he can see a couple of students he recognises from shared classes.  Erica Reyes stands protectively in front of Vernon Boyd’s bulkier frame which in turn hides Isaac Lahey’s lithe one.  The blonde-haired Guide peeks out from behind Boyd and meets his eyes briefly before turning away, his shoulders hunching over defensively. 

“Whittemore’s ego is all his own, don’t taint the rest of us Sentinels.”  Erica’s mischievous grin is infectious and he can’t help but smile back when she flicks her long golden curls over her shoulder and winks at him. 

He’s pleased to see she doesn’t look as washed out and hollow-eyed as usual, when he thinks about it he realises it’s been a while since her last seizure so it looks like her medication is finally working.  Sentinel Onset Epilepsy thankfully isn’t common, but Erica’s is a particularly severe case.  The neurological switch in all Sentinels that allows them to enhance their senses will shutdown when overloaded and in most Sentinels causing them to zone out.  With S.O. Epilepsy when that same neurological switch is overloaded they don’t shutdown, their nervous system fires up, looping the stimuli to their senses and sending them into deadly continuous seizures. 

“Don’t worry Stiles you won’t have time to miss your Dad, they’ll take one look at you and see you for the loser you are and send you home.”  Jackson snarls, before turning on Erica, Boyd and Isaac.  “And maybe you’ll have some company too.”

“Hey.”  Stiles snaps outraged, frowning at Scott who yells out simultaneously “Enough Jackson”.  Apparently, when it’s not Stiles being picked on, Scott hears and sees everything, and remembers he’s a Sentinel.  Not that Erica needs defending.

“Fuck off.”  Erica scowls fiercely, flipping Jackson the bird.

“Jackson.”  Danny gets up close, practically chest to chest, and in Jackson’s face when the other Sentinel starts to move towards Stiles and the others, fists clenched aggressively.  He’s distantly aware that Kira steps in close to his side.  “Keep it together.  Protect the Guide.  Protect the tribe.”

“You don’t get it Danny, he doesn’t deserve to be here.  You remember in 4th grade he was all ‘I’m so powerful’ and ‘look at my spirit animal’ and it was a rock.  A dumb sparkly rock he probably found in his backyard.”  Jackson snarls angrily, dark scales appearing in a rippling wave from his temple and down his cheek to his jaw, eyes turning yellow and the round pupils stretching and elongating into distinct black slits.

Stiles grinds his teeth, remembering the warmth of Faro’s jewel-like scarlet shell against his fingertips, how it would sit perfectly in the curve of his palm.  In all the research he’s done over the years he’s never heard of a spirit animal appearing that was ‘unhatched’ even if they’re born that way in reality, so he gets why Jackson thinks he was lying even though it grates.  Once upon a time they used to be close, it’s hard to believe it now listening to his distorted point of view.

“No I don’t remember it that way at all.  What I do remember is you telling me you thought Stiles was special, that he was your Guide even though you were both latent and if you think Stiles’ spirit animal was merely a ‘dumb sparkly rock’ then maybe you’re not the intelligent, amazing Sentinel that you keep telling us you are.”  Danny says sternly.  Stiles blinks rapidly, Danny’s always been one of the nicest guys in school, but still this support is unexpected as is his insight considering latent Guides rarely have presented spirit animals.

But, what surprises him even more is Jackson admitting his feelings about Stiles to anyone, even his best friend.  He remembers 9 year old Jackson, shyly offering to let Stiles play with his brand new Spiderman action figure if Stiles would promise to be his Guide.  It’d taken two teachers to separate them after Stiles had refused, ever loyal to Scott, and with all the tact his 9 year old self had, leaving Stiles with a bloody nose and Jackson with a black eye and an enmity that remained to this day.

The scales on Jackson’s face recede slightly as a furious blush stains his high cheekbones.  “Well I was wrong…obviously, who would want that freak?” 

“I would.”  The calm cool voice says seemingly out of nowhere and both Stiles and Jackson jerk around to look at Matt Daehler in surprise because where the heck did he come from and seriously what the fuck with the backing him up too.  Jackson’s quicker to recover. 

“I get your crush on Allison, totally understandable, but a fake-Guide this time round, that I don’t get at all.”  He mocks, only Matt doesn’t react, not even a twitch, just stares implacably at Jackson until he gives in with a shrug and turns on Stiles.  “Watch out Stilinski our resident Sentinel stalker’s got you in his sights.”

Stiles winces.  Everyone knows about Matt’s obsession with Allison, even after she and Scott had bonded, the other Sentinel even going so far as to say it had been a mistake and that she was actually his Guide as he was stronger than Scott which was perilously close to bond interference even if it was technically correct.  Much as Stiles had a sneaking sympathy for Matt and his loner ways after being isolated himself recently from his peers, there’s something about him lately that’s had Stiles avoiding him as much as possible.  There’s a speculative gleam in Matt’s eyes when he sees him that makes Stiles uncomfortable way more than the fact he knows his Dad had to step in and speak to Matt’s parents about his borderline stalking behaviours over Allison in his official capacity. 

Last he’d heard was that he was receiving ethics classes and counselling at the local S&G centre with Deaton, maybe he’s trying to do better, be better.  On that thought he shoots a small smile of encouragement in his direction and has to force himself not to step back at the intensity of the look he receives in return that makes him feel like Clarisse to Matt’s Hannibal Lecter, as though the other boy’s figuring out how to open him up and find out what makes him tick with a side serving of fava beans and a nice Chianti.

“Jackson.”  Danny says his friend’s name again in such a way that the other boy freezes, mouth open ready to attack again, and it draws Stiles’ attention away from Matt’s uncomfortable gaze.  He can clearly see in Danny the Alpha Sentinel that sometimes gets masked by his easy going nature.

Stiles warily watches Lydia who’s turned away from her conversation with Allison and been listening intently.  Sentinels and Guides are insanely protective and possessive of their bonded mates and as a bonded Banshee, Lydia’s been known to eviscerate perceived threats with her tongue.  Thankfully, that weapon seems to be aimed at her Sentinel this time. 

“Enough Jackson, we’ve talked about this.  Leave him alone.”

Jackson backs down almost instantly not willing to incur his Guide’s wrath on the same scale as the one and only time when he’d called Stiles a ranker, the slur given to those Sentinels and Guides on the lower end of the recognised testing levels.  It had truly been a sight to see of Lydia turning her fury onto the other boy leaving Stiles confused at feeling both scared and strangely aroused by the other Guide.  Jackson mutters under his breath, but Stiles figures if Lydia’s ignoring that then he will too.

“Now what’s this about a rock?”  Lydia asks Stiles, one eyebrow raised speculatively.  “What kind of rock?”

“A big none of your business one.”  Stiles is grateful a pout from her lush lips no longer seems to have an effect on him, time and proximity had diminished his crush on the other Guide, although he still appreciates her sharp mind and her abilities.  “And stop that.”

Stiles mentally pushes back in annoyance at Lydia’s probing scan of his shield and she staggers awkwardly, eyes wide in shock.  Wincing, he hadn’t expected that considering Lydia is the strongest Guide at Beacon Hills High, some rumours even suggesting she’s a Shadow Guide - a rumour partially substantiated by the local centre sponsoring her in the rare gifted training program at the Sacramento S&G Centre. 

It’s a common misconception among the general population that all Guides can read minds, it’s emotions and intentions that most Guides can scan and read, but a Shadow Guide can catch a stray thought from people’s minds, including other Sentinels and Guides by covertly skimming over their minds like a fishing trawler with a big-ass psychic net.  Maybe the rumour mill is wrong or maybe he just caught her off-guard, but the relentless pecking at his shield like a little bird had been driving him insane.  He’s surprised that she wasn’t more subtle.

“What did you do asshole?” Jackson hisses as he steadies his Guide.  Lydia gripping his hand, her fingers sliding over his knuckles soothingly and the tension in Jackson’s body eases a notch or two.  Whatever communication is happening between the two of them has the last lingering Kanima scales sink back beneath the surface of Jackson’s skin, leaving his complexion as perfect and unblemished as per usual.

“I’m sorry Stiles, it was unintentional.”  The deathly silence that follows tells Stiles he hadn’t imagined it.  Lydia Martin had actually apologised to him.  In front of other people even.  Good golly, the world must be ending.

“Unintentional in that you didn’t mean to do it or you didn’t intend for me to notice?”  Her cheeks pinken, they both know that her control over her abilities is good enough not to slip and scan unintentionally.  Good enough that he shouldn’t have felt it either, not from a level 5 Guide, but then maybe as so frequently happens people take his low rating to mean he doesn’t have any ability at all and just don’t put the effort into shielding themselves when he’s around. 

“Apology accepted, just don’t do it again.”  Stiles murmurs, shifting uneasily as he realises that Lydia is examining him even more thoughtfully than before.

“Damn, I didn’t know you could do that.”  Erica says to her.

“Apologise?”  Lydia questions, a small frown appearing between her eyebrows.

“Nah, be human.” 

“I have my moments of weakness like anybody.”  Lydia smirks and Erica laughs.

“I like you.”  Erica sounds surprised to admit it.  “-him not so much.”  Erica points towards Jackson who sneers, but it’s only a half-hearted effort from what Stiles can see having been on the receiving end too many times to count.

“Bilinski, glad you could make it.”  Coach Finstock descends the bus steps, waving his clipboard wildly in the air forcing Isaac to duck.  “Now that we’re all here we need to celebrate, as this is a record number of Sentinels and Guides that we’re sending to Cascade this year…so woohoo.”  He pulls out a party popper from his jacket pocket, tugging on the string until it gives a muffled pop, but it fails to open.  With a disappointed sigh he shakes it before giving up and slipping it back into his pocket.

Coach gestures towards the group.  “It’s time to go over the rules ladies and gentlemen.  Only couples that have fully bonded will be permitted to share a room during our stay.  That’s Martin and Whittemore, Argent and McCall.  You can get on.” Finstock shoos them to the bus door.

There’s a few groans and complaints, mainly from Erica who winks at Stiles as she leers at an annoyingly smug Boyd, that has Coach blowing his whistle over the top of them. 

“Everyone else gets to share a room assigned by me, no thanks necessary.  Let me be very clear, I don’t care if you’re in the pre-bond stage, that means you Reyes and Boyd, or if you’re simply the horrible hormonal teenagers I know you are - there will be no late night visits, no room swapping, no parties, no orgies or Satanic rituals.  If I hear the horrified bleat of a single goat, the deviants responsible will find themselves sent home at their own expense.”

They’re an odd number of Guides so one of them will have to be allocated a room on their own, Stiles mentally crosses his fingers, shifting nervously wondering if he’s going to be partnered with someone and whether he’ll be able to keep his nightmares in check, otherwise he’ll be in for a few sleepless nights.

“When I call out your name and your room mates, you can board the bus.”  He starts with the Sentinels, which are perfectly balanced in numbers and genders, territorial instincts are not as strong or developed in unbonded teens allowing them to share space reasonably well.

“Erica Reyes and Kira Yukimura…Danny Mahealani and Matt Daehler.”  

“And for the Guides, Vernon Boyd and-”  Stiles holds his breath.  “-good God, is there a first name in that jumble, we’ll go with Bilinski.  Isaac Lahey you’re on your own.”

Stiles releases his breath.  Of course it couldn’t go his way.  He can’t help but notice that Isaac doesn’t look particularly pleased either being on his own, but the other Guide tends to hang out a lot with Erica and Boyd so he probably wanted to share with Boyd.

Maybe tonight he won’t dream or maybe he’ll have one of those rare ones without the burning man, the ones were he’s flying over forests and mountains not of lush greens rather weirdly in hues of blue, strong and powerful in body and mind.  Complete.  But, as his Mom used to say ‘if wishes were horses yada yada’. 

He misses her so much, her and Jem, his Mom’s spirit animal.  They could always make him feel better, his Mom always knowing what to say and the black crow gently grooming his hair with her beak when he was upset or hurting.  It was a soothing ritual and she would steal away any loose strands to line a nest that Stiles never saw, presuming it was hidden somewhere else maybe even on the psionic plane itself.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Stiles takes the first step up onto the bus and stops dead.  On the top step stands a huge grey wolf staring intently at him.  Stiles knows each and every spirit animal around Beacon Hills and has an agreement that unless it’s an emergency they’d contact him in private.  He doesn’t know this wolf, doesn’t recognise the dark charcoal grey fur threaded through with a lighter tone giving it a distinct salt and pepper effect. 

The driver he’s bonded to looks kinda familiar, but he can’t think from where unless it’s ‘The Simpsons’, ‘cause he kinda looks like Otto the bus driver with his long dark curls tucked beneath a beat-up red cap and wearing a faded ‘Grateful Dead’ t-shirt.  The guy stares back at him with one eyebrow quirked in curiosity over the top of his John Lennon-type sunglasses and Stiles realises he knows.  He knows what Stiles is seeing and fear pulses through him with every beat of his heart. 

“You okay kid?”  The driver asks gently and Stiles feels himself relax.  Unlike Lydia’s all-too obvious probe at his shield, this guy doesn’t so much probe as wrap his own shielding around Stiles’ like a warm blanket.  It’s pure comfort and reassurance, nothing else.  No negative or harmful intentions.  He doesn’t think the guy realises that he can feel him doing it, almost like it’s a reflex to soothe and protect.  Glancing down the aisle he can see that the others aren’t paying any attention to them or in particular to the driver and Stiles wonders how the hell they’re not sensing how powerful this Guide is even without seeing his spirit animal.

“Move it Bilinski.”  Finstock barks from behind him making him jump.  Head whipping around he sees Coach gesturing impatiently for him to get going, when he turns back the wolf is gone.

Shuffling onto the bus he can feel the driver watching him as he talks quietly to Coach.  He picks out a seat, shoving his bag under it.  He rests his back against the window and lets his legs sprawl across the length of the seat making it quite clear that he doesn’t want anyone sitting next to him, not that he thinks it’ll really be a problem.  Pulling out his phone, he pretends to be reading something when all he can do is think about the guy who is clearly more than a driver.

The wolf is such a strongly driven pack animal with a natural affinity for psionic energy that a Guide with a recognised Wolf spirit animal usually indicates they are uncommonly powerful, at the top of the S&G grading system at level 6 powerful and sometimes even ‘undetermined’ when they’re so strong that they can’t be rated.  They’re very rare amongst the general S&G community, more common amongst born werewolf Guides and some Shamans, he’s never even heard of a Sentinel with one.  The equivalent in rarity for a level 6 and above Sentinel would be a lion spirit guide with their pride instincts and highly attuned earthly senses, warriors at heart and protectors during peace.  His Dad’s a prime example.

The driver’s not a werewolf though, Stiles can sense that, he remembers sharing a few classes with Cora Hale before the fire and the wild ‘otherness’ that oozed from her every pore and this guy doesn’t have that at all.  

So what the hell is a Shaman Wolf Guide doing driving a school bus for a handful of teenagers?

Chapter Text

Bring me to life - Evanescence

After many hours on the road and a couple of pit stops, it’s on the final stretch to Cascade that Kira gathers enough balls to come and sit on the same seat as him while he’s been gazing out the window, distracting himself with the mystery of the bus driver.  A mystery that so far doesn’t look like being solved with no further sighting of the wolf and at each stop the driver is the first one off the bus hiding himself away with his phone in hand, only to reappear when they’re ready to move on.  He’s not said another word to Stiles throughout the course of the day, but every so often Stiles can see him looking at him via the mirror above the bus door and even from that distance he can see the interest and curiosity on the man’s face. 

So a distraction from the distraction is more than welcome and he’s been aware of Kira starting to approach him throughout the day before abruptly aborting each time so he’s kinda curious as to what she has to say.

“Hey.”  She says quietly, a lot of the others have dozed off in their seats with the motion of the moving bus and the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine.  Her fingers pluck nervously at the ornate belt she wears, a clear favourite as he doesn’t recall seeing her without it.  “Stiles Stilinski, right?”

“Yep.  Kira Yukimura-”  He pauses for half a beat.  “-right?”

Yeah, like they didn’t know who each other was.  Most Sentinels and Guides are aware of each other whether bonded or not.  The amused smile she gives him then is dazzling like a little ray of sunshine smacking him in the face.  It’s damn near contagious and he finds himself smiling back.

“So Kira Yukimura, what can I do for ya?”  Stiles shifts slightly in his seat, creating a bit of space between them as he turns towards her.  Making sure he holds her gaze.

“Nothing really.”  Kira shakes her head.  “You just have a nice vibe, I like it.”

Stiles can feel his eyes widen in surprise, just to be sure he has to ask.  “Moi?”

“Yeah you.”  Kira snickers behind her hand at what surely has to be pure astonishment on his face.  “I’m just going to bask in it for a while.”

Stiles can only look at her in disbelief, certain that this must be some kind of cruel joke only he’s not picking up any sense of a lie, nothing malicious.  Weakened empathic pathways in his brain or not, the words in a lie can still scrape against the inside of his skull like nails on a blackboard. 

“That’s not what most people say about my ‘vibe’.”  Stiles hooks his fingers in the air for emphasis.  “In fact what most people say about it isn’t fit for polite company.”  He finishes primly.

“Most people are jerks and my spirit animal’s been most insistent that we meet.  She says you can see her…she says you’re her Lord.”  A flush of pink stains her high cheekbones as she says it.   At that statement, Stiles’ mouth drops open not sure what surprises him out of those sentences the most.

“Please don’t call me that.”  Stiles shakes his head, he’s not comfortable with the title although the majority of spirit guides insist on using it even if they can’t or won’t explain why.  The most he can get out of them is that it isn’t in mockery which was his first thought on hearing it. 

“How long’s it been?”   Stiles asks, grimacing at his badly worded question.  “Since you first saw her?”   He qualifies.

Kira frowns so hard her eyebrows nearly meet at the bridge of her nose.  “Well…not straight away.  I’ve been online for about a year, but I only started to see her when we first got to Beacon Hills about a month ago.  Why?”

“Curious.  It’s just that not many can these days.  May I?”  Stiles waits for Kira and her spirit guide’s consent, letting out a long breath when they both nod and he’s finally able to let his gaze drop to the space between them.  Holding out his hand, the beautiful red fox that sits there quivers in excitement as she leans in close so she can nuzzle it. 

“My Lord.”  Her whiskers twitch wildly as she scents his hand before extending a black furred paw to shake it.  “I am Raeden.”

“It’s an honour Raeden, please call me Stiles.” 

It’s so nice to be able to acknowledge a spirit guide in front of their Sentinel or Guide without coming across as a lunatic.  He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s been caught out apparently talking to himself or ducking and weaving out of the way of seemingly nothing which certainly never helped his reputation.   Kira beams, happy and proud at their exchange, reminding him of their conversation.

“And then there’s some that don’t want to see.”  He adds roughly.  Kira looks gratifyingly horrified, her fingers threading through the thicker ruff at the fox’s neck, offering and seeking comfort through the touch. 

“Why?  Raeden is-”  She shakes her head, pity in her eyes for those unknown Sentinels and Guides.  “Raeden’s amazing.”

“We’re in a ‘modern’ age where science can tell us about the genes in our DNA that make us Sentinels and Guides, it’s neat and sterile, maybe some of us can’t deal with a mystical connection to something more primal or spiritual as well.”  Stiles has had a long time to think on why there’s such a small percentage of Sentinels and Guides that actively interact with their spirit guides now as compared to the past.  He’s grateful that his own parents were within that minority group, so that he was used to interacting with them from a baby.   “That and I think many people are uncomfortable thinking of spirit guides as being our own personal ‘Jiminy Crickets’ and that they hold us accountable for our thoughts and actions.”

Raeden snorts derisively.  Her red tail curling around her body the white tip resting on her paws, the black tail curling on the other side so that its red tip meets the white.

“Yeah yeah I know, dumbasses.”  Stiles agrees and Kira snickers in amusement.  “They’re called spirit guides for a reason - advisors, mentors maybe, but they’re not an additional conscience for Sentinels and Guides they’re as individual as we are and let me tell you I’ve met a few that are real jerks too.”

“I’m so glad I have her with me.  My coming online was a shock for my parents, particularly for my Mom.”  Kira waves her hand at herself, her eyes flash a stunning burnt orange colour.  “I’m a Kitsune like she is and I’m a Sentinel from my Dad’s side, there’s not been one in his family for generations so they weren’t expecting it at all.”

“Raeden makes sense then, a fox for a fox.” 

Kira claps her hands in delight.  “You know about Kitsunes?”

“In some cases a spirit guide is a reflection of ourselves…and the two tails were a bit of a giveaway.”  Stiles shrugs modestly.  “Gotta keep up around Beacon Hills, the nemeton draws lots of supernatural beings to the area.”

“My Mom’s a 9 tail Kitsune-”  Kira sighs heavily.  “She’s kinda freaking out a bit to be honest because I should have at least one tail by now.”

“What do you call them?”  Stiles points to Raeden’s tails.  Kira’s nose crinkles in confusion.  “Kitsunes can create physical representations of their tails on this plane to keep them safe, right?”

“Yes.  My Mom has nine kaiken, but…”  Kira shrugs and Stiles can see she’s still not understanding where he’s going with this.

“Raeden has two tails because one is hers and one is yours.”  Stiles nods encouragingly at Kira’s suddenly wide-eyed look.  “No disrespect to your Mom, but she’s not a Sentinel – you are, so who else would you entrust with something so integral to who you are as a Kitsune?”

“Oh.  Like you said I thought it was merely a reflection, not…not…”  She turns her face away and Stiles can see her hand is shaking as she holds it to her mouth, not wanting to embarrass her he looks down at the floor as he reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes gently.

Eventually Kira turns to him with glistening eyes, but her smile is warm.  “Thank you.”

Stiles squeezes her shoulder once more feeling a wave of contentment from her before letting his hand slip away.  They sit quietly for a few miles thinking their own thoughts, with Raeden settling down curled between them, her muzzle buried in the thick bush of her twin tails, pointed ears flicking back and forth. 

“Why do I feel so comfortable around you?”  Kira eventually asks.  “And Raeden never takes to other people, but the first moment we saw you she wanted to meet you.”

Stiles shrugs.  “Honestly, I don’t know.  I’m not the strongest Guide and you’re a 4 pushing into 5 territory, so it’s not a compatibility thing.”

“You can tell that?”  Kira stares at him wide-eyed and Stiles mentally curses at the slip.  Deaton and his Dad had drummed it into him not to reveal certain abilities that he possessed, primarily to instinctually recognise another Sentinel or Guide’s level at first sight with pinpoint accuracy.  The potential for abuse of that ability was frightening, there’s no way he wanted to be some sort of psionic level detector for anyone.  He’d definitely gotten way too comfortable talking to her.

Sighing, he closes his eyes for a moment trying to think before opening them again.  There’s something about Kira that makes him trust her…a lot.  The question then is does he trust in his own instincts that tells him he can confide in her.

“Yes, but please don’t tell anyone.  I…they-”  Stiles feels something warm and wet on his hand and looks down at his lap to see Raeden nudging at his hand encouragingly with her nose.  She’s a spirit guide in animal form, but it feels more real and grounding to Stiles right now than anything else does.  It always has.  Stiles’ connections with spirit guides have always been stronger and more profound than with anyone or anything else aside from his family and he huffs out a sigh.

 “People think I’m weird enough as it is.”

“Stop saying that, you’re not weird you’re just you.”  Kira insists vehemently.   “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to.  I don’t care about that bullshit about levels, but I know some people take that stuff way seriously, anyway if you were my Guide it wouldn’t stop me from making a move.”  Kira waggles her eyebrows and it looks so ridiculous that Stiles snorts even as something inside him flutters wildly until she says disappointedly.  “But, we both know I’m not your Sentinel.”

Reluctantly Stiles nods in agreement, because he can tell that Kira’s pretty amazing and being her Guide would be a joy, but she doesn’t fit in that hollow place inside him. 

Incredibly, her very pretty face brightens.  “I can be your friend though.”

Her smile falters as Stiles can feel his face contort as he struggles to know what to say. 

“You may have noticed, I don’t have many of those…and the one person I did think I could count on…”  Stiles trails off, flicking a glance back to where Scott sits with Allison, both of them dozing, her head on his shoulder.  “Turned out he wasn’t the friend I thought he was.”

Kira cranes her neck as she stares back at the bonded couple, before turning back after a few seconds.  “Huh.  I met Scott at the local Pride gathering last week, he seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, that’s Scottie.  He is a nice guy, don’t get me wrong…”  Stiles tries to figure out how to describe the alienation he feels from his best friend.  His brother from another mother.  “He just doesn’t want to be around me lately like most everyone else.”

Kira chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she listens.  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

She nods her head vigorously at his eye roll. 

“Maybe you’re too close to it all, but believe me as a newbie to the school and with my Dad teaching there too, the first thing I checked out is the dynamics of the canteen to ensure my survival.”  Kira says seriously and Stiles laughs because it sounds so ridiculous.

“The ‘dynamics of the canteen’.”  Stiles snorts, shaking his head.  “You’re making that up.”

“No I’m not, it’s a thing, seriously.”  Kira insists.  “If it was middle school or lower it would be the ‘dynamics of the schoolyard’, but this is high school.  You sit back and simply observe all the interactions in the canteen or lunchroom over a few days and you can quickly determine who are the strongest, the weakest, the isolated and the exiled.”

It kinda makes sense he reluctantly supposes.  “So I’m exiled?”

Kira gives him a weird look.  “Not that I saw, but your feelings and perceptions are your own.  What I saw is you sitting by yourself at lunch and giving out some major ‘fuck off’ vibes choosing to isolate yourself.  Why do you think the rest of us Sentinels and Guides sit at the surrounding tables?”

“What?  What did you say?”  He hisses, the implication stripping him of manners.  Lunch is one of the most traumatic parts of his day and to be told that he’s the cause really pisses him off.  Not that he could say exactly where the others sat because his sole focus is usually on Scott.  He’d shifted a couple of times because he couldn’t bear to see Scott so blatantly ignoring him with his new circle of friends which included Jackson, Lydia and Danny, but each time he had, they’d somehow followed and ended up on the table nearest to where he was sitting, so he’d given up trying to get away thinking that sometime soon they’d get bored of their game.  They hadn’t so far.  

“I don’t know what you think’s going on, but I can tell you that the rest of them couldn’t give a damn about me and if they do it’s only because I’m a freak.”

“Seriously stop it.  You’re not a freak.”  Kira practically growls in outrage and sparks flash in her eyes slowly starting to swallow up the pupil and whiten them out. 

“Hey, hey…chill Kira.”  Stiles holds up his hands making a gentling motion like she’s a spooked horse or something.  The white slowly disappears leaving only the burnt orange of her kitsune side as she breathes harshly and Stiles can only look on in amazement that someone feels so strongly on his behalf.

“I haven’t got a clue why you feel so right to me when you’re not my Guide, but there it is.  You feel right to Raeden and you feel right to me…even though there’s times when you’re really hard to get a fix on.  Like I can’t sense you at all unless I can see you and I think that’s half the reason why the others hang around you during lunch because unconsciously they need to see you to register you on their senses.”

“I think-”  Stiles begins, ready to lash out at the reminder he’s not her Guide or possibly anyone’s, when he takes a deep breath and lets his fingers smooth over Raeden’s soft red fur, the fox making a worried chirring sound.  All he can sense of Kira through her spirit guide is worry and concern, even some fear that she’s offended him and it deflates him entirely. 

“I think I could do with a couple of new friends.”

The tension in Kira’s shoulders eases and he can see the relief in her eyes which are back to normal, wide and dark. 

“I’d like that.”  She says softly.

“We’d like that.”  Raeden sits up putting her dainty black paws on Stiles’ thigh so she can reach up and nuzzle his throat and ear, he smiles at the tickle.  Whatever else happens on this trip he’s gained some new friends, whether that will still be the case if Kira finds her Guide he’ll have to wait and see, but for the moment he lets himself enjoy not being alone.

The burning man’s rising into the abyss, into the dark limitless space, his screams filled with as much rage as pain and as loud as the first time he heard them, and Stiles is in freefall behind him.  He’s dreaming and as per usual he’s fully conscious of it –aware that while this part of him is thinking and feeling in sharp clarity there is another part of him, elsewhere, that sleeps and as always it fucks him up entirely.

This dream is not like the other dreams he has of flying, this is a frightening out of control plunge only gravity is backwards so he’s going up, his limbs flailing wildly as he struggles to make sense of it.  It feels like falling and soaring all at the same time, like his body is going to tear apart. 

The black that surrounds them is thick and heavy, cloying like it wants to suck him in and never let go.  It’s harder to resist than it’s ever been and Stiles feels like he’s stretched dangerously thin.  The only light is from the burning man himself, half his body aflame, and from above him Stiles can just make out a huge shadowy shape using the powerful sweep of its wings to stop the burning man’s rapid ascent towards a distant light. 

It’s to that light, composed of many woven threads, that the burning man strives towards with every sinew of his body and something tells Stiles that if he reaches it, that light will take him and never let him go.  Waves of agony roll over him, an emotional storm of guilt, grief and sorrow mixed with a fierce determination that borders on maddening obsession.  Stiles doesn’t know what’s worse, the nightmare itself or the intense feelings that the injured man’s broadcasting so strongly it feels like a tsunami of emotion is crashing over him and he knows that this man wants to die.

“STOP.”  He yells.  He’s so absolutely done with everything and to his complete surprise he slams abruptly to a dead stop, like hitting a brick wall face first with not even a bungy cord bounce of give.  “No more, you hear.  No more of this.  Give up if you want to, but leave me the fuck out of it because I want to live.”  He shakes his head.  “I’m going to live.  My Sentinel’s out there and I haven’t even met them yet, so fuck you very much.”  It’s so cold he can see the white puffs of air that leaves his mouth with every word.

The silence waits.  There’s not a sound, not even of his breathing which should be fast and laboured in his ears with the way his chest is moving, harsh ragged breaths in and out.  There should be, but there’s nothing. 

Out of nowhere something touches him making him yell and flail wildly in surprise. 

Fur.  It’s fur brushing against his arm, thick and soft, the fleeting touch of it is like nothing he’s ever felt before.  The feeling it invokes is indescribable, it’s breathtaking and strangely familiar.  Spinning round and round he looks for the cause and there’s nothing, just endless darkness. 

“Wait.  Come back.  Please.”

The howl of a wolf rings in his ears, demanding attention, not his though he realises as the burning man falters for the first time ever.   Stiles holds his breath as the man slowly turns his head to look back over his shoulder towards Stiles, flames haloing his head and yet all he can see are eyes that are red and burning too.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath ready to scream when something heavy drops onto his belly and all the air he’d dragged into his body goes out in a quick painful rush.  Eyes watering, lungs starving of oxygen he gasps over and over, curling into his body.  Lying there shivering, he tries to calm his racing heart only to feel it quicken when he hears someone say his name. 

Blinking rapidly, Stiles is able to see that he’s in the hotel room he and Boyd had been assigned when they arrived in Cascade and he’s not alone.

Kira’s perched on the edge of the bed next to him in a raw silk robe embroidered with a cherry blossom design and Stiles would almost think it was the start of a really inappropriate dream about his new friend if her dark brown eyes weren’t so wide and anxious, one hand hovering over him uncertainly the other gripping the familiar belt buckle slung low on her waist which oddly reminds him of his Dad’s stance when he’s wearing his gun belt.  She’s the one who’s been calling his name. 

Raeden’s beside Kira, glaring at Thomas who is trying for disdain, but going by the guilty twitch of his whiskers and the way his short grey-blue fur is ruffled he’s the culprit that just knocked the wind out of him.  Lately, it seems every chance he gets the elegant Russian Blue feline makes a beeline for Stiles’ lap to curl up on, not that Stiles minds considering what Thomas had put himself through recently by coming to the physical plane before he was ready, but usually he gets some warning so he can shield his emotions. 

Presley grunts his concern as he holds Stiles’ hand that’s dangling over the edge of the bed delicately between his broad paws, the dark fur between the thick pads tickling his palm.  The Giant Panda is easily dwarfed by Junebug who takes up all the floor space between the two beds and then some, the 800 Pound Grizzly Bear’s moans sound particularly mournful. 

“Stop that now.  I’m not dying.”  Stiles says as firmly as he can through his wheezing.  If he doesn’t put a stop to it right now Junebug will take it upon herself to shadow his every move to make sure he’s alright and if she does the rest will too and while most people can’t see animal spirits, he can and it’s both amazingly comforting and incredibly distracting being in a room with animals straight out of the wild all trying to get his attention.  “It was a bad dream.  Okay.  That’s all.”

“That’s all.”  Junebug snorts, shaking her massive head vigorously from side to side, worry making her drawl higher and stronger.  “Sugar, you did not just say that.  You humans are so fragile, what if it was an aneurysm?”

“It wasn’t an aneurysm, if it was I wouldn’t be talking to you now I’d be dead.”  Stiles curses his wayward tongue as Junebug moans mournfully again.

“Really, I’m not lying, it was a dream.”  Stiles says more gently.  “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”  Junebug gives him a baleful look at that comment before huffing and he knows that he’s off the hook, at least with her as she reaches out and pats the top of his head.  Stiles strokes his free hand over Presley’s paws affectionately and he hears a sharply drawn breath from the other side of the room and the Giant Panda releases him instantly.  Pushing himself up, Stiles props up a couple of pillows and shimmies awkwardly back, because as ever Thomas is determined not to move from the comfort of his lap.  It’s only when he’s settled that he dares to look at Kira’s face.

“Sorry I woke you too.”  He mumbles, wondering if this will change her mind about his ‘freak’ status or not and curses himself for having fallen asleep when he’d resolved to stay awake and stop exactly this from happening, but when Boyd had glared at him disturbed by the light emitted from his phone he’d switched it off and lying in the dark he’d succumbed all too easily to sleep.

Kira smiles, glancing around at the spirit animals in wonder and her hand reaches out and finds his.  Her thumb rubbing over his chilled skin, ignoring all protocols about touching a Guide uninvited she holds on tight and that contact tells him everything.  The concern in that touch sends warmth shooting through his chest even as it troubles him that so far their friendship has been very lopsided with the amount of worry and care that she’s had for him in such a short amount of time.

“It must have been a very bad dream.  I woke up feeling that something was very wrong.  Erica could feel it too and we met Isaac in the corridor.”  Kira tilts her head towards the other side of the room and Stiles braces himself as he looks in that direction.

Erica, Boyd and Isaac are standing on the far side of the queen bed that Boyd had claimed staring at him.  Well maybe not at him he thinks when he sees that their eyes are wide and fixed on the spirit guides.  Dressed only in boxers, Boyd’s rubbing his impressive bare chest absent-mindedly as goose bumps visibly ripple across his smooth brown skin, probably feeling the brief connection they had when Presley was holding his hand.  This is why it’s considered such bad manners to touch someone else’s spirit animal without permission, with no preparation it can result in an empathic bleed of emotion to filter through to their Sentinel or Guide. 

On the whole he’s been quite respectful of that in his dealings with the spirit guides in Beacon Hills, but some of them are quite insistent, wanting him to physically interact with them in some way.  Then there are some that he’s compelled to give whatever comfort he can regardless of etiquette.  They are the spirits tied to the sick, the injured and dying, the grieving and even worse the Sentinels and Guides that forget, ignore or corrupt and debase their born role to serve and protect the tribe. 

Some of them he’s encouraged to retreat, to return to the psionic plane and recover which puts their Sentinel or Guide into dormancy - sometimes permanently, but Stiles had no sympathy for them when confronted with the condition of their spirit guides.  The conscious intent in thought or deed that could harm the tribe by those Sentinels or Guides would make their spirit animals so very sick and weak if they fought the corruption.

He’s only witnessed one spirit Guide not just retreat, but fade completely and the memory makes him heartsick at the loss.  A Guide who’d gone insane at the death of his Sentinel, completely repudiating everything that made them a Guide, including his spirit Guide.  The rejected possum spirit had somehow managed to find him at school and in an empty classroom Stiles had cradled the weakened spirit in his arms offering what little comfort he could until he faded away forever leaving only the brand of his little paw that had rested on his cheek behind.  There are some days he thinks he can still feel it.

“Stiles, where…”  Erica shakes her head as though to clear it, her curly blonde mane pulled up into a pony tail swishing wildly.  “Where did all these animals come from?”

And at that question Stiles starts to laugh.  Helplessly, uncontrollably he laughs and laughs until the tears are streaming down his cheeks.  Erica’s huff of annoyance just makes it worse and the wordless shrug that Boyd gives when she elbows him and waves her hand towards Stiles as though to say ‘what the fuck’s this’ near enough has him hyperventilating.

It’s only Thomas’s yowl that pulls Stiles out of his dark amusement, the unease coming through the cat from Isaac reminds him that the other Guide is still sensitive to extremes of emotion having only recently come online.  Admittedly, Isaac’s face is paler than normal.

“Ah…sorry about that.”  He manages to collect himself.  “You were asking where all these animals came from?”

Erica cocks her hip and folds her arms, snapping belligerently.  “That’s right.  A simple question considering we all got woken up by your ‘bad dream’.”

The snarky effect’s somewhat lost when wearing cotton pyjamas with little pink unicorns on them and that underlying the annoyance that pours off her in waves is worry edged with fear, but flicking a glance at the clock on the bedside table in between the beds he does feel a little guilty considering it’s 3.30 in the morning.

“Sorry, sorry okay.  All right then, you asked.  They came from you.”  Sensing her confusion, Stiles points at Boyd and Isaac as well.  “And you, and you.”

There’s a moment of silence, the room holding its breath.

“They’re our spirit animals.”  Boyd says, the deeper pitch to his voice slightly sleep-roughened.

“What?”  Erica breathes.  “That’s…that’s-”  Stiles leans forward slightly, it’s not escaped his notice that the spirit guides are very still, waiting for the reaction of their respective Sentinel and Guides.  “-incredible.  I always hoped, but…you know it’s so rare.”

Junebug bellows happily, picking herself off the floor and lumbering towards Erica to pull her into a hug, her shriek of surprise quickly muffled by the bear’s broad chest.  Boyd’s down on one knee and Stiles has never seen the other boy so animated, clear delight on his face when Presley places both front paws on his Guide’s bent knee to allow them to stare at one another face to face, noses nearly touching.  Thomas leaps from Stiles’ bed to the other, sitting haughtily in front of Isaac who takes an unsteady step backwards, clearly uncomfortable at being close to him. 

Stiles watches the blonde haired boy whose too-long pyjama pants don’t hide the way his toes curl into the carpet seeking to ground himself.  Isaac is similar to him in coming online due to trauma, only he didn’t burn out as a result.  His abusive father locking him in the freezer when it became apparent that Isaac was a latent Guide like his mother who’d left the family when she met her Sentinel and came online.  Traumatic yes, but the way that Isaac’s warily looking at Thomas seemingly without any surprise he thinks that maybe there’s something else going on too.

Crawling out of bed, he pulls out his hoodie from his open duffel bag not just because of the bone-deep cold from his dream, with all these people around he feels a bit awkward and exposed in just his well-worn Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department t-shirt and thin sweatpants.  Tugging it over his head he stands near, but not touching, Isaac and clamps down on his own feelings, not wanting to overwhelm the other boy’s developing empathic sense.  He's always been thankful that he at least has some degree of control in that ability according to Deaton's testing.

“He’s pretty happy to see you.”  Stiles offers, only to wince as Thomas lays on his side and promptly lifts one leg into the air and starts to groom himself disinterestedly, it’s the first time he’s seen the Russian Blue behave so decidedly cat-like.  It could only be worse if he started licking his ass…oh wait…yeah he got there.

“Sure looks like it.”  Isaac glares at Thomas and Stiles.  His fingers plucking at the bottom of his t-shirt restlessly.  “He’s such a jerk.”

Stiles reels slightly in shock at the familiarity.  It doesn’t escape his notice that Thomas has frozen mid-lick at the accusation, his olive green eyes narrowing to slits as he lowers his leg. 

“And you Sir, are a dick.”  Thomas huffs in the rich British accent that always makes Stiles think of the older Professor Xavier from the X-men movies.

“You’ve met then.”  Isaac doesn’t need to answer, Stiles can see it in his face that he’s right.

“You never said he could see you.”  Stiles admonishes Thomas, just as Erica accuses Isaac “You never said you could see a spirit animal.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything.”  Isaac fires back as Thomas daintily lifts one paw and starts licking it to drag it over his ear, ignoring Stiles completely as he grooms himself.  Nobody does passive aggressive like a cat he thinks.

“No you don’t, but they’re so awesome, why wouldn’t you?”  Erica’s curled up in Junebug’s lap, their arms wrapped around each other as she looks at all the animals in the room with wonder.  Even Boyd’s usually stoic expression has slipped as he and Presley sit side by side on the floor leaning back against the bed, there’s an openness and warmth to his features that makes him look younger as he watches the Giant Panda with fascination.

“Why, thank you, thank you very much.” Presley nods in agreement.  “It’s true, we’re pretty awesome.”

“So I’ve heard.”  Isaac’s voice is dripping with such bitterness that Stiles is grateful he’s reinforced his puny shielding because he doesn’t want to know what that feels like.

Thomas sits back on his haunches and for a brief moment there’s something in his face that looks an awful lot like sadness and guilt as he stares at Isaac before he resumes his enigmatic ‘you’re there, I know you’re there, but I’m still ignoring you’ expression.

“Something’s obviously going on between you.  I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure we can talk it out.”  Stiles says optimistically.  “Spirit guides are part of you and not all at the same time, it’s an idea that takes a bit of getting used to.  If you think of them as a lifelong companion, one that will be with you through good times and bad times it might help.”  He doesn’t expect Isaac’s reaction to be so explosive as he rears back violently.

“Bullshit.”  Isaac’s eyes narrow and the bitter angry disappointment he’s projecting is a physical weight and has Boyd launching to his feet, placing his hand on Isaac’s arm before he disturbs the rest of the hotel guests beyond the room’s basic shields.  Immediately, the pressure in the room eases as Boyd bolsters Isaac’s shielding with his own.  “They’re just like everyone else, they abandon you and leave you alone…locked in a freezer, in the dark…screaming.”

Stiles shivers, not only because of Isaac’s suffering, but the image of the burning man of his dreams flashes into his head – screaming in the cold dark.  How alone he must feel.

Kira gasps clearly horrified, new to town she probably hadn’t heard the awful story before and Isaac’s blue eyes bore into hers. 

“There are some parents who don’t want their children to be…different.  As a latent Guide sometimes I knew things that I shouldn’t.  Who was lying, who was being truthful and my father…my father he only hit me once when I called him on a lie and then he panicked that a Sentinel would find out so he kept me home from school for two weeks until the bruising went away, said I had Mono.”

Kira and Erica snarl and growl respectively, their Sentinel instincts firing even though it’s too late to protect Isaac from what he endured.  Isaac becomes so still that Stiles wants to shake him out of whatever memory he’s trapped in, he’s taken half a step towards the other boy when Isaac lifts his gaze from the floor.  Blue eyes dark with remembered pain and fear. 

“So it was yelling and throwing things.  Telling me I was never good enough, a poor excuse for a son, that he shouldn’t have to put up with me.  When he burned my only pictures of Mom and Camden, he laughed.”

Stiles winces in understanding, he knows he’d endure anything to keep his precious photos of his Mom safe.  It seems that now he’s started Isaac can’t stop. 

“An ordinary man who hated my mother for leaving with her Sentinel, despised my brother for enlisting to protect the tribe and never coming home and me…for being here and seeing how awful and twisted he’d become and not being able to hide it.  So he came up with a new way to punish me, a freezer in the basement.”

Panting, Isaac struggles to catch his breath he’s been talking so fast. 

“I came online in that freezer and suddenly you were there with me in the dark, a voice in my ear telling me I wasn’t alone anymore and I believed you, but then you left me like everyone else had.”  Isaac says bleakly to Thomas. 

“I had to.  There was no choice.”  Thomas replies voice breaking, that oh-so proper British accent sounding wrecked.  “I came back as soon as I could.”

“I don’t care if it was 5 minutes or 5 hours, you fucked off and left me behind.”  Isaac rages, before wrapping his arms around himself - rocking from side to side until he stills, fury spent, and Stiles’ chest hurts to see the lines of anger on the other boy’s face are no different to the ones of grief.  “My Dad said I was a poor excuse for a Guide and I didn’t believe him, not until my own spirit animal didn’t want to be with me.”

Thomas gives a gut-wrenching groan and his whiskers tremble. 

“Shit.”  Stiles feels the weight of his secrets suddenly crushing him down and he’s aware that all of the spirit guides, except for Thomas who’s still staring heartbrokenly at Isaac, gather around him.  Touching him, offering him comfort with their presence.  He wishes he could accept it.  “This is my fault.”

They growl their disagreement.  Even Thomas shakes his head at him.  “It is guys and you know it.”

“What do you mean Stiles?  What’s your fault?”  Kira asks.

Isaac sneers.  “Yeah man.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t see you pushing me into that freezer.” 

Stiles winces.  What Isaac’s been through is gutting, even worse is knowing that what the other boy is suffering is due to his decisions and he can’t let that continue.

“Do you know who saved you?”  Stiles asks grimly.  Isaac’s perfect brow creases as he watches and listens warily.

“The Whittemores.”  Isaac says almost reluctantly.  Kira makes an odd choking sound and Isaac shrugs.  “Believe me I know, but they live across the street.  Jackson and his Dad are Sentinels, guess it was bad enough they sensed what was going on that time.”

“No they didn’t know.  Officially, they came because my Dad got a tip off that a Guide was being abused.”  Stiles sighs heavily.  “Thomas came to me for help and I let my Dad know what was going on.  He got the closest Sentinels to you to go in and keep you safe until he could get there.  You were running out of air Isaac, if it wasn’t for Thomas…”  Stiles shakes his head not wanting to think of what could’ve happened.  “He didn’t abandon you Isaac, he got help to you as soon as he could, but he couldn’t tell you the full story because I asked him not to.”

“What?”  Isaac says brokenly.  “Why?  Why would you do that?  All this time I’ve been thinking he left me, that he couldn’t deal with how scared and broken I was and when he came back-”  Isaac shuffles back to lean against the wall and he slowly sinks down to the ground and looks at Thomas grief-stricken.  “You didn’t say a thing.  I told you to go away, to never come back.”

Thomas jumps down from the bed and sits as close as possible to Isaac without touching him.

“I didn’t want to lie to you.  It was easier not to say anything.”  Thomas’s big green eyes fix on Isaac like he’s all that and Stiles can feel his throat tighten with emotion at the pure longing to believe he sees on Isaac’s face and fights the urge to puke at the guilt that rolls sickeningly through his belly.  “It’s true you were scared, but you were never broken.  It is my honour to stand with you if you allow it.” 

“He won’t leave you Isaac, not ever.  He kept it secret because I asked it of him…like I have with every other spirit guide I’ve encountered to not mention my name, to not talk about me if their Sentinel or Guide becomes able to see and hear them.”  Stiles looks down at his shaking hands and wonders how many others have suffered because of his selfish desire for anonymity, to not be a freak.

“How many have you-” Kira waves her hand.  “-encountered?”  Finishes Erica.

Stiles hesitates before shrugging.  “All of them.”

“What?”  Kira croaks weakly.

“I know all the spirit guides throughout Beacon Hills and if I meet a new Sentinel or Guide, online or not, then I can see their spirit animal almost instantly if they’ve made a connection to this plane.”  The words tumble uncontrollably out of his mouth and he can’t believe he’s spilled the beans for the second time in 24 hours after nearly half his life successfully keeping secrets.

“So you’re playing God, choosing who can and can’t see their spirit animals?”  Isaac spits out, looking ready to jump up and clock him until Thomas puts one little paw on his thigh and shakes his head.  All the fight seems to drain out of Isaac and he just looks miserable.

“I can’t make either side do anything.”  Stiles insists vehemently.  “I can only see them and talk to them if they want.  I can’t make a spirit guide appear to their Sentinel or Guide just like I can’t get them to see them if they’re not ready or don’t want it.”

“Who wouldn’t want it?”  Erica asks doubtfully. 

“A lot evidently, considering the number of lonely and desperate spirit guides I see.”  Stiles snaps, feeling suddenly unutterably tired.  Half the fights he’d gotten into with other Sentinels or Guides were due to what he considers abuse of their spirit guide when they were cognizant of their reality, he’d gotten into a couple with non-sensory enhanced people over their treatment of physical earthbound animals too. 

A flash of hurt in Erica’s eyes at his sharp tone has him groaning internally with regret, as her back stiffens and she turns towards Junebug ignoring him entirely. 

“If I knew how it works I would’ve tried to see you before.”  Erica says to Junebug.

“It’s enough that you see me now.” 

Seeing the shared expression of fondness already between the bear and the blonde, he wishes it all could be as easy as that.

“I’m sorry Thomas.”  It sounds lame, but it’s all he has and he means every word.

“Accepted.  You saved us.”  The elegant cat replies instantly.  “No disrespect my Lord, but hiding who you are does not serve you well.”

“Who I am…I don’t even know who that is.  All I know is what I can do and in protecting myself I’ve been hurting all of you.”  Stiles drags his hand over his forehead into his hair and pulls hard trying to think.  “You know what my Dad’s been afraid of, that’s a problem I don’t have an answer to.”

“We would not allow anything to happen to you my Lord.  Your enemies will be left gutted and drowning in their own blood if they try to take you or cause you harm.”  Presley rocks forward grinning fiercely, slashing at the air violently with his paws.

“Umm…thanks.”  Stiles says.  Presley’s cute and cuddly panda exterior belies his bloodthirsty nature which still takes him by surprise sometimes, but the sincerity leaves him no doubt that the Giant Panda would defend him to the end.  The other spirit guides all nod vigorously in agreement and he can see the sudden understanding followed by horror in his classmate’s expressions, the Sentinels instantly on alert at the unspoken threat, even Boyd looks antsy.  If the spirit guides would die to defend him then what else would they do for him if he was taken?  Spy, steal…kill?

Seeming to miss the undercurrent of tension from the group, Isaac’s lip curls in a sneer.  “What about me?  Where’s my apology? You knew my Dad hit me…was abusing me and you did nothing until he almost killed me.”

“What?  No I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie-”

“Isaac, he’s not-”  Boyd begins and Isaac turns on him with such a fierce expression that Erica moves in front of Boyd and Kira takes a step closer to Stiles. 

“You talk to all these spirit animals who are apparently everywhere and you expect me to believe that you didn’t know, my lord.”

Stiles recoils more at the venom in his tone than Isaac’s accusation.  He’s conscious of the vocal growls of disapproval at Isaac’s mocking use of the embarrassing title that they’d given him from the start that has the other boy shuttling across the floor, but it sets fire to the anger and frustration that he’s been keeping banked and he lashes out.

“I never spoke to Thomas before that God awful night.  I’m sorry I didn’t know, I didn’t suspect…you’re wrapped in grief and fear and misery all the time, but you think I should apologise to you too?  Okay, I’m sorry Isaac.  Sorry that you have a shitty Dad, sorry that you were locked in a freezer and that you came online that way-”  

“Stiles.”  Kira says sharply, looking torn and Stiles can smell ozone in the air around her as she reacts to a Guide in distress, whether it’s him or Isaac he’s not a hundred percent sure ‘cause he’s feeling pretty damn distressed right now himself, but he suspects it’s Isaac who is tripping her instincts as he jerks at the lash of Stiles’ every word.

He ignores her disapproval and keeps going.  “-but, most of all I’m very sorry that Thomas had to force himself to this plane to save your self-absorbed ungrateful ass.  You haven’t even thanked him you jerk.”

Isaac flinches.  His cheeks turning fiery red and he lowers his eyes.  Thomas growls at Stiles, low and pissy.

“Yeah, yeah I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole that knows what you went through to force your way from the psionic plane to this one before you were ready.  How much pain you endured for him and yet weak and disorientated and hurting as much as you were, you still found me so you could save him.”  Stiles paces back and forth trying to calm the fiery outrage that burns inside his gut.  “He maybe a Guide, but he’s blind to anyone else’s suffering Thomas, including yours.  That makes him more of a victim than anything he’s endured.”

The sharply indrawn breath catches his attention and he sees that Isaac’s face is white and pinched looking, eyes dark and bleak, and Stiles ignores a flash of guilt at the sight.

“I’m sure you’ll find out for yourselves, that while your bond with your Sentinel or your Guide is important, this is equally so.  Raeden, Junebug, Presley and Thomas are intelligent, sentient beings from another plane of existence.  We call them spirit animals or spirit guides, but what they are is a lifelong companion and they have chosen to be with you, found something in you worthy of having them stand at your side.  It’s an honour that most people don’t get and don’t understand, so be grateful and treat them with the respect they deserve and not like I have.”

Still fuming, Stiles turns and grabs his duffel bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he glares at Isaac daring him to contradict what he says.  “I’m taking your room for tonight.”

“My Lord…Stiles.”  Stiles pauses surprised at her use of his actual name from the usually formal fox.  Raeden leaps to the floor from the bed, darting in front of him her supple red body turning sharply on slender black legs to block his exit, her little pointed face as serious as he’s ever seen it.  “Kira and I will go with you.  You should not be alone.”

Stiles smiles sadly.  “I’m never alone, but maybe I should be.”  He looks at each of the spirits he’s come to know so well over the years and considers friends.  “You call me ‘my lord’ and I’m not worthy of it.  I’ve only been thinking of myself and not the reasons why you’re all looking to me for exactly what I don’t know, but maybe it’s time I figured it out.”

Before he can leave the room, Erica calls his name.

“Stiles, Jerkson said something about your spirit animal…spirit guide.” There’s a gentleness in her tone that he’s not used to from her, nor the perceptiveness when she asks the next question. “Where’s your spirit guide Stiles?”

He doesn’t turn around as he grips the door knob so tightly that his knuckles turn white.  In a voice he doesn’t recognise as his own he answers roughly.

“Burned out of me, like everything else.”  It feels like he’s practically running out of the room, but he doesn’t care, the stunned silence behind him is way too loud.

Chapter Text

When he first hears the voice he thinks it’s his imagination.  It rasps over senses he’d long thought numbed, attuned as they are to searching for his pack, it’s shocking to have them awaken so painfully.  He almost begs the owner of that voice to stop talking, it’s killing him so sweetly, but the thought of not hearing it ever again is even more painful. 

Young, is his first thought.  He strains to hear, drawn to it more than he cares to admit.  They sound so broken demanding he ‘stop’, demanding he let the owner of that strangely appealing voice ‘go’.  His second is that it’s familiar, like a voice from a dream he once had.

Curiosity flickers.  He has no ties, so who would be here in this place with him?  They say the word ‘Sentinel’ with reverence, like it’s something good, something to seek out, but being a Sentinel didn’t save his pack.  He didn’t save his pack.  He slows, but he doesn’t stop.

There’s no stopping.  He’s nothing.  He’s lost everything and all he can do is search the path to where he needs to be, to where the rest of his pack has gone.  He’s simply a hollowed out vessel that no longer feels the pack bonds that had been snuffed out agonisingly one after the other.  The couple that remain are thin and strained, tugging on him every now and then which slows him down with more grief, more guilt.   If he reaches his lost pack and he’s still as hollow and empty then so be it.  He may not have been able to protect them, but he’s avenged them.  He remembers that much.  Remembers being knuckle-deep in blood, hot viscera thickly coating his claws.

It’s a punch to the gut like no other when he feels a touch.  It’s brief, way too brief, the lightest brush against him and the shockwave pulses through and out of him.  He thinks at first it’s simply the connection to another living thing here in the cold, cold dark that sends his whole body into a spasm of need, but the sensation is greater than that, pouring through every part of him and into his very soul.  A hunger burns in his gut, one he’d forgotten even possessing.  He can’t scream, can’t breathe…can’t remember needing to breathe before this, but instinct is pressing him hard to inhale and seek out the scent of this person.  This intruder into his dark ascent.  

“Wait. Come back. Please.” 

He can just barely deny the intruder.   He can’t deny the wolf, not when he hears Grey call to him. Frowning, he realises It’s been a long time since he had.  Which maybe explains the plea in his howl, begging, demanding he listen.

Disorientated.  Reeling.  He looks back over his shoulder and sees the brightest of lights shining.  It’s oh so close and he feels like he could reach out and touch it.  Before he can even think to lift his hand towards it and grab on tight it’s gone.  Streaking away leaving a trail of sparks in its wake.

It’s the sun going down, taking with it all heat and life…or has it.  For the first time in a long time he feels something bloom within that empty space inside him that defines him as Sentinel, something warm, something that feels like it could grow with tenderness and care.  He chokes out a laugh that feels as sharp and hard as broken glass as it bursts from between his lips.  Tenderness and care are not words he would associate with himself, not in the receiving or giving of either. 

For the first time in a long time he craves and it infuriates him.  How dare this person interfere with his search. 

The sparks linger, luring him closer.

Stiles corners Coach, pouring a cup of dark rich aromatic liquid from the coffee pot at the end of the Hotel’s breakfast buffet table.  Before he can even say a word, Finstock holds up his hand in a stop motion before gulping a mouthful down. 

As he waits, Stiles imperceptibly nods at Boomer, Finstock’s spirit animal, that’s crouched at the Guide’s side and the big red kangaroo slowly rises up on his powerful hind legs and tail, a low barking cough in greeting.  The kangaroo doesn’t say much most of the time, maybe it’s because Finstock says more than enough.  Stiles politely coughs back and Coach’s eyes narrow thoughtfully as he savours then swallows the rich brew.  Standing upright, Boomer’s as tall as a man, his broad shoulders and chest clearly defined with muscle which is just as intimidating as the first time Stiles met him.

Finstock sighs blissfully.  “That’s good coffee.  Now, what can I do for you Bilinski?” 

“Aside from call me by the right name for a change because it’s not that hard, I’m just letting you know that I’ve swapped rooms with Isaac.”  Stiles pours his own cup, takes a little sip and gasps at the flavour.  It’s not real coffee, but it’s damn good.  Really good.  By all rights a little dinky hotel like this should be serving the crappier fake stuff, but it’s within walking distance of the S&G Centre so they probably ensure that they have the best approved products for Sentinels and Guides.  Stiles blearily looks at Coach who is just staring at him like he’s been slapped in the face by a dead fish and can’t figure out how it happened.

His ‘give a fuck’ is broken after no sleep at all after leaving the other room in the early hours and he feels tired and cranky and everyone can kiss his sweet, sweet ass if they don’t like it.

Boomer snorts.  “Told ya mate, he’d call ya on it someday.”

Finstock blinks rapidly.  “Okay Bil-…Stilinski.  How come you swapped with Isaac?”

“Nightmares.”  Stiles says bluntly.

Finstock’s face screws up in concern.  “Damn.  Are you okay?” 

“Not Isaac’s.  Mine.”  Stiles corrects belligerently before he realises what Coach has actually said.  Jaw dropping, he can feel his mouth gaping in surprise.  It’s rare that people remember that Stiles might actually have cause for nightmares – Mom dying, burning out from the Hale fire to name a few.  His mouth clicks shut as he nods in answer.

“Okay, I’ll change the room assignments.”  As Stiles goes to turn away Coach continues awkwardly.  “Stilinski, if you ever need to talk…I’m available.  I promise I won’t judge…much…maybe a little bit…okay probably a lot, I’ll be very judgey I can’t help it, but I can promise to listen.  My ears are open wide.”

For the first time that morning, Stiles can feel the tight coil of anxiety and pissiness that’s been sitting in his belly ease and his mouth even does that stretchy thing with the corners tilting up at Finstock’s genuine offer mixed with obvious discomfort. 

“Thanks Coach.  Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.  Lay it on me.”

“Does Alpha Prime Blair Sandburg always moonlight as a bus driver or were we just lucky?”  Stiles watches Finstock’s face closely and he sees surprise quickly followed by approval as the older man starts to grin maniacally. 

With nothing else to distract him and not being able to sleep after his nightmare, an epic session of surfing the net about Shamans had followed.  Common sense dictated starting his research with the nearest known Shaman, the Alpha Prime Guide of the United States.  There were very few pictures of the Primes to be found, the paparazzi not brave enough to test the Alpha Prime Sentinel’s protective instincts for his Guide. The stiffly posed official photo of them he did find was the same that hung on the reception wall of the Beacon Hills S&G Centre, even then he wasn’t a hundred percent sure it was the same man until he managed to find an old one of Blair Sandburg from a Cascade PD Basketball team photo.  In it, the younger version with his long hair unbound and easy smile was clearly the man who’d driven their bus from Beacon Hills to Cascade.  The big scary-looking dude that had his arm draped possessively around Sandburg’s shoulders was his Sentinel, Jim Ellison.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Stilinski.”  Coach leans in close.  “But if that was the case, it’d have to be for a heck of a reason don’t you think?”

Stiles watches the older man as he walks away, picking out a banana as he passes the fruit basket and leaves the room, the big red kangaroo hopping at his side.

“That really didn’t help at all.” Stiles calls after him, snorting when a hand pops back into view at the doorway and waggles the banana in the air like a big yellow smile in farewell.

The only reason he can think of for the US Alpha Prime Guide to have been in such close contact with a bunch of High Schoolers is that it’s to do with someone in their group.  Maybe Danny as a young Alpha Sentinel or Allison as a rare Warrior Guide, both made for war.  But nobody knows Allie’s status apart from Stiles and her spirit guide, Myrina the Snow Leopard, who hasn’t made a public appearance as yet not even to Allison who isn’t ready for it.  In most cases, a Guide with a predatory spirit animal is as fierce and combative in defence of the tribe as any Sentinel, frequently harsher.  For some reason Guides with predatory big cat spirit animals are the most martial of all, some with an enhanced ability to project their empathy across vast areas which makes them very attractive to military and law enforcement.  A Guide that can project fear and doubt to the enemy or confidence and aggression to their own troops into battle is an asset to any Pride.  Even Lydia and Jackson as a Banshee Shadow Guide and Kanima respectively would be particularly attractive to the Intelligence gathering community as would Kira with her Kitsune heritage.

Stiles huffs in annoyance.  These are his people and some of them he actually cares about.  He doesn’t know the answer yet, but he will, of that he’s certain.

Pouting, he turns to the breakfast buffet.  He’s not hungry, but he knows that if he doesn’t have something now he’ll pay for it later on in the day with nausea and the shakes, so he grabs some toast, scrambled eggs and a whole lotta bacon as he juggles his not-coffee cup.  Finding an empty table isn’t too hard at the moment, it’s still early and he’s one of the first from Beacon Hills to enter the dining room, so he sits by the window to look out across the street as it’s slowly revealed by the increasing light of day. 

There’s no one to witness the number of spirit guides that come and greet him and stop to chat as he sits and eats even if they could see them all.  Some he knows well, like Jackson’s chameleon - George, who likes to sit on his shoulder, tongue flickering as he hisses and hoots happily in Stiles’ ear bitchin’ about the accommodation being only 3 star.  The beautiful jewel-like green and blue of his scales reflecting his contentment.  Others, it’s their first greeting and presumably their Sentinels and Guides are guests in the hotel too, Stiles simply asks them to be discreet when around him rather than bind them to promises and vows that as he’s discovered can backfire.

He’s so lost in conversation that he nearly falls out of his chair when his table is suddenly surrounded by his classmates.  Kira sits down next to him with her breakfast plate of bacon and…bacon.  He really likes her a lot, what a shame she’s not his Sentinel because she’s got at least one thing in common with his Dad in her love of pork products.   Erica, Boyd and Isaac sit opposite dropping their plates noisily onto the table as their spirit animals greet him affectionately with pats and nuzzles.  George hisses in annoyance and Stiles covertly nuzzles him gently with his cheek until he settles down and his colour goes from the murky brown of anger and fear to green and blue once more.

“There’s another spirit guide here?”  Boyd asks, half-question half-statement.  Stiles looks around the room at an eagle and a hawk sitting on the light fixtures as they chat, the boa constrictor that’s wrapping itself around a table leg in boredom, the leopard that’s restlessly weaving its way in between the chairs.

“Yeah, you could say that.” 

“No, I mean here.”  Boyd Points to Stiles’ shoulder.  George meets Stiles’ eyes and slowly blinks, his long tongue darting out obnoxiously towards Boyd and missing his nose by a whisker.  Stiles has to bite his lower lip to not snicker wildly as Presley tries to clamber onto the table growling ‘gonna take care of business on your ass’ to George as Boyd struggles to hold him back.  When Boyd’s eyes narrow suspiciously at him, Stiles coughs looking anywhere else than at the other Guide and his vengeful spirit animal.

“You can see-”  Stiles begins to ask, but they shake their heads.  “But, you can see each other’s right?”  His classmates nod vigorously.

“Yeah, but no one else’s.”  Erica rests her chin on her fist, looking thoughtful.  “I was almost afraid to go to sleep, that if I woke up they wouldn’t be there.” 

“Aww sugar, that’s why you couldn’t sleep?  I thought I was going to have to start reading up on insomnia and sleep disorders.”  Junebug drops a great big paw on the top of Erica’s head and rubs affectionately, when she finally stops the Sentinel’s blonde hair has enough static in it to stand on end.

“I’m starting to rethink that.”  Erica says wryly and Stiles can’t help but laugh, not the hysterical kind like earlier that morning, but genuine amusement that has his cheeks hurting.  The rest join in, even Isaac who Stiles notices has pulled another chair up next to his for the little Russian Blue cat to sit on.  Big green eyes blink innocently at him and whatever happened between the two of them after he left the room earlier, he’s pretty sure that Thomas has got his Guide effectively wrapped around his little toe claw now.

“So will we always be able to see them? Each others?”  Erica asks tentatively, the others leaning in closer waiting for his answer like he’s some kind of expert, which he is so not.  Strangely though, Stiles doesn’t have to think about it.

“I think so.  If that’s what they want.”  He says without hesitation.  The sighs of relief around the table are echoed by the yowling, chirring and rumbling of the spirit animals as Stiles tries to explain.  “I’m not the strongest Guide, but it feels to me that there’s a connection between you all now.”

“I don’t think it’s just between us Stiles.”  Boyd says quietly and Stiles looks around the table and sees tension in the hunched up shoulders and a nervous flicker in their eyes almost like…almost like they’re worried what his response will be to the implication.  He’s not used to people valuing his presence or his opinion and he wonders if they’re being influenced by their spirit guides, but then Kira had said his Sentinel and Guide classmates felt the need to be near him in school and last night Kira, Erica and Isaac were compelled to find him, drawn in by his bad dre-….ow ow ow. 

The nip on his earlobe is sharp and firm.  Shocked he looks at George still sitting on his shoulder and he never knew that chameleons could roll their eyes until right now.  The lizard jerks his head towards the rest of the group very clearly telling him to get out of his head and get on with it or he’ll bring out the big guns and having George transform from his small not even a pound chameleon form to his nearly 200 pounds of Komodo dragon one is not something Stiles wants to feel suddenly draped over his shoulder – once was enough.  George is the only spirit animal that he’s aware of that has this ability to shift between two species, having said that though Jackson is the only Kanima Sentinel he knows, maybe it’s completely normal.

“You may be right.”  Stiles agrees, trying to shush them as the table erupts, humans and spirit guides jumping up and squealing – drawing the attention of some of the other tables.  One of which holds the remainder of their tour group.  Jackson appears constipated as he sneers in their direction and Scott has a wistful half-smile on his face while the others look mainly bewildered as to what’s going on.  When they finally settle, Stiles reinforces his shield so there’s no bleed-through to Jackson as George rubs his scaly cheek against Stiles’ chin in farewell. 

“See ya big guy.”  He whispers, smiling at the affectionate hiss he gets in return before the remarkably sensible chameleon disappears.

“Sooo…who were you talking to?”  Erica’s brown eyes are wide and curious. 

Stiles is aware that all of their attention is upon him and he’s okay with it, it strangely feels almost comfortable.  He snags an extra crispy bit of bacon off Kira’s plate to gnaw on, ignoring her outraged ‘Hey’.  All he can sense from the others is curiosity, happiness and what can only be described as a growing sense of hopefulness and it feels good.

“I can’t say.”  Her eyes narrow at his reply.  “All right I won’t say.  Just like I won’t tell anyone about you.  It’s private.”  He waves his hand to encompass the little ragtag group, the spirit animals silently nod in agreement.

“Fair enough.”  Isaac says, making Stiles blink in surprise at his easy acceptance although the curl of his lip makes it clear they’re still a long way from becoming best buds.  Erica pouts, but is soon laughing when Junebug gives her a companionable shoulder bump that nearly knocks her off her chair.

“So does anyone know what we’re up for today?”  Kira asks and the conversation quickly turns to what their first day at the S & G Centre will bring.  Stiles swallows hard for a moment, he’d forgotten what this felt like, to be in the company of friends.  To not be alone.

Looking at the sprawling S&G Centre, a modern building of steel and natural timbers with lots of glass windows and open spaces at the reception area, it’s hard not to feel a little bit intimidated as Finstock gathers them outside near the entrance, even Jackson doesn’t appear anywhere near as cocky as usual.  There are a couple of other small school groups nearby and with all the nerves and anxiety everyone’s generating the air surrounding him is charged, like he could strike sparks if he so much as brushed up against somebody.

When a familiar Siberian Tiger rubs against his leg affectionately as it passes him, nearly knocking him off his feet, Stiles jerks in shock knowing instantly what’s happening and looks towards Danny.  The Alpha Sentinel’s breathing hard, eyes wild, every muscle quivering.  When Stiles sees Jackson reach out to grab his arm worriedly, Stiles barely raises his voice, keeping his tone steady and neutral, knowing that the Sentinel will hear him clearly.

“Jackson, he’s locked onto his Guide.”  Thankfully, either Jackson’s a really good friend to Danny and for once he listens to Stiles or he’s simply remembering his own bonding experience with Lydia, but the other boy simply nods and slowly withdraws his hand.  Any sudden moves could be seen as a threat and trigger a violent response in a Sentinel that’s on the cusp of being bonded.  Silence spreads outwards like a ripple as everyone waits.

From the other side of the entrance, where a new school group’s arrived, a Guide pushes his way through the crowd, stumbling into the open space between them and the Beacon Hills contingent.  The teenager’s strong, Stiles can feel it like an electric current charging the very air around him.

“Ethan.”  A worried voice calls out after him and Stiles has to blink because suddenly there’s two of them, side by side.  Identical twins, well-built and not unattractive ones too, and by what they’re projecting one is a Guide and the other a Sentinel.

“I have to go Aiden.  He’s here.”  The smile he bestows on his brother is dazzling, filled with awe, and it seems he’s not immune to it as he nods in agreement.

“Okay Eth, let’s find your-”  Aiden breaks off because Danny’s slipped through the crowd of Beacon Hills’ students to stand only a couple of metres away staring at the twin Guide like he daren’t look away not even for a moment.

“Guide.”  It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact.  Stiles shivers and he doesn’t think he’s the only Guide who does.  He’s known Danny for a number of years, but he’s never heard him sound like this.  The timbre of his voice has never been this deep, this rich with longing.

“Sentinel.”  Ethan acknowledges, just as clear, just as certain. 

Stiles is holding his breath along with everyone else, when he feels a heavy weight land square between his shoulder blades.  Staggering, he’s held upright by Boyd who looks at him in concern as Stiles gives him a grateful thumbs up that he didn’t face plant in front of everyone. 

The pure black squirrel scrambles onto his shoulder, dark eyes big and wide as he hugs his long bushy tail to his chest anxiously.  Chattering an apology as he rushes to introduce himself, while keeping an eye on his waiting spirit animal match that’s prowling restlessly back and forth. 

“It’s okay.  Go on, your wait’s over.”  Stiles whispers.  Vikal half-bows to him before launching himself off Stiles’ shoulder.  Flaps of furry skin that connects at the wrist down to the ankle has formed a square that catches the air like a hang glider and Stiles realises Vikal isn’t just an ordinary squirrel, but a flying one as he glides down to land safely on Taika’s back.  The huge tiger chuffing happily as the squirrel pats and scratches him around the ears.

“Oh.”  Ethan breathes out, pure wonder in his eyes as he stares at Danny.  “That’s you.  I can feel you.”

“It’s us.”  Danny growls, staring at Ethan so hungrily that the other boy flushes a pretty pink.  Just when it looks like they’re about to combust, Danny starts to move towards his Guide with intent only to turn into a low defensive crouch in front of Ethan when the doors to the Centre slide open automatically and a man walks out.  A man Stiles recognises twice over and feels a prickle of sensation sweep over his skin in reaction. 

In dark jeans and a maroon button down shirt, he’s dressed casually, but not as laid-back as he was driving the bus.  Not a band t-shirt in sight.  His long curly hair is pulled back neatly by a thin leather tie, steel framed glasses in place instead of sunglasses revealing intense blue eyes that seem to be taking everything in with acute interest.  He wonders if any of his classmates know exactly who they’re looking at. 

More than likely not, the US Primes had always avoided the spotlight and as he’d so recently discovered there’s very few images of them circulating.  That combined with the way Sandburg’s not really pinging his senses, he can only think that he’s somehow camouflaging his strength so he doesn’t overwhelm all the little baby Sentinels and Guides.  If this was Hogwarts, Stiles would suspect a notice-me-not charm.

As if he’s aware of Stiles’ scrutiny, the Alpha Prime Guide of the United States, catches his eye and winks before addressing Danny while making sure he gives both Sentinel and Guide enough personal space and not intruding.

“Sentinel.  Do we have your permission to move yourself and your Guide to a safer location?”  The Alpha Prime Guide directs his question towards the Sentinel of the pairing which makes sense considering Danny’s protective instincts would’ve gone into overdrive and his perception of threats to his Guide or to his bonding could make him hypervigilant and exceedingly dangerous.

Danny’s barely glanced at Sandburg, all his attention focused on his prospective Guide, yet when his eyes flick away from Ethan for a split second it’s towards Stiles he looks to.  Not for permission or a reaction he thinks, more like awaiting an acknowledgement.  Not knowing what else to do, Stiles gives the barest dip of his head, hoping that Ethan’s the right one for Danny.  He’s a genuine nice guy and he deserves to be with someone who makes him happy. 

Stiles blinks and then Danny’s nodding silently at Sandburg who leads the pair into the building.  Sentinel and Guide careful not to touch each other and start the bonding process until they reach a secured Bonding Suite.  With the atmosphere slowly returning to normal without the building pressure of an Alpha pair ready to bond, Stiles feels like he’s able to breathe again. 

That’s one of the differences between high level Sentinels and Guides and lower ranked ones, the drive to bond and complete the connection is pure primal instinct.  Sometimes he thinks that he and the other mid to lower level Sentinels and Guides have got the better deal, able to initiate a bond they can take their time to get to know each other first, maybe even become friends before becoming something more and completing it.  Then again, having the time to talk and put his foot in his mouth before even making it to first base would be a serious letdown.

The excited chatter around him steadily gets louder as Finstock gathers them in close, doing a quick headcount.  As they listen to Coach go into an extremely detailed analysis of an Alpha pair bonding, as if they hadn’t been right there anyway, Stiles can feel the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end.  The prickling sensation a warning that he’s being observed, closely.  

Slowly looking back over his shoulder he sees Matt Daehler staring at him with a dark-eyed intensity that’s way creepy, particularly as he doesn’t react to being caught out, he doesn’t turn away, doesn’t lose focus.  Not that he can’t fight his own battles, but Stiles is kinda grateful when Kira steps between them.  She’s too small to block him entirely from view, but her expression is fierce as she glares at the other Sentinel.

The thing about Matt is he’s observant, he watches and he sees things that most others don’t, which makes Stiles wonder what he’s seen around him.  Did he see that brief shared look between himself and Danny?  Or the Alpha Prime Guide of the United States winking at him? There’s something about Matt which makes Stiles uncomfortable, an emptiness of feeling that’s not right, it makes him worry for Matt’s spirit animal, Ares. 

No matter what he thinks of the Sentinel or Guide his relationships with their spirit animals is usually fairly good and he enjoys talking to them and surprisingly Matt’s is one which he has a great rapport with.  When he thinks about how long it’s been since he’s actually talked to the reticulated python he’s ashamed, particularly because when he has glimpsed him at all Ares seems to want to speak to him, but he’s pulled back and Stiles hasn’t pushed waiting for the python to come to him when he’s ready.  Now he’s not sure that was a good idea.

He resolves to speak to Ares as soon as he can to make sure he’s okay and maybe about his Sentinel too.  The last thing he wants is Matt’s focus to be turned onto him and after the other boy’s unexpected defence of him yesterday he’s very concerned that it’s already too late.

When they’re finally allowed to enter the building after Danny and Ethan, Stiles freezes as he crosses the threshold, stumbling forward when he’s pushed from behind by the other twin.

“Come on, move.”  The Sentinel grumbles with a frown.

“Back off.”  Jackson snaps unexpectedly and Stiles wonders if Jackson’s finally met his match as the twin damn near manages to out-sneer him with a vicious lip curl.

“Settle down boys.”  Lydia intervenes and the other boy’s eyes light up with interest as they survey her from top to toe.  “You’re going to have to get along considering your best friend and his brother are bonding as we speak.”

“Unlikely.” 

“Not happening.”  The twin stares at Jackson hard for one moment before turning to Lydia with a more genuine smile.  “I’m Aiden and you are?”

“Unavailable.”  Jackson grinds out.

“And perfectly able to talk for herself.”  Lydia scowls at Jackson and pulls him to one side of the foyer.  For a moment Aidan watches them walk away and there’s something in his expression, a mix of jealousy and longing, that Stiles uncomfortably recognises in himself and he turns away.

“What’s going on?”  Kira whispers and from the look in her eye he knows she’s not talking about the brief clash between Sentinels.  He shrugs not sure how to explain the powerful feeling of awareness that had washed over him when he’d entered the building.  Something or someone was tripping his empathic senses so strongly that he’d not been able to move.  It’s muted, but familiar and the pull of it has him unconsciously walking towards the nearby elevators and he scans the floor directory, his hand lifting beyond his control as his finger traces over the letters.  Medical Centre – Level 2A.

“We’ve got to go.”  Erica says as she joins them and Stiles grits his teeth as he squashes the urge to follow that pull of awareness and reluctantly lets himself be taken by the arm by both female Sentinels and led away.

When they walk into the lecture hall for the general introduction by one of the Centre’s Sentinel and Guide pairs as to what the schedule for the next few days is, spirit animals start popping into view everywhere Stiles looks.  Even when they’re insubstantial the spirit guides are quite adept at getting out of the path of those that can’t see them, but there’s simply so many of them that he has trouble avoiding them and not looking like he’s doing some sort of weird jig in front of everyone.  The bull elephant’s almost the last straw as it nearly skewers him with a long ivory tusk in its excitement to greet him.  Kira takes one look at what must surely be the horrified expression on his face and without actually seeing it, seems to know what’s going on and immediately takes action.

Marching to the front row she hustles some of the other attendees into moving along so that Stiles has the first seat in the middle of the first row right next to the stairs that lead up to the rest of the hall’s seats.  Erica stations herself on the other side of the aisle with Boyd and Isaac while Kira’s on Stiles’ right.  Presley, Junebug, Raeden and Thomas sit on the floor directly in front of them and they chatter, bellow and yowl the newcomers into some sort of order, ensuring that none of them tries to monopolize his attention. 

The seating position allows the spirit guides to file past him, whether it’s creeping and crawling, slinking and slithering, gliding and hovering as they greet him in a steady flow without overwhelming him and giving away his secret.  It’s brilliant and he wraps his arm around Kira’s shoulders to give an appreciative hug and a kiss on the cheek as she blushes looking adorable giving him that dazzling smile that makes him wish for things that he shouldn’t.  With the help of his friends, both human and spirit guide, he’s able to cope and that’s not something he’s been able to say in a long time and eventually the parade ends.

He looks at Junebug cuddling a dozy Presley on her lap like the panda’s her personal teddy bear, Raeden playfully attacking Thomas’s sleekly flicking tail earning herself a very disdainful put-upon look and remembers back when he was a kid.  One of his favourite memories is of Caleb, his Dad’s spirit animal, teaching him to pounce with Jem - his Mom’s crow guide as the bait - after they’d watched ‘The Lion King’ and he feels the sweet sting of a memory that’s both happy and sad. 

Even without a spirit guide of his own, he feels a connection to them all and that connection tells him that the spirit animals are his past, present and his future whatever that may be.  With a new found confidence and energy he turns his attention to the speakers and looks forward to what the day will bring.

Stiles flops wearily onto the bed in his hotel room.  Face half-smushed into the pillow, with an outstretched arm he manages to send a text one handed to his Dad letting him know he’ll call him the next day, he’s simply too tired to think let alone hold an actual conversation.  The whole Beacon Hills group had all seemed to be feeling the same exhaustion as they ate dinner in the Hotel’s restaurant.  Stiles had been grateful that nobody had the energy to talk because he’d been struggling to lift his hand to simply stuff a curly fry in his mouth.  Even all the spirit guides had gone to wherever it is that they go to rest when they’re not on this plane.

The general introduction had been surprisingly short and the way he feels now he knows why.  There’d been so many interviews and tests and scans of his empathy levels that his emotional landscape is flatter than a forgotten half-drunk can of beer.  He had a couple of stumbles, the first when they asked had he seen his spirit animal?  When he’d said no, which is technically correct because he’s pretty sure an egg that looks like a rock – even a pretty sparkly one doesn’t count, more so when he doesn’t know what the “egg” contained - the interview carried on with no further mention of them and he wishes he could mention the flaw in their obvious flow chart of questions, they really should ask ‘have you seen any spirit animal other than a familial one’? 

The second is when the Guide counsellor asked permission to deep scan him, explaining it was to check his empathic pathways and ensure there wasn’t any potential problems for the rest of the testing schedule.  Stiles agreed because what else was he supposed to do, but he’d not really wanted to drop his shielding and let the Guide through.  It’s always felt too fragile, like he was cocooned in a thin layer of glass and one little crack would shatter it exposing him to everyone and everything.  It was terrifying, the thought of being so vulnerable.  Whether it was because of that fear or he really was as broken as everyone said, he simply couldn’t drop his shield much to Guide Monroe’s surprise and rising irritation.  That irritation certainly wasn’t an excuse, as she’d muttered under her breath about a ranker like him wasting her time and how he should be sent home oblivious to the hurt the slur caused him. 

Eventually, she’d called Guide Blake, a level 5, to join them and Stiles could feel it every time they pressed or probed against his shield like an irritating burr prickling and scratching against his psyche.  Their combined blatantly projected disdain and single-minded determination to break through like it was simply a problem to be solved rather than an integral part of Stiles had made him really, really pissed and he’d yelled at them to ‘back off’ shoving it all back at them, hard. 

The Guides had screamed.  Cringing away, faces taut with pain, their spirit animals appearing instantly and he’d recognised the Hyena and the Black Mamba from the conga line greeting earlier.  His temper dissipating almost immediately as they stood defensively in front of their Guides, protecting them from of all things, him.  Instantly apologising had earned him sour disbelieving glares from the Guides, even though his apology wasn’t directed at them, and a nervous laugh from the Hyena and a piercing hiss of relief from the Mamba.  Blake and Monroe had finally let him rejoin the group and he’d fully been expecting some stinging comment from Jackson for taking so long, but the other boy had looked drained, even his usual sneer at Stiles was only at half-strength. 

The ping of his phone interrupts his thoughts which is a relief, a thumbs up emoji from his Dad, and he snickers imagining Caleb, who is way more tech-savvy than his Dad, having to explain to him how to send it.  His jaw cracks as he yawns wide and he closes his eyes for just a minute.

“Who are you?  What are you doing here?”  The voice demands angrily, rough and scratchy from disuse.  Stiles opens his eyes and there’s nothing only a black so pure that it hurts his eyes to keep them open and see nothing, he has to fight the urge to scrunch them up tight and stop the darkness pressing against his eyeballs.  He spins around wildly trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from.

“What the fuck dude.  I told you I’ve had it, stop-”  He falters, swallowing hard as he swings around and finally sees him, just as he was building up to really paying out on him. 

It’s no surprise really.  The burning man is standing directly behind him like in some creepy horror film and Stiles’ hair stands on end at the nape of his neck.  The impact of being this close to him is like a one two punch.  The jab is that the man’s on fire, like really really on fire – with flames and blistering skin right in front of him and Stiles has to fight not to puke, and the cross is he’s half-naked which is something that Stiles had been too terrified during his ongoing nightmares to actually register.

Well he’s damn well registering it now.  The broad shoulders, thick neck and deep chest are very impressive.  If Stiles wasn’t so pissed off and weirded out he’d be checking out what all the shadows conceal below the waistband of his plain cotton pants, but when he dares to look the man in the face and can see the deep lines of suffering that mark it, he knows it would be beyond wrong.  He’s not that much of an asshole, burning hottie not withstanding…well fuck, maybe he is if he can still manage a topical pun in the middle of a damn nightmare.

“Don’t call me dude.” The burning man curses under his breath before pausing and prowling closer.  The eyes he’d thought were fiery red are actually pale blue, glittering icily and narrowing dangerously, as he examines Stiles’ face through the flicker of flames.  “I know you, don’t I?” He demands.

Stiles snorts, chin lifting in defiance.  “Of course you know me, you’re the one sucking me into your damn nightmare.”

“It’s not a nightmare.”  The man grinds out harshly.  Leaning in so close that Stiles can feel the heat of the fire that’s devouring the man’s cheekbone and jaw.  “You shouldn’t be here.  You need to go.  Now.” There’s definitely an ‘or else’ tacked onto the end which Stiles bravely or foolishly ignores as he looks around with a sneer and a carefully disguised shiver.

“If this isn’t a nightmare you need some therapy and like I told you, it’s not me.  Every time I go to sleep I come here, but it’s never been like this before.”

“What do you mean ‘every time’?  I’ve never seen you before.” The gravelly tone deepens with suspicion.

“Not surprising you’ve been pretty damned focused on your…whatever the fuck this not-a-nightmare is, so we’ve never talked before now.  I mean screaming, yelling – yes and I don’t just mean me-”  He gives the burning man a pointed look which earns him a sour one in return.  “-but actual conversation a big fat no because I don’t think you even knew I was there.  Not until the last time anyway.”

“And what pray tell made the last time so different?” 

That gives Stiles pause.  “Umm…maybe it was me telling you how it’s gonna be now.” 

A raised smouldering eyebrow makes it clear the burning man finds that doubtful.

“Hey, I can be scary if I want…or maybe…”  Stiles pauses as he tries to remember exactly what had happened.  “I told you I hadn’t even met my Sentinel yet.”

“You’re an unbonded Guide.”  The grimly speculative look he receives then makes Stiles’ stomach flutter.  “Of course you are, but why here, why now?” 

His questions hang in the air between them, but Stiles knows they’re not directed at him.  He’s conscious that the other man is somehow closer and the expression on his face is one that’s torn between anger and such sadness that Stiles has to force himself to stand his ground and not do something epically dumb like run from the predatory scary-as-fuck dude or even worse reach out and hug the scary-as-fuck dude that’s on fire.

“Who are you?” Stiles whispers.

“That is what I should be asking you.  Who are you little Guide?”  The burning man asks so silkily that Stiles can feel his mouth gape and a flush rise up his neck and face at what sounds like an endearment.  The atmosphere heavy with a current of something he can’t define arcing between them the longer they stare at each other.  Slowly, almost hesitantly, the burning man lifts his hand, his fingers so close to brushing over Stiles’ cheekbone that Stiles can’t breathe from the anticipation.

The burning man abruptly drops his arm looking beyond him.  “Don’t answer that.”  He says urgently.

“What?”  Stiles says in confusion, then he hears it, a distant knocking intruding.  The presence rapidly moves away, no they’re not moving away it’s him.  He’s being thrust out of the darkness.   “No, wait.  Stop.  Who are you?”

“I’ll find you little Guide.”  The voice carries across the vast expanse of darkness.  It’s a promise that resonates within him.

Cursing, Stiles wakes up to knocking.  Still clutching his phone he can see that it’s well after one in the morning as he rolls off the bed and stumbles across the room and he looks through the peep-hole to see the back of someone’s head.  Rolling his eyes, he knows he should wait until he can see who it is properly, but he recognises that emptiness of feeling seeping through the barrier of the door.

Puzzled as to what he wants, Stiles opens the door.

“What do you wa-”  He begins to say, only to hiss in annoyance as Matt pushes his way past.  “Hey.”

“Hey Stiles.”  Matt looks around the room as Stiles remains by the door, still holding it open.  “I just wanted to have a little private chat.  One on one.”

“1.30 in the morning isn’t the time for one and my hotel room certainly isn’t the place.”  Stiles snaps.

“Right.”  Matt nods with a little smile that makes Stiles uneasy. 

“Soooo, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”  Stiles encourages.  Matt doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to move though, staring at him so intently that Stiles shifts uncomfortably, but equally determined to wait him out.

“Which is the real you I wonder, the snarky outsider or the Guide that’s more than he seems?  I have a feeling that you’re both, whoever you are though you’re still quite traditional aren’t you Stiles?  Oooh…look out we’re an unbonded Sentinel and Guide together unchaperoned.”  He moves closer, his eyes flicking up and down Stiles’ body.  “I bet you’re the rarest of creatures.”

Stiles stiffens not liking where this is heading, not liking that the other boy seems to see parts of him beyond the superficial and he wishes he’d listened to the burning man and not answered the door. 

“Yeah you got me, I’m an abominable snowman, but it’s more like a wintertime thing.  You know seasonal.”

Matt laughs sounding genuinely amused, but that void of nothing inside him remains and it seriously creeps Stiles out because his empathy is telling him that the other boy isn’t really finding anything funny at all.  “No.  I think you’re something way more interesting Stiles.”

“And what’s that?”  He asks before he can stop himself.

“A virgin Guide.”  Matt leans back against the wall directly opposite Stiles, hips tilted forward.  “I think you’ve been saving yourself for your Sentinel.”  Stiles can feel heat flush his cheeks.  “I like that.”

“And on that note, you should leave now.”  Stiles waves towards the empty corridor beyond the open door.

Matt pouts.  “Don’t be embarrassed.  I know there’s more to you than the level 2 Guide you’re supposed to be.  I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve been watching you for a while and I see it now.”  He leans forward, too close for Stiles’ comfort.  “Just like there’s more to me.  If you open your eyes and take a look, I think you’ll see we could be a pretty good pair.”

Stiles shudders.  “I think you’re really mistaken, even if I wanted to – which by the way is a hell no – we’re not bond compatible or any other type of compatible you can think of…we’re just not.”

Frowning, Matt moves closer and something dark flickers in his expression.  “There’s other ways Stiles.  You’re special, I know it.  He knows it.  Blair Sandburg knows it.  Ares knows it.”  Stiles feels his stomach sink when he mentions the Alpha Prime and then rapidly drop to practically his bare feet at Matt naming his spirit animal.  “What you don’t know is that I’m special too.”

Stiles’ mind races.  Who is the ‘he’ that Matt’s talking about?  More worrying though is what he’s suggesting. 

“Those ‘other ways’ are criminal Matt.  More than criminal and if you lay a finger on me my Dad’s going to kill you if I don’t first.”

Matt laughs mockingly and it’s truly disturbing, not sensing any genuine amusement behind it.  It’s like the other boy’s acting and reacting because it’s expected rather than motivated by true feeling.  It’s an emotional disconnect that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. 

“Oh I don’t think so.  It’ll be too late and we’ll be bonded and if he hurts me-”  Matt shrugs, almost dismissively.  “-well he hurts you too.”

Stiles doesn’t even see the punch when it comes.  With Sentinel strength behind it, it’s fast, hard and it hurts.  He thinks he blacks out for a minute because when he comes to he’s face down on his bed again, but this time there’s a heavy weight on his thighs and his arms and shoulders are aching from the strain of being restrained behind his back by a belt he thinks, going by the feel of leather rubbing at his wrists.  He can taste the copper zing of blood and his face throbs unmercifully around his mouth and nose.

“Good, you’re awake, can’t do this without you.”  Matt mocks, starting to cup and rub his bare ass and Stiles tries to keep calm, panic racing through his body, as he realises the other boy’s tugged his sleep pants down below his ass cheeks. 

“Don’t do this Matt.”  Stiles begs as he wriggles and squirms, trying to get away.  It’s not just the threat of sexual assault that drives him, he remembers reading with sick horror how rape could be used to force a bonding – the violation of a Guide’s body providing a chink into their mental landscape for a Sentinel to breach and claim them.  A rare occurrence admittedly as it goes against most Sentinel’s instincts to protect Guides, bonded to them or not.

In these “enlightened” times it’s only a crime and punishable if the bonding’s not successful, else to punish the Sentinel, it would punish the Guide too - although how it’s not considered to be punishment to be bound permanently to your rapist isn’t punishing the Guide, Stiles doesn’t know.  If the Guide’s ‘lucky’, a bond can be broken by a Shaman, but the damage to both Sentinel and Guide is harsh and brutal. 

Matt leans down to whisper in his ear.  “I have to Stiles, I’m sorry, but I can’t live like this anymore.”  He presses his lips to Stiles’ temple and says into his skin.  “I’ve been dead inside for too long to stop now.”

Inhaling deeply, Matt groans as he licks a stripe from the corner of Stiles’ eye and down the side of his face gathering all the moisture from his tears that he didn’t even know he’d been crying.  “You smell so good and the way you taste…fuck.”

The sound of a zipper being pulled down galvanises Stiles to greater efforts to buck the other boy off.

“No, no, no.”  Stiles yells, feeling a hot and hard length press against his ass cheek, even worse though he can feel a probing search against his shield as Matt mentally tries to initiate a bond.  Through his rage and fear he can feel the protective bubble of his shield begin to crack as it expands, straining to push the Sentinel’s mind aside which is harder to do than he expected.  Most Sentinels have a small amount of empathic ability to allow the bond to form as well as the varying levels of power in their five senses, however, Matt almost feels like a Guide with the strength of his empathy.  Stiles feels a cold sliver of fear streak through him at the possibility the other boy might succeed in breaking through and he instinctively projects his desperate need and panic even as he rears back violently, smashing the back of his head into Matt’s face.

Matt’s cry of pain is drowned out by the loud banging on the room door, his name being called by many voices.  The roaring, hissing yowls of spirit animals fill the room and for one moment in time Stiles feels himself slip under, swallowed down by the familiar syrupy black of his dreams.

He blinks rapidly trying to adjust his vision.  The burning man looks down upon him and Stiles can see from his bound position that the threads of light he’s been striving towards for so long are behind him and far away.  Maybe it means nothing, but maybe it means everything.

The flames that lick at his face aren’t as great as they once were, still enough to illuminate perfect ice chip blue eyes that stare at him almost in disbelief before pure primal rage engulfs them as he takes in Stiles’ condition which he’s carried with him into the dark dream and like a switch has been flicked the red flare in them makes the man appear positively demonic, but Stiles isn’t afraid.

“I won’t lose you too.”  The burning man growls moving forward and a wolf howls almost instantly.

The threads of light behind him wink out, one after the other, blotted out by the rising shadow that frames him with massive wings.

The words echo in his head and Stiles is thrust back into his body to find Matt shaking him frantically.

“Stiles…Stiles.”  Matt calls his name and a sigh of relief ruffles the hair at his nape as Stiles huffs and gasps, sucking in air desperately feeling like he’s been drowning.  “That’s better, I thought you’d fucking died on me.”

Any hope that Matt might be having second thoughts is gone when he presses his forearm against the back of his neck pushing his head down into the mattress to stop him from rearing back.  Suffocating, he feels fingers roughly prise his ass cheeks apart something hot and hard pressing painfully into the crack and Stiles yells and struggles violently to not be violated.  He manages to turn his head enough so he can breathe only to be absolutely horrified and betrayed when he sees Ares on the bed next to him.  The huge black and tan patterned python is coiled and lifts its big head to hiss at him…no not him, he’s hissing a warning at Matt who ignores him, intent on trying to force his way inside Stiles’ body. 

A furious roar echoes through the room startling both of them, Matt’s body jolting above him, and Stiles can see the burning man on the far side of the bed looking down at them.  The image is flat and static, like an old tv on the fritz, but the colours are clear and stark.  Orange flames flickering up one side of his powerful body, seeming to caress his solid neck and firm jawline as it burns.  The man’s eyes are red and furious as he takes in the scene.

“What are you?”  Matt whispers.

“Death.”   The burning man promises and Stiles can sense the first genuine emotion in the other boy.  Fear.

When those red eyes fix on him he can feel it down to his bones. 

“Mine.”  The burning man growls possessively and Stiles trembles as everything inside him screams ‘yes’.   The cold empty space inside him that’s reserved for his Sentinel floods with such warmth that he feels dizzy.

The python looks to the burning man and the biggest wolf Stiles has ever seen, the tips of its ears are level with the burning man’s shoulder, which has suddenly appeared at his side and nods, giving the second strange wolf in as many days that Stiles has encountered a signal.  A signal for what though? 

His phone starts to ring insistently from where he dropped it and at that moment too many things happen at once for Stiles to take it all in.  Matt’s erection has softened, but there’s enough firmness to penetrate and Stiles feels the other boy notch it into the pucker of his ass in a last desperate attempt to bond.  No way.  There’s no way he’s going to let this happen and he pushes out hard and fast with his empathy and drives his will like a spike into Matt’s brain and rakes through it destroying all the dark impulses that he can sense like a putrid sickness.  It makes him want to puke.  Matt wails, hands flying to his head like Humpty Dumpty trying to keep it together.

The door gives an almighty crack as it bursts open and the giant wolf leaps at the burning man.  It’s hard to comprehend what he’s seeing as they merge into one before launching at Matt with fiery maddened red eyes and the powerful beast viciously rips and tears at Matt with tooth and claw, no mercy in its heart, seeming to rejoice in his screams of agony.  Ares starts to convulse on the bed and Stiles writhes with him feeling the python’s pain and despair like it’s his own.

“Please.”  Stiles begs and he can see the wolf’s ears flick towards him before it shudders at the effort to restrain its instincts.  Eventually, it backs off panting heavily, teeth still bared.

Matt collapses heavily across him. 

“Get him off, get him off me.”  Stiles screams and the rumbling sound of feral Sentinels fills the room as the other boy is rolled off him and his bound hands are revealed.  From the corner of his eye he can see Kira, who with a flick of her wrist has whipped out the belt that’s always looped around her waist and hips turning it into the truly intimidating shape of a long sword.  A Katana. 

Kira slashes at the leather that binds him with the magnificent blade, electricity crackling from her body, her eyes glowing white and pupil-less.  Smoke eddies around her throat and shoulders in the shape of a large fox, two tails draped over her chest.  The fury of her Sentinel and Kitsune sides combined is frighteningly formidable as she positions herself to guard him.

With his hands free Stiles quickly hauls his sleep pants back up covering himself, grunting in pain as he moves his over-stretched shoulders and arms.  For someone so small, Kira’s presence fills the room and he feels sheltered as he peeks out around her form to see the room is filled with people spilling out into the hallway.  Most he knows as all the Beacon Hills students are there from being on the same floor, but there’s lots of strangers too including the asshole twin to Danny’s Guide, he hadn’t realised that their school was staying at the same hotel. 

The Sentinels are feral and the Guides are torn between calming them and helping one of their own, although Allison looks more like an enraged Sentinel than some of the actual Sentinels do and Lydia’s lips are pinched clearly really pissed.  Boyd’s holding onto Erica in a hug that looks like he’s been taking pointers from a certain grizzly, her body so taut with anger that he’s afraid something might snap. Isaac just looks wounded.

At the moment there’s someone else’s pain he needs to help with first, not even his own throbbing face detracts from the agony he’s sensing.

Scooping up Ares, Stiles holds the poor shuddering spirit to his chest, his coils falling into his lap.  It’s way too easy to do considering a reticulated python his size is usually a good 250 pounds. 

“He’s unconscious.  Mainly psionic wounds, although there’s some actual bites and claw marks too.”  Coach says softly to Stiles, as he checks Matt over.  “He’ll need a healer from the centre not that I think it’ll do any good, his brain’s fried.”

“Good.  He doesn’t get to heal from this.”  Scott growls viciously.

“For once McCall, you and I agree on something.”  Jackson hisses, his Kanima side to the fore, his yellow eyes hard and unblinking. 

“Come on Ares, talk to me.”  Stiles focusses on the python, ignoring everyone else in the room. 

Ares’s eyes darken with pain and regret.  “Forgive me my Lord.”

“It’s Stiles you know that and there’s nothing to forgive.”

The python hisses weakly.  “There is much that needs to be forgiven, I’m not sure that I’m deserving of it.”

“Of course you are-”

“You were brutalised due to my poor choices and that is unforgivable.”  Ares insists.  “I am not worthy, my Sentinel is not worthy.  It is time my Lord.”

Stiles shakes his head in denial.  “No don’t say that, retreat if you have to, but don’t…don’t go.”

He runs his hands over Ares’s scales, conscious that the snake is too cool and that his body isn’t as muscular as it once was.  When they’re in their solid state on this plane they’re just like the animals whose forms they’ve adopted, as Stiles sits there he can feel Ares become increasingly lighter and he holds him tighter as though he can fight off what he knows is coming.

“I’m tired my Lord.”  Ares’s head weaves back and forth.  “He was good once.  Special.  A Sentinel of feeling and I should have left him long ago when he came back wrong from the end journey.”

“A Sentinel of feeling…an Alpha Ascendent?”  Stiles’ thoughts race and he shakes his head in disbelief, it explains why he had such difficulty fighting him off.  A Sentinel that has nearly as much empathic ability as a lower level Guide combined with his other high senses is a powerful rarity and would have been a welcome and valued member of any Pride and the Sentinel and Guide community as a whole.  He underestimated the other boy and nearly paid a terrible price, he can’t help the shiver of memory as he hears in his head Matt’s whispered words ‘I’ve been dead inside for too long to stop now’.   

“What happened?” Stiles questions softly.

Ares turns his head slightly to look at Isaac who has his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.  “This one’s sire damaged many before justice was dealt to him.  My Sentinel…my Matt died and I could not save him.”

Images and feelings are thrust into his mind from Ares in one last desperate rush and Stiles reels at the horror that Matt and Ares endured.  Matt’s empathy a dual-edged sword for him in this instance as he’d absorbed all the guilt, fear and recriminations of those around him when he’d drowned at a pool party, permanently damaging the young Sentinel severely.   Yet the same empathy gave him a strong connection to the psionic plane and his spirit animal, shoring him up and enabling him to carry on when others would’ve immediately descended into dormancy.  The damage festering within him into a corruption, a blight on his very soul.

“I could not leave him, afraid and alone.”  Ares explains.  “But, when the girl came and I truly saw what he…what I had allowed him to become, it was too late and he was stronger from that corruption and would not let me leave or seek help.”

Stiles swallows thickly, unwilling sympathy for the boy who’d tried to force a bond upon him in the most despicable of ways.  Matt and Ares had just barely been keeping it together when Allison’s arrival had unleashed something dark within the Alpha Ascendent.  Maybe if he hadn’t been a step away from dormancy then he could have really challenged Scott as a potential match for Allison.

“The healers-”  Stiles offers and Ares slumps exhausted and rests his head against Stiles’ chest.  He can see and feel the once mighty python is fading fast and as if they know, the spirit guides gather around silently.

Ares is mostly transparent and Stiles can feel nothing in his arms at all now, it doesn’t stop him from trying to run his hand comfortingly over the python’s head as he gazes intently at Stiles’ face.  “I am sorry I will not be here to see you rise my Lord, that would truly be something to see…it will not be long…he comes for you.”

“Ares.”  Stiles calls his name helplessly, anguished.

Keetah, the great horned owl, screeches once and from the corner of his eye Stiles can see Lydia clutch at her chest, pale full lips moving to silently echo her spirit animal’s cry of the python’s name.

Ares’s eyes close and there’s no flash of light, no unearthly sounds as he disappears.  He’s just gone and Stiles’ composure shatters, tears well and roll down his cheeks uncontrollably and the mysterious silver wolf howls mournfully in company to the ragged breaths he makes before he too disappears.  The spirit animals cry out in unison, a long wail of grief and loss, before it falls eerily silent as they all vanish before his eyes.

The press of that silence feels overwhelmingly heavy and Stiles’ grief is too real and raw to be witnessed.  He scrambles from the bed and runs into the bathroom, avoiding looking too closely at any of the people crowded into the room, aware that Scott makes a move to grab his arm only to recoil quickly when Kira blocks his attempt with a flash of polished metal.  Her katana stopping Scott in his tracks, that and a dismissive wag of her finger in his face. 

Stiles is only able to breathe properly once the bathroom door is closed and locked behind him.   Shoving his fist to his mouth he wails his grief, muffled though it is the small space echoes it back until he can’t bear it anymore.  Panting, he leans back against the door.  The fierce ache in his chest is damn near paralysing, gritting his teeth Stiles staggers as he pushes off the door to reach the washbasin.

Hunched over, his trembling fingers grip the edge of the bathroom cabinet as he tries to gather the strength to look.  The reflection in the mirror is brutal, a clear and vivid image of how close he’d come to being violated in mind, body and soul.  The corner of his mouth has a trickle of blood seeping from it, the sting of tender cut flesh inside makes him wince as he spits the copper tang out of his mouth and down the washbasin drain.  That side of his face has a very distinct red mark he just knows is going to bruise badly.

Wetting a cloth Stiles gently tends to his face, ridding it of the blood and sticky tracks of his tears.  Sighing at the sight of his wrists that are also bruised and rubbed raw in some places from the leather belt, he’s glad that his Dad’s not here to see him like this because he’d lose it.  The noise that comes from the other room freezes him in place and he looks into his reflection’s red-rimmed eyes and knows that thought was a lie.  Caleb’s roar makes the little boy inside him want to cry out like he used to, for his Daddy to come save him and scare away all the monsters under his bed.

Flinging the door open he sees Caleb standing over Matt’s unconscious form, a dangerous glint in the massive lion’s eye until he sees Stiles.  There’s fear and concern in the chuffing sound he makes as he bounds over to Stiles pulling him gently down to the ground to check over every inch of him.  Once he’s been scented and examined, Stiles throws his arms around his neck, feeling his Dad’s presence in the large paw that settles at the small of his back holding him close and he starts to shake.  Hiding his face in Caleb’s thick mane he can hear snippets of conversation as Finstock and Kira shepherd the others out of his room and into the hallway. 

“What the fuck?  Stilinski’s a Lion Guide.”  The dismay in Jackson’s voice almost makes him snicker.  Almost.  After everything his sense of humour is sadly lacking, but the idea that the other boy thinks he’s been habitually offending a Warrior Guide does entertain him somewhat.

“No.  That’s his Dad’s animal spirit.”  Scott replies somewhat snarkily to Jackson’s statement.  “Sheriff Stilinski’s an Alpha Sentinel.”

“Shit, I knew he was strong, but not…so why isn’t he leading the pride then?”  

“He did, but when Stiles’ Mom-”  Scott breaks off and surprisingly shows some tact.  “Anyway that’s enough about that.”

There’s a long pause and Stiles is waiting for the question that he knows is coming. 

“Where did all those animals come from?”  Jackson asks bewilderedly.  As though to counter Ares’s fade the other spirit guides in their mourning had become as solid and as real as Stiles had ever seen, that the other Sentinels and Guides had seen them too wasn’t a surprise.

“Come on Jackson, I’ll explain.”  Lydia as per usual has caught on exceptionally quickly, she meets Stiles’ eyes as she coaxes her Sentinel out of the room and pauses. 

“And I’ll help, got your back Jerkson.”  Erica snipes in a ragged voice as she starts to follow, holding onto Boyd and Isaac’s hands tightly.  Lydia doesn’t break eye-contact with Stiles as though there’s no one else in the room.

“He’s at peace.”  Lydia states in a sonorous tone that freezes everyone in place, her eyes are pitch black with no whites showing and her hair moves and waves in the air without the assistance of a breeze.  Stiles stares into those deathly eyes, skin crawling and the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end, for a harbinger of death does not speak of it or the afterlife in whispers or a hushed voice as others do.  That she’s so matter of fact about it sends shivers down his spine, someone walking over his grave, yet relieves him as well.  He can believe what she says about Ares.

Stiles nods in acknowledgement before he glances around, can feel the pressure building as everyone holds their breath, wary of drawing the Banshee’s attention their way. 

“Shut it Reyes.”  For Jackson the rebuke is mild and without heat, ignoring totally what his Guide had said even though the weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, but it breaks the tension.  He could almost believe that Jackson had said it out of reflex except for the momentary flicker of gratitude in Jackson’s expression when Erica makes a rude noise and carries on bickering like Lydia hadn’t frightened the bejeezus out of everyone.  He wonders how often Jackson’s had to distract attention away from his Guide and her spooky abilities in the past.

“Yeah, yeah says the guy with a Disney sidekick for a spirit animal.  You’ve seen ‘Tangled’ right?” 

“How do you know he’s mine?  He could be yours.”

“Not a chance lizardboy, but mine is from Disney too if that makes you feel better.  Does the ‘simple bare necessities’ give you a clue?”  The bickering back and forth slowly fades away.

“I’m staying.”  The determination in Scott’s voice grates over Stiles’ nerves.

“No.”  Kira sounds like she’s still in badass kitsune warrior mode and he thinks he likes this side of her as much as her giggling goofy one.

“Get out of my way Kira.” 

The sound of her Katana swishing through the air is ominously loud throughout the room.  Stiles lifts his head and sees Scott fronting Kira who doesn’t look threatened or impressed in the slightest at the boy’s posturing and why would she when the tip of her blade is resting against his breastbone.

“Scott.”  The other boy’s head swings around so fast that Stiles instinctively leans into Caleb.  “Go.”

“No, I’m staying.”  Scott grinds out through clenched teeth, his uneven jaw bunching tensely.

“Why?”  The puzzled look Scott gives him then makes him mad, so damn mad.  “Why?  What do you care?”

“What?  I’m your friend of course I care.” 

“Get out.”  Stiles spits out, choking on the bile of anger and betrayal that hearing those words brings up.

“Stiles.”

“Just leave Scott, I’m too done tonight to deal with your bullshit too.”

“Scott.”  Allison puts her hand on her Sentinel’s arm and tries to lead him away, but it seems that Scott’s stubbornness is fully in charge right now. 

“So she can stay.”  He stabs a pointed finger towards Kira.  “You trust her to have your back over me?”

“Yes.”  There’s something satisfying in the way Scott’s mouth gapes and his eyes go wide in surprise as though Stiles didn’t follow the usual script like he expected.  “I trust her.”

Kira crosses her arms over her chest, still clutching her Katana, and bows in acknowledgement. 

“You…you don’t mean that.  Come on Stiles, I’m your best friend.  You’re in shock that’s what it is, yeah after what that dickwad tried to do to you, you’re not thinking clearly.  You can’t trust her over me.” 

Stiles gets to his feet, Caleb at his side, and he curls the fingers in one hand through the coarse hair of his maned head which is level with Stiles’ chest.

“I trust her because she’s been more of a friend to me in 24 hours than you’ve been in months.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s true Scott.”  Allison interrupts sternly and Scott practically whines in the face of her disapproval.  “When I first met you, I heard all about the epic friendship you had with Stiles, from you and so many others.  When you said he was struggling with our bonding, I accepted it at first because I could sense Stiles was torn, but as the months went by I should’ve questioned it.”  She turns big doe-like eyes upon him and he can see the genuine apology in them when she says “I should’ve known something was wrong.  I’m sorry Stiles.”

“Ally…you didn’t do anything wrong.”  Scott’s eyes are pleading as he looks back and forth between them. 

“He’s right.  You didn’t do anything wrong Allison and you’re right I was…conflicted.  It had been Scott and I for so long that I-”

“It was me-”  Scott interrupts hurriedly.  “-I let you down Stiles.  I know I promised that you and I would bond when we were old enough, but Allison’s my Guide and when I made that vow I didn’t know that it would feel like this to be with her.”  His eyes glisten wetly.  “I love her.”

Stiles rubs his forehead feeling a burgeoning headache coming on.  “Scott we were 7 years old when we made that vow.  Do you seriously think I would hold you to it now?”

“But it was a pinky-swear.” Scott says so earnestly that Stiles shakes his head, feeling so incredibly tired.  “And you obviously remember it too.”

“Let me get this straight.  You’ve been ignoring and avoiding me for the last 6 months because you’ve felt guilty over a broken pinky-swear promise we made as kids, which I remember fondly as an example of how good our friendship was back then and not an unshakeable vow, because if that’s the case then you’re a fucking idiot.”  Stiles is yelling by the end, his composure wrecked.

“Better a fucking idiot than to be like my Dad.” Scott yells back.  “I broke my word to you Stiles.  How could I ever look you in the eye again?”  Scott looks and sounds so miserable that Stiles can’t help but believe him because he knows that Scott has deep-seated issues about keeping his word as a result of the number of broken promises his dick of a father used to make to both he and Melissa even before the split.  “Whenever Josh came back from seeing you, you’d be even sadder and I knew you weren’t going to get over it easily, but then you seemed to be getting on so well with Kira, I thought maybe she was…”  He trails off uncertainly.

“Of course I was sad whenever I saw Josh, I would remember when you were my friend and not acting like a jerk and ostracising me to the point I had no one, not because I was mourning or pining over a promise from when we were kids.  Like I said before Kira’s been a good friend and that’s it.  She’s not my Sentinel.”

“Oh.  Well, we uh…thought it was better to give you some space when Ally and I…you know.”  Stiles is conscious of Allison turning a puzzled WTF glare towards her Sentinel.

“We?”  She questions.

“Deaton and me…umm…Deaton and I.  He said it would be rubbing it in your face when you had so little chance of…”  Scott falters.  His earnestness turning his brown eyes huge and liquid with a silent plea.  Stiles rolls his eyes, of course, who else seems to want to interfere in his life so insistently.

“You can say it, when I had so little chance of bonding.”

Allison hisses through clenched teeth when Scott nods his head.

“Dumbass.”  Stiles says eventually, quietly softly.  “You know what would’ve been better, is if you’d tried talking to me about it.”

“Yeah.”  Scott dips his head.

“And I should’ve talked to you from the start too.   Now get out.”

Caleb reinforces what he’s saying by a fierce roar, Scott stumbles back looking shocked by the lion he’s so familiar with acting aggressively towards him and that pisses Stiles off.  How dare he act like Stiles’ reaction is unreasonable.

“What…no, Stiles.  You don’t mean that.” 

“You were my brother and you hurt me Scott, maybe I did need some time to figure out how we were going to fit, but rather than talk to me and give me some ‘space’, you cut me out of your life completely without a word.”  Stiles hears Allison’s shocked “Scott” in the background as he watches his friend’s face crumple.

“Were?”  Scott questions sadly.

Stiles sighs, shrugging.  He doesn’t really know the answer himself, just knows the wound is still deep and bleeding.  “Brothers fall out all the time, some recover others don’t, but I don’t think it’ll ever be the same.”

“I’m sorry Stiles.”  Scott chokes up and lets himself be drawn away by a pale and serious Allison.  He looks back over his shoulder.  “I really am sorry.”

“I know you are, but I can’t and I won’t deal with this too.  Not right now, not after losing Ares.”

“The snake?” 

“Yes Scott, the snake.”  Stiles clenches his jaw as the wave of sadness he’s been holding off crashes down on him once more.

“I’m sorry.”  Scott says and Stiles can sense that he’s talking about Ares and not their damaged relationship.  Stiles nods unable to speak

“No matter how long it takes, I’m going to prove to you, you can still trust me.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, there’s not much more to say really, he thinks as he watches the couple walk away. 

Chapter Text

Peter is thrust back into the dark place with a speed and force that bows his spine and has his head snapping back like he’s been socked in the jaw.  Hard.

“NO.”  He howls in rage at leaving the wounded Guide behind.  The wounded Guide that every instinct he possesses tells him is his, however impossible it is.  Hope wells within him, a hope that he’d once ruthlessly crushed.  Could it be that Deaton was wrong in declaring that he could never bond with a Guide?  That he would never find one strong enough to match him.

Breathing shallowly, Peter takes a moment to review every second he was within touching distance of his Guide.  They had recognised it too, he’s positive of it when he recalls the young man’s beautiful brown eyes and how they’d grown wide, filling with heat as he’d claimed him.  He struggles to contain the euphoria that swells within him and roars his frustration at not being with his Guide to the darkness.  Panting heavily when his throat closes up, raw and aching.

“ARE YOU DONE YET?”  Staggering under the weight of the thunderous rumbling tone it takes Peter a moment to discern words from what sounds like tectonic plates crunching and grinding together rather than an actual voice.  He gasps, as the voice punches into his chest almost painfully, one hand pressed to his heart trying to keep the vibration from cracking his ribcage wide open.

“WELL?”  It demands, tone pissy and accusing.

Peter looks to where he thinks the voice is coming from.  Whether it’s the darkness that’s so consuming or that the flames trying to engulf him are greatly diminished, it’s near impossible to see a thing, but all his other senses are firing and telling him there’s a presence moving, circling around him.  Peter shifts with it, instinct telling him not to let it get behind him.  It’s something big.  Something very, very big.  It looms above him.  Clenching his jaw tight he steps closer, needing to see more, his common sense and instinct for self-preservation violently objecting to it in his head.

What he sees is beyond imagining, beyond anything he ever thought he knew or could even dream of.  Scales gleam, the colours shifting like a pool of gasoline shimmering in the sunlight – black, green and purple.  Ivory white teeth and claws, bigger and sharper than any he’s ever seen in his life.  A long tail that whips sinuously back and forth.  The snap of broad wings unfurling brings him out of his daze and annoyance ripples through him, if it had wanted to in that moment of distraction it could’ve easily destroyed him.  

For some reason though, he isn’t afraid, even though he can’t quite bring himself to name what it is he’s seeing.

“Am I done with what?”  Peter asks, holding his ground when the massive head dips down dangerously close to look him in the eye.

“RUNNING AWAY.” 

Offended Peter straightens to his full height.  “I don’t run away from anything, people run from me.”

It snorts, laughing at him and he has to brace his legs to not fall over from the force of that sulphuric blast of amusement.  A curl of smoke seeps from one huge nostril.  Big golden eyes blink lazily as they examine him intensely and for some reason they remind Peter of the Guide he left behind in the other place.  Fear crashes through him at the thought of the boy injured and unprotected and he clenches his jaw to hold back the howl that swells in his chest.

“YOU HAVE DONE NOTHING ELSE, BUT RUN-”

“I don’t have time for this, I need to get out of here.”  He starts to turn away, needing to find a way out.

“-FROM SOMETHING THAT WASN’T YOUR FAULT.”

That stops him cold. The familiar guilt rising like bile and sitting in the back of his throat.  “You’re wrong.  I’m the Left Hand of the Hale Pack, bound by Pack Oath and Law to protect it above all else.  They died under my watch, of course I’m responsible.”

“IF THAT IS TRUE THEN IT’S AS MUCH DEREK’S FAULT AS YOURS AS HE’S BOUND BY THE SAME OATH.  HE CERTAINLY BELIEVES HE WAS THE CAUSE.” 

Peter’s stomach churns.  The pups.  God almighty, he may have been lost in the haze of a feral drive and his own grief, but how had he forgotten the pups?  Derek.  Cora.  What happened to them?  Who is looking after them?  Is it true that Derek believes he’s responsible?  Guiltily, he answers the question himself, yes – more than likely because there was no one there to tell him otherwise, no one from the pack hierarchy.

“That’s not true.”  He insists.  “He’s a child and that hell-bitch took advantage.  I should have known there was something wrong.”  He remembers stealthily escaping from the dying house with Cora and hearing the vicious taunts the woman had cast at his nephew until the boy had been rendered unconscious by the broken bonds and assault on his Guide senses.  He’d heard from her own lips how she’d tricked and seduced the pup.  The other hunters he’d dispatched with ruthless efficiency, but with her he’d taken his time and enjoyed it.

“THE HELL-BITCH AS YOU SAY TOOK ADVANTAGE OF YOUR ABSENCE, EVEN SHE WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN FOOLISH ENOUGH TO GO AGAINST YOU DIRECTLY CONSIDERING YOUR REPUTATION ALTHOUGH IF SHE HAD MAYBE YOU WOULD’VE NOTICED DEREK’S DISTRACTION.  THEN AGAIN MAYBE NOT, NO ONE ELSE IN YOUR FAMILY DID, INCLUDING YOUR ALPHA.  THE ARGENT WOMAN CERTAINLY DIDN’T KNOW OF YOUR RETURN UNTIL YOU GUTTED HER.  YOU’VE BEEN GONE A LONG TIME SINCE THEN PETER HALE…6 YEARS AND DEREK’S NOT A CHILD ANYMORE, HE’S A MAN NOW.  A MAN IN PAIN THINKING HE KILLED HIS FAMILY AND PERMANENTLY INJURED YOU.”

“6 Years?”  Peter breathes unsteadily, heart thundering.  “How do you know all this?”

“GREY AND I HAVE TALKED.  WE’VE HAD LONG ENOUGH TO GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER.” 

His mind races.  “You’re a spirit guide.”

The massive head nods.  Triangular in shape with thick eyebrow ridges and horns either side, it should terrify him, but beyond the fierce appearance there’s a sincerity, a gravity in its expression so that Peter doesn’t so much as flinch when a massive claw reaches out and with a delicacy that his badly burned skin appreciates traces the line of his jaw through the flames that still flicker there with a bone white talon.

“MY GUIDE HAS BEEN WAITING A LONG TIME FOR YOU PETER HALE.  YOU HAD BEST BE WORTHY.”  The talon stops at the base of his throat and presses in, not quite puncturing his flesh, but if a little bit more pressure was applied…

“The Little Guide?”  Peter ignores the implicit threat, hardly daring to hope, but it’s all too much of a coincidence for it not to be.  Something inside him blooms warm and bright when the massive head nods again only to be swept away by fear and rage. 

“If you’re here then no one’s been protecting him.”  Peter accuses feeling his fangs drop so suddenly in his fury that they split his gums painfully.  Had what he’d witnessed happened to his Guide before?  “That bastard shouldn’t have been able to touch him, if you had-”

“THAT’S RIGHT, I SHOULD BE WITH HIM, BUT HE CHARGED ME WITH PROTECTING YOU - EVEN FROM YOURSELF.  IT’S NEVER BEEN YOU DRAWING HIM HERE, WITH NO MEMORY OF YOU OR WHAT YOU ARE TO HIM HE’S BEEN UNCONSCIOUSLY TRYING TO FIND YOU AND BRING YOU HOME.”  The golden eyes narrow in annoyance, the colour bleeding in front of his eyes to a burnt amber, as they flicker over him and the talon at his throat slices a shallow cut into his vulnerable skin.  “IT HAS TAKEN A LONG TIME FOR HIM TO REACH YOU AND EVEN LONGER FOR YOU TO LISTEN.”

The memory of his Guide demanding ‘no more’ flays him raw, the boy had sounded at his absolute limit.  Peter takes some deep breaths trying to steady himself, the truth hurting him worse than the flames dancing over his skin or the bleeding cut at his throat.  He was the one that had left his Guide undefended, with his guilt and pride driving him to follow his pack into death.  Running away indeed. 

The need to tear and rend apart again the other Sentinel that had dared laid hands on his Guide rides him hard.  Shuddering, he pushes those urges away, as they can’t help him get to his Guide any quicker.  Slightly calmer, Peter’s able to retract his fangs and claws.

“Well, I’m definitely listening now.  I need to get out of here.  I need to see him again.”

“THAT IS SOMETHING I CAN HELP WITH.”  A wing flicks back and a powerful shoulder dips, the indication clear that he’s expected to climb onto the creature’s back.  Peter hesitates as he reaches out with an unsteady hand to touch his Guide’s spirit animal for the first time.

“What’s your name?”

A grin of razor sharp white teeth appears at his question.

“I AM FARO.”

“Thank you Faro.”  Peter touches the scales at Faro’s neck and jolts as he feels and senses his Guide properly for the first time through the conduit of his spirit guide.  He’s never felt anything like this before, like the missing piece of him is just out of reach.  His senses surge wanting to connect and bond desperately, but that can only happen face to face where he can scent his Guide, can touch and taste, hear and see him to complete the imprint.  Everything in him aches with longing.

“God damn.”  He stumbles forward to press his forehead against the iron hard yet warm flesh, breathless and shaking, his ears hurting as Faro screeches long and loud ecstatically.  Lifting his eyes he can literally see heat gathering beneath Faro’s scales, turning them from black to red as it flows like a river from a point on Faro’s chest up his throat and the darkness lights up as a huge jet of fire bursts from the spirit guide’s mouth in a fiery arc overhead. 

The cynical suspicious part of himself sneers inwardly at the part that’s nearly dizzy, so overwhelmed with wonder and a rising joy at the small insight into his Guide he’s just received.  No matter how torn he feels inside he can’t deny the urge to see his amazing, complex, fascinating Guide again has him scrambling to seat himself on Faro’s shoulders.

“HOLD ON TIGHT SENTINEL.”  Faro roars. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Peter can see the faintest flicker of light pulse in the darkness far, far away.  At the same time the broken bonds to his lost pack flutter like the wings of a moth in his chest and through that delicate, phantom touch he can feel a peaceful acceptance that unshackles him from the chains of grief and pain he’s bound himself in.  They won’t ever go away, but it won’t ever be the overpowering destructive kind that consumes and destroys again. 

He knows himself and he’s not the praying kind, so he goes with instinct and tilts his head back and howls, using pack song to convey everything he can’t say in words.  The notes telling of his loneliness and how much he misses them.  The faint chorus he hears in answer is one he’s all too familiar with, his lost pack assuring him of their affection and a promise that they will be waiting for him many, many years from now when it’s truly his time.  

The last lingering howl he knows all too well and his shoulders hitch uncontrollably as he hears his sister sing her farewell.   When it ends the fluttering in his chest fades away like a memory.

He doesn’t look back.

“I’ll be there in a few hours.”  His Dad sounds worried, pissed off and all sorts of not very happy Sentinel. 

“Dad, I’ll be okay, you don’t need-”

“Don’t you dare say I don’t need to be there.  You were attacked Stiles, that you were able to fight him off and you weren’t-”  His Dad’s voice breaks and Stiles can feel his chest go tight and achy at the raw vulnerability he’s projecting through the speaker.  He presses the ice pack against his face harder, focussing on the stinging cold rather than the burning sensation in his eyes.

“Sheriff Stilinski, this is Jim Ellison.”  The powerfully built Sentinel sits forward on his side of the desk, pure concentration on his severely handsome face as he stares at the slimline office phone that they’ve set up for a conference call, his senses all attuned to it.  Stiles is pretty sure he’s using that and his Guide as a focus rather than look at him, each time he does he starts to growl at the sight of his injuries.   “My Guide, Blair Sandburg, and I have personally taken your son into our custody.”

“Your custody?  If you’re implying that my son has done anything wrong apart from defend himself I’m really not going to be happy.”  At that moment Stiles has never been more proud of his Dad when he sees the strongest Sentinel in North America lift his eyebrows in surprise at the steely no-shit tone. 

Blair half-rises from his seat, shaking his head at his Sentinel, and leans on the table to get closer to the phone as though it would make a difference.

“Sheriff, this is Blair Sandburg.  My Sentinel should’ve clarified, he means protective custody.  We just want you to know that Stiles will be safe in our personal care.”  Blair’s tone is soothing and Stiles feels himself relaxing, honestly the guy feels like catnip to him, but his Dad’s not mollified at all.

“Frankly, that’s not reassuring at all, not after this crap fest.  From what I understand Stiles and his classmates had testing yesterday at your centre and no one there picked up on how unstable Daehler is.  He should’ve been scrutinised a lot more closely after I reported his previous behaviour to the Centre in regard to another Guide in my…our region.”  Stiles’ lips quirk at hearing the slip and he knows that his Dad may say he’s no longer the Pride Leader of Beacon Hills, but his heart and instincts don’t know it, still thinking of it as his territory.  His half-smile soon disappears when he sees the Alpha Primes exchange a concerned look like they know something that his Dad doesn’t.

“Believe me we’ll be reviewing everything including his interviews and testing very closely to see what we missed.  We don’t want this to happen to anyone else, once is bad enough.”  Blair states grimly.

“Yes it is.  Sandburg, Ellison you damn well take good care of him until I get there.”  His Dad’s stern tone softens when he says “Stiles, I’ll see you soon.  Love you son.”

“Ok Dad, love you too.”  The call disconnects and Stiles has to control the urge to immediately call him back and beg him to hurry.

There’s silence for a minute and Stiles’ interactions with the Alpha Primes have shown him since they swept into his hotel room and organized everything with quick and decisive efficiency that Blair is the talker, the main communicator of the two, and Jim Ellison is clearly a man of action and few words.  So he’s surprised that it’s the Sentinel that speaks first.

“Your Dad-”  Stiles throws the ice pack on the table, can feel his body tensing wondering where Ellison’s going to take this because he won’t take any trash talking about his Dad, Alpha Prime or not.  “-does he have a military background?”

“Yeah.  Marine, Desert Storm.” 

Ellison eyes his balled up fists before nodding.  “It shows.”

There’s something like approval in the man’s tone and Stiles can feel that tension unwind slightly in his shoulders as he remembers from Ellison’s bio that he’d first come online when he was an Army Ranger.  It probably explains the haircut, close and neat, nearly military grade with silver threading through at the temples, his Dad’s is near enough identical. 

“What I’d like to do is a quick scan on you Stiles.”  Blair moves to his side of the table, hip resting against the edge.  He obviously sees something in his expression and he holds up his hands, like a magician showing there’s nothing up his sleeves.  “Nothing bad and you won’t even feel it.  You went through a terrible experience and while you’ve been cleared medically there maybe damage to your empathic pathways and shielding.  If that’s the case they’ll need healing.”

Stiles snorts.  “If it’s anything like yesterday’s so-called painless scan I think I’ll pass.”

Blair doesn’t so much as twitch and yet Stiles can feel he has his undivided attention.  “You could feel it?”

“Uh huh.  It was really annoying, like they were scraping over every nerve.”

“O-kay.”  Blair draws out the word.  “You were with some very experienced Guides yesterday.  They said you were having difficulty dropping your shield and became very antagonistic and psionically violent when they tried to help.  They recommended you be returned to the Beacon Hills centre for further training with people you know and trust which isn’t an uncommon recommendation.”   

“Help.”  Stiles scowls at the memory.  “They were trying to crack my head open like an egg, but I guess being a ranker they didn’t give a damn about how they were going to do it.”

Blair frowns in disapproval and Stiles glares at him waiting for the reprimand that’s surely about to come.  “I’m sorry Stiles, I think I’ll be having another conversation with Guide Monroe and Guide Blake then, particularly about respect.” 

“Damn right.”  Ellison grumbles.

Deflated, Stiles feels the tight coil of anger inside him unwind.

“We’ll leave it for now, I get that you wouldn’t trust me after that experience.  How about if you feel sick, strange or not yourself you just come to me.  It doesn’t necessarily have to be about being a Guide and your empathy Stiles, it’s about having gone through a traumatic experience for any human being and talking can help.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

“I…”  Stiles hesitates.

“Don’t think I won’t understand.  I was once attacked by a Sentinel too.”

“You were.”  Stiles is stunned at the matter-of-fact way Blair says it.  He’d never heard about it, even in the recent research binge he'd indulged in and his puzzlement must be clear on his face.

“We don’t talk about it much.  It was back when the powers that be still thought they could match up Guides and Sentinels to their design even though it was bond interference and against the law.  The ESU separated us before we could bond and the Sentinel they proposed for me refused to accept I was going to bond to the big Guy here, I may have been latent but I knew he was mine.”  Blair places his hand on Ellison’s shoulder and the Sentinel almost instinctively turns his head to rub his cheek against his Guide’s long fingers.  “I came online when she beat me up then drowned me.”

Stiles gasps in horror and Ellison growls unhappily, Blair slips his arms around his Sentinel’s shoulders, resting his chin on top of Ellison’s head.  

“But, you came back okay.”  Blair is alive and full of feeling unlike Matt.  “Matt drowned too, but he didn’t come back right from the end journey.”

“The end journey.”  Blair repeats, momentarily sidetracked, before nodding in seeming approval at the description.  “Yeah I came back okay, but I had the best reason to.”  His arms tighten around his Sentinel and Ellison presses a fond kiss to the back of his hand. 

A yawn breaks free and Stiles quickly covers his mouth, shaking his head to try and keep alert.  He’s got so many questions.

“I think that maybe you should try and get some sleep.  These are our quarters when we're visiting the Centre and we’ve got a guest bedroom that you can use.”  Blair waves his hand around the open plan kitchen and dining that leads to a lounge area.  “The bedrooms are shielded, but just so you know Jim can still hear around it if he puts his mind to it and sometimes I can still pick up emotions if there’s a sudden release of them.  Not that we want to intrude on your privacy, but I think we'll both be unconsciously monitoring you after everything.” 

Blair moves his hand briefly again and Stiles blushes at the specific motion.  Not that he’s got any intentions right now of that, he’s too tired and after recent events he’s not sure when he’ll ever be in the mood again, but still the warning’s appreciated.

“Is there anything you need?  A drink, something to eat.”  Blair asks and Stiles shakes his head.  “If you want a shower, there’s clean towels in your bathroom.”

Stiles shakes his head again.  “I’m good, I don’t need any of that.  What I do need, is to know if you actually received my Dad’s report on Matt?  And why didn’t anyone pick up on how clearly ‘off’ Matt was?”

“Off, how do you mean?”  Blair asks curiously.  “From the notes on his file from today’s…make that yesterday’s testing he scored all within high ranges for his senses and his emotional levels were rated as normal.”

“Then he fooled whoever was testing him, because he was empty, there was nothing going on inside.  No hope, no anger, no love or hate just a great big space.”  Stiles explains firmly, watching as Blair’s eyes widen in surprise before he turns to his Sentinel with a raised eyebrow.

It’s Ellison that answers eventually.  “When your Dad gets here we’ll go into that in detail.”

The non-answer is an answer in itself and Stiles rolls his eyes slightly, for Pete’s sake he’s 17 not a child.

“I get that you don’t know my Dad or his work ethic, but when he gets here you’ll know he filed a report and then you’re going to have to figure out exactly where it got “lost”, “misplaced” or “accidentally deleted” because he’s gonna be pissed.”  Stiles warns with a frown and hooking his fingers into a series of emphatic air quotes.

Ellison smirks, but it’s not mocking, the amusement comes from understanding.  The Sentinel reminds him a lot of his Dad, the way he talks, the way he carries himself.  The confident expectation that he’ll be obeyed when he asks for something to be done.  It’s almost comforting.

“When he’s here we’ll work it out.”  Ellison states and just like his Dad there’s a gleam in his eye that has Stiles huffing and grumpily picking up his bag knowing that he’s not going to get anything else out of him and suddenly he just feels overwhelmingly tired and dirty.

“I think I will have that shower after all.”  If the sympathetic look he gets from the Alpha Primes makes his eyes sting he swallows hard and manages to hold it together until he’s standing under the hot spray of the shower.  With the water beating down on his head he lets the tears brim over and he hopes that they’ll both dial down their senses and empathy respectively and give him some privacy to let all the fear, pain and grief wash away down the drain.

There’s no way he’s getting back to sleep tonight, even feeling so exhausted.  His bruises ache and the cut inside his lip is sore and stinging.  Restlessly tossing and turning on the comfortable bed of the guest room, he’s half-convinced that he’ll leave a body-sized groove in its well-padded mattress, but every time he closes his eyes he feels that weight on his legs and back, the unwelcome ruffling of the short hairs at the nape of his neck by someone else’s breath and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness.  

Thoughts, both rational and not, race through his brain, looping round and round until he’s sure he’s going crazy.  It’s almost a relief to feel the popping shift of air pressure that announces the arrival of not just one but two spirit guides to distract him from himself. 

Struggling up on one elbow, wincing at the pull on his strained shoulders, he can’t say he’s terribly surprised when he sees a large grey wolf and a pure black jaguar sitting on their haunches next to his bed scrutinising him closely.  The power rolling off them is immense and Stiles flings back the bedcovers so he can sit on the edge of his bed and greet them properly and with dignity, as much as anyone can wearing the lurid yellow and black ‘Adventure Time’ pyjamas that he’d brought with him on a whim, but been too shy to wear in front of Boyd when they’d shared a room.

“My Lord.”  The black jaguar dips his head regally in greeting, the wolf simply stares balefully and Stiles shifts awkwardly.  He recognises the wolf as the same one that appeared on the bus trip to Cascade and he wishes he knew how the heck he’s pissed them off already, but going by the waves of antagonism coming off him he’s somehow managed it.  “I am Capac and this is Hendrix.”

“Capac, Hendrix.”  Stiles bows politely to both.  “Please call me Stiles.”

“As you wish.”  Capac agrees.  Hendrix sniffs in disapproval.

Stiles tries to ignore it, but the wolf is starting to get to him.  “Your bonded humans are pretty amazing.”

If a jaguar can grin then Capac’s somehow pulled it off, even though baring his sharp teeth makes his smile the dangerous kind. 

“We could not have wished for better.”

Even Hendrix nods in agreement with his companion before he sneers revealing his long fangs. 

“I wish we could say the same for your spirit guide, my Lord.”

Stiles stiffens at the bitter tone.

“You’re mistaken.  I don’t have one.”  The jaguar and wolf share a look that reminds him very much of the Sentinel and Guide who are sleeping in the bedroom down the hall, it’s one that he can’t interpret.  “Not anymore.”

Hendrix’s animosity visibly stutters and fades away to be replaced by confusion, furrows deepening on his muzzle between his pale amber eyes.

 “I can sense your bond.  That you can’t is…troubling.”

Stiles tries to reason it out, he doesn’t think Blair or Ellison’s spirit animals would deliberately try to mislead him, but they’re picking up on something that’s not possible. 

“I came online due to a major traumatic event in my town.  A house was deliberately attacked and burned down with a family inside.  A family with a bloodline strong in Guides.  My shielding couldn’t cope and I burnt out, I can’t remember anything of that night, but I was told I lost my spirit animal then.  Maybe…maybe what you’re sensing is a memory or like a phantom limb, when you lose something there’s still the sensation of it being there.”

“I remember, the cries of the lost resonated through the psionic plane that night.”

Hendrix stands and the wolf is so big that even from Stiles’ seated position the wolf easily meets and holds his eyes for what feels like forever as he waits for something like permission.  Stiles starts to shake as he feels the tight grip of his control loosen and the wolf easily slip through the cracks in his shield.  It’s a cool breeze through his mind, instantly soothing.  He probably should’ve got Blair to check it out, but it’s something he’s never been comfortable with having someone else be so intimate with his inner self, yet this feels different somehow.  Is it because it’s not a human that’s breaching his defences or that he’s actually too exhausted for his empathy to kick up a fuss?

Capac leans his shoulder into Hendrix’s side, black fur brushing over the two-toned gray, and the wolf shudders as he gently slides on out of Stiles’ mind.  The big cat rubs its cheek against the thick ruff of fur at the wolf’s neck and Stiles doesn’t need to be a Guide to know that the wolf is seriously troubled by whatever he’s found.

“What is it?”  Stiles whispers, hardly able to speak his throat feels so tight.

“Your outer or primary shield is slightly damaged from the strain, however, it’s beginning to heal, but your core ones are solid, unbreakable.”

“My core shields?”  Stiles presses his hand to his chest.  He’s never heard of a Guide’s shield being described in such a way, not with two such distinct layers. 

“Your outer shields are what the world sees, yes?”  The wolf says, only continuing when Stiles nods his head.  “The core shields are what the world does not see.  Behind those is you.”

“So I have two sets of shields.  The ones that other Guides can sense and another set that I…what, hide behind?”  Stiles asks.

“Two sets, yes.  I could not find a chink or a crack in them at all.  Everything that you are and everything that you could be is protected behind it including the bond to your spirit animal, a powerful bond indeed if I can still sense it.”

“Protected or locked away?”  Stiles ponders aloud.

‘Everything that you are’ Hendrix said and he has to wonder what exactly that is.  He doesn’t feel any different than he did five minutes ago.  Closing his eyes he looks inward and finds his ‘outer’ shield.  The cracking is there, but he can sense it’s repairing – the fissures not as gaping as they’d been only a few short hours ago when Matt had done his darndest to break them.

Searching deeper than he’s ever gone before, Stiles presses on, distantly aware of fur under his hands.  It grounds him allowing him to forge on until he feels more shielding – solid and strong.  His core shields.  They ripple powerfully, pleasurably under his mental touch and something beyond them, beyond himself presses back against them in answer.  A breath of hot sulphuric air rushes over and through his shuddering body accompanying a fierce desperate cry, a screeching sound like he’s never heard before that calls to him.  What he doesn’t understand is why he has such a strong sense of the burning man tangled within it.  He could almost believe that if he opened his eyes at this very moment he would see him right there in front of him.

“God damn it.”  Whispers through his mind and if Stiles had thought Danny had projected the deepest longing he’d ever heard when he spoke to his Guide before bonding he was wrong.  So very, very wrong.  That was nothing compared to the achingly desperate and shaken voice he hears now.  It tugs on something deep inside him and Stiles can feel on a cellular level the need to be with the burning man, in ways that leave his heart thundering in his chest and his skin hot and damp with sweat.  He’s never felt anything like it before, the intensity of it is shocking.

Rising to the surface Stiles breathes in shakily, opening his eyes to see the fingers of one hand are tangled in Hendrix’s thick ruff as the wolf pants heavily, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in exhaustion and the other hand is being nuzzled comfortingly by Capac.

What the fuck was that?  The connection that he has with the burning man is growing stronger by the second that much is obvious, but how is it tied to the spirit guide that Hendrix tells him is still part of him?  Whatever’s lurking behind his core shield is something he’s never encountered before and the lingering impression is one of power and intelligence.

Letting his focus return to his surrounds, Stiles is startled to see morning light seeping into the room around the edges of the window blind, enough that he wouldn’t need the bedside lamp on anymore.  How long had he been under, searching for his core shield?  Surprisingly, he feels alert and well-rested as though he’d slept through the night rather than had the bare minimum due to the previous night’s events.

Movement draws his attention and in the doorway are a bare-chested Ellison in pyjama pants and Blair whose sleep-tangled curls sit on broad shoulders dressed only in a pair of boxers, revealing a surprisingly hairy chest.  They’re both lean and ripped for dudes their age, looking at least a couple of decades younger than what he knows them to be.  What doesn’t surprise him is the way their eyes focus on the spirit animals and himself, they quite clearly see Hendrix and Capac and are obviously quite comfortable around them.

“Guys?”  Blair says the single word like a question and Stiles barely manages to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at the way the mighty jaguar and the powerful wolf instantly turn their heads from Blair towards him.  Big snitching snitches that snitch, wordlessly ratting him out.

“Core shields.”  Stiles snaps back half-bluffing and half hoping for an explanation.  Blair blinks, his sleepy-eyed expression turning alert and serious in an instant, his Sentinel mirroring it as he instinctively blocks the doorway on guard.

“Okay then.”  Blair huffs out, running a hand through his tangled curls.  “Stiles I really need to run a diagnostic scan on you, nothing too intrusive, just so I can see what we’re dealing with.”

“What we’re dealing with?”  Stiles says pointedly, not sure whether to be worried, offended or a bit of both.

“Stiles…it’s not common knowledge, but the only Guides that I’m aware of having dual shields are like myself, Shamans.”

“You think I’m a Shaman?”  Stiles squeaks in shock and dismay.  Both Sentinels and Guides look to the Shamans to lead, protect and guide the tribe and where healers can fix the body, a Shaman can heal the heart, mind and soul of a Sentinel or Guide.  He can’t do that, he’s just a guy, a teenager with issues out the whazoo that can barely keep himself together let alone anyone else.

“I don’t know.”  Blair shakes his head worriedly.  “You don’t feel like any Shaman I’ve ever encountered before-”  There must be something in Stiles’ expression that has the Alpha Prime Guide rushing on holding up a placating hand.  “-but, that means nothing.  We’ve seen too much, done too much that has never been seen or done before to take for granted that there’s a carved in stone set of rules for Sentinels and Guides.   There’s no handbook for this stuff, believe me I’ve asked.” 

Ellison snorts in amusement as he leans on the doorframe.

“We know Chief, more than once.”  Affection colours Ellison’s words and Stiles can feel his own mouth twitch as he sees Hendrix and Capac nod their heads vigorously in agreement.

Blair moves closer and lets his hands drift lightly over the furry heads of the wolf and the jaguar, as he does Ellison emits a low rumble, almost a purr of pleasure.  Blair snickers and strokes more firmly over and around Capac’s ears.  Ellison groans his Guide’s name and Stiles can see a blush settle high on the Sentinel’s cheekbones when he realises what he’s done.

“I’m going to get you for that.”  Ellison promises.

“I’ll look forward to it.”  Blair smiles wickedly.

“Would you like me to leave the two…excuse me, four of you alone?”  Stiles offers snarkily, taking petty satisfaction in the way the Alpha Primes turn guilty faces towards him.

Blair clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders.  “So, you can interact with these two.” He says affectionately, waving a hand towards the wolf and the jaguar.

“Uh huh.”

“Well that’s very interesting.”  Blair turns to Ellison.  “Come on.  We’ll get dressed, I’m not doing a diagnostic in my shorts.  Kitchen in ten.  Okay Stiles?”

“Yep.”  When the Primes leave Stiles tilts his head at the wolf and the jaguar who stare back at him expressionlessly.  “A little privacy please.”

Capac blinks lazily and Hendrix sneezes, shaking his head wildly, before they both give him toothy grins as they blink out. 

“Yeah, yeah laugh it up guys.”  Stiles mutters under his breath, fairly certain that he’s just been called a prude without a word even being spoken.

It’s closer to 15 minutes later when Stiles finally enters the kitchen.  As he’d been dressing he’d checked his phone and there were a couple of messages from his Dad just updating his progress to get to Cascade, so he’d replied to the most recent one.  There’d been no seats available on any flight so his Dad was driving and with the highways unusually very busy and slowing him down, it’s looking like he’ll arrive by midday, which is disappointing, but still a relief all the same.

He stops in his tracks as he sees that Ellison has Blair backed up against the kitchen counter, one hand cupping his jaw and tilting his face up to the perfect angle for them to kiss.  There’s no grinding or groping, nothing overt to see, just bodies pressed tight together and yet Stiles staggers back to lean on the wall, feeling his skin flush with heat and his heart start to race at the passion radiating between the two men.  The way Blair’s fingers desperately clutch the fabric of his Sentinel’s t-shirt at the small of his back and how Ellison’s thumb brushes tenderly back and forth over his Guide’s high cheekbone as they kiss is so unbearably erotic that it hurts to witness it and Stiles wants.  He wants so bad, not the men themselves, but the connection and the desire that they so clearly share, he wants that for himself and his Sentinel when he finds them.

Remembering the way the Burning Man had declared ‘mine’ in that possessive tone still sends shivers up and down his spine.  He can’t delude himself any longer – whatever’s been happening when he sleeps isn’t just a dream, it’s real.  The Burning Man is real.  He just has to be.

If he’s real then who better to ask for help finding him than the Alpha Primes of the United States.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Stiles finds that both Ellison and Blair are no longer kissing, in fact they’re both staring at him with a mixture of confusion, dismay and on Ellison’s part a particularly aggressive pissiness that has Stiles taking a step back.

“How did you-”  They both begin to ask, the look they share with each other then is full of an understanding that Stiles can only remember his own parents having.  Blair lifts his eyebrows at his Sentinel, letting him take the lead.

“How did you hide yourself from me?”  Ellison questions with a seriousness that feels deadly.  The Sentinel looms over him, his features more stern and forbidding than at any other time Stiles has seen. 

Stiles gulps nervously and lifts his chin not backing down.  “I didn’t know that I had.”

Ellison doesn’t say anything, stares for the longest time before simply nodding once and Stiles lets his breath out in a slow release as the tension in the atmosphere goes down a couple of notches. 

“Please don’t mention this to anyone apart from us.  There would be certain parties interested in finding out how to hide from a Sentinel’s senses.”  Says Blair.

“Gotcha.”  Stiles bites his lip as he thinks aloud.  “Kira…that’s one of my friends she mentioned something similar about not being able to sense me if she couldn’t see me, I don’t know if others have noticed it too and just not said anything.”

Ellison and Blair both frown. 

“Stiles, I need to scan you.  Trust me please, I won’t hurt you.”  That Blair is behaving as grimly as Ellison is unnerving and Stiles swallows thickly as he nods his agreement.  Blair directs him to the large wooden kitchen table, pivoting a chair on a single leg to allow him to face Stiles who does the same with his own chair.  Pursing his lips Stiles blows out a quick breath as he sits down.

“I’m going to start with a very basic light scan of your shields and empathic pathways.  Okay?  You ready for this?”  Blair asks with a reassuring smile and Stiles is relieved that he’s checking in with him and not just forging ahead like the Guides at the centre. 

“As I’ll ever be.”  He bluffs, ignoring the way his stomach dips.

“Here goes.”  Blair says before closing his eyes and Stiles sighs at the warmth that laps at his body like being immersed in a bath.  It’s heavenly, all his worries, all his fears seem to slowly seep away and he feels good, like he hasn’t felt in a very long time.  He laughs in delight.

“Doing okay Stiles?” 

“Yep, you feel good.”  Stiles slurs, he’s so very, very relaxed.  The warmth starts to fade away and Stiles struggles to open his eyes.  “Hey, where did you go?”

“That’s not me, it’s you.  I’ve barely started and you’re instinctively blocking me already and only letting me scan the surface, if it’s okay with you I think I’d get a better read if I touched you.”  Blair snorts when Stiles waggles his fingers at him and slouches back giving the Shaman a wicked wink.

“Lay your hands on me Shaman.”  He snickers at the sour look on Ellison’s face and winks at Blair again just to see Ellison’s lips purse even tighter.

“Stop that, you look twitchy as hell and it’s really pissing off my Sentinel.”  Blair admonishes, but his lips are quirking.

“Sentinel shmentinel.”   Stiles sing-songs defiantly, before leaning in close and whispering confidentially.   “Mine’s out there you know, I see the Burning Man when I sleep.”

“The burning man?”  Blair repeats in confusion.

“Little Guide.  What are you up to?”

Stiles nearly falls off his chair as he looks around frantically. 

“Woah, easy there.”  Blair says.

That voice, his voice, he’d definitely heard it here in real time.  It’s quite clear that Blair and Ellison don’t though, even so it doesn’t stop Stiles from replying and answering the curiosity that attractively rumbles in the Burning Man’s tone. 

“I’m being scanned.”

“Yes, you are.”  Blair smiles in amusement and Stiles lowers his head smirking, he seems to be carrying on two conversations quite successfully.

“Flirting more like it.”

“No…maybe.”  Stiles admits giddily, hearing the thread of jealousy in the increasingly familiar voice.

“You don’t need to flirt with anyone else, you can practice your wiles on me all you want, in fact I insist.  Wait for me Little Guide, I’m coming for you.”

“Wow.”  Stiles fans his face with his hand feeling exceptionally warm at the purring promise.

Ellison growls, before turning to his Guide.  “Why is he reacting like this?  It’s like he’s drunk.”

“I think he is in a way…let me just-”  Blair places his hands on Stiles’, a big jolt going through both of them as skin touches skin.  “Oh…oh my.”  Blair breathes out and the heated look he gives his Sentinel then sends Ellison’s eyebrows shooting upwards.

“What the hell’s going on?”  Ellison barks.

“Just a minute.”  Blair says, concentration furrowing his brow.  “Sorry, sorry.  I’m just getting a big amount of feedback from him…he’s really, really enjoying this, it threw me for a moment.  Think of it like he's been empathically touch-starved.”

Ellison scowls fiercely, but backs off.

“Whoa.  Okay…okay I see what you’re doing.”  Stiles mutters, embarrassed at the empathic fucking high he’s been on.  Blair’s yanked back on the reins of his own empathy, muted it somewhat, enough that Stiles can think clearly once more.  He can feel the Alpha Prime’s presence in his head, which is weird and unsettling unlike when Blair’s spirit guide did the same, it’s a battle to not clamp down on it and thrust it out no matter how good it’s making him feel, but he controls the urge, forcing it down and lets the other man examine him. 

When he lightly touches upon Stiles’ core shield he can feel it not open so much, but rather reach out and the only way he can describe it in a way that makes sense is like two computers from different networks connecting through their respective firewalls and exchanging information without breaching the security program and forcing it to shut down. 

What comes through that exchange is the true nature of the man in front of him.  It shows him that what you see is what you get with Blair - a deeply compassionate man with boundless strength and conviction.  Wondering what Blair will discover about him in return has Stiles’ stomach churning queasily.  Eventually, almost reluctantly they separate emotionally and mentally, not letting go of each other’s hands.  Blair squeezes them gently as he looks into Stiles’ eyes and smiles warmly.

“So brave, so strong and such a drive to protect the ones you love.”  Stiles blushes hotly, not so much at the description as the fond note in Blair’s voice.  “You’re a Guide of incredibly strong abilities Stiles there’s no doubt of it.  At the very least Shaman-level if not more.” 

“What?  No, no I can’t be.”  How can it be when for so long he’s thought of himself as low-level for such a long time?  A damaged broken Guide.  “I’m burned out, broken.”

“No.  Not broken.”  Blair states firmly.  “Not at all.  Your core shield is set primarily defensively, I think the trauma of your coming online put your Guide abilities into hypervigilance to the point that you’re locked down.  Normally I would expect this to correct on its own with time, but something’s obviously still sending your defensive instincts into alert years after.”

“So this defensive instinct is what stopped me from picking up on him before?”  Ellison questions.

“In a way.  Even though Sentinels primarily use their enhanced 5 senses to receive information, there’s still a base sixth one – a psionic exchange which allows a Sentinel to recognise a Guide beyond the physical.  It’s primarily to facilitate bonding with a compatible partner, however, you’ll find that Sentinels use it everyday in a minor way.  Think of it like a sonar ping, it’s what allows us to get a reading on another person, but while Stiles is receiving he’s just barely sending out so to most Sentinels and Guides he’s very difficult to get a read on.”  He turns to Stiles.  “It’s what allowed you to get the drop on Jim and myself.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”  Stiles protests.

“I know, it’s an unconscious response, but it also explains why you’ve been ranked so low as a Guide.”  Blair shakes his head at the face Stiles can feel he’s pulling, but it’s just so hard to believe.  Blair places his hand on Stiles’ forearm, his touch warm and comforting.  “I want you to read me when I say this.  Can you do that for me?”

Stiles nods uncertainly as he feels Blair’s shields drop and he opens himself entirely to Stiles’ empathy.  Blair’s honesty and compassion move through him, powerful and untainted and they remain that way as he says gently.  “Stiles you’re a Shaman.”

“I know you really believe that, I can feel it.”  He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, he doesn’t even need to concentrate, there’s no deception or subterfuge, Blair’s an open book.  “But, a Shaman…come on.  I know a Shaman quickly becomes a focal point for Sentinels and Guides in their area and I can tell you right now that I’m not Mr Popular with the others or even generally.”

Blair frowns severely.  The concern and identification that floods through the Prime’s touch is almost too much to take and Stiles tugs his arm out of the other man’s hold to get a bit of relief from such understanding. 

“The little that you’re sending out is incredibly appealing to other Sentinels and Guides, but without that full feedback in return they’re getting very mixed messages so they might not react well, you might even find some in the general population are downright hostile.  It happens with Warrior Guides as well, they expect a lamb and get a lion, that discord is unsettling when you’re not getting the whole picture.”

“I’m no Shaman.  I’m not like you.”  Stiles shakes his head in denial.  There’s no way, not even if it explains Mr Harris’ instant dislike of him in chemistry when he’d not even done anything.  He’d always explained it away as Harris being a dick, but maybe there’s more to it…nah, Harris is definitely a dick.

“And I wouldn’t expect you to be.  You’re you and I’m me.  We’re different and yet it’s why we feel so good to one another, almost compatible-”  Ellison growls at the term and Blair shushes him.  The accompanying low pissy rumble Stiles hears jolts him with awareness, reminding him that at the moment he’s not alone in his head.

“Not like Sentinels and Guides compatible, we’re like the yin and yang of Guides.  We balance each other out.  When you’re able to truly exchange psionically it’s a bit overwhelming for you because you’re not used to it, it triggers the pleasure centre in your brain making you feel really good.”

“Yin and yang?” 

“That’s a very basic understanding of what we are, opposites but still complementary to each other.  The latest research I’ve been doing is a joint project about spirit animals and there’s an emakimono scroll…a picture scroll I’ve been examining from Japan’s Heian Period.  It’s exquisite, the brush strokes in the painting are breathtaking.  Daniel…that’s one of my colleagues, said it made him cry-”

“Blair.”  Seeing Ellison bringing Blair back to the point with one word and such fondness in his expression is kinda endearing.

“Um…yeah.  Sorry.”  Blair smiles ruefully.  “I get kinda carried away with my research, I don’t know how Jack and Jim put up with us when Daniel and I get together.”

“Oh I dunno, it’s kinda hot when you two geek out together.”  Ellison confesses with a smirk and Blair blinks at him owlishly for a moment.

Before Blair can open his mouth, Stiles waves a hand in the air to attract their attention.  “Scroll, Heian Period, crying.”

Blair visibly shakes his head, smiling sheepishly.   “Right…yes.  Sorry Stiles.  When I say scroll it’s actually comprised of a number of scrolls that are read in order, unfortunately, one is missing - stolen they think - which we believe has most of the information regarding a particular type of Shaman…one we’ve not seen for many centuries.  A Spirit Guardian.”

“A Spirit Guardian?”  Stiles repeats in confusion at the unfamiliar term.

“When you look at a Sentinel or a Guide what do you see first, the person or the spirit animal?”  Blair asks.  “I see the person, the Sentinel and the Guide within them.   Spirit animals or spirit guides…well, I don’t always see them, but I frequently hear them and they like to talk to you don’t they, like a lot.”  Blair states and Stiles nods his head because words are simply beyond him right now.  “As a Shaman I draw people to me, particularly other Guides and Sentinels, just ask Jim.”  Blair looks over his shoulder to where his Sentinel is hovering behind him.

Stiles reels back in shock, he thinks he knows what Blair’s implying and it kinda makes sense, but seriously. 

“You sure do, they don’t leave you alone.”  Ellison grumbles, but his heart’s in his eyes when Blair tilts his head back and gives him a dazzling smile.   “Smile at them like that Chief and it’s no wonder.”

“Sometimes they come by just to say hello like it’s almost a compulsion, an acknowledgement, and sometimes it’s for advice or comfort or healing…and talk about over-protective, they can be obsessive about my personal safety and security – almost as much as Jim.”  Ellison snorts and Stiles wouldn’t be too sure of that.  “I get the impression that the spirit animals do the same to you Stiles, is that right?” 

Wide-eyed Stiles simply stares at the wild-haired Shaman Guide that’s just changed his world forever.  He wants to refute it, wants to deny that it’s even remotely possible, but he can’t.  It feels right, the down to his very bones kind of right. 

“Maybe you can tell things about them, about their Sentinel or Guide that you shouldn’t know, even if you are a Guide.  Like how strong they are, what their rating is or could potentially be.” Blair holds on tight as Stiles jerks back reflexively. “Any Sentinel or Guide will recognise the strongest among us, but not all will recognise the weakest or those in-between and not with 100% accuracy.  We don’t advertise it, but that’s a particularly unique gift to Shamans.”

“A gift?”  Stiles breathes shallowly, trying to steady himself.  Blair’s talking about things that he’d thought proved how different…how much of a freak he was in comparison to every other Guide.

“Yes a gift.  Now I know about your defences it explains why I could barely sense your empathy at all when I first saw you on the bus, I thought maybe I’d been misinformed about your potential, but there was a flicker when you saw Hendrix…a moment where you lit up and dazzled me and I realised he wasn’t wrong about you.”

“Yeah, don’t get your hopes up.  Those moments are rare and infrequent enough to be inconsequential.”   Stiles bitterly paraphrases the words that had etched themselves into his brain from the first moment he’d read his record and he painfully swallows the lump of disappointment that sits in his throat.

“Bullshit.”  The curse pulls Stiles’ fixed stare up from the floor in shock.  Blair shakes his head scowling.  “You know the iceberg that sank the Titanic and how there was so much more of it below the surface than what could be seen above?” 

Blair waits expectantly until Stiles nods his head in bewilderment.   “Stiles, you’re the frickin’ iceberg.”

“What?” 

“There’s so much untapped strength to your empathy that when you do fully access it you’ll be the strongest Guide I’ve ever encountered.”

“I…I don’t think that’s possible.”  Stiles insists, almost out of habit.  It’s a struggle to let hope in, not after all the tests that Deaton would put him through each year to see if there were any changes and having to endure the disappointment each and every time that there wasn’t.

“Anything’s possible Stiles, you just have to believe it.  I’m so glad my friend told me about you.”

“Your friend?”  Stiles wonders aloud, who could’ve told Blair about him?  His mind races, thinking about his conversation at breakfast with Finstock – was it really only yesterday – and remembering the times on the bus trip when Finstock had leaned in close to Blair speaking frequently to one another in such low voices he didn’t think it was possible for even a Sentinel to pick up on what they were saying.  Maybe it wasn’t just for secrecy, maybe it spoke of an intimacy he’d not even considered.   

“Coach?  Coach Finstock told you about me?  But why?”  

“Uh huh.  He’d noticed a few surges in your empathy and wasn’t convinced you were burned out, he was concerned that you were going to slip through the cracks at your local centre.  He asked for my opinion.”  Blair shrugs.  “I know it seems a bit underhanded, going undercover being your bus driver, but it gave me an opportunity to get a feel for you in a no-pressure situation.”

Stiles stares at their joined hands trying to absorb what he’s saying.  He doesn’t know what his face must look like for Blair to duck his head to gauge his expression, but it must be bad enough for him to say his name worriedly.

“You know Coach?”  That’s what Stiles can’t get his head around.  That his rambling, over the top teacher knows the Alpha Prime Guide of the United States well enough to get his advice about him.  Sure when he’d questioned Finstock the previous morning at breakfast he’d assumed that he’d had to be in the know about the Alpha Prime Guide of the United States driving their bus, not that they were so well acquainted that he could ask for such a favour.

“Yeah, Bobby and I go back a while.  We did some training with another Shaman together.”

“Wait, wait.  You’re saying that Coach Bobby Finstock is a Shaman?  But, his spirit guide isn’t a wolf.”  Stiles gawps, reeling at the knowledge, conscious of the raised eyebrow Blair’s directing his way at his disbelief.  “Are you sure?  It doesn’t seem possible.” 

Even as he says it, Stiles cringes inside because he didn’t mean it the way it came out, he’s been so used to knowing what a person’s level is discovering that Finstock’s been able to hide for so long what he is, is disconcerting.  Pot calling kettle black he supposes, look how long he’s apparently gone undetected for.

“Bobby’s always been an outlier and he’s not a Shaman.”  Blair’s expression is stern, almost forbidding.  “But, he could’ve been, he’s had a few losses in his life that changed him. Our teacher, Incacha, had high hopes for him still, but certain addictions can damage a Shaman’s ability to walk the path.”

Stiles winces, remembering his Dad’s struggle after his Mom died.  Even with both he and Caleb not giving up and supporting him it was a hard road to recovery.  He’s so grateful that his Dad managed to put away the bottle and although it means he’s uber-focused on the job to counter those impulses, Stiles knows that when it counts his Dad’s got his back. 

Oh God.  How’s he going to explain this to his Dad when he’s struggling to understand it himself?  Not to mention the additional stress and worry it’s going to cause him.

Tugging his hands free Stiles hunches over, elbows on his knees, and hides his face in his palms.  It’s all becoming too much.  He can’t think.  He can’t breathe.  In fact he’s choking from lack of air…he needs to breathe…he can’t-

“Yes you can, breathe little Guide.  In and out.  Steady.”

“Yes you can Stiles.”  Blair echoes the Burning Man and somehow has ended up on his knees in front of him his arms wrapped around him in a secure embrace.  It feels good, but it’s not anywhere near as reassuring as the confident calm voice in his head.  That he can feel searing a path soul deep as it loosens the bands of anxiety that had bound him, wrapping tight around his chest.  Ellison’s large hand settles on his shoulder giving a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry.”  He mumbles into Blair’s collarbone, not entirely sure who he’s directing his apology to – the Alpha Primes or the voice in his head.  Embarrassment burns his cheeks when that connection breaks off abruptly.

Blair pulls back and looks him in the eyes.  “You have nothing to apologise for.  If anyone has the right to feel a bit wobbly emotionally it’s you.  You’ve had a lot going on and if you didn’t react then I would certainly start to worry.”

“At the start of the week the only thing I had to worry about was Deaton’s offer to bond before I came here, now…”  Stiles trails off.

“Alan Deaton?  The Director of the Beacon Hills centre?  A druid, right?”  Blair asks and Stiles nods wearily.  “That would’ve been kinda…weird.”

“Yeah, right.”  Stiles is relieved to see that Blair’s nose wrinkles like he’s smelling something real bad.  “My Dad thinks he feels guilty for not being able to help me since I came online, but I’m not sure about that.  Isn’t offering to be my Sentinel taking it a bit too far?  He’s a 5 and I’m, as far as he knows, a 2 which would’ve put the bond out of balance from the start.”

“Yes, that level of incompatibility without a deep emotional connection would’ve ultimately collapsed the bond under the strain.  Which he would’ve known unless he knew-”  Blair breaks off abruptly, his eyes lifting to meet his Sentinel’s and their seemingly silent communication has Ellison giving Stiles’ shoulder a last gentle squeeze.

“On it Chief.”  Ellison leaves the kitchen pulling out his mobile phone as he goes.

“Unless he knew what Blair?  I’m not a child, I can deal with the truth.”  Anger surges through Stiles as he asks the question and he half expects Blair to project calm at him, but he doesn’t and he’s grateful that the other Guide’s letting him feel what he feels without interference.  “Unless he knew I was stronger than everyone thought, right?”

“That’s right.  If he knew you were a Shaman-level Guide, if he bonded with you then he’d get a hell of a boost in power.”  Blair says grimly.

Chapter Text

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.”  Blair breaks an egg into a bowl.  “Can’t promise I’ll have an answer though.”

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”  Stiles groans happily as he shovels another crispy homemade hash brown into his mouth, wincing as it tugs and pulls at his cut lip, but not enough to make him give up the fried goodness.

Blair laughs.  “Back when I was studying for my first degree, I was a short-order cook in a diner to make ends meet.  Picked up a few recipes, a few tips here and there.”

Stiles swallows noisily.  “First degree?  How many have you got?”

“A few.”  Blair chops up a tomato into rough cubes.  “Never stop learning Stiles, the moment we stop is when atrophy sets in.  The brain dulls, memory fades.”

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath and clamps down hard on his newly discovered dual shields, even so Blair flicks a concerned glance his way.  It’s an effort to return it with what he hopes is a fairly neutral expression, even managing to nod in agreement while that sharp pang of grief lances his chest.    

It takes a while for that pang to ease and he finds it soothing watching Blair move around the kitchen as he cooks.  Stiles likes to cook too, although it’s rather more chaotic when he’s in charge, messy too if he's honest, he’s envious of the other man’s ease in multi-tasking to produce such delicious comfort food, busily chopping ingredients and whisking eggs as pans heat up. 

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.”  Blair repeats with a grin.

“I’ve been having these dreams.”  Stiles grimaces.  “At least I thought they were dreams, but now I’m not too sure.  I think they’re real.”

Blair walks to the table with the frypan and slides a huge vegetarian omelette onto Stiles’ plate.  “You think you’re dream-walking?”

At Stiles’ puzzled look he explains further.  “Travelling to real places or seeing real people in your dreams.  Some dream-walkers can actually interact with the people they see.”

“I don’t think this is a real place…God I hope it’s not a real place.”  Stiles waves his fork in the air for emphasis.  “It’s like nowhere I’ve ever seen, not that you can see anything really.”  He shivers thinking of it.  “It’s darkness.  Pure darkness.”

“So what exactly is it about this dream that makes you think it’s real?”  Blair arranges his scrambled eggs, toast and fried tomato on his own plate and sits in the chair opposite Stiles.  “It sounds more like a nightmare.”

“The Burning Man he…look I know how this is going to sound, but he was there.”

“There where?”  Blair quirks an eyebrow curiously as he takes a bite of his fried tomato.

“In the hotel room.  He’s what stopped Matt from-”  Stiles stops and takes a deep breath aware that Blair’s watching him closely.  “The Burning Man he dragged me into the dream when I was awake and when he saw what was happening he came into the real world, turned into a wolf and then tore him to pieces.”  He shrugs helplessly, knowing exactly how crazy it sounds.  “Psionically speaking that is.”

“Okay.”  Blair says, tilting his head curiously to one side and Stiles is so relieved at his easy acceptance of his account that he slumps in his chair.  “There’s a question in there somewhere, because you said you wanted to ask me something, so what is it?”

“He said I was his.”  Stiles blushes to think of it and looks down at his plate.  “Which I don’t know how I can be if his spirit guide is a wolf you know…anyway, I think he’s out there, but I think he’s hurt or injured and I…I was wondering if you could maybe help me find him?”

“How long have you been dreaming of him?”  Blair asks tightly.

“It feels like forever, but I guess ever since I came online.”  Stiles rubs his forehead where there’s an ache starting to settle in.  “Everyone said it was from the trauma of the Hale fire, my mind coming up with nightmares to cope and shit coming out.”

“By everyone do you mean Deaton?” 

“Well…yeah, I guess.  He diagnosed it.  Severe empathic overload damaging the neural pathways permanently.  I mean we didn’t have any reason not to believe him, we trusted him.  I trusted him.  He was real good with my Mom when she got sick, seemed to be the only one who could calm her down when she started to…towards the end.”  He can’t bring himself to talk about his mother’s violent outbursts, particularly towards himself on her really bad days. He’s pretty sure the echo of her screaming at him “you’re not my son, you freak…where’s my son, the son I love” is a permanent one inside his head.

Blair nods sympathetically.  “Even with our enhanced senses and abilities we’re not immune to cancer.” 

Stiles is so surprised by the comment he can only stare at him.

“Blair, did…did you read my records?  Do any sort of research on the kid that Bobby Finstock wanted you to check up on?”  Stiles doesn’t hold back, knowing that he sounds accusing, but sometimes bluntness is what’s needed and not pussy-footing around.

“Of course I did-”  Blair begins confused, before realisation sweeps visibly over his face and he holds Stiles’ gaze as he says carefully.  “Our records show that your mother, Claudia Stilinski, passed away from an aggressive brain tumor.”

Stiles shakes his head.  “No.  No it wasn’t that.  Have you heard of Frontotemporal Dementia.”

“God damn it.”  Blair curses harshly.  The clatter of Blair’s fork hitting his plate and the scrape of his chair as he pushes it back to stand has Stiles’ head snapping up.  Blair stalks back and forth, muttering under his breath.

Stiles doesn’t know whether to be relieved or really, really worried when Ellison runs back into the kitchen and grabs hold of his Guide in an embrace that looks both comforting and secure.

“What’s going on Chief?”  That he has to ask tells Stiles that the Sentinel wasn’t monitoring their conversation, rather he’d picked up on his Guide’s distress through their bond.  He swallows hard and clamps his lips together tight to stop the quiver he can feel building up.

Blair shakes his head, his still unbound hair ripples over his shoulders in a tangle of long curls.  Drawing Ellison with him Blair sits down on his chair once more, his Sentinel sitting in the one next to him.  Stiles shakes his head minutely when Ellison looks to him for answers, he has no idea what’s going on.

“We’ve just discovered there’s inaccuracies in Stiles’ council record.  Jim…Stiles’ mother had Frontotemporal Dementia when she passed away not cancer as we have recorded.”  Ellison’s face darkens and the line of his strong jaw bulges noticeably, like he’s gritting his teeth fiercely.

“Okay.  I’m not going to lie, it was bad…I know I was there, but you guys look like…well you’re kinda scaring me a bit here.”  Stiles can feel his insides churning, whatever’s coming he knows he’s not going to like it.

“Stiles…like Alzheimers, FTD isn’t a naturally occurring disease in Guides.”

Stiles starts to squirm, he hadn’t known that.  “What are you saying?”

“For the last ten years one of our medical staff has been researching into why Alzheimers is so very rare in Guides, she has a history of it in the non-enhanced members of her family so she’s been researching a cure for the general population.  She’s made a couple of major discoveries, like finding a gene that Guides possess that prevents protein building up in the brain.  It was when she was working with a resident patient in our medical centre that she had a major breakthrough.  She discovered that FTD only appears in Guides who have had their minds tampered with - behaviour modification, hypnosis, memory removal that type of thing – it’s even worse if they’re strong enough to fight it.  Sentinels may suffer immediate effects from the same tampering, but it doesn’t result in brain damage of any sort to them.  Short-term the good news is that the empathic pathways in a Guide can recover and bounce back, but long-term-.”  Blair tsks sadly.  “It becomes permanent, the brain atrophies and…oh my God, Stiles…”  Blair looks at him horrified.  “Before what I said about learning, I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I figured.” 

“I hurt you though, I felt your grief before you hid it from me.  I thought it was to do with...”  Blair shakes his head, face stricken.  “I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay.”  Stiles insists, grateful when Ellison puts his hand on Blair’s shoulder when it looks like he’s not going to let it go.  “Are you saying that you think my Mom was brain-washed?  But, why?  Surely her spirit guide would’ve told us what was going on.”

“I can only speculate on the reasons why, but I think there’s a very real possibility that your Mom was and from what our specialist says, they believe it has an extremely negative effect on spirit guides not only psychologically, but reverting some of them to the basest of instincts where they might not be able to communicate at all.”  Blair says and Stiles nods his head slowly at the devastating storm of understanding that sweeps over him as he recalls Jem’s gradual descent into mutism which he’d attributed to his Mom’s failing health and her increasingly vicious attacks on some of the nursing staff looking after her that had dismayed and frightened him.

“We need to do a major investigation and audit on the Beacon Hills Centre and its Director.  This isn’t the only discrepancy.”  Blair continues.  “Matt’s record with us doesn’t mention any behavioural issues or your father’s report into his actions so the information coming from there is inaccurate at best or deliberately misleading at worst.”

“So whoever did it to her, killed her.”  Stiles states coldly, a hollow pit forming in his chest because Blair may not want to speculate, but Stiles does and everything points to this being his fault.  A growing sense of anger and outrage consumes him, obliterating all else.  The thought that someone had deliberately harmed his mother, had put her into a state where she didn’t recognise him and at times outright feared and hated him was so bitterly painful that he wanted to, no needed to destroy that person until there was nothing left.  Nothing but ashes.  

“Who do we need to kill little Guide?” 

“Not we, just me.”  Stiles grinds out, jaw aching his teeth are clenched so hard, unsurprised to hear that voice in his head once again.

“Hmm…you really mean that.”  There’s no approval or disapproval in tone, just a grim neutrality that Stiles appreciates.  He doesn’t need or want anyone telling him what to do when it comes to this.  It’s too important.   “If you change your mind…there’s times I could’ve used someone backing me up.”

The presence withdraws just as suddenly as it appeared.  Stiles shivers.  That just sounds so incredibly sad and lonely to Stiles for some reason that it draws him back from the place inside him that gnashes its teeth and snarls in fury over the manipulation of his mother.  He looks at the heavy wooden table still rocking under his hands in a haze of gold and sees distinct gouges in the oak timber that strangely align with his fingertips.  His nails looking thick and curved, more like claws and are those fucking scales on the back of his hands.  Big black ones that shimmer like an oil slick with undertones of green and purple as the light catches them.  

“Stiles…Stiles.”  A voice from far away catches his attention.  Blair.

Ellison has Blair tucked behind him as they stand at the far side of the kitchen, although Blair doesn’t seem to want to stay put trying to wriggle his way past, his Sentinel equally determined to keep him in place. 

“Control yourself Guide.”  Ellison growls sternly at Stiles and he can feel himself instinctively wanting to respond to the orders of such a powerful Alpha Prime which irks him at its wrongness.  He’s half-tempted to push back and see if Ellison could keep him under control.  Instead it’s the look of concern on Blair’s face that has Stiles banking the fury down, not gone, but not running wild anymore and the golden haze shading his vision slowly bleeds away with every blink of his lids.  Shivers run through him, the sensation of muscle and sinew twisting under the surface of his skin leaving him sore and aching.

“What the fuck was that?”  Stiles questions, reaching out to the glass of water by his plate and gulping down a few mouthfuls to clear the awful taste like he’s been gnawing on bbq charcoal briquettes.   The skin around his eyes and at his temples feels tight and tingly, touching it with a trembling hand he feels the smooth glide of iron-hard scales underneath his fingertips.

“Lets just say some atavistic traits became very apparent.”   Blair rasps out.

“Atavistic?  From a spirit guide I’m not sure even exists?”  Stiles asks, stomach pitching and rolling wildly as he considers the scales that slowly disappear from his hands, the matching tight tingling sensation running from his temples, down his throat over his shoulders and along the length of his arms fades.  It scares him, these traits of his supposedly repressed spirit guide.  It reminds him too much of Jackson’s Kanima side, not that Stiles has been bitten by a rogue Were like Jackson was, but he’s seen Jackson suffer over the years as he tried to come to terms with it.  Thank God, Lydia’s the Kanima’s master, the potential for it to be abused is frightening.

“I think we can be assured your spirit guide exists and it’s not necessarily a bad thing to take on some of their characteristics, it represents a deep connection.  We’ve both on occasion taken on aspects of Hendrix and Capaca.”  Blair says earnestly, pushing at Ellison’s outstretched arm.  “Will you quit it now?”  Blair says to Jim impatiently.  The Sentinel almost reluctantly lowers his arm just as his phone starts to ring.  As he answers the call, Stiles is uncomfortably aware that Ellison isn’t taking his eyes off him.

Ellison listens for a moment before speaking.  “Stand down.  Send the word to all Prides within a-”  He glances down at Blair who holds up his hand, fingers splayed wide.  “-500 mile radius…1000 mile radius-”  Ellison quickly corrects when Blair holds up both hands.  “You know what, send it nationwide considering DiNozzo picked up last night’s blow out over in DC.  Monitor the situation.”

Blair waves his hand to get Ellison’s attention.  “Get the PR Department to work up a statement too, you know the type, ‘after the unusually powerful empathic event of last night, a second incident involving a young Guide in training has occurred that may have impacted sensitives in the wider community, those feeling its effects including unreasonable fear or anger should report to the nearest S&G Centre for emotional realignment yada yada’.”

“Did you get that?”  Ellison asks, the answer must have been acceptable as the Alpha Prime continues.  “Good.  Keep me updated.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket and leans back against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his broad chest.

“What’s happening?”  Stiles clenches his hands tightly, fear and anxiety slithering in and coiling deep in his belly.

“Like I said Stiles, you’re a very powerful Guide.  A Shaman.  This is the second time your core shield cracked open a sliver because of how angry and sad you were…are.  What you projected was felt by Sentinels and Guides across the country including another Shaman in DC who wanted to be here to meet you, but he’s NCIS and caught up in the middle of a case.”  He huffs almost in amusement, but it’s tinged with sadness.  “From last night we’ve had such a massive influx of Sentinels and Guides from other states who felt your fear and your demand for help that the airport and freeways to Cascade are choked.”

“That’s impossible.  I’ve felt…stuff before-”  He holds up his hands to examine his nails only to see they’re completely normal now.  “-and not had that kind of response.”

Guilt pools like thick bile rising in his throat, recalling the fear and outrage of the violation he’d experienced the previous night there’s no way he’d want to push those feelings onto anyone else.  Blair slips back into the chair across the table from him and slaps a hand on the hard table surface in front of him making Stiles jump. 

“No, none of that.  It wasn’t intentional so don’t turn this into something worse in your mind.  Whatever’s been holding you back Stiles, those barriers are coming down hard and fast and I think a lot has to do with your Sentinel…this burning man.”

“It does?” 

“What do you know of the Hale House fire?”  Blair asks, before holding up his hand at Stiles’ raised eyebrow.  “Aside from it bringing you online.”

“Okay.”  Puzzled, Stiles shakes his head at the abrupt change of subject.  “Apparently a Sentinel with an axe to grind against the Hale wolf pack trapped them in their home with some mountain ash and set them on fire.”  Stiles’ eyes turn bleak.  “There were kids in there too, no survivors.  Before he died, one of the Hale wolves by some sheer force of will broke through the ash line and killed the murdering bitch.”

Blair nods his head.  “That’s pretty much the basics.  Did you know any of the Hales personally?” 

“Cora.  Cora Hale was in my year and I had a few classes with her, she was smart and snarky.  I liked her, she was ok.  I think I remember Mom and Dad taking me around to the Pack house a few times on Pride business while they were meeting with Alpha Hale and…and...”  Stiles frowns.  He has a feeling he should be remembering who that other person was, but it’s just not coming to him.

The Shaman and the Sentinel watch him struggle briefly before he gives up, shrugging his shoulders.

“Jim.”  Blair says his Sentinel’s name softly, a tic at Ellison’s jaw the only sign that he heard.  “Stiles is dream walking with a Sentinel and his wolf spirit.”  Ellison turns his head sharply to look at Blair who simply nods to let him know that he hadn’t misunderstood.

“Everything leads back to the Hale house fire.”  Ellison states, tapping a fingernail against the table top as he scrutinises Stiles.  Stiles doesn’t know what he sees, can only tell he’s come to some sort of decision when the older man seems to nod to himself and his hand stills. 

“What I’m about to tell you is classified Stiles.”  He waits for Stiles’ response to the gravity of that statement and all Stiles can do is blink, there’s not a smartass reply left in him.  It’s all that Ellison apparently needs. 

“There were survivors of the fire.”

Of all the things that he could’ve said, Stiles doesn’t think he’s been more surprised even when something deep inside tells him it’s something he’s always known.  It takes him a moment to realise that he’s gaping at Ellison and his teeth click loudly when he snaps them shut.  It’s been part of Beacon Hills’ folklore for such a long time now that it’s practically carved in stone that one of the most horrific local events had wiped out an entire pack.

“Classified?  For what reason.”  Stiles scrubs an unsteady hand over his face as he thinks it through.  “Are they still in danger?”

“Not now, at the time though we thought the Argent clan still remained a threat, but they’ve since been disbanded.  There were four survivors of the fire originally.”  Ellison continues, ignoring that he’s shredded the fabric of Stiles’ reality of what he’s always known.  “Unfortunately, there’s only 3 remaining.  Cora, Derek and Peter Hale.”  Stiles jerks, feeling the shock of those names pulse through him and one in particular that’s like a needle driving into his brain and has him wondering how the heck he’d forgotten it.  “Laura and Derek Hale weren’t in the house when it was started, when they got back it was fully ablaze and then Laura became Alpha.” 

Ellison pauses for a moment, they all know that for Laura to become Alpha it came with the death or rather the murder of the previous one.  Her mother, Talia Hale. 

“We can only surmise from the crime scene evidence that Laura took down a couple of Hunters before Kate Argent got the drop on her and then Peter became Alpha.  A feral Alpha Sentinel werewolf-”

“A what?”  Stiles interrupts unable to help himself, nearly positive he’s misheard.  It’s a known fact that werewolves are only able to manifest as Guides if they have the gene, the theory being that with their already enhanced senses they couldn’t cope with being a Sentinel as well, that nature was protecting them from going insane from all the extra sensory data. 

“The only recorded Sentinel werewolf.”  Ellison confirms.

“Had he identified his spirit animal before the fire?  It was definitely a wolf?”  Stiles asks, conscious that Ellison’s tilted his head slightly as though listening to something and Stiles is pretty damn sure that it’s his heartbeat which feels like a booming drum inside his chest it’s beating so hard.

“Yes.”  Blair answers, taking pity on him.  The breath Stiles releases is freeing.  The Burning Man had felt like a Sentinel and yet he was accompanied by a wolf spirit guide and that had cast doubt on what he believed he was feeling and sensing whenever he interacted with him, but to know it was actually possible was overwhelming.  “His record was sealed at the request of his Alpha when he came online in a car accident and the attending paramedics reported it.”

“So that test wasn’t conducted at the Beacon Hills Centre.”  Stiles rolls his head back to look at the ceiling as his mind races.  Is the common denominator in everything that’s been happening the Hale House fire or is it really the Beacon Hills Sentinel and Guide Centre?   If Peter had been tested there when he came online he wonders how accurate the report the Cascade Sentinel and Guide Centre would have received if one was even sent.

“No, the accident happened just north of Cascade.”  Blair can obviously see the speculation in his face as he shakes his head.  “Just a terrible accident.  Peter Hale and his human brother-in-law were driving back from visiting a Canadian pack across the border.  Bad weather, wet road and another vehicle lost control and hit them head on.  As our Centre was the closest, we were the first to assess Peter afterwards.  He seemed to have an inordinate amount of control when we counselled him as a newly risen Alpha Sentinel which was surprising and I have to say a relief.” 

Blair darts a quick glance towards Ellison.  “He was strong back then even before he received the pack Alpha spark and it pushed at Jim’s territorial instincts as Prime to have someone so very close to his own levels to be in Cascade.  His control seemed to be even better in Beacon Hills and we could only surmise that it was Peter’s experience with his wolf senses and his pack bonds that gave him such control, but now I’m wondering if it’s because you were there too.  Sentinels and Guides can be drawn to one another even before coming online when there’s a strong potential for compatibility, so even though you were latent he might have been unconsciously grounding himself on you through scent, you did say Cora Hale was in your class it might have been enough.” 

Stiles blinks because that’s just...wow.  A little thrill travels down his spine at the idea of his Sentinel getting what he needed through his scent.  “Unconsciously?”

“Yes.  A Sentinel or Guide who discovers a potential bond mate that’s underage wouldn’t necessarily recognise them as such, they may be unusually fond or protective of the child and even if they did recognise them as a future bond mate the instinct to protect would override any other that could cause harm mentally and physically from bonding too early.”  Stiles considers that and nods in agreement, it makes sense.

“Anyway, Peter in a feat of unbelievable strength of will was able to break through the mountain ash barrier and get Cora out of the house.  From what was left of Kate Argent and her little cohort of so-called ‘hunters’ Peter hunted them down before his wounds overcame him.  He was found feral, seriously wounded and wrapped around his niece and nephew, Derek’s a Guide and he was knocked out by the empathic trauma and destruction of his pack bonds.  We had to tranq Peter so we could get to the kids he was so intent on protecting them no one could get near.  We arranged a medivac and put them into “witness protection” letting the belief that the family had been wiped out continue for their own safety.  Whether, Peter Hale was acting as a feral Sentinel or a rogue Alpha werewolf there would be some groups that would find either version too dangerous to leave alone if he was awake or not.”

“Personally, I don’t think one was more or less in control than the other.   I think the idea of an out of control Alpha Sentinel werewolf scares the crap out of a lot of people, me included-”  Ellison admits wryly.  “-but what scares me more is the cunning and strategic Alpha Sentinel werewolf that tricked some of those hunters into shooting at each other before he finished the job with no mercy.”

Stiles swallows uneasily.   Not from what Peter did, rather uneasy at his own grim satisfaction in Peter getting vengeance upon the hunters.

“Allison.”  Stiles leans forward.  “One of my classmates, she’s an Argent, but there’s no way she’s like Kate Argent.  I’d know.” 

“You’d definitely know as she’d go dormant from the backlash of murdering innocents like her Aunt and Grandfather did.  It was her father, Christopher Argent that turned his father and wife in after the fire when it brought him online as a Sentinel and he discovered that they’d conspired with his sister to burn the Hales alive.  Damn supremacists.”

“Oh.”  Stiles breathes out glad to hear that what he believed was actually true, that Allison wasn’t like those paramilitary crackpots that believed Sentinels were the higher, superior race as long as they were purely human.  “Wait...wait a minute you said they were dormant, but all the stories say that it was an online Sentinel that murdered them.”

“That’s true.  There were signs…terrible awful signs.” Ellison’s expression darkens.  “What we’ve never released is that Kate Argent was a dormant Sentinel who used sacrifices and dark magic to maintain her appearance as an active Sentinel.” 

“But, the Argents aren’t a magical bloodline.”  Stiles protests.

“That’s correct, a family strong in Sentinels, but no magic.  We’ve not been able to trace the magical person who aided them.  Kate wore a necklace, a silver pendant that was charmed to mask her dormancy, the magical signature on it was something that’s not been recorded before – but, it was very dark and very corrupt.  The burning of whole packs alive wasn’t just for their manifesto it was so she could use their lives to fuel her dormant Sentinel nature to lure the Guide members of the next family she targeted and let her get closer.  A vicious murderous cycle.”

Stiles’ stomach heaves violently.  “Jesus Fucking Christ, she did this more than once.”

Blair nods.  “Two other packs that we’ve traced so far, but we think there maybe more.”

“Oh my God, oh my God.”  He’s never heard of anything so horrific in his life.  “Lured you say.”

“She would target young teenagers in a pack.  Seduce them to find out everything about the pack…their routines, their security and then burn them alive.” 

“Who-”  Stiles starts to ask when his brain catches up and there’s really only one person who would fit in that target category.  “Derek.”

Blair stares back at him wincing as Stiles’ grief and outrage pulse strongly against his shields in waves.

He tries to pull it back, to rein it in, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything else with the names of the Hales resonating within him.  Cora the badass of the middle-school playground, a classmate who sat at the desk one row over from him and would poke her tongue out to one side when she concentrated on her math problems.  Derek he remembers as a skinny teenager still growing into his eyebrows, a begrudgingly devoted older brother who would wait for her by the playground after school, both of them picked up by Laura who would wheel into the car park with a squeal of brakes and a big ass grin to pick both of them up.  Peter, the supposed big bad left hand of the Hale Pack who would always ruffle his hair before slipping him a small bag of Reese’s Pieces whenever he and Alpha Hale visited their house, the pack and pride leaders of the territory often meeting, before they disappeared into his Dad’s home office.

That memory jolts within him, he still can’t quite picture him, if he tries too hard his head hurts, but blue eyes flicker at the edge of his recollection. 

“Peter.”  Saying his name aloud, hearing the sound of it feeling the vibration of it in his throat and on his tongue fills him with emotion.  “What happened to Peter after?  Is he still in witness protection?”

Blair shakes his head, mouth turning down bleakly.  “He didn’t wake up after being tranquilised, he’s been in a zone out since that day and his burns haven’t healed at all.” 

“What the fuck?  It’s been six years, but…but, he’s an Alpha werewolf, he should’ve healed.”

“We know, but for some reason he didn’t.  They still look as fresh as the day it happened.  Our medical staff can’t explain it.” 

Stiles winces, before feeling his breath stutter in his chest as he realises what Blair’s words imply…what he hopes they imply, his eyes wide as he stares at the Alpha Primes. 

“You mean he’s here.”  Stiles squeaks, pushing the fluttering wings of hope down from his chest to his belly.

“Come on.”  Blair says, pushing his chair back with his legs as he rises.  “Let’s go and find your Sentinel.”  Blair waves his hands in an upward motion to hurry him along.

“You think Peter Hale is my Sentinel?” 

Blair’s eyebrows lift.  “The most unique and powerful Sentinel in existence, an Alpha times two, has been connecting to you, the most unique and powerful Guide in existence, through your dreams and manifesting in your most desperate hour and you don’t think he is?” 

“Point.”  Stiles stands jerkily, losing control of his limbs they’re shaking so badly.  “We’re doing this right now?”

“No time like the present.”  Blair starts to usher Stiles out of the kitchen.

“What if…what if he’s not?” 

“What if he is?”  Ellison replies and there’s a calm steadiness threaded in those words that eases something inside Stiles, something anxious and fearful. 

“Yeah.”  He wipes his suddenly sweaty palms down the front of his jeans.  “Yeah.”  He repeats, looking at the waiting Alpha Primes.  “Let’s do this.”

“STILES.”  The familiar voice calls to him as he emerges from the Alpha Prime’s apartment.

Looking down the corridor he can see Kira sprinting towards him, Raeden a blur of fiery colour running at her side, and Stiles slips past Ellison’s restraining hand to rush towards her, hearing the older man curse behind him.  They crash together and the hug is almost as good as his Dad’s and surprisingly grounding.  Stiles lets out a deep breath, ruffling the silky swathe of hair that brushes across his face as she inhales deeply at his throat, her arms are strong and secure around him and he hopes that she feels as much comfort from him in return.

“They wouldn’t let us see you.”  Kira growls fiercely.  He grips her tighter.

“Let him go Sentinel.”  Ellison says from just behind him.  Kira lifts her head and Stiles can see her eyes flare a brilliant burnt orange before flickering to white the pupils fading away.  Raeden echoes Kira's snarl as her Kitsune power comes to the fore. 

“Wait Jim.”  Blair puts a hand on his Sentinel’s shoulder, letting it slide down his arm to tangle his fingers with the other man’s.  “Who wouldn’t let you see Stiles?  We didn’t give those orders.” 

For a moment Stiles doesn’t think Kira’s going to answer Blair. 

“Kira?”  He questions.  Meeting his eyes he sees the white in hers bleed away, slowly returning to human.  

“Some dick Guide down in centre reception.”  Kira answers, the tension in her body easing as she turns her attention to Stiles.  “The others had to distract her so I could sneak in and find you.  Are you okay?  We felt you…you were angry and hurting so bad with it I thought-”  She shakes her head, her half-smile more a grimace.  “I thought Jackson was going to Kanima the fuck out on all of them he was so upset.”

“Monroe.”  Blair says to Jim pulling his phone out of his pocket.  “I changed hers and Blake’s rotation after our talk with Stiles earlier.  I’ll have to replace her.”

Ellison shakes his head.  “No.  Leave her there Chief.   We’ll keep an eye on her.  I checked her records, she transferred from the Beacon Hills Centre a couple of years ago with a recommendation from the Director of that Centre.”

“A plant?” 

“We’d be foolish to ignore the connection.  Blake is a Druid which is another link to Deaton which concerns me, so if there’s something else going on with them in relation to Stiles then at least we know where they are.  No need to warn them if there’s something off.”

Blair pokes his phone back in his pocket.  “Well Stiles I think it’s quite clear that this young lady will be coming with us.  I’m Blair Sandburg and this is my Sentinel, Jim Ellison.”

“Woah.”  Kira’s cheeks redden before her innate politeness carries her past her embarrassment at meeting the Alpha Primes and she bows slightly to both of them.  “Kira Yukimura, sir.” 

Tilting her head to one side, Kira’s eyes narrow at Blair.  “I’ve seen you before.”

“Yes you have.”  Blair’s succinct reply draws a blink of surprise from Kira and Stiles has to stifle a snort of amusement.  “Maybe you should let the rest of your pride know that you’re okay.”  Blair suggests and Stiles almost turns to see who’s behind him when he realises that he’s actually talking to him.

“What pride?”  Stiles manages to articulate. 

“The one that’s formed around you Stiles.  These others that are distracting our staff to find you, would be your pride.”

“What are you talking about?  Half of them don’t even like me.”

“Shut. Up.”  Kira intonates sharply, scowling fiercely at him.  “I had to pull rank to stop the rest of them from charging up here after you that’s how much they don’t like you.”

Blair waves his hand towards Kira in a very obvious ‘ya see’ gesture.  “Last night I did a quick review of the results from yesterday’s testing and what stood out quite clearly is that you and your classmates are a lot more stable than some of the other school groups.  There’s far fewer zones and empathic blow outs in your group than the average, which often means the Sentinel and Guides are getting very good support on a Pride level.”

“That doesn’t necessarily have to do with me and what do you mean ‘pull rank’?”  Stiles asks in bewilderment.

“The leaders of a Pride have trusted lieutenants…right hand men or women so to speak.”  Ellison pipes in.  “The other Pride members will instinctively recognise that couple as such and defer to them when the Pride leaders are absent.  Usually it’s a Sentinel and a Guide who share the responsibilities.  Sometimes they’re a bonded couple and sometimes they’re not, like our seconds, Megan and Simon, they’re in Major Crimes with us.  It works well considering the majority of our pride is from the precinct so they run things there when we’re here at the centre.”

“Kira’s my second?”  Stiles is reeling.  “Jeezus, you’re telling me I have a pride and now I have a second too.”

“Sentinel Ellison is right.  My place is at your side, I feel it…have felt it since I first came to Beacon Hills and saw you in the school cafeteria.  Like most Sentinels I have a powerful need to protect Guides, but with you it’s twice as bad and I fought it, not understanding, I do now.”  Her hand shoots out and grabs his, her voice urgent and impassioned.  “Tell me you feel it…this connection.  You may not be my Guide and I may not be your Sentinel but my future is tied to yours Stiles, I know it.”

He doesn’t have to use any of his empathic senses to know that she’s telling the truth or what she believes to be the truth he qualifies.  He’s honest enough to admit he does feel a connection to her, right from the get-go she’s always felt right to him, someone he can trust.

“I feel it.” 

Kira’s smile is so radiant even Blair and Ellison seem a bit dazzled by it and grin rather goofily at her.  Stiles rolls his eyes and concentrates on Junebug, he’s always had a good relationship with the big Grizzly bear and knows that she’ll probably be one of the most anxious to see that he’s okay.

His ears pop when she instantly appears and he flails for a moment when she hauls him into a literal bear hug before he sinks into her embrace.  It’s only when breathing through her thick fur starts to become an issue that he tries to free himself.

“Junebug.”  He manages to wheeze, his hands fluttering wildly trying to create a bit of space between her furry bulk and his half-crushed chest as he struggles to breathe.

“Are you okay honey?”  She eventually releases him, running her gaze up and down his body.  “Do you want us to bust you out of here?  I could flatten these two with one paw you know.”  Junebug eyeballs Blair and Ellison, seemingly unimpressed with their status as Alpha Primes.  Capac and Hendrix who must’ve appeared while he was being suffocated, snarl and growl in sync.

“Speak to me like that again and I’ll forget I’m a lady.”   Junebug warns rising onto her back legs and towering over them all.  Hendrix lowers his muzzle and Capac yowls, rolling his head on his shoulders and Junebug sniffs haughtily, but Stiles can see her shoulders relax at the apology.

“Junebug, can you let everyone know I’m okay…we’re okay.  That Kira found me.”  Stiles jerks a thumb towards his Kitsune second and doesn’t that just sound weird and all too right at the same time.  “We’ll see them soon.”

Junebug’s massive head wobbles as she nods.  Holding up her paw to her muzzle she loudly side whispers to Stiles.   “Watch out for the kitty, he’s a smooth talker.”

Blair snorts loudly and Ellison’s brows rise higher than Stiles has ever seen in the short time he’s known him, as he looks down at his spirit animal, the black jaguar looking decidedly smug.  Junebug pops out of sight as she points her paw back and forth between her eyes and where Blair and Ellison watch bemusedly as the Grizzly threatens them with her ‘I’ll be watching you’ gesture.

“I like her.”  Blair declares with a broad smile, before his expression turns thoughtful.  “I wonder if it’s just because we’re in proximity to you that we can hear and see other spirit animals, we might have to test that at some point.”

“I’ve only been able to see the spirit guides of those that are close to Stiles in the pride, but I can see yours now.”  Kira gestures to Capac and Hendrix as Blair hums listening interestedly.  Curiosity brightens his eyes as he turns to Stiles again.

“Was that your first instinct, to contact one of your pride’s spirit guides?”  He asks.

“Yeah.”  Stiles replies.  “Why?”

“Oh nothing really, it’s just when I said let your pride know how you are I was rather thinking you’d call or send a message.”  Blair points to the distinct outline of his phone in the front pocket of his jeans and Stiles can feel his face grow hot remarkably quickly.  Blair pats his shoulder.  “Don’t overthink it Stiles just go with your instincts.”

“Where are we going?”  Kira asks as they start to walk down the corridor.

“To find my Sentinel.”  Stiles replies walking on with Blair and Ellison only to realise that Kira and Raeden have stopped in their tracks and are staring at him with wide eyes.  “Maybe.”  He qualifies with a shrug.

Kira visibly swallows and nods her head.  “Okay, lets find your Sentinel.”

The medical wing is on the far side of the complex and as they get closer Stiles realises he’s sensing a null area – an area where there’s no feeling or emotion, just dead empty space.  It’s weird and he doesn’t like it one bit.  Kira moves closer to him and he wonders if she’s aware of it too, whatever they’re using he’d be fairly certain that it stops Sentinel’s using their enhanced senses too.

“To protect the patients in here we use the highest rated shielding…it’s disconcerting I know, but you get used to it.” 

At Blair’s comment, Stiles shares a glance with Kira who lifts her eyebrows and grimaces.  Yeah, he has to agree, he doesn’t think he’d be getting used to it in a hurry either.

As they enter the wing, Stiles sways in place with a gasp as that same magnetic pull he felt before tugs on his mind and senses, only stronger.  Much stronger and it’s a struggle not to give in and just run through the wing and find the source.  Concern bleeds from Kira and Blair, Stiles manages to give them a thumbs up hoping it indicates he’s okay well enough because his mouth feels suddenly dry and cottony.

“Is it like before, when we first got here?”  Kira asks curiously.  “You felt something as soon as we walked into the building.”

Stiles nods, words still beyond him.

“You’re feeling the draw towards your Sentinel.”  Blair says, his eyebrows lifting high on his forehead.  “That’s pretty impressive, medical is shielded, but Peter’s room has military grade shielding due to his extreme sensitivity.  Not much gets through that.”

A doctor standing at the ward desk talking to a nurse turns and smiles at Blair and Ellison in greeting.  Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, a stethoscope draped around her neck.  If Stiles were to guess he’d say she was mid to late-thirties and attractive, not just in looks there’s an aura of competency about her that’s very reassuring and not only because she’s a Guide.

“I was just about to give you a call.”  She says, an appealing huskiness to her voice.  Stiles can see her name badge says Dr M. Shepherd and he thinks if he’s ever in need medically then that’s a name he’ll remember.  “He’s improving at a phenomenal rate.” 

“That’s great Meredith.”  Blair says enthusiastically.

“It’s more than great, I don’t think you get how amazing this is.  He’s been dying since the moment he arrived here six years ago and not through anything we’ve done he’s somehow hung on …this is like a genuine miracle.” 

“How did this happen?”  Ellison questions.  Dr Shepherd’s eyes flick towards Stiles and Kira and he can see the hesitation on her lips, so does Ellison.  “We think Stiles might be able to help him.”

Dr Shepherd’s eyes widen speculatively at that information then narrow as she takes in his bruises and Stiles can feel the lightest brush of her empathy against his own and he wants to squirm, uncomfortably aware that she’s trying to check his pain levels.  Curiosity burns in her light green eyes as he gently deflects her empathy preventing her from assessing him.

“I’m good, the Doc said the usual painkillers and to ice it.  You don’t need to…ya know.”  He waves his hands and shrugs.

“You’ve been examined?”  Dr Shepherd questions with a frown.

“Cristina checked him out last night.”  Ellison states as Stiles nods his head. 

“I was just going over the notes from her shift.  An assault?”  She questions and Stiles stiffens bracing himself to see both pity and horror in her expression.  Her frown deepens as she scrutinises him, before pointing to his wrists and says with a practicality that eases the tension in his shoulders.  “I’ve got some balm that might help.”

“That’s okay-”

“It’s not really.”  She interrupts, pulling out a medium size metal pot from her pocket.  “I always carry some with me.  It’ll heal the bruising quicker and a coating over some of those abrasions will reduce the impact on a Sentinel’s sense of smell.  Your blood must be driving them mad.” 

Stiles looks at Ellison and Kira.  Ellison shrugs non-committal, but Blair gives a slight nod.  Kira simply growls, her eyes lighting up.  Well, that’s a big ol’ yes to that then.

Holding out his wrists like he’s going to jail, Stiles manages not to wince too much during the whole process because each time he does Kira winces with him and curls her lip at Dr Shepherd baring her teeth.  She goes from surly to adorably embarrassed each time she realises she’s getting snarky at the older Guide.

When the Doctor’s finally finished, Stiles rotates his wrists, seeing how flexible they are with the light bandages wrapped around them.  It’s good.  They feel comfortable and there’s already a noticeable decrease in the thumping ache of his bruises there.

“Thanks Doc.”

“You’re welcome Stiles.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Dr Shepherd’s spirit animal tugs at his pant leg, crouching down he lets her balance against his knee listening as she introduces herself.  Dr Shepherd watches him in bewilderment for one moment before her eyes suddenly widen, cursing under her breath she kneels at his side. 

“There you are.”  She breathes out softly, her attention focused on the black and grey raccoon.  “I’ve been looking for you.”

With fingers that tremble she reaches out tentatively and gasps when Crumpler wraps a little paw around her index finger. 

“Thank you my Lord.”  Crumpler’s whiskers twitch happily as she gazes at her Guide through bandit-masked eyes.  “She was so close to seeing me, but couldn’t quite get there.  Harsh words from the ones who are supposed to love you the best can wound the worst.”

Stiles grimaces at how true a statement that is and Dr Shepherd sighs heavily before giving him a rueful smile.

“When I came online my Mom who hadn’t known who I was for the previous 18 months suddenly remembered me for one minute and 27 precious seconds and in that time she didn’t tell me she loved me or that she was proud of me she said being a Guide was uncivilized and I’d be better off dormant.  I didn’t have time to tell her how wrong she was, I know she loved me but I couldn’t stop hearing those words in my head even though I knew it was the disease talking.  If you did this-”  Dr Shepherd’s emotions swirl around Stiles, the bittersweet of happiness tinged with sorrow and her experience with her mother is so close to his own that he can feel a huge lump in his throat.

She ducks her head, seemingly overcome, and Stiles finds his fingers stroking soothingly over the same finger that still has Crumpler’s paw curled around it not trying to hide his personal understanding of what she’s talking about as he recalls his own Mom and some of the things she’d said that had hurt worse than any punch.  Raising her head proudly there are tears welling in her eyes as she meets his gaze. 

“Thank you, thank you.”

“It wasn’t me, you did this together and I should be thanking you.”  He says awkwardly before standing.  What she said about the disease talking rather than her mother is really resonating within him - disease or brainwashing in his Mom's case and the jagged edged hurt he’s long carried inside regarding his own Mom feels a fraction less razor sharp than it did.  He’s going to have to take some time and really examine that perspective when he has some privacy.  Mentally closing that door, he re-focuses.

Dr Shepherd gathers Crumpler into an embrace, the raccoon’s black and grey striped tail looping over her arm as she holds her Guide’s face between her tiny hand-like paws.  Stiles and Ellison help her get to her feet and Crumpler clambers up her chest and onto her shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in Dr Shepherd’s ear.

Whatever she says to the Doctor galvanizes her to immediately start shooing Stiles down the corridor. 

“Why didn’t you say so?  I can’t believe it.  After all these years…he’s improved in the past 24 hours so rapidly, I thought his most recent readings were from a faulty sensor, but it wasn’t that…all his senses were being stimulated by you.”  Stiles squeaks helplessly as he’s herded relentlessly, stumbling backwards through an automatic sliding door and stops dead as he’s nearly overcome by the prickling wave of empathic recognition that rushes over him.   He’s so close to his-

“Who the hell are you?”  An unfamiliar voice growls and Stiles slowly turns around ready to snarl back when he’s nudged aside.  Scowling, his lips part to give Kira a serve because he doesn’t need to be protected all the time, particularly not from Mr Broody Eyebrows over there, when he sees Raeden dart forward to stand in front of a young black wolf and…oh, he didn’t see that coming.

“Guide.”  Kira says almost reverently and for one moment Stiles feels such dazzling hope and joy radiating from them both that he staggers when almost instantly the stranger’s feelings evaporate into nothing, a wall crashing down and cutting off the emotions he’s broadcasting and leaving a void that’s so cold it burns. 

“Get out.”  The man barks, sounding fierce and determined, yet Stiles can’t help but notice the way he steps back warily, trying to move out of reach behind the chair he’d been sitting on next to the room’s hospital bed.  The hospital bed that Stiles daren’t look too closely at its occupant or risk losing all semblance of focus and self-control.  The black wolf puffs its chest out and bares its teeth at the fox that’s not even a quarter of its size.

“Guide?”  Kira takes a step closer, unconsciously predatory, and Stiles doesn’t need to sense the fear leaking out of the other Guide he can see it in the way he tries to blend into the white wall at his back as though trying to become invisible.  It’s not possible, not just because of the dark blue scrubs he’s wearing, but the man is powerfully built and ridiculously good-looking even with a fierce scowl.

“Kira.”  Stiles says her name softly knowing that she’ll have heard him, just as she knows exactly where he is behind her.  “Go easy.”

Her back goes ramrod straight, but she manages to nod stiffly.  The silky strands of her hair slides over her shoulders like a shiny black ribbon as she tilts her head back and inhales deeply quite clearly drawing in the scent of the man. 

“My Guide.  Afraid?  Of me?”  Kira’s distress sends Stiles’ heart racing faster as she keens sadly.

“I’m not bonding with you Sentinel so you can march right on out of here.”   The Wolf Guide is putting on a good front, harsh and determined, but his fear and uncertainty taint his psionic signature making Stiles want to spit as it manifests to his senses like ashes on his tongue. 

“No one’s going to go against your wishes Derek.”  Blair says calmly and Stiles sucks in a harsh breath.  This can only be Derek Hale and as he examines the other man’s features he can see the teenage boy he recalls in the shape of his face and the unusual mix of colours in his eyes.

Stiles can see Kira’s shoulders droop and start to shake uncontrollably. 

“Raeden.”  He calls quietly.  The fox sends the big black wolf a lingering look of disappointment before she reluctantly turns to him.  “Your Sentinel needs you.”

Raeden shakes her whole body from the tip of her nose down to her tail and Stiles watches in fascination as she transforms, no longer solid, but an entity made of swirling wisps and curlicues of black and grey smoke and shadows.  Orange eyes blink at him as she gives a little nod of understanding and in a slow leap towards Kira she disappears momentarily only to appear draped around her shoulders, thick twin tails of smoke laying across Kira’s chest almost like a shield as she nuzzles at her Sentinel’s chin. 

Kira’s trembling stops.  She’s always felt like sunshine to him, an innate joy in life a constant in the aura of her very being, what he senses in her now is the icy blast of devastation.  He shivers at the chill of it.

“Kira.”  Stiles wants to go to her, but the bleakness in her eyes stops him in his tracks.

“I’m fine.”

“Kira.” 

“I said I’m fine.”  Kira snaps.  Her drooping shoulders lift and straighten.  “Or I will be.”

He’s never tried this before, reaching out to someone through his empathy voluntarily, mainly because he never thought he could.  He wants to try for Kira though.  Stiles thinks of how much he likes her, admires her for her optimism and kindness, how she always makes him feel safe in her company and lets his ability extend psionically seeking her out.  When he finds her, he can sense her surprise and underneath the agonizing hurt of being rejected by her Guide, so he pushes hard all the feelings and thoughts he has into that connection and rocks back on his heels at the desperate gratitude with which she grabs hold. 

A whine ratchets up into a rumble then to a deep-throated growl assaulting his ears.  Derek’s suddenly in front of him, all fangs and glowing blue eyes, one big pissed-off werewolf ready to slam him into a wall or two and Stiles isn’t going to take that from this dude.  Not after what he’s just done to Kira.  Reaching up with his fingers and out with his empathy, he gives the werewolf an almighty flick on where he guesses the bridge of his nose is because damn if there’s any eyebrows to use as a target.

“Don’t you fucking dare with this whole wolf in the manger thing.  If you don’t want to bond, fine.  It means you don’t get to be all super snarly if someone else offers her comfort or even a bond if she wants.”  He berates the wolf who is rubbing the skin between the suddenly returned expressive set of dark eyebrows and he’s momentarily distracted by the thought of where do they even go when a werewolf gets all ‘grrrr’?

Derek looks like he’s going to argue the point when he turns away abruptly and moves to the side of the hospital bed, head bowed.  It’s only then that Stiles realises he can hear the rapid blip of a heart monitor.  The blip slowly decreasing from levels which going by the current rate must have been dangerously high.  Dr Shepherd’s on the far side of the bed her expression dark as she glares at all of them as she adjusts an IV line into the prone patient before holding up her hand, thumb and forefinger pressed together.

“I’m about this close to having security kick out your sorry asses-”

“Now Meredith-”

“I was talking to you as well Blair.  You maybe the God Damn Alpha Prime Guide, but that means absolutely fucking nothing in this medical facility or did you forget that was part of my agreement when you asked me to run it.”  She glares at them all and Stiles freely admits to feeling a bit cowed by her ferocity, even Blair and Ellison look subdued.  “Coming in and disturbing my patients like this is unacceptable whatever the reason.”

“Patients.”  Stiles looks at her on one side of the bed and then the other where Derek’s wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself, the staff ID badge on his chest clearly visible as is the half-eaten breakfast burrito still partially wrapped sitting on Peter’s bed.  Stiles’ brain races as he makes connections.  

His own mother’s FTD, Dr Shepherd’s mother remembering her when she came online and Derek Hale, a Guide with a horrific history of abuse and betrayal - outwardly healthy and uninjured with staff ID yet Dr Shepherd unconsciously referring to him as her patient.  Compassion wells within him as he realises he’s looking at the medical staff member researching Alzheimers and their original subject with induced FTD that Blair had referred to.

“Ronan.”  Stiles says the black wolf’s name gently, but there’s no easing of the deep furrows in its muzzle, etched in deep from baring its teeth at him.  A low rumbling growl vibrates the air between them, the threat real and vicious.

“How do you know his name?”  Derek demands aggressively. 

“I just know.”  Stiles replies, not taking his eyes off the wolf.  “I’m seeing a Guide and his spirit animal together and yet the bond between you is thin and frayed.” 

It’s nearly as bad as Ares and Matt’s now that he knows what he’s looking at and it haunts him that if he’d only known earlier he might have been able to help them, because something deep inside him tells him he could have.  It’s only now that he realises that a good majority of the Sentinels and Guides he’s in contact with have strong healthy connections flowing between themselves and their spirit guides, even Isaac and Thomas with their rocky start.  They all shine in his eyes and he’s become so used to seeing it that this unravelling before him is so starkly, vividly in need of healing that it makes Stiles itch to lay his hands on Ronan.

“Ronan.”  Stiles says the wolf’s name again and a power inside him rises, flowing out and reaching towards the spirit guide and he hears the growl become a whine as they connect.

“What are you doing?  Don’t hurt him.”  Derek moves quickly and he’s grabbed Stiles by the arm and he’s in his space, practically nose to nose.  “Don’t.”  Derek cries out desperately and Stiles doesn’t even know what or how he’s doing it, but he’s receiving their pain and grief and channelling it to the psionic plane when the vertigo hits and drops him on his ass.

When Stiles opens his eyes he looks around in wonder.  He knows he’s not on Earth anymore, it looks and sounds like it – the trees rustle with a steady breeze and animal noises filter through the canopy of branches – but, everything is blue.  A whole fucking forest and it’s all blue.  The trees above him, the undergrowth and all the vegetation around him are varying shades of blue.  It reminds him of his dreams, the rare ones of when he’s flying – strong and powerful, looking down on a blue world and it makes him wonder if this is really his first time here or did he dreamwalk as Blair put it, into another plane of existence.

“Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”  Stiles says aloud as he shakily gets to his feet.

“Call me a dog again and I’ll rip your throat out.  With my teeth.”

“I’m not talking about you.”  Stiles snarks grouchily, spinning around to where Derek’s voice is coming from and what he sees sends him stumbling backwards, heart racing.

Derek’s crouched at the base of one of the many blue trees that surround them and Stiles swallows anxiously because yes…yes indeedy, Derek Hale is showing an almighty amount of very sharp teeth in what he really, really hopes is a smile in his direction.  That hope is shattered when Derek starts to sprint towards him, deep rumbling growls pouring out of his mouth and claws outstretched ready to slash.

“Oh shit.”

Chapter Text

Stiles ducks, bracing himself to feel Derek’s claws slice through his flesh.  Instead, the other man leaps athletically over him and grapples with the huge wolf that had been stealthily approaching Stiles’ back.  Not Derek’s own black wolf, this one is pure silvery grey and it briefly makes eye contact with Stiles before it twists and writhes to break free of Derek’s hold. 

The longer the man and wolf struggle the more apparent it becomes that the huge wolf has no interest in harming Derek.  In fact, the wolf seems to be treating it more as a game as it frequently pins Derek down before jumping back and allowing the werewolf to regroup in frustration before it starts all over again.

“Enough.”  The silver wolf finally seems to tire of his game, backing away as Derek surges to his feet once more.  Ice blue eyes flash ruby red.  “I said enough cub.  I am not a threat, to either of you.”

Derek pauses, shoulders heaving from his exertions, sweat beading on his skin.  A curious expression crosses his features, a pained almost wondering one.

“The only one who ever called us cubs…”  Derek trails off and he takes a stumbling half-step forward.  “Grey?”

The wolf’s muzzle parts, lips stretched back to reveal sharp white teeth and with a wicked toothy grin the wolf ducks its head low, giving an exaggerated bow to his audience. 

“Yes, it is I the mighty Grey Brother.”

“Oh Grey.”  Derek’s fierce façade cracks and Stiles can see clearly how young and vulnerable he really is with all his defences down.  Falling to his knees Derek hugs the wolf burying his face into the thick fur, shoulders shaking.

“Dear one.”  The wolf rumbles soothingly into Derek’s ear.  “We’ve felt you with us all this time, your hurt and grief…your guilt, but most of all your love.  He was lost and you were one of the anchors that held us, stopped us falling…as were you.”  Grey’s beautiful blue eyes turn to Stiles.

“You’re Peter’s spirit guide.”  He’d recognised the wolf nearly instantly and when he realised that he meant no harm to Derek he’d been content to keep back and let things play out between the two.

“And you are our Guide.”  The certainty with which Grey states his claim is infused with satisfaction.

Derek sits back on his heels, staring wide-eyed.  “You’re Peter’s Guide?” 

Stiles shrugs helplessly.  “I think so.  It feels like it.”

“Damn it.  Why didn’t you say so?  He needs you.”  Derek scowls fiercely as he stands up and the accusation pricks at Stiles’ temper.

“Maybe because someone was too busy denying their own Sentinel.”

“She’s not my Sentinel.” 

“Like hell Kira’s not.  I felt you both when you first saw each other and it was-”  Stiles pauses searching for the right word.  “-magic.”

Derek flinches and Stiles wishes he’d searched harder.  “Don’t…don’t say that.”

“Oh cub.  You can trust your instincts in this.”  Grey says sadly. 

“I did that once already and look what happened.  My family murdered and all because I craved that connection, wanted a Sentinel so bad that I let her convince me she was mine.”  Derek’s hands curl into tight fists.  “Ronan tried to tell me, but I couldn’t...wouldn’t listen then, but I’ll listen to him now.  You saw how he reacted to her.”

“About fucking time.”  The black wolf slinks out of the undergrowth to stand near Stiles.

“Ronan.”  Derek chokes out his spirit guide’s name.  His eyes wide and anguished.

“Grey.  My Lord.”  Ronan greets them in turn before facing Derek.  “Listen to me, Kira and Raeden are ours.”

“What?  But, you were defending us from them.” 

“Because you were afraid.  What do you think happens when a bond is created in fear?”  Ronan’s eyes narrow shrewdly.  “It goes about as well as a false one created in lust and deception.”

Derek closes his eyes on a wince.  Shame and despair nearly knock Stiles off his feet, but it isn’t what makes the bile rise to the back of his throat.

“Woah.  Jeezus, rein it in dude.” 

Derek’s eyes flash open instantly and mortification is clearly writ on his face as he turns his head away.  His negative emotions retreat like an outgoing tide, Stiles can feel them pulling away and is able to breathe easier.

“Thanks man, but I-” 

“My name isn’t dude or man.  It’s Derek…Derek Hale.” 

“Stiles Stilinski.”  Stiles waves a hand towards himself.  “And I wasn’t exactly talking to you, but I appreciate you putting a lid on it too.”  Stiles turns to Ronan with a frown.  Spirit guides have their own distinct emotional tone compared to humanity, it’s not as overwhelming, but it is raw in its honesty.  The wolf is rife with bitter anger, guilt and fear directed at Derek that has the bond between them tipping perilously close to rejection.

“You.  Rein in the negativity and the hostility.”  The wolf jerks back in shock at Stiles’ demand, jaws snapping together with a decided clicking of fangs.

“He let her in after I warned him she wasn't right.”  Ronan growls fiercely.  “Innocents died.”

“Yes they did…and other innocents were abused and manipulated to do things they wouldn’t have normally done.”  Stiles turns to Derek who’s watching him wide-eyed and holds his stare willing him to understand what he’s saying before he turns back to Ronan.  “She used unnatural and dark magic to worm her way into your lives and if that didn’t work she would’ve absolutely found another way you can count on it.  If you’ve never ever made a mistake then go ahead and let her continue to destroy the Hales from the grave, but if you have then think twice about what you say and why you’re saying it.  Is it really Derek you’re so angry at?”

Stiles kneels in front of Ronan, giving the wolf fair warning that he’s about to touch him by holding his hands in his line of sight.  The black wolf shivers slightly as Stiles threads his fingers through the thick protective ruff of fur at Ronan’s neck.

The sense of failure that flows into him from the wolf is distressing and where this ability comes from he doesn’t know, but somehow instinctively Stiles weaves a thread of hope and self-worth and pushes it back letting it tangle into that bitter emotion and slowly shred it away.  He knows this isn’t an instant cure-all, but it’s a start.

“I’m weak.  I couldn’t stop it…couldn’t stop her.” Ronan whines despairingly.

“No, you’re not weak.  You survived, you endured…both of you.  So no blame, not for either of you.  Let it rest where it belongs, with an evil woman who hurt so many.”  Stiles says firmly, tilting his head to catch Derek’s eye as well.

Ronan sits down heavily on his rump, his head hanging low.  Grey sits beside him, his huge frame dwarfing the younger wolf leaning into his side and Stiles gets the strong impression that it’s not just familial, Ronan is seeking reassurance as a student would to a mentor.  In the presence of some spirit guides there’s an aura of great age that’s heavy, almost intimidating – Grey is at that point and then there’s others that feel young, so incredibly young and inexperienced.  Ronan is definitely one of those.

Even spirit guides have to start somewhere, in an existence of guiding multiple Guides through life after life before their own final journeys to rest there has to be a first he thinks.

Grey cocks his head expectantly to one side as though to say ‘now what’ and Stiles honestly has no idea, the misery pouring off both Derek and Ronan is heartbreaking.

The change in air pressure with Blair and Hendrix’s appearance on the psionic plane is so very welcome that Stiles wants to cheer.  Hendrix instantly moves to sit close to Ronan and the young wolf is supported on either side by the two older wolves. 

“Is this a private party or can anyone join in?” 

Stiles snorts at Blair’s low-key greeting. 

“I think we can be pretty definite about the Shaman-level now.  Going from one plane to another with a passenger and no meditation is a big, big indicator.”  Blair snorts, amusement making his eyes twinkle.  “Strange though, when I come here it’s more jungle-like, this is definitely a North American forest biome.  Soooo…what are we talking about.”  Blair asks curiously looking around at the little gathering.  “You’re all looking…super-intense.”

Stiles figures Blair’s trying to be polite because it’s quite clear from Derek’s hunched over form and Ronan seeking comfort from the other wolves that there’s a whole lot going on.  None of them seem willing to answer Blair’s question though and Stiles mentally huffs in exasperation.

“Derek.”  Stiles prompts, startling the other man who gives him a narrow-eyed glare in return.

“It’s not…we’re-”  Derek tries to explain, before looking down at the ground and mumbling under his breath.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  “How about there’s a whole lot of emotional stuff going on with you for starters?” 

Blair’s concern washes over him and Stiles startles, unlike back at home where emotion and feelings are a buzzing drone, here on the psionic plane they’re stronger and with a clarity that bizarrely allows him to experience and filter them a lot more easily. 

“That’s understandable.  The trauma that you’ve been through takes time to process and acknowledge your feelings about.  I thought your therapy sessions were helping?”  Blair asks bluntly and Stiles winces with Derek and even in the weird blue light of the psionic plane he thinks he can discern a rush of colour to Derek’s cheeks.  Ronan’s ears flick forwards.

“They were-”  Derek shakes his head.  “-they are.  It’s just…I feel like I make progress and then something holds me back.” 

The black wolf’s head hangs even lower and his whole body shudders with a heavy sigh.

“What about yours, Ronan?”  Stiles asks as he observes the spirit animal.

“My Lord?”  Ronan’s downcast expression is replaced with puzzlement.

“You’re clearly able to maintain your form on the earth plane, so what about your therapy sessions?”  The silence that greets his question is practically deafening and Stiles rubs his hand over his mouth and jaw as he tries to talk calmly to the Alpha Guide Prime of the whole frickin’ United States of America and not yell at him.  “So if a traumatised Sentinel or Guide receives counselling, do you offer it to their recognised spirit guide too?”

Blair’s expression is blank for a long moment before he swallows hard and grimly shakes his head, distraught.  Stiles sees Hendrix move to Blair’s side.

“Yet you stated to me that research done by one of your own physicians had discovered that the spirit guides of Guide victims of mental manipulation are prone to seriously negative psychological effects.  Would that include not only regression, but anxiety, aggressive behaviours and depression to name a few?”  Stiles can feel his jaw start to ache he’s clenching it so hard.

The strength of Blair’s guilt and regret batters at his shields forcefully, sickening him and he inhales deeply to try and clear his head of it.  Concentrates on watching Blair’s fingers sink into Hendrix’s thick fur as a distraction, exhaling low and shallow when the other Shaman nods his head.

“I owe you all an apology.”  Blair declares raggedly, staring at the spirit wolves around him as though willing them to believe.  “I’ve taken it for granted that all spirit guides can compartmentalise what they feel and experience, which I wouldn’t do for a Sentinel or a Guide.”

“Ya think?”  Stiles snaps, turning away before he says anymore, says something he’ll regret and breathes deep.  If the forest being blue hadn’t given him a clue that he’s a long way from home then the purity of the air certainly would have.  He’s read books where breathing in fresh air is described as ‘sweet’ and wondered how that could be, here in this forest he knows now that it’s possible.  There’s no taint to it, no pollution or chemical tang that his ‘civilised’ world has, even in its most wild and remote places.   

It clears his head almost instantly allowing him to think clearly, anger still simmering in his gut even though he gets what Blair’s saying – the majority of Sentinels and even Guides, to a certain extent, have a unique ability to not live in regret or guilt for what they do to protect the tribe.  But, assuming that the spirit animal has that same ability each and every time as their bonded Guide or Sentinel is a mistake.

“If you’ve never ever made a mistake…how does the rest of it go, Stiles?”  Grey states in an annoyingly neutral tone, latching onto Stiles’ thoughts and he lets out a huff of that delicious air, peeved at Grey for pointing out he’s a hypocrite and peeved at himself for damnably being one.

He turns to see Blair and Derek watching him, Blair speculatively and Derek warily.

“Yeah, yeah I’m an asshole.”

“Yes you are, doesn’t mean you’re wrong though.”

Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle his shocked snort of laughter at Blair’s so very dry tone and the way Derek’s eyebrows have shot up somewhere near his hairline. 

“We’re all assholes Stiles, but you have every right to be pissed, it’s not something that had occurred to me or anyone else I guess.  We’re still in the mindset that spirit guides are so intrinsically linked to their Sentinel or Guide that we don’t see them for the independent intelligent beings that they are and just like humans, some may need more help than others.”  Blair sighs.  “I think I’m seeing the exact reason why there needs to be a Spirit Guardian, someone who can advocate for the spirit guides.”

Hendrix makes a strained sound and Blair’s fingers delve deep within the long fur at the back of the wolf’s neck before he smooths it out with an unsteady hand.  Stiles thinks there might be some long overdue conversations between the Shaman and the wolf.

Rubbing at his bandaged wrist that should be aching, but just feels numb Stiles catches Derek’s curious look before horrified understanding has the other man dropping his gaze.

“It’s not what you think.”  Stiles says swiftly and Derek flicks a quick look at his bandaged wrists and away again.  He wonders if he should explain considering Derek’s history with Sentinels, but he doesn’t think the other Guide would appreciate him obfuscating the facts even if it made him uncomfortable.  Lies didn’t sit well with Guides, not even the little white ones to try and stop the truth from hurting.  “I didn’t try to end myself.  A very disturbed Sentinel hurt me.”

At that statement Derek’s attention snaps to him instantly – a haunted, vulnerable look in his eye as he examines Stiles' face more closely - frowning at the scrapes and bruising.  “Are…are you okay?”

He considers that question, not inclined to give it the usual brush off, not when he can sense the genuine concern coming from the other Guide.

“No, but I will be.”  Stiles nods with certainty, Derek studies him intently seeming to weigh up that statement as much as he sends out a tentative probe of his empathy.  Stiles lets his own reach out and carefully brush over Derek’s with reassurance – for all that he’s an insanely strong werewolf with eyebrows that actively discourage conversation, there’s a fragility to this Guide that makes Stiles feel strangely protective.

“Yeah, I think you will be.”  The little twitch of Derek’s lips into a barely-there smile doesn’t distract from the slightly off emotion coming from him and Stiles struggles to decipher what it is.

“Derek, people may endure similar trauma, but there’s nothing that says they heal or recover the same or at the same rate.” 

Oh.  Stiles suddenly picks up from what Blair’s saying what that strange feeling Derek’s sending is – it’s envy.

“I want to, but I don’t know how.  How do you recover?  How do you ever trust a Sentinel again?”  Derek wraps his arms around himself and Stiles almost wants to hug himself too as he realises that here they are, three individuals, three Guides who’ve been harmed by Sentinels and it’s a terrible, awful unique club to belong to.

“Maybe that’s not the right question, maybe you should be asking how do I ever trust myself again?”  Stiles says, biting his lower lip seeing Derek’s stricken face. 

“I think we should head back.”  Blair lets go of Hendrix’s fur and rubs at his chest.  “Jim’s starting to fret.”

Stiles grimaces.  “Yeah, about that…how?”

“How?”  Blair’s eyebrows hitch upwards, lips curling in amusement.  “Instinct got you here, it took you where you needed to be…Derek have you visited this plane before?”  The werewolf shakes his head, eyes wide.

“Then I was right, Stiles piggybacked you here.  I think it will be easier if I’m touching you both…come on.”  Blair waves his hands at both of them, encouraging them to take his hands.  “You’ll find that now you’ve been here once it will be easier to come and go as you please once you get the hang of it through meditation.”

“Great.”  Derek’s deadpan reply makes Stiles snicker.

“’Aint it just.”  Stiles reaches out and grabs Derek’s arm and tries to haul him in close, but he doesn’t budge - a little smirk playing at his lips as Stiles strains.  Rolling his eyes, Stiles shuffles closer.  “Okay big guy, I’ll just come to you then.” 

Derek holds his hand gingerly and Stiles wonders if he’s worried about hurting him or simply doesn’t like to be touched.  The pinched purse of his lips makes him think it’s both, but when he sees black veins pulsing under Derek’s skin he realises that the big ol’ sourwolf is trying to drain his pain on the sly.  One of the unique gifts of lycanthropy.

“I’m not hurting.”  Stiles says and Derek lifts their joined hands with a pointed glare as if to show him proof otherwise.  “Seriously, I don’t know if it’s being here or Dr Shepherd’s balm, but I’m not in pain.” 

Derek relaxes on hearing the Doctor’s name and stops the pulling draw on Stiles’ pain real or not and allows Blair to take his other hand.  Stiles lets his empathy flow through him and into the Guides either side of him feeling the circle start to connect.   Blair’s empathy is as warm and calm as the Shaman himself, whereas Derek’s is so raw and volatile Stiles has to reassess the strength of the man in maintaining his stoic façade with all that churning beneath the surface.  The old psionic scars to his empathy are deep, but Stiles can sense they are slowly knitting together. 

The wolves move to stand between each Guide and it’s natural to let their clasped hands rest on the spirit guides heads completing the circle.  The rush of connection is stunning and much as Stiles enjoys the easy going feel of Blair’s empathy, he finds that, strangely, he prefers the wild primal quality of Derek’s and he embraces it.  Sucking in a sharp breath, Derek stares, his eyebrows doing a whole lotta talking that Stiles hasn’t learned the language of yet.

“Alright guys, lets go home.”  Says Blair and Stiles lurches forward, feeling a distinct shift, almost like changing gears in his beat up Jeep.

Stiles blinks and he’s immediately conscious of being flat on his back on the hospital room floor.  Slowly, he sits up listening to the steady ping of the monitors, his senses telling him that the spirit guides haven’t returned with them.  Dr Shepherd is moving, visually checking each of them and he’s pretty sure she’s been monitoring their bodies while they’ve been gone to the other plane.  Blair’s cradled in Ellison’s arms and Stiles sighs wistfully at the Sentinel’s obvious devotion to his Guide as they whisper to each other. 

“Are you okay?”  It takes Stiles a moment to realise that the question is directed towards himself.  Kira’s sitting cross-legged between him and Derek, her katana balanced on her knees across her lap, the gleaming silver blade stark against her black jeans.  Derek scrambles to a wary crouch, seemingly puzzled when Kira averts her eyes and ignores him.

“Yeah.”

“Well don’t do that again.”  Kira scowls fiercely.  “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that.”  He reaches out and she puts her hand in his.  It’s comforting.

“You’re Peter’s Guide.”  Derek growls, staring pointedly at their hands.

“Yes.  Doesn’t mean I can’t have friends.”  Stiles snaps back.  So much for their communing on the spiritual plane.  Kira squeezes his hand.

“Are you well Guide Hale?”  Kira asks formally and Derek’s frown deepens as he simply nods in reply.

“You didn’t-”  Derek shrugs, unable to complete the question.

“No.  I would not…I will not touch you without your consent unless it’s an absolute emergency.”  Kira looks down at her katana, in the reflection of her blade Stiles can see her lips barely moving as she talks through gritted teeth.  “My reaction to you is very strong Guide Hale and I’m afraid that it would be very easy to start a bond with you, particularly if I touch your skin.”  She shivers and Stiles can tell she’s imagining it.

Derek swallows audibly.  “Thank you…for not...”

Kira bows her head, but Stiles is conscious that she can barely look at the werewolf and her hand that still clutches his is painfully tight.

“I think it best that you leave now Guide Hale.”  Kira grinds out.  “Before I do something you’ll regret.”  Kira visibly shudders and drags Stiles’ hand to just under her nose, inhaling deeply.  Stiles lets her, doesn’t pull away as he realises she’s trying to block out the scent of the man that her Sentinel senses are telling her is her Guide with his own.

“Leave.  Now.”  Grimacing at the rising wave of desperate urgency pouring off her, Stiles snarls.  “She’s locking onto your scent and heartbeat.” 

Her head snaps up, pupils blown and nostrils flaring, fixing onto Derek. 

“Please…I need to taste you.”    Kira’s voice is deep and hungry as she licks her lips and lunges at Derek who manages to jerk back out of reach.  She’s so strong and desperate that Stiles can barely hang onto her. 

“KIRA.”  Stiles yells, hoping to shock her back to her senses. 

“No, no, no.”  Kira’s hurt and determination resonate within him and he bolsters them as much as she will allow.  He can feel her strength of will as she pulls away from her Guide to curl up into a little ball.  

“Get out.”  Stiles hisses, seeing the uncertainty in Derek’s eyes as he stares at Kira’s shaking form.  “If you don’t want this get out now, don’t torture her.

Derek nods, pale and wide-eyed, and runs from the room.  Kira growls and half-drags Stiles with her as she tries to chase.  She’s a wild thing in his arms and he’s conscious that even now she’s trying not to hurt him.  He wraps himself around her, long limbs entwined with hers, spooning her as he murmurs nonsense-words in her ear.  Trying to keep his tone as soothing as possible while she struggles. 

Ellison helps him hold her, his big hands gentle but firm and maybe it’s because he’s a Sentinel she lets loose with her fists and clocks him with a solid right hook to the jaw that makes Stiles wince, but doesn’t seem to faze Ellison at all even as his head rocks back and his eyes narrow.  Blair strokes her hair and Stiles can sense the calm he’s projecting at the distraught Sentinel.  It seems to take forever for her to stop fighting, but eventually she stills.  Breathing hard as she shivers uncontrollably.

“Why doesn’t he want me?”  Kira whispers brokenly and all Stiles can do is hold her tighter wishing he had an answer, wishing he could shield her from the hurt.

Stiles pauses, his hand half-raised to wave over the sensor to open the door to Peter Hale’s hospital room. 

Peter Hale, his Sentinel. 

He doesn’t have any doubts that it’s true, he can feel the pull of him through the door, can sense that Peter and his spirit guide are both on the other side.  Can he do this?  Having seen and felt the trauma of Derek’s rejection of Kira, who is currently in Blair and Ellison’s experienced care, he’s not sure he could endure it if Peter woke up and said ‘no’ to him.  But, as he’d said to his Dad a couple of mornings ago – he has to try.

Entering the room all he can see is the man lying in the bed that he’d somehow managed to ignore…was it really only an hour and a half before.  He looks his fill now.  Peter’s burns are concentrated down his right side - blistered, shiny red and raw looking as if he’d been pulled out of the flames only yesterday and Stiles can’t even begin to imagine the agony Peter endured receiving them.  Letting out a shaky breath, that he didn’t even realise he’d been holding, he moves hesitantly to the side of the hospital bed conscious of all the medical equipment either side that beeps and whirrs in a constant affirmation of life.

Peter’s face is divided nearly evenly in half by his burns, the left side unmarked and without blemish, the right is cratered, almost melted in some areas.  It reminds Stiles a little of Harvey Dent/Two Face from ‘The Dark Knight’, but Peter isn’t some tv or film villain and special effects make-up doesn’t match the pure horror of what he’s seeing, the remnants of an insane Sentinel’s murderous assault on the Hales.  He doesn’t turn away, forces himself to examine every inch, burned or not, of the other man’s face. 

If there’s a chance that Peter wakes up and wants to bond with him then werewolf or not, these burns may end up being scars he carries for the rest of his life and Stiles will see them everyday.  As he stares at his Sentinel with an intensity that makes his eyes water, it hits him with startling clarity that he doesn’t care - it doesn’t matter in the slightest.  There’s something about Peter that calls to him, reaches into his very being and pulls and tugs at his soul, it’s beyond physical appearance and personality.  It’s the missing part of him that instinct tells him only Peter can fill.

Trembling he folds his arms, hugging himself tight to stop from crawling onto the bed and curling up beside the injured man, only allowing himself to look.  He can see from Peter’s unmarked side that he’s handsome.  Very handsome.  If the strong clean jawline, straight nose and lean plane of his cheek were duplicated on the other side and combined with his high forehead and hint of a slight widow’s peak then he thinks that Peter Hale would be rather stunning…is stunning he corrects.

Nothing detracts from the broad shoulders and thick neck of the man and Stiles runs an assessing eye over the heavily muscled body that lies beneath the covering sheet, he’s probably on a par with him in height give an inch or two.  He wonders how they’ve managed to prevent his muscles wasting away, six years is a hell of a long time to keep him in this kind of shape.  His fingers twitch wanting to poke at where Peter’s leg would be under the cotton sheet and see if the thigh is as solid as he imagines it to be, instead he shoves his hands into the pockets of his chinos. 

“Protein, moonlight and a vigorous physiotherapy program that our cub developed for him.  Derek fast-tracked through his High School diploma and College degree in physiotherapy, he’s a rising star in the field with regards to conditioning programs for comatose or long-term zoned out patients.”  Grey says proudly.

Startled Stiles jerks back to see that Grey is standing at the end of the bed watching him shrewdly.  When the hell he appeared he doesn’t know…or maybe he’s always been there.  Stiles’ distraction is understandable he thinks when his gaze fixes on Peter’s hand resting on top of the bedsheet and he finds himself enraptured by how beautifully masculine it is – large with long fingers and prominent blue veins visible under the skin leading from his wrist to his knuckles.   Blushing uncontrollably at being caught practically salivating over the Sentinel, he yanks his hands hurriedly out of his pockets and drops hard into the chair positioned next to the bed, sprawling awkwardly. 

“Wha-  what did you say?”   

“You were wondering how they’ve kept him physically well.  Weren’t you?”  The big silver wolf answers.

“Yeah, but how did you…nevermind.  Moonlight?”  Stiles questions, before answering himself as his mind skips ahead as it’s want to do.  “As a werewolf he gets some benefits from the cycles of the moon.”

Grey nods, seeming pleased at his quick understanding.  “Not enough to heal him completely, but enough to maintain the status quo.”

“The status quo being half-cooked?”

“The status quo in being just barely alive.”  Grey rebukes gently before turning his gaze upon the unconscious Sentinel.  “The only one that can heal Peter is Peter.”

“So why hasn’t he?” 

“Because he doesn’t think he deserves it.”  Grey shakes his head.  “You’ve seen where he is, where his mind and soul are.”

Stiles nods emphatically.  “Caught in a nightmare.”

“Oh Stiles, if only it was.”    

Stiles swallows with difficulty, not wanting to believe what Grey’s implying. 

“It can’t be real.”  He shakes his head in denial.  He’d accepted that his encounters with Peter as the Burning Man were real, but in the sense that they were minds somehow meeting with Peter in a coma and Stiles ‘tuning’ in when he slept.  “There’s nowhere on Earth like it.”  He insists.  Even the psionic plane had a solid foundation to it that made it a true reality unlike the dark place and its broken laws of physics and gravity which was something else entirely.

Grey looks at him almost pityingly and Stiles feels a prickle of unease in his gut wondering what the wolf is going to say next and pretty sure he’s not going to like it regardless.  

“Exactly, nothing on Earth.  For Peter the only thing that’s mattered these last six years is what he’s searching for.”

“And what’s that?”

“The pack that he lost.” 

Stunned Stiles can’t believe what Peter’s spirit guide is telling him.  It can’t be possible.

“Peter went feral during the Argent’s attack on us and when he was done, badly wounded and tranquilized, he zoned out to the beat of his nephew’s heart and his last conscious thought was to find his pack.”  The wolf’s pale blue eyes hold his as he explains.  “Can you imagine, a Sentinel so close to beginning his end journey and his sole focus is to join his lost pack.”

Stiles freezes at the term – ‘end journey’, he knows what that means.  That Peter was so close…is so close to dying makes his guts twist into knots.

“He was trying to reach those lights…”  Stiles begins as he recalls Peter striving towards the distant lights within the darkness.  Was that his family waiting for him at the end of his journey in another existence, if not an actual afterlife?  Grey’s massive head nods seeming to know the direction of his thoughts.

Stiles rubs his chest to ease the ache that’s settled there.  An ache of grief for the Hale pack and for Peter, Derek and Cora having to carry on without them.

“It’s been six years why isn’t he…hasn’t he-”  Stiles can’t bring himself to say it aloud.

“Why isn’t he dead?”  Grey finishes bluntly.  Stiles swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat and can only nod his head.  “Because it’s not his time and we wouldn’t let him, more importantly you wouldn’t let him.”

“What?”  Stiles shakes his head in denial.  “What do you mean ‘I wouldn’t let him’?  It’s only in the past few hours I’ve found out he’s actually a real person.”

“That wasn’t always the case, I can’t tell you if it was from the trauma of coming online as you did or if he was removed from your memory which is an unspeakable cruelty, but even then you knew something…someone was missing.”  Stiles’ tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, he can’t talk about those terrible months when his Mom didn’t even know who he was, when she thought he was trying to kill her, but the thought that someone had tried to manipulate him in the same way and tampered with his mind, his memories, sends ice through his veins.

“I am grateful to you.  Coming online as you did and the sacrifice you made for our Sentinel-”  The wolf breaks off and to Stiles’ eyes he seems almost overwhelmed before shaking his head as though to clear it and carries on.  “We would not have survived.”            

“I…I don’t know what you mean or what happened.”  Stiles confesses.  “I can’t remember anything of that time at all.”

“You were only a child when I came to you and begged for help.  From you and Faro as Sentinel to Guide.”  Stiles can feel his mouth go slack as he gapes at the silver wolf so casually mentioning his spirit guide.  “And you didn’t hesitate.  Faro partially broke through before his time was due to be on this plane and you asked him to assist me.  To keep on helping me as he has been over these long six years to stop Peter from reaching the lights.”

“Faro.”  A knot of hurt begins to unravel in his chest, one he wasn’t even aware he was carrying.  His spirit guide isn’t gone.  Hasn’t faded to nothing.  “Where is he?  Why haven’t I seen him?”

“He’s stronger than me.  Strong enough to hold the line on his own so Peter doesn’t fall back without me as well.  Now that he’s not fighting us he’s slowly coming back to himself.”

Stiles chews on his lower lip thoughtfully, eyes narrowing as he stares at the wolf.  “So what did you want to tell me before he wakes up?”

Grey’s head lifts then and he slowly nods.  “And this is why you are so perfect for him.  He needs someone who can keep up with him and someone who challenges him too.  My worry is that you may have a vision of your Sentinel that Peter will not be able to live up to. There are things he has done to protect his loved ones that in human terms would not make him a good man, however, in the eyes of the pack he is a good wolf. ”

Stiles can feel his eyebrows rise involuntarily at the distinction.  “Does he abuse children?  Torture small animals?”  Grey reels back in shock, shaking his massive head in denial.  “Is he loyal to the pack?  Is he protective?”  He waves a hand over Peter not waiting for an answer that he already knows.  “Then I think we’re good.  My worry is that Peter may have a vision of his Guide that I won’t be able to live up to either.”

Peter shifts restlessly in the bed, head tossing against his pillow, and Stiles moves closer wondering if his Sentinel is finally going to wake.  His heart starts to race in his chest gradually slowing down to normal when he realises that Peter’s eyes are still closed and his breathing is still steady and even as he settles once more. 

“You’re so much more than he ever imagined.”  The wolf grins.  “He’s far from disappointed.”

Warmth floods Stiles’ face.  Pleasure at Grey’s declaration squirms low in his belly.

“Really?”  Stiles rolls his eyes at himself, at how NOT smooth he is.  “Umm yeah, me too…I mean…like he’s all that-”   Stiles waves his hand towards Peter who even unconscious has a presence that fills the room and draws all attention.  “-and me…I’m just…you know…not.”

Huffing out a big sigh he gives it up as a lost cause, the clear amusement in the wolf’s ice blue eyes doesn’t help at all.

“Oh I think to Peter you’re ‘all that’ too and he won’t hesitate to prove it.”

Stiles clamps down on the whine that emerges from his suddenly tight throat as he imagines Peter’s proof.  The chair legs scrape loudly against the floor as he shuffles closer so he can see Peter’s face better.  He puts one hand on the bed, his fingers only a hair-breadth away from touching the stricken Sentinel’s fingertips and he shivers involuntarily at the heat he can feel radiating from them.

“I think I’ll just keep him company for a while.”  There’s a pop of pressure releasing as Grey disappears still snickering and Stiles turns to Peter. 

“If you’re anything like your spirit guide you’re a bit of a dick.  Lucky for you I’m one too.  I think we’re going to get along perfectly.”

“Your Dad’s here, he wanted to see you before meeting with Jim and Blair.”  Dr Shepherd says startling him out of his light doze as she walks into the room, pulls on some Sentinel safe gloves and checks Peter’s IV line.  Stiles rubs his face and yawns.  A feeling of relief and safety washes over him as he stretches his empathy and picks out the familiar presence of his Dad.  While he’s been keeping watch over Peter he’s discovered that if he wants to he can subvert the military grade shielding of the hospital room, making a game of picking out his friends in the building and what they're feeling.

“Where is he?”

“Meeting room 2 on the ground floor.  Take the elevator at the end of the corridor to the ground floor and turn right when you get off and follow the signs.”

“Thanks.  How’s he doing?”  Stiles gestures towards Peter.

“Improving.”  Dr Shepherd says without inflection, but she smiles wide and Crumpler chitters happily and that’s more comforting than anything either of them could say anyway.

“I’ll come back once I’ve seen my Dad.”  He promises.

“That would be good Stiles, he seems to do better when you’re near.”  She points to the burns along his jawline.  “If you look here, you can see the margins are starting to look like healthy skin.” 

Squinting he tries to see what she does.  Maybe it’s a bit less raised and raw looking, more normal smooth pink. 

“It means the size of his burns is reducing.”  Dr Shepherd explains and Stiles can feel his heart skip then start to thud fast and heavy in his chest wanting to be sure he understands.

“He’s healing?”  And damn, he hopes that she doesn’t notice that quiver in his voice.

“Yes.  I think so.”  Her expression doesn’t so much as twitch, but the understanding light in her eyes makes him sure she heard.  He’s grateful that she doesn’t comment because what he’s feeling now is too powerful, too overwhelming and way too private.

“Are the Primes still with Kira?” 

“Blair is, but Jim is spending some time with Derek.”

“Oh.  That’s not what I expected.” 

“Derek being with Jim?”  Her eyebrows quirk up.  “Jim may not be a werewolf, but he is a powerful Alpha Prime Sentinel with a natural authority which I think Derek recognises.  It’s something he needs considering his Pack Alpha isn’t awake right now.” 

Stiles nods in understanding.  Derek’s a wolf.  One used to following a leader, an Alpha wolf.  Jim’s the closest thing he’s got to that right now.

“Okay then, I better go and find my Dad before he starts to worry.”  Stiles gives a little awkward wave as he heads out the door.   The Doc’s directions are pretty easy to follow and he tries to think about how he’s going to explain all the shit that’s gone down with his Dad as the elevator descends. 

Being attacked.  Discovering he’s a Shaman, although he thinks he prefers ‘Spirit Guardian’ if he’s gotta have a title.  Finding his Sentinel.  Crossing into the psionic plane.  Knowing his spirit guide didn’t fade.  It’s a hell of a lot to get through, but one thing that’s still a constant in his life is how the Stilinski men have each other’s back.  His Dad will listen as he unburdens all the hope, doubt and fears that are ricocheting wildly through his brain and heart.

The elevator doors opening onto the ground floor jolt him out of his thoughts and Stiles hurries along as he sees the sign pointing towards Meeting Room 2 knowing that his Dad is so close. The rooms are actively shielded, not as strongly as the medical wing so he can sense his Dad worrying. 

He’s a bit surprised to not find Parrish somewhere around as he can’t imagine him letting his Dad go on a trip like this on his own, mainly so he’s not without a conservator and also because Parrish is pretty open about hero worshipping his Dad, broadcasting his admiration constantly.   Stranger though is not seeing Caleb or Parrish’s spirit animal, Maximus.  Despite the Cane Corso’s outward appearance of a hellhound or Grim, Stiles was more often than not a recipient of its enthusiastic slobbery affection.

Bursting through the door though, all Stiles can see is his Dad pacing and his care-worn features as they light up on seeing him and he runs into his Dad’s open arms.  Closing his eyes he buries his face into his Dad’s corduroy jacket inhaling the familiar scent of Sentinel-safe coffee, gun oil and peppermint.  His Dad holds him like he’s never gonna let him go ever again and he wishes he could carry this feeling of safety with him all the time.

“Oh kid.  You trying to scare your old man half to death?”  His Dad gently berates and squeezes him tighter. Laughing brokenly, Stiles shakes his head in denial.

“Let me look at you.”  Those strong hands that have always taken care of him hold him at his shoulders and familiar faded blue eyes scrutinise his still puffy lip and the bruising on his cheek.  His Dad’s jawline bulges as he grits his teeth, pushing his anger down and away from Stiles.

“I’m sorry…I know how busy-”  He begins before his Dad shakes him gently by the shoulders.

“Don’t even.  If I’ve ever made you think you’re not my first priority I’m sorry.  I know I can lose track working, but I’m never too busy for you son and if you don’t think I’m listening or spending enough time with you then you God damn well light a fire under me and get me to.”

It feels like his heart is about to burst at his Dad’s gruffly-spoken words and the sincerity behind them and all he can do is weakly nod his head.  Hearing the door to the meeting room open behind him, he turns with a smile.

“Hey Parrish-”  The muscles in his face freeze and he doesn’t doubt he’s grinning like a lunatic at the man who enters, being shown in by Guide Blake who gives him a disturbing smirk as she leaves and closes the door behind her.  How he didn’t sense him he doesn’t know – if this is how Kira and the others feel in regards to himself then he gets it now, how disconcerting it is to not even have the man ping on his senses at all.  It all happens in mere seconds as the shock locks him in place allowing Alan Deaton to step closer and brush his hand over Stiles’ neck.  The prick of something sharp against the sensitive skin of his throat has him recoiling.

“What did you do?”  Stiles brushes his fingers over his skin, frowns when he sees the small amount of blood on his fingertips.  Can feel panic rise within him as he tries to reach out to anyone with his empathy, but there’s something wrong, something really really wrong as he starts to feel giddy, like the walls are wooshing in and out of his vision and the floor is starting to ripple up and down in waves.

Deaton holds up his hand and Stiles can see he’s holding a small syringe.  God knows what he’s given him. 

“Just something to settle your nerves, you’ve had a lot of excitement recently and it can all be a bit overwhelming.  It’s time for you to come home Mr Stilinski.”

“But, I haven’t finished my testing.”  Stiles snarks back at the false concern, wincing when he hears himself slur badly.  He staggers to one side as he tries to figure out how to get his feet to move in the right direction.  The right direction being the door out of this room.

Deaton smiles and the split second of avarice that gleams darkly in his eyes as he watches Stiles stumble around frightens him more than anything he endured at Matt’s hands and that’s saying something.  As he starts to collapse he can feel strong arms wrap around his chest and shoulders as they lower him gently into a chair.

“Dad…Dad…”  Stiles’ head rolls heavy and loose as he tries to see his Dad.  His Dad will save him.  Will stop this…whatever this is. 

His Dad crouches in front of him and cups his chin, patting and rubbing at his chest comfortingly and Stiles knows it’s going to be okay.

“Gonna take you home son, should’ve never let you come here.”  He smiles tremulously up at him.  Worry lines furrowing his Dad’s forehead so deeply that Stiles wants to reach out and smooth them away, but he can’t feel his fingers.  “We’ll get you bonded to Deaton quick smart and this will all be over.  You’ll be safe.”

“Nooo…Dad…nghhh…not…not right.”  His lips and tongue are numb, but he wills his Dad to understand him, tries to stare into his eyes even though his vision is spotting.  Maybe it works, because his Dad turns to look up at Deaton and Stiles can’t see the look he gives the Druid, but there’s a flicker of concern before something dark and intense shadows Deaton’s eyes as he grips his Dad’s shoulder tight, concentration pursing his lips.

“This is wrong.  We can’t do this-”  His Dad growls, struggling to rise as Deaton’s fingers curl and bite in, knuckles turning white as he keeps him in place almost effortlessly.

“John.  We spoke about this.  They can’t protect him here, can’t help him.  Stiles needs me.”  Deaton starts to whisper something in a language that Stiles doesn’t recognise, the words crawling over his skin physically.

Shuddering and writhing for the longest time, his Dad’s posture abruptly relaxes and when he turns his face Stiles can just make out through the increasing dancing black specks in his vision that there’s an awful unnatural glaze to the familiar faded blue eyes.

“Yeah, Stiles needs you…you’ll keep him safe?”  Fear settles like a heavy stone in Stiles’ belly at the almost child-like quality to his Dad’s voice.

Deaton releases his hold to pat his Dad’s shoulder which to anyone else would appear a comforting gesture, but Stiles can see the smug satisfaction in his expression that makes it more like petting the family dog and Stiles wants to yell at him and all that comes out is a strangled groan.  Deaton lifts his gaze to stare at Stiles and he shivers at the greed that Deaton doesn’t bother to hide anymore. 

“That’s right John, I’ll make sure nothing can touch him ever again.” 

Horrified at the gleeful tone, Stiles blinks trying to end this nightmare only to find he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.  The fog that’s been hovering at the edges of his consciousness takes control and he slips under, his senses shutting down one by one.  Cool fingers grip his chin and tilt his head back, he’s blinded by the heavy weight of his eyelids, but he doesn’t need to see to be aware of the intense scrutiny he’s under.  He’d spit in Deaton’s face if he wasn’t pretty damn sure that with his numb lips it would be little more than a dribble.

“Except me.”  Deaton adds, rubbing his thumb over his slack mouth before roughly thrusting it between Stiles’ lips, sliding it back and forth over his tongue.  He wants to bite down, he wants to hurl, but his body is shutting down, his empathy fading away and the rising fog consumes him until there’s nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Peter barely hangs on when Faro abruptly jerks and pitches wildly.  The flight until then had been smooth and controlled from the powerful sweep of Faro’s wings and Peter had plenty of time to think and relish the small connection that he had with his Guide through Faro.  A connection that had actually allowed them to briefly talk intermittently and let Peter experience what his Guide was feeling which was simultaneously weird and addictive as fuck. 

The pure rage that had buffeted at him wildly from his Guide had filled him with murderous intent.  Whatever had angered his Guide to that extent was deserving of his personal attention, although his Guide was quick to disabuse him of the idea that he wouldn’t deal with it himself.  He respects that, but there’s no way in hell that his Guide’s doing whatever he needs to like that without Peter backing him up. 

Not that his Guide had been on his own then.

Jealousy seethes within him recalling that moment, knowing that someone else was with him, someone else who had felt the empathic touch of his entirely too seductive Guide in person.  Soon he tells himself, soon he’ll experience it too.

“What’s wrong?”  Peter yells, tightening his thighs to keep seated.  With a couple of deep snorting breaths Faro lands which is somewhat disconcerting to Peter’s senses as there’s no discernible ground beneath them, just pitch black.  Still, whatever it is that Faro’s landed on its solid and stable. 

Faro turns his head, long neck stretching so that he can see Peter over his shoulder.

“IT’S NOT ME, THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH STILES, I CAN’T SENSE HIM ANYMORE.”

“Stiles?  What the hell is a-” It takes a moment for Peter’s brain to catch up with his mouth and Peter’s stomach lurches, his chest tightens as an image of a boy, a child with familiar intelligent brown eyes flitters through his mind.  He remembers this child from before.  That image is quickly overlayed by one of his Guide, a grown up version of the same boy.  He recognises the name.  It’s his Guide’s name, how did he not know that?  Why hadn’t he asked?  Because it didn’t matter, he tells himself, not when he knows him through his senses, not when he can discover who he really is through a simple touch. 

He can’t have lost him before he’s even met him properly, as a Sentinel meeting his Guide.

“I MUST GO.”  Faro interrupts his thoughts and there’s an edge to the deep rumbling tone that sends an icy sliver of fear down Peter’s spine.

“Not without me.”  Peter snarls at the dubious look he receives from his Guide’s spirit animal.  “You’re taking me with you.”

“IT’S TOO DANGEROUS.”

“I don’t care.”

“WE’VE BEEN RISING GRADUALLY SO YOU CAN RETURN TO YOURSELF WITHOUT SHOCKING YOUR SYSTEM.  IF YOU COME WITH ME NOW IT COULD KILL YOU.”

“I’m coming.”

“SO BE IT.”

Peter’s jaw clicks shut at the unexpected agreement.  There’s no arguing, no warning, nothing to prepare him for being pulled apart, only it’s not at a physical level, not cellular or molecular, even though he can see himself disintegrating and isn’t that the most fucked up thing ever.  This, however, is so much worse.  It’s everything that he is, all that makes him Peter Hale, what some would call his very soul is torn asunder and thrust out of the darkness and into…

…overwhelming sensation. 

He screams as he’s put back together piece by agonizing piece, falling into his body, convulsing.  The heaviness of it after the freedom of defying physics for so long in the dark place is excruciating, the pressure of gravity pinning him down, his muscles straining against the weight of it as he tries to reclaim his physical self.  Peter’s heart thunders wildly in his chest and he wonders if this is what Faro meant, that it’s going to explode within his ribcage and kill him from the stress.  The reclaiming of his physical self is a test of endurance as his senses are flooded with stimuli and it’s a pain he’s never experienced before not even when he first came online.

A horrendous shrill sound assails his hearing and he roars furiously, not able to think as it carves its way into his brain with each piercing note.  The light is too bright hurting his eyes as if he’s staring into the sun and they water uncontrollably, effectively blinding him.  His nose twitches violently scenting the air.  It’s filtered, but he’s always been particularly sensitive to scent and coming online had enabled him to discern so many more layers to sort through, some of which he can smell now are so disgusting he struggles not to retch.

Thankfully, he can ignore those for one that catches his attention immediately, it’s the relatively fresh scent of something so unbelievably indescribably good that he doesn’t dare swallow as he breathes it in, letting it sit ripe and heavy on his tongue.  Peter's fangs drop and his mouth waters as he inhales deeply – the combination of citrus, honey and ozone, deliciously tart and sweet. He should pull back, shut his sense down, knows he's risking zoning out on it if he lets it overwhelm him as he wallows in it, but he can't help himself.  Instead he savours it until it’s permanently etched in his sensory memory and he knows that if there’s even a molecule of that scent in the air, he’ll be able to track its owner anywhere. 

With his focus no longer on breaking down the components of that incredible scent, he suddenly becomes aware of the painful itching of his skin, like millions of fire ants are crawling beneath the surface as he lies under a cover sheet that feels rougher than the coarsest sandpaper.  What good is he to his Guide lying on his back?  Writhing and twisting, Peter jerks upright into a sitting position.  Tugging and yanking at wires and IV needles taped into his flesh, he hisses as it tears him open and the sharp tang of copper pennies assails him.  Blood trickling down his forearms to drip off his fingertips. 

“Lights down 95%.”  The light behind his closed eyelids thankfully dims.  The brush of someone’s hands against his skin has him growling dangerously.  Pain flares hot and pin-prick sharp throughout his body at the touch and he just barely stops himself from howling, the stabbing needle-like sensation is more agonising than he can ever recall.

What’s worse is how fundamentally wrong it is.

Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  These are not the hands he wants and needs to be touching him.  That they are is maddening and infuriating no matter how gentle they are.

“Stop.  Peter, dial it down, you’re going to hurt yourse-”  The urgent feminine voice chokes and splutters as Peter lashes out grabbing them by the throat and he can feel those wrong hands ineffectually pulling and prising at his fingers to try and release his hold.  As ineffectual as the darting bursts of someone else’s will trying to control him, trying to break into his mind and he won’t have that and brings them up close to roar his displeasure and feels a sharp bite to his other hand.

Peter casts them aside, not so much from the biting more due to their proximity as this person, this Guide’s scent is interfering with the other.  Losing track of the deliciously perfect one is not to be borne and he takes the not-his Guide’s advice and forces his senses to dial down.  It takes precious seconds until he’s able to see and hear without his nerve endings feeling like they’re raw and exposed, he blinks rapidly wiping the moisture from his cheeks as he surveys his surroundings. 

Even squinting and with the reduced lighting he’s just barely able to see that he’s in a hospital suite with all types of machines near the bed that are lit up and bleeping irritatingly, seemingly in time with the thundering pulse of a headache that’s building rapidly at the back of his head.  There’s a woman sprawled and backed up to the wall in a white coat with a stethoscope looped around her neck.  The doctor watches him, wary and sympathetic at the same time and her spirit animal, a fierce raccoon, glares at him from the end of the bed chattering angrily at him, baring its teeth and he doesn’t doubt that if he lays hands on the woman again he’ll receive an entirely deserved bite and worse for it.

A Guide, but not his Guide.  His Guide’s in trouble and Peter needs to find him.  His senses pitch and roll wildly like standing on a deck in stormy seas, never knowing which way the swell is going to send him.  A warm heavy weight settles on his knee.  A familiar one.  With a shaking hand he sweeps it over the long muzzle up between the all-knowing blue eyes to caress a silky pointed ear.

“Grey.”  Peter grimaces at the broken rasp that emerges from his mouth, a combination of lack of use and emotion he doesn’t have time for as he stares down into the face of his spirit guide in disbelief.  The wolf closes its eyes with a long sigh pressing its head harder into his hand.  Prickling heat burns his eyes as he slides his other hand into the thick ruff of fur at Grey’s neck and anchors himself.

“Sweet Pete.”

Peter nearly chokes trying to suppress a snort of amusement.  “Don’t call me that, it’s not seemly for a-.”

“Yes, yes I know.  It’s not seemly for a Left Hand to be known as ‘sweet Pete’, but I missed you.”  Grey smirks, his blue eyes warm and fond.  

“Faro?”  Peter asks.

“He’s coming.  He only partially broke through before, it won’t take him long to complete it this time.  Let’s leave the good doctor be and go find our Guide.”  The wolf bows to the woman and her fierce defender who eyes them both angrily as it shoos them away with tiny paws.

Swallowing hard, Peter nods in agreement not able to speak.  With Grey’s support, he lets his Sentinel senses take him over and he’s barely aware of rolling from the bed, his bare feet touching the cool floor as he listens for his Guide.  From the hundreds of heartbeats galloping wildly within the building, there’s only one that acts like a siren song to all of his raging instincts and that combined with scent memory allows him to lock onto his Guide like a targeted missile. 

The rabbit-quick rhythmic thudding is loud in his ears and his chest tightens as his own heart stutters to match the pace.  Peter’s acute hearing tells him that the heartbeat his senses are fixated upon is moving away from him, further and further with each second that passes.  

The hunt calls to him instinctually, the magnetic pull of his Guide drawing him to take one unsteady step, then another and another.  Even if he wanted to he couldn’t resist it, if he has to crawl on his hands and knees he will find Stiles and God help anyone who tries to stand in his way.

When Stiles regains consciousness he instinctively rolls to his side, there’s nothing to puke up, but still his body tries and has him retching painfully.  His whole body contracting as it tries to expel something that simply isn’t there.  Exhausted he lies back, rubbing at his sore belly where it feels like his stomach has turned itself inside out and wipes at his mouth.

Squinting, he looks up and sees the sky is tinted with streaks of orange and red as daylight fades.  Dusk then.  How did he get outside?  The last he recalls is…crap.  His Dad, who clearly wasn’t himself – he grimaces, is he that gutless that he can’t name it for what it is, mind control.  His Dad – strong and brave, the best of the Alpha Sentinels as far as he’s concerned is somehow, unbelievably, under the thumb of Deaton.  A Deaton that’s creepy as all fuck.  Shivers race through his limbs as he recalls the dark avarice in the man’s eyes when he looked at him. 

Rubbing his eyes he looks around and glimpses a wall.  Awkwardly, he rolls to his knees, and he can see it surrounds him.  It’s not just any type of wall though, this is unique, a living breathing wall of spirit guides of varying species sheltering him protectively.  All their attention and focus is outwards, which makes him wonder what are they defending him from?

“My Lord, are you well?”  Raeden’s pointed face is taut with concern as she slinks through a gap to where he is.  Her fox tails flicking agitatedly.

“Yeah…yes.”  He reaffirms as she gives him a dubious look.  “What happened?”

“On Kira’s order the Pride was keeping watch and doing perimeter patrols of the Centre grounds while they waited for our return.”  What the hell?  “So they had something else to focus on other than your anger and distress…just as well as your father and the other were trying to leave with you when Scott saw them come out of a side entrance and stopped them.” The little red fox’s fur bristles angrily and Stiles can only think that the other she refers to with such disdain is Deaton.

“Is my Dad okay?  And Caleb?” 

“Your father is unconscious…wait, wait he is safe.”  Raeden insists as Stiles starts to move to find him. 

“You’re sure?”  He demands urgently, crouching back down to look into her eyes.

Raeden nods rapidly.  “Yes, Allison and Scott managed to drag him back into the centre and have barricaded themselves into an office.  The other tried to order your father into striking Scott down when he and Josh wouldn’t let them take you…the shock broke his hold over them for a split second and it took everything they had for he and Caleb to fight off his control over them.  Caleb's gone to the psionic plane to recover and completely clear himself of his foul influence.  Scott and Josh are well, just some bruising, they did very well to resist losing themselves to his power.”

“What the hell?”  Stiles gasps in disbelief.  He doesn’t know what he’s more surprised over, his Dad lashing out at a boy that’s nearly a second son or that Scott for a change didn’t side with Deaton.  His friend had long considered the Vet a mentor ever since he started working for him and in all honesty with or without brainwashing, Stiles would’ve thought it more likely that Scott would have actually helped load him into the car than prevent his abduction.  Maybe this is his proof that he could be trusted as he promised.

“The other had put a lot of effort into controlling your father for some time, fortunately he was strong enough to fight when he was ordered to do something his conscience would not allow, some of the Sentinels and Guides here aren’t capable of that and the other is commanding them.”

The implication that his father unconsciously agreed that Stiles would be better off being kidnapped from the S&G Centre than to stay was something he would have to examine later.  He pushes it aside to focus on the here and now.

“Commanding them to do what?”  He asks aloud, only to answer his own question internally - to do whatever it takes for Deaton to have him.

“Stay here.  We’ll keep you safe.”  Raeden deflects and Stiles’ gaze drifts over the various colours, shapes and sizes, tails and haunches of the spirit guides that are a barrier between him and Deaton’s forces.

“No.  No more hiding.”  Stiles struggles to his feet, swaying from the head rush, his gaze travelling over his surrounds.  They’re in an open air parking lot, the majority of cars parked at the far end closest to the rear entrance to the Centre.  In between he sees Deaton at the forefront of a large number of people blocking them from being able to go back inside of the Centre, Sentinels and Guides silently watching and waiting, their accompanying spirit animals just as quiet.  A chill of unease makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end, it seriously creeps him out that they’re so still and unmoving.

Shaking off his ill-ease, Stiles sees that the spirit animals defending him are in stark contrast constantly shifting and moving.  A restlessness to them that has tails lashing back and forth, feathers and fur ruffling, heads bobbing and weaving as they seem to be waiting for something.   A pathway clears before him and as he moves Stiles lets his empathy flow through him, his hands trailing over the spirits he can reach and extending through them to those he can’t, silently offering his thanks and appreciation for their defence of him and his father when they were vulnerable.

Scattered along the front line are familiar faces.  His eyes meeting each individual’s, one after the other.  Kira salutes him, raising the blade of her katana to her brow with a fierce smile, Raeden now draped around her shoulders and chest comprised of smoke and shadows like armour.  He’s not surprised to see Blair and Ellison standing with her, Hendrix and Capac at their sides, because whatever mojo Deaton’s using he doubts it’s enough to compromise the Primes.  Blair’s unusually grim faced while Ellison looks the same as always, he senses that they’re going to stand back and allow him the lead in this confrontation which he appreciates, not that he was looking for permission anyway.  He's slightly shocked at his own chutzpah in not deferring to them, if anything he now feels more on an equal footing with the Primes than before.

What does shock him is the number of extras. 

Derek’s hovering nearby, no longer in scrubs and looking surprisingly intimidating in jeans and a black leather jacket, his movements mirroring Kira’s, Ronan at his elbow.  Lydia and Jackson look like they’re ready for a fashion shoot, but their vicious smiles have him pitying anyone who dares underestimate them.  To their left are Danny and Ethan who shouldn’t have been out of their bonding suite for at least a week particularly with the way Danny positions himself in front of his Guide, he and Taika snarling at those who get too close. 

Next to them is Ethan’s twin, his polar bear spirit guide the complete opposite of Ethan’s Vikal in size and colouring.  Erica and Boyd are together, Isaac nearly snuggled up into Boyd’s side he’s standing so close to the couple with Thomas balanced on his shoulder.  Presley waves from his position astride Junebug’s back, the Grizzly winking at him.  On their far side Finstock grins manically, but the nod of acknowledgement lets Stiles know that he and Boomer will keep an eye on them all.  Then there are the ones he doesn’t know scattered throughout the group – men and women with grim determination in their eyes as they tilt their heads toward him in a rippling wave.

Stiles stops a couple of yards in front of his pride and affiliates and stares at the man on the other side of the divide.  Deaton outwardly looks no different to Stiles than he did the previous week when he’d believed that while annoyingly cryptic he was still someone he could trust.  Surely there should be some sign of taint or corruption, but there’s nothing, he looks like what he is – a middle aged veterinarian.

“Come with me Stiles.  You’re weak.  You’re not safe here.  There’s no need for this to go any further if you just come home.”  Deaton piously clasps his hands in front of him.  Surprisingly, Stiles can sense Deaton fully and he wonders if controlling all these Sentinels and Guides is stretching him a bit thin magically or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore that he’s exposed empathically.  He thinks the latter is maybe most accurate as the worst of it is that Stiles doesn’t get a negative reaction to Deaton’s statement, no scraping inside his skull, so Deaton clearly believes what he’s saying.

“My home isn’t with you.”

“It could be.”  Deaton’s mouth stretches into an empty smile.  “You need a Sentinel and we’ve always worked well together, I helped you discover and utilise your spark after all, before you lost it.”

“I have a Sentinel.” 

Deaton’s expression darkens, lips tightening and eyes narrowing dangerously. 

“You’re an unbonded Guide, Stiles.  The unfortunate situation with Matt could happen again if you refuse me-”

“Is that a threat?”  Stiles snaps, he’s had time to dwell on a few things that Matt had let slip and it made sense that Deaton had planted a few suggestions in an unstable mind, more than likely during Matt’s mandatory ethics training.  The irony isn’t lost on him. 

“What was the plan – Matt violates me and Blair breaks the bond, my Dad gets back a shattered and broken Guide grateful and accepting of an offer to bond from a trusted family friend who comes to the rescue and you…you get the ultimate cracker jack prize - a boost in power from bonding with a Guardian.”

Stiles knows he’s right from the frustration that pours off Deaton, who he's sure had hoped that he was still ignorant of his status as a Guardian, his eyes are hard and unblinking as he continues to talk right over him.

“-and even if Peter wasn’t in a long-term zone out-” 

“Wait, wait…I never said Peter was my Sentinel.”  Stiles cuts him off, mind racing.  “How did you know?”

“That’s not important.  What is, is that your father has given permission for us to bond.”  Deaton pulls a paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and holds it up in the air.

“You may have manipulated my Dad to sign that, but you’re forgetting I don’t need his permission, I’m of age to accept or refuse a bond with any Sentinel.” 

Deaton huffs impatiently at the interruption.  “And you’re forgetting the S&G statutes, if you’re declared empathically compromised by the Director of an S&G Centre you don’t get to make decisions like that which is why I have this.”  Deaton pulls out a second piece of paper from inside his jacket and waves it at Stiles.  “The Judge signed the declaration as we were leaving town.” 

Stiles grinds his teeth. 

“You will be my Guide, Stiles and no Hale will stand in my way again.”

As if on cue the rear exit door of the centre shatters, shards of metal and wood flying across the lot, and a fully shifted werewolf stalks out.  Stiles blinks rapidly.  The full-force of the wolf’s Sentinel strength spreads out like a tsunami staggering the surrounding Sentinels and Guides back, the split second of recognition of who it is allows Stiles to lock his knees and not be knocked off his feet by it.  

Peter.

Peter’s in a full Alpha werewolf shift close to 7 feet even, the sleep pants he’s wearing are pulled taut across bulky thighs, his bare powerful torso dark and hairy, covered in a thick pelt.  The darker ashy grey skin tone of his full shift that seeps through doesn’t hide the burn marks on his face, but it’s the sharp angles and heavy brow that dominates his features more than his wounds.  Red-eyed, his aura is bleeding wild and feral, so dominant that Sentinels and Guides on both sides bare their throats in the face of it.

With the huge silver wolf at his side, the mind-controlled Sentinels and Guides scuttle back to get out of their way, deferring to the strongest most powerful Alpha Sentinel present.  Peter’s damn near the level of a Prime and out of the corner of his eye Stiles can see the tension in Ellison’s body at the potential threat invading his territory.  Blair placing a restraining hand on his arm.

Stiles’ pretty sure he’s in shock because nothing is funny about this, yet he can’t help snickering at the way Deaton lifts his eyes to the heavens as though asking ‘why me?’.

“STILES.”  Peter calls his name, the throttling reverberation of a growl underpinning it as he lifts his head to scent the air.  If at all possible the red of his eyes becomes deeper, richer in colour as they fix on him. 

“Peter.”  Stiles breathes out, hardly able to believe he’s here, his heart beating crazily in his chest when he hears what could only be described as a whine of pure longing from his Sentinel as he says his name.

“Take him.”  Deaton orders the Sentinels nearest to him and Stiles can see the disturbing blank expressions on their faces remain completely unchanged as they instantly charge at him.  The roar of utter fury that Peter voices echoes across the open space, it doesn’t stop the oncoming horde which tells Stiles that they are clearly not in control of themselves because any sane person hearing that sound would get the hell away as fast as they could.  Peter’s moving quickly, using his immense strength to simply bat away any attackers, but they don’t stop, bodies swarming over him until Stiles can’t even see him anymore.

“Defend yourselves.”  Stiles yells as the spirit animals of those mind-controlled Sentinels and Guides sprint towards them, him more specifically and he can sense the others around him rushing forward to intercept the oncoming surge in his defence. 

“NO.”  It’s agony to witness the two sides clash, knowing that it’s because of him, the air is thick with animal screams and cries mixed with the grunts and moans from human throats of pain and exertion.  Everywhere he looks there’s suffering.

Keetah leads the other birds of prey, diving at the oncoming Sentinels and Guides in waves driving them back, the owl’s talons raking and slashing, wings flapping fiercely.  Taika bounds into the thick of it slapping at a hyena, the tiger’s paw the size of a dinner plate, pinning it down as he bares his teeth in its face and roars.

Lydia screams and his heart freezes for one split-second before he realises it isn’t her death scream, this is the Banshee war cry and the sound of it bowls over those in its direct path.  Jackson in his Kanima form and George in his Komodo one, guard Lydia fiercely, Jackson’s tail flashing wildly leaving paralysed bodies in his wake while George bites down on any legs or ankles that get too close.

Kira leaps in the air, bringing down the hilt of her Katana to knock out a muscular Sentinel at least a foot and a half taller than she is, smiling in thanks at Derek who takes out another coming at her from her blindside with dazzling werewolf speed and strength.  Blair walks coolly through the battle, projecting a crippling empathic wave with surgical precision at a section of Deaton’s troops that are fighting Stiles’ allies and they immediately fall unconscious, the Shaman stepping over the fallen to reach the next group, Ellison guarding his front as Hendrix and Capac protect from the rear flanks.

Erica cries out, her eyes rolling back as Guide Monroe holds her arm in a punishing grip forcing a wave of malice and despair into the young Sentinel that Stiles can sickeningly feel from where he’s standing and she starts to convulse.   Boyd’s too far away to reach her as he struggles under the weight of a couple of Sentinels and a Guide until Boomer settles back on his tail and the big Kangaroo lifts his powerful hind legs to deliver a vicious kick sending his attackers flying.  Isaac dragging his friend to his feet with Coach’s help.  Junebug roars in distress as she lumbers back to Erica and crashes into Monroe sending her flying, Presley slipping from her back to check on Erica sprawling motionless on the ground. 

A cheetah with glazed unblinking eyes stretches out long and lithe as it sprints towards Stiles.  It’s close to springing at him when a huge silver blur slams into its side.  Grey snaps and snarls furiously at the feline that tumbles wildly before cringing away, spitting and hissing.

He can’t allow this to go on, can’t have anyone getting hurt for his sake.  Not his pride and not the others here who are under Deaton’s control. 

“NO.”  Stiles yells and pulls on every ounce of who he is and what he can do as a Guide and feels something tug back.  It tugs harder and harder and Stiles groans as he yanks on his end.  Instinct tells him he needs it to stop the fighting.   There’s no fear only a rising sense of joy that grows, consuming him, encouraging him to pull it to him with every ounce of his being.

“COME ON.”  Sweat beads on his upper lip and starts to pool at the hollow of his throat, there’s a buzzing in his ears.  A small part of him is conscious that everyone has paused and is staring, but he doesn’t care.  Can’t stop.  The spirit animals surround him in an ever-widening circle including those that had previously been attacking his friends, their eyes clearer, they push all the Sentinels and Guides back until Stiles is standing in a wide open circle that takes up half the parking lot.  The buzzing grows louder and louder.  It’s the spirit guides. 

At first he thinks they’re all humming, but listening closely he catches a word.  They’re repeating ‘he comes’ over and over until it’s little more than a drone of noise, one that has the Sentinels and even the Guides surrounding him covering their ears, dialling down clearly ineffective.  It’s eerily beautiful, the harmonics increasing in power until it’s a pulsing vibration that throbs throughout his entire body and it fuels Stiles’ empathy.  Building inside until he feels like he’s going to burst as he draws on something so huge he doesn’t know how the world will ever be big enough to contain it. 

“STILES.”  Peter’s calling his name, voice sharp with worry.  A steadily rising fear creeps along Stiles’ spine, it’s not his fear and he knows with near certainty that it belongs to his Sentinel, but there’s no time to reassure or comfort him.  With a massive shrug of his shoulders Peter shakes off the affected Sentinels still hanging off him and takes a running leap that carries him high above the people and animals that encircle Stiles to land with a massive thud that cracks the blacktop of the parking lot forming a deep crater.  In a crouch he slowly rises to stand before him, a towering powerful figure.  An Alpha Sentinel werewolf.

“Stiles?”  Peter’s large fangs makes him slur and Stiles doesn’t know what it says about him that instead of frightening him, he finds it rather endearing.

“Hang on.”  Stiles begs.  It’s so close, it’s almost…

here.

Spirit Guides can choose whether they give audible warning on their arrival on the earth plane, the only exception is when arriving for the very first time when it’s uncontrollable and the sonic boom is noticeable even to the general population.  This one is so loud it rocks everyone back on their heels, shattering a number of car windows, the ground trembles underfoot shaking the S&G Centre.  The wail of car alarms fills the air and some of the Sentinels wince at the persistent pitch of noise, a couple becoming so still that it’s clear they’ve zoned on the sound. 

Stiles can’t feel the warmth of the setting sun on his back anymore.  All he can see is the huge shadow that covers him and extends outwards on the ground before him, all he can hear are the deeply drawn breaths – in and out – behind him and all he can feel is the rush of pride and joy from the two most important beings in his life from now on.  His Sentinel and his spirit guide – Peter and Faro.   Peter nods his head encouragingly and Stiles appreciates that his Sentinel is giving him this time to meet his spirit guide when he’s so clearly in the grip of his drive to bond by the visible tremors that rack his body.  Slowly, Stiles turns and stumbles back slightly so he can get a better look. 

A long shuddering breath passes between his lips as he lifts his gaze higher and higher.  When he was a kid he’d always wondered what was contained in the egg he’d only had for such a short time as a latent guide.  Of course he’d had to research all the possibilities – birds, an ostrich maybe or reptiles like alligators - he’d even considered the platypus because they were awesome with their duck-like bills and beaver tails.  He’d never been able to match the glittering egg to any kind within all the books and websites he’d studied.  What he hadn’t considered the possibility of was that it could belong to some kind of magical creature, but that’s what his eyes are telling him is in front of him right now.

It’s a dragon.  A dragon that’s so fucking big, at least 20 to 30 feet tall, and so dark that just standing in his massive shadow feels like all the light’s being sucked into each and every scale that covers its body like individual black holes.  Each scale is bigger than Stiles can span with his two hands, deep black with underlying shimmering hues of green and purple.  Faro’s fierce with his scales and horns, but to Stiles every angular line of tendon and bone, every sinew of muscle is beautiful.

The dragon lowers its massive head to look him directly in the eyes, it’s almost hypnotic.  The golden glow of them filled with so many emotions, foremost love, pride and understanding that Stiles can’t help but stumble forward, drawn in by their power.  The golden irises start to swirl steadily in contentment the longer the dragon gazes at him, his wings flare out, revealing the surprisingly delicate black silk-like skin stretched between the long phalanges, before settling into neat folds on his back.

“Faro?”  Stiles manages to choke out.

“MISCHIEF.”  Stiles’ body throbs in response to the deep resonance of Faro’s voice vibrating through him and he finds himself running to throw his arms around Faro’s neck.  It’s a comfort that he’s never known he’s missed until now and with it comes awareness of his connection to this amazing complex being.  It’s like a veil’s been swept aside and he’s finally able to experience all the things he’s told the others about the union between Sentinels and Guides and their spirit animals.  What he’d underestimated was the depth and richness to it.

“Thank you.  Thank you.”  Stiles says over and over again blinking away tears.

“YOU DON’T NEED TO THANK ME.”

“Are you kidding me?  You went there, stayed with my Sentinel for all these years…of course I need to thank you.”

“As do I.  Thank you Faro.”  Peter strides towards them and with each step his physique shrinks and contracts until he’s in his human form, the push and pull of bone and sinew changing shape is fascinating to witness particularly his burned face which to Stiles’ eyes, the damage appears to have shrunk even more.  If he’d thought the other man was handsome in his comatose state to see him conscious and alert, moving with purpose, gives him a whole new definition of attractiveness.

“Ditto.”  Grey lopes into the open space to stand at Peter’s side, his silver-furred shoulder brushing against Peter’s arm and it seems to Stiles that this contact gives Peter additional control and restraint.  The tremors shaking his body aren’t as pronounced, although Stiles is very conscious of his Sentinel’s fixed gaze upon him as though he daren’t look away not even for a moment. 

Faro blinks his huge golden eyes, a swirl of smoke rising from each of his nostrils. The deep rumbling sigh of contentment from his dragon as Faro holds him close with his deadly claws has Stiles wishing that he could embrace him fully.  Stretching his arms wide he rests his head against the scaly chest and lets his body rise and fall, following the rhythm of Faro’s breathing.  It’s beyond soothing.

The ground starts to shake violently and Stiles jerks around to see huge gnarly roots burst through the black top to sweep aside a number of the encircling spirit animals.  They tumble away like pins in a bowling alley.  Deaton moves smoothly through the cloud of earth and dust that the eruption has caused and Stiles can feel his mouth drop as he realises that the man’s actually standing on one of the thicker roots as it moves forward making him look like he’s gliding over the ground towards him.  It’s weirdly cool and creepy as all fuck.

Blake and Monroe flank Deaton like hired muscle and he would think they were simply like the others under Deaton’s influence except for the excited gleam in their eyes.  They’re here by choice and Stiles reflects on their first interaction and wonders how many others they’d made feel so worthless and inferior that they’d jumped at the chance to leave the centre for good.

Roots as thick as Stiles’ thigh whip out from the hole in the ground like tentacles and wrap around Peter’s waist, arms and legs holding him in place.  It’s not those that worry Stiles, it’s the thinner one that snakes around Peter’s throat and tightens.  The Alpha Wolf Sentinel struggling wildly, snapping the roots, but every time he does another takes its place.

“Uncle Peter.”  Derek rushes forward and slashes at Peter’s bindings, claws cutting through and the dropped roots wriggle and writhe on the ground like giant worms and it makes Stiles’ skin crawl.  Kira joins Derek, the shining silver blade of her Katana slicing through the churning mass.  It doesn’t work, more surge over Peter, dangerously close to smothering him.  Kira draws Derek back and the glare she shoots at Deaton is murderous.

“Choose Stiles.  Come with me and be my Guide or watch him die.”  Deaton offers with a confidence that makes Stiles’ gut lurch violently, the evidence that Deaton possesses a power more than what a Druid is capable of is horrifying.  Peter chokes out a strangled ‘No’.

More roots and vines stretch from the cleaved ground, reaching out towards his friends who slash and hack at them, yelling in fury and disgust.  It’s clear that it won’t take long before they’re overwhelmed too and panic washes over Stiles, he can’t lose any of them.  There’s no choice.

“There’s always a choice.”  Faro lightly wraps a huge claw around Stiles’ body and gently lifts him up high, so very high into the air and yet he’s not afraid.  Staring into the Dragon’s eyes, Stiles can feel the press of great age in the aura surrounding Faro. 

“What do I do?”  The helplessness he feels is paralysing.

“You believe.”  Before he can even question ‘in what’, Faro answers.  “In yourself Stiles.  Fan the spark into a flame.”

Bewildered and scared and angry he yells.  “But, I don’t have a spark…not anymore.”

“Who told you that?  The little man down there that wants you, wants to control you.”  Faro huffs.  “He has turned your belief against you, made a weapon of it and made you believe you have no power.”

Stiles blinks.  Can it be true what Faro is saying?  Deaton’s lied about so many things, had he lied about Stiles’ spark burning out completely too.

“When you have all the power you need.”  With his other claw he points first to Stiles’ head and then his chest, right over his heart.  “Here and here.  Believe Stiles.” 

Faro lowers him gently back down to the ground.  Deaton’s expression is ugly and victorious as he toys with Stiles’ Pride, Monroe and Blake taunting Peter as he chokes.  Afraid as he is for Peter, it’s swiftly overtaken by pure anger.  The need to protect his Sentinel from harm is a compulsion that he willingly succumbs to.

“Sentinel.”  Stiles yells at Peter and the Alpha Werewolf’s attention immediately turns to him.  “Trust me.”  Stiles growls, gratified beyond belief at the instant response, a strained blink of fiery red eyes as the snaking tendril at Peter’s throat tightens, but a cold fury burns low in his gut – furious at seeing his Sentinel in danger there’s no mercy in him at all.  With everything he has he believes in himself, believes he can save Peter and all the others, believes that his spark is aflame once more.

Deep in his core, in his very being he can feel it awaken and ignite.

With his spark alight everything feels suddenly so much easier.  The power of the dragon flows through him effortlessly, muscles tightening as scales ripple over the top of his arms and the back of his hands to where his nails have transformed into sharp ivory claws.  All he sees is cast in a golden light, it would look beautiful if the scene in front of him wasn’t so damn horrific.  With the bond he has to Faro, Stiles silently asks the huge dragon spirit at his back to cleanse the corruption before them.  To eliminate the threat not only to his Sentinel, but to the tribe.

With a fierce cry and a deep inhalation, flames roar overhead lighting up the dying sky and with his link to Faro, Stiles joins in – roaring his fury at having his Sentinel threatened and bound.  The fire is such a deep, dark red it’s nearly black and it engulfs the small group in front of him.  The roots shrivel and fall away, turning into dust as Peter, Derek and Kira stand unharmed under the flames like it’s a shower of rain exactly as Stiles believed they would.  The others aren’t so fortunate.

Monroe screams once as she’s hit full blast and she instantly disintegrates, her black mamba spirit guide vanishing back to the psionic plane with a final anguished hiss that would normally make Stiles wince, but his whole being is filled with the need to rend apart any threat to his Sentinel that guilt takes a backseat.  Blake staggers away, withered and shrunken to such an extent she appears skeletal, collapsing to the ground, her hyena spirit animal whining as she noses at the fallen Guide’s side.

Deaton’s on his knees, singed with a number of burns, scrapes and cuts, after the thick root he’d been standing on had crumbled away and tumbled him to the blacktop.  Struggling to his feet, he shakes his head and for the first time ever Deaton’s expression isn’t the annoyingly neutral one that Stiles is so used to seeing.  There’s pain and fury, annoyance and fear, but most of all disbelief clearly writ across his face.

“It’s not possible.”  Deaton practically snarls and his incredulousness helps fuel Stiles' self-belief.  “The power of the nemeton is mine, nothing can stand against me.”

Stiles nods to himself, he’d suspected, but it’s nice to have it confirmed that’s where the big-ass tree roots came from.  He can see a couple of them twitch and flop around uselessly on the ground, the frustration and fear that rolls off Deaton then is eminently satisfying as he realises that his access to that power has been cut off.

“Except for us.”

A dark hunger stares out of Deaton’s brown eyes.  He brushes off his dusty clothes, regaining his composure. 

“Just think Stiles, an Archdruid Sentinel and the Guardian Guide, what power we would have between us, if you just come to me-” 

“Darach.”  The word coming from somewhere deep inside him, the knowledge simply there in his mind.  Stiles stalks towards the man who had betrayed his mother, who had murdered all in the name of power, every part of him vibrating with a rage so deep it can’t be contained.

“That’s what you are, a dark one.  You shit upon the rites of a druid and the calling of a Sentinel.   You taint the very air around you.”  Stiles spits on the ground in front of the man he’d once thought of as a trusted friend of his family.  “I’ll never be with you.”

Peter, free from restraint and who’s clearly had enough, closes in on the druid and pounces.  Hauling the other Sentinel effortlessly into the air by one hand at his throat.  Deaton kicks and jerks wildly, struggling against his hold, it’s clear that while Peter’s just come out of a coma and his body is still marked with burns from the fire he’s not weak.

“He doesn’t want you.”  Peter shakes him and Deaton flops around like a rag doll. 

“It doesn’t matter.”  Deaton gasps out, eyes bulging.  “I’m not waiting anymore.  No more obstacles, no more people getting in the way of what I want.”  Pulling his hand out of his pants pocket, Deaton throws a fine purple powder into Peter’s face.

“Peter.”  Stiles cries out as the Alpha staggers, coughing and spluttering, wiping at his eyes as his breathing stutters to a wheeze.  Black thready veins spread across his cheekbones, darkening his eye sockets to horrific shadows.  Peter doesn’t let go of his hold on Deaton, gripping even tighter, while he sways on unsteady feet.  Is he going to witness his Sentinel dying so terribly, right when he’s found him?  Just as he thinks that might be the case, Faro leans in to Peter and inhales deeply, all the powder being visibly drawn into his nostrils in a long stream pouring out of Peter’s mouth and nose before Faro lifts his head skywards and shoots another burst of flame into the night, this one edged with purple sparks.

Stiles is half a step away from reaching out and holding Peter up, bonding be damned, when the black veins disappear and Peter stands taller and snarls viciously into Deaton’s face.  The horror that had washed over him at Peter being poisoned with wolfsbane right in front of his eyes leaches slowly away.

“And who got in your way?  You said before ‘no Hale will get in your way again’ – so who were you talking about?”  Peter demands.  Deaton clamps his lips together tightly.

“Talia.”  Lydia gasps out loud, thumb and forefinger spanning her face between temple and jaw like she’s tuning into something just out of range.  Lydia draws closer, Jackson at her side still transformed into the Kanima, hissing dangerously, tail lashing from side to side in his agitation.

“Mom?”  The thin reedy quaver in Derek’s voice hurts to hear.  “What did you do to her?”

“I’d advise you to start talking before I get upset, believe me when I say you wouldn’t want that.”  Peter growls, teeth gleaming white and visibly lengthening so they’re nearly as long as Stiles’ little finger, his hold tightening on Deaton’s throat making him gurgle, gasping for breath. 

“Kate.”  The name from Lydia’s lips draws an instant reaction, a fierce roar from Peter as Derek staggers back turning pale.  Kira’s eyes glow white and the sizzling crack of lightning fills the air as she raises her Katana shoulder high to sight down the silver blade towards her target, Deaton.

A chill runs down Stiles’ spine and through his connection to his spark he instinctively weaves an empathic push into his question, one powerful enough to compel a truthful answer. 

“Did you help Kate Argent?” 

Deaton struggles in Peter’s grip, the truth pressing on him from all sides.  Bewilderment furrowing his forehead as his mouth opens and closes helplessly, trying to hold himself back from saying anything, but it’s impossible with Stiles’ push dragging the words out of him.   He cries out wildly, angrily before speaking.

“Yes, damn you.  Talia threatened to report me to the S&G Council and the Primes which would’ve brought in the Druid High Council and they would’ve seen the change in my magic…in my magical signature.  I couldn’t let that happen so I gave Kate an in, weakened a young one so she could lure him in.”

The wounded sound from Derek’s throat has Kira surging forward, using her body to shield Derek.  Ronan presses into Derek’s side letting him lean into his body as he sways unsteadily, before righting himself.

“Report you for what?” Stiles demands.

Deaton groans as the answer is dragged from him.  “Obstructing a potential bond.” 

“Whose bond?”  When Deaton scowls and turns his head away, Peter holds him closer and with his free hand lets his claws grow in front of Deaton’s face.  Holding his middle finger level with Deaton’s eye the threat is clear and no matter how much he squirms the razor sharp claw is steady. 

“I will pop your eyeball out of your skull if you don’t answer me.”  Peter growls savagely.

“Alright, alright…it was yours.”

Peter’s eyes flick towards Stiles, before refocusing on Deaton.  “The rest of it…now.”

“She came to me because she’d seen signs of a pre-bond forming on your side with Stiles and wanted it confirmed so she could talk to the Sheriff and make arrangements for a future bonding if both parties agreed when Stiles was of age.” 

“She did?”  Peter’s voice hitches, before turning angry.  “But, then why did she keep sending me away on all of those ridiculous diplomatic trips?” 

“Because I made her believe you were too unstable to be around your potential Guide and would hurt him.”  Deaton laughs bitterly.  “She thought she was protecting you from yourself.”

Stiles sucks in a harsh breath, Deaton’s “made her believe” equating to magicked the fuck out of the Alpha to do as he wanted.  Peter’s head whips around and their eyes meet and hold. 

“Never…I could never hurt you.”  Peter says.  The rawness of his words makes Stiles’ chest ache and all he can do is nod, not able to speak.

“How did she break free then?”  Blair has moved closer to listen and that’s a very good question Stiles thinks and gives Deaton another nudge towards truthfulness.  Maybe too much as the older man becomes overly verbose.

“I’d not taken into account the ties that the Hales had with the land…the land that was host to the Nemeton.  Even though it was under my control, as Alpha she was accustomed to its power and influence and it wore off more quickly than I anticipated, but once she realised I lucked out.  As her trusted emissary she didn’t report it, thinking it was nothing more than me being overzealous in protecting the pack.  I couldn’t risk using my powers on her as frequently as she would require, I’d already discovered that if done too often it would bring on Dementia.  One Guide with it I could get away with, but two…word would get out.  If she’d only known her place, the pack would still be alive and I would already be bonded to you Stiles and you…you would’ve given me everything.”  Deaton’s words are chilling, particularly how off-hand he refers to his Mom and getting away with killing her with her own mind.  The thought of being trapped in a bond with him makes Stiles feel sick.

"My Mom...why did you...with her?"  Stiles asks brokenly.  

Deaton tilts his head as though he's a curiosity to be examined in his grief.  "Why?  Smart woman your mother, she'd started to notice some instances of just how special you are - how you could see a lot more spirit guides than usual.  Fortunately, she came to me for advice and I did some research.  She wanted to take you to Cascade to see the Alpha Prime Guide, I helped her see that wasn't a good idea.  Unfortunately, she persisted so I had to correct her each and every time right up until she became very sick. She did beg very prettily on your behalf if that makes you feel any better."

Stiles swallows back the bile that's risen up in a fiery burn to the back of his throat.  

“That’s why she had to be destroyed along with all the other Guides that don’t know their place, that think they can disobey and defy what a Sentinel rightfully commands. The Sentinel protects the tribe and the Guide comforts the Sentinel.”  There’s a light in Deaton’s eyes, one that speaks of not just conviction, but outright obsession and Stiles knows now, he’s sure of it.

“You’re the one that was helping Kate all the time.  No wonder you were worried about them discovering your magical signature had changed, it was you.  All the other packs and families of Guides she destroyed…it was you.”  Stiles accuses, Deaton doesn’t respond but his jaw bulges and his lips are little more than a thin line.

Instinct drives Stiles to reach out and grasp Deaton’s arm to find more answers, his fingers delving beyond the torn sleeve to find his bare skin, not that he needs to touch him to do what he needs to, but he has to be absolutely sure.  With a driving spike of will he penetrates Deaton’s mind, conscious of deliberately breaching his mental defences so effortlessly that he can sense the druid is madly scrambling to resist as he sails on past them. 

For a man as carefully controlled and as logical as Deaton appears, his memories are chaotic and random, slamming into him one after another in no apparent order.  The rush of sights, sounds and emotions is overwhelming, but Stiles is able to discern particular memories that repeat – the Nemeton, both whole and cut down versions, Kate Argent and the Guides that Deaton has been drawn to as a Sentinel and a man. 

He blanks on seeing himself amongst them, skimming past the memory that seemed to focus entirely on his mouth, not willing to experience what Deaton had felt then.  He recognises some others within them.   A woman that has the same eyes as Deaton – his sister, Marin, then Talia and even Stiles’ own mother. 

He feels his stomach lurch at the images of his mom screaming furiously before her chin wobbles and a single tear trickles down her cheek as she nods blankly at his orders.  Marin struggling wildly as he pins her beneath him outraged at her betrayal and starts tugging at her clothes, her phone on the floor beside her, a blinking congratulatory message from the S&G Centre on her match to another Sentinel.   Talia arguing with gleaming red eyes before baring her throat in agreement to what he says and from each memory there’s a thrilling pleasure at the power of controlling these strong Guides and bending them to his will, of keeping them in their place. 

Kate laughs at him with a mocking smile and gets right up into his space, teasing him by allowing her breasts to brush against his chest, before slapping him lightly on the cheek and turning her back on him as though he was of no consequence.  That he was something not to be feared and Deaton wishes so badly that she was a Guide so he could teach her not to toy with a Sentinel. 

Of all the memories, what disturbs Stiles the most is when Deaton takes the hand of a little girl with lots of braids pulled back forming a geometric pattern with her hair.  She smiles up at him trustingly, a very young latent Guide, and he leads her away from a big crowd with promises of ice-cream and in the distance he can hear a frantic voice calling her name over and over…Alicia, Alicia.  At the top of the pile of his father’s cold cases that he hasn’t given up on is one on the disappearance of Boyd’s little sister, Alicia, who disappeared from the town Fair a number of years ago.

Stiles breathes steadily through his nose trying to quell the urge to throw up at the violations he’s witnessed.   He’s ready to wrench himself away from the foul taint of the other man’s mind when he hears it, a weak pealing sound, the notes drifting high in entreaty.  A chilling suspicion has him swallowing with difficulty as he searches once more through Deaton’s mind, his druidic magic and the core of what makes him a Sentinel with a thoroughness that will require him to have a long shower when he’s done.

Stiles gasps in shock when he finds what he’s looking for.

In all the years he’d known Deaton he’d never seen or sensed the Sentinel’s spirit guide, not once, and had just assumed that he was like so many others that never made that connection.   It was no surprise then that he very nearly misses the weak and decayed bond between Deaton and his spirit animal, the faint gasping whistle as his empathy brushes over it draws his attention immediately and he pulls oh so carefully on that fragile bond, afraid of damaging it further.  On closer examination Stiles sees it’s not so much a bond as a chain. 

Almost instantly the ground rumbles again and more roots push to the surface causing everyone to step back.  These roots are old.  Twisted and warped, they’re threaded and woven together into what looks like a big ball, about 3 or 4 foot across.  The soft high pitched cry is muffled, clearly coming from inside the ball and Stiles feels ill as awful realisation strikes. 

It’s a cage.

Rushing forward he ignores the startled shouts from the others and starts yanking and pulling on the roots, taking grim satisfaction as they snap and break, uncaring of the cuts and scrapes on his hands until he’s opened a big enough hole that a large yellow hooked beak pushes through panting and gasping.  Stiles doesn’t stop and realises that Derek and Kira are helping him break it apart, conscious that Peter is still holding a wildly struggling Deaton as much as Stiles still has control over his mind.  The bigger they make the opening he realises that the sounds of distress and outrage he’s hearing are not just from him as Derek and Kira suddenly realise what it actually is.  When the opening is big enough they step back letting him get closer and Stiles takes a deep breath and peers inside.

What he sees makes his eyes sting as he holds back the tears while a rage so pure and so deep pulses through his entire body.  Deaton’s spirit animal is an eagle, a bald eagle.  The bird is wasted away, limbs atrophied and crippled by being stuffed into a space so small that its magnificent wings have been broken to fit.  The poor creature lifts its head weakly and the gratitude in its pale yellow eyes, cloudy with disuse, makes him want to puke as guilt swirls darkly through his veins.  He didn’t know, he never suspected, but he should have.   

“Help me Faro.”   Stiles asks.   The sudden weight on his shoulder is a comfort, should he be surprised that Faro has decreased in size as to easily fit there…maybe, but he’ll think about it later.  The drape of the dragon’s long tail around the back of his neck wrapping around to rest on his collarbones like a dark necklace feels natural, the smooth scales warm against his skin.  The connection between them intense and wide open at the contact, so that when Faro’s wings flare open and he hisses in angry dismay at the condition of the eagle so does Stiles.  Instantly, a rush of heat floods throughout his whole body. 

Instinct more than anything has him placing his hands on the abused bird, one on its chest feeling the weak flutter of its heartbeat and the other on the exposed span of broken wing.  He lets that warm rush of psionic energy pass through him and down his arms to his hands, conscious of the dark scales that cover his flesh that shimmer as they change and start to glow red as the energy moves through him, and pushes it into the weakened spirit guide as it starts to move.  The more power he pushes into it the greater the eagle struggles and Stiles hushes and croons at him soothingly.   The sounds the eagle makes are stronger, the piping notes clearer.

When it becomes sluggish and feels like he can’t pass anymore to him, Stiles raises his head.  “I’ve gone as far as I can on this plane Lincoln.  I can help you sever the bond to this-”  He can’t bring himself to name him.  “-this person and you should retreat so you can recover fully.”

Lincoln stares at him intently before struggling to rise, Stiles and Derek snap off any pieces of the cage that look like they’ll catch what few feathers remain on his wings.  Lincoln’s yellow eyes are clearer and Stiles can feel the weight of his regard as he’s examined closely.  Faro leans forward, his claws digging into Stiles’ shoulder, humming encouragingly.

“I will need assistance, my lord.”  Lincoln says eventually, with what Stiles thinks sounds like a New England twang although he can’t be sure as his voice is rough and scratchy from disuse.

“You have it, but not lord, Stiles or Guardian if you must.”  Stiles promises, wrapping his hand around the horrible chain that links Lincoln to Deaton and meets the eagle’s eyes, waiting.

“No you can’t.  He’s mine.”  Deaton yells, struggling against Peter’s hold futilely.  Stiles ignores him, the sense of entitlement and ownership that Deaton has for his spirit guide radiates from him so strongly he doesn’t need to push himself to read him, it oozes from him.  Thick and choking, it’s disgusting. 

“Thank you Guardian.”   The eagle dips his head, even underweight, battered and broken, the gesture is regal.  Lincoln lets out a heavy breath and his battered wings spread wide then down over and over as he lifts unsteadily into the air, Stiles yanks on the psionic chain until it snaps, cleaving the bond between them permanently.

Lincoln screeches in triumph and Deaton wails, cursing as the eagle flies at him, talons extended and viciously slashes at the Sentinel over and over before disappearing instantly without a backward glance.

“What have you done?”  Deaton rails bitterly, fury twisting his mouth into a gaping ugly maw.  The psionic wounds inflicted upon the Druid’s head and shoulders, pulse and ooze a dark sludge that turns Stiles’ stomach.  It’s the festering corruption from the very core of Deaton and he’s aware of the cries of disgust and horror from the surrounding Sentinels and Guides as it spreads outwards in rippling waves.  He’s aware that some Guides have collapsed, unconscious, unable to cope with the putrid decay of a man’s very soul by greed, lust and hate.

If he left him now he doubts the Sentinel would be able to be saved anyway, but that doesn’t satisfy the instinct that has the hair on the nape of his neck standing on end with the need to deal with the evil before him.

He stalks towards the older man, not bothering to answer.   He can’t bear the thought of touching him again, but with what he’s going to ask of his Sentinel then he needs to prove to him…to them both that he can and will do the same – exactly what is necessary. 

“Is that where I would’ve ended up if I’d bonded with you?  Caged.”   Deaton doesn’t answer, turning his head away.  “Your sister didn’t fall in a hiking accident did she?  The only way she could escape your forced bond upon her was by jumping to her death.  You wouldn’t make that mistake again would you?” 

He slaps his hand on Deaton’s chest, claws gouging deep drawing blood, and thrusts his empathy deep into the other man physically and psychically searching and when he finds that gene in his DNA he isolates it, locking away all that makes Deaton a Sentinel.  His senses no longer enhanced, abilities that he’d taken for granted – gone.  Stiles can only imagine that to Deaton it must seem as though he’s been stricken down - gone blind and deaf, taste and sense of smell smothered to a bland nothing.

The man wails in fear falling to his knees, seeming lesser almost immediately to Stiles’ senses.  He looks Peter squarely in the eye, seeing awe there that quickly turns to a dark savage approval.

“Protect the tribe.”  Stiles demands roughly, wanting this vile abusive rapist and murderer gone.

“With pleasure.”  Peter smiles viciously, all teeth.  Without hesitation he clasps Deaton’s head between his hands and twists, uncaring that his claws are digging into his flesh and causing rivulets of blood to run down the other man’s face to drip onto his chest and mingle with the blood that Stiles drew.  It’s so quick that Stiles barely has time to blink between the wet ripping sound and Deaton’s head falling to the floor, rolling with a splat and he steps back so it doesn’t brush up against the toe of his shoe.

Peter howls, long and triumphant.  Derek tips his head back and joins in as do their wolf spirit guides.  Faro launches off Stiles’ shoulder, the down draft from his wings increasing dramatically as he changes size in mid-flight to his original massive frame.  Circling the car park, all the flying spirit guides rise as one to escort him, a trail of soaring and graceful wings of all shapes and sizes behind him as the dragon breathes plumes of fire into the night sky.  The other spirit guides that remain in the surrounding circle fuel the chorus with their own bellowing roars, threaded with screeches and hissing, to a sound so loud that he doesn’t envy Blair and Ellison having to deal with all the noise complaints they’re sure to get.  Spinning slowly, he takes it all in, watching and listening with a growing sense of pride.

Stiles spins until he can’t anymore, the night falling abruptly silent as he realises his path is blocked.  He didn’t see him move, but Peter’s suddenly in front of him.  Close, real close – enough that he can feel the heat pour off the Alpha wolf’s body.  Peter’s broad, powerful chest expanding as he breathes, every inhalation through his nose, long and deep, as he watches Stiles with glowing red eyes. 

“My Guide.”  Peter says, in a low continuous rumble making Stiles’ scalp and nape prickle with awareness.   The Alpha wolf looks like he wants to take a bite and everything in Stiles wants to bare his throat and let him.  There's only one thing left to say.

“My Sentinel.”

Chapter Text

“Much as I hate to say it, but wait…please.”  Stiles says as the door to the bonding suite locks behind them.

Peter shudders, eyes closing.  Head rolling on his shoulders from side to side.  Inhaling deeply, his powerful chest expands gleaming with sweat and blood and dirt in the most distracting of ways. 

“Sweetheart, if you want me to wait you need to stop looking at me like that, to stop smelling like that.”  The gravel in Peter’s voice has Stiles swallowing hard as he drags his gaze from Peter’s nipples to meet the Sentinel’s now open eyes.  His incredibly blue eyes that somehow gleam hotter and brighter than his blood-red Alpha ones.

“I don’t sme-”  Stiles attempts to deny brazenly before breaking off with a gulp, stepping back until he can’t anymore, as Peter stalks predatorily towards him, leaning in close and inhales pointedly, nostrils flaring wide and the glint of a sharp fang catching his full lower lip as he draws in his scent. 

“You smell of want…desire.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, there’s no way to hide the pull that he feels towards the other man.  It’s an ache that he carries, every inch of him wanting to feel Peter’s touch. Stiles slumps back against the door, the cool metal feeling really good through his t-shirt against his hot skin.  

“I can’t help the way I smell, but I’m asking you to not-”

“What?  To not touch you?”  Peter’s lips twist mockingly, viciously civilised, belying the wild primal glint in his eyes.  “Haven’t I waited long enough.  You’re asking for the impossible.”

“I know.”  Stiles whispers helplessly, shoulders slumping.  Peter had been patient, the need to bond riding him hard as he’d waited for Stiles to check on his Pride after the fighting – Erica had regained consciousness thankfully and apart from bruising, scratches and strains the rest of them had come out of it pretty much intact. 

“Why ask then?  Why are you here if you didn’t want to bond-”  Peter bites out savagely, whirling away and Stiles just barely hears him muttering “-with me?”

“Are you nuts?   Of course I want to bond with you.”  Stiles sucks in a sharp breath when Peter’s moved quicker than he can blink, suddenly in front of him again, boxing him in.  His hands against the door on either side of Stiles’ head, their bodies may not be touching, but there’s not even an inch between them and he can feel the heat of Peter’s body as he looms over him, can smell the musk of him – a wild natural scent that makes his mouth water. 

Peter’s lips are so close that if Stiles licked his own then he’d get a damn good taste of the wolf too and it tempts him.  Tempts him so damn much.  A surge of arousal rushes through his body making him whine.  Heart hammering in his ribcage like it’s trying to beat its way out of his chest, he slips his hands to his heavy and aching groin, pressing hard against his madly twitching cock behind the zipper of his jeans.

The low rumbling growl Peter makes has him shivering uncontrollably.

“So what’s the problem then?”  Peter’s smirk is downright dangerous to Stiles’ equilibrium and the unfairness of it fires him up, he feels like he’s just barely hanging onto his control by his fingernails.

“Really?  Really?”  Stiles snarls feeling almost wolf-like himself, teetering on an edge he wasn’t even aware of being on.  “You’ve just woken from a six year coma, don’t you think I might have some concerns.”

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t hurt you.”   The smirk vanishes instantly as Peter pushes off the wall, biceps bulging distractingly, all huffy Alpha Werewolf Sentinel.

“Oh my God.  Not for me you idiot, I’m concerned about you.”  Stiles is conscious of the various emotions crossing the handsome blood-spattered face in front of him at that statement, annoyance first swiftly followed by a bewilderment that is rather endearing.  “I’m worried that you might zone out hard if we try to bond. You’ve had no direct stimuli for six years Peter, let alone the intimate kind, it might be too much.”

Peter doesn’t answer him straight away and Stiles is grateful he seems to be considering what he’s saying and not brushing his concerns off.  Concerns that are only growing as he observes the way Peter’s hands shake and how increasingly taut and strained his face is becoming.

“I don’t think Blair would’ve let us come here if he thought there would be a problem.”  Peter waves his hand towards the rest of the luxurious suite.   “And-”

“And?”  Stiles encourages.

“And being near you…your presence it helps.”  Peter glares at him like he’s somehow at fault.

“Great.  Glad I could help.”  Stiles snaps defensively.

“Well you are, so good.”

“Fine.”  Stiles huffs, folding his arms in front of his chest.  This is so not how he expected his bonding to go.   When he’d dared dream it had been of extremes, either wildly passionate or a gentle melding of heart and mind as well as body, not this vaguely antagonistic sniping which any other time he’d probably enjoy.   A confused mish mash of emotions rise in his chest, disappointment and a fierce longing the most prominent, it’s not all his though and his eyes flick over Peter wondering if he’d had his own dreams of how this would go. 

“I need to clean up.  I can’t think when I still smell like him.”  Peter growls, his bloodstained fingers splaying wide before clenching into tight fists as he turns away.  “Stay or go Stiles you decide.  Stay and I’m going to fuck you and we’ll bond, but if you go you make sure you lock that door behind you.”

Stiles swallows hard at the warning in those words, that instinct would drive Peter to follow him and hunt him down if he did leave.

“Peter-”  Stiles calls softly, watches the line of Peter’s spine straighten, his shoulders lift and broaden with tension.  The words to end this stand-off won’t come, the atmosphere thickening until he’s blurting out uncontrollably.  “Bath.  A bath would probably be better than a shower for you…you know…the water pressure here’s pretty good, really good…it’d probably feel like needles after so long-”  Stiles grimaces.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Peter gives the barest of nods and walks away not even looking back once.

“-to remind you of what you’ve been through.”  Stiles finishes faintly and blows out a long breath as he hears the sound of water running.  Not the shower though, so that’s something.

God he’s such a doofus.  Talk about foot in his mouth, lets remind the Alpha Sentinel Werewolf that the closest he’s been to a shower is having a sponge bath on the regular while he’s been in a six year long coma.  Well done Stiles.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he lets it slide down to cover his mouth and silently screams his frustration into the palm of his hand.  His worst fear is coming true, that he’s blowing it – his chance to bond with a Sentinel that’s strong and patient, fiercely protective and sexy as all fuck.  They should be bonding the heck out of each other right now and yet here they are in separate rooms and somehow it feels like it’s all his fault, Peter's taken his concern for him as an attack.  He’s not smooth or practiced when it comes to talking to people he finds attractive and holy heck does he find Peter attractive, he’s like a God-damn fantasy come to life-

and that thought freezes him in place with epiphany. 

Yes, Peter might be the type of Sentinel he’s dreamed of, but that dream hadn’t come with a back-story.   This is reality and Peter’s a man – a real man, not a fantasy, one who had his own life before the fire with his own hopes and dreams, his own successes and failures…his own tragedies.  He needs to remember that.  Much as he wants everything to be absolutely perfect for himself and his Sentinel maybe he needs to trust in Peter and his self-assessment and not second-guess him.

If they’re going to have a chance, Stiles needs to give his brain a rest and take a backseat, let his instincts drive for a while and see where it takes them.  The Guide part of him is going crazy, holding his hands out in front of him he can see how badly they’re trembling with the need to touch his Sentinel, his empathy is buzzing wanting to wrap itself around Peter and shelter him from the storm of his senses.

Standing here, where Peter isn’t, is not going to help he decides.  Gulping, Stiles slowly pulls his t-shirt over his head dropping it to the floor, toes off his Converse and pushes his jeans along with his boxers down his hips and thighs.  With a wriggle they drop from his knees to his ankles easily, when he tries to get his feet free with a little hop step he nearly face plants.  Cursing under his breath he’s glad he’s undressing out here and not where Peter can see him making a fool of himself.   Heat pools in his belly imagining the wolf’s hungry gaze on his skin and his dick responds by chubbing up further, bobbing up and down with every breath in anticipation.

With a deep breath he shakily walks into the bathroom.

Peter stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.  Silently berating himself for retreating, but it was either that or claim the boy in every way possible and he clearly wasn’t ready for that.  Maybe Stiles never would be he thinks as he considers himself in the mirror and pulls a face - not with an older, scarred Sentinel anyway.   Even with his Guide’s delicious scent of arousal still teasing his senses, it didn’t have to mean anything.  He remembers being that young and a strong breeze could turn him on.

It’s all up to Stiles now.  There’s no way that Peter’s going to be like those bastards that had tried to force bond him.  Somehow, he’d managed to find the strength of will to very bluntly give Stiles a choice in the matter, to stay or to leave, that so far he’d not taken him up on.  His mind says not to hope, whereas his dick takes that as such an encouraging sign that it swells bigger, throbs harder than it had when they were practically nose to nose and Peter just wants to curl up in a ball and scream.

The hospital sleep pants end up in shreds on the floor, his hands shaking too much to strip them off properly.  Peter turns off the tap to the plunge pool he’d discovered in the huge bathroom and forces himself to walk down the steps into the bath and not run back into the other room where his Guide is and pounce on him, repeatedly.  One of Blair’s little minions had obviously prepped it beforehand as there’s still little curlicues of steam rising from the water’s surface, the whole suite including the bathwater was set at a temperature for maximum comfort for Sentinels and Guides.  They know their stuff. 

Apparently, Stiles does too.  Peter recalls the babbling that followed him into the bathroom and he reluctantly has to agree that immersing his body in the water rather than standing under the stinging spray of the shower is a good idea.  The tension eases slightly in his tight muscles, not that he can relax fully with Stiles being out of sight.  He sinks below the surface to rinse off his face and hair, but only for a moment because he can’t stand the thought of not being able to smell the wonderful intoxicating scent coming from his Guide in the other room.  It’s so pure and refreshing that with every inhalation he feels a clarity of mind and a painless sharpening of his senses that he’s never experienced before.

And that he thinks is the crux of his problem.  Ever since Deaton told him that he’d never have a Guide in his life, he’s been reliant solely on himself and his own willpower to keep his senses under control.  A control that it’s hard to let go of now, even if it’s to his Guide.  A young Guide, one not afraid to stand up to him…for him he reminds himself.  Stiles had gone against his own instincts to put Peter first and he didn’t quite know what to do with that realisation.  All he knew was that he’d snapped and snarled at his Guide because he wanted to let Stiles be his personal lodestone, wanted it so desperately that he’d been so close to just grabbing hold of him and never letting go that it almost frightened him.   Had frightened him if he was honest with himself.  God, he's fucking things up so badly.

The heartbeat that’s become a comforting background noise ever since he’d locked onto it while searching through the centre’s corridors for his Guide starts to gallop.  Body coiled tight ready to leap out and defend Stiles from whatever’s making his heart race so hard, Peter relaxes when he hears a stumble and a curse, his Guide’s heartbeat getting closer.  Leaning back he drapes his arms across the ledge of the pool wanting to appear calm and composed ready for Stiles to come into the bathroom.  No matter what the boy says, he knows that being here with a Werewolf let alone a Sentinel has to be intimidating.

When Stiles appears in the doorway, Peter can feel his mouth drop and he mentally revises that opinion – it’s him that’s intimidated.  He never expected this, never expected to have a Guide that despite his youth he suspects is emotionally more mature than him and ready to lay everything on the line.  His brave, stubborn, beautiful human Guide is completely naked, everything bared to Peter in a transparent declaration.  He’s 100% positive that he’s never seen anything as beautiful as Stiles right at this moment and he knows that this will be a memory he will hold dear forever. 

Hungrily, he examines every inch of the pale, smooth skin visible in the dimmed lighting of the suite.  There’s a rising pink flush that creeps up from Stiles’ chest to his neck and face highlighting the spattering of chocolate drop beauty marks on his cheek and jaw that fascinate Peter, his gums ache from holding back the insistent need to let his fangs emerge.  He frowns at the slightly acrid note that’s starting to weave through the usual perfection of his Guide’s scent and Peter recognises it as embarrassment noting that Stiles’ gaze seems locked onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful sweetheart.”  Peter says thickly, body surging with arousal when Stiles’ head snaps up, his big brown eyes widening appreciatively and his lush mouth forms the most perfect O when he sees him waiting in the plunge pool. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that Stiles visibly swallows as though struggling to speak before he says roughly “You mean that?” 

It’s a question that his Guide shouldn’t need to ask and he aches at the vulnerability it exposes.

“Of course I do, look at you.”  Peter growls letting his gaze flicker over Stiles’ lean frame.  His perfect Guide has a runner’s physique - broad shoulders and slender hips, with long legs that make his cock throb imagining them wrapped around his waist.  As most Guides do, Stiles has had permanent hair removal to prevent the distraction of friction on a Sentinel’s all-too sensitive skin that can lead to zoning, his flat belly and groin are bare of any body hair emphasizing his twitching cock that’s just as long and sleek as the rest of him, the furiously pink tip wet and leaking.  Peter licks his lips.  Nostrils flaring wide when the acrid note in Stiles’ scent disappears and one of caramelized sugar replaces it mingling perfectly with the other notes of citrus and ozone.

Stiles walks to the steps that lead down into the pool and Peter has to forcibly hold himself back from lunging as he watches, jealous of the warm water lapping first at his Guide’s ankles, calves then thighs with every step down until he’s standing at the bottom.  Hands splayed wide Stiles lets them drift over the surface of the water, long fingers slipping under and cupping the water to let it trickle out, drops splashing just above the barely covered dip of his groin.

Unable to help himself Peter stands, water streaming from his body in a rush.  Stiles’ blush deepens, but he holds his gaze as Peter strides closer until he’s only a couple of feet away.

“Do you want this?”  Peter asks softly.

“This?”  Stiles says impishly, confidence rallying, and Peter bites back a smile.  His clever little Guide knows that he’s talking about more than what a bonding suite would imply.

“Yes, this Stiles.  Do you want to have not just a Sentinel, but a partner, a lover…a mate.”  Peter says hoarsely.  The ties that bind a Werewolf to their mate are formed similarly, but not exactly the same as those between a Sentinel and his Guide.  The differences enough that a human might not want what his status as an Alpha Werewolf biologically dictates.

“An equal?”  Stiles asks determinedly and Peter doesn’t hesitate, nodding his head in agreement.  If anything, he’s not worthy of his Guide.

Stiles bites his lip and Peter’s hips roll almost helplessly in reaction stirring the water into little waves between them, his cock and balls tingling as it caresses and supports his engorged flesh and he can feel the pulse in his neck throb hard and fast at the innocently surprised look on the teenager’s face as he watches, before slow realisation replaces it.  Stiles deliberately lets his full lower lip slide slowly from between his pearly white teeth.  It’s wet and red, slightly puffy from the abuse and Peter can’t stop the rumble of hunger that vibrates through his chest, it feels like he’s dying inside with the need to taste.

“Woah.”  Stiles’ eyes darken and the flush on his chest rising up his throat to settle on his cheeks goes from pink to a deep red as he clearly picks up on that need.

“I did some research on my phone before Deaton took me.”  Stiles frowns, before he shakes his head clear of that memory.  “I know what it means to be your mate and yes I want this …I want everything Peter, if you don’t-”

Peter’s ears ring with ‘yes’ and he surges forward to fall to his knees in front of his Guide, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ hips and pressing his face against the silky skin of his belly and breathing him in. 

“Oh Peter.”  Stiles says his name so softly and with such understanding all he can do is whine as fingers thread through his hair stroking and petting him gently.  All he can do is hold him tighter and never let go as the bonding begins, more powerful and inevitable than he’d ever imagined.

At the feel of Peter’s face against his flesh, humid breath on his skin, Stiles swallows with difficulty.  It’s good.  So very, very good.  When he’d first walked into the bathroom it had taken all his nerve to meet Peter’s eyes feeling so very exposed.  To see him reclining back in the pool, so confident and powerful, had sent a wave of heat from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.  The other man had looked like sin with rivulets of water running from his jaw and shoulders down to his broad chest. 

The momentary undercurrent of doubt at Peter declaring him ‘beautiful’ had been swept away at the hoarse sincerity in his voice and the raw honesty in his expression.  Peter looked at him as though he were starving and Stiles were his last meal.  The temptation to let his empathy loose of the tight rein he had on it was nearly overpowering, but the fear that Peter didn’t feel the same way as he did was stronger.

The touch of skin on skin unravels that rein easily and the bond starts to form, overwhelming and intense – the deepest most intimate connection of his life and he wants more.  His hands drift down caressing his Sentinel’s thick neck and broad shoulders making the powerful man kneeling before him shudder.

His Sentinel.  The words thrill him to his very core.

“Guide.”  Peter says roughly, lifting his head and Stiles can see his pupils are dilated and cheeks are flushed inflaming the burns which are no longer raw and fresh and have progressed to an appearance of old scarring.  Cupping the uninjured side of his face, Stiles encourages Peter to stand, the wet slippery slide of skin as their bodies brush against each other makes his breath catch and he pants for a moment trying to not disgrace himself and come already at the feel of the rock hard body pressing insistently into him.

Regaining some control he stands on tip toe as he tilts Peter’s face down and brushes his lips over his forehead then to his temple and down the rough cratered plane of his cheek.

“What are you doing?”  Peter whispers hoarsely, his expression stunned and his eyes flickering red.

“What does it feel like I’m doing?  I’m kissing you-”  Stiles doesn’t stop what he’s doing.  Lets his tongue flicker over the increasingly tense cord of Peter’s neck, lapping at the drops of water that sit there, revelling in the tremors that shake the older man.  “-I’m tasting you.”

Peter’s hands clamp down on his hips, holding him in place.  “Feels like you’re teasing little Guide.”

“It’s not teasing if I follow through.” 

Peter growls, sliding one hand from Stiles’ hip up the length of his spine to cup the nape of his neck and pulls him in tight.  Their bodies touch from chest to knee and Stiles can’t help the groan that falls from his suddenly slack mouth.  That’s Peter’s cock poking into his belly – big, hard and scorching – making him tremble with want.  That’s Peter’s hip grinding into his own dick with such perfect pressure he’s sure he’s going to burst.

“Peter.”  Stiles’ voice wavers and his Sentinel hushes him soothingly.

“I know, it’s okay sweetheart. I’ve got you.  Now, let me show you how I kiss.”   Peter reassures him, before he presses his lips to Stiles’ and gently encourages him to open his mouth with the flickering tip of his tongue only to jerk back abruptly.

“What the fuck?  What is that?”  He demands furiously and Stiles can feel his heart thundering in his chest at the hard dangerous light in Peter’s eyes as he licks his lips, examining the taste of their kiss.

“I’m sorry.  I…he-”  Stiles swallows roughly, damn it he’s so stupid not to have thought of it before, but he’d been so caught up in this evening’s events it had slipped his mind entirely.

“Did he hurt you?”  Peter’s grip tightens on the nape of his neck, forehead to forehead, lips so close that they share each other’s breath.  “Tell me.”

“No.  He…his thumb…when he drugged me…”  Stiles huffs shakily, trying to steady himself.  “I couldn’t fight him off.  I didn’t want it…or him.  I’ve never…um…you know.”  Stiles shrugs helplessly, feeling his face heat up.

“Oh sweetheart, you think I don’t know that.”  Peter nuzzles his cheek and inhales with a faint groan.  “I let him off too lightly.”

Stiles blinks, ripping off someone’s head isn’t what he’d call a light punishment, but different strokes etc etc.

“I should brush my-”  He begins, when Peter reels him back in as he tries to move towards the steps.  The large strong hands that he so admired in Peter’s hospital room cup his face, holding him in place as his mouth is taken in a kiss that’s as deep and passionate as he’d ever hoped to receive in his life.

Stiles moans long and loud as the kiss gets increasingly wetter and hotter, removing any trace of Deaton’s thumb from his mouth and letting his Sentinel taste him fully.  Feeling bold he lets his own tongue dart into Peter’s mouth to press against his, shivering at the rumbling response he gets.  Peter’s hold tightens and it feels like Stiles is falling.

He doesn’t fight it, trusts Peter to keep him safe even as the water rushes over his head and a distant part of himself is conscious that Peter’s fallen back under the water submerging them both.  Floating weightless, every part of him is focused on his Sentinel and he can sense a chink in his own shields forming, but it doesn’t frighten him – the sense of safety is too strong.  The roar of his blood racing through his veins is loud in his head, ringing in his ears, as Peter’s strong hard body cradles Stiles’ and their mouths seal tight as they kiss and kiss until Stiles feels light-headed. 

Suddenly, they’re bursting through the surface and he tips his head back and gasps air into his lungs greedily.  Stiles’ legs and arms wrapping around his Sentinel automatically, the deep rumble of approval from Peter vibrates into his chest.  Peter’s hands drift down to cup and support his ass cheeks possessively as he walks to the steps of the plunge pool and effortlessly carries Stiles out of the bathroom and into the bedroom where he gently places him onto the massive bed like he’s something to be treasured.

Lifting up on his elbows, Stiles watches his dripping Sentinel standing at the end of the bed.  Eyes glowing a deep red, chest heaving, cock hard and straining, his hands…no his claws opening and closing repeatedly.

“Peter.”  Peter visibly trembles at the sound of his name, his eyes fluttering closed briefly.

“I need-”  Peter begins and Stiles waits, but when nothing more is forthcoming and his Sentinel seems to be avoiding meeting his eyes, he scrambles to his knees and shuffles awkwardly to the end of the bed sitting back on his heels.

“What do you need Peter?” 

“I need to imprint.”  Stiles nods his head, no surprise there.  He’s read everything that’s been published on Sentinels imprinting on their Guides during bonding.  He knows what to expect, heck he’s looking forward to it.  “And I need to claim.”

Oh.  Stiles swallows hard and his dick gives a savage little buck of approval. 

“Is it okay if I claim you too?”  He asks, smirking a little at Peter’s very vigorous head nod, the wolf’s hesitancy falling away.

Feeling bold, Stiles lays back down with a wink and waves a hand over his body.   “Ok.  Have at.”

Peter lifts one eyebrow at his words before a truly wicked grin slowly appears making Stiles shiver in excited apprehension.  Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blasé he thinks as Peter pounces, burying his face in Stiles’ neck breathing hard.

Time loses all relevancy as Peter slowly imprints on him using all of his senses to catalogue every scent, taste and sound that is all Stiles.  Forming a baseline for a Sentinel’s senses, a permanent grounding, takes as long as it takes and for Stiles it’s a maddening torture holding still for every inch of him to be mapped out so sensually while keeping Peter’s senses from overloading and slipping him into a zone out.  If he moves or tries to touch Peter in return, the warning rumble from deep in his Sentinel’s chest brings out waves of goose bumps across his flesh which distracts Peter even further.  

His exploration is methodical and attentive and Stiles is supremely conscious that Peter takes his time over his wrists and the side of his face where the bruising from Matt’s attack is starting to deepen in colour.  Peter sniffs at his injuries with a constant gravelly growl and laps repeatedly at the pin prick injection site on his neck from Deaton’s attempted kidnapping making him squirm under the wet heat of Peter’s tongue. 

Eventually he moves on and Stiles is licked and sucked in places that he never knew could light up with fireworks from the feel of Peter’s mouth on him – his ankles, behind his knees, the insides of his elbows and wrists. He doesn’t know how much more he can take as Peter uses his entire body not just his hands to touch, shouldering his thighs wider apart, positioning him exactly how he wants him.  When Peter noses the crease at the top of Stiles’ thigh, his strong jaw nudging his balls it’s too much and Stiles tips over the edge, wailing as his body starts to convulse, hips thrusting uncontrollably.

Peter swoops, licking a hot wet line up his cock and swallows the head just as he seizes and starts to come, bobbing his head in time with Stiles’ thrusts and it’s so good, too good, the sucking sensation as his lips travel up and down his hard length.  The head of his cock lodging deep into Peter’s hot clutching throat as he pumps what seems gallons of come before it all becomes too sensitive and he whimpers, his Sentinel reluctantly letting him slip from his mouth as he shivers and shakes in total bliss.  When he’s able to finally open his eyes he grins, dazed and giddy, at Peter who seems to be relishing the taste – lips smacking and eyeing his dick hungrily with a little pout that no more is forthcoming.

“Wow.  We are so doing that again.”

“Absolutely.  You taste divine sweetheart.”  Peter agrees, crawling up his body, pupils blown and kisses him passionately with the lingering taste of Stiles’ come on his tongue.  One minute he’s flat on his back the next Peter’s flipped him over onto his elbows and knees.  “And if you like that, then you’ll love this.”

Strong hands part his ass cheeks exposing his hole.  There’s no time to blush or protest even if he wanted to, when Peter laves it with the flat of his tongue.

“Holy fuck.”  Stiles yelps.  Like a lot of curious teenagers, he’s played with his ass, but nothing has prepared him for the sensations he’s experiencing now.  Peter licks and probes his hole with the tip of his tongue, nibbles his rim and squeezes the fleshy globes pulling them as far apart as possible, giving him a delicious stretch that makes his arms tremble trying to hold himself up.  It’s only when Peter’s mouth drifts down and captures one of his balls, sucking and laving it like the sweetest of treats, before releasing it with a pop and latching onto the other that Stiles realises he’s become achingly hard again.

“God, you taste amazing.” 

With every touch Stiles has sensed Peter’s awe and almost reverence at being with his Guide mixed with a healthy dose of lust and desire, but now there’s a fierce determination, a singular drive nearly over-riding everything else.  Thankfully, that possessive drive hasn't prevented Peter from retracting his claws and allowing varying numbers of his fingers to dip into his hole over and over with Sentinel-safe lube that had been in the very large basket of personal supplies next to the bed.  No inch is left untouched from the penetrating stretch and just when Stiles thinks he's going insane Peter shuffles closer, thigh to thigh as his thick cock pushes in to the root and all the air is sucked from Stiles’ lungs in an instant.

Just as his body is breached, any vague concerns that Stiles might have that his shields set so long to respond defensively would prevent him from allowing his empathy to embrace his Sentinel are gone when they actively reach out and encompass Peter.  The connection is unlike anything he’s ever experienced even with the myriad of spirit guides he’s engaged with and all the Sentinels and Guides he knows, it’s simply perfect and he can feel his eyes sting as he holds back the welling tears. 

“Stiles?”  Peter pauses inhaling deeply, holding himself rigid, tension pouring off him in waves as he battles his instincts that demand he move and fuck a bond into existence.

“It’s good…I’m okay, I’m okay.”  Stiles babbles desperately.  “Don’t stop.”

Peter thrusts and Stiles is more than okay, it feels so good in every single way.  This is mind to mind as Sentinel and Guide, what he’s been searching for his whole life and while Peter grounded himself on Stiles physically, Stiles reciprocates mentally and emotionally on Peter.  It’s not one-sided the way his empathy follows those pathways, it becomes a soul deep sharing of self.  There is no hiding, no secrets, no obscuring of who each of them really are – it’s a surrendering of any facades to the true Peter and Stiles.  Every strength, every weakness exposed and accepted.

“I…I can feel you inside me.  Oh God, don’t stop.”  Peter stutters out and Stiles stifles a snort – shouldn’t he be saying that considering he’s the one with Peter’s dick up his ass being drilled mercilessly.  “Don’t you leave me Stiles, I couldn’t bear it.”

The vulnerability in that declaration and the desperate almost painful clutch of his hips wipes the smirk from Stiles’ face.  “Never.  You’re mine Peter.” 

Now that they’ve seen and recognised their real selves the completion of the bond is just within reach, tantalisingly close.

“MORE.”  Stiles demands wildly, almost out of control as he rocks back hard onto Peter’s fat cock, the rhythmic slap of Peter’s hips and thighs against his ass a hot stinging pleasure he’s never known before.

“Oh fuck…Stiles, Stiles…you feel so good sweetheart.”  Peter gasps and starts to thrust deeper, claws pricking into Stiles’ hips as his plunging cock nudges Stiles’ prostate sending electrifying shockwaves throughout his body.  “Please Stiles…I need to knot…can I-”

“Fuck yes…give it to me.”  Stiles begs, if Peter needs it then he does too.  “Give me everything.”

“My Guide.”  Peter roars triumphantly, cock swelling and locking in place in Stiles’ ass, the stretching pressure of it electrifying the nerve endings to a point beyond pleasure, beyond pain and crossing an erotic threshold that he never knew existed.  He doesn’t have time to think or cry out at the strangeness of it all when he’s pressed flat to the mattress with Peter grinding into him with his knot and clasping his hands tight, fingers threading through pinning him down.  A deep satisfied growl at his ear.  “My mate.  So very perfect.”

Part of him wonders why this position doesn’t send him into a spiral of dark memories, but he knows who is behind him, every part of them, and he trusts his Sentinel with all that he is. Teeth latch onto his nape and the bite sends a welcome shock of pain and lust through his nervous system.  Peter doesn’t stop grinding into his ass as he holds him in place with his teeth and the howl of a wolf and the screeching cry of a dragon forever entwined rings loud in Stiles’ ears as the spirit guides merge on the psionic plane. Their bond is complete and the pleasure pain of it has Stiles crying out helplessly enthralled wanting it to never end. 

Peter’s orgasm slams into him physically and mentally, triggering his own.  Peter’s so deep in him that he can feel his ass clenching and squeezing the entire length of his considerable knotted cock with every rhythmic pulse of his own release.  Peter shivers and whines, heavy on his back as he’s milked and Stiles loves it, the weight of him bringing such a sense of completion and comfort that all of Stiles’ tension unwinds until he’s limp.

Peter nips his shoulder affectionately, before nuzzling gently at his neck and ear.  Exhaustion sweeps over him and Stiles lets his eyelids flutter closed, safe and content like he’s never felt before.  His mind quiets, his empathy settling like a pool of calm water and for the first time in a long time Stiles feels at peace.

“Sleep my Guide.  I’ve got you.”  Ignoring the smug satisfaction in Peter’s voice, Stiles sighs as warm lips brush over his temple and he lets go knowing that Peter’s here with him now and not in the dark place. 

9 days later

“Do we have to go?”  Stiles winces at the distinctly whiny tone to his voice.

“Do we have to?  No.  Should we?  Probably.”   Peter hitches his dark jeans at the knees when he sits next to him on the end of the bed, their arms brushing together and Stiles’ anxiety lessens almost immediately.  “We’ve taken a few days longer than most to nest, but I don’t really have a problem with that.  I’ve enjoyed being with you darling, just the two of us.”

Cupping Stiles’ jaw he turns him slightly and covers his mouth with his own in a gentle kiss that ignites a slow simmer of desire as his thumb brushes over Stiles’ flushed cheekbone.  With the sleeves of his navy cotton Henley pushed up, Stiles can’t resist wrapping his fingers around Peter’s exposed forearm like a bracelet, relishing the strength of firm muscle and corded tendon under his hand.  The endearments that slip from Peter’s mouth make him feel all exquisitely squirmy inside and he takes a shaky breath as Peter ends the kiss and rests his forehead against Stiles’.

“But, much as I’d like to think that it’s all of my charms that make you reluctant to leave, I rather think it’s something else.”  Peter draws back to look searchingly into his eyes.

“What worries you so?”  Grey lopes in from the lounge area where he and Faro had claimed the sofa insisting on binge watching ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’ while he and Peter settled their bond with copious amounts of sex, cuddles and talking.  Sitting on his haunches he tilts his head enquiringly, concern furrowing his muzzle.  The sudden weight on his shoulder lets Stiles know that Faro has taken up his usual position and the nuzzling warmth of the dragon’s scaly cheek against his encourages him to speak what he’s feeling.

“How can I not be worried with everything that Blair and Ellison have discovered while we’ve been stuck in here?”

“Stuck?”  Peter lifts an eyebrow.  “I rather thought we were bonding and rather deliciously too.”  Peter leers as he takes Stiles’ hand and nibbles on the fleshy part at the base of Stiles’ thumb sending goose bumps racing over his skin.

“Ummm.”  Stiles loses his train of thought at the gentle nipping.  It’s an effort to think clearly but somehow he manages it.  “Stop that.  You are way too distracting.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way and you know it.”  Stiles can’t help but smile at the rather smug look on his Sentinel’s face.  Peter gently kisses the tips of Stiles’ fingers before lowering their clasped hands to rest on his thigh.

“What has you particularly worried?”  The smirk disappears, Peter’s expression serious.

Stiles gnaws on his lower lip as he considers how to say it.  There’s no sugar coating what he’s concerned about, so better to rip the band aid off and expose the wound.

“I’m the reason so many terrible things have happened to so many people.  How can they not hate me for it?  I hate me for it.”

“Oh sweetheart.”  Peter wraps an arm around his waist hauling him in closer so he can nuzzle his ear.  Faro croons sympathetically resting his head on top of Stiles’ as Grey lopes closer and drops his muzzle onto Stiles’ knee.  Their concern and caring wrap around him like a warm fuzzy blanket and he lets himself sink into it.

“There’s only one person responsible, Alan Deaton and he’s been punished in this life and all the other lives he forfeited for his crimes.  He will never return to this plane ever again in any incarnation you told me that yourself.”

Stiles nods, that was true. Faro had returned to the psionic plane to aid Lincoln in his recovery and when he came back he told him Deaton had been judged.  Faro hadn’t been forthcoming about who, what, why or how and Stiles was happy to leave it, not sure if he wanted it confirmed that Faro had power and connections to things that could judge someone after death.  He’s pretty sure it’s above his pay grade. 

“But still if it wasn’t for me then you wouldn’t have lost your family, my Mom wouldn’t have been driven insane by his mind control-”

“SHE WAS DRIVEN INSANE BECAUSE SHE FOUGHT IT SO HARD.”  Faro’s long neck allows him to arc his head down to look Stiles in the eyes.  “AND SHE FOUGHT SO LONG AND HARD BECAUSE SHE LOVED YOU.  NOTHING DEATON DID EVEN IF IT MADE HER SAY AND DO HURTFUL THINGS COULD ERASE THE DEEP AND ABIDING LOVE SHE HAD FOR YOU.”  The dragon’s eyes glitter brightly, starting to whirl as they do with intense emotion.   “IF YOU HATE YOURSELF FOR BEING THE GUARDIAN THEN YOU MUST HATE ME TOO.  I CHOSE YOU STILES AND PUT YOU IN THIS POSITION.”

“God no, I don’t hate you.”  Stiles blinks rapidly to ease the burning sting in his eyes, horrified that Faro would ever think that.  “I’m glad that you did, I can’t imagine my life without you and all the spirit guides in it…I don’t get why though, because you know I’m just me.”

“I KNOW YOU DON’T AND THAT IS PART OF WHY I CHOSE YOU.”  Stiles takes a moment to consider that, he still doesn’t understand what Faro sees in him, but he’s still glad he did all the same.

“Who do you think will feel this way about you?”  Peter demands.

“EVERYONE.”  Stiles explodes, before wilting under Peter’s steady gaze.  “Derek, Cora who I’ve not even met yet after all these years…my Dad…you”

“Not even remotely possible.”  Peter cups Stiles’ face with his hands and stares into his eyes.  “You know how I feel, tell me that you know.”

“I do, I do know.”  Stiles insists, shrugging helplessly.  He’s a Guide, they have a bond so of course he knows, but try telling that to the illogical part of himself ruled by doubt.  “I don’t know that if it was reversed that I would be so understanding.”

“I think you would be eventually.”  Peter’s thumb rubs over the bow of his lips.  “Your sense of justice wouldn’t let you be otherwise.”

“I can be vindictive.”  Stiles declares stoutly.  “Vengeful even.” 

Peter smiles fondly.  “And just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect for me.” 

It takes a moment before Stiles realises that his mouth is gaping wide as he stares at Peter before he snaps it shut with a loud click of his teeth.  Will this man ever stop surprising him?  He sincerely hopes not.

“I can’t tell you how other people are going to think or feel.  What I can tell you is they’ll have the same information we do from what this DiNozzo fellow has dug up in the search of Deaton’s Clinic and the Beacon Hills Centre.  Meticulous records of illegal experimentation and personal diaries that prove Deaton was certifiable and dangerously obsessed in controlling Guides way before you were ever on his radar.”

“Peter, that’s not-”  Stiles interrupts, only to pause when Peter holds up a finger.

“Controlling Guides to the point of them being forcibly bonded or in some cases being eliminated for their independence and you’re taking the blame for that?”  Peter says so incredulously that Stiles has to shake his head.

“Well that’s a fucking relief because this is a Sentinel who snapped when his conservator Guide sister tried to leave him for her matched Sentinel and drove her to suicide by force bonding or shall we name it for what it really is – his rape and assault of her, took a nemeton’s power by the dark ritual murder of a latent child to mask his corruption and to enslave his spirit guide so he wouldn’t go dormant after she killed herself…”  Peter counts on his fingers.  “…manipulated and fatally brainwashed so many to get close to a young powerful Guide who he gaslit into believing he wasn’t so as to control him – unsuccessfully I might add - and aided a fanatical group of hunters to eliminate random packs with strong lines of Guides and to top it all off betrayed his own pack to the same group of hunters when Talia…when his Pack’s Alpha started to resist his influence and threatened to expose him.”

Peter’s breathing heavily, the words pouring out of him, getting faster and louder.

“Tell me Stiles if you heard that story with strangers involved where would you place the blame?”

Stiles runs Peter’s words through his head.  They were just the highlight reel of crimes, the total list is staggering and that he’d witnessed some of them through Deaton’s memories still makes his belly churn with horror.  Hearing it told in that matter-of-fact way, he can’t deny that the Sentinel is the instigator of all the death and tragedy, but it still doesn’t absolve him of the guilt that pools in his gut like acid and he shrugs helplessly. 

Peter sighs and hauls him in close and Stiles slips his arms around Peter’s waist and presses his face into the warm skin exposed by the low v-neck cotton shirt he’s wearing, breathing in the natural spicy, wild scent of his mate.  Nudging the fabric aside with his nose he mouths at his claiming bite directly above Peter’s heart, his mate sucking in a sharp breath and arms tightening around him as he does.

“I’m sorry.”  Stiles whispers.

“Don’t be.”  Peter whispers back into his hair.  “It’s going to take time to sort through, for both of us, but we’ll do it together.”

“Together.”  Stiles affirms, laying back onto the bed and drawing Peter with him.  The press of Peter’s hard body sends the blood rushing through his veins, it roars in his ears as he stretches up to meet his Sentinel’s lips with his own in a lazy sensual kiss – God knows he’s had enough practice lately.   He’s just barely aware of Grey rolling his eyes as he and Faro leave the room, the dragon streaking above the wolf in a race to get back to the couch and control of the remote.

“Who’s distracting who here?”  Peter murmurs as he noses up the long line of Stiles’ neck, growling in approval when Stiles tilts his head back even further.

“Is it working?”

Peter grinds his hips into Stiles’ letting him feel his heavy arousal.  “What do you think?”

“Good.”   Stiles smirks in satisfaction before Peter kisses him again, no longer slow and easy.  It’s a devouring, possessive kiss and Stiles clutches at Peter’s shirt needing to hold onto this man forever.

9 days and 2 hours later

“Ready?”  Peter asks, his eyes flashing red as he zeros in on the fresh marks on Stiles’ throat.  Satisfaction rolls through him and a frisson of arousal which he pushes down telling himself later.

“Yeah.”  Stiles slips his hand into Peter’s and entwines their fingers together.  He’s so proud of his mate, the uncertainty is still there, but so is the courage and the determination which allows him to step through the door not sure of his reception on the other side.  God help anyone who dares to upset his Guide, Peter’s pretty sure his reaction if that occurred is not going to be civilised in the slightest.  A wave of appreciation seeps through the bond and from the warmth in Stiles’ pretty brown eyes he knows his mate has sensed what he’s feeling. 

The tight pull of his scars eases as his jaw unclenches and he looks fondly on the young man who has made such a difference to his life.   Even before he came online, with his role as Left hand of the pack he never allowed himself to dream that he’d have this connection to someone who knows every facet of him, understanding and accepting that there are things he has done and will continue to do to protect what he lov-…what is his.  Recalling Stiles’ brutal stripping of Deaton’s Sentinel abilities he can only marvel that his Guide has that same ruthless instinct.  It’s a gift.  

He’s nearly 99.9% positive that he’s wearing a sappy look on his face, but he finds he doesn’t mind so much when Stiles’ face lights up and his cheeks flush pink in response, not able to hide how much Peter affects him.  It amazes him considering his scars, a lot of people wouldn’t be able to get past them, but Stiles doesn’t avoid his scars in any way, touching and stroking them and freely talking about them, he insists that they are improving and getting smaller.  Peter’s not so sure, but he knows that if they were to stay forever that they’re unimportant to what his mate and Guide needs and wants from him and at the same time Stiles is quite open in how attracted he is to him physically.

Peter pushes the door open that leads from the bonding suites into the reintegration area, a special room where newly bonded Sentinels and Guides are reintroduced to their friends and families with trained conservators ready to intercede if there’s any unexpected violent reactions or empathic flares and zone outs.  Newly bonded Sentinels and Guides can find family dynamics an unpredictable accelerant to their abilities and what was tolerated and accepted before isn’t any longer, particularly with a power boost involved.  No one wants to deal with a freshly bonded Sentinel or Guide that thinks their bonded has been insulted from a poor joke or teasing.

The cacophony of sound that greets them is a mix of excited animal screeches and calls and indistinguishable human voices as Stiles draws a stunned Peter with him as they’re surrounded.  The spirit guides all striving to reach Stiles at once and he quickly finds that a lot of them are quite willing to use him as a perch or climbing post to reach his boy.  A large otter steps on his foot in its rush as he gives the chameleon that lands on his shoulder a baleful look. 

He can’t control a snort of amusement when he sees the lizard give him an identical look in return just before it leaps across to his Guide.  There’s clear affection between them as Stiles carefully cups it in his hands and holds it up to see eye to eye, before passing it to a young Sentinel who looks like he stepped from the pages of GQ.  Lucky for the young man the sneer he directs at his precious Guide, who ignores it entirely, appears forced else he would intervene.  Fuck it.  He can’t help himself and growls letting his eyes flash red in warning and the wide-eyed look of horror on the Sentinel’s face as he quickly steps back is immensely satisfying.   He can’t tell if the amusement he feels coming through the bond from his Guide is at him or the other Sentinel’s reaction and he decides he doesn’t care if it makes his Guide happy.

A huge lion is nudging at Stiles’ chest with his massive head demanding scratches under its chin, even if Peter didn’t recognise Caleb from before the fire he’d know that it must be John Stilinski’s spirit Guide from the obvious fondness between them.  Stiles complies running his long fingers through the lion’s mane and under its jaw as he smiles and laughs as all the spirit Guides demand his attention.

“Lions, tigers and bears oh my.”  Peter says softly, watching as a Panda salutes his Guide while another much bigger brown bear hugs him tight.  Stiles obviously catches his whisper with the way his head swings around towards him instantly, a huge smile on his face full of affection and appreciation and it feels like Peter’s heart squeezes at the sight.

He startles at the nudge into his side, relaxing when he meets blue eyes filled with understanding and joy.  If anyone knows exactly how this young man who is his Guide and mate has turned his life around and changed the man he once was all for the better, it’s Grey.  The great silver wolf watches in amusement the antics of the other spirit guides to gain his Guide’s attention.

Faro has materialised on Stiles’ shoulder, tail wrapping around his neck as he observes the other spirit animals.  There’s a momentary pause where it goes so very quiet and then as one the spirit Guides bow towards Stiles, Faro and Grey, more surprisingly to Peter as well.  The wolf and dragon respond with gentle dips of their head in acknowledgement and he and Stiles quickly follow suit.

That break in the pandemonium allows the humans in the room to come forward and Peter relaxes as he sees John embrace his mate giving him a chance to look around the room for two people he’s been wanting to see desperately.  His breath catches when he sees the young man with a fierce scowl that had fought at his side against a demonic hell-tree and a gorgeous younger girl with a defiant tilt to her chin standing together on the far side of the room staring at him.  Derek and Cora, but not the Derek and Cora he remembers, both so grown up looking more like Talia and David than ever and he can’t help the low keen he makes as he realises how much he’s missed.

Somehow, he’s moving quickly through the crowd and then Peter’s gathering his pups into his arms and scenting them madly, nuzzling forcefully to find the essence that is pack as he strokes his hands over their hair and shoulders instinctively claiming them as his own.  For all their outward composure, there’s uncertainty tainting their scent and vulnerability in their shaky breaths as he scent marks them and pulls them in tighter to rest his forehead against theirs as he simply breathes.

“I’m sorry.”  Peter murmurs into the space between them and acknowledges the sudden stiffness in their bodies at his words.  He has to admit he’s just as surprised, he doesn’t remember a time when he ever offered an apology to anyone for anything.  In this though, leaving the last two surviving members of his pack alone and defenceless, he truly regrets that he’s not been there for them.

“No…Uncle Peter, it was my fault.”  Derek’s voice wavers.  “All of it.”

“No it wasn’t Der.”  Cora rebukes her brother while darting a quick glance at Peter to gauge his reaction.  Peter forces himself not to smile at the fierce scowl she directs at him, her silent warning that it better not be an unfavourable one or else.  Derek shakes his head, eyes guiltily fixed on Peter’s scars and Peter happens to catch a glimpse of a pretty young girl leaning against the wall behind him.  While she seems to be observing all of them, the majority of her attention is clearly fixed on his nephew, her eyes flashing burnt orange when she catches his eye.  Interesting, this is his Guide’s favourite Kitsune AND Sentinel in one.

“I should make a recording rather than having to repeat myself.”  His niece and nephew exchange puzzled glances and Peter shakes his head at them as he explains.  “I’ve had a very similar conversation not more than an hour or two ago and I’ll say to you what I said then, there is no fault, no blame in what you did or didn’t do – that belongs entirely with those who plotted and deceived and murdered.”  Peter lifts his hands and cups Derek’s distraught face and forces him to meet his gaze, flashing his red Alpha eyes at the younger man and not looking away until Derek flashes glowing ice blue ones in acknowledgement, all the while he floods the pack bonds with calm reassurance.  The tension his two Betas carry visibly eases.

Derek blinks rapidly, blowing out a ragged breath and slowly nods his head.   Peter’s hands slip down to his sides, conscious of Cora’s relieved smile and the Kitsune watching him thoughtfully before she bows her head respectfully towards him.

“That said, it's taken me a long time to come to terms with it and I still struggle with it so I know it’s going to take us time to work our way through what happened-”  Peter holds up his hand when Derek frowns, lips parting ready to speak.  “-and when I say ‘us’ I mean US.  I was the Left Hand and I let your mother push me away, thinking I was sparing her the pain of a constant reminder that I was alive while your father had died when she was trying to protect me.  If I’d been around more maybe…”  Peter trails off, heart squeezing painfully not as immune to guilt and regret as he’d once considered himself to be.

A hand clasps his own, long fingers tangling and entwining, a shoulder bumping lightly against him.  Startled he lifts his gaze to meet whiskey coloured eyes and a gentle smile of understanding and that squeezing sensation in his chest ebbs away to be replaced by one that is warm and full to near overflowing. 

“Hey Derek.”  Stiles waves at his nephew, who not usually so demonstrative with new people hauls his squawking Guide in for a hug seeming determined not to let go, scenting his neck thoroughly.  “-and other person with the obvious Hale genes, you must be Cora. I don't know if you remember me from Mrs Patterson's math class back in middle school, but I’m Stiles.”

Cora nods slowly, her brows rise as she watches her brother glom onto her Uncle’s Guide.  Stiles lightly pats Derek on the back with one hand, Peter nowhere near ready to let go of his other.  When Derek releases him Stiles waves the Kitsune over to join them, his nephew shifting awkwardly to give the girl space near him, close but not so close that they’re touching.

“Peter, I’d like to introduce you to my number two woman.  Her name?  Number two.”  Stiles waggles his eyebrows mischievously at the girl who giggles so enchantingly that Peter swears he sees hearts bloom in Derek's eyes at the sound.

“No taking over the world just yet Dr Evil.” 

Stiles snickers in delight at her quick pick up to an Austin Powers reference even Peter understood.  “I make no promises Kira.”

So this is Kira.  His mate had skipped a few details about the other Sentinel including her Sentinel strength and attractiveness.

During one of their many conversations while bonding, Stiles had mentioned how close he’d recently become to another Sentinel, which had stirred up an uncontrollable jealous response in Peter which Stiles had quickly disabused him of quite forcefully and with a lot of suction and tongue.  Heat settles low in his groin as he tries to push the memory of Stiles’ bobbing head over his lap to the back of his mind, obviously not very successfully going by Cora’s twitching nose and overly dramatic eyeroll at him.

Any lingering jealousy dissipates into nothing though as he sees the way Derek nods at Kira before ducking his head, the tips of his ears turning an adorable red, and how Kira bows slightly in response so careful not to even brush against his nephew even though her eyes gleam warmly as she watches him with a shy smile.  He's impressed that she's developed the stamina to resist the natural attraction of her Guide to her Sentinel side all for Derek's sake.  He's not ready yet, but he will be and she's prepared to wait which pleases Peter greatly - she'll be a good Sentinel for Derek.

“Kira, this is my Sentinel Peter Hale.”  The pride in Stiles’ voice as he introduces him has Peter squeezing his Guide’s hand appreciatively.  “Peter, this is Kira.”

“A pleasure.”  Peter says smoothly.  “Thank you for your care of my Guide while I was…indisposed.”

“Indisposed.”  Stiles growls.  “It was a fucking coma and I can take care of myself thank you.”

“Obviously.”  Peter rolls his eyes at his indignant Guide.  “but there’s a difference between taking care of someone and caring for their happiness and wellbeing.  I know which I’m thanking Kira for, don’t you?”

Stiles’ cheeks pinken deliciously as he looks between them with a grimace.

“Point.”  Stiles shoots a finger gun at him.

“You’re welcome.”  Kira replies seriously to Peter.  “And that care doesn’t stop even if he’s bonded to you.”

Peter can feel his upper lip curl in appreciation and annoyance at the warning.

“Oh my God.  Did you just shovel talk my Sentinel?  You did, didn’t you?”  Stiles’ pretty brown eyes are wide as he flicks an amused glance at them both.

“Well dang, you beat me to it.”  The Sheriff chooses that moment to drop a heavy hand onto Peter’s shoulder and he just barely restrains himself from biting it off.  “But, just so we’re clear, hurt my boy in anyway and Left Hand or not I’ll be coming for you.”

“DAD.”  Stiles squawks outraged, confirming Peter’s suspicion that it wasn’t just a joke on the Sheriff’s part.

“It’s fine Stiles.”  Peter says grimly, pushing down the bitter resignation that the reputation of the most ruthless of Left Hands that he’d garnered was not forgotten by the man who is ostensibly now his father-in-law.   He gets it, he really does, but he can’t say it doesn’t sting that the man thinks he could ever hurt Stiles in anyway.

“No it fucking well isn’t.”  Stiles growls, black scales starting to form at his temples as he glares at his father whose expression remains resolute.  So alike in their stubbornness.  There’s a lot of love between the Stilinski men no doubt, but from what Stiles had mentioned in the seclusion of their bonding suite about his father breaking free of Deaton’s hold over Stiles’ best friend and not for his son there has to be a discussion to clear the air soon before the damage is permanent.  He can help with that, he’s pretty good at bringing things to a head.

“Maybe not.”  Peter concedes.  “However, if that’s a condition your father wants to impose, then I think it should be reciprocal.”

He can see it takes a moment for that to sink in and the Sheriff’s shocked face quickly turns ruddy with temper.  “What the hell kind of talk is that Hale?  How dare you, I’d never hurt Stiles, he’s my son.”

“Exactly, I’d never hurt Stiles, he’s my Guide and mate.”  He can see the Sheriff absorb that, knows that he understands what he’s saying from a Sentinel’s point of view, before he says pointedly.  “There’s a greater chance of Stiles being hurt by others that he’s close to than from me, particularly ones that have hurt him before and maybe more recently.”

The Sheriff sucks in a shaky breath and turns to Stiles.  “And that would be me he's referring to?”

Peter can see the way Stiles’ adam’s apple bobs convulsively as he nods in agreement and the Sheriff’s face goes pale.  “I think there’s a conversation that we need to have Dad.  Not now, this is a celebration, but tomorrow maybe.”

“Tomorrow.”  John Stilinski agrees and Peter's as surprised as the Sheriff when Cora steps into his space, shoulders tight and jaw tilted sharply.

“He’s not Left Hand anymore.”  Cora snarls at the startled Sheriff, golden eyes glittering hotly as the wolf stirs restlessly.  “Peter is Alpha.  Don’t threaten him again or you’ll be dealing with the new Left Hand of the Hale Pack.  Me.”

“And me.”  Stiles catches Cora’s eyes and they nod at each other coming to some unspoken agreement.  Peter feels a rush of warmth flood through him and not just from his bond to his Guide, but his pack bonds too and the caring and support washes away any lingering bitterness.  The sensation has him locking his knees to stay upright, the pack bonds to and from his Betas are so much richer and stronger than they’ve been in such a very long time he almost feels giddy.

Parrish leads the Sheriff away, pushing him into a nearby chair and grabbing him some water.  A middle-aged man with wild dark hair seats himself at the same table, a large red kangaroo at his side and he and the Sheriff start to talk quietly between themselves. Peter doesn't dial up his hearing, it maybe foolish, but there's something about the Guide that reminds him of Blair.

Letting go of Stiles’ hand Peter moves to stand in front of Cora.  “You’re sure that you want this?”

Cora meets his eyes without hesitation.  “I do.  I want to be your Left Hand Uncle Peter.  I want to serve the Hale Pack.”

“Good.  We'll be doing lots of training and studying, from martial arts to other languages to defensive driving and even when you complete all of that, you won’t be doing this on your own. Lets just say I’m a hands on kind of Alpha.  Okay?”  Peter waits for her to acknowledge his conditions and to his surprise she steps in close and wraps her arms around his waist and hugs him.  Even as a young pup Cora’s never been overly demonstrative physically which is very unusual, most wolves thrive on tactile interaction with pack, so for her to initiate the contact is very gratifying and he can barely control the instinct to preen.

“Okay.”  At her answer, he squeezes her once before releasing her.

“Well this is going to be an interesting dynamic.  A pride and a pack tied by an Alpha Sentinel bond.”  Blair Sandburg’s voice breaks the silence and Peter knows that where Sandburg is Ellison isn’t too far behind.  When they’d first met during those terrible days after the car accident he’d looked upon that closeness as a weakness and if he’s honest a sneaking amount of envy too, but he understands that need now when he looks upon his own Guide.  He may understand Ellison better now, it still doesn’t stop his hackles rising at the friction on his territorial instincts at being around such an exceptionally strong Sentinel.

“A dynamic we’ll all need to get used to, but one we’ll be stronger for.”  Peter says, turning towards the Alpha Prime couple and it’s automatic to smile at the warmth he sees in Blair’s expression as he nods in agreement.  There’s something about the Alpha Prime Guide that’s always been irresistible to Peter since he came on line, but it’s nowhere near as irresistible as his own Guide he realises reaching for Stiles’ hand and something in his chest loosens at the way he doesn’t hesitate to twine his fingers with Peter’s.

“And what about the Argents?”  Ellison questions briskly.  “Will you get used to having them in your dynamic?”

“Them?”  Peter catches Stiles’ eye, the quirk of his eyebrow tells him his mate doesn’t understand the plural reference either.  During their time in the bonding suite amongst the many things they had discussed was Allison Argent and her bond with Stiles’ at one time best friend.  Seeing him amongst the group that had welcomed them upon their exit from said suite Peter had to believe there was more to Scott to have earned Stiles’ friendship because he’s seriously underwhelmed by the teenager – however, Peter had appreciated the warning.  His Betas haven’t had such and are bristling with aggression, eyes flaring and fangs dropping at the mention of the Hunter clan name.  Before he can calm them through the pack bond he can sense Stiles doing it already.

The sharp edges of aggression are blunted as they instinctively recognise Stiles as the pack Alpha’s mate, the tension thrumming through Derek and Cora eases somewhat, but they remain alert for any threat.  He can’t say he’s displeased in their response.

“There’s a newly bonded pair still in the middle of their nesting time both with links to Stiles’ Pride.”  Before Peter can ask Blair who, Stiles looks around the group to see who’s missing.

“Isaac??”  Stiles asks and Blair nods in response.  “Bonded to who?”

“My Dad.”  Allison’s face twitches in a partial grimace and okay he gets that look – no one wants to think of their parent ‘getting it on’ and particularly not with a classroom peer.  “With everything that’s been happening he came to check on how we were doing and then Isaac walked into the room.”  She sighs, pink blooming on her cheeks.  “They only just made it to a bonding suite.”

Peter responds to the nudge in the mate bond aware that Stiles is watching him closely. 

“Chris Argent has always had an honourable reputation, but I would like to meet him privately when he finishes bonding.”  He’s not making any decisions until he’s spoken to the man and gotten a feel for him, still he’s conscious of the way both Allison and Stiles simultaneously release their held breath at his answer.

“I’d like to talk to him as well regarding part of an ancient scroll that was found in Deaton’s possessions – a down payment from the Argent Clan for magical services rendered.”  Blair says.  Stiles had mentioned the missing Japanese scroll that had clued Blair into the role of the Guardian, that the Argents had been in possession of it isn’t surprising – Peter had long been aware of their close contacts with the Yakuza.

“That’s fair.”  Stiles acknowledges.  His mate giving him then Allison a little smile.  He can see the tension ease out of the girl’s shoulders, the McCall boy hugging her to his side with a grin of his own.

The celebration resumes and Peter finds himself introduced to a lot of new faces with close ties to his Guide.  The Pride that’s unconsciously formed around Stiles is young and strong and clearly still struggling to adjust to a dynamic where what they’d been told and what they sensed about Stiles’ rating was a confusing contradiction.  It wouldn’t take long for them to settle into their roles, his Guide’s confidence was increasing every day causing his empathy to flare stronger and stronger until Peter felt that Stiles shone brighter than the sun. 

What is clearly apparent to him most of all is the Pride’s powerful female members, they each remind him so much of Talia, particularly the sassy blonde and the watchful red-head.  Erica and Lydia if he recalls correctly. He rubs his chest to ease the little twinge at the similarity.

Stiles draws him away to a quiet corner.

“Everything okay?”  His Guide asks, brown eyes filled with so much care for him soothing that little hurt away entirely.

“I should be asking that of you.” 

“I’m happy.  I’ll be happier tomorrow once Dad and I have that talk and don't think I'm unaware of what you did to get that to happen - I'm torn between kissing you or giving you a time out, but I’m not going to think about any of that right now.”  Stiles sucks on his lower lip, before releasing it.  “What about you, my Alpha, are you happy?”

A sliver of heat settles in his groin at the low purring emphasis Stiles gives to his title.

“Very.”  Snagging a finger in the front of Stiles’ chinos, Peter pulls him in until their pelvises brush.  He shrugs as Stiles’ expression remains doubtful.  “Truly.  I just can’t believe I’m here, with you and everyone.”

Stiles smiles, his scent no longer slightly bitter with worry.  “Believe it.  It’s like the perfect action movie ending, bad guys dealt with and we’re riding off into the sunset and everything is how it should be.”

“And just how should it be?”  Peter laughs at the joy that flows through their bond.

“You and me.  Together forever of course.”  Stiles’ wide beautiful mouth quirks into a delicious pout that begs to be tasted.

“Together forever.”  Peter agrees, tilting Stiles’ face for the perfect angle to kiss him.  “That’s better than any movie.”