Teen Wolf: Void Stiles

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Sinking into the bed like I've just finished a marathon, I stare blankly at the ceiling. The exhaustion from the day and all the drama that came before is hitting me like a freight train.

With a dramatic flair, I reach out my hand toward the heavens, fixing my gaze on my palm.

What on earth happened today?

The Black Fire. Like seriously, what even is that?

I've scoured Google, folklore, wiki, and nada.

Apparently, getting bitten by a werewolf doesn't come with an instruction manual on newfound elemental powers. So here I am, clueless in the dark.

And let's not forget the delightful mental gymnastics my brain is doing about the Hunters and Allison's dear old dad.

Oh, and Scott's sudden bloodlust, the whole Beast situation, the mysterious severed body, and the cherry on top — the oh-so-anticipated game this Saturday. Fantastic.

Oh, by the way, Adderall, you're doing a stellar job tonight. Not.

Dragging myself out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a snail on sedatives, I trudge down the stairs to the kitchen. I fling open the refrigerator, like a knight unveiling his weapons, and grab a couple of cold ones from the cooler.

Tonight, my friends, call for some liquid enlightenment. Popping the top off the first can of beer, I down it in one heroic gulp.

Ah, the sweet nectar of temporary relief. My head clears up a tad, just enough to fool myself into thinking.

'Yeah, this is exactly what I need.'

Classic.

I dramatically flop myself onto the couch, presenting the beers laid out on the table with the finesse of a grand gesture.

Closing my eyes in an exhausted attempt at a short nap, I'm rudely interrupted by a clunk.

Eyes snap open. Someone's decided to unlock the window, followed by a light-footed entrance.

"What the-" Slowly rising from the couch, I reach out for the heaviest thing within arm's reach, my ears alert as the mysterious figure makes its way in.

Picking up the TV remote, I gulp, ready to hurl it at this uninvited guest.

Rushing ahead, I don't wait for them to pick knives off the table. But my steps grind to a halt in the kitchen as I catch sight of long brown-black hair flowing freely.

"Tara!" I yell.

"Hi." She says with her eternally unchanging poker face.

"Seriously! You could have just used the door!" I grunt, shaking my head.

"And waste my time waiting for you to open it? No thanks. I'm perfectly capable of making my own path." She strolls behind me like it's her own house, as she always does, but hey, I don't mind. Never do.

"What are you even doing here?" I ask as I sink back into my beers and my beloved couch.

"What's your deal?" I asked while handing her a can, confident she'll grab it, and she does, settling down next to me.

"My sister and I had a slight disagreement, and she grounded me for a week, so obviously, I snuck out." She replies while taking a sip.

I shrug; I know she isn't going back anytime soon, so I'm not even going to try to convince her.

A few minutes of awkward silence pass as I finish my next can and groan in discomfort, feeling my shoulder going numb from the pressure.

"What?" Tara asked.

"Nothing." I reply while attempting to find a comfortable position on the couch. Nothing seems to be working.

"Move." Tara calls out, pinpointing my issue.

I sigh and slide to the side; she takes the spot on the couch and, before I know it, pulls my head into her lap.

The shorts she's wearing have slightly moved up, letting my neck rest on her bare thighs, while my leg hangs down the other side.

"What's the trouble?" She asks calmly.

"Trouble? Me? Pfft." I feign ignorance as I get comfortable.

"Stiles." Tara mutters my name sternly.

I let out a sigh as I slowly locked eyes with her.

"I-I.." I stutter in doubt, but Tara's reassuring eyes make me take a long breath before spilling.

"You know that feeling when you begin to think that nothing in your life is real anymore?" I start slowly. She hums in response.

"The past few days have been like that." I feel the beer heating up my face unusually quick today. I was never one for a light drinker, but today is just weird.

"They are going way too fast; it's like my mind can understand them, but my heart won't accept it." I let out a yawn and go silent.

Tara lets the silence set in for a few minutes.

"Sometimes we want things to be slow, Stiles." She mutters. "Sometimes we want them to rush ahead, but in the end, it's not within our choices."

I hum softly as my eyes slowly close, slipping into sleep.

"For now, sleep, Stiles." If my eyes were open, I might have seen Tara's lips curl up slightly and her fingers fondling my hair, but alas, I was too deep into sleep to notice it.

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So, when I finally dragged myself out of the abyss of sleep, the night had descended, and Tara had graciously made her exit after ensuring she'd cleared out all the beer cans. How considerate.

After a refreshing shower, where I successfully left the day's chaos behind (or so I'd like to think), a video call from Scott came in.

The guy himself looks like he's been through a blender, with exhaustion practically written all over his face — tired eyes, droopy cheeks, the whole drama.

"What'd you find out?" He groans.

"Well, it's bad." I deliver the news straight. "Jackson's got a separated shoulder."

Some might assume this kind of info is hard to come by, but hey, with the school grapevine working at warp speed, this is old news.

"Because of me?" Scott asks, oozing concern.

"Nah, because he's a tool." I roll my eyes.

"Well, is he gonna play?"

"They don't know yet." I sigh. Jackson might be a jerk, but he's a good player, and we might just need him for this game, especially with Scott's Bloodlust giving him a hard time.

"Now they're just counting on us for Saturday." I nod reassuringly.

"My mom's taking a shift off for the game." Scott grunts in guilt.

"Shit." I mutter, but suddenly my eyes dart to the corner of the screen, widening as I realize someone's lurking behind Scott.

I shoot a quick glance at Scott, who seems to have noticed it too.

"What?"

I don't bother speaking; I just type in the chat column.

-It looks like someone's behind you-

"What?" Scott mutters as he reads the message. Before he can react, the figure grabs him and throws him against the wall.

"Scott!" I stand up, yelling through the PC.

"I saw you on the field!"

'Derek!' I scream in my mind as I hear his voice.

"What-What are you talking about?!"

He's there. God, he really is a creep.

"If they find out what you are, they find out about me, about all of us." Exactly the reason why I told Scott not to play the game.

"It's not just the Hunters after us; it's everyone. There are bigger things at play here, Scott."

"But… they didn't see anything! I swear!"

"And they won't!" Derek roars. "Because if you even try to play the game on Saturday, I'm gonna kill you myself. I won't be exiled from this land because of your stupidity, you got it?"

"Y-Yes." Scott whispers.

"Louder!"

"Yes!"

With that, Derek pushes back and jumps out of the window, leaving Scott's room.

I let out a long breath and collapsed back into the chair as my mind fixated on some of the words I overheard in their conversation.

'Bigger things at play, exiled from this land, what was he talking about?'

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