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tamingthemuseTitle: Into the Woods [1/?]
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 396 – dirigible
Warnings: AU (whether dystopian or steampunk or a mishmash of both, I'm not sure).
Rating: PG (for now)
Word Count: ~1870
Summary: Eight-year-old Stiles gets lost in the woods.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
-- = --
When Stiles was eight, he saw his first airship. That same day, he had three other firsts: he lost someone he loved, he ran away from home, and he met a werewolf. In that order. It should be noted that he had two seconds happen that day as well; he broke his arm and he got lost in the preserve. It's possible that all those things – except seeing the airship – are connected, but Stiles won't ever admit it.
For weeks, Stiles' mama had been sick. She had what his daddy and Doctor Deaton called fits. She'd scream and cry and one time she grabbed Stiles by his shoulders and shook him 'til he was dizzy. Then, she hugged him tight to her chest and cried some more. It had been kind of scary and his daddy got real upset about it when Stiles told him what happened.
So Stiles' mama was sick and she spent all her time in bed and for the last few days, all she did was sleep. The last day- The last day, Stiles curled up beside her with one of his favorite books that she used to read to him all the time and read to her instead. His head was pillowed on her chest when it stopped rising and falling with each of her slow, slow breaths. He might have been eight, but he wasn't dumb. Stiles kissed her pale cheek, told her, “I love you to the moon and back,” then went to go find his daddy.
His daddy ran home so fast that Stiles couldn't even keep up. He was holding Stiles' mama and crying – Stiles had never ever seen him cry before – when Stiles made it back to their little house at the edge of the village with Doctor Deaton. Watching his daddy hold his mama, crying and yelling words Stiles couldn't understand, reminded him so much of his mama when she first got sick that Stiles got scared and ran. What if his daddy started having fits, too? What if Stiles' daddy died just like his mama?
It didn't take long before Stiles was lost. He knew he wasn't supposed to go into the woods without a grownup, especially not after the last time he got lost amongst the trees, especially not when it was so close to getting dark and only getting darker under the sky-reaching arms of leaf-heavy branches. It the increasing shadow, Stiles stumbled along a narrow dirt deer trail, hoping to find his way back to the village or maybe to the stream he knew cut through the preserve because that should lead him home, too, but he just got deeper and deeper into the dark woods.
Stiles didn't know how long he'd been gone, how long he'd been lost, but he was tired and hungry and scared and he missed his daddy. He stopped to rest next to a big tree with thick roots that rose up out of the dirt to make a place just big enough for him to curl up in. As he started to gather up some of the leaves on the ground to spread out over the dirt, Stiles heard a rustling nearby. He stilled; he'd heard stories told by farmers and hunters and travelers that reached the village by taking the path through the woods of the wolves that lived in the preserve. Back pressed to the tree, Stiles covered his mouth with both of his hands as he blinked back his tears, eyes straining to see in the darkness.
There was more rustling, then a twig snapped, and whatever was out there was close. A pair of bright yellow eyes appeared between two trees across from where Stiles stood motionless. When his eyes adjusted, Stiles saw a small black wolf slowly creeping towards him. It stopped right in front of him, sniffed at his soft leather boots and his shirt, wet nose touching his arm and making him flinch back before the dark muzzle was right in his face. The wolf's warm tongue tickled Stiles' cheek as it licked at his tears.
The wolf whimpered, nuzzling at Stiles' ear and snuffling at his hair, and Stiles dropped to his knees on the dirt and buried his face in the animal's soft fur. He hugged tightly to the wolf's neck as he cried. The wolf whined some more before shifting against Stiles, and suddenly Stiles was being hugged back by a boy only a few years older than him with pale, dirt-streaked skin, dark hair, and the wolf's yellow eyes. “You're okay,” the boy said, pressing his human nose to Stiles' temple and sniffing some more. “You're okay.”
“I'm lost,” Stiles protested, shaking his head. “And my mama,” he hiccuped, “my mama...”
“Is she lost, too?” the boy asked, leaning away just far enough to look Stiles in the eye.
Stiles shook his head again. “She- she died.”
The boy made a sad sound, a whimper like the wolf, and embraced Stiles again. “Come with me,” he said. “I'll take you to my dad and he'll get you home.” The boy took a step back and held his hand out to Stiles.
“Is he like you?” Stiles asked. “Your dad; is he a wolf, too?”
The boy looked away but nodded. “Yeah. We're werewolves. But it's a secret so you can't tell anyone. You can't even tell my dad you saw my wolf, okay? Nobody's supposed to know.”
Stiles nodded, recognizing worry on the boy's face because he always saw it on his own daddy's. Stiles was good at keeping secrets. “Okay.”
“Okay.” The boy looked at Stiles for another moment before pulling him back down the narrow trail. He paused at a fallen tree and reached inside the hollow end, retrieving a simple shirt and pants that were worn thin and mended in many places with colored scraps of fabric. “My name's Derek,” the boy said once he was dressed.
“I'm Stiles.”
Derek took Stiles' hand again. “It's nice to meet you,” he said in way that sounded like he was reading from a book. “My house is this way.”
The deer trail widened into a dirt path that wound through the trees and along an open clearing on a bluff that rose above the small village limned by light from the waxing moon, simple houses standing dark and still along simple streets, hearth fires marked by wisps of smoke escaping through chimneys. There were a few houses set apart, the one closest to Stiles, closest to the woods, was his own. It sat dark, no trail of smoke rising above it, his daddy probably out looking for him.
Derek squeezed Stiles' hand gently. “Just a little further.”
Stiles turned his face up to look at him and caught sight of something in the sky. It was dark against the stars like a cloud and lumbered slowly, but it was small and sinking towards the ground, towards the Martin's pasture. “What's that?”
Derek's gaze followed Stiles to the shape in the sky, eyes going large as his grip turned painful on Stiles' hand. “Come on! Run!” Derek tugged Stiles along after him, not letting go as he left the path and darted between the trees.
Stiles stumbled over an exposed tree root and crashed into the ground, trying to stop his fall with his hand. There was a dull snap as he hit the dirt and fire burning under his skin. Stiles cried out, clutching his arm to his chest.
Derek was by his side immediately, hands hovering over Stiles as he made more quiet wolf sounds. “I'm sorry, Stiles. It was my fault. I'm so sorry.”
It wasn't the first time Stiles broke his arm – he fell out of a peach tree when he was six because Scott dared him he couldn't reach the unspoiled fruit at the top. Stiles was probably just as upset about breaking his arm as he was about not getting the peaches. “I wasn't watching where I was going,” Stiles told Derek, sniffling back his tears.
With careful fingers, Derek got his hand around the upper part of Stiles' arm and helped him to his feet. “I pulled you.” He gently tugged Stiles back towards the path. “Are you okay?”
Stiles thought about lying, but there wasn't really much of a reason to. He shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”
“You'll have to see Doc Deaton.”
Stiles tripped along beside him. “You know Doctor Deaton?”
“Of course.”
“How come I've never seen you before?”
“Only Mom and Dad go into town.”
“Oh. Why?”
Derek shrugged. “Because it's not safe.”
“Because of your secret?”
“Yeah. You can't ever tell anybody, okay?”
“I won't. Promise.”
Derek smiled at him then. “I know,” he said.
After a few more minutes of Derek carefully leading Stiles through the trees, a big, dark shape came into view – a house built from logs, windows glowing with firelight. As they left the trees the front door opened and a woman with Derek's dark hair and pale skin came out onto the porch, drying her hands on her apron. She looked from Derek to Stiles and back. “Who's your friend, pup?”
“His name's Stiles, Mama. He got lost in the woods and he's hurt. It's my fault. I made him run.” Derek looked down at his feet, head tilted just a little bit to the side.
Stiles reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Derek didn't know what a klutz he was, how many times he tripped over nothing but his own feet.
“There was an airship,” Derek said like the word meant something. It took a second for Stiles to realize he was talking about the thing in the sky. “It was landing.”
Derek's mother stood a little straighter at the top of the stairs. “Go find your father. I'll take care of your friend.”
Derek's gaze rose quickly. “Mama,” he started, glancing over at Stiles.
“I'm just going to look at his arm, make sure he's okay. Go find your father and we'll see about getting Stiles home.”
The fingers wrapped loosely around Stiles' clutched tighter for a moment before letting go. “Okay. I'll be right back.”
Stiles watched Derek go and remembered his promise. Derek's mother descended the stairs and moved to stand in front of him, stooping slightly so they were face to face. “Hello, Stiles. I'm Talia.”
“Hello, ma'am,” Stiles said, because his daddy always told him to mind his manners.
Talia smiled and reached for his arm and suddenly it didn't hurt as bad. “You'll be okay,” she told him.
Stiles didn't know why, but he trusted her just like he trusted Derek. And she was nice and smelled like flowers, just like Stiles' mama used to before she got sick. He let Talia gather him up in her arms and, before he knew it, he was asleep.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Prompt: 396 – dirigible
Warnings: AU (whether dystopian or steampunk or a mishmash of both, I'm not sure).
Rating: PG (for now)
Word Count: ~1870
Summary: Eight-year-old Stiles gets lost in the woods.
Disclaimer: It's all lies and I own nothing.
When Stiles was eight, he saw his first airship. That same day, he had three other firsts: he lost someone he loved, he ran away from home, and he met a werewolf. In that order. It should be noted that he had two seconds happen that day as well; he broke his arm and he got lost in the preserve. It's possible that all those things – except seeing the airship – are connected, but Stiles won't ever admit it.
For weeks, Stiles' mama had been sick. She had what his daddy and Doctor Deaton called fits. She'd scream and cry and one time she grabbed Stiles by his shoulders and shook him 'til he was dizzy. Then, she hugged him tight to her chest and cried some more. It had been kind of scary and his daddy got real upset about it when Stiles told him what happened.
So Stiles' mama was sick and she spent all her time in bed and for the last few days, all she did was sleep. The last day- The last day, Stiles curled up beside her with one of his favorite books that she used to read to him all the time and read to her instead. His head was pillowed on her chest when it stopped rising and falling with each of her slow, slow breaths. He might have been eight, but he wasn't dumb. Stiles kissed her pale cheek, told her, “I love you to the moon and back,” then went to go find his daddy.
His daddy ran home so fast that Stiles couldn't even keep up. He was holding Stiles' mama and crying – Stiles had never ever seen him cry before – when Stiles made it back to their little house at the edge of the village with Doctor Deaton. Watching his daddy hold his mama, crying and yelling words Stiles couldn't understand, reminded him so much of his mama when she first got sick that Stiles got scared and ran. What if his daddy started having fits, too? What if Stiles' daddy died just like his mama?
It didn't take long before Stiles was lost. He knew he wasn't supposed to go into the woods without a grownup, especially not after the last time he got lost amongst the trees, especially not when it was so close to getting dark and only getting darker under the sky-reaching arms of leaf-heavy branches. It the increasing shadow, Stiles stumbled along a narrow dirt deer trail, hoping to find his way back to the village or maybe to the stream he knew cut through the preserve because that should lead him home, too, but he just got deeper and deeper into the dark woods.
Stiles didn't know how long he'd been gone, how long he'd been lost, but he was tired and hungry and scared and he missed his daddy. He stopped to rest next to a big tree with thick roots that rose up out of the dirt to make a place just big enough for him to curl up in. As he started to gather up some of the leaves on the ground to spread out over the dirt, Stiles heard a rustling nearby. He stilled; he'd heard stories told by farmers and hunters and travelers that reached the village by taking the path through the woods of the wolves that lived in the preserve. Back pressed to the tree, Stiles covered his mouth with both of his hands as he blinked back his tears, eyes straining to see in the darkness.
There was more rustling, then a twig snapped, and whatever was out there was close. A pair of bright yellow eyes appeared between two trees across from where Stiles stood motionless. When his eyes adjusted, Stiles saw a small black wolf slowly creeping towards him. It stopped right in front of him, sniffed at his soft leather boots and his shirt, wet nose touching his arm and making him flinch back before the dark muzzle was right in his face. The wolf's warm tongue tickled Stiles' cheek as it licked at his tears.
The wolf whimpered, nuzzling at Stiles' ear and snuffling at his hair, and Stiles dropped to his knees on the dirt and buried his face in the animal's soft fur. He hugged tightly to the wolf's neck as he cried. The wolf whined some more before shifting against Stiles, and suddenly Stiles was being hugged back by a boy only a few years older than him with pale, dirt-streaked skin, dark hair, and the wolf's yellow eyes. “You're okay,” the boy said, pressing his human nose to Stiles' temple and sniffing some more. “You're okay.”
“I'm lost,” Stiles protested, shaking his head. “And my mama,” he hiccuped, “my mama...”
“Is she lost, too?” the boy asked, leaning away just far enough to look Stiles in the eye.
Stiles shook his head again. “She- she died.”
The boy made a sad sound, a whimper like the wolf, and embraced Stiles again. “Come with me,” he said. “I'll take you to my dad and he'll get you home.” The boy took a step back and held his hand out to Stiles.
“Is he like you?” Stiles asked. “Your dad; is he a wolf, too?”
The boy looked away but nodded. “Yeah. We're werewolves. But it's a secret so you can't tell anyone. You can't even tell my dad you saw my wolf, okay? Nobody's supposed to know.”
Stiles nodded, recognizing worry on the boy's face because he always saw it on his own daddy's. Stiles was good at keeping secrets. “Okay.”
“Okay.” The boy looked at Stiles for another moment before pulling him back down the narrow trail. He paused at a fallen tree and reached inside the hollow end, retrieving a simple shirt and pants that were worn thin and mended in many places with colored scraps of fabric. “My name's Derek,” the boy said once he was dressed.
“I'm Stiles.”
Derek took Stiles' hand again. “It's nice to meet you,” he said in way that sounded like he was reading from a book. “My house is this way.”
The deer trail widened into a dirt path that wound through the trees and along an open clearing on a bluff that rose above the small village limned by light from the waxing moon, simple houses standing dark and still along simple streets, hearth fires marked by wisps of smoke escaping through chimneys. There were a few houses set apart, the one closest to Stiles, closest to the woods, was his own. It sat dark, no trail of smoke rising above it, his daddy probably out looking for him.
Derek squeezed Stiles' hand gently. “Just a little further.”
Stiles turned his face up to look at him and caught sight of something in the sky. It was dark against the stars like a cloud and lumbered slowly, but it was small and sinking towards the ground, towards the Martin's pasture. “What's that?”
Derek's gaze followed Stiles to the shape in the sky, eyes going large as his grip turned painful on Stiles' hand. “Come on! Run!” Derek tugged Stiles along after him, not letting go as he left the path and darted between the trees.
Stiles stumbled over an exposed tree root and crashed into the ground, trying to stop his fall with his hand. There was a dull snap as he hit the dirt and fire burning under his skin. Stiles cried out, clutching his arm to his chest.
Derek was by his side immediately, hands hovering over Stiles as he made more quiet wolf sounds. “I'm sorry, Stiles. It was my fault. I'm so sorry.”
It wasn't the first time Stiles broke his arm – he fell out of a peach tree when he was six because Scott dared him he couldn't reach the unspoiled fruit at the top. Stiles was probably just as upset about breaking his arm as he was about not getting the peaches. “I wasn't watching where I was going,” Stiles told Derek, sniffling back his tears.
With careful fingers, Derek got his hand around the upper part of Stiles' arm and helped him to his feet. “I pulled you.” He gently tugged Stiles back towards the path. “Are you okay?”
Stiles thought about lying, but there wasn't really much of a reason to. He shook his head. “Nuh-uh.”
“You'll have to see Doc Deaton.”
Stiles tripped along beside him. “You know Doctor Deaton?”
“Of course.”
“How come I've never seen you before?”
“Only Mom and Dad go into town.”
“Oh. Why?”
Derek shrugged. “Because it's not safe.”
“Because of your secret?”
“Yeah. You can't ever tell anybody, okay?”
“I won't. Promise.”
Derek smiled at him then. “I know,” he said.
After a few more minutes of Derek carefully leading Stiles through the trees, a big, dark shape came into view – a house built from logs, windows glowing with firelight. As they left the trees the front door opened and a woman with Derek's dark hair and pale skin came out onto the porch, drying her hands on her apron. She looked from Derek to Stiles and back. “Who's your friend, pup?”
“His name's Stiles, Mama. He got lost in the woods and he's hurt. It's my fault. I made him run.” Derek looked down at his feet, head tilted just a little bit to the side.
Stiles reached for his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Derek didn't know what a klutz he was, how many times he tripped over nothing but his own feet.
“There was an airship,” Derek said like the word meant something. It took a second for Stiles to realize he was talking about the thing in the sky. “It was landing.”
Derek's mother stood a little straighter at the top of the stairs. “Go find your father. I'll take care of your friend.”
Derek's gaze rose quickly. “Mama,” he started, glancing over at Stiles.
“I'm just going to look at his arm, make sure he's okay. Go find your father and we'll see about getting Stiles home.”
The fingers wrapped loosely around Stiles' clutched tighter for a moment before letting go. “Okay. I'll be right back.”
Stiles watched Derek go and remembered his promise. Derek's mother descended the stairs and moved to stand in front of him, stooping slightly so they were face to face. “Hello, Stiles. I'm Talia.”
“Hello, ma'am,” Stiles said, because his daddy always told him to mind his manners.
Talia smiled and reached for his arm and suddenly it didn't hurt as bad. “You'll be okay,” she told him.
Stiles didn't know why, but he trusted her just like he trusted Derek. And she was nice and smelled like flowers, just like Stiles' mama used to before she got sick. He let Talia gather him up in her arms and, before he knew it, he was asleep.
