Sterek Stories - A Collection - II

A boy and his wolf

It's that time of the year again. That magical time of spreading cheer and sparkling joy. Of twinkling lights and decorative trees, short days and long nights, cold hands and warm hearts. Everybody loves it, adults and kids alike. To me, it's the busiest time of the year. You could say it's the time when I come alive. Who am I? I go by many names, but you might know me best as the Elf on the Shelf. Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you too. Just Elf is fine, thank you.
You've actually caught me at the right time, I have a few moments to spare to tell you a little Christmas story. A story about a boy and his wolf.

I've known Stiles Stilinski for years, from before he traded his given name for one of his own makings. The boy has always believed in magic, even though his belief was roughly shaken by the unfortunate loss of his mother at a young age. The arrival of wolves into his life rekindled the fire of his belief, though the innocence of his childhood would never return. There's still magic in him, like there's a little magic in all who believe there's more to the world.
He doesn't know I'm here, but that's fine with me. It's how I prefer it. I like visiting the Stilinski household, father and son live a quiet life - aside from some wolves here and there. Their home is a nice spot for me to rest up before I continue my duties.

Stiles also has all the good comics.

But you don't want to hear about me. You want to hear about the boy and his wolf. I say 'his wolf', yet at the beginning of my story it's only his wolf in his own thoughts. Stiles is the wolf's too; even before the wolf had any conscious thoughts about it, the boy had already put himself in the wolf's camp. Stiles didn't even know it himself at first, I think, set in his ways as he was to look after his best friend. Yet it was with his friend's best interests at heart, that he insinuated himself in the life of the wolf, inch by inch, word by word, deed by deed.
Stiles is a romantic at heart. He will tell you so himself, will probably regale you with tales of his undying love for his 'strawberry blonde princess', even though that love no longer has any romantic qualities. Stiles loves fiercely, yes, but he's also very protective of his own heart. He offered his heart to Lydia, knowing it was safe to do so because she would never take it. His heart is taken, now, although Stiles never deliberately offered it up. Nevertheless, actions speak louder than words, and the heart doesn't always do well when it comes to listening to reason.

If the boy listened to reason, if he thought it through a little longer than the spur of the moment impulse it essentially was, he'd know why it wasn't such a good idea to string mistletoe above his bedroom window. But the heart wants what it wants, and tries as he might to wrap it up in jokes, bluster and sarcasm, the boy is sincere in his fumbled attempt at reaching out.
His window is never locked. It is never even fully closed. Not when a certain wolf drops by to visit, unannounced yet always expected. The wolf probably picks up on the elevated heartbeat from outside. Hears the nearly constant stream of unsure muttering. Might smell the nerves that had Stiles take down the mistletoe three times already, only to put it back up again a minute later. It might explain the wolf's reaction, who is reading the wrong kind of intent into the boy's actions; his jump to the wrong conclusion fueled by past experiences. The wolf is all fangs and claws the moment he opens the window and notices the mistletoe.

"Derek, you came!" Stiles blurts out, voice all tight and movements jittery. He bumps a jar from his desk with his elbow, the lid not screwed on right so it spills its contents across the carpet.

For one short moment the wolf is frozen, a barely audible whine in his throat, his eyes large and pained. Then he snarls and disappears from the window, the frame falling shut in his wake.

Stiles is frozen too, until he swears and jumps into action, hurrying towards the window. He jerks it open with one hand, yanking the mistletoe down with the other. The little bundle of sprigs he tosses out the window, leaning his torso out to call after the wolf. "Derek! Derek! I fucked up! I'm sorry!"