Teen Wolf One-shot stories

Scars of Honour

(Bamf Stiles, hurt Stiles, Sterek, 2300 words)

———

Stiles was a chatty guy, but that didn't mean he wasn't a master of keeping secrets.
Everyone knew this, and even werewolves hearing heartbeats only took five minutes for Stiles to adjust to and employ his Slytherin grade misdirection skills.

He was so good all the pack knew it, and knew they could tell him anything (serious) without fear of it being passed on.
He was so good his literal sheriff of a father never caught wind of the supernatural situation from him despite everything they went through.
He was so good even Peter Hale, ruthless left hand, sociopath and full time egoist acknowledged it.

Yet somehow, despite Stiles' vault-like qualities, no one really considered he kept his own secrets too.
To be fair to them Stiles didn't actively keep many. He volunteered so much silly information few people actually asked him questions.
Questions like:
What actually is your sexuality Stiles?
Why do you never mention extended family Stiles?
What was it like when your mum was trying to kill you aged nine Stiles? Did you get any therapy about that?
Are you okay Stiles?
Why are you so knowledgeable about first aid Stiles?
Most of those he'd rather not answer, but he expected to eventually and wasn't actively desperate to keep it all secret.
There was one thing he kept very very supernatural world level secret.

The physical consequences of his humanity. The scars.
The scars from everything, everything they healed from overnight and slowly forgot, that left silvery white reminders all over his body.
And were ironically enough the reason he was still painfully virginal aged 22, and pretty hot now if he said so himself. Any guy or girl who saw the state of him and didn't immediately call the police would be a psychopathic pervert Stiles would be wise to avoid.

He wasn't ashamed of them, not really.
But his position in the pack was hard earned, and the whole 'fragile human' argument had only eased off fully a few months ago.
Out of sight, out of mind.
If any of them saw, even Lydia or Peter...they'd freak out.
If Derek - Derek as a born wolf who did not know, like any wise human does, that scars are a mark of survival not weakness...If he saw, hell he'd probably evict Stiles from the pack to keep him 'safe'.
Stiles refused to let that happen, he'd bled to be here, and wouldn't be anywhere else for the world.

So he kept his oversized plaid shirts long after his fashion sense changed. And he nursed the secret close, closer than all those he kept for others, closer than the secret of the supernatural, or his love for a certain stupid sourwolf.
He didn't need to try that hard really. Just arrange being busy when the pack decided to bond at pool sides, keep his long sleeves (be absent more often in the summer so they don't pick up on it), and chat so much when he gives others a chance to talk the last thing they'll want to do is invite him to talk more with a question.

"Why are you wearing long sleeves in the height of the Californian summer Stiles?"
Until now.
Fucking Peter Hale.
"Beauty is Pain." Stiles declared with a dramatic furl of his hand, "plaid is perfection, thus you shall never see me without it creeperwolf."
He earned a few chuckles from the pack, though most were focused on the TV and too accustomed to his and Peter's bantering to pay them much attention.
Just how Stiles likes it.

Unfortunately Peter wasn't deterred.
"Your levels of delusion are awe inspiring." He said drolly, "but the truth of your heart beat with that statement is disturbing. Do you ever wear short sleeves?"
Stiles snorted, internally grimacing as several pairs of eyes drift from the film to his figure. Attention on him rising from 10% to 30%. "Around so many of you steroid pumped wolves? My fragile masculinity would shatter Peter. Baggy clothes leave that stuff to people's imaginations, those are way more generous than reality."