Only He saw

Mój Ukochany

Draining the last of the water in his glass, his Adams Apple bobbing under his ivory skin, Stiles taps his hands on the kitchen table. Everyone looks up, Nadia sliding her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, John guiltily hiding his bag of fast food, and Peter leaning in the doorway. Pushing away from the table, Stiles makes his announcement.

"I'm going to head down to the clearing early, you guys can head out later? I want to fit some meditation in." He smiles briefly at Nadia, who grins supportively. She'd been telling him a while ago about the benefits of meditation, especially for his ADHD. The time spent focusing on his thoughts and the surrounding nature had centred his magic in a way nothing else did, and the after effect of this included higher levels of concentration and other positive benefits. Stiles was in dire need of positivity, sometimes. The Sheriff nods, putting a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"Stay safe, kiddo."

"I will, Pops." Stiles smiles, heading out of the door. Peters' voice drifts through the door. "Bye Stiles."

Stiles chuckles and says his farewell to the Were. He sounds sad, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles for the past few days. He was hoping to get to the root of the problem soon, but any form of curiosity so far had been to no avail. He shook his head, promising to think about the issue on his return.

Twenty minutes later, he shoulders past the last of the vegetation, and emerges into the clearing, taking a second to inhale the clear air, sinking to the ground into a cross-legged position, carding tired fingers through thatches of grass. Closing his eyes, the teen gives into the exhaustion, and his mind encloses him, his body going still.

A total calm envelops the usually jumpy, energetic teen, and his usual worries slip away. His hands still, resting limply in his lap, his eyes closing, a stillness slowing his heartbeat, slowing his fears.

But when he's at his calmest, he's also at his most vulnerable.

A figure lopes into the clearing, then stops short, staring abruptly at the calm figure in the centre. His face warps, smooths, until the fur twists and changes into skin again, the newcomer gaping at the boy among the blades of grass.

From further into the wilderness, he hears a voice, shouting his name, and he turns around, slowly walking away from the scene.

"Isaac?" The faint voice comes closer, until someone else, a girl this time, steps delicately into the clearing.

"Here..." He mumbles weakly, looking towards Lydia, who stares past him, shocked into silence. Her face hardens, and she tugs at Isaac.

"Let's go." Her harsh voice cuts into the ambience of the nature enveloping the forest, and Isaac nods, slowly walking out of the clearing, only to stumble backwards, being pushed by an annoyed, aggravated Jackson. He growls, but Jackson's attention is grabbed by the boy sitting calmly, still unknowing of his old pack.

"Why the fuck is this...thing...here." His face darkens and Lydia frowns at him, seeing the tremors of holding back his rage.

"We found him like that," Isaac says, dusting himself off, before crossing his arms menacingly. The other Were harrumphs, stalking closer to the unsuspecting human.

Derek strides through a copse of trees, then, followed by Ericka, Boyd, and Scott. He narrows his eyes, his glare intensifying when he spots Stiles.

They were all there, everyone Stiles had been trying to avoid, and he didn't even know! They formed a loose semi-circle around him, a physical barrier between the rest of the forest and Stiles. He was trapped. Trapped and unaware.

Jackson stepped forward, the sneer on his face evident, and he slowly crouched down, a hairs length away from Stiles. He smirked. A cold, angry look, taking in the teen he hated so much. His hand flashed through the air, and suddenly, he held Stiles by the neck, his hand squeezing tight, like a vice. Seconds passed, and the pack watched, silently. Finally, Jackson let go, pushing the heaving teen back to the unforgiving ground, chuckling ruthlessly.