Out Of Milk

25

Stiles was standing waist deep in the murky brown water of the swamp, trying not to think of whatever was in there with him. The air around him crackled blue fire, dancing over his skin and lighting up the night like a beacon. Behind him, Runningwolf was chanting – masking the run-off of power and magic that Stiles was generating, hiding him from unfriendly senses.

"You know, you look a little like the Human Torch." Talon said from the dock – his cabin only a few feet away.

"Thanks." Stiles said through gritted teeth. "It was the look I was going for."

Talon laughed, an honest, open sound that reminded Stiles of home. "We need to get you some tights."

"I don't want involved in your kinky shit." Stiles hissed. The effort to keep himself together was causing sweat to form over his skin – despite the cold water. "Sunshine would never forgive me for stealing her man."

Talon laughed again, and in the distance, Stiles could hear something slither into the water. He really didn't want to be standing in the bayou waters with gators swishing around his legs. He looked to Runningwolf, still chanting.

"Dude, I swear to god, Talon's pet handbags are going to eat me."

Runningwolf stopped his chants to look at Stiles. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted. Cold. Hot." Stiles muttered, looking at his hands and arms, blue fire still dancing over his skin. "Like I'm about to pass out."

"Good enough." He said, "This should be getting easier, Stiles."

"It's not."

Talon laughed as the fire flickered away and Stiles tried to pull his weak body out of the water. "I'm so glad you find my suffering an endless source of amusement." He said, although there was no malice in his tone.

"Come on, mighty Shaman. I'll give you a ride home."

"What's a pretty little kid like you doing in a place like this?" The biker asked. It wasn't the first time tonight. Stiles was used to ignoring them. Funnily enough, the drunk bikers knew better to hit on the Bears. It wasn't that Stiles minded being hit on, it was that he minded being hit on by the same type of guys. Drunk, overweight and always with the questionable hygiene.

"Just working," Stiles said, picking up the glasses. His watch glinted in the dull lighting, three days till the full moon. If there was one thing he didn't like – it was working near the full moon. People in this town got crazy – more crazy than normal, if that was even possible.

"That's a nice watch." The drunk slurred. "I bet you had to do a lot of nasty things for a watch like that." Stiles skin crawled. He knew exactly what this sleaze was suggesting.

He manage to roll his eyes as he walked away. Wren gave him a glance – and it just showed what a difference a year could make, because Stiles knew what the guy was thinking. A mixture of shared annoyance and frustration. No one ever hit on Wren, people actively tried to avoid him, but he didn't like it when people got up and personal with his friends.

"Long night." He muttered as he passed Stiles. As far as Stiles was aware, it was the first time Wren had ever spoken to him without being prompted. Dude could have given Derek lessons in lurking.