ephemeral || stiles and the originals

chapter five

"addiction is bad. whether it be to alcohol or something as simple as candles."

*me casually pretending i don't have 32 candles*

(yes that actually happened)

also PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE thank youu

monday, february 15
somewhere in the sky...
third person pov

Scott has fallen asleep pretty quickly on the flight, his head on Stiles' shoulder. Soft snores echoed from the alpha and Stiles couldn't help but smile at the domesticity of it. He had friends. Ones that weren't psychotically deranged, and in his life, those seem pretty hard to find.

He knew it couldn't last forever. The witch that had allowed him to deage to a baby could only do so much. He would age to seventeen, the age he lived at for centuries, and then he'd be back to eternity. He could stay without suspicion for a while, but he knew that they'd eventually notice his never aging features.

He shook his head, he couldn't think about that. Not yet at least. He was still Stiles Stilinski, someone who didn't care that they were seventeen.

A piece of paper hit him in the back of the head. He turned his head to glare at Isaac who was next to a drooling Malia in the row behind them.

"What the fuck was that for?" Stiles whispered.

"You looked like you were actually happy, did you the favour and snapped you out of it," the beta cut back with a grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes and moved his other arm, making sure not to jostle the sleeping alpha, and flipped the curly haired puppy off.

"I was kidding. You looked..well you looked like you were dead. I wasn't sure if you were breathing or not. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, just a bit freaked about what Deaton said," He sent a sincere smile to Isaac, "I knew our lives were getting too quiet."

A empty chuckle came from Isaac, but nothing else came from the closed off beta. Stiles turned back and rested his head against the window. He could hear Ally and Lydia talking in the row ahead of them.

He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank. This was the closest he could get to sleep, a calm dark that allowed him to drift to someplace else.

———————

monday, february 15
louis armstrong new orleans international airport
third person pov

After their one stop, they finally made it to New Orleans. Stiles was practically buzzing with nerves. Every instinct screamed at him, half saying that he was home, the other half telling him to get the hell out of here.

Good thing he had gotten pretty damn good at suppressing his instincts.

The pack stood a couple of feet away from the rest of the class, which was completely normal. Despite being complete dorks, Scott and him had become popular. Well, they joined popularity, and it's definitely flourished since their arrival. Lydia may disagree but she doesn't count, she was popular before.

They waited for their luggage, the airport buzzing busily around them. It was early afternoon and lots flights were emptying into the crowds of people waiting for their flight. Stiles tapped his fingers against the strap of his backpack, scanning the crowds.