Struck
The car ride was not as tense as Stiles had expected it to be. Derek was obviously agitated but his frown was not as intimidating as anticipated. There was a softness around his eyes that made him look tired. He looked disgruntled but also confused. Stiles accounted all of this to Derek not being a morning person.
"You didn't have to get up, you know. Peter could've given me a ride, too," Stiles said.
He got a grunt in response.
Derek was even less talkative in the morning, it seemed.
"You know, Malia has been begging me to bake some cookies with her since it's soon Christmas and everything. We're gonna use your kitchen obviously. Oh, can we put Jackson on kitchen cleaning duty? Cause the kitchen's gonna be a mess afterwards. He'll say I did it on purpose but we all know that cookie baking is a serious business so naturally it's gonna be messy."
Derek was humming now, which Stiles interpreted as approvement.
"I'd let you help, too, but we all know that you're horrible when it comes to baking. God knows why. You make a hell of a beef casserole. Granted, I did improve your recipe slightly by adding some vegetables and parsnips. Meat only isn't healthy, you know."
Since Derek was a rather boring conversationalist at the moment, Stiles chose to turn on the radio. Derek's radio was so old, he actually still used CDs. He obviously had never heard of flash drives. Some old Rock Classic was playing. Stiles thought it was maybe Jimi Hendrix but he wasn't sure. He wondered if Derek was a fan. It would fit with his leather jacket and dark aura. Stiles preferred this version better than the image that Derek listened to electro or country music. There were things that just didn't go together and this was one of them.
When they had finally reached their destination - the woods at the outskirts of the town - Derek killed off the engine and huffed. Then he turned in his seat to look at Stiles.
"Be careful."
"I always am," Stiles replied. He almost laughed himself at that. "No, but seriously. I know. I don't trust them, either, you know? And besides, I've got Burly with me."
The fox was curled up on the back seat and looked like it didn't even think about getting up any time soon.
"I promise I'll do nothing stupid," Stiles added.
Derek snorted in response.
"Just be there when I'll come and get you."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, big guy," Stiles said with a grimace.
Then there was nothing more to say and he could no longer delay the inevitable. It was about time that he got out of the car and started his training.
With his cane in his hand and Burly at his side, he watched Derek's Camaro drive further away from Beacon Hills. He was probably going to visit Laura since her apartment would be about two miles from here. As soon as Derek was gone, Jordan appeared from the woods and accompanied Stiles to where the training would take place. As it turned out, they would train on a small clearing.
Noshiko had brought about five of her men whose presence intimidated Stiles a little. Judging by their appearance and statue all of those men were trained fighters and maybe possessed other strengths that Stiles could not detect based on their appearance.
"Looks like you've got a very loyal companion there," Noshiko acknowledged, looking pointedly at Burly. "Foxes are usually not kept as pets, are they?"
"Burly is not a pet," Stiles said, taking in a defensive stance on instinct.
"Of course not," Noshiko said in a dry tone. "You've bound him to you. He is now a part of you."
Now that had Stiles reeling back physically. He looked at Burly, trying to figure out what the Kitsune meant.
Noshiko sighed. "You gave him a spark, didn't you? That's like giving him a part of your soul. Of course, you're bound to each other now. We usually train our Sparks to refrain from such actions since they can be extremely dangerous but what's done is done."
Stiles remembered how he met Ray at the hospital while he was recovering from the incident at the cemetery. The boy had said that he had gotten worse that night, his family later confirmed that Ray had even stopped breathing on his own for a while. They had been terrified and later relieved when the boy hadn't shown any signs that the cancer had metastasized in his lungs.
"Being bound... means he feels what I feel, doesn't it?"
Stiles was not dumb. When he had seen what had happened with Ray, the doubt had begun to spread in his heart. Until now, though, he had successfully managed to live in denial about the consequences of this discovery.
"Not every emotion. Only the strong ones, though, I guess, it's different with animals since they have better instincts. Maybe it's even to your advantage that you created a bond with an animal. It certainly gives you strength while someone else is draining you. But you have to be careful. What is bound to you, is bound to you and your fate."
Stiles gulped. He didn't want to think about what that meant for Ray.
"However, I have to inform you that binding a human is against our laws and will result in you being judged by our court. The sentence ranges from magic prohibition to death," Noshiko informed him, her face unreadable.
The chit-chat was over then. If Stiles thought that their talking had already been rough on him, he certainly didn't expect to nearly die from the training.
And dying was actually a possibility.
At first, he only had to practice how to shield himself from attacks. It took him a while to create a stable shield with the sparks. It was even harder to create one that would actually hold up against an attack. He was sweating after just holding up the shield for ten minutes.
The real hard part, though, began when they started with the attacks. The men, who Stiles called henchmen in his head, started with rocks, then they used darts. Their accuracy was astounding and dangerous. Jordan had told him that the darts were only tranquillizers, though, which did nothing to make him feel any relief.
"Defense is your best attack for now," Noshiko explained to him. "Later you will be able to uphold a ricocheting shield but for now it's good enough to simply shield yourself from any attack."
Just as she had said that she held up one arm in his direction and suddenly the world was immersed in a blinding light.
On instinct, Stiles shielded his face with his arms, crouching down.
It was the wrong decision.
The lightning bolt struck him in the chest.
All of his muscles tensed up and he collapsed. His mind closed down. He cramped up but his limbs moved erratically. His heartbeat, which pounded as loud as thunder in his ears, was so fast, he feared it would stop any minute now.
Jordan, who had started running the moment Noshiko had stretched out her arm, had now reached his protegé and kneeled down beside him. When he tried to touch Stiles, an electric shock made him retract his hand.
"What did you do?" he said, looking up with accusing eyes at Noshiko. "How could you do that?"
"He'll survive," she said. "He has to ricochet the lightning."
"But you didn't teach him how!"
"Exactly," she agreed. "Because I don't know how. He has to find out himself."
"Stiles? Can you hear me?" Jordan decided that since talking to Noshiko was for nought it would be much more helpful to concentrate on the patient at hand.
This time he gritted his teeth through the electroshock and grabbed the teenager's hand.
Stiles felt like the electric currents running through his veins were burning him from within. He had read reports on people who had been struck by lightning and survived it. Never had he ever read that they felt the lightning zinging around under their skin. His chest felt like it was on fire but his skin was just tingling.
The lightning bolt went from his chest to his toes, to his fingers, grazed his ears, and then went back into his toes.
"Be quick, Stiles. Your heart is not made to handle the stress of carrying the lightning bolt inside your body any longer than that."
Jordan reprimanded Noshiko's unhelpful advice with a grim look.
As soon as Stiles felt that the lightning was making its way back to his fingers, he stretched out his arm. The movement was harder than he remembered since his limbs were prickling so much now, they almost felt numb.
Soon.
At the elbow now.
The wrist.
He concentrated on the feeling. Then he imagined that a spark was guiding the lightning bolt's way.
Jordan was thrown backwards by surprise as the lightning bolt shot out from Stiles' fingers and hit a nearby tree which was promptly split in half.
Noshiko smirked. "Learning by doing."
***
Stiles did not tell Derek that there was a burn mark the size of a fist in the middle of his chest that was caused by a lightning strike. He could probably smell it, however. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. Meanwhile, Stiles contemplated whether he should use the ointment for this or whether he should save it in case of more severe injuries in the future. And who was he kidding? He was clumsy, so naturally, there would be more injuries in the future in store for him.
He only told Scott and Isaac about what really happened because Scott, besides their differences in opinion concerning The Order, was still his best friend. And Isaac, once again, seemed to orbit around Scott.
"Dude! Really? Struck by lightning? That's harsh."
Scott had sounded slightly accusing so Stiles was all too happy to remind him that Derek had once broken Isaac's arm for training purposes so the pack had no ground to stand on when it came to judgement.
"We heal, though!" Scott had argued.
Stiles had rolled his eyes and punched his friend on the shoulder. "So do I, you doofus. Besides the scar, I'm completely fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore."
It had hurt in the beginning. But it was not a life-threatening injury, nor did it impair his life in any way. After two days, only a slight sting was all he felt when he touched it.
Noshiko had told him that it wasn't a normal burn. It was a mark. A lightning mark. It meant that he had survived. It meant that he had mastered something some supernatural creatures would never be able to pull off.
Mastering a skill like that naturally left a mark.
For every gift, a sacrifice had to be given. Only then there could be a balance.
He thought he understood somewhat. He felt a new power coursing through his veins, along with the power of the sparks. When he felt overwhelmed by it, the slight sting of his burn mark reminded him of the consequences. It kept him grounded.
He also never forgot that lightning bolts thrown by Kitsunes could be deadly if they intended them to be. If Noshiko had intended to kill him, he would not have been fast enough to survive. Few ever did survive such an attack, only the particularly skilled, he was told.
It was without a doubt, though, that Derek would not see reason if he ever found out about the mark. Stiles didn't want to think what the sight of a burn mark would do to him, let alone one caused by something as abstruse as a lightning bolt.
(But Derek did find out eventually. )
Since Wednesday was the 23rd of December, Stiles and Malia decided to finally bake their cookies. Everything went well, considering that Malia was a complete disaster in the kitchen. That was until they remembered that there was a show they could not miss under any circumstances.
They thought it wouldn't do any harm if the sparks were tasked with mixing the dough. What could go wrong? Stiles knew the recipe by heart so he didn't really have to concentrate on that. His sparks were now able to fend off lightning so they should at the least be able to mix some cookie dough.
And this time there was no hammer that could hurt people so it was not like Stiles made the same mistake twice. Even if something would go wrong, no one could get hurt by a spatula or a mixer, right?
Everything worked out fine. They were able to watch the episode and when they came back, the dough seemed to be about ready.
They even managed to get the first batch into the oven.
It was then, waiting for the cookies to be ready, that Malia got bored and decided out of the blue to smear some of the remaining dough right into Stiles' face.
"That screams for retaliation, my lady," Stiles threatened, already digging into the dough.
Malia howled with laughter when the revenge struck her right on the nose.
How could they have known that the sparks would join in on the fun?
Before Stiles could even reach for the dough again, Malia was hit by a small ball of it on the back of her head.
Her laughter died down.
"What the...?"
Turning around, as she soon would realize, was a big mistake because she then got her whole face covered with flour. She coughed out little white clouds, blinking furiously.
"Oh no."
The scene unfurled into chaos then. Plumes of flour and sugar made it hard to follow every detail. Stiles was fighting to see anything, let alone make out what the sparks were doing.
Malia was wildly throwing around chocolate chips in hopes of hitting a target.
She hit Stiles at least five times, once even in the left eye.
When Stiles caught one of the culprits out of the corner of his eye, he didn't hesitate any longer and grabbed on.
A playful warmth was cursing through his fingertips. He didn't understand how warmth could be playful but that's what he felt. He felt the tingling sensation of childlike excitement as he touched the spark. It reminded him of days playing outside in the sun, then coming back inside once it started to set, just as the world was being dipped in an orange hue. He felt the laughter bubbling in his throat, felt the hunger claw at his senses. Faintly, he could hear someone singing softly under their breath. The air was suddenly filled with the smell of hot chocolate.
It had been so long since he had seen snow. At that moment, he could almost feel the awe of watching the world become covered by a layer of fuzzy-looking whiteness while being covered by a warm blanket himself.
He had not realized - until this moment - how much he had missed it.
"Stiles! Look!"
Malia watched with wide open eyes how the flour which had been transformed into little snowflakes was now mimicking a snowfall.
"I wish it was real," she said.
She had never seen snow before. As it touched her shoulder, she shuddered. Not because it was cold because it wasn't. She knew, though, that snow was meant to be cold and as she imagined how it would feel, goosebumps were forming on her skin.
Her amazement went straight over Stiles' head. The fake snow had awakened memories in him which now held him captive. In his mind, he could see his Grandfather's old house again. This time, though, his mind conjured up two children running around while one was watching them with an amused smile.
I had four siblings... the cold of the winter took them away... except one...
Again, he could hear his mother's words as if she was standing right next to him, saying them.
He had had uncles and aunts he had never gotten to know. They could have been a big family.
As it was, however, he had never even seen pictures of them, didn't even know their names.
Once again, he found himself thinking: Who am I?
He understood the person he was becoming or so he thought. It still felt like he was missing something. A background. Who was he similar to? Which of his characteristics run in the family, which did he develop on his own? Who would have been his godfather?
He wanted to understand how he had come into existence. He wanted to understand his mother.
It was frustrating how little he actually knew about his own family.
If only his mother's spark would still be around. It would help him find answers to all the questions in his head.
As if coming from a distance, he could make out the faint beginning of a song. It seemed so familiar to him and yet so new. An easy set of notes flowing together, creating a string that seemed to tug straight at his heart. It resonated in him and brought something alife he had never known to exist in the first place.
The magical moment was broken when somebody cleared his throat.
Like fog lifting, the house of his grandfather disappeared and the melody faded away.
All he could see now was a pair of green-grey eyes glaring at him as lightly whitened eyebrows were drawn down in disapproval.
Derek's hair had white streaks as well. He should have looked ridiculous but he didn't. His arms were crossed as he towered over Stiles in an intimidating way.
Stiles searched for Malia for help and found her making snow angels on the kitchen floor without a care in the world.
"I said it would get messy!" Stiles defended himself.
Derek raised one of his eyebrows in a way that seemed to challenge Stiles' claim. Instead of a reply, he simply shook his head. At first, Stiles thought he was just expressing his chagrin but then his motions turned wilder. He understood when he felt himself get dusted by the fine powder.
"Don't act like a dog, Sourwolf! You never liked it when I made the comparison!"
"You never liked to obey my rules," Derek said with a growl, pointing at the sparks which were still busy making it snow flour.
After the hammer debacle, Derek had insisted that Stiles swore to never use his powers lightly and mindlessly. Sometimes it was easy to forget how much damage the sparks could do when they got out of control.
"I can't help it! I'm a free spirit, I just can't be restricted by rules."
"You're stubborn," Derek corrected with a stab of his finger directed at his lightning burn. If Stiles hadn't known better, he would have sworn that he felt another electric current burning through his veins again. He flinched.
Derek's hand splayed over the spot and he shook his head.
"You're also foolish to think that I wouldn't notice."
"How?"
"The smell," Derek explained. "The way your posture changed. Whenever something bothers you, your hand subconsciously ghosts over the spot, as if you have to reassure yourself that it is still there. But mainly: Scott and Isaac talk. Loudly."
Stiles really should have known that those two couldn't keep anything under the lid for more than ten minutes. What did surprise him, however, was the lack of anger Derek was displaying. He could tell that the Alpha was displeased but there was no indication that he wanted to start another argument.
"I hope you do know that you're gonna have to clean up this mess without the help," Derek said.
Stiles acted as if he was in shock because of this revelation by grabbing his heart. Since Derek's hand was still pressed against his chest, his own hand was spread over Derek's.
"You're no fun."
To prove his point, a snowball made of flour hit Derek on the side of his head. One side of his face was now coated in white and he looked more ridiculous than ever.
The Alpha retaliated by gathering a fistful of flour and rubbing it into the teen's face.
They continued their playful fight until Jackson walked by and stared at them for a prolonged time wearing a gobsmacked expression. It probably didn't help that they looked like they were hugging to a bystander.