Based on this prompt: Stiles puts bells on all the wolves and Derek still manages to not make a sound.
It all comes to a head when Erica decides to leap out at him from beside a vending machine and he flails so hard his fingers cramp on the tab of his newly purchased can of coke. He makes a leap of his own, backwards, and gets drenched in a fizzy spray as his head smacks against the vending machine’s glass and sends something clattering down inside. It’s his third Operation: Fragile Stiles mishap of the week and there are still six days to go.
He splutters as the sticky drizzle runs down his face, his anger initially dampened by the acknowledgement that at least it wasn’t aimed at his crotch this time, until he realises he shouldn’t have even reached the stage of making concessions in the first place.
Erica doesn’t seem to see the problem. She bends down to retrieve the Butterfinger that somersaulted over the coil inside the machine with help from the impact of his skull and throws him a victorious grin as she skips away.
He’s had it with this game he never agreed to play. He’s sick of being the only human who has to put up with this shit, the constant shaving of years from his life as he watches over his shoulder for the next wolfy surprise. Allison might know her way around a bow and arrow and Lydia might have her acid tongue for a deterrent, but Stiles has… weapons. He does.
It’s Isaac’s snigger and Jackson’s curling lip that do it.
Operation: Fragile Stiles
Published
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