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Stiles was going to die.
He was going to die, because he was the one supposed to bring the horror movies stash and the cookies, and he was late. Which meant that the wolves were going to maul him as soon as he walked through the door, and Derek was going to stand there and watch, muttering something about ‘practicing their skills’.
He blamed Erica.
He would not tell her this face to face, but was it not for the stupid heels she had forced him to wear, he would have been there sooner.
He had let her and Lydia’s ability to drive cars with heels trick him into thinking it was easy and routine, but had nearly killed himself when he had tried to get Roscoe out of the driveway, and decided he did not want to die on Halloween in a witch costume.
He would have called someone from the pack to give him a ride, but the only person who wouldn’t give him flack for only now leaving would be Scott, and Scott did not drive a car.
Which was why it was almost night and he was trampling through the Preserve in high heels, jeans too tight to be in his size and a corset shirt. Erica had tried to get him in a skirt, but Stiles had put his foot down. Despite her claims that ‘a hoe never gets cold’, it was fall, and Stiles did not want to freeze his legs and other dangly bits.
Walking through the Preserve in heels might not have been his smartest idea, however.
“Mental note,” he muttered, nearly tripping over a rock. “Never bet with Erica again. She is vicious and the bonds of friendship and family mean nothing to her when she can embarrass you.”
He should have listened to Derek when he had warned him.
If he had, then he wouldn’t be walking in heels in the Preserve, dragging a trolley behind him filled to the brim with movies and treats.
At least, when cutting through the woods, Derek’s home was not too far from his own.
He nearly tripped then, when his trolley got caught on something.
“I swear if I break anything because of these heels, Erica is paying my medical bills,” he complained, turning to free the trolley from whatever rock it had caught onto.
Seeing none, he frowned, attempting to pull the trolley again.
It did not budge.
“What the hell?” he muttered, bending down to look at the ground more carefully.
Again, he saw nothing on the surface that should make it hard for the trolley to move.
Then why did it seem like the trolley was slamming against some invisible wall whenever he tried to pull it along? It was-
Stiles paused, suddenly a lot more alert than before.
He had been too busy mentally sending bad vibes Erica’s way and feeling sorry for himself that he had not even noticed the change of smell in the air around him.
He had crossed into someone’s magical territory.
“Fuck,” he said, pulling out his phone as he tried to get out as quickly as he could, fingers going for his emergency contacts.
Maybe no one had noticed, and if he was quick enough-
But of course Stiles was not so lucky.
His fingers went lax before he could click Derek’s number, the spell wrapping around him like a noxious cloud.
His last thought was that if whoever this was did not kill him, the betas were really going to.
+++
“Fuck,” said Stiles, as he finally opened his eyes again. “Ugh, I hate my- Jesus!”
The only reason he did not accompany the shout with a full body flinch was that his arms were, predictably, tied together on his back.
The woman who had caused him to shout did not look impressed, even if she did pull back from him a little.
Stiles was not familiar with the clearing he found himself in, but he was confident that he was still in the Preserve. There was an ominous pyre not too far from him, and apart from little Miss 'no concept of personal space', there were a couple of other women scattered around the clearing and the pyre, talking to each other or doing other things.
“Who are you?” asked the first woman, looking at Stiles with deep suspicion on her face.
“Someone who would appreciate it very much if you backed away and also let him go on his merry way,” said Stiles, mentally groaning when he realised his legs were also tied. Should he feel proud of being considered a dangerous enough threat or just annoyed about being inconvenienced? “I would rather you did not use me as a sacrifice?”
“Sacrifice?” asked another woman, this one appearing older than the first. Where the first was blonde, this one had grey hair, with some strands turned completely white. “What the hell type of coven do you think we are?”
Coven.
“You are witches,” realised Stiles, a little surprised. He frowned at the various jeans jackets, denim and other lack of robes. “You don’t look like witches.”
The first witch scoffed. “Not everyone goes around dressed like you, witch.”
Dressed like him...?
“Oh,” said Stiles, realised what they meant. “Oh, no. There has been a misunderstanding. A very big misunderstanding. I am not a witch. I am human.”
“Right,” said a third witch, this one dressed in a big red coat and combat shoes. “Then why are you dressed like that?”
“Halloween,” explained Stiles. “I lost a bet with Erica, and she made me wear this costume. Erica is a werewolf, by the way. Part of a pack, a pack that I am also part of.”
“You are not a werewolf,” said the one with grey hair, rolling her eyes.
“Yes, I am human,” said Stiles, which made them scoff again.
“If you were really human, you would have never managed to walk through our barriers,” she said, unimpressed. “Our magic would not have allowed you to.”
“Really?” asked Stiles, curious despite himself. “Would it have made me hit the invisible wall or would it have convinced me to find another way without me even realising it? Is it a barrier? Or is it just in the air, sort of diffused? Or maybe-”
“And a human would not have the magical knowledge or the sense to ask such questions,” added Red Coat.
“Yes, okay you got me there,” said Stiles. “But I am also an emissary of the pack I am in. It is literally my job to know these sort of thing. I am the brains in my pack - don’t let them know I said that. Actually, do. They have big enough heads. But don't let Lydia hear about this.”
“Werewolves pack rarely if ever have human members,” said the one he supposed was the leader, unimpressed. “Secondly, I know the pack that walks on this land. And any humans the Hale pack might have had in their pack died with the rest of the family.”
“Correct,” agreed Stiles. “Because the Argents are psychopaths. However, Derek is alpha now, and my best friend became a werewolf, and we are a package deal. Derek tried hard to get rid of me, but I am more stubborn than he is. Also, his betas all love me, and he ended up falling for me too - I don't know how I did it, so don't ask me for advice. The betas really like me. Normally. Actually, they might stop loving me if I don’t show up at the door of Derek’s house with my stuff soon enough, and then you’re going to have the death of me, an innocent human dressed as a witch, on your heads. I am sure you don’t want that.”
“Even if I were to believe you are part of Derek Hale’s pack - and I don’t - being an emissary still does not explain the fact that you ended up crossing the barrier we erected. Only a fellow witch or magic user would have been able to do that. And they would have done it for only one reason.”
“And what would that reason be? Because I assure you, I have no interest in ruining your Hallow’s Eve.”
“Wait,” said the blonde, looking offended. “Is that what that Halloween you mentioned is supposed to be? A celebration of All Hallow’s Eve?”
Now all the witches were looking at them, and Stiles had the feeling he had stepped on someone’s feet with shit on his shoes.
“Not exactly,” he said, and then quickly went through the quickest summary possible on the origins of Halloween (and Lydia said that he was never going to use that information anywhere. In her face!).
By the end of the info dump the witches did not look much happier, but Stiles had finally figured out what they were doing.
“You are celebrating Samhain,” he said, before they could say anything. “Aren’t you? And before you call me a witch for knowing what Samhain is, I read about it when researching the origins of Halloween to prove a point.”
“What do you know about Samhain?” asked the leader, looking more curious than anything, now.
“Well, I know it is deemed by most Wiccans as the most important of the four ‘greater Sabbats’, but that witches only observe that. It is the moment for witches where they are the closest to the spirits of the afterlife and the Earth that which they inhabit, a moment to pay respect to the ancestors and whoever else died, as well as a celebration of life and magic.
“Dark witches often try to perform necromancy and invite the spirits to celebrate with them, but white witches just celebrate it similarly to wiccans, by burning offerings, remembering the ones gone, dancing and feasting and being happy in their mourning.”
“Way too good for a simple emissary,” said the blonde, looking at him with a frown.
Stiles shrugged. “I like learning. You have no idea the amount of things that go bumping in the dark of the Preserve. The pack would have died long ago, had it not been for me and the amount of stuff I read. Sure, Lydia and Peter also help, but everyone knows I’m better. Derek knew I was better before he even knew me. Unrelated but related, you really should let me go already: Derek will find me - he’s very creepy that way.”
“So you claim you are just human,” said Red Coat, arms crossed but a thoughtful look in her eyes.
“Thank you,” said Stiles. “Yes.”
“And you have never done something that was... more than human,” she continued. “Something that nobody ever really explained to you, but that you are able to do.”
“No,” said Stiles, hoping for them to just believe him. “Other than the moving mountain ash thing, but-”
“You can move mountain ash?!” screeched the leader, along with a couple more of the witches.
Stiles blinked at them, surprised by their reaction. “Like it’s hard?”
+++
It turned out, Alan Deaton was speaking quite literally when he said that Stiles had a ‘spark’. And by spark he meant someone who was not just baseline human, but was not quite a magic user either. A rare in between rare enough that people forgot to consider it, but that meant that Stiles was promptly freed of his binds.
“Do you also want to make an offering?” asked the leader, who Stiles had now found was called Gwendolyn. She was also about 400 years old, even though she looked at most seventy.
“I can?”
“Our is an only women coven,” said Lauren - Red Coat - pulling him in the direction of some plates filled with food. “But we can make an exception for a spark, I suppose. I have never met one of you.”
“I didn’t know I was anything really,” said Stiles, accepting the plate handed to him. “All Deaton did was tell me that I had a spark, and then hand over the reigns of Hale pack emissary. Nobody knew that I was anything more.” He paused, and sighed. “Except Peter. I bet you everything that Peter Hale knew.”
“Peter, yes,” said Gwendolyn, looking vaguely amused. “He does make it his business to know everything about everyone. I met him a couple of times when he was young. He has always been... rather mischievous.”
“That’s one word for it,” said Stiles, looking at where one of the witches was now doing her offering. “So, how do I do this?”
“It is quite easy,” said Lauren, also taking a plate of food. “You go up to the fire. You call upon whichever sentiment or god or goddess you believe in, and ask them to carry a message for you to the loved one you want to communicate with. Once you have finished sharing the message, you throw the food in the pyre.”
“Straightforward,” said Stiles, clutching the plate in his hands.
“After a few decades, we tend to stop believing in making stuff complicated for the sake of it being complicated.”
“An amazing policy that more supernatural creatures should adopt,” said Stiles. Seriously, the fact that a kelpie could only be killed from the tooth of a centaur harvested during a new moon was one of the most annoying things Stiles had ever heard.
And he had heard a lot of annoying and fucked up things in his life.
He stopped in front of the pyre, with the food still clutched in his hands and closed his eyes.
He normally did not really believe in this sort of things, but what could it really hurt? Magic existed, supernatural creatures existed, ghosts existed: why wouldn’t spirits from the afterlife be able to hear you on Halloween?
It couldn't hurt to try.
Dear whoever it is that governs the fabric of the universe, he thought. Hey. We don’t speak often enough. Look, I know I should probably start going to some sort of church or be more religious or whatever, but you know. Life has been shitty, and I haven’t really had the time for anything, lately.
However, I am here now, and it’s Halloween slash All Hallow’s Eve slash Samhain, and you know how it is. Christmas miracles - or the witch equivalent.
So, here I am. Asking you if you could pass a message to my mom. Pretty please. With a cherry on top.
He did not hear any sort of response in his head, but then again he did not think he was going to.
Uh. Okay. I’m going to assume you passed mom the metaphorical phone, now, so please don’t listen in because this is personal.
Thank you.
Another short pause in which Stiles gathered his thoughts.
So... hey, mom. This definitely feels weirder than talking to your headstone at the cemetery, if I have to be honest.
How are you? I know we saw each other like last month when I came to tell you how school was going, but you know. When you get captured by witches, you might as well join them and celebrate the witch version of Dia de los Muertos with them.
I am fine, by the way. Summer was surprisingly calm, all things considered. There were some trolls, and a couple of stray omegas, and those annoying pixies, but no big bad of the year tried to kill us, which is what I consider a win, in this climate.
We also survived with no loss or almost loss in the pack. Jackson is still in London, but it’s fine, we don’t count Jackson anyway.
Mh, what can I say? Lydia and Cora are totally banging, even though they are playing it cool. I think Isaac is very close to just joining Allison and Scott’s relationship, and I think they are actually going to let him. Boyd and Erica continue to be the staple and most stable relationship in the pack - though Erica is still in the relationship, so we must consider that.
And me and Derek are going steady. We haven’t told dad because I would rather my boyfriend did not die a violent death, but we will. Eventually. When I move out and he has no access to Derek or to a gun.
Dad is good too. He and Melissa McCall are still on their ‘will they, won’t they’ thing, but hopefully they are just waiting for me and Scott to be out of town to give in. I know you’d want that for them.
So just... I don’t know. I guess I am just happy. Maybe I just jinxed myself by saying this, but I am really happy. And I still miss you, and dad also misses you like crazy, and I’m probably going to take your pictures later on and sleep with them under my pillow, but I am also happy.
I wanted you to know that.
Oh, I also might be some sort of magic thing, because apparently I wasn’t badass enough. Once I master my magical powers, every big bad will be done, I tell you.
I hope you're proud of me.
I love you, mom. And I will always miss you.
Even though you are always with me.
Kisses, or something. Sorry, I don’t know how I’m supposed to end this mental conversation. How about you just hung up? No, you hung up. No, you hang up. No you-
Okay, I am not as funny as I think I am.
But I know you laughed.
And I like to think that, wherever you are, you can still laugh.
Bye, mom.
Stiles opened his eyes, sniffing before he put the food in the flame.
The fire changed colour, turning a deep red that Stiles had not seen before and that had several of the witches around him sounding surprised.
Then it turned back to orange.
Stiles glanced at Gwendolyn, who was looking at the fire in surprise.
“Uh... did I break it?”
“No,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face. “I think your mom wanted to let you know she heard your message loud and clear, little Spark.”
“Oh,” said Stiles. That sounded... sort of unrealistic.
He decided he was going to believe it anyway, and he smiled.
+++
Stiles was sitting around the fire with the witches, listening to their stories about their various adventures when the pack appeared in the clearing, Derek in front of them.
“Oh,” said Stiles, as the witches just frowned at them, not intimidated. He winced. “Right. I was supposed to be heading to the pack house. In my defence, I was kidnapped.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed, while Lydia looked around unimpressed. “You don’t seem very kidnapped to me,” she pointed out.
“You look like you’re at a party,” added Erica, glaring at him.
“No I don’t.”
“Stiles, you are literally eating samosas,” pointed out Scott, also looking disappointed.
“Et tu, bro?”
“Sorry, bro.”
“Stiles,” started Derek, eyebrows and tone of voice combo saying ‘you are really testing my patience, right now’.
“Okay, so, originally I was kidnapped,” he said, swallowing the bite. “Ask Gwendolyn.”
“It’s true,” said the witch. “We thought he was a witch coming to ruin our Samhain.”
“And that’s Erica’s fault,” said Stiles. Erica’s glare sharpened, and Stiles quickly backtracked. “No, my fault. Totally my fault, was joking.”
“Samhain,” said Peter, looking at the fire with a fond look. “Might we join?”
“Sure, Peter,” said Gwendolyn, pointing at the leftover offerings they had. “In fact, all of you can join.”
“Ah, Gwendolyn. Did not notice you there. I see you have met our resident emissary and human. Isn’t he magical?”
He totally knew, what an asshole.
“What is Samhain?” asked Derek, as Isaac started inching slowly towards the food now that it did not seem as if an attack was forthcoming.
“Sort of day of the dead,” said Lydia, looking at where Peter was grabbing an offering. “May I too?”
“Of course,” said Clara, the blonde witch. “In fact, why don’t you join us? We have more than enough food for everyone, and I am sure all of you have someone you want to honour with a message on this holy night.”
“What about our movie marathon-” started Scott, coughing when Allison elbowed him in the stomach.
Stiles decides he deserved it for going against him.
"We'd love to," said the brunette, smiling brightly.
“Sure,” added Derek, once he looked at Stiles long enough to ensure he was, actually all right. When Stiles nodded, showing him a thumbs up, he also moved towards the offering table.
And that was how the pack celebrated their Halloween that year.
They left offerings and ate alongside witches, sharing stories about their lives and how annoying hunters who weren’t Allison could be (though Allison could also be annoying sometimes; Stiles said this with love), and laughing and joking until the early hours of the next day.
They only ended back to the pack house in the early hours of dawn, with the pack dragging Stiles’ trolley and Stiles pretending to be asleep so Derek would carry him back home, his phone in his back pocket filled with several witches' phone numbers.
It might not be what they had planned on, but Stiles was pretty sure everyone appreciated it anyway.
And he didn’t get killed by the betas!
That was what he called success.