Title: Hipstery, Look-I-have-a-penis Version of Lisbeth Salander!
Rating: PG for some language
Genre/Warnings: Post-Season One but no spoilers
Summary: “Stuart, I have something to tell you…Scott is a werewolf. Yes, a werewolf. No, I am not insane! No psychotropic drugs are needed, dude! Just listen to me!”
Author's Notes: Again, blaming Tumblr for this. I am having way too much fun with this! I hope ya'll enjoy this! Reviews are loved like Stiles love curly fries.
“Stuart, I have something to tell you…Scott is a werewolf. Yes, a werewolf. No, I am not insane! No psychotropic drugs are needed, dude! Just listen to me!”
Stiles stopped pacing back and forth in his room and looked at his desk chair, where his old stuff animal Simba sat. He sighed and sat down on the end of his bed, saying, “Simba, why can’t you be like Ted? But, you know, without the addiction to porn and alcoholism. ‘Cause some actual feedback would be excellent right now.”
Simba, as always, offered no response and Stiles still had no resolution to his problem. He flopped back on his bed and stared up at his ceiling. He needed to tell Stuart about Scott. He had felt bad enough lying to his dad for the past few weeks since his life had been high jacked by the Hales and their fucked-up werewolf family problems, but he felt even worse about lying to his brother. He was positive it broke some sort of law in the unwritten rule book of twindom. After Scott, Stuart was the one Stiles confided in the most, who he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would never judge him or push him away. But werewolves were a bit much. Hell, even Stiles had still problems believing this had happened.
Stiles sat up and jumped to his feet, saying to Simba, “I can do this. Stuart didn’t freak out when I told him I was bisexual. Granted, I told him while we were on opposite sides of town playing WOW, but the point remains! He is my brother and he needs to know and I need to tell him and that is that. Right?”
Again, Simba offered nothing in response, but it was the thought that counted. Stiles dug his phone, ready to call Stuart, when he saw that he had a new email from him. There was no subject line, which always made Stiles nervous. He moved Simba from his chair and slid to his desk, setting the stuffed lion next to his laptop as he booted it up. Opening his web browser, he went to his Gmail account and clicked on the email. The message simply read I know, little brother and had a Word document attached. Stiles rolled his eyes as he downloaded the document, muttering under his breath, “Younger by fifteen freakin’ minutes, you ass.”
The document finally loaded and Stiles’ jaw dropped. Stuart knew! The document was several pages long and contained Stiles’ web histories from the past few weeks, books he had checked out from the library, text conversations between him and Scott, and photos of him and Scott together. There were even a few very disturbingly close pictures of Scott at the lacrosse games, fangs and his creepy werewolf eyes visible. During his second look-through, Stiles unlocked his phone and called his brother, biting the inside of his cheek.
Stuart answered with a chuckle. “So you got my email?”
“You are like the hipstery, look-I-have-a-penis version of Lisbeth Salander, and this is exactly why Dad keeps taking your laptop away! What the hell, man?”
“Hey, man, don’t yell at me,” Stuart said, sounding defensive. “What was I supposed to do? You shut me out, Stiles. Did you think I couldn’t handle it? Me, your own brother?”
Stiles sighed and minimized the document. He picked up Simba and stoked one of the glassy eyes, replying softly, “I…I didn’t know how to say it, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. Plus Scott didn’t want anyone to know and-“
“Let’s just agree that Scott doesn’t always have the best judgment,” Stuart interjected. “You’re my brother, Genim. It doesn’t matter if it’s werewolves, vampires, or even pixies: your problems are my problems.”
Stiles smiled, his brother and his dad being the only ones he ever tolerated calling him by his actual name. As he began closing programs and shutting down his laptop, he asked, “So where are you anyway? Starbucks?”
There was a silence on the other end, and Stiles snorted a laugh. “You are! Oh my God, you are such a cliché!”
“You’re one to talk!” Stuart retorted. “To compare you to a Buffy character, I’d say you’re Xander.”
“What?” Stiles whined, standing and packing his laptop into his backpack. “I don’t want to be Xander. Can’t I be Willow instead?”
“No magic, no Willow,” Stuart dismissed. “If, down the line, you are casting spells, then we’ll talk. Now get your ass down here ‘cause my research only told me so much!”
Stiles grinned and snatched his keys from his desk, saying as he headed toward the door, “On my way now.”</i>