Hiraeth || Hope Mikaelson (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 4: Paralyzed

Stiles leaned against the counter of the dingy mechanic's shop, watching the man under the hood of his beloved Jeep. His brows furrowed as he heard more tinkering than seemed necessary.

"Hey, hey," Stiles called, stepping closer. "What do you think you're doing? All I needed was a starter."

The mechanic, a gruff man 4 or 5 years older than Stiles with grease-stained hands, slid out from under the hood and gave Stiles a flat look. "Yeah, but it looks like your whole exhaust system's gotta be replaced."

Stiles blinked, incredulous. "Why do I get the feeling you're slightly overestimating the damage?"

The mechanic shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag. "Probably running you around twelve hundred, parts and labor."

"Twelve hundred?" Stiles repeated, his voice pitching slightly. "Are you kidding me? This thing doesn't even have a catalytic converter, and yes, I know what a catalytic converter is."

The mechanic gave him a dry smirk. "You know what a limited slip differential is?"

"Uh…" Stiles hesitated, his bravado faltering. "No."

"Yeah, figured. More like fifteen hundred," the mechanic added nonchalantly, turning back to his work.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Okay, just… just finish. I'll be back here," he muttered, storming toward the waiting room.

As he reached for the door handle, his hand connected with something sticky. He yanked his hand back, his face contorting in disgust. "Nice! Real sanitary. The quality establishment you're running here!" he shouted sarcastically toward the mechanic, who didn't even glance up. He pulls out his phone when it rings. "Hello?"

"Stilinski, guess what? Sugar mommy Lydia bought me a phone," Hope teased.

Stiles rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the small grin tugging at his lips. "Sugar mommy? Really? That's what we're going with now?"

"Relax, Stilinski. It's a joke," she replied with a laugh, the sound warm and light.

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny," Stiles replied, chuckling softly.

But before he could say more, his body stiffened. The sticky sensation on his hand seemed to spread, crawling up his arm and locking his muscles in place. His grin vanished as he tried to move but couldn't.

"Hope?" His voice quivered, panic rising.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her teasing tone replaced by concern.

"I... I can't move," Stiles whispered. His phone slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor as the paralysis spread. He slumped back against the wall, helpless.

"Stiles?" Hope's voice crackled through the phone, panic evident.

His eyes darted around the room, catching movement outside. The lift in the mechanic's bay was lowering, and the mechanic was shouting frantically for help. A shadow darted past, and Stiles's breath hitched as the memory of the scaly creature flashed through his mind.

"Hope," he croaked, barely able to form the words. "Call 911. Please."

"What? Stiles, what's happening?"

"I'm paralyzed," he forced out. "Something… it's here. I think it—"

A loud crash from the bay cut him off, followed by the mechanic's terrified scream. Stiles's heart pounded as he strained to move, his muscles refusing to cooperate.

"Stiles, hold on!" Hope's voice was firm now, but he could hear the fear underneath.

The creature appeared in the corner of his vision, its glowing yellow eyes fixated on him. It moved closer, its claws scraping against the concrete. Stiles wanted to scream, but his body betrayed him, frozen in place.

"Hope," he whispered, tears pooling in his eyes. "Please hurry."

"Stiles, I'm coming. Just hold on," Hope said, her voice steady despite the panic he knew she must be feeling.

The creature inched closer, its movements slow and deliberate, like it was savoring his fear. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, silently begging for this to be some awful nightmare.

___________

Stiles sat on the edge of the ambulance, twisting his fingers nervously while avoiding his father's gaze.

"I told you, I just walked in and the Jeep was on top of that guy. That's all," he muttered, his eyes flickering to the EMT bustling nearby.

Noah Stilinski frowned, his protective instincts flaring. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Nothing," Stiles replied quickly, shaking it as if to prove his point. "Can I get out of here now?"

Noah leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Look, if there's something you can't tell me—"

"You think I'm lying," Stiles interrupted, the defensiveness in his tone making Noah hesitate.

"No, of course not," Noah reassured. "I'm just worried about you. If you saw someone do this and you're afraid—"

Before Noah could finish, a familiar voice called out, breaking through the tension like a lightning strike.

"Stiles!"

Both Stilinskis turned to see Hope running toward them, her expression frantic. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her breaths came in sharp gasps as she neared, but her wide eyes were laser-focused on Stiles.

She stopped abruptly in front of him, scanning him from head to toe before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"I was so worried," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? I couldn't find the place, and I thought I was too late, and—"

Her words tumbled out in a frantic ramble as she clung to him, her grip firm but trembling. Stiles, on the other hand, was frozen, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure it could be heard by everyone around them.

"Uh… Hope?" Stiles managed to squeak out, his voice breaking slightly.

"I thought something happened to you," she continued, burying her face in his shoulder for a moment before finally pulling back. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she cupped his face to inspect him for any injuries.

Stiles's brain short-circuited, completely forgetting how to form coherent words.

"You're fine, right? Please tell me you're fine," Hope whispered, her voice softer now, laced with vulnerability.

"I'm… fine," he stammered, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red as he felt every pair of eyes in the vicinity on them.

"Good," she said, visibly exhaling in relief. Then her gaze flickered to Noah, and her expression changed in an instant.

Her arms dropped to her sides as she realized the scene she had just caused. Hope's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she glanced at the amused sheriff. "Uh… Hi," she said awkwardly, giving him a small wave. "You must be Stiles's dad. I've… heard a lot about you."

"And you are?" Noah asked, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smile.

"Hope Mikaelson," she said, straightening up as she tried to regain her composure. "Sorry for, uh… all of that." She gestured vaguely to Stiles and the hug. "I just… I got really worried."

Noah nodded, clearly entertained. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Hope. I don't think I've ever seen Stiles this quiet before."

"Yeah, me neither," she said with a small, nervous laugh.

Stiles groaned, finally regaining enough of his voice to glare at his father. "Seriously, Dad?"

Noah chuckled and stood up, giving Hope a friendly pat on the shoulder. "He's in good hands, I can tell."

"Thanks," Hope murmured, her cheeks still pink as she glanced at Stiles, who was now avoiding her gaze entirely.

Noah excused himself to speak with the EMTs, leaving Hope and Stiles alone.

"Uh, so… that happened," Stiles said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry," Hope said again, her voice softer. "I didn't mean to make a scene. I just—"

"You were worried," Stiles finished for her, giving her a shy smile. "It's okay. Kind of… nice, actually."

Hope relaxed slightly, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. "Well, just don't scare me like that again, okay?"

"I'll try my best," Stiles said, his heart still racing as he met her gaze.

For the first time in what felt like hours, the tension in the air lifted, replaced by a quiet, unspoken warmth between them.

____________

When Scott pulled up in his car, Stiles immediately opened the back door for Hope. She tilted her head slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What a gentleman," she teased before sliding in.

Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his grin as he walked around to the passenger seat. Once inside, Scott raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Hope?" he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

"In the flesh," she replied with a casual wave of her hand.

Scott nodded but quickly turned his attention to Stiles. "You okay?"

"Yeah..." Stiles muttered, though his voice still held traces of unease. He glanced at Scott, his expression serious. "You were right. It's not like you."

Scott furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Stiles hesitated, gathering his thoughts. "Its eyes... they were almost reptilian." He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words. "But there was something else about them. Like, you know how when you see a friend wearing a mask on Halloween? And then you catch their eyes, and you recognize them, but you just can't figure out why?"

Scott's gaze sharpened. "Are you saying you know who it is?"

"No," Stiles said quietly, almost to himself. "But I think it knew me."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the car was silent.

"I think I might have an idea about what that creature is," Hope spoke up suddenly, breaking the tension.

Both boys whipped their heads around to look at her.

"You do?" Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

"How?" Stiles added, leaning over his seat to face her.

"What are you?" Scott asked bluntly, suspicion lacing his tone.

The questions overlapped, their voices rising in volume. Hope leaned back in her seat, raising an eyebrow in annoyance.

"One at a time," she said, her voice calm but firm, silencing them instantly.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a glance before Scott spoke again. "How do you know what it might be?"

"I'm not certain yet," Hope admitted, folding her arms across her chest. "But I've read about creatures like this before. I need a closer look to be sure."

Scott frowned, his suspicion still evident. "How do you know so much about this stuff? What are you, Hope?"

Hope's expression softened, but there was a glint of steel in her eyes. "I'm someone who's a little better equipped to handle the weird and dangerous than most people. Let's leave it at that for now."

Stiles turned to Scott, shaking his head. "Come on, man. She's not the enemy here."

Scott exhaled sharply, still skeptical but willing to let it go for now. "Fine. But if you know something, we need to hear it, Hope. We're dealing with people getting hurt—maybe worse."

Hope nodded, her demeanor shifting to something more serious. "I get that. Believe me, I'll tell you everything once I know for sure. Until then, let's focus on staying alive."

Her tone left no room for argument, and Scott reluctantly turned his attention back to the road.

As the car rolled toward their next destination, Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Hope. "You're sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Hope met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "No," she admitted. "But I've got a feeling we're going to figure it out together."

Stiles smiled faintly, a flicker of trust passing between them. Scott remained focused, gripping the steering wheel tightly as they drove on, each of them bracing for whatever came next.