Title: Scopaesthesia
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating: PG
Length: ~800 words
Content notes: No warnings.
Spoilers: General spoilers for S2.
Author notes: Written for the Elusive/Ephemeral challenge and the 'Everyday Life' square on my Love Bingo card. (Though I'm not actually sure it qualifies for that.)
Summary: sometimes I feel like/somebody's watching me

Scopaesthesia

His closet is growling.

It’s a vague thought floating through Stiles’s mind as he surfaces from sleep. The room is still dark, just a tiny blue glow from the edges of the curtains saying it’s late enough to almost be early. The covers are warm, but the air is cool on his face, and he rolls over to get a better grip on the pillow and the thought drifts by again: Closet. Growling.

He’s just on the edge of falling back asleep, and the thought feels diffuse, like something from a dream. But he opens his eyes again briefly to check out the closet door, which was wedged open by a pile of dirty clothes when he went to sleep. It still is. No eyes are glinting in the dark, nothing jumps out of it when it sees him looking.

Stiles lets his eyes fall closed again, all thoughts of growling dismissed for the night.

But something sticks with him, a hint of a dream or something he realized but can’t quite remember. Because he’s jumpy the next day, with the near-constant feeling that someone is watching him.

Which, yes, people do watch him jump out of his desk in history when Allison drops her book. But that’s only because Stiles manages to catch the edge of the desk with his knee, tip it over while falling over backwards himself, and then take out the entire next row of students while yowling like a cat. Though Stiles denies that last part vehemently, no matter how many people use the phrase over the rest of the day.

The difference is, the looks he’s getting from the rest of the class feel positively friendly by comparison with whatever it is that’s stalking him.

“I swear to god, there’s something out there.” Stiles turns his head just a little and his eyes even more, trying to peer over his shoulder without it being obvious that he’s looking over his shoulder. He’d let Scott talk him into sitting on one of the benches near the edge of campus, with the idea that if something is after him, it’ll be able to get closer with all the trees nearby. And then they can be sure.

Of course, that means it’ll be able to get closer, which isn’t making Stiles happy at all.

Scott punches him in the arm. “Stop looking!”

“I’m not looking.” Stiles hunches in on himself, rubbing the now-sore spot on his arm. “Aren’t you supposed to be smelling this thing?”

“I’m not smelling anything unusual.” Scott shrugs. “Maybe it’s just your imagination.”

“And maybe it’s invisible to smells!” Stiles whips his head around to stare in the direction the look feels like it’s coming from, but there’s nothing there but some bushes. The feeling doesn’t go away. “Along with just plain invisible,” he mutters.

“Yeah, sure.” Scott ducks his head, but it doesn’t hide his smile.

“Okay, fine.” Stiles resolutely does not look behind him. He does not look, he does not look, he absolutely DOES NOT LOOK. “It’s probably my imagination. It’s not like monsters are real. Or there’s an alpha pack out there. Or, y’know, ghosts that can fuck with people’s heads. Cause none of that has happened this year. Oh, wait.”

Scott gets the sad look, the one that says he’s thinking of Allison again, and this time it’s Stiles’s turn to punch him in the arm.

“Hey!”

“We need a plan,” Stiles hisses, pretending to ignore Scott’s indignation. “Some way to prove this isn’t real. Or that it is.”

Scott shrugs. “We could go walking in the woods and see if something attacks you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m not exactly trying to be attacked by something today, thank you.”

“I’d be there to protect you.”

It’s said with such earnestness that it warms Stiles’s heart, even though he knows there are bigger things out there than Scott. In fact, there are lots of things out there bigger than Scott, and the thought of Scott fighting something like that, again, is even scarier than the possibility that this is all in Stiles’s head.

“Let’s try something a little less risky,” Stiles says softly. “We can go talk to Deaton. He can tell me if I’m out of my mind. Or maybe I’m getting premonitions! This thing could be from the future!”

Stiles gets up off the bench, as casually as he can. He suddenly wants Scott (and himself) as far away from this thing as possible.

“You know I wouldn’t let you get hurt,” Scott says, digging his heels in and refusing to move.

It’s the stupidest thing Stiles has heard in ages, and it still makes something lodge in his throat to hear it. Stiles figures he deserves that, what with the number of times he’s told his dad he’ll be careful.

“I know that.” It comes out scratchy and serious, and Stiles has to swallow twice before he can get the rest out. “But let’s try to make sure you don’t have to do anything heroic today.”