Once, Stiles was Robin with a capital R.Fandom:
Stiles, Scott, Scott/StilesGenre:
Mentions of blood, I suppose.Word Count:
 TUMBLR GRAPHICS
round 6, free for allOnce, Stiles was Robin with a capital R. He’s discarded that façade though, donned a hood, the red of a robin’s breast, of something else he can’t bring himself to name. Traded Batman for the Big Bad Wolf.
Only here, walking through the woods, red trails the wolf. Stiles is the bad wolf’s shadow, watching the wolf learn the woods, zig-zag, searching. Searching for something that, as Scott moves forward, is waiting behind him, lurking in the past, a shadow, filling claw marks, coating the dirt. Maybe what the wolf wants is what he’s left behind. Stiles, little robin, trails his Big Bad Batman, nips at the backs of Scott’s heels, wings outstretched for balance, collecting water. And when, if, when Scott turns back he will trip over Stiles, his dragging hem, his blood-red feathers, and they’ll spread out - crunch - to cushion Scott’s fall.
Robin red, bleeding, chirping, a wind-up toy that won’t be un-wound. He’s the puff of feathers left behind. Crumbs to Scott’s snack and that’s fine, that’s best, because when those teeth come out there’s nothing to do but disappear. Bones breaking and “you still got me”, you still got me through the sole of your shoe and the pad of your tongue and the space between your eyes. Stiles’ feathers - his bones - sticking to Scott’s tongue, caught between his teeth. Bone turns to dust and wolf turns to man.
Scott turns to him, says, “hey, you okay?” like he can’t feel Stiles churning around in his stomach, and Stiles chirps away, pretends to fly, and Scott pretends he can’t feel the bits of broken bone beneath his feet.
Once, there was hope, but that is sunken and dark now, golden sun fully set.