A/N: First of all, huge thank you to the wonderful mods at Sterek Big Bang for putting together this challenge. Lots of respect to Misaki for dealing with everything while busy with school and being out of touch with LJ. And much appreciation to Liam for taking time out of his weekend while he was sick to help me out with a million email questions. Both you guys are amazing ^_^

Next, a huge thank you to my artist, Celeste, for her incredible works. I adore them and really enjoyed working with you. Hope you're continuing to kicking school's ass ;)

Third, a shout-out to my buddy Kaizer for his encouragement during this whole thing and for letting me drag him into the Sterek Big Bang craziness, too. And anyone else who tweeted me or talked to me on Tumblr as they cheered me on, thanks a million. I needed it.

I feel like I say this with every Big Bang I do, but I swear I really did not mean for this to be so damn long. This thing is fucking ridiculous and I still can't believe it's over 200K. HOW?!

Teen Wolf is property of Jeff Davis and MTV. I just stole the characters and threw them in a whole 'nother world of my creation and made them do things. Fic title is from "Howl" by Florence + the Machine.

Art can be found here.

Fic rated for explicit sex, language, canon-typical violence and death, discrimination, allusions to sexual assault of a minor character, references to background domestic violence, references to past sexual manipulation, blink and you miss them references to suicidal ideation, minor panic attack, mentions of attempted sexual assault, underage drinking, and very minor gore.

"Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers,
Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters.
A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night,
May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright..."
~ "Howl", Florence + the Machine.

Crashing into walls wasn't anything new for Stiles Stilinski. He'd been doing it for the past sixteen years of his life—okay, probably less since he'd literally just turned sixteen the day before and he obviously hadn't been walking since the day he was born. But the point remained that he'd been crashing into things while hurrying from point A to point B for a really long freaking time.

Clearly that morning was no different.

Not that he could be blamed really. Not after what'd happened the night before.

Every wolf knew that when the youngest member of a fated pair turned sixteen, both parties began Dreaming of one another, giving hints as to who their True Mate was. 'Course the Dreams never showed their face or played the sound of their voice, but that could be overlooked, especially given the content and nature of the Dreams. Plus if the stories were true, then more details regarding one's True Mate would appear in the Dreams after meeting them, further proving that that person was, in fact, made for you.

Although the heart-pounding, skin-tingling, wolf-howling, adrenaline-rushing, supreme arousal upon first touch gave that away, too. Or so Stiles had been led to believe.

But considering how his nighttime revery had gone, he was gonna be finding out first hand. Hopefully soon, though, 'cause damn.

It didn't escape him how he was one of the lucky ones, that as the younger member of his future Mating, he was Dreaming right away. He'd gone to sleep in a minor panic that he'd wind up like his best friend, Scott McCall, and his on and off girlfriend, Allison Argent, how her sixteen birthday had come and gone with nothing and they were now in a constant state of flux regarding their relationship status. Scott was convinced they were meant to be, while Allison wasn't so sure and didn't wanna chance falling for someone she wasn't supposed to.

Little late for that, in Stiles' opinion.

Yet Allison was fighting it, was determined to wait until it was one-hundred percent certain between the two of them. Stiles had fielded countless phone calls from both of them—her second-guessing her decision and Scott coming up with ridiculous plans to change her mind—had spent several evenings swiping bottles from his dad's collection of wolfsbane-infused potent potables, had even gone so far as to recruit his twin brother, Stuart, for more help in dealing with the couple.

Not that Stu helped much. The dick would roll his eyes and comment on how all of it was bullshit, never lifting his glasses-covered eyes from his laptop and/or cell phone. Stiles loved his twin to death, but the guy could be a real cynical prick.

Whatever. Didn't matter how Stu felt about it, because he was wrong—for once. Stiles'd had a Mate Dream and it was beautiful and amazing and the most erotic experience of his life. Not that that was really saying much, considering his experience with anything remotely erotic was detailed fanfics online and porn he had stashed away in secret files on his laptop. Really, the closest he'd ever gotten to anything sexual was a heated make-out session with a drunken elementary school friend at her recent sweet sixteen. Granted it wasn't the petite female he'd been hoping to get a grope on with in a wine cellar—or anywhere for that matter—but Lydia Martin's own sixteenth had come and gone with a Dream of some mystery guy she refused to discuss further. According to Allison, Lydia was waiting until she was at least in college before seeking him out, determined not to let any more boy drama get in the way of her academics.

Made sense considering how all of sophomore year had been the Lydia and Jackson Drama Show, back and forth snarking and sneers at the lunch table as they tried to undercut one another and prove to the world they were over the other person by coming up with the most passive-aggressively biting remark about their ex. Everyone had expected a big reunion the day after Lydia turned sixteen, but no such thing happened. At the end of the year—and after Jackson's sixteenth—he'd announced he wouldn't be returning to Beacon Hills High and so far that summer, the only person who'd heard from him was Danny, who refused to give up his best friend's new location.

Rumor had it, it was a psych home, considering how the guy had practically had a meltdown after being roused from a nap in Econ and how he'd been slowly withdrawing from everyone. Wherever he went, it was good riddance in Stiles' eyes. The douche had been making Stiles' life miserable for...well, for pretty much all of it. His status as an omega and his crush on Lydia had apparently made him fair game for bullying and being picked on by the alpha jerk.

Because the heartbreak that'd come when Lydia had Dreamed on her sixteenth birthday—which had obviously come before Stiles' and meant Stiles wasn't her Mate—wasn't bad enough.

Whatever on that, too, really. 'Cause his Mate was better than Lydia Martin—a thought that he never thought he'd think, or something—was bigger and stronger and better and...male...Which, okay, cool. Stiles had been aware of his preference for both genders for a while now, so having a male Mate wasn't a big deal. And he most definitely wouldn't have any issues with being with a guy for the rest of his life, not if the Dream was anything close to reality. Being pinned down by a broad frame, muscles pressed against his back, a strong, smooth chin rubbing against his own, hard cock driving inside him as a thick knot stretched his rim even further and...

And then he'd woken up. Because in Dreams, you were never fully knotted and you never got to actually come. You woke up right before that, mid-orgasm, painting your boxer-briefs as you gasped for air and pressed your hips—and consequently your hard cock—into your mattress so hard you weren't entirely sure you hadn't hurt something.

Or at least that's how it'd been for Stiles.

After regaining a regular breathing pattern and heart rate, after coming down from his high, after smiling stupidly at the ceiling over what was most likely the best orgasm of his life—and he'd had quite a few good ones, considering his proficiency with both his right and his left hands—for a good ten minutes, it had finally sunk in. Stiles had had a Dream, had a Mate, was gonna be Mated and start a family and have incredible sex for the rest of his life with a super hot, super awesome guy.

And Stuart could fucking suck it.

That realization in mind, he'd taken off running out his room, slamming into the wall across from his door and nearly knocking down an old family photo from when he and Stu were six and their mom was still alive. He set it right, hovered his hands near it to make sure it didn't fall, then turned to the left and scurried down to his twin's room.

Stu's bedroom door still featured the "Go Away" sign he'd made when they were eight and he was feeling particularly cranky, along with a homemade wood plaque their mom had painted with his name on it. Stiles' had his birth name on it, meaning it was no longer on his door but stashed in a box in his closet. He brought it out on occasion, usually the anniversary of their mom's death, when he was feeling nostalgic and wanted a small piece of her close. Stuart clearly had no issues keeping his out in the open, but that was most likely due to the fact that his name was actually pronounceable. He mentally cursed his mom's decision to name her twins after their grandfathers and the fact that he was named after his maternal one, a man who'd had an extremely Polish name that literally couldn't be spoken by any normal tongues.

Shaking his head, he got rid of the mental tangent and raised his fist, ready to pound on the door. Only for the action to be rendered unnecessary by the door opening and revealing his brother. Stuart cocked an eyebrow over his thick rimmed glasses, torso covered by a faded gray graphic tee and blue cardigan, legs shoved into black skinny jeans, matching beanie covering his messy mop of brown hair. Stiles subconsciously rubbed a hand over his buzzcut, absently wondering if he should grow his own hair out before shoving that thought aside. The hair was sometimes the only way people could tell them apart, despite the fact that he had more moles than his brother, his nose was slightly more upturned, his face was more towards an oval shape while his brother's was rounder, and his fingers were longer. But whatever. Wasn't like anyone paid that much attention towards him—at least not physically—so it was highly unlikely that anyone would be able to actually tell them apart, especially in baby photos when they had the exact same haircut and their mom insisted on dressing them in matching outfits.

Except for Scott. He could always tell them apart, but that was most likely due to the fact that Stiles had known the guy since they were five.

Lowering his hand, Stiles waved pathetically at his twin, opening his mouth for a greeting, only to get sidetrack as his eyes came across what was in the elder's hand. He felt his brow draw into a puzzled frown, fingers curling up as he pointed at the X-Men mug and the steam swirling into the air above it. Man, he must've been really out of it to not have noticed the scent of freshly brewed coffee that was currently punching him in the face and reminding him that he was incredibly caffeine deprived at that moment.

Then again, waking up mid-mind-blowing-orgasm could seriously mess with a guy's head. No wonder he felt so fucking out of it.

"Coffee?" he asked, voice a mix of confused and offended due to the fact that he didn't have a mug of the hot stuff of his own.

Stuart rolled his eyes in an achingly familiar way, stepping back as he shook his head at his brother's idiocy. "Too early for whiskey," he deadpanned as he turned and walked further into his room, a wordless invite for Stiles to enter, too.

The younger twin took the hint, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. He watched as Stuart flopped down on the rolling chair by his desk, heaving a sigh as he placed his mug on the black wood, fingers rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Why would you be drinking whiskey at eight am?" Stiles questioned, confusion growing.

A head shake was the only response he got, watching as Stuart reached over and closed the lid of his already booted up laptop. Not surprising the device was already up and running. Guy probably turned it on as soon as he'd shoved his glasses on his face. Fucking technology nerd.

He dropped his hands onto his lap as he slumped in his chair, legs spread as far as his pants will allow, posture godawful really, giving Stiles a completely unimpressed look. "Any particular reason why you came in here smelling like come and desperation?" he snarked, eyebrow cocked once more. "Seriously. You could've at least showered before infecting my room with that sorta shit."

Stiles felt his face heat up as he meandered his way over to his brother's bed, slowly sinking down on the end of it. "Yeeeah," he stretched the word out, rubbing at the back of his neck. Not his greatest plan really. But he'd just been so damn excited over the fact that he'd actually had a Dream that he got in too much of a hurry to share the news. Meaning it slipped his mind that he most likely reeked of his own come and slick and that it wasn't exactly something his brother would wanna smell on him. God knew Stiles cringed every time he caught those scents on Scott after he'd been hanging out with Allison. He couldn't imagine how bad it would be on his twin.

Stuart's second eyebrow raised, head tilting down slightly in an expectant manner as he awaited a further explanation. Which Stiles didn't have. Other than "whoops! My bad, bro", but he wasn't gonna say that. He'd get yet another eyeroll for his trouble.

Stiles dropped his own hand onto his lap, letting it slap against his pajama covered thigh with a loud smack before gesturing to his twin helplessly. "I, uh. I Dreamed."

The elder twin snorted, folding his arms over his chest as he began to slowly swivel back and forth. "Yeah. Most people do that when they sleep at night. It's part of an average person's sleep cycle."

He narrowed whiskey eyes, not appreciating the snark that was a Stilinski family trait really. Wasn't like he didn't give as good as he got, but sometimes it could be super annoying. Like at that moment, when Stuart clearly freaking knew what Stiles meant, but was being a total shit about it for no reason other than the fact that he could.

"No, jackass," Stiles replied flatly, giving his twin a hard look. "I meant, I Dreamed."

Stuart nodded slowly once, still swiveling, shrugging his shoulders. His scent shifted to something uncomfortable, eyes roaming around the room before settling on his brother once more. "Okay. And?" He shrugged again, shaking his head to show that he didn't see the point of that being shared.

"And," Stiles continued, knee bouncing up and down, chewing on a thumbnail as he thought it over. Really, he kinda figured his brother would be happy for him. They'd often stayed up at night talking about what it would be like to Dream, about how excited they were to figure out who their Mate was. Despite Stuart's recent cynicism towards the whole thing, he still would smell just a tiny bit eager about it, like he was looking forward to it himself. And pretty much everyone in their circle of friends knew Stiles was fucking stoked about it. He'd talked non-stop about it for the past year or so, had given countdowns with increasing frequency about how close he was to turning sixteen and how badly he wanted to know who his Mate was and how badly he hoped he'd have a Dream.

And now that he'd actually had one and had an idea over who his Mate was—big, muscular, male, chiseled jaw and fantastic abs—his brother just couldn't give any less of a fuck.

Nice.

"And I'm actually really fucking excited about it," Stiles shared, features arranging into a slight scowl of sorts as he pegged his twin with a hard look. The "you asshole" went unsaid, but given their own unspoken way of communicating, he was pretty sure Stu picked up on it. "Just thought you'd wanna fucking know."

The elder twin actually had the decency to smell ashamed, looking away momentarily as he pressed his lips into a hard line. He fiddled with his beanie—despite it still being perfectly placed, brown tufts of hair sticking out the front—and rolled his shoulders before turning back to Stiles, sighing so quietly it was almost inaudible. "Sorry. I'm happy for you. Really," he stated genuinely, small smile tugging up the corner of his lips before disappearing again. Twisting slightly, he grabbed his mug off the desk, blowing on it as he brought it to his mouth. "I still say the whole thing is bullshit though."

It was Stiles' turn to roll his eyes, sighing as he hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "You could at least pretend to give a shit, Stu," he murmured, dropping his hands between his knees.

"Why? Think I've made it pretty clear that the whole Mate thing is bullshit and that some Dream doesn't determine your fate and the fact that people actually buy into all that just proves that the entire world is comprised of naïve and gullible morons."

A snort rocked his body, eyes rolling again. "Guess I'm a moron then," he pointed out, raising his head to look at his twin, who was pointedly staring down at his mug as he held it on his right thigh. "Guess Dad's a moron, Mom was a moron. Scott and Allison, Lydia, Danny, practically everyone we know." His eyes narrowed into a hard glare as offense colored his scent, jaw tightening as his teeth ground.

It was one thing to not believe in it, that was fine, that was cool. Everyone had their own opinions about everything and the idea of Mates and Dreams and whether or not people are fated to be together was one of those controversial things that tended to split people. But to call those who believed "morons" was too much. Especially considering the fact that he lumped Lydia in there, a female with the highest IQ Stiles had heard of outside of Einstein and was on the fast track to not only graduate early, but as valedictorian. And Stiles himself was no slouch academically, was third in class behind her and Stuart. So to be called an idiot solely for thinking and feeling a certain way was not only incredibly inaccurate, but also nonsensical. And hurtful, too, considering it was his twin calling him that.

Prick.

Stuart just shrugged, still staring down at his coffee, though not seeming to actually see it. His scent was all over the place and Stiles had a hard time trying to decipher it, to pick through all the layers and take apart individual notes in the chemosignals. Upset, discomfort, an overwhelming desire to just not talk about it. Which, okay, he probably didn't wanna discuss the whole Dream thing further, given his lack of interest and his apparent belief that it was "bullshit", but still. There shouldn't have been all those other scents with it, his brother shouldn't have seemed so distant and detached.

Because he was. His brown eyes were glazed over, far away, like he was lost in thought and unable to find his way back. If he even wanted to find it at any rate. It made Stiles wonder what the hell had happened, why his brother had gone to bed with a small hint of hope and anticipation after Stiles had wished him a suggestive "sweet dreams", only to wake up feeling so hopeless and uncaring and upset.

Unless...

"Stu?" he began, scooting forward on the bed as he bent over his legs, elbows resting on his knees as his hands clasped together. "Did. Did you not Dream?" he asked cautiously, slowly, pausing to lick his lips before continuing. "Because that might not mean that you don't have a Mate. You might just be older than them. You can't give up hope just yet, it's not over, it's gonna—"

"Stiles," his brother breathed out, closing his eyes before rubbing his fingers over the lids under his glasses. His body was taught, rigid, and his scent gave off wave after wave of just being so done with it all. Another familiar thing about his twin really, and Stiles was sure he wore that same scent on occasion as well. Just not as often, since he was well-aware of his position as the more annoying twin.

"Look," Stu began, lowering his hand and gesturing helplessly, mouth hanging open as he let out choked out noises that were most likely meant to be words. "I-I. Yeah. I didn't Dream. And it's fine, it's whatever. Not everyone gets a Mate and I might be one of them." He finally turned and looked at his twin, shrugging and shaking his head nonchalantly, dismissing the whole thing. "It's not a big deal."

Stiles swallowed hard, a lump in his throat created by his brother's words. He knew, just like everyone else, that not every person had a Mate. Some people just...Well, there was no real reason or explanation given. Dreams and Mates weren't a science, weren't something they could research and figure out. Hell, even after several centuries of research, there was still no explaining why they were able to shift into wolves, why the moon controlled them the way it did, why they were able to do all that they could. It was just accepted as magic and that was the end of it.

Soul Mate Dreams were the same thing. No rhyme or reason for it. There were theories, sure, that Mates ensured the strongest genes continued, that alphas didn't end up with alphas and tore one another apart, that omegas didn't wind up with omegas and were unable to survive harsh winters and bad hunting seasons back in olden times. And while the latter part of that made sense, the strong gene thing wasn't something Stiles could understand, considering the fact that same sex Mates existed and that males couldn't procreate with males and females couldn't procreate with females.

He figured it had to do with balance, making sure that people weren't too much in the red. Omegas had someone to provide for them and protect them, alphas had someone to calm them down and make sure they didn't become too aggressive or feral. It was about finding your other half and completing yourself, about finding that person who would make you better and help you become the best version of yourself that you could possibly be.

Didn't explain why some people didn't get Mates or have the Dreams, but he figured that had more to do with the person themselves. Maybe they were perfect enough on their own, were fully independent and could support themselves—made sense since most Dream-less people tended to be betas, who weren't aggressive like alphas or weak like omegas—and didn't need someone to help complete them or whatever.

Some theories stated that those people did in fact have a Mate, but something happened to them before they become of age, therefore rendering the Dreams unnecessary and just making them a sort of torture that would slowly drive the wolf mad. Stiles didn't like to think of that idea though. It was too damn depressing.

His eyes roamed his brother, noted the way his head hung as he stared at his coffee once more, the way his thumb was absently rubbing the top of his mug, the way his free hand was wringing the back of his neck. There was no way Stuart was one of those who didn't have a Mate. For starters, he was an omega like Stiles, and while it was an insult to his own dynamic and Stiles hated admitting it, they needed someone to take care of them. Secondly, the guy was too good. He was the better looking twin, the smarter one, the one with everything going for him, the one with the bright future and the entire world laid at his feet. The fact that he wouldn't be able to share that with someone was just...it was bullshit. Unfathomable. Stuart could give so much to someone and there was no way fate wouldn't give that to him.

Unless the theory over deceased Mates was true.

No. It was just that Stuart was older than his Mate, that was all. And if Stuart didn't believe that, then fine. Stiles would believe it enough for the two of them, then take full advantage in the future to do his "I fucking told you so" dance and shove it in his twin's face.

"Stu—"

"Don't," the elder twin interrupted, eyes closing tight again. "We had a good birthday yesterday, we got Mom's old Jeep, we had fun with our friends, and I really just don't wanna talk about this anymore." He reopened his eyes, locking the chocolate orbs on his twin, his scent desperate and his eyes pleading with him. "I really am happy that you had a Dream. I know how much it means to you and how worried you'd been that you'd wind up as one of those Dream-less people, so in that aspect, I'm thrilled. I'm just done discussing my possibly being one of them, all right?"

Stiles nodded his head, helpless to do anything but go along with his brother's wishes. Not when he was smelling so done and begging for the topic to be over. "Sure," he murmured, weak smile tugging up the corner of his lips. "Whatever you want."

A pathetic mimicry of a smile ghosted on Stuart's face as he let out a low "thanks" before draining the rest of his coffee and rising to his feet. "For now, how 'bout we just go get some breakfast and you can ramble about your Dream, yeah?"

The younger twin lit up at that, full smile on his face as flashes came back to him. But as excited as he was to share everything, part of him really didn't want to. It felt too private, too personal, too intimate. It felt like it should be kept to himself, this little thing he could horde away from everyone else, his and only his. Being a twin meant growing up sharing everything: a room, toys, bathtime, parents' attention, a name—considering how a majority of people just called them 'The Stilinski Twins' rather than learning how to actually tell them apart. But this? This Dream, this was all his, one-hundred percent, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Plus it felt wrong to brag and to share all those details with his brother who was so far Dream-less. It was like shoving it in his face that he was better somehow—although Stu never really stopped himself from boasting or flaunting his own accomplishments—and reminding him of his upset. Pretty messed up in Stiles' opinion and as much as he could be an ass—especially to his twin, which really was his prerogative and his job as a sibling—he wasn't that much of a dick.

Then again, he was dying to say something about it and he had technically been given permission to do so. It wouldn't hurt to share some aspects of it, just keep the more personal details to himself.

Mind made up, he rose to his feet, adjusting his sleep tee around his waist, grin forming on his face. His heart rate sped up and butterflies formed in his tummy as he remembered his Dream, as flashes came back to him once more. He ducked his head slightly, rubbing the back of his head shyly, breathing out a small laugh.

"Well," he began, biting his bottom lip before continuing. "He's an alpha."

Stuart snorted, rolling his eyes as he snatched up his phone and stepped over to his door. "Shocker. The male omega has a male alpha for a Mate," he sarcastically commented, getting a shove in the back in response.

"See if I share anything else with you, you prick," Stiles replied as he followed his twin out the door and down the hall.

"Oh no," the elder continued with the sarcasm, waving his hands about while descending the stairs. "I'm never gonna hear about your Dream sex and get details over all the boning you're having while you're asleep." He put a hand to his chest, leaning over like he was hurt. "Crushed."

Stiles huffed as he clomped behind his brother, rolling his eyes and wondering why the hell he'd been stuck with a douche for a twin. A phantom torso pressed against his back, a glimmer of what he'd Dreamed, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe he'd get lucky and his Mate was super nice, super fun, super supportive, and not a cynical asshole who constantly had to downplay every exciting thing that happened to him.

Maybe.

His eyes flicked to the back of his twin's beanie covered head, chest constricting in sympathy at his less than desirable fate. Maybe they'd both get lucky and get those happily ever afters everyone wanted. Not likely to happen, but if Stiles had to choose, he'd give up his Mate in order for Stuart to get his and have his own fairy tale ending. Despite the lack of Dream for Stu the night before, it honestly seemed more likely that he'd have a happy ending than Stiles would.