Chapter Text
Everyone has their secrets, even the ones you think you know everything about. Cause when words aren't enough and your alone in the dark, one has to find other ways of working through the thoughts in their head.
Stiles though was an exception to the rule...
Or so the pack believed.
More often than not Stiles can be found with someone in the pack either helping them through a problem or researching the pack's latest issue. He was a guy who ran his mouth when he was nervous and used sarcasm to fill the silent void. His face an open book that betrayed thoughts and emotions that at times he wishes he could keep secret. Yet when he had something to say, those were the times he would often hold his tongue.
Nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. If there was one thing Stiles was terrified of it was silence. Stiles would fidget restlessly when a room grew too quiet, fingers drumming on any surface available. His leg would bounce against the floor, or he’d start humming. Anything to fill the void and keep his mind from wandering down a dark path in desperate attempts drown out incessant voices in his head. Silence that left his hands empty and his thoughts spiralling never ended well and it was a sensation he’d hated since he was a kid.
His mother, before everything, had been a fan of art and would take a younger Stiles to art studios, exhibitions, and museums. There he would explore the way art made him feel and the stories it told as his mother would ramble on about the history of each piece and the artist.
"Each piece tells a story, Mischief," she would say. "You just have to know how to listen."
And he guessed that at some point all those things collided in a way to help him cope. Something to keep close, that he could use to occupy his hands, his thoughts and stay connected to his mother. Something that belonged to him and him alone.
...
He'd been thirteen years old the first time anyone found out about the secret works he poured his heart and soul into. The Sheriff had gotten a call from the school stating that Stiles had left his homework at home. While scouring through his son's room he stumbled upon some sketchbooks hidden behind his son's pillow. What he expected he'd find, he didn't know. Maybe some ridiculous half-written conspiracy theory. Or a rant on why the star Regulus was better than the Alpha Centauri. Even some elaborate plan involving Scott and Stiles sneaking into a place no thirteen year olds had any business being.
Instead, what he found were detailed sketches and paintings of plants from the park, of the dogs who lived on the street, of buildings around town - the hospital, the station, even the school, and townspeople to. All the Sheriff could do was sit down and stare, absorbing the way his son manages to capture such strong emotion and lacing in his own. The way Stiles took pencils, ink and paint turning it into a mirror of the world around them, projecting every detail so perfectly it could be a real image.
It was a good half hour before he remembered why he'd gone in his son's room in the first place. He closed the book, putting it back where he found it and made quick work of locating his son's homework.
Neither had said much at the time, both wondering if the other knew. But when Stiles came forward a week later nervously handing over a pamphlet for a gallery two towns over, they got their answer. The Sheriff's eyes softened with understanding, as he ruffled Stiles’s hair. Watching amusedly as the boy tried to squirm away as he whispered, 'You're good, kid.' It wasn't much but Stiles knew his dad was proud, especially when he heard him calling in sick that weekend.
...
'You're good, kid.'
Even after all this time the words still echoed in his head. The way his father had smiled at the hesitantly given pamphlet, how he truly saw the detail and the potential in his son’s work.
“You have a gift, Stiles,” his father said. “Don’t let anyone take it from you or tell you otherwise.”
The Sheriff understood that art was a way for Stiles to ground himself and he would leave new sketchpads, and pencils and paints on his bed for Stiles to find.
That's why when, at fifteen years of age, he decided to pursue this further. When he started looking into submitting pieces to galleries under a pseudonym, his father was the only one he told. It wasn't easy and took some time but eventually 'Kazanski Gajos' began getting some traction and galleries started displaying his work.
Since then, the Sheriff, dressed to his best, made sure to rearrange his shifts to attend every exhibition or showing. After all, why would he pass up an opportunity to take pride in his son's work and beam as other admired it to.
Stiles had sold his first piece when he was sixteen. The decision to keep his art a secret weighed on him heavily, but he couldn't bear the thought of his passion being tainted by the chaos of his life. He was glad that someone else could find the same sort of escape in his art. When he finally handed his dad an envelope stuffed with cash a week later, explaining that someone had paid a few grand for one of his paintings, he stood waiting for his father's reaction with bated breath. The Sheriff's eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, Stiles feared that he had misjudged his reaction and made a mistake. But the Sheriff simply stepped forward, pulling his son in a tight embrace.
Stiles should have known, honestly, that with the growing attention his work was getting that someone he knew was going to find out.
He just never expected who.
...
Danny had found out by complete accident.
So, when a friend called to tell him about an exhibition by some up-and-coming artist whose work was 'insanely good,' he agreed to go. As he entered the gallery, the gentle hum of conversations and the soft lighting created a serene atmosphere, a stark contrast to the chaos of Beacon Hills. He welcomed the calm with open arms, taking his time to appreciate each piece of art he passed by.
He passed by portraits, and photography, statues and still life. From 16th century works to modern makes, he saw it all. It was then, an hour later, that he finally made his way over to the exhibition hall where the event was going on.
"Hey, you made it," his friend smiled. "Thought we would've had to send for a search party. You get lost on the way over?"
He shook his head. "Just taking the scenic route, that's all. So, who's this artist you so badly want me to see."
His friend, remembering why they were here launched into a full rant. About how the artist mainly does realism pieces varying from people and places to plants, animals and sometimes wildlife. She started going on about how you could feel the emotion behind each piece, the way it moved you, the way it would tell a story. And Danny couldn't help but be enthralled by her lecture.
"So, who is the artist?" He asked, following her further into the gallery. "I don't think you mentioned a name."
She turned to him with a smile. "Kazanski Gajos."
Danny froze slightly.
Gajos.
Why was that name familiar?
...
He had to admit, when his friend had spoken of the art, it could never have prepared him for the real thing. He recognised it as the Preserve done as a nightscape and he could feel as air escaped him. It was striking how vivid and detailed the landscape was, almost like it was reaching out to draw you in. It powerful, and Danny could feel the way it screamed for hope, of safety and peace. How it felt like a place to escape the chaos.
The emotion was intense like someone's soul laid out bare and raw for all to see. Danny stood there a long time before pulling out his phone wanting to capture the piece in case, he never sees it again.
"Danny," a voice spoke from beside him. "It's been a while, how have you been, how's school?"
The Sheriff.
Gajos.
The Sheriff had married a woman named Claudia. Before their union, she had been Gajos, Claudia Gajos. That meant that...
"It's been good, Mr Stilinski. Life's been good."
He paused, trying to work out what to say. Not quite wanting the silence to hang there so awkwardly in the open. Thankfully, the sheriff did that for him.
"Good, good. That's good... You, uhh, have the night off?"
"I did," Danny replied, glad to have something he could expand on with all their small talk.
"Friend of mine called, saying I had to check out this exhibition. I have to say her description does not compare to the real thing.”
He waits a beat before asking "...is Stiles..."
"He's around." The Sheriff nodded, understanding what Danny was asking. They went back to observing the works, absolutely enamoured by them till Stiles came crashing in.
...
"Dad...Dad...they got cookies here. Can I... Oh, hey Danny. Can I have a ten to get a cookie." Danny couldn't help but stifle a laugh at that.
The sheriff seemed to have an amused smile of his own at that. "What happened to your wallet?"
"Well, you see..." The sheriff rolled his eyes and stopped him before he could continue.
"Nevermind, I don't want to know." He stopped, then added on as an afterthought, "Why don't you take Danny with you, so that I know you're staying out of trouble."
That seemed to be when it truly he Stiles that Danny was there in front of him.
"Danny? What are you doing here?!" Stiles yelled exasperatedly, drawing attention from a few nearby.
Danny chuckled, before heading off towards the refreshment stand. "Same thing you are, I believe."
"Oh," His eye’s widened with panic. "So then... anything particularly catch your eye."
Danny raised an eyebrow at his quick recovery. He could tell that Stiles was fishing for something particular and thought for a moment about what to say.
"There's this one artist actually.” Danny spoke, as he paid for his food. “I have to say, his work is amazing."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, and there's this one piece that is just so... breathtaking." He paused, letting it hang there in the air, though they both knew what he meant. "It's a nightscape, of the Preserve and it's just so powerful. So…moving."
Stiles seemed to perk up at that, paying more attention to Danny's words than the cookie he just bought.
"I just have one question, though?"
"Yeah?" Stiles tilted his head curious where Danny was going with this.
"How long have you been moonlighting as an art prodigy?”
Stiles froze, nearly choking on his cookie.His mind raced.
How did Danny know?
How had he worked it out?
Was it something he did that gave it away?
Instead of going the logical route and asking, he fumbled through a lie.
“I—what? Moonlighting? Prodigy? What are you—who said I was—?”
Danny raised an eyebrow challengingly before opening his phone to the photo of the Preserve painting.
"Dude, that's you."
"No, it’s-I..."
Danny put a hand on Stiles’s shoulder and watched as he crumbled in defeat.
"How did you know?"
Danny paused, thinking over the right words to say.
"Gajos. That was your mother's maiden name, wasn't it? That, and the fact your father has been hanging around that section the whole night, not even looking at other people art. From there it was simply piecing it together."
Stiles stared at him a long time that for a moment there, Danny wondered if he'd broken the boy. Eventually he sighed and let his shoulders slump in defeat.
"Damn it. I was doing so well."
Danny smiled slyly. "So, you are the artist then."
"Yeah, but I'd prefer if you kept quiet about it," he admitted. "I'd rather the others don't know."
"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Danny frowned. "You know the pack wouldn't mind."
"It's just that...it's mine." He speaks after a moment, trying to put it into words that will help make Danny understand the importance. "It's something that keeps me grounded and that isn't tainted by whatever new mess rolls into town each week. Everything else always results in life-threatening situation with werewolves and magic and all sorts of other crazy situations. Art is the one thing that they can't take from me; it's the one thing that's normal that can't take or taint."
He feels the way Danny studies him for a moment, like his life depends on it only for Danny to nod a moment later.
"Alright, your secret's safe with me."
Stiles blinked once, then twice. "Seriously? No threats or interrogation? No blackmail or extortion?"
"Nah, that's more your thing then mine." Danny smirked. "I do expect an invite to your next exhibition though, cause your stuff is amazing."
Stiles tried to fake annoyance but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he groaned. "Ok, fine. But if word gets back to the pack and they find out, I'm blaming you."
Danny just laughed as they walked through the exhibits.
And if he received the painting of the Preserve all framed and wrapped a few months late, well no one had to know. As he stared at where it hung, he could see the way the strokes seemed to blend and move almost mirroring the way he talked. One thing crashing seamlessly into the next. A beautiful chaos.
...
This is the first part of a collection of Stiles secret talent one-shots where the pack don't know about the things Stiles can do. I hope you enjoy. Let me know if you have any feedback as I am always looking to improve my work. If you have any request, leave them in the comments and I will try to get round to it if I can.
- SarcasticFox250