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At a certain point, Stiles was going to have to stop getting kidnapped. It was getting to be cumbersome. And the pack never let him forget it. In the best way possible. Being one of two humans in the group did have its advantages. But it also came with certain drawbacks.
Chief among these drawbacks is that he was always targeted first. No one in their right minds willfully went after a werewolf. Not without some serious back up and a one hell of an arsenal. Kira was a right royal badass with a sword. And Lydia could strip the paint of a wall with her scream.
That left little old Stiles. 147lb of sheer awesomeness with a bat and an attitude to match. At one point in their monster of the week game, he extorted Chris into teaching him how to use a gun. Well, more so than he already knew. Being a cop’s kid meant he had the gun safety lecture from the time he could walk. He was hesitant at first. But he reminded the man of how he trained his own daughter with a bow.
The objection from the pack was unanimous and rather vocal. Derek, the most of all. They had their differences in the past. Arguing and shouting. Even nearly coming to blows more than a few times. Mostly over Derek’s martyr complex. And the instance that he could do everything himself and didn’t need anyone else.
And more than a few times, Stiles told him to shove it up his self-righteous alpha ass. They had an unusual dynamic that made sense to no one. But somehow still worked. Even more so when they became a couple. Which as a shock only to them. Apparently bets had been made on when they’d finally end up together.
It had been after yet another fight. This time it was harpies. Fucking harpies. Foul, ill-tempered creatures that didn’t take kindly to any other living creature. Except, they really liked cats for some reason. For eating that is.
It was just another sunny day in Beacon Hills. And one that ended with Stiles having three very painful slash marks in his back. Harpies talons were a bitch. And they stung like one too. The bleeding wasn’t all that bad. But when the pack smelled it on the air, they went berserk. Clawing and slashing and biting with an unrestrained fury.
Which is how Derek ended up with his stomach torn open. Intestines nearly spilling out. It’s also when Stiles learned that he was one hell of a shot when under pressure. He landed the bullet right between the eyes of the big one. Her body falling to the ground in a lifeless heap.
It distracted the others long enough for the rest of the pack to quite literally, rip them in two. When it was said and done, the blood had been washed away. Things weren’t any better. Stiles was still pissed at Derek’s complete lack of concern for himself. That he was only acting like an alpha in name.
When he stormed into the loft, Cora hopped from where she was seated. Trailing outside with a word to either of them. Peter smirked and wished Derek luck. Patting him on the shoulder as he left. It was his usual style. Always consistently an asshole that one.
When they were finally alone, Stiles didn’t bother wasting time. He ripped into the alpha with every harsh word he had at his disposal. And there were plenty. It went on for well over ten minutes. And Derek said nothing the entire time.
When he was finished, Stiles was winded. Face flushed in anger. Body heaving with each breath his took. It had been a while since he’d so angry that he’d almost cried. When the fury consumed every cell of his being. Derek seemed to be able to bring about that in him. A lot.
But there were other things. Better things. Like when he bought pizza for everyone when they crowded his loft. Despite have inviting none of them. How he fought to protect everyone whenever and wherever. How he always made time to listen. Even if it didn’t seem like he cared.
When the anger dulled, and the stinging in his eyes stopped, that’s when he realized. And that was that. One royal grade bitching out, and some making up. And then it was making out. Derek was rather fond of that. Which Stiles approved of immensely.
Despite the eyebrows. And the brooding. And the leather. Derek, the sulking little bastard, was rather affectionate. There was never a moment where he wasn’t touching Stiles. In one form or another. They always sat next together at pack meetings. Sometimes with their knees touching. Others, pressed against each other. Sharing the warm of each other’s bodies.
It was strange. But it wasn’t. Stiles had never really considered himself to be into dudes. After all, he had been pining after the same girl since the 3rd grade. But he and Derek fit into each other’s lives better than any other couple in the pack. Though, like every relationship, they had their issues.
It started when the first kid disappeared. Of all the weird, random shit that had trailed through Beacon Hills, none had ever targeted children. This one did. Nothing out of the ordinary seem to stick out. At least, to the untrained eye. But being a cop’s son, Stiles knew better.
Firstly, there was no forced entry. The front and back doors had both been locked shut. And there was no signs of tampering around the keyhole. None of the windows had been smashed or broken in any way. Which basically meant that someone took the kid by somehow phasing through the walls.
Stiles had learned quite a bit about magic over the years. Being possessed by thousand year old demon fox tended to broaden one’s perspective of the world. And that meant that Deaton actually was informative for once in his godforsaken life.
While there was no spell or trick that would allow a person to become intangible. There were plenty that allowed them to enter someone’s home without being detected. If the locks weren’t warded, which they weren’t, it was relatively easy and straightforward.
The circle of people who knew what really happened in Beacon Hills was small. To say the least. There was no way that these people had any idea to protect themselves from supernatural threats. Which lead Stiles to a simple conclusion. Witches.
He fucking hated them. Every single coven they had ever come across were complete and utter assholes. Always worshiping some ancient god. Killing things and cursing people. Usually out of revenge. Or for some weird power thing.
But none of them had ever harmed children. It was usually one of the pack. Or some random adult. Never kids. That’s what made this particular case so damn terrifying. The stakes were higher than ever. And it was only the beginning.
The second kid vanished not long after the first. With no connection between the two. Different neighborhoods on the opposite side of town. Different social backgrounds. Different ages. There was no detail that connected them in any way. The same was true for the third.
By that time, the entire pack was on edge. They hadn’t found any trace of the witches that committed the kidnappings. No scent. No trails. Nothing. Whoever they were, they certainly knew what they were doing. Which made things all the more difficult.
Derek set up a series of patrols. Coordinating with the sheriff and Chris. They kept each other informed. Making sure there was no break in communication. Chris had brought in a few trusted people. Hunters turned mercenaries. They didn’t really care that they were working with werewolves.
The money was good. And kids were missing. In the end, they would get to shoot some bad guys and have a hell of a payday. The sheriff had a tougher time. The only one in the department they had on their side was Parrish. Being a hellhound had its upside. But tracking witches didn’t seem to be one of them.
They had limited forces and limited manpower. And a set number of days before the next child vanished. Time was short. They needed a break. But the universe liked to play its game. With one wicked sense of humor. This go round was no exception.
When the Impala showed up in town, no one knew who it was. Chris had no information. Nor did any of the mercenaries. It was a complete and total mystery. The plates on it came back forged. Which meant nothing good. The same could be said for the three guys that came with it.
The first one was most likely the offspring of frost giants or some shit. Given how tall he was. Seriously. He towered over the other two. Mid-thirties by the looks of it. Floppy hair messed about his face. Basically what Scott would be like in ten years without the height.
The next one was slightly shorter. With closely cropped hair and a fetish for leather. Much like their own resident alpha. Except this dude really, really loved cheeseburgers. If the many times he ate at Mal’s Diner was any indication.
The last one was the one that concerned Stiles the most. Anyone who wears a trench coat during a Californian summer is no one to be trusted. Not in the least. That, and there was something off about him. Something that didn’t quite click.
He didn’t have an explanation. But the dude wasn’t human. Not quite. There was a current of power there that didn’t make sense. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Needless to say, they all stayed on the lookout.
None of the pack went anywhere alone. Always moving in at least pairs. Humans included. Which annoyed Stiles no to possible end. Despite how far they had come in their relationship, Derek was still the overprotective asshole he’d always been. This instance was no exception.
In hindsight, he and the rest of the pack meant well. And Stiles was only going to get gas before going home. Which of course, according to every horror movie ever, was the worst idea. Baby had been running low and he needed to make sure that there was enough to keep up with tomorrow’s recon work.
And that’s how he ended up with the barrel of a Desert Eagle in his face. Having guns pointed at him was hardly anything knew or interesting. At this point, if there was some manner of firearm pointed at him at least once a month, things would’ve been boring.
Leather Fetish guy had a smirk across his face like he was the champion of the damn world. Stiles did his best to be reminded of a younger Derek. When he first became an alpha. And acted like a complete tool in the process. It also shed light that he found amusement in life threatening situations. Which didn’t say much for his mental health.
Tall and Trench Coat searched the Jeep finding Stiles’ bag of commodities. Mountain ash. Wolfsbane. Mistletoe. And of course, the very legally purchased nine millimeter. With specially made iron bullets. Filled with silver filings from a disused cross.
Leather Fetish seemed to get a kick out of that. As if he was impressed in some way. Which meant that these guys were definitely hunters. What kind remained to be seen. Had they been anything else, they would’ve killed him on sight. Or come close to it. Stiles was still holding his breath on the matter when leather fetish spoke.
“Impressive piece you have there. Standard, but nice. Know how to use it?” He asked.
“You want the shot to be in between your eyes or in your balls? Cause I’m good with either.”
Tall and Trench Coat gave each other a look. Leather Fetish just smirked even harder. Which kind of worked in Stiles’ favor. The more time he bought, the quicker the pack would realize something was wrong. His phone was in his pocket. Which meant that they wouldn’t find it unless they searched him.
If nothing else, Danny could track the GPS signal. So, there was at least that. They didn’t seem like the type of people who would kill him. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt him if information was what they were after.
“Alright kid, enough of the crap. Where’s your alpha?”
“Come again?” Stiles asked batting his eyelashes.
“Every pack of wolves we’ve come across has someone at the head. And it ain’t you.”
So, they knew about the pack. Which means they had been doing their own surveillance. That made things problematic. Unless he could find out just how much these guys knew, it would cause a lot of trouble. And they had enough shit to deal with.
They were hunters. That much was certain. And they didn’t play games. Sure, Leather Fetish got a kick out of it. But Stiles held little doubt that he would be pistol whipped if he didn’t give an answer. But he also had to consider what he could give away.
Tall and Trench Coat seemed to be unconcerned with the fact that they were still out in the open. At least until Tall jerked his head to the side. Indicating that they should move on. He went to the Jeep and Trench coat hopped in the Impala which was parked near the back out of sight.
Stiles just knew he was going to be taken somewhere damp and gross smelling. There was no way these guys would do anything else. It was too much of a cliché. Leather Fetish kept the gun pointed at him at all times during the ride. Stiles didn’t bother to make a fuss.
It was two against one. Not to mention the gun pointed at him. Leather Fetish held it in a way that said he knew how to use it. And that he would. Stiles had little doubt of that. Of all the hunters he’d across during the years, all of them were willing to hurt humans.
Maybe not kill them. But they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to use Stiles to their advantage. That much he knew. He’d be bait for the rest of the pack. Making sure that they’d fall into some manner of a trap. Easy prey as it were.
The warehouse they arrive at is both predictable and annoying. It would take the pack a while to find him. The place was run down. Covered in the scent of chemicals, dust, and decaying foundations. The stench of which would make it difficult to follow him.
Tall even took the liberty of hiding the Jeep. Making sure that it was out of sight. Ensuring that they wouldn’t be able to spot it. They were definitely professionals. Which also meant that there could be more of them.
Hunters always had someone as backup. In one form or another. One didn’t get into the line of work without making connections. Even if those connections came with a price tag. Much like Chris’ mercenaries. But Stiles didn’t know how many these three had on standby.
That in of itself was just one of many problems he had to deal with at the moment. At least they didn’t tie him to a chair. He was just seated with the gun still pointed at him. Tall scanning the perimeter in the event that they were followed. Stiles knew they weren’t.
Derek would’ve charged the moment he saw Stiles being threatened. Leather Fetish would’ve been torn in half in the blink of an eye. The rest of the pack would’ve taken out Tall and Trench Coat. But that wasn’t going to be the case.
Now, the interrogation would begin in earnest. Perhaps he could get away with just a few bruises. Perhaps not. All he knew was that whatever he told them had to be limited. But not so much that it aroused suspicion. It was going to be a rather dangerous game to play.
“So what brings you to our lovely little town of Beacon Hills?” He asked.
“Three missing kids. No bodies. No trace. And one pack of werewolves. I think you can figure the rest out.”
“We don’t hurt kids. Actually, we’re kind of in the business of protecting them.” Stiles spat.
“Since when do mutts care about protecting kids?”
“Since this town has seen untold death and destruction over the last few years. It’s our home. We keep it as safe as we can.”
Leather Fetish seemed to pause at that. Almost like he was processing Stiles’ words. He seemed genuinely surprised that a pack of werewolves would go about protecting anyone. Tall and Trench Coat mirrored his sentiment. It wasn’t the first time Stiles had seen hunters surprised at the idea.
“Give us one reason we should believe anything you say.” Tall said plainly.
“First off, any hunter would know that werewolves gain nothing by kidnapping kids. They’re too young to turn and would only draw attention to us. Secondly, our alpha doesn’t turn people against their will. Third, there’s one group of entities that specialize in kidnapping kids.”
“Wait, you mean there are people who actually want to be a freak of nature?” Leather Fetish asked.
“Not the point right now. Think a little bit harder. Think about where we are. And why kids would go missing now.”
The three of them stepped off to the side and talked amongst themselves. Stiles knew that he wasn’t going to be able to escape. Even if he was faster, that didn’t mean Leather Fetish wouldn’t knee cap him with a few well-placed shots.
Trench Coat seemed to be the most amicable of the three. From what Stiles could glean from the conversation. Tall wasn’t far behind. Leather Fetish seemed damned and determined that Stiles and the pack were plotting something.
Tall made some kind of point. About the position of the moon or some shit. Stiles couldn’t tell. They were too far away with their backs turned to make out every word. Even in the spacious warehouse.
After a few minutes, the three of them returned. This time, Leather Fetish wasn’t pointing the gun at him. Stiles would take that as a win. At the very least, they had made some manner of progress. That was something.
“So, some introductions are in order. I’m Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam. And this is my friend Cas.” Leather Fetish said.
“Castiel.” Trench Coat amended.
“That’s an angelic name. You some kind of priest?” Stiles asked.
“No, he’s an actual angel. You’ll get used to the idea.” Dean said.
Well, that was…Interesting. Stiles had seen enough to know that there was a lot more in the world than he would even be capable of understanding. For Christ’s sake, he’d been possessed by a thousand year old chaotic fox demon.
His friends and boyfriend were all werewolves. Parish was a literal hound of hell. Hell, at this point, angels weren’t really that big of a surprise. That being said, he had nothing to fight against him with. And that wasn’t good.
Mountain ash was pretty much an all-purpose material. It hadn’t failed him yet. But he knew that angels weren’t cute little babies with feathery wings. They were warriors of heaven. Soldiers and fierce ones at that. Now he was certain that in a fight, he would lose. Without question.
It was obvious that this wasn’t the average group of hunters. That was plain to see. It also meant that they had to have some serious backup somewhere. Guys who rolled around with a literal angel didn’t step into things lightly. That just mean he had to be even more cautious than before.
“So you were saying that you knew who was responsible?” Castiel asked.
“Not exactly. All the signs point to witches. We’ve dealt with them in the past. But none have ever targeted kids. It’s usually us.”
“Any reason you can think of these ones would want kids?” Sam interjected.
“Magic comes in a variety of forms. And a lot of dark magic consists of sacrifice. Something young, and untainted. What better than a kid. They’ve yet to experience the world and become corrupted.”
“You sound like you know a lot about magic. You’re kid yourself.” Dean quipped.
Stiles had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something that he shouldn’t. It was a constant argument with his father. Granted, he was sixteen when this all started. With the werewolves and the hunters and the general madness of Beacon Hills.
But he was going on twenty now. He was older and wiser. With more than a few notches in his belt. That meant that he was more than qualified for this kind of thing. Even if these guys didn’t get that. Veterans of the business never did.
After going through everything that they did. After being possessed and setting those traps. Killing those people. Watching his friends run around. Panicking on a way to save him. All that fighting and blood and sleepless nights.
Yeah, he knew about magic. He knew plenty that whatever these kids were being used for wasn’t going to end with them coming back alive. He knew that they were going to die. And that they didn’t have a long to save them.
“Let’s cut the shit, and stop measuring our pricks. I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen. Seen more death than I care to. Watched my friends sliced open, shot, and beaten. Got possessed by a thousand year old fox demon. During which I indirectly killed over a dozen people through its antics.
My boyfriend is an alpha werewolf. My friends are too. The girl I used to love is a banshee. And her boyfriend is a hellhound. So yeah, I know about magic. Cause it’s a useful tool to have. And that includes having knowledge about spells I myself would never use. So, if you’re quite done, I’d like to make a phone call.”
Dean actually laughed. The bastard. Sam flinched back at the whole being possessed part. Castiel seemed unfazed. It was a genuinely infuriating set of reactions. But it was progress. If nothing else. Maybe now they could move forward. And get some actual work done.
“Sammy, go patrol the area. Make sure no one is around. Then we’ll arrange a drop off. Meet the alpha of this kid’s pack and go from there.”
“Uh, Dean. That might be a problem.” Sam said.
“Why’s that?”
“There’s an entire fleet of police cars outside.”
Dean rushed over to the window. Seeing now the lights that Stiles hadn’t noticed either. apparently, Danny had already gotten the jump and tracked his phone when he didn’t show back up to Derek’s loft.
“Hey, I just realized that I forgot to mention my name. Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. Son of the sheriff of Beacon Hills.”
This time, it was Stiles’ turn to have a shit eating grin plastered across his face. And damn, if it didn’t feel good. Well, if nothing else, these assholes would get to sit in jail for a few hours. And that made this whole shit show worth it.
***
It took several hours for everyone to calm down. Derek was, as a surprise to no one, the worst of the group. Stiles had to use every ounce of his willpower not to flip out on his overprotective boyfriend. At one point, he even considered trapping him in mountain ash until he calmed down.
In the end, Derek didn’t rip Dean’s head off. And the sheriff didn’t shoot him. Sam and Castiel surrendered immediately. Not wanting to cause any more trouble than they already had. Stiles let them sit, handcuffed, and in a jail cell for as long as he thought was funny.
During that time, he explained the situation and explicitly stated that he wasn’t harmed in any way. The pack still wasn’t pacified and wanted nothing more than to rip a few pieces off of his kidnappers.
He pointed out that this helped nothing. And would only distract them from what they needed to get done. Which was find the missing kids before the fourth was taken. That, and they didn’t know how many kids the witches planned to take before their ritual could commence.
When all the information was shared, and the initial shock of the situation over, Stiles grabbed the Dumbass Three and began laying down the groundwork. While they were at his house, Chris took the time to look into them. Making sure that they were all legit.
Sam seemed to be the brains of the group. He was efficient in research. Almost as good as Stiles. Which was going to be useful. They needed to find out how to track the kids without alerting the witches. That meant that locator spells were out of the mix. And it only muddled things further.
Derek spent the entire time glaring at Dean with red eyes. Doing his best not to rip the other man to pieces. Which was kind of hilarious in Stiles’ mind. Castiel was content to sit on the sidelines. Patiently waiting for some new information to pop up.
Sam focused on ways to find the kids. Stiles took the task of seeing how they were connected. That little piece that tied them all together. It’s what was going to be their biggest break. If he could only find it.
The first two didn’t even go the same school. And shared no social clubs with the third. There would be no reason for their parents to interact either. There was nothing in public records that they could see that put anywhere near the others.
After four hours, Stiles’ eyes were beginning to dry out. And there was a knot forming in his lower back from sitting too long. He was just about ready to give up when he found something interesting. Something that had the potential to crack their little kidnapping case wide open.
All three kids had visited the ER in Beacon Hills Hospital in the last three months. Always at night. General for some mild, domestic injury. The first one burned her hand on the stove. The second tripped while running in the house. The third got into fabric softener beads.
But they all had visited different days. And at different times. And had seen different doctors. So there wasn’t a connection other than the fact that they went to the same hospital. He was beginning to tread into illegal territory now. There was only so much hacking Danny could do before they got caught. That’s when he found it.
While the visits were on different days, with different doctors. All three kids had the same ER nurse check them in. Which meant she was the connection. She was the one that had either kidnapped he kids, or organized the act itself. Regardless, they finally had their lead.
Sam had found plenty of rituals that involved the sacrificing of children. None of them were good. Most involved demons. Of course it had to be that. Stiles hadn’t come across any since the nogitsune. And he wasn’t happy with the idea of a repeat experience.
It took some time to get over all that had happened while he was possessed. The sleepless nights were the worst. But also the best. Cause when he did sleep, it was often riddled with nightmares. Dreams of his traps and the oni. Of blood and pain and terror.
The others didn’t know what to do. Not that they could do anything. Scott was the most understanding. He acted like nothing ever happened. Even though it did. Kira avoided him like the plague. He did, after all, slam her head into a steel table.
Allison tried to look alright. But she had nearly died that night. With an oni’s sword in her gut. Lydia suffered the worst. Being kidnapped by that freak. Mentally tormented with the voices of the dead. Along with its own brand of trauma.
Erica and Boyd were left unharmed through it all. Even though they were still recovering from the horror that Deucalion brought them not too much earlier. Overall, it was a tremendously awful ordeal. It was also the time when he and Derek grew closer.
The alpha was surprisingly nonchalant about the whole thing. He didn’t avoid or treat Stiles any differently. For which he was grateful. That was probably the best thing he could’ve done. It gave him the time he needed to process. Without having to worry about the others. They were recovering on their own.
Stiles crashed at his loft as often as he could get away with. Derek didn’t seem to mind all that much. If nothing else, he was good at tuning out the screams. Isaac and Erica were, to an extent, concerned. Boyd acted like he wasn’t even there. So, nothing really changed.
In the end, Danny was able to find the nurse’s address. And they went from there. Naturally, Dean and Castiel were going to be on the forefront. Derek, Scott, and Boyd would tail as leads. Isaac and Erica would be in reserve nearby.
Allison would be with Chris and the mercenaries. Stiles was to stay with Sam and Danny. Tracking any potential movements of the other witches. So far, they had only identified one. And that left the rest of the coven hiding. When it was all said and done, they made their move.
Stiles tuned in to his many police scanners. Danny tapped into traffic cameras. Sam cleaned his gun. What was only an hour felt like a lifetime. When the door to the loft swung open, Stiles was the first one on his feet. And Scott was the first one to have his give out.
The witch, as it turned out, was no amateur. And easily managed to poison Scott with the first few minutes. Isaac stayed by his side while the others ripped into her. Castiel had been the clincher. The moment Dean had been injured, he didn’t hold anything back.
Which of course meant that they’re only lead was now dead. With nothing else to go on, they were screwed. But they were alive and in one piece. That’s all Stiles could ask for on any given day of the week. His father was sending out more patrols. They would just have to make do.
When the managed to cure Scott of his poisoning, the pack managed to take tally of what all they had. Two spell tomes. An iron pendant engraved in a language that Stiles didn’t recognize. And a lock of hair. That was it. It would have to do.
Castiel stayed close to Dean. Even after he healed him. Apparently, angels could heal nearly any injury provided they had enough power. The broken bones, lacerations, and bruises were all gone in the blink of an eye. Stiles made a note to ask if he could learn that without becoming a member of heaven’s army.
The pendant aside, the books were a treasure trove. Just as Stiles had thought, this coven was into some seriously dark shit. Like bring about madness and destruction. Wipe entire cities of the map kinda thing. Whatever they were planning, it was big. And a lot of people were gonna end up dead if they weren’t stopped.
The pendant itself remained a mystery. There was something odd about it. For one thing, it was made of iron. In magic, iron repelled evil. Dispersed it and made it weak. So for it to be used in magic that specifically aligned with evil…There was a gap there.
Thankfully, Sam pulled through. Whatever databases he had access to came in handy. As they found just what the pendant was for. A summoning ritual. And a rather old one at that. Like, five thousand years old. Some seriously ancient shit.
Stiles knew from experience that the older something was, the more powerful it tended to be. But there was one thing that wasn’t adding up. The magic the witches were using was evil. But the summoning ritual was actually rather benign.
It didn’t call for the blood of a newborn child or any other messed up required item. All it required was a few drops of blood from the caster. And a rather ornate summoning circle. There was also a list of magic that could bind the entity in case it became malevolent. There was no indication of what might cause it though.
In the end, they had the books the witches were using. And the ritual that gave them the power to do it. All that was left was to locate the rest of the coven and save the kids. Easier said than done. There were several suggestions. Namely, looking into the nurse’s background.
Danny could find just about anything on anyone given enough time. But that was one thing they didn’t have. From all indications, the spell the coven was going to preform was slated for the end of the month. That gave them less than a week.
Dean and Derek both agreed to the idea of scoping out the nurses house. It was the easiest and by far the safest method. She was the one holding the books. Surely the rest of the coven would want them back. And would be searching her house when she didn’t contact them.
Stiles had a far more effective plan in mind. The only downside was that it involved the most danger. Namely, summoning the entity attached to the pendant. There was of course, a vehement objection from literally everyone. Well, except Sam and Castiel.
They agreed the summoning whatever it was offered the fastest track to information. As they could trap it and make it talk. Derek nearly burned the books on principal. Just so that the plan couldn’t take place. He and Stiles had a shouting match in front of the rest of the pack.
It ended with Derek storming out. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd followed. Scott and Allison left to regroup with Chris and the mercenaries. Dean was Dean. Sucking down beer and eating pie. Sam just went back to research. That just left Stiles and Castiel.
He was rather fond of the angel. In many way, he was rather like Derek. Strong. Unmoving. Protective. With a penchant for a rather unusual fashion item. Name, the trench coat. It was an interesting comparison. And Stiles found himself rather amused by it.
Even more interesting was the way Castiel looked at Dean. And not when no one was looking. How he always looked at him. Like he was the most precious thing that ever walked the face of creation. The same way that Derek often looked at Stiles.
He wasn’t exactly sure on the concreate rules of heaven. What angels could and could not do. But having love affairs with mortals wasn’t likely one of them. Stiles was fairly certain of that. Which meant that Castiel could never act on his feelings. And that was just the beginning of his own sadness. Against his better judgement, Stiles stated a simple thing. One simple thing. And Castiel froze at it.
“You love him.”
It wasn’t a question. Or an inquiry. But rather, a blunt fact. One that Stiles had realized. And one that Castiel couldn’t deny. The life of those involved with the supernatural tended to be complicated. Naturally, being an angel, Castiel only had it worse.
“I care for him. I want him to be safe and well. If that’s what you mean.” The angel said.
“It wasn’t. The way you two are together…That’s more than just caring. But I know, being who you are, that isn’t exactly an option.”
“Angels aren’t supposed to interact with mortals. Let alone consummate with them. This body belongs to someone. He has a wife. And a child. For me to use him in such a manner…It would be selfish.”
Stiles vaguely remembered Castiel talking about how angels walked among the mortal world. That their true forms were pure, unyielding light that would blind any and all who gazed upon them. That their voices triggered earthquakes and leveled buildings. And that to walk amongst humans required a human vessel.
One that consented. Unlike demons, who took hosts at will, angels had certain rules to abide by. Their vessels must, in one form or another, willingly allow themselves to be occupied by a heavenly being. There were no exceptions.
Any angel that tried to force their way into a body would be met with instant rejection. And more often than not, the mortal would die. Angels were soldiers first. That much was true. But their purpose was to safeguard God’s creation. Humans being among that creation.
To willfully endanger the lives of any mortal was seen in distaste. And could be met with severe consequence. Stiles tried to imagine what would happen to Castiel if he acted on his feelings. If he embraced Dean in the way he desired.
When he and Derek became a thing, there was no real fallout. No surprises or backlash. The only real problem was that the sheriff threatened to shoot the alpha. Should he in any way hurt Stiles. The rest of the pack just seemed to go with it. As it were.
Sam, Dean, and Castiel had been doing this kind of thing a lot longer than the rest of them. Lives filled with monsters and demons and all other kinds of madness. It was a sad and often lonely life. With them only having one another. Stiles couldn’t imagine not having his friends.
At the end of the day. After the bloodshed and fighting. After the monsters had been put to bed and all was right. They had each other. Some days were easier. Some days they fought. Beacon Hills was a place of nonsense. And it wasn’t going to change any time soon.
It was the kind of thing Stiles realized when he first started throwing himself head on into things. When he and Derek first really started to clash. He was the weak, frail human. Who bruised easily and didn’t have the luxury of super healing. But he was good at what he did. And no one could deny that.
The books were helpful. But gave little information as to what the demon was. From what he and Sam could tell, it was old. Like really. Dawn of creation old. Up there with other celestial entities. In fact, by all accounts, it existed before Hell. Which made things complicated.
Castiel explained that there were entities older and stronger than angels. Beings that God had made first. Mistakes they were called. Apparently, they had dealt with them before. And they weren’t pretty. There was an insane amount of power involved in killing one. As well as some pretty nasty side effects.
The symbol on the pendant was the only clue that they had. According to Castiel, it was part of a language that predated that of the angels. Therefore, he couldn’t read it. More than likely, no one could. It was just that old and out of their league.
Sam suggested contacting Death in order to make some headway. Because apparently, that was a thing. The three of them had actually interacted with the incarnation of Death itself. On more than one occasion. Stiles tried to comprehend the idea of that. It ended up giving him a headache.
Dean was against it. Death never did anything for free. Even when you bribed him with pickle chips. There was no telling what he would want from the deal. Even if it was something as simple as a translation. Stiles had to agree. If they were going to be making a deal with any eldritch creatures, better to keep it to one.
Eventually, due to lack of sleep and results, Sam and Stiles decided to take a rest. Just as the others returned. Allison reported that the mercenaries were ready to move at any time. Though she kept most of the details from them. They were here for money. Not because they wanted to help.
Isaac and Erica couldn’t find any traces of the witches. Boyd and Derek either. The latter side eyeing Stiles as he came back into the loft. He was still mad. Stiles knew that they were going to have to talk eventually.
After the regroup, everyone decided it was best to sleep. They couldn’t do anything being half dead from exhaustion. Scott and Allison headed to the formers house to get some rest. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd went to their respective rooms. Sam and the other two went off to the only hotel in town. That just left Stiles and Derek.
They had fought before they were together. They had fought after they were together. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. With Derek being alpha, he was naturally strong willed and stubborn. Stiles, while not a werewolf, had those exact same qualities.
It made them work together in an unusual, but effective manner. But when they clashed, did they ever. Today was no different. They would have to talk it out. One way or the other. And now was as a good a time as any.
Derek is waiting in their room. Sitting on the bed with a stoic, unmoving expression. Stiles recognizes it instantly. It’s the face he wears when he’s trying not to explode in anger and frustration. Being a werewolf meant that out of check emotions were even more dangerous. Derek prided himself on his control. Stiles didn’t enjoy seeing him lose it.
“Want to try this again?” Stiles asked.
“We’re not summoning that thing. End of story.”
“As opposed to…What exactly? Wait until another kid gets kidnapped and hope we catch a break. Three down and we’re no closer to finding them. And our only lead is dead.”
Derek hated and loved Stiles’ natural intuition and intelligence. It made him invaluable to the pack. In more ways than one. But it also meant that he was often on the losing side of their arguments. Only, in this instance, there was no real winner.
“The last time someone let a demon loose, you ended up possessed and dozens of people were killed or injured. And now we’re talking about summoning one as old as the universe. It would take a week to list all the things that could go wrong.”
“First, fuck you for bringing that up. Second, fuck you for thinking that we aren’t better prepared this time. We have two of the most experienced hunters in country on our side. As well as a literal angel. What else do you want?” Stiles asked heatedly.
“For you to stop thinking that I’ll ever allow you to endanger yourself for others.”
It was the crossroad that they had been dreading since their relationship started. The one that Stiles hated the most. Acknowledging the one thing that the both of them had in common. In that the universe was a giant asshole in regards to the lives of others. Namely, in who it took away.
Stiles had lost his mother. And not quickly either. It was a slow, consuming disease that stripped down the very essence of her soul. Killing the person she was. Piece, by piece, by piece. Becoming a strung out, paranoid woman who screamed at the sight of her only child.
It was the decent into madness that kicked off his father’s drinking. Long nights huddled to a cheap bottle of whiskey. Too drunk to even function. Leaving an eleven year old to mind the house and try not to be buried under grief. The universe didn’t play favorites. And Derek was no different.
Manipulated, abused, raped. Landed with the death of nearly all of his family. At the hands of a woman he thought loved him. Forced into being an orphan. Displaced from his home. With just a sister and a comatose uncle. There was no winners in either of their lives. They had lost enough. And they had decided that they would lose no more.
It fit well with Scott’s save everyone mentality. But the difference was that Derek refused to put anyone in danger but himself. That was the thing that pissed Stiles off the most. That his martyr of a boyfriend was perfectly content with getting maimed. Yet scolded anyone else who put themselves in harm’s way.
Now, they had a chance. A real chance to save three lives and prevent a calamity that would endanger thousands more. But there was only one real way to do it. And it involved invoking an entity stronger than what any of them had faced before. Stiles knew that. As did Derek.
“Listen…I…Dammit.”
“Just get it out Stiles. I may be pissed, but you know I’ll listen.” Derek said.
“I’m human. A weak, bruises like a peach human. You’re a strong, red blooded alpha werewolf. That doesn’t give you the right to put yourself on the front lines and keep my benched. We’re a team. A pack. And sometimes, we have to take a risk.”
“A risk that could get you killed.” Derek retorted.
“I’m always in danger in getting killed. Another pack. Some asshole hunter with an axe to grind. Or a fucking meteor might fall from the sky. You can’t always protect me. But I can prepare a scenario in which the danger is minimized. I think those kids are worth it.”
Derek seemed to tense for a moment. A sharp intake of breath before all the tension left his body. He was still made, to a certain degree. But he was a little more amicable in this moment. Stiles took his place in the bed. Laying down next to the wolf.
They were both tired. Worn out and ready to crash. But even still, they weren’t going to bed alone. No matter the night or what had happened, they would never sleep alone. Always together. And as it turned out, Derek was big on cuddling.
Stiles didn’t mind in the least. He enjoyed the way Derek buried his nose in the crease of his neck. Taking comfort in the scent. Stiles would spend upwards of an hour rubbing small circles in the back of the other man’s head. It was a soothing sort of thing. One that they had shared since they had become a couple.
“If we do this, we do it on my terms. As alpha, I won’t endanger the town. If anything, and I mean anything feels off, we pull the plug.”
“Fair enough. I’ll call Sam in the morning and hash out the details on what to do. After all, we’ve never summoned a demon before.” Stiles said.
“I’d prefer us not to. But I also want those kids returned to their parents.”
Their fight was, for the most part, over. Done and settled until the morning. Stiles counted it was a win. For now at least. There was nothing left to do. No one left to trace or follow or question. If only for a little while, they could relax. And he had the perfect partner to do it with.
***
Stiles expected the process of summoning a demon to be a bit more complicated. Some arcane ritual. A complex language that none of them knew how to speak. But overall, it was relatively straightforward.
Even as old and ancient as the one they had in mind, there was very little that was actually required. A few drops of human blood, a sliver of iron, and long incantation that was surprisingly easy to recite. The matter of binding it…That was another matter.
Hell traps were simple. In their own right. But given the fact that this particular demon was as old as it was, they needed to kick things up a notch. Or seven. Sam and Dean were the experts in the matter. So naturally, the two of them took the lead.
Castiel provided a myriad of knowledge. And some of his own blood as well. Which enhanced the circle’s power tenfold. Theoretically, it would be able to bind the devil himself. And that was saying something. There was very little that could go wrong. But, as always, something did.
Stiles knew that there was certain amount of risk involved in summoning an ancient entity that personified madness and destruction. Given his own experiences with demons. But he had no idea just how far out of their league they truly were.
The summoning itself went flawlessly. He, Allison, Dean, and Sam preformed the incantation flawlessly. It went off without a hitch. That was the easy part. The next part…Not so much. And it’s where everything went a little bit tits up.
At first, there was nothing. For all intents and purposes, it appeared that the summoning had failed. Then, there was a breeze. One where there wasn’t supposed to be. The air grew thick and heavy. And for a single moment, each and every one of them felt and undeniable sense of terror.
Stiles expected the demon to have a rather monstrous appearance. Something that came before flesh and mortality and blood. Something that would’ve made them all piss themselves. But in actuality, he was plain. Chestnut brown hair. Hazel eyes. Flawless skin. He was, for all intents and purposes, an average looking human man.
That didn’t make his presence any less horrifying. Everyone in the room went rigid with fear. Unable to move or speak. Even Castiel, a literal angel of heaven, could do nothing. That was the sheer power of his form. One that Stiles may have regretted just a little.
“Well, you’ve taken the trouble of summoning me. And that is no easy feat. Surely there must be a reason behind it.”
His voice was velvet smooth. Without hitch. And effortless. You could mark Stiles down as both scared and horny. Everyone else, not so much. None of them could speak. None of them could move. Which of course, made things complicated. So when Castiel made his demand, it shocked everyone.
“State your name.” The angel said bluntly. Though there was no edge to it.
“Izerius. Arch Demon of ruin and malignity. At your service.”
That was…Unexpected. There were plenty of books on demons across culture spanning millennia. But Stiles hadn’t read about anything called an Arch Demon. There were princes and kings and dukes. All sorts of titles. But never Arch. So that made things complicated. Especially when the demon in question broke the binding circles.
It was the smallest of motions. A simple flick of his finger. And that was that. Two hours of construction, labor, and checking. And he had broken them like it was nothing. Thankfully, Castiel was already at the ready with the Angel Blade.
He pierced the demon’s chest with the weapon. A sickening squelch accompanying it. One that they were all too familiar with. Though it didn’t seem to faze him much. In fact, it didn’t make him flinch in the slightest.
The angel was thrown backwards with a simple twirl of the demon’s wrist. Crashing towards the back of the loft. While everyone else was left stunned and helpless. If a weapon forged in heaven couldn’t kill this thing, then there was nothing that could. And that left them defenseless.
Though the demon didn’t seem too keen on killing any of them. Quite the opposite actually. Instead, it took a seat in the large recliner that was normally reserved for Derek. The alpha didn’t bother to protest given the circumstances.
“Well, I’ve taken the time to come all this way. And I assure, that was no easy task. There aren’t many humans who can hold my form for an extended period.”
“So you’re possessing that poor smuck?” Dean asked bitterly.
“You didn’t seem overly concerned when your angel plunged that blade into me.”
They had no real retort for that. The one thing that demons and angels had in common was that they had no physical bodies. And in order to walk in the physical world, they needed a host. That was a given. As well as that they might have to kill the host body in order to kill the demon.
Scott, as always, was against any killing. Ever the saint he was. Stiles often grew tired of his hero complex. It was rather annoying at times. In this instance, there really wasn’t any other default at hand. This thing was old. And given the fact that it snapped out of the binding circles without blinking, that was that.
Stiles wondered just how screwed they really were. If the angel blade didn’t work, that meant Castiel’s powers would most likely be ineffective as well. And if a soldier of heaven couldn’t do anything, then werewolves stood less of a chance.
They had guns loaded with bullets made from iron and silver. Consecrated in the blood of a nun. All that other holy shit. That being said, somewhere deep down, Stiles knew just what to do. This kind of entity didn’t respond to violence or threats. It wanted entertainment.
Beings this old weren’t interested in struggles of power. Or which side won the eternal war for mankind’s fate. In the long run, things like that were irrelevant to beings like him. In and the infinity of creation, there were better things to give one’s attention to.
“We want to make a deal with you. Or at the very least, get some information.” Stiles said.
“I rarely make deals with anyone. You’d be the second in an eon. That doesn’t happen often.”
“Well, perhaps we can entice you then.”
Stiles was being coy. For all his flailing and uncoordinated thought processes, he was actually rather clever when it came down to the wire. If nothing else, he could get the demon to spill something. Anything that would help them find the kids. That’s all they needed.
He knew that this kind of entity wasn’t interested in torture or blood or anything else. It was a tightrope of interaction that would either help them or destroy them. Stiles was praying for the former. Cause if this guy decided to go off, forget them. All of Beacon Hills could be wiped off the map.
Derek was understandably on edge. The demon approached Stiles without concern. The others were barely holding back the shift. If push came to shove, and they felt Stiles was in danger, they would strike. And that would be the end of it.
Izerius stopped in front of him. Eyes void of anything that humans would be capable of understanding. Stiles was doing his best not to shit himself in fear. There was an indescribably old demon of ruin mere inches from him. Anyone would be terrified.
“You’ve been touched by one like me. Well, in one form. Your soul is scarred with it.”
Stiles nearly choked on the lump that had formed in his throat. There was a lot of shit that he had been through over the last few years. But the nogitsune…That was the pinnacle of awful that he had endured. Being possessed by that thing was, in its own way, horrifying.
Locked inside his own head. Screaming and clawing at the edges of his mind. Begging, pleading for help. As the demon itself smiled and laughed. Making playthings of everyone around him. Killing as it pleased. Taking enjoyment from the pain of others. His friends.
Scott. Kira. Lydia. Not to mention what had happened to Allison. There was nothing he could do to make up for it. His own weakness. Nor the horrid things he felt when he did them. Power, and the intoxication that came with it. The way the all danced in the palm of his hand. Like little marionettes.
He had apologized more times that he cared to admit. Words and deeds and actions. They never felt like they were enough. In his mind, they never would be. But his friends had told him that there was nothing to forgive. Even if he felt otherwise.
This thing bringing it up so casually…It stoked a rage in his chest that terrified him. After being possessed, he learned that there was very little he wouldn't do. Violence came rather easily. A swing of a bat. The bite of a punch. The pulling of a trigger. He was easily the most deadly of their pack. In regards to what he would do to those who threatened those he cared about.
He may be outclassed, but when push came to shove, Stiles always came out on top. Always found a way to win. Always found a way to eradicate the enemy before him. Even if that enemy was a demon as old as the universe. He’d just have to try a little harder.
“I’m not here to talk about me.”
“Then why are you here little one? It’s not often mortals summon me. I’d like to think you could at least entertain me.” Izerius said.
“The witches you bargained with…They’re taking children. Three of them. We want to get them back.”
Izerius smiled wickedly. Eyes alight with something close to amusement. It made Stiles shiver. While it was a very human emotion, it didn’t belong on the face it was expressed on. It felt…Wrong. In a word. If nothing else.
“As always, your species has an unreasonable attachment to its offspring. Even if they are not your own. That, in of itself, is entertaining. But yes, there was a group of mortals who bargained for power. The power to destroy their enemies.”
“And you gave it to them. Just like that?” Sam accused.
“I’m the Arch Demon of Ruin and Malignity. What mortals do with what I grant them is not my concern. I existed long before you. And I will exist long after. Whomever gets destroyed is not of any concern to me.”
There was a little lightbulb that went off in Stiles’ head. Though, at this point, he might end up smashing it with a hammer. Izerius was an entity as old as time itself. Needless to say, he’s been there, done that. He didn’t give out power to increase his own standing.
In fact, he gave it out because he could. Because it was a game for him. All of creation was a toy for him to play with. And play with it he did. That was their biggest advantage. Knowing that he was playing a game and that he would hate for it to be disrupted. And delighted if it was made to be more entertaining.
“Let’s make a deal then. On who will win. Us, or the witches. Which group prevails. Will it be disaster and death? Or triumph and heartfelt reunions?”
“Your proposal does interest me. But you have nothing to wager. If the witches succeed, I am amused. If you succeed, nothing. There must be a collateral of sorts. Something to ensure that I can still have fun.”
“So you do want souls.” Stiles said.
Izerius smiled that foul smile of his. The one that made everyone’s hair stand on edge. It was an all-consuming feeling a dread and fear. A gesture meant to be joyous, so thoroughly corrupted. To say that it terrified Stiles would’ve been an understatement. But he was determined to save those kids.
“I am an entity as old as creation. To lesser demons, souls are power. To me, nothing.”
“Then what do you want?” Derek demanded.
“One day. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps on your dying day, I will come for one of you. And you will perform a singular task that I require. In its entirety.”
Stiles didn’t know how to feel about that. His soul was one thing. But being held as a bargaining chip for a literal demon didn’t sound entirely enthralling either. And he wasn’t being specific about who he would choose either. That made things worse.
Weighing their options, it presented the lowest level of risk. And that was the best that they could ask for at this point. Izerius himself said it. He was an entity as old as time. Which means he tended to view things a little differently than the rest of creation.
Stiles was willing to wager that he had a rather short, and finite attention span. If nothing else, he may very well forget that he even made the deal. Which could work in their favor. It could also work against them if he decided to call it in early. There was no real way to agree without knowing the full details of what they were getting into.
He was just about to give a suggestion to call for a vote when the unexpected happened. Castiel stepped forward. His usual blank expression taught with something close to fear. Perhaps anger. Stiles couldn’t tell. It was something. Something that Castiel was determined to do.
“I have a counter proposal. You ask your favor of me.”
“Interesting choice, little angel.”
“Cas, what the hell-.” Dean didn’t have time to finish as Castiel flung him against a wall.
“As an angel of the lord, I have considerable power and levy across this world and in heaven. Surely that would be more beneficial than any mortal.”
Izerius smiled that smile of his again. The one that said he was amused. The one that said he was delighted with the turn of events. And before anyone could do anything, before anyone could move, the two were shaking hands.
Dean screamed and ran for the demon. Gun aimed firmly towards the center of his head. And as quickly as he came, Izerius vanished from the room. Leaving the entirety of the group shocked and relieved in the same moment.
The older brother stammered for a second. Trying to gain a grasp on words even as they escaped him. Then, he planted his fist firmly in Castiel’s face. There was a sharp crack, a snapping of bone. Most likely on both of them.
Dean stomped away. Face contorted in abject rage. Stiles, in some way, shared in the sentiment. But there was no going back now. There was nothing else that they could do. The deal had been made. Now, they had a coven of witches to take down. And not long to do it.
***
The plan for attacking the witches was fairly straightforward. But it wasn’t a surprise to Stiles when the whole thing fell to shit anyway. That tended to happen even with the best laid of their plans. This time was no exception.
By some miracle, or rather, the work of Izerius, they got a tip. A rather massive one. It turned out to be a location. One that didn’t really shock anyone in the group. Located in the abandoned and derelict warehouse district, the witches had set up shop.
The pack had considered this as the most likely place for them to set up whatever it is that they were doing. But the sheer size of it meant that there was no real way to narrow things down. That, and the putrid stench of chemicals and rust made it impossible to track anything by scent.
The Winchesters suited up, and were armed to the teeth. Even Argent, a notable arms dealer, was impressed by some of their stuff. Stiles was a little more practical. Magic wasn’t defeated by bullets or the like. It was beat by better, and more thought out magic.
Black magic all tended to have one singular weakness. Particularly blood magic. Spells made of suffering and murder were beaten by those made of volition and sacrifice. And what better spell could Stiles have made than with the blood of a literal angel.
Derek, as an alpha werewolf, also chipped in. All in all, he was magically armed and ready to take down the enemy. What he wasn’t expecting, was the sheer number of them. Or how hard they were willing to fight. Which was rather considerable.
The first and second layer of their wards were rather easy to dismantle. The last one, took a bit of work. Someone, an actual living person, was the source of power. And with them still alive, it was impossible to get to the children.
The real problem was finding out who was the source. There was no obvious way to tell. And the only other option, much to Scott’s dismay, was to kill them. With there being over two dozen, it took some time. The amount of blood they spilled was only a little more than usual.
They took the punches, or spells rather, as best as they could. Given the amount of gunfire and general dismemberment, the witches didn’t have time to cast anything too complicated. That didn’t mean they couldn’t use cursed daggers. And as it turned out, they did.
Fortunately for most of the pack, they were designed for use on humans. So most of them were relatively safe. Two of the mercenaries dropped dead rather quickly. Dean was the third to get hit. That of course sent Castiel into overdrive. Dude was straight smiting people at this point.
It was both terrifying and awesome in the same moment. Stiles opted to never piss him off. Like ever. The witches kept dropping. And finally, the wards faltered. Long enough for them to get in.
The leader of the insane cult was deformed and grotesque. The kind of magic she was using tended to do that to a person. Equivalency and all that. But she wasn’t going down without a fight. And that involved fireballs. Fucking fireballs. Elemental magic users were the worst. The lot of them were total assholes.
Three more of the mercenaries dropped like flies. Their charred corpses basically ashes at this point. But Stiles was quicker. And he had an enchanted dagger that would slice through the darkest magic, and make sure the bitch died. And stayed dead. With the added bonus of dispelling any magic she may have already cast.
When the blade makes contact, the energy released sets off the magical equivalent of an earthquake. Ground shaking and all that jazz. Scared the hell out of everyone. Including Stiles. The amount of power this lady had been channeling bordered on nuclear. And then, she was dead.
She disintegrates before she reaches the ground. Her lifeless body crumbling away into nothingness. As if she had never even existed. Oh well, one less body to clean up. That, if nothing else, would makes things easier. He’d count it as a win.
The kids are coming out of some kind of enthrallment. A pacification spell to keep them quiet no doubt. Basically a magical roofie. Nothing dangerous. But they would certainly be out of it for a while. In the end, they took no losses of their own. Except the mercenaries. But form what Stiles could gather, they were loner transients. No one to miss them. No one to bury them.
Chris didn’t even seem to upset at their loss. Not really. He was just making sure that they behaved. Nothing else. The kids were alive and safe. Everyone, if injured, was alive. Whoopee. Except, it wasn’t all that simple.
Everyone in the pack, even Scott, the self-righteous idiot, had killed someone or something at one point. You didn’t survive as long as they did without taking out a few people and or creatures along the way. That was just the reality of things. That didn’t make it any easier.
When Derek finds Stiles, the young man is huddled a corner. Tucked away from sight. Blood stained hands still shaking. The initial shock of it was over. But he had still taken a life. And not by some indirect method like a gun or a spell.
He had driven a knife into the woman’s heart. Ending her existence. Like snuffing out a candle. The smoke dissipating into the empty expanse of oblivion. That was it. He hated the way he felt. Hated the sound of the last breath. The hitch in the chest. The death cry.
Derek doesn’t say anything. Nothing to pacify the borderline panic attack. He just brings Stiles to his feet. Walking him away from it all. Away from the scene of the death. To his pack. To his friends. To his father. To his family. That’s the only thing that could be done.
The first time it happened, the first timed Stiles took a life…That was the worst. It was just some random, ass hat alpha looking to make a name for himself. The great Hale pack as he called them. In actuality, they weren’t that great. But the name of Hale still carried some manner of weight in the world.
The conflict didn’t last long. And the fucker played dirty. That was fine by Stiles. He played dirty to. And he did it better. When push came to shove, and shit hit the fan, they won. The other pack may have been larger. But they were far less coordinated. Simply attacking in a furious rage filled spat.
The betas went down without too much trouble. Relatively speaking. It was the alpha that was the real issue. The bastard was larger than anyone in the pack and took bullets like they were candy. It slowed him down. But it didn’t do much else.
Derek was slashed head to toe. Roaring back and fighting even harder. It was a good enough distraction. One that worked well enough for Stiles to plant his bat firmly in the alpha’s temple. Being a jumped up werewolf aside, head injuries were a real bitch. Even an alpha couldn’t stagger back from that.
The man falters backwards long enough that Stiles swung again. This time square and center in his forehead. An audible crack rings out. Signifying that his skull had been shattered. As he drops, the alpha’s body convulses one time. A single cry into the oblivion. Then, he goes still.
It takes a few moments to realize what had happened. Then, when it does hit, the first thing that Stiles does is vomit. The adrenaline comes to a head, and he passes out. Waking up in his bed, surrounded by pack.
He doesn’t make any excuses. He doesn’t make any reasons as to why he did what he did. No one says anything. No one comments on what he had done. That’s what makes it worse. That they all know that there was nothing else to be done. That it was the only way.
It doesn’t stop the nightmares. Or the shaking. Or the general fear of everything. That turned himself into a killer. Even if it was in defense of his pack. Even if it was a far cry from murder. It meant nothing. He had still killed someone.
Things got better. Slowly. But they got better. Other packs were wary of there on out. Because if the little human could kill an alpha with a bat, what were the rest of them like? In a strange fucked up way, Stiles had saved them a lot of trouble.
This time, it’s just as bad as the first. The effects won’t last as long. But Stiles takes no pleasure in his actions. Doesn’t try to justify them or stand on some imaginary moral high ground. The witches were dead. The kids were safe. That’s what mattered.
Castiel is healing Dean when they meet up with the others. The man is a wreck. But he’s alive. They’re all alive. And at this point, Stiles will take a win where he can get it. And apparently, Castiel shares in that sentiment.
He kisses Dean. Slow and tender. It’s over in a moment. So quick and gone. But Dean, being the tenacious bastard he is, kisses back when Castiel tries to pull away. In a weird way, it’s much like Stiles’ and Derek’s first kiss. Only with more bloodshed and imminent peril. But hey, a win is a win.
“Ugh, finally.” Lydia groans.
The rest of the pack laughs their collective asses off. Making slightly rude remarks about the Hunter and the angel. Stiles likes the comparison. Sam just stands there, both shocked and slightly amused in the same moment. Oh well, he’ll get used to it.
Derke not missing a beat, kisses Stiles sweetly. Making sure not to waste the moment. It was weird and random and maybe not all that appropriate. But they had survived yet another round of supernatural fuckery. They had won. And that, Stiles thought, was the only thing he could ask for.
The kids are returned to their parents within the next few hours. Happy tears are cried. Interviews are done. And a bunch of sighs come out in relief. To top things off, they gained three new allies and made sense of the world outside of Beacon Hills. Apparently, there had been more going on that they weren’t aware of.
Sam and Dean made the promise to come whenever they called. Derek returned the favor. It was a hard road full of misunderstandings and stern, calloused faces. But they were a pack. This was their home. And no one was going to take it from them.
Stiles held Derek’s hand as they left the police station. Normally, the big guy wasn’t that big on physical affection in public. He was just that kind of person. But here, and now, after the night they had. He was more than willing to make an exception. And Stiles couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.
One who ran through the trees and cradled him like the silver sea. Who accepted him for who and what he was. Stiles did the same. All the judgmental eyebrows and annoyed huffs. Pretending that he didn’t care when he cared the most. The two of them. Together. The taste of moonlight.