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A Suprise Alliance

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Stiles was tired. He was tired of being used, throw away, and treated like garbage. He would leave the pack, but they’re his family, his friends, even if some refused to admit it. He was being pushed away, everyone ignoring him or excluding him out of pack nights. He didn’t mind the loneliness at first, but it gnawed at him now. It ate him to his very core, making him feel hollow and bitter. Bitter that he lost the people who swore they would stay with him until the end.

 

The pack had gone out to eat, had movie nights, and had gone to random ‘exciting’ places without him. Left him to feel pity for himself and how he was treated.

 

Every social media, every person on the street always asked, “where are your cute little friends?” And he’d always reply with, “I don’t know.” He doesn’t know if they even notice he’s gone. He doesn’t know if they care about him at all. He doesn’t know if they’re his friends anymore.

 

Tonight though, tonight was different. The pack had invited him to movie night, and he was determined to show that he was needed. He was determined to prove he was worth something. He had helped save Boyd, Erica, and Cora from the Alpha Pack, and he deserves credit. Deserves credit for almost dying for all of them. Deserves to be told ‘we care about you’.He had worked for months, barely eating and sleeping, plagued by nightmares and insomnia to help save the Pack. Help saved people who didn’t care if he lived or died, people who would rather watch him burn than put out the fire. 

 

No no noticed, though. No one noticed his dark circles, his research, his contributions to saving everyone’s asses. Everyone thought Derek and Scott had found them with their ‘Alpha-ness’, which is very species racist if Stiles says so. Suddenly everything was ScottandDerek and Stiles was just StilesWeakStiles. Skinny, defenseless Stiles who couldn’t even kill a monster.  

 

Tonight would be different. Definitely. Maybe. Probably not.

 

After coming out of the hell that is his head, he made his way into the loft. The disgusting run-down building everyone established as ‘The Pack House’. More like abandoned building. No one could hear him, since he learned how to use his spark and would go all Wiccan on the wolves. His quiet footsteps added to his anger, showed that he could do something. He could be helpful if they just gave him  a chance.

 

When he walked close to the door, he could hear fighting. Jackson and Derek, probably. It was Jackson and Derek, definitely. Probably fighting over some trivial thing that didn’t matter at all.

 

“You can’t do that!” Jackson yelled at the Alpha, frustration evident in his tone.

 

”He's a liability, a weak spot.” Derek responded in his normal voice. You could practically hear Jackson seething inside the loft, his anger radiating everywhere. 

 

“Stiles is part of the pack! He’s the only reason half of us are still alive! He saved Boyd and Erica from Gerard, helped Scott, and saved all of us too many times to count!” Jackson’s voice grew louder with each word, almost shrill at the end of his speech. 

 

Oh. Okay. Stiles better brace himself, he guesses. It’s not like he hadn’t know, but he’d hoped, ya know? He hoped they were lying when they said they were busy (even though he knew they weren’t) because he finally had a whole family. One that wasn’t tearing apart at the seams everytime he hopes he was right. 

 

Stiles kinda...blanked out for a minute. He was almost numb, not hearing or feeling anything. When Jackson voice got louder he toned back in. 

 

“He’s my mate! And if you kick him out of the pack, I’m leaving too.” It was deathly silent for a moment, long enough to make everyone pause. The silence was deafening, filled with anger and hurt and betrayal.

 

“How can any of you do this?” Jackson’s voice sounded broken, like he couldn’t bear to fight them anymore. “Scott, you were his best friend.” You could hear whimpers of hurt at the small words, the words that rocked the foundation of the Hale Pack.

 

“Erica, you used to have a crush on him. You were in love with him.” The words sounded like it hurt Jackson to say, like it was searing his skin to admit Stiles wasn’t his. 

 

“Boyd, you used to want to be friends with him. You talked about how cool he was, even though people thought he was a nerd. You looked up to him like a brother.” Stiles almost tripped, listening to some of the confessions he’s never heard before. Knowing that the pack cared, but not enough to keep him, stung like a bee’s stinger. 

 

“Lydia, you always said no one could match your wit, except him. No one had more intellect than ‘that boy in AP Chemistry. How could you hurt him like this?” At the end he addressed all of them, asking a simple question with so many answers. Answers that were all selfish and vain, all to look better in the supernatural community than their family.

 

Stiles didn’t want to hear their answers. Didn’t want to hear them call him ‘freakzinski’ again and again until he believed it. He didn’t want to listen to them throw him away. So he walk forward, opening the heavy loft door with a grim, morbid expression. One that read he was ready to lose someone else, be hurt by someone but still love them like blood. 

 

“If you wanted me to leave, you could’ve just asked.” His voice sounded disgustingly frail, and his smile was so...accepting. Like he was just accepting that he was a worthless liability to his pack. It was wrong, truely wrong, but no one tried to console him. 

 

Jackson looked broken and horrified at what Stiles had said, so distraught that Stiles could think so lowly of himself and make such a horrid face. The ‘wolf snapped at that, ripped the idea to shreds in front of the people that dared to call themselves Stiles’ friends.

 

”fuck all of you! Stiles has stayed with you no matter what, and you’re kicking him out because he’s human?! We were all human once! How the fuck are you guys this oblivious?” 

 

Stiles smiled sadly, walking towards Jackson, “it’s okay Jaxs. If they don’t want me here, I’ll leave.” 

 

Stiles turned to walked away, leave before he could cry, but was stopped by Jackson. 

 

He felt the wolves arm wrap around his waist, pulling to Jax’s chest. 

 

“I’m leaving the pack.” Jackson said in a cold, detached tone. With those final words, Jackson’s arm slithered to his hand, tugging him to his car. 

 

They both got in Roscoe, Jackson only letting go of his hand to get in the car. Jackson was driving. 

 

The car car ride was filled with silence, but Stiles wasn’t sure which kind. Saddess? Awkward? He wasn’t ready to think about it. 

 

The car ride was a blur, along with changing into one of Jackson’s hoodies and laying down. 

 

He heard Hackson speak, “I’ll just...leave.” The blonde haired man quickly turned around, making his way to the door. 

 

“Lay by me?” Stiles said in a gravelly voice, waiving with each word. 

 

“Of course.” Jackson stripped down to his boxers and a short sleeved shirt, and stiles moved over to make room for Jackson on the bed. Once Jackson slide in, he pulled Stiles against his chest and let him cry. Jackson let him mourn for the pack, for the slowly breaking bonds he felt, for the ‘what Ifs’. 

 

Stiles didn’t feel okay. He didn’t feel fine until he was rapped up in Jackson’s scent, the man’s arms wrapped securely around his waist. 

 

Maybe, just maybe, Stiles will be okay. 

 

Only if Jackson stays by his side. 

 

 

Stiles felt better when he woke up next to Jackson, the blonde’s breaths fanning across his neck. It was warm, heating up his body and making him feel safe. Jackson himself was basically on top of Stiles like an octopus, legs wrapped around Stiles’ like his life’s depended on it.

 

He would love to go back to sleep, fall into a blissful oblivion, but he needs to pee. Like, yesterday. It took twenty minutes to make Jackson let go, constant streams of, “Ten more minutes...” or Stiles’ favorite, “You’re too warm to leave.” It took another twenty or so minutes to convince Jackson to let him leave the room. Honestly Jackson was like a puppy when he was tired, whimpering when he moved even an inch away. The sound was almost unheard, if the house hadn’t been so dead silent.

 

Of course, Stiles went back to sleep after pissing, he wasn’t heartless. (Who could say no to sleepy Jackson? Stiles can’t.)

 

They slept until midday, the sun shining like fire on their faces bringing them to the brink of awareness. That was when Jackson finally let go of his human body pillow (read: Stiles), and decided that they were hungry. When they both were in hoodies and boxers, they shuffled down the steps in completed familiarity.

 

Stiles started to cook brunch: eggs, bacon, pancakes, and ham, while Jackson helped prepare their buffet. It was like a dance, each one knowing the tune but not the lyrics, feet skidding across tile and voices yelling out cusses. Jackson let his skin burn six times checking the food, the smell dancing with the scents until it was overpowered by spices. 

 

Stiles smelled of ozone and cinnamon, the scent almost overpowering their meal  of gigantic proportions. Slowly the scents mingled together, ozone mixing egg and cinnamon mixing with pancake; The combining scents smelled like homesafetywarmhapiness. Underneath those scents was magic, thumping under Stiles’ skin like a drum and beating as if it had its own heart. The magic was bright, electric and connected them to the lands, the ley lines thrumming with the magics tune. 

 

The Spark and The Wolf were at peace, the magic settling and the scents growing stronger by the second. 

 

 

 

 

The next next time they saw the Pack was in Monroeville, Pennsylvania where they had their own name: The Big Bad Wolf and Little Red. 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

It took weeks of planning, running in circles, before finding a packless area he and Jackson could settle down in. It had low supernatural activity, and was far away from Cali. It was called Monroeville, Pennsylvania, and had small niches in the community. Tiny cliques that couldn’t control their tongues, and were very competitive about football and swimming.

 

The had had left Beacon the following week, driving across the state to the cold northern area. It was right next to Ohio and New Jersey. Monroeville, which was usually considered part of Pittsburgh, was all suburban friendly. Everyone knew about someone, and everyone was comeptitive. Stiles, may have, once or twice, got into a cooking battle with one of the mothers across the street. They just couldn’t understand that he made the best brownies!!

 

They stayed here for years, protecting it from the supernatural and making themselves a name. Slowly honing their skills but staying ‘human’, staying pack. Jackson was called ‘The Big Bad Wolf’ in their little legend, having killed a rouge Alpha terrorizing the mothers. His eyes are what people described in horror stories of the duo. Stiles, ‘Little Red’, was named after his ‘new’ red leather hoodie. Technically I was a year old, but it was treated with infinite care. They both wore masks, little handkerchief like things with designs. Stiles’ was a shrieking girl’s lips, and Jackson’s was bloody, sharp teeth.

 

they started getting problems, though. A new species of fuck knows what rolled in, stealing kids and killing fathers. The ‘Duet Of Death’, which was their combined nicknames, were about to finish the leader off. They looked like corpses, but had ice shards, from six-half to a foot thick and long. They breathed fire made of ice, electric shocks in each gust.

 

Stiles went for the kill, swinging down his modified bat, having blades on four ‘ends’. Just as he was about to land the hit, someone grabbed the bat. Stiles turned, giving the ‘wolf a cold glare. Really, he wasn’t in mood for chit-chat, soaked in freezing water and ice crystals. Those bastards had put up one hell of a fight, and Stiles was going to make it their last. 

 

”Scott, I know you’re a pacifist and all that, but theses guys have no souls. They just target the people that do, and trying to get back what they lost.” Stiles turned his back to the creature, the thing nailed to the ground with twelve throwing knives. Scott has stared at the trapped creature, before setting his uneven jaw. 

 

“I’d make us just like them.” Scott released the bat, but stayed close. He wanted Stiles to step back and let those...things live. Stiles wasn’t as naïve as he once was, and ignored the True Alpha’s words.

 

Faster than Scott could see, Stiles bashed the last creature’s skull in, black blood and brains exploding out of the cracks of the frost monster’s skull. It was gruesome, the blood looking like the death of the bite, like Gerard hacking up chuncks of it. 

 

Stiles turned back to Scott, persona and voice changer still intact, before speaking.

 

”I will not repeat myself again: they were soulless and dying, and I gave them a fast death.” Jackson stood behind Stiles, flashing eyes at Scott and guarding Stiles. After they left, the Pack and the Duet Of Death (DoD) weren’t on remotely friendly terms. It was filled with bitterhatebetrayal, something that left the DoD’s mouthes scratchy and dry. 

 

“And bring your pack out of the shadows, Alpha McCall, before I make them come.” Scott nodded to Jackson’s words, making a ‘come here’ gesture with his hands. Seriously? No hand signal, just come puppy? Jesus Christ, Stiles knows why he decided to come to Monroeville now. 

 

Malia, Kira, Derek, Liam, Theo, Lydia, and Peter came out, Peter more happy than the other. Peter, the smug bastard, ran right up to Stiles and Jackson and nuzzled into them. Stiles knew Peter wanted to come with them, would’ve if he knew where they went. To Peter, they probably abandoned him...again. 

 

They hugged Peter, Jackson comforting the broken beta with soothing rumbles.

 

”Lets talk about this somewhere private, shall we?” Stiles said, tugging on Peter’s wrist. The McCall Pack nodded, dumbfounded at the display Peter was putting up. To that pack, they had no idea who the DoD was, let alone how Peter knew them. 

 

“Well,” Stiles continued, “You can call me Little Red, and my Alpha Big Bad Wolf...Or just ‘Wolf. You’re choice.” 

 

Then, Stiles did a quick air spell, forcing hot air to gust in his direction and dry both him and Jackson. Peter got caught in the crossfire, his hair sticking up in all directs as if it were defying gravity. 

 

Both packs walked, a safe distance between the two. Peter stayed with the duo, choosing to ride with them to a nice, secluded place. 

 

The McCall Pack followed the trio to a place called Kings, a small restaurant that served (secretly, of course) supernaturals, and was almost a safe house for any supernatural beings.

 

It was already 1:36AM when they arrived, the place’s lights all off. The packs both walked to the back, Stiles making his way to the manager’s room. 

 

“We’re going to go ‘change’, and you guys can grab a table.” Jackson said, putting air quotes around the word change.

 

The duo waltzed to the men’s bathroom, removing their masks and glamors. Stiles eyes were back to their honey brown, Jackson eyes back to their blue. It was so easy to fool the supernatural. 

 

None of the pack recognized their scents, but they were expected to. They hadn’t tampered with that, giving them a trial to see how well their senses were.

 

they failed. Miserably. 

 

They ambled back to the table The McCall-Hale Pack chose, grabbing chairs to sit next to the pack. Everyone was staring at them with shock, no one speaking. It hadn’t been this quiet in years, Stiles always filling the void of deafness with chatter and moment. Now, though, they remained stoic, never speaking first. They waited in silence for awhile, growing frustrated with the lack of sound coming from the pack. 

 

“Okay, well...Um...Hey?” Stiles finished lamely, not know long what to say for once in his life. Jackson placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. 

 

“We’re they Stilinski Pack, or at least part of it. Why did you come here?” Stiles said the words sincerely, trying not to sound crude or harsh.

 

”oh! Uh...we were following the creatures because they were breeding in BH and we had to find the source.” Scott’s voice rang out, nervous but chipper. Stiles’ know how Scott would’ve handled those soulless things; Scott would’ve let them leave if they promised not to come back. Let them wreak havoc on other towns with ignorance. 

 

“Well, You’ve met the Alpha, Jackson, and met his Second in Commond, moi. They rest of the Pack are at home. How long do you plan on staying?” 

 

 

 

They stayed for a week, creating a contract between the two Packs. The treaty was made on the condition that Peter become their pack. And boy, did Peter want to be their pack.

 

Ashia, the youngest of the pack, had hated them since the start. The fourteen year old she devil had snarled and growled at them, claiming, “She didn’t like their scent.” 

 

Ashia’s parents, Alexa and Felix, had to keep her away from them, lest she bite their arms. Unlike her parents, she still had trouble controlling her ‘wolf, who never wanted to listen to her humanity. 

 

Their pack was small, and had seven members in total. Ashia, Alexa, Felix, Jordan, Caleigh, Peter, Stiles, And Jackson. Jordan was an incubus, And Caleigh was a Succubus, which made them an fantastic pair. Didn’t stop the pack house from smelling like sex, though. 

 

Felix and Alexa had been a couple before they were bitten, both having bred a ‘wolf. It was almost unheard of, but they decided to take the bite to help train Ashia. 

 

Their pack was small but strong, having built the name of ‘The Pack Of Life And Death.’ That name’s had been chosen by some random Omega that they left alone, and his dead friend that killed four men. 

 

Their pack was small but strong, and they had kept Stiles and Jackson strong in front of the pack that hadn’t given them a grain of salt. 

 

Their pack was their family now, and Pack protects their own.