It’s a little less than an hour before sunrise but the sky is already turning a dark grey in the East. Queen is blasting through Stiles’ earphones as he jogs along the winding forest trail, trying to avoid treacherous roots and mouthing the words along with Freddie Mercury. Leaves and small blades of grass adorned with little icicles crunch under his feet but he can’t really hear it. Stiles reaches a fork in the path and after a couple seconds of deliberation decides to turn into the direction of his house.
He’s glancing down at his phone, scrolling through the song list because all of a sudden he’s feeling more like Led Zeppelin, when something crashes into him with a great force. The phone goes flying in one direction, taking the earphones with it, and Stiles tumbles down in another. He lands on his stomach with a heavy thud, all the wind knocked out of his lungs, but a few choice curse words still manage to pass his lips. Who would’ve thought that running around in the woods in the dark could be dangerous?
Stiles heaves himself up on all fours, his head still a bit fuzzy and ears ringing. He so needs to reevaluate his life decisions when he’s not about to throw up.
Suddenly, he’s upright and there are claws digging into his left shoulder and more claws right on his throat. Stiles’ whole body vibrates with the snarl that the creature pressed up his back lets out. Goose bumps appear all over Stiles’ body, anxiety churning his gut, and he just wants the creature off. His. Back.
Yep, this is turning out to be a great day.
“Dude, you’re so making a mistake,” Stiles grits out. He tries to move but the creature has a pretty tight grip on him.
“Shut the fuck up,” is snarled right into Stiles’ ear, which ew spit and all that, while the claws around his throat tighten.
Five werewolves appear before Stiles and his new blood thirsty buddy, half of them in full beta shift, half only showing off their fangs and claws. Stiles would verbally welcome the rescue party if he didn’t risk decapitation by claws by speaking up.
“Let him go,” the Alpha werewolf with glowing red eyes snarls. Her focus is solely on the beast currently holding Stiles at claw point.
Stiles himself tries to remember what Scotty told him about the pack that resides in Beacon Hills when suggesting that Stiles move here. Stiles knows she’s a Hale and he’s pretty sure her name starts with an L. Loraine? Lara? Somewhere in there certainly was an R.
“You have nowhere else to run. Killing another innocent won’t change anything.” Lorna (she definitely could be a Lorna) continues but doesn’t advance closer.
Stiles nearly scoffs at being called an innocent, he wrought much havoc in his day thank you very much, but the claws dig into his neck, drawing blood, so he stops himself.
A beta with serious abs that peak out of his torn shirt steps forward, standing next to his Alpha. He’s frowning something fierce, fangs poking out of his plush lips, and Stiles can’t stop himself from admiring how sexy he looks with that tight fitting t-shirt that hugs his muscles just right and his confident stance and that stubbly jaw that Stiles wants to feel rubbing all over him. Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. But no one can fault Stiles’ mind from trailing off even when he’s clearly about to be murdered, Stiles is only human.
Though not really to be honest, but still.
The beta’s electric blue eyes run over Stiles’ no doubt bloodier by the minute form and his eyebrows scrunch up even more if that’s possible. Stiles can’t think of another person who could make a scowl more scowlier and still remain hot as all hell.
“If you release the human,” the beta starts, only slightly slurring the words over his fangs, “I will kill you quick and painless.”
The Alpha, Laurel possibly (and damn, it’s driving Stiles nuts that he can’t remember!), turns to him with a rather scandalized expression, hissing out, “Derek!”
One of the other betas, a guy with blonde curly hair and a scarf of all things around his neck, smirks. Stiles himself lets out an amused little chuckle which quickly turns into a whimper when both clawed hands sink even deeper into his flesh, warm blood soaking Stiles’ t-shirt even more. He so should’ve just jogged around the town like usual.
“Don’t!” The Alpha (maybe it’s Lauren?) immediately orders, stretching out a hand towards Stiles and his vicious new BFF even though there’s like ten feet between them. Still, Stiles appreciates the sentiment. Especially as all the wolves step imperceptibly forwards, growling their displeasure.
“You let me get out of your territory and I will release the human then,” the, as Stiles presumes, omega snarls out once again right into Stiles’ ear and presses closer to his back.
Stiles rolls his eyes heavenwards because first of all, disgusting, and second of all, why does the omega have to be this close to Stiles’ back? Stiles counts the leaves on the branch above, waiting for the spiked anxiety to reduce again and trying to think of a plan.
“Or I could just rip your intestines with my teeth right now,” a blonde beta with red lipstick not even smudged around her lips growls. She wants to move forward but a burly stoic guy next to her stops her by placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Erica,” the Alpha reprimands, giving her a look and the blonde huffs. “We’re not negotiating with you,” the Alpha turns her attention back to the omega. “You’ve already killed three people; we can’t let you go.”
Oh! So that explains that at least. During the past two weeks Stiles has been wondering if he should maybe get involved or leave the supernatural threats to the residing pack at hand since he’s been trying to keep a low profile. Clearly, he should’ve taken care of it himself because his profile is about to not be so low anyway. At least if his plan works in his favor. Stiles just needs a bit of a distraction.
“It’s gonna be four if you don’t,” the omega declares.
“So dramatic,” Stiles can’t help but whisper under his breath, rolling his eyes.
“Shut it!” The omega slices one of his claws through Stiles’ throat, managing to avoid the important bits but letting a lot more blood coat Stiles’ neck. It’s a warning. Not that Stiles heeds any warnings anyway.
“I’m just saying,” Stiles says, as calm as he probably shouldn’t be in such a situation, but he’s faced worse and an enraged omega doesn’t really do it for him fear wise. The pack of five werewolves stare at him incredulously.
“They’re clearly not gonna let you go, man. I’d go with Derek’s here,” he waves slightly with his uninjured right hand in the direction of the mentioned beta, “suggestion of quick and painless.”
Derek himself glares at Stiles as if thinking that Stiles is the most idiotic person he’s ever met in his life. Truthfully, Stiles would think the same if he saw some human trying to negotiate with a wild omega that has his fucking claws embedded in the human’s throat.
“Is he insane?” The blonde girl, Erica, lifts an eyebrow, looking Stiles up and down. Normally Stiles would smirk and flirt with such a gorgeous girl as she is but now’s not really the time.
“I mean, come on,” Stiles continues because his throat hasn’t been slit thankfully. “We’re not just gonna stand here all day, are we? They’re,” he waves in the general direction of the pack, “gonna make a move and sometime soon, I’m guessing. They might be able to save me from the throat slicing and imminent death by bleeding out but let’s admit it, it’s more likely that I’ll die before hitting the ground and you’ll be mauled slowly and painfully. At least I think so. You’d avenge me, right guys?” He glances at the pack for a split second.
“Oh my God, he is insane,” Erica whispers.
“You really should shut up,” the Alpha hisses at him but Stiles ignores her along with Derek’s rumbling growl.
“Another option for you is to just slice me open right now and make a run for it,” Stiles keeps on talking because hey that’s what he does best. “But based on the fact that you had to get me into this hostage type situation, I’m thinking you’re not going to outrun them and you’re once again left with the painful mauling and what was that Erica mentioned? Intestine ripping?” He quirks a questioning eyebrow at the blonde beta who only rolls her pretty eyes. Stiles nearly smirks.
“Let’s face it, you’re shit out of luck, dude. Just roll over and let this end as well as it can for you,” Stiles says. But he’s barely keeping track of his words, he’s more focused on trying to materialize his silver blade at the right moment. Stiles has lost a lot of blood and doesn’t feel in top shape to be using any of his abilities, but he won’t survive this otherwise.
The omega growls lowly, the sound reverberating through Stiles’ body, reminding him once again that the threat is at his back (and Stiles thought he was over it after five years). The omega hesitates and his claws shift slightly away from Stiles’ throat and shoulder for only a second but that’s all Stiles needs.
The blade materializes in Stiles’ left hand. With his right, Stiles grabs hold of the omega’s right arm in a death grip, pushing it away from himself and feeling the bone break. The omega snarls in pain and surprise, grappling at Stiles with his left hand. But Stiles whirls quickly to the side and jams his blade right into the omega’s heart with a satisfying crunch of the ribs. The omega screams, bursting into flames for a second, and then only a pile of ash is at Stiles’ feet.
Stiles wipes the sweat from off his forehead, gulping in air. That took away way more energy than normal. He seriously needs those wounds closed ASAP.
“Nice team effort, guys,” Stiles tells the werewolf pack as he spins around to face them, a huge smile on his face. “Though you have to admit that I did most of the work.” He cleans the bloody blade off on his already bloody and completely ruined t-shirt and dematerializes it.
There’s only a second of silence as all the werewolves stare at him in what Stiles thinks is awe and wonderment of his amazing skills. And the next second he’s got yet another werewolf clinging to him, though this time face to face, and Stiles has to admit that he prefers the manhandling being this way.
Derek growls in Stiles’ face, his muscular arm against Stiles’ chest, pushing him into the nearest tree. Stiles would be lying if he said that this didn’t do anything for him. But the moment is ruined by the pain radiating from Stiles’ left shoulder that Derek is pressing on quite heavily.
“What the fuck are you?” Derek snarls out, in full beta shift now. And where did his eyebrows go?
“Hey,” Stiles pushes at him, scowling right back. He doesn’t try to get away, just needs Derek to keep the pressure off Stiles’ shoulder until Stiles can heal it. “I just took care of your problem that you couldn’t take care off for over two weeks. I’d say thank you is more in order and not this pushing around, growling in my face.”
“What. Are. You.” Derek grits out again without any intonation. But his eyebrows are back and only claws have remained.
“You’re real good at conversation, dude,” Stiles remarks, amused, letting the corner of his lips curl into a smile. “I’m rare,” he says in answer to Derek’s question and Derek only growls again.
“Derek,” the Alpha is next to them, her hand is on Derek’s shoulder and she pulls him back slightly.
Now the whole of the pack is surrounding Stiles. Derek frowns at him with his arms crossed over his chest and that’s never going to be not sexy in Stiles’ eyes.
“Clearly, he’s a witch. He used magic,” the curly haired blond with the scarf says.
“I’m not a witch and it wasn’t magic,” Stiles rolls his eyes. He’s not about to tell them what it was or what he is though.
“I can’t hear his heartbeat,” the stoic beta says, staring at Stiles’ chest without an expression on his face.
“How long have you been living in our territory?” The Alpha questions, narrowing her eyes at Stiles.
“A few months.” He feels his energy slowly flowing back. If he can avoid their questions for a few more moments, he’ll have enough to safely get to his house.
“And you knew this was werewolf territory?” She asks.
“There’s no law saying a supernatural has to announce his arrival to other supernaturals, werewolf pack or not,” Stiles meets her gaze steady on. “Actually, we as a group have no laws at all, so.” He shrugs a shoulder and immediately frowns as it pulls at his wound.
“Quit dancing around,” Derek says surly. Stiles thinks the crease between his eyebrows is a permanent thing from all the frowning he must be doing in his life. “What the hell are you?”
“Is his record stuck?” Stiles glances at Erica, sharing a smile with her. Then he turns back to Derek. “I think it would be more interesting if you found out for yourself.” He grins at the werewolf, enjoying how Derek’s jaw ticks in irritation.
“Or I could get it out of you,” Derek says lowly, leaning with his hand against the tree, his face inches away from Stiles’.
Stiles darts his eyes to Derek’s lips for a fleeting second and then meets his human hazel eyes. “I doubt it,” Stiles says with a smirk.
He shifts his shoulder blades slightly in preparation, and with a thought Stiles is back in his kitchen, collapsing onto the tiled floor. Stiles groans, turning to lie on his back. Apparently, he did not have as much energy as he thought.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, panting.
Stiles stares at the ceiling for a bit longer, willing his head to stop spinning. Then he slowly gets up and drags his sorry ass to the downstairs bathroom. The image that meets him in the mirror is not a pretty one. Stiles frowns at himself immediately.
His shoulder is grandly messed up: bits of flesh are hanging off, there’s more blood than he thought and his t-shirt is drenched. Stiles removes it gingerly and it drops with a wet splat on the floor. His throat seems a bit better but overall he seriously looks like a slasher movie victim that barely escaped. Not to mention that he reeks of blood. The coppery smell is overwhelming in the tight space and Stiles gags. He grabs hold of the sink with both hands and turns the tap on, starting to wash off the blood.
The wounds have already started healing slowly; Stiles can feel the muscle and tissue knitting back together. He pulses some of his energy towards the wounds, sighing in relief when the pain starts to ebb away.
Stiles returns his gaze back to the mirror. His eyes are glowing light blue; the same color energy is seeping through his wounds, healing them.
“Laura!” Stiles suddenly shouts to no one but himself, a grin on his face. He knew there was an R in her name!
Speaking of the werewolves, maybe he should call Scotty and ask about the werewolf protocol in the situation that Stiles is in. He would very much like to stay as far away from the Hale pack and the supernatural as possible but he doubts that’ll be easy to do in such a small town as Beacon Hills. Especially not if the wolves want to find him, which, judging by their reaction, they will want to find Stiles and possibly rip his throat out while they’re at it.
Ugh. And he was really trying to keep a low profile. Now Stiles will have to ask Scott to help him relocate again. Shit. Stiles was kind of starting to like it here.
With a resigned sigh, Stiles digs into the pocket of his sweats to retrieve his phone. A frown appears on his face when the device is not there.
“Fuck me sideways,” Stiles swears, groaning.
He never picked the phone up after being tossed to the ground along with it. Stiles just hopes none of the wolves noticed it. He snorts to himself. As if he’d be that lucky.