sometimes he think Scott knows.
"Are you ok man? You smell--you smell like... blood," he murmurs as he catches Stiles at his locker between classes.
Stiles laughs, waving a bandaged hand under the werewolf's nose. "Yeah m'fine. Dad says no more Kesha when I'm supposed to be chopping carrots."
Scott doesn't look entirely convinced, but he crooks a half-smile and claps him on the shoulder. "If you say so."
"What else would it be?" he asks rhetorically, bumping their shoulders together on their way to History.
more often then not it's not so much the pack being targeted, but specifically himself and Lydia. sometimes the pack doesn't even know until Stiles calls one of them in a panic because they need a lift to the hospital right fucking yesterday thanks.
Deaton thinks they're recruitments, Scott nodding along, a banshee would be an asset to another pack or a fellow creepy crawly--Lydia glares at him for that one--and not everyone entirely knows what happened to the nogitsune. perhaps they think it still lingers, and would ask it for help or power.
Stiles would be more inclined to agree if he wasn't constantly trying to avoid being slit open from throat to groin. he goes looking for the Hales, not entirely sure which one he would rather find, and finds them both in a Denny's of all places.
"I like their Grand Slam," defends Peter while Derek tries to hide in his poached-hard--the freak--eggs.
"Lydia says that if she finds out you're lying to us she'll burn all your v-neck shirts. And then you."
Peter sighs wistfully, "If only she were older."
"Peter," Derek warns, but he doesn't get much further then that before Stiles lashes out and drives a fork into Peter's hand. he twitches violently, but other than that, doesn't react to draw any attention to their table as Stiles leans forward, hand still white-knuckling around the fork.
"If you go anywhere near her, I will slit your throat--properly this time," he murmurs, ignoring Derek staring a hole into the side of his head.
Peter flashes his eyes, but smiles congenially. "Now we wouldn't want that, would we? Do you mind...?" He twitches his fingers and Stiles drives it down briefly before yanking it up an out. The werewolf hisses, flexing his hand before he sniffs. "I must say, I like this side of you Stiles."
"Just hurry up and say whatever it is you have to say or I'm leaving," he snaps, reaching over to steal a piece of bacon off Derek's plate, once more ignoring the incredulous gaze.
"Not much of a threat," he grumbles under his breath and Stiles kicks him in the shin.
inspecting the healing skin of his hand, Peter shrugs and says, "Sacrifice."
sacrifice. it's so fucking stupid, and yet.
Lydia's the only banshee this side of the rockies--god only knows if there's any on the other side at all. and supernatural blood is powerful.
not as powerful as a virgin's though. as bitter as Stiles is about this, he hasn't exactly been in the mood to attempt to change that, even with Lydia at his side more often then not. and there's something to be said about a virgin once possessed by a powerful trickster spirit.
"So we protect ourselves," says Lydia, dropping a massive tome onto his desk. "We do what we've always done--only better. And we look out for each other."
absently, he reaches for her hand, and as always feels a swell of relief when she reaches back.
a witch comes to try and sway Lydia, and try to rip out Stiles' heart.
they set her on fire and bury the pieces of her body in four separate corners of the preserve.
a siren tries to drown Stiles and Lydia smashes her skull in with a tire iron.
another hunter comes for Stiles and they send his teeth back to his clan as a warning.
and then it's something ordinary.
it's something so awful and human and he doesn't know what to do. he calls Derek from the alley behind Jungle; Lydia cradled in his arms--the guy that slipped something into her drink unconscious at his feet.
both Hales show up and Stiles would be pissed if he wasn't obsessively checking Lydia's pulse when her breathing got too quiet. Derek crouches down in front of him while Peter nudges the guy with his boot. "It's ok, Stiles. She's just unconscious. Her breathing is fine, she'll just have a headache when she wakes up."
he can feel himself nodding, but his eyes are fixed on the man sprawled across the ground. "Is the train depot still empty?"
both werewolves still, sending unreadable glances at him and each other. "Stiles.." Derek starts.
"Will you take Lydia to see Melissa? She's at home, Lydia won't want to go to the hospital. Can you help me move him?" he says this last part towards Peter.
Derek shifts on his haunches, leaning closer to scoop Lydia from his arms. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks quietly.
Stiles turns to look at the pale girl in his arms--body too limp and still, bruises already forming around her wrists. "I'm sure."
and Derek doesn't fight him. Derek just nods, standing to take Lydia away and saying something hushed to his uncle. and if this were any other night, Stiles thinks maybe he'd fall a little bit in love with him. as it is..
Peter crouches down to hoist the guy over his shoulder, looking at Stiles with something dark and familiar in his eyes. "Lead the way."
he wakes slowly and heavily--eyes throbbing in sync with his heart. he tries to reach up to rub his head but his hand only gets a few inches before something pulls and he's stuck. he cracks an eye open and glances down--
"What the fuck?!" he hisses, chains rattling as he jerks his limbs. craning his neck he can see that he's tied to a metal table in what looks like an empty bus depot?
his neck cracks from turning it so fast and his eyes alight on a kid. tall and skinny, eyes hollow and underlined with dark circles. the red plaid shirt triggers something in his subconscious and he remembers.
"You--" his voice cracks, rough with disuse, mouth dry, "you were at the club. With that... girl."
the kid paces closer. "Ah yes, that girl. Her name's Lydia. And she's a very close friend of mine." He leans over the table and pushes his face close to his. "And I don't appreciate what you tried to do to her Jeremy."
Jeremy starts, frowning in confusion and the kid waves a finger in the air. "Yes I know your name, and I also know who you are. I did a little digging. Turns out--Jeremy--that you've done some very naughty things recently. So naughty!--in fact--that you weren't supposed to leave the lovely state of Nevada!"
Jeremy squirms, pulling again at his bindings. "Look kid, I don't know what you're talking about. Just, just let me go and we can talk about this, yeah?"
in a sudden movement the kid swings himself up on the table, feet on either side of his ribcage and crouched down low over his chest. "Is that what you said to those other girls Jeremy?" he croons, eyes menacing and teeth flashing in the low light. "Said you just wanted to talk--only, when they didn't want to, or that they wanted to go home--well. You didn't want that. Did you Jeremy?"
"Look--I don't, I didn't! It's not what you think!"
the kid's expression clears in a blink. "Oh I don't really care about that. What I do care about, is what you tried to do to my friend." he slowly rises to his feet, hand reaching out to pick up the baseball bat Jeremy realizes is lying next to his prone body.
"Holy fucking shit kid what the fuck are you doing?! Let me go! Please I'm sorry--I'll do anything! Just--just let me go! Please!"
the kid stares down at him for a moment, running a tongue over his teeth--eyes dark hollows set in his face. "You bruised her. Did you know that?"
he pulls back his lips and snarls, "I'm never gonna let you touch her again."
then he swings the bat around hard and--
Lydia wakes in a dark room, in an unfamiliar bed, with a sore head and Stiles passed out on her knees. she reaches down and tugs her fingers through the disaster of his hair and smiles when he jerks into a sitting position.
"Wha--'m awake. Wazzuh--"
his head whips around and she winces when it cracks loudly in the silence. "You're awake! How are you feeling? Do you want any water?"
she slowly shakes her head. "No, I'm alright. What happened?"
his expression darkens and he twines their fingers together. "What do you remember?"
Lydia squints up at the ceiling. "I remember being at Jungle. I remember that guy buying me a drink, and you--you arguing with him?"
she catches a flash of white as Stiles bares his teeth. "He spiked your drink."
his shoulders are shaking and his jaw is clenched but his hands are so gentle around hers and his fingers are stroking lightly over her--bruised?--wrists. "He drugged you and he was going to take you away but he was human and I didn't know what to do but he touched you and I just--"
"Stiles," she croons, "no, hush, it's alright, come here," she pulls him down beside her and he goes easily. he tucks up against her shoulder and snuffles quietly. "Where are we?"
"Derek's loft," he mumbles. "I called them before... before."
she frowns at the ceiling. "As long as I wasn't alone with Peter."
Stiles snorts weakly. "No. Derek. Peter came with me when I--"
she shushes him again. "It's alright. You don't have to talk about it."
"He touched you," he snarls fiercely but quietly. "That's not allowed. No one's allowed to touch you."
she hums in agreement, running her fingers through his sticky hair. he settles eventually and she hums quietly to the room, breathing in the scent of hair wax and iron.
pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, she knows she'll never worry about herself again. she licks her lips and tastes metal.
