The Day Stiles Snapped
Masterlist | AO3
Twenty-five years of war and supernatural annoyances makes you pretty close to the people you have left. It also means the peaceful portion of Beacon Hill's the supernatural population has rules for living peacefully. The number one rule: don't hurt the pack, their humans are crazy and will not stand for it.
~3k
TW: gore, violence, death
This is actual crap but I'm too lazy and stressed to fix it
Blood and ash covered the ground. The newly rebuilt Hale house had been reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble once more. Stiles, sitting stuck at the base of a tree. He looked around at his friends, taking in the carnage before him.
Scott was bleeding out, slashed nine ways to hell, and he wasn’t healing. Isaac was trying to hell him but was badly hurt too. Isaac’s whole body was shaking, sucking in greedy breaths of air he’d been deprived of.
Jackson was holding Lydia, crying as she stared blankly up at him. He held her face, blood from his hands smearing on her perfect pale skin. For all Stiles knew, she was already gone.
Malia had been trapped in ropes laced with wolfsbane. Every time she moved, the cut deeper into her skin. Her wrists were raw and bleeding as she fought to help the others.
Liam was on the ground, finally managing to push his weight up on his hands and knees. He'd been thrown at least twenty feet before slamming into the foundation of what had been their home, the pack’s house. Stiles could see the defeat in his eyes. Eyes that had found Theo's body. The bloody, crumbled mess that used to be a person.
A shrill laughter echoed off the trees. It pulled Stiles from the horrifying view of his friends and brought his eyes to Derek. Derek who had yet to stop fighting. Their most recent big bad had been playing with him like a toy.
Stiles wanted to help. He moved slightly, a sharp and ripping pain ran through his body. His hand came to the source of the pain in his stomach and he whimpered. He could feel the broken ends of his own bat sticking out of him. His clothes were soaked with his own blood and possibly that of others.
"What are you doing little wolf," big bad evil guy laughed, kicking Derek when he was already on the ground.
Stiles couldn't remember what or who it was or the plan or if they had a plan. His brain wouldn't work.
"Do something! Show me the power of the Hale alpha!"
No. No, that was wrong. Derek wasn't an alpha. He isn't the alpha. Scott is. Scott… Scott was. But… weren’t there two? Who… Who else? Why couldn’t he think? Tears brimmed Stiles's eyes, pain and frustration mixing in what was no doubt a sour smell.
"Well well well. Aren't those eyes beautiful," he hummed, "but they aren't red," each word grew more bitter, punctuated with a blow to Derek’s limp form. "Where's the real alpha, Hale? Where is he, huh? Peter?" Stiles frowned. No. Not Peter. Peter was dead, really and truly dead. “Is it your bitch of a sister? Did she abandon her pack?” Cora did run. Derek told her to run. No, not Cora. “Or maybe it’s one of your precious housemates.”
Stiles watched Derek be picked up and dragged like a rag doll. Closer to the others. Closer to the others. No. No no no no no. Not now. Not like this.
Derek was unceremoniously dragged to each of their pack members. He was watching for a response. He paused longer in front of Malia and she growled and snapped at him. When he was brought to Stiles, there was something in his eyes. Something like an apology. He was sorry, sorry any of them had been brought into this mess.
“This one’s special, hah?” The words came out in a sick questioning laugh.
Stiles felt himself be lifted off the ground. His stomach lurched, contracted. He felt like throwing up. His head felt like it was spinning. The weight of the bat hanging from his body, ripping through him before it fell to the ground. His mouth went dry. Not good. Never good. He managed to focus his eyes enough to tell where they were going, toward the fire.
Big bad lifted Derek up and gave an evil smirk, holding Stiles out over the smoldering remains of the house. It was hot. Stiles’s blood dripped and sizzled. “Start talking or I drop him.”
The world was dulled from the blood loss. Sounds felt farther and farther away the longer he dangled. He could hear slurred words, Derek. Derek was talking. He didn’t know what he was saying. Stiles felt the world slipping from him.
A chorus of howls sang from the woods. It made Stiles’s ears ring but a strange peace settled within him. Two howls rang about the others, two alphas. One… their alpha? Who was…
“I knew there was a new Hale alpha,” the big bad laughed. “I have no need for you now.”
Stiles didn’t know who it was meant for. He learned quickly as his body dropped. He screamed with all that was left in him. Searing flames licked at his skin, he felt himself being burned. His body fell through the wood and ash of the main floor. His eyes opened.
For a second, he saw the sky clearly. Big, beautiful, and dark. Everything in his life had been one of those three since high school. He saw the sky and then it was gone.
He saw the underside of the floor. Heavy, flaming red beams fell after him. Ash surrounded him. He was wrapped in a suffocating blanket of heat.
Stiles hit hard concrete and all feeling seemed to go dark. He helplessly watched as burning wood and debris landed on top of him. He closed his eyes, willing his body to move but he couldn’t. He tried to move his fingers, to search for something, anything, to help him. He couldn’t move. Tears rolled down his face. That familiar sense of helplessness filled his stomach.
He opened his eyes, looking up and there it was again. The sky. Black with smoke as the fire above him grew with new life. This was it. After years of fighting. Twenty-five years of trying to save himself and his friends and this was the end. He closed his eyes.
“Stiles,” a voice screamed, ripping through the air.
Stiles took a shaky breath. He knew. He knew who the alpha was. The Hale alpha. He did all he could. He was dying. Blinking felt like a battle but he tried. Stiles tried to scream, tried to yell, but could hardly manage a squeak. He called up a weak noise that was hardly discernible as a word.
“Eli,” he croaked out.
Derek had ruffled his hair, a feat now that Eli was taller than him, and told him to go. He told him to have fun and they’d hold down the fort. He was only twenty, still learning who he was, and Derek didn’t want him sucked into all this mess. He told Eli to leave and not to look back until he knew who he was.
“Come on, dad! You know what I’m gonna do,” Eli said with a smirk. “I’m going to start the police academy in the fall, make a name for myself, and worm my way into the FBI academy.”
Derek smiled, looking down at his shoes. When he looked up, he sighed and gave Eli his best ‘what’s the plan’ look he’d given Stiles millions of times. “And how do you plan to worm your way into that?” Stiles snickered, sharing a smile with Eli.
“Worming is one of my skills,” Eli said.
Derek sighed. He had that coming. “Could you stop acting like Stiles and be serious for one second?”
Really, he should know better than to ask that kind of question. For his troubles, he was met by a chorus of Eli and Stiles talking over each other in what were distinctly Stiles quotes.
“Don’t Be Such A sour wolf,” Stiles scoffed.
“Positivity just isn’t in your vocabulary, is it,” Eli asked at the same time, giving Stiles a high five. “I’ll be fine, dad. And, if anything happens, I’ll call cousin Miguel... Juarez Cinqua Tiago.” Derek rolled his eyes and Eli laughed. “Alright. I need to go if I’m going to catch my bus.”
Eli gave Stiles a hug, not feeling him slip something into his pocket. He gave Derek a hug, being held tightly.
It would be the first time they’d really been apart in years. It would be the first time Eli would be away from the pack since becoming an alpha after Derek’s, like, fifth temporary death.
When Derek let Eli go, he muttered the obligatory “be safe, kid” which Stiles swore he got from Sheriff.
Stiles had nodded to Eli and looked down as he put his hand in his pocket. Eli gave him a confused puppy look and stuck a hand in the pocket of his flannel. He looked back at Stiles with big eyes, pulling keys out of his pocket. Stiles winked at him and looked at the jeep.
Eli left before Derek could object. Derek glared at Stiles, complicated feelings rising in him. He accused Stiles of sending Eli away in a death trap.
When Derek was sure Eli wouldn’t hear them anymore, his mood soured. He asked if Stiles had a plan.
Loud cracks and crunching sounded from the burning remains of the house before it all caved in. Screams filled the air. Stiles was in there. They all seemed to understand Stiles wasn’t there anymore, his body was.
A horde of werewolves attacked as one. Satomi’s pack took charge. She told Eli to go, to help his pack. He didn't know what to do first. The pain that tainted each of the pack bonds was pulling him in multiple directions. He’d only just become the alpha and he was losing his pack.
So he did what he always did.
Eli ran to his dad.
Derek was left laying on the stairs, sorrow and grief rolled off him in heavy waves. The mix of blood, ash, and loss in the air was sickening. It burnt Eli's nose but Derek knew it well.
"Dad," Eli cried, helping him sit up. He held his dad’s face in his hands. "Hey, it's me. It's Eli."
He looked into Derek’s eyes but he wouldn't look at Eli for more than a moment. He looked around at his pack and whined.
"Don't…," Eli stood up, "don't do anything stupid," he said, looking to see who needed him most.
"You’re just like him," Derek whispered, his voice as broken as his spirit. Eli looked at his dad, utterly confused. "That's a good thing."
“As much I love when you tell me about our family, this is not the time,” Eli huffed. “I need to help Scott. He’s in literal ribbons over there!”
“No, like… like Stiles.”
Eli paused. His mouth hung open. It was a compliment. It was meant to be praise. He’d never compared Eli to Stiles as a form of praise. It took more strength than he knew he had not to stay there. He had to help. He couldn’t let his pack die. Eli bit his tongue and ran to Scott.
He crouched next to Isaac, the sounds of him struggling to breathe cut worse than any knife. Eli gave him a sympathetic look. He looked down at Scott, hardly able to tell who he was. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took Scott’s hand. Eli focused. He dumped all of his power and energy into helping, into healing, Scott. He couldn’t let Scott die.
It felt like he was ripping himself apart. Black veins raced up his arms. Eli was giving his power to save Scott. It was painful and terrifying and exhilarating. It was life and it was death flowing through them. He was bargaining with fate. He was pulling Scott from Death’s door. And it very well could mean their pack would be left with no alpha.
Eli roared, looking up at the sky. He felt it happen, his eyes changing from crimson red to golden yellow. He sighed heavily, looking up at the sky. The sky… It was pitch black with smoke in the fading light.
An explosion boomed from the house. It was loud, almost deafening for the wolves. A mushroom cloud of fire and smoke burst up from the burnt-out basement. Eli threw his body over Scott. He had to protect their last hope. Burning debris rained down. It barely missed some of the pack, hitting the enemy just enough to make him falter.
“YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER!” The scream came from the edge of the house. A
black, ash-covered form stalked forward from the remnants. Its body looked cracked as red heat showed through like lava.
“Parrish,” Eli whispered, burning heat washing over him as the form moved to attack.
Flames grew, surrounding the form’s body. “You set our home on fire! You threw me in the fucking fire,” it yelled, flames burning bigger and brighter.
“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice not much more than a whisper.
“You scared us into sending away the pups!”
Satomi took the sign to call her pack off, moving them out of the way.
“You insulted our alpha! And, worst of all, You hurt my family. My pack,” he spat, his eyes burned with the fires of Hell itself.
“And now what? You’ve come to fight me to the death yourself?”
“No. To the pain,” Stiles quoted. He had been waiting for this opportunity. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.”
“Are you… are you quoting the Princess Bride?”
“I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right. Your ears you keep and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear God! What is that thing," will echo in your perfect ears.” Stiles grinned an evil smirk. “Then I will kill you.”
“Fight, you coward! Or can you only talk,” he asked. “Fight me or I’ll finish what I started with your little ‘family’.”
The growl that ripped from Stiles's throat was a shock to everyone. It was sick and animalistic and angry. One fact has always held true about Stiles, one rule that was unanimously agreed upon: Don’t. Touch. His. Family.
It could have been quick, easy. A Hellhound fighting a psychotic darach lusting after werewolf alpha powers instead of making the normal sacrifices. It would have been if he hadn’t hurt what mattered most to Stiles.
It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t easy, and it sure as hell wasn’t painless. Stiles kept his promise. He ripped the darach limb from limb. The fire cauterized each of the wounds seconds after they were made. It was a sick smell– burning flesh and seared blood.
When the darach was reduced to nothing but a torso and head under Stiles’s foot, he asked “do you yield?”
“Never,” the darach said through gritted teeth.
Stiles's foot crushed his skull like it was made of chalk. A low growl still vibrated against his chest, glaring down at the lifeless body. Stiles closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
He relaxed. The fire faded slowly, leaving Stiles’s bare and tired body. He looked up at the sky and smiled.
The smoke had cleared enough to see the moon. The full moon that ruled their world. He sighed. The sky was still dark and tainted with smoke but it was clearing. Just like them, it had a long way to go before it was normal again but it was healing. The sky was returning to normal just like they would.
“Stiles!”
He didn’t know who reached him first. Satomi was quick to cover him with a shall. Eli was hugging him tightly. Lydia was grabbing onto him to stay standing. Scott was holding onto them.
“You’re okay,” Eli mumbled, the sorrow thick in his voice.
“Takes more than that to keep me down,” Stiles said, wrapping an arm around Eli. The bundle walked back toward the brick stairs of the Hale house. “Can someone call Corey or Ethan,” he asked, his voice hoarse from the ash and smoke he’d breathed in.
Stiles looked down at Derek, meeting his eyes. Stiles smirked.
“How… how did you control it,” Eli asked, looking Stiles over for any sign of the Hellhound.
Stiles shrugged, holding a hand out to help Derek stand. “Not the first time I’ve been possessed by a so-called neutral spirit that only exists for one purpose,” he joked. “Kinda nice that this one is trying to protect the world instead of sending it into chaos.”
Scott stared at the bloodbath Stiles had created, still holding Lydia up. “You killed him…”
“Man, nothing gets past those werewolf senses, huh Scott,” Stiles scoffed, earning a disturbed look from his friend. “Did you miss the part where the dude tried to kill all of you? And did kill me?”
“We don’t… Stiles, we can’t—”
“Scott, He literally burned me alive,” Stiles yelled. “By the way, team, ixnay on the burning people to death. That shit sucked. I might actually feel bad for Peter now…”
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*Brief mention of the movie that could spoil something*
I so dearly wanted Stiles to say “I feel like an honorary Hale, now. Burnt to death because a psycho lost it going after Derek” to reference the original Hale fire, Peter’s first death, and the new movie.