Fic: Stiles the Werewolf Slayer
Rating: Teen and up (Canon appropriate violence, swearing)
For #SterekWeek2015 #SterekAltEra
Word Count: 4k
AO3 Link here
The principal pieced together the torn up record and peered at it worriedly.
“You burnt down the school gym?”
Stiles shrugged uncomfortably. He knew the fresh start speech was too good to be true.
“Not on purpose- I mean I didn’t, it was mice! Mice with cigarettes?”
He gave up and plastered on a smile.
“It was great to meet you, Principal Flutie, I promise I’m going to be a model student from now on! You’ll see!”
* * *
Stiles sighed, walking through the school corridors with a piece of paper in his hand. He couldn’t screw this up, not after his dad had been forced to transfer to Sunnydale’s precinct. He tried not to make Stiles feel too bad about it, but he saw the tired resignation in his eyes as he dropped Stiles off and he never wanted to be the one who put it there.
“You’re Stiles, right? Moved here from L.A.?”
Stiles looked up, and saw a short redhead gazing up at him, her eyes intent and calculating.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Lydia,” she held out her hand to shake his. “Did you play lacrosse back in L.A.? We could use some more talent in our team.”
“Yeah I did,” Stiles said warily, leaving out that he was relegated to the bench once his Slayer duties kept him missing practice.
Lydia smiled at him, like he’d passed a test. “Good! You sit with us at lunch okay?”
Her gaze moved from him to another boy, bent over the water fountain.
“Scott! Still rocking that...unique look I see.”
Scott looked up startled. He glanced down at his cargo pants and sweater vest ensemble.
“Um, my Mum picks out my clothes?” he said, dark eyes looking confused.
Lydia laughed. “Of course she did.” She turned to Stiles, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Stick with me, I’ll help you avoid the losers.”
Stiles kept a nervous smile on his face, as he inwardly winced. Lydia helped him find his way to his classes, and at lunch time, he saw Scott sitting alone. Impulsively, he sat down next to him.
“Hi! You’re Scott yeah? I’m Stiles.”
Scott looked up, eyes wide in surprise.
“You shouldn’t sit here! You’re with Lydia, right? They won’t like it.”
Stiles scoffed, settling in. “I think I can choose my own friends.”
“If you choose us, then Lydia is out, just so you know,” a blonde offered, sitting down beside Scott with a grin. “I’m Erica.”
Stiles shrugged. “I think I can deal.”
Lunch passed pleasantly, and Stiles finally allowed himself to relax, and hope that he would finally be able to just enjoy being a teenager. Afternoon class found him making his way to the library. Stiles pushed open the library doors, to find the place empty of students. Strange. He glanced around at the books, looking forward to checking some out later. Moving to the counter, he looked down to see a man behind it.
The man stood up, startled. He had brown skin, and intelligent dark eyes.
“Yes?”
“Ah I’m Stiles Stilinski, I was told to..”
The man’s eyes widened in recognition. “Of course. I was expecting you. I’m Dr Deaton.”
Deaton went into a small room behind the counter, and came back to Stiles, dropping a large old book onto the counter in front of him.
“I believe this is what you’re looking for.”
The book was leather-bound, worn and blazoned across the front, in faded gilt lettering, was the word “Werewolves.”
Stiles staggered back, breath coming fast and the feeling of his heart rising up into his throat. His mind was consumed by flashes- students with their throats torn out, growls, blood-stained faces, gleaming blue and red eyes...
Deaton studied Stiles’ face. “But you have slain werewolves. You’re a Slayer, Stiles. Into every generation there is born a-“
“- Chosen One, blah blah I’ve heard it all before,” Stiles gasped, trying his breathing exercises before he goes into a full-blown panic attack. “I’m retired, okay? I’m over seeing my friends killed, and my life ruined. I don’t slay anymore.”
“But there is no one else,” Deaton said slowly, as if Stiles was a particularly dim student. “Stiles, in Sunnydale, we have an ancient, magical tree called The Nemeton. It draws supernatural creatures to it. We need a Slayer’s help to protect the innocent.”
Stiles finally got his breathing under control, and sagged a little against the counter.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’ve already ruined my Dad’s life, and gotten my friends killed, so I need to minimise the damage okay? I can’t help. I’ll only make it worse.”
“At least come to the Bronze with me tonight,” Deaton urged. “Help me see if there are any supernatural creatures there. I’ve been researching a number of deaths and disappearances, and the teenagers were all seen there last.”
He walked out of the library as Deaton bent down to the pile of books behind the counter. Neither of them saw Erica’s blonde head peep out from behind some shelves, to mouth “What?!”
Stiles looked at himself in the mirror. Black jeans, black graphic tee, plaid button-up. Making a face, he pulled off the plaid shirt.
“Live dangerously Stiles,” he muttered to himself.
Loading some essential supplies into his messenger bag, he left his house and drove his jeep to the Bronze, parking it a block away to deter any drunk Bronze-goers from messing with it on their way out. He was protective of his jeep, okay?
Walking through an alley, he suddenly became aware that someone was following him. Of course. Blessing his Slayer powers, which really helped to counteract Stiles’ natural clumsiness, he climbed up the wall and waited. No sooner had the figure rounded the corner had Stiles landed on him, pushing him to the ground. The guy went down without protest, and Stiles had the feeling that he could have. Protested. But was choosing not to. Stiles stared down into an unfairly gorgeous face. Cheekbones and green eyes and ink-black hair, leather jacket...the guy was smirking. Smirking!
“What seems to be the problem, sir?” hot guy said, still smirking.
“Why are you following me, arsehole?”Stiles demanded, trying to ignore the firm muscled torso he was straddling, and mostly failing.
“Oh don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t bite.”
Taken aback, Stiles backed up and let hot guy get up. He looked unruffled.
“Truth is, I thought you’d be bigger.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”
Hot guy’s face turned serious.
“What you want. To kill them. Kill them all.”
“Seriously dude, how many of you knew I was coming here?” Stiles said disgustedly. “Was there a group email? And no, you’re incorrect. But you do get this lovely set of steak knives and a steam mop. What I want is to be left alone!”
He starts walking away. Screw Hot guy. Ugh, he really did want to though.
“Do you really think that’s an option anymore?!” the guy yelled after him.
Got to give the guys points for persistence.
“You’re standing in the realm of The Nemeton. And it’s about to spark.”
Stiles stopped and turned around. He knew about The Nemeton too? Hot guy threw something at him, Stiles automatically caught it. It was a small box.
“Don’t turn your back on this. You’ve got to be ready.”
Stiles sighed. “And who are you?”
Hot guy gave him a measured look. “Derek. Let’s just say I’m a friend.”
Stiles turned away muttering, “maybe I don’t want a friend.”
“Didn’t say I was yours,” came the amused reply as Stiles left the alley.
Once out of Derek’s sight Stiles opened the box. Inside lay a pendant on a leather thong. The pendant was clear glass, in a small test tube shape. Inside the glass, was a shimmering purple powder Stiles guessed to be wolfsbane. Looking closer, he saw that there was a tiny catch that could be flipped to open the pendant. Well that would come in handy. He slipped it on and hid it under his shirt. Once at the Bronze, he headed for the bar, and saw Scott sitting there, nursing a soda.
Scott looked up, and brightened as he saw Stiles.
“Hi!”
Stiles slid into the seat next to him.
“You here with someone?”
Scott shook his head, took a puff from his inhaler. “No, just here.”
“Why not? You’re cute, you should be dating!” Stiles encouraged.
Scott already felt like a bro, and he wanted Scott to be happy. Scott shrugged.
“I don’t really date a whole lot. I just can’t- with the words. I like someone, and when I try to talk to them, I just mess it up. Can’t make the right words come out- I get too nervous.”
Stiles knocked into Scott’s shoulder gently.
“Dude, it can’t be that bad.”
Scott looked mournful. “No it is. You probably don’t have any trouble.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah it’s so easy.”
“I just mean, you don’t seem- shy.”
“Well my philosophy is, life is short.”
Stiles grinned. “Not original, I grant you, but it’s true. Don’t waste time being all shy, and worrying about some girl or guy laughing at you. Seize the moment, ‘cos tomorrow you might be dead!”
Scott smiled sweetly. “Hey, that’s nice!”
Stiles looked up and saw Deaton hanging out on the upper level of the club.
“I’ll be back in a minute buddy,” he clapped Scott on the shoulder and stood up.
“Oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to come back,” Scott said brightly.
Stiles looked at him in exasperation.
“Dude. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He headed for the stairs, leaving Scott muttering “seize the moment,” to himself. Joining Deaton at the railing, he looked down at the crowd.
“So. You come here often and hang out with the students?”
Deaton ignored him. “Can you see anything suspicious?”
Stiles sighed, letting his awareness slide across the crowd, looking for something that pinged his radar.
“There,” he pointed at a tall, muscled guy with short hair, moving through the crowd.
Deaton frowned. “How do you know?”
“He’s moving too smooth. And he’s not dancing, and he looks a bit too old to be a teenager. He moves like a predator.”
Deaton looked doubtful. “And that makes him a werewolf?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “He just feels wrong okay? So do I need to slay him? I’ll have to draw him outside for that.”
“Not all werewolves are evil,” Deaton said calmly. “You should make sure.”
Stiles waved a hand. “Yeah yeah my old Watcher gave me the spiel before he was murdered by werewolves. Not all lone wolves go rogue, not all packs are evil Alpha ones, blah blah. Haven’t seen anything proving that yet.”
“Nothing yet? And you’re practically retirement age,” answered Deaton dryly.
Stiles looked back down at the crowd, only to see the werewolf guy take someone’s hand and start leading them to the exit. He caught a glimpse of shaggy black hair and a sweater-vest...crap.
“Scott!” Stiles hissed. “Oh no.”
Stiles looked grim. “Seizing the moment. Excuse me.”
“Should I?-“ Deaton began, and Stiles shook his head.
“One werewolf I can handle. You go home.”
Stiles raced down the stairs, heading for the exit. Erica was entering, looking surprised to see him leaving.
“Erica! Have you seen Scott? He left with a guy-“
Erica grinned. “Score! Nice work for Scott-“
“No I need to find him. Where would he take him?”
“Why, is he a werewolf? Then you’d have to slay him.”
Stiles looked at her in shock. “Does everyone know who I am? There really was a mass email, wasn’t there?”
Erica snickered. “I know you *think* you are, I know this because-“
“Erica shut up there isn’t time. Where would they go?”
Erica’s eyes narrowed. “You’re serious. Scott’s really in trouble?”
Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration. “If we don’t find him, he’ll likely be dead by morning. Is there a forest or preserve, or a park near here?”
Erica strode towards the exit, Stiles following. “I’ll show you.”
As they walked, Stiles started pulling weapons out of his bag. Erica watched with wide eyes as Stiles donned fingerless gloves with sharp blades glinting out of the dark material like claws. He rummaged around out a crossbow and some bolts. Arming it, he passed it to Erica.
“Here. Point and shoot. Aim for the middle of the body, you’ll be more likely to make the shot. The bolts are tipped with wolfsbane, which should incapacitate them, given enough time. Try to stay out of the fighting if you can.”
Erica took the crossbow gingerly, without protest. Stiles pulled out two long sharp knives, the blade discoloured with a dark substance Erica assumed to also be wolfsbane. Muttering under his breath, he traced a pattern on his skin, and a faint blue light travelled along his arms and body, then disappeared. He touched the back of his finger to Erica’s neck, and she shivered as the blue light travelled along her body too, leaving a tingling in its wake.
“Protection spell,” Stiles explained casually. “It will make us a bit harder to hit.”
He glanced at Erica’s face, and grinned. “Being a Slayer isn’t all about fighting techniques. To be fair, I have more magic potential than the previous one I guess. My old Watcher called me a Spark.”
Erica nodded, trying to look as though she hadn’t just seen real magic for the first time in her life. She was totally cool with this. Cool.
Stiles felt the familiar adrenalin rush, his Slayer powers recognising his intent to fight. He tried to ignore how familiar and comforting the feeling was. Gradually the houses turned to trees, and they approached the fringes of Sunnydale preserve. Stiles was wishing he had asked Deaton where exactly The Nemeton was. Erica pulled out her phone to use as a flashlight, and they kept walking.
Stiles tried to use his Slayer senses to detect any evidence of Scott’s recent passage, but didn’t come up with anything. He hated to admit it, but he was out of practice. Not that he’d had much time to hone his powers before his Watcher died. Maybe he did need Deaton. He felt the back of his neck prickle, and whirled around to see Hot guy stepping out from behind a tree. Derek.
“They came this way,” Derek offered. “I can show you where.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?” Stiles demanded.
Derek moved closer, and Stiles could see that the guy was moving stiffly. There were dark patches of something on his clothes and his leather jacket had a tear in one of the arms.
“I tried,” he shrugged painfully. “But there were at least two alphas.”
Stiles frowned. “An alpha pack? Crap. Okay, show us. We have to get to Scott.”
Derek nodded, moving to the front of the group.
“Scott is still alive,” he said softly. “And they haven’t bitten him.”
Stiles nodded his thanks. The guy was trying, he had to admit. And as strong as he looked, he wasn’t a Slayer, and taking on two alphas was a pretty freakin’ brave thing to do. Or stupid. He glanced at Erica, to see her take a firm grip on the crossbow, unfazed by the new developments. Stiles felt weirdly proud.
They moved through the forest faster, until Derek slowed and leaned into Stiles’ neck to whisper “we’re nearly there.”
Stiles shivered as Derek’s low voice seemed to twinge his body in places that Stiles did absolutely not need to feel right now, dammit. Derek tensed, and stopped Stiles.
“There’s something I need to tell you before we fight,” he said softly, looking conflicted.
“It can’t wait?” Stiles whispered back impatiently.
That was Scott’s voice, cracking with tension. Then all Stiles could hear was coughing and gasping. That didn’t sound good. Stiles ran forward, bursting into a clearing. A few paces away was the muscled guy, holding Scott who was bent over gasping for breath. An identical muscled guy was holding a struggling guy with blonde curly hair, and a woman with long dark hair had an unconscious boy slung over her shoulder. They were standing at the mouth of a large cave.
“Shit. That’s Isaac and Boyd,” Erica gasped, catching up to Stiles’ side.
“They’re in our group at school. And Scott needs his inhaler, he’s having an asthma attack.”
Stiles stepped forward, hefting his knives.
“Let them go.”
The three werewolves looked at Stiles, eyes glowing red.
“And who are you?” the woman sneered.
“Really? There’s someone in this town who doesn’t know who I am? Finally. I am the Slayer, and you are letting my friends go now.”
Derek stepped up to Stiles’ other side, and the werewolves snickered.
“Are you so anxious to join your sister Derek?” the woman taunted. She set Boyd on the ground, and started moving towards them, claws out and face deformed.
Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. There was a good reason for Derek’s brooding face then. He tried to ignore the instinct to kiss that sad look off Derek’s face. Now was not the time, he told his hormones sternly.
“They killed your sister? Man, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Derek said tightly. “Look Stiles, you need to know that I’m, I’m-“
The woman werewolf suddenly moved from walking to lunging at Stiles, but before she reached him Derek launched himself in front of Stiles, growling. Stiles watched in horror as Derek’s face grew hair, his fingers grew claws, and his eyes flashed red.
“No!” Stiles gasped, stepping back with Erica, Scott and the others forgot for a second as his brain attempted to make sense of the sight before him.
His anxiety, which had been growing steadily as he faced werewolves again, was derailed entirely at this new information. Derek dodged the woman’s attack, and rammed her backwards, away from Stiles and Erica. Stiles shook his head, he couldn’t worry about Derek now, he had shit to do. Stiles ran past Derek and the woman, heading for the twin werewolves holding Scott and Isaac. The twins grinned, releasing the boys. Scott fell to the ground, still gasping for breath and Isaac ran to him. The twins shrugged off their shirts, and started striding side by side towards Stiles.
“You think now is the time for an outfit change?” Stiles said incredulously, knives ready.
The twins smirked at him, put out an arm and started merging into each other.
“What the fuck?!” Stiles yelped, as the arms started melding and turning into one arm.
The twins staggered, half-merged, as a crossbow bolt whooshed past Stiles’ ear and buried itself into their thigh. Stiles took advantage of the distraction to step forward and stab his knives into their other thigh, pivoted and stabbed their kidneys. The twins fell to their knees, roaring in pain, and Stiles bent over them. He drew his blades hard across their throat. The twins fell apart, and Stiles crouched down and made sure each throat was completely cut through. He hadn’t been careful in the past. Stiles was pleased to see that his hands were only shaking a little.
Glancing back, he saw that Erica had backed away from Derek and the woman, making her way around the clearing to Boyd, who was still unconscious. Stiles wanted to check on Scott, but Derek didn’t look like he had the upper hand in the fight. Despite the shock of Derek’s reveal, Stiles could see that the werewolf seemed to be on their side. Maybe he was one of the good ones. Slowly, Stiles approached the pair, trying to keep behind the woman as the two snarled and appeared intent on breaking as many bones as possible.
Finally his chance came, as the woman staggered back towards him after a punch in the stomach from Derek. Stiles plunged his knives into each of her kidneys, eliciting a pain-filled snarl. The woman turned to face the new threat, falling to her knees as the wolfsbane started working its way into her bloodstream. Suddenly her hand shot out, grabbed Stiles’ ankle and pulled- sending him falling to the ground. The jolt of landing knocked the knives out of Stiles’ hands, as the woman leant over him, clawed hand ready to slice and shred. Stiles grabbed his necklace, flipped the lid with his thumb and threw the purple powder into her face, hoping that Derek had actually given him wolfsbane. She shrieked, coughing and choking, her hands moving to her face. Stiles saw Derek behind her, still wolfed out. He reached around and tore her throat out with his claws, sending a spray of blood across Stiles’ face and shirt.
“Dude really? I like this shirt,” Stiles protested faintly, picking him knives and getting to his feet.
Derek seemed taken aback. His face smoothed out, his eyebrows appeared (Stiles will never not find that hilarious) and his eyes changed back to green.
“I was expecting you to...” he trailed off, motioning at Stiles’ knives.
Stiles shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “My Watcher says there are some werewolves who aren’t bad guys. Guess you might be one of them?”
Derek looked surprised, and was about to say something, when Erica screamed,
“Stiles!”
“Shit Scott,” Stiles realised, and dashed to where Erica was sitting, Scott’s head in her lap and her eyes panicked. Isaac hovered next to her, his eyes worried and his fingers pulling worriedly at his curls. Boyd was sitting up, rubbing the back of his head absently.
“He’s dying Stiles!” Erica choked as he bent down to check him.
Scott’s lips were tinged blue, and his chest was barely moving. If Stiles concentrated, he could hear a faint wheeze.
“Do we have time to call an ambulance?” Stiles asked, but Erica and Isaac were already shaking their heads.
“By the time they got through the forest, it would be too late. He doesn’t have his inhaler.”
Stiles sat down heavily, trying to keep his breathing even. It wasn’t fair. Scott didn’t deserve this. Stiles was just getting to know him, but he felt that he and Scott could have been good friends. Great friends. He was so sick and tired of losing friends.
Derek quietly cleared his throat. “There is something I could do.”
Stiles looked up suspiciously. “You mean...”
Derek nodded. “I can give him the bite. There’s a chance it won’t take, but if it does, he’ll live.”
“Do it!” Erica and Isaac spoke quickly.
Boyd nodded. Derek looked down at Stiles, his eyebrows lifted in question. Stiles ran a bloody hand through his hair, gazing at Scott.
“I wish I could ask if this is what he would want,” Stiles said quietly, trying to stave off the revulsion he felt at agreeing to this without Scott’s consent.
Erica glared at Stiles. “I know him better than you, and if there’s a choice between living and dying, then he’d choose living.” She looked up at Derek. “Do it.”
Derek knelt down, carefully lifted the hem of Scott’s t-shirt, and bit into the soft skin. Stiles winced. Derek drew back, and they all waited quietly, ignoring the bloody bodies of the dead lying in the clearing. Stiles knew that he’d have to investigate that cave later, but right now, all that mattered was Scott. The change began slowly. Scott’s chest rose and fell more easily, his wheezy breathing grew louder, slower and then the wheeze sound disappeared. The small scratches on his arms grew faint.
“He’s going to be fine,” Derek said finally, breaking the silence.
He stood up, and turned to leave.
Stiles jumped up. “Hey stop right there what do you think you’re doing?”
Derek looked back at Stiles, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Leaving?”
Stiles snorted, striding towards the werewolf.
“Nope, no you don’t get to go back to being all broody and mysterious and hanging out in alleys.”
He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket, and held out his hand to Derek.
“Gimme.”
Derek stared back for a moment, then pulled a phone out of his leather jacket pocket and handed it over. Stiles programmed his number in and texted his own phone.
“There. I will call you tomorrow, and we’ll see Deaton, and you can tell us what’s going on with you, and how to best help Scott. Then we’re coming back to this cave to investigate. Cool?”
Derek looked dumbfounded. “You still want me to...be around?”
Stiles smiled, his suspicion of Derek softening at the little-boy-lost look on his face.
“Dude, you fought with us and saved Scott. You’re part of the Scooby gang now.”
And maybe more, Stiles thought to himself reluctantly. Despite knowing what Derek was now, he still wanted to kiss him all over that broody face.
Derek smiled. It was a small smile, but it was a good start, Stiles decided.
