Chapter Text
They've been planning for weeks, and have less that squat to show for it. They've moved the planning sessions outside, where they can scatter in a wide range of directions and hear better through the woods.
Everyone is wound tight, Allison seems to always be gripping her bow, Lydia's hair is becoming fluffy on one side from frustratedly running her fingers through it while rifling through for more offensive spells.
The Alpha pack still hung on the edges of their sense and it made them tense, Boyd and Erica were still being held captive and not a whiff of their location had been found.
As the group got more and more snappish, Stiles chattered on with higher disregard for the glaring eyes and growls. Even Isaac had been giving him flashes of his teeth in decidedly not friendly matter. Scott understood on some level, they've barely come together out of necessity so they haven't had the familiarity Scott does with his best friend. They try to follow along his confusing and often misleading spires of words; Scott listens to the tone and the steady thrum of Stile's heartbeat.
It's how he knows that for the moment, everything is manageable.
It's when the words become sharp and focused and the body stops fidgeting that things become truly panic worthy.
Even Peter begins to frown slightly at Stiles and he's usually extremely tolerant of things that Stiles spews out on a daily basis. Allison accompanies him from Derek's side over to stand as a shield between everyone else and Stiles, because she's awesome and has a soft spot for his best friend.
When they finally snap, it's something stronger the creature in his flesh that gives him the strength to block Jackson's swipe.
It wouldn't have injured him, at best rip his favorite red hoodie at the sleeve, but Scott is a good friend and takes the hit instead, already healing.
Stiles' heartbeat picks up in fear and Scott is already transformed and baring his sharp teeth against everyone else in front of them. He keeps an eye on Peter, who's the only one not in his easy visual range. With a small smug grin he eases back down, conceding amused defeat.
"Whoa guys, calm down, Jeesus Jackson. If you'd ripped my sweater I'd have to kill you, seriously."
Derek glowers from a couple paces behind Jackson, the map in his hands dangerously close to becoming tattered shreds on the dirt floor. "Shut.Up.Stiles."
Lydia snaps out, "This is already pretty shaky without having you run your mouth more than usual, so knock it off or I'll feed you your own intestines Stiles."
She'd know the spell to do it too.
Allison took over, trying to soothe tempers, one hand pointedly gripping her bow. Stiles was grinning nervously and Scott turned his back on Jackson – an insult to his werewolf instincts- to nuzzle at the short bristly hair. Stiles' sharp scent mellowing again and returning to its normal state. He saw Peter grinning from the peripheral of his vision because Peter was weird about this thing between Scott and Stiles like he tries to recall something.
He tuned in to Jackson sneering something probably hurtful, but it was familiar and Scott merely shrugged it off, sensing the tension had been diffused.
So of course that's when an unexpected voice pipes up with an amused, "Not much of a pack if such squabbles occur right under the Alpha."
-
The Alpha pack ran with a witch. And in the preceding flurry of fangs and claws the only ones left standing are a scratched up Peter and Stiles, who'd dragged the older man up and quickly made a mountain ash circle in the commotion.
Lydia was nursing a bleeding mouth and a probable strained wrist, glaring balefully at the gloating enemy witch.
All the others, Allison included, bow snapped and an ugly bruise on her cheek, were wrapped up in chains lined with wolfsbane. It's steadily making him sick and Scott can barely hear his own breaths over the wild snarling of the Alphas as Derek snaps at the other pack before being brought down and choked with handcuffs that begin to burn his wrists.
Peter keeps eying the other weres surrounding them, keeping Stiles behind him at all times. Scott can only grunt approvingly at that; even as panic winds its way through him as Stiles stays quiet and his heartbeat begins to slow enough that Peter steals glances at him between long pauses in between.
Jackson manages to wriggle free, a glint of Allison's knife, and throws himself against the Alpha, getting beat back to the ground before he makes it a couple steps. The witch does something and Jackson snarls in pain and freezes unnaturally. Lydia scowls ugly and her glare could strip paint.
The Alpha begins talking, Scott doesn't pay him attention, that's Derek's job, as leader. He has all his senses attuned to Stiles, sure that they'll hash it out somehow. The Alpha's lives are already forfeit anyway.
They kidnapped Erica and Boyd, even now tied up besides him, Isaac glowered and struggled without pause.
Those two had been what Allison and Stiles were to him, so Scott understands.
A sharp laugh brought him back from slowly counting out the long seconds between Stiles' heartbeat. The Alpha kicked out at Derek's face and even Scott felt pinpricks of rage at that.
His own qualms against Derek aside, he is Beacon Hills, and these assholes were complete strangers and Scott felt like plunging his claws and ripping that leg off.
"Scott."Stiles whimpers, Peter is completely besides him now, hand on his elbows with furrowed eyebrows as he counts a whole minute between heartbeats that rattle echoes in Stiles' ribcage.
Realizing his anger is hurting Stiles and no pressure valve is available to release any of it, Scott prays that the death toll won't be too high this time. At least on their side.
Everyone from their pack notices Stiles' usual rapid beat is now almost nonexistent, and they all look at Stiles, trying to get a reason for this. It brings the other pack's attention as well to the ones behind the mountain ash barrier.
"Stiles!" Derek barks out, pained and confused. Stiles merely shakes and begins to unzip his hoodie in a hurry, treasured red sweater given to Peter and then his two shirts are shucked off. Scott knows that no one else in this clearing has seen Stiles shirtless.
Every time he does there's a strange mix of awe and fear.
Runes and markings and circles with pointed strange stars and symbols are embedded in his skin. Literally embedded, he'd touched them often enough to know, deep enough that grooves were left. They interlinked and connected with delicately curled lines, all centered around his heart.
The chains -that's what they were keeping the world out and keeping Stiles in- centered on his heart and spread outwards, ending at his waist, front to back. They seemed to warp the light around them, and glow a disturbing black that made you dizzy if you stared for too long.
"Call it Scott!" He nearly shrieks, and some of the tattoos begin whirring, like clockwork gears, his body begins to convulse and he hunches in on himself. The enemy witch pales and she begins shouting out something that Scott blurs out because-
"That's impossible, there's no sign-"
He has to dig, not as deep as he would like because it's always there, and he reaches in-
"-didn't bring any salt or weapons for this-"
He twists it to the side, and he sighs in relief as everything is finally released. He inhales and near shouts a panicked,
"GENIMGENIMGENIM! I Give Permission!"
-
The whole clearing begins to stink of something sharp and spicy, the werewolves gag before they can adjust to it and begin to block it out. Peter is fully pressed up against the mountain ash barrier, staring with wide blue eyes.
Stiles doesn't change. Not superficially. He's still lanky and pale against the solid black of the strange tattoos on his body.
When he turns to see him, Peter doesn't hesitate in baring his throat and holding the prized sweater in front of him to show that if he died violently like the solid black gaze promised, it would get werewolf blood all over it.
Stiles' face is strange fitting, like there's something under his skin that strains it, and when he breathes in Peter swears there's a glimpse of jagged teeth before his regular human teeth show in a smile.
His heart doesn't beat.
He steps forward and repeats what Scott did to him earlier, nuzzling against a frozen Peter's jawline and inhaling deeply.
Peter tries not to feel like a pup whose stumbled upon a rabid wolf and fails. A puff of breath that reeks of blood and Stiles is gone, stalking around the frozen and incredulous werewolves.
He make a pleased noise that crackles against his throat wetly and grabs the chain that connects all of them together and just pulls and it snaps like a twig. Pulling Scott up he rubs his face all over, like a two legged cat and sniffing him; he does the same to Allison before the others gather their wits enough to rush him.
Two are dead and dismembered in seconds. A third cries out when Stiles grabs his throat with sharp teeth and yanks back, ripping it off and taking a bit of spine with him.
That gives them pause and Stiles spits out spine fragments before swallowing everything else greedily. Smacking his red lips he laughs, a sound with a several strange echoes that raises the hair on their necks.
"Now," He continues, "Now you will witness true terror."
-
There are laughs intersped with wet sucking noises that everyone now knows are what eviscerated flesh sounds like.
The pack is now free and Allison had been kind enough to disturb the ash so Peter can rejoin them, red sweater tucked safely inside his jacket.
If nothing else, it's surefire insurance.
They're battered and the stink of wolfsbane poisoning is making them nauseous; but they lay there together, jumping at every sound the wood echoes of someone else dying. They hear nothing of Stiles' voice except laughter.
The witch is now stumbling back and completely ignoring them, rifling desperately through her bag, her lower left arm is gone.
A small vial is grasped triumphantly in her hands and she screams when blood soaked fingers trail her neck.
Jumping back and tripping over Lydia's vindictively stretched out leg, she lays on the ground and sobs.
Stiles tilts his head and doesn't change the goofy and familiar grin, blood staining his teeth. He seems about to laugh even as the witch unscrews the bottle and throws the contents in his face chanting a desperate litany of "Christo" and bible verses.
Everyone waits a beat, Peter and Derek's face open with dawning realization and the beginnings of worried panic; because he isn't the Stiles they know, but he is still Beacon Hills.
Stiles laughs delightedly, licking off a drop of holy water from his arm and spreading his hands to say, "See?"
The witch blubbers, "What- but- that's impossible! What are you?"
Stiles near dances over to the woman, and his gaze is tugged to the side where Lydia is still bleeding sluggishly from her mouth, Jackson clutched protectively to her, still frozen with eyes only able to peer about freely.
He cuts back with a quickly forming frown, as it to remember that this wasn't a fun run only, but they'd actually done something to deserve death.
One foot gently resting on her mouth, Stiles steps on her hand with the other, uncaring of the scream or the useless flailing she makes after it crunches wetly, bones probably pulverized.
"What is a God to a non-believer?" He asks gently, before pushing his foot down all the way and destroying all of her lower face and throat.
Scott laughs hoarsely, and doesn't startle when Stiles all but collapses over him like a cat with blood smearing and cooling. He politely pretends to not notice the whole pack isn't staring at them incredulously, and cards his hair through the short fuzz.
"I can't believe you used a song lyric as a one liner dude."
Frowning at the lines of poisoning on Scott's arms, Stiles sets his hands on them and inhales, concentrating. When he exhales a bit of purple smoke the poisoning is gone. Scott hugs him in thanks and merely lays there, trying to get over the surprised joy that none of their friends are dead and Stiles seems more comfortable than he has in months.
Looking over at the rest of the pack, Stiles smiles and merely rolls over, getting his scent on everyone and smacking Derek in the face with a flailing hand. Once he's touching everyone in some way he takes a deep breath and writhes briefly, a strange expression on his face like he wants to sneeze. The poisoning goes away and he's just sprawled heavily over everyone, not even Derek's increasingly strong pushes can budge him.
"Stiles" Allison chokes out and Stiles frowns worriedly before easing up his body.
The Alpha's scratches aren't healing and though the wolfsbane may be gone they're all still exhausted.
Except Stiles because he stands up like a shot and begins to herd them towards his jeep at the edge of the road. They grumble but when he hauls up Jackson without a hitch in breath and threatens to just pile them all on his shoulders and run there they all begin to pick up the pace.
They kind of just drop in the Jeep and eventually arrive at Stiles' house, the Sheriff herds them inside and they all kind of pile up in the living room, blankets and pillows piled up around them. They loose Stiles in between eating dinner and going to bed, but Scott's the only one to notice and Stiles has already killed many tonight, so Scott isn't worried.