Chapter Text
Stiles would have loved to blame this whole situation on Scott, really he did. He gingerly picked up his laptop from where it careened into a hopefully soft pile of dirt and leaves and inspected it with scrutiny. If this little mission ended up with yet another broken laptop, he decided he wouldn’t let them hear the end of it. The hardware cradled in his hands seemed to pass his preliminary inspection. He nodded absently to himself and slowly turned around, tucking the notebook against his side and beamed.
“Don’t worry guys, Macky XXI is alright!” Stiles shouted gleefully fist pumping his hands up in the air. And okay maybe it was only the second laptop he had ever owned, but Macky the XXI sounded so much more sophisticated than Macky II.
Five pairs of eyes simultaneously rolled before they focused back on their own tasks. Scott sighed heavily shooting a curt glare at Stiles before thumping his head back on the ground, Lydia hovering a faintly glowing hand over a deep gash tracing the left side of Scott's torso, muttering a counter spell to whatever was preventing his wound from closing. Allison was close at his side clutching his hand, whispering comforting words to her boyfriend. Jackson and Derek hauled the bodies of the, as it turned out to be, Wendigos – as in plural – that have been terrorizing the small town of West Winnington for the past three months, across the small clearing in the damp forest into a pile to be burned.
“Stiles.” Derek grunted, once again exercising his uncanny ability to express a multitude of emotions and sentences with just one word. Unfortunately, no one possessed the just as uncanny ability to decipher all these emotions and sentences, including Stiles – especially Stiles.
Stiles settled down into the small bed of leaves at his feet and pulled his phone from his pocket shooting off quick e-mail to their handler, reporting in on the success on their assignment. The warm glow of fire cast shadows around the six as the pile of bodes was set ablaze to ensure that these creatures would not come back to life via witchcraft, necromancy or other—a mistake they had to learn the hard way before.
“Greeeeeeat job guys!” Stiles cheered, slowly getting up and dusting the leaves from his jeans. And despite the injury that Scott had somehow managed to procure, their mission for the most part had gone surprisingly successfully. The investigation had of course started off slowly, but thanks to Stiles’s super amazing research skills, and a bit of magic thanks to Lydia, just a little bit of magic though, they had a relatively easy time tracking down the creatures’ den and eliminating them before they could do more harm. It was a testament to how far they have actually come as a team compared to when they first started out just a few short months ago.
Stiles sighed audibly, the hazy puff of breath in front of him dissipating into the cold late-autumn air. But a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, for he knew they had done well tonight. The small town may never know exactly what had been responsible for the murders and the disappearances, least of all who was responsible for stopping them, but standing in the small clearing in the forests that bordered the town, he knew that because of them, no more lives would be lost to these creatures, because of them, the people of West Winnington would be safe tonight. And he knew, that even if Scott hadn’t been bitten way back when they were younger and dumber and their lives turned up-side down and dragged into the supernatural, if he had somehow been offered this opportunity, and suddenly he knew exactly why his father, the Sherriff, loved his job despite the dangers, he would have taken it forthwith. So he knew he couldn’t really blame Scott. Not that he would ever let Scott know that.
It happened a couple months into their senior year. The letters came in the mail under the guise of a college acceptance letter, a mandatory college orientation meeting, or in Stiles’s case, an interview to finalize the details of his much-needed scholarship. Each letter addressed from their number one choice for attendance. The letters were vague in ever sense of the word, but the seed of curiosity was planted and the sense of urgency was present. There was little surprise when information was shared between friends and it was discovered that the meeting place for each of these “colleges” was at the same place, relatively close to Beacon Hills, and at the same time. Something was definitely up. By this point in the life and times of Beacon Hills, things had come to a relatively peaceful standstill and the werewolf population in the area was relatively static, for the most part, as was the number of werewolf packs in the area—one. Individual talks broke out about ignoring it completely or to scope out the threat, the giant bold letters spelling ‘TRAP” discussion laid out frankly in front of them.
Stiles debated the pros and cons of finding out exactly what this was about but no real logical decision was made. But, then again when was he actually distinctly logical about anything he did?
The decision was made to have a meeting as a pack.
Derek, of course, was against it from the start. It was a risk. A risk he didn’t want his pack to take. He shut down the idea from the start, telling them all to leave it be. After Derek had gotten over most of his shiny new Alpha issues, well rather lack-of-being-an-actual-alpha issues, he stepped up to the plate. He was still a bit awkward with being an authority figure that actually cares, but he nevertheless does actually care and does a hell of a lot better than he did when he first oh so dramatically became the Alpha.
Stiles, however was all for it. Curiosity wins over logic yet again. And if he can’t exactly convince them logically, then whining with a pinch of begging and a side of badassery would just have win them over.
“Come on guys! Aren’t you in the least bit curious to what this is about?” Stiles gestured wildly, his hands almost slapping the two closest people seated next to him.
Scott, Jackson, Lydia, Issac, Erica, Boyd, Allison and Stiles were all seated around an odd table in the middle of the a little more than half-reconstructed living room in the Hale mansion, Derek naturally standing in the darkest corner in the room looking out under broody eyebrows.
“Haven’t we been shot at enough for a lifetime?” Issac groaned as he ran his hand down his face, leaning away from the flailing Stiles. “This has trap written all over it in big, red, bold, wolfsbaney letters.”
Derek nodded, a stoic look on his face.
Stiles glared. Wolfsbaney was totally not a real word. Not unless he had been the one to say it.
“Do you really think hunters sent these letters, which by the way Allison said that her father has no idea about!” Stiles countered, shooting a pleading look at Allison across from him. He had done a fair amount of research on the subject.
Her mouth dropped open momentarily. “Well, yeah. My father said he doesn’t think it’s other hunters. And I don’t either honestly. This doesn’t feel like a hunter strategy.” She offered, looking almost apologetic to the rest of the table. Allison and her father had become allies after Gerard had tried to dupe them all. The elder Argent still had some reservations about their rag-tag group, but knew that there were greater evils in the world than a pack of mostly teenaged werewolves. And after Allison finally got back together with Scott and mostly forgave Derek, after hearing the whole story (finally), there wasn’t a hunter alive that they trusted more than Allison. Not that they trusted any other hunters, or knew any other hunters for that matter.
“Seeeeeeeee?” Stiles whined, his body leaning so far over the table now that he was practically lying on top of it. He closed the few inches left between his forehead and the table thumping his face lightly against the wood. “We should at the very least check it out!” He shot his head up. “Dereeeeek, come on!”
Derek’s left eyebrow twitched at the sharp whine. “Stiles,” he warned.
Stiles lay his head back on the table. Damned Sourwolf.
“I think it might be worth checking out.” Boyd’s deep voice seemed to cause everyone in the room jump.
Erica shot him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Are we going to go looking for trouble now?” She raised an eyebrow.
Stiles looked over at her with a soft expression. Ever since the Alpha pack incident, Erica had calmed down quite a bit. She went from being a wild card, trouble seeker extraordinaire, to someone more conservative, fighting only when she absolutely had to. Her eyebrow rose further.
“All I’m saying is it might be worth checking out, if this is a trap and we ignore it, what’s going to stop them from trying to come at us another way?” Boyd concluded shrugging.
“Give the man a medal!” Stiles shouted loudly his hand shooting up for a high five in front of Boyd. Boyd simply stared at the outstretched arm as if it offended him. “He’s right you know!” He addressed the rest of the pack. “And the medal is for talking, I mean the guy literally never talks. He should be rewarded for speaking! Give him a treat at the very least!”
“Stiles honey, you really shouldn’t be making dog jokes at the people who support your opinion.” Lydia cooed condescendingly, her eyes flicking towards Derek. “But, he’s right—“
“Yeah I am! I think I have some cookies in my bag—"
Lydia calmly took off her shoe and chucked it at Stiles’s head in one smooth motion, thwacking him dead center on the forehead with the six-inch heel. He let out a pained whine as clutched his face with both hands. “If this is a trap,” she continued, shooting a pointed look at the pain-stricken Stiles who was now face planted on the table, “and I really doubt it is at this point, it’s not clever enough, it won’t stop whoever is setting it from eventually coming after us. Not to mention, each letter was from the colleges of our choices, not the ones that we were gunning for as our number one choice, but the ones that we were most likely to choose and attend. Who’s to say that these people won’t try and attack us once we are at college and separated? I say we face this while we can, as a pack.” She adjusted her gaze to her nails casually.
Once Lydia was let in about the whole furry secret, and really let in, she embraced the idea of a pack firmly. Her own family was somewhat of a mess and to belong to something bigger than just herself and Jackson was somewhat of a big deal to her. She always acted in the interest of the pack above all else. Which is why she took to magic as soon as she realized the supernatural was real, and apparently magic was too. Turns out being immune to some supernatural elements, such as a werewolf bite or Kanima venom, was actually the trait of a potentially powerful witch or warlock – or so Stiles had said after doing some research on the subject some months after Jackson finally graduated from Kanima-ism, sparking her interest. And she took to it like she took to everything else, perfectly, but, also with an extremely large dose of being absolutely freaking terrifying.
Silence filled the room as the weight of her words settled into their consciousness. Stiles hadn’t really thought that far through it. He realized of course that yes, this could in fact be a trap and there could be, surprise! More trouble in Beacon Hills – Beacon of Troubles Hills, as he fondly thought of his hometown—but he hadn’t gone as far as to think about what this could have meant after they decided to go to their respective colleges.
Jackson shrugged, breaking the silence. “She’s right.”
Lydia offered him a small smile and a pat on the hand.
Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course Jackson would support Lydia, even if she were technically always correct she could have announced that she was actually the queen of damned and he would have agreed if he thought it was what she wanted to hear. Although there was a small possibility of that hypothetical statement being true too, he shuddered at the thought. Jackson had almost become a real boy after the whole Kanima to werewolf transition; his apathetic asshole streak had been put on the back burner once he realized that hey, these people actually saved his life? Well, mostly Lydia, which is why he now worshipped the ground she walked on—again. Although even Stiles felt like kissing her now, and not even in the i-wanna-get-jiggy-with-you type of way he normally wanted it to be.
Derek looked almost disturbed. As if he hadn’t expected any kind of logical or reasonable argument to come up at all tonight. The small scowl on his face kind of erupted into a classic “who-the-hell-just-pissed-in-my-coco-puffs” face.
Stiles forced down the giggle threatening to erupt from his throat, which would have effectively ended his short virgin life. “That would be five to three!” Stiles announced just short of gleefully pulling his hands away from the heel wound on his forehead and pumping fists straight into the air. “Me, Lydia, Boyd, Allison, plus Jackson and Scott versus Derek, Isaac and Erica.” He announced when a slew of questioning eyebrows were raised. And seriously? How did he end up with a group of friends who communicated more with their eyebrows then their actual words?
Scott opened his mouth to protest his name being thrown in against his alpha but was cut short by Stiles.
“Oh come on dude. You totally know you’re not going to go against Allison. Take a page from Jackson, dude!” Stiles quipped, making the gesture of a whip being cracked, effectively earning him glares from all the mentioned parties.
Lydia reached under the table for her other shoe. Stiles visibly winced, letting out a whimper before he quickly sunk back into his chair looking apologetic. She nodded smugly at his reaction, turning her nose up slightly.
Derek sighed. “Fine, but if we are going to do this, we are going to be extra careful." His gaze drifted over to Stiles.
“Of course dawg! Lyds can totally look up some protective charms and spells we can use, and I’ve gotten us blueprints on the meeting hall that the letters told us to meet.” He quickly pulled large rolled up blueprints from his bag and laid them on the table, fishing around in his bag for a second before pulling out a pointer stick. “Now, Scott, Derek, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and I will go into the meeting, because it’s the team with the most fighting experience.” He used his pointer to point to the main chamber in the meeting hall. “Erica, Issac, and Boyd will form a perimeter around the meeting hall and radio into us if they smell or see anything that looks like back-up or a trap.” He pointed to three dots on the blueprints forming a triangle around the main building. “If it is a trap and they send in back-up, all the ventilation exits and odd escapes are highlighted in red, and we can get the hell out of dodge. If they decide to ambush us inside the building, Lyds can use that blinding charm that she used in that fight with the Grimlocks and I’ve concocted more of the smoke bombs we used against the Harpies, and we can fight out way out to any of the exits highlighted in blue.” He dumped the rest of the contents of his pack on the table. “These sunglasses are polarized in a way that the frequency of light from Lyd’s blinding spell shouldn’t be able to penetrate the lenses. And these comms are from Allison’s dad. He said that no one should be able to listen into our conversations over these.” He finished compacting his pointer in his hands.
Befuddlement, Stiles thinks. The one word that could accurately describe exactly the looks on everyone’s faces, save for Lydia who somewhat knew about the plan. She had helped him make the sunglasses and smoke bombs after all.
“What?” Stiles shrugged, backing away from the table and all the incredulous looks he was now drenched in. “I did a little research--” Was all he managed to get out before fumbling over the chair and careening to the floor as graceful as a dying gazelle, only with more gangly limbs, if that was even possible, gazelle limbs are pretty gangly already.
Derek appeared somewhere above his awkward position on the floor. “Don’t ever call me ‘dawg’ again.” He muttered to Stiles, stepping over him towards the kitchen, snagging a pair of the sunglasses on the edge of the table.
“I guess Derek’s in then.” Erica resigned, getting up to follow him into the kitchen for a snack.
“I win then?” He mused to himself, an uncontrollable grin spreading across his face.
A collective of scoffs echoed around the room, but no one said otherwise.
Yeah, Stiles could definitely count this as a win.