Chapter Text
Squatting down on the slightly grimy vinyl floors of the 24-hour mini-mart, facing the shelves of soft-drinks, Stiles catches movement out of the corner of his eye. A man, roughly dressed and heavy set has stood next to him, running a blackened finger along the brightly coloured labels. Stiles dismisses him; he’s been trying to work on his paranoia, and Scott’s been on his case about not making assumptions about threats.
“Nice evening for a trip, don’t you think?”
The voice matches his appearance, scratchy and low, menacing in its tone. He moves closer, his stained brownish coat brushing against Stile’s bent thigh. He almost gags, the threat smells of putrefying meat, earth and day-old cigarette smoke.
“I’ve always found these to be too sweet for my palate. Too processed, I can always taste the chemicals. Though I do have somewhat enhanced senses.”
He reaches down grips Stile’s wrist from where he was about to take a bottle off the shelf. His palm; dry and rough against Stile’s increasingly sweaty skin. His grip is tight, almost bruising and he can feel his joints grind together under the man’s fingers.
“And they’re always much too cold for me” the stranger yanks Stile’s arm upwards spinning him around until he’s facing him, towering over the teenager. “I prefer my food, freshly caught” his breath hot and putrid against Stile’s face, “warmer maybe even... blood temperature?” His voice rises, a slight smirk on his lips, as his eyes flick down over Stiles' throat in a way that makes his skin crawl.
His eyes flare red. Panic flooding Stiles’ system, his heart rate ratchets upwards, he can almost feel the adrenaline coursing through him.
“We’re going to take a trip, since the weather is so nice, and you’re not going to make any commotion at all. Or the sheriff might be called out for a scene a lot… wetter than it might have to be” He nods toward the store clerk, a bored looking 16 year-old. “Understand?” He pauses.
“I said, do you understand me?” His voice more threatening, a little alpha command slipping through.
Stiles gives a shaky nod. Images of red soaked floors, arterial spray painting the tiled ceiling flashing through his head.
“Good. Walk normally out of the store, I’ll be just behind you” At that, Stiles feels a sharp claw scratch along, underneath his jaw, and feels a bead of blood drip down his throat.
They walk together out through the automatic doors, Stiles desperately trying to ignore the odd looks that the clerk is giving him. He can’t let someone else get hurt because of him, and he needs to get them away from people.
Once outside the alpha directs him into the preserve, the broken tarmac suddenly leading into dense woodland. Sticks cracking underfoot.
Stiles reaches into the well-worn front pocket of his red hoodie. Nestled in the soft fabric, in small pocket sewn into the lining, his questing fingers grab a small canister. Silently thanking Lydia, he palms the modified pepper spray, turns to face the werewolf and tries to summon up some courage. He knows that he’s only got one shot at this, so he needs to make this convincing.
“So, what does a big scary old alpha want with a scrawny kid like me huh? And I know we've got that whole ‘ little red riding hood vibe going on’ but I don’t really think I've got enough meat to satisfy a wolf like yourself. No. I mean I've got plenty of meat down there, yes me, very well endowed. You should hear all the girls talk about it. Monster I'm telling you seriously. Studly Stiles, that’s what they call me. But back on topic, I don’t think that you’d want to eat me, I mean I'm quite skinny and everything”
“Shut up” the alpha growls from behind him, “You’re going to call your alpha and tell him to come out here, or I’ll gut you right where you are.”
“Sure, yes, whatever you say” Stiles stuttered out, not quite able to keep the wavering note of panic out of his voice. He could feel his chest starting to tighten as panic started to really take hold over him. Take a deep shaky breath he tried to push down his fear, he needed to stay clear headed for this, or he’d never get out alive.
He dug his phone out of his pocket, damp fingers scrabbling on the cool plastic case. Fumbling for a moment, he unlocked the phone and called Derek’s number.
“What Stiles, you’re late”
“Well, I’ve had a bit of a problem here you see” A sub-vocal growl sounds from the alpha, Stiles’ throat closes up, he gags, and he starts breathing faster, trying to calm down.
“Stiles, who else is there? Is that another 'wolf? Where are you?” Derek’s voice increasingly more urgent in its demands.
“Another alpha, wants to speak with you, got me at the store we’re outside in the preserve, come now and”
The alpha rips the phone out of his hand, eyes shining red, rasps through transformed fangs, “and if you want to get here before young and pretty bleeds out, I’d come fast”
With a crunching sound the alpha crushes his phone, cutting off any of Derek’s voice.
“But, but you said that you wouldn't hurt me if I just called him” Stiles says, voice cracking and breath wheezing through his tightening chest.
“Did I?” The alpha, still half-shifted smirks at him, head slightly tilted. He starts to stalk towards him, stride open, confident, the very image of a predator. “Well I must have been mistaken.”
Stiles turns to run, but the alpha grabs his shoulders, claws ripping through the flimsy material of his hoodie. He can feel them cut through his skin, painful digging along his upper back.
Stiles spins left hand coming out, and spraying the alpha in the face. Wolfsbane, mountain ash and mistletoe all mixed into the regular formula. The alpha screams, stumbling backwards and Stiles takes off into the woods.
He runs, he can feel the cuts on his back bleeding, soaking into the soft material. Training with the pack some, has helped his fitness, but his injuries, panic and earlier adrenaline rushes have drained him. As he jumps over a fallen log, jeans catching on the rough bark, he stumbles and hears the crashing alpha behind him. He darts out into a clearing and across back down into the woods. He’s not trying to hide his sounds. Foot falls breaking sticks and kicking up leaves all around him.
They were meeting at the loft, it’s not too far away from the store and preserve, so the rest of the pack shouldn’t be too long. He just has to keep clear of the alpha until then.
The alpha is gaining on him. Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest, but he doesn’t stop. He runs around a tree, and trips, foot slamming against a rock and he pitches over. Face full of leaves and mud, he crashes down the bank of a river, until he’s lying face down in a pool of stinking mud.
Howls sounds off coming closer. The pack is coming, he can hear them sprinting through the preserve.
A bright pain flashes through both his sides, down along his ribs, the alpha’s claws rip through his skin, pushing him back onto the dirt. The last thing he sees is alpha red eyes bearing down on him as the alpha, fangs extended bends down, intent on ripping out his throat. His vision spirals to black, panic taking over.
A dark shape leaps up and catches the alpha around the throat, slamming him back to the ground away from Stiles’ limp body. Derek’s half-shifted alpha form, claws extended rips across the alpha’s throat. Arterial spray showers the river bed, just as the rest of the pack arrives, all in their beta shifts.
“He’s been hurt, we've got to get him to Deaton’s” Comes Scott’s voice, eyes a deep garnet. He turns to face two of the silhouettes. “Isaac and Boyd, can you deal with the body, come meet us at Deaton’s when you’re done”
Derek has already knelt down beside Stiles, and gently picks up the prone boy, the wet hoodie squelching against his skin. He runs off to Deaton’s, leaving Scott and the others to deal with the slowly cooling body.