Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It'd been several weeks since the Beast of Gevaudan had been vanquished. 

Gerard Argent finally had time to think. And he also had time to relish in the newfound strength that had returned to him after several years of misery. Too much time had been lost for him, trapped like an old, sickly veteran in a nursing home, confined to a measly room and thousands upon thousands of tissues to cough up black, mountain ash-tainted bile into. His insides had churned, melted, burned, spun. He was nothing like the cold and ruthless hunter he once was. 

While it left him the opportunity to look back on his life and the mistakes made, he'd come to terms with his idiocy and realized something. He couldn't be so careless. Playing the long game may have seemed like the right move at the time, but the elder Argent should've accounted for the other side of the chessboard. He hadn't been the only player in the game, and shouldn't have assumed he had it all under control, his control. He'd failed to realize the other side had their own thoughts, strategies, moves. He'd underestimated his opponent. He wouldn't be so ignorant next time. And he also wouldn't be slow enough to be anticipated.

That being said, he also understood that when his time would come to make up for his stupidity in the last battle, Scott McCall and his pack would be stronger and wiser. The teenager was, after all, a true alpha, now. He had years of experience for someone so young, and Gerard would only be making a fool of himself for not accounting for such.

So he had to not only be stronger, but smarter as well.

And he hated that, with as old and knowledgeable he was, that that was even necessary. 

Another thing to ensure was a loyal team. It was pathetic that his own family betrayed their lineage for the freaks of nature. Perhaps he'd also made mistakes as a father. But now he'd have to gather a team he knew would be willing to do anything to destroy the supernatural world once and for all. People physically strong, mentally and emotionally restrained and fortified. He already knew of several individuals who would do just fine. But "several" wasn't enough. If he wanted to destroy werewolves and the like, he needed an army, a large-scale force. More hunters. 

Which wasn't as slow a process as he'd initially expected.

Already, thanks to some old friends, he was expected to recruit over two dozen men and women. After training, testing, and background checking, anyway. That was what would be disgustingly timely. But in the meantime, less was more. He didn't need an entire battalion for one pack. All he needed was a team of smart and fast hunters to match his own skills.

Which brought him to the underground system in which the Argent bunker was stored, where he'd gathered six men. 

They were all gathered around a metal table in the center of the room, having just raided the bunker's armory. Gerard anticipated this would leave his son without a good deal of weaponry to help defend the McCall pack, rendering him at least somewhat useless for a brief period. 

On the table were a set of pictures. Eight distinctive profiles. Five males and three females.

Gerard, perched at the head of the table, pointed to each.

"This is Scott McCall. A few of you are already familiar with this boy. He leads the pack currently residing in Beacon Hills, and holds one of the rarest forms of lichanthropy known to all of mankind. He's a true alpha, a natural-born leader, and he should not be underestimated, no matter how old he is. When you fight him, and you will, you will do so with every fiber of your being. You will not hold back, and you will not, under any circumstances, let him get to your head. He may seem to speak true words, but don't allow his apparent goodness to fool you. He is a monster."

When his soldiers gave their affirmative nods of understanding, he gestured to the next photo.

"This is Stiles Stilinski. Same age as Scott, and his best friend. While he's human, he's essentially the pack's emissary, meaning out of everyone, he's the smartest. Not at all strong in any physical sense, but mentally capable of causing us problems."

He pointed to the next photo but paused at the awkward raise of a hand. Anthony Ranberg, he recalls the name of the man. A broad, tall hunter, skilled with a bow and gun, but unfortunately not the most equipped in terms of brains. But that also made him easy to use.

"Uh- well, sir, um...isn't- isn't his father the sheriff?"

Gerard cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And?"

"Doesn't that make this less legal?"

Gerard was sure he'd never felt such absolute bewilderment in his entire life from one question. 

"No. It does not."

Ranberg paused, then nodded.

"Okay."

Brainless idiot, Gerard thought with disgust. He pointed to the next image. Then the next.

"Lydia Martin. Banshee, able to sense death and wields the cry of a thousand deceased souls."

"Malia Tate. Werecoyote with the strong urge to kill. Her mother is known as the Desert Wolf."

"Liam Dunbar. One of Scott McCall's betas, a werewolf."

"Hayden Romero. Another beta wolf."

"Corey Bryant. A chimera with the ability to go invisible at will."

"Mason Hewitt, the only other human in the pack."

He made sure all of the men memorized the faces of each of the teenagers. What they were, their weaknesses, strengths, abilities, what they brought to the McCall pack and how they ranked within it. After ensuring even the likes of Ranberg could find familiarity and recognition for the eight pack members, Gerard pointed to two in particular.

"The first thing we need to do to destroy McCall's pack is take out the two smartest of his friends. Stilinski and Martin are two of the weakest physically out of the entire pack. While her banshee abilities may seem mighty, she is just a human girl without them. Make her unable to access her power, and it's an easy kill."

He purposefully phrased his last sentence boldly, looking up to identify any hesitancy. He saw none. 

"After disposing of Stilinski and Martin, getting to Scott McCall should be easy. His guard will seem to be up, but in actuality, the knowledge of his friends in such danger will weaken him. That's how we will gain the upper hand and kill the rest of them. Now, this plan will need to be executed with precision. If any one of you so much as takes one wrong step forward, I will make sure you never taste the warmth of the sun ever again." He glared at Ranberg. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" They all said at once. 

And for the first time in a very long time, Gerard Argent saw the first signs of victory waving into sight.

Chapter Text

The screeching of tires filled the Beacon Hills High School parking lot as a light blue, beat-up Jeep tore its way to its signature spot just before a white Chevy could steal it. Said car honked its horn with an angry yell from the driver. Stiles could only wave passive-aggressively in return. He waited for said Chevy to drive off before hopping out and grabbing his bag.

The last day of school before winter break. A day that always felt like the last day of school, period, before two and a half weeks passed and you realized that there were still two semesters to get through before you were really finished.

And, of course, for most students, that -- and the added duties of homework, after-school clubs, sports, friends, and jobs -- was enough stress to last a decade. 

But Stiles wasn't most students. Along with all of those, he also had the real-life problems of ADHD, living alone with his sheriff father, and a tendency to abuse his Adderall prescription. Again, those weren't exactly out of this world issues, but that wasn't even the half of it. Now he had werewolves, banshees, kanimas, were-coyotes, were-jaguars, kitsunes, darachs, alpha packs, hunters, chimeras, evil-creepy-scientist-doctor-wizards, and more. An entire supernatural world that was once fiction, and now a painful reality. And the thing was, Stiles wasn't even one of these creatures, just a normal human guy trapped in the middle, all because his morbid curiosity to see a dead body ended up getting his best friend bitten by a giant, scary dog.

Did he feel like it was his fault that he and Scott were dragged into this mess? Definitely. 

Did he feel like they deserved it? God no. 

Well, Scott didn't. He wasn't sure what he'd done to piss off the universe (or maybe even some angry witch), but apparently it'd been enough to curse him with eternal stress. And if it was, maybe he did deserve the bullshit. But he didn't have to enjoy it, no, thank you! He did not.

The boy practically dragged himself towards where Scott was just getting off his bike. You see, there were some days where the simple actions of moving through a day, getting up and going out to socialize and be a part of society, just weren't easy for Stiles. This was one of those days. You'd think that with how his brain worked, he'd be a lot more mobile and fidgety every second of every day, but that wasn't really the case anymore. Sure, some days he couldn't help but ramble someone's ear off and chew on a highlighter between his teeth, but those had become few and far in-between one another. Moments that were less frequent, shrouded more often by days of exhaustion, dark mental clouds, and a heavy weight pushing down on his shoulders, begging his body to just lie down all day and do nothing. 

It wasn't something that couldn't be noticed. He knew his friends had to have seen the change in his demeanor over the past several years. Heck, even his father had commented on it several times, voicing concern for his well-being even before he'd gone and gotten himself possessed by an ancient demon. Stiles himself wasn't unaware, obviously, but what was there to do about it?

Life was hard. Extremely hard. But that didn't change the fact that he had to keep on trekking.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

And what better way to "keep going" than through humor? 

At least that made him feel somewhat attached to his pre-supernatural self.

Scott jumped as Stiles slapped a hand down on his best friend's shoulder from behind. But the true alpha quickly looked back and smiled.

"What a beautiful day to not fight the supernatural! Ain't it, buddy?"

The two started walking towards the school among the crowd of other students forming a current to get in. Stiles kept a casual distance, walking in line with the boy he considered a brother, all the while keeping a heavy grin on his face.

"Did you have to say that?" Scott groaned. 

"Well, I probably shouldn't have jinxed it," Stiles admitted with his own grimace. "But, hey, at least whatever the next Beacon Hills enemy is won't be Theo Raeken. So long to that asshole!"

And that prompted a laugh from Scott as they walked through the doors of the school, not making it a few feet down the main hall before Lydia was catching up into stride on Stiles' other side. 

"Did I just hear the name we do not speak?" 

"Depends. We've actually got a whole menu of those to choose from, depending on the day. Theo Raeken is today's top choice, but you've also got Kate Argent, Gerard Argent, Jennifer Blake, Jackson Whittemore-" Stiles was cut off by a yelp as Lydia shoulders him and glared. "What? You gotta admit, the dude was a total asshole, especially to you!"

"He's not that bad anymore..."

Stiles frowned, an instant bitterness creeping in his gut. "Wait, hold on, are you still talking to him? I thought you two were-"

"We're not together. And we don't talk that much, just...sometimes." She shrugged as if she hadn't just revealed the most gut-wrenching truth to her best friend.

Okay, yeah, so Stiles was absolutely in love with Lydia Martin. She and Stiles had definitely grown beyond their awkward-aquaintances-in-the-same-shitty-situation relationship. Honestly, after Scott, she was his closest friend, the girl who surprisingly seemed to understand him the most out of the rest of the pack, and who he hung out with the most outside of school or near-death experiences. She'd become more than the hot, popular queen-bee of BHHS. She'd allowed her intelligent side to come out of its shell, along with the soft and caring human being she really was. She shared a shocking amount of things in common with Stiles. Their likes, dislikes, anxiety, insecurities; as if they were both just constantly in sync, like they flowed the exact same way and knew each other's feelings on a deeper level. 

It was elementary when Stiles Stilinski's obsessive crush on Lydia started, but it was high school when he fell in love with her.

Which was why it felt so painful to hear that she was still communicating with her ex-boyfriend. Even if it was on small-talk terms, it was still talking, and the idea of even the possibility of her and Jackson rekindling any sort of old flame was like a knife straight through the chest. 

Luckily, he felt this uncontrollable flash of hurt leave his face quickly as Malia joined the group. Liam, Mason, Hayden, and Corey were grouped together, briefly waving to the rest of the pack as they walked past each other. All the while the were-coyote talked ears off about the substitute algebra teacher.

"I never even understood this peen-dase rule when Mrs. Leither was teaching it, but now I have this thirty-year-old, cold asshole calling me out in the middle of class every day for not getting it. And, I mean, Mr. Peters? What kind of made-up bullshit is that? Not to mention there's also another substitute teacher in my English class named Mr. Anthony, who does the same thing pointing me out as some kind of idiot for being fucking missing for eight years! Also, his real name is Ranberg, which is really weird, and he's definitely an even bigger idiot than me-"

Lydia stopped her as the four came to a halt at Scott and Stiles' locker, her own a few feet away. "Okay, hold on, for one, it's "pem-das", we worked on this, Mal. Secondly, why are there-"

"So many teachers gone?" Stiles couldn't help but intervene, having come to the same odd conclusion. When the girls turned to him, he continued, "My honors psych teacher was also replaced. Someone named Mr. Wenton."

"Wait, and our counselor is out sick," Scott added. "There's a new guy in his spot since staff wanted there to be someone for students during finals week..."

Everyone's faces grew wary. Stiles felt his stomach plummeting by the second at the thought that not long after they just got rid of the Dread Doctors and Theo, a new situation was coming to haunt them. He really, really couldn't deal with one more damn thing getting in the way between them and graduating. Or, you know, actually living the life they should be living, please! Would it kill fate to give them just a little longer of a break from fighting for their lives? 

Lydia shook her head. "It's...I'm sure it's nothing. We're all just being a bit paranoid, that's all. Besides, I know there are a lot of other kids out sick that will need to make up their finals. It's probably just some bug going around." She tried to make it sound convincing, but Stiles could read the underlying nervousness in the creases of her forehead. Scott nodded, deciding to try to pick up the mood, because of course he would.

"She's right. It's probably nothing. But just keep an eye out."

The bell signaling first period was about to begin rang. Students quickly started dispersing and trudging down the halls towards their first final of the day. Stiles collected the things in his locker and tried to ignore the tumble of doubt in Scott's attempted assurance, but also noted to himself to watch out for anything weird. 

He really didn't want to stray from Lydia, but unfortunately he only shared the first period with Scott, meaning the four were separating. As they got further away from each other down the hall he couldn't help but make one awkwardly witty comment.

"Yeah, and look out for any disfigured druid teachers looking to sacrifice you for your virginity!"

"What the hell is a virginity?" Malia yelled back with a voice of genuine confusion. Lydia pulled her away.

"Come on, dude, let's get this over with," Scott tugged at Stiles' backpack strap. The boy got one last look at Lydia before turning the corner, then the strawberry blonde disappeared from sight.

It was funny. For someone so typically hyperactive and observant, Stiles had never noticed any of the teachers staring at him until his friends had complained of the treatment.

First period had been fine, the final going through quietly and the teacher their usual day-to-day one. Then second period came and that was when the first signs showed up. It was his honors psychology final, and throughout the exam, he noticed Mr. Wenton, the substitute, watching him rather intently. As if waiting for an excuse to call him out for whatever reason, or to act out against Stiles. At first, he thought that maybe Mr. Wenton held some sort of dumb grudge against his father like Harris had, but after remembering the conversation from that morning, he began questioning that possibility. 

And while the same couldn't be said for the following several periods, even lunchtime proved eerie. The two substitutes Malia had complained about earlier that day had cafeteria monitoring, though you'd think Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and Malia were the sources of some wild food fight with how they were solely staring at the group. 

It was at that point that none of them could ignore it anymore. Something was up. 

They left lunch with Scott and Malia promising to use their heightened senses to try and catch anything. A conversation, muttering under breaths, anything. 

But Stiles still felt himself on edge, a coil in his stomach telling him something bad was going to happen. 

This only worsened in his last period, one of the few only periods he didn't share a class with Scott, Lydia, or Malia. It was honors algebra with the same teacher Malia had earlier in the day for her average-level class, Mr. Peters. While Stiles hadn't noticed any cruel behavior aimed towards him from the guy the whole rest of the week, he sure as hell did during the final. 

The guy hovered like a bee over a seasoning flower, ready to pounce any second. It was ridiculously hard to concentrate on his exam with the tall guy looking at him with as much disdain as Stiles was sure physically possible. They were barely ten minutes in when he spoke up in as quiet a whisper as possible, struggling not to let the tension and building frustration make itself known in his voice, though he still attracted attention from some of the surrounding students.

"Um...Mr. Peters, is there something wrong? Cause I can't really focus when you-"

"Not my problem, Stilinski," the man practically used Stiles' last name as a personal slur. "Work. Now."

Stiles turned back to his paper. "Jeez, okay..."

And, finally, the guy actually started walking away, but not before shooting Stiles one last glare and saying rather loudly; "One more word from you and it's an instant "F" on your exam."

It took every ounce of Stiles' being not to retort.

Asshole.

He got through the multi-paged exam pretty quickly and stood up, slipping his paper onto the thin pile of already turned-in assignments. He was about to walk away before his wrist was grabbed, and instinctively, he flinched, trying to pull away. The grip vanished when he turned back to the teacher, who leaned back with then same cold glare. 

"Your name, Stilinski."

Stiles looked at it and realized he had indeed forgotten that part. 

"Right..."

He made up for his mistake and sat back down at his desk. The second he did so, he slipped his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Scott.

"We r definitely calling pack meeting after school."

He barely managed to put the device away before he again caught the substitute's eye.

God, he barely knew this dude, but he seriously hated him.

Though he was grateful beyond words when he'd managed to escape the evil clutches of Peters' torturous, evil gaze. No, seriously, the dude just did not like Stiles. Like, he genuinely seemed to want to grab Stiles by the throat the entire ninety minutes, and each second he seemed closer and closer to giving in.

It was a huge mountain of weight that was lifted from his back the second he stepped out of the classroom. The ringing bell was more akin to trumpets blaring. Two beautiful weeks without having to cave to the government's way of education. Two weeks to breathe.

Okay, more like two seconds. That immense relief was quickly stomped on by the memory of texting Scott, and the disturbance in his chest telling him things were once again falling apart.

Well, fuck. 

"Mr. Stilinski, can you hang back a moment?"

Even bigger fuck. 

He was tempted to pretend he hadn't heard the voice. But his body stopping its movement told Peters he had, so Stiles had no choice but to just turn back towards the door the man was hanging out of.

"What is it?" He said with as much contempt as he could muster.

The man responded with the signature glare, of course. It was really losing its intimidation. 

"It'll only be a second. I wouldn't want to waste any of your valuable juvenile destructive time."

Stiles held back a "Fuck you, too" and shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't want to waste any of your valuable below minimum wage grading time, sir."

The man approached Stiles, a bit too slowly for his liking. But he stood firmly, matching the substitute's heated eyes with his own narrowed ones. 

"You're just as disrespectful and insolent as I've heard."

"Glad to know I live up to my reputation." Stiles replied easily. 

"You know, the attitude will get you in trouble one day..." Peters took a step closer. Too close. "Maybe even hurt...or worse."

Stiles blinked. "Are you- was that seriously a threat? Did you just threaten a student, dude?"

"I was just giving you a warning, is all." Peters finally took a step back. "Have a good break, Stilinski."

Then he was gone.

Stiles watched the substitute teacher walk off. The boy's brain was already speeding a million miles a minute, trying to catch up with what the hell just happened. And to be quite honest, he wasn't sure if he felt more scared or more offended. 

"Asshole..." He muttered. He was definitely bringing this up in the meeting, which, he learned by checking his phone, was already scheduled for seven that night at Scott's place. All the alpha had done was send Stiles a thumbs up before then giving him the time, probably copying and pasting the same short ass text message to the others like the lazy idiot he was. Stiles read over it several times as he made his way to his locker. With his best friends nowhere in sight, it seemed they'd already come and gone. Most of the school hall was crowded in little to no students, all probably just excited to go off and party, drink, have sex, or rush to whatever other holiday plans they had coming. 

As he gathered his things, he cursed the world. Christmas wouldn't be much different than it had been the past few years. Since Stiles' mom died, the joy of the holidays became sadness, the house hollow and dressed without the spirit of it all. That had mostly been his father's doing. His drinking problem had severely affected the household, and Stiles himself. They'd stopped decorating and putting up the tree a long time ago.

He didn't expect anything to change.

Bzzz

Stiles felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He was pulled from his thoughts, especially upon seeing it was from Lydia. 

"meet me at the pool now. urgent."

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed but he didn't think twice.

"On my way."