Fic. Teen Wolf (2011). Where. PG-13
Fandom Teen Wolf (2011)
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Derek, Jackson, Peter, Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski; no pairings intended, but I guess you could make a case for Jackson/Stiles and/or Derek/Stiles if you choose to view it that way.
Genre Coda/Deleted Scene/Drama/Fantasy/Supernatural
Word Count 1,487
Disclaimer Teen Wolf c. Davis, MTV
Summary Immediate aftermath for #2.11 “Battlefield.” After witnessing the event at the lacrosse field, Stiles runs blindly. His feet lead him to the Hales.
Warning(s) spoilers up through season two episode eleven, character death by suicide, violence
Notes This has been rolling around my head since last night. My Internet died mid-afternoon and I had nothing else to do but write fic.
Jackson came for him. All of Stiles’ exhilaration at his two scoring shots rapidly dissipated. Stiles could not run. He could barely breathe. Jackson’s eyes were not normal and he was coming towards Stiles in the sea of teammates radiating deadly intent. Stiles closed his eyes and then opened them again. He could not let Jackson just rip him open, but he could not find his legs either. He was going to die.
Then the stadium lights went out. Everything was dark. Some of the spectators had their cell phones on to shed light on the dark field. In the faint light, Stiles’ eyes met Jackson’s reptilian eyes. He could feel Jackson’s claws slicing the air. Mid-swing, however, Jackson’s eyes changed, becoming achingly human. The claws shifted their trajectory, ripping Stiles’ uniform before plunging into Jackson’s torso as deep as they could.
Jackson’s eyes widened with the pain as he stumbled. He began to cough, spitting up blood. He fell forward into Stiles. Stiles’ hands went up to catch him on reflex, shakily helping Jackson to the ground. Stiles barely registered the people running around them. He could not even feel his hand take Jackson’s left hand and squeeze it tightly. He knew that Jackson was dead. He had watched Jackson gut himself and did nothing.
Stiles shakily got to his feet and ran. His legs picked the direction, sending him deep into the woods at the edge of the field. After a while, his legs began to burn with the effort, but Stiles kept running. He stopped running when he could not breathe and fell to his knees. He could barely move.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
Stiles’ body stiffened. He closed his eyes, wishing he did not recognize the voice or recognized it wrong. Slowly, Stiles opened his eyes. He looked at the boots in front of him and up at Peter Hale’s face. Peter watched him with an expression as though Peter was contemplating compassion rather than actually feeling it.
Peter reached out and grabbed Stiles’ arm. Stiles did not have the energy to protest let alone get away as Peter brought him to his feet.
“You’re intelligent,” Peter said, “and fear me for good reason.” His eyes surveyed Stiles’ expression. “Right now, however,” he tilted his head, “it’s not me you’re terrified of.”
Stiles opened his mouth but he only managed a weak wheeze. He swallowed to try to gain some control over his body. It was not working.
Peter’s ears perked as much as a human’s ears could. He looked off into the distance. “Come on.” He dragged Stiles into the Hale home.
Derek looked up when Peter brought Stiles into what was once the living room. “No.”
“‘No?’” Peter asked. He let go of Stiles strategically and Stiles fell onto the remnants of a sofa. “So you’d rather the Argents find him?”
Derek’s eyes remained on Peter. “He’s human.”
“Eventually even that won’t stop them,” Peter said. “Besides, he ran all the way here from the high school from the looks of things.”
Derek’s gaze shifted to Stiles then. Stiles quietly struggled for breath. Stiles bowed his head and put his hands over it, bringing his legs up so his muddy cleats rested on the edge of the sofa’s seat. Derek stopped leaning on a bookshelf. He approached Stiles, but kept a distance. “What happened?”
Stiles swallowed again. He could not even begin to string the right words in his head. “It’s my fault,” he managed quietly.
“Where’s Scott?” Peter asked. He put a hand on the back of the sofa.
“I don’t…” Stiles’ voice trailed. His hands covered his eyes. He took a few more deep breaths. “With his mom?”
“What did you see?” Derek tried. “Is something following you?”
Stiles shook his head. He rested his arms over knees. His eyes looked up at Derek. “Jackson’s dead.” He watched Derek’s eyes widen slightly. “He…” Stiles shook his head. “I was right there.” He should have stopped it.
Peter and Derek shared a look then. Peter averted his eyes after a moment to Stiles. “Who killed him?”
Stiles took a deep breath. “Jackson.” He spoke in a long, rushed breath, “He was going to kill me, and then he turned the claws on himself.” Stiles shuddered. “I should have done something.” Yet, Stiles had no idea what he could have done.
“The legend says the kanima kills murderers,” Derek said after a long silence. “It also follows its master’s orders. If the master ordered it to kill Jackson, you couldn’t stop it.”
“The master ordered it to kill me,” Stiles said. “Jackson chose not to. I was there. I saw his eyes change.” He slowly leaned back and looked up at Derek. “He was a lizard face and then it was Jackson.”
“Gerard was the kanima’s new master,” Peter said. “I don’t think he would throw away his best weapon.” He moved away from the sofa to a position he could see out the window without being seen.
“He blocked Scott from playing,” Stiles said. He slowly put his feet back down on the floor and tried to wipe the mud off the sofa’s covering. “Isaac was there too.” He looked at Derek. “He was injured and got taken off the field.”
Derek was quiet for a long moment. “On your way here, did you hear any wolves?”
“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” Stiles said. “I didn’t know where I was until he,” Stiles’ eyes flickered over to Peter, “said something.”
“Still thinking about the beau gete effect?” Peter asked Derek. “I overheard your conversation.” He put his hands into his pockets. “I think it was a trap. It’s a new moon. Who would be howling for a pack?”
“‘Trap?’” Stiles sat straighter then.
Peter looked at Derek. When Derek said nothing, he answered, “A pack functions under the leadership of its alpha. The alpha does not have to be the wolf that bit you. Any members can seek out other packs if they cannot follow their alpha.” He looked at Stiles then. “Two young wolves went in search of a pack that probably doesn’t exist.”
“Erica and Boyd?” Stiles frowned. “Then….”
“The Argents probably have them or killed them,” Derek finished. He looked away then and out the window. Again, there was silence. Stiles could almost physically feel how Peter and Derek were.
Finally, Derek said, “You should go home.” He flexed his hand. “They’ll be searching for you.”
Stiles looked at his legs, which were still twitching from over-exertion, and then at Derek. “What are you going to do?”
“Survive,” Derek said. He reached out and pulled Stiles off the sofa. “I’ll take you to the edge of their search perimeter and then you’re on your own.” He ushered Stiles out of the Hale home.
Derek’s grip on Stiles’ arm was tight as they walked. Derek was tense, ready for any threat. Stiles stumbled along beside him, trying not to rely heavily on Derek for support. His legs ached.
“You can hear them searching, can’t you?” Stiles asked after a while.
“Sort of,” Derek said. “Mostly your dad.”
Stiles frowned. “I keep fucking everything up. I don’t want to be that kid, but I am.” He grew quiet and wrinkled his nose.
“Then stop being ‘that kid,’” Derek said. “Or at least try.”
Stiles snorted. He looked around. “They’ll split the area up into a grid. Look for evidence. I lost my gloves at some point, so when they find those, they’ll narrow their search to that area.”
“They’re just up ahead,” Derek said. “You’ll hear them soon enough.”
Sure enough, after a few more yards, Stiles heard his dad. “Dad!” Stiles broke away from Derek abruptly. “Dad!” He tried to hurry, but his legs were not quite cooperating.
Right when Stiles thought he was going to trip and fall, he felt someone grab him. Then he was in a tight hug. Stiles hugged his dad back. “Sorry,” he said. “I panicked. I ran.”
Sheriff Stilinski pulled back to look Stiles over. His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the tears at the jersey. “What happened?”
Stiles looked at his dad. He opened his mouth and then thought better of lying. His dad saw so much in past few days. It would be stupid to lie at this point. “His eyes looked like a lizard’s eyes and then he was Jackson and then he was dead.” Stiles felt his hands quivering.
Sheriff Stilinski put an arm around his son. “Let’s have everyone go home. We’ll fill out the paperwork from the search and then go home. Then, you’re going to tell me what’s really going on.”
Stiles looked at his dad and put an arm back around him for support. He nodded. “Alright.” He did not think he had to tell his dad everything, but Stiles knew they reached the point where he could not keep everything a secret either.