Disclaimer: I own nothing. Teen Wolf belongs to its original creators and owners.
Author's Note: My first Teen Wolf fic! Hopefully these beautiful babies aren't too OOC. I'm always nervous about that. This also takes place right after the first half of the third season. It isn't that I don't love Liam, Malia, and Kira...but I just wanted to explore with the original gang first.
Thank you for reading! This will hopefully only be a few chapters with plenty of pack-friendship-goodness and fluffy happiness.


"At the risk of sounding cliché, I won't say it out lou—aww, hell. I deserve this one. I told you so."

"Now is not the time, Stiles." The alpha wolf's words were guilty and gritted. Stiles, in fact, had told them about this, but no one had listened. Now their best hope was to hold them off until help came.

"Yeah, the time would have been before we stormed into," the pale human paused for a nervous gulp of air, "a freaking were-porcupine den." He knew the terminology wasn't quite right, but the actual name from the Bestiary seemed to slip the boy's mind at the moment. They didn't look much like porcupines now, but Stiles had a feeling any aggressive move would startle them into their true form.

True form? What is this—some final boss showdown?

Still, their true form was a terrifying thing. Especially for a boy who wasn't particularly fond of needles.

"Just stay back. We'll take care of it." One of the twins—Stiles wasn't sure which—shouldered past him and barred his fangs intimidatingly. Before Stiles had a chance to warn them, the twins raced towards the mottled, mangy creatures with claws extended.

I suppose they'll figure it out then, the boy commented dryly in his mind, taking a precautionary step backwards as one of the creatures fixed him with its glowing orange eyes. It waddled curiously towards a hastily backpedaling Stiles. The other twin—or was it the same one?—knocked the creature to the side with a clawed swipe. This turned out to be an awful mistake, as the jarring impact caused the were-porcupine to shudder and elongate. Rows of thick, penetrating spikes sprung up along the creature's spine and its once mild mewling erupted into violent hissing and spitting.

"Damn."

Stiles silently agreed. Especially since the were-porcupine's three companions sensed the growing tension and began their transformation as well. In a matter of moments, they would be surrounded by mangy, hissing creatures, which seemed no longer curious, but instead furious.

Scott hesitated before glancing towards Stiles. "I don't suppose you remember reading anything about how to stop them from doing that…?"

Upon seeing the creatures' sharp spikes, the name struck the boy like a physical blow. Chupacabra! Goat-sucker. Why couldn't I remember that? Unfortunately, knowing the name hardly helped them now. He highly doubted there was a goat in the ten-mile vicinity. Stiles grimaced, "Lydia was the one who dug up the information on that. She texted it to me…but…"

"You left your phone at the station."

"Yep. Which is why I said to wait for the others."

Scott sighed. It was as close of an apology Stiles was going to get for the werewolves' eager rush into the warehouse. He could only hope Derek's keen senses would lead the others to their side of the industrial park before they were all Mexican shish kebabs.

"Try to avoid hitting the spikes. They may be poisoned." As the alpha, Scott supposed it was his place to offer advice. Even if it was extremely lame advice.

A sarcastic bark of laughter erupted from one the twin's mouths, confirming Stiles' suspicions that Aiden was the one who instigated the cryptids. "Avoid the spikes? They're covered in spikes."

"Not on their underbellies," Stiles interrupted.

Understanding where the human was going, Ethan nodded eagerly. "They're completely defenseless underneath."

"Like alligators," Aiden grinned back.

Stiles repressed the urge to roll his eyes. First the Kanima, then this. He was rather sick of the reptilian imagery.

Although the brief respite was welcome for planning, a high-pitched keening noise indicated that the Chupacabras had successfully completed their transformations. As the Bestiary had promised, they were indeed hideous with rows upon rows of deadly spikes traced down their backs. Their once tiny, albeit mangy muzzles were now crowded with oversized and yellowing incisors, dripping with gooey saliva. Their tails lashed viciously from side to side as each beast slowly sauntered closer towards the group of teens.

Feral snarls rippled across the werewolves' faces as they prepared for the inevitable attack. The largest Chupacabra crouched down and sprung towards Scott with another earsplitting screech. With eyes flashing blood red, Scott returned the battle cry with a growl of his own and slid under the airborne creature, snagging it along its furry underside with extended claws. Not wasting any time, Ethan and Aiden each launched themselves towards the other Chupacabras, roaring loudly.

Stiles took a quick inventory of the fighting and noticed with a twitch in his gut that there were only three. The boy immediately began another careful retreat, walking backwards slowly as his eyes scanned the unfolding scene. Three? I thought there were fo—

Something warm and foul-smelling trickled down his neck—something like rotten breath. Knowing he may very well never see that appendage again, the boy hesitantly reached behind his back, tangling his trembling fingers in dirty, matted hair. His left foot hovered in midair for a moment before it came crashing down in a loud stomp.

Oh God. I just touched it. I'm going to die and my hand will smell like wet dog in my casket.

Pivoting on his now planted foot, Stiles had approximately two seconds to dive out of the way before a sharpened claw threatened to decapitate him. The Chupacabra's momentum carried it forward, causing the monster to crash into Aiden, spikes first. A startled yip rose from the teen, who probably had no idea where this second assailant came from.

Whoops.

Taking full advantage of his temporary freedom, Stiles scoped the warehouse for something to help him when his grumpy Chupacabra inevitably sauntered back. Eying a discarded metal rod, the boy quickly grabbed it, shuddering at the cool, smooth sensation in his sweaty palms. It wasn't a baseball bat, but it would do.

He ducked behind something large and sooty to survey the ensuing fight, noticing with a faint smile that the werewolves seemed to be temporarily on top. Scott had successfully flipped his opponent, leaving the stubby legged creature flailing on his spiked back, unable to right itself. It reminded Stiles of a furry turtle. The alpha wolf turned towards Aiden's second Chupacabra and released a bone-shattering roar, enough to cause the cryptid to turn its glowing gaze on the alpha.

A flash of light and a wounded screech echoed through the abandoned warehouse. Stiles suppressed the urge to smile. Allison. He was nearly positive that the girl had brought the rest of the pack as well. Derek's low growl and Isaac's higher pitched whistle confirmed it.

"Stiles!" The boy turned at the sound of his name. Lydia appeared next to him, panting faintly from her high-heeled run through the industrial park.

"You came just in time," the brunet grinned at the red head.

"We would have come sooner if you answered your phone," was the terse reply.

"Well…"

Lydia scrutinized the boy's guilty smile. "You forgot your phone." It was more of an accusation than a question.

"Uh…"

She watched the ongoing struggle for a moment. While Allison distracted one of the Chupacabras with her flash arrows, Isaac repeatedly struck at the monster's exposed underbelly. The twins were easily handling another Chupacabra while Scott singlehandedly struck at another. Derek was somewhere, probably searching after Scott's first opponent, who successfully managed to flip itself back on all fours.

"You know they're practically harmless when not provoked. But you wouldn't know that, would you? It was in my last message."

Stiles shrugged, flashing his empty palm at the girl in a gesture of innocence. "That actually wasn't my fault." Her flat, green stare seemed unconvinced. "You can thank your boyfriend for that. He's the one who swiped at them."

A loud whimper from Isaac caused both of the inactive teens to swivel their gazes towards the young werewolf. The teen swayed on his feet, clutching a trembling arm close his scratched chest. Something yellow streamed alongside the dripping crimson.

"The venom," Lydia answered Stiles' unvoiced question with pursed lips. "It's a natural anticoagulant."

Stiles nodded. "Goat sucker. To keep the blood of its victims flowing so it won't prematurely clog up." He eyed Isaac nervously. "But what does it do to a werewolf?"

Lydia's lips tightened to a white pucker. "Nothing good. Probably slows the healing process and makes the blood thinner."

There was a flash of panic across Isaac's distorted features as the slashes on his chest did not begin their immediate stitching. Instead, the deep crimson flowed more freely from the injury, confirming Lydia's grim prediction. The werewolf swayed on his feet again before collapsing.

"Isaac!" Another flash arrow blinded the assailant, sending the Chupacabra squealing backwards. Stiles knew it was a temporary distraction though. Elsewhere, Ethan uttered a confused snarl as he too fell victim to the Chupacabra's bite. Luckily, he was not severely wounded, but the venom was throwing off his equilibrium.

"We need to find a way to stop them," Stiles announced firmly, turning to Lydia. "How?"

The girl bit her lip as her eyes darted across the concrete battlefield, carefully reviewing each fact she had painstakingly sent to Stiles' absent phone. Her vibrant eyes light up as she remembered the last, crucial footnote.

"Water! They hate water! It'll cause them to go back to normal."

Like reverse Gremlins. Stiles' eyes flickered upwards before a slow smile spread across his lips. "What kind of building do you think this used to be before they turned it into a warehouse?"

"I don't know. Some old iron mill, probably." Twisted pieces of metal and discarded, rusted tools littered the concrete floor. The two of them were currently crouched behind what looked like the remains of a once productive forge. "Why?" Her gaze followed where Stiles was looking.

"Oh."


With the reinforcements, they had the numbers, but Scott wasn't sure how much longer he and his pack wanted to keep fighting. There was something definitely wrong. He had seen Ethan go down only a few moments earlier, joining a nearly unconscious Isaac. Aidan and Allison were consumed with protecting their friends, leaving Derek and himself as the only viable fighters amidst a pack of—what had Stiles called them again?

Scott glanced to the side to where he had last seen Stiles and Lydia but the two were missing. Something heavy dropped in the alpha's stomach, but he didn't know what it meant. He had little time to dwell on it as the spikes from one of the Chupacabra's tail lashed against the back of his calves. Scott snarled in pain, spinning to swipe at the creature's muzzle. Some of the yellow goop dripping from the monster's mouth dribbled on Scott's claws. The werewolf disgustedly shook off the saliva and resisted the urge to wipe it against his tattered shirt. The liquid tingled as it came into contact with the boy's skin.

"Careful," Derek's low warning sounded somewhere behind the alpha. Scott turned and tilted his head at the dark haired werewolf.

"What?"

While knocking one of the beasts away with one set of claws, Derek waved his free hand in Isaac's direction. "The venom. Lydia said it's an anticoagulant."

Scott pursed his lips faintly, wishing he had paid better attention in anatomy, as he hadn't been particularly studious his sophomore year.

"It messes up our healing process," Derek simplified. "Didn't Stiles get Lydia's message?"

"Didn't get the memo," Scott grunted cryptically, springing back to avoid one of the Chupacabra's vicious bites. Now he certainly wanted to avoid the monsters' gaping jaws. He paused, thinking again about his best friend.

"Have you seen them lately? Stiles and Lydia?"

Derek spared a cursory glance around the abandoned building and shook his head once. He only saw the other werewolves and Allison, gathered in a small circle around the wounded.

He never thought to look up.


"This is by far the most idiotic plan you have ever come up with."

"Do you have anything better, Lydia?" Stiles tried to sound annoyed with the girl, but a large part of him agreed with her blunt assessment.

Her silence further affirmed that this was their best option, though it did little to bolster the human's confidence.

He took a deep breath and tucked his metal weapon into his belt for safekeeping. Lydia eyed him with an unreadable expression.

"Couldn't find a baseball bat? Or did you leave yours at the station too?"

Sending her a flat glare, he wrapped one hand around the rusted industrial ladder and pulled. Although the orange and brown rust flakes bit into his palm, the ladder itself seemed solid.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Concern trickled into Lydia's voice, tinging her steely stare with anxiousness and apprehension.

"I'll get back to you on that."

"You're going to fall."

"I'm not going to fall. There's a railing, remember?"

"Nothing will come out except for dust. The water in the pipes has evaporated by now."

Stiles grinned weakly at the girl. "Then all you have to do is turn on the water."

"They probably shut the water down years ago," she countered. Something about this didn't seem right. She could feel it in a way she couldn't explain.

Still with one foot on the bottom rung, Stiles leaned back and surveyed the warehouse. Although it certainly looked abandoned now, the "for sale" sign had been taken down. He doubted the Chupacabras were the ones who had made the down payment.

"The electricity is on, so I doubt that would be the only utility working." The lights in the overhead lamps had burned out years ago, but the faint buzzing made by exposed wires echoed in their ears.

"I still think this is a bad idea."

"Me too. Wanna trade jobs?"

"No."

With that warm parting remark, Stiles took a nervous breath and wrapped his other hand around the ladder rail, feeling the sharp nick of rust against the underside of his fingers. With another steadying breath, the boy stepped onto the next rung, pulling his body up with it.

Lydia watched his careful progress for a moment to ensure the decrepit ladder didn't come crashing down on the both of them before darting back towards the abandoned forge. Their salvation had been only a few feet from them the entire time: an antique, eroded spigot, nearly the size of Lydia's face. She gripped it tightly, ignoring the gritty feeling against her skin and yanked as hard as she could, trying desperately to turn it. Once she turned it, the water would flow. But she had to turn the awful thing first.

Grunting with the effort, the girl tried again, cursing her weak strength. It was no use—the spigot and the pipe fastened to it were rusted solidly shut. She glanced back towards Stiles, waiting on the catwalk for her signal. Lydia tugged again on the rough metal spigot, feeling a nail crack under the pressure. She fought the urge to release her anger in a few curt four-letter words and instead turned back to where Derek and Scott were fighting. They didn't have much time, though Aiden and Allison were certainly helping things.

As Derek sent one of the Chupacabras flying, an idea struck Lydia that was so simple it almost made her blush.

Why not use some supernatural strength?

"Scott!"

The alpha either didn't hear her or could respond. Lydia took a deep breath.

"Scott!" It wasn't a banshee scream, but the clouded windows near the girl rattled. Stunned by the loud sound, Scott froze and turned towards the girl.

"Lydia…?" Scott blinked, wondering what was so important as to interrupt his fight.

"Get. Over. Here. And. Turn. This. Spigot." Each word was carefully enunciated as to suggest that total compliance was necessary. "Now."

The alpha was thoroughly confused, but something about the girl's urgent expression forced him to cross quickly towards her, ignoring Derek's irritated growling.

"What's going on? Why do yo—"

"I'll explain—just turn this!" She gestured towards a rusted spigot attached to an equally rusted pipe. The boy's crimson eyes followed the widening pipe up the concrete wall, through the rafters, over Stiles on a catwalk—Stiles?!—and ending in a massive tank, suspended over a large boarded over section in the floor.

Suddenly Scott figured out where the two of them had been all this time.

With a low grunt, he bent his knees and twisted against the rusted spigot. Despite the high-pitched squealing of the grinding metal, the handle turned gradually. Lydia held her breath.

"Do you hear anything?"

Still confused, Scott shook his head and then paused. "Wait—I hear water…?"

Lydia grinned. "Perfect." Soon the sound of water rushing through the pipes echoed in Lydia's ear as well. "The Chupacabras don't do well in water. It turns them back into what they were before you provoked them into raging porcupines."

Scott felt a grin stretching across his own tired face. "That's brilliant. What else do you need us to do?"

Lydia pointed towards the boarded up section. "Rip that up. Underneath should be a massive hole—sort of like a drained pool. It's what they used to cool the hot metal. Once you get the Chupacabras in it, then Stiles will release the water." They glanced up simultaneously to see Stiles wave at them.

Scott nodded and raced back to Derek, who was irately juggling two of the creatures on his own after overturning another. He didn't seem to be particularly happy to see the deserting alpha, but after Scott explained the solution, the older werewolf's darkened brow markedly cleared.

"This is the plan they came up with? Push them in a swimming pool?" Still, he didn't argue with what they had to do. Recruiting a woozy Ethan, who was finally starting to heal, Scott began to rip apart the aged and molding wood. It came apart easily in their claws, but it was a large section to clear.

"Maybe this'll help!" Aidan's grunt was followed by a loud crash as one of the flailing Chupacabras smashed through the remaining boards and landing in a pile of splinters on the concrete floor, several feet below.

Derek's lip flicked up in an unexpected display of humor. "We should lead with that next time."

Within moments, the other conscious werewolves had bundled the remaining three Chupacabras into the hole. While the others gathered around the rim of the hole to admire their handiwork, Scott turned towards Stiles and waved his arms.

"Now!"


The hardest part, he figured, would be going up the ladder. The boy had no great love for heights. However, he preferred the heights to the needles, so the trade off, in his eyes, was all right. Even if he needed a tetanus shot afterwards, because at least that needle wasn't trying to kill him.

From his lofty perch on the rickety catwalk, Stiles was able to enjoy the rare joy of watching a plan unfurl completely unhindered. He carefully made his way to the water tank, trying to convince himself that the wobbly shaking he felt was his knees and not the inevitable collapse of the antique catwalk.

He studied the tank and frowned. The lever used to release the water was eroded beyond repair. Stiles reached out for the extended piece of rusted metal and it snapped of easily in his sweaty palms. Great.

His calculating eyes ran along the large tank. Gripping the rusted railing tightly, he leaned forward and scanned the bottom. There! Although the metal itself still seemed marginally sturdy, the various thin lines of worn bolts along the seams were not nearly as airtight. Already water was starting to leak through the minute cracks, caused by age and erosion.

He could hear the rewarding splash and gurgle of the rising water in the abandoned tank. It was probably the first time in over a decade that the container had ever held water.

And now Stiles was going to smash it apart.

Pulling out the discarded rod, he gripped the skin-warmed metal tightly in his hands before bashing the jagged edge against the most worn bolt. The sharp impact jarred his arms and stung his hands, but he reared back to strike it again. The catwalk shook under his feet from the repeated blows rumbling through his body. The loud clanging echoed in the empty building. He was aware of his friends' eyes on him, but he kept pounding at the weakening metal.

Amidst the metallic ringing, another sound caught Stiles' ear. He paused, waiting for the reverberating echo to die down. Glancing up, the boy's blood froze. The metal tank wasn't the only thing rusted beyond repair. He hadn't noticed it earlier, focused purely on the prime objective, but one of the suspensions on the aerial catwalk was severely compromised. Each shift on the catwalk caused the rusted metal to squeal as it grated against the harder steel. Any sudden movement would enough to cause it to snap completely.

With wide eyes and deliberate, calm motions, Stiles peeked back down at his friends. If they were curious as to why he stopped hammering, they didn't say anything. They weren't even watching him. He figured out why after looking into the Chupacabra pit.

Having recovered from their traumatizing ordeal, the creatures were finally on their feet and very, very irritated. The sheer spitting and hissing produced from the pit was enough to drown out Stiles' pounding heartbeat. The Chupacabras also evidently learned a new trick with their tails. With a simple flick of the tail, a dozen spikes flew from the tip and embedded themselves into the concrete walls of the hole. They were learning and it was only a matter of time before they figured out how to use their tails more effectively. More fatally.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles braced himself and brought the iron rod forcefully down on the worn bolt. With a terrible scraping sound, the seam split, causing part of the tank itself to tear from the larger, suspended unit. The water was only a few milliseconds behind the falling metal.

One of the monsters looked up at its impending doom and shrieked, flinging its tail in panic. Sharp projectiles flew in the air and instinctively Stiles dove down to avoid the potential impalement. He felt his shoulder bash forcefully against the metallic base of the catwalk while his cheek scraped against the gritty treads. Stiles groggily pulled himself to his feet with one hand wrapped firmly around the handrails when a jarring screeching caused him to look up. He wasn't sure what was worse: the sound—like nails against a chalkboard—or the sight of the rusted suspension rod finally snapping.

The catwalk lurched beneath his feet and Stiles couldn't hold on any longer. His trembling hands frantically flailed for a renewed grip, but the cool metal slipped out of the grasp of his sweaty palms. He felt himself tip backwards, but there was no guardrail to catch him this time.

He was falling.


Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think about this! We'll get to the real meat of the story in the next few chapters.