Chapter Title: Broad-Shouldered Beasts

Author's Note: Hi!

I am ridiculously late for the party, but this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone! I wrote it, decided to post... And I have no idea if this fandom is still alive, but if any are... Welcome to my first Teen Wolf venture!

This fic is finished and will be updated regularly. It will focus mainly on the awesome friendship between Stiles and Scott (if you ship them, then feel free to read this story as something more), dosed with a massive amount of angst and hurt/comfort, because I am a huge h/c monster.

Chapter titles are song titles from the lovely Mumford and Sons!
Crossposted on AO3 under same name

I have nothing to else delve into for now, so…

Enjoy!

Crimescenelover out!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or copyright of anything depicted or over anything you might recognize.

His panting breaths were loud as they reverberated in his ears.

His heart pounded wildly, threatening to jump out of his chest as it slammed against his ribcage. Sweat was clinging onto his skin, gathering on his forehead and running down his back. His calves and thighs were sore and trembling with exertion and his lungs screamed for a respite to draw in proper air. His body wanted badly to stop but the rush of adrenaline and the pure, absolute terror coursing through his veins spurned him on.

Stiles was surprised that the number of times he had been forced to run for his life, sprinting away from whatever new monster decided to descend on Beacon Hills, hadn't automatically placed him on the track team. But here he was, his breathing labored and his blood rushing in his ears as his muscles burned and shook. His palms were slick with sweat and his right hand tightened around the aluminum bat sliding in his grasp.

He threw a hurried glance over his shoulder.

The dark night enveloped everything except for the illuminated parking lot behind him, which was growing smaller by the second. There was no other cars or bikes except for his blue Jeep. He was completely and utterly alone. A deep growl penetrated the night, sending chills down his spine and quickening his already rapid pulse.

Well, not completely alone.

Stiles forced his legs to run faster. His eyes were glued to his destination ahead.

Beacon Hills High School.

He had practically just come from there, having spent the afternoon and evening in the library. He had told his dad it was to catch up on schoolwork. Being possessed by an evil fox spirit did nothing good for your grades, after all. In reality, he had spent the time copying and cataloguing the casefiles on the two recent killings he had borrowed from his dad's office.

Two people, a jogger, and a hiker, had been found separate of each other within the last week, their bodies torn to shreds. Official ruling was an animal attack and there was a massive pressure on the Sheriff's department to locate and incapacitate the rabid animal before it hurt or killed someone else. Unofficially, the consensus was on a shapeshifter. His dad had still told him to stay out of it. Stiles, as per usual, hadn't paid much attention to that request.

They knew it was most likely a werewolf – Scott and Derek had picked up that much from the lingering scent in the woods. What it was doing here was the mystery. So, while the supernatural creatures were busy sniffing out clues – a joke that had not been appreciated at the time – Stiles had set out to learn more from the case reports.

He finally decided to call it a night and with his brain overworked and oversaturated, Stiles had exited the school and headed to his car. He had been dismayed to find his Jeep unable to start. The sense that he wasn't alone in the empty darkness prickled at his senses the moment he opened the hood of the Jeep. Uneasy and nervous, Stiles surveyed the quiet parking lot, peeling his eyes for any movement or distorted shadows. His heart began to beat faster and faster, fear tickling his nerves and he had reached into his car for his bat. The moment his fingers curled around the cold aluminum, something drew his attention to the trees that were drenched in shadow.

His breathing hitched as he saw the crimson pair of glowing eyes watching him in the darkness.

Everything was frozen for the fraction of a second.

Stiles didn't move.

Neither did the eyes.

Then the creature threw itself forward, the shadows twisting and casting themselves towards him. Stiles swore as he turned on his heel and began his mad dash in the opposite direction. He cursed the open parking lot and how he had parked so far from the school. The big building bopped closer with every running step pounding into the asphalt. Stiles' breathing hitched as he slammed into the double doors, throwing them open with so much force he almost landed flat on his face.

He stumbled haphazardly into the empty hallway, his sneakers screeching on the polished floor. With no one else around, the noise seemed unnaturally loud. He faltered then, unsure of which way to go. He eyed the stairwell to upper levels, but quickly decided against it. A werewolf could easily survive a jump from the second floor unscathed.

Stiles couldn't.

Heavy, jogging footsteps echoed hauntingly behind him and Stiles dashed around the bend in the hall. He frantically yanked on every doorknob he came across, hoping one of them would be unlocked. When he pulled the handle to the chemistry lab, the door flew open.

'That's not irresponsible at all,' Stiles thought as he rushed into the classroom.

He closed the door as quietly as he could. Without wrenching his gaze from the door, he slowly backed away, his steps soft and tentative. His right hand was still clutching his bat, while his left searched around in his pocket after his phone. His hand was shaking as he fished it out of his pants, and he willed the trembling to stop.

'Get it together, Stiles.'

His body ignored his rational commands as his shuddering fingers haggardly worked to unlock the phone. He cursed his stupid, human responses when he almost dropped the device because of his quivering, fear and dread overflowing his senses. Stiles had just pressed 'Contacts' when the wooden door burst open, squealing pitifully as it was torn off its hinges. The loud noise startled his already on-edge nerves. The phone clattered onto the floor.

A tall, dark mass came hurtling through the entrance and it crouched down when it landed. The long claws on its hands left long scratches on the white flooring as it raised its head to look at its prey. Stiles felt rather than saw the piercing, glowing eyes boring into his as the werewolf watched him. He could swear he saw malicious satisfaction swirling in that stare.

It still bore the shape of a tall man, his limps and features wry and askew in its shifted state. He wore dark clothes, matching the shade of his brown hair. The werewolf's lips pulled back into a sneer, revealing the long, gleaming canines covered in saliva.

"Scott McCall," he rumbled, his voice muffled and distorted by the enlarged, sharp teeth.

Stiles swallowed down his tremoring fear and used the only real weapon he had: his sarcastic mouth. He was proud when the words didn't quiver. "Then I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have your wolves severely mixed up. I know it's hard to tell underneath the constant, acrid stench of anxiety, but I am 100 percent, pure, puny human."

"But you're still pack," the shapeshifter victoriously retaliated.

"More like honorary member," Stiles quickly responded, his mouth feeling drier by the second. This werewolf clearly planned to use Stiles to get to Scott. He wasn't going to let that happen. Not in a million years. Not again. He used their conversation to stall for time as he etched further back into the classroom, closer to the teacher's table that was littered with lab equipment. He just had to keep talking. "I only get the participation trophies, not the actual medals. Sorry you came all this way and bloodied your claws for nothing. It happens to the best of us."

The Alpha growled threateningly as it followed his movements. Then it lurched forward, clearly done with talking.

Stiles reacted immediately.

He grabbed beakers, racks and tubes off the table and threw them at the monster blocking the exit. The werewolf shielded his face as the glass broke against his skin, deep growls rumbling in his throat as he was assaulted by various lab equipment. He still inched closer, growling and howling menacingly.

Stiles kept throwing whatever he could get his hands on while he backed towards the other side of the room. When they were at a skewed distance from each other and with two tables separating them, Stiles took a chance and bolted for the unobstructed doorway. The werewolf recovered quicker than he had hoped.

It flung itself across the room, claws outstretched, and collided with Stiles in the middle of the room. The heavy weight slammed into Stiles' left side and he felt the air pushed out of his lungs. His head banged into the hard floor as they landed in a tangled heap. His vision blacked out for a short second. He heard the sneers whisper in his ear as the werewolf struggled to gain the upper hand and sink its claws and teeth into his flesh.

Stiles trashed and squirmed underneath the monster's weight. He was still hanging on to his bat, but he couldn't gain enough momentum to swing it. His flailing leg suddenly found an opening and he slammed his thigh into the man's groin. Stiles was grateful werewolves still had human attributes and so was rewarded with a painful grunt as his leg connected. Take that, you oversized poodle!

With the shapeshifter was momentarily dazed, Stiles realigned the bat in his hands and smashed the round end into the werewolf's face. Cartilage and bone crunched at the impact and the werewolf yowled and leaned back to alleviate the sudden pain.

Stiles wiggled out from under the reeling werewolf and shuffled to his feet. Both hands wrapped around the handle, he swung the baseball bat at the head. He felt his arms vibrate as the aluminum connected with flesh. It almost made him lose his sweaty grip.

The werewolf tilted to the side.

Stiles ran for it.

His feet shuffled clumsily down the hallway, his knees feeling weak while his heart hammered as pure survival instinct drove him on. His thoughts were jumbled but alert, high on adrenaline and fear. He heard the commotion behind him as the werewolf regained its senses and tore off after him. Stiles didn't look back. He focused on the salvation he knew was waiting around the corner. The school exit, the parking lot and his hopefully-still-operational Jeep.

He rounded the bend of lockers, a choked sigh of relief escaping his mouth. He was so close he could practically taste the cool, evening air.

Alarm shouted in his mind as his senses tingled uncomfortably with a sudden thumbing presence beside him.

It was all the warning he got.

Sharp, all-encompassing pain tore through his side as he felt something pierce his skin. The force tore him off his feet and sent him flying to the side, the baseball bat spinning out of his grip. He was hurled through the air before ramming into the lockers by the wall. The lumped metal and locks rammed into his back briefly as he bounced off the rattling lockers and down onto the ground.

He landed with a breathless gasp.

His side burned, sending agonizing needles across his nerves. His vision flickered with dark spots, the ceiling above him drifting in and out of focus. His chest spasmed and he couldn't draw in a proper breath, just gasping desperately for air. The pain skyrocketed briefly, tearing a tortured cry from his throat, before it faded to more bearable levels. It loosened its grip on his lungs and with a strangled cough, he gulped in the precious oxygen.

Vaguely, Stiles registered the wet feeling spreading rapidly across his stomach. He raised a shaking hand and wrapped it firmly around his stinging side. As his skin connected with the warm, sticky sensation, agony flared and whitened his vision with its intense, aching pulse. Lethargy pulled at his mind and somewhere inside of him, he knew that sudden tired feeling was not good. He pressed his hand firmer over the gaping wound in his side, letting the pain jostle him out of haze. Trembling, he raised his head from the floor, fearful of what he would find.

Red, dark blood had coated the entire left side of his green t-shirt. Gingerly, Stiles lifted his fingers from where they were clutching the bleeding side. The fabric was torn several places, the skin underneath ribbed and mattered in blood that was still seeping leisurely out of the gaping wound. There was too much red, it was impossible to see the actual injury.

"That's a lot of blood."

The rumbling voice jerked Stiles' body uncomfortably, and he snapped his head around to face its owner. The werewolf was no longer rabid and growling, instead the human features shone through despite the shapeshifter still being turned, as he stood nonchalantly in the middle of the hall. His hungry eyes never left Stiles' and it sent racking shivers down his spine.

He set his jaw and stubbornly mustered all the bravado he had as he spat, "I should have kicked you harder."

The werewolf chuckled humorlessly as it stalked casually strolled closer. Stiles willed his body to move, to roll onto his side and get his legs under him, anything. His limbs were sluggish and uncoordinated as he attempted to move. The werewolf just grinned wider as he watched Stiles' feeble attempts at rising.

"There's nowhere to run, Stiles."

Stiles felt his blood run cold at the mention of his name.

"Just stop fighting. We wouldn't want you to bleed out. Not yet anyway," the werewolf said, his voice low and purring. He stopped just at Stiles' head, staring down on him with a mixture of feral victory and menacing indifference.

"What the hell do you want?" Stiles said, glaring up at the hovering shapeshifter with as much hate as he could muster.

The werewolf smiled then, a thin, horrible smile that stretched his warped, wolfish features into something utterly unnatural. "You."

Stiles blanched at the word. He didn't have time to ponder the menacing statement as the werewolf quickly lost his smile and slammed his foot into Stiles' face.

As he saw the boot come rushing down, all he could think of before darkness came and swept him away, was,

'That's a strange way to kill somebody.'

TBC