Stiles quietly closed the door to his bedroom and leaned his forehead warily against it for a moment, before he turned and faced the room, pulling the bottle of whisky he'd borrowed from his father's liqueur cabinet from where he'd hidden it beneath his jacket and setting it on the dressing table, before he moved to his duffle bag and began searching through it until he found the first aid kit he'd put together. Most members of the league carried a first aid kit with them, although how complex the first aid kit was varied greatly. Stiles' was a little more extensive than most, but Stiles liked to be prepared for all situations…and he knew realistically that he'd always been accident prone, and the league's training had quite ironed that particular personality trait out of him.

Setting the first aid kit on the dressing table, beside the whisky bottle Stiles began the process of removing his weaponry, setting it all carefully on the bed to be cleaned and checked for damage after he'd gotten some sleep. He then grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants and ducked across the corridor to the bathroom, stepping into the shower and washing away the dried blood, sweat and dirt that had accumulated on his skin. He kept his shower short, though, not wanting to waste his time. He knew that he needed to be finished before the werewolves arrived back at the house.

Gently patting himself dry, Stiles wrapped his upper half in a towel and put on the clean sweatpants, gathering his dirty clothes and walking back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him once again. He could hear Alan Deaton's muffled voice coming from downstairs, obviously having arrived at the house while Stiles was in the shower, although Stiles' couldn't hear any of the werewolves yet. He wasn't surprised though, he was fairly sure the werewolves wouldn't have been in any rush. Even after treating their wolfsbane poisoning Stiles doubted that any of the werewolves would have been in the best of conditions…and he wasn't even sure what Parrish's abilities as a Hellhound were, compared with the werewolves and Kira.

Stiles dropped his combat gear on the floor and crossed over the room to the dresser, removing his towel, and beginning to inspect his injuries in the mirror. In the light of the room Stiles was surprised by how pale he looked, realising that he'd lost more blood than he'd thought he would. The bullet graze to his shoulder had stung when he was in the shower, and it was still hurting, although it wasn't bleeding anymore. The claw marks Kate had left him with in his side, and his leg were still sluggishly bleeding, although Stiles wasn't certain whether or not it was bleeding again just because he'd had a shower and washed away the dried blood that had sealed the wound, or if it had never stopped bleeding.

Bruises were already forming across Stiles' chest and abdomen, and he knew that come dawn he was going to ache all over from the bruising. The pain was worse in a couple of places along his ribcage, but Stiles was relatively certain that he had escaped the fight without any broken ribs, although he conceded that there might be a couple of cracked ones.

Still, for the moment, Stiles' ribs were not his concern. His hands trembling just slightly, Stiles opened up the first aid kit and the bottle of whisky, thoroughly wetting a piece of gauze with the alcohol, before gingerly applying it to the wounds to his side. He bit his lip against the pain, reaching with his free hand for the improvised gag he had been using to prevent himself from crying out during his nightmares. Stiles shoved the gag into his mouth and bit down on it, relieved that it stifled his groans and whimpers of pain.

Breathing heavily through his nose, Stiles poured a little more whisky directly onto the claw marks, using the gauze to prevent the whisky dribbling past the injury and making a mess. He removed his gag, taking a few generous swigs of the alcohol, distracting himself from the burning pain in his side from Kate's claw marks with the burn of the whisky as it went down his throat.

Stiles set the whisky back down on the dresser, and looked at the wound again in the mirror, nodding. Between his shower, and then the whisky, the claw marks looked nice and clean. Now he just had to stitch them injury back up, and then he could tend to the bullet graze and then he would be all set for when the werewolves came back.

Stiles grabbed him mini suture kit from his first aid supplies, carefully threading a needle with some suture thread, before readying himself, using one hand to pinch the edges of the deepest claw mark together, before he began the work of sewing the edges of the wound together. The familiar feeling of the needle and thread passing through his skin, accompanied with the gently tugging made Stiles swallow nauseously, and he was glad he'd shoved his gag back into his mouth to stifle his little whimpers of pain as he went.

It took eighteen stiches for Stiles to adequately close the worst of the gashes. Stiles carefully tied off the thread, examining his work in the mirror. If someone else was doing it he was sure that the stiches would probably look neater, and even for him they weren't his best work, but Stiles was relatively sure that it would hold.

Letting out a shaking breath, Stiles began work on the top row of claw marks, trying to breathe through the pain, slowly doing stich after stich, his whisky coloured eyes focused intently on what he was doing, although they watered from the pain, and his body was starting to feel the effects of not enough sleep, combined with blood loss.

In hindsight, Stiles would blame his body's ailing condition for his failure to hear the front door to the house opening and closing, nor the muffled noise of Scott, Derek, Jackson, Kira, Liam and Parrish's voices as they greeted Stiles' dad, Melissa, Chris and Deaton. He definitely didn't hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stirs towards his room, so he hadn't expected the sound of soft knocking on the door.

"Stiles, sweetie, are you ok?" Melissa gently asked. Stiles froze, looking wide –eyed at the door, before down at his side. He spat out the gag, letting it fall to the floor.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine," Stiles replied, before he quickly started making another stich. Unfortunately he didn't quite get the angle right, and sharp pain shot though the affected area, causing Stiles to let out a soft yelp.

"Ow," he hissed to himself, quickly altering the angle of the needle and smoothly completing the stich

"Stiles?' Melissa asked, turning the handle and poking her head in the door.

"No, don't come it," Stiles began, half turning around towards the door, his gaze locking onto hers. Stiles could only watch as Melissa's eyes dropped to his hands, the needle he held in one hand, the other handed, bloodied, holding the uppermost slash mark closed.

"Stiles Stilinski…what the hell are you doing?" Melissa asked, and Stiles was taken back to his childhood and the many times Melissa had found him and Scott doing something stupid that would probably end up with one of them getting hurt. It was the voice of an angry parent…but one that cared, and was angry because they were concerned. It was a voice that Stiles associated only with Melissa. His father had never mastered it, and Stiles' mother was, really, more the sort of parent who would get involved in any mischief than to tell Stiles off for it.

"Um," Stiles stammered, "it's really not what it looks like."

"Really? It looks like you're stitching up your own injuries when there is a qualified medical practitioner as well as a vet who knows how to do stiches just down stairs. I don't know if I should be worried or insulted."

"It wasn't to insult you," Stiles replied quickly, "or Deaton…it was more of a…habit kind of thing."

"Really…Stitching yourself up after being clawed by a were jaguar or whatever the hell Kate Argent was, has become habit?"

"Well…the being clawed by a were jaguar thing is kind of new," Stiles shrugged, "but, well, what better way to get over a fear of needles then having to do your own stiches?"

A/TW

"Alright, we're coming in for landing," Diggle reported as the seat belt light illuminated. Sara rubbed her hand over her face.

"Finally…that felt like the longest four hours ever." Sara moaned, stretching her arms. Oliver pursed his lips, gazing out the window at the darkness of night. Almost 24 hours had passed since Sara had called, alerting him to the danger that Stiles and Roy were in, and Oliver hadn't heard from Stiles since he'd received a text message with a set of co-ordinates, obviously the location of the building where Roy and Stiles' friends and family were being held by the league, and that had been back before they'd taken off.

Realistically Oliver didn't need Felicity to tell him that, with his phone in flight mode, he wasn't going to be getting any messages or anything from Stiles, but Oliver was still worried. More than anything he wanted to be safely on the ground so he could check his phone for updates from Stiles.

The trio sat and waited until finally the aircraft touched down on the tarmac, taxiing around towards the small building. On the way out to the airport at Starling City Oliver had discretely arranged for a hire car to be there waiting for them, knowing that there was no was that there was going to be any sort of hire car service already in Beacon Hills.

Oliver, Diggle and Sara gathered their belongings and exited the plane, nodding in thanks to the pilot of the small charter plane Oliver had hired. Oliver led the way away from the plane, passing through a small building before reaching the outside, where Oliver's hire car was waiting. Oliver took the car keys from the driver and got in, with Diggle beside him in the front passenger's seat, while Sara slid into the back, while the driver got into another car which accelerated away.

Oliver, Diggle, and Sara weren't paying attention to the car driving away, however. They all had their phones out, taking them off aircraft mode. Immediately their phones started receiving text messages that they had received while they were in the air.

Oliver looked down the list at his messages. Several from Felicity, one from Thea, and one from Stiles, which he quickly tapped on. He let out the breath of air he'd been holding in as he read the message, and heard let out a groan of relief at the same time, obviously having received a similar message from Stiles to him.

'All clear J No casualties or serious injuries at our end. Disregard last two messages regarding rendezvous location.' Stiles then gave an address and told Oliver to meet him there.

"Stiles gave the all clear," he told Diggle. "Everyone's ok."

"Oh Thank God," Sara choked out from the back seat, "I…I didn't know how I would have broken it to Laurel and our dad if something had happened to Stiles…and his dad as well."

"How?" Diggle asked, "he's still a kid. How could he have defeated a team of trained assassins?"

"We'll find out soon, I guess. Can you let Felicity know Dig?" Oliver responded, having checked his other messages. Felicity's first message was a request that she be notified when they had safely landed, and then a little bit of information about the location that Stiles had sent them…an old rail yard apparently. Thea's message was simply an invitation to lunch in a couple of days' time that Oliver quickly replied to, before he reopened the most recent message from Stiles and copied the address into the GPS on his phone so he could get directions.

Diggle nodded and began calling Felicity, as Oliver started the car and started driving down the street, his heart lighter and his mind more hopeful than it had been in almost twenty four hours.