Stiles was pacing his room. The floorboards were cold and hard under his feet and he eyed his shoes that lay by the door. His jacket was on it's hook, a baseball bat leaning against the door underneath. Waiting, ready, anticipated.

The night was drawing nearer and the sky outside turned navy, the streets empty and his head full of thoughts. Dangerous thoughts - full of worry and anger, frustration and unease.
He bit at his thumb nail, his teeth marring the skin around it. He tasted blood.
Stiles sighed, before facing the window, straining into the darkness as if he could find Scott and his friends in the distance. They were miles away, across the woodland border and out of sight of humans. The boy braced his forehead on the cool window panes, gazing down at the empty driveway and wishing that his father was home - that someone was here to distract him.

His cell burned in his pocket and Stiles' fingers twitched to reach for it, to send a text to Lydia, to call her, just for a second - just to hear her voice.
Instead, he walked backwards until his knees hit the mattress, allowing himself to drop onto the soft springs. He lay there in his room, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue and silence around him. The light was fading.

When he finally did pull his phone out of his pocket, the screen illuminated the entire room. He read Scott's last text for the seventh time.
"We're near the farm - everyone's okay. Don't worry. Stay safe''.

Something in his chest tightened and more discomfort settled over him. Stiles was usually one to fidget, he was aware of that trait, but tonight - well tonight, he couldn't stay in the same spot for more than a few seconds. Unease flooded his bedroom, an unsettled atmosphere hung around him, clouding his mind and pulling his lips into a grim line.
He was back on his feet as he decided to pull on his converse, just in case, he told himself. It wasn't long before he was perched on the edge of his desk, his fingers tapping almost painfully on the wooden surface. Something wasn't right.
He looked at his watch, his own fingers cold on his skin. Nine, forty eight pm.

It was fourteen minutes past ten when Stiles heard the howl. It carried on the wind and hit him square in the chest, knocking the air out his lungs. He dropped his cell, ignoring the 'crack' it made as it hit the floor.
The howl was low and lasted for what seemed hours. The pain it held wrapped itself around Stiles' chest and squeezed him, his own breath stopped. It was full of agony and it was, Stiles quickly realised, a cry for help.

It was Scott.

The soles of his shoes hardly touched the stairs as Stiles tore down them and out of the front door. The bat felt heavy in his hand, rough on his skin and a sign of the battle to come.
The air was cold outside, his breath hung in front of him as he tried to gather his thoughts. Stiles shut his eyes and panted, trying to calm his breathing before he lost his control and his world shut down around him. He was dizzy and the pavement under his feet tilted and dipped.
His hand found the door to the jeep and he held onto it like a lifeline, he focused on Scott, he thought of Lydia, he prayed they were both safe.

He murmured these words under his breath, chanting them like a mantra that kept him sane, that made him limbs move and his brain work. He roared to life, like an action figure with new batteries. Stiles clambered into the front seat, throwing his bat on the chair next to him as he jammed the keys into the ignition. The jeep growled halfheartedly as it turned over and over, the engine refusing to co-operate with the cold air.

Frustration and despair stung in the boy's eyes and he threw his fists forward, slamming into the steering wheel with more strength than he knew he possessed. He muttered curses that mixed with prayers, promises to higher entities he was never sure existed - please, just please, work.
He turned the key again and again - a fourth time, a fifth time and then - the sixth. The engine started grudgingly and Stiles was flying out the driveway in reverse before it could cut out again. His hands were shaking as they found purchase on the steering wheel, blood settling into the lines of his battered knuckles. He could almost smell it, the taste of it from before still left a bitter tang in his mouth. Stiles' stomach churned.
A sense of foreboding filled the cab of the jeep, and when he passed the vandalized sign that indicated the farmland was close, something in his chest warned him to turn back. Something was pulling him away from the danger.

Worry made his chest constrict painfully, yet, he parked the jeep haphazardly by the rot covered fence before killing engine.
It was completely silent - Stiles heard no insects, no birds, no wind and no sounds of supernatural battles.

The seat hardly made a whisper as it slid from around his body, clicking back into place. The boy opened the door carefully, grimacing as it squeaked with age. He slunk from his seat to the forest floor, the frosted ground crunching under his feet. The door swung shut and the world became still.

Cold nipped at his exposed skin, the dried blood caking his knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands, rubbing his palms together as he shivered under his jacket. Ice formed in the centre of muddy puddles. When had it become so cold?

He stepped over fallen branches, eyeing the old gate in front of him warily, it looked wet to touch, coated with moss that dripped with an unknown substance. He kicked at it with the toe of his shoe, wincing as it creaked ajar before crumbling slightly at the hinges.
Long gone were the days that Scott and himself roamed the woods for crime scenes and possible dead bodies, it seemed like years since darkness and hidden tree stumps were their worst enemies.
Fear was almost non-existent, it was now a myth. Stiles know only knew of survival, the correct way to hold a handgun and the powers of mountain ash and wolfs bane.

But, when the trees cleared and the scene in front of him unfolded, his blood turned to ice and dread settled upon him like the mist that swirled around his ankles.
The air was damp and the scent of blood carried on the wind. The bumpy, mud covered path that led through the forest finally brought him to the edge of a clearing; flat planes of fields surrounded a small farm house, with large half assembled barns.
In front of the main building, beside what looked like the skeleton of an old tractor, was his friends.

Isaac was closest to him, lingering on the outskirts with one arm around Malia's wasit, who was clinging to his neck - blood pouring from her arm as her eyes glowed blue.
Stiles took an involuntary step forward as the pair stumbled slightly, their injuries weakening them as they watched the rest of the pack from afar - as helplessly as Stiles felt.
The boys eyes were drawn to Kira, glowing in the darkness as she fought back to back with a snarling Liam. The girl's katana flashed dangerously, the moonlight catching its sharp edge as Kira wielded it with power and confidence.
Two large males were descending upon her, their claws longer than Stiles had seen and their eyes glowing yellow.

He took another step.

Before Kira was overpowered, Liam delivered his final blow to his own opponent, a man with scars running down the length of his bare chest and long, tangled hair that was the colour of snow.
The younger wolf spun around with practiced speed, tackling one beta to the ground with ease. Kira hurled her blade into the side of the other, watching with pain as he fell to his knees with a roar. Stiles was moving closer and he could see the dark blood that escaped the wolf's wound before it slowly stitched itself together. The enemy was down, but only for a moment.

"Derek!''

Isaac had shouted out, his back still to Stiles, as he watched a girl - who looked not much older than them - pounce at Derek from the shadows. Her hair was short and chopped, dirt marring her once pretty features as she snarled and flashed her teeth - aiming for Derek's neck.
The older wolf turned in time, disposing of one limp body before he caught the girl by her shoulders, throwing her into the ground and sending a cloud of dust into the air. When it finally settled, the girl hadn't moved.

In the midst of it all, was Scott. Stiles had his eyes trained on his best friend, unable to count the lifeless bundles of limbs that surrounded him. His eyes were flashing dangerously, his lips curled back to show snarling teeth - daring the next idiots to cross him. Three wolves advanced on him, two of them being the alpha's that they had heard about.
Scott took out the young omega easily, only one powerful twist of his hand was needed. However, when he stood back to his full height, the two alphas towered over him, their broad chests decorated with scars that resembled a map of the world. Blood was smeared across their ripped and tattered clothing - and Stiles would have bet that the majority of it wasn't their own.

As Stiles watched in horror, the two closed in on Scott, their growls heard over the growing winds. It was then, when Stiles flexed his hand and reached out to thin air, that he realised he had left his bat in the car.
His heart faltered.

"Stiles, god fucking dammit, what the fuck are you doing here?!''

Isaac was rushing at him, carrying a whimpering Malia in his arms. His eyes were losing their yellow hue and blood dripped from his eyelashes - a claw sized dent in his forehead was beginning to close on itself.

"You need help!'' Was Stiles' obvious reply.

Isaac simply shook his head at the human, realising that it was impossible to argue with him, never mind the bad timing.

"Here'', Stiles jammed his hand into his pocket, bringing out his car keys, "the jeep's parked not even a mile away, quick, take her there''.

Isaac nodded gratefully, gathering Malia closer to his chest as she let out a weak moan, her shirt now saturated with blood.
Before Stiles could ask why the coyote wasn't healing as quickly as the rest of them, Isaac took off in a jog, his left leg limping as he disappeared into the woods that Stiles had came from.
It was truly dark now, the navy clouds had rolled in with the strong winds, covering what little light they had from the moon.
A mixture of gravel and dirt crunched under Stiles hesitant footsteps - his wildly beating heart betraying the calm expression that he wore on his face.
He could hardly see a foot in front of him. Shapes moved in the darkness, too quick to make out. Low growls and hisses of pain filled the cold air. Stiles' stomach churned dangerously as he realised pools of blood lay at his feet.
Blood that could have been Malia's -

A roar filled the air and for a second, everyone stopped, everything stopped. The world stopped spinning on it's axle and Stiles was sure the planets that surrounded it dropped into darkness. The wind stilled and so did Stiles' heart.

Scott was lying at the feet of the remaining alpha, his eyes flickering from crimson to a dull, weak brown. His opponent snapped at the air with his teeth, the long fangs dirty with blood. He lay a shoe covered foot onto Scott's shoulder, kicking him onto his back and making him groan in pain. The wolf smirked.

Stiles was moving again, his brain not registering the fact that his feet were pacing across the field, his breath shortening as his stride increased.
No, no, no, no, no.

The alpha raised a large hand that was close to the size of a club, his claws glinting in what little light the moon gave them. He aimed for Scott's throat and Scott closed his eyes, spluttering slightly as blood rose from his throat and stained his lips.

"STILES, NO!''

Derek yelled furiously as he ripped himself away from the hold that two betas had him in. He was sprinting towards Stiles as the boy tore past him, flying for his friend.
If the pack had learned anything when doing combat training and playing lacrosse, it was that Stiles wasfast. His tall, lean body moved with a grace he usually never had, weaving in and out of enemies and leaping over casualties that littered the ground.
Before he reached Scott, something tackled him from his side, leaping out of the darkness like death itself.

All the oxygen that Stiles held in his body was taken from him with such force that tears sprang to his eyes. The air rushed from his lips and left him gasping. His chest was painfully tight and he could see the stars above him as he lay on the ground. They blurred into strange shapes, fading into the inky black sky before shining back at him.
When the sharp points of five fingers pierced his rib cage, he heard Kira scream out in horror. Derek was roaring in anger, finishing off each wolf with ease as he slammed them into the ground, one by one. Before darkness took over him, he saw Scott crawl to his side.
He heard heavy footsteps and Isaac's muttered "shit, no".
Kira was shouting instructions to Derek as she cradled Stiles' head on her lap, to grab something to stem the blood, anything to get rid of all the blood. There was so much blood.

Then he felt something more painful than the claws of a werewolf. He felt something inside his chest snap - higher than his fresh wound, right beside his heart. Something tugged at his body, leaving him feeling empty and cold, and so, so alone.
As he closed his eyes, he heard Lydia scream.