ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ - ꜱᴛɪʟᴇꜱ ꜱᴛɪʟɪɴꜱᴋɪ

𝟚𝟞

The ringing in Sam's ears wouldn't stop.

Everything was loud, the repetitive sound of bullets piercing every available surface. Shards of glass covered every surface - laced through his hair but thankfully away from his eyes. He half dragged Stiles under the nearby desk, not having time to think about the other paralyzed werewolf who lay a few feet away.

Next came the smoke. A small canister was thrown through the window, sputtering before letting out a hiss of clouded air. At this point, Sam's mind was going a thousand miles an hour, causing white-colored flames to appear over his arms.

Seconds later, he heard a slam, and then none other than Scott walked into the room, breathing heavily. Sam half-dragged Stiles out from behind the desk calling to the werewolf and wishing he could tap into some super-strength.

He stumbled from the weight, the alpha barely managing to scoop the paralyzed boy up before he hit the ground.

"The- the kanima," Sam half-shouted, hands shaking as he moved to aid Derek. The man brushed him away, getting up on his own as he shoved the trio towards the door.

Answering his question, reptile Jackson appeared, the trio stumbling through a doorway. The second they were through, the only boy with free hands securely locked it, feeling guilt and remorse for leaving Derek behind. That soon disappeared when they headed to the next door, and the locked one fell noisily with two hits.

Scott didn't even comment on the bits of light and heat emitting from the flames decorating Sam, which he was thankful for at the moment. That conversation was going to happen later, with some tears and memories of being paralyzed alone, along with a lesson from Derek on overall control.

They didn't waste any time, continuing down the hall through the smoke. Everything was eerily quiet besides the sound of the Kanima kicking through the doors and the boy's erratic breathing. It felt like the world was ending, and in a movie, there would be dramatic music thundering in the background.

Each door they closed seemed to be nothing, and as they came to the final one - trapped in an interrogation room, Sam readied himself to fight. He'd have to rely on his inconsistent powers, as his fighting skills were essentially nothing. Maybe a few of the dancing flames would jump off and do the job for him. The thought comforted him ever so slightly.

After a few seconds of peace, he breathed out in hesitant relief. The room's door seemed sturdier than the rest, complete with a lock he had barely finished putting into place due to shaking hands before the large bang had come.

Scott helped Stiles into a lone chair as Sam raked a hand furiously through his hair, then instinctively rubbed at the symbols on the back of his neck. They were always there, a reminder of someone he had used to be and who he was now.

"Don't move," The werewolf said, then took back his words at the look Stiles gave him. "You know what I mean. Sam, stay here with him."

He knew in the movies this would be where he offered up his heroics to help the main character (Scott, of course), but he nodded. He wouldn't let Stiles fall in harm's way, silently swearing the oath to himself.

As the boy left the room, Sam shook his hands out, frantically trying to calm down. Shouts and slams outside the door didn't help, even after he doubled checked after locking the door.

When Stiles let out a cough, he rushed over immediately, tilting his head forward from its lolled back position. The boy's fingers twitched, his wrist barely moving an inch towards the boy. Sam took the hint, crouching down and linking their fingers together.

"It's going to be okay, yeah? We're totally going to be fine." He muttered under his breath.

"Hey, Sam?" Stiles said.