Teen Wolf One-shot stories

Habits and Hazards

They're fucked.
Genuinely, 100% no last minute surprise escapes fucked.
And it's his fault.
All his fault.

Scott meets Liam's terrified eyes through the bars of their separate cages, and wonders why he didn't listen to Stiles.
Stiles is always right.
Well.
95% of the time.

Scott hates it because he's supposed to be the Alpha, he's supposed to be in charge, but here, five minutes away from a wolfsbane bullet to the head, he curses his pride with language his mother would, in context, heartily approve of.

He scans the room meeting the panicked eyes of every pack member, who look back in fear, anger or in Lydia's case guilt. She after all had dismissed Stiles too. If she'd backed him Scott probably would have listened, and he doesn't want to read into the fact that he trusts her judgement over his best friend's.
If he's honest he's probably never quite let go of that midnight wander through the woods searching out part two of Laura Hale.

He deliberately doesn't look at Stiles.
He doesn't think he can take it, even if he can picture exactly what he'd see.
Stiles isn't the type for vindication, while they're all panicking he's making and discarding plans to get them out of this mess. Getting Scott out of messes is one of Stiles' greatest talents; alongside getting him into them but the point still stands.

Scott doesn't think he can handle it right now. The knowledge Stiles doesn't value himself enough to be angry at Scott for dismissing him before. Doesn't value himself more than Scott apparently does, despite clearly being worth more than the rest of them.
The lead hunter, a thin man with sallow skin and a broad forehead smirks when Scott's eyes meet his. Scott doesn't flair his red eyes, refusing to allow the man any satisfaction.

When Stiles speaks, it's so casual and ordinary sounding it's jarring in the dripping cellar.
"You got a light dude?"
The hunter glances over at his fellow human disdainfully, "if I did, I wouldn't offer it to you, monsterfucker."
"The fact you think in a sexual act between me and a monster, I'd be the one doing the fucking," says Stiles from Scott's left, and Scott can hear the smile, "is actually kinda a compliment."
The sallow hunter narrowed his eyes, "so very shameless, do they share you around?"
"Only on Tuesdays," says Stiles blithely. "Do you have a light then? You look like a smoker."
"I'll use it to burn a hole in your tongue if you don't shut it." Snaps the hunter, clearly realising he wasn't going to win a battle of wits with Stiles. He worked that out faster than Peter at least.

Stiles shuts it, and Scott wonders what on earth the point of the conversation was.
Five minutes of subtle fidgeting later, the man leaves though.

"Why Stiles?" Asks Jackson irately.
Stiles hums noncommittally and shuffles about in his cell, finally muttering. "Habit."
Scott doesn't think he'll understand that without looking, but when he risks a glance Stiles is sat back, watching the door with an implacable expression.

The hunter returns, and from the smell Scott can tell he had a smoke while he was gone, though there is no visible sign of it.

The moment he sits, Stiles pipes up though.
"Didn't get you craving did I? You tryna quit dude? Gotta get that new thing, E-cigarettes. Our econ teacher uses them and they work! Well he's still crazy but they didn't make him worse."
"Can it or I will burn a hole through your tongue. I've warned you once already."
"Would you though?" Presses Stiles, "but what if your fuel runs out? It's pretty remote here, and there aren't exactly top ups ab-"
The hunter launches from his chair and over to Stile's cage, face contorted.
Stiles backs away from the bars but not fast enough and the hunter grabs the front of his hoodie and drags him close, removing and sparking a lighter with his other hand.
He brings it right to Stiles' face, and opens his mouth to snarl something presumably threatening, when Stiles pulls Scott's old inhaler out of nowhere and presses down on it, directing the gas at the lighter. It ignites, turning the inhaler into a rudimentary flame thrower that Stiles directs at the hunter's face. The man tries to pull away, yelping in pain, but Stiles is grasping him through the bars in a role reversal no one saw coming.
The man howls with pain, and Stiles abruptly shoves him backward. The hunter loses his footing and falls, head hitting the mental table behind him hard.

Scott joins the rest of his pack gaping at Stiles.
His brother in all but blood gives them a grin and jingles the prison keys he apparently filched whilst melting the guy's face off.
"Oh the hazards of inhalers. You guy's ready to bounce?"