Stiles drove away from the house as quickly as he could with one hand, the other lying on his lap. He had come to the conclusion that his arm wasn't broken or dislocated, but most likely a bit sprained and extensively bruised. Tears still lingered in his eyes as he thought about Derek's last words.
"You are not pack."
It rung in his ears, making him let out a gasp as he tried to keep from crying.
C'mon, Stiles. You knew you weren't pack, anyways. You're not a werewolf or a druid or even a kanima- there's no way you could ever be pack... Not even if youwere a werewolf... They wouldn't ever want anything to do with you- annoying, hyperactive, weak Stiles Stilinski... Stiles rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, wincing as his shoulder protested. Nevermind them, Stiles. Just think about happy thoughts! Puppies and sunshine and flowers and videogames- definitely videogames. Think about... about... World of Warcraft! Yeah! That's a happy thought! I'm almost a level 68- and then I'll be a level 69 and I'll be able to make perverted comments to the rest of my battle crew about it! Yay! Happy thoughts, Stiles! Just don't think about that stupid Alpha Derek Jerk-face and the rest of his Pack Stupid, and you'll be fine! Just fi-
Suddenly, he felt something grab his hoodie. He gasped as he was torn from his Jeep- still moving- and flung to the ground, watching as the car flipped over a fallen tree and fell on its side. "Aw, c'mon!" he whined. "That's my-"
Stiles froze when he saw who was holding his hoodie. Fear took over his features, and it took everything he had to not scream.
"D-Deucalion..." he rasped, eyes wide. Ooooooooh shit. It's Deucalion. Like, the Deucalion who wants the pack and anyone associated with them dead- and I'm associated with the pack. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, mother eff-ing shit and- Gooooooood can't I catch a freaking break every once in a while?
"Hello, Stiles..." the blind werewolf said with an eerie smile. "It's nice to see you again."
Stiles chuckled nervously. "Really? Ah-" he licked his lips "-because you can't, y'know, really see anything- ACK!"
Deucalion's hand quickly moved from Stiles's hoodie to his neck, his body twisting to where he slammed the teenager up against a tree behind him. The Alpha grinned, showing off fangs, and laughed darkly. "You're right, I suppose. Anyway, Stiles, do you know why I'm here?"
Choking and pulling at Deucalion's hands, Stiles shrugged. "Ah, because you love me and think I'm awesome and reeeeeally don't wanna kill me?"
Deucalion's grin got even scarier- is that even possible?- as his grip around Stiles's throat tightened. "I'm here because I want to hurt your pack. I want to hurt them in the most painful way possible. Do you know what that is?"
Stiles gasped for air as he retorted sarcastically, "Well one, they're not my pack, and B, how is that?" Oh, God. Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me, puh-leeeeeease don't kill me!
"I'm going to make them feel the anguish I felt when they killed one of my pack members... I'm going to kill you, Stiles Stilinski."
Well, shit.
Deucalion whirled around and threw Stiles into a tree, making the teenager wail in pain. He slumped to the ground, gasping and clutching at his stomach. Okay- soooo not cool. That really, really hurt, you sonofabitch! And I'm sure that under that creepy, furry, Alpha-ness that you care that I'm an innocent human. Right? He watched as Deucalion approached him, claws and fangs at the ready. Okay... maybe not.
The Alpha grabbed Stiles's hoodie with one hand, using the other to slash at his chest. Stiles cried out, tears leaking from his eyes as he attempted to push the werewolf away. Deucalion grabbed Stiles's good arm and, with the simple closing of a fist, snapped his radius and ulna simultaneously. "AAACK!" Stiles screamed, throwing his head back against the tree. He felt Deucalion's foot slam into his shin, and his scream loudened as he heard a terrible snap echo through the forest. Deucalion grinned and lifted his foot to do the same to Stiles's other leg. Through the pained fog of his mind, Stiles thought he heard someone whisper in his brain. He couldn't make out the voice exactly, with all of the signals of agony that his body was sending him, but he could hear that it was husky and low.
