Apocalypse Gone Wrong

Day 5

Miles down the road, it became tough for Stiles to walk. His body shaked and ached, his eyes wet with tears and his hands drenched in sweat. He struggled to breath as he collapsed to the asphalt ground. He was barely able to push himself up to a sitting position to see a crowd of people walking towards him, Dereks tall and muscular body towered over him for protection. Then, as the group quickly got closer, he realized that the leader was a familiar face, too familiar. "When did- when did you get back?" Stiles says heaving his chest to get even the tiniest bit of oxygen into his lungs. He couldn't be back already, he wasn't supposed to be back until next summer.

"Well, it's nice to see you too, Stiles." says a voice too deep for its body. Jackson Whittemore. The only person in the school that envied Stiles for more than just his popularity. He envied him for his association with Scott and Derek, so much so he nearly died to get what he wanted. The bite. Derek nearly killed the guy with the fucking bite as his body tried to fight it. What we never realized was that he had already had the capability, but Derek biting him just made it worse. He was, all be it a bad one, a werewolf. His claws were already out, ready to gut anything that got in his way. Lydia Martin follows close behind, holding an axe covered in blood. She looked startled as she always does, her eyes darting all over the place. She feels it, everywhere. Death, pain suffering. She can hear their cries out for help, she hears how they die and where, constantly on the verge of screaming for someone to turn it off. Just turn off her powers and get her away from here. As she steps further out from behind Jackson, Stiles sees a glimmer of red and black all over her clothes. Black. Black blood. Werewolf blood. How the hell did Lydia Martin, queen of fashion and the most normal person out of all of us, get freaking werewolf blood all over her clothes. Suddenly her eyes jolt towards Stiles as if she could read his thoughts. Her eyes burn his skin, forcing him to

the conversation with Jackson. "Listen, Jackson. We have never really gotten along, but we need to work together. Scott is possibly dead and changing in Deatons office, Peter is dead, everything is falling apart. We need each other." Stiles pushes himself up to his feet, cringing as he does. His head was throbbing from the fall he made just minutes earlier. Lydia's eyes stay locked on him, making him feel uncomfortable and shy. Jacksons eyes almost pop out of his head when he hears about Scott. He seemed like it was his fault, but didn't quite know. Suddenly, Stiles sees more people emerge from behind Jackson. Isaac and Allison. Wait, Allison? Dead Allison? The Allison that got stabbed through the chest by a psychotic ninja of darkness called "The Oni?" Funny thing is, Stiles was controlling them at the time, or at least something that looked like him. A nogitsune. An evil spirit controlling darkness killed this girl, and now she is standing right in front of them. Her cocky smile is spread from ear-to-ear as usual. A hunter that felt "vulnerable." The girl that has tried to kill all of us at least once. The girl that broke Scotts heart too many times to count. Her theme song might as well be "You Give Love A Bad Name" by Bon Jovi. "Allison?" Stiles struggles to get the word out, as if it has been forbidden to say and his fear is holding him back. She gives him a dirty look, as if she didn't want anyone to know she was there. Stiles , his memory having been jogged, remembered that Jackson wasn't there for Allison's death, and he probably doesn't know what happened. This almost makes Stiles chuckle, but he soon gets to the point where his hunger is unbearable. He hadn't eaten in what seemed like days, although it had only been a few hours.

"Listen, Stiles. I don't want any trouble. Just come on we can give y'all a place to stay until tomorrow. We can also give you some food if you need it. Just please, help us." Jackson says, his voice slowly growing weaker. Stiles didn't know what to do. Go with the guy who has tried to kill him on multiple occasions, or stay with Derek and get them both killed.

"Fine, I'll come with you. Under one condition. Protection. While I am with you guys, you have to protect me like Scott would. Allison, I especially need you to promise considering you are the only person here I trust except Lydia and Derek. Please, just promise me."

Allison hesitates, but then utters a simple phrase. "We protect that who can not protect themselves." She then looks to the ground, looking shy, weak. The two things she hates the most. She then gathers herself and looks up, her eyes strong and persistent. Her voice is stern as she says, "Follow us, where we are staying is just a few blocks away." With that, they were off. Stiles and Derek follow, keeping a few feet in between them and the group of ambitious teens. When they reach the place where they plan to stay, they find in unexpected guest. Stiles, being weak and not able to defend himself, runs and hides behind a dresser. Allison then grabs her bow and arrows, aiming it almost perfectly and the creatures flesh deprived head, and shoots. The arrow goes straight through the zombies head with the faint sound of soft bones being shattered. Allison turns around and looks at Stiles with a sly smile, as if there is something more to what is happening. Stiles and Derek house skeptical faces while they look around the room. Stiles stomach grumbles, making him aware of just how little he had eaten earlier that day.

"Hey, can we eat something, I'm starving." Jackson looks up, his smiles showing half of his gums.

"Sure, we have food in the kitchen. Right this way." Jackson walks slowly to the kitchen, his arms hanging lightly by his sides, swinging through the air. Once they have entered the room, Stiles notices an array of weapons. Some look untouched, but others covered in blood that looks far from human. Stiles glances quickly but then looks away, unfazed by the gore that these weapons have possibly seen. Out of all the weapons, there is only one that catches Stiles eye. A dagger that is covered in symbols ranging from the alpha pack to Scott's tattoo. Two bands, one slightly thicker than the other. His packs symbol. Stiles walks up to get a closer look, his hands centimeters away from the sparkling metal. Out of no where, someone slaps his hand away. Lydia. She looks much calmer now, no longer panicked by the death surrounding her. She looks at him in slight confusion, eyebrows furrowed.

"I- I'm sorry. It just intrigued me. What is it?" Stiles looks curious, as if his mind has temporarily tuned out the apocalypse. He reaches out again, this time not being rejected. As his hand reaches the dagger, it instantly chilling his bare skin. He examines it thoroughly, not leaving an inch un-inspected. "Hey, Lydia. Is the power still on here?" Stiles says, his tone suddenly getting as serious as ever.

Lydia nods slowly, opening her mouth to say something, but then quickly snapping it shut. Jackson walks over, two cokes and two honey buns filling his arms. "You're interested in that hunk-a-junk? Seriously? Well, might as well give it to you for protection. Do you want it?" Jackson scoffs after "hunk-a-junk." Funny how Jackson knows so little about this stuff. Stiles always forgets that he wasn't there for most of the finding out about supernatural.

"Thanks, Jackson. It really will come in handy." Stiles and Jackson then walk side by side to a mattress that lays on the ground. It has but a pillow and a thin blanket on top. Jackson lays out the food and drinks, grabbing one of each for himself. Stiles reaches for the honey bun first, his stomach practically screaming for food. He basically inhaled the snack then drowned himself in coke. "So Jackson, how did you all end up finding each other? I mean, I just found out about this whole apocalypse thing today and y'all are already locked and loaded." Stiles looks down at his feet, shy now that he asked.

"Stiles, this apocalypse has been going on for weeks. Are you sure that you're okay? You seem really out of it." Unlike usual, Jackson seems- concerned. Concerned is a look Jackson does not wear often, but when he does, it usually means something terrible. "Stiles. Stiles. STILES!" Jackson is suddenly shouting his name. Stiles falls slowly to the ground, his head hitting the dingy floor hard. Derek bursts into the small room, almost tripping over the doorframe. He grabs Stiles and pulls him into his arms. Suddenly, all Stiles can see is black.