Saving Stilinski

Into The Fire

Chris and Deaton raced through the damp, humid tunnel under the forest hill. Flashlights held high, they fought through tree roots and avoided a dozen sinkholes. The two men were using a handsaw to get through a particularly dense mess of roots and fungus when they heard three booms that rattled the ground. "We're too late," Deaton whispered. The knowledge didn't stop them from doubling their efforts.

A minute later they reached an iron ladder that went up a shaft. Deaton climbed it first. Chris heard the scraping of wood, a couple grunts, and suddenly the shaft filled with a dense fog of dust and a violet smoke that Chris instantly recognized as wolf's bane. "Oh my God," Deaton gasped.

Chris didn't know at what point he actually stated giving a damn about Scott and the other werewolves' lives, but his heart tied itself in a knot. "They're already dead, aren't they." Deaton's boots disappeared into the cave and Chris followed him up the ladder.

He emerged through a rusty hatch at the bottom of a coffin-sized wooden crate. Past Deaton's knees were dim outlines of five people – three bleeding, coughing werewolves draped protectively over two humans. Desperate, Chris grabbed the female hand and pulled. Lydia slid out from under the literal dog pile. She was alive, but unconscious. Chris carried her down the ladder, set her down, and returned to find Deaton handing Stiles off to him. "Where's Allison?" he demanded, his voice cracking on his daughter's name. When Deaton didn't answer, he cursed and put Stiles down next to Lydia. Scott was speaking when he returned. The beta lay sandwiched between Isaac's back and Derek's stomach.

"It's Gerard," he whispered to Deaton. "And Peter. Peter Hale." His eyes slid shut. "Allison..."

Derek suddenly rolled off of Scott's back and kicked him towards the shaft. "Get them out of here," he pleaded to Deaton. Coughs burst from his throat as the wolf's bane vapor constricted it. Unable to speak, Derek focused on helping Deaton and Chris get the unconscious Isaac and Scott down the shaft, away from the cloud of poison. Derek lasted only a moment more and when Deaton returned for him he found the Alpha passed out, face down. It took until dawn for the two men to drag all five dead-weighted bodies through the tunnel and into the waiting Jeeps.

•••

"Stiles? Stiles, sweetie..."

Stiles couldn't remember the last time someone stroked his hair like... like...

"That's it, wake up," a crisp, light voice urged him. "Wake up, Stiles."

The way she ran her fingers through his hair... it had to be...

"Mom?" Stiles whispered. His brown eyes peeked through swollen eyelids. "...Mom?"

There was a mother there. She smiled down at him looking sad but relieved. Her fingers felt cold against his skin. "It's me, Stiles," Melissa McCall said. "You're all right. You're okay."

Stiles would've fought the brief burst of tears if he had the energy. "What happened?" he whispered. "What's... what's going on?"

Melissa stood up straight. A filing cabinet crouched at her side and a wooden cabinet towered behind her. Familiar smells tickled Stiles' nostrils. He was in the hospital – no – the animal hospital. Deaton's veterinarian office. He lay on one of the metal tables, cushioned on all sides by pillows and blankets, fresh new clothes on the lower half of his bathed, clean body. "What happened is I stitched you up," Scott's mom explained. She fingered her handiwork from his bellybutton to his kidney. "You lost a lot of blood, Stiles."

"I remember..." he licked his dry, chapped lips. "The cave. Derek, Scott – is everyone else all right?"

Her fingers returned to his damp hair. "That's right. That was two days ago, Stiles. Everyone else is safe, they're fine... all things considered."