Chapter Text
“Stiles! Hurry!”
The rain pelleted down on him, drenching him, chilling him to the bone. He let out a deep grunt as he speared the shovel down, the curved end, finally, hitting hard wood. Too busy to allow the feeling of triumphant to take hold, he drove the shovel down on the wooden covered casket.
“Stiles!” A voice screamed over the heavy rain and the wild winds. A gun shot goes off, followed by another and another.
The moment the bones were revealed, Stiles tossed the shovel up and onto the leveled ground above him.
With his clothes weighting him down, with the fingers sinking into the soaked soil, Stiles pushed himself up and out of the grave.
Another shot rang out.
His heart spiked and everything in him was urging him to stop and turn around, to see with his very eyes what was happening but Stiles ignored that instinct and started riffling through the drenched duffle bag, pulling out a large can of salt.
Turning it over, he hurried shook it out over the bones. The lighter fluid followed, his fingers frozen and shaking as he made quick work, the sound of the shotgun being issued ringing in his bones.
“Sti—ARGH!”
Allison!
He spun around, his eyes seeking her out instantly. He watched, his heart stopping, as her body soared through the air due to an invisible force, crashing down to the hard, soaked earth.
With his body burning and his heart spiking, Stiles turned, digging into this back pocket for the flip-top lighter.
A cold chill ran down his spine and a shotgun blast followed.
Salt grains stun his skin.
Flicking the lighter on, Stiles dropped it into the corpse, igniting it. The burst of sudden heat warms his wet body causing his sodden clothes to cling to his skin.
An inhumane shriek filled the air and Stiles spun around, watching as a flame took the shape of a human silhouette, its flecks of flared sparks raising into the air for a short while before vanishing. The heat around him was vanquished, the dangerous chill in his bones making itself known once again.
The heavy rain and the manic winds lessened to nothing but a drizzle and a gentle breeze.
Without a second thought, Stiles spun, taking off, running to the figure laying on her back. Her leg bend up, her arm slung over her stomach as she groaned.
His knees sunk into the earth as he dropped down beside her and dark chocolate eyes locked with his, followed by a tired smile.
“You sure took your time.” She groaned, her dark hair clinging to her pale, slightly bluish-tinted face.
She shifted to stand, stopping abruptly with a wince.
Stiles’ eyes widened and he reached out, one hand cupping her cheek and the other hovering over her, his eyes running over her entire body, searching for the injury.
“It’s fine, Stiles. It’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Allison squeezed her eyes shut as she moved, lifting her body while clutching onto her shotgun and trying not to put any pressure on her shoulder.
Stiles reached out, taking hold of her uninjured arm and swung it over his shoulder, her shotgun hitting him on the side. Helping her up, he tried to hold onto her as gently as possible as they walked, knowing that out of the two of them, she sustained the most injury in this hunt.
Her arm squeezed his neck just a bit and then she unlooped it. “My legs are fine, bro.”
They had reached the grave, the flames now extinguished. A establishing the grim atmosphere of the grave site.
“So long, Mr. Creever. You were a pain in my ass.” Stiles muttered, looking down at the bones with an affected expression before moving his eyes to the heaped soil surrounding the grave.
With a tired sigh, Stiles reached down and unclipped the car keys from the belt loop of his jeans, handing it over to Allison who had just straightened up from placing the shotgun into the duffel bag.
“Get in the car, I’m gonna finished up here.” He said.
She looked ready to protest but the small wince she failed to hide with a little shift of the arm caused her brother to shoot her a firm look.
Allison rolled her eyes in return. “Fine. Fine. Just hurry up, I need to set this shoulder and fast.” With that, she turned around.
Stiles watched with sharp eyes as she stumbled in the direction their car, a classical sleek deep turquoise ‘67 Camaro they had obtained thanks to Dean and Sam. The Jeep, his precious car was back at the bunker, far away and safe from his rough life. He heard about all the shit the Winchester’s Impala went through and there was no way he was putting his Jeep through that.
Exhaling a tired sigh, Stiles turned back to the grave he’d dug, his body already groaning at the work waiting to be done as he snatched up the shovel.
With a loud, deep grunt, he scooped up the first heap of dirt.