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Never in all his life had Stiles imagined he would end up a homeless, washed-up, college drop-out, but here he is. Stiles has one hand clutching the door handle so that he doesn't go through the windshield and the other pressed against his side, keeping his sticky red lifeblood from leaking out. He laughs, high on adrenaline and just a little bit hysterical.
The hot guy in the driver’s seat grins at him. He looks unhinged, but Stiles really isn't in a position to criticize. The guy wrenches the steering wheel, unconcerned when the car hits a patch of ice and slides. Stiles is terrified, but judging by his confident smirk, this guy knows what he's doing. They hit solid pavement and Stiles' getaway driver immediately takes control again and stomps on the gas.
Stiles twists around to see that the two SUVs full of the not-too-far-gone aren’t managing the ice so well. One of them smashes into a tree on the side of the road and the other skids into snow. Smirking, Stiles turns to the driver. "You are the best getaway driver I've ever had."
The guy laughs, directing the car to the part of town abandoned due to the zombie infestation. That's right, zombie infestation. "I'm cheating a little bit," the guy admits, speeding through the empty streets.
Stiles doesn’t ask how you can cheat being a fantastic getaway driver. "I'm Stiles," he offers, peeling his shirt up to look at his side.
"Percy," the guy returns, glancing at him. "You gonna be alright?"
"It's not as bad as I thought," Stiles says, swiping some of the blood away. "I just need to stitch it up and cover it. I'll be fine."
"Motel?" Percy asks.
"Yeah, got a room at the Red Hat," Stiles responds, looking back around. "You lost them."
Percy's eyes flit up to the rearview mirror as his confirms Stiles' observation. "Think we pissed them off enough?"
"Absolutely," Stiles agrees. "You a hunter too?"
Percy nods and slows the car back down to the speed limit.
"What brought your attention to this hunt?" Stiles asks, because he'd more or less stumbled on this one accidentally.
Percy grins at him. "Zombies, man."
Stiles laughs at the non-answer. "Same."
"We should ditch the car," Percy says, pulling over. "Half the town may be zombies at this point, but I did steal this, and I think the sheriff of this town isn't gone yet."
Stiles nods and slides out of the car and into the frigid Montana winter. Snow crunches under his boots and his breath billows out in front of him. Percy comes around with a backpack slung over his shoulder and offers him a dark blue hoodie. "You’re bloody," Percy explains.
Stiles takes the hoodie. It has ‘AHS Swim Team’ printed on it in big white block letters. He shrugs off his coat and manages to get the hoodie over his head without aggravating his side too much. Sliding the coat on over the hoodie, Stiles hides his bloody hands in the pockets. Satisfied that Stiles is taken care of, Percy sets off, one hand stuffed into his pocket and the other wrapped around his backpack's strap. He looks casual, comfortable, and confident. Stiles hurries to catch up and tries not to look like a drowned rat in comparison. They make it to the Red Hat motel a fifteen minutes later, and Stiles directs them to his room. He'd managed to keep hold of his room key, so they have no trouble getting in. Stiles immediately sets about finding his custom first aid kit (prepared to deal with any and all supernatural injury).
"Want a hand?" Percy asks, tossing his backpack onto the table.
"Absolutely," Stiles says as he starts clearing away the blood with a towel. "I can clean it, but I hate needles. You any good at sewing?"
Percy shrugs. "How hard can it be?"
Stiles groans and pulls out the alcohol. "As long as you aren't squeamish, you’ll probably be better than me."
"Not even a little," Percy says, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the bed where Stiles is sitting. “And I’m pretty good with pointy things and stabbing people, so this should be a cakewalk."
Stiles chuckles as he starts to clean his wound. He hisses as he applies alcohol to the wound, and then grimaces as he watches Percy pull out the needle. Before long, Percy has done a decent job of stitching him up and they've treated and covered the wound. Stiles retreats to the bathroom to wash his blood off his hands.
"Good to go?" Percy asks, using a damp towel to wipe the blood off his own fingers.
"Good to go kill some zombies," Stiles assures him. He locates a clean shirt and pulling it over his head. "We should find my jeep, aggravate every zombie we can find, and lure them all to the abandoned part of town. Then we can make a dent in the zombie army."
"Sounds good to me," Percy says. He grabs his backpack and pulls it over his shoulder.
"Then it'll be easier to take care of the bokor," Stiles continues, grabbing his spare pistol from under the pillow and sliding it into the conceal carry holster he’s got clipped to his jeans. He heads for the door, shrugging on Percy's hoodie and his coat as he goes.
"The what?" Percy asks, following him out the door.
"The bokor," Stiles repeats. They both turn towards the center of town where they'd left Stiles' jeep when the zombies had converged on them. "You know, the witch making all the zombies in the first place?"
"Oh," is all Percy says.
They hurry down the streets, offering innocent smiles to the people they pass on the snowy streets. It doesn't really matter. Most of them have their heads down and are suspicious of everyone regardless of how innocent the look.
"You didn't know about the bokor," Stiles guesses when there's no one in earshot.
"Nope," Percy says, his long strides easily keeping up with Stiles' quick, hurried ones. "Just came here to kill some zombies, dude."
Stiles snorts, because that is cliché brawn over brains, but he can't help but like the guy anyway. He's definitely not a research guy, but that's fine. While they're working this, Stiles can be the fountain of knowledge. They make it to Stiles' jeep to find zombies prowling around it.
"Don't kill them yet," Percy says, pulling something out of his pocket. "Just take care of enough to get into your jeep. Then we'll run and they'll follow."
Stiles nods, because that's a smart plan, and pulls his gun out. He doesn't know at what point Percy pulls a friggin sword out, but decides not to worry about it as he picks off the zombies closest to the drivers' side door. Percy takes care of the ones in front of them with little effort. When they reach the door Stiles slides in and immediately shifts over to the passenger side. This may be his baby, but he's the one with a gun and Percy is a good driver.
His sword has disappeared by the time he's turning the keys in the ignition, but Stiles decides magic swords are an issue for tomorrow-Stiles. He rolls down the window, leans out, and plants a bullet between the eyes of the nearest zombie.
"Those aren't doing anything," Percy points out as the jeep speeds away.
"I know," Stiles says, watching the zombie he'd just shot clamber back to its feet. "But these’ll get their attention. Got my zombie killing bullets in the backseat."
"Cool," Percy says. "Make 'em angry then."
Stiles grins, loads a new clip into his gun, and leans back out the window. Percy is driving fast and crazy, but Stiles manages to get a shot off to almost every zombie they pass. Before long, they've got a hoard following the jeep at frankly terrifying speeds. "I think they're angry now."
"Good." Percy speeds up to put some distance between them and the gathering hoard. "Get out your zombie killing bullets then."
Stiles flicks the safety on and tucks his handgun into the glove compartment before reaching around and grabbing his rifle case and the clips he'd loaded with zombie-killing bullets last night. A moment later the jeep was skidding to a stop, turning sideways and sliding a bit before halting completely. The two boys are out like a shot. Stiles has his rifle set up on his jeep's hood in record time, but Percy has already launched himself at the zombie hoards, sword in hand. Watching the way the guy fights, Stiles doesn't think he needs much help, but there were a lot of them, and it might take him some time to behead them all.
Stiles puts a piece of his gum into his mouth and starts chewing as he loads the clip into the rifle. He takes a deep breath and leans into his rifle sight, focusing on his breathing and the rhythmic chewing of his gum. Then he fires. Perfect head shot. The zombie goes down. Breathe, chew, shoot. Breathe, chew, shoot. The zombies drop under Stiles' rifle just as fast as they do under the blur of Percy's sword. Before long, Stiles and Percy are standing on opposite sides of a massacre, maybe a bit too pleased with themselves.
A flicker of movement catches Stiles' eye, and he brings his rifle back up just as Percy whirls around to face the new threat. It isn't another zombie. It's the bokor—the witch creating the zombie army Percy and Stiles had just destroyed. The bokor is a woman. She looks crazed and insane and furious and is directing a stream of grotesque magic Percy's way. He dodges and brings up his sword. The bokor launches herself at him, and Stiles fires. The bullet hits her in the head. She stumbles, shocked. Stiles pulls the trigger again and this one pierces her heart. Percy follows up, stabbing her in the chest, and then beheading her.
Eyes sweeping over the area, Stiles sees no one else ready to jump out at them, so he trots down the street, stepping over zombie guts and body parts. "She dead?" he asks, coming up next to Percy.
"Think so," Percy says, cleaning off his sword with a rag he'd produced from... somewhere. "We should burn the body though."
"Definitely," Stiles agrees. He glances behind them at the still ocean of bodies. "Those too."
Percy grimaces at the sight. "This is gonna take awhile."
"Better get started then." Stiles pulls the rifle strap over his head after he's turned the safety on. He grabs the bokor under the arms. "Take one and go, Gladiator."
Percy snorts and grabs the nearest body the same way Stiles does. Right now would be the perfect time to have a truck they could load up, but they don't, so the start dragging them into a pile in the center of the street. The townspeople have already seen zombies. They're just gonna have to accept the zombie bonfire. Percy and Stiles have piled up maybe half the bodies by the time a police cruiser rolls up.
Stiles and Percy share a look before Stiles says, "I got this. You keep piling up zombie parts."
Percy grimaces. "Why don't I talk to the sheriff and you keep piling zombie guts?"
"I'm injured," Stiles says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Besides, my dad was a sheriff. I speak their language."
Percy sighs and grabs a female zombie head by the hair. He tosses it onto the pile. "Fine, but you’d better be quick."
Stiles nods and scampers off to meet the man staring at the mess like he might throw up. His uniform designates him the sheriff, just like he’d thought. "Sheriff," Stiles greets. "Your zombie infestation has been taken care of."
The sheriff looks at him, then back at the dead zombies, then at Percy diligently shoving zombie pieces onto their pile. "If I wasn't looking at it, I wouldn't believe it," the sheriff grumbles.
Stiles grins a moment, then smooths his expression into something appropriately somber. "Better believe it, Sheriff. We need to burn all the bodies to make sure the undead stay completely dead this time. There still some around town?"
The sheriff nods. "They haven't been going down with our bullets."
Stiles pats his rifle. "I can take 'em down, Sheriff, that's no problem. My friend and I could use some help piling 'em all up for the bonfire though."
The sheriff nods again. "I'll call some deputies here. You come with me, take care of the rest of them."
Stiles nods. He jogs back over to Percy. "I'm gonna head out with the Sheriff and take care of the stragglers," he tells him. "The Sheriff is calling in some deputies to help you with these guys."
"Thank the gods." Percy flicks a piece of rotting skin off his sleeve and into the pile. "Tell them to hurry."
Stiles snickers and heads back to the Sheriff. He slides into the passenger side of the cruiser, and they head back into town. From the deputies’ reports and 911 calls, they find every last straggler and Stiles puts each of them down with a clean head-shot. The bodies are piled onto the bed of someone's pickup truck and sent to Percy. By the time they make it back it's dark, but all the street lamps have been turned on. All the deputies, as well as several able-bodied young men and women, have gathered at the zombie pile.
Percy has already located salt and gasoline, which the townspeople are liberally spreading over the zombie pile. "All good?" Percy asks as Stiles and the Sheriff approach.
"Got 'em all," Stiles responds. He looks to the Sheriff. "I'll leave you with some zombie bullets just in case," Stiles tells him. "But you guys should be fine."
The Sheriff nods, and Percy hands Stiles a blue plastic lighter. "Wanna do the honors?"
Stiles accepts the lighter and steps up to the huge pile of zombies, suddenly conscious of the fact that these people had families. The people around him, alive and watching, are probably related to the people he's about to burn, and most definitely knew at least a few of them. Stiles takes a moment to grieve the loss of innocent life before he approaches the pile, clicks the lighter, and tosses it.
The zombie hill goes up in a whoosh of flame. Stiles steps away from the heat and walks back to Percy and the Sheriff. They watch it burn for a long time. They watch it burn until the moon is high in the sky and the pile has been reduced to ash and bone and melted plastic and metal trinkets.
"You boys clearing out?" the sheriff asks at last.
Percy and Stiles nod.
"You got a way to explain all this that doesn't involve zombies?" Stiles questions, mind wandering to the pain killers in his glove compartment.
"We'll figure it out." The sheriff looks over the people slowly retreating from the fire. "You boys gonna be alright?"
"We'll be good, Sheriff," Percy assures him. "We'll be out of here by morning."
The sheriff nods and turns away, going to speak with one of his deputies.
"C'mon," Stiles says, bumping Percy's shoulder with his. "You can crash in my motel room for the night."
"Sounds good," Percy agrees.
They crawl into the jeep, limbs heavy, and Stiles drives them to motel. Too tired to bother about a cot, Stiles and Percy take turns showering, then they both collapse onto the queen-sized bed and sleep late into the morning. When they finally get up, they have a quick meal at the diner, and when Stiles offers Percy a ride out of town he agrees. They take extra showers to get rid of the zombie smell, and pack up, out of town before noon.
"Where to?" Stiles asks as he pulls on to the interstate.
"I heard about a vampire nest in Idaho," Percy says, grinning over at him. "Could be fun."
"Chopping up vampires?" Stiles muses. "Count me in."
"Great," Percy says.
Stiles thinks he could have a lot of fun slaying monsters with this guy. It's the start of a beautiful, deadly friendship.