Chapter Text
Stiles slams the pile of books onto the table, and levels a glare at Liam, trying not to feel too happy when he successfully makes the younger kid flinch a little.
"What," Liam says, scowling lightly. "I can't do it, okay? There. You got me."
Stiles throws up his hand in frustration, and the pen in his hand flies across the room and nearly smacks another library lategoer in the head but lands somewhere on the floor. That hadn't been his intention, but it's still hilarious. The guy turns to stare at him in openmouthed shock, but his eyes are all dark and Stiles clears his throat, waving his hands apologetically even as he can't help laughing.
"Sorry!" Stiles calls, trying not to grin. And failing. Scott always tells him he has a shitty serious face. "Sorry, man."
Liam snorts. "Nice. You could give Braeden a run for her money."
"Shut up," Stiles says, setting his hands down on the table and shoving the pile of books into Liam's face, not even bothering to mask his grin of satisfaction as the light dies in Liam's eyes and the boy groans, covering his face futilely with his hands. "Okay, come on. We have to finish reading. You haven't even learnt half the stuff on the Bestiary yet!"
"Why can't we just guess what kind of Supernatural they are when we meet them?" Liam whines, snagging the smallest book from the pile and flipping it open. "Where am I ever going to meet a," and he squints, "Wendigo?"
Stiles sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and reminds himself this is why he's never going to have kids. "Because, Liam, young, innocent baby Liam, knowing the difference between a Kanima and a Wendigo in a battle can save your life and keep your blood inside your body, where it belongs. Sound good? Start reading."
"But I can heal."
"Sure," Stiles says, leans down close. "That's literally what they all say. And they all change their minds pretty quick when the blood just won't stay inside. you know how many times I've come close to seeing Scott die? Like, countless. As many pages as there are in that book."
"This book has twenty pages," Liam tells him, smirks a little and Stiles kind of wants to cuff the kid over his head. With claws. He makes a mental note to tell Scott to give him the bite as soon as possible.
"Read it. We're not leaving till you remember half of it." Stiles declares, sits on the table because screw it, it's after hours in the library and literally no one is there anymore, the assistant left because hey, Stiles is the sheriff's kid and to hell with it if he can't pull rank. Or, you know, slyly name drop Sheriff Stilinski's name in his very smooth maneuver to convince the assistant to let them stay after hours.
Liam gives him a small growl but Stiles has lived around enough werewolves to remain completely unbothered by the grumpy teenager. Liam hunkers down, begins to read another book from the pile, occasionally letting out small sighs. There's not another pen to throw at Liam, so Stiles just starts wringing his hands, smirking in pleasure, because pfft obviously Scott is exaggerating when he moans about how hard it is to make young wolves listen. Stiles has got it down. Liam has submitted to the dominance of The Stiles. Bored, he looks to his right, and notices the guy at the other table he nearly hit with his pen is gone. Dropping his hands to his sides, he frowns.
The library is empty except for the two of them. How come he didn't hear the guy get up and leave? Stiles twists around, raking his gaze past the back of the library, empty and dark. The only light showing is on the Assistant's desk, but the girl left an hour ago.
The abandoned table is empty, but the guy's jacket is still hooked over the chair. And Stiles has been in enough scrapes, battles and wars, fights for his life to know that sometimes, a forgotten jacket on a chair is sometimes not just a forgotten jacket on a chair.
"Stiles?" Liam asks, looking up sharply.
Stiles makes a sharp noise of surprise in his throat that he immediately plays off as a cough, and glances expectantly at Liam, whose nostrils are flared.
"Why're are you nervous?" Liam says, pushing the book away curiously.
Stiles slowly gets up, flitting his eyes carefully towards the edges of his vision, towards the darkness shrouding the bookshelves, and the eerie silence of the building. The feeling of uneasiness in his gut gets heavier, and Stiles tries to ignore it, telling himself it's nothing. The guy could've just gone to the bathroom. But the niggling voice in his head intensifies, and he moves towards Liam, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I don't know," he says, tapping warily. "Uh, just a feeling, I guess. The guy I threw my pen at is gone."
Liam raises an eyebrow. "Okay. Maybe he went home? It's nearly eight."
"You know what," Stiles says, keeping his gaze on one particularly menacing looking bookshelf. Man, he should've brought his bat. Apparently, bringing a baseball bat wherever you go generally comes off as 'threatening', according to all his friends and his Dad. "Let's go. We can finish the research some other night." Stiles can't seem to shake off that crawling feeling down his back.
"Really," Liam says, looking deceptively too happy as he flips the book shut and gathers the pile in his arm, slugging his backpack over his shoulder in a fluid movement. Stiles rolls his eyes at the grin on the kid's face. "Cool, I'll text Scott, let him know we can make it to dinner tonight."
Then Liam digs around in his pocket, and around the same time he fishes it out and brandishes the phone at Stiles like some sort of prize is the same moment Stiles looks past Liam's shoulder, just by chance, and spots a glint of silver in the shadows and he's already moving, wrapping his arms around Liam's waist and bowling the both of them down just as a crossbow buries itself in the wall opposite them.
The room erupts in a flurry of motion and sounds.
A man yells, "Shoot to wound, not to kill!"
Stiles yanks Liam backwards, hauling them both behind a table and Stiles reaches up to push it over, using it as cover as another the sound of another crossbow fires through the air and thunks into the wood. Hands shaking, he tries to fumble to get to his phone to call Scott or Derek, but Liam's furious growl resonates through the air and something really heavy crashes into the table they're sheltering behind and the phone is knocked out of his hands and Stiles swears, scrambling for it.
Liam is wolfed out, claws flashing as he releases a fierce snarl that suggests anyone who is coming after them have better prepared for a fight. Out of the corner of his eye Stiles sees Liam leap over the table and onto a man dressed in black combat gear, and the fear that courses him when a second man approaches the two tussling is distinct, and it's real.
"Liam!" Stiles yells, glancing desperately around for something he can use to defend themselves with. The huge Encyclopedia book Liam had sworn never to read gleams tauntingly at him and Stiles grabs it, staggering to his feet and crossing the distance between him and the man Liam knocks to the floor with a clawed hand within a few steps to break the book over his head.
The man gives out a sharp cry of surprise with one knee down on the floor and drags a crossbow into view and Stiles yells at that, kicks it out of his hands. Liam takes the chance to trade in a few blows and uppercuts that sends the assailant to the ground, blood and spittle flying from his mouth. Stiles backs away, heart beating furiously against his chest as Liam roars, eyes blazing golden, the sound shaking the very foundation of the building as the young wolf flies through the air towards the second man.
Stiles falls to the floor, desperate, searching the carpet among the scattered debris and fallen chairs and destroyed tables. He needs to find his phone and call Scott, or Derek, or somebody because no way there are just two of these goons.
He really doesn't see it coming when a boot comes flying out of nowhere, connecting with his jaw and sending a bolt of pain straight to his skull and Stiles is thrown to the floor as something metal and hard hits his back repeatedly, causing an explosion of agony that blazes from his toes right to his head, sending his vision washing white for a second.
He is dimly aware of Liam screaming, "Stiles!"
No. Liam. He can't let Liam be hurt, or die on his watch, because Scott will murder him and okay, Stiles is getting fond of the little brat. But he's not admitting that. Stiles wills himself to look up, hands curling in the carpet to find a better grip. His vision is blurry, but he thinks he can see Liam fighting two heavily armed men, claws slashing wildly in the air and fangs bright in the blackness, but then someone dark and big comes up behind Liam and Stiles tries to scream, to warn him but all that comes out of his throat is a wheeze and Liam goes down then too, crumpling to the floor and Stiles screams.
No. Liam. Liam. He thinks that may have made it out his throat, because he faintly registers Liam turning his face, blue eyes swimming with terror, mouth open like he's trying to shout.
Then someone grips Stiles by the waist and flips him onto his back and he lets out a strangled yelp of pain, because oh at least two of his ribs are broken and his jaw is firmly bruised and holy shit his back. The punch that comes next, crashing into his cheekbone, is definitely a real stunner. Liam's howl echoes in his ears, and Stiles struggles, because those men are doing something to his friend, to his innocent, baby wolf-brother and he's not going to let them get away with that.
But a weight descends onto his chest, cutting off his thought, and Stiles can't breathe anymore. He sucks the air in, eyes wide, pupils blown, but the air isn't getting in and it feels like he's drowning. Stiles weakly reaches up, hands grasping around a leg, and okay, there's a boot. It's a boot pressing down on his lungs and inhibiting his ability to breathe.
"Don't," Stiles hisses, letting his head fall back onto the floor as a fresh wave of pain cascades over his skull. Goddamn it. Derek will never let him out of the house again, and Scott will probably make him learn how to fight. "D-don't, hurt him."
"Who?" the voice above him is unbothered, empty of remorse and it sends shivers down Stiles' back. It sounds like Deucalion. It sounds like Kate Argent. It sounds like every bad guy ever who's tried to hurt him or his family, who's enjoyed inflicting pain, who's had little aversion to murder and could very easily tear his throat out right now without blinking.
"Liam," Stiles rasps, spots entering his vision. Yeah, that's no good. Internal bleeding? His mouth tastes tangy, metallic like blood, and groans, feeling the blood drip from his lips. That's no good either. "J-just let him go."
"But we came for you both," and the boot presses down harder, right onto his cracked ribs and Stiles tips his head back and tries really hard not to scream, burning hot white searing through his body. There's a sound of scuffling nearby, it's probably Liam, trying to get free, and Stiles grins through the agony when he hears a very angry werewolf snarl echo in the air. The voice above him sounds irritated, "Just knock that one out. Get more than one hit in, he's a wolf."
"And the one under you?" A woman's voice.
"Oh," and the boot twists. Stiles' grip on the boot loosens, and the pain is throbbing now, overwhelming every one of his thoughts. "This one's just human. Weak. Vulnerable. And so very, very fragile."