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"You know, for an easy bounty of supposedly amateur bigfoot hunters or whatever," Stiles panted, ducking behind the truck bed of an empty Ford to avoid giving their pursuers a direct line of sight. "These guys are surprisingly well equipped and angry. Are we sure this is our bounty?"
"It's them," Peter growled, following close behind and hand signaling to Chris to follow left. "And believe me, I intend to take some misinformation hazard pay out of this contractor's skin when we finish here."
"Black van, two cars up," Chris called, ducking back behind his own car cover as someone shot several times, presumably in their direction. From back the way they came, several men could be seen gathering in a loose mob. Far more than the four or six men the posted bounty had claimed were causing injuries to local supernaturals in the area.
The trio ducked and wove their way over to the chosen van, their own car a lost cause parked an hour hike back the opposite direction.
"Oh hey, the windows are down. Easy pickings," Stiles cheered, reaching for the driver's door.
"Hell no. Not after last time. It took me weeks to get the swamp smell out of my hair after your spontaneous pontoon vehicle escape strategy. I'm driving."
"Hey, it worked didn't it? Don't be a spoilsport," Stiles pouted, ignoring the growing sound of pursuit in favor of wrestling Peter for the front seat.
"Get in the car you two. Stop fucking around and hurry up," Chris's voice brooked no argument and any other time Stiles would have made fun of him for using his dad voice on a mission, but currently there were a lot more bullets in the air than he was strictly comfortable with and so he let it go. Just this once.
"Oh Daddy, I love it when you get bossy," Peter snarked, seemingly finding himself under no such obligation to hold back. Lucky bastard could walk off these bullets as the hunters they had been hunting were not in the werewolf killing business and therefore used presumably regular ammo. Stiles was almost sure a few of them had been packing BB guns, but there had been enough people back in that base that even so, he didn't particularly care to face them head on regardless of the lethality of their weapons.
Peter pushed him aside, taking the wheel with a smirk. Chris was already in the car, ignoring them both as he readied his weapons.
Stiles sighed, and crawled in the back middle seat. He didn't know what a minivan was doing at a vigilante amateur hunter base but at least he had leg room.
They peeled out of the lot, shouts and car engines revving followed. For a bunch of amateurs they sure were bloodthirsty.
The chase was on.
"Alright, we'll need to look for a good place to make a stand," Chris said, rolling down his window and scanning the landscape. "We don't want to take this fight to civilians, and we definitely don't need to get ourselves boxed in somewhere."
"Uhh, shit. Guys?" Stiles kicked the back of their seats urgently, causing both men to turn around.
He gestured helplessly at the previously unnoticed passenger in the back seat of the van.
"Is that a child?" Peter asked, appalled.
"Yep," Stiles said, eyes wide as he watched the baby grab its own feet and drool a little. He didn't seem concerned about the three strange men who inadvertently kidnapped him.
"Why is there a child in this car? This is a hunter's car!" Peter was definitely concerned about the strange child the three of them had inadvertently kidnapped.
Stiles made a face, and the baby made a delighted baaaaah, reaching out to poke him. "That's rude. Hunters have family too, you know."
Peter scoffed. "Why would a hunter bring a child to an active battleground and then leave them in the car? "
"I know right? It's not the 1970s anymore. Who the hell leaves their kid alone in the backseat of a car these days? Although, that does explain why the windows were down."
"Oh great," Peter snarled, and the kid whimpered slightly as the car swerved, pursuit hot on their tail. "Their child has been neglected, left to die, and is now caught in a firefight, but at least they didn't hotbox the infant. A+ parenting right there."
"No one is going to die, unless it's you two for annoying me one too many times." Chris gave them both a look. "Peter, stop yelling and watch the damn road. Stiles, stop poking the kid and for fucks sake get that misdirection spell up. "
"Sorry dad," they both chorused, smirking.
"I love it when he takes charge like this, it makes me tingly all over, " Peter simpered.
"Careful Peter. Don't make him make you turn this car around."
"I hate you both," Chris said flatly, reloading his handgun and checking the mirrors. The baby blew a very wet raspberry, probably in agreement.
Stiles leaned back, stretching his hands out and giving the baby a wink. "Ok little guy, I'll show you some sweet magic if you promise not to grow up to be a speciest mass murderer."
"Now who's being prejudiced? Don't worry kid. Christopher can raise you to be a worthy hunter, unlike this lot who apparently can't shoot the broad side of a barn and yet are still chasing us as if they have any chance of winning."
The tattoos on Stiles' hands lit up as Peter swerved to avoid something large flying past the vehicle.
"They probably won't quit because they know we have their kid," Chris said grimly.
Behind them one car suddenly turned, an eerie blue glow leading it off along a dirt road as the misdirection spell took over.
Two more cars pulled up to take its place.
"Uhh, not to be that guy or anything," Stiles said, grunting as he braced a shoulder against the car seat as the van picked up speed, "But somehow I don't think the people shooting at us are particularly concerned for the safety of their child, considering he's in the freaking car they keep shooting at!"
"Incoming!" Peter shouted, and the whole car lurched violently as something made impact with the roof.
The kid started wailing, the tears only intensifying as Stiles dropped his spellwork to climb back and wrestle him free from the car seat. The van was trailing flames now, glass crackling ominously as the runoff from what must have been a seriously impressive Molotov began dripping down the sides.
"I'm pulling over," Peter warned, hands white knuckled on the wheel.
Chris grunted in acknowledgement and leaned out his own open and slightly flaming window to empty his clip into their remaining pursuers.
"There's a building up ahead," he announced. "Light's on but looks empty. Should provide some cover."
"Oh good," Stiles grumped, wincing as a flailing baby fist smacked him in the eye. "I always wanted to die in a Denny's parking lot. Doing jobs together always brings us to the nicest venues. Romantic and shit."
A loud bang cut off further complaints as the front right tire blew out. Chris swore, shooting off a fine round before pulling his head back in as the car turned, sliding into the empty lot in a cloud of smoke and trailing flames.
"Leave the kid. We don't want them to think we're holding him hostage," Peter said, kicking open his door and quickly pulling his leg back in to avoid flaming roof drip.
Stiles gaped at him, genuinely offended. "Are you out of your mind? I'm not leaving a kid trapped in a burning vehicle! If they want to shoot their own damn baby then whatever, but I'm not leaving him to die."
"Both of you get out. Stiles, give Peter the damn baby, I need you covering our retreat." Chris was already out, and reloading his gun from yet another pack of ammo pulled mysteriously out of his ass.
Stiles grinned, all teeth. "Sounds good to me. I think I've got that lightning strike down by now. I could use some practice."
"If not that then fireballs. Don't waste time being flashy," Chris said, rolling his eyes.
Peter took the baby with a pout. "The next bounty we take had better have some close quarters combat. I'm wasted as a babysitter."
"Alright ladies, to the Denny's! I've got you covered."
It was a hectic retreat, bullets flying in both directions even though there was little to see through the smoke from the burning car and the almost blinding flashes of electricity Stiles was laying down.
A stray shot managed to catch Peter in the shoulder, and he grunted, shifting the still screaming baby lower to his torso with a snarl. "Bastards really don't care if they kill their own child. I say we take the pay cut and return this bounty in pieces. The satisfaction will pay for itself."
Chris grunted in reply, pushing the wolf and baby back behind the negligible cover of a dumpster and taking a moment to shoot out the windshield of the approaching enemy vehicle.
There were three, with at least two hunters apiece. Not great odds, but if any of their intelligence had been right then this group should be more used to laying traps than fighting head on.
Plus they had a now cackling and literally sparking Spark on their side. That evened the odds quite a bit.
The hunters jumped out, and chaos ensued once more.
Peter wasn't even pretending to be interested in the fight, all his focus was now on rocking and soothing an increasingly distraught baby. Chris kept eyes front, picking off anyone who got blasted their way by Stiles, his lightning, and his increasingly supervillain sounding monologue.
It was dumb luck, and the utter chaos of the scene that allowed the previously discombobulated Subaru to pull up around the opposite side of the Denny's, unnoticed, which in turn allowed three average hunters to ambush them.
Average hunters number one and two took advantage of the noise to run up behind Chris and tackle him to the ground.
That gave average hunter number three the chance to aim a shotgun at Peter's baby covered chest, which caused Peter to jump forward with a roar, incidentally followed by one arm releasing the baby to raise defensive claws towards the threat.
Which meant that, when the baby suddenly lurched forward, decidedly sharper and more leathery looking than he had been only seconds before, there was very little holding the baby back from sinking shockingly large fangs into the average hunter's very surprised throat and ripping it right open.
"Oh wow," said Stiles. He had jogged over as soon as Peter roared, but there obviously wasn't much left to do.
Chris kicked the still groaning, average hunter number two in the knee—just to be sure he would stay down—and slowly stepped around the… mess the baby was making of average hunter number three. Number one wasn't getting up ever again after a hole to his chest.
Stiles helped him brush bits of the Denny's parking lot off his jacket, giving him a peck on the cheek before checking on Peter, who had been watching their stolen baby enjoying his dinner.
"Gross," Stiles remarked, shuddering as the kid detached from the neck with a wet baby burp. "It's like a toddler with spaghetti but like, it's people."
"I don't think this is a hunter's child," Peter said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, hard.
"Stiles, don't," Chris sighed, as Stiles stepped forward to pick the kid up. "It's dangerous."
"Nah," Stiles cooed, scooping the baby up and wiping ineffectively at the mess with his sleeve. Full and happy once more, the baby was looking like a regular human child again and not like some sort of Gollum-bat hybrid creature. "Little guy was all up in both mine and Peter's throats earlier with no problems. And we just saw how hungry he was! Poor guy was probably in that car for ages, but he didn't even try to take a nibble of us."
"He must have good instincts to identify possible caretakers from threats at such a young age." Peter looked thoughtful, watching Stiles bounce the kid gently as the baby gurgled and left bloody baby handprints over everything he touched. "Hopefully he won't need to feed often, or we'll have to try animal substitutes. I can't imagine a diet of two-bit hunters is healthy for a baby."
Now it was Chris's turn to pinch his nose and sigh heavily. "We are not keeping it!"
"Him. Our baby isn't an 'it', Chris," Stiles scolded, and to Chris' horror he held the kid out, dropping him as Chris automatically raised his arms to accept the load. "You just need some father-son bonding time. I've held him for all of one minute and let me tell you, I am already ride or die for our son."
Peter snickered at the Done look Chris was giving their youngest partner. He stepped forward, patting Chris on the shoulder sympathetically before petting the baby's head. "Cheer up, daddy. This is far better than the next best scenario for getting a kid. The last time Stiles tried to talk uterus generation magic you almost vomited. So, congratulations new dad! Just go with it."
Chris glared at him, but his hands were gentle as he rocked the now happily full and drowsy baby on his shoulder.
"Hey!"
The three of them (minus one baby who was drooling face first into Chris' now ruined jacket), turned to see a very disgruntled older woman in an apron standing at the back door of the Denny's and glaring at them.
"The sign says no loitering," she said, nodding to a barely readable page duct taped to the side of the dumpster. "Get lost, or I'll get cook out here to deal with you."
And with that she slammed the door closed, seemingly unaware of the unconsciousness and or violently murdered bodies that littered the ground around them.
There was an awkward silence as they looked at each other, then at the bodies.
"Not it," Stiles said, tapping his nose.
Peter sighed. "Do we really need the bodies? Can't we just take a picture and call it good?"
"I hate you both," Chris said. "But luckily for you I'm holding our son and therefore cannot strangle either of you to death. Get the bodies, I'll find us a working car."
"Aww. He said 'our son'. I'm so proud. Also still not it." Stiles said, grinning.
"Fuck," Peter groaned. "I hate this job."