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As one, Stiles and Danny went still, and the terror in the room was so thick that they could taste it like castor oil on their tongues. They did not hear it as Brad stepped further into the motel room, but they could feel it as he drew nearer, some instinct left over from when their ancestors were prey to much larger, though arguably not more deadly, creatures singing in their blood.
With no small amount of fury, Stiles remembered the stakes he had in his shoulder bag; encumbered as he was with Danny, there was no way he would be able to retrieve one of them before the unwelcome addition to their party attacked. Worse still, the lack of light, save for what little filtered its way through the curtains and blinds - which seemed inordinately excessive at the moment, though Stiles could vividly remember thinking them woefully insufficient in the nights he and his parents would stop to rest in a hotel on the way to visit his mom’s parents - would make it nearly impossible for a stake to find its mark even if he managed to use one.
Left with nothing else, Stiles forced himself to swallow past the dryness in his throat and rely on the distraction of his voice as he worked to summon the power of his spark. “Wow, Brad. That is a stunningly horrible cliche for a suave villain such as yourself. You’d think someone who was so smart and resourceful would be able to come up with something better.” The warmth of his spark trailed from deep within his chest, out toward his shoulders and then down his arms, gathering in the palms of his hands and the tips of his fingers.
The sickeningly sweet scent of Brad’s cologne, which Stiles now knew was meant to cover up the lingering stench of partial decay that clung to all members of the undead, grew stronger, and he braced himself, tightening his hold on Danny and flexing the fingers of his free hand.
“Why should I, Stiles? Why should I try to impress you when I already have you both right where I want you?” Even as he prepared himself to move, Stiles could feel his head cock curiously. That was news. “Oh, you didn’t know?” Brad asks, sounding delighted. “Why would I risk coming here, exposing myself, unless it was worth it? As lovely as your friend is, he’s hardly enough to sustain me by himself. But you, who clearly care for him so much - yes. I could see that you would stop at nothing until he was found, and then I would have truly found something to satisfy my thirst.”
By the time he finished speaking, Stiles could feel the icy assault of Brad’s breath on his face and neck, smell the rottenness of it so that it burned his nostrils, and he took his chance. Placing his free hand flat against the vampire’s chest, he let his spark free, starting first a tiny shock of heat and then bursting into an inescapable flame. At the first agonized scream, he withdrew, using the adrenaline now pumping through his veins, along with the residual high from his spark to pull Danny with him as he dodged around the burning creature and began a halting, stumbling run for the open motel door.
Together, they made their way toward the jeep, which he had parked about a quarter of a mile away from the motel in an apparently futile effort to avoid alerting Brad to his presence. Still, he was glad of it now; the distance, when they finally made it to the jeep several minutes later, was enough to keep them out of sight of the police cruisers and fire trucks which could be heard as they approached the motel from the other side of the freeway. Together, they collapsed against the hood of the jeep, panting and coming down from the chemicals their bodies had flooded with in the face of probable death.
Gathering himself, Stiles stared at the small contingent of Beacon Hills’ finest as they worked to calm the frantic guests of the motel and put out the fire. As unfortunate as it was that he had been forced to set Brad on fire and risk burning down at least part of the building he’d been assigned a room in, it was good that any conclusive evidence of Stiles and Danny’s involvement would be destroyed in the blaze. Neither of them needed something like this added on their records, regardless of the fact that they’d be sealed when they turned eighteen.
Beside him, Danny moved to support himself, and Stiles quickly let him go, surprised that he had still been holding on.
“Thanks,” Danny said, still sounding fairly breathless.
Caught off guard, Stiles jerked, stumbling for words. “I - yeah, of course. I mean, technically it’s my fault he took you in the first place.”
It was quiet for a moment, apart from the audible chaos up the road, and then Danny nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Stiles winced, feeling unexpectedly hurt at the agreement. Miserable, he muttered, “Sorry, dude. Really. I had no idea that he would -”
Cutting him off, Danny told him, “I know. Which is why I forgive you - if you promise to tell me what the hell you did back there, and whether or not it’s connected to whatever was going on this year with Jackson - and Scott, and Isaac, and everyone else. Because I put up with a lot - from all of you - and never asked any of you for answers, but I’m sick and tired of wondering what could make Jackson act the way he did, starting with when he told Lydia he was moving on. For the longest time, I thought Lydia was as confused as I’ve been, but now it seems like she isn’t, and I’m done waiting for someone to decide it’s time to clue me in.”
After studying what little he could see of Danny in the dark, Stiles sighed. “Yeah, okay. But not here, alright? Let’s just - go to my house. My dad won’t be home for hours now that he has this fire to deal with, and in the morning, we can come up with something to tell your parents.”
“Yeah?” Danny asked, surprised at his easy acquiescence.
“Yeah.”