Taking Care of of the Job by Dreaming of a Bright Sky
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen wolf or the characters!
Note:
This is a future fic and might be considered AU. I've had to completely re-work this story because the first time though Stiles come out so very, very angry. So I re-wrote it to make it not so angsty.
Anyway, he has become a hunter in this fic. BAMF!Stiles
Chapter 1 of 5:
Stiles pulled his gun, sighting down the barrel at the werewolf. He fired calmly, bullet flaring blue where it struck. The creature dropped, momentum sliding it almost to his feet. He kicked it onto it's back, placing another bullet right between it's eyes. There was a click as he activated his communicator. "It's done."
"Roger that. Pick up in ten."
As he waited, he contemplated the circumstances that led him to this place in life. If he'd been told ten years ago that he'd be a hunter, he'd have thought the person was insane. Now it's just what he does. He has nothing else.
Stiles survived high school in Beacon Hills, and when he went to college, he'd thought he was done with that world. It turns out that once you're a part of it, you can never go back. A series of murders and animal attacks started his junior year at Cal Tech. It was too familiar. Using his knowledge he tracked the wolves and stumbled across a group of hunters.
The group was disciplined and highly organized. They were what hunters should be; trained, controlled, and surgically precise with their kills. When they came across Stiles, they took him to their headquarters to question him. They wanted to know why he was out there and if he was associated with the rogue wolf. His experience with hunters in the past didn't exactly incline him to be trustful of them, so he kept his mouth shut. He was pleasantly surprised when they didn't resort to torture.
He sat in the sterile room for what felt like forever when a man walked in. He stood in front of Stiles and then wolfed out. His eyes flashed gold, teeth and claws elongating, and sprouted fur. Stiles reached into his pocket, readying the wolfsbane spray that he'd created. The man shifted back and sat down. He glanced at the spray. "Nice. Has it been tested?"
"The spray itself? Yes. This spraying mechanism? No. I had to work with what I could find."
"Fatal?"
"Only if swallowed, but it will incapacitate a werewolf quite nicely."
"Why didn't you spray me?"
"You were obviously a test. I'm guessing to see how I reacted. Probably to find out if I knew about werewolves, though I suspect that you already knew that I did. Releasing me after a reveal of that nature might be problematic. So probably, it was a test to see if I'd attack you. I was checked for weapons when I was brought here and that was left in my pocket. So you had to have guessed that I knew about werewolves, but you weren't sure if I was a hunter. Which if I'm being honest, I thought you guys were hunters. So what are you?"
"We're hunters."
Stiles was stunned. "You're a werewolf and you're working for the hunters? Holy crap. How screwed up is that?"
The guy tilted his head; probably listening to his heartbeat or getting his scent. "Bad experience with hunters, I take it?"
"You know, this has been fun and all, but if you're not going to torture or beat me, I'd like to be leaving now." Stiles stood up and tried the door. It opened. He turned back to the wolf. "You seem like a smart enough guy. Hanging with a bunch of hunters probably isn't a good move. I'm not sure what your deal is, but if you want to live, working with the enemy isn't the best plan."
Stiles found his way out unhindered. Unfortunately, he realized that he had no idea where he was. The werewolf came outside. "Need a ride?"
"Sure."
The ride back was uncomfortable, though the guy made an attempt at conversation. "What's your major?"
"Environmental science. I thought about microbiology but I hate chemistry." Stiles looked at the man from the corner of his eyes. "What's your name? I'm calling you 'the guy' in my head and it might be nice to call you something else."
"Tim. You can call me Tim."
"Riiiight. By putting it that way, I'm assuming that's an alias. But fine. Tim. So, Tim. What's a werewolf doing hanging around the folks who slaughter your kind?"
"Let me ask one more question before I answer. Where have you encountered hunters before?"
Stiles thought about it and weighed if he though supplying that answer might cause problems for the packs. "Beacon Hills."
Tim nodded as if he understood. "Ah! The Argents. You been running with the Hale pack or the McCall pack?"
"Um. Both. Neither. I left them behind when I came to CalTech."
Tim sized him up and looked like he was thinking. "Why did you leave?"
"What is this, twenty questions?"
The man shrugged. "It's just a question. You don't have to answer."
"I'll tell you what. Answer one of my questions and I'll answer one of yours. Deal?"
"Deal. So what's your question?"
"Why are you running with hunters?"
"We're a bit different than the Argents. We're not a family of hunters, we're more militaristic. We're a bit more disciplined and we've got several werewolves on board. A few other things, too, but I'm not at liberty to speak about them. We have one thing in common: We take out monsters that prey on others."
"Define monster."
Tim thought about it. "A monster kills because it can. 'Monsters' aren't defined by species. It's defined by actions. Human's can, and often are, worse monsters than werewolves. It's just that when a werewolf crosses that line, they're capable of great destruction."
"Alright. My turn. I left because I was tired of being torn between the two packs. That, and the fact that I have this tendency to fall for totally unattainable people."
From that point, it was a forgone conclusion. Stiles couldn't help but to get involved. When he wasn't in classes, he was training. That was mandatory. No matter what else you brought to the table, you had to have physical combat training. Stiles learned to fight and how to handle a gun. He never got bulky like some of the guys. He supposed that he could if he wanted to work out all the time and down protein drinks, but that wasn't important to him. Instead, he was all compact muscles and slim lines.
When not in combat, he still had a tendency to flail, but in battle he was all efficient motion. Here, he was an asset and not just a fragile human. They used his abilities to research, but he also became respected for field missions too.
He was snapped from his thoughts when he felt the back of his neck prickle. Another wolf had snuck up behind him. Before he could pull his gun, the wolf raked his claws across his back, ripping right through his protective gear. Grimacing in pain, Stiles yanked his knife free from it's sheath. He rolled and ducked under the next swing. Dodging under and thrusting up, he caught the wolf in the ribs with the aconite covered knife. The werewolf howled and folded over.
The wolf wasn't going down without a fight. It swung out and Stiles, slowed by the wounds to his back, couldn't move away fast enough. The wolf caught him right across his hip, one claw actually sticking and breaking off in the bone. Bleeding heavily, Stiles fell and managed to finally pull his gun. He fired everything he had left into the wolf and it went down, twitching.
He managed to shove himself away from the jerking wolf with his good leg. He clicked his communicator. "Need medical, ASAP. Two wolves for disposal. I repeat, need medical."
"Roger. Pick up is almost there. They have been alerted, and medical will be on standby for your arrival."
He couldn't reach his back to stop the bleeding and the wound on his hip was too deep to do much. He laid there, bleeding on the forest floor, and listened to the RV's approach. There was a flurry of activity as his wounds were tended and somebody administered morphine. He drifted off into a medicated haze.
When he woke up, he was in medical. He was tipped on his side, something wedging him up from behind. There wasn't beeping, so he knew that it couldn't have been that bad. There was, however, pain. He must have made a sound because Sara, the nurse, was soon standing there. "Heya sugar. Glad to see those peepers. Betcha need something to take the edge off, huh?"
She gave Stiles some meds through the IV, and then helped him sip water from a straw. When he was comfortable and settled, she spoke again. "You did a right good job this time, you did. Plenty of stitches on your back and that hip wound is deep. You've been put on the inactive roster, darling."
The inactive roster was for those who'd been hurt bad enough to put them out of fighting shape for the foreseeable future. At least he hadn't been put on the 'removed' list. That would have meant that his injury was so severe that he'd never see field duty again. "How long?"
"Don't know, sugar. You'll have to ask the doctor. Several months is my guess."
Thus started one of the most miserable months of his life. He spent a full week in medical, letting the wounds properly heal and to make sure that he hadn't turned. They'd developed a vaccine to prevent humans from turning, but it didn't work in about 15% of cases. Then he spent a few weeks in therapy where he essentially had to relearn how to use his leg.
After that, it was several months of healing. He spent the time helping the research department or hanging with the analysts. He'd only been back on duty for a few days when Tim showed up with a new assignment.
"Stiles. I don't like this much, but I have no choice. Something's going on in Beacon Hills and with the Argents retired, there's no one in the area to handle it. The local packs refused to allow a group of us down there, but they would allow you. Only you.
I don't like sending you solo. I'd prefer to send you in tandem with a group, to be honest. You still haven't regained full mobility and the docs say you might not. But, they've cleared you. I don't like it, but it's what I've got to work with. I've made it clear to both the McCall and Hale packs that you are fresh off medical leave and that if I'm being forced to send you in alone, they need to provide you back up.
If you run into anything that you can't handle, call me. You got that?"
Stiles stared at him. "You contacted Scott and Derek?"
"First name basis, huh? You've never talked much about the packs. I knew that you'd run with them, but you actually know them personally, don't you? They acted it too."
"Scott was my best friend growing up. I knew him long before he was bitten. Derek... Well, he and I saved each other a few times but that's about it."
Tim watched him. "You know I can hear your heart, right?"
"I'm very well aware of that, and what I said was true. That's all it was."
Tim raised his hand in surrender. "Ok. Dropping it." He tossed a set of keys at Stiles. "One of the SUVs. Bring it back in one piece."
"I'm sending you with full gear and enough to equip anyone who's helping you. Don't go crazy. Take back up, do the full fact finding routine, and send everything back for analysis. Standard operating rules apply."
With a salute, Tim walked away. Stiles blew out a sigh. "Guess I need to find my duffel bag."