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A Grimm Visit	By : AkumaKawa Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 4549 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter List
- 9
- 10
A/N

It's been a while. I blame school. Just the one beta again, my lovely Anna. I decided to split this and chapter 11 up into two chapters. I probably should have done the same for chapter 9. But I decided to do this not for the length of the chapter but because of the content in chapter 11. This way people can find out what Stiles did without having to read what they in turn did to him.

A Grimm Visit

Chapter 10

If Stiles had to think about how all of this could possibly get any worse he had absolutely no suggestions. From Stiles' pov this very situation seemed to the FUBAR of all FUBAR incidents and should probably find itself listed in the dictionary as the absolute worst that a FUBAR situation could possibly devolve into and that's only if anyone bothers to actually believe half of what the definition would describe.

Werewolves, hunters, wolfsbane, lizard creatures and whatever the hell this new supernatural creature species or subgroup genus happens to be should belong to the realm of fantasy and dragons and make believe. Not reality. Not Stiles' reality! Months ago he was just a normal teenager dealing with normal teenage angsty stuff that encompassed everything he did; hanging out with Scott, being turned down by his Goddess Lydia, being harassed by Jackson (again), eying up Danny, trying to get his dad to eat healthier, deal with Harris being a dick, and so forth.

Normal first world teenage privilege angsty drama! That was his life and then Peter has to fucking wake up from his coma more insane than batshit crazy Michele Bachmann and out for blood thirsty revenge, which granted was richly deserved but then he has the fucking brilliant idea to bite Scott. Which drags Stiles into their world because there's no fucking way he's letting his bff deal with this existential supernatural-monsters-are-real slaughterfest without him. So, now it's Stiles' reality and instead of being normal and taking a trip down Denial Lane off the Denial River in Denial Province Stiles is going to accept this completely fucked up FUBAR supernatural situation and deal with this shit. Like a Boss!

So, status check. What should Stiles be doing at this very second? Sitting here in his non-barricaded (need to fix that) hotel room in fucking Portland waiting for Derek to drive all the way from Beacon Hills to come rescue his ass from sort of supernatural creature he's never even heard of before.

Stiles hates being the damsel in distress all the time. Sometimes, it just fucking sucks to be a normal human. Well, normal in the non-supernatural strength human category. Werewolves are still human in Stiles' book. Just, a suped up version of human. Perhaps the next evolutionary strand of humanity? Ones that can actually survive space travel?

I wonder if NASA should start to recruit werewolves? I wonder what their slogan would be? Come be humanity's greatest achievement and help us colonize space? But would being closer to the moon affect them in a very bad losing control ways or is it only on Earth that the moon becomes a supernatural conduit? Because, honestly? What the fuck is up with that shit? The moon just reflects the sun's rays it shouldn't be able to cause such irrationality in people and werewolves just because it's full. Gravity? Tidal waves? Magic? Has anyone done any studies on that? What about–

Stiles' thought is cut off as he hears footsteps walking down the hallway. He just got off the phone with Derek five fucking minutes ago! It's too soon! Derek can't get here yet! I haven't even set up traps or made improvised weapons yet!

Stiles crouches down from where he was sitting and puts his ear to the floor. He tries to tell if the footsteps are coming closer to his door or going farther away. He tries to calm his heart from the fast jackrabbit pacing it had in his terror from first hearing the foot steps. He covers his mouth and tries to slow his breathing, anything he can think of to try to sound like a normal person in a normal hotel and not someone expecting a supernatural SWAT unit to come busting in and take him. Would they be covered in armor like a SWAT unit or just in regular clothes? So would it be more like a team of evil John McClanes busting down the door and dragging me out?

Stiles decided to put his morbid thoughts away and get to work making sure that when they came for him, if they came before Derek, that he would make them earn taking him. Hopefully they wanted to take him. It would really suck to put all this preparation to work and then they just kill him as an afterthought. God, what if they kill me and dad finds me? Jesus, let them kidnap me. Oh god, just please don't let my dad find me like that. It will kill him if he does. It was centerpiece capstone that in this situation the best thing he could hope for was them kidnapping him. The FUBAR of all FUBAR situations!

It had been an hour since he called Scott out of desperation and got Derek instead. Derek, who somehow knew exactly what he was facing but didn't deem it wise for Stiles to know. Sourwolf bastard! Of course I should know! It has to do with me...right? The only reasonable explanation that Stiles could think of was that Derek knew it wouldn't help the situation and wasn't that a thought Stiles wanted to permeate around in his brain. What type of creatures are they? Why was Derek so panicky?

So, here Stiles was, sitting on the floor of his hotel room after locking the door; putting a chair underneath the door knob; sticking plastic utensils in the crack of the door space by the lock and at the top of the door; and moving the majority of the furniture against the door to create a barricade. Majority because one of the tables was sacrificed to make weapons. Stiles had unscrewed the legs from the table top to fashion a weapon. Stiles would have moved the beds and night tables but those fuckers were bolted down and he couldn't move them without tools.

Stiles thought about opening the windows as a last chance escape route, but these windows don't open and it's still a four story fall onto concrete below him. He has half a plan to try to have one of the bad guys/girls/creatures go through it. But the window is solidly made and he has a funny feeling that they would just bounce off of it like a wall.

Earlier, Stiles had dug through his backpack, his suitcase, and his dad's bags looking for anything that could be a weapon. He grabbed some pens and pencils. It would be tricky to make them into a weapon but if he had enough force he could use them to stab someone. But the crème de la crème was the art exacto knife he found. He's not sure when it got into his bag but he's lucky and so very happy he found it. In fact, he gave it a special 'Eureka! Celebration Dance' the moment he saw it. Its in his back pocket at the moment. A typical Harry Potter move but he doesn't have to worry about it somehow exploding his arse if he sits down on it. Just a deep cut. Which is still a pain in the ass if there ever was a better example of it but loads better than Harry's risk for a foul up. Geek thy be.

Yet, all this preparation hasn't quelled the feeling in his chest that he's outgunned, outmanned, and outmatched. Stiles knows, deep inside, that this is an all or nothing situation he's in and with these creatures and their superhuman strength and abilities it is all nothing and will mean nothing to those coming for him.

Stiles has no idea how strong they are but if they're anything like werewolves then from the moment they start to bust down the door to when they come in will probably be at the most long-shot five minutes. If Stiles had to guess, it would be three minutes, but that's only if the lock holds up. This place isn't exactly a flea bag motel but it's not the Ritz either so the moulding probably won't hold very long. Where's a panic room when you need one?

If Stiles was the type to suffer from PTS – freaking miracle he's lasted this long dealing with supernatural crap and still not have PTS – this would be the moment when he'd be flashing back to when the Alpha was hunting them through the school. Stiles really wants his molotov cocktail in his hands. Its a very useful weapon and Stiles is sure it would work on these creatures just as effective as it would work on alpha werewolves.

Stiles' cellphone is near him on the floor as he sits behind his dad's bed next to the foot of it which is closest to the window. No calls, no texts, and the time is going slow. It's a horrible waiting game. He knows it'll take Derek several hours to get here from Beacon Hills and that's with breaking every single speeding law by at least 15 mph. There's nothing to do but wait and hope that they won't come. It's a futile hope. Stiles feels the truth deep inside. They are coming tonight. Soon.

Stiles doesn't know why he knows but he knows. Derek won't make it in time. Strangely, Stiles isn't scared. He's terrified, but it's a calm terror, one he can still think in. He's calm in a way he's never been before as he waits for them to come.

Stiles wants to check the clock on his phone but he's also worried that he will see how slow time is going and become more focused on that then on hearing them coming for him. So, instead, he focuses on breathing, on making sure his weapons are near his hands, and deep breaths to calm the panic that keeps trying to rise. He has to keep reminding himself to breathe because he's terrified of the situation, the creatures coming for him, and the fact that he can't win against them and he's preparing for the moment he has to fight back against them.

So he sits in a half crossed leg position on the floor with one knee resting on the ground the other up in preparation of being able to move quickly from his position. Stiles focuses on breathing, in and out, deep and long, over and over and keeping the calm in his mind as he plans for what's to come.

He keeps running different scenarios in his head. Like an episode of Worse Case Scenario and how he can prevent that from happening. In that moment, Stiles understands girls in a way he never thought he would before. He remembers when he was a young boy and his mom told him about how when she was alone she would always run scenarios in her head of what could happen to her and how she could get away from it. She said it was something she picked up from self-defense courses and was the reason why when she left her jacket and his dad came running up to her to return it that she punched first and asked questions later. The way she was laughing as she told the story to Stiles belied the real fear she had in those few seconds of hearing running footsteps behind her and then seeing a cop in a full uniform laid out on the ground seconds later.

Stiles imagines that the calm in his head is what she felt then, a certainty that she knew what to do when the situation presented itself. She could defend herself and she wouldn't be afraid to do so. Strange, how in this supernatural life and death situation that Stiles finds himself in while being in another state that he feels the closest to his mother than he has in years.

The moment he gets home – because there is no acceptance of the possibility that he won't make it out of this situation and not go home – he's going to get those self-defense lessons from Allison that he's been putting off of asking about. She's a hunter and a badass, she can teach him. Screw male pride from having to ask a girl for help and worry about embarrassing himself at how pathetic he is, he needs to be able to fight back. He needs to be able to defend himself and stop having to be rescued all the fucking time like a stereotypical Disney 'heroine'.

A sound attracts Stiles attention from his self-deprecation monologue. Since his phone call to Derek there has been several instances in which Stiles has heard footsteps walk past his door in the hallway. This time, though, Stiles senses something off. Feels something from inside him scream at him to prepare to fight. So he listens to it. He moves out of his sitting position to that of kneeling on one knee as if he's about to be knighted. Near his hands are two legs from the table he cannibalized for his weapons and he grips them tightly with his head bowed, waiting. The exacto knife is in his back jeans pocket sticking out just enough so that he can quickly grab it without worrying about it falling out and he is calm, a hyper sense of awareness and patience.

Stiles lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes listening to the footsteps outside the door. From the sound of the footsteps it's a group of people, there are no words being passed between them, and they are walking towards his door. He can hear them pausing in front of his door. There is a slight sound of disturbance as an object of some sort is pulled out of something. A tool? For what purpose? What are they doing?

Then Stiles hears the lock on the door disengage. What the fuck?! They have a key?! Goddamnit, there goes my three minutes! Somehow the bastards not only have an electronic key to his door but they were able to unlock the turn lock on the door as well. He hears one of them turn the doorknob and push slightly against the door.

Stiles takes a calming breath and waits for them to break the barricade that he built. He won't open his eyes until they're in the room. The lights are off and he is surrounded in darkness, he will be blinded if he opens his eyes as they open the door because of the light from the hallway. Best to wait.

It comes faster than he thought it might – just a few slight pushes, one after the other, to gauge the size and strength of the barricade and then one ample solid thrust – and the entire barricade comes tumbling down. Supernatural strength? Check.

Stiles can feel his heart start to beat faster as it floods with hormones and chemicals to thrust him into the fight/flight mode that your body responds to when faced with a threat, but he tries to calm it down. He's afraid they will hear it and realize where he's hiding in the room and not mistake him for being a neighbor.

There's a strange deafening silence around him as Stiles focuses on hearing them take the first steps into the room and sniff. Stiles knows they're searching for him and he has to keep his heart-rate from racing in order to avoid detection for the longest he can in order to muster a suitable defense that'll leave enough evidence for him to be found by Derek later on when he arrives.

Stiles is still hiding by the bed so they can't see him yet and his and his father's scent is all over the room as well so it should be more difficult to find him. He just has to wait for one or more of them to come closer to where he is. He has to wait for just the right moment to launch himself towards them. He has to hurt them, he has to make them bleed, he needs to leave a trail. He's the pink lady in this case trying to out smart the taxi driver and Derek will be his Sherlock Holmes following his clues to find him, hopefully still alive.

He hears one of them take a deep sniff and then there are steps coming towards him. Shit! Slowly, the steps come closer and closer to Stiles. His hands re-grip his makeshift weapons and he slowly eases himself into a pouncing position. Closer. A little bit closer, just a little bit.

It's not fear that Stiles feels in this moment. It's anticipation. There is something deep down within him that feels elated. It's in this moment as he waits for the footsteps to come ever closer to him until the moment he can attack that he's cognizance what a predator perceives when waiting for its prey.

It feels like a mini forever before the moment comes that the footsteps are right in front of him. What happens next is a blur of motion and movement as Stiles' head snaps up and he leaps to his feet, the weapon in his left hand comes swinging up and slams into the assailant in front of him's head. The head rocks back to the right and that is when Stiles finally hits with the weapon in his right hand and then kicks out with right leg to push his assailant away from him. He steps away to the right in front of the foot of the bed and can see where the others are as they come running towards him. He sees they aren't human nor werewolves nor even of the creatures he's seen in Portland. These are new creatures with fangs and claws, fur and reptilian and they want him. Stiles grins.

The calm state he entered before they came into the room is still with him as he assesses his situation and knows they are faster, stronger, more blood thirsty than him, and they will hurt him. However, it feels like a distant thought that is automatically pushed to the back of his mind as his hands clench over his weapons and he charges into the fray.

No thoughts are in his mind as like an automatic defensive response he swings the weapons in his hands against them. Head, chest, legs, arms, anything that was close to him that he could hit he attacked. Eventually, the weapons made of cheap wood break and splinter and he throws the pieces towards his attacks. He runs to one of his weapon stashes and grabs the other legs just as one of them snatches his arm. His swings the other arm with the weapon in it across their forehead.

On and on it goes, Stiles never knowing if the time was flying fast or slowing down all he could focus on was the creatures as they charged enraged towards him. Hit after hit he fights back against them until like before the weapons break apart. Stiles runs for another weapons stash, the utensils, pens, and pencils this time, and throws them like an expert knife thrower. Stiles never knows if they hit or not as he charges to another part of the room to grab another weapon. All that matters in this very moment is fighting back and using anything and everything he can against them and getting their DNA all over the room.

It's when he's in the middle of the room when the last of his weapons is taken from him. He grabs the exacto knife from his back pocket and waits for when one of them reaches forward to grab him and slices them.

The next thing that Stiles knows is being smacked back into the door, the exacto knife still in his hand. He knows that this is the moment that he'll lose. He slices his free hand and then charges back aiming to slice or stab one of them. He doesn't know which and it doesn't matter as he's taken down before he can do anything as he's thrown once more across the room. He slams into the wall near where his dad and him ate their food just hours before.

Laying there gasping for breath Stiles realizes he has a choice. Continue to fight and be hurt worse and knocked out. Or pretend that he's hurt worse than he is, dazed, dizzy, confused so that he's able to leave a noticeable trail while they carry him out. He picks the latter, lets his hands go loose, letting go of the exacto knife, closes his eyes, and waits.

Stiles just concentrates on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. As the footsteps come closer, he finally lets his body go completely limp. He feels one of them pick him up and place him over their shoulder in the fireman carry position.

He listens as they start to walk towards the door. Judging upon the sounds he hears Stiles thinks that the rest of the group is in front and the person carrying him is at the back. Stiles takes a chance, opens his eyes and tilts his head. He sees several pairs of feet in front of him. He lifts his head a bit to glance behind and realizes he was right. They are at the back. He squeezes the hand he cut and makes sure that there is enough blood on it to leave a solid print. When they come to the door he takes another chance and silently leaves a bloody hand print.

Stiles looks at the red carpet of the hallway as they walk out and curses silently inside his mind. Blood will be hard to see against the red flooring. Making it difficult to leave a trail but Derek's nose should be able to smell the blood and recognize it as Stiles' considering how many times that Derek's been exposed to it.

Stiles waits for a count of ten listening to see if they are paying attention to him but they are quiet and focused, so he squeezes his hand sending a drop of blood to the floor. Then he waits for a count of five and does it again. Then another after a count of five, and another and another. He continues to squeeze his hand after a count of five. They come upon a stairwell and Stiles takes a big risk leans his body just slightly over so he can trail his fingers across the walls as they walk down them.

Quickly they reach the first floor and then it's back to a count of five and squeezing his hand for drops of blood to fall upon the floor. Stiles realizes they are coming upon an exit and squeezes his hand repeatedly to make sure there is fresh blood all over his hand. More drops fall on the ground because of this.

Stiles hears the side exit door open and their steps change as their feet hit the concrete ground outside the door. Stiles sees his chance and places his hand upon the wall as they pass by it. He quickly keeps squeezing his hand as they walk across the pavement towards a dark colored van he sees. Stiles plans on placing a print or blood trail upon the vehicle as something for Derek to follow. At least Stiles hopes that Derek can follow it. Derek, please be able to follow it.

Stiles hears the driver and passenger doors open and then the van door slides open. He hears more than one of them get into the back of the van and then it's their turn and Stiles once more takes his chance to mark a door leaving a trail of his blood for Derek to follow. He tries reaching out as far across the sliding door as he can and trailing his fingertips back to his side. He's jerked to the side and then tossed inside hitting the other side of the van and then sinking to the floor boneless.

Stiles worries that he got caught but nothing else happens. He lays upon his side in the van with his eyes closed, his hand bleeding and surrounded by enemies. He has no idea what happens now. Should he fight? Should he play possum for longer? What happens when they get to their destination? Stiles doesn't know, but he's still not afraid.

It's strange. Before Portland, back in Beacon Hills, whenever he was in life or death difficulties or just highly stressful ones he would be hyperactive and spazzy. Here, however, in the midst of the worst life or death situation he's ever been in he is perfectly supernaturally calm and thinking of various plans. He's not worried. He's not scared. He's calm. And that terrifies him.

Time passes as the van drives through the city until they reach their destination. Playing possum has been working for him thus far so Stiles chooses to continue with it. The van front doors open and close as they get out. Then the sliding door is opened from the inside and one of them gets out. Stiles knows this because he's dragged by his feet to the opening and then put into another fireman's carry hold. The others who were sitting in the back of the van then pile out after him. Stiles clenches and unclenches his hand as he tries to ease more blood out. The wound was in the process of healing since it wasn't a very deep cut and had stopped bleeding. Stiles thinks it works but he doesn't know for sure since his eyes are closed and he's too worried to open them with the others behind him, watching him.

He hears a door slide open and squints his eyes open taking a quick sly look around him. Fuck. A warehouse district. It's typical kidnapping/horror film stuff and Stiles mourns for the lack of ingenuity. Derek should be ashamed that he's following a stereotype with his secret supernatural hideout as well. When Derek rescues him he swears he's going to rib him on that. Just another tick in the 'why Derek Hale can be mistaken as a serial killer' list that Stiles has.

They walk slowly through the warehouse's sliding door with Stiles repeating the breadcrumb trail from the hotel and then the door slams shut.
- 9
- 10
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A Grimm Visit