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31_days2013-12-16 11:45 pm
saraste-impi.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2013-12-16 11:45 pm
[December 16th] [Teen Wolf] Devil's Trap
Title: Devil's Trap
Day/Prompt: 16.A body needs a good memento mori to flush out the humors.
Series: Teen Wolf
Rating: PG-13
Stiles thought that he wouldn't have minded dying if the last thing he did was feel Derek's lips on his own, kissing him. As he hadn't, he did mind, a lot. The panic attack he'd had when Derek had kissed him, even if he had heard the pack howling near, has jolted Stiles back into control again. And it had made the Demon more angrier than ever.
It was good that Derek had covered his mouth, because the demon had been ready to bolt after Erica had jumped him.
The pain from the slip of the demon's control still lingered. Stiles had been dying for that near minute he'd been in control of his body, his words. The wound hadn't been in stasis and he had felt every bit of it, had felt his heart beating, had felt the blood flowing.
Derek's carrying him. Stiles can feel his arms holding his body, his extremities kept tight to his body. It was only because of Derek's werewolf strength that his body with the demon's power sizzling under the skin could be contained. Well, the holy water which Scott had thrown all over his face, making his fucking skin smolder and break had done it's job to weaken the demon.
Stiles wasn't really able to concentrate on the conversation around him as Derek and the pack ran.
There was so much he would have wanted to ask, had he had control over his mouth, if it had not been gagged. Most importantly, how was his dad. Because his dad had to have lived. Derek had said something about it before but for the life in him, Stiles had a hard time remembering.
Then someone's phone rings.
Scott is by his side in an instant, matching Derek's speed as they whirl through the snowy forest. “It's mom.” Scott says, yells, whatever. “Your dad's still in surgery!”
It's not much but enough to keep Stiles sane. At least for a while. The demon hasn't been inside his head even a whole day now but he already feels the shreds of his sanity fraying, splintering at the edges and wonders how long he can keep it up. Wonders if his pack, if Derek, has any solution to keep him alive once the demon is gone, if they can even jolt it from his body in the first place.
The demon tells him that no, they don't have the know-how to do so. It taunts him as the snowy woods hurry past and they appear to the edge of the woods and head towards downtown Beacon Hills. It would, of course.
But Stiles still needs to hope.
Yet he's so tired now. The demon is slipping at the edges at his consciousness and he's afraid of slipping. Because he knows that if he gives in to it, there's no coming back. No life with having control over his own body, no anything. For he'll be dead and the demon will be free to walk his body around where it sees fit. Stiles wants anything other than that. But the seed of doubt, the beginnings of giving in are growing inside him. For he felt the wound, felt his body, how it ached, felt what dying felt like and it just.
He's so so tired.
* * *
Stiles is laying on the exam table in Deaton's clinic, strapped down to the table, still cagged and Derek feels ill at the sight. It shouldn't be like this but what other choice do they actually even have? He glances up and there is a sigil sprayed onto the ceiling above, something Deaton called a 'devil's trap'.
It seems to keep Stiles' body in place despite the restraints, which, apparently are next to useless anyway. The thing possessing Stiles' body has thrown all pretense to the side at the face of it and is showing off it's all-black eyes which make the boy's face look very decidedly alien, very un-Stiles-like.
Derek hates it.
But maybe it's better, because if the black eyes weren't there, his mind is easily deceived by the way the demon makes use of Stiles' soft expressions. And the others, they're even more susceptible, especially Scott, whom Derek has had to physically restrain from freeing Stiles twice. Because there had been such a pleading look in Stiles warm whiskey eyes and Scott had moved without hesitation. Had been ready to nick the pattern of the devil's trap, the second time.
But he's now incapacitated, lying on the floor with both Isaac and Boyd sitting over him.
They haven't removed the gag. Because no-one wants to hear the demon using Stiles' voice to abuse them. Nor hear how much of a lost cause Stiles is, how he'll start dying the second the demon's out and will die before they have time to do anything.
Derek steps away the examination table and toward Deaton who's on the phone with a hunter called Bobby Singer. Whom the Argents don't know. Derek can't decide if that's good or bad. Apparently, the Argents know who the man is, but they're not in his confidence.
“How soon until they can be here?” Deaton's is saying into the phone.
“Tomorrow morning,” Derek hears a voice answer at the other end of the line. “They're near enough, last I called. Eight the hours, tops.”
“And they know of the... situation?” Deaton glances at Derek with that, eyes gliding over him. Derek wishes he knew what the implies. Hopes Deaton will deign to explain without Derek having to force him to do so.
There is a sigh at the other end of the line. “They know,” the other man, Bobby Singer, tells Deaton. “May not be happy about it but from what you're telling me and the Argents being okay with the situation...”
There are words left unsaid. Derek hopes he knew this Singer guy to be able to fill them in. He guesses what they must be, either way. Strange hunters coming to his territory makes his hackles rise. He wants to wolf out and sort things that way, prevent any strangers coming anywhere near Stiles. His pack. Even when he knows that he can't. Because Stiles needs the kind of help he can't give. Needs it to survive this. Even if the demon inside is the only thing keeping him alive.
“Alright, I'll call you if there's any trouble.” Deaton is finally saying into the phone and ending the call.
“Are you sure that those hunters that man is sending here will be able to fix this?” Derek asks, a hint of a growl in his voice. He's resisting the urge to wolf out. He is. Utterly. He's resisting.
Deaton looks him up and down, unfazed as ever. “They're experts when it comes to demons.”
“But that won't fix the wound, will it?” Isaac asks from the floor.
They have all seen it, have made themselves look, have smelled the death on Stiles, even when his body is still moving, still alive, if only just. The reactions were various. Scott insisted they take Stiles into the hospital. Isaac cried and Erica just buried her face against Boyd's chest. But they all knew that no hospital could help Stiles. His body was too broken.
And they couldn't risk the demon rampaging around and killing innocent people if they did take him to the hospital. Nor did anyone of them think that they could find a doctor who believed in the supernatural and would stand by as they exorcised the demon.
“The bite is a gift.” It's Scott coming into the conversation from where he's still laid down under Isaac and Boyd while Erica glares from across the room.
It is a solution. But...
“If I bite him after the exorcism the bite won't have enough time to take,” Derek says, hating himself for his words, “and the option...” He can't voice it.
Deaton does, because he is who he is. Never shirking from uncomfortable subjects. “Which would be you biting him before the exorcism, the effects of which we don't even know.”
Derek closes his eyes and the smell of Stiles blood, the smell of too much of it, assaults his nostrils, mixing with the scent of death which pervades the boys smell all over, having seeped into it until it's all but almost unrecognizable. His legs walk him towards the examination table and he stops. He only opens them when he hears something slithering to the floor. When he turns to look, it's Deaton, making a line of salt in a circle around the table, encompassing Derek within it.
“The demon can't cross the salt,” Deaton tells him. “I'll salt all doors and windows after I'm done here. You think you can keep things contained?”
Derek nods and turns back to Stiles.
Day/Prompt: 16.A body needs a good memento mori to flush out the humors.
Series: Teen Wolf
Rating: PG-13
Stiles thought that he wouldn't have minded dying if the last thing he did was feel Derek's lips on his own, kissing him. As he hadn't, he did mind, a lot. The panic attack he'd had when Derek had kissed him, even if he had heard the pack howling near, has jolted Stiles back into control again. And it had made the Demon more angrier than ever.
It was good that Derek had covered his mouth, because the demon had been ready to bolt after Erica had jumped him.
The pain from the slip of the demon's control still lingered. Stiles had been dying for that near minute he'd been in control of his body, his words. The wound hadn't been in stasis and he had felt every bit of it, had felt his heart beating, had felt the blood flowing.
Derek's carrying him. Stiles can feel his arms holding his body, his extremities kept tight to his body. It was only because of Derek's werewolf strength that his body with the demon's power sizzling under the skin could be contained. Well, the holy water which Scott had thrown all over his face, making his fucking skin smolder and break had done it's job to weaken the demon.
Stiles wasn't really able to concentrate on the conversation around him as Derek and the pack ran.
There was so much he would have wanted to ask, had he had control over his mouth, if it had not been gagged. Most importantly, how was his dad. Because his dad had to have lived. Derek had said something about it before but for the life in him, Stiles had a hard time remembering.
Then someone's phone rings.
Scott is by his side in an instant, matching Derek's speed as they whirl through the snowy forest. “It's mom.” Scott says, yells, whatever. “Your dad's still in surgery!”
It's not much but enough to keep Stiles sane. At least for a while. The demon hasn't been inside his head even a whole day now but he already feels the shreds of his sanity fraying, splintering at the edges and wonders how long he can keep it up. Wonders if his pack, if Derek, has any solution to keep him alive once the demon is gone, if they can even jolt it from his body in the first place.
The demon tells him that no, they don't have the know-how to do so. It taunts him as the snowy woods hurry past and they appear to the edge of the woods and head towards downtown Beacon Hills. It would, of course.
But Stiles still needs to hope.
Yet he's so tired now. The demon is slipping at the edges at his consciousness and he's afraid of slipping. Because he knows that if he gives in to it, there's no coming back. No life with having control over his own body, no anything. For he'll be dead and the demon will be free to walk his body around where it sees fit. Stiles wants anything other than that. But the seed of doubt, the beginnings of giving in are growing inside him. For he felt the wound, felt his body, how it ached, felt what dying felt like and it just.
He's so so tired.
* * *
Stiles is laying on the exam table in Deaton's clinic, strapped down to the table, still cagged and Derek feels ill at the sight. It shouldn't be like this but what other choice do they actually even have? He glances up and there is a sigil sprayed onto the ceiling above, something Deaton called a 'devil's trap'.
It seems to keep Stiles' body in place despite the restraints, which, apparently are next to useless anyway. The thing possessing Stiles' body has thrown all pretense to the side at the face of it and is showing off it's all-black eyes which make the boy's face look very decidedly alien, very un-Stiles-like.
Derek hates it.
But maybe it's better, because if the black eyes weren't there, his mind is easily deceived by the way the demon makes use of Stiles' soft expressions. And the others, they're even more susceptible, especially Scott, whom Derek has had to physically restrain from freeing Stiles twice. Because there had been such a pleading look in Stiles warm whiskey eyes and Scott had moved without hesitation. Had been ready to nick the pattern of the devil's trap, the second time.
But he's now incapacitated, lying on the floor with both Isaac and Boyd sitting over him.
They haven't removed the gag. Because no-one wants to hear the demon using Stiles' voice to abuse them. Nor hear how much of a lost cause Stiles is, how he'll start dying the second the demon's out and will die before they have time to do anything.
Derek steps away the examination table and toward Deaton who's on the phone with a hunter called Bobby Singer. Whom the Argents don't know. Derek can't decide if that's good or bad. Apparently, the Argents know who the man is, but they're not in his confidence.
“How soon until they can be here?” Deaton's is saying into the phone.
“Tomorrow morning,” Derek hears a voice answer at the other end of the line. “They're near enough, last I called. Eight the hours, tops.”
“And they know of the... situation?” Deaton glances at Derek with that, eyes gliding over him. Derek wishes he knew what the implies. Hopes Deaton will deign to explain without Derek having to force him to do so.
There is a sigh at the other end of the line. “They know,” the other man, Bobby Singer, tells Deaton. “May not be happy about it but from what you're telling me and the Argents being okay with the situation...”
There are words left unsaid. Derek hopes he knew this Singer guy to be able to fill them in. He guesses what they must be, either way. Strange hunters coming to his territory makes his hackles rise. He wants to wolf out and sort things that way, prevent any strangers coming anywhere near Stiles. His pack. Even when he knows that he can't. Because Stiles needs the kind of help he can't give. Needs it to survive this. Even if the demon inside is the only thing keeping him alive.
“Alright, I'll call you if there's any trouble.” Deaton is finally saying into the phone and ending the call.
“Are you sure that those hunters that man is sending here will be able to fix this?” Derek asks, a hint of a growl in his voice. He's resisting the urge to wolf out. He is. Utterly. He's resisting.
Deaton looks him up and down, unfazed as ever. “They're experts when it comes to demons.”
“But that won't fix the wound, will it?” Isaac asks from the floor.
They have all seen it, have made themselves look, have smelled the death on Stiles, even when his body is still moving, still alive, if only just. The reactions were various. Scott insisted they take Stiles into the hospital. Isaac cried and Erica just buried her face against Boyd's chest. But they all knew that no hospital could help Stiles. His body was too broken.
And they couldn't risk the demon rampaging around and killing innocent people if they did take him to the hospital. Nor did anyone of them think that they could find a doctor who believed in the supernatural and would stand by as they exorcised the demon.
“The bite is a gift.” It's Scott coming into the conversation from where he's still laid down under Isaac and Boyd while Erica glares from across the room.
It is a solution. But...
“If I bite him after the exorcism the bite won't have enough time to take,” Derek says, hating himself for his words, “and the option...” He can't voice it.
Deaton does, because he is who he is. Never shirking from uncomfortable subjects. “Which would be you biting him before the exorcism, the effects of which we don't even know.”
Derek closes his eyes and the smell of Stiles blood, the smell of too much of it, assaults his nostrils, mixing with the scent of death which pervades the boys smell all over, having seeped into it until it's all but almost unrecognizable. His legs walk him towards the examination table and he stops. He only opens them when he hears something slithering to the floor. When he turns to look, it's Deaton, making a line of salt in a circle around the table, encompassing Derek within it.
“The demon can't cross the salt,” Deaton tells him. “I'll salt all doors and windows after I'm done here. You think you can keep things contained?”
Derek nods and turns back to Stiles.