Dani, 26, SoCal girl, art geek, multi-fandom obsessed. Contents may contain the following: slash, fangirly squeeness, art, geekery, ranting, and randomosity.
Episode 2: “Deliver Me in a Black-Winged Bird”
Then: [x]
“This doesn’t settle the question of what brought you back,” Erica says, draped over Boyd with sharp eyes.
Lydia nods from her position curled underneath Jackson, grabbing at Stiles’s ankle. ”The only thing we can come up with is an angel. And we’re not even sure that those are real.”
Stiles tries to think back, tries to remember, but even the hellfire seems vague and indistinct.
“I can’t remember anything,” he says, pressing closer to Derek.
And that’s probably the most unsettling fact of all.
Now:
Derek can smell the intruder on their doorstep even from the upstairs bedroom. It disturbs him from a sound sleep, curled around Stiles like a starving man curls around food or a drowning man clings to a life raft.
Stiles is asleep, comfortable and unknowing. He doesn’t know what the pack went through in those five days between finding him dead on the porch and his return.
Derek’s not bitter about it — he’s too glad to have Stiles back.
But losing him had hurt the pack almost more than they could stand. Pain had poured through all of them like nothing any of them — except Derek — had felt before.
And now, there is something unrecognizable on their doorstep.
It’s not human, not completely, and the rest of it doesn’t smell like anything they’ve ever encountered — and they’ve seen a lot. They’ve had wendigos and witches and all sorts of things, but never something that smells like this.
He spends a few minutes waiting, but the thing just stands on the porch and refuses to leave. He can smell its stubbornness from here.
So he presses a kiss to Stiles’ jawbone and jostles him a little to wake him.
Whatever’s down there, they’ll face it together. The pack’s already downstairs, and the wolves are rousing. Lydia and Allison are probably still asleep like Stiles is.
If it’s come for Stiles, it’s going to have a bloodbath on its hands.
I need some sort of eating-popcorn gif that adequately encapsulates eager, rapt attention with the pervasive certainty that THINGS CAN NOT POSSIBLY GO WELL OH GOD WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN?
Stiles is nervous as they walk down the stairs. Derek’s in his space, like he’s ready to push Stiles back if this goes bad. He’s not actually upset about that. If it, whatever it is, has Derek this on edge, Stiles knows better than to go diving in headfirst.
Besides, he’s got firsthand experience with dying, and it’s not fun.
So he sticks to Derek like glue, the pack falling in synch around them. Lydia has her staff, Allison her crossbow, and there’s a flash of the wolf in the eyes of the others.
Stiles can’t help but love them all for it. He readies his athame on reflex, gripping it by the blade tight enough that if he squeezes any harder, he’ll bleed. And if he bleeds, he can do some pretty impressive blood magic, and Derek will go absolutely insane in his defense.
They all head for the door, and Derek opens it, a snarl ready on his lips.
There’s what looks like a man on their doorstep. He feels like more, though, somehow. Like something bigger than that.
He’s in a business suit, be-stubbled and with floppy brown hair and a serious expression.
“Who are you.” Derek doesn’t make it a question, but an order.
The man responds by raising his hand for less than an instant, pressing two fingers to Derek’s forehead. Derek passed out, crumpling to the floor.
The pack went wild, all lunging at the intruder at once.
He flung them all back, pinning them to the walls.
Stiles still stood in the middle of the room, untouched. Okay. So the thing was after him.
“That didn’t answer Derek’s question,” Stiles said quietly, dangerously.
The man-looking thing in the business suit tilted his head and smiled softly. “I am Inias, and I am an angel of the Lord.”
Inias is reminded almost painfully of his brother when Stiles buries an athame in his chest.
“Please don’t do that,” he says quietly.
Stiles looks at him warily, wildly, and Inias is sure that they’ve pulled the right man out of Hell. He has all the bearing of the wolves he runs with, and he vibrates with tension like a violin string.
“What. Are. You.”
“An angel, Stiles,” he repeats. “I’m the one who pulled you out of Hell.”
Stiles yanks his knife out of Inias, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”
Inias sighs, and flares out his wings – the shadows of them, anyway, to anyone who doesn’t have some kind of second sight.
One of the women (human, he thinks) makes a terrified noise and screws shut her eyes against them.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know you had a psychic here.”
Stiles is staring at him with something approaching terror mixed with understanding. He takes a few steps back. “Get out of here. Leave this pack alone.”
There is power in the man’s words, and Inias isn’t sure how that is.
“No. We need your help.”
“Why?” says another of the three women, this time the one who’d been carrying a bow. She is human too, but has been running with the pack for as long as Stiles has, and has the same hard, vicious edge. “If you’re an angel, doesn’t that mean you’ve got God on your side.”
Inias tenses at the mention of his Father.
“I wish it were that simple.”
I feel like my reblogs are the commercial breaks. XD
Is your heart ripped out of your chest and ground into the carpet on a regular basis? Tired of scrubbing at those stubborn bloodstains? Then we don’t know what to tell you, because this is fandom, and you’re just going to have to get used to it.
Tumblr: where the characters are fictional, but the pain is real.
Inias isn’t harmless. That much is clear from the very beginning. But he isn’t lying when he says he needs them.
Derek remains in Stiles’ space, and the rest of the pack keeps close as well while Inias explains himself.
“Thirteen years ago, Lucifer rose from his cage in Hell. The world very nearly ended, but he was caged again – this time alongside Michael. We thought that would be the end of it.” Inias looks down. “It was not. There was a civil war in Heaven, and Purgatory was opened several times. When things were all finished out…there are not many angels left.
“And it’s happening again. The walls between Heaven, Purgatory, Hell, and Earth are all weakening.”
Lydia stiffens.
“That can’t be good,” Scott says quietly.
“It is not,” Inias affirms. “If…if the walls break down, and Michael and Lucifer escape their prison, they will stop at nothing to find vessels and finish their war. And Hell might well win this one, if its Queen will still obey her Lord.” He says the word with distaste.
“That doesn’t explain why you need me, specifically.” Stiles presses closer to Derek.
“There is a prophecy. According to the Prophet Kevin Tran, the boy who runs with wolves will rise on angel’s wings to stop the destruction in the midst of the Great Tribulation.”
“So, you raised Stiles from Hell,” Jackson says, speaking up for the first time, “specifically so he could be the one to fulfill your stupid prophecy?”
“There is no one else who can. Stiles is a werewolf’s mate, a fixture in his pack, and he was in Hell for a deal he made. We had no other choice.” Inias looks Jackson straight in the eyes. “Believe me, we would have asked, if we had any choice at all in the matter.”
“Good to know,” Stiles says quietly. “But who’s ‘we?’”
“Heaven. The Winchesters.” Inias shrugs. “Some others the Winchesters have encountered since the last Apocalypse. There are not many of us.”
“Winchesters?” Lydia asks sharply. “Winchesters?”
“Do you already know them?” Inias asks back.
Lydia gives him her patented ‘are you seriously insane?’ look. “There are stories. All over – saving people, hunting things.”
“The family business,” Allison mumbles, catching on. “Holy shit.”
“Okay,” Stiles says, “What the Hell is a Winchester?”
I swear to god, if the Winchesters actually show up in this I’m gonna straight-up lose my shit.
For the Winchesters, it once again begins with fire.
A wildfire rips through Sam and his wife’s home in California. They both make it out alive, with is a mercy Dean is glad to have had but never would have expected.
He likes Julie, he really does, but with Sammy’s track record with women, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if she’d died in that house. It’s a horrible thing to think about, but Dean has grown up thinking about the most horrible things (some of which he has actually done, after all).
When Cas disappears three days later, though, it’s time to go to war.
They’d known it was something supernatural once again fucking up their lives. They’d smelled the sulfur in the air before and after the blaze, and Julie swears she saw a monster set it alight.
They’re all in their forties, now, but Dean feels young again. Seven years in off-and-on retirement had been getting to him, and he’s back with a vengeance now. Especially with Cas missing – that’s not something you can just sit back and think about.
That requires action.
So they call everyone who’s left. Jody, Charlie (she’d been the one to get in touch with them, two years after the Leviathans, with a rugaru incident in Oregon), the Ghostfacers, even.
And they pray.
Inias, of course, is the only one who answers, and is the most willing to get shit done to get Cas back.
They get hold of Kevin – Kevin’s hard to track but Charlie’s a better tracker than anyone on the planet – and he tells them about a vision he had. Destruction and apocalypses and a boy who runs with werewolves, burning in Hell, who can save them.
Inias gives Dean a single look before he disappears, and Dean does his best to put faith in him.
It’s a success, and the man Kevin’s visions were talking about, and Inias brought him home. It’s not very far, so they fire up Baby and head on up.
It’s a lot like it used to be – Dean driving, Sam in shotgun. Julie’s in the backseat, taking in everything quietly, the way she does, accepting everything as it comes. Dean knows that that’s part of why Sam loves her as fiercely as he does.
Eventually, they see a small town population sign that says, Welcome to Beacon Hills.
They’re there, but Dean’s not sure what they’ll find.
(Source: spacemarried)
