WELCOME TO THE UNIVERSE

hellohauntedturnstudent:

Okay, okay, so I don’t know about everyone else, but when I first saw this I immediately thought this was Stiles somehow convincing his handler that their team is desperately needed in BH and then he comes riding in to help save the day (and Derek) yet again, but…

….but what if this is Stiles, seasoned FBI Stiles, on a raid that his team had planned for months. They had finally pinpointed the location their mark was using as his hideout (it’s not a Secret Lair, Stiles!) and every single member of his team was more than ready to put an end to the dealings of this particular scumbag. It seemed as if the guy had his hand in a bit of everything; drugs, sex trafficking, arms dealing and most recently, exotic animal fighting and trade. The guy had enough going against him to put him away twenty times over and Stiles couldn’t wait to put the asshole behind bars, or six feet in the ground, whichever came easier.

When they kick down the door of the warehouse, Stiles follows full swat gear and gun at the ready. Shots are fired from up ahead and Stiles and his team manage to sweep the first few rooms relatively easily, only getting held up in the back area where his team is quickly closing in on their mark. Stiles scans the room, taking in the unusually large cages as he brings up the rear.

When his gaze falls on the cage to the right of their mark he freezes, his whole body going taut in disbelief as he takes in the form pressed against the back wall of the cage. It seems like it takes ages, but when Stiles shakes himself out of it he sees red, molten hot fury pouring through his veins as he stands from his position crouched behind a column and breaking formation.

He ignores the yelling of his partner, time slowing as he brings his gun up and aims. He can vaguely register the shouting, the continuous gunfire volleying between the scumbags that refuse to give up, and his team. The lights are flashing, the illumination of the firearms being set off gives it the feeling of a war zone, but none of it phases Stiles.

He aims right for the mark’s forehead, his surroundings falling away from him as his finger moves and he slowly, methodically squeezes the trigger. The gun fires in a blast that briefly illuminates the pure hatred etched onto his face as the bullet flies through the air towards its target. The thump of the asshole’s body hitting the floor snaps him out of it and he charges headfirst into the remaining fire, quickly taking out the leader’s cohorts as they foolishly try to take him down. He can hear his partner and the rest of the team cursing his name, but they diligently provide the backup he needs to hightail it to the cage, pulling his protective head gear off when he gets there.

The man in the cage snaps his head up and is at the front of the small cell in a flash, ready to snap Stiles neck before he meets his gaze. When he does, he stops, eyes wide in disbelief as Stiles takes in his beaten and battered form.

“Stiles?”

His voice is hoarse with misuse, the small bit of hopeful disbelief left in it filling Stiles with renewed vigor. He shoots him a grin, aims his gun at the mountain ash-laced padlock and gives Derek a wink.

“What’d you say we get you out of here Big Guy?”

Two weeks later Stiles gets ripped out of a very nice dream to his phone blaring out Scott’s ringtone. He answers and listens to his friend’s panicked voice before promising to be there soon. He hangs up and smiles as a large arm snakes its way around his bare waist, pulling him flush against a muscled chest. Stiles playfully swats Derek as he scratches his beard against the back of his neck, nipping at the tender skin.

“So, back to where it all began, huh?”

Stiles grins and turns so he’s facing his boyfriend.

“Back to Beacon Hills.”