teen wolf/the 10th kingdom fusion/crossover
“You don’t trust nobody.”
“I don’t trust you, no.”
“Well, you may not get hurt, but huff puff, you won’t get loved either.”
Part 2 of 8
“Holy…” Stiles slowed in his ascend of the stairs, coming to a hesitant stop once he reached the landing. “That’s…uh, that’s Mrs. Greenburg and her dog,” he explained to the golden retriever leaning heavily against his leg.
Together, they stared down at the woman’ unconscious form sprawled out on the floor, covered in what looked like a truckload of purple Pixy Stix dust.
“And that’s her husband…Mr. Greenberg.” Stiles’ finger floated up from his side to point at the body laying further down the hall.
He had no idea if they were dead or not, and his general lack of freaking out only cemented the idea that he was in shock. Well, more like falling further into shock, seeing as how his soon-to-be pet seemed to be capable of writing in the English language and helping Stiles carry on a mostly one-sided conversation.
“Alright, hopefully whatever hooligans decided to terrorize the building missed my da…oh no.” Stiles could feel his gut turn to ice as he noticed the door to his apartment, ripped off the hinges with the frame in splinters.
He tried to step forward, only to find himself being hindered by the dog that was suddenly blocking his path.
“Move,” he whispered harshly, his shin pushing at the golden retriever’s flank. “I need to make sure my dad is okay.”
The dog refused to move, but it was hardly a hindrance as Stiles simply stepped around him and continued to walk quietly forward, unsure if the faint noises he heard was from the traffic outside or someone in the apartment ahead of him.
Peeking around the broken door, it took Stiles a moment to discern what parts of his home had been ransacked and what parts had already been that messy in the first place. He had always been aware of how sad his life was, but this really took the cake.
On the bright side of things, the break-in helped stop the dog from judging him any further than it probably already had.
“Dad?” he hissed out. A quick glance around ensured no signs of movement, something that both relieved Stiles and sent his heart rate spiking. “Dad! Please be okay…”
Climbing over the lower half of the door and inching his way into the living room, Stiles wondered if it was a good thing that his dad wasn’t in his usual spot on their old La-Z-Boy recliner. Maybe his dad was out, safely grocery shopping. They had been out of toilet paper for the last two days.
A thumping from his dad’s bedroom prompted Stiles to crouch down and creep towards the wall, where he could peer around the bookshelf through the half open door.
What he saw were the backs of two unfamiliar figures; one male and one female. The girl was digging through his dad’s closet, tossing various jackets over her shoulder almost faster than her tall, lanky companion could catch them.
Okay, so this was just a run-of-the mill burglary. For coats. Good to know. When winter came around, he and his dad could just buy new jackets at the local Salvation Army or Walmart or something. No big deal.
Slowly backing away from the bedroom in hopes of making a silent escape, Stiles nearly leapt out of his skin at the giant black man who suddenly appeared next to him in his peripheral line of sight.
“I don’t get it. You must waste so much money on these ratty coats.” In the man’s arms were what looked like every last threadbare sweater Stiles owned. “Yet none of them would get you through a single winter. Why not save up for something nice? Like a leather jacket?”
Stiles found himself unable to answer. Mainly because his eyes had traveled upward and landed on the guy’s face. And that…that was not a human face.
His brow protruded too much to be considered normal, warping the top of his nose, leaving his eyes hooded and glowing.
When the man realized no response would be forthcoming, his lips parted — holy fuck! Fangs! He had fangs! — and he let out a roar, dropping the clothes angrily to the floor.
Survival instinct flooded out any shock and Stiles turned to hightail it out of there, only to slam into the other two intruders who immediately grabbed hold of his arms and held him in place. They’re faces were just as disfigured as the other guy’s, causing Stiles to panic and act on the only thing he could think of.
“HELP! HEEEELP! HEEEE—” His cries ended in him doubling over and coughing as the woman punched him in the gut.
“He’s vaguely feisty,” the lanky man commented, sounding far too amused.
“Bitch,” Stiles coughed out, feeling highly offended at the ‘vaguely’. “I’ll scratch your eyes out.” He froze as a clawed hand was brought up to hover inches away from his face. “Or you’re going to scratch my eyes out. Oh my God, what—who are you people?”
The claws retreated slightly as all three of his captors seemed to puff up with pride. Stiles was forcibly turned towards the girl, whose face was suddenly normal and kind of goreous if not for the hungry smirk she was giving him as her eyes raked down his form. By the time her gaze came back up to his face, her tongue was running over her teeth in obvious interest and Stiles could feel his balls trying to shrivel up and hide in terror.
“I’m Erica,” she said, her blonde curls bouncing slightly as she tilted her head to the side.
Stiles was whipped around so he could undergo the same examination from Lanky Man, whose face was also startlingly normal. Had he been hallucinating earlier? Was it some kind of side-effect of the Pixy Stix dust?
The smile he was given was disturbingly sweet and innocent. “Isaac.”
Stiles was turned towards the black man. Unlike the other two, he kept his eyes on Stiles’ face.
“And I’m Boyd.” The toothy grin he offered had Stiles whimpering in fear.
And just like that, everyone’s faces contorted back into their previous, monster-esque form.
“Now where is he?!” Boyd demanded, grabbing the front of Stiles’ shirt.
“Ah! Who are we talking about?!” Stiles demanded back, terror causing his voice to go a little shrill.
“The dog! Prince Jackson Whittemore!”
Prince Jackson Whittemore? Who the hell named their dog such a long, prissy—?
That’s when Stiles realized the dog, who up until now had vocally insisted on remaining within Stiles’ sight if not attached to his leg, was nowhere to be seen.
Putting a little faith in the obvious intelligence…Jackson…seemed to possess, Stiles was going to go out on a limb here and assume these guys didn’t have the dog’s safety in mind.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles stated, looking Boyd right in the eye.
Stiles was thrown into the coffee table.
“Ow…” He rolled onto his side in pain, hoping the dog was worth this. “What the hell is he to you? Some dignitary’s pet? A top secret science experiment? A dog of NIMH?”
“Either you tell us what you know, or—” Erica’s claws abruptly became intimate with his crotch.
“The hall! The hall!” Stiles squeaked, desperately trying to squirm away in the most cautious manner possible.
He was given a moment of reprieve as the three scrambled away, practically climbing over one another in a contest to see who get out to the hallway first. But before Stiles could even think about making an escape, or even finding some kind of weapon to arm himself with, he was being hauled up by Isaac and dragged through the broken door.
“Well?” Boyd demanded, his shoulders appearing overly large as he hunched over, his entire upper torso turning to look up and down the hall. “Where is he?!”
“Uh…” The ding of the broken elevator distracted Stiles in his desperate mental search for answers. He stared as the doors slid open, shut, then open again before dinging once more. Whatever his dad must have done to fix it only seemed to have made the elevator’s problem even worse.
Stiles blinked, his helpless shrug warping into a cringe as Isaac shook him for an answer.
“Is he in there?!”
“I don’t — Maybe! Yes! Sure! We can try there.”
This time when he was released, Stiles didn’t waste any time. He dashed to the adjoining wall and ripped open the glass door containing the fire extinguisher for the fourth floor. As the elevator doors slid shut, he used the weight of the extinguisher to destroy the exposed controls before smashing it against the exposed arm that was reaching through the closing doors trying to grab at him. And then, for good measure, he hit the elevator doors a few more times until they were good and dented.
Banging and muffled curses could be heard coming from within the lift, but as the doors continued to hold closed, Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief, clutching the fire extinguisher to his chest. The resounding bark from behind him nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.
“You!” Stiles glared at the dog for a moment. “They called you Prince Jackson. I have words to say about that, but seeing as how I’m no longer talking to dogs in an effort to save what’s left of my sanity, we’re just going to—” He stopped, both his and the dog’s head turning as they heard a noise from the stairwell.
Tip-toeing over, they both peered over the railing to see a dark-haired man in a gray wifebeater that Stiles didn’t recognize. The low whine from Jackson hardened Stiles’ resolve and he decided he was done taking chances. Holding the fire extinguisher over the railing, he carefully lined it up and let it drop.
It successfully connected with the back of the man’s head, knocking him out cold.
Stiles wasted no time in jumping and rejoicing, reaching down to give Jackson’s flank a few reassuring pats.
“Alright. Let’s get out of here. I know the perfect place to lay low for a few days.”