Ch. 1

The End of Stiles Stilinski

It was a spectacular sunset, and the view from Derek's loft, with it's vast windows drinking in the rays, would have been perfect under different circumstances. Under any different circumstances. Because instead of marveling at the shades of orange and yellow bathing the sun-filled loft, the pack was otherwise occupied with a mischievous demon. A demon who had a knife to Stiles' throat.

"Come any closer" he growled menacingly, "and I slice him like a turkey. I wonder how fast he heals, hm?" The demon slowly backed away towards the door and laughed maniacally. Meanwhile, the pack stood in a half circle around him, unsure of what to do. Their stances were hesitant, as if frozen in action. Allison's hands were mid-reach for her bow but she stood still. Scott and Peter's eyes were glowing and Isaac's claws were out but none of them made a move. Chris was glaring daggers but hadn't drawn his gun, for fear of provoking the threat. All but Derek showed clear signs of panicking, none more so than Stiles.

"Guys, really, it's fine. Nothing to worry about!" Stiles said frantically, trying to broadcast even the slightest aura of calamity. His body, however, told a different story. Scott listened to his best friend's rapid heartbeat, remarking that it did seem like it would jump out of his chest. He saw the way Stiles' hands shook, and heard the faint tremor in his voice. Stiles was scared for his life, and Scott was scared too. They had never encountered demons before. Peter had said that their possibility of dealing with them was less than zero, and by the time any of them learned about holy water or devil's traps, it was too late. The demon was on to them, and it had toyed with them so much that Scott had forgotten why it was in town in the first place. He mentally shook his head. It didn't matter. What mattered was Stiles, held captive by the spawn of Satan, beads of blood forming at his throat where the demon was over-excitedly holding the knife. It was Stiles, Scott lamented, who had found the information on devil's traps and holy water in the first place. Stiles who had suggested that it was a demon they were dealing with, days before anyone even entertained the idea. It was Stiles the research expert who could have saved them all, and look where he was now. Scott could see the emotional toil Stiles was going through, and his heart cried out for his friend. Around him, the pack members were immensely tense. Allison was still as a statue, eyes darting around frantically. Scott could practically see the gears in her head turning, looking, searching for any way out of the situation. There was none. Scott had already contemplated everything from turning Stiles to throwing a gallon of holy water. None of them were possible, none of them would enable him to reach Stiles in time, and none of them were a match for the scariest creature Scott had ever seen. Scott's mind reeled as he thought through the horrible things the demon had done in the past week alone. The people he killed, the souls he corrupted, the lives he ruined. However terrible, none of those would amount to the true horror he was about to perform: the murder of Stiles Stilinski. And with that thought Scott came to the conclusion that the demon had to be stopped. He would end it's reign of terror. He would save Stiles, no matter what. Scott prepared himself for bloodshed. What floored him, though, is what happened next.

"Now nobody move." The pack cringed at the sound of the hideous voice. They wondered what tortures in Hell could have twisted this soul so much. The demon continued. "I'm going to leave now. You will never see me again. I'm going to take this little piece of fresh meat here"- Derek growled at the passive name-"And I'll be on my way. You attack, he dies. You follow me, he dies. You don't and he still dies." Stiles whimpered and the pack winced, feeling pity at his predicament and anger at the being who could reduce someone who stood so tall to someone so pathetic. The demon was oblivious. "If you play nice, I call off some of the deals I made. I might even return Stiles' body. Or I collect the souls of half the town, and this one dies slowly and painfully, with his body parts scattered across the country." The pack stood still in horror, meanwhile Stiles had begun to cry quietly. Scott found it remarkable that the crying had only begun then, and he marveled at Stiles' strength. Realizing he had been looking at the floor rather than the terrible scene unfolding before him, Scott raised his head to look at Stiles' tearing eyes. His world came crashing down on him as he began to realize the inevitable. Stiles was going to die. He could only imagine what Stiles must be thinking. He must hate me, Scott realized. I dragged him into this, and if I hadn't, Stiles would be a normal Junior. It's my fault. As if realizing what Scott was thinking, Stiles looked at him and shook his head.

"No Scott, it isn't your fault."

"Yes it is!" Scott protested, near to tears himself. The demon had a fierce glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying Scott's anguish. "Stiles, no, A-" His lips moved silently as he tried to form the syllables to Stiles' impossible first name.

"Scott stop." Stiles said firmly.

"No Stiles. If you're going to die then I should at least apologize to you using your real name." Scott saw something flash in Stiles' eyes, but was unable to place it. Meanwhile, Stiles shook his head again.

"You're wrong Scott, for two reasons." Scott opened his mouth to speak but Stiles drove on. "First of all, you don't have to apologize. It isn't your fault. If anything it's mine for not realizing what we were dealing with sooner. And secondly," and Scott swore he saw a glimmer of a smirk behind the tear stained face. He shook his head. That was impossible. "Secondly, that isn't my real first name. My real first name is Stiles."

There was a pause and the pack glanced at each other, clearly confused. The demon, however, let out a mirth-filled laugh.

"Unbelievable!" he roared, enjoying himself, if possible, even more. "Your name really is Stiles Stilinski!" Stiles raised his eyes, and there was no mistaking the ghost of a smirk now.

"No, it isn't."

What happened next was a blur. One minute both demon and victim were facing the pack with their backs to the door. Next, Stiles had twisted away from his captor in such a way that both their profiles were visible to the pack, parallel to the door and washed in sunlight. The demon yelled as his arm was forcibly twisted. The knife clattered to the ground. Then, in a move so fast that Scott barely caught it, Stiles drew a brown, slender gun from his waistband and aimed it at the demon's face.

Shock was palpable in the room as the pack froze completely. All of them, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Chris, Derek, Peter, Isaac. All were utterly still. Scott noticed that from the moment the gun had been drawn, Stiles' heart was painfully steady. A cold, calculating look had replaced his formerly panicked expression, and even the tears seemed to freeze on his face. It was like he was a whole other person.

Although Stiles and the demon were hardly an arm's length apart, Scott noted, the chances of the demon fighting back were slim. Scott wondered how such a dingy, old looking gun could strike so much fear and shock in the heartless monster. Said monster's mouth was in an open "o" of surprise, and Scott saw that expression mirrored on everyone's face. It was probably on his own face too, he realized.

Everyone was still again, until finally Chris spoke up, his shocked expression tinged with awe and wonder. "Is that-"

"The Colt" Stiles finished firmly, pulling back a metal tab. A click could be heard as a bullet moved into place. The demon was still motionless, almost captivated by the long brown barrel of the western-looking gun. His hands were in the air.

"What do you mean," he growled slowly, sounding even more dangerous than before, though the effect was lost with his obvious surrender, "when you say your name isn't Stiles Stilinski?"

Stiles grinned and it was terrifying. Scott could only imagine what the demon thought. He looked at the array of pinks and reds that washed over the pair, and knew that the beauty of the sunset would be the last thing the demon would ever see.

"I mean," Stiles said, sounding every bit more dangerous than the creature from hell, "that my real name is Stiles Winchester."

Derek, Peter, and Chris Argent instantly paled. A priceless look of shock and terror was graced across the demon's visage for a split second, before Stiles pulled the trigger and the Colt was emptied into its face.

A/N

Hi guys! This is my first fic, thanks so much for reading. The story is almost complete, but I will still happily take reviews and suggestions. Since the story is complete I will be updating again very soon (like, tomorrow.) Author notes will always be at the bottom. Also, a warning: the timeline for this story is kind of crazy. It will be explained. Sorry, but it's the only way to make it work. Enjoy!