Stiles sits hunched forward, perched on the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing up and down, his fingers twisted together. Passengers sit motionless in the railway benches all around him, their glossy eyes staring blankly ahead. His head throbs in time with the ticking of that grimy old clock.
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Stiles blows out a breath and straightens up, rubbing his clammy hands on the knees of his jeans. He glances up and four railway benches away he finds the back of Malia's head. If it weren't for the faint sting left from her nails on his back, Stiles might be convinced that she was just another hopeful figment of his imagination. He reaches into his pocket for what feels like the hundredth time and covertly checks the countdown.
(00:3:23.51)
It's almost time. Keep it together, Stiles.
Stiles sighs and furtively casts another glance at Malia. It's at once the best and worst feeling having her here with him in this place. The best because after months of being alone here with nothing but his regrets, he's finally knows down to his bones that she loves him and needs him just as much as he does her. And the worst because after having her all to himself for the last hour or so she's currently, frustratingly out of reach. Well, that and the prospect of a grisly death at the hand of ghost riders dangling over their heads. But mostly, it's because she's right there and he can't even touch her.
Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head at himself. He really should be better at this. In all their time together he's always had to play the level headed one. He's always been the one to hit the brakes just when things start getting interesting and remind her that she really needs to study. Or to step in and remind her that no matter how satisfying it would be, that it's probably not a good idea to punch coach. He's the one that's had to drag them out of bed early in the morning so they won't be late for school. Malia's always been the wild and reckless one. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't find that a serious turn-on.
He'd spent so much of their time together trying to reel her in and keep her from getting them into too much trouble. But he promises himself that if they live through this then he will happily let her lead him into all the trouble she wants.
The dim lights in the station start to flicker, and Stiles squints, his eyes darting around the room. The ghost rider's horses start tossing their heads, and braying. The eerily high-pitched sound makes the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There's a flash of lightning inside the station, and then all of a sudden Wodan is looming above him. Stiles grips the bench and tries to remain still. But the ghost rider seizes him by the neck and hauls him up from the bench. His legs thrash, his hands scrabbling over the inhuman hand that's clenched around throat. Wodan tilts it's head, its empty eye sockets focusing on the thin lanyard that dangles from, Stiles' pocket. Giving it an experimental tug the stopwatch pops out of Stiles' pocket and into the palm of the ghost-rider's hand.
The nightmarish creature chuffs and inspects the face of digital clock, confused. It just then that the timer winds down and lets out a blaring,
Beep-beep!
Beep-beep!
Beep-beep!
From somewhere behind him, Stiles hears a ferocious roar and before he knows what's happening he's being knocked from the ghost rider's grasp. He topples to the concrete floor, clawing in a painful breath. He blinks blearily up at the sight before him. Malia's on the creature's back, her claws driven into its shoulders, teeth bared, eyes on fire. The ghost rider staggers, swinging wildly reaching for her. Malia releases one hand and loops a length of copper wire around the creature's neck, winding it tightly. The ghost rider thrashes, but Malia just pulls the wire taunt. It scratches at its neck and slams Malia into one of the brick walls. Malia groans in pain but refuses to relinquish her hold. Stiles crawls to his feet and rushes for her.
Stiles skids to a stop a few feet from where Malia is wrestling Wodan, to the ground. Malia yanks hard on the wire around Wodan's throat with one hand and tears the trifold rope from his belt with the other.
"You know what to do!" She yells as she throws him the rope, and nudges her head back toward the railway bench. Stiles sees her black leather jacket slung over her seat. "Go! I'll buy you time." Horses bray and there's a thunder of hooves as a pair of ghost riders make for their position. His eyes dart between Malia and the jacket. Reading his hesitation, she shouts. "Stiles we only have one chance at this!"
Stiles grits his teeth, his hand clenching into a fist around the trifold rope as he fights against every instinct to stay with her, "Be careful!" He commands as he sprints for the jacket.
Malia cinches the wire tighter around Wodan's neck and the ghost rider falls limply to the ground, it's head severed clean off. Malia staggering to her feet, tripping on the body beneath her, out of breath.
"Now he says it," She mutters to herself as she wipes the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. She watches as Stiles leaps over the bench and charges for the mouth of the train tunnel.
Two ghost riders jump down from their mounts, one of them unfurling its whip and bringing it down with a threatening crack, as they close in on her. Malia spits the blood from her mouth, and reaches down to grab the grisly coil of wire that's now dripping with thick black, supernatural blood.
As she straightens up, her eyes flash electric blue. "Alright boys, who's next?"