Beating Like a Hammer
An AU Teen Wolf/Dresden Files crossover

A/N: Spoilers for Season 2, canon through 2.08. Eventual, slow-build Sterek. Rating is mostly for gore and violence at this point. Also, if you don't read The Dresden Files, this might be a bit confusing to follow… but I'll try to explain where I can.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Making no profit… just spinning them around for pure entertainment value!

Chapter One:

The first thing that runs through Stiles' mind that morning when he wakes up (half tangled in the sheets, most of his limbs splayed out over the edge of the mattress and his face smushed into the contours of his pillow) is that he's really, really hungry.

Like, could eat a wolf, hungry. And now he's imagining little Scott and Derek shaped animal crackers.

And isn't that just the worst mental image ever? Stiles makes a face at himself and groans, flopping over onto his back. This is followed swiftly by a yawn and then he turns to look at his clock. It's Saturday, it's eleven o'clock in the morning and… shit! He's going to be late to his meeting with Scott!

Stiles scrambles out of bed - which is more of an undignified thump-thud of limbs tangling and impacting harshly with his floor - and into the bathroom. He showers as quickly as he can and then brushes his teeth. Hygiene taken care of, Stiles makes his way downstairs to the kitchen and finds a note from his dad.

He winces at the guilt that lances through his gut when he thinks about the almost-conversation they'd had last night. He's pretty much the worst son ever. But he'll find a way to make it up to his dad – because he's Stiles and that means he's amazing at planning things like this. He just… needs a plan. And breakfast, because even Stiles can't be amazingly brilliant on an empty stomach.

Stiles goes about making himself breakfast (French toast, because there's no one here to tell him not to pig out on sugary breakfast foods) and attempts to make some sort of plot to get his dad his job back. He briefly entertains the notion of sweet-talking the station manager into helping him, but quickly nixes the idea. The station manager is somehow immune to his charms. Stiles is appalled by this, and has convinced himself it has nothing to do with that time he accidentally dyed her poodle's fur bright orange. (In his defense, that poodle had it coming – and orange was totally an in color that season.)

His thoughts are waylaid, however, by the errant reminder of what actually happened last night. There's a whole lot of information to process because what happened? Was… a lot to process. And Stiles hasn't had his coffee yet, so he can't be blamed for not thinking at full capacity. He absently reaches into the cabinet for the Folgers in order to remedy the situation.

And that stuff he did with the mountain ash dust, Stiles thinks (because his brain just refuses to stop, even when it's half asleep). That was amazing and really, really unbelievable. Like, there was no way that could or should have happened.

Stiles flips the bread in the frying pan, chewing on his lower lip in idle thought. He had always wondered if there was more to him than normal. Because really, who attracted so many supernatural creatures into their life (other than Buffy… but that was really mostly the Hell Mouth, not her, and also the fact that she was a fictional character, so…) Stiles starts piling his breakfast onto his plate and carries it – and the coffee he so does not remember making (his subconscious is amazing!) – to the kitchen table.

He's just about to shovel the third bite of sugary, maple-flavored goodness into his mouth when the patio door explodes in a shower of glass and wood. Stiles isn't sure if the terrified scream that echoes throughout the house is from him or the really, really slimy, ugly creature that's now glaring at him from the other side of the table.

Seriously. There's glass and wood all over the kitchen now (his dad is so going to kill him), and the creature is just staring at him in all of its green, grey and brown slime-covered glory. And wow this thing has a lot of eyes.

"What the ever loving –" He starts. The creature – and Stiles thinks that it kind of looks like a toad, actually, and then remembers that this is totally not time for an internal monologue – makes a strange, garbled croaking noise that sounds like it's trying to speak. Stiles isn't sure about that (though it wouldn't surprise him…and what does that say about his life?)

What he is sure about, however, is the pure disgust and terror running through his veins as the Stiles-sized thing slobbers all over the kitchen tiles and starts to advance on him while leaving a gooey, pungent residue behind. Stiles thinks, once again, that his dad is so going to kill him when he gets home.

That is, if Stiles survives whatever this creature has in mind and why the hell isn't he running yet?

Stiles' flight or fight instincts finally wrangle control of his brain and he bolts. His legs and arms flail as he dashes into the next room, hearing the toad-thing croak out a roar of rage… and holy shit, how fast are these things, anyway? The toad-thing is on his heels, reaching out for him with its man-sized hands and licking its lips in what Stiles can only assume is hunger. He isn't sticking around to double check.

Stiles makes it to the door and grabs his keys; in a matter of seconds (his personal best, if he were focused on anything other than ohmygodthatthingwantstoeatme !) he's out the door and in his Jeep, peeling out of his driveway like there's an evil, man-eating, slime-oozing toad thing on his heels.

Oh, wait, there is.

Not that the toad-thing is necessarily evil… he's just not convinced that something that appears to want to eat him isn't evil. Excluding Derek, of course.

And because he suddenly remembers that he has his own super-team at his disposal, Stiles stumbles for his phone. Except that he didn't grab his phone (damn it!) and he didn't suddenly gain telepathy last night. Which would have been awesome, by the way, but so not the issue at hand.

The toad-thing is gaining on him and Stiles can feel his heart racing as he guns it, guiding the Jeep on pure instinct as his eyes dart constantly to the mirror, refusing to let the ugly creature from the black lagoon out of his sight. Because if any of the neighbors see it, there will be a whole other set of problems on his hands and he thinks he's justified in thinking his plate is a little full at the moment.

Before he knows it, he's turning off onto the side street that will take him to the wolf pack's hide-out, aka Bat Cave (he's still trying to get the moniker to stick.) Stiles prays to every deity he can think of (including a few he's pretty sure are fictional – thanks, WoW) that at least Derek (especially Derek) will be home.

Because dying in the abandoned subway platform? Not his idea of an ideal ending. Not that any ending of Stiles would be ideal, but he's just saying… not on his list of choices.

Stiles parks the Jeep and is out of it without even bothering to shut the door behind him, his legs pumping and heart racing as he gets to the door. And then he's slamming it behind him, turning and running down the steps and – into a very warm, very solid and very comforting body.

"Derek!" Stiles nearly sobs in relief, barely controlling his urge to throw his arms around the scowling werewolf. He doesn't think the gesture would be interpreted correctly, nor appreciated. See? He does have a survival instinct!

The harsh thud of flesh hitting the steel door – repeatedly – reaches their ears and Stiles backs away from Derek, noting the look of disgust on his face.

"Stiles, what the hell is that smell?" The alpha continues to ignore the door, his face scrunched as if he's trying to avoid the stench.

"Um. Giant toad?" Stiles tries. Derek continues to scowl and turns his attention to the doorway at the top of the stairs. The thudding is growing louder, and there's a dent in the door. Stiles really hopes that Derek doesn't expect him to pay for damages rendered.

"You smell like a sewer."

"Well thanks," He snarks, crossing his arms and huffing (and totally realizing that he's in his boxers and a t-shirt in front of Derek Hale and oh god, really? How is this his life?)

Derek doesn't respond – per usual – but makes his way toward the door, eyes narrowing and a low growl escaping his throat. Stiles (who has apparently lost his survival instinct, just in case you were wondering) reaches out and grabs his arm. Derek turns to him with a raised brow and glances down at his hand, then back up at his face. Stiles lets him go.

"I wouldn't recommend going up there." He says, fingers still tingling where he'd touched Derek's bare skin. And yeah, he's also not going to complain about how awesome Derek looks in jeans and a tank top…. Nope. And he's not going to dwell on the thought that he's even thinking about how Derek looks, either. So not the time or place, especially with the thuds and – the thuds have stopped. That can't be good.

"Whatever's out there is trying to destroy my -" Derek's words are cut off when the thing is no longer trying and has actually succeeded in ripping back the door. And now they're both staring, wide-eyed at the man-sized toad-thing that is hobbling it's way down the steps toward them. It has its eyes trained on Stiles, but when it notices Derek, it hesitates. That's the only pause that Derek needs to start shifting.

The thing makes a nasty, croaky sort of battle cry and glares at Derek. Derek bares his fangs and roars back a challenge, shoving Stiles back behind him (and Stiles will not think about how it doesn't bother him as much as it should that he's the damsel here. Derek can save his sweet ass any time and speaking of sweet asses, the view from here…)

The creature lunges and Derek ducks, swings out with his claws and there's a gooey, icky mess of, well, goo, splattering across the cement. The creature whirls back, pain lacing its angry howls and there are large slices missing from its slime-coated hide. Derek is still snarling and the two are crouching, neither giving an inch.

Stiles peeks around Derek to eye the thing and it apparently can't resist temptation (or it really is just that dumb) because it lunges again and Derek reaches out, clothes lining the thing and neatly ripping its throat out and disemboweling it.

Neatly. All at the same time.

And Stiles is never, ever going to be able to look at Derek the same way ever again because that? Was both the most disturbing, disgusting and badass thing he's ever seen.

There's silence in the room now, with Derek's chest and shoulders heaving as he drags in air and calms his raging, 'battle ready' alpha into 'normal raging' alpha and Stiles tries to not lose what little breakfast he ate because the sight and smell of that dead thing? Yeah. It's… he's going to hurl.

Derek looks over his shoulder at him, shifting his muscles in what could be termed a casual shrug if Stiles didn't know better. He's still crazy tense. "You alright?"

"Mm." Stiles can barely form words. "Pea- peachy." Derek grunts and then he disappears into a closet (that Stiles honestly had never noticed before) before returning just as quickly with a giant snow shovel. He then proceeds to scoop the entire mess of toad and entrails and goo into a single pile. He then strikes a match (where was he getting this stuff, anyway? Was he freaking McGyver now?) and drops it onto the pile. There's a strange purpley smoke that rises from the remains.

Derek turns back to him, scowl firmly in place. "Stiles." He says.

And suddenly Stiles is babbling, not even sure what he's saying. "I have no idea, dude. All I did was wake up hungry this morning and attempt to eat some French toast and have some coffee… which I'm sure is totally ruined by now." He doesn't even pause when he glares balefully at the flaming pile of toad. "But no! Apparently that's too much normalcy for my life because the next thing I know that… that THING is breaking through my back door and… oh shit! My dad is going to kill me and he's already…"

"Stiles," Derek growls, suddenly much closer.

"… And I really, really don't have any idea…." And now he's been slammed up against the subway car and Derek is glaring again. Not that he ever stopped glaring, but this one is more of a scowl.

"Stiles. Shut up."

"Shutting up." Stiles says, closing his mouth and swallowing with an obvious click. How is it that Derek doesn't even have any of the crazy goo stuff on him? Seriously, the universe hates Stiles. He's got so much clean up to do when he gets home. He doesn't think that bleach will be strong enough to cover the smell, but maybe if can get to the station and borrow some of their awesome blood-removing cleanser…

"Stiles!" Derek shakes him and Stiles winces, focuses.

"Sorry, what?"

Derek releases him and sighs, turning to stare at the flames.

"What the hell was that thing?" Stiles finally manages.

"I have no idea."

Seriously, Stiles thinks, how is this his life? And because his brain just doesn't know how to quit when it's ahead, Stiles blurts the last thought that runs through his brain.

"Hey Derek?"

Derek grunts.

"Do they make wolf shaped animal crackers?"