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[personal profile] laniew1
Summary: Stiles is back home, everything and nothing is the same.

TITLE: SS:AOS: The Rise of A’kresh
SERIES: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Stiles/Clint
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles is back home, everything and nothing is the same.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..

SS:AOS: The Rise of A’kresh 6/?

Six months later:

Crawford has a gun, Clint isn’t sure how or when he came to have a gun, but he has a gun now.

“Where did the gun come from?” he asks, he’s pushing at his side, he probably needs stitches, he definitely needs someone other than Crawford for that though. The one time that he mentioned it Crawford had looked horrified and then kind of nauseous.

Crawford sighs at him and turns his back; he’s looking for something though Clint can’t think of what.

“We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere,” he mutters. He leans his head back against the tree that Crawford helpfully put right behind him. He thinks he might have actually fallen over already if it weren’t there.

“You gave me the gun,” Crawford says, he turns in a circle and looks confused.

“Why would I give you a gun? Do you even know how to shoot one, did we at least practice?” he doesn’t remember actually handing a gun to Crawford, that’s probably more worrisome.

“I have to certify on the range just like everyone else,” Crawford says, he turns to look at him, “plus,” he steps forward and jabs him in the arm.

It’s not even a hard one, barely even a tap but it sends flames of pain up and down his arm and holy hell.

“You can’t even hold a gun at the moment let alone shoot one, so…” Crawford shrugs and Clint pants shallowly to keep from throwing up on him in revenge.

“Where are we even going?” he manages instead.

“Someplace,” he shakes his head, “we’re going somewhere safe.”

“Safe,” Clint says, he uses the tree to pull himself into a standing position, mostly, “the world itself is going fucking off the rails, SHIELD is in complete shambles, we’re all scattered the fucking wind… but you’re taking us somewhere safe…”

“I had a dream,” Crawford says slowly, he turns so his back is to Clint, like he can’t look him in the face and see him judging him. Clint can judge him from the side just as easily but he doesn’t tell the kid that.

“A dream.”

“Stiles says it’s time to come to Beacon Hills, so…”

“We’re going to Beacon Hills.”


Isaac should be in school, but he’s got a free period and besides it’s his turn to walk the wards that Stiles had put up to protect Beacon Hills.

He’s never sure what he’s supposed to be looking for, he can feel the wards brush along his skin, seeking out the mark that hums in response and his, their (because he’s not the only tasked with doing this) only direction was ‘look for anything weird’.

He’s just not completely sure what constitutes weird in Beacon Hills anymore.

Because it’s Beacon Hills and they’ve got werewolves and some sort of god (or whatever the hell Rayden actually is).

They’ve got martial artists that have apparently saved the world a time or two (and of which Stiles’ dad can be counted among).

They’ve got a demon (just a minion really Stiles tells them) chained up in a cell in the police station and periodically they’ve got new people because apparently whatever is going on is global and Stiles isn’t the only witch marking people as safe.

There seems to be whole bubbles of towns that were warded as safe havens prior to whatever happened in the school happening.

Only two sets of wards didn’t go up, Stiles told them this at the beginning. That means that the demons that were in those towns managed to kill the witches off before they activated them.

He sees them from the safe side of the wards, two men, they look sort of battered and the one is leaning against the tree like it’s the only thing holding him up.

“Can I help you?” he calls and the younger of the two spins, gun in hand, eyes wide.

“Isaac,” the younger one breathes and his eyes widen slightly because how the hell does this guy know his name?

“Do I know you?” he asks, politely because they’re on the other side of the wards so he can afford the effort it takes to be polite.

“My name is Crawford,” the one says, his eyes are looking at him like he’s Scott or Derek and he doesn’t like it.

“Okay,” he nods, he doesn’t know him though the disappointment in the guy’s eyes is twinging some chord within him. Like he should know him somehow.

“Right,” the guy, Crawford mutters, the other one is leaning against a tree looking pale and, Isaac sniffs the air, he can’t smell it because of the barrier but he’s pretty sure the guy is bleeding out.

“Stiles told me it was time to come to Beacon Hills,” Crawford says, like that’s supposed to mean something. Which maybe it does, anyone else that had been marked just kind of shows up in town, wandering through the streets aimlessly, looking completely lost and out of their depths.

They all had come through the wards though; these two are still on the other side.

“See the thing is, if Stiles told you to come, you’d be able to pass through the wards already,” Isaac says, he tries to say it kindly but his lip curls a little.

Crawford narrows his eyes at him and makes a low noise of distaste in the back of his throat. He’s muttering and pulling at the guy leaning against the three, who looks familiar now. Like Isaac has seen him somewhere.

They stumble slowly, Crawford more pulling him along and he holds out his arm, the one that should probably bear the mark and walks the two of them right through the wards.

The other guy, kind of falls to his knees heaving breaths.

“Well that sucked.”

Isaac snorts because he’s never crossed the wards, not since Stiles activated them in the classroom with his own blood and everyone frozen and unable to help while he’d been attacked.

He thinks that Scott still has the occasional nightmare about it. Derek too, though he would never, except under the pain of death even considering admitting to it.

“Put a fork in me Crawford, I’m done.”

Crawford huffs a laugh, “I’m assuming you have a hospital in town?”

“All fully stocked with doctors, nurses, healers and witches,” Isaac nods, “We probably have whatever your friend needs.”

“What I need is to see Stiles,” the guy who Crawford still hasn’t identified mutters. Then he passes out and Isaac sighs, someone’s going to have to carry him and he’s fairly sure it’s not going to be the human.


Stiles is pushing pins into the map and muttering under his breath, Derek learned fairly early on to just stay back and let Stiles do whatever it is he’s doing. Otherwise he ends up with push pins embedded in his skin and while they’re not overly painful, they can be fairly annoying.

So he leans against the wall and he waits, periodically he moves forward to look at the map and Stiles will make a noise under his breath and scowl at him until he backs away.

The map is of the US, it’s battered and worn, tape holding whole sections of it together. Derek’s not sure where it came from, he knows Stiles asked about one and two days later it appeared on the Sheriff’s desk.

Scott comes in and leans against the wall next to him, he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, mirroring Derek’s exact pose.

“Isaac found someone outside the wards,” Scott says finally when Derek doesn’t say anything and Scott gets tired of waiting.

Stiles looks up, eyes narrowing, Scott grins at him and Stiles sighs.

“If they were outside the wards…” Derek starts.

“They were marked, one of them was injured but they both mentioned Stiles by name.”

Stiles drops the pins on the table and comes around it.

“The one they dropped off at the hospital, the other Isaac is bringing here,” Scott says, there’s a commotion behind them, coming closer and Derek can smell pack so he knows Isaac is here. The other is an unknown.

“Crawford,” Stiles breathes, then laughs. “Oh my god, dude, you made it,” he hugs him, the other one, Crawford kind of latching onto him.

“By the skin of my teeth, but yeah.”

“Who came in with you?” Stiles asks, he backs off, patting Crawford on the arms like he’s checking for injuries, and looking past him, out the door, like he’s looking for whoever came through the wards with him.

Crawford fidgets, rolling his shoulders and momentarily looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he is.

“Clint,” he says finally, “He’s the one that got me here.”


“If he’s that other guy we dropped him off at the hospital, he wasn’t looking so great,” Isaac says, kind of carelessly Derek thinks, considering the way that Stiles’ face is losing all trace of color.


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September 2016


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