chapter twenty-six {part two}

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bid find dsih <— okay so that's supposed to say big time rush find dsih is good too

{{i just edited this because i forgot where i needed to start the next chapter}}

thursday, august 7
beacon hills, california
third person pov

Stiles wasn't about to punch his best friend, frankly that's just rude no matter what mental state he may be in, so he eyes Nat's defensive stance, finds the weakness, and sweeps his leg out to catch her left leg and sent her to the ground.

It really was only to stop an actual fight, to give Stiles an out, but then the rage was there again, Nat stumbled, and Stiles couldn't stop, not with Nat egging him on viciously.

"You lost your boyfriend, boo hoo," She taunted, regaining her balance and retaliating with three swift jabs, one of which landed and sent a flash of pain through his shoulder, "you think you're the only one who cares about Thomas? You're not, so get your head out of your ass because if we didn't need you and if I didn't love you then I'd be beating you so bad, you'd need a doctor."

Stiles gritted his teeth, grabbing Nat's wrist on her next punch and moving through the motion to flip her over his back. Everything narrowed to the two of them, he could faintly hear someone protesting and Clint warning them away, but it was only him, his anger, and the Black Widow. "He's gone!" Stiles screamed, his voice dripping with his frustration, "he's fucking gone and I don't know how to find him!"

"You can't," Nat sweeps his legs out from under him. His back hit the ground, the air rushing out of him. A boot pressed on his throat, Nat staring sternly down at him. Stiles grabs her ankle, reversing the position, a dagger pressed against the skin of her pulse, "You can't find him when you let your anger consume you. We're all angry, Stiles, but if we let it be the only thing we feel, we're not going to get Thomas back."

There was no fear in her eyes as Stiles added more pressure behind the blade, "So calm down," She continued, "we can find him."

The energy sank out of him and he abruptly rolled to the right, staring up at the sky, his back pressing against the grass. Nat grabbed his hand and Stiles really hoped that she couldn't see the tears gathering in his eyes, "He's gone," he repeated.

"He's not gone," Natasha soothed, "He's not here, but he's still alive. We have to believe at least that much."

Stiles wanted to believe her, but his heart felt just empty enough to suggest that she was just saying as a reassurance that had no spine to it.


"What is his name?"

Silence echoed, fingers snapped until the smell of burning flesh filled the air and the silence was broken with a cracking scream. "I'm not telling you, you bloody wankers," followed the scream, but there was hesitance and pain behind the words.

"My Lord, shall I start on the hands?"

A thin hand raised to halt the creature, "Let me speak to him."

The small group parted with a bow until the Lord passed through, towering over the prone body. "I have done much research on your people," it sounded like the insult it was, "I have done much research on you. Doctors rely heavily on their hands, do they not? Tell me his full name, and I will let your hands go unscathed. It will not harm him. It's a simple binding spell to teach him a lesson."

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