Burn It Down || Stilinski || Book One

Thirty-Three

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It had only been about ten minutes when Sierra had started to hear gunshots from where she stood, which made her take off in the direction where Stiles had poured the mountain ash. Even though his words had stung, he meant way too much to her to let him get hurt. "Stiles!" She called out loudly, seeing no one in her line of vision. She carefully made her way around the building, slightly shivering in her tank top. Stiles had been right about one thing; she would get cold. "Where are you?" she mumbled under her breath, picking up her pace while trying to keep her thoughts from going haywire. "Stiles?"

"Over here!" Stiles replied loudly, having raised his head at the sound of her voice. He was almost done going around the warehouse, and was actually pretty close to where he had started. She let out a breath of relief at the sight of him standing with a near-empty plastic bag. "I don't think I have enough to finish," he told her worriedly once she joined him.

Recognizing they were only about fifty feet from the jeep, Sierra widened her eyes. "Well crap." Her body shook as another breeze blew through, which made Stiles notice and smirk.

"What was that you said earlier?" he sassily recalled, rubbing his chin as he pretended to think. He knew he still had to apologize but right now she seemed as if she didn't want to talk about what happened, and he'd respect that.  "I'm pretty sure that I won't get cold?"

Sierra rolled her eyes, though a playful smile rested on her face along with red cheeks. "Shut up; I didn't think we'd be outside this long."

Stiles chuckled but nonetheless shrugged off his grey jacket, leaving him in his navy plaid shirt. He took a step closer to her and wrapped it around her shoulders, making her look up at him in surprise. She hadn't been sure if he was still upset with her or not. But if he was, his anger didn't override his need to take care of and protect her. She smiled at the warmth from his coat, cuddling into it more as the pale boy nervously looked at the bag of mountain ash. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Maybe we should call Scott," Sierra suggested with her hands in the jacket's pockets, her hair tucked in the collar. "It's been a while since he left."

He nodded, already pulling out his cell. "That's a good idea."

"I do have those once and a while, you know."

However, their best friend didn't answer, which caused Stiles to nervously and continuously glance around where they stood. Sierra watched with raised eyebrows as Stiles rambled to his voicemail, explaining how he only had fifty feet he needed to cover with mountain ash left but he didn't have enough. "We're just standing out here," Stiles continued, referring to himself and Sierra, but whipped his head to the right at the sound of a gun being fired, "and I'm hearing gunfire, werewolves, and all I have is a small handful of magic fairy dust."

"Stiles, you need to calm down," Sierra stated calmly, well aware of his anxiety increasing.

"Why?" Stiles demanded. "Our plan can't work without this damn dust being all the way around this dumb rave and I don't have enough to do it. The plain failed, I failed. Now Jackson is gonna die, and Scott might be trouble. All because of some task that I knew I couldn't comp-"

He was cut off mid-sentence as Sierra abruptly pressed her lips against his mouth, figuring it was the best way to shut him up. And she was right. His light brown eyes had only stayed open in surprise for a moment before they fluttered closed and he leaned his head down to be able to kiss her properly. When they pulled away, Stiles' cheeks were flushed in embarrassment as she beamed up at him, placing her palms on the sides of his face. "Look," she started seriously, and Stiles gulped, paying more attention now than ever. "Deaton said you needed to believe, okay?" He barely nodded and Sierra gently kissed his forehead before finishing her thought. "I believe in you, Stiles," she stated wholeheartedly. "I know you can do it; all you have to do is believe in yourself."