Meant For The Dark

Chapter Two

Stiles took up training classes at the gym after his third werewolf attack in the same week, figuring it'd be better to learn how to actually defend himself for once. He didn't know how long the Oni would provide protection for him, and he wasn't willing to take that chance and rely on them for support. Any chance.

He had stitches and scars that mostly looked like knife slashes scissoring across his skin, and the occasional small crescent mark from where a werewolf's claws dug in that were mostly on his arms. He wondered if people thought they were track marks when they not so subtly stared at him. Well, he wasn't a drug addict...unless you count taking prescription pills like there was no tomorrow. Yeah, so maybe he had a problem. But it wasn't anyone else's but his own. (The ecstasy pills that his friend; Jimmy, from the diner gave him that were sitting under his bed didn't count one bit.)

The long and thick actual knife wound from Noshiko's tail across his abdomen was the most prominent scar on his slightly pale flesh, the gruesome bite wound from Donovan on his shoulder coming in second. And both were the ones he never wanted to think about or re-imagine. Ever again.

Either way, his instructor barely looked at the marks on his body and said nothing as he showed him what he knew. Now he went to work and came home sore, but exhilarated. Who knew learning to fight would actually be fun? (Probably everyone but him until now.)

Of course, logically speaking most of the people he knew never actually learned to fight-or wield a sword for that matter-they had simply been able to do it because it was in their "nature". Well, he'd be damned if not being a werewolf was going to stop him from being able to beat one in a fight.

After all, he had taken down worse despite being unprepared and basically defenseless.

The first time he picked up a black plated Japanese Ninjato sword was a week later.

The Oni appeared like they did every night now when the sun's homely glow fell from the sky, and he didn't even glance their way, though he could feel them, almost like a presence slinking at the back of his mind. It wasn't an unsettling feeling per se, it was just like when you knew someone was standing behind you even though you had no previous knowledge to prove it. (Which actually is kind of unsettling if you think about it.)

It was instinct.

It should worry him that he had gotten so used to their presence in such little time, but he just continued working on the AP class course on his laptop like there wasn't five Japanese demon's standing guard by his apartment windows.

There had been a sharp metallic clanging sound against his floor that made him flinch, startled away from his bright screen as he looked toward the Oni reflexively.

There was a sword lying on the concrete floor in front of the one closest to him, the black plated metal of the Ninjato glinting in the dimly lit living room.

He frowned, glancing at each of Oni for a separate second, but none of them moved. And the sword stayed right where it was.

Stiles stood up slowly from his couch as he set his laptop down, confused as to why the demon would just drop one of its swords and leave it there, or why they'd drop it in the first place. It's not like they get tired, right? The thought was almost as humorous as Stiles ever being sane again.

"Uh...Are you gonna get that?" He asked, not expecting a response. And in return, all's he got was slight head turn in his direction and firefly glowing eyes staring into his soul. He nodded, "Okay then."

He moved slowly forward, caution still wired through his brain around them-despite being on the receiving end of their protection-his shoulders coiled tight with tension. He leaned down, eyes never leaving the Oni's as he grabbed the sword's hilt, the texture rougher and colder than he thought it would be. It sent a silent chill down his spine as he finally looked away from the eerie eyes, down to the Ninjato in his grasp, the weight lighter than he expected it to be.