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Cousins to the War, pt 3
Title: Cousins to the War

Author: jo_anne_storm

Artist: sarah_jones

Fandoms: Teen Wolf/Buffy: the Vampire Slayer

Genre: Crossover

Pairings: None

Main Characters: Stiles, Xander

Rating: Teen

Warnings: None

Summary: Stiles is sent to stay with his cousin for the summer in the hopes that a reformed teen troublemaker will be a good influence on him. The cousin's name: Xander Harris. Set post season 2 for Teen Wolf and post season 6 for Buffy.

Notes: First of all, thank you to my beta and head cheerleader dream_mancer. Thank you to slythhearted for dragging me into this crazy fandom. And finally, thank you to sarah_jones for the wonderful artwork that accompanies this story.

Written for the Teen Wolf Crossover Big Bang.

Disclaimer: MTV and Jeff Davis own Teen Wolf and all characters an concepts associated with it.  Fox and Joss Whedon own Buffy:the Vampire Slayer and all characters and concepts associated with it.  I'm just playing in their playground.

Link to AO3 | Link to the art masterpost | Link to the art on LJ

 photo cousinstothewarcover_zps8f3eef67.png

Stiles stumbled out of his bedroom early the next morning, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He’d say that he’d been up too late the night before plugging names into the police database, but he had not actually gone to bed yet. Which meant that he needed coffee. And possibly a double dose of Adderall, despite his doctor’s dire threats about medicine tolerances and recommended dosages.

“Did you pull an all-nighter?”

“Minecraft is damned addictive,” he said as he slumped onto a chair, almost tipping it over before rebalancing. “And the Creepers are just... creepy.”

“Well, it’s not like you have any pressing plans for the day, right? Unless you want to go to church services with me?”

Stiles cracked his eyes open and actually looked at his cousin, who was dressed much the same way he did for work. He pulled breakfast sandwiches out of their family-sized box and read the back of one of the sandwiches before he opened one end of each and popped them in the microwave.

“Nah. I think I’d rather laze around and try to find some diamonds instead. Thanks for the invite, though.”

“No problem.” The microwave beeped, but Xander ignored it. “I’m going to services at the Methodist church on the corner. If you need me, call my cell.”

Stiles frowned as his cousin turned to the microwave and pulled out the sandwiches. “Didn’t you go to a Baptist church last week?”

Xander shrugged and handed him one of the heated sandwiches on a paper plate. “I like to keep my options open. I figure God doesn’t really care which service I attend, as long as I make the effort. Plus, it’s good to get to know the local clergy.”

Stiles hummed, his mouth full of yummy, yummy sausage and biscuit.

“Anyway, I need to head out. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

Stiles nodded absently, more focused on the fact that he had food than his cousin’s departure.

Thirty minutes later, after a shower and some much-needed Stiles Private Time, he was back at his computer, searching for yet another name in the police database and Google. He had once again started with the most current list of names and worked his way backwards, using a notebook to make notes on any news articles or police reports he came across.

There was distressingly little information. A few more car wrecks, a long fight against cancer, a medical mishap that cost the operating surgeon his license. A handful of animal attacks, including the former school principal. Stiles had no idea how a pack of freaking hyenas of all things had gotten loose from the zoo, much less across town and into the man’s office.

Most of the sparse police reports he found mentioned gangs on PCP, but a search for other gang activity turned up absolutely nothing. No tagging, no increase in drug distribution or arrests, and no reports of weapons’ violence. Not to mention Sunnydale did not fit the demographic where gangs were usually found, not with its middle class, suburban population.

It was more like “gangs on PCP” was an internal code used to shut down further investigation.

The only other trend he found in the SPD police reports, at one point when he’d gotten distracted from his primary search, involved accidents with barbecue forks. Barbecue forks, of all things! He had thought it was weird when it showed up on Xander’s record, but finding other instances was a major red flag.

“Twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern,” he muttered as he picked up his phone and found the contact he wanted. “And more is insane.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek picked up on the second ring, his voice sleep rough. Stiles glanced at his watch and realized that it was possibly still too early for grumpy alphas to be awake, but it was too late now to hang up.

“Are vampires real?”

“Stiles, I swear to God, if you called me to ask inane questions--”

“You’ll rip my throat out with your teeth. Got it. But I’m serious this time. Do vampires exist?”

He could hear Derek grumble over the line and then what he could only assume was the sound of him flopping back against his bed.

“Vampires are real and usually avoid areas where there’s a pack.”

“Is it some sort of long-standing blood feud deal?”

“This is not Twilight, Stiles!”

“I was hoping more for Underworld, myself. I’ll take hot vamps in leather catsuits over sparkly teen angst any day.”

Derek actually huffed a laugh before replying. “Vampires are soulless demons. They stick to cities because their kills are easier to hide there. Werewolves prefer rural areas because there’s more room to run.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense.” Stiles propped the phone between his ear and shoulder and tapped his thumbs on his stomach as he thought over that. He should have brought a copy of the Argent Bestiary. Lydia would have bitten his head off for even suggesting it, though. She was spending the summer translating the document and notes into something the rest of them could understand.

“Tell me about them. How can I tell if someone is a vampire?”

Derek hesitated. “Are you having problems at your cousin’s?”

“No more than normal. It’s a small town and boring at first glance. But there’s something about this town, dude. Too many cemeteries and churches, too few police investigations.”


“It’s fine, dude. I have my mountain ash and know not to go wandering in the woods during a full moon.”

“If you think you’re in danger, come home. We’ll figure out what to do about your dad.”

He considered it, considered grabbing his backpack and hopping in the jeep and just going. Heading home and dealing with the fallout later. Dealing with telling his dad the truth.

“If it comes to that, I will.” He flung his arms off his stomach and his right hand connected with a pen. He picked it up and started absently spinning it . “What else can you tell me about vampires?”

“Don’t you have someone else you can ask?”

“Lydia’s still working on translating the bestiary and threatened my dangly bits if I bothered her. If I had a way to contact Peter, I still wouldn’t go to him for information. And the less said about Allison, the better. As for the internet, I don’t feel like wading through The Vampire Diaries and Twilight fansites today. No amount of information would make that worthwhile.”

Derek sighed. “I ran across a few in New York. They smell like blood.”


“They look perfectly normal, until the fangs come out,” Derek continued, as if Stiles had not interrupted at all. “Though they feel cold, if you touch them. They can easily pass for human and use it to their advantage. Some movies did get it right, though. They cast no reflection, they combust in the sun, and decapitation or a wooden stake through the heart will kill them. Of course, that will also kill most creatures.”

“And when you say ‘soulless demons’, what exactly do you mean?”

“Exactly what it says on the box, Stiles. Whatever it is that makes a person human, call it a soul, conscience, light of hope, just disappears. What’s left has memories of being human, but no emotional connection to the memories. They become psychopaths who revel in wanton destruction.”

Stiles swallowed heavily at the thought. “How have they managed to remain hidden?”

“As far as I could ever figure, mostly because they killed each other just as often as they killed humans. There’s also a few hunters who specialize in vampires. Laura dated one named Robin for a while. Vampires never want to admit that humans are dangerous, though. They have this mythical boogeyman called... what was it? Slayer. The only thing any of them could agree on was that Slayer was a girl. Some said she was a demon herself, some that she was a warrior of God.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“You don't know everything about me. I had a life before you.” When Stiles did not snark back, he continued. “There are places, bars, mostly, where supernaturals gather. Sometimes there’s a spell to make sure no one fights, sometimes not. The seedier bars are good for working off some aggression. Most supernaturals are up for a fight and you don’t have to hold back with them.”

“You make it sound like demons are pretty common.”

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,/Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

“A play about a murderous uncle. Fitting.”

“I thought so. There’s a lot of creatures out there, Stiles. Like vampires, they tend to stick to large cities. Not only are they less noticeable, but cities also have large sewer systems, subways, even Prohibition tunnels for them to move around if they can’t be on the streets.”

“Are there any in Beacon Hills,” he asked, his thoughts immediately turning to his father’s safety.”

“A handful that can pass as human. Despite what the Argents would tell you, plenty of creatures are perfectly peaceful, especially if they’re living in smaller towns. And I would have dealt with any that were a danger.”

Stiles thought to some of the pictures he’d seen while flipping through the Bestiary. They had all seemed horrendous, which he supposed was to be expected from a hunter’s notebook. Everything in it had to be taken with a grain of salt.

Still, if obvious demons existed -- ones with horns and claws and purple skin, not Supernatural black smoke wearing meat suits -- then big cities were the place to be. In LA a guy wandering around with horns on his head would be dismissed as an actor between scenes. In New York, maybe he’d be on his way to a costume party.

In Beacon Hills a demon would be quickly noticed. The sheriff’s department would be called. There would be chaos, screaming, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria.

“Yeah, OK,” he finally said. He would have to trust Derek’s judgment on this, at least while he was banished from Beacon Hills. Once he was back, he was definitely going to force the alpha to tell him who was less than human and do his own investigation.

“How are things there?”

Derek huffed. “Your friend is an idiot.”

“How come when he does something stupid, he’s my friend, but when he does something smart, he’s your beta?”

“When was the last time he did something smart?”

“I... refuse to answer that question on the grounds that he’s my best friend. What did he do?”

“Almost shifted in the middle of the mall because he saw some guy flirting with Allison. Luckily Isaac was there and managed to get him into an empty store.”

Stiles winced. “Damnit. That idiot.” He hoped to hell that Scott wasn’t stalking Allison again. Lurking on her roof might seem romantic, if you were Bella Swan, but in reality it was creepy and the exact opposite of giving her time.

“I’ll find a rolled up newspaper to smack him with. Not that it will help. Is there anything else I should know about?”

Derek didn’t speak for over a minute, which made Stiles fidget. “Whatever it is, dude, just tell me.”

“Jackson left. Emptied his bank account, took his car, and left. I only know because Lydia asked me if I knew where he was.”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his face. He honestly did not know what to say to that. “Good riddance” to the douche who had made his high school career hell. “Fuck you” to the asshole who abandoned Lydia after her love brought him back from being a murderous fucking lizard.

“Sorry,” was what he settled on. He wasn’t even sure why. Sorry that Derek had picked such horrible teens to be his pack. Sorry that three out of the four betas had abandoned him to the alpha pack that Isaac said was circling. Sorry that he could not be there to offer comfort to Lydia, who was probably hiding her hurt behind perfect makeup and a bitchy attitude.

“You’re sure he left of his own free will?”

“He left a note for Lydia.”

“Douche nozzle,” he muttered. He wondered if he should call her, or at least text. She’d probably ignore both, though.

“Yeah.” Stiles thought Derek was responding to him, but then he heard another, muffled voice come through the phone.

“I have to go. Keep your nose out of trouble.”

Stiles didn’t bother to answer as Derek hung up.


Stiles gave a jaw-popping yawn as he stopped by the fence that surrounded the high school construction zone. He’d spent all of Sunday pouring over Google search results, looking for patterns and delving into the scary world for Twilight fansites on the off chance that one was cleverly hiding real information. He’d given Twihards too much credit there and was sure that he was scarred for life now. He’d only left his room for food and bathroom breaks before collapsing on top of his laptop. He could still feel the imprint of the keys on his cheek. At least he had not drooled.

“Hey, kid, don’t you know those things are contagious?” One of the construction workers, Earl Sinclair, gave his own wide yawn as he paused by the gate. “You stay up too late watching the ol’ boob tube or somethin’?”

“Or something,” Stiles agreed.

Sinclair grunted. “At least you showed up for work. Most of you kids today have no sense of responsibility. It’s all Grand Theft Armor and World of Legions. Virtual worlds have nothing on the real world, kid. You gotta go out, live a little. Absorb some sunshine. Find a mate.”

Stiles tuned Sinclair out as he pulled on his obnoxious orange vest and the rest of his safety gear. Sinclair was one of those guys who just liked to complain. Last week Stiles had heard all about his family, from the wife who had managed to bleach one of his precious red flannel shirts to the baby who refused to call him “Dada” and everyone in between. Sinclair had also expounded on the economy, the government, current fashion trends, and his old job, which he declared was as mindless as pushing down trees.

“So, I said to him, ‘Robbie, if you want a new game system, then you have to earn the money yourself.’ Which, of course, makes me the bad guy when Frannie turns around and hands him the money.” Sinclair gave a frustrated sigh. “Is it too much to ask a kid to take a little responsibility?”

Another worker calling Sinclair’s name saved Stiles from having to reply. Sinclair turned and waved, knocking his hard hat askew, letting sunlight illuminate the features of his face.

Before his research binge, Stiles would have thought that he was seeing things. Because surely Sinclair’s skin was not actually tinged green across his forehead, nose, and cheeks, and slightly yellow around his mouth and chin. And the hard hat was not hiding two rows of bony ridges on at least one side of the man’s head.

He sucked in a quick breath as Sinclair righted his hat, shading his features and hiding the ridges. He looked perfectly human once again and was casting Stiles a worried look.

“You OK, kid? You need me to go get the boss? He said something about you being injured and told us all to look out for you.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just... stubbed my toe.” It was not his best lie.

“Yeah, sure, kid.” The doubt was obvious on Sinclair’s face and in his voice.

“Go, before you’re officially late. Only one of us can fall back on nepotism.”

Sinclair sighed again before turning and hurrying over to the time clock. His friend, Hess, was waiting for him with a worried expression on his face.

Stiles leaned against the fence and drew in a deep breath. Earl Sinclair was a demon. One he had talked to for a week without realizing that he was anything other than human. It lent credence to Derek’s insistence that some demons were just regular people. Sinclair seemed like an OK guy. Not like someone who enjoyed ripping out spines or ate livers.

He exhaled, letting his shoulders slump to try to relax the tension in them. It was OK. He could do this. If he could train a hormonal teenaged werewolf, then he could work with a demon that had showed no tendency towards violence.

He took another deep breath as he pushed the squishy little earplugs into place and straightened. He had this.


Stiles discovered three more suspected demons during the course of the day. Two worked for Xander in the construction crew, Jorge Ortiz and Matt Stevens. Ortiz’s eyes were deep purple, something Stiles had assumed was caused by colored contacts until he caught a glimpse of the man’s pointed ears. Stevens lifted two hundred pound piles of bricks like they were feathers when he thought no one was looking. Stiles only caught him doing it once, but it was memorable.

The third worked in the Indian restaurant where they picked up dinner. The tip of a pointy blue tail peeked out from under her ankle-length skirt when she crouched down to pick something up off the floor.

Stiles opened his mouth several times to ask Xander about the demons, about the town. But he didn’t know how to bring it up. Talking about it would reveal his own connection to the supernatural. Plus, he had no idea how Xander would take the information. Just because he seemed to know about demons living in Sunnydale didn’t mean that he’d blithely accept Stiles running around the woods with a wolf pack and studying magic in his down time.

“So... Xander,” he started as his cousin parked the car outside of his apartment.

A furious knocking at the window made him jump and he turned to see Buffy standing outside with a too-wide smile. Dawn was standing behind her, sulking with her arms crossed over her chest.


“Xan! Hi! I am such a spaz. I forgot that thing that we have to do tonight. I brought Dawn over so that the kids could keep each other company while we dealt with it. The thing. That we have to take care of. Tonight. Now.”

Stiles blinked at her as he tumbled out of the car, tripping over his own feet as usual.

“But, Indian! The good stuff from The Curry Leaf that will make the apartment smell like curry for days. And Ushma put in extra naan.”

“Sorry, Xander. Time sensitive.”

Xander sighed and handed the bags to Stiles. Dawn’s expression had become a bit gleeful when he had mentioned the food and she made grabby hands for the bags.

“Is there peanut sauce? And mango chutney?”

“No to the chutney, yes to the peanut sauce,” Stiles told her as he handed over a bag and led her towards the stairs. Xander and Buffy gave a wave before getting back in the car and heading off to do their mysterious “thing.” Stiles really hoped that he lied better than that when he had to come up with an excuse. He’d like to think that he did, at least.

“There’s also daal and some chicken dish Xander swore was excellent.”

Dawn gave an exaggerated sigh. “He has strawberry jelly. That will have to do.”

“For... what, exactly?”

“Oh, you mix the peanut sauce with mango chutney, or strawberry jelly, if you’re desperate, then make a sandwich using the naan and daal and pretty much anything else you can plop on it without making a huge mess.

He felt his mouth drop open in disgust as he keyed open the door.

“No, seriously, it’s good.”

“And you and Buffy complain about how guys eat.”

“To be fair, Buffy thinks my taste in food is disgusting. I can’t even get her to try a peanut butter and banana sandwich, which is a classic. Elvis ate them.”

“I’ll pass.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

They continued to chat as Stiles tried to gross Dawn out with how much food he could fit in his mouth and she created weirder and weirder combinations from the take out and whatever she could find in Xander’s kitchen. He wasn’t sure who won the gross out contest, but in the end he felt pleasantly stuffed and only a little guilty that they had polished off the food.

“Any idea how long this errand will take,” he asked as Dawn settled onto the couch and started flipping through channels to find something to watch.

“Probably all night,” she replied with a sigh as she settled on some teen drama, judging by the incredibly beautiful people on the screen. “I have an emergency bag in the closet with everything I need to crash on Xander’s bed.”

“So... this happens a lot?”

She shrugged. “Buffy’s like one of those prepare for the Apocalypse type of people. I have a Go Bag here and at home. She does too. The plan is to book it into the mountains if the world ever goes to Hell. She’s drilled the exact coordinates into all of our heads until we can repeat them backwards and forwards.”


“A little insane? Yeah. But it makes her happy, so the rest of us go along with it. Xander has a bag at our house too, and one stashed in town. It’s not much, a few changes of clothes, some MREs, toiletries, and copies of our favorite pictures. Buffy figures on scavenging anything we can’t carry out.”

It was an interesting idea. One he’d bet that Derek made use of. Not that he thought the Alpha believed that the world was going to end, but he might be forced to beat a hasty retreat in the face of hunters or a rival pack. Stiles made a mental note to ask Derek about it and to suggest the same to Scott. God knew that his best friend would not think of it on his own. Even after everything that had happened over the last few month, Scott still thought the world was a good place full of puppies and kittens.

Stiles wished he had the luxury of believing the same. He became cynical years before he was due and werewolves, kanimas, and insane hunters had just solidified his opinion that the world sucked.

His phone rang and Dawn grabbed it up and answered it before he could stop her, which: rude!

“Staab and Polk Funeral Home. You stab ‘em; we slab ‘em. You kill ‘em; we chill ‘em. Some go to Heaven; some go to Hell-O, how may I help you?”

Her smug grin dropped when whomever was on the other end responded. “Er... yeah, sorry. Sir. He’s right here.”

Stiles took the phone from her with a glare.


“Why is an unknown girl answering your phone,” his father’s voice asked.

“Because she’s a brat with boundary issues?”


“It’s cool, Dad. That was Dawn. I know I told you about her. She’s basically Xander’s pseudo-sister and is over all the time? Don’t tell me you forgot. You know, they say that memory is the first thing to go?”

“I remember who she is. She sounds... nice?”

Stiles knew that tone of voice. It was the same tone his dad used whenever Lydia came up in conversation. He groaned and flopped back onto the couch. It earned him a questioning glance from Dawn and a laugh from his father.

“Nope! I’m not having this conversation. She’s Xander’s sister, which makes her my cousin and this is not an episode of ‘Arrested Development’.”

Dawn pulled a disgusted face before getting up and moving towards the mess they had left on the table. She started cleaning, obviously trying to give him a bit of privacy. He appreciated the gesture, even though he could have easily moved into his bedroom to accomplish the same thing.

“How was work today?”

“Good,” Stiles replied. “I actually got to pick up a hammer and everything. It was just to hand it back to Steve, who dropped it out a window, but it totally counts.” He earned a laugh from his dad, which was what he was going for.

“The crew has tomorrow off, except for Xander. He’s stuck dealing with permits and inspections. From the sounds of it, it will not be fun.”

“And what will you be up to while your cousin is working?”

“Making a library run in the morning. Then Minecraft until my eyes give out.”

Dawn gave a loud snort from the kitchen.

He pulled the phone away from his mouth a bit and yelled, “It’s a perfectly legitimate way to spend my day off. I refuse to go to the mall with you. Again! I’m not built to be a pack mule.

“I’m suddenly glad to be an only child,” he muttered to his dad, who burst into laughter.

“Kid, the only time you ever wanted a sibling was when you were too old to get the kid’s meal but still wanted the toy.”

“Hey, Mickey D’s had some quality toys. And those Transformers from Burger King will be collector’s items.”

“Which is why you strapped them to rockets and tried to launch them into space?”

Stiles flailed his free arm up and kicked out his feet. “That was for science, Dad. For science. I learned all sorts of important lessons from those experiments.”

“Name one.”

“I learned that Scott cannot run faster than a toy rocket and that Mrs. McCall can get her voice really high when you try to explain why her son has second degree burns on his rear.”

Stiles was pretty sure that the neighbors could hear his dad’s laughter through the phone.


Ms. Donna, the librarian who had supplied cookies the last time he had been in, had given him juice, in a tiny waxed paper cup, as she set up for the summer reading program. It left an awful aftertaste in his mouth, but he had still thanked her politely and asked about the program, gaining a wealth of information about her, her time as Children’s Librarian, and which of the children she could depend on to behave during the excitement of the program.

“We’re having someone from the zoo come in today,” she told him. “That’s always a big hit. He brings snakes and hissing cockroaches, raccoons and parrots. Nothing too big or exotic, but the children still love it. It will be standing room only for the ones who try to slip in late. It’s about to get very noisy in here.”

“In that case,” Stiles told her. “I will get out of your way. Have a good program.”

Ms. Donna waved goodbye as he took his books to the checkout counter. Kids were already arriving and dumping a truly amazing amount of books on the part of the counter designated for returns as harried parents chased younger siblings.

The librarian who checked him out did not raise a single eyebrow at Stiles’s stack of books with titles like Daemonologie and Grimoire de Chaos. He supposed that his first trip to the library really should have clued him in if nothing else had. How many teens checked out antique books on the supernatural? For that matter, how many libraries boasted such a comprehensive section on mythology and folklore?

He weaved between all of the rushing kids to the building’s exit, taking a deep breath once he was in the open air. It was a gorgeous day, so nice that he almost wished that he had walked instead of driven the jeep.

“But, Mom, I can smell him!”

A child’s yelling voice drew his attention to a woman who had one hand firmly wrapped around the collar of her son’s shirt. The boy was pulling against her hold, threatening to rip the fabric.

“Jordy, calm down.”

“He’s here!”

Stiles felt the breeze against his cheek moments before the boy’s gaze focused on him. He was too far away to tell the color of the kid’s eyes, at least before they shifted to alpha red and the kid growled at him through his sprouting fangs.

Despite what all the movies say, time did not slow down. Instead Stiles’s mind sped up, giving the events outside of his own head a disjointed and slow quality. He could see the kid’s shirt rip, though he could not hear it through the blood pounding in his ears.

The kid was between him and the relative safety of the jeep and they were surrounded by innocent bystanders. Stiles did not even think of his actions, he let instinct take over as he turned and dashed away from the library, towards the cemetery that was across the street.

Jordan!” he heard a voice yell, but his entire being was focused on getting away from the little alpha, and getting him away from anyone he could hurt. At least until the kid calmed down. Hopefully without getting mauled or turned himself.

He chanced a glance behind himself as he ran. The kids was fully shifted, larger than Stiles despite the fact that his human form had looked smaller. He was issuing a constant stream of growls and snarls as he quickly gained ground on Stiles.

The cemetery was luckily empty as he sprinted through, looking for a place that he could either hole up or trap the alpha using his emergency supply of mountain ash. He was just glad that he had the good sense to hold on to his backpack. Yes, it hurt as the books slammed into his back, but it also held the gallon-sized Ziplock full of ash.

The growling grew closer and he looked over his shoulder just in time to turn away from the leaping alpha. He fell as he made the sudden change in direction that caused the werewolf to miss him and quickly scrambled back to his feet before running through the headstones.

Up ahead there was a mausoleum standing open. He tried not to think of the oddity of that as he dashed inside and slammed the door behind him. He panted and raced to get the baggy out of the front pocket, scattering his Adderall and the last of his pain pills in his haste.

Stiles pulled the bag free and carefully opened one corner. It took more time than he was comfortable with, his hands clumsy from adrenaline, but he could not risk spilling the ash all over the place, not when he might need more.

He poured a line across the threshold, fiercely believing that it would bar the werewolf from entering the stone structure, just as the alpha hit the door. The impact made a dull boom, but the door held.

Breathing ragged, Stiles backed away from the door, coming to a stop against the sarcophagus on one side of the tomb. His knees gave out and he slowly sank down until his was sitting on the dusty floor, leaning against the remains of the poor schlub he had disturbed the rest of.

He concentrated on breathing as the alpha - Christ, just a kid - bashed against the door again and again. He wasn’t sure if the door was sturdy enough to keep the kid from breaking in or if it was the mountain ash and his belief, either way, he’d take it.

“Is that a werewolf?”

Stiles yelped and flailed around to face the unexpected voice. A head was poking up from a hole in the floor that he had not noticed before. A large domed, bald skull, skin wrinkled enough to rival a shar pei puppy, and pointy ears that stuck out from his skull and flopped down like a puppy’s. He was obviously not human.

He yelped again as the rest of the creature appeared, revealing sharp claws. He wasn’t sure if the tshirt and flannel was reassuring or not.

The being moved to the door and sniffed before looking down at the line of ash.

“You used mountain ash? Smart move. I guess you’ve come up against weres before. They’re usually not so bad, really. Unless you make one mad. Did you make him mad, kid?”

Stiles opened and closed his mouth, unable to formulate an answer. This was surreal.

The alpha growled again before blocking out the light in on the high windows on the side of the mausoleum.

“Yeah, you made him mad. I guess I better call for a rescue.”

The demon pulled a phone from his pants pocket and pressed a key before holding it close to one floppy ear.

“Hey, it’s Clem. Yeah, that Clem. I’m stuck in Spike’s crypt with a mad werewolf outside. Think you could come help? No, we’re safe enough. What? Oh. No, I have no idea. Some kid who’s aware enough to use mountain ash. He’s gone a bit non-verbal, though. Yeah. OK. See you in a bit.”

The demon put the phone away and looked at Stiles with a considering gaze. Stiles really hoped he wasn’t sizing him up as a snack.

“You play cards, kid?”

Stiles snorted out a slightly hysterical laugh in response.


Half an hour later, Stiles and the demon, whose name was Clem and who was a really nice guy once you got past the idea that his main source of protein happened to be cats, heard the werewolf give a yelp. They paused their game of poker to listen as the growls faded as he apparently chased after someone else.

“What just happened?”

“Sounds like the Slayer arrived. She’s taking care of your little were problem.”

Stiles dropped his cards and jumped to his feet. “She’s not hurting him, is she? He’s just a kid! He hasn’t broken the Code. I’m barely even scratched!”

The thought of some demonic superwoman, who looked like Victoria Argent in his imagination, killing the kid because of him sent him into a panic. He opened the door, scattering the ash, and rushed out, following the distant sounds of growls. He could vaguely hear Clem yelling something behind him, but ignored him.

It took several minutes to find them, and when he did, Stiles felt his breath stutter. A woman was standing over the body of the alpha, a rifle pointed at him as she prodded his side with one booted foot. At that range, a bullet would do devastating damage, more than werewolf healing could keep up with.

Stiles didn’t think. He barreled into the woman with all the hard-won lacrosse skill he had, knocking her off balance and away from the kid. The gun went skidding away. She recovered quickly, though, turning the tackle into some sort of roll that landed her on top of him, arm raised to punch him in the face.


He had been trying to throw her off when the familiar voice jolted him out of his fear and panic. He suddenly realized that the woman he was struggling with - though calling it that was an overstatement, considering that she was easily holding him down with one hand - was Buffy.

“Buffy?” He stared at her in confusion for a second before his mind clicked on again. “Oh, God! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a kid! And, yeah, sure, he just tried to kill me, but I’ve suffered a lot worse. He’s a kid! Even hunters have rules about that.”

“Stiles, chill,” she said, levering off of him and holding out a hand to help him up.

He ignored it in favor of scrambling towards the werewolf’s body. The boy was breathing, slow even breaths. He quickly started running his hands over the kid’s torso, looking for where Buffy might have shot him, praying that it was not a wolfsbane bullet. He did not want to see a kid in that sort of pain.

Instead, he found a fletched dart imbedded in the kid’s thigh. He pulled it free and looked at it for a moment.


“It’s a tranquilizer. Enough to knock even a pre-teen werewolf on his backside. Jordy’s a good kid and it’s not like he can help being a monster for three days out of the month.”

“Three... what?”

Buffy was prevented from answering by Xander running up to them, followed by the woman he had seen with the kid at the library. Jordy. The kid’s name was Jordy.

“Oh, God, is he OK?”

“Just taking a nap, Mrs. Osborne.”

She dropped to her knees beside Stiles, running a shaking hand over his fur.

“I don’t understand. There’s still two days before he needs to be locked up. And it’s daytime. Is it getting worse? Is he going to wolf out any time he gets upset now?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Osborne,” Xander answered her, taking a blanket he had apparently been carrying and wrapping it around Jordy’s body. “We’ll hit the books, try to figure out what’s going on.”

“What,” Stiles repeated, drawing his cousin’s gaze.

“Yeah... so, werewolves exist. Jordy is one. He’s normally harmless, I promise.”

“But, you knew that, didn’t you,” Buffy asked, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “Because he was chasing you. Clem said that you did something about you using some sort of ash. And you tried to prevent me from hurting him.”

“He’s been smelling another werewolf around town all month,” Mrs. Osborne spoke up from where she was smoothing the blanket. “You. Do you know what’s going on?”

Stiles looked between the three adults. “I am so confused.”


They relocated to Xander’s apartment. Jordy had shifted back to human at some point after Xander had bundled him into his car, though he remained asleep. Buffy had wanted to chain the boy up again, but Stiles had objected. He didn’t imagine that waking up in a strange place, covered in chains, would be helpful in keeping the kid calm. Instead, Stiles created a circle of mountain ash around the kid while Buffy and Xander watched him like a hawk.

“It was the usual dose,” Mrs. Osborne asked Buffy, who nodded. “Then he should come out of it in about an hour.”

“Which gives us plenty of time to figure out what’s the what,” Buffy said as she sat down at the table and pointed a finger at another chair.

Stiles rolled his eyes before he slouched in the chair. Xander and Mrs. Osborne sat as well and both turned to him.

“You’re a werewolf.”

“You’re a witch.”

They spoke at the same time, voices overlapping.

“What?” Stiles flailed around until he sat up straight. “Why would you think that?”

“Jordy attacked you because he smelled another werewolf,” Mrs. Osborne stated. “He’s been anxious about it all month, the smell of another werewolf in his territory.”

“Huh. Maybe... my best friend, Scott, is a werewolf. So, maybe that’s what Jordy smelled? I assure you, I am one hundred percent human.”

“But a witch,” Xander interrupted.

“Dude, no.”

“Then explain how you created a circle,” Buffy said as she poked at the empty baggy.

“You mean the mountain ash? It’s just rowan ashes and a bit of belief. That’s not exactly dancing around a bonfire, naked.”

“That’s a horrible stereotype,” Xander said. He sounded like he was repeating an oft heard lecture. “Witches come from all walks of life and very few dance around skyclad. And most spells are simply will power. Belief that it will work, if you will. It’s also very dangerous and can be addictive, especially if you’re forced to advance sooner than you should.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

“Willow,” he says, voice quiet. “She went from floating pencils to re-souling vampires overnight. At the end, it was so bad that she was using mind control to get her way. When Tara died...”

“She tried to end the world in order to end her pain,” Buffy supplied. “So, you can probably see why we are a bit worried.”

Stiles swallowed thickly and nodded.

“All I’ve done so far is the mountain ash. But I’ll talk to the guy who showed it to me, get proper training.” He was sure that if he had any magical ability, it would not be strong enough to pose a danger to the entire world, but he had no desire to become a slave to addiction.

“Good,” Xander said with an obviously relieved sigh.

“About Jordy,” Stiles said after a few moments. “You said he didn’t have control. That you have to lock him up on the full moon?”

“For three nights,” Mrs. Osborne confirmed. “The night before and after the full moon as well. He’s never shifted at any other time.”

“Oz could do it,” Xander interrupted. “Willow said he learned it from some monks in Tibet, I think. But he couldn’t control himself around her and he had to leave again.”

“Oz is?”

“My nephew. Jordy bit him around four years ago,” the boy’s mother explained.

Stiles cast a glance at the kid, who looked so innocent curled up in the blanket.

“He’s what, eleven?”


Stiles rubbed his hands over his face as he considered the information.

“He’s a born werewolf, right? There’s not an alpha out there biting little kids. And I’m pretty sure that he didn’t kill someone to gain the alpha power. So, not you. His dad, whom I assume is dead?”

“I... I don’t know,” Mrs. Osborne revealed. “Jordy’s dad, his biological father, was someone I met in a bar. All I know is that his name was Frank. He doesn’t even know about Jordy.”

He giggled at the idea of an alpha named Frank. He wasn’t even sure why.

“Jordy was a perfectly normal baby, at first. But then, once he reached toddler-hood, around the full moon, he changed. Not like he does now, not that extreme. His eyes were blue then, and he would have pointy ears and more hair, but he still looked human.”

“He was a beta then. When did he become an alpha?”

“Right before he bit Daniel. Oz. He’d bitten me before, and Kevin, my husband. But until Oz, it didn’t change anyone. That’s when we had to start locking him up in a cage as well. Just locking him in his room no longer worked.”

Stiles nodded. It made sense, in a screwed up way.

“OK. From what I understand, alphas, especially new alphas, have this need to create a pack. He probably didn’t even realize what he was doing when he bit Oz. And there was no one around to teach him to control the shift or to explain anchors.” He rubbed his hands over his face again.

“God, a ten year old alpha. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Mrs. Osborne sucked in a harsh breath, which made Stiles realize that he had managed to put his foot squarely in his mouth. Again.

“There’s two ways to gain the alpha powers. The first is through familial inheritance, which is what I assume happened here. Frank was an alpha and Jordy was his oldest child. When Frank died, the powers passed to Jordy.” He briefly wondered if there was some pack who was confused as to why their alpha’s power did not pass on to anyone they were aware of, but shook the thought away. He could figure out how to research that later.

“The other is for a werewolf to kill an alpha. If a power hungry wolf found out about Jordy...” He shuddered at the thought and promised himself that Peter would never find out about the kid.

“God,” Buffy whispered. The three adults had gone pale.


“Do,” Mrs. Osborne’s voice was hesitant. “Do you think your werewolf friend could help him?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Scott’s been a werewolf for less than six months. He doesn’t have to chain himself up on the full moon anymore, but does lose control if he gets too upset.”

“And his alpha,” Xander asked.

“Derek is a bit of a dick. He tries, but he’s not a natural teacher and tends more towards negative reinforcement and repetition to get his point across. I’m the one that ended up teaching Scott how to control himself.”

Mrs. Osborne looked hopeful at that.

“I don’t know if it would work,” Stiles warned her. He could sense what she was going to ask. “I’ve known Scott since we were kids, he’s practically my brother. But I can try. If Jordy will let me. Someone he knows and trusts would be better.”

“Maybe you and Mr. Osborne could take lessons from Stiles and pass them along to Jordy,” Buffy suggested. “Do you think that would work?”

“It can’t hurt to try,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Or you could sit in on the lessons. You’re his parents, so he’ll naturally trust you more than me and possibly uses you both as anchors. Use you to stay human. Which is important. He’s stayed under the radar so far, with both other werewolves and with hunters. But if there’s suddenly a lot of animal attacks, hunters will find him. They’re supposed to have rules about killing kids and werewolves that they cannot prove have harmed humans, but so far very few I’ve met follow those rules.”

Buffy gave a grim smile, more a baring of teeth than anything else.

“I’ve dealt with one before. He ran away when I bent his gun into a pretzel.”

“That’s... both insanely hot and disturbing all at once. I’m conflicted.” Stiles turned towards Xander. “Should I be conflicted?”

“It’s a perfectly natural response to Buffy. As far as I can tell, every heterosexual male under the age of forty feels the same way about her.”

Buffy stuck her tongue out at him in response.

“So... what are you?”

“Slayer comma the,” Buffy said. “One girl in all the world who gets to fight evil whether she likes it or not. There’s always been a slayer, at least for all of recorded history. Traditionally she fights vampires, but Sunnydale happens to be on a Hellmouth, which is exactly what it sounds like. It attracts all sorts of demons. Sometimes it’s like there’s a new one every week, making trouble.”

“The vampire’s boogeyman. Derek didn’t think you existed. What can you do? Obviously you’re very strong, if you can bend a gun. I have so many questions!” He flailed his hands around. Why had he not Googled “slayer” after Derek had mentioned it?

“Should have known something was up when you kept coming home with old books,” Xander muttered. “The apartment is starting to smell like the high school library.”

“Why the library? And speaking of your high school, was it really a gas leak or something else? What’s ‘Gangs on PCP’ code for?”

“Slow down,” Buffy said with a laugh. “One question at a time. Like you said, I’m strong. I’m also good with weapons, at least the pointy hacky kind.”

“And the occasional rocket launcher,” Xander supplied.

“Rocket launcher,” Mrs. Osborne questioned, her voice weak.

“There was a ‘no weapon forged by man’ thing. It was actually fairly traumatic and I’d rather not mention it again. What was the next question?”

“The library,” Xander said. “Was where we met back in high school. Giles was the librarian and surrogate parent to most of us. Um, the school blowing up was not an accident, but there was a giant snake demon that we had to kill and an apocalypse to avert. So, extenuating circumstances.”

“And pretty much any supernatural activity is attributed to ‘Gangs on PCP’ by the police and newspaper,” Buffy finished. “Most of the residents of Sunnydale don’t even realize that there’s something hiding in the shadows. We think something about the Hellmouth keeps them blind to the oddities, or makes them forget. Unless it’s shoved in their faces in a major way, no one notices.”

“Now, a question for you,” Xander took over. “The trouble you’ve been in, werewolf related or not?”

“Unfortunately, yes. When Scott was bit... it was my fault, really. I had this stupid idea to drag him out into the woods to search for the other half of the dead body some hikers had found. Only we got separated and he was attacked. We didn’t know it at the time, but the body was Derek’s sister’s, his alpha. And the new alpha was crazy and seeking revenge against the hunters that had killed his family.” Mrs. Osborne put a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he appreciated, even though he wanted to shrug it off.

“We spent two months trying to figure out who the alpha was, trying to give Scott some control, and trying to stay alive. To make it all the worse, Scott started dating this new girl, Allison. Who happened to be the only child of a family of hunters. It was Allison’s aunt who burned down the Hale house years ago, orphaning Laura and Derek and driving the alpha insane.”

“Wait,” Buffy interrupted. “The insane alpha was related to Derek and his sister?”

“Their uncle, Peter. He killed Laura to gain the alpha powers and then went on a killing spree. He killed seven other people that I know of, people connected to the fire. Then he tried to kill Lydia. Scott barely fought back from being controlled by him. When Derek killed him and took the power, it was almost a relief.”

“Why do I have a feeling it only got worse,” Mrs. Osborne asked.

“Because you’re a smart lady? Derek... like I said before, he has not made the best decisions. He turned four betas to become his pack, but then couldn’t control them. Especially Jackson, whose body tried to reject the bite. Instead of turning into a werewolf, he became something else. It’s called a kanima and it’s the instrument of revenge. That’s why Scott and I kidnapped him, to prevent him from being used. Not that it mattered, he still escaped and Scott and I still had restraining orders drawn up against us.”

Stiles took a deep breath. Buffy stood and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to him.

“Thanks. So, Jackson was being controlled by this kid that was our age, Matt. And when we figured that out, he attacked us directly. He killed... so many of the deputies. He hurt Dad. It was FUBAR.

“Only, the next day, Matt was dead and Jackson was being controlled by Allison’s grandfather. As psycho as Matt was, Mr. Argent was worse. He wanted something from Scott and Derek, though I don’t know what. Dad told you I was beaten up by a rival lacrosse team?”

Xander nodded. Stiles responded with a short shake of his head.

“I was a message to Scott, that no one was safe as long as Mr. Argent didn’t get what he wanted.” He sighed and picked at the bottle’s label, pulling a corner loose.

“To make a long story shorter, Jackson was cured from being a kanima by the totally cliched power of true love. It’s almost vomit inducing. And Peter is somehow back from the dead.”

“I’m assuming that Uncle John knows none of this?”

“None of the supernatural elements, at least. He knows that Kate burned the Hales alive but officially she died of an animal attack. He also knows the Matt killed all the people he blamed for his childhood trauma before drowning himself in a shallow creek.”

“Convenient,” Buffy allowed.

“Ironic, considering that said childhood drama was a near drowning.”

“Some would call that poetic justice,” Xander said with a huff.

“Probably,” Stiles agreed. “But it’s still an awful way to die.”

“It is,” Buffy said, her voice quiet.



“Listen to your dad’s heartbeat,” Stiles reminded Jordy as the kid struggled to remain in control.

After talking to the elder Osbornes, they had come up with a training regime for the pre-teen

alpha that boiled down to annoying the crap out of the kid until he felt like he was going to lose control and then talking him down. Mr. Osborne, who was seriously the most Zen person Stiles had ever met, also led Jordy in daily meditations and Mrs. Osborne trained his senses by having him identify kitchen spices and the local flora and fauna they came across.

Buffy insisted on being at every session, tranq gun locked and loaded, just in case they could not bring Jordy around. So far she had not needed to use the gun, which Stiles was grateful for.

“You’re doing great, J,” Stiles called, well back from where the kid was panting for breath. Jordy was still skittish around him and much preferred the presence of his parents and Buffy, who did not smell like strange werewolves to his sensitive nose.

His ringing phone prevented him from calling out any other advice. He glanced at the caller ID before he looked back to Jordy, who appeared to be in control again.

“Hey, Dad. It’s early for you to be calling. Don’t you work until seven tonight?”

“Yeah, kid. I just... it’s been a long day already and I wanted to hear your voice.”

Stiles gripped the phone tighter and moved further away from the group. Not that it would prevent Jordy from eavesdropping if the kid really wanted to, but it gave him the illusion of privacy.

“What’s wrong?”

“One of the kids in your class that ran away...”

“Oh, God. Boyd or Erica?”

“Erica. They found her body early this morning.”

Stiles swallowed down the bile in his throat. He could hear all the things his father was not saying in his voice. Whatever was left of the ferocious girl he had known was not pretty.

“God, Dad.”

“Just... you’re being safe down there, right? Xander’s keeping an eye on you?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m being safe and smart. The most exciting part of my day is when we have picnics with a family that Xander knows. I’m even helping their son practice for lacrosse.”

“Good,” his dad sighed. “That’s good. I just worry.”

“I know, Dad. And I understand.”

“Yeah.” A muffled voice came over the line, someone telling his father something. “Listen, Stiles, I have to go. I love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

He waited for his dad to hang up before he disconnected and pressed the cell phone to his forehead.

“You should tell him,” Buffy said after a few minutes, startling him.

“I’m going to invest in a bell factory,” he muttered as he turned to her.

“I get why you haven’t, really, I do. You don’t want to put him in danger, sure. But you’re also afraid that he’ll look at you differently once he knows. That he’ll treat you differently. And you’re right, he will.”

“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.

“Let me finish, brat. Nothing you do could make him stop loving you. Yes, it will be hard at first. He’ll try to keep you from running out to help your friends. He’ll show up in unexpected places and threaten to ship you off to military school. But he’ll start to understand and respect your choices.”

“Is this the voice of experience speaking?”

“I was only a little older than you when I told my mom. There were a few bad months. I ran away, managed to go into a hell dimension and kick some ass, but it all worked out in the end.”

“Still not much of a pep talk,” he pointed out.

“I suck at motivational speaking,” she confessed and she pulled him into an one-armed hug. “It’ll work out. Slayer’s honor.”

Part 1

Part 2

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Gah, it's hard to express how much I loved this crossover. It was so much fun! And the setting you chose for the Buffy verse was nicely explored, too. You did a great job of capturing all of the characters--it was a cool idea, bringing Jordy into this story. And I laughed out loud when I realized it was Clem whom Stiles had run into. Heehee.

I'd love to read more in this 'verse, so if you ever write a sequel, let me know ;)

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