ephemeral || stiles and the originals

chapter seven

thanksgiving is the one time of year you can stick your hand up a turkey corpse's ass and have zero questions asked

friday, february 18
new orleans, louisiana
third person pov

Stiles was scared, well not scared scared, but he could feel his nerves weighing heavy in his gut. He really wanted to avoid actually being out in Louisiana as much as humanly (well not-so-humanly) possible, but here he was, out on the streets at four a.m. with the idea to prank coach.

For once, it hadn't been Stiles' idea to drive Coach to that little added bit of insanity. He had actually opposed Scott's idea to lighten the trip, try to distract from the overwhelming, looming presence in all of their minds: the Originals.

Stiles thought that would mean hiding out in their hotel rooms, not risking any sort of interaction that would risk their noticing.

The initial thought of staying behind, self preservation if you will, dissolved when he realized it would be essentially signing his pack's death warning. He couldn't let a pack of werewolves and other assorted creatures roam free in vampire territory because they most definitely would be ripped to shreds.

It was day four, halfway through, and since there had been absolutely nothing the first three days, the pack had deemed it safe enough to let loose, have some fun.

Stiles thought that staying alive sounded like fun, but no, let's go walk the streets of Louisiana. At night. Alone.

Yeah, fun.

He trailed behind the pack, making sure that none of them tried to wander off. All of them were in his sights and he could most likely protect them if something were to happen. The positive thing was that it was still an if.

Maybe they would get through the night, honestly, Stiles had no idea what prank they were even pulling. Why they needed to go out was beyond him, but as long as they all returned in one piece, Stiles didn't really care.

"We should be back at the hotel," Lydia huffed, wrapping her jacket closer around her.

Finally, someone with common sen-

"The deadpool is what we should be focusing on."

Stiles weighed the options: open the list that will most definitely have your name on it or run into someone you know that knows your family and then ultimately run into said family.

Stiles would take neither please with a side of get the hell out of Louisiana.

Scott huffed, and the pack turned a corner, "Come on, Lyds, we're just trying to have some fun."

"Fun?"

Stiles froze. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"And what would a pack of werewolves, a banshee, a human, and a...werecoyote? be doing having fun in my territory."

Great, it was Marcel. Of course it was Marcel. Marcel was Klaus' protégé and now apparently he was in charge of New Orleans. He and Stiles had always gotten along, perhaps with an edge of hatred, but both were excellent liars. There was no chance that he wouldn't be recognized.