HIT THE FLOOR: HIT THE FLOOR

**Disclaimer:: I do not own Teen Wolf or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. Jeff Davis developed it; Monica Macer produced it, and MTV airs it. I do not own the song Hit The Floor or any of its lyrics. It was written by Rob Bourdon, Brad Delson, Dave Farrell, Joe Hahn, Mike Shinoda, and Chester Bennington, produced by Don Gilmore, and performed by the band Linkin Park. I do not, did not, and will not make any money from writing this.**

Yeah, this is all unbeta'd, so sorry if it's a piece of shit.

A/N: Hit The Floor part 2/2.

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There are just too many times that people have tried to look inside of me
Wondering what I think of you and I protect you out of courtesy
Too many times that I've held on when I needed to push away
Afraid to say what was on my mind afraid to say what I need to say

Too many things that you've said about me when I'm not around
You think having the upper hand means you gotta keep putting me down
But I've had too many standoffs with you it's about as much as I can stand
So I'm waiting until the upper hand is mine

So many people like me put so much trust in all your lies
So concerned with what you think to just say what we feel inside
So many people like me walk on eggshells all day long
All I know is that all I want is to feel like I'm not stepped on
There are so many things you say that make me feel you've crossed the line
What goes up will surely fall and I'm counting down the time
Cause I've had so many standoffs with you it's about as much as I can stand
So I'm waiting until the upper hand is mine

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.*.

.*.

Stiles Stilinski was, if nothing else, a people pleaser. And if nothing else, living the life of a people pleaser got tiring, and it got old. It was a feeling that Stiles was sick and tired of, just as he was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. He was feeling a little bit sick and tired of everything lately… Honestly, there's only so much one man—one sixteen, generous, giving, selfless, ADHD boy—can take.

He was tired of taking the fall for Scott when one of them had to get detention, he was tired of sitting in the hospital for days on end for a girl he's been crushing on since the third grade with no word of thanks, no acknowledgments; even a "fuck you, Stiles, go home!" would've been better than the big old slab of nothing that Stiles received from Lydia. Stiles was tired of missing out on playing lacrosse (okay, his first chance ever at playing lacrosse) because Derek needed, of all people, Stiles' help. Stiles was tired of getting no sleep because he spent all of his nights doing research. He was tired of almost dying numerous times while trying to help Scott, who barely so much as thanked him. Stiles was tired of stealing keys, and buying heavy chains, and making excuses, and lying, and being everyone's fucking chauffeur. Stiles was definitely sick of Allison. He had been pushed to the side for Allison more times than he was willing to think back on and try to count. From the beginning of school, Allison's first day in Stiles' town and Stiles' school and Stiles' best friend's world, Stiles had become second best in Scott's life. He was so damn tired… and it wasn't just of Scott, or Derek, or Lydia, or Jackson, or the fucking Plastics that broke their rule and wore leather everyday.

He was sick of being the Robin to Scott's Batman; Stiles could handle being the Sam to Scott's Frodo. He was comfortable with it… he just wanted the same acknowledgements that Frodo got, that Scott got. Like when Sam lifted Frodo at the end and drag him up the rocks of Mordor so he could get rid of the ring, the ring overtook Frodo… but it never overtook Sam. Without Sam, the Ring would never have been destroyed. Sam, like Stiles, never really had evil intentions, because they were never tempted by power. The Ring could not claim him the way it seduced the less virtuous. Stiles and Sam both sacrificed themselves to embark on a god-awful journey for the sole reason of saving their best friends. That was the goal; save the best friend, save the world with no affectation to evil.

Stiles actually understood the temptation of evil. He saw all the little shades, angles, consequences in a way that Scott couldn't. He felt things, jealousy and insensitivity. Despite the envy, low confidence, and hesitation when Peter pressed his fangs against Stiles' clothed wrist, he never gave in to the temptations of the bite, just like Sam never gave in to the enticement of the Ring. If Sam ever were to wear the Ring, it wouldn't be quite; in fact, it'd feel heavier than it would on anyone else. He'd pull through it, of course, but he undoubtedly would get, like Stiles was of everything and everyone lately, fed up. He wouldn't let the Ring control his decisions like it had done with Gollum… or Bilbo…

Stiles' dad was another person that Stiles was getting sick of dealing with. He still loved the man unconditionally and endlessly, he always would and nothing could ever change that, but he was just getting fed up with his drinking. It was getting way too out of hand. Stiles sat on top of the monkey-bars at the playground a few blocks from his house, he sighed and hugged his legs tightly, burying his head in his knees. The hard bar beneath his rear was beginning to numb his butt, but he didn't care. He sniffled, the cold weather messing with the snot that was previously comfortably content in his nostrils. A pull of misty air left his mouth. His father had, once again, been drunk and bitter, moaning about how Stiles was a disappointment unworthy of surviving the boy's mother. Stiles stormed out, not even calm enough to grab his keys and take his Jeep somewhere to cool off. He ran to the park in the light drizzle of rain.

It wasn't his fault… he didn't care what his dad told him in his drunken rages, Stiles did not kill his mom! He didn't… he… hell, if anything Scott's mom did, she was the one in charge of her care. She was supposed to make sure Stiles' mom's monitors didn't go out of whack; she was supposed to make sure that nothing happened to her when people visited. If nothing else, Melissa McCall and Derek, fucking Derek Hale killed her. Derek and his mother had visited the night before she died, this was like four years before the fire that happened six years ago (Stiles was six, Derek was fourteen) before the fire and a new nurse had been working at the front desk…

.*.

Stiles was getting all worked up because she wouldn't let him go up to visit his mother no matter how many times he told the woman that his mommy needed him. The werewolves were going in to visit a human relative that hadn't taken the bite and had just given birth. Mrs. Hale had kneeled before Stiles and gently turned him around by the shoulders, taking his hands with a gentle smile.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Who needs you?" She'd asked while Derek happily informed the woman behind the desk that he was a proud new uncle,

"I'm really only his cousin, but he's gonna call me Uncle Derek. Mom said so... if he is a boy… If he's a girl then I guess… well…" Derek had then shrugged with an unimpressed facial expression and a grumble. His expression matched the woman's. She really couldn't care less.

"My momma!"

"Your momma?" Mrs. Hale repeated. "Is she sick?"

"Uh huh! She's got limericks and needs me or she's gonna get lonely and worser!"

"Well we can't have that now, can we?" She held out her arms and Stiles had hugged her, wrapping his legs around her waist when she carefully picked him up. "What's your last name, sweetheart?"

"Stilinski! Daddy's working but the ladies usually lemme go! She's just mean!" Stiles pouted and pointed at the woman behind the counter, who popped her gum.

Mrs. Hale winked at him, "I'm taking him up to Jennifer Stilinski's room, can I have the floor number?"

"Ma'am, that isn't your child—"

"I went to book club with Jen before she fell ill. If you want, I could happily call the sheriff over to confirm, we all used to be very close when she was pregnant with this little guy." At the glare and mention of bringing the police into the situation, the grouchy woman gave them the room number. In the elevator, Stiles was happily chatting away. Asking how she knew his momma, if they read comics, occasionally glancing around her head to peek at Derek. The Hales stayed in Mrs. Stilinski's hospital room until Stiles fell asleep around seven at night. He woke up later at home, while his dad was tucking him in.

"Momma…?"

"Mommy's with Mrs. McCall, Mrs. Hale and Derek. She's safe, don't worry, bud." John smiled at his son, pulling the covers up to Stiles' chin.

"Not lonely?"

The sheriff kissed his son's forehead as the child fought to keep his eyes open and whispered, "Never."

The next morning on April 18, Jennifer Stilinski was pronounced dead at 6:13 in the morning. Stiles never even got the chance to say goodbye to her…

.*.

Derek and Sophia Hale were the last two people, other than Melissa McCall to see Stiles' mother alive. Those two had done something, Stiles knew it. Apples never fell too far from their trees...

In the few short months that Stiles knew, actually knew Derek, the older man had tied up Dr. Deaton, physically assaulted him, and threatened him in an attempt to gain information. He lied to Allison about his relationship with Scott, stole her jacket magically somehow, used it to lure Scott in and teach the teen a lesson. He'd killed his uncle to avenge the death of his sister. Apparently he snuck into the school's locker room just to threaten Jackson (so the jock said, anyway.) He snuck—correction, he broke into Stiles' house just so he could slam him against hard objects, his car's steering wheel included. And on top of it all, he seemed to think that everyone enjoyed helping his fugitive, threatening, rude, ungrateful little werewolf ass. Derek was a manipulative liar, and he used really shady techniques to achieve the results he wanted to receive. The alpha had proven time and time again and time after time that he was a person who was completely willing to get down and get his hands dirty. It was who he was, and it wouldn't surprise Stiles if Derek had done something to his mother. And if that was the personality of him now, and he was willing to do those things, what was he willing to do eight years ago? What was his mother like? She was probably in league with Satan, Stiles figured… and not in the fun, sacrifices small animals kind of way…

In Stiles' mind, Derek was guilty for Jennifer Stilinski's death though. Just as Scott's mother was. Mrs. McCall was supposed to save her! Not sit back and worry over her failing marriage while Stiles' mom was dying! She did nothing! She could have called for help, or done something, or performed CPR or used a defibrillator—anything would have been better! But she didn't do anything; she probably never planned on doing anything. Mrs. McCall was just as much a murderer as Derek and his mother were.

Stiles' grip on his legs tightened, he was shivering but it was only slightly due to the chill of the cold wind in the chilled weather. Whatever happened to it being warm in California? Stiles bit hit tongue until he felt and tasted copper in his mouth. He used the pain in his mouth the keep the tears from falling from his already filled up tear ducts. He repeatedly told himself that he wasn't going to cry until he believed it, and it took a good five to ten minutes until that happened. He didn't understand when everything turned so bad, or where he went wrong. He released a dry sob, and whispered into the silent night,

"Something's got to give…"

Stiles was unfathomably loyal, unfailingly trustworthy, and a man of his word, but that didn't make him a saint. If something wasn't going to be changing soon, Stiles was going to get so tired of being the only one to always have to make a sacrifice. Munificence and that unwavering sense of obligation that made Stiles so damn reliable… it was going to break, because Stiles gave and gave and what was it that he always got in return? Nothing.

No one could endure that forever. The world, Beacon Hills alone, was a hard place to live in, and Stiles had certainly overcome more than his fair share of obstacles in his sixteen years. Little by little, his apprehension for the people around him turned cold, and the boy with the heart two sizes too large became a disconsolate cynic with a slowly but surely shrinking heart. And for each size his heart shrunk, a creature of the night, an evil critter with a taste for vengeance yearned for the touch of his hand. Stiles' two demons, his two little furies; his pets.

That night he'd sobbed to himself on the monkey-bars was the night that they came to him. Stiles was terrified at first when he saw them, he had no idea what they were or what they wanted—hell for all he knew they were going to eat his legs and lay eggs in his skull! Stiles ended up falling a short distance to the ground in shock of the two creatures; they met him on the ground and timidly circled him. Stiles' gaze jumped between the two, unsure of what they were going to do and whether or not he should scream. They began to smell his upper torso, neck, and face. Stiles brought his arms to try and shield himself from a bite his face was sure to obtain.

Stiles gasped loudly when he felt two hesitant and scaly hands gently and slowly pushing their way into his, in a very slow, awkward high-five. His head flew up and his wide eyes paid no mind to the few tears that Stiles refused to acknowledge fell. The… iguana-creatures… they looked… lost, hopeless in a way. Like they'd been abandoned and no one seemed to care or want them anymore. Stiles knew that feeling all too well, to not be wanted. He didn't wish it upon anyone, whether they be an iguana-man or not! Mindless of the death and pain promising claws, Stiles laced his fingers with the two lizards' and tightly grasped their scaled hands.

He rose to his knees, hands still being held, and fell forward with another sob, this one coming out of the blue and surprising him. His head landed surprisingly gracefully onto the shoulders of the two scaled beings. Their tails wrapped around his body like a warm cocoon, sheltering Stiles from the cold, cold world. The tips of their tails explored his body as if familiarizing themselves with it. The tails moved gracefully around each other, occasionally entwining with each other as they shared Stiles' body like an island. They seemed to purr as they butted and nuzzled the shaved head of their Master before them. Grateful and loved hisses left their mouths. They seemed like pleas, small begs for the human to take care of them, to want them and Stiles whispered "I want you," and he meant it.

.*.

Jackson was the last of the two kanima to be aware of Stiles' meaning to them. He'd been tip-toeing around the ADHD boy since he shorter of the two was upped to front-line for all of a day until he was replaced having failed to show up at the lacrosse game. During practice that day, the kanima and the jittery teen had been coming into many, many bouts of physical contact. It only took the first tackled for Jackson to know who and what Stiles was to him. He'd groaned in unison with the boy underneath him, Stiles in pain, Jackson in despair. Of all people…

Who the hell would Stiles want to avenge anyway? It's not like he knew anyone that went about killing people. The only ones who died in Beacon Hills all that recently was that chick in the woods, the Hale family six years ago, and Mrs. Stilin—oh. Jackson thought that she died of lymphoma though? Or limericks, as the toddler went around saying.

That night around 11:45 Jackson lay in bed, trying to rub one out before his shift on the new moon, when he was overwhelmed by a sudden tidal wave of hurt and fear. He dropped his now-flaccid cock and instead gripped his chest, just over his heart, in agony. The thoughts of Stiles, the memories, raked through Jackson's brain in painful whispers. They'd be clearer and virtually painless once the jock was claimed by the accepting touch of his Master's palm on his own. Until he was acknowledged as Stiles' though, the Kanima would suffer.

Matt was a different story. After a stray shot had been taken from his camera, Matt had ended up staring at it for a good three hours with a sense of longing leaking from his bones. He didn't question himself why the hyperactive boy was full of vengeance; he just hoped that once he'd been accepted the boy wouldn't make him do anything stupid. The only reason he hadn't made the initiation to be accepted was Jackson.

The two had bumped into each other and were currently in a sort of territory war. They'd crawled around the outside of peoples homes when they shifted, scenting near the windows of peoples' rooms for the scent of their Master. They'd been around the Argent's home when it happened which was… really not the greatest place to be. Why would an Argent ever control a kanima?

Jackson had smelled Matt first and leaped at him from behind, knocking the smaller kanima off the siding of the house and onto a bush. They'd hissed and clawed at each other, smart enough not to release any venom and leave the other in danger of anyone seeing them until the paralysis wore off. Matt knew he was weaker and ran, Jackson following and taking attempts at biting the smaller lizard's tail. A police car drove by them and the two froze and took in deep breaths. That smell…

Matt tried to run after the car, but Jackson ignored his need to get to his Master and jumped on the smaller shifter instead, growling and hissing until the more submissive of the two went limp and mourned, thinking that Jackson would be accepted into his Master's life and Matt would be left alone and in pain if the human didn't want two of them to care for…

It was the next morning at school when he took the picture of Stiles and grew hopeful. He thought that maybe, just maybe, Jackson would continue to be a dickhead and not want to get remotely close to Stiles, thus making him unaware of his role in their lives long enough for Matt to feel Stiles' touch first...

Those hopes were buried alive at Lacrosse practice when Jackson scented Stiles after a particularly rough tackle.

.*.

The first time Stiles had them kill anyone came to a shock to himself as much as the man he'd killed. It was at the Armor Tire and Service Center, Tucker Cornish, the mechanic. Yeah, he was a dickhead and he was cheap and liked to con people into thinking they needed new car parts (thus buying them from him), and he liked to eyeball some of the weaker looking guys (i.e. Stiles) like they were pieces of meat… or strippers… but that didn't necessarily mean that Stiles wanted to kill the guy! Okay, it did, but he didn't plan on it and that bit was a fact! He wasn't going to stab the man, or steal his father's glock and make a brain-slushy out of the man's head…

That didn't mean Stiles didn't have to fight down getting a stiffie at the thought of choking the man out and pounding his face in with his fists though. He wanted to; he just knew he never would.

Jackson knew Stiles never would either, and so did Matt. Stiles' emotions were so strong that moment in the garage; the kanima felt it and rushed their way over with the intent to kill the cocky mechanic. Well, Jackson did anyway. He'd always had slight anger issues. Matt paused outside the Garage however, thinking of Stiles, his new Master. Matt knew that he didn't really want to see the mechanic dead and that he would interfere, which would most probably get him hurt in the cross-fire of Jackson's rage.

As they headed inside, Matt and Jackson both took note of Stiles huffing and puffing, leisurely making his way to the waiting room. Matt let his claws drool a little on the doorknob from the ceiling whilst Stiles was muttering to himself. The muttering then turned into griping about the sanitation of the garage as the numbness began to set in once he'd gone through the door.

Stiles was genuinely upset when the mechanic got killed before his eyes. His kanima were pained at his heartfelt reactions while he mourned alone around the policemen, feeling as if they betrayed him. In a sense, he did feel a bit of relief though now that the lecher was gone. It was an unconscious emotion, one that he didn't feel the need to bring forth and examine.

Stiles didn't make the connection that the kanima did the deed until they all figured out that kanima venom could send whoever touches it into a state of elongated paralysis. When Stiles did he spent the night with the two killers and cried until he could do nothing but scream away his pain and pound his fists on their chest. By the time the night was done and through… he was over it.

Stiles always, well after she was once-bitten-never-shy-again, felt intimidated and slightly fearful of Erica. He was extremely distressed by the fact that she'd so easily manhandled him through the school and down to the pool to visit his BFF Derek. Matt of course, trailed after having felt his Master's grief, giving Jackson a pointed look and Danny a lame excuse about trying to recover more data from the camera that Jackson wanted to oh so desperately see what he looked like while he went all "shape of a lizard, form of a homicidal reptile."

Erica was untrained and reliant on her growling and "intimidation" tactics. Easily side swept, she flew against a bleacher where she lay paralyzed and unconscious. Derek. Matt could feel the fear dripping out of Stiles' pores. Matt jumped at Derek who was busy growling at his—Matt's—Master. They dived into the pool after Stiles momentarily thought about whether Derek's life or his phone was more important, and then Stiles dived in after the paralyzed wolf. Derek started barking at Stiles about what seemed to be everything under the sun and in the Shadow Lands. Mind clouded with his Master's fear of being bitten by a testy werewolf, Matt came to the conclusion that Derek was holding Stiles as prisoner, thus focusing on them through his dreadful fear of pools of water and leaving Erica otherwise unscathed in her vulnerable position on the side. He was scared of Derek killing his Master and leaving him and Jackson alone…

Scott showed up, shit went down, and the teen wolf flashed a piece of glass at him. Wow. He found his weakness. In the reflection Matt saw Derek gaining motion. Shit! He could handle one with a barely filled connection with Stiles, not two! Sure that Stiles was safe with Scott being there, he ran out the window and into Stiles' room where he curled up under the bed feeling pathetic that he could barely protect his own Master.

When Stiles returned home he was still a bit shaky, and he was tired. He stripped and lay on the bed, spread-eagle, and Matt crawled out from under the bed with his tail curling insecurely around his leg and waist. Stiles patted his stomach as he glanced at the kanima.

"We have to do something about this…" Matt's heart was ripped out of his chest and smashed with Thor's hammer until enough time passed that no one even remembered it existed. He shook in small convulsions and he curled up into a broken ball on his Master, nuzzling, whimpering, and pleading desperately for Stiles not to mean it—not to get rid of him. Stiles lay there until Matt returned to being human and fleshy. Matt wasn't quite sure of the details, but Stiles kissed his fears away in a tender first kiss, the first of many, and whispered his plan.

Matt would be framed as the kanima Master. Stiles' access to police records and his intel on bending his father's views as well as gaining information via the form of liquor, Stiles would be safe and plan everything out to point the finger at his fury, his Matt. Jackson would be able to vent his anger on the world and distract everyone from Stiles and, for the meantime, Matt. He would belong like he'd longed to do so much and protect them the most. And they would all have their revenge.

Matt agreed to everything, and when Stiles slid into him Matt felt his world blow up in colors and sensations that he never thought he'd felt before. He could feel the hum of his Master's life and feel the connection between them strengthen to the point of being able to hear each others thoughts. Matt rode him until he passed out on top of his Master and Jackson crawled through the window and threw a jealous fit until he was silenced by Stiles' single command, "Hush."

After Jackson had been briefed and taken from the behind with a sock shoved in his mouth over Stiles' computer chair, the three lay together in a tangle of limbs and love and contentment. Stiles had a family. Matt had something he didn't have to be afraid of anymore. Jackson had his answer, Stiles would avenge them and they would belong.

.*.

The world would burn around them, and they would lay claim to the land coated in layers of soot and ash.

GAHHHHH This was so long you guise! Please Review! They all mean so much to me even if they're a single word or three and a half paragraphs of constructed criticism! Thank you so much for reading; you're all just so fab! (You can judge me in your reviews ;p)