The Very Definition – Chapter 2

There was no way to tell how many others were there or where they were. Stiles just hoped that help would arrive before any bullets decided they liked him a whole lot.

“Would you get your bird to please get out of here!”

Stiles looked over at the man who still hadn’t introduced himself. Well, if he wouldn’t be polite, Stiles would have to name him himself. “Listen, Glasses, we need to keep them off us until help arrives.” He kept chucking items from the counter and tables at the assailants by the front.

“Glasses! Really!”

“Yes, really!” Stiles responded in exasperation. “Since you never bothered to introduce yourself, I’m giving you a name. Them’s the breaks, dude.”

“I am not a ‘dude’,” the young man responded.

“Whatever you say, dude.”  Stiles gave him an impish grin that turned to shock. “Well, fuck me.”

Stiles’ companion searched for the source of the shock and saw blood seeping through Stiles’ shirt.

It was like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly everything was bright, everything was loud, and all he could see was the blood spreading on the shirt, his Guide’s shirt.

Stiles didn’t understand what was wrong with Glasses. Why was he just staring? Hello? Bullets, anyone? Being fired in their direction and without a care?

And then the leopard appeared, roaring at the men trying to hurt them. Well, him, really.

“Oh,” Stiles whispered, understanding what was happening. Thank God for those magical classes, seriously. “Hey, Glasses, I need you to listen to me, okay? Stop looking at my very, very painful injury and look at my face. Can you just look at my face?”

Glasses heard his Guide calling to him and strived to follow his request.

“C’mon, Glasses, you can do it.” Bullets were still flying overhead, sirens were heard in the distance, and Stiles was still throwing objects while trying to cover both the front and back of the store. “Do you have an affinity to anything? Flying, driving, music –”


“Okay, computers. Right. I need you — stop getting closer to me and go back behind the counter, damnit! — I need you to picture an equalizer with five channels. Got that? I don’t care if it sounds stupid, just do what I’m saying and you can complain in a very British fashion afterwards.”

Stiles could hear the sirens, but was not seeing anyone approach. He did, however, notice that the bullets were now being fired both at the shop and at the police outside.  Turning back to Glasses, he noticed that the man was now intenty focusing on his face and reaching out physically.

“I need you to assign each of your senses to a channel, you know, sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell. Then I need you to lower the levels to about 4, okay?  Okay, great. If you could do that quickly, I would love it, since, you know, I’m feeling pretty weak and I still need to get out of here before anyone makes me miss my graduation. There is no way in hell that I am going to miss that.”

Glasses did as his Guide instructed, grateful that someone was able to help. As he came back to himself, he reviewed everything Stiles had said to him. “What graduation? Is your family here to see you? When exactly is this taking place?”

“Uh, undergrad, no, three days. And then I leave to start my graduate degree studies. Listen, this is really not the time for small talk, okay? We need to disappear before some fake cop comes and tries to drag us away. Fucking Hunters. Ugh.”

“How about I take you away instead, and you explain what just happened, why, and who you are?” asked a very well dressed man.

“I really didn’t understand the whole ‘sex on legs’ things before this exact moment,” Stiles blurted out in his usual fashion.

The mystery guest snorted in amusement, despite the situation. “My name is Bond, James Bond, and it would be best if you and my colleague there followed me out the back. I have already taken care of the uninvited guests back there.”

“Man with a plan! Are you in any way going to shoot me, torture me, or cause me bodily harm on purpose during this escape?” Stiles asked while getting to his feet and reaching for Glasses. “You good, dude? Can you vouch for this guy?”

“Yes, thank you. He works with me and can be trusted. I have some questions for you, as well.”

The men out front seemed to be running out of bullets if the slow down was any indication, so Stiles, Bond, and Glasses went out the back.

“Q, do take care of the footage, will you?”

So that’s his name, Stiles thought. What the hell kind of name was Q?

“Once we’re in the car, 007. And call ahead to medical, please, as this man has been shot.”

“You remember what I said about graduation, right? The whole ‘not missing it’ part?”

“What, not going to threaten us in the usual brash American way about people missing you and whatnot if you don’t contact them in time? Just a demand to make it to your graduation?”

“Pretty much. I have no doubts you’ll want to get rid of me within half an hour.”

“Is that so?” Bond asked dryly.

“I’ve had practice.”


M was very curious. The background check on this Stilinski was interesting: excellent grades, early graduation from Oxford, accepted to graduate studies, glowing reports from teachers. However, there were also multiple police files with his name all over them; appearing at scenes, suspect, witness, etc.

Well, he’d see soon enough, won’t he, what kind of man this is that both courted trouble and saved his employee.


Q was shifting a lot in the front seat, distracting Bond from his driving. Just before he was going to say something, Stiles spoke up. “I know you’re really uncomfortable right now, but you need to level down on touch, just like I told you before.”

“Will you just bloody tell me what the hell is going on? Why am I all –” Q huffed, waving his hand in a circle towards himself.

“Yeah, sure, just as soon as I wake up again, okay?”

“What do you mean just –” Q broke off as he watched Stiles slump against the door.

“Any chance you could step on it, 007?”

“Certainly, Quartermaster.”


“Report,” M demanded as soon as the three entered headquarters.

“The Quartermaster and Mr. Stilinski are being taken to medical. From what I’ve gathered so far hunters of some sort were after Mr. Stilinski. Q is having some difficulty as well, although he does not appear to be physically harmed. Also, Mr. Stilinski may know more about what is going on with Q than we do. We’ll just have to wait for him to wake up.”

“Hunters?” Mallory asked with concern, leading his agent back towards medical. “Did he say what type of hunters? And what do you mean difficulty?”

Bond followed his employer, relieved that he would be able to check on the quartermaster sooner rather than later. They had developed a good friendship, albeit most one of teasing and life saving, over the last year.

“He did not specify, but it felt like it was a title more than a description, if that makes any sense.”

M got even more tense, approaching the doors to medical. “Yes, it does make sense, unfortunately. If this is what I think it is, then I’m very sure I have your next mission.”

Bond just stayed silent, waiting for more information as M approached their unexpected guest and rolled up his sleeves. The doctors had already removed the bullet and were about to take some x-rays, but paused to see what the man wanted. With a suddenly appearing knife in hand, he was about to slice into Stiles’ arm when he noticed the tattoo on his inner wrist.

“Oh, dear Lord,” he breathed quietly. “We are so truly fucked.”

“I hope I’m not including in that ‘we’, dude,” Stiles said groggily from the bed.

“Mr. Stilinski, please tell me that your status is not what I think it is?”

“Depends on what you think it is, and what’s happening here?”

“These doctors are going to take some pictures to see what’s going on with your wound. The bullet has been retrieved, but we are unsure of the status of the injury,” M explained efficiently. “Please tell me that you are not an emissary, that there are not code-breaking Hunters in London right now.”

“Uh, would love to help you out, dude, but you pretty much nailed it.” Stiles took a moment to look around. “Hey, where’s Glasses? He should be alone right now. He needs to be in a dark sound proofed room, and he also needs –” Stiles cut off as pain shot up his side. “Right, note to self, don’t move.”

“Please continue, Mr. Stilinski,” Bond said quietly, “and explain what is going on with ‘Glasses’ as you call him.”

“Well, it’s not as if the dude introduced himself, you know? Anyway, dude’s a Sentinel. His senses are going haywire.” Stiles was only explaining since Glasses seemed to trust this guy so much, and his instincts were screaming at him that these people were Important, capital letter and everything.

“He needs all sorts of things, his senses are extra sensitive. I’ll tell you more when I wake up.”

“When you wake up? Mr. Stilinski, we need to know now.”

“Sorry, boss-dude, it’s time for me to pass out again. Okay? Thanks, bye.”

“Right. Well, that went well.”

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