Resentment burns in his chest like a fire, but the gaze he fixes Cooper with is sharp and cold. He doesn’t need to be lectured by a vampire on the finer points of fear; Stiles has been living in a perpetual state of dread for years now. People have died. Friends. Family. Time and again, douchebags like Cooper flaunt the power difference dividing humans from the supernatural. Stiles knows fear. Stiles respects fear.

Eyes clamping shut, he waits in tense apprehension for the bite that never comes. Breath fans out over his skin and he shudders, thoughts going to his father. Is that fight going to be the last chance he gets to talk to his old man? God, Scott will probably get himself killed trying to find out what happened. When Cooper draws away, Stiles waits three seconds to gather his nerve.

Then, looking the vampire dead in the eye, he reaches up and yanks on the passenger alarm system. A bright red light flickers into existence over his seat, followed by a droning noise. The train itself is already slowing.