The last time Stiles had felt this alone and helpless, he'd been escorted through a hospital hallway by a deputy who'd pulled him from sixth grade, and brought him to his father to learn about his mother's accident.
He felt like everything was riding on him now, and he was wholly unprepared for such a task. The thirteen hours after rescuing Derek had gone excruciatingly slow. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, the war to begin and for everyone to get pulled into it all. But it never came. Scott had called to let him know that he was alive, but refused to tell him where he was in case Peter or Derek came looking for answers. The Hale wolves were keeping a low profile, along with the Argents. Lydia was in a medically induced coma and he had a million and one theories about her, but nothing substantial to back them up.
To top it all off, his father was in overdrive trying to figure out how the hell his son's date to the formal had ended up nearly mauled to death on the lacrosse field in a way that most certainly wasn't from a mountain lion.
And let's not forget the final cryptic words from Derek as he'd followed his Uncle like a good little lackey from the torture chamber. It'd brought the teen to the shell of the Hale house. Now that he had the full story, the fact that Kate had hired people to set the home ablaze with people, children, inside, he felt his skin crawling. It was almost like they were still in the house, their burning ghosts waltzing around him perversely. Every creak of the old, abused home sent shivers throughout his body.
Werewolves existed, so who's to say… "So," he dragged out the word hesitantly, looking around the empty living room. "Derek kinda hinted that I should be doing something. If you know what that is, any clue would be really helpful!"
There was dead silence as Stiles held his breath to the point of lightheadedness. He wasn't sure what he was expecting – if he was expecting anything at all – but was almost particularly relieved that there was no response. They could cross out vampires – confirmed to be bullshit by Derek – and now ghosts. At least, no Hale ghosts.
He exhaled roughly, banging his knuckles rhythmically against one another as he tried to think of where to start first. He was about to head to the kitchen to investigate if maybe there was anything important in Derek's fridge, when a sharp crack resounded through the house.
Stiles felt his stomach drop sharply as he spun around to face the foyer. It sounded like a door in the house had been slammed shut. He was alone though… wasn't he? There'd been no cars outside that indicated anyone was here, but that'd didn't mean jack. Wolves don't need cars. Maybe this is where Scott was hiding?
"Scott?" He called hesitantly, taking a step forward. He really needed to start carrying a weapon of some sort. Even if it was just a taser. "Derek?" He tried again, almost to the arch that lead into the foyer.
He placed one foot firmly, trying to convince himself to bring the second to join and look around as his heart hammered in his chest, when he felt the lapels of his jacket grabbed, and was slammed against a decaying wall harshly. He was opening his mouth to scream, when his eyes connected with not murderous red ones, but amused blue.
"You're an asshole!" Stiles exclaimed, swinging a fist wildly and feeling an immense amount of satisfaction as he punched Jackson Whittemore for the second time in his life. The lacrosse star stumbled several feet backwards with a hand cupped around his jaw. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Following you."
"I gathered as much – why are you following me?" Stiles reiterated as if he was talking to someone with an IQ in the double digits… which was quite possible. He stared at Jackson for a minute, before sighing, "Are you serious? After everything, you still want to be turned?"
"If I was like them, I could've…"
"What? Won that game singlehandedly last week? Listened in at home to make sure your parents love you? Used it to cheat at life because things aren't already easy and perfect for you as is? Or are you going to pretend to actually be noble and say that you could've protected Lydia?" Stiles couldn't believe this guy. Sure, Peter had been right when he said that Stiles had lied about wanting to be a werewolf, but who wouldn't on some level? Especially after being a virtual no one, a sidekick! Sometimes the sidekick wants the spotlight too.
But Jackson, Jesus! He's had the spotlight since middle school. The blond was just a selfish, arrogant asshat that Stiles actually wanted to punch again. He felt his fist clenching again, his breaths coming quicker. There was just so much inside of him that he needed to let out, but he knew that going after Jackson without surprise on his side, would just end badly for him.
"You don't know anything about me, okay?" Jackson spat back, righting himself under the scrutiny of Stiles' angry gaze.
"I know you're an idiot. The only reason Lydia's alive right now is because if Peter had killed her, I wouldn't have helped him find Derek. The only reason I'm alive right now, is because Peter needed me to distract the Argents. This guy is a psychopath hellbent on revenge, and he's willing to kill any and everyone that gets in his way. And he's already said that he's not interested in changing you, so he'd probably just kill you if you went up to him. On second thought, go ahead." He dealt the final blow snidely, feeling little satisfaction from the flash of pain on Jackson's face. As Stiles walked away, heading up the stairs, he wasn't sure if he was sharing all this information as a way to save his nemesis, or just to hurt him like he'd done in one way or another to him and Scott for four years.
"I don't believe you." Jackson didn't sound too sure of himself as he followed Stiles up the stairs. "What are you doing here, anyways? Looking to get bit, too, I bet. Make your life worth something for a change?"
"Nice try. He offered, and I'm not into the kinky, gay bite play. If you are, I'm sure Danny would love to help you with that bit of experimentation." His remarks were made offhandedly as he began exploring the second floor. He'd never been there before and couldn't imagine how Derek could inhabit this place.
Pictures were half burned and furniture literally sat on its last leg in the two rooms that were actually covered by the attic and roof. There were several that he walked into that brought a whole new meaning to the term 'sun room' were the roof had been burned away to jagged edges like menacing teeth. Turning to exit the room, he ran chest-to-chest into an observing Jackson. He huffed his annoyance, emphasizing it with a rough shoulder knock to pass him before he headed back to where there was a single full bed with a basic pillow and sheet. It had to be Derek's bedroom. Aside from that, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a nightstand.
He felt the slightest bit of accomplishment when he spotted Derek's phone sitting on it, the wolf's words echoing in his head: Now without my phone too, you can't call me seven times a day and hang up.
Could that be what he meant? Stiles wondered as he picked up the phone and unlocked it. Not surprisingly, there wasn't anyone on any of his speed dial numbers, let alone number seven, so that was a bit disappointing.
"What are you doing? Hoping you're in Derek's contacts?"
Jackson meant it snidely, but the light bulb went off in Stiles' head. Checking the contacts, he saw almost two dozen of them – all labeled as numbers. He pressed number seven and listened to the ringing.
And hang up. Derek had subtlety advised him. He waited 'til the seventh ring, and then hung up. Hopefully that would get across Derek's message, whatever it was.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Jackson asked irritably.
"No." Stiles responded immediately, clapping the lacrosse player on his shoulder before he deemed his work there done.
