Stiles and Scott parted ways before they hit the wall of houses with the agreement to meet up before twilight hit. Scott gave him a firm nod before stepping away and going down his own path. They both had to go on with their day as if tonight wasn't happening and Stiles hoped Scott could do it without slipping up.
He pictured Scott going about his day with a permanent nervous look on his face and shuddered. Since this had to do with Allison, he figured that Scott would pull out all the stops to prevent anything from going wrong.
Swiveling on his feet, Stiles pivoted in the direction of his house and took off at a quick pace. He couldn't stop thinking about the plan and going over every detail. His head was starting to feel crowded from the force of it. Maybe when he got home he would find some measure of peace in the familiar setting
That or freak out more, it could go either way at this point honestly. He rolled his eyes at the thought.
This time, as he meandered through the streets there were carts and people to dodge but at least no one seemed to be staring at him quite like this morning. Stares were common place but that usually came with the territory of having the spark. People were always waiting for him to have another "accident".
He kept his head up high pretending he was above it all. It wasn't like he interacted with them much anyway, usually just kept up with the circles of friends he had. Fortunately, with his brisk stride, he made it back to his house with plenty of time to spare before he met up with Deaton.
Pulling off his cloak, he dumped it on the chair next to the table and started on making a somewhat healthy stew that would be able to sit for a while for his Dad. His Dad never was one to go out of his way to choose the healthier option even with the warnings from Deaton forcing Stiles hand. Chopping up the vegetables at least kept his body busy but not so much his mind.
He couldn't get rid of the feeling that they might be making the same kind of mistake they made a year ago. Stiles could feel the same lump in his stomach form in trepidation but they were too deep now. Scott was uncannily like a dog with a bone when he got his mind set on something - ironically enough. While admirable in some degrees such as when he nursed back a dying bird back to health despite constant badgering for him to give up, in this moment Stiles hated him slightly a bit for it.
"Damnit." The curse came out sharp and filled with frustration as he brought his knife down a bit too hard on the carrot he was chopping. His hands were slightly shaking so he dropped the knife rather than risk chopping a finger off.
The beginnings of losing control were starting to seep in on him. An all too familiar feelings from the days when his mom had first died and the beginnings of last year. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing and keeping it steady.
In and out...in and out...in...out.
Keep yourself together man. The thought buzzed angrily in his ears as the self loathing kicked in. He had been through worse than this and will probably be in worse shit in the future. Getting freaked out now won't help anything.
Only when the tremors subsided and his breathing had evened out, did he grab all the ingredients and dump them in the pot to cook. Before he knew it, he was pacing up and down the small kitchen in an effort to work out the rest of his jitters. You got to keep yourself calm or Deaton is going to know for sure he demanded of himself. At the last turn he draped himself across a chair somewhat dramatically to ease the tension.
His fingers immediately went up and down his arms to feel the comforting magic. The extra magic hummed, contained in the tattoo, thriving just underneath his skin stored in the intricate runes for when it was needed. Magic was a tricky tool, something Stiles had learned the hard way like so many before him.
Time passed with Stiles feeling like he was about to doze off and let the house catch on fire. This time from the oven and not from something he did. When he was finally able to remove the stew off the heat, he collected his books and cloak before starting out the door.
His destination this time was the one and only magic users place, Deaton's house.
When he got there, Deaton greeted him at the door with a look that screamed "I know way more than I will ever say". At least, that was what it appeared to Stiles about seventy five percent of the time. He never could put his finger on it but he could swear that the major reason the town rarely had any issues with supernatural's was due to the quiet man standing in front of him right now gesturing towards the table.
Stiles plopped his butt down in the empty chair and placed his books he brought on the table. The books hit the table with a thump causing the candles placed in the middle to almost tip over. When they settled down, Stiles let arms and body relax back into the chair. Deaton sat down across from him with much more grace than his counterpart giving him another knowing look.
Stiles shot back a look of his own but his talent could not compete with the man across from him in that sort of display. He had to rely on his words and even that was iffy.
"Now where did we leave off?" Deaton mused as if he didn't have the slightest clue. Stiles shot him a deadpan look knowing, without a doubt, the man knew the exact sentence they had ended on.
Deaton wasn't going to give an inch and would probably sit there the whole time until Stiles answered him. Stiles knew this because that is exactly how one of their more complicated lessons had gone. What could he say, that was one puberty had hit and he had started to notice things.
"We were discussing the theory behind magical exchange and why it works the way it does." Stiles droned back at him trying to keep straight face going. It wasn't his favorite subject but it was one they often talked about since it was such a crucial topic to understand. Crucial but painfully dry. Even so, it rankled him more than he would like to admit.
"Ah yes, I think you are correct." He didn't move but the candles that had been burning snuffed out as if all individually were blown out. "Something as simple as that took me about how much energy?"
"Waving your hand a couple of times."
"And why is that?"
"Because that is how much energy it would have taken you to do it physically." Stiles tried to keep the mocking tone to a minimum but it got more difficult each time.
"That is what people believe yes." The next moment the candles were once again lit. "It is interesting to see though that the energy to relight it is not me standing up and lighting them physically but can either be much more or much less, why is that?
"Probably because you can either know the best mechanic to do it or not." Fire was a tricky thing. It all depended if you used wood to help with it, or the size. It all amounted to creative thinking to give your magic the edge. If you didn't know the best way it was just a waste of energy. But, on the other hand if you did, Deaton could have easily lit a town filled with candles without breaking a sweat.
And that wasn't even going into the intricacies of how different people were in the amount of innate spark they had. Some people can only do a simple chore a day with it while some had been known to be endless pits of it. The latter usually didn't last long though due to different reasons that Stiles didn't like to think of.
Stiles prided himself in his talent of being able to deduce the best mechanics to use the least amount of his spark. If he didn't get down right away, he practiced until the differences were miniscule. Utilizing magic for the same task over and over again, even without an intent to make it more efficient, almost always resulted in less energy being used, almost unconsciously so.
"And this is why we must...?" Deaton looked at him to continue the oft said statement.
"We must, when using magic, start low and go slow." Which all amounted to, if you wanted to try something new that you had no idea how much energy it would take, to start at the most basic level and work your way up to gauge how much it took. If you didn't follow this, and luck was not on your side, you could end up sapping from your own life force and dying.
"With that said, how has your progression been?" Deaton finally concluded leaving the depressing topic behind for hopefully a better conversation.
"I was able to store more magic in a new rune I found in the book you lent me." He extended his arm to show him. The black lines and runes teemed with magic and seemed to reach towards Deaton as if recognizing him. Deaton reached forward and traced a brown finger along them in silent agreement. "Plus, the side effect of them looking bad ass doesn't hurt."
Stiles grinned at his mentor but Deaton merely continued to stare at Stiles handiwork. Deaton had been the one to initially give him the idea to do it after telling him about how wandering tribes shamans in the past had practiced the act. Often a new rune was earned after a spiritual journey but Stiles just "earned" his from his own research.
"You do have a way with words don't you?" Deaton finally responded with a smile showing through in his tone. Stiles mentally gave himself a high-five as Deaton returned his hand to his lap and started into a lecture about the man who had tried to make it rain when his country had suffered a drought.
Stiles found himself listening the entire time as Deaton explained the intricacies of manipulating natural forces. Unfortunately, it didn't have a happy ending. The man succeeded in having enough energy to start the process of rain but died on the spot the second the first raindrop hit the ground.
Stiles thought the man could have avoided that if he had tried a smaller attempt first, maybe just a small raincloud, before blowing his whole load at once.
Stiles left the weekly meeting feeling irritated and with a new assignment to figure out a way the man could have succeeded. The feeling remained even as he reentered his house but washed away somewhat when he saw his Dad.
"Hello son, how is your day going?" John asked between chunks of stew. His crossbow was propped up next to his chair with a bolt already loaded. Stiles honestly couldn't remember seeing the weapon without a bolt ready to go.
"Oh, you know, hunky dory." Stiles answered back with shrugging shoulders. No mention of magic was to be had. Though it was an always present factor in their lives due to his spark, the sadness that dwelled in his father's eyes whenever it was brought up wasn't worth the conversation. "I heard that the Hunters are passing close by on their way to Arcata."
John didn't even pause in eating the stew.
"You wanna tell me why that is?" Stiles pestered as he grabbed a bowl for himself and sat in his chair knowing that someone from the group would have come and talked to him since he was the Sherriff. "You know you do."
His Dad merely glanced at him with raised eyebrows and a smirk. "You know I can't do that son. If I tell you, then Scott will know and that means the rest of the town will."
"Can't blame me for trying." He mocked a sad tone of defeat and plastered a sad look to his face but to his Dads credit, the man didn't spare him another look.
If he really wanted to know, Stiles had some strategies of finding out but today he decided to let it slide. Something's were probably better left untouched at the present time. His Dad, if he noticed, didn't bring it up but smiled at him with raised eyebrows at the lack of badgering between spoonfuls.
It felt like only minutes had passed but soon his Dad was excusing himself. He hoisted his crossbow onto his back and patted Stiles on the shoulder as he passed by to dump his bowl in the sink before turning to leave.
"Love you, I'll be back later tonight. Don't stay up too late." He paused by the doorway. "And don't think I didn't see the light under you door when I got home last night."
Before Stiles could come up with the witty response he knew he was capable of, his Dad was walking away laughing.
Stiles let himself listen to his Dad until the sound of his laughter was washed away with the background ambience. He sat for a further moment still before he pushed up from the chair and looked out the window.
The sky was dimly lit with the sun casting long shadows as the day came to a close. Stiles took one last glance around the house before saying screw it and grabbing a small dagger from his room. He shoved it between his boot and sock as a last ditch sort of thing.
There is that feeling again Stiles thought ruefully.
It crept up on the back of his neck and seemed to be bashing him over the head. Stiles regretted that even if he wanted to back out, it was too late. Scott was probably already waiting for him at the meet up spot and talking him out of it now was going to be like trying to make the sun rise back up in the sky.
Shaking his head, he set his shoulders back and closed the front door behind him.