"How
are we going to find him? And, even if we do, how much help is he going to be
if he isn't even an Alpha anymore?" Allison's asking too many questions as
she and Stiles walk down the halls to physics.
"Don't worry about finding him. I put a tracker in his jacket before they
left so I could find him." Allison gives him a sideways glance,
questioning what exactly his motives for that might have been. "Shut up. I
may be slightly paranoid and excessively on the plan ahead wagon, but it's how
I survive in this screwed up were-world." She shrugs her shoulders in
response, so he continues, "Anyways, the non-Alpha situation shouldn't be
that big of a deal. He's always kind of been a badass, so I'm sure he'll be an
asset."
"Okay. Just let me know what I can do to help," she says weakly,
heart not really in it.
"Actually," he says quietly as they sit down next to each other in
the small science classroom, "there is something you could do."
.oOo.
"I swear to God, Stiles, if this dress gets ruined, you're buying me a new
one. A better one." Lydia is clutching her heels in one hand as she walks
through the detritus in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles and Allison are ahead
of her, the other girl with her bow and quiver slung across her back. Stile has
a backpack with a few supplies and they dragged Lydia out so that the three of
them, the three non-wolves of their very small pack, can train to protect
themselves.
Allison stops, turning to look with mild exhaustion on her struggling friend.
"Lydia, I know you're immune to the bite and most of the other
supernatural mojo out there, but you could still be physically harmed. You
should really consider dressing more appropriately." Lydia glares up at
her, a bit betrayed and clearly not wanting to change her wardrobe choices.
"Or at least carry more sensible footwear for running around the woods in
your purse."
Stiles smirks and Lydia smacks him on the back of the head, passing him.
"I think this is probably good. Allison?" he says as he surveys the
small clearing they've entered. She nods and moves to some trees to hang some
targets she'd had in one of her many pockets. He drops his bag and opens it,
pulling out a small leather pouch.
"What's that?" Lydia asks, approaching him after having rubbed at her
probably sore feet.
"Mountain ash," he says, tossing her the bag. "I need to teach
you two to make circles with it. I'm not completely sure whether you can, but
we need to at least rule it out as a means of safety. Deaton says that it
repels most supernatural creatures. At least, the quote on quote evil ones,
like werewolves and kanima."
"But..." Lydia trails, looking pensive. "Won't it repel me? I
mean, I look like an angel," she gestures to herself as she poses a little, "but
let's not forget that I actually am a
banshee."
"From what I've read, banshee aren't considered evil. They're not even
really considered creatures, and if they were, they'd probably be considered
more neutral. They're humans who wail for the deaths about to come. It's
actually kind of nice. You grieve for everyone who dies at the hands of the
supernatural."
"Huh, yeah," Lydia mutters under her breath. "Nice is not the word I would use to describe
it."
"Okay," Allison calls, walking back over to the pair. "Shall
we?" She gestures to her bow and Lydia steps forward begrudgingly.
"So, you'll want to nock the arrow and then draw the string." Lydia
does as she's instructed, easily drawing the string back next to her cheek as
she's seen it done before. "That's actually really impressive. This bow
has a pretty high draw weight." Allison is decently surprised, but Lydia
responds with a shrug before firing towards the nearest target. She sticks the
arrow into the tree about three inches to the left of the target and Allison
nods in approval.
Allison takes the bow from Lydia, pulls out another arrow, and holds them out
toward Stiles. "Um, actually," Stiles says, reaching into his bag,
"I'd much rather use this, if you don't mind." He pulls a compact 9mm
Glock pistol, pitch black frame and polished steel slide, out of his bag,
consciously pointing it into the trees away from the girls.
Allison has a mildly conflicted expression as she looks at the gun. "I'd
really rather you use the bow. Only the less tactical hunters use firearms. They're
loud and not significantly better unless you're at really long range. Besides,
unless your bullets are laced with the right poison, they don't cause lasting
injury." Allison gives a sort of apologetic look and holds the bow out
again, a tad more forcefully.
"Okay, I'll try your way first," Stiles sighs, gently putting the gun
on his bag and getting up to take a turn with the bow. He takes it from
Allison, quickly nocking the arrow and letting out a long breath with the
weapon and his head lowered. He draws the string back near his cheek, but his
arms are shaking slightly with the effort and the bowstring is gouging into the
pads of his first three fingers. He aims as best he can in the second before he
releases the string and the arrow goes sailing past the tree, a foot or two off
from the mark.
"Huh," Lydia remarks snidely from off to the side. Stiles looks
embarrassedly back at her while Allison shoots her a quick glare.
"It's fine, Stiles," the black clad girl says, stepping forward and
placing a maternal hand on his shoulder. "Most people do worse on the
first try."
"Yeah," he breathes, still a bit defeated. "But neither of you
had any trouble dealing with the draw weight. How am I the weak one here? I
mean, I figured you might be hiding some crazy hunter strength, but Lydia?
Where do you two even keep the muscle?"
Lydia shrugs, checking her manicure and tucking her hair behind one ear.
"I guess you're just the wimp of our little human triad."
"Lydia," Allison bites as she whips her head to meet the redhead's
gaze. She pats Stiles on the shoulder turning back to face him, "Maybe you
should try the pistol. Where'd you get it, anyway?"
"My dad got it for me," he spits out, a bit sourly. "After he
figured everything out, he was worried about my safety. Which, I mean, it
should make me feel better, safer. But, I'm just even more on edge than I was
before. Because, now, it's not just me in real danger. It's him, too. And I'm
just not sure that I know enough to keep us both safe. Besides, our group is so
small now. It doesn't feel as safe as it did before, and it didn't even really
feel safe then. It's just... Ugh." Stiles barely noticed that in the time
it took him to finish the rant, he'd gone over to his backpack, picked up the
gun, done all of the safety checks, put in a clip, and walked back to the
designated shooting spot.
"Okay," Allison says, not really saying it in response to anything in
particular, just acknowledging how Stiles feels. "Ready?" He nods and
pulls the slide back, loading the first round. He raises it, stance ready,
hands both on the relatively small handgun in the standard grip. Just as he
thinks to pull the trigger, he remembers.
"Hold on," he says, putting the gun on safety and slowly setting it
down. He heads back to his bag, both of the girls giving him confused looks. He
pulls out three sets of earplugs, handing a pair to Lydia and Allison as he
walks back. Allison gives him an understanding nod, but he explains for Lydia's
sake, "It's going to be louder than you think." He puts his own
earplugs in, picking up the gun and getting back in the stance his dad taught
him a year after his mom died. He takes a calming breath, looks down the
sights, and makes a calibrating shot at one of the targets. He misses the
target by about a half inch to the right and he can vaguely hear Lydia making a
comment before he takes a breath and cuts her off with five quick shots, each
one hitting almost dead center on the targets hanging about in front of him.
He clicks the gun on safety, pulls the slide back to empty the chamber, and
removes the clip. Turning around, he sees Allison's impressed eyebrow arch and
Lydia is actively trying to not show any sort of reaction to his hidden talent.
"So," Allison says, breaking the silence as she pulls out her
earplugs and Stiles does the same. "When did you become a Glock
marksmen?"
"Well," he responds, perhaps a bit sheepishly, "when your dad's
the sheriff and he leaves you at home alone all the time, he tends to teach you
about handguns. Not that he'd ever let me anywhere near one outside the range
until now."
"Still," Lydia says, stepping up to them, "we probably could've
used some of that shooting ability dealing with all the craziness these last
eighteen months."
Allison gives Lydia another look, but then has an inquisitive expression as she
turns back to him. "Look," he defends, "I don't want to actually
kill anyone. I never have wanted to, except maybe Ms. Blake when she took my
dad. Which is kind of exactly the point. I'm only readjusting myself to using a
gun because my dad is in actual danger now, and I have to have every means
possible to protect him. Not to mention that, according to Deaton, there's a
storm of big bads coming to Beacon Hills anytime now, so I'll have to pull more
offensive and defensive weight in our rapidly dwindling group." The girls
nod and there's a moment of silence, obviously making Lydia uncomfortable.
Well, maybe not 'obviously,' but Stiles knows all of her mannerisms and
micro-expressions. "Speaking of all means possible," he steps back to
his bag, putting the gun away and pulling out a few small leather pouches,
"you two need to learn some rudimentary magic."
"Stiles," Allison says, catching one of the bags he throws her,
"I've been reading the books my family has on, well, pretty much
everything, and it sounds like the majority of people can't do magic. I know
that you've worked a little with Deaton-"
"Yeah," Stiles admits, "not as much as you think. He won't
really tell me much. But, one thing he did say is that mountain ash lines can
be constructed by anyone. The trick will be whether or not you two can pull the
ring out with just a pinch of the dust."
"What do you mean?" Allison asks, face quirked slightly in confusion.
"It's probably better if I just demonstrate." The girls move together
and Stiles steps back a few paces, taking just a pinch of the mountain ash ash
(they need a simpler name) out of the leather pouch. "Watch closely."
He closes his eyes to focus and, after a moment, quickly tosses the grey powder
straight up into the air. It reaches an apex and bursts apart, glowing a very
faint purple and landing around him in a perfect circle.
The girls give him impressed, but maybe vaguely concerned looks.
"Stiles," Lydia says, voice a tad solemn, "you just broke physics. How are we supposed to
take a little bit of dust and turn it into an eight foot ring? What about
conservation of matter?"
"You're thinking too much," he defends. "It's magic. Get over it. Just do it." Lydia
contorts her face, and, although Allison looks like she's ready to just go with
it, she still looks a little disbelieving, which completely defeats the purpose.
"Look, we don't have much of ther pixie dust," yep, that's what he's
going to call it, "so we have to use it sparingly. But, none of the
werewolves can do it, and I don't want to be the only one who can set these up.
So," he points to the bags the girls are holding to prompt them. Lydia rolls
her eyes, actually her whole head, but she opens the bag and reaches in.
Allison follows suit. "Good, now: the key to doing this right is belief. I
still don't totally understand how it works, but I know that whatever has to
happen can't unless you truly believe it can. You both just saw me do it, so
you know it's possible. This sounds incredible cliché, but you just have to believe in yourselves."
Lydia gives a throw caution to the wind
look and breathes a deep breath before throwing the powder in the air and
having it come abruptly, and rather anticlimactically, back onto her only
mildly tousled red curls. She breathes a frustrated breath and the other two
hold back the giggles, which neither of them has had to do for a couple weeks.
Allison collects herself and throws the powder up. It lingers for a moment,
Stiles can sense the presence of the magic, but the dust floats back down
without order, not having formed a circle. "This is pointless," Lydia
says, and Allison seems to agree, brushing dust from her hair.
"No, no," Stiles says, stepping forward and shaking his hand.
"Allison almost had it. I could... feel the magic or something."
Allison lights up a bit at her almost success, but Lydia just gives him a
lilted glare. "Okay," Stiles allows, "Lydia, you pretty much did
nothing, and it's possible that your immunity is affecting it. But, you're also
really fighting the belief, I can tell. At least try a few more times. And
really try to believe." The
stress in his words makes Stiles feel like a kindergarten teacher and a hippie
occult leader at the same time.
The girls go another round, Lydia throwing up a pinch of dust and having it
fall back on her head, and Allison actually managing to generate a small
circle, though it's barely wide enough to stand in. "See," he says,
gesturing to Allison's feet, "progress."
Lydia gives him another little glare, and he rethinks his strategy. "Okay,
Allison, keep working on the size of your ring. Lydia," he moves toward
the long-time object of his affection, "let's try to have you make a ring
without breaking physics." He smiles at her smirk and kneels down. She
follows and he motions to her bag. "Make a small circle and believe that
it will protect everything inside."
She inhales deeply, pulling out a small handful of powder and let's it slip
from her hand to make a really quite round circle on the forest floor. She
closes her eyes and is clearly intently focused on the belief.
"Well?" she asks, raising her eyes to meet Stiles'. "Did it
work?"
He places a hand over the circle, trying to sense the magic. If it had worked,
he probably could feel it from further away, but there's really nothing there.
"Huh," he grunts.
"I'll take that as a no," she sighs. It's the sigh that Stiles knows
is meant to convey boredom, even though she's a bit disappointed with herself.
"Yeah. I mean, no. You're right, it didn't work but," he tries to
make sense of a few things in his head, figuring that if what he's assuming is
true, it may actually benefit the pack's defenses, "I want to try
something else." Lydia shrugs and he closes his eyes. He inhales through
his nose and breathes power into the circle. He can feel it, like a sort if
warm vibration beneath his palm. "Okay, I made it into an actually working
ring. Wave your hand over it." Lydia, trying to appear put upon by rolling
her eyes, does as she's told. The ring continues to buzz, but it's like where
Lydia puts her hand between it and Stiles, he can't sense it. "Huh,"
he contemplates. "Try touching it." Lydia sighs audibly, but hesitates
just slightly before touching the ring on the ground. The warm buzz cuts out
immediately at contact.
Stiles must have a pensive expression on his face, because after she lets out a
little relieved sigh, Lydia snaps at him, "What's so interesting?"
"Well," he says, vaguely noticing that Allison has come over to join
them, "apparently you're like a magic wet blanket." He thinks it's an
apt description, but he knows the girls will ask for more, so he continues.
"As soon as you came into contact with the ring, all of the, for lack of a
better term and because I like saying it to bug you, magic got drained out. Also, when you're between it and me, I can't
sense it. I'm not sure if it's the banshee thing in particular or your general
immunity. Of course," he's getting into ramble territory now, "we're
not exactly sure that the two are mutually exclusive. In fact, your immunity
may stem from the possibility that you're actually dead. Or rather, have been
dead. See, banshee, or 'weeping women,' are generally thought of as spirits who
mourn for those who die awful deaths. And, generally, you do have to die to be
a spirit. But, legend could totally have that misinterpreted. Let's not forget
that the bite can kill, so you very well may have died and then returned to
life with immunities. That could also explain the connection to Peter since
he's the one that-" Allison smacks him in the chest with the back of her
hand and he snaps back to reality. Lydia has her strong but not pleased face on
and Stiles feels like a massive dickhead. "Lydia... I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have brought it up. But, uh," he rubs a hand through the hair on the back
of his head, awkwardly trying to recover. "Immunity to magic, huh? That
has some distinct tactical advantages."
Allison shakes her head at him, but Lydia just smacks him on the back of the
head as she passes, headed back the way they came. "Come on. I'm done for
the day. Don't forget your backpack, idiot," she calls, swinging her heels
back and forth as she goes. Allison slings her bow over her shoulder and gives
Stiles a you deserve it and so much more
smirk as she passes and he hurries to pack everything back in his bag, checking
the gun one more time. He zips it up quickly and bounds down the hill after the
girls.