Stiles felt wrong as soon as he woke up.

The feeling persisted longer than simple dislike that flooded Stiles' whenever he woke up before eleven on a Saturday. Instead, Stiles glanced around, trying to figure out what in his room could cause him to feel this heavy weight of wrong.

He rolled out of bed, dragging his body through the morning motions (washing his face, brushing his teeth, changing into his clothes), but the same feeling persisted.

As Stiles' headed out the door, his bag readied for a day of learning magic, he glanced around a final time.

Sweeping his eyes across the room, Stiles growled petulantly, and stomped out of his room.

He'd figure out what had gone wrong later.

He always did; sooner or later.

/`/`/`/`/`/`~~~~~~~~~~~~~/`/`/`/`/`/`/

Stiles really needed to stop watching horror movies.

Though walking into the clearly closed clinic would have still bothered him, horror movies or not, he might not have seen so many parallels if he hadn't watched so many extras killed off walking into the lairs of mysterious entities.

Mr. Deaton was totally a mysterious entity.

Gerard, Derek, Peter: they all had backstories, families, documented existences from before high school began.

Mr. Deaton had moved to Beacon Hills around freshman year, and had hired Scott over the summer. He didn't date, he didn't seem to have any family, and there was a reason Stiles had believed that Mr. Deaton could have been the secret Alpha.

With these thoughts in mind, Stiles hesitated slightly as he entered the clinic by the front door. No one knew where he had gone. Mr. Deaton had explicitly wanted Stiles to keep this a secret.

Stiles sighed, and kept going.

There had been the possibility of him dying like the comedic element that he'd always been since Scott had received the bite. For the ability to do- well, whatever the mountain ash counted as, or magic, or Sparking, Stiles would risk it.

"Mr. Deaton?" Stiles called, shutting the door behind him. He kept walking forward, not bothering to wait for an answer. He walked up to the gate, and pushed it.

The gate didn't budge.

Stiles frowned, and looked for whatever latch was keeping it shut, but there didn't seem to be one. He shoved it again, and heard a laugh from behind the gate.

"Mountain Ash doesn't just work on Werewolves you know." Stiles stumbles slightly, leaning on the immobile gate to keep his balance.

"It also works on humans who believe. Come in." The gate moves easily, and Stiles falls into the back office, attempting to hold onto his dignity (but feeling like he was failing miserably).

"So, if I didn't believe in werewolves the gate would have always moved?" Stiles questioned, as Mr. Deaton beckoned him into the medical room.

"Not quite. If you were the sort of person who didn't believe in anything supernatural: no werewolves, no magic, no witches, or, ah, anything else, and you didn't believe strongly enough, then the gate wouldn't have effected you."

Stiles frowned at the older man. If Stiles had been a wolf, he would have claimed that he smelt deceit. Or made a crack about how omission counted as a lie. But Stiles wasn't, and this might be his only chance to reclaim the power he'd harnessed at the rave, and he wasn't going to risk it by mouthing off at the moment.

Maybe later.

"So, does it work on all humans if they believe in." Stiles waved his arms around, "all of this?"

"If they have a Spark, then yes." Stiles nodded, digging into his pack to pull out the journal he was going to store all the pertinent details in. He'd transfer it to a computer later- Stiles had a feeling having his own bestiary was a good idea.

"But belief is important? Like, none of this works if you don't believe, or I could stop something if I could make myself not believe it was happening? Or-"

Stiles forcibly stopped himself from talking. Letting people answer questions was just as important as asking questions.

Mr. Deaton seated himself, obviously considering how to answer the question. Stiles, not for the first time, found himself jealous of the ability to think before speaking. He took a seat as well, dragging the chair to be a little closer to Mr. Deaton while trying to respect whatever personal space bubble the man might want.

"Belief is the basis." Mr. Deaton said after a minute. "Much of what I do, of what I'll be teaching you, rests on belief, but isn't just belief."

Mr. Deaton smiled, and not for the first time, Stiles notices how blank Mr. Deaton's facial expressions really are.

"Here." Stiles looks down at Mr. Deaton's outstretched hand, and wonders how the man managed to hide a book (especially one with a pungent- though not unpleasant- odor strong enough for Stiles to smell) for so long.

Stiles flipped through the book, taking in the leather bound volume with various pressed flowers and color illustrations above text. He paused on the page with dill pressed on it, reading a snippet, and then looked up at Mr. Deaton.

"Okay, here's what I don't get; if all that matters is my belief, then why did I need the mountain ash? Why do I need to know that dill is apparently good for stress headaches? Why can't I just picture myself without a headache and will it to happen?"

The look on Mr. Deaton's face made Stiles wish that the usual black facial expressions were back. Actual emotions were far creepier than Stiles had expected.

"You can. Now, Stiles, how long can you hold a belief in something you cannot see? How long, for you, before doubt sets in?"

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, and then sighed heavily.

"Probably about a minute. If the Mountain Ash hadn't lasted longer than I'd expected, I probably wouldn't have believed at all."

Mr. Deaton nodded enthusiastically.

"So, you learn as much as you can. You learn if sage or rosemary is better for protection or cleansing, you learn all the uses of mint, fennel, nakhwa, you learn about stones, and symbols, and you use it all to strengthen your belief."

Stiles can't help the cheerful grin that pops up on his face. If Scott had been sitting next to him, Stiles would have punched him in the arm and made a joke about having spent too much time on the computer researching random things being the best choice he'd ever made.

As it was, just picturing it made Stiles smile.

Mr. Deaton didn't comment on it.

"So, get this read, and come back tomorrow."

Stiles blinked, and stood up. He'd been in the clinic for less than an hour. Honestly, he felt a bit ripped off. But Mr. Deaton was clearly serious, and Stiles figured reading the herbal probably counted as the rest of his lesson.

"Uh. Okay. See you tomorrow."

Mr. Deaton has already gone (how did the man move that fast?), so Stiles moved the chair back to where it belonged, and headed out the door.

/`/`/`/`/`/`~~~~~~~~~~~~~/`/`/`/`/`/`/

Halfway through the herbal, Stiles twitched violently when his door was knocked at. Shoving the herbal beneath an innocuous looking schoolbook, Stiles headed over and opened his door.

He blinked.

Lydia Martin was at his door.

Actual Lydia Martin.

Not her personal shopper, or the stunt double he felt sure she had.

Stiles had a sinking suspicion that he'd been staring and gapping for at least a solid minute, so he pulls the door open further, and she enters his room.

He feels thankful for a minute that it's clean, but then she's speaking, and it's at him, and he pulls his attention to her, forcing himself to pay attention to everything she says, and any subtext that might exist under what she's saying.

"Stiles." She's frowning at him, and Stiles realizes that he's focusing too hard, that he'd got to pay attention without policing himself to make sure he's paying attention.

He knows this.

"Yes?"

"I'm in love with Jackson." Lydia reaches up to touch her hair, and Stiles forces his concentration back onto what she's saying, rather than trying to think about when she's worn this hairstyle before, or how much he likes her dress, or that she looks nervous.

It's the fact that she looks nervous that allows him to focus on what she's saying.

"You like me. I need you to not like me."

Stiles opens his mouth to tell her it's not that easy, and that he likes her for her, and that- but she's holding up her hand, so he shuts his mouth.

He's stood up to Lydia Martin exactly once in his life, and he's not ready to try it again.

Not yet, at least.

"That's all I have to say." She tells him, and she walks out the door. Stiles opens his mouth (he's not sure if he's going to say goodbye, or try to make her stop walking away), but freezes when she stops and turns back in his doorway.

"I want you to be my friend. I don't want you to be in the friend zone, I want you to be my friend. You can't do that, and I can't be your friend if you think you're in- if you think you like me."

She's definitely nervous. Stiles really doesn't know what to make of that.

"Jackson and I would both like to be friends with you. So, think about it."

She walked out before he can think of how to respond.

Stiles groaned, and headed back to his assigned reading.

He's only half looking for an herb that helps you get over unrequited love.

.

.

.

/`/`/`/`/`/`~~~~~~~~~~~~~/`/`/`/`/`/`/

Alright folks! I hope you liked it!

Honestly, I'd really love some feedback on what I'm trying to do with Mr. Deaton, so if you have any questions/comments/concerns I'd really like to hear them.

Actually, any comments at all. Seriously. Please review.

Also, someone reminded me that Derek and Stiles actually do have each other's phone numbers, so I'm fixing that in the previous chapter.

See you all soon!

Amanda