Chapter Four
As the Dust Settles
"Sarah," Stiles says in his calm, soothing voice, moving carefully across the floor. "Sarah, I need you to take a deep breath." This is second nature to him. He's lost track of how many moons he's spent talking down a snarling Beta, and in Scott's early days, Stiles spent every full moon with him. He's found that a low, level voice works best, and he likes to repeat their names a lot, to remind them who they are.
"Get out," Sarah gasps.
"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles promises. "But you need to take a deep breath."
"I'm dangerous. I'll hurt you." Sarah squeezes her bright blue eyes shut, her fangs distorting her words just a little.
Stiles reaches the bed and starts to move around the side of it. He tries to keep his steps as smooth as possible to avoid any jerky movements that might startle Sarah. "No, you won't. I know you, Sarah. You won't hurt me."
"You don't know me!" she sobs. "You don't know what I am!"
"Yes, I do. I've known since we first met."
Sarah's eyes flash open as he crouches down beside the bed so his face is level with hers. That blue glow bores into him. It's so much like Derek's, but it doesn't have the same calm, depthless quality. Stiles loves Derek's blue eyes. "You know? How?"
"I'm part of a Pack in Beacon Hills," Stiles explains.
"How come you never said anything?" Sarah's voice is starting to lose its manic edge.
"I was trying to keep my two lives separate. I'm sorry, Sarah." Stiles reaches out and takes one of her hands, gently pulling it out of its rigid lock on her arm. Her claws dig into her palm, but they don't break the skin, so he ignores them.
"But you're human," Sarah says, puzzled.
"Yeah, well, Beacon Hills is weird." He laughs a little.
As Sarah sits up, the glow in her eyes fades, and Stiles feels her claws recede. He keeps hold of her hand, though, and gives her a smile. "Better?"
She tucks a curl behind her ear. "Yeah, thanks."
Stiles stands up from his painful crouch and moves to the bed. "What happened, Sarah? You've never had problems with control before."
"I think it's the stress of finals. It's got me more frazzled than usual."
"Do you want me to stay with you for the rest of the night?" Stiles asks.
Sarah shakes her head. "No, I'll be alright. Thank you, Stiles."
Stiles leans in and gently kisses her forehead. "Text me if you need anything, okay?"
"Okay."
Sarah gives him a weak smile as he stands. When Stiles lets himself out, Jacob is leaning up against the wall. He jumps up as soon as he sees Stiles. "What happened? Is she okay?"
"She's fine now," Stiles says, rubbing tiredly at his face. "She was just having a bad panic attack about finals."
"Oh. I'm sorry I interrupted your date."
"You did the right thing," Stiles assures him.
Jacob follows Stiles into his room, a mischievous smile coming over his lips. "So how was it?"
Stiles pulls off his shoes and chucks them into a corner. "It was pretty good."
"Really? That's all I get?" Jacob's mouth drops open in disbelief, and he shakes his head at Stiles.
"Sorry, I'm really tired. I'll tell you all about it in the morning, alright?"
Jacob rolls his eyes. "Whatever."
Stiles falls onto his bed as Jacob leaves, breathing a sigh of relief. His phone buzzes, and he fumbles it out of his pocket, nearly dropping it on his face as he lifts it up to read the notification. It's a message from Dean, asking if his friend is okay. Stiles sends a quick reply and tells him the same thing he told Jacob.
Scott lies in his bed for a long time on Tuesday morning. He's still mortified that he walked in on his mom and Dr. Crowley kissing. He fled upstairs immediately after, so he wouldn't have to talk to Melissa about it, and now he's using his super wolf hearing to make sure she's out of the house before he leaves his room.
He gets up when he hears the front door shut, throwing on a pair of jeans and his leather jacket. He drives to school slowly for once, going three under the speed limit, much to the chagrin of the car behind him. He grins when he realizes it's Lydia and slows down even more.
She slams her door as she gets out in the parking lot and stomps over to him, punching him in the shoulder as hard as she can. It actually hurts quite a lot, and Scott rubs at the sore spot. "What are you, 80?" Lydia demands.
"I don't think I'd be riding a bike if I were 80," Scott says.
This earns him a glare. "You know what I mean. Why were you driving so slow?"
They start walking up the stairs to the front door. "I accidentally interrupted my mom and Dr. Crowley kissing," Scott explains, wincing. He holds the door open for Lydia.
"Ouch." Most of Lydia's voice sounds sympathetic, but underneath that is a hint of amusement.
"Yeah," Scott agrees. "So I'm going to use you as a shield again today."
"You do realize that you're several inches taller than me."
"I'll make it work."
Scott ducks behind Lydia as they enter the AP Chemistry class, but Scott is relieved to see that Dr. Crowley isn't in the room yet. He sits behind Lydia again, and she twists to look at him. "Dr. Crowley is never late," she says. "He didn't…spend the night, did he?"
"God, no!" Scott yelps and shudders at the thought.
Dr. Crowley sweeps through the door moments before the bell rings, looking annoyed. His black suit isn't as neatly pressed as it usually is, and under his usual sulfur smell, Scott catches a metallic note of blood. He leans forward to whisper in Lydia's ear. "He smells like blood."
"What? Why?"
Dr. Crowley slams his bag down on his desk before Scott can answer. "You can all study on your own today. I have other matters to attend to."
He leaves the classroom just as quickly as he came in.
Lydia spins in her chair so she can look at Scott. "Well, that was weird."
"Definitely weird," Scott agrees.
"You don't think it has anything to do with the date last night?"
Scott shakes his head. "They looked to be having a grand old time when I walked in on them."
Crowley disappears as soon as he leaves the classroom and reappears in a small forest grove. Three demons wait for him, two female and one male, all dressed in dark suits. "What?" Crowley snaps. One of them blood-called him this morning, demanding that he meet with them immediately.
The blonde woman steps forward. "My lord, we heard some disturbing rumors." She hesitates as Crowley's eyes narrow in warning. "Is it true you went on a date with a human woman?"
"What does it matter?" Crowley growls. Sometimes, he wishes he'd never become the King of Hell, just so people would stop questioning his every action.
"We're concerned it's not behavior befitting the King of Hell. Unless of course," she adds quickly when Crowley's silver angel blade drops out of his sleeve and into his hand, "you have some plan to get her soul that we don't know about."
"No. No plan," Crowley says icily.
The demons very obviously try to stifle their shocked gasps. "But why?" the man asks.
"Are you questioning me?" Crowley says.
The demon swallows but seems to grow a spine. "I'm sorry, sir. She's a human woman. It's undignified."
"Undignified?" Crowley bellows. He's getting tired of this. "Undignified?"
The demons back off, casting their eyes to the ground and away from his red hot fury. Crowley has fulfilled his quota of mercy for the month. He used it all up when he graded his last test. Most of his students should have failed, but he relented and gave them Ds instead.
He walks towards the demons, his face transformed into a deceptively calm mask. The three lackeys shuffle their feet and glance at each other, very aware that Crowley's blade is still in his hand. Let their fear grow. Let these sniveling, spineless, worthless pieces of demon scum serve as examples for the rest of Hell as to what happens when you question the King.
Crowley's arm snaps up, and he buries the silver blade into the chest of the most vocal demon. He stares right into the bright, white light that bursts out of her eyes and open mouth. He rips the knife free in a spray of blood, and the tails of his coat flap as he spins and cuts the man's throat. The final demon starts to back away, her face covered in droplets of her companion's blood.
"Sir," she begins.
Crowley doesn't let her finish. He wraps one hand around the back of her neck and holds her still so she can stare into his eyes as he slowly slides the angel blade between her ribs. The bursts of light leave black spots dancing on his vision.
He wipes the blood off on her jacket, and then the knife disappears back up his sleeve. He checks his watch. His first period ends in fifteen minutes, but he can't return quite yet. Undoubtedly, Scott McCall smelled the blood from the call when Crowley first walked into the room. He can't return smelling of it even more strongly and risk raising the boy's suspicions. Crowley has heard about what Scott McCall and his Pack have done to creatures they deem dark.
He decides to walk back to the school rather than teleport. As he sets off, his thoughts once again turn to Melissa McCall. Crowley has never felt or experienced anything like this before. These revolving, cyclical thoughts, all focused on one person in a positive way without even a hint of hate, deals, or murder. He sees Melissa McCall's face when he closes his eyes. He can still smell the shampoo she uses. When he was with her last night, he forgot about ruling Hell and keeping one eye turned to look for backstabbers. He even forgot that he was a demon and not a man.
All of which is foolish, of course. More likely than not, Melissa McCall is going to get him killed. If he were smart, he would call the whole thing off. But he won't. Because he really wants to see Melissa McCall again.
"There's a bus that will get us close to Bobby's. If we leave now, we can catch it," Sam says, hunched over his computer. His legs don't fit under the slightly-smaller-than-usual table, so he has to sit with his knees cocked awkwardly.
"Actually, I was thinking we might stay here a while," Dean says.
Sam looks up in surprise; Dean is usually gung-ho about skipping town as soon as a job is done. Now, Dean sits cross-legged on his bed, the parts of his gun spread out before him for cleaning, and half of his clothes still lie on the floor.
"What?" Sam asks. "Why?"
Dean shrugs. "We haven't had a vacation in a while. Ever, maybe. I don't remember us ever taking a vacation, do you?"
"I don't," Sam agrees. He grins to himself. He knows what this is really about. Dean wants to see more of that kid, Stiles. He shakes his head admonishingly; time to have a little fun. "What would Cas think?"
"What would Cas think about what?" Dean asks, cocking an eyebrow.
"About you seeing another man."
Dean's mouth drops open, and his eyes bug out. "What – no – I – that's not – Cas and I–! I don't like Cas like that! He's just a friend!"
"Yeah, sure," Sam says, smirking. "A friend with whom you share a most profound bond."
Speechless, Dean flings his cleaning rag at Sam's head, but it flutters ineffectually to the ground. Sam closes his computer as he laughs. He and Bobby have a bet going over when (or if) Dean and Cas will get together. Bobby thinks they'll keep dancing around each other until one of them dies, but Sam has more confidence in his brother. They'll get together eventually. They might just need a bit of a push.
"We can stay awhile," Sam relents. He doesn't bother wiping the smirk from his face.
"Awesome."
"You'll probably go stir-crazy after two days," Sam warns. He's seen how Dean gets when he's inactive, and it's not pretty.
"So we'll do things. Go to museums or whatever."
"You hate museums," Sam points out.
Dean glares at him. "Then we'll go to the movies."
"You can invite Stiles, if you want." Sam wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Dean looks around for something else to throw.
A/N - Please leave a review!