The ride had been turbulent with emotion for Stiles. He masked his thoughts as focusing on driving, but that was one of the last things on his mind. Every corner of his conscious was masked in worry – worry about Scott, his dad, Lydia – everything. As usual, his focus centered on Lydia despite what he told himself earlier at the loft. He shouldn't be focusing on relationship woes when there were people's lives at stake. Then again, he reflected, wasn't Lydia's life on the line? Why shouldn't he worry about her? He'd done it for most of his natural life, especially in the last few years.
He kept glancing at the rear-view mirror, trying to catch her looking up at him. Stiles just needed a little push to keep himself going. Lydia's face still held that terror, however, and that worked just as well. Of course he was going to help Scott find this mystery pursuer and kidnapper but now more than that rested on this. If they couldn't find this thing, then Lydia might be haunted by it for God knows how long. Then he'd lose her again, and maybe permanently. That wasn't something Stiles was going to risk, not after everything that happened.
There was still that one little part, though, that teensy, tiny little 'L' word-
"Of course it has to be Peter," Scott growled, interrupting his thoughts. Stiles had to admit it was strange that the elder Hale hadn't been anywhere around here when Derek was taken and with Lydia's nightmares Stiles hadn't been too far from making the same conclusion himself, but there was some niggling doubt. Scott had told him what Derek said on the phone: Peter was missing, but he still didn't believe it was him, and if Derek of all wasn't going to throw him under the bus then there was no reason to worry. Whether he liked or not, Stiles had a strange trust for Derek. Maybe it wasn't deserved and it didn't hold completely, one-hundred percent of the time, but if Derek believed Peter had the possibility of being innocent then he wouldn't condemn the man immediately like Scott seemed to be doing.
"Scott, why does it have to be him? It seems like there's a new monster in this town every year, and guess what?" Stiles looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, "It's about that time again!"
"Why do you trust him?" Lydia butted in quietly. She had been sitting in the backseat not speaking for the majority of the ride to the Hale house – where Scott believed Peter would be. Stiles didn't want to burst his bubble about how alarmingly obvious that was and yet at the same time he could feel a little spark go off in his head when he thought about the rundown construction.
Lydia's face, on the other hand, looked disgusted at the prospect. Could she really not feel that voice in her head yelling 'no' when they talked about Peter? It was a distant, faint little nobody that Stiles had to coax out to hear the whole story – that Peter wasn't the wolf or thing that stalked her. He could rationalize why Lydia immediately jumped to that conclusion though: this was the crazy resurrected werewolf that had been haunting her nightmares and daily life for far too long. If Stiles could give her that closure with Peter he would, but that voice came back up and reminded him that the man wasn't guilty.
"I, I don't know. Scott you have to feel that too, right? Something telling you this just doesn't add up?" Stiles wanted so badly to look at Lydia then, to show her that he wasn't crazy. He wanted to grab onto her for dear life and try and get her to understand that small voice. They would have to talk later like they silently agreed upon earlier. Relationship issues would have to be set aside for the moment. Meanwhile, Scott's response was exactly what he had hoped for.
"It has to be him, though. Who else has a grudge against Derek and Lydia? Or me? I mean they are my pack, so this has gotta be directed at me right?" Scott was clearly scrambling for straws here. He was out of his league – he didn't actually know if it was Peter, Stiles thought. He was trying to be the leader who always knew the right thing to do even when the choices were cloudy and the answer wasn't incredibly apparent.
"Why wouldn't Peter go after your mom again?" Stiles retorted. He glanced at his friend, whose face had fallen into a doubtful, contemplative grimace.
"I don't know," he blurted out, confused, "But all I know is that Peter is our best lead."
"If he's innocent, he's innocent," Stiles said calmly before looking back at Lydia and continuing, "But if he's the one creeping on Lydia and stealing wolves, give him hell Scott."
The other boy smiled, nodding, before closing his eyes and resuming what had to be some deep introspection Stiles wasn't aware of. He only hoped it wouldn't be about Allison right now, at least not for the moment. If he was worried about the girl showing up it would slow him down and make ripping out Peter's throat – there the voice just harrumphed at him – harder.
When they pulled up by the mess of a building Derek used to hide out in, Stiles was struck by a brief feeling of something being thrown over his eyes and blinding him. The air quickly rushed out of his lungs and his knees felt wobbly and weak, forcing him to lean back on the Jeep and take deep breaths in response. His throat clenched and images of Peter turning on Lydia and finishing the job he started years ago flashed in his mind, and of other horrors: one, Lydia's bloodstained body, devoid of life, being dragged away somewhere. Two, claws digging into his own gut as Lydia watches and screams into the night. The third was watching Scott die, hearing his best friend – his brother – being torn apart by the mystery wolf, flesh being peeled from his body and pained howls during the lurid torture. Even the small voice guiding him so far panicked and ran, leaving Stiles to confront the imagery himself.
What if they walked into this house and they lost it all? It's what was going to happen, right? Stiles's macabre images began to seep into the reality around him: Lydia turned and her throat was slashed, blood dripping down onto the jacket she was wearing. She didn't seem to notice the blood or that she should be dying and instead raised an eyebrow at him. Scott's back was covered in slashes and his bones were showing through, his spine sliced cleanly in half. Stiles hoped he wouldn't turn around – he didn't need to endure what horrifying mutilations were on the other side.
He had begun to dissect the first of his visions, seeing the dusted floorboards stained deep red and brown and covered with combinations of Lydia's and Derek's blood, when the nighttime breeze struck him full in the face and a small figure wove their fingers around his. And just like that the images seemed to run in reverse, pulling back to this very moment where his eyes cleared and the quiet crunch of leaves occasionally rose in the air, with Lydia's hand gripping his.
"Hey, you all right?" She asked, her voice light and fragile. He wondered why it sounded so familiar until he realized it was the way he'd ask her that – that same willingness to be vulnerable with her if she wanted it.
"Yeah, no I'm good," he answered, then swung their hands a bit and gave her a brief smile, "Yeah, I'm really good now."
Stiles was surprised to see determination in her eyes, some kind of understanding. Or maybe it wasn't even understanding, he thought. Maybe it was just trust, or maybe it was love?
They had made their way into the house quietly, with Stiles and Lydia arguing that they weren't going to leave Scott to go in alone. Scott backed down remarkably fast, apparent worry over the situation growing every second. The musty smell permeated the air but the werewolf seemed to smell something amongst the moth balls and dying vermin, stopping every few steps with a confused look on his face before sniffing at the walls or floor again.
"There's something else here. I don't recognize it," he whispered to the pair behind him. There was real worry there, "I think it's a werewolf… but I don't know."
"What? You think it's a wolf?" Lydia had to keep her voice low answering him, crossing her arms and irritation showing on her face.
"I said it's unfamiliar," Scott forced out quietly, "It's like a wolf's scent, but I don't know who it is. I smell Peter and Derek, though. They're definitely here, and blood. Lots of it."
If they weren't still clinging to each other, Stiles would have grabbed for her hand right then. If he didn't know all of this stuff about surrogate sacrifices then he'd have called himself pathetic for jumping to Lydia every time something went wrong. At the rate his life was crumbling down around him he'd be reaching out too damn often to be sane, he thought. The pair followed Scott, whose claws had been out in preparation and they could see his back tense up as they made their way into the den of the house where he said the smell emanated from.
Inside the room the trio could see two men lying against each other back to back, with claw marks all over their bodies and dried bloodstains surrounding them on the floor. The fireplace even had splatters of brown and red covering the dust, where some conflict had clearly taken place. In fact, the whole scene spoke of violence – the previously upturned furniture was completely destroyed at one end of the room and the age-worn flooring was pulled apart in places all across. Stiles turned to look at the two bodies – Derek's hands were covered in blood and several of his fingers looked broken, while the other man was what Stiles's little voice expected to see. It was Peter, unconscious and with a hideous gash spread across his cheek where a gigantic claw had torn through the flesh and pulled away.
The gothic atmosphere was added to with the harsh moonlight pouring in. Just like at the loft, the center of the den was bathed in white light but this time only in streaks. The Hales' blood spatters pockmarked the perfect lines, creating what looked like the direction they were dragged in from. From that distance he couldn't tell if Peter and Derek were actually breathing but before he could think about it anymore, something heavy smashed into his back. Stiles's hand couldn't maintain its grip and he flew forwards into a sofa split in two which sent him tumbling on to his back and into a collapsed chunk of wood that arched into his back.
The pain was like having someone drive a hammer into the back of his neck repeatedly, pulsing waves of irritated nerve firing off every few seconds as he struggled to maintain consciousness. Lydia had reacted instantly, dashing over to him while the sounds of a vicious, angered roar filled the air. Stiles hadn't been scared by Scott's transformation in a long time, though the bright red eyes still bothered him quite a bit, but the combination of those eyes and that rage-filled snarl didn't make him envious of this new werewolf. The crimson matched some of the stains marking the walls and floor and the fury in the howl made the other figure, the one who sent Stiles skidding across the room, shudder back a few inches before returning the Alpha's intimidation with what comparably sounded like a childish whine.
It was definitely a werewolf that much was sure. But who could it have been that held such a grudge against the entire pack like this? It garnered so much hate that it was willing to attack Scott alone, without its pack and with the threat of Isaac showing up to answer an Alpha's call. Stiles had no time to ponder this when the other figure – whom Stiles noted was far more wolf-like than Scott, with the previous human facial features all but gone – made to tackle the still fuming boy. He was too fast, however, and seemed to intercept the pounce mid-air and threw the wolf into the nearest wall. The crisp, crumbling wallpaper split easily and the force of the toss sent the attacker deep into the wall's foundation.
This time it scrambled to its feet and circled Scott, neither of them taking their eyes off the other. It was almost poetic, but then there was a bellow emanating from his friend followed by a rush towards the kidnapper. It all happened in a flash, but the next thing Stiles knew the wolf was crouching – or the closest to crouching a wolf could get – and there was a streak of blood across its chest. This was a flesh-wound from an Alpha, and he could see the pain in the thing's eyes as it looked down at the blackening fluids dropping to the floor.
With a wounded grunt, it turned and made for another suicide charge at Scott. Again he reacted too quickly, bringing his elbow down onto the creature's back, sending it crumpling face-first. Whoever it was, it wasn't an Alpha. The thing was no match for an extremely pissed off, roided-out Scott and seemed to give up after the second attack. It lay there, breathing heavily in a cloud of dust and decay mixed with the fumes of freshly spilled and old blood.
After a few seconds of standing over the crumpled form, panting breaths slowing down, the overgrown canines retreated and Stiles was looking at the regular old human Scott again. He turned to Stiles, scanning him for any obvious damage.
"Go check on those two," Stiles protested to him, already feeling like he was almost good to walk, and pointing at the two figures still left hopefully unconscious. Halfway over to the two of them the broken mass lying on the floor moved suddenly, shifting its gaze around wildly as if it were confused. The golden eyes scanned the room before stopping at Lydia. The wolf glanced at Stiles and then growled shortly, baring its fangs at the pair but quickly stopping to leap towards an exit and out into the woods.
Scott seemed to consider chasing after the thing before turning back around to his friends. Stiles shook his head and Lydia furrowed her brow in confusion, and he hoped Scott would take the current situation – two possible deaths – over the mystery wolf. He nodded, checking the two men's breathing before letting out a relieved sigh.
"Yeah, they're alive," he answered the question thick in the air that no one wanted to ask.
"Of course we're alive, dumbass," Peter groaned in response. Scott jumped back as the older man cracked his neck and stood up, brushing off the bits of clothing that had been ripped off, picking at his mangled jacket in dismay, "They always have to ruin the coat. Since when did werewolves hate tailors so much?"
Lydia visibly shuddered at the image of Peter rising up, unscathed, and Stiles pulled her closer to him with whatever strength was in his arms. The warmth of her body against his both dispelled the natural chill in the night air and the uneasy tension from the fight just moments ago. Still feeling her shiver a little, Stiles hoped what he was feeling earlier wasn't being transferred over to Lydia right now through whatever it was that made her disappear into herself before. He had to talk to Deaton about that, he thought. He didn't want to ever spread this blackness, this disease, to her again. He'd already been through hell once, and if he could control it like Deaton claimed to then Stiles would figure it out.
"Took you long enough," Derek complained. His wounds seemed to be healing slower than Peter's.
"What, you didn't like the little family get-together?" Peter inquired, chuckling, "It was lovely until we had our little uninvited guest, don't you think?"
His question was directed at Derek, who grimaced and stared blankly at him causing Peter to raise his hands in mock forgiveness. Stiles wanted to laugh, but with Lydia still terrified by the Hales the sound never came out. Instead he kept trying to piece together who the intruder could have been and how he knew to find both of them. All the while Scott seemed to be concentrating on some thought and kept looking around the room and sniffing at the air, apparently gathering whatever evidence his senses could.
"It's an Omega," he declared, "There's no way it's an Alpha, and if he lives out here then his pack would have come to help him at the first call. So, no pack and no Alpha means he's alone."
"Good call, Scott. I'm impressed," Peter looked genuinely surprised by the conclusion.
"Do we know any Omegas?" Stiles had managed to get to his feet with Lydia's support, wondering why they hadn't heard of this loner before. Or maybe-
"No, but remember what Deaton said? This must be the start of whatever… whatever," Scott stumbled.
"It's the start of some supernatural influx. It's just the beginning." Lydia offered. The three werewolves in front of the pair nodded gravely, lending an austere weight to her words. If this was only the start of things, Stiles thought, what the hell was up next? They'd already dealt with a pack of Alphas, so why was an Omega the catalyst for it all?
This time Lydia drove and Stiles sat passenger after he nudged knowingly in Peter's direction when his friend went to sit. If she wasn't already a wreck, leaving him in the back with Peter wasn't going to help matters one bit. He was right there, but Lydia still didn't trust Peter fully despite having confirmation that he wasn't the stalker. Stiles couldn't bring himself to confront her about it yet. It was too irrational to be going on this long and they both knew it, but there would be a time and place later. It would probably be much later, judging by their miniscule progress so far.
The animated conversation from before was gone, replaced by an awkward and heavy silence.
"Well, if no one's going to speak up," Peter exclaimed, raising a hand and looking around, "I think I'll get us started then? It's not me. That's obvious."
Stiles grit his teeth and saw Scott and Derek nod begrudgingly, looking a little guilty and disappointed at the same time. It would have been far too easy if it was Peter, he thought. Nothing was ever that easy for them, was it?
"So, it's an Omega that we don't know. It's angry at Scott, but didn't go after his mother for whatever reason," he continued, "And it's got a strange obsession with our little friend over here. Which isn't surprising – it seems like everyone in this little group's gone after her at some point. It's only just now that we have a winner."
"Hey!" Derek and Scott said simultaneously. The two looked at each other before shrugging and dropping the topic altogether. After this it seemed like no one wanted to continue Peter's inquisition anymore. They all felt uneasy about the possibilities, especially Stiles. A werewolf, a lone wolf, who was angry at Scott and was Lydia's lapdog? There was always the obvious choice and the thought made him want to vomit – he was supposed to be in London. Then again, he thought, maybe the Nemeton had drawn him back to the town. Maybe the Omega was just the beginning of it all, like they said earlier? There was a sort of irony there that the Omega would be the firestarter for this whole parade of supernatural crazy.
"Well that only leaves one person, right?" Lydia spoke up, her voice clear and sounding sure of herself. Stiles felt a bit of pride that she was trying to overcome her fear and intimidation this quickly, just like the Lydia he knew – just like the real Lydia – would. She had a conflicted grimace on her face, and Stiles unfortunately knew exactly what it was about. Trying to maintain a straight face, she continued, "It's Jackson, isn't it?"
A/N: Well then, this took a turn! This is the part where the relationship aspect takes a different angle in the story. No, it's not going away - it's obvious in this chapter how important the Stiles/Lydia relationship is to the story - but it needs some development that this is bound to bring.
As always, be the bestest ever and drop a review. It's cool if you don't, but it's the *coolest* if you do. By the way, I'm totally not Jeff Davis. Dunno, I might be but I haven't checked in a while. I also don't think I have any official connection to TW.