After dropping Lydia back at the school so she could ride home with Jackson, Stiles headed back to his house to start decoding whatever was in this book Deaton gave him. He passed Parrish parked by the side of the road on the way and pulled over next to the squad car. He rolled down his window so they could talk. "You following me deputy?"
"Now why would I be doing that?" the handsome officer replied.
"Oh, there's so many reasons: my dad assigned someone in the supernatural know to quote-unquote protect me; I'm a well known teenage delinquent and you're trying to entrap me; not to mention I'm devilishly good looking and people tend to stalk me," he winks at his last comment.
Deputy Parrish chuckles lightly, "I think your dad knows better than that and I would never allow myself to be accused of entrapment."
"So you think I'm smokin' hot," Stiles smiles. "I knew it!"
"Move along Stiles," he waves. "I'm four years older than you and if you stay parked here I might just have to pull you over for interfering in police business. You already used your freebie from me the other day."
"Fine," Stiles says. "Speaking of," he chimes, voice thick with self-humoring innuendo, "what exactly do I owe you for the other day?"
"Goodbye, Stiles," Parrish dismisses as he rolls up his window. Stiles smirks and continues home.
He probably shouldn't be surprised when he pulls into the driveway and Derek comes around the corner of the garage to meet him.
"Did you major in lurking in dark corners when you were in college in New York?"
"No," Derek replies shortly. "European literature. How did you know I went to college in New York?"
"I went through my dad's case files and yours was in there. Also, that time with the unicorns? I used one of your old college 10k tshirts to wipe up everybody's blood off the floor of your apartment." Derek nods, remembering the particularly brutal herd of unicorns that came through a few weeks prior. "European lit though," Stiles ponders. "You might be able to help me. Know any Gaelic?"
Derek scrunches his face a bit in confusion. "The basics. A number of etymological roots. I've tried to translate a few old family books from the vault that are in Gaelic, but it's a complicated language."
"Well," Stiles says, ushering the werewolf inside and waving the book that Deaton gave him. "You're gonna be better than I am at it and as long as we can pronounce things I think I can finally cast a spell or something!" He turns to share his excitement, but Derek has a pained look on his face as he ascends the last few steps behind Stiles. "What?"
"Are you sure you should be starting magic right now with the witches in town?"
"Uh... Yeah!" Stiles retorts. "Isn't it the best time? Even Deaton thinks it's a good idea." He touts the book as proof.
Derek sighs like he always does when he has to explain. "But don't you think if you're better at magic they'll want you in their coven even more?"
Stiles ponders it for a moment. "Eh," he shrugs. "I'll just say no." Before Derek can retort, Stiles pushes through the door to his room and throws his backpack onto his bed, shortly followed by himself. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil and starts transcribing the Ogham into the Latin alphabet so Derek can semi-translate. "What does this say?" he holds the scribbled letters up to the standing werewolf.
"Uh..." Derek squints at the page. "Circle? I think."
"Boring," Stiles says, flipping past the first half of the book, figuring that's where the good stuff is. He transcribes another heading and hands the notebook to Derek, now sitting at the foot of the bed.
"Fire," Derek says, and, seeing Stiles eyes light up, snatched the book from the teen. "That's a bad idea."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "Fine. We'll do something 'safer,'" he concedes. He gets the book from Derek's grubby paws and flips back closer to the start and transcribes another title.
"Uh... Hold on, this actually does look familiar... Something about... I don't remember. Can't you just translate it online?" Derek asks, not remembering the few lessons in Gaelic he'd done on his computer.
"No," Stiles sighs in regret. "I tried that in the parking lot outside Deaton's. Nothing directly translates from modern Gaelic." He scribbles a transcription of the rest of what was on the page into the notebook. "Can you pronounce this?" he asks Derek, and it's then that the werewolf realizes the teen isn't snarling at him as much while they're working together.
"Sure," he says, taking the notebook. "Moh Thwil set Gwaothe... Or at least I think that's what it's supposed to be."
"Okay," Stiles prepares, pulling himself up into a crisscross position on his bed and taking back the transcription. He clears his throat and reads back the incantation as Derek had, "Moh Thwil set Gwaothe." There's a shift in the air, but nothing really happens.
"Are you sure you didn't miss something? You don't even know what you're saying." Stiles puts up a finger to shush Derek. And repeats the incantation.
"Moh Thwil set Gwaothe." The air in the room begins to move in a soft breeze and Stiles repeats the incantation again, this time with more force. "Moh Thwil set Gwaothe!"
The air in the room begins to swirl violently, first whipping up loose papers and then tipping over lamps and pulling down picture frames and posters. "Stiles!" Derek shouts over the ruckus. But the teen seems to be in a trance, eyes glazed over and head tipped back as the wind swirls around him with the ancient spell book and 25ยข notebook in his lap. Derek feels his breath shortening in the turbulent room, so he pushes against the flow to slap Stiles in the face as hard as he can given the small hurricane.
The wind continues for a moment but eventually slows to stillness, Stiles' eyes simultaneously reverting to their standard amber color. "Woah," Stiles says, surveying his room. "That was cool." Derek growls and takes the book and the notes as he exits the room. "Oh, come on!" Stiles calls after him as he chases the sourwolf down the stairs to the front door. "Where are you even going?"
"We are going to Deaton's. He shouldn't have just given you this book. It's like giving the codes for nuclear bombs to a child prone to temper tantrums." Derek shoves his feet into his shoes and throws open the door taking Stiles keys and starting the Jeep.
"You are not driving my baby after you just insulted me! Or ever for that matter!" The teen calls as he fumbles to get his shoes on and lock the door behind him. He gets to the car to see Derek in the passenger seat and begrudgingly keeps his mouth shut on the ride to the vet.
"Did you feel it?" the woman asks.
"Of course," replies her elder.
"What does it mean?" asks the third, the youngest.
The old woman coughs harshly, then replies with a smile, "It means when we are done, we will be stronger than we have been in a very long time."