Chapter 11: Away

Scott got up early in the morning.

He couldn't sleep. His mind kept busying itself to figure out Jackson. He went outside onto his porch, watching the sun creep up behind the trees, casting long shadows that stretched toward the house.

Scott leaned over the railing, thinking of another plan to figure if the séance or Matt's death worked. He tried to call Stiles last night, but Stiles didn't answer his phone, which nerved Scott a bit, but he repeatedly told himself that Stiles was probably sleeping off the medication and probably horrible headache.

Scott was too deep in thought that he didn't hear his mother talking to him. It wasn't until she touched his shoulder that he shuddered out of his thoughts and back to reality.

"Huh?"

"I said," Mrs. McCall repeated, "it's nearly seven o'clock. You should be getting ready for school."

"Oh, right," said Scott. "Yeah."

Mrs. McCall stared at her son for a moment. "Is everything okay with you? You seem, I don't know, out of it?"

She checked Scott's forehead. "No, you're not running a fever," she said softly. "Still upset about the night in the woods?"

Scott shrugged helplessly and his mother's face turned grave. "Listen, sweetheart, I hate the thought of you having to witness a death. In such a cruel way too. I understand if you need to take time off."

Scott shook his head. "Nah, I'll be fine. Besides, I have lacrosse practice and homework to do. I'll be okay, Mom. I promise."

Mrs. McCall didn't seem convince, but she opened the front for her son to let him enter. Scott hurried, taking a quick, cold shower, and then throwing on jeans and a hoodie. He packed up his books and skipped down the stairs.

His mother handed him some lunch money and Scott grabbed an apple and granola bars, shoving in his backpack's front pocket. He said good-bye to his mother and went out through the front door again to get his bike.

"Hey Scott!"

Scott jumped at the sound of his name. He spun around to see Stiles parked by the McCall mailbox.

"Need a ride?"

Scott blinked. "Stiles, where've you been? I've tried calling you yesterday…"

Stiles winced a bit. "Yeah, about that, listen, I need to talk to you."

Scott opened the passenger door and slid into the seat. Once the door closed, Stiles took off down the road.

"Okay, I tried to test Jackson," started Scott, forgetting that his best friend had something important. "But, nothing happened. It was as if he went back to being…I don't know…normal."

"You mean a human?" questioned Stiles as he made an illegal U-turn.

"Well, yeah," said Scott. "But, I couldn't tell. It was hard to get anything off of him."

"Did you try to provoke him?"

"Several times," said Scott, "But nothing worked. He didn't turn into a kanima or a werewolf. Just—."

"Human," finished Stiles. "Maybe it worked then?"

"Maybe," agreed Scott and he looked out his window.

Scott immediately recognized that Stiles was not driving on the route to school. Business buildings flew past Scott's window and Scott looked behind them, pulling out his mental map of Beacon Hills.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"School's that way," said Scott, jabbing his thumb behind. "Why are we going the opposite way?"

Stiles let out an uneasy sigh. "Well, that's what I needed to tell you about."

Stiles took a sharp turn and Scott could see they were exiting out Beacon Hills. "Stiles, tell me what's going on?"

"Well, for starters," said Stiles. "We're not going to school today."

"I figured that out."

"Instead, we're going camping!"

Scott raised his brows. "Camping?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah! You. Me. The woods…come on, we haven't done this since we were young."

Scott gazed at his friends suspiciously. "Stiles tell me what I don't know."

Stiles gave Scott the short version of his encounter with Derek last night. Scott listened to every word without interrupting his friend until Stiles breathed. Scott at stared incredulously at him

"And when did you start listening to Derek?" questioned Scott.

Stiles eyes widened. "When do I ever not listen to Derek," replied Stiles. "He's a goddamn werewolf who's not afraid to rip my throat out…which he constantly reminds me."

Scott sunk into his seat. "So, they're coming? The Originals?"

"Derek said so."

"And we believe him?"

"Well, usually, I don't," said Stiles. "But, the look on his face convinced me to believe him."

"He was that scared?"

"Scared, worried, and nervous," said Stiles. "He even got rough when I told him he was a bit ridiculous."

"So, what?" said Scott. "We just hide out. Wait until the Originals leave Beacon Hills."

"Uh—yeah."

"But, what if they don't leave? What if they stay?"

"Derek said he could take care of it," said Stiles. "And, if he doesn't, then the Argents will."

That didn't make Scott feel any better. "What about my mom?"

"I already took care of that," said Stiles. "Call your mom near the end of school. Tell her that we decided to go camping for the weekend. That will buy us some time."

"That's not what I meant," said Scott. "What if my dad shows up?"

"You think he would?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I doubt it would be the first thing for him to do," said Stiles. "Besides, the Originals are here on business from what we know of."

"Doesn't mean he can't make it personal," countered Scott.

"We'll have to risk that."

"Risk my mom getting hurt!"

"No, no, of course not," said Stiles. "I meant we'd have to take the chance that he'll not visit her. Besides, why would he visit?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know! Maybe to see if I grew into my werewolf traits. Deaton told him it was possible that I could have grown into a werewolf."

Stiles passed a vehicle. "So, he'd come over to check?" he said. "Well, then we definitely got out get out of town."

After driving for another hour, Stiles pulled off the road at a park. He parked and grabbed a cooler and two sleeping bags and told Scott to grab the tent bag and a sack that carried clothes and miscellaneous supplies.

The two hiked into the woods and Scott began to hear less of life and more nature. After deepening themselves amongst the forests, Stiles stopped and asked Scott if he could hear anyone. Scott informed his friend that he could only hear nature and Stiles's heartbeat.

"Then this is our spot," said Stiles and he dropped the bags and cooler.

They hitched the tent and unrolled their sleeping bags with Scott's closer to the opening. Around the time school was let out, Stiles told Scott to call his mother. Scott did as he was told and informed his mother through her answering machine that he's going to go camping with Stiles for the weekend.

The blue sky darkened and sparkles of white light appeared above their heads. Stiles gathered a pile of nearby tree limbs and built a fire. The two huddled around it for warmth and Stiles handed Scott a hot dog to cook and a can of beer that he stole from his father's cabinet.

"Cheers," said Stiles clinking his can to Scott's.

Scott didn't drink his. He didn't even open it. He kept thinking about the ride up to this spot and how Stiles looked unsettled than usual. Derek has threatened him several times before, but Stiles never looked so unnerved. Scott noticed Stiles glancing around their campsite, picking up every time he heard a sound from the darkness around them.

"Hey Stiles?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Why did we have to leave Beacon Hills again?"

Stiles answered. "Because the Originals are coming to "fix" the problem and Derek said it would be best if we leave…if we wanted to live."

Scott perked up on the word "fix." "What do you mean 'fix'? Do you mean kill?"

Stiles tossed his hot dog wrapper into the roaring fire. "Yes."

Scott jumped to his feet. "Then we hafta go back!"

Stiles rose to his feet as well. "We can't!"

"Why not?!"

"Because if the Originals find out about you then they'll take you away!" shouted Stiles.

Scott wrinkled his brows. "Take me away? What do you mean? Stiles—."

Stile held up a hand. "Scott, I know you have this Messiah-type complex since you've been bitten," he said. "But, for once, you gotta stop risking your life."

"Stiles, what's going on?" His tone edged along anger. He needed to know what the hell was going on and Stiles postponing it irritated him.

Stiles sighed uneasily. "I didn't tell you everything in the car," he admitted. "Derek told me that I had to get you out of Beacon Hills so the Originals won't know of your existence."

"But…my dad—"

"Still thinks you're human," said Stiles. "If he finds out, then he's going to take you away. Make you a member of the Original pack."

Stiles stared directly into Scott's eyes. "You'll no longer be the friend I know now."

"W-What do you mean?" asked Scott, his stomach restless from the anxiety. "How will I not be your friend?"

Stiles grumbled and then sighed. "Derek said that if the Originals discover your existence then you'd be good as dead to us."

Scott didn't know what to do or say. Stiles sunk back down to the foliage ground, picking up a stick and breaking it into several pieces. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, only the sounds of flies and crickets interrupted the night.

Scott lowered himself back down next to Stiles. "Why…why would Derek say that? What did he mean by that?"

Stiles didn't look over at Scott. "The Originals will transform you Scott," he said. "They'll turn you into a monster."

"That's why I had to get you out," said Stiles. "Derek said if they find you, they'll make you kill. So, I did what I did to save you from them, okay? Sue me, but I wasn't going to let my best friend be turned into an evil fury monster!"

Scott remained quiet for a moment. He could sense his friend's heart flutter in overwhelming anxiety. Deep empathy grew inside of him for his friend's fear and love for him.

"Thank Stiles," said Scott, sincerely, "for looking out for me."

Stiles shoulders shrugged forward. "Well, that's what friends do, right?"

"Yeah," said Scott and for a brief period, the two friends just watched the fire flicker. Then, Scott turned back to Stiles, "But what about our other friends? The ones left behind?"

Stiles threw his last twinge into the fire. "Derek swore he'd do his best to protect them."

"Them?"

"Lydia. Jackson. Even Allison…though he still kinda hates her."

"He hates everyone," said Scott. "Including you and me."

"True," said Stiles, glancing up at the sky. "Very true. More so me than you."

Scott stood up again. "Stiles, I appreciate you trying to protect me. But, if the Originals are here to destroy and kill our friends," he said, "then we should be there to protect them. Not here, hiding out."

Stiles looked up at Scott, a small smile forming on his lips. "And there's your Messiah-Complex again." Stiles stood up. "But, you got a good point."

Stiles pulled out his jeep keys. "Let's go kick some Original ass."

Scott smiled and the two went off to pack their things again. After gathering their belongings and putting out the fire, Scott used his wolf senses and eyesight to lead them back to Stiles's abandoned jeep.

Throwing the stuff in the back, they hopped into the jeep and buckled in. Stiles turned the engine on. "Promise me one thing, Scott."

"Yeah?"

"Keep fighting."

Scott nodded, knowing perfectly well what Stiles meant, even without using his wolf powers.

"I promise."

BREAK

Melissa McCall checked the answering machine and heard about Scott and Stiles's camping adventure.

Although she would normally disapprove, she wasn't exactly here to stop either of them from going. She wished that she could spend more time at home with her son, but since the divorce, she had to pick up extra shifts from the hospital to pay the bills.

Scott helped out as well with his job at the vet's office. She was so thankful that Dr. Deaton offered Scott a part-time job as she thought it would help motivate Scott to become some sort of doctor. She could see her son being a doctor, saving lives.

As she grabbed her purse, the doorbell rang. No one has ever rung the doorbell. The only people that ever come over were Scott's friends and they simply either walk in or climb through the bedroom window. Or, if it was Stiles's, he would have a key to let himself into the house.

Melissa walked over, brushing stands of her curly hair out of her eyes, and opened the door.

A man in his early forties stood in front of her with dark hair, chiseled chin, and brown, almond-shaped eyes. Dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he stood comfortably and gazed lovingly and pleasantly as if he and Melissa were old, dear friends.

"Hello," he said.

Melissa's mouth fell opened. "Oh my God…Harold?"