i. mode of transportation: car
There was no question about who would get the passenger seat. Graceful as ever Lydia opened the Camaro's door and took the seat while Scott had to squish his gangly self on the back seat. Next to her Derek fidgeted with the keys until the car finally sprung to life with a satisfying roar. With every other person this car would have been a total overkill, but somehow Derek made it work. Lydia couldn't imagine the surly werewolf driving anything else. The Camaro belonged to him like the Porsche belonged to Jackson.
Men and their cars, she thought inwardly, her lips curling into a small smile.
"I still don't believe that Dr. Deaton will tell us anything," Scott muttered. "The last time I saw him was when he stood up to Peter." He frowned at Derek. "And the last time you saw him, you tied him to a chair and tried to interrogate him."
Derek just shrugged. "Can't change the past," he spoke as he drove the car across the streets. There weren't that many cars on the streets, most people either at home or walking the sidewalks. Downtown Beacon Hills was a place of short distances after all. "I know my mother met him more often than what would have been normal for a prominent member of the town and the local veterinary. I always thought it was weird. We didn't have any pets, after all. He knows more than he's letting on."
"But we don't even know what he's knowing!" Scott exclaimed.
"That's why we're going to ask him," Derek replied drily and if Lydia didn't know any better, she would have thought he was toying with Scott.
"How did you not notice this?" she asked instead, observing Scott through the rear-view mirror. "You've been working for the man even after you were turned into a werewolf after all."
"I don't know," Scott exhaled, leaning back and resting his head on the backrest. "A lot has been going on since I've been turned, in case you didn't notice." Lydia just raised an eyebrow at the boy. "I wasn't there as often as I used to and there just never was any time to work through all the revelations that were thrown at us."
"It doesn't matter," Derek interrupted them, his eyes not leaving the street. "We'll find out once we talk to him."
Lydia turned her gaze back onto the street in front of her. She was thankful for the darkened windows that obscured her from the rest of the world. It would be weird to explain to anyone what she was doing in the car with a much older Derek Hale who currently didn't have the best of reputation in town. She barely was able to keep her parents off her back, if they heard any rumours that she was hanging around with an older man she would be put under lock and key until she was sixty.
Her eyes narrowed as another injustice of the prevalent patriarchal societal structure. No one would bat an eye at Scott for hanging around with Derek. His mother maybe, because Melissa McCall definitely was someone who cared about and was involved in her child's life, but not society at whole.
Lydia was watching the buildings pass by as Derek drove them towards the edge of the town where the animal clinic was located. She had been there a few times with Prada as well, mainly because the only other veterinarian in town was a doddering old fool she wouldn't even trust a ceramic cat with least of all the health of her precious Prada. The clinic was inconveniently far on the edge of the town, directly on the edge of the preserve which trees directly began at the edge of the property. Now Lydia wondered if it was on purpose. If more than just cheap real estate had made Dr. Deaton decide to set up shop here.
The Beacon Hills Animal Clinic was located in a one-story brick building, some of which walls were covered with vines. There was no big advertisement, no billboard of Dr. Deaton smiling at the visitor while holding a puppy or something. Just brass letters fixated on the wall that you could easily overlook. Dr. Deaton didn't need advertisement: Everyone in and around Beacon Hills with pets came to him anyway.
There was enough parking space available, so Derek was able to park directly in front of the clinic.
"Do we have any kind of plan? Anything at all?" Scott whispered even though there was no need for it. It wasn't like the doctor could hear them through the several walls that were separating them.
"We're going to talk to your boss," Lydia replied, "not slaying a dragon."
"Don't jinx it," Scott muttered.
"Do dragons even exist?" Lydia wondered.
"Only in China," Derek piped up. Both teen's heads whipped around at the older man who wore an impressive poker face. "And Idaho."
"You're joking, aren't you?" Scott asked, tilting his head to the side like a…well, confused puppy.
"Guess you have to visit Idaho to find out." And then he walked past them and into the clinic. For a split-second Lydia thought that it was a pity that Stiles wasn't here to hear Derek's first joke, especially as it was on Scott's expense. She turned back around and followed Derek, Scott hot on her heels.
They entered into the waiting area, which looked like something you expected a waiting area to look like: Colourful, uncomfortable chairs made from hard plastic, a water cooler in the corner and magazines on a table in the middle of the room. Posters on the wall informed about treatment options for animals. Lydia nearly fell over a chewing bone that laid on the floor, like a few other animal toys. With a loud squeaking noise she kicked it into the corner so that the next visitor wouldn't break their neck and sue the doctor.
It smelled of animals, obviously. Wet hair, faint traces of dog foot and other bodily fluids. Lydia wondered how Scott and Derek could stand it when she as normal human was already a little bit overwhelmed by the odour.
There was something else, though. No smell, no visible stains, but it hung over the room anyway, making the hair on Lydia's skin stand up. It dimmed the sun that was still shining outside, muted the colour of the bright plastic chairs. It was the aura of suffering and death that clung to everything like a second coat of painting. This may be a place of healing but unlike humans animals couldn't comprehend that: For them it was an unfamiliar place of panic, terror and fear and those emotions seeped onto the walls and furniture until it felt to Lydia like she was wading through it.
She looked at Derek and Scott, but they didn't seem to notice it as she did. How could that be when it was them who had their supernatural senses while she was just a normal human?
"Your restraint is your greatest asset but also your greatest weakness," she could hear a woman's voice coming from the adjacent room. "Don't worry, I won't bother you any further. I know a lost fight when I see one." Then the door opened, and someone stepped out.
The woman mustered the three of them with a gaze Lydia couldn't decipher. Even though she looked barely older than twenty-five, there was something wise and ageless in those brown eyes. As if she knew why they were here and the answer they would be receiving.
"You got visitors, Alan," she called through the still opened door.
"Thank you, Marin," came the reply as the doctor stepped through the door. "Your help in stating the obvious is appreciated."
"Don't worry, I know when I overstayed my welcome," the now-named Marin said, her lips twitching teasingly. She let her gaze roam over them one last time before she strode out of the room, vanishing as mysteriously as she had come.
"I apologise for her," Deaton stated, smiling at them benignly. The man was of indiscernible age; he could have been twenty-five or fifty-five, Lydia couldn't tell. There was an ageless quality to his whole appearance, just like it had been with the woman. There was a calmness to his demeanour that repelled the darkness that was pooling all around him, that clung to Lydia like clay.
"If you would follow me." Obviously expecting them to follow him without protest, he turned around and walked back into the room he had come from. Derek followed him first, then Lydia and Scott. The room they entered was dominated by the big stainless-steel table on which the animals were normally treated. The aura of fear was the worst here. The walls were lined with cabinets of the same material, all closed, hiding whatever medical equipment the doctor was storing in them. Next to Derek the man seemed small and frail, but somehow Lydia doubted that he was as defenceless as he made himself appear to be.
"You came here for a reason, I guess," he spoke, as calmly as if he was talking about the weather. "I hope it isn't to tie me to a chair again." There was an amused tint to his gaze, as if he found the thought of werewolves trying to attack him funnier than concerning. As if they were just puppies nipping at his heels.
"I'm sure Derek is really sorry about that," Scott assured Deaton while Derek didn't look that sorry at all.
"You know more about what's going on than you let everyone believe," Derek spoke – no, nearly growled.
"Doesn't everyone know more than they tell others?" Deaton asked back.
"I think what Derek means is that you know about the supernatural," Lydia interjected, taking control of the conversation because Derek looked like he was about to pop a vein while Scott was just looking fearfully between the two men.
Deaton's gaze turned towards her. "Ah, Miss Martin. I didn't think I'd see you here as soon."
Lydia narrowed his eyes at him. "But you did expect me?"
"Things evolve in patterns," the veterinarian replied. "For those who study them they sometimes offer short glimpses of clarity." It was as much of an answer as it wasn't.
"You knew I was a werewolf," Scott accused the man. "But you never offered your help."
"I did patch you up that night of the prom," Deaton reminded him. "I wouldn't call that not helping." Scott looked like he wanted to reply something else, but he held back and seemed to settle for giving the veterinarian sullen looks.
"I can't offer you what you are looking for," Deaton replied.
"We're literally fighting for our lives," Derek groused. "We need every advantage we can get."
"It's about balance," the smaller man replied seemingly unmoved. "If I offer too much, tip the scale too far, then there will be counter reactions from the other side."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Scott wanted to know. "Why can't you just be straight with us."
"Mutual assured destruction," Lydia concluded. "There are other players and they're all held back by some kind of informal agreement to not get involved. If your doctor gives us too much then they get involved, too."
"It seems that the tales of your intelligence were no exaggeration," Deaton complimented her. "But the truth of the matter is also that I can't be as much of a help as you think I can be. I'm a healer and a scholar, I don't have much of offensive capabilities to speak of. I can't snip my fingers and make your problems disappear."
"Knowledge is power," Derek retorted.
"You are right, but not mine, not in this case," the doctor explained. "I know that the Alpha Pack is here, and yet I only know about them what everyone else knows." His gaze softened as he looked at Derek. "I knew your mother and if you want to, I can tell you about her. But I was an outsider then as I am now; I had no insights into your pack or its dealings." His gaze turned sombre again. "I can't offer you magical solutions to the challenges you're facing."
"Then what can you offer?" Lydia demanded to know.
"Sanctuary and healing," Deaton replied. "This building is protected against many kinds of threats – both mundane and supernatural. And while my knowledge doesn't lend itself to the offensive, I know much about healing and recovery. Come to me when you are in need and I will help you."
"But you won't help us now," Derek stated. There was no heat in his gaze anymore, just resignation and tiredness. "Not proactively." Deaton looked at him like with a sorrowful gaze, as if it tore his heart apart to hear that.
As Lydia looked at the veterinarian, standing there with his soft, understanding gaze as if he could sympathise with them, understand them, she just wanted to scream at him. Shake him until his cool demeanour just fell off him and make him understand that they were just teenagers in way over their heads. That they weren't supposed to be defending themselves against a horde of supernatural beings of which existence they hadn't even known until a few months ago, but she didn't.
Lydia swallowed the scream that was crawling up her throat, that wanted to make its way out of her mouth and make itself heard by the whole world. She swallowed it down and just smiled. Sweet, innocent and naïve. Just as the world wanted her to be.
"It's better than nothing," she finally replied curtly. From the looks of it, neither Scott nor Derek agreed with her, but they, too, were too tired to fight Deaton on it.
"There is something else," Deaton added. "Something you should be made aware of."
"Oh, really?" If Derek's sarcasm was a weapon, then Deaton would be dead right now. Instead, he looked as unperturbed as ever.
"You know that there has been a murder recently." The vet received three nods in return. Nobody offered the information that Lydia had found the victim. Tit for that and all that.
"A new victim has been found today," Deaton continued. "I know because the Sheriff asked for my expertise. I may not be a fully qualified coroner, but there are some basics every member of the medical community can help with." He paused. "The way that they were killed…it makes me believe that there's motive beyond the mundane here at play."
"And what are we supposed to do with that information?" Lydia wanted to know.
"We already have our hands full with the Alpha Pack," Derek added. Between them Scott nodded in agreement.
"I fear that those two deaths won't be the last," Deaton continued unperturbed. "Things always come in threes. And whatever this is, it started with the arrival of the Alpha Pack. It's connected. I just thought that you should be made aware of it." Right now Lydia just wanted to make Deaton aware of how her slapping him would feel, but she controlled herself.
"Thank you for your help," she said instead, making sure to convey with her tone how much he was not of help. "Let's leave."
"Remember that my door will always be open to you," Deaton called after them and then they were in the open air again. Lydia took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air rush through her lungs, casting out the last stench of animal fear and terror as she could feel the strength returning back to her body.
There was only the sound of the gravel underneath their feet as they walked back to the car, until Scott spoke up: "Well, that wasn't a total bust, but it wasn't really helpful either."
Lydia just nodded. "We don't know more than before."
"Maybe Deaton's not completely in our corner, but what he offers isn't something to laugh at," Derek pointed out. He was right, but Lydia was still a little bit too mad at the veterinarian for his less than forthcoming attitude.
"Stiles texted me," Scott threw in. "He's on his way to the loft."
"Then let's go," Derek spoke.
ii. mode of transportation: elevator
Deucalion had offered to have him driven to a place of his choice, but Stiles had more or less politely declined. The less time he spent in company of the twins the better. Besides, he didn't want to make it that easy for Deucalion to keep tabs on him. Stiles knew that it was wistful thinking to assume that the leader of the Alpha Pack didn't know all the places he was frequenting, but that didn't mean he had to take it lying down.
Of course, Stiles had agreed to Deucalion's proposal. What other choice did he have? It was either that or whatever fate the Alpha Pack had planned for him and his pack. Stiles just needed to extend their grace period long enough so that they could come up with a plan how they could play all players against each other.
He pulled out his phone and texted Scott that he was on his way to Derek's loft. He hoped that his friend had thought about using the tracking app to follow his movements. He trusted Derek enough to keep Scott from doing something stupid, like staging a rescue attempt.
"Hey, Stilinski." He looked up to see none other than Danny Mahealani walking towards him, carrying a bag of groceries in each hand.
"Heyah, Danny," Stiles greeted back, all of his supposed werewolf grace gone. "Whatcha doing here?" Danny just raised one of his perfect eyebrows at him as if Stiles had asked something very stupid.
"I live around here," he replied. "What brings you here, though? You live on the other side of town."
"Well, that doesn't mean I can't come here, does it? I just realised that there are still some parts of Beacon Hills that I don't know, so I decided to get to know them. There's beauty in every nook and cranny, y'know?" he started to ramble and by the expression on Danny's face the boy didn't really seem to believe him. "Anyway, I don't wanna keep you from getting your stuff home, so bye! See you in school!" And then he was already swooshing past Danny whose gaze followed him until he was around the corner.
Weird guy, Danny thought, don't know why Jackson's so obsessed with him.
Danny was right, though, with his statement that this part of town wasn't usually where Stiles lingered around which meant that it took him another forty-five minutes until he reached the apartment complex where he was supposed to meet the others.
Stiles was thankful for the time, though, that was filled with nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, just the houses of Beacon Hills passing by, leaving him with enough time to sort through his thoughts and just breath.
With a loud ping the elevator's door opened and the second unexpected encounter of the day took place when Stiles nearly ran into another familiar figure.
"Ms Blake," Stiles exclaimed surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Mr Stilinski," Ms Blake, wearing a red dress with white dots with the matching headband, greeted him. "I live here. I don't really fancy a whole house for myself and this was one of the few places in this town where I could get an affordable apartment." She glanced at Stiles. "But what are you doing here?"
"Visiting a friend," Stiles replied.
"Then I wish you a good day," Ms Blake said. "I need to get to the library." And with a free-spirited smile she was out of the elevator and walked through the office. As Stiles took the elevator up he hoped that this was the last unplanned encounter for today, because the last thing he needed was to meet his dad in an unexpected place or even worse, Mr Harris! Stiles shuddered at the thought.
Scott, Derek and – much to Stiles' surprise Lydia – were already waiting for him when he arrived. They offered him commiserating looks but didn't say anything for which Stiles was grateful. He walked the length of Derek's living area until he stood in front of the wide window front.
"I hope your day went better than mine," Stiles spoke, sarcasm thick in his voice.
"We paid a small visit to Doctor Deaton," Scott started to tell.
"Why?" Stiles wanted to know.
"We thought he might know something," Scott replied and then launched into the whole tale of how they confronted the veterinarian in his clinic and got one disturbing piece of information and the offer for refuge out of it.
"It fits with what Deucalion has told me," Stiles replied. "He's the Alpha Pack's…well, Alpha," he added when he saw the other's questioning looks. "They want our help to find a creature that's stalking them: A Darach. Apparently, it's a druid who has turned to the dark side."
"Did you agree to it?" Lydia wanted to know.
"Of course, he did," Derek answered for Stiles. "It gives us time."
"Besides, can you really say that you would have done nothing even if the Alpha Pack hadn't told us anything about this Darach?" Scott questioned. "I wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully if I know that there was something out there hurting innocent people while I could do something about it."
"I'm not criticizing Stiles' decision," Lydia huffed in frustration. "It's just: We're one werewolf who actually knows what he's doing most of the time –" she pointed at Derek who looked like he didn't know if he should take Lydia's comment as compliment or insult "– one who just learned to not flash is eyes every time Allison smiles at him –" she pointed at Scott "– and…well, Stiles. And there's me, who's status has yet to be determined. How are we supposed to do something a group of the most powerful supernatural beings this side of the Mississippi aren't able to?"
"I don't really think they expect us to succeed," Stiles spoke. "They want to throw us at the problem and see how we handle it. Use us to weaken the Darach so that they can finish it off." Derek nodded in agreement.
"They want us to flush it out," he added. "Do the grunt work for them."
"And we're doing what they want? Or what else is our plan?"
"I don't know, okay?" Stiles snapped. "Right now, all I want is to go home and fall on my bed because first meeting the Argents and then getting kidnapped by the Alpha Pack wasn't my idea of a perfect day." He sighed, calming down. "We're gonna figure something out, okay? We did it the last time, we'll do it again. But right now, I can't think of anything. Just…let's end this day here and go home, alright?"
Lydia looked at him, her gaze softening as she took in his tired posture and just nodded.
iii. mode of transportation: claws
The light was off, but Stiles didn't care about that. The ambient light from outside that shone through the half-open window was more than enough to illuminate his room, especially with his werewolf senses. Besides, it quite fit his mood, the way the half-darkness clung to the walls, threw shadows that seemed to move every second. It was silent, mainly because Stiles and his dad lived in a quiet residential area where there was not much traffic after the lights had died down.
Stiles was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, leaning against the side of his bed and he was just starring at the opposite wall, his gaze unmoving. He feared that if he was to tear it away his whole world would crumble around him. As long as he was focusing on the wall in front of him, the intrusive thoughts in his mind couldn't bother him any further, could just be kept quiet.
He had greeted his dad between door and angle when he had come home, the other man already on his way back to the police station because of the two open murder investigations. It had laid on Stiles' tongue back then, a few simple sentences, about what he knew. About what Lydia had told him. But he had stayed silent. Didn't say anything, because what could he have said? That an evil magical being was sacrificing people for some nefarious purpose, probably an ancient ritual?
So he had just hugged his dad and wished him the best. And now he was alone – just himself and the empty house and the noises that came with it – sitting in his room and waiting for time to pass by. Waiting for something he didn't know.
He wasn't fully aware of how much time had passed when there was suddenly a noise outside. A scraping sound that filled his hears and then all of a sudden, Derek was crouching on his windowsill, his claws still extended.
Stiles groaned. "Whatever it is, it has to wait till tomorrow."
"Nothing's happened," Derek replied.
"Then why are you here?" Stiles wondered. "I mean, I'd never say no to your grumpy company, but I could name a hundred better things you could be doing right now."
"You looked stressed out," Derek replied, looking conflicted as if he was stating a secret and not something obvious. "I…I wanted to make sure everything was alright." Stiles said nothing and just looked at Derek until the older werewolf started to squirm under his gaze.
"You can come inside, you know?" Stiles offered after a while. "My dad isn't here, so you don't have to worry about him pulling out the old shotgun from under his bed." Gracefully, Derek landed on the floor of Stiles' room. For a short moment it looked like he didn't know where to place himself, until he finally slid down next to Stiles – still a respectable space left between them – so now they were both sitting on the ground.
"I don't think I can handle it," Stiles finally admitted his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, wanted to spill everything to Derek, but he instinctively knew that if he started now, he would fall apart. Fear was clogging his throat and he could feel tears prickle at the edge of his eyes as his field of vision narrowed. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
"I don't think I can handle it," he repeated. "It's too much. Just too much and everyone's expecting me to know what to do, where to lead…"
"I don't," Derek derailed his emerging panic attack. "I don't expect you to know what to do or to lead us into a fight and knowing the outcome. You're just a kid."
"So were you," Stiles replied. "Lots of good it did to you."
"Guilt forces you to grow up faster," Derek spoke, "as does responsibility."
"It doesn't matter," Stiles said. "We're all gonna die, grinded between two forces that far outclass us and there's nothing we can do about it."
"Don't," Derek grinded out. "Don't speak like that. No one expected Scott and you to stand up to Peter and the Argents and yet you did and came out as winners. If you managed it once, you can manage it again."
"I just want a little bit of peace," Stiles sighed. "Is that too much to ask for?" Derek didn't reply. Maybe because he knew that Stiles didn't want an answer to that question.
"Can…" Stiles hesitated, unsure if he should say what he wanted to say. "Can you hold me? Just for a little bit?" He held his breath, waiting for Derek's reaction.
For a split-second nothing happened, and Stiles feared that he had gone too far, had demanded too much too soon, but then Derek's arm wrapped itself around him and he was pressed against Derek's side.
And for this short moment – Derek's arm wrapped around him, his slow heartbeat right next to Stiles ear, his warmth seeping into Stiles' skin and his smell settling over the two of them – both Stiles and Derek felt safe.
