- 26th December -
"That's never going to work," Derek scoffs at Stiles' struggles to hang his mountain ash medical tubing monstrosity from his curtain rod.
"You're just jealous that I'm a magical entrepreneur slash genius," Stiles teases.
"Yeah, you're a genius like Wile E. Coyote is a genius…" Derek smirks at him. Only this time he doesn't have to imagine the smirk.
It's only the second time they've used Facetime to video chat and Stiles didn't realize how much he missed that stubbly grin. The first time being that very morning at 3 am when an exhausted Stiles accidentally hit the video button. Derek was unimpressed to say the least, not only for the update about Allison's abduction (though can you call it an abduction if she followed him like the Pied Piper?) but also at Stiles' haggard, shadow-eyed appearance. He'd demanded Stiles sleep for at least 6 hours and hung up on him.
"This is an innovation, okay? You might not understand it now, but this is peak magical and muggle ingenuity."
"Sure, Hermione. I'll believe it when I see it," Derek arches an impressive brow in disbelief.
Stiles jibes back, "If anyone is a Harry Potter character here it's you, Professor Lupin."
Derek rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to retort, "I keep telling you, just because I'm a werewolf does not mean—"
"Uh uh," Stiles waggles a finger tauntingly at Derek's perturbed frown, "It's not just the werewolf thing, okay? Traumatic past, hangs out in derelict buildings with felons, can't hold a job down…" he lists on his fingers.
"I resent that!" Peter calls from the driver's seat. "I'm not a felon. A felon is someone who's been caught."
"I can hold a job," Derek mutters petulantly.
"You've never had a job in the entire time we've known each other," Stiles waves a dismissive hand at the screen.
"That's because I didn't need to—"
Stiles fake coughs, "Can't!"
Peter interrupts, "As joyful as it is to be forced to listen to your fumbling attempts at flirtation, I'd like to know what exactly we're walking into."
Stiles' face flushes a blotchy red and he deflects, "What time do you think you'll get in?" Stiles asks, eyeing the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock. It's a quarter to six right now.
"We've just refueled at Eugene, so about six hours away."
"Five hours the way Peter's driving," Derek mutters.
Stiles hums, "The pack and parents Mystery Incorporated meeting is supposed to start in fifteen minutes to come up with a game plan. I can keep you on the line…?"
"Well jinkies Velma, that sounds swell," drawls Peter.
"Shut it, Scrappy-Doo."
Stiles savors the mirth twinkling in Derek's eyes as he runs a hand over his stubble to disguise his wide grin from Peter.
It doesn't work if the backhanded slap on Derek's shoulder is anything to go by.
Stiles grabs the IV tubing he's hung over his curtain rod and picks up the empty saline bag.
"What did you say to Melissa to get that stuff?" Derek asks, shaking his head at Stiles' experiment.
"Oh, I think she's stopped asking questions. She knows the answer is always worse than she imagines. She's in on it anyway – she got me the hospital footage when Scott was being a dick," Stiles says, concentrating intently on attaching the bag to the tubing line.
"I don't think the self-righteous routine will be over yet…" Peter huffs frustratedly.
"Yeah, well, if this works, like it will," he emphasizes at Derek, "then he can be my first trial subject."
"You'd test your experiments on Scott?" Derek asks, surprised.
"He can kiss my ash," Stiles mutters mutinously as he pops the lid on a canister of mountain ash. This is the third and final canister, so he prays this experiment works.
Carefully, he pours the ash into his Macgyvered IV bag and watches the grains trickle down the tubing line, flicking any air bubbles out. The normally transparent IV line is a matte black, stretching from Stiles' upraised hand to the floor. Happy with this final addition of ash, he takes the other end and starts trimming the tubing and attaching a joining valve. Melissa wasn't happy when he asked her for six feet of tubing and a valve so late at night, but he must admit, when she wants to help, she doesn't hold back.
"It's taller than you are, it doesn't look like it's going to be useful…" Derek says, doubt creasing his handsome features.
Stiles rolls his eyes, "Well, I was gonna use a hula hoop but that's not very travel convenient or subtle. Not to mention how much ash it would take to fill one with no air bubbles disrupting the line. Think of it like Wonder Woman's lasso."
Derek's puzzled frown inches closer to the screen, "You're going to lasso bad guys with it and make them confess their dastardly deeds to you? Stiles, you can barely throw a lacrosse ball, you couldn't lasso a kelpie."
Stiles waves a hand dismissively, "Not like that. Ok, maybe I picked the wrong analogy—"
"At least it wasn't Batman this time…" Derek teases.
"But! I could theoretically use it as a lasso to keep a supe trapped, to barricade us behind – it doesn't even have to be a circle, look—" he holds the tubing up to show Derek how can connect and disconnect the line. "It will always be an unbroken line. I could lay this bad boy down in the corner of a room, oh-! I could put it on top of a doorway!" he snickers. "Maybe Scott will be my first trial subject," Stiles laughs. "Or you," he says teasingly, "a line of this on the windowsill since you seem to hate using the doors in this house."
"That was one time, Stiles!" Derek insists.
"Yeah— one time that I know of. I read Twilight, Derek. Bedroom lurkers the lot of you, look at Scott – peeping on Allison's roof every chance he got." Derek hums his agreement, looking embarrassed for Scott and probably all werewolfdom.
"Besides," Stiles continues at his rapid-paced patter, "this puppy is waterproof. Can't flood this ash line with water or use a stick to break it. Scoff all you like but prepare to grovel when it works."
"He makes a good point, you know," Peter chimes in. "Having a waterproof defense against a kelpie seems logical. How did it react to the ash last night?"
"It held it…but it was on a wooden bridge – it got me thinking about whether it could just melt through the floorboards to avoid the ash. Or if it can turn to mist like Kira thought – would the ash be enough to stop it?"
"I've never heard of a kelpie being able to do that. Mom made them sound like they were difficult to deal with, but…"
"But this is the K-1000."
A confused silence greets his statement.
"What? Like the melty Terminator? This thing was all, 'Have you seen this boy?' only the boy was Allison and it didn't do the spiky hand thing, but it could is all I'm sayin'."
"…You said the adults were coming to this meeting too, correct? Thank God," Peter faintly mutters.
Half an hour later finds a motley crew, ("we're not calling ourselves Mystery Inc. If you call me Daphne one more time—" Lydia had threatened) either staring at his monster-of-the-week board he had painstakingly dragged down to the lounge room for this pack meeting, flipping through yellowing pages or scrolling through internet lore on their phones. That last one might just be Isaac flipping through Instagram though. Probably a bunch of scarf enthusiast pages.
His dad claps his hands together to draw their attention like he's giving a morning briefing to his deputies. Stiles is beginning to regret letting him into the super-secret werewolf club.
"Alright folks, time to go over what we know so we can work out what we don't about this kelpie. Doc, Hales, Danny, Noshiko, and Kira, this is mostly for your benefit since you missed our debriefing yesterday morning after Gerard. But from what I've seen of the pack so far, there's too much miscommunication which could be easily avoided just by keeping the lines of communication open." He directs his patented 'Fatherly Look #7: Quiet the adults are talking' look at Scott. "Sorry Scott, I know you're the Alpha and all, but I'm taking over for a quick sec."
Scott looks like he wants to interrupt but thinks better of it. Wise decision.
"This just doesn't sound normal for a kelpie," Deaton hums, looking at Lydia's charcoal sketches of the creature at the bridge.
"When has anything ever sounded normal in Beacon Hills, Alan," Peter replies voice echoing from, Stiles' phone propped up on the table so the Hales could see.
"I hate to agree, but he's right," Argent adds from his commandeered armchair, "who would have thought a thousand-year-old Japanese spirit would be lurking in Beacon Hills? The nemeton is a beacon again…who knows what it's drawing in."
Stiles can almost palpably feel the eyes lingering on his shrunken frame. The judgment. The blame. The weakness. If he hadn't let it in…
Noshiko's keen eyes don't miss the subtle twitching of Stiles' fingers as he attempts to surreptitiously count them. "Abnormal to you perhaps," she nods her head at Deaton, "but many things exist outside of the realm of what you deem possible. I am older than every person in this room combined – something you all once thought impossible. There is more in this world than we could ever hope to encounter. Don't ignore what doesn't fit into your limited worldview," she directs at Scott who had opened his mouth to defend Deaton.
"I like her," Peter mutters to Derek quietly. "Unlike some of those fools."
"You realize we can hear you, right?" Scott directs at the phone, nonplussed.
"That was my intention, yes."
"Alright, alright," Argent says, calling them to order. "Doc, what about this is unusual for you?"
Deaton clutches Lydia's illustration a fraction tighter as he scans confused eyes over the rough-hewn charcoal lines of its humanoid form. Wordlessly he passes it to Stiles' dad who pins it up on the murder board.
"The thrall you experienced, Allison…that makes sense. Kelpies are known to have near hypnotic powers," Deaton explains.
Lydia adds, skimming multiple pages from her collection of books at once, "That's why they tend to prey on children – they can't resist the urge to come closer. Their curiosity outweighs their fear."
"Wait…" Derek interrupts, "This compendium says that only works when you see the kelpie. Look, right here it says, 'Those who spy the kelpie with their own eyes will be inexplicably drawn to the creature. Once near, the intended victim will be overcome with the temptation to touch the beast. At this juncture, the mane will fasten around the victim's grip rendering them unable to let go. The kelpie will retreat to its body of water, drowning the helpless victim, and consuming them.' But you were drawn to it before you ever saw it."
"Which book is that?" Chris asks as he snatches his laptop from the armrest of the recliner. "I want to read it myself to cross-reference with —"
"It's a compendium assembled by the supernatural for the supernatural, Christopher," Peter says sharply, "It is not another tool for hunters to wage war with."
"I wasn't going to use it like that—"
"Liar—look at what you're using it for now," Peter scoffs. "You'd just as soon use that knowledge on—"
"Goddamnit Peter, it's after my daughter. Can't you just—"
"Now you know how it feels," Peter interrupts with a dreadful note of finality.
"I'm not her, Peter. I'm not Kate," he sighs. "Or Victoria."
"That remains to be seen," Peter says silkily.
"It wasn't like that," Allison says softly, looking at her socked toes scrunching in the plush carpet. Not that anybody hears her, all of them sniping or whispering at each other in the wake of the tension-filled argument. Allison twists the hem of her oversized jumper around her fingers, and raises her head, eyes blazing, and repeats firmer this time, "It wasn't like that."
Silence reigns as all eyes turn to Allison. She stares back defiantly, chin jutting out. "There…was a thrall," she spits disgustedly, "but it wasn't like – hypnotism. Well, it was…but it wasn't…" she trails off, frowning. "It was like a magnet, pulling me in. Or…or like a siren call!" she says, growing more animated as she finds her train of thought. "I wanted to follow it and touch it, but it knew me. It whispered at me," she says, eyes wide in dismay. "It was more than just knowing my name. It knew things. Made me feel things that weren't my own."
Eyes swivel to Stiles and back. They look around him rather than at him. They're trying to be subtle. 'Trying' being the operative word. Danny bumps Stiles' shoulder in a comforting manner after seeing his hands tremble in his lap.
Deaton completely ignores the Nogitsune sized elephant in the room and asks, "What do you mean feel things?"
Allison flounders for a second trying to recover her composure, "I felt…curious. I just had to follow. Like…a compulsion. In my head, I knew I needed to turn around and go back inside but I just…couldn't. And then anger… jealousy when you came to find me."
"It sounds like it might have some type of psychic ability," Lydia says, flipping pages in the tome on her lap. "It's the same as the bath, and the time before that with the kitchen sink – those times you zoned out. It must have been influencing you even then," she says. "This text says kelpies are part fae, like banshees. While the existence of the fae is debatable, it's already demonstrated a higher capacity for intelligence and manipulation that these books suggest a kelpie is capable of."
"That is a worry, yes," Deaton frowns eyes skimming over the yarn strewn map.
"What are you saying?" Scott asks, "That it's not a kelpie? I mean, it looked like a horse…"
"It made horse noises," Isaac adds.
Scott's sycophant as usual, Stiles thinks with a snort. On the phone screen, Stiles can see Derek barely repress an eye-roll.
It seems Peter feels the same, "That's your contribution? It looked like a horse? Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but did it not also take a human form? Now I don't know about you, but I can't find that particular tidbit in my not insignificant collection. Which means the solution is unlikely to be as simple as 'it's an evil horse'. We'd do well to keep our options open."
"Well yeah, I mean, that's the ocarina's razor thing, isn't it? The most obvious answer is usually right?"
Lydia pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squinting in a pained expression as she huffs, "Occam's razor…"
"Simple solutions don't take into account people's motivations, Scott," Derek sighs. "If Lydia is right and this thing is smarter than we thought we'd be stupid to confront it on its territory again. At least not without knowing what it wants. Or with only half the information. We just don't know what a kelpie is capable of. It might be like Malia – a werecoyote is like a werewolf, but she can full shift while you can't. Similar, but different enough that it's important to get it right."
Kira hesitantly raises her hand in the air, like she's waiting for a teacher to call on her. "Um…don't kelpies eat livers? I mean, mom and these sites all say so," she waves her phone in the air. "And this book, here says so too. How come it didn't eat Gerard?" she asks. "Not that I wanted it to eat him or anything— or you Allison, just that it seems odd that they're supposed to eat livers and it doesn't seem to be eating any at all?" Kira trails off as all eyes are on her.
"She's right," Noah says, tipping his head in her direction. He'd been perusing the murder board intently while they'd discussed.
"Alan, these reports here," Noah taps the Parks and Wildlife printouts, "say the animals died of natural causes."
"Of dehydration among other things," Deaton confirms, confused.
"Well, I guess my question is, how do this many animals die of dehydration at a creek? Can this kelpie thing kill psychically or is it only limited to water? I'm assuming of course that it's responsible for these deaths too."
"But they died of the opposite of drowning," Scott exclaims.
"Yeah, but would you drink from that water knowing it was in there?" Chris asks sardonically.
"I ask," Stiles' dad continues undeterred, "because there's a pattern here if you know what you're looking for."
"It's escalating," Danny says. "Like a human serial killer does!" he says, bouncing far too excitedly in his seat for the topic at hand. "Sorry," he mutters at the incredulous stares directed his way.
"He's right though…look here – the first few issues started in the preserve. Scaring away the wildlife I imagine. Scaring them enough that they won't drink the water. And if they do," he casts a side-eyed gaze at Chris, "then they're meeting the same end as Gerard and Ellis – see here?" he points out a note about a series of animals that have died from bloat or edema. I think this has been going on longer than we ever realized.
"The elk," Derek says. "Stiles, you asked last week what could scare the elk so bad they run into traffic…"
"I thought it was mad that we were 'on its territory'?" Scott asks, confused.
"That doesn't fit the pattern, Scott," Argent says, "this creature must have knowingly targeted Gerard. That's no coincidence."
"No, it's motive," his dad says. "It's started small with the animals in the preserve – assuming of course that these," he gestures at the Parks report, "happened with malicious intentions... and then worked its way up to people once it got confident. If we follow this chronologically, it's worked its way further and further from its initial territory. It's getting braver—"
"Or more powerful with each kill," Derek adds.
A grim silence falls over the pack.
This meeting is less comforting than Stiles imagined even though they're finally listening to his theories. That it wasn't all in his head.
This meeting is also far more efficient than the shambles that have been other pack meetings. It's a little embarrassing to admit that the parents are actually helpful. How much of Peter's insanity driven killing spree could have been avoided if they'd just asked for help in the first place?
"These aren't crimes of opportunity or territory disputes – that's been proven with Gerard. There doesn't seem to be a pattern of 'where', so the question is 'why'. If we exclude Gerard as an outlier, the victims are similar ages – in their early 20's," his dad says. He's engaged sheriff mode, hands on his work utility belt as he faces the pack expectantly.
"But why these three?" asks Scott rhetorically, no closer to working out the pattern than yesterday.
Kira chimes in, her sunny disposition shining through even the most morbid of topics, "Well I guess that depends on its motivation – greed? Revenge? I mean, no offense Mr. Argent, but why kill Gerard unless you had a vendetta? Not that I knew him but…"
"But he was a giant asshole," Stiles helpfully adds.
"So, you think it wants vengeance on these people?" Danny asks, musing thoughtfully. "I suppose I could do a little digging online and see what I can turn up?"
"But I haven't done anything," Allison says. "Why does it want to kill me?"
"Because it doesn't," Derek says, drawing their attention back to the phone. "You saw the footage. If it wanted you dead, you'd be dead. I don't think it's dragging it out — I think it wants you for something else."
Allison tangles a frustrated hand into her hair, "Like what?"
Chris clears his throat, "To draw me out? It stands to reason that if it's finished with Gerard it might have some grievance against me," he shrugs casually, but his eyes belie his fear.
"Okay," Stiles claps his hands together, "Who do we know who hates Gerard and would use Allison to hurt others?"
He looks at a sea of considering and troubled faces.
"Geez, that's a lot actually… Never mind, bad question," he grimaces.
Scott clears his throat hesitantly, "We ever gonna talk about all this magic stuff?" he gestures at the fading sharpie runes on Allison's forearm and the back of Stiles' hand. Allison had been unconsciously rubbing her thumb over the spot through her sleeve.
Stiles hesitates, eyes catching on Derek's on the phone who shrugs in response. He can feel Deaton's curious eyes burning a hole through the side of his head.
"Not today, Scotty," Stiles says with finality.
"Stiles, you did something weird yesterday. Are you sure you should be messing with mind magic stuff after—"
A low, frustrated growl erupts from his chest, surprising even himself. "You have no right to lecture me. You and Isaac have doubted me time and time again with all this," he gestures at the whiteboard taking pride of place in the living room. "If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't have found Allison in time. You want to know why I didn't tell you? Because you haven't earned my trust back."
Scott looks like he's been slapped in the face.
"You said I could tell you anything. But then you—the both of you— told me it was in my head. That I was paranoid."
He sucks in a reluctant breath, fingertips silently tapping against his pant legs as he counts in his head—
…onetwothreefour…
"You of all people should have known not to say that to me,"
… fivesixseven…
"After the — the Nogitsune," he stresses, "after my mom."
…eightnineten…
Scott shifts his gaze to the ground, ashamed. It helps that the sheriff is leveling some heavy-duty Disappointed Dad Glare™ at him.
"I wanted to learn something to help me protect myself. To help protect others. Without," here Stiles side-eyes Deaton, "relying on others who have their own interests to serve. What I do in my own time is my business."
Scott sighs, "But we already have an emissary… You could have asked Deaton to show you—"
Peter smirks from the phone, "Stiles may be learning emissary skills, but he never said he was training to be your emissary."
Stiles swears the man encourages petty drama for his own entertainment.
Deaton, for all of his observing finally speaks up, "Stiles is right in this instance, Scott. I was Talia Hale's emissary and as such my hands are tied unless the balance must be maintained. Stiles, as a spark rather than a Druid, doesn't have to abide by those principles. He is also correct in that I have perhaps been remiss in my duty in both advising Stiles of his potential and developing preventative measures against threats to the town."
He turns to face Stiles now who begins to panic a little. It's one thing to cast aspersions, but he's never been the biggest fan of openly addressing feelings in front of so many people.
"I understand your frustrations. Though perhaps you're also not giving me the credit I am due – I have helped above and beyond at times," he looks at Stiles' Lichtenburg scar from the letharia vulpina. He can't help but feel a sharp stab of guilt and regret at the reminder of the lengths Deaton went to to help Stiles ('or just help Scott,' the scathing voice in his head replies), "but as an adult, I should have been forthcoming, rather than waiting for the pack to approach me with questions."
Stiles isn't sure what to do in the face of such an honest admission. Thankfully, his dad comes to his rescue before the burning tingle in his eyes manifests into overwhelmed tears, clapping him on the shoulder as he blinks rapidly to disperse the dampness gathering in the corner of his eyes. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that the way we've been operating so far has to change. There have been so many things you kids have faced alone that could have been avoided. We all need to work smarter and trust in each other's expertise and abilities, alright?"
The pack murmur and nod their assent. Likely contemplating how different things could have been if they'd simply been upfront about everything… Chris working out the darach's sacrifice list, Jackson and the police transport van, Boyd and Erica…
As one, the pack and parents begin discussing and comparing what they've found in their research. Chris is sending messages to hunter contacts abroad, Noshiko is having a hushed conversation in Japanese to Satomi Ito, the sheriff is in the police database looking for similar patterns in other cases. Lydia has cornered him, his video call with Derek and Peter clutched in one manicured hand and is demanding a rundown on the intuition spell he's used. Stiles can see the spark of new ideas in her eyes – there isn't much that Lydia can't explain so he supposes the new frontier of magic must be conquered too. She's already rapidly typing into her notes app ideas on layering runes and the effect different materials may have on efficacy. Her trepidation when faced with Peter gone in the face of a new research opportunity as she grills him with question after question on books and materials.
It's Isaac who surprises them all, however. For all the misplaced anger he's laid at Stiles' feet, there's a look of resignation on his face as he looks from a website on Danny's laptop to the DMV photos his dad had pinned next to the victim's autopsy notes.
"I think I've got something," Isaac ventures reluctantly. "But you won't believe me. I don't believe me."
"Try us," Argent says, turning from his intense analysis of the murder board.
Allison shrugs, "That's sort of what this whole meeting is about, isn't it?"
Isaac wrings his hands nervously. "I recognized her," he gestures at Ashley Cook's photo. "It took me a while to realize, but we've met before. I've never seen her with blonde hair though. When I met her she had short, mousey brown hair. I never knew their names, just their faces and it was years ago." His eyes flick to the laptop screen as he chews his nails fitfully.
It's unusual for Isaac to show his nerves. He'd tried so hard to any signs of weakness after Derek turned him- desperate to be in control of his shift – of his life— after being orphaned so suddenly in the whole kanima shitstorm.
"Just her? Where did you meet her? What's the connection?" the sheriff asks.
"No, Ellis too. And that one," he points at Coleman's photo. He takes a shuddery breath and turns the laptop to face them. "I recognized them from my house."
It's a zoomed-in, grainy, group photo from the archive page of the Beacon Chronicle website.
Of the Beacon Hills Cyclones Championship swim team, 2006.
"They're all in here – Coleman, the sleepwalking Ellis, Cook from the hospital, Simmons – the girl from the rave, Cornish…my dad…"
"Dad," Allison stresses. "Those two," she points at a couple – the boy's arm thrown over her shoulders. "They're the ones who had the baby," Allison gasps.
"Jessica and Sean," Argent mutters. "This doesn't make sense…"
No.
No fucking way.
Stiles refuses. Not today, Satan.
Kira hesitantly raises her hand in the air, "Umm…I'm really confused? What's going on?"
Argent speaks up as the rest of the pack crowd the laptop screen, "Last year we had an issue with a kanima—"
"An issue—" Stiles scoffs. "That's putting it lightly."
"A kanima," Argent continues, ignoring Stiles' interruption, "is a puppet creature, compelled to do the bidding of its master. In this case, there were two: Matt Daehler and Gerard Argent."
"They're both dead though," Scott argues.
"So what? You're saying it's Jackson?" Lydia demands.
"Well, do we even know he's actually in London?" Scott refutes. "All we have is your word on it."
Welp. Scott is dead, Stiles thinks. Can Lydia predict that's she's going to kill Scott before she does it?
"Uhh…" Danny interjects, "and mine. He's definitely in London. I tracked his phone after he left," he shrugs, casually admitting to breaking the law in front of the sheriff.
Peter adds, "Lovely as this 'he said, she said' battle is…while Jackson may still retain some kanima features in his beta shift, this is outside of his skill set. By all means, consider all the avenues but Jackson himself had no intentions on the victims he unwittingly killed."
"That's because it's not Jackson. It's Matt," Isaac says, jaw clenching as he meets Scott's disbelieving eyes.
"Matt Daehler? The one from the station massacre?" Noah confirms, looking over the evidence with fresh eyes.
"Not to doubt you Isaac, but how can a kelpie be a person? Isn't it a horse thing?" Danny asks, confused.
Stiles hums, "Well, a coyote was Malia. Or Malia was the coyote," he shrugs.
Scott looks nonplussed, "Yeah, but she was a werecoyote, dude. There's no such thing as a werekelpie…right?" he directs at Deaton.
Deaton does that infuriating stare into the distance while he pauses to think dramatically schtick. The entire room waits for bated breath for his expertise.
God, he hates that.
Ok, he lied. He admires it a little. (He's going to add that skill to his list after learning dramatic entrances and exits from the Hales).
"From everything I've read," Deaton muses (dramatically, the bastard), "kelpies are born, not made—"
"How do you know?" Peter interrupts, a shit-eating grin on his face. Guess he likes Deaton's cryptic bullshittery less than Stiles. "Have you ever seen a baby kelpie, Deaton?"
Derek thumps Peter none too gently if the muffled, staticky wheeze is anything to go by.
"Not the time," Derek growly lowly as Peter pouts at the edge of the screen.
Noshiko's gaze darts between Isaac, the sheriff, and Scott, "While I've never heard of a human becoming a kelpie, it is the ultimate ignorance to presume all knowledge. Scott, why is this Matt not a suspect in your eyes?"
"Because Matt Daehler is dead," Scott says bluntly. "Gerard Argent killed him so he could be the kanima's master."
Danny looks puzzled, "I knew he died, but how did he die though?"
The sheriff hesitates before wryly adding, "Uh – Gerard drowned him in the creek not far from the station."
There's a moment of stunned silence as they contemplate this bombshell.
Wow. Karma's a bitch for Gerard. And Matt. Jesus, what a clusterfuck.
"So, just to recap," Stiles says uncertainly, "we're thinking Matt – deathly afraid of water after nearly drowning, Matt – was drowned by Gerard…who was then drowned by sentient puddle Matt? The dude who was afraid of water…became water? That's fucked up, even for Beacon Hills," he says to the disturbed nods of the pack.
"Colorful as your phrasing is Mr. Stilinski," Deaton says, pursing his lips in consideration, "I believe you may be on the right track. I did say there are consequences for breaking the rules."
Derek's eyes widen, "He was becoming the kanima, remember?" he urges. "At the station – he'd grown scales because—"
"—he'd broken the rules by taking a life himself," Deaton concludes.
"The kanima curse superceding death is new. Though I suppose not entirely surprising considering Jackson's little Jesus moment in the warehouse," Peter muses thoughtfully.
"Yeah – because you stabbed him," Scott accuses disbelievingly.
Peter waves his hand dismissively, "And saved him by doing so. For a werewolf, you're awfully averse to a little bodily violence, Scott…"
"That's also your fault," Scott fumes.
"Focus," Lydia snaps at them. "Does this mean Matt isn't dead? Is there another possible explanation – could the kanima curse have passed to someone else if it didn't go to Gerard?"
Deaton shakes his head, "The curse itself isn't a constant that must be actively infecting a host like a parasite. It's quite rare, actually, as most packs don't usually give the bite unless they've thoroughly vetted the candidate first to avoid potential issues like this."
Noah sighs, "As much as it pains me to admit it, I believe Isaac's on the money. It sounds…far-fetched, that's for sure. And I'd lose my job if I ever suggested it to my deputies, but Daehler makes sense."
Scott opens his mouth to argue, "No, Scott, hear me out. The first person this kanima killed was your father, right?" his dad directs as Isaac, who nods.
"Yeah," Isaac croaks, "Matt blamed him for the accident. It was his fault," he shrugs, "Camden would have been on his hit list too, but he'd been long dead by that point."
"Didn't stop him from trying though," the sheriff notes. "I don't think the creek flood at the cemetery had natural causes, son…"
"Creek flood?" Noshiko asks, out of the loop once again.
"Early last week a creek that winds down the back of the cemetery broke its banks and caused significant damage to several grave sites—"
"My dad and Camden's."
The sheriff shoots him a sympathetic glance, "If we assume that it was an intentional act of vandalism or revenge by whatever the hell this Matt kid is, then it fits the pattern. Much as I hate to believe it on account of him being dead."
"That's a bit of a suppository though, isn't it? Maybe we're reading too much into it?" Scott asks.
Lydia smirks, "You mean supposition, Scott. Better brush up on those SAT words…"
Noah grimaces, "There's more to it than that, Scott. After the station attack, a warrant was issued for Matt's address – he was found guilty of the murder of those deputies. During the search they uncovered…well, I suppose the best word for it would be a shrine – devoted to his fantasized relationship with Allison."
Confusion and concern battle for dominance on Scott's features. "Allison, did you know about this?"
She looks conflicted, fingers twisting fretfully in her overlong sleeves. "I knew he was stalking me. I saw the photos on his camera once," she sighs frustratedly.
"I knew," Chris speaks up. "I'll admit, I kept it from you. You were a minor, so I was informed by the deputies in your stead. He was dead by then, I didn't want to upset or worry you with it. You were already dealing with your mother's loss. I wasn't going to add to that," he says, remorse in his voice.
"It's ok," Allison mumbles, tears shining wetly in her lashes, "I…wasn't handling things well then. I wouldn't have wanted to know."
"This is where we apply Occam's Razor, Scott," Lydia urges, "there's a clear pattern of behavior here…not that I'd know from experience considering you were keeping me in the dark then…"
"Ok," Scott acquiesces, "let's say it's him…how can he be responsible? He's dead?"
A subtle cough draws their attention to the largely forgotten video call. Peter smarms, "Look who you're talking to - I got better. There are ways to be resurrected...but the question is how this boy managed it. Was it under his own power like myself or the result of someone else's interference?"
Derek frowns, "He bragged about it at the station. He'd stolen a copy of the bestiary and had been stalking Scott and Jackson for a while. I don't think he could have done this on purpose, he didn't know enough… Are we looking at another person behind this?"
"Well," Lydia sighs, "I know it wasn't me this time. Deaton, ideas?"
"I'm afraid I'm not omniscient, Lydia. It takes a careful combination of power, will, and circumstance to bring someone back from the dead. If it was easy everyone would do it."
Peter adds thoughtfully, "Never underestimate the power of will – especially when it's focused on revenge. It's like being less than a ghost…clinging on to avoid what comes after. Matt himself may have grasped onto this plane of existence and simply needed a nudge. Who or what provided this nudge is what we need to figure out."
"No," Chris says grimly, "We need to figure out how to kill it."
"Finally, a man after my own tastes…" Peter purrs.
Chris lets out an aggrieved sigh and looks anywhere but at Peter's winking face.
"I agree," Isaac says. "He's clearly got malicious intent. There's no redeeming him – he's always been a vindictive bastard."
"Before we travel too far down this path," Noshiko smoothly interrupts. "How can we be certain that this Matt boy isn't controlling the kelpie much like a kanima. It's not outside the realm of possibility that the kelpie is an unwilling participant."
"I don't think that's the case," Lydia says, "because according to you all, it took both an equine and humanoid form and spoke to Ally—"
"It said…he called me 'mine'. Like he was laying claim to me," Allison shudders.
"But let's not discount the theory at any rate," Deaton says serenely with a nod at Noshiko. "It's better to eliminate any variables until we know more. Tell me Allison, was the horse form wearing a bridle?"
"Umm…no? It was made of this black smoke though…it wasn't a solid y'know…horse. Was it supposed to have one?"
"There are those that say a silver bridle can control a kelpie. Though I wonder at the truthfulness of that statement. After all, the silver that kills werewolves isn't silver at all is it, Miss Argent?" Deaton says, emphasizing the French pronunciation of her name.
Stiles doesn't know why he ever thought tonight's research session would end with everything tied up in a neat little bow. This just seems to get more and more complicated with each day that passes. He makes brief eye contact with Isaac, whose gaze skitters away from him. He's on board with the Scooby Gang now at least. Whether he'll apologize to Stiles for being such a dick is another matter entirely.
"So…what's the plan, Stiles?" Allison asks him, shocking him out of his reverie.
Uhmmm.
He shrugs and gestures in Argent's direction, cueing him to take charge. He's not qualified for this.
"No, Stiles. This is your case. Where do you think we should go next?" Argent defers.
"Look, kiddo, you got us this far. How about you start us off and we'll make suggestions at the end?" his dad says, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Um…I s'pose," he looks at Scott who gives him a 'go ahead' shrug.
"You're the brains of this outfit," Scott says with a wry smile. "No offense, Lydia."
It's both bolstering and incredibly anxiety-inducing to see his friends, family, and new pack members looking at him with such trust and support in their eyes. He never thought he'd see that again after his possession.
He silently taps a count against his leg.
onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten.
Clearing his throat, he takes a slow breath in and out.
"Alright…Argents, the both of you – Deaton mentioned a silver bridle. I want to know how true that myth is. Is there a thing, a weapon, or something that can pacify it? Or is this a weakness to silver? Keep reaching out to your hunter contacts – can we find someone who's met one of these before. Is this what a kelpie is really like or is this some mutant variation? Could Matt be controlling it remotely or is it Matt?"
He hesitates a second, eyeing Scott. "Can you also team up with Deaton? Deaton, are there any magical eleven herbs and spices, y'know that might cause a weakness? The mountain ash worked on it, but I'm worried that the ash isn't waterproof. What if it can just, psshh, and hose it away? Is it, I don't know…allergic to pine needles? Mistletoe? Wolfsbane? If there is, can we pack that into some bullets or some sort of resin to oil arrowheads with to make sure he stays down if it comes to it?"
Scott looks hesitant at this part of the plan. "Look dude," Stiles says placatingly, "I know your moral compass is fixed…but the dude shot you. No regrets, point-blank range. Bam. He chose to do that. We can't save everyone. And even if we could…those deputies were innocent, man."
"Peter…" he falters before continuing with his best 'do not argue with me' face, "and Lydia—" he does his best to ignore her mutinous face. "How do we stop Allison from being whammied again? Can Lydia's scream disrupt him doing that? Can we…I don't know – weaponize the scream? Peter – I know you're bringing some info back on banshees with you…" Lydia looks taken aback by that. "Can we record an offensive scream and maintain its effect? It worked over the phone with my intuition rune. Also, side quest– how the fuck did this even happen? Is everyone going to come back from the dead? Do we need to worry about Kate again? See if you can dig up what the hell went wrong this time. How can we get him to stay dead?"
His dad is noting everyone's jobs on the flip side of the whiteboard as Danny types it down at a rapid-fire pace. Which reminds him…
"Danny and Scott…can you go through the 2006 yearbook and do some searching. Who else is a potential victim who was on Coach Lahey's team? Do they still live in Beacon Hills? If the wards I put up on our pipes work, can we come up with some sort of ruse to ward their houses without them knowing?"
"Dad, your job is to ignore Danny hacking into the DMV. I know you can look them up on the database…but so can Danny. What's in the evidence locker from Matt's investigation? If he had a ton of creeptastic photos then he likely had them stored on a laptop or USB drive. Can we find those? They might give us some info on what he had planned before he met Gerard. That night at the station he was there to get rid of the evidence – what other evidence is there? I mean, he was presumed guilty posthumously…but where was his copy of the bestiary? If he did some sort of resurrection ritual where did he find it?"
"Yukimura's – Noshiko, can you keep reaching out to your contacts and see what they know? Kira, I know you're still new to your powers and all…but I was thinking about water conducting electricity... Can you and your mom work on ways to use your kitsune abilities to give us an advantage? I'd rather we have a few tricks up our sleeve when we see him again."
Noshiko nods in agreement. Kira looks far too excited to tase things. "I might add, that I am a celestial kitsune, so my powers lie in a different area than Kira's…but you are correct – we will explore using elemental opposites and potential strategies. The humanoid form did not like my foxfire. I've never had reason to imbue an object other than my katana with it...perhaps it is time I branched out a little. A foxfire grenade perhaps?" she suggests to Kira, who seems shocked to see this more open version of her mother.
"Isaac – I hate to ask this…but do you still work at the cemetery?"
"Only a few shifts here and there. It's mostly because they'll feel bad if they fire me," he shrugs.
"So…" he gulps and looks at his dad. "Any chance you could uh…check he's still in there? Y'know," he mimes digging, "just take a peek in there? Because if it is Matt then I'm assuming that's his body doing the blob monster impression."
"Scott, can you get your mom to keep an eye out for any water-related cases at the hospital including the morgue?" Scott nods affirmatively and whips out his phone to text Melissa.
"And Derek…time to put those bedroom lurking skills to good use—"
"I do not—"
"You're with me. I've got an idea for a tracking ritual I saw in that book which might help us narrow down where he is. The only problem is it needs a DNA sample or an object important to the person and he's dead so…time to do a little B & E?" he cringes away from his dad who sighs heavily.
"You'll do it when I'm on patrol so I can intercept any calls and you'll let me suss it out first," he demands, pointing a finger at Stiles. "You are not allowed to get caught, do you hear me?"
"Pshaw," he scoffs, "what do you think Derek's for?"
"Keeping you out of trouble?" Derek adds wryly.
"No…for taking the blame when we get caught," he winks.
Stiles can't focus on anything other than the faint red blush that colors Derek's cheeks and ears while the pack discusses their next steps in the background…