Wow. I'm so in awe of the response I got last chapter that I'm going to keep my AN super short.
Thanks, enjoy, review.
Here you go.
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It's almost seven am by the time they make it to Deaton's clinic, and Stiles is so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open. Malia had kept him up almost all night, talking about everything from werewolves to nail polish to trigonometry – none of which he's exactly an expert in. But she's making more of an effort to fit into human society, and that involves knowing everything she can about it. The only problem is that everything she learns seems to annoy her, and although Stiles shares her hatred of trig, he doesn't understand her disdain for drive-in movie theaters.
Scott seems tired too, but he doesn't say anything. He just leans back in his seat and stares out the front window, and for the first time in a long time Stiles isn't sure what to say to him. He and Scott had made their amends after what happened with the nogitsune. They'd spent a lot of time together after Allison's funeral – Scott because he was scared the guilt might cause Stiles to do something stupid, Stiles because he was worried Allison's death might cause Scott to break. Somehow they'd gotten through it, and they're still going on. Still moving forward, no matter how much it hurts.
It especially hurts that they're moving forward into yet another supernatural mystery. He'd thought the rival werewolf pack would have been the last of their worries, since they usually get a bit of a break in between disasters, but apparently in this – as with many other things – he was mistaken.
The plan is to use Scott's spare key to get into Deaton's clinic, call him, and wait for him there. The clinic has become like a sanctuary for the pack, and god, Stiles could use a place where he feels safe. Even his own house doesn't feel safe anymore, although he can't quite pinpoint why. Scott's halfway through calling Deaton even as they step through the door, which is why they're all surprised to see Deaton already standing at the reception desk.
"Geez," Stiles exclaims, "do you live here or something?"
Deaton just smiles, as serene as ever, although Stiles can see that he's still tense. The vet beckons them all into the back room without a word, and as soon as the door closes behind them, Scott starts explaining what happened. Deaton listens quietly, his expression growing more and more grave.
Stiles turns his attention to Malia, who's hanging around near one of the cabinets. She's running her fingers along the lock. Her fingers still when Stiles approaches, but she doesn't turn to face him.
"Nothing's locked in the woods," she says. "It's all just – there. You want it, you take it."
She sounds faintly puzzled, and Stiles takes a moment to try to get into her headspace. He has this problem a lot – whenever she says something coyote-ish, he has to stop to think about where she's coming from. If he's honest, this is more tiring than he lets on, but nobody else in the pack seems to want to take the job on. So it's just him and Malia – all the time.
"Things are different here," he says, for what feels like the tenth time this week. "You know that. We have rules, and -"
"- restrictions," she finishes grimly. Her gaze shifts to a couple of the animal crates in the other corner of the room. "And cages."
There's so much resentment in her voice that Stiles is taken aback. He tries to think of something comforting to say, but he draws a blank. Not for the first time.
She turns to him now, before he can come up with a response. "I just don't like being cooped up," she says softly.
Stiles nods; this he can understand. "After this, why don't we get out of here for a bit? Go for a walk or something."
"I'd like that," she says, intertwining her fingers with his. She even gives him a smile, but there's something about it that doesn't feel right.
The two of them make their way back to Deaton and Scott, who are leaning on the counter and talking in hushed voices.
"It didn't smell like anyone I know," Scott's saying, "but it's – there was so much blood."
He wrinkles his nose in distaste, and Stiles is yet again glad he refused Peter's offer of the bite. Having super-senses would probably be all fun and games in somewhere other than Beacon Hills, but there's too much blood and too many bodies here. And even his dulled-down human senses think those smell bad.
"But there was something there?" Deaton presses.
Scott frowns in concentration, and Stiles notices that he's turning something over in his hands. It looks like an old penny, but Scott's staring at it like it's a crystal ball.
"Hey," Stiles says, inclining his head toward it, "what is that?"
Scott looks up, startled, like he hadn't expected someone to notice. "It's nothing," he says, laying it flat on the counter. When Stiles keeps looking at him, Scott sighs. "It's a souvenir penny," he explains. "My dad got it for me at our last father-son bonding day."
Stiles knows Scott well enough to know that something's bothering him, but he's not sure what it is. Scott hasn't had the best relationship with his father, but in recent weeks it had seemed like they were reconciling. His dad had even started a weekly father-son bonding session, when he'd take Scott to museums and basketball games and anything else he thought he'd like. Scott didn't have the heart to tell him that what he really wanted was to spend his weekends catching up on sleep.
"Anyway," Scott says, putting the coin in his pocket and looking at Deaton again, "I think there was something there – a really faint scent, beneath all the blood. It was… it was kind of familiar, but I couldn't really place it."
Deaton nods thoughtfully, and Stiles waits for some kind of deep insight or helpful tip. But instead Deaton says, "And how's Lydia doing?"
The question takes them all by surprise. Malia's eyes narrow, and Scott and Stiles share a look.
"Lydia?" Stiles echoes, confused. "She's fine. Why wouldn't she be?"
Deaton tilts his head, looking at the three teens in front of him. "It sounds like her banshee powers are surfacing again," he says cautiously, "which hasn't exactly boded well in the past. Is she coping with it more easily this time?"
Stiles thinks back to when he'd arrived at the crime scene. In all honesty he hadn't paid much attention to Lydia, because he'd been so focused on the dead body. "She seems fine," he says, although he's suddenly not so sure. He shoots a look at Scott.
"She hasn't said anything to me," the alpha says. "And she didn't seem… I mean, she seemed okay." His words trail off, like it's a question rather than a statement.
Deaton nods, but it doesn't seem like he's incredibly satisfied with the answer. Something occurs to Stiles, and he's not quick enough to cover up his expression of realization. Scott raises his eyebrows questioningly at him, and after a brief hesitation Stiles says, "I mean, she's injured, but -"
"What," Scott interrupts, an exclamation more than a question. He looks from Stiles to Malia and back again. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Stiles says defensively. "She wouldn't talk to me about it."
"She probably just got hurt in the fight the other day," Malia says nonchalantly.
Scott's shoulders tense and he looks at the werecoyote with an expression somewhere between concern and annoyance. "Are you sure? She didn't say anything to me," Scott says, still frowning.
"Maybe you didn't give her a chance to," Deaton says, but before either of the boys can respond, Malia takes charge of the conversation.
"Look, she'll be fine," she says bluntly, "but that girl we found in the alley isn't."
It's a sobering thought, and although Stiles knows they should talk about this, for now the murder takes priority. Scott seems to be thinking the same thing, because he nods and addresses Deaton again. "Okay. So, do you have any idea what this could be?"
The vet considers his answer carefully. "Since Lydia showed up there, I'd hazard a guess and say it's supernatural in some way," he says, and the others all nod or murmur their agreement. "And from the sounds of it, it wasn't premeditated. The way you described the injuries made it sound – well, violent."
"Like something done in the spur of the moment," Stiles says, and Deaton nods.
"Exactly. With the darach, all the murders were very precise, each one planned out and executed with a sense of purpose." The vet pauses, and Stiles finds his mind drifting back to the string of ritual sacrifices committed by the darach. Stiles shudders. "But this sounds more… primal."
"Like they couldn't control it," Scott says slowly. Then he looks up at the others, alarm flashing in his eyes. "What kind of creature do we know that would be unable to control their powers?"
It doesn't take long for Stiles to catch onto his train of thought. "A newly turned werewolf," he says, and Scott's grim expression is confirmation enough. "Remember for your first few full moons, you were scared you were going to do something?"
"You mean wolf out and kill all my friends?" Scott says darkly. "Yeah, I remember that."
"Right," Stiles says, "and if you hadn't found a way to control it, you might have actually done it."
"So you think we're looking for a new werewolf," Scott says. He glances at Deaton. "What do you think?"
"It's possible," Deaton allows. "It can take a long time to learn to control the change, and if they don't have a mentor or an anchor… well, it could definitely end up like this."
"This is a great theory and all, guys," Malia says, "but there's a slight flaw."
Stiles gives her a questioning look.
Malia points toward the calendar hanging from the wall behind Deaton's head. "Last night wasn't a full moon."
As far as flaws go, it's not fatal – but it doesn't lend credence to their theory.
"Well, the change doesn't only occur on the full moon," Deaton says reasonably. "It can be triggered by a whole host of things – fear, anger, lust."
Scott ducks his head slightly at the last one, but no one mentions it.
"So it could still be a werewolf," Stiles says. "But the question is: how do we find them?"
"When I was first changing, I tended to go after people I knew," Scott says. "So maybe this girl was killed by one of her friends."
"Great," Stiles says, genuinely enthusiastic, until he realizes how bad that sounds. "I mean, not great that she was murdered by her friend, but great that we have a lead."
He trails off, embarrassed, but the others don't seem to notice.
"Which means we should start by figuring out who she is," Scott says.
"I can talk to my dad," Stiles offers. "See if he's got any leads or had any luck with identifying her."
"Good." Scott nods, decisive. "I can go back to the scene and see if I can pick up a scent. Malia, you want to come with me?"
"I'd rather go with Stiles," she says promptly.
Stiles hesitates. "It might be better if you go with Scott -"
"Because you don't want me to come with you?" Malia says, her voice sharp.
"No! It's not like that. I just mean, I can talk to my dad myself. You'd be better off going with Scott."
"But I always go with you," Malia protests.
"Not this time," Stiles says, a little more harshly than he'd meant to. It's partly that he genuinely thinks Malia would be of more use if she went with Scott, and partly because he just wants a break from her. They've been spending all their time together lately, and it turns out that integrating a werecoyote back into society takes a lot of work. "Just go with Scott, okay?"
"But I want to go with you."
"For god's sake, Lydia, just -" Stiles cuts himself off, but he can see the damage has already been done. "Malia," he corrects quickly. "Malia, I -"
"No," she says, stepping back out of reach. She looks at Scott and then at Deaton, and then back at Stiles. Her eyes are steel blue, and Stiles feels himself shrinking under her gaze. "I get it."
Without giving them a chance to respond she turns and darts out the door, leaving a stunned silence behind her.
Stiles lets out a groan, slumping against the counter. "Well," he says bitterly, "I thought that went well."
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Next chapter Lydia seeks help from an unlikely source (any guesses?) and is given a surprising piece of information. See you all next week. ;)