Sam had dropped Stiles off at school in the morning; they were going to start teaching him after school and not having to drive meant saving gas, and saving gas meant saving cash, so Stiles was A-okay with that.
Lydia knew something was up from the moment she saw him, and it's not like he'd been planning on lying to her about it, but he hadn't exactly thought he'd wind up telling her either. But he did, of course.
"There's room in the car for one more, right?"
Stiles slammed his locker shut, narrowly escaping a cascade of papers that would have fallen out. "Wait, what?"
"You think you get to learn to be a big hero and I'm going to stay a damsel in distress? I'm learning to fight, too."
"Lydia, you've never been a damsel in—okay, okay, you're coming."
She put the daggers away, replacing them with a warm smile. "Great."
She spun to go to class, but Stiles followed her.
"Wait a sec—not like I'm against you coming, but why don't you just have Allison teach you? You two could be like Black Widow and Hawkeye. Except a girl."
"I don't know," she said, when she obviously did. "Why don't you?"
"I asked. Once." It had been shortly after the kanima issue had been resolved. He'd gone up to Allison and asked her if she'd help him learn to fight, but she'd just smiled at him and said there was no need. Jackson would no longer be killing anyone, the wolves were under control, and if another monster showed up, he had to entire pack to protect him. "She said there wasn't a point in me learning. But you've got super-persuasive powers, if you asked her, she'd say yes—"
"I don't want to learn from the Argents, okay?" She'd raised her voice a bit too loudly and brought it back down, ignoring the looks a few students gave her. "They tried to kill Jackson, Stiles. And I understand why, but that doesn't change the fact that they tried. I don't want to learn from the werewolves either, and even if I did, they wouldn't let me. We're human. And that makes us weak. Maybe not mentally or emotionally, but physically. And they're too scared that we'll get hurt. The Winchesters, though? They're…they're fierce, Stiles. They held off how many of the pack? And without any guns, at least until you showed up. They each had a knife—one knife—and that was enough for them. I want to be good, and they're really good."
Stiles shook his head. "Okay, but they tried to kill Jackson, too."
"They didn't know him, Stiles. They hunt monsters to protect people, and that's what they were doing. They didn't turn against someone from their own town, their own circle, and try to murder them. And I don't think they would. They don't have a code like the Argents. All they have is each other. You had to be able to see that. And did you hear what they did? They bend rules. They break them. They don't let each other die—they flat out refuse. And they've all made mistakes—big, massive mistakes—but they don't kill each other because of it. They started the freaking apocalypse and then stopped it! You know what someone who followed a 'code' would do if they discovered who started the end of the world? I'm pretty sure it would involve killing them. Remember what Castiel said? Team Free Will. Not Team Follow-the-Stupid-Ass-Code. And—colossal point—they won against the Devil. No offense to Allison and her dad, but I'd rather learn from them."
Stiles stood sort of awkwardly, trying to avoid the weird looks people were shooting them. They'd gotten to her class and she'd finished her passionate soliloquy standing by the door for any passerby who walked too close to hear.
"Wow. Um. Yeah. Yeah, I see where you're coming from."
"Oh, for the love of God, Stiles, I'm beyond caring what anyone thinks. I'll see you later." She grabbed his shirt's sleeve before he could walk away. "And don't you dare let them leave without me."
"I wouldn't do that!"
She released him. "Good. Have fun being late to class."
Stiles jerked his head around to look at the clock behind him. "Oh, sh—"
He hit the forest floor with a thud, scattering fallen leaves. "You broke my tailbone!"
"No, you let me break your tailbone," Dean corrected. "You've gotta be faster than that."
Stiles let himself lay on the ground for a few seconds, gaze skyward. He could see Castiel, perched in a tree, looking down at him. (How had he even gotten up there?) "What are you, a squirrel?" he called up.
Castiel tilted his head, not understanding.
"He's not a squirrel, genius," Dean said, offering a hand to help Stiles up.
"Can it be Lydia's turn now?"
Dean looked over his shoulder. "Sam, you wanna switch?"
"I'll keep watch," he said. "Keep playing Mr. Winchester."
Dean muttered something Stiles didn't understand.
"You know, we could've found some shorts again," his brother teased. What were they even talking about?
"Alright, Miss Martin. Ready?"
She stepped forward and gave a nod. She'd requested (though you never really denied a request from Lydia Martin) that they stop at her house after school so she could change, and now she was wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved hunter green shirt. (He wondered if she'd been trying to make a statement.) First of all, Lydia not wearing a skirt was crazy enough. But her outfit was so plain it kind of blew Stiles' mind. And her hair was even pulled back into a simple ponytail. Really weird. Not bad, but weird.
"What first?" she asked.
"First, keep your feet apart. Just like that, good. Arms up. Now try and hit me."
She didn't question him like Stiles had. She took a few moments, taking everything in, and went for it. She failed horribly, but no worse than Stiles. She stumbled forwards and fell onto her hands and knees, but got right back up.
"Don't throw all your weight into unless you're a hundred and ten percent sure you're going to make impact. Otherwise if you miss, whatever you're trying to take down gains the upper hand."
She went for it again, faster this time, but still her fist didn't connect with anything.
"You have to balance logic and intuition," Sam called from where he was standing a few yards away.
"Should we really be practicing hand-to-hand?" Stiles questioned. "Werewolves are super strong. Wouldn't guns be better?"
"Do you carry a gun on you twenty-four-seven?" Dean asked rhetorically.
Stiles heaved a sigh and watched as Lydia worked, figuring some things out herself and the things she didn't, the Winchesters pointed out. She was scarily determined, totally focused, eyes never straying from Dean's movements, which were constantly shifting between lithe and brute. Stiles bet Castiel was the agile one in a fight. Sam was just enormous. If Stiles had gone up against him, he probably wouldn't have bothered even trying.
Lydia stuck with it more than Stiles had, and the fight slowly became a dance. Things got really interesting when Lydia figured out her height could be an advantage. She began darting in and out, ducking when Dean tried to get her in a headlock. Stiles had the feeling he was going easy, but still, he wasn't not making it hard. Sometimes he could almost imagine she was on ice with skates on. She blocked what would've been a blow to her head, and then everything changed so fast Stiles barely had time to see what was happening.
Dean was on the ground, someone on top of him. Sam had a gun drawn and suddenly Castiel was right there.
"Jackson!" Lydia shrieked.
"What's going on?" he barked, and, yup, that was definitely Jackson who just tackled Dean Winchester to the ground when he'd been trying to teach his girlfriend how to protect herself. Great situation.
She shoved him off Dean, and let it be known you did not have to be a werewolf to have claws. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be with Derek!"
"And you're supposed to be at your house!" he shouted as he got to his feet.
"Don't tell me where I'm supposed to be, Jackson Whittemore. I never said I was going straight home. You said you were helping the pack look for the Alphas today."
"Derek wanted somebody to go check on Stiles; he said he was with the hunters."
She took a step forward, getting dangerously close. "The hunters have names. And they're teaching me and Stiles what no one else would, so you can just leave us alone. Derek doesn't need to worry about Stiles getting eaten or kidnapped or whatever he's so paranoid about. You can go and tell him I said that." When Jackson didn't move, she snapped, "Now," and he left.
Dean brushed his jeans off and let out a whistle. "You're a little pistol."
She spun around to face him, hair whipping over her shoulder. "I know. Can we keep going?"
Dean gestured to Sam. "Why don't you two have a go."
Sam ambled over and Lydia tilted her head back to look up at him. "He's taller than you."
Dean laughed, but it was shallow. "He's just a giant puppy unless you make him mad. And not every werewolf is going to be you-sized."
"How do I even fight someone twice my size? Literally."
"He's only got three inches on me," Dean said. "Don't think about it."
"You can probably run through his legs," Stiles said, not really sure if he was kidding or serious.
"You're not off the hook, kid," Dean said. "With me."
That night, Derek, Isaac, and Scott stayed outside Stiles' house. His dad was home, so they couldn't come inside, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Derek was being all pissy because he'd just texted him earlier that day about going with the Winchesters and Castiel, and then had proceeded to ignore all his calls. But seriously? Sending Jackson? Stiles could do silent treatment. At least, when Derek was outside and Stiles was inside. That probably helped. A lot. And so what if Stiles had told Sam, Dean, and Castiel about Erica and Boyd without asking Derek first? They needed to understand what was going on.
And since when did Stiles side with hunters over werewolves? Footnote, see Lydia's epic speech about free will and loyalty.
The next couple days passed without anything happening—no murders either, which was reason to be wary. He and Lydia went to train every day after school. He and Dean got along well, which Stiles thought was pretty freaking weird, but hey, he wasn't protesting. They both liked classic movies (geek movies, by some standards) and shared a similar sense of humor.
Saturday afternoon, they brought lunch with them and snacked throughout their session. An hour in, Dean held up a hand. "Time for something new."
Lydia exhaled heavily. "Like what?"
"Me and Sam are human," Dean said. "We can only move so fast. To get an idea of what you're going to be up against, we're gonna bring Cas into this."
"I've haven't seen him at super speed," Stiles said, pushing a hand through his hair. He was letting it grow out, who knew why. Just for a change, mostly.
"He's not the same as he used to be," Dean said. "But he can still flap around. It'll teach you to be quick. And not just moving, but seeing, too." He gestured to Castiel and the angel vanished into thin air and reappeared several times in quick succession, each time coming at Dean from a different angle, and each time, Dean met his blows, hand for hand. "That's what you're working up to. But first, you'll just work on trying to keep him in your sight. So. Lydia, why don't you go first."
"Let's do this," she said eagerly.
Castiel appeared behind her, tapped her shoulder, and disappeared before she had even begun to turn.
"Whoa," she breathed, but he had already vanished to another spot.
After a solid ten minutes, Dean said, "That's enough of that today. Stiles, you can go tomorrow."
"He's too fast."
The five of them looked over to see Derek approaching. Castiel didn't look surprised, and Stiles couldn't see the brothers' reactions.
"Werewolves don't just vaporize. They move. You're being unrealistic."
Dean shrugged. "Why teach them to be adequate when they can be better?"
"Why teach them in the middle of the woods where the Alphas could show up any time?"
"We'd notice," Dean said.
"Like you noticed Jackson?"
"He didn't pose a threat until the last minute."
"So," Derek drawled, "what you're saying is you're only aware of a presence if its intentions are harmful."
"I'm sorry, have you been to—"
"Dean, stop." Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder. "Stiles and Lydia are safe with us," Castiel said. "You seem to want to take care of the Alphas. That's fine. But we're going to be around until the problem is taken care of. Teaching two capable humans to protect themselves is a sensible way to spend the time you're not trying to avoid us because of your distrust. It's perfectly understandable after what happened to your family."
Stiles jaw the muscles in Derek's jaw twitch and that was rarely a good sign. "Fine. Stiles, Lydia. You want to learn how to fight werewolves?"
The friends exchanged a glance, unsure.
He lifted his brow, waiting.
"Yeah…" Stiles said slowly. "Among other things."
Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket and dropped it at the base of a tree. "Okay."
Okay. Okay? That was it?
"They should see a human and wolf in a fight," Derek suggested.
Dean nodded, appraising Derek as he came closer. "Fair."
"Uh…Dean?"
"A human, Sam. You're sasquatch."
Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. Absolutely nothing could go wrong here. He glanced around, knowing Cas was no longer immediately beside him. He spied him in a tree again, alternating between looking around and directly and Dean and Derek.
"You wanna make the first move, Winchester?"
"The honor's yours, wolfy."
Derek didn't waste a second before pouncing. The hit the ground, but Dean rolled back and kicked him off, and the two were on their feet, circling each other again. The routine was fast-paced, not allowing time for breath. Derek lashed out, muscles rippling, Dean grabbed his wrist, Dean through a punch, Derek slanted his body to avoid it. Underneath it all was that crazy tension. The fight was a conversation.
You came uninvited to my town.
You let werewolves go on a killing spree.
You threatened my human.
You attacked my angel.
Except Stiles wasn't 'his' human, that was just a dramatization on his brain's part.
An indefinite amount of time later, Dean was winning. It wasn't deniable, and Stiles wasn't sure if he was upset that Derek wasn't as invincible as he'd built him up to be or smug because, ha, Stiles really was learning from the best.
Dean stopped, unexpectedly, like he'd heard something the others hadn't. Castiel was there again, all of a sudden. "That's enough. They're here to learn."
"Cas is right." Sam took a few steps forward. "They didn't come just to watch you two angst-ridden idiots battle it out."
"Wow, thanks, Sam," Dean said, voice drowned in sarcasm.
"One of them should go up against Derek now," Sam said. "Get used to it."
"Stiles will," Lydia said after a moment. He turned around to glare at her and she glared right back, daring him to tell her no.
"Sure, I see how it is," Stiles said. "Put your basic Pokemon out first. You don't need them anyway."
Lydia flicked his forehead. "Dean went first, stupid. And you're not a basic Pokemon. You're a Stiles."
"Are you gonna make the first move?" Derek pressed.
Stiles stood opposite of Derek. "Probably not."
Derek pressed his lips together briefly, gave one sharp nod. Stiles took that opportunity to grab his arm and twist it around, shocking the older guy. And no, Stiles didn't think he'd ever get over how freaking firm Derek's arms were.
Derek yanked out of his grip and did to Stiles what Stiles had done to him. Of course, he didn't have super strength, so getting his arms freed was considerably more difficult, especially when Derek was that close and his fingers were wrapped around Stiles arm, pressed tight against his wrist—
Nope. Not gonna go there.
He slammed his heel into Derek's shin, and that was payback for all the times Derek had slammed him around. Ha. He got one arm free and elbowed him in the gut, sending Derek back two steps and setting his other arm free.
But in the end, Derek was a werewolf and Stiles was an amateur with no supernatural abilities whatsoever and—
"Oh my god!"
From above him, Derek gave him a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look.
"Supernatural!" Stiles said excitedly, turning his head to look at Sam, Dean, and Cas. "I can't believe it took me so long—Superfreakingnatural!"
Sam and Dean exchanged a look that seemed to say, Not again, but Stiles barely noticed because ho-ly shit.
"The books—Derek, get off me—by Carver Edlund! You're Sam and Dean Winchester. But you're real and—" He sat up, trying to wrap his head around it. He was having to wrap his head around a lot of things lately.
"Chuck Shurley," Castiel said from up in his tree, "was a prophet."
"Chuck Shurley?"
"Carver Edlund was just a pen name," Sam explained. "Chuck Shurley is his real name, and yeah, he's a prophet. Was."
"I would say I don't get it," Stiles said, getting to his feet, "but I think I do and it's just crazy. Like everything else about you weirdos."
"The Winchester gospel," Castiel said, appearing by Dean's side. "That's what it would've been someday."
"So there was a prophet that wrote books about you guys?" Lydia put together.
"Basically," Dean said. "Of course, we didn't know about it for quite some time. Didn't believe it at first either, but we couldn't deny it. And the books aren't exactly 'popular'. But that doesn't matter, we already told you what happened. Let's stay focused. Lydia, your turn."
She nodded once and walked up to Derek, her features composed into what Stiles had come to recognize as I'm-not-showing-anyone-what-I'm-feeling-because-I-don't-want-them-to-know expression. "Don't you dare go easy on me," she said.
And he didn't. And she hit her head on the ground. And her head split open. And she kept going. And then Derek eased up a bit. Lydia noticed.
She shoved him back. "I told you not to go easy."
"Lydia, your head's bleeding—a lot."
"And? You think that I just won't get hit in a fight? I won't bleed? I won't break bones?"
Stiles worried at the inside of his cheek. Lydia was being scary-serious about this, and he didn't know why. Sure, he understood her wanting to be able to protect herself, but she was bleeding from her head and this wasn't real yet.
Derek shifted awkwardly, glancing at the Winchesters as if she'd listen to them.
"If she wants to keep going, she can," Dean said.
"See?" Lydia snapped. "They get it."
Derek gave Dean a dirty look. "Lydia, you're not a hunter," he said. "You—you're a normal human that stumbled into a different world—"
"I'm immune," she hissed suddenly, shocking Derek into silence.
Dean unfolded his arms from across his chest. "Immune?"
She spun to face him. "Yes. I got bit and I didn't turn," she said. "Nothing happened."
"Cas?"
The angel canted his head, looking at Lydia like if he stared hard enough he could figure it all out. "I don't know. Immunity is…there are specific individuals. If she was born one of them, I would know."
"They're pre-planned out, too?" Sam asked. "Like prophets?"
"No, but when they're born we're aware of it."
Dean turned back to Derek. "Who bit her?"
"It doesn't matter, she didn't turn, and it's been taken care of."
Dean marched right up to the werewolf, standing a couple inches taller than him.
"A werewolf bit a human," he said, voice dangerously low. "You tell me who."
Derek pressed his lips together and jutted his chin out slightly.
Dean grabbed his shirt and slammed his back against a tree. "I said who bit her?"
"It was Peter!" Stile blurted without thinking. Derek shot daggers at him, but Dean had a scary look in his eyes and Stiles didn't want him snapping and killing Derek. And Peter was a dick anyway.
Dean let go of Derek, none too gently. "Peter as in Hale?"
"He was institutionalized," Castiel reasoned. "He may not have been well at the time—"
"He bit—"
"You three broke the world," Derek growled bitterly, "and my uncle bites someone and suddenly he's the bad guy? Explain how that's fair."
"He didn't just bite me!" Lydia shouted suddenly. "And he didn't just bite me." She wiped her hands off on her jeans. "I'm done for the day. Should I go to the hospital to get this taken care of or will one of you guys do it?" she asked, gesturing to her head.
"We can check it out," Sam said. "Dean."
Dean kept his eyes locked on Derek for several nerve-racking seconds. He still looked ready to kill him.
Castiel reached out, fingers barely brushing Dean's wrist. His lips moved, saying something, but Stiles couldn't make it out. Whatever it was though, it worked. Dean turned and left without another word.
"I'll stay with the pack!" Stiles called in a last minute decision he wasn't even aware he was going to make.
Derek picked up his jacket and shook it out a couple times, more violently than was necessary. "You shouldn't have said anything."
"Dude, did you see his face? He was going to rip your head off with his bare hands if you didn't tell him!"
"Yeah, and now he wants to rip off Peter's."
"Better Peter than you."
"Stiles! Do you not get it? Peter's the only family I have left. Those three are the weirdest, most unbalanced, close-knit trio I've ever seen, and they put themselves on pedestals. They don't have a right to judge anyone, but here they are, and now they'll probably kill Peter first chance they get."
Stiles toed at the forest floor, dragging his foot through a few dry, crunchy leaves. "Not while they've got Lydia," he said quietly. "She won't let them."
"Won't she? She gave him up fast enough. So did you."
"Derek, come on—we don't want him dead, but he's done some messed up shit and he deserves something. Just…not death."
Derek shook his head. "You should've gone with them."
"I haven't hung out with the pack in days," Stiles said. "You can't tell me I'm not coming with."
Sam dabbed at the cut on Lydia's head. It was on the edge of her hairline and blood had gotten into her hair. She flinched when the washcloth touched it again.
Dean caught a glimpse of Cas out of the corner of his eyes, wearing a look of frustration, no doubt because he was wishing he could just reach out and heal her.
"So these books," she said. "How many of them are there?"
"One hundred and four," Cas said.
Her eyes bulged. "I thought they weren't popular."
"They're not," Sam said, grabbing a couple steri-strips. "But where there's a will there's a way, apparently."
No one said anything while Sam finished fixing Lydia up.
"So," she said, "about Peter—"
"There's no 'about'," Dean said.
"Just listen," Lydia said. "He did bite me." Her hand moved voluntarily to her side where the scar was.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," she nodded, taking her hand away. "That's where he bit me."
"May I see?" Cas asked.
She lifted her shirt to reveal several ugly pink lines marking the otherwise unmarked skin of her side. Cas ran his fingers lightly over it, barely touching. "I could've healed this," he said. "Before I fell."
"Before you fell?"
"I used to be powerful," he said. "But now…now I'm hapless. Hopeless." And that reminded Dean way too much of 2014 and he didn't want to go there. "I can't hear the other angels like I used to, so I don't dare return to Heaven. I don't even know if I could. I used to smite demons, heal humans, I—I pulled Dean from Hell, and now I'm next to useless."
Dean was about to call bullshit, but Lydia beat him to it.
"That's ridiculous," she said. "You can still fly—you just did, today. And you and Sam and Dean took on a whole pack of werewolves. Not to mention you survived Purgatory, which I'm guessing is a pretty big deal."
Cas smiled. "You sound like Dean."
She cast her gaze to the floor for a few moments before raising them again.
"Lydia, what were you going to say about Peter?" Sam asked.
"Just that I think he used to be crazy," she said. "He killed his niece to become an Alpha and turned Scott later. He was out of control, and Derek killed him. I started hallucinating and it turned out to be Peter. I don't know how he did it, but he communicated with me, and…I don't know what I was doing. He convinced me somehow, I don't really understand it. But he showed me what to do and I did. I brought him back from the grave. He was different then, though. I don't think he's crazy anymore." She let her hair down and shook it out around her shoulders. "I don't like him and he still scares me, but he's not the same person that he was."
So they pack had finally found where the Alphas were hiding: a house for sale two towns over. The Alphas weren't there at the time, and Derek told Peter and Isaac to stay there. He didn't mention how the Winchesters would be out for Peter's head.
"Excellent timing," he snapped after he hung up. "We find where the pack's been staying, and an hour earlier you told two hunters and an angel Peter was fair game. Do I have to remind you the look in Dean's eyes when Peter and I grabbed Castiel? He's probably been waiting for a chance like this to get his hands around Peter's neck."
Derek left the room then and Stiles didn't try to stop him.
"Peter's had it coming," Scott told him from where he sat cross-legged on the couch.
"Does Lydia seem different lately?" Jackson asked Stiles. The walls in the living room were painted now, a soft, dark green reminiscent of the woods in spring.
"What do you mean?" Stiles asked.
"I haven't seen her much," he said. "Between Derek keeping everyone busy and her hanging around the Winchesters with you. She's a lot quieter."
"She's really throwing herself into learning how to fight. Maybe she's still pissed at you for tackling Dean." He fiddled with his phone, turning it over in his hands. Before giving himself any more time to think, he scrolled through his contacts and called Dean. Derek was actually going to kill him for this.
"Yeah?"
"What, no hello, good afternoon?" Stiles joked.
"Good afternoon yourself. What is it?"
"Uh, Peter and Isaac found where the Alphas are staying and just so you know, as soon as I hang up I'm probably going to get my throat ripped out for telling you any of this, but yeah. They're probably going to go after them tonight, so you should get to Derek's house ASAP if you want in."
"Give us a few minutes," Dean said. "We'll be there."
The call ended and Stiles cringed inwardly because he just knew Derek had heard the whole thing and probably hated him even more now. As is, Jackson and Scott were staring at him like he was a foreigner.
"Don't look at me like that. Them helping us is a good thing."
"You can't just be BFFs with them," Scott said. "If they knew everything about us—"
Stiles jumped up, surprised by how quickly he became angry. "You don't get to tell me who my friends are," he lashed. "Not after you started spending all your time with Isaac. And don't even give me that look—Yes, you have a right to other friends, but you know what? That means I do, too. And if your new BFF is a werewolf, then mine can be a hunter. In fact, mine can be two hunters. And a fallen angel. And the girl I've had a crush on since fourth grade. Because, let me say, lately they've been preferable company to the pack which I seem to be getting conveniently left out of. I'm a human, and you think I'm totally useless, I know. But I'm trying not to be, so why don't you just leave me the hell alone about it."
Scott and Jackson had been staring at him, but their gaze shifted behind him. Upon looking over his shoulder, he saw Derek looking fixedly at him. Stiles tried to march determinedly to the door, but Derek seized him by the arm.
"Why would you think we see you as useless?"
"How are you seriously even asking that question?"
"Stiles, you're just about the farthest thing from useless we've got."
"Then why do I almost never get to help with anything?"
"Because—the pack cares about you. You're a big part of what's holding us together. You're part of the pack."
"That's not what you thought when I 'ratted out Peter'."
"Fine, you're right. But if you left, Scott would go, and if Scott went Isaac and Allison might go." Stiles wondered if Derek was remembering Jackson and Scott were right there. "Lydia probably wouldn't hang around either, and that means no Jackson. Do you know who that leaves? Me and Peter, and Erica and Boyd if we even find them."
Stiles shifted uncomfortably. Derek still had a hold of his arm and Stiles didn't regret jumping down Scott's throat, but he wanted to stay mad for a little while, not get talked to by Derek like this. It was weird. Part of the pack? Very weird.
"So are you going to let go of me?" he eventually said because there was nothing else to say.
Derek dropped his arm like he'd forgot he'd even been gripping it.
