Penny For Your Thoughts?
Chapter Three:
"Too Much Information"
We sat in silence for what felt like forever.
I gazed toward his face, illuminated by the passing street lamps, but quickly looked away when I saw his eyes moving to catch mine.
After a while, he pulled up outside an unfamiliar house and put the hand break on.
His fingers danced over the steering wheel, drumming it distractedly - whilst he tried his best to collect himself.
"OK." He took a deep breath. "Explain."
I sighed. I didn't know how to even explain it to myself.
"I really don't know what you want me to say."
"Hows about we start at the part where you can read minds?" He said, folding his arms over his chest.
"What? Scared I'm reading yours right now?" I threw back, mirroring his position.
A look of slight panic crossed his face, and he quickly turned his attention out the window, as if willing his thoughts to go away.
I desperately wished that I was reading his mind right now.
But, if I was honest with myself, I didn't even know how it worked. I didn't know how to switch it on and off.
All I knew, is that I could hear someone speaking without moving their lips.
"I just- I need to know the truth, George." He muttered, turning back to me.
"Why? Why's it so important to you?"
He paused, thinking for a moment. "Because it just is, okay?" he huffed, "I need some answers."
"Look, I don't know okay?" I exclaimed, suddenly angry. "All I feel like right now is a loony who has absolutely zero idea what's happening to her. You want answers? You want the truth? There it is!"
Before I knew it I had flung open the car door and leapt outside intending to walk the rest of the way.
'Good going, Stiles!' I heard enter my head as my feet hit the pavement.
"George!" I heard the door slam behind him. "Look- wait up!" Hurried footsteps followed me on the pavement.
"Hey- stop." He breathed, catching my arm and turning my round to face him.
"I'm sorry." He said, hand still clutching my wrist.
I exhaled, a ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, me too."
He released my hand and let his hang at his sides, bouncing up and down awkwardly on the spot.
"This isn't my house." I observed.
"Er- yeah, sorry- it's mine." He gnawed his bottom lip as he gazed towards the building.
I raised an eyebrow expectedly at him.
"Oh! No!" He held out his hands as if to stop any thought that was about to enter my mind.
"I just thought- Look, my Dad's still at the station."
"Yeah- you're not really doing anything to sell this to me, Stiles." I held a laugh, watching his face turn crimson.
"God." He cursed, placing his hand on his eyes. "I just meant," He started again, "We'd have time to talk- about this, thing if you wanted to." He gestured to me when he said the word 'thing' and finished with his eyes on his shoes.
"Alright." I agreed after a while, and let Stiles lead the way.
Once inside he flicked the hallway light on, turning awkwardly to face me with his hands in his pockets.
"Erm, so- this is it." He said, rather discouraged.
I gazed around. The outdated wallpaper was peeling away, the furniture looked to be at least twenty years old aside from a large flat screen TV which crowded the living room. It wasn't the Ritz, but I realized now that it was completely and utterly Stiles.
On the table nearest the door sat a picture frame, depicted the smiling faces of the Sheriff, and hearty looking woman, and what looked to be a toddler Stiles.
"Is this your Mom?" I asked, and immediately regretted it once I saw his face fall slightly.
"Yeah, that's Mom." His eyes sparkled looking at the photo- as if he were drifting off to some far-off memory.
As quickly as the look came, it disappeared- and Stiles was back. Any imbecile could tell that his Mother was not a conversation he was willing to have tonight.
"You want a drink or something?" He clapped his hands together as if to add finality to the question.
"Er- no thanks."
"O-K." He elongated the word, rocking back and forth on his heels- his eyes darting to and fro.
"Listen, I'm sorry it's not-" He extended his arms to gesture to the place.
"Stiles." I stopped, "It's fine. Stop worrying!"
He let out an almost inaudible release of breath. "Right. Worrying- ceased." He gave a quick salut to which I responded with a smile.
"So, are we going up to your bedroom?" I asked after a few moments.
His eyes widened and gave one long blink. "I can honestly say- that I have never had a girl say that to me before." He cracked a goofy smile that reminded me of the fourteen year old Stiles.
I lightly smacked his shoulder and rolled my eyes. "Just lead the way doofus."
"Yes m'am." He replied, and proceeded to run up the stairs, taking two at a time with his long legs.
Once we got outside his door, he opened it and then closed it suddenly.
"What?" I asked alarmed.
He clasped the door handle firmly and gave a tight smile. "Could you just wait out here for one minute?"
I snorted. "Are you serious?"
"Generally." He put his arm up against the door frame, leaning against it tentatively. "Look, please? I just need to straighten a few things up." He practically begged.
Sighing, I threw my hands up and back away from the door, leaning against the banister.
"Thank you, thank you." He whisper chanted, and slid round the door fast enough so that I couldn't see inside his room.
What was the big secret? Porn stash? Makeup? Dirty underwear?
I decided then with a smile that I didn't think I wanted to know.
I heard a clatter and a shuffle. "Er, Stiles?" I laughed.
"Just a second!"
I took the time to look at the pictures that hung on the walls, all including his Mother.
One particular photo caught my eye. Stiles stood at the kitchen table- flour and what looked like strawberry jam was splotched all over his face, holding up some cakes- his Mother laughing at him with the crinkle of her laughter lines.
An immense sadness overtook me. Here I was, complaining that my Father didn't give a shit about me- when Stiles' Mother wasn't even alive anymore.
I must have been staring at it for some time because I hardly realised that the tall boy was standing behind me until he spoke.
"Hey, you keep staring at photos of me like that and I'm just gonna go ahead and assume that you've got a crush on me." But his voice didn't sound as humorous as it usually did.
I breathed out a small laugh and turned back towards him.
"Sorted?" I gestured to his bedroom, eager to not change the subject.
"Yeah, it's- it's all yours." When I gave him a odd look, he repaired. "I mean! Just- go in." He gestured to the door, hand slapped across his forehead.
I gazed around slowly- and was surprised to see that the room was incredibly clean.
"What exactly did you need to clean up?" I asked, sitting on his bed.
He wrung his hands, before folding them. "Psh. Nothing."
I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
There was a moment of silence after his plonked himself down on his desk chair, spinning around awkwardly- hands clasped in his lap.
"So… Lydia Martin, hey?" I drummed my fingers on my knees.
Stiles spluttered and flailed his arms a bit as he spun in the desk chair to face me. "I-What?"
I gave him a pointed look. "Don't play dumb. Because we both know you're far from it," I gazed up to one of his posters depicted a knight holding the head of what can only be described as a troll, "no matter how many mythical creatures you slay."
I had to hide my chortle when I saw him go red in the face.
I turned and ran my fingers over his shelf, examining the various books he had there.
"Just- you know, for the record, I'm not even a member of Runescape anymore- so I mean, if you think that I'm-"
His chattering carried on but I blocked it out when I saw an abundance of women's jewellery on one of the shelves.
"Playing cross dresser are we?" I spoke, dangling a rather ugly looking necklace off my finger.
"Of course. Have you seen this face- I've got supermodel cheekbones." He gave a quick smile when I chuckled loudly,
"Nah, that's just some stuff I bought last year."
"Hah, do I win a prize if I guess who? Because I'm in the mood for a prize."
Stiles rolled his eyes and clasped his hands together in his lap again, meeting anything but my gaze.
"It's not been that long you know." He stated dully, scratching the side of his face.
"Don't know what you're idea of a 'long time' is, but I'd say ten years was pretty drastic…"
"Hey, look- I thought we were here to talk about your… thing and not my lovelife."
"Or lack thereof…" I amended.
"Ah!" He exclaimed, holding his heart, "I'm wounded!"
"You definitely play the 'knight in shining armour' well." I said, remembering how quickly he had come when Lydia called. "You do that all for Lydia's benefit?"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friend." He slapped his knee and spun lightly on his chair.
Just then his phone rang loudly on his desk- vibrating with it.
I turned back around to face him, leaning on the desk with my arms folded tightly.
"Sorry, it's my dad." He apologized, before taking the call.
"Hey Dad."
I saw his face drop. "Where?" He asked gravely.
There was a moment of silence whilst Stiles listened to the Sheriff talk.
"One's an incident, Two's coincidence, Three's a pattern." He muttered.
"OK," he replied to whatever his Father had asked him. "And Dad? Be careful alright?"
And with that, he hung up the phone and ran a hand over his face.
"There's been another murder." He finally said after a while.
"Who?" I asked.
"A girl. Not too much older than us."
I shook my head and exhaled. "Where?"
"Down over by the School- in the woods near Bridgewater Road."
I gaped. "I live on Bridgewater Road. God, what is happening?" I asked, baffled. "Two deaths in one day?"
"I don't know what's going on." He responded, spinning in his chair as if to concentrate. "But I need you to tell me everything." And I instantly knew he was talking about my new found, 'gift'.
I suddenly realised something I hadn't before. "Why aren't you freaking out?"
He abruptly stopped spinning.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, for all intents and purposes I've just told you that I'm some sort of-" I cut on quickly, not sure if I fully believed it enough to actually say it out loud. "That I've got this… thing, and you're not running around screaming like a headless chicken."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"
He opened and closed his mouth several times, gaping like a fish and then deflated. "Let's just say stranger things have happened."
"Stranger? Stranger than this?" It was now my turn to gape.
"Unluckily enough for me, yes." He confirmed, getting up and walking to the window absentmindedly.
He gazed down onto the street below, before pulling back the curtain and turning to face me.
"Can you hear what I'm thinking right now?" He said- his voice suddenly raspy and deep.
I almost had to look again to verify that the sentence had come from his mouth.
Stiles Stilinski never failed to surprise me with his vast array of faces. Most of the time- he was Sarcastic, goofy, and a little spastic- but sometimes, like these, he was someone else entirely. Sad, strong, alluring.
"No." I said, finally. "I can't."
"Have you tried?" He continued.
"Why- you got something you wanna tell me with your mind?" I joked, but he didn't laugh, bouncing up and down on heels again.
"George- c'mon, can't you at least try?"
"I don't even know how it works!"
"Just, try focusing on me- maybe if you get a clear enough picture, I don't know, the thoughts will just leak through?" He offered.
"Why do you even care Stiles?" I said slowly. "Yes- it's not exactly something that happens every day- but why are you so interested in knowing all about it? Whatever it is."
He adjusted his posture, straightening his back and gnawing on his bottom lip before bringing his eyes up to meet mine.
"Because if this is true- whatever the hell it is," He paused, "You'll be able to help us."
"Help who?" I asked confusedly.
"Us." He took a gentle breath, as if deciding whether or not to continue his sentence. "The pack."
"The what?"
"OK- Oh god." He breathed, steadying himself.
He walked forward slowly and put his hands on both of my shoulders squeezing them slightly. Closing his eyes he breathed and then spoke. "You know how I told you- stranger things have happened?"
I nodded fervently, mortally intrigued.
"Yes."
He sighed again and began pacing. "Are you sure about this? Because once I tell you- trust me, your life is probably going to be destined to a world of pain and inveitable self loathing. I know mine is!" He exclaimed, babbling.
"Stiles!" I cried. He stopped and blinked. "What- is- going- on?"
He scrunched up his face, carding his fingers through his hair.
"Well, let's just say a pack of werewolves running around Beacon Hills pretty much sums up all the strange in this town." He said finally- opening one eye as if to see my reaction.
I didn't move an inch.
Is it possible that Stiles could have lost it?
Instead of responding, I felt a bubble of uncontrollable laughter fighting its way up to the surface.
But this didn't look like a joke- in fact, Stiles was more serious than ever, his eyes bored into my head like it was on fire.
"Well say something!" He cried.
I shook my head, blinking rapidly. "Are they the ones killing people?"
He shook his head desperately. "No- no! They're the good guys. Well, I mean Derek Hale doesn't really constitute 'good' but he's on the same side. And Scott! Scott's definitely a good guy." He rambled.
"Derek Hale?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Scott." I stated.
He nodded again.
"Scott's a werewolf?"
He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off. "In a pack with… Derek Hale?"
"I know how weird it sounds- but honestly trust me, you'll get used to it-"
"I need to sit down." I breathed, as I collapsed onto this bed.
After a few minutes of heavy breathing- it slowed.
"You good?" He said worriedly looming over me.
"Yeah- I'm- Yeah."
"Look, I don't want to put too much information on you right now- but there may be someone who can help you get a hold of this thing." He sat down next to me and looked at me as if he were a puppy dog.
"What are you talking about?" I heaved.
"Your… y'know…" He trailed and then leant in close. "Power."
"I'm not some superhero, Stiles!"
"I know, I know! But- look, if he can help you, what exactly have you got to lose?"
I let out a long sigh and buried my face in the crook of my arm. "When you say help- you mean like- work it?"
"Yeah."
I was silent. I didn't even know if I wanted to work it. I had a hard time believing it even existed- let alone knowing how to use it.
"This sucks." I said after a while.
"Yeah? Well, try running around Beacon Hills with a bunch of homicidal alpha's trying to kill you and your best friend." He rambled, picking up his phone and tapping quickly with long pale fingers.
"Here- gimme your cell." He held his hand out.
"Why?" I suddenly recoiled clasping my phone to my chest.
He rolled his eyes with a quirk of his mouth. "I'm not gonna rob you. Or have you forgotten my Dad's the Sherriff?"
I visibly relaxed.
"I just want to take your number." He declared, quickly stuttering when he saw my eyebrows raised, "You know- for if you need to call me."
"That's generally the premise of exchanging numbers." I drawled, sarcastically- handing over my phone in one swift movement.
After he had finished typing in the number, he handed it back to me and stood awkwardly, hands on his hips.
"So- will you come?" He uttered.
"How do you know he's- y'know, trustworthy?" I asked.
"Trust me- I just- know."
I stared up at his ceiling, this all becoming far too much for one day. "Who is it?" I breathed.
"His name's Dr Deaton."
Hope you enjoyed!
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-Laura xx