| Familiar Faces |
"Alan," Dr. Fenris said, standing in the center of the lobby at Eichen House.
"Conrad," Deaton replied, walking through the door, Scott and Derek following.
"A new beta, Scott?" Fenris asked.
"Something like that," Scott replied, looking over at Derek's youthfully surreal-complexion.
"Thank you for seeing us," Deaton continued, sticking out his hand.
Fenris took it, nodding. "Shall we?" He turned, limping towards the door to the left of the entrance. Scott eyed a woman he'd never seen before behind the desk, her hair dyed black and a number of piercings on her face. The four walked down to the closed unit slowly, the chief medical officer's limp holding their pace.
"Is that from Valack?" Scott asked as Fenris opened the door to the unit's floor.
"It is," he replied.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not enough that it requires a werewolf's attention," Fenris said, smiling appreciatively at the alpha. "Peter's being held behind the same glass that contains most of the inhuman residents. For you two, though, you won't be able to walk directly up to."
"Mountain ash?" Derek asked.
"Quite. Now, I urge you all you all to be brief and mindful. Peter has been known to elicit a considerable amount of chaos from his neighbors if provoked enough."
"We'll do our best," Scott assured him. "You'll wait here?" he said, turning to Derek. The former alpha nodded and Fenris swiped his card before pulling the sliding door open.
"A year and a half, Scott? Really?" Peter started, lying flat on his bed, looking up as Scott and Deaton entered.
"Peter, I hope they're treating you well," Deaton began.
"It's Bastille Day, did you know that?" Peter continued, not once taking his eyes off his childe as he stood and walked over to them. "Did you come to storm the prison? Maybe set me free? I'd love to stretch my legs. Smell the fresh air. Feel some...wind."
"Not a chance," Scott said, staring the deranged Hale down. "And it's not Bastille Day; it's March."
"Scott," Deaton cautioned.
"It's okay, Doc, I expected as much. Can't blame a cat for asking. What do you want?"
"You've expressed a more intimate knowledge of berserkers," Deaton said. "What else can you tell us?"
"Not much more than you already know. In a shamanistic ritual, men don themselves with bones of animals, bears mostly, and give themselves to one all-consuming instinct: power. They fall so far that some would argue they even become the animal themselves."
"And their tie to the nagual?" Deaton pushed.
"Werejaguars have a deeper sensitivity to telluric currents and the air of supernatural that's threaded throughout the globe. They can not only control them, but they can make them. As with what happened to Scott."
"That's a roundabout way of describing it," Scott mumbled, forcing a glance from Peter.
"Kate took Scott to the temple of the smoking mirror to perform this ritual. Is there a connection?"
"Ah, so that's what this is about," Peter mused. "This isn't about berserkers. It's about Kate, isn't it? You're...she's not back...you're trying to find her."
"What can you tell us about Kate?" Scott asked.
"Nothing new, and certainly not where she is given my current...situation."
"What about your plans together?" Deaton tried.
"Your schemes," Scott added, eliciting another look from his mentor.
Peter only smirked, walking over to the back corner and grabbing a wooden chair, bringing it forth so he could sit. "I'll tell you, but you have to give me something in return."
"What?"
"A scream."
"I'm not falling for that, Peter. Besides, Lydia isn't even here and Meredith—"
"Is hopped up on drugs. Yes, I know. But as much as that escape plan intrigues me, and believe me, the rumors of a few teenagers setting loose a psycho with three eyes have even reached my forgotten hole. Did you know he was my roommate when I first arrived?" The pair on the outside of the glass simply looked at him. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Nonetheless, I'm talking about your scream, Scott."
"Mine?" Peter nodded, sitting down and crossing his arms expectantly. Scott considered it, Deaton's expression more than cautionary. Scott finally let his eyes glow red and his fangs protrude when Peter interrupted. "No, no, Scott. Not your roar. Not your alpha voice. Your scream." Scott's eyebrow lifted, his head tilting as confusion dropped onto him. "That night in the school. You hadn't even made it to your second full moon. You were trying to lure me out…"
It suddenly dawned on Scott. He glared at the man behind the glass, taking a step forward. "What? I'm bored. Sue me." Scott hesitated, glancing back at the still open door. "C'mon, Scott, do it for me. It's such a small ask for my help, don't you think?" Scott and Deaton exchanged a look before the latter finally nodded. And so Scott screamed, or more yelped. That same attempt at a howl that Stiles had described as sounding like a 'cat being choked to death.' Peter let a out a bellowing laugh, even having to stabilize himself by leaning forward with a hand on the glass. He shook his head in delight before looking up at them. "Oh, thank you for that, Scott. I needed that." He pushed off and sat back down on his bed.
"Peter...Kate," Scott pushed.
"On second thought, I've changed my mind," Peter said. "You should be dead. Your pack should've killed you. You don't deserve to be an alpha. I'll never help you," he said, enunciating with a flash of his cold blue eyes.
"What about me?" Derek said, coming into view. "Will you help me?"
/ | * | * | \
"So you slept with my cousin?" Malia said, looking over at the boy lying next to her. Stiles didn't respond, rather continued flipping through his tablet-copy of the bestiary. They were both on their stomachs, their phones in front of the werecoyote. "Do you have feelings for him?" Stiles shrugged. "Do you still have feelings for me?" Stiles turned and looked at her, his expression meant to say 'obviously.' "See, I knew you weren't gay. Hayden said that you probably were, but I knew it."
"I could be!" Stiles exclaimed, his expression now of bafflement.
"Stiles, c'mon. How many times have we had sex?" Stiles nodded, even smiled a little. "I know our break has—"
"Breakup," he corrected.
"Breakup...has been hard but...Derek?"
Stiles shrugged again. "I'm at least 20 percent gay."
Malia smacked him in the arm, forcing them both to laugh when their eyes met. "So you know, I'm not being your hag...or beard...or—"
"Do you even know—never mind. Did Hayden tell you about beards and hags?"
Malia shook her head. "Lydia."
Stiles sighed, his face falling into his hands and his head shaking. When he finally looked up, and back at his tablet for a moment, he turned off the screen and looked at the girl next to him. "Are you mad at me?"
"No."
"So why aren't we together?"
"The trial's in a few weeks. We can talk about it after that." Stiles looked away, agreeing silently, at least giving in if nothing else. "Will you still be there with me?"
"Of course. We all will. She's going away and you won't have to worry about her anymore."
Malia smiled. "So what're you gonna' do now? Now that he's...our age?"
Stiles stretched before twisting to lie flat on his back, Malia peering down at his closed eyes. "Things are different now, for both of us," Stiles answered. "I guess we'll just see what happens." Malia copied his movements, their upper arms now touching as they looked up at Stiles' bedroom ceiling. For a moment, however fleeting, it felt like they were together again.
/ | * | * | \
Scott parked his bike in the driveway that evening. The visit to Eichen House had been fruitful; Peter had been forthcoming upon seeing Derek. He checked his phone, saw a text from Derek that he was back at the loft safely and Deaton was on his way to the country south of them. The alpha tucked his helmet under his arm and walked inside, only to see Liam sitting at the kitchen table and his father leaning against the counter with a bag of take out behind him. "Right on time," Rafe said with a smile.
"Hey, dad," Scott said, giving the man a hug. "How was your day?"
"Slow, thankfully. Yours?"
"Oh, y'know." Rafe eyed his son expectantly. "What're you doing here?" Scott said, turning to his beta. Liam made a face, gesturing with his eyes that they should go elsewhere to talk. "It's okay. He knows."
"Disturbingly so," Rafe remarked.
"What's up?"
"There's, uh," Liam stammered, Rafe's gaze at him unnerving. "There's no sign of any berserkers...as far as we can tell. Kate either. There's nothing."
"Kate? Kate Argent?" Rafe clarified, Liam nodding. "Scott, care to fill me in?"
"It's nothing," his son answered, the yet seemed to linger.
"I'd like to help. And I can't help if I'm not in the know."
Scott nodded, placing his helmet on the counter and taking a seat next to Liam. "This morning," he began as Rafe took a seat across from him, "Stiles found Derek reverted back into a teenager."
"Derek Hale?"
Scott nodded again. "The last time this happened, Kate had kidnapped him and brought him to Mexico. But it happened there, this age reversion thing. And Stiles, he, uh, well there was no time this morning for Kate to have done this without him knowing." Rafe raised his eyebrow.
"They're sleeping together," Liam blurted, much to the eye of both McCalls. "Well, it's true."
"Okay, so you've been having your friends—pack—check around?" Rafe asked, earning a nod from Scott. "And nothing came up?" Liam shook his head. "Wait, Scott, you told me before that she escaped from some hunters. How do you know she's alive or even still out there?"
"I don't," Scott admitted. "When I asked Argent about it after he got back he just said that it had been handled. He wasn't lying, at least as far as I could tell."
"But that's not a straightforward answer, either," Rafe added. Scott smiled in agreement. "Let's say you and I take a ride over there after dinner. See if he can shed some real light on his sister's whereabouts."
Scott looked at Liam for a moment, hesitating. "I don't even know if he's in Beacon Hills."
"Oh I do," Rafe replied. "I've been keeping tabs."