Chapter Five
...
"Talking to the hellhound went better than any of us expected. Deaton modified the spell you sent us; it lasted ten minutes, which was enough to get through to the hellhound. I've sent it back to you so you can see the modifications," Lydia said.
"Parrish did most of the talking, and we found out what came out with us," Scott added.
"So what was it?" Stiles asked, looking from his wall over to the computer screen where he could see Lydia and Scott sitting together.
"Some sort of shadowy thing. It was in my chest, dude. The hellhound just kinda reached in there, pulled it out, and then turned into volcanic ash again. Deaton and Parrish are taking him back to Eichen House. Apparently the doctors there have something to destroy or contain the... thing."
Stiles blinked. "You didn't notice it was inside you?"
"Well, uh, not really? It's not like I was... uh, never mind," Scott finished abruptly.
Stiles climbed over his bed to sit in front of the computer, and he glared as hard as he possibly could through a camera no bigger than the nail on his pinkie finger. "Just say it, Scott: it's not like you were hunting your loved ones down, trying to kill them, or stabbing them with swords. It happened, and while I would love to forget it, I can't. Stop pretending like none of it happened, okay?"
Scott sighed. "I'll try. It just... it still hurts, y'know?" he said, rubbing at his chest where the sword had pierced him.
Beside him, Lydia rolled her eyes. "You're a werewolf, you healed in an hour. Possibly less, in fact. I wouldn't mind seeing some statistical data on how long different wounds take to heal for a True Alpha. Especially in comparison to a regular Alpha," she added, her head tilted as she looked at Scott curiously.
Scott's eyes widened and he slid away from her.
"Tone down the mad scientist there, Lyds, you're freaking him out," Stiles snickered.
"Oh, calm down. It's not like we've got another Alpha just hanging around, so it's nothing but a useless pipe dream without a proper control group," Lydia said, sighing.
"Um. Okay? I think I... need to go see, uh... Malia for something," Scott said, halfway out of his chair and closer to the door than Lydia in under a second. "Talk later, Stiles!" he called, waving before practically running out the door.
Stiles started laughing at his friend's sudden departure, and Lydia laughed so hard her face turned red. It took them a good three minutes to calm down again, and that was only because Ms. Martin looked in on Lydia to find out what was making her laugh so heartily for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, hell. That was hilarious. See if Kira can send you a sword or something, just to freak him out," Stiles snickered, wiping at his eyes.
"I'd prefer not to be decapitated, even if it was in the interest of science," Lydia said, though a smile tugged at her mouth. "How's everything going with Agent McCall?"
Stiles winced. "Uh, I kinda... threw him across a room with magic. Accidentally," he added quickly.
"Why? I thought you worked on your control with Deaton before you left?"
"I did. I tend to lose a bit of control if I'm too emotional," Stiles said, rubbing the back of his head and wincing.
Lydia pursed her lips. "Are you working on that?"
"No time, Lyds."
"That's a stupid excuse, Stiles. Meditate when you're in the bathroom and while you're commuting to and from Quantico. If you lose control like that again in front of someone who doesn't want to keep you nearby, it could end badly."
Stiles sighed and nodded. "All right, Lyds. I'll try."
"Do or do not, there is no try," Lydia quoted at him, eyebrow raised.
"Ugh, dammit; don't use Yoda against me! Fine, I'll meditate."
"Good. Now, you're about to have company, so tidy up, would you?" she said, looking to the suitcase that was overflowing with Stiles' clothes.
"Company? Who? And how do you know?"
"Because Derek text me before he left," Lydia replied, then ended the video call abruptly.
Stiles frowned and looked at his phone. Derek hadn't sent anything to him; maybe he was just leaving town to get a head start after all?
To Wolf: Lydia says I should expect you? Are you flying, driving or running?
Stiles had kind of hoped for a quick answer, but when he didn't receive anything, he set his phone down and started reading through the workbooks he'd been given earlier yesterday before the sparring session. The workbook was full of articles about cases throughout the US and the rest of the world. At the end of each article, the recruits were required to write whether they believed the defendant was guilty or innocent, their reasoning for this answer, and whether or not the jury and/or judge was unbiased and had sentenced these men and women correctly.
He tried to stop himself from going on a tangent, but Stiles had never been great at censoring himself, and he soon found himself taking out his notebook to keep writing. He was a cop's kid, and this was practically his bread and butter. Sure, Stiles knew that his morals weren't exactly set due North, but that didn't mean he didn't recognise injustice when he saw it.
Stiles only stopped when he heard his phone chime with a new text message, and he winced as he re-read the last few pages he'd written. He'd gone off on at least three tangents: the first about private prisons; the second regarding marijuana legality and implications for those in prison for that exact thing; and the third about people of colour who were often innocent of their supposed crimes and yet they were still suspected or incarcerated or beaten or killed, or sometimes all four.
Stiles thought of Boyd, learning to drive outside of Beacon County with Derek in the driver's seat, teaching him patiently. Stiles had been in the back with Erica, their laughter fading over the course of four hours as Boyd was pulled over three times for no reason whatsoever. Boyd had stayed calm, his hands on the steering wheel, and never raised his voice, even when the police officer accused him of ridiculous things that made Stiles' blood boil. In the end, Erica had driven them back to Beacon Hills, while Stiles ranted for an hour in the back. Boyd had just watched him and smiled.
He sighed, shaking his head and wishing he could've done more to save Boyd and Erica.
Remembering that his phone had gone off, Stiles looked away from his workbook and notebook, and unlocked his phone to read the text. His eyes widened.
Wolf: I flew in. I'll be there in an hour. Maybe less if I can get a cab.
Stiles hadn't honestly really truly believed that Derek would be coming to Virginia. He was practically stepping into the lion's den, with the lions being the FBI.
Stiles typed a message, then shook his head and deleted it. There was no point asking Derek why he thought this was a good idea: he'd done the same thing when the Sheriff was looking for him, after all.
To Wolf: I have to harbour your fugitive ass again?
Wolf: It's the last place they'd ever look.
To Wolf: Yeah, I know. I wouldn't look here either. See you soon.
Stiles hadn't cleaned as Lydia had instructed, so he started tidying everything and trying to make the tiny shoebox apartment seem larger than it actually was. While Derek probably wouldn't judge him for living here - he'd lived in an abandoned train station, so glass houses and all that - Stiles figured he could at least make it look nicer than it was.
It didn't take too long to clean, since there wasn't much room for anything anyway. With everything tidy, Stiles took a break from his workbook to look at the wall he'd set up, the list of suspects he had for framing Derek: Gerard Argent, Kate Argent, the Calaveras, Braeden (he wasn't sure what happened between Braeden and Derek, but she might have been angry enough at their relationship ending that she framed him), Peter (just in case)...
There was a knock at the door and Stiles looked at his phone. Forty-five minutes had passed; maybe Derek had managed to get a cab after all.
Stiles opened the door with a smile, his expression fading in an instant. He should have checked through the peephole before answering, because instead of Derek, he was faced with Agent McDildo.
...
End of the fifth chapter.
Author's note: I never knew how much I wanted to end a chapter with 'McDildo' until I wrote this.