Chapter Twenty Two
...
Stiles shuddered when all three banshees called for him. The fact that they used his full name in Polish wasn't as creepy as the fact that they spoke in complete unison. "I'm not the only one who thinks that was creepy, right?" he asked, looking between his father, Parrish, and the four werewolves gathered around him.
"It was creepy, honey," Tasha confirmed, shivering for a reason that had nothing to do with the cold air.
The banshees called for him again and Stiles stepped forward reluctantly, squeezing Derek's hand so he'd let him go. "Hey, here's an idea: want to tell me what's going on before I get any closer?" Stiles asked, staying at a safe distance for the moment.
"The Nemeton needs power; it's been taking power from animals in the forest, but it's not enough. The power needs to be given willingly," Yelena called.
"I vote for the Druid," Malia added.
"Still not telling me why I'm needed," Stiles pointed out.
"You have enough power," Lydia, Tomika, and Jade replied in unison.
"I still vote for the Druid," Malia called out.
Stiles ignored her and looked to the three banshees, the women finally stopped in their positions around the Nemeton. He licked his lips nervously. "Will I survive?"
"You have a better chance than the Druid," they chorused.
"Great, that's just great," Stiles groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. "What if I refuse?"
"Death."
Stiles doubted it would be his death, or even the deaths of those present, but it was far more likely to be the deaths of the townspeople within Beacon Hills, perhaps further. He wasn't sure if the Nemeton was meant to be a beacon for Beacon County as well. "Oh, good. No pressure then," he joked, his tone too high and his shoulders tense. He stiffened when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then relaxed and looked to his father. "Pops?"
"You don't have to do this, Stiles. It can be anyone else," the Sheriff said, sounding a little desperate. "I'll do it," he added, stepping forward.
"Oh, no, you don't! You are living until you're old and grey...er," Stiles said, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth as he pulled his father back. "You don't have any magic or a spark, so you can't anyway, Pops. I'll be fine, okay? The creepy chorus say I'll survive, and they're predictors of death, so... I'll do it."
"They said you'd have a chance, not that you will," Okami said, anxiety making her eyes bleed gold.
"Stiles," Derek said, stepping forward and looking distraught. "Please..."
Stiles forced himself to smile. "I'm a spark; all I've gotta do is believe," he said with a confidence he didn't feel.
Thankfully, the human lie detectors standing around him didn't call him out. Ignoring everyone around them - family, friends, peers, acquaintances, Sean, McCall, and Deaton - Stiles tugged Derek close and kissed him firmly. They pulled away, Derek's eyes closed and his hands firm against Stiles' hips. Stiles stepped back, Derek's fingers sliding away like a whisper.
"Good luck, Stiles! You can do it, man!" Scott called out, others calling out their encouragements as well.
"Stilinski!" Jackson called, getting his attention before he could get any closer to the Nemeton. "Don't fuck it up and kill us all."
"Love you too, Jackson," Stiles called, grinning a little more genuinely now. "All right, I'm here, willing, and ready to go. What's next?" he asked, hopping up onto the Nemeton's stump, looking between the three banshees, and waiting.
Jade, Tomika, and Lydia all turned to face him, their expressions still blank and their eyes still glazed. Without any sort of warning, they all opened their mouths and screamed.
...
"Ethan? You howl the second you need anything, understood?" Jackson's voice came from the two-way radio at Ethan's belt.
"I will," Ethan replied, wincing when he saw the pointed look Melissa was giving him. "Sorry, Mrs. McCall," he said quickly, replacing the radio and turning the volume down, but not willing to turn it off completely.
Melissa gave a slight nod, focusing on her patient once more. Ethan wondered if anyone would notice if he stole the old guy's pudding; he didn't look like he was going to eat it, after all. Just as he was reasoning to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, a loud bang came from outside of the hospital, making the old man cry out in surprise.
"It's okay, just a car backfiring," Melissa said soothingly, the lie obvious in her heartbeat but not her tone.
Both Melissa and Ethan knew the difference between a car backfiring and a gunshot, and that was definitely not a car. Without waiting, Ethan ran out into the hallway and looked to the foyer. Two Calaveras were carrying a third into the foyer, the woman covered in blood and looking far too triumphant for Ethan's liking. He ran back into the room where Melissa was still trying to calm the old man down. "We've gotta go. The Calaveras injured one of their own to get in the hospital."
Melissa eased her patient back down onto his bed, then turned to face Ethan, her jaw set firmly. "I'll deal with this. Look after Mr. Lancet, and don't steal his food," she added over her shoulder.
Mr. Lancet laughed at Ethan's expression, a wet, wheezing sort of sound that reminded him far too much of Aiden dying in his arms. "She never misses a trick, that one. Now hand me my pudding, son."
Ethan passed the man his pudding numbly. He heard a commotion outside and ran to the doorway again, looking out cautiously. Melissa had sedated the injured Calavera with a needle and stunned the other two with a defibrillator, one paddle burning holes in each of their shirts. Everyone in the waiting room was staring at her in shock.
"Teddy, take care of these two; I'll look after the injured one," Melissa said. She turned and saw everyone staring. "They're just unconscious; they threatened my son," she added in explanation, carefully placing the defibrillator back in its proper place.
There were murmurs of assent from parents and staff, most people knowing Scott from his hospitalisation when he was younger or thinking they'd do the same for their own children. Others looked at the three unconscious people - who all had at least two guns visible beneath their jackets - and realised that Melissa had probably saved them a similar fate those in the hospital had faced in recent years. No one said a word.
Outside, Araya saw that her plan had failed and grit her teeth when she saw the werewolf's smug expression from further in the hospital. Turning to her second daughter, she nodded to the back of their SUV. "Bring the werewolf to me."
Her daughter smiled unpleasantly, nodded, and opened the back door to reveal a large and varied assortment of weapons, knives, flash bombs, and ammunition.
...
End of the twenty-second chapter.
Author's note: Sean and Jorge's backstories
Sean has been in the FBI for a very long time. Most people don't realise that he's the same person as he moves between divisions and states, and only the Director knows for certain so he can be re-recruited and provided with a new identity when required. Different fashion styles has helped (he had an afro in the 70s; don't ask about the bell-bottom jeans).
Sean's been training the newbies for about fifteen years so far. He swears they're getting younger each year and is looking forward to moving to a new division sooner rather than later.
There was a period where Sean was exhausted by humanity and went deep into a forest to recover, determined to stay in his tree form for as long as possible. He was almost logged and has a scar across his stomach from the chainsaw. He sometimes has nightmares that other Dryads have been killed this way and one day he'll be the only one left.
Jorge's mother died in childbirth, and his father was an extremely religious person. He tried to drown Jorge when he was a baby after he found him trying to eat a cat. Jorge's abuela came home early and stopped him, then left with Jorge. She taught him how to control the things that were happening to him, despite not really understanding it herself.
Jorge's not a vampire, but has enough vampire-like tendencies with fangs and blood that it's the closest explanation he can find. Jorge can walk around in the daytime and if anyone gets between him and his garlic chilli fries then he will end them, but eating a raw steak every month keeps him energised and his senses sharper than normal humans. He tells himself every day that he isn't a monster.