Chapter 5 - Revelations

Bobby walked slowly down the aisle, eyes skimming over shelves of familiar books. This was the kind of borrowing he liked to do - the world was taking a breath between supernatural crises and he could take his time, searching for a book he hadn't yet read to take home and discover gradually from the comfort of his living room.

And God bless her, but Claire had done a wonderful job creating a fascinating section on the weird and occult. Bobby had asked her about it years ago, when she had first arrived in Sioux Falls and taken over managing the library. She had looked at him with tears in her eyes and pointed out that she never asked him why he continued to borrow from that section. He had fumbled for an excuse but she had cut him off, explaining that everyone had demons in their past that they couldn't quite bring themselves to leave behind. Bobby hadn't asked again after that, but he and Claire had developed a real friendship over the years, and he hoped that she had found more solace in her method of healing than he had in hunting.

If anything, her methods were definitely safer. The library was as clean, cool and quiet as ever, whilst Bobby's house was still mostly empty as he tried to find furniture that reminded him of his old home. Goddamn Leviathans didn't leave anything standing, and rebuilding had been a long and tiresome process. Finally, though, he had enough home comforts to be able to relax. Soon he would be restocking his bookshelves - once he bought some - but for now he would settle for a library book and a nice glass of scotch.

A heavy book with a peeling spine sitting innocuously on the bottom shelf caught Bobby's eye, and he lowered himself down to read the title. The Dynamics of Werewolf Packs, it read proudly, and with a start he noticed a fine print of Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent beneath.

"Well that's something," Bobby breathed, interest piqued. He hadn't had much to do with the Argent family, which was largely a deliberate choice on his part after a particularly unpleasant run-in with Gerard Argent years ago. The man had been arrogant and cruel to boot, and even as a child his daughter seemed to be headed the same way. Still, the family was well-known to be the foremost experts in werewolves, and Bobby couldn't help his curiosity on what they might have to say on the lesser-known aspects of werewolf lore. Picking up the book, he stood and headed toward the counter.

Now there was something else he would have to ask Claire, he thought wryly as he spied the young man standing behind the counter, intently focussed on a book. The boy had appeared in the library weeks ago, and whenever Bobby had tried to pry into his past he found the conversation inevitably derailed. Moreover, while the kid definitely had an interest in reading, he didn't strike Bobby as the type that would be content to spend his days in a quiet library with only old townsfolk like himself for company. Something wasn't right about the kid, but Bobby couldn't quite figure it out and so far Claire wasn't talking.

The boy's eyes were wide as they skimmed back and forth with enviable speed, and Bobby noticed with surprise that it was one of Claire's occult books, a basic beastiary. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Claire take in a stray, but this boy might just be the oddest of them all.

Bobby dropped his book on the counter with a loud thump and was rewarded by the boy startling dramatically, arms flailing out as his head jerked upward, and a second later he had managed to fall onto the floor with a resounding crash. Bobby smiled as a groan floated up to his ears. Whatever was going on with this kid, he was definitely no threat.

"Hi Bobby," he heard, and the kid scrambled to his feet. His dark hair was a mess and the boy was so god damn skinny, but his light brown eyes still shone with energy.

"Dave," Bobby returned the greeting, and nodded to the open book on the counter. "Little light reading?"

Dave smiled, eyes lighting up in excitement. "It's actually really cool," he began, the speed of his speech picking up. "It's written like an actual encyclopaedia, and there's all these additions to the traditional stories that make them fascinating. Plus, it goes into methods of attacking various monsters, and self-defence."

Bobby raised an eyebrow, amused by the boy's enthusiasm, but didn't speak as the kid rambled on. "Like, did you know that salt will ward off most supernatural creatures? The predominant theory is that it has purifying properties, which is well documented in multiple cultural traditions. Mountain ash can work as well – it's more selective about what it repels, but with certain creatures apparently it's a much better bet than salt. No one really knows the reason for that, though, and obviously it's a lot harder to get a hold of, so in my opinion, if you ever get attacked by a ghost, head for the salt. Even if it doesn't work, at the very least it gives you an excuse to keep salt in the house, because who cares about blood pressure when there's a vindictive ghost haunting your ass?"

"Breathe, kid," Bobby finally cut in, half-serious. "Thanks for the advice, though, I'll have to remember that one." Dave smiled and reached for Bobby's book to scan it.

"The Dynamics of Werewolf Packs," he read aloud, and raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "And you complain about my choice of reading. Have a werewolf problem, do you?"

"Just being prepared." Bobby studied him, finally deciding to ask the question that had been on his mind since Dave first appeared in the library a month ago. "How old are you, kid?"

Dave looked up at him, surprised. "Why?" he answered, clearly hesitant.

Bobby considered talking around the question, before quickly discarding the option. When this kid had first arrived, he had raised Bobby's suspicions with his abrupt appearance in the town and apparent lack of history. Bobby had wasted an entire week stalking his every move, but had discovered nothing but what was clearly an extremely lonely life. Dave hadn't reacted to silver, salt or holy water, and if he was a human with evil intent surely he would have done something by now. Everything was pointing to Dave being just a normal human with strange interests and a past that he didn't like to talk about, and maybe it was time that Bobby took a chance on someone.

Realising he hadn't answered Dave's question, Bobby considered his words carefully before replying. "You're obviously not in school right now and I know Claire wouldn't let you be here if you're supposed to be there. But if you've only recently graduated, why are you working in a library in a town away from your family instead of going to college, or learning a trade, or getting drunk and ruining your future?" Bobby frowned at him. "It's unusual, that's all. It makes me worried about you, because all the explanations I can think of are bad ones, and you're a good kid. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Dave's expression softened, and he licked his lips nervously. He seemed to be struggling to find the words so Bobby waited patiently, letting him speak in his own time. He was rewarded when the kid finally looked him in the eye, face guarded. "I've never told anyone this other than Claire, but fuck it, you already know me better than nearly everyone, and isn't that a little sad?" He laughed humourlessly, and Bobby realised with a jolt that his chest was tight with sympathy. What had happened to this boy that Bobby, who he had occasional conversations with in the library, could know him better than anyone?

"The truth is, I don't know how old I am," Dave continued, and Bobby's eyes widened in surprise. "I woke up in the hospital a few months back with a hole in my stomach and no memory of who I was, and I've been making it up as I go along since then. I tried to get a job in a bar when I was first discharged, since that's what everyone did in the movies that they had in the hospital, but apparently I look younger than twenty-one and since I have no ID..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"I was getting pretty desperate and there's a massive hospital bill hanging over my head so when I saw the sign advertising a job here I applied and told Claire the whole truth. She believed me, thank god, and was kind enough to take pity on me. And that's it. That's my whole story. I could try to do something different, but what's the point? Where am I going to go?"

"You haven't tried to find out where you came from?" Bobby asked, confused. "I can help you get started if you're not sure how."

He was surprised when Dave shook his head sharply, and when he met Bobby's gaze his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Maybe there's someone looking for me somewhere, but wherever I came from, the one thing I'm certain of is that I don't want to go back."

Bobby couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. "What? Why?"

Dave's breaths were shaky as his picked his words, and there was an edge of pain to his face that Bobby wished he could unsee the moment he noticed it. In that moment, Bobby felt his last drop of suspicion evaporate. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age, but damn it if he didn't believe every last word that the kid was saying.

"Whoever I was, I ended up dumped on the front step of the hospital with what looked like a stab wound in my abdomen, and no one came forward to claim me. That's not a life I want to go back to."

Bobby wasn't sure he agreed, but he understood where Dave was coming from. "Fair enough," he said softly, cupping Dave's shoulder gently with a palm. Really, he wanted to pull the kid into a hug, but he wasn't sure that would go down too well.

Eyeing Dave, he let slip an offer before he had a chance to change his mind. "But whoever you used to be, right now you clearly can't cook, judging by the size of you. Why don't you come around tonight for a decent meal for once?"

Dave looked at him with surprise, which quickly melted into gratitude. "Thanks, Bobby."

Melissa cracked open the heavy door and peeked inside. Scott instinctively held his breath, and noticed Lydia doing the same behind him. There was a long moment while Melissa scanned the room, but finally she relaxed and swung the door open fully, inviting them inside.

Scott and Lydia crossed the threshold quickly, and Scott pulled the door closed behind him with a soft thud. He immediately noticed the change in temperature - the air conditioning was turned down in this part of the hospital, and goosebumps were rising on Lydia's arms as she hugged herself for warmth. Melissa didn't seem to mind, though, wasting no time in walking the length of the room, eyes on the metal drawers lining the walls.

Less than a minute later, she came to a stop. "This is it," Melissa said, and gripped the handle on one of the drawers, giving it a sharp twist. The latch released with a click and she pulled hard, revealing a cool metal slab and a body wrapped in plastic.

Scott eyed the bag warily, and finally gathered his courage. Reaching out, he pulled down on the zip, wincing a little as the man's pale face was revealed. True Alpha he might be, but he would never be comfortable handling dead bodies. This was Stiles' turf, not his.

Ignoring the now-familiar pang of hurt at the thought of Stiles, Scott turned to Lydia. "Anything?" he asked.

"Not yet," she responded with a shake of the head. Okay, then. Steeling himself, Scott drew the zip down as far as it would go.

Nausea swelled within him, and Scott took a moment to marvel at the brash confidence of his sixteen year old self, who excitedly took off into the woods in search of a dead body. Reality was a lot more gruesome than he had anticipated.

One of the man's arms had been flayed, the skin literally peeled away to reveal the flesh beneath. According to the ME's report, that almost certainly happened before death. There was a spiralling symbol framed with strange letters carved into his chest, and a gaping hole in his neck where his throat had been torn out. Scott could see the frayed edges of his oesophagus and trachea hanging limply within the hole, and swallowed as he forced himself to look away.

"It's definitely related to the first body," Melissa explained. "The symbol is the same, and the Sheriff tells me that forensics think it's likely caused by the same knife, although they're not sure yet. The difference is that the first victim was killed by a knife to the throat. This person was tortured, then had his throat pulled out."

"Whoever it is, they're escalating," Scott said.

Melissa nodded in agreement. "More than that, they had the strength to rip this man's throat out. That's inhuman."

Scott looked up sharply, and noticed that Lydia was circling around to the foot of the body, eyes fixed on its chest. Her face was creased in concentration, mouth moving silently.

"Lydia?" He questioned. Her green eyes flicked to him before returning to the corpse's chest.

"The letters," she explained. "It's archaic Latin."

"What does it say?"

"I'm not sure," Lydia responded. "Something about a father, and power...it's just words, not a sentence."

"Why would somebody carve Latin onto his chest?" Melissa wondered aloud.

Scott had a feeling he knew where this was going, and he definitely didn't like it. Locking eyes with Lydia, he saw her face twist and knew she was thinking the same thing.

"He was a sacrifice," Lydia said, and Scott's heart clenched. "Somebody's committing human sacrifice."