EIGHT
The usual wound up being Scott looking after the clinic and only taking the bare minimum of patients. Ones he could see without the actual veterinarian around. Those who brought their pets in regularly knew Scott well enough to feel comfortable with him administering shots or giving flea medications. Anything more in-depth than that was either referred to a clinic out of town or asked to delay until Deaton returned. No one knew how long that was going to be.
Apparently the guy left Scott to tend to things on his own a handful of times already. A lot of trust to put into a teenager, really. Then again, Scott was much more mature than the average seventeen year old. Deaton felt secure enough in Scott's ability to handle things while he ventured north to Seattle to visit an old friend who might have some idea on what Stiles was. He also had a contact at a hospital there that he intended to bring a sample of Stiles' blood to.
Stiles did his best not to think about the strange anomaly in his blood. He had enough to stress about right now without adding the potential for cancer to it. Almost a week had passed since Deaton had gone and they'd heard nothing from the man. The full moon had come and gone. The Alpha had gone strangely quiet. It was, to phrase Deaton, unsettling.
He was still skeptical every time his phone rang and Stiles didn't venture outside after dark. The other wolves lingered around the house, a new 'friend' spent each night within his house. Noah had taken notice, though other than a few minor remarks hadn't had a real conversation with his son about it. Stiles assumed that his father was just glad to see that their move back to Beacon Hills was agreeing with the kid. Who, admittedly, hadn't had many friends back in Ely. While Stiles was talkative and friendly enough he definitely had issues with attachment. As in, he didn't generally allow himself to get too close to others.
So, to see him having reconnected with Scott and made a whole pack-pun intended-of friends so quickly was probably nothing short of a miracle for the Sheriff. Stiles had to wonder if the old man had any skepticism about it. If he did, it didn't show.
Scott didn't come around as often, though he'd been with Allison more often. Her mother had died from the bite less than 24 hours after she'd been bitten. The story they'd fed to Allison was that her mother had lost a battle with cancer that she'd told no one about. No one but her father, who was taking it hard. As expected. Scott didn't have the heart to tell Allison the truth. Not that anyone really expected him to. It was painful enough to have her mother die, Stiles imagined it would be worse to know that it was because of something supernatural.
He liked having each of them spend the night, if he were honest. It gave him a chance to get to know the people he didn't. Or, those that would allow him in, anyway. The only wolf who hadn't slept over, at least not where Stiles or Noah had known, was Erica. That would have raised a lot more questions. Scott had been over twice now and Stiles generally preferred his company over Boyd. He liked the big guy well enough, Boyd just wasn't the talkative sort and generally stood off to the side like a looming and menacing presence. It was more awkward than comforting. When he'd stayed over Boyd hadn't made himself known to Noah, instead sitting in Stiles' room or on the roof outside of Stiles' window.
Isaac was much more relatable. He exuded nearly as much energy as Stiles himself. His winning smile and impish charm were added bonuses. It didn't seem as though he'd allowed his previous life to interfere too much with his new wolf-y one. Which was probably a really good thing considering the trauma the kid had gone through with his father and the years long abuse he'd endured. The fact that Isaac could smile and joke at all was a testament to peoples ability to endure and persevere. Honestly, Stiles liked the kid.
Tonight was Jackson's turn. The first night the other teen had stayed over he'd been grumpy, Stiles assumed it was more because the jock didn't much like him. After having talked to him tonight it turned out that it was because of Lydia. The two had gotten into some argument before he'd come over to Stiles' house which had left him brooding through the evening. Tonight he wasn't nearly so miserable to be around. Well, with the exception of Jackson just being Jackson.
Which meant that he had an uncontrollable urge to be a bit of a jag-off. Stiles figured it was just the guys personality. It probably didn't help that he'd grown up wealthy and with a sense of entitlement. Set him apart from everyone else. The two of them ended up sitting around playing video games for a good chunk of the evening, Jackson having brought a game system to stave off potential boredom. After the umpteenth round of Call of Duty Stiles bowed out in favor of getting something to eat.
Noah had made dinner before he'd left for work and neither of the teens had eaten at the time, having been too involved in their distraction. Only when Stiles' had settled at the table, with Jackson across from him, did he realize that was exactly what it was meant to be. A distraction from everything. When the others had stayed they'd ended up just talking late into the evening, save for Boyd. Whether it was just because Jackson hadn't wanted to talk or he thought maybe Stiles was talked out, it was appreciated.
"You don't have cancer, you know?" Jackson murmured abruptly. Which caused Stiles fork to freeze halfway to his mouth with a confused look on his face. The jock chuckled under his breath, scooping more rice onto his fork after having speared a piece of chicken. "We'd be able to smell it in you."
"You mean to tell me that I've been sitting here trying not to think about it for a freaking week and any one of you could have said something?" Stiles scoffed in annoyance.
"I don't think anyone else realized you were even thinking about it. Too worried about the Alpha or what you are to put much thought into it." Jackson focused on his food rather than Stiles, as though it were easier to talk without looking at him.
Whether he meant that the others were more focused on everything else or Stiles was, he knew it made sense. The Alpha was the more pressing issue. "Yeah. Well, would be a shame to survive the Alpha only to die of cancer in a few years, wouldn't it?" He couldn't hide the bitter edge in his tone.
"Look at that, loser, I just saved you one more thing to worry about." Jackson flashed a smirk while shoving his plate away. He knew the term 'loser' was said more as an endearment rather than disparagingly.
Stiles only shrugged. After standing he grabbed both plates with the intent to clean their dinner dishes. "For now, though. The way Deaton made it sound, there's a possibility of me having it eventually, right?" Maybe it was easier for him to talk when his back was to the other guy, too.
A chuckle sounded from behind him, Jackson hadn't stood from the table. "Even if it were in the beginnings of it, we'd pick up on it. It has a very.. distinct odor. You don't have it."
"Oh yeah? And what do I smell like?" He'd meant it as a joke.
One Jackson hadn't seemed to pick up on. Apparently. His reply was hesitant, as though he were putting more thought into the worlds."..Like energy and anxiety and.. something faintly medicinal."
A bark of laughter escaped him, looking over his shoulder at the guy. "So I smell like ADHD and Adderall?"
Jackson shrugged in a 'makes sense' sort of way. "I guess. I don't know, you smell like almost every other teenage guy I know."
"That's stupidly reassuring." Stiles chuckled again while dishing the remains of dinner into a container.
–
The more time he spent around Jackson, the more he realized he liked the guy. He was a jerk, sure, but the guy cared a lot more than he let on. He just showed it in different ways. Stiles assumed it was just because the guy was raised with that sense of entitlement. Richie Rich parents with high status jobs who had spoiled him his entire life, taught him to believe he was better than everyone else. Some things were just out of Jackson's control.
What mattered is that the guy seemed like he was trying. They spent the majority of the night talking and gaming. When it came time to sleep Jackson seemed to believe Stiles was going to give up his nice soft bed in favor of the cot that had been used every night by someone different the last week. Stiles crossed his arms and refused to move. It was his bed, after all. In the end the jock had just shoved Stiles across the bed and flopped onto it beside him. That was.. different and not at all what he'd been expecting.
He'd never shared his bed with anyone before. It wasn't uncomfortable either. In fact, with the sound of Jackson's heavy slumbering breaths right beside him, and the warmth the dude radiated, it was much easier to fall asleep than normal. Though Stiles didn't stay asleep through the night. He stirred to that feeling of being watched again, drawing him out of a surprisingly restful slumber. The warmth at his side, accompanied by quiet snores, informed him that the jock was still out cold. Which meant whatever he'd sensed wasn't something Jackson felt. Stiles assumed it was just because he was so attuned to that feeling anymore.
He moved just enough to raise his head off of the pillow, allowing him to see over Jackson toward the window. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains. Which in and of itself shouldn't be a concern. Except it was. The window had been closed when they'd laid down. Swallowing hard, he reached out to shake his shoulder. "Jackson," barely a whisper, more a rush of breath in the form of the guys name.
As he shook him again Stiles looked around the room, "Jackson." Maybe he was feeling panicky over nothing. Maybe Jackson had gotten up earlier and opened the window because he was hot. Didn't make sense considering the AC was running almost full blast into his bedroom. "Jackson." Stiles' voice was just a little louder this time, resulting in a hitch in the teens breathing. He'd looked around the whole of the room before having to do a double take on the door. The door he'd been sure was closed as well when they'd settled down for sleep. "Ja-"
"Shh." The jock hadn't moved, but Stiles' could see his shoulders had tensed and his eyes were open. He was listening and scenting the room, the house. Silent, as only a werewolf could be, Jackson rolled off of the bed onto all fours and when Stiles made to follow he shot a glare at him. One he didn't need words to interpret. Stay.
Jackson moved with all the stealth and ease of some trained assassin. He even managed to avoid the floorboard that creaked just beside the door as he stepped up beside it. If he'd gone out into the hall Stiles wasn't certain he'd have been able to just stay right there in bed. As it stood, Jackson stopped just inside of his room to listen before moving back and closing the door again. "There was someone else here."
"No shit." That went without saying, didn't it? "They're gone?"
In lieu of answering Jackson dug into his pocket for his cell and fiddled with it for a moment before it was pressed to his ear. "Someone was here." He murmured to the person on the other end. "As in: in here."
Stiles felt it was safe enough to get out of bed now. Hands scrubbing his face in annoyance he moved to slam the window shut, shoving the curtains aside to get to it. Movements stilled when he caught sight of claw marks in the shingles and on his window sill. The fluttering of his heart must have drawn Jackson's attention because the next thing he knew the guy was shoving him aside. He relayed this to the person he was talking to before hanging up.
"I'm sick of this." Stiles grumped and turned away. Part of him wondered if it were almost worth it to let the damned Alpha get to him. Get it over with. He'd either end up a werewolf or dead. It was probably smarter if he didn't divulge that particular thought to Jackson, however. At this point all of the anxiety was going to give him a heart attack, anyway.
"You're not the only one." Jackson remarked, frowning.
"If you don't want to be here-"
"That's not what I meant, dumbass."
Stiles eyes rolled toward the ceiling when he dropped back onto the bed. Heaving a sigh, he pressed his elbows into his knees, hands clasped between them. That was how he stayed until the curtain shifted again. Derek stepped through the open window, as though that were how he entered every room. Freaking werewolves and their ability to do everything with ease and grace. He knew it shouldn't annoy him. Somehow, it still did.
"Did you get its scent?" Jackson asked, watching the elder teen who had been staring at Stiles.
Derek grunted out a response. "Lost it in the woods about half a mile in."
The jock swore under his breath then moved passed Derek to flop onto the bed beside Stiles. His arms stretched above his head, hitching his shirt up passed his waist, then folded over his eyes. Stiles flashed a glance toward him. He had a feeling that, left alone, Jackson was likely to fall back to sleep. That, or the guy was trying to pretend he'd do just that. Strangely, he liked the fact that both Derek and Jackson were so entirely comfortable in his room.
More so, that Jackson felt secure and at ease enough to lay in Stiles' bed. Whether Stiles was in it or not. What amazed him was that he actually liked the guy, because their first few meetings Stiles had had the distinct impression that Jackson hated him. Instead the two were quickly becoming friends. Derek.. well, he wasn't sure how the elder teen felt about him. Or how he felt about Derek. The guy had this intensity, this ferociousness and this stoicism that told him that Derek didn't let loose around too many people, if ever. Yet Derek was a calming presence.. and a confusing one.
Because god knew the rippling muscles and intense stare did something for Stiles that he wasn't sure how to feel about. And it wasn't as though he could talk to anyone about it. He liked Derek, still, the guy got under his skin. Confusing, right?
That feeling of being observed made his eyes roll as he turned back to Derek, the elder teen still watching him. Stiles exhaled and stood, shouldering his way passed the guy to walk out of the room then down the stairs. Even trying to avoid the squeaky ones Stiles still heard them under his weight. He'd barely crossed the living room when the reflection in the television told him he wasn't alone. To his credit he didn't jump this time.
"How the hell do you do it?" He muttered petulantly, not stopping his quest for a drink. Without even turning Stiles could practically feel the confusion on the werewolf's face. "The silence?" He added, opening the fridge. "Every other step I took on the stairs made noise. You weigh.. what? Twice what I do, and not a freakin' sound." He snatched a bottle of water and turned to look at Derek behind him.
The guys stoic expression didn't falter though there was that glint of amusement in his eye. Which made Stiles roll his. "Part of being a werewolf."
With a shake of his head Stiles carried his water back through the kitchen, heading back to his room. He'd nearly made it to the landing when he stopped suddenly and turned, Derek only three steps behind him. "Are you planning to crawl right into my ass?" His cheeks flared as he realized, out of context, how that might have sounded.
A smirk played around Derek's lips as he stared back without saying a word. Before he could manage to say anything else stupid, Stiles turned again and stormed back into his room. Jackson was gone. Great. Flitting a glance toward the window showed it had been closed again. "Do you wolves not know how to use a freaking door?" He asked while turning to flop onto the mattress, wincing when he clocked his head on the headboard. The sheets were still warm where Jackson had been.
"The door is locked. Your window wasn't." Derek replied as though it were the most obvious answer. He'd already taken up residence at Stiles desk, looking much more awake and refreshed than Jackson had. After grabbing a book that sat beside his laptop the werewolf opened it to occupy himself. The Great Gatsby. One of the many books on the senior reading list. Stiles had figured he'd get a jump start on it, before everything had gone to shit anyway.
He didn't reply, only flung one arm over his eyes as Jackson had done.
–
Smacking his lips, Stiles pursed them in a pout. The light streaming through his window had woken him. He didn't even realized he'd fallen asleep but a glance at the clock on his bedside table showed it was a little after 7am. Derek was still propped in the chair at his desk, the book lay open against his stomach, head leaned back against the wall. Sleeping peacefully.
He didn't move, worried that the sound would wake the guy. Besides, it gave him a moment to look him over. Derek had, at some point during the night, abandoned his leather jacket. The black t-shirt he wore hugged his muscular arms and chest. In sleep, he looked vastly different from the grumpy gus who stood indifferent to what happened around him. Vulnerable. Really, Stiles related he and Jackson as being the most similar of the pack. Jerkish and standoffish with clear anger issues. Weirdly, beyond Scott, those were the two he felt most connected to. The two he liked the most.
He'd been taking in the little details, like the fact that Derek's beard wasn't as perfectly manicured as it had seemed initially and the way one ear sat just a little higher than the other, when the voice made him jump. Nearly so harshly that he'd almost flung himself off the bed. "It's rude to stare."
"Jesus." He breathed, glaring at Derek as the man opened his eyes. There was that glimmer of laughter in them again. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I was," Derek sat up, closing the book and setting it back onto the desk without taking his eyes from Stiles', "until your heart started pounding."
He'd have to learn how to keep that thing steady. In the constant company of werewolves it was probably best if he learned, if only in case he ever had a need to lie to any of them. Not that he planned to do so, but one never knew. Stiles decided to play it off by rolling his eyes. "Why are you listening to my heart?"
"So I knew when to wake up." Again, it was said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world and he couldn't understand why the younger male hadn't already known.
Shoving himself off of the bed Stiles gathered his clothes to get a shower. He'd rather not think about the fact that Derek had attuned himself so closely to his heartbeat that it had become an alarm clock. It was weird.
His whole life was weird anymore.
–
It was all twiddling thumbs and pacing for the next four days while they waited on either Deaton to call or return home. In the meantime Stiles had left the house each day, because he was going absolutely stir-crazy within it, with a host of varied people. He, Jackson, and Isaac gone to Lydia's to hang out with her and Allison one day. Allison was still morose over the loss of her mother. Not that anyone blamed her. Stiles was just glad to see the girl was trying to live some semblance of a normal life without the woman. The next found Stiles, Jackson, Scott and Isaac on the lacrosse field where Jackson had actually given him a few pointers. The jerk had even told him he might be good enough to play on the team. Followed by calling him a loser.
Stiles had learned to take it as a term of endearment from the guy, even if it annoyed the hell out of Scott. The last found the whole of the pack, including Lydia and Allison, at the mall. Isaac was the only one who wanted to duck into the novelty shop with Stiles to peruse the comics. Lydia had conned Jackson into following her into a shoe store nearby while Allison and Scott wandered around a kiosk selling a variety of flavored popcorn. Boyd and Erica lingered just inside of the store with Stiles, pretending to be interested while Derek stood outside of it. He plucked up a copy of an old Spider-man and rolled his eyes.
"Jesus, guys, I doubt he's going to attack me right here in the mall. Go do something fun!" He barely spoke above a whisper but he knew all of the wolves would have heard him. Assholes were probably listening to everything around him.
He knew they were there for his protection, especially since they had no idea if the Alpha really wouldn't plan some attack in broad daylight, but Stiles was also getting sick of the detail. If he'd wanted someone planted so firmly on his ass he'd have enrolled in witness protection. Not that they'd have believed him. Actually, that would have gotten him a nice little stay-cation in Eichen.
That was probably best avoided. Probably.
Thankfully it seemed at least some of the wolves listened. From his periphery he noticed Erica and Boyd eye him skeptically before darting out of the store. Scott and Allison were also gone by the time he and Isaac had each purchased a few comics, and some stupid little figurines. The only one who remained behind was Derek, looking annoyed that the other Betas had scampered. Stiles was decidedly less irritated and found a skip in his step as he and the two of them wandered toward the food court.
He'd just gotten in line to get a pretzel, the smell of its salty goodness and the promise of cheese making his mouth water, when two things happened one right after the next. Scott rushed over, with a decidedly frustrated looking Allison and a broad grin to announce, "Deaton's back!"
Followed immediately by the three wolves heads turning sharply. Isaac spoke first. "Was that Lydia?"
Derek muttered something that Stiles human hearing couldn't pick up on. There was a hint of longing as he glanced toward the pretzels, though rushed out of line anyway toward the others. He'd barely stepped into their orbit before Derek's hand was like a vice around his bicep, practically dragging him through the mall. Scott and Isaac had already ran ahead toward whatever they'd heard. Allison was as clueless as Stiles. Thank whatever powers there may be that he wasn't alone, right?
After moving through the employees service hallway-they'd all parked in the employee lot to avoid the crowds-it all became hauntingly clear what the wolves had heard. Lydia lay in a pool of blood, claw and bite marks running the length of her left side. Jackson, also bloodied and injured, cradled her head. Boyd was already on the phone calling for an ambulance.
"Jackson!" Derek shoved Stiles closer to Scott and rushed forward to grasp at the jock. "Jackson, you need to leave."
"I couldn't fight him alone.. She's bleeding too much. Derek, I couldn't-" Those were real tears in the guys eyes and Stiles heart clenched for him.
"Jackson! GO! You're bleeding everywhere and they're not going to believe you didn't have something to do with this. Go!"
"I couldn't.." Jackson ran his hands through Lydia's hair, the little redhead was limp and pale in his arms.
Stiles ripped himself away from Scott and lurched forward, careful not to slip in the blood that seemed to be spreading out further onto the asphalt. He didn't want to think about how much was there. His hand found the teens shoulder, giving him a shake. "Jackson.. come on man. Hey, hey. Look at me." Apparently the more soothing voice of the two registered enough that Jackson actually turned toward him. "There we go, buddy. Come on, you gotta get out of here. Derek's right. Come on."
He flashed a look toward Boyd who nodded and dropped to his knees to carefully extract Jackson's hold on Lydia so that he, instead, were cradling the girl. He'd been the one to call, he should be the one right there. Stiles helped Jackson to his feet, ignoring the amount of blood that was now on himself, and tucked the guys arm around his shoulder.
Sirens wailed in the distance as Scott grabbed Jackson's other arm. "Allison!" The puppy called to his girlfriend over his shoulder, "Allison come with us."
"I don't.. I don't understand what's happening.." Her eyes were wide with terror, both at her friend lying motionless and the fact that the others had known something had happened from so far away.
"Allison, I'll explain everything but come on!"
"No time here, Scotty." Stiles scowled and hauled Jackson toward the silver Porsche. "Keys, bud." Jackson made a sound of protest, likely planning to say he wasn't going to let a loser drive his precious car but it was lost somewhere in his throat. Instead he nodded toward his jacket pocket and Stiles quickly yanked the keys from it. After he'd practically thrown Jackson into the passenger seat he saw Allison and Scott climbing into her Mazda. Allison looked shaky still and he had to hope the girl could handle driving.
"Stiles!" Scott called just before he'd gotten in. When he was sure the human was looking at him he only said, "the clinic."
With a sharp nod, and a quick glance toward the others hovering around Lydia's body, he swallowed hard and settled into the drivers seat. Jackson had his clawed, bloodied hands over his face and ignored him while trying to get himself under control for the duration of the drive. Stiles didn't bother to say anything to the guy, soothing or otherwise. It wasn't as though it would make an ounce of difference right now. Not when they didn't even know what was happening.
Stiles pulled the car to a stop with squealing tires just outside of the clinic. Jackson either didn't care or notice because he failed to remark on it. After leaping out he rushed around the car to help haul the bleeding guy out, Scott and Allison came to a stop beside the Porsche and Scott moved just as quick get Jackson on his feet.
Allison looked as freaked out as ever, no one could blame her for that. She held the door open for them to carry Jackson through, at least. As they hefted him onto the exam table, and Deaton came around the corner with that serene look plastered on his face, she huffed. Almost like she was going to cry. "I just.. werewolf? And my family is out to kill you guys? Scott, I.. that's not possible."
"I'm afraid, Ms Argent, it is." Deaton said while pulling on a pair of sterile gloves as he walked closer to Jackson.
"No. It's not. My father is an arms dealer and a security consultant."
"Oh my god, Allison... Really?!" Stiles asked, staring over his shoulder at her, both hands occupied in helping Deaton remove Jackson's tattered shirt. "A firearms dealer who supplies arrows and ultrasonic emitters? Yeah, I've heard about the sorts of 'arms' your family deals with." Maybe it was worry over Lydia that sparked his irritation. Or maybe it was the fact that the Alpha had attacked in broad daylight.. in what could have been a heavily populated area.
Scott turned a glare on him, looking like a puppy who'd been kicked and Stiles just rolled his eyes. He moved closer to his girlfriend, who eyed the blood on him warily, and sighed. "Why else would we have brought Jackson here instead of the hospital? He's going to heal and no one will be able to give the doctors a good enough explanation for why wounds like that are gone in a day when he should be dead."
"Jesus, Scott, just show her the face and get it over with." Stiles snapped after Jackson had gone limp. Poor guy had passed out from the pain.
Deaton assessed the wounds once they'd all been revealed. He didn't seem overly concerned by the blood-loss or the extensive injury. Instead he patted the drying blood with some gauze and looked toward Scott, as if only semi-interested in what the kid would do. Allison, on the other hand was still eyeing her boyfriend like he'd just lost his mind. After what felt like an eternity of debate Stiles saw his shoulders heave in a sigh before watching the ears point and the tufts of hair grow along his cheeks.
Meanwhile the girls expression shifted into a mixture of horror and fascination. Honestly, how many people could see that and not be ready to run screaming like a banshee? Apparently an Argent was above all those dramatics. She stood rooted to the spot, a hand came up to press over her gaping mouth. But she didn't scream. She didn't run. She didn't hide.
Over the next hour they explained everything to her and while Allison looked like someone had just come in and told her that the tooth fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa Claus were all real she still didn't run. Or scoff at them like they were insane. Stiles accredited most of that to Deaton. The man's frustratingly calm tone must have seeped into the girl. Although seeing Jackson's steadily healing wounds must have played a big factor in it too.
Still, even with all the talk no one seemed to address the enormous elephant in the room: Lydia. Or the mammoth: What Deaton had learned. He had a feeling the guy was waiting on everyone else to get here before divulging anything.
The rest of the pack arrived in mass as Jackson groaned, the wounds still seeping though not actively bleeding anymore. The story that had been sold to the police and medics was that Lydia had gone shopping for school clothes and the rest of them had run into her at the mall. She'd forgotten her credit card in her car and had gone to get it when an animal attacked, Boyd had managed to scare it off with some loud noises before calling 911.
Boyd and Erica had stayed at the hospital with her to keep an eye out. Mostly to make sure no hunters came calling.
"Is she going to be alright?" Allison asked.
Derek rolled his tensed shoulders. "She'll either turn.. or she'll die." It may have sounded callous, but it was the truth. The statement was met with somber silence all around. No one wanted Lydia to die. No one wanted Lydia to turn either. Especially when there were werewolf hunters roaming Beacon Hills in search of beasts to slaughter.
Jackson shifted to sit up, wincing as Deaton dabbed blood from the wounds again. The emissary released a sigh after allowing that silence to continue far longer than it should have but no one had known what to say. His dark eyes were locked onto Stiles over Jackson's shoulder. "I'm afraid I do not have much in the way of good news to share with you, either."
"No offense, Doc, but you haven't exactly been a shining example of good news, anyway." Stiles deadpanned.
"Then I suppose I am only living up to my reputation." Deaton seemed wholly unfazed by the sarcasm.
"You learned nothing about him?" Derek's voice registered right behind him. Stiles had to resist the urge to snap over his shoulder about his uncanny ability to gravitate into his orbit without making a sound. The look he'd shot at him should have been enough but all that succeeded in was making that glint of amusement form in the guys eyes.
The elder man shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, no. Though I do have a few leads to continue pursuing."
No one beyond Stiles seemed to have heard him because all at once their eyes snapped toward the door. A few seconds later and he understood why when it was pushed open to reveal a man roughly Deaton's age. His pale eyes seemed to find humor in the way they all apprehensively looked at him. "My, my. I'd expected a much warmer reception than this. Particularly from you, nephew."
Relief seemed to roll off of Derek in waves as he broke away from the rest. He strode quickly over to the man and embraced him. "Peter. Where the hell have you been?"