For all the time Scott has spent in this hospital waiting room, he has yet to find a comfortable chair. He slumps a little further into the one he's in, restlessly bouncing his leg while reminding himself again that hospitals are always slow. Just because it's been nearly three hours since they rushed Stiles into the ER doesn't mean he isn't fine now. Blood transfusions probably just take a long time, right?
Sighing, Scott drops his head back against the wall behind him.
Lydia blinks at the movement, her eyes slowly focusing on him from whatever far-off thoughts she'd been lost in. Her face is pale under the fluorescent lights, her eyes rimmed in red. She hasn't cried, hasn't said a word since she and Kira got here. As if she's afraid to open her mouth lest a scream slip out.
Scott quirks up the corner of his mouth at her. Not really a smile, but he feels obligated to give her something. Some little ounce of hope. He's the alpha; it's his job to look after them. And right now, she looks so… Wilted.
They all do. Lydia, Kira, Malia…Scott really hadn't expected Malia to stay, especially after she'd nearly been eviscerated by the creature, but she'd stubbornly refused to leave. At one point, Scott's mom had bustled her away, fretting over her blood-soaked clothes, but she'd returned a few minutes later in a fresh set of scrubs. Scott finds he's actually glad she stayed with them—she'd been vital in finding Stiles and deserves to be here with the rest of them when they get news.
If they ever get news.
His mind wanders back to the tunnels, to the last time he saw Stiles. Hanging there, completely helpless, while that creature drained his life right out of him. Her purple eyes are still burned into the back of Scott's retinas—they're all he sees every time he closes his eyes.
Those, and Allison's smile…
He hasn't told anyone. Didn't really have the opportunity to, and even if he did… He's not sure he wants to talk about it. Just the thought of it, of seeing her again like that, makes him shudder.
Had it been a hallucination? A vision? Something else?
He thought about saying something to Derek, because that whole sixth sense thing tells him that maybe Derek would know exactly what he's talking about. But the older werewolf disappeared somewhere between getting Nicholas to the ambulance and everyone showing up at the hospital. Scott doesn't have the energy to track him down right now. He's sure he'll turn up eventually.
Until then, he just has to wonder what the hell happened out there. He's never seen a creature like that before, and wonders if maybe the Sheriff was onto something when he asked if it was a vampire. Just the idea makes his stomach twist up in knots. Shit, if vampires exist…
He perks up when the doors to the ICU open. Sure enough, his mom walks in, looking around for him. He's up on his feet in an instant, searching her face for clues before she can say anything. He's barely aware of the others standing and gathering behind him.
"He's stable now," she says first, before anyone can ask. "But it was a close thing. He lost a lot of blood, and some of his organs had started shutting down. We're going to have to monitor him closely for the next couple of days for complications."
"Is he gonna be okay?" Scott asks for all of them.
She reaches out and rubs his arm reassuringly, giving him a tired smile. "The doctor is optimistic that he'll make a full recovery, but we won't know for sure until we run some more tests. He still hasn't regained consciousness, which is the biggest concern at the moment, but with the trauma he went through, it's not all that unusual. For now, we're just gonna have to wait, give his body some time to recover."
Scott nods, flicking a glance back to the rest of the pack. They're all wearing nearly identical expressions. Relief that he's alive, worry over the potential complications.
"Can we see him?" Lydia asks, her voice small.
Melissa purses her lips, but doesn't bother telling them it's supposed to be family only. They've done this routine enough to know she'll bend the rules for them. Still, her eyes dart over to the nurses' station as she answers, "For a few minutes. But only one at a time."
Lydia catches Scott's gaze and nods at him to take the first turn.
"Okay. This way, kiddo," Melissa says, her warm, steady hand back on his shoulder as she leads him into the ICU.
Scott's not sure he would have recognized Stiles were it not for the Sheriff already sitting next to him, holding his hand. The boy on the bed looks almost nothing like his best friend, buried under multiple IVs and monitors and one of those tubes under his nose to help him breathe. He somehow looks so much worse than he did when they pulled him out of the sewage tunnels. Maybe because the dirt was masquerading how pale he was then. Now, his skin looks nearly translucent, especially next to his dark hair, which is a mess, sticking up in all the wrong places and glued to his head in others. He even smells wrong. Scott wonders if that has to do with the bag of blood hanging next to him, replenishing what the creature stole from him.
Scott doesn't remember seeing any injuries before, but he looks now for anything he might have missed. There's a bandage on the side of Stiles' neck where the needle was, and two more covering the abrasions on his wrists, but otherwise Scott doesn't see any bruises or scratches. Nothing to indicate that Stiles had put up any kind of fight against the creature.
Had he simply walked into the sewage tunnel and let her string him up?
The Sheriff gives him a watery smile when he stops in the doorway, straightening up but not releasing his son's hand. "Hey, Scott."
"Sheriff." Scott takes the invitation into the room, stepping to the opposite side of the bed. "How's he doing?"
The Sheriff takes a breath, reaching out to brush back the hair stuck to Stiles' forehead. "He's hanging in there."
Despite his rough appearance, it's true. Scott doesn't need the monitors to tell him that. He can hear the constant rhythm of his friend's heartbeat, the steady woosh of air moving in and out of his lungs. As if he's simply sleeping. It's reassuring to hear after how weak they'd been when Scott carried him out of the woods.
Scott doesn't know what to say, but he feels like he needs to say something. To try and give some comfort to the Sheriff, who's clinging so desperately to his son's hand. Like if he lets go, he's going to disappear altogether. "He's strong."
"He's stubborn," the Sheriff corrects with a chuckle.
Scott smiles at the accuracy of that. Stiles likes to remind him of his lack of physical prowess, especially anytime something heavy needs lifting (he'd used this as an excuse to not help at all when his dad got a new couch and asked them to move it for him). But he's also the guy who's sat on the lacrosse bench for two years, only playing in one game, and yet still shows up to practice every day.
"How's the other kid? Nicholas?" the Sheriff asks abruptly, looking over at Scott's mom.
"He's alive," she says slowly, and Scott can already read from the lines around her mouth that it's not good news. "But… It's not looking very hopeful that he'll ever come off of life support."
"Damn," the Sheriff sighs, leaning on his elbows and raising Stiles' hand to press against his lips. Scott can tell from the tears in his eyes that he's thinking that could have easily been his son. That, depending on whether there are any complications, it still could be.
What had Stiles been thinking, going out there by himself? Scott wishes he would wake up so they could ask him, because he's at a loss. After all they'd just been through, all they'd sacrificed to save him, did he really think he had to do this alone?
And what had even prompted him to go out to the woods in the first place? He hadn't gone until Thursday night at the earliest, maybe Friday morning. By then, Tim had been missing for over two days, and the police hadn't found anything. Had he made a connection between Tim and Nicholas somehow? He'd been investigating the fifteen-year-old runaway, too, according to Kira. Had read all about how his aunt, his sole guardian, had been killed at the hospital, forcing Nicholas into foster care. About how he'd never gone home after school Wednesday, and hadn't been seen since. But there was nothing in the articles Kira and Lydia had seen that connected him to Bluffton Creek in any way.
So why?
Why is his best friend lying here fighting for his life?
"I'm sorry," Scott rasps around the lump in his throat. He should have made Stiles talk to him. Should have known something was going on. "I—I should've been there with him…"
"Scott," the Sheriff says with the best smile he can muster. "I love my son, but like I said, he's a stubborn dumbass. If he was set on going out there, he was going to make it happen, no matter what you or anyone else did. This isn't your fault, okay?"
Scott nods, but the Sheriff's words do nothing to assuage the guilt. He's supposed to be Stiles' best friend, and yet he'd let this happen, all because he was too busy wallowing in his own self-pity to notice how badly Stiles was truly hurting.
A hand lands on his back, and he looks over to see his mom looking at him with that worried expression she wears when she knows he's beating himself up. "He's gonna be fine, honey," she reassures him, rubbing circles on his back. "We'll make sure of that."
Swiping at his eyes, he nods again, trying to smile at her. "Yeah, I know."
She pats him a couple of times and then jerks her head toward the door, letting him know his time is up. Scott turns back to Stiles' prone form once more, reaching over to carefully take his cold hand without disturbing the IV or pulse ox.
"You better wake up soon so I can kick your ass for this, okay?" he whispers, squeezing the hand gently before following his mom out.
When Scott gets back to the waiting room, he's a little surprised to see Deaton and Derek there, huddled up with the others, talking in hushed tones. Everyone turns toward Scott as he approaches, their faces somber.
"Hey, what's going on?" Scott asks nervously.
Deaton shares a look with Derek, the worry lines on his forehead deepening. "Derek and I think we may know what the creature in the sewers was," he says. "And, unfortunately, I'm afraid if we're right, it means Stiles might not be out of danger yet."
Melissa finds them an empty room to convene in so that they can talk without worrying about being overheard. Not that anyone would believe what Derek is about to tell them anyway. He hardly believes it, and he grew up in the supernatural realm.
But Deaton doesn't seem to think it's so far-fetched, which is the whole reason Derek went to him in the first place. He's still not sure he entirely trusts the vet or understands his motivations, but his mom once trusted the man, and he's proven that he has the kids' best interests at heart. For now, that's good enough for Derek. Besides, he figured with the man's knowledge of Celtic history and traditions, he would know something about the creature they'd encountered in the sewage tunnels.
And he'd been right.
"So," Scott says as soon as the door clicks shut. "Can somebody please explain to me what's going on?"
Derek looks around the small circle—at Scott with that little line of worry between his eyebrows that he's seen so often lately, Kira, wide-eyed and twisting her hair around her finger nervously, Lydia, who always looks like she's on the edge of a breakdown these days, Malia, who he hasn't even spoken to before today but whose scent of curiosity and eagerness prove she's just as invested in this as the rest of them, and Melissa, whose fierce protection over them all has always reminded him so much of his own mother. He hates that they've gotten dragged into this, had been hoping that if there was something out there, he could deal with it on his own. He owed them that after his involvement with Jennifer had led to… Well, pretty much everything terrible that has happened lately.
But, of course, if any of them were to get themselves caught up in it, it would be Stiles. The boy who couldn't keep his nose out of trouble if he tried. And he hadn't been trying to stay out of it. He'd run straight into it, in fact. Without thinking. Like he always did. And now…
"It was a fairy," Derek says without preamble.
The reactions are pretty much what he expected. Jaws dropping, stunned silence, little confused glances all around.
It's Lydia who finally speaks. "A what now?"
"From what Derek described, we believe the creature you encountered could be one of the fae. A fairy," Deaton explains easily, like he's telling them about an unusual animal that showed up in his clinic. "They're pretty common in many cultures' mythologies. Spirits that disguise themselves as beautiful women and lure unwitting young men to their deaths."
"Okay," Scott says slowly, obviously still wrapping his head around the idea of fairies. "But we killed it. So that means Stiles should be getting better, right?"
Deaton sighs, shaking his head. "Not necessarily. Fae are more spirits than actual living beings, which means we can't be certain that you did kill it. And even if you did, their magic is quite strong. There are usually certain rules you must follow to break it, and it might take more than killing the fae spirit to do that."
"So what you're saying is…" Scott starts.
"Stiles is probably still under whatever spell the fairy put on him," Derek explains quickly before Deaton can spin them around with more vague answers. "Which means, he probably won't wake up until we figure out how to break the magic."
They're all trying so hard to absorb it, Derek can see it on their faces, but even he's still confused and he's been discussing it with Deaton for the last two hours. Fairies—fae—whatever—don't make a lot of sense. Probably because their entire existence is based on magic and belief and all that other mystic bullshit that Derek has never understood.
"So how do we do that?" Malia asks. "Break the magic?"
"It depends on what kind of fae we're dealing with here," Deaton says, taking back over with the explanation. "Unfortunately, there are hundreds of myths about them and not a lot of facts, so it's going to be hard to determine exactly what kind this is and how to break its magic. I'm inclined to believe this one might be similar to some of the fae of Celtic myths—the Dearg Due and the Baobhan Sith, which were both known for targeting young men and drinking their blood. The vampire fairies, as they're known."
Scott shudders and Derek knows he's thinking about how they'd found Stiles in the tunnel. "And how do you break the magic of… Whatever the things are you just said?"
Deaton spreads his hands and grimaces a little, as if he's apologizing for once for not having clear answers. "I didn't say it was one of those, just that it might be similar. They have some distinct differences that don't really apply to this case. But if it is anything like the vampire fairies, then it could have been born from the spirit of a woman, one who died very tragically. According to the legends, these types of fae can be stopped by burying that woman's grave with rocks, to kind of hold the spirit in. So theoretically…"
"If we can find the woman's grave that this fairy represents and bury it under rocks, it'll break the magic," Lydia finishes.
"That's if this thing is anything like the fairies Deaton mentioned," Derek emphasized. "It might not be."
"Does the Beastiary say anything about fairies?" Scott asks, frowning like he's trying to remember seeing anything like them in the book.
"It only has a very general description," Deaton says. "Commonalities found in many of the myths. I don't think the Argents ever actually encountered a real fae, but because the myths are so abundant, they recorded what information they could gather. Fae are often associated with nature, bringing about abundant growth whenever they're near—"
"The flowers," Malia says, her face lighting up as she makes the connection. "I knew those were weird."
Deaton nods. "They are also often known for their love of music and dancing."
Malia's face falls. "Huh. Definitely don't remember music or dancing."
Derek fights not to roll his eyes. "He already said, there are hundreds of kinds of fairies. Not all of these characteristics apply to all of them."
"No, certainly not," Deaton agrees. "And especially when it comes to the types of magic they use, the myths vary widely. But many fae are believed to have the power to create illusions, grant wishes, heal wounds, even transport people to the fae realm and trap them there."
"If there's so many different kinds of magic, how do we know what type she used on Stiles?" Kira pipes up.
"I'm afraid we don't," Deaton says.
"Hold on," Melissa interjects, raising a hand to stop Deaton from spewing more information and confusing things even further. "I'm feeling a little lost here with all this talk of magic. What's the bottom line? What's going to happen to Stiles if we don't do anything?"
Deaton looks at her, his chocolate brown eyes full of concern. "There's a possibility that he could be fine," he admits with a shrug. "But I think it's more likely that he will remain comatose, stuck under the fairy's magic, his body slowly shutting down over the next few days until eventually…"
He doesn't need to finish the thought.
The anxiety coming off Scott is sharp in Derek's nose. "So what can we do?" he asks, eyes glinting with the need to move. To fight whatever is threatening his friend.
"Well, I would suggest we start by determining exactly what kind of fae we're dealing with here," Deaton says. "While there are many different types, each tends to follow a strict set of rules, just like their magic. Some only attack men who are unfaithful, some kidnap children who misbehave, some are peaceful and will only attack if they are offended in a certain way. If we can find a common thread between the victims she chose, that might help us figure out the identity of the spirit she took, which would help us figure out how to stop her."
"Okay," Lydia says, her eyes darting back and forth like she's sorting information in front of her. "We know Tim's fiancé and Nicholas' aunt both died during the attack on the hospital."
"Yeah," Scott says, "but then Stiles is the third victim, and we don't know if she took him based on whatever her pattern is or if she just took him because he walked into her lair looking for the other two."
"Two victims isn't really enough to establish a pattern," Deaton sighs, "but it's a start."
The others begin chiming in with theories about how Tim and Nicholas could be connected to one another and whether they thought they'd gone out to the woods on their own and then been taken, or whether the fairy had drawn them out there to take them. And had Stiles figured out that there was a fairy, or had she lured him out there, too?
"She pretended to be a woman they knew," Derek says quietly. "One who died."
Everyone stops talking to look at him, those confused expressions back in place on everyone except Scott, who looks like he's suddenly putting something together.
"I don't know why she picked them, I just know that's how she drew them in," he adds.
"Well, that makes sense, given that both Tim and Nicholas recently lost important women in their lives," Deaton says. "But… How did you know that, Derek?"
"Because." He crosses his arms over his chest. "That's what she did to me."
Whew! That was a lot of exposition. Sorry. Had to happen eventually. Hope you're still with me!
