SIX
Everyone stayed in the house after Scott had called Deaton. Stiles didn't have to guess that they were keeping an eye on him-on top of trying to heal. He flashed a glance toward the clock over the mantle, wedged in between old photos, while continuing his back and forth pacing. They only had about 4 hours until his father would be off work. Which meant everyone would have to clear out of here before then. The Sheriff might be a little suspicious if Stiles suddenly had a whole crowd of 'friends' over after having seen no one for several days. Especially when he barely knew most of those lounging around the living room.
Boyd was quiet, almost a menacing presence that Stiles assumed had more to do with the guys size and silence than anything. Erica had fallen asleep in the recliner with a cloth pressed against the still healing wound on her temple. Derek and Jackson stayed in their respective places, silent and watchful. Scott and Isaac had started a conversation between themselves. Mostly about how neither had known that the other was a werewolf, discussing how it had happened for either of them. Isaac's story was a little more traumatic than the rest. His father had always been abusive and one night the guy had been attempting to drown him in their pool after a particularly vicious argument. The Alpha had mauled his father to death and Isaac had been bitten in the process.
Out of everyone the alpha had bitten Isaac, alone, was truly appreciative. Stiles knew that if he'd faced similar circumstances, he would be too. Isaac didn't seem so bad, though. The kid was all smiles and jokes. He had an elvish sort of appearance that Stiles was sure girls fawned over. The blonde was nearly the same level of chatter-box as Stiles; who had become uncharacteristically quiet.
Not that he figured anyone noticed. He still paced the floor, shooting furtive glances toward the windows and doors. Intermittently stopping for a drink of water. Stiles would much rather have talked, gotten everything in his head out into the air. Talking helped him make sense of it all. Talking usually required some sort of starting point, though. Which he didn't have right now. Everything was too jumbled. While he would have rather talked, he didn't even know where to begin with any of this. Everything felt like an absolute shit storm.
His life had become insanely complicated and he wasn't entirely sure how or why. The worst was not knowing what he was supposed to do about it. All he had to hope for was that Deaton would know something. That Deaton could help somehow. Although that meant virtually being trapped in the house for the foreseeable future. Which was little comfort, honestly. Stiles didn't intend to tell anyone that since they all seemed very keen on the mountain ash idea.
Half an hour had passed from the time Scott made the call and when the wolves all perked up. Stiles didn't notice this until he'd heard the knock on his door. It was Scott who moved toward the door and pulled it open; Stiles felt a rush of relief to see Deaton standing on the other side. The two had met already, so introductions were short. Though the elder man's attention lingered a few moments longer than necessary on Derek.
"You look very much like your mother." Those expressive eyebrows shot upward causing Deaton to chuckle under his breath. "Yes, I knew Talia."
Derek stared at the man for what felt like an eternity before understanding washed over his expression. "You were her emissary."
Deaton nodded but it was Scott who spoke next. "Her what?"
"Emissary. Every Alpha has an emissary they call upon, someone to offer advice. We help to maintain the balance between the human world and the supernatural. I admit, I was skeptical to take on the role again after you were bitten, Scott. Old habits, I suppose." Deaton explained in his frustratingly mystifying voice while shifting the black medical bag from one hand to the other.
"I'm not an Alpha, though." Confusion colored the words.
"No, you were a beta struggling with his newfound abilities, more so without an Alpha to help you. I felt it my duty to be that help."
Derek eyed the elder man. "Do you know who this Alpha's emissary is?"
"Unfortunately, I do not. Before you ask, no. I do not know who the Alpha is either. I have, much as I suspect you have, been searching for his identity since he turned Scott." Deaton had this calming voice, this way about him that seemed to relax those around him. Even when he had nothing except grim news to share. Everyone except Stiles, who felt more and more on edge.
"Do you have an idea why an Alpha would target one person?" Derek asked now, his mottled green eyes flicked toward Stiles; who had stopped pacing just beside Isaac.
The emissary turned his attention toward the panicky teen as well while Stiles wrung his hands. "There are a variety of reasons. None of which will bring you satisfaction." There was that grim news, said with an infuriating tranquility.
"Well, Doc, it's not like we have any real ideas of our own. So, any help would be appreciated here." Stiles pushed a hand back through his hair before it dropped to his side and immediately began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He always had to be doing something with his hands. If they weren't moving, or he in general wasn't, Stiles grew uncomfortable quickly.
Deaton nodded softly while he dug into his bag. "Generally, when an Alpha targets one person, it is to turn or kill them. Though I expect you knew that already. What I find curious is that he has fixated on you for a long period. Did you know: A wolf can travel up to thirty miles a day for food?" The man was taking on a professorial tone. One that managed to irk Stiles. "However, many will grow tired of the long hunt, shifting their attentions toward something attainable. The fact that the Alpha has been hunting you for nearly a year, Stiles, is.. unsettling at best."
"Unsettling? Doc, I think we've moved passed mildly disturbing into full-blown hysteria." Stiles pressed his tongue against his cheek to stop himself from talking when Deaton's eyebrows rose causing little crinkles on his forehead.
Derek must have picked up on the near frantic energy exuding from the teen because he stepped closer. Or maybe he just wanted to get near the emissary that stood only a few short feet from Stiles. "Why has it been hunting him for that long?"
Deaton turned his gaze around the room, noting that each of the werewolves were watching him. After a moment of silent contemplation he shook his head. "I don't know. It is less likely, given the length of time, that he only wants to kill Stiles. Though, I cannot say that with any level of certainty."
"Not much of a comfort here, Doc.." Stiles frowned darkly.
Deaton offered a sympathetic smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What I do know is that we can protect you within the confines of your home." With that he pulled out a small jar filled with shimmering black powder. "No supernatural can cross a mountain ash barrier. They cannot even touch it." Deaton held out the jar to Stiles, "it is important to note that only a human can lay the ash or break its lines."
Stiles nodded and reached for the jar. As his fingers brushed across the glass he felt a shock, much akin to static, that caused him to jerk away again. Assuming it was a static energy from his and Deaton's fingers brushing, Stiles shook out his hand and reached for it again with the same result. That prickly feeling of being watched caused his eyes to roll, noticing that every wolf in the room had fixated on him now. Each with the same curious expression. Wonderful.
"Interesting." Was all Deaton had to say, his dark eyes focused solely on Stiles face as though searching for some hidden secret that would reveal itself with enough staring. Stiles almost wished whatever it was would come to the surface and shout boo. If only to make the eyes turn away.
"Why is it doing that?" Scott asked the question they were all silently wondering.
"I'm not certain." The emissary reached for Stiles' hand, gently clutching his wrist to bring it, along with Stiles, toward him. When he'd opened the jar, Deaton tipped it toward Stiles' palm to sprinkle some of the ash into the teens hand.
His nose wrinkled in discomfort. It wasn't that it hurt but it did send a strange tingling sensation up his arm. Sort of like being plunged into a bucket of ice water. Still, he felt those small static charges, as if he'd spent too much time rubbing a balloon against his shirt, making the hairs on his arm stand on end. The moment Deaton released his wrist Stiles quickly rubbed his hand onto his pant leg to swipe away the remnants of ash. Almost immediately the charged feeling dissipated.
"What are you?" Deaton murmured, staring at Stiles.
Everyone was staring at him. The uncomfortable feeling began again where he wanted nothing more than to make some joke or find a way to divert their attention. Somehow, he didn't think that a witty remark about his being a hyperactive spaz would be sufficient. Licking his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, Stiles shrugged. "Nothing." He wished everyone would look away.
Deaton regarded him carefully before giving just the slightest shake of his head. "No, I don't quite think that's true."
Scott shifted uncomfortably at Stiles' other side. "Does this mean we can't use the ash?"
"Not unless I, or another person, lays the line."
"Meaning you'd have to trap me in my own house. Awesome. That sounds like the perfect plan." Sarcasm dripped in his tone as Stiles looked at his best friend. His hands raised to rub at his face in annoyance before stepping away from the others. Moving passed Jackson he stepped into the kitchen again and exhaled heavily. Stiles rubbed at his face again, then pushed up both hands through his hair before linking together behind his head. He needed a minute to sit with this. Whatever this was.
Stiles wasn't a werewolf. He would know. The whole claws and fangs would be a dead giveaway. Playing through the various more common supernatural creatures he could think of-vampires, faeries, witches-Stiles doubted any of those applied either. If he couldn't use the mountain ash that just meant he was something. Right? Huffing, his hands slipped down to cross over his chest.
Unless Deaton was wrong about the ash. About what it meant? He stood staring at blank wall behind the stove. Stiles could hear the dull thrum of the others conversing in low tones in the other room and did his best to use the hum of the refrigerator block them out. For now anyway. The same thought ran through his head that had multiple times tonight:
How was this his freaking life?!
"You okay?" The voice from right behind him nearly made him jump. Seriously, these damned werewolves needed to learn to make a bit more noise around the spastic human.
Instead, he turned toward the blue-eyed jock and nodded. "Yeah, of course." Stiles doubted that he was very convincing. More so because he couldn't even convince himself. In an effort to side-step it, he flashed a quick look into the living room. "What are they thinking?"
Jackson shrugged one shoulder while casting a quick glance over the other. "They're just passing ideas back and forth. Every time someone has an idea Deaton shoots it down, though. Isaac suggested you were a fairy, Deaton said they're not real. Erica says he hasn't spent enough time at The Jungle." A little smirk tugged at the guys lips.
Of course, he wasn't talking about little creatures with wings, he was referring to the gay nightclub downtown. Stiles had to roll his eyes at that. "What else?"
"Isaac mentioned some kind of angel or demon but Deaton says either of them can burn through mountain ash."
"How?" Somehow that seemed concerning. Or at least warranted more of an answer. He saw Jackson's eyes narrow as he focused on the conversation going on behind them.
"Apparently they aren't supernatural so much as omniscient which is, I guess, an important distinction."
"I guess." Stiles exhaled heavily and let his arms fall to his sides again, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "What else do they have?"
"Witch? Deaton says they're still human."
Everything was coming back to square one. Which was an absolute fat nothing. "It all sounds so promising.." Sarcasm. Jackson pretended not to notice.
"Boyd mentioned vampires but we've all seen you in sunlight. Deaton says he has a few ideas, but he needs to run some tests first."
"Tests? What kind of tests?" All Stiles could think of were needles jabbing into him and loud machines whirring. The thought alone made him swallow hard, memories of sitting at his mothers beside stirred. Memories he didn't want to cope with right now. Memories he'd long since suppressed due to their uncomfortable nature.
"How about we just talk, Stiles?" Deaton said from the doorway causing Stiles to twitch.
Geez, the dude moved with the same level of silence as the freaking werewolves. He liked the guy but there was definitely something off-putting about him. Stiles attributed it to the freakishly calm exterior Deaton always had. Nodding, Stiles glanced back toward the living room, noting it was much emptier than it had been a few minutes ago. Derek still leaned against the couch and Scott lounged on it, but the others had gone.. somewhere. He hadn't even heard the door close behind them. Stiles had wanted to thank each of them for helping, even if he didn't have a clue how to do that.
Jackson looked as though he were going to offer some words of encouragement to the clearly antsy teen. After a glance toward Derek, however, he clapped Stiles on the shoulder with a quick smile and sauntered off toward the front door. Probably following the others. Stiles looked toward Derek and Scott for a second, then dropped down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Deaton carefully settled down across from him.
–
What followed was the emissary asking a bazillion questions that Stiles either couldn't answer or had no idea how to. Mostly genealogical things about his ancestors. He didn't know his Polish side of the family. Hell, he barely knew much of anyone in his family outside of the Sheriff. His father's father was in a home somewhere with dementia so bad he didn't recognize anyone. The last time Stiles had seen the guy had been before his mothers death. There were complicated memories and feelings involved in that, too.
His mothers side of the family was either all dead or estranged and as his father had been an only child, like Stiles, there were no other relations for him to refer to. He could tell by the end of it that Deaton was getting frustrated with his inability to answer. Hell, he was frustrated from this extended and horrible game of 20 Questions. When Deaton had asked everything he could about his ancestors the man then began asking strange questions about Stiles. Like different things he was afraid of-needles, blindness, and losing his mind-or different creatures he may have been around-aside from trips to the zoo and the current werewolf situation, none.
"Now, I'm afraid this may hurt a little, Stiles." Deaton reached for his hand. Stiles hesitated before allowing the man to take it. "Just a nick." The emissary promised, his other hand digging into his bag for a scalpel.
When Stiles heart began thundering-honestly, was the scalpel any different than a needle in this scenario?-a hand came down on his shoulder. It gave a gentle, reassuring pressure rather than felt like a presence meant to hold him down. He turned toward its owner and just stared up at the mottled green hues that looked back at him.
At least until the blade sliced across the tip of his middle finger. Stiles immediately jerked his hand away from Deaton, wincing. "Wanna tell me why that was necessary, Doc?"
"I wanted to see if you'll heal like the others."
He knew his tone radiated irritation but couldn't help himself. "News flash, man, I don't. All you had to do was ask. Let's see, I broke my arm when I was 7 skateboarding, took six weeks to heal. Broke my leg two years ago when I got hit by a car, took 8 weeks to heal. Had plenty of paper cuts in my time, they didn't just heal over night." The hand at his shoulder squeezed softly and he let out a heavy breath to try and calm himself.
Deaton had reached into his bag for a small vial, then grabbed Stiles hand and pressed the vial beneath his bleeding finger to collect some of the flowing blood. "I'd like to test this." As though he were asking permission. Stiles opted not to respond. "Though I think the most effective means of learning what you are would be a bestiary."
"What's that?" Scott asked from his place beside Deaton.
The emissary opened his mouth to speak, but it was Stiles that provided the answer. "A book or compendium filled with supernatural creatures. Weaknesses, strengths, attributes, and the like. Isn't the more pressing problem the Alpha?" He asked in exasperation.
"I think," Deaton interjected, "that to understand why the Alpha is hunting you we need to understand whatyou are."
Stiles didn't much like the term 'hunting'. Even though it was precisely what the Alpha was doing. It was easier to keep a calm head when they called it tracking. At least that felt like he was still ahead of the Alpha rather than having the beast breathing down his neck. Regardless of the fact that it clearly was.
"Okay.. and where do we find this bestiary?" He exhaled heavily while reaching out to grab a tissue from the center of the table to wrap around his bleeding finger.
Deaton and Derek both looked to Scott now, who seemed to slump. "Allison."
"Sorry, what?" He flashed a puzzled look at his best friend, sitting up so quickly that Derek's hand fell off his shoulder.
"Her family. They're all hunters."
"Wait, wait. As in werewolf hunters?! How long have you known you're dating a werewolf hunter? And why, WHY am I only now hearing about it?" Now this was a personal insult. He and Scott shared everything and the guy couldn't be bothered to tell him about this? This crucial, and slightly terrifying, thing about his girlfriend!
"She isn't. I don't even think she knows."
"How do you know?" Stiles asked now.
Scott motioned toward Deaton. "I may have.. run across her family a time or two. When I learned that Scott and Allison had become something of an item I felt it was my duty to warn him that he should proceed with caution."
"I've had plenty of experience with her family. Her aunt is a ruthless fanatic. Believes all werewolves should be wiped from the board. Her grandfather isn't much better." There was a bitter edge to Derek's voice that lead Stiles to believe there was something more behind it. He wasn't going to ask, though. The growl in his tone sent a little shiver up Stiles' spine. "You need to be careful with her, Scott." Derek offered the same warning that Stiles was sure Deaton had.
Scott nodded again, frowning like a scolded child. "Like I said she isn't a hunter."
"So who would have the bestiary?" Stiles interjected to take the pressure off of his friend and looked between the two elder males.
Having something else to focus on besides the Alpha was nice, but it was still a nagging presence in the back of his mind. A weight that didn't seem to be going anywhere. He doubted, even with putting the majority of his attention on the bestiary that it would cause him to forget about the Alpha hunting him. Hell, nothing short of death would be enough to make him forget about that. Especially if the beast continued to taunt him. God he hoped not.
Both of them shook their heads. It was Derek's deeper voice that rang out, "any of the older hunters. You said her 'aunt' was in town?" Scott nodded once. "Stay as clear of her as you can, Scott. She's the one most likely to have it. If not her, then the old man." Having just said something about Allison's grandfather Stiles was inclined to believe 'old man' didn't mean her father.
"They do tend to put a lot of trust into their women while the men go on hunting parties." Deaton added.
"Maybe.." Derek began, pressing his hands into the table between Stiles and Scott, "we need to give them all a reason to be out of the house. Allow you two the chance to search it."
"What, uh, what are you planning to do?" Stiles quirked a brow, staring up at the wolf with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
"Tomorrow night, the two of you be at the Argent's. Search the house. Find the bestiary."
Scott nodded to himself, arms swinging at his sides. "Allison is supposed to go out with Lydia tomorrow, that just leaves her parents and aunt."
It hadn't bypassed Stiles that Derek had avoided the question. He hated that the elder teen attempted to. Just as he was certain Derek hated that Stiles pressured him into answering. "What are you planning to do tomorrow?"
Derek's eyes seemed to darken, though Stiles attributed that to the way his brows furrowed downward. He watched the elder teen closely, noting the way his jaw worked beneath that perfectly groomed beard. If not for the seriousness of their situation Stiles would find it extraordinarily difficult not to be jealous of it. Any time he'd tried to grow one in it looked thin and patchy. Surely, genetics had played a big factor there. That or it was just one more thing that being a werewolf helped with. A flicker of an image of Erica with a full beard nearly caused him to giggle hysterically.
Stiles caught the way Derek's gaze flicked toward Deaton, cluing him in that the guy didn't have a plan. Nothing. He'd rather they not be flying by the seat of their pants here. Particularly not if he and Scott were going to find themselves in a hunters house. The emissary must have figured that out too. After only a moment the elder man spoke.
"I think, perhaps, our little issue with the Alpha might need to be brought to their attention. If they are not already aware." Deaton focused on Derek for a few seconds longer, like he was debating something, "though maybe it is best I speak with the Argent's without you. You might be better served in keeping an eye on these two."
The look that passed between them made Stiles very aware of the fact that Deaton knew something he didn't, which meant Scott didn't know either. Though the poor guy failed to see any of it. Scott was perpetually oblivious and unobservant. Tomorrow. Tomorrow there was a chance for some answers. He really freaking hoped.
–
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