Top Posts Tagged with #*w:npfp

chapter 54: like the thirteenth stroke of a clock Warnings: -

You can read it on AO3 as well.

---

Jackson walks past them, not even glancing in their general direction. His anger is palpable, even for people who can’t pick up on chemo signals. That wouldn’t be particularly surprising if not for the fact that Jackson is neither interested nor part of the track team.

Stiles glances at Theo, who glares at his coffee cup as if it somehow betrayed him. The dark circles under his eyes tell the story of a restless night. They stayed up way longer than they probably should have, but Theo was restless and in his head. Keeping him distracted seemed almost impossible. When Stiles eventually drifted off to sleep, Theo was still awake — and that’s saying something. “You didn’t have to come, you know?”

Theo grunts in response, his lips forming a tight line.

“I’m not being stupid,” Stiles playfully insists, flicking Theo’s forehead.

“I didn’t say that,” Theo mutters.

“You’re grunting did that for you,” Stiles tells him, raising his brows.

Theo grins, and it reaches his eyes for the first time since he found out his father is Peter Hale. He leans forward, presses a short kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth, and crosses his arms over the railing. “The Dread Doctors are not going to ease up,” Theo reminds him, now scowling again as he watches someone run past Stiles. “If anything, they’re going to escalate. You didn’t stop them, but you did interrupt their plans.” And they don’t like that. Theo doesn’t have to say these words to make it abundantly clear.

This is the second time Stiles has managed to successfully stop them from creating another chimera. With how quickly they killed Caitlin, it’s clear they will not take any more chances. “They’re pissed.”

“I’m pissed,” Theo says, furrowing his brows. “They’re vengeful.”

Stiles grabs the railing, letting out a long breath. “They can’t kill me.”

“After everything you’ve been through, I thought you knew there’s worse things than death.” Theo presses his lips together, studying Stiles for a few seconds. He doesn’t look happy with Stiles’ attitude towards the Dread Doctors at all. “Besides,” Theo adds, shaking his head to really rub it in, “they tried to have you kidnapped before.”

As much as Stiles would like to argue that, he’s aware that Theo is right about that. Donovan’s attempts to kidnap him didn’t happen all that long ago, yet it feels like forever ago. Ripping the ley line away from their newest chimera probably didn’t help. Plus, choosing Caitlin feels personal. It shouldn’t. Stiles barely knew her, and yet, out of everyone on this list, they picked a girl that may not have been in his life for long, but she still changed its trajectory — especially regarding his love life.

“So, that’s why Jackson’s here?” Stiles glances in his general direction. Judging by how he tilts his head, Jackson is listening in on their conversation, even though he’s pretending to be busy with his phone.

Theo doesn’t reply immediately. Once again, he watches what’s going on behind Stiles. “I chose the lesser of two evils.”

“Did you consider calling Brett?”

Theo glares at him, but he doesn’t reply. Not that he needs to. His face says more than any number of words could.

“He’s growing on you, isn’t he?” Stiles tries his best not to grin. It’s a highly unsuccessful endeavor.

“Don’t push it, babe.” Theo rolls his eyes and sips his coffee. The avoidance of an actual answer says a lot more than anything else could. A friendship between Theo and Brett is unlikely, but maybe Brett standing up for him yesterday helped put their feud at ease, perhaps even on hold until all of this is dealt with.

Which is hopefully soon. Because Stiles is sure Theo is right about one thing — the Dread Doctors are vengeful. They haven’t had any success in a while. Stiles stopped a transformation, and their time has essentially run out now that Stiles can finally control the nemeton fully. They’re out of options. They've been doing this for decades before finally achieving their first success with Theo, so it's highly unlikely they will give up anytime soon.

And that’s most likely why Jackson’s here.

Stiles lets out a long breath. “You really think they’re coming here?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them.”

Pinching his brows, Stiles glances at Jackson again. So, they’re really here to— what? Fight them? Even as alphas, they won’t be able to do anything about them. They won’t be able to stop them. Not the three of them, and certainly not Theo and Jackson alone. Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat, a terrible hunch forming in the depth of his gut. “What’s the plan here, Theo?” Stiles asks, and when Theo’s eyes lock with his, the hunch takes root. “What are you gonna do if they show up?”

Theo’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t say a single word.

Not that he has to.

“No.” Stiles pushes away from the banister. “Absolutely not.” This isn’t happening. He won’t let it. Shaking his head, Stiles turns on his heels and walks away.

Theo is by his side almost instantly. “What are you doing?”

“Quitting track.”

“And you think quitting track will stop them from coming after you?” Theo grabs his arm and pulls him back around, stopping him effectively in his tracks.

“No, but I’m sure you and Jackson won’t stop them either.” Stiles pulls his arm free. The only real safe place used to be Eichen House, but Kira destroyed their defenses effectively. Nowhere is safe from them, and the only reason they haven’t come after Stiles themselves yet is that they always had a chance at using the nemeton’s power without him intervening. But that’s not the case any longer. They’re bound to figure out that their time has run out.

Theo reaches for his hand again, intertwining their fingers. His touch alone stifles Stiles' gnawing worry that something might go wrong. How could it? How could anything happen when Theo's hand feels so right against his own? "What do you want me to do then?" Worry is etched into every inch of his features.

Stiles parts his lips and lets out a breath. "I can only tell you what I don't want you to do. He squeezes Theo’s hand tightly, wishing he could somehow make him understand. “I can’t do this again.” Just the thought of having to sit by Theo’s bedside again, wondering if he’ll ever wake up… and if he wakes up, wondering if he’ll be okay. There are limits to what a body can handle. Eventually, it’s going to reach the end of the line. Theo’s been on the brink of death twice in just a couple of weeks. Even a supernatural body has its breaking point.

“Okay.” Theo doesn’t look entirely happy, but he sounds sincere, at least. “We’re not here to protect you. We’re here to support you.”

“I swear,” Jackson utters, coming to a stop next to them, “if I got up early for you to leave—”

“He’s thinking about quitting,” Theo interrupts, not even giving Stiles a chance to respond. It’s almost an instinctive reaction. He doesn’t even look in Jackson’s direction as he says it but contemplates Stiles instead.

Jackson doesn’t look at Theo either. “And you think quitting track will stop them from coming after you?” he asks incredulously. Well, at the very least, he’s not acting like Theo doesn’t exist.

Stiles stares at Jackson, then Theo, and back again. Huffing out a breath, he lets go of Theo’s hands and crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots before.” Stiles lets out a long breath and rubs his hands over his face. “It’s obvious you two are related.”

Now Theo and Jackson cross their arms over their chests.

Coach’s whistle cuts through the silence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jackson asks while Theo keeps staring Stiles down. While they share many similarities, one pretty significant distinction is finally making itself known. On the one hand, Theo tends to remain silent, bottling up his emotions until he reaches a breaking point resulting in an explosion that ultimately leads to people ending up in the crossfire. On the other hand, Jackson’s first instinct is confrontation until pushing him too far will lead to a deadly silence. Arguments between them will be a delight.

“Stilinski!”

Stiles waves Coach off, then points at Theo and Jackson. “You’re brothers. Get it together.” Shaking his head one more time, he jogs to meet up with the rest of the team in the middle of one of Coach’s pre-practice speeches. But Stiles isn’t actually listening to anything he tells them. It’s usually not all that important anyway — or new. Stiles is pretty sure he knows ninety percent of his motivational speeches by heart at this point. Instead, he focuses his attention on Theo and Jackson returning to the stands, rubbing his chest absentmindedly. By the looks of it, they're not talking and sit down as far apart as possible.

That’s going to take some time, but at the very least, they seem to be able to work together if they have to. It’s not ideal or anything Stiles had hoped for. Still, he can’t change it. He can’t force Theo to change anything. They’ll have to figure this out by themselves.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Kira appears next to him without warning.

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. “Warn a guy,” he breathes.

Kira chuckles. “Did I miss anything?”

“Probably just his usual motivational speech,” Stiles whispers, watching Coach wave them off, which most likely means they’re supposed to start their warm-up. He seems distracted as well today. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d guess Theo called Coach too, but a human wouldn’t exactly be helpful in their situation. It’s much more likely he’s distracted by Jackson being here. As passionate as he appears to be about track, lacrosse is where his heart is at. Stiles is more than fine with that. If he’s too busy talking to Jackson about lacrosse, track will remain pretty uneventful, which sounds great. They’re due for uneventfulness, and Stiles will savor it for as long as he can.

“Theo seems on edge,” Kira notes as they start jogging after the rest of the group.

Stiles sighs. “He’s worried the Dread Doctors are coming after me.” They’re already catching up to the others. In no time, they’re going to pass them without any issues at all. Running comes so easily. If only he could run from his problems like this — or at the very least from the Dread Doctors. But they’ll catch up to him eventually. Unless they manage to find a way to stop them indefinitely.

“That’s the next logical step, isn’t it?”

They break into a sprint, leaving the rest of the group behind. The silence between them is filled with the sound of the wind in his ears for the next 100 meters. As freeing as running feels, the last few days have left their mark on Stiles. He can already feel a strange tightness in his chest. They slow down again, and Stiles lets out a breath. “Unless Nolan remembers something.”

“Even if he does,” Kira interrupts, not showing any signs of their recent sprint, “we can’t kill them.”

Yet, Stiles thinks. “But it’ll give us a chance to search their lair.” And hopefully, find something that will help kill them or, at the very least, level the playing field. If they become vulnerable, three kitsunes and a hellhound should be able to take them on — not that Theo would let him fight this battle alone. Maybe he even deserves to be the one to deliver the killing blow. They put him through enough that he should be on the front line when they finally go down.

Kira shakes her head. “So, we’re going to deliver you to them?”

“You sound like Theo.”

They break into a sprint again, this time forcing Kira to postpone her reply until they slow down again. They finished their first round—two more to go before they start with the rest of the warm-up.

“What I mean is—”

Stiles is falling. Without warning. One second he’s running, and now he can barely get his hands in front of him to stop his face from smashing into the ground. The skin on his hand tears open, and Stiles hisses, grinding his teeth together. But the pain comes and goes within seconds as his body heals the minor injuries almost immediately.

Kira drops to her knees next to him. “Are you okay?” An edge of panic sneaks into her tone, and she reaches out, fingers curling around his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his chest again. It still feels tight every now and again. It’s almost as if someone is wrapping their arms around him, squeezing him, and then easing up again. It’s getting more prominent as time passes, and it’s also happening faster. What the hell is going on? Grimacing, Stiles sits up and checks his arms more out of instinct than anything else. His skin is completely healed, and there are only a few smudges of blood that tell a different story.

“What happened?” Theo asks, arriving at the same time as Jackson and Coach, who watches Jackson with mild irritation.

Kira crosses her arms over her thighs. “I think he tripped.”

“I didn’t trip.” Stiles isn’t sure what happened, but he knows what didn’t happen. There is no way he tripped over anything. Stiles takes a deep breath and rubs his sternum with a scowl. Something weird is definitely going on. Usually, he can blame that on the ley lines, which in turn means the Dread Doctors are doing something. “I think I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting.”

“I need to sit down somewhere that’s not the ground, Whittemore,” Stiles clarifies with a roll of his eyes.

Theo offers him a hand and pulls him to his feet the moment he grabs it. As soon as he stands, his world slips away in the blink of an eye. This time, however, he doesn’t black out, but he’s feeling it now — the sensation of someone pulling at him, trying to drag him under.

“Babe?” Theo wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close and steadying him.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Something’s up with the ley lines.”

“Are you okay?”

“I just need to lay down,” he smiles at Theo before glancing over his shoulder and watching Jackson tell Coach something about ‘possibly dehydration.’ But by the look he’s giving him, Jackson is listening to them and knows what’s really going on. “And deal with it before it becomes an issue.” This shouldn’t become a problem unless he ignores it for too long, but Stiles doubts the ley lines will allow that to happen. They’re all but screaming for help.

Theo helps him sit on the bleachers while Kira offers her bunched-up jacket as a makeshift pillow, and Jackson distracts Coach.

“Okay.” Stiles lies down, heart thumping in his chest. He should be relieved. So far, the Dread Doctors still think they have a chance at resurrecting their beast without him. Besides, he knows his way around the ley lines now that he’s truly connected to them. For the most part, at least. He’s still worried he could spend too much time down there. “Give me fifteen minutes,” Stiles says, glancing from Theo to Kira and back again. “If I’m not done by then, bring me back.” Although Theo’s spark usually helps him to find his way back, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

After a brief nod from Theo, Stiles closes his eyes and allows the ley lines to pull him back into their realm. When he opens them, he finds himself floating in this breathtakingly beautiful space again. This time, he doesn’t get the sense of being somewhere he doesn’t belong. It’s almost a little like coming home, a feeling made even sweeter with Theo’s spark held close to his heart.

But he isn’t here to admire the view. He’s here to fix a problem. Dread pools in his stomach, almost weighing him down. Stiles is highly aware of what that means. Another death. Another innocent teenager was caught in the crossfire. Stiles hates the thought of it, but he doesn’t have a chance. Once again, the risk of success is too great. He has to protect the people and the balance. Something as dangerous and unnatural as the beast cannot be allowed to roam free.

Stiles lets out a breath and checks the sea of ley lines for one that’s acting up. It’s surprisingly easy to find despite being lumped in with a bunch of others. Stiles follows its course with a strange sense of direction, somehow knowing where he is despite being somewhere that is Beacon Hills, and at the same time, it is not. He follows it past the school, deep into the preserve, and towards an eerily still silhouette. It’s so different from Caitlyn, who fought for her survival. This person, however, doesn’t do anything. They’re not even holding on to the ley line.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles sinks to his knees right next to them. With how hunched over they’re sitting, it’s hard to make out any defining characteristics. If not for the ley line acting up, he’d think they’re already dead. Which would’ve made it a lot easier to yank their lifeline away from them.

But they’re alive, and Stiles still curls his fingers tightly around the ley line. If he just pretends— maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t survive with the line’s help anyway. Not with the way they’re hunched over like they’re passed out, in a coma, already dead. Perhaps it’s easier if he doesn’t look at them.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles focuses on his fingers and the flickering of the ley line. Whoever the Dread Doctors chose this time, they didn’t even make it past the first stage. They won’t make it, no matter what he does. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and yanks the ley line out from under the teen. Only a moment later, everything around him settles. It feels calm, like the world after a storm.

Stiles curls his hands into fists, resisting the urge to linger, and pushes back, following Theo’s spark. Navigating this space gets easier by the second, and so does leaving it.

When he opens his eyes, Stiles squeezes them shut quickly again. The sun is way too bright. This is a nightmare. Why did he have to live in California? Carefully, he blinks his eyes open again, shielding them with one hand. It’s probably a good idea to feed before starting school, or the fluorescent lights inside the building are going to cause him a major migraine if the sun doesn’t get there first.

Stiles turns his head a little and finds Theo and Kira with their backs to him, probably hiding him from the rest of the team, but with their heads surprisingly close together. It’s not that they haven’t gotten along, but they also never acted particularly friendly. Then again, Theo was getting along with Jackson before he learned about them being siblings. His boyfriend seems to be rather volatile these days.

“Yeah,” Theo says softly. “We’ll be there.”

Kira pulls away, eyebrows pinched and chewing on her bottom lip.

It’s then that Stiles spots the phone in Theo’s hand. He pushes himself up on his elbows. “What’s going on?”

Theo turns around, wearing almost the same worried expression as Kira. “That was Brett.” The two exchange a look, almost as if Theo considers keeping whatever they’ve been talking about away from him. In the end, he decides against it, “Nolan remembers.”

— — —

Nolan is terrified. That in of itself isn’t the biggest surprise. He’s always been a withdrawn and easily startled boy, and usually, being turned into a werewolf heightens some of your traits — especially on full moons. If Stiles checked the calendar correctly, one is right around the corner. What surprises him, however, is that Nolan doesn’t seem to be afraid of the two strange alphas standing on opposite ends of the room. He is afraid of Stiles. He avoids his gaze and refuses to leave Satomi’s side until Brett physically drags him to the map of the desk where Stiles is waiting.

“Show him,” Brett orders, nudging Nolan even closer to the map and, with that, Stiles.

The new werewolf all but shrinks away, shoulders pulled up to his ear. He doesn’t say a word or even glance in Stiles’ direction. All he does is tap the map once before shuffling closer toward Brett again.

Stiles stares at the spot, drawing his brows together as he surveys the surrounding area. Deep in the preserve. Close to a creek leading into a small lake. “Are you sure?”

Nolan nods shortly.

“What’s with the look?” Isaac asks, tapping a finger against the thick wood of the table.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, watching Nolan take his chance to slip away and stand next to Satomi again. “It’s…” he trails off and shakes his head. There is no time to wonder why Nolan is afraid of him right now. There’s more important shit going on. Stiles takes a breath and points at the spot Nolan showed them. “This is where the Dread Doctors hide now, right?” Theo, Jackson, and Kira crowd around the table. Feeling Theo and Kira right next to him has never felt this calming before. “This—” Stiles moves his finger to a spot near the beginning of the creek, not far away from the Dread Doctors’ newest hideout. “This is where they buried their most recent experiment.”

Both Jackson and Theo stiffen slightly. Stiles watches them exchange a glance, features hardening before looking back at the map. Before they left to go to Satomi’s, Theo and Jackson ended up in another explosive argument. Well, Theo informed Jackson that it was a waste of time to go looking for a chimera who wasn’t even conscious in the first place. Jackson spent the rest of the drive snapping at Theo, even going so far as to call him heartless and accusing him of not caring about anybody but Stiles. That really didn’t need to be part of the conversation, but Stiles chose not to make things worse by objecting. Instead, he and Kira tried to make themselves as scarce as possible in the backseat of Theo’s car, waiting for the other shoe to drop, while Jackson kept arguing and Theo kept driving.

Stiles still isn’t sure if he wants to be around when he ultimately finds out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Kira lets out a breath, “It was a trap.”

“It was a trap,” Theo repeats and curls his hands into fists. For all but a second, it seems like this is what might push him over the edge again, but he takes a deep breath instead and turns to Stiles, “You’re not going to go there.” He points in the general direction of the map, his blue cold and hard. There will be no arguing about this.

Biting his bottom lip, Stiles glances around the table. Some part of him wants to pass on the responsibility of making this decision to Isaac. It is his job, after all, since this is affecting all the packs in his territory. But Isaac simply stares back at him, lips pressed into a thin line. He won’t make that decision. He won’t ask anyone to go to the Dread Doctors’ lair when they've already set a trap. “We have to check it out.”

Isaac pushes away from the table with a shake of his head.

“We have to!” Stiles insists, slamming his hands on the desk. “This might be our chance to find a way to level the playing field.”

“They know you went looking for Caitlin,” Brett says, shaking his head.

Theo crosses his arms. “I’ll go.”

“Absolutely not.” Stiles turns to look at him, a familiar burst of irritation clawing its way to the surface. “After everything you did, don’t you think the Dread Doctors have a bone to pick with you?” As task-driven as they might be, in the end, they’re humans, and humans have developed a taste for revenge. Stiles can’t believe Theo would even think they’d just let him walk away if they caught him. They’re either going to kill him for crossing them, or they’re going to lock him up and use him as bait.

“I’ve been living with them. I can—”

“No, Theo,” Isaac cuts in, “you’re not.”

“They’re going to kill you.” Kira’s voice is so soft Stiles almost can’t hear her. The thing is, sending anyone there with the Dread Doctors expecting them sounds like a suicide mission. Their ability to manipulate electromagnetic fields means that no werewolf is a match for them, at least until they’ve figured out a way to make them vulnerable. That’s why Nolan remembering everything was so important. It was a way to gain the upper hand, to be one step ahead of the Dread Doctors. They lost that chance.

Jackson clears his throat. “Or they’re going to use you.” He sounds almost worried.

Looks like Stiles isn’t the only one who thought of that. He turns to face the others again and pushes his hands into his hoodie. The Dread Doctors are likely more than aware of his and Theo’s relationship. Donovan knew, after all. Hell, maybe Tracy kept them in the loop as well. She spent so much time away from the pack, it’s entirely possible Scott wasn’t the only person she kept in the loop of what was happening.

Theo scoffs. “Are you volunteering, Whittemore?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jackson snaps, jabbing an accusatory finger in Theo’s direction. “Not everyone is as fucking indifferent about life and death as you are.”

“Stop it.” Stiles has had enough of this bullshit. “If you two cannot stop bickering for two seconds, get the fuck out, okay?” He really thought them capable of working together, but that’s apparently only the case if they don’t have to be standing in the same room or talking to each other. “Seriously. Grow up.”

Theo shoots him a dark look.

Jackson turns away.

Stiles only barely resists the urge to throw his hands in the air.

“I could ask my mom,” Kira says, leaning over the table and pressing a finger to the spot Nolan pointed out. “We’re immune to their powers, and we’re fast.” She looks up, her questioning gaze landing on Stiles before she turns her attention to Isaac — probably because she remembers Stiles’ decision can be vetoed very easily in this room. Three alphas and Isaac have a bit more to say than he does. Well, for the most part. Theo can be swayed.

Scrunching up his face, Isaac studies Kira in silence. As much as it irks him to be the person to make decisions like this, he seems to have finally accepted his fate. He probably never would’ve agreed to be turned into a werewolf if he had known the responsibility that would fall into his lap. Then again, better Isaac than Peter. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about the chaos Beacon Hills would fall into if he were the one in charge. But Isaac and Jackson would have to die for that to happen. Good thing Jackson agreed to become a member of Derek’s pack shortly before leaving for London. Otherwise, the only person standing in Peter’s way would be Isaac, and Stiles isn’t entirely sure how much Peter values his life. Jackson, however, is his son. Sane Peter is not going to kill his son, not even for the power of the nemeton.

Stiles is sure about that, hopefully. He’d rather not be wrong about Peter. But seeing that he was right about Deaton all along, it’s probably about time he doesn’t second guess his instincts — and his instincts regarding Deaton demand consequences. Stiles glances at Satomi, who is quietly contemplating her tea. Maybe he should talk to her and figure out what the rules are for disturbing the balance.

“I’m going to call Jordan,” Isaac mutters, already pulling out his phone. “I’d be more comfortable with a hellhound accompanying you.” With a shake of his head, phone pressed against his ear, Isaac walks out of the room.

Without hesitation, Nolan takes his opportunity to rush after him.

“Guess that means we’re done.” Brett runs his fingers through his hair and then crosses his arms.

Kira sighs softly. “I’m going to talk to my mom.” Smiling softly, she glances at Stiles before hurrying out of the room.

“I don’t like it.” Stiles crosses and uncrosses his arms, unsure what to do or say or if he should stop Kira and Noshiko from essentially walking into a trap. While they have to check out the Dread Doctor’s lair, Stiles doesn’t like that he’ll have to sit and wait for them to return. If he’s terrible at one thing, it’s doing absolutely nothing.

“It is the best course of action,” Theo says, and as much as Stiles wants to believe he really means that, he is probably just relieved Stiles isn’t involved any longer.

Jackson rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good one.”

“It’s not like you came up with a better idea,” Theo shoots back. These two are really ready to turn everything into an argument.

“Can you stop it!” Brett looks about as pissed as Stiles feels. “I thought you two were getting along?” They were. One of their strongest arguments for forming an acquaintanceship was their shared dislike of Brett, but then Brett defended Theo when he thought Stiles was dying, which pissed off Jackson even further, and they’re suddenly related, and Jackson wants to play family, whereas Theo would rather see everything crash and burn. Here's hoping Brett involving himself in their business pushes them together a second time.

But Jackson does not seem willing to make peace. “If we’re done here, we can leave, right?” Raising his brows, he turns his attention to Stiles.

“I would like to talk to Satomi.” Stiles pushes his hands in the pockets of his jeans, not looking at anyone when he adds, “alone.” He knows that secrecy is rather pointless with so many werecreatures around. It’s still nice to have the illusion of having some privacy.

Theo steps closer. “Are you okay?” Worry is edged into every inch of his face, his anger regarding Jackson already forgotten.

“I’m fine.” Stiles smiles, cupping the side of Theo’s neck. “I just have a few questions about druids and rituals.” And since neither of that is private or a reason not to have them in here, he adds, “and your and Jackson’s constant arguing makes it hard to focus.” For more than one reason. “I’ll be with you in a sec, okay?” Stiles kisses the corner of Theo’s mouth, smiling softly when he pulls away.

Although Theo doesn’t look entirely thrilled at leaving him alone, probably because of the now even stronger threat of the Dread Doctors looming over their heads. But Stiles can’t tell him. Not now, not this time. Because Theo doesn’t have the same reservations about killing someone as Stiles does. And maybe Theo gets it. He nods and kisses him once more before leaving. He glances over his shoulder, watching Jackson follow.

The thought of leaving them alone doesn’t sit right with Stiles either. “Brett, can you—”

“Make sure they don’t kill each other?” he chuckles drily but nods. “I’ll send Morrell in too.” That part is directed at Satomi. Brett doesn’t stop to wait for a reply. He merely leaves the room, footsteps receding down the staircase.

Stiles doesn’t want to sound hostile, but he’s pretty sure his disdain is impossible to hide — not even from his tone. “Morrell, really?”

Unsurprisingly, Satomi remains unphased. Sometimes Stiles wants her to lose the tight grip she has on her emotions. It’s infuriating. “If you have questions about druids and their rituals, it seems best to ask a druid, don’t you think?”

It’s hard to argue with that logic, but that doesn’t mean Stiles is looking forward to a conversation with Marin Morrell. They don’t exactly have the friendliest past. Her being Deaton’s sister doesn’t help either. Stiles leans against the desk with a sigh. He has a feeling that discussing this with Satomi will be futile.

Morrell enters the room only a few moments later, freeing them of an awkward silence, and closes the door behind her. “Stiles,” she nods as she sits down next to Satomi.

Although she did help him before, Stiles can’t help but be upfront about his issue with her. “The last time I saw you, you threatened to kill me.” He taps his fingers against the edge of the desk, watching Morrell carefully. Trusting Satomi was hard enough after the stunt she pulled to control him, but Morrell is a very different story. Even though she tried to help him with the nogitsune, did help him until Brunski sedated him. She also worked for Deucalion. Trusting her will be no easy feat. Depending on how this conversation goes, however, things might change.

Morrell crosses her legs, expression impassive. “The last time I saw you, you were possessed by a nogitsune.”

“Not much has changed.”

“I don’t think that’s quite true.” Her shoulders relax a little, but she seems wary around him for the first time. There probably aren’t many people who like the thought of a nogitsune with permission to stick around. It’s hard to blame her.

Satomi stirs her tea. “What questions do you have for us?”

Part of him is sure Satomi already knows, and that’s why she called Morrell. Still, it’s also possible she wanted her emissary at her side since she is talking to the nemeton, something that’s technically a druid’s job. Stiles crosses his legs at his ankles. “I’m sure Brett told you about what happened the night we freed Peter Hale.”

For all but a second, discontent crosses over Satomi’s features. She quickly hides it by sipping her tea, and when she’s done, she seems as serene as always. “Brett has not informed me of anything that has happened in the tunnels.”

Stiles raises his brows. “How come?”

“I haven’t asked,” Satomi admits, sounding almost rueful. Stiles wonders if she blames him for Brett acting out. Well, more than usual. He’s her second in command, after all, and they didn’t have any secrets from each other. Then again, it was Satomi’s idea to link Brett to Stiles without asking either of them for permission first — and Brett keeping quiet about Deucalion might have a different reason.

Stiles glances at Morrell. Maybe Brett isn’t entirely sure where Morrell’s loyalties truly lie, either. Sure, Deucalion wanted to have her killed, but only because she played both sides. “Someone other than the Dread Doctors took the nemeton’s power without its permission.”

To his surprise, Morrell shoots to her feet. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she starts pacing the office.

“I wonder,” Stiles continues, forcing his attention back to Satomi, “what the consequences are for something like that.”

“I’d say that depends on the crime.” Satomi watches her emissary.

Stiles crosses his arms. “Disturbing the balance.” At his words, Morrell comes to an abrupt stop. She probably already knows who he is talking about. Stiles doubts there are a lot of people in Beacon County who have access to the nemeton’s power. There are no more packs, meaning there aren’t any more emissaries in the area. Plus, Stiles would notice if someone else tabs into the ley lines. If she isn’t the culprit, there is only one person left. They all know it.

“What did he do?” Morrell crosses her arms over her chest, expression hard.

“He stole the nemeton’s power and used it to create an alpha. Thus disturbing the balance.” Stiles mirrors her stance, preparing himself to argue his point. At first glance, it might not seem too bad. After all, some alphas truly do rise through sheer willpower. Stiles has done his research. “I want to know how he did it, so I can dish out some fitting punishment.” With or without Isaac’s consent. He can live with the consequences of whatever decision he’ll make.

Satomi clinks her spoon against the rim of her teacup, seemingly finally satisfied with the taste. “The nemeton would not release its power willfully to create an alpha spark.”

“That’s why I said ‘stole.” His tone is sharper than he means it, but Stiles can’t deny that he’s feeling on edge being alone with Satomi and Morrell. They both are powerful women devoted to protecting the balance, yet Morrell allowed Deucalion to turn into the monster he was in the end. “How do you steal the nemeton’s power?” Other than forcing it to save the life of a dying supernatural creature by allowing a connection to the ley lines.

Morrell is silent for a moment, possibly contemplating the most likely answer. “He would have needed some form of access to harness the power.” She starts walking again, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floor. “And enough time to gather it slowly enough so the nemeton didn’t notice anything.”

“How much time are we talking?”

That depends on a variety of factors. How did he access the nemeton? How much power was he taking? Perhaps there was another distraction.

Satomi rises to her feet as well. “How do you know Alan stole from the nemeton?” His name rings loudly in the room, but Morrell doesn’t seem surprised. Meaning Stiles was right, she knew. Which begs the question, how often did Deaton use the nemeton’s power for his own gain? Clearly, often enough that his sister suspects him immediately.

“Because we stripped Scott of our spark,” Stiles says, sensing a familiar anger burning underneath his skin, and pushes away from the desk. “We took what was stolen from us.” He will not argue about his decision to save Theo’s life. It doesn’t matter if they consider his choice as hypocritical. They wouldn’t have been in this situation if Morrell stopped Deucalion and stopped Deaton from turning Scott into an alpha.

Morrell and Satomi exchange a look before the latter inquires, “What happened to the spark?”

“We saved a life.” Stiles wonders if the nemeton is defending him. Although he is entirely in control of his body, it seems his mouth doesn’t quite belong to him now. He also wonders if Stiles' fear of losing Theo influenced the nemeton to save his life. How much control does he really have of something as old and powerful as the nemeton, poisoned or not? “Tell us how he did it.” Stiles forces himself to lean back against the desk again, fingers curling tightly around its edge.

“The ice bath ritual,” Morrell says, sounding as if she had known all along. Maybe she did. Maybe Deaton told her everything. She wouldn’t have been able to reverse it either way. “With the Darach’s ritual and your surrogate sacrifices, it was easy for him to steal power from the nemeton. The connection was wide open for 16 hours. All he had to do was change Scott’s ice bath just enough to ensure the power would be transferred to his spark.” She crosses her arms again and leans against the wall. Something akin to regret slips onto her features. Perhaps even guilt. It isn’t entirely impossible she was the inspiration for a ritual like that. “But it couldn’t have been successful.” Morrell looks up now, brows furrowed. “Your connection to the nemeton remained.”

His connection remained, yes. “Allison’s didn’t.” Stiles remembers Isaac telling them that he was the one who found the nemeton because of Chris’ emitters.

“The power her sacrifice was supposed to give to the nemeton—”

“It went straight to Scott.” Stiles pushes away from the desk again. He needs to move, or his anger will turn into something explosive again. By the sounds of it, both Allison and Stiles were supposed to give their powers not to the nemeton but to Scott during their time in the ice bath. If the ritual had worked as intended, their parents, Isaac and Allison, would have been crushed underneath the nemeton. Stiles would have never been able to find it, not in that storm, not after the car crash, not without the connection to the nemeton. Fuck, and even if he had been able to find them in that basement through some sort of miracle, his baseball bat wouldn’t have stopped the whole building from collapsing. If a werewolf and four humans couldn’t keep it up, how would a single baseball be able to stop it?

The more he thinks about it, the clearer it gets that the nemeton has taken a liking to him from the very second they first connected. Perhaps that’s what not only saved everyone in the basement but it also might have stopped Deaton’s ritual from working as intended. Either way, without the nemeton’s help, without his connection to it, Stiles would have never been able to save them. “My father would have died just because Deaton decided to play God.” He stops pacing and turns to look at Satomi, hands curling into fists. “So tell me, Satomi, what punishment do you see fit?” Because he has an excellent idea of what he wants to do — an idea undoubtedly fueled by the rage of a nogitsune. Deaton’s reckless behavior did not only risk the life of their parents and insult the druid code. It’s an insult to them. How dare he think he can get away with this?

Satomi doesn’t break eye contact, and her expression is harder than Stiles has ever seen. “I doubt you will find a satisfactory answer here. I’m afraid this is a decision you must make alone.”

Stiles snaps his gaze to Morrell, who avoids his eyes for the first time like Nolan did. Well, at the very least, she was willing to tell him the truth. “Fine,” Stiles says, turning towards the door. “I will do this myself.” And without another word, he rushes out of the room. One thing is clear, Deaton will not run from the consequences of his action for much longer — not as long as he can do something about it.

— — —

“So…” Theo lowers his sketchbook for the first time in who knows how many hours, “are you going to sulk for the rest of the evening?” That’s rich coming from him. It’s not like Theo has been in a good mood since they left Satomi’s. He glowered his way through school without so much as looking at Jackson, was clearly peeved that Stiles wanted to talk to Satomi alone — and even more annoyed that the room was supernatural proof. With the door was closed, he couldn’t even listen in and then told Josh and Corey very curtly that they’d be staying the night at Stiles’, and grabbed his sketchbook the second they entered his bedroom.

Stiles remembers Theo drawing a lot as a child, especially when he was overwhelmed with emotions. He got in his head and tried to work through his feelings by drawing whatever came to mind. He knows it’s better than bottling everything up, so Stiles didn’t bother him. To be fair, he didn’t exactly try talking to him either, seeing that he was still pissed about Satomi refusing to give him the answer he wanted to hear. Well, that means he’ll have to get his answers from somebody else.

“I don’t know,” Stiles mutters without looking up from his AP History essay. “Are you going to be a dick to your brother for the rest of your life?”

“Hilarious.”

“You think?” Stiles squints at his laptop. He has absolutely no idea what point he is trying to make. “I haven’t laughed in a while.”

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me. I didn’t do anything.” Theo slams his sketchbook onto the desk.

Letting out a breath, Stiles closes his laptop. "I'm sorry."

Theo gets to his feet and crosses the room, plopping onto the bed beside him. "It's fine." But it's really not. It's not fair to turn Theo into the punching bag for Stiles' lousy mood — just as it wasn't fair to try and put the responsibility of a decision Stiles is willing to make onto Satomi. She would've never gone along with violence of any kind as a punishment. He should’ve never expected her to. What the hell was he thinking? Stiles rubs a hand over his face. It was a waste of everybody’s time. Besides, if he hadn't talked to her, they might have made it to second period, which in turn would have spared Stiles and Isaac Jordan’s lecture about the importance of school. Stiles honestly hadn’t expected Jordan to allow Theo to stay over, but apparently, Jordan thought channeling his inner disappointed dad would get the job done. Stiles almost doesn't have the heart to prove him wrong.

“My point still stands.” Stiles puts the laptop onto the nightstand and rolls onto his side, facing Theo. “You can’t be angry with Jackson for the rest of your life.” They’re going to have a hard, if not impossible, time avoiding each other as long as they are dating Stiles and Lydia. After all, they’re planning to move in together for college, and Stiles has absolutely no intention of planning their dates around Jackson.

Groaning, Theo rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling. “I have no interest in playing happy family.”

“And you don’t have to.” Stiles cups Theo’s cheek, gently urging him to face him again. “But you got along before. I don’t really understand what happened.”

“What happened is,” Theo snaps and jumps to his feet, teetering very close to the edge of yet another outburst, “Jackson decided to make decisions for me before I even knew we’re brothers.” His cheeks are flushed with anger, and he opens and closes his fists like he’s trying to fight the urge to throw something. “I don’t need my big brother meddling in my business like Tara used to do.”

Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows, biting back a grin. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’d be the middle child.” If Tara was still alive. A statement that hangs heavy in the air even though nobody says it out loud.

Theo blinks, then whips his head around. “What?”

“I know Jackson’s bossy nature makes it hard to believe, but he’s six months younger than you.” It’s unfair that Stiles went from only child to youngest of three — something that will not change judging by the number of family dinners his father is planning with Jordan and Isaac invited to every single one of them — and Theo comes out as the big brother. They all have to adjust to new family dynamics. “I get that this is hard for you,” Stiles says softly, “but Jackson’s been struggling with finding out who he is and where he came from his whole life. You can’t fault him for trying to make his new family work.”

Setting his jaw in a firm line, Theo sits on the edge of his bed again.

Stiles scoots behind him. “Hey, come on.” He wraps his arms around Theo’s waist and props his chin on his shoulder. “Talk to Jackson. He’ll understand, I promise.” Although Jackson had a good relationship with his adoptive parents, Stiles is sure he will have no issue sympathizing with Theo’s struggle. “You talked to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Give him a chance.” Stiles leans his head against Theo’s, brushing his thumbs over the warm fabric of his shirt. “I know you bonded over your irrational dislike of Brett.”

Theo huffs out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“Misiu, you need to relax.” Stiles kisses Theo’s cheek, then jaw, then the spot behind his ear that gets rid of any sort of discontent. Almost immediately, Theo leans into him and closes his eyes. That’s better. He scoots back on the bed, dragging Theo with him until he lies with his head in Stiles’ lap, both legs dangling over the edge of the bed. “See?” Stiles runs his fingers through the short strands, unable to hide his grin. “Even the big bad alpha needs some downtime every now and then.” Especially after a sleepless night. Stiles is used to running around on little to no sleep, Theo? Not so much. “You get cranky when you don’t get your beauty sleep, darling.”

Grimacing a bit, Theo opens his eyes again. He watches him without giving any retort. Instead, he sighs, cocking his head a little, and studies Stiles as if he's got him all figured out. He probably has. It's a comforting thought as well as a scary one. But at the very least, Stiles doesn't have to expect any judgment from Theo. "Why are you so pissed at Satomi?"

Stiles rolls his eyes and lets himself fall sideways onto the mattress. "I'm not pissed at Satomi."

"But?"

Although Stiles can already tell Theo will never believe him, he merely shrugs. "I don't know."

Theo crawls up to him. "You do know," he says with an almost terrifying certainty. "You just don't want to tell me. Why?"

Stiles closes his eyes as Theo traces his jawline with his index finger. For a moment, he doesn’t respond and simply allows Theo to continue following lines on his jaw and cheek, and neck as if he is the only person who knows exactly which buttons to push to get what he wants or turn him on. Those two things aren't exactly mutually exclusive. He swallows heavily, feeling the ball of Theo’s hand brush against his Adam’s apple in what could be considered an accident, but nothing his boyfriend does is ever an accident. Stiles shivers when Theo finally curls a hand around the side of his neck, thumb nudging his pulse point gently.

Stiles lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “If I tell you, you might end up doing something stupid.” He curls his hand around the nape of Theo’s neck, pulling him close until their noses brush. His whole body aches with the need to be close to him, making it almost harder to focus on anything else. “And I won’t be able to protect you from the consequences.” If there are consequences, which there will probably be for killing a druid like Deaton.

“But if you do it alone,” Theo whispers as his fingers slip under Stiles’ shirt ever so innocently, causing an eruption of goosebumps, “will you have to face any consequences?”

“Probably.” Stiles can feel his muscles contract, his breath hitching in his throat. It should be embarrassing how Theo can play his body like a fiddle without having to do anything. “But Isaac likes me,” he grins, leaning up just enough so their lips touch.

An almost inaudible chuckle vibrates in Theo’s chest. He brushes their lips together only once before pulling away again, his free hand now busy working on opening Stiles’ belt. “Are you lying to me?” The question is unnecessary. Theo knows exactly when Stiles is lying to him, irregular heartbeat or not.

Something about the way he says it, however, makes Stiles’ mouth go very dry. He swallows again and clears his throat. “About what?” His voice comes out as a whisper as every inch of his body suddenly grows very warm, and he becomes very aware of what Theo’s hands are doing — one still cups the right side of his throat despite the awkward position Theo is undoubtedly in, the other works dreadfully slow on opening his pants.

“About why you’re keeping secrets.”

Stiles shakes his head, mostly to clear his head — and convince his brain that it’s actually important to finish this conversation without giving up the information Theo probably craves almost as much as fucking him into the mattress. “No.” His heart is pounding in his chest even though Theo has barely done anything. The amount of power he holds over him should be illegal.

“And there is nothing I can do to change your mind?” Theo raises his brows with a smirk and leaves Stiles’ open pants unattended now, index finger dragging over an exposed line of skin instead.

Stiles is very aware of the fact that Theo is trying to manipulate him. His dear boyfriend knows he can’t bully him into giving him the answers he wants unlike the rest of his betas. But knowing that and doing something about it are two very different things, and it’s not exactly an easy feat when his dick has other plans. “No,” Stiles whispers, trying to pull Theo closer to him again. If this is going to be a thing Theo does, Stiles can be mad at him later, but right now, he really needs Theo to finish what he started. Begging, however, is not going to get him anywhere. Theo has always been a quid pro quo kind of guy.

Still speaking in this almost soft and innocent voice, Theo shifts his body on top of Stiles, elbows propped up next to his head, thigh pressed between his legs. It doesn’t exactly make focusing on the task at hand any easier. “Didn’t we agree not to keep any secrets?” Theo leans down, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

It’s almost impossible to keep still when all Stiles wants is for Theo to move his leg, to do something. But Stiles is not going to be swayed by a bit of teasing. He is not. He swallows drily, trying his best not to move either. “I’m going to tell you,” Stiles says, running his hand from Theo’s neck to his shoulder. He can do this. He can turn this around. Theo isn’t the only one who can play this game. “I just need a bit more information.” With a grin, he spins them around and straddles Theo’s lap, hands resting on his chest. Theo’s heartbeat quickens under his palm. So far, his body’s only betrayal of his calm demeanor. “Be patient, mój kochanie. It’s nothing terrible, I promise. I just don’t want to put an idea in your head while you’re clearly out here looking for something to destroy.”

Everything that happened in the last few weeks, but especially the constant fighting with Jackson and learning he’s been lied to his whole life, shortened Theo’s already very short fuse. Becoming an alpha doesn’t help, either. Even Scott became more prone to violence. There’s no telling what Theo will do once he hears what Deaton did… and what Stiles would like to do to him in return. Then again, maybe even hearing that Stiles is considering killing Deaton would be all Theo needs to hear to go after the emissary himself.

Theo’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he doesn’t say anything. Not that he has to. Dark red bleeds into his eyes, showing exactly how much he dislikes everything going on. Stiles cups his cheek. It’s a little reckless since it’s still too soon to judge how much control Theo has over his newfound powers. Still, Stiles isn’t scared of Theo or worried he might do something to hurt him. He scrunches up his face a little as Stiles gently runs his thumb over his cheekbone to his nose and down to his mouth. Theo keeps looking at him, eyes red and slightly narrowed. Being an alpha suits him. Theo always radiated raw power, and now he has the eyes to prove it.

Stiles drags his thumb over Theo’s bottom lip now. Fuck, he really needs to kiss him. And he can. So, he does. The moment their lips touch, Theo buries his fingers into Stiles’ hair and keeps him close. His other hand finds Stiles’ ass, squeezing shamelessly, and grins into the kiss when Stiles gasps. “Jerk,” he whispers into the kiss and pulls away. But Theo’s leans up, clearly not willing to stop kissing him. Stiles could continue this for a lot longer, but he’d like to get to the end of their conversation before that. So, he grabs Theo’s shoulders and pins him back into the mattress. “Someone needs to learn to take no for an answer.”

Theo quirks a brow and grabs Stiles’ hips, his grip just tight enough to make a point. “I don’t like it,” he says, and it’s obvious by his tone that he’s not talking about having to stop their make-out session.

“So?” Stiles taps his fingers against Theo’s shoulders. They agreed on not keeping secrets. Theo has every right to be annoyed that he is going against it — to a certain degree. “What are you gonna do about it?” He sits up further, dragging his fingers over Theo’s chest down to the waistband of his jeans. Goosebumps appear on the strip of skin Stiles can see, and he grins, locking eyes with Theo again. “Are you gonna fuck the answer out of me?” Stiles doesn’t miss Theo’s dick twitch against his leg. “That was your plan, wasn’t it? Seduce me, make me beg until I give in and tell you everything so you’ll allow me to cum?” He leans down again, fascinated that he’s got the same effect on Theo as he has on him. Sometimes it still surprises him. “You want to try it? Who knows, maybe—”

Theo doesn’t even give him a chance to finish. He spins them around again, finding his place between Stiles’ legs easily enough, and kisses him with a hunger that’s contagious while his fingers work his own pants open.

They’re not going to draw this out, and Stiles absolutely doesn’t want to. He hooks his fingers into his pants and boxer briefs, trying to wriggle out of them as quickly as possible. Something that would be easier if Theo moved just the tiniest—

The door to his room slams open, and Theo moves so fast that he bangs his elbow against the wall.

Jordan doesn’t look particularly amused. “Dinner,” he says curtly as he moves the door until it can’t go any further. “This stays open.” Without another word, he turns on his heels and vanishes around the corner.

“Ever heard of knocking?” Stiles yells after him, pissed and embarrassed that Jordan chose this exact moment to forget his manners.

Theo smirks at him, “Please, try telling me again how wonderful siblings are.”

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles huffs, rolls out of bed, and adjusts his pants. He knows Jordan isn’t pissed about Stiles and Theo having sex. The only reason he disapproves is because, last time, Theo accidentally poisoned him. But really, what the hell was he expecting? They’re not going to stay abstinent for the rest of their lives.

Theo stumbles out of bed as well, fidgeting with his belt. “He’s going to shoot me.”

“He’s not going to shoot you.” Stiles slaps his hands away and fastens the belt with a sigh. “My dad might, but Jordan won’t.”

“That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”

Chuckling, Stiles cups Theo’s cheeks and kisses him. “I love you.”

Theo sighs and curls his arms around Stiles’ waist. “It’s not dangerous, is it? What you’re not telling me?”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head for emphasis. “It’s not dangerous, but I’m worried it’ll cause problems for you.” And the last thing Theo needs is any more problems, especially if they’re caused by killing Deaton on a whim. “I need to get a bit more information first, then I’ll tell you everything.” Morrell probably won’t be happy about losing her brother, but it’s not like Stiles owes her anything. Plus, he doubts she’ll be too broken up about her brother’s murder. It’s not her he’s worried about, though. It’s other druids. Other packs. Other consequences he’s not yet aware of. Once he knows that, he can talk to Theo about it.

Since Satomi isn’t talking to him, however, he’ll have to talk to the only other person who might be able to tell him everything he needs to know.

“Hey.” Stiles runs his thumbs over Theo’s frown. “I promise it’s not dangerous. I’d never lie to you about that.” And he means it.

“Dinner!” Jordan bellows from the bottom of the stairs. Somewhere in the kitchen, Isaac is howling with laughter.

— — —

"I officially don't like this," Isaac informs him for the eighth time, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as he waits for a white Mercedes to leave the parking space in front of Peter's downtown apartment building.

Stiles rubs his temple. "You didn't have to come."

"And let you go alone?" Isaac barks out a humorless laugh. "All hell would break loose if something happened to you because I let you go without supervision." He backs into the parking space with surprising ease for someone who has never driven a car as big as Jordan’s. "Your dad would kill me. Theo would torture and kill me. Lydia would find a way to bring me back and—"

"I get it." Stiles rolls his eyes. "But you know as well as I do that nobody will be able to stop the Dread Doctors if they decide to come after me." Not until they've figured out what's keeping them alive no matter what happens to them. If they’re lucky, they’ll know the answer as soon as Jordan, Noshiko, and Kira are done checking out the Dread Doctors’ lair. If not, they’ll have to figure out another way. They’re going to find another way.

The engine shuts down. The following silence is filled with the sounds of downtown Beacon Hills. Cars. Laughter. People yelling. The occasional horn. It feels more lively here. Weirdly enough, it also feels a lot less dangerous. More places to hide. No chance of the darkness creeping in.

Stiles removes his seatbelt and grabs the bag of sushi sitting in the legroom. “Thanks for the ride. Peter will—”

“Kill Deaton for you?”

Stiles whips his head around, staring at Isaac with wide eyes. The smug expression on his features does nothing regarding answering any questions. “How did you know?” He didn’t even mention anything about Deaton or druids with Isaac in the room. At the time, he was already outside talking to Jordan. Even Kira already left the room, if he remembers correctly. "Brett?" He's the only one left. Theo or Jackson wouldn’t have said anything to Isaac about it.

"He mentioned you had questions about druids but wanted to talk privately. Satomi and Morrell were arguing quietly for the rest of the day." Isaac taps his fingers against the steering wheel and peers out through the window. "It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” His eyes narrow slightly before he leans back against the driver’s seat, studying Stiles as if he’s still trying to work out a mystery.

Stiles sets his jaw. “Deaton was ready to sacrifice our parents to steal the nemeton’s powers. If his ritual had worked, I would’ve never found you. You all would’ve died.” Too many people who tried to kill all of them were allowed to walk away. He’s not going to continue this fucked up tradition — especially not when they’re destroying the balance in the process.

Scrunching his nose up, Isaac runs his fingers through his hair. “So, attempted murder is punishable by murder? Is that what you’re saying?”

“My job is to protect the balance,” Stiles reminds him, grip tightening around the bag. “Deaton cannot be allowed to have any access to the ley lines again, and if that means I will have to kill him….” He takes a breath and watches a man on the phone hurrying down the sidewalk. Although he is sure about this, Stiles struggles to say it out loud. It’s different with the chimeras when he can keep reminding himself that they are already dying and that their survival could lead to hundreds of deaths. Not that it makes it any easier to do. There’s nothing like that with Deaton. He has disrupted the balance. He has put his dad’s life on the line — but that makes him a selfish asshole. Being egotistical doesn’t exactly call for a death sentence. Plus, what happens if Talia Hale’s former emissary suddenly winds up being killed?

Isaac curls his fingers around the key in the ignition, ready to pull it out or twist it and start the car. “You sure about this?”

Stiles’ reply will make the decision for him. Is he ready for it? He certainly was when he spoke to Satomi and Morrell earlier today. Biting the inside of his cheek, Stiles contemplates the apartment building for a few moments. “Yes,” he whispers then, hoping his uncertainty isn’t as noticeable as it seems.

Muttering something under his breath Stiles can’t quite catch, Isaac yanks the keys out of the ignition and gets out of the car. Even though Stiles would have preferred that he stay here and wait, it’s good to know that Isaac is at least somewhat on board with everything Stiles is planning. Then again, Isaac has his own history with the veterinarian. There may be some resentment there.

Stiles follows him out of the car. A couple in a fancy getup walks out of the building, not bothering to close the door themselves. An opportunity Isaac instantly uses to their advantage by slipping so casually into the building, Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if he’s done that before — just as he wasn’t surprised that Peter owned the whole top floor. That’s probably the least surprising thing he’s learned today or even in the last week.

“What if he’s not home?” Isaac wonders, pacing the elevator almost like a caged animal.

Stiles watches as numbers jump from twelve to fourteen and scoffs when the elevator finally comes to a stop. Of course, Peter would live on the thirteenth floor of a building. They can call it the 14th floor all they want; they all know it’s a blatant lie. Stiles wonders if werewolves are as superstitious as humans, who, unlike werewolves, are unaware that all their worst nightmares are actually real. “Then we wait,” Stiles replies as the elevator doors slide open to reveal a lobby that most likely used to be a hallway connecting the two apartments on this level. The door on the right has been walled off, probably right around the time Peter Hale decided he wanted to have a penthouse.

And what Peter Hale wants, he gets. Usually. Stiles glances at Isaac, who seems to have come to a similar conclusion, then crosses the hallway to the only door left. Before he even has the chance to knock, the door opens.

Peter crosses his arms. “You know where I live,” he says, gaze flicking from Stiles to Isaac and back again. “Not sure if I should be flattered or worried.”

“Deal or no deal,” Stiles shoots back, “don’t underestimate my distrust of you.” Although he didn’t exactly expect Peter to jump for joy at his unannounced arrival, Stiles was sure he’d be a bit more welcoming. Then again, Stiles actively chose to support Theo’s decision to keep him out of his life for now. Peter’s probably a bit resentful because of that. Sighing, Stiles raises the bag. “I brought sushi.” It’s most likely not a peace offering someone like Peter would be very interested in, but his mother did teach him to never arrive empty-handed when visiting someone for the first time.

Once again, taking in Isaac, who is now standing directly behind Stiles, Peter draws his eyebrows up and regards the white bag almost suspiciously. “Laced with.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have bothered breaking you out.”

After only a brief moment, Peter nods seemingly more to himself than them. He steps aside anyway, so Stiles counts his argument as more than convincing. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“He has a question.” Isaac puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and maneuvers him into the room. “I’m just here to make sure you’re not being a creep.” His fingers dig a little harder into Stiles’ skin, almost as if he’s warning him not to push the subject or something that would elicit a reaction from Peter, even though Isaac should know that Peter is the last person they need to worry about right now.

If Peter heard the lie, he doesn’t respond. He merely shuts the door behind them, snatches the bag with sushi from Stiles’ hand, and walks into a giant open living space. The wall of windows would make Stiles paranoid with the lives they are living, but he also gets their appeal. The whole of downtown Beacon Hills seems to be visible from the apartment. On the left side of the room is a huge kitchen with a dining table big enough for at least twelve people. The right side has been turned into a living area with an oversized white couch, multiple bookshelves, a TV taking up a surprising amount of space on the wall, and a vinyl record player. The other two doors most likely lead to a bedroom and a guest bathroom.

Unsurprisingly, there is nothing personal in this place. As expensive and clean as everything up here is, there are no pictures, no decoration, nothing that could serve as a reminder of his family, making the apartment suddenly feel too big and lonely.

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek and looks up at Isaac, who looks back at him with a shrug before following Peter into the kitchen. “You weren’t lying about not living in a cave.” He pulls a chair out and slips onto it, not entirely sure how to act now that he’s no longer on his home turf. This time, he needs Peter’s help, and all he has to offer is a few boxes of sushi.

“I don’t recall having lied to you so far,” Peter replies as he sorts the sushi rolls onto a large plate.

Once again, Stiles exchanges a look with Isaac. The other boy squints and shrugs again. Stiles scrunches up his face. He can’t tell if that’s a lie because he doesn’t remember Peter flat-out lying to him either, which is something even Theo prides himself on — and Stiles really doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that information.

Peter clears his throat. “How is Theo?”

Stiles expected the question the moment Peter opened the door. He lets out a breath and leans back in his chair. “I believe you’ve got a phone for that.” Even though Theo doesn’t know Stiles went to Peter for help, something he would’ve never agreed on simply because it’s Peter, he’s not going to try and smooth out things between them. It’s not why he’s here, and it wouldn’t be fair.

“You could throw me a bone,” Peter says, setting the plate of sushi on the table in front of Isaac and Stiles.

“I could,” Stiles agrees and watches Peter return to the kitchen to gather dinner plates. “But I won’t.” This is going to be an interesting dinner.

Isaac shifts in his chair, furrowing his brows as he’s given three dinner plates and silverware. His lips curl slightly, almost like he’s about to announce that guests shouldn’t help to set the table, but Isaac keeps his mouth shut and follows the unspoken request. By the looks he shoots Stiles, they will be talking about this later.

“You have a question for me, don’t you?” Smiling as if he’s won some sort of prize, Peter turns around to grab something from the cabinet behind him. He sounds way too excited, and honestly, Stiles should’ve expected something like this. "Quid pro quo." Peter sets down a pair of wine glasses, either out of habit or to provoke — he probably doesn’t get a lot of underaged guests, if he gets any guests at all. "Help me help you."

Stiles chuckles humorlessly. "That's not exactly what that stands for, is it?"

“It does tonight.” Peter slides into the chair with a bottle of unopened red wine. “So, how is my son?” The corkscrew looks almost more like a weapon than the claws he’s hiding.

Isaac nudges Stiles’ leg. This time, it’s very clearly a warning.

And Stiles doesn’t have any intention of helping Peter connect with Theo as long as Theo hasn’t agreed to it. Which he hasn’t. Since Theo doesn’t know Stiles is here. He knows, however, that Isaac and he have left to get some answers. Still, Stiles knows he has to give a little if he wants to get any answers tonight. “Nothing has changed since you last saw him,” he replies eventually, pushing his wineglass towards Peter.

This time, Isaac kicks his leg.

“Don’t worry,” Peter says with a chuckle. “You can sniff it. Regular human wine.” Clearly amused by Isaac’s reaction, he offers him the open bottle.

Isaac’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't reach for it or stop Peter from filling Stiles’ glass. “I don’t trust you, Peter,” he informs him as if the passive-aggressive silence he’s been throwing at the other werewolf hasn’t been explicit enough.

“You trusted me enough to dig into your memories.”

“I trusted Derek,” Isaac replies without any hesitation.

Peter fills his own glass and then sets the bottle aside, sniffing the wine as he swirls it around. “That’s not really an answer, Stiles,” he says as if their conversation hasn’t been interrupted.

Pulling his glass back towards him, Stiles scrutinizes the wine. “I can’t promise you he’ll come around.” The last time he had wine, he hated how it made his tongue feel. Liquid shouldn’t be able to make his mouth feel dry.

“He isn’t talking to Jackson.” Peter sips on his wine and then contemplates the sushi as if this conversation had the weight of small talk.

Stiles shouldn’t be surprised — neither at Jackson keeping Peter in the loop nor at a Hale bottling up their feelings. It’s one of their specialties, especially Peter’s. “Jackson isn’t exactly talking to him either.” Unless they’re counting their countless bickering as an actual conversation instead of the snide remarks that they are. “But since they are your kids, I assume you’re aware they’re endlessly stubborn and unable to talk about their feelings unless their life depends on it.” Or, in Theo’s case, if Stiles’ life depends on it. He’s just glad Theo does open up to him if he’s pushing enough. Maybe one day, Theo will come to talk to him before breaking everything in sight the second Peter pisses him off.

Placing three different types of sushi on his plate, Peter gives him a tight smile. He really does seem upset about the current state of his family. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Stiles watches Isaac grab some sushi as well. He has no idea how he can eat again after wolfing down an inhuman amount of lasagna only a few hours ago. “What are the consequences for wreaking havoc on the balance?”

Peter quirks a brow. “You’re coming to me for that information?”

“Satomi didn’t give him the answer he wanted,” Isaac chimes in, sounding way too cheerful about that.

“Well,” Peter sounds as if he’s contemplating his reply when he leans back in his chair, “I’d say that depends on the crime and the person who committed it.” His response is so similar to Satomi’s it’s hard to see it as anything but genuine.

Even Isaac stares at Peter as if he’s grown a second head.

Looks like Stiles wasn’t the only one who expected Peter’s answer to be related to death and violence. It’s not the answer Stiles came looking for, either. “An emissary,” he explains, and if he notices the edge in his voice, Isaac and Peter do as well. “He manipulated a ritual to steal power meant for the nemeton.”

“If it’s an emissary, the pack will have to decide upon a fitting punishment.” That’s more information than Satomi gave him earlier, but it’s still not entirely helpful.

Stiles twists the glass between his fingers, watching the wine twirl. “What if there is no pack left?”

“Then the person in charge of the territory will have to make that decision,” Peter replies, tapping a finger against his own glass. “I presume you’re talking about Deaton?”

Stiles doesn’t know why he tried to be vague in his descriptions. He doesn’t know any other emissaries aside from Morrell. It’s not like Beacon Hills is swimming in packs with emissaries who could be the one Stiles is referring to. He didn’t even try to go the hypothetical route. So he simply nods.

“That puts Isaac in charge of his fate.” Whether or not he tried to keep it hidden, there is a hint of glee in Peter’s tone. “However, I’d say you should have a say in it as well. After all, it is your power Deaton stole. It’s only fair if you’re involved in making that decision.”

Isaac huffs, clearly not entirely happy with that statement. “Stiles reckons he should be killed.”

“No,” Stiles says quickly, hating the way Peter’s lips curl into a knowing grin, “I think he should be barred from ever having access to the nemeton again. If death is the only way…” he cuts off again and studies Peter’s face. Admitting to wanting to kill someone feels even worse in front of him. This is Peter Hale, after all, he knows how to push everyone’s buttons. He swallows and straightens his shoulders. “Let’s say Deaton is killed,” Stiles speculates, pushing the wine glass away from him, folding his arms over his chest, “what’s gonna happen in the werewolf community?” Because if his murder will cause any issues, Stiles is not going to do it.

Peter raises his brows. “What makes you think his death would have any effect?”

“He was Talia Hale’s emissary.”

“One she kept secret from her own pack,” Peter tells him, smiling in a way that’s a little too reminiscent of Theo’s pleasure at other people’s pain.“ And his stories about the True Alpha don’t seem to have been taken particularly seriously. Otherwise, every pack in California would’ve asked for an audience with Scott.” But that never happened. Only a few people seemed to have believed that Scott was a True Alpha.

Which begs the question, how reputable was Deaton as an emissary? And if he wasn’t, would anybody miss him?

“Okay, before we consider killing him,” Isaac interrupts around a mouthful of sushi, “what about Eichen House?”

“Valack and Deaton are old buddies,” Peter says without breaking eye contact with Stiles. He raises his brows slightly again, and there is a certain type of hunger in his eyes — one Stiles has felt burning in his veins earlier today. Revenge. It’s almost like Peter wants to get permission to kill Deaton, maybe because of something that happened in the past. Maybe he blames Deaton for something. Or maybe, it’s because Deaton chose a teenage boy over a Hale.

Stiles presses his lips together and jumps slightly when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s quite a welcoming distraction. He shifts in his chair and pulls out his phone. If he gives Peter permission to kill someone… no. No. That’s out of the question. Isaac might actually end up ripping his head off. But if Deaton doesn’t have the best reputation, they might get away with killing him.

“It’s a text from Kira.” Stiles tilts his phone to the left so Isaac can read it with him, but when he opens the chat, he doesn’t exactly get the response he expected.

“Abandoned?” Isaac says out loud, confusion lining his features. “What does she mean by abandoned?”

Like Stiles knows the answer. They’re reading the same fucking text, a text that very clearly states that this place looks as if there hasn’t been anybody in a while. No equipment. No chimeras. No Dread Doctors. Nothing that would even indicate they’ve ever been there. But Nolan remembered where they kept him. He showed them only hours ago. The Dread Doctors might be able to suppress memories, but they can’t change them. Plus, they buried a chimera there. Stiles knows they did because he saw it. He felt it. Why would they do that if they—

Stiles jumps to his feet, chair clattering to the floor behind him. “They knew.”

“What?” Isaac stares at him with wide eyes.

“That chimera, it wasn’t a trap.” He shoves the phone back into the pocket of his jeans, heart hammering in his chest. “It was bait.” The Dread Doctors know Theo. They know he never would’ve let Stiles walk out there without protection. They knew Stiles would be with Jordan. It’s not a coincidence that Nolan remembered where he was held hostage at the same time as the Dread Doctors buried a chimera without any chance of survival. They knew that Stiles would not be accompanying Jordan when everyone thought they set a trap to get to him.

Isaac’s face goes white. “But that means—”

That means they will look for him in the places that make the most sense. Theo’s place, or Stiles’ home. And when they go to the latter, they will find Theo alone. “We have to go.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Peter gets to his feet as well.

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat, and he has to swallow heavily to get the words out. “Theo is in danger.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than the lights are flickering in the whole apartment. Stiles casts a look outside the wall of windows, but the neighboring buildings do not have any issues with their lighting. That either means that Peter coincidentally started having issues with his electricity, or Stiles has been wrong about where the Dread Doctors are looking for him.

Isaac grabs his wrist and pulls him close. “We need to go,” he says, looking over his shoulder toward the balcony and back to the front door. “We need to go right now.” They have three ways out of this building, the fire escape, the elevator, and the staircase. All three force them to leave Peter’s apartment through the front door. The issue is, however, that there are also three Dread Doctors. Something Isaac is fully aware of because otherwise, he most certainly would’ve already made a run for it.

“I can deal with one of them.” Stiles has done it before. Maybe it was sheer luck, but it’s not like they have a lot of options.

“You’re not going to fight them!” Isaac snaps, tightening his grip around his wrist.

Stiles tries to pull free anyway. “I’m not talking about fighting, but I can clear a path.”

“No, you—” But Isaac doesn’t finish his sentence. His gaze darts to something past Stiles’ left ear, and what little color he’s got left in his face drains even further. His lips part, and he backs away from something, dragging Stiles along.

The only thing Stiles can think of that could scare Isaac this much right now is the Dread Doctors, but while they can phase through walls, they have not yet learned to teleport. Stiles whips around either way, only to find nothing behind him. Not even Peter, who is still standing next to the table and regards Isaac with the same confusion that’s clawing its way through Stiles’ fear.

“Dad?” His grip loosens as Isaac backs away again, suddenly looking very young.

“No.” Stiles steps forward, remembering what Lydia told him. Regarding the Dread Doctors, Stiles isn’t the only one able to create powerful hallucinations. “Isaac. Isaac, this isn’t real.” He grabs Isaac’s arm, trying to pull him along, but he isn’t even budging. “Listen to me, they—”

The front door slams open, but only the Surgeon enters, his trusty cane in hand. His dramatic entrance is a little undermined by his two friends appearing out of nowhere at his sides.

Stiles lets go of Isaac and flexes his fingers. He’s not going to fight them. All he wants is a way out — and if he runs, they’re going to leave Isaac alone because that’s not who they are after. “Peter, a little help here?” The lack of response makes his stomach drop. “Peter?” Stiles asks, voice shaking slightly. If they got into Peter’s head as well—

Without warning, he’s grabbed by the throat and slammed against the ground. Peter is above him, claws digging into Stiles’ neck and fangs ready to rip his throat out. His eyes, however, despite their glaring blue, seem strangely vacant. Like he’s not really seeing him.

“Peter.” Stiles knows his lips form his name, but not a single noise leaves his mouth. His heart slams against his ribs as the panic kicks in. He’s thrashing around, kicking at Peter, trying to tear his hand away from his throat. Tears burn in the corners of his eyes. He promised Theo that it wouldn’t be dangerous. He promised him.

Snarling, Peter leans closer.

Stiles gasps, but breathing feels as if someone set his throat on fire.

“Talia,” Peter whispers, unbothered by Stiles clawing at his arm, “you should’ve never taken my kids from me.”

It’s me, Stiles wants to say. Please, please, stop. But his mouth refuses to cooperate, and his chest burns. His vision blurs, from tears, from lack of oxygen. His lips part for a last ditch effort to get some air. He needs to breathe. He needs to breathe. If he doesn’t breathe, they’re going to get him.

They’re going to get him.

Stiles closes his eyes.

I’m sorry, Theo.

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#*w:npfp

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#*w:npfp