The really bad thing was that Stiles listened to it too.
He hadn’t meant to – hell, if he had had a choice in the matter his very hyperactive self would have begged not to let him hear his best friend comingling with the ultimate enemy, because that’s what Gerard was – the enemy, the worst of all of them, worse than Chris or Derek or even Matt at this point.
And Scott was working with him.
After having managed to get out of the police station – his father thankfully alive and well, and apparently being the sheriff again, as he was pretty much the only survivor of the longest night of all times – Stiles couldn’t remember much of how things had gone down. Matt was dead, and Jackson was AWOL again, and Lydia had gone missing from her party not to be seen again, and Scott’s mother was apparently in the know of Scott’s furry situation, but the main point of it all was: Scott was working with the enemy. With the guy who wanted to screw them all over.
Stiles was pretty much at boiling point – if this was about Allison he swore to God he wouldn’t help Scott again, never ever again. There were limits to what a guy was willing to do to help his best friend, but allying himself with the creepy enemy in the name of love was not something Stiles was willing to do.
That was pretty much the reason why he was skulking around town, risking being mauled or killed or arrested or a combination of all of them, to seek Scott out, to try to give him a chance to redeem himself. Why was he such an idiot, anyway? Did Scott possess no brains at all? Did he think he was Edward Cullen? Because Allison had nothing of Bella Swan in her as far as Stiles was concerned, the chick had tried to kill Derek, and almost succeeded too. And Derek wasn’t the best guy out there, but he had always come to their rescue when they needed, had he needed them back or not. It just wasn’t decent to leave him to his own fate the way Scott had – that, and the way Scott had simply forgotten all about him too back in the police station.
What if his paralyses hadn’t vanished? There had been so much gunfire going on, so many shots and terrible things happening, and not even once had Scott come to his rescue. Not that he was a damsel in distress type of guy, but come on. Scott sometimes seemed to forget what Matt had pointed out that very night – out of all of them, the only one without creeper killing skills or a supernatural power was him. He was the brains of the thing, but there’s only so much brains can do when you can’t move, your father is unconscious on the floor, there’s a freaking Kanima on the loose, a psychopath with a gun angsting away and trying to kill everyone, and werewolf hunters all over the place.
Not the best place for a 100% human to be.
So, yeah, his dad was back at the station trying to puzzle the thing out, and trying to explain away all the deaths and misery, and it was all chalked up to psycho Matt, who they had found in a lake, drowned. Matt was a bastard and a creep and a psycho, but Stiles felt there was something very off about his whole suicide thing. Especially because no one can actually kill themselves by drowning without an aid to keep themselves under water – and Matt didn’t have anything on his body.
Things kept on getting crazier and crazier, and he needed just a tiny little bit of normalcy. A scrap of his old life back.
He needed to hear Scott explain what the hell he had been doing passing information to Gerard Argent of all people.
It wasn’t morning yet, the day was at that strange stage where the light is trying to come through, but the darkness doesn’t quite want to let it go, and everything is an orangey tone of blue, if that is at all possible – and he is going after Scott, who had apparently thought that hiding out at the old Hale place was very nice, because his talk to his mom hadn’t exactly been the best, as far as Stiles had gathered from their rushed exchange of texts on the phone. Scott didn’t sound like himself either, and maybe things had really gotten bad with Mrs. McCall.
It couldn’t be pleasant for a mother to see her son change and shift and basically become a wolf in front of her. But even then, the Hale place? Really? The hiding hole of Derek, taken away from him by the creep Argents? Really, Scott?
Anyway, he needed to sort this out, and that’s where Scott had said he was, and that’s where Stiles is going to, because he needs to believe there is a viable explanation for Scott’s betrayal of the pack he was allegedly helping.
Stiles doesn’t want to think about it from that angle either, because the betrayal of a whole pack seems a lot harder to forgive than just making the wrong choice.
He goes as far as he can on his jeep, and then gets out of it, staring at that creepy house in the distance. He doesn’t have any kind of werewolf super sense to help him see what could be waiting for him there, so he just walks to it – what else can he do?
“Scott?” He calls, and the answer was so not what he is expecting it to be.
“Scott?” He calls again, looking around the darkened place, and feeling a chill run down his spine, and not the good kind either.
Something shuffles at a corner, and Stiles moves cautiously towards it, thinking maybe his friend is still wolfed out? Because of the fool moon and being upset?
“Hey, buddy, mind moving to the light a bit? I’m not going to the dark corner of a horror movie to talk to you, so, you know.” He half jokes, standing his ground, seeing the form move a bit – it is definitely not human, and so if that isn’t Scott he is pretty much screwed.
Stiles tries to take a step back, but by the time he actually moves he already knows it’s too late, and he’s sprawled on the floor, with a giant fucking wolf on him.
And that’s not Scott at all.
It isn’t Derek either.
I’s freaking Peter Hale.
Put me on the train
Send me back to my home