Secret Stalker (Should I Mean Valentine?)
Stiles jolted up in bed and blinked, trying to understand what had woken him up.
Stiles eyes followed the sound and sighed. He threw the blanket covering him off and climbed out of bed.
"Stiles," his father yelled again. "Get down here, right now!"
"I'm coming," Stiles yelled, stumbling down the stairs, squinting against the brightness.
Stiles walked into the lounge room but his father wasn't there. "Where are you?"
Stiles walked out through the kitchen, grabbing one of the pancakes that was sitting on a plate, and headed towards his father. "What is it?"
His father was standing in the open back door, letting in the cold air, but Stiles couldn't see what he was yelling about.
"Come here," Stiles' dad said, folding his arms across his chest.
Stiles came to stand behind his father and peered over his shoulder…to see a pool of blood on the back stoop; blood that was pooling out of a deer lying in the snow behind their house.
"What is that?" Stiles asked.
His father turned and looked at him. "I don't know, it appears to be a dead deer that someone has killed and left at our back door. And as you are the person who deals with werewolves, I assume that it's for you."
"None of them would give me a slaughtered deer. This is much more…oh God, Peter's back in town."
Stiles' father turned around slowly to look at him, his face deliberately expressionless. "The forty-something old werewolf who killed people and turned Scott into a werewolf?"
Stiles grimaced, realising that he shouldn't have said anything. In his defence, he'd only had about three hours sleep.
"And this man would slaughter a deer and leave it at my nineteen year old son's back doorstep?"
Stiles shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't for me?"
Sam's eyebrows rose sharply. "You think he'd leave it here for me?"
Stiles made a face. "I hope not."
"So do I, and I want to have a conversation with Peter Hale."
"No, if he is in Beacon Hills, I want to speak to him."
"Okay," Stiles said, looking at the deer again. "What are we going to do about the deer?"
"You," Sam said, turning around and slapping Stiles on the chest. "Are going to bury it respectfully."
Stiles nodded, already planning on calling Scott.
"Scott isn't you doing it," his father told him. "Breakfast in about ten minutes."
"Scott loves pancakes," Stiles called out, frowning down at the deer.
Scott did love pancakes, and as soon as he heard there were pancakes he agreed to come over and help Stiles bury the body. Stiles was a little insulted that he had had to bribe Scott with pancakes – they were bros and he was fairly certain that came with body burying.
"Why don't we just keep it for the meat?" Scott asked, plate of pancakes in his hand as he stared down at the dead deer.
"We don't know where it came from."
Scott held the plate of pancakes behind his back and sniffed the air. "The meat's fine. I brought my butcher knives, I can cut it up. It's already been bled so half the works been done."
Stiles turned and gaped at Scott who just grinned at him stupidly.
"You are such a dork."
Scott nodded. "I like being a butcher; it's fun."
Stiles smiled. "I'm very happy for you. Are you sure about the deer? I don't know where it came from."
Scott shoved half a pancake in his mouth and sniffed the air again. "Smells like the woods – I think it's just from the Preserve."
"But who left it here?"
Scott shrugged. "I can't smell anything – the snow is masking whoever left it."
"The only person who makes sense is Peter. There haven't been any supernatural threats in over a year."
"Peter's in New Zealand." Scott said, casually.
"Peter's in New Zealand." Scott repeated, slowly.
"How do you know that?"
Scott shrugged. "It's better to know where the sociopath might be blowing in from."
"Are you sure he's actually there or is it just…Peter."
"Lydia is sure."
Stiles nodded. "Okay, then who the hell would kill a deer and leave it at my door?"
Scott shrugged. "Don't know. Do you think your dad would be mad if I butchered the deer on the outdoor table?"
"Yes, he would." Sam told them, coming to stand at the door.
"Venison is lower in fat than beef so you can eat it," Stiles offered.
"Make sure you clean up when you're done," Sam said, going upstairs to get dressed. When he came down Scott was in the middle of skinning the deer.
"And we're sure that this has nothing to do with Peter?" Sam asked.
"He is definitely in New Zealand," Scott assured him.
"And the meat is good?" Sam checked, eyeing the work Scott was doing.
Scott's eyes flashed red and he nodded at Sam. "I promise."
Sam nodded. "Then give your mother some of the meat as well."
"Thanks," Scott said with a grin.
"I still want to know who left it here," Sam said.
"So do I," Scott told him, looking at Stiles sideways.
"We'll work it out," Stiles reassured them both.
Sam gave him a firm look. "And you will keep me informed."
"Of course I will."
Sam turned his gaze to Scott. "You will."
Scott nodded quickly. "Of course, Mr Stilinski."
"Good, I'll see you for dinner, Stiles."
"See ya, Dad. Be safe."
Sam kissed Stiles on the head and turned around to leave.
"How are we going to work out who left this here?" Stiles asked, as soon as the sound of his dad's car had faded.
Scott shrugged. "I have no idea. But in our experience don't they always reveal themselves in the end?"
Stiles sighed. "I don't want to deal with this crap."
Scott shrugged at him. "It's free meat, maybe it'll be a good thing."
Stiles sighed at Scott's optimism – he knew this would not end up being a good thing.