Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2358914.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      teen_wolf_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Scott_McCall/Stiles_Stilinski, Minor_or_Background_Relationship(s), Minor
      Isaac_Lehey/Stiles_Stiliniski, Minor_Erica_Reyes/Stiles_Stalinski, Minor
      Jackson_Wittmore/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Stiles_Stilinski, Gerard_Argent, Lydia_Martin
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Cults, Plot, Mind_Control, Brainwashing, Kidnapping,
      Everyone_x_Everyone_-_Freeform, Skeevy_sexual_dynamics, Violence, Action,
      Magic, Alpha_Peter, dub-con, Mentions_of_Suicide, Gerard_is_a_Darach,
      Plot_elements_and_characters_from_seasons_1-3, blink_and_you'll_miss_non-
      con
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-25 Updated: 2014-12-13 Chapters: 11/? Words: 53387
****** Beacon Hills Retreat -- No Tresspassing ******
by Samarium
Summary
     Beacon Hills Retreat -- At first glance it seems to be some sort of
     hippy, spiritual commune, nestled deep in the forest near Trinity
     National Park. It's full of happy people, crystals, and other New Age
     crap.
     But beneath the surface lies something much darker. An invitation to
     join is hard to refuse, leaving is impossible. Because Gerard Argent
     (retired hunter, darach) needs souls to keep himself strong and safe.
     He's burned far too many bridges in the past, made far too many
     enemies. He's not above pretending to be a guru and luring people
     from across country with promises of wellness and peace of mind. He's
     not above using magic, brainwashing, and the strength of his own pack
     of tamed werewolves to keep them there.
     At first Stiles' goal is simple: Get himself and his dad out, but as
     he grows closer to the other teens in his community, he realizes he
     has a much bigger task. With the help of Scott and Lydia, he must
     destroy Gerard's main object of power, and free all the people of
     Beacon Hills, before their souls are all destroyed.
     A hard task to do, when his every move is being watched and he can't
     even trust his own mind.
Notes
     Note on pairings: On screen there is Scott/Stiles, Isaac/Stiles,
     Erica/Stiles and Jackson/Stiles
     In addition there are many, many minor pairings in this, too many to
     list, but most of them are blink and you'll miss it, one sided,
     stubbornly platonic or going on purely in the background or in the
     past. The main characters are a bunch of randy teens in an extremely
     sexually permissive culture, with a bunch of morally dubious adults
     hanging around egging them on. A lot of the pairings are rather
     skeevy and consent is very dubious what with all the mind control and
     kidnapping and general cultiness. Actually there's just a lot of
     plain old skeeviness period.
     Despite this, there's no Sterek, because it simply didn't work with
     the plot. Go figure.
     Note on Suicide: Stiles' father is struggling with suicidal feelings.
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Retreat, Stiles, retreat,” said John.  “And listen, just because I lost my
faith when your mom d-died—“  
He choked off and Stiles choked as well.   Just that fast, the silence grew
loud in the car, and that familiar ache reappeared in Stiles's chest. Even
though he desperately didn’t want to, Stiles could hear the ragged hitch in his
father’s breathing.   He closed the binder so he wouldn’t have to see the words
swimming and turned his head and concentrated really hard on the scenery.  
Stiles didn’t want to see his dad crying, because that would get him going,
too, and he was tired of crying.  Just soul-deep tired of it.  He was ready to
start living again.  Ready to think of something other than what happened.  
But even after eight months, the horrific circumstances of Stiles’s mother’s
death were still too close to the surface.  
Stiles couldn’t even look at a hamburger without being nauseated — and
hamburger was everywhere in their town.  He hated that because it used to be
one of his favorite foods. Burgers, meatloaf, casseroles, Claudia Stilinski was
a master at making the humble ground meat into culinary art.  
Well, she was until she got caught in the processing equipment and became one
with the beef.
No one exactly knew the circumstances.   Stiles’s dad had gone to the plant to
investigate the accident and for once Stiles was thankful he hadn’t gone with
him.  No closure was worth the sheer horror on his dad’s face when he staggered
home.  He’d heard second hand that it had taken several days to clean Claudia
out of all the equipment and that was waaaay more information than he ever
needed to know.  Stiles had a vicious hope that they’d shut the place down,
just because… oh my god, gross, and also because, holy fuck, this was allowed
to happen at all, never mind to his mom.   But of course not.  Shut down the
plant and you’d shut down Merepolk, Kansas.   Even his dad just shook his head
at the notion.  The processing plant only cordoned off that particular line. 
For three days.  And then it was back to business as usual.
  Stiles was certain that the plant had bought off the safety inspectors. 
Seriously, how else could that happen?   He also knew that if his dad weren’t
the town sheriff, the company probably wouldn’t have moved so fast to offer a
settlement, or been so generous with the amount of money they awarded out.  
They probably feared that John would bring in the feds.  They needn’t have
worried.  The only thing that Stiles’ dad did was stop going to church and fall
into a bottle of whiskey.   As soon as the first settlement check was deposited
into the bank, he’d packed up the house and they’d started this road trip.
“I need this,” said John after a few minutes.  His voice sounded rough.  “I
can’t live like this any more, Stiles.  I need some place where I can find some
peace.  Beacon Hills was set up as a refuge where people can go to heal and
recover from the world.  No TV, no internet, no crime.  Just healthy outdoor
activities, arts, gardening, community.  Acres of forest.  They even have a
school.  It’s paradise.”
School but no internet or TV didn’t sound like paradise to Stiles, but his dad
was falling apart here, so he bit his tongue.
“How much did you pay for it?”  He asked at last.
“Sixty thousand,” said John. 
Stiles gasped.  “That’s — that’s, Christ dad, did you hand over our entire bank
account?”
“We have two million dollars coming over the next twenty years,” said John
dryly.  “We can afford this.  The money I paid goes for our food, lodging, all
the facilities, your schooling.  Everything.  We won’t have to even think about
a budget until we leave.  It’s all taken care of for as long as we need to be
there.”
“And how long will that be,” Stiles had thought maybe this was a couple of
weeks while his Dad pulled himself together and figured out where they wanted
to go next, but the word “school” was ominous.
“However long it takes,” said John.   “Listen, kiddo, I really need this.   I
just can’t take the pressure anymore.  I’ve got to find some goddamn meaning in
life again.  Yeah, it’s kinda fruity and hippie, but give it a chance before
you decide you hate it.   For me?”  He looked over at Stiles with such a
haunted expression that Stiles swallowed his worries and objections.
“Okay, dad.  Yeah.  I can do the hippie commune thing.”
“Thanks,” John smiled and turned back to the road.
===============================================================================
They got off of 1-5 and followed a narrow badly paved road through miles of
open farmland, and then through even more miles of forest.   They’d been
traveling now for five days, from Kansas, through Colorado, Wyoming, Utah and
Nevada, staying at cheap hotels, and stopping at whatever quirky roadside
attractions that Stiles could google up on his phone.   John put up with the
side quests only because Stiles simply couldn’t sit still watching monotonous
scenery for hours.  He’d have been perfectly content to push through to their
destination as fast as possible, but for Stiles driving became torture after
the first two hours.  Adderal didn’t help.  By the time they’d finally crossed
into the California border, they were both convinced never to take another road
trip again.
 Eventually they wound their way deep into Trinity National Forest, past a
number of smaller, blink and you miss them towns.  Stiles took over driving so
that John could hunt down their exit on a map he was given.  Despite his dad’s
efforts they missed the turn off twice because it looked so much like a private
driveway rather than a proper road.  The only indication that there was a town
somewhere down it was a small sign that said “Beacon Hills Retreat, Private, No
Trespassing,” that had been tacked up on a pole.   The first three hundred feet
of road was gravel, then it mysteriously switched back to pavement again and
ran more or less smoothly for another ten miles, with nothing to see on either
side but dense trees.
They rounded a corner into town just as the sun was starting to go down.  They
passed rows of greenhouses first, and some fields that had been cultivated with
vegetables.  Then they reached one of several clusters of houses.  The houses
looked pretty normal at first glance, but then Stiles noticed all the solar
panels and the way the windows were built and he got a nerdy little thrill in
his gut when he realized how eco-friendly everything was.
“Look at that, dad,” he said, pointing.  “They are using wind and solar
energy.  Those roofs are designed to reflect heat away and look how thick those
walls are, that should help keep things warm.  How much snow do they get here?”
“Maybe an inch or so a year.  It doesn’t get below freezing that often.”
“Is that all?”  Stiles was a bit disappointed.  He liked snow.
“Well,  farther up in the hills and you get more,” said John.  “They might have
skiing around here, we can ask about come winter.”
Come winter?  Were they staying that long?  It was only September!
“Stop here,” said John, pointing to a large, somewhat ostentatious wooden
lodge, with a steeply pitched shake roof and two massive tree trunks acting as
pillars  flanking the double front doors.
There was no parking lot that Stiles could see, so he pulled the Jeep and
trailer partially off the road onto the grass.  Almost immediately two people
emerged from the lodge and jogged up to them, grinning away.  Stiles turned off
the engine, then was a startled when a slim, tall, clean-cut man tried to open
his door for him.  
Stiles unlocked the door and let himself out, looking suspiciously at the big
grin on the man’s face.  There was something not totally wholesome about it. 
Stiles’ spidey sense registered an agenda.
“Hi, there,” said the strange man, “You must be Stiles.”
Stiles found himself shaking the man’s hand, even though he didn’t really want
to.  It was very calloused and hard, which struck Stiles as strange.  Though he
looked like a newscaster, this guy clearly was someone who did a lot of manual
labor of some sort.   “And you are?” Stiles's prompted.
“Stiles, be polite,” said John heaving his stiff body out of the car and
joining them on the street.   “Hi.  I’m John Stilinski.  You were expecting
us.”  He thrust his hand out and the man gladly shook it.
“Chris Argent.  I’m in charge of the welcoming committee.   And yes, we’ve been
waiting.  Everyone’s excited to see you both.   Stiles, if you leave me the
keys, I’ll have Scott move the car to the barn.”
The other person stepped forward.  Scott was shorter and a lot younger than
Chris Argent — a teenager, with a mop of black hair, an infectious smile, and
oddly perfect skin, Stiles noted somewhat enviously.   He also stretched out a
hand and Stiles shook it as well, before realizing Scott was expecting the keys
to the car rather than a handshake.  Somewhat sheepishly, Stiles handed them to
him.   A moment later the boy jumped into the car and drove it away.
Stiles looked somewhat mournfully as the Jeep with its trailer disappeared
around the corner.  “Where’s he taking our stuff?”
“Don’t worry,” said Chris, flashing his winsome teeth.  “He and the other kids
will take it by your house and unload it.  Then they’ll stow it in the barn
with the other vehicles. As you might have noticed, we don’t use cars that
often, so most of them end up being stored until someone needs to make a run
into Redding.”
“How do you get around,” asked Stiles.
“We walk, some people have bikes.  Beacon Hills isn’t so large that you can’t
get from one end to the other in a few minutes stroll.  And there’s really no
hurry.   We are pretty laid back here, Stiles.”
He lead them up into the building.   Stiles noticed a white phone propped up
under a little shelter, near the entrance.  It didn’t appear to have a dial. 
How the heck does that work, he wondered. 
 Apparently Chris noticed him looking.  “We have our own phone system here,” he
said.  “Cell phones don’t work — we don’t have a tower anywhere near by.  So we
have the white emergency phones scattered through out town. You’ll never be
farther than 300 feet from one.  Just lift them up and you’ll be patched
directly through to our dispatcher, 24 hours a day.  They’ll get you the help
you need.”
“What if you just want to call your friends?” asked Stiles.
“Why call when you can walk over and talk face to face?” asked Chris.  Then he
smiled indulgently, “Or you can just ask our dispatcher to ring them up.  We
don’t believe in letting technology dehumanize us, Stiles.   So much of the
world is full of barriers — instead of fully enjoying each other’s companies,
we block ourselves off behind computers screens and text messages and passive
entertainment.  In the world out there, people hardly interact with each other
— they Facebook instead of meet.  But that’s such a lonely way to live, don’t
you think, Stiles?  Isn’t it much better to see your friends’ expressions, hear
their intonation, look at their body language.  Isn’t it better to be able to
reach out and touch the people you are closest to, instead of holding onto a
piece of plastic and glass and trying to use photographs to approximate
intimacy?”   
To punctuate his words Chris reached out and pulled him in to a hug.  Stiles
just froze, not knowing how to react to being suddenly engulfed by a complete
stranger.  John just laughed.
“It’s true,” said John.  “We don’t touch or hug and we hardly even look at each
other any more.  We’re always looking at machines.”
But, I like machines… Stiles thought. Chris let him go, but the sense of
trepidation only grew deeper. 
“Well, here you will be able to get away from the machines.  We aren’t
primitive, but we don’t believe in letting the gadgets rule our lives, either.”
Chris opened the door of the lodge and ushered them through a lush looking
lobby.  Everything was clean and new looking, from the darkly stained wood
walls to the plush carpeting.  They turned down into a short wide hall.   At
the end, Chris knocked twice on an oversized wooden door.  “My father, Gerard,
is our founder.  He wants to say hi before I show you to your new home.”
Before he could say more, the door opened up and they were waved inside.
Gerard turned out to look nothing like Chris.   He was short, balding, and
white haired.  Where Chris was sleek and toothy, Gerard was dour, sharp-eyed,
and craggy.  Stiles didn’t get any kind of cuddly grandfather feeling off of
him at all.  When Gerard smiled at John and Stiles, it seemed almost forced, as
though he had to remember how to do it.
“Come in, come in,  Chris, get these two some tea.  It’s been a long drive.” 
Chris turned on his heel and immediately left.  Poof.  Gerard shook hands
perfunctorily with each of them, then quickly retreated behind an absolutely
enormous wooden desk.  He had some paper work piled to the side, which he
flipped briefly through.
“We just need a couple of signatures from you, John, before we can roll out the
formal welcome wagon.”  He shoved a small stack in front of his father.  “It’s
mostly liability.  We have our own doctor here, but we need your permission for
him to treat you.”   Stiles watched his dad flip through the sheets, not taking
nearly the time he should to read them before signing.  Gerard just nodded, a
thin lipped smile on his face.
Stiles leaned forward, “What’s this,” he said pulling one of the sheets from
the stack.  It had his name on it.
“Permission to do a physical,” said Gerard smoothly, though from the sharp way
he stared, Stiles could tell he didn’t like the fact that Stiles had
interrupted the signing process.   “We do a lot of physical activities here. 
As part of the community, you’ll be expected to help out with community
projects. You’ll also spend a lot of time at school.  We need to know if you
have any illnesses, allergies, or health problems that need to be
accommodated.”  Gerard gave him one of those fake smiles again.  “You look very
healthy.  I rather doubt that anything will turn up that you have to worry
about.”
But John was looking a little worried.  “I have a heart condition,” he
admitted.  “Stress.  I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine,” said Gerard.  “We aren’t going to send you away
because you have a weak heart or high blood pressure.   We just ask that you
take the medicine your doctor proscribes.  We are over an hour by road from the
nearest hospital.”
John breathed out a sigh of relief and signed the sheet.
“Actually, we have people who have all kinds of health problems here.  That’s
one of the reasons they come here.   To get better.   We had one kid with
epilepsy, another with asthma.  Since coming here, both of their conditions
have improved to the point that neither need medicine.”
“Well, if you can get Stiles off his ADHD medicine, that will be great,” said
John, dryly.
Gerard grinned a natural grin this time.  Stiles jerked back at the sheer
predatory quality of it.  “Heh, I’ll talk to Peter about him.  He could always
use a new wolf in his pack.”
“Wolf?” asked Stiles.
Gerard sized him up.  “It’s kind of a club for some of our younger people,”
said Gerard.  “Peter Hale runs it.  You’ll like him.  They do a lot of hiking
and sports.  The girl with the epilepsy and the boy with the asthma are both
part of it.  I think you met one of them — Scott?”
“Yeah, he took our car,” said Stiles.
“Scott’s a good boy.   Been with us from the start.   I’ll see if he can come
by and help you get settled, Stiles.  There’s nothing like having a friend to
soothe over all those scary, new-place feelings.”
Stiles felt distinctly patronized, but seeing his dad’s look of warning, he bit
his tongue.
Chris Argent turned up with the tea.   Stiles sipped his.  It tasted grassy and
weird.  This whole place was weird.  Scary new place was right.
===============================================================================
By the time all the paperwork was done and Chris Argent had walked them to the
house they’d be living in, Scott and a thin dark haired woman were sitting on
the front steps waiting for them.   Chris introduced the woman as Scott’s
mother, Melissa.   The three of them all smiled emptily at each other and then
Chris waved good bye and headed off to some other task he needed to do.  Mother
and son remained behind, smiling expectantly at John and Stiles.
Stiles felt distinctly “passed off.”   Ever since they arrived, he and his dad
had had someone right there with them.  Even when Stiles had asked to go to the
bathroom back at the lodge, Chris had escorted him for the short trip down the
hall.  For a place that pretended to be open and friendly, it was awfully
untrusting.  Normally that would have ramped up Stiles's curiosity to the
breaking point, but right now, between the exhausting road trip and the boring
paperwork, all he really wanted was a little time alone with his dad.   That
didn’t look like that was in the works.
John didn’t seem to be having any problem with the constant attention.  While
Stiles was looking through their new home, he hung back to chat, which was not
like him at all.   When Stiles came back down stairs again he was being
positively chummy with these total strangers.
 “Smile, Stiles,” John hissed.  “They are being friendly.”
“They are being nosy,” Stiles hissed back.  He noticed that Scott’s eyes
sharpened at that, even though he should have been too far away to hear.  
Scott noticed him looking and the smile returned to his face.  “Can’t you send
them away?” Stiles whined.  “Say we’re tired.”
“Of course not,” said John, chuckling.  “I’ve invited them to dinner.”
“Actually,” said Melissa, “I’ll be making it for you.  I figure the two of you
are tired enough from all the travel.  Though, John, if you wanted to help me
in the kitchen, I wouldn’t mind.”   Her eyes crinkled up with a pleasant glint.
John smiled back at her in a way that Stiles didn’t like at all.  Wait.  What?
Were they flirting?  Stiles frowned furiously.  Oh hell no!  No one flirts with
his dad!  No.  Too soon.  Wrong! Wrong!
 “You’ll have to excuse my dad!” he said suddenly and loudly.  “He’s still
grieving over my mom’s very recent death.  So some subjects might be a little
too close and upsetting.”
Scott’s eyes shifted from his mother to John to Stiles.  His nostrils flared
for a second.
 John just looked exasperated.  “You’ll have to forgive my son,” he said back.
  “He’s had a long, long trip and he’s tired and I’ve never taught him
manners.”  He glared.
Melissa just nodded.  “Relax,” she said.  “I’m trained in grief counseling. 
I’m also a nurse. I know about what happened to your mom, Stiles, and I promise
I’ll be very careful not to upset you father.  Why don’t you and Scott go
unpack in your room.
Stiles stewed for about two seconds, then gave in under the expectant pressure
from his father.
Scott put a warm hand on his shoulder and tugged. “It’s this way.”
They climbed the steps up to the second floor.  His new room was large and came
already furnished with a desk and a bed.   Stiles’ stuff sat in labeled boxes
in the middle of a geometric patterned area rug. On the walls were various
framed affirmative posters, full of rainbows and open hands, and saying things
like “Believe in yourself” and “Friendship is as close as a touch.”  
Stiles frowned suspiciously at them.  “So.  I see the brainwashing phase has
begun.”
“Dude,” said Scott, opening one of the boxes.  “Relax.  We aren’t going to hurt
you.”
“Yeah, well, my dad is emotionally vulnerable and lonely and he just got a
whole lot of money and next thing I know I’m moving across county to join a
cult.  I’m pretty sure I watched a very important iCarly about this.”
Scott cocked his head as if surprised that Stiles could possibly have
reservations.  “It’s not that bad here.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” Stiles didn’t even try to disguise the
skepticism.
Scotts smile fled.  “Listen,” he said softly, but firmly.  “If you are trying
to drive me away, it’s not going to work.  I’m here for you, whether you think
you want me or not. I’ve been there, too, you know.  I was suspicious of Gerard
and his motivations.  But, see this scar on my face?”  He pointed to a well
healed nick under his left eye.  “That’s from the knife my dad tried to kill me
with when I was twelve.   My mom’s got a lot more scars.  When we came here, we
had nothing.  No money.  We barely had clothes.  But Gerard took us in anyway,
so it’s not the money, Stiles.  It’s need.   My dad can’t touch us here. 
Ever.  You wouldn’t be here if Gerard didn’t think this place could help you
recover.”
He said it with such earnestness that Stiles felt shitty.  Okay, maybe, just
maybe this place wasn’t a huge scam.  Maybe he was being a huge wet blanket and
this place was just a well meaning new age-y retreat.  
“I’m sorry.  I’ve just been kind of on edge.  I’m not used to having so many
new people in my face — not that you are in my face,” though actually Scott
rather was in Stiles’ face.  “It’s just, what I’m trying to say is that I’m an
unpopular kid and I have no social skills.”
Scott laughed.  “You like video games?”
Stiles eyes widened.  “Do I, yes!”
“So do I, why don’t we play some after dinner.”
“Wait, we are allowed to play video games?” asked Stiles.
“Sure,” said Scott, smiling brilliantly.  “We know how to have fun.”
“But — no TV, no internet? How?”
“You’ll see.”  Scott threw an arm over Stiles's shoulder and hugged him close.
  Stiles stiffened momentarily, but then gave into it.   It actually felt kind
of good to be liked.
===============================================================================
Supper was good.   Healthy.   A bit plain.  Stiles suspected it was organic. 
It wasn’t anything like his mom would make but then the idea of Melissa being
anything like his mom was a place he just didn’t want to go.  Nope. 
At least she and his dad weren’t overtly flirting with each other anymore. 
Though he prickled at the thought that this place might seduce his dad with
something as tawdry as female companionship.  
Stiles didn’t have to worry about her opening up wounds either.  Melissa and
Scott deftly talked around the safe edges of their painful past, asking about
John’s job and Stiles’ friends, but not touching on the accident or the
settlement.  It only got a bit teary once.
“Everyone goes to church there,” John admitted dryly.  “Everyone.   Me and
Stiles, too.  But after …  I couldn’t walk into that place knowing — I can’t
believe that it was God’s design to take my wife like that.  I can take that it
was an accident, but I can’t take a God who will stand by and only take credit
for when good things happen and never bear responsibility when it goes bad.  So
I stopped going.  And it was amazing how fast Stiles and I became personae non
gratae when I mentioned atheism.  If I hadn’t quit, I’d have been fired next
election, for sure.”
“Well we won’t think less of you if you don’t go to church,” said Melissa. 
“Though we do have a chapel and a Pastor who does a small service on Sundays
for those that want to attend.  Most of us choose to just go to the wellness
seminars.  It’s not about God, or the unknowable, it’s about concrete things we
can do to make ourselves better people.  Gerard holds them every day in the
main building.”
“Is that mandatory?” asked Stiles.  Daily “wellness seminars”.  Might as well
call them daily brain cleansing.  Yeah this place was sounding better and
better.  Scott seemed to notice his tension and reached out a hand to hold his
arm.  His brown eyes seemed absurdly concerned.
“Well,” said Melissa, “You won’t get that much out of this place if you don’t
attend, and it’s a great place to actually meet friends and make plans for the
day with them.  It’s a big part of our community experience.  But if you need
to do something else urgently, we’ll understand.”
Scott gave him that vacuous true-believer smile.   “It’s really cool, you go
and you feel good about yourself.  Gerard discusses some problem that the
community might be suffering through and ways to make it better.”
“So Gerard is the charismatic leader,” said Stiles.  “He doesn’t seem that
charismatic.”
“You haven’t seen him give a talk,” said Scott.  “He’s pretty… persuasive.  But
in a good way,” Scott said hastily.
For a second Stiles saw a little flicker of something in Scotts eyes. A
sharpness that made his eyes seem brighter.  Stiles was no lie detector, but it
seemed to him that maybe Scott wasn’t quite as much of a pom-pom waving
cheerleader for Gerard as he was pretending to be.   Which seemed a bit odd,
because Stiles figured that Scott and Melissa were here because they were so
far into the fold that they could withstand outside ideas.
“Mom,” said Scott, “I’d like to take Stiles over to the rec room.  Allison and
some of the others are going to be there.”
Melissa beamed.  “What a great idea!  I’ll stay here with John and clean up and
help him unpack.”  Stiles was instantly suspicious of her motives.  He couldn’t
leave his dad alone!
“You know, I’m rather tired —“
“That’s not true,” said Scott. 
“What?” said Stiles.  “How could you know?”
“I could smell it if you were tired,” said Scott, as though that were a
completely normal thing to say.  “Come on.  We don’t get new people that
often.  The others were really excited when they found out that there was going
to be another teen coming.   If you don’t come and see them now, they’ll
probably be showing up all evening to say hi, and you won’t get much sleep
anyway.”
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
And so Stiles followed Scott outside and down the narrow paved road towards the
center of Beacon Hills, leaving his dad behind in the dubious clutches of
Scott’s Mom.  Scott was kind of a mystery.  He was absurdly nice to Stiles,
despite Stiles doing his utmost to be unlikable.   At the same time, he was
oddly slippery.  It was hard for Stiles to put his finger on it, but there was
something just not quite normal about Scott, and not in just the brainwashed-
member-of-a-cult way.   More like in a this guy has hidden superpowers kind of
way.  Because Scott seemed to know things that he really shouldn’t.  And yet…
and yet… he was so damn friendly it was hard to be a dick to him.
When Stiles finally called him out on his pleasantness, Scott shrugged and
said, “You seem nice enough to me.  I think you’re funny.”  Stiles who had been
trying to convince people that he was funny for years simply melted at his
words.  He might have even swooned a bit.  Abruptly he decided not to question
Scott’s friendliness.
Scott lead them around the back of the lodge to a sprawling two story
building.  There was a tennis court and a basketball court, and a large field
to one side with what looked like soccer goals set up at either end.   “You
place soccer?” he asked, hopefully.
“Lacrosse actually.  It’s a little bit like a cross between football and field
hockey only sticks have nets at the end and we throw the ball from player to
player.”
“Is it a contact sport?” asked Stiles.  His single memory of playing field
hockey involved having his shins battered black and blue by flailing sticks. 
If they were tossing the ball maybe it was a bit less painful.
“Oh yeah, lots of contact,” said Scott as though that were the best thing
ever.  “We’ll teach you how to play.”  He clapped Stiles shoulder and opened up
a door in the side of the building.
Inside they walked down stairs to a dimly lit basement.   It was definitely a
rec room.  Three teens were hanging around a pool table, two others were
playing fussball.  Two girls were on a seedy looking couch knitting.  With
Scott’s build up, Stiles fully expected them all to come leaping over to greet
him.  Instead they just stopped what they  were doing and stared at him, as
though he’d maybe walked into the wrong place or grew a second head.  So much
for the welcome wagon.  
Well, I don’t want to be here either, he thought, glaring back at them.
 He looked around.  In addition to pool and fussball, there was an old CRT
television on a rolling cart pressed up against a back wall.  Hooked up to it
was an ancient Nintendo 64 game console and a first generation Wii.  On the
shelf next to the consoles was a box of game cartridges and jewel cases.  Most
of the games were sports or racing related except for a few E rated games like
Mario and Tetris.  So much for Halo.    He was a fool to have gotten his hopes
up.
“You poor, poor people,” he said, shaking his head sadly at the crappy
selection.
He turned around to find himself face to face with a clean cut, handsome teen,
with a chiseled chin and large muscles filling out out his shirt.  “Are you
actually pitying us?” he asked in a voice that reeked hostility.  “Nerd?”
Stiles crossed his arms.  “Yeah, have you even seen what a game from this
century looks like?”
Scott frowned.  “The wii is only a couple years old,”  he said to absolutely
nobody listening.
“Video games are for losers, why would I care about them?” asked the hostile
teen, looking him up and down.  “You look like you’d break if I tackled you.”
Nice.  Stiles was quite aware of his own physique, thank you.   Okay, yes, he
was perhaps not as gifted in the muscle department as … well, actually as any
of the others in this room.  Including the girls.  Whoa.  Except that one.  His
eye caught on a reddish haired girl who looked distinctly feminine in a frilly
blouse and short skirt.  Her arms looked nicely slim and girly.  As did the
rest of her.  
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Listen, Stiles or whatever your name is,” said the hostile teen.  “We have a
hierarchy around here, and you are at the bottom. So you don’t flounce in here
and then look down your nose at us.  Not unless you want things to be painful
for you.”
Stiles backed away.  Yikes.  Someone had clearly been missing their daily
“wellness seminars”.
Scott put a hand on the douche’s arm, his face set far more dangerously that
Stiles would have believed possible.  “And you remember your place in it, too,
Jackson.  Stiles is with me.”
Jackson and Scott locked eyes.  For just a tiny fraction of a second Stiles
thought that Scott’s eyes glowed a kind of amber.  But it was obviously just a
trick of the dim lighting.  Jackson suddenly turned his head away and looked at
the floor off to one side.  He then pulled away and walked back to the fussball
table, putting his back pointedly to Stiles.
Okay, what the hell was that?
“You’ll have to forgive him,” said Scott softly in Stiles ear.  “He was used to
being really popular back at his old school. Beacon Hills is a bit of a come
down for him.”
“I can hear you,” said Jackson dropping the ball onto the fussball table.
The two girls got up from the couch.  “You know what’s really sad is how long
it’s been since I had a decent mani-pedi.”   The reddish haired one offered up
a hand for shaking.  “I’m Lydia.  And I for one welcome some news of the
outside world.  Please tell me you know something about fall fashions this
year.  I don’t suppose you have any magazines or newspapers tucked into your
boxes?  At this point I’d kill for a Tiger Beat.”
Stiles grimaced sheepishly and shook his head.  “I’m sorry.   I think maybe
bright colors are in?”
Lydia sighed.  “Well, that’s better than nothing.”  She patted his arm sadly. 
“It’s just as well I don’t know, I guess.  Victoria’s idea of shopping is
Target.  No offense, Allison.”
The dark haired girl, Allison, shrugged weakly.  “It’s not like we have anyone
to impress up here.”  She offered her hand to Stiles as well.  “Hi.  I hope we
aren’t making a terrible impression.”  
She looked so incredibly adorable that Stiles forgave Jackson just so he could
smile at her warmly and say,  “Not at all.”
Before Stiles could get his hopes too far up, Scott put an arm comfortably
around Allison in a way that practically shouted “mine”.   Stiles backed off
waving his hands a little in a gesture of surrender.  He wasn’t going to piss
off the one dude who’d been friendly to him.
“Let me introduce the rest,”  Scott said.  And he did.   The other fussball
player was called Danny.  His dad had made a killing as a trader on Wall Street
both before and after the crash.  Apparently he’d had some kind of epiphany a
year and a half ago, quit his job and came here to try find his soul again. 
Danny seemed friendly enough and Stiles decided he liked him.
The three at the pool table were Isaac, Boyd and Erica.  Scott didn’t have a
chance to tell their family histories because as soon as they were introduced
they were all over Stiles.  Circling him.  Erica grinned at Stiles like she
might like to eat him.   She didn’t help that impression by calling him “fresh
meat.”   Isaac and Boyd were more speculative and reserved.  They all shook his
hand, and for good measure he was pretty sure that both Isaac and Erica sniffed
his hair.
“Ha,” said Stiles ducking away from Isaac’s nose.  “I don’t suppose you’d be
part of this ‘wolf pack’ I’ve been hearing about.  Because that was rather …
wolfy.”
Scott frowned deeply.  He and Allison shared a look.  “Who told you about the
wolf pack?”
“The old guy.  Gerard.  He said something about me joining a club for kids
called a wolf pack.”
Scotts face cleared up.  “Oh, yeah?  Oh, that’s great!”
Allison looked a little less happy.  “I was kinda hoping he’d end up with the
Hunters,” she pouted.
“Hunters?” asked Stiles.
“There are three factions here,” said Lydia.  “Wolves, Hunters, and Helpers. 
Allison’s with the Hunters, Danny and I are with the Helpers. The rest of these
guys are Wolves.  Allison’s just sad to be the only Hunter in our age group,
but if Gerard says you go with the Wolves, that’s where you go.”
“Factions? Factions of what?”
“I think we are getting a little ahead of ourselves, guys,” said Scott in that
dangerous voice.  “Let him have a chance to settle in first before we dump all
of our internal politics on him.”
Stiles shook his head.  “Actually, I’m totally good with politics.  Go ahead
and dump.”  He wanted to know what he was facing.
“Nah, dude,” said Danny.  “It’s probably best not to be too eager.  You’ll find
out soon enough, trust me.  It’s not like you are going anywhere.”  Danny said
that with such exhausted resignation that Stiles felt thrill of terror go
through his spine.
“Okay, no,” he said, backing away from the throng.  “You should all probably
know that — secrecy and me?—  we don’t get along too well.  If I don’t find out
what’s going on, I pry.  I’m a first class pryer.  Curiosity is my middle name.
So let’s just save everyone the annoyance and tell me what the deal is here. 
Why is Danny so sad and Jackson so angry.  Why is everyone else so weird.”   He
breathed in deep and asked the really important question.  “Should I be getting
my dad out of here?”
They all stood silently for a moment, exchanging knowing looks, then they all
went pale and stared fixedly past Stiles.
Stiles felt a presence before he saw the person standing behind him.  He turned
around to look slightly down into the eyes of a man in his mid thirties.  The
expression on his face was of mildly curious surprise,  but there was something
about his posture that screamed danger, run away.  “Has my pack been
mistreating you?” he asked.
“Uh…” said Stiles.  “No, sir.”
“Peter,” said Scott, sheepishly. “I was just introducing Stiles around.”
“You should have brought him by me first,” said Peter mildly, though Scott
reacted like it was a harsh rebuke.  “Hi, Stiles.  Glad to see you and your dad
made it.  Try not to be too put off by my pack.   I try to teach them manners
but sometimes they are a bit rough around new commers.  I’m pretty sure you’ll
come to like them all in time.”
“Maybe,” said Stiles, feeling defiant.  “I’m not sure we are going to be here
that much longer.”
Peter bent his head to the side, as though perplexed.  “What makes you think
that, Stiles?  Surely my pack hasn’t been that rude?”  He scanned the room and
now all of the teens looked scared and turned their heads towards the floor.
Stiles tensed. “Stop that!”
Peter regarded Stiles again.  “Stop what?”
“That thing you are doing — can’t you see that they are scared of you?” Stiles
stepped back.  “Why are they scared of you?  Aren’t you supposed to be their
club leader or something.”
Peter lifted his chin and seemed to size Stiles up differently.  “That bothers
you, doesn’t it, Stiles?  The idea that they might be intimidated by me?”  He
clicked this tongue.  “I sense a strong moral center in you.  You are brave and
you have an instinctive need to take care of others.  You detest bullying.” 
Though Stiles thought he was out of arm’s reach somehow Peter managed to catch
his wrist and pull it up as though to examine his hand.  Stiles felt suddenly
very trapped.  “Those are all very laudible traits, Stiles.  But I think you
read the situation wrong.  My pack respect me, that’s why they hate to see it
when I disapprove of what they’ve done.  They aren’t lowering their heads
because they are afraid, they are lowering their heads because they are
ashamed.  They are worried that they’ve scared you and made you feel
unwelcome.”
Stiles looked and he noticed that Scott and Boyd were hastily nodding their
heads.
“Have they made you feel unwelcome?” Peter asked in a soft, patient way.
Stiles could feel the teens’ attention on him like laser beams.   He knew he
couldn’t let them down.  “No,” he said hastily.  “Of course not.  They’ve been
really awesome.”  He felt everyone in the room relax.
Peter let his wrist go.  “Excellent.  Let’s hear no more about you wanting to
leave, then.   Scott, I’m going to borrow Stiles for a few minutes.  I’ll bring
him right back, don’t worry.”
Scott nodded. 
Peter walked towards the door to the stairwell.  “Come along,” he said when
Stiles hesitated.  “Gerard wants to see you.”
Shit.  In trouble with the big boss already, thought Stiles.
===============================================================================
Peter lead Stiles back across the dewy grass to the lodge.  It was getting
pretty late by now.   Stiles took out his phone to check the time and was
surprised to find that it was past nine p.m.  Shouldn’t the town have rolled up
for the night by now?
“Actually,” he said to Peter.  “Do you think this could wait for tomorrow? 
I’ve had a long day and, well, it’s past my bed time.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Peter said. His eyes seemed to catch on the phone. 
“That won’t do you much good out here.  We don’t have any service.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Stiles, putting the phone away.  “Just checking the time,
it’s awfully late.”
Peter laughed. “You are the first teen I’ve heard asking for an early bed
time.  Well, after Gerard sees you, you can ask Scott to take you home.”  And
with that Stiles found himself out of excuses not to follow him the rest of the
way to Gerard’s office.
There were two people just leaving as they arrived: a pretty, tough looking
woman about thirty, who gave Stiles one of those predatory looks he’d come to
expect from the townspeople, and a tall, dark hunk of a man who looked
thoroughly miserable.  The man’s nostrils flared a little and his eyes locked
on to Stiles as though he could see right through to his thoughts.   Stiles
stared back at him and gave him what he hoped was a polite nod.  Jesus Christ,
those muscles.  You could bounce a quarter off  his… everything.  This guy made
Jackson look small.   
Peter nodded at the two and said, “Kate, Derek, welcome back.  Good trip?”
“Success!” said Kate, grinning gleefully and raising her fist.  “We won’t be
having any trouble again from the Kimballs.  Never, ever, ever.”   She then
winked.
Derek ignored the conversation in favor of glaring at Stiles, his jaw
tightening in disgust.   What the hell was up with that? Because Stiles was
sure he wasn’t doing anything offensive. Hell, he didn’t even want to be here
in this hallway.  Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek had taken exception to his face,
or if he was just in such a disagreeable mood that anyone would have earned
that ugly look.  Either way, Stiles decided to put Derek alongside Jackson in
the “douchebags to avoid” category.  
Kate seemed to notice Derek’s expression and wrapped a possessive arm around
his elbow.  “Hey, new kid, don’t mind him.  Leaving town always makes him
grumpy-wumpy.”  She followed up the baby talk by tapping Derek’s stubbly chin
with a long red fingernail.
Derek twitched and looked at the wall with shame.  Stiles revised his
assessment.  Forget Derek, Kate was the real scary person here.  No dude that
buff would put up with such a high level of condescension unless she had some
truly major dirt on him.  
Speaking of which, Stiles noticed that Derek’s dark shirt and black jeans were
actually ground in with dirt while Kate’s clothes seemed pristine.  Which meant
that she had Derek doing her dirty work, literally.  Stiles might be no
Sherlock Holmes, but he was pretty sure the clues added up to Kate being both a
douchette of the supremest order and also someone terrifyingly far up the local
food chain.  Do. Not. Engage.
Jackson had mentioned a hierarchy and, boy, Stiles totally believed him. The
question was, how did these people enforce that hierarchy?  Was there like a
cornfield someplace full of the bodies of those who rocked the boat too hard? 
Was that where the dirt on Derek’s clothes came from?  Stiles shuddered as a
chill of absolute horror ran down his back.  Whatever was going on here must be
pretty nasty if Derek was just standing there and taking this humiliation.
Derek’s nostrils flared again, and this time just a trace of a nasty smile
followed it.
“Stiles, come on in here, son,” came a cold, rough voice, interrupting his
thoughts.
Stiles thankfully left the mystery that was Kate and Derek and entered Gerard’s
office.    The old man was sitting behind his huge desk, face set in deep frown
lines.  He was holding something loosely in his hand.  
When Stiles came closer he saw that it was some sort of polished rock about the
size of a hen’s egg.  Gerard rolled it back and forth between his palm and the
desktop in an almost absentminded way.   As he did the semi-transparent stone
seemed to gleam with hidden colors and shapes in a way that utterly fascinated
Stiles.
“So, I hear that you want to leave us,” said Gerard.  “We didn’t live up to
your expectations, did we?”
Boy news travelled fast in this town.  Stiles jumped, his attention back on
Gerard.  How had the man known? He hadn’t seen Scott or any of the others
reporting in — was the place maybe bugged or something?  Gerard’s expression
looked hard and the only sound in the room was the dull, but oddly satisfying
noise the smoothly polished stone made as it rolled. 
 Without willing it at all, Stiles found himself in defiant mode.  Which was
precisely the opposite mode he wanted to be in, because it was also stupid-
foot-in-your-mouth mode, and not keeping-one’s-cards-to-oneself mode.   “I’m
not convinced this place is a good fit for me and my dad.” 
Gerard’s hand grasped the stone tightly.  His eyes seemed to darken. 
 “Sir,” Stiles added belatedly, as if that would soften the old man up.
To Stiles complete surprise Gerard’s face suddenly burst into a smile.   Okay,
not a nice smile, but at least a step up from that “I’m going to kill you”
scowl he’d been wearing a moment earlier. It was enough to give Stiles a
flicker of hope.
 “Call me Gerard, son,” he said, leaning back and chuckling.   “I really don’t
know what we’ve done to make you think you wouldn’t fit in.   But I assure you
that you will fit in perfectly.”  He resumed rolling the stone again, back and
forth across the desk.  “Tell me, what’s made you unhappy?  Maybe I can ease
your mind.  Is it because you are in a new place, full of strange new people?”
“Well, actually, it’s more like being miles away from anywhere with no way to
leave or call out,” said Stiles and had to fight putting his fist in his
mouth.  He had not wanted to say that.
“And I can see how our self-imposed isolation might also seem frightening.  But
I think if you give us a chance, you’ll find being apart from the world isn’t
as awful as you think.  It can actually be reassuring.  Safe.  Womb like.” 
Gerard stopped rocking the crystal.  He lifted it up with his fingertips and
seemed to admire it.  Then he turned to Stiles and fixed him with a stare. 
“Tell me, what do you think of Beacon Hills.”
“I think it’s a compound and this is a cult,” Stiles blurted.  Jesus Christ,
shut up, he told himself.  Why was he suddenly all Mr. Truthful? 
“Is that so,” said Gerard, thoughtfully.  “You know what I think it is?”
“No, sir.”
“Home.   And that’s what I want you to think of it as, too, son.   Because this
is your home now, and we are your family.  You should be honored we chose you
to join us.”
For the first time Stiles got a sense of Gerard’s charisma, because those words
seemed to slither right through his ears into his brain and wrap themselves
around his limbic system.  He felt a shaky thrill of pleasure and awe.  This
was a great man, and when he chose to do something, it was for a great
purpose.  That he’d deigned to even talk to Stiles was a great boon.  And wow,
he wanted Stiles and his dad to stay.  How cool was that?
“The world out there is a cruel, bad place, full of dangers,” said Gerard, his
voice resonating around the room.  “Full of untrustworthy people.  People who
are careless with other people’s lives.  Fickle.  You know this is true.  You
and your father were abandoned by your friends and neighbors in a time of your
greatest need.  You were made outcasts, distrusted, hated, because you
threatened the towns biggest employer.  They took everything you had and they
gave you nothing in return.”
True.  True.   After his mom died what few friends Stiles had seemed to shy
away from him.  Their laughter died when he neared, as though somehow Stiles
was now tainted with grief and would infect them if he came too close.
“That won’t happen here.   You’ll always be cared for, Stiles.  You and your
father are important to us.  You’ll never want for friendship or love.  You’ll
find a purpose and connection.   You don’t need the outside world.   You just
need a place to heal from your hurts.  We can do that for you.  Trust us.”
Stiles found himself nodding.   He did need to heal.   He was so, so tired of
hurting and worrying and being mad.   Getting away from the world to some place
new where he could start fresh sounded like an awesome idea.  And Scott did
seem friendly enough.  And Allison.  Maybe Danny, too.  And the others, well,
they were weird, but hey so was he.  And his dad seemed to like this place.  It
really wasn’t so bad.
“So you aren’t going to talk about how you want to leave, are you, Stiles?”
asked Gerard, patiently, like a kindly teacher to a student.
“No-o,” he said softly.  “No, it’s okay here.”
“That’s right,” said Gerard, grinning. “It is okay here.  And your dad needs to
know you are okay here.  He needs this place for his mental health, and you
don’t want to be spoiling this for him just because you miss your TV and video
games and your old friends.”
Stiles swallowed and nodded.  This place was the definition of safe.  Calm,
unhurried.  Nothing that would remind his dad of his mom or all the misery
Merepolk had given them during the investigation.  It was exactly what his dad
needed.  It was rather selfish to put Halo above that.  Stiles felt tears of
shame in the corners of his eyes and he looked away much as Scott had when
Peter reprimanded him.
“Now, now,” said Gerard softly.  “I hope that cleared things up for you.  You
go and play with Scott and the others.  I’ll see you tomorrow at the morning
seminar.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Stiles, and he meant it.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
The rest of the night went quickly.   Peter escorted him back to the rec room,
and he’d spent several hours playing with people there, for once completely
content and happy to be where he was.  He didn’t even once think of cults or
any of his worries.  He had no idea why he’d been so put off by the kids of
Beacon Hills.  They were awesome.  Even Jackson’s brusque manner seemed more
amusing than annoying.  Then in the middle of losing a game of fussball to
Erica there came a strange chiming bell, and just like that everyone stopped
what they were doing.  Scott turned off the wii and Lydia racked up the pool
balls.
Scott had lead him back home, which was a good thing because Stiles would have
probably gotten turned around and lost in the woods if he hadn’t.  Everything
seemed rather hazy.  Stiles was happy and comfortable but exhausted.  He
vaguely recalled laughing with Scott while he brushed his teeth.  Then he fell
into his bed and into the soundest sleep he’d had in weeks.
 
===============================================================================
 
A bell ringing woke him the next morning.  He rolled over and opened his eyes
blearily to take in the room.  Part of his mind registered a strange movement
from someplace close by, and that’s what brought him from sleepy to full
awake.  He rolled over onto his stomach and looked down at Scott lying in a
sleeping bag next to his bed.
“Good morning,” said Scott, stretching.   “Did you sleep well?”
“Dude?” said Stiles, taking in the sleeping bag on the floor.   “Did you just
spend the night in my room?”
Scott laughed.  “Of course I did.  You invited me, remember?”
“I did?” asked Stiles.  He vaguely remembered not wanting Scott to leave but he
didn’t remember asking him to stay.
“Yeah, you totally did,” said Scott.  “It’s okay, tomorrow you can spend the
night in my room, if you like.  But right now, we gotta get up.   There’s just
time to get dressed and eat before Seminar.  Go take your shower.  I’ll wake
your dad.”
“Wake my dad?” asked Stiles.   He yawned.  What time was it?  He hadn’t set up
a clock, but it felt early and he really wanted to roll over and get another
hour in.
Scott laughed.  “Yeah.  This is what you two are here for!   He won’t want to
miss this.”  He then ducked out of the room and Stiles heard him knocking on
the door down the hall.
While Scott was away, Stiles got tiredly up and went to search for his phone. 
He needed to plug it in and juice it back up before it died and he lost use of
it as a watch.   He tried the pockets of his discarded jeans first, but it
wasn’t there.  He looked next in the desk, even though he didn’t remember
putting it there.  The drawers were empty. Maybe the bathroom — nope.  By this
time he could hear Scott and his dad talking in the hall about breakfast. 
Stiles went back to his jeans again to see if he’d some how missed it, but no,
it wasn’t there at all.
Scott ducked his head back in.  “Still haven’t dressed?” he asked. “You
probably want to before people start showing up.”
“Showing up?” asked Stiles.  “What here?  They are having the seminar here?”
“No silly.  To make breakfast.  I don’t know who it will be.  Probably Victoria
and Chris — Allison’s parents.  I hope so.”
“Why can’t we make our own breakfast?” asked Stiles.
“It’s just our way of saying welcome,” said Scott shrugging. 
 
Welcome, welcome.  Stiles was getting pretty sick of that word.  How about
privacy and alone time?  How about 10 minutes of just him and his dad alone in
their own temporary house?
 
 “When someone new comes to Beacon Hills,” Scott went on, “we all like to pitch
in to make the transition smoother.  I mean, it doesn’t happen that often, so
it’s a pretty big event for us.”
That made no sense.  Surely visitors weren’t that rare — how on earth would
they survive as a business if they didn’t have customers?  $60,000 couldn’t be
nearly enough to keep this whole town going for any length of time.  And if
they weren’t trucking people in for the seminars —
Leaving town makes him grumpy-wumpy. 
“Does anyone ever leave Beacon Hills?” asked Stiles, not really wanting to know
the answer.
Scott tilted his head.  “You aren’t still thinking about leaving are you?” he
asked.  Although his expression was all concern, Stiles detected just a little
bit of threat behind his dark eyes.
“No, no,” said Stiles hastily.   “It’s just if you don’t have a lot of new
people showing up to your wellness seminars — you’d pretty much have to keep
the people who do come, right?  Or this place would be a ghost town.  I mean, I
thought this was the kind of place where you came and stayed for a couple of
weeks or a month or so and then left again, you know, when you are well.”
Apparently this was the right thing to say because Scott was back to sunny
smiles again.  “Oh, yeah, you’re right.  No people pretty much stay.  I don’t
think anyone has ever decided to leave, not after they’ve experienced our
seminars.”
“No one, ever?” asked Stiles vaguely horrified.  “Not even to get supplies?”
Scott raised a brow.  “Oh well, yeah, of course.  Erica’s dad drives a truck
into town every day with a supply list.   Though we do grow all of our own
vegetables and we have chickens and pigs and even a couple of cows, we can’t
make everything we need.  And Lydia’s dad  — he’s a lawyer — works for us in
Redding.  He stays there all week and comes back on weekends.”
“But they all come back,” said Stiles.
Scott looked vaguely incredulous that Stiles would even ask.  “Of course they
do.  We’re family here.  Why would anyone want to leave permanently?”  
The door bell rang.  “Great!  They’ve started to arrive.  You know…” said Scott
looking Stiles up and down.  “You might want to put on something.”
Stiles looked down at his plaid boxers.  “Oh, oh, yeah.”   Stiles hastily
pulled a  fresh pair jeans and a t-shirt from the bureau.    His thoughts were
still stuck on the last conversation.  
Why would anyone want to leave, indeed.   Stiles could think of a lot of
reasons.
“Well, at least you’d think there would be a lot more new people showing up,”
he said while shimmying his pants up.  “Because healing sounds pretty damn good
and there’s a lot of hurt people in this country.”  He said, putting the last
fiddly touches on his clothes as he followed Scott out of his room.   From the
noise coming from downstairs, it seemed like a whole bunch of people had
arrived.  Laughter and greetings rang out.
“I’m sure we would be flooded with people if they knew we existed,” said
Scott.  “But we don’t advertise ourselves.  In fact we keep a pretty low
profile.”
“Then how did my dad find you guys?” asked Stiles.
“He didn’t.  We found him.”
Stiles felt his face darkening, he followed Scott out of the bedroom.  “What
you people read the papers looking for folks who win settlements?”
Scott stopped in the stairwell.  He grabbed onto Stiles’ shoulder and, wow,
Stiles had not realized just how strong Scott was, because that grip was iron.
  Someone Stiles didn’t know called a greeting at the both of them from the
foot of the stairs, but they both ignored the person.  Scott looked deep into
Stiles eyes in a way that made Stiles skin crawl a bit.
“I know what you are thinking, but this really isn’t a scam,” said Scott
earnestly.  “We aren’t just looking for marks, like you seem to think.  I can’t
explain exactly how we found you right now.  You wouldn’t believe me if I did. 
All I can say is that we knew you needed us, and so we approached your dad and
offered our help.   We weren’t preying on you or anything like that.  You were
called to be here with us.”
“Called.  Like fated.”
“Exactly like fated,” said Scott, his eyes glinting with excitement.  “So you
can see why we find it kind of disturbing that you keep talking about leaving. 
You are supposed to be here and be my friend.  It was … predicted.  You know. 
Foretold.”
“Like fortune teller stuff?” asked Stiles raising an eyebrow.   He expected
some new-agey hocus-pocus, but this was over the top.  He suddenly burst into
laughter.  The people downstairs looked up from their conversations and,
misunderstanding his mood, gave him glowing approving looks.  “I should tell
you, Scott.  I’m don’t believe in all that paranormal mystic stuff.  I’m pretty
much a skeptic.”
Scott laughed back and let go of him.  “Yeah, I don’t think you’ll stay a
skeptic for long.  Come on, we’ve got lots of introductions to make.”
===============================================================================
Somehow in the chaos, Stiles was given a plate full of pancakes, but he hardly
had a time to get a bite in between all the introductions and questions.  He
found himself being shuffled about from the kitchen to the living room, while
people touched his shoulders and back and even hair.   He barely even glimpsed
his dad, but from what he saw, he could tell John was getting the same
treatment.    Everyone was being so damn nice and so ridiculously eager to see
Stiles that he couldn’t quite bring himself to shrug them off, even though most
of him wanted to run for the safety his room.
These people certainly didn’t believe in personal space or privacy.  He was
hugged, held, his hand was shaken so much that his palm felt chafed.  He nearly
had his fork knocked out of his mouth.   The Douchess of Crazy herself, Kate,
was so enthusiastic about seeing him this morning, she actually lifted him up
off the floor from behind.  Psycho and strong, Stiles thought. 
Everyone around here seemed to be strong and great shape.  There wasn’t a fat
person in the lot.  Maybe it was the fresh air and vegetables, but it seemed
somehow wrong.  This was America, after all.  The land of the large.  Apple pie
and hamb— No.  Not going there.  Stiles put his half-eaten breakfast on the
hall credenza.
Speaking of large, though not fat, where was what’s his name?  Derek?  He
looked around but didn’t see any sign of Kate’s dark, broody boy-toy, so
perhaps it wasn’t the entire town crowded into the house, but God did it ever
feel like it. Someone shoved into his back and nearly made him trip over
someone else’s shoes.  Damn.  How soon could he run out the door begging for
air?
===============================================================================
Stiles didn’t actually hear the signal, but it seemed as one everyone in room
started heading out of the house, pulling Stiles along with them.  Literally. 
Someone had latched onto his arm and started tugging him out onto the porch,
then down the stairs to the street.  The town was alive with people all leaving
their homes at once.  Everyone called out hellos to everyone else.   There was
a lot more people here than Stiles had realized.  He’d somehow had the
impression that there were only a dozen or so families, but there appeared to
be five or six hundred people converging on the Lodge when he got there.
He fought his way over to his father, who was talking avidly with two people he
didn’t recognise.  “Hey dad, long time no see.”
“Hey, Stiles.  You enjoying yourself?”  John was all grins.  “Everyone’s so
friendly here.  Big difference from home, isn’t it?”
Stiles fought to keep from making a face.  “Yeah.  Big difference.  Um…”
“You and Scott seem to be hitting it off.”
“Yeah, we are totally BFFs,” Stiles replied. “Listen—“
“Hold that thought, Stiles,” said John.  The masses had pressed them into a
large auditorium.  Benches had been set up in long rows in front of a stage. 
The place was decorated with bunting worthy of a political rally, mostly in
blues and greens, but with some purple and red streamers.  Next thing Stiles
knew he was herded to the front row and sat right in front of the podium. 
Scott and his mother sat down between Stiles and his father.   Stiles was
beginning to suspect that there was a deliberate coordinated effort to keep him
and his dad apart.
After everyone settled, the lights dimmed except for those on the stage.  
Music cued up and the room was filled with a meandering new-age melody that
never seemed to repeat or go anywhere.  The crowd quieted down, and then the
music softened, until there was nothing but an almost subliminal drum beat as
Gerard took the podium.  He was dressed in a suit and looked to Stiles as if he
were about to conduct a corporate meeting rather than lead a hippy rally.  For
a few seconds, he arranged a set of papers in front of him and tapped the
mike.  The room filled with a nervous anticipation. 
“Good morning,” he said at last.
Good morning! the crowd rumbled back.
“Are you ready to be happy?”
Yes! answered the crowd enthusiastically.
Gerard went through a few more back and forth formulaic volleys with the
audience, then segued into his lecture.  Around him everyone seemed to sit
taller and breathe faster.  Stiles found it hard not to feel caught up by the
sheer amount of excitement coming from the people around him.  Even though to
his ears the whole thing was a bit awkward and kooky, no one else seemed the
least bit embarrassed.  
Gerard’s words were nothing special — a lot of affirmation, telling the
audience how wonderful they were and how much power they had over their lives. 
Telling them that every goal imaginable was right in their reach if they just
tried hard and thought positively.  Stiles wanted to scoff, but Gerard spoke
with such utter conviction that Stiles had a hard time doubting Gerard’s
sincerity.  No, it was more than that.  Part of Stiles really, really liked
what he was hearing and wanted to buy into it.  By the time Gerard had the
audience shouting away all their negative thoughts and fears, Stiles was
yelling along with everyone else, even though less than an hour earlier he
would have found it silly.
After the shouting bit, Gerard announced:  “Now that the negative energy is
banished, lets fill ourselves with positive energy.”  That apparently was a cue
to stand up and form a line.  Stiles shuffled along after Scott, feeling
someone else at his back.  He couldn’t exactly see what was going on ahead of
him, but it seemed like everyone was climbing up onto the stage to shake
Gerard’s hand or something.  It wasn’t until his father leaned down that Stiles
caught a glimpse of what Gerard was doing.  
It was the egg.  That weird polished geode thing he’d been playing with in his
office the night before.   Now he held it up by his finger tips, with a smile
curling the corners of his mouth.  As he held it up, Stiles’ dad leaned forward
and seemed to be giving it a kiss.   He then shuddered and staggered as someone
Stiles didn’t recognise pulled him away.  Melissa took his place and kissed the
weird piece of rock as well, then she too staggered off like she was trying to
find her sea legs.  Scott didn’t hesitate to replace her.
It’s like some weird form of communion — only with a rock instead of a wafer. 
What the hell?  Ew… germs!
Suddenly Stiles was at the head of the line, looking at Gerard’s red and black
and purple rock-crystal thing and imagining how much spit was spread across its
polished surface.  Yeah, he wasn’t touching that.    But he couldn’t break out
of line, either.   Gerard was staring at him expectantly, and the guy behind
him was pushing him forward, gently but insistently. 
Reluctantly, Stiles leaned forward as though he planned on kissing it, but
pulled his head back when he got within two inches of it.   He felt a weird
prickling warmth next to his face, like the stone might have heated up in an
oven.
“Hold on, son,” Gerard said as Stiles attempted to move on.  Stiles felt
Gerard’s free hand grab the back of his head and roughly push it down again,
while the other pressed the stone against his lips.
All thought of germs fled his mind as his brain exploded with joy.  A tingling
ecstatic energy travelled from his lips up through his eyes causing him to see
a brief rainbow of sparks.  Then it moved down his arms and legs easing a
multitude of tiny aches and pains he hadn’t realized he had.  When his sight
cleared again he was wandering off near the back of the stage, feeling
energetic, joyful and optimistic.  He almost gave a cathartic shout just to let
all this amazing feeling out.
 Scott was watching him with a huge grin.  “Isn’t it great?”
“Wow.  Yeah,” said Stiles.  “Oh, oh wow.  Oh wow yeah.  What was that?  Never
mind, I don’t even care. I don’t care.”
Scott grabbed his shoulder and guided him to the steps leading off the stage. 
“Come on, we got a few minutes to socialize before we have to go to school.”
Stiles wiped the tears of joy from his face and concentrated on walking
straight.  Euphoria threatened to make him trip over his own feet.  When he saw
Jackson standing by the doorway, he just gave the boy the hugest grin ever. 
“Hey, man, how you doing,” he said.
Jackson looked smugly at him.  “Welcome to Beacon Hills.”
===============================================================================
The rest of the teens from the night before gathered just outside the
auditorium, near a maple tree.  They all greeted Stiles with back pats and then
talked among themselves.  Stiles couldn’t really follow the conversation since
it involved people he didn’t know and events he hadn’t been there for, but he
was feeling too good to really care.   He didn’t even notice that Lydia wasn’t
among them until the girl came from up the street to join them.  
“Hey,” she said.  “I need to borrow Stiles.  Tell Harris I’m taking him to
Deaton for his check up.”
Scott frowned.  He pulled away from Allison who he’d had his arm around. 
“Shouldn’t I be the one taking him there?”
Lydia shook her head, “It’s fine,” she said.  “I can afford to miss the lesson,
you can’t.  Besides, you can’t completely monopolize him.  That wouldn’t be
fair.”  She smiled over at Stiles like a goddess gifting her attention to an
unworthy drudge.  Stiles’ heart sped up and he was instantly in crush with her.
Scott didn’t look placated.  “I don’t really think it’s best —“
“Come on,” Stiles intervened.  He leaned forward and whispered into Scotts ear.
  “Don’t cramp my style, dude.  You’ve got Allison.” 
Jackson, Erica, and Boyd all stopped talking and let out snuffled laughs.  
Jackson turned his head.  “Yeah, Scott, don’t cramp his style.”
Lydia’s smile tightened and she rolled her eyes.
Scott relented slowly.  “Okay,” he bit out. “But I want him back as soon as
possible.  I’m not kidding.”  
Stiles felt caught between feeling flattered and feeling owned.   Relax, buddy,
there’s plenty enough Stiles to go around he almost said, but didn’t.  Scott
seemed weirdly serious about keeping him close and Stiles got a creeping
sensation of danger.   Was he jealous?  Of Lydia?  It seemed way too early in
their relationship for that.  He giggled awkwardly to release tension.  “I’ll
be fine.”
 “Of course, you will.  I don’t bite — unlike some people.  Now come on.” 
Lydia sighed and grabbed his shirt sleeve, pushing him toward the street.  They
passed several clumps of grown ups as they walked down the paved road. 
Everyone turned to watch them and give a smile and wave.   Lydia smiled and
waved back.  Stiles just kind of gaped, his concentration nearly entirely
centered around the fact that this beautiful girl had her arm voluntarily on
his elbow.  If the kids back in Merepolk saw him now, their jaws would be on
the ground.
He felt her grip tighten.  “Smile, Stiles,” Lydia hissed.   “Smile and wave. 
If you seem unhappy they are going to worry about us and you don’t want anyone
worrying, do you?”
Stiles jolted at her conspiratorial tone.  Well, he hadn’t been unhappy until
she’d said something, but now he remembered that he was stuck in a creepy cult
town full of strange people and an egg thing that worked like magical heroin. 
He plastered a smile on his face and waved at the near by clump of adults.  
They smiled back, but Stiles could see concern in their eyes.
“Why are they worried?” he asked, tensely.  “What are they afraid I’ll do?”
“Not you.  Me.  Because I’m not really the safest person for you to be around,”
Lydia said, leaning warmly into his shoulder as they walked.  Stiles looked 
down at her.  She was five-three, a hundred and ten pounds tops, and unlike
some of the people around here her muscles didn’t bulge like rocks.  Other than
cutting him to pieces with her tongue, Stiles couldn’t see how she could be a
danger to him.
“Why?”
“I’m a teenage girl with a limited supply of boys to date.”  
Oh.  For some reason Stiles was actually let down by that.  
She went on: “Now show me that you’ve got a brain to go along with the
nerdiness and tell me all about how hot you think I am.”
Oh, that he could do.  He had that nailed.  “I do think you are really hot,
Lydia.  Like out of my league hot.  Like, amazing,” Stiles babbled.  It was
kinda nice to be able to actually say the truth and not have the response be
“fuck off.”
“Excellent,” said Lydia, softly, her smile growing bigger.  “Keep it going.”
“You — your hair is amazing.  Do you use conditioner?”  Stiles winced as soon
as the words came out.   He could see Lydia’s teeth grit.  “And you… you smell
really good.”
“Okay,” said Lydia.  “Scott’s far enough behind us, I don’t think he’s
listening anymore.”  She relaxed a bit, looping her arm around his in a more
casual way.
“Why would Scott be listening?” Stiles asked. He glanced around but he didn’t
see Scott anywhere near them.  Scott's hearing must be superhuman if Lydia
thought he could listen in on them at this distance.
“Because he’s been kissing that egg for four years now and he’s not going to
let anything rock the boat.  Also, he’s a wolf and they tend to be possessive
with their toys.”
Stiles laughed.  “He’s not a real wolf.  That’s just, like, a metaphor,
right?” 
Lydia looked at him, both brows raised.
“Well, I’m not a toy,” said Stiles, more certain.  “And I’d like to know what’s
going on here.  What was that egg thing?”
“That egg is how Gerard Argent keeps this town under his control,” said Lydia.
  “It’s magic, as you’ve guessed.  But you can forget ever getting your hands
on it.  The only people allowed to hold it are Gerard and his most trusted and
loyal Hunters.  Which you have already ruined your chances of ever becoming.
“As for you, Stiles,” she continued.  “Don’t be in too much of a hurry to join
Peter’s wolf pack.  Once you do, you’ll really be stuck.”
Stiles shuddered.  “What do they want?” he asked, he tried to pull his arm
away, but she held it tightly.  “What should I do?”
Lydia put her finger to her lips, her eyes glued on a building up ahead. 
“Don’t shout,” she whispered, forcefully.  “There isn’t even close to enough
time to tell you what you want to know.  All I can say is don’t trust anyone,
not even me.  And for God's sake, be discreet.  If you want to be kept on a 
leash so tight that you can’t even go to the bathroom by yourself, then go
ahead and keep telling everyone how much you want to leave.  Gerard will have
you kissing the egg five times a day until you forget you ever lived anywhere
else.”
“Yeah, no, this isn’t happening,”  Stiles shook his head.  “What do they really
want from us, Lydia?  If my dad signs over the whole settlement we got to
Gerard, do you think then he’d let us leave then?  That’s two million dollars. 
We’d just be two more mouths to feed and who wants that, right?” The settlement
had never really felt real to Stiles anyway.  He was sure he wouldn’t miss it.
Lydia shook her head.  “It’s not about money, Stiles.  Beacon Hills has plenty
of money.  Two million is nothing compared to the trust Danny’s dad manages. 
The only reason Gerard took all your money is so he could keep you and your dad
financially dependent on the town.  When Danny arrived here he had six hundred
dollars on him in pocket change and Gerard didn’t even try to confiscate it. 
At least not until Danny used that money to try and escape.”
“Wait, Danny escaped?”
“No, idiot.  Obviously he didn’t,” Lydia said, lightly slapping his shoulder.
“But he got farther than anyone else here has.   Kate and Derek caught up to
him in five hundred miles South of us and, well, it was ugly, but now he’s back
and he’ll never leave Beacon Hills again.”  They neared a low building that had
a bright awning and the words “Clinic” inscribed in red paint on the front
window.  “And neither will you, now that you’ve flapped your big mouth off.  So
take my advice.  Be a good boy and play along.  Don’t give anyone grief.  At
least not until you know what the hell you are doing.”
A black man stepped out the door as they arrived.  “Lydia,” he said, his voice
tinged with warning.  “I hope you haven’t been upsetting Stiles.”
Upsetting.  That was so obviously code for giving Stiles too much information.
“Not at all,” said Lydia, smoothly.  “I’ve been giving him a reason to want to
settle in,” she hugged Stiles’s arm tightly.  “You will, won’t you?” she
cooed.  “For me?”
Stiles nodded.  He was too confused to do anything else.
“I’ll take him from here, Lydia,” said the man, firmly.  “Go on back to
school.”
Lydia blew Stiles a kiss and sassed her way back down the road.
Stiles watched her go.  Passed off again.  He turned back and met this new
stranger’s eyes.   “Hi,” he managed weakly.  “Um.  I’m Stiles, which you, of
course, know.  You are?”
“Doctor Deaton,” said the man, smiling warmly at him.  Suddenly, he just seemed
like the cuddliest grown-up Stiles had ever met.  “Come on inside let’s get you
checked out.”
***** Chapter 4 *****
 
Deaton didn’t seem too awful.   He was actually rather fatherly.  If Stiles
hadn’t seen him glaring so coldly at Lydia, he would have been tempted to open
up about his doubts and fears.  But Lydia’s words had made an impression, and
he decided that he really could keep a secret after all.   So when Deaton
casually asked while taking Stiles’ weight, “Is the seminar still helping you?”
He quickly replied, “Yeah, I feel good,” even though the euphoria had long
since worn off.
“Excellent,” said Deaton, getting his height.   “I hear you’ve been spending a
lot of time with Scott.  Is he being good to you?”
“Yeah, he’s fantastic,” said Stiles.  Man, the gossip in this town was crazy.
“Lydia seems to have taken a shine to you,” murmured Deaton.
“Yeah.  Not sure why.  I mean, I’m new, but I’m not really anything … I mean,
you’d think she’d go for someone more like Jackson.”
Deaton nodded.  “Oh, she has.”
“What?” asked Stiles, his mouth going dry.  “Wait — what?  She’s with Jackson? 
Jackson encouraged me to flirt with her.  Why would he do that?  That wasn’t a
test was it?  Did I just fail a test?  Oh shit, he’s not going to beat me up is
he?”  Lydia wouldn’t have played him like that?  Would she?
Deaton laughed.  “No, no.  No one is going to beat you up, Stiles, relax.  You
may have noticed we only have three girls in your age group.  Next closest is
eleven years old. Rather than having all you boys fight over the three, Gerard
doesn’t want your age group to be too exclusive.  Even Scott and Allison are
expected to date others from time to time.  Eventually, when you are adults and
have a wider dating pool, you can choose marry and I expect that Lydia and
Jackson will eventually settle down together, but nows the time not to be too
serious about such things.  Try everyone out.  Get a few of those wild oats out
of your system.”
Stiles gaped. What the hell was he implying?   Okay, so maybe this town was
like a hippy, love fest, flower-power commune of some sort, but these were the
days of AIDS and multiple drug resistant gonorrhea.  Adults weren’t supposed to
encourage teen promiscuity!  They were supposed to preach abstinence and
promise rings!  
“What about social diseases?  Teen pregnancy?” he managed to ask.
“That’s where I come in.”  Deaton smiled beatifically.  “The nice thing about
isolation is that we don’t get a lot of diseases out here.  You can date, but
don’t go sleeping with anyone until I get your blood work back.”
Stiles couldn’t believe it.   What the hell was wrong with this town?  Christ.
  He’d never considered himself remotely a prude before.  But right now, his
sensibilities were feeling bruised.  What would these guys suggest next? 
Drugs?  Alcohol?  Smoking?  He had a godawful vision of his dad handing him a
pack of cigarettes and saying, “Smoke up son.  Don’t you want to look cool?”
Deaton’s smile turned into something less smug and more concerned.  “Or not,
Stiles.  If you aren’t ready, just tell Lydia and Scott ‘no’ and they’ll
respect it.  No one is going to do anything to you that you don’t want.”
Lydia and Scott?  Lydia and Scott?  Wait, what?  What?  But Scott was with
Allison?  What?
Deaton clapped a hand on his shoulder.  “Okay, relax, breathe.  It must be a
bit of culture shock coming here.  I’ll talk to Gerard about giving you a one
on one session.  That usually helps a lot.”
Through sheer effort of will, Stiles forced a smile on his face.  “Oh, wait,
no, that’s not necessary.  I was just surprised.  About Scott.  I mean.  I
didn’t think.  I’m all for gay… bisexual relationships.  Polyamory.  Woo hoo! 
Yeah.  I used to be considered dangerously open minded.  I was like the only
member of my high school’s gay-straight alliance club.   So, no, I appreciate
the concern, but I’m cool.  I’m totally cool. Don’t worry about me.”
Deaton went back to that blank happy smile.  “Okay, let’s get you checked out.”
===============================================================================
The exam was pretty much a typical well-kid check up, except for one bit at the
very end.  Deaton had Stiles hold out his hand and he’d poured a little finely
ground bark dust into it.  It smelled earthy and felt gritty.  
While Stiles looked at it questioningly, Deaton told him to believe that the
dirt would ward off danger.  It actually took a while for Stiles to comply
because he really had no idea what Deaton meant or what he was up to.  He was
half tempted to refuse on the grounds of “what the ever loving fuck,”  but the
thought of Gerard pushing that egg into his face again was enough to have him
holding the handful and willing with all his might.
And what do you know the dirt actually glowed for a second.  Holy fuck.   
“What the hell!” he said flinging the sparkling mess away.
“Relax,” said Deaton, his smile glowing almost as much as the dirt.  “I
expected that you would have quite a bit of talent and you do.  Your father is
probably talented as well.”
“Talented at what?” Stiles asked, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Magic.”
“I don’t believe in magic,” Stiles said automatically, but it wasn’t true.  He
did.  That egg.  The dust.  The proof was pretty incontrovertible.
Deaton looked skeptically at him.  “I don’t have to be a Wolf to know you’re
lying.  You are a realist, you can see that there are things going on around
you that can’t be explained by science as you’ve been taught.  But it’s not as
hard to wrap your mind about as you might think.  It’s not really magic, you
see.  Magic is just a name we use for what we don’t understand/ There’s a
science behind making that ash glow.  In Beacon Hills, we practice thaumaturgy
— soul mechanics.  We harness the power of our will to affect ourselves and the
world.  It can be quite powerful and useful, once you know the trick of it.”
“Soul mechanics,” said Stiles with an uncomfortable laugh.  “Makes it sound
like putting together an engine.  Or possibly satanism.  Satanic engine.”
“No Satan.  But the engine’s not that far off.  A lot of thaumaturgy is like
that.   The right ingredients, with the right properties, prepared the right
way, and you get a reliable result.  Mr. Harris will teach you the basics of it
in school.  Other parts are more intuitive and inbuilt, like what makes a wolf
a wolf.   Pretty cool, huh?”
It was actually very cool.  Mind-blowing, but cool.  For the first time Stiles
actually considered that staying in Beacon Hills might be worth it.  This was
like Hogwarts… if Hogwarts was run by Scientologists.   Actually, that was a
somewhat disturbing thought. “So does this mean I’m going to be trained to be a
wizard?”
“Mage,” Deaton corrected.  “Perhaps.   That would be my recommendation.  I hear
that Gerard thinks you should be a wolf.  Unfortunately, those two things are
largely incompatible.”
“Oh,” said Stiles.  So no Hogwarts for him. It was just like fate to offer him
up something neat and then snatch it away.  Moreover, once again he had a nasty
feeling “wolf” meant something other than just a club for teens.  Like there
might be a certain prefix to the word that no one mentioned, that would explain
all the sniffing and weird behavior.  If that were the case, Stiles had seen
enough classic late night movies to know that being a monster wasn’t his
style.  He’d much rather be Daniel Radcliffe than Lon Chaney.
“Don’t worry, though,” said Deaton.  “This is months in the future.  You’ll be
completely prepared for either path when the time to choose comes.”
“Okay, good,” said Stiles, relieved.  Months from now he fully expected to be
the hell out of this town.  Maybe with the help of some of this soul mechanics
thingy.   Now that he knew it existed, he could figure out a way to teach
himself.  There had to be books or something.  His heart grew lighter for the
first time since he’d arrived.
===============================================================================
Stiles was not surprised to see Scott waiting for him outside of the clinic. 
The “wolf’s”  face went from pensive to lit up in a second, and once more
Stiles was overwhelmed by just how magnetic he was.  Was that some wolfy
magical trait?  Or was it just that Scott was super friendly and good looking
and charismatic in the ordinary every day sort of way.   In any case, Stiles
wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone so glad to see him after being apart for an
hour.  Certainly not his old friends — who would have been quick to denounce it
“gay” to be hugged the way Scott was now hugging him.
Maybe they wouldn’t be wrong.   If Deaton was to be believed, Scott was
bisexual.  Which was also cool.  Stiles had come to terms with his own budding
bisexuality months ago, which was a minor miracle given how homophobic his home
town was.  Not that he’d ever had a chance to test it.   He’d never met anyone
else in the same boat, or if he had, they were being a lot more discreet about
it than Stiles.  Or perhaps he was equally unattractive to both genders.  
But not to Scott.  Scott liked him.  Like, possessively liked him.  Like, in
his face with the whole liking.
Stiles found himself, shyly, wondering what exactly it would feel like to turn
his head just a few inches and kiss Scott.  The idea set off a prickly odd
mixture of fear and excitement that effectively short circuited his brain. 
This was worse than when Lydia wrapped her arm around his. 
Whoa dude, he thought to himself.  Slow down.  The last thing he needed to do
right now was get distracted by things that were soooo not important to getting
him and his Dad the hell out of this situation.  Good looking or not, he wasn’t
sure he trusted Scott.  Lydia had suggested he not trust anyone and she seemed
to be pretty sensible.  Besides, whatever the free love sensibilities around
here were, Stiles was so not going to get between Gerard’s granddaughter and
her boyfriend.  That would be suicide.
Scott’s nostrils twitched and  his expression grew, if anything, more excited
and happy.  He began pushing him along the road back towards the center of
town.  
“The good news is, thanks to you, I get to cut class,” Scott was saying.   “The
bad news is we have to go back right away.  Otherwise I’d show you the best
parts of town.”
Stiles pulled himself together.    Class.  School.  He hadn’t even been in town
for 24 hours and already he had to face that again.  You’d think that he’d get
a day or two to get his bearings, but no, that wouldn’t do.  These guys didn’t
want to give him a chance to think.
The school was in the same building as the rec room from the night before.  The
first floor appeared to have been taken up largely by a gymnasium of some sort
where about fifteen to twenty (it was hard to keep track) elementary aged kids
ran around throwing balls and playing with hoola hoops.  Lunch tables were
folded up against a wall.  Up the stairs lead to a long hall and several big
classrooms opening off each side.  Stiles peeked through a small glass window
at group of children barely out of diapers doing some kind of messy arts and
crafts.  
Scott tugged Stiles past that door and brought him to a very large classroom at
the end of the hall.  This room was divided up into three clearly marked
sections, though there was no barrier between each area.  One was set up as a
classroom lab, complete with sinks and tables and bunsen burners.  Another
corner had bean bags, barcaloungers, and bookshelves and was obviously a
reading nook.  Stiles drew his eyes wistfully away to see that all the students
were seated at traditional all-in-one desks next to a whiteboard at the front
of the classroom.
A tweedy man with hipster glasses stared at Stiles with a look of impatience. 
“Good to see you finally made it, Stilinski,” he said in a voice that suggested
the opposite.  “Tomorrow, try to be on time.”
“I was at the doctors,” Stiles said by way of excuse.
“Yes, I know.  I just don’t see why it had to happen during my time and not
your free time later today.  Well, don’t just sit there gaping, pull out your
math book, the page is on the whiteboard.”
Wow.  Another for the douche pile, Stiles thought.  For all the daily “wellness
seminars” there seemed to be an awful lot of angry unhappy people in this town.
 
===============================================================================
Despite Deaton’s promise of magical instruction, it turned out that Mr. Harris
(for that’s who the teacher turned out to be) had a perfectly ordinary math
lesson in mind.  Stiles had always been good at math, so it wasn’t too
difficult to follow along, even though this wasn’t the section he was being
taught back in his old school.  He finished his problems quickly and used the
extra time to get some kind of handle on who was in his class.
To his surprise, it was the same group of teens with him as before, no more and
no less.  Stiles began to realize that this really was all the teens in Beacon
Hills.  Nine kids, including himself. They couldn’t even make a proper football
team.  Allison noticed his curiosity and pushed her chair close to his to
answer the questions that were bursting behind his lips.  To Stiles's surprise,
Harris, though he did give them a dirty look, did nothing to stop their
whispered conversation.
The first thing she told Stiles was that there weren’t proper grades in this
school — there just weren’t enough kids for that.  The teachers just threw
everyone more or less the same age together and expected them to work to the
best of their ability.   Erica and Boyd were the babies of the group at
fifteen, while Allison, Lydia, and Danny were old ones at seventeen, the rest
were sixteen like himself.   They were the only teens in the entire town.
Allison didn’t tell him, but he figured out anyway, that there was definitely a
hierarchy among the teens and Allison, of all people, seemed to be at the top
of it.   Everyone deferred to her, though Allison was quite gentle about it. 
When she suggested something, they all leaped to do it, including Scott, who
otherwise appeared to be the classroom’s second in command.  From there the
order got a bit confused.  Sometimes it seemed that Jackson was next up, and
sometimes it seemed to be Isaac.  The two didn’t like each other much so
neither deferred to the other.  Then came Boyd and Erica.  And finally, lowest
on the totem pole was Danny who simply did what anyone told him with a smile on
his face like it was no big deal.   
The only person he couldn’t place at all was Lydia, who at times seemed to
command everyone, including Allison, and other times was ignored like Danny. 
But even when Lydia was following someone’s orders, she did so in an aloof
manner that suggested that she considered it all a joke that she’d deigned to
play along with.
Stiles's place in the order of things was also rather ambiguous.  Superficially
they all (save Jackson) seemed ready to do whatever they could to please him. 
He had only to look a little bewildered for Allison to leap forward to help
him.  But he had no doubt that once his shiny wore off that he would quickly
sink in the ranks to somewhere near the bottom.  He wasn’t sure if he’d be
above or below Danny.
Over lunch he asked about it.  “So, this who ranks above who thing — how does
it work?”
“What do you mean,” asked Scott, giving a good impression of actually not
understanding.
“I mean the hierarchy you guys have going.  It’s not friendliness, or else
Jackson would be at the bottom.  It’s not age.  It’s not grades,” Stiles liked
Scott a lot, but it was clear that book learning wasn’t his forte.  “So what is
it?  Seniority for joining the cul— community?” Stiles caught himself.
Scott seemed to think a bit.  There was a sly edge to his expression that
suggested that he was more concerned about how much to tell Stiles rather than
not knowing the answer.  “I guess seniority comes closest,” he admitted.  
“With the exception of Allison, I’ve been at Beacon hills the longest.  I
helped build a lot of the buildings.” He smiled proudly.  “But it also has to
do with how we contribute to our community as well.  Those who can be trusted
to do the right thing get more privileges than those who don’t.  Don’t worry
about it though, Stiles, we are all equal, really.”
That felt like a lie, but Stiles didn’t call him out on it.  Instead he
pondered the information.  It made sense.  Danny was bottom man because he’d
run away.    Allison was top because she was Gerard’s granddaughter and of
course she’d be loyal to her own family.  What about Lydia, though?
“What about Lydia?” he asked.
“Lydia’s kind of special,” said Scott.  “Very special actually.  But, be
careful of her Stiles, she can be dangerous.”  At the other table, Lydia’s back
stiffened.  Stiles realized the despite seeming to be paying attention to Danny
and Jackson, she was listening in.
She’s not with the program, Stiles immediately knew.  “She’ll break my heart?”
Stiles suggested quickly.  Jackson smirked.  He definitely had heard that.
Scott let out a genuine laugh.  “Well that, too.  But listen, she’s a good
person, everyone here is, but —“
Lydia stood up carrying her tray past Stiles, “But I’m immune to the wellness
seminars and therefore not to be trusted!”
Scott’s face hardened.  “I don’t think Stiles is ready for that, Lydia.”
“What does it matter, Scott,” she said, throwing her hair back with a flip of
her head.  “He learns today or two months from now, it doesn’t make any
difference.  You want him to avoid being tainted by me, you have to tell him
why.”
“You’re immune?”
“The egg does nothing for me,” said Lydia.  “Sometimes I wish it did, it seems
like everyone else finds it so much fun.  But me?  Nothing.  Zip.  Nada. Just a
disgustingly warm stone with waay too much spit on it.  Gross.” 
That’s what I thought!  “So, like, magic doesn’t work with you,” Stiles
pressed.  That would be a bummer.
“Au contraire,” she replied.  “I’m the best mage this place has, other than
Deaton and Ms. Morell.   Harris loves me.  That’s why they haven’t booted me
out yet.  It’s just the egg and a few other things.”  She shrugged, as if it
were nothing big.  “I’m terribly inconvenient.”
“Lydia,” said Scott warningly.  “Don’t give him more culture shock than he can
handle.”
“Me? Never.   Just thought he should know why he shouldn’t trust me.  It’s not
like the two of us can stay apart after all.”  She scraped her left over food
in the compost bin and put her tray on the rack to be washed.
===============================================================================
That afternoon, Ms. Morrel took over the class to teach literature and
history.  She had them sitting on the recliners and talk about their emotional
responses to characters in a way that Stiles at first took to be rather
innocuously touchy-feely, but then grew to suspect was some form of covert
psychotherapy.    She played gently with a large purple crystal on the end of
her necklace while each of them attempted to relate to the characters of
MacBeth.
“Which do you see yourself as,” she asked Jackson.
“MacDuff,” he replied, dryly.
“And why is that?”
“Because he wins,” said Jackson.  “Duh.”
“Oh, definitely the witches,” said Lydia on her turn.  Stiles was ready to
object that she was nothing like those hags, but everyone else seemed to be
nodding in agreement, including Ms. Morell, so he kept his mouth shut.
Then it was Stiles's turn.  “I know you are just coming in for the end of this,
but were there any characters that spoke to you?”  She eyed him expectantly.
With magic on his mind and Lydia’s answer still in his brain, Stiles meant to
say “Witches, too”  but what came out of his mouth was “The trees.”
“The trees?” Ms. Morrel asked, raising both brows.  “You mean MacDuff’s army
disguised as a forest?”  She fingered her necklace.  “Well that’s certainly a
unique suggestion.  But let’s explore that. Do you see yourself as the cavalry
coming to set things right?  Or do you see yourself as sneaky and easily
overlooked?”
“Maybe a bit of both?” said Stiles, glad that she was providing her own
analysis.  He wasn’t actually sure what he thought of himself.  Why the heck
had he said “trees”?
“Hmm.”  Ms. Morell didn’t seem entirely happy.  Though she didn’t pursue it any
further, Stiles got the prickly feeling that he was going to pay for not
choosing one of the actual characters.
Apparently “trees” really was the wrong answer because as the other kids broke
up to go outside and play sports, Ms. Morell caught Stiles arm.  “I really
think you could do with a one on one session with Gerard.”
“Why? What did I do wrong?  Was it the trees thing?   I meant to say I’m the
cavalry.  Loyal.  I mean.  To McDuff who was the enemy, but — he was also the
good guy, too, right.  I didn’t mean sneaky at all.  Listen, I’m sorry and I
won’t do it again.”
“Relax,” said Ms. Morell, smiling that empty false smile that Stiles was really
learning to hate.   “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s pretty normal to
need frequent wellness sessions in the beginning of your stay.  You’ve had a
tragedy and your life has been upturned.   It won’t hurt, Stiles.”
“I’d really rather not.  I mean, I’ve already taken up so much of Gerard’s time
and I’ve barely been here.  I’m settling down.  I swear!”
“Gerard doesn’t mind you taking up his time,” soothed Ms. Morell.  “He’s there
for us — all of us.  Including you.  Right now I really think you need a little
positive energy.”
“I don’t!” squeaked Stiles.
Scott was there at the door.  “I’ll take him,” he said.  The traitor.  
Stiles gave him the stink-eye.  
Scott just looked bewildered. “Hey, dude, why are you all sweating and nervous?
No one’s going to hurt you.”  He had his hand on Stiles's arm before Stiles
could think of making a mad dash.  “Come on.  The sooner you get this done, the
sooner you can join us for lacrosse.”
There was no escaping.  Even if Stiles could pull himself free from Scotts
amazingly strong grip, he’d never get past the throng of others who seemed to
have gathered about to watch him go.   Erica and Isaac had a huge gloating
smirks on their faces as he was taken off to the Lodge.   Danny looked sad. 
Lydia was blank.  Jackson seemed strangely thoughtful.  Probably reordering
Stiles place in the hierarchy.  I’m below Danny now, for sure, Stiles thought,
glumly.  And I wasn’t even trying!  It was a trap!  How was I supposed to know
what Ms. Morell wanted to hear?
There was no help for it.  He let himself be dragged across the lawn feeling
humiliatingly visible every step of the way.
===============================================================================
In shades of deja vu, Derek was sitting in the reception area just inside the
wooden lodge.     He was clean, but the stubble was the same as the night
before.  Apparently Derek considered it a beard or something.   He was wearing
a  leather jacket this time and looked a bit like a biker.  He looked up to see
Stiles being hauled past him and his eyes narrowed.  There was a dark sort of
calculation behind his gaze that seemed more than a little threatening.
“Is Gerard busy?” Scott asked with what seemed like somewhat forced politeness.
Derek nodded.  “He’s on the phone, he’ll be ready shortly.”
Scott pulled Stiles into the hall to wait outside Gerard’s closed door. 
“Dude,” Stiles whispered.  “Who is that guy? And what is his problem?”
“Derek?” said Scott.  “He’s part of our security.  Don’t worry about him. He
looks scary but he’s only dangerous to outsiders who threaten our community.  
He’s rarely around during the day.  I’m a little surprised to see him here.”
What about insiders who threaten your community, Stiles didn’t say.
A moment later, Gerard opened the door and ushered the two of them in.  He had
his fakey-fake smile on, Stiles noticed.  The one that seemed to be trying say
“I’m your friendly grandpa,” but really said, “Why the hell are you punks
bothering me?”  He gestured for Stiles to take a seat in front of the desk. 
Scott remained standing at the door looking rather like a security guard.
Gerard took up perch on the edge of his heavy wooden desk.  “So.  Did you have
a good first day at school, Stiles?”
Stiles nodded. “Sure, yes.  Sir.  School was fine.”
“Getting along with the other kids?  No fights? Everyone friendly.”
“Very friendly.   I have no problem with anyone.”  The only way Stiles could
think to make the situation worse would be to throw one of the other kids under
a bus and have them all resenting him forever.
“Excellent,” said Gerard, slapping his thighs.  “Well, I hear from Dr. Deaton
that you are in prime physical shape, but maybe a little stressed out.  Culture
shock bothering you a bit?  I know it can be tough adjusting.”
“I don’t know where he got that impression,” said Stiles as innocently as he
could.  “I’m completely fine.  I think you are doing marvelous things here.”
For just the scariest second, Gerard’s eyes seemed to flash a neon blue.  His
nostrils widened.  “Now, I don’t think you are being entirely honest with me,
Stiles.  I can’t help you if you aren’t honest.”
Shit. Wait — was Gerard a “wolf” too?
“Tell you what, how about we have a second wellness session right now.  That
will put you in the right mood for … what is it that you kids plan on doing
this afternoon?” Gerard suddenly asked Scott.
“Lacrosse.”
“Oh yes, lacrosse.  That’s good.  Burn up some energy.”   He reached into his
pocket and brought out an object.  Stiles couldn’t help but stiffen at the
sight of the egg.
“I really don’t think I need that, sir,” he said, tightly.
“Oh, I think you do,” replied Gerard.
“I already had it once today, I don't want to use it up.”
Gerard laughed.  “You can’t use it up.”
“Or get addicted.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”  Gerard held out the stone on the palm of
his hand.  “Kiss it.”
“Not on a first date?” Stiles squeaked.
Gerard moved so quickly that he seemed to blur.  The next thing Stiles knew,
his head was being dragged forward and the rock came up.  For a moment the hot
stone smashed painfully against Stiles face, and then something within it
seemed to catch.   
The next moment Stiles was flying.  He was dizzy with happiness.   Everything
was just so beautiful and perfect and amazing and he was so glad to be where he
was.  So wonderful.  
He hardly even noticed being lowered to the floor by Scott. 
***** Chapter 5 *****
 
The euphoria lasted longer than it had that morning.  Stiles lost track of
time.  People told him to do things and he did them, because why the hell not? 
Scott led him out of the building and back to the school.  A locker room of
some sort appeared around him.  He was only distantly aware of being strapped
into padding.   
Then he was outside in the late afternoon sunshine.  The rest of his classmates
were around him, similarly decked out in protective clothes, both boys and
girls alike.  Seeing Allison with huge padded shoulders made him giggle.  The
rules of the game floated into his awareness.  He nodded gamely when they asked
if he understood.  And then suddenly he trying to chase down the other teens
while they ran back and forth across the lawn.  
At some point Jackson took Scott down with a solidly painful thunk.   Stiles
winced.  That had to hurt.  But Scott just sprang up again the moment Jackson
got off of him.  Stiles spent the rest of the game vaguely worried that someone
might tackle him.  He needn’t have; no one even came close to him.  Of course,
he never came close to the ball either.
Then the game appeared to be over and someone was practically forcing a bottle
of water down his throat.  “You have to keep hydrated, idiot,” came a voice,
and he realized it was Jackson of all people tending to him.  “How long did he
kiss that damn thing?” Jackson asked somebody.
“About a minute.”
There were a few whistles.  “Well, he’s going to be completely useless for a
while,” Jackson grumbled.
“Take him home,” said Allison leaning over Stiles.  “I’ll tell his dad that
he’s spending the night with you.”
===============================================================================
Stiles woke up the next morning to an unfamiliar ceiling.  He frowned at it a
moment while fighting a sense of complete disorientation.  Turning his head he
saw a messy desk and some framed pictures on the wall.   For a bit, he tried to
make them match what he remembered about his new bedroom, but they just
wouldn’t.  The positions were similar, but the details were wrong.  He sat up
and scanned his surroundings, his eyes catching on the Spongebob Squarepants
clock up on the wall. Nope.  This was nowhere he’d ever been before.  He’d
definitely have remember that.
“The hell?” he said, softly to himself.  “Where am I?”  He ran his hand along
the side of the thing he was on and thought air mattress.
“You’re at my house,” said a sleepy voice.
Stiles looked to his side, he saw a hand loosely drape itself over the side of
a more permanent bed.  The rest of the body was buried somewhere beneath a
thick brown blanket.
“Scott?” Stiles asked.
“Mmm.  Yeah?”
“What happened yesterday?”
Scott sat up and rubbed his face.  “Not a lot. We went to school, Gerard called
you in, then we went and played lacrosse for a while.  Then we came back here
and ate dinner, did some homework, then went to bed.  Pretty boring really,
except for the lacrosse.”
“I don’t really remember it,” said Stiles.
“Just as well.   Jackson kicked my ass.”  Scott collapsed back down again.  “We
don’t have to get up for another hour.  Why don’t you go back to sleep.”
But Stiles couldn’t.  His mind was the clearest it had been since yesterday
morning.  It struck him that he hadn’t had a single conversation with his Dad
since the moment they entered Beacon Hills.   He had no idea what treatment his
father had been subjected to.  He had to find out.  He stood up and fished for
his clothes, which appeared to have been dropped haphazardly on the floor near
the door.
Scott groaned.   “Where are you going, dude?”
“Home, I want to see my dad before the wellness seminar.”
Scott snuffed out a breath.  “Okay.  Wait, give me a moment to get ready.  I’ll
come with you.”
“No need.  This towns not so big I can get lost.”  He looked out of the window
and recognized the path and buildings enough to know which way to go.  “I’ll
meet you at the seminar.”
Not giving Scott a chance to respond, he dashed out of the room and down the
steps.  Perhaps out of nerves or excitement, he had a brain fart and the
doorknob arrangement momentarily stumped him.  For the life of him, he couldn’t
figure out where the latch was.  Luckily the door wasn’t locked.   
Just as he pulled it open,  Scott was right next to him, still in his PJs,
holding the door shut with one hand.  “Wait up, Stiles.”
“Are you keeping me here against my will?” Stiles asked, feeling himself shake
with frustration.
Scott jumped back and looked shocked.  “No — no, I wouldn’t do that.  I just
wanted to talk to you before you went.”
“Scott,” Stiles whined in what he hoped was an appealing way.  “Please.  Dude. 
I haven’t had a chance to spend three minutes with my dad since we got here.  I
miss him.  And you are all my best friend and everything, but you are choking
me to death.  Please.   He’s my dad, my only family, and we just lost my mom.  
I can’t just run off and abandon him.  I need to know he’s alright.   I need to
…” Stiles fished for words, “connect with him again.”
Scott relented.  “Okay.  Stay there, I’ll get dressed and walk you home.” 
Way to miss the point, Stiles thought.  But part of him suspected that Scott
wasn’t quite as obtuse as he was pretending to be.  He just didn’t want to
admit it was his job to keep Stiles under watch all the time.  Well, the hell
with that.
As soon as Scott had disappeared up the stairs again, Stiles quietly opened the
door and stepped out.  Gritting his teeth he shut the door again, as slowly
silently as possible, then crept  across the yard and out into the road. 
 Then he made a dash for it.
Though the streets were empty and the pre-dawn light wan at best, Stiles had
the feeling that there were a dozen eyes on him.  The town was so quiet that
his slapping footsteps seemed to echo like gunshots off the sides of the
houses.  Least stealthy getaway ever, thought Stiles.   Luckily for him, he was
pretty swift on his feet.  Scott wasn’t going to catch him before he got home. 
Then, with the door locked to keep Scott and the rest of the neighborhood out
of his business, he and his dad were going to have a long talk about the mess
they’d gotten themselves into.
   He reached the corner and headed down the path that led to the house his
father was in.  He could see it looming in front of him.  Almost there.  Almost
there.
He ran, full force into a hard, hot chest.  Whoever it was stepped backwards
with the force of impact and Stiles bounced and tripped to the side, flailing
his arms and falling on his butt. He gave a short shriek, then seemed to catch
ahold of himself and realize that he’d been so fixated on his house he’d body
checked one of the damn early rising culties.  A cultie who must have been damn
invisible for Stiles to have missed seeing him.  Where had he come from?
“Stiles?” came a deep growling voice, full of annoyance.   Stiles looked up at
the dimly lit face and saw he’d run into the broody Beacon Hills “enforcer”,
Derek.   “What are you doing up?  Curfew ends at six-thirty.”
Stiles was still trying to get his breath back.  He stood up, rubbing his
chest.  “Curfew?  No one told me about a curfew!  Since when was there a
curfew?”
“Since always,” said Derek, looking around.  “Where’s Scott.”
“I’m here,” said a voice behind Stiles.  He turned around.  Scott stood about
twenty feet behind him, dressed and, unlike Stiles, not particularly out of
breath for his run.  He didn’t look too happy though.  “He wants to see his
dad,” Scott excused, walking up to join them.
Derek looked back and forth between them.  “There are bears in these woods. 
Sometimes they come into the streets at night looking for food. It’s not safe
to wander by yourself.  Next time wait for Scott.”
“He will,” said Scott hastily.  “Tell Peter I’ve got it handled.”
Derek nodded.  “Take him home.”  He then turned and ran out between the houses
and disappeared into the foliage.
“Next time, wait,” said Scott, sharply, to Stiles when Derek was gone.
“Are you in trouble?” asked Stiles.  “I just totally got you in trouble, didn’t
I?”
“It’s nothing.  Peter will probably have me pull extra duty, that’s all.”
“Duty?”
“Night patrols,” said Scott.  “There really are bears, you know.  And mountain
lions and coyotes as well.  The wolves help keep the area safe at night.  The
hunters watch by day.”
“And what do the helpers do?” asked Stiles.
“Help,” said Scott, giving him that goofy grin that wasn’t quite as stupid as
it looked.  “Come on, you’re almost home.”
They walked the few feet to Stiles’ front porch.  Stiles stopped and put a hand
on Scott’s arm.  “Hey dude.  Thanks for saving me from the bears, but I think
I’ve got it from here.”
“Stiles,” said Scott, pained.
“No.  I’m sorry if this gets you into trouble, but I have to do this alone.  I
need to talk to my dad.  I promise, I’m not abandoning you, and I do like you.
  I’m just not used to all this constant company.  Can you imagine never being
able to spend time alone with your mom?”
Scott turned his head away.  “Yeah.  Okay.  But Stiles… It’s not…”  he paused,
sniffing.  He stiffened and leaned forward.  “Understood, sir,” said Scott
softly.  “I’ll see you at the wellness seminar, Stiles.”   
The hurt look on Scotts face was physically painful, and the “sir” felt like a
slap, but Stiles didn’t call him back as he walked down the porch steps and
away towards his own home.  Nice as Scott was, he was beginning to compare
unfavorably with a tick, and that’s not how Stiles wanted to feel.
Finally.  He breathed.  Then it occurred to him that he didn’t have a key to
the front door.   Damn it.   He tried the knob, not expecting it to open.  To
his surprise it turned freely.  
What the hell, Dad, he thought.   Sheriff Stilinski never left doors unlocked. 
It was habit.  Merepolk might have been small, but it wasn’t the kind of town
that you didn’t lock up in, and John was well acquainted with how opportunistic
criminals were.
Inside was dark and very quiet.  Stiles hit the lights and headed for the
stairs, wondering how upset his dad would be to be woken up, but more sure than
ever that he had to start planning their escape as soon as possible.  He ached
at the idea of abandoning all their stuff and just running, but he was pretty
sure that they’d wouldn’t be allowed to pack up and go openly.  It occurred to
him that he might never see Scott again and part of him felt bad about that. 
He knocked at his father’s door, then opened it.  Without waiting, he flipped
the lights on.  John grunted from the bed, covered his eyes with his arm and
then sat up.  “Stiles?  What time is it?” he looked at the clock by his
bedside, which read 5:55.   “When did you get back in?  I thought you were
spending the night with your friend Scott.”
“I just got back,” said Stiles.  “Listen —“
“What happened?  Did the two of you have a fight or something?”
“No. No,  I just wanted to talk to you, Dad.”  Stiles sat on the corner of the
bed.   “You have to listen, I don’t know how much time they are going to let us
have.”
“What are you talking about?”  John stared at him slack jawed with disbelief. 
He had the look he got when he’d just finished a late shift and really didn’t
want to be disturbed.  “No, better yet, don’t tell me.  I’m sure it can wait
for morning.”
“No it can’t,” Stiles squealed, leaning over and pulling on his father’s arm.  
“And it is morning.  Come on, come on, come on, Dad, you have to get up!  We
have to go!”
“Where do we have to go?”  asked John, grudgingly sitting up.
“Away.  This is a bad place, Dad.  Like epic levels of bad.  Like Jonestown
bad.”
“Like what?”  John rocked himself over to the edge of the bed, like the worlds
slowest geriatric.    Unable to wait,  Stiles threw open the drawers of John’s
bureau and tossed a shirt and pair of pants on the bed.  “What are you doing? 
What — Is this that cult thing you were complaining about?  Stiles, this isn’t
Jonestown.  It’s a retreat.”
“Dad, retreats don’t keep people prisoner.   They don’t try to separate family
from each other.  They don’t drug you without your permission.  They don’t
brain wash you with a damn rock!”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Stiles.  Stop that!  No one’s being held prisoner.   No
one’s being drugged.  Brainwashed?  Really?”
Stiles froze and gaped.  He’d expected maybe a little hemming and hawing, but
he hadn’t thought it possible his father could deny the weird wellness seminar
craziness.  “Dad, how can you not see what is going on here?  What exactly do
you think they are doing with the kissing the rock thing?”
“Okay, it’s a bit hokey with the crystals,” admitted John, wiping his face. 
“But you have to go along with it, or you won’t get any benefit.  The only
power that rock has is the power we give it ourselves.  The power of suggestion
is an amazing thing, but it’s not like movie hypnosis.  It can’t make you do
anything you don’t want to.”
“Oh, that is so not true.”   Stiles scooped up the shirt and tossed it at his
dad.  “And these people have been deliberately keeping us apart.  You don’t
know how hard it has been, the things I’ve had to do, just to spend two minutes
with you.  Didn’t it bother you to have me gone all the time?”
“No,” said John innocently.  “You made friends, you were out with them.  That’s
good for a teenager.  I think we’ve been clinging to each other too much since
your mother passed.  Maybe we both need a little time apart.”
Stiles looked helplessly about.  “Okay, well, how about this.  Let’s take a
drive, just to Redding.  We can have lunch and then come back.  I bet you that
someone will stop us if we tried doing that.”
“Yeah,” said John, dryly.  “Me.  Listen, kiddo, I’m all road tripped out. 
Particularly with you.  Give me a week and I’ll take an hour and a half drive
into Redding, if that’s what you want, but in the mean time, you’ve got school
in a couple of hours, and I don’t want to miss the seminar this morning.  It’s
why I’m here.”
“Dad, you aren’t taking this seriously.”
“Yes, because you are talking nonsense and I’m tired and I want to get some
sleep.”  He did seem sleepy.  Why was he so sleepy?
“Why are you so sleepy?” Stiles asked, suspicious.  “What have they been doing
to you?  Sleep deprivation is a classic indoctrination technique.  Oh my god,
they’ve indoctrinated you!”
John gaped.  “Indoctrinating? — Oh come off it, Stiles.  They haven’t been
doing anything to me, except giving me a chance to enjoy some good old
fashioned grown-up conversation for the first time in months.   In fact, while
you were gone, Gerard popped by and you know, we really hit it off.  We were up
all night together, discussing some options for the future.”  To Stiles’
horror, John smiled.  “Gerard says my experience as sheriff would be very
helpful to this town.  He wants me to join a group called the “hunters” who
basically keep the community organized and iron out any problems that might
arise.  In fact, if I can get you to settle down a be a little less paranoid
about this place,  I’m inclined to say yes.”
“Dad, no!” said Stiles aghast.   He stood glancing around the room as if he
could somehow find something physical he could point at to change his dad’s
mind.   “Dad, you can’t mean that.  You don’t know what you are saying.”  
“Stiles, yes!”  he said sharply, and Stiles froze.  He knew that voice.  It was
the one that came when his dad had been pushed past the point of all good humor
and was about to lay down the law.  “Listen up, kiddo, I’m pulling rank here
and saying father knows best.  I don’t know what it is about this place, but
I’ve never felt more peaceful or secure or accepted.   It feels like home
here.  And you have friends,  real friends, friends I approve of for the first
time in… ever.   I think we both need this place.  We’re where we belong.”
Stiles glared back with equal ferocity.  “That’s the brainwashing talking.  I
bet Gerard was up here all night pushing that egg thingie in your face making
you say this!”
There was a thump in the hall outside.  Both Stiles and John swallowed what
they were going to say next and turned to look at the closed door.  
“Wait, is he still here?” Stiles asked at the same time John grumbled, “Great,
you woke our guest up.”
“What?” said Stiles, unable to articulate anything more useful.  Fear locked up
his muscles.  He could almost hear the horror music stirring in the
background.  God if only this were a movie, because then … well then he’d be
dead in the next few minutes because the only ones who ever survive those
things are the hot-but-somehow-innocent chicks and not the nerdy boys who
talked too much.  He was so dead.  So very, very dead.
“He was here past curfew,” replied John, as if he didn’t even notice that his
son was petrified into silence.  “And you were off with Scott, so I let him
stay in your room.”
“Can I come in?” came the grouchy old man’s voice out in the hall.  He stepped
around into the open doorway before John could even say, “yes.”  
There was Gerard standing in the same suit Stiles had seen him in yesterday. 
It didn’t even look rumpled.   He had a look of calculating intensity on his
face and a cold gleam in his eye.  The smile was utterly humorless. 
 “Sounds like a bit of a disagreement going on.  John, would you like me to
mediate?”
“Absolutely, Gerry,” said John.  “Can you please tell my son that you haven’t
brainwashed me.”  Stiles winced.
“What an interesting notion,” said Gerard.  “What do you know about
brainwashing, Stiles?”  
There was a sweet, cajoling note to his voice that made Stiles feel like he
wanted to answer it.  Stiles held his tongue against the feeling for almost
three seconds before the weight of expectation and his own natural
loquaciousness got the better of him.  
“I did a report on it for history last year.  Well, it was supposed to be about
economics in pre World War II Europe, but it kind of morphed into an essay
about the way army boot camp molds naive recruits into predictable killing
machines.”
“And from there he spent the next three days exploring how cults work,” said
John rubbing his face.  “He never did get that essay done.”
Gerard looked a little incredulous, but he nodded.  “I see.”
“Stiles seems to have a talent for collecting large amounts of random
information, and putting them together in unpredictable ways,” said John, by
way of an excuse.  “It’s actually rather useful at times.”
Gerard seemed to make up his mind. “You’re tired, John.  How about me and
Stiles go talk in his room for a while and let you rest.”
John nodded and yawned.  “Sounds good.”
“Sounds bad,” Stiles found his voice to protest.  “Dad, don’t let him take me
away.”
“It’s just across the hall,” said John lying back down and pulling his covers
up.
Gerard put a hand around Stiles’s upper arm and pulled.  
“OW!”  Stiles screamed as his arm was unexpectedly crushed in the old man’s
grip. “Ow, ow, ow! Dad, he’s pulling my arm off. He’s assaulting me, wake up!” 
Gerard tugged him towards the door with such force that if Stiles didn’t follow
him, he was sure his arm would snap.
But John just lifted and arm and waved him off.  “Close the door after you,
Gerry.   Stiles, stop being such a drama queen.”
===============================================================================
 Once there were two closed doors between Stiles and his dad, Gerard released
him.  Stiles grabbed his arm and rubbed at the bruised flesh, wincing with
lingering pain.  For a skinny old man, the guy was massively strong.  Like a
weightlifter or something.  
Stiles looked around to see where he’d been dragged, but it appeared to be no
farther than his own bedroom.   The sheets had been changed and then messed up
since the night before.  If there had been any doubt that Gerard had been
sleeping in his bed, it was gone.  Stiles felt a surge of revulsion.
“Stop jittering about,” said Gerard sharply, “Sit down.  On the bed.  You and I
are going to have a little talk.”
Stiles sat primly down on the rumpled bed.  His hand touched a warm spot, where
obviously Gerard had recently lain.  Ew.  
“Okay, yeah,” Stiles said, finding himself feeling weirdly brave.  “We do need
to talk, Gerard.  What will it take for you to let me and my dad go.”
“You really think I’m keeping you here by force?”
“I know you are,” said Stiles.  “I’m not stupid and I’m not going crazy.  If
you wanted me to think that this place was just some ordinary hokey new age
retreat, well, you blew your hand on that one long ago.  So let’s just cut the
crap and be honest with one another.  I respect your intelligence, you respect
mine.”
Gerard shook his head, a genuine smile on his face.  “See, you are special. 
Troublesome, but special.  All right.  Honesty.  You are correct.  I want you
and your father here and I’m willing to extend my considerable resources to
make sure that happens.  But I would prefer it be voluntary, Stiles.”
“Good,” said Stiles.  “Well, not good in the whole prisoner thing, but at least
we are talking together.   So, what’s your price.  How much do we have to pay
to ransom ourselves?  What will it take for you let us get our stuff and drive
out of here?”
“I don’t think you understand, Stiles, this isn’t about money — though, the
money is nice and we can use all we can get.”  He leered.  “This is about
need.  Your need and our need.”
“Yeah, I know all about our needs,” said Stiles dryly.  “What do you need us
for?”
Gerard scratched his brow.  “Well, here’s the thing, Stiles.  I know it doesn’t
look it, what with us being so isolated and peaceful, but Beacon Hills has
enemies.  Powerful ones.  Ones who know magic.  Ones who are magic.   To
protect ourselves from these people, we need as many resources as we can
gather.  That means finding and recruiting people who have that natural,
untapped power.”
“Like my dad,” said Stiles suddenly inspired.  “He’s got power.  That’s why you
want him to be a hunter.  To protect your town.”
“More like you, Stiles,” said Gerard.  “Your father has talent as well, but
nothing compared to the raw, untouched potential that lies in you.”
Wait — I’ve got raw, untouched potential?  Cool! No, not cool, bad.   Way bad.
  I don’t want these people using me.  Stiles shook his head to clear the
thrill of the compliment.  “So you brainwashed my dad to keep me here,” said
Stiles.  “Would you let him go if I promised to stay?”  If John got out, then
he’d bring some kind of authorities back here.
“Your father would hardly abandon you and I’m not in the business of breaking
up loving families.”  Gerard crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I’m not
the enemy here, Stiles.  I’m trying to give the two of you a good life and save
this town at the same time.”
Stiles thought he spotted an exploitable opportunity.  “Well, hey, if you
really want us to have a good life, let us be free to come and go,” reasoned
Stiles.  “Talk to us about the problems you guys are facing.   Maybe we can
help you without you brainwashing us into it.”
“But what is free, Stiles?” said Gerard leaning against the set of drawers. 
“Sure I could let you two pack up your bags and head out of town, trusting
you’d come back to help a bunch of strangers out of the goodness of your
heart.  But even if I did,  do you really think out there you’d be free?  Maybe
when you were an unknown, buried in your tiny little hamburger town with all
those other white-bread, modern day peasants.   But you’ve been here now. 
You’re connected to us.   Our enemies will notice.  And even if you hadn’t been
invited to join us, how long would it have been before someone else noticed
you?  We aren’t the only people able to scry.   All that untapped potential
just doesn’t get overlooked forever.   And untrained, you’d be defenseless. 
You think what I do here is bad, but there are other, much nastier recruiting
tools out there.  And your father could easily be taken as a hostage to ensure
your good behavior.”
Stiles shuddered.  He didn’t like how this conversation was going.
“Here your father is happy.  You have friends, a home, a community.  No one is
going to hurt you.  No one is going to hurt him.  And you have the opportunity
to learn how to defend yourself against the very real monsters that are out
there.  No there is no ‘free’, Stiles.  Not for you in your current state. 
There’s only picking the pack you want to belong to.”
“Pack,” repeated Stiles, his voice growing faint.  “The wolves.  Werewolves,”
he let the world form in his mouth fully for the first time.  “You all are
werewolves, aren’t you.  And this whole damn cult is a pack.  You are a
monster.  A genuine honest to god monster, and I’m so screwed!”  A hysterical
giggle erupted from his mouth.  “So, so screwed.”
“Don’t over stress yourself about it, Stiles,” said Gerard, clearly amused by
Stiles’ mental gymnastics.  “Like I said before, it’s just culture shock. 
You’ll get used to us before you know it.  After a while, you’ll be one of us. 
But only when you are ready.
“Until then…” Gerard reached into his pocket and pulled out the egg.   “I think
I better use this.”
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
 
The stone’s influence wore off so gradually, that it wasn’t until it had been
gone for some time that Stiles realized it wasn’t there anymore.  The moment of
truth came while was sitting around the folding tables, eating lunch with his
classmates, and laughing at a witty observation Danny had made about Harris’s
wannabe badass attitude.  
  
These guys are way cooler than my old friends back in Merepolk, he’d thought
idly.  It was the first time he’d thought about his hometown or anything of his
life before coming to Beacon Hills in over a week.  A week!  And that’s when it
hit him.  He was himself again.  This current good mood, though not much
different from the mood he’d been in for days was 100% genuine Stiles and zero
percent freaky magical eggthing.  
He was free to start planning his escape again.  The thought brought mixed
excitement and dread.  His smile slipped away as he remembered his situation.
The laughter around the table died and Scott’s nostrils flared a bit as he
looked at Stiles.  “You okay there, dude?” he asked, nudging him with his
elbow.
Yeah, that’s right, Scott and the other werewolves had been trained by Peter to
sniff out and investigate stress hormones.  God help it if anyone in town
wasn’t chipper and content all the time.  That could mean trouble.  And so
everyone had be patiently and repeatedly taught during the “wellness seminars”
to keep an eye out for anyone “in distress” who might just need some form of
“help.”   Hell, even Stiles found himself doing it, wondering if Jackson’s odd
mood this morning was just his normal crappy demeanor or if it meant that there
was something wrong.  
Come to think of it, everyone seemed a bit on edge today.
  “I’m fine,” said Stiles hurriedly, as the rest of the teens focused in on
him.  He plopped a slightly soggy crinkle fry into his mouth and chewed with
gusto to show that he was indeed fine. 
And that was it — he was fine.  Enjoying himself even.   On the surface, at
least, Beacon Hills was about a thousand times better than Merepolk.  The kids
here didn’t treat him like some social leper who stood against God, country,
and ground beef.   They didn’t know any of his past embarrassments, much less
deal them out like trading cards any time they felt he was getting uppity.  Nor
did they care.  He was a fresh slate to them.  More than that.  They felt he
belonged, even douchey Jackson thought so, all reminders of rank aside.
Unlike Merepolk, the social hierarchy seemed less centered around coolness and
toadying, and more based on an almost military expectation of following
orders.  Orders from adults.   Orders from other, higher ranking teens.  Obey,
obey, obey.  
It was never anything embarrassing or unreasonable: fetch this, go sit there,
do this part of the assignment, play this game with us.  Brainwashed Stiles had
happily gone along and everyone in turn was happy with him.  
Not-so-brainwashed Stiles had balked a bit this morning, not wanting to give up
the desk nearest the window to Isaac.  Stiles had gotten there first, and he
saw no reason to get up and change seats.  It seemed petty to him.  But as soon
as the word “no” was off his lips, it was like the whole room had frozen.  Even
Mr. Harris stared at him.  
In the awkward silence, Scott said, “Stiles, come sit by me,” and patted a
chair as far away from the coveted window as possible.  Under the weight of all
those stares Stiles had gotten up and moved seats.  Immediately the tension
eased out of the air.  “Today’s not a good day to pick a fight,” said Scott
softly in his ear.
But other than a little friction this morning over the seating arrangement,
nothing untoward had happened since the morning he spent with Gerard in his
room.  His dad either forgot or decided not to bring up his early morning
freakout.  The wellness sessions were almost identical to each other, and he
was pretty well used to them.  At school neither Harris nor Morell seemed to be
trying to catch him up.   Even Jackson backed off on the assholery most of the
time.  While not exactly friendly, he seemed to have a grudging need to make
sure that Stiles didn’t fall behind or mess up, but knew exactly what he should
be doing at any time.  Stiles suspected that it was just part of the alpha-dog
package that all the wolves seemed to exude.  For better or worse, they felt
Stiles’s behavior was their responsibility to correct.
One by one, the other kids had warmed up to Stiles, though the each showed it
in their different ways.  It took Stiles a little while to realize that Erica’s
awkward and physically painful teasing was actually her idea of showing
affection, and that for Boyd, sitting silently next to you was sign that he
really liked you. 
But none of them showed the kind of attention hogging possessiveness that Scott
did.  It was clear that he’d staked some kind of claim on Stiles and the others
were respecting it.
Stiles was torn between feeling comforted, flattered by the attention, and
awkward as hell about it.  Especially when Allison was around and it was clear
that Scott was really being a greedy bastard, demanding them both.  Apparently
Allison had her limits, too, and a few days ago she’d taken to hanging with
Jackson and Danny and leaving Scott and Stiles to their own company.
Today they were all together, having pushed the the lunch tables into one block
and under the light hearted chatter, everyone seemed just a bit hyped up in
anticipation of something.   Allison reached across the table to Stiles and
caught his wrist.  “Hey, tonight Danny, Lydia and I are going to hang at my
house.  We have some movies, make pizzas, dance and sleep over.  We’d love for
you to join us.”
Stiles had never, ever, been invited to a mixed-sex sleepover.   And wait —
Movies?  Allison had a TV set?  Could it get any better?  Holy cow there had to
be some trick to this.  “Sure! Yeah — would I ev  — are you sure? — but it’s a
school night.”
“No school tomorrow,” said Boyd.  “Holiday.”
“Okay,” said Stiles,  the only holiday he knew of that landed on a Thursday was
Thanksgiving, and that was still over a month away.  But who knew what local
holidays Beacon Hills had.  Probably Gerard’s Birthday or Founders day or some
such.  He wasn’t going to question a day off from school too hard.
“What about, you, Scott,” he said, turning to look at his best friend.  “Are
you coming?”
For a moment, it seemed Scotts eyes lightened from deep brown to almost amber. 
“Can’t tonight,” he said.  “It’s the full moon, Stiles.”
Oh.  Oh.
The wolves didn’t discuss the “were” part of their nature much, but there were
signs of it everywhere, now that Stiles knew to look.   There was a random hash
of scratch marks on places like doors and desks and chairs, walls, railings. 
All nice and evenly spaced the way a wolf’s claws might be if they were dragged
over a surface.   Sometimes Stiles would see an odd glow of one color or
another in the eyes of his wolfish classmates.  Most seemed to go a kind of
orange-yellow, but for some reason Jackson’s turned blue like Gerard’s had. 
He’d asked what it meant, but Scott said it was just a wolf thing and not to
worry about it.  Though he also said that, regardless of color, when a wolf’s
eyes started glowing, the best thing for Stiles to do was to leave the wolf
alone.  Once he’d seen Jackson start to go actually hairy, which was bizarre in
the extreme.  They’d been playing lacrosse and he and Scott disagreed about a
call.  But before it could go any further, Peter showed up and took Jackson off
for “patrol”.  The rest of them called it a game and started packing up.  He’d
never seen any of them go full on wolf.  When he asked about that, Scott just
said, “Let’s hope you never do.”
It was funny, given all Stiles knew, that he hadn’t even given a thought to the
effect of the moon before now.  He hadn’t been keeping track at all.
“What happens during a full moon?” he asked.
The teens looked at each other.  “Well, for us, it’s early curfew,” said
Danny.  “We have to be indoors by sundown.”
“And our night to have fun!” said Jackson, looking eager.  He and Erica high-
fived.  “Woo!”
“Trust me, it’s not the kind of fun you want to be involved with,” said Lydia,
pursing her lips in disgust.  “The wolves all change and run around naked in
the woods.  Hunting Bambi.  Fighting each other.   All hairy and teeth and
claws and blood and worse.   It gets really gross.  You don’t want to see it.”
“You squeamish, new kid?” sneered Jackson.
“More to the point, he’s not allowed to,” Allison broke in.  “It’s not safe. 
Even the Hunters stay indoors on full moons — unless they have to go out.”
Scott looked serious, “Promise me, dude,  you won’t leave the house once the
sun’s gone down. Not for any reason.  Allison and the others know what to do.
Just follow their lead.”
“Okay, okay,” said Stiles waving his hands.  “Point entirely taken.  I can
suffer hanging out, eating pizza, and watching tv.  Not a burden.”
Scott nodded and was all sunny smiles again.
===============================================================================
 
The party — if it really could be called a party with only the four of them —
was a lot more awkward than Stiles hoped.   He’d gotten so used to being one of
the guys, hanging out with the Beacon Hill’s teens that he just expected that
“cutting loose on the full moon,” as they called it, would be more of the
same.  At the very wildest, he’d entertained somewhat hopeful visions of Lydia
and Allison wearing sexy pajamas and having a pillow fight.  Beyond that he
didn’t expect much more than popcorn and movies.
So he was surprised when the first thing they did was turn the Argent living
room into a dance parlor.  The lights went down and Allison plugged in a thirty
year old home disco light ball while Danny selected out a bunch of CDs to put
into what appeared to be an ancient 5 disc DVD changer.  Even LameAss, Kansas
knew how to download mp3s onto a phone or a ipod or something.   Stiles bit his
tongue about Beacon Hills being caught in a time warp and at least 10 years out
of date because the three of them just so earnest and it wasn’t like they had
any choice in the matter anyway.  They were making the best they could of what
they had.
“So,” he said as they picked out the music, which, surprisingly, had some
fairly modern titles, “Your mom won’t mind us making a lot of noise down here?”
“My parents are out tonight,” said Allison.  “They man the call centers, in
case there is an emergency.  If someone has to leave the house, they escort
them.  Usually, the wolves stick to the woods, but sometimes … no one wants an
accident.  The wolves would never forgive themselves.”
“So … we are all alone here?” said Stiles surprised.
“Well no.  Aunt Kate is here, but she won’t bother us.”
Then the music cut in and conversation ended.
And so they all danced, which would have been great but for the fact that
Stiles wasn’t quite as good a dancer as the rest of them.  In fact, he was
pretty bad —  Which, to his credit, wasn’t so much a coordination issue as a
utter lack of experience one.   He’d had better things to do than dance by
himself at a school (or worse, church) sponsored social.  But there was no way
of getting out of it now.  His first thought, that maybe dancing was something
that just came naturally to everyone, was dashed when he caught sight of
Allison biting her lip and Lydia laughing into the palm of her hand. 
“Oh, god, Stiles,” said Lydia, after a minute.  “Where’d you learn that move? 
Spongebob Squarepants?”
Stiles felt his face warm up.  He stopped and crossed his arms in defiant
shame.
“Here,” said Danny grabbing Stiles's shoulders.  “Okay, don’t just flail. 
Stiffen up a bit.  Control your movements.”
“Like this?” Stiles tried to emulate a move that he’d seen Danny make.  It felt
awkward and off balance.
“Maybe something a little easier,” Danny suggested, sliding behind him and then
grabbing his wrists.  He tried to move Stiles like an unwieldily puppet, but
that just got Lydia laughing even harder.  Then Allison got in on the act and
tried to direct his arms and legs with taps of her fingers and position his
hips with her hands.  Stiles kind of froze between the two, feeling both
mortified and a more than a little turned on by all the incidental groping.  
Unbidden, he remembered Dr. Deaton’s suggestive remarks, and he had to scream
at himself that now was an epically bad time to grow an erection, but with the
way Danny was rubbing up against his butt and Allison’s hands on his upper
thighs, it was really, really tough.
Then Lydia completely lost it.  She doubled over, howling with laughter.  Her
mascara ran with her tears, and she wiped it, smearing it across the back of
her hand.
“You three have to stop,” she gasped out when she could.  “Oh, god, I’m so glad
none of my old friends could see me now.  You’ve wrecked me!  My face is a
mess.  That is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.  Stiles— Stiles!”  Whatever
she had to say about Stiles, she never quite got out, because another fit of
laughter shook her so hard she didn’t have any breath left.  All she could do
was hold onto a nearby wall to steady herself.
Danny and Allison started to laugh, too, and Stiles joined them to be a good
sport, because the other option — fleeing out the door to hide under the house
— was not really a choice.
And that’s when Kate poked her head in to see what was so funny.  
Stiles wasn’t sure why he’d never connected Kate — Kate of the creepy hands and
psycho smile, Kate with the scariest dude in town as her personal cuddlebunny —
that Kate with Allison’s Aunt Kate.  Maybe because Allison was so sane and
gentle and thoughtful and Kate was so, so very not. That urge to run off and
hide under the house grew much harder to resist.
“I thought you’d be out howling at the moon with Derek,” he blurted.
Kate grinned and clicked her tongue.  “Where ever did you get that idea?”  She
laughed. “I’m not a wolf.  I’m a hunter.”  Her eyes didn’t glow, but they
should have.  She reached out a hand and gave him a noogie.  “You’re so cute, I
could eat you up.  ‘Howling at the moon.’  You’re lucky I’m not a wolf or I
would.”
Thank goodness for buzz cuts and a squirmy nature, Stiles was able to duck out
of her grip without too much fuss.
“Kate!” Allison admonished.
“Oh,” Kate waved off.  “I’m just teasing him.  Don’t look so glum, new kid!  No
one’s going to eat you.  Save maybe Danny, if you ask real nice.  Hey, I bet
you could make Danny really happy -- and then we all will be happy.”   She gave
Danny the most deadly look that Stiles had ever seen on anyone.
Danny’s face turned red.  He glowered.
Lydia suddenly gasped.  “Kate, your nails!  Are those acrylic?  They’re
gorgeous!  Those can not be a home job.  When did you find the time to get your
nails done!”  She was between Kate and Danny in a breath, holding up one of
Kate’s hands to admire them.
Kate admired her crimson claws. “Do you like them?” she asked, jittering like a
girl ten years younger.  “I got them last week during a little break in the…
negotiations.  Oh, I wish I could take you there, Lyds.  That woman’s hands are
like magic.”
Lydia smiled brittlely, and dabbed again at the smeared mascara on her face.
“Yeah,” she said dryly,  “Well, if I can’t have beautiful nails myself, at
least I can admire them on you, Kate.  Vicarious pleasures are … great.”
Kate simpered.  “Well, I’ll let you folks have your fun.  I know what it’s like
to be a teen,” she winked at Stiles, “Enjoy yourself.”  She then closed the
door.
Danny relaxed.  “Thanks, Lydia.”  He headed to the kitchen.  Lydia shook her
head and followed.
“Oh, god, I’m so embarrassed,” said Allison, hiding her face.  She put her
other hand on Stiles shoulder, holding him in place.  “She’s not usually this
bad,” she said to Stiles.  “She can be nice, honest.”
Stiles rubbed his sore head.  “It’s okay.  Is Danny alright though? What was
that about?”  There had definitely been something aggressive behind the
innuendo Kate had thrown his way.
 Allison looked unhappy. “Oh, you probably don’t know this, but Danny—” She
lowered her voice as if saying something naughty “—ran away—” then her voice
returned to normal “— a few months ago to go be with an old boyfriend. We were
all terrified.  Kate spent days tracking him down.  Anyway,  she took it as a
personal betrayal.  I know she’ll forgive him eventually, but when you spend so
much of your time defending the town against some really bad enemies, its tough
when someone in town does something so thoughtlessly dangerous.  I mean, anyone
could have picked up Danny.   He could have been used as bait, or messed with,
or killed.  He was totally defenseless out there.  And our enemies are not nice
people at all.
 “But I don’t know why she’s treating you so rudely.  You haven’t caused any
problems.”  Allison put a finger on her lips and stared thoughtfully into
space.
Stiles remembered waking his dad up and begging him to escape the town.  Yeah,
if “runaway” was considered a dirty word to the Argents, maybe he might have
done something to piss off Kate.
“Anyway, It’s best just to put it behind us,” said Allison looking pragmatic
and stern.  “We don’t want disturb our positive energy.  Let’s go to the
kitchen and make those pizzas.”
===============================================================================
Here at last was something that Stiles felt very comfortable with.  Soon the
other three were leaning back against the counters, letting Stiles do all the
work in rolling out the crust and preparing the toppings for a large pepperoni,
olive and mushroom pizza.  
Because cooking?  That, he could do.
In the last eight months, Stiles had taken up culinary arts with the
determination of the possessed.  In part it was to give him a feeling of
connection with mom — after all the kitchen had been her domain: every pan,
every spatula, every knife had been lovingly held by her hands.  In part, it
was pure survival, because for a while, his dad could barely handle a daily
shower much less be trusted around a stove.  Stiles had gotten quite good at
it, looking up recipes on line and treating his father to everything from Cajun
to Chinese.  Just not hamburger, no matter how much his mom loved the
ingredient.  The thought of it turned his stomach.  Claudia Stilinski’s recipe
cards were left gathering dust in their box.
When the pizza was done, they returned to the living room, where Lydia chose
the movie.   “Have you ever seen this?” she asked Stiles excitedly, holding up
the DVD case.  A couple on the cover looked like they were about to devour each
others souls.  Either that or kiss.   Probably kiss.
“Uh, no,” said Stiles.  “Is it good?”
Lydia swooned.  “It’s only like my favorite movie ever! ‘Is it good?’”  She
snorted.  Allison nodded a bit uncertainly.  Danny looked very deliberately
neutral.
They settled together on the Argent’s oversized couch, putting their feet up on
a coffee table and eating pizza and microwaved popcorn from a bowl, and watched
what seemed to Stiles to be a 124 minute Hallmark infomercial.  About forty
minutes into the movie Danny got up to go to the bathroom and didn’t return. 
“Is Danny okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, after he’d been gone about 10 minutes.
“Yeah, fine, shhh,” said Lydia dismissively.  Stiles wasn’t convinced.  He
stood up and went looking for Danny.  As soon as he was off the couch, Lydia
and Allison immediately stretched out, leaving Stiles no place to return to.
Stiles found Danny in the kitchen, drinking a beer.  He reached in the fridge
and handed one to Stiles, who hesitated only a second before accepting. 
Everyone was hopped up on magic happy “wellness” sauce.  Compared to that what
was a bit of teenage drinking.
“Not that into The Notebook?” asked Stiles, taking a tentative sip.  Not bad.
“I’ve seen it six times already.  I’ve got my limits.”  Danny took a swig. 
“What about you?  It’s a pretty good movie, the first few times at least.”
“I’m more of a horror movie fan,” said Stiles.  “Or I was until, you know, I
came to live in one.  No offense,” he amended quickly.  “Just … you know. 
Werewolves.”
Danny nearly snorted beer out his nose.  “Yeah, know what you mean.”
“So…” said Stiles, broaching the subject that was always on his mind when he
was near Danny.  “Um.  How did you do it?”
Danny looked at him innocently.  “Do what?”
Stiles lowered his voice.  “Escape.”
Danny had his hand over Stiles's mouth before the word was half out.  “Shhh! 
Jesus, Stiles, don’t be stupid.  Kate’s just down the hall.”
“Well you did,” said Stiles, even quieter.
“It was a mistake.  I belong here.  So do you, so shut up.”
“Okay, okay, sorry,” said Stiles, resuming a normal volume.  “Just, you know,
trying to figure this place out.  It’s not every day you move to a town full of
werewolves and witchcraft.  I feel so … ignorant,” Stiles admitted.  “I don’t
handle not knowing things very well.”
Danny nodded.  “Well, ask and I can tell you what you need to know, or Scott
can tomorrow.”
“Er,” said Stiles grimacing.  “I kinda get the feeling that Scott’s under
orders not to tell me anything.  He keeps saying it’s too soon.”
“Yeah,” said Danny, nodding.  “Probably so. Ignorance is bliss.   Especially
with all Gerard’s been…”  He stopped himself.
“Gerard’s been… what?”
Danny looked shifty,  he closed the hall door to the kitchen and then leaned
forward and whispered: “I shouldn’t say this, but I guess you should know,
especially since you and Scott are so close and you don’t know when to stop
poking things.”
“Yes, I should know…” Stiles said eagerly leaning way in, ignoring the jab.
Danny lowered his voice even more:  “Gerard and Scott have a special
relationship.”
“Special relationship?” asked Stiles, disturbed.  For a moment he entertained a
horrid idea of Gerard dragging his gnarly old-mans hands all over Scott’s tight
body.  The idea made him want to vomit.  “What sort of special relationship?”
“Not that kind!” said Danny with a look of utter disgust.  He shoved Stiles
away.   “Ew!”   Then he lowered his voice again:  “Okay, We don’t know this for
certain, and don’t repeat this, for god’s sake.  But…” He hesitated again and
Stiles felt about ready to strangle the information out of Danny, “Some of us
think that Gerard might be grooming Scott to become the next Alpha.”
Stiles deflated.  That’s all?  “So… Alpha, like the head of the pack, right?”
Danny nodded.  His eyes were huge, as if the idea terrified him.
“Well, wait, why is that so secret?  Gerard’s getting up there in years. 
Scott’s a good person.  Bit young.” 
“Because Gerard isn’t Alpha.  Peter is.”
The implications sank in.  “Oh!” said Stiles.  “Oh boy.”  He’d only met Peter
once for a minute or so, back on his first day.   He didn’t have much
impression of the man other than the wolves “respected” the hell out of him. 
Gerard had mentioned Peter running the “club” but that fact had flown out of
Stiles head after he realized that Gerard was a werewolf as well.  “Weird, I’d
have thought Gerard would be Alpha.”
“Gerard is omega — outside the pack.  It’s the way it had to work, because
Gerard won’t accept being under Peter’s command.  It’s kind of messed up, to be
honest.  Gerard’s a Hunter, but last year he got cancer and decided to risk the
bite to cure it.   Peter agreed, but only after Gerard swore a magically
binding oath that he’d never seek to become an Alpha himself.”
“Smart Peter,” asked Stiles.  “So how would Scott become Alpha?”
“Alphas can pass it on voluntarily if they think they are too old or sick to
take the responsibility.  But Peter’s only thirty-six, and he’s already chosen
Derek to replace him in case of an accident.  Gerard and Derek don’t get along,
and Scott is probably going to marry Allison in a few years.  So, you know. 
We’re pretty sure Gerard’s trying to consolidate all the power in town under
himself and the Hunters.”
“I heard an ‘or’… Alphas can pass it on voluntarily or…?”
“Or someone can take it from the Alpha.  By fighting him.  To the death.”
 Stiles felt himself go pale.  “Shit.  Gerard wants to Scott to kill Peter?”
Danny covered his mouth again.  “Shhh.  We don’t know that.   No one knows
that.   And if that rumor gets out,  Peter will kill Scott.  He’s already
twitchy.  God, I shouldn’t have mentioned this, your mouth is way too big.  You
have no idea how dangerous this town can be.” 
Stiles's head was buzzing with new ideas.  He could not imagine Scott killing
anyone.  He was too nice.  But he could see Gerard and his egg forcing Scott
into that fight.  Damn, but Beacon Hills a steaming pile of politics.  And
Stiles really, really wished that he and his father weren’t a part of it.
Danny continued:  “Just so you know, Scott is not happy with the situation. 
He’s trying to play peacekeeper and have everyone be happy, but it’s tough for
him.  Gerard’s favor puts him in a really awkward position and he has to spend
a lot of time proving to Peter that he’s not challenging his authority.  Derek
is running interference as much as he can, but there’s only so much he can do. 
Peter is pretty edgy and paranoid these days, so be careful if you are around
him.  He’s not safe.”
“Yeah, I’ll be careful.   Two of the town leaders are going after each other. 
This place is ready to implode.  But wait, what about the Helpers.  Can’t they
… help?”
 “Supposedly.  Not really.  Helper’s are Deaton’s area.  Scott says there was a
time when Deaton used to stand up against Gerard.  Then something happened, no
one knows what.   Now Deaton just hangs out in his clinic and rubber stamps
everything Gerard does.  The only one left who challenges Gerard is Peter, and
Peter is … unreliable.”   Danny finished his beer in one long swallow.  Then he
coughed and put the bottle down, shaking his head cynically.  “So, do you still
think you want to know what’s going on?”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah, actually I do.  Thanks, Danny.  And you can trust me not
to talk about this.  I have a mouth, but I can also keep a secret.”
“Good,” said Danny.   “Because every time you start talking about things like
running away, or challenging Gerard’s leadership, you make a lot of us really
edgy, and a some of us can hear you from a lot farther away than you’d think. 
For everyone’s sake, please, Stiles, can’t you just pretend everything is
okay?  It’s not like we don’t all know the situation we’re in.  We know better
than you.”
“Sure, I can get with the program.  Not rock the boat.”
“Because, you know, if you get Scott killed, the rest of us are going to hate
you forever.”
Stiles nodded.  “Okay.”   They didn’t have to, Stiles would hate himself.   But
I’m not giving up, he vowed to himself.  More than ever he felt that escape was
the solution.  He merely reframed it from “me and my dad” to “everyone in this
whole fucking town.”
===============================================================================
Danny and Stiles made one attempt to rejoin the movie, but when they returned
to the living room, it seemed that Lydia and Allison weren’t watching the
Notebook either.  At least not unless they could do so while lying together on
the couch, in fierce lip lock, hands carding through each others hair and
siding up each other’s sides.  Danny just stopped where he was and then turned
on his heel.  Stiles hesitated because, like, this sort of thing never happened
in his life, at least not outside of youporn.   And holy hell… hot!  Double
hot!
 He felt a tug on his shoulder, and reluctantly followed Danny back to the
kitchen.   “Did I … did that?” muttered Stiles, his mind completely garbled. 
“Does Scott know?”
Danny shook his head, but Stiles saw that it was because he thought it was a
stupid question, not because Scott was ignorant.  “Scotts a wolf.  Of course,
he knows.  We all know who is sleeping with whom.”
“Well, I don’t.  Know who is sleeping with whom.  Scott doesn’t mind?”
“Why should he?” asked Danny.  “It’s not like any of us are being exclusive. 
We tried that.   That’s supposedly the reason I ran away.  Jackson used to be
with Lydia, Scott with Allison, Erica and Isaac were sort of together but not
really.  Boyd hadn’t shown up yet, so there was just me, all alone.  And then I
ran and met up with a dude I used to date.   He took me in.  That lasted two
weeks … and, and well, it got really bad.  Anyway, by the time I came back and
everyone had broken up by Gerard’s decree and all our parents were talking
about us getting too serious too fast.  So now it’s kind of everyone with
everyone.  No one gets left out.”  
“Everyone with everyone?”
Danny shrugged.  “Yeah.”
“Like Jackson and … Scott?”
Danny burst out laughing.  “Oh yeah. Jackson’s slept with everyone, the
narcissist.  And I say that in the fondest way.  It’s just he’s the most
ridiculously competitive guy I’ve ever met.  Has to prove that he’s better than
the rest of us in bed.”
“Is he?”
Danny colored a little.  “Yeah.  He really is. His blow jobs are … whew!” Danny
made a gesture of a plane taking off. “Fantastic.”
Whew, was it getting hot in here or something?  “What about you.  I mean, not
at blow jobs or anything,” said Stiles quickly.  “Are you happy with this whole
everyone and everyone arrangement?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I do okay.  I’m not into girls at all, so I make the rounds
with the guys when they feel like it.”  His eyes seemed to challenge Stiles.
“I’m okay with you being exclusively gay,” said Stiles crossing his heart. 
“And anyway I kind of figured since you totally freaked out seeing Allison and
Lydia together.”
“Did not freak out.”  Danny was insulted.
Stiles pinched his fingers together.  “Little freak out.  Anyway, it looks like
everyones at least a bit gay here, so lots of company.”
“Except Erica.  Only dudes for her.  But it’s okay.  It’s not like there aren’t
plenty of guys to go around even without me.”
Stiles nodded.  The door opened up and Lydia and Allison came in, cheeks
flushed, hair askew, looking very thoroughly happy.  Lydia gave Stiles and
Danny a rather penetrating look then said, “And not even a tiny bit mussed up,
either of them.  I win.  I bet they spent the entire movie in here having
nothing but awkward conversation pretending we weren’t making out in the next
room.”
Stiles flushed realizing what the bet was about and at the same time hoping
that they wouldn’t ask what he and Danny had been talking about. “Hi there
girls.  So, some party, huh.”
Allison just laughed.  “You know, Stiles,” she said casually, as she took a
beer out of the fridge.  “Next time you can stay with us, if you like.”  She
uncapped the beer and took a swig.
Stiles choked.
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
 
There was no school the next day and no Scott, either.  Apparently being wolfy
all night meant being snoozy a good chunk of the morning.  Which meant that
Stiles was pretty much on his own for the first time in weeks.  Really alone. 
No one insisted on following him back to his house after the “party” or
anything.  
Maybe in all the full moon madness, they’d forgotten that he was not really one
of them.  There hadn’t even been a “wellness seminar” that morning, so his head
was clearer than usual.   Stiles felt both incredibly free, and oddly
abandoned, sitting in his unfamiliar room, in his unfamiliar house. The silence
was eerie.  
Downside: No dad, either.  The only sign of his father was a note attached to
the refrigerator with a plain donut shaped magnet.  “Taking a shift at the call
center, be back at 3.”  So they were still doing that thing about keeping him
and his dad apart.  Stiles thought of visiting, but he didn’t even know where
the call center was.  He supposed he could just go to the white phone in the
hall downstairs and ask.
Stiles actually got so far as to lift the receiver off the handle before
putting it back.   Why the hell would he jinx this?  Right now, this moment,
apparently he was forgotten, but if he went and told someone “hey, remember
me?” his peace wouldn’t last.  Next thing he’d know, Melissa, or Chris, or god
forbid Kate would be knocking at his door, telling him to come along to some
sing-in or barn cleaning or something.   And god knows he’d had enough company
in the last week.  He didn’t think he could take any more forced socializing.
Instead, Stiles shrugged on a hoodie and decided to get a real lay of the land,
and not just the “best parts” version that Scott was willing to show him.  He
was going to explore all the shadowy bits that his escorts edged away from.  
Whistling a happy tune, he let himself out the door and onto the narrow paved
path that served as a street.   He’d taken the route between his home and the
school enough times, so he decided to go the the other direction, past the
town’s store, the lone restaurant, the bar where apparently the town’s grown
ups went to chill after a long day in the organic gardens or whatever.  There
was a strip of “businesses” where no money ever passed hands and you basically
asked for what you needed and was helped by whoever was on duty.   Stiles
continued on untile the road ended in a cluster of warehouses.  
 Most of the warehouses had open doors and people wandering about near them,
but the closest seemed to be dark and quiet, the large rolling doors were
locked with a chains and padlocks.  It practically screamed “something
interesting in here!”  
Stiles wondered if that were the “barn” where the jeep and the trailer were
being kept.  He missed that damn jeep.  He took a step towards one of the
windows of the locked up warehouse, wondering if he could see his car inside.
For the first time, someone seemed to notice Stiles.   A reedy man in his
sixties jogged up to him.   “Hey you!  Kid!  This area isn’t safe, you should
head back to town.”  
Stiles noticed one of the ubiquitous white phones attached to the side of one
of the warehouses.  A couple more curious grown ups were standing near to it,
waiting to see what Stiles would do next.   Yeah, this wasn’t the way he wanted
to see his dad.
“Just curious! Going now!” said Stiles.  “Don’t worry!”
“Would you like us to call one of your friends over?” asked the old man.  “You
shouldn’t be alone.”
“Oh no!  I’m on my way to meet Jackson now!”  Stiles winced.  Of all the names
to pull out of his head.  But luckily the old man just nodded and waved him on.
Stiles quickly retraced his steps back to the strip of businesses before he
could be questioned further.  And now he felt a bit paranoid.  Though the
people wandering in and out of the stores seemed happy just to wave at him, he
didn’t trust one of them to notice he was alone and go reporting it in.   He
looked for a way to get off the main drag.
As he passed Deaton’s clinic, Stiles noticed a worn path in the grass along the
side of the building.  Curious, he followed the unpaved foot path around to a
back door.  But it didn’t end there.  The path cut  through a narrow strip of
grassy yard to where the edge of the woods nestled up to the town.  
To Stiles's excitement the path turned into a trail of sorts just past the
dense bushy treeline.  Gerard had said that hiking and outdoors activities was
part of the whole experience, but none of the teens had thought it a good idea
to wander around in the woods.  Bears and mountain lions and raccoons and
whatever the excuse was.   Obviously, they were holding out a bit because this
path looked pretty thoroughly wandered.
 Stiles felt a thrill − freedom at last.  Maybe he could find a half way
private place to be his personal get -away.  That would go a long way to making
living in this town tolerable.  With visions of secret bat-caves and hidden
groves teasing his imagination, he jogged out down the quiet trail.
The path wasn’t well paved or graveled like the hiking paths around Merepolk.  
Most of the time it just beaten line where the reddish earth showed, shiny and
smooth, through the undergrowth.   Stiles felt the ferns brush and scratch
against his calves, leaving wet trails of dew on his jeans up past his knees. 
At a couple of points the ferns and foxglove seemed to die back leaving nothing
but twisted roots and a dense layer of rotting leaves.  Then Stiles had to
really search to figure out what was path and what was just open ground.  
Other times the path seemed almost maintained.  Flat boulders,  like stepping
stones, ran inexplicably for about a hundred feet, before the the path narrowed
back down to a pencil thin line.  Stiles felt like an anthropologist, exploring
back through years of use and neglect.
About half an hour later, Stiles felt the first twinges of common sense nagging
at his conscience.  It occurred to him that, without a map or any markings, he
could get seriously lost and end up wandering in circles trying to find the
right route back to town. The path branched more than dozen times, trails
leading off in random directions.    He was thankful that he’d been
consistently taking the left hand branch, and could probably retrace his steps
but it began to worry him that he hadn’t reached a dead end yet.  If all the
trails were as long as this one… there were thousands of acres of woods around
him.
No this trail had to end at some point.  It was here for a purpose.  But what? 
A field?  A pond? Highway 299?  Man that would be convenient.
Turned out it ended at an old burned out house.   
From the blackened bones, Stiles could see that it had once been enormous: a
poor-man’s mansion with at least two floors and dozen rooms.  The pitted ashy
foundation hinted of a basement.   The forest had begun to reclaim it in
earnest.  There were saplings growing through the remnants of a central
stairway.  Some sort of vine was crawling up the dark broken timbers.   It
still smelled strongly of barbecue even years after the fact.  
Smack in the middle of what had once been a  driveway was a large boulder, with
one side smoothed flat. Where everything else was mossy and dirty, the stone
was clean of any trace of leaf or lichen.  Etched into it were twelve names
most of which ended in Hale.  There were dates after them, too.   Though the
first date for each name ranged from the 1930s all the way up to 2004, the last
date was always the same:  2005.  Seven years ago.
Stiles traced his fingers over the name of the baby.
“It was quite the tragedy,” said a voice behind him.   Stiles jumped and turned
around.  There was Crazy Kate staring at the building with a kind of
wistfulness.   “They were trapped by fallen timbers in the basement.   The
firefighters found them all huddled up to the door, trying to escape.  Clawing
their way out, poor things.  The smoke eventually got them.  The investigators
thought it was caused by a leaky propane tank and a spark.”
Stiles swallowed and stepped back as Kate sidled up to the stone.  She traced
her fingers down the names, a small smile on her face.  “I knew them, you
know.  I’d actually been in the house a few times before it went boom.  The
Hales were nice people — for what they were, that is.  All crowded in that
house like dogs in a pile. And the chickens, you never heard the end of them
clucking around.  They just wandered the property, half wild.  If you didn’t
watch your feet you were likely to step on an egg.”
“These were Peter’s family,” said Stiles.
“You know, of that whole family, only four survived.  Cora and Laura were off
in Redding doing chores.  And Derek was with me.”  The gleam in Kate’s eye made
Stiles shudder.   “We were making out when he smelled the smoke.  Ran all the
way back here to see the blaze, not that there was anything we could do.  Poor
Peter burned himself terribly trying to free his family.  Took him years to
recover.  Did you know that?  Werewolves heal slowly from fire.  It’s one of
the few things they are actually vulnerable to.  You should have heard his
screams.  It was haunting.”
Kate’s starry eyes made it seem like “haunting” meant something disturbingly
close to “entertaining.” 
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Stiles.  “I mean, sounds like it’s a
painful memory.”  Not to mention it was thoroughly creeping Stiles out. 
Especially the soft, thoughtful smile Kate had on her face.
Kate didn’t seem to notice he’d spoken.  “Luckily, for them,  my family was
around to take them in.  Derek and Laura, Cora, even poor maimed Peter.  Three
kids and cripple.  They were pretty wild with grief in the beginning, being
werewolves and all.”  Kate gently stroked the engraved names.  “But daddy
gentled them nicely.”
Stiles couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“You know, most people find teenagers annoying,” said Kate, turning to him and
shining an amazing bright smile.  “Especially werewolf teenagers.  But I find
them cute.  And once they are tamed, it turns out they are pretty, darned,
useful.” She tapped Stiles cheek with one of her long red claws.  The look of
speculative lust on her face made Stiles skin crawl.  
“I’m not a werewolf,” said Stiles, quickly backing to out of her reach.   Kate
had to be 30.  Yuck.
“Yet,” said Kate. 
“What are you doing here!” came a new voice.  Stiles turned to see Derek, pale
faced and furious.  “Why’d you bring him here?” he snapped at Kate.
“He brought himself,” said Kate, her expression grew if anything more glowing,
as if Derek’s murderous expression pleased her.   “Don’t worry, he was being
respectful.  The boy has a healthy sense of curiosity.  I figured I might as
well tell him a little of the history of this place.  He’d just have gone
asking if I hadn’t.” 
Derek turned to Stiles.  His expression softened a bit, but still looked pretty
terrifying.  “You shouldn’t be here.  This isn’t a safe place to play.”
Stiles was insulted.  “I’m not going to play in someone’s grave.”
Derek jerked his head back.  Then looked at the building and his expression
turned to sadness.    “I’m sorry.  I’m just a bit sensitive about this place.”
“Yeah,” said Stiles.   “I understand.  They were your family.  Listen, I’m
really sorry for your loss.  Truly.”  Stiles thought of his own mom and how her
death had devastated their small family.  He couldn’t imagine the shock of
losing twelve loved ones at once.  Kate’s little smile seemed all the more
obscene.
Derek regarded him for a bit.  “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said after a
long silent moment.
Recognizing the inevitable Stiles nodded and they headed back to the path. 
They were almost to the trees when Kate spoke up.  “Oh, Derek, I think you
should probably see my father for a session while you are back in town.  I know
how visiting this place upsets you.”
Derek stiffened.  “Understood,” he growled.
===============================================================================
By the time Derek got Stiles back (silently, despite all attempts by Stiles to
coax conversation out of him) it was obvious that two things had happened.  The
first was that Scott had woken up, and the second was that Stiles’s free time
was truly over.   Scott was sitting on the steps of Stiles's house with a
distinctly not-pleased look on his face.  
“Derek,” he said rising up.  “I’ll take him, now.” 
“He’s all yours,” said Derek, stonily.   “He talks too much, anyway.”  With
that he turned away and continued down the road towards the lodge.
The moment Derek’s back was turned, Scott turned all his attention on Stiles. 
“Dude!” he said, anguished.  “Where were you?  I woke up and you were gone!  No
one knew where you were!”  Scott grabbed both his shoulders and Stiles wasn’t
sure if he was going to be hugged or shaken.  Apparently Scott wasn’t quite
sure either, because he just held him at arm’s length.
“Where could I be?” asked Stiles.  “There’s not much here for me to go.”
“No, really, Stiles, where were you?  I couldn’t hear you or smell you
anywhere.  You weren’t in town.  I checked with the call center.  I searched
all over!”
“I was at the burned out house in the woods,” said Stiles.  “Kate found me. 
And Derek.   I don’t think they were pleased.”
“You shouldn’t be out in the woods alone,” said Scott, horrified.  “It’s
dangerous.”
“Yeah, bears.”
“And mountain lions,” said Scott.
“I just wanted go for a hike, get a little of the famed fresh air and exercise
I was promised.”
Scott raised his brows.  “Well, yeah, of course, we can go hiking if you like. 
Just wait for me.  Or have one of the other wolves with you.”
“You know, I’m not a wuss,” said Stiles.  “I can defend myself.”
Scott just cocked his head.  Then suddenly he twisted Stiles around so that he
was facing the road again, one arm looped over his shoulders.  “Come on, you
want to get some exercise, I’ve got a much better idea.”
“Don’t say lacrosse, because dude, I suck at that game.”
“You just need some practice.  I’ll teach you some pointers.  It’s really fun
once you learn how.”
“Yeah, how good can I be against werewolves.”
“Allison holds her own.  So does Danny.”
===============================================================================
There was no helping it.  When Scott got an idea into his head, there was no
arguing with him.  Lacrosse it was.  Stiles gave up and went with the flow. 
They stopped by the school long enough to retrieve a couple of lacrosse sticks
and balls from the rec room closet.  Then Scott took them out past the usual
field were they played, around a couple of houses to a smaller clearing
completely surrounded by trees.  “We’re less likely to be interrupted here,” he
said by way of explanation, which Stiles would have believed more if Scott
hadn’t stopped on the way there to report in on one of the ubiquitous white
phones.
“Okay,” said Scott.  “We’ll start with some catching.  I’ll throw, you just try
to get it in the net.  Then you throw back to me.  Easy.”  And for about half
an hour that’s what they did.  
Just as Stiles was starting to feel slightly confident about being able to
judge how to wield his stick, Scott switched it up.  “Okay, no stick this time,
you just try to dodge me.  See if you can reach …” he looked around.  “That
tree, before I can tackle you to the ground.”
“Okay,” said Stiles.  “But I have to tell you, I’m a pretty fast runner. 
These, my man, are runners legs.”  He shook them out, limbering himself up for
the contest.
“If you say so,” said Scott, amicably.
“Prepare to be dazzled,” said Stiles.
“Go!” said Scott.   Stiles took off.  He dashed towards the tree, making good
time.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught just a glimpse of something and
then the next second something big smacked him from behind and he was falling
forward onto his face.  He threw out his arms to save his teeth from the turf.
  “Ooof!” he groaned.
Scott remained on his back for a second, then rolled off.  “You are fast.”
Stiles rolled over.  “Well apparently not as fast as you.  What, do you have
supernatural speed to go along with the claws and sense of smell?”
Scott shrugged, modestly.
“So unfair,” said Stiles dusting himself off.  Scott offered a hand to get him
to his feet.  The moment Stiles was up he was dashing again towards the tree,
not waiting for the word ‘go’ because if Scott was playing dirty, so could he.
  He almost got there, this time Scott swept an arm around his middle and
pulled him back so that he fell on his butt instead of his face.  There was
Scott grinning down at him with doglike enthusiasm.
Stiles faked out a hand for a helping up, but as soon as Scott took the bait,
he pulled hard and wrapped his leg around Scott’s at the same moment.  Scott
fell over, and in that moment, Stiles was up again, racing the last few feet to
the tree.  His hand was on it before Scott could get to him a third time.
“That’s cheating,” admonished Scott.
“Like using werewolf powers isn’t?”  Stiles patted the tree.  “I win.”
“I won the first two times,” said Scott.  “Okay, now you need to chase me to…
that tree.”  He pointed out across the clearing.  “Ready, set, go!”  Scott took
off. 
Stiles raced after him, but Scott was using his wolfy powers again and though
sometimes he seemed to slow down enough to tease Stiles, he kept just a tiny
bit out of Stiles's reach.
Stiles knew this game.  When Scott was almost to the tree, Stiles slowed down
as if he were winded.   Scott predictably slowed down, too, glancing over his
shoulder.  Stiles suddenly clutched his chest and leaned forward, pantomiming
an asthma attack.   Alarmed, Scott immediately ran back, “Hey are you o—“
Stiles grabbed Scott’s arm and pulled him to the ground.  “Gotcha!” he called
out, laughing.  “Oh man, you fell for that one like a tree!”  Stiles gloatingly
mimicked a tree falling with his arm.
Scott’s mouth opened wide with outrage.  “Oh… you… faker!”  He scrambled up and
a second later Stiles was on his back with Scott sitting on his thighs.  “You
scared me a moment!”
Stiles laughed.  “Ha, you totally deserved it.  How am I to win against you if
you are faster and stronger than me.  A regular dude’s got to do what he can
do.”
“So you think you can play dirty against me,” said Scott.
“I know I can play dirty against you.  You are such a rube.”  Stiles tried to
get up but Scott was still sitting on him.  “Yo, move.”
“What if I say ‘no’,” said Scott crossing his arms over his chest.
“Then I’ll do … this!” Stiles tried toss him off with his leg muscles, but it
seemed that Scott was a lot harder to move than Stiles expected.
Scott raised an eyebrow at the attempt to escape.  “You’ll do what?  Were you
trying to do something?”
“Off of me,” ordered Stiles.  “I command you.”
Scott laughed.  “You’re not my alpha.  I don’t have to take your commands.  Say
‘uncle.’”
“Never!” cried Stiles and gave another valiant attempt to wrestle his way out
from under Scott.  It was successful enough to get Scott off his complacent
butt, but not enough to actually get out from under him.  Soon he was back on
his back again, this time Scott had each of Stiles's wrists in his hands and
was holding them to the ground, further pinning him.
“Okay,” said Stiles, admitting defeat.  “You are the bigger, stronger, wolfier
person. Uncle.”
Scott didn’t move, instead he grinned.  “Too late.  You should have said uncle
the first time.  Now I get to keep you here.”
“For how long?”  Stiles fought Scotts grip, but not seriously.  Scott had an
odd but nice smell about him.  And suddenly Stiles felt rather turned on by the
whole situation.  Being held down,  groin to butt with a gorgeous guy, getting
to feel the muscles in his thighs.  This was hitting all his libido buttons. 
Oh, boy.   “How long?” he asked a bit more breathily.
Scott’s expression seemed a lot less playful and a lot more intense.  Stiles
knew Scott had to feel the boner growing underneath him.   The tension between
them grew more intense, making Stiles sweat and his nerves jangle with
anticipation.  “Until I’m satisfied,” Scott murmured seductively.
“And what’s going to satisfy you, Scott?”   Stiles could barely catch his
breath.  He was hard as rock, and every time Scott shifted, Stiles felt his
cock being teased.  It was all he could do to keep from groaning and bucking
into that pressure.
“Well, you could kiss me,” Scott said, shining a glorious smile down at him.
“If I kiss you,” said Stiles,  grinning back, “You’ll let me up?”
“Nope.”  Scott shook his head.
“And if I don’t kiss you?” asked Stiles, pouting.
“Still nope.”
“You aren’t going to let me up then,” said Stiles.  “At all.  Ever.”
“Nope,” agreed Scott and leaned down.  The next moment his lips were on Stiles,
and wow.  Oh wow.  That felt good!  The explosion of lust that went off in
Stiles was better than that damn magical egg thing.  His brain was melting. 
There wasn’t room anything in his head other than how fucking awesome this was
and how much he wanted to rub himself against Scott.   Which he did, bucking
restlessly up against the hard body, feeling the amazing hard curve of Scotts
buttocks slide against his trapped cock.  Their lips slipped apart in the
thrashing.  Then Stiles froze up at the feel of hot breath and teeth nipping
neck. Oh my god, he never realized that anything having to do with teeth could
possibly feel this good.  It was almost too good, too intense.
Stiles twisted and writhed until Scott slid to the side, legs still wrapped
around each other.  Now Scott was grinding against his thigh and Stiles could
totally feel Scotts erection through the layers of denim between them.   And
Stiles's pants were just too damn tight, pinching him, chafing.  “I gotta … I
gotta…” He couldn’t find the words to articulate what he had to do.  But
thankfully he didn’t need words to remember how to unzip and release the
uncomfortable pressure. 
Next thing he knew, Scott’s hand was sliding through the open zipper and the
slit of his boxers, drawing him out into the fresh cool air.  All Stiles could
think was that he was being touched where no one had ever touched him before. 
It was so much more intense, so sensual having it be someone else’s fingers
slide down the veiny length than it was his own.
  “Oh god, oh god, oh!”  Pleasure rocketed up through the roof so fast, Stiles
didn’t even have time to warn Scott.  He was already exploding, dick
fountaining cum in long satisfying jags.   Scott leaned down and kissed him. 
The feel of a hot tongue in his mouth and made the orgasm even more incredible.
Pleasure ebbed down a few moments later, Scott broke the kiss and Stiles
finally caught his breath.  “Oh my god,” he said, sinking limply back in the
soft grass, every muscle loose, drained to the core.  “I just came,” he
groaned.  “You made me come.  Oh god, that was awesome.  You are, like, the
best friend ever.”
Scott smirked down at him, looking indecently satisfied.   Then his brows
peaked up.  “Uh, hey, do you think you could?”  He rolled off and got to his
knees.   Stiles saw the problem, pressing so hard against the fabric of Scotts
jeans that he could actually make out the ridge of the head.
“Oh yeah, of course.”  Stiles sat up and unzipped Scott’s fly, pulling the cock
free so it jutted out.  It was fascinated to see an erection that wasn’t either
two dimensional or his own.  It felt so velvety and warm.  Scott just knelt
there, knees spread wide for balance, hand pressed against his own flat belly. 
His hips pressed forward, driving his dripping cock against Stiles's hand.  Oh,
oh yeah.  Stiles hand closed over the hot length and gave it a quick set of
tugs, much like he would do with his own.  Scott closed his eyes and squinched
his face.  A moment later he was coming in jets across the grass.  He then let
himself flop down backwards with a grunt of pure satisfaction.
A dribble of Scott’s cum ran down Stiles's fingers.  Without thinking he wiped
it off on his own jeans.  A second later he realized what he’d done, and then
the reality of his sticky situation came home.  He’d been way to into his own
orgasm at the time to care, but now he was back to himself, he couldn’t ignore
that the crotch of his pants and his boxers was gooey and wet with his own
discharge, and there was a line of white fluid pointing up his shirt to his
face like an accusing finger.  
“Oh shit,” Stiles moaned in horror.  “Oh gross!  I’ve got jizz all over my
clothes.  Oh shit, Scott.  Why didn’t you tell me?  I can’t be seen like
this.”  Stiles was mortified.
Scott spoke wearily, face still looking smug.  “Relax.  I’ll take you the back
way home.  No one is going to see you.”
===============================================================================
True to Scotts word, he lead Stiles unerringly through the fringe of woods that
surrounded the back side of the houses.   No one saw them and they saw no one.
  Stiles dignity was still intact when they emerged from the woods into the 
backyard of his house and went in through the unlocked patio door.    
Stiles’s Dad still wasn’t home.  His dad was never home.
A shower and a change of clothes later, Stiles was ready to actually consider
what just happened.  He looked over at Scott, who was lying on his bed idly
reading one his Superman volumes.
“So …” he said, feeling suddenly very awkward, because he’d just covered a
whole lot of new relationship ground in one two minute roll in the grass, and
while he’d given lots of thoughts to having sex, tons even, he never really
contemplated what happened afterwards.  
“So,” he began again.  “Are we a thing?  Is this a thing?  Or, like is this
going to get you in trouble with Allison? Because, cheating bad.   If it is, I
won’t tell.  I can totally keep a secret.  This can be a secret thing.”
Scott just cocked his head incredulously.  “No, this is not going to be a
secret thing.  Werewolves, remember?”  He touched his nose.   “But don’t
worry.  I told you that none of us is exclusive.  Allison sleeps with who she
wants to, and I do the same.  Last night she slept with Lydia.”
“So you know that?  You, like, smelled them on each other?” Stiles frowned.  He
still didn’t have a complete handle on all the werewolf senses.  Just how much
of his personal business was entirely too obvious to the pack?
“No, but she always sleeps with Lydia on full moon nights.”  Scott sat up,
putting the book on the bed next to him.  “Actually,  I was kind of surprised
you didn’t get on with Danny.   I mean, I can tell you find him hot, and I know
he was thinking about trying to get you to say yes.  What happened there?”
“Yeah,  well he really wasn’t in the mood.” Stiles realized that his choice of
discussion was probably a large factor in that.  Nothing like opening old
wounds and painful politics to kill the libido.  But in his own defense, he
hadn’t even realized that Danny was trying to seduce him.  Though now that he
thought about it, Lydia, Allison, and for christ’s sake even Kate seemed to
think he would.
“Just as well,” said Scott, with palpable smugness.  “I was hoping to be your
first.”
“Yeah,” said Stiles leaning against his desk. “Oh wow.  I’m not a virgin
anymore, am I.  That counted, right?  I mean, I think that totally counted.”
“It totally counted,” Scott agreed.
But Stiles was still thinking of Kate, which really took all the celebration
out of the mood.  Worse, once he started questioning things, his mind didn’t
stop, even when it got to questions that he really didn’t want the answers to.
  Even Kate seemed to know that Danny and he were going to get it on.  Why
would she know something like that when Stiles himself didn’t know?  Why would
Lydia and Allison know, when they were busy with each other?  Why, for god
sake, would Scott know when he wasn’t even there?  
Stiles pushed away from the desk and started to pace.  Was this a conspiracy or
something?  A conspiracy to deflower the new guy?  Why would they even do
that?  But now that he thought of it, even Dr. Deaton seemed in on it.  And oh
gross, oh gross.  This was wrong.
“You’re thinking something,” said Scott, smile off his face. His nostrils
flared.   “What’s going on?  You seem upset.”
“Did someone put you up to … that, Scott?”  Stiles asked, and god that question
actually hurt way more than Stiles thought it would.  “Were you under some kind
of orders to do that to me?”
“What?  No,” Scott shook his head.  “No.  We fooled around because I wanted to
fool around with you.   And I hope you wanted to, too.”  His brows were peaked
and he looked almost as upset as Stiles felt.
“What about Danny then.  Was Danny under orders?”
“No one was under orders.”
“But maybe it was suggested.  Did Gerard suggest it, because, you know, that
old guy seems to have a fucking lot to say about who sleeps with who in this
town.”  Suggestion plus magic egg equals seriously yuck.
Scott hesitated just a second too long.  “No, Stiles, listen —“
“What I can’t understand is why?” said Stiles.  “Why would Gerard even care if
I got laid.”
“It’s not about you getting laid,” said Scott, launching off the bed and
grabbing Stiles hands, stopping his pacing.  “It’s about being part of the
community.  It’s about  making you feel like you belong here and you are one of
us.  You matter to us.”
“What, and you all figured the way to my heart was through my dick? Oh my god!”
“Gerard didn’t tell me to sleep with you, Stiles.  He didn’t tell Danny to,”
said Scott firmly.  “I wish you were a wolf because then you could tell that
I’m telling you the truth.  Everyone knows about the sleeping part because… I
guess you can say, it’s part of our culture.  It would be weird if no one asked
you out.  This isn’t some game to get you.  It’s just … I don’t know, the way
we are.  The way we do things.”
“So, I see,” said Stiles, incredulous.  “It would have been rude if no one
offered to take my virginity.”
Scott nodded relieved that Stiles seemed to get it.  “Yeah, exactly.  But you
picked me first and that means a lot to me.”  Scott smiled happily again.  It
really didn’t take much to put the dude back into a good mood.  “Don’t be mad?”
he asked.
Stiles sat down heavily on his bed.   This town was so freaking weird what was
a little aggressive free love?  He really had to just toss all his expectations
out the window.  It was another world in Beacon Hills.  A parallel universe. 
“So wait, why Danny?  Why you?  Why not Erica? Do I really come off as that
gay?”
“Yeeeah,  the nose doesn’t lie,” said Scott, squinting.  “We can tell who turns
you on.  Erica wasn’t doing it for you.”
“Well, maybe if she stopped bopping me on the head every time I tried to get
friendly….”  Stiles rubbed his face.  “Ah man, Scott.  What are we going to do
here?”
“What we usually do?”  Scott looked perplexed.  “I don’t really get the
problem.”
Four years, Stiles would have to remember that.  Scott had been under Gerard’s
creepy influence since he was twelve.  Stiles vaguely wondered what sort of
person Scott would have been if he hadn’t been brainwashed for a quarter of his
life.  If they had met under other circumstances would they even be friends? 
Scott just patted his back looking sympathetic through awkward.  Not even a
clue.
 
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     A/N: This is the chapter where the discussion of suicide comes in, so
     heads up if you are sensitive to that subject.
===============================================================================
 
As it turned out, having sex changed just about nothing.  Once Stiles got over
his mortification that his private business was instant public knowledge, he
found it disappointing and annoying how little it mattered.  Losing one’s
virginity was supposed to be a big deal.  A life changer.  He was a man now. 
Experienced!  Surely something should be different.
But it wasn’t.  None of the other kids treated him differently.  Not even
Scott, who was exactly as clingy and possessive as he’d been before their
tumble. Erica still liked to slap him on the ass at unexpected times, and Boyd
still made like a statue.   Isaac ignored him and Allison was vaguely nice.  
Lydia didn’t seem to care at all.  Even Danny’s sole acknowledgment was to give
him a thumbs up and a nod.  
Jackson was the only one who openly spoke about it.  “About fucking time,” was
all he said.  “Come see me when you have a few more notches under your belt.” 
He then got up from his chair and moved off before Stiles could even think of a
response.
Scott closed in, taking Jackson’s chair.  His nostrils flared and for just a
moment Stiles wondered if he was jealous.  But no it was just the freaking
wellness training rearing its head again.  “Did Jackson upset you?” he asked.
“No,” said Stiles, still feeling baffled.  “I think he might have propositioned
me.  Maybe.”
“Oh,” said Scott, face clearing up.  “Yeah, he did.  He’s just waiting for you
to get a bit more experienced.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t trust that you’d see how great he is unless you’ve already had a
basis for comparison.  He’s really stupidly competitive, but whatever.  We get
the benefit, so might as well let him do his thing.”
“No I mean, why would he even want to sleep with me.  He doesn’t like me.”
Now Scott looked surprised.  “Of course he likes you.  We all like you.  You
are one of us!”
Egg talk.  Stiles sighed.  Though that reminded him:  “So Scott.  What is that
egg thing.  How long has Gerard had it?”
Scott leaned back.  “Since before my time.  At least seven, eight years ago.  I
remember Deaton telling me that that’s how he met Gerard.  He’d come hunting
after that egg, worried that if it fell into the wrong hands that it might be
too dangerous. But by the time he caught up with it, Gerard had the egg.  Dr.
Deaton was pretty relieved to see it was in good hands after all.  Then Deaton
stuck around and taught Gerard how to be a white mage, so that Gerard could use
the egg for good instead of evil.  The two of them had these ideas of making
Beacon Hills a place for people to come and heal and be safe from natural and
supernatural dangers.   But it wasn’t until after Peter woke up from his coma
and joined in, that they got down to actually making it.”  
“So really, Deaton thought it was a good idea for Gerard to have that egg?” 
Stiles didn’t believe it for a moment.
Scott suddenly frowned and looked puzzled.  “Strange…” he said.  “I was just a
kid back then, so I might not be remembering things exactly right.”
“What do you think you don’t remember.”  Stiles felt a tingle of excitement.
“Well,” said Scott slowly.  “It’s totally nuts, but I think maybe Deaton and I
might have tried to take the egg away from Gerard once, like four years ago.  
But that doesn’t really seem right.  I mean, why would I do that?”
“Oh,” said Stiles straightening up.  “No idea at all.”
“Yeah, I know, right.  Weird.  Maybe that was a dream or something.  
Confusing.  Anyway, after that Gerard decided it would be better if I hung out
with Peter rather than Dr. Deaton.  We’d just lost Alpha Laura and Peter needed
three betas to make a proper pack, so I took the bite.  And that was that.”
Scott shrugged, smiling again.  
That certainly was that, thought Stiles.
===============================================================================
On Monday, a week and a half after the full moon, the unthinkable happened
again.  Scott was on “patrol” that night and, for some unknown reason, no one
else stepped up to Stiles’s side after he left.  
Allison and Lydia were sitting together in the rec center, deep into some
discussion about “style” and “looks” that involved fondling each other’s hair. 
It was distracting, but not exactly welcoming to a dude whose hair had never
been more than six weeks out of a buzz cut.  Meanwhile, Jackson and Danny had
made such a thinly veiled excuse to go off together that Stiles felt himself
blush.  That left only Erica, Boyd and Isaac who all decided that the most
awesome way to spend a rainy Monday afternoon was to hone their fighting
skills.  They got all hairyed up and left to wrestle in the drenched lacrosse
field.   Stiles had decided long ago that he was a lover not a fighter (though
until four days ago “lover” had been entirely academic) and getting in the
middle of a muddy, bloody werewolf brawl was not his idea of “smart”.
So Stiles left.   No one stopped him.  Either they’d forgotten his existence,
or they just thought it was someone else’s job to be his minder.  In any case,
there he was, splashing all alone down the street as gloomy twilight settled
prematurely over the town.  
He was completely on his own recognizance for the first time since the full
moon.   He could go anywhere!  Do anything!  As long as it involved getting
completely soaked with only a hoodie to ward off the chill, mild though it
was.  He didn’t even have a flashlight.  Suddenly hiking in the woods, with all
it’s promise of knee-high mud, lost its appeal.  Re-exploring the town didn’t
seem much better.
So, home it was.
 The first thing Stiles noticed was that the lights in his house were on.  
This was a surprise because the rare times he’d been at home, Stiles’s Dad had
always, always been gone.  Oh, there would be little signs of him here or
there.  Dirty clothes in a hamper.  Toothbrush left out on the vanity.  A plate
in the sink.  A chore list.  And there was always a note on the refrigerator: 
Working a call shift.  Having dinner with Chris.  Down at the clinic with
Melissa.   Helping with inventory at Warehouse 6.  All night training session! 
It seemed like Gerard was running his dad ragged.  Sometimes he was out past
curfew and slept somewhere else, but even when he did manage to be home alone
on a day Stiles was there, by the time Stiles was able to free himself from
whatever companion was leeching on to him, his dad had already retired to his
room to sleep.
But today, when Stiles walked in the door, there was his dad, looking fit and
slim and awake.  He was sitting in the arm chair in the living room, reading
the contents of a three ring binder and smiling with contentment.   
He looked up as Stiles cautiously approached.  “Hey kid, long time no see.”
 “Yeah.  Really long time Dad.  Wow, you’ve lost weight.”  He approached his
father slowly, as if afraid that if he broke the spell something would happen
to separate them again.  “Looking good.”
His dad beamed a smile at him.  “That’s what fresh air, exercise, and no booze
will get you.”
“No booze?  Seriously?”  Stiles felt a giddy lightness in his chest.  “That’s
awesome.”
 “Nope. I haven’t had a drink since I got here, Stiles.  Haven’t needed one.” 
But then John’s smile faded.  He tilted his head.  “How have you  been.  You
look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Stiles wiped his face, searching for words.  “It’s just … God,  Dad, it’s been
so long since I’ve seen you.  Not even at the seminars.  I was getting worried
about you.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I’ve been so busy lately.   Gerard’s been working one on one
with me, so I haven’t been to the seminars.  There is so much going on here,
you wouldn’t believe it.   I’ve been training to use all kinds of weapons,
things I never even seen before.  There’s all kinds of tactics.  Reminds me of
my days as a police cadet.   You know, I thought I knew my job, but being a
Hunter really adds this whole dimension to police work that I never even
considered before.”
As he spoke, Stiles noticed a bandage peaking out from the checked sleeve on
his shirt. And not one of those tiny band-aids.   He rushed to his dad’s side
and turned the arm over.  “You’re hurt!”
“I’m fine.”  John tugged his arm away then gave Stiles a friendly pat on the
shoulder.  “It’s just a cut.  All stitched up.  Nothing serious.  Where’s
Scott?”
“Patrol,” said Stiles.    Suddenly the words that Stiles had been practicing in
his head for days came back.  “Dad.  Doesn’t it strike you that things are
going a bit too fast?  I mean, I get that you are happy, but we just got here
barely three weeks ago and now you are all training to be one of them.  It
seems so permanent.   We’re just here to get over … mom, aren’t we?”  
Stiles winced, waiting to see his reaction.  Mentioning mom at all was a touchy
subject.  On a bad day, even eluding to Claudia would put his dad in a funk
that took hours to pass.  During those hours things got scary.  But this time
John just smiled, and Stiles let out his breath.
“We are.  But look at us:  I miss your mom like crazy, but I’m not falling
apart over her anymore.   I think it’s this place that’s doing that.  I’m busy,
I have a purpose.  And you look great Stiles.  Less nervous.  More focused. 
You even have a kind of glow about you.  Do you and that Lydia girl have
something going?  I heard you went to a party with her.”
Stiles got a weird nervous vibe.  What kind of information had these people
been feeding his dad?  Not that he wanted his dad to hear gossip about his sex
life, but he liked it even less if they were feeding his dad misinformation.  
“No, me and Lydia are not.  Anything.  Well, we’re friends, but no.  I mostly
hang out with Scott.”  He was not going to mention that he and Scott were fuck
buddies.  He’d never actually gotten around to coming out to his dad, what with
the whole pressure-cooker atmosphere back in Merepolk.  It’d been academic
anyway.   And now he had other things he’d rather talk about.
“Scott’s a good kid,” said John, over Stiles’s thoughts.  “I like him.   Gerard
has a really high opinion of him.”
Stiles nodded.  Gerard would.   But that wasn’t what Stiles wanted to talk
about either.
“Dad,” he broached.  “About that trip to Redding.  Remember, you said that
after a week we could go have lunch together.”  Stiles knew the trip wouldn’t
happen.  But maybe if they tried, his dad would see just what a predicament
they were in.  Maybe he wouldn’t be so damn cooperative with Gerard’s agenda. 
“What do you think about doing that.  We could make it dinner instead of lunch
it wouldn’t interfere with school or anything.”
John leaned back in the chair, his hands flopping on the manual in his lap. 
“Yeah, I remember promising you a trip to Redding.  But Stiles I can’t.  I’m
just way too busy for that.  I’ve got to get this book read, then I’m meeting
Peter for dinner and after that I’m going out on patrol with him tonight.  And
I just can’t see taking another road trip any time soon. Tell you what, I can
take you to lunch at the cafe they have here in Beacon Hills.  Have you been
there yet?  They have fries.”
Fries did sound good.  But not good enough to change the subject.  “I thought
that the Hunters did the day patrols and the Wolves did the night ones.”
“Hunters work nights as well.  And it’s important that I be able to pitch in
any time I’m needed.”
A flash of realization went through Stiles like an electric shock.  He actually
jumped.  “Wait, Dad.  You are going on patrol with Peter.  Do you know — you do
know what he is, right?”
John gave Stiles that “oh come on,” look.   “Yes, I know that Alpha Peter is a
werewolf.”
“You do?” Stiles squeaked.  “And that… that doesn’t bother you?  I mean, I told
you weeks ago something was going on here and you acted like it was nothing but
crystals and wishful thinking.”
“Well, it would be pretty hard to maintain that belief given the amount of
evidence,” said John, completely unfazed.
“Dad!” said Stiles, his voice rising to a strangled shriek.  “If you know all
that…  how is it you can stay so calm.  I mean, we are living in a town full of
monsters and you are okay with that?”
That wiped the smile off of John’s face.  “Stiles, I thought I raised you
better than that.  These aren’t ‘monsters’.  They are our friends.  After all
the lectures you’ve given me about being broad minded and sensitive, I can’t
believe you’d say anything so bigoted.  Is that what you think of Scott?”
Stiles felt his face burn.  “Okay, I’m sorry. They aren’t monsters.  They are
lycanthropically inclined.  But that doesn’t change the fact that they are
using you, Dad.”
“Stop, Stiles,” said John, warning heavy in his voice.
 “—Manipulating you.  Brainwashing you --”
“Stop!”  Sharper.
 “That egg--”
“—That egg is what’s keeping me from eating my gun!” John spoke with deadly
seriousness.  “And if you don’t want to be a goddamn orphan, you’ll leave it
alone.”
Time stopped.  Silence hung on between them for what seemed like forever.  Even
the sound of the rain seemed to fade away.  Suddenly Stiles’s eyes stung and
his chest felt too tight to breathe.  His stomach clenched with sick horror.  A
tiny sick noise, more of a hiccup than word emerged from Stiles’s mouth.
“Stiles,” his dad said, “Leave it.”
Words finally came back.  “I will,” he said, turning his eyes away, looking
anywhere but his dad.   “I don’t.  I’m sorry.  So sorry.”  Please don’t kill
yourself.  Please don’t kill yourself.
“I’m happy and we are staying here,” said John, firmly.  “No trips to Redding. 
No talk of leaving.  You are going to learn in school, have friends, and we are
all going to be alright.  We are finally going to get past this.  We’re
healing.  This is healing us.”
 “Yeah, dad.  You are right.  You are totally right.  We’ll be fine.”  Stiles
trembled, more terrified than he’d ever been in his life.  Tears ran down his
cheeks.  He couldn’t stop them.  
Then the mood passed like a dark cloud.   John was himself again.  Not as
upbeat as before, but normal enough that Stiles could recognize him.  
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing his face.  “Jesus.  I’ve never meant to lay that
on you.  I didn’t want you knowing.  You’re grieving, too, and the last thing I
need to do is make you carry my burdens as well.”
“It’s not like I didn’t know,” said Stiles, softly.  “I knew, dad.  I always
knew.    And if this place is what you need, then we’re staying here.  End of
matter.”
John put the manual aside and got up.   Before Stiles could react he was
engulfed in a hard hug.  “Thank you, Stiles.  Thank you for understanding.”
===============================================================================
Stiles went to his room, leaving John to finish his manual before going to
Peter’s.  He tried reading one of his comic collections, but even though he’d
read it before, he couldn’t seem to make sense of the dialogue and the action
seemed meaningless.  His head kept running past the same words over and over
and over again. “That egg is keeping me from eating my gun.”  And his reply, “I
always knew.”   
He had.  It had always been there, a terror so chilling that never, not even in
Stiles’ head, did he voice it, lest it become real.  But it was there every
time he found his father asleep with an empty bottle next to him and his
unholstered gun on the bathroom vanity.   Every time Stiles had tried to ply
him with food only to have his dad look sadly down at his plate.  Every time a
neighbor snubbed them, or work got rough and John had gotten that far away look
in his eye.  That dark possibility had loomed close enough that Stiles ached
with it.  
His only recourse was to make sure that John could never forget that he existed
and that he needed him.  He’d clung to his dad.  Tried to be the good son. 
Learned to cook, clean, keep up his grades, never get in trouble.  Tried even
to do his dad’s work for him.  Anything to take the pressure off and keep that
gun in its holster.  
And now in Beacon hills it was all flipped over.  Gerard’s egg was doing what
Stiles never could.  His father was safe and happy and Stiles was getting to
have a life again.   For all the creepiness, the pressure had been lifted off
of Stiles.   He had been happy.
  It was wrong, all wrong, but it was so much better than the alternative.
Eat my gun.  There was no denying it or hiding from it or pretending it wasn’t
as bad as Stiles knew it was.  Those three words had done more to bind him to
Beacon Hills than the sex, or the friendship, or even the egg could have.
I can’t run away, Stiles finally acknowledged.  For better or worse, Beacon
Hill’s problems were his problems.  He was one of them now.   God help him.
===============================================================================
There was a knock at the door.  His dad.  Probably going to apologize some
more.  Maybe if Stiles was chatty enough he could stop that.  
He wiped the tears from his face, schooled his expression and opened the door,
but instead of John there stood Jackson of all people.  “Hello?” said Stiles.
 “Your Dad’s gone to Peter’s” said Jackson stepping past Stiles.  “I’m supposed
to stay with you.”  His voice was carefully neutral.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, another handler.  At least he wasn’t pretending to be
something else.  But, God, the last thing Stiles needed right now was to put up
with Jackson’s douchiness and resentment.  As if he didn’t have enough on his
plate.  
“You don’t have to stay with me,” said Stiles, unable to keep the bitterness
from his voice.  “You can go back and hang with Danny.”   Please go away,  he
tried to telegraph.
“Yeah, I do.”  Jackson ignored his look and sat down on the end of Stiles bed,
looking muscular and immovable.    “None of us thinks you should be alone right
now.  It’s not safe.”
“Safe?  What trouble could I get into, all alone in my house?”  
The plains of Jackson’s oh-so-perfect face hardened into a look of concern and
Stiles got it.  Oh god, were they afraid that his dad’s little reveal might
make him suicidal?  They were way off track!  He had to be strong, didn’t they
see? He had to step up to the plate and keep things together, no matter how
hard it was.  He and his dad couldn’t both fall apart.  
“I’m perfectly safe,” said Stiles as  earnestly as he could.  As a wolf,
Jackson would know it was the truth.  “I’m not going to do anything to myself.”
Jackson relaxed a little but didn’t budge.  “Well that’s good.  But I’m still
staying, so get used to me.”
Stiles groaned.  “Why?”
“Why not.”
“Because you hate me?”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed.  “No, I don’t.  Listen, I don’t like that you act all
superior to us because you know what the outside world is like and we don’t.  I
don’t appreciate being called a monster — yeah, I know what you think about
me.  But I don’t hate you.  You’re my brother, like Scott and Boyd are my
brothers.  We’re family and we take care of each other.”
Family that sleeps together.  Oh yay, now Stiles was feeling incestuous for
having taken that tumble with Scott.  Still, much as Stiles wanted to, he
couldn’t help but feel a little douchey himself for calling Jackson a monster. 
It wasn’t like Jackson had a choice about being a werewolf.  Or really
anything.  Even hanging with him.
“So, do you hate me?” Jackson crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I know
you judge the fuck out of me.  Which I don’t mind, because unlike you, I’m not
insecure about myself.  But do you hate me?  Because that I have a problem
with.”
Stiles wasn’t sure he believed Jackson.  Secure people didn’t overcompensate to
the crazy extent that Jackson did.  But he let that pass.  He slouched forward
and rested his head in his hands.  “No, I don’t hate you.   I don’t hate any of
you.   I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.”
Jackson smiled.  “That’s easy.  You are supposed to feel happy.  Come on.   You
don’t have anything fun to do here.  Let’s go to my house.   Mom will feed us
and I’ll teach you how to play pool.”
===============================================================================
So that is how Stiles ended up in Jackson’s den, a pool cue in his hand, and
Jackson hovering at his back, holding his arm in position.  “Yeah, yeah, relax
your elbow.  Stop over thinking the aim.  You aren’t at the level of doing
trick shots.  Worry more about the amount of thrust you plan to give.”   Stiles
bent far over the edge of the table and was very aware of Jackson practically
lying on top of him.  The position was more than a little suggestive and if
Stiles had been in anything like a normal mood, he’d probably be showing an
embarrassing amount of appreciation for the feel of Jackson’s muscles up
against his side.
He felt Jackson sniff in his ear.  Keeping track of his mood, Stiles knew, but
turned out ears were pretty sensitive and all that soft talking and snuffing in
them was tickling in a really, really nice way.  And it didn’t help that when
Jackson wanted to be, he was damn charming.  The way he bathed you in attention
wasn’t quite so clingy and possessive as the way Scott did, but every bit as
intense.  Stiles couldn’t help but feel flattered by it.  Which in turn was
making the way Jackson’s hand slid down his forearm … nggh.
Jackson sniffed again and Stiles could actually feel his smile against the side
of his face.  “Get a bit more practice and I’ll let you use my other cue.”
Oh my god, so corny.  But still unff!  Weak knees time.  It was hard to keep
track of the damn ball when all he could think about was what it would be like
to be fucked against the hard, smooth side of the pool table.
To Stiles disappointment Jackson stepped back, releasing him to make his shot. 
Which he did.  And by some miracle the cue ball hit the blue ball which then
banked off the side and dropped neatly into the corner pocket.  Stiles was so
distracted by his unexpected triumph that he forgot to be lustful.  “Oh yay!”
he said.  “I did it!”
“You did.  Keep practicing and maybe you’ll be good enough to challenge me.  Go
for the yellow ball next.”
Stiles was lining up the shot when the door opened and someone stepped in.  He
glanced up expecting it to be Jackson’s mom again.  But instead he saw the
stooped form of Gerard standing in the doorway.  He was smiling and looking
pleased.  
“Hey there, Jackson.  Sorry to interrupt the fun, but I thought I’d check in on
Stiles.   I heard he had a rough afternoon.”
Stiles, who had actually forgotten about his predicament for a moment, now felt
it settle back in.  An electric rush of fear washed over him and he tightened
up, wary of what Gerard might want.  His stomach clenched sickly around the
pork chop Jackson’s mother had fed him.
Gerard’s nostrils flared momentarily and Stiles knew there was no point in
trying to pretend he was okay.   “Don’t be scared, Stiles.  I’m not going to
hurt you.  The opposite in fact.  Your dad just told me and Peter all about
your situation.  He’s really concerned about you, kiddo.”
“Well, he doesn’t have to be,” said Stiles.  “I’m fine.  Truly.  Jackson can
tell you.  I’m not going to do anything that will make my father worry about
me, and as long as he wants to be here, I’m cool with it.   I’ll be your
faithful whatever it is you want me to be.  Wolf.  Mage.  Whatever.   You win. 
I’m all yours.”
“Hmm,” said Gerard, settling down on the overstuffed arm of a nearby couch and
looking thoughtful.  “You know with most kids your age I have to tell them to
be responsible.  Stop goofing off and get the job done.  But that’s not really
your problem, is it, son?  You’ve gone the opposite direction.  Grown up a bit
too fast.   I believe you’re willing to sacrifice whatever you need to in order
to keep your dad safe.  You’ll walk through hell for him.”
Stiles tightened his jaw but nodded.  They understood each other.
Gerard cocked his head.  “Believe it or not, I appreciate what what it takes
for you to offer yourself like this.  But Stiles, I don’t need your sacrifice. 
What I need you to do is to let it go.  Stop worrying about your father and
think about yourself instead.  One day soon you’ll be a man and you will have
all the responsibilities you should have.  But for now, you need to let down
your guard and let the rest of us carry that load for you.  Be a kid again. 
Can you do that son?”
Stiles nodded.  If that was what Gerard wanted, that’s what he got.  Anything
to keep his dad alive.
“Good,” said Gerard standing up again.  “Come over here, I think we both know
what you need.  Jackson, if you wouldn’t mind, help settle him in the couch.” 
Stiles bristled to feel Jackson’s hand against his arm, pushing him forward. 
This was totally unnecessary.   He knew what was coming.  He’d vowed not to
fight it.  Couldn’t they tell that?  With all their wolfy senses, it seemed to
him that his submission should be obvious.  He pulled away and walked over to
the couch and sat primly in it.
“I think maybe this time it will take, if you let it,” said Gerard.  “Lie
back.  Relax all your muscles, you are tight as a drum.  Relax.  You’ve done
this before.  You know it’s not going to hurt.”
Stiles stiffly lay back, so that his feet were pointed towards Gerard.  His
eyes itched and stung and the muscles in his face hurt.  He stared at the
ceiling and tried not to notice the old man was pulling something from his
pocket.  
“Just do it,” he said.
“Before I treat you, Stiles, I want you to imagine yourself as being happy. 
Imagine that you are a normal kid in a new town who has made a bunch of new
friends.  Imagine that your father has a new job that he loves.  He has friends
and feels good about himself.  Are you picturing that?”
Stiles nodded, trying.   It was pretty close to reality.
“Your only job is keep your teachers happy and your friends happy and yourself
happy.  Your dad’s not your responsibility.  You can accept that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then lets do this for real this time.  Don’t fight it, give into it, let go.” 
Gerard stepped into Stiles view and leaned over him.  The egg loomed large in
his hand.  Stiles felt a prickle of heat coming from it, as though it were
emanating some kind of radiation.  Then it touched his lips and — 
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
                                    PART 2
“Imagine that this is an unbroken protective line,” said Harris, boredly. 
“Feel the power coming up from your middle, down your arm, through your hand
and into the dust.  Stiles, does that really look like a circle to you?”
Stiles looked down at the line of bark dust he was spreading over the gym
floor.  His “circle” was more of an amoeba than a regular figure, but hey, as
long as the two ends closed, did it really matter?   Inside the circle Scott
sat, arms loosely wrapped around his knees, waiting patiently.  He nodded
encouragingly.  Stiles let the last of the dust flow out of his hand and
“willed” like he was taught.  The dust surged briefly with light and then died
back down. 
Scott got up and took a step forward, testing the boundary.  He stopped as if
he’d hit a wall.  Then he tried again, grunting and obviously putting more
force into it, and once more he made no headway.  “It’s good,” he called out,
with a thumbs up.
Harris almost seemed disappointed.  “Natural talent, I guess,” he muttered. 
“Okay, break the line and sweep it back up into the jar.  You two can go to
lunch.”  He turned around and saw Danny furtively fussing with his dust line
using the side of his shoe.  “Danny!  Use your will, not your foot!”  Erica
yawned from inside the circle and made a glance at the clock.
“Ahem,” said Scott.
“Oh!”  Stiles slid his foot through the line and broke the spell.  “Sorry
dude.  Distracted.”
“S’okay.”  Scott got the broom and dustpan, but it was Stiles who had to sweep
the finely ground wood shavings back into the large plastic bin it had come
from.   As a wolf, Scott couldn’t touch the stuff.  One of the weird werewolf
vulnerabilities.   
“You know,” Stiles said idly.   “This stuff is pretty handy.  I should keep
some in my pocket.  I could totally draw a line around you all during lacrosse
and then the ball would be all mine.”
Scott clicked his tongue.  “That wouldn’t be any fun.  And besides, like we’d
just stand there and let you.”
Stiles picked up the heavy bin of bark dust and brought it back to table.  “I
could totally put it down while you all were putting on your equipment.  You’d
never know.  Start the game and bam!  Stuck werewolves.  Stiles wins.”
Scott just grinned.  “Putting aside the fact that I can smell this stuff really
easily, if you closed a circle without me in it, I’d be stuck outside not in. 
Cheater Stiles gets his ass kicked.”
Stiles considered.  “Okay, so maybe that’s not practical.  Actually, what is
this used for?”
“We put it around anything we don’t want to be messed with during the full
moon.  Buildings, the crops, the houses.  It keeps us wolves from being too
destructive.  I mean, normally we stay in the woods, but no one wants to count
on that.  And Boyd’s only been a wolf for four moons, so he hasn’t really had a
chance to find an anchor or learn his limits yet.  The first year of being a
wolf is the hardest when it comes to self-control.”
“So, your self control is pretty good then,” said Stiles.  “You’ve been a wolf
for what, three — three and a half years?”
“About that long.  And yeah. I haven’t gone out of control in years.  Not that
you should come looking for me during the full moon.  But if I ever have to
turn beta to keep you safe, I won’t hurt you.”   He frowned.  “Just if anything
gets hairy, try to avoid Boyd.”  Stiles glanced across the room to where Boyd
and Jackson were chilling out at the lunch tables.  He couldn’t imagine Boyd
being out of control.  The dude was a total rock.  Ah well, just showed, even
after almost three months, how little he still knew about this place and how
everything worked.
He clapped the last of the dust off his hands.  “Well, so much for my first
spell.  Petronus would be so much cooler.”
“Ash duty is important, and by the way, you were good enough that you are
totally going to be put on marking the perimeter next Sunday.”
Next Sunday, thought Stiles.  This would be the third full moon since he and
his Dad had come to Beacon Hills.    Things were both so different now, and yet
so much the same.  Day by day there really wasn’t much change.  The wellness
seminars chugged along.  If the weather was half-way decent they played
lacrosse, which Stiles was finally good enough to hold his own at.  If it
sucked, he played pool, or cards, or wii sports, depending on who was hanging
around.   
That is when they got free time at all.  Fully half the time they were sucked
into a community project — weeding gardens, making paths, cleaning, painting,
mowing, raking.   Always as a group, with maybe one or two of them pulled away
by Peter or Chris for some other venture.  One thing for certain, Stiles was
kept busy.  He hadn’t had time to miss his tv shows, though he still longed for
the internet.   How he missed just being able to look up information with
Google instead of asking someone and hoping they’d tell him.
In school the only real difference between September and November was that
Harris had added thaurmaturgy lessons to their normal science and math fair. 
Stiles could now identify by sight twelve different species of wolfsbane, and
knew the difference between mountain ash,  dogberry, and whitebeam.  But
putting a line around Scott had been the first actual magic he’d practiced. 
Like all milestones in this town, it was going pretty much entirely unremarked
by anyone.  Yay.
Stiles sighed, then caught a whiff of something good and food-like as the metal
doors in the back of the cavernous room opened.   “Mmm, something smells
yummy.  Gonna wash my hands before I try to eat, because dirt’s not so tasty. 
Be right back.”  Without waiting for a response, he ducked into the bathroom.  
When he came out, he noticed that Scott and Lydia were standing in the middle
of the gym with Harris and Peter.  The other kids were hovering nearby but
didn’t seem to be part of the conversation.   There were a lot of grim looking
expressions, which was weird enough to give Stiles an uncomfortable prickling
sensation in his stomach.   Had someone been injured?  Died?  Who?
As Stiles approached, Scott nodded, then Peter turned around and left the room
with the rest of the wolves and Allison in tow.   Stiles noted the muscles in
Scotts cheek hardening as he stared at their backs.  Stiles closed the distance
at a jog.   “What’s up?  Is everything okay?”
“Someone’s been wandering around the woods near by,” said Scott, pensively. 
The doors clanged shut and then he turned to look at Stiles with a heave of his
shoulders.
“Someone not from town?” asked Stiles, knowing that, duh, that’s what Scott
meant.  “So, what, I guess there might be hikers from time to time.  We are
right next to Trinity National Forest.”
Scott nodded.  “Yeah, we get hikers every now and then, especially in summer. 
Usually it’s not a big a deal.  But this person’s been casing our land
repeatedly over the last eight months.    He’s come as far in as the edge of
town.  He’ll go away for a couple weeks or a month and then come back again. 
But somehow no one has ever laid eyes on him.  It’s not normal.”
“He?” asked Stiles.  Could wolves smell gender?
“He peed against a tree.  But that’s the thing.  He’s walked, like, right past
our hunters bunches of times.  I don’t know how he does it. Isaac once followed
his scent in circles around the woods until he literally fell asleep from
exhaustion, but he never quite caught up with him.   That’s the closest any of
us have been to this guy.  Usually the scent trail is hours or days old by the
time we find it and he’s long gone again.  Anyway, we are going to try do a
dragnet.  Circle and catch.”
“And what happens if we catch him?”   
“We figure out why he’s here, tell him he’s on private lands and we take
trespassing seriously.”  
Stiles remembered the dirt he’s seen ground into Derek-the-Enforcer’s shirt the
day he’d arrived.  A shudder ran through him.   “But what if he’s just a
researcher and, like, looking for endangered birds or something?”
Scott shrugged.  “Then it’s Gerard’s call.  I suppose we might give him an
escort,  or keep an eye out for what he’s looking for.  There is no way he’d be
allowed to come near our town, and he’s getting far too close.  But Stiles,
we’re pretty sure he’s not a researcher.”
“Well, okay then,” said Stiles, sucking in a deep breath.  “Sooo… when do we go
join the dragnet.”  He’d never been on a dragnet, but it sounded heaps more
interesting than reading Finnegans Wake.
“We don’t,” said Scott, sniffing the air.   “We get lunch.”
Stiles felt hot with indignation.  “What, we aren’t going to help?  Everyone
else gets to go and not us?  That is so unfair.”
Scott just shrugged.   “We’ll get our chance some other time.  Besides, look,
not everyone has gone.   Danny and Lydia are still here.”    Danny and Lydia
emerged from the kitchen as if on cue.  Good smells followed them.   Scott’s
nose twitched and he started walking towards the kitchen.  Stiles had no
recourse but to follow him if he wanted to continue the conversation.
“Okay, I can see why the three of us might be left behind.  We’re lame-ass
‘helpers.’”  Stiles drew the quotation marks with his fingers.  “But why not
you then.  You’re a wolf.  Oh, it’s chicken tacos!”  Stiles was momentarily
distracted by Danny’s plate as they passed it.
“I gotta stay here and protect you,” said Scott.
  “Oh, come on!  Seriously?   I’m not going to get into trouble sitting on my
fat ass, eating tacos!”
“It’s not you,” Lydia called over her shoulder.   “It’s me.  Scott’s here to
protect me.”  She turned around and gave him a modest shrug.  “You aren’t worth
anything yet, but keep showing off your mad magic skills to Harris and that’ll
change.”  
Scott pushed Stiles on into the kitchen and then dropped a tray into his arms
while Stiles thought of how to react to that.  It felt like real information. 
The kind that Scott, buddy though he was, hated for Stiles to find out about. 
See, this is what he loved about Lydia.  She might insult him, but she was also
straight with him, which was a damn rare trait in Beacon Hills.
“Is that true?” Stiles finally asked, after thanking the lunch lady for the
food.
“No!” said Scott, scowling.  “You are worth a lot to me.”
Stiles refused to be taken off point.  “But not like Lydia,” he pressed. 
“She’s really important for some reason.  Her own personal guard in time of
trouble important.  I mean, that’s why you used to try to keep me away from her
and all.”  Stiles barely noticed the cook putting three tacos  on his tray. 
“Is it because she’s immune to the egg?’
“Who told you that?” Scott said, sharply.
“Lydia did — Dude you were, like, right next to me when she told me,” said
Stiles.  “You got mad at her and everything.”
“Oh,” said Scott his face clearing.  “I forgot.   But no, it’s not that. 
Lydia’s a seer,” said Scott, taking his food and nudging Stiles back to the
room that served as both a gym and a cafeteria.    “She gets visions.  It’s a
really rare gift.  A lot of people would want to use her.  So we protect her
when strangers come poking around.”
“If she’s a seer, why can’t she tell you where this intruder is,” asked
Stiles.  He sat down next to Lydia.  “No offense.”
“None taken, and what makes you think I didn’t,” she replied back.  She flipped
her hair back and gave him an ironic smile.  “Or did you think I ran out of
last class because I didn’t want my hands to get dirty.  Oh!  I see you didn’t
even notice me gone.  And here I thought you liked me.”
Stiles face blushed hard.  “I — I do, sorry, I.  I actually did notice.  I
just.”
“Oh calm,” said Lydia.  “I’m pulling your leg.  Besides, I’m creeped out enough
today without you doing the spaz dance on me.”
Scott leaned across the table and grabbed her hand. His face was just painted
with concern.  It seemed almost comical, but Stiles had long since learned that
Scott was deadly serious about his worrying.  “Are you okay?”
Lydia shook her head.  Her eyes went distant.   “I don’t know.  I saw the three
mile point, super clear, so I know that’s where he is, or was, or will be.  But
I just can’t shake this feeling that I’m missing something important.  
Something to do with Deaton.  And it’s really pissing me off that I don’t know
what.”   She looked down at the remnants of the taco as if it offended her. 
Danny put a hand on her shoulder, to reassure her.
===============================================================================
A few minutes later the door on the far side of the Gym opened up again and
Stiles turned around to see Doctor Deaton striding up to them.  Well there was
the second part of Lydia’s vision, thought Stiles pensively.  The doctor looked
grim but determined.   
Scott stood up.  “Is everything okay?  What’s the word?”
“They caught someone,” said Deaton, giving them a tense smile.   “Right by
marker three.  Thanks Lydia.  Chris radioed in to say that he was confused and
scared but cooperating.  But that’s actually not why I’m here.”
Scott relaxed.  Lydia, to Stiles surprise didn’t.  “Why are you here?” she
asked.
Deaton looked grim again.  “They don’t think he’s alone—”
Scott tensed up so hard he went to attention.  “What!?”
Deaton raised a hand.  “And, more importantly I think I know how he and his
group have been eluding us.”  He took a breath.  “Has Harris taught you
anything about fairy dust, yet?”
Scott groaned.  “Not that stuff.  Gives me headaches.”   
Lydia and Danny looked just as baffled as Stiles felt.  “Fairy dust?” asked
Danny.
“It’s a method of temporarily disorienting a person,” said Deaton. “The effects
don’t last long, but cast in the air behind you and anyone trying to follow
your trail will become confused and lost.  It also messes with concentration,
gives you a bit of a buzz, and has a mild hallucinogenic effect.”  He paused.
“Is there a way to protect yourself from it?” asked Stiles.
“Yes, there is.  As with every magical substance, it contains it’s own
antidote.  If I mix it with rowan leaf ash, I can make each of our hunters and
wolves a sachet to wear around their necks.  It will render the fairy dust
inert.”
“That’s awesome,” said Scott.  “Let’s go make some sachets.”
“Well, it would be,” said Deaton, suddenly looking sheepish.  “If I had any
fairy dust.  Someone has been stealing the supply from my closet.”  He looked
rather pointedly at Scott.
Scott’s mouth dropped open with indignation.  “I so did not have anything to do
with that.  I swear, it wasn’t me.  It wasn’t any of the teens.  I don’t think
they know about the stuff.”
“Why would anyone even want to steal fairy dust?” asked Lydia, absently.
“To get high,” said Stiles.  “Duh.  It’s a euphoric hallucinogen!”
“Yeah, that’s just what the people of this town need,” said Lydia under her
breath.  “Okay, so what can we do?”
“We go get more,” said Deaton.  “I know of a couple of places to find it.  I
have the rowan leaves and supplies in my pack, we can make the sachets on site
and then Scott can run them out to the hunters.  But we have to be really
quick.  Who knows what they’ll do, now that one of them has been caught.”
He turned around clearly meaning for the four of them to follow him, but Scott
hesitated.  “Are you sure this is safe,” he called.  “Maybe Lydia should stay
here.”
Deaton shook his head.  “I need anyone who can cast a spell helping me make
those bags.  I trust you to watch us.  And, Scott, even though it’s been a
while, I still know how to to fight, if it comes down to it.”
Reluctantly Scott acquiesced.   He gave a brief nod and then they went into
motion.   
Wasting no more time,  and leaving their lunch trays abandoned on the table, 
they set out out through the lacrosse field and into the woods behind the
school.   Stiles noted absently, as they passed one of the ubiquitous white
phones, that they hadn’t checked in the way they should. Deaton had a walkie-
talkie strapped to his belt, so it probably wasn’t necessary.   Deaton lead the
way at a such a brisk pace that Stiles didn’t have time to get distracted by
all the new territory they were covering.
Once past the initial shaggy part of the forest, the undergrowth lightened up
considerably and they spent about fifteen minutes walking through huge oak and
fir.  If there was a trail at all it was buried under a mound of dead leaves
and needles. The others trekked on with confidence but Stiles felt a little
worried that if, by some reason he got separated from the group it would be
really easy to get  really lost.  He was excruciatingly aware of the literal
thousands of acres of woods around him.
Scott slowed a bit to match his pace.  “Don’t worry, I don’t hear anyone near
us.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Stiles.
“Then what?”
“What if we get lost.  Does Deaton even know where he’s going?  We don’t have
flashlights or water bottles or anything.”
Scott rolled his eyes.  “I’m a wolf, dude.  It’s not possible for you to get
lost with me around.  I can just follow our scent trail back.  Besides, I know
where he’s taking us.  It’s not that much farther up ahead.”
Stiles perked up with interest.  “What’s not that far up ahead?  Are we going
to see fairies?”
“Not fairies, fairy rings,” said Scott.  “You get dust from the soil that grows
in the center of fairy rings.”
“Oh.  You mean those mushroom circles?” Stiles felt seriously let down.  He’d
been hoping to see actual fairies.  Werewolves existed, and mages existed, so
why not fairies?   “So fairy dust just means dirt.  We get to play with more
dirt.  We get to miss a dragnet and lunch to collect dirt.”
“Don’t tell me magic’s not cool anymore,” said Scott, grinning.
Stiles held out for a second, then nodded.   “Okay, yeah, magic is still way
cool.”
“There you go,” said Scott.    As he said so they stepped into a clearing about
thirty yards long by fifty wide.  The grass was green and knee high and there
were no signs that Stiles could see of a fairy circle.  That is until they got
most of the way in.  Then suddenly the grass about appeared stunted enclosed by
a narrow ring of bare earth about four feet in diameter.
“What?” said Stiles as Danny and Lydia took the spades that Deaton gave them
and immediately knelt to dig inside the circle.  “What? This is it?  There
aren’t even any mushrooms.”
“What we think of the mushroom is just the flower,” said Deaton.  “What we want
is the mycilium portion, strands of fungus that grows beneath the grass
roots.”  He handed Stiles a spade.  “Discard the first inch of soil, gather up
the deeper soil and place it in the pails.”  He pulled a bunch of nesting
plastic pails, like the kind little kids use to make sand castles, out of a
green army surplus backpack.  All but Scott took one and a small metal spade
and settled around the edge of the ring.  “Scott, keep an ear out.”
With effort Stiles pushed his spade through the tough topsoil.   He pried up a
clump of grass, pulling it with his off hand until it came free in a fibrous
tangle of roots.  He tossed it to the side and then dug into the looser soil
beneath.   With exaggerated care, he ladled his first spade worth of soil into
the bucket.   Two more scoops filled the small plastic container to the top. 
Well, that was easy.
“Okay,” said Deaton.  “Before we can make an antidote, we need to actually make
fairy dust.  Consecrate the dirt.  Just like Harris has been teaching you”
Cautiously, Stiles raised his hand.  “Um… I haven’t actually learned how to
‘consecrate’ anything.  Actually I haven’t learned how to do anything but draw
a line of barkdust around someone and make it glow.”
Deaton smiled his most fatherly smile at Stiles.  “That’s what I mean by
consecrate.  Use your soul, your will, to impart energy into the soil.  The
ingredients are different, so the results will be different, but the main
process, the forging and connecting, are the same.  Merge your will with the
nature of the fungus, let its natural power come to the fore.  Purify it’s
essence.”
Stiles looked dubiously at the pail full of dirt.  He could see pebbles and
decomposed leaves and tiny hair like strands that he assumed was mushroom.  How
the heck was he supposed to purify this mess?  To his side, Lydia said,
“Done.” 
Okay, he could do this.  He could.  Stiles held the bucket in both hands and
thought at it.  Light up.  Light up.  Be consecrated and all that shit.
Nothing happened. 
To his other side, Danny said, “Done!”
Stiles dropped the bucket into his lap stared daggers at Danny.  “Oh come on,
you can’t even make an ash circle and you can consecrate fairy dust?”
Danny shrugged, sheepishly.  “I don’t want to be put on ash duty.”
Stiles mouth dropped open.  “You mean you, I, you …”
“A man’s gotta grab time for himself where he can,” said Danny, leaning back
and looking smug.
Okay, he could do this.  If Danny and Lydia could, he could.  He had natural
talent.  That’s what everyone said.  Gonna do this, gonna do this now, now. 
Any moment.  Stiles gritted his teeth and squinted.
“Don’t over think it,” said Deaton.  “Just let the energy flow.   Naturally. 
Go on, keep working at it.  But… relax.”
Did Stiles ever mention to these people how much he loathed that word “relax”? 
He was relaxed.  Any more relaxed and he’d be comatose.  No relax didn’t mean
relax, it meant “stop thinking.” And Stiles couldn’t stop thinking.  That’s not
how his mind worked!  And besides how was he supposed to accomplish anything if
he didn’t think about it.  Fucking magic.  Shouldn’t exist.
But it did.  Stiles sighed and took a deep cleansing breath.  Relax.  Natural.
  He thought he felt a prickle start in his belly and… oh yuck, was that a
bug!  He nearly dropped the container as a plump pale bug crawled out of the
earth and over the lip of the container towards his hand.  “Shoo,” he told it,
knocking it off with a quick swipe of his hand.  “Shoo.”
He looked up quickly to see if the others had noticed his less than dignified
behavior.   Scott was about ten feet away staring fixedly at the woods.  Lydia
and Danny were paying attention to Deaton, who was setting up a camp stove.  He
was kneeling on the ground near the center of the bare circle, with a ziplock
bag of dried leaves and a thin aluminum pan resting on the ground next to his
foot.
“Now we need to process it.  Lydia, Danny, use the mesh to sift the rocks and
debris from the dirt.  Make one big pile on this sheet.  Try not to breathe the
stuff,  but if you get a little high, that’s okay.  It’s pretty much inevitable
when working with this stuff.”   As they set about following his orders, Deaton
reached into his pack and began to bring out some black cloth pouches the size
of teabags.  “We have thirty six hunters and wolves in the field, we need to
make as many of these as quickly as we can.   I’ll burn the leaves, then as
soon as I mix the ash in, you can start filling the pouches.  Let’s see how
fast we can get this done.”
Stiles looked down at his sad container of dirt and wondered if he should be
still working on consecrating it or if he should go on sifting duty, since
obviously his ease at making an ash line turned out to be a total fluke.
“Deaton!” said Scott suddenly.  “Someone’s coming! More than one!”
Deaton stood up, bushing his hands on his knees, and looked at Scott.  “How
many?”
“Two,”  he turned his head.  “Wait I think I hear three.  Four — no five!”
“Ours?”
Scott shook his head, meaning he didn’t know.  “They are all around us.  One’s
coming faster now.  That way.”  As he pointed, Scott stepped backwards until he
was right next to where Stiles was sitting on the ground.   Stiles gasped as
claws emerged suddenly from Scott’s off hand and dangled inches away from
Stiles’s eyes.   
He scrambled backwards to a safe distance, then, remembering his container of
fairy dirt, he reached forwards and snagged it.   Even though it was just a
mess and not consecrated or anything, he put a big old handful of it into his
jacket pocket and zipped it shut.  You never knew.
They waited in breathless anticipation for what seemed like forever, but was
probably less than a full minute.  Then a stocky figure appeared from the cover
of the woods.  He was no one Stiles had ever seen before, and Stiles had, by
this time, seen everyone in Beacon Hills.   The guy was young — a teen. 
Probably not much older than himself.  But he was all buffed up like one of
those weight lifter dudes.  Steroids.  Definitely steroids.  Lots of them.  As
he approached, the tension notched up to unbearable.
And then, suddenly Danny stepped forward.  
“Ethan!” he cried out.
The stranger suddenly broke into a smile.  “Danny!”
Danny ran forward to close the distance but stopped with a good 15 feet between
them.  “My man!  What are you doing here?”
“Danny, stay back!” barked Scott.  He was fully wolfed out and his voice had
taken a deep resonant sound.  The hair on his face partially obscured the
altered bone structure, but Stiles let out a little “meep” of fear anyway. 
He’d rarely seen Scott in werewolf form, and never when he looked quite so
homicidal before.  Oh shit, oh shit.
Danny quickly stepped between Ethan and Scott.  “Stop!” he cried out. “I know
him.  He’s a friend.”
“He’s a werewolf,” said Scott, not standing down.  “A rival pack.”
Danny shook his head, disbelieving.  “No, he can’t be.  He was my best friend
back in New York.  We went to Horace Mann together.”  He lowered his voice.
“He’s the guy I ran away to meet.”
“Danny,” said Deaton.  “Step back.  Scott’s right, he’s a werewolf.”
Danny turned to look at Ethan,  “No.  You’re mistaken.”
Ethan shrugged one huge shoulder.  “Yeah, Danny, I kind of am a werewolf.”
“What?  When?” asked Danny.  “Because you sure weren’t one last I saw you.  You
didn’t even believe in werewolves.  You thought I was making shit up.”
“Well, it was pretty hard to not believe when there there’s this hairy guy
bursting through your door and throwing you across the room.”  Ethan rubbed his
shoulder.  “Derek got me pretty good.  I was lucky I didn’t bleed out on the
floor while your ‘friends’ shoved that egg in your face and hauled you out of
our hotel.  Did you even notice me lying there, dying?”
Danny looked stricken.   “No… I don’t remember.   Oh god, I don’t remember how
they got me back, it was a blur.”
Scott was standing a bit straighter.   He looked slightly less murderous, but
no less firm.  “Listen, Ethan, or whatever your name is.  I’m sorry you were
hurt, but you need to go now.   This is our territory, Danny belongs with us,
and we will defend ourselves.”
“Ethan, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for all of this.  But Scott’s right: you have to
go.  I don’t want any more of your blood on my hands.”  Danny stepped back and
began to walk back to where Stiles was sitting.
“Not going without you, Danny,” said Ethan, firmly.  “Don’t fight me, babe. 
Come back.”  But Danny just shook his head and continued retreating until he
was back with the rest of them.  
Ethan looked at Scott who was back in a defensive crouch now that Danny wasn’t
between them.  “And I suggest you back off.  Danny was mine first.”
“But he’s our pack now,” said Scott.  “And I’ve been a werewolf for a lot
longer than you.”  He slowly closed the distance between them, flexing his
claws as he went.
“Are you sure you want to challenge me, beta,” asked Ethan.  And his eyes
flashed bright glowing red.
Stiles felt everyone around him jump.  Even Scott suddenly backed up.   “An
alpha?  So soon? Did you kill the one who made you?”
  “Of course, he didn’t,” came a smug voice with an English accent, from right
behind them.  “But you are hardly the first pack me and mine have taken on.”  
Stiles spun around and saw a sandy-brown haired man, about forty, with a thin,
wirey build.  He waded through the knee high grass as if it were bare floor. 
His eyes were piercing and there seemed a calculation behind his smile.  Stiles
watched the newcomer glance over each of them as if judging their strengths.
It was Deaton this time who gasped with recognition.  “Deucalion.  You’re
back!”
“Hello again, Alan,” he said warmly.  “Actually, I’ve been back quite a while,
but you never remember any of my visits.”  He flexed his hand and claws sprang
up sharp.   Deaton stepped backwards from the threat, a hand on the back of his
neck as if rubbing a painful spot.  “We just met in your quaint little clinic
this morning, arranging this outing.  I must say, you have followed your orders
splendidly.  And there she is, your precious seer, delivered as promised.”
“No!” said Deaton.  “No.  You can’t have her.  I won’t let you.”
Lydia looked back and forth between the two.   “Shit,” she said.   Then
suddenly she grabbed the sheet of plastic they’d been sifting fairy dust onto
and tossed it at Deucalion.    A cloud of dust wafted around him, and a couple
of wetter bits clung to his shirt, he waved his hand to ward the stuff away
from his eyes.  Lydia didn’t wait, she dashed as fast as she could away while
drifting fairy dust inspired confusion reigned over the clearing.
It took Stiles a beat to realize what she’d done and decide that it was
probably a really good idea to get the hell away while the getting was good. 
He took off in a random direction, since suddenly nothing looked remotely
familiar anymore and he had no clue whatsoever which way they’d come.  But he
didn’t have a chance to worry about getting lost because he hadn’t even made it
out of the clearing before he felt arms wrapped around him.  In a daze he
thought it was Scott who was hugging him, chest to chest and lifting him bodily
off the ground.  But no, Scott wasn’t this tall or broad.  Then everything was
just too many colors and shapes for Stiles to cope with and he momentarily
stopped struggling.
Stiles felt himself flung up in the air and thrown over the dude’s shoulder
like a sack of potatoes.  Now he was disoriented, stoned, and mostly upside
down, and he couldn’t even think of what he was supposed to be doing to get out
of this situation.  Well before he’d done anything but flop, he was thrown down
into the grass again, which despite being long and springy, still didn’t make
much of a cushion to his his butt or shoulder.  “Ow!” he cried out.
“Well,” came Deucalion’s voice.  “You’d hardly think we would send you to dig
up fairy dust without a supply of the antidote on hand.”  Stiles lolled his
head over to the side and saw the British guy waving a sachet hanging by a
string from around his neck.  “Enough fighting, it’s hopeless.  You can’t
possibly beat five alphas.  Give in.”
Despite Deucalion’s words, Stiles could hear was a scuffles going down all
around him.  The grass was trampled flat all over.   Danny was lying face down
on the ground in the middle of the fairy ring.  Stiles could see a pair of
handcuffs glinting from his wrists as he wiggled drunkenly to try get himself
up into a sitting position.  Not too far away Ethan was holding a screaming,
kicking Lydia over his shoulder.   He saw Scott struggling with a female alpha
whose eyes glowed crimson and her claws dripped with blood, but he was giving
as good as he got, and for a moment it looked like he might even best her.  
But then the biggest werewolf joined in the fight, grabbing Scott from behind. 
And now it was two on one and Scott was hopelessly pinned down.  He struggled,
his sharp teeth flashing, eyes glowing amber.  And then he settled, knowing it
was futile.   
“You are a strong one, aren’t you, pup.  It’s no wonder you are Gerard’s
favorite.”    Deucalion approached the two who were holding Scott.  “Bind him. 
Gag him.  We’ll take him as well.”
“Leave him alone,” said Deaton, where he knelt on the ground, Ethan’s hand on
his shoulder.  Wait, Ethan?  Two Ethans?.   Stiles did a double take, but yes,
there was Ethan pressing Lydia face down to the grass and putting a pair of
cuffs on her wrists.  He shook his head but the second Ethan didn’t go away.  
Fairy dust?  
Stiles rubbed his eyes to try to clear away the rainbow sparkles that were
making everything so hard to see.  No wait, they wore different shirts. 
Identical twins.  Duh.
“Please, Duke,” Deaton pleaded.  “We were friends once.  You need to stop this
madness and let us go.”
Deucalion raised his eyebrows.  “You are one to talk about madness, considering
the mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”  He stood looking down at Deaton for a
moment, then petted his head like a dog.  “There, there.  I’m not going to
abandon you forever, druid.  When I have that egg, I promise I’ll let you
free.  You can go back to guarding what is left of the Hale pack.  Minus
certain members.”  He looked over at Scott again with a grin.  Scott growled
around a cloth gag.
“Gerard will never give you the egg,” warned Deaton,  “No matter how many
hostages you take.”
“Of course, he won’t.  Not without a fight.  The hostages are just to make sure
that he does fight.”
“Then let the kids go.  They are just teenagers.  If you need a hostage, I’ll
do.”
Deucalion laughed.  “I’m afraid you overvalue yourself, Alan,” he said. 
“Gerard’s sucked you just about dry.  The old you would have fought me off
tooth and nail.  This new, neutered you barely even tickles when I go in and
mess with your memories.”  He tapped Deaton lightly on the cheek.  “Which I’m
afraid I’ll have to do again.  I can’t have them thinking that you are
cooperating with me, and I definitely don’t want them knowing that we are a
pack of alphas.  Give them the message that we came for Danny, and got the seer
and the pup as a little extra for our efforts.”
Stiles let out a breath of relief.  Looked like they were leaving him here with
Deaton.  Which was heaps better than being a hostage.  Not that he was a
coward, but he’d just had his ass handed to him in three seconds flat.  If
they’d wanted to impress him that he was completely outclassed, they’d done so
in spades.  Besides, this way his father wouldn’t worry so much.  He felt
terrible about Scott and Lydia.   Maybe Danny would be alright with his old
boyfriend to protect him.  He looked over to where Danny was still struggling
to sit up with his arms bound behind his back and the real Ethan looking
happily down at him.  Or maybe not.
Unfortunately Deucalion’s hench-alphas (really, were they all alphas?  How did
that even work?) hadn’t forgotten about Stiles.  “What about this one,” asked
the hugest wolf.
Deucalion turned around to look at Stiles.  “Hmm.  Might as well take him
along.”
Scott’s eyes suddenly widened, he yelled behind the gag.  Deaton also made a
move to put himself between the two of them.  “You’ve got enough hostages. 
Leave Stiles.  He’s not part of this fight.   He’s totally untrained.”
“Then we’ll definitely bring him along.  Tell Gerard that if he doesn’t meet us
alone in the old abandoned distillery in Redding at midnight tomorrow night,
that he’ll find this… Stiles is it?  That he’ll find Stiles’s body hanging
somewhere in his woods by dawn.”
In that instant, Stiles could see it going down: Gerard would never meet
Deucalion alone.  If he even agreed to meet at all.     These guys were going
to kill him and there was nothing that Scott or Deaton or anyone else could do
to save him.  He looked at Scott and saw that he’d realized it as well.
Screw this!   Even though he knew it was entirely fruitless, Stiles still got
up and made a mad dash past the big werewolf.  He used every trick that he’d
ever used against the wolves when playing lacrosse.  He feinted, he rolled, he
scrambled, he serpentined.   Even though he was still half-drunk on fairy dust
and the woods were sparkling and popping with odd colors, he didn’t give in to
it.  
This time he had fifteen seconds of freedom before he got his ass handed to
him. 
He felt the weight of a building come crashing down on his back, pushing him
face down in the leaves and twigs.  While he fought to get his breath, his
wrists were grabbed and yanked behind him.  He felt the hard, cold press of a
pair of cuffs around his wrists.  Then suddenly he was being patted on the head
a little roughly.  “Behave, pup,” said the big dude.
“Why.  You are going to kill me anyway,” wheezed Stiles. Fatalism made him feel
brave.   “Gerard’s never going to just walk into your obvious trap.”
He heard a chuckle.  “Don’t make assumptions.”  
Stiles was yanked back up to his feet and then marched past where Deucalion
hovered over kneeling Deaton.  Stiles thought he saw Deucalion shove his claws
into the back of Deaton’s head, then pull the man forward against his thigh. 
He hoped that that was hallucination.  Deaton’s muffled cry of pain seemed very
real though.  But then he and the others were shoved on, past the camp stove
and their equipment through the field and out into the woods again.
They walked in single file, a werewolf to each, through the woods.   No one
spoke.  Any attempt to slow or deviate from the path was met with the sting of
claws digging in his shoulders.  Stiles kept his ears pricked up, hoping to
hear the sound of the dragnet and rescue on its way, but he didn’t have much
hope for it.  Deucalion and his group seemed to be awfully well prepared. 
Stiles had no idea where mile marker three was, but he bet that it was far, far
away from here.
Abruptly the came upon a tiny rutted access road, with a dirty looking van
parked right in the middle of it.  The female werewolf loped ahead and unlocked
the van, throwing the doors open with a clang.  Stiles jerked at the sight of a
metal cage welded inside the back and saw the chances of rescue grow even
dimmer.  
There they were lifted one by one into the van and shoved unceremoniously into
the cage.   Then the cage was padlocked and then the doors of the van shut.  It
was tight inside, they were forced to sit knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder,
with their backs against the metal grating.   It was very dim inside, the only
light came from a twelve by twelve inch window that connected to the front
compartment.  Scott chewed at his gag, but it appeared to kevlar or something
similarly tough.  The manacles on his wrists were like handcuffs on steroids,
two inches thick of black metal, chained together with inch wide links.  It
clanked and clanged against the steel cage every time Scott squirmed.
“Well,” said Lydia.  “This wasn’t the way I’d hoped to leave Beacon Hills.”
Danny groaned and rested his head on his knees.
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Stiles was never sure if they’d drugged him, or if it was some delayed effect
of the fairy dust, but he fell asleep somewhere on the bumpy ride down to
Redding.  He woke with a headache and a groggy scream of terror when the van
doors were flung noisily open and the four of them were dragged deep into the
interior of an abandoned building.   
The distillery, thought Stiles.  Though it didn’t really look much like a
distillery.   It looked more like an office building.    
That feeling that they weren’t any place where rescue could hope to happen
increased when they were dragged down the stairs to a basement that looked
terrifyingly like a torture dungeon.  No windows.  The bare floor and walls
were embedded with heavy metal rings.  Chains hung down.  There was a section
of metal fencing bolted to one of the walls with wires snaking around the
bottom.  
 They were going to be tortured and killed and this was all so pointless. 
Panic reached its peak and Stiles flailed against his captor.  “Oh god, oh god,
oh god!” said Stiles. “Oh shit, no!  Please, don’t hurt us.”
“No one’s hurting you, Stiles,” said the huge werewolf, gently.  “You’ll be
fine.”
“Ennis!” snapped Deucaleon.  “Don’t get too attached.  We’ve got a mission
here.  Get them all tied down.”
Stiles was pulled to one of the metal brackets embedded in the floor.  His
ankle was shackled with a cuff which lead to about 2 feet of chain and then
attached to the bracket.  Ennis released his arms.  Stiles rubbed his wrists
and rotated his shoulders, trying to get rid of the stiffness.   When he looked
around, Danny and Lydia had been given similar treatment.  They were each
positioned far enough away that they couldn’t reach each other, but with enough
play in the chains that they could make themselves as comfortable as they could
on the bare concrete floor.
Scott wasn’t as lucky.  It seemed the fencing was for him.  He fought like a
mad thing, but with three of them on him, they had him manacled spread eagled
against the metal in under a minute.  The only casualty was that more of
Scott’s already torn clothes were shredded off him until he was wearing nothing
from the waist up and not much more from thigh down.  Stiles could see deep
scratches from the earlier fight criss crossing his belly, chest, thighs and
arms.  They looked horribly painful, but Scott seemed to be ignoring them.
The moment he was secure, one of them flipped a switch and Scott jerked with
pain.  He made a moan behind his gag.  Then he fell limp against the metal.
“You’re killing him!” Stiles cried out, pulling at the end of his chain.  He
was too far to reach anything but he had to try.  All he ended up doing was
hopping ineffectually on one foot and nearly face planting into the cement
floor.   “Stop it!  You are killing him!”
“He’s not being killed,” said Deucalion.  “Only inconvenienced.   The current
is very minor, hardly more than a tingle.  But it’s enough to stop him from
being able to change.  Scott lolled his head as the alpha came up to him.  His
eyes looked up into Deucalion’s with obvious hate.  Deucalion just smiled and
reached behind his neck to free the gag.
“This room is quite sound proof,” he said.  “So if you like, you can scream. 
Get it out of your system.”
“What do you want with us?” asked Scott, his voice low and angry.
“Different things.  Different things.   Ethan wants Danny, and after all his
hard work and loyalty, I’m more than happy to allow the favor.”  Danny sucked
in a deep breath but said nothing.   Ethan smiled at him.  
“A seer is a rare commodity,” Deucalion continued, circling around to look at
Lydia where she sat, glaring hatefully up from the ground.  “If she will
cooperate and demonstrate her loyalty, I will keep her as part of my pack.”
“Drop dead,” said Lydia.
“Or, I may just sell her off to Deaton’s people.   They will pay handsomely for
a person with the true sight.”  He smiled beatifically at her, then reached a
hand to casually muss her reddish hair.  She pulled away from his touch. 
“Don’t worry, they will treat you with utmost honor and respect.  And I can’t
imagine you were that happy to be imprisoned under the thumb of a durach, doing
his bidding, like it or no.  Who’s to say, you may even be grateful to us for
having taken you.”
“Unlikely,” said Lydia, but her chin came down and she looked away.
He turned to Scott.  “And you.”   Scott looked up again wearily.  “Well, I
think things might get a bit rough for you. But that’s the way deprograming
is.  You’re tough.  Once your mind is free of that egg, your true potential
will come out.   I see in you the makings of a great wolf.  Even Gerard can’t
kill your spirit completely.  I would like you to join our pack.”
“Never,” said Scott.
Deucalion smiled.  “We’ll see.  I’ve been planning for years for this moment. 
I’m nothing if not patient.”  He then turned around and strolled towards the
stairs.  “Ethan, take first watch.”
Stiles realized that he was going to leave and spoke up.  “What about me?”  
Deucalion looked down at him as if surprised he was even there.   “What about
you?”  He said it with such dismissive flippancy that Stiles’s stomach fell.
But something like steel inside him fell with with the fear.  He was not giving
up.  Not while his Dad needed him.  Not while he still breathed.  Not while he
could do anything to change his fate.  This guy claimed he was saving Scott and
Lydia, so maybe he had some sense of warped nobility deep under the pallid cold
exterior.  Stiles could work with that.
 “Oh, that’s right,” he said, scathingly, as Deucalion turned to leave.   “I’m
cannon fodder.  Just warning shot to show Gerard you mean serious business. 
Day after tomorrow, you are going to string me up, like I’m nothing.  You don’t
even see me as a person.”
Deucalion turned fully at regarded him again, eyes sharper.  Yeah, look at me,
Stiles thought.  See me.  Not a pawn.  A person.  Me.
“But you want to know something?” Stiles went on.  “I’m not nothing.  I’m
something.  I’m these guys’ friend.   And when you haul me off to kill me, they
aren’t going to see you as the people who rescued them from Gerard’s cult. 
They are going to see you as the person who killed their friend.  Ethan, do you
think that Danny will ever look at you again without seeing the guy who
murdered his friend?   And you, Duke, whatever your name is.  When you ransom
Lydia off to Deaton’s people, do you really think she’ll just be grateful.  Or
do you think she’ll organize them to come back and get revenge for me. 
Because, I know Lydia, and she can totally do revenge.”
“I can,” agreed Lydia, baring her teeth.
“And Scott.  Scott and I are close.  He will never accept an alpha who killed
his best friend,” continued Stiles.
Deucalion crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I can remove their memories
of you.”
“It won’t work,” barked Scott.  And … oh wow, his eyes were glowing a kind of
orange.  It was faint and only lasted for a moment.  Then it was gone again. 
Scott fought to keep from slouching.  “It won’t work, I’ll find a way to
remember him.  I love him.  I don’t think you can erase love not even with your
mind control.”
Deucalion breathed in.  Then let it go.  “Very well.  In the interests of
keeping the peace, I won’t string you up day after tomorrow.  Happy?”
Stiles let his breath go as well.  “Good!  Good.  Right.  What are you going to
do with me, then.”
“Well, since it isn’t what I’d planned, I shall have to think about it.  Kali,
Ennis, Aiden, with me.”
===============================================================================
Once the other werewolves were gone Ethan came over to Danny.  “Hey, are you
okay?”  
 Danny scrambled away from him, until he’d reached the limit of his chain.   He
shook when Ethan attempted to touch his shoulder.  The look on his face was of
horror and betrayal.
Ethan was dismayed.  “Hey, babe, don’t do that.  It’s just me.  You’ll be fine,
I promise.”
“I’ve been kidnapped and I’m chained to a floor in a basement, Ethan. I’m not
fine. I’m nowhere near fine.”  Danny turned as much away from Ethan as he
could, backed in the corner the way he was.
Ethan crouched down.  “Yeah, I know, this sucks.  But you are in with some
really bad people and you’ve been brainwashed.  We can’t trust you not to
escape and give us away.  Trust me, there’s nothing I want more than to fly off
to Kauai right now with you.   But we have to be patient.  When Gerard is dead
and Duke has the egg, then it’ll be you and me again.  Just like spring break. 
Remember.”
“It can’t be like spring break.  You’re a werewolf now.  An Alpha.  Don’t you
have a pack to take care of or something?”
 Ethan shook his head.  “Duke doesn’t keep betas.  Not for long anyway.  They
either become alphas or they feed the pack.”
“Ew!  You guys are cannibals?”  said Lydia.
“Not literally,” said Ethan giving her a scathing stare over his shoulder.  “We
kill them and absorb their power back into the pack. It makes us stronger.  We
are the most powerful werewolves you’ll ever meet.”
Stiles spoke this time, “That’s really not that much better.”
“Shut up, you,” said Ethan, glaring at him. “You are lucky we aren’t going to
kill you.  One of us could bite you tonight, then kill you tomorrow.  Give us a
nice little boost when it comes to fighting Gerard.”
“And what are you going to do with me?” asked Danny.  “I’m not an alpha.  I’m
not even a beta.  I’m just a human.”
“You are my human,” said Ethan. “So long as you obey me and keep out of Duke’s
way, you’ll do fine.”
“Like your pet,” said Danny.
“Like my lover,” said Ethan, crawling forward to pin Danny against the wall.  
His mouth closed on Danny’s and for a moment it seemed like Danny was kissing
back but then he turned his head.  “Stop.”
“Come on, babe,” murmured Ethan. “I went through so much to get you back.  I
did all of this for you.  You think it was easy?  That bitch, Derek, nearly
killed me.  It was pure luck that Aiden arrived with Duke when he did.  An hour
later and I’d have been dead.  And even after Duke bit us, we weren’t out of
the woods.  Some people don’t survive the bite.   I could have died.  Or Aiden
could have.    
“And then training.   Duke is brutal, he doesn’t hold back.  He can’t.  We
fight other packs.  And even being an Alpha in Duke’s pack doesn’t mean we can
relax.   We had an alpha who was getting too dangerous, too uncontrollable. 
Aiden and I had to kill him, just the two of us, to prove our worth to Duke.  
“So you see, you see,” he leaned forward and tried to kiss Danny again, but
Danny turned his head and held a hand in the way.  Aiden backed off until he
was standing.   “You see, I really do love you, Danny.  I’ll do anything to get
you back.  Anything.”  He grabbed Danny’s chin.  “Please, babe.”
Danny pushed him away.
“He said, ‘no!’” snapped Scott.  “No means no.”
“Please Ethan,” said Danny.  “Don’t.  Not now.”
Ethan backed away hastily.  “I didn’t mean,” he said.  Then shook his head as
if clearing his thoughts.  “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.  I’m
sorry.  I know I’m a lot stronger than I used to be and none of this is fair to
you.  I guess I got impatient but it takes time, doesn’t it.  For you to trust
me again.”
Danny nodded stiffly.
“Wait a second,” said Stiles as something suddenly occurred to him.  “Danny
said that you didn’t know about werewolves.  How was it that you and your
brother knew Duke?”
Ethan shrugged. “When we were trying to get Danny away last time, the three of
us looked for help online.  Anyone who knew anything about Gerard Argent and
what his resources were.  Duke showed up and started talking to us.  He said he
could help us protect ourselves.  I didn’t entirely believe him, he was talking
about magic eggs and druids, but Danny believed in what he said.  So we agreed
to meet at that hotel room.  Except before Duke showed up, Derek did.” 
Stiles thought he caught a glimmer of a strategy.  If Ethan was only in this
for Danny, he might be willing turn against his pack now that he had what he
wanted.  
“You know you don’t owe him.  Duke.  He saved your life, but he put you through
hell, too.  You don’t have to be in his pack if you don’t want to be.”
Ethan rocked back on his heels, laughing.  “And what?    Join Gerard’s pack? 
Or whoever is pretending to be alpha down there — Peter?  I don’t think so. 
Duke’s hard, but he also knows what he’s doing.  It’s a nasty world out there,
I’ve seen it first hand.  I’d rather be on Duke’s team than off it.”
Stiles slumped.  He’d tried.
===============================================================================
After Ethan came Aiden, who was a lot like Ethan except that his interest in
Danny was more brotherly and less gropey.  He took a shine to Lydia, who,
seeing a sucker, played it up for all she was worth.  Stiles would have been
alarmed if it hadn’t been for three months of experience with Lydia.  By the
end of Aiden’s shift they’d all of them, including Scott, had a bathroom break
and a convenience store sandwich, thanks to Lydia.
Stiles had rather hoped that Scott would use his time free of the electro rack
to break away and get help, but Scott was a model of good behavior.  Even
holding his hands up to be attached to the rack after he was done with his
meal.  When Stiles gave him a look, Scott responded with just the slightest
shake of his head.  Now apparently wasn’t the time.
“I wish I could let you down to sleep,” said Aiden as he flipped the switch
back on, and Scott hissed with pain.  “But Duke says that we need to wear you
down, so you can break free of your conditioning.”
“I haven’t been conditioned,” said Scott as earnestly as he could.  “I swear
it.”
Stiles winced.   Even he knew that Scott was brainwashed within a inch of his
life.
“Yeah, I know you think that,” said Aiden. “But it will get better.  You’ll see
the truth soon.”
It was during Aiden’s shift that they found out how they had gotten captured.  
Apparently his pack had been making frequent trips, some as far as into the
town itself, during the dead of night when the everyone was locked down for
curfew.   They’d covered their tracks using fairy dust and used Deucalion’s
skill at both implanting and removing memories to interrogate various people
they’d caught.
“Wait, implanting memories?” asked Stiles.  “Werewolves can do that?”
“Some can.”
“Can you?” asked Danny, looking worried.
“No.”
Aiden merrily went on.   The alpha pack had brainstormed for months about
various ways to take down Gerard.  But he was too well protected in his Beacon
Hills nest.    They were greatly outnumbered, not just by wolves and hunters,
but also by just ordinary humans who understood werewolf vulnerabilities.  In
addition, Deaton and his fellow mages had put wards around many of the
buildings that reduced the werewolves ability to transform.  And all of them
were unshakably loyal to Gerard, thanks to that egg.  
Eventually the alpha pack decided the most likely way to succeed would be to
lure Gerard and his egg out of his home turf and into one rigged in their own
favor.   
The man that Peter’s people caught at mile three was nothing more than a
disposable lure.   He was a homeless man they’d kidnapped from the streets of
Redding two days ago.   Deucalion had filled him with enough false memories to
convince the Hunters that he was a part of the pack and to feed Gerard with red
herrings about the size of the pack and where they hung out.  Aiden thought it
quite funny that Peter and Chris were combing entirely the wrong part of town
for them.
Kidnapping Scott and Danny and Lydia had simply been the final culmination of
months of determined preparation.
“If you think they are going to sniff you guys out,” said Aiden smugly.  “Guess
again.   They haven’t even come within five miles of here.”
===============================================================================
Not long after that it was Ennis’s turn.    Ennis seemed to have taken a shine
to Stiles.  Stiles wasn’t sure why.  Maybe it was the whole captor/captive
thing.  Like that old movie he’d watched once where the terrorist became
obsessed with his victim’s girlfriend.  What was it?  Crying Game.   Stiles
remembered the sound of his dad smacking his own face when the girlfriend
lifted her miniskirt and surprise! Penis!  And maybe it wasn’t that appropriate
a movie for an eleven year old, but, whatever.  The point was that this was
kind of like Crying Game only with less surprise penises.  And that was a good
thing.  Because when you are abducted, any little bit of non-penis oriented
sympathy you can wring out of your captors made the odds of your surviving go
up.
Ennis sat down next to Stiles and talked.  “You remind me of one of my betas.”
“I hope that’s a good thing?”   Stiles wasn’t sure.  Didn’t Ennis “eat” all his
betas?
“Yeah.  I miss him.   Miss them.”  He seemed to look into the distance.  “I
like this pack.  It’s a strong pack.  But sometimes it’s too quiet.  I miss the
chatter of my own pack.”
Yeah… not exactly Shakespearian eloquence.  But it gave Stiles a clue.  “I can
talk, you know.  If you like.  It’s really one of my better talents.”
Ennis nodded.
And so Stiles ended up talking to Ennis about growing up in Kansas, hamburger,
his mom’s death, his worries about his dad.  And Ennis talked about his
family.  It had been a large pack, nearly thirty in all, and he’d been a
devoted alpha to every one of them.  Until Gerard had set upon them, killing
them off one by one.  Breaking the “hunter’s code.”
“What’s the hunters code?” asked Stiles.
“They are only supposed to hunt us if we start hurting humans.  We never did. 
Didn’t stop Gerard.  He killed us anyway.  Including the boy you remind me
of.”  He sighed.  “This was ten years ago.  I tried to sue for peace.  To stop
the madness.   There were twenty in my pack at that point.  We were still
strong.  We figured we’d draw a truce or make a stand.  Gerard agreed to meet
us in an abandoned factory.  What we didn’t know is that he’d rigged the place
with wolfsbane gas.   As soon as we showed up,  he put on a mask and set it
off.  Only the strongest of my pack escaped.”  
Ennis didn’t speak for a few seconds, and Stiles found himself looking for
something to say.  But really he couldn’t.  Jesus.  If this was true, Gerard
was on par with the worst serial killers Stiles had ever read of.  Stiles had a
hard time reconciling this with the Gerard who lead their wellness sessions
every morning.
   “We met Deucalion a few months later and found out that Gerard had done the
same to his pack,” Innis continued.  “He’d even blinded Duke with arrows.  But
Duke had found a way to get strong enough to fight back.   He taught me.   And
then we chased him.  We chased his family.  Me and Duke and Kali and Joseph and
Anna.  We chased him from one side of the country to another, picking off his
hunters, getting packs to join us.  Using them to feed us power and make us
stronger.”
“Joseph and Anna,” said Scott.  “Where are they?”
“They were weak.  They are gone.  But we have Aiden and Ethan, so it doesn’t
matter.  I’ll get my revenge, soon.  And no egg and no Beacon Hills will stop
me.  Peter’s a fool if he think he can go against us.  We’ll rip his pack to
pieces.  Maybe, if you are really good, we’ll let you do the honors of
shredding Peter and gaining your alpha.”
Scott struggled against the rack.  “No. The pack is innocent.  They had nothing
to do with the slaughter of your pack.  You have a beef with Gerard, you keep
it with Gerard.  Leave my pack be.”
Ennis shook his head.  “You think that they’ll stand by and let us kill Gerard?
  I don’t think so.  This is a tough world and we have to make tough
sacrifices.  Your pack is doomed.  You should feel honored that Duke thinks
you’re salvageable.”
After that, no one felt much like talking.
===============================================================================
Kali took the next watch. 
 It was deep in the night, but between the chance of imminent death and the
discomfort of a cold concrete floor, Stiles couldn’t do more than fitfully
doze.  The lights were all turned out but one at the top of the stairs.  The
darkness only made all the little incidental noises seem louder.   He could
hear Kali’s insanely long toenails scraping, scraping, scraping against the
smooth concrete as she paced from one end of the basement to the other.  More
intermittently, and thus impossible to tune out, came Scott’s groans and hisses
of discomfort as the electricity and his position took its toll on him.  Stiles
felt awful for wanting Scott to just shut up, but every time one of those moans
escaped, he felt his flesh crawl in horror.
“For God’s sake,” said Stiles at last.  “Let him down.  Chain him up but let
him lie down.”
“Shut up,” said Kali.  Stiles saw her shadow approaching quickly,  her leg
flashed up.
The next thing he knew there was a line of agony across his stomach.  He
immediately folded around the pain, belatedly trying to protect himself, but
she was already pacing away.  Scritch.  Scritch.  Scritch.
Stiles bit his lip and ran a tentative hand across the wound.   It stung, but
was only skin deep.  Even at that it bled in cool drips down his belly.  Weird,
he’d always thought that blood would feel warm, but it didn’t.  It felt like
he’d been splashed with water.  He pressed his hands against it, willing it to
clot up and heal.   God only knew what kind of dirt was on those awful
toenails.  Talons.  If he survived long enough he would probably get some kind
of nasty infection.
“Don’t worry about me, Stiles,” whispered Scott.  “I’m fine.  Just try to stay
cool.   The others will find us soon.”
“Okay,” said Stiles, tightly, afraid that if he breathed too deep he’d open the
cut and make it worse.
“Both of you shut up,” said Kali.  “Or I might forget my orders and shut you up
forever.”
Stiles and Scott said nothing more.   But Stiles couldn’t sleep right away. 
Not with the sharp pain every time he breathed or moved.  Not with Lydia crying
softly somewhere to his left, and Danny shifting about rattling his chain.  
Stiles was probably not helping to keep them calm, with his tight gasps and
squirms trying to get comfortable.   Having the Goddess of Death stalking
circles around your chained bloody body did not make sleeping any easier,
either.
But somehow, at some point, Stiles finally managed it.  When he did, he dreamed
a confusing mish-mash that partially involved trying to find his father in the
woods, and it seemed like he’d been bitten.  He’d collapsed to the ground and
Scott had arrived and started burying him alive, because he wasn’t ready to be
werewolf and he was going to die.  Stiles remembered begging Scott to wait
until he was dead, but Scott just started sobbing and continued to pour dirt on
him, and Stiles couldn’t move to unbury himself.  I wonder what kind of magic
the dirt from my grave will make.
***** Chapter 11 *****
 
He woke when the lights came blazing back on.  
“Wake up!” said Ethan (or possibly Aiden, Stiles couldn’t tell the two apart). 
“Bathroom break.  Misbehave and you can wet yourself.”
Stiles groaned and pulled himself up.  He looked down for the first time at the
damage Kali had done to him.   It looked a lot worse than it was.  Horrific
even.  His shirt and windbreaker were torn open and brown congealed blood
crusted the fabric to his body like some brittle form of glue.  More
gruesomely, all around his body were bloody hand prints and smears from where
he’d rolled around during the night.  Well, one thing was for sure, when the
forensics team came to investigate this place, they’d have plenty of evidence
to look at.  
If a forensics team ever did.  If anyone ever called the police to report his
abduction.  Or his corpse. 
“Oh, Jesus,” said Danny, staring at Stiles.  “Are you okay?”
“Been better,” muttered Stiles.  He used his hand to help hold the cut on his
belly closed as he finished slowly shifting to a sitting position.  Then he
looked down at his hand and realized that it was absolutely filthy, not just
covered in blood and cement dust, but underneath he still had a layer of
freaking mushroom dirt from digging up that fairy dust stuff the day before.  
Yep.  That was a tetanus shot for sure.  Assuming they were rescued or Duke’s
pack cared enough to get him to a doctor.  “Great.”
“Listen,” said Lydia, sitting with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. 
“What I said yesterday about you, that you weren’t worth anything.  I didn’t
mean it.  That’s not true.  You are worth a lot.”
Stiles smiled at her.  “Thanks.  Mind telling him that?”  He pointed to the
twin who was kneeling by Danny and talking softly to him.  Probably Ethan. 
“Maybe I could have some bandages and antibiotics.  Please?”
Ethan looked over his shoulder.  “We don’t have those things.  We don’t need
them.”  There was no missing the haughty superiority in his tone.
“Ah well,”  said Stiles, slouching.  What he wouldn’t give to have a cell phone
in his pocket right now.  All he had was a handful of fairy ring dirt which,
thankfully, hadn’t been spilled out by Kali’s toenails or else his wound would
be really be a toxic mess about now.
“Ethan,” said Danny, giving their captor a look of raw desperation.  “Please.”
Ethan’s face squinched up with annoyance.  “I’ll see what I can do.”
Sitting hurt, so Stiles lay back down, moving as slowly as he had getting up. 
Even though it was just a scratch, it still stung like holy hell when it was
pulled.    Once he was settled, he let go of his stomach, and his hand moved
down to the pocket full of dirt which dangled like a squishy weight from his
torn windbreaker.  
It wasn’t fairy dust at this point, just the raw, unconsecrated, unsifted
ingredients to make it.  But there wasn’t anything from stopping him from
consecrating it now.   None of their captors were wearing that sachet cure
around their necks anymore.  Conceivably, Stiles could purify it, then throw
the dust in  Ethan’s face and then…
… And then he’d still be chained to the floor with a dazed and hallucinating
werewolf who clearly hated his guts. Yeah, that didn’t sound like such a good
plan.
But still fairy dust was better than no fairy dust.  And who knew, maybe there
would be a time when it would do him some good.  Maybe when they took him off
to hang him in the woods he could use it and get away then.   Yeah.  That
sounded plausible.
First he had to actually manage make magic work.   Or, wait, maybe not!   Maybe
he could just throw his jacket at Lydia and let an actual mage do it while
Ethan was away… and — nope,  too late.
The door opened again, Ethan was back.  He threw Stiles a look that said that’s
the last favor you are getting out of me.   “Ennis going to get you some
bandages.  You aren’t dying are you?”
“No,” said Stiles.  And Ethan was already turning away before the syllable was
half out of his mouth.  Yeah.  Get it.  Despite Lydia’s assertion, Stiles was
feeling pretty unwanted.
“Good.  I won’t have to bite you then.”
That’s a relief.  Stiles wasn’t too keen on “feeding” Ethan’s pack.
“I’m allowed to let you use the bathroom,” said Ethan to all of them.  “But
that privilege will end the moment any of you abuses it.  One wrong move and
you are all back here until tonight with nothing.  Behave yourself and you’ll
get water soon and later we’ll get you something to eat.”  Ethan then went to
Danny and unlocked his ankle.  Danny stood up and gave Stiles a long worried
glance as he passed him.  Stiles gave him a nod, to try and reassure him that
it really wasn’t as bad as it looked.
As soon as Ethan was out of the room, Stiles unzipped the pocket of his
windbreaker and put his hand into the nasty cloddy dirt.  He hoped there
weren’t any more of those little worm things hiding in there.  If there were
they didn’t bother him.  Meanwhile Stiles concentrated, tried to feel his soul
connect to the dirt, find its essence and purify it.  Magic worked.  Magic was
real.  He’d seen magic.  He felt it. He could do it.  
Nothing.
Ethan was back.   Stiles froze, hand still in pocket.  Damn that was quick. 
Ethan didn’t even glance at him, just chained Danny back down and went over to
Lydia.
As soon as Ethan was gone again, Stiles tried to do it again.  This time he
tried to follow Deaton’s instructions and relax more, not force it.   Stiles
closed his eyes and kind of zenned the power down his arm and into the dirt. 
That seemed almost to work.  
Yeah, yeah. I can do this.  I have natural talent.  Everyone says so.  
And then he got it.  Like falling into a ditch, suddenly the power raced down
his arm, through his fingers, and into the dirt.   
Whoa, that was bright!   Stiles eyes flew open as light burst right through the
fabric of his jacket and filled the room.   Jesus fuck, magic!  Subtle much? 
Thank God, Ethan wasn’t there to see.
“What was that?” asked Danny, alarmed.
On his rack, Scott moaned a “What?”
“Sorry, sorry! Just me,” said Stiles.   “Consecrating.  I have some fairy dust
in my pocket.  Now.”
“Awesome,” said Danny.
“Not yet,” said Scott.  His voice sounded like it was coming out of a grave. 
Rough and deep, thick tongued.
“Yeah, not yet,” agreed Stiles.  He kicked the chain a bit to show that he knew
it would be pointless.
“My cue,” said Scott, nodding slowly, as if he barely had the energy for it.
A few seconds later Ethan and Lydia were back.  Stiles hastily zipped the
pocket back up again.   Now his hand was really was filthy.  Like a seven layer
dip of filth.  Dirt, then dust, then blood, then dust, then dirt again.  He
wiped it as best he could on his jeans.  What he wouldn’t give for clean water
and some soap.  
Which brought up another thought.  If rowen ash and fairy dust makes an
antidote, what will mage blood and fairy dust do?
After chaining Lydia down, Ethan walked pointedly right past Stiles and turned
off the power to Scott’s rack.    But Stiles forgot the petty slight almost as
soon as he felt it.  It was clear that Scott was in terrible shape.   When his
arms were freed, he just fell bonelessly to the floor and lay there.  As Stiles
watched the bruises on Scotts wrists melted away, but clearly werewolf powers
could do nothing for sheer exhaustion after hours of mild electrocution in a
stress position.
Ethan gave him a tap to the side with his shoe.  “I’m not waiting forever.”
Scott made an attempt to rise, only to fall back on his stomach again.
“Going, going…”
“Ethan!” said Danny.  “Don’t be a dick.”
Ethan glanced over at him and then sighed.  “He’s faking, Danny. He’s a wolf. 
He’s a lot tougher than this.”
Stiles felt a moment of hope go through him.  If Scott was faking, then maybe
he had a plan.   Stiles put his hand next to his pocket, ready to do his part
when Scott gave the cue.   But no cue came.   Scott just made a second attempt
to get up, crawling, then finally gaining his feet.  He was so shaky he nearly
toppled back over again.
“Ethan, he’s not faking,” insisted Danny.  “He’s only a beta.  You guys are too
rough with him.”
Ethan looked consternated.  “Shit.” But then he grabbed Scott by the waist and
pulled one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder.  “Okay, lets get this done.”  He
then half dragged half supported Scott up the stairs.
After Scott was brought back and recuffed to his fence, Ethan came over to
Stiles.  Stiles let out a breath of relief.  He was half afraid that Ethan
might snub him for some reason, and he really, really needed to go.  Ethan
uncuffed Stiles's ankle and Stiles was just amazed at how wonderful it felt to
have that weight gone.  It almost made him feel hopeful.  The simple pleasures
in life: not being chained to the floor.   But he was careful to keep his
enthusiasm down, lest Ethan misinterpret it as being a signal that he was about
to abuse his freedom.  Ethan used his hands to put Stiles in front and direct
him up the stairs.   
Once on the ground floor they walked through the dusty deserted hallway and out
into weedy back parking lot where a port-o-potty sat.  A quick scan of the area
showed that they were at the edge of an industrial park.  There were a couple
more buildings through the chain link fence surrounding the lot, mostly of the
windowless warehouse variety, and a whole lot of weedy nothing for what looked
like a mile.  Stiles considered throwing the dust in Ethan’s face now and
making a break for it, he got so far as to unzip his jacket pocket, but then he
saw Ennis all the way across the lot holding a paper bag in one hand and
walking their way.  If Stiles ran now, Ennis would catch him before he could go
far.
Stiles lifted his hand away from his pocket and waved, then stepped up to the
port-o-potty.
“Leave the door open,” Ethan warned.
“Or what?” Stiles asked.  “I mean, seriously, you think that I can claw my way
out the back or hide in the toilet? What can I possibly do in there, other than
the obvious?”
Ethan bowed to reason, thank god.  “Okay.  But be quick.”
Stiles didn’t wait for further permission to use the john.  When he got back
out he said, “See, your paranoia is unfounded.  Listen, I know the only reason
I’m still breathing is your good will, and, trust me, I want to live.  So I’m
not going to do anything to jeopardize my chances.  You don’t have to worry
about me.”
“We aren’t going to kill you,” said Ethan uncomfortably.  “You aren’t any good
to us dead.”
“Unless my body is needed to make Gerard think that you might kill his precious
seer, or you need to juice up on a beta before going into battle.”
“Are you trying to convince me to kill you?” Ethan raised a brow.
“No!” squawked Stiles.  “No.  Not at all.  What I’m saying is that I’m on your
side.”
“Oh, really,” said Ethan, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head.
“Yes, really.  You think I want to live in Beacon Hills?   I’ve been trying to
figure out a way to get out of that place for months.  I’d have run away but
since Danny escaped they have that place locked up tight.   My car is impounded
in some ‘barn’ I’m not allowed near.  My cell phone disappeared the first
night.   I can barely even leave my house without an escort.  You are a
werewolf, you check if I’m telling you the truth.”
Ethan raised his head, “Yeah.  It’s true.  Gerard’s really got some crazy power
trip going out there.”
“Gerard is… whew… creepy,” agreed Stiles.  “And all the times I’ve had to kiss
that egg thing of his.  Yuck.  So believe me when I say, if he were to die
tonight, I wouldn’t shed a tear.  In fact, I’d throw a party.  You guys want to
kill him, I’m totally down with that.”
Ethan nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s what Danny said.”
“Yeah,  exactly! Me and Danny, we are totally on the same wavelength.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed.  “Danny’s mine.”
“And he is,” said Stiles hastily.  Yeah, not provoking the scary alpha’s
jealousy would be a good thing.  “No designs on Danny, dude.  Cross my heart. 
I’ve got other — Scott.   Scott is mine,” except for Allison, which these guys
probably know all about, thanks to Deaton.  “Well, sort of, in that we have
this thing together that’s a … sex thing.”  Stiles made a face.
Thankfully Ethan understood his gabber.  “Maybe if Scott accepts Duke’s offer,
he’ll let Scott keep you as a sex thing.”   
That wasn’t exactly what Stiles wanted to hear but it was at least better than
all their other plans for him.
Across the parking lot,  Ennis was walking their way.  From the look of concern
on his face, he was clearly wondering what the hold up was.   Ethan noticed as
well.   “Back inside Stiles. Before I have to punish everyone for your mouth.”
Stiles hastily went back inside.   Ennis quickly caught up with them in the
hall.  “You two okay,” he asked.
“Fine,” said Ethan.
Stiles saw the brown bag in Ennis’ hand.  “Is that bandages?  Because I’d love
some bandages.  And some water,” he said waving his filthy hands.  The port-o-
potty’s container of hand sanitizer was completely dry.  Apparently werewolf
immunity meant never having to worry about hygiene.
“I have bandages,” said Ennis.
They took him back down the stairs into the basement.  Ethan chained Stiles
back to his bracket on the floor while Ennis worked to tear the bandages out of
their individual waxed paper wrappers.  It became painfully clear that the
werewolf had never dealt with Band-Aids before.    Stiles felt envious of the
instant healing and wished that Gerard had followed through on his first idea
of making Stiles a wolf.  On the other hand, if he were a wolf, he’d be up on
that rack next to Scott, and that looked really painful.
Ennis tore another Band-Aid in half.   “Fuck this.”  He threw the box at
Stiles.  “Tend yourself.”
“Ennis!  Ethan!” said a voice from the stairs.   They turned and saw Deucalion
descending the steps.  His feet made no noise.  “Go check on the site.”
The two immediately got up and left.   They might all be alphas, Stiles
thought, but it was clear that Duke was the alpha in the pack.   Deucalion
watched his pack leave then turned and looked at Stiles.  His eyes lingered on
his bloody clothes, his mud stained jeans, the floor, then back to Stiles's
eyes.  
He took a deep breath.  Then as if coming to a decision he walked slowly
towards Stiles.   It was a walk that said “Your fate has been decided.”
Stiles sat up straighter, feeling more nervous with every passing moment. 
Please be good news.
“I hear you talking with my pack,” said Duke at last.  “Trying to convince them
that you are on our side.  Trying to make them think of you as part of their
pack.  Trying to appeal to their mercy.   I get what you are trying to do.”  
He crossed his hands in front of his chest.  “And I even admire you a bit for
it, so I’ll give you a warning instead of just slitting your throat.   Stop
interfering.”
Terror felt like ice in Stiles’s stomach, hard and cold.  He saw dots begin to
flash in the periphery of his vision and wondered if he was about to pass out.
  “I … I don’t know… how could I interfere with them.  I’m chained down.”
“Do you know how to be submissive, Stiles?”
“Yes?”  Stiles tried to pour as much sincerity as he could into the word.
“You want to live.  You submit to my orders.  Understand?”
Okay, that was a bright spot of hope.  The sick feeling of faintness ebbed down
as he clung to the thought.  Deucalion wouldn’t be offering Stiles a chance to
live, if he was just going to kill him, would he?  What would be the point in
that?
“Okay.”
“Stop talking to Ennis.  You are making him weak and I need him strong for the
fight tonight.  Reminding him of all the things he used to have makes him soft,
merciful.  I can’t have that.”
Stiles nodded wildly.  “Okay.”
“Stop fomenting rebellion with Ethan and Aiden.   They are my pack.  They will
always be my pack.”
Stiles nodded again. 
  Deucalion pointed to himself with his thumb.  “I’m the one who decides who
lives and who dies.   The one you should appeal to is me, not them.”   
Stiles looked down at his knees in what he hoped would be proper submissive
attitude.  Wolves took eye contact as a challenge, that much he knew.  Anything
you want, you’re the boss, he wanted to say, but didn’t dare.  He didn’t trust
it not to come off as mouthy.  
 The next thing Stiles knew a hand was on his chin pulling his face up to meet
Deucalion’s eyes.   “I’m done with you trying to manipulate my pack.  Do you
understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Stiles.  He trembled.  This is where he lived or died.  Right
now.  In this moment.  He had to say the right thing. Do the right thing.  But
what?  It seemed that all his attempts at trying to save himself were just
pissing Deucalion off.  But if he did nothing, if he let himself become
invisible again, then nothing would stop Deucalion from killing him without a
thought.  What was the right way out of this?   
Without bidding it, tears filled his eyes and began to flow down his cheeks. 
He tried to stop them, and hoped that Deucalion wouldn’t consider it another
form of manipulation.  Duke just stared thoughtfully a moment and then used his
thumb to wipe Stiles's cheek.  
“You asked what I was going to do with you.   I’ve thought of two things. 
First, if you can keep your mouth shut — not a word — until tonight, then after
I’ve killed Gerard and taken his egg, I’ll let you go.  I’ll take away your
memories of Beacon Hills and my pack and all of that, but then you just go live
your life where ever you wish.  Alive and free.”
Stiles felt like he should be excited about it.  It was, after all, what he
wanted:  to leave Beacon Hills with his dad, and forget the whole sordid
affair.  But the prospect felt chilling and hollow.   He’d be free, but Lydia,
Danny, and Scott would still be prisoners of the pack.  His father wouldn’t
have the egg to keep him from drowning in his grief.   With all their money
gone, it would be tough picking up the pieces somewhere else.   Worst, knowing
himself, the four month hole in his memories would gnaw at him and he’d likely
end up doing something stupid.
  He’d be free, but at the cost of all his friends, his home, his magic, his
peace of mind.  And… he despite what he’d said to Ethan earlier, he didn’t want
that anymore.  He didn’t want any of that.
Duke let the idea sink in, while he petted Stiles's hair gently.  Then his hand
froze at the nape of Stiles's neck. 
“But if you cause me any trouble at all, Stiles, then —”  Stiles hissed as he
felt Deucalion’s claws pierced his skin and drive into the back of his skull
like daggers.  “— This will happen.”  
And like that, Stiles was somewhere else completely.
 
===============================================================================
 
Stiles looked around.  The basement was gone.  The chains were gone.  Duke and
his pack were gone — nothing more than memories from months before.  
He was in a hotel room in London.  The view out the window was gorgeous: 
Sunset through the lightest of winter fog making the city look hazy and picture
book quaint.   The four story buildings around him were all beginning to light
up against the night.  It was like something out of a movie. Inside, was even
more so.   The suite was large and sumptuous, just this side of gaudy.  
Genuine antique furniture.  Rich, rust colored carpet.  The large bed was
covered with a gold and crimson duvet.  The kitchenette behind him was filled
with treats, wines, chocolates, cheese and fruit.  The room cost £2,000 a
night.
This didn’t look like punishment at all.  But it was.   The room was a prison,
it’s boundaries invisible, but unbreakable.  Stiles knew.  He’d tried so many
times to break them, to go beyond that door while his mistress slept.  Walk
down the hall.  Escape.  But he could go no further than the threshold before
he felt the tether tighten and his will grew weak.
Instead he waited for his mistress to wake and rise from the trunk where she
slept the day.   Monique.  A vampire.   Stiles had thought werewolves were
possessive, dangerous monsters.  They were nothing compared to Monique.
She rose the moment the sun disappeared below the horizon, throwing open her
trunk with a bang.  Stiles watched her stretch out her thin limbs and roll her
long neck.  Her hair shined, glossy and beautiful and cut in a trendy bob. 
Stiles’s first impression of the night was always how breathtakingly beautiful
she was.   Only as the night progressed did her perfectly flat and even
complexion seem freakish and wrong.   Her hands, her neck, her eyes all seemed
airbrushed.  No capillaries to mottle the skin.  No veins.  No arteries.  No
pulse.  She looked more like a doll than human, no matter how much make up she
used.   
When she didn’t make him love her, he was repulsed.
The first thing she did, as she did every evening, was order room service.  
Usually it was something lavish — the chef’s special, kobe steak, linguine with
white truffles and seared ahi.  Stiles had never eaten lobster before being
traded off to be Monique’s manservant.  Now, he ate it about once a week.   It
honestly wasn’t his favorite, but it was expensive, so Monique liked it.  When
it came she greeted the bell boy with a toothy smile and then sent him off
without a tip.   
Monique never tipped.  She never paid for anything, not the food, not the room,
not her clothes.   Just smiled and took whatever she wanted.  An equal
opportunity exploiter.
She smiled at Stiles and he obediently sat and ate the stolen lavish dinner
that he didn’t even like that much.  Monique watched, fingers laced below her
chin, like he was some particularly fascinating species of monkey.  As he
finished his entree, she rose and came over to his side of the table.  He
froze, waited, then felt the delicate touch of her fingers on his shoulder.   A
moment later her teeth pierced his neck and she pulled the memory of the meal
from his mind along with his blood, enjoying his pleasure vicariously.
She didn’t take much blood.  Only a swallow.   Just enough to maintain her
connection to his mind and make him want whatever she wanted.  What she wanted
was to go dancing.  
So Stiles became her perfect date, ever attentive, never jealous, even when she
quickly left him at the edge of the dance floor to hunt out someone new. 
Someone young and fresh and maybe a bit desperate, who she would convince to
take her (and Stiles) home with him.   Someone who wouldn’t have anyone
waiting.   No witnesses.  As soon as they arrived at the victim’s flat, Stiles
took up station by the window.  He stared out at traffic, scanning for anything
that might interrupt her fun, ignoring the sounds coming from across the room.
 
Hours later, when she was done, Stiles helped her arrange the naked body in the
bathtub, and left him to bleed out what little blood he had left,  razor
propped in his limp hand.   Then she and Stiles walked down the street, hand in
hand, looking for a cab to take them home.
Stiles hated it.  Particularly the way he could do nothing but watch, night
after night while Monique stole one life after another.  He hated even more the
way he panicked at the thought of anything that might endanger her.   The only
thing he could do was feel bad about her victims.  Someone should.   Monique
certainly never did.
By the time they reached the hotel it was nearly dawn, but Monique was still
jazzed up on stolen life and there was no one to take it out on but Stiles.  
She pulled him to the bed and undressed him.  He made love to her the way she
liked.   When he was done, she bit him again and stole that memory as well.
Stiles was more than ready for her to go back into her trunk for the day and
for him to have a bit of his autonomy back, even if it was only the freedom to
pace the hotel room or sleep alone in the large bed.  He missed his dad, Scott
and Lydia, even Jackson.  He was so lonely for Beacon Hills he ached.  He
wanted to hope that tomorrow would be better, but the bitter truth was that
this purgatory would go on, night after lonely repetitive night, until he
finally grew too old for Monique.   And when that happened, he’d be just
another suicide in a random hotel bathtub. 
As morning warmed the city around him,  Stiles wished again that he had taken
the first option he was given, and just done what Deucalion had asked, instead
of trying to be smart and losing it all.
 
===============================================================================
 
Pain made Stiles hiss and he grabbed the back of his neck as Deucalion let him
go.   For a moment he had no idea where he was.  Months of fantom memories
turned misty.  Sucking in a shocked breath, he stared around him, surprised to
see the plain cement walls and chains.  The florescent lights.  Scott still
tied to wall.   Lydia and Danny sitting on the ground, looking anxious.  
Oh thank, god.  He was back! He still had a chance!   The hotel room, Monique,
hadn’t happened yet.   No.  Nix that, the hotel and Monique weren’t real.   It
had all been a mind game.  The only person who was messing with his brain was
Deucalion.  They met eyes and Stiles saw a look of smug satisfaction.   “Not a
word,” said Deucalion, touching his lips.  “Understand?”
Stiles nodded.  Not a word.  He didn’t know if Monique existed, but if she did,
Stiles never wanted to meet her.   Instead he watched as Deucalion walked
slowly back up the steps leaving the four of them alone again.
“Are you alright?” Scott whispered.  “What did he do to you?”
Stiles said nothing.
“Stiles?” asked Danny.  “Talk to us.”
“Jesus fuck,” muttered Lydia.
Stiles just shook his head.   It had been so fucking real.   So real.  It had
felt like hours.   It had felt like months.    And the things he’d experienced
felt like real experiences.   He felt so … violated with them.   The way she’d
touched him.  The way he’d been so helpless to stop her.
  Stiles rubbed the back of his head and then looked at the fresh blood on his
dirty hand. He had been violated.   Any possible sympathy Stiles might have
been harboring for Deucalion’s cause was gone.  
He hadn’t thought anything could make him go Team Gerard, but there he was,
rooting for that nasty old man to come and kick Deucalion’s nastier butt.    At
least when Gerard fucked your mind, he made it feel good.  And thinking of
that, Deucalion could not get a hold of that egg.  God help the world if he had
that kind of power.  For all of Gerard’s warped sense of right and wrong, at
least he had a moral compass.  Deucalion clearly had nothing more than his own
ambitions.  No loyalty or care for anyone else, not even his own pack.
Stiles hung his head.    Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse — is
mom dying, his father suicidal, his new town a cult, being abducted,
threatened, cut, and now there was this.  So much detail, the taste, the smell,
the feel.  The retro pop music at the dance club.  Surely Deucalion couldn’t
have made it up out of whole cloth.  He must have stolen the memory from
someone.  Which meant that Monique really was out there someplace, and there
were things that even monsters considered monsters.
“Stiles,” said Danny.  “I’ll talk to Ethan.  They can’t treat you like this.”
Stiles just shook his head again, firmly and waved his hands to nix the notion.
  Stay out of this Danny.  
Reluctantly Danny nodded and buried his head in his arms and said nothing more.
  Not long after that, Lydia swore softly to herself and then turned so that
she had her back to them all.  Scott said nothing at all.  He hung by his arms,
his body occasionally shivering with shock.  Stiles wasn’t even sure he was
conscious.
    Stiles reached down and felt the fairy dust in his pocket.  At least he
still had this.
 
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