Title: No secrets in the library
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Warnings: character bashing, murder, discussion of murder
Summary: There are consequences for every lie told. Consequences for selfish acts done for selfish reasons.
Note: Takes place after the warehouse events in S02.
Art by PN Ztivokreb
It had taken two extra days due to his stay in the hospital, but Stiles finally managed to track down Isaac Lahey and get him to stay still long enough to talk. Not that Stiles wasn’t still in pain and there weren’t some lingering injuries, but neither the hospital nor his father could keep him locked up any longer without driving themselves insane. It was for the best. Really.
Isaac looked somewhat apprehensive at Stiles’ approach, so he simply put his hands up and said, “I come in peace. Promise.” In response, Isaac raised his eyebrows.
“Did Derek teach you eyebrow speak? Because damn, that didn’t take long at all. I can just feel the skepticism.”
A single eyebrow raised this time in answer. “Well, that’s that then. You have been assimilated. Apparently, resistance really is futile.”
“We’re not the Borg, Stiles.”
“To be determined.”
Isaac huffed, his eyes dancing with amusement. “What did you need to see me about. Is Scott in trouble?”
“Ah, no. I have some blanks in timelines, and I’m hoping you can fill them in. I’m—” Stiles paused, unsure how to continue. He looked down at his hands and took a few deep breaths.
Isaac frowned at him. “It’s not like you to be—well, to be like this. Usually, you’re all confident. Are you okay? Is Scott—”
“Scott is fucking fine, okay?” Stiles burst out. Isaac backed away, slightly frightened if Stiles was reading his expression correctly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just—okay, this is part of the problem. I need some filling in of the timeline the night of the game. I don’t know what happened before I arrived. And I have no idea what you know—what Derek and Peter know—about the stuff that happened to Erica, Boyd, and I before I arrived.”
Isaac watched him for a moment before hesitantly reaching out and touching his chest. “Your heart, it’s—”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m having a problem right now and also my meds make it beat a little off. Part of it is a result of what happened over the weekend, because of Gerard.”
“Gerard? Argent? He—wait, Argent had you? And the other two?”
“Yeah, didn’t they tell you?” Stiles tilted his head in confusion. “Where are Derek and Peter right now?”
“I think I need to call them over here and then we can all fill each other in.”
“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I think that’s best, as well. This is starting to sound like more of a group activity.”
Once Derek and Peter joined them thirty minutes later, Stiles got down to business trying to put together a comprehensive timeline of the entire night’s events. Considering Scott’s previous behavior, he was not altogether surprised to hear about his complete betrayal.
“After the pool thing, and then how often he kept abandoning me for her, I am just not surprised. I mean, come on.” Stiles just shrugged and sat back. “Derek, he knows you’re not to blame for his becoming a werewolf, and yet you’re the boogeyman for everything that happens in this town according to him.”
“Erica and Boyd?” Peter asked.
“They are at home—I think—since they were released from the hospital at the same time as me. I made a formal complaint against Gerard when I got back from the warehouse.”
“Are you serious. Stiles, you are painting a target on your back, do you understand that.” Derek all but yelled at him.
Stiles huffed, then turned to Isaac. “Now that you have learned the secret werewolf ninja art of eyebrow speak, please use this opportunity to impart your own knowledge in return as a gift to your Alpha. Specifically speaking, the knowledge of tone inflection.”
Peter snorted, but turned it into a cough—an obvious one, at that—when Derek glared his way.
Stiles glanced at the brooding man sitting next to silently laughing teen in front of him. “Derek, thanks for the concern, but I have a target painted on me regardless.”
“So wait, I don’t understand—or maybe I missed it when you explained—how did you all escape?” Isaac asked.
“Well, we didn’t really. Chris came downstairs and saw that Gerard was torturing me. Apparently, torturing human teenagers is a no-no. Innocent werewolf teenagers didn’t phase him. Anyway. Best of the bunch Argent distracted his father and got him moving on whatever plan was happening, and once he was out of the house he let me go. Then Erica and Boyd were let go once I made a stink about it.
“For those in the home audience, please note that he only let them go once I said something. He would have gone right back upstairs and left them in the murder basement had I just quietly followed him. I in no way am a fan of anyone from that family.” At this point, he was speaking to both Hales.
“Point received.” Peter bowed his head to Stiles with a small smile.
“So my question to the two of you is what happens to Scott now? And Deaton? And Gerard? Or the Argent family as a whole?” Stiles sat back, his arm crossing his ribs in an attempt to relieve some pain.
“First of all, idiot, you should be at home resting.” Peter reached out and started leaching pain from him. “Second, Gerard is taken care of.”
Derek raised an eyebrow at his uncle in silent question.
“No, he won’t be able to return like I have, nephew. I made sure.”
Eyebrow down, satisfied smile.
“As for Scott and Deaton, well—that’s the second time that Scott has tried to murder someone, isn’t it? I wonder if his mother knows?” Peter asked lightly while examining his nails.
“Maybe we should go speak with Melissa while Scott is in school.” Derek drew himself up as if getting himself ready for the task at hand. “I can’t even imagine what he’s told her, but I think it’s time she was given the entire story and also all of her options. Options which include leaving the territory, as the Hales have never abided traitors living on their land.”
Stiles opened his mouth and closed it a few times before managing to figure out what he wanted to say. “You won’t ask him to join again?”
“No, in no way could I trust him to be a part of my pack. Not when he so easily betrays it over it and over again. Not when so easily tries to tell me that my family must have done something to deserve what it got.”
“He—that’s—” Isaac stumbled over his words. “Please tell me he didn’t—”
“Yeah, he did.” Stiles just nodded and held up his hands as if to say, ‘what can you do?’.
Stiles turned back to Derek. “Uh, Erica and Boyd will probably need new phones—and I need to go get one, note to self—and we’ll be back for the last two weeks of school. I think Jackson will be, as well.”
“I thought he would run away…” Peter said, almost half asked.
“Danny sort of did a number on him about abandoning him the last few months and he better not finish that off with doing a complete runner. Then he came to me and said I owe him a bunch of answers.”
“Danny?” Peter questioned.
“Yeah, computer guy. Jackson’s BFF. You’ll meet him eventually.”
Derek scowled. “Is he the guy—”
“That thinks you’re Miguel? Yep.”
Derek scowled some more.
Stiles sat at the leftmost front desk in the chemistry classroom, wanting his adversary in front of him with no obstacles between them. What did it say about him that he considered his chemistry teacher his adversary?
If the pattern stayed true, then today there would be a quiz. Stiles couldn’t honestly call it a pop quiz since Harris held one every third Monday, regardless of what was happening in the world. He took out a pen and sat quietly, tapping his feet softly as everyone else filed into the room.
Scott finally tumbled in and, unfortunately, grabbed the seat next to him. Stiles was hoping someone else would take it, but everyone had taken their seats with their habitual partners instead. It’s not like he could scream out that he was pissed at the guy—but whatever. He would just have to do his best to not let Scott cheat off of him.
Scott looked around the room, muttering to himself as Harris passed out the quizzes. “Wolves—there are five.”
Stiles couldn’t believe how unsubtle the idiot was, so he just let the first thing that popped to mind out of his mouth. “And the Devil is six.”
“And God is seven,” Harris supplied as he put down the last quiz face down in front of Stiles.
“What? Are you possessed, Stiles?” Scott asked, not even trying to stay quiet. The rest of the class looked on, confused, and quite a few giggling.
“Of good taste? Yes, yes I am. In spades. I know, it’s been a while since I’ve had any, but I’m finding it again.” He glared at Scott, making sure that even if Scott didn’t understand—and it was clear that this was going right over his head—that quite a few others were beginning to.
“Enough, turn over your papers and begin.” Harris glared at the class until they all put their eyes on their own papers and started writing.
Stiles did his best to keep his paper protected from the idiot next to him, but Scott still kept trying to look. He wasn’t even trying to be sneaky about—which was stupid since the teacher was right there. Harris finally marched rig—ht over to the two papers, grabbed them, then stared at Stiles for a moment before handing back the paper.
“Finish that, Stilinski.”
“Right.” Stiles didn’t argue, not wanting to start something if—for once—he wasn’t the one getting in trouble.
“You, Mr. McCall, are getting a zero for the day and also detention.”
“What? But I didn’t do anything!”
“Correct. You didn’t do anything, including taking your own quiz. Right here I have ample proof of cheating. I just watched the worst attempt at cheating I have ever seen. If I could give you additional detention just for being so bad at that, I would. Now you are going to sit right over here at the front desk so you can’t bother anyone-quietly—and then you and I are going to the head office so I can inform them about what has happened.”
“But nothing, young man. Move. Now.”
Scott dragged his feet as he moved, sending a glare Stiles’ way, but Stiles’s head was down and on his own paper.
Three minutes later Harris called time and collected the papers. He walked to the wall to press the intercom and called for another teacher to come to cover the class. It took five more minutes, in which he gave everyone an assignment, and then dragged Scott off while they got on with the work when the new teacher arrived.
Stiles ignored the class’s curious looks and questions by putting on headphones and getting to work. Danny, thankfully, took the open seat next to him to help him out, bumping his shoulder in solidarity. Stiles figured he would owe him quite a few answers later anyway—about quite a few things.
Stiles sat in the school library that same afternoon, having had a blissfully Scott-free rest of the day, working on his summer assignments. There might have been two weeks still left of school, but Stiles wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t going to chance some other supernatural shenanigans getting in the way of his GPA, so he was working on his assignments now. Nothing and no one was blocking his chance at a scholarship to an amazing university.
He was at a desk in the back under the windows, this way there was more natural light spilling on his books than the harsh fluorescents that tended to give him headaches. He could already hear murmurs about what had happened in chemistry class around him—did everyone think he was deaf?—and how Scott and he had apparently ‘broken up’. They were ‘having a tiff’. As far as Stiles knew, old ladies had ‘tiff’s’. He and Scott were at odds because Scott was—
Speak of the devil, Scott came stomping through the library, disturbing everyone around him. He trudged right up to Stiles’ table and slammed a hand down. “Overdramatic much, McCall?” Stiles drawled, sitting back. So much for getting some studying done.
“What the hell, Stiles?”
“What the hell, what, Scott? Details, man, tend to help when making accusations and/or asking questions. Generalizations never help anyone.”
Scott paused, tilting his head in confusion. He then shook it, as if to shake off said confusion. “Whatever. You know what I’m talking about, what the hell was that in chem class?”
“Uh, what are you asking me for? You’re the one who got yourself caught cheating, you idiot. I’ve told you before to stop trying to read off my papers, do your own work.” At this point, Stiles spotted Harris creeping in on the balcony above. Harris made a gesture to keep him talking and knocked his head to the left. Stiles flicked his eyes quickly over and saw some other staff members up there also listening in. Well, if Scott wanted to dig his own grave after all the other bullshit he had recently pulled, who was Stiles to stop him?
“I’ve tried helping you study, and I’ve tried getting you to organize yourself better, but you’ve done nothing to help yourself.”
“Whatever, you could have told—”
“What, could have told who what, Scott? It was completely obvious that you were reading off my paper in there. And I am guessing that Harris has known that you’ve been cheating off of me for a while and gave you a different quiz than me, and you didn’t notice. And you put down the same answers as me, which had nothing to do with the questions on your paper. Am I right?”
Silence from the scowling Scott.
“And then there’s all of the studying I’ve been trying to help you do, which has gone in one ear and out your nose. Which—you know what, I don’t care. I’ve tried scheduling study sessions with you over the last four months, and you’ve canceled all of them so you can be with your psycho bitch girlfriend. I will not let you blame me for all the suckage you are experiencing right now because you chose your dick over your friends.”
Stiles went back to his books as if Scott wasn’t there. Scott slams his hand down on the table again, cracking it. “What the fuck, dude? This isn’t your house and these aren’t your tables to destroy.”
“You don’t get to talk about Allison like that, Stiles. You don’t understand what she’s been through. She’s just lost her mother.”
There was complete silence in the library. Not one person looked as if they could believe those words just came out of Scott McCall’s mouth—the boy who was supposedly Stiles Stilnski’s best friend.
“Are you—did you just—you know what? No. I heard about what happened in that warehouse before I arrived, Scott. Not from you, as I should have. No, I heard it all from others. I heard how you’ve been lying and betraying everyone around you—including me—because you’ve been thinking with your tiny little prick for months.
“You’ve been fucking over quite a lot of people for that family, the Argents. The Argents, Scott.”
“They’re good people, Stiles. They haven’t done anything—”
“If you are about to say they haven’t done anything wrong, then you are way stupider than I ever imagined and I completely regret our entire friendship.” Stiles’s voice was low, deep, and full of quiet rage. Not one person in the room dared breathe for fear of what they might interrupt.
Scott looked at him with wide wounded eyes. “You don’t mean that, Stiles. You’re my best friend, my brother.”
“Brothers and best friends don’t treat each other the way you’ve treated me. Don’t ignore me the way you’ve ignored me.”
“Are you jealous of Allison, is that it? I tried to set you up with—”
“Oh my god, no, Scott. For fuck’s sake, I never actually wanted Lydia. Even Lydia understood that. Only you—and my dad, I guess—thought that. I was pissed because you kept breaking your promises to me.”
“But Allison nothing. Her entire family is full of psychopathic nutjobs who take any excuse to kill. Exhibit A, her Aunt Kate.”
“That was Peter—”
“Peter Hale did not kill the Hales, you idiot, and you know that. Peter was another victim in the fucking fire that Kate set.”
Stiles could see Harris flinch in his peripheral vision. It was very curious how everyone was just standing around listening. However, he could now see that Boyd, Erica, and Jackson were in attendance and close by in case something happened. In case he needed back up. Or maybe they just wanted to participate in story time, too. Whatever.
“Peter was left here by himself without any ties to his pack to survive without protection. He was slowly going insane as he healed. He was not in his right mind when he woke up.”
“Whatever—” Scott began, hand waving the entire conversation—or maybe the entire event—away.
“No, not whatever. You don’t get to just wipe the Argents’ sins away. You might love them, but the rest of them wouldn’t cry if they all landed in jail or dead. What exactly do you know about what happened the night of the game, Scott?”
Scott looked away and shuffled his feet. “Nothing.”
“Lie,” Jackson commented from his position.
“Scott? What do you know about the abductions the night of the game?” Stiles asked again, standing from the table. The mood in the library taking a swift turn to both horrified and serious. Stiles flicked his eyes up to Harris, hoping that that man was now an ally. Harris was on his phone and nodded down to Stiles.
Harris. An ally. Was the end nigh?
Scott’s face was getting red. Brows furrowing. “I find it curious that you haven’t asked about all of my bruises, or where I was.”
“Or why Boyd and I were out for two days from school just like Stiles was,” Erica put in.
“Or why all three of us were in the hospital. At the same time.” Boyd moved closer to Stiles to bracket the other side.
“I find it interesting that he hasn’t once asked if his best friend was okay, or where he was. I know the rumor was that another team did it, but I never heard him express any anger over it. Not once.” Jackson was now blocking Scott’s escape.
“And since the other team has come forward to make sure the sheriff’s department knew it was none of them, it begs the question, just what do you know, McCall?” Danny asked, the rest of the lacrosse team standing with him in the library.
Scott finally lost his cool and just roared at all of them before leaping over Jackson and running out of the library.
“Subtlety, thy name is definitely not Scott McCall,” Stiles huffed. He looked around and then sighed. “So, I guess we all need to have a talk.”
Stiles looked around and all the faces he suddenly the focus of, and sighed. “Right, I guess we need to organize a Q&A session of some kind.” He ran a hand over his head in contemplation. “Okay.”
Stiles turned to Jackson first. “Can you go speak with Finstock? Since we had the championship game, there’s no immediate need for practice today. Using the field and bleachers for this would be best.”
“And considering half the team is made up of wolves…” Jackson commented before walking off.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Stiles answered anyway, already searching the crowd for his next victim…er, helper.
Harris was still standing upstairs watching the proceedings, though, so Stiles paused to double-check that he could count on him. “Are you able to keep him in detention while we are out there?”
“I’d like to be out there as well, as I only know parts of the story and half the facts. I think I will have his mother come get him and have him serve a suspension for combined cheating. We’ve all been speaking up here—”
“Mr. Stilinski, why have you never spoken up about what has been going on? Your attempts to switch seats make so much more sense now,” admonished Mr. Butler, the previous science teacher.
“Seriously?” Stiles asked. “I have tried to speak to each and every teacher at the start of each year, and was blown off each and every time. It’s like you see the words ADHD and decide that equals trouble maker.”
“Or more likely, they’ve heard stories about the two of you and how Scott has been painted as the Golden Child and you the Epic Trouble Maker,” Lydia offered, blasè as can be.
Stiles bent his head in agreement. “Yeah, or that. It’s exhausting the amount of judgement that goes on around here, ya know?”
The teachers all stood back, abashed at their obvious mistakes. Yet, not one apologized.
“I just didn’t like you,” Harris offered. “You have a smart mouth, Stilinski.”
“Well, at least you’re honest about that part. Don’t think I don’t know why else you’re a jerk to me, Harris.
“But yes, calling his mom is a good point. I know that this morning she was filled in on the truth of everything, so you won’t have to do much more than tell her about what happened in class and your suspicions about the other classes.”
“She didn’t know before?” Butler asked with surprise in his voice.
“She recently found out—and then Scott gave her his version of events which were heavily edited and biased, I guess. I know this, because of a few comments she threw my way which were weird. And not appreciated. She also believes that I am the Troubled Child and her son the Golden Child.
“Moving on, would a few of you please collect questions—reasonable questions, please—from everyone on index cards so that I have something to refer to when I am done with my talk?”
The lacrosse team all stepped forward to volunteer and grabbed cards from his hands. “Good thing I always have these things in my bag, I guess.”
“Why do you?” Erica asked.
“Oh, uh, they help me organize my thoughts when I’m studying. It’s hard for me to put things into a certain order—or focus on one topic. So the cards help. I can write my thoughts in a small space on a topic, and if I need to jump topics and I just move to a new card. Keeps it all clean and somewhat organized.” Stiles shrugged.
“And if we’re going to do this Q&A, I need to prepare some stuff, so I need to go do that. I will meet everyone outside after the bell.”
And with that he ran away.
Melissa McCall was not a happy woman. She was definitely a furious mother. What the hell had been happening while she was looking the other way? She had trusted her son to look after himself while she worked to provide for them. She had thought he was mature enough to handle himself. Apparently, she had thought wrong. Very wrong.
Everything that Scott had told her since the massacre at the station had been bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Yes, Peter Hale had killed people, but he had been insane and not responsible for his actions. She was angry at Peter for biting her son, bringing him into this insane world—but she was also grateful that she wasn’t worried that her son was going to have another asthma attack and not come back from it.
Scott claimed a lot of things a few weeks ago—claimed a lot of people were at fault for a lot of things. Apparently, most of those claims were false. He also knew who was actually at fault for that massacre and had no problem with them. What had happened to her son?
When the phone rang, she almost cried. “What now?” she muttered as she reached for it with apprehension.
“Yes, may I speak with Melissa McCall, please?”
“This is she. Who is calling, please,” she asked, even though she could already guess. The voice was quite familiar.
“This is Maryann from Beacon Hills High School. Mr. Harris has asked that I call you in reference to your son. He needs you to come to the school, if possible.”
“My son? I am assuming no one is hurt, or you would have said so already.” Melissa stopped herself from continuing. She had almost asked about Stiles, but if this was about Stiles, then either Harris will tell her, or Noah would also be there when she arrived. The morning’s conversation was still fresh in her mind. “Right. Should I come now or is there a specific time for this meeting?”
“Your son is fine, Mrs. McCall. The request was for an immediate meeting. Please come to the head office.”
“Yes, alright. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Thank you.” Dial tone.
“And thank you for waiting for my goodbye, Maryann.” Melissa huffed. “But I guess I will see you in a few minutes anyway for a hello.”
Melissa walked into the head office with some trepidation. It had been ages since she had been called to a meeting for her son without also Noah in attendance to answer for Stiles. That in and of itself was a red flag. On top of that, the conversation that she had had that very morning with the Hales fresh in her mind—Melissa was not very optimistic about the chances of this being a praiseworthy meeting.
Melissa clenched her hands around her purse handles when she stepped into the classroom the secretary had led her to. Inside were four teachers that she recognized from parent-teacher night a month ago.
“Right, so this isn’t going to be a fun meeting,” she offered as she took the empty seat across from them.
“No, Mrs. McCall, it isn’t.” Adrian Harris placed a pile of papers in front of her, followed by each of the other teachers placing a separate pile in front of her. “Each of these piles is sets of quizzes we can prove your son cheated on. Some—as in Jessica’s case,” he indicated Jessica Chase, the English teacher, “have suspicions of other cases where your son has strayed, but we will get to that later.”
“Cheating? He’s been cheating?” Melissa covered her face for a moment, trying to settle herself. “I can’t—he wouldn’t—who would—” She stopped. “Where is Stiles in all of this?”
“Mr. Stilinski? Why would you ask about him?” Mrs. Chase asked.
“Well, if Scott is in trouble, usually Stiles is right there with him—actually, Stiles usually starts it—”
“I will stop you there, Mrs. McCall.” Surprisingly, it was Coach Finstock who was stepping in. “Mr. Stilinski has nothing to do with any of this—other than trying to protect himself. Your son has been cheating and/or attempting to cheat off of him for quite a while. I’m sure if we go back we’ll find evidence of the same pattern.”
“I thought you didn’t know his name?” she asked Finstock. Melissa had always been curious about that. Stiles was the sheriff’s son, for god’s sake. Who didn’t know the Sheriff’s name?
“It annoys the kid that annoys me with ridiculous essays. Don’t take my fun.” The so there was implied. “In any case, the point is that Stiles has nothing to do with what’s happening here. What’s been happening here is that your son was finally caught red-handed today.”
Harris took over. “I’ve noticed that Stilinski—and keep in mind that I can’t stand that kid. And he can’t stand me. It’s a mutual dislike. I’ve noticed that he already knows my pattern for quizzes. Kid is really smart, dammit, and probably should already be in a grade or two above.”
“He’s most likely held himself back for your son’s sake, actually. Your son is his only friend.” All of the teachers nodded in agreement with Mr. Butler. “Your son goes out of his way to make sure no one else becomes friends with Mr. Stilinski, I’ve noticed—or rather, we’ve all noticed. But that is an entirely different discussion for another time.”
“Didn’t you teach him last year?” Melissa asked, curious.
“Yes, I taught biology last year, but I also teach one of the history classes, as we are short-staffed and I do have the background for both tracks.”
“So, you were saying, Mr. Harris?”
“Right, I was. Stiles tries to find a different seat on quiz days, but Scott tends to end up sitting next to him anyway. Sometimes by making the person sitting there move—that’s been happening lately more and more—or as before, by guilting them into moving. He used to use his health has a manipulation tool a lot, claiming he needed to be near Stiles so the inhaler would be available.”
Melissa was appalled. She almost argued—her son would never—but then she remembered the conversation from this morning and subsided. She held up a hand though to ask for a moment, and they all gave it to her.
“Okay, please continue. You said you did something specific this morning?”
“Yes, as per usual, Scott sat next to Stiles today in my class. Stiles, however, elected to sit at a table directly in front of me. There was no way Scott would be able to hide what he was trying to do—not that he realized it was quiz day. He was genuinely surprised when I started handing them out.
“In any case. I made sure that I handed your son a different quiz—same topics, just different order of questions—than I handed Stiles. Without even attempting to check his own paper, Scott started peeking at Stiles’s quiz, copying answers. Stiles attempted to keep his quiz covered when he realized what Scott was doing—I’m pretty sure that since they were sitting up front, he thought Scott would behave himself, or hoped he would. Scott actually began pinching and smacking Stiles in the side and leg, getting aggravated that Stiles wouldn’t comply.
“Now, I don’t know how much you know about what happened this past weekend, but Mr. Stilinski was injured quite severely, and he is still recovering. Your son’s actions have probably exacerbated the injuries—no, please do not contact him or attempt to do anything.” Harris stopped Melissa from taking out her phone. “Mr. Stilinski has already seen to the injuries today. We all made sure.” And they had done exactly that once they had found him after the library scene. Jessica had found him in a nearby classroom and promptly had taken him to the nurse’s office.
“Stiles apparently has tried coming forward about this before, but no one ever believes him because your son has the reputation—”
“Because my son is always the Good One and Stiles is always the Bad One, I know. I just heard something similar this morning from someone else.” Melissa scrubbed her face before sitting back with a sigh. “Okay, so we’ve established my son is a lying liar who lies and cheats left, right, and center. What does that mean academically?”
“Well,” Finstock took over again. “It means that he is off the team, for one thing. He is on academic probation and will have to repeat the current year to start with.”
“Yeah, fair. I won’t argue with that at all.” Melissa couldn’t fault any of them with that kind of decision. It hurt her that she didn’t really feel like standing up for her son, but every action had consequences, and he needed to learn that.
“We are actually going to require that he begin in summer school, to make sure that he can even handle repeating this past year. It seems—to all of us—that the only reason he made it through these four classes is due to Mr. Stilinski. In all of his other classes, he is barely passing.” Mrs. Chase handed over the paper with the current status of her son’s grades.
“Right. I think—listen, I had a talk with some people this morning about—well, I don’t know how much you know about what’s been happening lately—”
“We know quite a bit,” Harris interrupted.
“Okay,” she said. Melissa took a moment—again—to breathe and then began, “Scott has done a lot to undermine a lot of people, betray a lot of people. I think the best option for him—for both of us, really, is to start over somewhere else. And, considering what you’ve just told me, I think part of that starting over is that he should have to take placement tests in whatever new school he starts at.”
All of the teachers looked at each other and then the mother sitting across from them. “Yes, that does seem like a good plan, Mrs. McCall. In fact, let me get you a list of schools that I think would work out best for your son,” Coach Finstock answered.
“Thank you,” Melissa told him. And she was. Thankful.
Stiles gripped his laptop like it was the last defense before death. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do—”
“Get a grip, you twink. If you don’t get out there and do this then they will definitely eat you alive.” Jackson took him by the elbow and started walking him towards the field at a faster pace than he had meant to go. “Also, the team will make sure no one gets close. We’ve got you.”
Stiles pulled Jackson to a stop before they reached the exit and turned him to face him. “Really? I mean, besides the fact that you should never ever get a job in life coaching or pep talks. You really mean it, that you have my back here? Because I know that you know how I—”
“Stilinski, we’ve been ignoring it this long, let’s keep ignoring it a little longer.”
“Right, right.” Stiles took a deep breath and then gave the sign he was ready to head out into the wild. Or towards his classmates. Whichever.
As they were walking out, Jackson started telling him, “By the way, I gave the Hales a heads up. Just FYI.”
Stiles tripped over air, as per usual, which caused a tittering of laughter to move across the stands. He glared at Jackson, but didn’t really mean it. For some reason, having the Hales in attendance made him feel better, safer. Would wonders never cease?
Stiles strode over to the center of the field near the bleachers where someone had very kindly set up a small table for him. “Can everyone see and hear me?”
A chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘just get on with it’ came from all sides. “Yeah, yeah, just checking. Okay, so a lot of fucked up shit has been happening lately, and there’s probably a lot of questions as a result.”
“And you’re the answer guy, Stilinski?” asked Michael Greenberg. There was some slight derision in the question, but Stiles didn’t let it get to him. He was, in actual fact, the answer guy.
“I am, actually. Yes.” Stiles scanned the crowd until he found the Hale pack all sitting together slightly off to the side. Close enough to easily come to his assistance, but also able to escape should they need to. Fair enough.
“Let’s start with some history—wait, wait. This is important. I’m talking about very important as to why this town is the way it is. This town—would you all shut the fuck up.”
Everyone quieted, not used to Stiles being so forceful. Stiles usually stayed in the background, or flailed uselessly in a loud manner and then got out of the way with lots of nonsense. This Stiles, however, was being serious, and forthright, and taking no prisoners.
“This is my time you’re wasting. So if you want answers, I am here to give them. There is no cliff’s notes version. Cliff’s notes will get you killed. Clear?”
“I said am I clear?” Stiles asked, slight growl in his voice. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter Hale smirk in approval.
“Clear,” the student body answered, sitting up straighter.
“Right, then. This town is aptly named. Beacon Hills is literally a beacon. Now, I am not sure what is going on with said beacon, it is something I am currently researching, and would go a lot faster if supernatural shenanigans would stop getting in the way.” He paused as Lydia Martin, herself, wheeled a whiteboard out onto the field and started writing topics on it.
‘Research groups needed: 1. What is wrong with the beacon?’
“Right, thanks, Lydia. Okay, continuing on. So we have a beacon. From what I could tell in the histories, a family moved here to guard the beacon—the Hales. As you may have surmised, the Hales are werewolves.”
Under his breath, he said to Derek as he moved to adjust his laptop to the next slide of notes for himself, “Just let me go with this. They already known werewolves exist, thanks to Scott. Let me set this up so they aren’t scared of you and we don’t have a town full of future hunters, okay? I know what I’m doing. Trust me. Please.”
Stiles looked up to see Derek’s response. Most people were looking over at them, as well. Both Peter and Derek tipped their heads in acknowledgment, so that pretty much answered Stiles’s statement.
“They were chosen guardians of this area, which means that they did their best to protect it from supernatural threats. Now, I only know so much—mostly because I stole a bunch of books from a cryptic bastard who shouldn’t have had them in the first place. I’m sure there is more information somewhere else, but I’ll find out about that later.”
Lydia had a notebook next to her where she seemed to be writing down her own questions, Stiles noticed. He smiled at her but turned back to his notes.
“Okay, so the Hales lived here and protected the town. Whoo hoo! Sometimes, the people knew about it, sometimes they didn’t. Obviously, werewolves aren’t the only game in town. There are different types of fae, wendigos, whathaveyou. This is just what I’ve gathered from case reports that you never heard me say and I’ve obviously never read through. Right? Right.”
“You better hope no one is recording this, Stilinski,” Boyd remarked from the back, causing a few laughs.
“Eh,” Stiles shrugged in response. “It’s not like my dad doesn’t know I snoop.
“Now, while there are all kinds of good and bad supernatural roaming around town, there is another faction to all of this—and a very important part, because they played the biggest part in what I think started the downhill turn of peace in the last decade.”
“Don’t you mean six years?” Peter asked.
“No, zombiewolf, decade. This started before the fire. I found a journal in the piper’s stash. He talked about something getting cut down?” Stiles watched Peter’s reaction to that, and what he saw confirmed his suspicion. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. That never should have happened. I think there’s something at play there, because—well, whatever, that’s an entirely different discussion, and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
Deep breath and Stiles was off again. “Okay, the Argent family. Yes, I am speaking of Allison Argent’s family. The Argent family is made up of Hunters, with a capital ‘H’. They, this family, specifically hunt werewolves. They are supposed to go by a code, where they only hunt those who are hunting humans…but in reality, they hunt for the sake of hunting and they pretty much just like killing.” He took a moment to watch that information wash over the crowd.
“I know this is heavy stuff, but keeping you all alive is sort of a thing. The Hales are here to protect the land and the people who live on it. You also all need to know how to protect yourselves. Hunters just come in and kill everyone, and anyone associated with the supernatural. Gerard Argent, the guy who came in and poof! became principal? Yeah, he was super crazy and had a thirst for killing. Over a decade ago, according to this journal, he helped blind some Alpha at what was supposed to be a peaceful meeting, killed his own men and then made it seem like the wolves killed them, thereby starting a full out war.
“On top of that, he’s responsible for wiping out quite a few peaceful packs, helping his daughter almost wipe out the Hale pack here, and he kidnapped and tortured a few of us for fun this past weekend. Zero out of ten, do not recommend.” Stiles ignored the furtive looks the students were sending each other, also Lydia shaking her head at the ones who opened their mouths to interrupt. After a moment the murmurs died down.
“His daughter in law tried to kill Scott because she didn’t like her daughter fucking a werewolf, then killed herself because she didn’t want to turn into a wolf. Then the daughter—that would be Allison—tried killing pretty much every wolf you see here.”
Silence. Then everyone speaking at once.
Stiles just turned to Lydia as she added a few more items to the research groups, such as hunter families, nearby packs, pack traditions, fae, family histories, self-defense groups.
“Now, it’s bound to happen that things are going to keep escalating here until we figure out how to unfuck the beacon. In the meantime, we will keep on keepin’ on. We’ll go through the cards that some of you filled out, and if I don’t know the answer to some of these questions, perhaps Derek or Peter does.”
Derek and Peter both came down front to go through the cards with Stiles, separating them into piles of already answered, idiotic, and need to be answered.
Peter took the first one, giving Stiles a few minutes to relax.
“Are we all going to be turned?” Peter paused before answering. “I assume the questioner means werewolves, yes? As there are other creatures that can turn you. The answer is no. As a rule, we do not turn random people. Mr. McCall was an unfortunate circumstance that will not be repeated.”
This time Derek picked a card, showing it to Peter before rolling his shoulders back and facing the crowd. “What does pack mean?” Derek took a moment before answering, glancing at Peter first and then his betas. “Pack—right. Sorry, I am not very good at public speaking, never was. Maybe I should back up and give some background on positions within the pack and then circle around to what a pack is.” He paused again. “I am what is called an Alpha, which means I am in charge of the local pack. Being in charge doesn’t just mean that I tell them what to do, though. It also means that I am in charge of their well-being, their safety.” At this Derek seemed to be speaking directly to his betas. “You can tell an Alpha by their eyes—” he flashed his red eyes at them, “as they are the only ones with red ones. Betas have gold or blue ones.”
Peter flashed his blue ones at the crowd, Isaac his gold eyes for solidarity. “Us betas don’t just leave it up to Derek to take care of us, we have to take care of each other, too. Pack is family,” Isaac offered up quietly.
Derek smiled at his beta. “Yes, thank you, Isaac. Pack is family. We are there to support each other, take care of each other. Pack is not solely made up of wolves, there are other positions and people in it, humans, druids, fae. Peter here is my left hand, my enforcer.” Peter waved. The smile on his face was anything but welcoming. “Boyd is my second. There are other positions, but for now, that’s enough to be shared.”
“Does shifting hurt? Can you shift into a full wolf?” Peter read from two cards. “No and yes.”
Derek snorted, as did Stiles. “Please, creeperwolf, your eloquence is just beyond me. I swoon at your feet.” Stiles delivery was dry as the desert.
Peter just smirked as he reached for another card. A student in the front row burst out before he could read anything, though.
“Can you eat garlic? Dogs can’t eat garlic—”
“Shut up, Greenburg!” half the students yelled at the same time.
Peters stilled, staring at Greenburg for a full minute in silence until he curled up in himself. “Greenburg, is it? Let’s be clear. Referring to us as dogs? Not. Smart.”
“Right. Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”
The students shuffled a bit before Stiles cleared his throat, gesturing at Peter to get a move on.
“I think that this is a good point to stop and perhaps we should have a second meeting to clarify anything that has been spoken about today. Maybe Stiles can put together something for everyone to read so that many of the answers can be answered without—” Peter was cut off by Danny, surprisingly.
“I can put together a safe forum where people can post their questions, maybe those cards can be answered in an FAQ section?”
“Actually, yeah, Danny, I have a couple of tech ideas to run past you.” Stiles was nodding, writing on the board under a sectioned off area, Danny joining him after a minute.
“Well then,” Derek said to everyone else, “I guess everyone can go and Stiles or Danny will clue you all into wherever this forum is. Just keep an eye out for any Hunters, and be smart. That means keeping your mouths shut about all of this, especially online—social media and all of that. Showing that you are too knowledgeable is a risk you shouldn’t take.”
“What’s going to happen with McCall?” a random person called out. Stiles couldn’t see who it was.
“I am pretty sure that he’s being kicked out of town or suspended or something. At the very least, being held back a year, I have no idea. I think the whole Golden Boy image has finally been ripped off everyone’s eyes,” Jackson announced. “It’s about fucking time, I hate that kid. Why no one has seen what a little shit he is until now, I have no idea.”