- Work in Progress
- Discussion - Murder
- Violence - Canon-Level
- Action Adventure
Hearing Derek had had a conversation with his dead mother through her claws had been a bit weird. Well, weird in the context of the weirdness in Beacon Hills made it less bizarre in the big scheme of things. It felt less odd that they both had agreed that Deaton, most likely, was the one to know about the Hale Vault outside of the family. Derek didn’t know why his mother would tell her emissary about it.
The family had been Beacon Hill’s protectors from the supernatural for almost two-hundred years. Stiles had speculated that Deaton must have told Talia Hale he needed something from the vault, a magical text perhaps, to determine what had been wrong with the Nemeton. Derek didn’t know why the great tree had been cut down or when. It had already been done by the time he was born and as a kid had never heard the adults in his family discuss it. Stiles found that strange but without more information, he couldn’t guess why it was a secret to the pack as a whole. Another thing to pick Peter’s brain about if he could pin him down and get a straight and truthful answer from Creeper Wolf.
Stiles was sure Void being buried at the base of the tree had been the culprit for what had ailed the Nemeton, or at least part of the problem causing its magical power to go dormant. Derek had agreed that his supposition was a good one. Its dormancy hadn’t kept the region from being threatened over the years, but the Hale family had worked to keep the supernatural in check in their territory diligently. They’d been so successful that Beacon Hills had been known as a very quiet sleepy town, even though it was fairly large for a town, almost the size of a small city.
Stiles flipped the sandwiches, thinking as the scent of cheesy goodness made his stomach rumble a bit. It was dinner time and they’d had been talking all afternoon. The time had flown by with both of them adding a few notes to his crime board until he realized it was dusk and he was hungry. Stiles and his dad weren’t the best at cooking, but they could both make some staples that were tasty.
Plating the food, Stiles asked, “So, the Alpha power went to your mom from your great-grandmother?”
“Yes, she was forty, I think, at the time.” Derek leaned back frowning at his food. “This has tomatoes, and mayo on it.”
“Yeah, it’s a Stilinski specialty grilled cheese sandwich,” Stiles replied with a wink, sitting down across from Derek at the kitchen table. “Give it a try, you’ll like it.”
Grilled cheese sandwiches and cream of tomato soup, Campbell’s of course, the ultimate comfort food. Stiles had felt the need for it after dropping the Malia bomb on Derek. He’d been pretty emotional and not in the angry Sourwolf way that Stiles was used too. Derek hadn’t been distracted per se, but Stiles noted a few times he’d been lost in thought. His mind had seemed to be a million miles away off and on all day. Stiles figured he was thinking about how to handle Malia, as well as whatever it was Peter had discussed with him that morning.
Stiles was just dying of curiosity, but he would be patient, he would.
Pack bonds, or the lack thereof, had been noodling in the back of his own mind, over and over again, throughout the afternoon and whether or not to ask Scott about them. He still hadn’t made up his mind. The thought that Scott had pack bonds with the others and not him sat heavy and painful in the darkness in his chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that his best friend had bonds with the others and not him. They’d had issues with each other ever since Scott was bitten but Stiles had hoped they could work past them. If he found out Scott had pack bonds that he wasn’t included in, he wasn’t sure they could work past their problems.
So, comfort food was a requirement for dinner.
Derek’s eyebrows rose when he took a bite of the sandwich.
“Good, huh.” Stiles took a bite of his own. The combination of cheese, butter, mayo, and tomato was so satisfying, almost as satisfying as watching Derek’s nod of enjoyment of the food. He swallowed his mouthful before he asked, “Does the Alpha power always go to the women in your family?”
“No.” Derek wiped his hands on a paper towel—Stilinski men were not the highfalutin sort to use cloth napkins or remember to buy actual paper napkins—and pulled his soup bowl closer giving it a stir to cool it. “Josephine, my great grandmother knew mom had the Alpha potential and that the spark would transfer just fine. Peter could’ve been chosen if he hadn’t been so young. I think he was fifteen when mom became Alpha. She was twenty-five years older and my aunt Amelia was about twenty years older than him and human.”
“Wow, so Peter was a mid-life baby?” Why Stiles was so delighted by the news, he didn’t know.
Derek smiled softly. “Well, from how I remember my grandparents tell it, Peter was a bit of a surprise. I think grandma was almost fifty when she got pregnant and gramps was at least in his mid-fifties.”
“Cool, an oops baby and if he wouldn’t rip my throat out, I’d sass him about it. He was probably so spoiled being the youngest.” Stiles paused. “It’s probably why he’s an asshole most of the time now.”
Derek coughed a bit and it took him a minute clear his throat. Stiles couldn’t help the satisfaction he knew was on his face. He loved making people speechless, it was a talent he had. One of his few superpowers, along with sarcasm and an intelligent if sometimes distracted brain. “So, there’s the Alpha and the Alpha mate, your dad, right?” Derek nodded taking another bite of his sandwich. “Your aunt didn’t want to be a werewolf?”
“No, as I said, humans are beneficial to the pack, and Aunt Amelia knew that. The only reason she would take the bite was if she was sick with something that couldn’t be cured by conventional medicine.”
Stiles paused in his chewing. His mother’s sweet face swam through in his mind for a moment and he wondered if his mom’s illness could have been cured with a werewolf bite. He shook himself and those thoughts away. It was in the past and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it now. Though, for the future, he was definitely going to talk to his dad about becoming a werewolf if he was in danger of dying for some reason before it was his time. He’d have to talk to Scott about it, as well, since he was the only Alpha Stiles actually knew personally at the moment. It wasn’t like he was going to try to track down Deucalion or another Alpha if something happened to his dad. Well, unless Scott wouldn’t give Noah the bite to save him.
Scott would, he had too, Stiles mused. Frowning a bit at the cooling soup in front of him, he let the thought slide away. “Okay, so the future Alpha is generally chosen by the current Alpha, but they have to have the potential for it to take?”
“Yes, whether the Alpha Spark goes to someone is dependent upon their personality, and mental strength. Any werewolf can become an Alpha through killing another Alpha but for a spark as old as the Hale Spark to be given, there’s a lot of different factors at play. Not all of which I’m really knowledgeable about.”
“And the spark went to Laura rather than Peter after the fire.”
Derek frowned. “Yes… I think that had more to do with the amount of pain he was in from the fire than that he didn’t have the potential. My sister was really too young to receive the spark… when mom died.” He paused. “She was only twenty, at the time.”
“So, a werewolf should be older to have that kind of power?”
“Yes, I had trouble with it myself when I took it from Peter.”
“Yeah, you were kind of an asshole for a while, dude,” Stiles said.
Derek snorted. “You’re not wrong. I didn’t handle it well and lost my pack because of it.”
Stiles swallowed, the sadness in Derek’s voice made the food lay heavy in his stomach. “But, you were still grieving for your sister at the time. I’m sure that didn’t help you control it.”
Derek didn’t reply.
Stiles was happy Derek was willing to talk about his family. He did hope that the discussion helped rather than caused Derek additional pain. It was still painful for Stiles to talk about his mom, afterward, though he always did feel better. He doubted Derek had had anyone to talk to about his family since Laura had died.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Stiles said, “you did the best you could.”
Derek didn’t refute Stiles’ statement, but he didn’t seem to agree with it either if his silence was any indication.
“I mean it, Derek, there’s something going on, some outside force that was working against you, against us, since I met you.”
Derek’s green-eyes were almost soulful. “You really believe that?”
“Yes, I do.” Stiles looked away from the pain rampant in that gaze and stirred his soup, thinking. “I don’t think you stood a chance to be successful because there’s something happening, either with the Nemeton or someone is causing things to happen here. It was quiet before the fire, and it was quiet until Peter woke up.”
“I wouldn’t actually agree that it was quiet before the fire. We had hunters to deal with on a regular basis even though my family had never broken their damn code. My mother was sought out a lot by other packs and supernaturals for advice. But, you’re right, there were threats to the territory a few times a year but nothing like it’s been this last year.”
Stiles was sure, though he couldn’t prove it now, that Void with the help of someone else were the roots of the threats to Beacon Hills. At least, Stiles believed Void was part of the problem until recently. Deaton had to be at least involved in some way. As a Druid, how could he not be? How could he not know what had been wrong with the Nemeton?
Deaton was supposedly all about balance, but Laura, the Hale Alpha leaving the territory after the fire must have added to the supernatural imbalance in the region left by the Hale pack’s destruction. Perhaps, the power of the pack’s destruction had satiated the chaos Void had fed on for a while. It had been very quiet in Beacon Hills until Peter had awoken and Laura Hale had returned.
Grimacing, Stiles decided to go for it. Derek would either talk or he wouldn’t.
“So, if Peter hadn’t been hurt as bad as he was, the Alpha power would have probably gone to him?”
Derek kept his eyes on his soup, avoiding Stiles’ gaze. He was quiet for such a long time, Stiles worried he’d set Derek back to his silent angry days. It was hard not to let the babble that was stuck in his throat out to release the pressure of Derek’s silence, so he just focused on finishing his sandwich. If his mouth was full, on occasion, it kept him from blurting out his thoughts and bashing his friends in the head with them. It didn’t always work, unfortunately.
The clinking of their silverware was the only sound as they finished their meals. It rang in his ears, like the metallic clicking he heard in his dreams. His dreams that featured the Nemeton, again. Realizing that, the dark blank space in his chest fluttered for a moment and he completely lost his appetite pushing his plates away from him with a sigh.
Stiles started a bit in his seat when he looked up and found Derek just contemplating him with a small furrow between his brows.
“Dude, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he blurted.
“It’s not that,” Derek said, getting up to take his plates to the sink. He confiscated Stiles’ as well on his way passed. “Your questions, have just had me thinking is all.”
The dishes clinked as they settled against the porcelain and Derek leaned, hunched against the sink with his back to Stiles looking out onto the Stilinski’s backyard and the Preserve beyond.
His words were quiet, subdued when he started to speak. “Laura didn’t try to build a pack after we left. I thought everyone was dead. She told me they were, and I’d felt all the pack bonds break during the fire, including Cora’s. Peter’s was the only one left until it broke too.”
“What?” Stiles was twisted in his seat unable to keep quiet. “You thought Peter was dead?”
Derek nodded, his back still to Stiles. “After the fire… the bond we had was really painful, I knew he was in the hospital, but Laura wouldn’t let me go to see him. A few days later, I felt my bond with him break, and Laura told me he’d died. There wasn’t a funeral, she said we had to leave. It was too dangerous to stay, so she took me to New York. I didn’t have a reason to not believe her.”
Stiles got up from his seat and leaned against the counter next to Derek. He hesitated, then put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. A shuddering breath left Derek at the touch and he reached around to pull Stiles in against him with an arm around his waist.
“I thought she decided to run because of the death of our family but maybe she ran because Peter was still alive, and she didn’t want to deal with taking care of him. I don’t really know. The only way my bond to him and Cora would break is if they were dead or the Alpha consciously broke them.”
He whispered brokenly, “I don’t understand why she did that. How she could do that to me, to Peter, and Cora.”
“God, Derek,” Stiles murmured against the strong shoulder under his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
He got a little squeeze for his words. Derek’s breathing was hitched as if he was refraining from crying or yelling.
“So, you didn’t know when you came back that Peter was still alive?” Stiles asked, softly.
“I knew.” Derek’s cheek pressed hard against Stiles’ head. “Laura left said she had to deal with some estate things in Beacon Hills. A few days later, I felt our bond break and I knew she was dead. I went through her things to figure out why she really went home, and I found correspondence about Peter’s medical care. So, I knew he was still alive by the time I got back.”
“If she hadn’t left with you, would Peter have recovered more quickly?”
“Yes.” Derek sniffed, then released him turning around to cross his arms. They stood together leaning against the counter. “He would have healed quicker and would’ve been in less pain if we’d been there for him. He wouldn’t have been so alone. The healing would have taken some time, but we could’ve cared for him once the burns sealed enough to leave the hospital. It wasn’t like we didn’t have the money to make taking care of him impossible. Even if we’d taken him to New York with us.”
“Do you… think he didn’t know it was Laura when he killed her?”
“It’s possible but he lured her home.”
“Did he, though? Deaton knew about the spirals on the deer. He could have told her.”
Derek raised his brows. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”
“Also, his nurse knew what was going on with him, she could have told Laura too, right? I found out last night from my dad that his nurse was a serial killer. She was killing patients at the hospital for quite a while.”
“Seriously?” Derek’s mouth dropped open; his shock apparent as he came out of his defensive slouch.
“Yeah,” Stiles replied, “I thought he killed her to keep her quiet but now I’m not so sure. The only innocent person that he killed that I know of was your sister. Maybe he didn’t know it was Laura. Maybe he thought she was just a strange Alpha in Hale territory.”
Stiles could see Derek was thinking his words through. He hated the pain he was causing Derek with their conversation. It was important though. Something inside him around the black void in his chest was pushing him to find out the truth of that night. It was important even if he didn’t know why at the moment.
“If Peter thought you and Laura were dead, then who was he luring to Beacon Hills?”
It took only a moment before Derek’s eyes flare gold and he growled, “The Argents.”
“Dude, your eyes!” Stiles aborted his finger guns in surprise.
“I know.” Derek shook his head ignoring Stiles exclamation. “Why are you so willing to trust Peter now?”
They were certainly going to talk about the change, but Stiles threw Derek a bone, well a nugget he’d been thinking all day. “Well, we need someone who knows about this supernatural shit and if it’s a choice between Alan ‘Doomsday’ Deaton and Peter ‘Hinky’ Hale, I’m gonna go with the guy who does occasionally give us useful intel that’s actually never been detrimental to my life. Even if it’s for a price.”
The sound of a heartbeat and the scent of Old Spice pulled Peter from his study of the grimoire in his hands. His door received a determined knock, in triplicate, and Peter wondered if he could pretend, he wasn’t home. He recognized the scent and was somewhat surprised the Sheriff would be at his door at such an early hour on a Sunday morning.
Though, if Stiles had been keeping his father in the loop over what had happened, he should’ve expected the man would be paying him a visit. Peter frowned down at himself. He was still in his sleepwear, his feet bare, and still somewhat off his game from Friday night.
The knocking sounded again, more insistent. “Peter Hale, Beacon County Sheriff, please open the door.”
He huffed, gently setting down the ancient book. Well, now whichever of his neighbors were awake would be gossiping with the rest about Peter’s run-in with the law. Mrs. Gunderson was an early bird and a lovely if nosy little old lady. He was sure she’d be interrogating him at some point during the day about the law’s visit at his door.
“Peter Hale, open the door.” The Sheriff’s voice was even and patient and didn’t seem to be going away.
Groaning, Peter pulled himself away from his research on Werejaguars their magic making his way through his cozy apartment to the hallway and his front door.
Noah Stilinski was a bright-eyed, broad-shouldered, and solid figure in his uniform with his hand casually on the gun in its holster at his hip.
Peter raised what he considered was a dignified brow. “Sheriff, how are you this fine morning?”
“Cut the bullshit and let me in, Hale,” Noah said, with an exasperated wave of his unencumbered hand.
“Well, okay then.” Peter stood to the side to let Noah into his den.
He’d not had anyone other than Mrs. Gunderson over since he bought the place. Mrs. Gunderson was allowed since she baked Peter cookies and homemade bread on a regular basis. She was a sweet old thing, full of sass, who reminded him of his grandmother before the fire. Though, his grandmother, Josephine had been probably about forty years Mrs. Gunderson’s senior when she died at a 106. They both still had had that—I’m an old lady and can say what I want—vibe even with the age difference. It was a comfort to have Mrs. Gunderson visit even if she was immensely interested in Peter’s love life or lack of love life.
He shut and locked the door, braced himself before finding Noah standing in the middle of his living room perusing the vibrant space and the walls of books set on periwinkle painted oak shelving, a counterpoint to the terra-cotta plastered walls. He wondered what the Sheriff thought of the ambiance he surrounded himself with, in the form of plush furniture, colorful throws, and area rugs in his Spanish revival nineteen-twenties apartment. The ascetic of decorative Spanish tile, classic millwork with paintings and prints of mystical beings interspersed with the books throughout the space was beautiful, and warm, just as he liked it.
Peter waved to his couch. “Have a seat, would you like some coffee?”
“Sure, just black.” Noah removed his jacket and sat, sinking into the soft navy-blue cushions. He leaned over to peruse the open grimoire on the coffee table. At least his hand was off his gun now. Peter considered that was probably a good sign.
“Be just a minute, make yourself at home.”
Peter preferred to be properly dressed and groomed if he was going to be interrogated. Not having anticipated that Sheriff Stilinski would seek him out so soon he was just going to have to accept he’d have to make do in his old Berkley t-shirt, dark blue sleep pants, and bedhead for whatever talking to he was going to be on the receiving end of.
He had no illusions that he wasn’t going to receive a talking to. He was somewhat involved with the man’s son and of course, Stiles’ immersion in the supernatural.
Preparing the coffee, Peter mused that he wouldn’t mind if Noah Stilinski became part of the pack, he was planning on creating. He’d need another pack elder to assist in wrangling one full of young adults and teenagers. This little get together, interrogation, whatever, could be an opportunity if Peter could get Noah to start trusting him.
Coffee sorted Peter made his way back into the living room where Noah was waiting patiently. Handing him a mug, Noah took an appreciative sip raising his brows a bit at the taste. Peter was a coffee snob, as well as a snob about many of the finer things in life. After six years in a hospital bed with strangers handling his body, rough sheets, and antiseptic for comfort, he indulged himself now and he really didn’t care if anyone judged him for it.
“Thank you,” Noah said, holding the mug in his hands as he watched Peter, with intelligent eyes, sit in the armchair to his right.
“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” Peter asked, enjoying the bitter brew of his own coffee.
“Brunski, his body was found out in the Preserve.”
“It was self-defense.”
“So, Stiles told me. Any idea what he was doing there?”
“No, and I honestly didn’t intend to kill him. I just wanted to disarm him, since I was out for the count after fighting with Argent. My aim with the knife was a bit off.”
“Hmm… Well, it’s not like I can take you in for a statement, what with finding an anonymous dead man in the woods.”
Peter tried to keep the smirk off his face not wanting to antagonize the man. It was difficult since he’d always been the sardonic sort much to his big sister’s exasperation. “No, I suppose you can’t.”
Noah was silent just watching Peter like he was a bug stuck on a car windshield. Annoying, and in need of some glass cleaner and paper towels to remove the blight and bring about a clear vision. Peter just decided the best course of action was to wait him out, so he just crossed his legs and sipped his coffee in unperturbed silence, projecting a facade of relaxation and confidence.
“What’s your angle, Hale?” Noah barked after a good minute.
Peter raised a confused brow. “Angle?”
Noah rolled his eyes and set his coffee down on the table with a clunk, much to close to the ancient book still sitting on its surface and ignoring the colorful tile coaster that was right there. Beyond the danger of coffee rings on the lovely honey-toned wood, Peter hoped there’d be no spillage near one of his prized possessions. That book had cost one of his ancestors a small fortune to attain. It was priceless in today’s money.
“Don’t bullshit me, I’m Stiles’ father, so my bullshit detector is honed to a fine point!”
Peter almost choked on his own spit and quickly set his cup down, elegantly of course on a coaster, and pushed the book away from danger while he did so.
Clearing his throat, Peter said, “He’s a clever young man, you should be proud of him.”
“I know how smart and how much trouble my son is. What’s your intentions toward him and the others?” Noah asked, his voice serious and grave.
He needed Noah to be an ally if he wanted Stiles to choose between Scott and the Hales. Peter needed to be honest, but careful. Any threat Noah perceived to either Stiles or Scott would be dealt with swiftly. He was sure of it. Noah was a protector through and through, and even though he was on the right side of the law in most ways, Peter had no illusions that Noah wouldn’t break the law to protect what was his.
“Survival through power, Sheriff. I can’t protect my family, Derek, and Malia, or your son and even Scott without the power and protection of a pack.”
Noah’s expression was wiry. “I didn’t think you were that selfless a man.”
“Oh, I’m not but werewolves need a pack to survive, to protect ourselves, and we need leadership we can trust.” Peter leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Let me tell you something about werewolf packs, Sheriff, pack is cooperative rather than autocratic that is how we protect ourselves. The Alpha or Alpha pair have the final say, of course, for any major decisions that would affect the pack but there are always discussions between the eldest members. However, an Alpha must be willing to make the hard choices in the end, to protect the pack at all costs.”
“And you intend to be that Alpha,” Noah stated.
Peter shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Not necessarily, though, not to sugar coat it, Scott McCall, as an Alpha is too young and naive to be a proper leader for a pack. Particularly a pack that is full of young people. He lacks loyalty in some circumstances but mainly the problem is he’s in conflict with the wolf inside him. In conflict within himself and unwilling to learn anything about his wolf and our culture. It’s not a good combination to have in an Alpha in charge of a pack.”
“The wolf and man are so separate?” Noah picked up his coffee, his countenance quizzical. The man was listening intently. The intelligence he’d first encountered with Stiles was unsurprising in the boy’s sire.
“They’re not supposed to be. I’m not separate inside, the wolf is an instinct within, it’s the pragmatic part of my brain and can be ruthless when threatened.” Peter reached out and snagged his coffee off the table, allowing the warmth of the ceramic to seep into his palms. “I’m human too, though. The combination, the harmony of man and wolf within a werewolf makes us what we are, magic, protectors of territory for those that live within in it, supernaturals and mundanes whether they know it or not. Scott can’t be that for Beacon Hills. Perhaps when he’s older and wiser but right now, at this moment with the threats at our door, he can’t be that Alpha.”
“Well, I would say, you didn’t show that the last time you were Alpha.”
Peter rubbed his temple, frustrated. “I know, and I paid the price then and I’m paying for it now. I was more the wolf than man after I woke, Sheriff, unbalanced, and mad from grief and pain. I won’t lie about that. I was a crazed vengeful creature. I’m not going to apologize for it or for taking that need for revenge on those who needed to be punished for killing my family. I took out a threat to the territory, as well. The Argents, particularly Kate don’t care if there’s if they’re collateral damage when they’re on a hunt. You saw that enough with Gerard and his attack on the police station.”
Noah winced, before asking quietly, “And your niece? Was she deserving of vengeance?”
Peter sat back and closed his eyes. “No, she was not deserving, even though she abandoned me. Her actions speak to her inexperience, much like Scott’s. An Alpha, a true leader would never have severed the bonds of a wounded packmate and left them to rot. No one really believes me when I say I didn’t know the Alpha I killed was Laura until after the deed was done, Sheriff.”
“And if you had known it was her, what would you have done, even crazy as you were?”
Peter opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, remembering Laura’s beautiful face, the shocked on it in death. “I would have challenged her for the Hale Alpha Spark. I wouldn’t have killed her though; I would have made her submit to me and transfer the spark as the family had done for generations.”
“Are you going to challenge Scott?”
“No, I’m not.” Peter shook his head, rolling along the back of the cushions under his head, before turning to Noah. “He’s not family and I couldn’t take the spark of a True Alpha even if I wanted to. If I could take it by killing him, I wouldn’t, anyway. I don’t kill innocents, Sheriff no matter what you’ve been told. The only reason my wolf-eyes are blue is because I killed my niece.”
Noah picked up his coffee and took a contemplative sip. “Scott is like a second son to me and I don’t want to see him hurt. If, you, or perhaps Derek became an Alpha again and constructed a pack, what does that mean for Scott? Can two pack’s share territory?”
“It’s an unusual circumstance for two packs to occupy the same territory, but it can be done through treaty and cooperation.” Peter paused, thinking about the best way to explain. It was difficult since he was born into the supernatural.
“Scott for all that he believes his friends are his pack doesn’t have one at this point, there are no pack bonds between him and the others. He’s never made a werewolf either, and has no idea of the need for the bonds between members of a pack.” It was an effort to keep the disdain for the True Alpha out of his tone. He didn’t want to raise Noah’s metaphorical hackles. “His world view at this point is too black and white to properly protect the territory. He let Deucalion go, an alpha that had killed his own pack and continued to kill to gather together the Alpha Pack, which was an abomination. Now he’s a lone Alpha, rabid with stolen power. He’s a vicious wolf and extremely dangerous to anyone who crosses his path in the future.”
“I’m not clear on the whole pack bonds thing, but we’ll come back to that. What would you have done with Deucalion, then?”
“Well, you’re not going to like it, but I would’ve killed him.” Peter was blunt, he needed to be. Noah had to understand the seriousness of the situation and taking a soft approach when it came to what McCall, and to some extent, his nephew, who knew better had done, wouldn’t serve his interests. “He was rabid, and still is. His alpha spark is corrupted for all that his vision has returned, it hasn’t made him sane. If I had killed him, I wouldn’t have kept it unless it could’ve been cleansed and there’s no magical user here, I trust to remove the taint caused by killing your own pack. If I’d had the spark, tainted as it was, I would have given it back to the land.”
Noah’s brow showed his confusion. Peter knew it was a lot to take in and the conversation was a bit disjointed for a human without the knowledge of the supernatural to follow.
“There’s a simple ritual for transfer of an alpha spark, mainly through the intent of the Alpha, usually done within families, but it can also be done between a wolf and their territory. No wolf in his right mind would want to have the power of a tainted spark inside them. I admit Sheriff, I do want to be an alpha again but the cost of having a spark like Deucalion’s is much too high.”
“And you wouldn’t have trusted Deaton to cleanse it? He could cleanse it right? As a druid?”
Peter snorted. “Oh, he could but I don’t want Deaton anywhere near me or my family.”
Noah was quiet and Peter let him ruminate waiting to see what else he wanted to know. Finishing his coffee, he did feel the conversation was going well, considering Noah probably didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. If honesty, honed well rather than manipulation would get him what he wanted, then he’d continue to be honest. Or at least as honest as he could be unless it was detrimental to his or his family’s health. Information was power. Noah was a good man, Peter knew this and if there was anyone, he could trust not to abuse werewolf knowledge, it was Stiles’ father.
Though, there was the worry he’d discuss it with Stiles and Stiles would reveal it to others, Scott specifically, not realizing how dangerous it could be. Caution was essential and with Stiles now questioning Deaton’s motives, perhaps the boy was less naive than he thought.
Peter looked up when Noah finally spoke. “The ritual sacrifice with the ice baths he had the kids do to find me, was that necessary?”
The worry was stark on Noah’s face. He had the right to be worried, Peter thought.
“No, Deaton should’ve known where the Nemeton was.”
“Stiles speculated he should’ve known.” Noah’s eyes closed, a thunderous expression spasmed on his face for a second, before he seemed to let his anger go and opened his eyes frowning down into the empty mug in his hands. Peter mused, that Noah would be a glorious werewolf if he were ever turned. The control he had over his emotions, particularly when it came to his son, was impressive.
“Stiles is very clever.”
“You were out of the loop on that whole thing, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was unaware of what was going on, except I knew there was a Darach after the Alpha Pack. If I had known that Deaton suggested a surrogate sacrifice to find the Nemeton, I would have confronted him about it. Though, I’m sure Scott and the others wouldn’t have trusted my word. Perhaps if Derek had been involved, he’d have backed me up. He’s at least aware enough of our history to know that a druid should know where their sacred groves are.”
“Stiles’ possession was the result.”
“Yes, and I’m sorry he had to go through that. Most wouldn’t have survived possession by a chaos demon. It speaks to Stiles’ strength of heart that he was able to fight it off for so long.”
“Thank you for helping my son. I know you did it for a price, but all the same, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I would’ve done it regardless, but without adding a favor, they wouldn’t have allowed me to help.”
Noah nodded. “Okay, let me call into the station and let them know I’m going to be awhile because you’re going to tell me all about Deaton and druids, and anything else you can think of.”
Well, it looked like he was spending the day with Noah Stilinski, not that it was a hardship if the man came to trust him. Trust from Stiles’ father was a key ingredient in having Stiles trust him.
Peter’s stomach gave a low grumble. “I think breakfast is necessary, we can talk while I cook, Sheriff. Do you like omelets with a side of bacon?”
“Just don’t tell my son you fed me bacon, or we’ll both be in trouble.”
“It’ll be our secret,” Peter replied, a slow smile crossing his lips as he rose to heed the call for food and more conversation.