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Stiles brings the wounded Soo to see Deaton, but not so much for wound treatment as to follow up a mysterious comment.
February 9, 2017
Beacon Hills Animal Clinic
The Jeep pulls up outside the Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, and Stiles hops out. Crossing over to the passenger side, he opens the door and reaches up to help Soo out. Derek, for once, has been relegated to the back seat out of respect for the werecat's injury. As Stiles gives his friend a shoulder to lean on, he glances back at Derek. "Okay," he says, not really sure what to say but needing to say something, "Let's get you inside--everything's gonna be fine." Nevermind that Soo's probably mostly healed by now. That's not the point. Having something to focus on is keeping Stiles from completely freaking out.
Derek would have commented on it if he didn't know that was pretty much what Stiles needed: a distraction. He glances over to Isaac and gives him a brief nod before climbing out as well. The two essentially slide out at the same time and wait for Stiles and Soo to lead the way before moving to follow. Both of them are pretty quiet, perhaps in contemplation of recent events.
"One of these days, I'm gonna get taken to the hospital when I get stabbed by pointy metal things." Soo mutters, but he lets the Immortal help him toward the Animal Clinic, putting a good bit of his weight on Stiles' shoulder. The worst of it really is healed up, but it still hurts like hell. "You guys have the arrow?" he asks, looking back toward Isaac and Derek. "I have a sneaking suspicion that your creepy Uncle Touchy doesn't like us."
Holding open the door to the clinic, Stiles helps Soo inside, saying, "Trust me, you don't want Peter to like you. He got... uncomfortably friendly with me once and offered me the Bite." He makes a face and shivers. "On second thought, maybe I shouldn't tell that story in front of... anyone."
As they move across the lobby toward the back, Deaton appears. Glancing over the others with his usual quiet, almost aloof manner, he says simply, "Let's get him into exam room one. Soo, are you in much pain?" He moves to help the werecat along, and once they enter the room he'll gesture for Soo to hop up on the (cold metal) table so he can examine the injury.
"No need," Derek answers. "I know what it was." He's sure of what he saw, smelled, and felt from just holding it alone, and while snapping it in half did seem an appropriately dramatic response, it was actually the final element of his analysis: making sure of its insides. It was meant to be avoided, not meant to actually hit. At least, Peter and his mysterious partner can't have imagined it would hit.
Once Deaton appears, though, Derek's attention transfers almost entirely to him. He folds his arms over his chest and watches carefully. Scrutinizing. His voice rumbles with only a hint of irritation as he speaks again. "You knew about the spark."
"Hiya, Doc! Honestly, not too bad? No worse than when I got shot with the arrow!" Soo says brightly, "Or... you know... the bullet. I really need to learn to hone my instincts." He's joking, so... probably a good bit of pain still. A pause, "Derek, that's not an invitation to start shooting at me as some weird practice." Once he's at the table, Soo is able to lift himself onto it with minimal effort, balancing and turning easily. "Spark?" he asks, curiously.
Deaton gives Derek a mild look, eyebrows just slightly raised. "Of course I knew," he says, tone as neutral as ever. "Or, more specifically, I had a very strong suspicion." Then, he turns to Soo and, rolling up his pant leg out of the way, begins to examine the wound. "This should heal nicely," he says, "but there's no harm in being sure." He glances to Stiles, then gestures to a drawer. "Take out the jar of lavender-colored herbs from there and crush them in the mortar on the counter." A beat, then, "Be sure to wash your hands first, and put on a pair of gloves."
Stiles drops back out of the way, leaning against the wall and folding his arms across his chest, only just in time for Deaton to give him a job to do. Stiles gives the doc a slightly annoyed look at being instructed about basic cleanliness, but he doesn't argue. Instead, as he washes up and goes to follow those directions, he says, "If you knew, why the hell'd you let Derek go through hell not knowing what was happening?"
What he said, seems to be what Derek's expression and posture communicate. Isaac stands behind and slightly to the side, looking as if he a little awkwardly can't think of what to do or not to do, or how to keep his hands occupied, and then he just folds his arms like Derek does. Nothing wrong with imitating the Alpha! It's the sincerest form of flattery, and he has no idea what else to do. Twiddle his scarf, he shouldn't half think.
There's a soft hiss from Soo as the fabric is peeled away from the wound, but rather than look away in fear, he stares at his leg, more curious than anything. There are probably a dozen puncture wounds total, already looking like week old injuries. "So my career as a can-can dancer is still a go? Lydia and I got matching dresses. Jackson's gonna be thrilled." He bites his lip and finally reaches down to slide his boot off, wriggling his tabi-socked toes with just a little grimace of pain. "Honestly, Doc, I could have cleaned this up myself, but... Stiles doesn't trust my first aid." And with good cause. Soo's self-patch up after the bullet was messy and had to be completely redone by Jackson. "Okay, somebody clue me in. Still a bit of a newbie with werewolves and stuff. What's a Spark?"
"Derek's referring, in particular, to his alpha spark--that is to say, the energy that makes him different from beta werewolves and lets him pass on that power with the Bite." After examining the wound, Deaton says, "You probably could have, but there's no reason not to make Stiles practice his first aid." He too goes to wash his hands, putting on a pair of gloves, and then approaches with swabs, alcohol, and the other traditional tortures of someone cleaning an injury. He does so, however, with a deft, delicate touch. Glancing from Soo, to Stiles, to Isaac, Deaton finally gives Derek an even look. "There was nothing I could do to help, and if I'd been wrong, I'd only have been giving you false hope. All we could do was ease your pain, and Stiles and Melissa McCall saw to that, as I recall."
Stiles shoots Deaton an exasperated look, but he clamps his mouth shut and takes out his frustration on the herbs. After all, this is Derek's thing, not his, and it's probably for the best that he not interfere. Even if he really, really wants to interfere. But at least he has a task to focus on, and that does help. Stupid, clever Deaton. He obviously knew Stiles would need something to occupy him.
Derek takes a step closer and then suddenly, moving his powerful -- and bare -- arms in an arc, he slams his hands down on the examining table. Not enough to dent it, but enough to make a good amount of sound. Especially in the smaller exam room. "So, is there anything else you want to tell me? Because you're not exactly thrilling me at the prospect of continuing to regard you as the family emissary."
"... Wait, he's going to stitch me up?" Soo asks, eyes going wide with surprise. "You know, it really feels a lot better now, just being out in the open air and breathing." He's getting ready to slide off the table, but then Derek's in his way, and being all forceful and stuff, and Soo's eyes go wider, and the werecat flinches a bit. He reaches out to lay a hand on Derek's arm, and it's not because it's all muscly, and Derek is being all forceful. It's to comfort and calm. Because if Derek flips the table, Soo is going to end up on the floor in even more pain.
Deaton's gaze flicks up to Derek, his jaw tightening slightly, at Derek's sudden movement. For him, it's practically a shout of surprise. "I suppose it would be prudent to point out that I am no longer your family's emissary. That ended with Talia. I am not your emissary, Derek. I've offered you and the others help when I'm able out of respect for her memory--and, honestly, because it was the right thing to do. Unfortunately, I will never be able to be your emissary. An emissary and an alpha must share a... particular bond... and while I'm reasonably fond of you, we simply are not compatible in the right way. You'll have to find someone else to fill that role, and when you do, they will be able to do much for you--and, by extension, your pack--that I cannot."
The doctor's mouth quirks into a mild smile as he shifts his gaze to Soo, and he says, "No, Stiles isn't going to do any stitching. Your natural healing will take care of that. He's just going to make the salve that I'll put on the wounds before wrapping them. Between the two, you should be nearly back to normal by tomorrow morning, so long as you rest up tonight."
Stiles, meanwhile, follows this with a keen interest and a deepening frown. He shoots Deaton a couple of pointedly dirty looks, but when they're ignored he just returns to his task. Once he's finished crushing the herbs, he looks up again. "Okay, it's pulverized. So, now what?"
"And you were planning on telling me when, exactly?" There's an edge in Derek's tone that has not been heard for a long time, and Stiles at least will recognize that he's about one smug revelation away from defenestrations returning to popularity in a big way.
His muscles tense, flex, and shift visibly, which is easy to notice since his shirt was shredded in the catacombs by the scythe trap. Derek's jaw muscles work visibly, his nostrils flare as he breathes deeply in and out, as his shoulders and chest rise and fall.
There are few things angrier than Derek Hale when he's angry, and today he has very good reason to be upset even before Deaton's dickery.
"... not compatibl-... you mean the Alpha and the emissary have to... Oh. Oh. OHHHH." Soo snaps his mouth shut, keeping his hand on Derek's arm, squeezing gently. He turns his eyes to Stiles with an obvious expression that seems to be something along the lines of 'Dude, your man needs you.' To his credit, Soo isn't even ogling Derek. Or maybe that's to Jackson's credit, who knows. "Can we... repair my leg... before there's an epic druid-alpha throwdown across my fragile, delicate personage?"
Drawing a deep breath, Deaton says, "No, Soo. That is not required. True, the bond between an alpha and an emissary can be romantic, but it does not have to be." Looking to Derek quite solemnly, he says quietly, "In our case, it certainly was not." He draws another quiet breath. "I was never certain when the right time was, honestly. It seemed... that I would know when it came. Apparently, now is the time." He continues to work on Soo's injury, keeping focused and careful. "If you like, when you find yours, I can help as best I'm able." Then, looking to Stiles, he says, "Take the vial of purified solution from the refrigerator. Mix the two into a paste."
Stiles listens to Deaton, but it's a long moment before he goes to comply. After he retrieves the solution, he steps slightly toward the angered alpha and says, softly, "Derek... it's okay. We'll... figure it out." Then he turns, almost shying away, and goes to focus on making the paste, as instructed.
It's a while before Derek's going to be even anywhere near okay. Soo's comment receives a furious glare, though that's somewhat mollified by Deaton's quick reply. Stiles, at least, is able to calm him a little more, at least enough until he waits to have space enough around him cleared before doing or saying anything else.
Isaac is staying well back. He doesn't want to get caught in anything.
"You've done enough," Derek practically spits at Deaton, stalking out of the room, out of the clinic, and into the woods. He needs space, he needs time, and he's under no circumstances going to get those here.
Wincing at the glare, Soo quiets for the moment, though his instinctive reaction is to bristle and get defensive. But that won't help. Soo's mouth has always been faster than his mind, though the two are finally catching up, apparently. After, of course, he's said something terribly insulting and offensive. When Derek has left, Soo lets out a little sigh and falls backward onto the table, konking his head on the steel table... and hitting it again a few more times for good measure. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
Deaton watches Derek go, and while the change in his expression is subtle, it does seem more bleak--perhaps even regretful. Looking to Stiles, he says, "Please take the salve and apply it to Soo's wounds. I'll be back in a moment to dress it." And then he, too, steps out, though he makes no attempt to follow Derek.
Stiles watches Derek go, his expression stricken, and then Deaton departs, too. Scowling, he takes the salve and heads over to Soo with the mixture. "So, uh, don't move, I guess?" he says. Then, he sets about carefully doing as instructed. "Well, that's great," he mutters. "So now Derek doesn't have an emissary, he's pissed at Deaton, and Peter's still on the loose. Really goddamn great day, huh?" He sighs. "Isaac, can you... go after Derek? Make sure he's okay?" Then, turning back to Soo, he says, "Okay, hold still. I'll try not to screw this up."
And yet, despite it all, everything seems really screwed up right now.
Isaac gives Stiles a look that is not entirely unsympathetic, but is at least eighty percent "holy shit no, I of all people am not going after Derek". Which is fair, especially considering the source. "He can take care of himself," Isaac at last offers, with an almost questioning lilt at the end. As if it's a kind of implicit plea for Stiles not to insist.
"... you probably shouldn't send Isaac. Like... Either go get him in person, or let him cool down, but Isaac isn't his mate, you are. Which is really weird phrasing, but... I mean, I can manage the salve on my own. I'm pretty sure I don't even need it... But I can put the ancient Neosporin on." Soo shrugs, still lying back on the table. "Sorry. I did not help matters."
"It's okay," Stiles says quietly. "Thanks, Soo." He looks to Isaac, not quite able to hide his disappointment in Isaac's hesitation, no matter how justified the be-scarfed one was in his reasoning. "Just... stay with Soo, okay?" Then he's heading out the door, stalking out of the clinic before Derek can follow and climbing into the Jeep. True, the alpha left on foot, but he's also an alpha werewolf. Stiles isn't likely to catch up on his own, and besides--it's still winter, and it's cold. If Stiles can't find him in the Jeep, then he'll resort to wandering around in the woods--alone, at night, in winter--looking for his mate. Is that what they're calling it now? The word has a hefty sound to it, and one that Stiles might even kind of like, but he can't focus on that right now.
Right now, he just has to find Derek, and--if he's really lucky--help him start to sort this all out.
"Hey, wait..." Isaac looks around himself, then down to Soo and back to Stiles. "Wait, uh...you probably shouldn't go off alone." Which is true. But then Stiles is out of the place, leaving Isaac to sigh and just flops down in one of the chairs in the room. Nobody listens to poor Isaac. And now he's going to be the catsitter.
"... So, Isaac. Now that Derek and Stiles are gone, I've gotta ask... Why always the scarf? Is it like that weird story with the girl and the ribbon? I mean, it looks nice on you, but like... is your head going to come off if Allison accidentally pulls it off or something?" Soo swings his legs down, feet on the floor, and hobbles over to the sink, wincing only a little. Yes, moving like this hurts like hell, but he's not going to make Isaac apply the salve, and he needs to wash his hands. That done, the werecat hobbles back over to the table, gloved up, and just swings his leg up and onto the examination table with only a soft hiss of pain, before he starts applying the salve.
That gets Soo a look from Isaac very different to the one he gave Stiles only a short while ago. "Soo, you've seen me without a scarf." Which is true. He's been at school and everything! But he might just be not getting that Soo is trying to lighten the tone with humor. "Oh, uh." When he sees Soo start to move, though, he's on his feet and looking around. Wasn't there something...right! Salve! "Are you sure you're okay doing that?" Not that there's any logical reason he wouldn't be, of course.
Meanwhile, Stiles receives a text message from Derek. "@ loft. Pick up pizza otw home plz". That settles things. Thankfully.
For the moment.