Darkened

      They talked. For a long, long time. Scott had never talked to anyone for such a long time. Not even to his own mother. His mouth refused to close, refused to haphazardly insert stupid jokes, refused to stop at just three hundred minutes. Stiles listened. No one had ever listened to Scott like that. Except his own mother. He didn't try to interrupt, he didn't try to leave, he just stayed close. Had there been something like that between him and Allison? Allison knew truth, Allison knew love. They were perfect opposing parts of a whole. But with her, he'd never felt it, beyond his ability to comprehend. It was like Stiles was in his head, and Scott wanted it for himself. It hadn't been a week, overwhelmed by the familiar rippling reality, before he'd come to think of him as his best friend. It didn't take a week before Lydia began to consider him an integral part of her life. Martin had everything that normal teenagers didn't have. Martin had money, good genes, and a wealth of knowledge. Martin had boyfriends, adventure, and alcohol. Martin had Banshee, who, except for the hovering rattling and maddening noise, had nothing. Now Banshee didn't want to scream anymore, vocal cords sharing the senseless rumble. It was quiet next to Stiles. So quiet that sometimes she thought the silence was just another uselessly painful dream. But Stiles wasn't a dream. He had an odor. A scent that was embedded in Scott's fingers. Derek draws in the foreign, disgusting, sickening and screaming as McCall places a hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture. Paranoia moves the mind beyond the bar of familiar naturalness because they are the same. He remembered the smell of stench oozing through the triumphant forest. -Scott,- the other Alpha raised his eyebrows in a questioning gesture, unusually cheerful, not his usual self, -did you make a new friend? Derek never touched anyone like that. The inside of his palm, the rough pads of his fingers into the very essence of another person. His knuckles soaked up the sound of cracking bones, his claws the wrenching sobs of pain. Derek thought he was bad. Derek was bad. And he didn't believe that a remotely similar odor, could have someone good. McCall smiled brightly, pulling the slightly weathered corners of his lips apart in a soft motion. Isaac next to the warped mirror copies the movement, creating a smirk. -He'll be dating this new friend soon enough,- Leahy says wryly, not hiding his obvious joy, -I wouldn't mind if you forgot about Allison. Scott stops smiling, staring straight into the stranger's face, and Isaac throws up his hands in an apologetic gesture. -But it's really amazing, sometimes I feel like you've known each other forever, not a measly week. A week. Derek hears how, the alpha inside him growling warily, scraping at the wall of doubt with his tattered paws. Everything is too perfect for coincidence. Scott shrugs at the stranger's retort, ruffling his hair in a sloppy gesture, tucking his bangs back. -He wants to believe. Isaac hums skeptically, leaning back against the wall. Unlike McCall, he's tense, strings taut within his muscles, making his body grow dewy. Lehi had an instinct absent from the Alphas in front of him because he was Beta. And for some reason, Beta inside him whimpered, nose burrowing into his flesh. She senses something is wrong. She's being torn from the inside by something inexplicable. Distrust. Leahy's limited edition instinct. -Are you aware that you believe everyone? Scott only smiles caustically at that. He knows Stiles won't do anything wrong, he's convinced of it. And Derek can see that almost fanatical conviction in the slightly flushed irises brimming with bloodless sparks. Derek thinks only the naive can become a True One. McCall, on the other hand, is still guileless and honest, like a kid who left home for Sunday school. It's only a matter of time before he can see the halo over his head. -So you two study together? Scott nods, smiling again, and Hale believes those already white lips are ready to burst with happiness. Irrational affection. It's wrong. It's impossible. -You can smell it, can't you? That smell. McCall tilts his head to the side, his nose tracing the back of his palm. He frowns for a few seconds, confused at the vagueness, and returns to his usual expression. -You don't like smokers? - Scott laughs slightly surprised, arching his eyebrows ironically. Scott doesn't feel it, the Alpha inside him doesn't feel anything. It's like he wasn't trying to taste the odor, but another track of cocaine. It's like McCall's obsessed.       Isaac changes hundreds of expressions in a minute, trying to stay calm. He looks at Derek, glancing around at his surroundings, searching for traps with his gaze. Beta is inexplicably sick, Beta feels poisoned. Lehi waves goodbye. For some reason, he doesn't want Stiles to be a part of his friend's life at all. Even if it costs him Allison. Derek sees Isaac off with cloudy eyes, a distant understanding of someone else's lostness mirroring his own. Scott pulls on the shirt he'd thrown off during practice, its folds tugging at his chest. -How's Lydia? McCall stops buttoning his shirt, as if remembering something, and his serene smile turns apologetic. -I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. She's fine now. The noise is gone. -What do you mean, gone? Gone where? The cries of would-be corpses are gone. Derek frowns, because the Alpha next to him isn't interested in that at all. -I don't know,- Scott picks up his backpack, adjusting his collar, -Lydia just says it's okay, that Banshee doesn't want to scream at all. -And you don't want to know what it's about? -Isn't it obvious?- McCall's almost completely unfocused gaze has turned to its usual seriousness. -No one's going to die anymore. Derek is amused, but he swallows the laughter that has sanded his throat. If the Banshee has heard of someone's death, then no ordinary person can change that fate. A banshee is not a harbinger of doom, it is the cry of a dying man. They were changing events that had cost them a lot, and Hale was willing to bet a call to Peter that something supernatural was involved. Alienation. -She's made friends with this Stiles guy, too, hasn't she? Scott starts to look at him suspiciously, fingers clutching the strap. -Derek,- Alpha senses the other Alpha close by, -you still haven't found what you're looking for? McCall's gaze blatantly hints that this is turning into a waste of time, that maybe the evil in Beacon Hills was just passing through. It's been silent for a whole week. But Derek smiles slightly, shaking his head. -No, I think I found it. -Really?- Scott is pleased again, he stops crumpling the fabric of his backpack and turns toward the door. -Tell Isaac I'll drive up to the school tomorrow, it's on my way. McCall leaves, repeating Leiha's parting gesture while Derek mentally tries to apologize to his own Beta.

***

Nice and shiny black cars, as it turns out, don't impress high school kids, because high school kids have exactly the same ones. So almost no one pays attention to Hale, and he can't remember the last time he was glad to be treated like this. Alpha froze, merging shadow with heartbeat, his hearing distinguishing every blurred whiff. The slamming of the door thunders in his ears. He feels a painful need to see when the wolf's pounding rhythm falters, forcing him to take a deep breath. Derek slides his gaze from the bottom, from the black tattered sneakers, the gray jeans, the plaid shirt of fuzzy dirty orange to the pale face riddled with moles and shadows. He sees honey eyes shining in the light of the setting sun and a huge shadow of viscous blackness covering the space. It turns its head, studies the grizzled unknown Alpha in return, and smiles satisfied. Derek pulls the words out of himself, stones thrown to the very bottom: -We need to talk. Stiles replies something to Scott, nods to Isaac in Derek's direction, remains alone on the stairs. The rays cut into his skin, leaving contrasting patches. The creature smiles softly, parting its pale lips, stretching its vowels lazily: -You're so bad at hide-and-seek,- Alpha feels the trembling of the voice sliding down his throat into his cramped chest, -don't worry, I'll drive next time. Lehi stares perplexed at Hale, squatting in the front seat, and calls his name by the other man's tortured lips. But Derek can't turn his back on that as it continues to call: -You'll cook me a candlelit dinner tonight, won't you, De-rek?