Who: Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski What: Late night conversations. Where: The kitchen. When: Late Tuesday night/early Wednesday morning. Rating: Low. Status: Complete!.
It had been an immensely long two days, and Stiles was exhausted. He was also far too worried about Scott, and the insanity that the Nemeton was pulling, to be able to actually sleep. He and Lydia had played several rounds of Scrabble and then he’d gone downstairs to wait for his dad. He knew his dad was working hard to try and find Scott, but Stiles didn’t think that Scott was going to be found by an APB.
He had a knot in his stomach the size of an intact pork chop that told him that Scott was no longer in Beacon Hills. And that was at least partially his fault. His and Allison’s and Scott. The ritual they had done had more side effects than just darkness around their hearts. It was bringing people that he’d previously thought to be fictional to their town. People who were scared, and asking a lot of questions. He still couldn’t quite believe that there hadn’t been a news report on the building that had sprung up on the edge of town from literally out of nowhere. People had to be noticing it. How did you not notice a huge ass apartment building that hadn’t been there just the day before?
He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he sat down at the kitchen table, letting his head rest on the hard surface as he sighed. Every part of him was tense and wound up and he couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had more than a couple hours of sleep. He didn’t like missing school, but he’d skipped it today to spend the day searching high and low for his best friend. He’d promised Ms. McCall that he’d find Scott, that he’d bring him home. Somehow. But how? Think, Stiles, think, he ordered his brain.
The next thing he knew, he was hearing the front door opening and he shot up straight in his chair as if lightning had struck him. He blinked a couple of times, realizing he’d fallen asleep at the table. He groaned, shutting his eyes and scrubbing his hands over his face as he got to his feet to head to the fridge and fix his dad something to eat.
The Sheriff didn’t have good news for his son upon entering his home. He didn’t have any news at all; his officers had searched high and low for Scott and they hadn’t been able to find a single trace or even a lead as to where he might be. It was as though he had suddenly vanished into thin air, but that wasn’t an answer and it wasn’t acceptable for anyone in this town who cared about the kid.
Not for his mother, for Stiles, Isaac, Lydia, or any of his friends, and it wasn’t acceptable for him either. He was tired and weary but he wasn’t going to give up, he’d keep looking day in and day out until Scott was found.
He let out a long exhale and walked into the kitchen with Stiles. Immediately, questions about the mysterious stump and whatever else Stiles had wanted to talk about that morning began buzzing around in his head, as so many questions about the supernatural and the rest of Stiles’ friends often did these days; but he stowed them away as quickly as they surfaced. His son was exhausted.
“Hey.” He started gently. “Have you been waiting down here all night?” He hoped not. If Stiles was waiting up for him to come home this entire time just for some news about Scott, it was going to crush him.
Stiles would have been pleasantly surprised if there was news about Scott, but he’d learned not to get his hopes up when it came to anything going their way with the supernatural element in Beacon Hills. He pulled open the fridge and grabbed some of the sliced turkey breast meat that was leftover from dinner, and set it on the counter. Then he grabbed the loaf of wheat bread he’d bought earlier that day and started making his dad a sandwich.
“No, not all night,” Stiles assured him, turning to glance at him over his shoulder. “Just…” He glanced at the clock. A couple of hours. He’d slept that long at the table, apparently. “I don’t know, not long.” He finished putting the sandwich together and handed it to his dad on a plate. He handed it to him and then moved to get him something to drink.
He poured each of them a glass of milk and moved to sit down at the table in the same spot he’d just vacated, suppressing a yawn. They had a lot of things Stiles needed to fill him in on, a lot of things he was going to need to know with the Nemeton doing crazy things like it now was. And then of course, there was the strawberry-blonde who was in their guest room upstairs, hopefully managing to get at least a few hours of sleep from her Peter Hale-induced terror.
“We sort of have a guest upstairs,” he admitted, figuring it was best to get that out of the way, lest there be any awkward run-in’s in the middle of the night or in the morning.
Stiles didn’t have to do that, fix him anything after he came home from late work, but he did it so mindlessly now it was as if it were second nature. The Sheriff didn’t protest or even think to because that’s just the way it was and had been for a while, they took care of each other. On most nights, he didn’t even realize that he was hungry at all until food was set out in front of him; this was one of those nights.
He sat down at the table and took a bite of the sandwich just as Stiles informed him that someone was over, presumably, for the night. The Sheriff paused as his mind quickly ran through the list of people who were most likely in the guest room of his home right now. It wasn’t Scott obviously and he hoped it wasn’t Isaac, not that he minded having Isaac over, but he wasn’t on board with leaving Melissa alone while all of this was going on.
“Who?” He finally asked when Stiles didn’t elaborate.
It was just part of Stiles’ routine. When his dad worked nights, he waited up to make sure his dad made it home safely and in one piece and he fixed him something to eat, and they would chat about what cases he’d been working on, and Stiles’ day at school or whatever paper topic he’d written about most recently. Tonight was no exception even if Stiles was more tired than usual. He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a breath. He knew his dad was trying everything he could think of to locate Scott, because Scott was like a second son. Because he was good friends with Scott’s mom. There were so many links that connected the two families that he wasn’t sure they could ever be counted. They just were.
“Lydia,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Peter Hale’s back in town thanks to the Neme -- uh, the tree stump, and she’s pretty freaked out. She’s barricaded in the room with mountain ash lining the window and the door.” He exhaled. “She may be here for a couple days. I’m not sure. I hope that’s okay. She just doesn’t feel safe right now and her mom isn’t home.”
The Sheriff swallowed his mouthful and sighed at the mention of Peter’s name. That psychopath was nothing but constant trouble and now he was back? Of course he didn’t have a problem with Lydia staying for as long as she needed to, that went without question, but he’d make sure to try to contact her parents again first thing in the morning just in case.
“Well you know I’m okay with her staying her for as long as she wants.”
Stiles grinned at that. His dad was awesome. He leaned back in his chair. “How was your shift?” He knew that it was bothering his dad that Scott hadn’t been found yet, and as much as Stiles wanted to find his best friend, he wanted his dad to get some sleep, even if he knew that was going to be difficult. It was sure as hell difficult for him these days. Besides, he still had homework to do. He’d shoved all of it to the bottom of his priority list, which pretty much went:
1. Make sure Dad eats and sleeps. 2. Make sure Scott doesn’t get himself killed. 3. Keep an eye on Aidan because I don’t trust that little bastard. 4. Everything else. 5. Homework.
Now of course it had been amended to making sure his dad was taking care of himself, trying to find Scott, making sure that Lydia was safe, making sure that Cora didn’t end up going after Kate Argent and getting herself killed, greeting all the newbies that were showing up thanks to the Stump of Doom, making an attempt to do a little bit of homework, sleeping for an hour or two, then getting up and starting all over again.
He could sum up the answer to his son’s question about work in two words: not good, but after seeing that grin spread across Stiles’ face over something so simple as Lydia being able to stay over just made everything more difficult. In truth, most non-Scott related work went by the wayside. He had his priorities just like any other person; any other father, and he still came up short. Of course Stiles would take it hard because he had taken it hard, he didn’t expect anything less than disappointment.
“Uh.” He huffed, placing his sandwich back down on the plate. “Not great, Stiles. We’re doing everything we can, but we haven’t been able to find anything that could lead directly to Scott just yet. We haven’t given up, it’s just taking longer than I thought.”
His chest tightened even though he’d already known that much. If his dad or anyone had found anything, he would’ve known about it before right then. “We haven’t had any luck either,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He chewed on his thumbnail. “I’m not sure we’re going to.” As much as he hated saying it out loud, he needed his dad to understand that Scott might literally be somewhere...else.
“It sort of...has to do with that tree stump that you woke up by earlier.” He swallowed hard, his right foot bouncing up and down on the floor. “It’s -- right above that root cellar that you and Mrs. McCall and Mr. Argent were trapped in a few weeks ago. That’s the tree. Stump, technically.”
Oh. So all of this, blacking out and waking up next to the tree stump, Scott’s sudden disappearance, and now maybe Lydia’s parent’s going missing; could now possibly be tied back to that psychopath Jennifer Blake and that ritual she was trying to perform.
He wished he could forget that whole experience, but he knew that was never going to be an option; the one silver lining he’d trying to focus on was that they managed to stop her before any more damage had been done or anyone else lost their lives.
The Sheriff knit his brow together as he processed that information, “Wait, didn’t we stop her before she could do anything? I mean, she never even got the chance to complete the ritual, how is this thing active?” It didn’t make sense, he survived along with Melissa and Chris Argent so how could this thing even be functional now?
He swallowed hard. If ever there was a loaded question, that was it. How exactly was he supposed to tell his dad that he and Allison and Scott had been the ones who’d completed the ritual that activated the Nemeton? The very thought of it actually made him feel ill. They’d talked about this of course. Agreed not to tell their parents what they’d done. There was no reason to cause a panic for something that couldn’t be changed.
And Stiles wouldn’t change it anyway, because it had saved their parents’ lives and he knew without a doubt that he and Allison and Scott wouldn’t hesitate to make the same decision all over again, even knowing the consequences. Maybe it was selfish. But he couldn’t lose his dad. He just couldn’t.
“You said she was found there, right? Maybe her own death was the last sacrifice it needed,” he said, staring down at his hands.
The Sheriff propped his elbow against the table and leaned his head into his fingers. What a mess. So now they had this super powerful supernatural force alive in Beacon Hills that could likely be sucking people right out of town without a trace, and the only one who knew how to control it was now dead. Who knew what else this thing was capable of.
“Is there anyone we know that might know a thing or two about this?” His mind immediately went to Dr. Deaton.
Stiles fidgeted in his seat, chewing on his thumbnail. “Well, there’s Deaton.” He was going to have to have another talk with Deaton, too, to make sure he was on the same page of not telling any of the parentals about the ritual and what really activated the mystical tree stump.
“But...uh, we should probably talk about this other thing that’s going on, too.” He hesitated. God he hated dropping this stuff on his dad. “So the theory that the thing is sending people out of town...it’s also sort of...bringing people here. From other dimensions.” He was going to refrain from mentioning The Little Mermaid being there. At least for tonight. That was probably information overload.
“What?” He squinted across the table at his son, his face painted over with stale incredulous. He was trying, really really trying to stay open minded when it came to everything Stiles threw at him these days when it came to all the supernatural and mysterious unknown suddenly becoming… known; but within reason.
The Sheriff pushed his tongue against his cheek and thought for a moment. Was it too unreasonable to assume that along with throwing people out of town that it would also bring them in? No, but that’s not what Stiles was saying.
“What are you talking about, other dimensions?”
Yeah. He knew that was going to be a hard one for his dad to wrap his mind around. “Okay, there’s this physics idea called String Theory, and basically it says that at any one place and any one point in time, multiple universes exist like...a vibration away from one another.” He paused. “Lydia could probably explain this a lot better than me. Physics isn’t my strong suit.” He sat back in his chair.
“Dad, I know how it sounds. Okay. It sounds crazy. But remember, once upon a time werewolves sounded crazy, too. And the Kanima? Okay that was really weird too. Like way weirder than werewolves. Which reminds me, Jackas -- Jackson. Jackson is back in town. Apparently the tree pulled him from wherever he was in London because he woke up next to it, too. Because we didn’t have enough problems already, apparently.” Yeah, he was a little bitter when it came to all things Jackson Whittemore. Mostly because Lydia had saved the guy’s life and he’d taken off without so much as a goodbye, and that just...made him beyond douchey in Stiles’ opinion.
Granted. He might be a little biased when it came to Lydia Martin. But no, it was a douchey thing to do. He wasn’t wrong about that.
The Sheriff massaged the massaged the bridge of his nose in between his fingers right around the time Stiles began talking about multiple universes. It didn’t just sound crazy, it was crazy. It was impossible, String Theory and physics lesson from Lydia or no. He rested his arms back down looked hard at Stiles. Really? You’re going to bring up the werewolf thing now to get me to believe there are people here from entirely separate universes? No dice.
“Stiles, people from other towns, other cities, states, countries; yeah I’ll buy, but a different universe? What would even make you think that? Are you talking to people who think they’re from separate universes from us?”
He wasn’t thrilled of the news about Jackson arriving back in Beacon Hills either, the kid was obnoxious and Stiles hated him but he didn’t harbour any negative feelings against the kid either. Jackson was in Derek’s pack and he was sure he’d keep an eye on him just in case something else went wrong.
Lydia, on the other hand might be having more of an issue with him being back now, the Sheriff couldn’t help but wonder if his being back in town was just another reason on top of everything that she didn’t want to be alone tonight.
“Is Lydia okay?”
He winced at the hard look his dad gave him. “I know it sounds like science fiction. But okay, look, this girl showed up and her name was Ariel and she literally knew nothing about this world. Like, she doesn’t know how to use a microwave or anything. And she was talking about Eric’s castle -- and come on, Dad. All of these people showing up from out of nowhere like that -- “
YES, he thought, realizing he had that one nailed. “Like that apartment building that came from nowhere. Come on, you can’t tell me that’s not the very definition of supernatural and weird. Buildings aren’t built overnight even with the best contractors and architects in the world.”
He shook his head. If the building argument didn’t trump werewolves he wasn’t sure what would, really, except time and some kind of concrete evidence. Which he’d get one way or another.
Stiles fell silent at the question about Lydia. “I don’t know, honestly. I hope so.” He looked down at the table.
It took the Sheriff a few seconds to process what Stiles was actually trying to tell him when he mentioned the girl, Ariel and Eric and the castle, but when it registered his eyes widened in near shock.
“Ari-Ariel? Are you trying to say that the Little Mermaid princess Ariel has been transported through a child’s movie into Beacon Hills?”
The worst part was that it all seemed to make such perfect sense to his teenage son, his smart son who used logic and reasoning to help him solve his own cases from time to time. This made sense to him and the explanation after was even worse.
“Maybe a building got pulled from a different town through the stump and that’s why it’s here now. I don’t know how it works, but I do know that there’s no such thing as cartoon mermaids come to life, Stiles. Come on, are you kidding me?”
He sighed a little and nodded at his son’s reaction to the question about Lydia. It looked like the kind of situation where they’d just have to wait and see. He wished there was something more reassuring he could say about it but it was all up to Lydia and Jackson, and he really hoped Stiles wouldn’t get too involved with those two if it came down to it.
For the briefest second he thought his dad was actually going to believe him. And then he spoke and it was very, very obvious that he wasn’t. He groaned, laying his head down on the table tiredly. He could admit that it sounded insane. But it didn’t sound anymore insane to him than werewolves. Than darachs. Than druid ritual sacrifices. Or buildings popping up overnight.
He lifted his head and gave his dad a look. “Okay, Dad just...repeat that sentence. ‘Maybe a building got pulled from a different town through the stump.’ I would like to point out that we are talking about a magic tree stump that you yourself woke up by this morning with no memory of going there.”
Stiles sat back in his chair, folding his arms, frown tugging his lips downward. Seriously. His dad was the most skeptical person on the actual planet. Way more skeptical than even Agent Dana Scully ever had been. He wondered briefly if maybe his dad would believe this more from someone like Scott. Who of course, was not even there. Stupid Nemeton.
“I know it’s crazy, okay? But I’m not.”
He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. Never in his life could he ever have imagined that he would be sitting here having a conversation remotely close to this one he was having tonight. “You’re the one who told me things can get sucked through that thing.” The Sheriff rubbed at his eyes and looked back at Stiles, this wasn’t worth getting flustered over.
“Buildings are real. Singing crabs, dancing octopuses, and mermaids are make believe, Stiles. That’s a Disney movie, it’s a musical. Now you’re saying that this thing can bring fiction to life, that kind of fiction-” He couldn’t even entertain the idea. Ariel the Little Mermaid in Beacon Hills, who was Stiles talking to?
“No physics, String Theory, or Lydia can back that up.” There were things he could accept and there were things he just couldn’t, it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Stiles, it was just that he didn’t trust what couldn’t be true.
“I don’t think you’re crazy, I think you’re trying to help.”
It wasn’t exactly a conversation that Stiles ever thought he’d be having with his dad, or anyone else, either. It wasn’t like he had a list of, ‘how many ways can I blow my dad’s mind away’ stashed up in his backpack. If he did, though, this particular conversation would probably be toward the top, admittedly.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Well, I haven’t seen any singing crabs, and she’s in human form, not mermaid form here.” And technically he hadn’t even met her in person yet, but Isaac had and that counted. Sure, he and Isaac weren’t best friends or anything close to it, but when push came to shove, he did trust the guy. At least to a degree. At his dad’s look, he sighed, his head flopping backwards onto the chair.
He was going to start calling his dad Scully. That’s all there was to it.
Well there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that whoever this girl was, she was in ‘human form’. Seriously, Stiles? Not mermaid form here? The kid’s conviction alone was enough to blow him away; he was completely convinced that this girl was a mermaid from a movie and that’s all there was to it. He didn’t know whether to find it admirable or to be horrified by that at this point.
“And because her name is Ariel, and she knows someone named Eric, and she doesn’t know how to microwave her food, you think she’s a mermaid in human form.” The Sheriff didn’t want to make it sound like he thought Stiles was crazy because he didn’t, but it sounded like Stiles was crazy.
Stiles sighed. “I’m just trying to keep you in the loop, okay? Even if you don’t believe it. Because that’s what we agreed. That I’d keep you in the loop.” No more secrets, actually, was what they’d agreed. And for the most part he’d kept to that. Mostly. If Scott had been there, Scott would have believed him. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling older than seventeen. “You’re done for the night, right? No more work?” He chewed on his thumbnail as he arched his eyebrows.
He didn’t know how Melissa handled being ‘in the loop’ so well but judging by the worn look on his son’s face, he obviously needed more practice. The Sheriff leaned back in his seat and flicked his eyebrow up at Stiles.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m done for the night. You should go to bed. Get some rest. You look exhausted.”
“You should sleep too,” Stiles informed him matter-of-factly, the way he did every time his dad worked longer hours than usual. “You need to be in top notch form for the next shift.” He rose to his feet, moving around the table and leaning down, hugging his dad tightly.
The Sheriff pulled Stiles in closer and pat his arm. He didn’t know about top notch but he did hope that they’d both be able to rake in at least a few hours of decent sleep for the night so they could function later on. “I will. Good night, Buddy.”
Have a good night, Stiles. No nightmares. But Scott was missing and stress triggered night terrors, he’d been reading up on it, trying to figure out ways to make it better. He couldn’t even find Scott. No, he wouldn’t sleep well tonight, he’d rest in bed half-asleep and half-attentive to every shuffle, every toss and turn, or any whimper that might come from the room down the hall. At least until Scott was found. Then maybe they’d both sleep through the night.