Chapter Text
Melissa McCall paced the hallway of her son's clinic, watched by Chris Argent who stood on in stock-still silence. His face was blank, yet it was obvious to the Pack that he was anxious as well. The two met each other's eyes, before giving worried glances to Noah Stilinski, waiting outside for the cars to arrive.
"They'll be here soon," Jordan assured the older officer, standing a few steps back from him.
"I know," the Sheriff sighed. "That's why I'm worried."
Back inside, Eli's leg bounced as he sat near Mr. Argent. He looked at the chair that had held the girl, still wondering to himself when she had undid her restraints. He'd kept his eyes on her, just as Deaton and Scott had told him to, and was still tricked until the bitter end.
Deaton finished looking through the front desk's drawers for potentially missing items, and noticed Eli lost in thought. He walked over to sit across from the boy, groaning slightly at the creak in his joints. Eli looked up at him, before his eyes fell back to his fidgeting hands.
"Should... should we all have gone?" Eli asked quietly. "To help Scott?"
The veterinarian watched Eli's pensive face. "There's not much we could have done, especially not in a public place like the hospital. We'll be able to help him when he comes back and we can further understand the situation."
"What if he doesn't come back?" Eli whispered, sounding almost guilty at voicing the thought. "What if it was a trap and Lydia was forced to call us, or it was that girl tricking us again, or... what if we lose Allison?"
Deaton's face softened slightly. But Eli didn't need pity. He'd gotten plenty of that after his father's funeral. He needed honesty, something Alan was perfectly willing to give. "I've known Scott since before he was your age. The things he's faced... the enemies he's had to defeat... after all these years, I know that he will overcome this. No matter what. He'll be back and he will protect his Pack. Scott's a True Alpha for a reason."
Eli nodded, eyes still not meeting Deaton's. "Yeah, you're right. You're right. I- I'm sorry, I-"
"But it is good to have worries, Elijah."
"It doesn't feel very good," Eli laughed bitterly. "How would feeling like I'm gonna throw up if I don't keep moving, or being unable to think of anything other than what could go wrong, or anything about the horrible sinking feeling in my gut be a good thing?"
Deaton was silent for a moment. "It means that you're human. In all the ways that matter."
Eli looked up at last, his head still hung into his slouched shoulders. "I don't like feeling like this," he argued weakly.
"I know," Deaton nodded. "But it will pass. I know that for a fact." He did not mention the worse, more permanent fates that befell humans, last Malikul Mawt returned without Stiles. "However, I do agree that anxiety is quite unpleasant. Do you need anything, Eli?"
Eli squinted, the faintest smile on his lips. "Mr. Deaton, are you offering me drugs?"
Deaton raised an eyebrow. "I'm asking if you need anything. I was thinking something more along the lines of someone to talk to."
Eli's face lit up even more as he let out a small laugh. He leaned back in his chair, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The teen looked thoughtful as he made eye contact with the veterinarian. The smile faded from his face. "I never expected that this would be how I met Stiles," he admitted, pulling the keys to his Jeep - formerly, Stiles' Jeep - and stared at them.
"How much do you know about him?" Deaton asked.
"After- the incident when I was younger... I didn't really like to hear about Dad and the Pack. But some of the stories were less about the supernatural and more about... just, like, life. And I liked those stories. And as I got older, Dad always nagged me about how similar Stiles and I were, or something like that. I mean, I liked his car, we both wore kinda similar clothes, play lacrosse, our sense of humor is similar. Hell, when I was younger, I wondered if we were the same person! There was this... connection that I had to him, even if I'd never met him," Eli rambled quickly. "I wanted to meet him so badly. And now I am... but everything's different. My dad's gone, and- and Stiles is... some kind of danger to the Pack. To the point that he's scaring Scott, and it's just... It's all wrong."
"Do you worry that you'll still be similar to him, even after everything that's changed?"
Eli gripped his keys tightly. "I don't know. A little. I think."
Deaton considered this. "I will say, you may want to wait until after you actually meet him to decide how you view Stiles. he may have changed, but change is to be expected. You've changed too, in just this past year. We all have. Decide for yourself whether you should dread or accept the similarities you find with Stiles Stilinski." He perked up at the sound of cars against the rain puddles outside. "I don't think you'll have to wait long."
Eli squinted at the bright headlights, while Melissa and Argent rushed outside to join the two waiting officers. Two cars, not one, parked right next to Eli's Jeep. The white van was closest, and the sleek, black sports car was next to the white.
Eli recognized the van. That was Lydia's, just as clean and pristine as the woman herself. The black car though...
That must be Stiles'.
~~~
Mitch pulled into the parking spot next to Lydia van. Scott had remained quiet since he'd mentioned Donovan. Maybe because he was thinking, maybe because he was used to being the quiet one with Stiles around. Mitch didn't know or particularly care.
He cared far more about the fact that he didn't know what to say to the teen in the seat behind him. Print was looking out her window at the white care beside them, likely remembering her collision with it earlier. Mitch planned on asking her later why his instructions to 'get noticed by the car' had immediately inspired her to run into its path, but they both knew she had done far worse before. What concerned him was the tentative pulling he felt in his head, as though Print was toying with the door they shared in their minds. It didn't feel like anything more than a faint tickle between his eyes, but it made Mitch curious as to what she was trying to do.
Scott gave Mitch one last look before opening the car door to meet his wife as she stepped out of Lydia's van. Mitch and Print followed suit.
Scott and Allison, hands already conjoined, met Melissa and Argent as they jogged to them. "Are you alright?" Argent asked his daughter, scanning her for injuries.
"Yeah, I'm okay, Dad. You?" she answered, choosing not to mention the slight scratch that Risha's blade had left on her neck.
"Better, now that you're here," he told her, looking relieved at his daughter and son-in-law. His gaze shifted and hardened as he saw Mitch and Print draw closer. "So it's really you."
"Missed you too, Argent," Mitch said flatly, looking around methodically. The assassin showed no signs of discomfort, and yet something about him screamed that he was out of place. "Did the others have time to fill you in on the situation?"
"Enough to know that you attacked my daughter."
"I never laid a hand on her, and I don't plan to if we succeed at finding out the real killer," Mitch placated, his eyes already wandering past the hunter to the police officers approaching. In a moment, his gaze went from ice to total stone.
Parrish was warm as ever - possibly because he was a Hellhound, dammit - as he inspected Stiles. But Mitch paid very little mind to the man, aside from his routine once-over for immediate threats or weaponry. His eyes were already locked on his father.
"Sheriff Stilinski."
Even Print could see something in the older man break. "Stiles, i- it's really you-"
"I do go by Mitch now, if you don't mind."
The older Stilinski nodded, his steps faltering and his arms lowering back to his sides uselessly. "Right."
Melissa McCall, ever the saint, looked between the two and sighed. "How about we head inside? We can start making a plan."
Mitch nodded to her, finally blinking away from the Sheriff. "Of course. Lydia," he called, turning to the redhead. "I want you in charge of filling in the gaps since I left. Scott," he turned again, "start sorting your pack into teams. I have records of the attacked FBI agents that they can start investigating."
Scott and Lydia shared a look, before nodding to him. Mitch spun on his heel as quickly as he had dispensed orders, and walked towards the clinic's front door. Print and the McCall Pack followed him, the action feeling as natural as walking.
~~~
Eli stood up reflexively as Stiles, the man he'd never met but had immortalized through his father's stories, walked through the doors of the clinic. He was followed by the pretty girl, Print, who looked even more identical to the man as they stood next to each other. Behind her was the Pack that Eli now called family.
Stiles approached Eli, eyes on Deaton first and then staying on him.
Why was Stiles looking at him? Should he have prepared what he was going to say? The answer was yes, it was always yes, Eli, you dumb-
"Who are you?"
Oh God, Stiles was talking to Eli now. This was actually happening- wait, what was the question? Why wasn't English working?
"Uhh, he- hi," Eli laughed nervously. "Um, I- I'm-"
"This is Eli Hale. Derek's son," Scott interrupted patiently.
"Oh," Stiles nodded, sounding almost interested. "Didn't know Derek had a son. Where is Derek anyway?"
And that shut up both Eli's racing thoughts and the rest of the room.
Lydia tried to grab Mitch's elbow to pull him away. "I- I think it's time for you and I to have that talk-"
"Is he dead?" Mitch guessed.
Silence again. Eli was the one to break it, eyes downcast. "Yeah. For almost a year now."
Mitch nodded, eyebrows furrowed but his face unreadable. "Hm. Well. I'm sorry for your loss."
Print rarely felt Mitch feel any type of sadness, and this was no exception. But she was still unused to this particular brand of anger burning his chest, festering like a particularly painful blister.
Interesting, Print thought. This almost felt like grief.
Mitch pulled a manilla file from his duffel bag and held it out to Scott, face already shrouded in a mask of apathy. "These should be watched at all times. I will be counting the papers once you're done, so make sure you don't lose any of them. I'll join you as soon as I can."
Scott nodded, taking the file. He skimmed the papers inside, gesturing for his Pack to follow him past the lobby. They did, stealing glances behind them at the Banshee, assassin, and Banshee assassin left behind - what an odd joke they wished they could tell instead of being the punchline of.
Eli looked back the longest before following. He'd searched for something, anything, to connect this man to the Stiles in his dad's stories. He hadn't found anything.
Was this really Stiles at all?
Print got the feeling there was history she could never hope to uncover within this town. At least between the two people she now stood between. Lydia looked sadly at Mitch, while Mitch met her gaze with careful calculation.
"So. What did I miss?"