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Step by Step, We'll Get There	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: S through Z > Teen Wolf Views: 4674 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf nor profit of it. Jeff Davis owns it.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author's note: The beginning gave me some trouble, but at least I still managed to finish it on time!
Warnings: Angst; disturbed Theo; description of dead bodies
I hope you'll like it!
Chapter 12
"I can't tell you much yet; they've only just brought the both of them in. Wait here, okay?"
"Your dad's tough, Stiles. I'm sure he'll pull through. I have to go now, but I'll be back once I've got news, I promise."
"Hey, everything's going to be okay."
Melissa's voice kept echoing in his mind as he clung to her reassuring comments, clutching at the belief that everything would be fine.
It was hard to believe that, though, when he was in the exact same place where he'd lost his mother before. If he lost his dad now as well, then …
No, he couldn't think like that. His dad would get better, he was sure of it. What was an accident for someone with accelerated healing? Nothing, right? He'd be fine. Then he remembered the screeching noise of metal crushing and screams of agony and he cringed, burying his face in his hands. His breathing was loud in his ears, which was funny, because he felt like he just couldn't get enough air in his lungs, no matter how hard he tried. His lungs refused to inflate and black spots were slowly forming in front of his eyes and god, please not now, he really couldn't deal with a panic attack now, not here, not when his dad …
The sound of approaching high heels ripped him out of the swirl of panic he'd almost got trapped in and his head shot up, heart going into overdrive. Lydia was making her way over to him, her hands clutching her Prada bag and her eyes glittering wetly. Her face was almost completely devoid of make-up, save for some mascara and some lip gloss and her hair was pulled together in a messy ponytail. Her lips were pressed tightly together, resembling a thin line, and she said nothing when she sank down in the chair next to him.
She toed off her blue high heels and pulled her legs up, looking more like a lost, scared girl than the powerful woman she normally was. One of her hands found his and her fingers curled around his tightly while she placed her head on his shoulder. Her whole body was tense and she uttered a sound of dismay when he untangled their hands, before relaxing a bit when he threw his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in a more comfortable position. His other hand found hers and he linked them together, resting them on his thigh.
There, they remained seated for a long time. She, waiting for news of her mate and he, desperate to hear news about his dad. Both praying that when a nurse would approach them, it would be with a smile and not a frown.
Nothing else mattered at this point.
"The surgery went well."
"It wasn't easy at times, but he pulled through. He's got five broken ribs of which two of them punctured his lungs. His left arm is broken in two places and his right leg was shattered from below the knee. He lost quite some blood and had to get a couple of transfusions. He's got some massive bruising in his abdominal area and he sustained a minor headwound."
A hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. "I know all of that sounds rather scary, but he's going to heal completely, I swear. Even his shattered leg will grow back once he's got enough time to heal."
"How long will it be before he's completely better?"
"If he doesn't exert himself and rests like he's supposed to, he should be all better in a week, a week and a half at most."
"Can – can I go see him?"
"Of course you can, sweetheart. He should wake up soon."
His heart was pounding madly as he rushed through the corridors, ignoring the nurses and doctors mingling around. He only had one destination in mind and that was the room at the end of the third floor. Melissa had told him the good news, but he would only allow himself to be fully relieved once he saw with his own eyes that his dad would be okay.
Visiting hours were nearly over, but he didn't care about that. They would have to make an exception this one time, because he wasn't going to leave this hospital without checking that his dad was fine.
He barely kept the door from slamming straight into the wall when he flung it open with all his might and he stumbled inside, his eyes going straight to the lone bed inside the room. There were machines on both sides of the bed, beeping in a slow, regular rhythm and several wires were connected to them; he would probably trip over them if they hadn't been so high up in the air.
He didn't care about the machines, though. All his attention was aimed at the figure lying in the middle of the bed, nearly swallowed up by the white blankets. A white bandage covered his forehead and an IV-line was inserted in his right hand. Even with the blankets covering most of his body from view, they hardly could hid the fact that the Alpha looked like shit; ashen pale in the stark bright lights of the hospital room.
Hands clammy and stomach attempting to revolt, Stiles shuffled towards the bed, swallowing down the lump in his throat when dad opened his eyes slowly and turned his head slightly to look at him.
A weak crooked smile appeared on his lips. "Hey, kiddo," he murmured, voice rough, and turned his left hand so that his palm was visible. "How are you doing?"
A strangled noise – it could be a sob, it could be a hysterical chuckle, who the fuck knew – escaped him and he grabbed dad's hand. He wanted to squeeze it tightly, but didn't dare; the older man looking so fragile right now, he was scared he would break him if he tightened his grip even for a little bit.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" he croaked out and when dad grimaced, hot tears sprang forth, leaving a blazing hot trail behind on his cheeks before he wiped them away roughly. "Fuck, dad, you scared the shit out of me, you know that? I've been waiting for hours for news and I was so scared that Mama McCall would come out and say that, say that - " he choked on the rest of the words, not brave enough to finish his sentence.
"Hey, hey, I'm okay," Dad hushed and raised one arm up, beckoning him closer.
Stiles immediately hugged him, careful not to disturb the wires, and buried his face in dad's neck, smelling the overpowering scent of disinfectants and pain. Underneath it all, though, was the comforting scent of his dad.
"Don't say that when you're lying in the hospital," he rasped, hands grasping at dad's shoulders. "You could have died!"
"But I didn't," Dad said calmly, rubbing soothingly up and down across his back. "It's not as bad as it looks, I promise."
"Your lungs were punctured and your leg is crushed," Stiles stated flatly, pulling back a little to stare at him. "I wouldn't call that 'not as bad as it looks', dad."
"Nothing that won't heal," Dad grunted, gingerly patting his hurt leg. "More of an annoyance than anything else, really."
Stiles shook his head and sat down on the bed, balancing on the edge. "What happened?" he asked. He'd seen some deputies patrolling the corridors, but none of them had come forwards to talk to him. Granted, they probably didn't know much either, given that two of the main witnesses had been in surgery for hours.
Dad grimaced. "Don't know really. All I can remember is a car – I think a beat up Honda – crashing into us before speeding away."
"Have you seen who was behind the wheel?"
"Some young man, I think. I couldn't get a good look at him," Dad sighed. "Hopefully some people in that street will be able to give a better description. Have you heard how Jordan's doing?"
"He's faring a bit better than you," Stiles answered. He and Lydia had split up after Melissa had informed them about the surgeries. Parrish was in a room around the corridor and Lydia had gone to visit him. "Some broken bones and some blood loss, but he'll be back on his feet soon."
"Good," Dad nodded, looking relieved. "I don't know whether he was able to get a better view of the car, but I'm glad he's all right."
"Yeah, me too," Stiles said softly. Parrish was a great guy; it would have been a blow to lose him.
"On another note," Dad said lightly, "What did you want to tell me when you called me earlier?"
Stiles stared at him, taking in the expectant look on the older man's face. Then he recalled Theo's warning and smiled weakly, "Nothing important, don't worry about it."
"Remember that I've got eyes everywhere. One wrong move, one wrong word, Stiles, and next time something worse will happen, I promise you that."
He waved at Joanne, the deputy who'd driven him home, and unlocked the front door. He would need to call a towing truck in the morning for his car and ask one of his friends to drive him to the hospital with a bag for his dad, but now all he wanted was to fall down in his bed and go to sleep.
The adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving a bone deep weariness behind and a head too heavy to keep upright. It had to be somewhere after midnight now and the whole house was silent, darkness cloaking everything in shadows. Slowly he made his way upstairs, forgoing the shower for now. He'd texted Erica in the car to let her know he wouldn't crash at her place tonight, but would fill her in on everything in the morning.
What he could tell her anyway, considering …
He became aware of the second heartbeat too late. He froze on top of the landing and stared at the closed door of his bedroom, behind which someone was waiting for him. That someone was none other than –
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly, pushing open his door and staring at the figure casually lounging in his computer chair.
Theo smiled and stood up, his thumbs hooked behind the loops of his jeans. "Just wanted to check whether you're okay," he said, smiling, as if he wasn't the cause of Stiles' misery right now.
"Do I look okay to you, asshole?" Stiles spat, fingers tightening around the doorknob. He started trembling, not with fear this time but with anger and he wondered whether he'd be fast enough to rip off that bastard's face.
Theo tutted. "I know you're mad now, but you're the one who insisted on being difficult," he said, raising an eyebrow. "If you would just comply, I wouldn't have had to go that far."
"You're fucked up in the head," Stiles gritted out, his claws drawing blood from his hand when he clenched his fist.
"Aren't we all a bit?" Theo chuckled and then crossed the distance between them so quickly, Stiles barely had time to stumble backwards. A hand shot out and gripped his chin painfully hard, pulling his face roughly upwards, forcing him to look the Alpha in the eye. "Things between us can be so good, Stiles, if only you allow it to be. I've got a couple of months left to Court you; I'm sure you'll love me eventually."
"That will only happy when hell freezes over!" Stiles snarled, lashing out with his claws.
He grazed Theo's cheek before the man swiftly stepped backwards; his eyes glinting in the darkness. His teeth flashed when he murmured silkily, "That might happen sooner than you think. I'll see you again soon, Stiles. Sweet dreams." He turned around towards the staircase. "And remember, one wrong move and something worse might happen to your dad. Or your friends. I'm not picky either way."
The threat still hanging in the air, the Alpha descended the staircase and a minute later, the front door opened and closed again, leaving Stiles alone in the house.
He barely reached the toilet on time before he started throwing up.
"You've got everything, dad?" Stiles questioned, placing another cooled water bottle on the table.
Dad gave him a fond smile and shook the remote. "Yeah, don't worry. I'm set for the entire afternoon," he chuckled. "What are you going to do? You want to watch the game with me?"
"Nah, I'm going to mess around on the internet for a bit before I start making dinner," Stiles grinned. "Just call me if you need something else, all right?"
"Or I can get it myself. I'm not an invalid." Dad gave him a pointed look.
Stiles waggled his finger at him. "You've heard what Mama McCall said yesterday: you still need to rest as much as possible and not put any strain on your leg. That means not getting up if you don't need to."
"You're so fussy," Dad grumbled, switching on the television.
"Or maybe I'm just concerned," Stiles shot back before making his way upstairs, carrying a plate with some sandwiches and a soda can wedged between his arm and side.
Dad had been allowed to leave the hospital last weekend, but he was still on forced rest until at least next Monday; the break in his leg worse than they had initially thought. The bone had been shattered so badly, it was taking him longer than expected to heal. The forced rest had dad grumbling and annoyed by it, but Stiles wouldn't allow him to do anything more strenuous than going to the bathroom. The more dad rested, the quicker he'd be back on his feet.
He'd complained that as the sheriff of this town, his presence at the precinct was necessary, but Stiles had retorted that he could look at the files in the comfort of his own home as well. It wasn't like the deputies stayed away from the house, after all. The first couple of days after dad had returned home, it had been a steady coming and going of deputies, all wanting to see with their own eyes that their boss was okay. Parrish had been here several times already; the last time carrying some files for the sheriff to work on during his forced leave.
The station had been trying to track down the one who'd rammed his car into the sheriff, but so far none of them had been lucky. The car seemed to have disappeared like smoke and with no license plates, the cameras on the streets were useless as well.
The two deputies informing dad about the progress of the investigation – or the lack of it – had been both equally frustrated and angry. An attack on the sheriff was considered an attack on all of them and none of them were happy about the lack of clues that could help them find the driver.
Even Talia Hale had shown up at their house a few days ago to inquire about the investigation. She'd stayed for a few hours, sharing coffee and cake with Stiles and his dad (considering dad's leg had been literally shattered, Stiles had decided his old man deserved some leeway when it came to unhealthy food) and had promised they would find the car and bring the guy to justice, no matter how long it would take.
Stiles had appreciated the sentiment, but all he had been able to think of during her visit was that he couldn't come too close to her in case her scent got wrapped up in his. Normally he wouldn't have cared about that – he really liked her, had from the first moment he'd met her – but Theo's threats lurked in the back of his mind and after what had happened to his dad, he'd realised just how dangerous the other man could be.
He didn't know how Theo had done it, but somehow he'd convinced someone to drive their car into the one his dad had been driving in. Not only that, but this other person had to have been tailing his dad for a while. It was only after Stiles had threatened to reveal that Theo had been the one to mess with his suppressants, that the incident had happened. One press of Theo's thumb and the other guy had made his move. Given how little time there had been between Stiles' call and the cars crashing against each other, the other person had to have been tailing his dad – how else could he have got there so quickly?
And if that guy had been tailing his dad – how long had he been doing that? How spread out was Theo's network? Did he have someone tailing every single one of Stiles' friends in case Stiles 'stepped out of line'?
Stiles desperately wanted to tell his dad what Theo was doing, that he was the one who'd orchestrated the whole crash, but he was terrified of what would happen if he did. Dad would believe him, no doubt, but what would Theo do if he found out Stiles had opened his mouth? Did he have someone keeping an eye on him right now – or was he currently keeping an eye on him?
The not knowing what Theo was exactly doing, why he was doing it, was making him paranoid and had him jumping at every shadow he saw. The daily messages of the Alpha didn't help him either; the texts making it very clear what Theo expected of him.
'I'm going to pick you up to watch a movie and this time we're going to make it a private date. No friends of yours crashing our date like usual, just the two of us'
'I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I really don't like the scent of the Hales on you. It makes me restless, you know? ^^; I hope you won't mind, but would you limit your meetings with them a bit? It's just weird to smell my competitor on you, you know? LOL'
'How's your dad doing? Hopefully better than last week!'
'Saw Deputy Parrish in the store today; I'm glad to see he's doing better :) Crashes like that one can end really ugly after all'
The texts appeared so innocent at first glance, made him sound shy at times and friendly, but Stiles knew better. There was nothing shy or friendly about Theo Raeken. A dangerous psychopath came closer to describing him.
He wanted nothing more than to see his fucked up ass thrown in jail, but he needed to find a way to keep his dad and his friends safe first. As long as he didn't know how big Theo's network was, he couldn't make a move. He couldn't endanger his family or his friends, so he endured the man's presence for now – even if it made him sick to the stomach to let him touch him and kiss his cheeks.
He would need to do something soon, though, because the date of leaving for the university came closer and closer, but Theo had made it clear what would happen if he went. He had to find something before his friends became suspicious as well and they would soon, no doubt about that.
God, he fucking hated Theo Raeken.
Dragging his laptop closer, he logged in and went straight to the police's database. He was still trying to come up with a way to end whatever game Theo was playing, but his lack of ideas was making him frustrated and he needed some distraction before he started going crazy.
What better way to distract himself than to look through the files of the serial killer again? He wouldn't be disturbed by his dad, so he could look through the files as much as he wanted to as long as he got up in time to make dinner. Hell, maybe he would stumble upon a link, a clue or something like that, that the deputies hadn't discovered yet.
"Huh." He stared blankly at the file he'd pulled up. There had been another body found three days ago, which made the total of victims six now. Fuck, this killer wasn't joking around, huh?
The sixth victim had – yet again – been found in the clearing with the tree stump, but this time the man – an elderly man of seventy – had been strangled; his trachea crushed. He'd been dead for at least a day before someone had discovered his body.
Were they really looking for a serial killer? So far each person had been killed in a different way; didn't serial killers usually have one way of killing, a manner that set them apart from all the others? But then again, it would be a really big coincidence if six different killers all had decided to dump their victims in the same place. The first two, all right, yeah, he could imagine that, but these murders had hit the newspapers, so one would have to be very stupid to go to a crime scene to dump his victim – or one had to be very bold.
While the six different ways in which the victims had been killed made it more likely to assume that six different murders were active, that was both a terrifying and unsettling thought and highly unlikely considering all six victims had been found in the same place. That much coincidence just couldn't exist, not even in a place like Beacon Hills.
So one murderer, but why the six different ways? Was there a reason behind that or was it all just nilly willy, whatever the killer had been in the mood for that day?
"Let's see," he mumbled, retrieving a notebook and a pen from his desk.
The first victim, Elisabeth Crown, had been practically mauled to death with the cause of death ultimately being ruled as severe blood loss from her throat being ripped open. It had looked like an animal had attacked her – or someone in his animal form. The latter seemed more likely, given that there hadn't been any evidence of mountain lions in the Preserve. So murder disguised as an animal attack.
The second one, Jonathan Green, had been killed by a knife through the heart; instant death. Marc Franklin had been buried alive; no bloodshed there, instead he'd been suffocated by dirt.
The fourth one had been burned alive; it had been a thirty year old woman named Samantha Bellings.
The fifth victim had just been a kid; a ten year old boy. Nausea filled him when he read the information about the poor kid. Nathan Summers had been found near the tree stump again, soaked to the bone. Cause of death: drowning. The murderer had first drowned him in the lake before dumping his body in the clearing.
The most recent victim had been an elderly man named Peter Mullen. Strangled manually; trachea completely crushed.
Six victims, six different ways in which they'd been killed, and none of them had any connection to the others whatsoever. Yet they had all been dumped around the same tree stump. So what linked them together? What had made the killer seek them out and murder them in those ways?
Mauled by an animal; stabbed to death; buried alive; set on fire; drowned and strangled. None of those methods had anything in common. The first two had drawn blood, true, but the others hadn't. Perhaps one could consider the strangulation and the burial as related to each other, because they both had deprived the victims from air, but …
Pondering he stared at the pictures of the victims, placed next to each other on the screen. Two women and four men – or three men and a boy. Both sexes had been targeted, so whether one was female or male didn't seem to have anything to do with it.
The ages ranged from young to old, so it couldn't have anything to do with that either. The hair colour was different, the races were different … Nothing linked them together seemingly, aside from apparently being murdered by the same person who had a weird fixation on that tree stump.
What was it even about that tree stump that made it so special for the killer? What exactly drew the murderer to that place?
He couldn't find anything special about the stump in the reports. No mention of any evidence or signs carved in it, or …
Wait.
Frowning, he scrolled up again and then clicked rapidly through the different reports detailing each death. They had nothing to link each other – except that Deaton had been present and consulted at every scene.
Why the hell would Deaton be needed at a crime scene? At every murder scene even? There was no need for a druid to attend a murder scene; that was out of his jurisdiction so to speak.
Unless …
Stiles' eyes widened and he grabbed his notebook, staring at the list of names and their causes of death. There would be no need for Deaton to get involved – unless his expertise would be necessary to aid the investigation. Him being a druid, there could only be one reason for the police to call in his help.
With that in mind, he went over the list again, compiling in his mind every titbit of information he'd read about druids and magic in general. There were certain kind of elements which were important to druids and to any magical users in general. The four nature elements were the most famous one; the ones most people tended to think of when thinking about druids and what they did.
The third victim – he'd been buried alive. That could refer to the earth, couldn't it? The next element: fire. The fourth victim had been burned alive. Third element: water. The boy had been drowned. The fourth element: air. The last victim had been strangled; his air supply cut off.
Earth, fire, water, air. The four nature elements. What would one use those elements for?
For a ritual.
His heart started to beat quicker and his fingers tightened around the paper. Was that it? Was that the clue? Were these people murdered for some kind of ritual? Where did that place the first two victims? Their deaths obviously couldn't be attributed to any of the nature elements, so under what kind of 'requirement' did they fall? Blood had been drawn – could that be it?
If the killer was indeed working on a ritual, what kind of purpose did it have? What was the end game, the goal of this ritual? He didn't know much about rituals and their set up, but he knew enough to realise that considering the ritual required people to be killed, it couldn't be anything good.
Did this mean that the killer was some kind of druid? Or did one not have to be a druid necessarily to perform a ritual?
Well, there was only one person who could answer his questions.
"You want to speak to Deaton?" Scott asked surprised, looking up from the laptop on which he'd been arranging appointments. "Why?"
"Just got some questions about his work as a druid," Stiles replied vaguely, waving his hand haphazardly through the air and nearly knocking a plant off the counter. "Is he in?"
"Oh, you're thinking about becoming a druid?" Scott grinned. "That's cool, man! Yeah, he's in. He's not with any patients now, so I don't think he'll mind if you talk to him now."
Stiles grinned and thumped his friend's shoulder. "Okay, man, thanks!"
He passed through the door which separated the front from the back and walked through the narrow corridor before he ended up in front of Deaton's office. The man in question looked up and raised an eyebrow.
"Mister Stilinski, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he inquired mildly, rising up from his chair. "You have a pet that requires assistance?"
"You think my dad would let me have one?" Stiles snorted and entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn't expect Scott to listen in – he wasn't as sneaky as Stiles was – but he liked the illusion of privacy that the closed door gave.
"Then I'm not sure why you're visiting me," Deaton said, watching him with mild curiosity.
"I'm here to ask you a couple of questions about your druid work, if you don't mind," Stiles said lightly, stopping in front of the desk.
Deaton blinked. "Of course. Ask away. I'll try my best to answer."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Stiles said, faux cheerfully, and slapped his notebook down on the desk. "See, I was looking through the reports about the serial killer my dad's been hunting down these past couple of months."
"I'm pretty sure that your father requested you to keep out of this," Deaton remarked blandly, but Stiles waved it off.
"And I couldn't help but notice that each report mentioned your name." He stared at the man, who gazed back calmly, appearing unruffled as always. "That got me thinking, you know? Why would the police request the help of a druid for something as a murder?"
Deaton remained quiet.
"But then I considered their causes of death again and it suddenly hit me: these are not normal murders, are they?" Stiles asked, cocking his head. Tapping the page, he said, "These people were killed as part of a ritual, weren't they?"
"What makes you think that?" Deaton asked politely; his eyes flickering to the page once.
"The presence of the four nature elements," Stiles replied, studying the older man carefully. "One victim was buried alive, which could be linked to the element of earth. Another one was set on fire, which clearly is a reference to the fire element. Then we've got one who was drowned: the element of water, easy. The fourth one was strangled and I suppose that one isn't that clear immediately, but you can still link it to the element of air. I can't immediately link the first two victims to the ritual, but I'm guessing their blood has something to do with it. Am I right?"
"Quite the detective work you've been doing, Mister Stilinski. Although I'm pretty certain your father wouldn't be happy with that."
"Am I right or not?" Stiles repeated stubbornly, clenching his jaw. When the druid didn't reply, he nodded grimly. "I am. What kind of ritual requires so many bodies? Do you know who's behind this? Is that why the police has been calling on you for help? What's the purpose of this ritual? Does that tree stump have anything to do with all of this?"
Deaton opened his mouth, but was interrupted by his phone ringing loudly. "Apologies, I have to take this one," he said apologetically.
Stiles huffed and rocked back on his heels, impatience brewing inside of him. He knew he was on the right track even if Deaton kept being evasive. He just needed the guy to confirm his suspicions.
"Alan?"
His ears pricked when he recognised Talia's voice on the other end of the line. Why was she calling him now?
"Yes, Talia? How can I help you?"
Even from the other side of the desk, Stiles had no trouble picking up the tremor in her voice when she said, "Alan, she's – she's gone. Someone kidnapped Cora! Someone took my little girl!"
His blood turned into ice.
AN2: Yeah, another cliffhanger. Sorry, not sorry LOL
Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me!
I hope to see you all back in the next chapter!
Cuddles
Melissa
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