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Honestly, he was impressed it took as long as it did for Stiles to break. Able to sense the imminent emotional explosion building from the front steps to the road. Scent cusping into something drastic or at the very least dramatic as the lingering scents of dinner, anxiety, blood and the earthy musk of an old growth forest that seemed to follow Finstock around like a permanent tail, threatened to boil over all at once.
"Oh my god, we ruin everything we touch!" Stiles started. Already building himself up to a good old fashioned panic attack as he tossed himself into the jeep and flailed around for the seat belt.
"Coach was normal, Scott," Stiles continued, giving up on his seatbelt in favor of punching the Alpha on the arm in frustration as he and Liam squeezed into the back. "Normal. Stupidly, boringly normal. Normal with all the normal things he did. Like the year he forgot my name or when he was yelling at Greenberg. Normal."
"Stiles," he warned. Nails sharpening into claws before receding again as he sent Lydia a look clear enough that the girls peeled off towards her car instead. Idly following the Sheriff and Parrish as they got into their cruiser and headed back to the police station.
"We're a black hole," Stiles groaned, thumping his head against the steering wheel as the horn gave a flat, muted little honk. "We suck the normal out of everyone we meet. We are the murders of normal."
"Stiles," he repeated, firmer this time as the kid's hands wind-milled in a vague approximation of rampaging stick figures and pointy claws. Oblivious to the fact that a light had switched on at the neighbors. Front curtains twitching like they were being watched.
"Stiles! Drive!"
The kid blinked at him, owlish and young, before-
"Oh. Oh, right."
He could admit they'd all had a long couple of days. Even by his standards.
They dropped Scott and Liam off at Scott's before heading off in the direction of- well- Honestly, he had no idea where they were going. Stiles was just driving. Expression tense and lost in thought as the stale of peaked adrenaline made his nose twitch.
He didn't blame him.
Much.
The trees on either side of the road flashed past. Hanging low with spindly, reaching branches. Keeping their secrets well in the shadows as Stiles' fingers drummed idly against the steering wheel.
But for the first time in a long time, the silence - which he would generally kill for from Stiles any given day of the week - was uncomfortable.
Stifling.
And as if on cue-
"I don't even know what's going on anymore," Stiles said quietly. Sinking into the seat as he flicked the wheel through a sharp turn. Going too fast to make the transition from blacktop to dirt anywhere close to smooth.
"Me either," he admittedly roughly, leaning over to switch on the high beams as a muscle in Stiles jaw jumped. "But we'll figure it out. It's what we do."
It wasn't meant to be comforting.
The truth never was, really.
"I just wanted a quiet semester for once," Stiles said softly. So close to a whisper it made him look up. Tasting the faint tang of frustrated tears before Stiles blinked and the scent was gone again. Swallowed down like the emotion wasn't worthy of being expressed. Like Stiles figured he'd think it was a weakness when nothing could have been further from the truth.
Maybe a few years ago.
But not now.
Not today.
Kate had taken more from him than he knew there was to take. Sometimes it felt pointless. Like no matter how many years passed or how far he ran, she would always find a part of him she could sink her teeth into. A part she could manipulate. Change. Re-shape.
He wanted to say as much, to tell Stiles he understood, but instead he said nothing.
"Is he going to be okay, you think?"
He nodded, watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye as the jeep gradually started to slow. Taking the curves and corners a bit more gently as the quarter moon glowed small and distant through the clouds.
"Chris is going to stay with him."
Stiles snorted, shaking his head. Dimples concaving as the shadows warped the pale lines of his face.
"I don't know, dude. I've seen Coach lose his mind over April Fools pranks and normal lacrosse practice before. I mean, we're talking about the same guy that uses the speech from "Independence Day" every year before the season starts. I was there when the arrow when through him during track and field and he was nothing like- like-"
"How he was on the field?"
"Yeah," Stiles exhaled. Knuckling a hand through his hair in a way that reminded him of the short stubble the kid had sported the year they'd-
"It was a good thing Scott was with you when Kate decided to show her butt ugly head," Stiles continued after a moment. Hands clenched just a bit too tight around the steering wheel. "No offense or anything, but you haven't exactly have the best track record with her lately."
He shifted in his seat. Hating the taint of old fear that was spreading through the car again. Momentarily caught on the fact that this was Stiles' way – their way – of saying it. That thing they weren't saying yet. That thing they couldn't say. Not yet.
It was a good thing a lot of things happened the way they had that night. Knowing deep down that if Finstock hadn't shown up, they wouldn't have made it. Not all of them anyway. They would have lost people. Lost pack. Again. The knowledge stung just as much as it settled him. Something had changed in Beacon Hills. It was on the wind like an echo, but there all the same. Maybe it was even change for the better. He didn't know. At this point it was too early to tell.
He didn't say anything when Stiles jerked the wheel left. Abusing the brake as he shifted into park along the shoulder of the road with a rough lurch.
"I keep going over everything in my mind, you know? Years of it. Wondering if I missed something. If there was some sign he was anything other than...normal. But I keep coming up empty. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Did you see him when he came out onto the field? It was like-"
The longer he was alive the more he was beginning to understand what his mother meant by pack. How it could change like the phases of the moon, but as long as they fought together it would always be strong. At first he thought she'd meant their family. Maybe even other wolf packs. But now he realized he'd been wrong. It wasn't just wolves standing up for Beacon Hills anymore. If it'd ever been.
"It was him. But it wasn't him. It shouldn't make sense, but it does. Holy shit. Even before the whole werebear thing - which I am still confused about by the way. I mean a full transformation? That is like...well- anyway- But I mean, that was still Coach, you know? His face was- he was terrified and had no idea what was going on. But it was like something else was there this time. Like a switch had gone on. Something that knew, you know?"
He did know.
Because he'd seen it too.
Most people run when they're confronted with something they don't understand.
Finstock had planted his feet.
He'd stood his ground.
Just like an alpha.
He thought about the handful of hours where he'd tracked him through the woods. Racing between the cradled impressions of enormous paws. The ground shredded and temporarily mulched under wicked claws. Marking a path through the forest, but not owning it. Most supernatural creatures claimed the land they frequented. Turning it into territories and ranges they inevitably chose to defend and expand. But not him. There had been something about it. About following him. Something to do with the old Gods and ancient things. It was almost like he was witnessing a return. The coming of something so old, and so much bigger than himself that he didn't think there was even a name for it.
"You know, I never really appreciated the fact that he was normal before," Stiles commented after a moment, leaning back in his seat as the worn leather creaked. "Coach is- well, he's his own brand of special if you know what I mean. Way before all this. But every so often- shit- it was so subtle. He never even asked about Meredith. After he tazed Bruneski? He just told us to get her out of there. He didn't even ask. Jesus. We didn't even have anything to do with it. By the time we got there he had the asshole on the ground. That means-"
He doubted they could ever say for sure. But he let Stiles talk himself out about it anyway. Having a sneaking suspicion that the answer would be as complicated as the situation they were in now.
Personally, after the last few weeks, he'd had his fill of complicated. Kate was still out there. And he was still dealing with the fallout of what she'd done to him. Knowing deep down that she'd be back - this time sooner rather than later. She'd never taken defeat easily and he doubted she was going start now. And with the addition of whatever Finstock was...well-
"And not to be that person," Stiles added, switching tracks almost seamlessly as his nose crunched up. "But- him and Chris Argent? Hello? When did that happen?"
He thought about what Parrish told him after all the paperwork was done on the Allie Henson case. How the three of them had been working in the same search grid. How they'd looked up and Finstock had just been gone. A trail marker half-tied around a branch and a boot print sunk deep into the soil had been all there was to mark the man had even come that way. Otherwise there'd been no footsteps to track. Nothing. He'd just vanished. But mostly he remembered the way Parrish had shook his head. Mentioning off-hand that Chris seemed almost jittery afterwards. Especially when Finstock stopped answering the radio and they finished their sections of the grid. Making him internalize the growing familiarity he'd seen between them today in the house. How they anchored each other without even being aware of it. Circling in a slowly synchronizing orbit.
It wasn't just the tension, it was something else.
Something deeper than what was pretty fucking obvious by now.
Whatever it was, it was new.
New, but strong.
Something that had the possibility of setting down roots, if it hadn't already.
"I'll call Scott," he decided, ignoring the rest in favor of what they really needed. A plan. "We'll have them over for a training session tomorrow at my place and see what we're dealing with."
Stiles snorted, starting the engine with an frustrated click despite smelling fractionally more stable. "Good luck with that. Coach doesn't seem to want anything to do with this. Or believe it happened at all, really. You heard him. He was literally trying to argue that there was a perfectly logically explanation why he was covered in blood and dirt and passed out on the floor. He cited actual examples Derek, I am scarred for life."
His lips quirked fractionally. Wondering off-hand if even half of them were true or if the man really was just as much of a motor-mouth as Stiles. Staring out the window with idle interest as they coasted back towards town. Feeling far more settled this time around now that they had the beginnings of a plan. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough. Whether Finstock liked it or not.
Luckily for them, he had a feeling that when it came to Chris, Finstock was more than open to being convinced.