Chapter Text
The dead body’s skin was unusually hard under Akila's fingertips. She was wearing latex gloves, but she could still feel how dead the body was feeling, and it was a lot to take in. «The post-mortem stiffening of the muscles caused by the depletion of adenosine triphosphate makes me think that he has been dead for a while.»
It was always cold at the Veterinary Clinic. More than at the skating rink, and more than outdoors. The drafts seemed like chasms between the terracotta bricks and the humidity nestled in the most unthinkable places, a sort of incessant ticking.
It made her heart crumple, the level of indifference that people like her and Deaton could achieve. They operated on the facts, abandoned lost causes and they chose their battles; almost with scientific attention.
Deaton liked secret affairs to be handled in semi-obscurity. The cold lights only came from the ultrasound scans hanging on the overhead projectors on the walls. The body was lying on the metal cot that was usually reserved for dogs.
Swollen lips and purple eyelids. The veins in the arms inlaid the body naked like in lime, without carrying blood. The skin was stretched like a sheet over the white bones, fibrous in the wrong places, muscles fixed and hard like useless mass.
Ten gashes shone on his bare chest. They didn't look like streaks of red paint, but more like real furrows, deeply dug. The body looked as if it had been made of butter, to whoever had sunk their claws into it. And oh, they were big claws.
The battered skin was an unpleasant sight. No matter how many times Akila saw deep wounds and gushes of blood, it was always difficult to shake away the feeling of oppression that gripped her gut in those moments.
She didn't know why Deaton had called her there in the middle of the night. She and he had a strange relationship. Very often Deaton provided her with interesting information, he almost explained his intentions. As if he wanted her to understand. Why, though?
Akila's breath condensed into white clouds in the air. Her blue eyes followed the trail of blood and flesh missing from the corpse, «You don't mean to tell me that this has to do with Scott's pack, because Scott is the only werewolf there;».
She performed her play. The latex of the white gloves glowed in the dark, hanging loose around her fingers, forming creases on her small hands. Of course Deaton's gloves were too big for her. «Or are you telling me it's Derek's pack?».
Deaton shook his head. His eyes were dark and serious as never before, Akila had greatly admired his character - although his cryptic and neutral being had also annoyed her - at the time. «This?», he almost snorted.
Worry made his eyebrows pointed and his white coat seemed an illusion in the dim light, but his firm jaw put emphasis on his words. «This is something different. They're not yours and they're not Scott's.»
Akila's hair fell in tousled curls over her slender shoulders, her heart pounding in her wrists. Her red lips tightened into a grimace. She swallowed a cloud of condensation that froze her lungs. «Well, do you know what happened?», she asked.
The pupil had swallowed the blue of her eyes like an oil spill. «No, but the Argents will. And this is the crucial part: they will have a document or a book, it will contain descriptions, stories, notes of all the things they discovered.»
The latex clicked against the red skin. Akila straightened her back and tossed the gloves into the bin under the desk. She raised her head like a dog, stroked against the grain. She pushed a mass of golden curls back with her hand.
She fixed his coal-embossed eyes on Deaton and clenched her hands at her sides. She was wearing black shorts that disappeared under the hem of his hoodie. «And you would like me to do what, exactly?». Sleeves that were too long bunched up around the wrists.
A gray tank top and combat boots made her look like she stepped out of a western movie. Actually, the hoodie was Stiles', so it made sense. Then the ringing of the bell on the door made both her and Deaton turn.
Deaton tilted her head, just as the silhouettes of an alarming number of men rounded the corner, entering the circle of light around the corpse. «-I'm starting to think I should buy a more prominent Closed sign,» he confided to Akila.
They were all dressed in black and seemed to clutter the clinic like a pack of dogs. «Hello, Alan.» Gerard Argent smiled. He was looking for blood, «It's been a while. Last I heard, you were retired after the Willmar thing. New recruits? New hope?».
The way he had bitten the last word made Akila uneasy. His pale eyes full of dormant vice and violence scanned her, one white eyebrow raised. «The last time I heard, you followed a code of conduct,» Deaton crossed his arms firmly over his chest.
Touched as much as surprised and worried by Akila's presence, Chris Argent joined the conversation. He had been the first not wanting Gerard to know about her. «In case you hadn't noticed, this body is one of ours.»
They were all slowly approaching the cot, interested in the shot.
Gerard's men remained in the doorway. «I did,» Deaton replied. «I also noticed some gunpowder residue on his fingers, so don't assume I'll be swayed by your philosophy just because I answer a few questions.»
It was a cold war, with Gerard and Chris occupying the enemy fronts and Deaton as an ancient oak between the homeland and the trenches. Akila was just a twig blowing in the wind, with no direction to go. It was clear why Deaton wanted to play her.
She was also starting to understand why everyone was talking about Willmar as a species apart. They were a sort of jolly for traveling between the two worlds. «He was only twenty-four.» Chris retorted. He was probably aware of how ideology contaminated them.
Yet, Akila would have liked to remind him that they went around trying to kill minors. «Murderers come at all ages,» Deaton simply replied laconically. The way he rolled his tongue between words conveyed danger.
Gerard frowned, not missing a beat. «All ages, sizes, shapes-» he shrugged innocently. Akila could only imagine how many weapons he was hiding under his clothes. «It's the last one that worries us. Tell us what you found».
Deaton glanced at Akila. The girl felt the weight of the situation flash over her. They stood in a circle around the corpse and Deaton moved the head of the body, so as to expose the neck bone, he pointed to the red mark of a small cut.
«Do you see this cut?» he said, pressing his hands to the dead man's forehead to lift his short, dark hair behind his ears. «Accurate. Almost surgical. This wasn't the wound that killed him: it had a more interesting purpose.»
«It's about the spine,» Akila continued. Chris looked at her as she bent down to get a better look at the wound. «I helped Deaton with testing on some dogs. Whatever caused this cut, it is laced with a paralytic toxin potent enough to disable all motor functions.»
She was torturing her pink lips with her teeth and her cheeks were full of color. «These are the causes of death.» She indicated the upper portion of the trunk and the respective gashes on the pectorals. «Do you notice the patterns on each side? - Five of each claw».
«As you can see, it sank, ripped upwards, gutting the lungs and easily cutting through the rib cage bone.» she shook her head, moving her fingers in a clawing motion in the air, casually near Gerard’s face. «So obviously it can't be the work of a werewolf.»
Deaton nodded, «I can only tell you that the thing that killed him is fast, extraordinarily strong, and has the ability to render its victims substantially defenseless in a few seconds.» Despite this, Deaton's voice barely beat against Akila's ears.
As Gerard put on his glasses and brought his face closer to the corpse as if the dead man were a sheet of paper with instructions written on it, she was already wondering what her next move would have been. The plan had to change. Kind of.
Obviously, Gerard had thus discovered that Akila was aware of the existence of mythological creatures such as werewolves. On purpose, thank you Deaton. However, the old man probably simply thought that she was studying them or at least doing something very similar to what Deaton did. The noise echoed in her head.
The clacking of water down the drain pipes was a unique blend with the musty smell. The living room of Derek's house looked a lot like a conglomeration of charred wood, patched into tapered walls and ash curtains.
Isaac coughed, his chest tight as his back hit the dirt floor for the umpteenth time. His lungs and ankles burned. «Someone wants to try not to be completely predictable?». Derek was growling. In his white tank top and faded jeans, he looked like he hadn't even broken a drop of sweat in the two hours of training - more like a beating - to which he had subjected Isaac, Erica and Boyd. His intentions were good, his means not so good.
The string chandelier on the ceiling cast ghoulish shadows over the room. Isaac's light brown hair was sticky with sweat to his pale forehead and he was panting. The sleeves of his gray t-shirt were rolled up around his forearms.
His combat boots felt like they weighed like lead. «We finished?» he groaned, as he managed to muster the strength in his arms to lift his back off the ground and sit up. «I have a hundred bones that need a few hours to heal.»
«Good,» like a panther crouching next to its prey, Derek crouched on his knees next to Isaac, calmly. He grabbed the boy's arm. His green eyes screamed dissatisfaction. When Isaac understood , it was too late.
Boyd leaned out of the unsteady stairwell he was sitting on, not far away. Erica held her breath - she too was on the ground after attempting one last surprise attack, which ended in a kiss and a KO, from Derek.
Bones cracked, like small explosions were under the pressure of Derek's fingers, and Isaac screamed, contorting the muscles in his face until his gums burned. «Do you think I'm teaching you how to fight? Huh?», the Alpha was saying.
«Watch me!» He tugged at Isaac's thin curls with his hand, pushing his chin up so that he obeyed. «I'm teaching you how to survive!».
At that moment, the door in the living room slammed. Raising a cloud of spores and dust. The click of heels and a familiar heartbeat - for Isaac it was the storm that he could distinguish from a thousand - filled the room «Derek I know you like seeing me but you're really starting to become a pain in the a-». Isaac swallowed.
Derek let go so quickly that Isaac's neck snapped and the boy retreated to the floor. He could understand Derek. No one set Isaac's senses on fire like Akila. Every time he was near her, his gums tingled as if his fangs could tear his mouth apart and his nails itched.
Likewise, her presence was like a caress, burning and healing in equal measure. And she was there. On the threshold of the living room, right in the circle of light put on the ground from the chandelier. Her irises looked like specks of blue fire between her long eyelashes.
Damp curls rested behind her ears and peachy pink cheeks brightened her face. It was just dawn, but she seemed awake as if she never went to sleep. «Didn't I tell you not to mistreat him?», she crossed her arms, her nose wrinkled and her mouth parted.
She was standing with her hands stuck in the pockets of a large hoodie. Legs uncovered as if it were summer and a cascade of hair that shone like gold threads. She looked adorable. Erica snorted. Everyone's attention was clearly directed towards Akila.
Derek bared his fangs, in what actually looked like a smile to Isaac and his unhuman senses. «If I don't do it, someone will do it and then kill him.» He stood up and moved close enough to her that his bare toes touched the toes of her boots. «So?».
There was clear exasperation in his voice and Akila forced herself to tear her eyes away from Erica and Isaac. «It's not like I haven't already told you everything over text, Der,» she snorted, tilting her head slightly. «Deaton wants me to steal some stupid Argent book.»
The man muttered something certainly not very flattering, which she couldn't hear. His eyes focused on Isaac, still sitting on the ground, breathing shallowly, inquiringly. «Okay, then,» he said finally. «Tell me about the body,» he demanded.
Akila sighed heavily. «Sure,» she shrugged. «Like I did not just spend all night talking about it.» she blurted out, sarcastically. Apparently it was her job to inform the McCall pack, the Argents, and the Hale pack of every single thing.
«Hell, make your own newspaper.»
«Stiles, I'm telling you, this guy is a fraud.» The sound of a drill drowned out Akila's voice, choking her ears like wet cloth. Her shoes hastily mapped the sticky ground. She quickened her pace to keep up with Stiles.
They were in Tucker's Garage; Tucker, a boy who had dropped out of school and started repairing cars in his free time. He scammed guys like Stiles, desperate for a quick, low-cost repair. She hadn't been able to convince him not to go.
That was the place where Stiles would see the Kanima again, according to canon. And he would have risked his life. Yet, he wasn't listening to her. He lowered his head to pass under a car raised by a support and ran towards Tucker.
The latter was tinkering with the engine of Stiles' Jeep, held in the air by an automatic jack. His white undershirt was stained with car oil, and grease was caked on his muscular forearms, shining the bulges of his muscles.
«Hey! HEY?»; Stiles yelled at him, completely ignoring Akila's earlier words, who just huffed, digging her heels in the ground at Stiles’ side with a grimace. «W-what do you think you're doing? All I needed was a starter!».
«Yes, but it looks like your entire exhaust system needs to be replaced here,» Tucker retorted, not even looking up from his work. He was strangely attractive, with well-trained muscles, light eyes and a fine face. Blonde hair pushed back.
Stiles narrowed his eyes suspiciously, glanced at Akila. She was standing on the other side, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised that screamed saccharine. «Why do I have the feeling that you are slightly overestimating the damage?», he snorted towards the boy.
Tucker shrugged impatiently and turned his head. «It will probably cost you about twelve hundred in parts and labor.» He continued to handle the tools with his mouth pursed in concentration and a buildup of tension in his square jaw.
Stiles' eyebrows hit the hairline of the buzzcut and his mouth dropped open. «Are you joking?» he squealed, the tone starting to rise. «This thing doesn't have a catalytic converter! And yes, I know what a catalytic converter is.» sigh.
Nervousness was starting to build up in his shoulders. It was cold in the garage, a hint of humidity ticked in Akila's ears, Stiles had three layers of clothes on: his red sweatshirt, a checked flannel shirt and a cotton t-shirt.
«Do you know what a 'limited-slip differential' is?», Tucker insisted with mock condescension. Stiles shrugged, surrender showing in his irises as he shook his head slightly, stuttering.
«I know,» Akila interrupted, jumping into the discussion. «A limited slip differential increases the power and speed of the car by using engine power more efficiently, thus allowing for a smoother and more enjoyable drive.»
Tucker let his arms rest at his sides and lifted his gaze from the engine to look to his left. Akila had her arms crossed and her nose wrinkled. Two blonde braids rested on her protruding collarbones.
The blue eyes peered at the mechanic lazily, «I would say it's not essential right now and in any case we won't pay you for something we didn't ask for», she tilted her head to the side defiantly. The sleeves of the sweatshirt rolled up around the thin wrists.
Stiles could have easily classified the long, - too long - look Tucker gave her. The way he seemed to drown his gaze in the soft curve of her rosy cheeks, her cat's eyes between golden lashes and fall on the roundness of her breasts squeezed into the white tank top under the open zipper of her sweatshirt.
The rough mouth twitched. «Okay, I’ll just finish.» Tucker pushed his greasy hands into his hair, pulling the model-like bangs back. «Why don't you stay here and check, chick?»; there was sarcasm and a great deal of intrigue in his previously apathetic voice.
Heat like lava seemed to replace the blood in Stiles' veins, throbbing in his temples like a fist. He sighed, trying to expel that strong burning sensation in the pit of his stomach along with the humid air of the garage. «I'll be back here, seething with impotent rage!».
He muttered like a grumpy old man as he walked away from them towards the bathroom. As much as the situation upset him, it was best to let Akila do her cute, little manipulation. He tightened his fingers around the handle.
Slimy. Something that looked very much like the sap of a succulent smeared his palm, sticky like membrane on the palm of his cold-stiffened hand. «Oh. Nice. It's really sanitary. Quality establishment you're running, here!».
He rubbed the dirty skin on his sweatshirt, crossing the threshold and letting the door close behind him. He turned the corner, stopping his gaze on a photo of Tucker hanging on the wall. He was wearing his own school's lacrosse uniform and smiling for the camera.
Huffing, Stiles pulled out his phone to complain to Scott about his misfortunes. He was preparing himself for the idea of waiting in the closet. There was a huge glass window that took up almost the entire right wall, framing Akila and Tucker exactly.
They examined the car; Tucker puffed out his chest and preened for attention. Stiles moved his thumb to type the first letter on the screen and - Nothing. Stuck, paralyzed. The air remained compressed in his chest, the muscles lost tension while the fingertips tingled.
The phone fell from his softened fingers. He raised his head sharply. In time to see through the glass a webbed reptile paw slide near the scaffolding of the garage ceiling, right into the other room. Where Tucker was taking care of the Jeep.
His eyes instantly darted to the halo of blonde hair in the distance. Her body was tilted slightly to peer at what Tucker was pointing at in the hood. His mouth felt numb. «Hey-», Stiles moaned, but his voice didn't come out.
Its legs clicked, the reptile pressed its slimy body against the wall, descending towards the roof of the Jeep to attack from above. «Hey! Hey!» Stiles tried to scream, the panic in his brain contrasting with his slowed movements. «Uhhh-».
The tail descended as fast as a whip. Stiles' eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. Struck by the needle, Tucker fell to the ground. Akila drew a crescent with her heels, turning until she found the creature's membranous eyes.
Stiles whimpered, like a candle going out. His knees buckled beneath him as he tried to sprint for the door. He fell onto his back, his cheek against the cold ground. His heart felt like a wrecking ball against his ribs. Ache.
That was all he heard, his vision blurry. He pressed his fingers to the phone next to his cheek. 9 - saw Tucker far away, beyond the glass door, lying on his stomach and asking for help. The machine's mechanical support had been lowered.
The heavy metal structure descended further and further, trying to crush him. 1 - Where was Akila?; Stiles couldn't see her and bile was rising up his blocked windpipe like acid. 1 - and then she was right there. Cheeks smeared with motor oil.
Her tiny gloved hands tightened around Tucker's ironically muscular forearm, just as the last click of the machinery fell on him like a train crushing the tracks. She dragged him, balancing the weight with her whole body.
They rolled away. Akila fell to her knees, breathing heavily next to Tucker's paralyzed body. She looked up, her mouth tight between her teeth and her eyes blazing. When she looked down again, she met Stiles' eyes.
After what seemed like an instant to Stiles' numb mind, the door swung open. She was on top of him, all scented with vanilla and lavender, batting her eyelashes in front of his face. She pressed her ear to his soft mouth.
She listened to his breathing, stroking his back with a reassuring smile, two locks on her forehead escaped from the braids and a small scratch was on her chin. She didn't seem to care that Tucker remained on the other side of the room.
Stiles' phone buzzed. «911, what is your emergency?». Akila grabbed him in his place and responded, breathing heavily as if she'd been punched in the stomach.
The sky dripped rain in straight, glittering lines in the dark. Akila was sitting in the back of the ambulance, her legs dangling over the edge of the truck towards the road. Stiles' hand pressed against her arm - enough to crease the hoodie’s sleeve.
The small cut on her chin had been covered with an orange band-aid. She nervously intertwined her fingers in her lap, squeezing the fabric of her black shorts between her fingertips. She was sitting exactly between Stiles - on the left - and the Sheriff.
«I told you, I-», Stiles panted, under the hum of the rain on the roof of the ambulance, «I went in and saw the Jeep on top of the guy and then Akila pulling him away. That's all».
The Sheriff ignored him. Instead, he frowned and focused his eyes on Akila, a double bar piercing her gaze in a way that always made her skin crawl. «Look, Akila-» he murmured, touching her shoulder. «If there is something you would like to tell me-».
For the tenth time, he was cut off by Stiles. «Do you think Aks is lying?». He stuck his chin forward stubbornly, puffing out his chest indignantly. Akila swallowed, rubbing her cold arms and Stiles caught her hand, intertwining their fingers between their thighs.
The grip was warm and reassuring. Noah breathed in tiredly, running the sleeve of his petrol green uniform over his face. «No, of course not!» he grunted. «I'm just worried about her. She was in the room with Tucker when it happened and she says she was hit from behind and didn't see anything. Now, maybe he's afraid that maybe-.»
«I assure you, Akila was looking in the hood when she was hit, her back was turned.» Stiles' teeth clicked. «She didn't see anything-- at all. And now she’s just cold, so-» he hooked his elbow behind the girl's tense shoulders. «Can we go now, please?».
He applied gentle pressure to the base of Akila's back, urging the energy in her legs to work and get herself up. The girl trembled weakly against his touch, pressing her heels into the asphalt. Stiles put the hood over her damp braids, covering her head.
The rain flattened the fabric against her blonde curls, as she realised that Stiles had done that to cover her from the camera's too and be sure no one recognised her. The Sheriff also stood up, resting his hands on his knees with an unconvinced grimace. «Sure;» he snorted. «But not in your Jeep. We will have to seize it.» He tilted his mouth to one side.
«Sorry, guys. Proof,» he waved his hand. «See you at home», turning his heel on the dark concrete sizzling with rain, he hurried towards the narrow row of police cars with blue flashing lights that tore intermittently dark.
Stiles' arm anchored itself around Akila as the boy mocked the statement by pressing his pink tongue against the roof of his mouth. «I'll call Allison, she'll give us a ride,» the girl supplied, pushing her numb fingertips into her pocket for her cell phone.
Stiles nodded, putting his chin near her warm cheek to peer nervously at the screen as she put the speaker on. Her hands were shaking a little, though Stiles didn't think that she had realised it. Akila had told Stiles that the creature ran away immediately after looking into her eyes. And, as stunning as Akila's eyes were and certainly capable of scaring away a predator, he felt there was something under and over that story - or maybe even all around, actually.