Chapter Text
Sheriff Stilinski was not having a good day.
The sheriff killed the engine of the cruiser once he reached the darkened snow-covered parking lot of the Beacon Hills Animal Hospital. He leaned back in the seat with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the pounding tension headache that had flared up sometime during his shit storm of a day. It started somewhere between Mrs. Espisito barging into his office at 7am, making John spill his scalding hot coffee all over the shirt of his last clean uniform, demanding something be done about Roy Jankin’s herd of cats that roamed his property. The cats had ruined her prize-winning azalea bushes. Then, of course, that afternoon two of his deputies called in sick with the flu.
It was just past 3am, and he was finally on his way home after his 19-hour shift when his police scanner crackled to life, informing him of a possible 146 in progress at the Animal Hospital. Not even five seconds after the announcement did the voice of Deputy Haig come over airwaves asking the sheriff to please please PLEASE go check it out for him because his pregnant wife was having a for craving the chicken joint in the next town over and it was the first thing that had sounded good to her in days because of her constant vomiting-
And the sheriff had agreed.
Not like you have anyone to go home to anyway.
He finished that last few drops of his several hours old cup of coffee with a grimace and stepped out of the car, tired eyes performing the customary preliminary check of the area as he shut his door. After cracking his back with a prolonged stretch he made his way up to the keypad by the back door, removing his gloves so he could punch in the four digit code that turned off the silent alarm. Scott almost certainly forgot to secure the door to one of the dog cages again and the canine was probably enjoying one of the jars of treats that lined the back counter of the clinic. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to get the mutt back into its cage so John could go home to a nice glass of whiskey and a shower.
He had to be back into the station again at 7am after all.
The sheriff reached for the handle of the door and froze before his hands could touch the brass. One of the glass panes on the door was busted in and the frame had a red tinged streak.
Blood, his brain supplied helpfully.
Immediately, the sleep deprived sheriff was alert. He drew his gun from its holster, his trigger finger brushed the safety, ready to switch it off if needed. He grabbed at the radio on his shoulder, “This is Sheriff Stilinski reporting on the possible 146 at the Animal Hospital. Requesting backup to any available unit in the area. Over and out.” John switched the radio to silent after the request, not wanting the potential intruder to hear the static if he or she were still on site. As quietly as he could, the sheriff nudged the door open, slipping inside just before it closed with a soft thud. He did his best to avoid the glass that littered the floor, but a few shards fractured like thunder under his boot. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to him as he crept down the darkened hallway.
The supply room door was ajar at the end of the hall. Light from the parking lot streetlamp was pouring out from the gap. He could hear a shuffling, the sound of plastic being ripped open in a rush and the rattle of a pill bottle hitting the floor.
Junkies. Fucking perfect.
The sheriff was able to see the reflection of a figure in the steel refrigerator door in the room. It appeared to be a male, his face hidden by a hood pulled high over his head. His back was to the door. John lowered his gun in a non-threatening manner, trying to deescalate a situation as best he could before speaking. “Beacon Hills Police! Turn around with your hands-”
The sheriff was temporarily blinded by a blue light before his back hit the wall across the hallway. He let out an involuntary groan, only just managing to keep his grip on his pistol as he slid down the wall.
“Shit! I’m sorry I didn’t mean… just stay back ok? Stay the fuck back!”
The voice from inside the room was surprisingly young the sheriff decided, even with the slight ringing in his ears from the bomb. Had it been a bomb? A quick survey of his surroundings showed no debris or scorch marks. That could only mean-
A supernatural.
Sheriff Stilinski was really not having a good fucking day.
On instinct, John rolled so that he was just outside the door frame, his back to the wall, switching the safety off once he was in position. He let out a cough to clear his throat, trying to find his voice after getting the wind knocked out of him. “I’m going to ask you one more time to put your hands up or I’m going to open fire-”
“John put the gun away.” A smooth, calm voice came floating through the doorway. Was that...
“Alan?” John called out, praying he was wrong.
“Yes, sheriff it’s me.”
John closed his eyes and groaned. Of course it was. It was Alan Deaton: Head Veterinarian of the animal clinic. He must have been working an overnight shift.
Great. Now this was a hostage situation.
“This is not a hostage situation.” Alan continued, reading the sheriff’s mind. God he hated when the vet did that. It was so freaking unnerving. “Lower your weapon and come in. And if you called back up-”
“Shut up man… I… I got this ok?” It was the junkie’s voice again only it sounded out of breath, exhausted really.
John glanced at the refrigerator door again. From the reflection he could see the hooded figure had slumped to the ground, back resting against the cabinets.
Slowly, the sheriff rounded the corner, his pistol at rest but the safety still off. When he got a full view of the room, John immediately drew his gun up, sites trained on the intruder. Alan was in the back left corner of the room… in a fucking dog cage.
“John, I said stop!” Alan’s voice was uncharacteristically firm this time, but it did not make John lower his weapon.
“Alan you’re in a dog cage! And this junkie just threw me through a wall!”
“But I’m fine! And he didn’t ‘throw you through a wall.’ If anything it was more of a shove and you didn’t even break the drywall so it couldn’t have been that hard.”
“Couldn’t have been that- Alan that is so not the point!” John was momentarily caught off guard by the comment, but he cocked his gun when he saw the junkie raise his hand, a blue ball of light forming in his palm. “Hey just stop right there!”
“Don’t come any closer!” said the man- no kid- because now that the sheriff was in the room he could see that the intruder was in his late teens at best. “I just need a few things and then I’ll leave, I swear! Don’t make me- oh shit.” The kid winced and drew in a breath, beads of sweat forming at his temples as the blue light flickered and died in his hand. He lowered his arm with a grunt of pain and pressed an open palm to his shoulder, drawing his legs up instinctively. It was then the sheriff realized that the area over his left shoulder was darker than the rest of his red sweatshirt. He was bleeding.
Slowly, the sheriff lowered his weapon, “Kid, are you injured?” His gaze flickered to the counter and realized that the supplies that were spread out on the counter were not bottles of narcotics and sedatives, but packs of gauze, a needle and suture thread, and a few blister packs of antibiotics. He took a cautionary step forward but the movement caused the boy to flinch and he reached to his side, hand clasping around a scalpel from an open suture kit to his right. He brandished it threateningly, but even the sheriff could see that there was no force behind it. The kid looked like a gentle breeze could knock him on his ass. John holstered his weapon and held up his hands, couching down so that he was eye level. “Hey it’s ok. Just calm down son and I’ll-”
“Don’t call me that!” the boy ground out through clenched teeth, his grip on the scalpel wavering.
John nodded his head, “Alright no problem. What’s your name?” The boy tightened his jaw, breathing out through his nose. If John were a werewolf he wouldn’t doubt he’d hear the kid’s heart jackhammering through his chest. He was terrified. “Ok I’ll go first. My name is John. John Stilinski. I’m the sheriff here at Beacon Hills.”
“Well that’s fan-fucking-tastic for you man.” Ok so maybe not that terrified then. “But like I said, I just need a few things and I’m gone. We don’t need to know each other’s names.”
“Fair enough.” The sheriff nodded again and opted to sit down rather than crouch, not because his knees were starting to feel his age mind you, but so he could appear more approachable. At least that’s what he told himself. “So let’s play this out. You get the supplies you need to patch up what I’m guessing is a pretty sizable wound on your left shoulder. Have you ever even stitched up human skin before?”
“I’ve done it before asshole.”
So do not want to know why.
The sheriff grimaced, “Ok tough guy so you’ve done it before. No offense kid but with how bad your hand is trembling I doubt you’ll be able to do such a bang up job that it will stop the bleeding. Not to mention the infection that’s undoubtedly going to set in once you do.”
“That’s what the antibiotics are for dipshit.”
“Listen can we cool it with the name calling?” This kid’s attitude was grinding on his last nerve and an edge of irritation slipped out, “I haven’t disrespected you at all so if we can please keep it fucking civil? I’m not exactly having the best day here.”
“John.” Alan warned from his cage in the corner.
The kid actually barked out a short, sarcastic laugh at that “Oh I’m sorry you’re not having the best day?! Unbelievable man. Really. You’re not the one who’s been running for his fucking life for the last-” the kid trailed off, face going paler and he almost dropped his weapon.
John needs to get this kid to see reason soon. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just… you need help. Let me help you.”
The kid laughed again, but this time it was with an edge of sadness, “Last time I trusted a cop it didn’t exactly end well.”
John grimaced. Even if the boy wasn’t obviously injured there was something off about this whole situation. What was this kid hiding from that was so bad he couldn’t even risk going to a fucking hospital? Let alone not trust law enforcement. He would rather break into an animal clinic than seek help from anyone of authority. The sheriff wasn’t sure if he was crazy or just so desperate to try to get the kid to trust him, but he reached for his radio, turning it back on. “This is Sheriff John Stilinski. Cancel call for backup. 146 was a false alarm. Damn dog got out of the kennel again.”
A crackle of static. “Copy that Chief. All available units stand down. We really gotta teach that McCall boy how to secure an animal. Over.”
“I’ll bring it up to his mom next time I see her. Over and out.”
The boy looked surprised for a moment before letting out a huge sigh, dropping the scalpel and flinching as it clattered to the floor beside him. He slammed the back of his head against the cabinets twice and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, as if trying to stop tears from falling. His breathing started to pick up. He was on the edge of a panic attack.
“Fuck.” He barked out with frustration. The boy seemed to know that, even without the threat of more cops coming, he was done for. He had no energy left to fight off the sheriff. “I’m just… I’m so fucking tired. I… I just want to be done. I want to be done.”
And shit if that wasn’t the saddest thing the sheriff had ever heard.
“It’s ok kid. I’m going to help you. I need to come closer to see what we are dealing with, alright?”
The kid nodded weakly, and that was all the permission John needed before he started to crawl towards the boy. “Wait!” the kid slurred out, head bobbing up listlessly. He was using the last of his bit of energy. The sheriff paused. “Just… promise you won’t take me to a hospital. If… he could find me. I can’t let him find me.”
A cold rock settled in John’s gut. He managed to nod.
“Alright kid. I promise. No Hospital.”
The kid let out a breath John didn’t even realize he was holding, his whole body going limp.
“It’s Stiles by the way.” That was the last thing the boy said before he promptly passed out.
****
What in the hell was he doing?
John sat at his beat up kitchen table, eyes trailing over the thousands of nicks and scratches that can only come from furniture that was as used as John was tired. He looked up when Melissa McCall entered the room. She was drying her hands with a towel, what was left of a bottle of Jack tucked under her arm. She paused when she caught the sheriff eyeing the front of her pink scrubs, which were covered with streaks of dried blood. John rubbed the back of his neck and turned away when he realized he’d been caught staring.
Melissa cleared her throat, tossing the towel on the counter and going over to the cabinet to retrieve two mismatched shot glasses. She brought them back to the table before pouring out two shots of the brown liquid. She slid one over to the sheriff before sitting hard on the stool across from him. They both knocked back the glasses without a word, repeating the process once more for good measure. They sat in silence, processing the events of the last few hours.
Once John had let Alan out of the cage, he was instructed by the vet to take Stiles back to his house. Alan would be over as soon as he cleaned up any trace of the break in and secured the animals. John’s time serving taught the marine how to do a field dressing. But once he saw the extent of the wound on the kid’s shoulder, which were fucking claw marks by the way, he realized he would need more skilled expertise. Even more disturbing was the iron collar that was secured around the boy's throat, crudely carved runes lining the outside of the device. As far as he could tell there was no way to take it off…
He needed back up.
Hence the reason Melissa McCall RN was at his house at this ungodly hour of the morning.
John had called Melissa after loading the unconscious boy into the back of his cruiser. She herself was just getting off shift and picked up on the second ring, "So I need a favor," the sheriff began, pulling out onto the deserted County road. "But before you say yes you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. Or ask any questions. Or freak out."
"Well that's not ominous." The nurse said sarcastically. When she didn't hear John comment right away, "Wait, are you serious?"
"Melissa you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
"I know that." Her voice softened, "What's going on John, are you in trouble?"
"No I'm not. At least, not yet, I don't think."
"Ok now you're kind of freaking me out what-"
"Melissa you have to promise-"
"Alright!" Melissa shouted cutting John off, "Alright I promise. Just tell me what's going on."
The sheriff let out a tired sigh, "I found this… kid. He's pretty banged up. He needs help but he doesn't want me to take him to a hospital." His eyes glanced in the rearview to make sure Stiles was still out, "I think someone is after him… possibly an Alpha."
"Oh Jesus John…" Melissa groaned into the phone. She was silent for a long time and John thought she might have hung up. "OK. OK what do you need me to do?"
John’s shoulders sagged in relief, "He needs stitches. He's got claw marks on his shoulder. Deep ones. And he's lost some blood. I patched it up with what I had but it looks like it needs cleaned and-"
"Where are you?" She interrupted, her mind clearly going into trauma mode.
"I'm heading back to my place. I'll be there in ten."
"Ok." She hung up.
Ten minutes later John was pulling into the driveway in front of his small two bedroom ranch. "The perfect starter home!" Or so the realtor had said when he bought the thing 15 years ago. Turns out it wasn't so much his starter as his end of the line. John was pretty sure he'd die in the house.
Stiles jerked awake almost as soon as John killed the engine, the subtle change in his environment bringing him back to the land of the living. He winced as he sat up, "Where are we?"
"My house."
The boy narrowed his eyes, "Why?"
"No hospital remember? Can't exactly let you stay at the clinic. Might get some weird looks if they found a half dead teenager in one of the larger dog cages."
Stiles rolled his eyes, "Ha. Hilarious."
John hummed in agreement and exited the vehicle. He came around to the rear passenger door and opened it, waiting for the boy to come out. But when he saw Stiles struggle to right himself, the sheriff instinctively reached in to help. He stopped when the boy flinched violently and held up a hand, a few blue sparks escaping his fingertips, "Don’t touch me!" John held up his hands in a non-threatening manner. Stiles closed his eyes to compose himself, his open hand clenching into a fist. The sparks stopped. "I'm sorry I just.. I got it ok? Just give me a minute."
"Fine." John reasoned, stepping back to give the kid some space. After a few minutes of grunts and the occasional whimper Stiles made it out of the vehicle. He had to brace himself against the trunk when he stood to keep from falling to the ground, but at least he was out of the car. John knew they needed to get inside before someone saw them. "We should-"
He was cut off when a pair of headlights pulled up behind the sheriff's cruiser. The sheriff's hand brushed over his gun on instinct. He relaxed when the lights went dark and he saw a familiar pair of pink scrubs exit the vehicle. Melissa retrieved a large red bag out of her back seat and came around front, stopping about six feet back.
"Who the hell are you?" Stiles almost managed to hide the tremor of fear in his voice.
Almost.
John cleared his throat, "She's a friend."
"I'm Melissa." She gave an encouraging smile and took a small step forward, "I'm a nurse at Beacon General. The sheriff said you had a wound that needed attention."
"Oh did he now? What else did he tell you?" Stiles flicked a distrusting gaze at the sheriff.
John was about to speak but Melissa, as usual, beat him to it. "Nothing." She said quickly. "Only that you needed help. And I can help you, if you'll let me." She held up the bag of supplies, "You don't have to tell me anything. I took an oath as a nurse to help anyone who needs it."
"Oh well if there's an oath…" Stiles said with an edge.
"Well at graduation it was either an oath or a blood sacrifice and I was wearing white that day so I went with the oath." Stiles gawked at her and the sheriff did his best not to roll his eyes, "I have a teenager, kid. I can do attitude all day."
Stiles let out the barest hint of a smile before setting his features back to neutral. "Alright." He relented, moving away from the cruiser and almost falling, but he managed to stay upright. Melissa made no move to touch him, respecting his space. "Fine. But no questions. It's for your own good."
John and Melissa shared a look at that but did not comment.
The three made their way into the house through the garage, passing the project car that John hadn’t really touched in years. It was pitch black when they entered the house and John fumbled for the light switch. He winced when light flooded the small living room. Days old dishes and bits of dirty laundry littered the ground and various surfaces. Newspapers and unopened mail were piled high on the coffee table and a few empty bottles of Jack lined the tv tray near the moth-eaten couch. He couldn’t even remember the last time he vacuumed. It was a mess.
“Jesus John.” Said Melissa with disgust as she kicked an old pizza box out of her path.
“Don’t start Mel. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.” John removed his utility belt and hung it on a nail by the door. The nail had probably held a picture when the previous owner had lived there, but John had never really gotten around to hanging one up himself. Not that he had many photos to choose from anyway.
John busied himself clearing off a spot on the couch while Melissa pushed off a stack of newspapers from the coffee table so she could set her bag down. The sheriff looked back and saw that Stiles was still standing in the doorway leaning on its frame. He made no move to come in, but his sharp eyes were moving around the room critically, almost strategically. He’s looking for exit points. John knew right away. It was one of the first things they were taught back at boot camp; always know your way out.
John cleared his throat to get the boy's attention, “Hey Stiles?” he made a gesture towards the couch, “Sit down and let Melissa have a look at you.”
Stiles hesitated for only a moment before making his way through the living room, wincing when he accidentally kicked a rogue beer bottle that was resting by the recliner. “Sorry.” He mumbled as he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position on the couch.
“Don’t worry about it.” John removed his coat and grabbed Melissa’s before throwing them over the back of the recliner.
“Go ahead and take off your hoodie and shirt.” Said Melissa as she unzipped her bag and started unloading various supplies onto the now cleared coffee table.
John saw Stiles tensed immediately at the command, but after a moment he gave a stiff nod and slowly unzipped his hoodie. He hesitated again before removing his shirt, which John was sure at one time had been white, but was now stained brown and red from weeks of wear. Letting out a breath, Stiles gingerly peeled the shirt over his head and added it to the heap of clothing at his feet.
John had seen a lot in his life, but nothing could have prepared him for this. He knew the kid was skinny, but now that he was shirtless John realized it wasn’t the wiry kind of skinny you see when a kid is going through a growth spurt. No. Stiles was downright emaciated, every bone protruding out under ghostly pale skin. There was a large, painful looking bruise that wrapped around the kid's left torso with a few others in various stages of healing. Then there was the pile of gauze the sheriff had taped to Stiles' injured shoulder. But what really gave the sheriff pause were the scars. The crisscross pattern of scar tissue on the kid’s back made it clear that he was no stranger to the end of cane. But what really made the sheriff’s stomach drop were the old claw marks poking out at the waist band of the Stiles’ ratty jeans… as if a werewolf had clamped onto his hips.
And then there was that iron collar.
To his credit, Stiles didn’t look ashamed. If anything he fixed Melissa with a look of defiance when he saw her gaze linger on the collar, as if daring her to ask about it.
Melissa seemed to catch herself and chose not to comment, instead beginning the process of cleaning her hands and donning gloves. “I’m going to need to take that old dressing off.” She moved so she was sitting next to the teen on the couch, but she made no move to touch him. She waited until Stiles gave her a curt nod before reaching out to slowly peel the tape back. Stiles hissed and turned away, humming to himself while his knee started bouncing a mile a minute. He did not cry out though, John noticed.
Once the dressing was off Melissa inspected the wound critically, “These look a few days past fresh.” She said, gently prodding at the edge of the marks. Stiles grunted, but did not pull away.
“Yeah that sounds about right.” He said through clenched teeth.
The nurse paused. “Looks like infection is setting in. I’m going to need to clean this before I stitch it up.”
Stiles swallowed hard. “Yeah I know.”
“I don’t have anything for pain.” She glanced at John knowingly.
John nodded, “Hold on.” The sheriff made his way into the kitchen to his medicine/liquor cabinet. He found a bottle of Motrin that still had a few pills left but that was pretty much it. There was also a bottle of Jack that was still about three fourths full. He grabbed that too and headed back into the living room. He held up the bottle of Motrin, giving it a rattle, “Best I could find.”
Melissa nodded, “Better than nothing.” She began opening packs of gauze and a small bottle of iodine. The sheriff unscrewed the cap on the pill bottle and held it out to Stiles, who sighed and opened his palm to accept the offered meds. John dumped 4 or 5 tablets into the kid’s hand before he swallowed them dry. Once they were down, the sheriff uncorked that bottle of Jack and offered that to him as well.
Stiles stared at the bottle for a moment before snatching it with a quiet “fuck me.” The boy took a long pull from the bottle, coughing when it burned, but he managed another swig.
“Almost ready.” Melissa changed her gloves again after putting on a mask. John grabbed a belt off the back of the recliner and folded it in half once. Stiles glanced at it and understood immediately. He took another long pull of Jack, set it down on the table in front of him, and reached for the belt. After a few short exhales he brought the belt to his mouth and bit down hard on the leather. “John, you're probably going to have to hold him.” Stiles offered the nurse a hard glare. “Hey I’m only doing this once, so we might as well do it right the first time. Unless you want to repeat this process tomorrow once the infection really sets in?”
Stiles looked away, resigned. He nodded once. John came around behind the couch and placed a firm hand on the boy’s arms. It was then the sheriff noticed a trail of puncture wounds running down the back of the boy’s neck. What the hell was that from?
He didn’t have time to process this, because Melissa sighed once before grabbing the bottle of Jack off the table. “Here we go.”
Stiles screamed and trashed when she poured the alcohol all over his shoulder, the sheriff momentarily surprised by the strength of the boy as he tried to keep him still. A few blue sparks escaped out of the kid’s clenched fists and some of them even burned holes into the couch. But Melissa seems to take no notice of this, entirely focused on the task at hand. Fortunately, Stiles passed out about 2 minutes later.
A small mercy indeed.
It took Melissa another 40 minutes to clean, dry and stitch up the claw marks on the boy’s shoulder. Once she was done, she started an IV and gave Stiles two liter bags of saline. It wasn’t as good as blood would have been, but it would at least help restore some of the fluid volume lost by the injury. She also gave a dose of IV antibiotics she had swiped from the hospital. John carefully repositioned the boy so he was on his side and covered him with a blanket. He then left the nurse to clean up her supplies and retreated back to the small kitchen.
This is where the pair now sat perched in silence.
Melissa rolled the shot glass back and forth on the table, “So what now?”
John grunted as he leaned back in his chair, “Well I need to head in to work in 2 hours.”
“What?”
“Yeah two deputies are out sick-”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Well I have to go in for at least a few hours-”
Melissa stood abruptly, “Holy shit you are serious!” She grabbed the shot glasses off the table and went over to throw them in the sink, perhaps a bit harder than she meant to. "That department is the longest personal relationship you've ever had."
“Melissa I have responsibilities. I can’t just-”
“Yes sheriff you do have responsibilities! One of them is currently lying half dead on your shitty couch!”
“Be quiet will you? He’s finally asleep! God knows it looks like he could use a few hours.”
“And then what?” Melissa leaned back against the sink and crossed her arms, “You going to give him a granola bar and send him on his way?”
There sheriff groaned rubbing his eyes, “Of course I’m fucking not Melissa but we need to deal with this one crisis at a time! I still don’t know what that kid even is, let alone what he’s capable of! He practically threw me through a wall for Christ’s sake!”
“I believe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
Both John and Melissa stood abruptly at the sound of a third voice in the kitchen. John swore when he saw who it was, “Alan goddamn it you need to make more noise. How did you even get in here?”
Alan smiled ruefully, removing his scarf and gloves, “There’s a key under the turtle out front.” Fuck he really needed to find a new spot for his spare key. "Really, I expected better from someone in law enforcement.” He walked across the kitchen peering through the dim light at the figure on the couch. His mouth moved to a tight frown. “How is he?”
“Melissa got him stabilized. Gave him some fluids and antibiotics. He passed out while we were patching him up.” John looked at Stiles as well, noting he had pulled the blanket up to his chin and curled into a ball on the couch. He was trying to make himself as small as possible.
“John was just talking about going into work.” Melissa said shooting daggers at the sheriff.
“Well maybe that would be wise.” Deaton said off handedly and Melissa’s jaw dropped, “Might be best to keep up pretences after all."
John gave an amused look at the nurse.
Melissa growled, “Oh don’t be a child.”
“It’s better to act normally.” Alan mused, “Especially if I’m right about what he is.”
John didn’t like the sound of that, “And what exactly is he?”
Alan let his gaze linger on the boy for a moment before turning back to the kitchen, removing his satchel and placing an ancient looking book on the table. He had a page earmarked towards the back and flipped to it easily. John and Melissa got closer to inspect the text, but it was in a different language. There were, however, illustrations of a dark creature surrounded by blue lightning with the phrase, ‘Aos sí Ferē’ scribbled at the header.
“What does it say?” Melissa looked over the text with scrutiny.
Alan took a deep breath before answering, “I believe Stiles may be a Spark.”
***