? What are you - what’s the point?”
“The point is to help you do what you’ve been trying to do this past month.”
Stiles was still confused. Deaton faced him and reached into a jacket pocket. He pulled out a little book. It was thick but small, with a worn blue binding and a half-faded gilded image of some sort of plant on the front. “This is for you.”
Stiles took it apprehensively. “O... kay,” he said. “What is it?”
“Your guidebook.”
“Guidebook. Right.” Stiles looked at the tome in his hand, and tipped it open. Inside the front cover were the words Credo quis impossible est scrawled in ink. If only Lydia were here, he thought wistfully. He flipped through the some pages, filled with more writing and the occasional sketch. He was relieved to see the rest was in English, though. He caught glimpses of some of the words, which included phrases like “lycanthrope cycle” and “mental convergence” and “the moon is our queen” and other increasingly bizarre things.
“This thing reads like a whackjob’s manifesto,” Stiles scoffed. “What’s it guiding me in, again?”
Deaton rolled his eyes, which was a rare reaction from the normally stoic man. Stiles felt oddly proud in that moment. “It’s guiding you on how to guide him.” He pointed emphatically at the wolf. The wolf bared its teeth in retribution for the finger in its face.
“I come from a long line of guides,” Deaton said. “We work closely with the werewolves. Help them to understand their power. Help them to control it.”
Understanding erupted in Stiles’ brain. “You’re like the Watchers!”
“What?” Deaton asked, thrown for a loop.
“You know, Buffy? You’ve seen that show, right? Every vampire slayer gets a watcher. So... every wolf gets a guide?” Stiles grinned.
Deaton stared at him. Stiles’ grin faded.
“Or, no? That’s not how it works? Give me a hint here, man.”
“Every werewolf doesn’t get a guide. Many of them have someone in their life who already fulfils that kind of role. You do, for Scott. But what they - and you - lack is knowledge, and preparation, and support. My family has handed down this knowledge through the generations. We’ve helped others become guides for their family and friends who were cursed by the bite.”
Stiles looked over briefly at Scott, still in wolf form, then back to Deaton.
“The Deatons have also been close to the Hale family for a very long time.”
“Really?” Stiles was surprised. “Derek never said anything.”
“Derek didn’t know,” Deaton replied. “The fire screwed that up. Among other things. But I knew his mother very well. I helped her through two werewolf pregnancies, which can be very tricky affairs even for a born werewolf.”
Stiles looked slightly grossed out. “Yeah, I bet.”
“I wanted to be there for Scott, to be his guide too. But I’ve got my hands full with Derek, and all the damn hunters in this town, and now the alpha pack. Preparations have to be made. I’ve got other work.”
Stiles nodded. “I bet. You seem like kinda the only sane one in this town. You know, besides me.”
Deaton smiled. “One part of that statement was correct, at least.”
Stiles ignored that. “So... is there something in this book that’s gonna tell me how to get Scott to de-wolf-i-fy himself?” Stiles looked dubiously at the book, which seemed too small and innocuous to be of any importance.
“Right again,” Deaton sounded mildly impressed. “You’re a natural at this, Stiles. You’re gonna be fine.” He turned to leave.
“Wait, wait!” Stiles called. “Can’t you just tell me what to do?”
“No. That’s part of the journey.”
“The journey, right. Well, what if I can’t?”
Deaton stopped and looked at the wolf. “I have the antidote.” He patted the pocket on his chest above his chest. “But I know it won’t come to that. Credo quis impossible est.”
“That’s in the book,” Stiles said. “What does it mean?”
“‘I believe because it is impossible.’”
And with that, Deaton left, leaving behind one werewolf and one very confused teenager.
***
After Deaton’s departure, Stiles spent an hour cross-legged on the floor, leafing through the book, skimming the pages hoping for some sort of reference to de-wolf-ing would jump out at him. He found nothing immediately obvious.
He slammed the book shut, which made the wolf jerk its head up from where it had been resting on its front paws. It growled low in its throat, then laid its head down again.
“Unbelievable,” Stiles muttered. “Even the wolf’s got an attitude.”
There was another growl, but this one was from Stiles’ stomach. He checked his phone - already damn near lunchtime. He considered grabbing a burger. He looked at the wolf, and wondered if it was getting hungry too.
“How about it boy? Want a steak?”
The wolf bared its teeth at him.
“Okay. I’m gonna get us some grub. Then I guess I’m going to have to just... really read this thing. For real.” Just his luck. In the middle of summer vacation, and he had to study.
He ran to town as quickly as he could, not wanting to leave the wolf alone for too long. He rushed through the grocery store for a steak and a jug of water for the wolf, and hit up the burger place for himself. While he was walking back, arms full of stuff, a car slowed, pulled alongside him, and rolled down its window.
“Stiles, what are you doing?” It was Derek. Great.
“Just running some errands,” he said, and kept walking.
Derek drove slowly next to him, keeping pace to continue the conversation through the window. “Isaac told me about yesterday. How did Scott’s transformation go?”
“Fine!” Stiles said, completely and illogically unwilling to seek help from Derek in any way, shape, or form on this matter. As weird as Deaton was, as stupid and probably useless as this book would be, it was still his job. Scott was Stiles’ friend. Stiles’ responsibility. And Stiles would fix this. Come hell, or high water, or wolfsbane.
“Then why do you have a raw steak in your hand?”
“We’re having a barbeque.” Stiles was good at flippant.
“If there’s something wrong, I need to know,” Derek said angrily.
Stiles stopped and turned towards the car. Derek slammed on the brakes. “Why? Why do you need to know?”
“Because with the threat of the alpha pack looming, we need everybody in top shape. I know Scott and I aren’t on the best of terms right now, but we are still gonna need to rely on each other to face what’s coming. If there’s a problem, I can help.”
Jesus, didn’t anyone think Stiles could handle one little werewolf? “Actually, I’m pretty sure you can’t help. But don’t worry, Derek. I’m on top of it. I have everything under control.”
Derek sighed and rolled his head to the side, preparing his next wave of arguments. Then he stopped and stared at something through the windshield of his car. Stiles followed his line of sight. Deaton. Standing on the other side of the road. Watching them.
Wow, that’s creepy, Stiles thought. Is this part of guiding? Being a creeper?
“Yeah, I guess it is under control,” Derek said with a note of finality. He threw his car into gear and sped off.
Stiles made a what gives motion at Deaton - well he tried to, but with all the stuff in his arms it came out as more of a spastic shrug, one that sent half his curly fries to the ground. Deaton just glared then melted away into an alleyway.
So, Deaton was keeping tabs on him. Stiles refused to let himself get any more upset about this. Deaton had given him the tools and was going to let him figure out the solution on his own. It was kind of nice to think he was out there, waiting. If he couldn’t figure it out, then Deaton could just give Scott the antidote and it would all be fine. This was gonna be fine.
Later, after feeding and watering the wolf, feeding himself, and making the usual check-in calls with his dad and texting Scott’s mom from his phone, Stiles sat with the book and began to read it.
The first few chapters were about the differences between born werewolves and bitten ones, and all the symptoms and side effects of having this affliction. There was a chapter on plants, and the effects of them on