Going...home? (TW/AA)

Forming a Plan (13) - Part 2

A/N
The pic at the top has absolutely nothing to do with this story but I thought I should share it anyway

Stan laid out a map of Beacon Hills across the coffee table in the living room. It was roughly 1mx1.5m large and was filled with different coloured sticker dots. The different dots all corresponded to a stage in the investigation. Green was solved (they had arrested someone for the murder), yellow was to be determined, red was unsolved and blue was just pretty. The map was filled with only red dots.

The explanation about the dotting system on the map made small smiles spread out on the faces of the people who had known Mitch when he was still called Stiles. His crime board for supernatural investigations had the exact same colour scheme as Stan's map.

"Our first stage of the plan will rely on getting inside information from you."'Stan started, pointing at Liam as he spoke. "We need to know what the pack will do, where they are going to do it and when they are going to do it. I want to know everything, however insignificant it may seem because the success of this mission relies on the details." He continued. He looked towards Mitch and gave his a small nod to take over the explanation of the plan.

"The fact that we know about Scott and Deucalion and they don't know that we know about them doing whatever they are doing that we don't know of yet but will need to know about, is a big advantage." Everyone in the room stood with slightly confused expressions on their faces as their brains tried to work out what Mitch had just said. Mitch let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose as he repeated his sentence again, but much slower. This seemed to allow the other people in the room to catch on to what he was saying and nod in agreement with his statement.

"Er yeah, as Mitch put it so eloquently, we need to use their ignorance to our advantage. The less they know the better and the more we know the better. Savvy?" Newt said from beside Mitch. A chocked laugh came from deep within Mitch's throat when Newt said "Savvy?", the first thing he thought of was Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean. The line paired with his English accent just made it all the more funnier to him. At the withering glare sent to him by Newt, he cleared his throat, composed himself and sobered up.

"Anyway, where were we again? Oh yeah, right ok. So, we need access to Scott whilst he is asleep so we can chip him." Mitch continued after he finished laughing. Liam looked thoroughly confused when Mitch said that they would need to chip Scott and Newt seemed to pick up on it.

"Bloody hell, have you never watched James Bond? Or any spy film for that matter? We need to put a micro-chip in his neck to track where he is. It also allows us to measure electrical signals and his heart rate so that we can tell what kind of mood he's in, if he's stressed etc." Newt answered the blonde puppy eyed boy. Liam blushed and looked at the floor in shame because he hadn't actually ever seen a Bond film, even though Mason had always tried to bully him into doing so. Mason, who was stood next to Liam, hit the shorter boy over the head once Newt had finished his explanation, almost as if to say 'seriously?! What the fuck'.

"Our second stage of the plan will rely on using any information we manage to acquire from phase 1. We need to eavesdrop on any conversation between the Demon and Scott, this will give us an idea of when and where they will strike. It will also help us to get solid evidence that we can use as proof of their crimes. CIA intel managed to hack into Scott's computer, he really needs some proper software protection because it only took us two minutes to get access to every file on his computer. We think that their final plan will be a bomb of some sort, there wasn't enough information on his computer to get anything concrete but that's what it looks like it's going to be." Stan had decided to take full control of the situation due to the exasperation he could practically smell coming off of Mitch and Newt in waves.

"That's all we've got so far because we can't plan stage three until we have intel, so, the faster we get something, the better." Stan finished off. He waved his hand towards the door in the universal signal of 'get out', the rest of the people in the room started to filter out of the door way, until only the Sheriff was left.

"Can I help you Sheriff?" Stan asked him, even though he already had a pretty good idea what this was about. The Sheriff turned towards him and stared straight into Stan's emotionless dark eyes.

"I don't know what you've done to my son but I swear to God if he gets hurt in any way, even the tinniest fucking scratch, you will be a dead man."

Stan just looked at the Sheriff in amusement, he raised a sceptical eyebrow at the man stood in front of him.

"I really don't think threatening a CIA official is the smartest move you could make." Stan replied. The Sheriff's eyes narrowed but he decided against arguing further.

"Look, you clearly mean a lot to Sti-Mitch and, being his mentor, I don't doubt that you know how to handle your shit, so let's at least try to cooperate. For his sake." The Sheriff finished, stepping closer to Stan with his right hand raised towards him to shake. Stan just raised the left side of his lips in a lopsided half-smile and shook the Sheriff's hand.

After the slightly awkward encounter, the Sheriff left Stan's apartment. Stan walked over to his now empty whiskey glass before pouring himself a double and downing it like it was water. He let out a shaky breath that was disturbed by the sound of gunfire. Stan shot upright as the long forgotten glass fell on the floor with a smash. He spun around, gun in his hand, ready to face whatever threat was coming next. The gunfire stopped. Stan crouched down and made his way towards the window to check what was happening outside. It was silent. A sudden wave of realisation washed over Stan as he cursed himself. Goddamned PTSD. He had been fine for the last few months, able to keep his episodes to a minimum but being in Beacon Hills must be fucking with his mind. There was no gunfire. It was all in his head. He unclipped the safety catch on his pistol before firing round after round into the fireplace. If anyone found out about his PTSD, his career would be in tatters.

A/N

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