Changing Patterns

• 7 •

"Talking"  'Thinking...
Important
_writing_
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"He's what's called a Crill." Deaton starts quietly. His hands planted on the metal next to the boy. "They aren't dangerous creatures, well, most of the time. Crill's are Dream workers. They attach themselves to one human, and they create beautiful dreams for them. Those dreams come to life, as long as someone doesn't try to wake up the human, the crill wont become harsh. They are never violent."

The few in the room stared at Deaton. The explanation had sent them spiraling and confused. "Except he tried to kill me." Stiles spoke harshly. "I was just trying to shower, and no one else in the house had this kid, this crill."

Stiles had tried standing next to the boy, try to talk to him, try to keep him calm. Derek planted himself between the two as an answer, a barrier. Scott shifted in his place uncomfortably on the left side of the kid. The boy had no control over himself before, but know with an herb Deaton gave him, he was drowsy and to weak to shift.

"I'm not quite sure that's really what was happening. Crill's are not violent creatures." Deaton answers.

"Alright fine." Stiles sighed in frustration, stepping toward Deaton and the scared boy. "And what about the word he said. Opiekun? It's polish."
Stiles pronounced the word flawlessly, earning a few looks here and there.

    "Also impossible" the vet shakes his head. "Crill cannot speak when in their form, you misheard." Deaton avoided Stiles's eyes, not from a lie, no he was telling the truth. A Crill cannot speak in its form. Deaton looked away from stiles, a secret he was holding.

    "Tshhh!" Stiles kicked the metal tables leg and huffed in anger. He stormed for the door grumbling nonsense. "I'm not crazy, i know what I heard."

    Stiles stops in his tracks. He stands at the door gate that separated the waiting room and the back, he stared at the three, muddy creatures before him. All different sizes and mixtures of the supernatural, all starring back at stiles with hollow white glowing eyes, and all huge. Stiles backs up and clashes with the wall, quickly spinning and rushing back inside.

    "Golumn." He huffs, "there are three huge golumn's in the waiting room."

    Deatons head swings quickly. He'd been checking on the boys vitals and what not, making sure he was okay. Stiles huffs a breath and is instantly captured in two tanned and large arms. Derek leads stiles away from the entrance and tucks him behind himself. Stiles puffs a sigh in annoyance and stares. Derek and Scott both rush forward to attack the golumn's in an attempt to figure out their origins.

    A clawed hand wraps around both of Stiles's arm, another over his mouth as he screams for help. Fighting uselessly against a werewolf, one they hadn't known about in beacon hills. Hell they hadn't know about a family of Crill in beacon hills. They've really gotta pay more attention. Deaton whips out a weapon, pointing it at the wolf snickering over Stiles's shoulder, her clawed hand falling to the humans neck and puncturing three nails into the skin. Stiles grits his teeth with a groan.

    Deaton falters, and lowers the weapon, being sure to avoid its barrel from being directed toward anyone. The boy had crawled to the floor and hid in the corner, Derek and Scott could be heard fighting the golumn's in the waiting room. Stiles's heart pricked with the thought that nothing could be done. His mind fell over that thought that he was going to die at this random wolfs hands. She growled, a cold chill running down Stiles's back.