Changing Patterns

• 19 •

"Talking"  'Thinking...
Important
_writing_
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"Let's start with privacy." Deaton said looking up and around the living room full of pack members. His eyes then fall down to stiles, one foot pulled up to plant his knee to his chest as he wrapped his arms around his leg. His other foot kicked lightly against the couch as he sat expectantly.

There were small murmurs in the room, a few leaving and a few staying, reluctant to not listen in on the situation. Scott growled deep in his throat and the pack quickly perked into listening, stiles glancing back over his shoulder at his best friend, over his other shoulder Derek stood looking at the upset pack. He muttered something about outside so they couldn't listen in with their wolfy hearing. Then looked to stiles with a question in his eyes. The human smiled the lightest of smiles with a small nod that Derek reciprocated before staying put next to Scott behind the couch. The true alpha looked quizzically at Derek than stiles and sighed placing a supportive hand to the humans shoulder.

"This is everyone you want?" Deaton asked stiles happily, his eyes traveling to the less understood alpha choice.

"Yeah.." stiles answered quietly. "Scott says you have something that can help me, and explain this entire fiasco of crazy supernaturals." He stated more then questioned the vet who nodded in turn.

"I do, for starters. Deaton pulled that same book from his little bag that Lydia and Scott had seen the day before. "I want to start by solidifying the fact that your human, as odd as it sounds at the moment, but you are- no matter what, human."

Stiles nodded with a confused pinch in his brown. His bottom lip being taken in for a chew-full stress releasing action. His eyes still expectant to the vet as he opened the book and absently dug In his bag for more.

"Know, for the part that's personal. Your mother." He stated calmly and looked to stiles, his heart sky rocketed for a moment before settling into a fast pace.

"Mom? What?" His voice was small and almost scared as he spoke. Scott's hand tightened on his shoulder in a reassuring manor.

"She was what we call a Sanctor. A supernatural ward to say the least. Her presence and connection to the Nematon allowed her to keep supernatural beings away from beacon hills..." his words were calm and more steady as he spoke, quiet, slow, and cautious to Stiles's image of his mother.

"And she was... human? L-like me right?" The vet nodded and stiles mimicked the motion.

"Sanctor's are closely related to a witch, who use enchanted objects of sacrifices to gain power. Except a Sanctor has a natural affinity to the supernatural, or magic, if you may. Rather then an enchanted or magical object they are enchanted." His words shook Stiles's hands, he gripped them together. "I have reason to believe that when your mother got sick, she set something in place to hold off those same abilities within you."

"W-what like spells and shit?" Stiles scattered, he didn't like this, he didn't like the idea and images at all. He hated the change in his past.

"No, like I said, a Sanctor is the enchanted part, you can't do "magic" anymore stiles, if you'd been younger, the ward your mother put on you hadn't lasted as long, you'd be able to do some things." He shook his head and studied the boy before him with worry. "It's been to long, locked away to long, it's gone. If you don't use it, it diminishes and moves to the next generations Sanctor." He cleared up as the humans head bowed and shook.