Til The Dawn [Midnights #1] ✓

chapter 14

Deaton walked up behind Scott slowly as he worked his way down the kennels, cleaning them out like he always did. Methodically. It was the one of the many reasons he liked Scott. One of the many reasons he trusted him. He'd never known anyone his age to care about something the way Scott seemed to care about this job.

He knew about his home life, of course. Everyone in Beacon Hills did. Nothing was a secret here, for one. But Scott's was especially tragic, so that lent itself to being notoriously well-known in most circles, though in very hushed tones most of the time.

Either way, it was nice to have him around. Deaton could leave him to work and know that the job would be finished correctly, the first time, when Scott said he was finished.

A rare quality, even among some adults.

But today seemed different. Not necessarily in a bad way. Just that he felt different. On edge, maybe. If auras were something that Deaton believed in, Scott's would be pulsing an angry color that signaled all sorts of new stress in his life.

"Scott?" he asked gently, standing behind him.

At the sound of his voice, Scott jumped and Deaton instantly felt sorry for startling the boy. When he whirled around, it was Scott who appeared guilty, though the reason for it wasn't clear. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not that Deaton could see.

"Hey, Alan," he answered shakily, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Uh, sorry. Guess I spaced out for a second."

Deaton shook his head. "It's all right, Scott. Are... are you okay, though?"

"Uh, yeah," Scott said, the tips of his ears turning pink. He was hiding something. "School's just started. And I think I might be lacrosse captain soon. It's just a little... much."

"That's totally understandable," he said, nodding along. "I'd be surprised if you weren't distracted."

He offered Scott a timid smile before heading over to the kennel he had been meaning to ask Scott about since he had walked in this morning. He knew Scott had a key, and it had been his job to check in on those animals boarded each morning and evening while Deaton was away the previous weekend, but something wasn't adding up.

He took a few steps around Scott and then motioned toward the mangled door on one of the cages. "Do you know what happened here? I don't remember it being like this when I left on Friday."

The color instantly drained from Scott's face, which meant he did know. It was just a matter of how much he planned on telling Deaton and what kind of trouble he was in.

"Uh, no," he clearly lied. "We had a big, uh, Rottweiler in here this weekend. Maybe he got a little rowdy. I wasn't here the whole time. I didn't even notice until yesterday night when I took him out. I'm sorry. I was gonna fix it," he rushed to say.

"Oh, you're fine," Deaton added quickly. "I just wasn't sure. I'll get it replaced. Don't worry about it. Besides, the walls seem fine. Just a few scratches."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Cool."

His eyes never strayed as Deaton placed his own hand over the scratch marks, noticing the way it was the same space as a hand. Not a paw. And while Deaton knew that Scott was lying, he thought he may have figured out the reason why. If he was right, they were all in a much bigger situation than Deaton had originally assumed. And bigger in Beacon Hills usually meant badder.

Nothing here was ever easy. And he knew that all too well.

"Did you, uh, want me to clean it?" Scott asked hesitantly.

"No, let me get it fixed first. I'll let whoever replaces the door handle it."

"Okay," Scott said, forcing a smile.

He looked up at Deaton for the smallest moment, but it was enough. Enough for Deaton to see proof in Scott's eyes. They were a deep yellow, and it was only a split second, but he didn't miss it. And he knew what it meant, unfortunately.

Though where any of this would've occurred was beyond him. And why the Hales weren't handling it was lost on him as well. It was possible, he guessed, that they didn't know. But not probable. Which just confused him more.

"Scott?" Deaton asked again when he ducked his head. "Are you feeling all right? You seem a little... off."

Scott shrugged, and that seemed like the first honest thing he'd done or said since he walked in after school.

"I had, uh, the stomach flu this weekend," Scott lied again. "The worst of it's over, but I'm pretty tired."

Deaton nodded again, trying to get Scott to look his way once more, but it didn't happen. He seemed embarrassed. Or scared. But it wasn't like he could reach out to Scott like he needed right now.

He could only fix one of his problems.

"Why don't you take off after you finish this last cell?" he proposed. "I won't dock your pay. Just take some time for yourself."

Scott's mouth twitched at the corners, from what little Deaton could see. Then he nodded and turned back to the last cell.

"Thanks, Alan," he said softly. "I will."

Deaton reached out and gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed. He wished desperately that he had more wisdom to give, or that he could talk to him about it at all. But it wasn't his place. It was the Alpha's, and Deaton was no Alpha. He was only the emissary, the guide. Not the teacher. And he had been born for this role, just like Peter and Derek Hale had been for theirs.

He just hated that it now extended to Scott and he couldn't even tell him. This was the boy he had watched grow up. The one who had nervously trotted into his office and asked for an application when he was a freshman in high school, the minute he was eligible to be on anyone's payroll. He was the boy who had grown up before his eyes, never late, never tardy, and absolutely never disrespectful.

He couldn't possibly begin to know what had happened to that boy, but he wasn't a boy anymore. And he would soon find that out.

Deaton watched Scott for a moment from the door and then headed to his office. He was the emissary first. He was Scott's boss second now.

He walked straight to his desk and pulled the keys out of his pocket that would unlock the bottom file drawer. The one no one was allowed in and that was for his eyes only. The one that held Beacon Hills' greatest secrets.

He pulled it open, revealing an assortment of strange objects. The same ones that only made sense to him. Clear glass bottles all clearly marked and with unrecognizable content to anyone that wasn't supposed to be in here.

Tucked in the side drawer beside everything else was his journal. He wasted no more time as he pulled it out and flipped through the pages. They were written in ink, and some of it was faded, but most were still readable, even at a glance.

He found the page he was looking for and took a pen out of his front breast pocket, hesitating for a moment under the column KNOWN BEACON HILLS WEREWOLVES.

He hesitated for two reasons. The list used to be much longer. Now there were several whose names were crossed out. Friends. Family. People he had come to love and be loved by. And people he would never talk to again. Now it held only two names. Peter and Derek Hale.

They were all that remained of any life that had come before the one he knew now.

But the other reason he hesitated was much simpler too. He didn't want to put Scott's name there. He didn't want to accept the truth. He didn't want to condemn this boy, even if someone else had already done it for him.

Putting his name here meant more than Scott understood at this point.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He wrote his name, and then placed two neat question marks next to it. If there was even a chance it wasn't true, he would gladly admit that he was wrong.

But he knew that wasn't the case. He had seen the truth. He just wasn't ready to accept it.