At Twilight (TW/TVD Crossover)

Chapter 17

A/N: It's so shameful that I haven't updated this story in so long. The chapters been done, I've just put off editing for literal months...and it's not even that long loll. Forgive me, I'll do better with chapter 18(hopefully).

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Also I'm no longer using grammarly to check for grammatical error because they're training AI off our work so if you catch any grammar errors... No you didn't lmaoo

Chapter 17

Stiles winced at the sharp, squeaky creak his front door emitted. It was late, way later than he should be coming home, especially on a school night. He was already on thin ice with his dad after the sheriff received a call from the school's front office about his not up to scratch attendance but there was nothing he could do. Too much was going on.

He paused with bated breath, waiting for his dad's irate timber to reach him, then exhaled in relief when it didn't. For once thanking God that he was built like the wooden plank Rose clung to after the Titanic crashed instead of cursing it, he turned sideways and wiggled through the gap, into the house. Drawn by a soft light in the kitchen, he headed there knowing since his dad wasn't awake to rail at him, he would be passed out at the table until morning if Stiles didn't wake him up. Which he would do after sneaking upstairs to change into pajamas.

His brows furrowed when he cleared the archway into the kitchen after coming back downstairs in a set of plaid pajamas. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table, as expected, upright with his head cocked back, soft snores escaping him. Even in rest he looked troubled, with his brows furrowed and his lips tipped down at the corners. That had become normal in the past few years. The table, though, was a mess of paperwork and manila folders. Stiles' first true clue that things weren't okay. Sheriff Stilinksi lived life as regimented as when he'd been in the army. From waking up at the same time each morning, to how he tucked his sheets in while making his bed, which had driven his mom crazy. And that control doubled when it came to his work, work that he was passionate about–-protecting the town, solving crime, saving lives— and poured his all into.

Something was seriously wrong.

Stiles crept closer to his father, his stomach immediately heaving when it landed on the Medical Examiner's office photos peppered throughout paperwork. He forcibly swallowed down the burning bile that crept up his throat. He'd seen a lot in the past few years since that night in the woods when Scott had been bitten and turned but nothing ever made laying eyes on a corpse easier. Especially this corpse. He pulled the photo nearest to him closer, glancing at his dad to make sure he was still asleep, before pointlessly bracing himself and glancing back down. His heart took off in a gallope in his chest. He'd never seen anything like it. And whoever or whatever had done it might just be the most powerful thing they'd faced yet.

His English teacher's corpse was a moltted mixture of grays, reds, blues and purples. A gash surrounded by crusted blood sat at his throat where it had been slit. His skin laid on his bones, it seemed, as if there were no muscle in between, as if everything inside him had been vacuumed out like those travel compression bags.

And then there, low on his forehead, was the mark. Stiles would have missed it had he not been looking.  Round and no bigger than a quarter, it sat unassumingly between Mr. Miller's eyebrows. The inside of the circle itself seemed to be an inescapable maze with a star that seemed to be in motion. Hands shaking and stomach roiling, Stiles reached into his back pocket for his phone and snapped a few pictures, including close ups of the mark and some of the paperwork before waking his dad, distractedly checking in with him and quietly heading upstairs. He wished he could wipe the pictures from his mind as easily as he would wipe them from his phone as soon as possible.