Sage ▸ Stiles Stilinski [Book One]

23.

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TWENTY THREE.

        "What? How do—" 

        Sage was cut off when Deaton grabbed a hold of Scott, completely dismissing her. She wouldn't have thought twice about it seeing as though blood was seeping through Scott's shirt and not her's, but the way Deaton immediately knew to go to Scott came off as if he knew the werewolf was the source of the problem. Sage narrowed her eyes on the man, keeping a grip tightly onto her waist to ease the pain. She didn't trust him, especially since he seemed to know about the supernatural secret Beacon Hills was keeping. It didn't look like werewolves were the only thing he understood though. 

        "Sage, I understand you have a lot of questions, but right now I don't have time to give you the answers. They're going to be coming back, and I can't explain to either of you what you need to know in that amount of time," Deaton explained, rummaging through his cabinet until he found a bottle that Sage couldn't read from her position near the door. Scott didn't seem excited about whatever Deaton had in his hands, leaning back a bit as the veterinarian got a cotton ball wet. 

        "What is that?" Scott muttered, looking back towards Sage in concern. She rarely spoke the whole way to the clinic, only asking Scott if he was okay before letting out a series of painful groans herself. He saw the interaction between Derek and her, and he knew she wasn't okay about it. Derek made the choice to not only injure Scott, but to injure Sage as well. It was something Scott wondered if she would ever get over. 

        Deaton gave Scott a dumbfounded look, "Rubbing alcohol. You don't want it to get infected, do you?" Scott shook his head, and Sage couldn't help but stare at the body on the operation table. She knew he was a hunter, and no doubt had killed people exactly like Derek or Scott, but she couldn't help feeling bad that he died that way. Something was in Beacon Hills, and it was killing people. The biggest question is how long it will be before it kills one of her friends. "It will heal the same, just not as quickly because of Derek. Sage, I can give you some pain killers until the pain wears away but that's all." 

        "How do you know all of this?" Sage demanded, growing anxious the more Deaton spoke. He  practically just confirmed that he knew how her abilities work and that she's not human. "Did my parent's tell you?" 

        "That's a long story, Sage. But I do know a lot about your kind," He looked between Scott and Sage, as if he were trying to let them know he knew everything about werewolves. Sage began to hope that Deaton knew what she was and could tell her before she went out of her freaking mind doing research. Ripping pieces of tape off with his teeth, Deaton began to patch up Scott, "Your kind, I can help. But this," He gestured towards the hunter, "is something else."

        Scott shook his head, trying to grasp all of the information that was being thrown at his face, "Do you know what did it?" 

        "No, but the Argent's will, and this is the crucial part. They'll have some kind of record, or book, with descriptions, histories, notations. All of the things they've discovered," Deaton explained, rapidly moving his hands back and forth to get Scott to understand the importance of the object. Sage's interest perked up when she heard the part about 'all the things they have discovered' because that meant she might be in there. She might actually find out what she is. 

        "Things?" Scott exclaimed, "How many different things are there?"

        Deaton went to reply, his eyes connecting with Sage's as he opened his mouth, "Sage can be classified as two things, one of them is a d—" Deaton's voice trailed off when there was a chime, signaling that someone had just arrived at the clinic. With wide eyes, Deaton pushed Scott as quietly and quickly over to Sage who was now standing straight and alert. The two struggled to stay upright as they were pushed together in the confined space, Scott heavily breathing on her shoulder. She shifted uncomfortably, the wound from Scott was pressed up against one of the hinges on the swinging door. She really needed to know what she was.