Teen Wolf (LegaciesxTeenwolf)

S E V E N T E E N

"Ketamine?" Scott questioned as the Veranarian, Deaton, held up the vial and syringe. Scott, Stiles, and I stood together on the other end of the table, hoping for a way to weaken Jackson.

"It's the same stuff we use on the dogs just a higher dosage." Deaton replied, setting both the vial and syringe in front of us on the table. "If you can get close enough to Jackson it should slow him down enough to buy you some time."

"This," he held up a jar filled with what appeared to be dark colored sand, "is what you'll use to create the barrier. This part is for you, Stiles." He set the bar down. "Only you." He emphasized.

"Uhh, that sounds like a lot of pressure." He said, taking the jar, "Can we maybe find the slightly less pressure filled task for me?"

"It's from the mountain ash tree." Deaton explained. "Which is beloved by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. Sulfas is lined with ash wood, making it difficult for someone like Scott or Hope to cause me any trouble."

"Ok, so then what? I just spread this around the whole building and then neither Jackson or whoever's controlling him can cross it?"

"They'll be trapped." Deaton nodded. Scott looked at Stiles. "Doesn't sound too hard." He said to him.

"Not all there is." We looked back to Deaton. "Think of it like gunpowder. It's just powder until a spark ignited it. You need to be that spark, Stiles."

"If you mean light myself in fire, I don't think I'm up for that." He replied nervously.

"Let me try a different analogy." Deaton chuckled slightly. "I used to Golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind, and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of you own will can accomplish."

"Force of will." Stiles looked down, doubting himself.

"Hey," Stiles looked up again, "if this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it." Stiles nodded and took a dramatic breath.

"Hey," they all looked at me, "Stiles, it's basically your imagination, and you already have pretty strong one. Once you imagine it, believe it." I advised.

"Precisely." Deaton said, eyeing me curiously.

~

I stood in front of the sink, the tap water running. I took a deep breath. "Confuso fatina, ignos et ignos
mortifina." I muttered. Nothing happened. I dropped my hand down to my sides, letting out a frustrated sigh. I turned the tap off and sat down at the table. Freya, Keelin, and Nik were all at dinner. I just told them I wasn't feeling up to it and they reluctantly let me off the hook.

Just then, my phone rang, breaking the silence. I pulled it out of my pocket, answered it, and put it up to my ear.

"Hope, I'm almost out of mountain ash. You gotta help me. I mean I- I'm out here all alone like a fricken idiot with a handful of magic fairy dust and- and I'm hearing gunfire and werewolves and you just- you gotta come help me. I know you said you couldn't come but I have like fifty feet of distance left to cover and I don't know what to do."

"Okay, breathe." I said into the phone, quickly standing up. "You know I want to help, Stiles, but I can't. You have to do this on your own, just like Deaton said, your the only one that can. You just got to believe, Stiles. Belief is more powerful than knowledge, right?" I tried to reassure him.

"That fact that there's a bumper sticker with those exact words on it right now would be a bit funny if I weren't so freaked out."

"Is it Einstein?" I asked knowingly.

"..... yes."

"You can do this, Stiles. And if you do I will... um..... I'll let you have another go at playing the therapist." I said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do this. I just gotta believe. Just gotta believe." He muttered before hanging up the phone. I placed mine on the table and turned around, knitting my brows together in confusion as I saw a candle lit that I could've sworn wasn't lit before. Or maybe it was and I'm just delusional. I sighed and walked over, blowing it out before sitting back down at the table.

I thought for a minute before picking up my phone and scrolling through my contacts, pressing on one I haven't for a while now. I put it up to my ear. The phone rang once. Twice. Three times before the sound of someone picking up came through the speaker.

"Hope? Is that you? What's going on?"

I paused.

"Hope?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Anything. Shoot."

"Thanks, Dr Saltzman."

"Happy to help."