I N S T I N C T | Jackson Whittemore

38: opposite day

Opposite Day
Chapter Thirty Eight

Scott held a small syringe of clear liquid and a small, glass bottle full of the same substance. He looked up at Deaton, staring down at the metal-table in his practice, examining the various items he had set out for Scott's adventure tonight at the rave. They were going to capture Jackson... somehow. The gang had yet to recognize their inexcusable mistake of not telling Annie the big, master plan. She just always seemed to know everything, they just figured...

"Ketamine?" Scott read the label slowly, looking up at Deaton who stood there nodding.

"It's the same stuff we use on the dogs, just a higher dosage. If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down enough to buy you some time," Deaton turned to Stiles who stood next to Scott, playing with the string on his hoodie. Deaton snapped him from his own little world and brought him back to reality, his hands hovering over a type of black dust spilled on the table, next to a large garbage bag full of it. "This is some of what you'll use to create the barrier. This part is for you, Stiles. Only you."

Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, waving his hands and biting his tongue, "Uh, that sounds like a lot of pressure. Can we maybe find a slightly less pressure-filled task for me?"

Deaton inhaled, patience being key, "It's from the Mountain ash tree, which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. This office is lined with ashwood, making it difficult for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble."

Stiles raised his eyebrows, "Okay, so then what? I just spread this around the whole building and then either Jackson or whoever's controlling him can't cross it?"

Deaton nodded, smirking, "They'll be trapped."

Scott bumped his friend's arm, shrugging, "Doesn't sound too hard."

Deaton held up a finger, contradicting Scott's sentence. "Not all there is. Think of it like gunpowder. It's just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles."

Stiles's eyes were the size of golfballs, and he looked from Scott to Deaton, and in between many times to see if Deston was being serious. Finally he sucked in a sharp breath, "If you mean light myself on fire, I don't think I'm up for that."

Deaton sighed, his initial approach failing, "Let me try a different analogy. 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 your own will can accomplish."

Stiles nodded unconvincingly, "Force of will."

"If this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it," Deaton said, taking a deep breath in.

Stiles looked over at Scott, still finding something extremely unsettling about the whole thing, "Mmmmm," he hummed.

* * *

Scott and Stiles's plan was set.... but Annie's was just being established. She stood at the end of her father's long, metal table, various blueprints of Beacon Hills laid upon the surface.

Her brother—Sam—Kyle, Chris, Gerard, and several more of her family's team surrounded the table for the battle plan they had compromised to take place tonight. Annie, following the boys' lead, had told Scott and Stiles nothing about the Argent's plan to capture Jackson and/or Jackson's master.