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It was 1801 or 1810 or maybe it was fifty years before that. Time was hard to keep track of. Scott had almost given up more times than he could count, but the process kept him grounded. People cared about dates, and even if he wasn’t one of them, he had to pass as one. The option to sit idle and hide was long gone. Theo was somewhere out there, baiting him, taunting him. They’d chased each other across the globe, and though he’d lost his last lead, Scott trekked on. Fate had a way of bringing them together. It was only a matter of time.
He was careful on his quest in a way he hadn’t been in the past. He didn’t think like a human. He had to remind himself constantly how to be one of them, and sometimes, he wondered if he had any idea how to after all these years when every decision they made could have such immediate consequences, while his troubles stretched on for centuries. He was certain of one thing. The important parts of humanity were worth holding onto. He refused to kill, not if there was another way, and not unless it was entirely necessary. There were always lines he wouldn’t cross, even during his time as the Ghost, but they were now carved in stone instead of slashed on parchment.
He crossed the American country side, just another vagabond. No one knew of the nearly endless reserves of precious stones and gold he’d squirreled away. No one needed to. There was only him and his quiet path. When he stopped at the quiet farm house, like he had a thousand times before to look for lodging for the night and a warm meal, he hadn’t expected anything different. Then the front door slammed open and he was bowled over by the world’s happiest mutt.
“Jack, Jack heel!”
Scott laughed, trying to avoid a slobbery bath, and looked up to see bright expressive eyes and the warmest smile he’d seen in a long time. He didn’t know it then, but he’d just come home.
He hadn’t meant to stay past the morning, but there were a lot of things he hadn’t meant to do. The farmer was a quiet man trying to scratch out a living on the edge of a frontier all alone except for the hounds that crowded into the small homestead with enthusiastic friendliness. He worked hard and Scott offered to help with the chores to pay him back for the kindness of a bed and a warm meal. But one night turned to two, then a week, then a month. It was an accident, but Scott didn’t show any signs of moving on.
Theo was still out there in the world doing god knew what with his victims. Scott didn’t know what his former husband was planning or why each sightless corpse made the opals around his wrist bleed red, but it was more than just murder. There was dark magic involved somehow, no doubt part of the ritual that had stolen away their mortality. Perhaps he was trying to complete the spell and bind Scott’s will to his own like he’d wanted to all those years ago. The thought kept him awake at night, too many nightmares from too many lifetimes to ever be able to sleep anymore. Whatever Theo was planning, he needed to be stopped and every day Scott rolled out of bed determined to pick up the trail again.
But the farmer would flash that sweet smile and Scott would find more excuses to stay. It had been so many years since he’d been anything but a warrior and it felt good to grow something instead of destroying it. He helped to plow the fields, tending to the crops and taking care of the few animals that the farmer managed on his own. At night, they’d share a meal and a pipe on the porch of the little farmhouse and watch the sun go down.
Love was another accident, one he actively tried to avoid. The world had changed since he could have loved freely among tropical isles or in isolated cabins in ancient woods. Crossing that line with another man wasn’t just a secret sin that was known and purposely ignored anymore and Scott did his best to keep his distance, even when his body ached with neglect.
The farmer came to him first, like Stiles always had, shy and careful when the sun had gone down and with the rest of their furry family dozing at their feet. It was careful, almost too cautious to be enjoyable, but Scott guided him, and they refused to call it an accident.
They lived a quiet, simple life but a good one. Sometimes there were bad harvests. Sometimes they couldn’t make ends meet, and the farmer always threw up an unhappy fuss when Scott refused to eat during their trying times. They were so detached from the rest of the world, Scott could almost imagine that time had stopped, until he started to see the changes on his friend’s face, the grey in his hair, the crows feet around his sharp eyes. A bad winter came and went, but it didn’t take the chills it gave the farmer with it. By then, Scott was already working the land alone. Their evenings ended earlier and earlier. As another bone-rattling cough tore through his fragile frame, his partner asked, “What’ll happen to you after I’m gone?”
“I’ll endure.” Like Scott always had, and he soothed the worry from his friend’s brow, dropping a gentle kiss on the crease of his forehead. “I’ll find you again. I promise.”
“My Scott, always taking care of me.” All the strength had gone from his hands, so Scott held on tight enough for both of them.
“Someone’s got to. I love you,” Scott said, and he meant it, like he always meant it. Every time he thought of this moment, he dreaded and ached for it, a chance to finally be together as they were, even if only for a second. A chance to hear the words from a long dead language, words that meant loyalty, devotion, and forever, the chance to hear his best friend as he’d known him first. Scott didn’t miss being a king, but he always missed his knight.
The moment never came. His farmer passed away with a quiet sigh, and the night was still. Realization turned its cruel head, and Scott was certain his heart shattered in his chest. He doubled over, giving into broken sobs. It was over. It was all over. He’d been so sure it was him.
“Oh Isaac…”
“I didn’t always find you, and I wasn’t always right when I thought it was you, but I didn’t stop trying for a very long time. You were my best friend, and I couldn’t let you go.”
Scott McCall, his file said he was twenty-six, said he grew up in New Mexico and was an excellent student at the University of Beacon Hills, where he was mastering in biology. It didn’t say anything about how he could kill a man with his bare hands, or how he was allergic to death. It didn’t say anything about why someone so young looked so tired.
Stiles sat in stunned silence, trying to process a thousand years of heartache. This young man had been a king and a soldier, a pirate and a wanderer. The whole story was incredible, impossible, and the proof was right in front of his face. The blood was drying on the floor, but Scott’s body was already whole like he’d never been hurt in his life. He didn’t want to believe, not without picking apart this mystery like a snarled knot and finding the truth at the center of it. There was always a reason to things, magic wasn’t real.
“You’re saying I’m some reincarnated version of your boyfriend? I knew you were in to me when I dragged your hot butt to the station.” It was easier to joke than to admit how much it scared him.
Scott just shook his head, hiding his smile behind his hands. He’d seemed like just a handsome grad student, but the more Stiles watched, the more that image frayed around the edges. There was something off that he couldn’t put his finger on. Something in his eyes that knew too much, some way he carried himself like he was ready to attack. Some kind of unnatural grace in the way he moved like he was completely aware of himself at every moment. There were cracks that he tried to hide, a weight on his shoulders and a distance that set him apart. He looked human, acted human, but he wasn’t. Stiles just hadn’t seen it before.
“It’s more complicated than that, but yes. You could be? I’m pretty sure you are.”
“But you don’t know for sure. I could just be some random guy you met, like that Isaac guy.”
Scott shut down, expression closing off. “Maybe. I’ve found you when you were a kid and followed me around for years, I found you when you were so old that you could barely walk. Sometimes I didn’t find you at all, I have no idea what happened to you when you were on your own. I always hoped you found some peace. I could be wrong, but I’ve been right a whole lot over the years.” He stood up, not looking at the detective as he dropped his ruined shirt on the floor. “I need a shower.”
Immortality seemed a lot easier to believe than that Stiles was part of some never ending tragic love story. If it had been him, he would be able to remember something, right? Scott seemed like a good guy and he was definitely attractive, but a destined inescapable love? Things like that were more impossible than the dead coming back to life.
Scott knew he was running, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He turned the water up to scalding and watched the water at his feet turn pink. Scott didn’t know if he wanted Stiles to still be in his home when he emerged, or not.
He’d never told Stiles the truth like this. Parts of it had always come out, especially during the good times, when they could spend decades together, when they had a chance to build a home together. Scott always dreaded it. Once the truth came out, it hung over their heads, sharper and more painful every day Stiles got older, and Scott remained unchanging. Resentment could fester so well in those late years. Still, Scott had never told Stiles about those who came before him, or those who would inevitably come after. All those different names and different faces, but the same person inside. How could you expect someone to love you if you made it sound like destiny had taken the choice away from them?
He could see the doubt in his old friend’s face. It was easier to recognize Stiles now; it had been for decades. Some of his habits always shone through, but even if he hadn’t know him as well as he did, the detective’s wariness would have been hard to miss. Maybe it would be enough to save Stiles. If his distance meant Stiles’s safety, Scott would make the trade every time.
There was a crash outside his door, and he feared the worst. He rushed out of the bathroom, towel barely clinging to his hips, only to find Stiles in an ornate ten-gallon hat, with a ceremonial dagger in one hand and an old rag in the other. The hat slipped over Stiles’s eyes before he could do anything to fix his face. Scott burst out laughing.
“This is a stupid hat!”
Scott lost it, roaring with laughter as he slumped against the closest wall, thinking about a brave and impatient Sheriff who loved that hat almost as much as he loved Scott. On the plus side, Stiles had scrubbed the floor clean.
“It is not a stupid hat!”
“It so is. Is this even real? Who the hell would wear something like this?” Stiles tried to tip the brim into a salute and wink seductively as the other man had to wipe tears from his eyes.
You did. Scott didn’t say the words, but he couldn’t stop the warm fondness that bloomed through his chest. Reverently, he took the hat from Stiles’s head, running his fingers carefully over the worn felt of the brim before hanging it back on its hook on the wall. “I always did like hats. It’s a shame no one wears them anymore.” There were few vanities he allowed himself, but he missed the big feathered monstrosity from the Ghost’s time and the dusty, fitted Stetsons and the tallest stovepipe in Philadelphia. His hand lingered over the memories of lifetimes ago before dropping back to his side. He only brought a few mementos with him these days as he moved around, but he never truly threw anything away. He’d been a pirate, he knew how to hide his treasures for when they were needed where no one else could find them.
“Whoa.” Stiles didn’t resist as Scott carefully took the dagger out of the Detective’s hands and put it back on the counter.
“You should be really careful, there’s things here that are dangerous. Try not to stab yourself on anything while I try to find pants?”
“You don’t have to wear pants on my account.” Stiles called after him, absolutely not trying to catch a glimpse of that ass or struck by how the muscles moved beneath the taut tanned skin of Scott’s back. Teasing was easy, but his sharp mind was already trying to piece together the truth and find an explanation for Scott’s story that didn’t involve him losing his mind.
“Trust me, they’re not.” Scott shook his head, and Stiles was disappointed to find that he had, in fact, found pants.
“It’s not like they helped any in the ally.” Stiles answered. He held himself like he was waiting for a sign, even if he dramatically splayed himself across Scott’s couch. Scott was being incredibly reasonable about all this. He wanted to take advantage of that, because there was nothing else reasonable about what he was hearing. “You never did tell me who that guy was.”
Scott averted his gaze, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He could use Stiles’s help. The detective was in a position that could make him a valuable ally, but Scott knew that was only part of it. He always worked better when his best friend was at his side. Stiles was just as much of a victim of Theo’s as he was. But Stiles was still the only one who could walk away from this.
“I’m going to kill him, Stiles.” Scott said evenly. “Before he can hurt anyone else, I’m going to stop all of this. I’m telling you right now, there’s nothing you or the police can do to stop me. You’ll never be able to catch me if I run, and all you’ll do is help him. You can still forget this ever happened. If you do, I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep this whole mess away from you.”
The steady, unflinching certainty in Scott’s voice destroyed any humor Stiles could have mustered. He sat up straighter, nodding tersely. This was a terrible idea, but apparently, watching a man come back to life made him extra susceptible to those.
“I need a name, Scott, or I’m not making any promises.”
Scott cracked a smile. It was sharp enough to cut. “Theodore Raeken, former knight of Camelot, one of King George the Third’s finest soldiers and from what I can tell, a blood mage. But you know him as the Blind Man.”
Stiles swore loudly. Scott couldn’t do this. He couldn’t drag real world problems into a fantasy. It sounded like Scott was treating a serious, genuinely dangerous threat like a joke, and he expected Stiles to step away from his own investigation for shits and giggles. This whole thing had to be staged. “You’re telling me that an international serial killer is, for some reason, specifically targeting a grad student at UBH?”
Scott laughed, and it sent chills up Stiles’s spine.
“I’m telling you he’s been killing since before cameras existed. I’m telling you he gouges out his victim’s eyes after he stabs them through the heart with some kind of ritual dagger.”
“How did you get that?! You can’t have that information that’s-!”
“I’m telling you he’s a monster, and I’m the only one who can stop him.”
Stiles debated slapping cuffs on the man and dragging him down to the station for a mental evaluation or even just walking out the door. He was in way over his head and only stubborn pride kept him from running. Magic and undead killers, this was straight out of a fantasy movie. He’d always wanted to be a superhero as a kid, but facing down the supernatural was a lot more terrifying in reality than it had ever been in his daydreams. When Scott looked at him like that, it was impossible to forget how very inhuman he was.
“You don’t have to do this.” Scott’s voice gentled and Stiles wanted so hard to believe it. “This isn’t your fight, it’s so much older than you. It’s my responsibility to stop him, all you have to do is stay clear.”
“But he shot you.” He gestured to the other man’s stomach where there wasn’t even a scar in the unbroken skin. Stiles gulped hard.
“And I’m fine. You promised me once that you’d always be at my side. I don’t know if that’s why you’ve followed me for so long, but just let this be over. I’ve watched too many people die, don’t make me lose you too.”
The detective bristled at the assumption. He might be scared out of his mind, but he wasn’t going to just give up or run away. He was one of the youngest detectives on the force and he’d worked hard for the position. He was trained, he was armed, and it was his job to catch this killer once and for all. Scott’s expression made him hesitate, but he was too brash to ever listen to caution. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m a cop, I’m not going to let you try and handle some psycho killer on your own even if you are…whatever it is you are. I’m going to help.”
Scott sighed and rubbed a tired hand across the bridge of his nose. He should have known better than to tell Stiles no, it almost always guaranteed he’d do the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do. He had a room full of antiques and curiosities, a few magic tricks he’d picked up along the way, and a too eager young man who ignored his own mortality and was willing to throw himself headlong into death. No one ever expected they wouldn’t make it. Dying was only sad for those left behind to remember.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on or if I’m the long lost reincarnated Queen of England. It doesn’t matter, just let me help. Scott, please. You can’t do this alone.”
“You don’t even know me, you shouldn’t risk yourself.”
Stiles punched him lightly in the shoulder. “That’s my decision.”
“Fine.” Arguing was useless, no matter what life Stiles found himself in, he always did what he wanted anyways. “On one condition. When this is over, you walk away. This is the last time, Stiles. I’m too old and too tired, I’m done fighting. When this is over, you turn your back on me and I don’t see you again. Ever.”
Stiles couldn’t breathe. It was like all the air had been punched out of him, and all that was left was a throbbing hole in his chest. Heat pooled behind his eyes, and for one painful moment, he thought he was going to scream. It was over as quickly as it came, leaving Stiles hollow and confused. Scott was talking nonsense. Delusion was a heady drug. He had no reason to miss someone he barely knew. Being around Scott McCall almost felt like its own curse.
“Deal.”
Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever be back to Scott’s apartment after everything he’d seen, but he found himself standing outside of the other man’s door with an arm full of police files and a bag of Chinese food balanced on his hip. Magic and destiny weren’t things he knew anything about, but catching a killer was his specialty. If Scott had information, then it made sense to work together to track down the Blind Man before he killed again. If it meant he had to spend more time with the strange, handsome grad student, so be it. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
Scott laughed and took the food from Stiles’s arms, helping move box after box of files into his apartment. “Did you bring enough stuff? It’s like you’re moving in.”
“Until this guy is caught, I basically am.” Stiles said, sliding a box full of files across the floor with his foot. “I can’t bring the ‘immortal serial killer’ theory to my Captain without losing my job, so if that’s what we’re up against, we’ll work this case from here.”
The other man only smiled behind his eggroll, always proud of Stiles’s stubborn determination.
He was still strange, Stiles decided, otherworldly. But his anxiety slowly faded away over the next few days when frustrated arguments over evidence turned into just as heated disagreements over movie choices and Scott laughed so hard at a fart joke that he fell off the end of the couch. He was more than just a cute face (and a tight ass) or some strange ageless creature. He was funny and bright, too sweet even when Stiles was abrasive. He had the worst sense of humor, a love of mismatched socks and complicated Hawaiian pizza. He taped funny pictures on their makeshift murder board when they were stuck, concocting an entire imaginary smuggling ring led by Freddie Mercury and a posse of Carebears when Stiles wasn’t looking and adamantly insisted it was real. When he fell asleep on the couch, slumped against Stiles after too many hours of rereading the same files, he looked so young under all the sorrow.
The more he got to know this impossible Scott McCall, the more Stiles realized how deep in trouble he’d gotten himself.
Stiles woke with a start to find a blanket drawn up to his chin. His face was covered in sleep wrinkles, and the post-it note stuck to the bridge of his nose said ‘I’M A DICK.’ It was the middle of the night, and everything was disorienting and groggy, half-convinced that sleeping for the next 12 hours would only make things better. Across the room, swaddled in blankets and huddled in front of their murder board was Scott. Stiles dragged everything across the couch with him, and returned the post it with a smack to the other man’s forehead. When Scott looked up at him with an easy smile, something in his stomach did flops.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” Stiles asked, and greedily reached for the leftover take out Scott handed him. It was more satisfying than Scott’s halfhearted shrug.
“Egypt… I never guessed he went to Egypt.” At least, not in the past decade. Scott traced over the information they’d gotten from Interpol.
“Well, he leaves a very specific calling card. Did you ever figure out why he does this? His victims are pretty much - all over the board.” It was what had stumped authorities for so long. The Blind Man’s victims came from all walks of life, all socioeconomic groups, all genders and races. It was what helped give credit to his tabloid moniker.
Scott closed the folder in his hands and swallowed. There was only so long he could look at these pictures of the dead, especially knowing that every single one was his fault. If he’d been able to stop Theo sooner, then these people would still be alive. “I don’t know, not for sure. He’s been doing this for hundreds of years. He's doing something to their souls, but I don’t know what.”
“Their souls?” Stiles couldn’t believe he was asking that as a serious question.
“I don’t know if that’s the reason we’re like this. He once told me that the curse he used didn’t work the way it was supposed to. He wants to control me but it didn’t work, so he's...experimenting.” Scott rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. Theo didn’t need magical means to be able to manipulate him, he’d been shaped by his former husband for years. All those deaths on his conscience, all the years of being alone chasing after him had taken its toll. He’d become a monster all on his own without magic, he’d turned into exactly what Theo had always wanted him to be.
“Dude!” Stiles was horrified. “You think he’s doing all of this to control you?” He couldn’t keep the snarl from his voice. He might not have known Scott well, but he was already protective of this ancient, lonely man with such terrible taste in hats. “We’re going to bring him down, I promise.”
The detective tried not to notice how weary Scott’s smile was.
“I’m tired, Stiles.”
“Then, okay, go take a nap. It’s my turn at the board. There’s a nice butt-print on the couch you can settle into.” Stiles decided, crumpling his post-it in his fist.
“That’s not what I meant.” Sleep had only offered him the coldest comfort. Sometimes he felt like it was all he had to look forward to, but there was concern in Stiles’s eyes. It didn’t matter that they weren’t the same. That tug of old familiarity settled over his bones. Scott had never stopped loving him, but knowing this might be the last chance he ever had to see his knight, gave him shameful relief. “All I want is for this to be over. It’s been so very long. And I’m - I’m tired.”
His shoulders slumped as he leaned into the other man’s side. He wanted to remember this the same way he desperately clung to the other memories he kept of his best friend. Keeping his distance was the wise choice. Scott was sorry he was selfish. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I should have run away with you when we had the chance. All I wanted was to make you happy.”
“Scott it’s - none of this is your fault. What are you talking about?”
This Stiles didn’t know, had probably already forgotten their story, but Scott was still selfish. He quietly chided himself. It wasn’t enough to keep him from reaching out and squeezing his best friend’s hand. “Enough of it is. All I’ve got to do is find him. It’s all I have left, and then I can stop.”
Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and dragging gentle fingers through Scott’s messy black hair. It was all he could do to keep from tracing them further down the other man’s jaw, lingering on those plush inviting lips that distracted him every time Scott spoke. “You’re talking about giving up. You actually want to die?”
“Yes.”
“How?! You can’t be serious, you’ve got-“
“My whole life ahead of me?” Scott gave a bitter laugh, but didn’t pull away. He was so weak to let himself fall like this, especially when he knew he couldn’t keep it. One last time, Stiles. Just hold me one last time and I’ll be able to let go, I promise. “I’ve lived a hundred lifetimes and they always end up the same way. Once we find a way stop Theo, then I’ll finally be able to rest too. It’s time, Stiles. I’ve tried so hard to remember who I used to be, but there’s nothing left. There’s just this, I’m just like him now. The only thing that matters is keeping him from hurting any more people.”
Stiles wanted to argue, but what could he say to someone who’d been through so much hell? It wasn’t fair, it would have all been easier if he’d taken Scott’s warning and just walked away. He was too deep into it now and Scott…he wished there was something he could do to keep the broken loneliness from settling in Scott’s dark eyes. There were still flashes of the man he must have been once. Fleeting smiles and that stupid sense of humor that meshed so well with his own. Even after everything, Scott was still so gentle and cared too much, how could a man live like that for a thousand years without finally breaking?
He leaned forward, heart in his throat and words trapped inside. He wanted to reassure Scott, protect him, rail at him until he agreed to keep fighting, but for the first time in his life, he couldn’t catch enough of his scattered thoughts to speak. Stiles drew the other man down, so close that they shared a breath between him and all he had to do was tip his head up to kiss Scott. Would it be enough to make him stay? He hesitated to long, hovering right on the edge of what he wanted and what he knew he couldn't have. Scott pulled away with another one of his sad brittle smiles, slipping out of his grasp and settling the blanket back around Stiles’s body.
“I think I’m going to go make some coffee and take another look at the Germany files. You should get some rest.”
It wasn’t fair. Stiles thought viciously. If he was some long lost star-crossed lover, why was he the one to lose Scott before he’d really even known him? Scott had opened up and told him stories of such raw, desperate passion and heartache, and other versions of himself who’d had something he’d never get to know. They’d all had the chance to be loved by Scott while he never would and it wasn’t fair! It would be so easy to love you.
But he let Scott walk away.
He couldn’t stop moving his hands, sharp pin-prickles flashing across his palms. Stiles had to do something. Idleness was the worst sort of battery, and frustration set it dripping.
“I’m just woke up okay. Okay? Okay,” he called out, as Scott’s coffee maker beeped to life. He plucked one of the local victim profiles out of a manila envelope, making himself comfortable in front of the murder board. “Tell me about Germany. Start with the victims. Did they look the same?”
Scott came back with two steaming cups of Heaven. Stiles tried not to think about Scott already knowing his order. He could have done better.
“No, not at all. One male, one female, ah… Female was in her fifties, male just hit nineteen. Doesn’t look like the investigators could figure out how they were connected.”
“We’re looking at the same thing here.” Stiles frowned, looking through the Beacon Hills profile. “Both male. First victim was new in town, only been here a couple of weeks, unemployed, mid-twenties. Family said… He up and left his job as in IT in Oregon, took a big risk for his girlfriend. She alibied out. Second vic, the one you found doesn’t look like he knew him at all. Lived in the Hills his whole life, high school drop out, dead parents, no siblings. Not many people looking for him, but his drug dealer’s being weirdly cooperative.”
Scott pressed his lips together thoughtfully, spreading out the files on the coffee table. Too many names and smiling drivers’ license photos. Too many cases scattered all over the world, and that never included the ones they’d never found. Or the ones over the centuries. He’d never had access to so much information at once, the only thing he knew was what he could find on the bodies Theo left for him. The police were thorough and Scott had a new appreciation for all the work Stiles had done to pull everything together. With a bigger picture, it might just be enough to crack this.
“The boy in Germany, he’d just gotten engaged. His fiancé was the one who spoke with the police about what happened, but she said he didn’t have any enemies. He was still in school, they had their whole lives together. The woman…recently divorced. They thought her ex had been involved, but they cleared him. Apparently, there was some sort of confrontation between him and the new boyfriend.”
He traced his fingers along the other files, trying to find something that made sense. A young married mother in her 20s in Egypt, a sixteen year old girl in Portland, an 80 year old man in North Carolina. There were so many more than he knew about. Theo only let him find the ones he wanted him to, using them to lure Scott across the world. There were so many other kills that he never would have known about. Each file had extensive reports filed by grieving spouses and loved ones, even the most recent addict hadn’t been unknown. The drug dealer’s statement was full of genuine grief and an admission they’d been more than friends. Theo didn’t target the vulnerable or the invisible, these were people who would be missed, who were loved.
Wait.
Scott shuffled back through the papers, rereading the names of everyone who’d given statements to the police as something sparked in the back of his mind. Stiles had been the first victim all those years ago. Something about Stiles’s death had caused this curse in the first place, why did Theo choose him out of anyone else in the castle? Scott had thought he’d been responsible for so long and once Theo had confessed, assumed it was some sick twisted form of jealousy. He’d eliminated Stiles so there wouldn’t be any competition for Scott’s affections but what-, what if it had been more than that?
Boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, partners, fiances, lovers…
“He’s targeting people in love.”
“What.” It wasn’t a question. Stiles was convinced that Scott really needed a long nap. “So that’s basically, everyone ever at some point or another? You wanna think about lying down for a little while?”
Enthusiasm gave Scott the extra motivation he needed to completely ignore the detective completely. He tore through their files, rereading information that had already burned its way through his brain. Everything clicked together with a new light. “Love or a very intense emotional connection, but love. These stories, every one of them.” His smile pinched, a flicker of hope burning in his dark eyes. Scott could never stop the way his voice softened when he talked about his best friend. “He could have used anyone, anyone at all, but Theo picked Stiles. Before you were Stiles. We were just like these people. We would have done anything for each other. We - the blond - his dealer faced prison to help catch his killer. That girl from Hong Kong traveled across the world to be with her partner. The New Mexico case, he sold his house to save his girlfriend’s life. Stiles, he’s picking off people who are madly, irrationally in love, and. And…”
“Just hold up, okay?! Dude, how do you even find people who are crazy in love? Why would he want them? That’s gotta be the worst, most twisted victim type ever.”
“I don’t know. I can’t answer any of that.” Scott said. “But I think I know how to catch him.”