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Stiles walked up the stairs in a trance, the same trance he'd been in since waking up that morning. His stomach rolled and tumbled and flipped, but his heart was calm and beating evenly with determination. Behind him he could hear rain pattering against the windows. The door he was looking for was at the far end of the hallway, completely unassuming. He drew closer and raised a fist to knock, looking at the large, painted letter on the side with trepidation. It was not too late yet to turn around, walk the other way, and pretend he'd never came. No one knew he was there, no one would have to know.
He knocked on the door anyways. For some reason, he expected more of a response then just a shuffling from inside the apartment. It was quiet for a second, then the door unlatched and opened.
The werewolf who opened the door was much different from how Stiles imagined him. He wasn't as tall, or as muscular, but his face was handsome and his disheveled hair was bright. His eyes were covered with a pair of sunglasses, but Stiles could see the weariness underneath them.
The alphas nostrils flared as he sniffed the entryway. He stiffened a little, probably in response to the McCall and Hale scents that intertwined with his own. Stiles thought of saying something, but when he opened his mouth he couldn't find the words.
“Stiles,” Deucalion said it almost as a question, the word rolling off his tongue in harmony with his accent. “What are you doing here?” Stiles shifted on his feet. They stood at about the same height, but still when Stiles looked up at him he felt like he was looking up and not over.
“I . . . wanted to ask you some questions,” his voice sounded weak compared to the wolfs. There was some hesitation while Deuc studied him. Then the door creaked open just a little more and he stepped to the side.
“Well, come in then. Wouldn't want you freezing to death out there, hm?” Stiles bit back telling him that 'natural causes' was the least likely way for him to die tonight.
---
The dining room was surprisingly well furnished for a blind man, but then of course it was; being blind didn't mean he didn't have tastes or preferences, and he was only blind half the time anyways. Stiles stared down into the mug of tea that had been prepared for him with use of a very traditional kettle. The heat from the ceramic warmed his pink fingers in a delightful way. Deucalion sat across from him, sipping at his own mug.
“You said you had questions for me?” he gently prompted, tipping his head towards the untalkative house guest. Stiles drew his eyes away from the living room.
“yeah,” Stiles gripped the mug a little tighter, wondering if it was too late to just get up and leave. Probably, they'd already been sitting in silence for close to five minutes.
“Let's hear them. It's getting late, and it is a school night tonight, isn't it?” he gave Stiles a smile that was teasing. Stiles grimaced. The life where he worried about making it to school on time, and the life where he met with sadistic psycho alphas in the dead of night seemed so completely seperate from each other.
“Were you born a werewolf?” Stiles asked, it was probably best to get the simplest questions out of the way first. Deuc laughed.
“That's your question? I was expecting more from you, love. Yes, I was born a werewolf.”
“I have more of them,” Stiles felt the need to defend himself. He raised the mug up to his lips and sipped some of the tea, giving himself time to think. The tea ran down his throat like warm honey; sweet, but not overpowering.
“I'm sure you do, the twins told me you're quite the talker.” Stiles felt his heart skip a little. Deucalion obviously heard it, but he was polite enough to hide his reaction behind a mug of his own. Unlike Stiles, it had already been prepared when he arrived.
“You asked them about me?”
“About your entire pack,” Deuc said with a dismissive wave, and Stiles bit his lip a little at his own narcissism. Of course Deucalion asked about me, it wasn't because he wanted to know me specifically, he was just trying to get to Scott. “Back to your questions?”
There really was nothing specific he needed to know about, he just wanted to talk. Deucalion knew things, things other people didn't know, and Stiles wanted some of that knowledge for himself. Plus, a blonde with an accent and a cunning wit hit all of his ideals.
“Are vampires real?” it was the second question to pop into his head, and again, Deuc smiled. It was such a bright, warm smile, that Stiles could almost forget he was a murderer.
“No, darling, they are not; but Succubi, Incubbi, and the like are very much real. Do you have a bloodsucker on your hands? Is that why you've trudged all the way out here, at ten on a school night?”
“No,” Stiles shook his head. “I just wanted to know.” Deucalion reached up and picked the sunglasses off his face, tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. Stiles tried to avoid starring, but his unending curiosity and the knowledge that he probably couldn't see kept his eyes just above the werewolves. They looked painful, the way the red rimmed his iris and the pupils clouded over, but there was a certain chaotic beauty in them, and in the intelligence behind them.
“I hope you don't mind,” Deuc said, indicating his eyes. He took it as permission to gaze directly at them. “It feels strange to wear sunglasses indoors. I only put them on for guests.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Well aren't you the inquisitive little mind?” he didn't seem offended, and it only occurred to Stiles belatedly that his question might have been rude.
“Sometimes, but not very often. Mostly it's just annoying. Now, let me ask you a question.” The sightless eyes fixated on Stiles face.
“Does anybody else know that you're here?” if it was a threat, it didn't sound like one. “McCalls scent is on you, but its faded. So is Hales. Or do you have the place surrounded? If someone is about to come tear up the furniture I wish you'd warn me.” He leaned closer to Stiles, arms folded and resting on the table. His eyebrows narrowed suspiciously.
Stiles thought, he thought for a long moment. Telling Deucalion he had come without warning the others might be an open invitation for murder, or kidnapping. Then again, if Deucalion really wanted him killed, or as a hostage, he wouldn't have had to sit down and make tea for him, the second he closed the door behind him would have been invitation enough.
“I came here alone,” he admitted.
“Ah, I see,” he leaned back into his chair, picking up his mug again. “You're quite brave.”
“I think it's stupidity, not bravery,” Stiles grimaced. “Can I ask you another question?”
“It'd defeat the point of your trip if I said no.”
“Have you ever met a Wendigo? How do they live? Can they eat regular food?” Their conversation continued like that for a while. Deucalion patiently answered all of his questions, stopping once to refill Stiles tea and brew more for himself. He told Stiles about all the creatures he'd encountered, including hell hounds, witches, ghouls, even a mirror spirit, and once, a mermaid. Stiles listened to him talk with his arms wrapped around his legs like a child listening to their favorite storybook. He could have stayed in that position for days, and might have, if more questions hadn't popped into his mind before the first had even been answered.
“Deuc, I want to ask you a question.”
“You've already asked me so many, what's one more?” he said with a wink and another flash of his brilliant smile.
“It’s a different kind of question. I-I wanted to know . . .” he bit his lip, not wanting to ruin the mood, but wanting to have his curiosity abated. “Why didn't you ever attack me?” Deucalion frowned, and Stiles heart skipped. “It's pretty obvious I'm the weak link, I'm only human. Actually, why aren't you attacking me now? I'm in your apartment, nobody else knows I'm here, I can't run away. Wait. Don't think too much about that last part,” he was quick to add.
“Well,” Deucalion thought for a second, crossing his arms and looking up towards the ceiling. “Maybe I just have a soft spot for brown-eyed boys, too smart for their own good?” Was that flirting? It sounded like flirting. “I've found its best not to think of the 'whys' of life so much as the 'hows.'”
“Okay,” Stiles agreed, not wanting to push his luck any further. “Tell me more about the Jorogumo?”
“I'd love too, but, I do believe it's getting to be a little late, don't you think?” Deucalion frowned, taking a reflexive glance at the clock he couldn't see. It showed past midnight. “As much as I enjoy your company, you should be heading home soon. I'm sure theres someone out there who's bound to realize you aren't safe in your bed eventually.”
His mood wilted a little. He'd been enjoying the conversation thus far. “Oh, oh yeah, I guess I should be leaving now.” He stood up slowly, almost forgetting the ceramic mug he'd held in his hands all evening. “Do you want me to wash this before I go?”
“No, no,” Deuc waved. “Give me something to do, but sit and stare. It might not seem like it, but I can make it to the sink, Stiles.” Deucalion rose from his chair while Stiles stood there awkwardly, fiddling with the mug for a second before putting it back down on the table.
“It was lovely having you, Stiles. Perhaps,” his heart fluttered as Deuc closed the small distance between them, nearly touching noses. “You could come back tomorrow, or the next night? If you have more questions for me, that is.” Stiles nodded so fast his head might have fallen off if it weren't attached to his shoulders.
“Yeah, for sure! I'll come back tomorrow,” then, not to sound so desperate added, “or the next night?”
“You do that,” Deucalion reached out and took one of his hands, holding it between his warm fingers for a second, before bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of it. Stiles couldn't help the heat rising to his cheeks at the touch.
“It was lovely having you, Stiles. I look forward to talking to you again.