"You want to help. I understand, there are a lot of problems here and most of them don't have a good reason to exist, but they still do. You can't just tell people to make sense, that's not how people work. Maybe it would be easier, maybe it would be better- but things are complicated, and you have to talk to people involved, not just me. I can't explain everyone and what they were thinking."

"It's not that I expect people to make sense, and I am sorry for putting the weight on you," he sighs, "there is so many hurting and pain going around in a way that keeps reminding me of some disturbing pictures of hate crimes against mageborn and this universe is going to be my new home for who knows how many centuries and... urgh, sorry."

"There are problems, and we just do our best to fix them. Worrying like this isn't how to think of solutions. If you want, we can try to make a plan of attack, something to handle the things you're concerned about."

"I am not worried because it's useful, I am worried because that is my emotional reaction to the situation, and I probably should hear more, from different people before settling on any sort of plan."

"Of course, that sounds fair. Who do you think you need to talk to, anyone specific?"

"Chris Argent, since he is a hunter and Derek, since he is a born werewolf, both should know more about..." Felix makes a vague gesture, "the cultures? The dynamics of either side and how to proceed. I wouldn't mind meeting the your other werewolf friends as well. The more perspectives I have on this the better."

"Okay. I'll introduce you to everyone. Ready to go?"

"Just let me put these in the dishwasher and get a trenchcoat."

"I don't think I have a trenchcoat lying around. Can you make one, or should I?"

"Yes, I have one, just hold one." It takes a couple of minutes but Felix returns wearing a trenchcoat.

His wings lump under it, and it is very conspicuous and attention grabbing, but not intrinsically worse than having his wings exposed.

"Ready. I look ridiculous, but I am ready."

"Okay. Let's go."

They leave his dimension. Scott sighs.

"I'll have everyone ready in an hour. Where do you want to do this?"

"Anywhere that is relatively comfortable and dash or a neutral ground? In the future I might host things in my own dimension, but I don't want to overwhelm people with right away."

"If you don't care where, I would say Dr. Deaton's office."

"Sure, sounds perfect."

"Do you want to wait there? I'll lead the way."

"If it is no trouble." His wings squirm inside the trench-coat. "Am I going to be able to remove this while I await there? It is less comfortable than I thought."

"Yeah, he won't care."

Scott leads him to his motorcycle.

Oh, motorcycle. Felix never rode one of those death-traps even after becoming immortal. At least the novelty of the experience should distract him from that half crushed feather on his left alula.

So Scott sends a few vague texts and they drive to Dr. Deaton's office.

"Scott, what are you doing here, you didn't mention changing your shift...and who's this?"

"This is Felix. Mind if we talk inside?"

"I've met Scott recently," Felix says.

Felix can't believe he is in a wing-covering trench-coat talking with someone, he mocked that trope so much.

"No, come in."

He steps back. 

Scott looks at the door, and then at where it meets the ground. 

"He's safe. I trust him."

Is there something weird about the door? Felix walks in anyway and introduces himself properly. "Felix Dalkaila, it's a pleasure to meet you." Handshake?