Being kidnapped sucks.
Having complete strangers rough you up and yell at you for being a smartass sucks, being knocked out sucks, and waking up in a huge, badly-lit warehouse with guns being handled way too casually, sucks.
He tries not to throw up.
Well if he doesn't want to be yelled at for being a smartass then he should maybe, maybe consider not being a smartass. It's not difficult, this is a kidnapping, you just shut up and do what you're told, has he watched no movies?
In addition to the guns, he is also being handled way too casually, with two very large men carrying him by the elbows upstairs and a third large man ahead of them to make sure all's well.
He has done the shutting up, he's never been called a bad student.
...Okay, lots of times, but no one once said he didn't know how to listen if his life- no, wait.
Stiles fidgets excessively but doesn't resist or talk back.
They reach upstairs and roughly push Stiles onto the ground.
Someone approaches the front door.
The man they've been waiting for.
That's not very nice. Could at least buy him dinner first.
He keeps quiet.
One of the large men upstairs sees the Sheriff from his vantage point.
"Yo boss. Smartass' daddy's here."
She nods minutely.
"Invite him in. I think he'll be able to help us out."
She walks down the stairs, ready to receive her guest.
The three upstairs remain upstairs.
The seven downstairs stand at attention, two watching the backdoor, four watching the front door, and one flanking their boss.
One of the thugs watching the front door opens it slowly.
"I hope nobody cares that I brought a guest."
He's holding an umbrella, and the umbrella opens...
The thugs are all suddenly very uncomfortable. "Boss," the one flanking the Coyote leans closer to whisper, "I think I know that guy."
Two of the other men standing closer together, converse, too: "Hey, haven't we seen that guy before?"
"Yeah, I think so, a coupla years back. What was his name...?"
"I told you to come alone," she says, speaking softly, smoothly, but with a hint of the same confusion her employees have.
"I'm afraid I'm having trouble placing your face. Did we work together on a previous job? I hope I'm not stepping on anyone's toes."
"Oh, I'm sure it'll come to you."
He reaches for something in his pocket.
The armed men hesitate in raising their arms a bit. They shouldn't shoot him, should they, that'd be an asshole move—
He places a hand on his friend's arm and pulls out an unremarkable notebook.
Spiral-bound, but they won't get much of a chance to look at it before he closes it.
It's high-pitched, approaching the edge of what he can hear, and it's louder than it has any right to be, and it's discordant, like drums crashing and wind whistling and guitar strings snapping under the pressure and a crack of thunder and he feels warm and tastes iron and he can't think about anything other than the pressure building in his head-
He really should have tested that earlier.
Nail file in hand, he waves it.
He shows them the light.
Half the warehouse in one sweep, half in the other.
All guns are dropped, and some of the thugs start screaming. A couple fall to their knees, hands trying to cover their ears and make that horrible noise stop oh my god—
And then they're down, one by one. The light reflects on them from the nail file and they don't even know what hit them.
The thugs upstairs start running back down to check on what's happening, leaving only one to keep an eye on Stiles.
They can go down as well.
Nail files are really quite useful, apparently.
Hopefully Kaede and Yeong make a spectacular entrance, because he has to get the liability his friend out of harm's way.
He opens the notebook, and makes his way back the way they came.
The door at the back opens and, after verifying that the Coyote and her thugs seem to all be unconscious, Kaede steps through and makes his way towards the stairs.
Followed by his mother.
Stiles does not say any quippy one-liners, because if he's being rescued, getting shot would be a bad way to show gratitude.
Also, he's on the edge of a panic attack and nothing funny is coming to mind here.
Alan starts the car, and waits.
Kaede verifies that the thug near Stiles is down and approaches. "Stiles? Are you alright? Did the notebook—the noise—did you get hurt?"
"Nope, everything's swell, time to leave. I can freak out later."
He...grabs Kaede's hand, apparently.
"Do we have a way out?"
Kaede squeezes his hand. "Yeah. Downstairs," he says, and starts leading Stiles.
His mother continues silently following him after verifying that the thugs are indeed all knocked out cold.
"Not that I'm not grateful, but how?"
"Escape first, explain later," he says, and oh look there's the door let's lead Stiles there.
"Stop right there," hisses a woman from the floor. She's crawling towards them, her nails scratching against the smooth surface, but it's not likely she'll be able to catch up.
Yeah no they are not stopping he is pulling Stiles with him and actually running now.
Yep, so is she.
There's a noise at the front of the warehouse.
The kidnapper stands, shaking, as they reach the door.
"Give me the key, and I swear I won't kill all of you."
Nope nope nope unlock open door hi there Room push Stiles inside follow after him—
—follow after them—
The noise of movement and rustling turns into the sound of gunfire, as someone shoots at the kidnapper.
The kidnapper, barely holding herself up, falls before the bullets reach her, and they sail past, unimpeded.
—and Yeong falls into the room with the impact.
The door closes behind them.
"Whew, okay, that was close," he says, sighing in relief and grinning. He squeezes Stiles' hand, turns around, and—
—"Mom?"
No time to panic, not now.
"How does it work? Can we get to a hospital from here?"
"—yes, yes we can—"
Hospital, he opens the door—
They're in a hospital, tucked away in a patient's room. They're exiting the bathroom.
The man in the room blinks rapidly at their appearance and closes his eyes, muttering anxiously.
"Sorry about the nightmare," he apologizes.
"Hold on to her. I'll get help."
He rushes outside, and returns with a nurse.
She and another nurse help place Yeong onto the stretcher as soon as it arrives, and the doctors carry her off.
She turns to Sadde.
"Are you family? We'll keep you updated on her situation."
He's in shock. He doesn't notice Stiles' words, and when she's taken from him moans, "Mooom," trying to follow after her.
The doctor stops him.
"I'm sorry. You can visit when she's stable, but we can't let anything disturb our work. Sit down, son. She needs you at your best."
He, along with a bevy of other doctors, head inside.
Stiles hovers at Kaede's shoulder.
"Do you want to get in? I can probably pull it off," he whispers.
"But—" He doesn't know but what. He's just staring dumbly at the door they went through. Then Stiles' voice breaks through his trauma and he looks at the other boy. "Is there even a point?"
"If it would help, yeah. I stayed with my mom a lot, the last few months."
Okay now he's looking at Stiles—rather intently. "She is not going to die. I—we have magic."
"Okay, magic. What should I do?"
"I don't know, we don't have anything for this—Deaton will know—"
"...Deaton? I- okay, does my dad know what's going on? They called him with their demands, did he talk to you, is that how you knew?"
He scrambles for his phone and begins dialing.
"—we should find somewhere less public—"
He nods.
"Lead the way."
...he finds a door. He closes it, unlocks it, and opens into the Room.
The room shows no signs that anyone was bleeding on its floor.
"This is what they kidnapped me for?"
He walks around the room.
"Okay. Deaton and my dad, kidnappers, key, room, what else do I need to know?"
Kaede closes the door behind Stiles then sits on the bed.
And doesn't say anything.
"Okay, okay. So Deaton might have something that can help, so I'll just- I'll just talk to my dad, since I called him."
He picks up the phone and frowns.
"Okay, no signal in the magic room, that's fair."
He sits down next to Kaede.
"If you think Deaton has something to fix this, I need to talk to him. Do you think he can fix this?"
He leans forward and covers his face with his hands, propping his head up on his elbows. "There are magical objects," he explains. "The key is one. It takes to this room, which opens anywhere. Deaton knows about them, and could know of—some object—that would help—"
"Okay. So if I open the door and want it to lead to my house, so I can stand in the doorway and call for help...do I need the key for this?"
"You don't."
So he does just that.
After a few minutes of hushed conversation, he finishes the call and approaches Sadde.
"Hey."
He looks up. "Hey. Did he tell you everything?"
"The important stuff."
Stiles sits.
"Deaton doesn't think he has anything."
"I didn't think he would, but doesn't he know of any other objects like this?"
"Cufflinks, eye, ice bucket, knife, and maybe the watchbox. He said he's calling the objects location person but isn't sure he can afford anything in time."
"...I can. He owes me a favor."
Kaede stands up and walks outside.
The door leads to a drycleaners, with a man sitting behind a desk at a computer.
He looks up, startled.
"Kaede," he says warmly, and stands.
"I guess you don't need that favor called in now?"
"I in fact need it exactly now. My mother has been shot. I need her to not die."
He blinks.
"What did you have in mind? The glass eye, the knife...the watchbox might stop someone from dying but it's not the most likely."
He sits at his computer, typing furiously.
"Glass eye? I thought that one was a weapon. What does the knife do?"
"Supposedly, the glass eye can maim and heal. The knife transfers injuries from one target to another. I have the location of the glass eye, and I think I know who has the knife, but the former is...hard to reach."
"Who? Why is it hard to reach? I'm calling in my favor, I'll even pay you on top of that, just save my mom."
"There were a group of people who hoarded objects. It's in a vault that I think even the key can't breach, and I don't have a good read on the location. If you can find someone who's willing to take your mom's injuries, the knife works."
He prints out a piece of paper.
It has a name, a picture of the inside of a hospital, and a young man's face.
"Scott Preston, he's had the thing for about a year now. It's not popular enough that anyone tried to take it since he killed the last owner. At this time of day, you can find him somewhere in that hospital. Good luck."
He takes the piece of paper. Killed the last owner...
"Find me whatever information you can about this vault, please. And—thank you. This means a lot."
Nod.
"I owe you, but it's not just about debts, it's about respect. I hope I can see you and your mother here again. Good luck."
Back through the door. "I got a bead on the knife. Some guy named Scott has it," he tells Stiles.
"So, do we...pay him? Ask nicely? Fight him for it? Should we pick up my dad first, or does it slow us down too much?"
He stands.
"I don't know how damaged my mom was, but—let's go fast, I don't know, ask him nicely, it makes him draw injuries to himself maybe he's masochistic or suicidal or something—"
"We can hope. Lead the way."
So Kaede wants to open a door—a broom closet, if possible—in that hospital.
There's a hospital, much like the one his mother is waiting in.
Doctors and nurses are walking around, fairly sedately. Not like the ones he saw before, tending to a gunshot wound.
He doesn't see any knives.
He finds a non-busy nurse. "Excuse me, is there a Scott here?"
"I'm sorry, who wants to know?"
"Um. My name's Kaede."
"Are you okay? How urgent is this? Scott never mentioned a Kaede."
"I'm—very not okay, it is very urgent, he, um." Pause. "I'm not sure how much I should tell you."
"I'm his mother, and the only medical professional between us, but I might as well take you to him."
She leads him down the hallway, pausing just outside a patient room.
"Try not to do anything reckless."
"I will."
She leads him inside.
There's a patient on the bed. The injuries seem severe, likely some kind of crash.
Sitting next to the bed is a man about Kaede's age, who looks up in surprise.
"Mom?"
"He needs help."
He stands, and Kaede can see his hand is wrapped tightly around a small knife.
"What do you need?"
"I—" He pauses, and looks at the knife. "Do you—not die?"
"It's not exactly one-for-one, as long as it's just an injury it can go anywhere. Diseases I can't shift around like that. He has a lot of damage, so I've been taking a little bit at a time. What do you need?"
He looks down at his feet. "I—my mom. She's been shot—"
"Scott-"
"My knee, nothing on my knee-"
"You put the blunt-force trauma there."
"Shoulder?"
"If you get shot in the shoulder, you'll be down an arm for good."
"I can do the arm if he can hold the burn."
He looks at Kaede.
"I'll do whatever I need to do—if I can relocate the damage I could just take the shot myself—"
"Take the burn, I'll take the shot. Stab the place where you want it, then stab me anywhere."
He hands Kaede the knife.
...feet will hinder him if he needs to run, hand needs to be used—left upper arm. He doesn't hesitate.
Stabbing himself hurts, predictably.
Yes. Yes it does. He sucks it up and hands it back to Scott.
"I think you have to stab me for it to work. I've never tried it any other way."
Scott holds out his own arm, ripe for the stabbing.
What a horrible object.
He does it anyway.
He grimaces.
"Sorry, I wish-"
Kaede is distracted from that by the sudden searing pain in his arm!
Wow okay he chokes back a scream and throws the knife away, squirming towards a wall and curling up into a ball.
The pain fades to a dull ache, and the skin on his arm begins to itch.
"Sorry. It's hard to warn for that. Which floor is she on?"
"—bandage? And, um. It's complicated, I should lead you to her."
Bandage!
"Here, take some for the road."
"Show me."
He follows.
And he closes the door and then unlocks it.
The room welcomes them in.
"...complicated. Okay. Take me to the patient."
Stiles continues not to open his smart mouth.
He's been roughed up enough today. He follows at Kaede's heels.
After everyone's inside he closes the door and opens it again. "How are we going to access her—she's probably having surgery done to her now—"
"I'm not a doctor, I don't have a license. Do you have anything besides the key?"
"We might have something. Do we have something that does invisibility?"
"No, but we have something that does going through walls, and something that does familiarity."
"How good is the familiarity? We might want to use both, skip getting asked too many questions."
He dials.
"What am I asking to borrow?"
"Umbrella. Nail file, too, maybe."
"Hey, Dr. Deaton?"
He steps into a quiet corner, speaking frantically.
"Sounds like you guys have a lot of Objects."
"Relatively speaking."
"How many people- how did you..."
He trails off.
"He wants us to pick him up."
"Where is he?" he asks Stiles. "And how did we what?" he asks Scott.
"Nothing. Let's find your friend."
"They stopped at the police station."
Back to the Room. And then to the police station.
To the police station.
"Son?"
"I'm okay, dad. We'll be back soon."
A man and his unremarkable umbrella join the party.
"Ready?"
"Let's go.—do you, ah, want to stay with your dad?" he belatedly asks Stiles. "I'm sorry, I've been too distracted—couldn't think straight—"
"It's your mom. I'm coming."
He stabs himself.
"Whenever you're ready," he says through gritted teeth.
He grabs the flashlight and the umbrella, and then it's back to the hospital.
"The flashlight can't itself go through walls; doing this with more people is going to be much easier."
"Who needs to get into the operating room? You and me. I hold the knife, you hold the umbrella, one of your friends holds the flashlight?"
"Stiles," he says. "And it might be best if both of us are dressed as doctors, help with the effect of the umbrella."
"If we stop back at my hospital, I can borrow something. Or we can try stealing, if that's faster."
"Let's go to yours, you can open the door directly to a place with clothes."
He opens the door, and now the two of them can dress the part.
"Anything else before we go?"
"I don't think so. Let's go."
Stiles holds the flashlight, and picks a hallway to step into.
"This should be just outside the operating room. Good luck."
Knife in hand, Scott watches as the flashlight beams onto the wall.
"We just step through it?"
The adult pretends to be reasonable and deflects suspicion, keeping anyone from coming into the hallway.
"Yes," he says, and demonstrates by going right through the wall, umbrella in hand.
Scott follows.
The supervising doctor starts at the sudden intrusion.
"You can't be in here," he offers as a token protest.
He scrunches his eyebrows. "But Dr. Abner said I was supposed to watch."
"I suppose you're right. I wouldn't stop a young person from expressing interest in medicine," he says, over the body.
"It might hurt a little," he says, gripping the knife tightly.
"Do it," he whispers.
He stabs Kaede's mother in the arm.
The gunshot wound knits itself up, as if by magic.
He crumples, the knife slipping from his hand.
And before the doctors can figure out what the hell just happened he grabs the knife and goes through the wall again.
"What happened? Did it work?"
"Do you want to leave now, or wait in a quiet corner?"
"He's just been shot the doctors can deal with my mom suddenly getting better he needs to get medical attention right now."
"I'll make sure it gets handled. You boys go. And leave the umbrella."
"Okay." Pause. "...go where? My mom's fixed. He needs help. I don't—have anything else to do—"
"They have waiting rooms, if you want to stay."
Stiles pockets the flashlight.
"Yeah." He looks at Stiles. "Should we get your dad?"
"...yeah, thanks."
Door, Room, station.
"Stiles?"
"Hey. Um. Kaede, you'll be okay, right? Going back without me?"
"Yeah. I'll be fine. Be with your dad."
"Thank you. For everything."
He goes into his office, clinging to his son tightly.
And Kaede returns to—
—where and how is Scott?
Scott is presumably receiving medical attention.
Deaton is presumably checking up on him.
Yes but as they say, when you assume...
He goes look for Scott in the hospital his mother (?) works at.
The totally ordinary and vaguely familiar man who approaches him closes his umbrella.
"He's in 'serious but stable' condition. I don't think we have to worry. He was very...lucky...about where he was shot."
"...okay. How is his mother?"
"That, I don't know. She's been with him, and I didn't want to get too close. It seemed intrusive."
"Yeah, fair," he sighs. "I'm gonna go check on my mother. The doctors will probably call me if they want to talk to me and can't find me, but I should be there waiting."
"I'll keep an eye on things here. Go be with you mother."
So he goes be with his mother. Or, well, wait in a waiting room.
And eventually, the doctor approaches him with a gentle smile. It's almost reassuring, but it's clear that he wasn't hired for his bedside manner.
"Your mother is recovering quite quickly. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. The damage isn't as bad as we expected, and it seems that the bullet missed critical regions that we worried were affected. She'll have to stay under observation for a few days, but she'll be out and about in no time."
He breathes a sigh of relief and buries his face in his hands. "Thank you." He looks up, having finally let himself cry, and repeats, "Thank you. When—can I see her?"
"I'll tell you when she wakes up."
He pats him on the shoulder, and goes to do doctor things.
...so Kaede will wait, probably, and cry some more because this has been a harrowing day and he hasn't cried at all and he really really needs to.
It would seem so!
The doctor keeps him waiting all night.
...okay so he'll sleep in this uncomfortable couch, then.
Nobody wakes him.
So he wakes of his own accord the next morning, fairly early, and looks around, blinking blearily.
A few nurses eye him nervously, but no one approaches him.
...being eyed nervously by nurses is not nice. He goes to the bathroom—actually the Room then his place then back, to freshen up—and then waits some more.
Nobody talks to him before noon.
Okay no he'll definitely walk up to a nurse to ask about his mother before that.
"Do you need anything, honey?"
"Yes. My mom was shot yesterday and I was told she was recovering but I haven't gotten any news since—"
"Oh, you're-I don't know if- I'll go get the doctor."
And in a couple of minutes, here she comes with the doctor, who she leaves to handle things.
He looks at Kaede and inhales sharply.
"We didn't think we should tell you until we were sure. She's- your mother is alive, she's stable. Her condition won't get worse."
"That is not reassuring at all."
"I'm afraid there's only so much reassuring I can do. Her situation isn't likely to change for some time. She's- she'll be unconscious for a good while. A coma."
"But why—she was getting better—"
"It's fascinating, really. She seems quite healthy, unusually so for her age. Her vital signs suggest she's merely asleep, not comatose, yet she's completely non-responsive. I expect she'll make for an interesting case study."
"...is that seriously the best thing you could come up with to say to me right now."
"I am sorry," he says sincerely, if distractedly.
"You're welcome to see her, but we might not find a solution soon."
"Yes, please."
So the doctor takes him to a nurse, who leads him to his mother's new room.
"Mom?"
She is unresponsive.
He looks at the nurse. "Can I be alone with her?"
"Of course. Take all the time you need."
The nurse clears out, and shuts the door behind her.
He'll just sit there, miserably, for a while.
Nobody disturbs him for the first hour, but a nurse comes in eventually to adjust one of the tubes.
Of course.
When she's gone he texts Stiles: How's everything?
We're doing okay. Do you want me there?
There's a long delay. Then:
Maybe. I don't know. My mom is in a coma for some reason and not getting better and I haven't mustered the energy to go look for that Scott guy and figure it out.
Are you up to using the key?
Yeah.
So he does, key, Room, door, station—
Awkward attempt to comfort: shoulder pat?
Room, door, hospital.
...okay, shoulder pat, sure.
Scott?
Scott is apparently in serious-but-stable condition. He's not currently receiving visitors.
A familiar face seems to recognize them, though, and comes over.
"Is everything alright?"
"...no. My mother's in a coma and the doctors don't know why."
"Oh god. I- I'll take you to Scott. He might have an answer."
She leads them to a pastel room with a single bed in the center, and a large window.
The occupant sits up, wheezing slightly.
"What happened?"
"His mother is in a coma. I'll leave you boys alone. I'm so sorry," and with that, she's gone.
"Okay, I really want to hear your excuse for this. You were supposed to save her."
"I don't know what you want me to say. I took the wound, what else was I supposed to do?"
"He took a shot for her, Stiles, we couldn't possibly ask for anything more—the doctor said—what else do you know about the knife?—here it is, by the way," he says, removing it from the makeshift sheaf he'd been hiding it in on his back.
"The trade is usually pretty exact, but it can do injury and disease that it can...point at. If there was already other damage, that caused the coma...I could try to take that."
"...wouldn't that make you fall into a coma, too?"
"Not 'too', if it works."
"Are you...offering to hold her coma for her?"
"Thank you but I will not accept this offer—you're worth as much as she is—we're gonna find a third alternative."
"There's not as much I can do for you guys; if it works, you'll still have three brains to work with."
"If it works. Otherwise we're down two. And anyway, then the knife will be pretty much out of commission, since I don't think anyone else is as trigger-happy with it as you are."
"I guess so."
He winces in pain, and leans back.
"Also that is very much not how the maths works, if my mom wakes up from the coma and you fall into it that's zero sum, we're not better than we were before. Where's Deaton?"
"Who?"
"The one with the umbrella. He didn't introduce himself?"
"Not really. I think he's used to skipping that part. He seemed fine, I guess. Went home when he saw I was conscious, told me to call him...apparently I have his number."
"Okay, we can call him, then.
"It seems out of character for you to have killed the previous owner of the knife."
"He what now?"
"He was using it in the other direction. I noticed. He wouldn't stop."
"...ah. Yes, that's a good reason. And you just—do this all the time? Cure people?"
"When I'm not at school, yeah. What about the key? Must give you a lot of chances to do good."
"We just got it yesterday—and then Stiles got kidnapped because people thought his father had it," he explains, looking down at his feet guiltily.
Apparently it's hugging time.
"Don't apologize, okay? I'm okay, he's okay. We're fixing this."
He sighs and (with a slight wince due to his burns) hugs back. "Scott—will you be okay?"
"I'll be alright."
"Can the knife do pain? Me and my dad and Deaton can hold pain for you guys, if we split it three ways."
"The burn's pain came with it, I'm not sure how it'd work..."
"I can only take pain if it's attached to something. Trading things after they've started healing can let us cheat a little bit, but not much."
"Okay, but have you experimented at all?"
"No, I've been busy healing people. Let's get going."
He starts to stand.
"Where do you think you're gonna go?"
"I should help."
"Try recovering, then we'll talk."
He lies back down.
Cuddling his knife, apparently.
"We'll keep you posted—do you have a phone?"
He rattles off his number.
Stiles adds it to his phone.
Apparently he's no longer welcoming visitors.
"Should we talk to Deaton next? About other objects that are out there."
"Yes, probably. Do you know where he'd be?"
"He's with my dad right now. We're all sort of taking turns watching out for each other. If I had a way to defend myself it would be easier, but whatever."
"What do you mean?"
Door.
"My dad apparently gets to keep the nail file? Deaton didn't really explain that. They've been cagey. And Deaton has the umbrella."
...does he. Kaede's pretty sure he does not recall giving the Sheriff their nail file. Not that he'll say anything about that. "Well they also have our arsenal, currently, so."
Room and station.
The Sheriff starts when they appear in his office, and stands to shut the door.
"How is she?"
"We'll fix it."
"Where's Deaton?"
"He's at our house. Did you need something from him?"
"Knowledge, maybe. My mom's in a coma and I don't know why. Also, we left some of our objects with him." He does not add any inflection to the word 'our.'
"Sure. Did you get anything to eat? We can have lunch."
"...lunch is a good idea, probably."
"Any complaints about Chinese?"
"None."
He orders for himself and Stiles, letting Kaede choose for himself, and they go to pick it up.
Key?
Sure, key.
Key. Takeout, meet home.
"He's around here somewhere...you boys get started."
"Okay." Food, then.
Lo mein, orange chicken, and fried rice all go into a bowl.
Apparently, Stiles doesn't mind if his food touches.
"So here's what I'm thinking. If there are all these objects, someone has to have something for comas. I'm guessing you were worried about getting caught, before? Does Argent have some?"
"Yeah that's what I'm thinking, too. Kreutzfeld is a collector, apparently, has several. We bought the nail file off her, I saw the flask—which is horrible, it makes people suffocate—and she didn't want to sell, so I wanted to steal it so she wouldn't have it to use on anyone." Pause. "Not that the stupid notebook isn't worse but, you know, extenuating circumstances, I don't trust other people with objects nearly as far as I trust myself."
"You seem pretty trustworthy," he allows.
"Dr. Deaton is kind of acting the same way about you and me, though. My dad is trying to talk him out of like. Adversarial mentoring?"
"He can be an adversarial mentor, sure, as long as we fix my mom." Pause. "And also he gives back our objects because they were a loan and I do not trust him with them, we're collecting them for a reason."
"Yeah. I think I should handle the talking, maybe. I can get them back. Which ones were yours?"
"Nail file and notebook, that he had."
"Okay. Notebook and nail file. Speaking of objects-"
"I found him upstairs, which is where I should have checked first. Alan, do you want to eat with us?"
"No, I think you have things well in hand. It was nice meeting you, Kaede."
And Stiles' father, holding the notebook, sits down, placing the nail file and the shoe polish on the table.
"We, uh. Alan explained how the objects work. How much do you need the notebook back?"
"What? Dad, it's theirs."
"Don't touch any of them, Stiles. It doesn't go well."
"I don't need the notebook back, but to put it as bluntly as I've been putting it to your son, I don't exactly trust anyone else with it—it's why we bought the nail file off Victoria Kreutzfeld, and why I wanted to steal her flask. We'd try to destroy it, but the last time we destroyed an object—that's possible, by the way, but I won't tell you how—we just got a new object. And yes, my mom told me about the addiction effect, and yes, I am probably addicted to the objects. But as such things go, the one who pushed for the plan with the least probability of killing anyone was me." He looks at the place Deaton went pointedly as he says that. "So yes I do still trust my judgment and my ability to correct for this bias even knowing it's there much more than I'd trust anyone else's."
"I'm still not sure the fact that you're intelligent and self-aware is enough to cover magical addiction. If you could pick one object to lock up and take the test, that gives us a way to test how long you can be away from one. That's why we're giving you the shoe polish."
"...look, I'm sure you mean well but you do realize this is theft, right? Also you're not my parents and I am in fact over eighteen so you have literally zero business doing this. Furthermore we have an organization that kidnapped your son to watch out for, and I need to fix my mother, even from a purely practical standpoint do you seriously think this is the best possible time you could have picked to test whether I can resist magical withdrawal? Supposing I cannot, this will duck us over."
...
Stiles grabs the notebook.
His father sighs.
"Stiles, think this through."
"Deaton had it, right? But he wasn't paying attention when he was explaining things. You picked it up, and now you want it."
"Stiles, I'm worried that someone we barely know who tried to steal some of these objects from a heavily guarded home is over-estimating his ability to manage his addiction, and that it's going to get you and Alan killed."
"Is it using or touching, what's the verdict on that?"
"I'm not sure, the person who told my mother this was Victoria. As for my ability to manage my addiction—this needn't get anyone killed, just don't come with me. I'm not making you. And if securing Deaton's help is conditional on him acting like he has any rights over me then I do not want it."
"Kaede. Meet me at the place we ate, before we stormed the castle."
"So that's that, then?" he asks the Sheriff.
"Looks like it."
"Kaede, go. I'll be there in an hour."
He sighs. "Fine."
Off he goes, back to the Room to wait an hour.
And after an hour...
Stiles walks in and sits.
"...how'd that go?"
"They'll leave us alone. What's next?"
"I don't know. I should tap my contact—what are they going to do, they're not just going to let us run around with the key and these other objects—"
"If I can think of a way to help, they'll help. They won't try to stop us."
"Really? Wasn't your dad super worried about me risking your life? He'll just stay hands off anyway?"
"My dad is worried about Deaton and you, and I convinced him that I can do the worrying about you for him."
"And Deaton won't decide to intervene for our own good?"
"Deaton didn't start this. My dad did. Trust me, I know how they work. Anyway. Let's plan our way out of this box."
"Okay. So first we need a proper list of all objects that are known to exist, but this will be way expensive."
"I can get police case files, are those worth anything? We could try using the Key to make money...how attached are you to the law?"
"Not very but I also happen to be pretty rich. There's a pencil that produces a penny whenever it's tapped against a horizontal surface."
"Who made these things, anyway? Some of these 'powers' are pretty messed up, and all of them are weird."
"Kreutzfeld mentioned there was a theory that they all came from the Room, but no one knows where it came from. Except it clearly came from the seventies."
"I'll have you know this is firmly within my tastes for interior design."
"I meant chronologically, based on the dates on the things and—" he gestures at the phone.
"Is there anyone who might know? You said it was expensive to get information- who are we getting it from?"
"That guy I got the information about Scott from. He tracks but doesn't collect objects."
"Sounds like a smart guy. Should I meet him?"
"...I'm not sure you two would get along, actually. But I mean, if you want to, sure."
"No, I'll trust you on that. Go ahead, get this show on the road."
Key, door, Room, door, Kang.
He looks up from his computer.
"Kaede, glad to see you're alright."
"Not quite. My mother's alive but in some sort of magical coma. I need to fix her."
"Did the knife fail?"
"No. She's alive. She's just not awake."
"There are other objects that are supposed to heal. There's also the magnifying glass- gives access to dreams."
"—dreams? Like, I could see what she's dreaming?"
"I've never used it. My guess based on what I've been able to hear is that it gives access to memories. What I'm hoping for is some way to combine it; combinations can get really, pointlessly powerful-exactly what you need."
"Okay yes that sounds good. And that vault you mentioned?"
"Collectors. They once had all of the objects, and tried to combine them with the Room- I don't know the details, but things didn't work out. They might all be dead, but rumor has it their vault survived."
"But you don't know where it is?"
"I think I've narrowed down its location. There's a prison-"
"I can probably help with this one. Only one of us is made for field work."
A woman steps out from the back room.
"You! You shot my mother!"
And he lunges at her.
She doesn't fight back.
"What. Are you doing."
Kaede... wasn't expecting her not to fight back. So now he's just pinning her against a wall and confused about what to do next.
"Did you not hear the part where I accused her of shooting my mom?" he asks weakly.
"I'll get to that, yeah. Braeden, any guesses what mistake you made?"
"Besides shooting a civilian and not the psychotic criminal I was trying to hit?"
"We've met, I trust your morals. Your most recent mistake was not giving me full information. Makes your interest in helping me with this project less surprisingly altruistic."
She looks at the ground.
"I'll help you break into the vault. I'll steal anything you need me to steal."
"What information do you have that I don't, then? Who are you?"
She opens her mouth to speak-
"A former US Marshall, turned mercenary when they wouldn't subsidize her hunt for the Coyote. I use her for information collection and the occasional funding emergency."
"Why did you want to hunt for the Coyote?"
"My job was to investigate some of the strange cases that kept cropping up around her stomping grounds- unusual murders, impossible thefts. I started to find out about Objects, and realized that she was running one of the most bloody criminal enterprises in the country using them. I wanted her to stop."
He lets go of her. "I'm sorry about that."
"Thank you. I think what I should do next is help you how I can. If I can undo the damage I've done..."
"In the future, Braden, I prefer working with more information."
"Right, so you mentioned the vault—will this Coyote not come after us or something? Who else will want to kill us because of this key?"
"There are a lot of organizations after the Objects. Braeden?"
"The Legion wants to destroy all objects, so they'll want to steal it from you. The Order of the Reunification I know less about, but they worship the Objects; I don't know the finer details, but they're a cult wth access to some nasty Objects themselves. There are private individuals who might try to steal it, but the Coyote is the only one I know well. The Legion will try non-fatal means, the Order won't."
"Do they know I have the key?"
"I can try to find out if they do. The more I investigate, the more likely it is they notice me investigating."
"Jun, do you have a list of all Objects known to exist?"
"Sure. Just a minute."
Type, type, type. The computer is more than a little outdated, but the process doesn't take too long.
"Okay, here we go."
He prints out the list. Each Object comes with a brief description of suspected or confirmed power and owner.
And over half of them have unknown powers, unknown owners, or both. Still, helpful.
"Okay, so, there's the magnifying glass, with the dream thing, and the glass eye, with the flesh manipulation thing, seem like they're promising..."
"Combinations aren't always intuitive. It might be worth trying to combine the Objects you can get your hands on now, before you keep looking."
"They're also dangerous. Use your judgment, or ask someone you trust who hasn't handled any Objects."
"Hasn't handled any Objects? Why? Are combinations more addictive?"
She looks at Darwin.
"There haven't been any peer-reviewed studies, but in general, since some people find certain Objects more addictive, adding combinations increases the risk."
"Ah. Well I'm not sure I quite care about that at the moment. What combinations have been tried?"
"There's only one that's ever been recorded. The knife and the wristwatch grant telepathy."
"—what? Why?"
"I'm very sure there was some kind of combination when the Collectors disbanded. They gathered them, they planned to use them all in conjunction with the Room somehow. I've never been very curious about the details, but none of the current Object owners seem to know."
"Not every set of Objects can combine to have a new effect. Some 'combinations' don't actually do anything. Finding combinations that work isn't something most people end up caring about, they just try to hold onto whatever they have."
"Um, good to know, but I was actually wondering how the heck the knife combines with the wristwatch—it boils eggs, really?—to grant telepathy."
"Objects don't have obvious effects on their own. Combinations aren't any better."
"We have no idea," she summarizes.
"Okay. So. What now? What can you help with?" he asks Braeden.
"I can disable most electronic security systems fairly easily, and I'm skilled in hand-to-hand combat, trained to use knives, swords, and firearms. If you need someone with you to break into the vault, I can help, and I'm generally good in every case you might want hired muscle or a bodyguard."
"Okay. What about this vault's defenses? Do we know what they are, if there are any?"
"We don't have much. It's within a prison that one of the Collectors worked at. No clue what kind of defenses it has."
"But you know where it is or how to get there?"
"I can show you the map, or give you coordinates. I'm not sure what kind of input the Key needs."
"If we need a blowtorch or explosives, I can supply them."
"I need to have a more or less accurate mental image of my destination, otherwise it just sends me somewhere random within parameters."
"We might have older pictures of the outside of the prison."
They do. He provides it.
"I can probably use this. Should we worry about anything else?"
"This won't be dangerous. It's just about getting through the defenses."
"Okay." Pause. "Thank you," he says sincerely.
Door?
Door, Room.
"So I guess it went well?"
"Reasonably. This is Braeden, the person who shot my mom trying to shoot the one who kidnapped you."
"Okay. That makes sense. Hi Braeden."
"Hi. Are we collecting resources now? I should collect some of my weapons, if we are."
"Might be useful, yeah."
"How do you want to do this? Does it work if you hold my hand while I picture the place?"
"You can do it yourself. I wouldn't want to leave you here without the key and the door closed but leaving Stiles with the door slightly open went fine."
So she takes the Key, and the door opens to a small room, containing lots of guns and knives.
She takes a pistol, a rifle, and a utility knife.
"Yes or no on explosives?"
"...how high is the risk you'll blow us up?"
"Not very high, but we can stick to the blowtorch if you want."
"No, bring the explosives," he sighs.
Explosives: acquired.
She also takes a cutting torch.
She offers him a knife.
...he accepts it. And gathers all of his objects.
To the prison?
To the prison.
"Am I coming along here, or should I just wait in the room?"
"—I'm wary of leaving you in the room and closing the door, given the way it resets when I'm not in it with the key, and I don't want to leave the key here."
"...good point! Okay, time to go to jail."
They step out, into the cafeteria.
A thick layer of dust almost masks the stench of decay.
"Oh gods what's that smell."
"Other thieves, probably."
She scopes out the cafeteria.
"I don't see anything interesting. You?"
"Not really."
Where's the smell coming from, though.
"You think it could be an Object? Trying to distract us or something, scare us off?"
"It could be decaying corpses in the vents. It could be old food they didn't get rid of properly. It could be mold. I don't think I have the ability to really tease out different smells like that. We should look for any clues to the vault's location."
"Right, we should."
Time to search for the vault!
"I'll take half of this floor. You and twitchy take the other half."
"Okay."
He goes looking with Stiles.
"You doing okay?"
"Hmm, I guess. Feels better to be actually doing something."
Nod.
They look, but nothing seems promising.
What's in that floor even?
Jail cells! An infirmary! Bathrooms!
It's an abandoned prison, that's all.
...right okay.
The vault might be underground somewhere? They should explore other floors.
"There's still upstairs, but underground is a safer bet for a vault. Let's stick together, do a quick sweep of the upper floors, and then try to find our way down."
"Good idea."
No sign of a vault upstairs, either.
And finding a lower level proves difficult.
"It would be nice if we had the goes-through-solid-objects Object."
"Don't you have that Object?"
"I do in fact have that object but it's only one-way."
"Does it let you see through things too, or just travel?"
"Just travel. And it has a thickness limit."
"I'll step outside, see if I can find a way down. You try playing with the key some more."
"Okay."
He does.
It's not very productive, since he doesn't have any new information.
"So are we just supposed to go back, when this doesn't work?"
"I guess so."
"We'll find it."
She returns, eventually.
She shakes her head.
"...are we sure this is the place?"
"Darwin can get you in touch with our source."
"Who is it?"
"The owner of the comb. He's...hard to talk to, but I manage."
"How did he know about here?"
"His mother was one of the Collectors."
"—oh. Yeah, makes sense, I guess."
"He doesn't know much himself. He's almost useless. But he has some of her things, and that's how we found out about the prison; another one of the Collectors worked here."
"Can we visit him?"
"Sure. Back to the room?"
"Yeah."
And back.
"I can take us to one of his usual haunts, but he's kind of skittish. And a bit of a creep. I'll try my best to convince him."
"Lead the way."
She opens the door to a small diner.
"He might not want to talk if he sees three people, and especially not if two of them are guys."
"—seriously?"
"All I know about him besides that his mother was smart and ambitious is that he uses the power to stop time to look up girls' skirts."
"Oh, the comb, right—Jesus Christ people waste these objects so much—"
"You can punch him after we get what we want, if that'll make you feel better."
"So am I just hanging out here, ordering some food?"
"Probably for the best."
"What will make me feel better is getting the comb myself and using it for better things than peeping. Maybe he can be bribed?" He looks at Stiles. "You can come if you want to, but—how paranoid should we be?"
"If you want to try to take the comb, then we should come back for it. He won't trust you this time around. And Stiles can come if you two pretend to be a couple."
"Oh that's a good idea, he probably won't feel threatened then."
"So, uh, what do we have to do?"
"Pretend to be dating. It's not complicated, and it's the kind of thing that's nice to have in your back pocket. I've had to pretend to be single, married, divorced, widowed...just look at him like you want to have your hands all over him, and also like you want to adopt a kid together."
"Okay, I think I got it."
He squints at Kaede.
He laughs, holds Stiles' face with both hands, and kisses him.
Okay kissing is good.
She waits.
He pulls away soon enough. Does Stiles look like he wants to have his hands all over Kaede?
That, or he's suddenly developed acting skills.
He's certainly looking at him like he wants something.
"I think we're ready, shall we?"
He takes Stiles' hand just for good measure.
The trailer is right where she expects it. She knocks.
The door cracks open slightly.
"Hello?"
"I was wondering if we could talk."
He lets them in.
It's immaculately clean, though the photos that line the walls may count as clutter.
...he expected something else. Huh. He squeezes Stiles' hand and peers at the pictures.
A copse of trees. A half-eaten deer. A turbulent lake, stirred up by a storm.
A woman, hiding her face with her hair as she plays guitar.
A woman buying groceries, inspecting an apple for blemishes.
Braeden, pointing a gun at the camera.
"What do you need?"
"Braeden told us you have information about the vault?"
"I don't really know anything about that. I can share what I do have. As long as I get to keep the Comb."
"Of course."
He takes some photos off the wall. They're interspersed pretty thoroughly with the others, nothing particularly distinguishable about them...except their subject matter.
"These were my mom's. I don't really know where this is, but maybe having all of them helps."
They depict a familiar prison, though none of them provide a clear view of the place.
There are doors in a few of them.
"Thanks. I'll be back after we're done."
"Can you lend us them?"
He puts an arm around Kaede's waist.
"Sure. Braeden can bring them back when you're done."
She takes them.
"Thank you so much, Matt. We're really grateful."
"No problem."
They make haste.
"Try to tear them a little bit?" he asks when they're away.
She tries one.
It tears a little bit.
"I can try them all now, since your guess is probably right, but then you might want to try it. I don't trust myself with Objects."
"Sure." He tries to bend their corners, just a bit.
Most of them bend, except for one.
An undeveloped Polaroid, with the word 'Gallup' written on the back.
"...what's Gallup?"
"Gallup, New Mexico. Renowned for its polls and as the location the Bus Ticket sends you to. A suspected location of the Room."
"So is this a clue to go to Gallup?"
"Maybe the picture does something if we take it there. It's worth a try."
"Thankfully we have the key. And we should try going to the door in that one picture of the prison, later, I don't think I remember it."
"Should we leave the Object photo with Darwin while we go back to the prison? Or did you want to check out Gallup first?"
"Gallup first, I think."
"Alright. Gallup it is. Can we stop by so I can talk to Darwin?"
"Sure."
Back to Jun's.
They talk.
"We'll be back."
"I'm holding you to that."
"Ready."
Uh huh.
Gallup, New Mexico?
They arrive in a diner.
Some of the patrons at the counter whisper as they catch sight of them.
A man glares at them over his bacon.
...right. He walks up to the counter. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah? What'll you be having?"
Stiles huffs, but doesn't say anything.
"Actually I'm wondering about, uh, anything strange happening here? Perhaps a motel?"
A young woman at one of the tables snickers.
"Nobody wants to stay here. Everyone wants to leave."
The guy taking their order shugs uncomfortably.
"Why doesn't everyone leave, then? What are you still doing here?"
"It's alright to just go on as we were," mumbles a man hiding under his hat.
"I mean whether there was anything strange happening related to a motel," he clarifies. "I don't mean to stay here."
The man pulls the cap lower.
"We don't know anything about that business."
One of the girls sneers.
"The motel is some kind of portal to Hell. I can give you directions."
"That would be nice. How is it a portal to Hell?"
"There's something wrong with the rooms. Everyone who tries staying there notices. There's like, an energy. Maybe it's asbestos or lead or something, but everyone who goes there can feel it in the air," says He Who Hides Behind His Snapback.
The girl rolls her eyes.
"It's probably all the desert sun and old paint. Or ghosts, oooh, spooky. Sometimes people show up, thinking they've been sent to Hell. They're usually pretty lost, too."
She directs them, with rather unhelpful amounts of vague gesturing, but clear verbal directions, at least.
He thanks her and on they go.
"Sent to hell?" he asks Braeden.
"Most likely the Bus Ticket."
"I figured as much but... why Hell?"
"You ever been told to 'go to Hell'? This is what happens when the person saying that has an Object. We try to keep our distance."
"...that's absurd. But okay, I guess. Let's just go to the motel."
"Can we go after that guy next?"
"Never been our ambition to catch 'em all. If you two want to, I don't think we want in."
They approach the motel.
"Maybe sometime."
How does one get a room in said motel?
It appears abandoned, so the answer seems to be, one doesn't.
...and is there anywhere around that's. You know. Not abandoned?
This seems to be the only motel in evidence. Maybe they got bad directions.
"Are we supposed to pitch a tent?"
"It's worth investigating, if it's connected to the Objects, but we might want to stay at Darwin's tonight."
Any other non-motel buildings around? If not, why not explore, he guesses.
Nothing for miles.
The motel beckons.
To the motel, then.
The motel is really very abandoned.
Does Kaede like rats? They have those.
"Kaede, can you take out the Key?"
He does.
She leans in to examine it.
In particular, she seems interested in the keychain.
And he looks at the motel.
There are only nine rooms.
"Hm."
"Okay, so obviously we try leaving the magic room picturing the door to room 10."
"He needs to see the door. We can try using it on each of the rooms, see if there's some kind of interaction."
"Yeah, we should do that. And, uh, I think it's quite likely the door to room ten looks like that," he says, pointing at the door to room nine.
So they try combining the Key with the doors.
And they all seem to just open to the Room.
"I wonder if we can find the old owners of this place."
"Think we should switch to the research phase, or did you want to try the prison again?"
"Research phase, but possibly more hands-on. Surely we can find something if we look and slash or ask around."
"If there are any case files, I can get them."
"Can you. I still have favors with the Marshals' Service that I can call in, if it comes up."
"Those things sound useful, yeah."
"Do you want to interrogate the people in town more, do you want to talk to people who own Objects, do you want to look at what the cops and the federal agencies have? All of the above?"
"First and third, talking to people who own Objects seems like a last resort. Maybe Victoria, if it comes to that."
"I can work on the townsfolk, while you two do what you can with the local cops, or the other way around. We can also get a list of my contacts, but I should probably open communication first."
"I think I'd have an easier time with the townsfolk, actually."
"Okay. I'll take him with me, then."
"Did I volunteer?"
"He might be good with the townsfolk, but you aren't, and you're more useful with getting those case files you can get us access to."
"She might have a point," he says.
"Okay. Good luck. Don't let them talk you around, you're too nice."
That startles a laugh out of him. "I'll keep your advice in mind."
"Can you let us out at Darwin's? I think I can get the most done there."
"Of course." He does that.
She and Darwin get to work.
Stiles hovers somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, glancing at Kaede once, before following her.
Kaede follows him, pulls him by the arm to turn him around and kiss him, then goes back into the Room.
The Room welcomes him, of course.
And then back to Gallup.
The motel does not welcome him. It's not very welcoming at all.
Neither were the folks at that diner, but he's free to try again.
He will in fact try again. Hello, diner.
Most of the patrons have gone, but the man with the hat ducks his head as soon as he spots Kaede, and one of the girls from earlier cocks an eyebrow from her spot by the jukebox.
So he decides to take a seat at an empty table.
The girl approaches.
"Surprised to see you back here. Usually people think we're disconcerting."
"Oh so it's not on purpose?"
"Accidentally on purpose? Living here gets kind of weird, and pranking the tourists is fun."
"I'd imagine so. Weird how?"
"There's the tourists who think they're in Hell, until we explain that's just what it looks like here, there's that creepy motel, there's the way some of the old people don't talk normally, there's just lots of horror movie stuff. I should write a memoir."
He laughs. "I know why the tourists who think they're in Hell think they're in Hell, and it's not the décor."
"Yeah, so they're like, sent here, whatever. Maybe this is actually Hell now. Nobody in town has been normal since it started."
"When did it?"
"Oh, years and years ago. I wasn't born then, I guess, so I don't know, but it's just obvious. People here are weird, because they know something's wrong with that motel, and that's why people keep getting sent here. Something happened here, and none of the people noticed."
"And why was it abandoned?"
"Someone died there and they haunt it."
"...really?"
"Pssh, I don't know. One of the rooms has like, a gas leak or something, but that's new. The motel's been abandoned even longer."
"Are the owners still around?"
"God no, they ran with their tails between their legs. It's embarrassing, when your motel stops getting visitors and you can't do anything."
"I suppose it would be. Kinda sad, though."
Shrug.
"I still think they sacrificed someone to a dark god."
"Ha. That'd explain a thing or two."
"They say there used to be thirteen rooms, and each time one of them disappears, they take some of the world with them."
She leans in, her eyes narrowing to pinpricks of light.
"Huh, that explains the magical key I have that takes me to room ten."
"See, now you're getting it! What about the others?"
"I have no idea!" He produces the key. "Only got the one."
The man sheltering his head under his cap shudders.
The girl glances his way, but glares at Kaede skeptically.
"C'mon, you can't expect me to believe that."
"Hmm, maybe not." He reaches inside a backpack and gets a flashlight. Points it at the table where the napkin holder is, puts one hand under the table, turns the flashlight on, and grabs the holder from where it fell through the table before turning the flashlight off again. "But then again, maybe I do."
Man in hat stands and ambles out of the diner.
"Oh my god, that's- do you know who's doing this? Sending people here, making the hotel seem haunted- there are so many screams..."
"—tell me about the screams on my way after that guy?" he asks, getting up to follow him.
"Well, everyone who's been near the motel knows that there's something weird going on in room 9, but we figured it was just...I don't know, everything sounds stupid now."
The man quickens his pace, but he's not faster than Kaede.
"A jolly afternoon, sir, isn't it?" Kaede asks brightly when he catches up.
"Is it? I must have missed all the frolicking schoolchildren and the worldwide peace treaty."
"I said 'jolly' not 'absolutely perfect,'" he points out. "Why do I have this strangest sensation I might be interested in speaking with you?"
"I couldn't say. I know you've been asking everyone here questions, but I promise I haven't felt left out."
"Ah, but see, I have a very good reason beyond general curiosity to be asking questions. Well, two, one of them much better than the other but less directly emotionally important to me."
"Convince me."
"My mother is in a coma after being shot while we were rescuing someone who got kidnapped because of the Objects, and I want to fix her. That's the emotionally important one. The really important one is figuring out how to use these Objects for large-scale good like eradicating death."
"Why do you think you can resist the temptation? Most collectors aren't as...altruistic."
"I don't think I can resist the temptation, actually—I haven't. But I was already working on it, I made rather a lot of money by tapping a pencil against a flat surface and then spent a lot of it in charities and funding research, and the rest of it in making more money. I am irrationally attached to my bar of soap and somewhat less to the other Objects—but I'm fundamentally the sort of person who wants things to help others."
"The bar of soap? Interesting choice."
He shrugs.
"I'm not sure I can help you. Depends on what you want to know."
"I want to know more about the motel, about what happened there."
"There were ten rooms. Something terrible happened in room 9. A woman is trapped there. People who visit can hear her screams. She was once part of a group of early Object collectors, until they tried something. It didn't work out."
"—trapped? Trapped how?"
"I don't know for sure. There was some kind of incident, but the few people I've met who know something haven't been forthcoming."
"Is there anything you do know that could help me?"
"Most of what I have is rumors."
"More than what I do."
"I can give you what I have on the identity of the first collectors, as well as a record of which objects the Legion owns, and which objects I suspect the Order does. Everything else I have is even less substantiated- possible combinations of objects and their effects, the existence of the Prime Object..."
"Prime Object?"
"The first one, the most important one, the origin and cause of the others, the one object which can control all the other objects- lots of speculation. My favored theory is that the occupant of room 10 somehow caused the incident which created the objects, and still exists somewhere. I've been trying to find them."
"Okay... yeah all of that sounds like useful info."
"Speculation. I can show you what I've found, though. I'd prefer something more private than the diner- you choose the location, and only bring someone you know you can trust."
"I do in fact have the key. We can go anywhere."
"I'd prefer not to use it. I haven't touched an Object in years, and I don't know how close is too close."
"...okay, yeah, that's fair. Uh, I'm not from here though so I don't know anywhere."
"Well, then you'll have to decide how much you can trust me. I can find us a bookstore, if that works."
"It does."
He pulls out his phone.
"What information do you need to find a place?"
"It's pretty vague. If I've seen it that helps, but an address is enough, or 'the only library in this specific town' or stuff like that."
So he provides the address.
"I can meet you there in twenty minutes."
"I'll see you there, then."
In which case, the stranger takes his leave.
And he texts Stiles:
How's it going? Found anything?
Nothing yet. There are some cases that are probably about Objects, but nothing new. We can check out the Gallup PD next.
Nothing on the motel either?
Local stories about the way their business model buckled under all the haunting, but that's it.
It'd be useful to find the actual old owners of the place *sigh*.
Anyway I found this guy who seems to know stuff.
Want us there? I've been training.
If you want to come. Don't know if there'll be much gain compared to more research from your end but maybe.
There's a bit of a delay.
We decided that everyone should stick to their specialization. Good luck.
Thanks.
Twenty minutes later he's there.
He waves him over.
"Hello again."
He slides a binder across the table.
He opens it.
It's full of newspaper clippings, photographs, and a few printouts of webpages.
The mysterious appearances of these people in Gallup, New Mexico: aliens, or drugs?
Invoices for construction at a particular prison.
The revival of gang violence in this relatively peaceful city.
—the prison, let's look at that.
Blueprints and the final floorplan, with a suspicious discrepancy between the two circled in red.
"I believe the prison was connected to the first cabal."
"Connected how?"
"Headquarters, storage space, torture chamber? I haven't found a single member still alive, so I'm relying on a lot of guesswork when it comes to their motives, but it looks like this man," he indicates a clipping of an obituary, "worked here, before it shut down."
Yep, at least all sources seem to agree. He sighs. "Bunch of dead ends."
"Not quite. There's a man I talked to, who worked here. He's still alive, but won't tell me anything. My fault, but you might get something. There's also a woman, Barbara Strizke, who had a nephew that might still have her things; I've never been able to get close, though, he has the Comb."
"I've met her nephew. He's... something. Who's the man?"
"Mr. Conroy, the former janitor."
He rifles through the binder and finds a picture of him with several other people, standing in front of the motel on what seems to be its opening night, according to the large banner a blond woman and Mr. Conroy are hanging up.
"Do you know where we can find him?"
"I can give you the address."
"Thank you."
He gives him the address.
"I was wondering if you could do something for me."
"Probably."
"I'd like to get a message to my wife. I can give you her address, too. I need you to tell her to reconsider her course of action."
"Okay. Should I just tell her that, with those words?"
"You can add extra flourishes, as long as you repeat that much. If there's anything you think could convince someone you've never met to think clearly, go ahead."
"Sure, I can do that for you."
So he provides this address.
It might be familiar.
"—that's, uh, Ms. Kreutzfeld's adress."
"...You've met my wife?"
"I. Have, yes."
"Ex-wife. I didn't know she'd gone back to her maiden name. How did the meeting go, if you've don't mind my asking?"
"It was... eventful. We bought an Object off her and then I tried to steal another. And failed. Then she and my mom—bonded."
Nod.
"Did she seem...determined? Focused?"
"I... don't know how to distinguish how she was from how she could have otherwise been. But I suppose I'd use those to describe her, yes. Can... I ask why?"
"I'm worried about what she might do. I think her grief affected her judgment, and I don't know that she'll come out of it on her own. The Objects make it worse."
"Grief?"
"...she lost someone. She wants her back. She plans to use the Objects to do it, but I bet you can guess what I think of that plan."
"...it sounds like a pretty good idea to me, though? Like, if it's at all possible, yeah I would definitely love to bring everyone back who has ever died."
"I'm not sure you're capable of making those decisions. If it's possible, resurrection would be nice, but if it will take Objects to do it, its not worth it. The kind of power you would need to bring back the dead...how many Objects do you think it would take? Her most promising lead is whatever the original collectors did, and whatever it was, it wasn't safe or sane."
"But that's a drawback of the method, not of the goal. And if the universe is such that it can be broken to create these Objects... there's nothing that says it needs to be intrinsically bad."
"There might be something that's not so recklessly destructive, but she's not going to find it. If you think I should focus on finding an alternative method instead of talking her out of it, I might want some help."
"If she's that focused... I'm not sure talking her out of it will work. I will try, for sure, but you know her better than I do."
"She's committed to her goal, and she's addicted to her Objects, but if we could offer her a credible method...I haven't looked too deeply into it because most owners of Objects aren't interested in being ordered to experiment with them."
"But many Object owners have lost loved ones... which could be used to persuade them."
"It could."
He sighs. "Anyway, I will tell your ex-wife."
"Take the file with you, in case there's anything else that might help."
He nods and takes the file. "Thank you. How do I reach you—?"
He gives him a number to call.
After they part, he texts Stiles again: Anything?
There was this janitor who worked there who's still kicking around, and he was married to the owner, Arlene Conroy. She disappeared and the motel shut down right after. The police don't know what happened; they never found a body.
Trapped in the motel. The guy I was talking to is Victoria Kreutzfeld's ex-husband and he knew a lot of stuff, and also knew the janitor.
That's convenient. Am I looking him up next?
Possibly. I think I got everything I was going to get, here, should probably join you two.
He receives a picture of Stiles standing in front of a door.
He walks through the door.
"Hey. Is this a hugging moment? I feel like there should be music."
"Shut up," he says, walking up to Stiles and kissing him.
He's really bad at not talking. Maybe he needs some incentive.
Okay no kisses are pretty good incentive, they can do that.
Then he pulls away, and shows the file he's holding in one hand.
"You're really cute. Where's Braeden?"
"She's talking to the cops. We should go straight to the car and not draw any suspicion to you."
"Uh huh. Lead the way."
They step out of the file room and into the reasonably empty police station.
No one comments on their exit.
Stiles walks leisurely to his car.
"I texted Braeden. She'll be out in a few minutes. What happened?"
He details his encounter with Mr. Argent.
"So he thinks Ms. Kreutzfeld is trying to re-create the thing that trapped the motel owner in room 10? That's great, really, I'm proud of her for dealing with her feelings so productively."
Braeden joins them.
"Do we have any obvious leads? What's the next step?"
"This janitor guy who used to be married to a woman trapped forever in limbo. And slash or talking Victoria Kreutzfeld out of ending the world."
"How close is she to ending the world? You're probably better at talking than I am, which we have the time to spare, you should take point on both. If not, I should take the janitor. I can definitely play sympathetic."
"I don't know if she's close at all... but I'm pretty sure she needs the Key for anything at that scale anyway so as long as I have it..."
"If she's desparate enough, she might try to extort you for it, but that depends on what she knows. Besides, that answers the question about time. We can take the janitor first, then, and get all the information we need. You and me, with you doing the social stuff."
"And you doing...?"
"Projecting authority. I'm told I can be very intimidating just standing around, which should help. It's a nice way to avoid having to do anything threatening but still get people to talk."
"...we can get you to project authority after we figure out that he's being unhelpful, how about that?"
"Fine, go ahead. I'll be friendly."
"Was your search here completely unfruitful?"
"Just the janitor and Arlene Conroy and that they were friends with Strizke, nothing really new or useful."
"Yeah." Sigh. Where does the janitor live?
It's probably a very pleasant cabin in the woods?
"I think I've seen this horror movie."
"Is it only black guys who die first? This isn't a movie, if any monsters show up, I'll shoot them."
They go to the Room, and he targets the outside of the house, so they'd be opening the door to exit it rather than enter it.
This brilliant decision is not appreciated by the man who doesn't have to deal with a sudden shock, but he would thank them if he knew.
"We should ask him about Strizke, I mean, why leave your stuff to your weird nephew? Obviously something went wrong. I bet he murdered her. We should ask about his wife. Did she love him? I feel like she didn't. We should ask about Ms. Kreutzfeld, has he been following Object news?"
He laughs and kisses Stiles again then knocks.
No immediate answer.
He can wait.
They eventually hear footsteps. The floorboards creak, and creak, and there he is.
The former janitor of the Sunshine Motel.
An older black man with greying hair and a despondent expression greets them.
"Hello?"
"Hello," he greets. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you. Is this a bad time?"
"...no, now is fine."
He shuffles inside, leaving the door open.
The house is as homey as a cabin in the middle of the woods can be. If the cabin was home to a grieving man who forgets to use the fireplace.
They walk in. "I'm Kaede. These are Stiles and Braeden. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Yes, yes. A pleasure. What can I do for you children?"
"Were you a janitor? You look like a janitor."
He pats Stiles' knee and shoots him a "let me do the talking" look before turning back to the janitor. "What my friend means is that we're curious about certain events surrounding your motel."
He eyes Stiles with suspicion, but nods.
"Do you want something to eat? I should give you something..."
"We don't need anything."
"I just had lunch but I'd accept some coffee."
"Of course."
He starts a pot.
"What do you folks want to know?"
"I think the best way to put it is 'more.' You... were there when it happened, weren't you? When Room Ten stopped existing?"
"...I don't know what you've been hearing, son, but you must have me confused with someone else."
"We just want to know what happened to her."
"—not just. Ideally we'd—get her out."
He stares into his cup.
"She's dead, son. There's nowhere to get her out from."
He looks at the man. "Didn't you hear? The universe broke down a while ago. The rules don't apply anymore. If she got there, she can get out of there."
"...you found something?"
"If you destroy an Object in the Room, another mundane Object takes its place, and gets a new power. We're not limited to only what we've been able to identify. That's... the main resource I have, really, other than the key."
He sighs.
"I'm afraid I don't know much. After Arlene, we all went our separate ways. I can show you- we recorded it. We thought it would be monumental, that future generations would want to see it...well, I was always reluctant, but Arlene wanted to change the world."
"Can we see it?"
He nods, going to find it.
He sorta thinks Arlene had it right, here.
He returns and inserts a VHS in the player.
The footage is short.
A woman eagerly wields a familiar Key as her audience watches in anticipation. She approaches the door to room 9, which has several Objects affixed to it.
She unlocks the door and the footage becomes choppy and ends shortly after.
"...what happened after?"
"She was too close to the- rift- that we opened. We never found her body."
"How'd you stop it?"
"We didn't. She disappeared- jumped inside, I always thought. To save us. She must have realized somehow what would happen. It stopped when it took her."
"What were the Objects involved?"
"The ashtray, the watchbox, the pack of cigarettes, the clock, the toothbrush, the nail clippers, and the key."
"Why those, in particular?"
"Arlene thought they could open some kind of...portal? Or make us all powerful, I was never sure. She was always ambitious, which I admired, but I never could keep up with her. It didn't bother her, but when she started wanting bigger and bigger things, it scared me. I wish- well. If wishes were horses."
He shakes his head.
"Combinations are tricky. The watchbox prevents things from decaying. You know what the key does. I'm not sure about the others, but those are all individual abilities. Combinations are tricky."
"I know of only a couple, and only secondhand..."
"Combinations are unpredictable. They don't have anything to do with the objects that are in them."
"So you tried that combination at random?"
"No, there are sometimes patterns. Arlene was relying on what she knew about the individual objects, hoping she had the theory right."
"I see. Do you still have those Objects?"
He shakes his head.
"Not a one. They might be in the vault, or they might have gone to one of the other groups."
"Ah. And—how do we access the vault?"
"You'll need the right combination of Objects to get inside..."
He describes the defenses.
"Okay, that's ingenious. Thank you. We'll—do our best."
"Thank you for speaking with us."
He nods, and replays the video.
"Is there anything we can do for you, otherwise?" he asks after this run of the video.
"If there's anything left of my wife...help her find peace."
He nods.
He doesn't force his guests out, but he seems to be getting wearier by the minute. He plays the video again.
Yeah they've overstayed their welcome, they should head out.
So they go.
"Are you planning on rescuing her?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Fine. Do we have any idea how we're doing that?"
"It should just be about finding the right combination of objects, but I'm guessing that's harder than it sounds."
"Yeah. But okay, after all of this, what do we have? We need to write down everything we've found out and all Objects we have access to and our goals."
"Right. We know the objects they used when she disappeared, so we know what not to do. That's something."
"We still want to save my mom. And we don't have all the Objects we need to access the vault—there's the scissors, for instance, which will probably not be super easy to get. And we should talk to Victoria Kreutzfeld."
"The vault should be easy, we know all the defenses. Kreutzfeld is harder, we need to make sure she doesn't do anything before we get there."
"We could promise to help her with her mission. She might wait if she believes us."
"Is she about to do anything? I didn't get the sense there were any imminent plans at work."
"Maybe not. I don't trust my enemies to wait."
"And she's an enemy?"
"Most people are, especially people who use Objects. We don't have to act against her now, but we should be ready."
"Do we need to get into the vault to help your mom? We should probably work on that first."
"I think we—or I—sorta promised I'd try to convince Victoria to be nice. And yeah, the glass eye is there."
"If we can help your mother and Victoria, fine. But if whatever we can do for your mom doesn't work for her daughter, then we need a plan to take her down."
"Okay, we know the vault's defenses, let's make sure we can get in there before we try to plan around it."
"We need to find whoever has the scissors, first of all."
"Back to Kang?"
"Possibly. And then we should, perhaps, rest. It's been a... long, stressful day to all of us."
"Yeah."
Back to the Room.
And back to Kang.
"You got what you wanted?"
"...approximately, yeah. We need the whereabouts of the scissors."
He sits at his computer. It's unclear why he was standing. It's unclear what he does all day, really.
"It'll take a few minutes. You can sit down."
Sit sit.
Sit.
"We talked to the motel janitor. His wife was the one in charge of their cabal. They combined seven Objects trying to do something. He didn't really explain what. Become omnipotent, probably, she seemed like the type. It didn't work, though, and she disappeared."
He remains standing, fidgeting quietly.
"Becoming omnipotent sounds like a sweet deal, not gonna lie."
"Trying to achieve omnipotence with Objects is a terrible strategy. They affect judgment and combinations are unpredictable."
"Don't they have patterns?"
"In hindsight," he growls.
"No one has a theory yet."
He prints out a page and hands it to Kaede.
"Thank you," he says, accepting it. "—hindsight might be good. Do you have, like, a list of combinations that've been tried?"
"There haven't been many that were recorded. The Knife and the Wristwatch supposedly cause telepathy."
"Yeah that one I knew, although I'm not sure what the logic there is, the Wristwatch boils eggs, doesn't it?"
"The explanation I've heard is that the knife shares things, and the egg makes certain things more tangible. I'm not sure why the combination would share thoughts and not something else. It's not really a very good explanation, and we only have one solid example to go on. Other combinations are rumored, but only that one is verified by multiple collectors."
"I... see. And not any pair of Objects combine to do stuff, then."
"No, some combinations don't have distinct effects. They can be used at the same time, but nothing new happens."
"I see. Thank you." And he pays Kang for the information on the scissors.
"Actually, you can have half off. When you take over the world, remember me."
He laughs. "I will. But my plan is to remember everyone."
"I'm not surprised. Good luck. Braeden. Stilinski."
"We'll be seeing you."
Awwww.
Back to the Room. "...so who's up for dinner?"
"As long as she's buying."