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FIC: TeenWolf/Avengers - Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD - 16/? - PG-13
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 16/?
The car is moving and Stiles sits back and relaxes, tapping his fingers together and waiting.
“Where are we going?” Crawford finally asks, he’s looking out the window which Stiles never manages because they’re sitting backwards and cars that he’s not driving always make him a little nauseated if he hasn’t eaten anything.
“Airstrip,” Tony says, he’s got a phone and a tablet out; it’s actually quite impressive, even Danny who would probably have his phone surgically implanted if he could, only manages to utilize one electronic device at a time.
“Why are we going to the airstrip?” Stiles asks, he glances over at Crawford who looks as alarmed as he feels. “Because you can just drop us off and we can take the shuttle back to the Helicarrier.”
Crawford is nodding emphatically, he kind of looks like a bobblehead a little bit.
“Nope,” Tony pops his ‘p’ and looks up at them. “Agent says to bring you to the airstrip, I’m bringing you to the airstrip.”
“And by Agent, you mean Agent Coulson, I’m assuming?”
Tony twists his lips at them and raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t need to be here for this, right,” Crawford reaches for the door. “So I’ll just get out here and take a cab back to…”
“Sorry Crawford,” and to be honest Tony does look slightly apologetic with a side of a tad bit amused. “Coulson said both of you, so both of you I shall deliver.”
“And you always do what Agent Coulson says,” Stiles says.
“No, very rarely,” Tony laughs. “But this is an easy one so…” he shrugs.
“We’re so getting fired,” Crawford mutters.
“We’re not getting fired,” Stiles states.
“Exactly, and even if SHIELD decided to do that I’m pretty sure that you’d find yourself employed by SI pretty damn quickly.”
“You better have a comparable medical plan and I’m going to need at least two weeks of vacation.”
******************************************************************************
The jet is waiting for them, and he can see Coulson waiting at the ramp, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look like he’s going to drop them from 20,000 feet at the first opportunity so Stiles only drags his feet a little bit as he follows Tony.
He has to keep hold of Crawford though and drag him along behind.
“I’m not field trained,” Crawford says as soon as they get within shouting distance of Coulson.
“You know when you get assigned bodyguards, common practice is actually to take those bodyguards with you when you go out in public,” Coulson says.
“I was just going to see a ‘friend’,” Stiles says, he’s fairly sure that the air quotes are audible to all, “she doesn’t deal well with people that look like they might be werewolves or work for the government. Also I’ve made a point of mentioning that the Avengers are kind of wasted on bodyguard detail.”
“They volunteered. Volunteers are never turned down unless they’re needed elsewhere.”
“I took Crawford with me, he works for SHIELD.”
“Crawford was with you when you were taken originally, also, as he’s so helpfully pointed out, he’s not field trained.”
“I don’t know why I even still need bodyguards, no one has tried to kill me, snatch me or otherwise had ill intentions towards me since I’ve come back from Beacon Hills, and even when I was in Beacon Hills it was strangely quiet,” he makes a mental note to call Derek or Scott and find out how many apocalypses they’ve averted since he left.
“That you know about.”
******************************************************************************
“So we found the sphere,” Steve says, Stiles blinks at him. They’re in the air and Crawford is a small huddled mass next to him.
“That was fast,” Stiles says, he nudges Crawford and he makes a noise that sounds like ‘kill me now’.
“Well we have a name for it now,” Coulson says, “and no one is trying to hide it.”
“Museum in Helsinki,” Tony puts in, he’s tapping on his tablet, Stiles can’t tell from this angle if he’s working or playing a game. He’s tapping a little too frequently for it to be work, he’s going to put even money on a game.
“And that’s why you’re here,” Steve says, he nods at them and Stiles nods back and tries not to look like he doesn’t have the faintest clue what they’re doing here, on a jet, with the Avengers.
At least they’re not in uniform, so maybe it won’t actually be classified as an Avengers mission.
“Does someone want to explain why we’re here? Especially if all you’re doing is going after the sphere?”
He looks over at where Clint is sitting sprawled on a bench, legs straight out in front of him. He’s got a look that Stiles can’t decipher on his face but his entire countenance screams ‘don’t fucking talk to me’. Obviously not happy with Stiles’ decision to go down into the city with only Crawford with him.
“The sphere is in a museum, you are here as SHIELD’s expert on the supernatural, Crawford as your assistant. Thor is here as a diplomat from Asgard to request it’s return. Both Thor and Loki assure us that it should be a simple matter of gazing into the sphere to determine whether it’s the one they’re looking for or not.”
Coulson looks at him and Stiles looks back.
“I’m not field trained,” he says weakly, he’s pretty sure that it’s not going to matter.
“That’s something that we’ll rectify at a date and time not now, Natasha and Steve will be accompanying you in civilian clothes,” Coulson says, Clint scowls at him and Coulson just looks at him, one eyebrow raising. There’s a silent argument happening that Clint apparently loses by the way his shoulders slump in response.
“Conflict of interest anyway, Legolas,” Tony says, he taps three times in quick success and grins. “What did I miss?”
“Everything,” Coulson says. “But it doesn’t matter because you’ll be staying here with Hawkeye and myself and helping us cover comms.”
“That seems like a waste of my time and skills; I could have just stayed home and slept.”
“And then you would have pouted because you weren’t involved.”
******************************************************************************
The museum is sort of old and run down when they arrive. Steve is driving, Natasha in the front seat with Thor sitting between him and Crawford regaling them with stories.
He can’t see really see Crawford around Thor, but Steve is anything but stupid, he engaged the child safety locks pretty early on.
“It seems strangely anti-climactic,” Stiles says, mostly to himself, but he’s in a car with a super-soldier, a spy/assassin, a god and Crawford.
“What was that?” Crawford asks, Stiles peers around Thor to see Crawford kind of trying to become one with the door. In the front seat, Natasha has twisted around to look at him, her finger is pressed to ear which means she’s already got an ear piece in and is communicating everything to Agent Coulson, Tony and Clint.
“It just seems anticlimactic,” Stiles repeats. “Normally there’s like a fierce battle and blood spilled and well, a fight; to just walk into the museum and walk back out with the sphere, it just seems anti-climactic is all.”
“Take the easy ones when you can get them,” Steve says, Stiles can almost hear the ‘son’ at the end.
“We will battle another time,” Thor nods. “Though we do not yet have the sphere, a battle may still rage for it.”
******************************************************************************
The curator meets them at the front door, all smiles, if he’s upset at the prospect at losing an artifact it doesn’t show on his face. SHIELD must have offered the museum a large sum of money to not only be able to see and touch the sphere but also to leave with it in hand if turns out to be the one they’re looking for.
Of course he could be just thrilled about meeting Thor, the man has to be in his sixties but he’s blushing and toeing the ground like a pre-teen girl meeting a pop idol.
His assistant just looks amused; she has a clipboard in hand and speaks in stilted English to Natasha.
Stiles hangs back by Crawford, Steve right in front of them as Thor and Natasha smooth the way for them. There’s a quiet eeriness in the air of the museum broken only by a sound; he can’t put his finger on what it is. It sounds like a hum or a trill and changes periodically; it shouldn’t be there in the quiet. It sends shivers down his spine and he tries to ignore it.
“Let us go see if the sphere is the one that we seek,” Thor says, voice booming loud in the emptiness of the museum, it startles him a little and Stiles jerks when Crawford puts a hand on his arm. His eyes widen in query and Stiles shakes his head.
He’s just got sensitive hearing from hanging around werewolves for latter half of his teen-age years.
That’s all.
******************************************************************************
The sphere is round and larger than Stiles was expecting, Janice wasn’t wrong in her description. He can see movement across the sphere even though the room it’s being kept in is dark and dank and has that musty smell that comes from having a room full of old stuff.
Thor looks at it first, face going hard and white all at the same time, his eyes narrow and he studies it closely, watching whatever it’s choosing to show him in silence, he doesn’t share. Just nods once.
“It is the one,” Thor announces, his voice sounds grave.
“Agent Stilinski?” Natasha asks, she holds up her hand gesturing him towards the sphere and Stiles steps forward.
“We can’t just take Thor’s word for it?” he asks even though he knows the answer. If they could take Thor’s word for it there would have been no need for him and Crawford to be flown halfway across the world so Stiles could gaze into a crystal ball and be slowly driven insane by the hum/trill/whatever noise that is still there.
It’s muted background noise at the moment while his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest. But it’s never-ending, and annoying because he’s 98% sure that no one else can hear it.
“No,” Natasha says, she looks at him expectantly; he sighs heavily and turns to the sphere. He doesn’t look directly into it at first. Instead he closes his eyes and sets his hands on either side of the pedestal, steeling himself for whatever it’ll choose to show him.
Death, destruction, it covers a very broad area when it comes to his life and the world that surrounds it.
He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.
And is extremely grateful for the pedestal the sphere is on because it’s the only thing that keeps his knees from buckling and himself from an embarrassing spectacle.
He can feel the tears in his eyes, can feel himself shaking, can feel the panic attack that’s building up inside him, when he manages to blink and look away.
“Stiles?” Steve’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s evidently been saying his name for at least a few minutes by the worry on his face.
“I’m okay,” Stiles manages to say after he clears his throat a few times, he blinks rapidly, shakes his head. “Thor’s right, this is the one.”
******************************************************************************
Thor and Steve have wandered off with the museum curator to find a box or something to put the sphere in. Stiles is sitting on the steps leading up to the second level of the museum, he’s got his head in his hands and is just breathing.
Nothing but breathing.
Crawford sits next to him and Natasha paces back and forth in front of them.
“What did you see?” Crawford asks, his voice is quiet and hushed but it still carries by the way that Natasha looks their way.
“Death, destruction,” Stiles says, his voice is muffled by his hands. “You know, the norm.”
“Anything of note?” Crawford says, Stiles looks over at him and he’s biting his lip and twining his fingers together.
“I didn’t see you,” Stiles says softly. He saw a lot of other bodies, Crawford’s had not been among them. That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t there though.
The hum/trill noise is back, its sound louder now that it’s not being muffled by Stiles’ heart and the noise of the others.
“Can we wander around?” he asks, Natasha just looks at him, studying him.
“Are you looking for something?” she asks, her head cocks to the side.
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
Or hear it, Stiles stands and walks down the few steps, Crawford on his heels. He looks to the left and then the right, turns to go to the left. It’s the opposite direction then the one they originally went in order to see the sphere.
Whatever is making the noise is in the museum itself, not in the storage room that the sphere had been housed in.
The curators’ assistant joins them as they walk, clipboard still clutched in her arms. She looks tired in the same way that Stiles feels. He doesn’t think she can hear the noise because he thinks she would have been driven to find it prior to them coming.
The noise gets louder and softer depending on which direction he goes, it’s like a game of hot and cold.
“Stiles?” Crawford asks after he turns right takes four steps and then pivots and goes in the opposite direction.
“Shh,” Stiles says absently.
The trilling is becoming a humming sound that sounds like music for a split second then transfers into something that sounds like a never-ending scream, his eyes widen and his shoulders hunch in defense.
Right in front of him is a display case with a sword in it.
“Ceremonial dagger,” the curators’ assistant says. “From the 1700’s, is not that old compared to some of the museums items; its history is actually quite boring, it was mostly used as decoration.”
Stiles clears his throat, then can’t find the words to articulate what he wants to say. How do you say that there dagger was a murder weapon wielded against witches that were otherwise defenseless? He doesn’t know how he knows that to be the case, but he feels the certainty of it settling in his chest.
27 witches were murdered by this dagger, innocent witches guilty of nothing more than practicing white magic to protect themselves and their families. One of them, he believes, was related to his family by blood.
“Stiles?” Crawford’s hand is warm on his shoulder.
“Not a ceremonial dagger,” he says finally, he hopes that no one else can hear the tremor in his voice. By the way that Natasha steps in front of him, blocking his view of the dagger so she can take her own look at he’s not successful.
“The placard calls it a ceremonial dagger,” she says, her fingers tap against the plastic of the case the dagger is housed in.
“It was used to kill witches,” Stiles says finally, he presses a hand to his chest.
“No, no,” the curators’ assistant shakes her head in denial. “Ceremonial daggers were for ceremony, worn on belts and not actually used.”
“Trust me,” Stiles says, the screaming has stopped, but the memory of it is still there. “This one was used to slit the throats of 27 white witches.”
******************************************************************************
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 16/?
The car is moving and Stiles sits back and relaxes, tapping his fingers together and waiting.
“Where are we going?” Crawford finally asks, he’s looking out the window which Stiles never manages because they’re sitting backwards and cars that he’s not driving always make him a little nauseated if he hasn’t eaten anything.
“Airstrip,” Tony says, he’s got a phone and a tablet out; it’s actually quite impressive, even Danny who would probably have his phone surgically implanted if he could, only manages to utilize one electronic device at a time.
“Why are we going to the airstrip?” Stiles asks, he glances over at Crawford who looks as alarmed as he feels. “Because you can just drop us off and we can take the shuttle back to the Helicarrier.”
Crawford is nodding emphatically, he kind of looks like a bobblehead a little bit.
“Nope,” Tony pops his ‘p’ and looks up at them. “Agent says to bring you to the airstrip, I’m bringing you to the airstrip.”
“And by Agent, you mean Agent Coulson, I’m assuming?”
Tony twists his lips at them and raises his eyebrows.
“I don’t need to be here for this, right,” Crawford reaches for the door. “So I’ll just get out here and take a cab back to…”
“Sorry Crawford,” and to be honest Tony does look slightly apologetic with a side of a tad bit amused. “Coulson said both of you, so both of you I shall deliver.”
“And you always do what Agent Coulson says,” Stiles says.
“No, very rarely,” Tony laughs. “But this is an easy one so…” he shrugs.
“We’re so getting fired,” Crawford mutters.
“We’re not getting fired,” Stiles states.
“Exactly, and even if SHIELD decided to do that I’m pretty sure that you’d find yourself employed by SI pretty damn quickly.”
“You better have a comparable medical plan and I’m going to need at least two weeks of vacation.”
The jet is waiting for them, and he can see Coulson waiting at the ramp, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look like he’s going to drop them from 20,000 feet at the first opportunity so Stiles only drags his feet a little bit as he follows Tony.
He has to keep hold of Crawford though and drag him along behind.
“I’m not field trained,” Crawford says as soon as they get within shouting distance of Coulson.
“You know when you get assigned bodyguards, common practice is actually to take those bodyguards with you when you go out in public,” Coulson says.
“I was just going to see a ‘friend’,” Stiles says, he’s fairly sure that the air quotes are audible to all, “she doesn’t deal well with people that look like they might be werewolves or work for the government. Also I’ve made a point of mentioning that the Avengers are kind of wasted on bodyguard detail.”
“They volunteered. Volunteers are never turned down unless they’re needed elsewhere.”
“I took Crawford with me, he works for SHIELD.”
“Crawford was with you when you were taken originally, also, as he’s so helpfully pointed out, he’s not field trained.”
“I don’t know why I even still need bodyguards, no one has tried to kill me, snatch me or otherwise had ill intentions towards me since I’ve come back from Beacon Hills, and even when I was in Beacon Hills it was strangely quiet,” he makes a mental note to call Derek or Scott and find out how many apocalypses they’ve averted since he left.
“That you know about.”
“So we found the sphere,” Steve says, Stiles blinks at him. They’re in the air and Crawford is a small huddled mass next to him.
“That was fast,” Stiles says, he nudges Crawford and he makes a noise that sounds like ‘kill me now’.
“Well we have a name for it now,” Coulson says, “and no one is trying to hide it.”
“Museum in Helsinki,” Tony puts in, he’s tapping on his tablet, Stiles can’t tell from this angle if he’s working or playing a game. He’s tapping a little too frequently for it to be work, he’s going to put even money on a game.
“And that’s why you’re here,” Steve says, he nods at them and Stiles nods back and tries not to look like he doesn’t have the faintest clue what they’re doing here, on a jet, with the Avengers.
At least they’re not in uniform, so maybe it won’t actually be classified as an Avengers mission.
“Does someone want to explain why we’re here? Especially if all you’re doing is going after the sphere?”
He looks over at where Clint is sitting sprawled on a bench, legs straight out in front of him. He’s got a look that Stiles can’t decipher on his face but his entire countenance screams ‘don’t fucking talk to me’. Obviously not happy with Stiles’ decision to go down into the city with only Crawford with him.
“The sphere is in a museum, you are here as SHIELD’s expert on the supernatural, Crawford as your assistant. Thor is here as a diplomat from Asgard to request it’s return. Both Thor and Loki assure us that it should be a simple matter of gazing into the sphere to determine whether it’s the one they’re looking for or not.”
Coulson looks at him and Stiles looks back.
“I’m not field trained,” he says weakly, he’s pretty sure that it’s not going to matter.
“That’s something that we’ll rectify at a date and time not now, Natasha and Steve will be accompanying you in civilian clothes,” Coulson says, Clint scowls at him and Coulson just looks at him, one eyebrow raising. There’s a silent argument happening that Clint apparently loses by the way his shoulders slump in response.
“Conflict of interest anyway, Legolas,” Tony says, he taps three times in quick success and grins. “What did I miss?”
“Everything,” Coulson says. “But it doesn’t matter because you’ll be staying here with Hawkeye and myself and helping us cover comms.”
“That seems like a waste of my time and skills; I could have just stayed home and slept.”
“And then you would have pouted because you weren’t involved.”
The museum is sort of old and run down when they arrive. Steve is driving, Natasha in the front seat with Thor sitting between him and Crawford regaling them with stories.
He can’t see really see Crawford around Thor, but Steve is anything but stupid, he engaged the child safety locks pretty early on.
“It seems strangely anti-climactic,” Stiles says, mostly to himself, but he’s in a car with a super-soldier, a spy/assassin, a god and Crawford.
“What was that?” Crawford asks, Stiles peers around Thor to see Crawford kind of trying to become one with the door. In the front seat, Natasha has twisted around to look at him, her finger is pressed to ear which means she’s already got an ear piece in and is communicating everything to Agent Coulson, Tony and Clint.
“It just seems anticlimactic,” Stiles repeats. “Normally there’s like a fierce battle and blood spilled and well, a fight; to just walk into the museum and walk back out with the sphere, it just seems anti-climactic is all.”
“Take the easy ones when you can get them,” Steve says, Stiles can almost hear the ‘son’ at the end.
“We will battle another time,” Thor nods. “Though we do not yet have the sphere, a battle may still rage for it.”
The curator meets them at the front door, all smiles, if he’s upset at the prospect at losing an artifact it doesn’t show on his face. SHIELD must have offered the museum a large sum of money to not only be able to see and touch the sphere but also to leave with it in hand if turns out to be the one they’re looking for.
Of course he could be just thrilled about meeting Thor, the man has to be in his sixties but he’s blushing and toeing the ground like a pre-teen girl meeting a pop idol.
His assistant just looks amused; she has a clipboard in hand and speaks in stilted English to Natasha.
Stiles hangs back by Crawford, Steve right in front of them as Thor and Natasha smooth the way for them. There’s a quiet eeriness in the air of the museum broken only by a sound; he can’t put his finger on what it is. It sounds like a hum or a trill and changes periodically; it shouldn’t be there in the quiet. It sends shivers down his spine and he tries to ignore it.
“Let us go see if the sphere is the one that we seek,” Thor says, voice booming loud in the emptiness of the museum, it startles him a little and Stiles jerks when Crawford puts a hand on his arm. His eyes widen in query and Stiles shakes his head.
He’s just got sensitive hearing from hanging around werewolves for latter half of his teen-age years.
That’s all.
The sphere is round and larger than Stiles was expecting, Janice wasn’t wrong in her description. He can see movement across the sphere even though the room it’s being kept in is dark and dank and has that musty smell that comes from having a room full of old stuff.
Thor looks at it first, face going hard and white all at the same time, his eyes narrow and he studies it closely, watching whatever it’s choosing to show him in silence, he doesn’t share. Just nods once.
“It is the one,” Thor announces, his voice sounds grave.
“Agent Stilinski?” Natasha asks, she holds up her hand gesturing him towards the sphere and Stiles steps forward.
“We can’t just take Thor’s word for it?” he asks even though he knows the answer. If they could take Thor’s word for it there would have been no need for him and Crawford to be flown halfway across the world so Stiles could gaze into a crystal ball and be slowly driven insane by the hum/trill/whatever noise that is still there.
It’s muted background noise at the moment while his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest. But it’s never-ending, and annoying because he’s 98% sure that no one else can hear it.
“No,” Natasha says, she looks at him expectantly; he sighs heavily and turns to the sphere. He doesn’t look directly into it at first. Instead he closes his eyes and sets his hands on either side of the pedestal, steeling himself for whatever it’ll choose to show him.
Death, destruction, it covers a very broad area when it comes to his life and the world that surrounds it.
He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.
And is extremely grateful for the pedestal the sphere is on because it’s the only thing that keeps his knees from buckling and himself from an embarrassing spectacle.
He can feel the tears in his eyes, can feel himself shaking, can feel the panic attack that’s building up inside him, when he manages to blink and look away.
“Stiles?” Steve’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s evidently been saying his name for at least a few minutes by the worry on his face.
“I’m okay,” Stiles manages to say after he clears his throat a few times, he blinks rapidly, shakes his head. “Thor’s right, this is the one.”
Thor and Steve have wandered off with the museum curator to find a box or something to put the sphere in. Stiles is sitting on the steps leading up to the second level of the museum, he’s got his head in his hands and is just breathing.
Nothing but breathing.
Crawford sits next to him and Natasha paces back and forth in front of them.
“What did you see?” Crawford asks, his voice is quiet and hushed but it still carries by the way that Natasha looks their way.
“Death, destruction,” Stiles says, his voice is muffled by his hands. “You know, the norm.”
“Anything of note?” Crawford says, Stiles looks over at him and he’s biting his lip and twining his fingers together.
“I didn’t see you,” Stiles says softly. He saw a lot of other bodies, Crawford’s had not been among them. That doesn’t mean that he wasn’t there though.
The hum/trill noise is back, its sound louder now that it’s not being muffled by Stiles’ heart and the noise of the others.
“Can we wander around?” he asks, Natasha just looks at him, studying him.
“Are you looking for something?” she asks, her head cocks to the side.
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
Or hear it, Stiles stands and walks down the few steps, Crawford on his heels. He looks to the left and then the right, turns to go to the left. It’s the opposite direction then the one they originally went in order to see the sphere.
Whatever is making the noise is in the museum itself, not in the storage room that the sphere had been housed in.
The curators’ assistant joins them as they walk, clipboard still clutched in her arms. She looks tired in the same way that Stiles feels. He doesn’t think she can hear the noise because he thinks she would have been driven to find it prior to them coming.
The noise gets louder and softer depending on which direction he goes, it’s like a game of hot and cold.
“Stiles?” Crawford asks after he turns right takes four steps and then pivots and goes in the opposite direction.
“Shh,” Stiles says absently.
The trilling is becoming a humming sound that sounds like music for a split second then transfers into something that sounds like a never-ending scream, his eyes widen and his shoulders hunch in defense.
Right in front of him is a display case with a sword in it.
“Ceremonial dagger,” the curators’ assistant says. “From the 1700’s, is not that old compared to some of the museums items; its history is actually quite boring, it was mostly used as decoration.”
Stiles clears his throat, then can’t find the words to articulate what he wants to say. How do you say that there dagger was a murder weapon wielded against witches that were otherwise defenseless? He doesn’t know how he knows that to be the case, but he feels the certainty of it settling in his chest.
27 witches were murdered by this dagger, innocent witches guilty of nothing more than practicing white magic to protect themselves and their families. One of them, he believes, was related to his family by blood.
“Stiles?” Crawford’s hand is warm on his shoulder.
“Not a ceremonial dagger,” he says finally, he hopes that no one else can hear the tremor in his voice. By the way that Natasha steps in front of him, blocking his view of the dagger so she can take her own look at he’s not successful.
“The placard calls it a ceremonial dagger,” she says, her fingers tap against the plastic of the case the dagger is housed in.
“It was used to kill witches,” Stiles says finally, he presses a hand to his chest.
“No, no,” the curators’ assistant shakes her head in denial. “Ceremonial daggers were for ceremony, worn on belts and not actually used.”
“Trust me,” Stiles says, the screaming has stopped, but the memory of it is still there. “This one was used to slit the throats of 27 white witches.”