Marco was cold— hit by a cold that touched his soul and scrubbed his mind with icy fingers. Rousing his anxiety like a fan to a flame.
Flame. He needed it's warmth. So, he stood with his hands to the sill of the bathroom window. Forehead pressed to the heated glass that soaked in the suns rays beautifully.
"Light, guide me…" He whispered it like it were a prayer.
His mind raced— but the sun heated him into a state of calm, allowing him to think of the events of the day.
Erica. Another like himself— eager for knowledge and guidance that he couldn't give. Dead weight.
Scott and Stiles. Again, eager for knowledge and guidance that he could spare if they'd stay out of his way. Dead weight— but more….
Kat. His neighbor was getting too curious about things far beyond her pay grade…..he also hurt the feelings of his only informant…..and only acquaintance . Fuck.
The Argents. Crawling through Beacon Hills like a legion of insects feasting on a carcass. Except maybe they all weren't so soulless...maybe.
Gerard. A mystery. A mystery with more strength then humanly possible. What could it mean.
That was his biggest issue currently. But one good thing came from it. Gerard didn't know much. Not much of Marco— but he knew of Scott and Stiles somehow.
Even so. Gerard was a problem. And a mystery.
How could a man so old have such strength?
And what was that bone-gripping chill emanating from him?
All questions he considered. But only one solution came to mind.
Gerard was a hunter. Despite his inhuman strength, he'd never become a WereWolf. He didn't even smell like one. But— Gerard was also extreme. He'd heard stories of the man in his younger years. Stories his mother told him to scare him—warn him, around a campfire with his brothers sisters.
He was extreme alright. And he'd go to extreme measures to try and deal with the shifter problem in Beacon Hills. Especially after learning of what brought him from Kat. The death of his daughter— ironically named, Katherine.
The only question was what that extremity would align him with.
All Marco could think of where the other batch of Hunters that coincidentally came around the same time as Gerard. Hunters that were different and form and similar in function, but much more deadly in execution. Hunters that were feared globally in ways the Argents would never be.
Marco's eyes went gold, "Warlo—"
Before he could reply, the door into the stall burst open.
"EVERYBODY CLEAR THE ROOM! IVE GOT A FRIEND THAT NEEDS MEDICAL ATTENTION…..which is why I'm taking him…..Erhm— into the mens bathroom. Oh— hey Marco, I was totally not following your scent because I needed help...Help." Stiles rambled as he stumbled into the bathroom with Scott's arm slung over his shoulder. The young WereWolf was soaked in sweat and in a daze as he grunted and snarled in pain.
"What the hell is wrong with him? Take him to the Nurse— I'm no medic." Marco replied.
"No. But you are well versed in other….things. Things out of most medics field of expertise…." Stiles said while beckoning to Scott's bandaged left hand.
Suddenly a foul smell rose into Marco's nose— reminding him of what he smelled in Gerard's office. Following the smell, Scott arched his back and roared.
Stiles stumbled as he tried to wrap his hands around Scott's head while he mouthed help to Marco.
"Ayo— the fuck was that?" Somebody in one of the stalls replied.
Stiles froze.
Marco pinched the bridge of his thick nose.
"It's uhhh…god damn— that's some speaker ain't it?" Stiles tried his best to pull a lie from himself as sweat slicked his temples while he held his hands over Scott's mouth.
"Man…that didn't sound like no speaker, man…"
Marco growled before he moved toward Stiles, pulling him from Scott to rip off his jacket and toss it into the stall.
"The hell— that was like thirty five bucks!" Stiles whispered.
"Shut the hell up." Marco said, raising a clawed finger to Stiles face before he approached the stall. Ripping it off it's hinges with a metallic screech before grabbing up the student inside.
"AH— what the— get off….hey!" The student yelled as Marco lifted him off his feet and pulled him out of the bathroom with the jacket tied over his head.
Once he was out, Marco locked the door and approached Scott, curious as to why Scott suddenly faintly smelled similarly to Gerard before the cold front.
"Take off the bandage." Marco said.
"But that'll hurt him." Stiles replied.
Marco gave up on words and ripped it off himself with a quick ripping sound. Stiles yelled in protest.
Scott growled, gaining enough coherence suddenly to glare at Marco angrily before lunging at him.
Marco took the blow and spun, using Scott's momentum to toss him into the busted stall.
Before he could recover, Marco bounded from his position in a blur and pounced on Scott, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the wall above him.
Scott struggled against his grip to no avail. Marco used the time to study Scott's hand while Stiles spoke sweet unintelligible nothings in the background.
It looked the same as before— maybe worse. His hand still remained transformed— the skin grey and tough with black veins snaking down to his thickened palms. The fur looked thicker than before…..it was progressing.
Suddenly something changed as Scott's strength grew, loosening Marco's grip ever so slightly.
The veins— they shook like slugs beneath his skin. Glimmering with glowing purple flares of light that shined beneath his skin. The smell increased.
"Marco!" Stiles yelled.
"Quiet!" Marco, wracked his brain for answers.
Unfortunately he had none— maybe because he was interrupted by Scott kicking him in the face and jumping on him, causing them to break through one of the sinks.
"Scott—stop!, hey—" Stiles moved to pull Scott off Marco.
Marco shoved Stiles away and punched Scott so hard three teeth clattered to the floor in the distance.
The stunned werewolf took another few blows before Marco grabbed him by the throat again and made his way to his feet, unperturbed by the weight.
As the two rose, he slowly transformed. His muscles bubbled beneath his skin, growing and hardening like shaped steel. A feline thick muzzle stretched out his jaw and black hairs began to accent his face and outer arms.
The golden glow in his eyes matched the randomized strands of hair that also flared gold, intertwining with his dark dreads like a hybrid mane.
He raised a clawed hand ready to strike at Scott's face. Each claw still painted black and studded with silver.
"That's enough. If you do that again, I'll kill you myself."
Scott held his gaze and growled, unfazed by the transformation or difference in power.
The two stood that way for what felt like an eternity before Scott's hand shook and his eyes drifted to the window behind Marco.
Suddenly, sentience crept back into his wolfish gaze— and his transformation faded.
"She needs….help." Scott mumbled before coughing in Marco's grip.
Marco hesitantly turned and looked to where Scott's eyes aimed, swapping from his hand that still vibrated to the being walking outside the window.
His transformation faded in a flash as he dropped Scott.
"You have to help her." Scott said, seemingly unknowing of the clash that happened only moments before as Stiles helped him to his feet warily.
"You need to help yourself." Marco said.
"I'm serious. She's like you— she's one of you. Does that make you feel some responsibility over her?"
"What it makes me feel is of no matter to you." Marco replied.
Scott's eyes flared.
"Oh really? You want to do this again?"
Stiles approached the window, standing in between them, "Erica— where is she going? Didn't she want to talk to you?"
"She did, didn't she?" Scott said, suddenly seeming smarter than usual as he rubbed his throat in confusion.
"Yes. And I gave her guidance. And she's following it. That's why she's leaving. I will be doing the same."
"But—" Stiles started.
"I can't help your friend, Stiles. I have my own problems— and what Scott has is something I've never seen. You need to see Deaton, or I'll handle him with a much rougher hand."
Marco left the two in the bathroom to their own devices.
On his way out, he found himself nearly crashing into a student that seemed to be in a rush.
Her brown coils of hair crashed into his chest with a soundless thud as she dropped her books to the floor.
"Oof— sorr….." Alison's words trailed off as she looked up at Marco who soundlessly loomed over her.
"Another Argent….how nice." Marco thought sarcastically as he squatted down and picked up all her supplies with his gargantuan hands.
She stood up warily to retrieve her items with a sheepish thank you in reply.
Before Marco handed them to her, he found himself studying her hands. Not nearly as dainty as her soft feminine face. They were slender but hard. Calloused many times over— and two of her fingers held old lacerations straight across.
Injuries commonly seen on archers.
"Do you use a bow often?"
Alison gulped loudly. "N- No….I used to but not anymore."
"Sure." Marco said as he handed her items back and walked away.
The rest of his walk was spent alone— no unexpected or unwanted parties in his path. He was left to think.
Gerard was still a mystery…..
The Argents were changing.
Erica went off to find her guidance— her place in the supernatural world she'd been thrust into.
And something was wrong with Scott. Something relating to Gerard…..
How would a WereWolf be connected to an old grizzled hunter extremist in ways beyond human bounds?
He needed to consult his bestiaries….