This is the fifth story in the Watchtower series. The others are: This is Not Our Fate, Shouting Back to the Night, We Will Take It Back, and The Rain on the Fire. Watchtower is canon-compliant through season two and diverges but runs occasionally parallel to canon after that.
This is a better story for Chiomi's work to beta it. I still refuse to put a comma before "too" when it falls at the end of a sentence though.
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence
The title comes from "Up 2 U" by Walk The Moon. I named it before I wrote it for the first time, so I'm not sure it fits as well as the others, lol.
I welcome constructive criticism. I also welcome comments made entirely of emojis, but I'm not the best at deciphering them.
I'm sorry the beginning author's note is so long.
One: Reminder
Scott was leaving.
Stiles' eye twitched and his hands shook as he hugged Scott goodbye. He didn't say anything, but the others were getting better at reading him.
"UC Davis isn't that far," Scott assured him. "I'll come home on breaks and sometimes on the weekends."
Stiles couldn't resist saying, "I'll be sure to tell any monsters that try to eat me on a Wednesday to reschedule."
"Stiles, you can probably beat any monster yourself. There's a reason I feel okay leaving the town in your hands."
Stiles grinned. "The reason is that Allison is staying with me, isn't it."
"Absolutely." Scott laughed and pulled Stiles in for another hug. "I'll text when I get there."
Scott made the rest of his goodbyes. Scott had been planning to leave for a long time, for a year after he should rightfully have started college. He wouldn't tell Stiles about it, but he'd missed out on many of the scholarships he'd qualified for by not applying directly after high school.
Part of Stiles knew Scott was right. Anything stupid enough to attack Beacon Hills would be pounded to the ground. Still, he worried. Scott had been the one to save Stiles from Watchtower the first time and the last. He kept their pack together. He was their alpha.
Derek pulled Stiles into a hug from behind. He didn't say anything, just held him against his chest. Stiles leaned his weight back against his boyfriend. He wasn't alone. Scott was leaving, but not forever, and plenty of the others were staying. They would be fine. Stiles would be safe.
Stiles would never be safe so long as Haha, No and Watchtower were out there.
"You worry too much," Isaac said after Scott had gone. He was learning to read chemosignals too.
Stiles made a face at him.
"Seriously, he's better off leaving. BC3 keeps hiring evil teachers, and not even good ones. Like Umbridge level learning. At least the darach was more Mad-Eye Moody." The Beacon County Community College had been built up, along with much of downtown Beacon Hills and neighboring areas, when people and monsters poured into town, drawn by the awakened nemeton.
"I am so angry that I understand everything you're saying. Not because I have a problem with Harry Potter, but because it's coming out of your face."
"Be nice," Allison admonished. She kissed Isaac—lightly, thank God—before pulling back and waving a quick goodbye. If Stiles had her schedule memorized right, she was on her way to Psych 101 at BC3.
Stiles continued making faces at Isaac until he left too.
Lydia said, "You know she doesn't care that you disapprove, and you're really only making things harder for yourself by being mean to her boyfriend."
Most of the others had already gone. They still had a large pack, if loosely tied a lot of the time. The twins didn't even live in town anymore, but they kept in touch with Scott regularly. Even Peter still counted as pack, though he was off who knew where.
Stiles said, "I promise I would hate Isaac even if he wasn't dating Allison. I have pretty much always hated Isaac."
Lydia shook her head but let it go. "I guess I should just be grateful you're nice to my boyfriend."
"Are you kidding? Parrish is great. I love Parrish. If he and I weren't both taken, I'd date him."
Derek gave Stiles a nudge at that, but a playful nudge. He knew better than to think Stiles would cheat on him, both because they'd been through that, incredibly awkwardly, with Derek's uncle, and because Derek could literally feel Stiles' emotions through the psychic bond they shared.
Stiles phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked it to find a text from Sara Gregson, a link with no comment. He clicked it and scanned through the news story. Derek waited until he was through, motioning Lydia to wait too.
"Watchtower news," Stiles explained. "One of the board members made a deal to out the others."
"Which one?" Lydia asked.
Stiles shrugged. "It didn't say. I don't even know if it's true." He texted Gregson back to ask if she had confirmation of anything in the article. It wouldn't be either of the two who had taken the bite, Yukio Jackson and Brenna Dorian. Stiles had seen enough new-made werewolves to know they'd be too confident in their newfound power to give up and make a deal with the authorities. Cormac Flynn, Delilah Keynes, and John Mortimer had all been arrested and escaped once already. Presumably, they'd had their chance to give in. Nike wouldn't let Smiler give himself up; besides, the article had specified one of Watchtower's board members, not whatever Smiler was by the end. That left Felix Lorrain, except that as far as Stiles could tell, no one had heard from him anywhere.
Gregson texted back, "Not sure. Just got a link from Dumbo myself."
Stiles hadn't realized Dumbo cared enough to keep tabs on Watchtower. He'd always seemed easy going compared to others taken by Watchtower. Stiles could ask him about it later, or, more likely, ask Gregson later after she'd spoken to him.
"This is a good thing," Lydia said. "With more information, it's more likely they'll catch the others."
Stiles shrugged. "The human ones, anyway. Hopefully Argent's friends reach the others first." Chris Argent himself was hunting his sister Kate, returned from the dead as a berserker-controlling werejaguar. He'd taken Jax, another of Watchtower's former guards who followed Stiles to freedom, along to train him as a hunter. Most of those who had left Watchtower with Stiles had returned home to their families now that their names were cleared. A few, like Jax, had no family to return to. Spade had gone with his partner Setter, but Dumbo and Gregson had chosen to remain in Beacon Hills with Stiles. Given a little more time, they might even count as pack. As far as Stiles was concerned, Gregson already did.
"Lydia, can you take Stiles home?" Derek asked.
Stiles turned and raised an eyebrow at Derek even as Lydia agreed.
"I'm due to patrol with Cat. She's lingering at the edge of my vision to remind me." Derek shrugged.
"Which explains why I'm to go without you, but not why I need Lydia. You know I live within walking distance of Scott, right?"
Derek shrugged, smirking, and backed away to join Cat just before she rounded the corner to leave them behind.
"Come on." Lydia slipped her arm into his and pulled Stiles away. "Let him have his fun."
Stiles rolled his eyes but let Lydia guide him home.
~.x.~
Gregson ran, literally ran, up the sidewalk to the café entrance. Stiles nearly laughed aloud but settled for a smirk as he leaned against the outside wall waiting for her. A few people glanced curiously at Gregson, but no one lingered.
"Sorry I'm late, sir."
"This is the first time you've ever been late and only the third I've beaten you here. I think we're good." Stiles gave her a thumbs up. They'd been meeting here to talk over coffee at least once a week for several months now. Usually Stiles was the one running late. Sometimes Derek or Dumbo joined them, but usually it was just Gregson and Stiles.
Gregson opened the door for Stiles, so he bowed slightly before stepping through. Stiles found a table as far from anyone else as possible while Gregson ordered their drinks. Only a few people stared at him. The regulars were used to the talismans marking his face and neck, but, even growing, Beacon Hills wasn't the largest of cities. A lot of people knew he was the sheriff's son, twice abducted and returned home, living with his father with no prospects for a job or continuing his education. None of them met his eyes.
"If you're trying to scare away our business, I think it's working," one of the baristas said as she passed his table carrying a pile of plates. Stiles winked at her, and she continued cleaning tables with a laugh.
Gregson smiled and chatted briefly as she passed the girl but gave her back a more suspicious stare. "Watch out for that one, sir. She keeps watching you wistfully."
Stiles snorted.
"I'm serious. Something about the way you brood must appeal to her."
"I don't brood."
"You have clearly never watched your own face when you're sitting alone." Gregson grinned.
Stiles scowled, but it only make Gregson grin harder. He grabbed his latte to distract himself but froze when it hit his tongue and stared at the cup.
"I did something, didn't I?" he asked.
"What could you possibly have done?"
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Oh we're playing that game, are we?"
"Game, sir? No, sir." She couldn't quite keep a straight face saying it though.
Stiles continued drinking, staring Gregson dead in the eye to show he wouldn't be bothered by anything as simple as replacing his caramel macchiato with hazelnut. He could drink hazelnut. He could enjoy hazelnut. Just because it tasted completely wrong in every way didn't mean he would succumb to Gregson's plots.
"Blegh, I give up." Stiles took his hazelnut latte and stalked up to the counter to find all three baristas ready. The one who had been picking up plates was already giggling.
"What did you do?" The one at the register asked. He had orange hair that looked roughly like a cat sitting on his head and wore a bottle opener instead of a nametag. He held a drink in his hand.
Stiles shrugged.
The barista shook his head. "She already bought you this," he hefted the drink, "but she made us promise not to give it to you."
"Are you kidding?"
"Nope."
Stiles spared a glance for Gregson and found her smugly sipping her own perfect latte. Her birthday hadn't passed, so he couldn't have forgotten that. He hadn't neglected any of his appointments, medical or social, and he'd continued his training with Allison. Overall, he'd been a very good Stiles, the best Stiles anyone could ask for.
He hadn't, it occurred to him, been a very good Joker.
Stiles leaned forward to rest his elbows on the counter and said quietly, "Just remember no one will believe you." At the baristas' confused looks, he grinned as wickedly as he knew how and lifted one hand, gently floating his latte into his grasp. He barely managed it. He hadn't been practicing at all, not even to throw bits of paper at the back of Derek's head, at least not recently.
When he returned to their table, Gregson said, "I guess that takes care of her crush."
She seemed satisfied. Stiles couldn't guess why she, of everyone in Beacon Hills, would want him to use the power Jenneva Cole had forced on him. He'd melted her eye out with it. She wore a prosthetic now, but it couldn't return her vision or erase the pain he'd caused.
Gregson arched an eyebrow, and Stiles guessed he must have been emoting more than he realized. "If you give a kid a gun, you teach him how to use it. Maybe, if you're smart, you never give it to him in the first place, but once he has it, you have to make sure he won't shoot anyone on accident."
Stiles rubbed a hand through his hair and supposed it made more sense for Gregson to push him to train himself after all. "You know what I don't get?"
"No."
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"
"Who says I'm not?"
"Gregson, even when you told me I'd melted your eye out and you were worried I'd take the other one, you made sure to punish me for treating you like a tool instead of a person. You're not afraid of me."
She shook her head and took a drink of her latte—triple shot hazelnut no whip—before answering. "Just because I'm more afraid of being away from you doesn't mean I'm not also afraid of you. You don't see yourself, sir. Sometimes you're not so much a man as a force of nature with a terrible, destructive will. I just know how to weather that storm. The only time you've ever hurt me was when you didn't have control of yourself, so the only time I have to worry I can't keep you from hurting me is when you lose yourself again."
Stiles noticed she'd said 'when,' not 'if.'
He changed the topic, and she didn't even blink. "If you could see anything that you can't right now, what would it be?"
"I guess everyone wants to see the Mona Lisa."
"No, I mean, like a type of sight you don't have. Like x-ray vision. Or depth perception."
Her eyes widened. "You are an asshole. If you have the tools to make it, I want an eye that can detect and identify the supernatural."
Stiles grinned. Gregson hadn't been kidding when she claimed to understand him. "I don't actually know yet if I can do it. I wasn't sure you'd be interested."
"That's because you're an idiot, sir."
"Why do you insist on calling me that?"
"Your friends' job is to help you be healthier. It's my job is to help you be stronger. I call you 'sir' to remind you who you are."
Joker.
Stiles clenched his teeth to keep the grin off his face. It wouldn't scare her. The only person Joker seemed to scare anymore was Stiles.
~.x.~
Apparently Trick had an apartment and didn't just live permanently in their tattoo parlor. Stiles found this almost as suspicious as Danny lounging on the couch of Trick'sapartment with a Playstation controller in one hand and a bag of kale chips in the other. People who are not up to something do not eat kale willingly, but apparently Trick loved the stuff because Trick was some sort of hipster masochist.
"I would have invited you to join the Humans Whine About Their Superpowered Friends Club, but you're the superpowered friend Trick does most of their whining about." Danny shrugged and offered the bag of kale like Stiles would have accepted one.
"I am not alone," Trick added. "We occasionally have guest speakers, notably Sara and Allison, and let me just say that no one who has met you can resist the urge to complain about you."
"I'm touched," Stiles deadpanned. "I need a magic eyeball."
"I don't have one?" Trick mussed their hair, recently dyed a deep violet, the way they did when particularly confused by Stiles' requests. Their hair was such a curly mess it looked no different after mussing than before.
Danny leaned forward. "Wait, did you say magic eight ball or magic eyeball."
"Eyeball."
"Yeah, I'm out. Catch you later, Trick." He saluted and noped his way straight out the door.
"Wimp," Trick muttered.
Stiles continued. "Can you help me enchant an object instead of just tattoos?"
With a deep and morose sigh, Trick collapsed onto the couch Danny had vacated. "A lot of what we do with the tattoos works because it's a particularly artistic type of blood magic sacrifice."
"So we use blood for this too."
"The eye is for Sara, right? The friend whose eye you melted into a pile of goop that fell out of her face."
Stiles nodded. That was one way to put it.
"I imagine you feel a fair degree of guilt over this and hope to make it up to her with an eye that works way cooler than the one you destroyed."
Stiles shrugged since that also was a passable phrasing.
"And that, despite working with it for some time now, you actually have no real understanding of blood magic and don't realize the degree of power over you she would gain through a talisman anointed with your blood, which anyone else could also gain just by gaining her eye from her."
They'd lost Stiles somewhere in that one, so he tried to look confused.
"Since we both know you can't be bothered to spend time on anything not related directly to your pack or to hunting down whatshisface, I've been doing a lot of reading and talking to a lot of shady people. Did you know that working with you has had an effect on me? My aura tells people I'm a blood magic user now. They think I'm some sort of morally impaired witch since it also tells them none of the blood I've used is my own. Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to tell every single magic person I speak to that no, I'm not evil; I'm a tattoo artist, and I work for Stiles, you know, the sheriff's kid, the one with the insanely powerful and even more than that beautifully crafted tattoos."
"Why are so many people angry at me?" Stiles asked, knowing it wasn't what Trick wanted to hear.
"Stiles, you are an asshole." They shook their head but sat up properly and leaned forward, fixing Stiles with a steady look. "Blood ties to you. Anything anointed in your blood is tied to you. Anything tied strongly enough to you can have power over you. I do not recommend using your blood on anything that could ever fall into an enemy's hands."
"I'm pretty sure they have my blood already. They've definitely had access."
"To the blood itself, not to magic you made with it."
Stiles considered a moment. "Could it be used to hurt you too?"
"No."
"Then I think we should do it anyway. You can at least look into it, right?"
"Yes, fine, whatever. You're paying me though. Just because it's not a tattoo doesn't mean it's not work."
Stiles agreed more than a little absently. "I want it to see the supernatural, and to be able to distinguish somehow between different types of supernatural."
"Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't I be sure?"
Trick narrowed their eyes. "You do realize that when you give Sara this new eye, she's definitely going to look at you, right?"
"Yes."
"And what she sees will absolutely be the exact power that took her old eye from her."
"Oh." He bit his lip. "I don't care."
"Sure you do. We're just going through with this anyway because you're not smart enough not to. Get out. I have work to do."
Stiles hurried away before Trick could explain why any more of his life choices were the wrong ones.
~.x.~
Stiles left the Jeep parked in front of the station in the middle of the parking lot. 'Parked' might have been too generous a word. 'Left to its doom where it broke down on him again' might have done better. He needed to ask his dad for money for a new battery, but first he needed to ask his dad for money for a magic eyeball. He hefted the paper sack to show the deputy on duty, Lydia's boyfriend Parrish, he was just there to deliver his dad lunch. Lunch in the form of a generous bribe called a bacon cheeseburger and curly fries.
"Oh, thank God," was the first thing Stiles heard when he pushed open the door to his father's office. His dad hadn't even seen him yet. He groaned when he did. "What do you want?"
"I brought lunch." Stiles shook the bag. "Happy to see you too."
He eyed the room's other occupant suspiciously. He hadn't fully turned to Stiles yet, having apparently needed a moment to sigh and roll his eyes at just the sound of Stiles' voice first. Then he turned, froze, and stammered something Stiles was sure wasn't meant to be a greeting.
"No, I didn't bring one for you," Stiles said, stepping forward to drop the burger on his father's desk. "I did also come to ask for a little extra allowa—"
"No," his dad cut in.
"I didn't even tell you what it was for."
"I talked to Derek."
Stiles groaned. Derek had talked to Trick. Stiles had asked him to fund the eye first. "You didn't even look in the bag."
His dad grabbed the bag and immediately unwrapped the burger and dug in. "Answer's still no. Now go home."
"Can't. Jeep's broken."
"Again?"
"More like still."
His dad's no-doubt unwanted guest finally managed to blurt out, "I knew you were hiding something, Stilinski."
Stiles sneered at the man, glad that Scott wasn't in town to deal with his father's return to Beacon Hills. He was supposed to be out hunting Watchtower, not pestering people in Beacon Hills.
"What are you talking about?" Stiles' dad asked.
"I told you I was looking for someone in Beacon Hills who might have information that could help me. I gave you the full physical description as well as known alias for this person."
"Yes, I was here for that."
"You said you couldn't tell me who it was."
"I was here for that too."
Raphael McCall jabbed a finger at Stiles' face. "It's your son."
Stiles froze, staring at that finger. The board all knew about him, though not as 'Stiles,' he supposed. They had to know his face though, his distinctive scars and tattoos: a spade under his left eye, the point of a diamond on the side of his neck, and a club carved into his temple.
"If you think you're doing anything to my son, I strongly suggest you reconsider." Stiles' dad set aside his lunch and stood slowly with his eyes trained on McCall's.
"I don't have any sort of information that could help you, except maybe directions for how to get out of town," Stiles said, dropping into a chair.
"My sources identified... you as one of Watchtower's single most powerful agents," McCall insisted. "They said you'd," he shook his head. "They said you'd slaughtered countless others and once took control of the entire organization until you were ousted by an outside party."
Stiles narrowed his eyes and tried to look vaguely incredulous.
"They said you might know something about the whereabouts of Dimitri Sorokin."
Stiles shook his head. If he knew where Haha, No was, he'd be dead. Again.
"They also said you were one of those forced in, so I came here to offer you a deal for leniency in exchange for information. I just didn't expect you to be you."
"Deal for leniency?" Stiles raised an eyebrow.
"I hope you're reconsidering hard." Stiles' dad's face was turning red as he glared at Agent McCall.
Surprise. Not Stiles'. Derek's. He was out on patrol with Cat, but didn't seem to be alarmed. Stiles could ask him about it later. It had to be something strong though to carry through the bond and overwhelm Stiles so suddenly.
McCall sighed. "Look, I'm not going to arrest your son. Just tell me if you two know anything."
Stiles shook his head. "I have nothing for you."
"You have to know something. You were a prisoner for months and a commander later on. You can't just know nothing."
Stiles raised his hands, palm up to show he just had nothing to give.
"I know you're lying, Stiles. You know something."
"I know exactly what you know," Stiles snapped. "A little less now. We sent you what we knew in an email, you asshole. I don't have anything else to give."
McCall hesitated. "That was you?"
Stiles nodded.
McCall looked from Stiles to his father and back. Stiles figured that was as good a time as any to leave and vacated first his chair, then the office. At the desk he had to ask Parrish for help jumpstarting his Jeep, but McCall didn't follow.
~.x.~
Stiles met Allison and Lydia for lunch after leaving the station. Roscoe the Jeep didn't even give out on the way to Lydia's house. Stiles almost let himself believe the rest of the day would be a good one, but the kitchen table was suspiciously littered with online university brochures. There was even one for Empire State where Lydia was taking classes. He pointedly didn't look at them and set his glass of water down directly on top of them without a coaster. Lydia rolled her eyes. Allison looked to be asking God what she'd done to deserve Stiles as a friend.
"I, uh, need to call Scott if that's okay," Stiles said.
"Why?" Allison asked as he pulled out his phone.
"You're about to hear me tell him." Stiles dialed and waited for Scott to pick up. "Are you alone?"
"Mostly?" Scott said.
"I mean can anyone overhear me."
"No."
"Your dad is in town. He showed up with a description of Joker and recognized me when I was dumb enough to walk in front of him. I may also have given away that we sent him that email."
"Crap."
"Yeah, loads of crap. Just heaping piles of it. I hate your dad."
"Do you want me to come back?"
"No, Scotty, there's nothing you can do. I just thought you should know. Later." He waited just long enough for Scott to start asking if he was sure before hanging up on him.
Lydia and Allison had settled down across the table to stare at him. They'd set out lunch but hadn't started eating.
"If he recognized you but let you go, does that mean he doesn't want to interrogate you?" Lydia asked.
"It means my dad made it clear he wasn't welcome to, and I told him I sent him everything I know." Stiles reached for his plate but hesitated at the girls' glares. "Why am I in trouble?"
Allison asked, "How much does he know about Joker?"
"I didn't stick around to ask. He knows I was kidnapped and later scared a bunch of people into doing what I said, though I don't think he knows how closely I was working with Sorokin." It felt strange to call Haha, No by that name.
"Do you think he's going to let it go?" Allison continued.
"Absolutely not. Scott's dad is a shithead."
Lydia asked, "Are you in danger?"
Stiles shook his head. "He wants information to catch the other guys. Even before he realized I was the guy he thought could help him, he intended to offer a deal."
They stared at him, both through narrowed eyes before Allison finally motioned to his plate and commanded, "Eat."
They had made grilled chicken wraps with lettuce. Stiles began nibbling at it without much interest while Lydia watched him with something closer to pity than betrayal. He had trouble showing much interest in food. It was why he tried to meet friends for meals. If he didn't, there was a fair chance he wouldn't eat at all.
Derek and Cat pushed through the door without knocking and threw together their own wraps from food Lydia had left on the counter. The small kitchen table was only made to hold four, but Derek dragged in a chair from the dining room rather than push the whole group to move.
Not a good food day? Derek's thought reached Stiles through their bond.
Stiles shrugged. Sometimes it's harder. Some meals tasted like heaven, and others tasted like ash. The quality of the food didn't seem to make a difference. Scott's dad is in town. He knows I'm Joker.
Derek send wordless alarm through the bond, but Stiles assured him everything was fine.
Something startled you on your patrol. What was it?
"We saw a coyote," Derek said aloud. "It had a strange aura for a coyote."
Stiles asked, "Do coyotes usually have auras?"
"Everything has auras." Derek shoved half his wrap in his mouth in one go while Stiles eyed him suspiciously.
"Do I have an aura?"
"Yes."
"What's it say?"
"It says you need to shut up sometimes but absolutely won't, not ever, for any reason."
"Damn, my aura's accurate as hell." Stiles tried to eat more of his wrap, but even with Derek smiling at him, it didn't taste like anything.
Allison cut in, "What was weird about the coyote's aura?"
"It was a human aura," Cat said. "We think she's a shapeshifter."
"A werecoyote?" Lydia asked.
Cat shrugged.
"Did you try talking to her?" Allison asked.
"She ran away. We lost her," Derek answered. He studied the college brochures littering the table. "Do you know if any of these have very good history departments?"
Cat groaned, "You too?"
"I don't have any hobbies except stalking teenagers," Derek said.
Stiles snorted. "I'll be twenty next year, and you read a lot."
Derek shrugged and accepted several Lydia had picked out for him while they spoke.
"All of these offer online degrees," she said, "so you wouldn't need to leave Beacon Hills. Just buy a computer."
"You mean those shiny things with all the buttons Stiles likes to clack on?"
The others didn't laugh until after Stiles started choking on lettuce. He wondered if they'd thought Derek was serious.
Derek was glaring at them. "I own a laptop," he said. "My loft has working electricity, and I drive a Camaro instead of a coach-and-four."
Allison winced. "Sorry."
Lydia pursed her lips as if to say any misconceptions were Derek's own fault.
Derek's eyebrows lowered, turning his stare into a glower. "Fine. Then which of you is going to tell us what my uncle wanted?"
Lydia and Allison shared a look.
"Peter's back?" Stiles asked. To his knowledge, he was Peter's closest living friend. He'd have expected to be the first to know when Peter came to town.
Derek ignored him, staring across the table. "Well? I can smell him on you."
"He wanted me to banshee something. I was no help to him." Lydia lifted one shoulder in a sassy shrug and left it at that with her eyebrows raised as if daring Derek to ask for more.
He sighed and didn't.
Stiles texted, "Jerk," to Peter and finished his lunch.
~.x.~
Peter sighed even more dramatically than Derek would have and dropped himself onto the couch with his arms spread. "You're not my mother, Stiles. I don't have to tell you where I am every second of every day."
"I'm pretty sure you wouldn't share that information even with your mother, and I was just saying a, 'hey, man, I'm in town,' would be nice." Stiles crossed his arms and tried to look annoyed. He didn't actually expect Peter to check in with him. He'd assumed Peter would sooner speak to Stiles than Lydia, but that didn't mean his feelings were hurt. Mostly, he hoped to get Peter to tell him whatever Lydia wouldn't.
"I'll keep it in mind. Are you just here to yell at me, or should we get dinner?"
Stiles checked the time on his cell phone. Derek would be researching colleges and werecoyotes for a while yet, but it was just past six. "Yes, dinner." If he didn't eat with Peter now, he probably wouldn't have time until after ten since he still wanted to badger Trick tonight.
"Dine in or out?"
Stiles shrugged. "Lunch tasted like dust, so don't go out of your way."
"One of those days, then." Peter grabbed his phone and ordered pizza with ham and pineapple.
"I'm changing the name of that pizza to kanima because there are places pineapple just doesn't belong."
Peter shrugged. "You wouldn't like it anyway. At least if you're annoyed you're feeling something more than nothing."
With a huff, Stiles dropped himself onto the couch beside Peter. "You talked to Lydia," he said.
"Obviously."
"What about?"
"Less than I had hoped to."
Stiles scrunched his face up. "Seriously? That's what you're going with?"
"Well, it's not a lie."
"Does that mean you won't tell me?"
Peter rolled his shoulder uncomfortably. "I'm not sure yet if I want to tell anyone, even you."
"Did you threaten Lydia to keep her from telling?"
"Of course not. Allison was there the whole time; you can ask her. If they didn't say what we talked about, then it's because they don't think it's worth sharing."
Stiles squirmed. "Feeling of the day: uncomfortable about my friend going behind my back to bother another friend who the first friend has a history of abusing, with abuse being defined as mental torture and physical assault."
"Thanks, Stiles. It really means a lot. Why do you think she brought Allison?"
"I just don't see why you had to—"
"She's a banshee. I needed banshee powers to listen to my dead sister through her claws. Happy now?"
"No?"
"Good, me neither. Get the door."
A knock came at the door as soon as Stiles stood. Peter handed over a wad of cash, which Stiles traded for the pizza without taking any change. The delivery boy looked equal parts confused and grateful. Stiles supposed most people didn't give forty dollar tips.
"I'll remember to count it ahead of time in the future," Peter said before biting into his terrible pizza.
Stiles glared at his own dinner for several seconds before giving in. "You were right," he said once he'd taken a bite. "It tastes less like ash when I'm busy hating it, but to be fair, this pizza never had any flavor to begin with."
Peter grinned. It faded to a smile and then a thoughtful stare. In a voice much softer than he usually used, he said, "I'm a father. Talia took the memory from me. I still don't know who my child is or who their mother was."
"Shit."
"Yeah."
"Lydia doesn't know who it is?"
Peter shook his head. "She's not very receptive to my coaching for obvious reasons, so she couldn't get anything more."
"You mentioned your sister's claws. Is that why you were out of town?"
"Retrieving them from a family of hunters with no right to hold them, yes."
"Are those hunters likely to come here in retaliation?" Stiles asked.
Peter shrugged. He turned on the TV, and they finished eating the pizza while listening to Gordon Ramsay lecture terrible restaurant owners. Leaning back on Peter's couch, Stiles considered leaving Trick be for another day. He was comfortable here, as comfortable as he ever was at home or at the loft.
After a while, Peter turned down the volume and set a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "It was Keynes. The board member who gave themself up. She knew very little about the others' location. The funny thing is she claimed not even to know Lorrain's face. She knew yours though."
"FBI already contacted me," Stiles said. He left it at that for a moment, just to let Peter worry as payback for waiting so long to bring up Keynes. "Scott's dad came to town, took one look at my face, and knew I was his man. I'm still free, so that's good."
Peter pinched Stiles' arm. "You can be an ass, Stiles."
"Back atchya. How did you find that out? Gregson couldn't get anything."
"I know a lot of people. Since you got involved with Watchtower, I've made it my business to know even more people. I may also now owe someone your autograph."
Stiles snorted. "Seriously?"
"Preferably on a photo of you. The cartoon Joker or a playing card would do as a substitute. In fact if you could just prep a collection of them for me, I can start trading your fame for favors any time."
"Do you have a deck and a pen?"
Peter did, though he seemed surprised by Stiles' willingness. Good. Peter predicted him too well by far most of the time.
"Should I sign as Joker or as Stiles?"
"Joker, dumbass."
"Hey, you can't talk to me that way. I'm famous. For killing people. I'm a famous serial killer. Godamnit." Stiles signed cards as he spoke. He wondered how they could confirm he'd done it. 'Joker' wasn't his real signature.
"Don't feel bad. I tried the serial killer thing too. I just didn't attract fans the way you do. Say what you want about his moral failings, but Dimitri is an exceptional publicist."
Stiles had to stop signing long enough to let a fit of laughter pass. "Dude, I don't believe you're actually getting anything of use from these anyway."
"I know what I'm doing, Stiles."
Stiles resisted the urge to say, 'But not who you've been doing, amirite,' but only just barely. He got the feeling Peter picked up on the thought somehow anyway. Probably Stiles made a stupid face. He did that sometimes.
~.x.~
Stiles didn't make it to Trick's apartment. He shot off a suitably annoying text before leaving Peter's place and went home. He was tired. There had been a time he couldn't go one place on his own without incident, and today he'd been all over town. He looked forward to climbing into bed with Derek and relaxing.
Stiles reached through the bond to see if Derek was at Stiles' house. He was, and already in bed waiting for Stiles. And naked. Stiles disregarded a few traffic laws to get home faster and hoped his father was asleep or at work.
Derek was feigning sleep, lying spread out over the bed with his mouth hanging open. His amusement carried through the bond. Stiles tossed his keys on the desk—well, he would have missed the desk but cheated a little with his club talisman—and kicked his shoes off before straddling Derek on the bed.
He rained kisses down on Derek's face and neck, but Derek just started snoring. Stiles reached his fingers down to the ticklish spot on Derek's ribs mercilessly, leaving Derek no choice but to curl around him giggling for all the world like a kid instead of a grown-ass werewolf.
"I give, I give!" Derek gasped, kissing Stiles' neck where he could reach despite trying to curl around him into a ball.
Stiles stopped tickling and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, planting a solid smooch right on his forehead. "Serves you right though."
Derek slid his hands down from Stiles back to grip his ass. "Oh, does it now?"
"Yeah, and I'm—God fucking damn it!" The last he shouted at his ringing phone. It was Gregson. He answered.
She said, "Sir, we have a problem."
"I figured that since you're calling me when I'm busy. What is it?"
Derek leaned back and cradled his head on his hands, waiting.
Gregson cleared her throat before continuing. "I think someone figured out Dumbo doesn't exist."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Edmund Philips is a pseudonym."
"Who the hell is Edmund Philips?"
"Dumbo is."
"So Dumbo is Edmund Philips, but Dumbo also is not Edmund Philips?"
"Yes, sir."
"So who is Dumbo really?"
"I don't know, sir, but you're not the only one interested."
"I'm really not sure why you needed to bother me with this." Stiles dropped himself to collapse into bed beside Derek, who wrapped an arm around him, pulling Stiles close against his chest.
"Sorry, sir. Maybe I should have led with that. We just killed a werewolf trying to abduct him. Her partner got away."
"Shit."
"Yes, sir. Shit, sir."
"Shut up and get over here with Dumbo."
"Be right there, sir." She hung up.
Stiles massaged his temples. It didn't help.
"I guess I should put pants on," Derek said.
Stiles only groaned, so Derek got himself dressed.
When Gregson and Dumbo arrived, Stiles sat them down in the living room and glared copiously. Derek helped. He had great eyebrows for glaring.
Stiles leveled a finger at Dumbo and ordered, "Explain."
"I'm a spy from an organization so secret we don't even know it's name. I've been keeping tabs on Watchtower for years, working my way through the ranks until you made my subordinate into my commanding officer. When I was eight, Watchtower kidnapped my mother, which—"
"Shut up, Dumbo," Gregson interrupted. "He's a compulsive liar, sir. Or playing the part of one. There's a reason I generally don't let him talk to you."
Stiles ran his hands through his hair roughly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Unfortunately not. It's why I've never been able to figure out who he actually is. First time I met him, Dumbo was serving on a different squad with the name Leopold Carson. Insisted his friends call him LeCar, but I'm not convinced he had any friends. No one seemed to mind or notice when he changed his name."
Dumbo explained, "Watchtower soldiers are trained not to ask too many questions."
"That's true, at least," Gregson confirmed.
Stiles continued ruining his hair. Derek hadn't sensed a thing when Dumbo started lying. No change in heart rate, no anxiety, not even a change in his breathing. So either he could lie as well as most people told the truth, or it had been the truth, and Gregson just couldn't trust him anymore.
"For curiosity's sake," Stiles said, "give me another origin story, Dumbo."
"I was raised in the circus, forced to care for the elephants, which is why I like the name you gave me so much. Elephants are majestic creatures. Watchtower recruited me by framing me for the murders of everyone else in the circus, who they assassinated one by one until I was the only one left. I was only eleven at the time. They've trained me since childhood to be the ultimate killing machine, which is also why I'm so socially disarming."
Derek got nothing from him. Nothing.
"Damn," Stiles said.
Dumbo aimed a pair of finger guns straight at Stiles until Gregson pushed his hands down.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to just... give us your birth name?" Stiles asked.
Dumbo shrugged. "I don't exist."
"You saying that only convinces me you do exist."
Now Dumbo grinned. "The funny thing about a lie is it's most convincing if at least part of it is true."
"So you admit you're lying."
"I would never lie to my superior officer, sir."
Gregson buried her face in her hands with a groan. She must have already been through this.
Stiles said, "It's late. You two stay here for the night. We'll gather the pack tomorrow to figure out a plan. Have you taken care of the werewolf's body?"
"Yes, sir," Gregson said, face still in her hands.
Stiles waved vaguely even though she couldn't see it and left the room to get ready for bed.
~.x.~
The rest of the pack got nothing more from Dumbo than Gregson and Stiles had. Peter offered to torture him, but Stiles shushed him as Dumbo laughed at the idea. Derek and Cat pulled Peter aside, but Stiles didn't get the feeling they were talking about Dumbo. Lydia and Dumbo seemed to be having a staring contest.
"We should lock him up," Allison said, standing at Stiles' right side. "To protect him and to protect everyone else if it turns out whatever he's hiding could harm us."
Stiles nodded. "We need to tell Scott too."
"Peter, do you still own that warehouse?" Allison asked.
Peter looked up from his conversation and shook his head. "I sold it to someone who wanted to build a shopping mall there."
"Why?"
"They made a great offer." Peter patted Derek on the shoulder and ignored his nephew baring his fangs at him.
Gregson said, "Locking Dumbo up wouldn't work anyway. He's a master escape artist."
"Are you kidding me?" Stiles damn near shouted it.
"I wish I was. And I'm speaking from experience, not based on anything he's told me."
Dumbo shrugged apologetically.
Stiles jabbed his finger at Gregson, "If Dumbo is so skilled, why didn't I know about it before? I literally call the guy Dumbo. You let me. You call him Dumbo."
Gregson tilted her head. "Sir, do you know I'm a black belt? Or that I speak four languages? Or that the man you killed when we met, Mort, had three PhD's?"
"No?"
"You adopted one of the most unique human squads in Watchtower. Many of us were in training to leave the guard program and become researchers or managers. Dumbo was the only one without a mentor in a higher position, and most of us assumed it was because he's not actually a guard at all. Half the squad believed he was the one set to monitor our progress."
"Shit. Why didn't you ever tell me that? Why did you all seem so normal? Why the hell did you do what I said when we met?"
Dumbo started laughing.
Gregson said, "To be fair, part of why we were training to find new positions is that we were better suited for other work than guard duty."
"That means we're shit as soldiers," Dumbo clarified.
"That doesn't explain why you never told me," Stiles said to Gregson.
"You don't listen to a damn thing I say unless it's immediately relevant. I'm telling you now because you'll pay attention now. I didn't tell you before because you'd have forgotten anyway."
Stiles almost tried to respond but let it go. "Peter," he said instead. "How do you feel about a trip inside Dumbo's head?"
A smoke grenade detonated as soon as he finished speaking.
"Damn it, Dumbo!" Gregson shouted.
The door slammed open but not shut. By the time Stiles reached it, Dumbo was out of sight. Derek and Cat ran after him, but Stiles got the feeling they wouldn't have much luck.
"I guess his secrets are really important to him," Stiles said.
"He'll be back," Gregson said. "He likes you. But he'll take his sweet time about it, and we have to just hope he doesn't get himself killed in the meantime."
"So," Stiles said, "are there any other major security risks you haven't bothered to tell me about?"
"I wouldn't know, sir. I'll think about it while you think on why you didn't stop the smoke from concealing his escape." Gregson saluted and walked stiffly from the house.
Stiles bit his lip. "I forgot I could," he muttered, pushing the last of the smoke out the open front door.
~.x.~
"It hasn't even been a month," were Scott's first words to Stiles after he got back into town on Friday night. "And you've already got the FBI in town, a Watchtower attack, a wild werecoyote, and dissention in the ranks."
From his study, Stiles' dad added, "That doesn't even include all these missing persons." Stiles could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose from the sound of his voice alone. He'd been working a lot of overtime but hadn't said why before.
"Look, no one in the circus knew their elephant could fly until he showed them either," Stiles said.
Scott shook his head, but he seemed more amused than annoyed. "I'll talk to my dad," he said.
Stiles shrugged. "I don't even know why he's still in town. I told him he has everything I know."
"Maybe he knew you were lying."
"Hey, I am an excellent liar." When Scott raised an incredulous eyebrow, Stiles said, "My name is Carter, and I'm secretly in love with the moon."
"Yeah, but that's obviously a lie, and you're not under any pressure to be convincing. It's different."
"But you got nothing from me, right Scotty?" Stiles had been practicing, mostly with Peter because Cat and Derek seemed not to approve.
Scott sighed. "Right. You said Dumbo can do the same thing?"
"Yeah, and then some."
"Derek said they think they're close to finding the coyote's den, and that they did find wreckage from an old car crash with her scent all over it, so that will give us somewhere to start."
Stiles gave a thumbs up. "And that just leaves our Watchtower problems."
Stiles dad poked his head out from his office. "Did you just use coyote and old car wreck in the same sentence?"
"Yeah, why?"
The sheriff shook his head. "Not sure yet, just sounds familiar." He returned to his office.
Stiles shook his head. "I think he needs a vacation."
Scott nodded. "A long one."
"I can hear you," Stiles' dad said.
Stiles pulled Scott away from the office toward the front door. "So do you want to check out the wreck or talk to your dad first?"
Scott groaned.
"Not your dad, then."
Stiles drove because Scott still had a motorcycle instead of a car, but he had to keep swatting Scott's hands away from the console.
"What's that?" Scott asked, shoving his finger into Stiles' space.
"Nothing."
"Really? Because it looks like a check engine light."
"Shut up, Scott."
Scott shrugged and shut up until the low fuel light came on. "What about that one? And why is it on if the gas gauge says you're still full?"
"One or both of them may be completely broken," Stiles admitted. "This should be the spot." He pulled the Jeep over and parked it, hoping he'd be able to turn it back on later.
"Are you going to strand me in the middle of the woods?"
Stiles scoffed. "Obviously I'm going to sacrifice you to the coyote in the middle of the woods."
"Yeah, that's cooler," Scott said absently, already turning away. He led the way, following his senses until they reached the crash.
"You can smell it?" Stiles asked.
"Yeah, it smells... sad, I guess. Guilty?" Scott eyed the wreckage. There were scratches running through metal and bite marks on the car seats.
"The car smells guilty?"
"No, I mean whoever keeps visiting it has felt a lot of guilt here. The scent lingers. Derek said this was linked to the werecoyote, right? Maybe she feels bad about it."
Stiles shrugged. He couldn't smell emotions.
He caught sight of something in the car, pale tan contrasting the darker cloth of the seats. When he ducked forward to look, he found a baby doll, old and worn, wedged into what would have been headspace if the car were upright. A growl stopped Stiles in his tracks as he reached for the doll. He looked up through the shattered window to see a coyote snarling down at him with her eyes glowing a brilliant blue. A murderer, then. Stiles knew as well as anyone that blue eyes didn't make the shifter a villain, but they still meant she was capable. And dangerous.
Scott growled, shifting and spreading his arms to show off his claws. At the red glow of his eyes the coyote turned and ran. Scott followed, loping on all fours.
"I'll just wait here," Stiles called after them. He grabbed the doll and studied it but saw nothing of use. Maybe he could figure it out later. Stiles turned back toward the Jeep to stow the doll while he waited for Scott to return.
Dumbo tackled him. A gun fired. Stiles rolled, pulling Dumbo with him back toward the wreck.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" Stiles demanded in an angry whisper while searching for the shooter.
"Stalking you. What the hell are you doing out here?" Dumbo pointed the shooter out to Stiles. Whoever they were, they'd hidden behind a tree. All Stiles could make out was their knee.
"Stalking coyotes. What the hell are they doing out here?" He motioned to the shooter.
"Stalking me. He's the partner of the one Gregson killed when it attacked me."
"Why are they after you?"
Dumbo set his hand on Stiles shoulder and waited until Stiles looked at him to roll his eyes dramatically. Stiles had never taken much notice of Dumbo, though now that he thought of it, Dumbo had been the only member of the squad to challenge him other than their commander Mort. Dumbo had been the only one to question his orders. Later he'd been the only one to request the arena program. Then he was the only one to stay behind with Stiles and Gregson when everyone else went home.
"Dumbo, if your secrets get me killed, I'm changing your name to something stupider."
"Aw, boss, no need to be petty." He smirked. "Especially since you can't rename people in hell."
"Oh I'll find a fucking way. He's on the move. Come on."
The shooter circled through the trees and underbrush, trying to flank their position by the car. Stiles and Dumbo moved to keep their eyes on him right up until Dumbo stood in the middle of his line of fire, pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans and shot him in the head.
"What the hell, Dumbo, we could have questioned him." Stiles was more resigned than angry. Dumbo probably knew exactly what he had been after and who he was working for. He sighed. "I don't suppose you know why he fired on me if he's after you?"
Dumbo shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't like creepos who steal baby dolls."
"This is evidence."
"Of what?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Dumbo saluted and headed off toward the Jeep, leaving Stiles no choice but to follow.
"Are you coming back with us?" Stiles asked.
"Are you gonna let someone werewolf memory claw my neck?"
Stiles rolled his eyes and shook his head, then sighed for good measure.
Dumbo asked, "Has it occurred to you that if I told you I'd have to kill you?"
"Shut up, Dumbo."
"Gregson always makes working with you seem so glamorously badass. I knew she was full of it."
"I melted her eye out of her socket."
"Yeah, whatever. I'm sure it was very traumatizing."
"I never realized you were such an asshole."
"Takes one to know one." Dumbo pulled out the finger guns.
"No, it doesn't. I mean, I am. An asshole. But nice people also would know that you are an asshole too."
Scott ran into view, saving them from any more thrilling conversation. "I lost her. She can really run." He eyed Dumbo briefly, eyes flashing.
Stiles filled Scott in about the attack on the way back.
~.x.~
"Let the police do their job for once, Stiles," his dad said, leaning over the edge of the table and squinting his eyes like maybe he'll be able to see the point when his son started ignoring the law if he looks harder. "You can't just 'take care of' every body. The government knows about Watchtower now. We can process the body."
"And track down the murderer," Stiles added, pointing at Dumbo. "Or me, since my fingerprints are all over the car."
"You reported the body, so of course you were at the scene. We don't need to mention... Dumbo."
"So we let the police do their jobs without letting the police do their jobs. Great thinking, Dad. Really coherent. All the logic there is internally consistent and everything."
"Stiles," his dad sighed.
"What? It's a bad idea."
Scott interrupted, "I think it's a good idea. Maybe if everyone knew the bodies would go to the police, they'd stop killing everyone who attacks."
"Self defense," Dumbo said distractedly. He was doodling on the pad of paper the Stilinskis used for a grocery list. It was a shitty drawing, but Stiles thought it was supposed to be Scott.
"Which is legal," Scott said. "But I don't think your gun is, so maybe next time you can knock them out?"
Stiles' dad added, "I think having a live witness would distract Raphael. He keeps lurking in the station giving me these betrayed glares."
Dumbo looked up from his doodle long enough to say, "I'm sure arresting your son would also distract him." He flipped the page and started on what might have been a dog.
"Don't worry, Stiles. He agreed to leave you alone." His dad set a hand on Stiles' arm to comfort him. "But we may be able to learn something from the body, something that the rest of you couldn't get by either disposing of it or hiding it away to study."
"Fine." Stiles glowered, but no one seemed to notice. "Where is Gregson anyway? She should be watching Dumbo."
"She's at Trick's," Dumbo said. "I don't need a keeper."
"You need like seventeen keepers. An evil spirit possessed Allison a while back. Maybe we can get a spirit to possess you to keep you in place."
"Or." Dumbo pointed the pen at Stiles. "You could just not. I've been fine so far on my own."
"You said Gregson killed the shifter that attacked you."
"Gregson is a wonderful person, but I have as much training as she does. I can take care of myself."
Stiles' dad stood up. "I'm going to the station, then I'm picking up the body. Stiles, your phone was dead, so you came home to tell me about the body."
Stiles groaned and waved something like assent while Dumbo snickered.
"Shut your face Dumbo, or I'll call in Setter to help Gregson guard you."
Dumbo shut his face but threw the pad of paper at Stiles' nose.
~.x.~
Stiles' hands jittered with nerves as he pushed into Trick's shop. They waved for him to wait as they finished charging a large man with a bandage covering a huge swath of his left arm. Then they pushed Stiles into one of the waiting chairs and took the other for themself.
"Sara's helped me pick out the design for her eye. It's a little trippy to be honest. I pegged her for the trying to blend in type."
"You told her?"
Trick rolled their eyes. "Of course I told her. She already knew for one thing, and she deserved to choose the look of the thing she'd be wearing in her face. Maybe she plans to keep her current prosthetic for when she wants to look normal."
"How weird is the eye she picked?"
Trick shrugged. "Not bad. You'll see it when it gets here."
Stiles tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. "I don't have much time right now. Did you call me down here just for that?"
"Of course not. I need a vial of your blood."
"You don't even have the eye yet."
"You wanna give your friend supervision or not, asshole?"
"I'm headed to the police station right now. Maybe you can bleed me sometime it won't look suspicious to the FBI?"
Trick leaned forward in their chair. "Lemme get this straight. You claim you're dedicated enough to this to risk your life, but you won't risk a little interview with your friend's dad?"
"Whatever, just be quick."
Trick took him to the back. They had a needle, so Stiles figured at least he'd look more like a junkie than a palm-slashing blood mage. As soon as Trick had enough of his blood to fill a small vial, they kicked him out, claiming he'd scare off their real customers. At least they didn't ask him for payment yet. He still didn't have it.
~.x.~
Scott rushed out of the police station as Stiles pulled up. "Where have you been?" Scott demanded, tugging Stiles toward the door by his arm. "My dad already thinks you skipped town."
"My Jeep is a piece of shit and broke down halfway here. Chill." Stiles knew he had no right to tell his friend to chill. His own hands were shaking.
Stiles' father met them inside the station and motioned them to follow him into his office where Raphael McCall waited.
"I know your father submitted your statement," McCall said, motioning for Stiles to sit, "but I just want to make sure I understand the details."
Stiles shrugged, forcing his hands to still. Scott and the sheriff both sat. They had insisted on being present. Derek was nearby, unworried despite Stiles' own nerves. He seemed to think Stiles would want him there when McCall was finished with him. To be honest, Stiles wanted him there now.
"Did you know when you saw the body that it was a Watchtower agent?" McCall asked.
"I sort of assume half the people I see on any given day are Watchtower agents, but I didn't poke around to find out for sure because I didn't want to contaminate a crime scene." Stiles scratched at the inside of his arm where Trick had pricked him to draw blood. "I also didn't want to be there alone if there were more of them."
McCall crossed his arms. "Why were you there in the first place?"
"My boyfriend goes on jogs through the woods. He told me about an old car wreck he saw out there, and I wanted to see it."
"Derek Hale, right?"
Stiles nodded.
"Why would you care to look at a wrecked car?"
Stiles smirked like it was obvious. "I'm unemployed. That gets boring. Honestly if he didn't keep going long past the point where I get winded, I'd start jogging with Derek for something to do."
"You realize most people get jobs."
"Do you think I'm fit for customer service or office environments?"
McCall obviously had nothing to say to that. It quickly became clear he had nothing much to say at all. He kept trying to trick Stiles into revealing something about Watchtower. In the end, Stiles' dad told McCall the interview was finished and had Scott take Stiles outside. Derek met them there and pulled Stiles immediately into a hug.
"It wasn't that bad," Stiles assured him.
"I know." Derek leaned down to kiss him. "But I missed you."
Stiles smirked at Derek and pulled him in for another kiss as Scott made gagging noises. Stiles flipped him off and pulled his mouth away from Derek's just long enough to say, "Payback for when you were dating Allison."
Scott pretended to beat his forehead against the wall until Stiles' dad came outside to tell them they were free to go.
They called most of the pack over to Derek's loft that night to play games and watch a movie like they were normal people. The next morning, Scott went back to school.
~.x.~
Peter put his feet on the coffee table even though he always scolded Stiles for the same thing. "No one knows where Sorokin is. Not even if I ask really, really nicely."
Stiles tugged his fingers through his hair.
"Keep that up, and you're going to go bald young," Peter said.
Stiles tugged harder. "Someone has to know where he is."
"Did Danny agree to hack into Sorokin's email accounts?"
Stiles shook his head. "I think Scott's dad figured him out and talked to him. If I even start to ask Danny for a favor he throws kale chips at me now."
"So Danny figured you out too."
"I swear to God those things are worse than your pizza." Stiles scrunched his face in disgust. "Derek and Scott just tell me to focus on recovery or applying to college. Dumbo is an asshole. Gregson does her best, but a spy she is not."
Peter lifted his arms to link his fingers behind his head. "I guess that means I'm your Obi-Wan."
Stiles snorted. "Help me, Peter Hale, you're my only hope." He dropped onto the couch beside Peter and put his feet on the coffee table, ignoring Peter's raised eyebrow. "What about Smiler or Nike? I don't know if they're working for him anymore, but they may at least be in contact."
Peter shook his head and pushed at Stiles' legs until he took them off the table. Stiles set his own ankles over Peter's so he couldn't say he was damaging the table.
"The board?" Stiles asked.
Peter was busy staring at the ceiling like it would tell him what he'd done to deserve Stiles as a friend. Killed a bunch of people was Stiles' guess.
"Seriously? Nothing?" Stiles elbowed Peter in the ribs just in case he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open. "I thought I was so famous my autograph would open any door for you."
"Stiles, if I wasn't already a murderer, I swear you'd drive me to it. I told you already the FBI has Keynes. A group of hunters thinks they found Dorian, but they can't actually take her out. The idiot who wanted your autograph heard a rumor Lorrain joined the circus to hide his identity. None of those actually help us."
Stiles dropped his head against the back of the couch and wondered what he'd done to deserve this. Killed a bunch of people was again Stiles' guess.
"You're filthy rich, right?"
"When Derek told me you needed money, I really expected you to come to me sooner. Is it a pride thing? Is it because you don't trust me anymore?"
"Did I ever trust you?"
Peter shrugged. "Sara Gregson follows your orders, right?"
"Even some of the dumb ones."
"I'll fund her blood magic eye." Before Stiles could get excited or thank him, Peter added, "But I need your help with Lydia."
Stiles groaned.
"She could learn more if she would listen to me. More about her powers and more about my child."
"Fine, fine," Stiles waved a hand. "But I can't guarantee my talking to her will help. Everyone already thinks I'm insane for being friends with you, even Derek, and he's your nephew."
"Well, I hope you're convincing because you get the money after."
"I take it back. You're a fucktard, and I'm insane to be friends with you."
Peter smirked like that was a compliment.
~.x.~
Stiles caught the arrow only an inch from his face with the point hovering just over his eye.
"You were supposed to dodge," Allison said.
Stiles shrugged, letting the arrow fall. He hadn't caught it with his hands. Allison hadn't told him to stop training the power Jenneva Cole had forced on him, but she always got twitchy when he used it.
"Come on," she said, jerking her head toward her car. "If we go now, we can meet Lydia for lunch. Don't make that face."
Stiles hadn't realized he was making a face but quickly smoothed it away. "I'm not hungry."
"Yes you are. You've been running almost non-stop for three hours and caught arrows with your brain fourteen times. Brain muscles always make you hungrier than body muscles."
"Lydia's been teaching you how to out-logic me, hasn't she?"
Allison raised an eyebrow as she stowed her bow in the trunk. "Or your lies are getting flimsy."
Climbing into the passenger seat, Stiles grumbled, "Can't we just stop by my place and eat?"
"Of course. I'll tell Lydia to meet us there."
Stiles dropped his forehead against the dash and wondered if Allison was doing it on purpose.
"Is it Peter?" Allison asked. "The reason you're avoiding Lydia?"
Stiles grunted.
"He told you what he wanted from her?"
Stiles made the next grunt slightly less grumpy.
"And he asked you to convince her to help him?"
"If you know everything, why bother asking?"
Allison pulled Stiles by his arm to push him back in his seat then pointed at his seatbelt and refused to start the car until he'd buckled it. "Why not just tell Peter you don't want to?"
"We're sort of trading favors." Stiles squirmed in his seat. "But I'm not cool with forcing Lydia to spend time with the guy who tortured her."
"Even if he's one of your best friends?"
"Being my friend doesn't mean someone's a good person," Stiles pointed out. "And Lydia's one of my best friends too."
Allison had turned the car around and driven down the dirt road toward the main road into town. She was quiet for a moment while checking for oncoming traffic.
"What does he want from her now?" she asked at last. "Lydia told him she had everything she could get."
"He wants her to learn how to use her powers."
"Learn from him."
"No one else knows anything about banshees."
"And what are you getting out of it, Stiles?"
"Um. Money, technically."
"Technically."
"It's for Trick."
"Uh-huh."
"For a present for Gregson."
"If Derek's your boyfriend, why is Peter your sugar daddy?"
"Low blow, Allison. And if he was a sugar daddy, he wouldn't make me do something for him."
"Well, I'm pretty sure sugar daddies usually expect sex, and you're sleeping with his nephew."
"Allison, I am shocked and appalled by this side of you."
She grinned. "Good. Because I'm shocked and appalled you would agree to help Peter get closer to Lydia after he bit her, left her for dead, wormed his way inside her mind, drove her insane with visions, and forced her to poison her friends and return him from the dead against her will."
"I've been avoiding her for three days, haven't I?"
"You still told him you'd do it."
Stiles dropped his head against the window, half hoping for a concussion. Allison had made her point and left him alone for the rest of the drive to his house.
Lydia beat them there and stood on the porch with her arms crossed, foot tapping as she waited. She gave Allison a questioning look, and in answer Allison walked over and handed her a five dollar bill. Lydia managed to look smug and disappointed simultaneously and glared that disappointment into Stiles' soul as he slinked by to unlock the door and let the others in.
"We had a bet about why you'd been avoiding her," Allison explained.
"Oh, fun." Stiles scowled and began digging through the kitchen for food since he'd invited them over, sort of.
Lydia tapped her fingers loudly against the counter and cleared her throat. When Stiles looked at her, she widened her eyes expectantly. She maintained the stare, tapping her fingers until Allison leaned over to whisper loudly, "You may owe her an apology."
"Maybe," Stiles said. "But that might depend on if she's protecting herself or Peter's kid by refusing to help him. Is breakfast for lunch okay? Most of the food I have is eggs."
"I don't know anything about who the child is, how old it is now, or why Talia took his memory," Lydia said in clipped tones. "I knew you could be an ass, but I never thought you'd side against me with him."
"I haven't. What he wants is for you to learn to use your powers so you can find out all those things. Technically, I never agreed to make you tell him any of that or to speak to him. We just need to find a way to train you." He didn't look at her as he began beating eggs. He'd started working on a plan on the drive over, but he still didn't know how they could train her. "I trained Scott after he turned without ever having been a werewolf, so why not train a banshee?"
"And this training would be from the goodness of your black heart?" Lydia asked.
"Peter's paying me." Maybe being upfront would avoid sugar daddy jokes. Stiles didn't know. He supposed he could just ask Lydia for money too; her family was wealthy.
Allison found the bacon in the fridge and got a pan out to start frying, apparently bored with watching him cook. Lydia kept her seat at the table.
"You see that backpack?" Stiles asked. He had an idea and hoped it would fit Lydia's power-set based on what Peter had asked of her. "There's a doll inside. See if you can get anything from it." His father had recognized a car crash linked to coyotes. Maybe Lydia could help him link the two.
Lydia unzipped the backpack and paused, staring inside. "You want me to touch it?"
"I don't know how your powers work. Just banshee the thing." He turned away to slice ham into chunks to mix in with the eggs. Allison was still working on the bacon.
"It's from the car accident," Lydia said, breathless. "There were gunshots. Her mother swerved off the road. She only survived because she shifted into the coyote and fought her way out of the wreckage."
"That was quick," Stiles said. "Anything else? Her name?"
Lydia clutched the doll, eyes staring wide at it even though her powers were auditory. She sighed and dropped the doll back into his backpack. "Nothing. That's it."
"Try again. Lunch isn't ready yet."
"It's never going to be if you keep staring at me."
Stiles turned back around to find Allison had finished the bacon. He moved over to cook the eggs in the bacon grease.
"Why did you even have bacon?" Allison asked. "I thought your dad couldn't eat it."
"He thinks that's a secret stash. That's why it was underneath the salad."
"I thought your dad was smart."
"All men are fools when it comes to bacon," Stiles explained, swiping a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth to prove his point.
He finished with the eggs and served them up, already grinning. The bacon was fucking delicious. Food would taste like food today. Allison and Lydia seemed to sense his mood. They talked about movies and the new shopping center opening up downtown. It would have a movie theater with an IMAX.
After eating, Allison got her lecturing face on, so Stiles jabbed his finger toward the backpack and stared at Lydia until she rolled her eyes and grabbed the doll again. Stiles left her to it and rummaged through the cupboards to see if his father had hidden away any desserts.
"I'm not getting anything else," Lydia said.
"Me neither," Stiles sighed.
"Stiles."
"Do you wanna try meditating? It's infuriating and relaxing in equal parts."
"No." Lydia nearly tossed the doll down again, so Stiles hurried over and pushed it back into her hand.
"You said before there were gunshots. Can you hear what kind of gun?"
"Can people hear types of gun?"
"Maybe. You're not people. Just try."
Lydia closed her eyes again. "There are two of them, but only one shooter."
"Can you describe the shooter?"
Lydia pursed her lips in concentration. "She wants something."
"So it's a woman?"
"Yes, but not a human one. I think she's the coyote's mother."
"You said her mother was driving."
Lydia's eyes snapped open. "The driver raised her. The shooter birthed her. Happy?"
"Sorry, yeah. Do you know why she's shooting? Is she shooting at the car or something else?"
Lydia's fingers tightened around the doll. "At the car, at the coyote inside. She's trying to kill her own daughter."
"Can you hear their names?"
"Evelyn Tate died in the car."
"And the coyotes?"
Lydia opened her eyes again and raised her eyebrows. "...aren't dead."
"I meant their names."
"Stiles, I hear dead people."
"Oh."
"Evelyn Tate should give you somewhere to start. Ask your dad about it. The police should have records. The doll belonged to the younger daughter. The older one is growling at us right now." She nodded behind Stiles with her eyes wide.
Stiles turned to find the coyote outside the window. Allison swore, pulling out her throwing knives. She'd left her bow in the car. The coyote hurled herself at the kitchen door, smashing it in and ripping the hinges from the wall. She stalked forward. The fur bristled on her back.
Allison pushed Stiles and Lydia back. The werecoyote advanced.
"I think she wants this back," Lydia whispered.
"We're not done with it," Stiles insisted.
"We're done with it," Allison said. She snatched the doll from Lydia's grasp and tossed it across the kitchen. The coyote caught it gently between her jaws and turned away, content.