Laura Hale is probably the nicest person Stiles' ever talked to. She's also very, very dead.
"I'm, uh, incredibly sorry about digging up your body."
Laura, ethereal looking and sitting on a chair of thin air, smiles at him. She's all roguish charm and dimples, and how could she possibly have been Derek's sister, really?
Not to be cruel, or anything.
"Oh, don't worry. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do." She gets up from her imaginary chair and it vanishes, Jesus fuck, and it dawns on Stiles that either he is tripping on some of the same weird monkshood fumes that almost killed Scott two days ago or he's been talking for the last five minutes with a ghost.
"Actually, it's the second one." Answers Laura, baring her white perfect teeth in the very definition of a wolfish grin, and hell, brain, what? Way to be traitorous on dire situations. "I'm pretty much a master in the arts of aconite and I know for sure that it doesn't affect humans like that, at least. Flying? Yes. Dying? Yes. Talking with the fictional dead? Not that much."
Oh, okay, that settles that.
If he does many complicated hand gestures at the lady who's not even there and bails on her to have a manly freak out in the privacy of his bathroom before coming back to his room and declaring that he'll deal with this (wnatever the hell 'this' is, now) tomorrow and then just falling asleep dressed and on top of his sheets, nobody can really blame him.
It's been just that kind of a shitty weekend.
Laura follows him to school the next day.
In fact, she follows him around all morning, while he does as mundane chores as fixing breakfast for both his father and him. She seems particularly interested in that, actually, asking what is he doing, and how is he doing it.
Her questions slow down and fade into nothingness when the sheriff enters the kitchen, a haggard mess, the air is pervaded with the strong odour of whisky and Stiles' shoulders tense.
Her eyes soften in a way that makes all of what's been happening worse.
Stiles serves his father a plate of healthy breakfast foods and leaves, without saiying much to either of them.
One he doesn't know how to deal with, yet; the other? He just doesn't want to.
(Condescension and pity from a dead person is reaching a new low.)
Backtracking to what matters, Laura follows him.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise, considering that he's been coexisting with the supernatural for the last year, and it has the habit of never just going away because it would save him a few heart attacks or panic attacks; or his less favorite ones: the assaulting-you kind of attacks.
Still, he'd been hopeful when she hadn't gotten into the jeep with him.
"It's because physics don't have any pull on us, anymore. We do our travelling in ways more magical." She says to him, doing an honest to God finger-wiggle, as he shoulders his way past a scrawny dude to get into the bathroom.
Well, at least she has the decency to wait outside.
"Is Mr. Harris always this much of a jerk to you?" Laura asks him, jaw set, eyes fiery even in their airy glow of ever after peace or whatever.
'Yeah, pretty much. He just can't handle all my awesome.' He writes down on his notebook, angling it subtly towards her. She smiles, though not in a convincing enough way. Just when he's considering what to write to appease her Isaac decides to look at him with a little cocky smirk; tries to see what he's written. He closes the notebook abruptly and raises an eyebrow at him. Isaac blows him a mocking kiss and goes back to impersonating the perfect tool, with his hair and his leather jacket and his James Dean-esque attitude.
"Wow, what's wrong with that kid." Laura says, braying with surprised laughter.
He smiles and opens back the notebook, scribbles 'so many things. I wouldn't even know where to start.' Then he adds, 'but he's mostly a good guy.'
Because it's the truth. Isaac is... Surprisingly not that awful when he isn't set on throwing him around to kill Lydia. These past two days he's gotten to see the Isaac that may've been there before the bite if not for the bastard of a father that he'd had.
Stiles likes that Isaac, the real one.
"Is he," Laura starts asking, stopping once to clear her throat, "Is he part of Derek's pack?"
'Yes.'
She seems to read the word a few times. Then she stands right in front of Isaac, putting her crossed arms on the table and just staring into Isaac's eyes that go right through her.
It might be one of the weirdest experiences of his life. And he's got plenty to chose from.
"I like him." She concludes, reaching out to slip her fingers through Isaac's nose, and then through his curls. Stiles tries not to stare with his mouth hanging open at that.
Because, that? That right there wins the first, second and third place for weirdest shit he's ever experienced, been part of, or witnessed. Hands down.
He doesn't tell Laura about Erica, but the way she looks past Isaac's shoulder, at the station where Erica is sitting, tells him that he doesn't really have to.
Just before class is over, Laura manages to somehow pour a whole flask of hydrochloric acid over Mr. Harris' briefcase and coat.
Nicest person ever, Laura Hale.
Neither Jackson, Lydia nor Allison show up to school.
He goes straight to Scott's, after classes. The monkshood had taken longer than any of them had expected to leave Scott's body, which had meant that Melissa had seen her kid in the aftermath of one 'hell of an asthma attack' and decided to let him rest today, just to be safe that he wouldn't drop dead in the hallways from sudden lack of oxygen or something.
When he gets there, he is expecting only one Hale to be waiting for him on the porch.
There's two.
He lets himself in, digging the McCall's extra key from its glaringly obvious hiding place under a potted plant and putting it to use.
Both Derek and Laura come after him, uncommunicative and dark.
Stiles thinks that he can see the family resemblance in the grim expressions the both wear, in their caged animal air, in their heavy steps (Laura's can't be actually heavy, but the picture is enough to make him feel the weight of her foot on his chest).
"So, why didn't you get in through the window? Were you feeling particularly law abiding?"
Derek grunts, following him up the stairs.
"Scott's asleep. I was waiting for you." He answers.
Stiles tries to not react.
"Why? What's up?"
"You make him nervous." That is Laura, sounding amazed, from somewhere behind him. "I can tell."
He clears his throat pointedly, just as he's getting to Scott's door.
"You both are so stubborn, man." Says Laura, and at the same time Derek says, "I bit Victoria Argent."
His hand stops at an inch of the door handle, and he can hear Laura's gasp.
He turns around, facing an expressionless Derek.
"What?" He asks. And repeats it, with more passion, because the situation deserves all the drama he can scrounge up. "What? Derek, man, are you insane?"
Laura comes into his field of vision, then; she walks up to them in floating steps with startled eyes, and everything is so surreal, so utterly bizarre and complicated.
"Stiles," she whispers then, while Derek looks at him in the same emotionless way, "Stiles, this is it! I think I'm here to help you fix my brother's stupid mess."
That makes him turn to her, direct his astonishment at her.
"Are you seriously telling me that you didn't even know why you were here?"
Then he realises that he's just talked to Laura's ghost in front of Derek. Who is looking at him with both eyebrows raised.
Stiles thinks 'okay, this is frying my brain faster than MMORPGs', lets his weight against Scott's door and says,
"Your sister's ghost has been sort of haunting me."
"Smooth, Stiles. Real smooth."
"And what were you expecting me to tell him? Werewolves are flesh and bones versions of lies detectors. He would've found out, anyway." He flails his hands, and then shoves one of his hands right under Derek's nose. "Besides, he bit Victoria Argent. We are all in so much shit. You can't expect me to be smooth. Be thankful that I'm not throwing myself under a truck."
"You're serious." Says Derek, "You're telling the truth. How is that even possible." Stiles moves his hands around some more, looking at Laura as if to say 'see?'.
"Believe me, man. I don't know. Yesterday I went up to my room and there she was." He stops, licks his lip. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry that it's me and not you who can see her."
That leaves both Hales silent, again. He flushes.
"I mean, if it were my mom, I'd probably wish that it could be me who saw her."
Derek frowns a little, in one of his 'I'm emotionally constipated and can't either show or discern how I'm feeling' moments. Those moments never cease to make Stiles feel... feel.
Laura smiles at him, bringing up one hand as if wanting to reach out for him.
"I still can't believe that you're a real boy. Seriously, how can you be real?" She asks. "I'm kind of jealous of my brother, now."
He doesn't know what she's talking about. However, before he can ask, she's talking again.
"I did think I knew what I was here for. The kanima. And the master. But this, this could be so much more dangerous if not handled with kid gloves. Do you know what something like this could do to the fragile 'truce' between hunters and werewolves? This could bring a war."
Stiles nods, he can imagine.
"What is... What is she saiying?" Derek asks, looking as if he felt distinctly stupid.
Which, well, the situation.
"Her mission, she's found it, she's here to help us with this."
And that, she does.
"Okay, first things first. We've got to get rid of your scaley threat to focus on anything else. And to use as a bargaining chip. Stiles, I need you to ask Derek where he's buried Peter." Laura says, as they make their way towards the McCall kitchen (Scott's still a little feverish and asleep)
"When you say 'get rid' of it what, exactly, do you envision?"
"No killing, I promise. Everyone will step out of this alive. Except me. But that's pretty obvious."
He lets out a little disbelieving laugh. Then he starts repeating the question to Derek, who's standing under the frame of the kitchen door, stiff as a stick, and whose eyes stay firmly stuck on Stiles the whole time, making his palms sweat.
"This is so cute." Laura says, voice high and sweet.
Stiles chokes on the last part of the inquiry, blushing furiously. 'Not the time, Laura' he thinks, 'so not the time'.
Peter is buried under the Hale house. Of course it is.
The corpse itself is the sickest, most disgusting thing he's seen, and Stiles has a hard time breathing slowly-in-and-out in an effort to not vomit all over the burnt wood of the floor.
God, he helped killing this man. Helped leaving him like this. God.
"Stiles," a duo of voices washes over him. "Stiles, I need you to calm down."
"I'm calm." He answers both Hales, covering his mouth for a few seconds. "I'm so calm that even the Dalái Lama would envy me. I'm a fortress of calm." He takes his hand off his face. "Also, when you talk at the same time, it freaks me out."
"Sorry." Says Laura; Derek says, voice even and neutral, "I can't hear her."
Oh, oh, yes. Hell, details.
"Sorry." He says, feeling chastised.
They burn Peter to ashes and pour those into a bottle of aconite poison (that Laura carefully instructs Stiles how to concoct).
When they do that, the house begins shaking violently with a shrill and desperate wave of screaming that comes from everywhere at once; it comes from every wall, and every floor tile, and every single step of the stairs. It's Peter's voice, Stiles recognises, and man, that's scary as hell.
"What's happening?" Derek asks, taking Stiles by an arm and pushing Stiles behind him, pressing him between Derek's solid body and a wall.
"Peter's soul is leaving this world." Laura's eyes are everywhere, too. "He never reached us when he died, I was waiting for him. I knew that something was wrong with that. And then the kanima appeared and I knew who was behind all of this." The screaming winds down a little. "Here was your master. He was controlling someone else's body to be it. And he was using another soul's pain as his personal revenge. Because he knew it'd get to you, one way or another."
"Oh God."
"Stiles, what is she saiying?" Derek's arms are spread wide and reaching towards the wall behind them both, Stiles can feel Derek's voice against his chest, where they are touching.
"It was Peter. The kanima's master. He was using somebody else's body to get to Jackson, but it was him."
The screaming stops.
Lydia calls him, her voice wrecked; frantic and choking in between sobs over the phone.
"Stiles, Stiles. I don't know who else to call." Se takes a huge gulp of air. "We are somewhere in the woods, and I don't know how we got here, but Jackson is... I don't know what's wrong with him, but he's hurting and he won't let me call 911 and this is far too much even for my superior intellect. Help, please"
Okay. So Lydia was a part of this, after all.
"Tell her that we're sending help, to stay as away from Jackson as she can." Instructs him Derek, guiding him towards the camaro with a firm hold on his arm.
Derek sends Isaac and Erica, once they reach the warehouse.
"Victoria." He says, once the twins are on their way to rescue both Lydia and Jackson. "We've got to fix what you did to Vctoria."
"She tried to kill Scott." Derek says, baring his teeth at him. "If I hadn't done it she would've succeeded."
"Hubris." Is all Laura says, her incorporeal form standing a little between them, her face a little closed.
"Dude, she'll succeed now." He puts his hands on his head. "And not only Scott, but you and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, too. She'll kill all of you. The hunters will kill all of you, now."
"No, she won't. They won't." Says Laura, still looking at her brother with this pinched expression that tightens Stiles' chest. "Victoria went against the code. Against several codes. And we can call several hunter clans that follow the rules closely on them, make things very difficult for them." Laura looks at him, eyes stern. "You need to do this, Stiles. You have to lead, here. The humans in our pack did the negotiation with the hunters. It's your place."
"Wow, wow, what? Wait a minute, I-"
"Stiles, w-"
"Derek, shut up for a second, dude."
Derek does, emiting a little displeased growl. Laura's eyes go inexplicablt soft at that.
"I know it's asking a lot of you, right now. And I know you don't understand why it has to be you. But we haven't got much time to explain."
"You are the odd one." Says Chris, upon opening the door to his house. Behind him he can see at least three armed guys, and how is it that he ends up with this part of the deal.
"I'm here to discuss the terms of Victoria Argent's surrender to the Hale pack."
Chris seems shaken at first, then it seems like it's taking everything he has to not kill Stiles on spot.
"Derek bit her, we don't know if she's going to live. And you want her to surrender herself to you?"
He fidgets. Laura, at his side, isn't of much help, hands in fists, skin glowing more than normal, teeth elongated into fangs.
"Look," he says, finally. "Can we do this inside?"
"She tried to kill an innocent teenager. You know what that means to most of the conservative hunter clans. You know what it means to the ones with direct ties to shapehifters." He takes a deep breath. "You know you won't win."
He's not so sure about that, but Laura's practically speaking through him.
Chris seems to be considering it, however. So Laura might be in the right, here.
"Are there any other ways to do this?" He asks, turning his back to Stiles and leaning his forearms on the fireplace. "If she is going to die, let her die here."
"Yes," Stiles says, still listening to Laura's strained voice. "you need to step away from our pack. Need to get Gerard away from us, and to limit yourselves to your real task."
"The kanima." Says Chris.
"Not anymore. We dealt with that."
"Is Jackson Whittemore dead, then?"
"No. And he'll stay not dead." He takes a deep breath. "We found his master, severed the ties."
"How can we trust that he won't kill again?"
He doesn't need Laura to come back with a rebuttal for this one.
"How can we trust that you won't kill again?"
Lydia and Jackson are in the warehouse when he comes back, worn down but satisfied with the way things went with Chris Argent; Laura is already there, sitting next to a sleeping Jackson and a Lydia that's watching him sleep.
"How are they all so pretty?" She asks, juvenile. "Did they step right out of a movie?"
"Welcome to my life."
Lydia turns to look at him.
"What did you say?"
"Welcome to the den." He lies going to sit next to her and thankful that she isn't a werewolf. "Where are the others?"
"Scott's, I think. Went to check up on him." Her eyes are open wide and a little gone, but Stiles knows that the shock'll wear down in a little while and she'll be back to her playfully belligerent ways. "Werewolves." She whispers. "I can't believe this."
"I know, right? Motherfucking werewolves."
"And ghosts." Laura adds, from where she's ogling Jackson.
"One more thing, before going." Laura says that night when they are back in his room (after putting Lydia up to speed, and seeing the pack back and hearing that Scott's almost completely healed), and Stiles is getting ready to sleep. "Well, three more things, to be honest."
"Okay." He says, instead of the 'going already? stay for dinner, you are such a lovely guest.' that'd danced around his tongue for a second or two.
"Victoria will die." His back is against her, but he can feel her eyes. "Allison will be okay. But she'll need time, space. Scott and her are gonna work out, I can tell these things. Just don't pressure her."
"Uderstood, Blinky."
He turns around to facer her and she is right there, transparent skin almost touching his. Her eyes lock with his, as she says, "Your father will be okay. Al this will work out, too, because he's an incredible sheriff and the towns needs him."
Then she steps back and a huge smile takes over her face, crinkling the side of her eyes.
"This is the last thing, listen carefully." She waits a few seconds, just to create tension, he knows. "This is how my human father and my Alpha mother got together. My deceased aunt Gwen payed him a visit to help them with pack problems. Just like this."
"What does that mean?" He asks, heart beating faster.
"Oh, come on Stiles. I know you get what this means. You are the smart one, get your head out of your ass."
And then she's gone. At the same time that there's a soft knock on his window.
Motherfucking werewolves. And ghosts, too.