This is technically the Christmas chapter since it's December 25th, but there's non-holiday plot stuff so I guess it's not a proper christmas special
Chapter Eleven: Do What You Can
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Stiles woke warm and comfortable despite a jarring stiffness that ran throughout his body, especially his injured knee. The weight of Peter's head lay on his chest. Stiles thought it should hurt, but the compression soothed him.
He lay with his eyes still closed and brought a hand to stroke Peter's hair. Peter didn't stir.
Someone else did. Stiles opened his eyes to find Noah awake in the chair at Stiles' bedside, carefully setting a cup of coffee on the makeshift nightstand. Scott sprawled haphazardly across the other armchair, and Melissa had claimed the couch.
"Merry Christmas," Noah whispered.
It was dark, sometime before sunrise on Christmas morning.
"Merry Christmas," Stiles echoed, careful to keep his voice soft.
Stiles glanced down at Peter. He'd hoped Peter would look more innocent in his sleep, but his brow furrowed over some trouble in his dreams.
"Scott said you'd heal better if Peter stayed close." Noah nodded to Peter as he spoke.
"Yeah," Stiles agreed.
"I had hoped you were just fooling around."
"Guess not." Stiles continued petting Peter's hair.
Noah grimaced. "At least he's younger than I am."
Stiles struggled not to laugh.
"He's still dangerous, son."
"So am I."
Noah nodded. "So dangerous that Melissa says it's not safe to move you. Since you can't go home, we brought Christmas here." He motioned behind him to Scott, Melissa, and a hoard of gifts beneath the tree. "The girls borrowed Peter's room, though I don't know how they convinced Henry and Natalie to spare them today."
Stiles winced. "Sorry I didn't make it home."
"I know, son." Noah squeezed Stiles' arm lightly enough not to hurt.
"Have you slept?" Stiles asked.
"A little. Just woke up," he checked his watch, "half an hour ago."
"You should go back to sleep, Dad."
Noah shook his head. "Tried that already. Besides, the one of us who needs sleep is you."
He took Stiles' hand but didn't say any more.
Stiles had been too afraid for Noah's safety to realize just how much he missed him. For a long time, they'd had trouble being close. Stiles lied too much, and Noah worked too much. After the Wild Hunt, they'd been easier around each other, but then Stiles left for DC.
Peter hummed softly. Stiles looked down to see Peter's eyes were still closed, but he had begun to stir.
"Merry Christmas," Stiles whispered to him.
"I don't celebrate your savior's fake birthday," Peter mumbled, though the last word stretched into a yawn.
"I didn't even think..." Stiles should have asked. He knew not everyone celebrated Christmas.
"Relax." Peter tapped his finger against Stiles' nose. "I don't care. Your party offends only my desire to be left alone."
"Would you rather be alone right now?" Stiles asked.
Peter frowned. "I got Malia a present, so I guess I'm stuck here."
"That sounds like premeditated Christmas celebration."
Peter rolled his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow, apparently relaxed despite the others throughout the loft.
Noah nodded to Peter. "Peter."
"Sheriff." Peter inclined his head lazily.
Stiles held his breath, worried Noah would try to threaten Peter.
"Breathe," Peter ordered, setting a hand against Stiles' chest.
Stiles did.
Noah said, "Peter and I already... talked."
"You what?"
"No one got hurt," Peter assured him.
"What exactly did you talk about without me?" Stiles asked with a glare for the both of them.
Peter smirked. "I promised not to eat you up."
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.
"Dad?" Stiles asked.
"You can't blame me for being suspicious," Noah protested, motioning to Peter like his existence itself was a problem.
Stiles sighed the longest, most annoyed sigh he could without coughing. It was little more than a faint huff.
Peter rolled his eyes again, more dramatically this time. "If I want to have enough food to feed your holiday army when they wake up, I had best start cooking now."
Noah nodded.
"When did you have time to buy enough food to feed them all?" Stiles asked.
Peter sighed the sigh Stiles had failed to achieve. "I saw this coming and sent Theo to do it while you slept. No one defends Theo except Liam, and he's afraid of me."
"You are a monster." Stiles chuckled, keeping it soft more due to the weakness of his lungs than conscious effort.
Scott stirred as Peter moved to the kitchen. He shook Melissa's shoulder gently until she woke, then moved to Stiles' bedside as Melissa headed to the restroom to wash up.
"It's good you're up. Mom needs to change your bandages," Scott explained.
Stiles nodded.
Scott's eyes lingered on Peter in the kitchen. "You don't have anyone else yet. You need to keep him close."
"Let him cook," Stiles said. "I think he likes it. Besides, he's not far."
Scott gave Stiles a weird, bittersweet smile. "Sorry I can't do more."
"You do what you can," Stiles assured him.
Scott shook his head. "I'm keeping you from being pack."
"It's not that simple."
"Because I did a lot of things or because you have a reason other than me?" Scott asked.
Before Stiles had to answer, Melissa returned. Stiles thought it a good enough reason to wait, but Scott and Noah both gave him stares heavy more with knowing than blame.
"This will probably hurt," Melissa warned. "Let me know if you need help with the pain."
Stiles nodded.
She started with his left shoulder. Stiles clenched his teeth against the pain as she cleaned it, but the bandages had come away with red blood. Looking down at his chest, Stiles could see black seeping though other bandages. The wolfsbane hadn't spread far enough to affect his other wounds. If it had, Stiles suspected he would be dead already. Without the mountain ash and deadly nightshade, the wolfsbane was too little and too poisonous. Stiles hoped purple reishi would be enough to keep him alive through taking three poisons simultaneously, or that Mason had a better idea.
A worried line creased Melissa's forehead as she worked. She cleaned each wound carefully and applied a medicinal paste that looked homemade before wrapping it in fresh bandages. Stiles felt more like a mummy than a werewolf.
Melissa pulled the blankets away to reach Stiles' knee and swore. Black ichor had soaked through the bandages to coat the sheets. The knee itself was badly swollen, and black veins crept along his leg past the bandages.
Even Melissa's light touch burned. Stiles growled with pain. After Melissa flinched away, Stiles realized he'd shifted.
"Pain is supposed to keep us human," Scott said softly.
He didn't elaborate but took Stiles' hand to siphon some of his pain.
Stiles tried to tell Scott to shove it, but all he could do was growl again.
The noise must have woken Malia. She hurried out with Lydia in her wake and moved to help Scott hold Stiles down. Stiles understood. He could hurt Melissa without meaning to if he flinched.
"I'm sorry, Stiles. This is definitely going to hurt." Melissa's voice was calm but firm despite her obvious apprehension.
Stiles nodded, but it came out as more a jerk of the head.
Melissa tried to peel the bandage back carefully, but it was stuck to his leg with ichor. By the time she got it off, Stiles' growls intermingled with screams. Black puss had built up in the wound, making horrid black lumps on his flesh. Melissa used a scalpel from her first aid kit to cut and drain the wound. Lydia ran clean towels to her and carted the dirty ones away.
Peter stood just outside the kitchen with a forgotten dishtowel in his hand, staring as if frozen in place. His eyes glowed with blue light. Peter always smelled of flame, but Stiles smelled smoke.
Noah petted Stiles' hair and told him he'd be okay. Stiles managed not to snap his teeth only by gritting them in a snarl. Scott pushed Noah back gently.
Stiles didn't want to fight his friends, but the pain roared through his body too powerfully to remain still. He snatched his arm from Scott. Melissa didn't flinch. Scott grabbed Stiles' wrist and pulled it away before he'd reached it to his knee.
By the time Melissa had cleaned, medicated, and bandaged Stiles' knee, he had spent what little energy remained to him.
Scott and Malia carried Stiles to the couch so the others could strip the bedding. Liam and Theo arrived from above and helped dispose of the dirty sheets, though their matching grimaces implied they wished they'd taken five minutes longer to arrive. When Melissa asked Peter about spare sheets, he pointed mutely past the bathroom. His eyes still glowed.
"Peter?" Stiles asked, voice ragged from screaming.
Peter was a dramatic soul. He showed his eyes to drive home a point or provide flair. This was more like he'd been trapped and couldn't hide their light if he tried.
Scott frowned at Peter a moment before his own eyes glowed red.
"Shit, Stiles," Scott gasped.
"What do you see?" Lydia asked.
Theo's eyes glowed—when had they turned blue?
"Your aura's deteriorating," Theo said. "It looks like you've turned to ash and pieces have started flaking away."
Scott nodded in confirmation.
"What does that mean?" Noah demanded.
"He's sicker than before." Theo seemed calm as ever, but Stiles' wellbeing had never been a priority for him. He looked around at the others. "This isn't new. He's been off from the start." He tilted his head. "Could you not see it, or did you not want to?"
Liam nudged Theo's side and whispered, "Enough."
Stiles had watched his body turn to ash and crumble once. He didn't mention it now.
Stiles' phone rang. It was across the room on the nightstand, but Noah answered it for him once he realized "Witch Activity" was Stiles' ringtone, not a random music from the void.
"Hi, Mason. I'm bringing the phone to Stiles now."
Stiles couldn't hear whatever Mason said. What supernatural energy remained to him was being directed exclusively toward healing now.
"What's up?" Stiles asked after Noah handed over the phone.
"They won't negotiate without you," Mason said.
"Then I guess we're all dying. I can't walk, and we will kill any of them that shows up here, especially if they ruin Christmas." Stiles scowled, though the objects of his ire couldn't see him. He also doubted Scott would let them kill anyone, but the threat fit Stiles' mood.
"That's almost exactly what Argent and Braeden told her."
"They found one of them?"
"Sort of. The masked woman was waiting for them, to insist we all work together. She's tied up if you want to talk. The vocal scrambler might sound weird over the phone though."
"You're there?" Stiles demanded.
"Argent is literally right next to me. I'm safe."
Stiles bit his lip but decided that was safe enough. "Why don't you unmask her?"
"Politeness, I think? Argent insisted since she gave herself up."
"Honor," Argent corrected, voice sounding far off through the phone speaker even though Stiles had no doubt he was well within Mason's personal bubble.
Stiles groaned. "Whatever, Zuko. Let me talk to her."
Stiles didn't know what exactly he'd do, but he was a talker. He could do something.
"I'll put you on speaker," Mason said.
"You'll keep your distance," Argent ordered.
"I'll hold the phone." Parrish's voice sounded closer than Argent's had.
"Stiles." The voice was distorted, but still more understandable than the Dread Doctors' had been.
"Speaking," Stiles confirmed.
"Is Peter showing symptoms?"
Stiles grunted in annoyance. He wanted offers, not questions. "It's only been a day." Maybe more like a day and a half.
"Haigh and I are both symptomatic already."
Stiles had bitten them just last night.
"Bullshit," Stiles spat. She was trying to scare him.
"She's telling the truth," Parrish said. "She has black veins on her hands and throat. There's also this ominous feeling around her, like she won't be here long."
"Oh. Peter seems fine," Stiles said.
Peter's eyes had finally dimmed, though he hadn't returned to the kitchen. He wore a short-sleeved v-neck, and the veins on his arms looked normal. Even the bite Stiles' teeth left had mostly healed. The skin was faintly lighter, but not black.
"Your friend claims you have a cure," the woman said.
"We need a few ingredients from you before we have it," Stiles corrected.
"He wouldn't say more than that he wanted samples of what was used on the first subject. I don't think you have a cure. I think you're hoping to reverse engineer our work. You can't."
"Peter's not sick yet," Stiles reminded her, "and I was fine until I let Corinne fill me with bullets."
The masked shifter was quiet a long moment. "No one was supposed to get hurt," she said at last. Even past the distortion, her voice was soft. "I just wanted a cure."
Stiles' breath caught. "A cure?"
"You think I poisoned werewolves to make them stronger? I wanted to fight the curse, or at least weaken its hold enough to push it out."
"Out of you and into someone who wants it," Stiles realized. A way to pass off the werewolf's curse. She would be human, and Corinne would be strong again. "Parrish, is she lying?"
"I don't think so, but we don't know how good a liar she is." Parrish's voice grew louder as he spoke, like he'd begun while in the process of leaning toward the phone.
"Is Scott McCall with you?" the shifter asked.
Scott stepped forward even though Stiles' phone was not on speaker. He knelt close to Stiles' ear to say, "I'm here."
"Take off my mask," she said, presumably to Parrish or Argent.
Mason gasped, barely audible through the phone. "Mrs. Finch?"
Scott jerked back like he'd been slapped. Mrs. Finch had been his AP Biology teacher in high school, as well as secret werewolf from the primal pack.
Finch said, "You can tell them, Scott. All I want is to live a normal life. I don't want to be a werewolf."
"You killed people for that?" Scott growled.
"No one was supposed to die."
"Why not experiment on yourself if you didn't expect anyone to die?" Scott demanded.
"There are always risks. Imagine if it had worked, Scott. It wouldn't help just me, but anyone who was bitten against their will or born into a body with a curse they didn't deserve. We could cure Stiles."
"You're the reason Stiles needs a cure." Scott's eyes burned red with rage. "You can't kill the people you're trying to save."
Stiles remembered when Scott said that to him. He hadn't been so angry. He'd been desperate, afraid.
Finch growled. "Like no one's ever died on your watch, Scott? Because of what you did, or didn't do?"
"You know they have." Scott's voice was low and dangerous. "But I saved as many as I could, and I never knowingly let them die."
"Living on technicalities, Scott?" Finch asked. "Or refusing to face your responsibility? Your guilt?"
Stiles gently pushed Scott back and said, "He's not the one you're dealing with."
"No, he'll survive us both. He always does."
"You know he's died before, right?" Stiles asked.
Finch was silent.
Liam and Theo shuffled uncomfortably, but Scott motioned for them to relax. He'd forgiven them, or he'd forgiven Liam and tolerated Theo. Stiles wasn't sure anyone in the pack had forgiven Theo after he tore them apart in a way no other enemy could. Theo showed them they could be monstrous too.
"Not as well-informed as you thought?" Stiles taunted Finch. "You're just trying to make yourself feel better about what you've done. Don't pull Scott into that."
"Fine, tell me what you plan to do with the flowers and berries from rowan, belladonna, and aconite."
"Brew a rank-ass fucking tea."
"Is that a joke? It would kill you."
"We usually stop wolfsbane by burning the poison out, but sometimes, fire isn't enough. We need more of the poison to counteract the rest."
"You haven't explained how you'll survive."
"We add them to a healing agent."
"Which is...?"
"Not information I'll give freely. Bring me what I need—fucking tomorrow; I don't want to see your nasty, veiny face on Christmas—and we'll give you enough to cure yourself and Haigh."
"You don't know for certain this will work," she said.
"Then I guess you'd better test it on Haigh first," Stiles sneered.
"Fine," she said. "I hope you'll forgive us if we send Corinne?"
"I won't," Stiles spat. "Come yourself and hope we don't kill you, or hide in a hole and die of your own fucking mistakes." He hung up.
"Shit," Scott muttered.
Stiles hands shook with rage. He was too weak to hurt anyone, but that made it harder to get a grip. He was still technically a dangerous monster, but an injured one moping around as good as wearing a cone of shame.
"Are you okay, Stiles?" Noah asked.
"No."
Noah stepped forward, but Scott held him back.
"He's my son," Noah said. "He won't hurt me."
Scott frowned. "He might not mean to."
"He'll be fine," Peter said and finally returned to the kitchen.
Noah pushed past Scott to kneel beside Stiles. "This cure's going to work," he said, brushing Stiles' bangs back from his forehead. "They're sicker than Peter, and he's been chugging that mushroom tea. It's going to work."
Theo said, "Peter might just be presenting normally. If—"
Liam stomped on his foot to shut him up.
"I'm helping," Theo argued.
Liam crossed his arms. "You're not."
"The extra power," Stiles remembered. "I thought it was for power. I thought it worked."
Corinne and the Blackhearts had run two tests, both coming up positive. Stiles was certain.
"Stiles..." A frown creased Noah's face with worry.
"Peter," Stiles called.
Peter took his time but eventually joined them in the sitting area.
"Did you lie?" Stiles asked.
"What kind of question is that?" Peter rolled his eyes rather than look into Stiles'. "Of course I lied."
Stiles asked, "Would it work?"
"Only if you want to die." Peter sneered. "By the time I felt the difference, you were full of too many holes for a human to survive. I couldn't take the chance—"
"That I'd rather die than stay a werewolf?" Stiles shook his head. "You know better than that. I could have killed myself like hunters do."
Peter tensed. "Once you're cured, you won't be able to anymore."
"I'm missing something," Melissa said.
Stiles explained, "Finch's experiment worked, sort of. I could give my power away and become human again, but if the remaining poison didn't immediately kill me, my injuries would. And whoever I gave the power to would be sick too since it's contagious. The cure, if it works, will both heal me and remove the ability to give away my power."
Scott said, "That's probably why Mrs. Finch didn't give her power to the Desert Wolf yet."
Stiles added, "She wanted it to seem like a cure was an option, but it can't work."
Theo said, "Unless you work with her to fix the cure." When several of the others turned to glare, he asked, "What?" as Liam elbowed him. "I'm saying he could, not he should. I know working with mad scientists turns out badly. I learned that lesson."
Stiles ignored Theo and faced Peter. "Let me make my own decisions, even when you don't like them."
Peter nodded. "Then I should also mention I suspect the reason we sickened more slowly than they is because someone used wolfsbane on the rest of us when we were infected."
"Thank you." The room was tense, so Stiles asked, "What's for breakfast?"
"Chocolate. I burned the scones."
Stiles laughed weakly.
"Sleep. There might be something worth eating when you wake up."
Stiles had only just woken, but he was exhausted. Since new sheets hadn't been put on the bed yet, Stiles lay his head back and fell asleep on the couch with Noah stroking his hair.
.
Stiles woke to the smell of bacon. Melissa made him endure another cleaning for his knee in case the pain made him lose his breakfast, but it wasn't as bad this time since it hadn't set as long. Scott helped Stiles sit and propped his bad leg up on the coffee table with pillows, and Peter brought Stiles a plate heaped with bacon, scrambled eggs, and French toast.
"Eat it all. You'll need the energy," Peter said as though there were any chance of Stiles leaving a bite behind.
Stiles immediately shoveled as much as would fit into his mouth. "This is the best toast in the world. How the fuck?"
"Homemade bread," Peter explained.
"When the fuck?" Stiles corrected because they'd been more than a little busy, and baking bread took hours.
"Yesterday while you slept."
"Why?"
"Lunch. Now there's nothing to make sandwiches."
"Did you... plan meals for the entire day?"
Peter frowned.
"Oh my God. You did." Stiles grinned. "That's adorable."
"I wasn't about to let any of them ruin the kitchen. Do you know how much I spent on the countertops alone?"
Stiles laughed.
"Stop," Peter said.
Stiles tried but still wound up grinning.
Peter tilted his head as a slow smirk crept to his lips. "You didn't react to me giving you an order."
Stiles stuck his tongue at Peter and shoved his cleaned plate at him. "More."
"Eggs?"
"Toast!"
"Eggs are better for you."
"It's Christmas. I want toast."
"Capitalist charade of religious sentiment toast?"
"French toast, asshole."
Peter gave the fakest bow Stiles had ever seen and carried the plate back to the kitchen.
Noah shook his head.
"What?" Stiles asked.
"You're much more cheerful than earlier," Noah noted.
"It's a Christmas miracle," Stiles said flatly.
Noah's attention flickered toward the kitchen. "I keep finding he means more to you than I thought."
"Because toast?"
"Because he makes you happy."
Stiles moved his shoulders nearly into a shrug, though the left one hurt too much to get all the way there.
Noah motioned to the tree, its trunk entirely obscured by gifts. "We've been waiting for you."
Stiles gave a regal nod. "Open those fuckers the hell up."
"You learn to talk that way in DC?" Noah asked with obvious disapproval.
"No, I just wasn't allowed to do it under your roof. This has all been a ploy to curse on Christmas." Stiles achieved the perfect deadpan delivery almost as much through lingering exhaustion as vocal control, but he would take it.
"You're a brat." Noah ruffled his hair, smiling.
Peter brought Stiles more French toast as Noah gathered the others. They debated who should open which gifts first. Stiles let them be; it bought him time to finish eating. Peter sat beside him with a mug of tea for each of them.
Stiles leaned back so his shoulder brushed Peter's and asked, "Do you have enough to drink so frequently?"
"I'm only using a small amount at a time and mixing it with tea leaves. I tried adding a mostly benign wolfsbane to mine earlier, and it seemed to help as well."
"Is there wolfsbane in this?" Stiles hefted his tea.
"No, you're very weak."
Stiles studied Peter through narrowed eyes. "Is it the boozebane?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Noah interrupted with a stack of gifts, and the others took places around the couch, effectively surrounding Stiles even though it left most of them sitting on the floor.
The loft became a whirlwind of wrapping paper and laughter. Stiles tried to enjoy it, but he couldn't even stand. He suspected the others were trying too hard to cheer him up.
He wasn't the only one who needed cheering.
Stiles had years of experience acting cheerful and put it to good use. He loudly forced Peter to keep track of his gifts even though it was maybe a little bit of a dick move since Peter received only one gift: a leather-bound copy of Othello from Malia with a note that Iago is how Peter used to be. Peter held the book close to his chest even as he rolled his eyes and juggled Stiles' gifts. Malia had rolled her eyes in an almost perfect mirror of her father at the new laptop Peter gave her but kissed his cheek and kept it close.
For the most part, Stiles had gotten everyone souvenirs from DC, most of them from various Smithsonian gift shops. Lydia had picked out her own gift but still acted surprised Stiles had selected such a perfect necklace for her. The look Scott gave Stiles, eyebrows raised over a fond grin, said he knew exactly how Stiles had known Lydia would love it.
Stiles hadn't planned on Peter. He had a couple key chains in his bag to cover for unforeseen parents or if Liam had a new girlfriend, but they didn't feel right going to Peter. That left him with nothing to give even though Stiles couldn't say if he'd ever have another Christmas with Peter as more than a weird pack ally. Stiles fidgeted with his gift from Lydia, a book on criminal psychology.
Peter handed Stiles an unwrapped box a little larger than a jewelry gift box. It was more than Stiles had pulled together for Peter.
"No," Stiles said. "I didn't get you anything."
"I literally had it lying around." Peter shoved the box into Stiles' lap.
Stiles reconsidered the key chains. One of them was a little robot. That was cute, right?
The others were still distracted by their own presents. Had Peter waited until they took their attention from Stiles knowing he'd feel self-conscious?
With a sigh, Stiles opened the box to find a folding knife with an intricately carved bone handle. Knotwork decorated the edges, and a pack of stylized wolves made up the main body of the carving on both sides of the handle. Stiles ran his fingers over the texture of the bone carving.
"You really had this just lying around?" Stiles asked.
"I found it shoved in a box in the vault when I emptied it after the entrance was ruined. I don't even know who it belonged to." Peter spoke with too complete an air of casual disinterest.
Stiles squinted at him. "I doubt that."
Peter shrugged as if that couldn't possibly matter less.
Noah waited until most of the gifts had been opened to bring Stiles a small velvet box with corners that showed wear without being ragged. The hinge creaked softly as Stiles opened it to reveal a matching set of cufflinks and a tie tack all embossed with the letter M.
"They belonged to your Grandpa Mieczysław," Noah said. "Still not sure you ever wear a tie though."
Stiles grinned. "Sometimes. It will really twist people's brains to mush trying to figure out where the M fits into Stiles Stilinski."
Noah chuckled. "Imagine their faces when you tell them what it stands for."
"It's always better to show them." Stiles laughed and motioned his father forward. "Thank you, Dad. Come hug me."
Noah leaned over the couch's arm to embrace Stiles, careful not to hurt him.
"He would have been proud of you," Noah said. "I'm proud of you."
Stiles wrapped his right arm around Noah. "I love you, Dad."
"Love you, Son."
Stiles would have liked a holiday at home with fewer threats and no injuries, but this wasn't so bad.