Chapter 25

When Stiles woke on Sunday morning, he took a moment to take stock of himself and his surroundings. The werewolf mojo was no longer working, seeing as there were no werewolves in bed with him, so his bruised body was busy sending urgent signals that something was Not Okay. There was, however, a fresh glass of water on his nightstand, a blister strip full of pain pills sitting beside it.

Stiles eschewed the painkillers but drank down the water to combat the disgustingly muzzy feel in his mouth.

"You look like a train ran you over," Isaac's voice commented.

Flailing in shock, Stiles nearly threw the empty glass across the room. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

"Not quite," Isaac said, and he sounded pissy. "I'm glad you're alive, Stiles, but fuck you for not even texting me to say that everything's alright. I was going out of my mind!"

"I thought Peter did," Stiles replied, flopping down onto his back and trying to calm his hammering heart down. "He was awake for a bit after we got here."

"Peter's phone was fried," Isaac said peevishly. "In case you've forgotten."

Stiles winced. "Yeah, I guess it was. Sorry, truly. I was pretty fucked up last night. Why didn't Derek do it? You guys talk, don't you?"

"Derek probably thought it wasn't his place," Isaac snarled. He got up from Stiles' desk chair - and yeah, thanks but no thanks to future creepy sleep watching, dude - and stomped over to the bed. "Scoot over. I need to aggressively cuddle the shit out of your doofus ass before I kill you."

"Er, okay." Stiles tried to make room but only managed to jostle his stiff ribs and limbs and his hurting everything, really. "Ouch. Not having wolfy powers sucks."

Huffing, Isaac settled down right next to Stiles and pulled him into an embrace. "You could've died. Peter told me what happened, and what you did for him." He stared at Stiles. "I can hardly believe that you actually managed to save him, but Derek swears it's true."

"It was so gross," Stiles mumbled against Isaac's neck. "Let's never do that again."

"I'll definitely try not to get poisoned by crazy hunters," Isaac retorted dryly. He was silent for a bit and then, very quietly, he asked, "Would you do the same for me? And Derek?"

"Dude, what kind of question is that!" Stiles squawked.

Isaac curled a hand around Stiles' neck and at once the pain all over his body lessened. "It's a good question. Peter's the alpha. You're in negotiations with him. That doesn't mean you'll pull off crazy stunts like that for the rest of us."

"First of all, eff you for basically implying that you aren't my friend. And second of all, yeah, it does. That's how I roll." Stiles flushed a little. "I might be a bit possessive when I've adopted someone, okay."

"Okay," Isaac said easily and snuffled along Stiles' hairline. "I would pull crazy stunts for you, too, you know. I was super pissed when Peter told me to stay home. I could've helped. At least afterwards, when he was dying."

"You'll hate me for it, but I'm glad you weren't there," Stiles told him honestly. "It was horrible. Plus, he bit you, and I have no idea how a beta reacts when their alpha dies. Because Peter was dead there for a moment or ten." He shuddered. "Seriously, I still can't believe we managed to pull him back somehow. I'm half waiting for me to wake up and realize that everything's gone to shit, that Jacoby is the alpha now, or maybe Derek, and what new fuckery will come for us next."

"Well, Jacoby's very dead," Isaac informed him. "Your dad left info downstairs, including pictures."

"Oh. Really?"

Isaac snorted softly. "Oh yes, but don't ask me how. His deputies sent him to the hospital last night and they kept him there; apparently he'd told no one about that kick to the ribs and his people went a little crazy when they found out by accident."

"Dammit, dad," Stiles cursed.

"Anyway, they're very detailed pictures, too," Isaac went on. "Put me off breakfast for today, but on the plus side, Jacoby's death has been ruled an animal attack which he tried to fend off by shooting several guns."

"After the rest of us managed to flee?" Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows as high as they'd go.

"Yeah, apparently." Isaac suddenly laughed. "You know, they commended Jacoby for at least not being a shitty camper, even if he was a psycho. Apparently his campfire was put out neatly before he bit the dust."

"He was a little too dead to do it, but whatever," Stiles huffed. "This case will have so many holes in it, the fire won't even register when all is said and done."

"Your dad knew you'd say that. He wrote a note and I quote …" Isaac pulled the handwritten letter from his back pocket, "... that not everything has to make sense, least of all to the victims. Stay true to our agreed story and things'll blow over quickly enough." Isaac put the letter down and enfolded Stiles fully with his arms. "I'm not so worried about the Argents or Jacoby, in any case. I think Scott will be the true problem for you guys."

"Because he'll rant to everyone and their mother about werewolves and hunters?" Stiles asked dubiously.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Isaac hummed.

"He could try to go that route," Stiles admitted after a moment of thought. The vindictive pleasure he was feeling at the knowledge of Scott no longer being a werewolf was almost indecent. But only almost. "Delusions like that are always good for an insanity plea. Do you know by any chance whether he had to spend the night in a cell?"

"As a matter of fact," Peter answered in Isaac's stead, "he did." He mockingly knocked at the door frame before entering the room. "And he was a brat about it if your father's text can be believed. Apparently dear Melissa couldn't cut her shift short to see him because the hospital is chronically understaffed, and The Failure took it out on her."

"Wow," was all Stiles could think to say about that. He shook his head in disbelief. "I'd hoped that Scott would catch a clue now, but apparently that's wishful thinking."

"I'm afraid that it'll remain wishful thinking for a long while yet," Peter said. He walked around the bed, sat on the empty side, and offered a cup of coffee to Stiles. He was still pale, but he looked freshly washed and ready for the day. "Derek ran over to the station to give his statement and pick up some gossip. McCall is the topic of much discussion over there. Some believe that he's the victim of extensive gaslighting by the Argents and McCall's certainly doing his level best to paint himself as a victim."

"That rat bastard," Isaac growled. "I hope not too many people will fall for that bullshit."

"Yeah, not cool." Stiles carefully struggled into a sitting position, only made possible by Isaac's pain leech and the lure of caffeine. To his great joy, the coffee was just how he liked it, full of cream and with a tiny amount of sugar. "Mmh, thanks Peter."

"Anything for you, Stiles," Peter replied, sounding both casual and sincere. "Your father instructed us to go to the hospital before we go to the station to give our statements. My injuries have largely healed but he wants yours to go on record so McCall can at least be charged with assault."

Stiles flinched a little at that. "Right. I'd almost forgotten …" He poked his swollen cheek. "Ow. Werewolf strength sucks sometimes."

"I can come with you, right?" Isaac asked, eyes going from Stiles to Peter and back. "Don't leave me at home again."

"Nah, you can come," Stiles said, taking another drink of his coffee. "I don't wanna take too many painkillers, they always make me loopy and slow."

"We should definitely avoid that," Peter agreed. He wound an arm around Stiles' shoulders and shamelessly plastered himself against the teen's side. His hand reached even further and Isaac wasted no time at all in squeezing against Stiles' other side so Peter could place his fingers around the back of his neck for some much needed reassurance. "We'll go see your father at the hospital as well, clear up some last minute concerns."

"He'll probably be under guard," Stiles cautioned, "what with the Argents still brassed off about Gerard's death and stuff."

Peter's pleasant smile turned smug. "I know. How do you think the information packet made it here? Your father has a lot of friends among his deputies."

"Oh."

"You didn't know?" Peter asked.

"I'm a little … surprised, I guess," Stiles confessed. He sunk a little lower and bit his lip. "I don't like to talk about it but … well, my dad wasn't doing so great after my mom was gone. Drank a little too much, wasn't at home a few nights too many …" Stiles shrugged and lowered his eyes to his coffee cup so he didn't have to watch anyone's reaction. "Just … I knew he was a good boss at work, and the deputies always had time for me if he couldn't leave me with Scott and Melissa, but I didn't know that he had a lot of friends there. I feel kind of awful now. I should've realized."

"It's not your job to be informed of every detail of your father's life, sweetheart," Peter murmured. "He's very understanding about our situation and remarkably sanguine about our negotiations, but that doesn't negate years of leaving you alone with your grief."

"I wasn't alone," Stiles muttered.

"But Melissa and The Failure weren't what you really needed, either," Peter countered. "If you looked elsewhere to deal with your grief, he has no one to blame but himself. Apparently he did it and never bothered to inform you. In fact, I'm rather unimpressed that whatever progress he's made at work never made it to your home."

"Besides, it's creepy to stalk your own parent because they won't talk to you about the stuff that's going on in their life," Isaac added. "I'm kinda glad you didn't go quite that far. You're plenty curious already."

Stiles smiled crookedly, only for his face to fall again. "Peter … can we tell Boyd and Erica soon?"

"Why so urgent all of a sudden?" Peter asked, no censure in his voice, only polite curiosity.

Turning his head a little, Stiles looked him in the eyes. "Being alone all the time sucks. Isaac hates being left behind, I only have my dad, and Derek really needs more exposure to happy people. Even if they choose not to accept your Bite, they could be good friends. They already are to me."

"I like them, too," Isaac said. "Besides, Boyd could use some help at home."

"How so?" Peter asked.

Isaac pressed himself even closer to Stiles and let out a little rumble when Peter's grip on his neck tightened. "He's working a lot to support his grandma. After his mom left and his dad died, she's raised him on her pension. They make do, but it's not great."

"Boyd's in the Air Force ROTC program, too," Stiles supplied, "so he's already used to the idea of combat training, even if he hasn't started yet."

"I see. You have updated their files?"

Stiles nodded. "I can send it to you whenever, just say the word."

"Give it another month or two, just to see if you hit any snags in your friendship. It's still in the early stages and you haven't quite lost the rose-coloured glasses yet," Peter said. He twitched suddenly and then paled. "Excuse me."

"What the-" Stiles stared at Peter's swiftly retreating back and winced when the door to the bathroom shut with an audible snick. "What was that?"

Isaac slumped a little. "Peter's alive, but he's been … unwell on and off every couple of hours."

"He's what? Since when do you know? And wait, how long have you even been here that you know this?" Stiles cried. He tried to get up, nearly sloshing his coffee all over himself. "Fuck, help me up!"

It was clear that Isaac didn't want to, but he did help Stiles to his feet and even placed his coffee cup onto the desk before guiding him along the hallway. "Don't be shocked, okay?"

"Let that be my-" Stiles opened the bathroom door … and froze at the sight of Peter spitting black goo into the sink. "Concern. Peter! What the hell is going on? What's this? I thought you were fine?"

"I'm better," Peter sighed, turning on the tab to rinse his mouth. "Which, compared to being dead, is certainly true. But I'm not fine, not by a long shot. My body will have to work hard to expel all the wolfsbane, probably for a couple of weeks. Maybe even longer."

"Shit. That totally sucks," Stiles declared. He teetered forward and plastered himself to Peter's back. "I'm sorry. I thought the healing stuff was done."

The werewolf caught his weight with a surprised sound but didn't make a move to push him away. "It does suck, but I'd rather heal slowly than be beyond help altogether."

Stiles expelled his breath in a deep sigh. "Okay. Uhm, is that why Scott's wolf spark is still … you know, inside?"

"How do you know it hasn't left yet, or been absorbed?" Peter asked. He straightened himself subtly and turned a little so his tender left side was covered by Stiles' body.

Somehow, Stiles' lizard brain comprehended that the small and yet significant show of vulnerability was something special … and that getting so close to a grown ass man with Peter's level of attractiveness was probably a bad idea.

"I, er, I didn't know, actually. I just assumed." Stiles winced. "Stupid, I know. But, he went in there to help, so I thought he's still doing that, if this spewing goo thing is still going on. Although I sure hope that the mountain ash isn't doing something weird to your squishy insides because ewww."

"Charming," Peter smirked. "Well, regarding your wolf spark, your deduction, while not wholly based on evidence, is quite sound regardless. It is still inside of me and aiding my own spark in healing the damage."

"I'm honestly glad that I somehow got him away from Scott," Stiles confessed. "Not just to get even with Scott, although that's pretty great, but because he must've been so unhappy with him. Just imagine being a spark of magic in a host that hates you." He shivered. "He deserves better."

Peter's eyes flashed red and then amber for a moment, which made Isaac gasp in shock. Even Peter himself looked a little disconcerted. "I … have never known something like this to happen, but it seems that the wolf spirit agrees with you. It is … happy to have you near."

A grin crept over Stiles' lips. "Really? Aw, I liked having you with me, too, buddy. Hang in there, you're doing a great job."

"I've only ever heard of an alpha giving up their alpha powers to save a packmate, but for a packmate to essentially lend their sparks to do the reverse …" Peter shook his head, puzzled. "If it happened before, it hasn't ever been recorded. And every alpha spark that has been sacrificed has been used up."

"Maybe it's just a Stiles thing," Isaac suggested. "Derek told me that there were a lot of talismans and stuff on you - it could've been magic."

Stiles flushed a little with pleasure at the words. "You think?"

Shrugging, Isaac crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the doorframe. "Peter's got mountain ash inside of him and it hasn't made him explode, yet. I'd say that speaks of magic."

"He's not wrong," Peter murmured. He patted Stiles' shoulder and brushed his thumb over his neck for a pain drain. "How about you let the shower do its magic now? I don't want to be rude, especially since I used up all of the hot water last night, but you do smell a little ripe."

"Ugh, yeah, absolutely." Stiles stepped back decisively. "And then breakfast?"

"We made pancakes," Isaac said proudly. "With yogurt."

Stiles brightened up at this. "Fantastic. I'll be down in ten … hopefully. If not, one of you come look for me. I might've fallen and broken my hip."

"It'd be funny if you didn't mean it seriously." Isaac looked torn between worry and entertainment.

"Ten minutes," Peter assured Stiles. "Isaac will help you if necessary and I'll heat the pancakes for you and get you a fresh cup of coffee."

He left and Stiles got out of his sweats and T-shirt with Isaac's help. Normally, he'd have been mortified to be seen in the buff by the other boy, but despite Peter's pain drain he was aching all over and just wanted some hot water to ease his bruised muscles.

"Scott really got you good," Isaac commented while Stiles was scrubbing himself down behind the shower curtain. "That bruise on your face looks nasty."

"Feels nasty too," Stiles spluttered around the water running into his mouth. "Should I ice it before we go to the hospital?"

"Well, our pain drain will get you through the day, and the more spectacular the bruise looks on the police photos, the more it'll get Scott into trouble. But it's your call."

Stiles pondered this as he finished washing off his legs and uncapped the shampoo to tackle his hair next. "I suppose that'll work. This whole thing will make the news, right?"

"No escaping that, I'm afraid," Isaac replied. "Derek's already texted about a couple of reporters camping out at the station."

"Right. Then we might as well milk it for all it's worth," Stiles decided. He began washing his hair with broad, impatient strokes of his palms. "By the way, where is Derek anyway? If he's being interviewed, he shouldn't be able to text, so is he out of there already?"

"Nah, he hasn't even started yet. He's hanging around waiting for the lawyer Peter called an hour or so ago."

"Huh." Stiles rinsed his hair and turned off the water. "I'm getting out now. You got a towel ready?"

Isaac did one better and swaddled Stiles like a toddler while still in the bathtub. Only then did he help him step over the rim. "Can you dress yourself?"

"I think so," Stiles said.

Back in his room, as he carefully put on a new pair of sweats and shirt, he asked, "So, who is this lawyer?"

Isaac had a very interesting expression on his face as he said with obvious relish, "Get ready to have your mind blown ... it's Jackson's dad."

It took a moment for Stiles' brain to actually compute this information, but then he threw his head back and roared with laughter until there were tears in his eyes. A tiny part of him felt sorry for Melissa, but wow, what a turn of events!

"Peter thought you'd like that," Isaac said, grinning too. "Ready for breakfast now?"

End of chapter 25