Sigh, somehow the talky chapters are the most difficult ones. Not a lot is actually happening, but there are things going on. So, enjoy? Maybe?

Chapter 26

All morning, Stiles felt disgustingly pampered, and he enjoyed it quite a bit once he'd gotten used to the idea that he actually deserved to be pampered. It was no surprise that Peter's pancakes were fantastic, but there was also fresh fruit and real whipped cream, and when it was time to get dressed, Isaac helped him into a pair of jeans and his customary T-shirt and plaid combination without even a hint of impatience.

Some of it might have been prompted by the truly spectacular bruise on his face, but mostly, Stiles came to believe, it was from having done good for their small family. Real good. Isaac did seem like the type to not forget such a thing easily, or at all.

Stiles glowed a little inside at the thought of having forged a lasting connection to the other boy. Every one of Isaac's actions so far, even the dry teasing, had been more brotherly than anything Scott had managed in the last four or so months. And Isaac didn't make empty promises either, which triggered Stiles' soft spot so hard that it was almost ridiculous.

At last Peter helped Stiles into a black jacket - not his own but something completely new - and assisted him in getting into the passenger seat of the jeep.

"I can drive," Stiles protested half-heartedly.

"You could," Peter agreed and buckled himself in, "but you don't have to. I'd like for you to take it easy at least until a doctor has looked you over. Isaac and I won't go anywhere, and as soon as Derek is done with giving his statement, he'll probably want to pitch in as well."

"Fine," Stiles sighed. "She really does grind in second, so be careful, okay?"

"Of course," Peter murmured. "That reminds me that I owe you a new set of keys."

"Yeah, you do," Stiles huffed, flushing a little when Peter's lips curled up in amusement.

The jeep started, purring like a happy kitten under Peter's touch. Stiles watched like a hawk, but the werewolf knew how to drive and he was careful when shifting gears. In no time at all they rolled onto the parking lot of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital and went in as quickly as Stiles could manage so they wouldn't get drenched by an oncoming shower.

Since Stiles' arrival had been announced by the sheriff station, he was whisked away almost immediately for his examination. The doctor filling out the report for the police investigation was kind and professional and only asked a few questions for clarification for the forensic experts so Stiles wouldn't have to go into a lot of detail during the actual giving of the statement.

"Nurse Amanda has already called the radiology," Dr. Lee said after the report was done and the pictures had been taken. "Your jugal bone might be fractured, and I don't like the swelling at all. Your friend hit you very hard; I almost can't believe that he didn't punch you with full force."

"He's first string at lacrosse," Stiles muttered. The ache was slowly creeping back and he yearned for another dose of werewolf painkillers.

"No matter what excuse that young man comes up with, he should've known better," Dr. Lee said firmly. "There'll definitely be a trial and I promise you that I'll make it very clear that this blow could've snapped your neck under slightly different circumstances."

Stiles' breath stalled and his heart jumped unpleasantly in his chest. "What?"

"If the angle had been only slightly different, the force of the blow could've jerked your head around far enough that your spinal cord might've snapped," Dr. Lee explained. "I know that you and Scott are friends, but I can't in good conscience let that boy get off with a slap on the wrist."

"No, I … I'd never ask it of you," Stiles said numbly. "Thank you. I mean that. Thanks."

"Radiology will be ready for you in just a few minutes. Someone will wheel you down … no, don't argue. Your pupil check was a bit iffy as well, I'm not taking any chances. Whatever else you need to get better, rest should be at the top of that list."

With that, Stiles was dismissed, a recipe for painkillers in one hand and a lolly in the other.

"I heard," Peter said quietly as they sat back on the plastic chairs to wait for the nurse. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Stiles said tiredly. "It's just a shock."

Carefully, Peter laid his hand onto Stiles' forearm, taking his pain. At Stiles' back, Isaac was rumbling sorrowfully. They sat like that until the nurse arrived, and Stiles didn't even think about protesting Peter and Isaac coming with him as he was wheeled away. He already knew that he'd probably have an MRI instead of a simple X-ray, just to rule out a concussion. It'd take longer and he wasn't a fan of the tight tube so it was a comfort to know the two werewolves close by.

"All will be well," Peter said, taking his hand away from Stiles' neck at the last moment. "Think of your father, visiting will be your reward."

"My reward better be curly fries," Stiles called over his shoulder. Then the door was closed and he was shuffled into the MRI. "How long will this take?"

The doctor, one middle-aged lady by the name of Sandy Smith, smiled encouragingly. "Fifteen minutes. Do you need earplugs or some music?"

"Earplugs, please. I think I'll just snooze a little."

The doctor handed over the plugs and stayed with Stiles until he was settled in the MRI machine. It was only his head and neck, thankfully, and the earplugs helped a little to lessen the hammering noise.

Stiles indeed managed to fall into a light slumber, although it wasn't a particularly restful one. His face began to hurt again, and now, after Dr. Lee's statement about narrowly having escaped death, or a serious paralysis at the very least, he felt a phantom pain in his neck as well. It was spooky and uncomfortable and only his forcefully deep and even breaths saved him from a panic attack.

"You did well," Dr. Smith told him once it was over. "Unfortunately you do have a hairline fracture in your jugal bone, which you can't do a lot about except managing the pain and staying off it during sleep for several weeks. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Stiles said dully a second time that morning. "Thanks, doc."

"On the plus side, the muscles in your neck are strained somewhat, but not dangerously so, and you don't have a concussion. Your headaches and the sore neck should get better during the next week. In my opinion, you won't need a neck guard, but maybe you should get a second opinion on that. The guys down in physio have a light morning, it might be worth a shot."

"It's great that nothing is sprained or bruised."

She smiled encouragingly. "Yes, absolutely. However, we really do have to take care of the fracture and the swelling in your face. I'll put you in my calendar myself; I want to see you every week to monitor the injury. School's out for this week, and no sports of any kind until the bone is completely healed. Right now you'll need a lot of rest, good food, and some extra vitamin D to help with the healing."

"What about ice packs?" Stiles asked. "Should I use them if I already take pain meds?"

"Absolutely, but no direct contact to the skin. Wrap the pack into a towel or a washcloth and apply several times a day, especially in the beginning." She clicked around a little in his patient file. "Ah, Dr. Lee has already written a prescription, that's good. He'll advise you if you have any questions regarding your medication, so don't hesitate to ask." She smirked a little. "Your file states that you're not so good with pain meds in general, let's find out how you're faring with this one, then."

"Har, har," Stiles huffed.

"Sorry," she laughed. "It's quite rare to come across someone who's so intolerant to them. You might want to think about a gene check, there are some mutations that can inhibit your body from processing meds the way they're intended to be processed."

"Maybe later." Stiles grimaced. "Not to be rude or anything, but I have to go to the sheriff station after this to give a statement … can we wrap this up?"

"Certainly. Your next appointment is on Friday at ten if the injury's not getting worse. Come in immediately if it does, alright? Any new pain, any unusual discolouration of the skin, and you're back here."

"I promise, doc," Stiles sighed, because what else could he say with two nosy werewolves listening in? "I hope I don't have to, though."

"I hope so, too," she replied gently. "In case the court asks for my statement, I'll be in your corner." She shook Stiles' hand and ushered him out.

Isaac was there at once, taking Stiles' pain and murmuring assurances that he and Peter would take turns staying with him as long as he was hurting just so he wouldn't have to take the pills.

"You're great friends," Stiles told him and Peter earnestly. "I think I love you a little."

"Only a little?" Isaac scoffed.

"It's early days," Peter murmured. "He'll love us a lot eventually. Just wait and see."

Stiles blushed hotly but couldn't deny the little thrill of pleasure he felt at that proclamation. Previous murder rampage or no, he could appreciate someone who was so committed, especially if it was to him.

Oh yes, Peter Hale was dangerous.

oOo

"Hey, kid," the sheriff greeted Stiles when they'd finally made their way to his room and past the two guards. "Fancy neck guard you've got there."

The door was barely closed when Stiles nearly ran over to the bed his father was lying in and hugged him fiercely but carefully. "How're the ribs? I could kill Jacoby if he weren't already dead."

"Two are snapped and a couple more are bruised, but nothing went into my lung or anywhere else," John reported dutifully. "It hurts quite a bit, though."

"Do you require a pain drain?" Peter asked politely, despite being aware of the IV and the morphine pump attached to the sheriff's arm.

"Nah, but thanks for the offer. I'm not half as bad on meds as Stiles." John smiled grimly. "What's the verdict, then?"

"Hairline fracture in the jugal bone, no concussion, strained neck muscles, Scott could've paralysed or killed me if he'd impacted me a little differently," Stiles rattled off. "The doctors said they'll testify against Scott if they're called."

"I'm so sorry," the sheriff said, all joviality gone from his face. "If I hadn't been subjected to it myself, I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me that Scott aided and abetted that man."

"He has that effect on people," Stiles agreed. "I feel really, really stupid that I didn't notice before."

"You never had a reason to," his father comforted him. "You never were at odds for longer than a couple of days, and certainly not over something life-impacting."

"You think it'll stop, now that he's back to square one?" Stiles asked. He sat in the chair next to his father's bed and placed his hand on the man's arm. "I need it to stop."

John regarded him silently for a moment and then said, "We all do."

They visited for a little longer, learned that the sheriff would stay for another three to four days from the visiting doctor, and promised to get some things for him from home to make the confinement easier.

"I could cook for you," Peter offered then, turning up his nose a little at the half empty cup of hospital coffee on John's bedside table. "The food in this hospital is subpar, to put it mildly. It certainly won't help you recover."

Stiles' father offered a half-smile at the suggestion. "If you've got the time, be my guest. I'll clear it with my deputies. Thank you, Hale."

"No, thank you."

The two men stared at each other, a strange current of understanding sizzling between them, nearly visible to Stiles' eye.

"Be careful on your way through town," the sheriff said. "The Argents are agitated and I'll be very cross with you all if you manage to get assassinated in broad daylight."

"What I don't understand is how Jackson's dad can represent the Hales when he is a public prosecutor?" Stiles asked. "I mean I get that it's sort of the same thing in this case, but usually public prosecutors are all for getting their hands on the relevant information."

"Well, he isn't a public prosecutor anymore," Peter said, sounding rather smug. "And fun fact: we've known each other quite well before the fire, worked well enough, too, if you can believe it."

"But the organization chart," Stiles spluttered. "Did they forget to update it again?"

"It's a problem," the sheriff chuckled. "Whittemore hasn't been a public prosecutor for almost four months and right now I'm very glad about that. He's is an outstanding lawyer and for Peter's sake alone he'll do his level best to ruin the Argents."

"And McCall," Peter added mildly. "I'm not sorry to admit that Whittemore's son's animosity with McCall is a personal boon. I honestly mourn the fact that I probably won't get to see his face when he learns of this."

"I hope he'll try to leave Melissa out of it," Stiles' father said pointedly, "because that woman is a fantastic mother and doesn't deserve to be dragged through the mud."

"Oh, I know that. I quite enjoyed my date with her, short as it was."

Stiles nearly choked on his own spit while his father's eyebrows rose significantly towards his hairline.

"Rest assured that I've directed David to throw the book at The Failure, but to afford Melissa every courtesy," Peter continued blithely. Behind him, Isaac wasn't trying very hard to hide his laughter at the Stilinskis' scandalized faces. "He's also quite invested in getting me my life back. If all goes well, I'll only have to sign a few forms next month and I can rejoin society as a fully functional member."

"I didn't know things were progressing so well," Stiles blurted out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you blacklisted David's son, and because you had enough on your plate," Peter replied. "Furthermore-"

Stiles snorted at the needlessly articulate segue and Peter smirked.

"Furthermore, I had no wish to argue about things that weren't your concern." Peter paused. "They still aren't your concern."

"You're an asshole, Peter," Stiles snapped. "You think I'm not able to differentiate between Jackson's doucheyness and his dad's usefulness?"

"Au contraire," Peter said, "I think you're very good at holding out the other cheek for the people you consider important. I just wasn't willing to force you into a position where you had to do that, because it simply wasn't necessary. Any lawyer could've assisted me in regaining my status and sorting out the inheritance issue. I wanted David because we were friendly when I was still practicing, and because he really is the best at what he does in at least five counties … since me, I should say."

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not acknowledging the bit of preening. "You should know me better by now. I understand , okay."

"Understanding does not preclude resentment," Peter told him, raising an eyebrow in the sheriff's direction.

Stiles flushed at the reminder of their earlier talk about his father's neglect and clamped his mouth shut lest he said something they'd all regret.

"David Whittemore is the fastest and most direct way to achieve my short term goals," Peter went on, an air of finality in his voice. "Our relationship is not up to discussion at this moment. Once the whole sorry affair is resolved, we may revisit our discussion but until then I ask that you not poke at it."

"It's a reasonable request," Stiles' father said gently. "You should go, give your statements, and then get the hell home because I can see you flagging, kid."

Stiles would rather die than admit that he was, indeed, flagging a little, so he just hugged his dad again and stomped from the room without another word.

Isaac followed, sneaking a hand around Stiles' wrist to help with the headache that had built in the last few minutes. He also forced a couple sips of water onto Stiles and engaged him into a discussion about his comic as they drove to the sheriff station so Stiles wouldn't have to glower at Peter in broody silence.

At the station, Deputy Keene greeted them at the parking lot and ushered them into the building via a side entrance.

"The press has gotten wind of what's happened," he said apologetically. "Damn police radio scanners. They nearly trampled the scene in the preserve, despite forensics still working there." Keene led them past the foyer and right to the interview rooms. "You've got number two, Stiles. Mr. Whittemore will be with you as soon as he's done talking to Derek Hale."

Isaac pressed a little closer to Stiles. "I can stay, right?"

"I don't have a problem with that," Stiles said hastily, putting on his most innocent face.

Keene dithered a little but ultimately left the decision up to Mr. Whittemore. "But only because you're not under arrest, kid. Jesus, stop with the Bambi eyes already! You too, Isaac. Gah."

He left them all in interview two and went to stand guard outside but they only had to wait for around ten minutes until Mr. Whittemore and Derek joined them.

"Just sit there and observe," Whittemore said to Derek and Isaac. "Peter, I trust that you know not to influence Stiles while I question him?"

"I'd never," Peter said and went to sit by Derek.

"Hello, Stiles," Whittemore finally greeted. "We haven't seen each other in a while. I'm glad that you and Jackson haven't been at each other's throats for some time now … and I don't mind admitting that I'm a bit horrified. Your injury looks nasty."

"Feels nasty, too, but Jackson's been okay lately," Stiles replied, surprising himself with how sincerely he meant it.

"That's good to know. Now, let's begin …"

The questioning took a good while - much longer than Stiles had thought it would take. Jackson's dad not only asked about Saturday night, but about all the instances Stiles had felt threatened, or actually been threatened, by Scott and the Argents. It went on for so long that Derek and Isaac ran out to get lunch for all of them, accompanied by yet another deputy.

After lunch, Mr. Whittemore invited Deputy Tara Graeme to conduct her own official interview, which went on until mid-afternoon even with Mr. Whittemore's direction. And through it all, the werewolves took turns touching Stiles under the guise of comforting him to take his pain.

"I'm surprised that you managed to keep up your grades during all that," Whittemore concluded when both Stiles and Isaac finally couldn't think of any more instances of stalking and harassment. "Some stalking victims don't fare nearly as well, which I'll definitely impress upon the judge. McCall not only hurt you physically, he could've also cost you your college placements and therefore materially harmed your future."

"I hadn't even thought about that," Stiles admitted. "Wow."

"People rarely do when they think about stalking. Most only see the immediate harmful aspect," Whittemore said and Deputy Graeme nodded her agreement. "I don't believe the McCall boy actually thought that far, although I'll question him extensively about the supposed gaslighting he claims to have suffered at the Argents' hands. They might have explained themselves, after all."

"I really hope they did - and they probably would've had to because Scott can be slow - but no matter the outcome, I'm done protecting him," Stiles told the man bluntly. "It's one thing to defend him against dumb kids stealing his inhalers-" Here Mr. Whittemore had the grace to look uncomfortable, "-but I'm not a pushover. I won't let Scott get away with what he did. I'll testify myself if I have to, and if I should suddenly spout nonsense about forgiving him, you have my permission to check me for brain damage or drugs or whatever."

Isaac muttered, "You better believe we will."

"Just what I wanted to hear," Whittemore said with a nod, flipping to an empty page of his writing pad. "Peter, you're next. Let's get this over with so I can throw the book at the McCall kid. Deputy Graeme, thank you for your patience. Mr. Hale and I shouldn't be too long."

"As long as we'll get the statement today, I'll be happy," she replied. "Just send Keene when you're done."

Tired as he was, Stiles didn't protest Peter directing Derek to take them back to the Stilinski house and lay low until he could join them. In fact, Stiles was glad about some time apart because he needed to think, and it was hard to do that with Peter around.

"The side entrance is still your best bet if you don't want your poor little face plastered all over the news, Stiles," Tara said, already guiding them to the heavy steel door.

They had almost reached it when it opened from the outside. Suddenly, Stiles was confronted with Melissa McCall, who was dressed in scrubs with just a jacket thrown on top, her hair a mess and her eyes red-rimmed.

"Oh god," Stiles muttered as they stared at each other.

Melissa was rigid for a second, but then she rushed towards Stiles, hugged him tightly before either Derek or Isaac could react, and then cupped his face with her warm hands.

"Oh Stiles, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'll tan my son's hide!"

End of chapter 26