No story-relevant note today, just a reminder to please be safe. Wear masks when out in public, wash your hands, and stay at a safe distance from each other. It sucks, but seeing the rising cases of COVID-19 all over the world sucks even more. *hugs*

Also, thank you so much for all of your lovely comments and continuing support!

Chapter 27

It was like Melissa McCall's tearful acceptance of Scott's guilt had broken the dam that contained Stiles' ability to soldier through. She did extract a promise of meeting soon when Stiles was feeling better, but other than that she made no demands whatsoever. Even Isaac was impressed by the sheer 'mom-ness' of her, and Peter offered a very cordial greeting that had Stiles wondering for a moment whether there couldn't have been something more between them after all.

Neither Peter nor Melissa lingered, however, and Stiles found himself shutting down fast, now that he'd done all that was required of him.

oOo

On Monday, all the teen did was sleeping, occasionally eating a bite, and mindlessly watching TV. He felt oddly detached from the world, almost like a ghost floating around his house that was able to touch things if it really needed to, but for the most part being indifferent to it all.

Derek, who apparently had been elected to mind him, was very hands-off and unobtrusive, largely leaving Stiles to his own devices and only seeking contact when Stiles needed help to manage the pain in his face and bruised body. This, unfortunately was quite often, because who knew that being thrown into a steel construction via electrical discharge could make muscles seize up like that? And who knew that it actually took two days for the damage to fully present itself?

Stiles certainly hadn't known, but he wouldn't ever forget this lesson!

Another thing he hadn't factored in were the nightmares, although he definitely should have. He certainly wasn't a stranger to them after his mother's death.

Again Derek didn't say a word when Stiles screamed himself awake not even two hours after falling asleep that night. He just parked himself in Stiles' bed to provide a comforting presence, pulled the boy against his chest like a toy, and huff-growled at him to go back to sleep.

Which Stiles did, and the nightmares thankfully stayed away.

oOo

On Tuesday, Isaac came for a visit after school. He had some notes for Stiles and all the gossip the students of Beacon High were capable of. Stiles acknowledged this, but elected not to say a lot about the whole thing. Isaac was just fine with that; once he was done trying to amuse Stiles with the outlandish stories, he first did his homework and then spent two hours after dinner to draw new pages for his comic. It was coming along nicely and Stiles shamelessly watched as the planned protagonists bloomed into real characters on page.

Through it all his phone remained switched off, courtesy of Derek's inability to deal with teenage bullshit.

Stiles really, truly, didn't mind.

oOo

On Wednesday, Peter took over the babysitting duty, bringing Stiles food and coffee and leeching off the pain whenever he crossed Stiles' path. By now Stiles was awake and aware enough to feel mildly annoyed at the babysitting, but it was still a far cry from his usual energetic state. He was also beyond cranky about the stiffness and soreness everywhere.

When he complained about the stupid foggy feeling in his head and the heaviness in his limbs, again, Peter invited him to huff against his shoulder as he held him in a loose one-armed half-cuddle on the couch and said, "It's absolutely normal to feel listless after suffering a severe trauma. I needed six years to get out of my funk; I'd say you're doing quite well, all things considered."

"Feels like wasting time," Stiles mumbled mulishly. "I hate not being quick in my head. A sloth is more lively than me right now. Heck, even zombies are more lively, and they aren't even real. Probably. Hopefully."

"True," Peter agreed with a smirk, taking Stiles' weak fist to the side as his due. "However, you're regaining your strength, every day a little more. Your progress is very good."

"How can you even say that with a straight face," Stiles grumbled. "You heal in like no time at all."

Peter hummed quietly. "That doesn't mean I'm not grateful for the hard work my body does every day. It'd be an insult to treat it carelessly after everything it's been through."

Stiles swallowed and lowered his eyes in shame. Put like that, he was being a complete asshole to his body. "I just hate being this useless, especially now when the Argents are probably planning two dozen different ways to off you before they have to appear in court."

"Who doesn't hate feeling useless? The point I'm trying to make is that humans have an astounding capability for healing. It might not be as pronounced as a werewolf's, but it's there. Every second of every day, your cells work very hard to support your growth and health. All your body asks is a little time, and the appropriate building blocks in the form of proper food," Peter said quietly. "So, give your body the time it needs. Your physical wounds will heal eventually, but those are not the only parts of you needing care. Your mind needs time to sort itself out as well. Feeling tired and depressed is your body's way of working through the problems. There's no way around it, all you can do is get through it without hating yourself for it."

"Someone's been reading Cosmo," Stiles quipped, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Cosmo does have the occasional nugget of wisdom," Peter snarked back. He pulled Stiles a little closer and curled his hand around the teen's upper arm to take the throbbing pain that was slowly creeping in. "You were born human, Stiles. Allow yourself to be human because it is not a shame to be one in a pack of wolves."

Stiles sighed. "But you always have to watch yourselves around me. That must be annoying."

"It really isn't," Peter told him. "A healthy pack is like a mirror of the world around us. Emissaries are typically human, and human spouses or kids might be the minority, but they're by no means rare. If a pack is lucky, there might even be supernatural members who're not wolf. Plus, we even had pets, before the fire. All very normal, in the grand scheme of things."

"Huh. How lucky would a pack have to be to snag a non-wolf?" Stiles asked, drowsy but curious.

"Well, most other supernaturals do not form large family units or packs," Peter explained patiently, "but every now and then someone not wolf does feel attracted to a werewolf pack. They have their own reasons, and those reasons can vary wildly. They might find a mate among us, or just like the feel of the community combined with their innate magic, or they might make a very rational decision to join a pack for protection. Sometimes they even live a mostly human life and just happen to land on pack land and reach an agreement with the local alpha."

"Did you have extras?"

"You're extra." Peter chuckled, but he sounded wistful. "No, we weren't so fortunate. There was a banshee, once, but she moved on after a while and since then no other supernatural had an interest in settling down with us. And now it's just Derek, Isaac, and I holding down the fort."

"We don't need supernaturals, but a couple of girls woul' be nice, dude," Stiles murmured, dropping off completely now. "Don' wanna be a club o' grumpy white guys."

Peter's laughter jostled Stiles faintly. "Agreed. We'll keep our eyes open."

"Only the eyes." Stiles sighed deeply. "Creeping is verboten."

Then he was asleep and didn't wake until the doorbell rang in the evening.

oOo

"You look like shit, Stilinski," Jackson said bluntly. He sat on the couch across from Stiles like he owned the place but spared Peter a wary glance at least. "Is it true what the news say? Did McCall really help kidnap your father?"

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, rubbing his upper arms against the sudden chill crawling over them.

"He's a fucking moron," Jackson stated. "Which you'd have known if you'd listened to me, years ago."

Stiles found the energy to muster a scowl. "His shittiness only started when he got turned. Before that, he was a good friend."

"He was a loser who allied himself to another loser so he wouldn't get completely trounced." Jackson opened his backpack and pulled out a bottle of nonalcoholic cider. "Here, to lessen the amount of pathetic I can feel from here."

Peter intercepted the bottle, twisted off the lid with ease, and handed it to Stiles. "Did your father send you, Jackson?"

"He didn't have to. The whole school is going crazy over the Stilinski-McCall drama," Jackson scoffed. "I'm fed up with the wild speculation so I thought I'd get the truth right from the source."

"Not gonna happen," Stiles muttered even as he took a sip of the cider. "My dad would kill me."

"My dad would, too, if things about the case got out," Jackson replied. He offered a bottle to Peter and finally got a third bottle out of his backpack and opened it. "But I'm not planning on spreading gossip. I just wanna understand what happened because even I didn't think McCall had it in him to beat you like this."

Peter cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at Stiles. "I'd say it's your call. You did say that he knew something."

"Does his dad?" Stiles countered.

"I'm still contemplating the merits," Peter said easily. He turned his intense gaze on Jackson who shrank back into the couch. "It all boils down to your answer to my question whether you'll really be a good boy and keep things to yourself, or whether you merely want to satisfy your curiosity and then use the information to make Stiles' life difficult, Jackson."

Jackson's eyes flitted to Stiles. "Oh god, it's him, isn't it? He's the one that ..."

"Yeah," Stiles said when the other boy trailed off. It brought him no pleasure to see Jackson pale and stiffen with anger. "If it helps, he's sorry. Also, it's a very long story and I don't think we've got the time for it now."

"I want to hear it," Jackson snapped. "And I think Lydia needs to hear it, too."

"Lydia," Peter growled.

"Jackson's right," Stiles told him, already tired again. "Especially since she neither turned, nor died. Plus, they're not the only ones who want answers."

Peter drew in a controlled breath. "Fine. I need them to swear to keep silent about it. And it won't happen as long as you're housebound."

"I can wait, as long as it isn't too long," Jackson said with far more bravado than he was actually feeling. Even Stiles could see how afraid he was of Peter by the sweat on his brow and the tension in his shoulders. "I won't tell Lydia yet because she's still … delicate, so you'd better make it good. She'll still be angry, but she probably won't kill you for it."

Peter's eyes bled red and Jackson actually jerked back in shock. "I'm willing to inform you because it is important to Stiles. I'm not willing to endure disrespect from high schoolers who don't know the first thing about anything. Are we understood?"

Swallowing and unable to look away, Jackson managed a jerky nod.

Peter's cold face mellowed and he smiled affably. "Good. Are you staying for dinner?"

"He's staying," Stiles said, smirking at Jackson's betrayed glare. "Thanks, Peter."

"Anything for you," Peter replied easily, brushing his hand across Stiles' neck before sauntering out of the living room to start cooking.

"What the fuck?!" Jackson whispered incredulously. "What the actual fuck, Stiles!"

"Long story," Stiles reminded him with a shrug. "In case you're wondering, or, you know, actually worrying, my dad knows."

Jackson's bitch face was epic. "And he just lets you hang out with a monster? Is he crazy?"

"He doesn't exactly like it," Stiles admitted, "but he's sort of okay with it for now because of the Argents and stuff."

Disbelieving, Jackson craned his neck like he could actually see Peter in the kitchen that way. "I lied. I absolutely want to hear that story right now."

Stiles snorted. "Of course you do."

Proving that he wasn't actually an idiot, Jackson changed the topic and instead regaled Stiles with the latest of Finstock's crazy rants. Apparently lacrosse was quite a bit less entertaining without the coach shouting at Stiles, although Scott's arrest had finally given Finstock a new scapegoat to vent his spleen on.

"I swear to god, he yelled at Greenberg to not be as stupid as McCall and swore that he'd make him run suicides until he puked and keeled over if he didn't get his act together," Jackson said, smirking at Stiles' helpless laughter.

"Too late, he's gonna be held back again," Stiles wheezed. "Coach will flip."

"Well, Greenberg's firmly legal by now," Jackson went on. "Wanna buy into the pot?"

"That thing's still around?" Stiles asked, aghast. "I thought that was dissolved after Finstock's last Greenberg-related coronary."

"Nope, still around", Jackson said smugly. "Only difference is that I invite you in now."

"In that case put me in the 'hell no, not ever gonna happen' column. Twenty okay?"

Jackson accepted the money and handed Stiles his deposit receipt. "You win if Finstock gets a restraining order."

"I win?" Stiles' grin grew. "No one else bet on never? Wait, so you bet on Finstock caving eventually, too! Oh my god, you're such a fucking closet romantic."

Shrugging, Jackson said, "Finstock's last ex was a psycho, too. It stands to reason that Greenberg has a chance. Granted, the him being a guy thing is an obstacle, but the coach has a soft spot for losers. Point in case ..." And he pointed right at Stiles, the fucker.

"Gee, thanks," Stiles snarked and slapped Jackson's hand away, only to wince when his ribs protested. "Ow."

"Come on, McCall can't have beat you up that badly," Jackson snorted.

"Wasn't just Scott," Stiles said with a grimace. "Circumstance played a big part."

Peter suddenly appeared next to him and placed his hand on his neck, black lines immediately snaking up his forearm. "Maybe you should refrain from making him laugh too much, Jackson. His ribs are a little tender."

"What are you doing? What is that?" Jackson demanded.

Stiles waved him off as he relaxed into the couch cushions. "He's doing a reeeaaally nice pain drain thingy. Saves me from having to take the icky pills."

Jackson didn't seem in any way placated, but he chose not to comment, what with Peter grinning toothily at him.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour," Peter said a moment later, taking his hand away again. "And by the way, your father texted me, he'll join us."

"Really?" Stiles fought his way back to a straight sitting position. "How come? He's on late shift this week."

"There's been a development with The Failure and he wanted to tell you personally."

"The Failure?" Jackson queried. "You mean McCall?" At Peter's intense not-smile, Jackson brightened and he lost quite a bit of his wariness - like hating Scott put them firmly on common ground. "I should've come up with that one."

"Is it something horrible?" Stiles asked. "As in, do I even want to know?"

"Yes," Peter replied without hesitation. "Thirty minutes, and I expect you to set the table."

"Good to know that you're not completely slacking off, Stilinski," Jackson smirked.

"I meant you," Peter corrected and showed a hint of fang when Jackson's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't want Stiles to overextend himself, would you?"

Jackson's mouth snapped shut and he narrowed his eyes. "No, sir."

"I knew you were a good sort," Peter praised mockingly.

He sauntered off again and Jackson's calculating gaze immediately settled back on Stiles.

"What magic have you done to have someone like him in your corner?" the teen demanded. "Was it a satanic ritual? Or a dance in a dark fairy circle?"

Stiles huffed. "What do you take me for. I'm not dumb enough to summon a demon, what the hell."

They bickered about it for a while, their trash talk seamlessly moving on to Mr. Harris, who everyone agreed had to have crawled out of hell, from there to the hell that their last year of high school would be. It was a small surprise to learn that Jackson was considering going to Great Britain for college, instead of cashing in on his parents' connections and the many scholarships available for athletes who were also decent students.

"And you?" Jackson prodded. "What's your plan? Please don't tell me you wanna stay in Beacon Hills and work with your dad, because that'd be just sad."

Squirming a little, Stiles mumbled, "I'm gonna graduate early and take some time figuring things out."

"So, not law enforcement? That's a surprise." Jackson took the last sip from his bottle and placed it onto the coffee table. "What then?"

"That's where the figuring things out phase comes in," Stiles said and rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess I already know that I won't go into law, or become an engineer or whatever, but that's about it."

"I haven't given it much thought, but I can't really see you in a normal job," Jackson smirked. "Can you imagine yourself as a handyman, or in retail? I guess law enforcement could work, though probably not as a sheriff. No one would take you seriously."

"Shut it." Stiles threw a pillow at Jackson. "I've got lots of time yet, asshole."

Before they could begin another squabble, Peter returned, ordered them to wash their paws, and then commandeered Jackson to set the table to his satisfaction. They were just finished when the sheriff came home - and Stiles would never not be amazed at his dad's ability to take surprising events in stride because after a tiny pause the sheriff greeted Jackson like it wasn't supremely strange to have his son's high school nemesis in his house for dinner.

With that out of the way, they then spent ten minutes just appreciating the creamy stir fry and colourful salad Peter had put together. Everybody clamoured for seconds, even Jackson, and when it was time for coffee and dessert, the mood had mellowed quite a bit.

"Now that we've covered all the small talk, can you please tell me what's going on?" Stiles asked his father. "What's up with Scott?"

"He's been asking for you these last few days," John said, voice measured, "and he had an asthma attack this afternoon. The first in many months, I was told. Melissa was beside herself with worry. It wasn't bad enough to take him to the hospital, but the next one might be."

Stiles felt crushed and he clenched his hands to fists without realizing it.

"That's not normal, is it?" Jackson asked into the heavy silence. He looked from Stiles to the sheriff to Peter. "He was juiced up and I was under the impression that it was permanent."

The sheriff glanced at Peter to gauge his reaction to having Jackson in the loop but settled again when the werewolf didn't even twitch.

"He isn't, anymore," Stiles croaked. "Wow. I guess that's the final piece of evidence that it worked, huh?"

"It's a good thing," Peter said calmly. "He wanted it, he got his wish granted, now he can get on with his life without bothering us anymore. If he doesn't like the consequences, that's his problem."

Jackson scoffed at that. "I have no idea what went down, but I do know that McCall's probably regretting that right now. Like, a lot. What is he, a complete idiot?"

"You already decided he was a moron," Stiles reminded him.

"He shouldn't pose any danger as he is now," Peter interjected, "unless he's begun spouting secrets?"

"So far he hasn't," Stiles father said. He drained his coffee cup and sat back with a weary sigh. "Although I'm not sure how long that'll last. I really need to get together with Melissa and tell her what's been going on before Scott can feed her choice bits of information."

"Why not make it a party?" Peter drawled. "Apparently Jackson and Lydia are keen on being informed. What's one more guest attending the presentation?"

The sheriff turned to Stiles. "Would you do that for Melissa? You're good at explaining things, and she'd definitely believe you since you've been with Scott a lot of the time since all of this started."

"Sure, pops. I'll do a Powerpoint presentation and bring out the murder board and everything. Derek can provide visual proof."

"Maybe don't call it a murder board," his father sighed. "Even if far too many people have died."

"That begs the question whether we actually have to tell her everything," Peter said pointedly. "I don't doubt Melissa's good heart, but certain things might be too much."

Stiles and his father exchanged a long look.

"It's not necessary," the sheriff decided. "Especially since she might feel compelled to use the information to help Scott. He's still her son, even if she wishes she could send him to Mars for a while."

"Thank you, dad," Stiles said quietly.

"Yes, thank you," Peter echoed.

Jackson looked like waiting for the whole story would actually kill him, and this once Stiles couldn't even fault him for his curiosity. A glance at Peter's pleased, smug smile also told him that chumming Jackson hadn't been done inadvertently.

Not by a long shot.

End of chapter 27