Two months and I'm still not finished. WHEN will I learn. *sigh*

Chapter 30

On Monday, Stiles went back to school. He was excused from gym class and also had a doctor's note telling his teachers that he was to take it easy for another week. This meant no handling of chemicals in experiments during chemistry, which visibly pissed Mr. Harris off.

"If you hadn't gone and gotten involved with shady characters, you wouldn't fail this test," Harris said smugly while the other students were setting up their experiments.

Stiles was just opening his mouth for a scathing retort when Jackson pulled back the empty chair next to Stiles and dropped into it heavily.

"Is there a problem?" Jackson asked, raising his eyebrows at Mr. Harris. "You gonna fail Stilinski for being medically exempt? What are you, dumb?"

"I … go back to your seat, Mr. Whittemore," Harris blustered.

"Nah, I don't think so. You see, my dad is Stilinski's lawyer, and he hates douchebags that abuse their positions of power." Jackson smiled blandly. "Will you abuse your position of power, Mr. Harris?"

Harris speared both Jackson and Stiles with a disgusted look before turning on his heel and striding off in a fair imitation of Professor Snape out of the Harry Potter movies.

"Dude," Stiles whispered, "why did you do that? I'd just have gone to the school board and gotten him reprimanded. Wouldn't have been the first time."

Jackson smirked. "I know, but it's more fun my way, Stilinski."

Stiles couldn't deny it so he just kept his mouth shut, crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched Jackson set up his experiment. "Then let's see what you've got."

"Ha, no. You tell me what to do. I hate chemistry, and if I have to be seen with you that's the least you can do."

Snorting, Stiles leaned back in his chair. "I didn't ask you to come over, Lord Douchenozzle."

"Yet I did. Now be grateful and tell me what this blue stuff here is for …"

Amused despite himself, Stiles coached Jackson through the experiment and took notes, but left it to the other teen to write the actual protocol. He wasn't that amused with Jackson's highhandedness.

Isaac stole him away after class, keeping close to Stiles until their lunch break, whereupon they discussed Allison Argent following them around the building like a slightly murderous shadow.

"I wonder what she wants," Stiles said, opening the tupper box Isaac had brought him. "I mean, don't the Argents have enough yet? If I wanted to be a dick about it I could call the cops on her for stalking."

"Why don't you?" Isaac asked and popped a piece of roast into his mouth. "It's no less than she deserves, if you ask me."

"To be honest, I'd much rather find out what that's all about," Stiles admitted, "but I'm afraid she'll skewer me with an arrow or something."

"You still have her number. You could just ask. Or will that get you in trouble with your dad?"

Stiles shrugged. "There could be precedent that contacting her first obsoletes the restraining order and I definitely don't want that to happen. I'll ask my dad or Mr. Whittemore. Until then it'll keep."

"You sure?" Isaac looked at the dark-haired girl appraisingly. "She looks like she's under pressure."

"Not my problem," Stiles replied. He sampled the food and groaned. "Peter's a god in the kitchen, I swear. How is it still so good cold?"

Isaac snickered. "He does have a ton of magic books, maybe he's got one about cooking magic."

"Say what," Stiles said, intrigued. "You think you could find and borrow one?"

oOo

That night, Stiles called his father to clear up the thing about contacting Allison. It was no surprise that the sheriff strongly advised against it.

"There's really nothing she could say to make the situation better," Stiles father said. "That being said, Scott keeps asking to speak to you. He's getting insistent about it, so Mr. Whittemore proposed to cease all communication with the other party until the trial. That way they can't influence us unduly."

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. "It'd be hard for Melissa, but he's probably right."

"All of us would get emotional during a talk and probably say more than we should," his father agreed, "which wouldn't serve us at all. The lawyer Scott's father found would be present, of course, and he'd definitely use anything we say, as well as any weaknesses, against us. Scott'll probably get off far lighter than he deserves anyway, so let's not hand them even more ammunition."

"Have you told Melissa already?" Stiles asked. "I feel lousy about shutting her out after promising that we wouldn't do that."

"She understands," the sheriff assured him. "Plus, Whittemore's pressing for a speedy trial. Since Scott's lawyer's doing the same, things should get going soon."

"How soon?" Stiles asked, his throat closing up a little.

"They're talking July which seems like a long time away for a kid your age, but let me tell you that my people are very hard at work trying to untangle the whole Argent mess so our story makes at least a lick of sense." John sighed. "I'm more worried about Scott in custody. Melissa had to get his inhaler prescription renewed and filed with juvie, and she also had to bring him his bedding from home. He's not doing so well with the fabrics and cleaning products in there, now that his asthma is back."

"Aw, shit."

Stiles' father sighed. "Yes. Very. Despite everything it hurts to know that he's suffering now."

"He still deserves it," Stiles said stubbornly, fighting against the sting in his eyes. "He should've never laid a hand on you. And don't think I didn't notice that you didn't tell me anything about the day in their clutches yet. It was bad, wasn't it?"

"It certainly wasn't good," John admitted softly. "Jacoby had me drugged most of the time, and he got a little rough when he was bored. Scott at least snuck me some water every now and then, but that was all. He never questioned Jacoby's plan, at least not that I was aware of, and was eager enough to help set up the confrontation."

"I had my doubts, because it's Scott , but he really was fully on board, wasn't he," Stiles said darkly and when his father agreed quietly, the compassion for Scott's plight turned to bitter ashes in his guts. "He can rot in hell."

"I'm very sorry, Stiles," his father murmured. "I should've told you sooner - it'd have come out at the trial anyway - but I just wanted to spare you a little while longer."

"Don't do that, dad. I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle it … I will handle it." Stiles closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Sleep well, daddio. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Night, kid," the sheriff said sadly, and they hung up.

oOo

Not being in near-constant contact with Peter apparently caused some sort of withdrawal because Stiles found himself texting the man often throughout the week. He also contemplated just showing up on his doorstep more than once, maybe with some food and a movie. Part of it was missing a vaguely adult-like presence in the absence of his father, of course, and another part of him was very curious about how Scott's wolf spark was doing after a week of not having a real host, but the rest of Stiles just wanted some snarky and rude repartee without kid gloves which the rest of his friends was ill equipped to provide.

While being understanding, Isaac nonetheless talked him out of it on Thursday night.

"It's not like he wouldn't like to have his pack around," the teen said, "but he's still feeling shitty and doesn't want to show any more weakness. Joke's on him, though, because Derek sort of moved into the second level of the building and is ignoring all of Peter's growling, which is sort of driving his relative powerlessness home."

"Did Peter actually say that?" Stiles asked incredulously.

Isaac snorted. "Of course not, but that's what he means. Anyway, he's at least proactive. When he's not busy puking his guts out, he's drinking Iron Man style green smoothies and reciting healing spells."

"He does what now? Do they help?" Stiles demanded.

"Somewhat, which is weird enough since werewolves usually don't have a penchant for magic at all. I know I don't. And no, he doesn't want you to help with that because you'll probably heal yourself more than him and you'll need to look at least a little banged up for the hearing."

"He's an idiot," Stiles said sharply. "That horse has already left the barn. I'd rather learn how to cast a glamour for the doctors if I have to than let him play the martyr. Things are bad enough, and we might need him at full strength soon."

"I tried to tell him that but he just snarled at me like a grumpy old man." Even over the phone Stiles could see Isaac's exasperated eye roll.

"Hmpf. Seems like the self-sacrificing thing runs in the family too," Stiles snarked. "But fine, if he wants to vomit himself raw, I won't keep him from it. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you," Isaac replied.

Stiles carefully threw the phone onto his bed and returned to what he'd been reading on his laptop.

If Peter doesn't want me to heal him personally, I'll send him a fucking med pack, he thought, jutting out his lower lip as he stubbornly scribbled runes and sigils onto the writing pad before him. If it works in video games, I can fucking make it work in real life. Just watch me, Creeper Wolf.

On the writing pad, the sketch of a multi-sided die took form, a different magical symbol on each of its ten sides. There were placement issues to figure out, and he'd need to find a way to contain the healing energy within a certain perimeter, lest it just spread out and vanished instead of treating the intended recipient, but Stiles was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a big deal to make it work. Isaac would probably test it for him, and maybe Derek too. In fact, he'd ask Derek as soon as the werewolf was done with his shower.

Now I just need to figure out whether to build the symbols in sympathetic clusters, or to place them on opposing sides, Stiles thought.

A slight feel of mania blossomed inside of him. Usually this heralded the start of an extensive research binge, which could be hard to break on his own and was therefore nipped in the bud more often than not. For this project, however, Stiles welcomed the new burst of energy, and when Derek returned from his trip to the bathroom, Stiles tasked him with the procurement of a blank ten-sided die and then explained what he was planning on doing with it.

That Derek chose to stay up with him instead of dragging him to bed at a reasonable time only fuelled Stiles' belief that he was on to something.

oOo

It took Derek a couple of days to procure half a dozen blank wooden dice of a large enough size for Stiles to work with, and Stiles thanked him for his effort by leaving Derek standing in front of the full fridge and encouraging him to stuff himself. Himself, he clutched the dice and stormed up to his room, where the pyrography set was already heated up and waiting.

"Now I'm curious," Isaac said from Stiles' bed, where he was doing homework. "You really think it'll work?"

"I've got several designs, and Derek brought enough blanks for me to try them all. One of them is bound to work."

"You hope," Isaac said dryly.

"I hope," Stiles agreed. "I'm pretty sure even the worst of them won't make you explode, though."

"That completely soothes all my fears." Isaac closed his math book. "Anything I can help with?"

"Nah. Or wait, you could make me a sandwich before Derek empties out the fridge completely."

"One enough, or do you want more?"

Stiles considered for a moment. "One with cheese, lettuce and pesto, and the other a BLT with lots of B. Thanks man."

Isaac shrugged. "Sure. See you in a few."

He left and Stiles turned back to the blank die before him. It fit well in his palm and was too light in colour to look like a proper magical utensil, but a little of the leftover dark stain in the garage would take care of that easily enough.

"Okay. Fehu first, because that puking's gotta stop …" Mumbling to himself, Stiles took up the pyrography pen and very carefully burned the rune into the wood.

Checking his design, he turned the die and immediately continued with Laguz, imbuing as much of that warm feeling inside of his body into the dark brown lines as he could.

Isaac only returned when Stiles was done, obviously having listened in on Stiles' muttering and choosing not to disturb him while he was concentrating.

"I had to fight Derek for the bacon," Isaac told Stiles as he placed the plate with the two juicy sandwiches next to Stiles' elbow. "Hey, looking good!"

Stiles sat back and rolled the die around in his hands. "I'm surprised it turned out this well. I mean, it's pretty enough, right? Now it only has to work."

"Gimme," Isaac said and caught the die easily. "It feels a little warm." He began rolling it around as well, just throwing it from one hand to the other and braggingly rolling it along his forearm before catching it again. "And I'm not uncomfortable."

"I'd say give yourself a little cut, but that wouldn't do us any good," Stiles said. "Maybe I can ask my dad. Meanwhile, what do think about setting up a healing area in Peter's apartment? I could send a few ward stones with the die to keep the healing energy contained. Everyone in the field should theoretically benefit from it."

"If you think that works, why not," Isaac said, letting the die spin on his index finger now. "Ten by ten feet should be good, or is that already too large?"

"Dunno, you'll just have to try." Stiles grabbed the plate and hungrily bit into his BLT. "Your fight for the bacon was obviously victorious, my friend. Never have I come across a BLT that was fifty percent perfectly fried bacon, and I adore it. You're hired as Derek's sous-chef."

"Gee, thanks," Isaac replied sarcastically, but he looked very pleased with himself. "Do you have some ward stones? I wanna try this out."

Stiles lobbed a baggie of rune-painted wooden disks at him and watched the other boy lay out a rough circle on the bed with them.

"And now I'm just rolling this thing around?" Isaac asked.

"You can do that, but maybe we can also use a dice cup. Might be better if someone's bad off."

Isaac nodded. "I'll try that next." He exhaled and looked at the die. "Here we go."

Cautiously, he began to roll it around in his cupped hands. When nothing immediately happened, he got braver and began spinning it around again, even managing to transfer it from the left index finger to the right without it losing momentum.

"You know, I have no idea how you're even doing that," Stiles commented, "but you're still looking good. No singed hair or smoking clothes so far."

"I feel a little warm," Isaac said. He rolled the die along his forearm, knocked it off his elbow and caught it with his other hand, beginning the spinning anew. The air around him began to flicker a little, like it would above an asphalt road in the heat of summer. "Make that a little hot … uh."

Stiles stopped mid-chew. "Dude, stop. Your eyes are glowing! And your nose is running."

"What?" Isaac let the die drop into his lap and hastily touched the skin beneath his nose. His fingertips came away black and sticky. "Crap."

"Looks like the same icky stuff Peter's losing," Stiles said after gulping down his food. He scrunched up his nose. "Which means that you've come into contact with something nasty somewhere and are still working to get rid of it."

"It must be something in the environment because no one shot at me or anything." Isaac found a tissue and blew his nose. The result looked like a little squid had exploded inside the white fabric. "Yuck!"

"If even that's enough to make you sniffle black goo, just imagine how hard Peter has to work to get rid of all the poison Jacoby had on his knives." Stiles turned away from Isaac who took out another tissue to stem the trickle, and made a note next to the design he'd used. "And also, Derek was lying to me when he said that he didn't need any healing. Speaking of, where is he?"

"Still eating. He was checking the preserve earlier and it's a lot of ground to cover for one alone." Finally convinced that no new black snot would be running out of his nose, Isaac balled up the tissues and threw them expertly into Stiles' waste bin. "Can I take this set with me? Even if Peter doesn't want it, I'll definitely use it."

"I'll make more," Stiles promised. "I guess all of you could do with a weekly session or so just to get rid of old toxins. But I'll have to experiment first, see if I can come up with something better, or at least more gentle."

"I'd use a shaker right now to find out how that works, but I don't want to bleed all over your room," Isaac said apologetically. "I'll do it at home, promise."

"No worries," Stiles said. He took another huge bite of his sandwich. "'m just glad it works. The rest is details."

"Details." Isaac suddenly grinned. "Honestly, I can't even with you right now. This is pretty amazing, and I already thought your wards were cool! Next you'll be the pack doctor."

"I wouldn't mind that," Stiles mumbled around his food and grinned back. "Peter will have to lend me his books now because there's no way I won't keep doing this."

"I'll see whether I can get a new book from him," Isaac promised. "No guarantees what it'll be about, but if you could choose, what would you like?"

"Maybe something about offensive magic," Stiles said immediately. "Wards and healing are fine, but we're only three wolves and a dude who is a little magic. We need more firepower if we wanna survive hunters and whatever else is out there."

"Aye, captain." Isaac saluted smartly. "You wanna play Mass Effect?"

"Later, I wanted to do another die before I stop for the day," Stiles said. "That okay? It won't take long."

"It's okay. I'll start on my English homework." Cocking his head, Isaac then said, "Derek said he'll come up soon, he just wants to clean up the kitchen." He smirked. "He's offering to be your next guinea pig."

"Cool, but we'd better relocate to the bathroom," Stiles retorted. "He's gotten into a lot more contact with wolfsbane that you have and my carpet really doesn't need any more stains on it."

"To probably quote the Bard: truer words were never spoken," Isaac cackled.

Stiles threw a piece of tomato in retaliation, snickering inwardly when Isaac actually caught it with his mouth like a well-trained dog.

End of chapter 30