To those of you who celebrate: Happy 4th of July!

Chapter 31

Derek's trial of the second dice turned out to be … energetic, to say the least.

Meaning that Derek, sitting inside the circle of ward stones, had barely shaken the die in the shaker when he'd started convulsing, not only losing his dinner but also what seemed to be years' worth of old wolfsbane poisoning. And not only was he vomiting, the black goo was also dribbling from his nose and ears and even out of his tear ducts, which made for an honestly exorcist-esque nightmare right there in Stiles' bathroom.

Isaac tried to take the die out of Derek's hand after the horror show started, but the werewolf held fast, demanding hoarsely to leave it, and to leave him alone until he'd purged everything from his body.

"At least take the first die, it's less harsh," Isaac begged. "You literally look like death warmed over."

"Fine," Derek panted, spitting out a whole mouthful of black slime. "Bring it here. Then you can have this one."

"Deal," Stiles said frantically, nearly falling in his haste to get out of the bath and back into his room, where his first attempt at a magical med pack was lying innocently on his bed. Back in the bathroom, he pressed it into Derek's outstretched, clawed hand, snatching the healing die from hell from the other. "I guess we can safely say that this one should only be used in extreme cases. Jesus!" He jumped away from the bathtub were Derek had crawled in while he'd been gone, only barely out of the way of another bout of vomit.

"Yell if you need something," Isaac said to the werewolf and manoeuvred Stiles out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind them. "Fucking hell! Peter will rip my face off for this!"

Stiles gulped in a deep breath. "I'll just paint that die red, then, yeah?"

"Maybe we should burn it," Isaac groused. "Or sell it to someone you can't stand. How about McCall?"

"We're not burning or selling it," Stiles snapped, cradling the die against his chest protectively. "He's a little wild, that's all. And if one of us should ever be close to dying, he could really help out." He nuzzled the die with the tip of his nose. "Don't let Isaac tell you that you're not good enough. We both know the truth."

"You're nuts," Isaac declared.

"Maybe." Stiles shrugged and threw himself into his desk chair. "So complementary sides are out for normal healing … check. But the sympathetic clusters seem to work fine. With some tweaking I could maybe do speciality dice. And regular six-sided dice for everyday emergency use and stuff. Do you think Peter would go for it?"

"It might be unusual enough in supernatural circles not to draw a lot of attention for a while," Isaac said, sounding dubious. He slumped onto Stiles' bed and starfished with a groan. "Gah, why do I have to think about gambling halls now, only with people wanting to be healed sitting at your tables? They'd play Craps or Yahtzee or something and hope for the best."

"That's actually hilarious," Stiles said, swivelling around and grinning. "Can we have one in your comic? That'd open up a whole new dimension to the story, with new characters and shady business and stuff. Plus, if your hero somehow manages to earn money or favours with that, he could buy better weapons and clothes. That's always a bit iffy with teenage characters, and I hate when they're completely helpless, so."

Intrigued despite himself, Isaac sat back up. "Money's always good, but how would the hero even get in contact with the people running the casino? And also …"

An animated discussion began and continued on for so long that Isaac skyped Boyd and Erica to get their input as well. The four of them had a great time - so much so that Stiles nearly forgot that Derek was being sick in his bathroom.

Around two in the morning, however, his bladder urgently demanded relief and without thinking, Stiles went into the bathroom, only to shriek like a Hitchcock movie girl discovering a dead body.

Because that was what Derek looked like, lying back in the tub like a murder victim. He was bone pale, almost completely covered in slick black goo, and there was barely any discernible breathing. At one point the man had started the shower, likely to get off the slime, but the water was icy cold now, and had to have been for a while considering the coldness of Derek's skin.

"Oh my god, Derek!" Stiles cried, turning off the water after slapping Derek's cheek. "What happened? Come on, I swear to god, if you're gonna pull a Peter on me I'll make you regret it!"

"Shit," Isaac said as he appeared in the doorway, alarmed by Stiles' panic. He rubbed his face with both hands. "I noticed him calming down a while ago, but this is not good."

"We need to wait for the boiler to heat up more water," Stiles said. "That muck needs to go."

"He's such an idiot," Isaac groused. "Why can't he take it slow for once? It's not like we didn't warn him!"

"Maybe he's a masochist," Stiles said, considering the spacy guy in his bathtub.

"That would actually explain a lot. He might be punishing himself for the Hale fire," Isaac said quietly. He dropped to his knees next to Stiles and began scrubbing Derek's face with a fresh washcloth. "My therapist talked to me about coping mechanisms, and Derek seems the type to cling to the past."

"They should all go to therapy, frankly," Stiles sighed, picking up another cloth to help with the cleanup. "But I don't know whether there are therapists in the know. I mean, this shit is even more confidential than the normal patient-doctor relationship. Just imagine yourself unloading somewhere, and the next thing you know there is another pack on your doorstep, challenging you for your territory. Must be hell on the mental health."

Isaac bit his lip. "That's what Peter said."

"There might be worse things out there than werewolves," Stiles added. "Like, I don't know, demons or something."

"Stiles, can we not paint things with the blackest brush imaginable right now?" Isaac asked. "Please? I'd like to get this lug out of here and then eat a pint of ice cream because I deserve a fucking pint of ice cream."

"We both do, but I'd much rather rack up a shit ton of good karma," Stiles huffed. Derek was no help at all at getting the ruined shirt over his head, and his unresponsive carcass was weighing a ton. "The things I do for these guys, it's appalling."

"Still a better deal than having to live with my old man," Isaac said philosophically.

Together they managed to undress Derek to his boxers and get him mostly cleaned up. His arms, chest, and hands were the worst, but at least those were the body parts Stiles could deal with without expiring on the spot.

During the last rinse, the werewolf finally woke from his fugue state. His hazel eyes immediately sought out Stiles' face, his expression apprehensive.

"Sorry," he said roughly and rubbed a hand over his stubble.

Stiles gaped at him. "You're sorry."

"What the hell, Derek," Isaac complained. "I had a whole speech planned out to badger you with, you asshole."

Derek groaned and stiffly rose to his feet. He looked like a completely wasted underwear model after a two-day, no holds barred party at someone's four-million-dollar villa. "I'd deserve it."

"Next time you listen to us," Stiles bitched. "I bet you shook the other die until you passed out."

Derek shrugged half-heartedly. "I was already miserable, I thought I might as well get it over with." He looked down at himself and then rotated his shoulders and arms. "I do feel better. Lighter than I have in years."

"There was a lot of icky stuff coming out of you," Stiles told him archly. "Like, a gallon or something. You owe us for making us have to deal with that."

"I could fix your jeep," Derek offered, completely serious. "I think I know what makes her grind, and the shop would just rob you blind without really dealing with the problem. The guys there are assholes."

"Don't I know it. Deal." Stiles held out his hand and glared at Derek meaningfully until he shook it. Once that was out of the way, he dropped his hostile posturing. Concerned, he asked, "And you're really feeling fine? Better than before?"

"A lot better," Derek confirmed. "I've never felt weak when I wasn't physically injured, but the difference is … startling." His earnest eyes wandered from Stiles to Isaac. "You're right, we should use your die regularly to detox. I didn't even know that traces of wolfsbane remained behind after burning it out."

"Yet another thing I wish I'd never have to do again," Stiles sniped. "Being a were really isn't all it's cracked up to be. Fucking masochists."

Isaac patted Derek's shoulder. "Let's find something for you to wear; Stiles is getting defensive in your presence."

"... why?" Derek asked slowly, uncomprehending.

Stiles ignored them both and stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen. With some luck there'd still be some food left in the fridge. If not, that was tough luck because after Chris Argent's unwelcome visit the other day Stiles wasn't taking any chances with ordering in.

Thankfully, there were some sandwich fixings left, though most of them were vegetables and sauces. Stiles still managed to build half a dozen sandwiches by creatively distributing the leftover cheese and ham, pinned them with toothpicks, and carried them upstairs were Derek gratefully wolfed them down.

"I'll go shopping in the morning," he rumbled after the worst of his appetite was allayed. "I'll replace everything."

"Don't sweat it, dude," Stiles said, sitting down heavily next to Derek. "I'll probably sleep until lunch, anyway. Thank god it's the weekend. You can do me a favour, though."

"Anything," Derek said quietly.

"Get me some durable wood paint for my dice. How about some dark stain, and colours to mark the strength of the dice? I thought I could paint the rounded corners, that would make them look a little more mysterious."

"I can do that." Derek set down the empty plate and very deliberately leaned against Stiles. "Which colours do you want?"

"I thought turquoise for mild healing, and red is for the heavy duty dice, of course. Medium … no idea."

"How about gold, for the golden middle?" Isaac said. "And if you develop more rune schematics for your dice, you can always branch out."

"I like gold," Derek murmured. He sounded drowsy. Not a second later he bonelessly flopped backwards, his eyes closed.

"Should I wake him and send him home, or can he crash here?" Isaac asked with raised eyebrows. "And should I take a picture to entertain Erica and Boyd later?"

Stiles stared at the conked out werewolf. "You know what? Take a picture. That'll teach him a lesson."

oOo

True to his word, Derek went out around noon the following day to get groceries and the painting utensils Stiles had asked for. Isaac went with him to get dropped off at home for a change of clothes and some quality time with Peter.

Meanwhile, Stiles was fussing with the friendship bracelet he had made for Lydia ages ago but hadn't found the courage to give to her. The hemp strings were a pretty mix of pink and white, and the focus object in the middle was a hibiscus blossom carved out of mother of pearl. He'd gone over it so often the past three or so weeks that it was fairly sparkling with protective energy and yet it still didn't feel like enough.

The bracelet begged to differ, however, and refused any more infusions of his will.

"Fine, I'll just work on the one for Lord Douchebag, then," Stiles grumbled, reluctantly turning to the sea blue-stringed bracelet before him. It had a brass coin depicting a dragon woven into it, with a few silvery black hematite beads giving it that little extra bling. As a whole, it looked fairly understated because Jackson didn't do frilly nonsense, but Stiles thought the colours would appeal to his sense of style.

Plus, hematite was apparently a rockstar when it came to grounding drama queens, and Jackson certainly was that.

Stiles stared at the bracelet thoughtfully, suddenly a little conflicted about only giving it the most basic of features. While Jackson was still a grade A douche, he was also seeking out Stiles' company occasionally and inquiring after his dealings, which was more than what Scott had been doing these last months. And he had also helped him get to Peter, Kate, and Scott in the woods when Stiles had most needed it, even if Jackson had had no idea just how desperate Stiles had been for that help.

No, basic wouldn't do for someone who kept coming back for semi-aggressive snarkiness and shitty experiences, Stiles decided. Heck, he had almost fond feelings towards the guy right now, and there was that thing about rewarding good behaviour. He hadn't let Jackson drive his own car back to town that night, but maybe it was time now to reward him.

Besides, one of my bracelets is hardly comparable to a werewolf bite, Stiles rationalized as he rubbed the dragon on the coin with his thumb, thinking hard about protection and good luck. He isn't pack, but maybe he could actually become a school acquaintance that I don't actively hate.

A few minutes later he was happy with his work and studied the two bracelets. Together they complemented each other very well, which seemed somehow fitting, considering that Jackson was working hard at regaining Lydia's trust and being there for her. What little Stiles had seen of them together at school had been almost sweet.

He hoped that it was enough to help Lydia overcome the trauma of Peter's attack.

oOo

Come Monday, Stiles was a nervous wreck. The bracelets were burning a hole in his pocket and all of his friends were worrying about his state.

"You could wait until the weekend," Erica said, hooking her arm around Stiles' and leaning her head against his hunched shoulder. "Invite them to the ice cream parlor or something and do it there. I know that I wouldn't want witnesses either."

"If I don't do it now, I'll probably never find the nerve," Stiles admitted. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

"You could write a note and throw it in their lockers," Boyd offered.

"That's creepy, we won't do that," Isaac shot him down. "Have you never noticed how much crap people leave in both their lockers? They'd just throw it out with the rest of the gifts."

"Urgh," Stiles garbled when the cafeteria came into view. "Why am I like this?"

"Because you're a good person," Erica said loyally. She smiled down at her own bracelet. "We could keep you company, lend some moral support."

Stiles found Jackson already sitting at a table his arm around Lydia's shoulder. Danny was off flirting with a boy from the lower year, which was probably the best he'd get. "It's alright, I'll only be a minute."

He left his friends and plopped down in a chair across from his quarry.

"Stilinski," Jackson greeted, raising both eyebrows in surprise. "What's up?"

"Nothing much, just saying hello." Stiles looked at Lydia, noting her perfectly applied makeup and carefully styled hair. She looked gorgeous, if still rather insecure. "Hey Lyds. How's it going?"

"Fine," she replied, not coldly but definitely wary of his motives.

"I, uh … okay, it's like this. I consider you two friends, even if we don't really do the friendly hanging out thing," Stiles gesticulated awkwardly. "Anyway, I made the others a little something and thought I'd offer it to you as well. If you want. No pressure, though."

"I like gifts, so you have a shot," Jackson smirked. "But if it's crap, I'll shove it down your underwear. Right here."

"Oh, kinky, haha," Stiles retorted and rolled his eyes. Even more awkwardly, he fumbled the two bracelets from his jeans pocket and slid them over the table. "Here. Like I said, it's nothing much. But, the others like them, so."

Jackson's gaze dropped from Stiles to the blue bracelet and back up again. "Really? What are we, ten?"

Next to him, Lydia carefully put her index finger onto the loose cords of hers and pulled it closer. "You made this?" she asked quietly.

Her tone of voice made Jackson look at her sharply.

"Yeah, well, mostly. I bought them online and added a few things to personalize them a little." Stiles shrugged. "Like you do."

Lydia's expressive eyes raised to Stiles'. "Like you do," she echoed. Her lips pursed for just a moment, and then her fingers curled around the bracelet. "Thank you."

"What?" Jackson was visibly dumbfounded.

"It's lovely. Would you put it on?" Lydia asked Stiles, holding out her left wrist.

Hardly able to believe his luck, Stiles hastened to fasten the white and pink bracelet around her delicate wrist. He still checked twice to make sure it wasn't too loose, but loose enough to wiggle out of for gym class without having to undo all the knots.

"Lyds, why?" Jackson protested.

Lydia took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Because it is a very thoughtful gift." Without asking for permission, she took Jackson's and tied it carefully around his right wrist. "It suits you very well."

Stiles exhaled loudly and slumped a little in his chair. "Well, I'm glad!" He pointed at Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, who were all unabashedly staring at them. "I'd better get back over there. See you around!"

He fled then, trying very hard to ignore the stares and little whispers of the other students in the cafeteria. Especially Danny's inquiring eyes were hard to take - Stiles knew for a fact that Danny had very little scruples going snooping where he wasn't necessarily wanted if something caught his interest.

oOo

"Stiles," Peter greeted when Stiles called that night. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Three things," Stiles replied. "One, how are you, two, I gave Lydia and Jackson their bracelets, and three, I might need a new laptop."

Peter was silent for a moment before saying, "Better after a week of diligent and judicious health management, fine, and why all of a sudden?"

Stiles sighed, annoyed. "Because Jackson and Lydia are friends with someone who's very good at hacking, and I'm positive that I've caught his attention today. It might be nothing, but it'd be easy for him to hack my laptop and find all the supernatural shit I've been researching."

"And now you're applying to me to procure a laptop that's solely for your work for the pack," Peter murmured.

"Yeah. If that's okay. I'd buy it myself, but a lot of my money already went into stuff for the bracelets and dice and I don't wanna ask my dad for more." Stiles rubbed his flushed neck. "The hospital bills are … yeah."

"Don't worry about it," Peter said. "A laptop is hardly an unreasonable request. I should've thought of it earlier. Any special requirements?"

"Nah, I won't use it for gaming or anything. Although a couple of external hard drives and the biggest RAM you can find would be good because I'm a bookmark and tab hoarder. Oh, and it should have a SSD hard drive. That way I can lug the laptop around without harming it."

Peter hummed agreeably. "Anything else you need? Remember that I told you to keep a list."

"Dude, I feel like all I do is asking for more," Stiles huffed, uncomfortable.

"And I told you that I'm prepared to meet your needs, especially with that delightful new talent of yours," Peter countered. "Set up a list I can view online and keep it updated. Maybe I can train my nephew to coordinate with you; that'd free up my hands and time for the Argent and McCall trials."

"Derek's already been helping out so I wouldn't mind that," Stiles admitted. "Can I just say that he's a little, er, negligent when it comes to his own wellbeing? I honestly thought he'd die in my bathtub."

"Isaac told me all about that," Peter drawled. "In some ways Derek's not the sharpest tool in the shed, although he's far from stupid."

"He could go to therapy for the Paige thing," Stiles said. "Tweak the whole thing a little that some sort of hippie witch doctor gave her some weird medicine to heal her and it should work. It's not even a lie, technically. But it's necessary - it's killing him."

"As soon as we're on better than growling terms, I'll bring it up with him," Peter said. "What about you? Things with The Failure haven't gone well, never mind all the other stressful moments my presence in your life has caused."

"Right now I'm dealing with it," Stiles said. "I've got Isaac to unload, and Derek is surprisingly good for snuggle therapy."

"Now I feel like I don't contribute enough," Peter quipped, smirk audible in his voice.

Stiles flushed again. "Wouldn't that be weird if we did that?"

"Not if you needed it," Peter said. "Do you need me for snuggle therapy?"

"I …" Stiles' mouth opened and closed a couple of times but no sound passed his frozen vocal cords.

"I'll come over. See you soon, Stiles."

With that, Peter hung up and Stiles was left wondering what had just passed between them.

End of chapter 31