I don't say it enough, but thank you for all your kind comments - some of them are really letters, they're so long! You're amazing, truly. :)

Chapter 40

Under Peter's watchful eyes, Stiles carefully extracted the rolled up vellum from the leather sheath. It was soft to the touch and had that typical new leather smell, which was accompanied by the stinging scent of burned and cooled sealing wax and something earthy, almost rusty.

"That's the blood in the ink?" Stiles asked quietly as he ran his nose along the rolled up and sealed vellum. "Can I say yuck?"

"You can," Peter answered, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Just because I'm used to that smell doesn't mean I find it particularly pleasant." He halted Stiles' hand with a touch to the wrist and sniffed along the roll himself. "She used the old fashioned kind of ink, made from a Chinese ink stone and water. I'd say the percentage of blood used in that ink lies between ten and fifteen percent; far above the required few drops to magically seal a contract. Angelique Argent was keen on letting us, and her people, know that she's dead serious about making amends ... if she used her blood, which we must accept as true unless proven otherwise."

Stiles tried to keep his breathing even but it wasn't easy with Peter so close. He smelled absolutely amazing even with only traces of his cologne clinging to him, drowning out even the somewhat pungent new leather smell of the Argents' offering. "Uh, how are we gonna do that? We don't have a sample to compare it to."

"We don't, but we do have you, Stiles."

"What? Are you serious? I'm not a lab technician. Heck, we don't even have a lab."

Peter's voice was low and soothing as he said, "We don't need a lab. Angelique Argent and her magic user have already provided everything we need. It's a delicate task, but I trust that you'll be able to ascertain the validity of her offer when the time comes."

Deflating, Stiles bit his lip worriedly. "No pressure, huh? At least it'll be one less hunter clan to worry about if I don't mess it up."

"Exactly," Peter replied, looking pleased. "I can't emphasize enough just how rare such an event is, let alone of this magnitude, which is why I don't believe there to be a problem. You're quite literally experiencing history, Stiles, so take your time to discover every little nuance of this treasure. Allow yourself to actually be in this moment, instead of just acknowledging it and moving on."

Stiles was doubtful that he'd be able to sit still enough and told the other man so.

Ever practical, Peter pushed the couch table away and sat down on the floor. "Come on, get down here. We're going to ground you a little before we go further."

"Like, literally?" Stiles couldn't help but eye Peter sceptically. "That's dumb, I hope you're aware of that."

"It's really not." Reaching over, Peter grabbed Stiles' ankle and simply yanked him down, causing Stiles to tumble to the floor in a flailing heap.

"Ow, you jerk!" Stiles complained. "That actually hurt!"

Peter manhandled Stiles into a position half encircled in his arms, the right side of Stiles' back pressing against Peter's left flank, the one that had been really hurt that night at the transformer station. Immediately after getting Stiles settled, the pain drain started and the smarting in Stiles' elbows and backside subsided.

"That's better," Stiles huffed, "but next time you could just ask."

"And suffer your derision? I'd rather not. I'm more the act first, apologize later type." Peter hooked his chin over Stiles shoulder and nudged the rolled up vellum in Stiles' hands. It was a little squished from being held so tightly but otherwise intact. "Now let's make history together."

Stiles couldn't help the hammering of his heart, or the slight sheen of sweat appearing on his upper lip and between his shoulder blades. Some of it could be laid at the feet of an Important Moment About To Happen, but the lion's share fell to Peter's sheer presence. He was intimidating enough on his own, but with the foreign wolf spark and Stiles' mountain ash inside he felt almost magnetic to the overwhelmed teen. It was like something of Stiles' was inside the man and calling for him at every opportunity. It wasn't at all obvious like the few times the wolf spark had made its existence known. Most of the time there was just that weird tension between them, but it was distracting enough.

"You're not very grounded yet," Peter tisked when Stiles didn't move. "Maybe my technique is lacking."

"Yours could use some work," Stiles agreed bravely. In his chest, his stupid heart decided to pick up the pace, and on his arms and scalp his hair decided to rise a little. It was the worst yet best kind of shiver. "You've got nothing on Derek's hugs. Those are ten out of ten, would definitely buy again."

"I see."

Stiles could feel Peter's thoughtful expression; it was like his intent radiated against the skin of Stiles' neck. A bit breathless Stiles asked, "Do you?"

"Mmh. I might need some pointers later." Peter's arm was firm around Stiles' middle and his solidness was a welcome anchor for Stiles' fluttery thoughts. "But right now I want you to take a couple of deep breaths. Just count them and take it slow. Feel your connection to the floor … concentrate on the pressure against your body. When you breathe out, let your energy sink down, and when you breathe in, take in the lightness from the ether high above you …"

It came as no small surprise to Stiles that Peter was actually able to guide him into a calmer state of mind. He usually wasn't a big fan of letting others tell him what to do, but in this case he gladly bowed to Peter's far greater experience.

A few breaths in, something tickled Stiles' arm and he started.

"Don't fall out of the meditation," Peter instructed. "It's just your wolf spark saying hello."

Stiles did his best to relax again, and to welcome the mountain ash-covered spirit on his skin. It was lively, almost like a frolicking puppy, and it slithered all over Stiles' body before resting along the teen's back, two paw-like tentacles wrapping around his ribs in a canine hug.

"Aw, man, I'm tearing up here," Stiles complained half-heartedly with a little sniff. He leaned into the mountain ash - and therefore into Peter - and patted one of the paws on his stomach gently. "I miss you too, buddy."

"He's getting bolder," Peter hummed. A glance from the corner of Stiles' eye told him that the mountain ash was escaping out of Peter's mouth, but the werewolf didn't seem to feel any discomfort. "It won't be long now before he's coming back to you."

"Will you be sad to see him go?" Stiles asked quietly. Concentrating on the minute shifting of the fine ash on his skin, combined with the gentle thrill of magic, was probably the most meditative thing he'd ever done in his life.

"He's ready to go out again," Peter answered, "and while I'll always feel responsible because I failed him so badly the first time around, he has more than proven that he's strong enough on his own. And I know that he'll be in very good hands from now on."

"Makes a good lesson about choosing carefully who to add to the pack, doesn't it?" Stiles murmured. "I get that Scott sort of couldn't be helped, what with how injured you were, but we'll take precautions against it happening again, won't we?"

"Yes, we most certainly will."

Against his back, Stiles could feel Peter's calm and steady heartbeat. It was a little disappointing to have him so unaffected when the man's mere presence was sometimes enough to fluster Stiles, but in a way it was also reassuring. One of them had to keep a cool head, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be Stiles!

"Awesome," Stiles said. He pressed a hand to his stomach and smiled wistfully when the ash rose a little to meet him. "Maybe we should declare the puppy our judge of character. So far he's been doing really well."

"Mmh, so you think I have a good character?" Peter purred.

"Insofar that you're not hellbent on world domination," Stiles countered, flushing. "Also, you can cook. That deserves bonus points."

Chuckling, Peter rubbed his stubbled cheek against Stiles' neck, giving him a beard rash in the process and not caring one whit about the boy's indignant squawks. "I'll take the compliment. Are you feeling more grounded now?"

Stiles stilled and listened into himself. "Yeah," he said, surprised when his former jitters failed to make themselves known. "I guess I am. Having Lou around actually helps." You, too, but I better not say that aloud, Stiles added mentally. One of dad's lectures was enough.

"Lou?" Peter questioned.

Stiles' flush deepened. "Shut up, I can't always call him 'Scott's wolf spark', that's super demeaning. He's mine now, isn't he?"

"But Lou?" Peter prodded.

"Short for Loup Garou," Stiles explained. "He's all nice and cuddly until he really isn't. Isn't that right, buddy?"

The newly named Lou squirmed happily all over Stiles' back and was wild enough to make Peter feel it as well.

"I think he's curious about the Argents' offer, too," Peter said, amused.

"Then let's get to it. Can Lou help break the seal?"

Peter rested his chin back on Stiles' shoulder. "By all means; that'll send the Argents' magic user into a nice tailspin if nothing else. And before you ask, both Isaac and Derek declined attending. Derek doesn't want anything to do with Argent-related matters, and Isaac simply doesn't care."

"He's a little weird," Stiles muttered.

"No, he's merely uninterested in the finer points of supernatural shenanigans. He wanted a family and a place to live a healthy and productive life, but, and I quote him here, he didn't sign up for fancy, potentially soul-crushing mystical shit. Considering his complete lack of interest in all things magic, I didn't see the point in making him attend."

"I'm sure he's thanking you for that."

Peter smirked. "Yes, he just did. Again."

"Isaac, you're a heathen," Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes. "But alright, let's get on with it."

"A bit more respect, please," Peter admonished, although he was still smirking.

Before their eyes, the mountain ash slithered onto Stiles' right hand and formed a sharp looking claw on his index finger.

"This is so cool," Stiles said in a hushed voice and inspected the claw from every angle. "Oh my god."

"No, you may not scratch yourself," Peter rumbled and put his hand around Stiles' to put a halt to the teen's almost involuntary move to test it out.

Stiles blushed. "Sorry, I don't even know why I did that."

"I understand," Peter told him, "but I'd prefer that you do not cut yourself to ribbons." He traced the dark mountain ash lines on Stiles' skin and tapped the claw. "Playing around is fine, but I expect you to protect your human, even from himself if need be. Don't make me bring out the alpha eyes."

The claw vanished from Stiles' finger, the ash instead curling apologetically around Peter's wrist.

"I'm not angry," Peter said, more gentle now. "But I need you to be careful of your partner. There's a time and place to test out your limits and this is not it."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "We'll check it out when you're done with healing Peter and school's out for the summer. Then we have all the time in the world."

The mountain ash perked up at that, a definite feeling of relief and agreement skittering over Stiles' skin and right into his mind.

"We'll be an awesome team, Lou," Stiles promised. "Let's start with one claw and we'll work our way up. You game?"

Lou was game and in the blink of an eye the claw was back, even sharper looking than before.

Carefully, Stiles placed the black claw right next to the wax seal. With just one drag of his finger the dark red seal was cleanly cut open and the tension in the rolled up vellum dissipated, the soft material sagging a little in Stiles' lap.

Watched with their eyes, there was nothing special about this, but Stiles felt a weird vibration wander from the claw to his fingertips and into his body.

"More magic," he gasped when it reached his sternum and ignited there in a little ball of fiery energy.

"That would be the second seal," Peter explained, tracing the broken wax reverently. "There's one more to go."

"Was that some sort of anti-theft measure or something?" Stiles huffed. "Because if that was the friendly greeting, I don't want to know what a bad guy would've gotten."

"It's invasive because the Argents' magic user doesn't know much about my pack. They know you, now, and Lou as well, and someone will probably report their findings as soon as they have set up their base in this area, but until then they need to operate on faith. There's a lot of money at stake here, after all, not to mention the punishment The Council would dish out were a mishap to happen."

Stiles frowned. "I get that, but I should've asked earlier: if they already know you, why didn't you just open this thing?"

"I did open the casing, which was enough to fulfil the magic's most basic requirement. But I wanted you to finish the process because frankly, without you nothing of this would've ever even happened." Peter turned Stiles' face so he could look at him. "You deserve to fully understand just how much good you've already done for the pack."

Stiles swallowed and looked down nervously. "It was mostly luck. Things could've turned out really bad. We all could've died. Several times."

"It was you who saved me, and it was your involvement that also allowed us to eliminate a number of lethal threats," Peter reminded him evenly. "What's more, you unexpectedly proved to have a very useful talent besides your quick wit and never hesitated to educate yourself to protect and help us. You put a lot of time and money into that effort, so this is the very least of what I can do to repay you."

"I'll probably need a teacher before long," Stiles said after an awkward pause during which he desperately tried to compose himself. Even with just the two of them present it was still appallingly overwhelming to be acknowledged in such a way. "Once I've graduated at the latest. I really don't want to set something on fire, or blow all of us up."

"I'm on it," Peter rumbled, letting go of Stiles' jaw and returning his attention to the roll in Stiles' lax hands. "Cost won't be a factor, once this here is settled." Correctly guessing Stiles' impulse to argue, Peter went on, "We can discuss it later, if we must, but let's deal with this first."

"Right," Stiles agreed. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself for the actual unrolling of the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation. "Who knew that opening the mail could take so long?" he joked weakly.

Peter smirked smugly. "Some things just require special handling."

Despite the lewd innuendo, all Stiles could do was laugh as well, and just like that the odd tension in the room lightened again. "So we just … unfold it?"

"Yes."

Carefully, Stiles took hold of the top part of the sheet of vellum and slowly unrolled it. It was longer than he'd thought, easily three feet, and filled from top to bottom with beautiful, yet easily legible calligraphy in a brownish black ink.

"That blood smell is even stronger now," Stiles murmured into the reverent silence. "And the ink is kind of glowy. Magic?"

Peter huffed out a little laugh. "Magic. Let's read, we need to go over every little detail and check for loopholes and traps. After that you'll do your thing one last time."

"Yay," Stiles snarked, but he settled against Peter and together they took a good half hour to read the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation and discuss the points that stood out to them.

"They did good," Stiles concluded. He dropped the vellum onto the floor and stretched out his shoulders and arms. It was going past midnight and exhaustion was beginning to claw at him. "Clear language, barely any wiggle room, and what wiggle room is there seems to have been included with our comfort in mind, not theirs."

"I agree," Peter said. He looked relaxed and content as he leaned against the couch. "Everything Angelique Argent promised is in there, and she even put in some extras."

"Well, I'm glad she didn't offer free, lifelong counselling to you and Derek. That'd have been a red flag the size of Alaska." Stiles got to his feet and stretched again. "But complimentary samples of any new wolfsbane weapons are a very nice touch. The lady knows her business."

"Personally, I was more surprised by her offer to share any and all Argent intelligence as it pertains to our pack," Peter replied. "Weapons are always nice to have, but knowledge will be the true ace in our hand going forward."

"The only thing that seems a little questionable is the closeness she proposes for the Argent liaison. I mean, that contract practically proposes making an Argent pack and I don't think any of us want that after what the Argents did to your family. The spying opportunities alone are horrifying, never mind the fact that they could practically stab all of us in the back any time they wanted."

"It's just an offer, though," Peter murmured. "The ball on that front is in our court. We alone decide how close we want to keep their liaison. If we click, including them might be something to think about later, but if not I'd be perfectly content with using them for their firepower and contacts in the community and little else."

"If there actually is some good chemistry, promise to talk it over with everyone before you decide?" Stiles asked. "Especially Derek."

"You're his alpha; of course I wouldn't go against his or your express wishes." Peter rose as well and stretched out his neck muscles. "I'm not keen on having an Argent in the pack. I just don't want to dismiss the possibility wholesale if a circumstance ever presented itself that'd make the idea palatable."

Stiles blew out a breath and rubbed his face. "Okay. So, what now? What kind of mojo do I have to use to seal the deal?"

"None right now. I believe we should sleep on it. You're done for and I don't want to rush it. The Argents can wait a day."

"Oh, okay. It's probably a good idea. I'll have to call my dad if Derek's already asleep, though, since I didn't bring my car. Think I could get something to drink until he's here?" A little disappointed, Stiles watched the mountain ash reluctantly slither back to Peter and vanish into his mouth.

Peter, who didn't even twitch at the intrusion, sauntered to the kitchen. "There's no need to disrupt your father's shift. I have a guest room, if you feel comfortable staying here. Tea?"

A little perplexed, Stiles automatically muttered, "Sure. I, uh, I'll ask my dad if he's okay with it."

"Tell him that Derek and Isaac are present," Peter advised. "They might not be in the same apartment, but with their hearing they are more than able to chaperone you."

"God, I'll kill my dad," Stiles whined. He sent the message and then proceeded to bite his thumbnail down to the skin as he anxiously waited for a reply.

"Don't do that," Peter admonished and took the hand out of Stiles' mouth. His gentle hold on Stiles' fingers was accompanied by the vanishing of the slight sting. "You're bleeding."

"Oh." A bit dumbly, Stiles stared at the red liquid welling up from underneath his nail. "Sorry."

"I'll drive you home if your father doesn't agree," Peter said calmly. "Or Derek will; he's still awake. Don't worry so much about inconsequential things." He gave Stiles' palm one reassuring rub with his thumb and then let go.

Stiles didn't think that potentially harming Peter's good name and standing in society was an inconsequential thing, especially since he was already a person of interest for various other reasons, but decided not to argue the point. Instead he sat down on the couch and let Peter choose their TV program.

"A home remodelling show?" Stiles asked with a little grin.

"My good taste wasn't just developed in the womb, you know," Peter retorted haughtily.

They watched for a good twenty minutes, drinking their tea and ribbing each other about their taste in furniture and colour coordination.

At last, Stiles' phone chimed. With the tone the easy camaraderie gave way to wary resignation.

"It's my dad," Stiles said, shoulders drooping in resignation. "I need to go home. He asks that Derek drives me."

"It's fine, Stiles," Peter said, catching and holding Stiles' gaze with his red-hued eyes. "It won't be long until you can make your own decisions. There'll always be a room free for you."

Stiles nodded and stood when Derek hammered against the massive apartment door. "See you tomorrow?"

"Come to breakfast," Peter offered. He placed a warm hand against Stiles' neck and just let it rest there for a moment. "You can help rope the heathens into witnessing the acceptance of the offer after all."

Relieved that Peter seemed rather invested in not making things awkward between them, Stiles offered a grateful, "I will, thanks," and, before he could lose his nerve, clapped a hand onto Peter's shoulder to return the scenting.

On the way home, Derek was quiet for the longest time, but when he'd stopped in front of Stiles' house he said, "Peter's right, Stiles. We're not going anywhere."

It was that quiet conviction that had Stiles float through his nightly bathroom routine and into a restful sleep. Lydia's weird behaviour didn't even really register anymore when he was so thoroughly assured of the pack's friendship.

End of chapter 40