As the Germans are fond of saying, "Läuft bei mir." (It's going well for me.) :)


Chapter 46

The rest of the school week passed quickly, everybody already more or less checked out for the summer. There were report cards and summer reading lists and assignments handed out, but that impacted the few students on an accelerated track far more than anybody else and so was largely ignored for the time being.

Stiles, of course, had had his talk with Mrs. Hicks, and, to his amused dismay, also got held back by Finstock after econ on Friday afternoon.

"Stilinski, you're probably wondering what you're doing here, when all the other little rapscallions have already fled the premises," Finstock began, staring at Stiles in that weirdly intense way of his.

"Can't say I don't, sir," Stiles replied smartly.

"Hah, knew it." Finstock leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. "So I spoke with the new principal a week ago and got interrogated about you."

Stiles raised both eyebrows. "Isn't that, you know, normal for new principals? She does know I want to graduate early."

Finstock waved this away. "Of course she does! That's not the point. The point is, that she discovered your little treatise on the impact of the male circumcision on the world's economy through the ages, and laughed herself sick reading it."

"Okay?" Even with all his thoughts engaged, Stiles couldn't fathom what this could mean for him.

"I'm sure you're glad you could amuse her, but the fact is, Stilinski, that she wants to send it to her connections at several colleges to maybe get you admitted early. Like, come September early." Finstock smugly crossed his arms in front of his chest and smirked.

Stiles stared uncomprehendingly at the man. "What?"

"You didn't see that coming, did you?" Finstock asked.

"No! Seriously, what? She wants to send that old thing? Also, I'm not ready for this!" Stiles reflexively looked at the closed door, behind which Isaac was waiting and probably having a cow. "She won't send it without my okay, right?"

"No, but she really wants to." Finstock unfolded his arms, lacing his hands together on his belly now in a show of nonchalance.

"I talked to her yesterday! Why didn't she say anything?" Stiles hated how his voice climbed a little into screeching territory, but there was just no fighting the honest freakout that was creeping up on him.

"Okay, calm down. She didn't want to do it herself because she didn't want you to feel badgered into doing it. Hence her handing that dubious pleasure over to me because apparently I'm the teacher you've known longest at this fine school." Finstock exhaled noisily. "But I'll be honest, Stiles. While you would probably ace the college thing, I'm not so sure it's the best thing for you right now. You've been through some serious shit lately, so maybe some more time as a normal student to get your head back on straight would help more than getting a head start on adulting."

Stiles relaxed a little. "I couldn't agree more. Sir."

"Oh, come on, don't sir me," Finstock groused. "I'll get so much shit for talking you out of it. That'll earn me more disappointed sirs than my own career will be able to handle." He pointed at Stiles, narrow-eyed. "The least you could do is to rejoin the lacrosse team so I can yell at you like you deserve."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening, sir," Stiles replied, a lot more cheerful now. "Thanks for your stellar career counselling, I appreciate it."

"Go love yourself, Stilinski," Finstock huffed and shooed him away. "Out, now, I don't want to see your mug until September!"

Stiles had already opened the door when Finstock sent a last volley.

"Oh, and you better write me an essay that's worthy of Stanford's full ride program or heads will roll! And read your damn e-mail, I forwarded you the principal's letter! If you've got any consideration for my continued employment to spare, you'll answer her yourself!"

Stiles saluted the man and then he was out of the classroom; he was free for the summer.

Isaac promptly towed him out of the building, looking around the eerily empty parking lot like he expected Mrs. Hicks to pop up somewhere and declare her intent to publish Stiles' work everywhere it might even be remotely considered, regardless of his wishes.

"You won't change your mind, will you?" Isaac demanded as they reached the jeep.

"I probably won't, but I'll have to tell my dad about it, and we also might have to have a pack discussion about this," Stiles said. He shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned a little. "I keep saying pack, when I'm not really a member yet."

"You know that Peter considers you pack," Isaac huffed. "He just needs you to acknowledge it openly. If you're gonna make concessions, he's gonna take them and run with it."

"Yeah, he will." Stiles bit his lip, worrying it a little as he thought. "I just … now that I know that we sort of have a thing for each other, he might …"

"Want you gone?" Isaac supplied when Stiles faltered.

"Yeah, that," Stiles confessed in a small voice.

Isaac pursed his lips. "Even if he did, it'd only be until you're legal so he wouldn't be tempted, so what good would it do in the long run? I'm sure he'd rather pine for a year than have you at the other side of the country or wherever, for however long you'll need to graduate."

"But will he even like me like that in a year?" Stiles sighed and face-palmed. "I don't wanna sound needy, but it's … my life." He stopped again and stared into the distance.

"Stiles?" Isaac touched Stiles' shoulder.

"I think I might be having a life crisis," Stiles said faintly. He slumped against the side of the jeep, hands going clammy. "Holy shit. I'm planning my fucking life around the fucking hope that Peter and I will actually …" He broke off, shaking his head. "This is insane, man."

"Uhm, maybe a little? Look, it might be you who won't like Peter like that in a year. Ever thought about that?"

Stiles just snorted bitterly. "You've seen me obsess over Lydia, right?"

"Right." Visibly at a loss, Isaac leaned next to him. "Pack meeting tonight? Think your dad will make it?"

"He has to," Stiles replied, still blinking at nothing in the distance. "Because I don't think I can wait with this."

oOo

It had been a long time since the people in Stiles' life dropped everything and rushed to his side when he needed them. After his mother's death a lot of the neighbours and some of the Stilinskis' scattered family had done their level best to support both him and his father, but these last four or five years things hadn't been good on that front. The last six months didn't even bear thinking about.

To lessen the guilt Stiles felt at having this little crisis right now, he'd asked Derek to meet him and Isaac at the store and get some rather pricey things for dinner. If they had to do this, they could at least eat well.

"I should help more," Stiles said anxiously, watching Derek handle the actual cooking with enviable calmness. "I promised not to ask you to do all the household stuff."

"You didn't, so far, and I'd much rather do this myself than have you slice off a chunk of your thumb," Derek replied evenly. He put the pan of stuffed sweet potatoes into the oven for later. "Why don't you get some magic things you can work on? That'll keep at least your hands busy."

Grateful for the suggestion, Stiles bounded up the stairs, grabbed his magic war chest, and clattered back down, nearly bowling over Isaac, who was doing his best to straighten up the living room.

"I'll work a little on my light pebbles," Stiles said. "Maybe I can finally fix the on/off-switch problem."

Derek glanced over his shoulder. "You still haven't found a solution?"

"Well, I did get them to switch off again by taking away the magic, but that's not what I want, obviously. Plus, I didn't really have time for it." Stiles shrugged. "And it wasn't very important. I don't want to fold origami animals, and I might burn myself if I tried to make more dice, so pebbles it is."

Derek abandoned the stove and picked up one of the little white stones. "I could see this on a key chain, but they're too round. Flat stones, or maybe a generic key fob, would be better."

Stiles snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "And this is why I keep you around! Great idea, Sourwolf." With an impatient move, Stiles shoved all the pebbles back into the box and pulled out his key ring. It was secured on a chain, and he did have a brass key fob with the sheriff station logo on it. "I'm so unbelievably dumb. Why not simply do it with a press of a thumb? That logo's as good as a button, Jesus."

Derek couldn't quite hide his pleased little smile.

Muttering, Stiles stared at the little brass fob, only to shriek a little when it suddenly began to glow brightly. "Hah!" he cried, showing off the blazing metal.

"Stiles!" Derek shouted. He turned away with a hiss and covered his eyes with both hands.

At his cry, Isaac came running, claws out and eyes a bright amber. "What's wrong! Ow!"

"Fuck, sorry!" Stiles hastily pressed his thumb against the emblem on the fob and the light obediently shut off. "Are you two alright?"

Isaac groaned. "Just dandy."

"Give me a second," Derek growled. When he took his hands away, his eyes were a little teary. "You might want to adjust that with weres in mind."

"Yeah, of course. Really, I'm sorry." Stiles got up and soothingly rubbed Derek's shoulder. Isaac's worried little whimper tugged at his insides. "But hey, we did it!"

"You did, and you better put a warning sign on those things," Derek sighed. He dried his eyes and blinked away the last of the damage.

"I will." Stiles turned the shoulder rub into a one-armed embrace and placed his head on Derek's shoulder. "I guess I need a workshop to create things, or I'll keep hurting you. Don't let me do that anymore, okay."

"You didn't mean to," Derek replied, rubbing his cheek against the top of Stiles' head. "The healing die was my own fault."

"That doesn't make it any better," Stiles argued. He wiggled his fingers at Isaac in invitation and hugged him with his free arm. "I really should know better by now. You think I could co-opt the third floor of Peter's lair? Or would it be too dangerous with you all living there?"

"I don't see how, as long as you're not experimenting with explosives," Derek returned with a little shrug. He went on, "Peter would be thrilled. He'd never say no to more free warding."

"Well, I sort of feel like I'm taking over his life," Stiles admitted, and just like that he was back to worrying about this.

"It's nothing less than what he's been doing these last six months," Derek said. "You're actually fairly equal on that front, which is honestly rare."

"Huh." Stiles went a little boneless at that.

"It's okay to call for a meeting if you need one," Derek went on. He released Isaac and pushed Stiles back to his seat at the table. "Do you want to talk about it before your father and Peter get here?"

"Not particularly," Stiles muttered. He fidgeted with his keys, very consciously not touching the key fob. "Once will be enough."

"Okay then. I'll be done soon; why don't we go for a run through the preserve?" Derek offered. "Nothing too strenuous, but it'll be good to clear your thoughts."

Stiles wasn't very keen on getting sweaty but could admit to himself that unexpectedly solving his little pebble problem had thrown a wrench into his afternoon plans. For the first time in weeks, he didn't have anything else lying around that absolutely needed to be done.

"Fine," he sighed. "But don't expect me to run fast. Or far. Or with any sort of enthusiasm."

Isaac grinned. "We'll see about that."

Groaning, Stiles said, "When will I learn not to issue challenges to you guys?"

Grin widening, Isaac replied, "Hopefully never."

oOo

The run in the preserve did get Stiles sweaty, and he cussed both Derek and Isaac out like a sailor when they not only forced him to run three miles, but also dragged him through the public obstacle course. Afterwards, however, when he was freshly showered and nursing a cup of coffee with a fair bit of cream as well as a sprinkle of salt to get his electrolytes back up, he felt surprisingly settled.

"I told you that you'd feel better," Derek said, back at the stove. He was frying apple cubes in butter for the turnovers they'd decided they wanted for dessert.

A dash of cinnamon on the sweet mess made the air heavy and sweet, causing Stiles' mouth to water.

Seemingly oblivious to Stiles' food-lusty thoughts, Derek added, "Once you've got your wolf spark back, it might get even more pronounced. He'll probably want to run regularly."

"Great," Stiles huffed. He slurped down the last of his coffee and then stood to help with the setting of the table.

Stiles' father came home when the roast chicken and sweet potatoes still needed thirty minutes in the oven, which was just about perfect timing to wash up and open a bottle of beer.

"Thanks for making it, dad," Stiles said, a little shyly. "I know that you've got a ton of stuff to coordinate."

"Your message sounded serious," John replied easily. "And I figured that I had better check our security system before going back in late tonight."

"Another raid?" Stiles asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

His father hastened to say, "No, none of that. We're just a little short-staffed with two of our own in the hospital. It's critical that we not show weakness right now because they'll be out for blood after losing a couple of their guys."

"Speaking of which, you don't have footage of Peter, do you?" Stiles bit his lip.

The sheriff's lips quirked in a wry half-smile. "What little we do have is utterly useless. There are a few seconds of black shadows and some growling, not to mention a lot of incoherent screaming, but that's it. It'll probably be ruled as a bear attack or whatever the coroner thinks applies the most."

Everyone sagged a little in relief.

"I don't know your uncle very well, yet, Derek, but how high would you say is the probability of him doing that again?" John asked mildly.

Derek didn't even stop his slow stirring as he answered, "Very high. They're invaders bent on destroying property and people in his territory, he's not going to tolerate that."

"I thought as much," the sheriff replied.

There was a knock at the front door and Isaac went to let Peter in. Only a moment later, both werewolves were back and bearing gifts.

"Evening, John," Peter said smoothly. He placed a carton into a corner and directed Isaac to stack his on top of it. "This meeting is fortuitous because I've just received another shipment of armoured clothing. Please wear them whenever possible."

"They're the pants," Isaac supplied. "Cargo, jeans, and some long underwear stuff. You can wear that underneath your uniform, sir."

The sheriff accepted this with a little nod. "Thank you, that's very generous."

"To answer your question myself, no, I will not stop breaking that gang's little loco necks," Peter said pleasantly. "However, I'll restrict myself to Beacon Hills proper if that's what you want."

John looked torn between horrified and grateful for a long moment. Then, he settled on tired and murmured, "I really shouldn't, but even with the state police and the FBI around it might not be enough to protect the families of my people."

"While my territorial imperative won't allow me to simply stand by, Derek and Isaac will protect Stiles specifically as much as they're able. I'd like for you to keep in mind that Isaac has only been a werewolf for two months and is nowhere near as accomplished a fighter as Derek. Mistakes might happen and I'd hate to be at odds with you if something unpreventable were to happen to Stiles." Peter went around the table and rubbed everyone's necks, even Derek's, and clapped the sheriff casually on the shoulder.

"Of course, I would never expect him to kill," John said quietly. He looked at the wolves. "Thank you. I honestly appreciate what you're willing to do for my family."

Peter slid into the empty chair and tilted his head slightly, eyes already firmly on Stiles. "It's all part of the package. Now, why did you call for a meeting?"

Suddenly a little choked up, Stiles pulled the printed out letter from school out of his pocket and slid it over the table to his dad. "Finstock sent me this today. He said I should think about it."

Frowning, his father picked it up, unfolded the slightly crumpled paper, and read it over. Peter by his side did the same, eyebrows slightly rising the further he got along.

"Well, that's something," John finally said, carefully setting the letter down. "Congratulations on your killer grades, kiddo. I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, dad," Stiles muttered. He twisted his hands in his lap. "I told Finstock no."

The sheriff gave another of his slight half-smiles. "Of course you did."

"Not because of the pack thing, or because I don't want to leave you," Stiles rushed to say. He paused, thinking it over, and confessed, "Okay, maybe it is because I don't think you could survive all by yourself, but that's mostly because of the Scott thing. I'm just not ready to let you out of my sight yet."

"It's more than fine," his father said, the little smile growing into something far more substantial and loving. "I'm in no hurry to boot you out. It'd look good on your CV, granted, but it'll still look good half a year from now. And you did just commit to your little online shop. It'd disappoint your friends if you backed out so soon."

"Yeah." Stiles exhaled, finally relaxing. "I really want that shop." Turning to Peter, he asked, "It's alright with you, too, isn't it?"

"Your education is important to me, but it's none of my business how you choose to go about it," Peter said. "That being said, waiting another year has several advantages, among them the fact that I'll be fully restored to society by then, and be able to pitch in if necessary. That'd open a lot of doors you might not have considered yet."

"Of the supernatural sort?" Stiles asked, perking up.

"Of any sort," Peter replied, smirking. "I was a rather well connected individual before Kate Argent appeared in Beacon Hills."

"At twenty-four?" the sheriff asked a little dubiously.

"I was very, very good at my job," Peter said without an ounce of modesty. "Additionally, my affinity for magic made me something of an oddity in my circles, so I never lacked attention from that quarter. Those contacts will come in very handy in the future as Stiles continues to develop his abilities."

John took a sip of his beer, eyeing his son thoughtfully. "It will be necessary, huh?"

"It's safe to say that Stiles is not the usual run of the mill hedge witch," Peter explained. "You might not be aware, but he's learning Archaic Latin and the runic languages in his spare time to better understand the magic he's wielding when using their symbols and letters. This house is already warded so well that the Locos won't be able to break in, or set it on fire. I'm guessing that he'll do the same with your car, eventually, and every patrol car he can get access to."

"You say it like I didn't already do that for my dad," Stiles said. He willed the embarrassed flush from his cheeks. "After I'm done with school I'll have an honest to god mentor who'll show me how to not level the town to the ground."

"I'm all for that," his father said dryly, almost a little mocking.

"I don't think you're really believing us when we talk about Stiles having magic, sir," Isaac interjected somewhat hesitantly. "Why?"

The sheriff visibly chose his words carefully. "I've seen you lot transform, and I healed a lot faster than I should have after Stiles read his spells at me. I'm not not believing you."

"That's not the same thing as fully understanding it," Peter said bluntly. "Sometimes the mind is only able to comprehend what the eye can see. Stiles, why don't you show your father a few tricks with your mountain ash? That should take care of that problem fast."

"Sure. I seriously can't believe I've never done that." Stiles took out his baggie of ash and grabbed a pinch. "Put your bottle on the table, dad."

Reluctantly, his father did as asked, only to recoil in shock when the thrown ash rained down around the bottle in a square shape. The lines were so clean, they might as well have been drawn with a sharpie. After a second, the shape changed to circle, then triangle, and lastly to something abstract and spiky.

"What the hell!" John exclaimed.

"That's me," Stiles said. He wiggled his fingers, making the ash lines wiggle along with them. "Magic."

"Holy shit." Stunned, his father stared at him. "Maybe you really do need a mentor."

"Yup." Stiles pointed at Peter. "I'm co-opting your third floor because I need a workshop. Earlier I nearly took out Derek's eyes with my flashlight charm, that's not gonna happen again. I'll ward that space even against my own stupidity if I have to."

"You're welcome to move in at your convenience, Stiles," Peter purred. "I've already ordered shelves for your products but you'll want to choose your own work tables and chairs."

"I know that you're loaded but it's just horrifying how you keep dropping money on the kids." John sighed, still looking a little shell shocked. "I can only hope that we'll be able to pay you back one day."

Peter's smile became decidedly toothy and Stiles really shouldn't find that as attractive as he did. Even Isaac's narrowed eyes and his elbow to the ribs at Stiles' fluttery heartbeat helped to calm him down.

"I'm not sure that you're the ones owing me anything," Peter said after a pause, eyes intently on Stiles. "After all, Stiles did save my life not once but twice, and has put countless hours of work into protecting us all besides. Most in our community would agree that dedication like that has no price."

"If I allow him to work there, you'll swear on your life that you'll behave," the sheriff said, more resigned than stern.

"Naturally." Peter bared his teeth in a full-on snarl, and his voice turned sharp. "I do want the Argents and The Failure to get what's coming to them."

The oven timer beeped then, effectively putting an end to their talk, and for the rest of the night there was no more discussion about school or the Lobos Locos. Instead, Stiles and Isaac regaled John with their holiday plans for the next week, which included a bicycle tour with Boyd and Erica and the grand opening of their Etsy store, as well as at least a couple of illicit visits to the diners and ice cream parlours in the area just to annoy Peter.

When he left an hour later with Peter in tow, Stiles' father was back to his usual collected self, which Stiles counted as a major win.


End of chapter 46