Chapter 48

"We've all come together to discuss my new project 'Warding Hale Land To Hell And Back'," Stiles intoned grandly early in the evening. Once again everyone was assembled in the kitchen, glasses of fresh lemonade before them and sunshine streaming through the windows. In Stiles' mind, his house was firmly establishing itself as the current pack central. "To make a long story short: since there's apparently little chance of acquiring these super nifty magic crystals Peter's told me about, I've decided that we'll have to create our own ward stones. All we'll need are durable stones, maybe granite, and a lot of acrylic colours, varnish, and time to alter them to suit our needs. With me so far?"

The sheriff looked already lost while Peter seemed intrigued.

Isaac raised his hand. "Us needing colours implies that we'll have to paint those stones … ?"

"Got it in one," Stiles said brightly. "But don't worry. We'll start with warding Hale land, that's not too many stones."

"Not that I'm complaining, but what brought this on?" John asked dubiously.

"We met Deaton in the preserve this morning, very close to our borders," Derek answered, arms crossed over his chest. "He was collecting plants, ostensibly to help McCall with his health issues. We suspect that he's gotten them from our land, since a lot of what he'd harvested is still growing there."

"Seems like the good doctor is not above stealing," Peter murmured. "And just when I stopped the city council from completing the condemnation order for the house." He shook his head mockingly.

"That's what I said," Stiles said. "Since he's a douchebag and Derek wants to restore his mom's herb garden, we need the wards. Plus, it'll be good to have a safe haven in the preserve, so suck it up, buttercups. You're all being pressed into artistic service."

Stiles' father groaned. "I don't have time for this, Stiles."

"Yes, you do," Stiles retorted implacably. "You're part of this family, and we need your help, even if it's just for an hour on the weekends."

"What's your plan?" Peter asked. "How do you want to work with the stones?"

Pointing at Isaac, Stiles said, "That's actually his area of expertise, but I googled for a bit and found out that ward stones that have been handled by all the members of a pack are much stronger than ones that have been treated negligently." He glared at the others. "I do not neglect my people, therefore we'll all do it right. We'll make a plan for painting, even develop a production line if we have to, and create ward stones that'll keep away thieves, dangerous animals, and criminals."

"Okay," Isaac said easily. "How soon can we start?"

"As soon as we've ordered the things we'll need," Stiles replied. "Which will happen tonight."

"Cool."

Stiles added, "I figured that we could have Erica and Boyd over to help. Even if they don't know what the stones are for, that way they'll be included and it'll be fun."

"If you can do that here as long as they're not read in, I approve," Peter said. He turned and picked up his messenger bag. "With that lovely surprise dealt with, you all know what finally needs to happen."

"The Argent offer," Stiles sighed. "It never seemed like the right time, dude."

"I know, because there simply is no such a thing as the right time in these circumstances. It's never easy accepting a price for the blood of one's loved ones." Peter smoothed out the vellum. "But it needs to be done if we want to move forward. This time is as good as any; none of us have changed their minds about this and we're close to holding the Argents' offer in contempt."

"You could've signed any time," Derek told him a little mulishly. "Why didn't you?"

"Because it's for all of us, and because I want to prove a point to the Argents. I'm not alone, and I won't be taken out so easily again." Peter took the scroll from its leather sheath and carefully unrolled it on the table. Next came a fountain pen, a bottle of ink, and a set of sterilized needles. "You're all invited to sign, although you don't have to if you have concerns about your safety."

"Are you really going to put blood into the ink?" John asked, sounding like he was severely questioning Peter's sanity.

"The blood is where the magic is," Peter returned, pricking his finger with a claw and letting three drops of blood fall into the ink. "There, that's enough for the Argents' magic user to determine my identity."

Isaac went next but then things got weird when Derek, who stood next to him, refused to do it.

"Stiles needs to go next," Peter said succinctly at John's raised eyebrows. "It's our current hierarchy."

"Can I even do this, if I'm not in your pack yet?" Stiles asked uncertainly, fingers twitching a little by the packet of needles.

"You can," Peter assured him. He smirked. "In fact, your magic will reflect your new status as a human alpha, which will surely send the Argents into a tizzy."

"I'm not sure Stiles should do this, then," the sheriff pointed out. "I'm worried about more of those hunters coming after him."

"Understandable," Peter agreed. "But he already is an entity in the supernatural community and short of ruthlessly suppressing his gifts nothing will change this. At this point he'd be better protected if he were associated with the Hale pack. We were respected, before, and I strive to reclaim that status. The Argents won't be a problem now, if they want to protect themselves from our Council's wrath."

"I'm not sure this'll keep you safe," John said to Stiles, "but you seem to have your heart set on this, so I won't forbid it. But I hope you're very certain that this is what you want for your life, because I don't think you can back out that easily if you discover that this is not for you, after all."

"Thanks, dad. Believe it or not, I've spent some sleepless nights thinking about this." Stiles smiled crookedly. "It really feels right, though, and I actually think I have to, as Derek's new alpha. I don't know whether he could do it without me."

"He actually could, since he's a Hale and the offer pertains to us, but it would reflect in the magic of the contract," Peter explained. "It's unfortunate but nothing we can change."

"We don't need it to change," Stiles said firmly. "Unless Derek doesn't want to sign, then it's a moot point."

"I'll sign," Derek declared. "Peter's right, it's better to show a united front."

"How about you, pops?" Stiles asked, and all eyes settled on the sheriff. "You're the mundanes' head honcho where law enforcement is concerned. It'd look good if they saw that you were on board."

"I'm concerned about my own safety, too, you know," John huffed. "That family already thought they'd replace someone with one of their own, and got away with it for far too long."

"But look at what happened to them," Peter replied with a sharp smile. "We won't let it happen again."

"They'll have a hard time getting past all of us, now," Stiles added, "and I know for a fact that the school board is insisting on thorough background checks now. You've always investigated your deputies nearly to death before they are even allowed in for a personal discussion, dad, but I'll make a protection charm for you that you can wear around the neck or wherever it's in the way the least, if that'll make you feel better."

"Hell, kid, it's still asking a lot," the sheriff sighed, rubbing his chin. He stared at the contract. "I know nothing about your secret community, and I can't do an even halfway accurate risk assessment. It's giving me hives."

"That's something we can remedy going forward," Peter said. "I'm in the process of writing a primer about the supernatural world that's geared towards bringing in mundanes specifically. I hope you'll find it helpful."

"How soon can you be finished?" Stiles' father wanted to know.

"Give me a few more weeks and the draft should be done." Peter placed a hand on John's shoulder and just kept it there. "Even if it's not something you want to have overly much to do with, it'll help. Your son belongs in this world now and he needs you as his touchstone."

The sheriff nodded slightly. "He'll always have me." He grimaced. "But I'm really not on board with signing things in blood. Yikes."

"It's just a couple of drops," Stiles consoled him. "No worse than a quick blood sugar test at the pharmacy." He picked up a needle, cleaned his finger with a little disinfection wipe, and pricked the skin at the side of the finger pad without looking. "Ow, damnit. There, three drops. And done." Despite his bravado, Stiles felt a little faint at the sight of his bloody finger.

"Good show, kid," his father snarked.

Derek went next, completely unaffected, and then John, sighing and bitching, used the last needle to add his own blood to the ink.

"Thank you, John," Peter murmured. "I appreciate your support." He gave the capped ink bottle a quick shake, opened it again, and dipped the fountain pen in. "Here we go."

Elegantly, Peter scrawled his full name onto the vellum first, afterwards motioning for Isaac to do the same. Stiles balked a little at having to write out his real name but complied in the end when Peter pointed out that names held immense power. For a contract of this magnitude nothing less would do. Derek followed and then the sheriff.

"And now?" Isaac asked into the tense silence. "Was that it?"

Before their eyes, the contract suddenly rolled itself back up with a snap and, in a flash of burning light, doubled like a cell during cell division. Stiles felt the magic at work brushing against him, even tearing at his physical sense of self. It wasn't unlike he imagined being sucked in by a black hole might feel like. It was unsettling in the extreme and he had to work hard not to lash out.

"What the hell!" the sheriff shouted. He grasped Stiles' hand in a purely instinctual gesture of parental protection.

As soon as it had begun, the universe-tearing unrest stopped, only to be replaced by an even more intense sense of urgency that made Stiles yearn to go to faraway places. It was creepy how much he reacted to this impulse and he was glad for his father's anchoring grip.

Isaac took cover behind Peter when the double of the contract abruptly flared for a second and then vanished in a rich burst of golden glitter.

The following absence of magic was deafening, both in reality and mentally. Stiles was shaken to the core, all his bravado gone in the face of such power.

"It's okay," Derek murmured. "It's done now."

"No," Stiles croaked. "It's not. That was sick. Holy shit."

Peter stood and stepped around the table so he could curl a hand around Stiles' neck. "You're quite sensitive to magic."

"You mean you didn't feel that?" Stiles questioned a little hysterically. "Dude, that was a vortex of cold destruction!"

"Actually that was a fairly standard transportation spell," Peter said, frowning. He crouched down and took Stiles' face in his hands. "Your pupils are blown. And you're shaking. Derek, would you please take him up to his room? He needs rest and a good meal later."

"Don't wanna sleep," Stiles protested.

"I know, but you need to," Peter replied softly. "That was clearly a shock to you. We'll wake you when dinner's ready. Maybe I'll also have some answers then."

"I'll keep you company," Isaac offered. He rubbed his arms where the little hairs were still standing up. "I didn't much like it either."

Since the adrenaline was dropping rapidly now, Stiles only put up one more token protest when Derek hauled him up and away like a sack of potatoes. Once his head touched his pillow, he was out like a light.

oOo

That night, after dinner, Peter couldn't offer any definite answers, but he did have quite a few suppositions and ideas on how to deal with the newest curveball life had just thrown at them. Stiles couldn't help but feel hopeful when faced with Peter's relative unconcern.

"Before we dive in, I think our main focus should be on how to make you less sensitive to foreign magic," Peter said to Stiles. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. In front of him, a huge salad bowl stood empty, and on a plate in the middle of the table a mountain of grilled shrimp remains bore witness to the carnage three werewolves and two hungry humans had wrought on four pounds of them. "You're learning fast, which is good, but that might also be the reason why you aren't acclimating properly."

"How do you mean?" Stiles' father asked.

"I haven't found any information on truly similar cases, but I believe that we can liken Stiles' development to the growth of a snake. Snakes are most vulnerable after a shedding, with the skin gradually toughening up again once the growth spurt is over. With Stiles it seems more like he's been growing constantly for a couple of months now and therefore isn't toughening up enough to protect himself from outside elements." He shrugged. "I can't say whether this growth spurt is normal or not for a magic user, as they're all so individual, even among users of the same branch. Only time will tell if this'll be the only growth spurt, or if it will stop soon and others will follow in the coming years."

"Regardless of whether it'll be the only one or one of many, what can I do about it?" Stiles asked. "I might have forgotten Deaton, but meeting him in the preserve was already uncomfortable. I don't wanna find out how shitty he could make me feel by actually using magic against us."

"If you're not able to build up a natural resistance by yourself, and it doesn't seem likely just now, we simply have to get you a protective cloak, so to speak," Peter answered. "A talisman should work out fine, it's just a question of finding the right one to suit your needs."

"You don't sound overly concerned," John stated suspiciously. "Does that happen often?"

Peter took a moment to order his thoughts. "It's not uncommon, for a lot of reasons. Some supernatural species simply develop that way and are vulnerable until they reach adulthood. Other magic users are merely advancing further than others, once their gifts have woken up. Stiles is probably one of them. To compensate for that rapid onset of new abilities, something has to give, in this instance his natural shield against outside forces."

John turned to stare at his son. "How did this even happen?"

"I'm afraid that this might actually be my fault," Peter admitted.

"What?" The sheriff's eyes widened even further.

"At the beginning of our negotiations I gave Stiles a bag of mountain ash, purely for his protection against supernatural threats. I wasn't quite right back then and wanted him to feel safe in my and Derek's presence." Peter smiled slightly. "I couldn't have dreamed what that little gift would set free in your son. He's utterly remarkable."

"Wait, let me get this straight: if you'd never met my son, he would be living a normal life right now?" Stiles' father asked.

Peter gave the man an understanding look. "Not me, specifically. I rather think that any contact to the supernatural might have had that impact on him. You need to realize that Stiles has always had the potential within him. Chances were high that it'd have manifested eventually."

"He must've gotten it from his mother," John murmured, sinking back in his chair. "She was particular about her hobbies, and very good at them. Her garden …" He slowly looked back up to Peter. "She went to a gardening club, once a month."

"My sister was a member," Peter confirmed. "They'll have known each other, although Talia didn't talk often about her friends there. She rather firmly kept her two lives separated, for obvious reasons."

"So, the contact between your sister and my wife could've egged baby Stiles on?"

At this, Peter chuckled. "Knowing Stiles, I wouldn't put it past him."

"Hey," Stiles pouted, "I'll have you know that I like who I am, insatiable curiosity and all."

"I like who you are, too," his father assured him warmly. "Heck, kid, your mom would probably love what you're able to do." He sobered a little, his lined face betraying the lingering sadness. "Just don't get hurt, okay? Get that talisman, and promise me to get enough rest at night."

"Yeah." Stiles cleared his throat. "So, everyday it's something new, huh?"

John tiredly grabbed his son's shoulder, giving it a long squeeze. "Kid, you're just fulfilling your mother's promise. She told me that I'd never get bored, and boy was she right."

oOo

Super fast shipping made everything an adventure, Stiles discovered. He, Derek, and Isaac were busy all Monday setting up their worktables, storing units, and shelves on the third floor of Peter's building. Isaac insisted on placing the huge tables beneath the large windows to catch as much natural light as possible, while Derek was firm on putting the huge shelves furthest from the door to make theft even harder than their security system and Stiles' wards already would. They even reverently placed their first few finished products in their labelled spaces and admired them for a moment. It wasn't much, but it was still making them giddy.

"If we're gonna work here all day, we'll need a fridge and a sound system, and of course a TV," Isaac said, surveying the results of their hard work. With all the furniture in place now, and utensils for ward stone creation stored in containers, drawers, and crates, the space looked a lot less huge already. "I'll unpack and hook up my PC, printers, and scanners tonight when I'm alone. Next time you come here and have put away the last of your stuff we can jump right in."

"I can't wait," Stiles admitted. "This is so huge, I can't even."

"Don't forget that you're meeting Erica and Boyd tomorrow," Derek reminded them, slowly herding them towards the heavy entrance door.

"It'll be good to get out," Isaac said. "There haven't been any orders yet, anyway, so we've got some free time ahead."

"How long do you think until someone gives us a chance?" Stiles wondered.

Shrugging, Isaac replied, "It'll happen when it happens."

"Since when are you so zen about it?" Stiles asked, stumbling after Isaac and giving Derek, who'd rescued him from a tumble, a grateful look. "Have you smoked something?"

"No, but I've admitted defeat and started that comic about the pack's history," Isaac said, casually dropping that bombshell like it wasn't absolutely newsworthy. "At least, from the point of my discovery of the supernatural. The character is fiction, of course, but he'll discover stuff like we do, more or less as he goes along. That sort of pushed back the urgency about the shop a lot."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stiles demanded, pushing Isaac's rock hard shoulder and budging the other teen exactly not at all. "That's so awesome!"

"Peter caught me doodling scenes and designs. I guess he realized that I was serious about it and decided to let me do it. I just can't publish it, obviously, but I don't care about that. Sooner or later The Council will let us know whether we can put it online and that's enough for me. I just want to draw."

"I want a signed copy of every print, first edition of course!" Stiles grinned. "Wait until Erica and Boyd hear about this. They'll be brought up to speed before they know it, and help you draw it, too."

Stiles and Isaac further discussed the comic while setting the table for dinner while Derek ordered Vietnamese food for all of them. It was a testament to how far they'd come as friends and family that he barely tensed at Peter's arrival half an hour later. Isaac, of course, threw himself unabashedly at his alpha for a hug, and Stiles indulged shamelessly as well when Peter drew him close for scenting. Their hug was a lot looser, which didn't keep Stiles from doing some light reconnaissance of Peter's shoulder and back muscles. In return, the man's nose tickled Stiles' neck and Stiles could almost believe that there was a whisper of lips at his throat when Peter finally drew back.

For a moment they stared at each other, questioning and a little heated, and then, by mutual agreement, put some space between them and settled at the table like nothing at all had happened.

Stiles felt guilty, of course, but a quick look at Isaac merely earned him a lopsided, tolerant smile, and Derek was a solid, soothing presence by his side, as usual.

I have the best friends in the world, Stiles decided, relaxing into the addictive feeling of belonging right there. Suddenly having to wait nearly a whole year until he could explore the obvious chemistry between himself and Peter didn't seem so daunting anymore. I can do this. All of it.

He just hoped that life got that memo because even with the Argent problem finally dealt with they still had far too much to deal with.


End of chapter 48