Nothing special to report, only that I'm slowing down a little as NaNo draws closer. I really want to join this year; unfortunately that'll mean a stop at least during November because I'm one of those writers who can't really work on two projects at once. Still, I'll do my best! :)
Stay safe!
Chapter 53
For a couple of days, neither Boyd nor Erica texted very much, which was completely understandable but nonetheless nerve-wracking for Stiles. He tried to combat the feeling of utter helplessness by throwing himself into his work; on Sunday he cleaned up his room thoroughly and also got up all in Derek's business as the werewolf made the Stilinski guest room somewhat into his own private sanctuary. Derek didn't mind Stiles pawing at all his stuff but on Monday he did drag Stiles out for a long run before dinner to hopefully exhaust his nervous energy at least a little.
When they were taking a break deep in the preserve, sitting on a fallen log and drinking water, Derek finally took a stab at the busy hornet nest masquerading as Stiles' brain. "You know that Erica and Boyd took your presentation really well. Far better than expected, to be honest, considering that you were brutally honest about Peter. So what are you worried about?"
"They could change their mind after thinking it through," Stiles replied, fidgeting miserably. "They could've been flashed by the reveal, because magic! And werewolves! But then, after a good night's sleep it could've caught up with them that Peter murdered people, and really fucking hurt Lydia. Worse, they'll remember how I threatened Lydia to leave Peter, a now known murderer, alone, and avoid me for the rest of our lives."
"They will not," Derek sighed. He curled a hand around Stiles' nape and pulled the teen against his chest. "Don't worry so much."
"They probably should avoid me, though," Stiles fretted. He breathed in Derek's clean scent and felt himself settle a little. "I don't want to get them maimed or killed."
"That's their decision." Derek stroked Stiles' hair with his other hand, his broad palm anchoring him some more. "But they don't fear you, and they won't hate you even after they've thought it over."
"How do you know," Stiles asked, muffled.
"I don't know, because unlike Peter I'm not going to stalk your friends, but I still think you should trust them. Just give them time to … reflect, and everything will be alright."
Stiles snuffled against Derek's skin and tightened his grip around the man's waist. It felt almost okay to let himself be seen as so insecure and worried. "Fine, I'll try to stop worrying about them. But I do worry about Lydia … and Jackson."
Derek's voice was a little rumbly when he said, "Why him? He doesn't want to be involved so it is actually clever to absent himself."
"I know that, and it's not like I want to have him around all the time, but I feel shitty for letting him run out when he's so unsettled. Last time I didn't let him drive, so, yeah. Fail on my part." Stiles reluctantly detached himself and rubbed his face with his hands. "I need to make sure that he's alright. I don't wanna be the reason he's having nightmares or shit like that. He did see Peter in the woods, after all, and knowing that he's around his dad all the time must be tough."
"You're far better a person than Jackson," Derek told him. He heaved an aggrieved sigh. "But it's your business how you want to deal with him."
Stiles grimaced. "Thanks, dude. We're not gonna become best friends or anything, but we sort of dragged him into this mess and I don't wanna be responsible for his regression to über asshole. Things were actually rather okay-ish after rescuing Peter that night."
"And you don't want to give it up," Derek said. "Of course you don't."
"Well, him not slamming me into lockers or being a rude fucker sure helps with getting through school without significant trauma," Stiles huffed.
"He's still a rude fucker most of the time," Derek retorted dryly.
"Okay, yeah, but still. We sort of do okay now and I don't wanna go back to how it was before." Stiles bit his lip. "It's not dumb, is it?"
"No, Stiles, it's not dumb." Derek stood and dragged Stiles with him. "Don't worry about it. I don't hate Jackson's guts, so do what you have to do to clear your conscience."
Stiles eyed him warily. "You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Derek replied with an eye roll and a little push. "Now run, or we're going to be late for dinner."
oOo
On Tuesday morning, Stiles thought about texting Jackson and asking him to meet up somewhere, but he decided against it almost immediately. Drama queen that he was, Jackson responded better to being surprised sometimes instead of being given options.
And so, knowing full well that it was sort of shitty to corner Jackson in his own home, Stiles drove his jeep over to Jackson's house, let Derek out so he could investigate the neighbourhood, and knocked at the door.
Jackson's mother was the one to open and for a moment she was visibly nonplussed by Stiles' appearance. "Good morning, Stiles. I wasn't aware that you wanted to visit Jackson?"
"No, it's a spontaneous visit," Stiles replied and offered her a posy of summer flowers. He then showed off a carton of baked goods from Marsha's. "I apologize for the early hour, but I brought bribes."
Flattered and amused, Mrs. Whittemore smiled. "Oh, in that case come in. I'll call Jackson down." Her smile turned a little less brilliant. "I trust that you're not here to start an argument. Jackson's been a little out of sorts lately."
"Of course not, Mrs. Whittemore," Stiles promised. "I just wanted to say hello."
"Well, that's very kind of you. Come in, you can keep your shoes on. Jackson should be down any minute."
"Thank you."
Never having been invited before, Stiles shamelessly used the opportunity to look at Jackson's home while his mom went upstairs. The ground floor was large and spacious, with floor length windows allowing a pleasant view at the medium-sized backyard. Unlike Stiles' own it was neatly trimmed, with just a few flower beds and hedges providing some colour and structure. The rest of the space was grass and it was obviously used for crocket and badminton as the goals, bats, and battledores were littering the green.
"Your home is very nice," Stiles complimented Mrs. Whittemore when she was back. "Where can I put the pastries?"
"I'll get you a plate," she replied. Together, they arranged the croissants and pastries. Suddenly she asked, "Is everything alright with Jackson?"
Stiles started, the unpleasant feeling of dread crawling down his spine. "Uhm, why are you asking?"
"Well, I told Jackson that you're here and he reacted … unkindly. Told me he didn't really want to see you so soon." Mrs. Whittemore observed Stiles warily.
"Er, yes, that's sort of my fault," Stiles admitted. "He came for a visit on Saturday and it was a little … intense. But he stayed for dinner, so it's not like he stormed off in a snit or anything. I know that he wanted to go to some party with Danny."
"He didn't go," Mrs. Whittemore informed him, relaxing a little. "He came home around eleven and told us that he didn't want to talk about it when we remarked on his mood."
"Well, I'm sorry about that," Stiles said quietly. "But that's actually why I'm here. I want to talk things out and stuff."
Soft sounds from the stairs drew both his and Mrs. Whittemore's attention.
"You could've called," Jackson said, lips pressed into a tight line.
"Jackson," his mother admonished him gently.
"I brought stuff from Marsha's," Stiles said, trying to look as harmless as possible.
Jackson glared at him but then descended the rest of the way and brushed past Stiles a little too closely for comfort. "Fine. You can stay."
Mrs. Whittemore looked dubiously at them both. "If you're sure, honey …"
Jackson waved her off. "It's fine, mom. Thanks."
"Well, then I'd better leave you to it, but I'll keep an ear out for raised voices. Be good, Jackson. Stiles, I trust that you won't start a fight in our house."
"I'll do my very best, ma'am," Stiles promised.
Satisfied, Jackson's mother left the open plan kitchen and vanished into an office.
"You really could've called," Jackson huffed once they were alone. "I don't know what you're trying to do here. I made myself clear enough to warrant threats of bodily harm from your freaky bodyguards."
"You did," Stiles acknowledged. "You came to visit me a couple of times when I wasn't doing so great, though. I just thought I'd return the favour. Plus, I wanted to apologize properly for the unpleasant news regarding Peter."
"Well, it's not like you can do something about that," Jackson muttered. He angrily buttered his croissant and heaped a spoonful of red currant jam on it. With a huge bite, he inhaled half of his croissant and chewed aggressively.
"I know, but I'm still sorry. I know how much it sucks when your dad's sort of in danger," Stiles offered. He copied Jackson's choice of breakfast because it looked insanely appetizing. "I meant it when I said that Peter won't harm your dad."
"Hale said that he was thinking about telling him," Jackson said. "Back in April, after McCall's stunt."
"I know. He probably should, to be honest." Stiles chewed his croissant and hummed with bliss. "Would you be okay with that?"
"No." Jackson prepared the other half of his croissant with butter and liver paté. "If it were my choice, he'd never know."
"I get that you're worried because of the danger, but dude, he has that already because he's a lawyer," Stiles said carefully. "There are a lot of douchebags in prison because of him, and let me tell you, one doesn't need a werewolf with a grudge to be in mortal danger. In fact, my dad being in the know made things so much better between us. I don't have to lie to him anymore, and I can tell him when I've got problems. You could have that, too."
"I don't need him like that when I'm not involved in your freaky shenanigans. Plus, my dad isn't a great shot, even if he goes to the range every now and then," Jackson muttered, face still drawn and a little flushed from anger. "All it'd do is make him more of a target."
"Not to worry you further, but the alpha pack probably already knows quite a bit about who's hanging out with whom and stuff. There was a lady at my house when those guys vandalized the cars at Peter's house. Peter believes that she's a magic user. If she knew who I am to the pack, they probably know that your dad's working with Peter, too"
"Fuck, Stiles," Jackson exploded. "That's not what I wanted to hear!"
"I know. And I'm sorry. But Peter taught me a valuable lesson." Stiles placed a strawberry danish on Jackson's plate and delicately pushed it towards him in an attempt to placate the teen.
Sullenly, Jackson picked up the pastry and took a huge bite. "Which would be?"
"That not informing people who really need to know is a shitty thing to do because that's even more dangerous than actually preparing them for whatever crap is going on," Stiles answered. "Your dad's the rational and observant sort; if he's not suspicious already, he might soon be. The alpha pack isn't exactly subtle and there's only so much you can pin on a crazy cult or animal attacks."
Jackson glared at the half-eaten danish before turning his frosty stare on Stiles. "Funnily enough, that doesn't make me feel any better."
Stiles grimaced. "I know, right? Why must the coolness of all that supernatural stuff be totally eclipsed by the creepiness? That's so unfair."
For a moment they sat in silence, Jackson playing with his pastry and Stiles finishing his croissant, slathering it with butter and nutella.
"You remember how I told you that I can't deal with a lot of stuff?" Jackson asked, apropos of nothing.
Stiles licked a few crumbs from his lips. "Uh, yeah?"
Fidgeting, Jackson looked out the window. "This thing with the werewolves is one of those things."
"That's fair," Stiles told him. "They're not exactly teddy bears. Unfortunately it's the one thing you can't really talk about."
"I wish I could." Jackson gritted his teeth but kept on talking. "My parents … they try. Mom's paying for therapy now, and they're so … understanding. Of me needing that. But." Jackson halted, visibly uncomfortable.
"But?" Stiles prompted carefully when the silence threatened to become too long.
"But it feels … dishonest, right now. And also strange. Like they want things to go back to normal before I found out that … you know." Jackson clenched his hand to a fist and stared at his mangled breakfast.
So that's what it really is about , Stiles thought and blew out an annoyed breath. "You're adopted. Everyone knows, and yeah, some douchebag kids teased you for it, but dude, it's not a disease. I must be the hundredth person to tell you that in some ways you've got it insanely good. Your parents picked you , they gave you a great home, they love you, and because they love you they'd do anything for you, including sending you to therapy so you can have a happy life."
"That's just a platitude," Jackson muttered angrily. "Every internet shrink can tell you those. I expected … more."
"Maybe you did, but that doesn't mean it's not true," Stiles countered. "Believe me, Isaac wishes he'd had your life. His dad is an utter asshole. Just ask him if he'd trade with you if he could." He paused. "Once he's forgiven you for not stepping in, that is. He could've been rid of that monster much sooner, and been spared a lot of literal grief. He might never have gotten involved with werewolves if you'd just stepped in."
Jackson flinched. "I said I was sorry."
"You actually didn't," Stiles went on, prodding mercilessly at the other boy. "But you definitely should. Isaac suffered because you couldn't be bothered to let someone know what was going on. An anonymous tip would've been enough. That you couldn't do even that is the height of cowardice."
"You promised my mom that you wouldn't start a fight," Jackson ground out, looking away again. He was pale all over, except for his burning cheeks.
"And I'm not. All I'm doing is telling you to your face where you fucked up." Stiles placed a hand on Jackson's tense arm. "I'm not gonna tell you what you should talk about with your therapist, but this might be important. It's not normal to ignore stuff like domestic violence, okay. It wouldn't have endangered your place with your parents or whatever stupid shit you were thinking, and it's got nothing to do with the supernatural, so don't blame your issues on that, okay."
Jackson took a shuddery breath. "I could be a freak sociopath. I sure feel like one."
"Don't be dramatic," Stiles retorted. "You're just messed up. Worse, you having abandonment issues or whatever makes you irrational about letting at least your dad know what's going on, as well."
"Maybe I'm irrational, but he's my dad. That doesn't change anything," Jackson hissed. He looked close to flipping the whole table in a display of temper.
"I get it, you moron," Stiles sighed. "And if I had magic enough to make the evil go away and just keep the amazeballs parts of the supernatural stuff, I would. But I don't right now so we'll have to make the best of what we've got. Alright?"
Jackson glared at Stiles, first at his face and then at the hand on his biceps. "You leave my family alone, Stiles. I mean it."
"I'm not gonna tell them anything," Stiles promised easily enough. "But if your dad so much as gives Peter an opening, Peter will take it. He has to, because we desperately need more adult help, and your dad is sort of prime material."
" We ," Jackson scoffed.
Stiles took it as a good sign that the other teen hadn't shrugged off his hand yet. "Yes, we , you dumbass. You're in the know now so that makes you sort of pack-adjacent."
"I thought you're not gonna care for those who don't want to be involved?" Jackson relaxed a little, the fight largely leaving his tense frame.
"You helped me track down Scott in the woods back then," Stiles replied with a shrug. "I'm not gonna forget that, even if you're being an idiot at the moment."
"You just want me to help you morons out some more," Jackson accused, but he slumped a little and even returned a tiny bit of the pressure Stiles' hand put on him.
"I've got no shame in admitting it." Stiles smirked and patted Jackson's arm before taking his hand away. "Drop me a text if you feel like mentally scarring the others via the painting of rocks. But not on Thursday, that's Scott's adjudication." He pursed his lips. "And I guess not Friday either, what with it being your birthday."
"Definitely not Friday," Jackson agreed, still a little defensive.
"Ooh, someone's got a hot date planned." Stiles raised both thumbs. "I approve."
"Not a date, just me and my parents. Later, there'll be a party at the Jungle." Jackson dipped a finger into the vanilla pudding on his danish and sucked it off. "That's why Danny and I wanted to go there on Saturday, to finalize the arrangement."
"Crap, I'm sorry. But Danny managed to do it?"
Jackson's mouth twisted in a humourless half-smile. "Yeah. He's good for that. It helps that my parents paid an advance."
Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. "If that's not proof that they like your sorry ass, I don't know what more you could want. My dad would have a conniption fit if I even hinted at wanting to throw a wild underage party."
"Sucks to be you," Jackson snarked, the smugness back in force for a moment. It fell away only a moment later, though, and an uncharacteristic shyness crept over Jackson's face. "Uhm, you wouldn't want to … you know, come?"
"To your party?" Stiles asked, just to make sure.
"Yes. It's Saturday night, starting at nine. You could bring the other losers as well … to make sure those alpha creeps aren't gonna crash it." Jackson shrugged a little. "Maybe not Reyes. No offence, but she'd totally flip her shit under the strobe lights."
"She probably would," Stiles admitted, disappointed on her behalf, but accepting it. "I'll tell the others."
Jackson nodded. "Thanks." He flushed a little. "And thanks for coming over. It's fucking hard work, talking to you, but." He gesticulated. "You know."
"Yeah." Stiles did know. "For what it's worth, I really do get where you're coming from. If I can, I won't badger you about it. But you're allowed to talk to us." At Jackson's disbelieving scoff he repeated, "You are . You should apologize to Isaac and maybe do something fucking nice for him, too, but we're not gonna turn you away if you've got trouble dealing. Us squishy humans have to support each other."
"You're not so squishy anymore with your magic," Jackson pointed out, but he did look somewhat convinced.
"And you're hell with a lacrosse stick," Stiles returned. "Also, Mace isn't too shabby against a werewolf either. Just something for you to think about." He snagged a danish and rose. "I'd better go now, let you have the day to yourself."
Jackson didn't rise to see him out, but he said, "See you Saturday. And … I'm rooting for you and your dad on Thursday. McCall needs to rot in a cell somewhere not here. Let me know how it went?"
"Sure." Stiles saluted him and took his leave, eager to get back to his friends and family.
"Everything alright?" Derek asked after Stiles had climbed into the jeep. "You smell a little harrowed."
"Yeah, I'm good. You got all of that?" Stiles started the engine and steered the jeep away from the house.
"I got enough. Seems like we'll go to a party." Derek didn't look enthusiastic about it, but he certainly wasn't opposed to the plan. "Isaac at least will enjoy it."
"Let's just hope that the alpha jerks won't actually crash it," Stiles said, pulling a face. "Because one and a half alphas against five are lousy odds."
"You just had to jinx it," Derek growled. "When will you learn?"
End of chapter 53
