Halloween's approaching, and so is election day in the U.S. I hope you all over there will get through these last few hectic days until then safely! *huggles*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter 54
On Wednesday, Stiles' father stayed home. This was remarkable insofar that the hunt for the Lobos Locos in the area was in full swing and the sheriff was actually indispensable at this point. That he still took the time to do this told Stiles more than even ten-thousand words could.
"Thanks for taking the time to go over it one more time," John told the lawyer. "Stiles told me that it's Jackson's birthday; I'm sure you'd rather spend your time at home."
Mr. Whittemore waved that away. "Jackson is one hundred percent behind this meeting, I can assure you. While his relationship with Stiles is somewhat rocky, there is definitely no love lost between him and the McCall boy. Jackson actually somewhat considers me representing you against the family a birthday present, as horrifying as that may sound."
"I'm not remotely horrified," Stiles said, pleased that Jackson really wasn't making it difficult for them. When his dad sighed, he insisted, "I'm not! Without the rose-coloured lenses Scott really is just another teenage delinquent and I've got no time for his bullshite."
Mr. Whittemore smiled briefly. "That's good to hear. To that effect, I'd like to remove you two as much as possible from the proceedings. Since the hearings have already happened, there shouldn't be a great need to call you into the witness stand, but if Judge O'Neill decides to allow it, be as stark and concise as you can. Do not let anyone pressure you into qualifying a statement. Mr. Clark is the type to attack emotionally and he will try to manipulate you into making allowances for Mr. McCall's behaviour."
"Understood," the sheriff said and made a note on his writing pad. He smiled wryly. "Thankfully, I've got a lot of experience with interrogations, on both sides. My son, not so much."
Stiles huffed. "Says who. That Clark dude can try to intimidate me, but he won't win that game."
His father glanced at Mr. Whittemore. "How opposed are you to my kid mouthing off so badly at Clark that he completely loses his mind?"
"Not opposed at all," Mr. Whittemore replied evenly, the smooth bastard. "I can't stand that idiot, and neither can the judge." He turned to Stiles, a slight grin on his face. "If you can pull it off without being in contempt of the proceedings, I'll spring for lunch tomorrow."
"Challenge accepted." Stiles smirked at his father. "Relax, you know I wouldn't endanger our position for a burger and some curly fries."
"True," the sheriff conceded. "Still, only do it if the opportunity presents itself. Deliberate goading won't amuse the judge, and she doesn't deserve it in any case."
"Cross my heart," Stiles said, still a little giddy with all the possibilities. Lou was crawling all over his back in response, excited for Stiles just because Stiles was looking forward to it. "So, hiding behind Mr. Whittemore, check. What else?"
"I'd like to collect statements for the closing pleas. If there's something you wish to tell Judge O'Neill, and possibly Scott McCall, this is the moment to make it known. Afterwards you probably won't see either again for a long time."
"Has Peter given you something as well? How is his lawsuit against the Argents coming along?" Stiles asked. "Clark might bring him up if Melissa wasn't able to talk him out of his crazy ramblings."
"Peter said to use him in whatever way necessary so you can get justice. You just need to get your facts straight," Mr. Whittemore said, one eyebrow raised as he recited the instruction. "While I admire Peter's willingness to ensure Mr. McCall's proper punishment, I wish he weren't quite so self-sacrificing."
Stiles wondered how much Whittemore actually knew. The way he looked just now ... like someone who knew who the co-conspirators were and was just waiting for the acknowledgement.
"Hold on," Stiles said and typed out a message to Peter.
Yo, Jaxn's dad in the know?
Your chat speak is appalling, sweet cheeks, came the prompt reply. Yes, as far as my involvement that night went, and that I'm 'other'. I still need to fill him in properly, but he does not seem repulsed so far. If anything, he's even more horrified by The Failure's deeds than before.
Stiles gnawed on his bottom lip. Kay. Be careful with this one. Jaxn's going bonkers rn. Should I give Mr. W. some warding origami?
If you would, Peter answered immediately. David is not sceptical as such, but I know he'd feel better with a small token of acknowledgement. And while he's dedicated to his clients as a rule, he does worry about his family's safety.
Stiles put down the phone and looked intently at Mr. Whittemore. "Peter said it was okay to lay it all on you. Can we trust you to make the best of it?"
"You have my word as your lawyer … and as a friend." Mr. Whittemore started when Stiles abruptly got up and left the kitchen, and he was even more confused when Stiles set down a small carton full of origami animals in front of him after his return. "What is this?"
"Those are portable wards," Stiles said matter-of-factly. "As in, magic wards. Pick one for each room in your house, including the bathrooms, cellar, hallways, and attic, and place them somewhere. Personally, I like to attach them to the lamps because they can't get lost that way, but you do what you like."
Mr. Whittemore's mouth dropped open. "Magic wards. I thought Peter was having me on."
The sheriff sighed, a little weary and a lot fond. "Nope, it's real. You should see what else he can do. This house is warded to the nines."
After a moment, Mr. Whittemore looked again at Stiles, gaze imploring. "So, I just pick some of those?"
"Yep. And I'd like for you to accept these bracelets as a special token of our regard. I spelled them for protection specifically, so you should really convince your wife to wear it."
"What about Jackson? Did you spell his bracelet, too?" Mr. Whittemore asked as he took the two bracelets from Stiles. They were rather generic compared to the ones Stiles had made for his friends but no less effective for that.
"Not yet; I forgot yesterday. I'll do that on Saturday," Stiles said. "Go on, just grab a dozen of the origamis. I can always make more."
A little reluctantly, Jackson's father began picking out folded animals. Soon, he had a healthy collection of monkeys, wolves, horses, and birds standing like a small army on the table. "They don't look like they could ward our house against evil. They're so … bright."
"I went with colours because always folding black squares got boring real fast," Stiles said with a shrug. "Hide them if you don't like the colours, the magic won't care. They just need to be in your house."
"No, I …" Mr. Whittemore eyed Stiles like he couldn't quite believe what they were actually talking about. "I'll place them like they deserve. It's just … I would pick more sedate colours, if I were paying for them, is all. Being a grown-up seems to make me boring."
Stiles grinned. "I'll take that into consideration."
"I absolutely don't want to appear ungrateful," Mr. Whittemore added. "Not at all. I believed Peter when he explained a few things to me. I'm just a little ... overwhelmed."
"Maybe you should talk to Jackson about it," Stiles offered. "He's pretty much set against being involved and hates the idea of you and his mom being in danger, but it could still help with the processing."
"He's a good kid," Whittemore returned quietly. "It just threw him to learn of the adoption. He'll find his feet again."
"I don't want to intrude or anything, but maybe you should go to therapy as a family." Stiles fidgeted a little under the man's look. "It's just the way Jackson talks about stuff, not because it's super obvious or anything."
"And that's all you're going to say on the subject," his father said evenly.
"Yes, yes, absolutely. No more talk about things that don't really concern me." Stiles grabbed the origami box and beat a hasty retreat.
Back in his room, Derek was judging Stiles with the eyebrows of doom. "You just can't keep your mouth shut."
"It's Peter's fault. He went ahead and told Jackson's dad," Stiles countered. He ran a hand through his hair. "I thought he'd wait a little longer, but I guess there are things going on in the adult proceedings that made that necessary."
Derek put the book down he'd been reading and stepped up to Stiles for a quick one-armed hug. "The Argent information on the family's rogue elements is strong stuff. I got a look at it some time ago; quite a bit of it paints Gerard and Kate as cultists with severe mental health issues. Unfortunately, some of the events still can't be explained away with that. You probably were right and Whittemore became curious enough to allow Peter to bring him in."
"Jackson will hate that," Stiles mumbled.
"But Peter and Whittemore will be able to field that whole debacle so much better together than alone," Derek replied. "I'm sorry for Jackson's sake, but we need Peter free and above suspicion. If Whittemore can help with that, I'm all for it."
"Yeah. Still, I've made sure that they're all pretty well protected, provided they're not gallivanting all over the county. Anyway, I'd better get back down and finish the meeting; I don't wanna give Scott's side anything to hit us with."
Derek nodded. "You do that, and afterwards we'll meet Erica and Boyd in the workshop. They want to see you."
"They do?" Stiles felt a huge wave of relief roll up from his stomach up into his chest. "Fuck yes!"
Elated, he bounded back down, and within another two hours, Mr. Whittemore had everything he needed to compose his statements and Stiles was free to join his friends.
oOo
"I genuinely can't believe it that tomorrow's the day," Erica said as she, Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles were sitting at the long table in the workshop and painting rocks.
"I know, right?" Stiles replied. "It seemed so far away back in April. But I'm glad it'll be over then. Just imagine having this at the back of your mind all summer."
"I'm really glad I don't have to think much about stuff like that," Erica declared, "but of course we're rooting for you. Too bad we can't come in and support you."
"Not even I can come," Isaac huffed. He still wasn't over it, and he'd known for ages. "But Peter and Derek will be there, so that's something."
"Not to forget the small parade of people who Scott's lawyer insisted on questioning, despite them giving the judge written testimonials and reports to make the hearing more efficient," Stiles added with an eye roll. "I had a feeling that the guy would want to make things difficult."
"Don't lawyers always?" Boyd asked quietly. He placed his finished stone onto the rack and grabbed another. His colour today was ultramarine blue and he was stoically keeping to it, despite Erica occasionally trying to change the bottle to something more cheery.
Derek turned on the ergonomic desk chair Stiles had ordered for himself and announced, "I filled the orders, but delivery might take a backseat until Friday. Should I send an e-mail?"
"Yeah, do it. People get grumpy about unannounced delays," Isaac said.
Derek nodded and turned back to use the computer on Stiles' desk.
"Now that we know that Stiles is magic, it's so cool that people are actually buying your stuff." Erica looked away from the busily typing Derek and back to Stiles. "What are your bestsellers so far?"
"Well, we've only had like three orders," Stiles replied, "but two wanted healing cards, and the latest wanted a whole bunch of good luck cards. Maybe they need money or something and want to try it out on a lottery ticket."
"Would it work?" Boyd asked with raised eyebrows.
Stiles waved his hand in a so-so move. "Those cards are not meant for huge lucky events. More like, 'wow, I can't believe I found a fifty dollar bill' stuff, or other things on that scale."
"Fifty quid is nothing to sneeze at," Erica said, "but what would someone have to pay for a card that'd guarantee a real lottery jackpot win?"
"Messing with Lady Luck is tricky." Stiles critically inspected his finished stone, a googly-eyed, fat lion with red mane and a maw full of razor sharp teeth. "Using magic to favour someone like that feels wrong. I tried and had to back off because it made me nauseous."
Erica pouted. "But why?"
Helplessly, Stiles shrugged. "It might have to do something with the cosmic order, which really is just chaos. It's like this: if someone wins several million dollars and claims the money, it's not just a bunch of dollar bills that's changing hands. There's value attached to that money, and even if I were to give my good luck card to a hospital or some charity, I just can't know where else that value might be missing as a result. I could mess up something really important. That stuff has kept me up at night."
"So small stuff is okay, but no world-changing windfalls, got it." She pointed at Isaac. "I want to check out your magic thingies. How much is a good luck card?"
"Five dollars," Isaac said. "Ten for a medium healing pack, fifty for one that could save you from almost certain death."
"It sounds expensive, but I promise that we deliver," Stiles hastened to say when he saw his friends' shocked faces. "And honestly, Peter said we might charge much more, especially for the heavy duty healing stuff, but we need to build a customer base first."
"Almost certain death?" Erica asked, eyes wide.
"That's some serious money," Boyd added.
"It will be, if the shop ever takes off," Stiles said. "Peter thinks it probably will, but at this point all we can do is wait. It's not like we can advertise without giving away too much information about us. That would be a really bad idea with how many supernatural douchebags are out there."
"I won't say anything," Erica promised, to which Boyd nodded. "But I think I should really invest in a couple of those healing cards. Just in case. If five dollars can spare me some serious time in the hospital, I'll gladly pay the price."
"You know what, the first couple are on us." Stiles got up and fetched two for both her and Boyd. "Try them out and give us honest feedback. Don't hold back if they suck."
"Which they won't," Isaac interjected with a huff. "Give them their origami animals."
Grinning at Isaac's grouchiness, Stiles got the box out from under the table and shoved it at Boyd. "Jackson's dad already went through it, but there should be enough left for you." He repeated the spiel about what counted as a room to his rapt audience and watched as his friends went to town.
Erica squealed when Boyd unearthed a blue seal. "That one's mine!"
Boyd tolerantly let her have first pick and rewarded her with an unashamed kiss when she separated out the ones she obviously knew he favoured.
"Boyd's a huge kitty fan," she explained when Boyd pocketed the half dozen folded cats. "Me, I like almost everything, except spiders. Speaking of which, can you do wards against pests? We're being overrun by mosquitoes at home, and my parents can't use chemicals because of me."
Stiles glanced at Isaac. "I might. I'll try it out." He didn't even flinch guiltily when Derek dropped off Isaac's notebook at the boy's elbow so he could write the idea down.
"Is it always like this?" Erica asked, not quite voluntarily tracking Derek's fit form as he sauntered through the workshop to get a bottle of water from the fridge. "You collect ideas just like that?"
"Always," Isaac said, jotting down several notes. "Last time it went like this, Stiles' dad suggested something for stealth. He's regretting that already."
"A lot." Stiles smirked. "I'm still working on the rune for that, but it's coming along and Derek is a very good test subject. Yesterday he walked right by my dad and plucked the beer out of his hand without dad seeing him coming. It was hilarious."
"I'm guessing that's not something you'll sell to whoever," Boyd murmured. "Could be dangerous."
"Yeah, no, we're not stupid. All our public stuff got a failsafe, too, so people who're trying to attack us can't use it against us." Stiles grimaced. "That'd be really, really bad."
"But do you know what could be really good?" Erica leaned forward excitedly. "Using a good luck card for this court thing. That's not too unethical, right?"
"Not in my opinion," Isaac growled. He turned his glowing eyes on Stiles. "You'll use a fucking good luck card. You'll need any help you can get against McCall's fucking hangdog expression."
"Yessir," Stiles said quickly, not so subtly prodded by Lou's restless wandering and Derek's expectantly raised eyebrows.
"And you'll tell us everything, once it is over," Erica continued. "I need to know that the teen psycho's gonna be put behind bars."
"That's not really in my power to ensure, but I'll do my best," Stiles said, tapping his foot against hers. "Thanks for still wanting to be our friend, Catwoman. We appreciate it." He nodded at Boyd. "You too, I guess, since you haven't run for the hills yet."
"I am in the hills already," Boyd retorted. "Wouldn't make much sense to run."
oOo
On Thursday morning, Stiles was nervous. His friends' text messages were helping a little to get him through his shower and the dressing part of the morning, but actually having breakfast proved to be impossible. Thankfully, Derek was much more level-headed than him and simply pressed a coffee concoction consisting of equal parts decaf, hot chocolate, cream, butter, and a scoop of protein powder into his sweaty hands.
"This abomination has no business smelling so good," the sheriff muttered as he entered the kitchen and nodded when Derek made a questioning noise. "Yeah, yeah, make me one, too. Thanks." He focused on Stiles. "We'll get through this, kiddo. Take a few deep breaths. Whittemore will do all the heavy lifting."
"I know," Stiles whined. "It's just … it's Scott. Like, I can't believe that my best friend for a decade is likely sentenced to jail time today. Even if I sort of hate him."
"It's terrible," his father agreed softly. He patted Stiles' shoulder. "You're strong, you'll deal with it in time."
They all nursed their drinks until it was time to leave. Since none of them had anywhere else to be after the adjudication, they carpooled in the sheriff's cruiser and were silent all the way to the court building. Lou was so restless that he bled over to Derek's hand where it was circling Stiles' wrist. In response, Derek's eyes flickered between blue and hazel, but otherwise the werewolf wasn't bothered.
As they entered the foyer of the building, Stiles stopped and let out a gusty sigh. "Oh."
From across the room, Peter, all dressed up in a dark suit and crisp, white shirt, smiled at him.
"Judge O'Neill decided to call him in, in case she needs clarification for anything Scott or Clark might say," Stiles' father explained.
Stiles felt a huge knot of tension release inside of him and without consciously thinking about it he crossed the foyer and pulled Peter into a tight embrace without hesitation.
"Mmh, what a nice hello," Peter rumbled, returning the hug. Discreetly, he snuffled along Stiles' neck. "You're troubled."
"Not anymore," Stiles murmured. "Can you sit with us, or will you be called in when the judge wants you to answer questions?"
"I lobbied for sitting with you, to which The Failure's lawyer argued that my continuous presence might unsettle his client unduly," Peter replied dryly. "Fortunately, Judge O'Neill didn't have time for his nonsense and shot him down. I do have to keep my mouth shut unless asked a direct question by her."
Stiles snorted. "Unsettle away any way you can, Creeper Wolf. I have a bet to win."
"Ah, yes, the bet." Peter let go and smiled toothily at Mr. Whittemore. "I hope I'll be invited along to that lunch, David?"
Whittemore smirked back. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you out. Your presence in my life has certainly spiced things up."
"A bit too much, if you ask me," Stiles' father said as he and Derek joined the little group. "Just wait until you learn the gritty details."
"I know enough at this point," Mr. Whittemore returned, never losing his wry smile. "I know that you know me as something of a hardass from my time as prosecutor, John, but I can be … flexible when formerly unknown facts come to my attention."
"That's a slippery slope to get on," the sheriff warned, frowning a little.
Whittemore nodded. "It can be, but it isn't in this case." He glanced around to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear. "Scott McCall might have acted out due to his … then-status, but he was warned off multiple times and told that what he was doing was a recipe for disaster. What's more, he used the advantages of that status to hurt not one but two people for his own gain who did not have those advantages."
"It could be argued that Scott had a reason," Derek murmured, shifting a little uncomfortably next to Stiles. "He was desperate to return to his old self and therefore didn't believe in those warnings."
"So are thousands of people every day," Whittemore returned patiently. "Drug addicts are desperate for money for their next fix despite knowing that their addiction will eventually kill them; gang members are desperate to defend their territory despite knowing full well that they might land in prison, or worse, in a coffin; some husbands are desperate to make their wives obey despite knowing that violence is hardly the way to go if one wants to inspire love and loyalty. Their desperation is not an acceptable reason to steal, kill, and torment. To me, McCall is just another delinquent who chose to use potentially deadly force against people who were like family to him when there were many opportunities available to deal with his problem."
"Because Scott was blinded by pu … er, Allison and her family." Stiles flushed under his father's reproachful look. "Sorry, but it's true. He didn't listen to anyone but her family. It was pathetic."
"Maybe don't tell it like that in front of the judge, mmh?" Peter said. "There's no need to feather The Failure's little insanity plea nest further."
"Nope, no feathering," Stiles agreed hastily. He burrowed his face in his hands. "Oh my god, I'll ruin it. My motor mouth will be our downfall."
"Remember the card," Derek said quietly. "Use it once we're inside the courtroom."
Gratefully, Stiles looked at him. "I will."
The loudspeakers in the foyer activated and a voice called out their names and a room number.
"That's us," Mr. Whittemore said, straightening his suit jacket and brushing over his sleeve. "Showtime."
End of chapter 54
Note: I might have one more chapter in me before I really have to start my NaNo prep (re-reading the first part of my series and getting back in the groove, mainly; thankfully I've plotted out the most important points a year or so ago). But, no promises.
