Chapter 65
There were quite a few ideas on how to break the news to Jackson but it quickly became clear that most of them were more or less unusable due to Jackson's temperament and the general volatility of the situation.
Isaac's, "Let's just tell him, he'll deal," was surprisingly shot down by an appalled Erica, and Boyd's suggestion to tell Lydia and let her deal with it seemed like a recipe for disaster to Stiles. John was in favour of letting Jackson's father explain the situation, but that was immediately rejected by Mr Whittemore, who felt completely unequal to revealing such an important piece of knowledge to his already fragile kid.
Derek hadn't offered an opinion at all, refusing to add fuel to the fire, and Peter held himself back until the others had talked themselves out. Only when pressed by an impatient Isaac, long after every speck of dessert had been devoured, did he finally make a statement.
"As Stiles bonded with him and is acting as Jackson's alpha, the safest course of action would be to let Stiles handle it," Peter said evenly like it should have been clear from the get-go, eyes on Stiles' sputtering father and protesting friends. "And yes, I know that it is somewhat unfair to place this burden on Stiles' shoulders, but think about it for a moment. On a subconscious level Jackson trusts Stiles, or else he wouldn't have sought him out in his other form."
"But … but what if Jackson lashes out? Now that we know what he is, he could," Erica asked, tightly gripping Stiles' hand. "We can't let Stiles do it alone."
"And no one said he has to," Peter assured her. He turned to Stiles. "Of course you can say no. I won't pressure you into it if you feel you cannot do it."
"Are you serious?" Stiles asked and rolled his eyes. "I've been the bearer of uncomfortable truths for ages for the guy, of course I can do it. The question is still how. And Peter … I think Jackson is a prime example of why pack negotiations are necessary. With his skills, we need to make absolutely sure that he's on board with it. I won't use him as a mindless attack dog."
"If I may," Whittemore said quietly. "Peter explained the concept of pack negotiations and contracts to me and I whole-heartedly approve. I will represent my son, of course."
Peter smirked. "I'm looking forward to a good battle of wills, David."
Whittemore's laugh was a little strained, but he did laugh, and gladly. "God, I can't believe that this is going to be my life."
"It's not just one shitfest after another," Stiles said. "We do a lot of really cool stuff, too. If Jackson wants, he can be a part of it. If not, we'll find a way to make it work, too. We're pretty flexible."
"How can you make it work if he decides he doesn't want to be in your pack?" Mr Whittemore asked. "If he doesn't want you, he'd have to accept Peter, isn't that so?"
"He'd probably have to accept someone, being a kanima and all," Stiles admitted. "But I have no idea what to do if Jackson rejects both of us."
"We'd have to find him a master or an alpha he can live with," Peter said like it wouldn't be a huge inconvenience. "That would mean relocation, something that thankfully isn't as bad as it would've been were Jackson several years younger than he is now."
"And yet it is out of the question," Mr Whittemore said immediately. "No, really, I won't allow it." He looked at Stiles, his expression firm. "Whatever you need to convince my kid that everything will work out fine, you've got it. I'll be damned if his turning ruins his life."
"Okay," Stiles said after a long, heavy pause. He looked at his friends. "Operation Tell Jackson That He's A Murderous Lizard Without Causing An International Incident is a go."
oOo
It was hard work, juggling the frantic search for a way to deflect the alphabet soup's considerable attention away from Beacon Hills, introducing a traumatized douchebag teenager to his scaly alter ego and producing sufficient stock for a modest online business.
"I didn't know being part of a pack would be so adventurous," Erica sighed, raking a hand through her already tangled curls and throwing down her pencil in frustration. "Two days and we still haven't found a solution to the interrogation room dilemma. I'm beginning to feel useless."
Stiles rubbed his stinging eyes. "I know how you feel, Catwoman. At least I'm having some success in developing a strategy for handling Jackson. Unfortunately, I don't know him as well as I'd like. I'll probably have to wing it after all."
Derek placed a tall glass of lemonade next to Stiles' writing pad. "You're pretty good at that."
"Thanks, Sourwolf," Stiles murmured and gratefully ran a hand over Derek's arm. Derek rubbed his shoulder in return and meandered back to the desk reserved for filling orders. "Can I see the list of my funky magic skills again?"
Isaac handed it over without looking up from his drawing. "I haven't added anything new, though."
"I know." Stiles placed it on the table and smoothed the slightly crumpled edges. Then he turned it by ninety degrees. At Boyd's raised eyebrow, he explained, "Sherlock Holmes says that changing one's perspective of a problem might bring forth new insights."
Sadly, turning the page like this did not offer any new insights, and neither did turning it completely upside down.
"What about a murder board?" Erica asked. "We can print out pictures of all your stuff and pin notes next to them. Maybe having visuals will help."
Stiles leaned back with an annoyed sigh. "Sure, why not. I got nothing. My brain is literally empty. And melting, because it's fucking hot outside."
It was a testament to just how frustrated they all were when even Derek abandoned the packing of his latest package and helped with the printing of pictures and the writing of memo cards.
Not even fifteen minutes later, the large corkboard was covered in colourful prints and cards and the five of them stepped back to admire it.
"You get anything?" Erica wanted to know, tilting her head a little. "Besides a certain sense of accomplishment?"
"Nope," Boyd said dryly.
Isaac also answered in the negative, already done with it all and ready to go back to his drawing.
"What if …" Derek began slowly, stopping when everyone's head turned to look at him. He huffed. "What if Stiles asked Jackson to do the painting? It's not viable all over the country, but kanimas are very good at sneaking up to their victims, so why not use that for breaking into at least some buildings in the area? We already know that he'd paint the runes just like Stiles needs them to be painted. He couldn't do anything else even if he tried."
Stiles pondered this. "Not a bad idea, although it's not perfect. Police departments have a shitload of surveillance and security measures so we'd have to bring someone in to deal with the cameras and electronic locks. That'd catch someone's attention sooner or later, not to mention take Jackson away from home for hours, if not days, and we can't rule out dash cams or smartphone cameras from accidental witnesses. If we don't want the authorities to find out about us, we definitely don't want to out us to a moron with a youtube channel."
Erica sighed. "When did you get so adult-like, Batman? It's kind of off-putting."
"Oh, believe me, I'd love to do all that cloak and dagger stuff," Stiles replied with feeling. "But Jackson's not exactly a fluffy bunny. If someone sees him, they'd probably try to hurt him, or worse. They would fail because hello, murder lizard, but do you really want to risk having Jackson defend himself? His dad would never forgive us and I try not to be that kind of asshole."
"So far there's nothing he'd be good for," Isaac muttered. "He might be able to fight, now, but it seems like we won't need him to. The alphas are gone."
"For now," said Boyd ominously.
"I don't think that they'll stay gone," Derek agreed quietly. "You saw how Deucalion reacted to Stiles' display of power, Isaac. Even if we'd managed to kill Kali by ourselves, her loss would still drive him to seek revenge."
"I'm with Isaac, to be honest, although not because Jackson is useless," Stiles said into the tense silence. "It's more like Jackson's dad won't allow for much, not as long as Jackson's underage, but that's fine. We need morals and strict guidelines so we'll always have a touchstone."
"Even if Jackson could probably take all of the alphas out in one night?" Boyd asked evenly.
Stiles appreciated Boyd's lack of judgement; the teen seemed honestly curious and maybe a little calculating. He took a deep breath in preparation for some ugly home truths. "If Jackson were down for it? Yeah, you bet I'd be all over that. Those douchebags tried to kill us, I'm not gonna forgive that shit. But we can't expect someone who suffers from amnesia to do our dirty work."
"Peter wouldn't be so moral," Boyd stated.
Stiles returned the large boy's steady gaze with his own. "No, he probably wouldn't be. Not with this kind of threat around. But Jackson is mine and that makes all the difference."
Boyd inclined his head, conceding the point, and they all returned to the table to begin working on some projects to give their minds a chance to cool down.
oOo
"How are you?" Stiles asked the next morning, accepting a freshly brewed latte macchiato from Jackson. After a couple of weeks of visiting him at home in the morning, it had become routine. "Is the shoulder giving you any more trouble?"
Jackson sat down at the kitchen table and rolled said shoulder. "It was still a little achy last night, but this morning I was finally pain-free." He looked up from his coffee and measured Stiles with a look. "Your magic cards are something else. I'm as good as new. I …" He looked towards the office where his mother had gone to work before turning back and lowering his voice. "I cut myself last night. Just a little, with my razor. Then I used a healing card. This morning the cut was completely gone. I think you repaired everything I've ever injured. I feel fantastic."
Stiles took a sip from his coffee to hide his smug grin. "You're welcome."
"Yeah, yeah, don't get a big head." Jackson threw a croissant onto Stiles' plate. "So what's new with your gang?"
"You really want to know?" Stiles asked, snagging the pastry and slathering it with herbed goat cream cheese. It was the good stuff so no way was Stiles going to pass it up. "I thought you'd want to take a huge step back after that shit show."
Jackson fiddled with his cup and lowered his eyes again. "Maybe, but Danny wants in. God knows why."
Stiles decided that he'd never get a better chance at sounding the guy out. "So you jump if Danny does?" he needled.
"Dude's crazy," Jackson huffed. "And maybe he's hiding something. There's been that feeling for a while now." He ripped up his own croissant and scowled. "But no. It's not just for him. Lydia seems to be really interested in her lore, or whatever you wanna call it. All she does is read when she's not with you."
"So because Lydia won't turn her back, you feel duty-bound to learn enough to get by?" Stiles asked. At Jackson's rather pinched look, Stiles tapped his foot against the other boy's. "It's okay if that's the case. But you can also be more than just someone who accidentally hangs out with weird werepeople."
"Can I?" Jackson asked bitterly. "We aren't friends, Stilinski. The bite changes nothing, except it fucked me up even more than I already was."
"Uhm, that's not true," Stiles replied, popping a bit of his pastry into his mouth. "I'm pretty sure we're stuck with each other now. We're trauma buddies at the very least, and you haven't been a raging asshole for months now, just a regular one. I and the others are assholes too, most of the time, and believe me, none of them is afraid to kick your ass. Not even Erica." He paused and reconsidered. "Especially not Erica."
"I'll believe it when I see it," Jackson scoffed, but he still looked subdued. "Can I ask you … when Lyds went through the whole bite rejection thing …"
Stiles leaned forward. "Yeah?"
"She was losing time, sometimes, and went out into the preserve once …"
A chill went down Stiles' spine, which made Lou wander restlessly over his body. "Yeah, that happened. Why? Did that happen to you as well?"
Jackson's blue, frightened eyes sought out Stiles and he bit his lip. "I think so. I mean, it could be nothing but there were a couple of nights when I'd wake up without, uh, anything on, when I went to bed in boxer shorts."
"You could have lost them while you were asleep." Stiles grinned self-deprecatingly. "You'll never believe the shenanigans I get up to. Once I woke up in the bathtub with my dad's stolen blankets and half the contents of the laundry basket for a pillow. He still has the pictures to prove it."
"Hilarious," Jackson dead-panned, although he was visibly amused. All too soon, however, his face fell again and he took a breath. "And I checked, of course. My clothes were gone, both nights. I found one pair in a hedge in our garden a couple of days later, but the other is just … gone."
"Fuck," Stiles sighed. "Okay, that's legit scary, and I really don't wanna ruin your day or anything, but I gotta tell you that I know what's going on and I need to tell you ASAP, but I don't know how to do it without giving you fits."
"What?" Jackson's mouth dropped open.
"Yeah, I know, so not how I wanted to ease you into it," Stiles lamented with a flail. "I told Peter I wasn't cut out for slow and easy."
"You could just tell me," Jackson said, sitting very still.
"I really can not," Stiles shot back. "What I'm gonna tell you is pretty sucky, so I'm not making it any suckier than it has to be by just blurting it out."
"You do know that you're stressing me out, yeah?" Jackson asked sharply, but his tone was also dry and his shoulders didn't tense as much as they could have. "Whatever it is, just tell me."
"Nope," Stiles retorted stubbornly. "I've already decided to make it a game for you. Nothing mean, I promise, but it'll keep you busy." He grinned. "And until you're ready for the full monty, you're welcome to spend time with us. You already know where my workshop is. Most mornings we're there for a few hours, making stuff for my shop, but there's also still the prize money for a solution to my FBI problem. Maybe you'll be the one to come up with something."
"I've got lacrosse," Jackson said automatically. "And fuck you. If it's about me, just tell me! I can deal."
"I'm pretty sure you can't, which is the whole reason I'm trying to treat you with kid gloves. But of course, you have every right to know," Stiles returned. "And you will. You will, Jackson, you have my word. But from one trauma buddy to another, believe me when I say that you might not want to get slapped in the face with this."
"If you won't tell me, I'll just ask one of the others," Jackson threatened. He got up swiftly and made to leave the house.
"Sit back down," Stiles ordered, barely raising his voice, but in his exasperation, a certain something rang in it.
To both his and Jackson's surprise, Jackson stopped dead in his tracks and sat back down with alacrity.
"What," Jackson asked, bewildered and freaked out when he had trouble losing his very straight posture or moving his hands from where they were resting palm down on the tabletop.
Stiles was freaking out too.
"Stiles!"
"I know, I know. Sorry, must be my magic mojo," Stiles said a little hoarsely. He relaxed a little, which seemed to be all Jackson needed to slump in his chair as well. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm aware that you have no real reason to trust me, but I'm gonna ask you to trust me anyway."
"How can I?" Jackson demanded, wary and unhappy. "You just … mojo-ed me!"
His pissed-off exclamation startled a laugh from Stiles. "I did, didn't I? Oh man, that'd be gold if it weren't so shitty."
"Tell me! I'm not gonna ask again, Stiles!"
The door to Jackson's mother's office opened and the woman appeared in the doorway. "What have I told you about fighting this early in the morning?" she asked, scowling at them both.
"Sorry, mom," Jackson said grudgingly.
"Sorry, ma'am," Stiles offered. "Just a spirited discussion, honest."
She gave them both a gimlet stare. "If I have to come out again, there'll be consequences, boys. Now eat your breakfast and keep the yelling down. Thank you."
She vanished and closed the door with a snappy little click that had both teens shuddering in terror.
"You will tell me," Jackson stated. "No fucking with my head, no unnecessary waiting."
"I promise," Stiles replied. "Cross my heart. I'd swear on my magic, but I've never done that before and there's too much stuff to do to risk losing it. Maybe next time."
Jackson huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "There'd better not be a next time."
"I definitely can't promise that."
oOo
That night, Stiles willingly and knowingly broke the rule about Peter visiting him when he was alone at home and invited the werewolf over.
"Teenage rebellion was much more deserving of the name in my time," Peter said as he shimmied in through the window. "What's wrong?"
Stiles stared at him, yet again astounded that Peter would come over, no questions asked.
Well, he usually asked questions after he'd made an appearance, but the point stood. When Stiles hollered, he came.
"Cat got your tongue?" Peter smirked. "Because it sure wasn't the big bad wolf."
"Shut it," Stiles grumbled, relaxing a little at the familiar banter. "I just … I don't know. Dealing with Jackson is hard. Finding a solution to the interrogation issue is also hard."
"Is this a cuddle call? And you called me, not Derek?" Peter asked, his initial slight alarm replaced with delight.
Stiles sighed. "I guess so? I'm just … wrung out. I feel useless. Derek already got hit with all my angst, the poor dude doesn't need any more of that. I told him to do something fun with Isaac for a change."
"Hmm, I'm not mad about it." Peter yet again showed off his excellent managing skills by stepping up to where Stiles was fidgeting unhappily and reeling him in for a long, tight embrace. It wasn't as intense as their last one, but it was warm and reassuring and god the man smelled divine.
What felt like a quarter-hour later but probably only was a minute or two, Peter steered the teen to the bed and shoved him on it.
"Make yourself comfortable and pick a movie. I'll be back with snacks and drinks," he ordered. "Existentialist crises demand nothing less than booze and comfort food."
"And cuddles," Stiles added hopefully.
Peter's intrigued smile got a little sharper. "Definitely cuddles."
Despite his teasing, he was back soon with a tablet full of sandwiches and the carafe of lemony iced tea Stiles had made the night before. To Stiles' utter surprise, he also brought two beers, although they were grapefruit mixes, not the real deal.
"I hope Iron Man's okay," Stiles said, moving only the barest bit to make room for the werewolf.
"It's fine, I haven't gotten around to watching it yet." Peter set the tablet on Stiles' lap and settled down afterwards. "I'm quite looking forward to it, actually."
Stiles smirked at him. "It's the goatee, isn't it? You and RDJ both wear it so well."
Not the least bit ashamed, Peter replied, "What's a hero without a little bit of villain to them? Tony Stark could take over the world by various means and he knows it, but he chooses not to." He shrugged. "Comparisons could be drawn."
"You know," Stiles said as he pressed the play button on his remote control, "I've always wondered what people want with excess amounts of money. Like, they get big houses and go on great vacations, but the rest of their wealth is just, I dunno, collecting dust."
"And interest," Peter chuckled when Stiles elbowed him. "I know what you mean. We're far from comic book levels of personal wealth, though, so don't worry about economic inequality too much. At the clip we're going, we'll be able to offer the supernatural community some pro bono aid soon enough."
"You say that like it's a done deal," Stiles said, surprised. "I get the trading and the offering of little things like healing cards for cheap, but for free?"
"The Hale pack was a big believer in giving back to the community." Peter took a sandwich from the platter and took a bite. "I told you before that goodwill is its own kind of currency in our world. Giving away small favours might well mean the difference between a bad scare and devastation one day. We can afford it, we're just lacking in the time department right now."
Stiles could get behind that. In fact, it was scary how much sense this made, and also how much he wanted to see whether they could pull it off.
On-screen, Tony Stark's caravan was blown up and the poor guy woke up in a dim cave with a make-shift reactor in his chest.
As the billionaire was struggling to make sense of his new circumstances, Peter finished off his sandwich, snagged a bottle of beer for himself, and as easy as you please held out his arm for Stiles to snuggle into.
"Now that you've calmed down a little, tell me why you're feeling useless because last I checked we did rather well on the defence of the territory front," he murmured.
"I guess I was being spoiled until now," Stiles sighed, sinking into Peter's warm side. "I mean, not that any of the bad stuff was easy or anything, it's just … until now doing magic things was sort of fun."
"And it isn't anymore?" Peter questioned lightly.
"Yes, but also no. Because we're all stumped right now. We don't know how to get my runes into every legit interrogation room on the continent without giving us away, and I also only have a rudimentary plan for dealing with Jackson without short-circuiting his brain for good." Huffing, Stiles took a swig from his bottle. "I swear, dealing with murderous alphas is almost easy, compared to that."
"I see how you might come to that conclusion," Peter rumbled. He leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Stiles' temple, mussing up his hair a little in the process. "What is your starting point with Jackson?"
Stiles grimaced. "I told him that I'd make it a game for him, so he can sort of grow into learning what he is. Don't laugh, but I'm also hoping to sort of train him to achieve consciousness while he's turned."
Peter was silent for a long moment. "You what?"
"Well, the kanima is essentially another personality, right?" Stiles asked. "Like Dr Banner and the Hulk?"
"I can honestly say that I've never thought about it long enough to come to that conclusion," Peter admitted. He turned a little so he could look at Stiles without having to turn his head so far. "Do you feel that it could work?"
"That's what I'm hung up on." Stiles raked his free hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I thought about leaving clues and having him do little errands that carry over from one existence to the other. See if he catches on and realizes that something's going on. Plus, integrating him in the pack without all of that, because dude's of the opinion that he has to follow Lydia and Danny into it, even if he doesn't really want to. He's super aware that we're not friends, but he also doesn't see how that can change."
"It's rather a tall order with your history," Peter remarked, thoughtful.
Nodding, Stiles fiddled with his bottle. "There's more. I, uh, I got the idea when I sort of ordered Jackson to sit back down when he wanted to storm off."
"I take it he followed that order?" Peter asked.
"Like the world's best-trained dog, I swear." Stiles exhaled. "It was horrifying. But there you have it. One very obedient and very aware human douchebag makes me hope that I can pull it off."
Peter nuzzled Stiles' temple, his soft breath cooling Stiles' warm skin. "In that case, I say do it. I'll help you come up with games to play with the kanima as needed and do my best to make him feel welcome in the meantime. Giving him a place with us can only help him find an identity that satisfies him."
"Thank you." Stiles leaned into the soft caress, the tension leaving his whole body. "How ironic is it that I asked never to turn Jackson, and now we're saddled with him anyway?"
"Very," Peter chuckled. "But I'm glad that you're resigned to it and willing to help out. That he's so dangerous is even in our favour; right now it might be prudent to give him an order to protect his parents against the alpha pack and anyone they might send. Even if Jackson were aware, I'm sure that he would have no issue with that task."
"Yeah, of course. Good idea. Uhm, Mr Whittemore mentioned telling his wife … can I leave that to you?"
Peter smirked. "Yes, you can leave that to David and me. However, may I ask for your PowerPoint presentation? Zia might also demand a demonstration of your powers, but that shouldn't be a problem, as often as you're at their house."
Stiles rolled his eyes. "With my rotten luck, she'll have me perform tricks for my coffee. Like a circus monkey or something."
"What, like juggling spoons with your mountain ash?" Peter asked, amused. "She's more the type to make you do her filing, and do it well."
Stiles jolted. "That's it!" he cried. He scrambled up to his knees and grabbed Peter's head with both hands. "You, Creeper Wolf, have just found my solution!" In a fit of giddiness, he bent over and smacked a loud kiss onto Peter's forehead. "I need to call Isaac."
With that, he nearly fell face-first off the bed as he dove for his phone. Only Peter's firm grip on his ankle prevented him from a nasty tumble, and when he tried to leave the room for his talk the werewolf merely rolled his eyes and dragged him back against his side.
Huh, Stiles thought, a dull flush heating his cheeks, seems like he's not the type to cut a cuddle call short. Who would've thought?
And well, Stiles was nothing if not adaptable … or on board with this.
End of chapter 65
