I don't say it often enough, but your comments really brighten up my day. Thank you so much for taking the time to let me know what you think about the story, which parts amused or enraged or moved you. I hope that I'll be able to continue to entertain you so well!

Warning for this chapter: Talk of mental health issues, a panic attack, and generally difficult times for everyone involved. Please tread carefully. *hugs*

Chapter 69

During the following week, Mr Whittemore brought information about Scott. Some of it was par for the course, but some of it was definitely unwelcome.

"I don't understand how Scott is even allowed to send letters to us if there's a restraining order," Stiles scowled. The day had started so well with a great breakfast and an hour of Call of Duty with Isaac, and now his mood was shot to all hell.

Whittemore sighed. "Well, someone in the prison is a soft-hearted moron. They're already being under review so there shouldn't be any more letters, but these three made it through."

The sheriff, who had driven home when Jackson's father had announced his visit, frowned. "I don't like how easily people fall for Scott's puppy dog face. I'm not sorry that the person responsible for slipping you the letters will probably get put on probation, if not fired."

"You shouldn't be. Those regulations exist for a reason," Mr Whittemore said calmly. "To avoid a conflict of interest I thought I'd bring you copies of the letters, in case you're interested in what the boy has to say, but I'll keep the originals and lodge a complaint with the district attorney and the judge. Officially you never saw them."

"Can't we just throw them into a fire?" Stiles asked angrily.

"You probably shouldn't, if only to get a picture of McCall's mental state." Whittemore pulled a slim sheaf of paper from his briefcase and slid the papers over the kitchen table. "I took the liberty of forwarding another copy to Peter since McCall nearly managed to get him killed. It's interesting reading."

"That's a-okay with me," Stiles said. "Now that you've reminded me what a murderous little shit Scott is, why is he allowed to get out for therapy and work again?"

By his side, Isaac was nodding empathically.

Mr Whittemore grimaced. "I know, it's a travesty. But this brings me to the marginally more palatable part of this meeting; Mr McCall's therapist has her practice at the very opposite border of the city. Her name is Marin Morrell and she's just set up her practice. McCall is one of her first patients. I've made an appointment with her to talk in detail about the restraining order and get a feel for her. I'll keep you all informed."

"Thank you, David. We appreciate it," the sheriff murmured. "Was that all?"

"Not exactly. I wanted to thank you again for the barbeque. It was good meeting the parents and guardians of my son's circle of friends." Whittemore smiled briefly at Stiles and Isaac. "I wasn't sure you could pull it off, but Jackson had a good time as well. He seems relaxed, at least far more relaxed than I expected him to be after that horrible attack."

"And we're glad that he's willing to go along with Stiles' plan," Stiles' father said. "We're all very aware of how it must grate to not know about yourself like that. At least we have it on good authority that Jackson's other half is on board with it. He'll help as much as he can, or at least that's what Stiles told me."

"He's pretty great," Stiles added and motioned for Isaac to turn on the digicam they used for stuff they didn't want to get hacked. "Remember how Peter told us that kanimas lack a personality? Well, I'm not sure that's true for this guy. He seems like he knows what he wants. Look, those are pictures from last night. I introduced Isaac to Scalyboy and had them play catch with a lacrosse ball for a while. It's not much and I think they both humoured me there, but it was a good first bonding exercise."

Mr Whittemore took the camera and flipped through the pictures. When he found the video, his breath caught. "Oh my god."

"It's different seeing him up close and in motion, isn't it?" the sheriff asked gently.

Whittemore could only nod, a stricken look on his pale features.

"He's still your son, Dave," Stiles' father reminded the man quietly. "Scalyboy - you really need to find a better name than that, kids - agreed to protect your family and he agreed to merge with Jackson as soon as it is possible to do so. Once that's done, he'll be just like Isaac or the Hales."

"In my head, I know that," Mr Whittemore whispered. He swallowed and his mouth tightened. "It's just … difficult. Seeing what the attack made of him."

Stiles cleared his throat. "It's been bad, I'm not gonna lie, but in a way, it also helped? I mean, without this whole supernatural stuff Jackson would probably still be a miserable douchebag. He wouldn't go to therapy and he wouldn't actively try to find more friends, which sort of is all to the good."

"Yeah, he's almost been decent lately," Isaac went on. "The price was maybe too high, but if he's gonna have to live with it, he can at least make the most of it, right?"

"I understand the sentiment. I do. It's just such a violation," Mr Whittemore sighed. "Seeing with my own two eyes what that attack made of my kid is horrifying. If it wouldn't get me killed, I'd love to take a sawed-off shotgun to the bastard who did it."

"I know the sentiment," the sheriff muttered. He patted Whittemore's back. "I'd leave that to the experts, though. There's less drama and less chance of prosecution that way."

"I bet you never thought you'd say those words," Whittemore chuckled weakly. "Jesus Christ." He played the short video again. "At least his … other form? Other half?"

"I call him Jackson's better half," Stiles teased.

Grateful for the attempt at levity, Mr Whittemore nodded. "His better half looks content in your presence. If he thinks that he and Jackson can coexist and have a happy life together, I'll do everything I can to support them."

"You already did," Isaac said. "You literally don't have to do anything differently. Just be there for him. Mrs Whittemore too, once she's read in."

"It'll probably happen this weekend," Whittemore admitted. "Peter made her curious already, and Zia isn't stupid. She definitely knows that something is going on." He offered Stiles a half-smile. "I'm actually looking forward to your presentation again, but it's probably for the best that Peter gives it. Zia can be a dragon where the family is concerned."

"Peter can answer the hard questions," Stiles agreed without shame. "But, uh, if she needs additional info, I'm on hand, okay? Me being Scalyboy's alpha might be … difficult for her to understand."

"Thank you," Mr Whittemore said. He handed the camera back, although he looked a little wistful. "Don't take it the wrong way, but dealing with Peter and your family has made my life into a rollercoaster."

"Yep, mine too," John said dryly. "But I'm in for the ride. So far, the kids and Hale have done a good job, considering what they had to work with."

Whittemore's pale eyes glanced at Stiles. "Agreed. Werewolves are one thing, but magic quite another. I hope we get to see what life is like when no one's out to kill us."

Isaac shrugged, always the pragmatic one. "We'd still have a lot of work to do, but all the interesting stuff will make up for it."

"At least we're pretty sure it will," Stiles said thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should quit while you're ahead," the sheriff suggested.

That made Mr Whittemore laugh. "Oh, they're alright, John." He nodded at the teens. "Thanks for having me, and including me in Jackson's … I guess we'll have to call it a journey or something like that? Anyway, I appreciate getting updates. Please don't stop, okay?"

"Of course not, you're his dad," Stiles answered easily. "We can only do it in person for security reasons, but that's another opportunity for bonding so it isn't too bad. Uh, I hope. Sir."

"No, it's fine," Jackson's father assured him with a faint smile. He stood. "I have to go back to the office now, but you all have my number and my email address. If you need anything, just holler."

"Will do," the sheriff promised. To Stiles and Isaac, he said, "You have a look at those letters and don't go anywhere without Derek. Those Lobos Locos have concrete plans to nab you and I don't want to give them the chance."

"Alright," Stiles said and gave him a thumbs-up. "Should I bring lunch to the station later or are you gonna head out?"

"Bring it, I know that Peter made scallops with porcini cream sauce. No way am I going to miss out on that."

"Oh my god, really? I love that dish," Mr Whittemore said, sombre mood all but forgotten. "Would there be enough for two?"

"Sure, Stiles can deliver it to your office. Around one sound good?"

The two men left and Isaac wasted no time placing the first page of the first letter in front of himself and Stiles.

June 21, 2011

Hello Stiles,

How are you? I hope you're okay again after you got hurt, but you should be, right? It's been two months now. I'm still sort of confused about that since healing was so much faster when I still was a werewolf.

At this, Stiles already had to stop and take a deep breath to quell his anger.

"Wow, he's just putting it out there," Isaac said, shaking his head. "He does know that his mail is being screened?"

"His dad is a fucking FBI agent, he does know. They likely told him when they collected his letter, too," Stiles replied, barely holding on to his civility.

Isaac leaned against him and together they forced themselves to read on.

I guess I only realized what the bite gave me when you took my wolf away. Which was pretty rough, to be honest. It hurt, Stiles. Why did you have to do that? I understand that you were worried for your dad, but if you could use mountain ash why couldn't you just put a circle around me or something? Now I'm having trouble breathing again and mom went nuclear on me for getting myself into this mess.

Isaac ground his teeth. "What an asshole."

Don't get me wrong, I know I fucked up. And I know that I wanted to be normal again, but I didn't know how sucky normal was. You understand that, don't you? Do you still have my wolf? Can we talk? Mom said that you got a restraining order, but that's for normal stuff, right? This is about really important stuff. Even if I've got to stay in prison, I need my wolf back. Mom says I might die from asthma if I'm not careful because the available medicine isn't as good as what I used to have, and the prison people won't change their laundry detergents and other chemicals just for me. They say it's already intended for allergic people so I'll have to suck it up.

But I can't suck it up. It's terrible here. Please write back and say that you'll come and talk.

-Scott

"What the actual fuck?" Isaac said into the stunned silence.

Stiles, who'd been so angry just seconds before, just couldn't find the energy to explode as he'd initially wanted to. "Yeah, welcome to Scotty's world. There, everything is forgotten as soon as he needs something." He slowly went over the letter again but the words didn't change, no matter how much he wanted them to. Not even his will and his magic could make Scott's self-absorbed rambling any better. "I'm a moron for never noticing before he got bitten."

"Yeah, it's almost like all of Peter's pent-up douchebaggery got transferred to McCall with the bite," Isaac sneered. He shoved the two sloppily written pages away and placed the next letter before them. "I've half a mind of questioning him if that's possible, but Lou is such a doofus that it must be all McCall."

Stiles smiled, relieved. "Lou's glad you think so. He hated Scott a lot towards the end."

July 8th

Stiles,

You haven't written or called even though Warden Cornfoot promised to post my letter. Are you alright? Is Mr Whittemore giving you a hard time over the restraining order? He's such a hardass, no wonder Jackson's such a douche, right? Anyway, I'm sure you could find a way around that; you're clever! Just in case you really can't I've also asked my new lawyer to invite you for a visit. She said she'd talk to Mr Whittemore about it but I wish she'd just call your dad or something. Since he's the sheriff, that should be enough, don't you think?

Anyway, how's your summer? Are you still hanging around with Isaac? What are you doing? Please tell me you're not playing CoD with him. He's probably super bad at it, what with having never played it and all .

Also, can you tell me something that's not in the newspaper? What are you up to? Mom refuses to tell me about you or anyone else. She won't even talk to me about Allison, even though Allison hasn't done anything wrong.

I miss you, man.

-Scott

"Wow," Stiles said woodenly at the end of the, thankfully short, missive. "He not only insulted Mr Whittemore and Jackson, but he also insulted you as well and alluded to your sucky home life. I bet he wrote that utter garbage with the sweetest face, the fucking psycho."

Isaac's eyes widened and he paled. "Shit. Stiles!"

"What?" Stiles asked, alarmed.

Isaac's eyes began to glow and one of his suddenly appearing claws punctured the letter. "That's it. That's exactly what he is."

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Well, his behaviour fits the bill, doesn't it?" Isaac explained, waving a hand at the letter. "He's doing what he thinks is right, regardless of what others think about it or whether it might harm them. He also tries to gaslight you like it's going out of style, right there, and he has a seriously unhealthy obsession with Allison Argent."

"Well, she wasn't very sweet either underneath her Disney princess facade so I'd say they deserve each other," Stiles said, still shocked. With great dismay, he suddenly realized that Isaac might be right. Probably was right. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Like calls to like, isn't that the saying?"

Stiles shook his head in denial. "No way, come on. Scott was fine before he got turned!"

"Maybe all that was holding him back were his physical limitations," Isaac countered. "He's got the charisma to charm people, the tendency to obsess, the disregard for others' feelings, possessions, and safety and he's feeling superior to almost everyone else. Even worse, he looks good enough to not come across as a total creeper even at a fifth glance. Why do you think people cave to his manipulations so easily?"

"My dad just said something like that, didn't he," Stiles said breathlessly. The shock just wouldn't let go. Quite to the contrary, the icy fingers of horrified surprise crept from Stiles' stomach up to his chest and all over his back, sending Lou into a frantic search for a danger that wasn't physically present around them. "Holy shit."

Isaac watched with a pinched face as Stiles fumbled with his phone to send his father a message. "Do you think it'll make a difference?"

"I don't know," Stiles croaked. "But he'll get evaluated for that now. Now that you've said it …"

"It's sorta obvious," Isaac finished the sentence. He pushed his chair right next to Stiles' and wound his arm tightly around his shoulders. "But it's no wonder so many people never notice if someone like him lives and murders next door. I wouldn't have thought it of McCall in a million years if we weren't in the middle of his fuckedupness."

Stiles felt his breath leave him and he gasped painfully at the reminder of his dad's kidnapping.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Is that a panic attack?" Isaac asked frantically. "It is a panic attack. Fuck, fuck, please keep breathing, Stiles. Fuck."

Stiles allowed his friend to manoeuvre his head between his knees and splay his large, warm hand on his back to anchor him. As if through a fog he heard Isaac call someone. After that, it was one breath after the other until his chest didn't feel like it was being crushed by an angry minotaur anymore, and darkness welcomed him in her arms.

oOo

"You know, it's almost funny that I didn't see McCall for what he really is," Peter mused. His hand smoothly carded through Stiles' hair.

"Wha' happen'd?" Stiles asked fuzzily. "We're in bed?"

"We are," Peter confirmed. "I sent Isaac and Derek to deliver the food to your father and David after they'd escorted you to your room. You had a pretty serious panic attack over The Failure."

"Oh." Stiles groaned and sluggishly rolled himself into a ball. "Just what I needed."

Peter continued his petting of Stiles' hair and hummed. "I half wished that Lou would be able to prevent such unpleasantness from happening, but apparently he's not."

"I think he tried," Stiles murmured, fighting to make sense of the memory particles floating around his brain. "I've got images of me getting up the stairs but I know for a fact I blacked out in the kitchen."

"He did well," Peter praised. "As did one of your healing cards. All your organs function normally and you're not sending out any more chemical stress signals."

"What about Scott?" Stiles asked. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the soothing touch.

"That's not something we can do anything about, unfortunately," Peter replied after some hesitation. "Isaac and Derek alerted your father and begged him to hold off until they'd double-checked the markers for psychopathy, but their five-minute internet binge only confirmed their suspicion. Your father then informed David, naturally, and he informed the judge. Ms Morrell and a court-affiliated psychiatrist will both evaluate The Failure to that effect. Since a diagnosis would influence the trial, they have to."

"It'll kill Melissa," Stiles said, fighting against his tears. In his mind, Lou was whining loudly and on his skin the mountain ash was crawling along, looking for enemies.

"I hope not," Peter said soothingly. "I find that I quite like her, despite having spawned the little hellion. I blame her ex-husband, frankly."

Stiles sniffed. "Yeah, he's an asshole." He rubbed his face. "Can I have a hug?"

"Sweetheart, you can have anything you want from me," Peter rumbled. "Come here."

It should've sounded skeevy, but instead, it was a lifeline for Stiles. He fought himself upright and swung himself astride Peter's lap with a needy sound.

"Oof," Peter huffed when Stiles wound himself around his neck like an octopus and held on fast. Only a moment later the werewolf's arms closed around Stiles' torso in return and he buried his nose in the bend of Stiles' neck. "It'll be okay, Stiles. The Failure is behind bars, he won't be able to hurt you and yours again. Him exhibiting signs of psychopathy won't change that."

Stiles shuddered a little. "I can't believe how close he was to my dad for all these years."

"To be fair - and I can't believe I'm even saying this - he wasn't a threat until I happened to him," Peter murmured. "The bite opened up that can of worms and I won't ever be able to atone for that."

"You couldn't have known," Stiles argued tiredly.

"Maybe I did," Peter answered. He sniffed Stiles' skin deeply, intimately, and held on even tighter. "Isaac told me that he thought that The Failure's psychopathy might've called to Allison Argent's brand of crazy, and that might even be true. But if it's true, the same logic must be applied to me, mustn't it?"

"You were legit insane when you bit Scott," Stiles protested. "That's not the same thing!"

"Isn't it?" Peter asked. He slowly let go of Stiles and pushed him carefully away, just enough so they could look at each other. "We had that discussion already and you forgave me, but this changes things."

"It does not," Stiles said thickly. His fingers clenched in the soft fabric of Peter's stormy blue henley.

"Yes, it does," Peter insisted. "I woke up a fucking teen psycho, Stiles. You'll not change my mind."

For the first time, Stiles made his eyes grow warm and flash their new red colour. "You're not gonna be all noble and shit and leave me alone now. That's unacceptable."

"On that, we agree," Peter said, letting his own eyes glow red in response. "I've quite decided that you're stuck with me, but I do need to do penance for more than just bringing chaos to your life. The Failure is a threat to everyone now, not just us specifically. He's even a threat to himself, whether he realizes it or not."

Stiles couldn't help it, his eyes welled up with frustrated tears. "Why is this whole supernatural shtick both so great and so horrible at the same time?"

"Because it's not for the faint of heart," Peter replied softly and wiped the wetness from Stiles' eyes with his thumbs. "Rant and rage as much as you need to; that's okay. I'm your punching bag if you require one. But when that's done, we'll dust ourselves off and devise contingency plans for everything that could go wrong."

"That everything won't know what hit it," Stiles huffed and wiped away the last of his tears. "I'm so done with threats to my family and friends and I'm tired of flipping out every other week."

"You do it very charmingly," Peter assured him with a sharp smile. His hands settled on Stiles' hips, warm and full of intent, and he cocked his head. "Isaac and Derek are back. Seems like the time for being horrified is over for now."

"I'm sure we'll find some more time for that later," Stiles sighed. Reluctantly he climbed off of Peter's lap and settled into a lazy half-lotus position. "Do you know what's the worst thing about all of this?"

"No, what?" Peter asked.

"That I didn't even make it through all of the letters before losing my shit," Stiles said self-deprecatingly and earned himself an amused snort. "Does that count as an evil superpower for Scott?"

"Definitely," Peter quipped. He rose and rolled his shoulders. "I'll let David know that people need to keep an eye on The Failure even if they think they don't. It wouldn't do to have him smarm his way out of prison before he's paid for his crimes."

Stiles mouthed the word 'smarm' as he stared at Peter. "Okay. Thanks. And, uh, you know, I'll be okay with … with contingency plans for Scott. Because we both know that he won't just give up."

Peter's expression grew sort of hungry. "I'll have to reward your understanding and patience with something spectacular, sweetheart. Such consideration is far more than I deserve, and that's no hyperbole."

"We'll figure everything out," Stiles returned their long-established motto, a little subdued with emotional exhaustion and yet hopeful.

"Yes," Peter said softly, trailing a hand over Stiles' shoulder while his glowing eyes were fixed on his face. "Yes, we will."

End of chapter 69