Chapter 82

"You're ridiculous," Peter murmured with laughter in his voice when Stiles regained his equilibrium. "It was just a small cut and it healed over as soon as you stopped feeding your blood to your apparently man-eating trees."

Stiles couldn't help the noise of protest that rumbled from his throat. Then it registered that he was lying on the freshly turned earth of the new trees' bed, his head in Peter's lap. That, he liked. A lot, especially since Peter was lazily carding his fingers through his hair.

"Wha?" he asked blearily.

"Seriously," Peter insisted, "how can you possibly keep a cool head when the alpha pack attacks and flays everyone alive, but you faint-"

"In a manly way," Stiles interjected, still a little hazy.

"But you faint in a manly way," Peter went on, "when you give yourself a little cut? It doesn't compute."

"It really doesn't," Danny agreed cheerfully from his cross-legged sitting position to Stiles' right so Stiles could easily see him. His grin widened at Stiles' scowl. "I got to catch you like a Disney Princess. It was great."

Groaning, Stiles rubbed his eyes, only to jerk his hands away and stare at the palms.

"I cleaned you up after Lou healed you," Peter said soothingly. "See? Your hand is as good as new. No blood anywhere."

"The cut was deep," Stiles mumbled, ashamed. "Like, my flesh was gaping open …" He paled again and his breath hitched as panic began to claw at his insides.

"Okay, no more talking about wounds on your person, got it," Danny said hastily, placing a hand on Stiles' arm and squeezing. "It's all healed, no need to revisit it."

Stiles did his best to take deep breaths and concentrate on the canopy of the preserve's old trees above him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Peter said, a worried frown marring his face now. "I didn't know that this was a full-blown phobia of yours. I won't make fun of it again."

"It's bad enough with others, but at least I can … function through it," Stiles said hoarsely and swallowed. "Myself? Not so much."

"Maybe it'll get better in time," Danny said hopefully. "In the meantime, you can have Lou do it, can't you? You don't even really have to look."

"In a controlled environment that would probably be best," Peter agreed, still looking worried.

Steps sounded and a few moments later Isaac joined them, a glass of lemonade in his hand. "Here, Stiles, to get your circulation back up. Derek made it with extra electrolytes because it's so hot today."

Stiles let himself be helped into a sitting position and carefully sipped on the cool lemonade. "Thanks. You're my favourite today, Isaac."

Isaac smirked smugly.

"Me manfully fainting aside, what happened?" Stiles asked once he'd downed about a quarter of his drink. "How long was I out?"

"Not long, only a few minutes," Peter told him. "We couldn't rouse you, though. I'm inclined to think that giving your blood to the trees took some magic out of you."

"Uh-oh. Enough to knock me out maybe?" Stiles asked, feeling another bout of panic creep up on him.

"It might be, but who knows with that phobia of yours," Peter returned with a little shrug that somehow didn't belittle Stiles' unfortunate situation. "Your deal with the mountain ash has been fulfilled in any case, so that's one less thing on your agenda."

"It was so strange to see it wander away again," Danny said. "We have no idea where it went."

"Probably joined the troops to fulfil their end of the bargain. Damn it, I really need to start a book of commissions," Stiles sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Better make that two, one for the pack and one for paying customers."

"Before you open one for customers we need to have a talk about what you realistically can offer," Peter said. "We've been over it before; you have school and after that your training. That's more important than satisfying individual customer requests."

"I know, I know," Stiles huffed. "Still, it seems like the thing to do, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't," Peter said sternly. "Not yet, in any case. Individual requests … let's just say that most of them fall into one of only two categories."

"Defence and attack?" Danny guessed. "Because even difficult healings can be done with the healing cards and dice, right?"

"Exactly." Peter leaned back on his hands and regarded the three teens around him thoughtfully. "I don't have much of a problem with defence, although we'll need to be sure who we're supplying extraordinary defences to. It's the requests for offensive items I'm uneasy about. Fulfilling one such request, and fulfilling it well, will open the floodgates. Sooner or later, people will try to contract Stiles' services in a fixer capacity. It's the way of things, both in the mundane and the supernatural world. That's how The Council came to be, incidentally."

"I could become a magical healer," Stiles protested, knowing how hypocritical he sounded after the talk he'd had with Derek about that very topic.

"Those are very rare and you've already figured out why," Peter said calmly. "True hands-on healing has the potential to upset the balance in ways no one, not even seers, can reliably predict."

"Uh, wow, that's some heavy stuff," Danny said, stunned. "I've always thought that healing was the noble thing to do. Every fantasy novel and video game preaches that."

"It is, don't get me wrong," Peter replied. "What Stiles offers to the community is undoubtedly a much needed and very welcome commodity. True healing, however, paints a target on more than just the healer's back. How long would it be before unsavoury types learned of his talents? They'd try to snatch him and force him to work for them or kill him if he refused. I know I already warned you that this might happen regardless."

Stiles raised his hand. "I'd still really not be okay with that."

"Me neither," Danny added, glowering a little.

"No, none of it would in any way be acceptable to me," Peter said with more than a hint of a growl in his voice. His eyes turned red. "I'd lay waste to the whole continent before I'd let some lowlife get away with it."

"Me too. People suck, anyway," Isaac declared. He narrowed his eyes. "And Stiles is not allowed to work for The Council either because they suck, too."

Stiles rolled his eyes dramatically. "As if I'd ever want to. They have enough people doing their shady work if everyone's shaking in their boots just discussing them."

"Being the boogeyman can be fun," Peter pointed out and smiled sharply. "One doesn't have to be a Council Member to make it work, either."

"Yeah, no, as long as no one gives me a reason to go off the rails I'll pass on that," Stiles retorted, draining his glass and pulling a face. "Which isn't that big of a hurdle after what we already had to deal with, come to think of it."

"You'd be magnificent, darling."

The pupils in Peter's still red eyes widened as he said that and without thinking Stiles leaned closer and brushed his lips against the werewolf's. "With your help? Probably."

Danny's stunned face was hilarious and his gibbering marked the end of this altogether too serious conversation.

Stiles was glad for it because he wanted to spend some time with Erica and Boyd and try out what he and Lou could do together, aside from minor feats of healing.

Running is easy, Lou said joyfully. Running is fun!

"Let's see how you're keeping up with us," Isaac challenged and easily shifted into his beta form. He tapped Stiles' shoulder. "Tag, you're it!"

"Not for long," Stiles muttered, feeling his eyes turn red and his muscles grow unnaturally hot.

He leapt after Isaac and then they ran until the moon had risen over the trees.

oOo

Stiles woke from a dead sleep when something glided along his upper arm.

"Wha' is it?" he mumbled, swatting at the offending thing.

The tip of a long, scaly tail waved in front of his face.

Groaning, Stiles flopped onto his back. "Hey, Scalyboy. Whassup?"

The kanima climbed fully onto the bed and crouched next to Stiles, his yellow eyes glinting in the weak light. He made a gravelly noise, managing to sound expectant.

Figuring that the guy wanted more attention than he could provide while half-asleep, Stiles sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Can you switch on the lamp?"

The kanima could, and he also curled his tail around the water bottle on the floor by Stiles' bedside and gently handed it over.

"Show-off," Stiles grunted but opened the bottle and took a large drink. "Thanks. So, what brings you here, dude?"

A series of unhappy-sounding hisses assaulted Stiles' ears and the kanima even gesticulated in clear agitation.

"Um, still not speaking your language but let me guess … you're pissed that Jackson didn't join us today?" Stiles asked. At the kanima's sharp growl, he sighed. "Oh, man. Okay."

He struggled to sit up properly and chanced it to take the kanima's clawed hands. They twitched in his fingers but otherwise, the kanima held perfectly still.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said very clearly. "We asked Jackson and Lydia, but they wanted to spend time together after our long night. And that's the point right there … you have different wants than Jackson, and that's totally okay. But as much as it sucks, it's Jackson's body and life first."

The kanima snarled but dropped his gaze when Stiles looked at him steadily.

"I get it," Stiles said earnestly when the little display of temper was over. "You're here now and you chose me as your friend and alpha. You want to spend time with me and mine." Carefully, so carefully, he placed his palm against the kanima's lizard-skinned cheek and caressed it like he would a sad child's. "We will do that, I promise. I was going to meet up with Jackson anyway, tell him more about this, and you. I'll tell him that you want to hang out with the pack more and convince him that he'll have a good time, too."

The kanima rumbled sadly but leaned into the comforting touch eagerly anyway.

"Hey now, we'll figure it out," Stiles promised. "Jackson's got issues, but he's trying. We just need to let him adjust at his own pace."

Unhappily, the kanima huffed, his slitted nostrils blowing dramatically.

"Yeah, he is a fragile little flower," Stiles snorted back, "but he's our fragile little flower and we take care of our own. Plus, Erica's parents filmed a lot of our afternoon together so you can watch that, at least."

A questioning rumble made Stiles flush a little and grimace.

"And the rest I'll tell you," Stiles added. "Danny's got the video material for editing, though, so that'll have to wait a little while."

Obviously satisfied with that, the kanima detached from Stiles and lowered himself to the bed. With an easy elegance, he curled himself up like an overgrown cat. He was close, but not quite close enough to touch.

"Okay, so you already know that we went to the preserve to allow Erica and Boyd to get a handle on their new abilities," Stiles began. He clumsily made himself comfortable again and pulled the thin blanket back up to his chest. "Of course, they first had to get a handle on shifting and Peter offered them a blue pill and a red pill …"

For an hour, Stiles regaled the kanima with amusing tales of their afternoon and even managed to make his passing out at the sight of blood appear somewhat humorous.

"Who knows what there'll grow now," Stiles finished his monologue. "Peter suspects man-eating trees, and Isaac suggested Ents. I mean, that'd be pretty cool, but also, holy shit, what would we do with Ents?"

"Mrrrwww," the kanima offered.

Stiles smiled wryly, feeling like he could almost understand the meaning. "If you wanna go have a look, you can do that. Derek said his pack is always welcome, and you're part of it. Just …"

The kanima cocked his head expectantly.

"Just promise me that you won't run Jackson ragged while he sleeps, okay? He's got lacrosse training and he's going to martial arts training now, too. He needs his rest."

"Roooowwww," the kanima said, gesticulating at himself with his tail.

"Ooooh," Stiles replied, eyebrows rising in amazed understanding. "You can lend him energy now even if he's fully awake! Well, that's good to know! Do you mind if I write that down? We know so little about your kind."

Graciously, he kanima nodded, now looking very pleased with himself.

"Alright then, consider my objection partially retracted," Stiles said, feeling just as pleased. "You still need to consider Jackson's opinion on your nightly trips, though. Our first step is to let him know that you've been out. How about … yeah, that'd freak him out enough to make him more alert."

"Mrrr?"

Stiles grinned. "What's your stance on bringing your human souvenirs of your nightly excursions? It's high time we began our game anyway."

oOo

Heather was disappointed about Stiles' gentle rejection of a summer fling with her, but she understood.

"I had a feeling when we talked about it," she admitted as they lounged on her bed and demolished bowls full of ice cream. "And I'm happy for you, really."

"Thanks," Stiles said and felt his face go a little warm. "We … uh, we decided to wait for each other after all. Turns out he wasn't really all that sold on letting me run wild."

"Kudos to him for trying, though," Heather said. "If he's that much older, anything else would've been sketchy."

"He's plenty sketchy," Stiles snorted and grinned when Heather laughed. "But I'm seriously stupid over him so I've told him to stop being a self-sacrificing moron."

"It's still a big deal for you to offer that," Heather said. "You're sure he's worth it?"

"Pretty sure," Stiles replied. "But even if I wasn't, remember Lydia? It's not like I could help it much."

Heather pulled a face. "Point." Then she rolled onto her tummy and looked up at Stiles with an impish smile on her face. "So, tell me more about him."

"I probably shouldn't," Stiles said apologetically. "Too many people know already and I don't want to get us in trouble."

"Ugh," Heather groaned in disappointment and rolled onto her back again. "Can you at least show me a picture? I wanna know who robbed me of my summer adventure."

"Pinky-swear not to tell anyone," Stiles requested. "Not your friends, not your parents, no one."

"I swear it on my life and magic." Heather held out her pinkie and smiled when Stiles hooked his own around it. "Now get down here and show me already!"

Stiles lay down beside her and opened the gallery on his phone he'd dedicated to Peter. He chose one that showed the man in a shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he carried plates full of food. "That's him."

Heather's mouth dropped open. "Are you freaking kidding me? He's gorgeous!"

"Nope, no kidding going on," Stiles said smugly, staring at Peter's fit form.

"Please tell me you've given those arms some love," Heather continued. "And that neck. Holy moly, Stiles!"

"I know! I'm still a little amazed that he's serious about it," Stiles confessed.

"Ohmigod, I need to hear the whole story because there must be a story," Heather begged even as she grabbed the phone and flipped through the pictures. "Good lord, those V-neck shirts. I'm having inappropriate fantasies about your man and I'm not even sorry."

"I wouldn't be sorry either," Stiles chuckled.

Heather hummed thoughtfully when she found a picture with Isaac in it. "Wow, who's that?"

"His name's Isaac, he's Peter's ward. We're bros. Wait, I'll show you the rest of my friends. You know Erica already, of course."

Stiles took the phone back and allowed Heather to look at several pictures with Erica, Boyd, and Derek in them. A few even showed Danny, Jackson, and Lydia.

"All of them are hot," Heather said, lingering on Derek the longest. "Suddenly I feel frumpy."

"You're just as hot," Stiles assured her. "And they're not just pretty faces. They've become my best friends."

Heather's face fell and she laid her head on Stiles' shoulder. "Now I'm jealous. We should've kept in contact more; you have them now, you don't need me anymore."

"We should have, but we're back together now, Heat. I'm not gonna give that up again." Stiles curled his arm around her and nuzzled her hair. "Do you wanna meet them?"

oOo

"Stilinski!" Jackson hollered, hammering against Stiles' front door. "Let me the fuck in!"

Stiles hadn't expected Jackson to react so quickly to his little scheme, but here the guy was, only two souvenirs in, and trying to bash in the door.

Stiles tried to stifle his sniggers as his father went down the stairs with long-suffering sighs and opened the door with a sharp yank, completely nonplussing Jackson.

"Yes? Can I help you?" the sheriff asked pleasantly. He was in his uniform already, only missing his shoes and the belt. "At seven-thirty in the morning? During the summer holidays?"

Jackson blushed crimson and hunched up his shoulders. "Sorry, sir. I'm here for Stiles."

"I gathered as much," Stiles' father said dryly, "because I'm very sure that your parents instilled better manners than that in you when speaking to your elders."

Stammering, Jackson tried to apologize again, but the sheriff was having none of it. "Stiles! Move your sorry carcass down here and fix whatever you did now!"

"Rude!" Stiles shouted back, although he did lope down the stairs, taking two steps at once. Obnoxiously pleasantly he asked, "Morning, Jackson. What brings you here so early?"

"Shut it," Jackson snarled and entered the house, keeping a wary eye on the vaguely amused sheriff. "You got coffee?"

"Sure, sugarplum," Stiles chirped, revelling in the hateful glare the other boy shot him. "For you, I'll even make the good stuff."

"Save me a cup," his father called as he went back upstairs.

Stiles left the fuming Jackson standing awkwardly in their kitchen and busied himself with the grinding and brewing of the coffee. When they both had a cup standing before them and Stiles began doctoring his coffee with cream and a bit of sugar, he asked, "Well?"

"You suck so much, Stilinski," Jackson snapped and threw two items onto the kitchen table. "What is this?"

"Well, looks like a pine cone and some sort of river pebble to me," Stiles said, inspecting them curiously.

"I know that," Jackson ground out. "What I don't know is how they just appeared on my desk! Lahey and Hale wouldn't pull bullshit like that and Erica and Boyd aren't good enough yet to break into my room. That leaves you."

"Does it?" Stiles wondered and blinked at Jackson with innocent eyes. He was enjoying this way too much. Were he catholic, he'd probably have to say five Lord's Prayers and donate a hundred dollars just to make up for the unholy glee he was feeling.

"Of course it does!" Jackson exploded and slapped a hand on the table, making the hot coffee slosh over the rim of his cup and onto his skin. "You're fucking magic!"

He'd burned himself, which was the opposite of funny and Stiles decided to let the guy off the hook.

"What if it wasn't me?" Stiles asked, getting up and taking out a healing card from the designated first aid drawer. He easily ripped it up and held both parts onto Jackson's wet and reddened skin.

"Then I wouldn't believe you," Jackson huffed and frowned at the golden glitter exploding in a little puff from the card.

"Mmh, unfortunate, because it really wasn't me," Stiles said.

"Oh yeah? Who else could and would've done it, then?" Jackson demanded. "If there's some creep in town staring at me at night I'll-"

"Calm down, dude. No one is perving on you," Stiles said with an eye roll, taking away the card when the redness had vanished from Jackson's skin. "Those are souvenirs from your nightly trips."

Jackson stared, frozen.

"You're supposed to ask questions now," Stiles prodded, a little worried at Jackson's utter lack of reaction. "No questions? Okay, then." He sat down and took a sip of his coffee. "Your other half feels the drive to explore the territory and he also likes to be with me occasionally. I convinced him to bring you souvenirs so you'd know what he's been up to."

"... what?" Jackson croaked.

"I'll have you know that I'm good company," Stiles said. "Those gifts are just for you, though. They're meant to form a bridge between you two, so you'll eventually remember what he's been up to."

Jackson slumped back in his chair and shook his head. "My life. My fucking life."

"The positive side is that you can be mobile nearly round the clock," Stiles said. "You've got enough energy to not feel it the next morning."

"I suppose that's good when you guys need me to kill some lowlife or run errands," Jackson muttered, scowling.

"It sure doesn't hurt," Stiles agreed. "It's always good to know your neighbourhood, dude. You get that knowledge practically for free, once you find a way to merge your conscience with that of your other half."

"You keep calling him that. My other half." Jackson scoffed. "What, he's not good enough for a name?"

Stiles fiddled with his spoon. "Well, he's your other half and you haven't told us what to call your alter ego, so … any idea yet?"

"How am I supposed to give him a name if I don't even know what I look like?" Jackson asked, annoyed. "No one will tell me and it sucks even worse than finding souvenirs on my desk."

"Okay, fair." Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment. "Hm, would it help if you knew some of the stuff you can do in your other form? I don't think it'd be good if you knew the whole deal yet."

Jackson considered this, going through several expressions until he settled on a slightly mulish scowl. "Maybe. All I know is that I'm obviously not a werewolf."

"Nope, sorry, though I'm also not sorry because your other self is honestly even more badass than a werewolf," Stiles said.

"You keep saying that. Why don't you tell me my best ability," Jackson demanded.

Stiles asked Lou to come out and shot off a quick invitation to join the debate.

Stealth, Lou said promptly. Very good ability for a hunter.

"Lou says, and I agree, that your stealth is out of this world," Stiles said. "In your other form, you have practically no smell. It's weirding the others out something bad, but against enemies like the alphas that's a huge boon."

"Sneaking around is for cowards," Jackson muttered, not looking very satisfied. "What else can I do?"

"Well, you heal pretty quickly, though not in your fully human state. Maybe that'll come with time; it's been a few weeks and your other half just told us that he can shore up your energy levels round the clock now. And of course, you're strong and a mean fighter if you have to be. I think that your martial arts training probably bleeds over to him, which makes him even more efficient."

"That's better," Jackson said, visibly mollified. "No offence, but does he really like being in your pack?"

"We're good bros," Stiles said and smiled. "Oh, and he asked me to tell you that he'd like to spend more time with the pack. He was pretty annoyed to have missed our get-together last Sunday."

"Well, it's not just about what he wants," Jackson snapped. "Lydia and I wanted some time to ourselves."

Stiles nodded. "Totally fair, and I told him that you come first. He understands that, but he also wants to merge with you and for that to happen, he eventually needs you to be aware of him."

Jackson pressed his lips into a thin line, his jaw muscles working. "He's so different from me. I don't even know how this merging is supposed to work."

"I have no idea either," Stiles admitted. "We're all new to this. But I'm very sure that he won't just take over if that's what you're worried about. That's not how it works."

"But you don't have any guarantees, do you?" Jackson asked stiffly. "Since it's all so new for you."

Jackson's attitude was mightily rubbing Stiles - and Lou - the wrong way, but Stiles did understand where he was coming from. Nothing seemed quite as horrifying to Stiles as slowly being consumed by someone else, someone you had no defences against.

"Not yet," he replied, looking steadily at Jackson. "But it doesn't have to stay that way."

End of chapter 82