"Ow! Hey!"

"Dammit Stiles," John Stilinski huffed, planting his hands firmly on his belt as Stiles rubbed at the back of his head. "What did I say?"

"Which time?" he whined, hunching his shoulders as his cheeks grew hot. He was bluffing sure, but he still felt bad - he didn't like lying to his dad, or sneaking around or deliberately defying him. The man's disappointment - real or imagined - was a weight he carried around with him like a ten pound block of cement.

For his part the Sheriff just sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. Behind him two of his deputies stood silently; Tara, who he'd known since childhood and who was calm and quiet and kept her emotions controlled behind a sweet yet stoic face, and the young Jordan Parrish, who was new but steady, and who was quickly becoming one of his father's favorites. Stiles noted with great interest that none of them were wearing their handguns, holsters empty on their hips, but they were there and that felt better. Stiles had come to trust each of them in the time he'd known them, his father most of all, and he felt significantly safer with the three of them at his back.

"Alpha Hale, I'd like to apologize again for my son," the Sheriff said, still staring at Stiles like he could ground him into his next life with the power of his Dad-Gaze alone, and he felt another wave of shame sweep through him. "Believe me when I say that he certainly wasn't raised to think himself above the law."

"While I appreciate the sentiment Sheriff Stilinski," Talia replied, sincerity and seriousness warring in her voice, "And while I'm sure that what you say is true, you can understand the predicament we still find ourselves in."

"Of course."

"Very good. Let's begin then, shall we?"

Inclining his head, the Sheriff allowed the Alpha to pass, gripping Stiles tightly by the elbow and dragging him towards the table after her. In the time that he'd been staring at the floor shamefacedly, a number of werewolves had begun to fill the small gymnasium, maybe a dozen or so of them filing into the rows of chairs and all eerily quiet, watchful as Stiles and his father approached the table. Stiles touched a hand to his father's wrist, held him back just long enough for David Hale to pull out a chair, first for his wife and then his daughter. Stiles pushed the gesture one step further and waited until David was seated as well, the little old lady and Calvin too. The latter gave him the barest of grim nods - approval on that front at the very least. That left only one seat empty directly to Talia's left, an unknown that felt heavy and more ominous than it should.

Swallowing, he gave his father a minute nod before lowering himself into his seat, followed by the rest of his meager three representatives. Flicking a glance at his 'audience,' a little trill of anxiety splashed over him as he realized there were several more present than he'd expected, than Calvin had warned him about. He recognized Derek and Nicholas in the front row but none of the others - men and women both, all adults, most of whom appeared to be in excellent physical condition and in the prime years of their life, one more intimidation factor that Stiles felt like an actual slap to the face. Folding his hands tightly in his lap, trying to head his fidgeting off at the pass, he straightened his shoulders and did as he'd been told, focused his attention on Alpha Talia Hale.

"Sheriff," she began, and holy hell that tone. "I'd like to thank you for coming and for agreeing to allow us to host these negotiations. Your son had formally requested a re-examination of the treaty between the Hale pack and Beacon Hills, this coming on the heels of a breech in that treaty by a young man, Scott McCall. Are we agreed on this, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Yes ma'am," Stiles replied, putting as much politeness into his voice as he could with coming off as a smartass. Talia Hale still made him nervous, still intimidated the crap out of him, and even from the other end of the table he could see the ring of ruby red around her eyes.

"Very good. Then as Alpha I move to begin these negotiations on this day, time 2:07 PM."

"I second that motion," Laura said before Stiles could express his sudden confusion, her voice smooth and calm and holding none of the playfulness that it had before.

Saluting Talia with a pencil from around the corner's edge of the table, Calvin ducked his head but cast Stiles the barest hint of a smirk before he began scribbling - apparently taking down the minutes of the meeting.

Smart.

But it made Stiles nauseas to think that anything he was about to say was being recorded, for posterity's sake or otherwise.

"Ok," he breathed, spreading his palms out flat on the table top. "First, I'd just like to say that I have the utmost respect for everyone here and have no intentions to come across as otherwise. Unfortunately, I've got it on good authority that I'm a sarcastic little shit and have a tendency to come across as more than a little patronizing when I get in the zone. So I'm telling you now that even if that's how it sounds, I don't mean it that way. It's just how my brain works. I need to lay things out to understand them and I have ADHD and I haven't had my medication in a couple… oh look at that. Ask and ye shall receive!"

Sighing, the Sheriff rolled his eyes, but there was Stiles' little orange prescription bottle, slapped square on the table in front of him having been magically produced from one of his father's pockets. Taking a minute to collect himself, his heart already racing in his chest, he snuck a quick glance around the room as he popped one of his pills into his mouth, cracked the lid on a water bottle and swallowed it down. There were a few poorly hidden smirks, a few looks of exasperated disbelief, and Talia Hale was staring at him with one of those perfect brows arched, but all in all, no death glares so far.

"Now that we've got that out of the way…" he mumbled. Picking up a pen from the table, he pulled a yellow legal pad towards his chest and quickly sketched an outline of what he felt he needed to say.

"So the way I see it, we've got a few different problems," he began. "First, Scott. He crossed the border and broke the law, and yes," he said, raising his hands when he saw Talia's cheek twitch, "You guys deserve recompense for that. It's obviously caused some pretty big issues, on both sides. Going off of that, the second issue we've got is this idea that the town thinks you guys kidnapped me in retaliation. What's the situation there?" he asked, turning towards his father.

"Unfortunately that is what's going around," his father said regretfully. "I'm not sure how it got out or who leaked it, but I have the rest of my deputies working on controlling that situation right now."

"Spectacular. So… what I'm going to propose here tonight…" Stiles said slowly, and he could feel his pulse start to race.

This was the important bit, the scary bit, and he was afraid of the explosion he anticipated, but after what he'd seen of the werewolves, brief as it was, and what little he remembered of the Hale family before the revelation and before the wars… it seemed like maybe this, this made-up, last-ditch effort that he was throwing off the cuff might come to mean a lot more, might actually work.

"This is crazy," he muttered, dropping his elbows onto the edge of the table and pressing his face into his hands, leaning all of his weight forward, but then his father's hand was squeezing his shoulder and he sat up again, shaking off the doubt long enough to say what he needed to say.

"Which is… really shitty," he admitted in a stronger voice, clapping his hands together, "But it is what it is. I think it's time to… reintegrate."

Silence.

Utter. Dead. Silence.

"I mean," he spluttered nervously, twisting his fingers together, "Segregation ended a long time ago right? I know we've got a pretty bad history in Beacon Hills and a lot of… bad blood. But the reason the town is scared of you guys is because of the separation, the secrecy. What you guys can do. Technically the law says you could have killed Scott for coming onto your property and I'm sorry Alpha Hale, but that's insane."

The Sheriff's fingers dug into his wrist, a warning, but Talia waved the offense away, gestured for him to continue with a carefully blank face though around them there was a sudden surge of small, irritable movement.

"So I think we should rewrite those laws," he said. "This is the 21st century; we should be able to find ways to interact without that kind of ultimatum hanging over our heads. And I know that something like this is easier said than done, but anything worth doing takes effort right?"

"Setting aside the rather fantastical aspect of all this Mr. Stilinski," Talia said carefully - and that didn't sound good - "It rather sounds like a concession on our part for your friend. You said yourself that you came here for him, for his life. In doing this we would be putting ourselves at risk - by your own father's account there are people in this town that are not pleased by the co-mingling going on these past few days."

"They're afraid of the consequences," Stiles countered. "Redraw the treaty. No vigilante justice, on either side. No more border wars, and you guys get access to the town. To people, to resources… that's worth something."

"Even if it were," Talia said before he could rush in to his next point, "You must know the hurdles we would face. Thus far you have presented yourself as an intelligent young man Mr. Stilinski, but what you propose is a child's dream. A fantasy. History does not wash away so easily - the risk alone that I would be exposing my pack to…"

"You're right," he conceded, "It won't be easy, and we won't be starting with a clean slate. There are going to be risks and there are… probably going to be setbacks. But I thought of that too."

Sighing heavily, dragging his hands over his face because he knew, knew his dad was going to kill him for this, he shot the man a look of apology and bit the bullet.

"Because we broke the law, and because I do feel bad about… all this, I'd be willing to work as… ambassador, I guess. Negotiator."

"You?" Laura sniffed, and there was that smile and the glint in her eyes that was somehow just as scary as if she'd shown him her teeth, and Stiles was a little surprised that she entered into the conversation so boldly without any reaction from her Alpha and mother at all.

"Hey, I can be persuasive!" he sniffed a little defensively, crossing his arms and doing his best to ignore the sudden stillness in his father's body beside him. "Or at least… persistent."

"Stiles," his dad growled under his breath, and he almost rolled his eyes because, duh, werewolves? They could still hear him.

"It's fine dad," he muttered, trying to communicate with his eyes before turning back to the Alpha who had honed her gaze on him, full crimson now.

"I'm the Sheriff's son," he said. "I'm… pretty well-known, but most of this town loves me."

"God knows why," his father muttered, and Calvin chuckled loudly, missing his Alpha's glare because his head was still bent over his notes.

"Anyway," Stiles continued, leveling his father with a glare, "At the risk of sounding like a conceited ass, if I'm responsible for representing you to everybody, that's a huge plus in your corner. You'll have someone supporting this that the town listens to, plus you'll have law enforcement on your side."

Here he paused to reach over and ruffle Parrish's hair, more to reassure himself than anything, but the young deputy just grinned and slapped his hands away, grabbed him by the neck for a one-armed hug, the picture of ease despite the situation.

"Assuming you don't paint too fine a picture of yourself," Laura began with a bit of a smirk, and Stiles turned his attention to her though his eyes kept flickering back to Talia, "Assuming that. Why should they care what you have to say? What are you going to tell them about us that turns us from the monsters in the dark into oh-so-charming neighbors?"

"You guys aren't…" he started to protest, but it was only a half honest objection. The rest was all reactionary obligation.

"But we are, Mr. Stilinski," Talia insisted, picking up where her daughter had left off. "Reality isn't nearly so important as perception, and the world has had a way of demonizing werewolves that makes that perception nearly impossible to contradict."

"But, what if…" he started, and then he bit his lip, unsure why it was suddenly so hard to continue. "What if you helped somebody? Like, helped someone who really needed it?"

"Oh Stiles," the Sheriff sighed, and Stiles knew that now the man knew for sure. "Is that what this is really about? Is that why Scott came out here?"

"Yes sir," he mumbled, and then before he knew what was happening he was wrapped tight in a hug that was almost painful, his father's rough, warm fingers curved around the back of his skull and pressing their foreheads together. Stiles wondered abruptly what it looked like to the werewolves around them, but the look on his father's face was more important, a painful clash of sorrow and pride and regret.

"I'm sorry kid," he said quietly, and his voice was low and rough and he could hear the tightness in his dad's throat. "If I could, I…"

"That's why we're here, right?" Stiles joked, trying for levity and failing miserably. Returning his dad's hug before pulling back, he cleared his throat and quickly swiped the back of his wrist over his eyes, rubbing away the sting before returning his attention once more to Talia and Laura Hale, who were watching him with careful, interested faces.

"That's why Scott came here," he said in an attempt to explain. "There's a kid at school. Our friend, Isaac. His dad… his dad isn't a nice guy."

"And you want us to help him," Talia said, and her voice was softer and more gentle than Stiles had ever heard it and his head snapped up at the sound of it, intent on that show of concession. "How exactly do you propose that we do that Mr. Stilinski?"

But he didn't get the chance to respond.

Outside the gymnasium, just down the hallway, a massive crash sounded, a small explosion compared to the contained quiet of the room. Two voices bickered back and forth as they got closer; one high and distressed, the other low and calm but clearly angry, and all heads turned towards the doors just in time for them to come bursting open, a tall, extremely skinny young man staggering backward through them with both arms up, barely managing to keep his balance.

"But baby you're hurt!" he whined, still walking backward toward the table with no idea what was behind him. "You can't…"

"I can," a deep voice purred, and then there was another man striding into the room, all broad shoulders and sharp, white teeth bared in a wicked grin as he advanced on the floundering werewolf before them. "You can't. Get the fuck out Luca."

"What the hell?" his father hissed, and then he and both his deputies were on their feet, hands flashing to their empty holsters and Stiles felt his stomach roll because oh my god, the blood

Like, all the blood.

Clamping his hand over his mouth, Stiles fought back the surge of bile, the rush of fear that had his knees going weak beneath him. Bright blue eyes and a pair of black sweatpants, and everything else was blood. Shirtless, grinning, the werewolf's entire upper body was covered in the stuff, red painting his skin in spatters and streaks, running down his arms and falling in droplets to the floor, and there was no way that all of it was his because even though there were four neat parallel slashes across his lower abdomen, enough to gut a lesser man, there was way too much red going on for him to still be standing if he was the only donor.

"Baby, please…"

Baring his teeth, the man let out a roaring snarl that had half that wolves in the room flinching, ducking their heads and directing their eyes to the floor, and Stiles practically had a damned heart attack. He could actually feel the thing jump in his chest, fear-sweat breaking out over his forehead as the werewolf widened his stance and flicked his hands, claws emerging from his fingernails with a snick as fangs grew long and sharp in his mouth. The other man stumbled, cringed, and then with a single, threatening step forward he was sent scurrying out of the gym, the door swinging shut behind him.

Straightening up with a smooth roll of his bare shoulders the werewolf smirked, retracted his claws and licked the blood from his fingertips, swaggering past the three cops like they weren't even there and making his way to his Alpha's side of the table.

"Where have you been?" she snarled, and the man rolled his eyes, flopped down into the empty chair beside her and examined his fingernails with an air of utter uncaring.

"Taking care of our little problem," he replied in a smug voice, and Talia sighed.

"Sheriff, I apologize," she said, doing something Stiles considered the height of stupidity by leveling the man with a glare, Alpha or not. "Please allow me to introduce Peter Hale, my brother and left hand."

"Your enforcer, you mean?" Stiles squeaked, because holy Jesus, after everything he'd just said, after taking the stories with a grain of salt and looking at the treatment he'd received instead, thinking that maybe, maybe the wolves weren't so bad…

Thinking that maybe this might work…

The wolf's blue eyes flashed to his, looking out from a blood-soaked face and a slow, sinister grin curled over his mouth as he sat up and leaned forward, interest sparking all around him.

"You must be Stiles."