Chapter 35: Decisions

Stiles stared blankly at the wall, ignoring the itch as Melissa stitched his skin back together.

"Stiles, Allison, what happened?" Kira had asked when the room had been cleared of teachers and onlookers and unnecessary personnel, but neither could respond. Their jaws were clenched tight against the words that threatened to spill from their lips, and though their beds had been pushed together at Kira's request, both kept as far to the sides of their beds as they possibly could get without falling out.

What seemed like hours later, and what might have very well been, Deaton pushed into the Hospital Wing. He strode into the room, their eyes following him as he came to stand in front of the three.

Stiles couldn't hold back the spitting words that fell from his mouth. "You bastard, you fucking bastard," he snarled, his narrowed eyes burning crimson, "You knew. You knew what they'd done to us. You knew how Kate has tried to kill me on multiple occasions, how Peter was off his rocker, and still, you let them proctor our Trials! Why? Why would you do that to us? What did you gain from watching us suffer? Explain it to me, because I am drawing a fucking blank!" His voice had risen, anger and hatred deepening his tone.

Deaton sighed. "I know you're angry, Stiles, but you need to-"

"Don't you fucking dare. Don't you tell me to calm the hell down. I am well passed angry. I'm pissed, and I have every right to be. You handed us to the wolves, literally in one sense, and you're telling me to calm down, but you know what, you can suck my ass because there is no way I am going to calm down. Not until I get my questions answered, and even then, I'm still not sure that I will."

Rubbing at his forehead wearily, Deaton said, "I suppose that is fair."

"Yes, it is."

"Stiles, you really need to calm down."

Stiles smiled sweetly. "I really don't, fuck you very much."

Inhaling deeply, and exhaling on a count of ten, Deaton started. "It was not my intention for your proctors to be Kate Argent and Peter Hale. It had been my intention for Chris Argent to conduct yours, Stiles, and for one of the teachers from Beauxbatons to conduct yours, Miss Argent, but Miss Argent, you headmistress is quite taken with your aunt and would not allow me to utilize any other teacher from your school, and after that, she also insisted on using Peter for your proctor or she would not allow you to participate in the last Trial. She was evidently aware of the bad blood between the Hales and the Argents, and was looking to see it at work for one reason or another. I had no choice once your headmistress agreed to the arrangement as well, Miss Yukimura."

"You should have fought harder," Allison said stonily, looking at him straight on for the first time since he'd walked in, "Two people are dead because you couldn't tell my headmistress no. One of those people was my aunt, the other was Malia's father. The Hales have already lost enough family members, and they've just lost another. Nothing about this situation is alright, and I hold all of the headmasters and headmistresses accountable for this."

Stiles' mind went silent for the first time since he'd had his first kiss. Dropping the barriers he'd thrown up between himself and the pack, he allowed himself to feel them. They were anxious and worried and pacing just outside the range the barrier the teacher's had set up, but underneath it all, grief congealed, thick and cloying.

"Oh, Malia," he whispered gently under his breath, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, pushing Deaton away as he reached out helping hands. His chest ached where Kate had taken her prize out of him. "Don't touch me," he snapped viciously.

Deaton withdrew his hands, his eyes hard as stone. "You need to lie down and rest, Stiles. There is only so much Madame McCall can do for your wounds. The rest it up to your own body to heal."

"If you think I'm going to sit around while Malia holds in her grief and doesn't let the rest of the pack help her, then you're fucking crazy. Get away from me before I show you what an alpha's mate is capable of. I will make Talia and Deucalion look like a field of golden poppies."

Deaton's eyes flickered to Kira and Allison, scanning over the surprise written plain on their faces. "Stiles, should you really be saying that with them around?"

Stiles glanced back at the pair. "You really don't think that they didn't suspect, do you? And even if they didn't, they were going to find out eventually. It's kind of hard to be part of a pack when you're unaware that you're part of a pack. Very kindly get out of my way." He pushed to his feet, clutching his chest as he hobbled towards the door.

"Wait for us," Allison called, sliding from her bed and waiting for Kira to do the same before they took up positions at his sides. They each wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled one of his arms over each of their shoulders. She smiled at him. "I guess this would probably be a good time to tell you that I'm from a family of hunters, but Aunt Kate and Grandpa Gerard are the only two who have really killed in the past two decades. We're taught a more diplomatic approach now, though we still have our radicals."

"And I guess since we're putting out all of our laundry, I should tell you that I'm a kitsune."

Stiles nodded. "I knew you two weren't normal. No normal people are actually friends with us. You can tell the good news to the rest of the pack when we find them."

…..

Malia stood against a pillar away from the pack, her face drawn, her knuckles clenched white in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. When Stiles could peal himself away from the pack, he stopped in front her. She turned owlish brown eyes up towards him. "Stiles, I-" she started, but paused as he spread his arms to her.

"We know you're strong, Malia," he told her, wrapping his arms and his magic around her without waiting for her to step forward, "Let us help you when you can't be." She buried her face against his shoulder allowing his warmth and magic to spread through her, soothing the aching in her chest. Her shoulders shuddered beneath his hands.

"He was a horrible person," she whispered, curling her hands in the back of his pajama top, "I know that, but he was my father. He was my father."

"I know," he told her gently. The others crowded around them, encasing the pair in a warm cocoon of flesh and teenage hormones.

Allison and Kira stood on the edges of the pack hug, smiling at each other. "Maybe we should come back here for our last year. That would be fun, don't you think?" Kira asked.

"I do like their uniforms a tad more than my own. The cloaks are nice and not having to wear a dress all of the time would be amazing. Also, Quidditch," Allison said airily, wriggling herself between Isaac and Scott, and wrapping her arm around Malia's waist.

Kira inserted herself against Allison's back. "Also, Quidditch," she agreed. The pack swallowed them greedily, engulfing them.

At the back of the crowd, Jackson hissed, "Sheriff, Sheriff! Stilinski, it's your fucking dad! And your mom is with him, McCall!"

They scattered, Stiles remaining with his arms wrapped around Malia as he grinned at the Sheriff over her head. "Hey, Dad, Mama McCall, what's happening?" he asked, grinning widely at the pair. Tracking Melissa's fingers as they gently stroked over her abdomen, his smile became just that much more genuine.

"Alright all of you, you might as well quit while you're ahead. We know about the whole pack and werewolf thing already. It wasn't hard to figure out after the claw marks all over Melissa's living room, and a few other pointers. Also, Deaton told us when we asked," the Sheriff said, watching closely as Stiles' face dropped and turned to stone.

"Awesome, more wise choices from Headmaster Deaton. Oh, how we all revere him," Stiles muttered sarcastically as Malia pulled away from him.

"Well, at least someone told us," the Sheriff replied back.

"You all need to become a little more cognizant and responsible if you're going to be siblings and aunts and uncles, because I refuse to have a bunch of vagabonds running a muck," Melissa added, "Speaking of cognizant, why are the three of you up? Especially you, Stiles! Did I release you from the Hospital Wing? I don't think so. Turn around and go back right this moment."

Groaning, Allison, Kira and Stiles turned back towards the Hospital Wing, shuffling away towards the beds that awaited them. Behind them, they heard Scott ask, "Siblings?" followed by Isaac's confused, "Aunts and uncles?"

After a long, silent pause, Erica shouted, "Oh! You're pregnant!"

…..

The school year ended with less of a fuss than any of their other years combined. In the wake of Peter and Kate's deaths, the ceremony for the end of the Triwizard Tournament was all but forgotten, with the cup disappearing from the Great Hall without notice.

Summer found Stiles bursting through his father's office door one afternoon when the rest of the pack was chasing out a tribe of leprechauns that had taken residence in the Hale house. "Dad, I need your help," he said without preamble, dropping down into the chair across from his father, staring at him over his desk, "A lot of help actually. It's incredibly important and requires the level of utmost secrecy. And you know it's genuine because I don't ask for your help a lot."

The Sheriff paused, dropping his pen to the top of his desk. "You're not wrong. This is an interesting way to spend your summer though." He leaned back in his chair. "Do you have payment for my fatherly advice?"

"Of course. Who do you think I am?" Stiles asked, setting a fast food bag on the desk between them, "There's extra curly fries in there. This was going to be used as a bribe if you said no."

The Sheriff nodded his approval, opening two napkins, one in front of himself and the other for Stiles. "What can I help with, oh son of mine?"

"When you propose to Mama McCall, are you going to go big and spectacular, small and simple? Are you going to have rings? Are you going to do it in public or private? Walk me through how you're going to play it out."

Without missing a beat as he shoved a fry into his mouth, the Sheriff mumbled, "Well, as it's already happened, I'll tell you. It was simple, in private, and without rings for now, but you have to figure out what's going to work best for the person you want to marry, and I can't really help you with that. You know Derek the best, and only you know what's going to be the perfect proposal. Just go with your gut and stick to it. Maybe you can eat that apple or drink that potion or find something in that book or use that rock that you got from your First Task to help you figure it out."

Leaning back in his chair, Stiles stared up at the ceiling. "You can Mom told me the exact same thing. I guess that makes sense."

The Sheriff stilled, staring at Stiles. "Your mother?"

Stiles nodded. "She's been giving me lessons in my dreams. It's nice. We talk about you sometimes. She's happy that you found Melissa, but she also wants a play-by-play for when you talk to Scott's dad about this whole shenanigan. She bet me that you're both going to pull your guns on each other."

"That's good. That's really good," the Sheriff whispered. "...wait, what?"

Stiles grinned. "Anyway, I think I'm going to leave that apple and potion for my kids to cause mischief with. I really don't need the knowledge of the world, or whatever that potion is... Okay, never mind, if it's Felix Felicis, I'm definitely going to need it when I propose. Oh, and the rock, or whatever it was..." He held up his wrist, flashing a thin bracelet with a stone as amber as his eyes embedded in the silver band. "I found it in my bag from the Third Task like this while I was packing. It reminds me a bit of Mom's ring." He touched his breastbone where the ring still rested.

They were quiet for a moment. "You'll do just fine when you propose to Derek, Stiles. Just walk me though what you're thinking of right now."

Stiles beamed. "Okay, well first..."