Runes and all kinds of things, chapter 16
Stiles risks a glance over the brim of his book at Peter and then returns quickly to the page he was reading when their eyes meet and he gets an arched eyebrow from the man. He barely contains the need to facepalm and wince at his own lack of cool and tries to cover it by shrugging as if nonchalant. The answering huffed snort makes him humph and turn his nose up in the air.
As much as he can with it still buried in his book to cover the flush he can feel rising in his face and the top of his ears.
(Smooth, Stilinski. Real smooth.)
But he can’t help it, he can’t read Peter at all right now. It’s weird and confusing to some degree after having been so open, so raw, just a moment ago, but at the same time not. It feels as if they took a step forward and then backed that same step again right afterwards. Maybe even two, because Peter has never been this blank-faced in his presence. Or, actually, if Stiles recalls well, in anyone’s presence. Peter is always sassing -provoking, testing, manipulating- people in one way or another. He uses his words, body language and facial expressions as weapons and he does it terrifyingly well. It never fails to get a response from the people around him, Stiles included, and now its absence rattles him.
Stiles stills suddenly. His eyes dart briefly towards Peter again and then go back to the page. He bites his lip and frowns contemplatively.
Maybe this isn’t a step back after all? Peter uses his words, body language and facial expressions as weapons. To defend himself, to get what he wants, to attack. Weapons. He’s used them against Stiles before, so it’s not that he’s an exception. It’s not that he thinks Stiles harmless, useless or inconsequential either. Even back then, in that parking lot, he thought Stiles had the potential to become dangerous, a threat to him. Enough of a threat, in fact, that he wanted to have Stiles on his side and he offeredwhen could have just taken. That not only hasn’t changed but it’s worse.
(Stiles couldn’t trap him and make him choke on mountain ash with a mere thought before.)
But he’s blank-faced now. Or rather… relaxed? Maybe?
Stiles sighs, slouching on his seat, and contains the need to throw a dirty look at Peter for being so damn difficult. He must do a lousy job because the man smirks at him self-satisfied.
“You’re such a dick,” Stiles grouches long-suffering and Peter’s grin widens even more.
Of course, there’s a chance Stiles is reading him wrong. With Peter it’s hard to tell, because he has more layers than three millefeuille combined and even more masks, but Stiles is pretty sure that it’s not a front he’s putting up this time. The ball is in Peter’s court in any case. Stiles will have to accept whatever he chooses to do and react accordingly.
He reaches for the baking journal again and catches Peter’s eyes again. The man’s eyebrows go high as he eyes the already finished death by chocolate cookies -the normal kind, he knows, because he’s seen Stiles take a bite and then perform an awkward dance because his mouth was burning- cooling on the tray with an skeptical eye.
“Just because I can’t risk Lydia finding a way to murder me remotely,“ and she would, of that he has no doubt, “it doesn’t mean I can’t use this.”
“Hmm,” Peter hums, lips twitching. The way he reclines in his chair makes Stiles want to grumble about the unfairness of it all. Because while Stiles is slouching, you can’t call what Peter is doing that. “What are you planning?”
“Revenge, what else? A petty one but equally effective in this case given whom my target is,” Stiles answers flippantly and Peter snorts. “But no, no more baking for now. It’s for Monday, so I’ll bake on Sunday. I don’t bake any substandard goods even if it’s for revenge, you know,” he sniffs. “Right now, runes. I really need to crack this before the alpha pack makes another move. Like hell I’m getting chased around like a mouse again,” he grumbles. “Pity I can’t just poison them all and be done with it.”
“Pity indeed,” Peter agrees, terribly amused by the pout Stiles is sporting.
An alarm goes off on Stiles’ phone and he startles. Then he remembers what it is for and he shoots from his seat towards the TV, leaving a bewildered Peter behind. The familiar intro to La Dulce Impostora is already running, so he hurries to set the recording so he doesn’t miss anything. There’s a pointed silence at his back and he feels himself starting to blush.
“I didn’t say a word,” Peter lilts.
“Stop judging me, dude,” Stiles grumbles with cheeks that are starting feel really hot. “La Dulce Impostora is super addictive, ok? There’s a dying abuelita that is the cutest, most charming thing ever… Seriously, that woman is a queen. All hail Queen Isabela, may she reign forever over us lowly mortals,” he preaches with an earnest expression. “But yeah. There’s abuelita Isabela, a fake cancer that turns out to be true and an even faker pregnancy that doesn’t… but kinda does? Depending on how you look at it, I suppose…” he hums thoughtfully, turning to set the recording. “And amnesia, lots of amnesia. It’s so fucking ridiculous. But finally, after everything, they’re about to elope and Camila Valeria is going to ruin it all. Again. And it’s the fifth time. I can’t take it anymore, ok? I just want them on a beach in Bali happily drinking coconuts so I can be free and go back to my life, ok?”
“Well, I didn’t really understand half of what you said. Congratulations, that must be some sort of record.” Damn the man and his sass. Relaxed or not, Stiles served him that one on a silver platter and even Stiles himself wouldn’t have let it pass without answer. “Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad news-”
“Yeah, your face tells me you’re in despair right now,” Stiles quips back drolly.
“-but according to this site, that one still has more than ten episodes left.”
Stiles gapes, a horrified expression rapidly taking over his features. “You’re shitting me.”
“I… shit you not,” Peter answers seriously.
A beat, two beats, and then Stiles is running back to the table to look at the laptop’s screen. He doesn’t slow down as much as he should and he collides against Peter’s back with a soft grunt. He doesn’t pay it any mind and he reaches for the laptop. Sure enough, there’s more than ten episodes left… Thirteen to be exact.
“Oh, god, no” Stiles whispers, the whine escaping him unbidden. For a moment he feels really tempted to just read about how it ends because thirteen one-hour episodes yet to go… and so far the only thing that hasn’t happened on that storyline is a zombie apocalypse. Seriously, there’s even been an attempt to overthrow the current government! Just. No. Ok. No, he will not. He’ll stick right to the end. Like a captain. “I will go down with this ship,” he pronounces darkly, prompting a surprised laugh from Peter.
Stiles contains a petulant pout. He raises his eyebrows and narrows his eyes at the man, daring him to say anything about it. Peter smirks and looks about to speak (no doubt to sass Stiles) but suddenly, windows start opening and closing on the screen without either of them touching a thing and they both blink surprised.
“Yesss! Danny, my man!” Stiles exclaims happily, throwing his arms up in the air. Peter grabs his elbow before it impacts with his nose and rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything otherwise. “Awesome! Now we’ll be able to track those fuckers without risking our necks. And who knows, I may still get to poison them.”
Peter laughs again and Stiles smirks in answer.
Much later after Danny stopped doing his own kind of magic on Stiles’ laptop, Peter is dividing his attention between something on the screen and a notebook he brought with him. Stiles is kinda itchy to know what’s in there because everything Peter brings has been fantastic so far, but he knows better than to try to take a peek because Peter hasn’t offered. Privacy and all that shit.
Stiles has the strong feeling that Peter is testing him. For what purpose exactly, he doesn’t know, but he’s pretty sure that he is. First with how he provoked him into a fight and now with this. And there have probably been more tests that he hasn’t even noticed. In any case, if Stiles finds that notebook unattended later he won’t be surprised.
(It all comes down to trust, doesn’t it?)
Well, he’ll cross that bridge when he stumbles upon it. For now, he’d better focus on runes or at this rate he’ll be werewolf chow and Peter’s tests won’t matter anymore.
And, god, it’s so frustrating.
Runework sucks. Big. Sweaty. Donkey. Balls.
He knows the actual runes and would be able to draw them with his eyes closed by now. That’s not the problem. That was the easy part, actually. The problem is that the placement in the actual item matters. Placement relative to the other runes matters. Size relative to the item AND relative to the other runes matters. Meaning? One tiny mistake fucks it all.
Meaning that it’s been one hour already and he has done nothing more than waste a lot of paper and bite the cap of his pen so much that it looks like a war casualty.
Because, on top of that, just because a rune has an established translation doesn’t mean that the effect that rune will produce matches it. Because two runes together get a complete different meaning than those two runes separately. And if they’re linked it’s even worse. The meanings don’t add up, they transform each other. Hence, runework sucks. Big. Sweaty. Donkey. Balls.
Stiles reaches for his phone and then takes a selfie, sporting an epic pout. He hits send and then lets his head fall onto the table with a beautifully resounding thud. Peter snorts.
(Also, Peter is a dick that finds too much entertainment in witnessing Stiles’ suffering.)
(Or maybe this is another test.)
Without looking, he makes a ball from the paper with his latest failed experiments and throws it in the man’s direction. With his luck, it probably falls short, but it’s the sentiment that counts, right?
“You’re such a dick,” Stiles grumbles.
“Yes, we’ve already established that,” Peter drawls, the tapping of his fingers against the keyboard never stopping.
And he flashes him the finger for good measure, because he doesn’t need good aim for it to reach the man. Peter snorts again and Stiles pouts sullenly into the table.
Ok, ok. How do you eat a bear? Bite by bite.
He sighs and comes out from hiding reluctantly. He looks at the page where he has noted down the few functioning arrays that can be found in the many books about runes that Stiles has, and decides that trial and error will it have to be. Sorry, Master Yoda, as sacrilegious as it sounds, your teachings hold no place in here. He may get grounded for the rest of his natural life for blowing up the house, but it’s not like he has any other options at this point.
He grabs a clean sheet of paper and looks at it thoughtfully. He may as well start with the simpler ones. According to his first chosen runework’s specific diagram, the array should cover one third of the item he wants to apply it on. But the question is: is that proportion regarding the size or the mass of the item? Does this mean that Stiles will have to become a master at calculating the mass of things on the go? Because that could pose a big problem.
“Excuse me, Mr. or Ms. Enemy-of-the-Week, can you tell me your height and weight? And what did you say was your last meal? And the quantity of said meal? You wouldn’t be constipated per chance, would you? Oh, I’m just curious, you know, ADHD, I get hung up on the strangest things. And since you’re killing me anyways, why not share? Oh, you don’t speak English? Yo hablo español si lo prefieres… Oh, you don’t have vocal cords at all? My apologies. I’ll just make an estimate, thanks for your time anyways and sorry for the inconvenience,” he pipes softly in a falsetto voice. He studiously doesn’t look Peter’s way. “Because that would go well…”
His phone chimes and he can’t help but cackle at Allison’s answering selfie. She looks filthy, sweaty and her face is so red that it gives the impression that she’s completely out of breath. She’s sporting an equally epic pout and it’s hilarious.
Stiles takes a deep breath after he lets go of the phone and shakes himself mentally. Ok, whatever, no big deal. He’ll find a way like he always does. First, he has to make an array work to begin with.
Because nothing ever comes easy -and if runes are such a rare practice as the books say, which suggests a high level of difficulty-, he assumes it’s mass. Ok, awesome (note the sarcasm). So volume and density. The paper is a rectangular form, so the volume would be length x width x height. And as for density… The Internet it is. He stands up and goes to the laptop Peter is using. The man looks at him curiously but turns the screen to face Stiles. A quick search reveals paper’s density, which gives him the last tool he needs to calculate the mass, and in turn the size the array should have.
Now, where to place it? Up, in the middle or down? Centered, on a side or on a corner? Left, center or right? Because the texts say nothing about that and if the size of the array and each rune regarding each other are so important, Stiles doubts the placing doesn’t matter.
(Here’s to hoping that all his limbs remain in place by the time he’s done.)
He picks up the pencil and copies the array right on the centercenter of the paper. He concentrates on activating it and gets a cloud of mountain ash to the face for his troubles when Pikachu comes out to play so to speak. He sighs and has to concentrate on getting him back to his skin instead. He tries again and gets the same exact results. After the sneezing attack ends, he pouts but gives it another go. By the tenth time this happens, he’s ready to tear his hair in frustration and the ash is moving around agitatedly from limb to limb and then even to his face, which gives him another uncontrollable attack of sneezes.
“Are you for real?” he grunts frustrated at Pikachu and his ears seem to flop down, just like dogs when they don’t know what they’re doing wrong because they think they’re obeying what you told them to do.
Stiles blinks. Maybe he’s not directing his spark belief whassit (what, he doesn’t have a name for it) at the paper but at the ash instead? He hums thoughtfully and makes a soothing gesture at Pikachu, prompting him to return to his skin again. He closes his eyes and concentrates. His magic works with belief, right? So believe he will. He opens his eyes and looks at the paper again.
“Yes!” he crows happily when he picks up the sheet of paper from a corner and instead of flopping down like it should, it remains rigid. “Look at this, Peter! Hah! I’m a genius! Bow down in my mighty presence!”
“I’ll be right on that, give me a minute,” Peter deadpans drolly. He waves a hand towards the oven trays. “Here, meanwhile have a cookie.”
“I made those,” he grunts at the man, his face falling into an unimpressed expression.
“Are you saying they’re bad and that’s why they don’t qualify as a prize for your success?”
“Don’t you dare!” Stiles gasps scandalized. “Everything I bake is superb!” Peter raises an eyebrow. “Well, there might have been a few FUBAR situati-” Peter raises the other eyebrow. “Damn you,” he grumbles. “Gimme the damn cookie. I deserve it. Because my cookies are totally prize-worthy. You heard that? Totally and without a doubt. Nothing beats them.”
“Maybe add a glass of milk to be sure? And two cookies instead of one? Added value, you know. It was a big success after all,” Peter quips, picking up the ball of paper Stiles threw at him before and throwing it with all the rest pooling at Stiles’ feet without even looking.
“Stop dissing my wonderful cookies,” Stiles grouches, throwing a narrow-eyed glare at the man.
“Me? You wound me, sweetheart,” Peter replies amusedly, getting up to prepare a couple of cookies and a glass of milk and put them in front of Stiles.
“Smarmy bastard,” Stiles mutters, this time aloud, as he takes a bite. “Just for this, you’re not getting any-” Stiles voice becomes an intelligible grumble when he hears the tattletale crunchy sound to his right, where Peter is leaning to pick up the paper with the functioning array.
Stiles humphs at Peter, whose smirk widens, and he rolls his eyes. Then he covers an amused grin because he knows the man’s impressed because he nearly forgot to leave the paper behind when he went back to his seat… and because he snatched another cookie on his way.
Stiles goes back to the paper and sets off to finding out if the array can be turned off. It takes him a few tries but it’s possible. If he erases the array, it stops working, it seems. Or is it because he stopped believing it would work? He’ll have to ask Peter to participate later. In any case, awesome, success! Now more tests, he thinks rubbing his hands excitedly.
He writes the array, turns it on once again and then he sets it aside. He spreads more sheets around the table as he starts changing the placement of the array on them, activating it as soon as he writes it and noting down the time on a separate notebook. That way he’ll kill two birds with a stone and he’ll be able to check a few things: the time it lasts once activated and how many he’s able to activate at the same time.
(Because he knows that spark works with belief, but is this power of his finite? Druids depend on outside forces to practice runework and rituals but where does a spark’s power come from?)
Once he has twelve variations of the placement, he tests them against each other. Then he makes size variations and, after that, size and placement variations.
Two hours later, he has reached several conclusions: yes, size matters; yes, placement matters; yes, his spark is finite to a point.
The size sets the range of effect of the magic and the placement sets the point of impact. So, with the hardening array he’s testing right now, if Stiles sets right in the center a smaller array than the one-third ratio the book said to use, the edges of the paper don’t harden and flop down like they should. Stiles feels giddy with the possibilities this brings to the table. Of course, this experiment was done on a pretty simple form, it will obviously be more complicated with other more irregular ones. But it’s a start, right? Stiles has a feeling that he won’t be needing to calculate everything’s mass exactly, just have a general idea to work with, unless he’s doing a very precise work. Of course, to get to the point of not needing to calculate it every time, he’ll have do at lot of testing and practicing.
And as for his spark being finite… Even with the snack he had before (which he suspects Peter gave him on purpose because he somehow knew he’d need the extra energy and it kind of makes Stiles want to grin), he’s ravenous right now and it has nothing to do with the hour it is. It feels like when he comes back after one of those gruelling lacrosse practices and he’d eat the fridge’s contents… and then the actual fridge itself. So this means that using it tires him as exercising would. It remains to be seen if working out (so to speak) will raise his stamina or if his power is a set value that he’ll have to work around.
All in all, not bad for two hours of work. Now that he knows some of the rules (because he’s sure he’ll find more as he goes) he can start experimenting. But first.
“Dinner?” he pipes looking at the lasagne like a man would at water in a scorching hot desert.
As if on cue, his stomach emits an epic growl that lasts way longer than it should and he feels himself start blushing. Peter smirks at him.
Stiles flips him the finger again.
(Peter is way too smug about that, the smarmy bastard.)
“Mmm,” Peter hums contemplatively as he takes the first bite.
“Mmm?” Stiles replies, already on his third bite. So sue him, he’s starving, ok?
“Mmm,” Peter continues humming, almost reluctantly.
“Mmm, huh?” Stiles replies again, smirking.
“Mmhm,” Peter says as if unimpressed.
Stiles grins and Peter rolls his eyes.
Just after dinner, Stiles gets to work with the second simplest array he has available. The first one was a hardening one (to put it simply, the explanation in the book was way more technical and complicated) and this one is an elasticity one. Whether it augments or reduces elasticity remains to be seen though.
Just like with the hardening one, this array consists of four runes. Stiles’ guess is that that’s the simplest it can get. Because probably just putting one rune would be too open and thus, the effect would be unpredictable and uncontrollable. So basically there’s a primary rune and then at least three secondary ones that delimit the first one. The placing and the size respecting the primary rune define the extent of the effect they have on it. That’s probably why there are some subtle differences between both of the arrays that he has, even if they have the same diamond structure.
Ok, good, he can work with that. And since he now knows what effect the placing has, he writes the array exactly on the center of the paper and activates it. He picks it up and looks at it thoughtfully. At first glance there’s no apparent change on it. Then he pulls from both ends.
“Whoa!” he exclaims surprised when it stretches out like gum.
Well, it’s a little harder than gum and unlike it, when he stops pulling it immediately goes back to its original form with no evidence of what happened left behind. It has a limit of how much it can extend though, so Stiles guesses that the runes alter the original characteristics of the item they were placed on, as opposed to giving it a new set value. So if the original item had been stretchy to begin with, it would have extended even more than the paper. Conclusion: arrays alter the items exponentially.
(Oh, god, the possibilities.)
So the primary rune is elasticity and its size right now is the perfect size to have an effect on the whole paper, but what if he plays with the secondary ones? From what he has gathered, those only alter the primary rune, not the actual item itself.
He has two different arrays with the same structure and, save from the primary rune, the same runes in that structure. And those secondary runes have the same size respecting the primary rune on both arrays. What do those runes do? Because the meaning they have doesn’t shed any light on that.
So if he gets the left side one and makes it bigger, what happens? And what if he changes the one at the bottom? Or the one on the left? What if he changes two of them at the same time? Or the three? What if…
Stiles startles a little when the lights of the kitchen are suddenly on. He turns to look at Peter perplexed, but the man isn’t paying him any attention at all. He squints around and takes in the sun’s position in the sky. He hadn’t even noticed he was starting to struggle to see.
He lets the pen he was keeping in his mouth fall into his hand and looks at the mess he’s made. Maybe it’s time to tidy up a bit, he thinks grimacing.
Well, it was worth it, he supposes… or at least a necessary evil.
Some of his tests were a complete bust and some weren’t. He now knows what each of the runes in this particular array is for and how their size relative to the primary affects it. He also knows that, at least in this kind of structure, all the runes need to have the same orientation or it won’t work. Also, this kind of structure is to alter the physical characteristics of the item it’s placed on. -And it has to be an object. All the books were adamant about that, about runes not being used on living beings.- The secondary runes are set ones that can’t be changed and the primary is the one that sets the characteristic the array will alter. Moreover, two runes can be linked as the primary rune, but anymore than that and it fails, which he supposes is where the more complicated arrays come in. Also, just because those particular runes are set ones for this kind of array, it doesn’t mean that they can’t act as primaries too.
And all of that was just from two different arrays that have the same structure. He has three more structures to go through. And then he has to experiment with items with different sizes, forms, compositions…
(This is not a bear, it’s a damn whale.)
He kind of wants to scream but, hey, he still has all his fingers and the house is not only standing but hasn’t been damaged at all. Only a full stack of papers has been sacrificed to the cause. Yay for him.
“Ah, father, you man of little faith,” he mutters, slouching on his seat and closing his eyes tiredly.
Really loud rock music blares suddenly from the laptop’s speakers, startling Stiles into almost falling from his chair. He looks at Peter, who looks as surprised as Stiles and is also trying to lower down the volume as fast as he can.
“What the hell, Peter,” Stiles gasps, one hand still over his thundering heart and the other grasping at the chair in a trembling iron fist.
“I was trying to put the soundtrack to your little moment there, but this is not what I expected,” the man explains perplexed. “I mean, the song is called Crushing Defeat, but I wouldn’t say a crushing defeat sounds like that. Not that I would know, but.” And then the man has the gall to shrug nonchalantly before continuing speaking. “I should have definitely gone for my first option.”
Thinking I can see through this
But I’m only human after all
And he stops the music right there.
Stiles, whose face had gone from startled to unimpressed in the blink of an eye, goes right into the evil eye territory equally fast.
“Remind me again who’s been dead before?” Stiles says, his voice saccharine sweet.
“Sure! Anything for you, sweetheart,” Peter answers, equally sweet. “I’ll remind you anytime you want that not even Death could win against me. Anything to inspire you when you’re feeling low.”
And he turns back with a self-satisfied smirk to continue whatever he was doing before.
Stiles will show him a crushing defeat.
(Also, just for that, he’s hoarding all the cookies, dammit.)
It has somehow turned into a contest.
It’s way past 4 a.m. and neither of them is bowing out. Stiles has gone through three more structures, gained more knowledge and even more rules. Peter has at least filled ten pages of that journal of his and Stiles has caught him covertly eyeing the coffee cupboard more than once. At this rate, John Stilinski will arrive to see them either conked out over their respective works or stubbornly resisting but about to pass out.
At this point Stiles wishes his dad would appear so he could order him to bed and he’d have the excuse to bow out, but he’d rather face another run around the pool with all the alphas chasing after him than admit to that.
He eyes the cookie plate and mourns its empty state. Then, with a sigh, he turns his attention back the last structure that he has. So far he has confirmed a lot of the things that he already suspected. The more complicated an array gets, the more things you’re trying to change on an object… or the more complicated the object’s composition or the being you’re placing it on is. But so far Stiles has gathered that if you place an array on a living being, you better brace yourself because it’s so complicated that it has disastrous effects more often than not. Which is no good… unless you’re banking on it going wrong to get out of a pinch. Stiles certainly wouldn’t mind making an alpha go boom with failed runework, that’s for sure.
Well, in any case he now has an idea of how the arrays are expanded and of how to link different arrays to cover the more irregular objects or to make domino effects. Of course, he just has the theory and he’ll have to experiment a lot but it’s something that’s not a “crushing defeat”.
Stiles barely refrains from hitting his head repeatedly against the table to wake himself up forcefully but only because he still has some dignity left. He looks at the stress ball that he got out to fidget with by hour… whichever it was, he’s lost count. It used to belong to Scott, from when he hurt his hand and he needed to strengthen his muscles. It’s fuchsia with green polka dots all over it and it couldn’t be uglier even if it tried, so it wouldn’t be a big loss if Stiles accidentally murders it.
The material is polyurethane, if he’s not wrong. The thought of getting up to check its mass on the laptop is too much to bear, so Stiles uses his phone to search for it. When he finally has it, he muses over what he needs to change on it to make it bounce. Elasticity, for one, of course. Resistance maybe? And what else to generate the kinetic energy he needs? How much does he need to add or subtract to its original characteristics to get what he wants?
It takes a while, but he decides what structure to use and the runes that form part of it in the end. Then he calculates the size it should have and, after fretting over it for a bit, he decides that you only live once is the attitude to have and starts writing it directly on the ball. After a moment he realizes that pencil is not the way to go and changes to a sharpie. Either the ball is really old or the sharpie is too pointed, but instead of just writing on its surface, he’s partially etching the array. He bites his lip but decides to go on. Then he activates it.
Something catches his attention at the edge of his vision and he turns to find Peter about to fall asleep. Stiles grins triumphantly and picks up his phone to get the visual evidence to lord his victory over the man when he wakes up later. Because he’s going to sleep once he has the picture, dammit, he’s dying.
Right as he’s snapping the picture, the stress ball rolls over the edge and falls to the tiled floor before he can catch it…
… then it ricochets silently but with deadly speed towards the ceiling, where it rebounds again, gaining even more speed than it already had.
“Oh, fuck,” Stiles whispers wide-eyed. “Peter!” he screams right before it hits the man’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. “Oh, fuck!”
“What the-!” Peter groans, somehow managing to look both like a spooked kitten and as if a train has just rolled over him at the same time.
“Down!” Stiles warns him again as it comes back like a tiny missile. Peter, the idiot, tries to grab it as it passes by. “NO!” he shouts but to no avail.
Peter gets thrown forward and out of the kitchen, where he proceeds to crash onto the living room’s lamp before he can finally stop the momentum, successfully managing to not make another victim out of the TV. The ball continues bouncing and gaining even more speed.
“Oh, fuck,” Stiles whines.
When the sheriff comes back home, he’s greeted by a very odd sight. There’s a trash bag full of things in a corner and several items, which includes two lamps, several pictures and a small side table, are missing. There are a lot of round marks over several pieces of furniture, the walls and the ceiling, and quite a few of those round marks look carved in and scorched. From where he is, he can see that the glass from two of the kitchen cupboards is gone and that there are two perfect holes on the dishwasher’s door. There’s a plant without its pot just sitting there on the living room’s table and the missing pot is right at the center of the same table, downturned. Last but not least, Peter Hale and Stiles are completely out, one over the other, on the couch, dark bags scarily prominent under their eyes.
John blinks. And then he blinks even more.
“Well, the house is still standing,” he mutters as he reaches for the pot to take the plant off of the table, because he has to start somewhere to fix the mess, after all, and this is really the only thing he can do right now. The rest he’ll take care of after he wakes up.
“NO!!!!” both Stiles and Peter shout, snapping awake and bolting, just as he lifts the pot from the table.
The plant is still on the living room table but the pot holding the ewok -what, it’s a small and harmless looking (fur)ball that’s really dangerous when provoked, dad, where’s the lie?- is in the toilet, with the door closed for good measure.
(There’s another hole in the dishwasher’s door and they’ve lost the two vases that had survived the first assault. Only Peter’s speed saved the laptop and it was only by a hair’s breadth.)
(Stiles is secretly happy that the TV and the recorder haven’t been casualties. He had to pull a The Bodyguard™ move and there’s a round shaped bruise already showing on his stomach, but it was well worth it. He’d die if he missed yesterday’s episode of La Dulce Impostora.)
(Not that he’ll say that aloud, of course.)
It’s mid-afternoon and they’re having breakfast and not feeling any shame about it. Stiles feels like a limp noodle and is ravenous. He has probably already eaten his weight in pancakes with an obscene amount of syrup, but he has no intention of stopping any time soon.
He looks at Peter’s plate covetuously and the man’s lips twitch, but he makes an offering gesture (sassy and a little mocking, but still offering) instead of lording his remaining pancake over Stiles. It takes a lot to not descend over it like a rabid beast, and even more to rise from his seat and make more instead. He even shares them with his dad and Peter, someone should give him medal for the feat.
Just as he’s taking the first bite, the cupboard’s door, which was barely hanging from its hinges, makes a piteous sound and falls first to the counter and then to the ground, dragging a plate to it’s ultimate demise with it. The lack of door reveals that almost all the mugs inside said cupboard have been smashed to smithereens at some point.
“So,” his dad says, looking caught between horrified amusement and resignation.
“You said I’d be grounded if the house wasn’t standing,” Stiles points out, mouth full and all.
Peter snorts and takes a sip of his coffee. Unlike Stiles and John, the bastard doesn’t look tired at all. He’s sitting on the chair as if it’s his throne. Stiles is a petty creature and he really wants to call bullshit because he knows that’s the man’s third cup of coffee, so he can’t be feeling as good as he’s making it look. The need to shoot a dirty look at him for the unfairness of it is almost overwhelming.
“I said I’d definitely ground you if it wasn’t standing, not that I wouldn’t ground you for any other damaged property.”
“What- You- I claim false advertising!” Stiles gasps with a hand over his heart.
“Terribly sorry about that,” John deadpans. “I’m sure I have some complaint forms somewhere. I’ll make sure your reclamation reaches the proper authorities.” He takes a long swallow of coffee and sighs contentedly. “Which would be me, so reclamation dismissed.”
“Abuse! I claim abuse! No, don’t hand me another imaginary reclamation form!”
Welp, this took more than a year. I’ve lost count of how many versions of this chapter I’ve written… and how many times I rewrote each one of those. Sigh.
Thanks @ssree and @nineorfour for proofing this.
