Give me unhinged Stiles. All human, full confidence, protective as fuck Stiles.
I want Stiles' name to be broadcasted on Nemeton weekly as the pack guardian. Not Emissary, not Protector Druid, just full, no holds barred— willing to die, happy to kill, will gut you like a fish if you touch my beta's and or alphas—Stiles.
Isaac and Stiles are bullshitting one day when Isaac says his "I spent my childhood locked in a freezer. How would I know how to be helpful?" And Stiles rolls his eyes.
"You can't use that every time Isaac." It's unfortunate that Aiden is walking passed them at that moment and he glares at the beta.
"It's where you belonged mutt." The twin hisses and Stiles is out of his seat so fast Scott doesn't have time to grab him. Cause sure, Stiles can't beat up Aiden but the werewolf can't heal his vision back if he's missing a goddamn eyeball. And it takes both Scott and Boyd to pull Stiles away before he stabs him in the face with a newly fashioned, mountain ash pencil.
Some new supernatural cat girl has been stalking Allison for weeks. Stiles at first tries to reason with her, tells her she's under Alpha McCalls protection and though she's a hunter Allison will leave her alone as long as she behaves. But Cat Girl won't have any of it and when she threatens to scalp Allison's 'pretty little head' Stiles runs her over with the jeep.
A werewolf with knowledge of the Hale pack comes back to town one day and is relentlessly harassing Derek. He blames him for the fire and Stiles happens to be out at the preserve when he hears the asshole talking about Kate. "Admit it Hale, you're glad they died! Selling your family out for one hard rut. Or did she make you the bitch?"
Neither notice Stiles and his metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and dipped in wolfsbane until he's on the guy. Derek watches in awestruck horror as Stiles beats the crap out of him. Human Stiles covered in blood and panting as he stands over the unconscious omega. He spits on the guy before turning to Derek and the alpha is both utterly terrified and completely turned on when narrowed and angry eyes look to him with concern and gentleness.
"Please don't listen to him Der. None of it was your fault."
Alpha Ito makes it her mission to warn any new supernatural travelers that Beacon Hills is protected by two packs and one human. "You may speak freely with Alpha Hale or Alpha McCall if there is a problem but I implore you, do not insult the fox."
I hope this chapter makes up for how long it took to get out! If things go to plan, there will be either one or two more full chapters and then an epilogue.
Happy Holidays, I hope everyone who celebrates something this time of year has had a pleasant and positive time!
Oh and if anyone can recognise the book Stiles quotes, you get a virtual cookie 🍪
Scott sat in the lumpy reception chair, agitation flowing through him. When he’d decided to come to the station to try and help get Allison out, he’d intended to just walk straight into the Sheriff’s office and explain things. Unfortunately, he’d been immediately waylaid by the officer manning the desk who had told him to wait
He was still trying to work out how this could have happened. What reason could there be to arrest Allison?
The chair beside him creamed as someone sat down and he glanced up to see his English teacher watching him with concern.
“Scott?”
“Oh… hi Miss Blake. What are you doing here?”
“Someone vandalised my car, I'm just here to get a police report for the insurance company. I… assume you're here about Allison?”
“You know about that?”
“She may not be in my class but teachers do talk, especially when it comes to something as significant as a student being arrested… although I'm still unclear on what she's been charged with.”
“She hasn't done anything, I don't know why she's in here!” Scott's voice cracked as he spoke. Miss Blake reached out and touched his wrist.
“I believe you. But whatever evidence they have, someone set it up to implicate her and that's all the police will care about.”
“What do I do?”
“Is there anyone who might have something against her? I heard… whispers about you and Stiles having a falling out over her.”
“He wouldn't do that. He's just upset that I have more in my life than just him now. He knows I love her, eventually he'll get over it.”
Miss Blake nodded slowly, seemingly deep in thought, as Scott stared down at his clasped hands.
“I hope you're right Scott. But you might have a hard time convincing anyone else… especially with the hex that's on her.”
Scott went rigid, his head rising to lock eyes with his teacher.
“Hex?” He said hoarsely.
“Like a curse? There were traces of it all over her when I saw her at school.”
“How do you…?”
“I used to be a practicing druid. Much like that vet in town. I was even the emissary for a wolf pack for a while, until I retired.”
Scott gawped at her. Miss Blake laughed softly.
“Yes Scott, I know what you are. You really should lower your voice at school. But even with my limited magic, I can see that someone has done something to that girl. It might not necessarily be anything big, just a basic bad luck charm would do it. Something small and petty, someone upset lashing out.”
“But Stiles doesn't… he's not a druid or magic or anything like that.”
“He doesn't have to be. With the right person at his side guiding him… influencing him… and a small spark of belief, that would be enough.”
“Mr McCall?” A voice called out before Scott could speak. It was a young looking, unfamiliar deputy. Scott didn't know the staff to the same extent that Stiles did, and even less since everything with Matt, but he had a decent rapport with a chunk of them. He had been hoping to use that established goodwill to help him make his case.
In a slight daze from the information he'd received, he stumbled to his feet.
“I…”
“Tell you what, I'll wait around once I'm done and give you a ride home when you finish,” Miss Blake said quietly, smiling sweetly. “We can talk more then.”
Scott nodded and made his way towards the deputy, legs unsteady.
He was led into a small interview room and took a seat. The officer sat opposite with a file and a notebook in front of him.
“Alright Mr McCall, I'm Deputy Parrish. You said you had some information about the arrest of Allison Argent?”
“Yes, well maybe… I might have an alibi for her… for whatever it is she did… we were dating, but we had to keep it secret? Cause her parents really didn't like me. So we would meet up in secret. And her parents checked her phone so we would make plans by leaving messages on the condensation on her car windows.”
“Well that's very interesting. If I ask you about a few specific occasions, would you be able to confirm if you and Miss Argent were together at the time?”
“Yes! Of course!” Scott's heart jumped and he tried to restrain his smile at the thought of getting Allison out of jail.
Officer Parrish opened the file and ran his eyes over the documents inside.
“The night the station was attacked, you were present along with the Sheriff and Stiles Stilinski, yes?”
“When Matt killed those people? Yes.”
“And during the gunfire that occurred afterwards?”
“Yes?”
“That day had you seen Allison at all?”
“She wasn't at school, which was understandable. Her mom had just died.”
“And at the station, did you see her there?”
Scott paused. He had seen her, he knew she'd been there hunting Derek but the police wouldn't understand that. They'd just use it as a reason to keep her locked up.
“No. She wasn't with Stiles and me when we went there. She didn't know anything about Matt so we didn't think we should bring her.”
Officer Parrish watched him, mulling over his words for a moment before jotting it down in his notebook.
“What about the other members of the Argent family? Did you see any of them there that night?”
Again Scott hesitated. He'd run into Gerard and, while he didn't care if the man got locked up, he didn't want that to implicate Allison.
“I saw Gerard Argent in the station. But he was alone when I saw him. And I didn't see any of the others.”
“Okay, thank you Mr McCall. I have one other date to go over with you.”
“Alright.”
“The night of the lacrosse final. Had you seen her that day?”
“No, I had to work. I left a message to meet up that night though.”
“After the lacrosse game?”
“Yes. She didn't come to the game. Neither did her dad.”
“But her grandfather did?”
“Yes. I think he had to, cause of his position?”
“Do you know what she was doing while the game was happening?”
“No, I figured she was still grieving and just wasn't up to doing anything social”
“And did you see her after the game?”
“Yes. I went over to hers to check on her.”
Scott wasn't sure exactly what the officer was after but he figured it was better to just alibi her for as much time as possible. Technically he had seen her after the game, so it wasn't like he was completely lying.
“Okay Mr McCall, that's all I wanted to ask you about.”
“Are you going to let her go now?”
“I need to discuss the information you've provided with my colleague before we proceed with any action. Someone will be in contact with you soon.”
There was something about the look on the officer's face that made Scott uncomfortable. He felt like he'd stepped into a trap without realising.
He left the station silently, immediately spotting Miss Blake waiting for him by her car. She ushered him in and the pair left the parking lot. Now on the road, she twisted in her seat to look at him.
After Cora’s reunion with her family, which had at one point devolved into a lot of yelling (mainly from Cora), Stiles had assumed she would want to stay with one of them. He was surprised when she marched him out to the jeep and informed him she planned to stay, at least until the other two had returned to their homes. Stiles didn’t mind. He found that he was sleeping better with them tucked around him.
Unfortunately, their makeshift peace came crashing down quite abruptly. They’d managed to avoid the sheriff’s detection, partly due to his workload and partly because of the awkward tension between the two Stilinskis. Stiles very emphatically did not want to talk about what had happened to him, especially with his dad. The sheriff found himself in a precarious balancing act between cop and father, wanting to offer comfort and support while aware he had to be careful not to influence his son or treat him like a victim. Stiles had originally tried deflection, before developing a habit of simply leaving the room if his dad tried to bring up the Argents, the video or the arrests.
It worked fine until Stiles overslept. He’d had some particularly bad nightmares that left him exhausted, fragile and stubbornly cocooned within his covers.
When the sheriff opened the bedroom door, it took him a minute to understand what he was seeing. Tangled covers with limbs poking out, too many and too varied for just one person. Blonde hair splayed across the pillow, accompanied by deep brown locks draped over a slender feminine shoulder.
“What the hell?!” he spluttered. The intrusion had little impact on the group, aside from a muffled protest somewhere within the heap. “Stiles!”
A young woman poked her head up, something vaguely familiar about her face to the overwhelmed sheriff.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Stiles, wake up. Your dad is here.”
Stiles let out a startled yelp, attempting to vault from the bed but only succeeding in sending the duvet and himself crashing to the floor, leaving the other three bedraggled teens out in the open.
At least they all had clothes on, the sheriff thought.
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath to steady himself before he opened them again.
“Alright. I want the four of you to dress and get downstairs. We need to talk.”
“Err, I have to go to school…” Stiles started.
“No. No more avoiding or evading. Downstairs. Five minutes.”
The sheriff stalked out. The teens exchanged glances.
“Well… this isn’t good,” Boyd said.
“We could make a run for it?” Erica suggested. “Jump out the window?”
“I think he might notice,” Cora muttered.
Stiles stayed silent, reluctantly dragging himself to his feet and starting to get dressed. His hands were trembling at the prospect of the looming conversation.
A hand touched his shoulder, Erica having silently moved to his side.
“You’re not alone. We’ve got you.”
Stiles managed a weak smile in response.
The group tidied themselves up and reluctantly trudged down the stairs. The sheriff was pacing in the living room but he paused long enough to gesture at the sofa before continuing.
The four of them squished up on the couch, Erica and Cora flanking Stiles. Their hands found his, squeezing reassuringly. The sheriff's eyes caught the motion as he flicked his gaze over them.
He stopped pacing and levelled them all with a stern gaze.
“You're Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes, yes?” He asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re aware you’ve been reported missing?”
“We are,” Boyd said.
“We weren’t missing,” Erica said. “We were prisoners.”
The Sheriff nodded, shifting his focus to Cora.
“And you are?”
Cora stayed silent. Stiles sighed.
“Dad, this is Cora. Cora Hale. And yes, before you ask, both Peter and Derek know she’s alive.”
“She was being held with us,” Erica added. “When we broke out, she came with us and we came straight here. We weren’t sure if anywhere else was safe, so Stiles agreed to let us stay. He bagged up the clothes we were wearing that day to hand in when we were ready to give a statement.”
“How long?” The Sheriff asked quietly. “How long has it been since they got here?”
“The day that Allison got arrested.”
“Damnit Stiles, you can’t keep things like this from me! Were you going to tell me at any point? Or just have me find out later like with what happened to you?”
“In fairness, the not talking about what happened wasn't specific to you. I didn't want anyone to know. The only reason Peter did was because he found me after. And then decided to report it against my wishes.”
“You didn't just not tell me Stiles. You lied to me about how you got hurt!”
“Dad, if I had told you I'd been kidnapped, tortured and sexually assaulted by my geriatric high school principal and my best friend's psychotic girlfriend, would you have actually believed that?” Stiles sighed. “I wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. I didn't want people looking at me with pity or suddenly becoming just a piece of gossip. The town victim. Or maybe even the town liar. Having everything suddenly thrust on me, seeing people at the station who I've known for years looking at me in that way? It’s horrible. I had the choice taken away from me, yes it was out of concern but it was just another thing stripped away from me because of that night. I wasn't going to make these guys have to share before they were ready and I wasn't going to put them in danger in the meantime. I had to protect them.”
“Stiles, you're a kid. I understand caring about your friends but it's not your job to protect them, to protect anyone. I'm the adult, I'm the one who is meant to take care of you”
“Meant to, yeah.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I've been taking care of myself since I was eight years old, dad. And I've been taking care of you since I was ten.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Who do you think did the grocery shopping when mom got sick? Or made my dinner? Who washed your uniform after she was gone and made sure the bills got paid? Rolled you on your side so you didn't choke on your vomit when you got drunk?”
The sheriff looked like he'd been slapped.
“Stiles, I-”
“You were grieving, I know that. I saw it, I took care of it, took care of you even when cleaning up empty bottles changed to broken glass and spilled whiskey became blood.” His hand brushed the scar on his temple. “I know you care about me dad, and I know you want to look after me… but I know that you care about your job and helping people. And I’m proud of you for what you do but I long ago accepted that I'm… not the priority. It's easier for everyone if I take care of myself”
There was silence in the living room as though the house was waiting for Stiles to take back what he said. He didn't, although his heart felt like it was being twisted with every beat. The sheriff stared at him numbly.
Surprisingly, Cora was the one who broke the tension.
“Umm, if Erica and Boyd are ready, I'm okay to go to the station and give my statement. Stiles, can you give us a ride?”
“Yeah, no problem. Can you call Peter on the way? He's our lawyer for this stuff.”
As they started towards the door, the sheriff made an aborted move forward but stopped when Stiles looked at him.
“It's fine dad. You can't be involved, or they'll accuse you of witness tampering. I'm sure you've got other things you need to do.”
It was an out and both of them knew it. The sheriff grasped it eagerly, falling back on work as a familiar tool of deflection.
“Yeah… I need to talk to Melissa. Apparently Scott tried to give a false alibi.”
Stiles nodded and headed out to his jeep. He wondered if his dad would bring up the things he said or if he'd simply pretend it didn't happen.
The ride to the station was silent, except for Cora speaking to Peter. Despite leaving after them and living across town, the older wolf managed to beat them there. He didn’t comment on the tension radiating off Stiles beyond a questioning smile. As soon as they got inside the three betas were escorted away by Parrish and Tara while Peter prepared himself to speak with Erica’s parents and Boyd’s grandmother, leaving Stiles alone. After a moment’s consideration, he made a decision and slipped down the corridor towards the cells. He moved silently, listening intently for any sign of someone coming to find him. With a flick of his wrist, the red light on the CCTV blinked out. He would have to be quick in case someone noticed the issue.
Stiles turned the corner, Chris coming into view. The man was sitting against the far wall of his cell, looking somehow smaller than normal. Allison wasn’t there, she had been placed in the set of the cells in the next room over to avoid the two Argents talking to one another.
“Hey Mr Argent,” Stiles called out. Chris’ head shot up.
“Stiles… what are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you. I need a favour.”
“I don’t know if you noticed but I’m not really in a position to provide favors right now.”
“I know. This is for when you get out. Because I’m fairly sure you aren’t going to be serving any time, at least not anything significant unlike the littlest psychopath next door.”
“This isn’t encouraging me to give you a favour.”
Stiles shrugged.
“Well, whether you do or don’t is up to you. All I need you to do is pass a message on to your matriarch.”
Chris frowned, getting to his feet and approaching the bars.
“And why is that?”
“You’re probably not aware since you’ve been stuck in here, but your extended family is having quite a string of bad luck currently. I’ve got an alert on my phone for the name Argent and it seems like every day there’s another arrest or mysterious death.”
“What…?”
“It’s almost like your family is cursed,” Stiles said, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Or like the FBI suddenly found themselves in possession of a rather large amount of evidence about illegal activities conducted by your relatives.”
Chris’ hands wrapped around the bars, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“What did you do?”
“I got tired of people not getting punished for the things they do. Hurting my wolves was the last straw.”
“I let them out. And I had no idea about what they were going to do to you, you know I follow the code.”
“Ahh yes, the code. So you didn’t work with your wife to abduct and torture our high school principal so your father could take his place? Putting him in a position where he had power over vulnerable teenagers of all species?”
Chris had no response to that.
“When I gathered all this evidence, i wasn’t sure about including you in it at first. But then I remembered something. When I was little, my mom read me this story that has one line in it that I think about a lot. ‘How can you talk about only ignorance? Don't you know that it is the worst thing in the world, next to wickedness?’ I've been thinking about it more and more lately. You see, I don't think you're wicked Chris. But that doesn't make you a good person. You hide behind ignorance of your family's misdeeds. You preach loyalty to your code but only when it doesn't put you at risk and never when it actually matters. You are a coward, a willfully blind coward. And a hypocrite. You try to claim the moral high ground but your hands are soaked with blood. You shot Scott the night of his first full moon, without provocation. You abducted and tortured a human with no knowledge of the supernatural. You threatened me and Jackson. Where was your code then?”
Stiles stepped closer to the bars, his own hands wrapping around the metal as he leant in.
“I refuse to let your people ruin any more lives. Tell your matriarch that as long as every hunter in your family sticks to the code without exception, there’ll be no problems. And anyone who disagrees with that is welcome to come to Beacon Hills and discuss the matter in person.”
Stiles turned on his heel and stalked out of the cell block
In the days that followed, Stiles spent as much time as possible out of the house. With Erica and Boyd now officially found, they were back in their respective homes (although none of the trio were happy about it). Cora was still around, often sneaking through Stiles' window rather than sleeping at Peter's. Even though they'd only known each other a short time, Stiles could feel a little bit of the tension in his body slip away when she was around.
But still, without the betas by his side, sleep had become nearly impossible so he'd decided to use the empty hours to plan his next step. He still had a few chess pieces that he needed to knock off the board. Blueprints, geographic surveys, notebooks full of meticulous notes, he poured over them all until he had a list covering the who, what and where of his plan.
A week after his meeting with the alpha pack, he decided it was time to make his move. It was the weekend and he was up bright and early. Deucalion and Peter were going to meet him and, as long as everything went according to plan, he should be finished before dinner time. Ethan was giving him a ride. He didn't want his jeep being recognised and the alpha had agreed very quickly to his request. Stiles got the feeling that both twins were just a tiny bit terrified of him after what he did in their apartment.
They drove to a building a few towns over. The sign read ‘Sunrise Retirement Home' and at the sight of it, Stiles couldn't help but scowl. It seemed like the least appropriate place for someone like Gerard to be kept.
Instead of pulling into the parking lot, they continued on and turned off the road onto a dirt track a short but safe distance away. One of Peter's cars was parked there, along with a small van that Deucalion had acquired at Stiles' request. Both of the older wolves were waiting, seemingly deep in conversation.
“Are you quite sure I can't persuade you?” Stiles heard Deucalion say as they parked up.
“Even if you could convince me, I doubt he would agree.”
“Hmm… he is quite formidable for a child.”
Stiles cleared his throat, hopping out of the car.
“Are we interrupting?” He asked.
“Not at all,” Deucalion told him. “I was simply seeing if Peter would be willing to part with you so I could make you part of my pack instead.”
“I think some of your pack might have an issue with that, given our last interaction.”
Stiles stretched, pulling from the natural magic in the ground. It wasn't as potent as it was in Beacon Hills but every plant, rock, river and animal had a small spark he could draw on.
“Alright, are we all ready?” He looked the three wolves over. “I'll knock out the cameras as we approach and hold it as long as I can. Peter, Deucalion, you can get in through the back fire escape. The employees keep it propped open so they can go outside to smoke. Gerard is in room 7. You can do what you want with him but remember I need him to still be alive. And maybe avoid anything very gory until you're all out of the building. We don't have time for clean up.”
The two men nodded, their expressions alight with excitement.
“We're going to approach on foot, Ethan I need you to move the van closer to the building. Make sure the back doors are pointed towards it so we can load up and drive out quickly.”
With the plan in place, the group silently slid into action like ghosts disappearing into the forest. Stiles found a tree with sturdy branches near the retirement home with decent sightlines and he perched there, watching as the two older wolves approached the building.
As promised, the fire escape was propped open, the ground littered with cigarette butts. Stiles closed his eyes and let himself sink into the map of energies running around him. It was harder without the web of leylines to pull him down but he was able to get at least a partial view. He tuned out the natural energies and focused on the metallic artificial ones that hummed nauseatingly around the building. He carefully unravelled the threads, pulling until he felt one of them give way. There was no way for him to tell of course, but he felt like he had taken out the right one and cut the cameras. It wasn't as easy as it had been at the station, where he'd been able to see the indicator light. He just hoped it was enough.
Peter and Deucalion disappeared inside.
It took about 30 minutes for them to reemerge, Peter guiding a wheelchair with a slumped figure in it. Deucalion was following close behind, head inclined up as he scented the air. Stiles dropped down from his tree and jogged to the road where Ethan was waiting. The others joined them a few moments later and Stiles let his magic drop with a sigh of relief. It was like a muscle, every time he used it there was a strain afterwards.
He clambered into the passengers seat so he could easily direct Ethan to their next stop, while the others loaded into the back. Stiles refused to look back, not willing to see or acknowledge Gerard’s presence until he absolutely had to. Fortunately, the hunter seemed to be unconscious so they didn’t have to listen to the vile poison that usually spewed out of his mouth.
The spot Stiles guided them to was one that he'd scouted out in advance. It was on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, the broken down shell of a cottage tucked away in a thicket in the woods. A dirt trail provided the only route in.
“This is it.”
He hopped out, leading the group to the side of the cottage remains. A partial circular wall marked out a well, long run dry, where Cora was perched. Beside her was a stack of bricks and a wheelbarrow filled with a viscous cement mixture. Peter cocked his head to the side. Stiles hadn’t explained this part of his plan, or mentioned that Cora would be joining them.
The young Hale nodded to Stiles in greeting, but didn’t speak. She did shoot a glare in Deucalion and Ethan’s direction.
“What do you have planned sweetheart?” Peter asked
“Gerard wanted to live, right? I’m going to grant his wish… in the worst way possible. Once he wakes up anyway.”
“He’s awake,” Ethan said suddenly. “He’s faking.”
Peter sighed and shoved Gerard from his wheelchair.
“Wakey wakey Argent,”
The two men pulled him to his feet. The hunter glared, his face swollen and bruised, streaked with blood and black bile. Jagged scratches stretched from ear to ear across his eyes, which had been reduced to a mess of sightless flesh.
“Hello Mr Argent. This is a bit of a switch up isn’t it? One of the last times we saw each other, you were the one having me dragged into a van to be brutalised.”
“Mr Stilinski? Well this is a surprise,” Gerard rasped, breaking into a ragged cough as he spoke. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I’m capable of a lot more than you know.”
“Getting your mutts to torture me? Hardly impressive.”
“No different from you getting your hunter buddies to brutalise a teenager. But no, the torture part was just for them. Strangely enough, they don’t like you very much.” Stiles looked to Peter. “Would you do me a favour and pull his tongue out?”
“Of course sweetheart.”
Peter didn’t hesitate, gripping Gerard’s jaw and forcing his mouth open before ripping the muscle out at the root.
“Perfect. Now, drop him in the well.”
With very little effort, Deucalion dragged the hunter’s body over to the remains of the well and shoved him into the darkness below. There was a thud and a crack of bones when he hit the bottom. Cora picked up the wheelbarrow and began to pour in the concrete, steadily flooding the hole with it until it drew level with the rim. Stiles carefully drew a few runes into the concrete before layering the bricks to completely seal it.
Once the well was blocked up, he knelt and pressed his hand against the bricks, encouraging plants to spread and grow until it was entirely covered to the point that no one would be able to tell there was ever a well at all.
“There we go. Safe and sound.”
“As much as I appreciate the idea of sending him to rot in a pit, I am a little confused,” Deucalion said.
“There’s an enchantment on the well. He’ll die eventually, but only after having to endure every bit of suffering that he has been the cause of, both directly and indirectly. Until then, he’ll starve, he’ll choke and suffocate, he’ll rot but he won’t get the relief of death,” Stiles said coldly. He got to his feet, body swaying from the exertion of the magic he’d used.
Deucalion gave him a considering look, eyes burning bright red.
“Thank you for giving me this. When you’re ready to get rid of the Darach, I’ll be there.”
The group split to their various vehicles, Cora heading off to get rid of the wheelbarrow. Instead of riding with Ethan this time, Stiles was in Peter’s car. They had only been on the road for a short time when Stiles’ phone rang, the screen lighting up with Isaac’s name. He picked up before the second ring could finish.
“Hey Isaac, what’s up?” Stiles asked.
“Stiles, have you seen Derek?”
“Umm… no? What’s wrong?”
“We got attacked yesterday. By that big alpha, the bald one? Derek fought him so I could get away, but I’ve not seen him since and he wasn’t at the loft when I looked and he’s not answering his phone.”
“Okay, stay calm. I’m with Peter at the moment, we’ll go and check the loft. He might have come back by now. If he’s not there, I’ll grab something of his and use it to help track him.”
He felt the speed of the car increase slightly as he spoke but ignored it in favour of continuing to reassure Isaac. By the time he’d finished the call, they were almost at the loft. Stiles wasn’t sure he wanted to think about how many speeding laws they’d probably broken.
As they neared the building, Stiles felt a sense of unease settle on him. It was reminiscent of the nauseous feeling he got whenever he was around Miss Blake.
“Peter, can you hear any heartbeats in there?”
“Yes. Two.”
“Okay… I’m going to have a look. If I ask you to wait here, will you?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Stiles rolled his eyes and reluctantly let Peter tail him inside. With every step, the feeling in his gut grew more intense. It was like a physical weight inside of him, slowing his steps. Still, he forced his way through, clinging to Peter’s arm.
“Are you okay?” the wolf asked softly.
“Just fatigue from earlier.”
Peter didn’t look convinced but he didn’t argue, instead wrapping his arm more securely around Stiles’ waist to keep him upright.
The door to the loft was open and as they stepped in, it took a moment for Stiles to fully gauge what he was looking at. Derek, unharmed and in his boxers, was draped across his couch with a very naked Miss Blake on top of him.
“Nice to see you have your priorities right Derek,” Peter said dryly. While he wasn’t really a fan of any of the teenage wolves that made up his nephew’s pack (with the possible exception of Erica), leaving betas to think their alpha was hurt or dead wasn’t right.
The couple shot upright at Peter’s words and for a second Stiles saw a smirk flicker across his teacher’s face before she hid it with a hurried attempt to cover herself.
“What are you two doing here?” Derek demanded, getting to his feet. There was something off about his words and his posture. He was too rigid while his voice almost seemed slurred, like he was drunk.
“Isaac was worried about you,” Stiles said. “But clearly you’re fine,”
“Yes. I am. Get out.”
Miss Blake moved behind Derek, resting her hand against the small of his back. The weight in Stiles’ gut seemed to magnify by ten and he felt a flicker of rage stir within him as he realised exactly what she was doing. He wanted to punch her. He didn’t like Derek that much but he knew what Kate had done to him and now this woman was trying to use him in the same way? If he was a wolf, he’d be snarling.
He took a breath to steady himself. Miss Blake’s magic was layered on the building, she had the advantage here and, for all he knew, if he made a move against her she might command Derek to tear his throat out. He settled for shooting her a look of pure venom before retreating silently from the building, pulling Peter with him just in case she tried to control the older wolf too.
He stayed quiet, seething internally. Peter didn’t press him for conversation or ask what was on his mind, just drove them away from the loft. He was so in his own head that Stiles didn’t see what was in the road until Peter slammed on the breaks, diverting his focus back to the present.
A police transport van lay on its side. The front window had been busted open and there were claw marks dug into the metal walls, blood splattered across the tarmac.
Stiles vaulted from the car and sprinted over, going round to the front. A body was strapped into the driver’s seat but the passenger seat was empty. He could see that the seatbelt had been torn in half, the other person ripped out of their seat.
“This was two separate attacks,” Peter said, joining him. “One was focused on the prisoner, the other was after the officer. There’s minimal damage to the back, just a busted lock, broken handcuffs and an unconscious guard.”
“Wolf or human?”
“Wolf. The handcuff chain was crushed, a human couldn’t do that.”
“And the front?”
“They were after one officer specifically.” Peter half crouched, sniffing at the hole in the window. He stilled, his body going rigid. “Stiles…”
“What?”
“It was your dad. He was here.”
Stiles’ blood ran cold, tears of anger and fear stung his eyes.
“Can you tell which way he was taken?”
Peter nodded, standing and gesturing into the trees. Stiles didn’t hesitate, running from the road in pursuit. He wasn’t a wolf, he couldn’t track the same way but he could see signs of where something had been dragged through the foliage. There were splashes of blood on the leaves and tree trunks; the rational part of his mind was cataloguing everything and pointing to a trap but he didn’t care. The further into the trees he got, the harder he ran. It was like something was pulling him forward. He barely noticed Peter following behind, the need to keep going overwhelming everything.
When he almost fell over the body, he had to force himself to stop.
Kali was sprawled in the dirt, eyes wide and terrified. Her throat was cut but blood was still seeping out, the last traces of her life. Stiles looked down at her dispassionately and the anger inside him grew.
She took his dad. She hurt him.
You can’t do this alone. You can’t protect them by yourself.
The voice was soft and syrupy and he found his feet moving again, stepping over the body. Ahead he could see the giant tree stump, even though he was sure it hadn’t been there a moment ago.
He surged forward, his legs giving out beside the stump. His hands clawed at the dirt between the roots, scraping it back until his fingers brushed against something cool and smooth.
Let me out…
He pulled at the object, prying it from the grip the ground had on it.
We can get him back…
It was a jar, old and dirty. Something was trapped inside, buzzing frantically
We can protect them all…
Stiles’ hands hesitated over the lid.
We can get rid of all the threats…
He unscrewed the lid, a fly zooming out the moment it was lifted and vanishing down his throat. Stiles coughed, spluttered and fell forward. His entire body trembled like it was flooded with an electrical current, a burn surging through every limb and leaving behind a pain that ached deliciously.
With shaking legs, he made it back to his feet. Behind his eyes, black flames ignited.
Stiles figures out the whole werewolf thing when he’s nine years old, and never mentions it.
Not when he’s eleven and his dad is stressing over mountain lion manslaughter, when he’s fifteen and his best friend ditches him for the Hale brood, or when he’s seventeen and Cora punctures his tires with claws after he beats her out for first place in a countywide Young Writers competition.
If the Hale’s want to kill supernaturals invading their territory, that’s their right. If Scott wants to pretend they weren’t once brothers to each other just because he’s no longer dangerously asthmatic or socially stunted, Stiles can accept that too. And if Cora wants to take out her petty frustrations on Claudia Stilinski’s jeep - well, fuck yes will he get his vengeance but he’s certainly not going to blackmail her just because she’s stupid enough to pop claws in broad daylight.
(Instead Stiles threatened to leak photos of Cora making out with her twin’s ex-girlfriend in the bathroom of the local diner - time stamped before they broke up. It was enough to make her personally change and finance his baby’s tires, plus teach the stunted bitch a lesson on messing with Stiles.
It may also help the girls' dismal attempts at subterfuge.
He doubted it, though.)
For all that people go on about Stiles not being able to keep his smart mouth shut, he’s very good at saying nothing of substance.
In the end Stiles moved away for college without anybody discovering he knew all about Beacon Hill's supernatural secret.
(He warded the Sheriff’s house to kingdom come. It was subtle enough that the local pack wouldn’t notice, but if anything looking to hurt his dad came bumping through the night they would sooner be burned to ash than touch a hair on the Sheriff’s oblivious human head.)
Stiles gets the call on Christmas Eve.
Parrish - the only Deputy he doesn’t have a file full of blackmail on - tells him his father is in the hospital and might not make it. He says he hasn’t been shot when asked, but stays vague when Stiles demands to know what happened even as he throws together a bag and sends an all-caps text to Jocelyn, a study partner who works at the airport and will be able to get him on the soonest available flight to San Francisco.
Stiles emotionally manipulates and cajoles and blackmails, and still gets nothing more than vague replies from Jordan. Clark, Whittings and Jones don’t answer their phones.
When Stiles gets to Beacon Hills heads are going to roll.
-
Stiles pulls into Beacon Memorial at three in the morning Christmas day, parks in the first spot he sees (because fuck reserved parking) and hightails it towards the nurse’s station.
“Get me the status of the Sheriff,” he orders a vaguely familiar nurse, who doesn’t even bat a lash at his brisk tone. The hospital staff is almost as familiar as the police force; they helped raise him when his mother couldn’t, and even after, when he hung around after school with Scott.
Beacon Hills residents acknowledged that Stiles Stilinski didn’t mess around about his father's health.
(When Stiles was fourteen the Sheriff got shot in the gut. The condescending prick of a doctor who refused to give ‘a child’ information on his father was fired, ruined, and run out of town within the month.)
“He was found with a head wound but it’s stopped bleeding, and I know his vitals have stabilized,” she says, first off. “You’ll have to ask his doctor for more information, hon. Room 317.”
Stiles doesn’t relax, can’t until he sees his father is perfectly alright for himself, but he nods and tries for a smile. It strains across his face and drops within a few seconds, so he turns and makes for the ICU.
“And Stiles?” calls the nurse. “He has visitors.”
It turns out ‘visitors’ means that there are three Hale’s, an Argent, and an ex-best friend hanging outside the Sheriff’s room. Stiles feels well on his way to bashing in a couple of faces, especially when Scott looks up at him like he’s an injured puppy and says, empathetic, “Stiles.”
See, this is why it took some convincing to get Stiles to accept his full-ride to NYU. Stiles just fucking knew that his dad would get drawn into supernatural shit while he was gone, and he had been stupid enough to believe that the Deputy’s would actually do as ordered and keep him updated on more than just his father’s eating habits.
Oh, he would be having words with Robins.
Out of the assembled Hale’s - Talia, Laura, and Peter - two look long-suffering and one is arranging their face into something resembling sorry. Chris Argent is showing no emotion but the way he watches Stiles is careful, almost wary. And Scott just looks plain guilty, which isn’t a good sign for his continued health because Stiles has killed to keep his dad safe before and he would damn sure do it again.
(Maybe he’ll kill them all, if the Sheriff dies.)
Stiles drops the calm facade that he’s been clutching at for the past twelve goddamned hours, takes a step forward, and stares down the local Alpha.
“What are you doing here?” he demands. It’s inconspicuous enough, something an oblivious human would ask when apparent strangers were crowding the waiting area.
“Stiles, isn’t it?” Talia asks, standing to meet his height and reaching out for a handshake. He doesn’t spare the limb a glance, narrowed eyes demanding answers. “We were assisting your father on a case when he was injured. We’re here to make sure he’s alright.”
Stiles modulates his scent, his heartbeat, his rage. His eyes turn to Scott and a sneer pulls at his mouth. “You too, Scotty? Were you helping my father on a case?”
Scott McCall is a terrible liar and everybody knows it.
His throat bobs, his eyes dart to Talia, and then to Chris, and then back to Stiles, who is considering punching his lights out.
Peter Hale is Talia’s enforcer. Laura Hale is set to inherit the mantle of Alpha. Chris Argent is the local hunter. They all have a reason to be here, to be involved, but Scott - Scott is just a beta, which means Scott is probably what pulled the Sheriff into this mess. Why else would a low ranking, bitten wolf be here?
“I, uh. Yeah, I was. Y’know. Helping. There were animals involved, and I’m studying to be a vet, so, aha, he - he was going to ask Deaton, but he’s… out of town. So your dad ended up consulting me instead?”
Yes. Truly terrible.
“I see. So instead of using a qualified veterinary technician, my dad decided to ask a first year from BH’s community college, who likely hasn’t completed his introductory courses. That makes so much sense. Your logic is so very sound. Ten out of ten.”
Stiles skin itched. He was getting impatient.
He was getting angry.
Stiles turned his back on the small crowd, pushing into the Sheriff’s room without mind to the sputtering Scott. The doctor wasn’t there so he grabbed the chart from the end of the bed, scanning it quickly, adding it to what he already knew.
His dad had no physical wounds. He had been found unconscious in the parking lot of the police station. He wouldn’t wake up.
Something supernatural was going on here, and no amount of human medicine would help, period.
Stiles laid the chart back down and pulled out his cellphone, typing out a quick text, before giving his dad’s hand a lingering squeeze and exiting the room.
Everyone was watching him with sharp eyes, except Scott who was scowling at the ground. It seemed unimpressive and childish on his twenty year old face.
“Argent,” Stiles says, zoning in on Chris. He’s never liked Talia, never appreciated all she let her children get away with and the obviousness of her pack. Chris, however, he had extensively researched. He was a hunter coming into Stiles’ town, but unlike the werewolves he was discreet. Smart. “What are you hunting?”
Chris’ brow creases at his phrasing, but he didn’t acknowledge it as anything odd. “I don’t know much about who did this. He was found unconscious in the parking lot at the police station, and the doctors are still running tests to determine the cause of his condition.”
“Tests that won’t find anything,” Stiles says back, as calmly as he can when it feels like he’s about to shake out of his skin. “Most shifters would have left some kind of outward marking, and there’s no sense of magic around him so I doubt it was a Druid or Wiccan. I’m assuming you all know, so tell me. What. Was. It.”
“Stiles, you know—”
Talia interrupts Scott. Just as well, because Stiles feels like hitting something the longer they stall. “Just what do you know about all this, Stiles?”
“Your family has never been the most subtle, I figured out about the supernatural when I was nine. My dad, however, wasn’t wrapped up in any of this until I left for college — presumably, he only got involved in the past few months, since his deputy’s haven’t informed me that he suddenly started hanging around Argent, Deaton, or you Hale’s.”
Talia opened her mouth again, and Stiles held up a finger. “Stop. I don’t have time to deal with your insipid questions. Just tell me what we are dealing with. Now.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Stiles slanted his eyes to the hunter.
“I’ve been hunting a rogue fae,” Argent said. “Several people in town have fallen comatose, including one of your father’s officers.”
“Fae. Of fucking course, it always has to be fae. What kind?”
Argent looked at him blankly.
“Come on. Was it seelie or unseelie? An elemental? Changeling? Elf?" Argent's forehead creased. "For chrissakes, did it even originate in this country, or do I have to brush up on my Welsh?”
A throat cleared behind him, and Stiles spun to face the enforcer. “Sweetheart, Christopher has no clue what you’re talking about. I doubt the Argent bestiary takes time to classify the fae beyond methods for killing them.”
“But you don’t even kill them all the same way! It’s—” Stiles groaned in frustration, running a hand over his face. “Forget it. Did anybody get a good look at it? Scott?”
Scott jolted, mouth snapping shut. “Uh, why do you think I—?”
“Because you’re here, so either you’ve seen it or you dragged my dad into this shitshow. Which one?” Scott shifted.
“Both,” Peter chimed in unhelpfully. Stiles considered wringing his neck, but he was the only one providing any actual information.
“Okay. Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Was it male or female?”
Scott didn’t say anything, glancing towards Talia again.
“Scott, answer my goddamn questions! This is my dad we’re talking about!”
Scott winced back at his decibel, jerking his eyes from Talia to the floor. He looked guilty, as well he should. “A-a girl.”
“Tall or short? What did her skin look like?”
“Uh, tall. Like, taller than you. She was grey, and her eyes—they were completely black.”
Stiles' magic spiked, sparking out of his fingers unhelpfully. Stiles clenched his hands shut and ignored it. “Were there any markings on her forehead?”
“Yeah, there were, like, purple swirls—”
Stiles cursed. Explicitly.
Talia looked scandalized.
“How long has it been since dad? When was he found?”
“Eleven hours ago. Parrish called you almost immediately.”
“At least one of the deputy’s are being a good boy,” Stiles murmured thoughtlessly, pacing now. “How long has she been waiting between victims?”
“There have been two a day for the last week.” Peter offered.
Stiles frowned, stilling. “That doesn’t make sense. She shouldn’t have such an appetite, unless…”
“Unless what?” Peter prodded.
“Unless she’s pregnant,” Stiles whispered. He sounded like he was about to faint, and looked little better. “Oh god, a pregnant Aatmanand. I’m surprised this town is still standing.”
He pulled out his phone, flipping through his contacts and trying to ignore the way his hand was trembling.
She picked up on the second ring.
“What is it, Stiles? I’m trying to study.”
“I need your help.”
The person on the other line’s breath hitched, before coming back, smooth as silk. “Are you calling in your favor, Spark?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come to you?”
Stiles glanced at the camera in the room and short circuited it with a spark of energy. Someone gasped.
“Yes.”
In a flash of light, Adelaide appeared. She was still in her human form except for her gleaming quicksilver eyes, blonde hair tumbling down her back in unruly waves, wearing a monochromatic polka dot pajama set. She took in her audience briefly before turning to Stiles, eyebrow cocking.
“What will you have me do?”
“I have an Aatmanad problem.”
Adelaide took a step towards him, nails sharpening to a point. Her smile was all pointed teeth. “You know I hate those uptight prigs. Just point me in the direction, little Spark.”
“You can’t kill her,” Stiles ground out, fingers clenching. Adelaide’s nostrils flared, eyes dilating with rage. Stiles held up a hand to stall her protests. “She’s pregnant.”
“Excuse me? I will not meddle with the Expecting, even for you!” Adelaide hissed.
“I’m not asking you to,” Stiles said impatiently. “I can track her down without you. I just need you to release the knots she weaved about one of the victim’s souls, and drain her leftover magic into a rune.”
Adelaide’s expression twisted again, this time in amusement. “You think much of my abilities. My kind has never been known for this capability.”
“Your kind has never been known for a lot of things,” Stiles returned. That earned him a laugh, quick and dark.
“Very good, Spark. If I do you this favor, my debt is repaid.”
“Agreed.”
“Wait a minute.” Stiles turned to Talia, eyes narrowed.
“We may not have a minute,” he said coolly. “They die at the twelve hour mark, don’t they? Otherwise Parrish wouldn’t have bothered to say his condition was life threatening. That’s how long it takes her to properly establish her hold and drain them.”
Talia frowned. “You may know something about the supernatural, but this is my land. You cannot summon creatures here without my permission.”
Stiles stared at her. Behind him, Adelaide laughed.
“What a stupid little wolf,” she smiled. “I can kill her for free, Spark. Alpha’s have the most exquisite aftertaste.”
Peter stood, taking his place behind Talia’s left shoulder. His face was cleared of the previous smirk, eyes hard and calculating.
“Go fulfill our deal. If I need to kill anybody, I’ll do it myself.”
“You’re no fun,” Adelaide sighed. “I need the rune first.”
Stiles gave her a look, but she just grinned back. Stiles rolled his eyes, grabbing the Sheriff’s badge from his pocket to obscure the transportation spell from curious eyes.
He held out his hand expectantly, and Adelaide grinned at him, snatching his wrist and gouging into his index finger with a claw. Somebody growled, low and threatening.
Stiles didn’t wince, just cleared his throat until she dropped his appendage with a pout.
He drew the anchor rune quickly, all too aware of the eyes in him, and gave her the badge.
“Remember what I told you when we met,” he warned, when she turned to the room. Adelaide stiffened, glancing over her shoulder at him, and nodded.
“I would not go against a Spark.”
Stiles turned back to the red eyed Talia. “I don’t fall under your laws,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “As your enforcer could tell you. And even if I did, that is my father. I would tear apart worlds to keep him safe.”
Talia frowned, glancing at her brother. “Peter?”
“He is a Spark, Talia. The Councils combined don’t have enough power to put a leash on his kind.”
“He can’t be,” Laura said, standing to meet her pack. “We would have noticed anything that powerful growing up here. He went to school with Cora, Mia and Scott.”
“‘He’ is right here,” Stiles said drolly. “And consequently doesn’t care what you think.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale & Eli Hale & Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Eli Hale (Teen Wolf), Derek Hale
Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Angry Sex, Emotional, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, some fluffy moments, Eli is a smartass, Protective Stiles Stilinski, Protective Eli Hale, Confused Derek Hale, Past Issues, Getting Together, Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Trust Issues, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Happy Ending
Summary:
Stiles raised Eli. Derek doesn't know he has a son. Life has plans to lead them back together.
Oh hey. Another side quest into a world of married Sterek where Stiles’ little sister is Derek’s beta and how delightfully messy that could get. Because my last little snippet didn’t scratch the itch. Like? I got more a’brewin.
###
"Stiles, let me handle it."
"Don't pull rank on me, Derek."
Derek scoffed. "This isn't about hierarchy. This is about you being furious right now and me being calm. Well, relatively," he amended when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. "And I promise you that coming down hard is not the best way to get through to your hard-headed sister."
"I'm not not looking to get through to her. I'm planning to kill her."
"See, now that's my point. I can't let you kill one of my betas, baby."
"She was my sister before she was your beta."
"Stiles. Look at me." Derek placed both hands firmly on his husband's shoulders, angling his head down so Stiles couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. "When she walks in that door, she's going to expect a confrontation. And if you give her one, you'll be playing right into her manipulative little hands." His lips curled into a little smile when he saw that Stiles was actually considering his words. "I've got this, okay? This is not my first time dealing with a rogue teenager. I managed to wrangle you and Scott into line, and THAT was no small feat."
"You didn't wrangle us," Stiles objected. "The way I remember it, you were involved in most of the stupid stunts we pulled." He sighed. "But fine. You want to handle it, you handle it. But save the killing for me."
Derek answered that with a kiss, then gently urged Stiles backward until the backs of his knees met the couch and he flopped gracelessly into a sitting position.
That was the moment the door opened and the Stilinski of the hour walked in. Derek took several beats to pin Stiles to the couch with his eyes, reminding him silently of their agreement, before turning around to face his problem beta.
"Before you start yelling..." she began, both hands extended outward toward her two guardians. "I can explain."
Derek folded his arms across his broad chest and gave her a look. "No one's going to yell," he said, squeezing Stiles's shoulder slightly. "We would love to hear your explanation."
She looked between Derek and Stiles with open confusion that melted into suspicion. "Oh-kaaay."
Faced with this curveball, she didn't seem to know how to proceed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she stood there lost for words. So Derek decided to help her along. "Let me get you started because I'm very curious. Was your mission successful? Did you manage to steal the book and get out of the Alpha Pack den without getting caught? I mean, you must have, seeing as how you're standing here and not, you know, dead. So I'm assuming you were at least partially successful."
"I ... Scott..."
"Oh, that's right!" Derek clapped his hands and nudged Stiles, who was just as weirded out by this uncharacteristic display as his sister seemed to be. "I'd almost forgotten. We heard about Scott and Isaac showing up in the nick of time, just when you were about to be skewered to bits. They did mention that they lost track of you while they were fighting off the Alphas. Don't worry, though, they didn't get hurt too badly. Luckily Scott was there to help Isaac or things could have gone sideways." He let his words linger in the air, watching the color drain from her face as she pictured her Pack brothers hurt and bleeding. "But what matters is that you got the book. Let's see." He took a step across the room toward her, and she matched it with a step backward, not meeting her Alpha's gaze.
"Um, no. I didn't, um."
"Didn't what?" Derek pressed, deceptively gentle.
"I didn't get the book, I... somehow they knew what I was doing there and..."
"Ah, I see," Derek's eyes glittered, the faux jovial tone he'd been using up until now transforming into something darker, sharper. "So somehow, an entire pack of powerful, pissed-off Alphas who know full well that you're one of ours didn't get outsmarted by a fifteen-year-old? And they turned the tables on you? Who could possibly have seen that coming?"
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting.
"Scott and Isaac are okay though," she said in a small, husky voice. "They called you after, so they must be okay...right?"
"No thanks to you." Stiles' voice, cold as ice, cut through the silence Derek had been letting build up.
Her eyes snapped up to meet her brother's, tears liquefying her vision almost instantly when she saw the anger, hurt, and disappointment there. "I didn't mean for them to get involved," she tried, and it was a weak argument and she knew it. "They weren't supposed to..."
"What? They weren't supposed to save your ass? They weren't supposed to put their own lives on the line to protect their Pack sister just because she made a series of FUCKING RECKLESS decisions that could have gotten everyone killed?"
"Stiles..."
"You're not the only one your actions affect, not ever, but especially not anymore. I mean, I get that you don't give a shit about me; that's been clear for years, you've been risking your damn life at every turn since Dad died and I've never been able to stop you. But now? Now there are so many more people WHO I LOVE who will lay down their lives for you without a moment's hesitation, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you exploit that because you're too selfish and stupid to think about anyone but yourself. Now get the fuck to your room. I can't even look at you right now."
Somehow she managed to make it to her bedroom before the sob broke from her, but Derek didn't need to have werewolf powers to hear it.
"Stiles..." he started, sitting next to his husband and reaching for him, but Stiles jerked back out of his grasp.
"If you're going to tell me I was too hard on her I don't want to hear it."
Derek nodded. "That's not for me to say. But I am going to go talk to her privately, and while I do that I'd like for you to go take a long hot shower. Okay? It always calms you down, and then you and I can talk when you're feeling better."
Stiles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. "Are you going to punish her?" he asked. "I know I'm usually kind of opinionated about the whole Alpha-Beta discipline thing, but right now..."
Derek paused, considering. "I'm pretty sure she's doing a good job of that herself, at least for tonight." He leaned over and kissed Stiles softly, catching his lip between his teeth in a gentle, playful nip to show he wasn't upset with him. Although if anyone else spoke to one of his betas that way...
"Shower," he reminded, standing up and heading toward the stairs. "I'll be back soon."
Stiles and Cora have the strangest in-law relationship. They respect each other but won’t ever compliment the other. They know the other person can defend themselves but still worries (in secret) when they’re injured. They know that they could probably kill them for it, but they can’t help but tease them if they trip over something or get a bruise from running into the kitchen counter. They’re best friends and tease each other like siblings.
Now imagine Stiles finds out Cora’s (soon to be ex-)boyfriend hurt her. Yes, she can defend herself, but that’s not going to stop him from showing up at the guy’s place with a baseball bat and a look that could kill.
The Hale pack receives an invitation to attend a convention for the supernatural, a prospect that both excites Stiles, and makes him nervous. Especially since the invitation was addressed to him as a prospective emissary. Something he has to play off since no one in the pack, except for Lydia and Laura, even knows that Stiles has been training with Deaton to learn more about his spark and how to use it. It only gets more complicated when they get to the convention and more than one of Stiles' secrets is exposed.
