Chapter Text
Hotels were a product of the devil and nothing could convince Derek otherwise. The one Peter had chosen for their outing was definitely up there when it came to causing him discomfort. There were too many smells layered all in one place, ones that he didn't even want to think about the origin of but couldn't avoid no matter how hard he tried. The linens on the bed were scratchy, the walls so thin he could hear everything in their entire hall, and the receptionist had looked at him like he was a meal to be devoured. Stiles owed him for this, owed him big.
"This is a lot of material to cover. More than is required, I think. Hand me the outline from the teacher?"
"Okay, hear me out."
"Stiles."
"Why does everyone say my name like that?" He rolled his eyes and didn't answer. The teen pouted at him, which might work on Peter but he had no problem ignoring it. "Ugh. So you're right, I did put more on there than I technically needed to," he snorted, Stiles glared, then shoved the paper he'd asked for at his face. "But this is a great opportunity! I can actually learn things and do like, a deeper dive than I'd be able to in class. I like research and--"
"Stiles."
"Stop doing that!"
"Stiles, this is almost twice the workload that's usually spread out over a whole year of school."
"Again--"
"No."
"You can't just say 'no' and don't you give me those angry eyebrows either, mister. I can totally handle--"
"You have four core subjects, two AP classes you wanted to keep for the college credit, and three electives because you put them off so long. So no. No deep dives, no extra topics, no unnecessary essays. No. We're taking the syllabi from your teachers and condensing them, not trying to cram more into less time. Save the deep dives for college."
"Ugh."
He was saved from further argument by the chime of Stiles' phone. Of course the teen immediately abandoned his work to grab it. Stiles was anxious and wasn't even trying to deny it, though he was allowing himself to get distracted by schoolwork and by bickering with Derek. It had been weird to realize that Stiles was fretting over Jackson just as much as Peter. He'd always been under the impression that the two teens hated each other, but things had changed since Jackson came back from London.
When Jackson had shown up he had been terrified that the teen he'd once bitten would want to talk it out. Instead the younger wolf practically sprinted out of the room whenever Derek tried to talk to him, which was fantastic. He was in no way prepared to actually have a discussion like that. If Jackson never wanted to have the conversation at all it would be perfect.
"They haven't found much yet," Stiles reported as his eyes scanned the screen. "Couple things that look like they might have been set up when Gerard first got checked in but nothing major. It's been a while now - hopefully all their guards are down and he thinks he's safe."
"Mm." He didn't want to talk about Gerard, or traps, or Hunters at all. He'd rather be at home reading, or maybe at the shooting range with John. Being a deputy had been an almost immediate fail, but he had enjoyed shooting a surprising amount. It was... relaxing somehow, and he was pretty good at it. John had said they could keep going together, just the two of them. The offer helped him feel like maybe John wasn't mad at him for quitting after all.
"Peter wants to be thorough though, and figure out the best angle of approach or something, so they'll probably be a while longer. Not that I'll get to see him even when he's done. Stupid Jax and his stupid logic. Why couldn't we all just have one room?"
"I don't know Stiles. Can we--"
"Sorry Sourwolf. Want me to ixnay on the updates?"
All his words were stuck in either his head or his throat, so he just shrugged. It was hard to explain - he knew Gerard wasn't an active threat and couldn't hurt him. He knew the Hunter wasn't a bogeyman that would show if they talked or even thought about him. But when he heard Stiles talk about him, it did make Derek think of him. And that made him remember what it had felt like when Scott had served him up on a silver platter. It had him feeling like he was right back there on his knees, with one more piece of him being taken without his consent. The Bite was supposed to be a gift - Gerard and Scott had ruined that for him, tainted what was supposed to be something beautiful. Afterward he hadn't been able to bring himself to even think of biting anyone else. The idea of growing his pack had made him want to throw up, which had wounded the Alpha part of him beyond repair.
They had ruined him, cut off any chance he had had of improving even if the Alpha Pack had never come to Beacon Hills.
The ping of his own phone pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, which was also when he noticed that Stiles had tucked himself against his side and was trying to cuddle him better. Idiot. He hesitated before checking it, part of him worried that it was Peter taking the opportunity to fuck with him. What he found instead was a text from Kira, which was fine and nothing to feel awkward, embarrassed or pleased about. She texted him a lot - not nearly as much as Stiles, but still pretty frequently. So he was not going to blush and wasn't going to make a big ordeal of it.
Wasn't even going to mention it to Stiles, actually. Stiles would turn it into a big thing that would have him wanting to hide under the scratchy comforter, nasty scents under there be damned. He turned so the little shit couldn't peek and fought his smile when he saw the gif of a fox pouncing on a wolf. 'Check the side pocket of your bag!!!!!' she had added, including a string of emojis, some of which he'd never even seen before. She was something else for sure.
"Start cutting things out of your outline, Stiles. Use the syllabus as a set of rules, not a suggestion."
"Ugh, whatever. Spoilsport." Stiles was watching him he knew, but the teen also had the sense to pretend he wasn't. It made it easier to get up and do what Kira had said without feeling awkward about it. How had she gotten something in his bag without him noticing? She was sneakier than he gave her credit for, because he'd only set the bag down in the living room for a minute...
The plastic of a ziplock bag met his questing fingers, and when he pulled it out he saw that it was full of sugar cookies. Each one had a little flower smack dab in the middle of it - they were clearly ready-to-bake, which meant she had made them completely by herself. Unlike his uncle, he had no problem with that. It was almost better, almost made the cookies feel like a secret they were sharing that was just theirs. Still refusing to blush but feeling a bit of heat on the tips of his ears, he turned his attention to the little note she'd taped to the front.
I know you weren't looking forward to today, so I made you cookies to help you feel better! Hope they make you smile.
PS - Peter gave me some leaves from some plant to put in the pocket too so that you wouldn't be able to smell them. I hope they were a surprise! A good one! Also that the leaf bits aren’t too hard to clean out. I’ll clean it for you if they are, okay?
PPS - Sorry they aren't made from scratch. Peter is the one who helps me bake and I didn't want him teasing you about them. These are the only kind I can make without him. Sorry again!
PPPS - You don't have to share if you don't want to, okay? They're YOUR cookies.
Underneath her neat writing was a little picture of a fox done in lines that made it look sort of like calligraphy. She was wearing a chef's hat and holding a tray filled with circular cookies, a cheerful expression on her little fox face. It was adorable, a word he didn't use often, and it was also the thing that finally made his face flush. If Stiles mentioned it, he decided, he was just going to have to smother the little shit with one of the rock-hard pillows in their room. If Stiles could manage to resist the urge, he'd give the teen a couple of his stash.
She'd made him cookies. Kira had known he was nervous and upset about having to get so close to Gerard, and she had wanted to make him feel better. He didn't think he'd ever had a friend like her before. She was such a good one, so sweet it made him nervous and a little flustered. Since she was also 17 years old, the butterflies in his stomach needed to flutter right the hell away.
Feelings were the worst.
"Whatcha got there, Sourwolf?"
"Cookies."
"What? You didn't tell me you brought cookies!"
"I didn't know."
"Oh. Kira?"
"Yeah."
"Let me guess - pre-made dough?" He felt his lips twitch up into a smile, eyes still on that adorable little fox she'd drawn him. She was a much better artist than a baker.
"Yeah."
"Can I have one?"
"If you can show me a realistic outline of a self-study for your history class."
"This is perfectly realistic!"
"It is the exact opposite of that and you know it. Use the fucking syllabus your teacher gave you."
As Stiles began to lament in detail and length about how much of a joykill he was, Derek tuned him out easily. Long as it got done, the teen could bitch about it as much as he wanted. It also gave him the chance to grab his phone and send Kira a reply. It should have been easy to type one out, but again his words just got stuck. He didn't know how to tell her how much it meant that she had thought of him. He wanted to say that nobody had been so effortlessly thoughtful of him since his family had burned. She had given him a way to replace the memory of the taste of Gerard's blood with something much sweeter, and he didn't know how to explain that without it coming out all awkward and strange and scaring her off. Without looking as pathetic as he knew he was.
A simple 'thanks' wasn't enough, but it was all his clumsy fingers and brain could manage. Maybe he could give her a hug when he got back from this stupid trip - she liked hugs. Being the one to give her one instead of the other way around might say all the things he couldn't get out otherwise. Maybe. Or maybe he'd read her another story instead.
He'd figure it out once he was finally home. Once he could push Gerard to the back of his mind, once the old man was closer to being dead again, he would decide what to do for Kira.
"Can I write one essay on the effects of disease on the development of--"
"Stiles no."
~.~.~
They were going to kill his father, and he mostly didn't care.
Chris was more torn and guilty over the way he felt next to nothing about it. There should be some level of grief or reluctance. Normal people would be horrified, might even find a way to stop it. He wasn't even close to normal so maybe that was why. Maybe it was the way he was sure down to his bones that Gerard Argent was evil and would one day find a way to destroy their pack. Getting rid of the old man was the smart thing to do, and his love for his father had long been overshadowed by anger and disappointment.
Especially after the way he'd manipulated both Vicki and Ally. That had killed any goodwill he had remaining for the bastard.
So instead of listening to the hushed conversations between Stiles, Peter and Jackson, he looked the other way. He didn't try to catch a glimpse of the map that only ever made an appearance when John was out of the house. He didn't ask, they didn't tell, and he only felt bad that he didn't feel worse.
He chose to focus his attention on the newest bedroom they were trying to add to the house. The attic had been pretty easy, partly because Derek had picked it. Once he had, Peter had been quick to front the money for a construction crew to come in - all they had needed to do was insulate the space and hang some drywall. Stiles and Kira had painted, he and John had installed the carpeting, and they all had worked together to get in some furniture to make the room feel comfortable. Compared to that, the garage project was a nightmare.
A huge part of that was the fact that John had been sweet-talked by a contractor into adding a room above it instead of just converting the damn garage. The permits were a pain in the ass, the contractor wanted him to enlist an architect to help him design the space - one Chris suspected was a relative - and his boyfriend just kind of grinned at him whenever he started to bitch about it. At least John refrained from pointing out how eager he'd been to take the project on. He was also grateful that John didn't seem to mind that he was putting a good deal of the money he'd gotten from Vicki's life insurance policy towards the renovation.
He wanted to be part of the Stilinski household - a permanent part, if he could manage. It felt right to put his money where that want was. Peter would say that he was showing that he could provide, which... the wolf wouldn’t be wrong. Not exactly.
Chris was looking over the contract for the so-called architect when he heard a soft knock on his door. Stiles didn't wait for an answer - he almost never did - before he let himself in. The teen watched him for a second, letting him finish up the line he was reading, before he perched himself on the desk.
"Are you going to visit him before we put the plan in motion?" Chris sat back in his chair, air exploding out of him like he'd been hit in the stomach.
"You don't pull any punches, do you kid?"
"Not when it comes to this." And it was a fucked up, unfortunate situation, but he was almost... glad for it. Stiles was so sure of himself when it came to killing Gerard Argent to protect his pack. It was nice to see some of the old confidence back. "So? Are you going to go say goodbye?"
He snorted, letting the chair spin a little as he examined the letter opener he'd picked up. "I’d never go and say goodbye. He'd know something was up and he'd run. I wouldn't put your plan at risk like that."
"Okay, sure. Saying goodbye would be a bad, but. I don't know. Don't you need like... closure or something? Because I'd get it, you know? We all would. He's your dad--"
"Only in the most literal sense of the word."
"It means something," Stiles said, chin jutted out and jaw tight. "It still means something. Even if he's a shitty excuse for a human being, there's still a connection and it means something. So if you want to go see him, we'll wait until after."
"I got all the closure I needed the day I put him in that home. We were both pretty clear on the fact that we'd see each other in hell and not before."
"But--"
"Stiles." The teen paused, both of them now watching the silver that flashed between his fingers. "Thanks for the thought. I know you hate him, and for good reason. You know, I realized the other day that I never apologized to you." He twirled the letter opener faster, until it was a blur. "For that night. For... for everything that happened while he was in town, really. I'm sorry, Stiles. I should have--"
"Water under the bridge, dude. That was a long time ag--"
"It wasn't, and it isn't. I'm sorry, and I promise I won't sit back like that ever again."
"... I don't know if I forgive you." Stiles sounded sorry for that, which wasn’t acceptable.
"And that's perfectly fine. You don't owe me forgiveness, or anything at all. And I thank you for the offer, but I'm going to decline." Seeing that Stiles was about to protest, he offered a wry smile. "Stiles. As soon as he sees my tattoo he'll kick me out of the room, cursing my name the whole time. It'll put him on guard and have the staff paying attention to him. It's not worth it, and I don't need to see him."
Stiles didn't understand, which wasn't all that surprising. The teen was endlessly loyal even to people who hurt him. He still defended Scott, never mentioned the shit that had gone down with Derek and Peter in the beginning, and had accepted Kira without question. Even with him, Stiles showed an amount of grace that was surprising. He hadn't been forgiven but Stiles had still embraced his presence and his relationship with John. If Gerard had been his father Stiles would go one last time, because it was all the kid would know how to do.
Chris didn't run with wolves in the same way. His loyalty was of the human variety, and he had none to spare for Gerard. The new bedroom was more important. His relationship with John, Stiles, and the pack was where his loyalty belonged now.
"So don't wait for me. You and Peter do... whatever you're going to do whenever you're ready to do it. The home will call me to let me know he's passed."
"Yeah. O...kaaaay. If that's what you want."
"It is."
"If you change your mind--"
"I won't."
"Right. Okay. I'll, uh. I'll let Peter know. Hey Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"I might not forgive you, but I... uh..."
"I know kid."
Stiles gave him a lopsided smile, hesitated a moment longer, then left him to his own devices. When he heard the door close he sighed, eyes back on the letter opener he was still twirling as fast as he could without faltering. He should feel something, should be upset. Even if he didn't need to see the old bastard, he should still...
Chris let the letter opener fly, and it cut through the air with ease until it met the wall with a ‘thunk’. It hit hard enough to wind up buried almost to the hilt in the drywall - he’d have to patch that eventually. But not until he finished dealing with the fucking renovation.
As he went back to reading the contract, he let himself forget his father entirely.
~.~.~
"Hey daddio, can I talk to you for a sec?"
John resisted the urge to sigh, even if the look on Stiles' face was shady as all hell. That look never meant good things, but he needed to try not to judge prematurely. Try being the opportune word. "What do you need, Stiles?"
"A cover story?" And there went the sigh no matter how much he tried to hold it in. Stiles wrinkled his nose, then stuck out his tongue. "And no, there's no body." Except his son squirmed after saying it, and that always meant--
Fuck. He didn't want to know. They'd been so good at keeping him from knowing.
"Peter wants to take me camping.” Stiles hurried to tell him. “I guess there's this spot that I just have to see, and he says the weather is gonna turn soon. His wolfy powers are kicking in or something, I dunno. But if he says the temperature is gonna plunge soon then I believe him. So we're going to go camping. He's being a real geek about it too - he's got a tent, and a full cooking set and all these ideas about what I am and am not allowed to bring so it's a quote-unquote 'real' camping experience. So yeah - he wanted to take me on Tuesday, and we probably won't be back until Thursday or Friday, depending on how annoying he gets about roughing it. So could you call me in sick to school those days?"
Stiles looked very carefully innocent, and something in his chest relaxed. He could pretend that's all it was - he could pretend they were camping. So long as he didn't ask if Jackson was going with them he could let himself believe they were only going to be roughing it for a few days.
"It's only the first week in October, so I have a feeling arctic temperatures are not on the horizon. But so long as you're caught up on your homework--"
"There's only a few things due next week in my self-studies, and I'll have Kira take it all in with the outline that’s due in Speech on Wednesday. She can say she grabbed it from me when she realized I wouldn't be coming in."
"I'm gonna need a call every night. And no hanky panky!"
"Daaaaad. We're not even..." The blush on his son's cheeks was highly entertaining. After all the shit Stiles had given him about his relationship with Chris - he was still finding lube samples outside his door on a regular basis - it was sort of sweet to see how shy his kid was about Peter. "Shut up! And yeah, of course I'll call. So I can go?"
It was nice to be asked, even if he knew Stiles was going to do whatever the hell he wanted no matter what he said.
"You can go. What time are you going to leave on Tuesday?"
"Early morning. Peter says that if we don't start fishing before ten in the morning we shouldn't even bother. Total nerd about camping, I'm telling you."
"He seems like a guy who's serious about survival skills. If that zombie apocalypse you're always talking about ever hits, we're gonna be lucky to have him on our side."
"That is an exceptionally good point. I'm gonna have to make sure he knows that so he can start making plans. Oh my God. I bet if I asked he'd build me my dream Alaskan bunker." John had no doubt that Peter absolutely would. "Zombies have trouble with the cold you know. Alaska is gonna be the place to be when it finally goes down. Permafrost, dad. Permafrost."
"How are we supposed to get to Alaska in the middle of the zombie apocalypse Stiles?"
"That is now Peter's job to figure out. Thanks for the idea pops."
"When he asks, it wasn't my idea. And Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks kiddo." It took a second for Stiles to figure out just what he was being thanked for, and then he smiled wide.
"No problem, Sheriff."
Alone in the kitchen, he wondered if he shouldn't plan on doing something special for Chris while Stiles and Peter were camping. Maybe something nice for Derek too. He wasn't sure he could get the two of them together to do something, not with only him as a buffer, but maybe he could try. If he could wrangle the day shift for a while his evenings would be free; if he had free time at night he could try to broker a more easy peace between the two. There wasn't exactly a Cold War going on in the house, but there was definite tension. He'd like it gone, if only to make watching baseball a little more enjoyable.
Both Chris and Derek were in his house to stay, after all. He wanted them both to feel comfortable and welcome. The walking on eggshells had to end.
Kira could be the answer, he realized suddenly. Chris was ready to adopt the teen and Derek was very obviously fond of her. She could babble with the best of them, even out-rambling Stiles sometimes. With her in his corner things wouldn't get awkward; if they did, she would leap in to diffuse the situation. And she'd be lonely with Stiles gone, so he would be killing two birds with one stone if he invited her over for dinner one night. Tuesday night maybe, or Thursday if his kid was gone until Friday.
Very proud of the plan that was unfolding, John carefully did not think about what the 'camping trip' was code for. He was providing a cover story for an alibi... maybe. Probably. But not definitely. John didn't know enough to say for certain, and he planned to keep it that way. No doubt they would come back with all kinds of stories and even more proof of where they'd been. Maybe a picture of Stiles fishing, maybe Peter in front of a fire that could excuse any glare from his eyes. There would be more than enough evidence to ease his mind.
They were both very considerate that way. Not for the public at large, of course, but they would do anything to make life a little easier for the pack. And maybe that same tendency was why he had to work so hard to pretend it was only a camping trip, but he could live with that. As long as any morally ambiguous or illegal acts weren't flaunted in front of his face, he could look the other way. The supernatural world had rules that were very different from the laws he followed, and he was going to try his best to be understanding of that without compromising his values.
Their pack was lucky to have Peter and Stiles to help them navigate the laws of the supernatural world. He was lucky that they cared enough about him to be subtle about it. John knew he'd fucked up as a parent a hell of a lot, but Stiles had still turned out pretty damn amazing. Claudia would be so proud of who Stiles was becoming.
He thought that she might even be proud of him too, now that he'd finally pulled his head out of his ass.
~.~.~
Lunch wasn't any fun without Stiles and Jackson. It kind of sucked, actually, and Kira had thought about skipping it altogether. But Peter was always talking about how important eating was, and she was always badgering Stiles about eating even when he didn't want to so she would be kind of a hypocrite if she didn't do the same and she'd be disappointing Peter so she made herself go. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad - maybe the day before had been a fluke. Even if it hadn't been, it was less than half an hour out of her day. She could handle a sucky half an hour.
"Kira!" Scott was waving her over to his table. She should have skipped. A little piece of her wanted to pretend she hadn't heard and just walk out of the cafeteria to eat in the hall or the bathroom or something, but that would be rude. And she missed Malia, and Scott wasn't always awful. Lydia she wasn't close to, but they did talk a little during pack meetings and they hadn't done that in a while, so she maybe kind of missed her just a little.
But Scott was being so terrible to Stiles and Lydia wasn't much better. Malia was ignoring the whole situation because she was focused on remembering how to be a person. Kira didn't blame her, not really. She felt for Malia, knew that she was struggling a lot. Maybe--
Scott's hand was warm and large on the small of her back, and she was startled enough that she just kind of went with it. The heat rising to her cheeks was just... just so stupid. Her crush on him was the stupidest thing she'd ever felt, and she was so over it except for when he smiled at her like he had forgotten she wasn't Allison. That was how he was smiling at her just then and she hated how it still made her heart flip over in her chest.
Derek's smile was sweeter, she reminded herself, and Stiles never forgot she existed. The rest of her pack- her other pack? her second pack? or was Scott's pack the other pack? - was amazing too. She didn't need to fall all over herself because Scott was paying her some attention.
But sitting with him, Malia and Lydia might be better than sitting by herself. Stiles would understand, even if Jackson would probably never forgive her.
She sat next to Malia and gave the other girl the warmest smile she could muster. The coyote shifter was odd, but she was still Kira's best friend besides Stiles. "Hey."
"Hey. Do you understand this?" Malia shoved a notebook at her, the page on top half covered in math notes that quickly shifted to doodles.
"Um. The equation, or the drawing of the... turkey?"
"It's a grouse." Malia frowned at the drawing a second, then looked at her with that frank, intense expression she got. "But I meant the equation. I don't get it and Scott sucks at explaining. I got used to you helping."
"I offered--" Lydia barely got the testy words out before Malia glared at her.
"You're impatient and you over-explain. I don't care who came up with the equation or what it's good for. I just want to know how to solve it so Mr. Wilson stops making me stay after class. I keep missing all the good cartoons." She turned her attention back to Kira, who was starting to feel really, really bad about the way she'd been avoiding Scott's pack. She hadn't meant to leave Malia hanging.
"Did you already have math today?"
"Yes." Malia growled and didn't seem to notice the surprised and wary looks she got from the lacrosse players sharing their table. "Mr. Wilson yelled. I have to stay after."
"Do you want to come over to my house once you're done?"
"Just for math?"
"Nope. We can watch movies or play video games too. Maybe you could even stay ov--"
"So Kira," Scott didn't seem to notice the way Malia was glaring at him, or her own annoyed look. His smile looked a little more forced, and he was trying really hard to look casual. She didn't trust that, or the way he had settled one arm along the back of her chair. Maybe it was Peter's influence making her paranoid, but she was pretty sure Scott wanted something.
He only seemed to remember she existed when he wanted something.
"Um. Yeah?"
"I, er. I noticed that Stiles was out again today." Her guard instantly went up, because Scott hardly ever mentioned Stiles. "And you'd been eating with him - I never thanked you for that. It's great of you to spend time with him while not, you know. Talking about supernatural stuff. I just want to keep him safe, you know? So thanks."
She didn't need to be thanked for being Stiles' friend. And if she were a little braver she would tell Scott that, and also make the point that Stiles should get to choose for himself whether or not he wanted to be involved. It wasn't Scott's job to shield him that way, and it wasn't fair the way they'd all pushed Stiles away because Scott said they needed to. She was still ashamed that she'd gone along with it for so long.
"But I just - we just - wanted to make sure he's okay. He is, right? He's not out doing something... something dangerous?"
There was an edge to the question she didn't like. She didn't like the way Scott's eyes had gone a little hard, or the way Lydia was clutching her fork like she wanted to stab someone with it. They never said it out loud, never did more than hint at it, but she was pretty sure they blamed Stiles for the Nogitsune, for not being 'strong enough' to keep Void at bay. Like they could have done any better in resisting, like it was a matter of being weak or having some kind of inherent darkness.
Like it wouldn't have been Allison if the Nogitsune hadn't picked Stiles. Maybe they wished it had been her. She had no doubt that Scott at least believed that his shining, perfect first love wouldn't have 'let' Void in. Even if she had, at least Allison wouldn’t be dead.
Kira fought the rising anger that would soon lead to surging electricity, because it wasn't the time or place.
"He's sick," she said, feeling sort of like she was floating outside of her body. "A stomach bug. I went by last night and he was feeling pretty yucky." Scott was nodding and looked sort of sympathetic; Lydia looked a little bored. Only Malia seemed to realize that she wasn't being truthful and was watching her closely without giving anything away. "He was pretty sure he wouldn't be in today and probably not tomorrow, so he gave me his homework to bring in."
"He hasn't been in class," Lydia suddenly looked like she cared about the conversation, eyes sharp. "Not for a while. I've been wondering if he dropped the AP courses we shared. What homework did he have you bring in?"
"You'd have to talk to him about that. I didn't look through it, I just brought it all in to the office like he asked."
"None of this matters," Malia broke in, heavy brows furrowed. For a second she looked like Derek, and Kira smiled at the resemblance. "And stop trying to make her talk about Stiles. If I stay over will your mom make me that tea again?"
For the rest of the period Kira thanked every star in the sky for Malia. Any time Scott or Lydia tried to steer the conversation towards Stiles, she used blunt words to end the attempt. She talked more than Kira had ever heard her talk before, and even shoved Scott's arm off the back of her chair when he tried to scoot in closer to Kira in an effort to charm her. Malia then put her arm in its place, glaring at the boy who was supposed to be her Alpha. Even though Kira had drifted away, even though she'd been spending most of her time with Stiles and the Stilinski pack... Malia was still protecting her.
Weres with glowing blue eyes always, always seemed to protect her.
When lunch ended, she made sure to loop her arm through Malia's as they walked to the hall. They were going in the same direction, after all. She hadn't realized how much she missed her odd friend until that moment; she couldn't let herself forget it. Malia deserved more of her time. As soon as Stiles got back she was going to launch a campaign to get him and Malia back on friendly terms again so she could hang out with both of her best friends.
And if she was half-planning on stealing herself a were-coyote to join her pack, what of it? Kitsune were mischievous tricksters - she was only following her nature.
Malia did end up coming over to her house to spend the night. Math was hard and Malia hated it, but she was able to help the other girl get a better understanding of a few concepts. Her mom was delighted that someone enjoyed her tea and made enough for Malia to drown in. As much as she loved Stiles and as strange as Malia could be, it was sort of nice to have a girl's night. It was nice to have her friend back, and Malia's commentary on the rom com she put in had her rolling on the floor laughing. They went to bed early since it was a school night, and Malia seemed happy to curl up on the little trundle bed that only she had ever slept in.
"Stiles isn't sick."
"No. He isn't." Maybe she should have tried to lie, but it wouldn't have worked. Malia's senses were too good for her not to notice it. "Don't tell Scott?" Malia scoffed audibly, eyes flashing in the dark.
"Why would I? He isn't teaching me, you know. He said he would, said he could help me, but... he isn't. I don't think he can." There was a long silence, and when Malia spoke again it was in the hushed whisper of a secret. "Sometimes I think he's really bad at being a werewolf and worse at being an Alpha. I could win if I challenged him. Sometimes I really, really want to challenge him." Kira was still reeling from the admission and trying to figure out how to respond when Malia continued, a frown clear in her voice. "Especially when he starts talking about Stiles. I'm still mad at Stiles, but I don't like the way Scott talks about him. He's okay, right? I want him to be okay even if I'm mad."
That was easier to answer, so Kira didn't even think of trying to hide behind the half-truth they'd decided on. "He's with Peter and Jackson. They went to take care of a threat to the pack."
"... not Scott's pack."
"No."
"They're really going to take care of it, aren't they? So that it never comes back. Not like we do."
"Yeah. Peter doesn't like the way Scott handles threats. He gets really growly about it."
"I don't blame him. Kira?"
"Hm?"
"I think Peter would be a better Alpha than Scott."
"I think you might be right."
"Kira? … I missed you."
"I missed you too."
~.~.~
Getting into the nursing home was easy and incredibly anticlimactic. Stiles wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed.
Danny had forged three staff passes, and Peter had gotten them all uniforms to wear. Jackson had been right about the rear entrance - nobody even batted an eye at them. What the hell they thought three of the staff had been doing in the woods was anyone's guess. He was trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but once Gerard was taken care of he might have to send an anonymous tip to the management. Not right away though or Peter would kill him. He'd have to wait a month or two so nobody would connect it with the death of one of their residents.
Though there had been a lot of people in the other hallways, the one that housed Gerard was nearly empty. He wasn't sure if that was because of the man's orchestrations or because the old coot was such a malignant presence that nobody wanted to linger. Maybe he was being malicious or prejudiced with the last thought, but Stiles was sure he could feel Gerard the second he stepped into the hallway. Like the man was an overbearing presence, a bloated spider sitting uselessly among the remaining threads that used to be an expansive web.
Gerard was like Shelob, a once mighty creature that had diminished greatly. The more he thought about it the more similarities he found. It was too bad that he needed to hide the existence of werewolves and Hunters, because it had the makings of a great paper for English.
"I'll hang here in the hallway," Jackson murmured when they reached Gerard's room. "Make sure nobody gets too curious." Peter approved, of course, and showed it by squeezing the back of Jackson's neck. It was sort of adorable the way the man treated the younger werewolf like a puppy.
"Just whisper if you see something off."
It was sort of surreal, the way light was pouring into Gerard's room. Peter had been right in that Stiles had imagined something dramatic, a production that involved fighting his way through Hunters with the climax in Gerard's room in the dead of night. He would loom over the old man in the shadows, bringing death on blackest wings. But that would have given the old man so much importance; Gerard didn't deserve so much credit. The bastard was barely a threat, and Stiles didn't really want to give him the satisfaction of being a boss fight. Gerard wasn't even a mini boss. He was an enemy that was sort of important for story reasons, nothing more.
For Stiles it was easier to think of it in video game terms. He'd never killed a human being before even if the Nogitsune had done so in his body, and he didn't want to think too deeply on it until after the deed was done.
Gerard's bed was tucked away in one corner of the room, away from the warm light streaming through the windows. When the door closed behind Peter with a soft 'snick', the old man pushed himself up into a sitting position with arms that shook. Stiles was sure he was making himself look as weak as possible, a suspicion that was borne out when Gerard noticed Peter and his entire demeanor changed.
"You," he hissed, eyes glinting strangely in the half-dark of his little corner. "I should have known you would find me."
"Oh, I had very little to do with it," Peter answered, voice downright pleasant. "Stiles here was far more invested than I was." A half-truth, Stiles knew that without needing super-senses. "And Christopher was a help, of course."
"Killing my daughter wasn't enough for you? You had to corrupt my son as well?" Gerard looked furious, like he might leap from bed at any moment. But Stiles could see dark stains on the comforter, heard the rasp in the man's voice as he strained to be heard. He didn't think the bastard had it in him to shout for help; he doubted that fighting back was in the man's cards.
"Peter. Enough."
"Of course sweetheart." And just like that, Peter disengaged from the banter and wandered over to the window. It was perfect as a final insult. Gerard was so powerless that the wolf had no problem showing the old bastard his back. The Hunter was so insignificant that Peter would rather watch the hobbling game of croquet going on outside than revel in Gerard's death.
While the bastard spluttered and fumed impotently, Stiles stalked towards the bed. The feel of fists on his body, the glee in Gerard's face as he beat on three helpless teenagers... those were fleeting thoughts. More prominent was the memory of Derek cowering, made small in a way that ripped at Stiles' heart. Derek was never supposed to look like that, and he was going to make damn sure it never happened again. Gerard might look harmless, might be laughable as a threat in the moment, but if he was left alone to his scheming he would find a way to hurt them again.
"Leashed yourself a Hale, did you?" Gerard was trying to make him angry, trying to make himself important enough to exchange words with. "I'm almost impressed boy. Thought you'd end up a werewolf's bitch, not the other way around."
It didn't matter what Gerard thought. The man's words rolled off him with ease, and he didn't even glance at Peter to see if they had made an impact there. His wolf could take them in stride for the moment, and Stiles would soothe him later if necessary.
He had thought it might be hard, that he would hesitate. Instead there was a calm certainty that he was doing what was right for his family. For Derek and Jackson, who Gerard had used and abused in his quest for a 'cure', in his selfish desire to save his own worthless hide. For all their futures, which were uncertain enough without adding another possible complication. He sat down on the bed at Gerard's side and the man was weak enough that he couldn't stop himself from rolling a little bit towards Stiles. That did nothing to sway him, and neither did the bile that the man had continued to spew.
"You don't have it in you to kill me," he raged as fiercely as he could. "You don't have the spine. You think you're ready to step into the big leagues? Hah! You're still a scared little boy stuck in a basement. Taking your revenge--"
"This isn't about me," Stiles told him, much quieter than the old man. Despite that he heard more force in his own voice, heard the kind of steel and danger that Gerard used to project in spades. It was enough to shut the bastard up, to leave him gaping and trembling. "This is for my pack."
It was easy to fit his hand over Gerard's mouth and nose, cutting off his air supply. Instantly there were two hands clawing at his arm, fingers like talons scratching and scrabbling for purchase. He ignored the scratches, brushing them off as insignificant and unimportant. He felt the old bastard trying to gasp for breath against his skin, watched his face turn red and then purple with the effort. After a few heartbeats, Stiles used his hold on the man to guide him back down to his pillow, so it would look like he had gone peacefully in his sleep. It was better than Gerard deserved, but all that really mattered was that he ended up dead.
There was a strange feeling building up inside of him, a kind of heat and strength that he'd never felt before. If Gerard wasn't so pathetic, Stiles might think he was stealing the old man's energy and power, taking it for his own. As it was, it was more like the feeling was welling up from deep inside, something he'd had all along and just hadn't known about. His fingers flexed and tightened - suddenly it was a struggle not to grip down hard enough to leave bruises, His heart started to race, and he could feel every pump of blood delivering new strength to every muscle. He was hyper aware of each inch of his skin, could hear every attempt Gerard made to breath and every curl of the man's toes as they brushed the covers. Stiles could pick out every minute thread of color in the man's eyes and every wrinkle of distress around them.
Gerard gave one final thrash, his fingernails dug in one last time and drew Stiles' blood, and then he fell back against the pillows and was still. A sudden wash of red colored his vision, and Stiles swayed as strength like he'd never felt before rushed through his veins. Even what he'd experienced with the Nogitsune paled in in comparison, because this was all him, with no foreign shadow tainting it.
Stiles was overwhelmed for just a moment, and then there was Peter. Not just at his side, though he vaguely knew his wolf's hands were on his shoulders. No, Peter was in his mind, a beacon of warmth and total acceptance, something that felt a lot like love and a sharp spear of worry. Jackson's concern spiked alongside of it, which quickly turned to a rush of joy that fed into his own. The younger wolf gave the impression of falling over himself in welcome, and the thread linking them together was instantly almost as strong and shining as the rope that bound him to Peter. Kira was distantly confused, a tang to the feel of her that was different from the wolves. Derek felt tentatively hopeful, their thread a faint connection Stiles hoped would grow in time. He could even feel his dad, who was as oblivious to their new connection as Chris - humans couldn't feel pack bonds, he remembered, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat.
And just like that, the red in his vision receded and the bonds did the same. He could still feel them, but he had to work at it. If he didn't flex the muscle he had a feeling it would atrophy completely. Stiles didn't want that, not after feeling his pack burn so brightly in his mind. Just... he didn't want it right away, not if it came with the same rush of power. He felt like an overcooked noodle, and he half-thought that Peter might need to carry him out of the building. That wouldn't be conspicuous at all.
Fuck, he needed to pull himself together.
"I'm... I'm fine." he told Peter quietly, licking his lips to try and call moisture into his paper-dry mouth. "All clear. Don't... don't be worry-wolf."
"Sweetheart." It wasn't worry in his wolf's voice, but something close to worship. "That was..." For just a moment he thought Peter might swoop in to steal a kiss; for that moment Stiles knew he would let him. Then the moment was over, and it was only the usual warm fondness in Peter's eyes with an added hint of concern. "We should leave. Can you walk?"
"I... think so? Might need some help getting up." Immediately Peter was supporting him, and together they levered him up off the bed. He spared one last glance for Gerard, sure in the knowledge that he was dead. The threat to his pack was eliminated, but the relief of that was completely overshadowed by whatever the fuck had happened to him.
Jackson was watching them from the opened door, eyes fixed on Stiles. "I knew it," he mouthed, soft enough that Stiles could pretend he hadn't heard him. Because he shouldn't have heard him, not even as a whisper, should only have known the words by reading Jackson's lips.
"I have so much research to do. Peter what--"
"I don't know. We'll look into it when we get home." When he looked up at his wolf, he saw Peter's mouth hitch up in a tiny smile. "I think it's time I took you to the family vault."
"Family vault? You have a family vault? Why am I only hearing about it now? You've been holding out on me and I don't appreciate it. Jax! Did you know there was a family vault?"
Jackson still felt ridiculously happy through their muted bond, but he offered the same cocky smirk as always. "I went with Peter last week." The smugness was almost unbearable, and he growled weakly at the other teen as Peter ushered them down the hall. "We needed to make another offering to the Fae and Derek was busy."
"You took Jackson before you even told me about it?!" His outrage wasn't all feigned, and he leaned hard into the feeling so he didn't have to think about what had happened. But even as he let himself fall into easy banter, he could still sense Peter's steady regard for him and Jackson's wholehearted welcome. Kira and Derek were harder to feel but still undeniably there, and even his dad and Chris remained stubborn little flickers at the very edge of his mind.
His heart still beat in a new rhythm, and Stiles was sure that something had shifted and everything had changed.