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Plucking Petals
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Stiles was not in a good spot. He was hurting in more ways than just physical. Not that he was downplaying the physical pain. Getting beat up by a geriatric, retired hunter or not, was as bruising to his ego as the kicks to his ribs. In fact, Stiles was fairly certain that the crash through the warehouse wall had dislocated or broke something that had been just sore before. Even though the shocks had happened hours ago, he could still feel the tingling aftermath of the electricity that the hunters had used on him when he had been taken (along with his failed attempt at freeing Erica and Boyd).
But above all of the physical pain was the emotional kind. It wasn't like Stiles hadn't known that he had no chance with Lydia, but watching her give Jackson Whittemore of all people True Love's Kiss to make him a Real Boy? That hurt almost as much as the vague notion of Roscoe's repair costs after yet another werewolf issue. But those were familiar aches that Stiles had been dealing with in various forms for years. The sharp ache was Scott.
Scott hadn't even noticed how hurt Stiles had been. He had just done his betrayal before trailing after the remaining Argents like a well-trained dog. He had always been a little distant, obliviously self-absorbed, but he had always made some sort of question when Stiles had been hurt. This time he hadn't. And to work with Gerard of all people? Let alone the how of the plan involving using Derek's body as a tool and messing with someone's medication, two things that Stiles knew would make Melissa flip her mental table.
But Stiles had less than zero spoons to deal with any of that.
Then he spotted the folded slip of cream colored paper on his indigo pillowcase. On top of the note was a leather bracelet woven around crystal rounds of multiple colors. He might be wrong but it seemed like most of the standard variations of quartz were represented. The same spot inside of him that had lit up when he had multiplied the mountain ash at the club told him the bracelet had a similar energy around it.
The note was written in a script that was elegant enough to be considered calligraphy but with a sharpness that made the simple words cut like a set of claws. The words themselves were a brief explanation about the network of tunnels running throughout the county. The bracelet was apparently a key that would allow him into the caches of Hale resources scattered throughout the network.
Use it all well, was the last line.
Stiles felt his heart pounding in his chest as something rearranged within him.
Even without knowing what all was in the caches, Stiles knew it was definitely more than a perutah.
(2)
Isaac was curled into as small a ball as he could get. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter. There wasn't a whole lot of space in between the seats of the abandoned rail car where he had shoved as much bedding as he had managed to scrounge. His backpack was propped up in the aisle, ready to be grabbed on his way out in the morning. Though he was thinking of not going to school tomorrow. After all, who would get after him if he skipped?
Not Derek, who had fucked off into the shadows of the defunct train depot as soon as they had limped back to it. Isaac could feel him close by, and if he strained his hearing he could hear the alpha's shuddering breathing. Sometimes Isaac could see the cool boy who had been on the basketball team with Camden. Then a steely veil would drop over Derek and Isaac found himself walking on eggshells again like he would with his father.
It hadn't been too bad when Erica and Boyd had been there with them. Erica had been more than willing to explore all of the changes that becoming a werewolf had given them. She had had no problem navigating the rapids of their alpha's moods. Boyd had been solid as an island in the turbulent sea of their lives. Their absence now ached even more than the slowly healing wounds from Allison's knives.
Maybe he should have left with them.
"Oh, this is just sad," Stiles declared as he moved down the aisle. Isaac didn't bother to uncurl. Stiles must already know he was there anyway. Sure enough, the other boy plunked himself down on the nearest the entrance. He crossed his arms on the back and looked down at Isaac. "You're not looking too hot there, pup. What's up, buttercup?"
"Go away, Stiles."
"Nope," he countered, really popping the P sound. He had the manic look in his eye that he got whenever he hadn't slept the night before. Isaac hadn't realized that sleep deprivation had a scent, but that must be what the sour scent cutting through the coppery smell of pain was. Wait. Why did Stiles smell like pain? "You're not getting rid of me that easily. In fact, I think I'm sort of stuck with you, too."
"What?" Isaac asked, growing even more confused by the moment. Stiles rarely made sense to outsiders. His mind just bounced around too fast for anyone to keep up with at the best of times. Sleep deprived and skipping doses of his medication was not a good time for Stiles; still recovering from the devastating confrontation with Gerard Argent was not a good time for Isaac. They were double-doomed, really. Triple, if the lack of a Scott to translate counted. "What are you talking about?"
"I've got a bill of sale right here," Stiles answered with a rhythmic pattern that Isaac only half-recognized. Stiles shook his wrist at him. The dim lights of the rail car caught on the crystal balls wrapped in the aged leather bracelet there. Isaac frowned as he tried to remember if Stiles habitually wore jewelry. "Now you belong to me, and I refuse to leave you squatting in the dark like this. Where's Sourwolf?"
As if answering the question, there was a dull thud on the roof of the rail car. Stiles glanced upwards even as he stood. His eyes seemed amber from the angle that Isaac was currently at. He looked powerful standing above Isaac, but for the first time, the positioning felt safe instead of threatening. Not even the sound of Derek growling as he joined them could change that.
"Hey there, lemondrop," Stiles greeted as if Derek wasn't doing his best to warn him off. "Don't you remember? I'm not afraid of you in any way that matters. So you can knock off the growling already." He paused when Derek didn't appear to have heard him. "Or keep it up if you must. It might make living together a bit awkward, but you feel free to explain the wolfy noises to my dad."
"Stiles," Derek bit out.
"Careful there, Alpha." Stiles fluttered his eyelashes at Derek like a cartoon damsel. "An impressionable young boy might think you're flirting with him if you keep that up."
"Shut up, Stiles," Derek growled. Stiles let out a laugh, as if he truly wasn't afraid of Derek. Isaac had forgotten that people didn't avoid Stiles just because of the flailing and the word vomit tangents. The other boy was more than a little unstable. "We don't want you here."
"That's good," Stiles agreed, but instead of leaving, he leaned against the seat, "because I don't want you here either. So we can have this discussion back at my house, where there is food and—not to call either of you out—warm showers. You both stink to my human nose. How can you even stand yourselves?"
"Stiles," Derek repeated.
"Derek," Stiles answered. He heaved a sigh before rubbing a hand over his face and hair. The coppery scent of pain flashed brightly through the space. Before either wolf could say anything, Stiles was continuing. "Look, what Scott did was shitty on multiple levels. But you know what it also was? Not my idea or plan. I wouldn't approve of strengthening an enemy in the first place, because that's stupid beyond belief, but using you like that? Come on, dude. And that's even before taking into consideration that it would be against the Argent family code or whatever. They haven't even completed the rites for Mrs. Argent after she Final-Solution'ed herself because she got bit. Whatever the hell Scott was thinking, I don't like the vibe of."
"Stiles, you're hurt."
"Well, duh. I spent a chunk of Saturday night in the Argent basement learning various torture techniques first hand." Stiles gave a nonchalant shrug. "Grandpa Argent does not live up to his reputation, if I'm being honest. One star, and only because I got to enjoy some lovely company. By the way, thanks for letting me know that Erica and Boyd were leaving. I'm standing by the claim that I'm a better Yoda than you."
"You never made that claim," Derek said with a fragile sort of hesitation. Isaac couldn't help the whine he let out. The sound made Stiles focus on him with that dark amber gaze. Isaac shivered under it. Only for Derek to continue with something very urgent in his tone. "Where did you get that bracelet, Stiles?"
"Oh, this old thing?" Stiles said waving his right wrist in the air. He gave Derek a smile full of teeth like he was the wolf. "Your uncle left it for me. Along with a note to help myself to anything left in the tunnels."
"Stiles—"
"Nope. You're in the tunnels. You're mine. No take-backsies!"
"How old are you again?" But Derek sounded resigned to having to put up with Stiles for at least the foreseeable future.
Isaac was looking forward to staying in a house again, even if that house did come with Stiles.
(3)
Erica struggled back to consciousness. She could tell from how she was propped up that Boyd had her head and shoulders on his lap, which meant that it was his fingers carding through her tangled hair. The musty scent of the bank vault clogged the back of her throat, nearly blotting out the coppery taste that lingered after a seizure. She never thought that she would miss Derek's torture devices, but after the Argent basement and then the weeks in this vault, she was. At least when they had been with Derek, she had had full access to her werewolf abilities.
Whatever this vault was made of blocked her wolf. She was back to where she was before accepting the Bite, only this time without any meds or ER visits. She didn't know how much longer she could last. She didn't know if she was thankful that Derek had bought her a little more time or if she hated him for the false hope.
"You back with us, Catwoman?"
She blinked groggily. Maybe she wasn't as recovered as she had thought. That didn't sound like Boyd or Cora or any of their captors. In fact, it almost sounded like—
"Ba'man?"
"Yeah," he answered. She felt hands rubbing her hip and thigh. "We found you. We're gonna stay here for a few more hours to wait out the moon. The effect of the moonstone should dissipate over the day. You might be a little more moody for the next couple of nights but nothing like if we suddenly expose you to moonlight." She could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "Of course, Cora will probably be moody for the rest of time, given her bloodline."
"Hale," Erica muttered, earning a pat to her hip.
"The scowls are truly impressive."
"You never learned when to shut up, did you?" Cora snapped from near by. Erica didn't bother turning her head to look.
"And deny a Hale an opportunity to threaten me? Where's the fun in that?"
"How have you survived this long?"
"I'm charming."
"You're a menace."
"Both can be true."
Screw mixed feelings about Derek or Scott. She was definitely grateful for Stiles.
(4)
"My lack of sexual experience is officially endangering my life," Stiles declared. Danny rolled his eyes at what had to be an exaggeration. No one had ever died from the lack of sex before. That was a myth. Not to mention that there was no way that Stiles didn't have any options. If no one else, he could probably ask Cousin Miguel to help him out. They certainly hung out enough even with Derek and Isaac getting their own place. "I need someone to sex me right now."
"Alright. I'll do it," Danny said, not really thinking through the plan at all. Stiles spun on his heels. His arms flailed to prevent him falling backwards into Scott. He even squeaked out a shaky question. Danny put on his most flirty look. "Come to my place at nine. Plan to stay the night. I like to cuddle."
Stiles gave him a couple of blinks before tilting his head to the side. His mouth dropped open slightly, which was far more tempting than it should be on someone so straight. His amber eyes darted over Danny's shoulder. One or both of the twins were likely waiting for Danny at the door. There was a furrow in the middle of his forehead once he met Danny's eyes again.
"That's so sweet," he said, with a casualness that Danny almost recognized. It sounded almost like a tone that Lydia would use before raining down her wrath on someone. "Are you kidding?"
"Yes," Danny scoffed. He rolled his eyes again. "Of course I'm kidding. Why would I make an offer like that without discussing it first with my current partner?"
"Okay, good," Stiles said, shifting tone easily, "but just so you know, you shouldn't toy with a guy's emotions like that, Danny. It's not attractive!"
"What would you know about being attractive? You're nothing but a nerf herder!"
Stiles let out a dramatic gasp before lunging at him. Danny was only vaguely aware of Ethan's sudden body heat along his back. It was nice to know that his boyfriend would have his back, but Stiles wasn't attacking him in any way that would really matter since they were no longer five and worried about cooties. Though Danny could do with a little less of the enthusiastic hug he was receiving from the other boy, because it was getting a little hard to breathe.
"Ethan, I take back everything I said," Stiles declared as he stepped back. He kept his hands on Danny's shoulders. His smile was tight around the edges but not in a way that set off warning bells. His eyes moved back over Danny's shoulder towards Ethan. "I'll smooth things over with Derek if you want to tell him."
"Wait," Danny interrupted. He twisted himself out from between the two, gaze darting between the twins and Scott. "Is this about werewolves? Because Jax already told me about that—not that he really needed to, because this is Beacon Hills. It kind of par for the course, isn't it?"
Stiles just let out a cackle like a demented hyena.
Why was Danny friends with these people again?
(1)
Stiles was just trying to enjoy the early spring weather. Jolenta was bundled up in a cute blanket with Van Gogh's Starry Night on it. Under it, she had a cute little romper covered in strawberries over a long-sleeved onesie that was a delicate lilac. Erica had picked out all of the outfit, including the cute little socks that the month-old infant would tear off if given half a chance. Stiles still wasn't sure how she managed it when she could barely coordinate enough to grab his finger, but if given access to her feet, she would end up with a fist full of sock within short order.
Dad kept laughing every time she did it, too, because apparently it was revenge for when Stiles did it at the same age.
"You're just a little mischief maker, aren't you?" Stiles asked as he moved the stroller back and forth idly. Jolenta let out a sleepy gurgle that had him smiling softly. He knew from his parenting books that all parents felt this way, but he had the best baby in the entire world. "Yeah, you're a little mischief maker."
"Stiles?"
He turned towards the sound of Scott's voice, already standing up to greet him. Scott had been growing more distant for a long while but especially since Stiles had found out that Lydia was pregnant. Part of it was just the natural fallout of their choices. Scott had betrayed not just the pack but specifically Derek, and no matter how much Stiles had tried to explain it, Scott did not seem to understand why what he did was wrong. Stiles had stayed friends with him and still helped out with wolfy issues if Scott asked, but most of Stiles' attention was on the pack that Scott had no interest in trying to rejoin.
Since Stiles had completed his final exams and left high school, Scott had visited only a handful of times. None of them had been during the month since Jolenta had been born. Stiles paused, his head tilting automatically as a thought occurred to him. What was Scott doing in the park in the middle of a school day?
"Hey, man," Stiles greeted. Without really thinking about it, he moved to put himself between the stroller and his childhood friend. "Haven't seen you in ages. What's up?"
"I just wanted to check on you." Scott rubbed the back of his head and neck. His brown eyes were wide and filled with concern as he held Stiles' gaze. "You haven't been at school."
"I graduated," Stiles said with growing confusion. "Remember?"
"That's what Erica claimed," Scott said with some confusion of his own, "but we're juniors. We can't graduate yet."
"I could," Stiles countered, not trying to be mean. It had taken a few forgeries of his father's signature over the years, but Stiles had been stacking extra classes and advance classes since the summer before his freshman year. His father hadn't minded so long as Stiles kept his grades up. It was a bit of a compromise since Stiles couldn't do the same thing to get his ADHD meds, so leaning into the quirks was for the best. Scott would not be able to keep up that pace. "Look, Scott. I don't know what you want me to say. I had planned on just building an awesome transcript but well, circumstances change."
"Yeah, you got with Lydia." Scott nodded like that was how it happened. Like somehow Stiles had just gotten through his former plan to woo the redhead instead of a delusional darach forcing their hands. "But why wouldn't you want to go to school with your girlfriend?"
"Lydia's not my girlfriend."
"Did you break up?" Scott looked so earnest as he asked that.
Stiles frowned as he tried to remember if he had ever explained the whole situation to Scott. Things were really strained right after Scott had betrayed Derek and broke from the pack. The last couple of months of the semester and into the summer had been full of pack drama as Stiles had collected wolves and got them sorted out. Things with Scott had sort of fallen to the wayside as Stiles had less time to chase after him. Then the chaos had continued into the fall with the darach and the weirdness that Stiles still hadn't fully tracked back to a source.
And that was just the supernatural stuff. It wasn't considering all the work of preparing to raise a child. Scott had come with Allison to Lydia's birthday party, but Stiles couldn't remember if they had actually talked. There had been so many people there. Between the queens and the pack, Stiles had found himself hopping around like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Maybe it had just never come up?
"We were never together," Stiles said carefully. Suddenly, he felt the stroller moving away from his side. He turned away from Scott and his weird questions. Deaton had his hands on the other end of the stroller. The druid had the same stoic expression on his face that he normally did, not even a hint of surprise at being caught. Stiles pulled the stroller back to his side. "What are you doing?"
"Mr. Stilinski—"
"I asked you a question," Stiles interrupted. He took another step away from both the vet and Scott, taking Jolenta with him. He felt something bubbling up inside of him like a spring in the middle of the preserve or maybe like carbonation in a soda bottle. He kept his gaze locked on Deaton. "I expect an answer."
"You have to understand that it's for the best," Scott said, the same half-whine he used to have when complaining about nothing ever happening in Beacon Hills. That felt like a lifetime ago rather than just a little over a year. "Deaton has a plan."
"And I would love to hear it."
"Sty-iles," Scott whined, lengthening the name like it was Stiles being unreasonable here.
"I'm sure that you've noticed the oddities in the last few months," Deaton started. Stiles squinted at him as the hairs on the back of his neck started raising. Jolenta started fussing in the way she did when she wanted Derek's attention. Stiles gave into the growing urge to get her out of the stroller and into his arms. Deaton watched with an unchanging expression. "Something has upset the natural balance of this area."
"Yeah," Stiles agreed as he tucked his daughter against his chest. Her tiny hand worked free of the fleece blanket she was wrapped in to clutch at his tee-shirt. "There was a darach last fall. She messed with a lot of things in her pursuit of revenge. The telluric currents are still recovering." He gave Deaton one of his grins that made his wolves nervous because of how many teeth he showed. "The Hale pack is handling it."
"I am certain you noticed that there is something continuing to affect the balance."
"I have," Stiles agreed again. He let his grin widen. "I have a few theories about what is happening."
"Deaton does, too!" Scott bounced close to Deaton's side like he was a golden retriever. At least Stiles now had them both within his sight. "It's the fake baby!"
"The what-now?"
"The fake baby," Scott repeated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not a real baby. It's actually a demon that has tricked you into taking care of it. But Deaton has a way to take care of it."
"Take care of it?"
"Yeah! He can purify the energy and return it back to the land."
"And what happens then?"
"Oh," Scott said, his smile dropping into a frown. He looked like he had never considered it. "I guess the land will get healthier? Maybe cleaner?"
"And Jolenta?"
"Jolenta?"
"My daughter? The one you're accusing of being a demon like you had the pleasure of changing one of her poopy diapers?"
"That's not a real baby," Scott said without any of the venom that such a declaration should have held. "It's a bunch of demonic energy."
The realization that Stiles had been trying to ignore slid into irrefutable place. Scott had been drifting away since he had become a werewolf. It had built up to Scott going along with Deaton's plan (because it had to have been his originally) to force Derek to bite Gerard after swapping out his pill collection. Scott had left with Allison afterwards. He had remained distant over the summer and early fall. Scott had been both distracted and a distraction while the darach had wreaked havoc with her sacrifices. The Hale pack had stopped her after she had completed only five victims (though Stiles secretly hoped that Harris was number six rather than just missing).
Scott hadn't really been a friend in the last year. He hadn't been someone that Stiles could trust or rely on. Even with how rough his puppies could play sometimes, Stiles had never been afraid that they would attack him or Jolenta. Not even when they had retrieved Boyd, Erica, and Cora from the bank vault and they had the funky moonstone sickness had Stiles feared them. In fact, he had gone in alone with the mountain ash line intact to assess injuries. If it had been Scott in the vault and edging on feral, Stiles would not have been safe.
It all came down to accepting the wolf within. Scott rejected his with the same vehemence of a child rejecting broccoli, and his wolf rejected him right back. There could be no balance between them. No anchor would ever been enough to ride out that constant storm. Scott was stubborn, which was probably why he was still in the neighborhood of sane even after a year without any pack bonds.
Then there was Deaton. The vet had been the emissary for Talia's pack. He was supposed to be her advisor on things. He was supposed to be in charge of magical needs. Yet the Hale Fire had happened. All of the events leading up to the Hale Fire had happened. The dark period after the Hale Fire had happened. There wasn't any way to prove that Deaton had been actively involved with the tragedies, but Stiles had certainly found enough evidence in the Hale Vaults to be certain that Deaton could have prevented a lot of them. Even if he had some kind of irreconcilable differences with Peter, he could have helped Derek as soon as he came back after Laura's death or when Derek had started rebuilding a pack.
Instead of helping wolves like his emissary oath would have demanded, Deaton had repeatedly aided Gerard and his hunters. Stiles couldn't prove it, but he also suspected that Deaton had helped Deucalion, Ennis, and Kali when they had first arrived in Beacon Hills. Stiles also had a gut feeling that Deaton had deliberately provided less mountain ash than needed to surround the Jungle. Even after the pill switch fiasco of last spring, Deaton hadn't been a high priority to deal with. He was the human equivalent of a weird mole that got ignored because dealing with it wasn't a gaping chest wound.
Now the mole had split open and started oozing.
And it wanted his heart.
His arms tightened around Jolenta. The pressure made the beads of his bracelet dig into his arm. He had taken to wearing the vault key whenever he left his house. The entire pack liked to tease him about it to varying degrees, but it did have a practical purpose. The Hale tunnels networked throughout the entirety of Beacon Hills with offshoots covering most of the county. Having the key meant rarely being more than a hundred feet from an escape route that would lock behind him.
The current closest one was about fifteen feet away, beneath the tower of the play fort. There was a button on one of the supports that would open a slide to the tunnel below if there was also recognition from the wards. Otherwise, it was just a button that did nothing.
Stiles eyed the pair in front of him. He could knew that Deaton wouldn't chase him if he ran, but Scott might, and Stiles wasn't so confident that he could outpace a werewolf, omega or not. But it might be possible if Stiles could manage to get a head start. One of the good things about Scott no longer being so involved in his life was that Stiles had now had tricks up his sleeves that Scott wouldn't know about (and thus that Deaton wasn't likely to know about).
"You think Jolenta isn't real?" Stiles asked, letting the word vomit commence. "I mean, I can get behind the idea that she's at least a little demonic. She definitely wails like a banshee, and I was definitely not joking about how bad her poopy diapers can get. She had one the other day that was sky blue and smelled like something had died."
"Mr. Stilinski—"
"Mr. Deaton," Stiles countered, rage suddenly boiling up in him. He wanted to gnash his teeth at the druid suddenly. He wanted to feel the man's flesh beneath his claws as he ripped his heart from his chest. How dare this weak oathbreaker threaten his kit? A wild wind kicked up, making his flannel whip around him. "You should be very quiet right about now."
"Stiles," Scott whined, "we can fix this. Don't you want everything to go back to normal? Deaton is just trying to help."
"It's too late," Deaton said, the barest hint of sorrow in his voice. "The demon has possessed him. There will be no reasoning with him." He patted Scott on the arm as if in regret. "Do it now."
Whatever Scott was meant to do, Stiles didn't know. He took Deaton's command as his cue to throw a basketball-sized fireball at the vet. Without waiting to see if it hit or caught Scott in the resulting explosion, Stiles spun on his heels and sprinted for the playground equipment. He could feel the wind pulling at his clothes and the fuzzy blanket, dragging them in his wake like the tail of a comet. Jolenta let out a wail worthy of Lydia as something landed on the tower in front of them. Stiles just ignored both to duck beneath it. He slammed the side of his hand onto the button and held tight as the ground gave way beneath his feet.
He had just landed at the bottom of the slide when a loud roar sounded above them.
Panting, Stiles took a moment to assess the situation. Jolenta was calming now that they weren't in active danger. She had a fist full of his shirt again, and the fist was mostly stuffed into her mouth. He didn't have any supplies on him, but the playground wasn't far from one of the annexes where Stiles had a cache. He would have to wait until he got there to even think about contacting Derek (or given that roar, either Cora or Boyd).
A part of him wanted to howl at the final confirmation that he had lost Scott. They had been best friends for so long, practically brothers. It hurt to think that Scott could betray him like this, but at the same time, it wasn't that far-fetched either. Scott had already shown that he would put Deaton's word above anyone else's.
And now he had done it to Stiles and an innocent baby.
If Stiles thought about it too hard, he would give into the vindictive impulse to destroy them. He knew that he was not what most people would consider a nice person. His whole problem with Peter's feral murder spree hadn't been the revenge part. That he had understood all too well. It had been that people Stiles had considered his had gotten caught up in it and the fallout. (Bequeathing Stiles the vaults had gone a long way to soothing that particular annoyance.)
Jolenta gurgled around her fist. Stiles closed his eyes and pressed his nose to the pale red wisps on her head.
Just this once, he could trust the pack to take care of things in his stead.
Scott and Deaton had better be gone before Stiles got back topside.
Because one way or another, Beacon Hills was going to have two less residents by tomorrow.