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Diana had nightmares. She had nightmares pretty much every night for the past two weeks, spending less time in the room they picked out and decorated for her and more time in bed with Stiles and Peter.
This was expected, but more than inconvenient given her new, completely uncontrolled ability to spout claws and fangs during times of emotional upset.
Currently she was kicking and scratching at Stiles as he held her close and tried to gently wake her up. It was 2 AM, and he had school in 5.5 hours. Peter was out of town with Derek, the pair of them heading to South America to find and gather Cora and bring her home to Beacon Hills.
Stiles was glad the boys were going to get Cora—Derek needed his sister—but that left him at home for the past half week with a fairly new pack, a traumatized six year old, and responsibilities regarding high school and homework. He had Dad to help with Diana, thank the gods above and below, so he could still attend school and deal with pack stuff as it happened. Dad was actually excited to be a grandpa, even as young as he was. He loudly proclaimed that their little girl needed all of them and took her to work with him when he went, like he used to do with Stiles just after Mom.
Stiles had already held a pack meeting while his boys were gone, insisting on the pack training together in case they end up with another Richard Akins on their hand. Even Scott wasn’t exempt—Stiles was still pissed at him, no matter how much groveling his friend did. Fucking Mittens, putting his best friend in danger. Fucking Scott, putting a poodle’s life above his own.
Stiles worked closely with Erica, who had just replaced Diana as Peter’s newest beta two days before the boys left for South America. Peter had suggested putting the trip off till Erica was more settled, but Stiles reminded him that he had plenty of practice teaching a werewolf how to werewolf, so off they went.
Erica had spent approximately four days aggressively interviewing everyone in the pack, including Peter’s adult friends, promptly brought both her parents to a pack dinner, and then announced that the Bite was the way she wanted to go. She was taking to being a werewolf like a duck to water. Stiles was fairly certain she’d struggled more the first time around, so he was very proud of her. Her parents were thrilled she wasn’t going to have more seizures now.
It had taken him approximately three days to teach her to control her shift from start to finish. After three days, she could pop only her claws if she wanted to, flash only her eyes, or drop only her fangs. He even worked with her on using her enhanced senses to her best advantage, though he still struggled with the whole scents thing. Luckily, Deuc took a shine to her because she was “spunky,” so he took her on as her mentor. Having competent adults in his life was such a blessing.
Meanwhile, Diana was having nightmares. Stiles had lost count of the number of times he woke up with little claws in his chest or tiny fangs sunk into his arm. Like now, for instance, as Diana struggled against him in her sleep, sinking claws into his arm and headbutting his chest. He held her against him with one arm, running fingers through her hair and cooing what he hoped were comforting sounds like his father used to do for him.
He held her close enough he could feel the moment she woke up, her little body spasming in his arm and her bladder releasing. She cried out his name before she was even fully awake.
“It’s okay, sweet girl. Stiles is right here. I’m right here. I’ve got you; you’re safe.” He kissed the top of her head. Her hair was damp with sweat—it must have been a bad one.
“I’ve got you, Diana. You’re here in my room, and you’re safe. The bad man can never get you again, remember? Peter made him go away forever. He’ll never be back.”
She climbed all over him until she was tucked into his lap with her face against his chest, her cotton pajamas moist and her tears wetting his t-shirt. He still didn’t know what to do in these situations, but he was learning what Diana wanted. She wanted to be reassured and held, to be cleaned up and given a snack. She did NOT want to talk about the nightmares.
Stiles still tried. “You sure you don’t want to talk about the bad dreams, Sweetie? It might help you make them go away.”
She shook her head violently where it rested against his chest.
“Okay, baby, okay. You don’t have to talk about it. I’ve got you.”
She looked up at him, making eye contact. He flashed his beta blue eyes at her, hoping it would be as comforting as Peter’s alpha red ones. Hers flashed gold back, and she buried her face back against his chest.
He made an executive decision and carried her on his hip into their bathroom, setting up the water in the tub and warming it until it felt lukewarm on his forearm. She sniffled as she helped him undress her and get her into the tub, and he stripped off his t-shirt and knelt down to run a soft, soapy washcloth over her skin. His shorts were wet and slightly tacky from her accident—he was going to have to scrub himself down when he was done cleaning her up.
He finished soaping her up and rinsed her off with his cupped hands, causing her to giggle because she was slightly ticklish. She had a really great giggle. It was light and airy, and it lit up her whole face with a boisterous smile. He tickled at her tummy for just a moment, then lifted her up out of the tub and wrapped a towel around her.
“Okay, Sweet Pea, give your Stiles just a minute to clean himself up, okay? Go get a clean pair of jammies from your room for me, but no running to get there! I’ll meet you in the kitchen as soon as I’m done, and we’ll get you comfy and get some juice in that belly of yours.”
She nodded and then rushed forward and hugged him around the hips. “Thank you, Stiles. You always make the bad man go away!”
That was just adorable. She was just adorable. He couldn’t believe she’d only been in their lives for two weeks. He absolutely adored his little girl. He’d kill for her. He’d take yet another bullet for her. He’d tend to her traumatic moments even covered in her pee.
He was the goddamned pack mom.
She speedwalked out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel, and he called quietly to remind her not to run.
He threw his shorts on the pile of wet clothes, then hopped into the shower and sudsed himself off as quickly as he could—Diana could find trouble in microseconds if she was left too long to her own devices.
Someone knocked at their front door. At what had to be 2:45 in the morning on a school night.
What the hell?
He hopped out of the shower and didn’t bother towel drying himself, instead throwing on one of Peter’s pair of pajama pants and one of his alpha’s v-neck tees and skidding around corners to grab the door before the knocking woke anyone else up. Malia was a bitch and a half if she was woken from sleep too early, and Dad had worked a double shift today to cover for Sam’s out of town family emergency.
Dad had beaten him to the front door, Diana on his hip and sucking juice from one of her Disney Princess sippy cups.
Christopher and Allison Argent stood on the other side of the door, what looked like go-bags in their possession and armed to the teeth.
Stiles took a deep breath to slow himself down and wandered to his dad, taking Diana from him and slinging her onto his own hip. His little girl was going to be with him if an Argent who wasn’t Ally was around them.
“Mr. Argent? What are you doing here? It’s nearly three in the morning, sir.”
Diana made grabby hands for his dad, who reached out for her. Stiles’s glare stopped him in his tracks, at least.
“Dziadz, Stiles! I want Dziadz.”
He sighed and passed her off, then waved Chris and Allison into the apartment with an “I suppose you two had better come inside. I’ll make coffee.”
He was going to need something to help him focus this late at night.
His dad rubbed the back of Stiles’s head.
“Nah, Di and I can get the coffee. You take these two into the living room and find out why they look like they’re on the run.”
Stiles didn’t even wait until they’d hit the conversational set to inquire.
“Why are you at my apartment at nearly three in the morning on a school night? Not that it’s not great seeing both of you—Mr. Argent, I’m well aware that the fire and the gunshot wound weren’t your doing—but it’s also nearly three in the morning on a school night, you know?”
Chris nodded. “Sorry to wake you, Stiles, but I was hoping to speak with Peter.”
Stiles sniffed and sat down in one of the arm chairs, making himself comfortable.
“Peter’s not here right now. You can speak to me.”
Allison smiled at him and opened her mouth, but Chris cut her off.
“Thank you, but this is…business. When is Peter due back?”
Stiles turned around as his dad approached, grabbing the mug of coffee the man handed to him and taking a sip.
“Peter’s out of town. You can speak to me, Mr. Argent.”
Allison huffed. “Honestly, Dad, we can talk to Stiles! Trust me on this, okay?” She turned to Stiles. “I take it Derek is off with Peter?”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah, family business. You know how it is.”
Chris glanced sharply at Allison. “What do you know about Peter and Derek Hale, Allison?”
Stiles scoffed into his coffee mug. She knew more about them than Chris did at this point.
She rolled her eyes. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Dad? I’m dating Scott, who’s best friends with Stiles, who lives with the Hales. I know what our family did, every rotten, heinous act. I know all about the pack—”
And here it came. She was going to just drop it like a bomb, if he knew Allison at all.
“Because I’m IN the pack, and I’m not sorry about that. You should have been honest with me about everything, especially after Mom…Especially after mom.”
Stiles set his cup down on the side table and opened his arms to her. She came right over and hugged him tight, then squirmed in beside him on the arm chair. He kept one arm over her shoulders.
“She’s pack, Mr. Argent. That means that whatever shit has you both armed for bear and carrying go bags is a Hale Pack problem, too. You can speak to me.”
Chris raised one eyebrow. “So you’ve found out about Peter, then.”
Stiles smirked, letting the quirk of one side of his mouth linger. “You could say that. What happened?”
His dad returned with another mug of coffee, and Chris reached out to take it from him with a simple “thank you” before turning back to Stiles. Dad sat down on the couch and situated Diana on his lap before tossing a bottle of water at Allison, who reached up and caught it with one hand.
“My men have turned on me, Stiles.” Chris leaned forward and stared into his black coffee. “They don’t want to follow our code—they were Gerard’s men first and foremost. They want me dead so they can appoint someone else to head our organization.
“Not only do my men want me dead, but one of them attacked another alpha in this godforsaken town, and now the whole pack of them are after me. Allison and I need somewhere to lay low and plan our next move.”
Stiles snorted and jostled Allison’s shoulder. “So Ally suggested coming here because she knows the packs are tight, I’m sure. She’d be right. I’ll make a call and get the alphas off your ass, but we’ve got children in this apartment building. A lot of them aren’t even ours, and I’m not willing to risk the ones who ARE ours. Ally’s pack, but hunters aren’t our friends, and you’re a hunter, Mr. Argent. You led these men into hurting us. Your family hurt us. Why should we take the risk of your men attacking this building by offering you sanctuary?”
Allison looked over at him, scandalized, apparently.
“Stiles! We came here for help, and I’ve heard you say over and over that pack helps pack. Well, here I am!”
Stiles nodded and took another sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts.
“And here you can stay, because pack does help pack, but your dad isn’t pack. Your dad came to my house to hurt pack—”
“But he didn’t, did he? He didn’t hurt anybody. He called his men off when he realized there were humans in that house! He lives by the Argent Code, Stiles. He only hunts those who hunt others.”
Stiles focused on Chris. “I’m willing to call the alpha pack and get them off your ass, Mr. Argent—I’ll do it right now just to help you and Ally—but I’m going to need more than just ‘my daughter is pack’ in order to grant you sanctuary within our den.”
Chris huffed and downed his coffee, setting the cup on the tray on the ottoman. “You talk like them now, Stiles. When the hell did that happen?”
Stiles flashed his eyes at Chris, allowing the man to fully take in their beta blue. “Probably about the time my home was torched and a hunter shot me with a poison-laced bullet, Christopher.”
Chris sat back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Shit, kid, what did you do?”
“I did the smartest thing I’ve ever done—I packed up with Peter Hale. I learned to protect myself and those I love.” He gestured at Di and his dad.
“I accepted my position as Left Hand. When Peter and Derek are away, I speak with Peter’s voice, and I’m not opposed to helping you—I happen to believe you’d be a hell of a pack ally, even if you never officially join up with us—but I’ve got a little girl to worry about, same as you. I need more than just ‘my daughter is in your pack.’”
“Fuck, Stiles. I’m sorry it came to that for you.”
Stiles waved him off. “Don’t be. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Chris nodded. “Still…I’m here to ask for your pack’s help in protecting my daughter and hopefully myself. I’m willing to offer any information I might have, including a copy of the Argent bestiary, and I’m willing to fight by your side should my men decide to attack. I showed up at your house that afternoon because I’m a soldier, Stiles. I was following orders, but I couldn’t follow orders that went against my morals and our code. I will defend your little ones and the humans of this building—”
Stiles raised one eyebrow at him, and Chris caught on.
“Everyone in this building. I will defend everyone in this building against any attack, be it from my own men or from outside forces. I’m willing to treat with the Hale Pack once I seize back control of the organization and clean house. My daughter is in your pack, and I will do all I can to keep her safe. If that means keeping your pack safe at any cost, then I’m willing to do that in exchange for sanctuary for her and myself.”
Stiles let go of Allison’s shoulders and sat forward, clasping his hands and leaning his forearms on his thighs.
“The Hale Pack offers you sanctuary, Christopher Argent. You and Allison Argent, both. We’ll take a copy of your bestiary, and we’ll happily use any knowledge you may have in forthcoming situations. You WILL respect us while you are staying with us, though. This pack is my family, and I will not have you disrespecting my family in any way.”
Chris nodded. “I understand, Stiles, and thank you.”
His dad cleared his throat. “Now that’s out of the way, you two have school in the morning, and I have a little one to get to bed. Ally, you know where your room is. Chris, you can have one of the couches in here tonight. We can sort you out tomorrow.”
“You sure you want to risk putting her in her own bed, Old Man? You know how she’ll scream if she wakes up on her own after falling asleep in somebody’s arms.”
His dad smirked at him. “This isn’t my first little one, Stiles. I changed YOUR diapers, remember? I’ve got her. Get some sleep before you have to deal with school in a few hours. Dziadz is on duty now.”
Stiles threw up both hands in surrender. “Well, thanks, Pops. I appreciate it. I’m gonna go grab less than 40 winks, then. I’ll see you all in a few hours.”
He crawled into bed, made sure his alarm was set, and closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t regret his Argent decision the next day.
——————
His alarm blared the nuclear air siren much too soon for his liking. He woke up to a cold bed and missed his partner, then he rolled over into a semi-warm damp spot and wanted to cry at the amount of pee in his life these days.
He had to keep reminding himself that bedwetting was a common trauma response in children, that Diana needed love and patience above everything else, even above the play therapy he’d enrolled her in—at least, that’s what the play therapist told Stiles. It sounded reasonable.
His phone rang, the screen telling him Peter was calling.
That was a much better way to start his day than a cold bed and warm piss, so he accepted the call.
“Good morning, Love.”
Stiles could hear the noise of a restaurant in the background, the chink of silverware on plates and the ambient noise of dozens of conversations around Peter. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rolling and stretching his neck.
“Morning, Pete. I’m thrilled to hear your voice, but why are you calling me at six in the morning?”
“Can’t a guy just miss his fella?”
He snorted. It was too early and he’d had too little sleep for Peter’s sappy bullshit.
“Peter, Diana had another major nightmare last night, the Argents are apparently at war with each other, and I still somehow have to go to school today. I miss you too; now, why are you calling?”
“You’ve already answered most of why I was calling. I just wanted to check in, see how our two newest girls were doing. What’s this about the Argents warring internally?”
That tracked.
“Diana got to spend half the evening with me and half the evening with her dziadz. She’s fine. The play therapist she’s started seeing says everything that’s happening is normal for someone her age who’s experienced what she experienced. She’s going to work with her on accepting that the bad man is really gone.
“Erica is…Erica. She’s an unstoppable force, just like before. She’s already got full control of her beta shift abilities. Deuc has taken a liking to her and has sort of stepped into a mentor role, so that’s going well, too. He’s got Kali working with her when it comes to fighting, since the two of them are about the same build, and I’m doing what I can to instill the fine art of subtlety in her, but it’s kind of like banging my head against a concrete wall.”
“Hmm. Sounds like you have a good handle on things, then. And the Argents, Darling?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed caffeine. Mornings like this, he missed his Adderall.
“Chris Argent’s men apparently turned on him because he wasn’t blood lusty enough for them. He and Allison showed up on our doorstep at nearly three in the morning—when I was actually still awake from Diana’s nightmare, I’d like to point out; I miss sleep—asking for sanctuary—”
“Stiles, tell me you didn’t.”
Fuck. He totally did.
“Pete, my love, my life, moon of my heart, hear me out here: Allison is pack. She is actively a member of our little band of misfits. I couldn’t turn her away, now, could I? And Chris really isn’t so bad once he realizes his family is complete and utter dogshit, I promise you. This is our chance—”
“Stiles, your house burned down under his leadership. It’s indirectly his fault you got shot with a wolfsbane-laced bullet. His family murdered my family, and he did nothing to stop it. I don’t think I should have to remind you of these facts!”
Fucking Peter and his fucking vendetta-laced logic.
“Yes, Alpha Mine, this is all very true, but he wasn’t the one who did any of that, and now he’s being targeted BECAUSE he didn’t do any of that. If we can help him reassert control over the Argent organization, that’ll be an entire sect of hunters we won’t have to worry about—”
Peter sighed over the line.
“Stiles, they’re hunters. We will ALWAYS have to worry about them. I understand that you think you know Christopher Argent because in your timeline he did things that the man just hasn’t actually done here, but that is not the Christopher Argent you are currently dealing with, is it?”
It was too early for this shit. He wandered in the direction of coffee and clarity.
“The Christopher Argent I’m currently dealing with called his men off when he thought there were innocent kids in a house they were meant to burn. The Christopher Argent I’m currently dealing with still believes strongly in his family’s code. I’m willing to work with that, because we need all the allies we can get. And quite frankly, you left me in charge when you and Derek left to retrieve Cora, which means the decision was mine to make. It kind of hurts that you don’t trust in my decision-making, Dick.”
Peter chuckled. “It’s not that I don’t trust your decisions, Sweetheart, it’s that you tend to forget the fact that Christopher is an Argent, and the only good Argent is a dead Argent.”
“What about Ally? She’s an Argent. Is she better off dead?”
Peter scoffed. Loudly. “She’s hardly an Argent, Stiles. She didn’t even know about the family business until you and I told her about it, and she’s actually sympathetic enough to our cause to officially pack up with us. Real Argents would never side with us over other hunters, which makes her far, far better than them. She may live.”
How fucking magnanimous. Sometimes Stiles forgot just what an ass his partner could be when he set his mind to it.
“That’s very giving of you, Peter. Now, it’s nearly 6:30, school starts in an hour, and I have yet to have my coffee and check in on our little girl. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, Love: Stay safe. Keep our family safe. Derek and I have retrieved Cora—you were right, of course, and she does want to come back with us—and we should all be home in a couple days. Hold tight till then, okay?”
He finally took his first sip of coffee—black and bitter, just how he liked it.
“Everyone here is fine, babe. We’ll be fine until you get back home. You stay safe, too. I love you.”
——————
It’s funny how three short hours can turn a person into a liar.
There were Argent hunters in his school. Again.
The difference was that this time they were not taking teaching and principal positions. No, they were just wandering the halls with fucking semi-automatic rifles. The whole school was on lockdown, and these fuckwads were yelling for the werewolves to come out before people started to get hurt.
Stiles knew that Grampy Argent had run a pretty shit organization, but he didn’t realize that he’d employed/trained hunters who had no sense of tact or subtlety at all.
Yelling about werewolves while waving guns in a high school. Jesus.
From their position piled up in the corner of the chemistry classroom, Stiles preemptively passed Scott an albuterol inhaler—it looked like an asthma attack was impending, and Stiles liked to be safe rather than sorry. Then he went back to texting his dad.
think theres 2 of them in my hall. armed w semi autos. screaming abt wolves loudly
A distinctly female voice was sing-songing “come out, come out, wherever you are.” Stiles actually wanted to jump out at her. This shit was bananas.
Dad: Stay where you are, Stiles. Don’t confront them. We’ve just arrived at the school, and I brought basically the whole department. Be smart, be safe.
That was Dad—they were in the middle of a crisis, he was texting on his phone, and he still used capitalization and proper punctuation. He wondered if it was a thing all people Dad’s age did, or if it was just Dad specifically.
Stiles opened the pack chat on his phone.
evry1 stay whr u r. dad’s here, cops will handle it. Lookng @ u, ally
He looked back at Allison, who looked down at her phone and then stuck her tongue out at him and hissed, “We can’t just sit here all day, Stiles. They’re reckless and dangerous! We have to do something.”
Stiles shook his head. At the front of the little corner pile, Harris turned his head and stuck his index finger to his lips in the universal “shut the hell up” gesture. Allison actually flipped Harris off. Right there, to his face.
She really was one of Stiles’s favorite people this time around.
His phone buzzed.
Ally: is anyone else armed? ive got my mini crossbow.
Stiles scrunched his face and pursed his lips at her, hoping the expression conveyed the “what the fuck is wrong with you” he was trying to get across.
Lydia slapped Allison’s bicep and shot her a glare, and Allison had the audacity to look confused and outraged.
Scott: Ally, I love you, but don’t do anything stupid!!
Stiles shot Scottie a thumbs up.
A very loud thump and crash sounded from the hallway, followed by a muffled scream and the sound of semi-auto fire. Stiles tackled Scott to the floor and sprawled out on top of him. Bits of plaster and drywall rained down on them.
Harris flailed and grunted, then crumpled to the floor.
Screams erupted from within their corner pile.
Stiles glanced up and around him. Students were shaking and sobbing, some of his classmates holding others. The only blood he saw was coming from Harris.
He was going to have to go check on that motherfucker. Ugh.
The sound of shots ceased, and he army crawled his way over to Harris. It looked like a simple shot to the shoulder, but the way Harris was laying, Stiles couldn’t tell if it was a through and through or if the bullet was still in there. Either way, he was not digging through his beloathed teacher’s innards for a bullet laced with poison that would kill him. He strove to be the kind of good that Scott would want him to be, but nobody was that good.
The handle on the classroom door jiggled, then broke off.
The door swung open, then a shirtless Ethan wandered in and took in the scene before looking at Stiles. “Everything okay in here?”
Stiles shook his head. “Harris got himself shot in the shoulder. There’s a lot of blood. I know it’s just a shoulder wound, but I still think we probably shouldn’t move him. I take it the two in the hallway have been successfully dealt with, even though I told everyone not to do anything stupid?”
Ethan tossed his hands up in a “what can you do” gesture. “They were shouting about werewolves, Stiles. Fucking werewolves. We couldn’t let that level of crazy go.”
Allison unfolded herself from her position over Lydia and shot Ethan finger guns and a simple “exactly.” Stiles’s crazy person had found more crazy people to bring to his fold, and now Stiles was left dealing with the fallout.
“Just get your asses in here and close the door! There are more of them out there, and Dad’s deputies are probably storming the place as we speak.”
Aidan came in and shut the door behind him as best he could with a broken handle.
Lydia hissed for Stiles, and he turned around.
The first clue something was insanely wrong was the tears streaming down Lydia’s face. The second clue was the fact that someone was wheezing and gasping, and it wasn’t Scott. Stiles basically leaped over to Lydia and found Jackson crumpled into a ball on the floor, gasping for breaths that didn’t seem to want to come. Blood soaked the chest of his button-down.
Fuck.
“Okay, Lydia, you and I are going to have to uncrumple him so we can get a look at the wound. Scottie?”
He looked over at Scott, who was already upright and ready to move on Stiles’s suggestion. He loved his fucking best friend.
“I need you to raid the supply cabinets. We’ll need something like tweezers and a scalpel if the bullet’s still in him, and some hydrogen peroxide to clean him out.”
Scott nodded and rushed over to start the cabinet raid.
Stiles turned to the alpha twins. “One of you is probably going to need to step up and do something. Decide which one of you is going to do it, then figure out a way to get it done safely in private.” He turned back to Lydia.
“Can you help me, or should I tap Allison in?”
Lydia looked up at him with eyes that were too wide for her. “I…I—I think—”
Stiles clapped a hand to her shoulder. “It’s okay, Lyds. We’ve got this. Can you calm the rest of the class down? We’re making too much noise, and I do not want to attract the attention of more crazy people.”
She nodded. “I can do that.”
Allison came over, and they rearranged Jackson so he was lying semi-straight on the floor. The wheezing worsened, and his face seemed to be pinched permanently into a flinch.
Stiles tore the button-down open and pushed the fabric aside. A bullet had torn in just to the right of Jackson’s heart. Given the wheezing and the gasping, it probably nicked his left lung. Stiles winced sympathetically, then directed Allison to lift Jackson up so he could see if the bullet had exited or was still lodged in his body.
There was no exit wound. This was going to get exciting.
“Scottie, I know you’re doing the best you can, but I’m gonna need you to hurry a little more, buddy. Allison, I can’t remove that bullet. I’m going to need you to do it.”
She nodded at him, her face blank and expressionless. “I can do that, Stiles. I’ve got you.”
He offered her the best smile he could muster in this situation. “I know you do, Ally.”
Scott dropped the supplies he’d gathered by Jackson’s head, then did a double-take at Jackson.
“Woah, he’s not looking too good, Stiles.”
Stiles nodded, but kept looking at Allison.
“I know, buddy. I know. Ally’s gonna fix him up, then we’re gonna get his permission to turn him over to the twins to work their magic. Can you hear me, Jackson? We’re gonna fix this. You are NOT leaving us. Peter would find a way to resurrect you so he could kill you himself, so don’t get any ideas, asshole.”
Danny dropped to his knees beside Stiles—he hadn’t even heard the witch come up behind him.
“What can I do to help, Stiles?”
Stiles lowered his voice. “What can you do without the whole class noticing? Can you keep him stationary or numb him or anything, or would that be too obvious?”
Danny’s focus never left Jackson. “I can safely handle that.”
He clapped Danny’s back once, just for the comfort of the touch. Danny wasn’t a ’wolf, but he was pack. He would understand the need for physicality.
Stiles nodded at Allison. “Okay, Ally, you’re up. Scottie, come down here and help hold Jackson down. This is gonna suck for him.”
Danny ran a finger over Jackson’s chest in a complicated configuration that could have been a series of runes, but could have just been random doodles, then splayed his hand over the center of Jackson’s chest and nodded at Allison.
She picked up the scalpel, took a visibly deep breath, then pressed down firmly to make a wider incision to get tweezers in.
Jackson wheezed in a deep gasp, but didn’t respond further.
Footfalls echoed in the hall outside the classroom. Stiles hoped to god those were his dad’s deputies.
Scott poured hydrogen peroxide over the tweezers, then handed them to Allison. She used them to sort of dig around in Jackson’s chest.
“Careful of nicking anything important, Ally,” Stiles warned. She just nodded, her attention still on Jackson and the tweezers in her hand.
After the longest minute in the history of the Earth, she stilled and smiled softly. “I’ve got it.”
Stiles allowed the tiny tremor that raced through him at her words. Jackson had to be okay. Stiles actually liked Jackson, and Peter needed his kids in his life.
She pulled the bullet out, then Scott came in with gauze and hydrogen peroxide, cleaning the wound up the best he could with what few things they had on hand.
Jackson whimpered at the liquid contact, and Stiles ran fingers through his hair and tried to convey comfort in his shushing noises.
Aidan approached them. “Alright, give him to me. Ethan and I can take it from here.”
Stiles held out an arm to stop him. “I need to hear Jackson give consent before you take him, and you need to understand that he’s one of mine, not yours.”
Aidan nodded. “Of course he will be. He’s not…one of us, like Ethan and me.”
Stiles nodded, then prodded at Jackson’s cheek. “Jackson, I know you’re in pain and barely conscious. I don’t blame you, but I need you to nod or say yes when I ask you this next question: Do you want the Bite? Say yes, Jackson, because there isn’t much else we can do with gauze and hydrogen peroxide, and I don’t know what wolfsbane does when it’s in human systems, but we have a bullet so we can burn it out of you after the bite. So, do you want the Bite?”
Jackson gasped out what sounded like “guh” and nodded his head. That was good enough for Stiles.
“Go, Aidan. Fix him. Do you have a lighter? Grab a bullet from one of their rifle clips. Keep him away from the idiots with guns, and keep him out of sight of the good guys with guns, please.”
Aidan nodded, then picked Jackson up. Ethan held the door open for him, then followed him out.
Dad came in just after they left, his eyes tracking their movements down the hall and his firearm gripped loosely in his hand.
Stiles jumped up and ran to him, throwing his arms around his dad.
“Christ, Dad, I’m so glad to see you. Harris has been shot in the shoulder. He’ll need medical attention. Jackson…Jackson needed more attention than Harris. Cross your fingers he’ll come through Ethan or Aidan no problem, or Peter might just kill me.”
He pulled back to look behind him, then noticed the bloody handprints he’d left on Dad’s uniform shirt. Another tremor wracked through him, but he pushed it back. He had no time for physical panic right then.
“It’s alright, Stiles. It’s going to be alright. We’re rounding the perpetrators up as we speak. They sound like complete maniacs, by the way. I’m a little worried Whittemore is going to have his hands full getting them classified as mentally fit to stand trial. What the hell happened to the two outside this classroom, by the way?”
Stiles huffed. “I have no idea. That was all the twins.”
Lydia called out for Stiles, and he looked over to see Allison hunched over and shaking rather violently.
“I gotta get back there, Dad.”
His dad waved him off with a “go, go.”
Stiles turned to leave, then looked back. “Where’s Diana?”
His dad gave him that patented Stilinski “bitch, please” face. “Tara’s got her back at the station. When I left them, they were coloring a picture of Princess Tiana.”
Stiles nodded, then went back to comfort his packmates because he was the goddamn pack mom.
He, Lydia, and Scott held Allison and Danny in a sort of group hug-squeeze-pile thing as he petted Allison’s hair and told her what a good job she’d done and how it was so cool that she could work so well under pressure. This lasted until Chris Argent himself burst into the classroom and jammed himself into their little pile to get his arms around his daughter.
When Stiles stepped back, he saw paramedics tending to an absolutely bitchy Harris. Students were scattered through the classroom, teary eyed and shaky but giddy with apparent relief. Two or three deputies were moving among the little gatherings of students, probably taking statements and getting witness accounts.
His dad was nowhere to be seen, which made sense since the man was supposed to be in charge of the whole thing.
He let the adrenaline shakes out then, letting the tremors wrack through his limbs and across his heart. That had been too close. They could have lost someone. They almost lost Jackson.
The hunters were going to be a problem until Chris could get them corralled and under his thumb. Stiles only hoped he could grow a backbone fast enough to get them all under his thumb. It had taken Chris years of terrible loss and heartbreaking growth in The Before to get to that point, and then he’d just decided to screw the whole system and go solo.
Stiles wondered if he needed to come up with a backup plan to contain the Argent hunters if Chris decides to break ranks and run again. Looking at the man holding his daughter, Stiles’s active packmate, just then, though, he doubted he needed a backup. Chris would do anything to keep his kid safe. He’d take control of his organization if it meant that Allison would be free to be herself and safe from harm.
——————
Stiles didn’t see Ethan, Aidan, or Jackson again until after he’d given his statement and been released to go home. (“Straight home, Stiles, no stop offs, no errands, no sitting in the car on phone calls. Home.” It was like his dad didn’t trust him or something.)
The three of them were waiting by the Jeep when he walked out to it. The tension in Stiles’s shoulders loosened by a fraction. Jackson was pale and looked sick and weak, the dark circles around his eyes darker than normal. He was leaning against Ethan, but he was upright.
Stiles beelined to him and wrapped him up in the tightest hug he could give him without crushing the guy.
“How are you feeling? Are you okay? What can I do to help you? Do you need anything?” The words rushed out of him on what felt like a singular breath.
Jackson huffed, leaning fully into Stiles’s embrace and whuffing in large gulps of Stiles’s scent.
The Bite had taken, thank god.
“I’ll be okay. The twins said I’ll be weak for a bit as my body heals itself—apparently they burned out a LOT of wolfsbane—but I should be good as new by tomorrow. I just have to take it easy tonight. I already talked to my dad, so he knows what happens. He says that he owes you, by the way. Can I come back to the penthouse tonight? I just. I really need to be around you tonight, and Malia.”
Stiles chuckled. “Of course you can spend the night with us, Jackson. Did you really think I’d have it any other way, pup?”
He felt Jackson smile against his neck. “Okay. Can I ride back with you? I don’t think I can drive right now. And can the twins come, too?”
Stiles grinned over Jackson’s shoulder at Ethan and Aidan. “The twins are welcome at any time. They’re fucking family now.”
——————
Stiles opened the apartment door and breathed in the fresh scents of Derek and his Peter, as well as another scent that he couldn’t actually place, but sort of reminded him vaguely of Derek—Cora.
Stiles walked into the apartment and dropped his bookbag on the floor. High school was fucking exhausting.
Peter came rushing around a corner, and suddenly he was off the ground and in his man’s embrace.
Peter peppered kisses over him and breathed him in, muttering “tell me you’re okay” over and over again.
Dad must have called him.
Stiles nuzzled against him, cheek to cheek. “I’m fine, WorryWolf. I was never in any danger. What are you doing here, though? I thought you were still a couple days out.”
Peter, cupped Stiles’s face with one hand and kissed his nose. “After our conversation this morning, I rented a plane. Argents require the alpha’s attention. And I’m glad I got here when I did. Noah called while we were still in the air to tell us about the active shooter situation at the high school—I take everything back. You never have to go back, ever. I’ll have Malia’s tutor homeschool you, too.”
Stiles laughed. “Careful, Love; I might take you up on that offer. High school is more exhausting than I remember. Now, go hug on your son. He’s the one who really needs you right now.”
Peter looked up and sniffed at the air, then practically ran to Jackson, wrapping his arms around his son and nuzzling every bit of skin on Jackson’s face and neck he could reach. Scenting him, Stiles realized.
Peter looked at Ethan and thanked him. Ethan nodded back.
Huh. Ethan must have been the one to Bite Jackson. He wondered how Peter knew that. He hadn’t smelled anything or sensed any weird bonding things or anything. Was it an alpha thing?
He went into the kitchen to get himself a soda, but Derek caught him in entryway with a scruff of his neck.
“You go sit down in the living room. You look like you’re going to fall over. I’ll get you some caffeine.”
He swatted at Derek’s hand. “Nah, I’m fi—”
Derek growled at him. It was almost just like old times.
“Go, Stiles. Sit down before you fall down. You’ve had a long day, and I hear you handled the situation well. Enjoy the victory; relax. I’ll bring you some caffeine and some peanut butter cookies.”
“The ones with the chocolate and butterscotch chips in them?”
Derek nodded.
“Fine, but only because those cookies are the absolute shit.”
He turned around and meandered back to the living room, sinking down into the couch on the side of his alpha that wasn’t currently taken by a very snuggly Jackson Whittemore.
Jackson was pressed into Peter’s side, looking loose and clingy; his head rested against Peter’s chest. Peter’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders, his fingers running through Jackson’s hair.
Stiles knew firsthand how very comfortable that position was. It was one of his favorite Peter cuddling positions. He reached over his partner and rested a hand against Jackson’s arm, offering silent support.
Jackson snuffled a contented noise.
Derek came in bearing a Dr. Pepper and cookies that were just for Stiles—victory cookies, apparently.
Stiles didn’t feel like this was much of a victory.
He shoved a cookie into his mouth and flopped his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if he was making anything at all better in this timeline.
The Argents were still causing trouble, even with the troublemakers firmly dead. They’d had an active-schooter situation at school. Jackson had been Bitten in not because he wanted it, but because he would die without it. Scott still seemed to be in constant danger. A little girl had lost her only parent. Everyone seemed out to
At least his relationship with his dad was absolutely amazing from the start this time around. That was something.
Peter leaned in and kissed the side of his head.
“Get out of your head, Sweetheart, or I’ll decide you need to be in therapy with Derek and Diana.”
Stiles snorted. “I probably do, honestly. Do you think Diana’s play therapist would take me on as a client? I could use some Play-doh time.”
Aidan chuckled. “We can save you hundreds of dollars and just buy you a couple sets. Ethan and I would do that for you.”
“I know a certain six year old who would be thrilled if you did that. Speaking of said six year old, we should probably swing by the station and steal her back from Tara.”
Jackson whined a soft “no moving” and Peter laughed. “Derek, Cora, and I stopped by the station and picked her up on our way back here from the airstrip. She and Cora are napping in her room.”
“Did you put one of those pads down before you let her go to sleep? She needs one of those pads, Peter. I’m sick to death of washing sheets all the fucking time.”
Peter pulled him in against him. “Yes, dear, I put a pad down under her. I also put our sheets and that lovely little pile of clothes from the bathroom in the wash when we got home—you’re welcome.”
Ugh. He knew he’d forgotten something.
He snuggled into his side of Peter. “You, sir, are a god among men. I missed you so much.”
——————
He shot straight into a sitting position, his heart racing. Sweat dotted his brow as he gasped for breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Jackson! He had to check on Jackson. Jackson was—
Peter’s strong arms encircled him, pulling him back against a taut chest. He forced himself to blink his eyes, to match Peter’s chestfalls and breathing.
“That’s it, baby. Just breathe with me,” Peter whispered, his lips against Stiles’s ear. “You’re alright. You’re in our bed with me, and everyone’s safe. It was just a dream, love.”
He let his head fall back onto Peter’s shoulder. His whole body was damp; he felt gross.
“He died, Pete. He died in my arms—”
Peter shushed him. “He’s alive and well and sleeping in his preferred guest room. You all saved him. He even came out of this stronger and faster than he already was. He’s fine.”
Stiles shook his head where it rested. “I just-It was so real. I need to see him. I need to—”
One of Peter’s hands began rubbing circles against his exposed chest. “Let him sleep, Stiles. You’ve all had a nightmare of a day; you all need your sleep. He’s fine thanks to you—completely healed. You need to sleep, too. Lay down here with me; go back to sleep.”
Stiles shook his head. “I just need to lay eyes on him and Ally, maybe check on Diana. Then I’ll come straight back to bed. I’ll sleep in tomorrow, since school’s been canceled for the rest of the week.”
He just needed to see his people, watch their chests rise easily with a couple of inhales. Then he could hose himself off in the shower and sleep again.
Peter sighed and pulled the covers down and off them. “Let’s go, then.”
They stopped at Allison’s preferred room first, Stiles quietly opening the door just enough to see her. She was asleep in bed, curled up on her side and facing the door. The blanket rose and fell just slightly as she breathed in her sleep. Chris sat in a desk chair beside her bed, sprawled awkwardly in his sleep.
Stiles closed the door, backing into Peter. Peter kissed his cheek, and they went on to Jackson’s preferred room. Stiles opened the door to find Jackson sitting up in bed, leaning back on his hands and breathing heavily. He glanced at the door as it opened, his eyes wild and his face slightly manic.
Stiles walked into the room, moving slowly. Peter followed him in, heading right to the bed to take Jackson into his arms and speak quietly against his ear.
“It’s okay, pup. You’re safe. You’re in the pack house, recovering from the Bite, remember? You’re a ’wolf now, Jacks. You’re safe. You’re home. Everyone is just fine. It was just a bad dream, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Stiles rubbed circles against Jackson’s back. It was the only thing he could think to do—Peter had the whole “dad’s here” thing going already.
Jackson relaxed slowly under their attention, his breaths coming at a more measured rate and his heart slowing back to a resting rate. He told them both he was fine and just wanted to get back to sleep, so they left him to it, stopping briefly at Diana’s open door to just watch her sleep for a minute.
She seemed to be having a good night, sleeping peacefully and curled up against Cora in her big-girl princess bed. Stiles looked over his shoulder at Peter and raised an eyebrow. He knew his alpha caught the look; the man’s night vision was even better than his was, and his night vision as a werewolf was excellent.
Peter shrugged at him, then guided him back out into the hall and to their bedroom.
“Why is Cora asleep in Diana’s bed, Peter? She has a room here.”
Peter shrugged again. “She likes Diana, says she reminds her of her little sister Maisie.”
Stiles never knew she had a little sister Maisie. That was just…Sad. That was just sad. He sighed and wiggled out of his sleep shorts.
“Diana needs to learn to sleep in her own room, Pete. The therapist said it would be best for her.”
Peter scoffed and stripped off his sleep pants.
“And how many nights did she spend in bed with you this past week?”
Stiles pouted at him. “She had a bad week for nightmares. We need to invest in a waterproof mattress pad.”
Peter wrinkled his nose at the thought. “Those things crinkle every time someone moves, and you can’t even be still in your sleep. Let’s not.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. He didn’t move that much in his sleep. It would be worth it to protect their ridiculously expensive mattress. He scoffed at his ridiculous partner and headed toward the bathroom to wash the sweat off.
Peter followed him, still muttering about restless partners and noisy bed linens. Stiles didn’t recall inviting Peter to join him. If Peter joined him, the shower was going to get much, much longer than it needed to be.
It was probably a good thing that Peter had taken to keeping a bottle of lube in the shower right next to their body wash—though Stiles still bitched about the bottle’s placement when it was early morning and he was too tired to notice things like printed words and bottle colors—“but Stiles, it’s paraben- and sulfate-free” was not a good enough reason for Stiles to allow fucking conditioner to be used as lube. He loved himself and Peter more than that.
Sure enough, Peter wasted no time in getting his mouth and hands on Stiles once they were in the shower and the water was hot. Stiles tilted his head to give Peter more room to work with as his ’wolf nibbled down his neck, those nimble fingers tweaking Stiles’s nipples.
“This was supposed to be a quick rinse off, Pete.”
Peter hummed in response, one hand tracing down his abdomen. “And today was supposed to be another boring day at school for you. I could have lost you—let me appreciate the fact that you’re still right here, okay?”
Peter bit at the juncture of Stiles’s neck and collar bone with human teeth, and all Stiles could do was groan out an “ooookay.” He fucking loved when Peter bit on him.
Peter’s roaming hand found his dick, wrapping around it with just the right tightness and grip—he loved how well Peter knew his body—and languidly stroking it, just a slow up-and-down motion. The friction was just this side of too much, and Stiles shivered into the movement.
“Lube, love,” Stiles plead. “After the day I’ve had, gentle would be better.”
Peter reached behind them, then that hand returned, slicked up and ready to go. Peter’s grip tightened, a bit of a twist joining the pattern of motion. Stiles rested his head back against Peter’s shoulder and joined his hand with Peter’s, both of them working him together.
They worked quickly and efficiently—they’d long since learned that Stiles’s mind would wander to non-sexy things if proceedings took too long. Soon enough, everything started tightening up, delicious little zings zapping through his nervous system.
“ ’M so close, Pete.”
Peter sped up his motions, using his other hand to tilt Stiles’s head and engaging in a sloppy kiss.
Stiles’s orgasm took him slowly, rolling in like tiny breakers against sand. He gasped out his pleasure against Peter’s lips and tongue, the shower water rinsing away the product of their combined efforts.
Peter toweled them both off as they exchanged lazy, slow kisses, then picked Stiles up bridal style—much to Stiles’s delight—and carried him to their bed, where he covered him with his body and kissed him until Stiles was sure he’d come just from Peter’s kisses.
Peter opened him slowly until he was hot and wet and begging to have his partner inside him. They both groaned when Peter slid home. Peter made love to him then, moving slowly and focusing more on kissing and caressing than fucking. Stiles couldn’t get enough, writhing and grinding underneath him as Peter praised his body, his mind, his leadership skills, the way he loved until they both came.
Peter, as usual, cleaned and dressed them both for bed. Stiles snuggled into his love, nuzzling his chest and wrapping one leg around Peter’s.
This past week had been hard, but tomorrow was another day. He fell asleep knowing that his pack was safe for the moment and that his alpha was back where he belonged, in Stiles’s arms.