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“Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.”
―
Stiles jumped and threw himself against the large wolf-like beast. The eight-feet tall four-legged nightmare barely twitched but when Stiles slipped under him to give him a full blast of his spark the wolf yelped and fell back instantly, charred black fur almost invisible with the rest of the dark strands. Stiles dropped to his feet, grinning, as he made the wolf retreat with a whine and an inelegant scamper. The wind tickled the hairs on the back of his neck and he felt the comforting shift of the cape protecting his back.
“Why would you do that?” a voice called from above him and Stiles grin only got wider and sharper. He glanced up and, yes, there he was, leaning against the wall on top of a French balcony a few dozen feet up. Stiles’ gaze focused on the meticulously kept beard and, admittedly, a fantastic mouth as he yet again refused to meet his adversary’s eyes. “He’s going to be insufferable now, don’t you know?”
“Better you than me!” Stiles replied cheerfully. “If you want to make it my problem, why don’t you surrender? I could visit you behind the bars and you could tell me all about it.”
“And just how stupid do you think I am?”
“Not stupid,” he corrected. “Just offering options.”
Peter Hale snorted. His arms flexed where they were crossed over his chest. “Options that aren’t options are not true choices,” he drawled. “Just as well I could ask you to abandon your fruitless cause; the Argent Academy needs to fall.”
“But where would the world get their heroes? And I couldn’t do that to Scott; he would be heartbroken!” Stiles placed his hand dramatically over his heart and pretended to faint. He dodged a bullet that would have hit his side had he not. Without looking he threw a ball of lightning in the same direction and heard a satisfying yelp and the desperate scramble to evade the sudden burst of crackling menace.
“Where is your unbearable twin anyway?”
Stiles shrugged. “A mission,” he said easily.
“Not with you?”
“We are not attached at the hip, Hale,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “You are lucky though, having hit my designated area today. I have something to return to you.” His hand rose and he pointed directly towards the upper left corner of Hale’s chest and pretended to shoot. “Bang.” He exaggeratedly blew at his finger.
A huff that could be described as laughter fell from Hale. The man jumped down from the balcony and landed with far more grace than Stiles had ever learned in the Academy. He averted his gaze until it fell back to the chest-to-mouth area. He readied himself, waiting for Hale to push forward and they could start with their regular battle routine that Stiles decidedly had not been waiting for. Yet, even as he had fallen into a familiar stance with his arms spread forward, Hale did not answer his call for a bout. Instead, he let out a rather annoyed sigh and then shrugged, relaxing his posture.
“My apologies, dear,” Hale said, still bowing with his usual flare. His words lost all warmth, taking a turn to unenthused as he continued, “But I need to go attend to my nephew. I am afraid he doesn’t deal all that well with fire.”
Stiles blinked taken aback. “Oh, I, uh—sorry?”
Hale just waved his hand and turned around. Stiles could see his back muscles from his form fitting outfit, without a cape the way the Rejects had made their name with, having abandoned the Academy’s signature silver shine that rested even now on Stiles’ shoulders. It was only heavy with the responsibility of protecting the Beacon City, being lightweight and able to protect from even the heaviest storm without absorbing any moisture or dirt.
“I’ll see you next time, Stiles.”
“Sure you will. You owe me a fight! I won’t settle for a tie!”
With one last, dare he say, fond chuckle, Hale disappeared down the corner his nephew had slunk towards when Stiles’ attention had been focused on the Hale. He shook his head and went to let the residents know it was safe to come out now that the Rejects had left. He observed the damage and found there had been less than usual which would look good on his records. He smiled at the overwhelming thanks he got from the local baker whose business had been on the Hale’s way and now had been left relatively unscathed.
When he went back, he’d ask Kate what she had done to Peter’s nephew for him to have such a big reaction to fire. She must have.
After all, it was her specialty.
***
“—ter, Peter! Are you even listening to me?!” Laura demanded, hands locked on her hips in an attempt to imitate authority. Peter glanced at her and then merely looked away. It infuriated her even more and Peter heard the grind of her teeth.
“What do you want?” he sighed, leaning into his comfy chair even more.
Laura stomped over and slammed her hands into his desk. “You!” she growled. “I want you to stop forgetting you have a family!”
“And when,” Peter drawled, “have I done a crime such as that? I am the one who picks Derek up from his scruff whenever he gets bullied.”
“You are the one taking him to the field!” Laura’s shrill voice pierced Peter’s ears and he wished he hadn’t left the noise-cancelling headphones in his room. “Him and Cora both! It’s not their place to wage this useless crusade you do against the Argents! If this continues, they will get killed.”
“And never mind me?” he snorted. “How classy, Laura.”
“I have already given up on you.”
Peter tilted his head, motioning as if he was allowing Laura to explain herself. Her expression darkened further but she obliged. “The only time I ever see you coming alive is when you are encroaching the inner city and I get it. I want them to pay for what they did too, so does Derek and Cora and Erica and every single one of us! But they are too many and too connected and this ‘war’? It’s nothing more than a child’s tantrum! Stop locking us out and acting on your own and maybe we would get somewhere with our lives intact!”
“And how, niece darling, do you think that would help?” he asked, condescension inching in. “Life? What life? The one where at the slightest hint we are retreating further into ourselves, walk around scared of our own shadow? The way Derek can barely look at me, Cora is barely coherent on her best days and the kids are terrified of me? Even you don’t look me in the eye, Laura.” She winced and then defiantly looked up. Peter tsked.
Too little, too late.
“We are trying, even when you are not. Your power isn’t infallible, Peter,” Laura said darkly. “Manipulation can only go so far. Or don’t you remember when you sent that bastard Daehler on a suicide mission and ended up at Gerard’s mercy yourself?”
Peter bared his teeth and Laura imitated the gesture. “And you remember I escaped him too, without any of your efforts when you were too afraid to even lift a finger.” Peter leaned forward and Laura grew tenser the closer he and his eyes got. “Were you afraid of him picking up that the few Hales there are, these little rejects you are gathering, aren’t as uniform as you would like? Perhaps he could have taken the secret from you and then what would happen to this life you have built, comfortable with the little pet projects who think the world of you when you never actually lift your own little finger to seek justice for them?”
Laura let out a loud snarl and knocked a decorative paperweight off the desk. It clattered on the ground with a thump and rolled away. Peter broke their gaze to look at the ceiling and beg for mercy. “And this is why I miss Talia.”
Laura was a second from throttling him herself when there was a knock behind them. They turned around to see Isaac there, both apologetic and fearful at the same time.
“It’s for you, Peter,” he said. “The door. It’s for you.”
“The d—someone found us?!” Laura whipped back around to give Peter her best glare. “You told someone about—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I would never,” Peter hissed back and rose. Despite their disagreements, they were still blood. He snapped at Isaac, “Who is it?”
“It’s, uh,” the boy stuttered and immediately averted his eyes, hiding them behind his overgrown curls. “The Spark. It’s the Spark.”
“He—Peter.”
But Peter was already bounding downstairs and, there he was, standing on the doorway. No, Peter realised, he was leaning against it rather than standing straight. The pale skin of his was bruised red with cuts appeared on his clothes as if he had run with every weapon in the country thrown at him. Considering the place he, no doubt, had come from, Peter wouldn’t doubt that was true. He stepped closer, motioning for Cora and Boyd to step away.
Stiles seemed to realise the change and turned his head in Peter’s direction. He swayed dangerously and then his dazed eyes found Peter’s. He smiled, teeth bloody.
“He-hey,” he said and attempted a wave. His arm wouldn’t even rise above his chest and then flopped pitifully down. “…didn’t know where else to go.”
And then he collapsed on the floor and all Peter could see was red.
***
Stiles woke up to silence. His body hurt all over and his eyes felt crusty. He opened them slowly, with effort, and stared at the uneven ceiling made of dark wood. He blinked twice and squinted. No, he decided, it was only dirty. Dark and dirty. Like he felt. Like—
Scott.
Stiles tried to sit up but the movement was stiff as if his body fought him with each inch he tried to force. He fell back on the bed that wasn’t all too soft but wasn’t the floor so he wasn’t complaining. And since the ceiling wasn’t white, it meant he had managed to get away. The feeling of numbness was odd, considering the training regiment he was on by—or had been. And the beating. And the fact that he wasn’t welcome at the Academy anymore. Not after—
“You are awake.”
Stiles turned his head, just now seeing a huge man standing with what looked like a wet rag. “Uh,” he said. His mouth was dry, voice barely heard. He cleared his throat. It hurt too. “Hi.”
The man didn’t move, merely stared at him. He put the rag down and then left through the door that was located too far away for Stiles to be able to reach it. He did a quick study of his limbs, finding them all somewhat mobile—good, he would have hated to have lost one—and a chain that tied him to the bed. Well. That was to be expected.
He lied there, waiting. There was a potted plant on the dresser by the opposite wall. It looked sad and droopy. It was sitting in a position where the little light from the window couldn’t reach it. It made him feel surprisingly sad. He was getting emotional over a plant. A potted plant of all things, with no flowers at that, just leaves. There was something very wrong with him.
Scott.
He forced back a sniff.
He needed to get Scott away from the Academy. Melissa would never forgive him if he left him there when he knew. Christ, his dad too, if he was still alive. His message better had gotten to him, his dad didn’t know anything, he had to, or Gerard would—
He couldn’t breathe—
“Stiles.”
Jesus, breathing, he couldn’t—he needed—shit, fuck, ah—
“Stiles, listen to me, listen to my voice.”
That—ah, ah, ah—voice—
“That’s it, now, follow me. Take it in, not that quick, listen, in…”
Stiles focused on the voice, the words mush between his ears, but the calm timber eventually got through him and he could get what felt like the largest gulp of air since the invention of air and whoever had done it was a genius, one, two, three… fingers, he could see fingers, four, five… six…
Slowly he was able to focus on the person standing at the foot of his bed. His outline wasn’t as tall and wide as the man from before and there was something more familiar about him. The arms in front of him fell to the side. Stiles took a shaky breath and exhaled between his teeth, blinking away the tears from his eyes.
Oh. Ice. He hadn’t known that Peter had blue eyes.
Kate’s voice pierced him, ordering him to look away, and he winced, breaking the gaze. He looked at the chain on his wrist instead, the feeling of guilt flashing through him.
He heard a huff. “Do you hurt?”
“Ah, no,” he whispered and then, strengthening his resolve, raised his chin. And, no, he had been wrong before. It wasn’t ice, it was more like— “Sky.”
Peter stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, ah. Just. Ah, dammit, your eyes. Just, yeah. The colour of the sky and all that. You know. Hadn’t seen it before, so it took me places. You took me places. I mean.” Stiles bit his tongue and tried to swallow it. He smiled sheepishly. “Words are hard.”
There was that familiar huff again. “Words are hard,” Peter repeated. There was a mocking tone to it but nothing… mean, if possible. With Peter, Stiles had learned to expect anything and everything. That said, when a water bottle was dangled in front of him, he drank it all without a single care. If Peter wanted to poison him now, well, what a waste of resources. “You may want to find them less difficult because my niece would rather wring your neck than let you stay. Not that she seems particularly willing to let you go either way, considering we had to abandon our primary safehouse because of you.”
Stiles bopped his head. He offered the empty bottle which Peter threw into the trash without looking. “I made sure they couldn’t follow me but a good idea. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind and could have missed something. Someone. Somehow.” He paused and then nodded once more. “Yep.”
Peter’s brows lifted in an exaggerating manner. “So you admit you were trying to find us.”
“I—yeah.” Stiles squirmed to get less tangled by the sheets even if moving felt like being stuck with thousands on needles at once; they felt very confining now that he wasn’t a panic burrito. “I just… couldn’t think another place I could have, you know, crashed. Without being held a prisoner…” Stiles became even more familiar with the feel of metal around his arm when Peter glanced at it. It was a flimsy precaution, long enough to let him move his limb and nothing that would keep him in place for long, but a threat either way. He shrugged. “…Or worse.”
“You have your Academy,” Peter sneered. “And your little pet.”
“You should find a place somewhere underground,” Stiles said. “Or invest in fantastic soundproofing. Scott can understand all animals and he’s a softie; they love him and want to please him.” He frowned and tapped the wooden sides of the bed. “Yeah, totally a good thing you moved. He would be the one sent to follow my tracks. You did hide yours, right?”
Peter suddenly leaned over him, teeth bared. Stiles blinked. Yep, those eyes were really distracting. Even knowing he could be spellbound under his control any moment now Stiles really couldn’t look away anymore. “Careful,” Peter whispered, the caress sending chills down Stiles’ back. “It almost sounds as if you are giving intel to the enemy.”
“The enemy of my enemy is a friend,” Stiles recited. He didn’t balk at the sudden proximity. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever done more than tried to maim me.”
“Orders,” Peter said lightly, but it sounded like an excuse. He tilted his head. “Academy not enough for you anymore?”
This time it was Stiles who leaned in. Any trace of play dropped from his face and it hardened under the weight of his next words.
“Not after they murdered my mother.”
***
When he had cleaned himself, Stiles found himself being dragged—or rather, supported—through the house by the big guy from earlier. When they did get to the second floor, he started to hear muffled screaming and, yep, that was the direction he was walked towards. When the door to the room was opened, he was thrown in rather gently and the yelling cut off. The lock clicked behind him.
Stiles stood in front of two of the Hales left over from the fire Kate had started. Laura stared at him, seemingly trying to figure him out when there was nothing to figure out. He had been entirely truthful with Peter. He wanted revenge; he wanted the Argents’ heads, particularly Kate’s and Gerard’s.
So he forced himself to move forward and flopped down on the chair on his side of the desk. His eyes flitted between the two of them and the few furniture in the room, taking in the features of the heads of the operation now that they weren’t in the midst of a bout… or otherwise busy.
He remembered reading their—heavily edited—file for the first time, the anger at how they had betrayed the Academy and rejected its ‘peaceful’ manifesto—which Stiles now knew was complete bullshit—and how they had gained the moniker ‘Rejects’ afterwards. He remembered hearing about the events as a child around the time his mother disappeared in the line of duty, how Chris had arrived on his and his father’s doorstep with the grim news, and how he had shown his spark not long after, how his father had looked both proud and afraid when the Academy reached out to draft him into their ranks. He remembered feeling proud of following in their footsteps, wanting to be a peacekeeper worthy of his mother and father.
“And you would like me to believe your little boytoy left the Academy?” Laura Hale asked, eyes narrowed in distrust. Stiles wasn’t all too familiar with her; most of his battles had been strictly between him and Peter, rarely with anyone. “Willingly?”
Stiles snorted. Boytoy? Him? He pointed at his black-and-blue face he had seen a glimpse of when hitting the loo. “Does this look like I fought hard to stay?”
“You don’t look like you fought at all,” Peter snarked. Stiles flipped him the bird.
“They beat me up when I found out too much. I know why your family was crucified as the most evilest evil to ever evil and all that shit. I know now that my mother attempted to rescue you and was forcibly ‘disappeared’ and consequently never found; they tried the same thing with me but failed. I know my father was threatened into silence and I can only hope he got my message yesterday.” Stiles halted and grimaced. “I wasn’t in the soundest of minds when I sent that. Blood loss and concussion do that to a person.”
“And what,” Laura asked, all teeth, “was the reason we were hunted down like rabid dogs?”
Stiles looked straight into her eyes when he answered, “Human experimentation.”
She glowered, expression not giving an inch. “You knew or found out?”
“Have you been listening?” Stiles asked. He rolled his eyes. “As if the public knows what goes behind the walls when neither do the residents. They are too careful with their pristine white image.”
“With Victoria Argent painting them as next-in-line for angels, how many do you think really know about it, Laura?” Peter asked. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. They flexed very pleasantly. Stiles had never had real time to appreciate them before. They had always either tried to strangle him or otherwise maim. He wouldn’t mind them wrapping around his neck in other, more pleasant circumstances, even if he’d prefer other body parts. He wasn’t a fan of asphyxiation, sexy or not.
“And what made you change your mind about them?” Laura demanded, expression souring at the mention of Victoria.
Stiles made a face. “Getting beat up and almost killed isn’t enough?”
Laura stared at him resolutely. “No.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He absently tugged on the sleeve of his borrowed shirt; it was way too long even for his limbs. “After seeing Derek’s reaction to fire, I went to Kate,” he said. Laura snarled, almost as animal as her brother could get, and Peter’s eyes almost seemed to glow for a moment. He held up his other arm to ask for time to say his piece. “She’s the one who encouraged me to look into the more destructive side of my spark and I thought she must have done something in the battles to make him fear it, the pyromaniac she is. She ended up dismissing it, laughing about my curiosity and promising to teach me like Gerard taught my mother one day.” Stiles licked his lips.
“I didn’t know he taught her. In all my years there neither had mentioned it, nor had Chris who I knew had been my mother’s partner. Now I know she was just mocking me but at the time it got me curious so I went to this real cool tech dude with a gift for machines and who could keep his mouth shut. Anyway, he found the files, but they were locked. He couldn’t get in without alerting Gerard and, let me tell you, no one wants Gerard’s attention. But now I’m doubly curious, you know? So I went digging.”
“And you got caught.” Peter didn’t sound all too impressed. Stiles stuck his tongue at him.
“Not before reading all about my mom and the Hale Fire. And the human experimentation. And about how all of it was more about figuring out how to make Kate a superhuman like the rest of the family than about, well, you.”
Stiles didn’t even have time to blink before a paperweight was thrown past his head. He could feel the cold breeze even after he heard the thump it made against the wall.
“Are you trying to say,” she whispered, fingers stretching, “that my family would be alive if not for the bastard’s wish to make another silver monster?”
Stiles finger gunned her. “Got it in one.” He then leaned forward on his chair as far as he could with the bindings. “You see, Kate was jealous, and you were out in the open. The only other family in the vicinity in which having powers was more common than not. She got close to Derek and made tests on him without his knowledge and, when she was almost caught, hid her tracks.”
“Who knew?” Peter asked but the inflection was flat as in a statement. There was an increasingly pleasant smile on his face. It sent more shivers down Stiles’ back than any of his glares.
“Gerard and Kate obviously. Victoria quite probably. My mom found out but, you know. Chris doesn’t nor does Allison. I think.” Stiles considered it a moment and then listed a few other names he knew were rather close with the inner circle. Harris had to be in on it, and Unber. Reddick, maybe Myers. And— “But they are small fry,” he continued. “Close but not close enough. What you need to be worried about are the Dread Doctors.”
Laura and Peter exchanged a look. “We haven’t heard of them,” Peter admitted. Laura shook her head also.
“Neither do most of the Academy,” Stiles said. “They were in the papers. They’ve continued conducting the experiments for all these years. There was a failed case called ‘Reyes’ but they also succeeded two years ago, twice, and have managed to keep one of them alive.”
“Two years…” And then Peter managed to make a leap that left Stiles speechless for a second. “McCall.”
Stiles inclined his head. His friend had only appeared on the field after what they had all once thought a miracle cure to his asthma, revealed to be holding back his power. “Scott. The first success was one Theo Raeken but he died of complications not long after.”
“But McCall is still kicking.” Laura walked around Stiles and picked up the paperweight. “And they will try again. And again. Have they managed to direct the…” her voice trailed off.
“They call it ‘gifting’,” Stiles said. Peter made a face and Stiles couldn’t help but agree. It was tacky and cliché. “And no, not yet. Kate is still just a woman with a trigger-happy lighter.”
“But they will.” Peter rolled his shoulders and they cracked loud enough for Stiles to hear. “And then they will be unstoppable.”
Laura paled immediately. “We need to go,” she said, smacking the weight back on the table with a bang. It left a dent in the wood. “And we need to go now.”
Peter tsked. “Laura—”
“We will not be safe here!” Laura hissed back. “The moment they realise we have Erica, they’ll be gunning for us even more, not even talking about this little rat! We need to get Derek and—” she glanced at Stiles, “—and the others and leave. We should have left this godforsaken country the moment we could. I should have taken you all to South America when—”
“Run?”
Laura paused in her rant and Stiles stared at Peter when he laughed heartily, bitterness edging in. “Run? The moment we manage to get an edge over them, you want to run?”
“Peter,” Laura said warningly. Instead of being cowed—though Stiles had never known Peter to be one to be subservient—he barked another laugh.
“Scared little girl, that’s what you are. You don’t care about avenging your family; no, you only want to tuck your tail between your legs and rush off to the illusion of ‘safety’. No wonder that’s where you are most skilled at, having been hiding your head in the ground for so long.”
Laura raised her head to yell at him but the moment he met her anger head-on she averted her eyes. Stiles stifled his wince. Apparently it was not only the Academy that taught people to be afraid of him.
“I don’t care what you say about me,” she said behind her gritted teeth before her voice climbed high and loud again. “I will not trust anything this… this Argent spawn says nor will I let either of you put any of the family I have left in danger!”
Her words echoed in the air around them. With the way Stiles could see Peter starting to freeze and his eyes beginning to glow—
“Your family… huh,” Peter said slowly, stretching his words. Laura’s eyes widened, what she said catching up to her.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he interrupted. A chilly smile spread on his face and Laura couldn’t hold her stance anymore. She took a step back and the way she twitched even she knew she had just made a huge mistake. “Peter the liar, a stranger even with his own family. I understand very well what you meant.”
“No!” Laura argued back. “No you do not. You are our uncle and a Hale and always will be! But for the past six years the only thing you have thought about is revenge! The first two years, I was out there with you! Every single night I was there! We rescued Erica together, we took in Boyd and Isaac, we found Cora, we did everything we could but nothing happened! Every advantage we had, we lost, and every step we took, we took two back! It’s—it’s killing us all. I love you but you haven’t lived since that day six years ago and I, we, need our uncle back. Just…” At that point her voice broke.
“Just, please.”
Peter sighed. With just three steps he was there pressing a hand on Laura’s shoulder. Then, gentler than Stiles had ever heard him speak, he said, “They will never let us go. They will chase us to the end of the world because we know the truth. This is our chance, Laura, to free ourselves from their shadow. Make things right.”
“Killing them doesn’t make this right,” Laura said, just as quietly. “Not any of it. They will just retaliate and then where will we be, with the whole world against us? It’s better if we just disappear from history.”
“Then we disagree.”
“Yes, we do.” And then Laura lifted her gaze, meeting Peter’s eyes, and added, “We will leave tonight. Don’t come after us.”
“I do love you, Laura.”
“And I love you.”
But, sometimes, love is not enough nor can the broken be fixed.
***
Stiles swung his feet around as he sat on the table in the mostly empty kitchen. It was barely nine pm but the house was quiet. Laura had kept her word and by the time the evening came, they had rushed out of the secondary safehouse Stiles’ arrival had forced them into and into the darkening night. Peter was fixing them something light to eat.
“Is this really alright?” he asked. Peter had barely said a word to him nor the others during the day. The only one who truly sought his company had been Cora Hale—and, holy shit, the rumour of her survival was truly true and none of the Argents were ever the wiser—who had threatened him to take care of her uncle. Stiles had promised, as long as they were on the same page. Cora had made a weird face at him, part disgusted and part amused, as if she knew something he did not and then left it at that.
“We have not been a family since Talia died,” Peter said lightly. Stiles wasn’t certain if he was just pretending to be fine or if he really was not bothered that the only company he had was his former nemesis… ish. Considering the circumstances, perhaps they had just been rivals but the term somehow did not seem to encapsulate their whole relationship. “Perhaps with time and enough effort we could have crossed the bridge but, Laura and Derek and I, we need different things in life.”
“They want to move on while you want revenge,” Stiles said, nodding along. “Cora?”
“We rescued her just three years ago from a different group who did not know of her true identity. Ever since she has done whatever she pleased, regardless of the opinions of others.”
“Well, I seem to be in the same boat.” Stiles hopped from the table and walked to the window, poking at the wards. He fed his own magic into them, strengthening them enough to know that Scott’s animals couldn’t track this place. He would have done it earlier but they had wisely bound his powers. It had been so subtle that he had not even realised it had been done before Laura removed them just before she left; her skills in illusions were truly top notch. She had also allowed the big guy to heal him though he still felt rather sore all over. “Can’t really go after my dad during this time and, to be honest, I would rather piss in the Argents’ cereal more than anything right now.”
“So sure he is safe?”
“Yeah, after my brain rearranged itself I remembered I sent my stepsister the same message. She would have gone to make sure he made it.”
Peter tossed the stir-fry in the pan. “…Stepsister?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s probably the one thing I haven’t thrown into our banter.” Because they had, surprisingly, exchanged a lot of information casually between fights. None of that made into the reports Stiles had made though; personal information was always personal and it would have been the bad kind of backstabbing. He did have standards. “Have I mentioned Lydia before? She’s this strawberry blond goddess who pretends she doesn’t have any powers with none the wiser.”
And, huh, Stiles had apparently been keeping a lot of info from his former superiors. Perhaps he had unconsciously been more aware who had been trustworthy and who had not? “Anyway, her mom met my dad through Scott’s mom and they have been dancing around each other since then. We have bets on who will finally make the move. I have my money on her mom.”
“Mm.” With one last toss Peter shut the stove and plated the food. Stiles snagged them both a glass of water and utensils and they sat down to eat. “Considering that the wards have to have been changed after your ‘betrayal’, do you think she can get us in?”
Stiles chewed on his food thoughtfully. It was pretty good despite the lack of spices. “Yeah, I think she can. She doesn’t really like being stuck at the Academy. Her father worked there before he disappeared, which seems to be a pattern there, and they haven’t let go of her genius brain since they discovered it. She would much rather be in an Ivy League than there.”
“A gilded cage.”
“Exactly. If they knew she had powers too, the little freedom she has would become non-existent. Because of that she won’t be risking her neck for us. She’ll get us in but nothing more.”
“That’s enough,” Peter said. He stretched his fingers and grinned darkly. “That’s more than enough.”
Stiles answered with one of his own before he shoved another forkful to his mouth, speaking around it. “I will need a burner to contact her though.”
Peter wrinkled his nose at him and Stiles obediently swallowed. “I will provide you with one,” Peter said. “Though forgive me if I do not leave the room for the call.”
“Dude, if you were that stupid, we would have caught you years ago,” Stiles put the fork down with a clack, empty plate looking at him sadly. Damn, he had been hungry. “But we need a fool-proof plan before we even call her. She won’t be letting me risk myself if it doesn’t have at least a 75 percent success rate, preferably an 83 or over.”
Peter rested his own utensils down as well and drained his glass. “Then we just need to lay down all we know,” he said. “And build up from there.”
“Got a murder board?” Stiles asked. When Peter merely raised his brows at him, he added, “My dad is an officer in the force. I’ve gotten used to making plans with the boards they use, often with murders. Hence the name.”
“Well, I do have a perfectly bare wall in the office. I doubt the owners will mind much, considering they are six feet under.” Stiles felt like there was a story there but he just shrugged. He could ask about it later. Before he could say anything about moving back upstairs, Peter looked at him, the earlier amusement fading from the air around them.
“Why are you really here, Stiles?”
The question took Stiles back and, for a moment, he had no quick quip nor a ready answer to offer. Peter stood up and walked towards him, leaning down and stopping just before their chests would have collided; their eyes met and Stiles didn’t look away.
“To be honest, it was not a conscious decision,” he then admitted. He scratched his arm absently. “I had to get away and after I sent a message to both Lydia and my dad I just… left.” He considered how dizzy he had been, just trying to get away, somewhere safe, to a place where he could just— “I just… trusted you, I guess.”
Peter didn’t even blink. “You trust me?”
“I mean… yeah, I guess so. Or not guess, I do.” Stiles smiled a little helplessly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for a while. Years, even, on the other side of the battlefield, but we have. And even when we were, I could always trust in that while you would screw me over the moment I blinked, you would not do it when I was down.”
“My niece did tell me I trust you more than them.” Peter broke their eye contact and walked away, taking the dishes with him as he did and dropping them on the sink. “She is not completely wrong,” he added conversationally. “I trust you would attack me with all you can and not regret a thing but not behind my back. Unlike my nephew who got the rest of our family killed.”
“But,” Stiles frowned, “it was Kate.”
Peter nodded serenely, a smile playing on his lips again, now slightly wistful. “It was. Yet the outcome was still the same and I could not truly trust it would not happen again. I suppose that was why I could never really stop before I knew they were all dead. But I can trust that you would not make the same mistake.”
Stiles squinted at him. “But I was an Argent man for years,” he pointed out. It was the truth, no matter how disgusted he was about it today.
“But not blindly.”
“Well…” Stiles lifted his arm to scratch the back of his head now. “I did keep info from them unconsciously and, now that I think of it, I think I was trying to avoid them the best I could? But, dude, they have this down to an art form. I think most people are a little blind to them.”
“That bit of instinct may have saved you,” Peter said, lifting an imaginary toast to him. Motioning him to follow him upstairs. “Victoria manipulates people to think the way she wants by touch. It is why she uses fingerless gloves.”
Stiles blinked. “And how do you know that?”
Peter shrugged. “I was her partner for years.”
The sound Stiles’ jaw made when he dropped it could have startled even the deaf. “What?”
“Unofficially, of course,” he said. The stairs creaked under his steps. “The galas and fundraisers the Academy hosted, it was always her and I who went there. While the Hales were not entirely part of the Academy, some of us were. It is why Derek, Laura and I lived while the rest except for Cora did not. I would draw their attention and she would lightly touch their skin when they least expected, feeding them ideas; fingers on hands, lips on cheek, it did not matter. It doesn’t work indefinitely, often at random around two to four days at a time, and when it fades most usually just shrug it off as a flight of fancy. Repeated use, naturally, make the targets accommodate the thoughts into their everyday life.
“I never let her touch me and we didn’t interact outside the parties. I suspect she knew I didn’t trust her not to mess with my head and she knew I would know if she did so she never tried. Later, when the betrayal came and the three of us managed to flee, she put the blame on me when people came asking. I suspect with another ‘suggestion’ as she called them.” He rolled his eyes. “People are gullible and she knows how to work the system.”
Suddenly something clicked in Stiles’ mind and he stopped walking just as he reached the second floor.
“That’s why she was always touching Scott!” he gasped. His grip tightened on the railing, knuckles bleeding white. “That—that bitch.”
Peter’s brows rose. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Scott, my friend—after he got through with the ‘gifting’, Victoria kept monitoring him once or twice a week,” he said. “There are times when he acted weird but I thought—well, Scott kind of loses his mind when he’s in love. He’s been that way since we met at the sandbox, but the past couple of years have the worst on that front. I can’t—” Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It hissed when he exhaled between his teeth. “She has a hold on him, I just know that. His priority has always been his family, even through crushes, but Allison took the cake.”
“Do you think she…?”
“Allison? No. She’s the Trueshot, badass with a bow and never misses her target,” he said, shaking his hand to get the blood flowing again. “She’s mentioned a few times that Scott is sometimes a little too intense. I feel that, if she was in, she wouldn’t complain, yeah?”
Peter hummed. He opened the second door to the left and walked in. “Victoria is probably using those values your friend holds as her base. Just a little twist and he would think the Argents as part of his budding family.”
“Yeah.” Stiles followed him in and took in the mostly bare room. He really had to get Scott out of there or the Argents out of him. “Yeah.”
“We will kill her.”
“Yeah, I know.” Stiles licked his lips and then turned to Peter. He pushed his sadness away and focused on the future. He met Peter’s eyes. “Victoria needs to go. She, Gerard and Kate. They will all pay.”
Peter inclined his head. “They will.”
Without breaking away, Stiles grinned again, teeth glinting in the moon’s low light that peeked through the hastily drawn curtains.
“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s start.”
***
Stiles kicked the Gerard’s bloodily beaten corpse one last time and it fell over with a thud. He lied there with his daughter who had done most of the beating under Peter’s influence and whom Gerard had killed just to get his hands on Stiles. He hadn’t, because Stiles had summoned the winds to tie him down so he could finish the job while Peter had been hunting down Victoria.
And hadn’t it felt good. Knowing that the person who had been behind more misery than anyone Stiles had ever had the displeasure to meet was dead, at his hands—
Stiles knew he was a vindictive person but this wasn’t just revenge… it was justice. Justice for the Hales, for his mom, for everyone who had had to suffer because of the Silver Cloaks.
He crackled his knuckles and stepped over the bodies. He rummaged through Gerard’s partly burned pockets, picked up his keys, and went over his desk and safes. The few passwords and combinations weren’t too hard to guess, thanks to having seen Danny work his magic more than a few times. Stiles was just going through the papers, looking for clues of the location of the Dread Doctors, when the door creaked open.
He lifted his head from the file had in his hands, smiling at the newcomer. “Hey, Peter.”
“Stiles,” he replied, walking in and dropping Victoria’s rather clean body to the floor with bloody mess that were Gerard and Kate. Stiles itched to know of the torture he put her through before the obvious coerced suicide. “What have you discovered?”
Stiles hummed. He tapped the file with his fingers. “The Dread Doctors operate from a place called the ‘Eichen House’ although I haven’t been able to find the exact location yet.”
Peter inclined his head. Their little murder spree was not over yet, just as they had agreed on. “And what do you think will happen after?”
“After?”
“You do realise that Victoria’s suggestions are not going to die instantly. Even if Ms. Martin does get through to the Argent girl as you think she will, we will still be the people who killed her family.”
“So like you to ask only after the deed is done,” Stiles snorted. He swapped the file to another, starting to go through it now. “Were you expecting me to run, suddenly realising my mistake?”
“If you had not considered it beforehand, who was I to deny myself a partner in crime?” Peter shrugged, coming over and started riffling through the piles of papers. Stiles slapped his hand lightly, pointing at the untouched stack ready for him to go through.
“My dad will be disappointed but, as long as I am alive, I don’t think he will mind too much. My reputation is down to tatters anyway so it’s better if I distance myself from him for the time being, let himself get familiar living with Mrs. Martin. That’s where he’s ‘hiding’, by the way. He may have to go on early retirement but since my status as MIA, he has access to my accounts. If nothing else, being part of the Academy paid well.”
“And you think he will be satisfied with that?”
Stiles waved his hand at Peter’s sceptical tone. “Oh no,” he said. “I fully expect him to raise hell over everything. Lydia will help him and Allison as well when she gets over how corrupt her whole family was, quite probably because of his initiative. Well, except for Chris. I can’t see his name anywhere in the papers.”
Peter snarled quietly. “He hid his head in the sand. He’s not innocent either.”
“Dude, I know. This will be torture enough for him though.”
Peter didn’t reply which Stiles knew was his silent agreement. They made quick work of the papers, taking notes of all the important information, and then left them in a neat pile with a message for Allison and Chris written all in pretty cursive on top.
As they made their way out, just as quietly as they entered, Stiles asked, “Do you think you will go to find your family after? They can’t have gone too far yet.”
Peter considered it for a moment but then shook his head. There was no sorrow when he said, “No, Laura was right in that the world will not understand us; not yet, not until everything is discovered. Their faces aren’t known the way mine is, so it is better this way.”
And there he was, standing finally at ease. Perhaps in time, when Peter and his family had healed enough, the Hales could start rebuilding the bridges. “Yeah, we will have to keep low profile until the media gets their hands on the full story. If nothing else, I will badger Lydia to ask Danny to leak things, but I don’t think we need to go that far. Allison has a pretty good sense of what is just and what is not though I doubt I will get an invitation to her wedding.”
“What about McCall?”
Stiles scowled, his mood spiking darkly, before he exhaled deeply. “You knew Victoria’s powers better than anyone. What do you think?”
“He and the rest of her victims need rehabilitation if not a purge,” Peter replied. He didn’t mince his words which Stiles was grateful about. “I don’t know of anyone with powers like that, however, though history suggests there is at least one with such skill in every generation.”
“We could look for that person afterwards,” he suggested. Peter stopped in his tracks. Stiles turned to face him completely, both of them hidden in the shadows of the Academy walls they had just passed.
“Afterwards?” There was an odd tone to Peter’s voice Stiles couldn’t decipher. Stiles squinted at him.
“I mean, yeah? What else are we supposed to do? We are in this together, dude. I’m not letting you leave me to my own devices after all this. We have shit to do!”
Then Peter smiled. It was one of those small smiles that reflected with the power of the sun. It blinded Stiles; it must have, for when Stiles blinked Peter was in front of him, their chests touching and his hand over his cheek, tracing his moles.
“Very well,” Peter breathed into the little space between them, his warm exhale teasing Stiles’ lips. His eyes had lost the almost supernatural hue that they had held almost the whole time they were inside the Academy. “If you so desire.”
And then Stiles understood. It was his choice. His free choice. And if he chose to leave Peter, he would let him go, because there were things that Peter would never cross, boundaries in places where even his family could not fathom, but Stiles—
Stiles smiled back and leaned in. His heart skipped with the thrill as the alarm sounded behind them.
“I do.”