Chapter Text
A couple days pass in the hospital and the nurses start allowing Stiles out of bed for short, shuffling trips, first to the bathroom, then up and down the hallway. He meets his physical therapist and there are meetings with her and his father about the limited activities he’ll be doing. The doctors discuss the cocktail of medication he’s going to be on for a little while.
His pack brings his school work with a message from the principal that of course he’ll be allowed extra time to make it up, given the situation. He does as much as he can, because hell if he’s not going to graduate because of Matt fucking Daehler. As a result, some of it is rather slipshod, but he doubts any of the teachers will really complain.
For several days, people exchange meaningful looks and drop hints about what might happen to Agent McCall. Stiles is on the verge of going completely insane, but nobody will tell him anything. “It might not pan out,” is all his father says, and when Stiles tries to throw a fit, the pack starts telling him about every single time he’s said that to one of them. He finally gives in. After all, he doesn’t need to take care of everything himself – and if his father has an idea about how to handle McCall, he’ll wait and see what happens.
In the end, his answers come from a very unexpected source. It’s his second to last day in the hospital, and fairly late in the evening. Most of the pack has departed, although Derek is still there, of course. His grandparents have left to get dinner, and his father is still at work, so he’s basically by himself. Then Jackson walks in, with Wilma behind him. It amuses Stiles somewhat that Jackson has never bothered to get a vest for Wilma or even have her on a leash most of the time, and nobody ever gives him any trouble about her accompanying him places. The benefits of having an actual familiar, he supposes.
In Jackson’s arms is a dark-haired toddler with bright blue eyes. Jackson thumps down into the chair next to Stiles’ bed and grunts, “Thought you might like a visit. Tanya, Stiles. Stiles, Tanya.”
“Hey there, sweetie,” Stiles says, trying to sit up and failing.
Tanya gives him a solemn eyeballing and then buries her face in Jackson’s shirt.
“She’s kinda shy,” Jackson mutters. “C’mon, say hi,” he says, and Tanya shakes her head. Wilma nudges the little girl’s knee, and Tanya reaches down and grabs one of the dog’s ears for security.
“My God,” Stiles says, trying not to cackle or stare. “You’re actually a gigantic softy. I never thought – ”
“Shut up, Stilinski,” Jackson says. “You want to hear what happened with Scott’s asshole of a dad or not?”
“Oh my God! You’re my hero. The wind beneath my – ”
“Dude,” Jackson says, “No.” He shakes his head and huffs out a breath. “McCall tried to get an internal investigation launched. He was basically told to shove it. So, he went to Matt’s parents.”
“You’re kidding,” Stiles says.
“Nope. He went and told them that, as an FBI agent, he felt that Sheriff Stilinski had gone too far, blah, blah, blah. They’re all fucked up about everything, since their kid turned out to be a serial killer and now he’s dead, so they started making noise. That was a few days ago now. So then Matt’s dad came to talk to my dad. You know, about pressing charges or whatever. I think he figured the DA would know who he needed to talk to. But my dad, you know, he knows your dad, and I guess he feels like he kinda owes him because of all the stuff that happened with me – back then – so he called your dad to see if he knew what was going on, and your dad gave him the scoop. All the while, McCall is just standing there being the smug shit he is because he didn’t bother to do a fucking ounce of research, right? And he has no idea that my dad and your dad are pals.
“Not that I think it would matter, really, since McCall was full of shit about the whole thing, but it gave my dad access to some inside info that I don’t think McCall realized he would have. So my dad basically said ‘look, dude, I’m really sorry for your loss and all that, but no jury on earth is going to convict a police officer for using lethal force against the guy who had just shot his son, and was in fact still holding the gun on him, and whoever told you it was inappropriate was full of shit’. So Daehler’s all upset because why would McCall say that if it wasn’t true, and my dad told him that McCall was just on a personal vendetta against the sheriff because his ex-wife liked him and shit.
“Daehler hits the fucking roof, McCall’s standing there trying to deny it, and Daehler fucking punches him in the face, which was awesome by the way. Your dad shows up, tries to get everyone calmed down, starts talking to my dad about McCall’s ‘conduct’ during the investigation, something about how he preferred to harass the Stilinski family and make this about Derek Hale rather than doing any actual crime-solving. He’s got all this on tape, right? And it’s inadmissible because he didn’t know he was being recorded, but it sure took the wind out of his sails. So Daehler’s completely freaking out because if someone had figured out Matt was responsible earlier, well, maybe things would’ve gone different. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that his kid was a murderer, but his kid might not be dead. And my dad’s all pissed off because Tanya here,” he gives the girl a little squeeze, “might not have made it if you and your dad hadn’t figured out her family was going to be targeted, and basically told McCall he was a waste of oxygen. Then he called McCall’s superiors in the FBI and they yanked him out of Beacon Hills so fast, his fucking pants caught fire. Word is, there’s an official investigation against him now, because they sent him here to do a job but he decided he would rather dick around and try to be a jerk to his ex-wife.”
“Wow,” Stiles breathes out. “That’s the best story I’ve ever heard.”
Jackson gives a reluctant smile. “Yeah, it was okay. Some other FBI guy was out here earlier today, and I think he talked to Scott and Scott’s mom, and . . . things don’t look good for McCall’s career, let’s put it that way. They were looking for Derek – something about an inappropriate search warrant – but he isn’t answering his phone. I think the sheriff told them that he was probably here with you, so you might want to think about putting some clothes on or something.”
Derek lifts his head at this and gives a huff. ‘Later’, the huff seems to say.
“Anyway,” Jackson says, standing up, “I just figured I’d come tell you what was up.”
“Thanks,” Stiles says. He tries to peer in to see Tanya and says, “See you later, Tanya.”
She peeks out at him. “Did you hurt your head like I did?” she asks quietly.
Stiles smiles at her. “No, I hurt my belly, but I think we’re both going to be fine, right, cutie?”
Tanya gives him a solemn nod. Jackson turns and leaves without another word, with Wilma trotting along on his heels. As soon as they’re gone, Derek stretches and hops off the bed before shifting back to his human form. He picks up the backpack of clothing that the pack had brought him earlier, and starts to get dressed.
“You know, it’s funny,” Stiles muses, “I got so used to dealing with things as the alpha that I forgot I could still ruin McCall through good old-fashioned skullduggery.”
Derek’s lips quirk into a slight smile. “Apparently your father didn’t.”
“Yep. I’m a horrible influence on him, which, God, that is so incredibly awesome.”
“I’m just glad someone got to punch that douche.”
“Yeah. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Daehler, though.”
Derek gives him a look as he pulls his shirt over his head. “That’s not guilt I hear, right?”
Stiles shakes his head. “Maybe a little . . . sorrow. But not guilt.”
“Good.” Derek stoops and puts his shoes on, then he realizes that nobody else is there. “You’ll be okay for a while by yourself?”
“Yeah, Grandma and Grandpa should be back soon anyway. You should go eat something that didn’t come out of a vending machine and sleep somewhere that isn’t my feet. I’m getting discharged tomorrow anyway, they said, so I can survive a night alone.”
Derek glowers a little, but then nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
~ ~ ~ ~
The next two weeks are a blur. There’s physical therapy, questions from the police, make-up work from school. Everyone wants to throw a welcome home party but he forbids it until he’s steady on his feet again. In the end, they decide to just throw a graduation party, but they have it the week before graduation itself, in the gap between finals and the official end of the year.
As usual, it’s quite a party. It’s so big that they decide to throw it at the den. All the pack’s families are invited, including Stiles’ grandparents, along with the Whittemores and Dr. Deaton. Stiles made it a pot luck, since he won’t have the ability to make as much food as he needs to. He asks his grandmother nicely not to make too much cabbage. She pokes fun at Derek until his cheeks flush bright pink. Stiles makes some cookies, but he still can’t stay on his feet too long without getting tired.
There are plenty of kids there – Boyd, Erica, and Mac all have younger siblings, and the Whittemores bring Tanya, so there are children underfoot everywhere. She’s doing well, Mike Whittemore reports. She’s going to need a lot of physical therapy because she’s having some issues with motor skills, probably due to the brain damage, but cognitively she seems at a reasonable level for her age. She’s adjusting well to life with the Whittemores and has already decided that Wilma is her best friend.
Whittemore also has news on McCall, which he shares with a great amount of schadenfreude from all parties. He’s facing an internal investigation in the FBI and has been temporarily suspended. The fact that Sheriff Stilinski had actually identified Matt as a suspect and was just in the process of gathering enough evidence to get a warrant makes McCall look even worse by comparison. Derek has decided to file an official complaint about the way McCall behaved during the search of his residence. Everyone is delighting in the misery that they’ve caused for him.
Thanks to everything that’s been going on, Stiles has accrued a number of gold stars, and he decides that now would be a good time to cash them in. “So here’s what’s going to happen next Saturday,” he says, while everyone listens intently. “Dad, you’re not working. Any criminal activities will be handled immediately and with extreme prejudice by people who are not you. I’ve made reservations at Grisanti’s for you and Ms. McCall. You are going on a date.”
Milena cackles and claps her hands. Tom turns pink and tries to protest, but gets shut down immediately when Melissa says, “Yes, that seems like an excellent idea.”
“We can take pictures of you two and send them to Agent McCall,” Derek suggests, and Stiles smirks.
“I, uh, you really don’t have to . . .” Tom tries.
“Shut up, Tom,” Melissa says, and kisses him. The picture-taking commences immediately.
Some time later, they’re all standing around the yard eating, and Stiles taps his glass to get a few moments of quiet. “Okay, so,” he says, “the good news is that I’ve met with the administration and they’re going to give me an extra week to catch up on all my work because they don’t want to have to keep me from graduating because I got shot. The bad news is that, sadly, I got knocked out of the salutatorian spot because of it. So, let’s hear it for Beacon Hills’ salutatorian, Vernon Boyd!”
There’s a general cheer, Boyd’s younger siblings give him a bunch of hugs, and Boyd looks at Stiles as if to say, ‘why are you torturing me?’
“They’d probably still let me make my speech if I wanted to,” Stiles continues, “but I don’t know that I really had anything exciting to say besides ‘I’m really glad that none of you got eaten by monsters’ and that probably wouldn’t go over very well.”
“In this town?” Derek remarks dryly, while Jackson’s parents look at each other and mouth ‘monsters?’ because they have no idea what Stiles is talking about.
“It’s so weird to think that high school is nearly over,” Scott says thoughtfully. “I mean, leaving Beacon Hills is going to be the strangest thing ever.”
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He’s been worried about that for a while. Beacon Hills is his territory, and instinct says not to leave it. But he looks around the table at his father, at Chris Argent, Dr. Deaton, even Mike Whittemore, and he knows that he’ll be leaving it in good hands. They’ll take care of it while he’s gone. He doesn’t need to do everything himself.
All things considered, the future is pretty bright. He’s looking forward to it.
~ ~ ~ ~