Whew, that was a long posting pause but unfortunately I can't shirk work, no matter how much I'd like to write full time (seriously). It's still a little rough; I'll go over it again later, when I'm a little less in a hurry. Cheers!

Chapter 35

It only took Peter a quarter of an hour to roll up in front of the high school, but those fifteen minutes felt like some of the longest in Stiles' life.

"Oh god, finally," Stiles breathed at the sight of Peter's .

"What's wrong, Stiles?" Peter asked through the opened window. "I can smell your anxiety from here."

"Not here." Looking around, Stiles got into the werewolf's poncy car. He nearly brained himself on the low ceiling and definitely smacked his knees against the console. "Ow, what's this, a Stilestrap? Why's your car so cramped?"

Peter showed his slightly pointed teeth as he grinned. "Get your Bambi limbs under control, darling, or I'll show you trapped ."

"Always with the threats," Stiles sighed exaggeratedly, already feeling his shoulders droop a little with relief. "Can we go? Please? Preferably far away?"

"As you wish." With squealing tires Peter left the parking lot. "But I'd appreciate a reason why it had to be me, and not Derek."

Stiles showed him the USB stick. "Allison gave this to me. I didn't think Derek would know what to do with it - or even want to."

Peter froze a little. "I see. Did she say something?"

"Just some tripe about the Argent family sending their regards, and their regrets for the lost lives. She said the stuff on here might help save lives in the future. Oh, and that an Argent would come if we asked for help."

"That were her words?"

"Yup. In all their creepy, formal glory." Stiles slipped the stick into his jeans pocket, correctly surmising from Peter's reaction that this was a Very Big Deal. "What do you think is on there?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," Peter replied, oddly measured. "Call your father and the school and tell them you had to go home. I won't have you mar your attendance record for this."

"Okay." Stiles quickly called his father and explained the situation, which resulted in the sheriff telling him not to worry about contacting the school, because he'd deal with it himself.

"I'll also pay a visit to Chris Argent and find out what the hell he's thinking, setting his daughter on you like this," John said tightly. "I'll take a couple of deputies with me, and if Derek could provide further backup, I'd be grateful."

"He'll be there and lurk threateningly," Stiles promised. "Thank you, dad." He hung up just as Peter swerved onto the parking space in front of his house. "I'll send a quick text to the others so they won't worry."

"And I'll make milkshakes." Peter got out and slammed the door of his car. "Effing Argents."

Stiles followed the annoyed werewolf up to his apartment and couldn't believe his eyes when Peter produced a whole box full of used electronics, several laptops among them. He hastily slammed the heavy metal door shut and engaged the lock. "You're hoarding burner stuff?"

"You don't?" Peter shot back. He chose an outdated netbook, booted it up and made sure it wasn't connected to the WLAN. "But milkshakes first. You'll get root beer in yours, but I need something stronger."

He cursed all the way to the kitchen and manhandled the appliances a little roughly as he threw together beer, ice cream, and fruit. Stiles tried not to be intimidated by Peter's anger, but it was hard when a potentially lethal predator was in a snit a mere twenty feet away.

A few minutes later Peter set Stiles' milkshake before him, already sipping on his own.

"Bailey's?" Stiles asked, trying not to laugh at Peter's half-sulky and half-placated frown. "I'm not judging, man."

"It doesn't do shit, but at least it tastes good," Peter groused. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, let's get this over with." Stiles plugged in the USB stick and waited with bated breath for the window to open up.

"Well," Peter said when the contents were visible. "I'd half expected next to nothing."

"This looks like everything," Stiles said, stunned. "I … is this really what it looks like?"

"Proof of Kate and Gerard's activities?" Peter clicked onto one clearly labelled file and opened it. "Yes, I dare say it is. Your father will be pleased."

Stiles spied a file named Communiqué. "Open this one. It's an audio file."

Peter obliged and a second later a woman's voice sounded from the netbook's crappy loudspeakers. She had a thick, French accent, and it sounded like the woman in possession of that voice was elderly, and at least an occasional smoker.

"Greetings, Alpha Hale,

This is Angelique Mirabelle Argent, Grand Matriarch of the Argent Hunting Family.

Recent happenings in your corner of the world have brought to my attention the misdeeds of two of my family. For their depravity and cruelty I can only apologize - and pray that your family's souls will be merciful when the ingenious members of my clan go to their eternal rest.

We are informed of any and all investigations into Gerard and Kate's doings and I personally vouch for the Argents' future adherence to our codex. While we are not merciful we are fair, and we do not suffer bad seeds within our ranks.

As a gesture of my clan's profound disgust with the betrayers' deeds I turn over to you every bit of information of Gerard, Kate, and their helpers we could collate. Whatever witness reports the U.S. American law enforcement requires, we will give.

For every innocent life lost, we will pay the equivalent of one million euros in blood money. For abusing and injuring your surviving nephew, Derek Hale, we will pay the equivalent of five million euros. We cannot return the lost lives, but we would offer the young man as comfortable a life as possible going forward. If you prefer bearer bonds, gold, or precious stones instead of a currency, that can be arranged.

Lastly, for abusing, hurting, and severely threatening several humans in your territory, one of them a minor, my family turns over the Argent Bestiary, for you to use as you see fit to protect the beings dwelling in your territory. With the Bestiary comes the promise of an Argent standing with you against legitimate threats for a hundred years.

You will receive an Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation in due time.

With sincere regrets,

Your obedient servant,

Angelique Mirabelle Argent

Grand Matriarch

39th Generation "

"Holy shit," Stiles breathed out when the recording stopped playing. "Holy. Shit."

Peter sank into the couch, his half empty glass close to slipping from his nerveless fingers. "Yes."

"That's a lot of money," Stiles said, still stunned. "Can they just fork over such a sum?"

"They can, or they wouldn't have offered." Peter drained his milkshake and set the glass down. "I really need to teach you how things are supposed to work in our community."

"I take it's not usually done like this?" Stiles placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, just letting it rest there in support while the werewolf was getting his bearings.

Peter was silent for a moment before replying, "Such an admission of guilt? By one of the oldest Hunting Families in the world? No, definitely not." His eyes glowed red and a muscle in his jaw jumped. "They are trying to de-escalate … they finally must've caught the attention of the Council and are fearing for their status in the community. The Council has disowned and disbanded large and influential clans in the past."

"Why now? Where was the council six years ago?" Stiles demanded. He got to his feet and started to pace angrily. "Also, Gerard and his merry band of psychos have probably murdered their way halfway through the U.S. in the last thirty years, and I don't buy for a minute that he was keeping to their codex then. The council must've known something."

"I intend to find out," Peter said. His eyes were still red, but his posture lost a bit of tension as he reached out with one hand. "I do know that their communication is meant seriously, which is at least something."

"How can you tell?" Stiles asked. Still furious, he plopped back down and leaned against Peter's side. The strong arm that immediately went around his shoulders was incredibly grounding and kept his mind from flying into a million directions at once.

"The Grand Matriarch sent a high quality recording," Peter explained. "The microphone she used was so sensitive that I could easily hear the pattern of her breathing and even the beat of her heart. It's a courtesy not often given to weres - with this information it's child's play to detect falsehoods and information about her health … or track her down later if I so desired. She's heavily protected at all times, of course, so taking her out would be nigh on impossible, but the point still stands."

"I have to ask, because it's hard to imagine what punishment the council could dish out if offering millions of dollars of blood money and swearing fealty for a hundred years seems like the thing to do." Stiles crossed his arms in front of his chest and jiggled his leg. "It makes me think of beheadings, which is super creepy."

Peter huffed out a little laugh. "You're not so very far off. If I refuse the offer, the Council will be bound to dig into every hunt, every retaliation, and everyone's involvement."

"Everyone's?" Stiles repeated, eyebrows raising.

"Everyone's," Peter affirmed. "They will investigate with everything they have, too, not just the human way. There'd be magics involved even most supernaturals can only dream of, much less fight. It would be intensely invasive and unpleasant, and it's very, very possible that even people not fully involved would lose their heads in punishment. Once started, the process will be seen through to the end; changing our mind afterwards would be out of the question."

"But … if the Council - and yes, I heard the capital letter, dude - is already in the know, why aren't they doing it anyway?" Stiles asked. "The Argents sure deserve it."

"As much as it pains me to say it, I'm certain not all of them do," Peter returned. In contrast do Stiles' incredulity, he was actually calming down. "The European branch of them has a reputation of acting decisively, but not without their mandate. They might not be merciful as a whole, but there are a few whispers about actually helping redeemable supernaturals find their way, though usually in some sort of intelligence gathering capacity in exchange for sparing their lives."

"I guess that's okay," Stiles allowed, though a little dubiously. "Us squishy humans appreciate the protection, if it's done right. Still: if the Council's magic would ferret out the guilty, why not just let them pack the whammy and get it over with?"

"Because we would be judged as well," Peter reminded him. "Every step leading up to this would be judged, and by now you know that I'm not a knight in shining armour by any stretch of the imagination. My dealings with Paige led to Derek's involvement with Kate, and that alone could cost me my life."

"They wouldn't dare," Stiles said hotly. "If you didn't lie to me, then what you tried was maybe misguided, but you neither led Paige on, nor did you force Derek to find solace in an older woman after Paige's death. And also, who's to say that Kate Argent wouldn't have found another way to do what she did? She could've seduced someone else in your family."

"She might have succeeded. For all her faults, she was a handsome woman." Peter smiled without humour. "It's a moot point, in any case. I didn't do enough to prevent it, Stiles. Worse, the Council's magic would punish Derek as well for being so careless with our pack's secrets. His age would hardly matter. Then there's me killing Laura, and biting Scott, both also not points in my favour, no matter how mitigating the circumstances."

Stiles scowled at that.

"It's an ugly business all around, especially since all the findings would be archived for posterity so future generations may learn from our mistakes." Peter's mouth twitched in an expression that was impossible to parse. "Magic would take the words right out of us and arrange them in a manner most suited for consumption. I've seen it exactly once and I couldn't stop shaking."

"I can't imagine it," Stiles confessed, reluctantly letting go of his anger. "It'd be uncool to have a book written about us, but people actually would have to want to read it, won't they? Maybe pilgrimaging to some dusty archive is not for everyone."

"Oh, you'd be surprised … or not. The archive is situated in Rome, which is, of course, a fantastic holiday destination. Visiting the archives is the thing to do for many travellers. And it's not just books, either."

"No? Have they advanced to electronic devices yet?" Stiles needled.

"You jest, but yes. They are definitely going with the times, but they're also going with what each visitor responds best to," Peter replied haughtily.

Stiles smirked. "What was your sweet spot, oh alpha mine?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" Peter purred, showing his fangs when Stiles flushed hotly in response. Instead of teasing the teen further, however, he simply continued, "When I was allowed into the reading room, the information was presented like a huge, magical chart, the humble origins of the conflict right before me and the following decisions and reactions reaching up and branching out like tree branches clamoring for the skies." Peter imitated the growth by raising his arm and splaying his fingers. "It was almost completely dark - there were only some sconces on the walls - and words were glowing gold all around me. They vibrated with power and seeped right into my soul. It was eerie."

Stiles had a hard time believing that, so he blurted out the next best thing on his mind. "Almost sounds like a menacing planetary."

"Sort of, now that you mention it. It looked a lot like your boards, too, with strings connecting events and little notes bursting into existence when I looked more closely at something. They were vanishing again when I moved on …" Peter waved his hand. "Just like dust in the wind. Being surrounded by so much judgemental magic made me feel very small and weak. It was certainly educational, in more ways than one, but it's not an experience I'd want to repeat."

"Okay, I get that." Stiles grimaced, slumping further against Peter. "Does that mean you'll accept the offer?"

"The Grand Matriarch was actually generous, and we can always use more money," Peter replied. "I'm not interested in punishing Derek or myself needlessly; we have both suffered enough."

"Yeah, you have," Stiles agreed at once.

"We'll go forward from here," Peter said firmly. "We'll build something new, do the best we can, and live a life my family would've been proud of."

"It helps that the mundane law enforcement will probably come down pretty hard on the Argents anyway," Stiles added after a moment's thought. "As soon as my dad gets this data in his hands, it'll be distributed to the alphabet soup and they'll run with it as far as they can."

"Yes, they will, and the American branch of the Argents probably won't recover from such a hit. The Grand Matriarch knows when to cut her losses, and it'll be good to have them as allies in an emergency." Peter relaxed fully against the couch and pulled Stiles with him. "You're not shocked about my pragmatism."

Stiles shrugged with one shoulder. "I'd do the same. Getting revenge via Council just doesn't seem worth the cost to you and Derek. Plus, Kate and Gerard are already very dead, so they're not getting any more punished for what they did to your family, anyway."

"Well, there is always at least one necromancer serving as Council member," Peter smiled sharply. "Questioning the dead is rather common in a Grand Inquisition, you know. Who knows what a determined magic user can do to a soul? About that there aren't many rumours, which means that it's probably very, very bad."

"I don't want to find out," Stiles muttered, suppressing a shiver and pressing even further against Peter. They just sat there for a while, trying to get their heads around the Argents' offer. At last, Stiles said, almost meekly, "Do you think that's why Mr. Argent was at my house the other day? To give us the USB stick?"

Peter hummed softly. "Perhaps. But if he was, he went about it in a very confrontational manner. He could've put it in your letterbox instead of scaring you, and having his spawn stalk you all over the school wasn't really a gesture of remorse either, was it?"

"Nope, definitely not. What's the etiquette on that, if the boss lady said to grovel and someone decides not to?"

"Allison did, in the end," Peter answered, "and there's not a thing we need to do about dear Chris. The Grand Matriarch knows exactly how long it has taken Allison to get her communiqué into your hands and will act accordingly."

"Do we have to do something? Send an answer or the like?" Stiles wondered.

"Only after the Official Acknowledgement Of Obligation has been delivered. The Grand Matriarch will have included a way for us to contact her family in there. Establishing a working treaty will require regular communication, and I'll have to tell them my preferred method of compensation."

"Do you know what it'll be?" Stiles asked. "Maybe gold? Or diamonds?"

"My family was very fond of bearer bonds," Peter said, "and I'll keep up the tradition, but diversifying our funds is just common sense. It won't do to have everything just lying around in one spot. It'd only need one well-executed raid to devastate us."

"I guess that's one talk for all of you, then." Stiles longingly eyed his milkshake glass. "Hey, do you think I'll be able to teleport stuff one day?"

Peter snorted and pushed Stiles upright. "Personally, yes. Whether that'd be a good thing for humanity is another question."

"Hey, not cool," Stiles complained. He picked up the milkshake and took a long drink. "I'm not that much of a disaster."

Peter's answering smile was so condescending that Stiles huffed, grabbed a handful of mountain ash from his jeans pocket, and flung it at the surprised werewolf. For just one second, Peter was restrained on the couch … and then the mountain ash began to wiggle and slither, moving up and onto Peter's skin, where it formed pretty lines in restless formations and was very clearly not doing its job any longer.

"Fuck me sideways, that's new," Stiles exclaimed, staring.

"Tempting," Peter replied absently, touching the moving mountain ash and watching it travel from his forearm over his fingers and around his wrist. "But we've got some work to do first, hm?"

Stiles was so flabbergasted that he forgot to feel embarrassed about Peter's blasé flirting.

End of chapter 35