˚ ༘ ✶ ₊ ˚. ི CHAPTER 8.
࿐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵖᵉᵗᵉʳ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ ʰⁱˢ ʷⁱⁿᵉ
"STILES, I'M GONNA GIVE YOU ANOTHER CONCUSSION IF YOU DON'T JUST SIT DOWN." Peter grumbled, running his own hands over his temple as he watched Stiles pace the hospital lobby.
Stiles bit his bottom lip, "Pete, I'm good, but we have many, many things that are not good."
along came Melissa McCall, clad one her classic
maroon scrubs and tight ringlet cults pulls into a neat ponytail. maybe Stiles would listen to her. A strong maybe. "Stiles, lets go. Peter's right."
"I'm completely and totally fine."
Melissa sighed, gripped the bicep of the teenager and leading him away, Peter getting to his feet and shuffling behind them. "You completely and totally have a concussion, Stiles. Lie back down. The doctor said you're not leaving without a CT scan."
The Sheriff's son rolled his eyes as he slumped onto the stiff hospital bed, Peter into the small chair in the corner. "We still haven't paid for the last one."
Melissa tilted her head. "Even if I let you go, what would you do?"
Peter piped up, "Continue to be an idiot. That's— that's what he would do." In return he got a nod from melissa and a harsh glare from Stiles, as expected.
"Okay— okay, fine. Can you do me one little favor?"
Melissa let out a breath of relief. "Anything."
"Can you get me a tape player?" He smiled innocently, ignoring Peter's load groan in the background.
The nurse perked an eyebrow. "Like... cassettes?"
Stiles nodded curtly. "Yes. Tapes."
She took a moment to think where in the world she could even begin to look for one of those, but agreed nonetheless. The least she could do for the boy was get him a damn cassette player. "Yeah, I'll see what I can do."
"Okay, tapes though, please." He continued as she made her way out of the door.
She glanced back. "Cassettes."
And the room was left to the awkward silence between the two boys. The silence of two people who had too many things to say to even know where to begin. Peter had so many things to complain about to begin with, and a nice hot 'I told you so' coming Stiles' way.
Though he wasn't expected his first words to come out in a shaky voice, milliseconds from breaking a dam of tears. "None of this would've happened if you had just listened to me." He mumbled, his voice cracking.
"What?" Stiles looked up at him incredulously.
He felt a hot tear rolling down his cheek, a shaky breath rumbling out of his lungs. The harsh pounding pain in his chest as he felt the utter defeat of falling apart yet again. Though maybe he should've been proud he'd held it together this long. If you didn't count the black out at Eichen where he sat in complete silence.
And didn't help his friends.
"I told you I didn't like that place, Stiles." He whispered.
Stiles felt his heart crack. The utter desperation in the Parker boy's chest felt worse than anything Brunksi could've possible thrown at him.
"I told you." He puffed out, a abrupt sob escaping. "I locked up, Stiles. I just sat there and let Brunksi win!" He cried, dropping his head into his hands, his shoulder lurching up and down as he tried to catch his breath and collect himself. A failed attempt at seeming okay.
Stiles climbed off the bed, and moved subtly down beside Peter, sitting calmly on the floor in front of him. His eyes still a bit blurry and his stomach a little woozy, but obviously doing better than Peter. "Pete, hey, come on. That's not your fault... and it never will be, okay?" Stiles tried.
Peter dismissed him with the shake of his head. "No. No, no. You don't get it Stiles. I was more than capable of getting out— of doing something!" He exclaimed. "I'm supposed to be the hero, Stiles!"
He only showed his face for a brief second to take in a breath, but the sight make Stiles' heart skip a beat. The bright red skin and tear trails down his cheeks. His eyes darting in every which way and his shaky hands trying to wipe the tears away. His jagged breaths and panicked movements made his hair
Stiles bit his lips anxiously, softly sliding his hands onto Peter's denim covered knees. "It's not just you, Pete. You've got all of us now. Me, Scott, Lydia, all of us."
Peter breathed in a shaky breath, crunching his hands into a tight fists, his knuckles turning a pale white. "I know that now, I mean, obviously. But, that day, the day of the P.S.A.T... I was just me. I was the Peter Parker before Spider-Man. They found a way to get me back to that weak, helpless kid, dying on cold concrete."
His words hit stiles like bullets. Almost as if the reality of what his life had become now, hadn't really hit him before now.
"And I couldn't help anyone. And so when you can do the things that I can, and you don't. And then the bad things happen?" He lifted his head to look at Stiles, debuting the red puffy eyes and hot trails of fresh tears. "They happen because of you. And then the people you love are at risk, with guns waved in their faces, you get this hole dug into your chest."
Stiles blinked away the tears he could. "Well maybe those people are really just trying to do the right thing, and sometimes you can't protect them from everything."
"I have to, Stiles. I've lives my whole being the kid who loses everyone. And now I can do something, but you're still in the hospital. I didn't do anything."
It went silent, and Stiles simply gazed at Peter as he stared at the white tiled flooring.
"You know, sometimes if you love someone, you gotta leave to keep from screwing up their lives too." Peter finished softly.
"How many times do those people have to tell you that their lives are screwed enough? That you couldn't possible be bad. That you're kinda the light at the end of their tunnel?" Stiles suggested.
Peter shrugged. "I can't keep watching you get hurt."
Stiles nodded. "I don't like seeing my friends get hurt eith— "
but peter cut him off with a shout. "No! No— not— don't say... I meant you, Stiles. I can't keep watching you get hurt." Peter snapped, digging his fingers into his hair, tugging harshly on it.
Stiles pressed his lips together. from now on, it could go either direction. Peter could just see Stiles as the dorky kid who invited him to hang out with his friends, or he could feel what Stiles felt.
It could mean Peter got the heart rush when he saw him. It could mean he made the same glances up and down his body and secret looks at his lips in class. And Stiles didn't want to say that he'd caught feelings, cause he'd known Peter for about three weeks.
But he had. "Peter, give me an inch."
I love you.
"You're the first person to believe in me." Peter blurted. His nights exhaustion and frustration setting him off the edge. What did he have to lose now? He'd had a needle in his neck at Eichen Asylum over a 45 million dollar paycheck, just an hour ago, what could be worse? "And when you saw me as Spider-Man, the big screw up hero that didn't save the day, I felt like... like I'd let you down."
Stiles let the corners of his lips lift just slightly. "Let me down? You think me finding out that the cute guy in my economics class is actually Spider-Man was a let down?"
"I lied to your face Stiles, and not once I have even proven to anyone that I'm even worth the suit." He let out a heavy breath.
Stiles shook his head with the same smirk. "Scott has super strength and razor sharp claws to kill with and I have to take adderall just to go to school. I know all about the underdog gig. You're on freak levels of awesome. Peter... you— you made an AI system! Tony Stark and his dollar bill stuffed metal suit would be kissing your boots right now."
Peter stayed quiet.
"Not to mention the butt. The butt is good. Really good." Stiles nodded with a sly smile, feeling the rush of confidence all over again.
A pink flushed to peters cheeks, "You like my butt?"
Stiles rolled his eyes. "Pete, come on, I'm the worst lacrosse player ever, wear unbuttoned plaid shirts and roll the cuffs of my jeans. What did you expect from me?"
"Beacon Hills is kinda... behind in the times."
Stiles shrugged. "Beacon Hills is behind on everything. Did you know I used to pretend to be Mr. Obsessed with Lydia Martin so no one would figure it out?"
Peter laughed, sniffing and choking down the tears as he wiped his eyes. "Did I know? Everyone knew about you and lydia. Well— lack there of. You're a pretty good actor."
"Oh I'm amazing. But I don't think I could do it for a living. acting? If i looked like Captain America? Maybe then I would. He'd be a good actor."
༺
Peter had driven Stiles home after all of his required tests, not that Stiles was too excited for hospital tests and Peter driving his Jeep home. A double whammy of anxiety and shaking.
The two boys sprinted to Stiles' room, and scrambled to use the cassette player Melissa had found (thank god), and finally start counteracting the benefactors deadpool.
Peter wasn't sure if this was what was good for Stiles after his Eichen experience and the headache he was sure Stiles must be fighting off. He knew that he was tired, either way. And he wasn't sure where Lydia had gone, probably the Sheriff's station with Stiles' dad and Parrish.
But he just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to stop worrying about everything ever. It was exhausting to be Peter. He was tired of being in the shadow of everyone else to Stiles. He didn't like that he couldn't stop thinking about the Stilinski boy. It wasn't fair.
He also wanted to be enough to wear the suit.
Peter just wanted to be enough for once.
"Yo, Pete. Listen to this."
Peter sat up from his horizontal position on Stiles' bed, his arms spread eagle on the plaid comforter. "Hmm?"
And with it, Stiles waved Peter over to his desk, to which was greeted with a groan and Peter like a moping toddler moving over to his desk and sitting on the corner as Stiles pressed play on the cassette player.
"Let's go, Lorraine."
Peter's breathing hitched at the grumbling voice of the Eichen orderly, Brunksi. But the softer voice of what was only to be assumed to be Lydia's grandmother. "Listen to me... please, listen. There's something I have to do. Something I have to stop."
But the man on the tape was incessant. "I have to take you back to Eichen, Lorraine..."
"No, I don't think you're gonna be taking me anywhere. I can hear the recorder in your pocket. It's on now, isn't it? You're making a tape... just like you taped the others." Lorraine whispered.
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "This didn't happen at Eichen House."
"... back to Eichen, Lorraine..." Brunksi growled.
And her voice sounded calm, unnervingly calm. "No. No, I don't think you're gonna be taking me anywhere..."
"Wait wait, go back. Play it again and turn it up." Peter slapped Stiles' shoulder, climbing off the desk in a anxious fit and leaning onto his knees beside Stiles.
"No. no, I don't think you're gonna be taking me anywhere. I can hear the recorder in your pocket. It's on now, isn't it? You're making a tape... just like you taped the others." The cassette repeated.
Standing to his full height, Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you hear the scratching? It's like— like a skipping record player."
Twisting to stare incredulously at the boy, "Who listens to record players ever?"
Shrugging, "I— I don't know. who has a record player"
A hopeless sigh. "I don't— " Before his eyes widened to the might of Liam's first full moon. Lydia's party. "— Lydia has one in her lake house, doesn't she?"
"I've never been."
Leaning onto his desk, fingers dancing with plot points he saw in his head, "So, she escaped from Eichen House to go back to listen to a record player." He played out.
Peter shrugged, trying to add as much as he could to the conversation and not leave Stiles out to dry and solve this on his own. After all, the boy had the concussion. "Wasn't she like Lydia? Wasn't she a banshee?" He offered.
Stiles nodded, "Yeah, but only once. She predicted Maddy's death and then spent decades trying to predict something else."
Looking darkly at the cassette. "Maybe she finally did...and, what if this time, it wasn't just one death, it was a lot of deaths?"
Him and Peter met gazes. "The deadpool."
"What if, all those years ago, Lorraine predicted it? And she knew there was something in the study that could stop it?" Peter wondered, his eyebrows drawing in with concern.
Stiles sighed, snatching the Jeep keys off of his desk, and Peter's raincoat sort of thing that he was planning on stealing instead of digging his dirty plaid button up from out of the back of his Jeep. Peter's clothes fit better anyway. Stiles didn't exactly have the muscle mass to fill his jackets, and they smelled like the boy, which was nice. Like vanilla and pharmacy cologne, but also a hint of lavender, which stiles believe to come from being around his aunt so much.
"Guess we're going to the lake house..."
Peter nor Stiles had gotten as much as a text message from anyone in the last four hours. Peter thought this would've been the perfect time to be extra communicative, but he guessed that just wasn't how the pack really rolled.
"What are we doing? This room wasn't even made for us. We need someone like Lydia, or Meredith, and we're just sitting here, listening to a stupid record player play a record that doesn't play anything. Come on. There's plenty of other things we can be totally useless doing." Stiles grumbled, switching off the record player he'd started, sliding the needle off. "God this is so... we could be on a da— or some— I don't know."
Stiles already heading to the lake house door, Peter hadn't moved his feet, hearing the low grumble of wheels. "Stiles...?"
Twisting, his heart pounding as if maybe Peter had heard him say something that wasn't meant to be heard. "Yeah— hmm— what?"
"I can still hear it..." Peter mumbled, moving closer tot he wall and placing his hand on it softly.
Tip toeing closer, Stiles peaked over Peter's shoulder. "Wait, like— like," He lowered his voice to a almost inaudible whisper as Peter slowly moved towards the plaster wall. "Like spider hearing!" He whisper yelled. "Oh my god that is— that is so freaking cool you don't even know how— "
"Stiles, shut up! It's something else— something's spinning."
They'd stared at the machine behind the wall for a good five minutes, Stiles continuously going back and forth contemplating pushing buttons and then back out of it. They'd never even seen a computer of this size. Sure, they knew computers used to be the size of rooms and take several men to operate. But he didn't think they were that likely around Beacon Hills, California.
Stiles shrugged. "Well we can't just smash it to pieces."
Peter furrowed his brows and turned to stiles. "I didn't say that..." He mumbled.
Shrugging it off and nodding. "Yeah I know— it was the first thing I thought of... but uh— if this thing's being used to disseminate the list, then it's probably gonna keep going until everyone's dead."
"Then what do we do?"
Stiles let out a breath, his hands patting down the machine as if it would do something different. "It needs some kind of prompt or command or something, right?" More patting and touching. "No, no, no..." He mumbled.
Poking a spot that seemed to have a specially shaped jagged hole, "Okay, well what about a key?" Peter mumbled.
"I'm gonna call lydia."
Nodding in agreement. "Good plan."
Lydia thankfully answered, her face showing on Stiles' screen as he aimed the camera at the colossal machine in her lake house. To say she was surprised was an understatement. Though, Peter understood. If he found an ancient computer putting out money to kill children in his bedroom, he'd be surprised too.
"You see it? There's got to be a way to turn it off, right?" Stiles questioned, showing her the extent of the computer.
Lydia's voice echoed through the line. "I don't— I don't know anything about computers from the 1970s! Isn't Peter a computer geek anyway?"
Shaking his head immediately, "Please don't look at me."
Groaning at the incompetence of the two boys, "Oh my— okay, where's the monitor?" She asked.
Gritting his teeth, "Lydia, there is no monitor. There's are buttons, spindles... no monitor." He whipped around to look at Peter for some sort of aid in dealing with a very bossy woman and a forty year old computer all at once. All Peter did was lift his hands in defense.
"Well just— woah, wait— turn the phone back. Point it at the carpet." She ordered.
Stiles was pointing the camera in all directions. "The what?"
"The floor, Stiles! Just show me the floor!" She shouted over the line, Stiles finally scanning over the off white carpet with confusion. "Where's the stain? There should be red blotches, a wine stain..."
Stiles shook his head. "There's nothing."
"Yes. No stain. No wine."
Lydia, expressing bewilderment, "That doesn't make sense. I gave the five hundred dollars I was supposed to use to hire cleaners to Brunksi."
Another shutter from Peter at the name.
"Okay, Lydia, what the hell does wine have to do with anything?" Stiles questioned.
Lydia scoffed, "Wine doesn't just disappear! Unless it wasn't wine..." She complained, before her voice died down to a whisper, mostly talking to herself until Stiles quickly reminded her of his presence.
"What? What do you mean?"
Peter frowned. "If she's talking about blood I'm leaving."
"The ashes weren't ashes, the study isn't a study, and the record player isn't a record player. So, maybe the wine wasn't wine. Guys, you have to find the wine! Find the bottle. There could be something about it." She quickly instructs.
Stiles glanced back and forth between her and Peter "What— what kind? What's it called?"
"It's a 1982 Cotes du Rhone." Lydia urges.
Blanking on wine types at the moment, "I gave no idea what to do with that information." Stiles admits.
A sigh leaves his lips, "My aunt drinks wine, just— where's the kitchen?" He asks, not wanting to intrude on privacy even among the most dire of times.
Snatching his hand, Stiles drags him to the tile floored kitchen, and inside, the wall of assorted wine. "In here."
He doesn't hesitate, beginning to pull out, glance and shove wine bottles back into the holder. "Okay— uh— no, no, no, oh my god this one's expensive!" Peter gapes at the hefty bottle of red in his hands. What Aunt May would do to pop that bottle open and watch Star Wars with him.
Stiles sighs and pushes the bottle back into the placeholder and urging Peter along "Peter, please— my god, focus. I swear to god you're just a buffer version of me."
Swiftly ignoring the comment, Peter pulls a golden capped bottle out, Cotes du Rhone written in cursive on the label. And the aged paper screaming eighties. It was Peter's best guess, which was ten times better than Stiles'. "Okay! This one. but Lyds, I think this is a eighty three..."
"You are both insufferable." Lydia grumbled.
Stiles yelps in excitement, "Yes!" grabbing the bottle, noticing not the weight of wine in the bottle but rather a empty feel to it and the clanging of metal inside. "I— I think there's something inside. Do you have, like, a wine opener, or..." Stiles looks to Lydia before flinching at the sound of smashing glass. He looks up, Peter's wrist exposed and spider webbing amongst the scattered pieces of glass. The two boys look to each other before digging into the glass to find a brass key, one that obviously didn't belong to the bottle.
Peter snatched the key, unconsciously kicking the bigger prices of glass out of way. He jams it into the best looking key hole and twists, the machines churns to a slowing stop.
And everything is quiet.