"America I'm Putting My Queer Shoulder To The Wheel." (Les Miserables/Teen Wolf) PG
Title: America I'm Putting My Queer Shoulder To The Wheel. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandoms: Les Miserables and Teen Wolf (TV)
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Enjolras/Grantaire
Rating: PG
A/N: The title is from America by Allen Ginsberg.
Summary: Stiles goes to college to become a drag queen. Les Amis go to college to change the world.
1.
Stiles goes to college to become a drag queen.
Okay, it's actually to get an information sciences degree, but that's secondary. He's really there because Patria University, alone among the schools that offered him scholarships, boasts a drag club. It's his kind of people. Derek warned him that there are werewolves around, but didn't seem that worried. Maybe they're his kind of people, too.
Stiles shows up with two duffel bags, three boxes, and a dream, He gets his keys from the housing desk and heads over to Musain Hall. He dumps his stuff outside the room, then trips over his own two feet as he tries to navigate around his pile of stuff to get his key into the lock.
The door is yanked open and Stiles go sprawling. "Shit," Stiles says succinctly.
"Shit," the guy agrees. "I'm Grantaire. You must be that kid from the Hale Pack."
Fuck, the guy is a goddamn werewolf, are they following him around? Stiles moans. "Yes."
So that's how he meets his roommate.
2.
Grantaire helps him up and kicks Stiles's stuff into the room, then he collapses in his desk chair. Grantaire pokes at his laptop, opens Skype, and scrolls through his contacts, eventually picking one. Stiles stands nervously in the doorway, not sure which way to jump.
"Combeferre!" Grantaire says. "My roommate smells like a strange alpha. Fix this."
"Make him take a shower," Combeferre suggests.
"I need you to take a shower," Grantaire tells Stiles, who takes that as his cue to walk into the room and close the door behind him. "You can't be in our territory smelling like a challenge to Enjolras. He'll freak out. Seriously. He'll make you rub against us and everything, it'll be totally dehumanizing, you won't like it. You seem a normal kid, right? Take a shower, use my soap and shampoo, change your clothes, here, have some really smelly detergent for your clothes. That will totally fix everything. Do it quickly."
"I have some perfume," Stiles offers. "And wolfsbane, but--"
Grantaire buries his head in his hands.
3.
By the time Stiles is out of the shower, Grantaire's gone down to the laundry room and commandeered all of the washing machines. Every article of clothing Stiles owns is going around in circles right now. Well, everything except his boxers, but if the way Grantaire's eying them is any indication, even that is an affront to werewolf society. Stiles isn't sorry.
"Okay, so let's see that perfume," Grantaire says, sniffing at Stiles's neck. Stiles opens his main duffel bag and pulls out his kit. Grantaire yips, actually yips, and takes it from his hands.
"Fantastic," Grantaire says. "This'll make things so much easier. Enjolras's nose will be so confused, he won't know what hit him."
"So I can keep my boxers?" Stiles asks.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Grantaire says. He opens Stiles's kit and puts the perfume bottle to the side, then starts looking through his make-up. "Hmm, good choices, I like your taste in eye shadow. Though your lipstick colors could use some work, you definitely have the lips for danger, it would be a shame for you to waste it. Courfeyrac can totally hook you up. All I've got is some leftovers from the time we did Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Grantaire zips the bag up again and gives it to Stiles, who puts it away carefully. "So," Grantaire says, sitting back, "you make it a habit to carry wolfsbane with you? What the hell is going on in Beacon Hills?"
"Um," Stiles says. "You should probably talk to my alpha about that."
Grantaire waves his hand. "Yeah, yeah, have my alpha call your alpha. Already happened or you wouldn't be going to this school smelling like that. But, seriously, wolfsbane."
Stiles shrugs. "All the cool kids do it."
4.
Grantaire takes him along to a pack meeting that night, because there's no point in dragging this out and Stiles needs to go say hi to the alpha anyway. Stiles is wearing one of Grantaire's t-shirts and a pair of jeans, and he'd sprayed on more perfume than he ever has before. His boxers are still his own, though. It was a minor victory, but one Stiles will take.
Alpha Enjolras is drop dead gorgeous. Grantaire whimpers when he sees him and does a complicated werewolf ritual Stiles has never seen before. At least, he hopes it's a werewolf ritual. Otherwise, he's gonna assume this pack is into some really kinky things.
Then Enjolras looks at Stiles. "Stilinski. Hale called and said you'd be coming. He didn't say you'd be joining the pack." He looks stern. Stiles has stared down scarier wolves, but he isn't here to mess things up for other people.
"Hi," Stiles begins, but he doesn't get an opportunity to keep going. Enjolras holds up his hand.
"Grantaire," Enjolras says.
Grantaire looks unapologetic. "Yeah, no, you do not want to smell the stuff he brought. Trust me, this is the lesser of the evils."
"Walking around smelling like you is an improvement?" Enjolras growls. Grantaire grins and gets into his space. Stiles starts backing away. He did not sign up for werewolf posturing. He did not. He's here for the drag opportunities and information sciences program. Not more werewolf problems. He's got 99 of them, he doesn't need more.
Someone takes Stiles's elbow and pulls him towards a table. "Don't worry about it," the guy says. "If shouting doesn't work, they'll fuck it out of their systems later. You get used to it. I'm Bahorel." He grins and leans forward. "Now, we just gotta know. How much of those stories about you guys are true?"
Stiles smirks. "All of them."
5.
Stiles is used to werewolves and, more importantly, he's used to werewolf politics and werewolf-induced drama chaos fields. He expects living with a werewolf to be a lot of running for his life with equal parts panicking over why didn't they know this thing yesterday, why does the universe exist to vex him, why isn't the internet the wonderful font of all wisdom that it's supposed to be.
But that was back home. This is college. Living with Grantaire is like living with an art major jock who has something of a drinking problem and sometimes runs around on all fours.
It's kinda calming.
And then Grantaire introduces him to what the pack actually does with their time.
6.
"Why can't you guys all be drug smugglers?" Stiles demands. "Or hackers or serial killers or baseball players?"
Les Amis all blink at him in unison. It's creepy.
"You're not in Beacon Hills anymore," Combeferre says kindly. "For the rest of the world, the enemies are different. It's not so cut and dry as hunters trying to kill us, so we kill them first. Small-minded prejudice is a force of injustice everywhere. It must be attacked and destroyed in all forms. You can't arm yourself with wolfsbane. We have different weapons. Werewolves are only one of the many group that are oppressed and targeted in this world. We must all band together to create social change. Other people's lives don't have monsters of the week; they have systemic oppression, which is worse."
"In other words," Grantaire says, "shut up and keep making rainbow cookies."
7.
And, okay, Stiles will be the first one to tell you that controlling access to information just hurts the ones you're trying to protect, that if you want to protect someone, it's best to arm them with knowledge of how to protect themselves, and that secrecy just ends up biting you in the ass. He knows that from incredibly painful experience.
But that's a whole different universe from this.
"You want everyone to know about werewolves."
"Keeping the knowledge limited means that hunters can work with impunity," Enjolras says. "You've seen this. It gives power to murderers and oppressors, and deprives us of the protections under law to which we are entitled. Children's stories all serve to reinforce the lesson among humans that werewolves are dangerous enemies and must be destroyed. The status quo keeps us hidden and isolated and living in fear. The world must acknowledge our existence. We must stop being forced to hide. Each wolf should have the opportunity, but not the requirement, to be open about who they are without fear of retaliation. We must be able to stand high and claim the rights of full citizenship for ourselves and our packs."
Stiles scratches his neck.
"You're human," Enjolras continues. "Would you have felt more comfortable, more safe, not knowing? Would you have thanked anyone for deliberately lying to you, out of some idea that you can't handle the knowledge? How much easier would your life have been if you had been able to go to the authorities with your problems instead of the status quo requiring you to fix them on your own, with no safety net if you failed?"
"I'm not exactly disagreeing," Stiles says. "But I'm just picturing Derek right now. It's not exactly guys like me you have to convince. I'm human, I can walk away, I don't have personal skin in this fight. I got involved in this world because my BFF got turned and shit went down. And my life is heavily werewolf, but I've got a choice, I could turn around and leave. It's the people who can't, they're the ones whose opinions matter. I mean, I can go back and tell Derek that you want to stand in front of the White House and wolf out and stuff, but, um. Look, I'm just saying, I don't think he'd like that. But I'm on board. We're here, we're furry, stop shooting us with silver bullets."
Enjolras nods solemnly.
8.
The first meeting of the drag club, Stiles shows up early and so does Courfeyrac. Stiles is starting to feel a little bit stalked here. It's just like being home.
"Um, hi," Stiles says.
Courfeyrac slings an arm around Stiles's shoulder and holds him close. "We are going to have so much fun this year."
Um.
9.
"And so that's how I ended up spending the night in jail," Stiles finishes.
His dad looks a little strained. "Stiles, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"
Stiles thinks about it. "No?"
"Are you sure?"
Stiles thinks about it some more. This pack's pretty weird, but, compared to hanging around with Derek, he's safer than he's been since Scott sprouted fangs. "Yeah," he says. "It's a good environment, I'm learning a lot. I'm brushing my teeth and eating all my vegetables. I have a social life and I'm keeping pretty busy."
His dad sighs. "Well, be safe. And if you aren't, remember your rights."
"I will," Stiles says. "You're coming for the end-of-semester drag show, yeah?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
Stiles's dad is the best. Derek is a little less accepting, but Stiles manages to talk him out of calling Enjolras and starting some kind of pissy alpha fight over Stiles getting banged up at a rally.
Instead, Derek calls Enjolras and gets his okay to come visit. Which Stiles finds out when he wakes up to Derek looming over him and Grantaire cracking up from the other bed.
"A little warning would be nice," Stiles says totally calmly and rationally. Derek climbs into bed with him and starts scent-marking him.
"This is so sweet, my teeth are rotting out," Grantaire says.
Stiles flips him off behind Derek's back.
10.
Stiles couldn't decide if he thought Derek and Enjolras would get along really well or really horribly. It turns out to be a little of both. There's the requisite sniffing around each other, which is utterly hilarious, especially because Derek never wanted to be an alpha and Enjolras was democratically elected. Then Derek gruffly tells Enjolras that his pack is very healthy and fluffy and well-fed, not in those terms, and reflect well on him, in those terms. Then Enjolras says that Stiles is a wonderful human being and they are pleased to have him as their guest, which is probably at least 35% true.
Then Grantaire brings out the booze and it gets less awkward and then Derek and Enjolras get into a huge fight about visibility and intersectionality.
"Ah, friendly dialogue," Courfeyrac sniffs. "It's a beautiful thing."
11.
"No, really, I'm fine," Stiles has been repeating for the last week, but Derek drives out to attend the next rally with them anyway. It's not like they're running it or anything; they're just there to help out. Last time, it was support for the Trans Student Union and cheering loudly when Prouvaire gave her speech from the podium. Today, they're here to talk about the banks.
"And Enjolras really thinks he can get people to care about werewolf rights?" Derek asks, looking over the crowd. Enjolras is speaking passionately to a group of interested passers-by, and only one of them appears to be captivated by his looks. Stiles knows this because Grantaire gleefully keeps track and group-texts everyone the running total. Stiles had never met an alpha's mate before, but he's discovering that it seems to include a lot of posturing, possessive behavior, and calling each other an idiot, with an overall lack of appropriate boundaries. In other words, Stiles thinks he should probably be worried about his own virtue here. Then he remembers that virtue is a tool of the patriarchy to control sexual behavior and fetishize virginity.
"He thinks so," Stiles says.
Derek looks concerned. "I agree with a lot of what he's saying, but I'm not sure I can trust someone who assumes he's going to be a martyr for his cause." Derek clears his throat and Stiles catches Combeferre looking away from them somewhat-subtly. "I respect his dedication, but if you die for the cause, you aren't participating in the fight anymore. And this isn't a fight that, if started, can afford to lose anyone. It'll be hard enough. We'd need everyone we can get."
"You realize you're saying 'we'," Stiles says.
Derek smiles ruefully. "Yes."
12.
Grantaire makes a shiny poster that says Speciesism Is For Neanderthals and proudly displays it in their dorm room. He also gets t-shirts made.
"You can't fight speciesism with speciesism," Enjolras says.
Grantaire grins. "You can, you just don't want to."
Yes, Stiles thinks, being an alpha's mate certainly does seem to require a lot of athletic ability. Maybe he should join the intramural lacrosse team and keep in shape. Wouldn't want to disappoint.
13.
The drag show is a major success. Grantaire was right, Stiles definitely needed a make-up upgrade, and Stiles and Courfeyrac have a lot of fun with ABBA. Stiles's dad cheers the loudest.
Stiles's dad is always the best.
14.
End of semester and Grantaire's satisfied his living-on-campus requirement, so Stiles is resigned to being assigned another roommate over break. But then Combeferre approaches him and formally invites him to come live with the pack in their rented house. Stiles talks it over with Derek, who reluctantly gives it the okay. "But if it gets weird, you should move out as soon as you can," Derek says.
Stiles isn't sure what would constitute weird, because when he goes home over winter break, he isn't five minutes into hanging out on Derek's couch before they have to start running for their lives again.
It's kinda nice. He's missed it.
15.
Spring semester and Stiles ends up with at least one werewolf in all of his classes. It's totally a concerted effort, but, Grantaire assures him, it's a sign of acceptance, not distrust. The pack always tries to double or triple up on classes. It's getting hard for them now with the older members taking higher-level courses in vastly different fields, but in those cases, they maximize based on location.
"In case something happens, someone's close by," says Joly, who, despite being a werewolf, is the pack's medic. When Stiles had asked him how he managed wolfsbane, Joly had assured him that thick gloves and a heavy duty mask at least push off his impending death.
Joly's in Stiles's econ class along with Joly's boyfriend Bossuet. They're both undecideds, which Enjolras says is inefficient and Combeferre says is in the true spirit of learning. Bossuet's a 6th year senior, so Enjolras has a point, Bossuet cheerfully admits.
"Jack of all trades," Bossuet says, "with a Bachelors in none. I'll probably end up in law school and still never finish."
Joly's pre-med and Stiles can totally see him working for the CDC one day. He's got the paranoia down.
Apparently, werewolf bites are very unsanitary. Who knew?
16.
The first full moon is weird. Back in the dorms, Grantaire would disappear, leaving Stiles alone to Skype back home and chat with the pack. Grantaire would come back sometime in the afternoon the next day, much more relaxed and blissed out, and much more in touch with his senses. This usually meant him doing everything he could to cover up the smell of the guy smoking pot five floors above them.
Since Stiles moved in, though, they haven't discussed the full moon at all. The day before, Stiles grabs Enjolras and says, "okay for me to hide in my room, or am I moon-xiled? It's no problem, I can hang out somewhere else."
Enjolras looks like this is a very stupid question. "You live here."
"Yeah, but, you know, different pack," Stiles gestures at himself. "Is that gonna be a problem?"
"No," Enjolras says with great finality, "It won't."
Well, it is and it isn't.
Les Amis don't do anything wolftastic, but it's not like back home where there's an entire forest to play tag in and a gigantic house in the middle of nowhere to crawl home to and pig out on pizza. Instead, Les Amis will gather in the basement for a pack meeting, which Stiles has on good authority will turn into a bull session about conservationism.
And they go all out for the food, too. This explains the cooking roster in the corner that never gets touched and why Stiles's name was never added to it. This month is Combeferre's turn and Stiles gets tortured by the smell of fantastic cooking all day, and he doesn't even have extra-special senses. Courfeyrac is lying in front of the stove salivating and apparently in a staring contest with some artisinal lasagna when Stiles sneaks down to grab an early dinner.
Courfeyrac whimpers and, well, he doesn't quite paw at it. His hands aren't even clawed. But Stiles still gets the sense of a large golden retriever pining desperately to play fetch.
Stiles steps over him gingerly.
Combeferre is reading by the kitchen island and says, "you're welcome to join us."
Stiles freezes, one foot still in the air.
Combeferre turns the page. "I made enough food for a pack of werewolves. There's certainly enough for the pack and a human guest."
"Um," Stiles says.
Combeferre finally looks at him. "How about I bring you up some leftovers?" he asks kindly.
Stiles highly doubts there'll be leftovers, but it's a nice offer. "Thanks, yeah," he says, "that'd be great." And much less awkward than this.
And then two hours after moonrise, Feuilly knocks on the door. He holds the door open for Combeferre, who is holding a plate full of food, and Grantaire, who is carrying a couple beers and has a chew toy in his mouth. His still human mouth, Stiles notes, but his ears have turned. Beta ears are always the cutest.
Grantaire takes the toy out long enough to say hello, then goes sniffing around the room.
"Sorry," Combeferre says as Feuilly helps Stiles clear some room for the plate. "He's a lot bit drunk."
"I see," Stiles says.
"Bahorel's the one who gave him the bone," Combeferre says. He doesn't sound disapproving, which is surprising. He's even smiling slightly.
"Enjolras is a lightweight and goes full wolf after two drinks," Feuilly explains.
It's not much of an explanation. "Okay?" Stiles asks.
"Grantaire thinks playing fetch with the alpha is fun," Combeferre says.
Feuilly pops the cap on the beer and hands it to Stiles. "And then eventually Enjolras gets tired of his crap, herds him into a corner, and sits on him until Grantaire sings him a lullaby. Ah, the mating rituals of the American werewolf."
Stiles is staring incomprehensibly. "You-- you're kidding, right?"
"Come downstairs and find out," Combeferre invites.
Stiles does.
And, no, they weren't kidding.
17.
Okay, so, from the start, Stiles's known that Derek wants to take him back to his den and nibble on him. Stiles originally thought that meant "kill him", but is now totally clear that it means "make sweet, sweet love to you in my love shack, baby".
The problem is, Stiles is kind of a chicken.
See, he expresses his affection equal to the way it's given, which means that he and Derek have been having a courtship of mutual aggression and snark, which Stiles has been reliably informed (thanks, Lydia) is counterproductive. And while they have not actually done anything, Stiles accepts as valid any reading of his and Derek's relationship that says they've been dating since the summer after junior year.
The point is, they've never talked about any of this, but it would still totally be cheating if Derek or Stiles went on a date with anyone other than each other. Stiles would feel very justified in being jealous and pissed off, and he knows, just knows, that Derek would get into an epic sulk and destroy some things and then sulk some more.
...They probably should talk about this, right?
Bahorel glances over Stiles's head at Prouvaire and then shrugs helplessly. "Yeah, man, you should talk to him about it."
"I agree," Prouvaire says. She offers Stiles another shot of whatever the fuck they're drinking, did they make it in the bathtub? It's disgusting.
"It's good for you," Bahorel says. "Puts hair on your chest." He snickers. Oh, come on, that was so not that funny.
"I don't want him to dump me," Stiles says later to Bahorel's collar bone. His shirt is a very soft plaid. It's very homey.
Bahorel pats his shoulder and then gives him more alcohol. "He can't dump you if you weren't dating."
"Oh, god, we've been dating," Stiles says, horror dawning, "we've been dating, we've been dating, and I don't know our anniversary, I never remember his birthday, I don't think I even know his birthday, fuck, what's our anniversary? We've never been on a date! Can I count it from the first time he stripped in my bedroom? Should I count it from the first time he stripped in my bedroom?"
"Why was he stripping in his bedroom?" Courfeyrac asks Bahorel. Bahorel shrugs from beneath Stiles. Stiles dislodges a little and his head rubs against the side of Bahorel's binder as he falls down.
Stiles in too busy panicking to bother answering. "Oh my god, I'm the worst boyfriend ever, the worst. I don't know his birthday, I don't know his favorite color -- no, that one's black, I feel confident that his favorite color is black. His favorite hobbies are stalking, breaking and entering -- fuck, we've been living Twilight, haven't we? I'm Bella Swan! Oh, fuck, I'm Bella Swan! This is bad, this is very bad. I can't get pregnant, right? Derek's manly-- wolfly cock can't get me pregnant, right? Fuck, my life's a cautionary tale, how did this happen? How am I dating Derek Hale and I don't even know if he likes Kirk or Picard! Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is bad, this is so bad. He seems a Kirk guy, do you think? Maybe he'd take the third option and go with Sisko, and I'd respect that. I respect Sisko. But I'm a Picard guy. Fuck, our love is doomed. Doomed."
"Things will look better in the morning," Prouvaire reassures him.
"Oh, I fucking hope so," Stiles says and promptly passes out.
18.
"Dude, Les Amis are weird," Stiles complains to Scott.
Scott scratches his nose. "Weirder than Jackson turning into a lizard?"
Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it. He huffs. "Point taken."
"Hey, man, until they're weirder than high school, you're living the good life. Enjoy it."
Yeah, he's got a point. But about that. "Uh, hey, Scott. About that. Do you know Derek's birthday?"
Scott shrugs. He is the most unhelpful friend ever. "I dunno," he says. "Text him and ask? Why this sudden interest?"
"Oh, nothing," Stiles says. Skype is great. It lets him lie to werewolves. But there's only so much he can lie to Scott, who's looking at Stiles like Stiles is never getting away with that shit, ever, but isn't Scott a nice friend to give him a pass this time. "If it helps," Stiles says, "I think Les Amis are keeping me around for comic relief and general entertainment."
Scott nods. "Yeah, we figured."
19.
What Stiles doesn't tell Scott is that, when Stiles had been fighting the hangover, Enjolras had helped him up and Stiles had informed him that they have to fight for their right.
To party.
Enjolras had been very unimpressed.
Stiles sucks as comic relief.
20.
Marius Pontmercy comes into Stiles's life with a bag of clothes and a runny nose. He gets folded into Courfeyrac's arms, moaning about handkerchiefs and codes and maybe the hankie code, Stiles isn't sure. He's got a load of Marius's laundry and he's being helpful and throwing it into the wash.
"Thanks, man," Marius is saying when Stiles comes back upstairs. "I'm so sorry to barge in, but can I sleep with you?"
"My futon is your futon," Courfeyrac tells him and Marius hugs him tighter, sobbing. Stiles looks at the rest of Les Amis, who are all standing around awkwardly, trying to simultaneously offer help and be unobtrusive. All of them, that is, except for Enjolras, who looks frustrated.
Enjolras must say something too low for Stiles to hear, because Marius lifts his head and snarls at Enjolras. "How was I supposed to know my next-door neighbors were hunters?"
Courfeyrac pets Marius's hair. "How did you find out?"
"I got onto their e-mail list somehow," Marius says. "So I started getting their newsletters. And mostly I just trashed them, because I don't need your spam, we just live next to each other, I don't care about your lives, you can go do whatever, run around at any time of night, look suspicious and shady, what do I care? I'm not policing your lifestyle. But then I read one, and then I ran into one of their daughters and she had a crossbow--"
This is starting to sound really familiar.
"Um," Stiles says, and everyone looks at him. "They aren't Argents, are they?"
"No, Jondrettes," Marius says. "That's what they called themselves. And then there was this girl, not the one with the crossbow, not their other daughter, you know that girl we used to see all the time in school, but never talked to? I think her name is Ursula? She got hot." He turns bright red. "I mean, she got turned. Not that she got hot. I mean, she's hot. She's very hot. But that's not why I started noticing her, I promise! And she dropped her handkerchief and I thought I could track her back to her home, nothing creepy! But so I could find out her name and maybe introduce myself--"
"Cosette Fauchelevent," Bahorel says.
"And it wasn't even her handkerchief!" Marius finishes, then he blinks. "What?"
"Cosette Fauchelevent," Bahorel repeats. "She was in my girl scout troop and now I teach her self-defense class."
Marius's eyes are wide. "Can you introduce us?"
"I can do one better and introduce you to her girlfriend, too," Bahorel says. He's looking at Enjolras when he says, "Eponine Jondrette."
21.
Stiles goes home for a couple days and fights vampires with the pack and then crawls into bed with Derek and his phone buzzes. It says: 'we're going to be having guests the first night you're back. Wear something respectable.'
Derek grunts at him. Stiles kisses his furrowed brow. "The drama never stops," he intones.
22.
The first revelation is that it's Eponine Thenardier, not Jondrette. Apparently the Jondrettes are as good at following human laws as the Argents are, and, being more unlucky, are currently on the run from the cops for murder. Eponine's not enthused about their line of business, especially not since her girlfriend became a werewolf.
They're holding hands through dinner and Stiles says to them, "so, hey, I've got this friend, Scott."
23.
By the time Scott and Allison get a free weekend to come visit, Eponine-and-Cosette have become Eponine-and-Cosette-and-Marius, but thankfully for Courfeyrac's futon, they've found a separate apartment, and Courfeyrac flits back and forth between the pack house and their apartment.
Oh, and Allison and Eponine apparently went to Junior Hunter Summer Camp together. This on top of the fact that Marius and Eponine's dads were in Vietnam together.
"This world is really small," Cosette says. "Have you ever noticed that?"
"Tell me about it," Marius says.
24.
Stiles gets arrested for the fourth time right before midterms. Grantaire keeps a running tally on the chalk board, calls it their shame spiral. Only about half of Les Amis have arrest tally marks up there; a lot of them can't afford -- financially, mentally, physically, or otherwise -- to risk it. Stiles is pretty low down on all the other marks, but, despite appearances, he's not actually a member of Les Amis.
"We could start an auxiliary group," he proposes to Cosette and Eponine while Marius putters around, trying to find his lost tie. "Call ourselves Les Other Folks."
"Or maybe the Not Prettier Than Enjolras Club," Cosette says.
Marius turns sharply. "I think you're prettier than Enjolras," he says very sincerely.
Cosette smiles. Eponine smirks. Stiles mentally awards himself sole membership to the Fourth Wheel Club.
25.
Stiles can't make it home for Passover because of midterms. The schedule is just too tight. His dad says he understands, that it's a good opportunity for Stiles to really connect with the community on campus. He doesn't say "and make some other friends", but Stiles is very aware that his social circle these days are werewolves, werewolf-adjacent humans, and drag queens. It's like high school all over again.
"So you're gonna be here for the seder?" Feuilly asks.
"Yeah," Stiles says. "Do you know of any around here? I'm really flexible."
"I know a couple," Feuilly says.
This is how Stiles gets invited to the Eat Matza Not Bootstraps seder in town.
The seder's always on the full moon, but that's not an issue. It's just a matter of self-control and Stiles has never seen Feuilly lose control. Feuilly is one of the pillars of Les Amis. "I drink grape juice just to make sure, though," Feuilly explains. "But it's a good group. No one cares if you start heading down some weird tangent and end up talking about the partition of Poland. I speak from personal experience."
It's cool. It's a bunch of folks Feuilly knows from work and temple. Stiles isn't the only one with a boyfriend. Feuilly's not the only werewolf.
When they leave, Feuilly turns to him and says, "next year, out of the closet."
26.
It can't last. Stiles has learned this lesson very well: it can't last.
It doesn't.
27.
When Eponine gets shot, when Prouvaire gets taken, when the fight gets taken to the streets, when Enjolras makes his last stand, Grantaire gripping his hand tight, when it makes all the news channels, breaking news across the country, across the world, when Stiles's phone starts ringing and doesn't stop, when someone goes on CNN and talks about stage makeup, when Bossuet heals in front of the camera, when it all falls apart too rapidly to understand or even process--
That's when Stiles gets knifed while wearing a dress and it has nothing at all to do with werewolves and everything to do with himself.
28.
Dad's at the hospital when Stiles wakes up. He looks... he looks very human.
"You're going to be okay," Dad says.
Derek is hovering behind Dad's back and Stiles makes a little shooing motion at him. Or, well, he tries to, but it turns out that's a bit too painful right now. Derek takes the hint anyway.
"Um, about that," Stiles says. "I'm kinda dating Derek?"
"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," Dad says.
29.
Stiles manages to salvage the semester without having to withdraw, but it's a near thing. Dad's saying maybe Stiles should come home and do the summer semester at Beacon Hills Community College while he recovers. Derek has taken to having very loud, very threatening calls with Enjolras.
"It wasn't his job to protect me," Stiles protests.
"Yes, it was," Derek says.
"Yeah, it really was," Grantaire agrees. He and Stiles are lying around the basement den. They're supposedly studying, but really it's just Stiles complaining about Derek's form of patriarchy. Alphaiarchy? Alpha bullshit, Stiles decides.
"It wasn't even a wolf thing," Stiles points out.
"Doesn't matter," Grantaire says. "You got hurt on Enjolras's territory while you were visiting our pack. Your alpha's got a duty to be pissed off. It's just part of the job. I stubbed my toe once when I visited MOMA and Enjolras called the alpha to tell her that her territory isn't idiot-proof." He looks thoughtful. "I suspect she already knew that."
"I'd hope so," Stiles says.
"Hey," Grantaire says, leaning in and touching Stiles's arm. "Listen. Just because they have to do it, doesn't mean you have to put up with it. You can tell him to back off. Make your boundaries in your pack and in your relationship, okay? If you like him doing it, let him do it. If it's really bugging you, tell him to stop. But Enjolras isn't going to kick you out of the house just because your alpha is leaving him threatening texts about tearing his balls off. Werewolf posturing, you know. If, as far as you're concerned, shit happened and that's what shit does, that's totally fine. But your alpha almost lost you. He's taking his worry out on a totally acceptable target. That's what Enjolras is there for. He's in charge, he gets to deal with all the shit that comes with it."
"It's so much alpha bullshit," Stiles moans. "So much."
"Yep," Grantaire agrees. "You should stick around. The next horizon for Enjolras to conquer is pack equality. That's gonna be a fun one."
"Oh, god," Stiles says, imagining it.
30.
"I survived freshman year," Stiles announces. "We are having a party."
Half of Les Amis ended up dropping the semester and Enjolras, well, no one's entirely sure what Enjolras's academic status is, Enjolras included. There's a pack in Nashville that's been dominating the news cycle because of their new reality show, and Congress has been subpoenaing all the American alphas who've come forward. Enjolras and Prouvaire's trust funds are getting a lot of use and there's talk going around about setting up foundation to help pay everyone's legal fees. Combeferre got into a fight on MSNBC yesterday about medical ethics and trended on Twitter. Then his mom called. Cosette's dad insisted on paying all of Eponine's medical bills. No one goes anywhere alone.
Stiles is human, but someone from goddamn Rolling Stone wants to interview him about his experiences in the pack, about having both an insider and an outsider view of werewolf culture. He'd redirected them to Lydia and everyone ended up happy, but what is happening with his life? He signed up for keeping Scott alive, because god knows Scott wouldn't have managed to do that on his own, and his pack is his family. They're his friends. They're his world. He doesn't know where he'd be in life if Scott hadn't been turned, but he does know his life wouldn't be nearly so fun.
He doesn't care what anyone says; he's still doing his summer internship and volunteering at the library. He'll go home on weekends once he's safe to drive a couple hours at a stretch, but that's it. He isn't running and hiding. Not from this.
It's true he could walk away, but every time he doesn't, he's making a choice not to. He's choosing this life, because it's his life and he likes it.
He wouldn't have it any other way.
This entry was originally posted at http://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/762569.html.