Good Grief

reveal.

014.

Clint pulled down the duffel bag from where it sat on a shelf in the evidence room on the S.H.I.E.L.D side of the Avengers Compound. It looked innocent enough, a black Nike bag that had been stolen from one of the lockers back at the community center, along with the clothes Stiles had been wearing when he was pulled from the lake. His curiosity concerning the teenager had grown larger after Tony's little stint of convincing them that the kid wasn't exactly as evil as they had originally thought. 

He was kind of half and half as to whether or not he believed the billionaire, but Clint did admit that they all jumped into the interrogations a little too fast with a little too much excitement. He supposed it was from the pent-up adrenaline that was running through their veins after the months of missions that led up to a two-month break full of silence that had them all itching to get back into the field again. 

Of course, the break did them some good, it allowed for them to visit the people they were close with or family members that were worried sick for them due to their line of work, but it was weird not hearing the blaring alarm at the tower 24/7 like they had when the Avengers Initiative had first started up. Things were calmer now, and they had to get used to it.

But when the first sign of something to do came up, they were all a little too eager. Hence the situation with Stiles. It was no secret that Fury has kept things from them (he thought back to when he believed Coulson was dead only to find out that he was alive and kicking) so to hear that there was a whole 'nother part to the story shouldn't have been surprising, and it wasn't, at least until Fury had strictly stated that he really didn't know there was more information than what they had. 

And sure, while there was a chance that there was a lot that they didn't know, that didn't erase the incriminating evidence they had that pointed towards Stiles' actions. 

It was a tough situation, and it would be so much easier if the stubborn kid would just talk. 

Clint shook his head, pulling open the zipper of the bag and he could have laughed at how pitiful the contents of the bag were. Soggy clothes were pushed to the side, squeezed against a pillow, with the baseball bat resting on top. 

And that was it. 

There wasn't anything in the bag that gave anything up, but Clint found himself picking up the red hoodie. In a lot of the photographs included in the file about Stiles, the hoodie had been a recurring item, it obviously held some sort of value to the seventeen-year-old. He pursed his lips, shoving it back in the bag and tossing it back onto the shelf, though he knew that he would be back. 

It had only been around fifteen minutes since Stark had left the conference room, and about ten minutes since the remaining members in the room had argued about their stance on the issue. 

Clint didn't really know where he stood yet, and he hoped after Tony's promise that Stiles would spill the full story. 

God, he hoped that was true but this kid was probably more stubborn that Tony Stark, or even Natasha when it came to talking about her personal life. And he was really freaking frustrating.

-

Stiles looked around the workshop in awe, deeming the area the most expensive place he's ever seen, even after he's walked around through parts of the compound. The corners of his lips twitched when he thought about how Lydia would be ecstatic to see a place like this, but he quickly dismissed the thought when he felt a heavyweight in his heart. 

He missed them, so much.

His fingers slid across the rim of the metal slotted in his chest, suddenly anxious at the idea of getting it switched with another one. It didn't help that he was seemingly being haunted by Void Stiles, and the sight of his corpse-like doppelganger was making his insides twist uncomfortably.

Either that, or it was the numbing hunger he was experiencing. 

"Pay attention to where you're walking, kid." Tony's voice shook him from his thoughts. "DUM-E isn't here if you knock over anything flammable, and I'm not gonna be the one to clean that mess up." Stiles rolled his eyes, idly dodging the table in front of him. 

"Alright, have a seat there," The mechanic pointed at the slanted, dentistry-looking chair on one side of the workshop. Stiles slowly complied, taking a seat, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. The last thing he wanted to do was electrocute Tony. 

He let out a deep sigh, watching Tony walk back and forth, setting different things on the table next to the chair, though none of the items looked threatening. Stiles bit his lip, feeling his heart beat faster when the engineer walked towards him, an arc reactor in his hand. "So, this might be a little uncomfortable but it's quick." Tony shrugged casually. "Just don't, like, move or anything, got it?" 

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed as he tried to drown out Oliver's voice in his head. "If you kill me, I will haunt your ass, I'm not kidding." He grumbled. 

Tony only laughed, probably not taking his threat seriously, but at the moment, the teenager was completely serious. Stiles scoffed at the disregard, taking his shirt off to expose his bony torso and bruised chest, though he was grateful that Tony didn't comment on it, only taking a look at the metal contraption that Stiles somehow constructed. 

"Jesus kid, what the fuck is this?" He remarked, looking at the hunk of rusted metal. "Full offense, but I'm surprised that you haven't kicked the bucket." 

"Don't look at me," Stiles was quick to defend himself. "It's not like I know." 

The Avenger just shook his head, turning around before exposing a tool that Stiles didn't care enough to know the name of. "Alright, so I'm just gonna pop that sucker out, and pop this one," He gestured to the shiny arc reactor, "In." He explained though Stiles wasn't really listening anymore. 

He was already bored. 

A gasp left his mouth when Tony twisted the reactor in order to pull it from his chest, his heart skipping a beat as he suddenly felt...empty. He opened his mouth, attempting to say something when the engineer put a hand up to stop him, using his other hand to grab the new reactor. "Calm down." He said stiffly, slotting the metal in.

Though, Tony was slightly intrigued. The casing in his chest was...perfect. The metal was clean and well crafted, but the reactor itself was utterly disgusting. How that was possible when Stiles had admitted to having no memory of building the object was a little unnerving to think about. But in his time since becoming Iron Man, the impossible was clearly making itself become possible. 

Stiles took a deep breath when the Stark-made arc reactor was inserted into his chest, and in a shocking way, suddenly felt a lot better. 

Though it was short-lived because not even a minute after his reactor was replaced, Stiles' chest lurched and his eyes widened. 

Tony took a large step back, though his eyes never left Stiles, his jaw dropping as he watched Stiles' eye color change from hazel to a blinding blue, so bright it was teetering the edge of becoming white. 

But like Stiles' moment of peace, it only lasted for a moment. Two seconds after his eyes were blue, they were once again hazel and Stiles slumped back into the chair, his eyes shut tight and his body language communicating that he was most likely unconscious.

Somewhat worried, Tony took a step back towards the boy, only for Stiles to gasp back awake. He flailed up, nearly falling out of the chair, causing Tony to raise his hands, rushing towards him in order to stabilize him. "Woah, woah, chill out." He stated. 

Stiles looked up at him, his expression one of shock. The teenager slowly reached up to caress his own face, and that's when Tony noticed that the cuts and bruises that were previously littering his face were...gone.

"What did you do to me?" He questioned, his voice shaky. Suddenly, his eyes widened more as he twisted in the chair, bringing his feet up towards him. He looked around, grabbing the sharpest thing near him, causing Tony to intervene. 

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" But his question was ignored as he watched Stiles attempt to saw off the cast occupying his ankle. Feeling a moral obligation as an adult, Tony stepped forward, attempting to pry the letter opener from the teenager's hands. 

"No, stop!" Stiles shouted, "Stop! Look!" He paused for a second, allowing for Tony to snatch the sharp tool from his hands. Stiles used both his hands to pull apart the slit he cut in the cast, exposing clear skin, save for the scars he's previously gained. No evidence of a broken ankle. 

"Okay, what the hell?" Tony mumbled underneath his breath before he helped the teen cut off the rest of his cast. Any sign of the broken bone was gone. Stiles looked down at his abdomen, unsure if he was shocked or not that the stitched gash was gone. He stood up quickly, nearly knocking into Tony as he bent down to grab his shirt from the floor, pulling it on. 

The only time he's witnessed accelerated healing like that was with werewolves. He was pretty sure not even Captain America could heal that quickly. 

Tony was confused as well because while Stiles' injuries healed, his skin remained sickly pale and the bags under his eyes were still there. It looked like whatever happened cured the surface injuries, not the exhaustion. "Uh," He said awkwardly. "How're you feeling, kid?" He questioned, remembering the hypothermia and bronchitis the teenager supposedly had. 

"Fine, I guess," Stiles said. "Or at least, better than earlier. How did I...?" He questioned, his words trailing off, his tone showing off his confusion. 

"I don't know why you're asking me." Tony shrugged. "I'm not the one who just healed a broken bone. Why don't you tell me how you did it?"

"No fucking idea," Stiles shook his head. "That's never happened before. I-" He cut himself off, his eyes widening as he seemingly had an epiphany. He reached forward, snatching the letter opener from where Tony had set it down on a table, slicing it down the palm of his left hand before Tony could even get a word in. 

"Hey!" Tony shouted, yanking the tool from his hands before he had a chance to do it again. Stiles' hissed in pain, ignoring the engineer, staring at his hand as blood streamed from the cut. 

"It's not healing." He deadpanned. 

Tony examined his hand, the letter opener now tossed into a drawer, before he realized that maybe he shouldn't let the wound continue to bleed. "Really?" He questioned. "You decided the best way to test your healing ability was to slice your hand? Are you stupid?" 

"Probably." Stiles shrugged, brushing off his actions in a way only a teenager would. "But it's not healing. That doesn't make sense." Tony turned around, grabbing a cloth that had been abandoned on one of the many tables in his lab, tying it tightly around Stiles' hand, purposely ignoring the hiss of pain that left his mouth. 

"So you're telling me that this was the first time you've just...healed?" He questioned. 

"If it wasn't the first time, you think I would've just cut my hand?" Stiles stated, raising an eyebrow, though once again, he seemed to have another epiphany, his hands shooting up towards his chest, pressing against the arc reactor.

"It was the arc reactor." He said. 

Tony stared at him for a moment, "I'm guessing your eyes never changed color either." 

"They changed color?" Stiles looked completely taken back. "Oh my god, it really was the arc reactor." His eyes flickered around the room before he spoke again. "My chest didn't heal either, I don't get it."

It actually made sense, if it was given some real thought. Given Stiles' control over electricity, it made sense that by, in a way, giving his body a new power source would suddenly recharge him. 

Stiles shook his head, huffing before he straightened up. "Alright dude, you replaced the arc reactor and whatever, so if you want me to spill the beans, it's time to hold up your end of the bargain." 

Tony scoffed, though he didn't argue, instead he started walking towards the elevator, gesturing for Stiles to follow him. 

-

Stiles stared at his reflection in the mirror, ignoring the chill that went down his spine at the idea that he might be visited once again by his evil doppelganger. His face was ridden of any injury. Any wound that was a byproduct of HYDRA was gone. 

And it kind of freaked Stiles out. 

His shirt was off, but he wasn't interested in inspecting his no longer bruised chest, instead, he was attempting to see his back, trying to see if the purple lines decorating his skin were gone.

They were not.

The hand that he had cut was now wrapped in gauze, though it would have to be rewrapped after he showered. It stung any time he moved it, but it was a reminder that his spontaneous healing was most likely a one-time thing.

At least his ankle wasn't broken anymore. 

A pile of clothes was set on the other side of the counter, a pair of black sweatpants, a plain t-shirt, and a grey hoodie in the mix along with a couple of other items. Tony had informed him that J.A.R.V.I.S would notify him when Stiles step out of the bathroom, then it would be story time with the rest of the Avengers. 

He was so not looking forward to that. 

He sighed, turning around and heading towards the shower. This time, when he twisted the lever, water came spiraling down. Stiles quickly undressed, stepping into the shower and under the spray.

Suddenly, he felt like he could cry. In a way, the water was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It's just...it's been a while since he's actually been able to shower, and the feeling of the hot water on his head and onto his skin was somehow therapeutic. 

He turned so he was facing the water and he just stood there. Five minutes passed and he stayed basking in the warmth, actually at peace since he escaped Eichen House. The shower was calming, and as long as he stayed under the water, he could pretend that his problems were washing away with the grime. 

After a couple more minutes, Stiles finally broke his daze, looking around until he spotted the bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the shelves built into the fancy shower. It was the expensive stuff that only people as rich as Tony Stark would even bother to buy.

But with the expense came the smell of vanilla and Stiles found himself uncaring of wasting the stuff, instead lathering the shampoo into his hair. 

He spent almost forty-five minutes in the shower, scrubbing his body and his hair clean, and then just standing under the spray. He sighed, switching off the water, stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself in one of the towels neatly folded under the sink. 

He was trying to delay talking to the Avengers, taking his sweet time to dry himself off and get dressed, though despite his discomfort at the thought of spilling all his secrets- along with the sacred secret of the pack- he couldn't help but grin at himself in the mirror. 

Something about being clean just made him feel so much better. 

With a sigh, Stiles turned around, opening the door of the bathroom to reveal the same suite he had been in earlier, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie as he entered the room, his sock-clad feet lightly thudding against the carpeted floor. "Might as well let Stark know that I'm ready to talk," He spoke up to the ceiling. "Or at least, I'm supposed to be ready to talk." He rolled his eyes.

"Mister Stilinski, I would like to inform you that there are bandages under the sink. I would advise that you rebandage your hand." 

He had forgotten about that, but now that the situation had been brought up again, the stinging in his hand was back. He looked down, his nose crinkling at the sight of the red tint on the part of the gauze that was wrapped around the wound. 

Turning back around, Stiles reentered the bathroom, kneeling before the sink to pull out the small first aid kit. He hastily pulled off the sodden bandages, unimpressed to find that the cut was bleeding once again, wrapping the new bandages around his hand before securing it with the metal clasps. 

He finished right on time to, because right as he exited the bathroom, Tony was entering the suite. 

"Let's go, kiddo, people are getting impatient." He stated, leaning against the door frame. 

Stiles scoffed, "Yeah, whatever."

-

Suddenly, the thought of facing a room full of powerful adults was making Stiles feel nervous. Not only would he basically have to tell them his life story, he was now forced to explain how he had magically been healed, why every injury on his body was now replaced with smooth skin. 

It was kind of unnerving, especially when Tony was really the only one technically on his side.

But Stiles was never one to back down from a challenge. 

He swung open the door, ignoring the pit of anxiety that settled in his stomach when all eyes flickered to him, instead he fixed himself with a shitty, cocky grin. "S'up." 

Bruce was the first to speak, asking the dreaded question that he knew was inevitable. "That's not possible." He stated. "How did you-what happened?" 

The rest of the team followed suit, examining his utter lack of injuries. Luckily, before he got a chance to sputter some smart ass remark and possible dig a deeper grave, Tony cut in.

"Long story short, I replaced the reactor and all of the sudden his eyes go bright and next thing I know, kid's as good as new." He stated as he brushed past Stiles, taking his seat at the table.

'As good as new' was a bit of an overstatement because while Stiles had no actual injuries and he no longer looked like a sewer rat, his skin was still a milky white and the bags under his eyes were pretty much designer. 

"Don't worry, pretty sure it was only a temporary thing." The teen stated, holding up his bandaged hand.

"Why don't you have a seat?" Steve spoke up, gesturing the chair on the end of the table, the one that would have Steve on one side of him and Thor on the other. 

"Hold on," Stiles crossed his arms, his voice confident. "I've got some terms and conditions first." 

"I don't think you're in any place to be bargaining." Sam pulled a face. 

"Aren't I?" He raised an eyebrow, a devious glint in his eye. "I mean, you want answers. The only person who has them is me. I pretty much have the upper hand." His lips twitched in a smirk. 

"Come on, we had a deal." Tony scoffed. 

Stiles grit his teeth when he could've sworn that he heard someone whisper, never trust a fox, but he forced himself to ignore it. 

"We did." He nodded, "But now we're going to make another one. If I'm gonna tell what you want to know, you're going to have to promise that you'll leave my friends and my family out of this." 

The group was silent before Cap spoke up, "Fine. We pro-"

"No, not you." Stiles interrupted him, he scanned the group until his eyes landed on the Director, the man who's been nothing but silent since Stiles arrived. "You," He pointed. "Promise you'll leave them out of this, and then I'll talk." 

Nick Fury watched him through his one good eye, slightly impressed with the teenager's ability to talk to him with such a tone without his voice even wavering. "Fine," He stated, "I'll leave them alone, but that's all I'm promising." 

"Good." Stiles nodded before he turned towards the next person, "And you," He pointed at Coulson, glaring at the man. "You know what you did and you know what you owe me." He sneered.

Everyone, save for Coulson himself and possibly Tony, were rendered completely confused at what Stiles was getting out, but they assumed from Phil's shit-eating grin, that it wasn't that serious. 

Without saying another word, Stiles took his seat, casually leaning back in the conference chair. He looked at the manila folder that laid on the table a few inches in front of him, pulling it towards him without a second thought. Ignoring the looks he received, he folded it open, snorting slightly at the size of the folder. "Huh, so this is all you guys know?" When Natasha brought the folder to him, he didn't actually look at it, but now, it was obvious that more than half the story was missing. He flipped through a couple of the papers, stopping when a photograph was shown between pieces of paper.

His whole demeanor softened as he picked up the photo, a small, pained smile on his face. It was a picture of him, Scott, and Lydia. He could remember the day it was taken, in that brief period between the whole surrogate sacrifice thing and when the nightmares and darkness began. When they were all somewhat happy. They were at some diner in Los Angeles, a day trip they had taken along with Allison and Isaac. They had been goofing off, and when Allison told them to smile, the three of them struck the same pose and grinned for the camera.

It seemed like so long ago.

Swallowing down his nostalgia, Stiles set the photo down, "So, guess we have to begin, huh?"

"And how do we know you'll be telling the truth?" Rhodey asked, glancing from Stiles to Tony.

"You don't, actually," Stiles shrugged. "But I do. And believe me, I would not be telling you any of this if I had a choice," He glanced around at all of them, pursing his lips, "And I kind of guess I don't." 

He watched as Natasha and Clint shared a look, one that he couldn't exactly read, but instead of questioning it, he decided to bite the bullet and get started. 

"Okay so, I guess it all started on the night before winter break ended, which, by itself, is shitty, ya know? Anyways, I was bored and I was messing with the police radio I had in my car, and I overheard my dad calling in people to help with some search in the woods for a body. So obviously, I had to go check it out." He explained, only to be interrupted by Bruce. 

"You went body hunting?" He questioned as if that's the weirdest thing he's ever heard. 

"Uh yeah. Believe it or not, but Beacon Hills is boring as hell." He rolled his eyes before continuing. "I stopped by Scott's house and pretty much forced him to come with me, but because he's my best friend, he would've came with me whether or not I begged him. So yeah, we went to the woods and we started searching. Now that I look back on it though, probably wasn't the best idea to do it while my dad and his troopers were out there." He shrugged. 

"Oh really, that is why that wasn't the best idea?" Coulson questioned, earning another dirty look from the teenager. 

"Also, what does body hunting have to do with you blowing up a Sheriff's station?" Clint added on, gaining the same expression as Coulson.

"Well if I wasn't getting interrupted so much, I would be able to get to that part, wouldn't I?" He bit back sarcastically. "Anyways, after I was so rudely interrupted," He could've laughed at the look Steve gave him, "It really wasn't much of a surprise that I got caught by my dad, but it was just me, and I wasn't gonna bring Scott down with me, so I told my dad that I was there alone. So I ended up getting grounded for a week, and Scott was left in the woods alone. And you know what? That little son of a bitch found the body." Til this day, Stiles was still a little pressed that Scott found the body without him. "But that wasn't the worse part," He took a deep breath, gearing up for the big reveal. "Scott got bit, by a werewolf." 

Now, Stiles was expecting cryptic looks and questioning glances, but what he wasn't expecting was for Clint Barton to burst into laughter. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, running his uninjured hand through his hair. The expensive shampoo and conditioner had made his hair undeniably soft, and he found himself comforted by the fact that his hair was no longer stringer and greasy. His hair was fluffy, as it always has been, but unlike the times he's styled his hair to stand up, it flopped against his head, the fringe almost long enough to fall across his eyes. 

"Did I say something funny?" He asked, unimpressed by the spy's reaction. 

Everyone but Tony, Thor, and surprisingly Fury, was giving him disbelieving looks. 

"I'm sorry, just," Clint was giving hearty chuckles, mocking wiping a tear from his eyes, "You expect us to believe that werewolves are real? I was betting that you were gonna lie, kid, but this is too much."

Stiles gave him an incredulous look, "You guys fought aliens, he's an actual God," He pointed at Thor, "But saying werewolves are real is a reach? Unbelievable."

"I believe you." His head whipped towards Fury so fast, he got a little dizzy. Director Nick Fury, the man who ordered his capture in the first place, believed him. 

"You do?"

"I've seen some weird shit in my day, werewolves are the least craziest thing I've heard." 

He gaped, though he didn't have time to speak when Thor cut in. "Werewolves have not existed on Earth in centuries, while I'm not saying you're lying, I don't think it would be possible for them to exist without anyone on Asgard being aware." 

"No offense, but that's where you're wrong." He stated. "Werewolves haven't gone extinct."

The God of Thunder gave him an odd look, and for some reason, Stiles couldn't help but feel like Thor was looking deeper. Suddenly, he found himself no longer wanting to tell the whole thing as one story, so he came up with an idea, "Look, this is a really long story, so why don't I tell you the things you really want to know?" He suggested. "Ask the questions you're really wanting to ask." 

They all looked at each other, communicating in a way that made Stiles feel uncomfortable and out of the loop, before Natasha gave him a pointed look. 

"Why did you blow up the Sheriff's station?"