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Even with Scott siphoning the pain away, Stiles can still feel the ache in his ribs. Allison's being as gentle as she can, but fuck. Broken ribs hurt, no matter what.
"We'll get him next time," Allison says quietly as she finishes wrapping his ribs.
Stiles laughs stiltedly, wincing when his ribs remind him why that's not a good idea. "Four of us couldn't manage it. We might need to call in reinforcements."
"We can handle it," Scott insists. He nudges Stiles's shoulders, helping him to sit up and wincing with him at the spasm of pain.
"Scott," Stiles sighs, exhausted. "We have to."
"He's retired," Scott replies, chin set at his most stubborn angle.
"If anyone deserves a retirement, it's him," Stiles agrees as he leans back against Allison. "But he's also the only one who can get inside Peter's head. He's the only one who can figure out Peter's end game."
"I don't even have his number," Scott says quietly, giving in.
"Me neither," Allison chimes in.
Stiles sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, grateful that it, at least, didn't end up in the same condition as his ribs. "I do." He scrolls through his contacts and taps the entry he needs. He almost holds his breath as the line rings in his ear, but the twinge in his ribs reminds him why shallow breaths are an awesome idea.
"Stiles?" the voice on the other end says, worry in his voice.
"Hey, Derek."