Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4438700.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Scott_McCall
  Additional Tags:
      Book_five!, Last_book, oh_man, more_tags_to_come, but_-_Freeform, Sex,
      Anal_Sex, Fingering, Blindfolds, kinda_dirty_talk, idk_I_suck_at_it,
      Mention_of_Underage_Sex, Touchy-Feely, like_idk_touch_kink?, almost,
      Exploration, Oh, and_scott_is_very_unhappy, Scott_McCall_&_Stiles
      Stilinski_Friendship, Scott's_getting_there
  Series:
      Part 5 of Explosions_In_The_Sky
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-27 Completed: 2017-05-23 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 39587
****** Take Care, Take Care, Take Care ******
by Heroesareoverwith
Summary
     Stiles goes back to Beacon Hills to let his father and the pack know
     about his relationship. He decides its better to let Scott's senses
     figure it out rather than telling him aloud. Yeah, because that's a
     good idea.
Notes
     Hello my wonderful readers! Here is the start of book five! I hope
     you enjoy it! There will be an epilogue after this book as well, so
     even if it is the "last" book, it's not the end end. Alrighty, hope
     you enjoy this chapter!
     Big thanks to CloveeD for letting me whine to her as always and for
     help with plotting and figuring out what maybe is hopefully sexy.
     Kay.
     Your kudos and comments are appreciated always! They really help fuel
     the writing and make me blush like crazy so thank you wonderful
     people.
     Some comments at the end about the underage stuff.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Last Known Surroundings *****
“Stiles!”
The teen couldn't help but jump and shout some expletive the moment he heard
his name at the window, heard a hand slamming against the glass. Alright, so,
jump was a bit of an understatement, but computer chairs were way sturdier than
they looked, and Stiles was beyond grateful for that fact, of else he would be
on the floor right about now but still. When he was sure his heart wasn't about
to jump out of his chest, he whipped his head around to see Scott at the
window, banging, his face looking momentarily panicked.
“Jesus Christ, Scotty,” he grumbled to himself before getting up from the chair
that saved his life. He went to the window and opened it, shoving his head out
into the cool air with his friend. “Y'know, I have this marvelous invention
called a phone, in which you can announce your arrival to me. There is also an
even handier invention called a front door. Why do all of you wolves insist on
coming into my room from my window when there is a perfectly good front door?”
“Stiles!” His friend said again, hands rising up from emphasis.
“What, Scott?! What?!”
“You didn't tell me you were coming back!”
“Yeah, about that I—“
“Is Peter stalking you?”
“What? No, why?”
“He's here, in Beacon Hills! The other Hales aren't here, why is he?”
“Oh, uh,” Stiles paused, looking at his friend. Yeah, Scott was going to find
out wasn't he? Stiles didn't exactly tell anyone but Lydia what he had went
back to ”school” for, had mostly just that something bad had happened. Okay,
and maybe his father thought that it had something to do with Thomas rather
than Peter. Neither Scott nor his father would have exactly been happy with him
gallivanting off to save Peter's life after the whole seer incident, right? So
Stiles hadn't lied, he'd just, of course, abstained from revealing certain
truths about the situation. So not lying.
But, well, Stiles did say he was going to come clean, right?
“Well, about that, Scotty, he uh, he came back with me. Not after me. With me.”
And wow, Scott had never looked more confused in his life. Stiles had missed
the adorable lost puppy look.
“What do you mean he came back with you?” Scott asked, and Stiles could tell he
was trying to keep some disbelief out of his voice. If he started asking if
Stiles was hypnotized, then Stiles was definitely closing the window.
“Yeah, well, buddy, you and I need to have a little chat, nothing big or
anything, but definitely something that needs discussing just in a normal
discussion way,” Stiles said, clearing his throat. “You want to come in here a
moment?”
It was a horrible, horrible idea to invite Scott in, and yet...well, it might
make the explanation a bit easier considering the events that took place in his
room the previous night…
His best friend, brow still sufficiently furrowed, nodded and crawled in
through the window while Stiles pulled back. But the moment Scott was fully in,
took in a deep breath before speaking, well...the reaction was exactly what
Stiles imagined it to be. His eyes widened, and he scented the air for a moment
again before looking a bit green.
“S-Stiles?! What the hell?!”
***
Needless to say, there were multiple new developments in Stiles' life, and he
was not opposed to any of them in the least.
He was not opposed, after that first night, to the new development in which
Peter would come up behind him, place a hand to Stiles' navel and press him
back into the solid wolf's body, kiss down Stiles' neck, nibble at his ear,
play with the few little hairs of his happy trail right before they disappeared
down below the waistband of his boxer-briefs. For a glorious hand job or to
just tease him, either was fine with Stiles.
He was not opposed to the new development of Peter displaying to him just why
shower sex was not as breathtaking as it seemed on TV, but dealt with it anyway
because Stiles was so gung-ho about the entire thing. The water just kept
washing away the lube anyway, and it somehow just ended up in a sopping wet
make out session that Stiles would have been more okay with if the spray from
the shower didn't keep shooting him in the face.
Peter made it up to him with the new development of pinning Stiles against his
Jeep during a rainstorm, where the water was much more soft, and kissing
Peter's wet-slick lips, watching the drips fall between them, and down Peter’s
hair, over that white shirt where so many muscles were free and on display.
Where those red eyes stuck out so clearly in the dark green of the teens around
them, the blue overtones of the rain, the darkness of the clouds. (And okay,
Peter definitely wanted to prove he was romantic as shit, and he had several
times over, but this was like some straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel
shit, this was almost so romantic it was sappy. Not that Stiles was
complaining.)
There was the new development of Peter literally wining and dining Stiles.
Taking him out for a new outfit, in which Peter's eyes hungrily swept over him
several times. Then again, Stiles always had looked good in red. Then the wolf
took him to a fancy restaurant where Stiles couldn't pronounce half the things
on the menu, and was given wine despite being under age. Delicious red wine
that Stiles couldn't really tell apart from a seven dollar bottle but,
whatever, Peter said he would learn over time. They'd barely made it back to
the apartment before Stiles was down on his knees and sucking the wolf into his
mouth, putting their good, long, many hours of practice to use. It'd taken
Peter about a half hour before he was ready to go again, pulling out some more
wine at home for the both of them in the meantime before fucking Stiles into
the mattress and making a mark on Stiles' shoulder so large that the teen
couldn't wear any shirt without a crew collar for a few days.
There'd been the new development of Peter bending Stiles over the counter in
Peter's kitchen and fingering him until he was a sweating, blubbering mess,
with Peter's mouth pressed against his neck, hissing deliciously filthy things
that honestly should be banned from anyone's vocabulary because holy shit. This
was possibly one of Stiles' favorite developments.
Oh, and the new development of Peter claiming yes, he'd watch whatever show
Stiles wanted to watch on Netflix, but halfway through just decided it would be
better to blow the teen instead, spreading Stiles' legs on the couch and
dragging that sinful mouth practically anywhere he could because the wolf could
not stand one more moment of Adventure Time. Stiles put on Adventure time
several more times after that. Each time received the same result. It was
actually beautiful. And did not give Stiles any incentive to pick a different
show.
There had been a night at a jazz club, really, a jazz club, and when later that
night, in the living room and listening to more jazz quietly over the speakers
in the wolf’s apartment, Peter swept Stiles into his arms and danced with him
right there in the soft glow of the light. The Alpha promised him a trip to New
York where they would eat at this “wonderful little hole-in-the-wall Italian
place,” and they would go to The Blue Note afterward. Sappy fucking romantic.
There were dinners made together where Peter actually took the time (or
attempted) to teach Stiles to cook. There were breakfasts shared where the wolf
honest to God brought Stiles something in bed, and they ate together
comfortably, and Stiles read Cracked.com articles on his phone while Peter
reread that copy of “The Prince” he'd purchased from Jaylen's bookshop so far
back, and mumbling under his breath that people never actually knew what
Machiavelli was actually talking about. And there were times (times that Peter
would full heartedly deny) in which the two of them actually curled up together
on the couch. Peter Hale, The Peter Hale, ex-serial killer Peter Hale, cuddled.
They showered together, and argued literature together, and worked on Stiles'
magic together.
And then Stiles had gone back to Beacon Hills.
Apparently, it'd taken Peter about a half hour of pacing his apartment in
boredom before telling Jaylen and Thomas that they were in charge of the
territory for a little while (not really a smart move on Peter's part but
Jaylen had gotten a gun since then and Mizuki had made some promise of a
fearful display of transforming into a large spider. Really, it was
terrifying.) before following after him. Stiles had, of course, made fun of him
relentlessly when Peter called him to announce his arrival, something along
lines from some movie (that he totally did not remember), “you wanna daaateee
me, you wanna kissss me—“
It was a reaction just obnoxious enough that Peter ended up actually coming to
Stiles' bedroom window and coming inside shortly after hanging up. Which had
never happened. Stiles was glad to see the Derek Hale Werewolf Handbook rules
were still being followed. Creeps.
“You know, I'm not altogether surprised that this is what your room looked
like,” the wolf commented, raising his eyebrows. He was sure to take in the old
skateboarder poster thrown off to the corner somewhere (because Stiles was
mature and had wanted to get rid of it when he realized there was the
possibility of Lydia Martin or any other girl coming into his room) and Peter
looked at the old wall where he'd kept track of the murders, the jumble of
supernatural activity. Stiles' desk, his bed, his closet. And all of this just
put off what Peter had originally come there for, and Stiles was so riddled
with anticipation of probably some kind of spanking or possible other torturous
(and absolutely lovely) fingering session that he finally just lost it.
But no, instead of reprimanding Stiles for what he said over the phone, Peter
had to go and be slight normal, and nosey, and taking his time just walking
around Stiles’ room looking at random objects and picking things up. All the
while, Stiles waited on his bed, watching the wolf and thinking of all the ways
Peter could get at him, and honestly, enough was enough.
“Oh my God, just punish me already!”
“Poor choice of words,” Peter mentioned while still examining some old
classwork from high school. But he did drop the paper's promptly after and turn
to Stiles.
There had been an odd tension in the room then, one in which Peter seemed in
perfect command and control. This was part of the torture. He looked positively
predatory and it chilled (and thrilled) Stiles to the bone. And to his bone.
Dear God, he was sporting an enthusiastic mini fear boner.
After Peter took several strong strides to meet Stiles at the foot of the bed,
the wolf smirked, slid his hand up Stiles' arm, pulling him up from the bed,
and said sweetly, “darling, would you be interested in trying something new?
Apart from actually getting laid in your childhood room for once.”
“Hey, you dick I—“
Not that Peter meant it in any seriously hurtful way, especially considering
the fondness in the eye roll he received a moment later. And that was fully
displayed in the way the wolf kissed him after. Pressing his body against
Stiles' in a way that only two bodies who were growing so familiar with each
other could, Peter's hand cupping Stiles' cheek. And when he was finally kissed
breathless, the teen couldn't help but nod slowly. “Uh, yeah, yeah, what did
you want to try?” Not that anything new was surprising, pretty much everything
was new to Stiles.
“Trust me,” Peter whispered softly into the cusp of Stiles' ear. Goosebumps
immediately shot across Stiles' skin, and everything in the room seemed to
become sharper at once. The way Peter's chest was pressed against his, the way
the wolf's hand was moving sinuously up his side, the heat radiating between
the both of them.
Oh, Stiles was interested. He was so interested. He was down for this. “Trust
you to do what?” He asked softly in response, pressing his cheek to the wolf's
jaw.
His question was answered when Peter pulled a small piece of fabric over the
teen’s eyes, tying it securely behind his head so that he was unable to see
anything in the room. Stiles felt his brow furrow, disliking the complete and
utter darkness that he was shifted into. “If this is the part where you go all
Paul Spector on me, I'm really not looking forward to it.”
There was a snort of a chuckle from where Peter was standing. “I promise, I
have no intention of strangling you over an hour. Though I suppose we could
work on posing you.”
“Do not kill me and turn me into your life-sized doll.”
“No guarantees.”
“Peter, do not fucking—“
“Sshhh,” the wolf shushed, placing a finger on Stiles' lips. The teen rolled
his eyes (or at least attempted to with the cloth over them. It really did suck
that Peter couldn't see his awesome doubting and annoyed facial expressions.
Seriously).
“Okay, so, I'm blindfolded, cool. What now?”
“Just feel,” Peter whispered again in his ear. It was a beautiful sound, so
close, and unable to see the source. Now that, that was a kind of revolutionary
idea. Just feel. “Let's push all those human senses to their limits.”
And Stiles did. He relaxed enough to let Peter maneuver him. He let the wolf
peel off his shirt, circle around him like some animal in the wild, tracing a
finger over Stiles' moles like he was searching for a constellation in the sky.
The wolf's hands were hot, over his skin. Stiles suddenly focused on the lines
over his fingers, the rough feel of his palms, the drag of his fingertips on
his skin as if they were moving over rushing water.
But that was nothing to the feel of the wolf's mouth. Stiles quite literally
gasped at the feel of soft wet lips to the back of his neck, felt them pull
across his shoulder, his back, leaving a trail of cool air in their wake. The
prick of Peter's teeth to his collarbone. The scent of Peter's shampoo, his
cologne surrounding him.
The taste of Peter's lips when the wolf finally kissed him. Some kind of mint
and pomegranate Chapstick.
Peter must have spent the better part of an hour exploring Stiles' upper body
with his fingertips, his tongue, his lips. And honestly, Stiles felt himself
shaking, or maybe quivering, by the time Peter actually moved to sit him on the
bed again. There was an intense throbbing in his dick, though he wasn't sure
how that was all sexual enough to warrant such a reaction, and Peter seemed to
be doing a real good job of ignoring the fact that Stiles' little gasps had
turned into moans somewhere in the last twenty minutes. Thank God this was
finally escalating to the bed.
Except it didn’t actually seem to be escalating. Peter hadn’t touched him since
he sat Stiles down.
“You're enjoying this, aren't you? Watching me struggle?” He asked, glaring at
the black cloth in front of his eyes.
“The thought did cross my mind, yes,” the wolf said from somewhere off the bed.
“And the moment you touch yourself, I'm leaving.”
“You are such an ass,” Stiles grumbled, but he didn't move, no matter how badly
he just wanted to jack off, with or without Peter here. Though with would be
preferable.
“And you've never been happier.” There was a shift on the bed, Stiles felt as
it dipped with a new weight, and he couldn't hold back a smirk. “So, can I take
the blindfold off or am I wearing it for the whole time?”
“Whole time,” Peter answered, much closer. Stiles suddenly felt the wolf's
fingertips run down his stomach, like Peter was letting him know he was there,
slowly, torturously, and toward the clasp of Stiles' jeans. “As I said, I want
you to put those other senses to use.”
“I might deem this as cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Consider it your punishment for the horrible reference upon seeing me. Either
way, you're enjoying yourself.”
“In the sickest way possible.”
The fingertips lifted from his stomach, and Stiles knew his skin must be
pebbled with goosebumps as it felt so cool after the heat had been removed.
Instead, Peter started higher this time, running from Stiles' collarbone and
down, making small patterns, curving swirls, running across his nipples slowly,
brushing along each and every rib, and all the while Stiles was just trying to
make sure he was breathing.
There was Peter's mouth again, biting and licking its way down until the wolf
took the teen's nipple between his lips, licked at it with barely there swipes
before sucking at it. Then he made his way to the other one. Stiles felt a
groan low in his throat try to make its way to escape, but somehow came out so
high pitched. The sensations were actually amazing, and oddly enough, the
softer ones that made Stiles really focus on the subtle touches were the best.
The gentle swipes of that tongue, God, Stiles felt heat flooding him.
“Peter, I'm kind of—“
There was a sudden hand on his bulge, and it gave a little squeeze. Stiles
couldn't hold back the gasp he released, the moan, fuck, he pressed up against
that hand, aching for the pressure, arching up against it, the sheets cooling
in the space between his back before he settled down. The heat from Peter's
mouth, his hands, the cooling wet trails over his chest, the hand around his
cock, the scents of Peter filling his nose. These were too much.
“Was that what you wanted, darling?” Peter asked as if he didn't already know
the answer. He squeezed again, ran his hand along the length of his dick, and
Stiles nearly whined.
“Yes, yeah, that's--that's good, God-finally.”
“Finally,” Peter repeated somewhat distantly. “ Another interesting choice of
words.”
“Why's that?”
“Because I finally get to do this to you. Do you know how long I've wanted to
unravel you? Drag my fingers across this beautiful skin of yours? Watch those
lips string together profanities that even I would be shocked to hear?” There
was another prominent squeeze, and Stiles could not possibly have felt more
thrilled by the instant. “Touch you?”
“N-nope, don't know how long. Wouldn't have ever guessed it. Maybe you should
elaborate on these points.” He hissed softly, tried to grind up into Peter’s
hand again, because he just needed more. This was unfair.
“Elaborate, hm?” The hand was gone, and Stiles actually wanted to punch the
pillow behind him. “Elaborate on the first time I wanted to press you against a
wall and see if those lips really were as plush as they appeared? Must have
been at the hospital, in all my rage, there was a primal desire to absolutely
wreck you.” There was a rustling as the older man began to unbutton Stiles'
jeans, a tension as the fabric pulled, then released. Stiles heard the zipper
slide down, felt Peter's hands move on to his hips where he began to shift the
jeans down over his hips. Lips met each new patch of skin in between words.
“You were completely out of your mind then,” Stiles countered, though he
couldn't help but shiver slightly, thinking back to that time and apparently
how different it could have been.
“And yet still the sanest thought I had.” The smirk in the wolf's voice was
audible. Stiles glared at nothing again. “Nothing like when you were on your
knees at the lacrosse field. That pulse so strong under my fingertips. You were
so alive, so, certain. It was a level of courageousness and gumption that was
incredibly satisfactory. I should have kept you on your knees, made you suck me
down, and you would have opened your mouth like such a good boy for me, taken
me in because you would have done anything for your friends, that that was
amazing to me. You wouldn't have let fear stand in your way. And I would have
marked you, let everyone know you were mine from that point on.”
“You know, I hated you at that point.” Stiles was at least attempting to keep
up a front in Peter's presence, not wanting to display how any of the wolf's
words were getting to him. Not that it wasn't obvious by the way his dick kept
twitching with interest, the traitor. But seriously, if only he'd known how
close he was to getting laid before. Not that they were really the best
circumstances, but whatever, semantics. (This had nothing to do with semantics
and Stiles was digging it and man he was weird.)
“Well, that certainly helped.” Again, an audible smirk. “When I wanted to sink
my teeth into you in the parking garage, feel that gorgeous skin between my
lips, taste you. I wanted you to say yes so badly, and I would have been so
gentle.” Stiles felt his wrist lifted, brought to Peter's warm mouth. Felt lips
brush against the sensitive skin there while the wolf spoke. “And if you had,
well, all intentions would have risen to the surface. I would have mated you
right then and there, pressing you against a car, fingering you until your
moans echoed off the cement walls, bending you over while I thrust into you,
whispered of all that we could accomplish together, how powerful we would be.”
“You creepy old man,” Stiles smirked, or moaned, he wasn't sure. But then Peter
let go of his wrist, Stiles swallowed, blindly reaching out for him again. “No,
no, don't stop. Keep going. Tell me what you wanted to do to my poor, pathetic,
virgin body. Like, I am oddly really digging this.”
Suddenly, Peter managed to jerk his pants completely off, and Stiles lamented
the cold air rushing over his legs. He groaned a bit, feeling suddenly very
exposed, unable to see himself or Peter's reactions. And yet, that was such an
amazing feeling. He could picture Peter looking over him hungrily, as he always
did. The wolf taking in a sight of something he liked so much with darkened
pupils. Peter's fingers then began tracing over the waistband of Stiles' boxer-
briefs, and the teen groaned slightly. Back to this.
“You always managed to come to the loft smelling of lust, even at nothing in
particular. And the times we were left alone; my greatest achievements in self-
restraint. Having to keep from digging my claws into you and your sideways
glances. You so desperately wanted someone, anyone, and I should have taken
full advantage. Waited until we were alone—“ The wolf was moving down his body,
began licking at his hip, running his stubble down along Stiles' navel, down
each inch of skin that was revealed the lower the wolf pulled down his boxers.
And when they were off completely, Peter began nuzzling his thigh, the burn
from that stubble remaining for long after he had moved on. “I would have
ravaged you, would have had you put that smart mouth to better uses than
wasting those wonderful ideas on a pack that didn't appreciate them. The more I
was blown away by your ideas, the more I was intrigued with what you had to
say, the more and more I wanted you. Wanting to hear you speak those ideas to
me alone, in the middle of the night, before I went down on you and rendered
you speechless.”
Stiles had never thought of himself as particularly attractive, or well,
desirable. Or anything. So this was a surreal experience, listening to Peter
detail the instances in which the wolf wanted him, somehow starting out from
something so lustful, animalistic to something that gave Stiles value. Not just
his body but his mind. Peter loved his mind. Even if Peter was making this all
up for the moment, it was…nice.
“And there you were, pining after someone who didn't take your brilliance into
consideration. The countless nights I'm sure you spent alone and wanting. If I
had come to you, if I had come into your room while you were here, stretched
across this bed, whispering sweet nothings to the darkness, would you have let
me....” Peter trailed off, bit gently to Stiles' thigh. “Come in and show you
what it felt like...” The teen gasped softly as the wolf licked another stripe
across his skin, getting further and further away from where he actually wanted
Peter's mouth. “To be absolutely worshipped? I would have set your hands aside,
kissed you senseless, licked you open before fucking you until you were
boneless. Listened to you call my name to the point you couldn't hear a pack
member mention it without blushing the next day.”
“Definitely not going to be able to stop myself from blushing now,” Stiles
trembled once more as he felt one of Peter's fingers brush down his stomach.
God, how was he so fucking close from words and touches that weren't even on
his dick? How had Peter wanted him so much? Why hadn't he acted on it before
now? So had it always been some weird crush, or was it like, just sex related?
Or was this made up? What was it?
“Would you have let me?” Peter asked again, and the wolf's body was suddenly
gone from Stiles', no part touched, and that was a crime.
But...would he have?
“Probably, yeah,” Stiles answered softly. “But it wouldn't have meant what it
does now.”
All at once, Stiles was being rolled over, he cock trapping between his stomach
and the bed, and thank God because he needed some kind of pressure there before
he snapped. The teen quite unceremoniously thrust into the bed, moaning softly,
but then Peter's hands were on his ass, and he blushed, suddenly realizing
where this was going.
“So, you're actually going to—“
“Stiles,” Peter's voice cut through his own, though it was quiet. “Sweetheart.
Just feel.”
So he did. He felt his ass cheeks spread, the cooler air coming between them,
his face burning hot with a blush while he tried to bury it into a pillow. The
mattress only seemed like a small relief now as Peter began to lift his hips up
off it. But Stiles focused, feeling his blush redden by the moments where the
wolf didn't seem to do anything but knead his ass, seem to watch him. And
Stiles was so bare and exposed and thrilled. But then he felt the scratch of
stubble, then heat, hot warm breath encompassing his hole before he felt the
wet, slick sensation of Peter's tongue. Holy shit Peter's tongue. The wolf
began burrowing his tongue into Stiles' entrance, pushing in and tongue fucking
him just like that. It was new, it was interesting, but God it felt good.
In fact the sensations were too much, way too much. The wetness, the straining
of his cock, the heat from Peter's mouth, the hands roaming his hips, his ass,
the occasional brushes of the head of his dick to the mattress. It was too
much. The teen felt the white hot bliss bubbling toward the surface, unable to
hold it in while there was a pull at his navel, an explosive need of relief,
and suddenly he practically saw stars when he came, locked in complete
blackness still.
His body shook for a moment against Peter, though the wolf didn't seem to
notice, simply kept dipping his tongue into the pucker there, holding Stiles
until he managed to ride out the orgasm and relaxed uselessly into the
mattress.
It was then, and only then, that Peter finally put him down, rested him gently
before turning Stiles onto his side. The teen took in heavy, sharp breaths
before reaching for the blindfold. But there were hands on his in an instant,
and Peter was pulling them away.
“Seriously?”
“We're not done yet, darling,” Peter purred in his ear, the unmistakable sound
of a cap popping open sounded above Stiles somewhere. And sure, it was too
much, and Stiles was exhausted, but God damn he already wished that his cock
wasn't probably laying limp and useless. At least for right now. Come on young,
over hormonal libido. “Remember, I'm making sure this room is thoroughly
christened.”
“You're a monster,” Stiles answered with a dazed, exhausted-but-happy attempt
at a smirk. “A complete monster. Now please, fuck me so my headboard possibly
leaves holes in the wall, I need proof I got laid in here at least once. Do all
those things you said you wanted to do.”
“I assure you, sweetheart, I will.” The next moment, Stiles felt Peter's slick
finger opening him up, which didn't take as long after the last few weeks, two
fingers worked their way in, scissoring him open. Then three fingers still,
which were shortly followed by Peter's amazing cock.
The wolf held him close, Stiles’ back pressed to that firm, warm chest, while
the wolf rolled his hips into him, thrusting at a slow, even pace until Stiles
really did feel his dick making attempts at life once more. The slick, wet
sounds from where Peter was moving in and out of him were a kind of fuel that
Stiles never noticed before. The soft moans Peter usually tried to hide were
all the more audible, the soft whispers of “fuck” and “gorgeous.” The way
Peter’s large hands held Stiles’ legs open easily, helped give power to the
thrusted that turned rougher, heavier, deeper with time.
Stiles saw stars multiple times that night against the dark black.
***
“Did he hurt you?! Are you okay?” Scott immediately rushed to Stiles' side like
something was the matter, running his hands up and down Stiles' arms in a
motherly way.
“Scott, I'm fine, he didn’t hurt me at all” he nudged the other boy's arms off
him before giving a bit of a shrug. Peter wouldn’t hurt Stiles in any way
Stiles didn’t want him to at least. Not that he needed to tell Scott that.
“You're not going to ask about the...” He waved his hands around the room a
moment, trying to indicated ‘magical, wonderful blindfolded sex’ without saying
it aloud. Not that Scott could smell the blindfold either. Right?
Scott's face turned bright red, and maybe a little more green. It wasn't a very
good combination. “You're telling me this was...willing?”
“Yes, Scott, oh my God, he's not that bad.”
“Stiles, it's Peter! Like, Peter Hale! The guy who tried to kill me Sophomore
year! I wouldn’t put it past him!”
“For the record, a loose moral compass on killing and lying does not
automatically make one have loose morals on everything, Scott. And anyway,
didn't we already have this conversation when I was in the hospital?”
“Not about this!” Scott looked defeated a moment and slumped onto Stiles' bed.
It was only belatedly that he seemed to realize what he was on (y’know, where
the scene of the apparent crime took place), and his whole body jerked, but
stubbornness wouldn't let him move. He crossed his legs, and then crossed his
arms over his chest, making himself as small as possible on the space, and
looked at Stiles sternly. “So what? Is he blackmailing you? Is this some kind
of fake relationship? Are you doing it for some reason that—“
“Scott,” Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose before taking in a deep breath
and letting it out. “No. Okay, listen. It just sort of happened, like any
normal thing does. We spent a lot of time together, realized we had a lot in
common, and things just kind of...progressed, okay? He actually really treats
me well. Really well.” Alright he maybe had a dopey grin on his face that Scott
looked even more queasy at. Stiles tried to shake it off. Again, Scott didn’t
need to know just how well Peter treated him. “He didn't hurt me. He didn't
blackmail me into this. Actually, he waited until I kissed him first—“
“Kissed him?!” Scott squeaked.
Stiles persevered, trying not to look peeved “--and we talked things out. I
mean, it's not perfect, but what relationship is? We'll work on it. He wants to
work on it, and so do I. Look, I don't think I've ever found someone that suits
me better than Peter does. We've always had some weird kind of chemistry, and
now it just fits together. No square peg, round hole sort of nonsense.”
“Stiles, how do you know he's not just making it all up?”
“Because I've felt his heartbeat, I don’t know! Scott, can you trust me enough
to make my own decisions? Can you think at least a little highly of me? High
enough to just assume that I can tell when someone is lying to my face? I'm a
lot better at it than you are.”
Scott was silent, thinking it over, and he wanted to protest some more, he did,
because Scott wanted to protect his best friend, his brother, and as cute as
Stiles thought that was, it was also incredibly annoying at this point in time.
If Peter did something terrible, it would be on himself, not on Scott. Still,
he sighed, and sat down next to his friend.
“You and him,” Stiles started again, “are way different. You two can't seem to
get along no matter what, and even if I wish you would try, it's probably not
going to happen. But look, you haven't talked to him lately. You haven't seen
the ways he's changed, or how he acts around me. You haven't seen what he's
done for me, okay? He got magically turned Alpha again, and he—“
“Alpha?! I knew there was something off with his scent! Some reason why I feel
like I shouldn’t even be near you! You smell like him, Stiles. He totally has
some plan, he totally—“
“And he didn't bite anyone because he wanted to prove that he was different. He
ended up getting captured by hunters, and tortured, and still he didn't turn
into the raging beastmonster, okay? He didn't. The first person he bit was
actually my friend Thomas, and it was to save his life, and he asked permission
first. Okay. He didn't try to sell it to him, or Jaylen. He didn't try to say
it would fix all their problems in life. He wanted to prove that he was better,
and he did that. So can you please just drop this hatred, and this attempt to
talk me out of it, and maybe go and see him with me and realize that I'm
actually happy with this choice, and with him, and he makes me happy, and he's
good for me, and he pushes my limits, and maybe pisses me off sometimes, but I
am happy, Scott, can you do that?”
The True Alpha sat for a moment, no longer gaping up at Stiles, mostly likely
because he realized how ridiculous he looked, but now only staring down at the
ground trying to think of some argument that he felt like Stiles couldn't
rebuttal. Well, that was impossible. Stiles could rebut anything. He was a
rebutting master, he was champion against arguing, he was the one who was able
to think of things that no one else could, master of confusion and
misdirection--Stiles Stilinski, Master Debater.
Wait.
“But, why did he come back here? There must be something wrong with letting an
Alpha in my territory, right? Is he back here for the Hale land? Is he going to
try to kick me out or do some weird werewolf ritual I don't know?” Scott asked.
And Stiles was impressed that he was actually worried about the land, it was
kind of adorable. “I mean, I don't know about Derek, or Cora...”
“I doubt he came back here to try and steal your land, Scotty,” Stiles
answered, taking in a deep breath and leaning back on his hands. “I actually
think he came to support me on telling my dad. I think he thinks it’s not going
to go well...”
When Scott gave him a weird, questioning look, Stiles shrugged a shoulder and
tilted his head, “it actually probably won't go that well. But it has to be
done. Maybe he wants to be here cause he thinks my dad will disown me or
something. Which totally won't happen, at least I don't think. But he'll
probably be pissed.” He groaned, leaning forward and shoving his face into his
hands instead. “God, he's going to be so pissed.”
“Stiles, Peter dated my mom,” Scott said, mildly horrified as he remembered.
“He's like...closer to your dad's age than yours.”
“Thank you for reminding me, Scotty, I seemed to have forgotten that point. You
deduction skills are spot on, as usual. These are facts that couldn’t possibly
make me feel worse.”
Scott tried to look sheepish a moment before continuing with, “couldn't you
have just reignited your ten-year plan with Lydia?”
“She made me promise to never bring that up again some point last year. And
either way, you really think that was healthy either? I love her man, I always
will, but even she doesn’t fit me as well as Peter does.”
Scott looked defeated, and Stiles suddenly couldn’t stop fearing his father’s
reaction. The two of them sighed, both sinking their elbows onto their knees,
chins in the palms. Each breath was simultaneous, like they'd been born the
same, and somehow something got messed up along the way, separating them into
different bodies. But they were still one, in a way.
After a moment, Scott reached up and placed his hand on the back of Stiles’
neck. It was a weird move, something that wasn’t really like Scott, but it was
only when he began rubbing, like giving a neck massage, that Stiles actually
caught on. “Jesus Christ, Scott, are you trying to scent me?!” He smacked the
other boy’s hand off.
“I feel like I can’t even be near you, Stiles! You used to smell like my pack,
and now you smell like him! You smell like another Alpha.” His friend’s jaw
tensed, emphasizing the crookedness, and Stiles felt himself weaken a bit.
“As awesome as this macho display of fighting for me is, really, I’m very
attracted to you at this moment, and am a little mad you didn’t show me this
sooner, Scott, I’m always gonna be your best friend. You’re both my Alphas. But
I’m going to be smelling a lot more like him. And really, it never would have
worked out between us, buddy, we’re just too good of bros.”
There was another pause in conversation, one in which Scott wrinkled his nose.
But at least Scott didn’t ever think Stiles’ weird joking passes were anything
serious. It’s what made their friendship work.
“Do you think I could...talk to him? You know, just get a feel myself for
whatever this is? Try to understand?” Scott asked, glancing at Stiles from the
corner of his eyes. He looked guilty for the action he just took, and maybe
this was an olive branch. Stiles would take a guilty olive branch, definitely.
“You have no idea how much I would love that. Don't really know how he would
feel about it, but I would love it.”
“He does know Derek and Cora aren't back yet, right? We don't know where they
are.”
“To be honest Scott, I don't think Peter really cares.” Stiles rubbed his toe
into the ground a bit, looking at his floor. “D'you have any idea about their
last known surroundings or general whereabouts?”
“Not a clue. I got a message from Derek, just once, a while back. I think it
was an accident, cause he's not really good with phones and all. Or any
electronic. Plus all he wrote me was like, not even a real word. I think it was
a typo. Lydia made Danny try to trace it, but he couldn't.”
“Danny couldn't trace it? Holy shit, they must be really far gone.”
Once again, the both of them sighed.
“Maybe Peter will know a way to get in contact with them, family, blood,
werewolf sort of mumbo-jumbo,” Stiles answered, waving his hand off to the side
like he was demonstrating something mystical. With incredibly lackluster. “Or I
can use a tracking spell or something.”
A grin rose to Scott's face immediately. “I'd love to see you do some magic.
It's probably pretty sweet.”
“Sweeter than sweet, Scotty, sweeter than sweet,” Stiles grinned, and wrapped
his arm around his best friend's shoulders.
“I'm glad we're...speaking again,” Scott mentioned after a minute. “I really
hated it when we weren't.”
“Me too, you stubborn jackass.” But Stiles grinned back at him.
“Takes one to know one man, and no way am I more stubborn than you.”
As the two of them began to chatter, began to make up for lost time, fill each
other in on the things the other had been missing, everything suddenly began to
feel more right with the world. There they were, best friends, laughing
hysterically, using hand gestures far too animated, soaking up each other's
presences like trees soak up rain after a drought.
It almost felt like pack again, and Stiles could not have been more pleased
with the new developments in his life. And remembering the old ones. And if
they could find Derek and Cora, if he could introduce his new pack to his old
pack, then maybe, just maybe, everything would be perfect.
After a few hours of absorbing each other, Stiles glanced at Scott, curious all
of a sudden. “You still have that text Derek sent you?”
“Yeah dude,” Scott answered, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through a few
conversations before holding it out and letting Stiles see the message.
“What the hell is that?” He asked, squinting at the mix of letters and numbers.
Scott shrugged and pulled the phone back. “It's why I thought it was an
accident.”
“That was no accident Scotty,” Stiles said, pulling out his own phone to look
at the keyboard on it. “There's no way he randomly mistyped that. It's got to
be a message of some kind...maybe it's...” He paused, thinking.
“What?” Scott asked, clearly impatient. He did want to know where Derek was
then.
“Maybe…that’s it. Maybe that message tells us their last known
surroundings...Maybe we can find Derek and Cora.”
***** Human Qualities *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter realizes, through a series of different moments in a short
     time, that he actually has begun changing. But it's for the better.
Chapter Notes
     HI SORRY YES I AM STILL WORKING ON THIS STORY
     It's just taking me a really long time, and I have two jobs right now
     and my life has been /crazzyyyyyy/. Thank you all of you who have
     been reading this story, and those who even started recently, your
     comments, your kudos, they are a blessing, and have been a really
     great cheer up in my over-stressful life right now!
     I don't know when the next chapter will be, but I hope it will be
     soon, I have already started working on it. I love you all.
     Peter is becoming such a sap. <3
Stiles moved constantly.
This was not just an observation, or some silly little fun tidbit. This was a
cold, hard fact, and not one that simply occurred few and far between. And it
wasn’t just getting up and moving around the apartment, or running here and
there because he forgot something. Stiles quite literally never stopped moving.
When they would sit on the couch together, Stiles’ leg would be jiggling wildly
and you could feel the vibrations through the floor. If he was sitting and
staring at his computer screen, his thumb would be between his teeth, moving
his arm and hand back and forth while his eyes skimmed various articles. He
would tap his fingers on the counter while waiting for something in the
microwave or on the stove. He drummed his pencils and pens on any surface he
could, including his legs. He constantly gnawed at his lips, licked them
chapped, played with his earlobes, ran his fingers through his hair, wiggled
whatever was in his hands. Stiles couldn't want TV without fiddling with
something on his phone, or playing with the blankets or pillows, or scrunching
up Peter's clothing, or wiggling into the right spot. Once he seemed
comfortable, seemed like he would settle in, well, he would rearrange himself
all over again. It was like his legs were never completely rested whatever
position they were in. He would rub his hands together while talking, or simply
wring his fingers into his sleeves. He would wiggle while eating, chew on the
insides of his cheeks, rub awkwardly around his neck and shoulders. He would
tap his foot so recklessly in the car that the car would shake. He would rock
himself while reading a book, or even rock himself to sleep.
Stiles moved constantly.
He laughed far too loud at the things on TV. He talked to himself when there
was seemingly no one around to hear him. He viciously flipped through pages in
books that nearly looked painful for all parties involved, yes including the
books. He bounced on the balls of his feet when standing in lines, shifted from
foot to foot while grocery shopping, jumped excitedly when he heard good news,
danced around, flailed when he spoke, needed to use his hands at all moments to
indicate his point because his words just weren't good enough.
It was so much action all at once, and it was everything Peter didn't do. The
werewolf usually worked to be calm and poised. Too much moving indicated
skittish prey. Peter had always worked to be refined, keep his emotions to
himself. Occasionally he might rock his foot as his legs remained calmly
crossed while he was reading a book, but he didn't move in excess like Stiles
seemed to do. He wasn’t one to move unnecessarily. Moving also meant expending
energy, and he needed to keep his energy coiled inside, ready to burst at any
moment. If he released it, where would it be when he needed it?
So overall, Peter was not quite used to so much action all at once, not outside
of a fight.
But, when lying on the couch together, Stiles would actually rock the whole
thing, chewing on his thumb nail, rocking back against Peter’s chest. And he
didn't notice it at all. It didn’t even occur to him that something wasn’t
quite right with that amount of energy; he simply couldn’t fathom that there
was anything wrong because Stiles had never stopped moving since the moment he
came into the world.
It was so new to Peter, and he should be completely annoyed that Stiles was so
often in his space and so often unable to keep still. But oddly enough, Peter
wasn't annoyed. Peter found it endearing, in a way. Of course, the boy was
calmer than he had been as a teen, but Stiles was never a still thing, and
should never be expected to be a still thing. He moved constantly, like water,
like wind, like fire. Stiles was nearly all of the elements combined in the
world while Peter was the ground. Peter was moved, Peter was eroded, Peter had
a little bit of him washed over by each movement of Stiles, because each
movement reminded the wolf that yes, Stiles was existed. Stiles was with him.
But he wasn't worn away by Stiles, no, wasn’t corroded and destroyed. Peter was
still himself. Though he was transformed, a built up deposition of things that
Stiles seemed to focus on, separated from the things Peter didn’t seek to be.
Peter was changed for the better, at this point. Peter was transformed by all
that Stiles was. And made stronger for it. Hardening sentiments washed into a
new thing, embodying new…qualities.
The wolf loved feeling Stiles constantly move, loved that it was a reminder
that he was there. There was no empty space; there was no lack of something.
There was no nothingness. Everything that had been void in his apartment was
suddenly filled by presence, was filled by wind, and water, and fire. Stiles’
movements allowed Peter to know that he wasn’t alone. That he wasn’t trapped
somewhere in his mind.
Stiles’ movements anchored him to reality.
So when Stiles did, on a rare occasion, realize he was moving too much, shaking
too much, rocking too much, he would look up at Peter with a guilty look, stop
wiggling his leg erratically. Like it was an annoyance to Peter, like Peter
would stop caring about him when the wolf realized he could never just be
still. And Peter would raise his eyebrows, place a hand on Stiles' leg and rub
it softly with his thumb. Silent permission. Because he never wanted Stiles
silent and still. Peter handled enough silent and still throughout his life. He
wanted Stiles to be the world. Wanted Stiles to be wild.
A few moments later, his guilt forgotten, as well as his need to keep still for
Peter, the boy would start shaking his leg. And Peter would remember, he was
the ground.
Peter would remember he was grounded.
***
The last thing Peter expected to be doing was to be looking for an apartment in
Beacon Hills. Once again. After more than a year away, the plan had been to
never return to this stinking, ash ridden town. And yet, here he was, running
his fingers along a freshly-painted, white wall of an apartment toward the edge
of the town, judging the space, scrutinizing every last detail. Because he
would not pay a penny over what the apartment was worth, not because he
couldn’t afford it but because he knew he could get away with it.
The apartment realtor seemed a bit nervous of him, skittish in a way. Perhaps
that was because she hadn't made a sale in Beacon Hills in years considering
the frequent murders and other ridiculous activities. Honestly, it was getting
a bit out of hand at this point. Though, perhaps her anxiousness was simply
because Peter looked like a shark circling the water for the first unaware
fish. Whatever it was, he tried not to seem like he enjoyed giving the girl
such a reaction.
Except he really did.
The apartment itself was actually rather nice, and large, with not many flaws
that he could see in his very careful inspection. Prices were down in the town,
considering the formerly mentioned problems. Businesses were aching to sell
space, and the housing market was an absolute nightmare for realtors. It was
perfect. The wolf had managed to find this apartment already fairly cheap
considering the space it provided. It had been newly renovated right before the
chaos, so it was still reasonably nice, not that Peter wouldn't fix it up the
problems it did have on his own. Most importantly though, he could finagle a
lower price.
As of the moment, a house was out of the question. The decision to get an
apartment in Beacon Hills was also based on the decision that he would only be
living there four or five months out of the year. When Stiles came back from
school to visit family and friends for summer and winter breaks. The other
months, Peter would be securely settled back near Palo Alto. He had also rented
out two more apartments in that complex as well, giving one to Thomas and
Jaylen, as well as reserving one for Alexandra when she decided she had learned
enough from the Argents. At this rate he should just buy the whole damn
building and start renting to various supernatural creatures. Could prove
helpful, actually. He could keep an eye on those in his territory as well as
have a band of creatures at his whimsy.
The Alpha debated this little idea for a moment, let it blossom into something
worthy of him before he turned back to the realtor, his eyes sweeping the
living room one last time. "I'll take it," he told the girl.
She visibly relaxed, then seemed to remember whatever dangerous flare that kept
radiating off the man in front of her and nodded sharply. "Yes sir, I'll go
gather the paper work immediately. Would you please come with me to the
office?"
"I'm sure you could bring the papers up to me," he answered, brushing something
off his shoulder and then moving to look through the kitchen once more. That
dishwasher would have to go. "I'll be having deliveries made throughout the
week, various furniture pieces and decorations. Though everything should be
taken care of. I won't need help from you or anyone at the office. I expect you
to let them do their jobs.”
"Yes, sir," the girl answered, bowing her head and heading out of the
apartment. She managed quickly across the floor in too-high high heels that
Peter was reasonably impressed she managed to wear all day. Then again, she
most likely wasn't showing many apartments off around here to have to walk in
them. She shut the door a bit too hastily, and sighed audible, for a werewolf,
on the other side of the door before tapping toward the leasing office.
The wolf raked through the place again, debated the best spot for a bed, a TV,
a couch.
Yes, it was nearly perfect irony that he had returned to Beacon Hills. The wolf
strode to the nearest window, glanced out over everything it had to offer,
though the view held mostly the trees of the preserve. One might think he would
get sick of a view that held so many memories. But he would always be drawn to
the wild, animalistic need to be out running between those trees. He could
never get sick of the color green or the smell of earth. His old home.
Whoever would have guessed that Peter Hale would arrive back here of his own
free will? Whoever would have guessed it was for love? Whoever would have
guessed he didn't even want his old land back, even as an Alpha?
Alpha Peter Hale, at last.
***
"Peter," Thomas' voice came through on the other line of the phone. It almost
sounded shaky. Like something was wrong. Peter didn't understand the minor dip
in his own chest at the noise. "I-I can't, Peter I can't get my claws to go
back in. I don't know what to do--I"
The boy continued to stutter slightly, his voice rising with panic, and Peter
felt his entire body relax. Good. A simple problem with a simple solution. At
least Thomas hadn't killed a civilian or something. Peter didn't feel like
dealing with a guilty conscious while he was wandering through the aisle of
Ikea. That murder would also mean he'd have to stop his casual apartment
shopping to go and clean up a mess. Sometimes Peter just wanted to keep his
hands, quite literally, clean. Plus Stiles would be sorely disappointed.
"Thomas-"
"-I don't know how to get them back in. I don't know what I did, Peter, I'm
sorry I didn't--"
"Thomas-"
"God, I fucked up so badly, how did this happen? I am such a bad w-"
"Thomas, for God's sake, shut up," he answered, adding a bit of bite into his
voice. Luckily, even without the Alpha influence, the voice on the other line
cut off with a clack, like Thomas closed his mouth so sharply his teeth smacked
together. Oh, he was a mess. Peter waited a moment for Thomas to settle while
he investigated a series of bookshelves. Normally he wouldn't bother putting
his own furniture together, but he needed to focus on something while Stiles
was spending time with his father. "You're not anchoring yourself. Take a deep
breath and calm down a moment. Focus."
"Okay--okay, okay, okay, okay--"
"Thomas."
"Okay!"
There was silence once again on the other line, except a few heavy breaths and
irritated sighs. Peter closed his own eyes, prayed for momentary strength to
remain patient.
"Breathe in, breathe out," Peter mollified. Again, silence except for ragged
breathing. "Where are you? Are you in public?"
"Y-yeah, kind of," Thomas answered, his voice still shaky, but rather less
panicked than before. "I'm in the bathroom at the bookstore. Door’s locked. I
think Jay’s outside."
"And what happened?"
"Some guy, some guy was being a total dick to her, like, he was actually
messing with her, he fucking put his hand on her and I--"
"Did you hurt him?"
"Not with-not with my claws or anything."
Peter took in a deep breath, closed his eyes a moment. This had the potential
to turn very bad, very quickly. If Peter needed to come in and do some
mitigation on the “possible superhero boy,” that would spread like wildfire if
Thomas was caught, he was not about to be happy. "Did he see anything,
perchance?"
"N-no, of course not, I knocked him out before he could--"
The Alpha kept his smirk and momentary feeling of pride to himself. Spot on,
Thomas. "But you did hurt him?"
"I may have punched him. And he may have a fractured cheekbone." Thomas sounded
reluctant to admit it, though Peter wasn’t sure why. It was a thing of glory,
the superiority of strength against humans and Peter would be the last one to
be angry with proving a point of who was clearly the better in such a
situation. Maybe he was feeling slightly protective of Jaylen himself.
"Have to keep that newfound strength in check," Peter answered, picking up a
lamp and examining it nonchalantly, the phone pressed between his shoulder and
his ear. "Jaylen called the paramedics I'm sure."
"Yeah, she did, yeah, I mean, I think, I got so mad, I don't know. I started
changing--she covered me and told me to go to the employee bathroom right away.
She--I don't think anyone saw."
"You don't think, or you know?"
"I was already heading to the bathroom when someone else from the store even
started toward the commotion."
That was a bit of a relief at least. Peter let out a quiet breath while he put
the lamp down and moved onward in the store. "So no one saw. At worst, the boy
presses charges against you for assault and I pay your bail. At best, Jaylen
will reward you handsomely when you finally regain control and she gets off
work." And if that thought wasn't enough to help Thomas from panicking again,
Peter wasn't sure what would.
There was a pause, and Thomas let out a shaky breath, Peter could imagine him
nodding. "Y-yeah, but I mean, they're still not, my claws still aren't..."
"You're still too irritated. You keep thinking about him even speaking to
Jaylen."
"Yeah, and I would have slit his throat if I could."
Well, well, wasn't that a familiar feeling. "Glad to see you're coming around
to my way of thinking."
"Yeah, but I’m all talk. You actually would have."
"Not anymore, I'm reformed," he smirked to himself but added in a dramatic sigh
for good measure. And when Thomas growled at himself again, Peter rolled his
eyes. "Stop beating yourself up, it's unbecoming. I expect more from my
second."
"How can I be when I can't even fucking control this? God, I suck!"
"Hardly," Peter said a bit harshly, wanting to snap the boy out of his
destructive thought. "Thomas, you can't expect mastery over night. You've
already proven yourself to be more natural with these skills than any other
person I've seen in the last, oh, six or seven years, save for those born with
them, and honestly if you met my nephew you would know even those born with the
proper skills still flounder helplessly. Even when they should have mastered
them by the human age of twenty-five.”
"Yeah?" Thomas asked, voice a bit small before there might have been a small
smile to it. "Did you just...compliment me?"
"Don't think too highly of it, I'm supposed to make my pack have over-inflated
egos. All my words are full of emptiness; I don’t mean a single one," he
drawled back.
"You're a dick Alpha," Thomas answered, but there was definitely his normal
smile. A lightness to his voice with his ever-present laugh. And Peter felt a
foreign ping in his chest, one that tied in deeply with the words “family” and
“pack.”
"Take another breath, and focus. Ignore the other man's actions and know that
Jaylen has been thoroughly avenged. She's not going to love you any less, but
possibly even more. You're no monster. You’re not any less yourself by taking
this course of action. Thomas, whether human or not, you know deep down that
you would have reacted this way. And it’s not a bad thing. Take a breath.
Anchor yourself. And know that it doesn’t make you any less human.”
It took a moment, but Thomas' voice piped up on the other line with an excited,
"I did it...I did it!"
Peter wouldn't admit to anyone how proud he felt of his Beta in that instance.
But he was.
***
Stiles arrived at Peter's new apartment the next day while Peter was putting
together one of several bookshelves to keep himself occupied. And the boy
wasn't alone. Still, Peter decided to ignore this fact, and didn't head to open
the door immediately, giving Stiles a chance to knock hesitantly. One.
Two...Three. From the soft wafts of scents coming through the door, Peter could
only assume that the extra addition was Scott. So it was time for the two
Alphas to have their little heart-to-heart, a possible tête-à-tête. Regardless,
it was a long time coming.
This also meant, though, that Stiles and Scott must have made up, considering
their scents were as thick of each other as they used to be. An unfortunate
outcome for Peter, but something that Stiles desperately needed, so he would
let it go. If Peter wanted Stiles, Peter needed to deal with Scott.
Finally, the older werewolf got up and walked to the door, pulling it open and
staring at the duo in front of him. Oh, this brought back all kinds of
memories. Although this time, unlike any other time Peter had come face to face
with Scott and Stiles in Beacon Hills, Stiles was beaming up at him with the
anxious sort of "please don't be mad at me" smile, and Scott was standing with
his arms folded over his chest so defensively. Scott wasn't pleased he had to
do this then either, but Stiles was persuasive. He was a regular pathos
machine.
"Heeeyyy, Good Looking," Stiles eased in with his manipulative little smile,
clearly ignoring Scott’s scoff at the nickname, and slipping past Peter into
the apartment. He looked like he was about to say more when he looked inside
and realized there was actually furniture inside. All thoughts of Scott vs.
Peter were suddenly forgotten in his ADHD riddled brain. "Wow! It looks great
in here! This apartment is so big! I didn't even realize they made apartments
like this in Beacon Hills. And are you...are you making your own furniture?
Holy shit, did you go to Ikea without me? I should seriously..." He continued
to ramble in his nervousness while trailing through the various rooms of the
apartment. He wasn't, apparently, ready for Scott and Peter to talk either, and
knew just the reaction to take to get out of the situation. Must have been
hoping they'd just get to it while he was too busy with his muffled mumbling
about the apartment. So it wasn’t ADHD after all, the little, sneaky fox…Peter
was so head-over-heels it was disgusting.
"So,” Scott started, eyeing Peter up and down. "You're an Alpha again. And
you're in my territory. Aren't I supposed to rip your arm off or something?"
"If you think you could, I’ll give you a head start," Peter answered, leveling
his gaze with the younger Alpha's. Scott stiffened, but didn't actually make a
move. Of course he wouldn't. He didn't have the mettle.
"Look, can we drop the macho thing?"
Would it be too catty of him to say that Scott started it? Probably. Peter was
the adult here, after all. "Gladly. You first." Alright, he was an adult, but
Scott was annoying. Catty it was.
The teen huffed out a sigh and rolled his eyes. For some reason, Peter was
reminded of Derek. "Fine. Okay, look. You're not my favorite person, everyone
knows that. I sure as heck know I'm not yours. But like...Stiles is my bro, and
I love him, and if you make him happy, how in the world I don't know and I
don't want to know, but if you make him happy then I guess I can't really stop
it, cause like, trying to stop Stiles from getting something he wants is like
trying to derail a tornado. So like..."
"You want us to extend an olive branch and try to play house."
"Uh, yeah, I guess," Scott answered, rubbing the back of his neck. The younger
Alpha looked down at the ground, like he was trying to think of something more
persuasive. "I mean, I still don't trust or like you-"
"The feeling is mutual." Peter cut in.
Scott glared, but continued, "and I will pretty much constantly wait for the
day when you mess up and hurt him and I finally get to intervene." The teen
must have caught how Peter's whole body tensed, possibly ready to retaliate,
because he spoke up quickly to add, "but- I'm not going to interfere until you
do that. Like, Stiles is my best friend, and if he loves you, then I have to
respect that, okay? So I'm not going to try and talk him out of it anymore or
anything. I won’t like, say bad things about you when you’re not around to try
to get him to come to his senses. And I'm going to really hope that there never
comes a day when you mess up, gotta believe you're going to treat him well
forever and everything. And I mean, I hope you do. It's just...you know, if you
ever do screw up. You'll have me to answer to. Got that?"
And it was odd. Because if ever Peter had been faced with a threat before, he
would have dispatched said threat immediately. But standing here, with Scott
saying that he hoped Peter didn't mess up, if only because Stiles loved him so
much, well, Peter was...understanding of that. He almost respected the fact
that Scott could separate their differences for Stiles. Scott was important to
Stiles, and Stiles was important to Scott. They were a package deal, as
wonderful as the last few months had been Scottless, but it was true that if
Peter wanted Stiles, well, he'd have to at least tolerate Scott or not have
Stiles at all.
So he would tolerate Scott. Because Stiles was important to him. And Scott
would tolerate Peter because he loved Stiles so much, and a life without Stiles
for Scott was a life he didn’t want to live. The last year must have proven
that to him.
It wasn't an ideal situation, not that Peter was sure what ideal really meant
for this kind of situation. He had never prepared himself for finding someone
like Stiles, and even more so he had never prepared himself for caring for
someone like Stiles. Really, he had never prepared himself to care so deeply
about anyone. There was family, and family had been everything, the only thing,
up until the fire. And after that, there was emptiness. But now, now there was
Stiles. As...interesting as that was. Peter didn't hate it. Not at all.
So how did one deal with friends of the significant other when one didn't like
said friends? Peter assumed a lesser man would admit to disliking them, and try
to isolate their loved one from said friend. Peter nearly wanted to. Peter had
tried. But right now, at this moment, with Scott standing in front of him,
Peter knew that one needed to learn to tolerate. And possibly complain or make
fun of Scott to Stiles and Stiles only, in the dark of the night when Stiles
was relaxed and wouldn't get mad. When he would know that Peter’s words might
be true, but they weren’t a threat. That they wouldn’t injure Stiles and
Scott’s relationship. Because the last thing Peter wanted was for Stiles to
resent Peter in any way, at this point.
It wasn't necessary to state between the two Alphas that Scott felt this same
way. If he wanted Stiles to remain his best friend, well, trying to isolate
Stiles from someone he loved was, of course, a losing battle. And thus, an
unspoken agreement was born.
For Stiles, they would do anything. Even shake hands with someone they
despised.
Even bend on their own ideas of pride.
***
"Now what makes you think I have any desire to find my nephew?" Peter asked,
staring at Scott from across the table that had been delivered before he began
to put together the bookcase. Scott simply stared back a moment, unsure of how
to respond, mouth slack, eyes wide. Peter kept his gaze steady, arms across his
chest. Stiles leaned over and smacked him sharply on the shoulder with a glare
added on for good measure. "What? I don't care where Derek is. Do you really
think I care where Derek is?"
"Yes, you do, you so do," Stiles argued back. "Oh my God, yes you care about
Derek. Please stop trying to be an emotionally distant douche. It is a major
turn off. You are so worried about where he is right now."
If it were anyone else, Peter would expect the glare he took on to shake them
to the core. But Stiles just stared back with irritated determination, like he
was willing for Peter to disagree again because the boy was so stubborn he
could fight the world that ice wasn't cold if he felt like it. Plus he'd lost
all fear of Peter months ago. Which was a shame, fear could come in handy.
Especially in a situation like this. Only Stiles could say things like this to
Peter without the wolf feeling a simmering murderous fury. Either way, he
didn't respond. If he responded, he’d cave to Stiles. It was a travesty. How
could Peter cave so easily to Stiles?
"Tell me that you are worried about Derek right now. And don't lie. If you lie,
I will withhold sex for like, a week."
Despite Scott's whine, Peter responded, "like you could last a week. You know
you can’t hold a grudge when you’re horny."
"Fuck, you’re right, you asshole," Stiles grimaced. "I guess I need to think of
a punishment that will like...not be a punishment for me too."
"That's usually how it goes," Peter rolled his eyes.
"Can we not be having this conversation right now?" Scott slipped in, voice
smaller and more awkward than normal.
"Sorry, Scottie," Stiles said, though he didn't take his eyes off of Peter. Oh
God, the boy was thinking about sex, wasn't he? If the sudden interested smell
had anything to say about it...Again, Scott whined. Stiles seemed to snap out
of it. "Okay, okay. God. Peter, just say you miss Derek. Or Cora at least, you
care about Cora."
"I wouldn't be opposed to figuring out their whereabouts, alright?" Peter
conceded, and dramatically rolled his eyes when Stiles beamed with a pride of a
person who got someone to reveal their deepest darkest secret.
"Good, good, good, here, look at this," Stiles reached into Scott's pocket for
him and pulled out his friend's phone, unlocking it, and searching for Derek's
text message. Scott seemed like it was perfectly normal Stiles knew how to get
into his locked phone. When Stiles located said message, he immediately shoved
his arm out over the table for Peter to look.
And the wolf did. He read the series of characters once, and then again while
taking the phone into his hand, brow drawing together at first, then lifting.
"And Derek sent this to you, did he?" He asked.
Scott nodded once. "Do you know what it means? I thought Derek just mistyped
the message."
"It's not a mistype," Peter answered, tilting his head to the side. "Though I'm
not all that certain as to why he thought you would know what it means..."
"So what, is it some kind of ancient, weird, Hale family secret or something?"
Stiles asked, leaning so far off his chair he wasn't even sitting in it
anymore, trying to see the phone screen with Peter. The wolf simply rolled his
eyes and ended up tilting it for him to see again.
"I suppose, though less ancient and more, a necessary escape mechanism, a way
to alert other pack members of where you are. A virtual howl, if you will,"
Peter answered before standing up and moving to the bag he brought of
necessities for the stay in Beacon Hills. He dug through it, ruining how each
and every item was placed in perfectly fitted and folded order, until he seemed
to find what he was looking for. He slowly pulled it out of the bag and brought
it over. Scott was on the edge of his seat trying to see what it was, Stiles
was actually out of his seat, now just trying to lean as far over the table as
possible.
"What is it? What are you holding out on me?" Stiles asked. "You are I are
going to have a serious talk about secrets soon, and how many more you must be
keeping from me."
"To be honest, I mostly forget about this one myself," Peter mentioned.
"But you still brought it with you from home," Stiles countered, glaring up at
him.
"Touché." The wolf rolled his eyes before he sat back down. He dropped a small
box on the table. With one claw extended, he inserted it into a small hole on
the front of the box, gave it a turn, and the lid snapped open suddenly. Inside
was a stack of papers, no bigger than post-it notes. The wolf took out a few
and shuffled between them.
Without wanting to wait for an answer, Stiles reached over and took a few of
the papers as well, though his brow furrowed immediately when he realized he
couldn't read anything written on the papers. "Well, this just isn't fair."
"I'll fill you in on all you need to know after I've located Derek,
sweetheart," Peter answered him; though distractedly as he was too busy looking
as his own group of papers. He reviewed the text message several more times
while translating between it and the papers, and he practically felt the
palpable anxiousness bouncing off of the two others in the room. He was taking
too long to answer them. He rolled his eyes. "If you're both going to keep
staring at me while trying to rush me then I'm kicking the both of you out."
"You wouldn't-" Stiles gasped, like he had no comprehension of just why Peter
would want him gone. Apparently just because Stiles was sleeping with him meant
he had no flaws in any way shape or form.
"I can and I will," Peter sighed.
After that, Scott seemed to force small talk, trying to distract himself and
his best friend. Stiles was pulled in at last after several attempts, which
Peter would thank Scott for if he wasn't, well, Scott. Though it allowed him to
focus all the more on his current project, which was a silent blessing.
After about a half hour more of digging through the small papers and skimming
the text message again and again, Peter scribbled down something and slid it
over to Scott.
The two teens jumped to see what it was, heads pressed close against each
other's. Peter would become alarmed of the lack of personal space between them
if he didn't know Stiles so well. And Scott. There was no threat when they were
close together. It was almost like they were just trying to mash into the same
person. Either way, he organized the small papers together once more and locked
the box afterward while they investigated what he wrote.
"Wait, this just says. 'Fine. 2. NY. Soon. 1.'" Scott grimaced, looking
suddenly a bit more crestfallen. "You mean to tell me that that series of
numbers and letters just said that? What does that even mean?”
"He means that he's fine, I'm assuming the both of them actually. They're in
New York but will most likely be coming back to Beacon Hills soon," Peter
answered.
“Then why didn’t he just say that?” Scott nearly whined, frustrated that he
couldn’t understand the pack secret.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Because we’re very suspicious people. He doesn’t want
to announce his coming back to Beacon Hills. What if you’d been overthrown and
some other Alpha had taken your phone? He doesn’t want to announce to anyone
not possible pack of his location and plans.” The wolf snorted and went to put
the box away. “He also most likely assumed that I would have stayed behind in
Beacon Hills with you. Which is the only logical reason I can think of for his
sending the message to you and not me."
Scott shrugged before glancing at Stiles.
"So when was the message sent again?" Stiles asked, reaching for his best
friend's phone. "Two weeks ago? You think that means he could be on his way
already?"
"Soon for Derek can mean between a month and a year, so I doubt it," Peter
answered with another roll of his eyes. "Though, he might surprise us."
It was certainly interesting, because Peter did miss his nephew on some level,
but Derek always did seem to bring with him a large amount of drama, so it
wasn't altogether bad not having him around. Though the wolf was curious of
what his nephew had been doing all this time. Scott, obviously, seemed a lot
more curious or excited than Stiles seemed, and was certainly more so than
Peter. Hm, he should possibly care more about his nephew's surroundings. But
Derek did say that he was fine, so that had to be saying something. Again
though, fine for Derek could mean several open wounds and a poor stitch job
accompanied by whiskey to keep the wound clean. His nephew wasn't all that
refined. Then again, going to the hospital and saying you were ripped open by a
supernatural creature wasn't about to work. Going in and saying you were ripped
open by a regular animal wasn't all that smart. So Derek couldn't be making
trips to the hospital all that easily. Peter would just need to take him at his
word. And wait.
Derek wasn’t going to be very pleased of Peter’s rise in the ranks.
"Should we...should we go looking for him?" Scott asked, taking his phone from
Stiles and looking at the screen with a look akin to a lost puppy. It was heart
wrenching and sickening all at the same time. When had Scott gotten so close to
Derek?
Maybe the young Alpha realized this was all too much for him. Maybe he needed
the guidance from someone he thought was more advanced. Or maybe the young
Alpha really had changed his mind and begun to think of Derek like the brother
Derek so desperately wanted to be. Siblings fought when they were together, but
the moment they were apart, they longed to see one another. It was a
familiarity thing. A comfort thing.
Peter ached for Talia sometimes. Even if she had been annoying beyond belief.
Even if she could have been cold. He missed her like she was a phantom limb.
"After having just gotten back from a rather taxing adventure, I have no desire
to run off to New York. Derek is fine. He'll come back here. I'm sure you'll be
the first he visits," Peter answered.
"Yeah, but--" Scott started, casting another nervous glance at Stiles. Stiles
would be more willing to accept Scott’s ideas, after all. "Derek's the type of
person who wouldn't tell anyone he was back if he didn't have to."
"True," the older wolf shrugged. "You could always go check the loft. He might
have returned. But I would imagine you'd be able to feel it, being Alpha. Then
again, your instincts and bonds aren’t fully formed, and you're usually
functioning at about half of your natural power anyway, so who really knows?"
Scott knew there was a dig in there somewhere, and Stiles threw a glare his
way, but really they couldn't expect him to just go cold-turkey on the comments
about Scott, could they? Peter was an Alpha now too, and if he wanted to
demonstrate his prowess, his superiority over the other, then he could. As long
as it didn't result in a challenge. That Scott wouldn't even be able to
decipher anyway because he was hardly in tune with his wolf at all for risk of
becoming “cruel”.
Oh, how Peter's species had fallen.
After a short debate between Scott and Stiles on whether or not they should go
and search for Derek, Scott seemed convinced that, well, they'd probably get
into more trouble trying to find him, and if Derek was really coming back, then
it wouldn't do much good to leave. In the end, Scott conceded to staying in
Beacon Hills and waiting, but not before he made a small remark at Peter,
mumbling something about not caring for his own family, the ones that were
left.
Peter restrained himself from any retort he could have made in return, and was
rewarded with the apologetic look Stiles gave him the moment the teen's best
friend was out the door.
"Sorry 'bout him," the teen grumbled, shuffling his feet on the floor closer to
Peter.
"It's something I'll have to tolerate," the wolf answered, a small smirk
finding his way onto his lips as he reached out and grabbed the boy's hand,
pulling him closer faster. Shuffling those feet was taking far too long. A
pouting Stiles was something he could definitely tolerate. Anything to turn
those lips up again. "But I'm going to need convincing, maybe a bit of
rewarding, or I just might decide it's not worth tolerating."
"Then I suppose I'll have to find some way to convince you," Stiles sighed
dramatically, the tips of his lips slowly peaking. “Reward you.” The boy's arms
crept up around Peter's neck, and suddenly Peter felt much more anchored to the
world, Stiles starting to gently twist them from side to side. Stiles began
washing over him once again. All thoughts of Scott and his irritating comments
immediately fled Peter’s mind. He was left basking in the scent of Stiles, of
comfort. Of home.
"Oh will you now?" Peter said lowly, leaning his lips against the boy's ear.
"And how do you intend on convincing me? I'm not easily persuaded."
"Then I guess it's good I'm terribly persuasive. I think I’ll find a way." The
boy grinned suddenly, his hips angling forward, pressing against Peter’s. The
wolf became entirely interested in the direction the conversation was taking
before Stiles suddenly tucked his face into Peter's neck, making a small groan.
"Oh my god, I cannot be making these innuendos with you. This is just…just, I
can’t—I’m sorry. This is awkweird.”
"Stiles, I've fucked you against the counters in my kitchen. I have literally
seen every inch of you, and you think making innuendos is weird?"
"I don't know," the boy gave a small, pathetic huff of a laugh. "Maybe it's
just, weird cause Scott was here.”
"He's never allowed back. In fact, I refuse to allow you to see him. Never
again."
"God, shut up." The boy laughed, then groaned again, limply hitting Peter
against the chest. "It's just, I mean, maybe I’m just overwhelmed or something,
and I’m like, I’m nervous for tomorrow with my dad, and I’m kind of just--"
"Stiles, are you trying to tell me you, for once, aren't in the mood for sex?"
His body tensed immediately against Peter's, like he'd done something wrong,
and the wolf rolled his eyes. "Yes..." Stiles said softly, like he was afraid
of the answer. Oh, that would never happen again.
"You do realize that, quite against my own will, I do enjoy your company apart
from the sex, wonderful as it is,” Peter assured him, hooking a finger under
Stiles’ chin to make him straighten, look Peter in the eyes. “You are allowed
to come over to my apartment and sit on my couch and eat my food and then go to
bed. It's really not all that different from our time before the sex was
implemented anyway."
"I know but--"
"Stiles, you've convinced me that we're dating. Sex is not a requirement of
said relationship, or any relationship."
"I know but--"
"And I'm not put out in the least by you not wanting to. I’m not mad. You’re
allowed, not that you needed my permission in the first place."
The boy began tracing his finger in a pattern on Peter's chest, having pulling
his face somewhere away again to avoid Peter’s gaze, his forehead then pressing
against the wolf's shoulder. "So, you know how I always thought you were a
toolbag?"
"You were horribly mistaken and wrong, and you apologize for any ill thought
you ever had about me?" Peter smirked.
"I wouldn't go that far," Stiles grumbled, pulling away to glare at him.
"Though I suppose you're not quite as big of a douche as I thought. So, uh, I
guess, thanks for not being a douche."
"My pleasure." The wolf pulled the boy close enough to give those beautiful
lips a quick kiss before he then reached out and gave him a sharp tap on the
ass. Stiles chirped and glared again, reaching back to grab Peter’s hand, the
attempted glare still etched into his facial features. "Now go make my new
couch smell like you while I finish putting together these shelves. I was
horribly interrupted earlier and am now off my schedule. I was supposed to
already be making dinner at this point. My boyfriend is such a glutton.”
"Jesus, you're such a whiner. And a jerk." Though Stiles grinned, and pecked
Peter back before racing to the couch. The wolf took in the warm, honey scent
of happiness that suddenly exploded from Stiles as he went.
Peter took a moment to absorb that scent, Stiles’ scent, Peter’s scent--mixing
together. He took a moment to listen to the sound of Stiles in his apartment
once more, the hyper beat of his heart, the immediate shifting of his legs as
he tried to get comfortable, the sound Stiles shifting. He took in the scents
of Beacon Hills surrounding them, the old scent of home and the new scent of
home. He took in the pressing feeling of the territory of a different Alpha. He
took in his own heartbeat, his own feeling of calm.
Yes, Stiles was transforming him, in little ways. Cutting through him, chipping
away at him, breaking up the hardness. But it wasn’t bad. It didn’t make him
regret this decision to be with such a good, pure, wild thing. As Stiles eroded
away, he built Peter up a new. A deposition of human qualities. He built Peter
up with new human qualities. It was what the wolf had been noticing, as of
late. Stiles made him a better Alpha, a better wolf, a better human.
It was odd, this new understanding, this patience, this love. He wasn't sure
how he got there, but he didn't mind where he ended up. He knew he wasn’t gone.
He knew Stiles wasn’t demanding, or even asking, for these human qualities in
Peter. The boy didn’t want the wolf to change. But he would regardless. He
would let Stiles break him down and build him up, as he was never taking away a
piece, but layering him differently.
He wasn’t trapped somewhere in his mind. He wasn’t lost in some in-and-out day
of nothingness. He wasn’t locked in a lack of presence. He wasn’t an empty
space. No.
Not with Stiles so close, and constantly moving him.
***** Trembling Hands *****
Chapter Summary
     The fated day has arrived. Stiles needs to tell John about his and
     Peter's relationship.
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys, so I finally had some time to make a new update, yayyy!!! I
     really like this chapter, as I like all chapters involving John.
     Anyway, I am still crazy busy with the new job, like, my life is on
     constant move move move. But I appreciate all the people who have
     anxiously waited for an update, and for all of you being such amazing
     readers. You're all awesome people. Thanks for being so great. New
     update hopefully won't be too long.
Okay, so Stiles never before had to introduce someone to his father. And well,
the thing was, Peter and his dad had met before, right? They had. So it wasn't
technically a first introduction or anything. It was just a horrible, terrible,
no good, very bad situation in which you have to tell your father that you not
only have been dating (and lost your virginity to) someone without telling him
for a bit, but it was also a crazy, ex-(current) serial killer werewolf who
just happened to be closer to your father's age than your age, and who has a
very serious sass problem, as well as an issue with authority. Oh, and he'd
died once before, yeah, right? Keeper.
Stiles tried to think of several ways to put this gently, but in the end, just
decided that it was better to unravel the truth and hope his dad didn't shoot
Peter in the chest when the wolf came around. It wasn't like he ever imagined
his father would be upset at him if he were gay. His father would maybe tell
him that he needed a better fashion sense for it again, but hey, he’d gotten a
lot better ever since that night at the Jungle with his (already super awesome)
high school fashion. Whatever, digression.
In the end, Stiles sighed and slumped his head into his hands because there was
just no way this could work out to sunshine and rainbows in his mind. Peter
would say something snarky (or mention how Stiles was in bed), and his father
would get mad. Or, on the other hand, his father would say something mean and
demanding, and Peter would react badly. Overall, putting these two in a room
together just...couldn't end up well at all, could it?
He stared at his dad through the open door, but he legs couldn’t be forced to
move forward.
***
The night before, Stiles had been curled up to Peter's side in the wolf's
apartment while Peter read a book and Stiles watched some sort of show on TV.
He didn't remember, honestly, because he was so worried about talking to his
father that he couldn't think about anything else. Really, Stiles would go in
the room and sit down, and say “I am dating Peter Hale,” and suddenly
everything would become a massive uproar of “you what!”s and “Jesus, Stiles, I
thought I raised you better.” And the inevitable demand to break up with Peter
would then follow. And then--
"Stop thinking so loud," Peter had said, flipping to a new page in his book
(very skilled with one hand) before looking down at Stiles. The wolf's other
thumb ran absently up and down his arm as a kind of comfort. "You're
distracting me from reading. If your heart speeds up one more time, I'm never
letting you drink coffee again."
"But, Peter, how are you like, not nervous?"
"Because you're never going to have to meet my family," he answered
nonchalantly. He seemed to skim a sentence before just putting the book down
entirely, realizing the futility in trying to continue reading with Stiles in
the mood he was. "And because I have no reason to listen to your father whether
he approves of us or not."
"But I have a reason!"
"You're eighteen, which means you, by law, have the right to make decisions for
yourself and live on your own. You don't need him to pay for schooling because
you have scholarships, and even if you didn't, I could provide the cost for
you. So, where exactly, in this situation, do you need him?"
Stiles paused, because yeah, when it was put like that, it was all so simple.
Peter thought that this was all so simple, and okay, it was true, Peter didn't
have a family that he had to introduce Stiles to. Peter wouldn't have to endure
comments about Stiles being too young, and Peter being a cradle robber, and
Peter being a pervert (well, maybe from Derek, but when did Peter think that
highly of Derek's opinions anyway?). In the end, Peter didn't really have
anything to lose in this situation, and everything to gain. Well, not
everything, it wasn't like Stiles was exactly a prize, but like...that wasn't
the point. It wasn't as simple as Peter was trying to make it. How could Stiles
put this to him? How could Stiles tell him that /Stiles/ had something to lose?
Even with all of Peter to gain.
How could Stiles explain to someone who couldn't actually take other people's
opinions into consideration, because his self-esteem was just that good or his
caring was just that low that he could do anything in the world and not feel
badly about it, that Stiles actually valued his father's opinion? He cared what
his father thought about him, and wanted his dad to get along with his
significant other. He'd always imagined large family dinners at Thanksgiving
and Christmas, and actually feeling like he had a family again, because his
family was taken away from him so young. He wanted people to get along because
his future depended on it. And Peter thought it was as simple as "if he doesn't
approve, leave him."
Stiles' dad was not a bad date; he couldn't just leave him when they got into
an argument. And yet, here Peter was thinking it was that...easy. It was
slightly infuriating. Stiles’ dad was family, he was Stiles’ everything for
eighteen years of his life. God, Stiles couldn’t imagine life without him.
"He's my dad," Stiles finally answered, all the while Peter had waited
patiently for him to sift through his thoughts to come up with some amazing
retort, and all his patience got him was such a stupid, simple answer. Because
maybe it, it turned out, was that simple for Stiles. "I can't just leave my
dad. I need him. I'm always going to need him."
He mentally and physically braced himself for Peter's rolling eyes, his
drawled, sarcastic tone while saying something to shoot down Stiles' feelings,
to try and make a case that family wasn't important. Peter had gotten along for
years without his, save for Derek and Cora, and they didn't mean that much to
him. So why couldn't Stiles get along without his father? Why couldn't Stiles
get along without just living with Peter, and Peter alone? The wolf was going
to think him so juvenile, so dependent, so weak.
And Stiles still seriously misjudged how much Peter had seemed to grow as a
person.
The wolf sighed softly before pulling Stiles into him a little bit closer.
Stiles wasn't quite sure what to do, so he waited, and maybe tried to bury his
face into that comfortable chest a bit more. This was all such a mess, and
Stiles was working himself up to the point that he felt like he was about to
throw up, or maybe he was about to burst into tears. He couldn't leave Peter,
not after this point, but there was also no way in hell that he was going to be
able to say no to his dad, to just pack up and live without him.
God, why couldn't everyone just get along?
"Well, sweetheart, you're certainly between a rock and a hard place," Peter
answered, and Stiles felt the vibrations of his voice in his chest more than he
actually heard it. Peter, then, at least tried to lighten the mood with a small
smirk, tilting his head down. "You could always--"
"If you finish that sentence with "call me daddy" I will end you," Stiles
answered with a glare up at the older man.
The wolf rolled his eyes fondly and leaned back against the back of the couch
once again. "The offer still stands."
Sighing, Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face before sitting up and looking at
the wolf. Again, Peter sat patiently, letting Stiles process whatever he needed
to while Peter simply watched him, those blue eyes so soft, warm, calming. And
Stiles weighed his options, weighed whether or not Peter was really worth all
of this stress, the possibility of his father disowning him. Peter was coarse,
crass, crude, cruel, curt, callous, and several other "C" words. And yet, here
he was, being so steady, not pushing Stiles one way or another to make a
decision.
Maybe because he knew, if push came to shove, Stiles would always choose
family, as much as it would hurt him. Peter didn't think so highly of himself
that he didn't know he hadn't made it that high up on the list, and he probably
never would, even if Stiles didn't admit it. Stiles would never pick an
outsider over his father. Or maybe it was just because Peter truly did care for
him that much.
God, why was he so contradictory?
"You know, this would be a lot easier right now if you were just a huge dick
about this situation," Stiles answered, his forehead falling against Peter's
shoulder before he groaned.
The wolf shrugged his other shoulder, then leaned down to kiss the top of
Stiles' head, barely there and so soft. "It's much more fun to watch you
struggle."
"Wow, never mind, didn't take you long to switch back into dick mode."
"Darling, listen" Peter said after a moment's pause. Stiles slowly raised his
head to look up at him. "I think you are seriously underestimating your father,
and his trust in your decisions."
"I'm really not though-" Stiles interrupted.
Peter rolled his eyes and continued, "you've saved his life, your friends'
lives, and your own life multiple times. He knows you can take care of
yourself. He might not be my biggest fan, no, but then again, neither were you
and I managed to grow on you."
"Like a malignant tumor."
"I'm letting that slide," Peter drawled before cupping a hand around the back
of Stiles' head. "Stop trying to dodge what I am saying and take a damn
compliment. Your father knows you're not a boy anymore. He should understand.
Maybe not comprehend, but at least understand. The thing is, you're never going
to know until you tell him, and putting it off is not an option, because if you
hide it from him any longer, you know it will only upset him all the more. So
take a breath, reel in the gumption, and know that at the end of the day, best
case scenario, you have the both of us, and worst case, only one of us. But
still better than none. And that is a number you’ll never be left with, by the
way, just so your little brain doesn’t take that and run with it.”
And yeah, yeah, those were definitely tears rising. Stiles felt like his heart
was sinking into his stomach and at the same time, swelling out of his chest.
When in the world did this guy start to love him this much? And when did he
start loving Peter this much? He tried to speak, but when a small, pathetic
little sound came out, Peter just gave him this patronizing little laugh, and a
small "aww" along with it, and kissed him. Stiles wanted to hit him, and also
never let go of him.
At least he didn't actually cry. When Peter pulled away, he had this soft smirk
on his face. The wolf swept a hand down Stiles' back to reel him back in close
to his chest. "If you're father really doesn't approve, sweetheart, I'll find
another solution. After all, you know me. I always find another solution."
And Stiles did. Which was so bizarre. But God, did he trust Peter to help him
figure this out.
The idea of being without the wolf made him feel like all the air was being
sucked out of the room. But he knew Peter would never let him go without
oxygen. Now Stiles just had to keep his blood.
***
His dad was sitting in the kitchen, going over some cases, folders spread
haphazardly over the table, a small glass of whiskey in his hand while he
glanced over picture after picture, file after file. It was all so normal, so
standard, so familiar. Stiles swallowed hard and watched him from the hallway,
still unable to make his way inside. So many things had changed over the years,
but this picture really hadn't. There had been countless times Stiles was
apprehensive of walking in on his father like this throughout the years. But
John always looked the same.
His father was there when he was young, and his mother would come and place her
hands on his shoulders, sink her arms around his chest and smile into his neck,
give him a peck and ask him why he had to look at such gruesome things at the
dinner table. His father was there when she began showing symptoms of her
disease, and he worked long hours to try and avoid the truth. His father was
there when she was dying in the hospital, and he didn't want to go see her in
that condition, so he drowned himself in work. That's when the whiskey first
showed up. His father was there after she died, and there were two bottles next
to his work. And maybe it was a bit more jumbled around then. And he ignored
Stiles' movements in the household. His father was there nearly every night,
and Stiles got to slowly watch him get better, from two bottles to one to none.
And sometimes Stiles made him take a few steps back too, from no bottle to one.
And Stiles hated that.
But now, there was no bottle in sight. Just a small glass. And he looked
completely sober. He looked awake.
Stiles almost wished he looked a bit more glossed over, but there was no way he
was going to feed him drinks. Not at this point, and not for this thing. But he
wasn't quite ready to go in yet. So he stood in the safe shadows of the
hallway, staring in at a picture that he just couldn't ruin. In case his father
got mad at him, in case he threw him out, in case he was never welcomed back,
well, Stiles wanted this to be the memory of him burned into his brain. He
wanted this moment to be frozen in time.
The teen breathed in the scent of the house. He made note of the way the light
hit his father's form, the scattered papers on the table. He described each and
every item in the kitchen in his mind, just so he could never forget the
smallest color, the smallest scratch, the smallest familiar piece. He
remembered the scents of chili, his father's cologne, the whiskey. He recalled
the smell of cookies and brownies, and the sound of his mother's steps on the
creaking floor. The stick to the window his father always said he would fix and
never did. Stiles caught everything in his memory, and attached it all to his
one, specific moment.
"You know," his father said, not looking up from his work, but not sounding mad
in the least. It at least snapped Stiles out of his thoughts. "I kind of have
the feeling you're going to tell me something pretty big. And I'm not going to
like it."
Swallowing felt a bit hard. Stiles took in a deep breath instead and shrugged,
but didn't answer. That finally caused his father to look up, maybe slightly
alarmed. Now Stiles felt even worse. He'd scared his dad, and totally set this
up for failure already.
"You didn't get kicked out of school or anything, did you?" Dad asked, worry
immediately flooding his voice. "I talked to them about that injury, they can't
just--"
"No, no, Dad, I didn't, I didn't get kicked out of school," Stiles rushed,
finally taking a step forward and toward the room. "I'm still...I'm still in
school."
"Then what's the news, kiddo?" John asked softly, pushing out the chair next to
him with his foot.
After a deep breath, and with trembling hands, Stiles made his way into the
room, pulled the chair out a bit more, and sat down. "Um, Dad, well, there's
something I've been meaning to talk with you about for a while now, and um--"
"You have a boyfriend," his father answered, a bit of a sigh coming out at the
end while his hand grasped onto the glass of whisky to pull it up for a sip.
Stiles felt a bit dumbfounded. Why did he ever underestimate the skills his
father obtained from being sheriff for so many years? "W-what? How did you, I
mean, it could be a girl, why did you immediately jump to--"
"Because I'm not an idiot, Stiles. What's his name? I'm assuming you met him at
school? Honestly, I'm a little upset you haven't told me before now. Did you
think I wouldn't accept it or something?"
"Uhhhh," Stiles sat there, mouth agape, before he finally caught up with
himself. "Well, um, Dad, uh, yes, but not really in the way that you think?"
"Oh, God, he's some kind of supernatural creature, isn't he?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing-"
"It is a bad thing, considering most of them have an extra head, or a tail, or
claws, or fangs or--" Sheriff paused in the discussion before looking at
Stiles.
He suddenly grew a lot more serious about the situation, and Stiles felt like
he knew why. His father stared at him for a whole minute before actually
continuing, and the entire time Stiles was just trying to catch his breath. His
palms began to sweat, his heart began to race, his father was putting two and
two together.
"Your werewolf protector," John carried on, tone dropping low. "Stiles, do not
tell me you're dating Peter Hale."
Stiles chose not to answer at first, looking down at the table in supreme
guilt. He felt trapped, all of a sudden. He had been prepared for his father
not to approve, but being prepared for it and actually experiencing it was a
whole other story. He felt like throwing up all over again, or maybe crying, or
begging.
"Stiles," his dad prompted, tone becoming a bit more dangerous.
If Stiles didn't say anything, his father would only get more upset. But he
also didn't feel like his vocal chords could work. Everything seemed to freeze
up on him. All he managed was a guilty glance up at his father, and a slow nod
of his head.
And there came the disappointment. His dad sighed in frustration, head dropping
onto his hand like this was the worst answer he could have heard in the world.
John winced, and stopped talking again as well, taking time to process this new
development. His messed up son was dating the most messed up man his messed up
son knew. Stiles felt like the only sentence running through his father's head
on perpetual replay was "where did I go wrong?"
Sheriff didn't yell, and he didn't scream, and he didn't throw anything at
Stiles. But the teen almost wished that he would. Maybe if he would, this
wouldn't hurt as bad as it did. Except, in the end, here Stiles was,
disappointing his father once more.
So he simply sat there, soaking in a horrible guilty feeling and wondering if
he should break up with Peter if it gave his father this bad of a reaction,
except that only made him feel worse, and suddenly Stiles felt like he was
about to spiral out of control. He rubbed absently at his arm, just to do
something, his leg starting to anxiously wiggle back and forth. They both sat
in silence.
"You know, you're really not doing much to help sell your case," his dad
finally said at last, lifting his head up from his hand. "And normally that's
all you try to do. Which makes me worry even more, actually. Is he hurting you?
Did he force you into this? Is he blackmailing you?"
"Dad, Dad, stop, no, it's nothing like that," he answered his hands waving
frantically all of a sudden. God, he was getting tired of having to explain
this to people. Peter really did not have a good reputation. "It's just
like...I don't know. You know he wasn't my favorite to begin with either but,
he's really funny, and kind of a dick like me, and he always encourages me to
do more, and doesn't put me down like the others can sometimes. He's never made
me feel that I couldn't be just as important as the rest of them just because
I'm human."
"And he's the one that trained you in magic and put you into danger and almost
killed you and your friends--"
"Alright, we have already been through the whole thing with me and the seer,
and the only other person he tried to kill was Scott, and okay, that was
horrible of him, but he won't do it again, alright? Like, God, Dad, can you
just trust me to make my own decisions? Have I not proven to you yet that I can
take care of myself, and handle myself, and handle him? I made him and Scott
make up, and they're cool now. And Scott already has told him if he hurts me,
Scott will find any way he can to make his life Hell, but you know, Scott's
hurt me too. Peter cares about me, Dad, he really, really does. It's not like
there's any way for me to prove it to you, it's just something that I know. Mom
always used to tell me that she just knew when she met you that she loved you,
and she knew when you said it, you loved her too. I didn't get how that was
possible, because people can lie. And let me tell you, Peter is one damn good
liar, but he's not lying about this."
John stared at him a moment again, and Stiles knew it was because he brought
his mother into his. "It's not fair bringing her in, you know I can't argue
against that," his dad said softly.
"You shouldn't be arguing against me anyway, I'm your son, and I can be stupid,
and spastic, and a mess, but I know what I'm doing, dad. Peter likes me for who
I am, with rambling too much, and moving all the time, and having no filter,
and jumping into plans that no one else thinks are good. He likes me with all
of that combined in. I never thought anyone would like me for me, but he thinks
I'm quick, and witty, and handsome. He takes all those things people hates and
tries to make me channel them into being better, and stronger."
A lost cause. His dad knew that this was a lost cause, and he sighed again,
scrubbing a hand over his face. "I do, Stiles, I do trust your decisions. But
you just…You couldn't have picked anyone else but Peter Hale? Leave it to you
to always pick the hardest route to take."
"Oh, I'm a stubborn asshole, I know. But Dad, that's what makes me, y'know,
me," Stiles answered with a shrug of his shoulder. "Look, he tried to talk me
out of it, and it didn't work. Scott tried, Lydia tried, Hell, I even tried
myself. But in the end, it always comes back to him. You know that once I get
my head wrapped around an idea, pulling me away from it would be harder than
trying to pull the foundation out of a mountain. Pretty much impossible. But
seriously, ask me any question you want, and I'll do my best to answer it."
After crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair, the
sheriff gave Stiles a steady look and sighed, obviously agreeing to play the
game. "Okay, start out with this one: why Peter Hale?"
Well, that question should have been expected. Stiles sighed and leaned back in
his chair. "I don't know? It's like..." He shifted again and put his chin in
his hands. "Do you want this metaphorically, like, waxing poetic or just
straight forward?" When his father just raised an eyebrow at him, Stiles
squirmed and sighed again. "He's like a tornado."
"You're going to try and sell me on this idea by comparing him to a natural
disaster that normally kills people, ruins homes, and costs everyone thousands
in property damage?"
"Dad!" Stiles groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "Just listen, my God.
Why is everyone I know so stubborn?" After his father seemed to give him a
moment, he continued. "Like, he's terrifying, you know. And he's not some small
F1 tornado, he is full blown, scary F5. He is a massive tornado. And yes, he
can destroy things, and ruin lives, and he comes in in a rush and leaves
everyone breathless and knocked off their feet, and scared of what storm could
come in next. But there are some people out there who are so interested in just
how tornados work, and even why we have them, that they go following these
things. They put their life in danger just to get a little closer to something
they think is so beautiful. And sure, it might destroy them, might kill them,
but they're willing to risk that just to get a little closer to figuring out
something that they never thought they'd understand. And like, I was terrified
of Peter, sure, but when I was fifteen. Like, I was scared of Derek back then
too and we all know how he turned out. But Peter, just, I've watched him rush
in, and destroy, and move on, and I'm still so interested in just figuring out
how he works. And he's move on from this crazy natural disaster to this storm
of purple and blue lightning. And storms well, they're beautiful. And
necessary.
"So...I don't know. He's a puzzle I've been dying to figure out for years, and
he's opened up to me, and he wants to be with me. He'd never hurt me, I know
that. He cares for me, believes in me, and God, does he make the best food."
Stiles groaned a bit. "Seriously, he can make you some stuff that will never
make you want for meat, Dad, he's such a health nut but it's soooo good."
The sheriff rolled his eyes, but his shoulders have visibly relaxed. "So he
takes care of you?"
"We take care of each other," Stiles shrugged a shoulder. "He'd die for me, I'd
die for him sort of stuff."
"That would be a lot more comforting if that part was metaphoric," his dad
grumbled. "I'm going to assume you were the one that told him not to come and
tell me with you? That wasn't his decision? You know I have wolfsbane bullets
upstairs."
"Hence why I told him to stay away, yes," Stiles answered. "I don't know, Dad,
do you honestly expect me to be able to answer why I picked him? It's like
asking me why I picked Scott as my best friend, or Lydia as my first crush."
"Scott's a dork, and Lydia is terrifying and a challenge for you. Which, brings
a bit of light to the Hale thing. But, Stiles, can't you just find someone your
own age?"
"Dad, I get your panicking about that, but remember that Peter was also in a
coma for six years, so I am actually going to say his mental age is--"
"He's the sharpest person I know besides you or Lydia, and I might even say
more so than the either of you, I don't think that he has any issues with his
brain from being in the coma. He has also murdered people, and died before."
"All in the past. And I am not arguing with you again about the murder thing,
okay, he won't murder. No murdering. No doing anything criminal of the murder
and maiming type."
John sighed again, rubbed his brow, and dragged his hand down his cheek before
he looked at Stiles. "You're going to send me back into drinking, kid."
"Don't even joke about that," Stiles grumbled, slowly looking at the floor.
"Look, it took a lot for me to come and talk to you about this. But Peter told
me I needed to so, I did. Um...are you like...kicking me out, or disowning me
or something?"
"How little do you think I think of you?" John asked, leaning over and giving
Stiles a light nudge to the side of his head. "Kid, you admitted to me that you
murdered someone and I didn't kick you out. You really can't do much that I
would kick you out for. Now, I can't say that I'm happy with your decision, but
you’re old enough to make your own choices. Worst thing I could do is push you
away in case you did make a mistake. Which is still up for debate, but again,
not really my place to tell you that you can't. You have to figure it out on
your own."
Stiles took in a deep breath, blinking quickly to keep his eyes clear because
they just might betray him, and he might cry. How could something so small make
him cry? He got up quickly and hugged his dad, tight around the shoulders, his
face tucking into his own arm. John leaned back slightly, like he hadn't
expected it, but easily wrapped an arm around Stiles as well.
"Were you really expecting me to throw you out?" His dad asked, nudging him a
bit. And Stiles only nodded in response, to which, John said fondly, "you're an
idiot sometimes, kid."
***
After they broke apart, the conversation lulled for a bit, long enough for them
to discuss what they were doing for dinner (to which John totally succeeded in
getting Stiles to agree to burgers because he was "such a cool dad" and it was
all just a huge play on Stiles’ emotions. Fucking guilt trips). But as they
were settling into the car, burgers in hand, just like Stiles used to do on
stake outs, John paused halfway to a bite and shrugged a shoulder.
"So, is Peter ever going to come by sometime? Like, do I get to meet him
formally as "the boyfriend" or just know he exists and that you're dating?"
"I don't know, are you planning on shooting him?" Stiles asked before shoving a
curly fry in his mouth.
"That depends on if he says anything that warrants shooting at," his dad
answered quickly, and Stiles rolled his eyes, but knew he was probably (mostly)
joking.
In the end, Stiles slowly took his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick
text to Peter, asking him if he wanted to meet at the house in an hour, casting
a quick, nervous look at his dad in the process.
Peter was quick with a reply of "I'm assuming neither party is dead, then?"
Stiles smirked and answered "not just yet," and slipped the phone back into his
pocket.
"My God, you used to have the same damn look with Lydia, now I know it's true,"
his dad grumbled from the other side of the car. "Well, tell him he's cooking
for holidays."
"I don't think you realize how much I think he would like that," Stiles
answered with a roll of his eyes.
Once they finished dinner, they made their way back to the house, and it was
then and only then that Stiles realized what a complete mess the house was. He
was used to this, disheveled, chaotic feel, but the moment he knew Peter was
coming over, and that he would certainly comment on how messy everything was,
he felt the need to clean absolutely everything within reach. He started
picking up things around the house, and John watched him with a curious
fascination.
"Seems like an odd time to start tidying up," he mentioned, glancing up at the
clock. But it wasn't like he was about the stop the boy. Any cleaning Stiles
wanted to do was A-Okay with him.
"I just, I mean, I didn't realize how much you let the house go after I moved
out is all," Stiles commented while piling up various items in his arms and
trying to walk across the house holding the lot of them.
John simply hoped his son didn't trip on his way, crossing his arms over his
chest and raising his eyebrows. "You know, if I'd known you were so eager to
impress a romantic interest before, I would have invited Lydia to the house
more often."
"Oh, no, no, Lydia never cared all that much. I mean, she did, she cares a lot,
but like, Peter is, you know, Peter is different," Stiles called out from
trying to shove what he could in a closet. "He's um, a bit of a neat freak?"
"You saying that I embarrass you? Or that he'll be any more superior to me
because I don't keep my house spotless?" His dad asked, and yeah, he was
messing with Stiles, but it was still fun to see the kid get flustered.
"No, Dad!" Stiles stressed before kind of growling and moving to pick things up
all the quicker. “I’m gonna tell Melissa to come by here and get your life in
order when I can’t just for that.”
The game of watch and clean continued until there was a sharp three-tapped
knock on the door. Stiles immediately looked ready to jump out of his skin,
full attention aimed at the entrance. His glanced at his father before racing
over. Except his dad made it first, and Stiles' stomach dropped slightly. Oh,
why did he suddenly feel like this was all going to go wrong? Their heart-to-
heart earlier was definitely only a ploy to lure Stiles into a false sense of
security, in which he would invite Peter over, and then bam, fight.
"Peter Hale," his dad mentioned immediately as greeting.
From his position, Stiles couldn't see Peter, but he could hear the smirk-smile
in his voice, the smooth, trying-to-impress "Sheriff Stilinski, pleasure to see
you again."
As John stepped aside, Peter walked inside, and Stiles couldn't help but admire
him even standing in front of his father. God, Peter was such a snappy dresser.
And damn, did he look good in a v-neck. Why did Stiles ever dislike him in
those in the first place? Oh right, they were way too attractive and made him
question his sexuality while also making Peter an object of desire, which was a
huge no-no. Y’know, five years ago.
He really should work on his decision making skills.
"Hey," he managed to grin when Peter looked at him. Peter's entire look
softened, and Stiles felt a little warm.
"Hey yourself," Peter answered, though he stood in his place, not moving toward
Stiles and away from the sheriff. Actually, he looked a bit awkward, like he
had no idea what to do. Oh man, Peter was awkward for once! He didn't like the
meeting the family bit! Awesome!
"Well, come on," John finally said to break the tension. "I feel like all three
of us need a pretty solid drink right now."
As the three settled in at the table, and John went to grab two more glasses
from the cabinet, (Stiles tried a very subtle, "ooo whiskey, I wonder what it
tastes like," before his dad glared at him with the "don't-bullshit-me-right-
now" look. Stiles was used to that look.) he glanced over at Peter and gave a
quick smile. The wolf smirked softly and made a move like he was going to reach
for Stiles' hand before he glanced at John and kept his distance. Instead, he
raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat.
"So I assume the hunting party isn't on the way?" He started.
Stiles' dad glanced back at him, looking slightly amused. "I have them on speed
dial in case I need them."
"Best behavior then," Peter quipped back.
From then on, it was pretty smooth sailing. Peter and John actually upheld a
conversation, and Peter kept his snark to a minimum, as did John. Stiles
entered the conversation when he could, but mostly he just wanted them to get
along. Until the conversation turned toward him at least. Something about him
constantly putting his foot in his mouth. Stiles protested his father before
Peter agreed.
He suddenly felt betrayed.
"Hey, hey, hey, I want you to get along with each other as much as the next
guy, but you are not about to bond with each other over my faults," Stiles
grumbled.
"He can be moody sometimes," Peter told John, obviously completely ignoring
Stiles.
"And pretty bossy. If he has a plan, you do not want to try to ruin it or get
him to stop."
"Stubborn and massively bullheaded."
"Never stops talking. Could never get him to stop when he was a kid."
"Doesn't stop talking? He doesn't stop moving."
"God, you don't need to tell me."
"Hey!" Stiles broke in, glaring at the both of them. "Oh, haha, you're best of
friends now. Drop the pick-on-Stiles routine. This was the worst idea ever."
"Bossy," Peter said, glancing at John again, and the sheriff smirked.
Stiles sighed, exasperated, and stood up from the table. "Fine, if you both
feel like being jerks, I'm going to go call Scott."
"Sit down, kid, we're just messing with you," John answered, pushed Stiles'
chair out a bit more with his foot.
Good, it wasn't like Stiles really wanted to leave anyway. He sat back down,
trying his best to look offended, and crossed his arms over his chest.
But this was warm, and oddly comforting. Stiles enjoyed that his father and
Peter were getting along. It was a terrifying thought, being without one of
them. Stiles didn't want to experience a world like that.
Sitting here now though, watching them talk back and forth over a glass of
whiskey. Stiles suddenly realized that all of his plans for Christmas,
Thanksgiving, his plans for family, they all came whirling back to him. He knew
he would be able to have that. And maybe more. Maybe with Scott, Melissa,
Lydia, the pack in general. Even Derek and Cora. It filled him with a warmth
that he kept tucked away and to himself, because really who wouldn't make fun
of him for it just a little? So he smirked into his tumbler of whiskey, and
watched his father and his boyfriend discuss Peter’s apartment in Beacon Hills,
and the sheirff’s station, and Peter’s stocks and plans for a job and
schooling, and John’s day-to-day life without Stiles. And everything was going
to be okay.
It seemed silly now that he had even come into the room earlier with trembling
hands.
***** Be Comfortable, Creature *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter is in love and doesn't know how to handle it. Fluff ensues.
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys! I am still working on this fic, but much slower than I used
     to, if only because I am ridiculously busy. Like really. It will also
     have an epilogue after this story is completed!
     Thank you all so much for reading again. Whenever I get a comment I
     blush and squeal and cry a little because people like my writing.
     You're all wonderful, so thank you.
     Don't judge my fluff chapter. Not much plot in this one. But the next
     chapter is the conclusion, and then there's well, the epilogue....
     This has really been a journey.
The stay in Beacon Hills wasn't an incredibly long one. After all, Stiles
needed to get back for the start of school, and they both knew that it was only
a short visit to begin with. Letting John know about the relationship was the
priority, and that was completed. Stiles spent time with Scott and tried to
repair their wounded relationship, which Peter ground his teeth at, but still
forced a smile when Stiles came home smelling like another Alpha. For the sake
of maintaining his own relationship he would have to bite the metaphorical
bullet, although actually biting a bullet might be less painful than listening
to Scott. How Stiles endured Scott's naivety Peter would never understand. But
to be honest, it made Stiles all the more intriguing. He had a strength that
Peter himself did not have: suffering idiocy.
Either way, they were leaving Beacon Hills.
Peter was very distressed about it, naturally.
Upon arriving back in his own territory, a tightness he didn’t realize he had
in his chest loosened. Peter took a deep breath the moment his own scent filled
the air, and he was pleased that Thomas was able to uphold the area so well as
a new Beta. It didn't smell of Scott here; Peter didn't feel like he needed to
watch his actions so that he didn't offend the ruling Alpha- because he was the
ruling Alpha.
He arrived a day before Stiles did, walking into his apartment, taking a deep
breath, and settling into his normal rhythm. Nothing smelled new, or freshly
constructed, or not like him and Stiles. He didn't have to anxiously wait for
information on how Stiles' talk with his father went, or be on his best
behavior. Peter sank into his chair after removing shoes, and simply sat, and
absorbed his own territory. His power. Himself.
Peter never was very social. Yes, he was good at socializing, but that didn't
mean he was fond of it. People exhausted him. Using sarcasm and vague phrases
was usually his go to, simply because it would keep people from talking to him
most of the time, under the belief he was pretentious. Unless it was Stiles;
Stiles was quick with his words. Then Peter just felt invigorated when they
spoke. But the majority of the time, with others, he simply felt tired. And
this situation was no different. He hadn't had a lot of alone time, having
socialized with more people in Beacon Hills than he wished.
Even more so, after needing to put on airs for Scott and the Sheriff, though
Peter supposed he wasn't faking so much as just being cautious, he felt as if
he'd been away from his apartment for years. The wolf sat in complete silence,
just enjoying the nothingness, for at least an hour. After that, he managed to
get up and make himself dinner and to text Stiles to mention that the territory
was secure and safe. Stiles sent back a series of smiley-faced emojis that
Peter shook his head at and smirked.
How did he end up here? The series of events leading up to this exact moment
hardly made sense to Peter, and he lived them. Each time he replayed the events
in his mind, well, they shouldn't have all added up to what they did. Stiles
should have taken more offense to something, or Peter should have been just a
touch more mean, more sarcastic. Something should have gone wrong, but it
didn't. The formula should have resulted in what it always had, but no, there
was this remainder, there was an outlier, there was an invisible number that
threw everything off. And somehow, Stiles plus Peter managed to equal out to a
relationship. To love.
He couldn't make sense of it scientifically, mathematically. There was no
logical explanation, and that was irritating. But Peter decided, halfway
through heating his sauce for pasta, that he just needed to accept that Stiles
never fit an algorithm. He was not the rule, he was the exception. And maybe
that, that, was illogical enough that it made sense.
Before allowing himself to get too much more caught up in his thoughts, the
wolf finished his dinner, and went to eat it while catching up on some reading.
The peace and quiet was a much-needed reward for his appeasement in Beacon
Hills. At least for a while. After too long, the quietness bothered him, and
his apartment was too clean. When he glanced up from his book, there wasn't a
pile of clothes near the couch, or dishes covering his coffee table, or music
coming from the bathroom while Stiles showered. He'd been so accustomed to the
sharp sting of loneliness until it had burst in an eruption of Stiles that now
he wasn't sure if he could become accustomed to it again.
Was it really only a day and Peter missed him?
Ridiculous.
The wolf sighed, and shut his book, paced a bit in his apartment, then pulled
out his phone. Just as his thumb hovered over Stiles' number, Peter received a
text message from an unknown number. He pulled his brow together, maybe
wondering if this momentary distraction was a good thing. Stiles couldn't
imagine him to be the "needy" type; after all he still had a reputation to
uphold.
The wolf opened the message, curious as to whom it could be, though the message
wasn't exactly revealing. Some unknown person, texting him a simple "Peter?"
Well now. Three guesses to just whom. Peter had a very strong idea at least.
The wolf rolled his eyes and typed back a quick, “Ah, so are you back in Beacon
Hills now?”
There wasn't an answer. However, it was enough of a new addition to his day
that Peter was set off of his normal routine. Instead, he immersed himself in
trying to remember old Hale family travel patterns, possible locations around
the world where distant relatives might be. There was a pack somewhere in
eastern Canada. There was also a pack that was in northern England, but there
were fewer known details about them. It was ridiculous that he had never
bothered trying to contact the more distant relatives. It sounded like
something he would have done, and yet, he never had. As much as he had enjoyed
griping at Talia's leadership skills, Peter had never imagined joining another
pack.
Peter had never even aspired to be Alpha until after the fire. Pipe dreams,
maybe, but he hadn’t had it planned out. And even the pipe dreams were about a
way to try to connect to her. Sibling rivalry was never something to bat an
eyelash at, but Talia could prove what a skilled leader she was by keeping an
unruly Beta under control. Still, Peter had never wanted a different pack.
He missed his sister.
As he always did when Peter felt himself spiraling down this path, he focused
ever harder on his research. He was determined to figure out the entire line of
Hales, werewolf and human alike, so that he could rid himself of this sinking
hole in his chest, his stomach. And maybe he wished a little that Stiles would
come home all the sooner. Even if he wasn't needy.
***
In the morning, a morning which came all too quickly after he spent most of the
night following his family tree, Peter woke to the scent of his main Beta
outside his apartment. Thomas hadn't even made it up the stairs of the
apartment yet, but Peter could almost feel him move, feel his presence. The
Alpha sat up quickly, rubbed a hand down his face, and then got out of bed.
Thomas had the same buzzing qualities that Stiles did, like one could feel the
energy that was filling them to the brim, and possibly pouring over the sides
already. But Thomas didn't run, and he didn't bounce with excitement. The boy
moved slowly; his movements more controlled with the power that he knew he
possessed. Thomas was still nervous about his power, in some ways, it seemed.
He was scared of moving too quickly for fear of what he could do to the world
around him.
They’d need to break him of that eventually.
Peter greeted him at the door before Thomas had the chance to knock, and his
Beta greeted him with a bright smile. The smile slowly disappeared though as he
caught a new scent in the air and scrunched up his nose.
“Ugh, is that what that Scott guy smells like? I mean, it's not bad but like, I
kind of feel like it's the sort of smell that goes along with potato chips? Am
I alone in this or am I just being a dick?” Thomas mumbled, covering his nose
with his hand.
Peter took a deep breath and wondered if he should go shower, but shrugged a
shoulder and made way for Thomas to enter. “On the contrary, you're fairly
spot-on. Unfortunately.” Peter closed the door behind the both of them.
His Beta didn't exactly have anything to tell him, but Peter understood the
need for pack, and that Thomas had probably just known Peter well enough to
give him the previous night's alone time before coming over to absorb in the
feelings of said “pack”. Peter appreciated that. All of it. Because he needed
pack too, as much as he pretended not to.
The boy decided to hang around until Stiles eventually showed up, at least
Peter hoped it was sooner rather than later. He discussed the small things that
had happened in the territory, mentioned that some other pack had tried to get
in communication, but he wasn't quite sure how to respond, and talked endlessly
about how he spent his time, and how Jaylen was. Thomas also ended up helping
Peter do a bit more research on his family, and hounded him until he took a
shower.
“When I meet this Scott guy, I am going to give him some cologne. Werewolf
approved.” Thomas would grumble small things like this to himself, and Peter
would smirk. He wasn't sure how much the boy actually felt this or Thomas just
felt challenged by the fact that Scott was Stiles' original best friend. Oh,
the drama.
Jaylen arrived a bit later on in the day, smiling brightly at the two
werewolves, though sharing Peter’s sentiments of hoping Stiles had already been
there. She almost looked like she wanted to give Peter a hug, however, but
settled instead on giving him a warm, “welcome back,” and a pat on the
shoulder. Peter wasn't entirely certain if he would mind if she'd hugged him.
Actually, he might have enjoyed it. New experiences all around.
The two lingered around his apartment while Peter worked around them. Sometimes
they helped, sometimes they got caught up in each other, whispering soft things
that Peter did his best to block out. But Jaylen smiled while she bit onto her
lower lip, and Thomas grinned at the reaction, his fingers tightening around
hers all the more. She shook her head a bit and buried into Thomas' neck, and
he smirked, whispered another soft something into her ear. And Peter just
caught a soft “in a hundred years,” like Thomas was planning to be with her
that long. Some silent promise was made as Thomas twirled one of Jaylen’s long
braids around his finger, connecting them.
It was sickeningly charming. Peter couldn't help but admire them, oddly. So he
didn't interrupt those moments, the moments where they planned their future
without any care of what could happen between now and a hundred years. He
didn't want to ruin it, or spoil it. Maybe because he already felt he didn't
deserve Stiles. He understood what it was like to want to get as much as you
could, all at once, like a whirlwind, and hold onto it as tightly as possible.
But Peter, for some reason, didn't expect Stiles to stay for hundreds of years,
like holding onto a whirlwind. He couldn't let himself think that far ahead.
The truth was that fires happened, and supernatural creatures interfered, and
in the end, tragic heroes, anti-heroes, epic heroes, and villains met their
fates.
Peter never had a good prophecy to begin with, and he could only cheat death so
many times.
What was worse, trying to change fate always made it happen quicker. Peter was
hopeless, useless against it. He hated it, believed he could take it into his
own hands, but he was simply here for the ride, and to try and enjoy as much of
Stiles as he could, for as long as he could. This was a situation that he
couldn't control, and trying to would make it all fall apart.
As much as he hated leaving it all up to the oh-so-terrifying-and-enigmatic
“destiny,” he was going to have to if he wanted to hold onto Stiles.
Thomas snapped him out of his thoughts when the boy nearly rocketed up from the
couch, grinning ear to ear and racing for the door. “I hear a Jeep!” he shouted
behind him.
A moment later, Peter could hear the rumble of the engine too, and the Alpha
was seriously surprised that his Beta's ears were better than his.
***
“Stiles! God, baby, don't you ever leave me again!” Thomas shouted through his
dramatics, gripping onto Stiles like the other teen was about to turn into
smoke at any moment. He added in some fake sobs for effect. Nice touch, if not
slightly obnoxious.
But Stiles handled it well, laughing lightly, albeit tiredly, and wrapping his
arms warmly around Thomas in return. “I missed you too man. But it seems like
you handled things pretty well, I'm impressed.”
“Well,” Thomas smirked as the conversation shifted back to him. He let go of
Stiles immediately and puffed out his chest a bit. Big, bad werewolf. He
released a breath, stretched his arms and shoulders a bit before shrugging
“nonchalantly”. “Really wasn't a big deal. The big-bads are pretty scared of me
after all. I mean, I am a force to be reckoned with.”
“Babe, you needed me to kill a spider for you the other night,” Jaylen answered
flatly, and Stiles cracked up laughing while Thomas looked absolutely horrified
she would share his secret. Instead, she took her turn to walk up to Stiles and
not-hug him. She gave him a pat on the shoulder as well, with a smile. “I'm
glad you're back. These two are rather lost without you, I think.”
“Now, who would ever imagine that?” Stiles grinned, winking at her and
returning her pat on the shoulder with one of his own.
Thomas continued to be “so betrayed” by Jaylen while he went up to her, arms
out wide like she'd confessed his deepest, darkest secret. He started something
like, “Babe, I can't even begin to believe you right now, I just—”
Peter stopped focusing on them though. Because Stiles was looking at him, and
Stiles was walking toward him, and Peter felt time stop a moment. He couldn't
be quite sure if it was Stiles doing it just for the effect or not too. The boy
knew how to make an entrance.
“So you missed me, huh?” Stiles asked, smirking and shifting his bag on his
shoulder. “Little old me, after just one day?”
“I have no idea what she's on about,” Peter answered back with a slight eye
roll. But then Stiles was leaning forward, and placing a soft peck on Peter's
jaw, and the wolf felt any remaining tension fully leave his body. He did miss
Stiles, irritating as that was.
The human made his way toward the apartment complex, “I'll let you keep your
big, scary persona- just feed me, I'm starving.”
“I might be able to do that,” Peter answered, following a moment later.
Stiles grinned widely when he reached the sphinx, who also looked more than
excited to see him. It bounced a little, even if it just looks like a trembling
rock. Its eyes lit up either way. “Hey buddy,” Stiles said quickly, kneeling on
one knee to talk to the sphinx. “Got a riddle for me today?”
“What do you throw away when you want to use it, but take it with you when you
don't?” The sphinx asked, an almost sly look sliding onto its face before it
moved its big eyes onto Peter. Peter rolled his eyes and wanted to push Stiles
along and into the apartment, but oh no, the boy was invested. Wonderful.
“Hmmm,” Stiles sighed, as if heavy in thought, then he smiled. “An anchor! Aww,
am I your new anchor, buddy?” He patted the sphinx on the head, because that
was a smart idea, Stiles really had no concept of just how dangerous any of the
creatures were that he spent time with. The sphinx itself rolled its eyes and
looked up pleadingly at Peter.
However, the wolf would not stoop to its level. Instead, he moved behind Stiles
and helped usher him into the apartment complex, muttering a quick,
“preposterous, sphinx don’t have anchors. It was just a coincidence.” Stiles
didn’t seem like he believed the Alpha, as he rightfully shouldn’t.
Once everyone was back upstairs, and Stiles had placed his bag in Peter's room,
they gathered in the kitchen, mostly to try to convince Peter to make them all
dinner. In an annoying flash of nostalgia, he was reminded of what pack dinners
were supposed to feel like. He just never imagined he'd be the one in his
mother's place. She always used to make pack dinners.
“You been zoning out for the past few days?” Stiles asked with a small, but
curious, smirk, walking over to Peter to lightly bumping him with his hip. “
It's never good when you're in your head too long. You start plotting.”
“Maybe plotting what spices to add to this,” Peter answered back. But Stiles
just gave him this odd, invasive sort of look that Peter had to shake his head
at. “I'm fine, Stiles. Relax.”
“Okay,” Stiles sighed, clearly not convinced. In fact, he began to smell a bit
apprehensive. Peter had said something wrong, didn't he? That was never good.
Still, the teen didn't press. Instead, he began trying to talk Thomas out of
some of his jealousy over Scott.
“I promise, I love both of you equally,” Stiles mentioned, hand over his chest.
Thomas huffed and didn't accept the promise. “My grandma says the same thing,
but I know she loves my brother way more than me. Like that time she bought him
a Gameboy and the new Pokemon game for Christmas, and she just bought me a
sweater! What am I going to do with a sweater, Stiles? See, you can't expect me
to believe you.”
They bickered for a bit, which just ended up becoming banter, mostly between
Jaylen and Stiles while they teamed up on Thomas, who did his best to look
offended, in all of his over-dramatics, but was greatly enjoying all the
attention. Jaylen did remind Thomas that Thomas was seventeen at the time his
grandmother bought him the sweater, and his brother was twelve. Thomas had
waved his arms wildly saying he played more games than his brother ever had.
They all conversed, and Peter absorbed. He liked it that way.
A while after dinner, his phone buzzed, and since the others were busy, he
looked down to see a message from the unknown number. A short, ”no, are you?”
So, Derek, or possibly Cora, or both, wasn’t in Beacon Hills yet. Maybe he
would be glad to hear Peter wasn't there either. He messaged his location,
though not as specific as an actual address. Just in case. Derek was quicker
with his response this time though. The next moment, Peter's nephew texted,
“Few weeks. Meet there?”
That was a big favor to ask, considering Derek left with hardly so much as a
goodbye. Peter took in a deep breath and slipped his phone back into his
pocket. He didn't feel like talking to Derek right now. His pack was right
here. Not with Derek wherever he was in the world. Family and pack meant
entirely two different things to Peter at this point. And yet the same, somehow
too.
Peter pretended to read while he sat on his chair in the living room while
listening to Jaylen and Stiles pick on Thomas. And he smirked.
If he had been told a few years ago that this would be his pack, he would have
laughed. Maybe he would have even rejected the person who told it to him.
***
Once dinner was done, Thomas and Jaylen decided to head back to their
apartment. Thomas gave Stiles a bone-crushing hug before leaving, obviously
forgetting the boy was human and not a werewolf. But Stiles handled it well,
smiling and “pretending” to gasp for breath, then patting Thomas roughly on the
back afterward, letting the pain from the hug leave his body.
Jaylen actually hugged Stiles as well. Once, and quick, but it was a hug.
Stiles kissed her on the cheek before she managed to escape him. She pointedly
wiped the kiss off with a minorly disgusted look, but she didn't smell unhappy.
Then they were alone.
Stiles closed and locked the door, its noise almost echoing as he turned the
deadbolt, but he didn't turn to look at Peter immediately. There was always a
heaviness that rolled over the room when others would leave, and they would be
left alone together. The werewolf wasn't certain if Stiles was aware of it, but
he had to be on some level, because it was so prominent. So obvious. The air
between them became thick, and yet Stiles still took a breath of relief.
“Man, I love them, but when I got here I seriously just wanted to curl up on
the couch and eat everything in your fridge,” Stiles smiled, a hand reaching up
to rub at his eyes. Like a magnet drawn to its opposite force, the boy stumbled
over, unseeing, without knowing exactly where Peter was with anything more than
a feeling, a pull. But he was still able to navigate over, and when he knew he
was close enough, without any real reassurance, just a belief and a trust that
Peter would never let him fall, Stiles fell into Peter, without care, without
hesitation, without pause. The boy’s chin immediately hooked around Peter’s
shoulder, warmth filling him.
He never was scared easily.
“I would imagine nothing less,” Peter mentioned, his arms opening so he could
wrap them around the boy, as well as keep him upright, with his tone becoming
exceedingly dry. “I feel like you eat the contents of my refrigerator, and my
cupboards, and my pantry, every time you’re over here. I’m used to it.”
There was a small lull, but Peter didn’t think that Stiles actually took what
he said seriously. Peter didn’t care if Stiles ate a lot because it meant that
there was someone else there to eat the food apart from Peter. It was a good
thing. But Stiles still dropped in conversation for a moment.
“You're not...” Stiles paused again, glanced up at Peter, and then wrapped his
arms around the wolf as well. “You're not having second thoughts or anything,
right? Like, my dad didn't scare you away, or you're not freaking out about how
serious this is getting or anything? Right?” The empty words of, “you're not
going to run away on me?” Hung in the air. Alright, so maybe Stiles was scared
of something. If the acidic scent that filled the air had anything to show for
it.
“I'm not having second thoughts, sweetheart,” Peter reassured, his voice
softening immediately. “There’s no need for your overthinking. Your father
didn't scare me. Scott didn't scare me. And if I managed to survive through the
both of them, the least I can do is stick around for my prize at the end.”
“Oh yeah? Your prize, huh?” Stiles grinned, but stood a little straighter to
press a warm kiss to Peter's lips. Every kiss felt...amazing. “You know I'm a
person, with my own feelings, right? No prize here? Need I quote a Disney
movie?”
“If you do, I'm kicking you out for the night,” Peter mumbled, but smirked
anyway. He, unfortunately, knew that Stiles was making a reference to Aladdin.
Oh, how far he'd fallen.
“You would never, because then you won't get to deal with my dazzling
personality all night, and I know how much you thrive on it, considering you
missed me so much.” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis, and Peter rolled his
eyes before pushing him away and heading for the hallway.
Stiles made a false-offended noise, but chased after him. As fully expected.
“So, let me go into extreme detail on why you're an asshole, number one—” The
human started.
But Peter simply shook his head, smirked, and turned just in time for Stiles to
run directly into him. The boy gasped softly, like he hadn't been expecting it,
like he hadn't been in Peter's space so many times before, like being so close
to Peter was an awe-inspiring, and yet terrifying experience. Like his breath
was taken. It added a small thrill to the move that Peter couldn’t explain if
he tried.
That was it. The wolf pulled his human sharply into an embrace, and pressed
their mouths together roughly. Any of his missing, his tension of losing Stiles
to Scott, his nostalgia for comfort and safety, all of it went into that once
kiss. And Stiles kissed back with equal fervor, like he missed Peter just as
much, even if it was just a day. Like sleeping next to Peter's side was
necessary, even if it was a reasonably new, pleasant addition to their lives.
He kissed Peter back liked he needed Peter.
Before it got too entirely heated, Stiles pulled away though, a soft whine
released his throat as his forehead fell onto the Alpha's shoulder. “God
damnit, you...I was totally going to make a no sex rule for tonight because I'm
so tired, and now—”
“If you're tired, then no it is,” Peter mentioned, lifting Stiles' chin with
his finger. He pecked the boy on the lips quickly, ignoring his shock, before
pushing him back toward the living room. “Go on; time to take your rightful
place on my couch.”
It was nice in a way that Peter never imagined he could enjoy another’s
company. Stiles almost looked guilty for implementing the no sex policy for the
night, which was complete nonsense because that wasn't what Peter was there
for. But instead they wrapped up together on the couch with a large blanket.
Stiles got over his unnecessary guilt, resulting in babbling absently about his
last day with Scott and his father, and half focusing on what they were
actually watching. When he fell asleep on the couch, Peter didn't bother to
wake him. Not just yet. Instead, he lay there, holding Stiles tightly, and
reminding himself that he couldn't mess this up. He needed to hold onto Stiles
the whirlwind as long as possible.
So they laid there together for a while, Peter breathing in Stiles' scent, and
wondering when the inevitable would happen. When Stiles would realize he
shouldn't belong with a murderer, and he should, in fact, be with someone
greater, and Peter’s world might crumble again. Peter could make himself
greater, could make himself rule over everything and everyone, and he gladly
would for Stiles. Except, having more power didn't necessarily mean greater if
Stiles' book like it did in his own. Greater was something purer, or at least
it should be, to Stiles. Greater was being the hero of the story, or being like
the sheriff.
Peter could only try and hope the outcome would be decent. Which he would also
do for Stiles.
When Stiles finally woke an hour later, he groaned, and stretched, and turned
to look at Peter. The wolf glanced down at him and stroked his side softly,
making a sleepy grin stretch over Stiles' face. God, he was so beautiful.
“Did you want to go to bed?” Peter asked softly, and Stiles simply yawned and
nodded, slumping against the werewolf again. Classic indicator of yes, bed was
needed instantly. Peter smirked as he slowly helped Stiles off of the couch in
his sleepy state. Once he was, he went to the bathroom, stumbling all the way,
ready to run into a wall at a moment's notice.
The wolf made his way to bedroom, and bed, as well, even if he wasn't really
tired. It was a thing, him being in bed while Stiles fell asleep. Stiles seemed
to enjoy it anyway. So Peter switched on the bedside lamp, and pulled his book
into his lap to begin reading. He could get in a few chapters or so if he
focused. But then Stiles was stumbling in looking so absolutely delectable in
his sleep-driven state, and Peter couldn't help but watch him make his way to
the bed.
Instead of crawling in on the other side though, Stiles made his way to Peter,
and slowly, so slowly, began to climb onto the bed to straddle Peter’s hips,
placing himself ever-so-carefully on Peter's lap, a barely-there pressure that
was positively devastating. To make matters worse the boy flashed him a drowsy
smirk.
“So, what's bothering you? You've been so quiet,” Stiles mentioned, dropping
his full weight into Peter's lap, and oh this just wasn't fair. This was a kind
of manipulation that Stiles hadn't used before, but it was incredibly
effective. He pressed down a bit more where he sat, and Peter couldn't help but
take in a breath, shift to rise to meet him. Oh, this was cruel.
“I thought you said no sex tonight, you are too “tired”, after all,” Peter
mentioned as nonchalantly as he could while the object of his affections seemed
to be getting ready to perform a lap dance. Again, not that Peter was
complaining.
“Hmm, yeah but this isn't sex,” Stiles countered. “I am simply sitting in your
lap. Completely innocent, no ill-will or nefarious things intended.” He rolled
his hips down for emphasis, and Peter kind of wanted to kill him. Or fuck him.
Something involving touch and raised heartbeats.
“I think that's incredibly poor logic on your part,” Peter grumbled, trying to
appear unaffected.
“Really? I think my logic is incredibly logical. The most logical. You would be
surprised by this logical thinking that I logically do to produce logic.”
“You know that doesn't work on me.”
Stiles huffed a moment, but put his hands on Peter's shoulders. “Seriously,
what's wrong? You've seemed...”
“Stiles, it has nothing to do with you. Are you always going to pry into my
feelings like this?”
“Oh, most definitely,” the boy stated, before leaning forward and pecking a
kiss to Peter's lips. “So you might as well just cave in now.” Peter rolled his
eyes, so Stiles rolled his own and pressed on. “Seriously, it involves you, and
you possibly feeling badly, so I want to know. You don’t have to share if you
don’t want to, but like, I always thought relationships involved allowing
someone to, y’know, share the emotional burden. Yeah?”
Peter sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and looked at the human in front of
him. Well, he really couldn't deny Stiles anything. So this was a lost cause.
“Family. I've been thinking of family a fair bit. Nostalgia and all that. It's
really nothing to fret about, darling. It wasn't you. You did nothing wrong.”
“You sure? Wanna talk about them? Cause I mean, I get it, kind of. Or I could
try?”
Having someone care about his well-being was a bit of a new feeling to Peter,
but he didn’t hate it. He wondered how much his adoration for Stiles was
displaying through his look. “You didn't do anything wrong at all. Expect maybe
this teasing bit. But even that I think I can overlook,” Peter smirked, but
slipped his hands onto Stiles' hips. The teen grinned. “Let’s save the family
chat until the morning when you’re not about to fall over, alright?
“Good, man,” Stiles answered, but he didn’t move from Peter’s lap. “I hope you
know I'm expecting this for the long haul. Seriously. Like, a hundred years
from now, you and I will be old and wrinkled, and bickering like an awesome,
old married couple. So, with me, you better be comfortable, creature. Horrible,
big, scary werewolf creature. Because I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to
have to share every single, sad, gross emotion with me, forever.”
A hundred years from then. Peter tilted his head while looking at Stiles,
confused as to how the teen seemed to know that yes, Peter was worried about
time. How long he had with the boy, how long they might actually be together,
how long until Stiles realized that Peter was actually horrible.
A hundred years. Like Thomas had muttered to Jaylen hours ago. A promise of a
lifetime together, even when the promise couldn't be guaranteed. A promise that
was akin to tying a red string to both of their pinky tips and throwing the
rest of the yarn into an abyss. A promise to stay together no matter what they
might face in the future. It was terrifying, and Peter didn't make promises
like that. But right here, right now, with Stiles, he was willing to take the
chance. Everything in the world could go wrong, but it was worth it, it was so
worth it. So, Peter invested his everything in the teen. His entire being, his
happiness, his wholeness. He was giving it all up for Stiles. He would double-
knot the string around his finger, just to make sure that it was secure.
A hundred years. Until their bones were wrapped around the other’s.
Yeah. He felt he might enjoy spending a hundred years more with Stiles. Or
however long the universe felt it could give them, felt that Peter deserved.
Then again...if he had been leaving it up to fate this whole time, he never
would have gotten Stiles in the first place. So maybe fate could be beaten. And
he would cheat death over and over again if it meant that he could spend one
more second with Stiles.
One more second.
“A hundred years?” Peter asked softly. “Sounds like a pretty long time.” He
leaned in closer, just enough to barely catch Stiles' lips with his.
The human grinned, this exhilarated little excuse of a smile as he leaned in
closer. “Yeah, well, with a little magic maybe we can make it longer. Think you
could put up with me for that long?”
“I might be able to manage,” Peter smirked. “But I'm not making any promises.”
“You really are horrible,” Stiles grumbled.
Peter leaned in to kiss the false pout off Stiles’ lips. Some silent promise
was made as the wolf reached out and entangled his fingers with Stiles’,
connecting them. Stiles pulled the book away from Peter with the other hand,
placing it somewhere on the bed off to the side. Both of them seemed to lose
themselves immediately in potential bliss, euphoria of being so close to the
other. Peter imagined he might be able to reach in and hold onto Stiles’ heart,
and from the way the boy’s hand landed on his chest, curled into the skin
there, he felt Stiles might be thinking the same. But neither let their fingers
untangle from the other’s one hand.
As the world became heated around them, and Peter cupped a hand around the back
of Stiles’ head, and Stiles began to seek some kind of more intense friction,
grinding down on Peter’s lap while also brushing his own growing erection
against Peter’s abdomen, the wolf became lost in the pleasurable actions. But a
phrase ran through his mind several times before silencing when Stiles pulled
up Peter’s shirt to lick down his chest.
Be comfortable, creature. They were both in this for the long haul.
Peter’s phone buzzed from an unknown number on the table beside the bed.
***** Let Me Back In *****
Chapter Summary
     The final chapter of Explosions in the Sky. I know it's been a long,
     long time and I'm sorry. I hope it doesn't disappoint.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Time. Time was a difficult thing to manage, even with the ability to slow it
down. Stiles didn't want to mess with this particular skill too much, as he
wasn't sure of the repercussions for it; nevertheless, it was oh-so-tempting to
slow down specific moments in time. Sure, sure, things to help with school
work, or slowing down a lecture so that he could understand a particular
professorial interjection better, you know, those were the practical reasons
for slowing down time.
Instead, Stiles desperately wanted to use it for the soft moments, the few-and-
far-between moments, the just-for-me moments. Stiles wanted to slow down time
to memorize every detail he could when Peter leaned in to kiss him on the
forehead, or the way he smirked softly to himself when he read a line in a book
that warranted it, or the look etched into Peter's features when he tested to
see if the new food he made was suitable enough (it never was, apparently it
could always be a little bit "more," even if each dish made Stiles' tongue
dance).
Clearly, Stiles used his magic for very practical reasons.
However, without some supernatural big bad to interfere with his life all the
time, Stiles didn't need to use his magic for any fighting reason. He did add
wards to the building, and around Peter's land, but other than that (which
didn't take much magical skill really) it wasn't needed. So, Stiles didn't get
upset with himself for using his magic for the small moments where he could
still time, where he could memorize everything about Peter. He was torn between
wanting to write a book, so the whole world would know every detail of Peter,
or keeping each and every little moment to himself.
When Stiles woke up, he rolled over to see Peter already awake and staring at
his cellphone. Stiles smirked to himself, enjoying seeing the naked curve of
Peter's collarbone, over his shoulder, down his chest. Peter should be sharp
edges- pointed, inhumanely pale, smooth skin. But he wasn't. He had small,
light freckles, barely discernible from his skin, dotting down his neck, his
chest. His skin was soft, but not smooth; he had lines, wrinkles, and dots that
Stiles wanted to run his finger across, bite into. Unable to keep his hand at
bay, he lifted it up and ran it across Peter's chest while he buried his smirk
into his pillow, trying to hide how much waking up to the sight of the wolf
pleased him.
Peter was normally much more receptive. He didn't push Stiles away, but he also
didn't smirk himself, grab Stiles' hand, and pull him in. Instead, Peter simply
squinted a bit more at his phone, brow crossing in perplexity. The teen sighed
softly and sat up in bed, ignoring the cool air against his overheated skin.
"What's up? You normally don't look so disconcerted so early in the morning,"
he said halfway through a yawn.
Peter tilted his head slightly, but didn't look at Stiles to recognize the fact
that he was up. Instead, Peter turned the phone so that Stiles could see the
screen before he simply dropped it on the teens lap and slipped off the bed.
"That's not Derek," he stated smoothly, like it wasn't something to be more
concerned about. Stiles looked up at the wolf quickly, trying to see if it was
a joke before he looked down at the phone himself.
"What do you mean it's not Derek? How can you tell?"
What the message said was: "We are leaving in a few days. Currently in
Springfield, Ohio". How could Peter tell? It was an abnormally long sentence
for one of Derek’s texts, and it didn’t have a spelling mistake but still.
Stiles took his time scrolling through the small conversation before he felt
like he got a bit better of an understanding. Peter was right, something felt
off.
"He would never tell me that specifically. Cora wouldn't either. Plus, Derek
doesn't have that much control over his capitalization and punctuation." Peter
answered, pulling his jeans up and buttoning them.
Stiles tried to cover his smirk at Peter taking a needless small attack on
Derek (even if he had just been thinking it himself). Stiles should really be
instilling a familial bond, especially with Peter as Alpha, but it was hard
because it was true. Derek texted slightly like a parent who was still trying
to use a numpad keyboard to type on his phone with thumbs too big for the
buttons and no sense of a backspace. Stiles had even seen him doing pointer-
finger typing at some point. It was embarrassing. He was so out of the
technological world.
"The thing is though, it had been Derek. Without a doubt, I know at the
beginning of that conversation, it had been Derek." Peter pulled a shirt on
over his head before placing his hands on his hips. His brow furrowed. Stiles
could tell there was some worry there, though he was trying to keep it on lock-
down. "So whoever took it must have just gotten the phone, which means either
Derek and Cora are alive and this is a trap or they're dead and it's a trap."
"But either way, it's a trap," Stiles answered, raising his eyebrows and
shifting his elbows onto his knees as he scrolled through the conversation for
the fourth time. The boy sighed softly before throwing the phone onto the bed.
"Well, rescue mission?"
"I suppose we should, shouldn't we?" Peter asked, sighing as well, like this
was a casual, everyday thing. Course, it sort of was. "Can your schooling
afford it? You still have classes to worry about."
"I'll figure something out. This is only kind of important, and you're not
taking this on on your own, Mr. Big, Bad Alpha."
Peter rolled his eyes, but leaned on the bed to finally give Stiles his good
morning kiss. Thank God. Yes, he was this needy; he'd deal with it. Stiles
smirked to himself as he got the kiss, then moved off the bed as well to get
dressed.
It was slightly worrying though. If Derek and Cora were travelling together,
well, neither of the two was a werewolf to shake a stick at. They were both
fairly tough. So, if something was able to take them both down, and not only
that, but try to lure Peter out across the country...well...It wasn't something
that Peter and Stiles should take on alone, even if they had taken on a lot
before. In fact, Stiles debated, this might be something to get another pack in
on too.
Stiles grabbed his own phone and sent a quick text to Lydia. He'd at least keep
her in the loop or something, make sure she knew where they were going and all
that. If she just happened to tell Scott, and Scott just happened to want to
come along to help Derek. How was that a problem? Stiles would never apologize
for just wanting everyone to be informed. Knowledge was power.
***
"So, you want us to risk our lives to go save your nephew who probably kind of
hates you, and won't be glad to see you as an Alpha again, and may also
possibly kill you for dating Stiles over here?" Was the first thing Thomas
asked when Peter gathered his two other Betas together to discuss the plan.
Peter kept his arms crossed over his chest, but didn't look upset. Maybe he
seemed sort of resigned. Thomas grinned and nodded. "Well, I fully support the
plan. We don't have enough drama around; it'll make this place more
interesting."
"Still," Jaylen started, tilting her head, "we normally have a bit more
information, some time to research. We don't know what we're up against, or
what to bring. What happens if we get there and we discover we're incredibly
unprepared?"
"We'll bring what we can and hope it will work," Stiles answered with a small
shrug. "I'm with you; I normally want a more secure plan than this too, but we
need to get to Derek and Cora sooner rather than later. So, as far as plans go,
we just hope we'll be strong enough with the four of us. What we can tell you
though, is that the thing, whatever it is, understands human speech and human
technology, considering it was able to use a cellphone. It was able to
overpower two werewolves, and knows about Peter. Whatever that can give you,
use it."
Jaylen rolled her eyes, clearly burdened by the lack of information, but she
agreed regardless. Thomas scooted a little close to her, probably sensing her
quiet irritation and wanting to help in some way. Jaylen relaxed immediately
with one of his hands on her hip. "Should we assume it's a human or a hunter?
What sorts of things live in Ohio of all places?"
"Honestly, I've heard it's a fantastic place for supernatural creatures to
live. No one suspects them there," Peter answered with a shrug of his shoulder.
"People often forget about Ohio. But it has powerful supernatural energy. Lots
of ghosts, apparently."
"Again...why Ohio?" Thomas wrinkled up his nose as he spoke, and Stiles tried
not to laugh at Peter obviously losing his patience.
"Okay, okay, I'll research, ‘things that might be found in Ohio, and something
that could go after a werewolf’, though I still don't have a clue as to why
they'd target you all the way out here," Jaylen conceded. She then buried her
nose into her phone so that she could begin said research. Thomas would look
over her shoulder occasionally at what she was reading, but he got lost in a
game on his own phone after a while. The two sank into each other, like it was
uncomfortable without the other's touch.
Stiles walked over to Peter slowly, hooking a finger through one of his belt
loops to pull him closer. Peter allowed himself to be pulled, which Stiles
greatly enjoyed. It was a small point of pride, considering that Peter should
fight against anyone trying to be in his space. But the wolf dropped his book
and gave Stiles all his attention.
"You sure we can handle this on our own?" Stiles asked softly, tilting his head
to the side.
"Darling," Peter answered, leaning forward to give Stiles a warm kiss to the
temple. "We can handle anything."
***
After all that they had been through the past year, Stiles had absolutely no
reason to doubt Peter's abilities as Alpha, and the rest of their abilities as
a pack. It had been a total shit show, but they managed to do amazing things
nevertheless. They were a strong pack, small as they were. Jaylen and Thomas
were a strong force, and Stiles was one to fear being reckoned with as well.
There shouldn't really be a worry. Though, that still didn't stop Stiles from
keeping Lydia updated. Scott's pack was still helpful, and they were available,
at least from what Lydia said. Peter might be a bit irritated, as he might
think that Stiles believed he couldn't handle it- but that wasn't the case at
all. It was just never a bad idea to have back ups. It was never a bad idea to
be prepared with more, rather than less. And they didn't know what they were up
against.
Still, they quickly packed, and Peter got them all fairly cheap flights into
Columbus. They would rent a car and drive to wherever they needed to from
there. Jaylen spent her time on the plane asking both Peter and Stiles a series
of questions: "What if they're already dead?" "What if the creature has already
moved them?" "What if it's something like a demigod? Can we handle that?" "If
it's a group of hunters, which family do you believe they'd be from?"
"Depending on where in Ohio, if it’s a hunter family they could be ‘Silber’ or
‘Srebrny’ or ‘Fidda.’" "What happens if it's a creature that you don't know
about, Peter?" "What if it's something new?" "Do you think I could study it?"
It was the most Jaylen ever really talked, but the moment she got an idea about
a new creature that she might be able to dissect and study, she became lost in
the sweet, addictive influence of science. It was all she really wanted after
all, to be able to study a new creature. In fact, she started whispering to
Thomas about being able to write the first scientifically accurate study of
several supernatural creatures, then began playing with his fingers as if
examining them, wondering where the claws were hidden. She got a scary glint in
her eye that might suggest she was debating what he would look like if she was
able to cut him open and look at how he worked biologically. Thomas didn't seem
nearly as on edge as he should look, with Jaylen pressing on the tips of his
fingers like that. He just smiled at her and pretending to run his nails down
her wrist. She giggled. They were weird.
It was, overall, an easy-going flight though. There was nothing entirely to
worry about on the trip, but Stiles wasn't used to flying. They had taken one
family trip to Disney World when he was a kid, when Mom was still alive, when
they were happier, and when they had more money. After she passed away, they
hadn't really been able to afford vacations. He didn't really have a problem
with the flying part, after all he had been up into the air several times on
his own, it was the whole airplane that he had an issue with. It didn't seem
secure. It was rickety, and everyone was too close, and he felt maybe slightly
claustrophobic. He knew he would be fine if the plane came down, that wasn't an
issue at all- he could fly. But what would happen to everyone else? Would he be
strong enough to go against a force of nature like that? Could he save a whole
plane?
These thoughts began to burden him, and he increased the jet of air blowing on
him from above his seat, but that didn't really help him other than give him
something to focus on (“This jetstream of air is actually really annoying and
only hits on part of my head”). Of course, Peter noticed there was something
wrong, and the wolf immediately reached over and grabbed Stiles' hand in his
own. The boy took a deep breath, and glanced at his Alpha. Peter raised his
eyebrows slowly, silently asking what the problem was. In answer, Stiles simply
shook his head and gave his best attempt at a smile, which was undoubtedly
half-hearted.
Peter, terrifying, manipulative, Alpha werewolf Peter, leaned over the armrest
to press his lips against Stiles' ears, and mumbled softly, "I've always hated
planes. Far too loud, with too many people, doing too many things all at once.
The heartbeats are pounding in my head." And he gave Stiles' hand a small
squeeze. “This helps.”
The human, oddly enough, felt a little bit more relaxed after that. It was
always nice not to feel alone, after all. It was nice to feel like he made the
difference in this trip for Peter too. He could focus less on himself and more
on making Peter feel better. He felt like the werewolf was thinking the same
thing.
When the plane landed, and they had gotten their rental car- a sleek, black
sedan that Peter would enjoy driving- they made their way to Springfield.
Jaylen got to work tracing the signal from Derek's phone, while Stiles shuffled
through her research, and Thomas circled places on a map that Jaylen said were
high levels of supernatural activity. Over Ohio. Ohio.
There didn't seem to be a lot of activity around Springfield. In fact, most of
the areas in which there seemed to be activity were generally in the
northeastern and southeastern quadrants of the state. Thomas shrugged and
focused around Springfield either way.
Stiles flipped through a few pages of creatures that Jaylen believed it could
be. It really wasn't narrowed down at all, which wasn't surprising based on the
information that they had going for them. Still, he rolled his eyes and stared
down at the list, watching the words turn to gibberish. They were going to have
to fly completely by the seats of their pants on this one.
What a crappy way to handle a fight.
***
The drive from Columbus to Springfield wasn't too long of one. They drove
around looking at the city. It had old parts, it had new parts- it was a city.
There were different trees than what Stiles was used to though, and they
smelled amazing, first of all. The color was also really starting to come out
in the leaves. Stiles missed trees like this- they reminded him more of home
than the more frequent palm trees of Palo Alto. He took in a deep breath while
looking around. Everything was so flat here, too. That was a bit surprising. He
felt like he couldn't look out into the distance at all, everything was blocked
by trees and buildings. The sky also seemed like it was perpetually overcast.
Peter had parked on the side of the road somewhere, and the four of them stood
leaning against the car while Jaylen tried to pinpoint a better location. The
signal didn't seem to be coming from the city, but outside of it, toward the
northeast. There was a state park in the area, and Peter decided that if a
creature was hiding anywhere, that's where it would be.
They got back in the car and made their journey up.
As they drove, a nervous feeling settled in the pit of Stiles' stomach. He
figured that it was either from the lack of planning or a fear for Derek and
Cora, but something else was nagging at the back of his mind. He couldn't place
his finger on it. So many things could go wrong with this rescue mission. What
might happen to Peter? What if, after everything they'd been through, one of
them got so injured that nothing could bring them back? What if this was all a
trap?
When did he start to worry this much about everything that could go wrong?
They drove around the park, and Peter rolled down the windows so that he and
Thomas could get a good scent of the land. They both agreed that their was
something there. Something that smelled dead but magnified. Thomas seemed to
get a bit fidgety from the smell, but didn't say much about it. Peter hardly
reacted at all.
Either way, they all decided that after the plane ride and driving around, they
needed food and rest before they made another move.
There was a small hotel where Peter rented two rooms in nearby. The four
divided into two groups of two, and when Peter finally had Stiles alone, the
wolf pulled the boy close to him. Stiles didn't resist, letting himself be
pulled in and comforted. He had the sneaking suspicion that Peter needed a bit
of comforting too. He worried more about Derek and Cora than he was letting on.
The two didn’t speak for a moment; they just relished in each other’s touch,
smell, warmth.
"You've seemed in your head all day," Peter whispered softly, a hand coming up
to rest gently on Stiles' cheek.
"Likewise," he answered, leaning into the touch. "How many times today have you
wondered what will happen if one of us dies?"
"I would say a couple hundred. Maybe a hundred more than I usually do." The
wolf's lips twitched into a smirk, but just barely, making light of the
situation. Stiles couldn't be sure, but if Peter was feeling anything like how
he was, it would be just like fate to take one of them away at this moment.
After all, they'd taken so long to get here, it would simply be poetic justice.
"Well," Stiles interjected into the sullen moment. "Possible last night in the
world sex, or are we going to keep it dull in case that might urge the world
into taking it easy on us?" He grinned at the wolf, raising his eyebrows.
The Alpha couldn't help but smile, though he hid it well, behind a fake scoff.
"I'm actually trying to have a moment for once, and all you can think about it
sex. I see, you truly only want me for my body."
"Well, yeah, duh, have you seen your body?" Stiles ran a hand up Peter's arm
for emphasis. "So, we doing this or what?"
Chuckling, the wolf practically threw Stiles onto the bed. As he grabbed
Stiles’ foot and jerked him to the edge, he leaned down and answered, “like I
would waste the chance.”
***
It was almost as if the world knew what was going to happen. The day that
followed could not have been more cliche, and more detrimental to a search for
two missing people, even with werewolves. They grey skies seemed to have
decided to fall as slowly as possible. A constant rain dripped down, covering
grass, and mud, and concrete alike. Tracks would disappear. Scents would
disappear.
Peter and Thomas stood next to each other, both with eyes closed, both
breathing in deeply. But neither could catch anything but the scent of dirt and
rain, leaves and fall. Even the thick scent of death had worn down with the
power of water. Water could take down anything if it had enough time. The
wolves sighed softly before turning to their humans.
"Well, how do we plan on tracking them?" Jaylen asked, pulling the hood of her
raincoat tighter over her hair. Her braids were not about to get wet.
Stiles thought for a moment before shrugging, "we can always go the old-
fashioned method and wander out into the woods with a big hope and a few
flashlights."
"That is probably what we'll have to do," Peter mentioned. The Alpha glanced
around slowly. "If we come across something this supposedly powerful, we'll be
able to feel it before we come in contact with it."
The rain didn't seem like it was about to relent. It poured down at a steady
beat, soaking them to the bone as moved through the woods, the sound of rain
beating against the leaves was loud enough that it covered over the sound of
their own footsteps. Peter would stop occasionally and tilt his right ear in a
direction to try and pick up on a sound to no avail. As they got deeper into
the woods, the scent of death grew stronger. Even Stiles could smell it at this
point.
It was thick; it was pungent. It was unmistakable and at the same time
difficult to put a finger on. It was the smell of musk and fallen logs. The
scent of rot. The scent of decay. It made Stiles stomach turn, the closer that
they got. It wasn't just an ache, no, but a full attempt at upheaval. He really
might vomit if it continued any longer. What was happening? Was there some kind
of mass animal slaughter that led to this kind of smell? He wouldn't put it
past the smell of decomposing flesh. Thomas already had his hand up by his
nose, and he seemed to look just as ill as Stiles felt. Somehow, Jaylen and
Peter were composing themselves well, in light of the scent.
After a few hundred meters farther into the woods, Peter stretched a hand out
to stop them all, as if he caught onto something apart from death on the air.
He began scanning the trees, all of his senses firing, before his eyes turned
to a deep, deep red. Thomas immediately lowered his hand from his nose and
mouth to try to catch onto whatever Peter had, but clasped it right back over
the moment he took a breath. Stiles could only imagine how unbearable it would
be for a wolf if it made him feel as sick as he did and he was a human.
"What's there?" He asked Peter in as low a whisper as he could.
Peter glanced at him sideways before his chin jutted out, pointing in the
direction of whatever scent it was that he had caught onto. "I smell them," he
said softly, lowering the hand he'd raised. "They're both here, somewhere."
Immediately, Stiles eyes followed the line of direction Peter had indicated. If
they weren't running in yet, then there was something bigger at play here.
Stiles wet his lips before stepping closer to the wolf, close enough that he
pressed his chest to the back of Peter's arm, close enough to feel his body
heat, like he needed a reminder. "What do you think it is?" He whispered so
that he could barely hear himself.
The Alpha leaned back against Stiles, before mentioning, "something we might
not want to fight."
Jaylen kneeled down suddenly, looking at the ground, examining the plants, the
soil, the tree saplings. It seemed like she had definitely caught onto
something as well. When she dipped her fingers into the earth, she pulled out
thick, black soil. Her nose wrinkled in return. "It's like the earth here is
rotting," she said softly. "Everything, everything is dying."
Maybe they hadn't realized it before because of the changing leaves, but when
they looked up, they noticed that these weren't the leaves of healthy trees
ready to fall. No, the trees were dying, or already dead. The leaves that were
falling from the branches were already dried and withered. It looked as if the
water had been sucked out of them. Stiles reached out for a branch of one of
the trees, and it snapped off easily. There was no evidence of water or life
beneath the bark. Everything was dead.
"Do you think they're..." Thomas started to say, but stopped, glancing
nervously at his Alpha. He was unsure of making Peter mad by suggesting that
his nephew and niece might be dead already. Or maybe he just realized that
Peter had probably already assumed this going in.
Instead of answering, Peter simply started walking again, his claws extending
as he went. Briefly, Jaylen shared a look with Stiles, then Thomas, nodded, and
followed after the Alpha, which made the other two follow. Either way, no
matter if they were dead or not, they wouldn't let Derek and Cora stay in a
place like this.
As she walked, Jaylen pulled out her phone and pulled up notes that she had
taken about the creatures that it could possibly be. She was able to refine her
search a bit by adding in characteristics of the surrounding locations. What
creatures enjoyed death as much as this? She was scrolling through a section
when she stopped walking again, staring down at the screen.
"A Liche," she said softly.
Peter nodded in answer, but he did not stop walking. Thomas glanced between the
both of them, unsure of what a Liche was- but Stiles knew. Stiles certainly
knew. There was a brief period of Dungeons and Dragons obsession in which
Stiles fully planned out a battle with a liche. It was a battle that Scott
never got through, as he kept rolling low. Scott never was very lucky with
dice, at least until he was a werewolf.
"If it's a liche," Jaylen continued, picking up her pace again, though her eyes
remained glued to her phone. "There will be others, or at least minions. And we
need to find the vial, or container, in which the soul is stored. Where do we
even begin looking for that?"
"Therein lies the trouble," Peter answered. He didn't stop walking, though. He
was determined to discover just what had happened to Derek and Cora.
"They wouldn't carry it on them," Stiles answered softly. "That would be too
easy to break. They would keep it somewhere safe. Maybe a building? Do you
think it would be in the woods or in the city?"
"The woods would be too close. It might be in another country for all we know,"
Peter replied- it wasn't very inspiring, though it was the truth.
It felt like a loss. Maybe they would be able to stop the liche for a short
while, but without finding out where its soul was stored, it seemed impossible
to kill completely. But were they even there to kill it completely, or did they
simply want to get Derek and Cora, then leave? They didn't owe this state
anything. They weren't responsible for cleaning up anything else but their own
territory. This was not their territory.
Or maybe he was just thinking this because this was going to be really hard.
Only a short while later, they came into a clearing- why was it always a
clearing? The trees around the area themselves were turning black, rotting from
the inside out, jutting out and caving in at various positions. They looked
gnarled, with gaping holes eaten out of them by bacteria. These trees had no
leaves. They were riddled with disease and decay. Stiles felt sick looking at
them, and he wondered if he could ever get enough energy to heal a forest like
this.
Peter ended up stopping, and standing stock still. He was staring across the
clearing at two trees, both of which had two figures tied to them. Except the
figures were wrapped in black cloth, and weren't visible to the eye. But no one
needed to guess whom the figures were; they all knew. The figures beneath those
cloths were Derek and Cora.
Luckily, Thomas announced the good news first: "They have heartbeats!" His
voice came out as a harsh whisper, and Peter glared at him over his shoulder.
It seemed that talking was the wrong choice to make, for not a moment later,
the ground in the middle of the clearing began to shake.
The scent in the air around them could hardly have gotten worse, as Stiles felt
like it was draining his energy just existing in the air around them and not
falling to his knees to wretch and pass out. But somehow, as the ground shifted
and moved, the scent seemed to multiply by ten. Just when he felt he might
actually pass out from it- his vision on the edge of blackening-, a skeletal,
flesh-scraped hand ripped from the earth, flinging bits of soil all around it.
It was sobering enough to render the smell momentarily forgotten.
Seconds later, an entire body began to rise out of the earth, grasping on
lifted roots of trees to help itself climb. Mostly bone, with bits of flesh
still ready to fall off of it, it crawled across the ground like a freshly-
stepped upon insect trying to recover without half of its legs. A rickety mess
of bones and torn clothes, the liche made its way to a stand. It was a creature
that fed off of fear coming off its victims like an appetizer. It’s neck and
armed snapped back into place, and it practically posed, waiting for the fear
to set in.
Thomas laughed.
"Is this thing fucking serious?" He asked through attempted, compressed
giggles. "It looks like I could beat it apart with a baseball bat! Look at it!
It's ready to fall apart! Who wants to play some Jenga?"
"Mock me?" It asked, though the flesh-eaten jaw didn't move once. The eye
sockets could not glare, but they all knew it was. While Thomas' laugh had
oddly lightened the mood, the tombstone sound of the voice that rang out from
the air around them brought them back. Stiles was torn between feeling
terrified for his life, and also wanting to laugh with Thomas. For some reason,
he felt incredibly affected by the creature in front of him, like it could
inspire fear magically.
After all, liches were wizards that became too obsessed with their magical
powers.
Thomas seemed ready to answer the creature when Peter shushed him. The wolf had
a cruel smirk on his face, the kind he always got before ripping something
open. He stepped forward into the clearing. "You have some things that belong
to me," he said softly, not a trickle of fear in his voice. Maybe the liche
only had magical fear pull over humans.
Though Thomas might legitimately have no fear for himself.
"Do I, wolf?" It asked, leg bones shaking to create some quivering beat while
its voice fell like a hammer. "Well, why don't you go and take them? As I seem
to be knocked down so easily."
"Hand them over to me willingly." Peter stood still once more, his arms poised
at his sides. He wasn't about to be goaded into going after Derek and Cora. He
knew there was some kind of a trap waiting for him. The liche was going to have
to be smarter than that if it wanted Peter.
And smarter it was.
All around them was suddenly the sound of rattling. Stiles immediately swiveled
around, looking at the sight that was quickly approaching: broken, shaking,
bones and dead things. Creatures of all kinds suddenly surrounded the clearing.
Partially eaten foxes and deer, or humans from varying levels of decomposition.
Other forest animals crawled toward them on broken and shattered legs, some
pulling only with the front, some pushing only with the back. Dead birds
flapped pathetically as they tried to approach the four of them. Rain washed
dried blood down the bodies in small streams, soaking into the blackened dirt.
Each creature moved in an unnatural way, jerking limbs, like they had to throw
their bodies forward to keep going against a gravity pulling them down into the
earth where they belonged.
It was every zombie movie Stiles had ever seen. And it was horrific in real
life.
As the bodies came closer, boxing them in, Peter let out a low growl of
warning. Stiles wasn't sure, though, how they would be able to get out of this
situation. How did you kill something that was already dead? At least in zombie
movies, once the head was off, the zombie was officially "dead". But there was
currently the body of a rabbit, literally half-heartedly jumping and flopping
toward him, with no head. Just how, how were they supposed to kill that? Peter
had been killed by fire, but he had completely reanimated himself before- these
creatures weren’t even close to that.
How did they even know those two figures were actually Derek and Cora?'
The liche let out a low, booming laugh, knowing they were stuck. What were they
to do anyway? There was no indication of where the thing's soul was. There was
nothing to go on, and the only way out was to fight against something already
dead. What was the use, or the hope?
A cliche rumble of thunder drowned out the sound of the liche's laughter. There
was a storm coming.
***
In the end, it was useless.
Thomas and Peter began striking against each small skeleton with as much force
as they could muster. Peter was stronger; Thomas was quicker. Thomas seemed to
tire out before Peter did, unfortunately. Jaylen simply worked at muttering
small spells if she could, and attacking with the daggers she brought with her.
Jaylen wasn't a fighter, however, and Thomas did his best to take care of her
in any way that he could.
Stiles, well, Stiles was able to use spells, that was certain- and he did.
However, the issue came in the fact that nothing seemed to be dying. They were
already dead. They couldn't kill them twice. Even if Peter tore the head off of
a shaking, quivering body, it still jerked forward in an endless, blood-thirsty
need. These creatures wanted to kill them, and there was no stopping them.
They needed to kill the liche, or die. But the liche wouldn't fall without the
soul.
It simply stood there, wind billowing its torn clothes closer to its skeletal
frame as it chuckled, no, cackled, and watched their losing fight. It knew that
their was no way to win.
Stiles pressed closer to Peter, both moving around the other to keep attacking.
He tried to catch his breath, though it was difficult with the smell of death
in the air, all around him, suffocating him. "What-what does it want?" He
gasped out.
"I'm not sure," Peter answered. "I'm assuming he wants to complete a spell. He
needs sacrifices."
"Always sacrifices," Stiles scoffed humorlessly. "Why is it always sacrifices?"
The four of them continued to fight, and Stiles lost track of time. They were
covered with mud, rain, and old blood shortly. There was never a time for rest.
It was exhausting, and Stiles wondered for certain how long they could keep
this up. How long would they all be able to hold out? He quickly paused to
reach out to all of them, and did his best to heal what he could from where he
was. His magic was limited. He didn't have an unlimited supply like a liche
did. He wasn't that far gone.
Maybe he should be.
Maybe he should just...give in to his magic.
As the thought crossed Stiles' mind for the millionth time, there was a small
sound off to the side. It made his heart race. What else was going to attack
them now? They couldn't defend against it all. They couldn't win this war that
wasn't going to end. They couldn't protect everyone from every kind of
supernatural creature. Could they? They weren't an army.
Stiles felt a surge of power go through him, ready to unleash as much magical
power as he could, when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. It seemed to be
calling from far away the first time he heard it, and then almost directly next
to him the next.
"Stiles....Stiles!" Scott appeared from behind a tree right next to him. The
magic in him quelled, instead he looked up at the face of his best friend and
flooded with relief. Lydia gave them the message. Lydia pulled through. Lydia
was able to bring the other pack with them.
Peter looked briefly confused, maybe alarmed, and definitely a bit irritated at
Scott's arrival, but he continued fighting nonetheless. Allison moved from
behind a tree as well, aiming an arrow at the liche and firing. It was a direct
hit, but the creature didn't so much as try to look down at the arrow now
sticking out of its shoulder. Isaac appear next, attacking a few of the dead
bodies trying to enclose them all.
But where was Lydia?
Stiles stopped looking around to keep fighting what he could.
As if reading his mind, Scott looked over and said mid slash, "Lydia is doing
some investigation. She figured it out right before we got here. She went to go
check something out."
Stiles let out a breath, nodded, and turned away.
The fight raged on. Even with the new help, the bodies of the dead kept coming
at them. The liche, though it seemed surprised by the new arrivals, didn't seem
to lose heart. It still thought it could win. To prove this point, it seemed to
float over to Derek and Cora, still tied to the trees. He placed a hand on both
of their chests, and its hands began to glow blue.
Screams ripped from both of the cloaked figures.
Well, at least they were alive.
"When is this ever going to end?" Scott shouted, looking over at Stiles.
"It doesn't!" Thomas answered for him, pulling Jaylen a bit closer while a
deceased human moved to stab its hand into her stomach. He wrapped an arm
around her while he fought, desperate to protect her, and she uttered a few
spells, ducking into the protection.
Even with this new manpower, how were they going to succeed?
Stiles turned to look at the liche, and while he moved, Peter broke away from
the center of the circle and charged at the creature. It reared back, dodging a
clawed hand while also cackling to itself, like this was all a giant game that
it'd already won. With lightning fast reflexes, the liche whipped a hand out
and gripped Peter by the throat. It raised him up off the ground, and began
squeezing down, its hand once again glowing a brilliant blue.
Something then clicked inside Stiles' mind. Liches wanted to achieve
immortality. It was why they hid their souls in phials and left them in places
that would be unlikely to be found. Liches wanted to live forever. They were
dark magicians who wanted forever life, and paid the price for it. The way to
achieve that was to live half dead, which is where it was now. But what if it
tried to steal life from others? What if it tried to take the life of say, a
werewolf family? An Alpha and two very strong Betas? What might happen then
combined with the right magic?
A liche would try anything, no matter what, to achieve whatever the cost was to
live forever.
Even if it didn't work, a liche would try. What was the life of three
werewolves to it anyway? They could simply join his undead army. A liche didn’t
have compassion for anything living. It wanted to use Peter and the others to
gain perfect immortality.
Stiles felt the magic welling up inside him once more before he could actually
stop it. In fact, he lost control of himself all together. His eyes began to
glow a brilliant white, a sharp contrast to the dark and rain around them.
Hands outstretched, the human began to lift off of the ground, wind whipping
around him as if the storm realized it had an opponent. His mate was in danger,
and he was simply not going to accept that, and nothing would stop him. No one
was going to kill Peter on his watch. Actually- no one was going to kill Peter
at all.
Electricity. It was the only thing on Stiles' mind, and it raced and flickered
through every nerve in his body. He felt if it opened his mouth, it would
writhe and crackle along his tongue. He brought his hands together in a sharp
clap, which abruptly rumbled like thunder the moment they made contact. When he
pulled them away, bright, brilliant strings of lightning circled his hands,
shot back and forth between fingers, intertwined around Stiles' body like
serrated vines. The lightning bolts curled around him, lifted around his head
in a fulminating halo.
Everything around him began to watch, just to see what he would do next, though
Stiles would never be aware of it. He was too far gone to feel anything but the
hurricane of magic inside of him, the electricity between his fingertips, the
power that raged within him. Lightning rained from the sky above him, mixing
with the lightning already there and joining the dance around the human
hovering in the air. He was truly a sight to behold. In that moment, it became
clear that Stiles might even be the beacon they’d all been searching for. He
was the burning light against a dying world.
The liche dropped Peter, sensing the power that had suddenly filled the
clearing, and for once it began to look unsure. The Alpha, having fallen to his
knees, looked up at the creature with a growl, though the light from behind him
caught his eye, and he looked back at his mate glowing like a star in the
darkness. Stiles floated there, arms out, arched in energy, and eyes shining
brightly.
He was beautiful.
Peter would follow his mate anywhere, a ship called in from the ocean by a
light, if they got out of this.
The next moment, Stiles released the power that he had been absorbing. The
world became silent for a moment, unable to compete with the sheer power of the
eruption that came from the boy. It was the calm before the storm, the static
before the electricity. The silence was broken with a scream, and a jolt of his
chest;Stiles' whole body pulsed, releasing hundreds of bolts from inside, each
one striking the liche, or one of its minions, on the ground. And again. And
again. And again. A boom burst into the air each time, overpowering the other
sounds in the clearing and making the werewolves cover their ears. It was the
sound of thunder with a too-close lightning strike.
Stiles continued to strike each one, until they collapsed to the ground, until
his own body began to steam. Electricity was a fearsome thing, yet Stiles was
able to manage the surges through his body. But his Alpha wasn't sure of quite
how long. But how could Peter grab him and bring him down to earth without
being struck himself?
Did it matter?
The Alpha raced forward, through all of the bolts of lightning, through all of
the fallen bodies, and away from Derek and Cora. When he was under Stiles, he
jumped, grabbing onto the boy's foot, and holding on for dear life. It hurt; it
did. Peter felt the shock through his body, and he felt everything that Stiles
felt the moment another pulse would reverberate through him. Except Peter
pulled him down, and held him close, and whispered softly:
"Come back."
***
The inside of his mouth felt disgusting. Actually, Stiles' whole body felt
disgusting. There was a desperate need for water, but he also ached everywhere.
It was like that time he grabbed the raw wire out in the garage, even though
dad told him not to. Gross.
The boy blinked awake slowly, not quite sure where he was. There were trees
around, and rain kept dripping down onto his face in annoying little blips.
Alright, so he was outside. He was outside and surrounded by trees, and god,
what was that smell? It smelled like overdone meat. Like, way overdone meat.
And possibly meat that had gone bad. Maybe a bit of burnt hair in there too.
God...where was Peter?
He lifted his head up, slowly, feeling like it weighed a thousand tons, and
stared at the scene before him. Scott was there, with Allison, Isaac, and
Thomas, and they were pulling two bodies wrapped in cloth down off of trees.
Jaylen was standing off to the side with Lydia, and the two of them seemed to
be in deep discussion while flipping frantically through the pages of a book.
To his side lay Peter, still out cold. Stiles panicked momentarily, jerking his
body up, though it only wanted to lay down, so that he could place his fingers
against Peter's pulse. It was beating strong, which meant he was alive. The
human let out a deep breath of relief before falling back to the ground.
"I'm glad you're up," Lydia said to him, looking up over the pages of her book.
She looked crisply put together, as always, even with the rain still dripping
down on her. She was the only one with the umbrella, and Jaylen tucked safely
under it as well. Her eyes ran Stiles up and down, and went from a brief look
of worry to simple pity. "You look absolutely awful."
"Thanks for the ego boost," Stiles mumbled. His throat ached; it felt scratched
raw. He reached up to hold onto it, and then glanced at the series of dead
bodies on the ground around them. Right. The liche. What happened to the liche?
"How did we kill it?"
"Well, your little stunt helped a great deal," Jaylen answered, placing a hand
on her hip as it cocked out to one side. "You seriously fried just about each
one. I don't think they had been prepared for electricity."
"You almost started a massive forest fire," Lydia added, with a roll of her
eyes.
Jaylen continued, "Lydia had managed to find out where it had been hiding the
phylactyl and destroyed it."
"You gave me the time to, though, which was thoughtful of you." Lydia flipped
her hair over one shoulder.
"Once it was destroyed, you pretty much took everything out with the lightning.
Avoiding us, luckily."
"You had to protect your packs." Lydia's lip curled. She put the emphasis on
"packs" for a reason.
Stiles looked back and forth between the both of them, wondering what would
happen if the two of them decided to join forces. Actually, the world would
end. That would be an awful idea. Stiles' mind wanted to shut down at the
thought of it. Still, he glanced over at Peter after they seemed to finish the
joint story retelling.
"If I avoided you, how did Peter get hurt?" He asked softly, looking down at
the wolf.
"He was the one to keep you from frying your insides," Lydia answered, crossing
her arms. "Partially fried him in the process, but he's an Alpha; he can take a
lot of electricity. He brought you back down to Earth."
"Literally," Jaylen added.
Stiles looked back at them immediately. "Literally? What? I was floating?"
The two of them nodded. And Lydia spoke up again, "Derek and Cora were in the
bags over there. We believe they're fine, but they're going to need a lot of
rest. I think you and Peter will too."
This was a lot to take in, but it had to be done. Stiles nodded, looking down
at one of his hands. He didn't remember what had happened at all. But it had
been bright. He was mildly shocked that he hadn't killed himself, or one of the
people around him. He was able to handle so much more magic than he used to.
Still, his hands looked as if they’d been burned. His chest and stomach had
lichtenberg markings all over. He would need to process that later.
After sitting a few more moments, he did get up and make his way to Derek and
Cora. The two were passed out, similar to Peter, but they seemed fine. A few
gashes on each of them were healing, especially when Scott helped trigger the
healing process by breaking a few of their fingers for them. They'd both cried
out from their blacked-out state, but it didn't fully wake them. Isaac picked
up Cora, and Scott pulled Derek's arm over his shoulders, hoisting him up with
the help of Allison.
"We'll take them to my car," Scott said, softly. "I'll come back then and help
out with Peter."
"Thanks," Stiles answered. He reached up to put a hand on his pounding head. He
would definitely not be able to carry Peter on his own- he didn't think he
would be able to even in good health. Lydia and Jaylen decided to wait with
him. He noticed that neither were getting close to him, and it made him worry a
bit. When he brought it up, the two of them raised their eyebrows at exactly
the same time.
"Are you joking?" Jaylen asked.
"You could still have electricity coursing through you. You really expect us to
touch you?" Lydia announced. "Maybe you electrified your brain a little too
much. Stiles, we have no idea what the aftermath of this spell could be. We
can't even find the spell in the book."
"I didn't learn it from the book," Stiles answered honestly. "It just sort of
happened."
The two girls shared a look, right before Peter stirred on the ground. The
Alpha groaned, and reached up to grip his temples. Stiles immediately kneeled
down at his side and placed a hand on Peter's cheek. Now that he was more
aware, he did notice a spark shoot between his fingertips and the wolf's skin.
"You don't get to do that again," Peter grumbled softly, voice as rough as
Stiles' throat felt.
"No promises," Stiles grinned, leaning down to kiss his mate. There was another
spark, warm light igniting between their lips.
"Lightning’s still in you. This really better not be a permanent thing," the
wolf smirked.
"No promises." Stiles kissed him again.
***
Scott and his pack agreed to take Derek and Cora to Peter's apartment complex
when they returned to California, mostly considering there were two rooms
available that Peter could afford to keep them in. They found places for the
other pack members to stay in the process, even if Peter needed to purchase a
couch or two, not that he seemed to have a problem with it. First and foremost,
they were all simply concerned with everyone getting well. There had been
multiple injuries from the fight alone, and even though there was increased
healing, it was still a process for a couple of days. They’d left Ohio as soon
as they could, but that had been slow going as well. Derek and Cora slept for a
few days straight before they could leave.
In the back of his mind, Stiles knew there would be some possible fighting over
who was joining whom's pack, but, in the end, it would be up to Derek and Cora
to decide. He liked to imagine that the Hale family would stick together, but
Peter hadn't really given either of them a reason in the past few years. Maybe
it would be different now that he was an Alpha, and not trying to kill everyone
around them.
But really, the packs together felt...nice. He would joke with Scott one
moment, and go wrap his arms around Peter in the kitchen the next. Jaylen and
Lydia read books together frequently, and would get into discussions that no
one wanted to enter in on. Allison might have been a little left out, but Lydia
was sure to include her on as much as she could. Jaylen seemed pretty receptive
to it. Isaac sat and discussed with Scott, who sat and discussed with Thomas,
who loved to entertain whomever he could with his jokes.
It was pleasant. It was comforting. It was pack. And Stiles ached to be a part
of the both of them, if they wouldn't just combine into one.
How upset would Peter become?
It was a question, and even a thought, for another day.
Cora seemed to shape up quicker than Derek. She was up and moving around freely
two days after they got back from Ohio. There wasn't even a hesitation when she
decided which pack to be a part of. In fact, no one even had to ask her. She
had picked up quickly that Peter was an Alpha again, and immediately said she
would be a proud Beta. She'd hugged him in private when no one was around to
see later that night, glad that he had come to save her, and glad that he was
continuing the family name. She also accepted Stiles fairly quickly, saying
something about having seen it before it even began. She then proceeded to roll
her eyes and walk out of the room like they'd both burdened her with their
stupidity. She was such a Hale.
Derek, on the other hand, took two days longer- though a few of Scott's pack
members wondered if that was out of guilt, or fear, or both, not simply
injuries. Derek always did personalize things, and he would take all the blame
for almost getting him and Cora captured. No one wanted to pin it on him, and
make the situation even worse.
When he finally woke and stumbled into Peter's apartment where most of them had
been meeting up, and he stared at all of them in utter surprise, his arm
wrapped close around his stomach, where one of his worst cuts had been.
He watched them all from the doorway, not speaking, until Stiles grinned and
waved at him. "You gonna say something, Sourwolf, or you gonna just gape?"
Derek's lower jaw snapped shut, clearly gaping, and he tilted his head in
confusion. "Why does this place smell so strongly of the two of you?" He asked,
eyes shifting between Stiles and Peter.
Stiles lifted his eyebrows, looking over at his mate, offering the chance to
let Peter answer for them.
He accepted, and stepped forward. "Stiles and I live here. Together. He just
happened to go to school at Stanford, and I ended up moving here before then.
We met up when he came to school, quite by accident."
"That might still be out for debate," Stiles answered, smirking up at Peter.
The Alpha rolled his eyes.
"It was by accident. I did not follow you out here."
"Yeah, but you totally knew that I was going to that bookstore. You smelled me.
It was impossible for you to not have. You can say you didn’t follow me out
here, but we didn’t meet by accident, okay?"
Peter rolled his eyes again. "Regardless, when we met up, we ended up falling
into some odd situations, and one thing led to another-"
"Your uncle is a fantastic kisser, by the way."
Peter was just about to comment through several groans around the room when
Derek grabbed onto his head, staring in bewilderment. "Together. Your heart's
not skipping, but you can't be telling me the truth. Stiles, you hate him."
"Hated? And I mean, come on, that's a strong word-" Stiles answered, flinching
slightly.
"I'm not offended, darling," Peter replied sweetly. "What was that sweet pet
name you used to use for me? ‘Douche in a V-neck?’"
"Something like Satan in a V-neck? Fucking asshole? Something like that."
"It's a wonder why you never call me that anymore," Peter sighed dramatically.
"It's almost like you're getting bored of me."
Before allowing them to continue flirting openly, Jaylen rolled her eyes and
swiped her hand through the air. "Oh my God, we get it, you two are very much
in love, shut up."
Stiles and Peter shared a grin, just as Derek stumbled into a chair. He seemed
to be having a hard time keeping up with the information that was being thrown
at him. Peter tilted his head and slowly walked over to his nephew.
"All kidding aside," like that was likely from Peter, "I am Alpha again, and
I've even formed a pack." He nodded his head to indicate Jaylen and Thomas.
"Your sister has decided she would like to stay here. You are...welcome, if you
would wish as well."
As if Derek's eyes could get bigger, he looked at Peter like the man had just
stabbed him again, though with no previous indicator that it was about to
happen. The Beta blinked, and looked between all of the faces in the room. It
was too much for him too soon. Stiles stood up quickly, and walked over.
"Uh, not that you have to decide like, this very second. You can take some
time. You've just been through a lot, and you know, big adjustment period.
Whoa, my crazy, undead uncle is in love with this punk kid who always drives me
nuts. Whoa, my crazy, undead uncle is Alpha again. Yep, lots of information.
So, take your time- whatever you need. Scott's pack is still good and strong.
But family is, you know, family..." Stiles trailed off, and slowly reached out
to take Peter's hand, which the Alpha accepted. "Just know, we've all been
through a lot of changes. And it would be nice to give it a try. But there's no
pressure."
Derek stared at the two clasped hands more than anything else. Stiles pulled
his hand away to clap his own together, and pointed toward the kitchen, trying
to get the attention off of Derek, as the wolf had never been a fan of
attention anyway.
"Uh, anyway, Peter's made some awesome food, and I made sure none of it was
poisoned by taste-testing it myself, so why don't you all go and eat or
something," Stiles said.
The groups all filed into the kitchen to get whatever they wanted, and they all
sprawled out across the apartment. Peter was watching them all carefully, but
he stayed close to Stiles, which the boy enjoyed, but also wondered about.
Scott brought Derek some food, which helped the wolf a bit, but he seemed to be
keeping a close eye on everyone as well. Everyone else fell into their normal
patterns, except Peter, Derek, and Cora were watching everyone rather than
eating or anything else.
And oh, Stiles suddenly felt like he got it. Large pack all eating together,
talking, this was probably something that they were used to, and never thought
they would see again. The human stepped in close to his Alpha, and gave him a
soft smile.
"Kind of nice to have the whole group together, huh?" He asked nonchalantly.
"I know what you're doing," Peter answered dryly.
"What? What? Me? Me doing what? I would never be so manipulative."
Peter smirked and leaned in close to Stiles' ear. "You love to be so
manipulative. We can talk about it later. Right now, I think Derek just needs
time to adjust, and if he overhears, he might spiral out of control again."
Stiles rolled his eyes, but gave the Alpha a small peck on the cheek. Fine. He
could wait.
***
The next day, when things were a bit more settled, and Derek feeling more
comfortable, Stiles recounted- very animatedly- the story of what it was like
coming to discover Peter living near his school. Peter added in his own
interjections here and there, but mostly just seemed to be enjoying hearing how
much Stiles hated him, over and over again. He smirked every time the boy
mentioned how frustrated he was- and Stiles lit up every time he got a reaction
from the wolf.
The whole apartment smelled like love.
Thomas stood up and acted out his own parts bravely, especially when he
sacrificed himself for Jaylen. Jaylen laughed, but it looked forced, like she
did not want to be reliving the terrible memory, because it was still too close
to home. They also discussed the times that they needed to come in and save
Stiles and Peter, like Stiles' failed attempts at magic, or the time he passed
out after the lamia attacked both him and Peter.
Stiles then just mentioned that he wasn't really sure when it happened. It was
somewhere between the gentle, secretive touches, and the late, magical nights.
It was somewhere between taking care of each other, and somewhere between
worrying about each other. Stiles had fallen for Peter, and Peter for Stiles,
and everything had fallen into place afterward.
It was a large adjustment for Derek and Cora to hear. They both listened, and
though they both seemed taken aback several times, as well as quite unsure of
how to handle the relationship between their uncle and their friend. Derek kept
staring at them intensely whenever their hands would brush against each
other's, or Peter would place a hand on Stiles' lower back, or Stiles would
brush his fingers through Peter's hair. Cora lost interest eventually, and
seemed to focus a little bit more on Isaac. Stiles wondered if Cora had been
the person that Isaac had been texting when he originally left Beacon Hills.
They were talking with each other like they were familiar with one another, and
Isaac never did reveal who it was. It seemed more likely by the moment.
Peter went into the story of how he was Alpha again, which is what Derek seemed
the most interested in. Peter revealed that the only thing he had killed was a
seer that had been trying to kill both Stiles and Peter. He did not shy from
the fact that he had done something wrong. He flat out said that he was not
honest with Stiles when he should have been. This seemed to also throw Derek
for a loop. Stiles gave Peter's hand a squeeze at the completion of the story,
especially since it led into Peter's capture and torture. Again, Thomas talked
about how he and Jaylen saved the day, with a rather large grin on his face.
Toward the end of the night, as Derek went into his tale about where he was-
traveling the world searching for family. He'd found various groups that were
closely related, and even packs that had offer to take him and Cora in- Scott
waved Stiles out of the apartment. Peter watched them carefully, but Stiles
gave him soft words of assurance, and headed for the door. Peter knew what was
going to happen, but he wasn't exactly happy about it.
When they were finally outside, and under the careful eye of the sphinx, Scott
finally turned to Stiles and let out a heavy breath.
"Look, I know things have been weird between us, even after we made up and
everything, but I just want to say that I am really glad you're alright- and it
really looks like you guys have built something here. I don't think I ever
would have believed that Peter would risk his own life for someone until I saw
it with my own eyes so..." He extended out his hand, looking down between them.
"I am really sorry for the way I acted. You two do work well together."
Stiles glanced at the hand and then pushed it away gently before leaning in and
giving Scott a tight hug. Both of them seemed to ease out of a tension that was
being kept in their shoulders. It was comfortable. It was a sense of old home-
the kind you got when you visited the house you grew up in after years of being
away. Stiles might have had a new home, but he'd never forget his old one.
"I can't even explain how glad I am to hear you say that, Scottie," Stiles
mentioned, slowly pulling back from him. "I mean, not to get too sappy on you
or anything, but I seriously never imagined I'd care this much about another
person in my entire life. It's not just some kid crush, you know? Like, I
actually care to do things. I know he likes the toilet paper roll over, not
under. I know where he keeps every single one of his cleaning products. I care
to hear about his day even if it's super boring. All that relationship crap
makes sense."
Scott nodded slowly, but he didn't look like he understood. His relationship
with Allison was still so...childish. Stiles' eyes examined Scott's face
briefly, realizing that Scott still hadn't experienced an "adult" relationship.
They didn't live together. They didn't fight over dirty towels on the floor, or
who didn't put the food away (Stiles was guilty of both). Scott still had no
idea everything a relationship could hold yet- which was amazing to Stiles
because Stiles had always imagined Scott to be the first to get married, the
first to be happy like that.
"So, you're staying in his pack now?" Scott asked, like he was hiding
something, or restraining from asking what he really wanted to ask.
"Yeah," Stiles answered with a small shrug. "I am. I've been in his pack for
way longer than that though. I enjoy being in his pack."
"Oh, I see," Scott mentioned, nibbling on his lower lip.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "But you know, I've been thinking. I've never heard
before that an emissary is restricted to just one pack. At least, I don't think
it's ever been forbidden."
"Oh yeah?" Scott asked, looking up at Stiles suddenly much more hopefully.
"Well, what do you think that means then?"
"That I might possibly be able to be an emissary for both packs? You know?
Maybe you and Peter could create an alliance or something, and I can help both
of you. You, whenever I am home; him, whenever I'm at school?" Stiles grinned
and rubbed the back of his neck. "What do you say, Scottie? Let me back in?"
The True Alpha grinned back, and once again hugged his long, lost brother. "Of
course."
***
It was settled. Peter and Scott created an alliance between their two packs,
and promised to help the other in any time of need. They would also assist in
border control for each location. Members from both packs were allowed to roam
freely between the territories whenever they pleased. Stiles pledged to help
both packs, would honor both packs, would protect both packs- even if he said
all of this while holding Peter's hand.
Scott's pack finally departed, knowing that Ethan and Aiden would be getting
tired of maintaining the territory on their own. Scott and Stiles seemed to
have finally finished their differences, Jaylen and Lydia exchanged numbers,
and Isaac asked Cora out on a date.
It was too entirely sweet of a goodbye.
Derek and Cora decided to stay in the apartment building with Peter. Peter
added soundproofing to both of their apartments. He also decided to invite
familial packs over, perhaps once every few years, so they could keep in
contact. Derek needed to have more family around- though he also got more than
he bargained with with Thomas and Jaylen. Thomas seemed to make it his goal to
turn Derek's frown upside-down. Derek decided he hated the both Thomas and
Stiles.
It was all such a complete wrap up, that Peter was unsure when the other shoe
was going to drop. When was everything going to go horribly, entirely wrong
again?
The answer came one night when Stiles showed up at his apartment, flushed and
out of breath, and smelling entirely too nervous.
The boy fidgeted, but entered the apartment without asking, and dropped his
stuff down on the couch. "We need to talk," he said solemnly.
Those were never good words, were they? Peter suddenly felt his stomach twist,
his heart ache. Had he been misreading signals? Had he hurt Stiles in some way?
Or was Stiles simply not happy with him? What could be the reason for a break
up? Peter did his best to remain calm, smelling his own sour fear creeping up.
"Whatever about?" He asked, trying to keep a bitter tone out of his voice.
Stiles shifted from one foot to the other. "I, um, so- Peter, you know that we
have been dating for a little while now. And it is kind of new for the both of
us."
Oh God, Stiles had met someone else, hadn't he? Peter tried not to feel
horrifically rejected and possessive all at the same time. He kept his nose
from immediately sniffing the air to see if someone else's scent was on the
boy. There wasn't. "That's true."
"And I realize that, but that also doesn't make me dumb, or not realize what I
want. I know we have a lot more to go through but- look, I love you. I want to
move in with you, permanently. And I want...I mean, so I eventually want to get
married, and I know you've never talked about that before, and I don't mean
right now or anything, but I need to know if you'd be open to the idea. Again,
not that I'm saying right now, but I just can't, it's something that's
important to me, and, and, I just-" Stiles' movements became more rigid, more
spastic. His teenage years were showing through again as he rambled, obviously
trying to cover what he thought was an awkward topic.
Peter just felt himself relax immediately. So this is what Stiles feared? Peter
was relieved. The wolf rushed forward and pressed a warm kiss to the boy's lips
to keep him from continuing to get worked up. "Stiles," he said softly, and the
boy just gazed, dazed, up at him. "I don't hate the idea of being married to
you. I'm not above it being discussed. But you should maybe finish college
first. As for moving in- I think that's already been settled with the fact that
you have more clothes here than in your dorm."
It was almost as if Stiles had all of his bones removed in the next moment, as
he practically collapsed into Peter, all the anxious-nervous scents rolling off
of him dissipating with the words. The wolf smirked, and Stiles grinned
sheepishly while melting into the older man. The boy gripped onto Peter's
collar and pulled him in for a long kiss. Peter accepted without hesitation.
Maybe the other shoe would drop, or maybe it wouldn't, but right here, right
now, with Stiles, Peter couldn't care about anything else. Neither of them
could. Stiles enjoyed the feeling of Peter's arms wrapping around him, and
Peter relished in the feel of Stiles' lips against his. None of the world
mattered- none of the ridiculous creatures, the terrifying probability of
death, or the fact that everything that had a beginning did indeed have an end.
Peter may chase Stiles through lifetimes, and Stiles would follow Peter into
death.
Nothing else mattered, other than the fact that when the two shared one of
their soft, secretive touches, they felt like they could see explosions in the
sky.
Chapter End Notes
     I love you all.
End Notes
     Peter just goes through details of how he would have enjoyed Stiles
     at various points before. But Stiles would have been 15-16 at the
     time.
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