Chapter Text
“So we’re here to do…business with the Summer Courts?” Isaac sounds as confused as the first time Peter had tried, note tried, to answer their questions and at this point he’s not feeling helpful enough to try again.
It’s not that he doesn’t wish to, except that’s exactly what it is and his nephew is as insane as they all think he is if he thinks Peter’s going to be opening his mouth to tell them anything except fuck off.
In a nicer way of course.
“Sort of…” Derek pauses, looking to his Uncle for help and Peter quite happily pretends not to notice when the rest of the pack turns towards him as well.
Raising a brow, he looks each one in the eye – taking pleasure in the way only Lydia, unimpressed, and Malia, equally as unimpressed, and Cora, amused, keep eye contact.
Even Derek looks away.
When he feels the odd stirrings of guilt, Peter has to struggle to keep the confusion off his face. Perhaps he’s getting mellow in his old age? Wouldn’t Stiles laugh at that.
He freezes –
“C’mon Peter, one more ghost story for the Pups.” She smiles widely, brown eyes glowing by the fire light and full of mischief.
Laura is grinning, all wide eyed and carefree from her seat across from him, a much appreciated change from the teen Alpha attitude she’s had all month. Derek is a little more subdued by his favourite Aunt’s side, cuddled into her warmth like the Pup he is and baby Cora looks like she’s struggling to stay awake, the stubbornness in her winning out.
Peter sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sky, if only to keep the brats from seeing the smile on his face.
“Very well. This one, you might be surprised to know, actually happened right here in Beacon Hills-”
– He shakes himself out of it, something between a growl and a whine stuck in his throat. The pack’s stopped, curious now and openly staring. He doesn’t even try to resist snarling at them, a hint of fang peeking through.
The Argent girl, Allison, reaches for her crossbow but Derek placates her.
“There’s no need. Peters fine.” Derek sounds confident but his eyes never stray from Peter, if Peter was less of an asshole, he might even be impressed with Derek’s ever growing Alpha abilities.
It doesn’t stop Scott nor Isaac from growling at him.
Lydia rolls her eyes, tugging a bored Jackson along with her, “Can we hurry this up? The last thing we need, as a new Pack, is to A. Be late and B. Show up covered in blood from in house fighting.”
“She has a point.” Peter points out, tone flat and equally as bored.
Malia snorts, so unlike him that he has to laugh, and starts walking after Lydia, “Distraction.”
He grins, “Of course, my dear, anything to get through this quicker.”
He pretends to not notice the way she pauses, startled but not upset, at the affection.
They start moving again.
“So…Summer Court?” This time Isaac has the smarts to ask Lydia. Who, not quite happily but certainly knowledgeable enough to do so, answers him. Peter ignores them all, trailing behind like the extension he is. It should make him upset – it fucking does – but at this point, he himself doesn’t feel comfortable enough with anything more.
Malia and to an extent Derek and Cora are the only ones he really cares about, perhaps Erica and Boyd as well. He appreciates the ferocity of the blonde and the quietness and sturdiness of her boyfriend. Derek chose well.
He’s not lost enough in his own head to miss when Cora suddenly appears beside him – no, never lost in his head, not anymore – and takes his hand.
He breathes deeply, heart skipping when she squeezes his hand tightly and tugs him into a rough shoulder bump, “I miss her too.”
He swallows against the bump in his throat and frowns. He had honestly thought that Cora, that Derek, had forgotten about her - about Stiles. The Aunt who, by no means, had to love them. Who didn’t have to side with Laura against his sister but did so anyway because “She was right Peter and you fucking know it! Don’t sit there and lecture me about what’s best for the Pack when you’re not even thinking clear enough to consider that perhaps someone else has a good, fuck it – a great idea and you’re all too high and mighty to consider it!”
Who held Derek tightly each and every night he woke up screaming, rocking the teen back and forth until his breathing calmed and the tears stopped after Paige’s death. Who cried when Cora was born and protected her so fiercely, who made it possible for the little one to escape the Hale house fire. Who fought tooth and nail against his sister when Laura started to come into her own Alpha prowess, who made it clear that the young adult deserved respect. Who laughed and played around with the littlest ones, Mia and Caleb, who had a pot of tea brewing every night for Talia and Rob and Alex.
His wife had loved the Hale pack with all of her being; every single petty, intelligent, cunning, beautiful part of her and was loved just as much in return.
Turning to face Cora, he pushes against all uncomfortableness and fear of the likely possible rejection to brush a hand over her cheek. She doesn’t flinch but she doesn’t lean into it, progress even so. He smiles tightly, “She would have been so proud of you. So proud of both of you.”
Derek falters in step, trips up only a little at that, but when he regains his footing his stance has shifted with that little bit of confidence.
Cora smiles, a bit wobbly but genuine.
“She’d be proud of you too you know.” She murmurs under her breath, turning and resuming their walking behind the pack, not once letting go of his hand.
He trembles a little, in anger at her gall or unexpected guilt – he doesn’t know and sneers, “She would be disgusted –“
“She would understand. I do.” Cora bumps their arms together again, softer this time. “Aunt Stiles was more devious than you at times Uncle Peter, definitely a lot more fearless.” She laughs as she says it.
Peter’s almost sorry he doesn’t get the chance to respond when Cora gasps suddenly and he’d be offended if not for the fact that the clearing they’ve reached is absolutely stunning
The water sparkles where it’s touched by the streaky sunlight that beams through the leaves. A gently breeze blows through the clearing, the scent of dirt and a sweetness that only comes from wild flowers swirling around them and easing the nervousness. Even the grass is softer beneath their feet – bare as is expected. It truly is beautiful, meant to be appreciated and taken in.
But Peter is an asshole and with all the asshole-ness that comes with that, pinches his niece.
“What the hell?” She hisses, rubbing at her arm.
He smirks, “For fun.”
“Bite me old man.” She sticks her tongue out at him and weaves her way to stand behind Erica.
It’s time.
Peter notes, with interest, the way the Pack fans out behind their Alpha’s – Erica to Derek’s left, Cora behind her and Boyd to Derek’s right, Jackson behind him. Lydia is standing next to Jackson and Allison next to her, behind Scott’s left where as Isaac is behind his right side. Peter is, of course, to the side – the left but behind neither pack and Malia beside him.
His daughter cares for both packs but doesn’t share a connection with either, doesn’t answer to either Alpha. Both Alphas had helped her into changing forms when she was discovered to be alive but she hadn’t submitted yet.
He’s not about to say he feels a sense of pride at that, but he does.
They’re a formidable Pack – two alphas, five betas, a hunter, a banshee, a werecoyote and him – and they’ve reached a stability that leaves Peter feeling comfortable with their abilities; but even so, dealing with the Fae is terrifying.
They arrive in one group, walking with purpose, so much of it that the earth shakes slightly beneath their feet, no matter how much they don’t actually touch the ground. Lydia lets out an involuntary gasp and even the hunter looks shocked.
In fact, the only ones not shocked are Peter and Derek, Cora being too young to ever deal with the Fae back when the Hale’s did so regularly.
The problem with the Fae is their lingering ability to unsettle. They’re not quite beautiful – or they are but in an uncomfortable way. A way that makes you want to look away because there’s something wrong. The Fae are dangerous, thrumming with powerful magic and a deep darkness that leaves you on edge and desperate to be anywhere else.
Still, Derek and Scott step forward.
“Your Majesty.” Derek bows his head, remaining eye contact – bright red to white and gold. Not submission but merely respect. Scott does the same and the rest of the pack, tense and ready to leap to battle, watch with interest.
She hums, lips quirking upwards in a condescending way that Peter is oh so familiar with. “Alpha Hale and…McCall.”
Scott bristles at her tone but smiles, tight in the corners but never faltering when he says, “Your majesty, we came here today to –“
She cuts him off with a tinkling laugh, the sound like bells but so wrong as her lips stretch around sharp fangs, “I know exactly what you came here today for Alpha.”
Peter tenses, Malia making a questioning noise beside him. Derek glowers but refuses to back down, “We came here with respect, the same would be appreciated.”
Suddenly the laughter stops and the Queen steps forward, offended but not angry, no she’s too confident for that, “We respected the last Alpha and look what happened – she could not control what happened on her land. Why should I expect that her troublesome son and a baby Alpha could do any different?” she sounds indifferent, as all Queen’s truthfully should; but there’s something in her tone, something Peter can’t place that leaves him on edge.
In the end, it’s the movement and dull red blood in a group of creatures that bleed silver that captures his attention.
Peter will kick himself later, angry for being so caught up in pack and Fae politics that he missed her scent entirely – Stiles will laugh, running her fingers through Malia’s hair as the girl sleeps soundly, and remind him that she didn’t have a scent, hidden by the Fae to the world - but even so.
There, behind the Queen and slightly to the right, held tight by one of her soldiers, is a woman. Blood is bleeding sluggishly from her lip but she doesn’t look afraid, golden brown eyes narrowed in defiance and anger. She’s not speaking, but she doesn’t have too, he’d recognise her in a heartbeat.
“Stiles…” his voice comes out a breathy whisper, unable to help himself, he’s already walking forward. He pushes past Derek, or he would have if not for the arm stopping him from doing so.
Cora’s already followed his eye sight. He can smell the tears welling up in her eyes as she takes in another surprisingly alive member of their family. Peter growls again, this time deep and low and now Derek is growling alongside him, his pack unsure but angry behind him – ready to leap with a moments notice. Scott looks beyond confused as always, “…What’s happening?”
“Release her!” Derek all but demands, voice dark and angry – righteously so.
Peter’s almost proud.
The Queen laughs again, this time not even bothering to hide her mocking tilt or the way her court laughs alongside her.
Stiles is spitting, not that any of them can hear what she’s saying, and jerking roughly in the soldiers hold. Not laughing anymore, the soldier bares sharp teeth and backhands her. He does it so hard that Peter watches in horror and fury as her head snaps sharply to the side – but she doesn’t seem bothered, spitting out a mouthful of blood and slamming her head back into the Fae’s face hard enough that he actually lets her go.
The laughter stops, and the Queen’s eyes widen in unadulterated rage as she marches forward. Stiles – beautiful, unflinching, unafraid Stiles – glares up at her and right when a hand reaches out towards her Derek roars – long and loud and so full of that Hale power that the Queen had mistakenly mocked that the rest of the pack is helpless but to respond in turn, each howl more bloodthirsty than the last. Peter roaring last of all – howl ripped through him, full of every single emotion he’s felt since waking up and realising that along with his family, his pack, that she was gone from the world as well.
Stiles turns her wide, shocked eyed on them and takes a shuttering breath.
The Queen, whilst she had flinched back at the howls, straightens again, grasping the newly discovered alive Hale and wraps a long, with extremely sharp nails, hand around her throat.
“Mama! Let her go!” Malia is screaming now, shouting and wiggling in Boyd’s hold. Peter grabs her tightly, presses her wet face to his neck and wraps his arms tightly around her partially shifting body, ignoring the claws digging into his skin as Malia cries and shouts and tries to get to Stiles.
Derek pauses for a moment in shock, just as Peter does, because as far as they know - as far as anyone knows - Malia’s mother is both dead and unknown to everyone bar her apparently.
Ignoring the pack, ignoring Derek and ignoring that new piece of information, Peter’s eyes find Stiles again – Stiles who is repeatedly opening and closing her mouth, looking straight at him, looking at him like hes stupid and wow, isn't that rude?
“Well that’s sweet, but irrelevant. This one belongs to us.” The court titters behind her and the Queen smiles sharply, “You are not getting her, ever.”
Stiles keeps opening and closing her mouth – chest heaving as she breaths deeply opens her mouth and forcing her head forward slightly, uncaring of the sharp talons digging into her neck, small droplets of blood coming to the surface, before repeating the process.
The Queen is still talking.
Peter watches closely as Stiles locks eyes with him, breathing in for a long time before staring at Lydia and…screaming.
“Lydia scream.” Peter probably sounds crazy, there’s no doubt in his mind that he does – but it’s a testament to how far they’ve all come when Lydia looks at him out of the corner of her eye before tipping her head back, pushing her arms out and screams.
The effects are immediate. The Queen, her entire court actually, start howling. Their ears and eyes bleeding as they clutch at their heads in agony.
When Lydia finally stops, its silent. Even Malia has quieted her tears long enough to stare wide eyed at the happenings.
For a moment, the only sound ringing throughout the clearing is that of heavy breathing by the Fae court before Stiles is leaping to action. They watch, frozen in place, as the woman grabs a sword from the soldiers belt and without a thought, without pause, slices the head of the Queen swiftly off. Silver blood spurts up and hits her face and covers her body but she doesn’t care, kicking the head away from her and pointing the weapon at what Peter and the others assume is the next in leadership.
“Leave.” God, Peter’s knees tremble at her voice alone – light but heavy, forceful and not to be disobeyed, alive. The Fae hisses at Stiles and lunges but she simply stabs him through and swings the sword upwards, his top half in half and dead on the ground beside his Queen. "LEAVE!"
Instantly, the entire court disappears. Their dead Queen and her most loyal on the ground being the only thing reminding the pack that they were actually there.
Stiles stands with her back to them for only a moment before she turns, shoulders shaking but smile wide as her eyes grow wet, "Took you long enough."
Malia squirms and Peter, too shocked to stop her - the entire pack too shocked to stop her - lets her go. She rushes forward, wrapping her arms around her mother?
"Mama."
"Oh baby." Stiles welcomes the crushing hug and sobs into Malia's hair, mother and daughter tumbling to the ground but stay wrapped in each others arms, unable to stay standing. Stiles pulls away, running her hands over Malia's face and hair, wiping her tears away with her thumbs and pressing little kisses to her daughters face, scenting her and holding her tightly against her neck, "Oh baby, look at you."
"Aunt Stiles?"
Stiles freezes, looking up into the shocked eyes of a very pale faced, very young looking Cora Hale. Derek Hale, equally as pale, right behind his sister.
"Cora, Derek," She opens her arms wide, smiling gently but no less watery as the two grown wolves throw themselves into her arms along with their cousin. She wraps her arms tightly around all three of them, rubbing her cheek over Cora's head and against Derek's cheek. Both Hales, both stoic and emotionally stunted Hales (Erica's words), cry quietly into their Aunt's shirt and scent her almost desperately back.
It's then that Peter whines, loud and pained through the clearing and he watches as she stops. Heartbeat racing and breaths coming out in short gasps at the sound. Immediately Derek pulls back, Cora and Malia going along with him - although by Malia's little hiss, it's not as willingly as her cousin.
Stiles stands on shaking legs, covered in tears and dirt and blood and snot and looking more beautiful than ever. Within seconds he's across the field, pulling her into his arms and holding on so tight for fear that if he even lets her go for a second she'll disappear.
Stiles kisses his cheek gently, his neck, rubs her hands over his arms, his shoulders, his back. Reassuring herself that this is real, that she's not still trapped in a world so wrong for her.
"I'm here," She promises, voice soft and sweet, "Peter, I'm here."
He loosens his grip and isn't even surprised the least when she pulls back and then kisses him. It's gentle - they have time to be rough and demanding with each other later - and full of love. Peter could gag at that, could roll his eyes and mutter about teenagers and first loves and hate himself for entertaining the idea but in this moment, it fucking is and he is beyond happy for it, beyond happy with her here.
Finally, when their lips are swollen and cheeks flushed, when her tears have dried and their chests are heaving, she pulls back and rubs her thumbs over his cheeks. Staring into bright blue eyes she sighs, "We have a lot to talk about my dude."
Derek's sharp burst of laughter breaks the bubble and the rest of the pack starts moving again, stuck between confused whispers and shouting. Cora's still grinning at the scowl on Peter's face from being called 'dude' no doubt and Malia has reattached herself to her mother, arms wrapped around her skinny frame.
"C'mon I need a shower or a bath or something," Stiles smiles, wrapping her free arm around Peter as Derek begins to lead the still questioning and shocked pack back to civilization, "and some greasy, fatty foods please."
"Unbelievable." He sighs dramatically, pretends to be annoyed but the tightness of his arm and his inability to look away from her gives him away.
He's never letting her out of his sight again but that's okay. The way Stiles's fingers are gripping his t-shirt and their daughter tightly and how her eyes aren't letting Derek or Cora out of her sight, he doesn't think he's the only one.
Of course, they do have a lot to talk about (like the fact they have a daughter, or how the fuck she's even alive?) but for now, Peter's happy to focus on the moment.
For now.