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When Stiles was younger, his words were very sparse but usually nice. The picture of his first words was hanging on the wall. Absolutely precious. The writing was gorgeous, and they figured his soulmate was older.
Now… Now they’re more biting and rude. Whoever his soulmate was, hated him. And honestly, that didn’t narrow it down too much, especially since he got dragged into the battlezone that was adjacent to the werewolfiness of Beacon Hills.
He wanted to rip the words off the wall again.
He wanted to throw the frame and smash the glass and destroy the picture of what he lost. It was already crumpled a little. Right after his mom died, Stiles tried to throw it out. He never wanted to meet his soulmate because he never wanted to lose them.
The wrinkles had smoothed a bit from years — almost a decade — of being smashed back into a frame. Picked up from the garbage and smoothed out, the scratches from the glass filled in with sharpies.
His dad had stopped drinking a little after that.
That was the only thing stopping him from destroying the frame again. He looked down at his arm and tugged his sleeve back over the fading, gorgeously written basically worthless. He wondered if his soulmate got nice things on their arms or if his sarcasm burned their skin. Stiles couldn’t ever decide which he’d prefer.
Peter glared at his arm and dug through his drawers to find a clean long sleeve. He hadn’t been able to do laundry here since Derek got thrown through the wall and landed on the washer, so his supply of wearable shirts was running low.
A quick sniff of some of his used shirts left him with nothing to wear to hide the words.
Selfish bastard.
He snarled to himself and headed to Derek’s room to steal something. Derek raised an eyebrow when he walked in, eyes dropping to his arm in understanding as Peter tugged on a henley. He put his book off to the side and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Still having trouble?”
“No,” Peter rolled his eyes, “We just talk about each other as foreplay. I’m hiding how sexy they think I am.”
“Uncle Peter,” Derek sighed, “you don’t need to be so hostile.”
Peter snarled, remembering how often his arm was marred with similar sentiments.
“I’m here if you ever need to talk,” Derek looked off to the side, “I know how it feels to have some not-so-great words, you know.”
Peter deflated a little and nodded.
“It can improve,” he continued, “I mean, if Chris and I worked things out, I’m sure when you figure out who it is, you two will figure it out.”
“I need more clothes, and we need a washer,” Peter changed the subject, “I don’t want to be seen wearing this.”
Derek laughed and followed Peter out to the store.
Stiles tried to avoid his arms after fights, now. Over the weeks he decided it wasn’t just someone in the supernatural world, it was someone in or adjacent to the pack itself. The timing and specifics of the insults were just too obvious. It made fixing up his injuries a little difficult, though. He couldn’t grab just anyone to help him, and he didn’t want to admit it to the pack at large either. The less they all realized he was hurt, the less reason he’d have to insult Stiles. And Stiles knew it was a guy, now. All the girls were firmly spoken for.
“Scott,” Stiles called out as they all made their way through the preserve to drive home and clean off. He waited for Scott to jog over and tossed his good arm over Scott’s shoulder, “my house?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles lied, “I just want some bro time.”
Scott narrowed his eyes but nodded, “yeah, I’ll follow you there.”
Stiles held back the whimper as he climbed into the car and felt the heat of words appearing. He didn’t bother looking this time. But now he knew for sure someone in the pack was his soulmate, and if it didn’t hurt, he would laugh.
Scott was waiting on his bed when he finally got home, taking the long way with fewer jostles in the road to avoid hurting his side anymore.
“How bad is it?”
Stiles lifted his shirt, “I just need butterflies I think, not stitches,” he tried to look and winced, “and a pain drain to knock me out.”
Scott growled a bit.
“It’s not that bad, hush.”
“Worthless human?” Scott almost shouted, “how is that not that bad?”
Stiles flinched, “I just ignored the words, I thought you were growly over the injury.”
“I’m used to those,” Scott sighed, “which sounds awful out loud.”
Stiles laughed.
“Rinse out time, let me know if you want help,” Scott took a deep breath, “whole shower. You need a whole shower.”
Stiles slapped the back of Scott’s head as he walked past. The shower proved painful, but he was glad he had bought a long-handled shower poof to make life easier once injured shoulders became a normal fact of life.
Scott helped him close up the scratch, pulling his pain as soon as Stiles was dressed for bed.
“I wish your soulmate could see how much you do for the pack,” Scott whispered as he brushed Stiles’ hair from his face.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Stiles muttered, the rest of his sentence drifting away as he fell asleep.
Peter glared at his words. Not worth the effort. He was trying to figure out who it was — a dead person couldn’t mar his skin with insults. It was hard to narrow down, though. Sometimes he thought it could be a packmate, but they all seemed to tolerate him now.
Perhaps years ago, back when he was newly alive again… but the pack was almost apathetic to him by now.
Chris wandered into the room and let out a grunt when he saw the words.
“Don’t tell me, another Derek-forced pep talk?”
Chris shook his head, “he didn’t even know you got new words.”
“I’d like to keep it that way.”
Chris put a hand over the words, blocking Peter’s view, “once you two figure out you’re soulmates, it’ll get better.”
Peter sneered, “Oh yes, the great fairy tale love will commence.”
“Not what I meant,” Chris snorted, “you two can avoid direct insults once you know.”
Peter considered it, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Christopher.”
“Well by the ones I’ve seen so far, they’re rather inventive. So I wouldn’t push too much.”
Peter wished that narrowed it down more than it did, “I’m aware.”
“And if they’re meant to put up with you forever —”
“They’re likely an asshole,” Peter flashed his eyes, “or so I’ve been told.”
“They probably are,” Chris agreed, “I doubt anyone who wasn’t a bit of an ass would actually keep your attention.”
Peter let out a breath and relaxed into the seat, “I never had words before the coma. I’ve wondered if —” he shook his head a bit.
“You didn’t get a soulmate as punishment.”
Peter didn’t point out that he’d deserve it. Chris might keep a lot of his secrets, but this one felt too personal. “If you’re quite done with therapy, I have books to read.”
Stiles yawned as he walked into the loft, barely opening his eyes enough to avoid running into people on his way to the kitchen for coffee. He was sipping on it when Peter walked in.
“Must you make the entire place smell of your disgusting concoction?”
“Oh, whatever, Peter, like your weird tea mixes are any better.”
“I can drink mine without covering their entire flavor.”
“I’m pretty sure you can only claim that because you add the flavors to the leaves.”
Peter shrugged, “it’s part of the making process, so it’s part of the tea.”
Stiles grumbled, “why are we even here at this inhumane hour?”
“Nine am is not inhumane.”
Stiles raised an eyebrow.
“Derek managed to make contacts with other packs, and I need to make sure the pack is able to make it through the negotiations without causing pack wars.”
Stiles snorted, “ah yes, you will teach us diplomacy.”
“I will,” Peter nodded, snatching the cup away from Stiles and putting it by the sink, “now let’s go, the first pack will be here in a week and I am quite sure I’ll need every minute of it.”
Stiles flipped him off but followed him to the living room, flopping on the couch between Isaac and Erica, wiggling until they both gave in and cuddled him. He hoped this week wouldn’t be too painful with his soulmate, maybe he could manage to make a good impression with wit since he didn’t with physical skills.
He tried to pay attention to the information, but most of it was in the books he’d read back when he and Scott first joined Derek’s pack at the start of college. Places in the pack, who should speak when, how to address people. Stiles figured this was pack 101.
“Now, some of these packs look down on a human pack member,” Peter said as he stared at Stiles, “so for them, we should —”
“Not make alliances!” Scott cut in, “we can’t just ignore some of our members because the pack is old-fashioned!”
“Not members,” Peter corrected, “member.”
Stiles tensed but pulled back the hurt, “Scotty, I appreciate the bro-hood, but I’d rather have the extra backup. I know where I stand in the pack, so it's cool if I need to skip a few meet and greets.”
“But we have other human members!” Scott argued.
“No, we don’t. We have a banshee, a huntress, and a mate,” Peter pointed around the room.
“How does Danny being a mate matter? It doesn’t change him.”
“But it is an honored role,” Stiles nodded, “he is likely expected to accept the bite once the pack is stable enough to grow,” he made air quotes, “which will happen with these alliances, so there might be pressure after.”
“But —”
“Scott, really, it’s fine,” Stiles cut him off, “I’ve expected this, remember those books I read, like, six years ago and taught you about?”
“Uh,” Scott blushed.
Stiles snorted, “don’t worry, man, Peter’s covering what I already taught you. He’s a pompous jackass but he’s also the best at knowing what will cause a pack war since he was the left hand. It’s not just about slicing and dicing your enemies. You need to be able to not massively fuck up while protecting the Alpha.”
A few people muttered as they fought, used to the arguments.
“Yes,” Peter snarled a bit, “the twitchy weakling would cause our pack to look awful and he knows it.”
Stiles felt his arm burning and refused to look down, wishing he had chosen a long sleeve shirt today. He tried to move to hide it without drawing attention to the movement, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t see.
Isaac stopped him and pulled his arm closer, “Stiles.”
Stiles didn’t bother pulling it back, just shook his head, he didn’t want to know what was whispered about him — he knew his arguments and rambling annoyed his soulmate, but he had no plans to change for him.
He looked down against his better judgment, “oh my god.”
“Stiles,” Isaac squeaked out, “you and —”
“How did I not figure this out?” Stiles groaned, “zombiewolf, we need to talk apparently.”
Peter made a face.
Stiles held out his arm, “not optional.”
“Pack meeting dismissed,” Peter waved them off, “leave now.”
The pack quickly left, Scott and Derek hesitating before they were chased away too. Peter cocked his head, listening for a bit. He made a few random comments to tell people to go further.
“Safe?” Stiles asked.
Peter waited a few seconds before nodding, “as safe as we’ll get, I suppose. Certain members won’t leave the area.”
Stiles nodded and rubbed over his words.
“Well,” Peter looked at his sleeve, “let's get this over with.”
Stiles watched as his handwriting was revealed on Peter’s arm.
“So,” Peter showed it, “that settles it. I suppose we should work on not directly insulting one another. I’m sure we can manage with vague wording.”
Stiles snorted and rubbed his words harder, choking back the confirmation that the person meant for him didn’t want him. He knew it before, had braced for it since he watched Scott trace over the healing bite on his side and the words only said terrible things.
Peter remained silent.
Stiles thought back to the picture frame hung on the wall. Remembered his dad patching it up, reminding him that the pain was worth it. That blissful time where he was sure things would be okay, that he’d see words again. Six years of peace and happiness mixed with the worry of no words appearing. He wondered if it would need to stay up now that he knew.
Stiles started to laugh at how obvious it was now.
“Stiles?” Peter sounded worried.
It made him laugh harder, gasping for breath and crying. He couldn’t even sort his own emotions on it, laughter was all he could manage to do.
“Derek, if he dies, it wasn’t me,” Peter spoke a little louder, “he seems to have lost his mind.”
Stiles took a few shallow breaths and tried to talk, “six years,” the giggles started again.
“What?”
He shook his head and tried to explain, “coma, no words, six years.”
Peter nodded in understanding, “ah, yes, that would be telling.”
Stiles grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it to his chest, biting at his cuticle and thinking over where to go from here. “I agree, by the way,” Stiles glanced out the windows, “I would rather not have terrible things on my arm forever, so I’ll behave if you do.”
Peter hummed.
Stiles glanced over at him, “I suppose this won’t exactly change me being banned from the meetings though, huh?”
Peter opened his mouth and blinked a few times.
“I mean, you don’t want to claim me,” Stiles started, “so I’m not really a mate, so I wouldn’t count still.”
“Why would you think that?”
Stiles waved his arm, “I think you’ve made it clear.”
“I’m not the one who said you weren’t worth the effort.”
“Oh no, you just said I was an unnecessary living google replacement.”
Peter snorted.
“Which I admit was a funny one.”
“As was the time you called me the weird uncle that shows up without an invitation.”
Stiles smiled, but it faded quickly, “you know, I have your first words hanging in my hall.”
“What were they?”
“Absolutely precious,” Stiles couldn’t pull together a smile at that, “it barely fit on my arm at the time, loopy handwriting on a pudgy little arm.”
Peter rubbed at his arm, “I don’t know what mine were really. By the time I healed the scars, you hated me.”
“I don’t.”
Peter narrowed his eyes, “I see you’ve learned to lie to us.”
Stiles shook his head, “Nah, I did hate you before. But now.”
“I’ve seen the words, Stiles,” Peter snapped.
“Pick anyone in the pack,” Stiles huffed, “and I promise I’ve said the same or worse. I think the last time I got mad at Scott I called him a glorified drug-sniffing dog.”
Peter snorted, “he says it was actually a glorified drug-sniffing dog that failed the academy.”
Stiles smiled.
“So you don’t hate me,” Peter stroked his chin, “and I don’t hate you.”
“Really now?” Stiles said, doubt dripping from his tone.
“I don’t spend time lamenting my hatred.”
“Ah, yes, that whole murder spree made that clear.”
Peter flashed his eyes, “do not compare yourself to those things I killed.”
Stiles looked at Peter, “then why the insults?”
“Because you’re a reckless idiot that is going to get himself killed.”
Stiles threw his head back as he laughed, the words burning onto his arm again, “oh my god, you are the absolute worst!”
Peter sighed as the words appeared on his skin, “it seems we’ll find it difficult to not directly insult one another.”
“So…” Stiles stood once he calmed his laughter again, “does this mean you actually like me?”
“I would prefer if you lived.”
“You do!” Stiles crowed.
“No, the pack would be rather unbearable if you died, is all.”
Stiles got into his space, “you liiiiiike me, you want to kiss me.”
Peter rolled his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Stiles grabbed Peter’s arm, “my soulmate is an asshole with an amazing ass and kissable lips.”
Peter snarled as the words appeared, “and my soulmate is a brat who will look amazing with an ass red from a firm spanking.”
Stiles let out a half-moan, half-squeak.
“Interesting,” Peter carefully reached out and touched Stiles’ cheek.
“Don’t think you’ll always be in charge,” Stiles narrowed his eyes, “I’m not sure I can make a mark stay on you, but I’ll be more than happy to try.”
“Perhaps we can start with dinner?” Peter smirked.
Stiles nodded, “I think we can do that.”
“Is this normal?” Satomi whispered to Derek.
“Unfortunately.”
Satomi looked over at Peter again, “perhaps he should invest in sleeves?”
Derek sighed.
Stiles came storming up, arms flailing as he poked Peter’s chest.
“I suppose all matches can’t be love matches.”
Derek laughed, “just wait.”
They both watched as Stiles and Peter went from yelling and shoving to kissing.
“Oh,” Satomi nodded, “they’re —”
“Well-matched,” Derek shook his head, “I apologize for the interruption, would you be okay with continuing without Peter here?”
She laughed, “perfectly fine.”
Stiles ran down the stairs and tried to snag the milk before meeting up with the pack for a picnic day. Derek was bringing most of the food, but Stiles really wanted some milk today.
“What is that?”
“Milk? You know, calcium, some added vitamin d, good fats…”
John pointed to his other arm, “the words.”
“Oh, well,” Stiles rubbed his neck.
“I thought you and this mystery soulmate were getting better. I’ve been waiting for you to bring them home?”
“We are,” he argued.
John raised an eyebrow, “perfect vampire bait?”
Stiles cringed, “he’s kinda… sarcastic.”
“He, huh?” John smiled, “well at least I know one thing now.”
Stiles leaned against the counter, “I don’t mean to hide things, it’s just…”
“I know, kid.”
“He’s older, really pretty to look at, a total asshole, acceptably intelligent,” Stiles smiled a bit, “and he treats me right under the sarcasm.”
“That’s going to be quite the thing on his arm.”
“I’m sure he’ll be properly embarrassed.”
“I still want to meet him soon, make sure he’s good enough for you.”
Stiles cringed a bit, “just promise you won’t shoot him and I’ll bring him home tonight.”
John considered it but nodded.
Stiles and Peter sat close on a blanket, Peter smugly wearing his short sleeve shirt to show off the not-yet-faded words.
The pack took a while to adjust to the idea. A few had seen some of the words Stiles was stuck with and wanted to hold it against Peter. But as the weeks had drawn on, they all realized it just fit with how they always were. Lydia enjoyed poking and prodding until Stiles would vent when he and Peter argued.
They might get along now, but Lydia could still hold a grudge.
“Dad wants to meet you,” Stiles tried to sound casual.
“He knows me.”
Stiles played with the empty milk jug, “he does, but not as my soulmate.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t need to, but I did make him promise not to shoot you.”
Peter kissed his temple, “I’ll be happy to.”
Stiles’ face lit up, “good, I just want to not lie anymore.”
“Of course, darling, we will get something on the way home.”
Stiles ended up napping with his head on Peter’s lap, relaxed and surrounded by his pack, trusting Peter to keep him safe if anything happens. It had been a fun day with volleyball, barbeque, and swimming. The sun was just starting to dip below the trees when Peter shook him awake, helping gather things before they left.
Peter opted to buy them dinner, over-ruling Stiles’ objections on the type of food he got John. Stiles insisted on knocking, shifting on his feet, and chewing on his lips while they waited.
John opened the door and looked between them before he shook his head and waved them in, “aw, hell, kid.”