Chapter 1: spokesperson
Chapter Text
“You seriously want to go back?” Laura asks, not meeting Peter’s stare.
“It’s our home, Laura.”
“The pack was my home,” she snaps back, eyes remaining on the horizon. It’s chilly outside on their balcony, making Peter wish he’d brought his coat. Derek and Cora can both hear them anyway if they wish to but Laura has always liked at least the pretense of privacy in their apartment.
“Well, Beacon Hills was mine. It’s Hale territory and as long as a Hale lives, we should be there.”
“You’ve been in a coma for six years, uncle. That town is no place for wolves anymore.”
He bristles, eyes narrowing into a glare.
“Whose fault is that, exactly?”
“Mine, of course. But I don’t regret taking the remains of my family out of there. We probably wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t. You wouldn’t be alive.”
“I’m grateful,” he says, sounding anything but. “But now I’m awake, I’m healed and I’m ready to take back what’s ours. I can go ahead first and scope out the situation. Let me do what I’m good at, Alpha.” That’s the first time he’s called her that in the three months since he woke up. It’s enough of a shock that her eyes snap to his, glowing red.
“And what if I tell you I don’t want to go back. Will you leave it?”
Peter takes a moment, considers the question in full.
“I don’t know if I can. Me and Talia, we... We were connected to the land in a way you wouldn’t be able to understand.”
“So you’d leave us?”
“Probably.”
She looks sad. And so much like her mother. Peter feels a twinge in his chest, the memory of Talia burning while yelling ‘Argent!’ a sudden flash in his head, followed by another memory of his sister’s face smiling at him with pure joy and pride as they bound themselves to the Nemeton by blood.
There’s so much rage he’s keeping inside, anger he’s been drowning in for six years. There’s so much he hasn’t told Laura, because when he finally woke up, healed and whole and yet still a broken half of a bond that no longer exists, she had looked at him with so much love and relief. Another family member, returned to her, another pack bond, shining bright and grounding her to her personhood. His rage can wait, he told himself then.
And he waited for three months, regaining his movement, his strength. He reached out to what’s left of his family, Cora being the easiest to connect to, young and angry but also full of brightness, already healing, already becoming a young woman worthy of respect. She likes his dark humor and he likes her straightforwardness. They’ve spent a lot of time together, catching him up on things he’s missed. Derek is trickier. There’s a tension there, and the tension’s name is Kate. Peter knows, of course he does. Talia suspected and that’s why it had been easy to find the name to scream out while their home burned around her.
But Peter has a feeling that Derek hasn’t told the others. There’s a constant myriad of scents surrounding him. Guilt and misery, anger and hate and grief. Derek’s not healing and it’s also affecting Laura. The big sister that just wants to help her younger sibling, who wants to see him thrive. They used to be close, Derek used to worship her and she used to enjoy teasing him - now they move around each other, not touching like pack should touch, not really talking either. Derek doesn’t touch any of them, only relenting with Cora who sometimes just flings herself at him because she’s tired of his moping.
Peter’s held himself back as well, accepting Cora’s hugs and giving Laura comforting shoulder grips but he doesn’t feel right enough to offer anything more. He’s not in his territory. His skin crawls with the sensation of wrong.
So after three months he finally brought up the topic of going home. Cora, surprisingly, seemed to be on board immediately. He’d thought that six years away from the place she’d left when she was twelve would be enough to estrange her to whatever sense of home she remembered from Beacon Hills. But no, she hates New York. She hates the loudness, the overbearing clusterfuck (her own word) of scents everywhere she went, the lack of trees, the lack of fresh air. “I miss the Preserve. I miss running, I miss walking out the front door and right into a forest. And I miss the kids I knew at school. Everything and everyone was just... calmer back there. New York’s too much of everything all the damn time, and sometimes I feel like I have no space to breathe.”
That seemed to surprise Laura, all of them really. Because Cora hid her discomfort well. Derek became thoughtful after her reveal and Peter wondered if maybe Cora’s words had put a name to things Derek hadn’t even realized he was feeling.
“What if you’re the only one who wants to stay?” He asks Laura now. She’s already staring through the glass of the balcony door, taking in her younger siblings who are still there in the living room of the apartment that she’d picked in the city she loved living in, waiting for her decision.
“I’m pretty sure I am, yeah.”
He was never happy with Talia’s choice for their next Alpha. Some part of him still thinks he should be the one. A larger part of him thinks if Talia had given him more freedom to act, more power to hold in their town, then his sister would still be alive. He feels that same pull now, the jealousy of Laura having all the power while standing here, indecisive, afraid, weak.
But Talia also said that Peter always underestimated her oldest. That when it comes to pack, Peter has no idea what Laura would be willing to give up, to sacrifice. And that sacrifice is the most important part of being an alpha. Because pack comes first, always.
Looking at her now, as resolve slowly takes over and her body straightens as if bracing for an impact, Peter thinks he understands a little bit.
Because Laura’s going to give up everything.
Two Years Ago
The house, the mansion, the home. It’s beautiful, lived in, glamorous but comfortable, white yet colorful, full of personality because it’s full of personalities. So many of them, so many under one roof, some visiting, some living, some getting ready to move out. Younger, older, children, grandparents, pack, pack, pack.
It’s a celebration, it’s tradition. It’s family, blood, chosen, married, adopted, family.
His feet stop moving. He’s standing on the front lawn. Green, fresh - burnt - smell of rain - smell of ash.
It’s day and the sun is out - it’s night and the air is full of screams.
The front door is open, inviting and welcoming - the door is closed and there’s a line of something in front of it. There are sounds of someone trying to break it down from the inside.
The house is full of laughter - people are crying. But there are also people outside, one of them is laughing. She’s laughing.
He’s crying. He’s choking. His lungs burn. He wakes up.
Stiles is standing in front of the burnt down house that once belonged to the Hale family. His brain takes a while to catch up. He went to sleep at home, earlier than usual, feeling lost at the end of his birthday, because Scott was grounded and his dad was at work and his mom was dead. And now... Now, he’s here.
He’s holding someone’s hand. He grips the fingers too tightly when he notices and looks at the person next to him in shock when there’s a yelp.
“Let go of me!” Lydia Martin shouts and he immediately does.
“What- what... What!?” He can’t manage any more than that because there’s too many questions to ask and he feels like he’s not getting enough air to ask them all.
Lydia is there. At the burnt down Hale house. With him. In the middle of the night. She’s wearing a purple dressing gown that’s tied up at her waist and green rain boots. Her hair’s up in a bun, her face seems to have zero make up on it, she still looks stunning but also real, for the first time in a long time, ever since his crush began. She’s a real person, sleepy and shaking, there with him as he loses his mind.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?” She asks, voice sharp and accusing.
“I-... not in the middle of the night?” He says, because of course he’s been here. Probably everyone has at some point since the Hale fire is a town legend and their biggest tragedy in decades.
“You’ve never sleepwalked here, I mean,” she snaps, rolling her eyes.
What the fuck is going on?
“I-” He looks around and down at himself. He’s in his sleeping T-shirt but also wearing jeans and sneakers. He now realizes he’s kind of freezing. Sleepwalking sounds right. “I don’t sleepwalk... I’ve never sleepwalked before, I mean.” He clears his throat, shivering.
Lydia sighs, glare softening into something Stiles can’t decipher.
“I ended up here the first night after my sixteenth birthday.”
He blinks rapidly in shock, “I- I just turned sixteen.”
“Yeah, figures,” she mumbles.
“How- How are you so calm right now!? We’re in the middle of the woods, at night, because we sleepwalked here!”
“Like I said, it’s been months of this for me. I’ve already had my freak-out and then some. Feel free to have yours when you get back home,” she turns around and starts walking.
“Back home... Oh my god, that’s so far away.”
“Didn’t you drive?”
“Did you!? Sleepdrive!?” He scrambles to run after her, amazed at how fast she’s moving. Lydia really does seem like this is something she’s used to. Stiles is still reeling, and half-certain he’s actually having a weird dream.
“Yes. Well, it’s not really sleeping for me, it’s more like a compulsion that I can’t snap out of.”
“A compulsion to... visit the Hale house?”
She stops suddenly and turns to stare at the house. “I could hear her this time.”
“What?” He’s so confused.
“Talia. She always yells at me, but I never hear her voice.” She looks at him, calculating. “Until tonight.”
“So...” He decides to put all of the weirdness of Lydia calmly saying that a dead woman (because that had to be Talia Hale, right?) yells at her aside for a second, and just focus on the facts she’s giving him. “I’m... amplifying her?”
“Or amplifying me.”
Lydia starts walking again and he moves to stay by her side, the fast pace helping him feel less frozen.
“Amplifying you... So do you know what’s going on here? Why you’re feeling that compulsion and hearing dead people?” Am I going crazy right now?
“Not really. I’ve looked into it, and apparently there’s a couple of things I could be. But none of them really fit right. Seers have premonitions, I just see the Hale fire. Oracles predict future outcomes based on decisions, I just see the Hale fire. Banshees scream for the dying and I just see the Hale fire, over and over again. I could still easily be one of those or something else and I’m just currently tuned in to this one event, I don’t know and I honestly don’t care. I’m far too busy to have a supernatural mystery taking away my very precious sleeping time.”
Stiles has never seen Lydia Martin rant before. She’s always making small quips at him whenever she deigns to actually acknowledge his presence, or pretending to be an airhead whenever Jackson’s around. This gorgeous, angry goddess beside him is new and Stiles feels his crush shaping into something else, something deeper.
But also, wait-
“You’ve looked into things? Supernatural things? That are real? What? How!?”
She stops abruptly and puts a hand to his face that he dodges out of reflex.
“We’re not doing this right now. I’m tired, I’m cold, I want to go home. We’ll talk another day, I’ll tell you everything. Then you can do all the stupid research that I just don’t want to do anymore, because again, I’ve been experiencing this for months. And I want it to stop. But I don’t understand what...”
As she goes quiet, a far-away look in her eyes, Stiles steps closer, worried. “Lydia?”
“I could hear Talia this time, I could hear what she was screaming.”
“And what was it?” Stiles figures whatever’s going on, all of this is probably about sending Lydia, or him, or maybe both of them, a message... A message from beyond the grave? Oh God, that sounds so stupid, this can’t be his real life right now.
“Argent,” Lydia whispers.
Stiles’ pauses, squinting at her because... “As in, Allison Argent? Your new best friend and my best friend’s new girlfriend? That Argent?”
She stares at him, eyes wide. Stiles steps back, hands up in a placating gesture because she looks so terrified all of a sudden.
“Yes. Talia Hale, as she was burning to death, screamed the name Argent. She sounded... accusing.”
“Oh God, do you think this is about ghosts wanting revenge or something?”
Lydia closes her eyes and presses her mouth shut. She shakes her head and starts walking again, almost jogging. “Nope, I’m not doing this. Not right now.”
The path they’re walking on turns and there’s a car waiting there, parked diagonally across it.
“Can I at least get a ride back home? I might be getting close to freezing to death actually.”
“Your lips aren’t even purple, you’re fine.” But before she opens the driver’s door, she glares at him. “Get in, idiot.”
“Oh, thank God.”
During the ride to Stiles’ house they only speak once.
“Do not talk to me about this at school, do not tell Scott, do not tell your dad. The only one you can talk about this with is me. And we’re going to do it somewhere people can’t see us. The only rumors that are allowed to be spread about me are the ones I start myself. We clear?”
“Crystal,” Stiles sighs. So much for the tiny hope that she’d find him less annoying now.
Also, time to break some laws and go digging into the Hale fire again. Last time he did it, he’d been twelve, was caught immediately and found out almost nothing the public didn’t already know. He is a lot more experienced in the art of getting his hands on police files and also a lot more determined.
Because what the hell was this entire night all about?
In addition to the Hale fire, he resolves to trying to find out everything he can about the Argents. If this is real life, if Lydia Martin is some kind of supernatural entity that hears actual dead people, if the vision he just had wasn’t a dream but what actually happened...
Then the Hale fire was a murder. A massacre.
And the killers are still free.
One Year Ago
“I still think this is a bad idea.”
“Does the tree distrust him? Fear him? Does your ‘spidey sense’ tingle?”
Stiles glares at Lydia, “You told me we can’t call it that.”
She stares back, smiling insincerely, “No, I said you can’t call it that.”
He rolls his eyes, turning back to stare at the house he’s parked in front of. His grip on the steering wheel is tight, anxiety simmering beneath his skin. “Just because it doesn’t distrust him, doesn’t mean we can conclude he’d be on our side.”
Lydia sighs, “I don’t want to do this either, but now we know for sure that he knows. He can help us. And Stiles, we need help.” She puts her hand on his right one, soft and placating. “You need help.”
“He’s going to tell my dad and I’ll end up in a straightjacket.”
“I really don’t think he’d do that.”
“And you know him so well.”
She hums thoughtfully, “I haven’t talked to him much, but I know a lot about him from Allison and from just hanging around the house. He’s a good dad.”
“Yeah, and dad-code means he’ll have to talk to my dad about me losing my fucking mind!” For just a moment, his brain frizzles out, his sight flashes white and he thumps his palm against the wheel in a blind rage. When he comes back to himself he immediately turns to Lydia who has drawn back from him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, God, I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” she smiles sadly. “This is what I mean, though. If he knows about the supernatural, comes from a family that has history with it all... maybe he knows what’s going on with you. Maybe he’ll know how to make it stop.”
“Blood is how it will stop.”
“Even if that’s true, we don’t know whose.”
Stiles closes his eyes, “Argent’s, obviously.”
“But which one?”
“And that right there is why we shouldn’t get him involved in this. The stupid tree is calling for blood, his family’s blood, Talia Hale has been screaming his family name to you for a year and you want to ask the guy for help!? He might just shoot us.”
“I trust your spidey sense to save the day.”
“Alright, so you’re actually calling it that.”
“I literally have no other way to describe the things you just know sometimes.”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Uh,” he stammers as the front door opens and Chris Argent comes out onto the doorstep and crosses his arms, looking towards Stiles’ Jeep expectantly. “I guess we’ve been sitting out here for too long.”
“So let’s get it over with,” she gets out of the car. Stiles follows, managing to stumble and lose his balance as he exits, grabbing the door to stay upright. He doesn’t even have to look at her to just know she’s rolling her eyes at him again. He is not beauty, he is not grace and he is not Miss United-
“Allison’s not here,” Chris calls out to them.
He locks the Jeep and joins her to stand in front of the man, bumping his fist against his palm awkwardly. He’s 17 and all he knows about his sexual preferences is this - he seems to be getting a habit of obsessing over people that scare him, impress him, outsmart him and attack his teenage libido with their good looks. So far there are two people in town who check all those boxes and they couldn’t be more different in reality. One Lydia Martin, math genius, a gorgeous teenage girl, his close friend and supernatural mystery partner-in-crime and one Chris Argent, a sharp-minded and inquisitive adult man twice his age, a father to a girl that’s older than Stiles, a divorcee and someone who he has had maybe two conversations with. One of those conversations was about what kind of soda he’d like to drink.
And here he is, with the both of them. But his libido doesn’t even care, because his libido hasn’t cared about anything in months. All his mind can focus on are these sensations of memories and knowledge crawling around in his head, uninvited and unwanted. Mostly they’re all about Hales and Argents, werewolves and hunters, pack and enemies as his magical tree-buddy likes to remind him. Not that he’s talking to the tree inside his head... at least not yet.
Lydia herself is fully attached to the Hales, to Talia Hale specifically. So she doesn’t get how hard it is for Stiles to look Chris in the eye right now. For the past few weeks, he’s been getting a flashback fever dream of the man’s coming-of-age days when he trained to become werewolf hunter. They’re not clear and chronological like a movie inside his head, but more like flashes of pain, determination, shame, pride, regret and resolve. And uniting all of it is an underlining tone of doubt. Chris doubts his father, his sister, their way of life. But Stiles also has a feeling the man doesn’t actually realize that.
When he told Lydia all of this, Lydia decided to drag him here.
So here they are. And no one’s talking. He nudges her sharply with his elbow, making her huff, annoyed at his silence.
“We’re not here to see Allison, we’re here to see you.”
He glances up through his eyelashes to see Chris’s surprise. Blue eyes meet his and he looks away, nervous.
“Alright,” he drawls, bemused. “Come in, I guess?” He heads back inside, leaving the door open for them. Lydia grabs his hand and squeezes it comfortingly before dragging him in behind her.
“Would you like anything to drink?” He asks like he always asks when any of Allison’s friends come over.
“No, thank you.”
“Nope, all good,” Stiles ignores Lydia’s glance at his higher-than-normal voice.
“Alright,” Chris says again. Stiles dares to look up and blinks at the amusement so clear on the man’s face. In his head he can hear the clip of that lady saying, Honey, you got a big storm coming-
“We want to talk to you about werewolves.” He blurts out. Chris manages to not give anything away, which is more attractive than it should be, as he raises his eyebrows at Stiles, smiling wide and showing off his white teeth.
“I’m sorry?” He asks.
Just like him, Lydia has no patience for any kind of subtlety, “Werewolves. Hales. Argents. Hunters. We know a lot, but there’s also a lot we don’t know. Mainly, why we know what we know. We’re here because we need help.”
Chris’s smile fades as his sharp gaze takes in their faces. Stiles remembers his bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows underneath them and feels his hands start to shake. He’s a mess, he looks like a mess, Chris must know he’s a mess.
“Allison?”
“We haven’t told her anything,” Stiles says quickly. “This thing started a year ago for us, me and Lydia, and we’ve been trying to figure out what it all means without dragging anyone else into it... Not to mention, since this is supernatural shit, talking to anyone could easily mean getting sent to Eichen.”
“A year,” Chris muses, gaze flying over Stiles, taking in every twitch, every fidget. “And what is this thing you speak of?”
“Visions,” Lydia speaks up. “Dreams, memories. The Hale fire, mostly. At least for me, I’ve formed a connection to Talia, she’s calling to me from beyond the grave.”
“I thought we weren’t using the phrase ‘beyond the grave’ or is that another thing only I’m forbidden to say.”
“You make it sound ridiculous.”
“No, the actual phrase itself makes it sound ridiculous!” His hands fly up to grab his hair, a part of him wanting to pull as hard as he can to see if the pain would make him less shaky. Sometimes it works, but he’s never told Lydia about it and never hurts himself in any way in front of her, in front of anyone.
“You said at least for you,” Chris interrupts their glaring match. “Stiles?” He prompts, leaning against the kitchen counter behind him.
“I notice you’re not denying the existence of werewolves,” he can’t help but quip. Chris’s questioning stare doesn’t waver.
“If you know about the Hales, if you’re here for help, there’s no reason for me to play stupid. You’re kids, Allison’s friends... I’ll do what I can.”
Right. Kids. Stiles shrugs away how uncomfortable hearing that word coming from Chris makes him. It shouldn’t. It’s such a normal word to use when talking about seventeen-year-olds. Stiles needs to get a grip.
“Right,” he hesitates. “I uh- It started with the Hale fire for me as well. Except I never see or hear Talia. It’s not... passive for me, like it is for Lydia. She observes, as an outsider. I’m... I’m someone in the vision when I have them. I’m Peter, when he burns. I’m Derek when he realizes what’s happened. I’m Laura, when she becomes an Alpha and roars in grief. I’m Cora when she comes home to see it on fire. And then... then I’m you.”
“Me?” Chris straightens at that, revealing his surprise for the first time.
“That started a few weeks ago, after Allison told Lydia the whole family myth about La Bete and the silver-slash-Argent thing. It’s like hearing that connected something in my brain, because then I was you training, here in Beacon Hills. With your dad. And uh, I don’t know, I got the sense that maybe I’m supposed to ask you for help.”
“Oh you got the sense?” Lydia mutters.
“Fine, Lydia thought we should come to you.”
Chris looks at the floor, mind obviously trying to process everything he just heard. “I hate to disappoint you but at the top of my head, this sounds like nothing I’ve ever come across. I’ve heard about people who have visions, and some of those people were supernatural themselves but... I need to look into it, make some calls.”
“That’s all we can ask for, really,” Lydia tries to say brightly, but the disappointment is clear in her voice.
Stiles nods, “Yeah, we just want to figure out some basics. What are we, are we something? Why am I connected to a tree and why can Lydia talk to dead people?”
“Connected to a tree?”
“Oh, right. I sometimes see a stump, a magic tree - we figure, at least. When we looked into it, it sounded like maybe a Nemeton, some kind of a nexus of energy? Or at least an ancient ritual site or something. Uh...” He hesitates again, staring at Lydia, wide-eyed. She nods at him meaningfully.
Stiles turns to Chris, meeting the man’s gaze head-on. “It’s calling for blood.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction. Chris barely gives any, just the tiniest frown making an appearance. “Argent blood.” And that- Well. He’s never seen Chris look this cold or distant before and suddenly there he is, no longer Chris, a friend’s dad. No, now he’s Argent - hunter.
“I’d like to remind you that we came here of our own free will and we’re basically begging you for help,” Lydia stammers out, obviously also shaken by the visible change in the man.
Chris grits his teeth, “I’m not going to hurt you, relax. That just sounded like a threat to me.”
“Yeah, a threat from a tree, not me,” Stiles feels the need to make that distinction clear. “Also, we’re pretty sure it’s not you it wants. Whoever it is, has got to be connected to the fire. So unless you’re secretly a murderer, you’re safe from it.”
“My family had nothing to do with that,” his voice has gone low, serious. Dangerous, Stiles’ libido perks up a bit and he feels like smashing his head against the wall, because his self-preservation instincts? Where are they!?
“As far as you know,” Lydia says.
“Are you seriously implying someone in my family killed eleven people by fire?”
“I’m not implying,” Stiles points out, “I’m saying that yeah, they did.”
Chris shakes his head at them, “You’re just kids who are seeing and hearing things. Just because some of it is real, doesn’t mean all of it is. I’ll look into the Nemeton for you but in the meantime, stay away from my family and stay away from Allison.”
“Not going to happen,” Lydia rolls her eyes. “Don’t be the cliché overprotective dad, because your daughter actually adores you. Don’t ruin it.”
“And don’t ignore what I’ve told you just because you don’t want to believe it. From what I- I know that you don’t always see eye-to-eye with your family so if you could just-” he stutters to a stop as Chris steps up to him, almost nose to nose. A sharp poke from a threatening finger to his sternum has Stiles taking a step back.
“You know nothing about my family. I’ll still help, more so because I’m starting to think you might be dangerous. But for now, leave. I’ll get your number from Allison if I find anything.”
Stiles doesn’t need to hear it twice. He’s out of the house and getting into his Jeep by the time Lydia makes it to the doorway. He’s shaking, frustrated and anxious.
Lydia gets in and immediately grabs his hand, “At least he’ll look into it. He probably has lots of contacts, people who know about these things, what’s myth and what’s real.”
“Yeah,” he gnaws on his lip, feels the skin there burn, close to breaking. “I feel like we fucked up, though.”
“What’s done is done. Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.” He can see it, though. Lydia’s as shaken as he is. Chris may have doubts about his family but he’s also fiercely loyal. And he would absolutely choose protecting them over helping Stiles and Lydia if it came down to it. They have a tentative ally, but he may easily become an enemy down the road.
Stiles is not looking forward to it.
Chris Argent is thirty-six, a divorced dad to an eighteen-year-old, he should not be staring at Stiles’ lips. Or having an inner crisis as his brain fixates on the thought of how nice Stiles’s eyes are. He definitely shouldn’t be doing that that when the young man is slumped onto his kitchen table, hand barely holding his head up, fingers gripping his hair. He looks distressed and exhausted. It’s been a month since they last saw each other.
He finally called Lydia and invited them over to look at something he found but didn’t expect them to arrive in such a state. Lydia, worried and anxious, basically hovering over her friend, so unlike the confident social climber he’s seen her be around Allison. And Stiles...
Stiles looked bad before, now he looks worse.
Whatever this is, the Nemeton, the visions - for Stiles, they are still building up to something.
He feels regret as he hands over sheets of paper - copied pages from a Bestiary, because he can only help Lydia today.
“I’m fairly confident that this is what you are, Lydia.”
They both stare at the drawn image of a wailing woman. “So, a banshee,” Stiles remarks softly, looking up at her. Lydia’s mouth twists into a pained smile.
“Was so hoping for a seer or something.”
“You don’t look all that surprised,” Chris observes, leaning forward, arms crossed on the table.
“Yeah, well, we’ve been brainstorming for a year, we’ve come across all of the options probably.”
Lydia tilts her head in agreement, “And banshee seemed most likely, although I haven’t screamed.”
“You might never scream. From everything I’ve heard and read about banshees, a lot of them never grow into their full powers. A banshee’s scream is usually caused by something kickstarting their connection to the supernatural part of the world.”
“Like a magical tree stump?” She asks.
“Or a number of things. But yeah, some of my contacts have come across this kind of nexus before. No hunter I know of has heard of one in Beacon Hills, but that’s not a big surprise, they usually keep themselves hidden from humans.”
“So what would that make me?”
Chris meets his (pretty brown) eyes (with distractingly long eyelashes) and shakes his head, not bothering to mask his concern. “I’m sorry, Stiles. As much as I can tell, you’re human.”
For the first time since they met over a year ago, Chris sees the kid go completely still. It’s unnerving, as is the steady gaze that doesn’t leave his face.
“Humans don’t talk to trees,” he says dryly.
“Some do, I’m sure,” he tries to joke.
“Well those trees don’t talk back, do they?”
“The Nemeton... talks to you?” He frowns, not liking the sound of that. That would make it more than just a nexus of energy, it would be sentient.
“Not-” Stiles’ eyes fly back to Lydia and then land on the table, fingers continuing their usual tapping, which Chris shouldn’t find soothing but does. “Not like with actual words or a voice or anything. But the images I get, the sense memory, the flashes, it...”
“It sounds like the Nemeton is sharing the history of its territory with Stiles but it’s hyper-focused on Hales and Argents,” Lydia says.
“Because it wants justice. We’ve thought about it and it would make sense if Talia was bonded to it somehow, a guardian of the territory maybe. We’ve chatted with a person online who claims to be a practicing druid and he said a lot of these powerful areas in the world gravitate towards werewolves specifically and vice-versa, it’s like a symbiotic relationship. The nexus provides power and a land to call home and the pack in return promises to protect and guard its territory.”
“A person online?” Chris doesn’t hide his skepticism.
“He might not be the real deal but what he told us makes sense, it fits. Now tell me if the Hales were a particularly powerful pack because I suspect they were,” Lydia demands.
Chris smiles, impressed at the way they’ve keenly processed and analyzed everything that’s been thrown at them.
“Talia Hale was the most respected Alpha of the entire southern region of this country. Her name was also known in South America and Europe. It wasn’t just about strength or power, it was the fact that she could do a full shift, turn into an actual wolf.”
“Woah,” Stiles lets out, eyes (he really needs to stop noticing them) wide with awe. Chris is reminded by the fact that as much as Stiles and Lydia know, as much as they’ve seen in their visions, they’ve still never met a werewolf in real life.
“Also,” he continues, glancing at Lydia’s calculating expression, “Every child born into the pack was a werewolf. That doesn’t usually happen, because most packs are a mix of humans and werewolves and other supernatural beings, a lot of couples are mixed as well. Born werewolves have become rare these days, but the Hales were different.”
“And no one thought that magic might be involved?” Lydia raises an eyebrow.
“Of course they did. But they had no way to prove it. And so the Hales were the most respected but also the most feared, even though they were peaceful and Talia herself was always willing to have talks during territorial conflicts, even with hunters that broke the Code.”
“The Code?” Stiles asks, squinting in confusion.
“A code of honor that we hunters live by. We only hunt werewolves that have hurt an innocent. Omegas that have gone feral, packs that have killed, Alphas that turn humans without consent.”
“And so, killing the Hales would have meant breaking the Code,” Lydia says.
“Yes.” He doesn’t want them to start pulling on that line of thread again, he doesn’t want to even think about someone in his family being the cause of that tragedy. Even if- he flashes back to the night after, talking to Kate on the phone, how easily she had laughed while Chris had been horrified at the news-
“And are there people who keep hunters in line? Who hunts the killers among your community?”
Chris smirks at the naïve righteousness on Stiles’ face, “Usually the cops do. We don’t hide or help those hunters, we hide the supernatural because human laws don’t work in that world, human prisons don’t work, human justice doesn’t work. But hunters? They are human. So if they fuck up, we make sure proof gets to the right hands.”
“Unless it’s covered up well, like the Hale fire was.”
He grits his teeth, annoyed at the implications. “That would take a lot of planning, more than one person and yes, a very detailed cover up.”
“So what you’re saying is, it’s possible.”
“Stiles.”
“All I’m asking, Chris, is for you to admit that it’s possible.”
He blinks at the boy saying his first name so easily (Lydia, Scott, everyone else that Allison spends time with still call him Mr. Argent and he prefers it that way), he hates the fact that he’d like to hear it again. He comes to the realization that just maybe, this noticing that’s happening is because he needs to get out there and start dating again, specifically people his own age. It’s been three years since his divorce and he’s been focused on Allison, making sure she adjusts to the changes of having two separate homes with her two separate parents. And now... With what his father has planned for Beacon Hills, with Stiles and Lydia part of the supernatural world, with Kate’s upcoming visit - he probably needs to start Allison’s training. Which means... no, no time for dating just yet.
So fine, he’ll let himself notice. It’s just looking. He’s allowed to look. (Except it feels like he’s not.)
“You’re asking a lot.”
“No, the stupid tree is,” Stiles huffs out and Chris’s glare loses its intensity. He reminds himself that it’s a kid sitting in front of him, imagines how it would feel if it was Allison, sleep deprived and confused and miserable, asking him for help.
“It’s possible,” he relents. Stiles relaxes, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Lydia pulls him into a side-hug but smiles at Chris gratefully.
“You need to remember that everything we say and know comes from these visions,” she says. “We’re also going to start looking into some actual evidence, something we can give to you and then maybe the Sheriff.”
“Evidence?” He asks, cautious.
Stiles nods, leaning into Lydia’s side. “Did you know that the insurance guy who investigated the fire was later fired because of suspicions that he had committed fraud?”
“No... I didn’t,” Chris answers. He never even thought to look into that, assumed the cops had done their job, that if it had been arson, they would’ve- No, he’s fooling himself now. The suspicions at the back of his mind that screamed at him five years ago are back, brought to the surface with everything that Lydia and Stiles have told him - how did the werewolves not get out of the building, how were they trapped, no simple accident would take out eleven pack members, Kate was in. town.
But Gerard told him to stop looking into it, told him it was a tragic accident, said that of course he did his own investigation to make sure no hunter in their community had been responsible, of course Kate was there just to make sure Beacon Hills was as peaceful as Talia promised, it was just recon, just observation.
Chris blinks away tears of frustration that have barely formed, composing himself. A part of him has always been aware that he never looked because he knew he didn’t want to actually find the answers to his questions. Didn’t want to reveal the divide in their family that’s been slowly forming for years now. Between him and everyone else.
“Yeah, I can see it on your face that you think that’s suspicious too, what’s even more suspicious is how that didn’t ring alarm bells for the cops, why no one has gone back to dig through the files.”
“Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“No, not until I have a lot more. He’s going to be real mad anyway, but if I have enough to get him to see the connections, he’ll be too busy figuring things out to stay mad.”
“Right,” Chris pauses, unwilling to say anything about what’s actually going on in his head. He’s not telling them about Kate, not until... Until he sees her again and talks to her. They’ve never talked about the fire, not really. Not since Gerard put his foot down and told the family to let it go, ‘it’s not hunter business’.
“Mr. Argent, when are you going to tell Allison about your family? Is she not going to be a hunter?” Lydia asks carefully.
“She is. And soon, actually. Very soon.” He smiles at her, hoping to perhaps put her more at ease. After a whole month of processing their last meeting, he came to the decision that he actually does want to help them, does not want them to be afraid of him. Allison’s return to the town she was born in went a lot smoother than he’d expected it to and he’s aware a lot of that is thanks to Scott, Lydia and Stiles who made her feel welcome and at ease. Her very first day at Beacon High, he was prepared to have to try and talk the town up again, to explain once more why he decided to move back (Allison doesn’t know that Gerard was the one who made the decision), but it wasn’t necessary because Allison didn’t come home until later that night, happy and smiling wider than he’d seen in a while. ‘Out with some new friends!’ was what she texted him that day.
Scott is harmless as far as boyfriends go, he’s respectful and friendly and even charming in that unaware way of his. Lydia, at first, made him afraid that Allison would be spending most of her free time going to high school parties with booze and drunk boys and perhaps start the rebellious phase he’s been mentally preparing himself for ever since she was first caught sneaking out (that was apparently just for a run, because she’d had a fight with her mom). But as Lydia came over more and they spent a lot of their time actually studying, as Allison told him about her friends and repeatedly called Lydia a genius, he stopped worrying.
Stiles didn’t really come over, not that Chris expected him to. He was only Scott’s friend at first and seemed outside of the social circle Allison got caught up in, but then - and now he knows why - Stiles and Lydia became joint at the hip. He often came to pick her up. Chris and Stiles never really talked, Chris didn’t really consider the kid worth his attention.
And so when it comes to actually knowing Stiles, he doesn’t have much to go on besides ‘loyal friend to Scott’ and ‘Sheriff’s son’. Unless he also considers everything he’s heard from the local law enforcement gossip - bit of a troublemaker, mouthy with a short attention span.
Now that he’s had two actual conversations with him, yeah, that seems about right.
“Are you going to tell her about us too or should we do that ourselves?” Lydia wonders, glancing at Stiles who shrugs with his face (a truly amusing sight).
“How about this, after I’ve talked to her about our family history and after she’s had a time to process it, to look at our Bestiary, to maybe talk to her mom too, then we can all have dinner together and we’ll tell her what we know.”
Stiles and Lydia are both nodding.
“That sounds good,” Stiles says softly, lips pursed in thought, gaze far-away.
Lydia seems to know what’s happening in his head because she brushes fingers through brown hair and asks, “And Scott?”
“I want to,” Stiles hesitates, looking at her, “but maybe that would also be easier if hunters-werewolves are explained first and then we, a banshee and whatever-the-fuck, are revealed after he has time to you know, come to terms with the fact that supernatural stuff’s real, I’m- I still have a hard time coming to terms with it,” he laughs, but it’s short and joyless.
“So do I,” Lydia whispers, fingers still moving through his hair. “Wish we had actual physical proof to give them, though.”
“Indeed, a werewolf would come in handy right about now,” Chris smirks at the thought.
“Don’t know any who do house-calls?” Stiles asks, eyebrows raised.
“Sadly, no,” he raises his own back at him. Stiles’ mouth forms an exaggerated pout. Chris does not find it cute, he does not (and he will keep telling himself that).
“Well, that’s a worry for another time, we got to head back, you’re still grounded,” Lydia stands, pulling Stiles up with her.
“Grounded?” Chris asks, curious.
Stiles grimaces, “Yeah, so, sleepwalking is not something I wanna tell my dad about just yet, so he thinks I’ve been sneaking out at night to do I-don’t-know-what.”
“Wouldn’t sleepwalking be easy to explain? Most people who do it have nothing to do with the supernatural.”
“Uh, true. But just, in our case, I’d rather not.”
Chris frowns, feeling like he’s missing something. But Lydia’s warning glare makes him back off.
“Alright, well, I’ll keep you posted if I find out anything new. And I’ll tell you when Allison gets the talk.”
Stiles snorts, “A bit too late for that-” Lydia’s hand smacks into his chest, “Ow! I mean, yeah, sure, let’s go.” They turn as one to head outside and he follows them to give a polite send-off.
Chris of course, understood the meaning behind that joke and can’t help himself from asking, “Scott knows what I do for a living, right? That I own several loaded weapons?”
Stiles turns to blink at him, panicked, “What?”
Lydia is not impressed, “Oh please, that’s the oldest and most generic dad-threat there is.”
“I’m just asking,” Chris shrugs, going for an innocent look that he knows hasn’t worked for him in almost a decade now.
“Right,” Stiles is doing his angry squinty face at him and again. Not. Cute.
“Have a nice night,” he grins at them. Lydia goes with a roll of her eyes but Stiles pauses. They stand there at the doorway and Chris is struck dumb by the fact that the kid is his height, with broader shoulders than he realized. When his face relaxes, Chris’s brain rebels and focuses once more on everything he finds he likes about that face and there’s too many things, his eyes flying over all of it, unable to decide what to fixate on.
He blinks once, slowly, forcing himself to be the adult parent here.
“Thanks... for saying it’s possible,” Stiles says, eyes fixed on something over Chris’s shoulder.
Chris sighs, long and heavy.
“Listen, just like you and Lydia are trying to get me to understand where you’re coming from, you got to do the same for me. This is my family we’re talking about here.”
Stiles goes still, which is just as unnerving as it was before. He looks defiant, as if daring Chris to argue with him when he says, “Not just your family. And you’re not the ones who burned. Who...” His gaze goes distant, unfocused. “Who are still healing.”
Chris thinks of the survivors, Laura, Derek and Cora who weren’t there. And Peter. His brain grabs onto that name - Peter, who survived the actual fire, who somehow got out of the house? It never bothered him before but now that old doubts and questions are back, his mind pulls on that thread. A hunter setting up the whole thing would most likely mean a mountain ash border to keep the wolves inside. So how did Peter get out?
His mind elsewhere, he doesn’t reply to Stiles who takes it as his cue to leave. He watches him go, eyes going down the long line of his back and then the long legs- before he shuts the door.
Once again, Lydia and Stiles have given him lots to think about.
Six Months Ago
Time flies by, filled with preparations for the Argents’ return, emails and correspondence with the hunting community and his family, planning and negotiations, business trips and hunting trips. He hasn’t seen Stiles, but has seen the Sheriff on occasion, since part of the plan is paving the way for Kate, to get into Stilinski’s good graces so an Argent as a Deputy would seem favorable. They never talk about his son, though a few times they talk about Scott, with the Sheriff actually vouching for him. Chris assures him it isn’t necessary, he’s absolutely fine with Scott dating his daughter. If he’s ever given Scott a reason to think otherwise, well... that’s just his fatherly duty. Stilinski laughs but agrees and mentions his son for the first and only time, ‘Won’t ever get to have fun like that with the way my kid’s going. He’s only had eyes for one girl that I know of, who is not interested in him at all... but his five-year-plan is pretty solid.’
Chris has a hunch that girl is Lydia. He wonders how their dynamic has changed now.
If it wouldn’t be completely weird and out of the blue he’d even ask now that Lydia’s sitting at his kitchen table again. It’s Saturday afternoon and Allison’s outside, saying goodbye to Scott who is heading out to work, so she’ll be a while (Chris will give them ten minutes before he’ll break it off, just because he can) and he invited Lydia to the kitchen for a quick catch-up, because she looks exhausted. Even Allison’s mentioned it a few times now, how both her and Scott are worried about their friends, how Stiles is erratic and unfocused and Lydia zones out a lot. For a few months they had a theory that the two are actually in a relationship but hiding it for some reason. That theory ended when Lydia got back together with Jackson for a few weeks. According to Allison, that was a train wreck in slow-motion.
“How are you, really?” He asks now, clearly meaning the whole banshee part of her life.
“Honestly?” She presses her lips together, hard. He waits patiently. “I’m doing better. It feels like... I was supposed to just figure out what I am, to accept it. To find Stiles, find you, to find out more about the Hales. My dreams and my mind, it all feels... settled. Waiting, but at ease for now.”
He just looks at her, surprised by her answer. He figures there’s more, and after a moment of silence she lets out a shaky sigh and continues.
“I’m just so worried.”
“About Stiles?”
She nods. “While I get better, he gets worse.”
“His connection is still building,” he guesses.
“Yes. He has these... moments. Of rage,” she sounds scared but looks up at Chris’ sharp intake of breath, pleading. “It’s the Nemeton, it’s full of so much anger, it wants justice and it’s getting impatient, I think. And it’s using Stiles as a focus, or a conduit or... something. And there are moments where he gets overwhelmed, where everything just hits his mind all at once and he lashes out. It’s always just a second, one hit and he’s back.”
“One hit?” He asks, afraid to hear the answer.
She looks down at the table, “It was me just once. I learned from it. He was shaking and it looked like he was about to cry so I went to hug him and he backhanded me. It wasn’t with a lot of force, it wasn’t that bad then, I didn’t even bruise or anything. He apologized right away, he looked so horrified and then he did cry- And God, I know I sound like a victim of abuse, but we both know that’s not what this is. It’s not Stiles, and I can’t talk to anyone else because they wouldn’t see it that way.”
He nods and keeps his voice calm, soothing. “I get it. I know it’s not him. So if he doesn’t hit you...”
“He hits something, his car, a desk, a door, a wall... He hit his locker yesterday. It looked really bad, he had to go to the nurse and then he left school. He hasn’t replied to any of our texts, I don’t know if he broke his hand, how his dad reacted and God, his dad... The Sheriff’s even more worried than I am, I’m sure.”
“Does that have to do with why Stiles didn’t want to tell him about the sleepwalking?”
Lydia looks over her shoulder towards the doorway before telling him, “Stiles’ mom had frontotemporal dementia. Sleepwalking is not a symptom but sleep disorders can be and it would be just another change when there’s already lots of others that fit like apathy, compulsive behavior, tremors, twitching, laughing or crying at nothing... For Stiles, these are all because of sleep deprivation but the Sheriff is afraid of something more serious.”
“Jesus,” he whispers, dragging a hand over his face. “Has Stiles considered telling his dad the truth?”
“Without physical evidence? No. The Sheriff would never believe him.”
“I wish I could help,” he admits.
Lydia looks at him, serious as she asks, “Got any werewolves you could call?”
His brows fly up, “You’re asking a hunter to invite a werewolf into town?”
“You said you have contacts, you believe in the Code and you told us there are peaceful packs out there. It doesn’t seem like a farfetched idea.”
Chris scratches at his stubble, idly reminds himself to shave soon, “I have werewolf contacts, but that would mean asking them to reveal themselves to a human they’ve never met before, something that would require a lot of trust on both sides. I don’t know anyone like that.”
“Didn’t Laura know the Sheriff when he was still a Deputy? And Stiles mentioned both he and his dad saw Derek and Cora at the station that night. Do you have any idea what they’re doing? Where they are?”
He looks away, “I know they’re in New York. I’ve... I called Laura once, I got her number from another pack. She asked me to lose it.”
“Do you think she knows?”
“Knows what?” His eyes meet hers, unwavering.
She smiles grimly, “We’re still pretending, are we?”
“Pretending?”
“That it wasn’t your sister.” He breathes in but doesn’t get to say anything before she continues, “We’ve looked into more things now, including high school substitute teachers. Stiles had a hunch. We found Kate’s name. She was here when the fire happened. She taught Derek’s class.”
He feels like he’s panicking almost, his mind unsure of how to deal with her casually throwing that connection at his face.
“Why haven’t you told Allison yet?” She smartly changes the topic, giving him a way out. He takes it, ashamed.
“Because-” He chuckles darkly, realizing there’s no more hiding away from this, no more pretending like Lydia said. “Kate vetoed it. She wants to be here when Allison’s training begins.”
Lydia tenses up, “So she’s coming?”
“Yes. When your senior year starts.”
“So, in about six months.”
He just nods.
“If we’re right about this, it’s her that the Nemeton wants.”
“I know.”
“At least you’re admitting it now.”
He glares at her. “She’s my baby sister, a little compassion perhaps?”
“You want compassion because you’re not going to get in Stiles’ way?”
“What exactly do you think is going to happen?” He asks, wary. He can guess but... He hopes it isn’t-
“We haven’t talked about it but I’m sure Stiles would agree with me when I say that the Nemeton wants him to kill her. And for that to be my first scream.”
He breathes out, he guessed, but hearing it- “You’re just kids, you shouldn’t be-”
“But we are,” she snaps, looking resolved. “Stiles and I have our freak-outs over this by-weekly, we try our best to schedule them so we’re never having a meltdown at the same time, but we’re dealing with it because what other choice do we have. The only thing that’s keeping us going is that maybe, if Stiles does this, that’s it. His life goes back to normal, the Nemeton lets him go and he can sleep, eat and live like a regular teenager again. I’m a Banshee, I figure that means I’m in this for life. But him? If he’s human, like you say, I want him to be done with this.”
The tension leaves her shoulders, her resolve softening into misery, “We weren’t even friends before this. He was just this dumb kid that wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“Wouldn’t take-”
“Not like physically, just in a harmless stalker way.”
“I’m sorry, harmless stalker?”
“If you work that old man brain of yours hard enough I’m sure you can manage to remember what it was like to be a kid with a crush? It can get overwhelming.”
“Yeah, I think I can manage,” he said dryly.
“He never did anything bad, he just kept trying to talk to me. When I walked away, he’d give up but the next time he saw me, he’d try again. It was annoying, but harmless. And the compliments were sweet. Stupid, but sweet. I heard a lot worse from some of the other guys before Jackson made it clear no one was allowed to talk about me in that way.”
He looks at her, the way the corners of her mouth quirk up when she talks about Stiles and he figures yeah, their dynamic has changed a lot.
“And then the visions started,” he prompts her to continue, finding himself playing the part of a counsellor. But who else are these kids going to go to with issues like these? At the very least he can give them this, he can listen.
“At first I was determined to just keep going and pretend like everything’s fine. Then Stiles started making all these connections, things weren’t just a jumbled mess anymore, things were making sense. And we started spending more time together. Just researching at first, but then breakfasts together after finding ourselves at the Hale house, studying and keeping each other awake when we’d fallen behind at school. That turned into movie nights, arguing about Star Wars canon, arguing about the Notebook, arguing about superheroes... So much arguing, but it was all so much fun. He was fun. Fun to talk to, to be around,” her eyes well up, Chris anxiously wonders if he should get tissues or something, he can’t even remember the last time Allison cried, how is he supposed to react- “But now he’s just not him. He’s angry and tired and I just got him but I’m already losing him-”
She sobs once, quick and quiet and then breathes in deep. He watches as she visibly composes herself, face regaining her usual cockiness, a mask sliding over everything she just revealed.
“So please. Tell me, Mr. Argent. When Stiles goes for Kate... What are you going to do?”
He stares, panic clawing at his throat, leaving his voice rougher than usual when he replies, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
She nods, they hear Allison coming back in (and shit, he forgot to shoo Scott away) and Lydia stands, “Don’t make me scream for you too.”
With that less than subtle threat she goes to meet his daughter and he hears them already laughing at something as they head back upstairs.
Leaving him to swallow down his panic as he tries to figure out the answer to Lydia’s question.
What is he going to do?
That same night, after Lydia’s gone and Allison is getting ready for bed, their doorbell rings. He shouts that he’ll get it and heads downstairs.
He doesn’t expect to see Stiles, one hand wrapped up in bandages and held against his chest, the other resting against the door jamb. Just like the last time he saw him, Chris’ first thought is - he looks worse.
The dark shadows under his eyes have grown, eyes red from lack of sleep, hair standing up in all directions and his face holds an expression of calm determination that sends a wave of unease down Chris’ spine.
“Everything alright?” He asks carefully.
“You tell me,” Stiles replies, stepping through the doorway. And because Chris refuses to be intimidated, to step back, they’re suddenly a lot closer than they’ve ever been.
“Stiles?” He does lean his head back at least, so they’re not actually nose-to-nose.
“She’s coming?” There’s something manic in those brown eyes. Chris understands Lydia’s worry.
“Yes, but-”
“You’re not going to stop me,” Stiles says it with such conviction that Chris almost agrees in reflex. It feels like an order.
“Now-”
“You’re going to help me,” Stiles insists, bandaged hand on Chris’ sternum as the man lets himself be pushed to the side until his back meets the wall.
“Stiles-”
“Because you need to pay as well,” and that stops Chris from trying to interrupt. “It’s as you said, it’s your family, your sister. You weren’t here to stop it, fine. You couldn’t predict it, fine. But if you’d actually opened your eyes and seen all the facts, you would have known. You just didn’t want to. It was easier for you to stick your head in the sand so you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences. You let them get away with it. You need to pay for your part.”
“Is this you or the Nemeton?” He asks, refusing to acknowledge how every word Stiles says has a ring of truth to it. How his mind is screaming at him in shame that yes, finally, someone else sees how much he fucked up.
“Does it matter?”
“Stiles.”
The fingers on his chest dig in. Chris wonders if Stiles is hurting himself on purpose because that can’t feel good. The kid’s breathing turns shaky, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Chris recognizes the signs of a human body trying to deal with pain. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to break Stiles’ hold on him because Stiles steps back, cradling his hand against himself.
“Both, I guess. Both,” he replies, sounding exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he mutters before running out the door. Chris watches him jog to his Jeep, keeps watching as he drives away. He palms his face, feeling like the world’s upside down.
If he helps Stiles... How could he even...
And what about Allison. She’s going to lose her aunt, who she loves.
Who she loves because Chris has hidden everything from her, how ruthless their family can be, how Victoria, Gerard and Kate all have no problems killing “animals” with human faces and human families-
A part of him considers leaving town with his daughter, running away all over again. But he can’t get Stiles’ voice out of his head.
You need to pay for your part.
Choices were made, lives were lost and it’s time for their family to pay their dues. He can’t leave. He has to help.
Four Months Ago
“Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me, right?”
Stiles stares at Scott’s pleading face as they stand at the school parking lot, ready to go home and feels like screaming. But he always feels like screaming these days, so it doesn’t really matter.
“I know,” he stopped pretending a few months ago, knew how obvious a lie it was every time he said ‘I’m fine’.
“So...”
“I just... I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” More like, your girlfriend’s father hasn’t told her about her family legacy and without them backing me up you probably wouldn’t believe me. Fuck Chris Argent, honestly. But more to the point, fuck Kate instead. Or, kill Kate. Kill Kate. His brain has been very one-track lately, and that track is bloody.
“Is it... I heard my mom talking to your dad. About an MRI.”
Oh Jesus.
“What!?”
“You didn’t know he’s trying to get an appointment?”
“No.” Fuck. “It’s not that, It’s... complicated, and not easy to explain and when I figure out how to tell you about it so you actually believe me, I will but trust me, it’s not that.”
“Why would I ever not believe you?”
Scott looks hurt and Stiles gets it, he’d be hurt too in his position. But he also lacks the energy and brainpower to try to finesse this in any way.
“Because it’s really weird and probably nothing close to what you think it might be. I’m not sleeping well, yeah, I’m behaving weirdly, I know and it’s all because of something that’s bigger than just me so it’s not that easy to explain.”
“You’ve lost me.”
Stiles laughs tiredly, “See? And I haven’t even told you anything. Just. I will, some day. Right now? I’m just tying to get by.”
“I want to help, though.”
He looks at his friend’s earnest face. Imagines Scott helping him- guilty of aiding and abetting a murderer-
“I know. Trust me, buddy. I love you, this is just something I got to deal with for now.”
Scott shrugs, obviously still offended because he has no clue what Stiles is talking about, what Stiles is trying to save him from.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
They part ways and it hurts. Stiles is counting down the months, the weeks, the days to senior year.
To Kate’s return.
The Nemeton is tired of waiting.
Three Months Ago
“You okay?” Lydia asks Allison, who’s been staring at her in silence for the past two minutes or so. Chris quietly enters the living room to put down three soda cans onto the table before exiting again. Stiles tracks the movement with his eyes. Chris never glances his way. They haven’t talked since he came over and threatened the man. It’s awkward.
But so is everything these days.
“Am I okay?” Allison gasps, ignoring the sodas just like the other two. “You’re a Banshee... you found out you’re a Banshee two years ago- I- Are you okay?”
Lydia hesitates, glancing at Stiles, “I’m getting there,” she says honestly.
“I just... A few weeks ago I find out about werewolves and then... Then there’s more and... My mom is a hunter, my entire family are trained to kill supernatural creatures, I...”
“I’m the unwilling spokesperson to a magical nexus,” Stiles feels the need to insert himself into their conversation.
“Yeah, and that-” Allison looks nauseous.
“Hey, we’re like a trio now, I think we’re officially a club.”
“Stiles,” Lydia chides.
“Trying to lighten the mood, look on the bright side, we’re all in this together, yay?”
Allison laughs weakly, “Yay.”
“Listen, after you’re finished with your little freak-out we need to talk about Scott.”
“Stiles,” Lydia stresses.
“Yes, you know my name.”
“Could you try to be more sensitive here.”
“I mean, I am trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Uh,” Allison interrupts, “When you say ‘talk about Scott’...”
Seeing the horror on her face, Stiles quickly sits up in his armchair, hands out and gesturing wildly, “No, no, no, Scott’s not anything. He’s human and he has no idea about this. That’s what I meant.”
“You want to tell him?”
He takes in her shock, “Uh, I thought you might want to tell him. Since you’re dating him. And you’re going to have this secret very-big part of your life dedicated to the supernatural. Which Scott has no clue of.”
“Oh,” Allison pales even further. “I didn’t even- I’m going to start my training and Kate’s coming here and then mom and grandpa are coming back and I never even considered that Scott- Oh Jesus,” her face falls into her hands.
“Your mom and your grandfather are coming back, you said? What, like moving back?”
Lydia looks at him warily, Stiles ignores her, brain focused on the apparent return of the whole serial-killing family. Chris never mentioned that.
“Yeah, something about this town and the family legacy which oh-my-god now I realize is connected to us being hunters and Oh Jesus.”
“It’s a take-over,” Stiles whispers to himself.
“What?” Lydia asks, suspicious.
“It’s a take-over,” Stiles says louder. Loud enough that Chris would hear him if he was sneaking around, listening in. His hunch proves to be correct when the man appears in the doorway of the living room and crosses his arms slowly.
“My family is coming back home.”
Stiles shakes his head at him, their eyes meeting for the first time in months and damn, he forgot how blue Chris’ were. Piercingly so.
“You say coming home, I say taking over. This is Hale territory.”
Chris frowns at him, “It hasn’t been since the fire. Laura left the territory, abandoned it. There have been a few feral werewolf sightings over the years and my family’s coming back to make sure the town, our home, is safe.”
“Sure,” he mutters, ignoring Lydia’s glare.
“Stiles, stop trying to pick a fight,” she says.
“I am not. I’m not!” He insists at her disbelief.
“You’ve been intense and on edge the entire day and I’m done, come on Allison, let’s go have your breakdown upstairs.”
“My breakdown?”
“Sorry, is that not what you’re doing? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Allison musters up a glare of her own, “I’d say Stiles isn’t the only one who’s on edge.”
“Congratulations, you’re perceptive. Now come on.”
She sends a bewildered glance at her dad before standing and following Lydia to her room.
Stiles collapses in his armchair, head bent back, neck stretched out. He groans, “Why do I get the feeling that everyone’s mad at me?”
“I don’t know. I’m not.”
He huffs a laugh, lifting his head to look at Chris, whose eyes are stuck on Stiles’ neck. He makes a note of that, before saying, “You’re not mad even though I’m a walkie-talkie for a tree who wants to kill your murder-happy sister?”
Chris jolts sharply, stepping into the room and staring towards the stairs. “I thought the plan was not to tell Allison that part yet?”
“It’s fine, she’s in her room, I’m not an idiot.”
“Debatable.”
“I notice how you’ve stopped coming to Kate’s defense now. We all aboard the she’s-crazy train?”
“You’re being very blasé about all of this,” Chris grits out, obviously upset.
“It’s the only way I know how to deal with facing jail-time,” he shrugs.
“You’re not facing jail-time,” Chris sighs.
“Excuse you but murderers get jail-time.”
“First of all, I wouldn’t let that happen. I said I’ll help and I’m going to. We’ll figure out a way to make it look like an animal attack, I’ve got people I know who work at the coroner’s, the Sheriff’s station. We’re getting you through this and you’ll be facing college, not jail.”
Stiles blinks at him rapidly, unwilling to let it show just how much those words mean to him. How much Chris’s support means to him.
“Secondly, it won’t be murder.”
“How’s that?” He asks, mouth twisting up into a sardonic smile.
“You’re not in control, Stiles. This isn’t your choice. Lydia and I, we get that. We see it. That’s why we’re going to help.”
“If something goes wrong,” Stiles pauses, swallows. “The reason I don’t want to tell my dad or Scott or Allison or any more people is because if something goes wrong you all go down with me. Aiding and abetting a murderer, I’ve got those five words ringing in my head a lot, every time I think of coming clean to my best friend so he doesn’t look like a kicked puppy all the time.”
“Whatever happens, none of it will be your fault, you get that, right?”
And fuck, Chris looks so sincere right there, eyes turning their intensity up to eleven, that Stiles almost feels the guilt letting go of him. Almost, but not quite.
“Sure,” he says casually, sitting up to lean his elbows onto his knees, feeling worn down all of a sudden after a day of mania.
“Whatever happens, I won’t blame you for any of it.”
Stiles meets that sincerity head-on, overwhelmed. “Understood,” he mutters, not knowing what else to say. “It’s weird how the tree trusts you. A white sheep in a family of killers, I guess.”
“Jesus,” Chris chokes out, sounding pained. “You’re just coming out swinging today, huh?”
“My mind’s not the cheerful place it used to be,” he smirks. “Have you ever killed someone?” The silence speaks volumes. “Ah.”
“It was-” Chris sighs, coming forward to finally sit down on the couch across from Stiles, the table with the untouched sodas on it between them. “It was an Omega. A packless feral werewolf, more beast than man, who had hurt and killed innocent people.”
“A monster, then. Like Kate.”
Chris shakes his head at him, looking as if this conversation has aged him ten years, “Yes. Like Kate.”
Stiles stares him down. “You’re seriously on my side, then?”
“Yes,” Chris stresses.
“Because that also means we’re on the this-is-Hale-territory side.”
“Kate’s fate and judgement has nothing to do with whatever territorial dispute you think is going on here.”
“Yeah, it does. The Nemeton is connected to the Hales, Chris. That’s why it’s so gung-ho about revenge. The Argents killed its bonded Alpha. It wants a Hale Alpha again.”
“Laura left.”
“Laura isn’t the only Hale alive.”
“She is the only Alpha.”
“For now,” Stiles says and then blinks because, what?
“Stiles, what did you mean by that?” Chris asks carefully.
“I-” He gives him a panicked look, “I don’t know, that’s something I’ve never thought about before.”
“You think it was the Nemeton feeding you another piece of information?”
“Uh, maybe? I swear, I just-” he rubs his face, “I’ve no idea what part of my brain is really me anymore.”
“So... Derek, maybe?”
“Or Peter,” he offers, hand going up to tug on his hair, the pain helping him re-center himself.
“Peter’s in a coma.”
“He’s waking up,” Stiles says, pauses, “Don’t ask me how I know that, we both know I’ve got no answer that would make sense.”
“Peter Hale is waking up?”
Stiles notices the change in the man’s expression. “You look... scared?”
“If Peter Hale is coming back to Beacon Hills, I should be,” Chris swipes a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowed.
“You keep saying his full name like that and I’ll be scared too,” he quips.
“Peter was Talia’s enforcer. We went to the same high school, met a few times as adults. He always made me uneasy. He was known to handle the darker side of protecting a pack. Taking care of Omegas who’d wandered onto Hale land, working behind the scenes to make sure all peace talks and treaties had favourable outcomes for the Hales.”
“Sounds like a smart guy.”
“A dangerous guy, Stiles. Someone who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems it necessary. I can’t imagine that Kate’s death would be enough for him.”
“What, you think he’s going to come for you? Allison?”
“I don’t know,” Chris admits. “My family never knew what to expect of him, he was unpredictable.”
“Well don’t worry, if he’s coming, I’ll protect you,” he actually means it too, which makes Chris’s huff of laughter sting a little.
“I think I own more guns than you,” he smirks.
“Yeah, okay. What I really meant was we will protect you.”
Chris stares for a moment, “The tree likes me, huh?” He asks dryly.
“Believe me, I know it’s weird. But yeah, I have a feeling you and Lydia are the safest people in this town, actually.”
“Because of how the tree feels, or because of how you do?”
Wow, Stiles walked into that one. “Both?” He admits, purposefully looking elsewhere. That’s a lovely plant they have on the bookshelf, looking a little dry though.
“I see,” Chris says gravely. Stiles resolutely keeps staring at the plant. “Well, I will still keep my gun loaded with wolfsbane bullets and on me at all times, if that’s alright with you both,” he says, sounding amused. Stiles wonders if he’s smiling.
“Probably for the best,” he nods wisely.
“We’ll get you through this.”
He looks back then, overcome once again at the sincerity. “Thanks,” he mutters, standing up. “I should go, we drove here separately today so Lydia doesn’t need me to wait for her.”
“You still grounded?” Chris asks, also standing.
“Uh, no. After the MRI, dad kind of... gave up, I guess.”
“MRI?” Chris asks, frowning.
“Yeah, Lydia said that she, uh-”
“She told me about your mother, yes.”
“Right. And well, dad got real worried and got me an MRI. It showed that I’m okay so now he’s... still worried but also really pissed off because he knows I’m hiding something and now that he knows I’m not sick, he’s just... disappointed, I guess. Hurt, probably. Given up on me.”
“He’s not.”
Stiles swallows down bitter tears, “How would you know that? It’s not like you two are buddies or anything.”
“We talk sometimes but no, I know because I’m a dad too. And sometimes with you kids, we’re so afraid of pushing you away that giving you some space seems like the best option. I think he’s just waiting now, for you to finally go to him, to trust him again.”
“I never stopped trusting him, it’s not about that.”
“I know that. He doesn’t.”
Stiles nods, glaring at the wall when a tear escapes his eye. He brushes it away quickly, “Yeah, I get it.”
“Senior year will be better.”
He laughs in disbelief. If everything goes ‘according to plan’, he’ll be a killer before he finishes high school. He wonders if he should write about that in his college applications. The experience will surely cause him to stand out among all those other fresh-faced kids who have no idea what taking a life feels like.
He’ll know. Soon enough.
Ah, he feels like he’s being melodramatic again. Or on edge, as Lydia puts it. A diplomatic way to phrase it when Stiles feels like he’s going batshit.
“Good talk,” he chuckles, pointing a haphazard finger-gun at Chris as he walks past him and swiftly exits the house, not waiting for a reply.
He feels close to hitting something again. Better to be home for that.
One Month Ago
Summer’s in full swing, the heat a slow torture on a Wednesday afternoon. Stiles and Lydia are hiding away underneath a canopy, enjoying the shade and sandwiches as they observe Allison training in hand-to-hand combat, throwing knives and tracking. Lydia is half-heartedly focusing on her summer reading. Stiles is wholly focused on staring at Chris’ forearms, biceps, shoulders, ass - everything, just, everything.
Lydia, of course, misses nothing.
“You know, it’s not even the big age difference that creeps me out, but the fact that you’re in high school and he’s a high-schooler’s dad.”
Stiles doesn’t take his eyes away from his target. Chris is slowly going through some kind of a defensive how-to-escape manoeuvre and it’s causing his shirt to rise up every now and then, baring warm-looking skin, body hair and offering glimpses of abs of steel.
“We’re not doing anything,” he mutters. And he’s right. Does he find the man attractive? Hell yeah! Would he actually pursue something with him? Hell no! He’s planning to kill the guy’s sister, after all. Awkward probably wouldn’t begin to describe their relationship afterwards.
He’s still not a hundred percent sure that Chris will actually come through and help him like he promised. But that’s a topic he’s not touching yet.
“But you want to,” Lydia presses.
“I mean... kind of, but not actually.”
“Uh-uh.”
“I’m serious. This entire situation is fucked up enough.”
“Good.”
“Besides, it’s not like anything would happen even if I did want it to.”
Lydia looks up from her book and Stiles takes his eyes off of Chris. She’s staring at him like he’s an idiot. “You’re not that blind, surely?”
“Have I noticed him looking? Uh, yeah. But that could be anything. It could be ‘that Stiles, he sure has a nice mouth I’d like to smash my mouth with’ or it could be ‘that Stiles sure has a stupid-looking face I secretly imagine punching’.”
“...I think one option is more likely than the other and seriously? Smash? Tell me you’re inexperienced without telling me you’re inexperienced.”
“I mean that’s what I wanna do,” Stiles says and then gestures aggressively with an open hand around his face. “Just smash my everything up against his everything, hey, does stubble hurt?”
“I wouldn’t know, Jackson was smooth as a baby.”
“Ew. All over?”
“...The point is, he at least finds you attractive. You’ve got a nice face and a nice body, I’ve said that before.”
“Yeah, but Chris was married to a woman who he had a daughter with.”
“Never assume a person’s sexuality based on their past relationships, it’s stupid and offensive.”
Stiles takes a moment to think that over. “Yeah, you’re right, I guess. But still, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Even if I tried something, I’m the idiot teenager here. He’d probably shut it down immediately.”
Lydia looks over to Chris who is currently grinning with pride at his daughter successfully putting him on his back.
Stiles definitely notices that the man looks good on his back. He doesn’t even try to take his mind off of that because he’s firmly aware of his body’s lack of response to everything his eyes are drawn to - it’s been months since he’s had a boner. His sex drive is officially dead. He has a theory that the Nemeton is just fully submerging itself into all parts of his subconscious now, ready for a full take-over the second Kate steps her toe into the tree’s territory, and no distractions are allowed. Some part of him is even grateful, it’s lovely to just watch and admire without having to worry about awkward obvious-erection moments. This is what it must be like for girls all the time.
“You’re probably right, he wouldn’t do anything because it would be weird for Allison and their relationship is a bit rocky already.”
“Oh?” Stiles asks, eyes going to Allison who isn’t meeting her dad’s grin. Oh. She looks tense.
“Yeah, I mean he’s hidden everything from her, her entire life. Lied to her. She’s a lot more angrier at her mom but that’s because there’s already other fights going on there, some of which Chris doesn’t know about even. And she loves her dad a lot. But it’ll take a while for her trust to rebuild.”
“...And she doesn’t even know the full story yet.”
Lydia sighs, going back to her book. “Yeah.”
Stiles wonders if Chris even wants her to know before it happens. Wonders what the man is thinking.
Later that night, Chris is remembering a time when he thought he could maybe take Allison away from it all. She was fourteen at the time, they were in France with Victoria, the divorce papers were still being finalized and they hadn’t told their daughter about it yet. He remembers calling his dad and begging. Allison is so sweet, so bright. She could have a lovely, normal future outside of their world - but no, she was the heir now. To their legacy of blood. Kate never had any interest in being the matriarch, never settled down anywhere, didn’t want kids, no desire to be a mom. So Allison was it, the next in line to lead, Victoria filling in for her after Chris’ mother died.
He feels powerless, in a way. But he also knows it’s just another failure on his part. A lack of strength to tear himself away from his family, to forge his own path. He believes in what they do, in theory. He believes in the Code. In protecting innocent people who don’t understand the dangers, who don’t know the hidden part of their world, who can’t protect themselves. But his family’s way feels rotten. The fact that Kate did what she did with their father’s blessing. The fact that, knowing how close Victoria is to Gerard, how they’re basically co-leading their hunting community, she might have known as well. He was the dupe, the one who had to be lied to, because unlike them, he still considered werewolves people who were innocent until proven guilty. He’s seen what a rabid animal, a feral killer looks like. And he’s talked to too many werewolves who weren’t even close to that.
Everything’s going to change this year. He hasn’t brought it up with Stiles and Lydia because those kids have enough to worry about, but Kate’s death will be just the beginning for this town. Gerard and Victoria are arriving in October and they will seek out vengeance of their own. If Chris’ plans to make it look like an animal attack work out, then it will take away suspicion from Stiles but the Hales will be on the Argents’ radar once more.
He can’t just sit by and let his father finish what Kate started. He will need to decide once and for all, where he stands and what he stands for.
And Allison will need to make that same decision. But to do that, she needs to know all sides of the story.
He knocks on her bedroom door, forcing himself to compartmentalize. He will need to stay calm for this conversation, he will answer all of her questions, he will be her rock.
“Yeah?”
“Allison, we need to talk. Can I come in?”
A week goes by with both Chris and Allison ignoring their calls. Scott lets them know he’s being dodged as well and is worried sick he’s done something wrong. Stiles and Lydia manage to explain to him that tensions are high in the Argent family right now, they make it seem like they’re not sure of the details but that they’ve overheard some fighting and Scott dubiously accepts that story. Lydia is convinced that Scott has no idea there’s something big going on but Stiles knows his friend better. He can tell it from the glances, the frowning, the sad puppy-eyes, Scott is still very, very hurt except now he knows it’s not just Stiles that’s refusing to tell him something. His entire social circle is hiding stuff and the guy is probably getting real close to putting his foot down.
Stiles hopes that Allison will tell him before that happens.
“You wanna go over there? Just show up at the door?” He asks Lydia one night, during one of their reading sessions. They’ve both got print-outs of the Argent Bestiary and they’re scribbling translations and notes into the margins. He’s reading about yellow wolfsbane and its various uses against the supernatural, mostly as a deadly poison but in certain forms and amounts also as a sedative. And its petals in raw form are a cure for certain types of supernatural illnesses or other toxins. Stiles would feel a lot safer now if he actually had some on hand. He makes a mental note to ask Chris how to get some.
“Mm, no. If something’s happened and Allison needs time, I don’t want to push. Both of us got to have our ‘I’m not leaving my room because the world’s going crazy’ moments. If I remember right, yours lasted a whole month.”
“But what if something has happened to them,” Stiles stands up, grabbing his phone. “I’m gonna text Chris and just ask him to give me a sign of life.” He’s typing away as he paces.
getting a little worried now, at least tell us if you guys are alive
“I’m sure they’re fine.”
“It’s a world of werewolves, crazy hunters and other supernatural things out there! Something could’ve easily happened- Oh, that was quick,” he jumps as his phone vibrates in his hand.
We’re alive. Give her time. I told her.
“Shit.”
“What?” Lydia looks up.
“Chris says he told her.”
Lydia pales. “Oh.”
Stiles sits back down.
“Yeah... Oh.”
Two days later, Stiles is hanging out at his house solo, dad at work and Lydia away on some vacation island with her parents. They’ve been constantly texting each other, both worried about being so far apart. If someone had told him years ago that he’d be attached at the hip to Lydia Martin of all people instead of Scott, he would’ve asked them what they were smoking and where to get more of it. Weirdest thing is how he still thinks she is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen and who he definitely wouldn’t mind kissing but he also has no problem being just her friend. He’s come to the realization that friends is most likely all they’ll ever be, and he’s happy he’s even getting that. There’s very little heartache or pining involved... And a tiny part of him is scared it’s only because of the Nemeton and maybe in the future it’ll hurt a lot more.
But that’s a problem for future Stiles.
The problem for present Stiles is the brunette who just rang his doorbell.
“Heeeeeey, Allison...”
The girl has a really good poker face on, Stiles cannot tell if this is going to be a nice heart-to-heart, a furious demand for an explanation or an assassination attempt. Ha, an attempt, he’s such an optimist, as if he’d be able to stop her.
“Can I come in?”
Stiles gulps. Does poker voice exist because if so, Allison has one of those as well.
“Sure,” he says, unconvincingly. He clears his throat and steps aside, haphazardly waving her towards the kitchen.
“Thanks,” she mutters as she passes by him.
He closes the door, takes a deep breath and turns to head to the kitchen except Allison is right there and he jumps, a loud yelp escaping him. His hands fly up, ready to defend himself, except Allison’s attack of choice is a hug and it’s a good choice because Stiles instantly feels disarmed.
“I went to Lydia first. I was... I don’t know what I was... Scared of you? Angry at you? Angry at my entire damn family? Disgusted with Kate, disgusted with my dad, just so confused by all of this, because everything I ever knew was a lie and then hey, my boyfriend’s best friend is going to kill my aunt and I’m just supposed to be okay with it? I-”
Stiles’ arms come up to hug her back, one hand going to her head. “Hey, no, none of this is okay. It’s so very messed up and there’s no way anyone would be okay with any of this.”
“Right!?” Allison laughs shakily and buries her face into his shoulder. “Lydia told me how worried she is about you. How none of this is your fault and yet here you are, in the middle of it.”
“None of this is your fault either and yet here you are too, in the middle of it with me.”
“My dad’s really messed up. My family... God, my mom. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Stiles strokes a hand up and down her back soothingly, “Just gotta take it day by day, I imagine.”
“God, they’ll all be here soon. How am I supposed to face them now?”
“I just saw your poker face at the door, I think you’ll do fine.”
Allison sighs, “And Scott...”
“Yeah.”
“We need to tell him. It’s not fair to him, we love him, we need to tell him.”
“You sure? It might be safer for him to be on the outside of all this.”
Allison pulls back to look him in the eye, “It might be, yes. But I really need something, someone to be good right now and Scott is the best guy I’ve ever known. I can’t keep seeing him and not tell him and I can’t break up with him.”
Stiles nods, “I get it. I’m with you. He’s my bro and I need him. But we’re hurting him with all these secrets. If we don’t tell him now, he might break up with us.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Alright. Tomorrow.”
Scott looks like his brain is broken.
They’re sitting in the Argents’ kitchen, various untouched beverages on the table (Stiles thinks Chris has a habit of playing a good host when he’s nervous about something), Stiles on Scott’s left side, hand on his friend’s shoulder and Allison on his right, both of her hands wrapped around Scott’s.
“When you said werewolves, I thought worst prank ever. Then you said supernatural hunters and I was like, weirdest and most elaborate prank ever. Then you guys kept talking and I-”
“I know, buddy, take it all in,” Stiles rubs Scott’s shoulder in what is hopefully a comforting manner.
“You guys are serious?” And Scott looks straight at Chris, pleading with the adult in the room.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Werewolves are real,” Scott whispers, eyes wide.
“Yep,” Stiles says.
“And Allison is a werewolf hunter...”
“Hunter-in-training,” Stiles points out helpfully, giving a wise you’re-welcome smile to Allison who cringes back at him. He ignores Lydia’s dramatic eyeroll.
“And Lydia’s a Banshee... And you’re-” Scott looks at him warily.
“I’ve decided to go with magical tree spokesperson.”
“...And you’re going to...” Now Scott starts to hyperventilate.
“Do you have your inhaler?” Allison asks, lifting one hand to run her fingers through Scott’s hair.
“Yeah-yeah-” Scott fumbles through his pockets and finds it quickly, taking a hit and breathing a little easier afterwards.
“Just, focus on one thing at a time for now,” Stiles tries to help too.
“Werewolves,” Scott whispers.
“Yep, buddy, how cool is that?” Stiles grins, shaking his friend with fake excitement. Scott isn’t the only one who looks at him like he’s grown a second head. He shrugs at Lydia. “What? We never really considered how friggin cool it is that werewolves are real, and we haven’t even met one yet!”
“Yet!?” Scott gasps, shaking his inhaler and taking another breath from it.
Chris covers his eyes with a palm which draws Stiles’ attention to the fact that the man is smirking.
“If anyone else has any way of making this shit easier to digest, feel free to jump in,” Stiles gestures at them. Silence and raised eyebrows are all he receives in reply. “Didn’t think so,” He drawls, waving dismissively.
“Do you really think we’re going to meet a werewolf?” Scott asks, apparently deciding to go with his advice and focus on just the werewolves-are-real part of their afternoon.
Stiles glances at Chris, thinking about the plan to make it look like an animal attack. “Yeah... Probably.”
“Oh,” Scott nods, voice the highest Stiles has ever heard it, “Cool,” he squeaks out, already shaking his inhaler again.
“Buddy,” Stiles sighs, “You can also focus on the fact how I’ve been keeping this from you for two years now.”
Scott’s hand stills as his anxiety morphs into indignation.
Stiles pulls his hand away from the other’s shoulder, holding his arms wide open. “There we go,” he smiles crookedly.
He hears Lydia sigh heavily, “You’re such a dumbass.”
Stiles doesn’t bother reacting to that.
“Did you not trust me?” Scott asks.
“Dude, no. Of course I trust you, with my life! But if it had been just me, asking you to believe in werewolves, supernatural hunters, a magical energy nexus that gives me visions of the past, would you have believed me?”
To Scott’s credit, he doesn’t rush to immediately insist that he so would’ve. He takes a moment to think it over and then cringes in sympathy.
“I probably would’ve told you to get an MRI.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says with a dark chuckle, “Probably.”
“Some of it’s my fault. Stiles was waiting on me to tell Allison everything,” Chris admits.
“And then I wanted to tell you as soon as I had time to process it all,” Allison promises, still combing her fingers through Scott’s hair.
Scott’s nodding, “Right.” Then he starts shaking his head, “Oh my God, my girlfriend is a hunter.”
“In training,” Stiles points out again but at Allison’s glare, shuts up.
Now
Coming home feels like a mockery of that phrase. The woods bring clarity, the lack of a constant big city soundtrack helping him connect to his wolf in a way he hasn’t since the fire. But that connection brings with it a seething, simmering rage. While getting a room at a motel, he has to grind his teeth so hard they start aching just to stop his fangs from coming out. He wants to rip into the lady who hands him his key card, he wants to tear apart the young man who hands him his coffee at the lobby bar, he wants to run through this town, leaving bodies in his wake and making everyone remember who it belongs to, who it has forgotten.
He texts Laura that he’s arrived and heads out away from people, a magnetic pull leading him towards a very specific part of Beacon Hills. The house.
The closer he gets, the larger the hole in his chest gets. He’s never actually grieved, has he? Six years spent as a prisoner inside his own mind, burning with a vengeance and then three months trying to adjust to a world gone wrong.
He doesn’t know how he’ll react to the remains of Talia’s house, the home they grew up in, that was built for the pack by their parents.
He didn’t need to worry, however, since the moment he spots the husk of a building, a numbness takes over. It looks nothing like his home. His home is gone. As is Talia.
But there’s a car in the overgrown driveway. And voices coming from inside the house.
Peter feels a low rumbling growl start deep within his chest.
It’s been six years since a Hale stood on these lands. Time to defend his territory.
Chapter 2: arbitrator
Chapter Text
There are two distinct voices.
“Why now? You haven’t been back here in months, right?”
A young woman, her voice quiet and hoarse, like she’s been screaming.
“I don’t know and no, this was a surprise to me too.”
A young man, a voice with an erratic energy to it. Peter’s hearing zeroes in on the other’s heartbeat. That’s erratic too.
The two trespassers are moving through the house, carefully stepping down the stairs, the creaking of old timber loud in the silence.
“Good thing you had your phone with you,” the girl says.
“Yeah, lucky me,” the boy responds, voice dripping with sarcasm.
She sighs - they’re almost at the door now, but they pause - “We’ll figure this out.”
“Need I remind you again that we’re following the whims of a magical tree? I don’t think we’ll be doing any figuring, Lyds. Just go where the stump tells me to go, kill who it wants me to kill and cross my heart and hope to get the fuck out of this town after high school.”
Magical tree. Stump. Peter’s heart drowns out everything else for a second as recognition strikes through him. Could these high school kids seriously be talking about the Nemeton while hanging out in the burnt-out shell of his former home?
His mind racing, he re-focuses onto the voices.
“Allison said Kate’s coming tomorrow.”
“Yep, Chris said the same.”
Kate. Peter’s nails grow into claws and his teeth drop so fast they cut into his lip. It heals in seconds.
Chris.
Argents.
Laura warned him before he left New York that Chris had moved back with his daughter. She made him swear not to hurt a hair on their heads because apparently Chris has been publicly distancing himself from the rest of the Argent legacy. But Laura said nothing about Kate coming back. Peter would like to think his Alpha would’ve warn him, or more likely, wouldn’t have let him come back alone if she knew. Because Peter is obviously going to kill the woman who murdered his pack, his family. He’ll kill her and he’ll kill Gerard and he’ll kill anyone who had anything to do with the fire. It’s his duty, his right.
A price must be paid by the Argents, in blood.
“Do you know what... how...” the girl is hesitating.
“Do I know if I’ll just attack her on sight? No. I got no friggin clue what the hell is going to happen. I mean, I have been getting a lot of dreams where I go to the actual stump. Maybe it wants us to kill her there? Like a... blood ritual or something.”
Peter’s wolf draws back as cold confusion takes a hold. Are these kids now talking about killing Kate Argent as a blood sacrifice to the Nemeton? Because that’s what it sounds like.
Also, no way in hell would he let that happen. He is going to rip that bitch’s throat out.
“How would we get her there?”
“Don’t say we, I don’t want you-”
“We’ve had this argument thirteen times already, I’m not letting you do this alone. Neither is Chris. Oh, maybe he can get her there.”
“Chris isn’t going to find the place without us, though. So how would we explain that? Oh hey sis, let’s just go for a walk in the Preserve, oh Stiles and Lydia? Never mind them, they’ll just be tagging along for no reason whatsoever, ignore the knife that Stiles is hiding behind his back.”
“And Scott and Allison?”
“No way, first - I’m not going to invite Allison to witness me killing her aunt, needing Chris there is bad enough already! She may seem okay with it right now, but trust me, when it actually happens, everything will change. We don’t know how she’s going to react, she doesn’t know how she’s going to react. And Scott? He can barely handle the idea that his girlfriend is going to hunt supernatural creatures as a family hobby, he doesn’t even want to talk about the fact that I’m going to kill someone. He doesn’t need to see it. Out of sight, out of mind.”
A lot of information to process, Allison is Chris’ daughter and apparently has started her training - something that Laura also failed to mention, since technically that would make two hunters currently in their territory - and Scott is her boyfriend and friends with the young man who is talking about Kate as if she’s his responsibility.
There are obvious conclusions to draw here - the Nemeton has reached out to this kid, has chosen him to act out its vengeance for Talia because Peter wasn’t here to claim the blood debt. But the girl is a mystery. As is the reason why the Nemeton chose a kid. There must be something more to it.
“We all just want to help you-”
“And you’re helping. Just, just take me home, please.”
They exit the house. The girl is stunning, red hair up in a messy ponytail, round face striking with a wide mouth and big bright eyes. But the boy drags his attention away from her - messy brown hair, pretty doe eyes. His face itself manages to be both sharp and soft, and his body both broad and lean as well as tall. Might be even taller than him. Peter remembers having a thing for tall guys back when romantic pursuits were a part of his daily life. Alas, his daily life has changed a lot. He shakes off his momentary attraction and makes his move.
He lets them get closer to the car, staying hidden among the trees, waiting for them to separate as they each go for a different front door. He goes for the girl, betting on the guy being protective enough to follow his orders if he’s threatening her wellbeing. Her scream is loud in the night air as he grabs her by the throat and pulls her up against him. His eyes stay on the guy who immediately tenses and takes a running step towards him.
“Ah-ah!” He quickly cautions, lifting his hand higher and forcing the girl to stand on her toes. The guy’s eyes flick down and go wide with shock. That’s right kid, Peter’s got claws.
“You’re a werewolf!” The guy blurts out.
“Wait-” The girl gasps out, hands digging into his arm, trying to get him to lessen the pressure. “Are you a Hale? Derek?”
“No,” the guy says, eyes wild as they take in Peter’s face, “You’re Peter... You’re healed...”
“Well deduced. I must admit, you have me at a disadvantage here,” he amiably lets the girl rest on her heels but doesn’t pull back the claws.
“Lydia Martin, banshee,” the girl says, breathing shakily. And isn’t that a treat?
“My, my. Banshees are rare. You shouldn’t go around announcing that to just anyone, my dear.” He sees her glare at him out of the corner of her eye. He admires her pluckiness.
“Stiles Stilinski, magical tree spokesperson,” the guy waves.
“You’re still such a dumbass,” Lydia groans.
“I assume you mean the Nemeton?” Peter asks and draws back his claws. He likes Lydia. Maybe he should be a bit nicer.
Stiles’ eyes don’t miss the claws’ disappearance, tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
“Yeah, that thing. Been giving me visions for the past two years. Lydia’s connected to Talia. Land wants revenge. Kate Argent caused the fire. That’s pretty much the summary of the wild ride that’s our life currently.”
He lets the girl go. She immediately runs to Stiles who pushes her behind him and bravely steps toward Peter, ready to defend her. Brave but foolish. He smirks at the boy mockingly.
“Well I’m here to ease your troubles then. See, I will take revenge for my family. No need to worry your pretty head over it.”
“Uh, that sounds fantastic, I’m not even kidding. But I don’t know if I can let you do that.”
“I’m sorry?” He lets his eyes burn with power, noting how Lydia takes a step back, her scent going brisk with fright. Stiles however just looks intrigued.
“The tree has taken over my brain, literally. I’m pretty sure that if I don’t do its bidding, I’m either going to fully lose my mind and end up in Eichen House or I’ll kill myself.”
From the way Lydia’s gaze snaps to Stiles, her expression that of betrayal, Peter guesses that last thought hasn’t been voiced aloud before tonight.
“All the Nemeton wants, is the blood debt that it’s owed. A life for a life. Kate for Talia. I wasn’t here to demand justice for my family, so it found another to take my place. But I’ve returned. And I’m going to fulfil my duty.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow in suspicion, “Are you bound to it?”
“By blood, yes. Talia and I did it together.”
“How about we go get a cup of coffee and talk this out somewhere warmer?” Lydia asks, rubbing her arms.
“You mean how about we go to a public place where you will feel safer since I can’t maul you and hide your bodies in the woods?” Peter asks, tone light and airy.
“Uh, yeah, that,” Stiles gulps, fear creeping into his scent now. Finally, the kid is realizing who he’s dealing with.
“Fine by me, I haven’t been in town for six years so how about you pick a place?” He smiles at them before stepping to the backdoor and opening it. He gets in the car and stares out at them, taking in their silent conversation of angry gestures. This night has turned out to be a lot more amusing than he anticipated.
He pulls out his phone and texts Laura.
Going for a little night-coffee with two high schoolers who are planning Kate Argent’s murder. Oh and she’s coming to Beacon Hills tomorrow.
The tension in the car is so thick he feels like he’s choking on it. Lydia is gripping the wheel tightly, pale and scared.
Stiles keeps glancing back at the man sitting behind the driver’s seat but every time vibrant blue eyes meet him head-on and he turns back around nervously. Peter Hale, the man he’s seen burn, the man he’s been while he burns, while Talia screams, while their family suffocates. He’s felt the fury, the grief, the pure rage. And now he’s here, sitting calmly in the darkness, like he didn’t just threaten to rip out Lydia’s throat or casually mention the possibility of killing them in the woods.
Holy shit, those were claws around Lydia’s neck. And the strength, the speed, the vibrant blue eyes that glow brightly in the dark. Their first meeting with a werewolf. Could’ve gone better, but they’re unharmed and Peter at least seems like he can be reasoned with. And Stiles can’t even blame the guy for his actions, Stiles and Lydia were trespassing, were talking about the Argents and the Nemeton and shit, Peter just came home after spending six years in a coma. The guy probably trusts no one, why would he? After what happened to the Hales, it would be safer to just assume everyone’s an enemy first and act accordingly.
And all of the Argents are definitely categorized as enemies... Which, reminds him...
“Uh, Peter?”
“Present.” The man’s voice is really lovely, Stiles can admit that to himself now that Peter’s no longer obstructing Lydia’s airways.
“Can I text Chris and let him know you’re in town?”
A moment of silence so sharp, Stiles feels cold sweat on his back.
“Now why would you feel the need to do that? Planning on capturing yourself a werewolf?”
“No!” He quickly shouts. “We’re very firmly on Team Hale, dude. So is Chris, well, not firmly, but he’s getting there, I’m getting him there.”
“Team Hale?” Peter sounds amused.
“Yep, go werewolves!” Stiles does a weak cheering motion.
“And so you want to text him because...?”
“To give him a heads up? As in, get himself mentally ready for uh, peace talks or whatever.”
“I’ve not come for peace.”
“We get that, but with Chris and Allison you should make peace. They can help. They’re on your side.”
“Team Hale, you mean.”
“Listen,” Lydia speaks up for the first time since getting in the car. “We fully support you guys coming back home. The Nemeton has been expecting you, it even told Stiles that you were waking up. But Chris is here to stay and working together is how we avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Kate’s necessary. One way or another she has to die, for Stiles’ sake.”
“Kate had help. I intend to find out who.”
Stiles blinks rapidly in surprise, “Wait, you can’t go on a killing spree, that’ll draw too much attention! The plan is to make Kate’s death look like an animal attack!”
“That’s your worry, that it will draw attention?” Peter sounds intrigued.
“Considering that my dad’s the Sheriff and has no idea about the things that go bump in the night and I’d like him to live long enough to retire? Yeah!”
“I’ll refrain from making it an obvious killing spree then. I can be patient, can spread it out, if that would make you more comfortable.” From the man’s tone, Stiles guesses he very well knows how uncomfortable it makes him to hear Peter again, so casually, talk about killing. He remembers what Chris said about the werewolf. He definitely gets where Chris was coming from now, the danger vibes are off the charts. “But alright, since I still need to adjust after being away for so long, I’m willing to go along with whatever you consider to be appropriate. For now. You can text... Chris.”
“Alright, cool. Thank you,” he pulls out his phone.
Woke up at the Hale house again, called Lydia to pick me up, we’re now driving to Bo’s Diner with Peter Hale, because he was at the house also. Unharmed, he’s being civil, he’s willing to talk to you. I think.
He doesn’t expect to get a reply anytime soon since it’s the middle of the night.
“We’re here,” Lydia says as she turns into Bo’s parking lot, only a few cars and one truck for company. The diner is the only thing in Beacon Hills that’s open 24/7 and since it’s close to the highway it actually gets a lot of customers at all hours of the day. Tonight seems to be slow, however and Stiles thanks their lucky stars. He just hopes Mary isn’t working the night shift, she’s the town gossip and wouldn’t hesitate to let his dad know that his underage son was hanging out at the diner with Lydia and a dangerous-looking man in his 30s instead of at home, sleeping.
As they get out of the car and Peter’s face gets illuminated by the diner’s lights, Stiles thinks ‘dangerous-looking’ is too mild of a description for the man. Peter looks like either a bodyguard, a bouncer, a businessman that can break you in half, the guy who you just know works for the mob, an ex-SEAL, a contract killer or hell, a werewolf. Because once you know that the man’s a werewolf, just looking at him makes Stiles’ brain go ‘yeah, that tracks’.
They quietly head inside and now Peter’s face has full-on lighting on it. Stiles finds himself staring. Because the guy is also handsome as hell. A semi-permanent smirk that screams both ‘you’re beneath me’ and ‘you amuse me’, stubble you’d find on a model in a magazine, short dark hair and facial structure to die for. Add in a thick neck, a shirt with the deepest V Stiles has ever seen that should look douchey but somehow doesn’t and jeans that are way too tight around nicely-shaped thighs - Stiles once again thanks his tree-buddy for killing his sex drive because after taking this all in, his body would make this uncomfortable situation a lot more awkward than it needs to be.
“Another one? You need to get your head checked,” Lydia mutters at him.
“What?”
“Seriously, I’m pretty sure he’s the same age as Chris.”
“Oh my god, shut up and go order us some coffee,” he hisses, blushing. Damn Lydia for knowing him too well. He takes a quick look around, sees two other customers, both sitting at the counter and the night shift waitress who isn’t Mary and sighs in relief. He quickly heads for the furthest corner booth and plants himself down, back towards the wall.
“You’re putting a werewolf between you and the exit,” Peter remarks calmly as he slides into the booth to sit opposite Stiles.
“Well, since superspeed and all, don’t think it matters where I put you.”
“True,” Peter smiles. It’s a nice smile. Also a not-so-nice smile. There’s the slightest hint of ‘I’ve found a new toy to play with’ in the man’s expression and it sets Stiles on edge.
“Susan will bring our coffees,” Lydia says, sliding next to Stiles.
Peter puts his elbows onto the table, leaning in close enough to look threatening as he intertwines his fingers.
“So how about we start with you two telling me about these visions of yours and how you came to know about my family’s secret.”
Ah, Stiles didn’t even think about the fact that Peter came across two kids trespassing who turned out to know about the Hale’s biggest secret, the secret that got them all killed.
“I turned sixteen and that same night found myself at the Hale house,” Lydia begins. “I saw Talia, at the time I didn’t know who she was, but I could tell that she was screaming something. I didn’t know what until a few months later when Stiles turned sixteen and showed up there with me. Then I heard it. Argent.”
“Hm, sixteen is sort of a magical coming of age in some supernatural cultures.”
“That’s what we figured,” Stiles nods. “Allison had just moved here with her dad, so we knew that the Argents were a family. And so we just started researching.”
“My dreams were always about Talia. Her screaming Argent at me. They started to fade out once Stiles started getting more... detailed dreams.”
“First it was just the fire, in a general sense. But then I started to focus on people. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was focusing on the survivors. Half the times I just witnessed that night but the other times I experienced it. As one of you. As Laura, Derek, Cora... you.”
Peter’s face gives nothing away as he quietly processes. “The Nemeton was connecting you to us and showing you the truth.”
“Yeah. Not just you, though,” he feels the need to point out. “I also experienced some of Chris’ life when he was growing up here.”
The man raises an eyebrow, “Now why would it show you that?”
“My theory is that it could sense we needed help. Chris considers the Hale fire a tragedy and he knows about the supernatural,” Lydia shrugs. “If you think about it, he’s the only option.”
“So it gave you the sense that you could trust him.”
Stiles nods, “And we do. At least, for now.” He sees Lydia giving him a sharp look. “We are talking about his sister, after all. I don’t know what’s going to happen once... once it all, you know, happens.”
“Eloquently put. Alright, so tomorrow- or, today, considering the hour, Kate arrives into town. What next?” The man’s lips shape the name like it’s distasteful.
“Uh...”
“We’re waiting to see what happens when Stiles sees her. I think the Nemeton is going to show him what it wants.”
“Your theory back at the house has merit. It most likely wants Kate to be bled out on the stump, so her life flows into it directly and turns into energy, power. Blood sacrifices are its favorite meal.”
“Oh God, seriously? You make it sound evil,” Stiles winces.
“Blood is the purest and oldest form of magic there is. The Nemeton is the purest and oldest form of magic in this town. It’s not evil, it’s old-fashioned.”
“What, it’s a Republican?”
Peter’s saved from having to answer by the waitress finally arriving with a tray of coffees. Stiles gives her a quick once-over, she’s middle-aged and seems to be very interested in Peter, who graciously thanks her with a flirtatious smile. Bottom line, she doesn’t look towards Stiles at all and doesn’t show any interest in their conversation. He dares to hope that his secret rendezvous will remain a secret from his dad.
Once Susan leaves, with a saucy wink that Stiles can’t fault her for - he’d like to wink at Peter too, really - the man puts two sugars into his black coffee and stirs.
“Political affiliations aside, I understand your concerns about the repercussions. I admit, it’s worrying for me too that the Nemeton chose a child to act out as the territory’s arbitrator.”
“Arbitrator? Is that like an official term for what I am?” He’s going to ignore being called a child although it does sting.
“That makes sense,” Lydia mutters.
“It’s what you seem to be, yes. I would’ve acted as judge and jury because of my connection to Talia as her enforcer. But I wouldn’t have been impartial. You, however, a human with no connections to us or the hunters, an outsider in supernatural terms - you would be an arbitrator.”
“That’s why it also showed you about Chris. You needed to see both sides,” Lydia says excitedly. And Stiles gets the excitement. Ever since they realized that Lydia’s a banshee, Stiles has felt a little lost with how little they understood about his connection. But now he has a word. Arbitrator sounds a lot better than spokesperson.
“Okay, so. I’m an arbitrator... is it just for this one thing, though? It’s not like a forever position, right?”
Peter looks at him thoughtfully, “I have no idea. It shouldn’t be forever since you haven’t conducted a ritual to bind yourself to it.”
“But... if I kill Kate, isn’t that like a ritual? Would that mean I was... committing to this?” His sight goes unfocused as that idea takes root in his brain.
“Stiles-” Lydia puts a hand on his arm, worried.
“This can’t be forever.”
“It’s not going to be,” she slides her fingers down to his and holds his hand under the table. He gives her a grateful look.
Peter’s eyeing them with interest, “Sadly, magical nexuses aren’t an exact science. If you’re the one to kill her and feed her life into the Nemeton, there will most likely be some after-effects, yes. And even if it bonds you to it forever, you can still leave this town. I did.”
The man’s smile is wry and secretive. Stiles is sure there’s a lot of things Peter knows but isn’t telling them. But again, he can’t blame the guy for having trust issues.
“Okay,” Stiles sighs, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “So for now the plan is, see what happens tomorrow... today, fuck, I need to sleep.”
“Give me your phone.”
He doesn’t question the man, just hands it over after unlocking it. Peter takes a moment to put in his contact information before giving it back.
“We’ll keep in contact. I’ll talk to Chris and I’ll play nice for you, but I can’t promise I’m not slitting Kate’s throat at the first opportunity.”
“You’ll play nice for me? What the hell does that mean?”
“For whatever reason, the Nemeton chose you to avenge my family. I’m bonded to it. It would be amiss of me to ignore your part in this.”
Stiles nods, “Uh, great. So. We’ll keep in touch?”
Peter smiles insincerely, “You better. No keeping secrets from me. I’d hate to harm such a pretty face.”
He rolls his eyes at that and thinks Lydia might have done the same with the way the man’s eyebrows rise as he looks at both of them.
“Oh please, your threats are as bad as Chris’. Did you go to the same ‘Intimidating Teenagers 101’ seminar or something?” Lydia’s scoff confirms his theory.
“I’ll just have to try harder next time,” Peter smirks at them. And then without another word, he stands up and goes to the counter. Stiles sees him pull out a wallet and wave a hand towards their booth. It looks like Peter’s paying for their coffees, the ones none of them actually drank. Never one to let free coffee go to waste, he quickly gulps his down. The werewolf then stalks out of the diner, not glancing their way once.
“Well,” Lydia sighs. “Team Hale, huh?”
Stiles grimaces. He knows in his heart that the Hales are the victims here, the good guys, the ones to root for. But damn if Peter’s energy didn’t give off villain vibes.
“Yeah,” he sighs too. “To be fair, there are only two teams right now and Team Argent? No thank you, never in a million years.”
“Maybe we just need to make our own team then. Team Human.”
“Except you’re not human.”
“I don’t know, I feel pretty human. Don’t exactly have super-senses or healing or strength, now do I?”
“Alright, I’ll make you an honorary human.”
“Oh so you’re the leader?”
“As the only human at this table? Yes.”
“Fine.”
“Take me home?”
“Of course.”
Chris sees the text when his alarm wakes him at 6:30 am. He sees Peter’s name and without thinking it over calls Stiles. While it rings, his mind goes through various scenarios where Stiles and Lydia end up getting hurt, most likely due to Stiles’ big mouth.
“Oh my god, it’s Sunday, why are you calling me this early on Sunday, Chris!?”
The groggy whine sounds like the best thing he’s ever heard and his body relaxes as he feels like he can breathe again.
“I just saw your text,” Chris says and clears his throat since he definitely sounds like he just woke up.
“Ah, that,” Stiles mumbles and his voice fades out into deep breaths.
Chris closes his eyes in disbelief and snaps, “Stiles!”
“Whu- I’m up! I’m up.”
“So you got home okay? What did Peter want?”
“Well, he definitely wants to kill Kate. He like, respects me as the Nemeton’s Chosen One or whatever, though, so I’m good. You should worry about yourself, man. He promised to play nice but he also said the words ‘for now’. So, you know, stock up on wolfsbane or something.”
“I’m always stocked up on wolfsbane,” he says, while his mind races with the various outcomes of Peter’s return. Are all of the Hales returning? If so, Gerard won’t hesitate to go after them and they will have the bloodbath he’s hoping to avoid. It’s starting to seem more and more unlikely to keep both the werewolves and his family out of this conflict that Kate started. He can’t see a peaceful resolution to any of it.
“Such a pro,” Stiles snorts, still sounding sleepy and adorable- No, Chris scratches that thought out of his brain.
“I think it’s time I gave you and Lydia some too.”
“Ooh, you got any of that special yellow kind? That works as a sedative.”
“It only works as a sedative if you get the mix and the amount right, go under and it won’t work at all, go over and your target’s dead. Not reliable as a sedative unless you know what you’re doing,” he can’t help being stern, he takes these things seriously because they’re matters of life and death.
“Yeah, so, you have any?”
“No, it’s expensive,” he admits.
“Ah, damn. Well, ordinary kind is nice too I guess, although I don’t know how I’d use it efficiently without a gun.”
“There’s a powdered version, blowing it or throwing it at a werewolf’s face can cause a distraction big enough to give you time to run.”
“Oh, that’s cool. Man, me and Lydia should pay more attention when you’re training Allison.”
“I hoped you already were,” Chris sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stands up finally. “That’s why I allowed you guys to observe in the first place,” he says while stretching his neck.
“I get distracted easily.”
There’s no flirtatious tone but Chris’ mind gets dragged to the various times he noticed Stiles staring at him, especially when he was teaching Allison hand-to-hand. He clears his throat.
“Well, maybe the three of us should have separate lessons then, where I can focus on ways to help you run away from situations rather than how to survive a fight.” For just a second he considers offering one-on-one lessons to Stiles but immediately knows how bad of an idea that is.
“That sounds good, I’m sure Lydia would appreciate it. I think she feels a bit cheated, since she’s not technically human but doesn’t have any of the cool things like strength or speed. Man, Peter was fast and strong and his claws looked like they could cut through metal-”
“Did he threaten you?” He asks sharply.
“Of course he did. Now don’t overreact, remember the guy’s history in this town and I’m sure you’ll agree that his trust issues are valid.”
He hears noises on Stiles’ end, sounds of cupboard doors closing and drawers and dishes being placed on a counter. He figures Stiles is starting his day with breakfast and his stomach tells him what a good idea that is with a growl. He gets out of bed and heads downstairs as he replies.
“Trust issues or no, you and Lydia had nothing to do with the fire, you’re kids. He can threaten me all he likes but if he comes for you or Allison, I won’t hesitate to do my duty.”
“Is that just how all grown ups talk or something? My duty, geez. Peter used those words too.”
He grinds his teeth at the thought of being compared to the Hale enforcer. He starts making coffee.
“I’m not kidding about this. If he does something, anything, to hurt you or Lydia or anyone else that’s got nothing to do with this, you tell me. Understood?”
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to say ‘sir, yes, sir’ or something?”
Chris snorts, “No, I’d never expect that from you.”
“Ha! No, wait, what does that mean?”
“I believe you have issues with authority.”
“My dad’s the Sheriff!”
“Case in point.”
“What? No, I love my dad!”
“And how much trouble did you get into before you turned sixteen?”
There’s a moment of silence that drips with Stiles’ indignation. It makes Chris smirk as he pulls out bacon and eggs from the fridge. He knows Allison is waking up soon too, they wanted to get an early start and talk some more before Kate gets here, so he starts preparing a proper breakfast for two.
“You didn’t even live here then!” Stiles protests weakly.
“Deputies talk, Stiles.”
“Oh my God, was it Haigh? I hate that dick.”
He laughs, “It wasn’t one of them, all of them have stories about you.”
“Shit, am I the town delinquent? I haven’t even vandalized anything!”
“Yet,” he says smugly.
“Oh I’m glad you have such faith in my career in delinquency.”
“I expect great things from you.”
“Ha, ha- Shit, dad just pulled in, I better focus on actually making this breakfast now. Talk to you later.”
He doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the call ends and shakes his head, putting his phone down and turning to grab a spatula from a drawer. He stops as he sees Allison standing there, looking like she just crawled out of bed. She blinks at him sleepily.
“Who were you just talking to?” She asks, yawning. She sits on one of the counter stools, slumping down with a hand holding her head up.
“Stiles,” he admits reluctantly.
Allison stares. “You were laughing,” she says as if it’s an accusation.
“I am known to laugh occasionally, yes.” Chris rolls his eyes, turning his back to her to start breaking eggs into a bowl.
“You were laughing while talking to Stiles at six in the morning.”
“What are you getting at, Allison?” He sighs, throwing away the shells.
“I’m just acknowledging how weird it is, you are aware that it’s totally weird, right?”
“That what is totally weird?”
“That you like him.”
Chris freezes, “What makes you think that?”
“I’m not blind? And mom told me... that you’re not... completely straight.”
“Outed by my ex-wife, that’s great,” Chris sighs and starts scrambling the eggs. He picks up the bowl in one hand so he can turn around and meet Allison’s eyes, leaning back against the countertop.
“But Stiles is my boyfriend’s best friend. He’s my classmate, we’re going to graduate together. It’s weird, dad.”
Chris considers lying, making something up about how he just feels protective over Stiles, how he’s worried about all of them. Things that are true but that also don’t have anything to do with his attraction, that is indeed, weird.
But no, Allison and Chris agreed this summer that there would be no more hiding anything from each other. Allison’s been more open about her relationship with Scott, her plans for the future, the colleges she’s looking at. He needs to be open too.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he says.
Allison squints at him, “But he likes you too.”
And there it is, the thing that Chris doesn’t want to think about, the obvious elephant in the room whenever Stiles’ eyes wander. The boy has been increasingly obvious and shameless about it, like he doesn’t care if anyone notices. Considering what life has thrown at Stiles, maybe he doesn’t. A crush on a friend’s dad must seem like a silly thing to stress over compared to oh, worrying about getting away with murder.
“That doesn’t matter,” Chris stresses. “He has a crush, I have eyes, that’s all this is. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Allison clearly doesn’t believe him, “Just. If something does, accidentally, once or more, just... It’s weird, but. I’m not going to hate you for something like that. If it’s all consensual and fun and no one’s getting hurt, uh, I won’t be... fine with it, but you don’t have to hide it from me, either. Don’t have to show PDA either, though! And definitely don’t do PDA before Stiles’ birthday, I don’t want to get that call from the police.”
Chris doesn’t think he’s ever felt this embarrassed. “I have no plans on ever doing any PDA with Stiles, or any other teenagers!”
“Sure, but we never really plan these things, do we?”
Chris stares at his little girl, all grown up.
“When did you get wise?”
“I didn’t. You’re just being really stupid, falling for a guy half your age. So weird,” But Allison’s smiling at him as he says it, and the realization washes over him. They’re okay. Even if something were to happen, they’d still be okay. His daughter won’t hold back the mockery, though. And well, he can’t blame her. Liking a guy half his age is indeed the dumbest thing he’s ever done.
“Woah, there’s been no falling!” He protests, turning around to start cooking their eggs.
“Sure. I know Stiles, though. He grows on you. Like a fungus.” She giggles at the bewildered look he throws her. “His own words, not mine.”
“Of course they are,” he mutters.
“So you’ll wait for his birthday?”
“I’m not waiting for anything!” He glares when she laughs at him. “You know what I mean.”
“Just make me food, I’m too hungry to continue this conversation.”
“This conversation won’t be continued, ever.”
“Let me know if you want help picking out his present. Although knowing Stiles, he’s probably a big fan of the dick-in-a-box song.”
“Would you stop?” Chris snaps, turning to point the spatula at her threateningly.
“All the jokes you did about Scott, all those jokingly said threats and laughing at my teenage relationship woes,” Allison smiles smugly. “Time for payback, dad.”
“I can still ground you, young lady.”
“Sure you can.”
He suddenly feels stripped of his dad-powers. He sighs forlornly. “Just no joking about it in front of the others, alright?” He concedes.
“Of course. Well...”
“Well, what?”
“Lydia’s not blind either.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t do anything. We’ll be there next weekend.”
“A lot can happen in a week, Laura.”
“Not if you stay away from the Argents.”
“And what if they won’t stay away from me?”
“Then you run away. Please, Peter. Play it safe. I haven’t gone after them because I don’t want to lose any more of my family.”
“You severely underestimate me, Alpha.”
“I don’t care, now promise me you’ll stay away from them.”
“...I promise, unless they come after me, I will stay away from the Argents. Well, except Chris. But that will be me playing nice, I swear.”
“What?”
“I’m intrigued, the man promised to help his daughter’s friend get away with murdering his sister. That’s a family drama worth following, don’t you think?”
“God, you’re going to be the death of me. Maybe even literally.”
“I promise not to put us into even more danger. But to be fair, as werewolves that Gerard Argent would like to eradicate from existence, we’re already in danger.”
“We wouldn’t be if we stayed in New York.”
“I said that no one has to come with me. I’m connected to Beacon Hills, you guys are not.”
“We’re family. We stick together. And if anyone hurts you, they’ll have to deal with me.”
“How sweet. See you in a week.”
Stiles is sitting in his room, staring at the phone on his desk. He asked Allison to keep him updated on Kate’s arrival and so far it’s 1pm and no news. Stiles feels like hitting something.
“Hey, kid.”
He swivels in his chair and nods at his dad. “Hey, had a nice nap?”
“Feel like I could sleep for another five hours but, duty calls.”
There’s that word again, the grown ups must all go to the same seminar, Lydia was right.
“Okay, stay safe,” Stiles says, expecting his dad to leave but the man stays put, eyes wary as he stares Stiles down.
“I know there’s been something going on and, we’ve fought enough about it already this past year. But you’re going to be eighteen, and I just wanted to make sure you know I’m here for you. Whatever it is, you can come to me.”
Stiles imagines calling Peter and asking him to flash his fangs at his dad. He has no idea how Noah would react to that. With everything else going on, he’d rather not find out right now.
“I know, dad,” he says and looks away from his dad’s disappointment.
“Okay. Uh, if you go somewhere today, don’t stay out too long. You have school tomorrow.” Noah clears his throat awkwardly and pats the doorway before leaving.
Stiles tries not to freak out. He doesn’t succeed and calls Lydia.
“They’re asking what’s going on,” Allison sighs, staring at her phone screen.
Chris looks at his own phone. “Yeah, I got the same texts.”
“Should we try calling Kate again?”
“I-” His phone rings. “It’s her,” he says quickly before accepting the call. Allison stands up from the couch, nervous.
“Kate, you were supposed to be here hours ago.”
“Aw, are you worried about me?”
He closes his eyes as a torrent of doubt rushes through him. It’s his baby sister on the phone, the mocking tone as familiar as it is comforting. But it’s also the monster who killed eleven innocent people. His head starts to hurt.
“Yes,” he grits out. “Where are you?”
She tells him and he frowns, “That’s close to the town border, what’s going on?”
“My car looks like it’s been attacked by a werewolf because well, it was attacked by a werewolf.”
Oh God, Peter?
“Did you get it?”
“I tried but it got away. Chris, it was an Alpha. A male one, at that. Any new visitors you haven’t told me about?”
“No, and definitely no Alphas. Shit, and you’re okay?” He doesn’t even have to fake the concern, it comes naturally.
“I’m fine, my car isn’t. I need you to come pick me up.”
“On my way.”
When they reach the road that Kate is stranded on the side of, she doesn’t seem happy to see Allison with him.
“Hey, sweetie!” She masks her uneasiness and goes for a hug, glaring at Chris over her shoulder. Allison looks tense but goes along with it, hugging her aunt back.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re okay. Did the glass hit you or anything?”
Kate draws back and looks at Allison with her head cocked, “You know,” she finally surmises. She looks at Chris, an angry smile on her face. “What’s the deal? I thought we were supposed to tell her together.”
“Yeah, well, she’s my daughter and I decide when and how she finds out.”
Kate raises her eyebrows, “When did you grow balls?” But she grins as if it’s a joke. Chris can tell how angry she is, though. He smiles back smugly.
“Aunt Kate,” Allison warns, coming to stand in between them. “What did you see, anything that could help us identify the Alpha?”
His sister looks at Allison with admiration, “Aren’t we adjusting well?”
Allison crosses her arms over her chest and Chris recognizes the stubborn expression on her face. It’s the face he sees every time she can sense she’s on the right side of an argument and won’t let him get away with it. He hopes Kate thinks it’s just Allison dealing with having been lied to her whole life, rather than the girl judging Kate for her actions.
“Did you see anything?” She presses.
“Nothing much, he was tall. Really tall, but otherwise he was running next to my car for just a flash of a second before he punched through the glass and tried to grab me. I stabbed him but without wolfsbane so that probably healed before he ran from my bullets.”
“And you’re sure it was an Alpha?” Chris asks, cursing their luck. Not only was Peter back, but another werewolf? A rogue Alpha that perhaps caught the scent of wolfsbane? Or someone else his family has pissed off?
“I saw red glowing eyes before I saw his fist, so yeah. I’m sure.”
He steps around her to take a good look at the driver’s side. The door’s dented, the glass is shattered and the front tire is slashed.
“He did a lot more than just punch through your glass.”
“Yeah, I tried to run him over. He didn’t like that. The tire is a parting gift he did after I managed to grab my gun and start shooting.”
“To make sure you couldn’t follow,” Allison nods, stepping up next to him.
“I called dad too, he’s sending Victoria early with a hunting party. We’ll need more guns for an Alpha.”
Chris feels dread pooling in his stomach, is sick with it. “When’s she arriving?”
“Next weekend, don’t know the exact time yet.”
Allison’s phone vibrates and she looks at it, glancing at him as she does so. “My friends are asking if I can go for a quick dinner, a little before-school-starts get-together.”
“Well let’s get my car a tow truck and we’ll take you to that dinner,” Kate says sweetly, tugging the girl into a side-hug. “Also, is one of those friends that boyfriend I’ve heard so much about? I’d love to meet him.”
“Sure,” Allison smiles tightly, sending a worried look at Chris who feels the same concern. It’ll be a controlled setting, a public place where Stiles can easily make an excuse and leave while surrounded by his friends, the best thing they could think of when they figured having him meet Kate on purpose would be better than accidentally stumbling upon her in town, unprepared and alone. But of course they’re all still very worried that Stiles won’t be Stiles when he sees her.
The moment of truth is here. Chris prepares himself for the worst.
Alan Deaton’s shock when he looks up and sees Peter in his clinic is something to savor. Even when they were younger, Deaton had an annoying habit of never showing any reactions to whatever Peter said or did. To get this reaction now, feels like a small victory.
“Peter,” Alan says, composing himself. “How can I help you?”
“Interesting question. Considering you never asked how you could help Laura. Or even me, while I was in a coma.” He walks closer, senses the mountain ash built into the counter Deaton’s standing behind and smirks. “She told me you hung up on her every time she called.”
“I’m no longer the Hale emissary, I was distancing myself.”
“Could’ve explained yourself, just to be polite.”
“I did my part, I’m the reason you’re standing here, Peter.”
And doesn’t that irk him, the fact that the person who abandoned his pack is also the person who dragged him from the fire. The memory of Alan’s tears as he asked about Talia comes to him, how the man collapsed under Peter’s weight when the werewolf sobbed that he couldn’t hear any heartbeats, how his injuries and the snapping of so many pack bonds caused his mind to give out on him right there in Deaton’s arms. The last thing he consciously saw was the man crying at the loss of the woman he loved. Deaton was never the Hale emissary. He was Talia’s.
“Well, unlike you, I’ve decided to be courteous and give you the heads up. We’re returning to Beacon Hills.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
“As you said, you’re no longer our emissary, so I don’t care about your advice.”
“Peter, the Argents are staking their claim.”
His control falters at the name, eyes glowing werewolf blue. Deaton doesn’t react.
“I’m aware. All the more reason to return and remind them who this town belongs to.”
“You’ll be walking into a bloodbath, starting a war you won’t win.”
“Starting?” He slams himself into the mountain ash barrier, growling victoriously when Deaton jumps back in fear. “We’re not starting it. We’re going to finish it.”
“Gerard Argent has an entire community behind him.”
“And I have the Nemeton.”
Deaton breathes in sharply, “You’re still connected to it? Even without Talia?”
“It’s an incomplete bond now, but it’s there. How aware of it are you?”
“I’ve never seen it, you know that.”
“Things could’ve changed.” He thinks about Stiles and if he should tell Deaton about him. It seems like the druid has no idea of the new bond, but then again why would he? Deaton came to the pack after Talia and Peter had already gone through the ritual. The man had been livid when Talia had told him, said it was a dangerous and foolish thing to do, to feed a nexus with blood. Talia brushed his concerns aside, as did Peter.
“Well they haven’t. After Talia’s death I stepped back, I don’t practice magic anymore, haven’t since that night.”
Peter tilts his head, intrigued at the open truth of that sentence. Deaton’s always had a good poker face, but his heart never failed to betray every one of his lies, which is why the druid got the nasty habit of saying things without revealing anything concrete. It used to drive Peter insane, especially because Talia still trusted the man.
“So you’re not even a druid anymore?”
“Not as such, no.”
“And I guess you would like me to leave you alone.”
“I’m an outsider in this conflict now. So yes-”
“Except, do you still own wolfsbane? Mountain ash? All kinds of nasty things that can kill me, sedate me, imprison me?”
Deaton hesitates, “Those are for my own protection.”
“And me keeping an eye on you is for mine.”
“I would never hurt you, Peter. Out of respect for Talia’s memory, I would never hurt a member of the Hale pack.”
Another clear truth. A promise, in fact. Peter nods in acceptance, “Alright, I’ll leave you out of this.”
The former druid sighs in relief. “I appreciate it.”
“But if I find out that you’re helping the Argents in any way-”
“I wouldn’t. Even though I’m no longer a druid, I still care about the balance. I want no part in this conflict.”
“Fine. I’ve given my warning. Have a nice evening.”
As he’s getting into his car, his phone vibrates. He’s surprised to see who’s calling.
“Stiles,” he greets smugly.
“Alright, you wanted to be kept in the loop, so here’s me, making a gesture of trust and hoping you’re not going to fuck me over.”
He smirks at the unusual start to a conversation.
“I make no promises.”
“That’s fantastic, that’s great. So, Kate’s here. But you knew she was coming, uh, I’m about to meet her. Allison and Chris are bringing her here, I’m with Lydia and Scott right now.”
“Where?”
Stiles tells him the address of a little family bistro he remembers existing there six years ago. It’s nice that some things haven’t changed. He starts his car and says he’s on his way.
“Why are you telling me?” He asks, curious. If the kid is afraid of Peter jumping the gun and killing her, this phone call doesn’t make much sense.
“I’m... I’m worried. Of how I’ll react.”
“You think you’re going to attack her on sight?”
“No, well, yes, but- It’s more like-” Stiles sighs angrily, “My friends and Chris, they all promised to hold me back, cover for me, get me away from here if something goes bad. But I have no idea what the stupid tree is capable of, what if it makes me do something crazy?”
“You mean magic?”
“I wasn’t going to say that word, but yeah. Would that be possible?”
Peter hums in thought.
“It could use your magic if you had any, but I doubt that. If you did, it would’ve already taken advantage of it.”
“Okay, so, can it just make me, I don’t know, stronger? Or... not care about getting hurt or something?”
“That sounds more likely, yes.”
“Shit. But that’s why I called you. Werewolf strength and speed sound pretty good right now.”
“You’re asking me to keep you away from her?” Peter asks, surprised.
“Well, yeah. If you can refrain from attacking her yourself.”
“I’ll do my best,” he drawls.
“I’m not telling the others you’re here, so if nothing weird happens no one will know. You’re good at lurking, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Back at the Hale house, I had no idea there was anyone else with us at all.”
“You weren’t exactly focused on your surroundings.”
“True, but still. Lurking seems like a werewolf hobby, you know?”
“Let me guess, you’ve seen Twilight.”
“Oh my god, have you!?”
“Laura made us watch it. The pack bonded over our mutual suffering.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
“I’m sad to hear that.”
“Ha. Oh, I think they’re pulling in, I’ve got to go. Are you close by?”
“Just parking across the street. I’ll be in the woods behind the building. Lurking.”
“Thanks, Peter. I mean it.” Stiles hangs up.
He wonders at the smile he feels on his face. He likes Stiles trusting him like this. Peter shakes his head. There’s something weird about that, something not quite right. He’ll try to figure out what it is later, right now the woods await. A glimpse of the Argents from far away as he walks around the bistro’s parking lot makes him pause. His gums start to ache from holding back his shift, his eyes burn from refusing their instinctual glow at the sight of his prey. But he forces himself to keep moving. He wants blood but he can be patient. He can be smart.
He’ll play along with the Nemeton’s plans and see where it leads him.
Stiles pockets his phone and walks down the hallway, passing by the doors to the restrooms. He arrives back at the entrance area of the bistro where Scott and Lydia are waiting for him. Lydia looks nonplussed.
“You didn’t go to the bathroom.”
“I beg your pardon?” Stiles gapes at her.
“Who were you calling?”
He glances at Scott’s baffled expression before squinting at Lydia suspiciously. “Can you like, read my mind now or something?”
Lydia scoffs, “No. You just get extra fidgety when you’re hiding something. Most people don’t notice because you’re always fidgety. But I do. I also know you’ve been itching to text Peter all day.”
“Don't start with that again.”
“Start with what?” Scott asks, a hurt look on his face.
Stiles sighs, “Lydia’s got it in her head that I’m into Peter Hale.”
“What!?”
“Got it in my head? Nice try, Stilinski. I know your taste in men. And you are very obvious with your crushes. Exhibit A - me.”
“Wait, wait-” Scott holds his hands out. “Peter, the werewolf, Peter? The one who is Mr Argent’s age?”
Stiles grimaces at how after everything, Scott still refuses to just say Chris. “Yeah, that one,” he says nonchalantly.
“Age is just a number for Stiles.”
“Quit it, Lyds.”
“I will if you will quit thirsting over guys old enough to be your dad!” Lydia hisses at him, aware that the conversation is happening in a very public place.
“Wait, guys, as in more than one!?” Scott doesn’t keep his voice lowered, because of course he doesn’t.
“Shh-” Stiles gestures sharply. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
“Fine,” Scott pouts.
Stiles makes the mistake of glancing over his shoulder through the glass door. The three Argents are heading towards the entrance, Kate’s arm around Allison’s tense shoulders and Chris trailing behind them, looking like he’s walking into battle.
“Shit,” Stiles mutters, the breath leaving him all at once because there she is. The woman of the hour, of the year, the murderer, the killer, the psychopath, the villain, his unaware nemesis, his victim. There she is, and here he is, except he’s not here anymore, he sees fire and he hears screams. He’s standing on grass, kneeling, standing, running, standing- he’s- She’s laughing. She’s watching, she’s making gestures like she’s directing an orchestra to the sounds of people burning alive. She’s so fucking proud of herself. There’s a dichotomy of emotions in Stiles’ head. He’s her, enjoying her best work, her crowning achievement. He’s himself, frightened and disgusted and there’s the Nemeton, angry, rageful, furious.
“Stiles?” He hears Lydia’s voice like through a tunnel, far away and echoing.
“Stiles!” Scott, worried. And that’s his best friend’s hand on his arm, grounding him, pulling him back. The night air leaves him, the grass turns to concrete, the sounds of the bistro return to his ears. He turns to his friends, takes in their fear.
“She got off on it,” he says, trembling.
Lydia’s face sparks with realization. “Did it just-”
“Yes. I’ve experienced both sides now. I was her. When she burned them all.”
Scott’s the palest Stiles has ever seen him.
“Stiles, you look like you’re going to keel over.”
“I’m going to take you away from here, you can’t be around her, experiment over,” Lydia says.
“No, you guys stay.” He feels something pulling him towards the woods, feels like that way lies safety, sanity maybe even. It could be the Nemeton just tricking his exhausted mind but he doesn’t care anymore. He feels sick to his stomach from what he just experienced. A killer’s glee, a satisfaction so deep he doesn’t know how he’ll ever scrub it out of his head. “You were right earlier, I called Peter. So just-”
The door opens.
“Now which one of you is the lovely Scott?” Kate cries out cheerfully. Scott, to his credit, composes himself fairly quickly and turns to her with the appropriate level of nervousness for meeting a family member of one’s significant other.
“Hi! I’m Scott McCall,” he holds his hand out politely.
“Oh look at those lovely brown eyes, I can definitely see why Allison’s so enamored!”
“Kate, please,” Allison whines, like she’s supposed to and this all seems like such a normal meet-the-family moment except a part of Stiles is still there, enjoying the heat of the flames, the smell of burning flesh and hair-
“I’m Lydia Martin,” she holds her hand out too.
And after her, Kate’s eyes zero in on Stiles. He notices Chris staring at him, wide-eyed from worry. Right, Scott said he looks like he’s ready to faint.
“And who’s this? You don’t look so good, kid.”
Stiles grabs onto the opportunity, ignoring Kate’s outstretched hand. “I’m Stiles and uh, I’m actually not feeling well. I better go,” he planned on spitting out more of an explanation or something but talking’s hard when all he wants to do is stab the friendly face in front of him.
“You want me to give you a ride?” Lydia asks pointedly.
“Nah, I’m good, you guys enjoy your evening, I’ll just-” And like the utter dumbass that he is, he flails and turns around to walk through the hallway to the back exit.
“What, is he going to walk home?” He hears Kate asking, because she’s not an idiot and Stiles just acted suspicious as fuck.
But he doesn’t even care. He just wants away from her, away from that night. He wants the tree to leave him alone, he wants to be done with this, to never have gotten involved with this in the first place. He doesn’t want to remember what the Hale fire felt like nor what it felt like causing it. He misses being just Stiles.
He starts running once he reaches the tree-line but stops after his first stumble. He doesn’t have the best relationship with uneven ground and he doesn’t want to faceplant. A familiar shaking comes over him and he grits his teeth in frustration. His fist flies out towards a tree, an accurate target for everything he’s feeling right now, if not quite the exact tree he’d like to punch. But he never hits his mark, a steel-strong hand clamps around his wrist and stops his momentum easily.
His eyes meet Peter’s unnaturally glowing ones.
“Uh,” he stutters, still shaking because he hasn’t released any of the pent-up violence yet. The man’s gaze is calculating as it runs over his frail form.
“Hit me instead,” Peter says calmly.
“What?”
“You heard me,” Peter smirks, letting go of his arm. “You’re looking a little bloodthirsty. I’m offering myself as a slightly softer substitute.”
Stiles feels his head vibrating from all the anger building up in his body. The idea of hitting a person is appealing to him and isn’t that frightening in of itself?
“I don’t want to-”
“I’ll heal in seconds, you can’t hurt me,” Peter says, a smug expression on his face that makes it look very punch-able.
So he doesn’t hesitate, stops holding back and lets his hand fly straight for the man’s nose. A sickening crack accompanies the dull sound of a fist meeting flesh. Peter’s head flies back and he lets out a soft grunt, taking a step back to keep his balance.
Stiles’ recently healed hand aches but he barely notices it, focused on his mind calming down, his body releasing tension fast enough to make him dizzy.
“You’ve done that before?” Peter asks while setting his nose, the sound making Stiles grimace. However, the sight of fresh, shiny blood makes a part of his mind sing with satisfaction.
“I’ve punched a few assholes at school, yeah,” he admits, shrugging.
“That’s a sharp right hook you have there. You should be careful who you aim it at,” Peter grins, wiping the blood away with the sleeve of his jacket, frowning at the stains.
“Only punch werewolves, got it,” Stiles mumbles tiredly.
“Did it help?” Peter studies Stiles.
“Yeah, yeah, it-” His eyes close and he fades.
For a second it looks as if the boy is going to fall over and Peter steps closer, ready to catch him. But then Stiles rises back up to his full height, back straight and chin up. His eyes remain closed. Peter watches warily as Stiles swiftly turns around and starts heading deeper into the woods. Peter can already guess where he’s headed just by the direction. Not towards the house. Towards the Nemeton.
“Stiles?” He tries, but knows there’s no reply coming. He quickly moves along to keep Stiles in his sights and then has a thought. He gets closer and slides his fingers into Stiles’ front pockets, slightly disturbed at how the boy keeps moving, not even twitching at feeling someone’s hands on him. He finds his phone and grabs Stiles’ hand, relieved when the other doesn’t fight that hold either, letting Peter use his thumb to unlock the screen. Still matching Stiles’ pace, he quickly finds Lydia’s name and calls her.
“Where did you go!?” Lydia greets him with a hiss.
“He’s currently taking a stroll in the woods.”
“...Peter?” Oh, she sounds positively murderous. It makes the corners of Peter’s mouth twitch in amusement. The protectiveness these two have for each other is adorable. It’s like they’re a little pack of their own.
“Yes, me. The owner of this phone is currently sleepwalking and unable to confirm this himself, so you’ll just have to trust me. I thought I’d be kind and let you know I’m keeping an eye on him and I’ll get him home once he wakes up.”
“Can’t you just pick him up and take him home now?”
“I’d rather see what the Nemeton wants. Big night, meeting the ritual sacrifice and all that.”
“Fine. But you keep your paws to yourself, he’s underage and fragile and I will help the Argents kill you if you hurt a single strand of hair on his head.”
He blinks in surprise, “Why is the underage part important?”
“Never you mind, just promise me you won’t hurt him.”
Peter sighs dramatically, “I promise that I won’t hurt him.”
“What was that emphasis for?”
“Never you mind,” Peter replies smugly.
“Let me know when he wakes up. Please.”
“I will. How’s the Argent reunion going?”
A pause. “Awkward. It’s a mess. And Stiles leaving like that definitely raised her suspicions. She’s been asking a lot of questions about him.”
“Don’t worry, dear. One way or another, she’ll be dead soon.”
“...I feel like that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.”
“Why? You know who she is, what she did. It’s a kill or be killed world out there, especially for you, little banshee. So I suggest you get used to this.”
“Do you know much about... banshees?” Lydia asks, hesitant.
“I know a little. I’ve met a few. I can tell you all about them sometime.”
“I’d... appreciate that.”
“Look at us, bonding.”
“Don’t ruin it.” She hangs up.
Peter grins and continues to follow Stiles.
“What’s wrong?”
Lydia jumps at Chris’ whisper and turns to shoot him a glare. She glances behind him to see the empty hallway, raising her eyebrows meaningfully.
“She’s interrogating Scott right now. She grabbed onto the missing-father fact and is digging in.”
Lydia grimaces in sympathy, “Shouldn’t you be there, changing the subject like a good dad would?”
Chris smirks wryly, “I’m here because Allison sent me. We’re both worried.”
“I’m sure,” she purses her lips. “Peter’s keeping an eye on Stiles. He’s sleepwalking right now. Peter said he’d get him home.”
“And you trust him?” Chris frowns.
“There’s… something…” She rolls her eyes at what she’s about to say. “I just have a feeling that he won’t hurt him.”
“We’ll still check in on him later. For now, let’s go save Scott.”
Lydia nods and follows Chris back to the table. She notices the thoughtful look Kate gives both of them, studying the distance between them, their clothes, their faces. She chuckles inwardly, ‘wrong teenager’.
Scott looks like he wants to run away and Allison’s calm façade is starting to frighten Lydia.
The dinner never stops being awkward.
It doesn’t hit him until they reach the small clearing, the large tree stump looking innocent and very unmagical at the center of it. The bond between him and Stiles flares, makes itself known in a way Peter can’t ignore. And when the boy bends down and places his palms onto the Nemeton, Peter feels a pull.
This is why he already trusts a kid he just met, this is why he feels protective over him, why his body moved to stop the kid’s punch before he realized what he was doing.
The Nemeton has made them pack through their individual bonds. Which is confusing to his wolf because Stiles isn’t part of the Hale pack, no, he’s Peter’s. The sense of two separate packs, the bonds both strong and alive is causing mayhem in his mind right now, half of him wanting to tear Stiles apart just so he can be settled, can regain the fragile peace he’s worked so hard for these past three months. But the human, calculating side of him is intrigued. The Nemeton once gave him great power, a future, a legacy, a home. He wants that again and he’s not ashamed to say he doesn’t care if his current Alpha comes with that package or not.
So he quells the rage, as he’s grown so accustomed to do and goes along with the pulling sensation, following Stiles to the stump. The boy crawls onto it and sits on his knees for a moment, while Peter stands behind him. Stiles then holds out his hands, palms up and extends his arms to his sides as he lays back, hair brushing against Peter’s jeans.
He looks down at the frowning, sickly pale face and the bond tugs at him. His hand moves to the boy’s neck, fingers lightly resting on Stiles’ jugular. As his claws come out, he raises his hand just the slightest bit so he doesn’t actually puncture the other’s flesh.
The Nemeton is showing him his part in Kate’s death and he smiles in satisfaction. He will be the one who will end her life for good. He assumes that the bloodletting will be Stiles’ task because the nexus does want a ritual to bind the boy fully to it. What he doesn’t understand is why, if the kid is human and has no magical capabilities? What put him on the Nemeton’s radar in the first place?
And more concerning, if Stiles didn’t know about Peter’s side of the world before, if he didn’t know anything about the Nemeton or rituals or magic, how does he already have a bond in place? The only explanation would be that someone else made a ritual in his stead. Peter guesses Stiles wouldn’t like hearing that and telling him this theory doesn’t help their current situation at all. It would just cause more stress, more anxiety. Better to keep quiet about it.
He backs away as soon as the pull ebbs and waits.
It’s not long until Stiles’ breathing changes, going from deep and steady to shaky and irregular. The boy wets his lips and blinks his eyes open.
“I hate being right,” he says, loud in the silent forest.
“And what are you right about?” Peter asks, studying how Stiles doesn’t look surprised to see him there too. He wonders if the Nemeton showed him Peter’s part, if he knows that the actual kill is no longer on his shoulders.
Stiles sits up and turns so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to see him.
“It’s me or her.”
The defeat in his tone makes Peter step closer, in between the other’s legs that are hanging off the edge of the stump. Stiles just stares up at him, tired.
“We’ll just have to make sure it’s her then, won’t we?” And they will. At the thought of the boy in front of him slitting his own wrists, the pack bond flares in angry concern. He’s never felt a bond influencing his own emotions this much, but then again, he’s never had such an unnatural bond either, a connection not of his making or choosing. The Nemeton’s lucky that Stiles is pretty and intriguing or he might have felt inclined to set this whole clearing ablaze for taking away any of his autonomy.
Feeling unsettled and wanting to do something that’s fully his own choice, he lifts his hand and grazes his knuckles against Stiles’ cold cheek. He expects a blush or the other to break eye contact but Stiles’ eyes narrow thoughtfully.
“I feel something… for you…”
Peter’s eyebrows rise, “We’re pack. But humans usually don’t feel pack bonds.”
“How the hell are we pack? We just met!” Energy returns to Stiles, a frustrated confusion giving his eyes a spark of life. Peter can’t help but admire the whiskey color now that he’s so close to them.
“Don’t look at me, you can blame the thing you’re sitting on.”
Stiles shoots up to stand and walk away from the Nemeton, brushing past Peter in the process. “Ugh, is this thing just going to take over my life now? Decide everything?”
Peter sympathizes, he knows what it’s like to not be in control. While their situations are very different, he can still relate.
“Look on the bright side, you basically have a werewolf bodyguard now.”
Stiles blinks rapidly, “Wait, what?”
“You’re pack,” Peter says slowly. “My pack. Anyone wants to hurt you? They have to go through me.”
“Oh,” Stiles seems to be thinking it over. “I mean, I’d rather just not be in need of a bodyguard at all but gotta make the best out of this, I guess.”
“Come, I know the way back to my car and I’ll take you home.”
“Let me guess, I look like I’m about to keel over?”
“Yes.”
“Great,” Stiles sighs and gestures with his hands. “Lead on, Frank.”
He pauses, smirking at the reference. “So we’re to have that kind of a relationship then?”
And there, finally, a blush that is so clear and inviting on Stiles’ pale skin.
“No.”
“Because you don’t want to?”
“Oh my god, yes, I don’t want to have that kind of a relationship with you.”
Peter stops walking, knows he’s looking very pleased with this turn of events but can’t stop himself. “You just lied to me.”
“What?” Stiles snaps, a few paces ahead before he stops to look back.
“I can hear your heartbeat, Stiles.”
“Are you seriously telling me you’re like a human lie detector?” Stiles hisses, looking outraged.
“Pretty much. But like lie detectors, it isn’t always reliable. So tell me, Stiles. Did you lie?”
Stiles blushes again, “Can we just go? I don’t have the energy to deal with a middle-aged man hitting on me like a creeper in the middle of the woods.”
“Ouch,” Peter touches his chest and looks hurt. “I’m 34, I’d like to think I’m not middle-aged just yet.”
“So you’re not going to deny that you just hit on me?”
“Why would I deny that which was obvious?”
“Maybe because I’m underage?”
“Flirting isn’t illegal,” Peter smiles. “And I’m sure your 18th birthday is only a few months away.”
Stiles stares at him. “That so far, is the creepiest thing you’ve said to me.”
Peter takes a moment to reconsider. There were hints of interest, the way Stiles looked him over at the diner, the way he blushed, that clear lie. But not once has Peter gotten even a whiff of arousal or sexual interest off of him. It’s a hard scent to catch unless a werewolf is having an actual intimate moment with a partner alone somewhere, but Peter’s nose has always been extra sensitive to chemosignals.
He figures he’s had his fun, and without clearer signs of interest or consent he better not push it.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, I will of course stop. Come on, we still have quite a walk left. Warn me if you’re about to faint, I might catch you.”
“What, can’t you just smell or hear if I’m about to fall over?”
“Maybe, but more warnings are always nice.”
Stiles grimaces, “Yeah, okay.”
They walk the rest of the way in slightly awkward silence. Several times, Peter considers breaking it but then glances at Stiles who looks like all his effort and concentration is focused on putting one feet before the other and leaves the boy to it.
“Scott seems like a cute kid,” Kate smirks, eyes on the other three having an obviously frantic conversation beside Lydia’s car. Chris wishes Scott was better at hiding his emotions, because every little thing will be noticed by Kate. And the more lies they give her, the closer she’ll be to figuring out the truth. Kate has always been Gerard’s pride and joy, a natural at hunting, sharp instincts and sharper eyes. They need to keep her away from Stiles but she’s already latched onto tonight’s weird exit and everybody’s worry.
At least so far, she seems to buy their story of an illness. Stiles’ certainly looked ill enough.
“He’s the boyfriend a parent can only hope for,” he says, leaning back against his car.
“Is Allison going to tell him?”
“She might. They’re pretty serious, they’re even trying to get into the same colleges or at least colleges close enough that they can share a flat.”
“Moving in together after high school? That’s big. You’re okay with that?” Kate asks, looking surprised.
“Allison’s going to have to live with somebody while at college. If it’s with Scott, I’ll rest easier,” he admits. He does trust Scott, even more now that he knows about everything that’s going on. He never faltered, never considered breaking up with Allison or distancing himself from Stiles, he never for a second looked at any of his friends with anything but love and concern. Chris is happy that her daughter has found someone like that, someone to lean on. And also a person that will help her balance the supernatural side and the human side in a way that Victoria never did for Chris. Being married to another hunter just drags you in deeper, makes you forget that outside of the family there’s a whole world of blissfully ignorant people who don’t own crates of guns and dangerous herbs, who don’t go into the woods with the hope of finding a killer to shoot.
When he found himself forgetting, when he felt disconnected from other humans, the other parents he met at Allison’s schools, the people he legally sold guns to, that’s when he asked for a divorce.
Gerard’s been angry and distant ever since.
“You’ve kind of mellowed out here, huh? Living the small town life?” Kate’s smile is mocking.
“I’m trying to be a good dad. Allison is my priority.”
“And what, you couldn’t be a good dad when you were with Vicky?”
Chris glares at her for bringing up his divorce. “No, I couldn’t.”
Kate hums thoughtfully. “Do you think our dad was good?”
“He beat us, Kate.” Chris surprises himself with his bluntness but Kate takes it in stride, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“It builds character. And we both became better hunters because of him.”
‘No. We’re both fucked up because of him.’ He doesn’t say that because he doesn’t want to start an argument, nor does he want Kate to report to Gerard just how far he’s distanced himself from his family’s agenda. For the first time, for just a second, the thought of Kate being dead soon fills him with relief. The guilt that immediately follows makes his chest ache.
He straightens when he sees Allison and Scott hug Lydia goodbye and head over to Chris’ car. He catches the quirked eyebrow Lydia throws his way.
“Listen, you take the kids and I’ll go with Lydia. I want to make sure Stiles got home okay. The Sheriff’s a friend and we’re trying to stay on his good side.” Because Kate’s part of the take-over as Stiles put it, is to become a deputy under Stilinski and slowly work her way into becoming the Sheriff. The abuse of power that would most likely follow makes Chris grimace inwardly. But Gerard wants to own the town, in order to make it safe according to him, and for that to happen they need someone at the Sheriff’s station, at the school and in the political leadership.
“Wow, you’re not being subtle at all, huh? Does Allison know?”
“What?” He asks, off-guard. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Lydia? Constantly exchanging glances, disappearing together and now you want to leave with her? Chris,” Kate clicks her tongue at him teasingly. “I don’t think going after underage girls is how you get on the Sheriff’s good side.”
He forces his face to remain impassive, to not show the panic as well as the amusement that he feels at how wrong yet close to being right Kate is with her guess.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Lydia is Allison’s best friend. They’re almost like sisters at this point.”
“Aw, does she also have daddy issues like Scott? Are you becoming like the town father figure now or something?”
“Stop,” he presses, getting incredibly annoyed. Kate always does this, pushes at his buttons until he walks away or gets angry. She prefers it when he gets angry because then she can dig deeper, hurt him more. God, all of his family interactions are just built on abuse, aren’t they? But he’s breaking the cycle, he assures himself. Allison won’t have to grow up in the same environment that they did.
But she will still have trauma to deal with, the curse that comes with the discovery of the supernatural. Chris studies his sister’s pleased smile, those sharp eyes that miss nothing. He imagines those eyes faded, the life gone out of them. The guilt remains, but the relief is getting stronger.
Soon.
“Hey, ready to go?” Allison asks while Scott refuses to meet their eyes. Kate’s gaze zeroes in on the boy like a hawk fixating on its prey.
“Sure, I’ll drive you guys home. Chris here has plans with Lydia, apparently.” She tries to frame it as something scandalous but realizes she failed when Scott looks up at Chris with relief.
“You’re going to check on him?”
“I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
Scott nods, breathing deeper. “Thanks, I’m so worried about him, he-” he glances at Kate, “He looked bad, really bad.”
“I know.” Chris pats Scott on the shoulder, trying to comfort. “He’ll be fine,” he promises. Scott smiles shakily. Allison’s smile is a lot sweeter when she draws him into a hug.
“No matter what, I stand with you, dad,” she whispers into his ear softly enough that the others won’t be able to catch it. He squeezes her tightly in response before pulling back. He ignores Kate’s questioning look and just hands her the keys.
“I’ll see you guys later,” he says, giving Scott one last pat before heading over towards Lydia, who’s been patiently waiting in the driver’s seat. When he’s put his seatbelt on, she starts the car.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she says as she drives out of the parking lot.
“Of course. My promise to help still stands, now more than ever.”
“I believe what I said earlier. Peter wouldn’t hurt Stiles, but… I don’t know. That guy’s not fully right in the head either.”
“To be fair, he was in a fire where his pack died all around him and then spent six years in a coma.”
“Now you sound like Stiles.”
“Maybe he’s rubbed off on me,” he regrets saying it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. He sees the look Lydia shoots at him and grimaces. “Not like that, don’t you start too.”
“I think we should talk about you and Stiles.”
“No. There’s nothing going on. I wouldn’t, Lydia.”
“I know,” she shrugs and Chris blinks in surprise.
“Then what’s this about?”
“Maybe I think you should.”
“Excuse me?” He rubs a hand over his tired eyes. Allison and Lydia are really toying with his patience for teenage meddling.
“Out of the two options, you’re definitely the better choice.”
“The two options?” He asks, glancing at her curiously.
“Stiles’ self-preservation instincts have never been… well, there. But now with Peter in town…”
“Wait, you think those two-”
“They just met but there’s definitely a connection. And Stiles happens to have a thing for people that intimidate him. And Peter doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares if someone’s legal or not.”
Chris is gritting his teeth without realizing it and makes himself stop. “People that intimidate him?” He asks, because he’s never really noticed Stiles being intimidated by him the slightest.
Lydia waves a hand dismissively, “He hides it well behind sarcasm and bravado, but yeah. He doesn’t like safe, he doesn’t like boring. You’re safe and good in some ways, you’ve helped us a lot and most of all, you’ve given Stiles hope that he’ll still have a future after all this. But you’re still a trained hunter, a strict dad and you have a habit of smiling like you’re thinking about killing someone.”
“I don’t think about killing people,” he argues defensively.
“Then you need to work on that smile,” Lydia purses her lips.
“What you’re suggesting…” Chris laughs because he can’t even find the right words to describe the is-this-real-life moment he’s currently living in. His daughter and her best friend are both telling him to go for it with a guy half his age. How, during all of the family feud drama and the fear of the upcoming bloodshed, how is this a conversation he’s actually having?
“Nothing needs to happen. Stiles would kill me for saying this to you, but right now he’s not exactly in the mood for that kind of thing anyway. But just in case, for future reference, I think you should at least let him know of your feelings so he can make an informed decision when he does feel like it. Like I said, between Peter and you, you’re the better choice.”
“Hopefully after all this, Stiles can focus on school and college plans and that choice will never happen.”
“You really don’t know what Stiles with a crush is like.”
Chris sighs, “I remember you using the words ‘won’t take no for an answer’.”
“He’s grown and changed since then. But his crushes aren’t known to fade quickly. I would know.”
He shakes his head, “If it ever gets there, we’ll see. I’m not going to make a move just to keep him away from Peter.”
“Of course you’re not. You’ll make a move because you care about him and you want him to smash his face against yours.”
“I want him to what?” He laughs, taken aback.
“Stiles’ words, not mine.”
For a brief moment, his imagination grabs control over his brain and he wonders what it would feel like to have Stiles’ body pressed up against his own, to slide his hands over his back and reach down to squeeze ass and thigh. To have those permanently wet lips (because Stiles is constantly wetting them with his tongue, when he’s surprised, when he’s anxious, when he’s thinking-) moving against his own and long nimble fingers sliding through his hair, gripping the back of his neck-
He clears his throat, “If I ever make any kind of a move, I have to do it carefully. I almost said I have to do it right, but there’s no right way for someone my age to approach dating an eighteen-year-old.”
“Waiting for his birthday then?”
“I’m not waiting.” Because that makes him sound like a creep.
“Sure you’re not.”
He hates how his daughter and Lydia clearly don’t believe him when he says that.
He’s really not. He refuses to ask when it precisely is even, that’s how much he’s not.
Lydia pulls into the Stilinski’s driveway and grabs her phone, checking her texts.
“Peter sent that they got into his car a minute ago. They’ll be here soon.”
Chris doesn’t let himself wonder what Peter and Stiles talked about, what Stiles thinks or feels about the werewolf looking out for him, protecting him. It’s not his place, it’s not his business.
When the sleek black Nissan pulls up to the curb, Chris reinforces those thoughts.
He has no reason to be jealous.
But every reason to be protective, he reminds himself. He’s the adult, the trained hunter and he also knows Peter’s reputation.
He has every reason to want the werewolf far away from Stiles.
When a hand on his knee startles him awake, Stiles realizes he actually managed to fall asleep in the short few-minute ride home. Peter’s studying him, the hand immediately gone, apparently having taken Stiles’ reaction to his flirting seriously.
He kind of regrets saying anything now, wishes he would’ve flirted back even. But how does one explain to a man they’re interested in that hey, I think you’re very attractive but our favorite local nexus kind of broke my dick. Because the attraction here, if there is one and Peter isn’t just playing with him (which is absolutely a possibility), is very much a physical thing. They literally just met a day ago, they barely know each other. So if the man is feeling something, it’s probably akin to what Stiles is feeling - pure want. Just, maybe with more lower body want than Stiles can manage right now.
Except. The Nemeton made them pack. Would that make him emotionally interested in Stiles, then? Oh God, would he then be taking advantage of Peter if he responded to the man’s advances?
His head hurts.
Stiles groans and covers his face with his hands.
“There’s a welcoming party.”
“Huh?” Stiles drops his hands and peers out through Peter’s window. “Oh, shit.” There’s Lydia, looking worried and annoyed as ever. And there’s Chris, looking like the Chris he’s seen glimpses of when he’s explaining hunter stuff to Allison. Intimidating, experienced and in control.
Stiles wants.
And he wants to slap himself. What is his life, what are his choices, what-
“Are we staying in the car?” Peter asks.
He looks at the werewolf and sees sincere concern. Oh, does Peter think Stiles is afraid of Chris or something? Ha, if only. Life would be easier.
“Of course not, Lydia would kill me.” He pauses while grabbing for the door-handle, “That kind of joking feels kind of in bad taste when my life is now full of actual killers.”
“So you know that Chris isn’t so innocent either?”
Peter’s eyes are locked onto the other man and Stiles doesn’t like the expression he sees on Peter’s face. Bloodthirsty. Suddenly it dawns on him that he just had a walk in the woods with a predator, an instinctual, territory-defending killer.
“Considering how vague supernatural rules are, I think anyone who’s been living in this side of the world long enough will stop being innocent at some point.” He gets out of the car without waiting for a reply.
Lydia’s body slumps in relief and she runs to him for a hug. He wraps her up in his arms and cradles her head.
“I got so worried when Peter said you were sleepwalking,” Lydia says shakily.
“It’s okay, I’m okay.”
“What happened?” Chris asks, stepping closer.
“It showed me what I have to do.”
“To Kate?” Lydia asks, drawing back to look at him closely, keeping her hands on his arms.
“Yeah, uh,” Stiles glances at Chris, “It needs to happen on the next full moon.”
“That’s Thursday.” Chris’ voice is strained, but face remains impassive. Stiles can’t read him. He looks over his shoulder when he hears the car door open.
“Damn, my patience isn’t what it used to be,” Peter says as he gets out, sauntering up to stand next to Stiles. He gives Lydia a nod who to Stiles’ surprise actually acknowledges it with her own small nod before Peter faces Chris. “Argent.”
That’s his first time hearing that tone coming from the werewolf. It’s eerily similar to Chris, when he’s defensive or pissed off.
“Hale.”
Oh good lord, Chris responds in kind, of course he does.
“Martin,” Stiles says lowly to Lydia, waggling his eyebrows.
She rolls her eyes but responds with, “Stilinski.”
“Children, please. The adults are speaking,” Peter quips, side-eyeing them.
“Oh now I’m a child?” Stiles can’t help himself. The werewolves brow rises high.
“I thought that’s what you want me to see you as?”
“Okay, no-” Lydia steps in between them, poking Peter in the chest sharply. Stiles grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back to him because Peter’s staring at the finger, the amusement gone from his face.
“Peter, we need to talk. About what’s coming.” Chris interrupts them.
“I agree, Chris. But also, what else is there to talk about? Stiles kills Kate, we’re both there to make it look like a believable animal attack, my pack comes back home and we go on with our lives.”
Stiles looks to the ground in apprehension, knowing that Peter won’t like what he’s about to hear.
“My family is coming back also.”
“What?” Peter’s voice goes cold.
“Victoria’s coming this weekend. Gerard’s coming soon after. They’re both bringing more men with them, Gerard’s men.”
“Gerard,” If Stiles thought Peter made Kate’s name sound like something disgusting before, Gerard comes out worse.
“So you see, we actually have a lot more to discuss. I don’t want a bloodbath. I’m sure you don’t either.”
“But Kate’s death will start one.”
“It might not. If we work together.”
Peter’s head tilts to the side and he steps away from Stiles and Lydia, only a few feet between him and Chris now. “You would work with my pack? Against your father?” He asks, intrigued.
“I…” Chris falters. Stiles feels for him, but he also wishes the man would finally realize that this is it, the line’s been drawn. He either stands with the killers or against them and there’s no way to stay out of it.
“It’s a big decision, Chris,” Peter looks away, staring at Stiles’ home. He manages to sound both consoling and patronizing at the same time. “I’ll let you sleep on it, like you’ve been sleeping on it for six years. One more night couldn’t hurt.” He smirks at Chris’ intake of breath. The man looks wounded. Stiles wishes he could give him a nice friendly hug without it being weird, but it would be, so he doesn’t. Peter drags his attention back to him when he steps into Stiles’ line of sight. “It’ll be over soon. At least for you.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow. There’s something in that tugging bond-like feel in his head that’s telling him Peter’s not being entirely truthful. It’s like an instinctual feeling of unease and distrust. He has no idea how to feel about being in a pack with someone who he just met, mostly because he has no idea what being in a pack entails. According to Peter, it means a free bodyguard. And now he can sense if the man’s bullshitting.
At least it evens their playing field, since the man can hear his heartbeat.
Doesn’t make it any less disconcerting, though. Because after Kate’s death… Stiles doubts that this bond is going anywhere anytime soon.
He realizes a moment has passed and he hasn’t said anything. Peter’s eyes have narrowed in return.
“Uh-uh,” he offers eloquently.
The corners of Peter’s eyes crinkle in amusement.
“Whatever happens, I promise to keep you, and by extension the people you care about, safe.”
He nods in thanks, “I’ll admit, that makes me feel a bit better.” He smiles weakly and snaps his fingers. “On that note, I just remembered how much I’ve not slept in a while so I’m going to go to bed now.”
“Of course,” Peter immediately steps back so Stiles can head towards the door.
Lydia comes with him and he doesn’t even say anything about it, since they’ve shared a bed before but at the door she turns to Chris and says, “Peter can give you a ride. I’m staying.”
She disappears inside, leaving a shocked silence in her wake.
Stiles turns around with wide eyes to see Peter smiling at Chris like he’s about to eat him and Chris looking remarkably pale.
“I can talk her into taking you back home, give me a sec-” Chris steps up to grab his arm, interrupting him.
“It’s fine. I need to talk to him anyway. Right?” Chris glances at Peter, who rolls his eyes.
“Yes, however for obvious reasons, I’m not pulling up to your house.”
“Well,” Stiles sighs, “Okay.”
“But Stiles,” Chris’ hand lifts to clasp his shoulder gently, “Peter’s not the only one looking out for you. I’ve told you before, haven’t I? I’m getting you through this.”
Stiles stares at him, the man looking so sincere it almost hurts Stiles to see it.
“Fuck it,” he mutters and brings his arms around the other in a decidedly bro-esque hug. It’s not quite the hug he shares with Scott, since Chris immediately feels different against him, smells different even. The brush of stubble against his neck is also new since his dad shaves religiously. Chris jolts upright, arms coming up to hug him back but keeps his face away from any part of Stiles’ skin. Stiles’ brain flies to scenario after scenario of getting to feel that stubble in various places of his body. He also really likes the way Chris smells. He can’t even discern any kind of particular cologne or deodorant, it’s just a person smell and he likes it. Oh dear, is the pack bond doing something else to him besides making him Peter’s-lie-detector? He uses every ounce of willpower that he possesses to get his mind back on track.
“You’re a good man, Chris,” he says, patting the man on the back like he does with his dad, doing his best to keep this hug from turning into an embrace. “But your family isn’t. We’re just making things right.”
Chris clears his throat, patting him back. “I know.” He pulls back, eyes not meeting Stiles’. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah, you too,” he replies and watches as Chris goes to Peter’s car. Peter is glancing between them with a familiar calculating gaze. Stiles squints at him meaningfully and shakes his head. Whatever the werewolf thinks he just picked up on, he better not bring it up or ask about it.
Peter seems to catch what he’s trying to signal and shrugs while smirking. “See you around, Stiles,” he purrs his name and Stiles flushes.
He watches him join Chris in the car and waves as they drive away.
His tired mind refuses to deal with the fact that he might be crushing on two men that are twice his age now. It’s too much for one day. He goes inside to join Lydia and hopefully sleep more than two hours.
The silence in the car lasts for only a moment.
“So is interest in minors also something that runs in your family?”
“Excuse me?” Chris asks sternly. He glares at Peter’s nonchalant profile.
“The way you look at Stiles is different from how you look at Lydia.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“Shame about his age, though. He seems like a very intriguing young man.”
More than intriguing, he admits in his mind. Brave, smart, loyal and with a streak of wickedness that the Nemeton is probably enjoying a lot, pushing the son of the Sheriff into vigilante justice.
“Why did you say that runs in my family?”
“Oh, I thought you would’ve figured it out by now.”
“What?” He grits out, annoyed at the mask Peter’s pulled on. Earlier he was distant and cold, but sincere almost. Now he can’t read him at all.
“How do you think Kate knew about the tunnels? Where to cut us off, where to set the fire?”
“I…” I’ve tried not to think about it. Chris assumes the other man wouldn’t appreciate that response. Since it’s a privilege that he’s abused for years now, the ability to just not think about the tragic deaths of Peter’s pack. A luxury the surviving Hales couldn’t partake in.
“Kate was Derek’s teacher at the time. I knew he was seeing someone, he often snuck in late, stinking of sex and shame. But foolishly I thought he was dating a girl at school.”
Oh God.
Chris breathes deeply, “No, she-”
“Stop. Stop pretending like you don’t know exactly what she’s like and what she’s capable of. You know, because she’s your father’s legacy.”
He takes in Peter’s white knuckles on the wheel and how the mask has slipped. The rage is peering out, the werewolf’s jaw is clenched tight which Chris considers a blessing since that wouldn’t work if Peter’s fangs had dropped.
“Alright,” he tries to allay. “She’s the monster. I get it, believe me.”
“I truly hope you do. Stiles is fond of you. It would hurt him to lose you.”
The thinly veiled threat settles on his already heavy shoulders like it’s always belonged there. Just like with Stiles, there’s a part of him that’s glad, that gets satisfaction from this. There’s no real way he’ll ever make up for the mistakes of his family, for his own mistakes.
“Is Laura okay with me and Allison staying here?”
“Yes. But we’re not okay with Gerard, you know we have to kill him too. Unless we manage to make him leave.”
“You would do that? Hold off on killing him? Try for a peaceful solution?”
“Make no mistake,” Peter chuckles harshly. “There’s no peace with Gerard. Too much has happened and that bastard will never be happy until he thinks he’s wiped us all out. But if he did leave, I might have the patience to wait for old age to take him instead. It would mean for him to actually follow your Code, however.”
“Unlikely.”
“Indeed.”
Chris breathes in deeply, “There’s another thing. Something we found out just today.” He waits for Peter to glance at him to show he’s listening. “Kate was attacked by an Alpha when she reached Beacon Hills.”
Peter’s silent, but Chris can see him thinking, the werewolf’s head tilting to the left.
“It trashed her car,” he continues, “but ran away when she shot at him. She doesn’t think she actually hit him. Says he was very tall and big. Know anything about that?”
“No,” Peter says quickly. “Which is worrying.”
“A rogue?”
“Hopefully. If he has a pack, then the bloodbath you’re trying to avoid might already be here.”
“Victoria’s coming this weekend with extra men and guns,” he reminds Peter.
“Yes. Laura, Derek and Cora are coming too.”
He blanches. “Shit.”
“Yes. Shit.”
Chapter 3: son
Chapter Text
Lydia surprises Stiles by being okay with going to school in the same clothes she wore yesterday as well as wearing what little makeup remained after a night of sleeping and a quick morning shower. To be fair, she still looks gorgeous.
She is not okay with taking Stiles’ Jeep, however.
“Not only do I have the better car in every sense of the word, I can’t drive yours and you’re not driving, period.”
“I slept six hours, this is the most well-rested I’ve been in months!”
“Proving my point there.”
Those six well-earned hours pay off during the first hours of school, because three teachers decide to start the year off with a pop quiz. Stiles and Lydia have worked hard for two years to keep their grades up and to make sure they’re getting to good colleges somewhere far away from Beacon Hills, so they do just fine on theirs.
When they all meet up at the cafeteria for lunch however, they find out the others aren’t feeling as confident.
“I spent so much time working this summer and with Allison and helping my mom and I-” Scott’s looking a little pale as he stabs at his fries with his fork. “I planned to refresh things because I signed up for AP Bio but now I think I should just give up-”
“Nah, dude, you’ll be fine. We’ll have study sessions, we’ll share notes, you got this,” Stiles pats Scott’s shoulder comfortingly.
“You’re not even in AP Bio.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t help. Lydia will grace us with her awesome notes-”
“Oh, will I?”
“And I can do flashcards!” Stiles finishes with a flourish and a confident grin, ignoring Lydia’s dry interruption. “You were a nerd once, man. Just because you’re dating one of the hottest girls at school, doesn’t mean you can’t still be one!”
“Yeah,” Allison pipes up, leaning over the table to plant a firm smooch onto Scott’s pouting lips, the pout gone when she draws back with a smile. “Intelligence is sexy after all.”
“Hear, hear!” Stiles shouts, shrugging at the looks he gets in return from the surrounding tables.
Scott nods, sour mood defeated for now.
“How did you do?” Stiles asks Allison, who looks a little embarrassed.
“Pretty good, except for History. I also needed a refresher this summer but uh…”
“I mean, you had a very abnormal summer, so can’t blame you there.”
She grimaces at him, “Yeah, but can’t tell that to the teacher, now can I?”
“Probably not,” Stiles nods wisely and starts eating his fries. His appetite’s been flagging lately but unlike dealing with his lack of boners it’s easy to manage, just shove food in, swallow until stomach stops making noise, win.
“Did you see Jackson?” Allison asks Lydia. Stiles smirks because he knows what happened.
“Yes. He said ‘Hi’ to me at the parking lot.”
Allison glances at Stiles’ face. “And then…?”
“I said nothing, kept walking and didn’t look back when he called my name.”
Scott whistles under his breath, “That sounds harsh.” He’s cowed by the sharp glare Lydia flicks his way. “But totally justified!” He quickly adds.
Lydia turns back to her food, satisfied.
“Dude had it coming,” Stiles says with his mouth half-full, ignoring the grimaces his friends give him. “He breaks up with the best girl in this town, comes crawling back and then has the nerve to try and keep her his dirty little secret or whatever. Incredibly dumb move on his part.”
Lydia’s smiling at him when he looks up from his plate. He smiles back.
“I don’t know if that will ever stop being weird,” Scott says.
“What?” Stiles wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“This,” He gestures at Stiles and Lydia. “You, sitting with the girl of your dreams but not hitting on her or asking her out and Lydia actually being your friend. It’s been a year and I still can’t believe it sometimes.”
Allison looks uncomfortable and like she wants Scott to stop talking so Stiles quickly answers, “I mean, I get it. I still love her,” he turns towards Lydia, gesturing meaningfully at her, “I love you,” he turns back to Scott, “but it’s different now. I love being friends with her and if that’s all I’m getting, I’m cool with it.”
He decides it’s best not to mention his theory that he’s only cool with it because of the Nemeton.
“And besides, Stiles has his eyes on others now,” Lydia reminds Scott.
“Oh!”
“Oh my God,” Stiles drawls. “Can we not?”
“I totally forgot, Lydia said guys, so who else besides Peter?”
“Wait, what?” Allison asks, obviously lost.
“Lydia said Stiles is interested in Peter, and something about his taste in guys-”
“Seriously, can we not-”
“Oh, I think I know who she meant,” Allison says and then presses her mouth closed, glancing at Stiles with wide eyes.
“You do!?” Stiles asks, mortified.
“I mean…” Allison smiles at him pityingly, “You were really obvious this summer, and I talked to my dad about it too-”
“You what!?”
“Your dad?” Scott asks, puzzled. The other three wait a few seconds, staring at him. He suddenly straightens up and turns to Stiles in a panic, “You’re into Mr. Argent!? Are you serious!?”
“Yeah, never mind that, what the hell did you talk to your dad about?” Stiles waves a dismissive hand at his friend’s horrified expression.
“Well, that it’s super weird, and I’m telling you that too now. It’s really fucking weird,” Allison stresses, “but if you guys went for it and it was all consensual and fun, I wouldn’t disown him as my dad or anything.”
“You told your dad…” Stiles pauses, forgetting how to breathe for a second. “You’d be okay with him what… asking me out? Making a move on me? What?”
“We didn’t get into the specifics because he insisted that nothing’s going to happen. He was very adamant that he’s not anxiously waiting for your 18th birthday,” Allison says with a wry smirk.
“Ah yes, he emphasized that point with me too. Starting to think he protests too much.”
Stiles’ eyes snap to Lydia, feeling betrayed. “You talked to Chris about me too!?”
“Last night. Told him to go for it before Peter snatches you up,” Lydia shrugs like that’s not the most insane sentence ever.
“You guys are talking about Stiles dating someone old enough to be his dad!” Scott whispers frantically.
“It’s not as uncommon as you’d think. And most couples like that gross me out because the older person obviously enjoys having the power in the relationship and the younger one is sometimes kind of demure.” Lydia points at Stiles. “Not exactly a catch for those kinds of predators.”
“Please, let’s not even hint at my dad being a predator,” Allison winces.
“But that’s the thing, I’m not,” Lydia presses. “Chris didn’t really care about Stiles until we told him what we know about the supernatural. I’m pretty sure what interests him is not Stiles’ age.”
“I am seriously starting to become uncomfortable with this conversation, can we please stop?” Stiles pushes his lunch far away from him.
“Time for class anyway,” Scott mumbles, looking like he’s aged years in the span of minutes.
Stiles tries very hard for the rest of the day to not think about the fact that he might have a real, actual chance with Chris Argent. When he fails, he is instantly reminded that oh yeah, he’s killing the man’s sister in a couple of days.
Best to not even go there.
And then their last class of the day happens.
Their new English teacher enters in high heels, already quoting random stuff at them that Stiles finds vaguely familiar.
But when he looks up, he stops breathing for a moment because what he sees is definitely not what others are seeing. Otherwise, everyone would be screaming.
Peter zones out as the real estate agent drones on about the various recent renovations done on the house they’re standing in front of. It being very different from the Hale house is all he can focus on; one floor, modern and wide, cement and stone and brick, a pool out back and a neat lawn out front. It has four bedrooms, two of them smaller since they’re meant for kids (he looks forward to seeing Cora’s reaction to that) and two large bathrooms complete with actual baths as well as showers big enough for more than two people. All in all, it’s a nice house.
But it’s not what Peter would have chosen.
So he accepts the keys with a sour taste in his mouth.
“Ms. Hale will of course need to come by my office to finalize some of the paperwork but she talked me into giving you early access,” the young woman says with a sly wink at him. She’s been flirting the entire morning but Peter’s been too preoccupied in his head to even consider flirting back. Which is good, he now thinks to himself. A casual sexual encounter with a stranger he can easily avoid later sounds great in theory but he and his wolf are not on the same wavelength these days. Better not risk it.
“I’m sure you’ll put that talk into good use,” he smirks, guessing that Laura just threw more money at the problem in an effort to make it go away as was her style back in New York.
The agent shrugs shamelessly, “I have some ideas on what to spend it on. If you ask me out to dinner, maybe you’ll get to enjoy those ideas with me?”
“Ah, I’m flattered but not interested.”
She smiles, unbothered. “If you change your mind, you have my number.” She leaves him standing there, keys in hand, his new pack house empty and silent before him.
He feels staggered with relief when his phone buzzes in his pocket, distracting him from his memories.
It’s not a number he’s saved into his phone so he answers curtly, “Yes?”
“It’s Lydia,” comes the reply.
He should’ve expected this.
“Can’t go one day without me? How sweet.”
“Trust me, you’re not my first choice in calling for help. But for some reason you’re suddenly Stiles’.” She sounds incredibly annoyed.
“Something wrong?” A spike of worry for a pack member. It’s less intense than if it were for someone in the Hale pack, but it’s still there. Guiding him, manipulating him.
“I just got out of our last class of the day, there’s a new teacher. When she was walking around and handing out our assignments, Stiles said something to her. She gave him detention, he’s there now. Before I left, he gave me his phone with a message to call you.”
“That’s… nothing,” he says but his mind is already considering the situation from all angles. For Stiles to contact him it probably means something supernatural is afoot. A new teacher causing this reaction might mean Stiles has a reason to be scared of her. Maybe the Nemeton unveiled the woman’s true self to him and if it did, it did so for a reason.
It could mean a new threat to the territory. Chris said there’s another Alpha in town, a large male Alpha. Maybe a rival pack member? Or something else.
“I mean, I agree, but he looked serious and I’ve learned to trust his stupid spidey-sense.”
He smiles at the nickname. “So what are you expecting me to do here?”
“I don’t know, maybe he wants you to meet her, use your senses? Maybe he wants to know if you recognize her.”
That’s also a possibility, Peter used to know a lot of different kinds of folks in the supernatural underbelly.
“I’ll join you at the high school, then?” He asks, already turning his back to the house that’s not a home.
“Please,” Lydia grits out.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Her face is hideous, horrifying. Scarred, torn apart, hairless and malformed. Stiles sees dark robes and unblinking eyes, bloody gums and a hairless head.
Everyone else seemed to be fine with Ms. Blake being their new teacher. Which makes Stiles think that either he has truly lost it, hallucinations have begun, or he is getting a helpful message, a peek at what lies underneath.
He blames it on stress and anxiety that he actually leaned in towards the woman and whispered, “I know what you’re hiding.”
Ms. Blake, to her credit, didn’t react in an obvious way, just tilted her head as if confused. “See me after class for detention, Mr. Stilinski,” she said quietly but loud enough for most people to hear it, including Lydia who then gave him a disappointed glare.
It isn’t until the awkward hey-I’m-new-and-trying-to-get-your-respect class is over and everyone’s leaving that Stiles thinks to give Lydia his phone. Because he realizes that Ms. Blake knew his name, which could mean that either she is actually a nervous teacher that decided to be weird and memorize her students’ names before her first day or she specifically knew his for some reason. Since they don’t have assigned seats, the first option seems less likely.
So now everyone has left and he’s stuck in the classroom alone with someone who looks like a slasher movie villain.
“Mr. Stilinski, I’d appreciate it, if you’d come up here and have a conversation with me.” The robes glide against the floor, feet hidden as if the woman’s hovering as she pulls out one of the student chairs and places it at the teacher’s desk.
Her voice is eerie, clearly a woman’s but with the echo of a vicious snarl.
He sighs and shakily complies, immediately slumping into an inelegant slouch. The face has no eyebrows so he can’t even tell if that warranted a raise of one or not.
“So what exactly were you implying?”
He considers lying, acting like he knows nothing, that he’s just a stupid teenager trying to get into the new teacher’s head.
Problem is, he’s fucking tired of lying and hiding things.
“I can see what you’re hiding,” he reveals, gesturing at her.
“And what’s that?”
“How to put this delicately, the bald Freddy Kruger-victim with the black robes… Too harsh?”
The face shows no emotion, Stiles can’t tell if it even has the muscles required to show emotion. But her voice betrays her surprise.
“And how are you achieving that?”
“Achieving? Lady, I ain’t trying. Feels more like I’m cursed.”
Thin, long and bony fingers grip the back of her chair.
“What do you know?”
A sudden burst of intuition. “The Nemeton doesn’t want you here.”
“What would you know about its wants?”
“Believe me or don’t, I’ve given you your warning.”
“Am I supposed to be frightened of you?” The eerie voice laughs. The vision in front of him flickers, for a moment going back and forth between the nightmare-figure and a young woman. Finally it settles on the visage of Ms. Blake that all his classmates saw. And now he sees her confidence, her disbelief and her amusement.
“I don’t care,” he groans, honest. “Whatever you’re seeking here, you won’t find it. I know because I’m connected to it.”
Ms. Blake straightens, eyes serious. “Connected? You have its power? No, I would have sensed that.”
“Don’t know what you mean. Any chance we could just pretend like I never said what I said?” Stiles rubs his face tiredly. “I’ve got bigger problems to worry about than whatever you’re here for.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as an insult,” Ms. Blake admits, squinting.
“I don’t care,” he repeats.
“I could torture you for more information,” she says as if that’s no big deal.
Stiles stares back at her, considering. Thinks of Chris, Peter and his friends. Thinks of his dad, Scott’s mom. “You can certainly try,” he smiles humorlessly.
For a long silent minute, Ms. Blake looks as if she’s working through the benefits and risks of going through with it. Stiles sees her smirking as her eyes flicker to his fingers and wrists and collarbone, no doubt imagining different ways of breaking him.
“My dad is the Sheriff, by the way. But since you know my name, I have a feeling you know that too.”
“Yes. I looked into a few of the more prominent families of this town. The Argents are quite interesting as well.”
“How about the Hales?”
“No Hale goes to this school anymore,” she says quickly, eyes narrowed in doubt.
“They don’t, but this town is still their territory.”
“Interesting, so you know about the werewolves,” she says casually, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And so do you. Don’t know what you are, though,” he admits, hoping she’ll go for a mini-villain-monologue.
But she just smiles, “No reason you should.”
A knock on the door interrupts their stare-off.
“Yes?” Ms. Blake calls out.
The door opens and a wave of relief washes over him as he sees Peter stepping into the classroom. That flicker in his chest, that warmth that he discovered last night in the woods, envelopes him in a feeling of safety and trust. Thanks to the man’s explanation he knows that trust is fabricated. But because it’s curbing his anxiety, he dives into it full-on.
“Sorry to bother you but I’m here to pick up Stiles,” Peter gives them both a winning grin. “I was told he’s in detention but was wondering if you could let him go early this one time.”
“And you are?” Ms. Blake asks, back to appearing like a fresh high school teacher, the confident torture-lover having completely disappeared behind this persona.
“Peter Hale, a family friend.”
Stiles snorts, quickly turning it into a cough when Peter shoots him a glare. Ms. Blake doesn’t bat an eye even though Stiles knows now that she’s aware of the Hale pack.
“Well, I’m sure Stiles has learned his lesson, isn’t that right?” She turns to him, expectantly.
“Uh…” He stutters. “Sure.”
“I’ll let you go then, as a sign of good faith.”
He rolls his eyes as he grabs his bag and stands. He turns to Peter who gestures with his head for him to go through the doorway. Stiles stills as soon as he’s done so, looking back to listen in on the following conversation.
“Have we met before? You seem familiar,” Peter sounds flirty.
“I’m afraid not, I’m new in town,” Ms. Blake brushes her fingers through her hair and smiles softly. If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say the woman was shy.
“I’m in somewhat of a similar situation, returning to my hometown after spending six years away.”
“What brings you back?” She leans against the desk, looking sincerely curious. Stiles is amazed at both of them, how they’re perfectly content with this charade.
“Oh, family,” Peter shrugs, sighing in a very what-can-you-do way that has Stiles rolling his eyes.
“Can we go?” He asks, because if they’re going to continue like this, there’s no real point to this meeting.
Peter looks over his shoulder at him, eyebrows raised, “Don’t be rude now, Stiles.”
“That’s alright, I’ve work to do and should head home myself,” Ms. Blake straightens, awkwardly pulling at her shirt. Stiles has to hand it to her, she’s really good at acting.
“Of course,” Peter turns to leave but before closing the door behind him, he says, “I’d be very careful when threatening to torture students if I were you.” He knocks against the doorframe. “Thin walls.”
Stiles is witness to the way his teacher’s mouth and eyes tighten as well as the satisfied smirk on Peter’s face as he exits the room. The man immediately starts walking towards the school entrance so Stiles hurries after him.
“Was that you subtly telling her not to lay a hand on me?”
“That was me telling her she’s being watched.”
“Ah.” He gnaws on his lower lip, hesitating. “Thanks… for coming. I don’t think she was going to do anything but… she’s definitely not a normie.”
“Yes, there’s a stench about her,” Peter stops and Stiles almost crashes into him, the werewolf turning around just in time to put a hand out to Stiles’ chest. “What did you see, exactly?”
He clears his throat, taking a step back from the hand.
“Black robes, no hair and oh yeah a disfigured, scarred face that looked terrifying.”
As Peter tilts his head in thought, Stiles’ eyes take a second to wander over his features. The stubble is darker today, the V less deep and the leather jacket brown instead of black. All in all, same handsome guy, same danger-danger vibes. Stiles has a quick imaginary flash of what it might be like to plaster himself against that body and kiss that smirking mouth. His imagination tells him it would be amazing, that warm Nemeton-y feeling in his chest tells him it would be like coming home. Which brings his thought process to a screeching halt, because if he’s going to kiss a man twice his age, he’s doing it on his own terms goddammit.
“I’ll make some calls, look into it. That does not sound good,” Peter frowns.
“Yeah,” Stiles helpfully replies, half of his mind still focused on daydreaming.
“Come on, Lydia is once again waiting for you while worried out of her mind, this seems to be a habit for you two,” Peter continues walking.
“Hopefully a habit we’re breaking on Thursday… Did you and Chris, uh, talk about that?”
“We’ll figure it out, you just keep your grades up.”
“Fine, dad-” He stumbles to a stop, face scrunching up into a powerful grimace. Peter turns to give him another eyebrow raise. “I’m never calling you that again.”
Peter’s grin makes him look like he’s won something, Stiles snaps out of his grimace and frowns. “What?”
“I’m hurt that you don’t want to see me as a father-figure,” he touches his chest mockingly.
“I have a great father-figure, thanks. And-” He stops himself, shaking his head.
“And?”
“Nope, let’s go find Lydia before her worry transitions into fury.”
“Have you given any thought to talking to Sheriff Stilinski about all of this?”
Chris finishes washing the salad and turns to his daughter while drying his hands.
“Telling him the truth, you mean? Sure, but that’s ultimately up to Stiles.”
“I think if we leave it for him to decide it’ll never happen. He’s too conflicted, he hates lying but he hates the idea of putting his dad in danger even more.”
He considers that, watching her slice the tomatoes.
“So you’d want me to go behind his back?”
Allison shrugs, “What would be good is if you and Peter talked to the Sheriff first, just to let him know about this town’s actual history.”
“Me and Peter,” he frowns.
“Yeah, you and the werewolf who can actually prove what you’re saying.”
“Right.”
“You don’t seem to like this idea,” Allison puts the knife down, looking at him curiously.
Chris sighs, leaning against the counter. “It feels like meddling in Stiles’ business.”
“Except we’re talking about the town Sheriff, who our family wants to replace.”
He grimaces at her matter-of-fact tone.
“Right,” he says again.
“You’re really that worried about making Stiles mad at you?”
He glares at her teasing smirk. She pulls back immediately, “I know you care about him…”
“Which is weird, I remember,” he huffs, turning towards the stove to heat up the pan and butter.
“And don’t you forget it!” Allison picks up the knife to wag it at him before resuming her salad preparations. “But this is big and keeping the Sheriff out of the loop just seems dumb to me, that’s all.”
“No, I get it.” Chris picks up his phone. “I’ll text Peter and ask him what he thinks.”
“Alright, thanks. I’ll talk Stiles out of being mad at you.”
Chris shakes his head at her but smiles, “I’d appreciate that.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to whatever kids your age do these days,” Peter drawls, tapping something on his phone.
Stiles squints at him, “What’s the rush?”
“Apparently, years have gone by and yet I’m still very popular in this town,” Peter grins at him, pocketing his phone and heading towards his car.
Stiles gestures after him in a bewildered manner.
“Forget about him, let me take you home, Scott’s meeting us in an hour.”
“What? Why?”
“To talk about Thursday?”
“What is there to talk about, cutting angles, choice of knife? You already gave me one.”
“Just get in the car, Stiles.”
He sighs, feeling worn down, his brain barely processing the fact that something else is now threatening his home besides the werewolf-hunter family feud. He really needs a break. Thursday better bring him his break. He doesn’t know how long he can continue like this.
“Where you off to? I just got back,” Kate complains when they meet at the door.
“Business,” Chris answers shortly, on edge.
“Sure, you know, it might not be Lydia, but it’s someone. I can tell,” Kate leers at him. “I’ll find out sooner or later.”
He glares at her, his silent judgement causing her confidence to falter.
“Allison’s finishing up lunch, I’ll see you later,” he says, cold and distant and faint memories of his marriage popping up in his head. He has probably said the same exact thing to Victoria at some point.
“Well, alright, it’s a girls’ day then,” Kate grins wickedly and Chris hopes Allison is as fine with this as she said she was.
He’s already feeling guilty for leaving her to distract her aunt, but there’s no other choice. He needs to talk to Peter and he needs Kate to be unaware of what’s being planned.
“So it really is you or her?”
Stiles flicks the straw in the iced coffee Scott brought him, shrugging at his friend.
“Seems so.”
Scott looks like he’s in pain. “There’s no other way? What if we make sure she goes to jail or something?”
“I don’t think ancient magical ritual sites care that much about human jails, Scott,” Stiles grumbles, gaze falling to the kitchen table. They’re sitting at his house, the mood somber.
“We have to focus on getting Stiles through this. Not trying to find a way out of it,” Lydia says, frowning at him.
Scott frowns right back, “Yeah, but this is still a murder we’re talking about here. Not self-defense but premeditated.”
“And that’s exactly what Kate did too, eye for an eye-”
“Stop, it’s fine. I get it,” Stiles sighs.
Lydia’s mouth snaps shut with a glare.
“I’m here for you, of course,” Scott sits forward and grabs one of Stiles’ hands. “I just had to check if we were sure there was no other way, this… I don’t want you to have to live with this on your conscience, man.”
Stiles chuckles, “My conscience is fine with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I felt what she felt, Scott,” he pulls back his hand, meeting his friend’s eyes. “With the stench of burning humans in her nose, she laughed and considered it her greatest work. And that was years ago, who knows how many people she’s actually killed?”
Scott hesitates, “I get that she’s done awful things-”
“She’s a monster. And deserves a lot worse than what’s going to happen on Thursday.” Stiles takes in Scott’s worried expression and shrugs. “This is the world we live in now, Scott. The supernatural exists outside of our human laws, it has its own rules. The land we live on demands justice, blood for blood. It is what it is. I’m too tired to even pretend I’d find another way even if it did exist. Kate. Deserves. To die.” He emphasizes his last words with frantic hand gestures.
“I agree,” Lydia says.
Scott nods, looking lost. “You’re right, I… I don’t know what you’ve seen, or felt. I’m still processing that the supernatural is an actual thing in our lives… I’m, I’m sorry?” He offers, putting his hand out again, palm upwards.
Stiles smiles sadly and claps his own hand against his friend’s.
“I get where you’re coming from. It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t but alright,” Lydia mutters. Scott and Stiles are too busy smiling at each other to react to that.
Chris remembers the one time he was at the Hale house before it burned. His mother had a quick meeting with Talia, he was fourteen and grounded. He stayed in the car the whole time but stared out the window at the bustling home, seemingly full of people. He remembers the multiple cars, the kids younger and older than him running around outside, diving through the trees, remembers a disconnect in his brain because that was the age when he was first introduced to his family’s legacy, when he was told there were ‘beasts’ hiding in plain sight. He didn’t see beasts, he saw people. He was doubting his father’s way even before he knew just how far the family had fallen.
His mother died a year later, a car accident. His father refused to talk to Talia in her stead and after Chris graduated and married Victoria, they moved away from Beacon Hills.
If only Chris had known, had realized what Gerard and Kate were planning.
He stands now in front of the new Hale pack house and feels dread. It’s silent, empty. And it’s target number one for Gerard as soon as he finds out about the Hales coming back.
He hasn’t knocked, guilt freezing his muscles and making it hard to breathe.
The door opens and Peter stands there, cocks an eyebrow. Chris feels like he’s being picked apart under that knowing gaze. The werewolf smirks.
“If you’re done with your pity party, the coffee is getting cold.” He steps back into the house, leaving the door open.
Chris follows.
“I don’t have much to offer, only the bare essentials.”
The hallway leads to a large living room space with an open kitchen at the back. Chris clears his suddenly very dry throat.
“Just coffee is fine. It’s kind of empty, here.”
Peter pours coffee into a simple white mug from a french press and slides it over the kitchen island. He gestures at it and then at the barstool opposite him.
“This is Laura’s house so she’ll get to furnish and decorate it.”
Chris nods, sitting onto the stool and accepting the hot drink.
“Cream, sugar?”
“No, black is fine.” He takes a sip as if to show just how fine it is. “Good coffee,” he says sincerely and wants to kick himself. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this out of place.
Peter’s sharp gaze never falters. “I tend to have fine taste in most things.”
Chris feels like that remark should come with a patented Peter Hale smirk, but the man just stares. Slowly but surely, Chris starts to feel like prey.
“Should I be worried for my safety here?” He asks, half-joking.
“Around me? Always,” Peter smiles, taking a sip of his own coffee and showing off the claws wrapped around his mug. Chris keeps his breathing even.
“Still not completely okay with me alive and breathing, then?”
Peter shrugs, “What can I say? You Argents tend to be cut from the same cloth.”
“I’m not. Like them, I mean. I’m not,” he fumbles, not sounding very convincing.
“You used to be,” Peter says dryly, taking another long swig. “Lucky for you, I’m very concerned with Stiles’ emotional wellbeing now, so. Congratulations, you get to live.”
Chris clenches his jaw to stop himself from reacting to Peter’s casual mention of Stiles.
“And why are you so concerned with Stiles?”
Peter huffs softly, “Jealous? You should be.”
Chris frowns, “Why?”
“Stiles is my pack. We’ve… bonded,” Peter drawls, seeming very unhappy about it.
“Stiles is in the Hale pack?” He asks, confused.
“No, he’s in mine.”
They stare at each other for a moment.
“A pack needs an Alpha…” Was Peter the Alpha that attacked Kate? He could’ve easily hidden it. But no, Peter lets his eyes shine bright blue.
“Not according to the Nemeton. Or maybe in this scenario, it is the Alpha.”
“So it forced the bond on you?”
Peter looks surprised, “Yes. Forced is a good word for it, isn’t it? My wolf’s senses go haywire at times, because I have two different packs in my head, co-existing. It’s not how werewolves function.”
Chris considers that.
“Does that make you unstable?”
Peter’s grin is unkind, “So eager to put a bullet in my head?”
“No,” Chris protests. “That wouldn’t be my first solution, if you were. There are ways to handle unstable werewolves, places to go and people that can help.”
“That’s certainly not what Gerard taught you.”
“I haven’t been interested in my father’s teachings for a long time now.”
Peter stares, unblinking. “Not long enough.”
Chris sighs.
“Is there anything I can do to help you trust me?”
“I mean, helping me kill your sister is a start.”
He refuses to flinch at that, steeling himself for the topic at hand.
“I thought Stiles had to do it.”
“Stiles has to bleed her, to conduct the ritual. I get to do what I’ve wanted ever since figuring out who murdered my family, I get to slash Kate Argent’s throat.”
Chris takes in the eagerness mixed with calm rage on Peter’s face.
“So Stiles won’t actually be the one to end her life?”
“If you’re hoping his conscience will stay clear, I don’t think the semantics will matter here. He’s going to cut deep into her veins, if I’m not there to finish it, she’s dead anyway.”
“The Nemeton showed you this?”
“Yes. And for Stiles it showed the repercussions. It’s Kate’s wrists or his.”
He breathes in sharply, “We can’t let that happen.”
“We won’t,” Peter says easily, finishing his coffee and turning to place it in the sink.
“So on Thursday… I figured since Kate wants to go hunting for the Alpha anyway, it would be easy for me to direct her towards the woods near the Nemeton.”
Peter hums in agreement, “I can stay close by if it’s just her awareness I’m evading. All you need to do is disarm her and I’ll move in, grab her, maybe knock her unconscious. We can always tie her up as well, although I can easily hold her.”
Chris shakes his head, “No, she’s tricky. Always has multiple knives on her within easy reach coated with mountain ash or wolfsbane or both. It’s safer to either tie her up or knock her out.”
“So that’s what we’ll do.”
“There’s actually something else I came to talk to you about.”
“I figured, we don’t really need to plan for Thursday beyond where to stash the body to make it look like a believable animal attack.”
“That ties in with my question. How would you feel exposing yourself as a werewolf to the Sheriff?”
Peter draws back, surprised. “Stiles’ father?”
“Yes. Stiles has been keeping this hidden from him these past few years, lying to him. It’s… put a strain on their relationship.”
“Ah,” Peter’s grin is wicked. “Trying to win favor?”
Chris snorts, “No, Stiles would not like it if he knew I was asking you this. He doesn’t want to lie to his dad but he doesn’t want the Sheriff in harm’s way either.”
“But you want to tell him because…?” Peter pauses, eyebrows raised.
“He’s the town Sheriff. Having him on our side is a huge benefit, especially with what’s ahead.”
“And what makes you think he’d be on our side? Not everyone reacts to proof of werewolves as rationally as Stiles and Lydia did.”
“Because Noah would do anything for his kid. And Stiles is firmly on…” he rolls his eyes, “Team Hale.”
“So you hope to use his expertise in the cover-up.”
“Yes.”
“Fine, but I’ll have to check in with Laura first.”
“Of course,” he finishes his coffee and stands up.
“All of this could’ve been said over the phone.” Peter’s picking him apart again, his gaze making Chris’ skin feel hot under its intensity.
“I figured you’d prefer it if you could hear my heartbeat, smell the chemosignals…”
“How thoughtful,” Peter murmurs, tone dry as a desert.
Chris grins sharply, “I’m not going to win any favor here until Kate’s dead, I get it now. I’ll go.”
Peter’s raised voice stops him mid-way through the living room.
“I won’t lie and say I trust you just because we seem to have a common interest. However, I am intrigued, Christopher. I believe your guilt and I believe you want to make it right.”
He looks over his shoulder, “Don’t call me that.”
Peter cocks his head but shrugs, “Alright. Chris.”
He nods in thanks and walks out the front door. When he gets into his car, his lungs hurt and he realizes he hasn’t been breathing deep enough the entire time he was in there. Cold sweat has made the back of his shirt damp.
Chris hasn’t been this afraid for his life for a long time. Peter could probably smell his fear the whole time.
He probably liked it.
Tuesday is uneventful. Stiles doesn’t sleep much and suffers a headache the entire day, hiding his eyes from the bright lights of the school, refusing to eat during lunch and ignoring his friend’s worried expressions. English is the one time he brings his gaze up to meet Ms. Blake’s curious look. He prays she doesn’t give him detention, fortunately she ignores his existence for the rest of the class and he gets to go home as soon as the bell rings, dodging concerned questions along the way.
Once he’s home he texts everyone that he’s fine but for the love of God, do not text him or call him because he will be trying his best to sleep.
He wakes up at 3am, sans headache but groggy, dry-mouthed and still exhausted. He does homework until his dad comes home.
As they have breakfast, the Sheriff sighs.
“You look terrible.”
“Thanks, dad.”
Noah scoffs, “Don’t give me that. You’ve looked terrible all year. I’ve tried prying, I’ve tried grounding, I’ve tried being patient. But now I’m worried that you’ll drop dead of exhaustion before you tell me what’s going on.”
Stiles looks up and sees the truth of that on his dad’s face. The man looks scared.
He considers coming up with another lie. Considers just dodging, maybe getting up and going to school early, knows his dad will just give up and let him go.
But he is so. Goddamn. Tired. Of all of this.
“You won’t believe me.”
Noah’s breath catches and he leans in. “Try me.”
Stiles shakes his head, chuckling. “Nah, you really won’t. You’ll think I’m playing a stupid joke or something.” He gets up and brings both of their dishes to the sink. “But I think you might believe it if you heard it from someone else. From someone you respect.”
“Alright?” Noah stands, wary.
Stiles hesitates for a moment but shrugs it off, because fuck it.
“Talk to Chris. Mr. Argent, I mean. Allison’s dad.”
Noah freezes, “What?”
“Tell him I- Actually, I can just text him and tell him myself.”
“You… text… with Allison’s dad?”
“Yeah,” Stiles says absentmindedly as he pulls out his phone and begins tapping.
“And he can tell me why you haven’t been sleeping well, why you haven’t been home at night?”
Stiles looks up at the building fury he hears in the Sheriff’s voice, “Woah, woah, whatever you’re imagining right now? Stop. It’s big, okay? Has to do with the Hales, with the fire, with the Argent family, with Lydia and me, there’s a bunch of stuff that you’ll need to know. Chris can tell you. Maybe Peter can help.”
“Peter?” Noah’s looking overwhelmed.
“Peter Hale. He can explain the more… weird stuff that you wouldn’t believe if I told you.”
Noah drags a hand over his face. “Kid…”
“You said you want to know. Well here it is, I’m telling you. Kind of.”
“Alright,” he sighs. “Tell Chris to call me later. Much later. I need to sleep.” With a weary wave, he staggers off to bed.
Stiles watches him go, worried he’s making a huge mistake.
Need a favor. My dad’s expecting you to call later. Because I told him you’d explain what’s been going on with me. I figure he’ll actually believe you. I guess I’m finally too tired to lie. Sorry to surprise you with this. Uh, have a nice day?
Chris stares at the text for a minute, pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t, in fact, have to worry about being the target of Stiles’ ire. He and Allison spent the evening before trying to come up with good strong arguments to get Stiles to see it their way. Now, no arguments needed.
No problem. I honestly believe he will be safer if he knows. You did the right thing. Peter will help. I’ll talk to you after I’ve talked to Noah.
He sends it, then calls Peter.
“It is. Too damn early.”
He smirks at the growl.
“Stiles already got the ball rolling, his dad is expecting my call. Stiles told him we’d explain everything.”
A moment of silence. “Right now?”
“No, but-”
“Then for fuck’s sake, call me when it’s actually happening.” Peter hangs up.
Chris feels a weird combination of amusement and annoyance. He has a hunch that combination will happen more often the more time he spends talking to Peter.
“What are you smiling about so early?” Kate groans while shuffling towards the freshly brewed pot of coffee.
“A business deal went through,” he lies.
“Ah, making the moneys. Sweet. How much was this house anyway?”
“More than you could ever afford,” he teases, but there’s an edge to it he can’t hold back. She notices, cocking an eyebrow.
The rest of breakfast is a tense ordeal with Chris wanting to snipe at everything she says and Allison playing peacekeeper. Kate just looks at him in a way that scares him on some level. Like she’s figuring something out.
“You sure about this?” Scott asks as they meet up at the parking lot after school.
“Of course not. But hey, Chris thinks it’s a good idea,” he waves his phone at his bemused friend who doesn’t even try to make out what’s on the screen. “And I kind of trust his judgement when it comes to this, I guess. I mean, he knows his family, he knows the supernatural, he knows guns. And taxes and divorce proceedings and mortgage and-”
“Uh,” Scott interrupts.
“Are you realizing how old Mr. Argent is?” Lydia asks as she steps up to Stiles’ Jeep, opening one of the back doors and throwing her bag in.
“Yeah and I don’t like it,” Stiles grimaces. When she just rolls her eyes, he grimaces harder at Scott who looks bewildered.
“Isn’t, I mean-” Scott fumbles, “Isn’t the age thing like… a pro for you?”
“What!? No!”
“Is that your darling way of asking Stiles if he has a daddy kink?” Lydia smiles in sincere amusement.
Scott blushes but doesn’t deny it.
“Oh my God, no! No!” Stiles flails aggressively. “Believe me, if Chris was like a college dude, I would already be head over heels and my crush would be less of a problem. The age thing is a negative, a big negative.”
Scott nods meekly, “Okay, got it.”
“We’re so different,” Lydia says thoughtfully, staring at Stiles who blinks at her.
“Wait, do you-”
“I’m here, I’m here, sorry! Jackson wanted to talk to me,” Allison arrives at the Jeep, out of breath.
Scott straightens in outrage, “What? Why did he want to talk to you?”
She smiles at him patiently, “Because I’m Lydia’s best friend? He apparently thinks that means I can magically make Lydia want to talk to him again.”
“He’s an idiot,” Lydia says brightly and gets into the car.
“Right. Off to… induct my dad into the supernatural. Oh God.”
Allison takes him by the shoulders and steers him towards the driver’s side. “Too late to back out now, dad’s already telling him.”
“Oh God.”
“This is for the best, Stiles,” Scott opens the door for him, smiling encouragingly.
“Right,” Stiles nods, anxiety ballooning in his chest.
“Would you all just get in, I haven’t got all day,” Lydia snaps at them and they get moving.
“Is this some kind of a joke?”
In all fairness, an expected reaction to the notion that werewolves are real. The Sheriff, Chris and Peter are all sitting at the Stilinski household’s kitchen table. Each of them has a cup of coffee in front of them, Chris’ and Noah’s untouched but Peter’s almost finished as he keeps sipping at it. Chris can sense that the werewolf is unimpressed with his attempts at explaining what’s going on. Chris is annoyed that he’s the only one talking.
“No. Noah-”
“I am worried about my son. This is not the time for whatever stupid prank he talked you into, how did he even- I wouldn’t have expected another parent to do something like this-” His anger quickly morphs into shock when Peter leans forward to roar into his face. Peter shakes his head once, cracks his neck and is suddenly in his Beta shift.
Chris grasps the man’s shoulder, refusing to flinch when the glowing blue eyes turn on him and the werewolf snarls, fangs sharp and menacing. A moment of glaring between them before Peter’s face slowly changes back, mouth closing into a satisfied smirk.
“I think I said it before, my patience isn’t what it used to be,” Peter shrugs easily and turns to face the barrel of a gun.
Chris takes in the Sheriff’s rigid posture and the finger on the trigger and stands up slowly, hands raised.
“Noah, put the gun away.”
“What the hell was that? Did you drug me?”
“For fuck’s sake, I just showed you that I’m a werewolf and you still won’t believe?”
“Werewolves aren’t real,” Noah grits out, eyes flicking between them but gun staying on Peter.
“Please put the gun away. You’re not in any danger. You made the coffee,” Chris reminds the man.
The Sheriff sheepishly glances at his cup and remembers that he didn’t even drink from it.
“You know what, just shoot me,” Peter snaps, rising quickly, making Noah step back from the table.
“Peter,” Chris chides.
“Maybe if he sees me heal from a bullet wound, he’ll get with the program.”
“I don’t think-”
Peter doesn’t let him finish, cracking his neck and roaring once again, fangs out and eyes glowing. Clawed hands grasp the table and he throws it to the side, cups shattering on the floor. He takes one step toward the Sheriff.
Noah shoots.
“Heeeeeey,” Stiles drags out the greeting, taking in the scene before him.
Cups in shards on the floor, coffee splattered all over, the table upended and Peter shirtless and wiping away blood from his shoulder. Chris is standing next to him, arms crossed and looking fed up. And his dad, standing behind Peter, poking his back.
“The exit wound’s gone too, how in the world?” The Sheriff mutters and then looks up in sudden realization. “Stiles!” He steps around and comes to stand before Stiles and his friends, putting his hand out towards Peter.
“You stay away from my son!”
“Oh boy,” Stiles sighs. Peter doesn’t even bother reacting, examining his bloody shirt in dismay.
“So how far did you get with the explanation?” Scott asks, wide-eyed.
Chris looks to the ceiling, “Werewolves are real.”
“That’s it?” Lydia snaps.
“What?” Noah turns to them. “What does that mean?”
“Dad,” Stiles drags a hand over his eyes. “Sit down, this… this is going to get complicated.”
“My son isn’t killing anyone.”
“Don’t have a choice, dad.”
“Noah, we all want to protect him. That’s why we’re going through with this tomorrow and we could use your help,” Chris tries to steer the conversation towards what they actually need to discuss.
“We’re talking about your sister, how can you, I should arrest you-”
“Oh please do,” Peter starts laughing.
“Dad, it’s me or her!”
“What the hell does that mean, are they threatening you? Did you threaten my son?”
Chris pales as he sees the Sheriff’s hand land on his gun again. “Noah-”
“It’s the stupid tree, dad. It can take complete control over me, I don’t know what’s happening, where I’m going or what I’m doing. It can literally make me kill myself if I don’t do this.”
“I’ve seen Stiles when he’s being controlled, Sheriff. Please believe us, we want to help your son.” Lydia tries to help. Scott looks worried. Allison comes to stand at her dad’s side, her eyes also on the Sheriff’s hands.
Noah looks stricken. “No, I don’t want you to do something like this.”
“I don’t either but… Kate’s a monster, dad. If anyone deserves to be a ritual sacrifice, it’s her.”
Noah closes his eyes and holds out a hand, “A ritual what now?”
“I believe I can explain that part,” Peter holds out a hand as if in class and smiles at everyone’s glares. He then proceeds to tell Noah about his own ritual with Talia.
“Talia Hale could turn into an actual wolf?”
“That’s the part you’re focusing on?” Peter asks.
“I mean, that’s crazy.” Noah rubs his temples. “All of this is.”
“Can you see now why I hid this from you for so long?” Stiles smiles weakly, gesturing at the room.
Noah looks up at that, pained. “I wish you’d talked to me.”
“Peter wasn’t here back then. You wouldn’t have believed me,” Stiles shrugs.
The Sheriff sighs long and hard and steps up to pull Stiles into a hug.
“I- I’m still not sure I get what’s going on, but… I’m here for you, kid.”
“Thanks, dad,” Stiles chokes out, blinking away tears.
“You were right… in the end,” Peter says teasingly as they head towards their cars.
“About?” Chris asks, pulling his keys out when they reach his car first.
“Noah cares a lot about Stiles. He was scared. And furious. And I’m pretty sure he still wants to put a bullet in my head. But in the end he listened, because he could see that his son needs him.”
“Tomorrow’s going to be…” Chris trails off, unable to think of a proper word.
“A clusterfuck?” Peter offers, unlocking his car but staying with Chris.
He chuckles wryly, “Yeah, that.”
“The plan’s solid. She’s just one hunter against all of us. It’ll be easy,” Peter says lightly but Chris can see the tension in the man’s shoulders.
“It’s what comes after that worries me. How Stiles and Allison are going to handle this. How I’m going to handle this. And now Noah…”
Peter looks at him curiously. “Time heals all wounds,” he shrugs and gestures at himself. “I’m proof of that.”
“No, you’re proof that werewolf healing works on burn scars. Time works differently when the wounds aren’t physical.”
Peter continues staring. “True.”
Chris thinks about what the man went through and fiddles with his keys. “Sorry, I-”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter cuts him off and leaves him standing there, ashamed.
He wonders if time will fade the guilt he’s crushed under whenever he’s alone with Peter. He doubts it.
They clean the kitchen in silence and then the Sheriff sits, looking ten years older as Stiles makes a new pot of coffee.
He places the cups on the table and takes the seat opposite his dad. They drink for a minute, saying nothing.
“I feel like there’s a lot I’m missing still.”
Stiles shrugs, “There’s a lot of weirdness and a lot of history between the Argents and the Hales. I’m pretty sure that Chris will tell you anything you want to know.”
“And Peter?”
“Uh… he’ll tell you anything he’s okay with you knowing.”
“Right,” Noah drains his cup. “Tell me more… About these visions. How you found out. Why you’re so sure that Kate Argent deserves to… to die.”
Stiles takes a deep breath and does.
They stay there for hours until finally, Stiles feels like his dad is with him. Suddenly, Thursday feels surmountable. His dad is with him. They’ll get through this. They’ll get him through this.
Noah thinks he should maybe skip school, which proves to Stiles that his dad is taking this seriously.
“I’d usually take advantage of that offer but today I want some semblance of normalcy before everything goes to shit.”
“Language,” Noah says but as a reflex, no real feeling behind it.
“Lydia’s coming to pick me up. I’m too-” He shakes his arms, feeling jittery. “I shouldn’t drive.”
“Right,” Noah nods, worried but also conflicted. And confused. Stiles feels for his dad, he had years to get used to the supernatural before today, Scott and Allison had months. His dad found out that werewolves are real, his son is being controlled by a magical nexus and the very next day he has to be supportive as said son kills someone. That’s a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a law-abiding Sheriff.
“I’m also going to get picked up later. Chris said Peter will tell me a little more about the Hales and their history with the town.”
Stiles’ eyebrows try to climb into his hairline. “You’re spending the day with Peter?”
“Yeah,” Noah squints at him as if Stiles’ surprise is uncalled for.
“And you promise to not shoot him again?”
The Sheriff crosses his arms defensively, “If he promises to not do-” He hesitates and gestures at his face, “that again.”
“Just… I need him, okay? He’s the key part in the animal-attack plan.”
“I know,” Noah waves at him, uncomfortable talking about the plan.
A honk comes from outside.
“Well, I’m off!” Stiles says and then doesn’t go anywhere as he stares at the door.
His dad pulls him into a quick hug and clears his throat before saying, “Have a nice day at school.”
Stiles smiles at him gratefully. Normalcy. He nods, determined and leaves the house to start the day.
The day Kate Argent dies.
Chapter Text
Despite feeling like he's made up of bones, skin and anxiety, he manages to fall asleep in Harris’ class. So of course he gets detention.
Except Harris apparently has to leave early and Ms. Blake is all too happy to step in and take over.
Stiles feels a migraine building as the pretty brunette flashes into nightmare fuel and then back again.
“Stiles, I’m glad we finally get the chance to talk again.”
“I’m not.”
She smiles wide and dark and Stiles feels the pain in his head building, actually… sharpening. He grimaces, mouth open and gasping as agony grips him.
“I’ve been observing you. You’re not magical at all, are you?”
Stiles grunts, hands clawing at his desk.
“And yet you’re connected to the Nemeton. How?”
So she decided to go for torture after all. Stiles just wishes he had answers to give, he’d happily spill all of his secrets right now if it would make the pain stop.
“If you find out, could you tell me too?” He says, groaning. “Would love to know.”
Her hand comes up. Stiles has a second to think ‘oh that’s probably not good’ before his chair flies backward and he with it. He crashes into the desks behind him, the force pushing them to the sides before the chair meets the wall. Stiles manages to brace himself just enough to not hit his head.
“I don’t know!” He yells.
“I’ve tried communing with it and it refuses. How are you guarding it?”
“I’m not! Maybe it just doesn’t want anything to do with you, ever think of that!?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ms. Blake sneers. “It’s a congregation of magical energy, it doesn’t have wants besides sacrifice.”
“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure this one does. In fact, the one thing it wants the most I think, is a Hale Alpha.”
The pressure in his head and against his chest eases and he slumps forward, panting.
“A Hale Alpha? Specifically? Why?”
“I don’t know…”
“It… misses Talia?”
“I don’t. Know,” Stiles stresses out, glaring up at her. “It definitely misses the bond. It’s angry.”
Ms. Blake taps a finger against her cheek thoughtfully. “Angry.”
“What do you want from it?”
She smiles at him. “Now why would I tell you that?”
“What are you even… a druid?”
Her smile disappears. Stiles feels like he’s hit a sore spot somehow. Maybe she used to be one?
“I believe that you don’t know how you got connected to the Nemeton. So let me gift you with a thought. A bond like this happens only through blood. If it wasn’t you then someone else forged one in your name.”
“Someone… Someone did this to me?” Stiles asks, but is already agreeing in his head because that makes sense, right? He’d never even seen the thing, didn’t know anything about werewolves or that magic was even real. How would it have gotten control over him otherwise if not through his blood?
But who? And more importantly, why?
“Food for thought,” Ms. Blake smiles, appearing like a helpful teacher again. Stiles wants to clap sarcastically at the performance. But he doesn’t dare because his head’s still ringing from whatever she did to him.
“So can I go?” He stands carefully, relieved when he’s not dizzy or anything.
“Of course. If I have more questions I know where to find you.”
He glares at that, “Maybe just leave me alone. Or did you forget that the Hales are protecting me?” He’s lying a little since he has no idea whether the rest of Peter’s family has any interest towards his safety.
Ms. Blake looks like she’s considering what he said. “So you are in a pack? I figured you were when Peter Hale marched in to rescue you last time. But why would the Hales want you- Oh,” Her eyes narrow. “Because you’re bonded to that which gave them power. Of course Peter wants to keep an eye on you.”
Stiles thinks he better not clarify the pack he actually belongs to.
He grabs his bag and moves to the door, side-eyeing Ms. Blake the entire time, waiting for her to smile, to raise her hand, to say something else. But she doesn’t do anything, just calmly stares as he leaves.
His friends are all sitting on the floor at his locker and he feels relief hit his knees. They start to get up but before they can he slumps in between Scott and Lydia.
“Worst detention ever.”
“What happened?” Lydia asks, putting away her notebook.
“Ms. Blake took over. Gave me a magic headache. Threw me against the wall.” He slides down until he’s half-laying, not really comfortable but liking the position for dramatic effect. “She’s obsessed with the Nemeton and apparently she can’t commune with it or whatever. She thinks I’m stopping it.”
Scott clasps his shoulder, “Are you okay?”
“Haven’t been for a while,” he answers honestly and then straightens up at his friend’s stricken expression. “But I will be, tonight’s a step towards that, right?” The optimism sounds off but Scott responds to the effort, smiling weakly.
“Yeah, we’ll deal with whatever she wants later.”
“Well I’m going to go take a nap,” Lydia packs up her stuff and stands. “I’ll pick you up at eleven,” she tells Scott who nods.
“You should try to nap too,” Allison leans over Scott to give Stiles a worried glance-over.
“Yeah, sure. You guys go on ahead, I’ll stand when my legs aren’t shaking anymore.”
“We’re not leaving you like this,” Scott protests, frowning.
Allison stands to move to Stiles’ other side, sitting down next to him and putting her head on his shoulder.
“You’re not dealing with this alone.”
Stiles feels warmth at the truth of those words.
“Yeah… love you, guys.”
Scott grins, scooching closer. “Love you too, man.”
Later, when the other two have left in Allison’s car, Stiles gets into his Jeep and shouts, plastering himself against the door when someone gets in next to him. Seeing Peter’s smirking face stops him from reaching for the bat under his seat.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, hand over his chest.
“Your dad and I were interrogating Harris when I heard you yelling.”
“You were what!?”
Less than an hour ago
Bringing the Sheriff to the house feels like bringing someone to a graveyard. Which is odd, considering his family is buried at the actual cemetery. The only grave here is metaphorical - the place where the Hale pack died.
He wants that pack to be reborn, the power and respect regained. For that, he apparently needs Stiles. Which means playing nice with the boy’s father.
So he brings him here and he tells him of his family. How his grandparents built this house and started a family here. How his parents grew the pack and established connections to the surrounding territories. And how Talia brought them all glory.
It’s hours of answering questions, the Sheriff confused about everything, about how they stayed hidden, how he didn’t know, how many animal attacks weren’t actually animals. At that last one he offers to go through the files case by case and tell him what he remembers. Noah says he’ll take that into consideration.
Then there’s a long moment of silence as Peter stares into the trees and Noah gazes at the house.
“I still remember that night,” he says and Peter turns to see the deep sadness he hears and smells reflected on the man’s face. “Derek, Laura and Cora… they met up at the Sheriff’s station. God… Cora and Derek were just kids. Laura tried to be strong for them. I was here when they took you away in an ambulance… I was so sure you were dead. And I remember when the body count came in. And then the identifications. Your niece, she was…”
“Five.” Peter feels like the man is dragging him back to that night with his words. He feels the heat of the fire licking his face.
“And Kate… Kate Argent did this,” Noah says, frowning as he’s obviously trying to connect it somehow. “Over the years, I’ve occasionally looked at the Hale files because it never sat right with me, how quickly it got pushed aside. Eleven people dead, only one person escaping the fire and no one asking the right questions.”
“Did you ever find anything?”
“The insurance guy was shady. That I know for sure. But no… nothing else.”
“Laura did her own investigation and got something else.”
Noah turns to him, surprised. “What?”
“A confession. There was a chemistry teacher who had a crush on Kate.”
“A chemistry…” He grimaces in realization. “Harris?”
“Yes. Don’t you think he might have some ideas on how to burn down a house and hide any evidence of arson?”
The Sheriff looks back at the house, mind obviously at work, putting more of the pieces together.
“Come on,” he says finally, walking towards Peter’s car.
“Where are we going?” He asks, intrigued by the man’s determination.
“To talk to Harris. I want to know for sure, I need something… something I can believe in, as a cop.”
He understands and drives them to the school. The parking lot’s mostly empty when they arrive and Stiles’ Jeep stands out like a sore thumb.
“School should be out,” Noah says, frowning.
“Does Stiles have a habit of getting detention?” Peter asks, remembering the last time he came here.
“Yeah,” Noah sighs, getting out of the car.
Peter can smell and hear that Scott, Allison and Lydia are also in the building, in one of the corridors, quietly murmuring to themselves about homework. He relays this to the Sheriff who heads towards the office.
“Detention seems likely, then,” he points out before a door opens in the hallway behind them and someone calls out.
“Can I help you?”
Peter smiles angrily at the familiar voice and turns to see Ms. Blake walking towards them, seemingly nervous. Seemingly is right, Peter doesn't think there's anything sincere about the woman. Her chemosignals never match what she's showing on her face.
“I’m looking for Harris, the chemistry teacher.” Noah says, sounding like the cop he is.
“Oh, well, he’s serving detention with a student right now.”
“Any chance that student’s Stiles?” The Sheriff asks with a knowing grimace.
“Yes, actually,” Ms. Blake looks surprised. “You are…?”
“Stiles’ dad, Sheriff Stilinski,” the man offers her a hand. She shakes it primly.
“Oh well, I can get Harris for you, if you’ll just wait a few moments,” and she walks off.
“She’s dangerous,” Peter says when she’s out of earshot.
Noah looks at him, “How so? More than you?”
He smiles, unbothered at the insinuation. “I’m not sure yet. She threatened Stiles and smells off, rotten somehow. She’s also interested in the tree.”
The Sheriff's surprised. “A teacher… threatened my son?”
“Yes, but for now, we’re playing along. We don’t know what she is yet and that means it’s dangerous to confront her.”
The man obviously doesn’t like that.
“Stiles didn’t tell me about her.”
“He’s probably taking this one supernatural issue at a time.”
Noah nods, resigned. “Probably.”
Peter tunes into what’s happening further down the hall, hears Harris’ fast heartbeat as he gets up to meet the Sheriff, hears the door close and then, “Stiles, I’m glad we finally get the chance to talk again.”
“I’m not.”
He frowns, keeping his hearing focused as Harris and the Sheriff shake hands and Noah asks the man to lead them somewhere private. Harris smells nervous, a man who’s got things to hide.
Not long after he hears the desks and chairs moving, Stiles yelling. He thinks about going over there, but Ms. Blake is also revealing more about herself, about her powers. He also hears Harris telling the Sheriff that he never really talked to Kate when they were teaching together.
“Lie,” he says quickly, enjoying how scared Harris looks.
“How about you stop lying to me and help me solve a crime,” Noah says, placating. Trying to make Harris see this as giving a helpful tip and not a confession.
Harris is breaking already.
In another part of the school, “A Hale alpha? Specifically? Why?”
“I don’t know…”
“It… misses Talia?”
“I don’t. Know. It definitely misses the bond. It’s angry.”
Peter can hear Stiles talking easier, breathing deeper. He figures she’s stopped whatever pain she was causing him, then. When Stiles accuses Ms. Blake of being a druid, the silence is telling. Obviously, no actual druid would act like this, use magic like this. Which leaves another option. A darach. A dark druid fits with everything he knows about the woman. And it's also worrisome. A darach's power comes from dark things and the strength of that power depends on how far the person's willing to go. So Ms. Blake's true abilities are still an unknown.
He tells himself he did the right thing by not charging in there. He knows a lot more about the woman than he did before.
“Someone… Someone did this to me?”
But he wishes she wouldn’t have poked at that issue. He didn’t want Stiles to worry about that just yet, not until he did some digging of his own.
“She… she got me drunk and she… started asking me these questions,” Harris is saying.
“Will you come down to the station with me and give an official statement?”
“I-”
The Sheriff’s got this handled so he focuses back on Stiles and hears him with his friends. Relief hits him and he realizes then that he was actually worried. Troubling.
The other men are standing up and Peter straightens from leaning against the wall. As they head towards the parking lot he hands the Sheriff his keys.
“Take the car, I’ll go check on Stiles and meet you back at your house.”
Noah takes the keys but stares at him weirdly. “Do you think she would do something to him at school?”
I heard her do something, he doesn’t say because he doesn’t feel like dealing with an overprotective Sheriff.
“Maybe she revealed something. Any information helps at this point.”
“Right,” Noah nods gratefully at the keys and leads Harris to Peter’s car.
Peter lurks- no, waits by some trees near the Jeep, sight sharpening its focus when Stiles exits the school with his friends. Lydia isn’t with them anymore and Scott and Allison turn to go as well, leaving Stiles alone. Good, whispers the side of himself he considers the wolf and he pushes back on the feral grin that’s widening on his face. Predator instincts quelled, he swiftly moves to enter the car as soon as Stiles is inside it, enjoying the reaction that provokes. The flailing is so aggressive, it rocks the car even.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles asks, hand over his chest.
“Your dad and I were interrogating Harris when I heard you yelling.”
“You were what!?”
“It was about Kate, your dad needs some kind of legal proof to help him get through tonight,” he says dismissively, studying Stiles. “I heard you, what did she do?”
Stiles shakes his head, spreads his hands in a halting motion, “Wait, what connects Harris to Kate?” But his mind is already running with it. “They were both teachers here, they knew each other… he’s a chemistry teacher…”
“I think you just answered your own question, care to answer mine?”
Stiles looks at him, looking the most guarded Peter’s seen him yet.
“So you heard me yelling? And you didn’t…”
“I made a judgement call, hoping she’d reveal more about herself. But I was paying attention, Stiles.” He hopes Stiles can sense his sincerity. “If it had gotten serious, I would have intervened.”
Stiles laughs harshly, starting the car, eyes ahead.
“What?” Peter asks, curious.
“Just… that was probably the most intense pain I’ve ever felt and she did it to me without lifting a finger, but you know… I’m glad it didn’t get serious.” He cranks the gear angrily, buzzing with emotion. Some of it floods over and reaches Peter through the bond. A lot of it is already in the air, telling the werewolf exactly how scared the boy is.
He feels a flash of guilt. But he pushes it aside, because he was right. Stiles is unharmed and he now has a good guess at what Ms. Blake is. Which also tells him what she wants; a bond with the Nemeton to grow her power. What she needs that power for, though, is still a mystery.
But his wolf nags at him, because their packmate is hurting. So he slowly, so as not to surprise the person who has a tendency to flail and who is currently driving, places his hand on the one yanking the gearshift around.
Stiles glances down at it but keeps his focus on the road.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing something. You could feel the pack bond when humans usually can’t. So I’m trying something else that doesn’t work for humans.” Even as he says it, he knows it’s working because he can scent it. Stiles’ anxiety and fear are returning to his normal levels, which is still higher than most peoples’ but ever since he met the kid less than a week ago, this is how he has smelled.
“I… I don’t feel like hitting something anymore,” Stiles says, sounding confused.
“Werewolves are tactile creatures, touch between pack can soothe a lot of hurts. It doesn’t take the feelings away, just helps to control them.”
“Right,” Stiles breathes in deeply. “Good to know. If I feel like screaming, find my wolf-buddy,” he wiggles his fingers under Peter’s, causing the man to smile.
“Please don’t call me before 10am, I like my beauty sleep.”
Stiles snorts, “As if you need any.”
“Oh, you think I’m beautiful?”
He enjoys seeing the blush that slowly spreads along the mole-dotted skin.
“You know what you look like,” Stiles grumbles, changing gears again. Peter keeps his hand where it is.
The rest of the drive is silent until they reach the Stilinski’s driveway.
“Oh wait, where’s your car?” Stiles asks.
“Your dad took it. Harris is giving an official statement,” Peter opens the door. “I’ll wait for him here.”
“Great,” Stiles says, strained.
Chris helps Kate gear up, checking their guns and crossbows, cleaning them, loading them. He shows her a couple new items he’s cooked up, one of them a smoke grenade loaded with mountain ash which she looks impressed by.
“Damn, that sounds so obvious, how did I never think of it?” She gleefully adds two onto her belt.
“Hello? You guys down here?” Allison comes down the stairs, eyes going wide at the sight of the arsenal spread out on the table. “What’s going on?” She asks, feigning ignorance.
“It’s a full moon,” Kate explains, while loading up her shotgun. “If that Alpha’s still in town, he’s most likely gonna be running around tonight. And we’re going to be ready for him.”
“Can I come?”
Kate pauses, studying her niece. Chris can see the judgement taking place, can see how Allison shies away from it before pushing her back straight and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I don’t know, kid. Things can go wrong real fast with an Alpha. And you’re untrained.”
“Dad’s been teaching me,” Allison says, stubborn.
“She’s a good shot,” Chris vouches for her.
Kate hums, “I don’t know, Chris.”
“It would be a great first kill,” Chris pushes it and fears he’s gone too far when Kate gives him a look of disbelief.
But she rolls her eyes eventually, “Fine. But you’re going to stick close to us and follow our orders exactly.”
“Of course,” Allison nods readily, giving her dad a quick look of panic when Kate’s not watching. She steps closer to the table and reaches for her favored weapon, the compound hunting bow.
“So what are the others like?”
Peter stirs his coffee methodically, staring at Stiles who is sitting on the kitchen table, legs swinging.
“Others?”
“Derek, Laura, Cora. I… I had the visions but that was them years ago. What are they like now?”
“Hm, well Cora’s your age.”
“Yeah, I remember her a little bit. She was kind of mean.”
Peter huffs, amused. “More so now, I imagine.”
Stiles grimaces, “Oh no.”
“But she’s got a good heart, Laura made sure of that.”
“I remember Laura too.”
Peter cocks his head, “Now that I think about it, I think she mentioned you once or twice. One of the deputies had a troublemaker for a son.”
Stiles laughs, waving. “Yeah, that’s me. I liked doing pranks back then because I hung out at the station a lot and got bored easily. Superglue, whoopee cushions, you name it.”
“How were you not banned?”
“I mean it was harmless stuff and most people who worked there knew what I was going through so they’d just laugh and sometimes even prank me back.” Stiles’ face darkens comically. “Except for Haigh, that dick.”
“What you were going through?”
“Mom got sick,” he shrugs. “She died.”
Peter nods, moving on. “Well Laura was always the responsible one, she was chosen to inherit Talia’s Alpha spark for a reason, after all.”
“That’s how it works? The Alpha chooses who it goes to, it just, doesn’t go to the eldest automatically?”
“No, there’s a ritual.”
“Starting to hate that word,” Stiles’ eyes narrow.
“This one was bloodless. Just an exchange of energies and promises.”
“But what if someone kills the Alpha first, gets the spark, what then?”
“Then it’s stolen. Gone,” Peter takes a sip.
Stiles swings his legs, deep in thought. “Okay. So what about Derek?”
“Derek’s… complicated,” Peter hedges.
“As in?”
“As in he’s not doing great.”
Stiles doesn’t pry any more, just nods. “Considering who all is arriving this weekend I feel like we’re jumping out of a frying pan and into the fire.”
“I’d rather not be anywhere near fire for the rest of my life,” Peter remarks calmly, watching as Stiles’ eyes widen.
“Ah, sorry. You want me to avoid talking about fire in general or something?”
“Nothing so drastic, don’t worry about it,” Peter shrugs.
Stiles fidgets with his sleeves, pulls out his phone and swipes at the screen, checking the time. Fidgets some more.
“You’re putting my wolf on edge,” Peter stares at Stiles’ hands, making a mental note of how much he likes the size and shape of them.
“Your- your wolf?” Stiles asks, hands stilling. “Is your werewolf side like a separate personality or something?”
“No, not really. It’s just the part of me that’s instinctual, a predator. A well-balanced werewolf hardly notices it exists, it’s not separated.”
“But for you it is.”
Peter’s eyes glaze over a bit. “I’m hardly well-balanced.”
Stiles bites down on his lower lip, brown eyes shining in the kitchen light. Peter notices the long eyelashes for the first time. Marvels at them. He seems to be easily distracted today.
“Yeah I kind of figured. I… I felt what you felt that night.”
“My apologies. That must have been… a lot.”
Stiles chuckles darkly, “Yeah, it was. You loved Talia so much. And the kid… And your grandfather, who was so old but still so strong and wise-”
Peter steps closer, feeling overwhelmed at his senses being bombarded with both Stiles’ sadness and his own. He grasps one of the boy’s hands, offering comfort but needing it too, the pack bond easing his wolf.
Stiles takes a gasping breath and stares down at their hands.
“That’s still so weird.”
“Good weird, I hope?” He asks, frowning when the humid stench of sadness doesn’t dissipate.
“It reminds me-” Stiles stops himself, blinking away tears.
“What?” He prompts, squeezing gently.
“It reminds me of my mum. When I was upset she could calm me down just by… putting her hand on my cheek and kissing my forehead. It felt like magic. But this is actual magic… kind of.” His voice is low, soft. He sounds conflicted.
Peter feels in awe of this show of vulnerability. He has a wish to reciprocate somehow. He doesn’t even know where it’s coming from, him, the wolf or the bond.
“I loved Talia fiercely. We butted heads often, didn’t always see eye-to-eye. We were very different people. But she was my sister, my Alpha. During the full moon, we would run as a pack in our woods. There was no greater feeling than laying under the stars with my sister’s fully shifted head on my chest, running my fingers through her fur. It was…” Peter swallows. “Peace.” The only kind he’s ever known.
Stiles looks at him, eyes blurry and Peter can feel they are in a down-spiral. No longer is the touch or the bond helping, it is amplifying them both.
“And Kate took that from you,” Stiles rasps out and there, there’s the anger, the rage. It fights through the sadness until it’s a cold flame covering them, giving strength.
Peter smiles at him, lifting his hand to touch the boy’s cheek like he imagines Stiles’ mother had done. His thumb draws circles on Stiles’ skin until he realizes he’s drawing a spiral and he stops. “And tonight she’ll pay for that.”
Stiles doesn’t look sad anymore. Or anxious or scared or worried. All of that’s gone and replaced with resolve.
It makes Peter’s wolf want to howl in satisfaction.
The arrival of his car breaks them out of their little moment. Stiles clears his throat and Peter steps back, picking up his forgotten cold coffee just as the Sheriff walks in.
He notices how Stiles has a hard time looking away from him.
“It’s time, kiddo!” Kate yells, checking her shotgun one last time.
Allison runs into the garage, pulling up her hair into a sturdy bun. “I’m ready.”
Kate’s grin is all teeth and bloodlust as they get into the car.
Chris pulls away from the house, swallowing down the dread and focusing on the plan. He’s good at compartmentalizing. It’s time to be a hunter. Except this is the first time in his life where his prey is completely human.
“What did you tell your mum?” Lydia asks as Scott jumps into her car. She sees the front door opening behind him.
“Nothing, I couldn’t-”
“You get back here right now, young man!”
“Scott!” Lydia gasps in outrage as her friend slams the door shut.
“Just go, quick!”
She drives off, seeing Melissa come outside, still yelling after them.
“What the hell?”
“She woke up and I panicked!”
Lydia groans in disbelief.
The Sheriff gets into the Jeep and puts a hand on Stiles’ knee. He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say really.
Stiles breathes in deep, breathes out slow. Does this a few times, then starts the car.
The full moon is high in the sky and waiting.
It’s a quiet night, no wind, no rain and no fog. Perfect for hunting; good visibility, clear hearing. But when hunting werewolves one must always be prepared to become prey at any moment.
When Allison brought up the possibility of the Alpha actually showing up, Chris assured her that with their experience as well as Peter’s support they’d be able to handle one Alpha. He didn’t mention Peter’s fear of it being a pack. Which seems more likely with each day since a feral Alpha would’ve attacked, bitten or killed already.
He’s decided to take things one threat at a time, while Allison is already thinking ahead, already strategizing. Chris can see the potential for a matriarch within her and doesn’t know how to feel about it.
They’re moving carefully, watching where they step, him holding his crossbow loaded with a flashbang arrow at the ready, Kate leading with her shotgun and Allison taking the rear with her bow. They’re nearing the Hale house which means Peter should be close-by and ready. Chris just needs to disarm her first.
He looks behind them, hoping to see the sign they agreed upon. Inhumanly vibrant eyes glow at him from the dark, about ten feet away in the shadow of a tree. He looks at Allison and nods, bracing himself.
She nods back and a few seconds later fakes a stumble.
“Ow!” She shouts and Kate whirls, lowering her gun.
“Quiet,” she hisses but goes to her niece to help her up.
As she’s passing by Chris, he drops his crossbow and grabs her shotgun, Kate’s surprise the only reason he manages to pull it from her hands.
“What the hell-” She chokes as Peter’s arm goes around her neck, hands going to her belt but Allison’s already sliding it off. Kate manages to grab one of the grenades but Peter’s other hand grasps hers so she can’t use it.
“Chris,” she spits out, angry and confused.
He refuses to acknowledge her, steps in and pulls a rope off his belt.
The werewolf’s eyes haven’t stopped glowing, but otherwise he looks calm. Chris knows better than to believe what he sees when it comes to Peter, though.
As he comes closer to try and grab Kate’s free hand that’s digging into Peter’s arm she tries to punch him. He takes the opportunity and grabs her wrist, pulling. Peter goes with the movement and turns Kate around, claws coming out to slice into the hand still holding the grenade. Kate growls furiously and drops it. As Peter wraps his claws around Kate’s throat, Chris quickly ties her hands behind her back.
He notices that as soon as she saw her attacker, she stopped struggling.
“Allison, what’s going on?” She asks, furious.
“You know what this is for,” Allison says but she sounds shaky.
“Don’t talk to her, Allison,” Chris warns her and watches her sternly until she gives him a nod, wrapping her arms around herself.
“So you’ve taught her your ways, not our family’s. Allison, whatever lies he’s told you, please don’t let them do this to me. The Hales are monsters-” She gets cut off as Peter lifts her on her toes.
“I’d love to break your neck here and now,” Peter drawls, breathing in Kate’s fear.
“Why don’t you?” She grits out, unbalanced and trying to get air.
“You’ve been judged and found guilty, Kate. You’re to be a sacrifice.”
“Allison, are you hearing this? They’re fucking insane, help me, fucking help-” Peter lifts her fully off the ground and waits, watches. Kate struggles until the very last moment when her consciousness fades. He quickly drops her and listens.
“Alive, good.” He pulls her onto his shoulder and stands, taking in the Argents’ expressions. Chris looks cold and unfeeling, the hunter Peter expected to see days ago. Allison looks lost.
“Remember everything you’ve learned about her, sweetheart,” Peter tells her and she meets his eyes, shocked that he’s speaking to her. He waits until he sees her steel herself.
Then he heads deeper into the woods, towards the Nemeton, towards Stiles.
Stiles can see and hear his friends and his dad there next to him but he feels distant. Like he’s actually far away, or as if he's in fog. For the past ten minutes, he’s been staring at the tree stump he saw his own dead body lying on a few days ago. The pull is there but Stiles thinks this is the first time he’s been awake for this, the first time he actually senses the Nemeton creeping along his consciousness, controlling his body. He wants to fidget but he doesn’t. He wants to look at his dad but he doesn’t.
“What’s happening to him, why isn’t he responding?”
He can hear that his dad is worried.
“I think it’s preparing him,” Lydia says softly.
“This is actually happening,” Scott whispers to himself.
The air changes. At least, it does for him. He looks up, hears his dad say his name but doesn’t take his eyes from the tree-line ahead. Peter emerges, a slumped figure on his shoulder, his face as wild as a human’s can be. Stiles can feel his packmate’s energy, the bond between them thrumming with it.
He takes out the pocketknife he got from Lydia, amazed at how steady he feels. But he knows it’s because he’s not alone in his body.
Peter’s the most vibrant creature in this clearing, in full color while everyone else is blurry and grey. Stiles wants to laugh at how obvious this manipulation is.
The werewolf lays Kate out on the stump, the position he saw Stiles in a few nights back. He motions for Chris to help him with the rope and her arms. Stiles waits, knife in hand as they spread her out for him.
He should feel sick, nervous, horrified.
But the Nemeton’s not letting any of that through.
Kate moans, waking up. Stiles hears Chris curse and Scott saying ‘Oh no’.
“Hold her,” Peter commands and goes to grab her legs. Chris takes one arm while Noah takes the other and this is all wrong.
Chris and his dad were not supposed to be this involved.
Aiding and abetting a murderer, aiding and abetting a murderer, it’s well past that now, they’re holding her down.
Stiles wants to scream. The Nemeton doesn’t let him.
“What are you doing!?” Kate’s yelling. She’s struggling. His dad has to hold her down.
He should feel sick.
“Allison, please!”
He hears Allison crying. He hopes Scott and Lydia are there for her.
“Chris, stop this, stop!” Kate’s sobbing now. Chris has to hold his sister down.
He wants to scream.
“Stiles, do it.” Peter’s voice pushes his body into motion. He stares down at her terrified face and moves to lean down over her torso. He rests a hand against the stump, a warm power emanating from it and entering him through his skin. He felt nothing, now he feels everything. As he places the edge of the knife onto her skin and presses, slides it along, watches the blood swell and then run over her arm to pool under it, he’s no longer human, he’s no longer Stiles, he’s fury in flesh.
The words come to him in a haze.
“You’ve taken what wasn’t yours to take.”
He presses the knife into her other arm.
“Chris, please!”
“Now you’re taken in return.”
“Allison, stop them! You know this is wrong!”
“Your blood will be my rebirth.”
He finishes the second line and straightens up. He feels like a wild thing, unhinged. He steps back and looks up at Peter. The werewolf nods to show he knows but waits for Kate to weaken from blood-loss, waits until she stops struggling. They all back off then and everything pops back into focus, his dad’s tears, Chris’ stricken expression. Stiles’ eyes fly to his friends who are pale as ghosts, the girls crying and Scott looking like he’s about to be sick.
“Let me finish it,” Peter says and Stiles takes in the only one who looks at home here, in his element. Blood and retribution, not just the Nemeton’s favorite meal, but also Peter’s.
He makes way for the werewolf to stand over Kate like he stood over Stiles. There’s a satisfied rage on his face as he unleashes his fangs and roars at her.
“Please,” she whispers, eyes trying to find her brother.
“For Talia,” Peter growls and rips Kate’s throat out.
As she chokes out her last breath, Stiles regains control over his body. He gags, turns around and stumbles away to puke his guts out. Behind him he hears Scott do the same.
Allison’s sobs sound deafening in the silence that follows.
Until Stiles screams.
Peter looks scared. Peter looks scared.
That’s more frightening than the sight of Stiles getting dragged onto the ground. Tree roots sprang out underneath him and before anyone could react to his scream, they’d wrapped around his body, forcing him to kneel, wrapping around him so tightly Chris knew it must hurt.
“Hale, get my son out of there!” The Sheriff yells, pure parental rage. He runs towards Stiles but is stopped by more roots bursting out of the ground and wrapping around his feet. He yells and grabs at them, trying to pull free. Chris moves to follow, but Peter holds him back.
“We have to wait, we can’t help him.”
“What the hell’s happening?” Scott yells, held back by Lydia and Allison.
Stiles has stopped screaming, mouth gone slack. Roots have wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.
“He’s communing with the Nemeton.”
He’s surrounded by white.
There’s no end to it, nothing to see on the horizon all around him.
But then it changes, grass grows as if someone’s put a nature documentary on fast-forward, until he’s surrounded by green.
He’s startled when he realizes he’s higher than the grass is, he’s standing on something. Under his feet, a familiar stump.
He quickly gets off it and stares in wonder as a sprout emerges from it and grows into a giant sequoia tree. The bark keeps twisting and changing until Stiles recognizes the makings of a face. It’s twisted and frozen, like a fucked up version of Grandmother Willow, closed eyes weeping blood.
“What the hell,” Stiles breathes out and his voice echoes.
SACRIFICE.
The word hisses around him, the grass bending as if wind’s cutting through it.
The face in the bark remains motionless.
“Uh, yes. That’s what I just did?” He asks, terrified.
REBIRTH.
“Right,” Stiles scratches his head. “Am I supposed to do something else?”
STAY.
He panics, “What, here!?”
STAY.
“No-”
BRING HER.
“Who!? Also, bring? How?” He’s actually trying to have a conversation with the tree now.
ALPHA.
That word has more power than the others, as if a hundred voices say it in unison.
“Do you mean Laura? She’s coming already-”
ALPHA OF ALPHAS.
A cacophony of shouts making Stiles grimace and cover his ears.
“There’s an Alpha of Alphas!? How does that work?”
BRING HER.
“Okay, so the Alpha is a she, any more clues you wanna give me?” He snaps, annoyed at the lack of clear instructions.
STAY.
“No, come on. Which is it, stay or bring her, how am I supposed to do both-”
Roots burst out of the grass and pull him underground.
He wakes up in his own bed, covered in cold sweat and shaking. He looks around in a daze. He’s home. He remembers Kate. Tries not to.
He looks at himself, sees his usual sleeping clothes. Wonders if it was all a bad dream. He sees his phone on the nightstand and lunges for it. It’s 4am, Friday.
The texts don’t really confirm anything.
Let me know when you’re awake, I’ll be there immediately. From Lydia.
My mom grounded me, she’s pissed. You better be ok, I need my best friend. Please be ok. From Scott.
Both from about an hour ago. Nothing else. He scrolls to find Peter’s number. Hesitates on the Call button. Decides to send a text instead.
You said not to call before 10am. So… U up?
He puts his phone down but it buzzes soon after.
Leave your window open.
A rush of butterflies in his stomach, the kind he hasn’t felt in… years. He quickly gets up to unlock the window and even push it ajar a little. Then gets back into bed and waits.
For the first time ever, Chris offers his daughter whiskey.
But because she’s smarter than him, she declines.
So he drinks alone.
They left Kate near the Hale house, properly mauled by Peter, hiding the wounds Stiles made. The Sheriff said he’d reveal the results of his investigation to the press in a few days and a likely story would follow - Kate was attacked by a mountain lion while visiting the scene of a crime, her crime.
He wonders how long will it be until he forgets her crying out for him. It was a Kate he hadn’t heard in decades, since they were kids.
Allison went for a shower but is now downstairs again, lecturing him about drinking too much too fast, pulling the bottle away, making him a sandwich so he doesn’t get sick.
He loves his daughter so much, his one good thing he ever did.
He regrets letting her come, regrets telling her about it in the first place. They should’ve hidden it from her, should’ve protected her from seeing her aunt beg for her life as her friend cuts into her.
He regrets-
As she helps him upstairs and places a water on his nightstand he’s so grateful that she’s there. That she knows.
There’s no point in regretting anything from this point onwards. He and Allison are their own little unit now. It’s them against the rest of their family.
“I’m sorry,” he says anyway, letting himself cry.
“It’s okay, dad,” she hugs him fiercely and he grips her in return. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
A soft tap on his window before it’s pulled open and Peter slips in.
Stiles is eager for answers.
“What happened? Last thing I remember is puking.”
Peter considers him. “Nothing after that?”
“Well… nothing I’d consider real.”
He didn’t really have a conversation with a tree, did he?
“Do you remember the roots?”
Stiles feels himself pale, “That was real?”
“Yes. May I?” Peter gestures at the bed.
Stiles slides over and holds out his hand, making a grabby motion. Peter pauses, blinking at it in wonder before settling in next to him, their backs against the headboard, legs over the blankets. Slowly he reaches out and takes the hand Stiles is waving at him.
He relaxes a bit, feeling a pressure on his chest ease away at the feel of skin-on-skin contact with his packmate.
“Thanks,” he mumbles and intertwines their fingers. As soon as he does it, his brain is screaming at him because this isn’t Lydia, this isn’t a common occurrence, this is a 34-year-old man he’s attracted to who is sitting on his bed, holding his hand. The blood rushes back onto his face as he blushes in embarrassment.
The man doesn’t comment on any of this.
“What did you see? Or hear?”
“The tree had a face on it,” he might as well start there.
“Oh?” Peter sounds wary.
“Yeah and it spoke to me. Like actual words this time.”
“That’s…” Peter sighs, squeezing Stiles’ fingers. “Worrying. That means it’s achieved sentience.”
“No sentences though, so maybe not quite yet?” He asks hopefully. Peter shakes his head.
“Just a word would be enough of a sign.”
“Right,” he mumbles, remembering the rest of it. “It said… sacrifice, rebirth and then stared repeating the words stay and bring her and Alpha.”
“Bring her?” Peter cocks his head.
“Yeah, and also Alpha of Alphas which sounds very weird, is that an actual thing?”
“There are… a few Alphas that could fit that description, mostly the stuff of myth and legends.” Peter goes grim. “Except one.”
“Wanna elaborate?”
“Not particularly.”
Stiles glares at that. “Why the hell not?”
“You just got through a terrifying ordeal, how about you enjoy a few weeks of your Senior year before we get to mystery solving,” Peter unlinks their fingers and clasps his hands together on his stomach, looking comfortable and evasive as fuck.
Stiles hates how attracted to him he is right now.
“Your pack’s coming this week… and Chris’ ex-wife…”
“Things you don’t need to worry about, they don’t concern you.”
“If there’s going to be people with guns walking around in the woods it concerns my dad, which in turn concerns me,” Stiles gestures triumphantly at his logic.
Peter sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “Even if it immediately turns into a bloodbath, there’s literally nothing you could do to stop it so,” he pauses to look at Stiles sternly, “Stay out of it.”
“I always take that phrase as a challenge, you know,” Stiles points vehemently.
“I’m trying to keep you breathing, why is that hard to understand?”
“No, I get it, I just don’t agree with your methods,” he shrugs. Peter groans in a way that’s very similar to how Lydia groans just before she calls him a dumbass.
Oh God, he definitely has a type.
The man gets off the bed and Stiles’ brain gets distracted by that because ‘no, why, you look good here, come back-’
“Just don’t go around pronouncing yourself Team Hale to any strangers, Gerard doesn’t like sympathizers.”
“Gerard sounds like a dickbag,” Stiles pronounces.
Peter huffs a laugh, “Eloquently put.”
“Wait,” he stammers out when Peter heads for the window. He flushes when Peter turns back to him expectantly. “You’re going already?”
“Something else you want to talk about?”
“Well…”
“Are you feeling alright?”
“I mean…” Stiles takes a moment to consider and is amazed. “I feel… like myself. More like myself. There isn’t anything muted or… gone, it’s all-” A pang of loss at the thought of him never having a chance with Lydia that wasn’t there before. An ache in his chest when he thinks of Chris. Kate- he moves on.
When he looks up and stares at Peter for a minute, the man’s neck, shoulders, jawline and arms, his thoughts come to a screeching halt.
Because he thinks he- Oh he definitely- Yep, he’s getting hard.
The man’s gaze sharpens, “That’s a new scent on you.”
Stiles yelps, grabbing one of his pillows to put on his lap. “You can smell that too!?”
“I can smell everything,” Peter gestures arrogantly.
“Shit, no privacy in a werewolf pack, huh?”
Peter chuckles, “You have no idea.”
“I was just…” He waves at his bed, already knowing how stupid and young he’s going to sound when he says, “Hoping you’d stay a bit longer, that’s all.”
Thankfully, Peter doesn’t just laugh at his weak attempt at getting… what? He’s not even sure what he’s angling for here, a sleeping partner? A make-out session? Sex? When that last thought comes he immediately feels a surge of ‘don’t want’ rush through his entire body, so that’s a no. Considering the night’s events, it would also feel like in bad taste.
Peter’s actually coming closer, he’s- Oh God, did Stiles just offer something he’s not ready to give?
But no, the man puts one knee onto the bed and leans over to cradle Stiles’ cheek like he did earlier. Like his mum used to. And this time Peter finishes the magic with a kiss on his forehead.
Abruptly, sense memory kicks in and he closes his eyes for a second and feels her there. Tears gather faster than he can blink them away.
Peter draws back, eyes knowing. Stiles wonders what he’s getting through the bond. Or from the air, apparently.
“You have about two years of rest to catch up on. Get to it.”
Stiles doesn’t protest this time as Peter turns to the window to leave. The werewolf gives him one last lingering look before disappearing from view.
He wants to kick himself.
Attraction to an older man is one thing.
What the hell is he supposed to do with affection?
Peter’s shaken. And angry. He had plans with Beacon Hills, plans that involved coming back, getting Laura to do a ritual, make them powerful again. To rebuild, to grow, to get back everything Talia had achieved. Some nights he wonders at this need to make sure what his sister built isn’t lost, if this is his way of grieving or if this is his denial.
Maybe accepting that the Hale pack will never be what it once was will mean accepting that Talia is gone, his family is gone and maybe then he will grieve.
But why would he do that? He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to feel unsettled in his own skin, homeless in his own territory, lonely in his own pack.
He wants what he had and he doesn’t think achieving that is impossible.
But now this. The Nemeton forcing a pack-bond, turning the sweet taste of revenge as he saw Kate’s eyes go dull and lifeless into an overwhelming fear of another loss as Stiles was dragged into communion. The want in him that has nothing to do with the bond and everything to do with both Peter and his wolf getting attached to the sharp mind, the shameless bravery (and sometimes the delicious shame), the soft parts of him that look so bitable and the harsh edges that hint at the man he’s becoming.
And then there’s also Chris fucking Argent, a man with so much good in him after his family did their best to erase every bit of it. Seeing him holding his sister down, not shedding a tear, focused, determined… It affected Peter in a way he didn’t expect. He wants him too, but not in the same way he wants Stiles, who he wants to protect, to mark.
He wants to break Chris down, not like Gerard tried to but into pieces of the actual man hiding behind the façade of a soldier. He wants to see what Chris looks like when he’s being selfish, when he isn’t so focused on being there for someone else.
Peter isn’t ready to care again but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s already happening.
Anger is easy to latch onto, to help hide everything else. So that’s what he’s doing as he walks to his home that’s not a home.
Which is why, when he catches the scent of a werewolf, his eyes immediately burn blue and he bares fangs at the man waiting for him on his doorstep.
“Easy, Peter,” a low voice and a flash of red eyes. The figure stands, huge. Looming.
Peter pulls his fangs back, unsettled when he recognizes him.
“Ennis.”
“Just here to talk,” he holds up his hands but it feels like a mockery of peace.
“So talk.” As soon as Stiles said ‘Alpha of Alphas’, Peter wondered if their rogue werewolf was in fact a member of the Alpha pack. Hadn’t considered it before because why on Earth would they come back to Beacon hills after eight years of staying far away from it. But now that his fears have proven true, his wolf vibrates with energy under his skin, wanting to be let out because things are getting real dangerous and his instinct to survive is caught between fight or flight.
“I’m here to get what’s owed to me. And I’ve come to you as a gesture of goodwill. Stay out of my way and no one in your pack gets harmed.”
He cocks his head, intrigued. “And what is owed to you?”
“Eight years ago, two of my Betas were killed on these lands by hunters from this town.”
“I remember,” he drawls, not liking where this is going.
“I demanded the right to bite two people as recompense. I was denied,” Ennis snarls, menacing.
“Again, I remember.”
“Things are different now, my pack’s different, but we’re looking for more members. Deucalion thinks I should collect.”
Peter’s mind is running through possible outcomes.
“And who are you thinking of biting?”
“Still deciding. But it’s no concern of yours.”
“Not the Argents, I presume?”
A growl of disgust, “I would never have an Argent in my pack. No, we were thinking of someone younger. More likely to survive.”
Peter feels unease. Stiles is younger, his friends are younger. He should’ve known he’d have a stake in this too.
“As Laura isn’t here, I’m going to speak for my Alpha. And I say you’re not allowed to bite people on our territory without our permission,” he holds out a hand placatingly when Ennis visibly tenses up. “All I ask is that you tell us who you’ve chosen to bite and we can discuss it further.”
There’s a tense silence as Peter watches the man, searching for any sign of an oncoming attack. But that’s his mistake, fully focusing on the threat in front of him and not paying attention to his surroundings.
“No deal,” Ennis growls and Peter hears movement behind him.
Before he can react, sharp pain laces up his back as claws dig into his spine.
“Been a while,” is whispered into his ear and he turns his head, shaking from the pain but refusing to scream. Dark hair, red eyes, savage grin. Kali, Deucalion’s second-in-command. They’re serious about this, then.
“I’m no good to you dead,” he tries to reason, hating how weak he sounds.
“Oh we’re not going to kill you,” Kali bats her eyelashes at him. Mockingly, they’re both mocking him, this would’ve never happened before-
He roars out, power burning in his eyes as Ennis rips into his chest. Not his heart, but tearing through muscle and flesh until fingers meet bone and crack, Peter’s sternum broken like a cheap toy.
He wishes he had neighbors. Even so, he’s screaming so loud, half-beast and thunderous, surely someone hears?
“Don’t intervene or we’ll do the same to the Stilinski kid. Except he won’t heal like us, will he?” Kali threatens and Peter wants to tear her tongue out.
“You’ve been watching me?” He chokes out.
“Of course we have. That’s what we do.”
He feels like an idiot. He feels weak.
“You’re going to regret this,” he promises them, glares at Ennis who smiles as he pulls his hand out of Peter’s chest. The feeling of that and the flow of blood that follows makes Peter woozy, lightheaded. He’s not going to be conscious for long.
“Your pack’s nothing compared to what we’ve achieved,” Kali growls at him, claws tightening around his spine.
“Your time’s over,” Ennis leers, eyes glowing red. “Know your place.”
Kali crushes the bones in her hands and Peter gasps, too overwhelmed to scream anymore before he-
Chris is hungover.
He drinks the water his daughter left for him and feels ashamed. A feeling he’s grown so used to.
The time on his phone says it’s almost 11am. He hasn’t slept this late in decades. It floors him. As do the missed calls. Three of them, the earliest around 8am.
All from Peter.
He stares at his phone, unsure of his own emotions. What he saw at that clearing, what Peter did, what he looked like… He was the killer the Nemeton tried to turn Stiles into but realized it couldn’t. Or that’s Chris’ theory. Or maybe it knew all along that the Hales would return, maybe it can see the future, who the fuck knows anymore.
But Peter… scares him. Because the hunter side of him, the teachings his dad beat into him, the lessons he shared with Kate, that all tells him that Peter’s too dangerous to be allowed to live. But the rest of him… can’t stomach even the idea of putting him down.
Putting him down. That was a phrase his dad liked to use. Like a dog. An animal.
Chris groans, rubbing at his eyes. His mind’s a mess, he shouldn’t be talking to Peter right now, he needs distance-
His phone buzzes without a ringtone. Peter’s calling again.
Against his better judgment, he accepts the call.
Before he can say the curt ‘What?’ he had planned, Peter’s gasping at him, “Fucking… finally…”
“What’s wrong?” He can hear grunts, cut-off breaths. “Are you injured?”
“You could say that… I need you to-” Peter cuts off and growls long and loud, making the hairs on the back of Chris’ neck stand up. “Come over here and help me.”
“I-” He hesitates. He wants distance.
“If you don’t help me, I might die, how about that?” Peter says quickly and Chris can hear the plea hiding beneath.
“I’m on my way.”
Notes:
uh so, about 50k words have gone by and uh...
now the story can begin?
/hides
Chapter 5: friend
Chapter Text
There’s blood on the pavement. And a trail leading to the door, like someone was dragged. Or crawling. The door’s broken, barely holding onto its hinges. The trail of blood leads further in, until Chris finds Peter on the floor of the bathroom.
“I can’t walk,” The man says without lifting his head from the floor.
Chris readies himself for the task at hand.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Clean and bandage the wounds, maybe stitch them. Anything to help them heal faster.”
Peter’s breathing is fast and shaky, he's obviously in a lot of pain. He’s also shirtless so Chris can see the mangled chest, torn open.
“Who did this?” He can’t help but ask as he moves into the fortunately spacious bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit lying open next to Peter’s shoulder.
“An Alpha,” Peter gasps out, trying push himself into a sitting position.
“You shouldn't-”
“You need to wrap it all around, there’s also-” Peter hisses, “My back, it’s why I can’t walk.”
Chris leans to take a look and grasps Peter’s shoulder to comfort- he doesn’t even know if Peter or himself because the werewolf’s lower back is torn open and Chris can see bone.
“You’re-”
“I pushed the bones back into my chest but I don’t think I can fix that so easily… She crushed it,” Peter growls.
Chris finally notices that besides being in pain, Peter is also openly angry in a way Chris has never seen him before. He holds back his other questions and gets to work, trying to move as quickly as possible.
Peter remains in that position the whole time, arms shaking from the strain of it. His expression never wavers, pure rage keeping him upright.
Chris almost feels bad for whoever did this because he’s seen what the man is like when he wants retribution.
And also, because Chris thinks he might help him get it.
Stiles makes a mental note for future reference: when you kill someone in front of your friends and family, the morning after is awkward.
His dad’s staring at him, then staring at the table, then staring at Stiles again, back to the table-
“On a scale of one to ten, how mad at me are you?” Stiles finally asks, pushing his empty plate away to make room for his elbows as he gets comfortable.
“I’m not mad at you,” Noah says immediately, which eases the tension somewhat.
“Okay,” Stiles taps his fingers, “So we’re talking what, concerned? Frustrated? Annoyed? Nah, that one’s an everyday thing.”
The Sheriff sighs and Stiles thinks he may have guessed right but then he says, “I don’t know what I am, kid. Off balance, overwhelmed… Concerned, you said? I’m definitely concerned. Is this done?” He points to Stiles with his hand, “Is this done now? Are you done with this… magic crap?”
Stiles smirks at ‘magic crap’ because it would be nice if he was actually doing magic crap and not just having magic crap happen to him, but he thinks his dad doesn’t care about the semantics.
“About that…” Might as well talk about everything else now that the main event is behind them. A flash of bloody hair in his mind’s eye but he makes himself think of kittens and manages to avoid the oncoming memory. He’s going to avoid thinking about last night for as long as possible.
Healthy coping mechanisms? Stiles doesn’t know them.
“There’s some other things we didn’t really have time to explain… You know, Hales and Argents seemed like enough to start with…”
“Like the fact that Jennifer Blake is something and has threatened you?”
“Uh,” Stiles gapes at him.
“Peter told me,” Noah admits.
“Right,” he says, trying to get back on track. “And there’s maybe also an Alpha werewolf in town and we don’t know who it is and Chris’ ex-wife is coming this weekend with men and guns intending to track and kill said Alpha and the rest of Peter’s pack is also coming and it might get real bloody and-”
“Kid,” Noah interrupts, eyes closed. “Give me a minute to process here.”
Stiles nods, pressing his lips closed and gesturing for the Sheriff to have at it.
But a thought hits him, “Wait, did we tell you about Lydia?”
Noah sighs and rubs at his eyes. “You told me she’s a uh… banshee or something, a wailing woman?”
“Okay, so we told you,” Stiles gestures again, “Sorry, continue processing.”
The word banshee triggers a realization.
“She didn’t scream.”
“Excuse me?” Noah asks, now obviously annoyed.
“Lydia, she didn’t-” Stiles scrambles for his phone, hurries to call her.
“Stiles? Are you alright?”
“I’m good, I’m fine, Lydia, you didn’t scream!”
A moment of silence.
“And?”
“We thought you would but you didn’t, did you even feel like you were going to?” He stands up and starts pacing in his kitchen, ignoring his dad’s bewildered expression.
“Not really, why does this matter again? I might never scream.”
Stiles pauses at her tone, she sounds like she wants him to stop talking. But he pushes on regardless.
“What if you’re not actually a banshee, what if we were wrong and you’re something else?”
“Stiles…”
“We still have the list, maybe we should go over it again, I can come to your place-”
“First off, I don’t want to play the guessing game again, Stiles. I like knowing what I am.”
“But-”
“And secondly, you can’t come here because… Because Allison’s here right now.”
He freezes. “Oh,” he gets out and stops to swallow, feeling like his throat clogged up the second he let himself remember-
“Allison, stop them! You know this is wrong!”
“How- How’s she doing?” He asks, can’t not ask.
Another heavy silence before Lydia sighs.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” She says gently and hangs up.
He presses his tongue against his upper lip, focusing on that pressure, that sensation and lets the shame wash over him until he feels he can breathe again. He pockets his phone.
Noah looks sad, like he understands what just happened.
“She with Allison?”
Stiles nods and sits back down. He clears his throat, “Yeah.”
“You gotta give her some time, kid.”
“I don’t-” He shakes his head, “I don’t blame her for not wanting to see me. Just… I can’t help that it hurts, you know?”
“Seeing you… do what you did,” Noah pauses, collecting himself. “It was hard. Not stopping you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers.
“From everything you guys told me, none if it was your fault. None of it. And I could see it. I could see you weren’t… you.”
“I dragged you into it, though. You had to-” A burst of nausea. He squeezes his eyes shut. “You had to hold her down, I never wanted you to-”
“Son,” Noah says fiercely, grabbing one of Stiles’ hands. “Maybe you’ll never fully understand this until you’re a parent yourself, but there’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant saving your life.”
“Thanks, dad,” he says, hoping the man can hear how much he means it.
Noah pats his hand before pulling back and gesturing at Stiles’ sleeves. “How are your bruises doing?”
“My what?” He asks, confused and looks at his covered arms.
Noah squints at him like he’s unsure if Stiles is being serious or not.
“Last night, when the root-things grabbed you. You were covered in bruises where they wrapped around your arms and chest.”
“I was?” He asks in surprise and pulls off his button up shirt to show his dad the lack of any bruising. “Well, whatever I had, they’re gone now.”
Noah stares in wonder. “You looked horrible. I wanted to take you to the hospital but Peter convinced me you just needed rest and safety,” he pauses and adds, “Also, Chris agreed with him.”
“You trust Chris more, huh?”
“He’s not the one who turned into a monster in my kitchen and charged at me, fangs bared.”
“I’m sure he didn’t charge at you,” Stiles dismisses. “And you should be thanking him. He was a key element in last night’s- Oh wait, what did you guys do with the- the-” He tries to say ‘the body’, he really does but the nausea’s back.
The Sheriff looks uncomfortable as he replies, “What we planned. It’s near the Hale house. When 24 hours are up, Chris is going to file a missing person’s report and we’ll go into the woods with a search party. Someone will find her… Or a dog will.”
Stiles nods, breathing in deep, breathing out slow.
“Yep, good, cool,” he mutters.
“You okay going to school on Monday?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he nods, he keeps nodding, his necks’ getting tired. “Just hope Allison’s fine with me being in her classes, although if the body,” he forces himself to say it, “is found before then she can you know, stay home. Dead family… family member and all that. She won’t have to see me.”
“Shit,” Noah says softly. “I so wish you kids weren’t going through this.”
“This is what life’s like now, pops. Gotta roll with it.”
“You don’t think we’ll ever get back to our normal, pre-werewolf lives?”
Stiles hesitates but… everything else is out in the open, so…
“Unlikely, considering that I’m kind of in a pack.”
The Sheriff’s face goes through several phases and Stiles tries to identify each one - confusion, understanding, more confusion, disbelief and finally, anger.
“You’re what?”
“I think I’m done,” Chris says as he finishes making sure the bandages are tight and secure.
Peter immediately lowers himself to the floor and closes his eyes, breathing harshly.
“We should probably get you to a bed.”
“In a minute,” Peter groans and Chris stands up, pausing at the doorway.
“Which room’s yours?”
“The one with the king. And red sheets.”
Chris cocks an eyebrow, “I feel like I should’ve guessed that.” He goes to get the bed ready, getting rid of the throw pillows and pulling down the blankets. He gazes at the dark color and thinks to himself, at least Peter doesn’t have to worry about obvious blood stains. Then he thinks that maybe that’s why the man picked the color in the first place.
He goes back to the bathroom and crouches down next to the werewolf.
“Ready when you are.”
“In a minute,” Peter repeats menacingly.
“Alright,” Chris drawls, awkwardly looking around the bathroom to avoid staring at the shirtless man in front of him. He hasn’t noticed Peter’s good looks before and he’s not about to now. He comes to the realization that he’s ridiculously comfortable with lying to himself. A habit that’s going to be hard to break.
“It was two,” Peter breaks the silence.
“What?”
“Two Alphas.”
Chris takes that in, what it means for the town. “You know them?”
“Used to. What do you know about the Alpha pack?”
“Shit,” he mutters and sits down on his ass for this conversation, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know that there is one. And I know what each of them did to join. And I know that it’s a pretty taboo subject among some werewolves.”
“Because what they did was unthinkable,” Peter growls, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “Losing a pack-bond is mentally harrowing for most werewolves. To go through with it over and over and over again ‘til none are left? No sane person would do that. Or they definitely wouldn’t be sane once it was done.”
He wonders if Peter’s speaking from personal experience, since him and the rest of his pack felt the loss of eleven bonds in one night. For the first time he considers the fire from the perspective of a werewolf. Losing family is hard enough but pack bonds go deep, they’re something the werewolves can physically feel, akin to a thread that connects them to others.
“So why are they here?”
“Eight years ago, Ennis was an Alpha of his own pack. Before Deucalion started the madness, Ennis lost two Betas to hunters here in Beacon Hills. If I remember correctly, you were here too.”
Chris remembers, “The packs were gathering. We didn’t know what for but Gerard wanted us ready. He told us we were here to protect the town.”
Peter snorts and immediately winces, grunting. Chris winces along in sympathy.
“More like Gerard saw an opportunity for violence.”
“What does that have to do with them being here now?” He presses, unwilling to get into another discussion about his father. He feels like he’s talked about the man enough for a lifetime.
“Ennis wanted to bite two people, Talia wouldn’t allow it. Even Deucalion was against it, which is funny if you think about it.”
“Two random people?”
“Pretty much,” Peter’s voice is getting softer. Chris thinks he’s probably going to pass out soon. “They want more members. What I don’t get is why they want to bite people, they should be looking for Alphas… Unless they’re desperate, or they have a plan…”
“So that’s what they want? And you said no?” He can’t imagine Peter putting himself in danger like that for random people.
“They said they were considering younger ones, so I thought of Stiles and of course I said no.”
Chris considers him. “Brave of you.”
“No, it was stupid. I should’ve lied to buy us more time.”
“Laura’s going to be one Alpha against many.”
“It’s not Laura, I’m thinking about. Your family wants to hunt an Alpha? Let them.”
Chris hums, “Innocent people might get hurt.”
“People are gonna get hurt anyway. That’s literally what Ennis said he’s going to do.”
Chris stays silent, thinking. Trying to find a good plan among many bad ones. When he looks back at Peter, them man’s face is slack and his breathing’s deepened.
He sighs, “You wouldn’t have been able to help me anyway.”
He moves back to a crouching position and pulls Peter up by his arms. He pauses when Peter’s face falls into the crook of his neck, breath hot against his skin.
He is not noticing how firm Peter feels under his hands.
However, when he puts an arm around the man’s thighs and another around his back and shuffles him onto his shoulder, he does notice how goddamn heavy he is. He barely gets himself standing. May have pulled a muscle in his thigh while doing so.
The force of the lift stretches Peter’s torso and the werewolf wakes up with a roar.
“Easy!” He yells as a hand with claws grabs at his hip.
“Move quicker!” Peter growls, leaving his hand where it is, claws drawing blood.
Chris hisses and does as he’s told but feels the need to complain, “You’re really fucking heavy.”
“Pure muscle usually is,” Peter gasps out through the pain and Chris chuckles in surprise. “Nice ass.”
Chris reaches the bedroom and tries to place Peter onto the bed as gently as possible.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“Why? I said it because I wanted you to hear it.”
Chris doesn’t reply, just helps the man get settled. “Comfortable? Less pillows or more?”
“Less.”
He pulls one away. “Good?”
Peter shifts his shoulders around before sighing in relief. “Yes.”
He waits for a ‘thank you’ for two seconds before realizing it’s not coming.
“Need anything else? I will say, I am not cleaning.”
Peter grins at him wickedly, “So much for my knight in shining armor.”
“Knights don’t clean either.”
“My phone’s in the bathroom, needs to be charged.”
“I’ll get it.”
When he comes back and plugs it onto the charger waiting on the nightstand, the screen brightens and he sees the messages.
“Laura’s texted you. Stiles too.”
Peter holds out his thumb. Chris uses it to unlock the screen, suddenly feeling bemused at how his day is going. This was not what he expected when he woke up.
“Read them,” Peter mumbles, eyes closed.
“Laura says that they’re coming early, already on their way. Arriving tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“And…” He pauses and decides to read Stiles’ message in full. “Call me when you’re up. Leave the beauty sleep to those who need it.” Is Stiles… flirting?
Peter’s soft smile makes him uncomfortable. He didn’t think the man had any other smiles besides smug, wicked and angry.
Now he can add tender to that list.
“Give me the phone,” Peter demands and Chris does so, rolling his eyes at himself.
A part of him is still expecting some kind of gratitude for helping the man, even though he guesses he really shouldn’t.
Peter’s calling Stiles. And then he’s staring right at Chris as he says, “What do you need, sweetheart?”
Peter will never admit how much of a comfort Chris’ mere presence was the second he came in. That low voice murmuring platitudes like ‘almost done’ and ‘just a few more’ when he was stitching and bandaging his wounds helped him regain some semblance of self after panicking at a familiar powerless predicament. He couldn’t walk the first week after waking up in New York. And now, three months later, he’s back to bedrest.
He wants to laugh. Because when the world keeps kicking him down, what else can he do but laugh at the absurdity of it.
He decides to take his unease out on Chris, to make him feel uneasy. Peter likes seeing the man unsure, likes knowing he’s not comfortable around Peter. He wonders what that says about him. But he doesn't really care.
“What do you need, sweetheart?”
Chris’ face shutters immediately. But Peter can scent the emotion the man doesn’t want him to see. Jealousy.
“Uh…” Stiles stutters. “I was just curious, since Lydia didn’t scream last night like we thought she would, does that mean she might be something else?”
“Some banshees never scream.”
“So everyone keeps saying, yeah, I get it. But isn’t there a possibility we got it wrong in the first place?”
“I don’t know, darling, people who have visions is a broad and unspecific category of supernatural creatures. Anything’s possible, really,” he’s starting to feel drowsy again, voice becoming a drawl. Chris looks away from him. Peter’s eyes narrow in disappointment. He rather likes it when Chris looks at him.
“What’s-” Stiles clears his throat. “You okay? You sound weird.”
“Oh, I’m fine, dear. Just a flesh wound,” he smirks at the reference, wonders if Stiles will even get it.
“Wound? Also, what the hell is with the endearments?”
Peter sighs, “Just having fun.”
“What?”
“Also, I’m tired so talk to Chris, he can answer your questions.”
“Wait-”
“Here,” he thrusts the phone out towards the man currently glaring at the wall.
Chris accepts the phone against his better judgement and stares as Peter immediately passes out, hand flopping down onto the bed.
He can hear Stiles shouting.
He can also hear, “Chris, please!”
He blinks until Kate’s voice fades and holds the phone to his ear.
“He passed out.”
“Wha- You’re with him?”
“He needed help.”
“So he is wounded? How?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. He’ll heal, though,” he hurries to assure.
“Shit, can I come over there? Where’s there, even?”
“Laura got them a house. I can… text you the address but I don’t know what good it will do for you to come here.”
“I wanna see him.”
“He’s tired, he’s hurt-”
“You’re not making me want to see him less, Chris.”
He pauses, wondering if Peter’s even okay with Stiles knowing where he lives if he hasn’t told the boy himself.
“Is this because… Because you don’t want to see me?”
And he’s never heard Stiles sound like that. Like the voice in Chris’ head. Full of shame.
He doesn’t want to hear it coming from him.
So he says, “Alright, you can come over.”
Stiles stares at the house with wide eyes. Laura’s loaded, he thinks to himself. But also, that’s a lot of blood.
He was worried before and now he’s terrified. He even hesitates at the door. The broken door.
He steps around the blood and follows the trail to a bathroom.
“Chris?” He yells out. The man’s head pops out of another room down the hall.
“In here.”
He doesn’t let himself look at Chris just yet, instead focuses on the figure on the bed. A really nice, huge, most comfy looking bed that Stiles has ever seen.
He kind of wants to crawl in.
“Peter?” He asks softly, figuring if the man doesn’t respond, he’ll leave him alone.
But Peter’s eyes flicker open and find his.
“Why are you here?”
Wow. Grumpy.
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he says, coming closer and sitting carefully onto the bed, trying not to jostle the man.
“Well, I’m not.”
He winces, “Yeah, I can see that.” Pale and clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, thick and wide bandages with some red seeping through. “How did this happen?”
“Chris can tell you, could’ve told you over the phone.”
He reaches out and wraps his fingers around Peter’s forearm.
“What are you doing?”
“I-” Well now he feels dumb. Especially with Chris still in the room, watching. “I was hoping this would help a bit.”
“I’m in physical pain, you idiot,” Peter grumbles.
“Geez, you’re grouchy.”
“My spine is crushed and I can’t walk, just try to tell me I shouldn’t be grouchy.”
“Jesus, what!?” Stiles gapes in shock and his hands flutter over the other’s torso worriedly. “You can’t walk?”
“I’ll heal,” Peter says and there’s a little bit of that softness Stiles remembers from last night. He’s relieved to see that it’s not gone.
“Okay,” Stiles hovers over the bandages, “Okay,” he says again.
“Best thing you can do right now is let me sleep.”
He nods, getting up. “Sorry,” he says before leaving the room, feeling awkward because Chris told him he shouldn’t come, Peter didn’t want him to come and seeing the man didn’t ease his worries at all, just made them worse so this was entirely pointless.
“He’s in a lot of pain,” Chris says, closing the bedroom door behind them.
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes. He steels himself and meets Chris’ eyes. All he sees is concern. “Hi,” he says because as today has proven - he’s an idiot.
The man smiles at him. He cut into Kate’s arms while Chris held her down and the man still manages to smile at him. Stiles doesn’t really know what to do with that.
“You okay? Do the bruises hurt?”
Stiles pulls his sleeves up, “They’re gone. I didn’t even know I had any until dad asked about them.”
“And how’s Noah?”
“He’s… processing. Chris…” He’s unsure of how to convey the gratitude he feels at the man treating him like nothing’s different. “Thanks for letting me come,” is what he decides on, hoping the other catches the meaning behind it.
From the way Chris’ expression softens, he thinks he got it.
“Of course. Also, Laura will be here tomorrow. Her presence will help him heal a bit faster.”
“What happened?” He asks again.
When Chris starts telling him, he quickly goes to a stool so he can sit down, because his knees go weak at the words ‘two Alphas’.
“You’re usually not this quiet,” Chris points out. Stiles hasn’t said a word in minutes.
“I’m processing.” He laughs harshly. “Which apparently is the Stilinski word of the day.”
“There’s nothing you can do here, Stiles. Best thing for everyone is if you kids just focus on school and try to get back to normal.”
“Not as easy as it sounds.”
“I know.”
“I think I know how my dad felt. Wanting to help, to stop it, but being powerless to do so.” Stiles groans. “It fucking sucks.”
Chris spreads his hands, “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks for telling me about the Alpha pack. I think Peter wouldn’t have.”
He thinks the same and hopes the man isn’t angry enough to use his claws when he finds out. The stinging scratches on his hip are enough to deal with.
“You can go now, I’ll take care of him until Laura gets here.” He can’t believe the words as he’s saying them. But isn’t this what he owes to the Hales? Aid, in whatever manner he can provide? That sounds like he’s trying to get rid of his guilt with good deeds. But what else is he supposed to do?
“I was actually thinking I might…” Stiles trails off, pulling out his phone.
“You might what?” Chris prods.
“Hang on, I’m googling how to get blood off the pavement.”
Chris smiles bitterly. Of course he is.
It takes a trip to the grocery store and several hours to get rid of the blood. When Chris says he’s not helping, Stiles shoots him a look of such utter disbelief that the man finds himself holding a mop a few minutes later, wondering at how his day has gone so off course.
Peter’s not even going to thank them for this. Well, Chris muses to himself, he’ll probably thank Stiles.
Stiles is positively vibrating with energy in a way Chris hasn’t seen in a while. It’s good, he realizes. Stiles is acting more like himself, erratic, hardly ever still.
But he also catches Stiles staring at the blood a few times and at the inside of his arm and at the bloody mop that Chris figures might resemble hair. He’s not the only one dealing with phantom memories from last night. All of them will probably be dealing with them for months to come, if not years.
Except for Peter, of course. He can imagine the memory of Kate’s death being something to savor for him. And at this point, Chris can’t blame him.
After they’ve finished, Stiles leaves but not without a lingering look towards Peter’s bedroom.
“I’ll let you know if anything happens,” he promises. Remembers a time a few days ago when he was entertaining the notion of ‘making a move’ on Stiles and now look where he’s at. Helping the boy take care of his… what? He doesn’t even know what they are to each other. If they even are something, or if the pet-names Peter crooned into the phone were just meant to make Chris uncomfortable, which they did.
Either way, it’s none of his business.
Liking Stiles was madness anyway, he never should’ve let Allison and Lydia get in his head.
He can be his friend, like he’s been for years now.
After Stiles leaves, he goes to check on Peter.
The man’s awake again.
He wonders if the pain’s too much to let him sleep properly. Humans would be on heavy painkillers to help with that.
“Did your wife call you Christopher?”
He freezes with a hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry?”
“Just trying to figure out why you don’t like being called that. It’s a nice name. Rolls off the tongue well. I like saying it.”
Chris stares at Peter who stares at the ceiling. If he didn’t know any better he’d say the man is on heavy painkillers and thus, high.
But no, he assumes this is just Peter being Peter. Maybe he should ask Laura if this is normal behavior or if Chris is special for some reason.
Although, he’s an Argent. That probably makes him special enough.
“She did… does,” he admits. “So does my dad.”
“Ah,” Peter says softly. “I’ll refrain from calling you Christopher then.”
The way Peter’s mouth moves around the name, Chris can actually tell that he likes saying it. It even sounds nice, in a way he never thought it would ever again.
“I appreciate it,” Chris says, moving further into the room. “Do you need anything?”
“I remember when the school was buzzing with rumors about you and her. One of the most sought-after guys, who half the cheerleading team wanted to date, was getting married to a 26-year-old.”
Chris bares his teeth in disbelief, but before he can gather himself for a response, Peter continues.
“And then there was the rumor that she was pregnant before the wedding even. The scandal of it all!” Peter gasps dramatically. “But you left town before she started showing so no one ever knew if it was true. I remember finding the whole thing so gross. An 18-year-old with someone so old.” Peter barks out a laugh. “Look at me now. Well, us. The irony.”
“Are you done?” Chris asks, voice deep with anger.
“No. Maybe. I need to pee.”
Chris sighs harshly and moves to help.
The whole ordeal is silent, apart from Peter’s cursing, and awkward. Chris tries to stop his eyes from lingering, hands from straying but he thinks he didn’t do a good enough job of it when Peter turns his head to smirk at him.
But they say nothing and Chris takes him back to bed.
“My point is,” Peter continues, after struggling to breathe for a few minutes, “You had a fucked up life.”
Chris laughs darkly, caught off guard.
“And if you ever want to talk about it,” Peter puts his hand on his heart and looks at Chris, smirk returning. “I’m here for you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chris says.
“Don’t I look like a good listener?”
“You look like you love listening to the sound of your own voice.”
“I mean, I am a good singer.”
Chris shakes his head, amused.
“I am half-serious, though. Who else are you going to talk to in this town? We thirty-something men with supernatural trauma have got to stick together.”
Chris just stares at Peter, trying to get a good read on him but it’s impossible unless Peter wants to be read. And right now the only thing Chris is getting is enigmatic.
Which doesn’t help him with this conversation.
He takes a breath to reply when Peter holds up a hand.
“I don’t mean right now.”
Chris glares and leaves the room.
He spends a few hours reading and sending emails on his phone, browsing the news and thinking about what to do about food when he hears a car pull in and then two people getting out of it and finally, a knock on the barely-upright door.
He goes to open it.
Stiles lifts the take-out bag in his hands, “I bring sustenance! The fridge looked like it just came from the factory or something.”
Chris holds back a smile.
“Alright but what is he doing here?” He points at Scott who waves at him, looking uncomfortable.
“We were studying when I thought about getting you food,” Stiles starts explaining as he brushes past Chris and heads towards the open kitchen. “So it seemed obvious to just continue studying here.”
“Did it?” He asks Scott, who chuckles nervously, before following his friend.
When he gets to the kitchen, he is grateful for the wide selection of take-out he finds, suddenly feeling ravenous. They get to eating and Stiles and Scott continue their study session which Chris gathers is biology from listening in.
“See? You’ll do fine,” Stiles says when Scott nails yet another question.
Chris goes to ask Peter if he wants any food but quickly shuts the door again when he hears the deep breathing.
“-it was so weird, he looked so mad. Like Lydia missing school was a personal offense or something,” Scott is saying when he gets back.
“Who looked mad?” Chris asks, worried.
“Jackson,” Stiles says, grimacing. “He’s been trying to talk to Lydia again lately. She’s not interested, though.”
“He’s even trying to get Allison’s help,” Scott tells him seriously.
“If he ever becomes a serious problem, let me know.”
Stiles snorts, “What, so you can do the, ‘I own a lot of guns’ thing again?”
“I have a thing?” Chris asks.
“You did that to me,” Scott says and then quickly looks like he regrets opening his mouth.
Chris stares him down but decides to let the kid off the hook, shrugging. “Good to know. I’ll think of something else then,” he grins, watching how Scott gulps, looking away and how Stiles-
Stiles is staring at him, wide-eyed and biting his lower lip.
Chris remembers Lydia telling him, “You have a habit of smiling like you’re thinking about killing someone.”
He wasn’t even trying to be intimidating, it’s just fun to mess with Scott.
Lydia also told him that Stiles likes intimidating.
He needs to ignore this.
Fortunately, there’s a knock at the door. Which this time swings inside on its own.
Chris turns with eyebrows raised because who else-
Oh, Noah steps in, holding a six-pack and a tool chest.
He holds up the former, “Thought you might like some beer,” and then the latter, “and figured we should fix the door.”
It’s another few hours later when the door is fixed, the food’s almost gone and Chris and Noah are finishing up the last of the beer when there’s yet another knock.
This time it’s Lydia, who goes to Stiles right away and pulls up his sleeves.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“You’re known to lie, Stiles. But I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I brought the list with me too-”
“Stiles.”
“I know you said you don’t want to-”
“Yes, I did. So don’t.”
“But-”
“I will not be your pet project to help you avoid dealing with what happened," she snaps at him.
A moment of silence. Noah looks like he wants to intervene. Chris subtly signals him to stay out of it.
Stiles’ shoulders slump as he gives up.
Lydia gives him a pat on the shoulder and turns to the counters covered in empty cartons and take-away boxes. “Is there anything left?”
Chris sneaks off as the others try to find something for her.
Peter’s awake when he peeks into the bedroom.
“Why are they all here?” He asks grouchily.
“You should be grateful. The floors are clean and the door is fixed."
“I didn’t ask them to do that,” Peter complains but turns his head to fix Chris with a stare. “Thank you.”
He’s unsure if he heard that right, comes closer to the bed.
“The only person I actually invited to my home,” Peter continues grumpily and turns his head back straight, closing his eyes. Light laughter reaches them, Chris thinks it’s Scott and Noah he hears. Peter groans.
“Want me to tell them to leave?”
A bright cackle that could only be Stiles’.
Peter’s face visibly relaxes.
“No, it’s fine. But I want food.”
“I’ll order some more, any preferences?”
“Meat.”
“Got it.”
“-could you arrest him for me?” Stiles is begging his dad when he gets back into earshot.
“I am not. Arresting anyone. Just for you,” Noah says calmly, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his point.
“Harris is such a dick, though,” Stiles mumbles.
“Don’t call your teacher a dick,” Noah reprimands.
“He’s also kind of a genius,” Lydia says, poking into one of the cartons with a fork and emerging with a dumpling.
“Why’s he teaching a high school chemistry class then?” Stiles asks.
“Some people don’t have ambition,” Lydia shrugs and eats the dumpling.
Chris feels a bit overwhelmed at all of the energy in the room. He blinks in shock when there’s another knock at the door. Scott quickly bounces up and runs to the door. Chris feels himself sober up when he sees his daughter standing there. She sends him a small smile and gives Scott a peck on the lips.
And then she walks to the kitchen where Stiles is standing up, pale as a ghost.
“Allison, I-”
She doesn’t let him finish, wrapping him up in a fierce hug.
“I’m not letting her or a stupid tree ruin my life or my friendships,” she says loudly.
Stiles pats her on the back weakly.
“You’re stronger than you look,” he rasps.
She pulls back, sheepish. “You and me, we’re good,” she pronounces and looks at him square in the eyes.
Chris can tell she’s tense, and Stiles isn’t okay either. They’re obviously not good. But when they smile at each other and clasp shoulders, he relaxes a bit because they’re on the path to getting there at least.
“How the hell did I get so lucky with you guys?” Stiles asks, waving at his friends.
“You’re not so bad either, bud,” Scott says and tackles him with a hug.
There’s a warmth in his chest that he thinks he can call pride. When his eyes meet Noah’s, he can tell the other man feels it too.
Their kids will be alright.
After ordering more food, bringing some of it to Peter, having a few more beers with Noah and ushering the curious teenagers away from Peter’s room (”If you go in, I can’t guarantee your safety,” he says to the girls. At Lydia’s disbelief he pulls up his shirt and shows off the scratches on his hip. They sulkily go back to the living room.), they all decide to stay there for the night.
“I can help you with Peter,” Noah offers and they drag two armchairs they found into Peter’s room so they can sleep in them. And Chris is grateful, because when Peter needs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, dragging him there is a lot easier with help. Peter barely acknowledges the Sheriff’s presence.
Allison and Lydia sleep in one bed, Scott and Stiles in another.
It feels like a sleepover.
And then morning arrives.
Chris wakes up in his armchair to the sound of cars. He looks around, sees that Noah and Peter are both still asleep and gets up. His phone says it’s 7am, Saturday.
He opens the door to find three sets of glowing eyes, one of them red and terrifying.
“You cleaned up nicely but I can still smell how much blood there was,” Laura says and oh. She doesn’t know that Peter got hurt or that Chris came here to help. He holds up his hands but before he can start to explain their gazes go past him.
“Who hurt you?” Laura growls and pushes past him, Chris having to take a step back from the force of her movement. When she heads towards the correct bedroom, he figures it out that Peter must have said something.
Cora comes in next and looks him up and down before huffing dismissively and following her sister.
And then the last one to enter. If looks could kill, Chris muses to himself.
“Derek,” he nods, aiming for friendly.
“Argent,” Derek snaps back.
He did it again, didn’t he? Chris didn’t want to actually consider what Peter told him about Kate and Derek, didn’t want to think about it so he pushed it aside. Now the man stands before him and Chris aches, knowing what he went through.
But he can’t do anything about it. Can’t change any of it, or make it better.
So he acts like he would just meeting someone for the first time. “There’s food, if you’re hungry and I can make some coffee.”
Derek stares him down, suspicious. But finally nods and moves towards the kitchen.
Chris breathes out, a little shaky, as he closes the front door.
And braces himself for whatever's next.
Chapter 6: team hale
Chapter Text
“Oh, uncle,” Laura sighs sadly as soon as she sees him.
“Put your pity away, I’m already healing,” Peter whispers, and then puts a finger to his mouth and points to the Sheriff, who is still dozing in the armchair.
“Is that Stilinski? What’s he doing here?” Laura asks, also speaking in a whisper, as she moves to sit on the bed.
He lets her grab his hand, knows her Alpha instincts are probably rattled from seeing a packmember helpless like this.
“He knows about werewolves.”
“Huh,” Laura glares at him. “I remember you asking me if you could reveal yourself to him and I said I needed time to think about it.”
“We ran out of time,” he shrugs at her unapologetically. “He helped with the ritual.”
“That happened too?” Laura shouts, glances at Noah who snorts a little, then continues in a vehement whisper, “Anything else you’d like to update me on?”
“No. Well. Stiles Stilinski is pack. To me. Not to you.”
Laura flings his hand away in a dramatic gesture he appreciates. Laura can be rather entertaining when she wants to be. It’s the side of her he’s missed the most this week they’ve been apart.
Cora also enters and waves at him, staying by the door. He smiles and waves back.
“How on Earth does that happen?”
“The Nemeton. Why did the ritual happen so soon? The Nemeton. It’s sentient now, but I’m not sure what that means for the town yet.”
“Peter.”
“Yes?”
“You were here for a week. Less than, even.”
“And it was eventful. Are you not interested in hearing how I got hurt?”
“Let me guess. The Nemeton?”
“Wrong. The Alpha pack.”
Laura just stares at him for a few seconds. “Are you serious?”
“What’s that?” Cora asks.
Laura sighs, looking like the weight of the entire world just fell on her shoulders. “I’ll explain and then Peter will tell us what the hell is going on, yeah?” She stares at him until he rolls his eyes and agrees.
“Derek, you better be listening too, I hate repeating myself,” Laura says and waits for Derek’s ‘I am, Laura’ before continuing.
Sometime during Peter’s retelling of yesterday’s events, the Sheriff wakes up and glances around in bewilderment. Laura barely looks at him to say, “We’ll talk in a minute. Chris is in the kitchen,” before turning her full attention back on Peter.
The man leaves, groaning about sore muscles.
He might have made the coffee too strong. Derek’s making a face while drinking it.
“Taste okay?”
Derek shrugs.
Chris looks upwards in search of inspiration.
“How does it feel to be back?” He asks and regrets it immediately. Way too heavy of a topic to spring on a guy.
Derek, to his credit, just frowns at his empty cup and says, “Don’t know yet.”
“Refill?”
“No.”
Chris thinks about getting himself a refill, then thinks better of it. He’s on high enough alert as it is.
“Well, for what it’s worth…” He smirks self-deprecatingly, “And it’s probably worth nothing but… You’re welcome here.”
Derek looks at him. “Your family will disagree.”
“So you know they’re coming.”
“Of course. Laura didn’t give up the apartment in New York yet. We might have to run from another fire.”
Chris winces subtly, “I won’t let that happen.” He says as if he has any power here.
By the doubt on Derek’s face, he probably gets how empty that statement was.
“You’re one man against many.”
“Well…” He feels the need to specify, “I also have Noah.”
“Who?” Derek frowns.
“Uh, that’d be me,” Noah says, coming around the corner. He’s massaging his neck and lower back, looking pained. “The Sheriff, who is too old to be sleeping in armchairs, Jesus.”
Derek stands for some reason. Chris studies the attentiveness, wondering if it’s because Noah’s a stranger, law enforcement or something else.
“Derek, right?” He steps forward and offers a hand. Derek shakes it firmly. “I don’t know if you remember me but I remember you. You’ve grown a lot, though. Hardly recognized you.”
“I remember.”
And maybe that’s what the attentiveness was, recognition.
“Do I smell coffee? Thank God, pour me a cup, would you?” He asks, settling down on one of the stools.
“It’s uh, stronger than I planned it to be.”
“Perfect, I have a 14-hour shift ahead of me so give it all and then make more.”
“Yes, sir,” Chris chuckles.
Derek’s looking unsure as he glances between them but finally returns to his seat next to Noah.
“Damn, he actually helped you?” Cora asks, impressed.
“Went above and beyond,” Peter drawls, keeping his eyes on Laura who is silently taking everything in. “We now have two hunters and the town Sheriff as allies. I’d like to think I’ve done pretty well for us.”
“From what I’m hearing, Stiles did pretty well for us.”
“As usual, my efforts go unappreciated. More like your mother every day.”
Laura ignores that, continuing, “The Alphas are a serious issue. What are the odds that they’re here the same week you come back?”
“As much as I’d like to think that the world revolves around me, I think that part’s just an awful coincidence. We’re not the reason they’re here.”
Laura considers that.
“The Argents?”
“Gerard was the one who blinded Deucalion after all. Maybe he finally feels strong enough to take on the entire Argent army.”
“Army?” Cora asks, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Figure of speech, but that’s what they’re called,” Laura tells her. “He has around forty to fifty hunters across the states that follow his orders. Well, Victoria’s orders because the Argents have always been a matriarchy but it’s a well known secret that Gerard took over the second his wife died.”
“And they’re all coming here?” Cora’s fear makes Peter’s instincts perk up. Pack. Comfort.
But there isn’t any comfort to give, really. It’s a shitty situation they’re in. That Peter’s dragged them into. He tries anyway.
“Probably not all of them. I’m expecting something around twenty hunters, maybe ten of them will arrive now with Victoria.”
“And you can’t walk.”
“Give me a few days, I’ll be tap dancing like I used to.”
Cora smirks, “Did you actually tap dance? I can’t imagine that.”
“I have layers,” Peter narrows his eyes at her.
“Do you think there’s a chance for us to be bystanders here? Let them fight each other?” Laura interrupts them.
Peter sighs, “Not really. Gerard wants us dead and attacking me was statement enough from the Alphas. We might have to pick a side.”
“You’d work with Ennis and Kali after what they did to you?”
“To a point. That point being the eradication of the hunters in Beacon Hills.”
“Why not work with the hunters first? The Alphas are planning to bite kids.”
“Honestly, both options are shit. Either one is likely to stab us in the back.”
“So we’ll play it by ear,” Laura concludes, not looking happy about it. “Our goal is keeping as many people safe as possible.”
“By people, I hope you mean the ones who don’t want to erase our entire species?”
Laura looks tired. “Fine, whatever. I’m going to talk to the Sheriff now. Derek, Cora, wake up the other little intruders and pick your rooms while you’re at it.”
Stiles dreams of being pulled in by strong arms, his ass gripped and squeezed, a hot mouth on his neck, then a tongue, then teeth-
He moans sleepily and tightens his arms around the body he’s wrapped around.
“I need to breathe, Stiles,” he hears Scott mumbling.
…Scott.
“Nope!” He yelps, pushing his lower body away from his best friend. And then screams in a very unmanly manner because there’s a stranger looming over the bed. His flailing sends him sliding backwards, onto the floor. He gasps as he lands on his hip, bruising more than his ego.
The man with a killer scowl cocks his head. And smirks.
“Uncle Peter’s laughing at you.”
Stiles lets his head thump onto the ground.
“Super.”
The Hales are in one word, intense. Peter’s intensity is a little more subtle, it can creep up on you just like the man can creep up on you, which is a big part of his… “charm”.
But the others…
Laura is a gorgeous brunette in her late twenties with sharp features, high cheekbones and a presence that screams ‘I’m in charge’. Stiles watches in awe as she scopes out her home, moving around in that steady pace that some people have, which assumes anyone caught in their path will make way for them. He watches Derek and Cora do just that. When she inspects the kitchen, where their whole gang is hanging out awkwardly, every single person makes sure she never has to ‘squeeze by’ someone. Stiles wonders if it’s an Alpha thing, a supernatural signal that makes brains go ‘move or die’.
Noah and Laura are conversing as she’s walking around but occasionally she turns her head towards Peter’s room and apparently talks to him as well.
“I’m grateful for all of the assistance you’ve given my family… I beg to disagree, Peter… And I hope you’re willing to work with us in the future… No, we’re not blackmailing him.”
It’s a bit confusing to follow at times, causing his dad to make that face that Stiles calls his ‘how did I get here’ face.
“Of course, if it’s in the interest of keeping the town safe. I’m not sure I like being… in the know, but it makes it easier to wrap my head around some of the things that I’ve seen.”
Derek, the man who almost gave Stiles a heart attack earlier, speaks up.
“And what if our main interest is keeping us safe?”
Stiles leans over to the young girl he assumes to be Cora, who’s been sitting on the counter this whole time and asks, “Is his face stuck that way?”
Quick as a whip, Derek’s eyes land on him and that stare could burn through cement.
“Pretty much,” Cora replies, smirking when her brother shoots her a look of betrayal.
“Kids,” Noah chides. “We’ll have to take this one day at a time for now. And we need to keep the communication open,” he looks at Laura meaningfully. “This Alpha thing needs to be dealt with if they’re planning to hurt more people.”
“Of course,” Laura promises easily, then looks at Chris. “I’m also willing to work with Victoria when she gets here-” She pauses, mouth snapping shut. Cora’s eyebrows shoot up while Derek just glares at Chris in a way that makes Stiles want to step in front of the man and hide him protectively. “Peter isn’t, but he isn’t the Alpha, so that doesn’t matter.”
Another pause and Cora snickers quietly.
“Do you guys do this all the time? Have conversations while in different rooms?” Stiles asks.
“We can hear each other just fine, so why wouldn’t we?” Cora looks at him like he’s stupid.
“I mean…” Stiles stammers, “Fair, I guess. But as a human bystander, can I say that it’s annoying as hell?”
“No you cannot,” Cora shrugs and he gapes at her.
“You calling us annoying?” Derek asks and okay, Stiles regrets pulling attention to himself. He should’ve acted like his much smarter friends who have been quiet after introducing themselves, blending into the background.
“Unclench and figure out what you need from the store,” Laura waves at her brother.
He frowns but heads towards the bedroom Scott and Stiles slept in.
“A new bed,” he says clearly before disappearing from view.
“Hey,” Stiles protests, “We didn’t even do anything!”
Scott slaps his chest and looks scandalized.
“What?”
Laura’s staring at him now, curious. “Peter said they’ve also been keeping an eye on you, Stiles. So we need to think of a safety measure. A buddy system’s always good.”
“Uh, what good are two humans against a werewolf?” Stiles asks, glancing at Chris. But the man’s been real quiet and not meeting his eyes at all.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of making sure one of us is always around… Cora’s joining your Senior class so at school she can keep her eyes and ears open.” The girl straightens up at that, seemingly liking the assignment. “Before and after school, Derek can drive you. And we’ll use mountain ash to make sure your homes are safe.”
Another obvious pause as Laura rolls her eyes before saying, “Because I say so, Derek. And once Peter’s back on his feet, we’ll start hunting. Try to catch a scent.”
Noah nods, “Good. Well, keep me posted if things change. I got to get to work, anyone need a lift anywhere?”
“With the amount of cars out there I imagine that’s a no,” Laura says dryly and Stiles remembers his own Jeep is parked right in the middle of the nice driveway, probably the perfect place for an Alpha. He surreptitiously moves to stand behind Chris, who finally glances at him, eyebrow raised.
“I’m off then, I’ll see you later at home, Stiles! And Laura, you have my number.”
After he leaves, others start moving too.
“I have work today, so…” Scott says and Allison offers to give him a ride. Lydia goes off on her own and that leaves Chris and Stiles, the latter still using the man’s body as a shield.
Laura comes to stand closer, leaning down to put her arms onto the counter and link her fingers. “I’m also grateful to you, Chris.”
“Don’t mention it,” the man says stiffly. Stiles looks at the back of his head in surprise at the tone.
“Not just for staying with Peter. He told me about the ritual. Thank you for helping my uncle avenge our family.”
“To be fair, I didn’t have that much of a choice,” Chris clears his throat. “But I also realized that what she did… There’s no coming back from that. She was dangerous.”
“As is your father.”
“A topic for another time, perhaps.”
Stiles notices the slight tilt towards him that Chris’ head makes. He looks over the man’s shoulder and Laura’s staring right at him.
“And thank you too, Stiles.”
“I literally had no choice. Or control. But sure, you’re welcome.”
“Peter said you’ve been integral in helping Chris become a member of ah, Team Hale.”
Cora snorts.
Stiles steps up to stand beside Chris rather than behind him when he shrugs, “Yeah. He refuses to wear the T-shirt, though.”
“Please tell me there actually is one,” Cora begs.
Stiles just winks at her.
“But what I’m getting at is, you two specifically, are under the Hale pack’s protection. Your family and friends also fall under it by association but that’s less of an official thing.”
“And our protection’s official? In what way?” Stiles asks, interested now.
Laura straightens and comes around to stand before Chris. She holds out her hand, inches from his face. “May I?”
Chris breathes in deeply and nods. Stiles watches with wide eyes as Laura places her hand the side of Chris’ head and then drags it down, along the man’s neck, all the way to his shoulder.
She then turns to him, holding out her hand. “May I?”
“Uh, depends. What are you doing?”
“She’s putting her scent on us, marking us as hers. It doesn’t last long if done like this but it’s better than nothing,” Chris explains.
“Except, wouldn’t being yours mark us even further for the Alphas? They did rip into Peter who is in your pack, even.” He stares at Laura’s hand suspiciously.
“There is a lot more out there than just the Alpha pack,” Laura says calmly and Stiles gulps. “Also, they already know about you. And Chris. Peter’s scent is all over you. Mine just makes sure that any werewolves passing through know not to mess with you.”
“And does that happen often? Werewolves just… passing through?”
“More often than you’d think,” Chris tells him seriously.
“Well, fuck. Alright. Wolf me up,” he tilts his head.
Laura does that same slide and Stiles shivers a little at the end of it. Her hand is smooth and hot and also weirdly distant.
“That’s that, then.” She pats him on the shoulder. “Derek, I’m leaving,” she says quietly while staring at Stiles.
“That’s still annoying.”
“If not a new bed then a new mattress, please,” Derek says as he heads for the door. “It stinks in there.” He leaves the house.
“Well, I take offense to that,” Stiles raises his hand and looks for support.
Cora smirks at him. “You should.”
“Be nice,” Laura says and bumps her fist against Cora’s arm who doesn’t even flinch.
“Why?” She just asks which makes Laura sigh, like a tired parent - a sigh that Stiles is very familiar with.
“Can I come too?” Cora asks, jumping down from her seat.
“Someone needs to stay with Peter, just in case.”
“I can do that, you should go get what you need to settle in.”
Laura looks at Chris in surprise. “You’re going above and beyond here, Chris.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he shrugs. Stiles can sense a tension in the air as Laura studies him.
“So what, you’re like our butler now?” Cora asks and Stiles bristles.
“Don’t be stupid,” Laura scolds her, dragging her away from the kitchen. “Butlers get paid,” she sends Chris a wink before closing the door behind them.
“I didn’t like that at all-” Stiles stops when Chris holds his fingers to his mouth. He then taps his ear and Stiles gets it. Werewolf hearing.
They wait for the two cars to drive off before Chris gestures at him to continue.
“Their attitude towards you is so shitty,” Stiles grumbles.
“For a reason.”
“Yeah, no, you’ve proven yourself now. The theatrical posturing can stop.”
“I’m fine, Stiles.” Stiles settles down when the man grabs both his shoulders. “But I appreciate you looking out for me,” Chris adds with a small smile that makes Stiles’ brain stop working because ‘gosh, he’s good-looking’.
“Just…” His hand comes up to rest on Chris’ chest, which causes him to let go of Stiles, looking down in surprise. His fingers clench into a fist around Chris’ shirt and he tugs pointedly. “Don’t let them take advantage of your guilt.”
Chris studies him, before solemnly saying, “I won’t. I promise.”
“Okay,” he clears his throat and sheepishly tries to smooth over the wrinkles he just caused. “I’m gonna go too then.”
“We just established a buddy system-”
“We can start on Monday,” Stiles waves dismissively. “It’s a short ride home, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Chris laughs darkly, “That is asking to get hurt.”
But Stiles gets home safe and sound.
The weekend’s uneventful, full of studying and flashbacks and broken dishes because of said flashbacks and dad saying ‘Son, you’re bleeding, let me get it’ and spending too long in the bathroom, watching the blood flow down the drain before dad knocks on the door and asks him if he’s okay-
He texts Lydia and Scott about it and they’re both concerned but also share their own stories. Lydia swears she saw Kate at the coffee shop, throat slashed open, accepting a latte. Scott had a nightmare about Peter clawing at him while Stiles’ dad held him down and Stiles begged them to stop. Their brains are trying to deal with what they experienced and they’re doing a rather bad job of it.
They’re all expecting everything to get worse, for the week of hell to culminate with Victoria Argent riding into town, guns blazing and going after the Hales.
But that doesn’t happen.
Because Victoria’s delayed.
“Did she say why?” He asks during a group voice call, all four of them in their own homes, enjoying a final night of freedom before re-joining the real world aka school. Scott was the only one of them who went to school on Friday after the ritual because his mom was livid. He got grounded at first but the Sheriff helped smooth things over. Stiles doesn’t know what the man told Melissa but he got her to loosen some of the restrictions.
“She said an unexpected hunt fell onto their lap or something.”
“Thaaaaat sounds like they found a werewolf.”
“Yeah,” Allison agrees, sighing.
“Hope it’s actually a bad guy they’re hunting,” Lydia says.
“God, that’s so fucked up,” Scott breathes out.
“Welcome to our new reality,” Stiles drawls and they say their goodbyes soon after.
On Monday, Derek acts like their own little schoolbus, driving from door-to-door and picking everyone up.
“Well aren’t you a ball of sunshine?” Stiles smirks as he gets into the SUV. The man’s glare can be felt even through the sunglasses he’s wearing. Stiles wonders if that’s a werewolf power but doesn’t ask.
Cora’s already waiting for them when they finally get to the school.
“Haven’t smelled anything weird,” she reports when Derek asks. He nods and drives off the second the last door closes.
“This is our new morning routine?” Lydia asks, obviously not pleased with it.
“Humans can adapt to anything, so adapt,” Cora moves to go inside. They scamper to follow their werewolf bodyguard.
During lunch, Cora starts to pry.
“So, who’s dating who?”
They look at each other awkwardly.
“I’m dating Scott,” Allison says and Scott raises his hand.
“I’m Scott,” he says helpfully which makes Allison smile at him.
Stiles makes a face, because they’re so sweet and it’s gross.
“Oh,” Cora looks surprised. “I thought maybe you two,” and she’s pointing between Scott and Stiles.
“We’re like brothers,” Stiles stresses out to her. “So please don’t insinuate that ever again.”
“Yeah, no,” Scott grimaces, “Stiles? No. No way. No.”
“You could’ve stopped at the first no, the rest was just hurtful,” Stiles points out.
“Alright, and so you two?” And now her finger’s flying between Lydia and Stiles.
“No,” Lydia says and pointedly stops, smiling at Stiles who smiles back.
“See? That’s how you deny being in a relationship with me. You’re a class act, Martin.”
“I got it, I’ll do better next time,” Scott raises his hands in surrender.
“So you guys really killed Kate?”
Hard silence. They all look at Allison who stares at her food.
“Peter did it,” she says. “But yes, we all helped.”
Cora nods, “That’s cool.”
Her head snaps up. “Cool? My aunt’s dead and that’s cool!?”
Cora leans in and that’s the first time Stiles recognizes the predator within her.
“Considering what your aunt did to my family? Yeah. Cool.”
Allison stands up and marches off. Scott hurries after her.
Lydia rises slower, fixing her clothes in the process, before smiling insincerely at Cora. “That was very uncool of you.”
“Go cry about it,” Cora shrugs, eyes serious.
Lydia sniffs and leaves, following the others.
Stiles remains and gestures at Cora. “What was the point of that?”
“Did there need to be one? I mean, you get it, right? Team Hale and all that?” Cora leans back, crosses her arms.
“Yeah, but what you need to get is that what we went through was traumatic, we’re still dealing with it and Allison’s got it the worst out of all of us because she loved her aunt until she found out the truth like a month ago. Hell, she probably still loves her because emotions aren’t simple and you can’t just turn that shit off.”
Cora’s bored expression doesn’t waver.
“I loved my mom.”
“So only your pain matters?” Stiles asks incredulously. And finally sees a change, Cora’s gaze dropping down to the table for a moment.
“I’m not used to being around people who know. About what happened. And she’s an Argent. I just…” She rotates her shoulders, uncomfortable. “I wanted to push her buttons.”
Stiles is surprised at the honesty.
“I kind of get that but… if you want to hang out with us, you better apologize.”
“I don’t want to hang out with you but I don’t have a choice, do I?” Cora growls at him.
“Well, maybe work on your issues and you’ll make some friends here.” Stiles spreads his hands. “Or don’t and stay alone forever. Your choice.” He grabs his bag and heads out.
Ms. Blake continues her charade as the sweet, helpful teacher. Once again, she ignores Stiles’ existence the whole time.
He hopes this will continue.
Once school’s out, Derek’s there to pick them up. Allison is clearly still mad at Cora who stubbornly acts like she doesn’t care and so the ride is awkward as hell.
The next day is pretty much the same except during lunch time, Cora sits alone.
On Wednesday, Lydia hands them flyers.
Stiles stares at the words on it in shock.
“You’re still going through with it?”
She’s always been a girl with ambition, who wants it all. The best grades, the best clothes, the best social status. She wants to be valedictorian and prom queen. And the flyer that Stiles is holding was always an important step towards that goal. Her 18th birthday party, which she’d been planning for over a year. To be prom queen you needed votes. And the best way to get kids to like you in Beacon Hills was to throw the best party.
But considering everything that’s been going on, Stiles completely forgot about it.
“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I?” Lydia asks, like Stiles is the dumb one. He gapes at her.
“I don’t know,” Allison says warily, “A big party where all of our class is in one place, most likely drunk? And it’s at the lake house which is out of town?”
Lydia stares at her expectantly. “Your point being?”
“Isn’t it like… an open invitation for the Alphas? Hey, get your schoolkids here, unsupervised and dumber than usual. Take your pick,” Stiles waves grandiosely.
“Yeah, it feels like tempting fate,” Scott agrees.
Lydia looks each of them in the eye. “I will not have my Senior year plans ruined because of some stupid supernatural feud over who knows what. I’m turning eighteen, I’m having a party and if you’re not going to help me, you’re uninvited.” She turns with a wicked hair-flip and walks off.
Stiles groans and slumps against his locker.
“We’re going to help her, yes?” He asks.
“Yeah,” Allison sighs. “I’ll talk to my dad. Maybe we can get some supervision there… Without her knowing about it.”
“The party’s next week, maybe Peter can walk by then,” Stiles muses.
“I will admit, having him there will make me feel safer,” Scott says.
“Even after your nightmares?” Allison slides a hand over his arm.
“I mean, especially after my nightmares. There’s something comforting about knowing the scariest guy you know is on your side.”
Stiles nods, “I kind of get that, yeah.”
It isn’t until lunchtime that Scott has an epiphany.
Stiles and Lydia are arguing about what kind of alcohol there should be at the party (”A keg is so banal.” “A keg is what gets you your crown, trust me.”), when Scott waves at them with the flyer.
“Wait, wait.”
“What?” Allison asks.
“So we’re worried about the party because lots of people will be there, and it’ll be loud and people will be drinking and probably wandering off…”
“Yeah?” Lydia drawls.
“The lacrosse season’s starting this Friday. The opening game!”
“But that’s going to be full of adults as well and there will be people with guns and the kids won’t be drinking,” Allison points out.
“But it’ll be noisy and chaotic and people will wander off in the dark…” Stiles adds.
“Why are we assuming they’d want to attack during a big gathering?” Lydia asks, clearly annoyed. “They can just as easily follow someone home and attack them whenever they’re alone.”
Stiles taps a fry against his plate. “Yeah, but Peter said they’re still picking. What if the big gathering is like a neon sign, come here and find who you like best?”
“And it’s hard for them to pick one out of all of us at school, because they’re adults right? We’d notice if they were lurking around,” Scott says.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Cora pipes up, sitting down next to Allison. She looks at the shocked girl and says, “I’m sorry about what I said.”
It’s stiff as apologies go but Stiles thinks Allison can see the effort that went into it because she smiles, dimples at full blast.
“Apology accepted.”
“And you wouldn’t notice because just like wolves, werewolves are good at staying hidden when they’re hunting. Never letting their prey know they’re there until they’re ready to strike.”
Stiles remembers the way Peter came out of nowhere when they first met. And then at the woods behind the bistro. And when he got into his car after Stiles experienced some light-hearted torture.
“That tracks,” he says.
The others look at him weirdly and he shrugs at them because what?
“Anyway,” Lydia presses, “Do you think they’d go for a public gathering or for people who were alone?”
Cora shrugs. “I didn’t know they even existed until a few days ago. You should ask Peter, since he actually knew all of them before they made this Alpha pack.”
“Alright, Stiles can ask Peter.”
Stiles grimaces at her. “You have his number too.”
“I’m not the one missing his sultry voice,” Lydia teases.
Curse her for accidentally landing on the truth because Stiles does miss that voice. He hasn’t bugged the man at all this week because he figures the guy’s busy healing. Also, he’s been bugging Chris instead, occasionally asking for werewolf-health updates. So far, Peter still can’t walk, but his sternum’s all healed.
“Fine, I’ll ask him,” he grumbles.
He then notices that Cora’s staring at him.
“You think my uncle has a sultry voice?”
Stiles holds up his hand.
“I am not having this conversation again.” Having his friends look at him weirdly for crushing on thirty-something guys gets old after a while.
To her credit, Cora takes this in stride.
“Okay,” she shrugs. “So what’s up with our English teacher? She smells like rotten fruit.”
As they’re waiting for Derek to show up, the woman who apparently smells like rotten fruit sneaks up behind them.
“Mr. Stilinski, if I could have a word?”
Stiles stares at her in silence, until Scott bumps his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Uh, what for?”
“I’d like to talk to you about some extra credit possibilities that I think you’d be very interested in.”
God, she sounds like a robot. Can anyone else hear that? Stiles glances at the others. His eyes meet Cora’s and he looks at her questioningly. She shrugs. Helpful.
He figures if they don’t go too far she can listen in, so he finally says, “Okay.”
She leads him back towards the steps leading to the school entrance and stops there.
“I know we got off to a bad start.”
“You think?”
“I’d like to offer you a helping hand.”
Stiles stares her up and down, for the first time realizing that he hasn’t seen the robe-clad figure at all since the ritual. Another point in favor of the ‘maybe the Nemeton’s leaving me alone now’ theory, right after other points like ‘I don’t feel exhausted’ and ‘Jerking off for fun is a thing again!’.
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Don’t be so hasty. You’ve seen what I can do.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want anything from you.”
Ms. Blake sighs and clasps her hands in front of her. “This town is in a bad situation. The Alphas are not something easily dealt with. They’re powerful and dangerous and you need all the help you can get.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow.
“What do you know about the Alphas?”
“I know what they can do. You’ve seen my real face. How do you think it got that way?”
“So you were attacked by them?”
“By one of them. That’s what one of them did.”
Stiles stays silent. Thinks.
“We have a common enemy, Stiles. There’s no reason we shouldn’t work together.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Help accessing the Nemeton’s power, I need it to-”
Stiles is already turning away. He wants nothing to do with that tree anymore.
“Stiles.”
Her voice is sharp. It makes him pause and look over his shoulder.
“Are you refusing me?”
“Yeah, lady, I’m refusing you.”
Ms. Blake pretty features twist into an angry smile.
“You’re making me do this the hard way then.”
And that sounds like a threat. Stiles steps back up to her and points at her face. “I’m under the official protection of the Hale pack. Laura touched me and everything. So it’s in your best interest to leave me alone.”
“Oh, Stiles,” she laughs softly. “I don’t care about silly little werewolf customs. And I certainly don’t care about the Hales.”
“And I don’t care about you. Bye,” he flails an arm at her and hurries back to his friends.
“Did you hear all that?” He asks Cora and sees that their SUV is there, Derek leaning against the side of it.
“We both did,” he says. He looks less-scowly than usual, but it’s hard to make out more than that since the ever-present sunglasses are well… present.
“You okay?” Cora asks while still staring over his shoulder.
“She looking this way?”
“Yeah and she doesn’t look happy,” Allison answers, looking worried.
“Take me to see Peter?”
“Get in,” Derek orders.
“So she’s a victim,” Peter muses.
He’s looking a lot better, very close to the self-assured werewolf Stiles met a little over a week ago now. It’s making it hard to stay focused. Especially now that his mind is his own and his libido is very awake.
“Should we consider accepting her help?” Laura asks, standing by his bed.
Stiles tenses up and Peter notices.
“No, we’re not waking up that connection again. Not unless we really have to,” he says, eyes on Stiles.
He gives the man a grateful smile.
“Well this is getting really complicated now. Should we have someone track her?”
“I’ve tried,” Peter sighs. At Stiles’ look of surprise, he smirks at him. “What, you think I’d let her get away with casually threatening you like that? After that first detention with her, I tried to track her scent from the school. I couldn’t because I couldn’t pick it up at all. The second time you had detention, I noticed it. Her scent disappears when I can’t see her.”
“That’s a druid trick,” Laura says.
“Indeed. From what I have learned about her, my guess is that she’s a darach.”
“Jesus, because that’s what we need in this mess.”
“What’s a darach?” Stiles asks.
“A dark druid. Someone who’s forsaken the druidic path of following the balance of nature and who values their own desires above all else.”
You’re really attractive when you sound like you’ve swallowed a supernatural dictionary, is what he wants to say but doesn’t. If Laura wasn’t there, maybe he would say it. Maybe. What’s the harm in trying to flirt, right? They’ve had several moments that Stiles thinks deserve capitalization. You know, Moments. The hand on his cheek. The kiss on his forehead. The endearments. Although those were weird. And now that Stiles thinks about it, they might have been said just to annoy Chris who was in the room with Peter when they talked.
“Stiles?” Laura asks, trying to get his attention.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, I think it’s best if you don’t go anywhere right now besides school and here. And never come here alone either.”
He grimaces because that sounds like being grounded. But he gets it’s because they’re worried about him so he agrees to the rules.
When he tells his dad later that evening, Noah also reinforces it.
“If you really need to go somewhere, call me and I’ll pick you up if I can.”
“Thanks, dad but there’s like five people with cars who I can call now. Well, six, if you count Peter but he can’t drive right now, so.”
“Oh,” Noah looks disappointed. “But you should still call me first.”
He snorts, “Fine, I’ll call you first.”
At midnight, he wakes up.
There’s a pull, familiar but also not. He can sense the direction, knows the destination, but it’s not an all-consuming need to get there and it’s not taking over him, making him lose time, lose control over his body.
He’s still in control.
But there’s a pull.
He tries to sleep.
After an hour, he gives up.
He’ll just go see what’s wrong. Maybe the tree can talk in sentences now and it’ll tell him what it wants. Maybe it’s just a lingering effect and when he gets there, nothing will happen and he’ll come back home and fall back asleep.
He does pause as he’s putting the key into the ignition, because there are Alphas and Ms. Blake out there and the world is dangerous now, much too dangerous to be driving out to the woods alone at night-
The pull becomes painful.
He groans, leaning on the wheel. It feels like someone’s grabbed the skin on his stomach and is tugging, stretching, pulling.
“Alright!” He yells and starts the car.
Even when he’s in control, he’s not in control.
The pain ebbs, the further he drives. He leaves his car as close as he can to where he knows the Nemeton is and walks into the woods, not following any paths because none of them would take him where he needs to go.
And right before he steps into the clearing he gets the strongest sensation of unease he’s ever felt.
It makes him look around, searching.
There, a little ways behind him, a tree he must have walked past. How could he not notice the body tied up against the trunk? The throat still bleeding?
“Stiles.”
He jumps, turning around to see Ms. Blake, still looking like his teacher but wearing the familiar black robes.
“Thank you for coming,” she smiles at him.
He turns to run.
Chapter 7: vessel
Chapter Text
The moment he turns, he’s yanked back around, Ms. Blake’s grip ironclad around his arm.
His dad gave him a taser but he left it in the car.
“What the hell is that?” he points behind him.
Ms. Blake turns around and starts walking, pulling him along.
“A dead body. Now come along.”
His pocketknife is at home.
His bat is under his seat.
His phone-
He pats his pockets and finds it-
It flies out of his hand and into Ms. Blake’s. As if by magic. Because she can do magic. And he has nothing to defend himself with. He starts to panic.
“Don’t be so afraid, Stiles.”
“There’s a dead. Body!” He gestures madly towards it with his free arm. Then realizes he has a free arm and tries to punch the woman. She lets it happen, head snapping back but looks unphased and unharmed. Stiles’ fist hurts.
“Such a waste,” she sighs. “He was to be my first sacrifice. After I learnt of your connection, I thought I could avoid it. That you could just open the path up for me, no sacrifices necessary.” She pulls him harder and he stumbles, almost falling if it weren’t for her hand dragging him up again. “But then you refused. And now it turns out, the Nemeton’s not interested in the sacrifices anyway. So I brought you here by force.”
He wants to strangle her.
“Why!?”
“You’re going to help me commune with it.”
Any chance you’re awake?
Chris has been staring at the text for over five minutes now. It’s after midnight and he’s trying to sleep.
His curiosity gets the better of him and he answers, Why?
Less than ten seconds later, Peter calls him.
“I’m bored and none of the kids thought to bring me entertainment,” is his opening line.
“My heart bleeds for you.”
“You sound tired.”
“Maybe I should sleep, then.”
“You’d already be asleep if you could.”
He stays silent which he knows is telling.
“Want me to sing you a lullaby?”
“No, thank you.”
“No one wants to hear me sing,” Peter whines, making Chris smile.
“How am I to help with your boredom then?”
“By talking to me, obviously. Hence, the phone call.”
“Ah. Any specific subject?”
“I mean, I’m sure we can think of something. How about… How are you and Allison doing?”
Chris groans, already not liking the subject and yep, Peter continues, “Sacrificing a family member together isn’t your usual father-daughter bonding time.”
“Honestly, I’d rather never talk about that night ever again.”
“As your self-appointed therapist, I don’t consider that a healthy option.”
“As my what?” Chris drawls, dragging a hand over his closed eyes.
“I’m a man of many talents and you should take advantage of them.”
That… sounds like flirting.
“I remember you saying something about us sticking together because of our supernatural trauma.”
“Yes?”
“So are we going to deal with yours too?”
“Like a you show me yours, I’ll show you mine kind of deal?”
Chris laughs at that, stops himself. Then continues laughing. Because his life feels absurd.
“But you said you don’t want to talk about it so never mind. What are you wearing?”
Chris snorts, “Excuse me?”
“Did I not enunciate? What. Are. You. Wearing?”
“Are you trying to instigate phone sex?”
“Of course not! Unless you’re interested in such a thing.”
Chris can hear the leer in his voice.
“So the true reason for this call is not because you’re bored but because you’re horny?”
“I mean, can you blame me? I’m stuck in bed and I’m a virile young man.”
“No I get that. But why did you call me?”
“What do the kids say again these days? Because you’re a snack.” Peter sounds immensely pleased with himself.
Chris finds himself laughing again, genuinely amused.
“I refuse to be objectified.”
“All jokes aside, I’m just trying to distract myself.”
Chris sobers up at the change in tone.
“From?”
“From how powerless I feel. It’s making me want to tear into my expensive sheets and custom-ordered mattress.”
“They got into your head, huh?” He asks, feeling sympathetic.
“Well they got into me in general, but yes. Yes, they did.”
“Anything else you want to ask about, then?” Chris offers a distraction, feeling bad for him.
“I’ve heard no commotion about a body being found. Why?”
Chris sighs because oh, that.
“The deputies I talked to were very thorough with their questions and well, the picture I painted of Kate sounded like a family member I don’t get along with, who never stays in one place for too long… I talked to Noah yesterday and there’s just no way for him to organize a search party right now, not for an out-of-towner and not with lacking manpower. Not unless I insist and make a huge deal about it.”
“Hm, but are we sure that you not insisting on it won’t make you seem guilty when someone does find her?”
“I don’t know,” Chris rubs at his temple. “Noah and I agreed that I would wait for a bit and maybe then say that she isn’t answering her phone and that no one has seen or heard from her in a week. That sounds like a good reason for a search.”
“I agree. Alright, with that out of the way. What are you wearing?”
Chris breathes out a laugh, “I sleep in my underwear.”
“Fantastic, what color, type and brand?”
“Brand?”
“Very important for my imagination to get every detail right.”
“I think I’ll just go to sleep. You’ve exhausted me.”
“By talking? And here I had plans for other things. Maybe we are old.”
“Watch it,” he gripes teasingly.
They’re teasing each other. Chris feels lightheaded.
“Thank you for giving me a few precious minutes of entertainment. Now I’ll try to find something else to fill the next hour.”
“You have a phone, what about internet?”
“That too.”
“Then use it,” he smirks as he hangs up.
Stiles is sure he’s going to die.
Ms. Blake is running her hands over the stump, eyes intense and searching. She left him standing near it and when he tried to take the first step towards getting the hell out of there, he was brought to his knees by a searing pain in his head. So now he’s grabbing at earth and trying to breathe.
It’s not going so great.
His panic attack reaches a point where he thinks he’s going to pass out when Ms. Blake comes over to slap him. The sting of the hit against his cheek immediately makes him grimace and go, “Ow!”
“Helped, didn’t it?”
Stiles would like to say that no, not really, because he’s still hyperventilating but then she kneels down with him and grabs his hand. He tries to pull it out of her grasp and the familiar searing pain returns.
“It’s in your best interest to work with me here. Stop struggling and I’ll stop the pain.”
“Excuse me for not wanting to die!”
“You’re not going to die,” she says as if that’s ridiculous.
“You already killed someone!”
“And it didn’t work, so I won’t be killing anyone else, now relax.”
“There’s a dead. Body!”
“You’re surprisingly stuck on the fact that I killed someone considering you also killed someone, right here on this very stump.”
“What do you know about that?” Stiles asks, shaking as she pulls at his fingers, opening his palm to her.
“The land remembers. And a druid can listen and learn.”
“But you’re not a druid anymore.”
She glances up at him, “Not technically. What do you know about that?”
“That you’re a…” The name escapes him. “A dark druid.” He finishes lamely and hisses as she presses an unnaturally sharp nail into his palm, until she breaks skin. “What are you doing?” He asks but hesitates to try running again. He doesn’t know how much of that head-splitting thing she does he can take before passing out.
“There are answers to be found in blood.”
He blinks, dazed.
She drags her thumb against the small cut to collect the blood and then leans in to drag it on his forehead.
“Did- Did you just Simba me!?”
“Shut up,” she snaps and hits his head. He wheezes in surprise.
She collects more blood and draws the same line on her own forehead, closing her eyes and deepening her breathing.
Stiles stares at his hand, still being held by hers. Stares at her serene face. Wonders who the dead body is.
“Who did you kill?”
“Concentrate.”
“On what!?” He exclaims, amazed that she thinks he knows what she wants him to do here.
“Your breathing,” she growls, eyes remaining closed.
He figures his best chance at getting out of this nightmare is giving her what she wants so he tries to do some heavy, deep breaths. He does it very loudly.
She squints at him.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Done what?”
“Communed with it.”
“Uh, yeah. Once. And that was by force.”
She cocks her head, looking intrigued. “How so?”
“Roots. Wrapped all around me,” He does a circle-gesture with his free hand. “And then I was there. Talking to a tree.”
“What did you see?”
“Not much,” he hedges.
“What is so special about you?” She mutters to herself.
“I’d like to think I’m a joy to be around?” He asks shakily.
“If you don’t know how to do this then this is pointless,” she throws his hand back at him.
“I mean, I could’ve told you that earlier-”
“We’re going to try something else.” She stands up.
“…Great.”
Stiles wishes he could call his dad. Or Peter. Or Chris. Anyone with claws or guns would be welcome.
She now has him cross-legged on the stump as she keeps touching the tree, hoping for something.
She sighs and straightens. “Give me your hand.”
He holds out the one she cut into earlier. She examines it and announces, “The bleeding’s stopped.” She reaches into her robes and pulls out a knife.
“Woah, hey-” Stiles pulls his hand out of her grip and scampers backward. “What the hell is that for?”
“Calm down,” she snaps at him and reaches forward to grab his wrist and pull him back into position. He fights it at first but one look from her, one flinch of pain in his head and he concedes.
She presses the tip to the center of his palm. The knife’s sharp enough that immediately, there’s more blood.
“Now put your hand onto the Nemeton.”
He hesitates, trembling as he remembers the power and the rage he felt during the ritual. The twisted face in the bark. The deafening voices. Stiles looks up at Ms. Blake then, sees the cold, calm gaze of a killer. Knowing he has no choice here.
He misses having a choice.
He puts his palm against the tree he’s sitting on and braces himself.
Nothing happens at first.
But then a familiar sound of roots bursting out of the ground. He yelps as they wrap around him, is only mildly comforted by the fact that Ms. Blake is getting attacked by them too. She doesn’t struggle, welcomes the roots around her with a victorious smile.
And they’re both dragged into communion.
Surrounded by green as far as their eyes can see. The skyline a blinding whiteness, empty.
A giant sequoia tree.
Without a face.
Stiles blinks at it in surprise, glances at Ms. Blake who doesn’t seem disappointed, but is instead in awe.
“It’s grown.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“A long time ago. Before it was cut down.”
He stares at her, not for the first time wondering what her full story is.
“So, you’re here. What now?”
She steps closer to the Nemeton, holds her hand out, pauses, places it against the bark.
“It’s…” She sounds confused. “Waiting.”
“For what?” He asks, while thinking ‘BRING HER’.
She steps back and turns to look at him, frowning. “I don’t know. But it’s got something to do with you.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, I have no clue what’s going on here.”
“I’m starting to see that,” she says dryly. She looks up towards the treetop. “But I think I got a glimpse of a path I could take.”
“Oh?” Stiles shifts on his feet nervously.
“Hold out your hand.”
“You’re going to poke me with something sharp again?” Stiles asks angrily but does as she asks. The wound is still bleeding. He’ll need to bandage it when he gets home.
She drags her forefinger along the blood and then shocks him by sucking it into her mouth.
“What the fuck?” He breathes out.
She ignores him and swallows. Something in her face flickers. She smiles.
“I told you before. Blood can have answers.”
“Gross.”
“Next time I’ll bring a glass.”
“What, what- Next time? Glass?”
She steps closer and he barely resists stumbling away from her.
“The Nemeton’s waiting. And dormant. That’s why it’s not interested in my offering. And while it’s waiting, you’ve become it’s vessel.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re guarding it’s power. Inside you.”
He stares down at her terrified face and moves to lean down over her torso. He rests a hand against the stump, a warm power emanating from it and entering him through his skin. He felt nothing, now he feels everything.
Stiles is glaring at her so hard from anger, from fear, from everything that his head’s vibrating, overwhelmed.
“And what does that mean?”
“That if I want to borrow that power? I’ll need to ingest your blood. I don’t know how much, so we’ll start off slow. No need for you to die of blood loss.”
“Of course, no need for that,” he snaps, baring his teeth at her.
“Now, now. Think of this, all of this, as a solution to your problems.”
“You’re my problem right now!”
“Then you’re not seeing things clearly. Your problem is Deucalion and his pack. And now I can help you.”
“That’s what you want the power for? Because of the Alpha pack?”
“That is all I want it for. To kill every last one of them.”
He considers that. Starts planning. He should run straight to the Hales as soon as she lets him go, tell them everything and beg them to get rid of her because there’s still a dead body and he still doesn’t know who it is.
“So will you work with me or are we going to do this the hard way again?”
Stiles thinks of his plan and lies to her, “Yes, I’ll work with you. Now can we get the hell out of here?”
She smiles at him.
They’re both dragged underground.
He wakes up coughing, back in the clearing, under the night sky. She comes to consciousness, still standing, heaving in breaths.
“Not pleasant, is it?” He asks, enjoying her discomfort.
But then she laughs.
“We have a busy weekend ahead of us. I expect to see you here tomorrow at midnight.”
“And you’ll bring a glass?”
Instead of answering, she comes up to the stump and grabs him by the chin. His hands come up to grab her robes but she’s unmovable. She presses down hard on the sides of his cheeks until he squawks at her, “Ow!”
Her finger slips in swiftly and before he can gag at the intrusion, there’s a sharpness against his tongue.
She pulls away, releasing him completely.
“What the hell was that?” He gags, shuddering.
“To make sure you don’t tell anyone about our little secret.”
He freezes in terror. “You can do that?”
“You won’t be able to talk to anyone about this night.”
He’s panicking again. His shaky fingers find his bleeding palm. He looks down at it. Surely that will help him, will show the others that something’s wrong, that there’s something to work out.
“If you’re thinking that your wounds will help, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “Illusions are my expertise,” she draws her hand over her face and hair, revealing her true self. Stiles has not missed the sight of it. “They won’t see or feel them. And the werewolves won’t smell them. No one will know they’re there but you.”
“Wounds no one can see but me, a tree no one can talk to but me… A person can go insane like this.”
He has no idea what her face is doing now because it’s the frozen face of terror. This is the first time seeing it after she revealed that this face existed because of the Alpha pack. He can understand her wanting to get revenge. It’s her callous attitude towards human life and specifically Stiles’ wellbeing that he has a problem with.
“You should be happy, Stiles.” That eerie voice, sibilant yet loud.
He just glares at her, his entire body exhausted from this ordeal, from the panic attack, the shaking, the roots, the fear.
“I had plans. Sacrifices, fifteen of them. And at the end, I would’ve gathered all of the Nemeton’s energy inside me and unleashed it at the Alpha pack. But your bond kept that from happening. In a way, you saved those lives.”
“Fourteen of them, you mean,” Stiles mutters, glancing back towards the trees. He does take a tiny bit of comfort in what she’s telling him. That’s the only one, he thinks. Just one dead body. Instead of fifteen.
“It’s no one you know.”
“That doesn’t make it any better,” he glares at her.
She sighs and there stands Jennifer Blake again.
In his head he keeps thinking of her as Ms. Blake, his teacher, but just like Harris, she’s long lost his respect so no more honorifics, he tells himself. She’s just Blake.
“Come, I’ll make sure you get home safe. I can keep your scent hidden.”
“You doing that because you’re interested in my safety or because you don’t want to give the werewolves any hints about where I’ve been?”
Blake shrugs easily.
“Can’t it be both?”
His hand’s bandaged, there are small finger-shaped bruises on his jaw and his dad doesn’t glance at them once.
Stiles stares down at the bandages he can see and feel.
“You okay?” Noah asks, pausing his eating.
“Yeah,” Stiles says and dissociates.
“Still no search party?” Lydia asks while going through her locker.
“No, dad says they’re short on people and busy with a lot of smaller crimes happening around the county. Kate’s a drifter so I guess it makes sense to wait a bit more.” Stiles leans against the lockers beside hers, picking at the bandages. He wonders what they’re seeing, is he just picking at his skin? Is he even doing anything? How much does the illusion hide?
Earlier, he clasped Scott’s hand with his hurt palm in greeting, because he was curious and nothing. No reaction. His friend didn’t feel it at all.
Or maybe it isn’t actually there and the wound’s the illusion?
Or maybe his entire life is an illusion and there are no werewolves.
Is he daydreaming in a mental asylum somewhere?
He tries to regain control over his thoughts.
Allison doesn’t help when she says, “I wonder if her body will just… stay there and rot.”
The word ‘body’ triggers his memory and he thinks about the unidentified man with a bleeding neck.
“Probably not,” he says before he realizes how odd that sounds. And sure enough, his friends are giving him odd looks. “I mean, people go jogging in those woods all the time. And we have hunters coming, hunters who like to you know… go hunting.”
“I hope none of them find her,” Scott says, wide-eyed. “They’d probably go straight to the Hales.”
“I don’t want to think about this,” Allison shakes herself and forces a smile on her face. “Let’s talk balloons, tacky or fun?”
Lydia closes her locker, ready for the day. “Depends on the size and the color. But I don’t think this is going to be a balloon-kind of party.”
“Yeah, because it’s going to be a keg party-”
“No, Stiles.”
That night Stiles has his first out-of-body experience.
He’s up and he’s looking down, watching Blake cut into his arm. She doesn’t make it too long, and not deep enough to kill him. Just enough to make sure the blood pools over and trails downwards into the crystal glass she brought.
“Leaning in towards the whole vampire thing, then?” He asked when he first saw it.
“Thought I’d treat myself,” she said and Stiles disconnected from her friendliness, from her disinterest, from her entire facade because everything about her is fake, he realizes. Her every emotion is a performance, every word carefully chosen, only her real face shows the truth. She told him an Alpha did that, but did what exactly because nothing can just make a face like hers. No, she looks twisted because she is twisted. That face that can’t frown, can’t smile, can’t show anything but horror, that’s her reality.
Knowing this doesn’t help Stiles. So he floats.
She’s hurting him but no one will see it. No one will know.
After getting half a glass, she picks up the first aid kit he’d grabbed from his car and starts to clean and bandage his wound. As if she cares.
“As I drink this… slowly, because despite what you may think of me, I do not enjoy the taste of blood… Would you like to hear a story?”
In Norway, about a thousand years ago, there was a village. It surrounded a large, beautiful tree which the villagers treated as a sacrificial altar. They gave it crops and flowers at first, but then animals and then humans. The tree awakened, because it was a Nemeton, an ancient site of power. It became a beacon for creatures who feast on flesh, on blood. They came to it, like moths to a flame and they devoured the village whole.
He comes back to himself, his arm burning because that’s a wound. He’ll have to keep an eye on it, keep cleaning it and re-bandaging it.
“And the point of that story?”
Blake’s in the process of taking a long, disgusting sip. At least she looks like she hates the experience. Stiles tries to derive as much joy out of that as he can.
She coughs a little, holding her hand against her mouth. Stiles thinks she’s trying not to vomit.
“There’s many points to that story. The dangers of greed for one, the villagers kept wanting more, enough to kill each other for it. Then there’s the hidden truth, something that all druids know.”
“What?” He asks, interested in spite of himself.
“If a land gets too powerful, it self-destructs. It’s a balance thing. The Nemeton became sentient and it called out to all manner of supernatural creatures, who then razed down the very thing that fed it. It lost its power and went back to sleep.”
“And… you think that will happen here too?”
She waves the glass around.
“Maybe, maybe not. There used to be a lot more creatures and a lot less hunters. These days? Kind of the other way around. Humans love making things extinct. Also it’s close to being sentient but I don’t think it’s there yet.”
Stiles thinks of what Peter said, “Just a word would be enough of a sign.”
Thinks of ‘BRING HER’.
He doesn’t tell her. If the Nemeton’s hiding itself from her, Stiles isn’t going to be the one to reveal it.
He watches her drink the rest of the glass in silence.
“I think my son’s sleepwalking again.”
Chris stares at Noah in surprise. The man’s showed up at his doorstep at 5am.
“Sorry,” Noah says quickly when he takes in Chris’ half-naked appearance. He stumbled out of bed when he heard the doorbell, barely awake enough to grab a pair of pants. “I know it’s early and Jesus, I could’ve done this over the phone,” the man frets, already turning away.
“It’s fine, Noah,” he clears his throat. “Come in, tell me what’s wrong.”
“For the last two nights, if I wake up in the middle of the night, which I do often, I check Stiles’ room. It’s something I started to do back when he was disappearing all the time.”
“And he wasn’t there?”
“No. Not today at 2am, nor yesterday at 3. His car was also gone.”
Chris’ fingers itch with the want to call Stiles right away.
“He hasn’t told you anything?”
“No, and before you ask, he looks fine. Physically, at least. He’s home now, sleeping. I just thought… What if he doesn’t know he’s sleepwalking? I don’t want to scare him. Thought maybe we should try to keep an eye on him tonight, see if I’m overreacting.”
“If he’s not sleepwalking, he’s being very stupid so I don’t think you’re overreacting.”
Noah chuckles wearily, “Yeah. But I have to-”
His phone rings and he picks up.
“Yes?”
Chris can’t hear what’s being said but sees how Noah tenses up.
“Alright, is she still there? …Tell her, I’m on my way to talk to her.”
“Something going on?”
“Mrs. Hendricks just came in and filed a missing person’s report. Her 19-year-old son.”
Chris understands what that means, “You’ll be doing a search party.”
“Two missing people, one of them a kid that’s active in the community and no one has a bad word to say about? Yeah, we’ll be searching by tonight I imagine.”
“I should come and help, maybe?”
“Would probably be good optics. We’ll be asking for volunteers anyway.”
“What about Stiles?”
Noah shakes his head, “I- I can’t be in two places at once.”
“I’ll ask Laura if maybe one of them could do it.”
“Thank you, if they agree to it, tell them I’ll owe them,” Noah nods and leaves.
He thinks of getting his phone and making the calls now but remembers that most people are sleeping. Stiles is sleeping. Peter’s probably managed it too by now. He remembers their last conversation and feels bitter. For a second, he let himself think he can have that, easy flirting with another guy with maybe the promise of more. That he can let himself relax and joke around, forget everything else for a while.
Then reality came knocking on his door.
Chapter Text
At school everyone is buzzing with rumors.
“I heard he broke up with his girlfriend last week!”
“I wonder if he ran away or something, although he seemed so happy.”
“Wasn’t he one of those virgins with a promise ring and everything? What a loser,” Jackson snorts while walking down the hallway.
Stiles and Lydia are at her locker, following their usual morning routine and they both overhear the comment. Lydia makes an unimpressed face. Stiles gapes after the douchebag in shock.
“No respect for the dead!” He hisses.
Lydia looks at him weirdly, “Why do you assume he’s dead?”
“In this town? With everything that’s going on?” Stiles hurries to cover for himself. He’s already tried talking about Blake and the dead body in several different ways, from all kinds of angles. His mouth just locks up and nothing will come out. The worst part is whenever someone asks him if he’s okay or hints that he might not be, he’s forced to say ‘I’m fine’, the two words he got real tired of saying during his sleepwalking phase. All the while his arm aches.
Scott and Allison finally catch up to them.
“Dad just called and said they’re doing a search tonight, starting at the Preserve. He’s volunteering.”
“Shit,” Stiles mutters.
“I mean, that’s good right? This was… the plan?” Scott asks, unsure.
“Yeah, just… he wasn’t supposed to…” Stiles shrugs, looking away. None of them really want to talk about that night, or Kate. So they’re all incredibly relieved when Cora returns from her usual morning routine of lurking around.
“You all ready for game night?”
They stare at her.
“Uh, no?” Stiles squints at her.
“What?” Cora squints back. “But we’re all going. To keep an eye on it, in case the Alphas have a flair for dramatics, which according to Peter they do.”
“Oh, did you ask-”
“Yeah, because you didn’t even though you said you would,” Cora interrupts him.
Stiles’ shoulders fly up to his ears in a defensive shrug, “I’ve had a lot on my mind!”
“Children,” Lydia says sternly, closing her locker. “I need your opinion. Is Dua Lipa too mainstream for my party playlist?”
“Lydia, you’re trying to please the masses. Mainstream is literally what you need.”
She cocks her head, thinking about it. “Noted.”
“Just please no Black Eyed Peas,” Allison begs. “Kate had this nostalgia mix she used to annoy me with…” Her face pales at the end of her sentence.
“Cool! So! Let’s go to class!” Stiles yells desperately, making a ‘I don’t know’ face at Scott’s incredulity.
It’s not until lunch time that Cora gets to bring up the game again.
“So are you coming or not?”
“Wouldn’t our houses lined with mountain ash be safer?” Lydia drawls, picking apart her fries with her fingers until Stiles pulls her plate away from her. “What?”
“Curly fries are for eating,” he stresses and proceeds to eat her lunch. She doesn’t really protest.
“Maybe safer for you,” Scott grumbles. “My mom brushed the ash away, while mumbling something about someone’s weird prank.”
“Oh shit. Wanna sleep at my house?” Stiles asks with his mouth full, making Lydia grimace and Cora stare at him in fascination.
“Nah, I’m not leaving my mom alone.”
“I hear ya, good man,” Stiles turns back to inhale the rest of both his and Lydia’s food.
“My parents haven’t even noticed,” Lydia rolls her eyes dramatically.
“My dad checks it religiously every time he leaves the house, convinced that the wind’s blown it away or something.”
Allison chuckles at that, “I can so see him doing that, that’s cute.”
Stiles points his fork at her. “Just because I’m into your dad, doesn’t mean-”
“Stop!” She gasps out, laughing and wiping at her chin to clean it from the food she just spat out. “Stiles!” He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her laugh that loud. It makes him smile proudly.
“I won’t go there ever again, I swear,” he salutes her for no real reason other than that’s what his hand decides to do.
“I’d appreciate that,” Scott says, wide-eyed.
“So is no one actually going to answer my question?” Cora thrusts a hand at the middle of the table and waves it about.
“What was it again?” Lydia asks.
Cora sighs, “Are you coming to the game? I have to go and I don’t want to be stuck sitting next to my brother.”
“I wouldn’t mind being stuck sitting next to your brother,” Lydia smiles sweetly.
“Ew,” Cora frowns at her.
“Is Peter coming?” Stiles asks, not even trying to hide his hope of seeing the man.
“No, he can barely walk. He can stand up now! But, walking’s slow and difficult.”
He nods, disappointed.
“And my dad’s joining the search. And… shit, other people are going to volunteer as well.”
“So are we now worried again that tonight’s the night?” Scott asks, looking ready to be worried.
“I think so,” Lydia says. “Which means I’m staying at home.”
“I’ll come with you, Cora,” Stiles tells her, which earns him a small smile. His pride rejoices.
“I’ll come too, then. I mean, like I said… my home’s not safe anyway.” Scott earns himself a smile too. He beams back at Cora.
“I’m staying home. If dad comes back early or if they find… something. I want to be there.”
And Kate ruins the mood again.
The awkwardness lasts throughout the rest of the school day.
Nothing happens during game night. Except an amazing popcorn throwing fight between Laura and Derek who are sitting behind the three of them. Stiles stares in amazement as the two adults finish the fight by throwing the empty buckets at each other. The people around them are not amused.
Cora looks annoyed.
“How did that even start?” Stiles asks.
“Laura stuffed popcorn down Derek’s pants.”
“Oh my god, why?”
“Because she wants him to loosen up but sucks at achieving it,” Cora gets a paper bucket thrown at her head for that comment. She easily dodges it and it hits the man in front of her who turns around in outrage.
“I’m trying to support my kid here!”
“Sorry!” Laura shouts.
“Hey, you ever miss playing?” Scott asks and Stiles turns back to watch the game.
“Not really,” he admits. They both signed up together, excited at the prospect of being on a team together. But then Stiles turned sixteen and focusing on the ball became a huge problem. He was always on the bench anyway but after his issues with sleeping started he was a hindrance even during practice, causing mild injuries left and right with how off his aim and reaction time was. Coach finally told him to get it together or he was off the team for good. So Stiles decided to just leave.
Scott left with him in solidarity.
“I do, sometimes,” Scott says.
“You didn’t have to quit too, you know.”
“I know. It was kind of hard anyway, kept making my asthma worse. I’ve been needing my inhaler less since I quit and those things are expensive.”
Stiles stares at his friend for a minute. Then grabs him by the shoulders for a nice side-hug.
The arm around Scott is the one that’s wrapped in bandages and it hurts slightly when he uses it to shake his friend until Scott laughs at him. It reminds him of the night ahead.
“What are you doing?” He asks her.
Blake has unwrapped his arm and is inspecting the wound, pulling at the edges of it.
“I’ll have to cut the same place.”
He winces just from hearing that, “What? No! Why?”
“It’s important to the ritual, just like every other piece,” she gestures widely at the clearing they’re in.
She’s never told him before of any other piece or that they’re conducting an actual ritual so Stiles feels justified in saying, “Bullshit.”
She sighs and looks at him. Stiles shivers at the anger.
“The pieces are the place, the time and continuance. The clearing because we’re transferring the Nemeton’s power, after midnight because that’s when we did it the first time and every consecutive night after that until I feel that we’re done.”
“And when’s that?”
“When I feel that we’re done,” she repeats and picks up her knife.
The cut hurts more this time. Stiles hisses long and loud.
As they wait for the glass to fill up, Stiles decides to try and get more answers out of her.
“Do the words Alpha of Alphas mean anything to you?”
She grimaces in distaste, eyes on the glass. “That’s what Deucalion likes to call himself. The apex predator. The Demon Wolf.”
“Dude collects monikers, huh?”
“The last one is the most accurate. It’s the name given to him by others, not one he claimed himself.”
Stiles thinks that makes it even more terrifying. “Why Demon Wolf, then?”
“Because what he did goes against nature, against the balance. When he shifts, he looks nothing like your average werewolf. He very much resembles a demon.”
“That what happened to you too?”
She looks up at him slowly.
“Yeah, I figured it out. One of them probably scratched you up real good, but that’s not what caused that face, is it? That’s just you.”
Her hand tightens around his arm. Stiles gasps at the pain of it.
“I’d choose your words more carefully, if I were you. Once the Alpha pack is taken care of, you'll cease to be of use.”
“Got it,” he yelps. So that’s one option for Alpha of Alphas, except, Stiles very distinctly got the feeling that BRING HER was about the same person. So he needs a her.
“Why did you ask about that?” She narrows her eyes in suspicion.
“No reason, just curious,” Stiles says, sounding very much like he’s hiding something.
But luckily the glass is full enough so she focuses on forcing it down while Stiles holds bandages against his arm to stem the bleeding.
So Deucalion’s probably not the one it wants. Which means there’s another Alpha of Alphas out there.
Peter hears Laura and Derek come home earlier than he expected. It’s 1am and they left before midnight to keep an eye on the Stilinski house as a favor to Noah. When Laura told him about Stiles’ disappearances he considered calling but decided against it for now. He wants more information.
“Back so soon?” He asks and has to wait as Laura moves through the house and into his bedroom. She looks worried.
“He left his house around half an hour ago. He didn’t look like he was sleepwalking,” she says, sitting down in one of the armchairs.
“And you’re not following him because?” He asks, calmer than he feels.
“Because we couldn’t. His scent disappeared, just sent us back to his house.”
Peter pushes himself into a sitting position. “Well, that points a clear finger toward our young Ms. Blake.”
“Should we approach her at the school? We can’t find her otherwise.”
“I might know where they are right now.”
“I guessed they might be there too but neither of us knows where it is.”
“I’ll take you.”
“Peter, you can’t-”
He forces his legs to move, forces himself to stand. There’s a bright, searing pain radiating from his lower back and straight into his knees. But he can push through it.
Laura steps forward quickly and slides her hand under his shirt. He breathes out in relief, when some of the pain leaves him.
“Thank you,” he tells her.
“Anytime,” she says gently, pulling more pain until Peter feels he can take a step without collapsing.
Once they reach the edge of the forest and get out of the car, Peter forsakes his pride and accepts Derek’s offer of support. He puts his arm around his nephew’s shoulders and leans on him heavily as they slowly walk towards the clearing.
“Am I hallucinating?” Stiles asks, staring at the three werewolves moving around the clearing, their eyes glowing and intense.
When he saw them, he tried standing up, was shouting Peter’s name immediately. But Blake pulled him back down and continued to bandage his arm as if nothing had changed.
“No, they’re here,” she says.
Stiles watches as Peter stumbles and grunts heavily, squeezing down on Derek’s shoulders so hard that the younger man winces. Laura goes over to them and puts her hand on Peter’s back. Stiles sees black veins appear on her arm, sees them move.
“Woah.” He turns to Blake, who is pulling the bandages tight enough to cut off circulation. He’ll have to re-do them as soon as he’s out of here. “Are you a hallucination? Am I even here?”
She pauses and looks at him. Leans in and really studies his expression. “I did a number on you, didn’t I?” And then she smiles, like that makes her happy.
“Why can’t they see me? Or hear me?”
“Glamour is what I’m best at. I hide, I cover, I disappear.”
“This seems like a lot, though.”
“Well my power has grown, thanks to you.”
He glares at her, “Oh, great. So this is my own fault.”
“Exactly.”
“Blake!” Peter roars, making Stiles jump. “I know you’re here, I know you’re doing something to him and the next time I see you, I’m ripping out your throat!”
Stiles glances back at Blake’s impassive expression. He leans towards her, “You know, I’ve seen him do that. You should take him seriously.”
“He’s nothing compared to my real prey. I don’t need to do anything,” she sniffs, giving the bandages a final tug. “We can go now.”
“How is this going to work?” He asks while getting up from the ground. “They know something is wrong now, they know you’re hurting me-”
“No, they don’t,” she smiles and snatches him by the jaw, pushes her finger into his mouth and scratches at his tongue. “They know we’re doing something together but how dangerous can it be when you look completely… fine?”
“If you think they’re not coming to school on Monday just so Peter can get his claws in you, you’re dumber than you look.”
“Maybe I won’t be at the school on Monday,” she shrugs.
Stiles blinks at her, “But who will teach English then?” He asks, like an idiot, as if that matters at all?
She looks amused.
“Come, I’ll get you home safe and sound,” she grabs his wrist and pulls him away. He looks behind him once, sees Peter’s murderous expression and thinks, Blake’s really underestimating him.
Peter pushes away Laura’s hands and leans against the door to his bedroom.
“You need to calm down.”
“I need to tear her head off!” He half-shifts from the force of his anger and Laura roars at him, her red eyes cowing him into shifting back.
“Derek, go to the Stilinski house and stay there until Stiles gets back home. Call me and tell me how he seems.”
They both listen to Derek following Laura’s orders, while Peter tries to follow his Alpha’s request to calm down but it’s difficult because there’s nothing he hates more than feeling powerless. He knows they were there, could feel the presence of pack even if he couldn’t see, hear or smell him. His senses were fighting against him and it made his wolf want to tear into everything in sight.
“Noah said that Stiles seems physically fine, maybe they’re just talking. Maybe she’s sharing her druidic knowledge, yeah, yeah-” she sighs at his look of disbelief, “It sounded stupid as soon as I said it.”
“If they’re meeting there, then there has to be some kind of a ritual involved,” he throws his head back against the door in frustration. “Shit. Just like Stiles, I’m starting to hate that word. I’ve had enough of rituals for now.”
“And yet you want me to join you in one,” Laura says pointedly.
“I said, for now.”
“We’ll talk to him tomorrow, maybe after the kids have their study session.”
“Study session?”
“Cora’s having trouble with math,” Laura starts counting on her fingers, “Scott needs help with biology, Stiles apparently wrote an essay on the wrong topic for economics and Lydia might show up to help Cora if she feels like it.”
Peter stares at her, his anger forgotten. “You know all that because?”
“We went to the game together, remember? And I listen.“
“Where and when is it happening?” He asks as he pushes the door open and moves to his bed, his legs giving up on him as soon as he’s next to it. Laura helps him get undressed and settled.
“Tomorrow morning, at the school library. Apparently it’s open for students on Saturdays. Or well… it is if you give people money as an incentive to help young people educate themselves.”
“Why not at Stiles’ house, safe within a mountain ash border?”
“Because they need books?” Laura shrugs angrily, obviously unhappy at being questioned like this. “Look, Cora wants to get good grades and have friends, I’m just trying to help her achieve that.”
“They won’t be safe there.”
“They’re hardly safe anywhere. But Chris gave Noah some left-over ash, Stiles and Scott can both use it if they need to. I’ll be close-by, so will Derek.”
He sighs, knowing there’s not much they can do, not on their own. And he also wants to help Stiles enjoy being a normal senior. A study session sounds like right up that alley.
Except Stiles has been meeting up with a darach. Most likely against his will.
He runs his hand through his hair and rubs at his scalp, feeling a headache brewing.
“Just rest, uncle. Moving around will probably be easier tomorrow.”
“No, I’ll wait until Derek calls.”
She stays in his room, waiting for the call with him. It’s around twenty minutes later when Derek tells them that Stiles is home and looks fine, if a little bit dazed. He can’t smell any injuries or blood and he hangs around for a bit until Stiles turns off his lights and is breathing deep, obviously asleep.
It’s a small comfort but enough to help Peter fall asleep as well.
One of the dogs leads a deputy to Kate’s body, just as they’re about to take a break for the rest of the night.
Chris is there when they zip her up.
Allison is still awake when he gets home later.
“We found her,” He says without her having to ask. “We didn’t find the kid, though. I’m helping again tomorrow night.”
She nods, looks down at her tea. Then rubs at her face, looking stressed.
“And we’re sure they’re definitely going to call it an animal attack?”
“Peter was thorough,” he says dryly.
She wraps her arms around herself, nods again. “You’re officially the last person to see her alive, I’m just worried that…”
“Shh,” He crouches down next to her. “I don’t see this going that way at all.”
“Okay,” she says. And then throws her arms around him.
He stays up with her until she feels like she can actually get some sleep.
He stays up after that, looking at an old photo of him, Kate, their mom and dad.
He cuts out his mom, burns the rest, feels a weight lift off his shoulders, and goes to bed.
His arm throbs. The skin around the wound’s gone red and painful.
Their morning study session turns into an evening one because Scott gets called into work unexpectedly. Apparently his boss, Deaton, had a family emergency. They agree to head to school as soon as Scott’s finished. Stiles uses the opportunity to go to a pharmacy and grab some over-the-counter stuff that will hopefully help with what he thinks is the beginnings of an infection.
Later that evening, he has dinner with his dad who wanted to check up on him before heading out for another search. Finding Kate has caused everyone to be on high alert now and already the town gossip assumes Hendricks to be dead too. Stiles has pulled out his phone multiple times throughout the day with the thought of texting Allison, to ask how she’s doing, but it feels stupid because he knows how she’s doing, he knows that everything sucks right now.
“You sure about going to school today?” His dad asks, looking exhausted. The fact that he’s going to go out there again that night to find a body Stiles has seen and knows the location of is just ludicrous.
“Yeah, we need a good pow-wow,” he says. Notices his dad’s raised eyebrow. “And by that I mean, we’re going to hit the books hard.”
“How are you guys even getting in, it’s like 5pm?”
“Apparently money talks.”
“And that means?”
“Laura bribed a janitor and a librarian.”
“I probably shouldn’t know that,” Noah says under his breath. “Call me when you get home, alright?”
“Sure.”
Derek picks them all up like a good lil’ schoolbus driver. Stiles calls him that to his face. Or well, to his reflection, because he’s sitting behind him. He sees that reflection grin wide and sharp before the car jerks to a stop, Stiles’ forehead smacking against the back of Derek’s seat.
“Ow.”
“Seatbelt.”
He grumpily puts it on.
Cora’s glaring daggers at Derek from her seat next to him. “Want me to tell Peter you did that?”
“…No.”
Stiles looks at Scott with wide eyes because what? Scott, surprisingly, does not have the same reaction. “You’re Peter’s pack, right? It makes sense he wouldn’t want Derek bullying you.”
“I’m not bullying anyone!” The man defends himself.
“My head begs to differ!” Stiles calls out.
At the library they truly hit the books hard. Scott goes all out, reading textbooks Stiles is pretty sure are actually meant for college kids. Cora’s struggling with her math so Stiles tries to help out as much as he can but he’s no Lydia and his notes only make sense to him. They try to call her for help several times but she only answers once to tell them she’s busy. By nine o’clock they’ve been at it for four hours and Cora’s starting to give up.
Stiles was supposed to write a whole new essay and wanted to use the randomness of their library as inspiration but he ends up surfing various forums and blog posts, looking for any kind of info on druids and their magic that might be real. He’s surprised when he finds a longer, more drawn out version of Blake’s story about the village in Norway. It’s framed as a cautionary tale.
“Kids, I’m going to lock up soon,” the bribed librarian comes up to tell them, money apparently having a time limit.
Cora glares at him. “How soon?”
He looks unsure. “Uh… an hour?”
“Two.”
“This… this isn’t a negotiation, my shift ends at-”
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“My shift ends in two hours, have at it.”
She grins, standing up to give him the money. The guy barely older than the rest of them stares at the bill for a second and then pockets it, going back to his office.
“Wow,” Stiles drawls at her.
“What? I don’t want to go home until I got this, because I’ll never finish it there.”
Stiles sighs and calls Lydia again. She picks up to say “Still busy!” and hangs up before he can get a word in.
He focuses fully on helping Cora, tries to emulate Lydia as best as he can.
“I am. So hungry,” Scott whines an hour later.
“We’ve been at this for five hours with nothing but vending machine goodies to tide us over,” Stiles pokes at his empty packet of crisps. “Can we go? Please?” He pleads with Cora.
“Yeah,” she sighs, closing her books. “I think that’s as good as it’ll get right now.” As they’re packing up, Cora looks towards the office.
Stiles pulls up his bag and watches her. “What?”
“I thought I heard something. Wait here.”
“Uh,” he grabs at Scott’s arm nervously. “Okay?” Both of them stand still as Cora walks to the door, hesitates and then opens it.
“Shit,” she says, grimacing. “I can smell blood.”
“What!?” Stiles yelps.
“Is someone hurt?” Scott takes a step forward.
“Make a circle. I’m checking it out.”
“Shouldn’t you come into the circle with us?” Stiles asks.
She looks back at him, considering. “Alright, leave a small gap and get ready to close it.”
Scott and Stiles burst into motion, pulling out their paper bags full of ash and pouring a circle around themselves. Once Cora sees that, she goes into the office, disappearing from view.
“Stiles,” Scott slaps the back of his hand against Stiles’ chest. “Call Laura, or Peter.”
“Hang on, Derek’s closer.” The call gets picked up quickly. During the short wait, Stiles notices how quiet it is. Which makes sense since it’s Saturday and the only ones who were supposed to be here today were them and the librarian and the janitor. But the quiet makes his anxiety spike, it somehow feels unnatural.
“You ready to go finally?”
“Cora said she smells blood, she went to check on it,” Stiles says quickly.
“Where are you?”
“Still at the library, where are you?”
“Just got back to the parking lot, I haven’t noticed anything off-”
An inhuman roar, so loud and overwhelming that Stiles has no idea what direction it came from. When his ears recover, Derek’s already hung up.
Scott’s pulling out his inhaler.
“Are you going to call Laura now? Or Peter. Remember what I said about the scariest guy you know being on your side? I think we could use that right about now.”
Stiles calls Laura, meanwhile telling Scott that, “Peter can barely walk right now. Not exactly scary.”
“Stiles, I need comfort not logic!” Scott swipes at him half-heartedly, then uses his inhaler. Several times.
“Easy, buddy,” Stiles manages to say before he hears Laura’s voice.
“We’re already on our way.”
“What? How? We?”
“Someone called 911 at the school, we found out, Peter’s with me. Focusing on driving now, stay inside the ash and you’ll be fine.” She hangs up.
The ash. Stiles crouches over the gap and hesitates.
“Fuck. Cora!?” He yells, gasping when Scott grabs him by his hoodie.
“Shh!”
“Dude, they’re werewolves, they can hear us even when we’re not speaking,” Stiles points out and feels bad when Scott visibly blanches. “Comfort, not logic. Right, er, the scary guy of your nightmares is already on his way to save your ass. So just breathe, okay?”
Scott nods at him, then to himself. “Are you gonna close it?”
Stiles turns back to look towards the office, not seeing or hearing any movement.
“I think I have to.”
“Wait!” They hear Cora yell just before she comes smashing through the door, actually with the door, the glass shattering on impact with the floor. Cora’s unphased and scrambles up, streaks of blood running down her face as she jumps over tables to land in the circle with them. “Now!”
Stiles flails with empty hands, because he was too busy staring at her in awe but luckily Scott’s there with his paper bag, filling up the gap and hopefully making them safe.
They stand, huddled together and stare at the now open doorway but nothing happens.
“She was coming after me,” Cora pants. “Where did she go?”
And then another roar, this one less powerful and yet somehow, angrier.
“No!” Cora steps up against the circle and bounces back against a shimmery barrier, which Stiles gapes at because he hadn't actually seen how the mountain ash works yet. “That was Derek!” She cries out.
“I’m not breaking the circle,” Stiles says before she can ask. Her head whips around to shoot him a glare that makes him hold his hands up placatingly.
“Laura would kill me, Cora. She’d want you safe too!”
“My brother’s up against them alone!”
“The others are on their way!”
“An Alpha doesn’t need a lot of time to rip someone to shreds, Stiles!”
“I’m not doing it!”
“All this shouting,” another voice complains. Cora grabs at Stiles and Scott, pushing herself in front of them. A large, tall man walks into the library, stepping over the broken glass without taking his red eyes off Cora. “I’d forgotten how annoying kids can be.”
“Maybe don’t bite us then?” Stiles says and Scott pulls at him, shaking his head.
“I wouldn’t, but sadly, I’m not the one in charge right now. And Deucalion wants that one,” he points at Scott.
Stiles reacts instinctively, pushing his friend behind him so the three of them are now standing in a line.
“Not interested,” Scott says weakly.
Stiles hears him use his inhaler again.
“That asthma of yours?” The man gestures towards them. “The Bite will cure it.”
“That’s cool and all, but no thank you,” Scott says politely because that’s the kind of guy he is.
“Which means, fuck off,” Stiles shouts over Cora’s shoulder, ducking to hide behind her head when red eyes land on him. Because that’s the kind of guy he is.
“Ah, Peter’s new favorite. Maybe I’ll bite you too, just for fun.”
Stiles steps up to stand beside Cora, buzzing with anger now. “I think you guys have done enough to him.”
“Ooh, Peter’s got himself a little protector. How cute,” Ennis growls at the back of his throat and flexes his entire face into something inhuman. If the red eyes hadn’t given it away, the fangs sure do - danger, danger. Stiles’ brain is caught between wanting to hide Scott with his body because don’t you even look at my best friend, you jerk and just doing a a one-eighty and running like hell.
“Where’s my brother?” Cora growls and Stiles yelps when he glances at her because she’s gone wolf-mode as well.
“Oh,” the man makes a mocking surprised face, “Probably bleeding out somewhere. Kali got her claws in deep, just the way she likes it,” he leers.
Stiles can’t help making a face of disgust. The Alpha snaps his teeth in his direction and he jumps back, Cora swiftly moving in and unsheathing her claws by flicking out her hands.
Ennis starts pacing in front of them.
“What’s the plan here? You’re not getting at us,” Stiles shouts at him.
“What makes you so sure?” He grins, not pausing his movement.
“Can he get at us?” He mumbles at Cora not-so-discreetly.
“Not to my knowledge,” she starts pacing along with him, as much as their tiny circle allows.
About a minute goes by of nothing more than this and Stiles finally explodes, “Are you seriously going to do that all night? What are you waiting for?”
“Me.”
A dark-skinned petite woman steps in, feet lightly avoiding the broken glass.
“Ms. Morrell!?” Scott gasps out.
Stiles stares at his French teacher disbelief.
“I’m sorry, what? Or would you prefer que fais-tu!?”
“I couldn’t smell or hear her coming at all,” Cora’s shaking her head, confused.
Stiles’ face goes slack with horror. “That’s a druid trick.”
Morrell (because apparently none of the teachers at Beacon Hills High School are deserving of honorifics, fuck the lot of them) smiles sadly. “Yes. As is this.”
She puts her hands out, holds them straight. Stiles glances down at where her palms are facing and croaks, “Wait-”
But it’s too late, the ash scatters.
Ennis roars victoriously and a roar answers him from somewhere in the school.
“Let’s get this done, then,” he moves towards them. Cora runs at him bravely, leaping up and trying to claw at his face. But Ennis dodges faster than Stiles’ eyes can see and snatches her by the throat mid-air, tossing her aside like she’s garbage. Cora hits the shelves and goes down with them. She doesn’t get back up.
Scott and Stiles are walking backwards. Stiles looks around for anything that can be used as a weapon but he’s at a goddamn library and all he sees are books.
He really needs to start carrying his taser.
“Stiles, just run!” Scott yells and actually pushes him aside. Stiles goes off-balance for a moment, veering into a bookshelf and giving Ennis a clear path. The man’s fast and has claws dug into Scott’s hoodie in a second.
“Let me go, I don’t want it!” Scott’s shouting, punching at his attacker as best as he can but Ennis doesn’t flinch and lifts him high up in the air.
Stiles regains his balance just enough to run straight at the Alpha with no clear plan in his head. He hopes to tackle him but hits solid muscle and bounces off, landing on his ass behind him. The man roars again and strikes, sinking his teeth into Scott’s side, squeezing in deep through his clothes.
Scott yells out in pain.
Stiles sees red and pulls himself up by grabbing fistfuls of Ennis’ jeans. He then jumps up and wraps his arms around the man’s neck, shouting, “Let go of him, you eyebrowless freak!”
Ennis rips his head away from Scott and lets the boy fall onto the ground, Scott crying out in surprise.
He grabs Stiles’ arms and just pulls them away from his neck, as if Stiles isn’t using all of his strength to keep his hold. One of the man’s hands is on his bandaged arm but he barely feels it through the adrenaline.
“Remember what Deucalion said!” He hears Morrell shout somewhere as Ennis lifts him one-handed and chucks him across the room. He hits the hard edge of a bookshelf which topples over and he goes with it, landing on his back and hurting it even more. He’s too winded to cry out so he just lays there for a while, blurry-eyed from pain.
“He said not to kill them.”
“You’re getting awfully close. He’s human.”
He hears Ennis sigh, “Fine.”
“He’s bitten?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go. You already bit one more than you were supposed to.”
“He got in my way,” Ennis complains as their voices grow more distant.
“Cora?” Stiles whispers shakily. There’s no response. “Scott?”
“I’m okay,” Scott hisses somewhere, obviously in pain.
I’m really hurt is what he wants to say but what comes out is “I’m fine.”
Which makes him groan because fuck, can’t Blake’s illusion or whatever let him have this? These are totally unrelated injuries. Oh god, what if even now, no one can see that he’s injured. He’s pretty sure he needs to go to the hospital.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He’s never hated Blake more.
“Stiles,” Scott whines and that makes him get up. His entire body aches but he manages to push up from the mess of books and shelves on the floor and go to where Scott’s slumped against the wall.
“I’m here,” he says, gingerly sliding down next to him and offering a hand. Scott grips it tight, squeezing. His breathing’s fast and erratic.
“I don’t wanna die,” he whispers.
“You’re not going to,” Stiles promises, even though he can’t know that for sure.
“I don’t wanna be a werewolf either,” Scott closes his eyes and tears roll down his cheeks.
Stiles stays silent because he hasn’t got anything to say to that, besides, “You’ll make an awesome one, though.”
Scott laughs through his tears.
There’s sounds of a commotion coming from the hallways. They hear people running loudly and shouting things. And then outside, sirens.
“The cavalry’s a little late,” Stiles points out.
“I wonder who called 911?” Scott asks, shifting a little and groaning, his other hand hovering over his side, obviously wanting to touch it as an instinctual urge to hold the part of your body that’s hurting but not actually daring to get near it.
You already bit one more than you were supposed to.
Stiles blinks at his friend, “I think you’re not the only one who got bitten.”
Scott blinks back, “What are we supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can help with that,” a new voice and Stiles is tired of people just entering rooms mid-conversation. It’s rude is what it is.
A stern-faced woman with lips painted dark red and hair dyed bright red (Stiles is sensing a favorite color here) steps over the office door, dressed in business chic, with a pencil skirt and heels and everything. The only thing that doesn’t fit her entire professional look is the rifle she’s holding in her hands.
“You’ve had quite a night, boys.” She lifts the gun and aims it at Scott. “I’m sorry that it has to end this way.”
Stiles forgets about every pain in his body and moves swiftly to crouch in front of his friend, directly in her line of fire.
“I don’t see any blood on you so I’m assuming you weren’t bitten,” she says, eyes studying him, gun never wavering.
“None of your business,” Stiles snaps at her.
“Kid, your friend is gone. Was gone the minute those teeth got into him. What I’m offering is mercy.”
That dumb line sparks a realization in him. He thinks he knows who she is.
“Did you get that from the Argent 101 guide on how to be an absolute psycho?”
Her hands tighten around her gun and her glare is vicious.
“Who are you?”
Running footsteps from behind her and she turns to see who it is.
Stiles’ knees give out in relief when Chris runs in, glass crunching under his boots as he takes in the whole scene.
He stares at Scott and Stiles in shock for a moment before turning to the woman and his entire demeanor changes, looking angrier than Stiles has ever seen him before. It’s chilling to see.
“Put down the damn gun, Victoria.”
And yes, Stiles guessed right.
Victoria called him to tell him she was in town but heading straight for the school because someone had called 911. She said she can handle it and then she hung up.
Chris doesn’t know how she can still believe he’ll just fall in line for her, like a good little soldier, after all the years of fighting and distance.
Of course he drives to the school. He decides to park at the lacrosse field and to head towards the back of the school, hoping to avoid the hunters at first. He knows that Stiles, Scott and Cora were there earlier but hopes it’s late enough that they’ve left already. That hope is gone when he sees Derek jumping- no, falling out of a second story window.
He hurries to help him up, cursing when he sees the torn torso.
“Shit, the Alphas?”
Derek looks surprised to see him, grabbing at Chris’ arms like if they’re a lifeline, swaying on his feet.
“Yeah, Cora’s… I think Cora got into the circle but then-” He slumps against him, falling unconscious. Chris grits his teeth at the weight but manages to put Derek down gently. He looks around helplessly, hears sirens from the front of the school, wanting to find out what’s going on but afraid to leave Derek. But he sees a familiar Chevy Camaro pull in next to his car and sighs in relief.
He pats Derek on the arm, “Laura’s here. You’ll be okay.”
He runs into the school.
There’s signs of a fight here and there, a trail of blood leading upstairs he figures might be Derek’s, trashed lockers and even broken walls.
He hears people running on the second floor, wonders if he should go up there when he hears his ex-wife’s voice down the hallway he’s in.
“Go find out what’s going on upstairs, you three go and see if you can figure out who was fighting down here.”
He ducks behind a row of lockers and waits for the hunters to follow her orders. When she’s alone, he follows her.
And hears her talking to someone.
“Did you get that from the Argent 101 guide on how to be an absolute psycho?”
His heart stops for a second. Because that’s Stiles, who is snapping at Victoria. Victoria, who probably has a gun.
When he runs into the library, he looks around in shock at the half-destroyed place and then at Scott, slumped against the wall, his green hoodie soaked with blood on his side. And crouching over him, Stiles, who looks unharmed but terrified.
Victoria is indeed, holding her favorite rifle.
“Put down the damn gun, Victoria.”
She lowers it.
“The boy’s been bitten.”
“And unless he hurts someone, we don’t hurt him.”
“Is that what you’ve been teaching our daughter?” She glares at him. “Omegas are dangerous-”
“The Hales are in town and they can help him. They already know him, actually.”
“I know they’re back in town, despite you hiding that from us,” she hisses at him. “You forget you’re not the only one with contacts here.”
“Someone at the Sheriff’s station?” He guesses because that would explain her fast reaction to the 911 call.
“Oh god, is it Haigh?” Stiles grimaces and Scott grabs at his shoulder in warning but it’s too late, Victoria’s turned back towards them.
Fortunately, she’s still keeping the gun lowered.
“Now how do you seem to know so much?”
Of course Stiles guessed right. Chris sees the surprise on his face, reckons he was probably just mouthing off.
“They’re Allison’s friends,” Chris says and hopes that will get her to back off. But feels the need to continue, “The boy you want to shoot? That’s her boyfriend.”
Victoria tenses, firming her grip on her rifle. “Scott,” she says flatly.
Scott lifts a hand weakly, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Argent.”
Chris… doesn’t know what to do with that.
Stiles snorts under his breath, then covers his eyes, shoulders shaking and falls back to sit side by side with Scott.
“What?” Scott asks, blinking sleepily.
And Chris remembers that he was bitten. Jesus Christ, these kids could use a break.
“Well that relationship has now ended,” Victoria proclaims.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chris laughs darkly. She turns to stare down at him, heels lifting her high enough to do so. “If you think you can tell Allison what to do-”
“She’s going to be the matriarch some day, she will not be shacking up with a werewolf. Gods, Chris, do you even think ahead anymore? What if they have a kid, what if that kid’s a werewolf?”
Chris smirks, “Then I’ll be a granddad.”
“Oh god,” Stiles says, once again catching everyone’s attention. “No, continue, sorry,” he waves at them.
“You can’t seriously be okay with Allison being with-”
“Yes. I am. Because time away from you has done me some good.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her jaw flexes.
“It means he’s a good man and not a bigot like you,” Stiles gestures rudely.
“Stiles, stay out of this,” Chris warns. The boy blinks at him, looking sheepish.
Victoria is glancing between them and of course, she reaches the right, yet wrong, but still right conclusion.
“I knew you were into some sick things, Christopher. But a boy your daughter’s age?”
“Hey, no!” Stiles shouts, pushing himself up, Scott futilely trying to keep him down (”Stiles, don’t.”)
Victoria faces him and steps closer, Stiles does the same, until they’re too close for Chris to feel anything but fear for Stiles' life.
“Leave him, he’s just a kid. He’s Scott’s best friend,” he tries to explain, to make her see the wrong part of her conclusion.
“Where do you get off coming here and acting as if anyone gives a shit what you think?” Stiles asks and Chris wants very desperately for him to shut up.
“How dare you?” Victoria asks, her low voice sounding like the calm before the storm.
“You’re not welcome here, lady! This is Hale territory and-”
Chris sees her hands tense and steps in but is too late to stop her from whipping her gun against Stiles’ head.
“Ah!” Stiles cries out, stumbling backwards.
Chris pushes her with his shoulder, grabbing the gun with all the strength he can muster, just barely managing to pull it from her hands.
“Are you out of your mind? You just hit the Sheriff’s son!” He tries to get her to see the bigger picture.
She at least has the grace to appear regretful, visibly composing herself.
“These are her friends, you say? Werewolf sympathizers?”
“Oh get a grip!” Stiles gripes at her, and Chris has to physically come between them, Victoria’s eyes going murderous. She’s never liked backtalk to begin with. Add werewolves to the situation and she looks like a ticking timebomb.
The sound of glass getting stepped on.
All three of them look towards the office.
Peter Hale waves.
“How about you step away from Stiles, Victoria? You see I just got my nails done,” he inspects his clawed fingertips, “I’d hate to get them bloody.”
She takes a step back from all of them. Chris can tell she feels uncomfortable without her gun.
“Peter Hale,” she studies him. “Still a beast, I see.”
“And you’re still a bitch.”
She glares, “I don’t believe we’ve properly met before.”
“We haven’t, but just like you’ve heard stories about me being a beast, I’ve heard stories about what a god-awful bitch you can be.”
Her eyes flicker towards Chris. He refuses to show her any emotion.
“So this is who you side with now? Your mother is rolling in her grave,” Victoria says, proud because she knows how much that will sting.
Before he can react, Peter’s standing next to him, very slightly leaning his shoulder against his.
“You know what?” He says sarcastically. “I don’t think she is.”
“What would you know about his mother?”
“She was a kind woman who got along very well with my sister. Her death was the downfall of the Argents.”
Chris didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect anyone to think that, except him.
He glances at Peter’s profile. Feels a familiar fondness gathering strength and leaving him breathless from it.
Victoria looks down her nose at them.
“Chris. Your father is not going to like any of this.”
“It’s been a while since I cared about what he likes.”
She glances around at all of them and walks around Peter, the man turning in place, keeping her in his sights. When she gets to the doorway, she looks at Scott.
“This discussion isn’t over. I’ll see you at home.”
She escapes, because as Chris knows, she hates feeling outnumbered.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Stiles says under his breath, covering his face with his hands. Chris wants to go and check his pulse, his pupils, wants to make sure he’s really as fine as he seems but Peter’s already moving, hand going to the side of Stiles’ head, the other gripping a hip. Chris notices how Stiles leans into the man’s touch.
He goes to Scott, who is breathing softly, looking half-asleep.
“How are you feeling, Scott?” He asks him, tenderly pulling at the hoodie.
The boy winces a little, “I think… better than I was like a few minutes ago? I don’t know… I feel weird.”
Chris inspects the bite and is surprised to see scabbing.
“I think you’re already healing.”
“Does that…” Scott takes a few breaths, “Does that mean I’ll live?”
“Yes,” he puts the hoodie back down and clasps his shoulder. “And whatever comes next, we’ll deal with it together.”
Scott’s head flies up at that.
“You mean that?” He asks, tears welling up.
“Of course,” he says sincerely.
The moment’s interrupted by Peter’s frustrated growl.
Stiles looks fine. Shaky and scared, obviously. But completely unharmed. Fine.
But the pack bond is screaming at him that something’s terribly wrong. And his senses are fighting against it.
He feels like biting something. Preferably the warm flesh of one Jennifer Blake.
“Look at me,” he tells him, cradles his face in his hands.
Stiles stares at him with wide eyes. He can see nothing wrong with him.
“Are you alright? She hit you, I heard that.”
Stiles’ jaw clenches, he looks up at the ceiling and huffs out a laugh. “I’m fine,” he says, finally.
There should be something, surely. Bruises, cuts, abrasions. There was an Alpha here, shelves are broken and there’s shattered glass-
A welcome epiphany.
“Blake hides her face with a glamour,” he muses. Stiles’ hands come up to clench around his wrists and he thinks he’s on the right path.
“Are you hurt?” He asks. Stiles’ entire face twitches.
“I’m fine,” he repeats.
“You can’t tell me, can you?” He guesses.
Stiles breathes out sharply and leans into him, closing his eyes. Peter’s taken off-guard but lets the other rest their foreheads together. He allows himself a moment of weakness, brushes his thumbs against Stiles’ cheeks. Lets his eyes wander, have their fill.
Stiles opens his mouth but nothing comes out except air and he pulls back, looking frustrated. He tries again and then flinches violently, grabbing at his head.
Peter growls, frustrated that Blake managed to block their communication so effectively. She made sure Stiles couldn’t ask for help.
This really feels like a nice night for violence.
But first…
“Everything alright?” Chris asks while he helps Scott stand up. The boy looks better already, color returning to his cheeks. That’s one worry taken care of, Stiles not having to mourn his best friend. At least not yet. Since he was bitten by Ennis… who is going along with whatever mad plan Deucalion’s cooking up… the future’s not so bright at the moment.
“No,” Peter says simply. “But I’m going to fix it,” he promises, catching Stiles’ gaze again.
“Thank fuck,” Stiles says and laughs in relief.
“Scott should come with me for now, we could use him where we’re going.”
“Where’s that?” Scott asks, stepping forward gingerly.
“Deaton’s.”
Scott’s head flies up, “What?”
“What?” Stiles repeats.
“The vet?” Chris asks, just as confused.
Peter sighs at all of them, “You’ll just have to trust me for now, I’ll explain on the way. Chris, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” the man agrees readily.
“Take care of my niece, will you?”
“Oh my god, Cora!” Stiles shouts, heading towards an especially huge pile of shelves and books but Peter grabs his hood and pulls him back.
“She’s fine, I can hear her breathing and her heartbeat. She’s just unconscious. Take her to Laura? She’s outside with Derek.”
Chris nods, looking a little bewildered. “I’ll try to avoid everyone, or… Do you know what was going on upstairs? That’s where I heard the most people.”
“That’s where the bodies are,” Peter drawls. “And Lydia.”
Stiles grabs his arm, “She’s here?”
Peter stares at their shocked faces and realizes he’s about to be the bringer of bad news.
“She’s the one who called 911.”
Stiles is shaking, “But she’s okay?”
“She was bitten too.”
“Oh god,” Stiles buries his head in his hands.
“Oh no,” Scott agrees sadly.
“And the bodies?” Chris asks.
“The janitor and the librarian. All of this will probably be considered some sort of rare freakish animal attack.”
“I need to see her-”
He pulls Stiles up against him, grabs him gently by the neck. “She’s already being taken away by an ambulance. There’s nothing you can do right now.”
“But what happens if she goes to the hospital and starts healing like me?” Scott asks.
Peter cocks his head, “She’s not going to turn.”
“She’s dying!?” Scott looks heartbroken.
“No, y-” He refrains from calling him an idiot, it’s been a traumatic evening, he can try to be understanding. “She’s already something, whether it’s a banshee or something else. The bite is just that, a bite. That she will probably heal from at human speed.” He decides not to mention his knowledge about what happens to banshees when they're pushed into their full powers before they're ready.
“Oh that will suck,” Stiles mutters distractedly. “Her party,” he whispers, sharing a glance of fear with Scott.
“You can all worry about Lydia later, right now we need to fix Stiles.”
“And my boss can help how?” Scott asks.
“I said I’ll explain on the way and that’s what I’ll do,” Peter sees Chris pulling Cora’s body into his arms and gives him a nod as thank you before leading the other two through the hallways, avoiding everyone with a wide circle thanks to his hearing. He goes to the front of the school because they need Stiles’ Jeep. Their path however takes them close to police cruisers and the ambulance. Peter has to herd the other two in a safe direction.
“God, you’re good at lurking,” Stiles tells him.
He smirks but doesn’t respond.
“Keys,” he says instead.
“Treat my baby gently, okay?”
He does his best to do so (the gearshift is janky as hell) while he drives and explains about Deaton.
“He’s a druid who doesn’t practice anymore but can probably help us get rid of whatever Blake put on you.”
“My boss is a druid!?” Scott asks from the backseat, looking like his mind’s been blown.
“How many druids are there in this town?” Stiles asks suspiciously.
“What, two is already too many for you?”
“Try three.”
“What?”
“The Alphas had a druid with them. She probably helps them be hard to track. And she also helped them break our ash barrier.”
“That’s worrying. Did you recognize her?”
“Uh, yeah. Our French teacher.”
Peter makes a face, “What is with the teachers in this town?”
“Right!?” Stiles laughs harshly.
“What is Deaton going to help us with, though?” Scott asks.
Peter considers telling him his theory but thinks better of it. Because if for some reason Deaton can’t or won’t help them, he doesn’t want Scott worrying about what kind of injuries he might not be able to see on Stiles. Peter is doing that and it’s stressful and infuriating. Two emotions that aren’t a good experience for the freshest of newly-turned werewolves.
“You’ll see.”
Notes:
ah, this chapter feels a bit mmmm, choppy. but i'm just trying to keep the plot going /cries
next ch i wanna do better, hopefully when i actually finally rest for the first time in eight days i'll write better, sleep take me-
Chapter Text
Deaton lives in a modest two-story home in one of the more livelier neighborhoods of Beacon Hills. Its after eleven on a Saturday night and there are people still walking around in groups, some of them headed home, some of them just starting their night.
Stiles is glancing around as Peter parks, looking surprised.
“It’s so weird to see everyone going about their night like normal,” he says.
“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “Feels like the attack was just a bad dream or something. Except, you know, ow.” He winces as he moves out of the car.
“Don’t even get me started… I have a whole array of issues about-” Stiles cuts off after standing up and when Peter exits the car and comes around it, he sees Stiles grabbing fistfuls of his hair, Scott hovering next to him.
Scott looks to Peter for help.
“Can’t even give me that much, but oh, I can talk to myself, that’s fucking perfect because what’s the first sign of insani-” He cuts off when Peter gently pulls at his wrists.
“Come,” Peter lets go of one wrist but his other hand slides down to wrap around Stiles’. He heads to Deaton’s front yard, tugging Stiles after him.
He shoots a few glances back at the two and sees Scott and Stiles gaping at each other and a few seconds later, Scott giving Stiles a sneaky thumbs-up.
Deaton’s front yard is full of plants, namely, familiar-looking plants that Peter’s mostly just seen in his books. Some common herbs but also rarer herbs that he knows are used in various concoctions (and foods), a lot of them supernatural in nature, flowers that are not native to this land and-
He stops to stare.
“What?” Stiles asks, stumbling against him.
“The man is growing yellow wolfsbane in his front garden.”
“Oh, cool, that stuff’s expensive!”
He turns to give him an incredulous look, which makes Stiles go sheepish.
“I mean, oh no, he’s growing things that hurt you,” he says very unconvincingly.
“Anyone could just run by and take it and not even know what they have,” he shakes his head, moving to the front door.
He rings the doorbell and listens for Deaton’s movements. The man is… coming up from the basement. Not where Peter would expect him to be at this time of night.
Deaton opens the door, sees Peter and tries closing it immediately. Peter slaps his hand against it, easily pushing it open. When he tries to take a step inside, he hits a barrier. He should’ve expected that.
“I told you that I’m staying out of this,” Deaton says calmly, backing away.
Peter sighs, “And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t an emergency.” He turns, pulls Stiles closer and motions for Scott to come up to the door.
Deaton’s clearly shocked to see him.
“Scott?”
“Hey, Dr. Deaton,” Scott waves.
“Why is he here?” He asks Peter.
“I’m also here, hi, Stiles, remember?” Stiles lifts a hand in greeting and then points at himself. Peter gives him a look. “What? I’m the reason we’re here.”
“Peter,” Deaton insists.
“Scott, try to go in,” he stands aside, gesturing towards the door.
Scott stares at the line of ash that’s visible across the entrance. “Oh shit, I can’t.” But he gets the point and does try, bouncing back just like Peter had.
“What have you done?” Deaton asks in horror.
“It wasn’t him!” Scott’s quick to explain. “It was Ennis, one of the Alphas.”
“The Alpha pack?” The man asks, floored.
“Can we come in?” Peter asks.
Deaton seems to be struggling with indecision but finally makes the right choice and uses his foot to brush a gap into the line.
“Tell me what happened.”
After finding out that Kate’s body was found, Allison spent the entire day in her room. Chris tried to get her to come out and eat something several times but she shouted that she’s busy reading.
So when he gets back home after helping Laura care for her injured siblings (and that’s just another thing in a long list of things that makes his heart hurt, the furious concern on Laura’s face, as she kept saying ‘I’m not losing any of you’ while trying to get Derek to stop bleeding), he’s surprised to see Allison waiting for him at the door. Outside the house.
Victoria’s car is in his usual space, which feels accurate to the intrusion her arrival has been, so he has to park on the street.
Allison comes down the steps to meet him.
“Hey, waiting for me?” He asks, gripping her shoulders and then rubbing at her arms because she’s outside on a chilly night in just a T-shirt.
“I couldn’t stand being in the same house as her anymore,” Allison says and then grabs his arm. “She said that Scott’s been bitten.”
He sees the faint hope in her eyes, that maybe her mother lied to her.
“He was,” he says and brings her in for a hug when she gasps softly, sounding close to tears. “But he’s okay, he’s already healing. He’s just… he’s a werewolf now.”
Allison laughs incredulously, “I can’t believe this.” She pulls back from him. “The others?”
“Stiles seemed okay. We don’t know about Lydia yet, she’s been taken to the hospital. Peter thinks she’ll live and she won’t turn, but she has to heal, which will take time.”
Allison’s stunned. “Lydia was bitten too?” She breathes out.
“I’m afraid so.”
Both of her hands come up to cover her mouth as her eyes well up. Chris pulls her back in and gently cradles her head. She starts sobbing and the sound of it breaks his heart.
A part of him knew, was ready for things to get this bad, to get worse. He knew that Victoria and Gerard coming back would mean getting dragged back into this life. Being dragged into it with Allison, whom he has tried to protect from it. Wherever his family goes, death follows. He just hadn’t expected the Alphas. Or the Nemeton.
And now everything is such a huge mess that he has no idea where to start trying to untangle everything.
His eyes catch a moving curtain and he sees Victoria standing at the window, staring at them with an impassive face.
Here, he’ll start here.
“Let’s go in.”
“I don’t want her to stay here,” Allison says vehemently as she backs away. Her entire demeanor yells that she means what she says.
“She won’t,” he promises her.
He doesn’t want her here either.
“And you think this darach has cast a glamour on him,” Deaton gathers from what they’ve told him. He has Stiles sitting on the dinner table, shining a light into his eyes.
“I think that my packmate is injured. But he doesn’t look like he is. It’s possible, isn’t it?” Peter asks from where he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway. Scott is up on the table next to Stiles, holding his friend’s hand.
“It’s possible, yes,” Deaton admits, straightening. “It would mean she’s very powerful.”
“Can you remove it?”
“I think so. It’s a simple thing to do, needs just two components and the right intention.”
Deaton moves away from the table and goes to look around his kitchen cupboards.
“Ah, and thankfully I still have some betony.”
“A medieval cure-all? Really?” Stiles asks skeptically. At Peter’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs, “I google about druid stuff a lot. For obvious reasons.”
“It’s obviously not a cure-all, since there’s no such thing, but it is effective when you’re trying to dispel magic.”
“Now you sound like we’re playing D&D.”
“I’m going to turn this into a paste,” Deaton continues, ignoring Stiles, “And combine it with mountain ash.”
“Why the ash?” Stiles asks, curious.
“You said you’ve googled about… druid stuff. I’m sure you’ve come across the Rowan tree a lot.”
“I have. So it’s just basic protection against evil?”
“Protection and purification.”
“Oh,” Stiles perks up excitedly. “Oh hell yeah, purify me!” He spreads his hands, one of them hitting Scott in the face.
Peter wishes that Deaton would hurry up. He wants Stiles to be able to talk to them freely and to see what he truly looks like right now. If only a glamour could be torn off by claws. It would give him a small release for all this pent-up fury.
The fact that he can’t even track her right now just adds more fuel to the fire inside him.
“This is unacceptable.”
“To you, maybe,” Allison rolls her eyes dismissively.
“You’ve never spoken to me this way-”
“That’s because I didn’t know the truth!”
“I only kept the truth from you because Christopher begged me to, and I don’t see you yelling at him for it!”
“It’s not about the secrecy, it’s about what was being kept secret!”
Chris stands in his kitchen, warily watching the fight unfold in front of him. Every instinct in him says to step forward and defend his daughter, to stop this. But Allison asked him to stand aside and let her speak for herself.
“Your aunt’s savaged body was just found in the woods, clearly murdered by a werewolf. And you stand here, attacking me!?”
“She deserved what she got!” Allison yells and there’s a shocked silence.
“How can you say that about your own family? Kate loved you.”
“I loved her too,” Allison nods, eyes shining with tears. “But I never actually knew her. Or you.”
“Allison-”
“No, I am not okay with the things you do. With how you do them. I’ve met werewolves and they’re just people-”
“Don’t be so goddamn naïve, Allison. They play at being humans but in the end they’re just animals-”
“And that is what I don’t agree with.”
“Is this about Scott?” Victoria asks, sighing like she’s running out of patience.
“No, it’s about everything.”
“If you want to be an Argent, a hunter, then you-”
“I am going to be a hunter. And I am an Argent, more than you will ever be.” Anger flashes on Victoria’s face. “But I want to be the kind of hunter that protects people. People like my friends. And that includes Cora Hale, who I want to protect from people like Kate and you.”
“I’m the matriarch-”
“You’re a stand-in. And now you can stand out.”
Chris is in awe of his daughter. They’ve been talking about all of this, how their family operates, what their plans for her future are, for weeks now. The whole time, she’s been quietly taking it all in, reading and asking questions but never has she given him any sign that she’s actually thinking about taking over, of taking Victoria’s place. Nor that she would defend her father’s beliefs, her own beliefs, with such passion. She’s saying everything he wished he had said when he was her age. Or even before, when he was seventeen and introduced to his wife, the woman chosen to be his mother’s successor by Gerard, all of his choices ripped away just like that.
But he reminds himself that he didn’t have anyone willing to stand with him, to support him. Allison has him. And for once he feels that he’s done something very right.
Victoria laughs mockingly. “You’re not ready to lead this family.”
“Dad has been teaching me-”
“To do what? Has he taught you how to bribe officials? Forge death certificates? How to keep dozens of trigger-happy men in line and to make sure they’re aiming at the right thing? Being an Argent is a lot more than knowing how to shoot a bow.”
Allison doesn’t reply because no, Chris has not been teaching her any of that.
“Exactly. You’re not ready,” Victoria repeats.
“So you will help me,” Allison lifts her chin. “That’s what you wanted to do anyway, right? Teach me how to do your job? Well, do it. And then when I take over, I’m going to tear down everything you built and start over and create my own Code.”
“Spoken like a teenager who has no idea how the real world works.”
“God, I’m tired of talking to you,” Allison presses her hands against her face in frustration and groans. “I’m gonna go call Scott and then I’m going to bed,” she tells Chris, who nods. Without another word to her mother, she heads upstairs, Victoria watching her go.
“I knew it was a mistake not fighting for full-custody,” she says suddenly.
“Why didn’t you?” He’s always wondered that.
“Gerard told me not to. He’ll realize his mistake when he meets her.”
Chris wonders at his dad’s reasons for that. “I think it’s best if you go now.”
She looks surprised.
“You don’t have a guest room?”
“I do. You’re not a guest.”
Victoria takes a breath as if to start arguing and Chris steps forward.
“Allison doesn’t want you here. I don’t want you here. Leave or I’ll call the cops. I happen to know the Sheriff personally. I’m sure he’d be interested to meet the person who pointed a gun at his son today.”
She glares daggers at him. But concedes by heading for the door. At the foyer she pauses and looks back.
“Do you bring your men here?” Victoria asks in disgust, glancing around the place as if she might see signs of that.
“What?”
“Your mutt and that boy. Does Allison know about you and her friend?” She asks, eyes tightening with delight because she thinks she has something to hold over him.
Chris considers saying there’s nothing going on, that he’s still painfully single and that the last person he slept with is still her but it’s honestly easier to just say, “She knows. And she’s fine with it.” Because in a way, that’s the truth.
Her hands clench into fists. “How can she possibly be fine with it?” She sounds sincerely baffled.
He laughs darkly, suddenly remembering Stiles’ words from earlier that night. “Because I raised her to not be a bigot like you.”
She slams the door when she leaves.
Deaton listens to Peter explain his other worry.
“It is likely yes, that if he’s covered in an illusion to make him seem unharmed, there would be a precaution in place to make sure he can’t just say that he’s hurt.” He brings a wooden bowl with the paste in it with him as he comes back to the living room table.
Scott just left a second ago because Allison called, Peter can hear both of them being disgustingly sweet and endearing. Their obvious love for each other is almost nauseatingly pure. Peter watches as Deaton asks Stiles to take his shirts off and wonders if that’s the kind of love Stiles hopes to experience someday.
The body Stiles reveals in jerky movements, clearly nervous, is lean and soft, but with a hint of toned muscle. Now Peter wonders if Stiles is ticklish and would he like it if Peter brushed his fingers along the trail of hair on his stomach or if he-
“I can sense it faintly now that I’ve spent a few minutes in your presence,” Deaton’s voice snaps him out of his wonderings. “There’s a well-crafted illusion covering your entire skin. But it’s strongest here,” he points to the inside of Stiles’ right arm.
The boy looks down at it and softly trails his fingers along it. Except, Peter realizes as he watches him closely, his fingertips aren’t actually touching the skin.
He steps closer.
“I think it’s weakening.”
Deaton’s collecting the paste into his hands. “It would make sense. Glamours are usually specific and follow a design. This one was most likely meant to hide whatever’s on his arm. It wasn’t meant to hide the results of tonight’s attack, so that’s thinning the effect. Now stay quiet, I need to focus for the next minute or so.” He takes Stiles’ arm in his hands and starts rubbing in the paste. Stiles looks like he wants to cry out but he doesn’t. Like he can’t.
Peter wants to see Blake choking on her own blood.
Just like Deaton said, it takes about a minute to see the results. Peter’s sharp gaze studies every change. Stiles’ skin grows pale, clammy. Dark circles that signal exhaustion and look very familiar on that face appear under his eyes. Fading finger-shaped bruises around his chin. And there, underneath Deaton’s hands, a long, straight cut.
The smell of the wound hits him, the stench of infection making him frown. And then Stiles’ chemosignals are everywhere, the pain, hurt, panic- Peter steps up against the table, careful not to bump into Deaton, and places a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. The boy stares at him, grateful but hurting and terrified.
He doesn’t know what to say to comfort, to help. So he just begins draining Stiles’ pain and the force of it surprises him.
“Oh my god, Stiles!” Scott gasps as he comes back into the room, eyes frozen on Stiles’ back. Peter leans over and sees the dark bruises. “Shit, I should’ve known!” Scott drags his hand through his hair. “Ennis threw you across the room. But you got up and you looked fine, I thought-” He looks like he’s going to cry.
“Well, luckily, I’ve finished,” Deaton says dryly at the interruption, straightening. “Hm, this is infected. I’ll get something for it. Stiles, go wash your arm in the sink.”
Stiles hurries to comply and Peter goes with him, refusing to let go because he wants to keep pulling at his pain. He can now see how gingerly Stiles is moving, his back clearly causing him trouble.
“I’m going to kill her,” he says, promises.
Stiles finishes washing the paste away and turns to Peter.
“I want you to,” he says seriously. “But I-” And the rest turns into an exhale and he squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.
“Deaton, he still can’t talk about it,” he shouts towards the living room.
“I figured as much,” the man says as he steps into the kitchen, holding an ointment and a pill bottle. He hands them both to Peter. “I assume you know what to do with those. But first,” he gets a water bottle from his fridge and removes the cap. He gets two jars from the cupboard he found the betony in.
“What are those?” Stiles asks, eyes following the man’s every movement.
“Agrimony seeds and mistletoe.”
Peter glares at the latter jar. “Which is poisonous to both humans and werewolves.”
“I’m only going to use a small amount and the goal is not to ingest it.”
Deaton pours mountain ash into the water and then adds the agrimony and then a mistletoe stem. He caps it and starts shaking it, looking at Stiles as he does so.
“Again, intent is key here. My intent as I mix it and as I pour it into your mouth. You, however, have to keep it in your mouth, do not swallow. And you will focus on what you want to tell us until the urge to do so makes you spit it out.” He steps closer and places a hand on Stiles’ jaw. “I think my assumption is correct but it doesn’t hurt to check. Show me your tongue.”
Stiles does so and Peter growls to himself.
There’s a black, diseased looking area right at the center of Stiles’ tongue.
“As I thought.” Deaton steps back and Stiles closes his mouth. “It’s a curse. It’s crude but effective in keeping people silent. It’s also dangerous, especially if used more than once, which the size of that indicates.”
“Dangerous?” Stiles asks warily.
“I’m sure you can agree that the effects are not pleasant. It can cause various mental health conditions, but only if it’s kept in place for a long time. You knew it was magic keeping you silent, a lot of people who get cursed with this don’t. I’m sure that’s helped you keep a grip on reality.”
Stiles looks uneasy, “Sure.”
“Alright, stand over the sink,” Deaton instructs and Stiles does so. Deaton stands by his side and holds the bottle to his mouth. “Remember, don’t swallow.”
Peter sees Scott come to the doorway to watch what’s about to happen. He still looks shaken.
Deaton lifts the bottle until water starts slowly pouring into Stiles’ mouth. He keeps going until Stiles lifts a hand, then stops. They all wait as Stiles stands there, cheeks full of water, eyes squeezed shut.
About twenty seconds go by until Stiles starts swaying, shaking. And then he spits out the water and yells, “Blake hurt me and I’m not okay!” He breathes shallowly and slumps against the sink, sobbing, “I’m not fucking okay, I’m not fine, everything hurts and Blake is a piece of shit!” He rants while crying.
Peter’s about to help him stand when Scott’s there, gathering his friend into his arms. Stiles clutches at him, pressing himself closer. “And I think I need to go to the hospital,” he says weakly, sniffing.
“You absolutely do,” Deaton says, eyes on his back.
“But- But,” Stiles tries to calm down and pushes Scott away. “I need to talk to Peter alone for a sec.”
“I really think we should take you to the hospital right away-”
“Yeah, I want to. But I need to talk to him.”
“Scott, let’s give them a moment. I believe that we also need to talk,” Deaton gestures towards the hallway. Scott grabs Stiles by the cheek but then sighs.
“Fine, hurry though.” He follows Deaton out of the kitchen.
“I need to sit down,” Stiles says, swaying.
Peter takes in the lack of chairs, considers Stiles’ back and then steps up against him, hands going to his hips. “Okay if I lift you?”
“If you-” Stiles blinks at him, their faces close. “Sure.”
He, as gently as possible, lifts Stiles up and helps him sit on the counter next to the sink. He curses Deaton for having a modest home with a stupidly modest kitchen.
Stiles looks down at where he’s sitting, at Peter standing in close, between his legs and raises his eyebrows. “I mean, I could’ve jumped up here myself.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because that’s not a polite thing to do in someone else’s home!” He pokes Peter in the chest. “But also, it would’ve probably hurt a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter smiles.
“Ugh,” Stiles leans forward, resting his head against Peter’s shoulder and he likes this. He likes touching Stiles, likes that Stiles lets him and especially likes it when Stiles touches him back.
He shifts his hands from Stiles’ hips up to his waist so he can use the skin-on-skin contact to drain his pain. He wonders if Stiles’ shiver at his touch is because of the relief or something else. One of Stiles’ hands comes up to grip Peter’s arm as he pulls back to look at him.
For a second, caught under that searching gaze, Peter thinks Stiles is going to kiss him.
But then the boy closes his eyes, breaking the connection.
“Talking, I wanted to talk,” Stiles mutters under his breath.
“So talk,” Peter notices how he’s unconsciously leaned in towards Stiles and straightens himself. He slides one hand down to the other’s thigh, squeezing it. It’s meant as a comforting gesture but might have selfish motivations behind it. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, anyway.
“Blake’s using me to get the Nemeton’s power.”
“To what end?”
“To kill the Alpha pack. All of them. Which is something we want, right?”
Peter stares at Stiles’ expectant face. “You want to keep working with her?” He asks, in disbelief at what he’s hearing.
“Want? No,” Stiles grimaces, “But be honest. Do you think there’s actually a way you can get rid of them? A way you can protect Scott from Ennis? Or the rest of your pack? Or me!?”
Peter squeezes his thigh again, without really meaning to. But he’s angry because he knows what Stiles is getting at. It’s the one problem he can’t find a solution to, because they’re too powerful and the Hale pack is too small to deal with them. And he’d honestly rather die than beg Victoria Argent for help.
Stiles glances down and tentatively puts his own hand over Peter’s. The touch warms him.
“What exactly did she do?” He asks, deciding to get all the information at least.
“She’s been drinking my blood. She said she needs to do it consecutively every night until she feels she’s had enough.”
Oh, he’s starting a very violent list in his head of things he’d like to do to Ms. Blake, because the ideas just keep popping up.
“And tonight…?”
“She hasn’t done it yet, so before I go to the hospital, we need to go to the clearing.”
“We is right, I’m not letting you go alone.”
“Yeah, well, she can probably just not appear to you if she doesn’t want you to see her.”
“Really?”
“When you guys came… You, Laura and Derek… I was there. I tried to call out to you, but you couldn’t hear me.”
Peter hears, scents, sees the left-over distress that memory causes. The hand on Stiles’ waist goes up to cradle his jaw. “I could feel it. Our bond was telling me you were close but my senses were disagreeing. It was confusing to my wolf, I almost attacked Laura because of it.”
“I know that our bond is… fake or… forced or whatever but,” Stiles grips the nape of Peter’s neck. “I’m so glad you figured it out. I’m so glad I have this,” Stiles says quietly.
Peter leans in to touch their heads together again, loving how Stiles reacts by squeezing his neck. “You did this earlier,” he says, keeping his eyes on Stiles’.
“The- the forehead thing?” Stiles blinks at him.
“Talia used to do it whenever I was mad at her and she wanted me to listen.”
“Oh,” Stiles whispers. “And it, it calmed you down?”
Peter thinks Stiles gets it already but still says, “Like magic.” His vision fills up with a grinning Stiles and he drinks in every inch. “What I mean by that is… I’m glad I have this. You.”
Stiles’ smile fades, he swallows. Peter moves in closer, wants every inch of himself pressed against the body in front of him, wants to kiss and lick and bite, wants to grip and squeeze but also wants to comfort and hold and protect - an overwhelming array of wants that merges together into a need that goes bone-deep. But he knows the dynamic here, doesn’t want Stiles to ever regret anything that might happen between them, doesn’t want to take advantage, so he holds himself back from giving into those wants and just rests his face against Stiles’ cheek and breathes him in, his thumb caressing the boy’s chin, carefully avoiding the bruises.
Stiles’ grip on the back of his neck is almost painful and his breathing’s shallow. Peter feels Stiles’ face move under him and then their noses are touching and their lips are inches away from each other. Keeping himself from making the first move is one thing but if Stiles leans up just a little, closes that gap between them, Peter might not-
Stiles yelps and grabs at Peter’s shoulders, fingers clenching into fists around his shirt.
“We need to go,” he gasps out.
“Stiles?” Peter asks, worried.
“She’s calling me.”
They’re walking towards the place where they killed Kate. They’re going there because Blake is waiting with her sharp, sharp knife and her casual aggression.
They’re walking and all Stiles can think is, I almost kissed Peter.
He got so close, the man was right there, and not pulling away. Stiles is eighty-seven percent certain that Peter would’ve kissed him back and it would’ve been amazing, life-changing. He keeps imagining what it would’ve been like until his imagination arrives at wildly unlikely outcomes that end with a lot of nakedness that Deaton would not have appreciated on the counter he probably chops vegetables on.
Which is also why he’s not at all surprised that Blake chose that exact moment, just before Stiles got to do something he really-really wanted, to do that tugging thing again, because that fits into his life perfectly.
His hand keeps going to the spot on his thigh that Peter squeezed, twice. It feels like that part of his skin is somehow more sensitive than the rest, hotter too. It feels like if he were to take his pants off right now, he’d find a scorched imprint of Peter’s hand on there, which is absolutely ridiculous because that would hurt a lot, but goddammit that’s what it feels like.
His phone vibrates violently. He doesn’t need to look at it to know who it is.
“Scott’s super pissed off at me.” They left him behind at Deaton’s, because Stiles knew he wouldn’t be okay with this. He has no idea what Deaton would’ve said but Peter thinks that no, the druid wouldn’t have approved of this plan either.
Stiles isn’t sure that he approves, really.
Wonders if he has brain damage.
“He’ll get over it,” Peter waves dismissively.
Stiles stares at the man’s back for half a minute as they walk, just admiring the general shape of it. Imagines digging his fingers into it as Peter-
“Stop,” Peter whispers and Stiles stops next to him, scared that the man can read his mind now. He still doesn’t know how pack bonds really work! But then he notices the cocked head and the focused expression and gathers that Peter’s listening to something Stiles can’t hear.
“What is it?” He whispers back.
“There’s… police. They’re waiting for the coroner. They found a body.”
Stiles’ sharp intake of breath causes Peter’s head to snap towards him. “Kyle Hendricks,” he whispers. And then realizes he still hasn’t talked about everything. “Oh my god, Blake killed him, I forgot to tell you! I saw the body but I couldn’t tell anyone, I can’t believe I forgot,” he grips Peter’s shoulder, fighting off a dizzy spell.
“In your defense, you’ve had a lot of traumatizing experiences in the last few weeks,” Peter says dryly and holds Stiles’ elbow, helping him.
“True,” Stiles snaps his fingers at him.
“Come on, we have to go around them.”
“The body was pretty close to the clearing, will we be able to stay out of sight?”
“Blake can probably help with that,” Peter says and Stiles can tell how much he hates saying her name now. Mentally adds Blake to the same list as Kate and Gerard. What a trio.
“Why yes, I can,” her voice comes from behind them and in a flash, Peter’s in between her and Stiles, claws out. Stiles stumbles a little with his sudden turn because the dizzy spell ain’t going nowhere. “Put those away. Unless you’d like for me to bury you.” Stiles has never heard her sound like this. The threat chills his bones. Peter’s face must make some kind of a reaction because she clucks her tongue and says, “Where does this confidence come from? Haven’t you been beaten down enough by now?”
“Just, let’s get this over with,” Stiles pleads the both of them.
“How much more do you need?”
“Just one more glass.”
“Oh, good,” Stiles breathes.
“And what’s our assurance that you’ll actually use this power to kill Deucalion? That you’re not lying.”
Blake spreads her hands, “I can give you none.”
“How about you tell me who you really are.”
She tilts her head, “Now why would I do that? You seem to not understand just how little I think of you, Peter. You’re not worth my time and energy, but if you even try to stand in my way, I will kill you, then I’ll take what I need from Stiles and then I’ll go after what’s left of your family.”
“Peter,” Stiles pleads, nausea kicking in. He kind of really needs to go to the hospital. Peter glances back at him, frowns at what he sees and steps closer to grab his hand.
“Just keep going, no matter what you hear. I’m hiding us,” Blake says as she glides past them.
And then they’re walking again. While holding hands. This is the second time that’s happened this night. Stiles feels giddy. Or maybe that’s dizzy. Or maybe both.
He stumbles closer to Peter, their shoulders brushing against each other.
“This is real, right?” The question gets him a sharp look.
“Yes, it is,” Peter says slowly, assessing him.
“Okay, cool.”
Peter’s eyebrows go high.
Stiles realizes what he just said.
“No, not this,” he waves at Blake’s back. “I meant this,” he holds up their hands. And then blushes.
Peter stares with that same soft expression Stiles saw earlier, when he said he’s glad he has Stiles. That he has Stiles. God, just thinking about those words and how Peter said it gives him goosebumps.
They move around most of the people, Stiles’ hand squeezing Peter’s whenever someone’s eyes seem to lock onto them, but no, the gazes always keep moving. No one pays them any mind.
“I think Blake’s better at lurking than you, even,” and that gets him a look of betrayal. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, “I’m lightheaded and not really thinking about what I say,” he admits.
Peter looks worried. “I’m taking you straight to the hospital, as soon as she’s done.”
Stiles nods, “So we’re doing this.”
“For Scott,” Peter says and Stiles smiles at him, because he guesses that Peter said that just to give him something to focus on.
And yeah, that’s a good thing to focus on. Ennis absolutely needs to die, because Stiles has read about what kind of control an Alpha can have over a new werewolf that they bit and no bueno… His Spanish teacher better not be a druid too.
“For Scott,” he says under his breath as they reach the Nemeton.
Blake’s already holding her knife, picking her nails with it. Which… No wonder Stiles has an infection.
She also pulls out her stupid crystal glass from somewhere in her robes. Stiles hates that she’s forever ruined crystal glasses for him. Not that he’s ever used them before or really goes to any restaurants where they have them but it’s the principle of the matter, maybe Stiles would have liked to drink from one in the future and now he can't without triggering flashbacks.
He lets go of Peter’s hand and starts unwrapping the bandages he just got done fiddling with on the drive over.
“What are you doing?” Peter asks gently, stopping him.
“She needs to cut from the same place,” Stiles tells him and stills at the look on Peter’s face.
The man turns that look on Blake and Stiles sees her smile. Like she’s amused.
“No, she doesn’t. No blood ritual I know of demands an exact repeat of the incision.”
“Maybe you just don’t know this one?” Blake shrugs, but that smile.
Stiles can see it in her face. His breathing goes shaky and the world turns upside down.
“You lied to me,” he says, knowing it’s the truth when she just smiles wider. He remembers what Blake said to Peter, and how she said it, with complete and utter conviction. The Hales are not worth her time and energy. “You didn’t need me to keep it a secret either… You weren’t afraid of what my friends might do because you don’t care about them at all.” The way she could just completely separate Stiles from the others. “You didn’t have to do any of it. You just wanted to fuck with me.”
She is still just… smiling.
“Why would you do that?” Stiles whispers, realizes he’s crying.
Peter grips the back of his neck, “Do you want to leave?”
“Not an option,” Blake reminds them.
“Stiles?” Peter ignores her.
“No… it… can’t have all been for nothing,” he pulls off his button up, holding out his arm.
When Blake comes close with the knife, Peter snatches it from her along with the glass and growls, low and threatening.
“I will do it, you butcher.”
Blake snorts but backs off.
“Stiles…” Peter puts the knife to his skin on the other side of his arm. Stiles likes the placement, means just one bandage to manage. Feels like he should tell Peter that, but also feels too dazed to speak. “I will try to make this easier for you,” Peter says and as the knife is pressed against his skin, Stiles feels the pain go distant, fuzzy. He sees the familiar black veins moving along the arm that’s under his.
Peter’s cut is shorter and not as deep, so the glass will take longer to get full. The three of them wait in silence, Stiles’ eyes stuck on his blood, the glass.
Blake got to him. Made him doubt his own mind. Stiles really hopes that after all of this, after the Alphas are gone, that he gets to see Peter tear out her throat. A flash of memory, Kate pleading while Peter roars at her. Stiles switches Kate’s place with Blake. And the memory combined with his imagination brings him comfort.
“That’s enough,” Blake says finally and Peter hands her the glass. Once she takes it, he quickly pulls out a roll of fresh bandages from Stiles’ front pocket and wraps his arm with it. Stiles feels good about bringing that.
Blake’s already drinking.
The edges of his vision are creeping in, things are going blurry.
“You’ll do it, right? You’ll kill them?” He presses, wanting her to say it again, even though he knows that she’s a liar through and through. He’s only standing up now thanks to Peter, leaning all of his weight against him.
Blake finishes fast this time. She grimaces after her last swallow. When she opens her eyes they are clouded in white. There’s thunder somewhere in the distance and it makes Stiles glance up, see how the clouds start moving faster, congregating over them.
“Yes. This power is electric,” she laughs, spreading her arms.
Lightning cracks down into the ground behind her. Stiles jumps and then instinctively ducks at the loudness of the thunder, his eardrums vibrating when it fades.
“Are you going to do it tonight?” He shouts at her, holding a hand against his head.
“No,” she says, lowering her arms and eyes fading back to normal. “There’s no point in risking failure when next month I’m guaranteed to succeed.”
“Next month?” He can’t have heard that right.
“The lunar eclipse,” Peter says.
Blake smiles.
“No, we could all be dead by next month! Do it now!”
She just shakes her head at him and turns to leave. As she’s walking she looks over her shoulder to say, “I’d hurry if I were you. It looks like rain.”
She disappears into the tree line and Stiles feels like all his hopes disappear with her. Because even if they’re still alive next month, who knows if Blake’s even coming back? She’s a fucking liar who lies-
Stiles screams in frustration and his knees buckle. Peter crouches with him.
“Let’s go.”
“It can’t have been all for nothing, what if she doesn’t come back, what if-”
“Stiles. Come on,” Peter lifts him up by his arms.
It starts to rain.
“That bitch, she just wants me miserable, for no reason, no reason at all…”
He fades out.
It’s the middle of the night and Chris is in his kitchen, writing emails because he can’t sleep.
The doorbell rings. He frowns at the time. The doorbell rings again. Chris hurries to see who it is before they wake up Allison.
He opens the door just as Peter’s pressing the doorbell again.
“Good,” the man growls and moves swiftly- slamming into an invisible barrier. “Fuck, get rid of that!”
Chris blinks at the enraged werewolf in front of him.
“I’m not sure if I should,” he says honestly.
Peter looks at him menacingly. His hair’s wet. Chris remembers that there was a random downpour about an hour ago. He’s without his usual jacket, the dark V-neck also looking damp.
Chris can sense something in the other’s intensity but hesitates to put a name to it. Hesitates to let him in.
“Chris,” Peter growls and there, the anger loosens and Chris can see desperation.
“Alright,” he says softly and brushes a gap into the ash.
Before he realizes what’s happening, Peter has him pressed up against the wall and is kissing him. The hot press of his mouth is angry and there are fists on his chest, clenching up around his shirt. Chris doesn’t respond, goes limp at the memory of the last time someone did this, a man did this. And everything that followed.
Peter draws back and glares at him, seemingly frustrated at his lack of response.
“Sorry for using you like that. Desperate times,” he waves a hand in the air and then heads to the kitchen.
Chris follows, feels adrift.
Peter’s pacing around, glaring at various objects. “Where is she? Someone needs to tell her not to buy perfume in bulk, the cheap stink of it is irritating me.”
Chris guesses he’s glaring at everything Victoria touched.
“Probably at a motel.”
Peter glances at him in surprise, “You kicked her out?”
“Yes, I did,” he says proudly because that was one of his finer moments.
“Good,” Peter says, looking impressed.
“So, you said you used me?” Chris asks, almost afraid of the answer.
“I kissed you because the one I really wanted to kiss tonight is currently hospitalized, so you know,” he gestures as if Chris does know. “Not that I didn’t want to kiss you too, obviously I want to. But you know that-”
“I do?” Chris blinks at him, trying to process what he just heard.
“I asked what type of underwear you sleep in, don’t play dumb,” Peter looks as if Chris has offended him.
“Fine. So the person you wanted to kiss tonight is-” He realizes he probably knows who that is. “Stiles is at the hospital?” He asks.
“Internal bleeding,” Peter says and finds a glass and fills it with tap water.
“Shit, is he going to be okay?”
“Probably, they said they don’t think it’s severe. He probably won’t need surgery. Probably.” The glass shatters in his hand. Peter looks down in surprise. “I’ll clean that up,” he promises.
Chris finally realizes that the man’s coming apart. He goes to him and pushes him to sit on a chair.
“Tell me how we missed that? How did you miss that?”
Peter sighs tiredly.
“You might want to sit down for this.”
After Peter has finished telling him everything that happened after he left the school with Scott and Stiles, Chris feels like he’s at his wit’s end.
He focuses on the one thing that stood out to him.
“You hurt him?” He stares him down.
Peter, to his credit, doesn’t look away. “It was me or her.”
Chris shakes his head, “I can’t believe you.”
“Stiles knows the thing we all avoid talking about,” Peter leans in across the table. “That if the Alphas just want to kill us all, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“My family-”
“Are a bunch of humans.”
“Who killed an Alpha on the way here. Victoria did, with her men.”
Peter’s gaze goes calculating.
“Do you know anything else?”
“It was actually two Alphas. Twins. Who apparently morphed together into the biggest werewolf Victoria has ever seen.”
Peter taps at the table thoughtfully.
“That sounds like something Deucalion would be interested in. Maybe they were in the pack.”
“But not anymore. Our weapons and strategies have evolved, Peter. You’ve been… gone, for six years. You have no idea what we can do.”
Peter considers this.
“Maybe so. But Blake is still our best shot.”
Saying her name pains him. Chris can see every emotion clearly tonight which is a rare sight on the man. This has clearly shaken him. Chris tries to imagine doing what Peter did. Hurting Stiles, while he’s already hurt and needing medical attention, all for the hope of getting rid of a bigger threat.
Shit, maybe he would do it. With Blake there, threatening to kill everyone anyway, with Stiles telling him it was okay.
But it wouldn’t be okay and it obviously wasn’t for Peter either.
“Does Noah know?”
“I left when he got there,” Peter nods.
“I’ll go see Stiles and Lydia as soon as visiting hours start, make sure Noah gets some food in him. Do you…” He hesitates. “Do you want to come with me?”
Peter studies him. “Earlier, you didn’t really like the kiss, did you?”
Chris is flummoxed at the change in topic.
“Was it the surprise of it? Or because it’s me?” Peter continues, eyes narrowing. “Or how I did it?”
Chris stands up, thinking that he’s going to get a broom for the shattered glass still on the floor. But Peter rises with him and moves in close again.
“Stop,” he snaps at him.
Peter cocks his head, gaze sharp and knowing. “Have you ever been pushed against the wall by a man before?”
Chris hates him for asking that.
“Yes,” he answers bravely, meeting that gaze head-on. He expects more, expects Peter to ask who and when and why, but Peter surprises him.
“Huh,” he breathes and steps up to grab Chris by his wrists. He places Chris’ hands on his waist and then starts backing up, pulling Chris with him.
“What are you doing?” Chris asks, confused but following along. His breath catches when Peter’s back meets the wall and yet he’s still pulling.
His chest meets Peter’s and the man releases him. His body feels hot from head to toe, flushed. And yet Chris keeps his hands where they are, the other’s waist. He even tightens his grip, feeling something simmering under his skin. Peter looks vulnerable but logically he knows he’s not. Peter holds his his hands up and smiles.
“Have you ever pushed someone against the wall?” Peter’s gaze is searching.
“No,” Chris admits, voice rough. His hands want to move, but not away from the body against him but just somewhere else. Everywhere else.
“Come on,” Peter goads. “Show me what a good kiss is like for you,” he teases but Chris doesn’t like it because he doesn’t know that. He’s kissed and been kissed by people he never really wanted. Not the way he wants the man in front of him.
But that’s the thing. He wants, so he wants to try.
He presses in so close that Peter’s probably uncomfortable, and slides a hand up to the man’s jaw, tilting his face slightly upwards so he has the perfect angle to cover his mouth with his own. And at first it feels a little awkward, it’s warm pressure, dry lips and hot breaths hitting each other’s cheeks. But then Peter hums and wraps his arms around him, one of his hands sliding up his shirt and scorching his lower back with it’s touch.
Peter surges up against him, the entire hard line of his body meeting Chris’ and it feels good, feels overwhelming.
Chris’ hand leaves Peter’s jaw to grip the nape of his neck and holds on for dear life as Peter kisses him back, less angry than before but still forceful.
There’s wetness against his lips and he opens them, sliding his tongue against Peter’s, feeling like he wants to devour, be devoured, whichever, both-
Peter draws his head back, licks at the string of saliva still connecting their mouths and grins.
“That’s what I wanted,” he says breathlessly.
Chris’ brain starts working again and he sighs, leaning his head down against Peters’, hands squeezing around neck and waist.
“But I’m not the one you wanted tonight,” he says and feels embarrassed at the sadness that thought brings. Hopes futilely that Peter can’t scent it.
“You’re not second-best, Chris,” Peter soothes. “You’re just as good,” He leans in to kiss him again, lingers. “Maybe even better, maybe. I can’t decide,” he mutters to himself, then grabs Chris’ head and pulls him in, mouth hot and needy-
He slams the back of his head against the wall, he pulls back so fast. “Goddammit,” he whispers.
Chris licks his lips as he takes a step back.
“What?” He asks, confused.
The doorbell.
Chris stares off towards it, dazed. “Who?” He asks, glancing back at Peter, who is adjusting himself in his jeans or trying to. Chris flushes and brings his eyes back up.
“Let’s go,” Peter sighs and looks like he’s mentally preparing himself for a fight, flexing his fingers as he walks to the foyer.
Chris follows, trying to do the same, now wary of whoever’s waiting outside.
He opens the door to find a well-dressed man, who looks older and shorter than him, wearing dark glasses and holding a cane.
“Can I help you?” He asks, although from Peter’s earlier reaction, he fears the man’s harmless appearance might be deceiving.
“Peter,” the man smiles. “I do apologize for interrupting your night, it sounded lovely.”
“Deucalion,” Peter says sharply and Chris’ gaze flies to the still-broken line of ash. He takes a step back.
Deucalion seems to sense his worry, holding up a hand. “I’m not interested in entering your home. I came here to talk. To Peter, specifically.”
“So talk.”
“Would you join me outside? It’s a lovely autumn night.”
Peter looks at Chris who stares back at the man he just almost took to his bed, the man who again made him forget for a moment what a shitshow everything currently is. Only for this to happen, again.
Reality. Meet door.
Notes:
/hides
Chapter 10: patient
Chapter Text
Deucalion inhales deep, head leaned back.
“I love the night air after rain, don’t you?”
“I forgot how much you love the sound of your own voice,” Peter mutters, glancing towards the house. He can hear Chris pacing in the kitchen, knows the man is stressed and worried. Knows also what the length of him feels like pressed up against him. And already feels a little addicted to that feeling.
Stiles is in the hospital, probably fine but hurting and scared that the Alpha pack is going to destroy this town.
Scott’s entire future changed tonight, as did Lydia’s if her powers kick in.
Derek will need time to heal.
The Alpha pack are all on his shit list but at the top of that list is definitely the man in front of him.
“If I remember right, we have that in common,” Deucalion’s head turns to Peter. “It’s good to see you, Peter. Truly. What happened to your family was a tragedy our community will never forget. I always hoped you’d return to us.”
Peter wants to stab him with his own cane.
“I’ve returned to claim my family’s territory.”
“A foolish endeavor because everything’s different now,” Deucalion spreads his hands. “The world is different, Peter. There’s no place for you here anymore.”
“Is that your way of telling me to leave Beacon Hills?”
“It’s my way of warning you of what’s to come. I care not where you choose to live. But this town will be mine.”
Peter frowns at him. “Why the sudden interest? Talia died six years ago, you could’ve come here any time since then.”
Deucalion smiles enigmatically.
“I spent my time learning more about the world we live in. Our world,” he emphasized. “Discovering that rush of power when I killed my second, it opened my eyes to the fact that what even we, werewolves, think of as legends and myths, could all be true.”
“So this is all about power.”
“Isn’t it the same for you? You understand what it’s like, having power and losing it and then being willing to do whatever it takes to reclaim it, to go further, to make sure you never feel powerless ever again. We’re alike, Peter.”
Peter wishes that didn’t ring so true.
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re interested in Beacon Hills, specifically.”
“Because this town is a legend in the making. I plan on being a part of it.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“I could.”
Deucalion’s radiating smugness.
Peter’s trying to stay calm.
“So what’s this lovely little night-time chat really about?”
“I regret what happened at the school. It was not my intention to cause that big of a scene. The deaths, especially, it’ll draw unnecessary attention to this town, to us… Ennis has been punished for that.”
“Having a hard time keeping him in line?”
Deucalion chuckles, “There’s no keeping them in line, we’re an Alpha pack. We work together but in the end, we’re each an island of our own.”
“Sounds like you need new members.”
“You’re always welcome,” Deucalion smiles at him. “Out of all the Hales, I always figured, it’d be you.”
The insinuation that Peter would tear through his family just so he could be Deucalion’s lackey leaves his teeth aching from an oncoming involuntary shift.
“I’d rather die.”
“You say that now, but I know you.” Deucalion holds up a hand as Peter growls at him. “But I didn’t come here with the intent to antagonize. I came to promise peace.”
“Peace?”
“We’ll be focusing on the Argents’ movements now that Victoria’s in town. We need to be strategic and plan ahead. We can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves.”
“Your pack attacked me and mine.”
“And I regret that,” Deucalion says as if that makes it all better. “Victoria proved what she and her men can do when they killed my newest recruits. I sent Ethan and Aiden to keep an eye on her, nothing more, but she’s smart, that woman. And now they’re dead. Which is a pity because I had plans for them. They were to join your young friends and attend high school. Keep an eye on Scott.”
“Why Scott McCall?” Peter asks the question that’s been on his mind the entire night.
“He seems like such a simple boy, doesn’t he? Fades into the background, almost. But I see a great strength in him, something I’ve been looking for.”
“What?”
“Potential.”
The non-answer has Peter rolling his eyes.
“What does this peace entail?”
“I promise that Ennis and Kali will attack no one else… besides the hunters.”
“And Chris and Allison?”
“Are currently exempt from that category, yes.”
“And Scott? Is Ennis going to call for him next full moon?”
“I can’t promise that he won’t. Although I will do my best to let Scott grow into his strength on his own. My hope is that he will join us of his own free will.”
Peter laughs incredulously, “Have you met Scott?”
“Like I said,” Deucalion smiles smugly. “Potential.”
“If you think I won’t grab at every opportunity I can find to rip Ennis and Kali apart for what they did to me, you don’t know me at all.”
Deucalion taps his cane on the ground thoughtfully.
“I understand the reasons behind your rage. I just hope you don’t act on it. With you dead, the Hales are truly gone for good.”
“Talia’s kids-”
“Are barely a pack, Laura’s barely an Alpha,” Deucalion condemns them dismissively. “Has Laura told you what she’s been doing for the past six years? Because the answer is, nothing.”
“But now she has me.”
The Alpha smirks, “Does she?” Without another word, he starts walking, tapping his cane against the ground.
Peter watches him go and hopes that Blake’s lust for vengeance was real, that she’ll return and help him tear that smug face off the man’s skull.
The hospital smell is familiar and nauseating. The faint scents of medicine and disinfectant and sweaty, sick people all coming together to remind Stiles of a time he spent most of his afternoons here, visiting his mom.
When he first opened his eyes, Peter was still there, holding his hand. Stiles thinks the man was lurking because no way would they allow him in his room in the middle of the night when they’re still trying to figure out if he needs surgery or not. They didn’t talk, because Stiles didn’t feel like it. He just curled around their hands and closed his eyes, his mind calming down when Peter started to stroke his hair. He fell asleep like that and when he woke up, his dad was in Peter’s place.
Now he wakes up, hours later, after his doctor has decided that he just needs to stay there for a day or so, feeling better than when he came in. He picks at the clean bandages on his arm and stares around the room. It’s weird, he feels like something woke him up. A sound, maybe.
His dad’s not here at the moment. Stiles wonders if they kicked him out or if he had to go deal with the dead body fiasco, the one that obviously was not caused by an animal. Shit, he hasn’t even considered that. There’s now officially a violent killer loose in Beacon Hills and an animal tearing through people? The town’s going to be on high alert.
“No.”
A voice. He sits up in his bed, looking around nervously.
“Shut up.”
A whisper. He realizes it’s coming from the hallway. Right at his door.
His first instinct is to yell out ‘Hello?’ like a horror movie victim but he quickly curbs that.
And waits.
For a few moments, nothing.
Then a knock.
His hands clench into fists around his sheets. He doesn’t answer.
Another knock, this time louder.
“Stiles?”
The voice raises its volume and he finally recognizes it.
“Lydia?” He’s surprised she’s up and moving.
“Can I come in?” She asks, sounding… off.
“Of course, you don’t have to ask,” he says, confused.
She comes in, wearing a hospital gown and dragging along her IV drip. She looks pale and haggard.
“How are you doing?” Stiles asks, patting his bed invitingly.
She just stares at him, slack-jawed.
“Lyds?” Stiles asks, worried now.
“There’s too much now,” she says softly, eyes unfocused.
“Too much what?” Stiles asks warily.
“Everything. In my head,” She puts a hand to it, eyes closing.
“Come here,” he pleads.
“No, I… I should go back to my bed. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Mom told me you were here.” With every word, Lydia’s face seems to come back to herself, the earlier lost expression fading.
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll be fine. God, I’m so sorry tonight happened. Why were you at the school? You told us you were too busy…”
She blinks at him.
“I was… I…” She frowns. “I guess I decided to come after all.”
“But you didn’t know we could stay that late,” Stiles wonders, getting suspicious in spite of himself now, “You didn’t even call or anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lydia whispers. And leaves.
It takes a while for Stiles to fall back asleep.
Chris is all back to business, that spark of pure want Peter had seen earlier gone by the time he gets back inside. He has half a mind to try and get back to where they were, wants the man’s hands on him again but there’s places to be, injured people to check up on and an aftermath to get through.
He tells Chris about Deucalion’s promise.
“You think he meant it?”
“I think that it doesn’t matter, because we now know that Ennis and Kali will act on their own if they want to.”
“But he said that Ennis has been punished?”
“We have no idea what that means.”
Chris agrees with him that they can’t let their guard down.
Before he leaves, he considers giving him a goodbye kiss, but decides against it because he doesn’t want to give Chris the wrong idea. Whatever this is, it’s not a relationship, it’s comfort and it’s desire and that’s all Peter’s looking for right now. Everything with Stiles is complicated enough, Peter’s not ready to make any promises to anyone, not until he feels at ease in his skin again.
When he gets back home, Laura’s waiting for him.
“Where were you?” She asks, staring down at the dining table she got for them earlier that day. “I needed you,” she sounds rough, like she’s been crying.
He listens for Derek and Cora and finds their heartbeats, both strong.
“I had a time-sensitive issue.”
“Let me guess, Stiles?”
He cocks his head at her tone. She’s angry with him.
“He was hurt too. He’s at the hospital now.”
Laura sighs, drags her hands through her loose hair that Peter notices has blood in it.
“I know he’s your pack too,” she grits out. “But we’re your family. We come first.”
Peter hesitates and it’s enough for Laura’s head to snap up, eyes burning red.
“I came back here for you,” she growls.
“I didn’t really ask you to-”
“I would never leave you, Peter. I need my family.” She stands, taking up all the air in the room. Her presence suddenly feels massive, Peter’s instinct is to bare his neck but he holds off. He only does that when he chooses to, he will not be forced into submission. “If you’re my enforcer, then you’re with me. You don’t just leave without telling me why.”
“You expect what, complete servitude? Talia always let me go off on my own, because she understood-”
“Don’t compare me to my mother!” She roars and Peter takes a step back.
He has never seen Laura lose control. He studies her, scents the air, tries to figure out where this rage is coming from.
“I know I’m not her! I know I’m not respected, or feared, I know I’m not strong!” She flexes her jaw, fighting back her shift. “I just want all of you safe, I want my family safe, why don’t you get that?”
“Why don’t you get that we want the same thing? I just have different ways of achieving it.”
She’s terrified. He can see it now. Seeing Derek like that, not knowing where Cora was that first minute they arrived at the school, Peter disappearing without a word - he realizes what a night this was for her. While he was worrying about Stiles, she thought she was losing all of them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he says, sincere.
She sniffs, wipes her eyes, sits back down.
“Must’ve been a busy night for you, then.” It sounds like a peace offering, if a sarcastic one. She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. “You going to tell me what happened?”
“Oh, you know,” he sighs and comes to sit opposite her. “Went to Deaton to get him to remove a curse, which then allowed Stiles to tell me that Blake’s been dragging him into a blood ritual, which led to us going to the Nemeton and continuing said ritual because Stiles thinks Blake is our best shot at getting rid of the Alphas and as much as I hate to say it, I think he’s right.”
Laura blinks.
“Alright, I take back the sarcasm, Jesus Christ.”
“Then Blake said she isn’t actually going to do anything before the lunar eclipse, Stiles passed out and I took him to the hospital.”
“Is he okay?”
“Internal bleeding but the doctor was optimistic.”
“Fuck,” Laura breathes.
“And then-”
“Seriously?”
“-I went to Chris, kissed him silly while Deucalion apparently listened in, the old perv-”
“Wait-”
“-and then I had a chat with Deucalion about the peace he’s now offering us.”
Laura’s holding her head in her hands.
“Details, please.”
“Well, Chris Argent is a surprisingly inexperienced kisser-”
“Not about that,” she glares at him but Peter can tell she’s amused.
“Fine, Deucalion apologized for the attack at the school and says they’re now focusing on the hunters and don’t want infighting among us.”
“As if a sorry is going to make up for how they’ve treated us,” Laura growls. “Like fucking chew toys.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“What about Scott?”
“He’s going to leave him alone for now but has… some kind of plans for him. Apparently, Scott McCall has… potential.”
Laura squints at him, “What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea,” Peter shakes his head.
Laura sighs and leans back in her chair, processing.
“Well, I owe you an apology,” she says. “You were very much playing your part tonight.”
“I should have called,” he looks towards Derek’s room. “I just honestly didn’t think it was that bad.”
“It wasn’t,” Laura shuts her eyes, laughing sadly. “He’s badly hurt and in a lot of pain but it wasn’t life-threatening. I just… I don’t like seeing any of you like that. It kills me.”
“I forget that Talia sheltered you from a lot of the goings-on,” he muses. When she looks curious, he elaborates. “Territory disputes often got real bloody. I got used to seeing pack-members hurting at a very young age.”
“So I just… have to get used to it?” She asks, disappointed.
“Considering everything going on? Probably.”
“This town,” she shakes her head, grinning bitterly. “This fucking town. I was doing okay in New York… I come back and it feels like going back in time, our house is still burning and the Argents are celebrating.”
“At least Kate isn’t,” he reminds her.
She tilts her head, indifferent. “Which is something Gerard will want to punish us for.”
“I think he’ll be busy dealing with Deucalion.”
“Not if Blake keeps her word.”
Peter thinks that over. “Shit.”
Laura looks at the time on her phone. “It’s close to morning now… Coffee?”
“Please. I’m going to check on Derek.”
When his eyes rest on his nephew’s pale, pained face, he feels a pang of shame. He didn’t let himself even consider the thought of losing him earlier, was too busy focusing on all the sounds and smells coming from the school, trying to find Stiles, trying to figure out what was going on. When his ears finally caught onto Stiles and Victoria, he in his haste abandoned his Alpha, his pack.
With Talia it was different because that’s what she expected him to do, to assess the dangers, to eliminate them if possible, to take care of everyone on the side-lines, in the background. He always preferred being solitary and she was fine with it because he got the job done and he made her feel safe. But Laura is not Talia. She wants them to be a family first, pack second.
Peter doesn’t know if he can give her that but starting now, he’ll at least try.
Derek’s eyes blink open and land on him, his usual scowl not making an appearance for once. He looks worried.
“Scott?” He asks roughly.
“Healing from the bite already. He looked completely fine last I saw him.” Hopes that Scott made it home alright, perhaps Deaton gave him a ride when they discovered that Peter and Stiles had taken the Jeep. Damn it, maybe he should go and check up on the boy. He knows Stiles would appreciate it.
“Lydia? I was trying to get to her but then I heard people and hunters.”
“At the hospital, also healing. But much, much slower.” He takes a seat on Derek’s bed, awkwardly patting his hand. “Everyone’s alive. Well…”
“There were two bodies.”
Peter shrugs, “No one we knew.” Derek’s glare makes him roll his eyes. “But a tragedy, nonetheless!” He says dramatically.
“I thought I was going to die.”
Peter studies him, searching for fear but only finding resolve.
“You’re fine.”
“I know. But. I just don’t want to die without telling you something.”
Oh. Peter considers interrupting this confession-
“Thank you. For killing her. I know you did it for everyone, for mom. But thank you.”
Still not willing to talk about it, then. Peter stares in silence, long enough for Derek to frown, looking uncomfortable.
“If I had figured it out sooner… before the fire… I would have done it just for you,” he places a hand on Derek’s shoulder, hoping his sincerity is coming through.
Derek’s floored.
“You know?” He asks, breaths becoming shallow.
“Talia told me about her suspicions a day before she died. Kate had approached her in town… had asked about you in a very… inappropriate manner.”
“Mom knew too?” Derek sounds devastated.
“My guess is that at that point everything was set, the plan was ready and Kate couldn’t resist making Talia realize what she was getting away with right under her nose.”
“I should’ve never told her about the tunnels. She asked me how I kept sneaking out, wanted to meet there once, I… I never should have let it start to begin with.”
Peter’s frowning. Reminding himself how it felt to end her life.
“You didn’t let anything start, you were a kid.”
“You don’t blame me?” Derek asks, eyebrows high, clearly thinking about what Peter was like when he’d just woken up. He was rude and snarky and there was no one he liked to snap at or tear down more than Derek.
“I did,” Peter admits. “Because like any of us, I’m not perfect either.”
Derek smiles a little.
“Uncle Peter admitting that he’s not perfect? I think I died after all…”
“Don’t get used to it. Most days, I’m pretty damn close,” he smirks smugly.
Derek snorts and then his eyes go to the wall separating his room from Cora’s. “She okay too?”
“Yes.”
He nods, closes his eyes. “I’m gonna sleep some more then.”
Peter pats his hand again, this time less awkward and more like the comforting gesture he wanted it to be earlier and leaves the room.
Laura’s already chugging her coffee, drinking from a massive mug that has ‘I AM THE BOSS’ written on it in big blocky letters.
“Thanks,” he says dryly when she gestures at the much smaller mug that has a black cat saying ‘Slut’. “Couldn’t find a wolf?”
“The cat’s not you, it’s talking to you,” Laura smirks at him.
“Interesting interpretation.”
“I heard you and Derek,” she says.
Peter hesitates in taking a sip, “I wasn’t sure if you knew but judging from your reaction…”
“I didn’t know the details but like you I was there, I knew he was seeing someone… I knew Kate somehow planned everything out perfectly, knew how to trap everyone in. And I could see my brother’s guilt eating away at him. I just didn’t want to push him.”
“You two should talk about it. He needs help.”
“He does,” she says, gaze straying towards Derek’s room. “My little brother… I’m almost sad I wasn’t here for it, that I didn’t get to see her beg. Did she beg?” Her eyes snap to Peter.
“She did,” Peter smiles, remembering the sound of it. “Repeatedly.”
Laura drags her claws against the table, smiling back. “Good.”
“While we’re sharing, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” Peter says carefully.
Laura can sense his caution, narrows her eyes at him.
“Okay?”
“Why have none of my contacts gotten back to me? I’ve been calling people since I got here.”
A pause. Then Laura snorts and rubs at her eyes.
“Because no one wants to talk to a Hale anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re pariahs, uncle. Our family’s a cautionary tale for all the itty-bitty werewolves who dream of taking on the world.”
He can see what she’s getting at.
“They think we got what we deserved?”
“Pretty much. We’re the family that flew too close to the sun and got burned. We reached too high, we wanted too much, we brought on too much attention on ourselves, all of these I’ve heard and more.”
“Victim-blaming, how distasteful.”
As if he needed more reasons to be angry.
“There’s been no one else willing to take on mom's role, everyone’s scattered, separated. Because they fear that joining together as a community the way we did before would mean inviting another tragedy upon ourselves.”
“Everyone’s a coward, no surprise there,” Peter drawls.
“I wouldn’t call them cowards. They just want safety.”
“Meanwhile, Gerard’s been allowed to grow his community. Chris says they’re better at hunting than ever before. Victoria just killed twin-Alphas on her way here.”
“They’re… skilled, yes,” Laura says sadly. “There’s been a lot more deaths after the fire. They’re hunting us to extinction.”
“Well…” Peter breathes deep, “I don’t plan on letting Gerard live for long.”
Laura lifts her mug as if making a toast, “We’re on the same page,” she says.
Now it’s just about trying to find the quickest, safest way to do so.
But that’s not going to happen tonight so he checks the time and sighs, “Still quite a few hours before we can visit Stiles and Lydia.” He remembers the thought he had earlier. “I’m going to go check on Scott, make sure he got home okay. And let him know where Stiles is, I… forgot to tell him.”
“Jesus, Peter.”
“It’s been a night,” he gripes defensively.
“Yeah, you forgot to tell Stiles’ best friend that he’s in the hospital because you were too busy sucking face with an Argent, I get it, I get it,” Laura smirks meanly.
Peter shrugs, shameless. “I know my priorities.”
“How did that happen anyway? You and Chris?”
“First of all, there’s no me and Chris, neither of us is ready for that,” he says, thinking about Chris’ reaction to the first kiss, then the second… The man’s got boatloads of trauma that he probably has never actually dealt with. And Peter’s no shining example of mental health either. “Secondly, he’s been helpful, dependable and gorgeous. Can you blame me?”
“I guess I get it. Just try not to break any hearts.”
He gestures at himself, “Well that’s impossible, have you seen me?”
Laura snorts into her coffee.
When he gets back from Scott’s, annoyed and tired (”You should’ve taken him to the hospital right away, what is wrong with you!?”), it’s close to visiting hours and Cora’s stumbling out of her bedroom.
“Hey,” she says, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, looking unharmed.
Laura greets her with a hug and a long kiss against the side of her head, which makes Cora squirm in embarrassment.
“Get off,” she mumbles.
“I made pancakes,” Laura mutters into Cora’s hair and keeps her arms around her, squeezing tight.
Cora gives up, “Fine.”
They stand there for a minute, Laura scenting Cora all over until finally the girl escapes her sister’s hold and goes to the kitchen.
“Everyone alive?” She asks, pouring herself some coffee.
“Everyone we care about,” Peter says, sitting down at the table and proceeds to massage his throbbing temples. He can’t get sick but he can still get stressed, as his headache’s reminding him.
“Who died?”
“The janitor, the librarian,” Peter waves dismissively.
“Damn. I wasted a hundred bucks.”
He looks up, surprised at the callousness but a closer look at Cora’s face makes it clear she’s just putting up a front, clearly shaken.
“Eat up, we’re going to the hospital soon,” Laura hands Cora a plate with one of the tallest pancake towers Peter has ever seen. Cora grabs it precariously, eyes going wide when the tower wobbles.
“Lydia?” She asks, carefully sitting down with her plate.
“And Stiles,” Laura says, joining them with her own plate.
“What happened?”
Peter sighs, looks to his Alpha pleadingly.
“I can tell it this time,” she says and tells Cora about Peter’s adventures as she calls them. Including the part about Chris.
“Seriously?” Cora glares at him and he glares back.
“I’m not explaining myself to you.”
Laura gets to Deucalion’s part and Cora quiets, growing pale.
“It feels like they’re just playing with us,” she growls softly. “I tried to stop Ennis but…”
Laura pulls her into a side-hug.
“You did your best, and I’m so proud of you.”
Peter sees Cora drawing some comfort from those words.
“I’m proud of you too,” he offers and is rewarded with a small smile.
His doctor says he’s looking much better, the danger seems to have passed and he can probably go home that evening once they’ve done a few more tests to make sure he’s recovering (Stiles has a feeling his dad probably waved his badge around and demanded they take every precaution).
He’s happy that he’ll get to sleep in his own bed soon but he also knows that means saying goodbye to the super-strong painkillers they’ve been giving him. They’ve prescribed some pills but his dad has never let him take those things unless absolutely necessary. Which he does appreciate now that he’s older and has read a lot about how addictions can get started.
But at the moment, surrounded by the sounds of the hospital, specifically a man moaning somewhere nearby, obviously in a lot of pain, evening seems very far away.
“You up for some visitors?” His dad asks when he returns with the iced tea Stiles asked for.
“Visitors?” He asks, expecting Scott.
“You’ve got a whole group of people out there wanting to see you,” his dad smiles at him. “Chris and Allison, Laura and Cora, Scott and Peter. You’ve gotten popular, kid.”
The list makes him gape. And then he remembers the last time he saw Scott and winces, “I should probably talk to Scott first.”
“Alright, nurse suggested two people at a time so how about Allison too?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
Scott’s angry when he comes through the door.
“Dude,” he says in such disappointment that Stiles cringes.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Scott comes in to hug him, carefully avoiding the bruises on his back. Stiles pats him on the back, leaning up to hug back as well as he can. He sees Allison come in and close the door.
“Peter told me what happened but honestly I’d like to hear it from you too,” Scott sighs and sits on the bed. Allison goes to the chair.
Stiles breathes out sharply, wondering how his life became about trying to find the right words to explain magic, because here he is, again, talking about the stupid tree.
He tells them everything. At some point Allison comes up to sit on the bed on his other side and takes his hand in hers. He squeezes her fingers, grateful.
Peter stares at what he believes to be Mrs. Martin, Lydia’s mother. She’s talking to doctors, angry at no one having any clear answers, and is closely guarding the door to her daughter’s room.
“What are you looking at?”
He turns to Chris, thinks of a plan.
“Come, I want to check on Lydia.”
“And I’m needed because…”
“You’re going to distract her mother for me.”
Chris blinks at him, “How am I-”
“She’s a woman interested in men and you’re a very nice-looking man, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“I’m uncomfortable about this.”
Peter gets the urge to use one of Cora’s favorite phrases, “Cry about it.” He motions towards the woman down the hall.
Chris is looking very nice today, just like most days, wearing a black dress shirt that has a few buttons open at the collar and sleeves turned up to show his forearms. The shirt clings nicely to the physique under it. Peter lets his eyes trail down slowly as Chris goes ahead and walks over to Mrs. Martin, feeling the faintest sense of ownership and jealousy as the woman obviously perks up at the sight of him, smoothing down her hair. Peter curbs those emotions, tells his wolf to stop with the claiming fantasies (which is literally just telling himself that, but in this case, Peter wants some separation in his head, to create a bit of distance).
He hears Chris ask the woman if she'd like some coffee, talking about how he’s worried about Lydia and wants to know how she’s doing. Mrs. Martin is quite literally melting at hearing the warm concern in Chris’ voice. It’s annoying him. It shouldn’t. He told Laura and himself that he’s not ready for anything actually serious so he has to get a grip.
When they turn around the corner, Peter quickly slips into Lydia’s room.
To his surprise, she’s awake and watching his entrance.
“What do you want?” She whispers, clears her throat then repeats herself with a firmer voice.
“To see how you’re doing,” he says honestly.
“Why?”
He tilts his head, considering her.
“I’m the only one here who has met banshees before. I am… worried.”
“You know what’s happening to me?” She asks, eyes desperate.
“Somewhat. May I?” He gestures towards the bed. She moves her legs a little and nods. He sits down gently. “An Alpha’s bite can be a powerful catalyst when given to someone who’s not human but hasn’t fully developed yet, either.”
“Like me.”
“Yes. How was your night?”
“Loud,” she sighs. “I heard whispering, mostly couldn’t make out what was being said.”
“It won’t always be like that.”
“What is that, though? The whispering?”
Peter shrugs, “Spirits, memories, impressions. No one knows for sure. It’s what gives banshees the knowledge that someone’s about to die, it’s what makes them scream.”
“She’s behind you, you know,” she says, looking over his shoulder.
He stills. “Who?”
“Talia.”
He glances back, even though he knows he’ll find nothing there.
“Is she saying something?”
“No, just looks angry with you.”
He turns back and smiles at her, trying to hide his unease. “Nothing’s changed, then.”
“You’ve always been this easy to dislike?” She purses her lips.
“Ouch. I consider myself incredibly charming.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“You disagree?”
“I don’t know what to think about you,” she admits.
Peter studies her frown.
“Is this about Stiles?”
“I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“He’s already hurt.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looks towards the door, hears her mother and Chris heading back. “Isn’t your mother married?” He asks indignantly.
“They’re getting a divorce, why?” She squints at him.
“She’s really laying it on thick,” he mutters under his breath.
“What?”
“I have to go,” he pats the bed, “I’ll tell Stiles you’re awake.”
“And Laura promised me we’ll finally get a TV soon-”
“I’m working on it,” Laura grumbles.
“And then we could have gaming nights or something, when we get bored of studying,” Cora finishes her invitation for him to hang out at the pack house more. She has crossed her arms over her chest and is looking perfectly nonchalant. “You’d also see Peter, I guess,” she adds, making a face.
Stiles draws a hand over his face, baffled at how much this seems to mean to her, despite her best effort at looking like it doesn’t.
“Sure, of course. Scott needs to hang out with you guys more too now, anyway and where Scott goes, me and Allison go.”
“And Lydia?” Cora asks tentatively.
Stiles nods, wide-eyed because he honestly thought Cora didn’t like Lydia. “Yeah, Lydia will come too.”
“Okay, cool,” she shrugs.
Laura’s looking at the ceiling, trying not to smile.
Peter’s waiting a few doors down from Lydia’s room, watching as Chris tries to say goodbye to Mrs. Martin. He’s done so now several times, and she keeps going ‘Oh’ and then re-starting the conversation.
Peter’s annoyed. And tired.
He yawns and covers his eyes, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Still stressed, still having a headache. Sleep would be nice.
“Did you sleep at all?”
He lowers his hand to look at Chris’ just as exhausted-looking face, “No. You?”
“No.”
“And to think, we could have done that together,” he smirks, letting his eyes drift down to the man’s lips.
“What, not sleep?” Chris asks, amused.
“Exactly,” he says firmly and Chris’ amusement fades.
Now they’re both staring at each other’s lips.
He hasn’t danced around an attraction like this since high school.
“I figured we better clear the air,” Chris says.
“Clear it from what?” Peter’s honestly confused.
“We kissed,” Chris says as if Peter didn’t know, as if he wasn’t there.
“Yes?”
“I was just wondering if that’s going to happen again.” Chris looks calm and disinterested but Peter can hear his heart, can smell his sweaty palms. The man’s nervous. It’s endearing.
Especially because Mrs. Martin got no such reaction out of him. Chris couldn’t care less about her lingering friendly touches or her soft secretive smiles. No, he cares if he gets to kiss Peter again.
It’s a kind of power of it’s own, knowing someone wants you. Heady, addictive, like every other kind of power Peter’s ever felt.
“Do you want it to?” He can’t help teasing.
Chris glares at him.
“Would I be asking if I didn’t?”
“Alright, let’s… clear the air, then. I’d like to kiss you again,” he pushes off the wall and steps closer, one hand resting lightly on Chris’ waist. “And I’d like to do a lot more. But I’m also nowhere near the right headspace to make any kind of promises beyond that.”
Chris licks his lips, “Honestly? Neither am I. I can’t get distracted right now, tensions are only going to get higher in my family. But…” His gaze lowers again. “Wanting to kiss you and not knowing if I should is its own kind of distraction.”
That admission lights a fire in Peter. If they weren’t in a public place…
But they are, and are interrupted then by Noah coming over, glancing at the hand on Chris’ waist with an expression of ‘am I seeing that right?’.
“I wanted to talk to you guys.”
Peter takes a step back and gives the Sheriff his full attention. “About?”
“My son, obviously. Wanted to thank you for being there for him last night.”
He shares a glance with Chris, because that sounds like Noah doesn’t know the full story. He’s going to have to ask Stiles later for the “official” version.
“He’s pack,” he shrugs. “I’m just glad I got him here in time.”
“Yeah,” Noah’s gaze goes unfocused, obviously remembering last night’s uncertainty, when the doctor was still looking over tests and trying to figure out the severity of the bleeding. “But there’s another son we need to talk about. Scott.”
“This is about his new… predicament,” Chris guesses.
“It’s about Melissa. His mom. She’s working here right now, is doing a double shift, was here all night and has no idea he was even out at the school. She’s been asking me a lot of questions ever since Stiles got brought in, questions I don’t know how to answer.”
“You want to tell her,” Peter surmises.
“He’s a…” He lowers his voice, “A werewolf. And she’s his mom. She needs to know. It’s already bad enough that I’ve kept all of this from her. Once she finds out the full story she-” He blanches. “She’s going to give me hell for it.”
They decide to do it in Stiles’ room and they decide to only talk about Beacon Hill’s history with werewolves, to leave Kate and the ritual out of it. “Baby steps,” Peter told them.
And Melissa indeed gives him hell for it.
“And you’ve known? About my son being involved in this? For how long!?”
When the Sheriff tells her, she slaps him.
Stiles flinches at the loudness of it.
“Mom,” Scott tries to calm her down.
“You don’t get to talk,” she points at him angrily. “Weeks of lies from you, over a week from you,” she snaps at Noah, “and-” she cuts off when she looks at Stiles.
“Years,” he helps her.
She shakes her head, looking at him with so much concern, Stiles has to look away, a familiar guilt creeping in. She doesn’t even know what Stiles dragged Scott into. What his son witnessed because Stiles couldn’t stand lying to his friend anymore, because he was selfish.
Melissa turns to Peter and gestures at his face.
“Come on, show me again,” she demands.
“She said I’m grounded for life,” Scott groans after he returns from speaking to his mom alone. He’s now laying down next to Stiles, covering his face with his hands.
Allison left to visit Lydia, Laura and Cora went to check up on Derek but Chris and Peter stayed.
Stiles is grateful, since having people here is making the time go by faster. His official release time is now at 6pm, the doctor wanted to time it so he’d get his last dose of medication just before leaving, giving him an easier drive home. The doctor also said that this idea of his might have something to do with wanting to stay on nurse McCall’s good side.
“I’m sure she’ll ease up on you,” Chris soothes.
“No, because she doesn’t even know about…” Scott trails off and sighs deeply.
“I mean… when we tell her about that I think the person she’ll want to ground is me,” Stiles points out.
“She won’t blame you, either. Not if we explain it well,” Scott protests.
“Sure,” Stiles says, not wanting to argue.
“Hey,” Noah storms back in, cheek still red and sore-looking. “I have to go, can some of you, one of you… any of you stay here ‘til I get back?”
“I’ll be here until Stiles gets released,” Scott promises.
“I think I can keep my eyes open for a few more hours,” Peter drawls, currently sitting on the only chair in the room, eyes closed.
“We’ll be here,” Chris promises. “Something wrong?”
“When is there something not wrong in this town?” Noah sighs. “Victoria Argent is currently having a little press conference at the Sheriff’s station.”
“What?” Stiles yelps.
“Want me to come with you?” Chris asks, frowning.
“I think it’s better if you don’t. I don’t know what she’s saying yet. All I know is that it’s about your sister.” He looks around the room at all of them and comes to pat Stiles’ shoulder before leaving the hospital.
Chris starts pacing, Scott sits up and starts searching online for any information. Peter doesn’t react whatsoever.
Half an hour later, Scott finds a video on a Beacon County journalist's twitter.
“The police’s incompetent reaction to Kate’s disappearance and then the discovery of her body is unforgivable. And now the animal has attacked our high school, our children. I’m a licensed gun owner and I know several others who are experienced hunters in their own right and I’m telling you now, we won’t rest until this town is safe again.”
“She sounds like a politician,” Stiles grimaces.
“Because she’s trying to be one,” Chris sighs. “She wants to run for mayor next year so she’s planting the seed, making her face and name known.”
“So she’s really just using Kate’s death for publicity.”
“Yes,” Chris glares at the wall.
“I really hate your ex-wife, man,” Stiles tells him. Peter opens his eyes at that, smirking.
“So do I,” Chris admits.
“We should form a club,” Peter says.
“I mean we already have a club. We can just add an additional rule to Team Hale; must hate Victoria Argent.”
Peter chuckles, “Alright, that’ll do.”
“I’m still waiting for my T-shirt,” Chris smirks at Stiles who flushes.
“I can have one made,” Scott says earnestly, somehow missing the joke.
When he gets home that evening, he examines himself in the mirror. Turns his back to check out the bruises, grimaces at their size and color. Moving and sleeping and sitting and breathing’s going to be a bitch for at least a week. He got told many times last night about how lucky he was that nothing was broken, that he didn’t have a fracture even.
Yeah, lucky.
The bruises on his chin are fading nicely, almost gone, but the spots still hurt a bit when he presses down on them.
There’s a bump on the side of his head that isn’t visible but he can feel. That one’s thanks to Victoria.
The cut on his arm got looked over too and the doctor said it should heal nicely now as long as he kept it clean and covered for a week.
Last night feels like it was a dream. A nightmare.
But it wasn’t.
And now he’s home, ready to go back to school, to try and be a normal kid again, the same thing he tried at the beginning of this week and look how that turned out.
Maybe he should just always be prepared for something to go horribly wrong so he won’t be caught unawares ever again.
On that note, he goes to google about lunar eclipses and to specifically find out the exact date that Blake is apparently going to come back for the Alpha pack. Because he’s going to be counting down the days.
Chapter 11: falling
Notes:
tw/cw: talk about past sexual trauma/abuse
Chapter Text
“I can’t believe that the school’s open,” Stiles says as they all stand at the parking lot, staring at the completely normal-looking high school, apparently cleaned up and fixed in a day.
“I heard they’re still keeping the library closed,” they hear a girl saying as she walks past with her friends. So okay, not completely cleaned up.
“Not surprising to me,” Laura shrugs. Since their regular school-bus driver is on medical leave, she opted in. Apparently the Alpha pack’s promised to leave them alone but neither Peter nor Laura think it’s safe to let their guard down which Stiles is thankful for. Because from now on, his guard is going to be all the way up 24/7 and he’s going to be scrutinizing all of the faculty for any signs of anyone else being a goddamn druid.
“There used to be a lot of… accidents and yes, cougar attacks when I was younger. The school always just dusts itself off and keeps the doors open. Education before safety, apparently?” Laura chuckles and leans over to give Cora a suffocating hug which she endures, looking exasperated.
“I wonder if the principals know or something,” Allison narrows her eyes at the school. “Like, is it a secret that’s handed down to everyone who gets the job?”
“What, like the Prime Minister knowing about the wizarding world?” Scott asks.
Stiles gives him a look, “I forgot what a book-nerd you used to be.”
“I was sick for a week and the books were fun!” Scott protests, looking at Allison for help.
“Sorry, I never got into them,” she makes an apologetic face.
“And I only played the video games,” Stiles shrugs.
“Ugh, never mind,” Scott turns away from them but stops dead at the sight of Jackson exiting his super expensive car and coming over.
“Allison!” Jackson shouts.
And Allison waves.
“What are you doing?” Stiles hisses.
“That’s Whittemore, right? He’s an absolute douchebag, I didn’t know you guys were friends with him?” Cora looks disappointed.
“We’re not,” Scott tells her.
“So not,” Stiles insists.
“He’s drowned in aftershave, yuck,” Laura’s gagging exaggeratedly.
“You’ve outstayed your welcome,” Cora glares at her sister.
“Fine,” she presses a loud kiss into her hair which causes Cora to growl angrily before getting into the SUV and driving off, just as Jackson reaches them.
“How’s Lydia?” He asks Allison, looking concerned.
“She’s doing better. You can visit her after school, I’m sure she’d like that,” Allison smiles at him.
Jackson nods, considering it. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks,” he smiles back at her. And then without giving a single glance towards the rest of them, he hurries towards the school entrance.
“Allison, what the hell?” Stiles exclaims.
“Okay, so, Lydia told me yesterday that they’re back together now.”
“No,” Scott breathes, wide-eyed.
“Yeah, I don’t like it either,” she holds a hand up when Stiles starts to speak, “but all we can do right now is just be there for her when it inevitably falls apart again.”
“You’re so sure that they’re not going to work out?” Cora asks, surprised.
“Yeah, we’re sure,” Stiles grumbles.
“They’ve had a few messy break-ups now,” Scott tells her.
“I still don’t get what Lydia sees in him,” Allison shrugs helplessly.
“And you’ve tried telling her that?” Cora asks as they start heading towards the school.
“Of course, all of us, many times, I’ve been talking shit about Jackson to her for years,” Stiles says.
“And she seems to agree with us… until she doesn’t,” Allison adds.
“If he hurts her again, I’m going to hurt his face,” Stiles promises them. “I swear, I’m gonna do it.”
“I’ll cheer you on,” Scott nods and they bro-fist, sealing the promise.
Once they’re walking along the main hallway, Cora starts to slow. “Heavy chemicals were used to clean this place up and they fucking stink,” she scrubs at her nose, looking pained.
“I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a high school with a nose like yours,” Stiles scrunches up his nose.
“Yeah,” Scott agrees, then looks horrified. “The locker rooms were bad enough before, what are they gonna be like now!?”
“How are you doing with the change, by the way?” Cora asks as they pause at her locker.
“I woke up this morning and I could hear my neighbor talking to her cat, it freaked me the fuck out,” Scott shakes his head.
“But it’s better now?” Allison asks, leaning her shoulder against his.
“Right now it’s fine but I can’t control anything yet so…” he gestures helplessly.
“Well, I’m here if you need help,” Cora offers, closing her locker. “I’m going to keep my focus on you as much as possible even when we’re in different parts of the school, so just say my name if you need to bail and I’ll make it happen.”
“Thanks,” Scott beams at her.
“If down here is bad for you, what will it be like upstairs?” Stiles wonders, looking at the ceiling. The bodies were found in the hallway in-between the stairwell and the science lab. They now know from Lydia’s testimony and news reports that Lydia was “attacked by an animal” outside near the lacrosse field, which caused her to run into the school for help. Apparently she was screaming, causing the janitor and the librarian to both run upstairs - that made Stiles realize that the Alpha pack’s druid must have done something to keep Derek and Cora from hearing what was going on. She ran to the science lab because she thought of making a Molotov cocktail (Noah was very concerned about the fact that Lydia knows how to do that), but was attacked before she could finish it.
“Ugh,” Cora glared upwards.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Allison says suddenly, staring down the hallway. “Mom!?”
Acting on instinct, Stiles grabs Scott and Cora and pulls them behind him. Allison joins him to stand in front of them protectively as Victoria Argent walks up to them.
“Class is starting soon, you shouldn’t loiter. Don’t want to be late, do you?”
She’s pretty much wearing the same exact outfit Stiles last saw her in, just in a different color-scheme and sans gun. She doesn’t look any less threatening without it. It’s hard for Stiles to imagine the Chris he knows married to the woman in front of him. And it’s even harder to deal with the fact that this is the mother of Allison, one of the sweetest and kindest girls he’s ever known.
“You already got the job?” Allison asks, surprised.
“Not the one I was actually going for. I’m Vice-Principal now, and I’m also subbing for your English teacher, who has mysteriously disappeared without notice.”
“Oh no, she was my favorite,” Stiles can’t help but bring out the sarcasm. It catches Victoria’s attention who quirks an eyebrow at him. He takes a step back nervously, remembering what happened the last time he got too close to her.
“Stiles, was it?” There’s an extra layer of disgust in her tone and Stiles squints at her, wary of what she’ll say next. “So this is it, your friends. Two mutts and your father’s boytoy. I sure hope you come to your senses soon, Allison. This is beneath you.” With that, she walks past them, head high.
Stiles clenches a fist after her.
“Boytoy?” Cora asks him.
“I don’t know where she got that idea from,” Stiles flails defensively.
“Let’s just…” Allison presses her fists against her eyes, obviously frustrated. “Get through this fucking day.”
Their French teacher is of course, also missing, apparently sick. The substitute teacher doesn’t actually speak French, which is just wonderful for the quality of their education. In English, Victoria is frighteningly intense about following the curriculum, she gets this stern look on her face when she realizes that Ms. Blake kind of went off script. Otherwise she ignores the existence of Stiles, Scott and Cora which Stiles is immensely thankful for, since he’s too busy suffering to pay much attention in class.
His back hurts. He can’t really lean on it comfortably which causes tension which causes more pain which makes him stressed and want to go home. When he whines about it during lunch, Scott doesn’t really know how to comfort him.
“Your dad said you could take a week off… I don’t really know why you’re here?”
Stiles glares at him. “Because this school is basically a battleground now, and I won’t be surprised by any secret-villain teachers ever again, if anyone else is a druid, I’m gonna figure it out!”
“You don’t feel safe, huh?” Allison asks softly and Stiles shakes his head at her.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he grumbles.
“I’m not, it just sucks, it really, really sucks,” she looks miserable. “This is our Senior year! We were supposed to have so much fun together before we all go off to separate colleges, and now we have to worry about werewolf attacks and my family going after our friends and-” She hides her face in her hands. “It just sucks and I get it. I’m not letting my guard down either.”
“Yeah…” Scott stabs at his food. “What if I can’t become a vet anymore or something?”
“There’s no reason you shouldn’t. Cats might dislike you more than usual, but that’s something vets have to deal with anyway, yeah?” Cora points out.
“Oh, I guess,” Scott tries to cheer up.
Stiles stares at the food Scott is still stabbing at and asks, “Allison, would your mom be insane enough to, I don’t know, put wolfsbane in the food or something?”
Allison pales. “I-I’d like to think she wouldn’t be, but…”
Both Scott and Cora push their trays away.
“I can ask Laura to make us lunches, she’s a great cook.”
“Thanks,” Scott nods at her, looking scared.
Stiles clasps his shoulder and whispers, “Welcome to your new reality.”
“Are you going to say that every week?” Scott frowns at him.
“If every week something awful and life-changing happens? Uh, yeah.”
“You better not have just jinxed us,” Allison points her fork at him.
Stiles gulps.
After they’re all done with classes, the SUV is already waiting for them at the parking lot. And the person leaning against the hood of the car is definitely not Laura.
Seeing Peter out of the hospital here and now makes Stiles’ stomach do some weird somersaults as he’s attacked by sense memory. And his reaction (to gape like a boy in a high-school movie when they see the Hot Girl walking by) is noticed by the others.
“Missed his sultry voice, huh?” Cora asks, grinning. Because Stiles is staring at him, he sees Peter’s head jerk towards them. Fuck.
“Shut up,” he hisses at her, because the man can hear.
When they reach the car, Stiles can see Peter’s amusement.
“You know what you sound like,” he snaps at him while blushing and throwing his bag in the car.
“Come here,” Peter says in reply.
Stiles looks at the others who are already climbing in, all somehow having come to the assumption that Stiles is taking shotgun, before looking back at Peter who is still leaning like he has nowhere else to be. He’s holding out a hand.
Stiles shuffles closer and breathes in sharply when Peter’s hand slides under his shirt to rest on his bare waist.
“What are you-” He feels the pain easing immediately and leans against Peter’s arm in relief. “Oh. Thank you.”
“You should be at home still,” Peter frowns at him. Stiles is close enough to see every line on his face and he stares in wonder, because two nights ago that face was pressed against his, that mouth was just inches away from his. Stiles blinks rapidly to try and clear his head.
“Didn’t want to miss anything, like the fact that Victoria’s our VP now.”
Peter sends a sharp glance towards the school. “Oh, really?”
“Also, the French teacher wasn’t here today, but unlike Blake she apparently at least called in sick. Maybe she plans on coming back? Wait, we could find out where she lives, right? What if she’s still staying there, you could-”
“Stiles,” Peter says disapprovingly. “You should let me worry about all of this-”
“The last time we tried the ‘let kids enjoy being kids’ angle, I ended up mind-fucked by a druid, thrown across the room by an Alpha and bitch-slapped with a gun by an Argent, so you know,” Stiles pokes Peter’s chest hard enough to hurt his finger. “Maybe keep me in the loop on everything.”
Peter’s eyes are intense as he studies Stiles, “Alright.”
“That’s it?”
Peter shrugs easily, pulling his hand back.
“I don’t want to argue. Now get in, there are already too many rumors flying around about us and I hope none of them reach the Sheriff’s ears. He’s already shot me once.”
“What?” He frowns and then looks around. And notices the groups of kids glancing their way and whispering and Peter can hear. “Ah,” he says and gets in the car.
Cora leans over to tell him, “Someone just called you a boytoy again.”
“Great,” Stiles mutters, hating his life.
Later that night when he’s doing his homework, his dad knocks on his door and comes in.
“Hey, kid,” Noah pulls up a chair so he can sit, facing Stiles who’s sitting at his desk. “Peter told me you’re in a shit-ton of pain, so…” He sets a pill bottle next to Stiles’ laptop. “I’m going to give you this and I’m going to trust that you’ll take only the recommended dosage in the proper time intervals.” He taps at the bottle. “But I still wish you would just stay home until you’re better.”
Stiles stares at the painkillers, floored. The thought of Peter talking to his dad to make sure Stiles got something to relieve his pain… That ill-advised affection he feels for the man is just growing bigger every day, isn’t it? He worries he’s going to drown in it, be overwhelmed by it. It’s a feeling he’s somewhat had before, towards Lydia, towards Chris… but in smaller, more manageable amounts. Because they would do something to trigger that feeling and then there’d be a lull, where he and Lydia would either not talk to each other at all before they became friends or where Chris would go back to being Allison’s dad first and foremost, just a dependable adult he could occasionally lean on.
But with Peter… weeks of moments, of feeling seen and heard in a way he hasn’t before.
He really needs to talk to Scott and ask about what it was like with Allison those first weeks because Stiles might be actually falling for this guy, not just having a silly little crush on him and that’s… He doesn’t know how to deal with that.
He blinks, clearing his thoughts. “I know, I just… I don’t want to stay home.”
Noah sighs and gently clasps his shoulder. “What kind of a town do we live in that I’m scared of sending my son to school?”
“A town in USA, the land of guns?” Stiles says dryly.
“Not funny.”
“Wasn’t trying to be. Just… while we worry about supernatural stuff, which is still a weird thing to say seriously, other people all over the country worry about other, different but no less serious things,” Stiles shrugs.
Noah frowns, “I guess. I also wanted to tell you…” He hesitates, looking down. Stiles tenses up. “If you ever want to talk to someone about that night… about Kate-”
“Dad-”
“Listen, you can’t go to therapy,” Noah looks up at him, serious. “I can’t get you help for this, so I have to do the helping. If you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he says firmly. “You’re not a killer,” he adds.
Stiles rears back, shaking his head. “Just don’t.”
“You’re hardly dealing with it.”
“Because it’s not an easy thing to deal with!” Stiles runs a shaky hand through his hair, messing it up. “Maybe if it was like, actual self-defense, maybe if she was coming at me and I had to… then it’d be easier to deal with…”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Noah says.
Stiles meets his eyes in surprise, remembers that his dad has killed people in self-defense, people that were coming at him or going after someone else, people with weapons, who were dangerous.
“It not being an easy thing to deal with is good, Stiles,” Noah tells him. “It means you’re not a killer. You took a life and you understand the repercussions of it, no matter what kind of a person she was.”
Stiles feels a tiny portion of the weight on his chest lift at those words, blinks away tears.
“Thanks, dad,” he says softly.
Noah leans forward to give him a hug, still gentle and careful to not touch his back.
“If you ever need to talk…”
“I’ll know who to ask,” Stiles quirks a smile.
Chris is nervous.
Peter’s in his kitchen, leaning against the counter next to him while Chris is finishing up the dishes. He rang the doorbell just as Chris was about to start cleaning up the dinner he’d shared with Allison who then went off to Scott’s. Melissa is sticking to her decision of Scott being grounded but has enough heart to not separate him from his friends completely. That might have something to do with Laura going over there, to press on the significance of support and love and help during this time of transition. Isolating Scott could be dangerous, not just to him but others too.
Peter hasn’t offered an explanation as to why he’s showed up and is now just quietly standing there, close but not touching and it’s driving Chris insane. He wants Peter to make the first move again, needs him to. Chris has never done it, doesn’t know how. He remembers his awkward approach at the hospital and cringes at himself. He’s thirty-seven and he doesn’t know how to approach a… Would this be considered a “hook up”?
“I saw Allison take off,” Peter says finally, side-eyeing Chris who side-eyes him right back. “How long will she be gone?”
That… has to mean what he thinks it means, right?
“For a couple of hours, probably. Her curfew’s eleven.”
Peter moves then, slides closer to stand behind Chris, hands going to the man’s hips, chin resting on a shoulder, the length of his body feeling hot, firm.
“Plenty of time for us to continue what we started then… hopefully, without interruptions this time.” His voice is low and close to Chris’ ear who tenses up from want.
“But oh, have I done it again?” Peter asks, sounding concerned. When he takes a step back, no longer touching him, Chris turns with a towel in his hands, drying them and hoping his desperation isn’t clear on his face, or in his scent.
“What?” He asks, voice rough enough that he has to clear his throat.
“Triggered something,” Peter says bluntly and Chris feels as if all of the hopeful tension around them crashes down, leaving him feeling defeated. Because of course Peter drew the right conclusions from last time.
“You caught me off guard,” he insists. “I can handle being pressed up against hard surfaces,” he adds dryly, throwing the towel to the side and placing his hands behind him, on the edge of the sink. If it looks like an invitation then well, that’s what he’s going for.
Peter considers him, slowly, from head to toe.
“Any triggers I should know about?”
And Chris hates that question, hates that the answer is probably yes, so he pushes off the sink and stalks up to Peter, pushing him backwards until the man’s thighs hit the table. Peter’s just staring at him, expectant. Chris refuses to talk and leans forward to capture that annoyingly tactless mouth into a kiss.
Peter leans back against the table, sets his hands on it instead of Chris’ body and leaves his lips open, pliant under his, letting Chris do whatever he wants with him and this isn’t it either, this isn’t what he’s really looking for-
He pulls back, an unexpected anger surging up as he sets his sights on Peter’s belt buckle, hands rough and quick as he tugs his pants open, revealing simple black underwear he guesses to be a lot more expensive than his own just from how the fabric feels under his fingers when he strokes them over the shape he sees outlined underneath.
Peter shifts, pulls himself up on the table so he’s sitting on it, legs spread wide.
He can do it, he can do the one thing he’s done with another man before, the one thing he was told he was good at, he can-
When he starts pulling down Peter’s underwear, hands stop him.
He finally looks up from the man’s waist and sees the plain worry there and he lets out a sharp breath, “What did you come here for, if not this?”
“I came to have fun,” Peter snaps back, a hand coming up to cradle Chris’ jaw, the touch firm and helping Chris re-center himself. “This isn’t it, Chris.”
The words strike true and Chris laughs roughly, pulling back from Peter and letting the man buckle himself back up.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.
“Well, if we want to actually have sex at some point, I think you really should,” Peter tells him dryly, knocking a foot against Chris’ thigh.
“I’ve…” Chris steels himself and decides to dive in head-first, “I’ve only ever done something with a guy twice. When I was nineteen, one of my father’s friends, another hunter, approached me and asked me if I was gay. Only he used another, uglier word.”
Peter leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, still sitting on the table, the space between his legs a space Chris would very much like to reinsert himself into but the moment’s ruined now, so might as well plunge on.
“I said I didn’t know. He said he’ll help me find out… that he’ll let me suck him off.”
Peter tilts his head, attentive. “And did you like it?”
Chris smiles sharply, “I did. And he told his older brother about me… Who said he’d tell my dad if I didn’t do the same to him.”
Peter looks angry but keeps his steady gaze on him, keeps waiting.
So Chris continues, “My dad found out about it anyway. I never saw those two hunters after that, don't know where they went, my dad gave me a beating and Victoria threatened to take Allison away from me if I ever embarrassed her like that ever again. So I didn’t.”
“That was the last time you were with a man?”
“That was the last time I was with anyone.”
Peter’s eyebrows fly high, “Not even with…”
“Victoria didn’t like sex… I didn’t really like her. In a way, our marriage worked,” Chris snorts and covers his eyes with a hand.
He hears Peter finally get off that stupid table and there, that’s what he wanted - hands sliding up his shirt, the hot touch bringing him back to the present. Chris lowers his hand to see Peter’s intense eyes flying over his face, studying every inch of it.
“I’m glad you told me. Now, still want to have some fun?”
Chris raises an eyebrow, “I’d like to try, yes.”
“Good,” Peter murmurs against his lips before he claims them, the kiss hot and wet, Chris moaning at the shivers running down his back. He grabs Peter by his ass to press them closer, the delicious friction causing a spike of heat in his belly. Peter hums into his mouth, sounding pleased, his hands mussing up Chris’ hair, sliding over his neck, pressing down on his jugular. Chris feels weak-kneed, dizzy.
Peter pulls his mouth back with a final firm, loud kiss, the hand in Chris’ hair stopping him from following, from continuing.
Chris licks the spit from his lips, glares at Peter because the fun was just starting but oh-
He’s pushed back against the kitchen island and now there are hands on his belt buckle. His brain keeps going Oh at everything, keeps getting surprised.
“Take your shirt off,” Peter says, voice rougher than Chris has ever heard it, even when the man was bleeding out on the bathroom floor, when he was waking up in the middle of the night to ask for help. He complies quickly, easily because less clothes means more skin, more heat.
His pants are tugged down to rest on his thighs and Peter doesn’t hesitate to pull down his briefs either, hand bold and sure when it wraps around him, stroking him gently into full hardness. All the while, Peter’s eyes are on his face, watching, searching.
But then the eyes disappear from sight as Peter leans down to mouth at his neck, to bite down softly on his shoulder, to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest. When Chris realizes the other’s trajectory, his sharp intake of breath is loud in the otherwise silent kitchen. He slips his fingers into the man’s hair, encouraging.
Hot, wet heat envelopes him and he grabs the counter behind him to keep himself upright, his throat releasing a sound he’s never heard himself make before. Peter’s eyes flash vibrant blue at him and the man pulls back to pant heavily, pressing his nose against hair and skin.
“Having a hard time keeping myself from shifting,” he admits.
Chris takes in the sight of this gorgeous man, on his knees for him, apparently close to losing control because of him and for the first time in his life, he feels powerful.
He tightens the hand in Peter’s head and tugs his face away from him. Peter blinks his human eyes up at him, mouth quirking up into a grin. Chris straightens and uses his other hand to caress Peter’s mouth, his jaw. Peter’s eyes glow and stay that way while his grin disappears. He swipes his tongue over his lower lip, waiting.
“Finish what you started,” Chris says, orders.
And with the vibrant blue remaining the whole time, the man takes him into that heat again and again, head bobbing at an angle so he can keep that searching gaze on Chris’ face, studying him the entire time he’s taking him apart.
It doesn’t take long for Chris to get close, especially when Peter opens his mouth further, takes him in deeper- With another guttural groan, he fists Peter’s hair and comes harder than he’s ever come before, Peter’s throat convulsing around him as he pulses and keeps pulsing, the end of his orgasm such a huge release to his body that he slumps back against the kitchen island, feeling like he’s been running for hours. He’s covered in sweat and panting and delirious from satisfaction.
Peter pulls back and looks down, covering Chris back up. When he pushes himself up to stand before him, his eyes are back to their normal blue but no less piercing or intense.
Chris reaches a hand out to Peter’s zipper but again the man stops him. Chris glares.
“I’m not a delicate flower,” he grumbles, pleads. Because he wants to return the favor, wants to give Peter what Peter’s given him.
“I don’t think you are,” Peter says, voice oddly gentle. He leans in to rest their foreheads together. “But that was enough for now.”
“I thought you wanted to have fun?” Chris asks, placing his hands on the other’s waist and pulling him into an embrace because hell, he just likes the feel of him.
“That was the most fun I’ve had in years,” Peter says, rubbing their noses together, grinning.
Chris doubts that, but doesn’t argue, sighing trough his nose when Peter kisses him again, this time softer, slower. He guesses that Peter’s not staying the night since the kiss very much feels like a goodbye.
For now.
That stupid broken man, Peter curses Chris.
And I’m stupid too, he curses himself.
Because that was everything he’s been wanting for over a week now, to take Chris apart and see him come undone.
And now his wolf (which is just him, it’s just him) is howling in his head, is howling his, his, his.
Peter doesn’t know what to do with that.
A couple of days pass while they play at being normal. Stiles helps out Scott with AP Bio and then turns around and helps Cora with Math and then turns around and quizzes Allison on her History homework and it keeps his mind busy, it keeps him distracted. The pain’s easier to deal with thanks to the painkillers, but it’s still disappointing when Peter doesn’t show up again to do his magical pain-drain thing, because that involves Peter touching Stiles’ skin which is always amazing.
Their French teacher is still missing, he and Allison have been talking about maybe trying to get their hands on Morrell’s information, her address and everything. She wasn’t in the yellow pages when they looked and they couldn’t find anything online either, so whatever records the school has, those are their best shot.
But that would require breaking into the school’s office, which during actual school hours is guarded by a hawk-like Victoria Argent.
One of the most memorable moments of the week happened on Wednesday, when Victoria caught Scott and Allison making out against the lockers and demanded that Scott follow her for a chat. Later, pale-faced and traumatized, Scott told them how he was questioned about his condom-usage, while Victoria sharpened a pencil to a nub.
All in all, a pretty quiet week as kids settled back in to the regular high school rhythm, still talking about the attack, obviously, but no longer obsessing over it and also no longer walking around scared as if at any second a wild animal’s going to peek around the door and charge at them.
And then Lydia returns on Thursday and the entire school is immediately alive with gossip about the attack again. About the fact that apparently, the librarian was secretly dating like four different female students, one of whom Allison saw crying about it in the bathroom. About the fact that the janitor was selling weed to the students and some of the teachers on the down-low. And plenty of different, untrue rumors about why Lydia was at the school in the first place - one of them calling her another one of the librarian’s conquests.
Lydia flies through the school like a storm, looking as gorgeous and put-together as ever, wearing clothes that Stiles thinks are new and expensive, which Allison later confirms and face stunningly vibrant with bright make-up.
And then she makes an announcement on the school PA system.
Her party is still happening and everyone’s invited.
They finally manage to get a moment with her during lunch, since she appeared at the school without giving them any heads-up or joining their special school-bus.
They’re all incredibly worried.
“Are you serious about the party?” Allison asks, sitting down next to her friend.
“Of course I am,” Lydia answers, looking so much like the Lydia from two weeks ago that for a second Stiles clutches his head, wondering if he’s gone back in time or if everything’s just been a horrible dream. This questioning of his reality is familiar and leaves an ache in his chest, even as the others continue talking.
“But what about what happened?” Scott asks carefully.
“What about it? We survived, we should celebrate that,” Lydia frowns at them.
“I just think you’re acting rashly-”
“You’re my friend, not my therapist,” she snaps at Allison with a smile.
“I think a party’s a great idea,” Cora announces. She grows sheepish at Allison’s glare. “What? We did survive and she’s turning eighteen! It’s a big deal! And now we know there’s not going to be an attack because there already was one,” she raises her hands. “Right?”
Stiles drags himself away from his brain’s theories on the different ways it could be lying to him and focuses back on the topic at hand.
“I guess… it’s not the worst thing. Just, are you sure you’re up for it? Everybody’s going to be really drunk and really stupid. Things will get broken, the clean-up is going to be disgusting.”
Lydia smiles at him, “The clean-up will be fine because I have amazing friends who are going to help me.”
“I seriously wonder why I’m friends with you sometimes,” Scott says absentmindedly, then receives a swift slap on the shoulder from Allison. “I mean, of course we’ll help,” he turns to eat the delicious-looking lunch that Laura made him.
“Just, seriously, Lydia,” Stiles presses in his I’m-not-kidding voice. Lydia has the grace to let the insincere smile fade as she meets his gaze head-on. “Is this something you want to do or something you feel like you have to do?”
Lydia purses her mouth, sighs.
“It’s both, okay? It’s both,” she admits, looks down at her food.
“Okay,” Stiles says softly, waiting until she looks back up again. “Okay,” he nods at her.
New short-term goal; make sure Lydia has an awesome eighteenth birthday. When he glances at Allison and surprisingly at Cora, he sees the same conviction in both of their faces.
After all, what are friends for if not for something like this?
Chapter 12: drunk
Chapter Text
“I still can’t believe you got people Ubers,” Stiles gapes at the line of cars waiting at the school parking lot.
“The lake house is almost out of town, might as well help get more people there,” Lydia shrugs as if this is no big deal.
It’s eight p.m. and kids are starting to gather at the school. A few hours earlier Stiles and the others did a few quick trips to the lake house to get the sound system, decorations, snacks and drinks ready. Rick, Lydia’s hired sound tech guy, is still there with Cora helping him, fiddling with things. Scott and Allison stayed back to empty the first floor from anything super valuable or breakable. And Stiles is here with Lydia, helping her give out instructions to those coming on their own. A lot of their fellow seniors know where the house is because Lydia’s had other, smaller parties there. But the younger ones need help and are all in awe of what’s going on. Lydia’s PA announcement of course also drew the freshmen here and Stiles has been steadily turning them away because no, they’re not giving alcohol to fourteen-year-olds. There’s no doubt in his mind that quite a few of these kids will be sneaking in and getting drunk anyway.
His dad warned him that Lydia’s caught the attention of the parents and everyone in town now knows that there’s a party going on at the lake house. Noah can’t promise they won’t be called to break it up.
He also asked, “Exactly how much underage drinking are we talking about?”
“I don’t know, dad. How much did you drink when you were in high school?”
His dad glared but asked no further questions.
“How much money are you spending on this party?” Allison asked when she heard about the Ubers.
“My dad decided to spend the month away with his new girlfriend in Paris, but gave me his credit card and told me to have fun.”
Allison and Stiles shared a look at that.
“Your dad doesn’t know you at all, does he?” Stiles asked with a wince. Lydia’s grim smile was reply enough.
Now they’re almost ready to head out and get the party started.
“This is the biggest thing you’ve ever organized and I’m so afraid of seeing what the lake house looks like after tonight,” Stiles tells her as they get into her car.
“It’s where my dad liked to take his girlfriend, back when she was his mistress,” she reveals. “So, honestly? I hope they trash the place.”
“But isn’t the house actually your mom’s?”
“When I told her about what I was planning for my birthday, she told me to go for it.”
Stiles whistles under her breath, “Don’t mess with the Martin ladies, got it.”
The long line of cars heads out and in his mind, Stiles prays that the town will let the kids have this one night, that no one calls the cops and that Lydia is satisfied with the turn-out.
He vows to himself to not take a sip of anything until way later and only if everything’s going smoothly.
Two hours later, he’s drunk.
“How do you know when Allison’s not here?” Chris asks, amused, as he lets Peter in.
“You assume I’m not standing out there day and night, waiting for an opportunity, pining,” Peter smirks, already sliding off his jacket and hanging it up.
Chris just quirks an eyebrow and waits.
“Cora told me about the party, of course,” Peter rolls his eyes.
“Ah, and you figured…”
“Are we going to do the song and dance again? Because I rather hoped we were past that,” Peter brushes past him and starts climbing the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“Your bed, where else?”
Chris lets his eyes rest on the man’ shoulders, back and finally his ass, before sighing wistfully and following. It’s odd, looking forward to touching and being touched in return, daydreaming about long mouth-numbing kisses and occasionally getting hard even as his thoughts stray and stick to what Peter’s mouth felt like. He’s excited. And he really wants to see Peter naked.
So when he finds a trail of clothes leading to his bedroom door, he readies himself. He doesn’t want anything ruining the mood tonight.
“And like, it sucks, you know?” Heather hiccups.
“I think you’ve had enough,” Stiles says, swaying himself as he tries to reach for Heather’s drink but she pulls back, clutching it protectively.
“Noooo, I need liquid courage! I don’t want to be eighteen and still a virgin!”
“I don’t see the big deal,” Stiles says honestly. Maybe if he didn’t have bigger things to worry about, he’d be scared of the same thing she was, maybe his virginity would feel like a mark of shame, a lack of an experience every one of his friends seem to share. But murderers and monsters kind of put things into perspective.
“Aren’t you a virgin too? Wanna take care of it together?”
Stiles’ brain stops working for a second.
“I want to return the favor,” Chris says, pushing at Peter until the man relents and lays back. Peter’s still wearing his underwear but otherwise gloriously naked and Chris can’t decide what to stare at, what to touch, Peter a stunning work of art spread out on his bed.
“You sure?” Peter asks but Chris can see the eagerness, the want. Peter even reaches down to grab himself, to get himself hard.
“I’m sure. This position’s good,” he adds to show Peter that he is considering what might trigger him, that just like Peter, he wants to keep this fun and light-hearted. He doesn’t want to remember what it felt like the last time he sucked someone off, he wants to focus on the now and to make sure this is a memory he can keep, something to come back to when he’s alone.
Peter lifts his hips in invitation and Chris doesn’t hesitate to pull his last remaining clothing off, revealing his prize. And he flushes, because Peter’s thicker than he expected and Chris already has a phantom ache in his jaw from just looking at him.
“Take your time,” Peter says smugly, letting his thighs fall open, flexible and cocky.
Chris does just that.
“Dude, have you got a condom?” Stiles asks when he finally finds Scott.
“No, why do you need one?” Scott blinks at him, glaring over his shoulder when a couple of guys push past him to get back to the living room dance area.
“Why do you think? How do you not have one, you and Allison are like rabbits-”
“Shut up,” Scott says, blushing. “Allison has them in her purse.”
“You look really sober,” Stiles observes, squinting.
Scott looks at the people milling about in the hallway and leans in to whisper, “Werewolves can’t get drunk.”
“Oh my god, are you serious?”
Scott nods sadly and Stiles feels so bad for him he lunges himself at his friend, giving him a firm hug.
“I’m so sorry, man,” he whispers, horrified.
“It’s alright,” Scott pulls back, takes Stiles’ hand out of his hair and tries to fix the mess of it, “It’s been a busy few hours, Allison’s pretty buzzed already and I’m helping her take care of Lydia.”
“What, taking care of Lydia? What do you mean?” Stiles asks, instantly on high alert.
“Jackson didn’t show up,” Scott says with a grimace.
“That ass, I’m so punching him when I see him.”
“Anyway, who do you need a condom for?” Scott tugs at his arm, curious.
“Heather, she doesn’t want to be a virgin anymore,” Stiles gestures excitedly.
“And… you want to have sex with her?” Scott asks patiently.
Stiles makes a face at him. “Of course I do, she’s pretty, I’ve known her all my life, it’d be comfortable you know? I think there wouldn’t really be any pressure… Like we’ll laugh and have fun, ‘oh no, I accidentally tried putting it in the wrong hole, ha ha’ kind of thing.”
“Don’t-” Scott shakes his head, wide-eyed, “Don’t do that, girls hate that.”
“I didn’t mean I was actually gonna- never mind. So I need to find Allison,” Stiles tries to find her in the crowd.
“No, wait, are you sure that’s what you want, though? You two are both drunk, so I’m just looking out.”
Stiles hates that Scott is pushing this, it’s killing the vibe in his head. “What’s there not to want?”
“It’s amazing when it’s with someone you really care about like that, you know?” Scott says with that dopey look on his face he gets whenever he’s thinking about Allison.
“Virginity is a social construct, it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” Stiles waves his concerns away.
“I know… but,” Scott shrugs. “I just don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want Heather to regret it either, she’s drunk, remember? Do you think she would have made the offer sober?”
Stiles groans, “Stop, fine, god, I won’t do it.”
“That’s not what-”
“You’ve achieved the buzzkill, let’s move on.”
“Also, maybe you should slow down with the drinking too, you smell. And I mean… smell,” Scott drags the word out and cringes in disgust.
“Oh, senses kicking in?” Stiles wiggles his fingers at him.
“Yeah, it’s a lot. The music’s pounding, I can hear a lot of the weird drunken shit people are saying and the place stinks.”
“Damn, can I help somehow?”
“Nah, Cora’s been helping me. She gets me to focus on one thing, that works sometimes.”
“Allison’s helping Lydia, you’re helping Allison, Cora’s helping you so what I’m hearing is, I should find Cora and offer my assistance,” Stiles concludes and walks off, ignoring Scott’s confused protests behind him.
He also completely forgets about Heather.
Peter’s making soft sounds, these moans that give Chris goosebumps every time he hears them. One of Peter’s hands is in his hair and the other’s on his jaw, Peter’s fingers occasionally caressing his lips, his chin, his ear, his neck. All of him feels incredibly sensitive, every touch sending a shiver down his back. He goes slow, taking his time, occasionally pulling off to get his breathing back in control, all the while moving his hand, giving firm tugs as well as teasing ones.
The latter make Peter’s eyes glow.
At some point, a pack of lube gets thrown at him. He quirks an eyebrow.
“While you’re down there,” Peter smirks at him.
“You’d let me…” He stares.
“I want you to fuck me, yes,” Peter says slowly.
And who would say no to that?
There’s a couple of guys crowding in a very young-looking girl in the kitchen.
“Hey!” Stiles yells before he can even think about how to approach this.
One of the guys turns and it’s Rick, the sound tech guy, who Stiles knows is already in college. The girl looks panicked, pressed up against the fridge.
“Mind your business, Stilinski.”
“You’re harassing a friend. It’s my business,” he shrugs helplessly.
The girl blinks at him, obviously confused because they’ve never met but also doesn’t argue.
“A friend?” Rick scoffs, calling his bluff. “What’s her name, then?”
“Bree, come on,” Stiles gestures at the girl.
“Her name’s Sarah,” the other guy says and puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder just as she’s about to move away from them.
“Yeah, Sarah-Bree,” Stiles flips him off.
The second guy who Stiles doesn’t recognize steps up threateningly, “I think you need to learn how to mind your own business.” And it’s then that Stiles takes in the huge arms and the letter-tattoos on the guy’s knuckles. Oh fuck, he thinks.
There’s people around because the house is so full that there’s people everywhere but most of them are just staring silently, a few of them have pulled out their phones and are filming this. Stiles would very much like another impulsive dumbass like him to come and help him out now.
“Hey, don’t,” Rick calls out. “That’s the Sheriff’s kid.”
“Oh yeah?” The buff dude drawls out. “Following in daddy’s footsteps? Think you’re the law or something?”
Stiles throws up his hands because this guy is annoying and rushes in. He actually catches the guy off guard and gets a good punch in, right on his nose. The people around them are making noise, some of them cheering. Stiles notices the girl take her chance to run away, which he commends her for, just before a fist flies right at his eye. Rick came in to defend his friend, who’s now slumped against the fridge, moaning into his hands.
Stiles stumbles back and holds up his arms protectively because he sees Rick coming at him from the corner of his vision but then there’s a blur and Rick is thrown against the wall, the crowd all gasping and yelling in shock.
“I think you should leave,” Scott says, standing in front of Stiles.
“Like fuck,” the nameless guy groans out and pushes away from the fridge, hands forming fists, eyes furious over his bloody nose-
“Like yeah,” Cora says, coming in and grabbing both him and Rick by their shirts and pushing them towards the door. Stiles sees the guy fighting against her grip and looking stunned when he grabs her arm and gets no reaction. They disappear from sight, the crowd’s cheering, people are heading off to dance, he hears someone yell, ‘God, that girl’s so hot, she’s been kicking out every asshole I’ve seen tonight, this party’s amazing, GOOD VIBES ONLY!’.
Stiles sighs shakily, relieved that everything turned out fine, although his right eye feels tender and will probably not look great tomorrow. His dad’s going to flip.
“Thanks, man,” he tells Scott who hasn’t turned around. Stiles realizes how weird that is, because he imagines Scott would be looking him over, checking out his face, worried. “Scott?”
“Wait,” Scott growls out and then goes to lean his forearms against the wall, head hanging between them, chest heaving with huge shallow breaths.
“Uh,” Stiles gapes at him and then at the people still moving around the kitchen, grabbing drinks and stuff. A few of them are side-eyeing Scott warily.
Cora comes back then, goes straight to Scott and grabs his elbow, talking to him in a low voice. She turns her head to Stiles to say, “I got him, you should go downstairs by the way, Lydia wants to see you.”
Stiles nods, concerned but knowing that he won’t be of much help with this. He heads to the basement.
People are making out on blankets and loveseats, soft and hard bodies moving against each other, the sounds drowned out by the more chill music that’s playing down here. For a second Stiles finds himself staring at two guys grinding against each other and his brain inserts an image of him grinding on Peter and-
Next to the guys is Heather, sharing slow, timid kisses with a nervous-looking dude who Stiles faintly recognizes as a Junior. He wishes them a good time and moves further in until he sees Lydia sitting on a blanket, in the corner, alone.
He stumbles over there and plants himself down, leaning his shoulder against hers.
“Heeeey, birthday girl,” he says softly and gives her a kiss on the cheek.
She looks him over, “You’ve been drinking.”
He returns the look, “And you’ve been crying.”
She doesn’t deny it just sighs and rests her head on his shoulder.
“I heard about Jackson,” he feels her tense up. “And I’ve ranted to you about him enough times that I’m not gonna right now. Just, I’m sorry,” he says, putting an arm around her and holding her close.
She sniffs, “Thanks.” She lifts her head, staring ahead at the room full of couples. “I know I deserve better… He just… We were there for each other when being at home sucked. And he doesn’t get along with his parents either, it… it was something we bonded over. We made this stupid pact even, to be the best at everything, best couple, to show our parents how it’s done, how you can have it all and not fuck it up.”
“But now he’s fucking it up,” Stiles points out.
“Yeah… I think he’s really going through something. I just wish he’d talk to me,” she turns to look at him. “He’s the reason I was at the high school. He wanted to meet there,” her eyes drift off to the side. “But he didn’t show up.”
“Jesus,” Stiles whispers and swallows down all the bad things he wants to say about Jackson and instead brings his other arm up for a full-on hug. Lydia tucks her head under his chin.
They sit like that for a minute while Stiles tries to find something light-hearted to talk about.
“Hey, the party’s going great by the way. Apparently Cora’s been systematically throwing out everyone who could possibly ruin the vibes. You’ve got an actual bouncer at your party, how cool is that?”
Lydia snorts, “I was wondering how it’s possible that not a single douchebag has ruined everything yet. Nothing’s been broken even.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty great up there. They’re all dancing and having fun and I think we can already call this a success.”
“It was a stupid idea,” Lydia says.
“What? The party?”
“Yeah, I just… planning it and everything was something to do, you know?”
“I get it.”
Cora’s coming over to them. She crouches down, gives an odd look at their position and then tells him, “Scott’s fine. I helped him find his anchor.”
“Anchor?”
“It’s something to keep you grounded, helpful when you can’t control your shift yet.”
“What’s his?” Lydia asks curiously, pulling away from Stiles.
“Allison’s heartbeat,” Cora says, rolling her eyes.
“Of course it is,” Stiles laughs, shaking his head.
Someone’s followed Cora to their corner. When they get closer Stiles recognizes Mariah, a girl Lydia used to be best friends with back in middle school.
“Hey, there you are! You’re the host, you can’t stay down here!”
Lydia wipes at her eyes, smiling. “You’re right, shall we go and show them all how it’s done?”
“Yeeeees,” Mariah makes grabby hands at Lydia, who clasps them and gets pulled up.
Stiles watches them run upstairs, bemused.
Cora takes Lydia’s place, stretching her legs out straight.
“What is it about her?” She asks, and the question sounds strange and out of nowhere until Stiles looks at her and sees a starstruck expression he recognizes.
Oh.
“Uh, sorry but Lydia’s never been interested in girls,” his drunken mouth decides to say.
“I know,” Cora rolls her eyes at him. “Doesn’t stop me from admiring her, though.”
Stiles, the master of unrequited crushes, nods wisely, “True.”
“It’s so weird, I thought being bi here would be harder, you know, small town homophobia and all that. But it’s actually nice. Different from how it was back in New York.”
“How so?” Stiles asks.
“It was more open and inclusive and whatever there, yeah but… also kind of, subtly sinister. Once girls found out I was bi, I became a tool to use to make that guy jealous, or get that guy’s attention or hey, my boyfriend’s been asking for a threesome, blah-blah-blah. And the one girlfriend I did end up having, who was a lesbian, got mad at me when she found out I was bi and not gay. Acted like I’d betrayed her or something.”
“Shit,” Stiles says and raises a fist, “Hey, bi solidarity, man.”
Cora looks surprised. “Really? I thought you were full-on gay for my uncle.”
Stiles pushes at her, embarrassed. “Shut up. No, I’m bi. In fact, my first big love?” He gestures grandly towards the stairs. “Lydia Martin.”
Cora’s eyes go wide and then she laughs. “Oh man, are you serious? What is she, a siren for bisexuals or something?”
“Ha! Oh god, what if Jackson’s bi too. What if that’s what he’s going through?” The thought alone is blowing his mind. All those times Jackson called Scott and Stiles ‘boyfriends’ in an obviously derogatory way… what if Jackson was jealous?
“I think there’s another fight happening,” Cora glares upwards and then gets up, off to do her self-appointed bouncer duty. Stiles muses to himself that he's actually really happy to have her as a friend. He follows her soon after, once his legs feel steadier than they did before and he finds Lydia and Allison with a bunch of other girls dancing around madly, without a care in the world.
He joins them and forgets everything except the beat of the music and the way his friends are all smiling.
He stops just as he’s about to push in, hands gripping firm thighs, eyes open and focused on every part of Peter that tells him he’s with a man, it’s a man under him, not Victoria, not Victoria.
He feels ashamed when he realizes that two decades later and he still isn’t over that first night they slept together. When she told him to go ahead, told him to put that stupid condom away, told him to go faster, told him to just come already, get it over with.
So he freezes and finds himself hating her more than he’s ever had before, for ruining this too.
“Chris?” Hands around his wrists, squeezing gently.
“Sorry, just, give me a second,” he pleads, clears his throat.
Peter sits up and pulls Chris into a much-needed kiss, a restart to his brain. He hums softly and returns it, their lips moving against each other slow, but firm. A part of him can’t believe he’s here, can’t believe who he’s with, the man he was scared of, who tore into his sister, who wants to kill his father. What does it make Chris that the last two thoughts leave him feeling grateful now, not afraid, almost needy from the desire burning through him.
“Let me try something,” Peter murmurs against his mouth and pushes him to the side. Chris takes Peter’s former position and breathes in deeply when he’s straddled, Peter’s hand on his chest, on his neck as his other hand wraps around Chris and holds him straight before sinking down on him. “This better?”
“Fuck yes,” Chris groans out, desperately squeezing Peter’s hips as the man goes all the way down.
At some point, during Peter’s languid motions, as Chris watches him move without breaking a sweat, a grin teasing the edges of Peter’s lips, eyes challenging - his patience snaps and he sits up, grabs Peter by the waist and turns them over. When he starts to move his hips sharper, push in deeper, Peter’s expression turns triumphant. Sensation takes over, how good it feels, how good Peter feels and he presses down hard, resting his face against Peter’s neck, biting down on it. He feels Peter’s hand move against his abdomen, feels it when Peter comes, hears it as the man moans deep and loud. He rides through it and his movements get rougher, harder until he comes too, shaking, so tensed up, he fears he’s going to cramp, vision disappearing for a few seconds.
He pants, out of breath and overwhelmed and euphoric. He falls to his side and shifts around until he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“How soon until you can go again?” Peter asks and Chris turns to stare at him incredulously.
“Seriously?”
“What can I say?” Peter crowds in closer and starts mouthing around his chest, closing teeth around a nipple and making Chris jump at the feeling. “Can’t seem to get enough,” he says, eyes teasing but Chris thinks he can also hear some frustration.
“At least let me catch my breath. Need I remind you that only one of us is a werewolf.”
Peter sighs and moves to sit up against the headboard.
Chris stares out of the corner of his eye as Peter takes himself in his hand and starts stroking, already growing hard again.
And suddenly the night ahead seems very long.
It’s four a.m. and people are staggering away, Lydia organizing rides for those that need them.
“Lydia Martin, will you let me take you to prom!?” A guy shouts drunkenly as his girlfriend tries to drag him away.
“Maybe!” Lydia shouts back. The girlfriend looks defeated and calls the guy a dumbass before pushing him into her car.
Stiles stopped drinking about an hour ago but is still very much feeling the effects as he stumbles around the house to make sure no one’s accidentally (or purposefully) stayed behind. When the coast seems clear he heads outside, just in time to hear one of their newest lacrosse players (Liam something, he thinks?) stammer compliments at Cora.
“A-and when you helped out that girl, that was really cool of you.”
“I know,” Cora says simply.
“So, I was wondering, it’s stupid to ask, but maybe, if you wanted to get like, coffee or something? Or, lunch? Dinner? A movie?” Liam’s voice gets higher with each question.
Cora stares for a full ten seconds before saying, “I’ll get back to you.”
“Oh!” Liam’s obviously surprised to not have been turned down straight away, “Yeah! Cool! Sure! That’s-that’s-” His friend finally drags him away, shaking his head at Liam and whispering something at him that makes Liam flush a deep red.
“He’s cuuuuute,” Stiles drawls, putting an arm around her and hugging her close.
“Yeah,” Cora frowns. “I don’t do cute, though.”
Stiles sighs in deep understanding, “Yeah, me neither.”
Cora side-eyes him. “You don’t think my uncle’s cute?”
He glares at her in silence.
“Okay, I think that’s everyone,” Scott says, walking over hand-in-hand with Allison, who looks flushed and happy.
They all had a pretty good time, Stiles thinks. It was nice.
“I’m taking a shower and heading to bed, you joining me?” Lydia asks him.
“Sure,” Stiles shrugs.
Cora gives him another odd look and he reminds himself to explain to her at a later date how his friendship with Lydia works. It probably looks a lot different to an outsider.
The other three head out too. Scott gives him a worried check-over (”Dude, I think you’re getting a black eye!”), Allison kisses his cheek and Cora and him fist-bump which he officially announces to now be the bi-bump, which Cora shakes her head at (”When you’re sober you’ll agree with me, that’s just… no.”)
After they drive off, the silence is deafening.
He looks towards the lake, beautiful and still. His feet take him there instead of inside, his mind having reached that blurry-introspection part of being drunk now that there are no distractions around him. Being alone outside at night has so many bad memories attached to it now. His hand goes to his forearm and he remembers the crystal glass, forces himself to stop and think of something else.
Thinks of how different this night could have ended up, if he was in his twenties and drunk and falling for a guy. He could’ve drunk-texted/called, maybe confessed, maybe gotten a response-
But he’s not in his twenties. He looks behind him at the lake house, remembers Heather’s proposition, wonders if he should’ve said yes after all. Of course he wouldn’t mind if his first time was with someone he had feelings for, but how likely, how achievable is that?
A sound like someone moving on wooden floorboards. Stiles’ head snaps to the small cabin that’s attached to the boardwalk.
“Someone there? That part’s off-limits, guys! Also, the party’s way over, go home!”
He waits for a reaction.
The door is pushed open and out of the cabin walks Morrell.
Stiles immediately grabs for the pocketknife he stashed in his jeans and wishes, again, that he had his taser. He flicks the knife out at her.
“I’m getting real tired of druids sneaking up on me!”
She looks clean and well-dressed as if she’s about to teach a class and wasn’t just snooping around in the middle of the night.
“I’m not here to hurt you, only to talk,” she holds her hands up and looks at the knife with a smile.
“Not interested,” Stiles says slowly.
“I wanted to see how you’re doing. I feel… responsible for everything that’s happened.”
Stiles squints at her. Everything?
“I’m great,” he says sarcastically.
“It sounded like you had a good time tonight.”
“How long have you been out here for? Are you kidding me? That’s fucked up,” Stiles sways a little, rights himself and holds the knife higher.
“I want you to know that I’m helping Deucalion for my own reasons, but in the end all I care about is the balance.”
“And Scott had to be bitten for the balance?”
Morrell’s smile just never fades, it’s there, on her face, mocking him. “In a way. It’s difficult to explain, because I have a goal without a clear path, so I’m,” she shrugs a little. “Improvising.”
“Cool, great. What do you want?”
“I already told you.”
“You’ve seen me, you know how I’m doing, you can leave now,” Stiles refuses to show her how scared he actually is right now. He remembers the easy power and aggression that Blake wielded, the way she just dragged him, hit him or even hurt him without laying a finger on him.
“I also wanted to give you this,” she pulls out something small. Stiles blinks to clear his vision, squints at the thing in her hand.
“A ring?” A silver Celtic knot ring, thin and simple.
“I’ve imbued it with protection. It will guard you against curses,” she looks at him meaningfully.
It’s a curse, Deaton’s voice in his head. What Blake did to him to keep him silent…
“Why on earth would I trust you?” He asks, bewildered.
“You can show it to Alan, ask him if it’s okay to wear,” she steps to the side, near one of the bigger rocks around the lake and places the ring on top of it.
“Alan?”
“I guess you know him as Dr. Deaton,” her smile widens.
“So all druids know each other or something?”
“Or something. I didn’t discover Blake until it was too late,” she pauses. “I’m sorry for not protecting you.”
“Why would you protect me?” He asks, confused.
She doesn’t answer, just turns and walks back into the cabin. Stiles blinks at the abruptness of her exit and runs after her, barreling into the cabin and stopping dead when he sees no one in there. She’s just gone.
He goes back to the rock and looks at the ring.
He looks back at the lake house.
With shaky hands, he pulls out his phone.
“I’m definitely done,” Chris groans out, in desperate need of a shower as he scrapes his hand over his face.
Peter’s also covered in sweat now and stretched out next to him, looking like a wet dream, a very satisfied wet dream by the smirk on his face.
“Alright, I’ll stop the torture,” he drawls, eyes closed.
Chris looks at him and can’t help himself, he leans over and kisses that smirk off his face, hard and demanding, loving how Peter goes pliant, loving how Peter seems to know when Chris wants to be pushed and when he wants to do the pushing.
“That’s not stopping,” Peter points out dryly when Chris pulls back.
He laughs and flops back, “No, no, I’m done, I swear.”
“You know, there’s a way to fix that stamina of yours?”
“Oh?”
“Can always just make you a werewolf,” Peter grins, bright and teasing.
Chris rolls his eyes, “Ask me again when I’m fifty,” and stills. Because that sounds awfully like ‘because we’ll definitely still be doing this in ten years’. “I didn’t mean-” he starts, sitting up against the headboard.
“I know,” Peter snorts, unworried.
“To be fair, I’ve never thought about relationships short-term before.” He was married for fifteen years.
“You never got to think about them long-term either, not really.”
Peter pulls himself up to sit next to him, shoulders pressed together.
“Did you?” His curiosity gets the best of him. Peter knows pretty much everything about Chris’ experiences with sex and relationships now. It feels a bit one-sided.
“What, think about relationships?” Peter makes a face around the word. “No, I was perfectly fine with having a new body in my bed every night.”
“Every night?” Chris asks dryly.
“Close enough,” Peter replies, unbothered.
“Not interested in something like that at all?” He doesn’t mean to pry or make it seem like he’s digging for something, like he’s asking for more than what he was promised. That is what it sounds like, though.
Peter sighs. “I liked the excitement of sleeping with strangers, of finding out what makes them tick, every night a new body to discover, a new personality to unveil.”
Chris stays quiet, waits, because Peter’s expression looks like he’s struggling with something.
“My sister fell in love. Madly so. They were perfect together, completed one another. Then James died, and Talia was never the same. And I looked at her, looked at what she lost and thought to myself… I don’t ever want to experience that. To get so entangled with another person that when they’re gone, you lose yourself too.”
Because Chris is keeping such a close eye on Peter’s face, he sees the exact moment of realization.
“Except that’s exactly what happened to me, isn’t it? My life revolved around Talia and now, with her gone… I’ll never be who I was back then. I’ll never get that back.”
Chris stares in wonder, as Peter’s eyes well up. But no, Peter grits his teeth, his eyes glow blue and the tears are gone, the grief gone and anger in its place.
He wants to say something, to comfort somehow but before he can even think of a single word to say, Peter’s phone vibrates on the floor.
Peter swiftly rises from the bed and leans down to grab it, frowning at what he sees. He then calls someone and waits.
“Everything alright?” His voice soft, concerned. A few seconds as he listens before he starts hurriedly pulling on his clothes. Chris moves to the edge of the bed in alarm at the other’s fast movements. Something must have happened. “Of course I’ll come, don’t worry about it. Text me your location and I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up.
“What’s going on?” Chris asks.
“The Alpha pack’s druid showed up at the lake house to have a little chat with Stiles. He’s fine,” Peter says hurriedly when he sees Chris standing up. “She literally just wanted to chat, apparently. But for obvious reasons, he’s shaken up about it so I’m going to go pick him up.”
“Want me to come with?” He offers.
Peter hesitates, putting on his belt as he stares at Chris, considering.
“Better if you don’t. Stiles doesn’t know about… this, yet.”
Chris watches as Peter finishes getting dressed, repeating that sentence in his head over and over again until he has to ask, “Wait, is there something actually going on between you two?”
Peter’s eyebrows fly high.
“Not physically,” is what he finally says.
Chris is staring at him, wondering what the hell that means, when Peter scoffs.
“Don’t give me that look. If anyone should understand how I feel about Stiles, it’s you.”
With that, Peter walks off.
Leaving Chris behind to remember all the moments he had with Stiles before Peter came back to Beacon Hills, all the moments where he noticed something he liked, something he admired, something he respected.
He imagines Peter and Stiles together and there is a clear pang of sharp jealousy.
But…
Who the hell is he jealous of?
Peter is still shaking off remnants of the realization he had in Chris’ bed when he pulls up at the lake house. He focuses, nose finding Stiles easily, sitting awkwardly on a large rock by the lakeshore.
“Thanks for coming,” Stiles says when he comes closer but Peter doesn’t say anything back because he has to take a moment to calm down his wolf, his anger.
“Who hit you?” He asks, sharper than he intended.
Stiles blinks, looking surprised for some reason and then he reaches up a hand to touch the swollen area around his eye, wincing, as if he’d forgotten about it.
“Just some guy, don’t know his name even.”
“Why did he hit you?” Peter tries another question then.
“He was harassing some girl, I stepped in, took a punch to the face, Scott stepped in, then Cora, so everything ended up fine.”
Peter nods, tries to ease the tension in his jaw. Just a fight at a party. Things like that happen.
“Want me to take you home?”
“Actually,” Stiles fiddles with something in his pocket. Peter can tell he’s nervous. “I was wondering if you’d take me back to the pack house.”
“If that’s what you want,” Peter says easily.
“Yeah,” Stiles stands up, scratches his head. “It is.”
“Then let’s go.”
Stiles spends the drive texting Lydia, his dad and Scott about where he’s going so no one gets worried.
“Is Lydia going to be alright by herself?”
“Yeah, we surrounded the house with mountain ash just in case.”
“Aren’t you going to run out of it soon?”
Stiles snorts, “Allison said that Chris is going to have to start ordering in bulk.”
Peter hears the name and remembers what it sounded like coming out of his mouth as a moan, when Chris took him from behind. Already he’s itching to go back, to stay in that bed and that’s not right. That’s not what this is supposed to be so he makes the decision there and then that he’ll get a bit of distance. He won’t go over there the second he hears Allison’s gone from the house like he did tonight.
“She said something really weird,” Stiles says suddenly, fiddling around in his pocket again.
“What?”
“She said she feels responsible, for everything that’s happened. And she said she’s sorry for not protecting me from Blake.”
Peter processes that silently.
“That’s weird, right?” Stiles presses. “How can she be responsible for anything other than the attack at the school? And why would she want to protect me?”
“It is strange,” Peter agrees.
Stiles settles in and keeps fiddling.
When they get to the house, Peter can hear all three of his family members sleeping in their rooms. Stiles is already walking towards the monstrosity of a couch that Laura bought when Peter grabs his elbow.
“You can sleep in my room.”
“Wha-?” Stiles gapes at him, wide-eyed.
“The bed’s big enough for four people, I think we can manage to share it, don’t you?” He knows he’s teasing, he knows he should stop.
Stiles blushes a little and nods.
“Yeah, that’s- Thanks. I’ll be honest, the first time I saw that bed of yours? I wanted to crawl in, immediately.”
“It’s even better than it looks,” he smirks. He leads them to his room and goes to his drawers to pull out pajama pants and a T-shirt. He hands them over to Stiles, who takes them gingerly. He figures it’s best to let Stiles settle in alone. “I’ll take a shower, there’s another bathroom down the hall with guest toothbrushes in the cabinet.”
“Oh thank god, my mouth tastes like ass already,” Stiles hurries off.
Peter takes a long shower, needing the time to wash off Chris, to try and get rid of the scent of him, so he can clear his head, so he can focus on Stiles.
When he gets back to his room, toweling his hair, Stiles is in bed, sitting against the headboard, so close to the edge that Peter’s sure he’ll fall of if he gets startled.
“There’s plenty of bed left,” he points out, tossing the towel onto an armchair.
“I’m good,” Stiles says, fiddling with the blankets.
Peter smirks, amused at how nervous Stiles is. He climbs in on the other side and moves himself to the middle of the bed. From Stiles’ sharp intake of breath, he figures he thought Peter would stay on “his side”.
“Good night,” he says, closing his eyes.
He feels Stiles shift. Feels him fidget. Then feels him slide closer. His eyes snap open and he turns his head, Stiles freezing mid-motion, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Especially with those eyes of his. Peter lets his gaze run over the face so close to his own, to take it all in, to appreciate it, before he says, “What are you doing?”
Stiles bites down on his lower lip, “Uh…”
Peter turns onto his side, facing Stiles with his whole body now.
“I’m sorry, I’m drunk. I just…” Stiles looks down at Peter’s chest. “I just wanted something, I guess.”
Oh the ache in Stiles’ voice. Peter wants to help him, wants to make him feel better. But he knows that things are messy now. Maybe Stiles should know that too, to have the full picture.
“I’m sleeping with Chris,” he says slowly. Breathes in slowly, trying to catch every change in the other’s scent that he can. At first Stiles just looks confused.
“Uh…” And then shocked as he processes what he just heard.
And then…
“You’re sad,” Peter says, sitting up, eyes locked onto Stiles’ face.
Stiles snorts and sits up too, crosses his arms in front of his chest. “No, I’m-”
“Stiles,” Peter says softly.
Stiles shakes his head, at himself or at Peter, the man can’t tell.
“I don’t think I read this wrong, did I?” He gestures between them, refusing to lock eyes with Peter.
“You didn’t,” Peter admits. Because what’s the point of lying, that would just hurt more.
“So is it the age thing? Because I mean… I get it, Chris is… Chris, he’s your age-”
“I mean I’m younger than him but sure,” Peter interrupts and gets a glare, which means Stiles looks at him and that’s what he wanted.
Stiles pauses, eyes flying over Peter’s face before he looks away again. “I just… I wish I was older,” he mutters.
He looks so dejected. And he can’t let it hang like this, can’t let Stiles think that he somehow chose Chris over him, can’t let him think he’s not good enough.
He knows he shouldn’t, he knows, he knows, and yet, “We’re not exclusive.”
Stiles stares at him, nonplussed.
“What?”
“Considering everything going on right now, I haven’t made any promises to him. And I won’t make any to you either.” He watches as Stiles frowns, working that out in his head. And then a slow blush that spreads from cheeks to neck to maybe lower.
“Are you talking about… casual sex or something?”
“Or something,” Peter says, not liking the first phrase. “Chris and I have fun. That’s what I can offer you too.”
Fun. Such a simple word he’s chosen to hide behind, to use as a shield. This is all just for fun, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t.
Stiles looks like his brain has stopped working.
“It’s just something to think about, an option,” Peter continues. “We’re not doing anything before your birthday anyway.”
“Right,” Stiles says slowly, eyes unfocused. “Sheriff’s son and all that.”
“And I don’t think I’ll get tired of repeating this, he has already shot me once.”
That seems to wake Stiles up somewhat as he quirks an eyebrow at him.
“If you think something as arbitrary as my birthday will make him okay with his son having sex with a guy in his thirties… you don’t know him at all.”
Peter pouts, “You don’t think he’ll invite me over for a family dinner so he can give me the shovel talk while you’re in the bathroom?”
“He’s more likely to come after you with a shovel,” Stiles drawls, squinting at him.
“Looking forward to that,” Peter grins and Stiles looks away, nervous again.
Suddenly, Laura’s voice reaches him, “Please, for the love of god, go to sleep now.”
Followed by Derek’s, “Seconded, I’m tired of gagging.”
And then Cora’s, “I can’t believe you’re actually sleeping with Allison’s dad, like what the hell?”
“Good night, people!” Laura growls at all of them.
Peter feels a headache coming on, remembering a time when he had his own apartment and sweet, sweet privacy.
Stiles is deep in thought so he yelps in surprise when Peter slides closer and pulls him down, shifting them around until he has Stiles under his arm, spooning him from a somewhat safe distance.
“Time to sleep.”
Stiles pats at the arm around his waist. “This will not help me sleep.”
“It will if you just empty that brain of yours,” he promises.
“Have you met my brain?” Stiles exclaims.
And then proceeds to fidget. While smelling faintly of arousal.
“Stop thinking about my dick and breathe deeper,” Peter murmurs to him. He expects stammering or some kind of a denial but Stiles surprises him.
“Shut up. I was thinking about Chris’ anyway.”
Peter blinks at the back of Stiles’ head, at the smugness radiating from him.
“Oh that’s fine then,” he says sarcastically.
“Speaking of, you’ve seen it, what-”
“I’m never having that discussion with you. Now, one more word and I’m kicking you to the couch.”
Silence.
Stiles tries to breathe deep, succeeds after a few minutes and starts to drift off.
Peter suddenly wants assurance, “Tell me if you actually want me to pull away and I’ll pull away.”
Stiles curls his hand around Peter’s and pulls him in tighter.
“It’s fine. Cozy,” he mumbles.
Peter feels so charmed by him, it’s ridiculous. Stiles falls asleep first and it takes Peter an hour to follow.
Stiles wakes up slightly overheated but comfortable, feeling like he’s spread out on a cloud, surrounded by a smell he could only describe as Peter.
“Fuck,” he mumbles because his eye's swollen and painful. He raises his head, the hangover kicking in as soon as he moves. He’s alone and the sun is shining brightly through the curtains. He yawns, reaching over to the bedside table for his phone. Sees that it’s one p.m. Saturday, and that no one has called or texted him except for his dad who demanded a sign of life as soon as he re-joined the land of the living. He sends his dad a puking emoji. He doesn’t think he’ll actually puke but he doesn’t feel awesome, that’s for sure.
He stumbles out of bed and heads for the bathroom, grabbing along the toothbrush he has claimed as his. In the hallway, he bumps into Derek who seems to be heading out with the way he’s dressed.
“Hey, good to see you up and about, man,” Stiles tells him, voice rough, and pats the man’s shoulder.
Derek looks stunned, “You too,” he offers, nodding, before walking off.
Stiles hears voices from the kitchen and what sounds like TV but first goes to freshen himself up. He is taking a shower, he doesn’t care whose towel or products he’s using, he needs it.
Half an hour later, he heads to the kitchen, hair wet and breath minty fresh. Peter’s sitting at the dining table, on his laptop. Laura’s making an omelet by the smell of it. And Cora’s sitting on the huge fur-covered couch, Xbox remote in hand, playing what Stiles thinks is the newest Doom game. He watches her tear a demon apart with Doomguy’s hands before shaking his head at himself and continuing.
“Hey!” He greets all of them, voice slightly less rough than before.
He sits down next to Peter who gives him a small smile before going back to his screen.
Laura comes over with a plate that has an omelet, fried potatoes and bacon on it. She places it as well as a mug of coffee right in front of him.
“Thank you!” He says, surprised.
“Eat up, Cora needs a playmate,” she pats his shoulder and goes off somewhere, maybe to her own room.
Stiles starts eating, but slows down and down until he’s just holding his fork, not doing anything with it. Because his mind is elsewhere. Because he’s staring at Peter, gorgeous, dangerous Peter, who offered him casual. sex. (Or something?)
Sleepy-looking, stubble-covered Peter, who is already having casual sex with Chris. His sober brain is flying at the speed of light through images and questions and what have they even done? Have they sucked each other off? A memory of two guys grinding against each other at the lake house. Have they done that? Have they done more!? Everything?
Fuck.
Fuck.
He’s jealous. He feels left out, oddly. But he also… gets it?
The more he pictures them together, the more they seem like puzzle pieces that fit. An Argent and a Hale. Truly, a romance for the history books. Except it’s not a romance, it’s casual because Peter doesn’t want a romance.
Peter doesn’t want a romance.
Now that… that Stiles is sad about.
“What on earth are you thinking about?” Peter asks, looking up from his laptop.
Stiles blushes and continues eating. “You can probably guess.”
“You went through so many emotions, I was getting whiplash just from the smell of them.”
“It’s a lot to process,” Stiles glares at him. Now he feels angry suddenly. Mad that Peter just sprung this on him when he wasn’t in his right mind. Although what difference would it make if Peter told him now, when he’s sober. No, it would still be mind-boggling.
Who is the bottom? Or do they switch around? Peter seems versatile, Stiles wonders about Chris-
“Stiles,” Peter sounds amused.
“I’m not imagining it!” He blurts out and groans at himself. “Don’t,” he snaps at the sight of Peter’s grin and stands up. “Cora, you got anything we can play together?”
“Hell yeah!”
If he’s actually going to consider this, whatever this would be, he needs some distance. He needs to figure out what it actually is that he wants from Peter. Because right now, he’s got no clue.
Chapter 13: moody
Chapter Text
The first thing he sees when he wakes up is Stiles’ face. During the night, in his sleep, Stiles must have turned around. It’s not until Peter’s studying the fully relaxed expression that he realizes how alert Stiles usually is, face constantly in motion, eyes focused and changing shape at whoever’s speaking or going far away, distant, as his brain works overtime. One of Stiles’ hands with those evermoving fingers is resting in between them, the other one out of sight, Stiles himself half on his stomach, Peter’s arm still over his waist.
He removes that arm now to gently trace the shape of Stiles’ hand, the length of his fingers, his touch feather-light but apparently not light enough, because Stiles frowns and his hand flies up to hit Peter’s jaw, pushing him back before turning over and mumbling, “Five more minutes.”
Peter glares at the back of Stiles’ head and finds him adorable, annoyingly so.
He remembers what he offered Stiles last night and feels suddenly tired. He’s complicating things further, getting attached left and right, Talia's surely laughing at him in her grave. Except… Peter sits up and looks around warily, thinking back to visiting Lydia at the hospital and her saying Talia was there. Was she just an impression, a memory that Lydia latched onto or is she haunting him? Or maybe she is haunting Lydia, since the banshee got shown Talia’s death, her cry for vengeance. He sincerely hopes his sister’s resting and not following him around, judging his choices.
Peter gets out of bed, immediately wanting to go back in and push his nose against the nape of Stiles’ neck, pull him into his arms and doze off together. Twice in less than twenty-four hours, he doesn’t want to leave a bed because of the person in it.
He needs something else to focus on.
Thankfully, he’s not the only one awake - Laura and Derek are both up and having breakfast.
“It’s eight, why are you up?” He asks Derek as he gets himself some coffee. Or well, tries to. The second his fingers reach for the huge French press, full of delicious-smelling nectar of the Gods, Laura slaps them away.
“I still need that. You can make your own,” she reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a tiny replica of her coffee press and places it before him.
Peter stares at it for a second, “How long are you going to continue with this gag?”
“Until I’m no longer the Alpha,” she smirks at him, leaning back down onto the counter, cradling her enormous cup, that a non-werewolf would probably have a harder time holding while it’s full of liquid.
“I have a job interview,” Derek says, scrolling through something on his phone.
“On Saturday?”
“They need someone on Monday,” Laura says, looking like she’s trying not to laugh. Derek glares at her. Peter’s intrigued.
“What job?”
Derek sighs heavily, “The librarian at the school.”
Peter understands Laura’s expression now.
“Ah. Well. Interesting choice.”
“I like books, I have a bachelor’s in literature and I did do a course on information science. I also like it when it’s quiet, so yeah, library,” Derek frowns self-consciously.
Peter taps at the counter, studying his nephew.
“Did you hear the rumours?”
Derek raises an eyebrow in reply.
Laura picks up the thread, “The other guy was apparently dating like four high schoolers in secret.”
Derek look surprised.
“Oh, but what does that have to do with me?”
“You’ll be the new hot librarian,” Peter smirks at him. “I don’t know how… quiet your days are going to be there.”
“Groups of girls and boys will be hanging out, hoping you’ll scowl at them,” Laura says dreamily.
“Some will proposition you,” Peter continues.
“And some will probably even cause mischief just to get your attention,” Laura finishes up, reaching forward to pat pale-faced Derek on the cheek. “You’re going back to high school.”
He looks down at his phone in horror, “Should I not go?”
“Despite the problems with the location of the library, if that’s what you want to do, then go,” Peter says seriously. “The students’ excitement will dim, I’m sure.”
Derek still looks hesitant.
“Just, if you do accept anyone’s offer, make sure you don’t break the law.”
Derek glares, “Oh like you wanted to do last night?”
“Boys,” Laura snorts, holding a hand up to each of them.
Peter shrugs, “Exactly.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gets up. “I’m going to go get changed and head out.”
They watch him go, Laura with a lot more fondness for sure. “Want me to make you some breakfast?”
“Please.”
Peter’s immensely grateful for the fact that not only does Laura love cooking, providing for her pack, she’s also extremely skilled at it. In New York, she worked part-time as a sous-chef just for fun because they don’t actually need the money. This is the first time that Derek’s shown any interest in getting a job of his own. Peter’s sure that Laura’s actually very proud of her brother, and in some ways relieved. Showing an interest in the outside world and wanting a part in it, is a good sign, a sign of healing.
“We should also discuss last night,” Laura says as she opens the fridge.
Peter starts making his coffee but gives her a wary glance, waiting for her to continue.
“You’re planning an illicit affair with the Sheriff’s son,” she turns on the stove.
“Illicit affair? Have you been reading regency romance again?”
Laura waves her hand at him.
“Do you think you’re asking too much of him?”
“Too much? I’m literally not asking for anything,” Peter frowns.
“What I mean is,” Laura gestures vaguely, “He’ll be eighteen and from what I gather, new to relationships and whatnot. And his best friend is in a long-term relationship with another best friend… He’ll probably want dates and gifts and-”
“You’re one to talk about what an eighteen-year-old might want,” Peter interrupts dryly, leaving his coffee to brew and giving her his full attention. “By age seventeen, you had slept with half of your classmates,” he points out, enjoying the sharp daggers she glares at him.
“I’m not a good example,” she grumbles, putting bacon on a hot pan, the sizzling sound causing drool to gather in Peter’s mouth as a Pavlovian response.
“But you are an example,” he tells her. He does get what she means, though. It’s something he’s worried about too, that Stiles is going to end up disappointed with whatever Peter offers him. To be fair, even when he was eighteen himself, he wouldn’t have wanted those things that Laura mentioned, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone’s boyfriend. But back then, he’d never been fascinated by anyone the way he is by both Stiles and Chris, so… who’s to say?
Laura sighs, “Just make sure you don’t pressure him into anything he’s not actually ready for. I like the kid.”
“I will,” Peter promises and whole-heartedly means it.
“Alright, that conversation was necessary because I need you to know that what I’m about to do next is not me condoning your decisions or saying ‘hey, have a place where you can fuck in private’, okay?”
Peter narrows his eyes at her, “Okay…”
“Okay,” she pulls out a set of keys from a nearby drawer. “Here, your apartment is all dust-free now.”
Peter accepts them and then stares at them in his hand, completely stunned.
“You kept it?”
“Yeah, used your storage for the furniture and the books and kept the lease going. I’m surprised you never asked about it.”
“I figured you sold all of it,” Peter admits. He’d been afraid to ask, didn’t want to hear her tell him his collection was all gone, probably sold to people who didn’t even fully understand what they possessed.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Laura frowns at him. “I knew you’d come back to me and that place was always your home away from home. And I know how valuable those books are to our community. Not to mention, some of them were gifts from mom.”
One of those gifts was a collection of druid myths and legends, some of those myths intersecting with the tales that werewolves have been passing down for generations. He’s been wanting to get his hands on it again ever since Deucalion said this town is a legend in the making, because maybe he can find some clues as to what is going on with everything, including Stiles.
Having these familiar keys in his hand again, his apartment, his mailbox, his storage locker and his safe - it’s making him emotional. That’s twice in twenty-four hours that he’s felt like crying. But he manages not to, clenches the keys tight.
“Thank you,” he tells her, voice soft.
She pauses in scrambling the eggs, hopefully not ruining them, to stare at him in surprise. “You’re welcome. I assume you’ll want to check the place out, so there’s a thermos for you in one of the cupboards, if you want your coffee to go.”
The thermos she’s talking about sits next to another thermos mug that’s twice the size of his and a glossy Alpha red. He glances at Laura, sees her smirk to herself proudly and oddly enough, feels proud of her too.
“Thanks. But I think I’ll stay for now, until Stiles wakes up.”
Derek walks by the kitchen and heads for the door.
“Good luck!” Laura yells at him.
When his nephew is gone, Peter waits for a bit to make sure Derek can’t hear him before he asks, “What about Victoria?”
Laura grimaces at him. “It’s one of the reasons I want him there, I don’t like the idea of Cora and Scott being accessible to her. Derek’s older and stronger and he has the best hearing out of all of us. He can make sure that Argent’s not up to something.”
“You sure Victoria will let him get the job?”
Laura shrugs, “I don’t know, I’ve never understood how that woman’s mind works.”
“Yeah,” Peter’s thoughts go back to Chris hovering over him, hesitating, looking lost, to the words ‘Victoria threatened to take Allison away from me if I embarrassed her like that ever again’ and says, “Me neither.”
Derek’s back before Stiles wakes up. At that point, Cora’s playing her videogame and Laura’s making herself meal-plans, writing down all the different things she wants to cook next week and making a grocery list so she doesn’t forget anything essential. She’s browsing through some recipe blogs for new ideas, while Peter’s browsing through a certain supernatural forum that he knows is run by actual practising witches, looking for any potential interesting purchases. He hasn’t been on this forum at all since waking up because the state of his collection was unknown in his mind and the thought of starting over from scratch was painful.
Now that he knows that everything’s safe and still his, he feels the need to celebrate with… maybe this legitimate-looking journal from a sixteenth century French alchemist, who according to the seller, experimented with and made discoveries about various different supernatural blood types.
They both look up from their screens to see Derek looking… odd.
“Did you get it?” Laura asks carefully.
“Yeah,” Derek says and then looks surprised. “I did.”
“Okay,” Laura goes up to her brother and tries to get him to meet her gaze. “Everything good?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” Derek makes a face of utter revulsion. “I have to go shopping.”
“What?” Laura blinks at him and Peter turns in his chair, curious.
“They didn’t like my…” Derek gestures at his leather jacket and ripped jeans ensemble.
Laura covers her mouth, but her amusement is clear from the way her eyes wrinkle. “They didn’t like your clothes?”
Derek sighs, “No.”
Peter also covers his mouth and turns back to his laptop, “Make sure you get some nice sweater vests.”
“Maybe you should also get some fake glasses,” Laura suggests. “You know, lean into the sexy-librarian thing.”
Peter snorts.
Derek goes to his room, moody as hell.
Peter perks up when he hears Stiles cursing to himself. He pays attention and follows him, hears him talk to Derek and then take a shower. When he finally gets to the dining table, hair still wet, smelling clean but still like Stiles, Peter forces himself to stare at his screen, not wanting to make the boy uncomfortable after last night’s discussion.
But then he can smell so many things coming from him, arousal, jealousy, frustration, anxiety and then, the one that makes him look up, because he hates smelling it on Stiles, sadness.
“What on earth are you thinking about?”
“You can probably guess.”
Stiles is blushing now, embarrassed. A part of Peter, a part he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to keep him here forever. Which is insane and something he could get arrested for so, he tries to focus back on the purchase he’s about to make.
But he can’t help pointing out, “You went through so many emotions, I was getting whiplash just from the smell of them.”
“It’s a lot to process,” Stiles glares at him, eyes shiny with anger and the anger is also there in his scent now. Except it doesn’t take long for it to once again get clouded over by faint arousal.
“Stiles,” he tries to snap him out of whatever he’s thinking, amused at the range of emotions Stiles is having, while hungover no less.
“I’m not imagining it!”
He grins in surprise and gets a sharp “Don’t!” before Stiles goes to join Cora.
Peter listens to them have an easy conversation while playing together, enjoys the sound of both his niece and his… other pack-mate having a good time, a warm feeling in his chest at hearing them get along so well, and he completely forgets to make an offer on the journal. When he finally thinks to refresh the page, it’s gone.
“I think she is mad at me for leaving,” Stiles is saying, looking at his phone.
“She’ll get over it once you explain everything,” Cora says, putting on her jacket.
Apparently all of them promised Lydia to help out with the cleaning so now, closer to evening than afternoon, they’re finally heading over there. Peter’s still browsing the forum on his laptop but listening closely to everything they’re saying.
“Yeah- wait,” Stiles pauses and Cora waits patiently. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Oh my god!”
“What!?”
“I left her in a house surrounded by mountain ash!”
“Yeah? It was just a precaution, right?”
“Now I’m going to tell her that I saw the druid who likes to blow away mountain ash right there, at the lake.”
“Oh, like you could’ve protected her from the Alpha pack if they wanted in, sure. But just… blame it on the alcohol,” Cora snorts and heads out.
Peter expects Stiles to follow her but instead hears him coming towards the dining table. He looks up and is suddenly struck by just how attractive he finds him. Gorgeous, is the word he’d use. Maybe he’ll share that opinion with Stiles one day, maybe it’ll make him blush.
“So, I’ll… see you around,” Stiles says awkwardly and then bumps his fist against Peter’s arm. Then pats his shoulder. Then holds up his hand as if telling himself to stop.
Peter opens his mouth.
“Nope,” and Stiles is out the door.
He fears he may have caused brain damage.
Stiles’ dad sighs loud and long when he sees his black eye.
“What the hell happened?”
“Some dudes were harassing a girl,” is all that Stiles tells him, shrugging.
Noah gets an odd look on his face, almost pained, before he clasps Stiles on the shoulder and says, “Proud of you, kid.”
“Be proud of yourself. You’re the one who raised me to be an idiot who rushes into bad situations without considering the consequences!”
“…Want your painkillers back?”
“Please.”
Stiles wakes up the next day in a mood. When he blinks his eyes open, the silence makes his ears ring as he stares at the wall, head empty. He doesn’t feel like getting up. He doesn’t feel like going through with the plan he made up in his head last night, he doesn’t want to deal with druids and werewolves anymore. He’d like to wake up sixteen and sad about his uneventful birthday.
But no, taking the years away is more than just taking away the bad, it’s also taking away the good. His friendship with Lydia would’ve probably never happened. He wouldn’t have Peter (and he wouldn’t be so close to getting Peter, which is a brain-melting thought). He wouldn’t know Cora. And he wouldn’t have gotten so close to Chris.
But then again, he thinks, if he still had a normal life, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. And maybe he would’ve made other connections, maybe he would’ve asked Heather out on a date, maybe-
He groans and covers his face with a pillow. Half of him doesn’t want to go to Deaton’s at all, doesn’t want to ask the questions burning in his mind, doesn’t want to keep digging into the supernatural world, to understand it.
But the other half… loves it. Loves seeing the big picture, loves knowing what most other people don’t. It’s just that today, for the first time in a long time, the first half is domineering over the latter.
It takes him an hour to get out of bed, and it’s really his bladder that does it in the end.
His dad’s already back at work so he has a quick snack before getting dressed and heading out. He doesn’t feel like digging into it but he also hates not understanding peoples’ motivations or having his glimpse of the big picture messed with. And he wants to figure something out by himself. Especially this thing with the Nemeton, because this is his, his problem, his unique situation, that half the people in his life don’t really understand.
When Deaton opens the door to his house, he’s stunned to see him.
“Stiles, how are you?”
“Good, healed, well, healing,” Stiles shrugs a little.
“And this?” Deaton gestures around his own eye.
“Oh, just a little fight at a party,” he clears his throat nervously. “Can I come in to talk for a bit?”
Deaton studies him cautiously. After a moment, he steps to the side and gestures for Stiles to get in.
“Would you like something to drink?” Deaton asks as he follows Stiles to the kitchen.
“No, I’m good,” he brushes aside the awkward pleasantries and rounds on him, “How do you know Ms. Morrell?”
Deaton looks sincerely caught off guard.
“Marin? She’s my sister, why do you ask?”
Now Stiles is the one caught off guard, “Are you serious? The Alpha pack’s pet druid is your sister? The woman who helped Ennis bit Scott!?” He’s getting angrier with every word that comes out of his mouth. He’s also starting to question the wisdom of his decision to come here alone. He thought Deaton was one of the good guys.
Deaton looks away, sighing.
“I knew she was up to something, but I didn’t know that she was working with Deucalion,” he says.
“What, you don’t talk?”
“Not as much as we used to,” he admits.
Stiles studies him, his impassive face and tense shoulders, wonders if he should be running already.
But he came here for a reason.
“What do you think of this?” He pulls out the ring Morrell gave him and holds it out towards Deaton who doesn’t have the immediate reaction that Stiles was hoping for.
“It’s a Celtic knot ring,” Deaton says. “These days it’s often associated with marriages and love but the knots themselves were also symbols for protection against evil.”
Stiles squints at him. “Yeah, I know all that. But does this feel… different to you?” He shakes the ring at him.
Deaton looks up at him warily, but does reach out and take the ring into his own hand. Then, Stiles gets the reaction he was hoping for. The man frowns and stares at the ring with an intensity, Stiles hasn’t seen from him before.
“It’s imbued with a protection ritual. To guard the wearer against curses.”
Stiles takes a second to shake his head at what he just heard, because what is his life anymore that he’s standing here, with his best friend’s boss, the owner of the town’s Animal Clinic, talking about magic.
“Okay, that’s what she said it does. So it’s okay for me to wear?” He takes it back, fiddles with it.
“Marin gave you this?” Deaton looks confused.
“Yeah, that’s… another reason why I’m here. I hoped you know her because she hinted at knowing you but… now I know you’re siblings, so you must have some answers for me.”
“I’ll do my best but like I said, we don’t talk that much anymore.”
“She said she feels responsible, for everything. And she came to talk to me, when I was alone. And she was sorry she didn’t protect me from Blake.” Stiles lays it all out and watches the man’s expression closely.
Deaton remains frustratingly impassive.
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I don’t know why she’d say those things or why she’d care enough to give you this,” he gestures at the ring. “My sister wasn’t happy when I became Talia’s emissary. She didn’t like the idea of being bound to a pack and she thought the bond between Talia and the Nemeton was dangerous, the beginning of something this town might not survive.”
“The beginning of it… waking up?”
Deaton tilts his head, “Yes. Exactly. She moved away, to Canada. Around five years ago she came back to become a teacher here. We’ve had a few conversations but… I don’t know her anymore.”
Stiles feels sympathy for him, imagining what it’d be like to grow that distant from someone like Scott for example, whom he considers his brother in every way that counts.
“Thanks for telling me,” Stiles sighs, not having gotten any of the real answers that he was looking for. “You think I should wear it?” He fiddles with the ring.
“It’s good protection, strong. Her magic has always been…” Deaton looks down, “Strong.”
Stiles wonders if that’s nostalgia, regret or envy he sees but doesn’t ask.
He puts on the ring. It’s too tight on his index finger so he tries the middle one and it fits snugly.
“Now I can flip people off in style, I guess,” he says sarcastically, the knot probably making him look even more like a nerd.
“Do you feel anything coming off it?”
“No, why?” Stiles asks, nervous.
“I was just curious. If you did, it would make you magically… inclined.”
Stiles stares down at his hand, feeling oddly betrayed.
“I’m surrounded by werewolves, banshees and druids and all I have is this little ring.”
A moment of silence.
“I can also give you a stick.”
Stiles looks up at him.
“What?”
The stick turns out to be an actual stick. A rustic mountain-walking/hiking stick that comes up to his waist. It’s made out light-coloured rowan wood and has the letter Luis on it, which Deaton tells him is from the Ogham alphabet, which Stiles responds with, ‘Yes, I know, I’ve googled druid stuff, remember?’.
It’s apparently meant for protection, a deterrent against supernatural creatures, just like the mountain ash is, but not an actual weapon.
“You won’t injure them with this, not in any meaningful way. It’ll hurt them and maybe that will give you a chance to escape.”
Stiles holds it in both hands and tries doing the kind of moves he’s seen Gabrielle do in Xena: Warrior Princess (his mom’s favourite show, and honestly, one of his too) and almost smacks himself in the face. Deaton has taken a few steps back to gain a safe distance from the flailing disaster in his living room. Stiles feels a little embarrassed and lowers the staff, as he now decides to call it, stick is just not a cool name for a weapon. And he is considering this a weapon, despite what Deaton might say, since it’s the only thing that he has.
“How is this different from me swinging a baseball bat, though?” He asks, considers that he’d probably be more accurate and faster with the bat since he’s used to wielding that, to swinging it. The thing he is holding in his hands right now is a complete stranger, the balance of it is off-putting, the length and weight of it is just not working for him at all.
“The letter, the wood, both are magic,” Deaton says simply.
Stiles raises his eyebrows, “So it’s a magic staff?”
“In a way. You can’t control the magic in it because it has a definitive purpose to its design, its creation. It causes pain to any supernatural creature who comes in contact with it, the same way they’d feel pain if they tried to break through an ash barrier. Your bat? Would cause no pain at all, would barely make an impact.”
“You don’t think I can swing hard enough to make an impact?” Stiles asks, offended.
“Without supernatural strength? No.”
He sighs, “Fine. Thank you for this, I guess,” he grumbles, swishing the staff around and this time one end of it does smack into his forehead. He stands still for a second, “That didn’t happen.”
“Of course it didn’t,” Deaton’s kind enough to go with it. “Also, that staff is valuable. So, despite your lack of enthusiasm, I hope you at least take care of it and definitely don’t lose it. Please.”
Stiles stares down at the staff (even Deaton called it a staff now, so that’s official), grips it tighter and nods. “I promise. I get that you did a lot for me today, so seriously, thanks. I just hoped… hoped for more,” he takes one hand off the staff and lets it rest on the ground.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the answers you seek.”
“Also Scott said that you’ve been helping him too, answering all the questions he’s too embarrassed to ask the Hales.”
“I’m happy to be a source of information for him. His experience is very different from the Hales, since they’re born wolves and don’t really understand the change that Scott’s dealing with.”
“Yeah,” Stiles taps the staff on the ground, likes the sound of it, does it again, smiles up at Deaton who doesn’t look amused at all, so he stops. “Thanks again, I’ll get out of your hair now.” He glances at Deaton’s bald head. “I didn’t mean-”
“Goodbye, Stiles.”
He clears his throat, “Bye!”
He manages to break two things with the staff on his way out. This is going to take some time to get used to.
He’s staring at his phone and fighting the urge to call Peter, to invite him over, when it vibrates in his hand. Seeing Victoria’s name causes a sinking feeling in his gut.
“Yes?”
“I have an assignment for you. A sale, as well as an exchange of services in Mexico.”
Chris glares at the wall. “And you think I’m following your orders because?”
“You need money for that house, Chris. Don’t forget who hired you.”
“Allison needs this house, you’re really going to threaten leaving your daughter without a home?”
“She won’t be without a home, because she’ll have me. The Calaveras will be expecting you tomorrow evening, I’ve sent all of the info and the tickets to your email.”
Calavera. Hunters.
“What’s the exchange of services about?”
“They’re sending us men. Araya does not like the Alpha pack settling in here any more than we do.”
“Isn’t Gerard also bringing more men?”
“Calaveras’ men will replace the ones I’ve lost.”
“To the twins.”
“And last night. Two of them didn’t return this morning and their car was found abandoned.”
Chris sighs, remembers that Deucalion basically warned them that this would happen. More dead hunters. But he was also worried about how much attention the attack at the school attracted, so hopefully, he’s being more discreet about his next movements.
“No bodies so far?” He asks, just to be sure.
“No, and no signs of blood either. They think they’re being clever now.”
Victoria sounds angry, in the way she always does. Cold, calm, deadly.
“Fine, what time’s the flight? I could just drive.”
“You are driving. But you’re flying to Paris from there, for another sale where I need you to finish the negotiations.”
The illegal part of their business has always weighed on him but he’s been left out of it for the last three years, having been granted the distance he asked for. Now he guesses, his “vacation” is done and his family expects him to do his part again.
Not for the first time in the last few days, he imagines Peter tearing out Victoria’s throat, the way he did Kate’s. If it weren’t for Allison, and her complicated yet still existing bond with her mother, he’d probably enjoy seeing that.
“Kate’s funeral is soon,” he reminds her.
“No, it’s been postponed. We’re not having her funeral until Gerard’s here. Now start packing,” she hangs up.
“Thank you for coming,” Laura reaches out a hand and Deaton accepts it, shaking it amicably.
“I’m here for Scott,” He feels the need to clarify, which makes Peter snort.
When the man glances his way, he quirks an eyebrow at him, “I’m aware of your tendency to be someone’s emissary rather than the pack’s. Except, Laura’s the Alpha here and if this is going to work, your loyalty needs to be with her as well, not just Scott.”
Deaton looks at Laura, “Loyalty is earned. But of course, I’ll follow your lead, as I did Talia’s.”
She seems unbothered, just smiles gratefully at him and gestures towards the living room area.
“Scott will be here soon, but I wanted us to talk first.”
“Alright,” Deaton agrees readily.
“Namely about the lunar eclipse,” Peter says.
“You’d like me to offer protection? I can try but I haven’t been practising for a while so I can’t promise anything powerful.”
Laura looks disappointed, “We do want protection, yes. The same kind that the Alpha pack has right now, so we can move around and look for them without them knowing it.”
Deaton pauses, glancing between them.
“You want to go after them? You’ll be weaker too, there’s no point.”
“It’s more like, we want to make sure someone else is going after them.”
“Which means?”
“Blake, the darach, said she’ll return on the lunar eclipse to kill the Alpha pack with the power she got from drinking Stiles’ blood,” Laura manages to condense everything into one sentence.
Deaton looks angry as he glares at Peter, “You let her finish it?”
“She is our best shot at dealing with Deucalion.”
“From everything you told me, she is extremely dangerous, even more so than the Alpha pack.”
“I don’t deny that,” And Peter doesn’t. He’s aware that if the woman wished to she could sweep the town clear of werewolves, and the way she treated Stiles hints at a darkness that might mean she’d kill them all just for… fun. “But I couldn’t exactly stop her either. She was already powerful when she got here.”
Deaton sighs, “This is a mess.”
“We need to keep an eye on things during the eclipse, do you think you can help us?” Laura insists.
“I can try. I’ll look into some possibilities and I’ll start practising again.”
“Thank you,” she says just as they both hear Scott arrive on his bike. “Now let’s get this pack party started!”
Peter rolls his eyes for there is no actual party, just a necessary formality. She offered Scott an official Beta position in his pack, said a bond needs to be created by them engaging in a werewolf custom, and then he’ll be better protected against Ennis. The Alpha could still call on him, force him to do his bidding but with Laura’s help, he’ll have a chance at fighting against the claim.
“Stiles really wanted to come,” Scott tells him a little while later.
“I’m sure, but this is pack business.”
“But isn’t he your pack?” He asks, confused.
“He is. But not Laura’s.”
“How does that work?”
Peter sighs, “You tell me, I have no idea.”
“Alright, let’s get this done!” Laura claps her hands and gestures for Scott to come to her.
The whole thing is simple, Laura asks Scott to keep his eyes on hers until she looks away first. Hers glow vibrant Alpha red and Scott’s glow amber in reaction, the way the kid gasps and blinks rapidly showing that he’s probably never felt that before. A few minutes of staring go by, with Peter standing close, Deaton somewhere in the background and Cora and Derek watching from further away in the kitchen. Then he feels it, a small warmth, a thread added to his pack, the tiniest of pulls between him and Scott.
Scott grabs at his chest, eyes wide, “Woah, that’s so weird,” he breathes out but keeps his eyes on Laura’s.
She’s smiling at the sensation of getting a new bond, a new Beta. And then she steps closer and her face shifts, harsh wrinkles, protruding bones and fangs all appearing in one head movement. She bares her teeth at Scott and her energy changes. It’s fierce enough that even Peter feels the force of it, almost bares his neck.
Scott tilts his head to the side, breathing faster now, scared.
Laura leans in closer and puts her teeth on his neck.
Peter can hear Scott gulp.
Then she steps back, his submission and trust having solidified the bond into something a bit more substantial. It’s still new, and weak but it will help ground him if Ennis comes calling.
Her face returns to normal and she beams at him, “Welcome to the Hale pack!”
Scott looks shaken but also a little relieved, “Thank you.”
“Now one last thing, you’ll have to change your name to Scott Hale,” Laura tells him seriously.
“What!?”
“No, I’m just kidding,” she snorts and waves towards the dining table. “Go get seated, everyone, I’ll get the food. It's Scott’s first pack dinner so let’s behave,” she glances at Cora who rolls her eyes.
Peter sees and hears Deaton go up to Scott, placing a hand on his cheek and checking his eyes.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, just…” Scott laughs nervously, “This is so strange.” He’s still rubbing at his chest.
“You’ll get used to it,” Deaton promises him and with a hand on Scott’s shoulder, leads him to the table.
Laura brings several dishes full of lasagne, sits down and then gestures at the food.
“Dig in!”
Later that night, Chris opens his door to find Peter there, looking annoyed.
“Allison’s home,” he says immediately.
Peter rolls his eyes and pushes inside without an invitation, “I’m not here to mess around, I’m here to ask what the hell is this?” Peter holds his phone up to him.
Chris raises his eyebrows at what he sees on Peter’s screen.
“A… text.” The text he sent an hour ago, saying ‘Leaving town for a bit, I’ll let you know when I’m back’.
“Yes. A text I didn’t deem worthy of a response even. Where are you going?”
It takes Chris a moment to find words, because he’s struck by Peter being here, in his space, the first time he’s seen the man since they had sex. He suddenly remembers the smell of Peter’s skin, what he felt like when Chris was inside him and the surge of want that rushes through him leaves his brain scattered.
“Mexico, then France.”
Peter’s studying his face, can no doubt tell exactly what’s on his mind.
“Argent business?”
Chris sighs, his family successfully banishing all thoughts of sex from his mind, “Yes.”
“I thought you didn’t want to work for them anymore? Or did I misunderstand all the shame and guilt you’ve been wrapped up in these past few weeks?”
This is something he’s beginning to understand about Peter. When the man feels caught off guard or emotional or powerless, he lashes out. He’s still learning how to handle Peter when he gets like this, though.
“You’re right. I don’t. But I’m still paying off this house and I’m officially working for Victoria as an arms dealer.”
Peter makes a face, “You could just get another job.”
“Says the person who’s never had to have one,” Chris says dryly, finally closing the front door, realizing that this is turning into a proper discussion.
“From what I hear, the Sheriff’s station is ridiculously understaffed.”
“If I stay in her… somewhat good graces, I’ll know more about what the hunters are planning,” Chris points out patiently.
Peter looks away, still annoyed. “I hate the thought of her having any control over you.”
Chris decides to see that as sweet and steps closer, turning Peter’s head back to face him with his hands, brushes his thumbs against stubble.
“Well, while you’re here,” he murmurs before closing the distance and kissing him slow and firm. Peter’s hands come up to grip his wrists, then slide down his arms and settle on his hips, pulling him in closer. This time Peter doesn’t go pliant but he doesn’t take control either, perfectly matching the movement of Chris’ lips, parting his own at just the right time so their tongues brush against each other, leaving Chris feeling hot all over.
Chris pulls back to catch his breath.
“You know… I’d have expected a reaction like that from someone I’m in a relationship with,” he says, talking about Peter showing up at his door, seemingly outraged at not knowing any details.
Peter frowns and pulls Chris’ hands away from his face.
“We said no promises.”
“That was before I knew how much I’d like having you in my bed,” Chris reveals and then hears a gasp from above. Peter’s gaze stays on him as his mouth quirks up into a grin.
Chris looks up at Allison, who is standing at the top of the stairs, mouth open.
“Dad!” She yells, scandalized and covers her eyes with her palms, rushing back to her room.
Chris glares at Peter, “You heard her coming.”
“I did,” he admits, unashamed. He steps closer, presses his nose against Chris’ cheek, breathes in deeply before whispering, “I liked being there. But I still can’t make any promises.”
Chris wraps his arms around him, hoping to trap him for a moment longer.
“No promises, fine. But can we stop pretending like there isn’t something real here? It didn’t feel like just sex. Or just fun. Or casual.”
Peter rubs his face against his and Chris wishes he’d pull back so he could see the man’s expression when he says, “No. It’s definitely not casual.”
“What is it then?” Chris asks, not really needing an answer right away but wanting to hear Peter’s response.
“We’ll see. Let me know when you’re back,” Peter gives him one more short, hard kiss before sliding out of his arms and leaving without another word.
On Monday, Stiles needs a book from the library.
There’s more people in there than usual, a lot of girls specifically. He gives the groups of people an odd look before heading towards the section he knows he’ll find the book he needs. And there, re-shelving, is Derek.
“What are you doing here?” He yelps.
Derek doesn’t pause his movements, side-eyeing him.
“I’m working.”
Stiles gapes, “You’re the new librarian?”
“Yes.”
“But-but-”
“But what?” Derek looks exhausted from the level of annoyed he’s achieved.
“You don’t look like a librarian,” Stiles gestures at him, although he is wearing clothes Stiles hasn’t seen on him before, a simple, slightly baggy Henley and jeans that have zero rips in them and are also baggy. Derek looks like he’s trying to hide his body. And oh, Stiles glances back at the groups of girls and sees quite a few of them staring intently at them, obviously curious as to why Stiles is having a conversation with Derek.
“What do I look like then?” Derek asks through gritted teeth.
“Like the guy who sleeps at the gym because he’s there 24/7?”
“I don’t even go to the gym,” Derek smiles meanly.
“A-Are you serious?” Stiles stutters. “But you look like that, oh wait, is it a-” He steps closer so he can whisper, then remembers that Derek can hear his whisper from a mile away and steps back, hearing gasps from the girls nearest to him. “Is it a werewolf thing?” He puts a hand over his mouth so no one can lip-read.
Derek rolls his eyes at him, “Yes. Okay? Kind of. I still work out, I just…” He waves a book around. “Don’t need equipment or intense training regimes.”
“That is so unfair,” Stiles whines. “Wait, is Scott also going to-” He flutters his hand at Derek’s body.
“Is he going to bulk up? Yes.”
“Oh my god…” Stiles nods to himself. “Lucky Allison, huh?”
“Don’t you mean lucky you?” Derek snorts to himself.
“What? Scott and I are bro-thers,” he emphasizes each syllable, “when are you people-”
“I meant my uncle, you idiot,” Derek snaps.
“Oh,” Stiles says, relaxing. Then immediately tenses back up again, “Oh!” Derek heard. And Stiles is mortified. He turns around and ignores the furious whispering going on, and the daggers some girls are glaring at him and leaves the library without his book.
On Tuesday, finally, the information about Kate’s involvement with the Hale fire is revealed in a big front-page news story. It’s taken a while because with Victoria calling out the Sheriff for not doing his job right, Noah felt the need to go over the details and get as good of a case as he could. But now it’s out there. And Victoria punishes Stiles for it by giving him detention.
Allison tries to stand up for him, even asks her mom, in front of the whole class, “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?” because apparently, when Allison’s patience wears thin, she has no chill. And then she receives detention too. With Stiles, for the rest of the week.
“We’ll just use the time to study, it’s no big deal,” she tells him after they get out of there but Stiles can see that she’s kind of upset. Most likely because her record was squeaky clean and this is her first time serving detention.
“Welcome to the Breakfast Club,” Stiles drawls at her as they walk to his car, Cora already sitting in his passenger seat, face stuck in a math textbook.
“Is that a movie?” Allison asks.
Stiles winces at her, “Yeah but never mind, it barely works as a reference here… Unless your mom decides to give us detention on Saturday as well,” Stiles shudders at the thought.
“Can she do that?” Allison looks scared too.
“I don’t know, man, I feel like Victoria can do anything she wants in this town.”
“Yeah,” Allison says softly. “And that’s terrifying.”
“It truly is,” Stiles agrees.
Later that evening, he’s in his room, trying to get a handle on how to best swing his staff, where to grip it, how high to aim it-
He almost gives himself another black eye when he gets bored and tries to do some fancier moves, like twirls.
He sighs as he sets it down, knowing that this is not going to work unless he gets some actual instruction. He remembers Chris teaching Allison and offering her a choice in weapons, her picking out her bow and then some knives for close-quarters combat. But there was a staff in the selection, wasn’t there? Or something long and stick-like, at least.
He thinks about it, picks up his phone, fiddles with it, puts it back down, paces, picks up his phone again.
He and Chris haven’t really talked or hung out since that night at the pack house. When he had a thought or a question about the supernatural before, he’d just text him or maybe even call him if he was feeling extra impatient and there was none of this awkwardness he’s now feeling.
But how can it be anything but awkward? The man that Chris is sleeping with just offered to sleep with Stiles too.
Shit, does Chris even know?
Fuck.
Fuck.
Stiles calls him, because now he knows he won’t be able to sleep until he’s cleared out all this crap in his brain.
The voice that greets him is groggy with sleep and so low it sends shivers down his spine. Because Stiles actually forgot, he actually forgot, how much he loves the sound of it. Peter’s voice has it’s own charm and Stiles loves listening to that too but Chris? His voice almost has a reverberation to it, a fullness Stiles hasn’t noticed in anyone else’s.
“Is something wrong?” Are the actual words that were said to him while Stiles’ mind got side-tracked with the voice-appreciation, he’s said nothing for a few seconds now so Chris continues, “Stiles? Are you okay?” Sounding a lot more awake all of a sudden.
“Yeah, yeah-” Stiles says quickly, clears his throat. “Sorry, just… why are you sleeping? It’s like eight…” He considers making an old-man-joke and decides against it.
“It’s two a.m. here,” Chris says, still sounding sleepy. Stiles’ brain is stuck on how sexy he thinks it sounds. A word he’s never really let himself use, not even in his own brain, when thinking about Chris. But it’s been over a year, his libido is back with a vengeance and yeah, Chris sounds sexy, damn it.
Also, wait, what?
“Where’s here?” Stiles panics a little, because he didn’t know Chris was further than a quick drive away from him. And then he panics because why the hell is he panicking about that?
“I’m in Paris right now, business trip.”
“Oh,” because Chris has business trips. Stiles is once again reminded of the vast differences of their lives.
“Why did you call?” Chris asks.
“Uh, it can wait-”
“I’m up now, tell me,” and Chris always sounds like that. Like he truly wants to talk to Stiles. It’s one of those things he noticed during the summer that just kind of cemented his crush into something deeper.
“So, I remember seeing a staff, I think, when you were teaching Allison?”
“A bo staff, yes.”
“Right, well. I have a staff of my own now and I have no idea how to use it.”
A moment of silence, well, not exactly silence because Stiles can hear Chris’ breathing. Is it creepy that he likes the sound of that too?
“Where did you get a staff?”
“Oh, actually, let me send you a picture, wait,” Stiles uses his phone to take a photo of the part of the staff where the Luis letter sits and sends it to him.
“Hang on,” Chris says. “That looks druidic.”
“It is, I got it from Deaton. It’s made from rowan.”
“That’s… useful,” Chris sounds surprised. “And you want to learn how to use it because…?”
“I’m not going to go running towards danger, if that’s what you’re asking,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “It’s for protection, and in this town? I feel like I need protection. Oh, I have a ring now too,” he quickly snaps a picture of it. “It’ll keep me from getting cursed again, apparently.”
He can hear Chris yawning. He should really let the man sleep.
“Deaton also give you that?”
“No, Morrell.”
"Deucalion’s emissary?” Chris sounds alarmed.
“Yeah, but Deaton says it’s okay to wear.”
“Peter didn’t tell me she gave you a ring,” Chris mutters. Stiles’ brain picks that sentence apart because what does that mean, do the two of them talk a lot about Stiles? Or is it just that they share everything now, how close are they, really? And now he’s getting jealous and he doesn’t even know of what or who-
This is a disaster. Nothing has even happened yet, and already it feels like a mess he doesn’t know how to untangle. Maybe he should just forget Peter ever offered anything.
Except.
He really doesn’t want to.
“Peter doesn’t know about the ring yet… I didn’t tell him.”
A pause.
“Why not?”
“I don’t… I don’t know. I had it in my pocket when he came to pick me up and… I just wanted to find out something on my own. There’s this big mystery involving me and the Nemeton and I thought maybe Deaton had answers for me. Spoiler alert, he didn’t. I wanted… to solve it on my own. That probably sounds, I don’t know, young and stupid or something.”
“No,” Chris says easily, sounding sincere. “I get it. It’s your life, Stiles. I get wanting answers. But you don’t have to do that on your own.”
“I know I don’t… Never mind, the whole point of this call was the staff. I was wondering if you’d teach me.”
“Of course I will. I’ll hopefully be back before the weekend, maybe we can have a session on Saturday.”
Oh god, that’s soon. What will this training look like even? Is there going to be that romance movie/novel moment where Chris has to stand behind Stiles and “correct his stance”, putting his hands on Stiles’ body-
This is a terrible idea.
“That sounds great,” Stiles says, wide-eyed. “Uh, I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’m still surprised that I didn’t know you’re in France.”
“Allison didn’t tell you?”
“No, but in her defence, she’s been busy having a battle of wills with Victoria.”
“What do you mean?” Chris sounds worried.
“Allison doesn’t uh, like her mother’s attitude? And so she’s started to get into arguments with her at school. Oh, the Kate story hit the news today,” Stiles tells him, wondering if he heard about it.
“Allison texted me about that.”
“And so Victoria’s mad at my dad, and she gave me detention. Allison yelled at her in front of the whole class so now she’s in detention with me.”
“She never gets detention,” Chris sighs.
“Right. So now she’s stressing about that as well.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“Of course… Although now I feel like I’m a snitch,” Stiles winces to himself.
“I won’t tell her it came from you. I’ll say that Victoria told me.”
“Okay, cool. Appreciate that.”
“But I do need to get back to sleep.”
Stiles considers bringing up the whole thing with Peter but decides against it. Chris sounds tired and Stiles knows what it’s like to be tired.
“Good night,” he says.
“See you soon,” Chris replies, causing a weird fluttering sensation in his chest. Jesus Christ, he still has it bad, doesn’t he?
He puts down the phone and stares at the staff resting innocently against the wall, now suddenly the bane of his existence.
“I’m so fucked.”
Chapter 14: normal
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s Wednesday afternoon and Peter’s sitting on the floor of his old apartment, having just finished organizing his book collection back the way it was before. He’s cross-legged, chin in hand, staring at the bookcases, trying to see if he's missed something.
Coming here was an experience. It felt a bit like going back in time, to the night before the fire when he came home to his apartment, no idea of what was ahead. There’s this faint thought in the back of his mind that he should call Talia, a part of him fully expecting her to pick up.
But of course, the furniture was not where it’s supposed to be and the books were still packed away in boxes so Peter shook off the strangeness and got to work. He’s been fiddling with the books specifically for a few days now.
Everything feels finished, back to the way it was before.
And it feels empty.
Which is ridiculous, because that’s exactly why he used to love it. It was his escape from the loudness of pack, from people.
And now he, what, misses people?
He covers his face with his hands, groaning out loud.
He takes out his phone and pulls up his conversation with Stiles.
“If you weren’t laughing before, you’re definitely laughing now,” Peter mutters at the maybe-there ghost of his sister as he taps in a text.
Come over after school.
He adds the address. Then has a thought and sends another text saying, Do not show this to anyone else. This is only for you. No one else is invited.
He may miss people but he does not want a repeat of the night when Stiles brought everyone to the pack house. No, that’s not happening here.
His phone buzzes.
Omg, you got your own place? Heeeeeell yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I get out of detention! I promise I won’t tell anyone
Detention. Again. Peter wasn’t exactly a model student when he was in high school but even he knows that getting detention this often is not the path to getting a scholarship. He still remembers the conversation Stiles and Lydia had at the Hale house. Remembers hearing the words “hope to get the fuck out of this town after high school”.
Is he seriously worrying about Stiles’ college prospects now? He rolls his eyes at himself.
He glances towards the kitchen.
Is he actually going to cook for this kid?
Yes, Peter sighs. Yes, he is.
“Allison, you can go,” Victoria says, rising from her desk.
Allison glances at Stiles, “I’m not leaving.”
“Do not argue with me,” she crosses her arms over her chest and stands over Allison, expectant.
Allison slouches back in her seat.
“You’ll have to physically remove me. I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Victoria scoffs.
“You already hit him once,” she points out. “Do you know how fucked up that is? You hit my friend.”
Shit, Stiles never told her that. He doesn’t think that Chris would’ve either. So Scott must have.
Instead of trying to find a response to Allison’s accusation (probably because there’s no good one to be found), Victoria turns to Stiles.
“Fine, we’ll do this with an audience then. Mr. Stilinski, how much does your father know about what goes on in this town?”
Stiles feels cold sweat on his back as he shrugs, “Nothing. He doesn’t know anything.”
Victoria steps closer, “He was very happy to file Kate’s death away as an animal attack, even after I suggested that due to Kate’s crime, it’s likely she was killed by a Hale as revenge.”
“Uh, there were claw and teeth marks… specifically a wild animal’s claw and teeth marks. My dad’s just doing his job.”
“So you’re telling me he has no idea that you’re spending time with a pack, that your best friend is a werewolf? Does he know about you and Chris?”
Stiles’ brain stops working for a second and he looks to Allison for help.
She sighs, “There’s nothing going on between them, mom.”
“That’s not what Chris said.”
What? Stiles stares at Allison in absolute confusion and she meets his gaze with the same expression.
“Uh, lady, there’s no me and Chris, in fact,” he hesitates, wonders where the hell he’s going with this, if this is possibly the worst idea he’s ever had- “If I’m with anyone, it’s Peter.” He snaps his mouth shut, regrets ever opening it.
Victoria looks confused.
“So the mutt is two-timing? But Chris never denied you being his either. What on earth are they doing with you?”
Stiles shrugs at her, “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Just leave him alone, mom.”
“If your father truly doesn’t know, then good. Make sure it stays that way,” Victoria steps closer to loom over him. “Because if I find out that he helped Peter Hale get away with Kate’s murder, if I find out that he’s helping the werewolves in any way-”
“You’ll what, kill the Sheriff?” Stiles asks, glaring furiously, wondering if she’s actually going to make that threat.
“Of course not,” she smirks at him. “I have contacts higher than him. I’ll make sure he gets fired.”
“I can’t believe you,” Allison shakes her head, sounding close to tears. “You’re truly nothing like the woman I admired when I was younger, back when I wanted to be you,” she laughs softly and starts packing up her things. “Come on, Stiles, let’s get out of here.” She stands up.
“Your detention’s not over.”
“Yes, it is. Or otherwise I will tell everyone that I saw you physically assault him.”
Stiles slowly puts his books into his bag, eyes on the two extremely tense women in front of him.
“I expected so much more out of you,” Victoria says, sounding heartbroken, which makes Stiles squint at her because what the hell, if anyone has the right to be heartbroken here, it’s Allison.
“And the mother I loved never existed,” Allison shrugs angrily. “Let’s go.” She swiftly exits and Stiles rushes to follow. Victoria doesn’t stop them.
“Hey, you okay?” He asks when they get out of the school, and he catches up to see her crying.
“No,” she snaps, shoulders shaking. Stiles pulls her into a hug. She clutches at his back. “I hate her so much. For what she did to dad. For who she is. God, I used to think she was the strongest woman I know, a real role model,” she laughs desperately, pulling back to wipe at her eyes. “Now I know she’s not strong at all. She’s weak. Terrified of everything she doesn’t understand, whether it’s werewolves or queer people, she’s just horrible!” Allison gasps between sobs.
“Wait, queer people?”
“She’s been making stupid homophobic comments about dad for years now, we’ve had so many fights about it, it’s why I didn’t want to visit her at all this summer, I was fed up.” Allison calms down a bit, shakes her head. “I feel like… I feel like I truly don’t want her in my life anymore… Who thinks that about their mom!?” She starts crying again.
Stiles pulls her to sit on the steps and rubs her back, lets her lean on him until she manages to stop sobbing.
“A lot of people have moms that suck. Or that are straight up abusive. It’s not wrong to want them out of your life, to cut them out,” he knows he isn’t putting this as delicately as it should be put so he winces and says, “Uh, I can direct you to some reddit threads if you want to read more about others feeling the same way?”
Allison laughs at him, “It’s fine. You’re right. She sucks. And she is abusive, just not towards me.” She breathes in deep. “This town is just such a mess right now. There’s no way for me to cut her out.” She stands up.
Stiles walks her to her car, Scott’s there waiting for her.
“Hey… I almost ran over there, but I figured you know I’m here so…” He looks at her, worried and cautious.
Allison hugs him and kisses his cheek, “Thanks for giving me a moment.” She then glances back at Stiles, “And thanks for being there.”
“Hey, thanks for standing up for me. You’re a badass, you know that, right?”
She shakes her head, smiling at him before getting into her car. Scott signals Stiles to call him later and he nods to show he will.
On his way to his Jeep, he sees Derek getting harassed by three freshmen at his SUV. He sighs and goes over there.
“Heeeey, Derek, we still up for tonight?”
The girls all glare at him, sizing him up.
Derek looks confused.
“Uh-”
“Great!” Stiles exclaims and wraps an arm around him, then looks over at the freshmen and winks, “Sorry, but I got here first.”
One of them actually puts her hand to her chest in a true clutching-her-pearls moment, while the other two just gape.
“Run along, kids!” Stiles makes a shooing motion and waits for them to start walking before he turns to see Derek looking murderous.
“I’m not gay,” he growls.
“Cool. So there’s someone you’re interested in at the school?”
“What?” Derek scowls. “No.”
“Then enjoy being gay,” Stiles says breathily, spreading his hands wide.
Derek takes a moment to think it over and the scowl slowly disappears. “Oh. I guess it would be easier.”
“Although, there will be persistent girls who either think that maybe you just swing both ways or maybe they can change you. And then there’s also the queer guys, they’ll grab onto that rumour like a life-line,” Stiles warns him.
Derek frowns, “So… it doesn’t actually help at all.”
“Helps with the younger ones,” Stiles points out.
Derek shakes his head and turns to get in his car but pauses, “I heard you with Allison. You’re a good friend.”
Stiles blinks. Where did that come from?
“Uh, thanks. You know,” he grins, “I have a lot of love to give. And you don’t even have to ask, I will be your friend too.”
Derek rolls his eyes angrily and gets in, slamming his door.
“What? I don’t go to the gym either, we already have something in common!” He yells as the man starts the car and pulls away. “No? Ah, well.”
He smirks to himself as he goes to his Jeep and then panics when he remembers where he’s headed next.
Peter’s apartment.
Away from prying ears.
Where they can be alone.
Stiles gets anxiety sweats half-way through the drive over there.
Peter wouldn’t say he’s nervous, when he hears Stiles come up to his door. The building’s old, so he knows that it looks rough on the outside. Wonders what Stiles’ first impressions are. Then wonders why he’s worrying about it. It does not matter whether Stiles likes his place or not. It doesn’t.
Stiles knocks on his door and Peter quirks an eyebrow at the coat of sweat he can already smell through the door. If he hadn’t heard the Jeep, he would’ve guessed that Stiles ran here.
He opens the door and gestures for Stiles to come in.
“Hey, the building looks like it might collapse soon, are you sure it’s safe here- oh wow.”
Stiles lets his bag drop to the floor, looking at the huge bookcases lining up two of the three living room walls. His eyes then fly over the warm brown walls, the black wainscoting, the expensive antique dining table, the modest yet also expensive black couch, the huge TV on the wall opposite the couch, the well-preserved wooden floors and the huge doorway leading to the kitchen and onwards.
“This looks nice,” Stiles shoots him a grin.
Peter feels relieved. And then frowns at himself, because feeling relieved means he did care-
“Woah, what the hell are these books?” Stiles is already running his fingers over the spines of some of his rarest items, namely journals and diaries.
“Every one of these books has something to do with the supernatural.”
“Are you serious?” Stiles asks excitedly and takes a step back.
“Yes, not all of it is what our community considers fact. A lot of it is legends, myths. Some of those journals were clearly written by people who went mad. And some of the druid encyclopedias are complete fiction, fantasy. But I’d say over half of these are the real deal, facts and historical knowledge about our world.”
“That’s ridiculously cool,” Stiles murmurs, picking out a journal at random and opening it. “Uh, how do you read this, the handwriting’s awful.”
“Practice. And the process of elimination. And guesswork.”
Stiles snorts, puts the journal back. Then he sniffs.
“Do I smell food?”
“I made some pasta for us.”
Stiles looks happy but then pales.
“Uh, is this like a date or something?”
Peter shakes his head, smirking, “No. It’s not. I just wanted to show you the place. You’re my pack, and this is a safe space for you if you ever need it.”
“Right, of course,” Stiles stammers, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll just-” He points towards the kitchen and heads over there. “You really like darker colors, huh?” He asks when he sees the maroon cupboards with black accents.
“Yes,” Peter says simply, going over to the stove.
“It’s kind of easy on the eyes. There’s nothing wrong with the pack house but it sure was a lot of white. And kind of…” Stiles makes a face, “Bland. This place is full of character.”
Peter smiles victoriously to himself, feeling like he’s won a contest he wasn’t aware was even happening in his brain - Stiles likes his taste better than Laura’s.
He hands Stiles a plate of his pasta dish and gestures for them to head back to the living room.
Stiles pauses when he spots the hallway leading away from the kitchen. “Is your bedroom over there?”
Peter studies him, scents the air. Anxiety, a whole lot of it. “Yes.”
“Right. That’s probably where we’d… if we-” Stiles clears his throat and marches off to the dining table.
Peter remembers Laura saying he’s asking too much of Stiles and wonders if she’s right.
It’s useless to stress over now so he focuses on enjoying this moment, on having Stiles here in his home, on how right that feels.
Stiles is floored at all of the stuff he’s finding out while flipping through random books, lounging on the surprisingly comfortable couch. Creatures he’s never heard of before, creatures he knew of but didn’t know were real (Wendigos, really!?), druidic legends about werewolves and rituals, the rituals themselves so various and complicated, some of them outright horrific (Sacrifice three babies to stop your aging for thirty years? Who was the first person to discover that was a thing?). Peter gave him free reign, just asked that he put everything back exactly where he found it. The man himself has disappeared somewhere, said he’s going to his home office. Peter has a home office, geez.
Just like with Chris, Stiles is suddenly reminded of the vast, vast differences of their life stages.
He imagines that Scott would once again ask, isn’t the difference a positive? Isn’t that the whole point of having an older partner, someone who is more experienced, has more money, is settled down and reliable and whatnot? And just no, that’s not it for Stiles at all. He doesn’t like Peter and Chris because of where they’re at in their lives, he likes them because of who they are… and obviously because of what they look (and sound) like.
This apartment, this collection, is just another reminder of the distance between them, of how out of his comfort zone Stiles actually is. And that just makes him feel off and awkward, like he’s an idiot for even daydreaming about Peter being his… being his… He tests out the word ‘boyfriend’ in his head and winces, unable to connect that to Peter in any way.
Considering what the man actually offered, it’d be more like friends with benefits anyway. Fuckbuddies? Ugh, no. Stiles sighs, throwing his head back.
“Your emotions are all over the place again,” Peter remarks calmly, coming back into the room.
Stiles keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Well, get used to it, this is how it is when I’m not exhausted and being mind-controlled. My brain…” he raises his hands dramatically, “never stops!”
“I’m starting to regret offering you sex,” Peter says dryly.
Stiles’ head flies up so he can gape at him, “I haven’t even done anything!” He yelps, feeling offended for some reason.
Peter sighs, “No, I don’t mean that kind of regret. What I mean is, I feel like you’re stressing over it when it was just supposed to be an opportunity for you. I don’t actually expect anything, Stiles. I hope you know that there’s no pressure.”
Stiles stares at him and tries his very best to hide the hurt he feels. That just made it sound like Peter’s offering him a favor and the man isn’t super enthusiastic about sleeping with him at all.
Peter can obviously see through him, because he sighs again and sits next to Stiles on the couch.
“I want you more than I should, Stiles. And I don’t want you to regret anything that might happen between us,” Peter tells him.
I want you. Stiles hears that and his heart feels like it could sing. Three simple words, that no one has ever said to him before. Peter’s face is so close, and so handsome and so sincere. He feels like he’s having a heart attack and feels the need to do something with this energy buzzing under his skin.
So he leans in and plants his mouth right on Peter’s. It’s a simple kiss, more of a peck really. He pulls back quick, shocked at his daring. It was too quick to savor the feel of Peter’s lips, to really differentiate it from any other party/on-a-dare kiss he’s ever had, but his brain knows that it’s Peter he just kissed, so that makes his insides dance, nerves and want mixing together into a cocktail stronger than the gin he drank at Lydia’s party.
He licks his lips and meets Peter’s wide eyes. How odd, he thinks faintly. He’s never actually seen Peter’s eyes that wide before.
The shock fades from the man’s face as it softens into that same expression he had when he said he’s glad he has Stiles.
“We shouldn’t do any more than that,” he reminds Stiles.
“Yeah, I know,” he looks away nervously. “I should go probably.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I really do. I’m like this close to just saying ‘fuck it’ and getting naked so I can present myself to you, god what is my brain doing-” He stands up on shaky legs and goes to grab his bag. “Bye,” he calls out as he leaves, refusing to look back.
On his way home, he texts Scott and asks him to come over. They’re long past due for some heavy-duty bro time.
“I think I might try playing lacrosse again.”
They’re laying on his bed, both staring at the ceiling, a re-enactment of the time when they used to have constant sleepovers.
“Try-outs are over,” Stiles reminds him.
“Yeah, but my body, it moves so differently now. My reflexes are so fast and I can see so much better. If I showed all that to Coach, I’m sure he’d let me back in.”
“I guess. But isn’t that like… dangerous?”
“Laura said that the Hale family never kept the kids from playing sports, as long as they made sure to play like a human.”
“But you don’t know how to do that.”
“Derek’s going to teach me, how to not run as fast as I actually can, how to not throw with all my strength and so on.”
Stiles considers that, thinks it feels kind of like cheating but decides against saying it. Scott loved lacrosse and wanted to be good at it so bad, spent so much time training and was held back by something out of his control - his asthma. So now he can go for a dream he thought was impossible, out of reach. Stiles isn’t going to rain on that parade.
“It’d be cool to actually care about the lacrosse games again.”
“You could try to get back in with me?”
“Uh, not a werewolf?”
“Dude, you were better than me back then.”
“Are you serious? I spent half the time on my back.”
“You were… clumsy, but when you got the ball and you ran with it you were the fastest out of all of us.”
“Yeah, no. I’m staying away from potential bruises and injuries for the foreseeable future.”
Scott turns his face towards him, cringing sympathetically, “Yeah, I get that.”
“Besides, I’m stressed enough.”
“What about? Besides the… usual werewolves, Argents, druids, mayhem,” Scott gestures vaguely.
“Ha, yeah, besides all that, I think I’m actually going to have sex with Peter.”
“Holy shit, what?” Scott slaps the back of his hand against Stiles’ chest.
“Yeah, he, uh, offered. After my birthday of course.”
“Oh wow,” Scott looks half-excited for him and half-weirded out.
“It gets better. Or worse. Or weirder.”
“What?”
“Peter’s already sleeping with Chris.”
Scott gasps, “No.”
“Yep.”
“How is this your life?”
“Dude, you’re a werewolf in a pack, how is that your life?”
Scott turns back to stare upwards.
“Ever feel like this is all a dream and you’re this close to waking up?”
“All the time.”
On Thursday, they head to the pack house after school. Scott has his first training session with Derek at the Preserve, while Stiles and Allison hang out with Cora, doing homework and apparently, gossiping.
“She’s seriously going to stay with Jackson?” Cora asks, absentmindedly flipping through the pages of her textbook. The three of them are sitting at the dining table.
“Yeah,” Allison sighs, slouched over her notes, studying for a quiz. “Apparently he opened up to her or something.”
“They have a bond, they’ve been through stuff together,” Stiles says, “I hate the guy but I can kind of see why she wants to try at least.”
“You see that type of thing talked about all over the internet, though,” Cora scoffs.
“What thing?” Allison asks.
“My boyfriend’s a douche to me, and I’m thinking of leaving him but oh never mind, now he’s vulnerable so I’ll stay. Then he’s a douche again, straight up abusive even, and I’m leaving him for sure but wait, now he’s crying,” Cora rolls her eyes.
“He’s a douche but he’s never abused her,” Stiles points out, even though he gets what she means and kind of agrees.
“Whatever,” Cora drawls, flipping back to the right spot in her book.
“I also kind of get it. The boy you like being open with you, willing to be vulnerable around you? It has a pull to it.”
Stiles looks at the dreamy look on Allison’s face and smirks, “Thinking about Scott?”
She smiles proudly, “Yep.”
“I can’t focus on this anymore, my brain’s fried,” Cora throws the book closed. “Wanna play something? I got Overcooked 2, we can all play that together.”
“Sure!” Stiles throws his books aside too.
“I don’t know that one, is it easy to learn?” Allison asks.
“Yeah, we’ll start with all the easy levels,” Cora promises.
“And I’ve played the first one, the point is to have fun and not care about the score,” Stiles says wisely.
“Excuse you, I very much care about the score,” Cora glares at him.
“We playing the cooking game?” Laura asks, appearing out of nowhere and causing Stiles to jump as he rounds on her.
“Have you been home the whole time?”
“Of course,” Laura shrugs at him.
“Eavesdropping?” He squints at her suspiciously.
“Oh yeah, all this juicy high school gossip, why would I ever want to miss it?” Laura’s voice is as dry as the desert as she turns on the TV and then the console. “Settle in, I worked as a chef, so I’ll be giving the orders here.”
“Oh dear,” Allison says faintly.
They end up having a lot of fun and a lot of max-stars levels, despite their varied playstyles. Laura’s paying attention to the orders and yelling out what they need and filling in where necessary, Cora’s following Laura’s instructions to the letter, Allison does her best but also flies off the edges and burns things often and Stiles manages to be just as much of a flailing disaster in-game as he is in real life. For example, they needed one more dish to get the max-star score and Stiles threw it off the map at the very last second, just as he was about to hand it in.
Laura also regales them with a few restaurant stories, whenever something in-game reminds her of a real incident from back in New York.
“This is obviously just a cartoony fun game, but they really captured the stress of working in a busy kitchen and how much one little thing can ruin a whole bunch of orders.”
They play for about two hours, until Scott and Derek get home.
Scott has leaves in his hair.
“You have leaves in your hair,” Stiles tells him, confused.
“Oh,” Scott grins, shaking them out. “I climbed some trees.”
“Tree-climbing? That relates to lacrosse, how?” He turns to Derek, who has his usual scowl on.
“It’s an exercise in strength-control. He can get up there in a second, but he has to do it slow and without jumping over branches.”
Stiles thinks it over and then nods at Derek, impressed. “That actually makes sense.”
“I am so fast now,” Scott gushes excitedly.
“And you can’t be,” Derek reminds him, before heading to the bathroom.
“Yeah,” Scott sags.
Stiles pats him comfortingly, “Wanna play or study?”
“I want to play but I really need to study.”
“Gotcha. Girls! Biology time!”
Later that night as they’re all going home, he texts Peter and asks if he can come over and read something. He figures it’ll be fine, he’s had a good day and after their last conversation he feels a bit better about where they stand.
I want you more than I should, are words that occasionally appear in his head whenever there’s a quiet moment, and make him smile.
Peter told him that the door’s open and to just come in so he does that, leaving his bag by the door. The man’s sitting on the couch with his laptop, facing him. He waits for Peter to look up but he doesn’t.
“Hey,” he says, starting to feel nervous.
“Read whatever you like,” Peter waves at the bookcases. “I’m currently busy arguing with a witch about the exorbitant price she’s asking for her cookbook.”
Stiles blinks, “Why do you want her cookbook? Or is that a term for something else, like her grimoire?”
“No, it’s a cookbook, just with a,” Peter wiggles his fingers, “supernatural flair to it. I want it for Laura. I like to get my Christmas shopping done early.”
“It’s not even October yet,” Stiles raises his eyebrows.
“Exactly. Early.”
Stiles shakes his head in wonder and goes to grab something interesting. He settles on a diary with readable handwriting, intrigued by the opening line: “I’ve decided to write down everything that has occurred in the past few months, in the hopes of making sense of it.”
Because he can relate to that hope.
He takes a seat at the dining table, away from the couch that looks even comfier now that Peter’s sitting on it.
About twenty pages in, he’s horrified. The diary has no dates, or names in them, so he has no idea what possible historical event he could connect it to, but it sounds like witch trials, with the writer trying to understand how their fellow townspeople or villagers could be so insidious and deceiving, accusing innocent women left and right of ridiculous crimes like having sex with demons or causing a storm that killed a lot of men.
“Jesus,” he whispers, as the diary describes what one woman looked like after a confession was tortured out of her.
“That’s what you decided on reading?” Peter asks and Stiles looks up to see the man staring at him.
“I didn’t know what it was going to be when I started,” Stiles shrugs defensively. “Also, it’s interesting. In a… morbid way. This is actual history, isn’t it?”
“It is. The Norway witch trials.”
“Norway? But it’s written in English.”
“That’s the translation that came with the original, which is right there,” Peter points to it.
“Wow, you’re kind of a collector, huh?”
“Not kind of, I am a collector. I started doing it when I was still in high school and frustrated about how little my family knew about the supernatural outside of our werewolf customs.”
“That’s a cool hobby to have. And expensive,” Stiles’ eyes narrow in thought. The Hales seem to have a lot of money. Like, a lot. “Laura said she worked as a chef. Derek’s a librarian now, which is… still insane. But did you ever have a job?”
“Not exactly,” Peter closes the laptop and puts it aside. “Our grandparents were rich and our parents were successful entrepreneurs, which meant that Talia and I never had to worry about money. But we did pick some jobs out of boredom, something without a fixed schedule or long-term commitment.”
“Something like?”
“She was an architect and occasionally an interior designer. I was a financial advisor.”
“Don’t you have to be good at math to work in finance?” Stiles asks, hoping the answer is yes.
“No, not really. But it does help, and I was good at it. Why?” Peter cocks his head curiously.
“Cora could use your help, man,” Stiles says, “Lydia’s too busy with Jackson to help out and my notes barely make any sense to me.”
“I didn’t know she needed help, she’s never asked,” Peter looks away thoughtfully.
“Does she even know you had a job or what it was?”
“…Probably not,” Peter realizes. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good, then you can also help me pass economics,” Stiles tells him decisively.
Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Fine.”
Stiles’ eyes rest on that smile for a second and he has to look away before he does something stupid again like run over there and fling himself at the man.
“Did you get the cookbook?” He asks, fiddling with the diary.
“I did,” Peter groans, “The most expensive cookbook known to man.”
He watches out of the corner of his eye as Peter lifts an arm to run his hand through his hair and then rub the back of his neck. His sleeves are short today, so Stiles’ gaze gets stuck on the arm. The size of it, the definition, the strength-
“Stiles.”
And there’s that amused I know what you’re thinking about tone that’s starting to aggravate him.
“Let me suffer in peace,” he grumbles, standing up to put the diary away.
“Going already? Should I be offended that you can’t seem to stay here for longer than an hour?”
Stiles glares at the overly innocent expression, “Maybe stop being so irresistible and I can hang out more.”
He goes to the door as soon as he realizes what he said, feeling flushed.
“I’m irresistible?” Peter asks, smug as hell. And now he’s standing too, which makes Stiles panic a little.
“I’m not stroking your ego any further, and also I’m shutting my mouth, bye,” he leans down to pick up his bag.
Peter steps in between him and the door, and comes close enough to make Stiles’ braincells evaporate. Hands grip his waist and the man leans forward to press his nose against the spot where Stiles’ shoulder meets neck and then slowly but surely moves upwards until he’s breathing against Stiles’ cheek. Throughout all of this, Stiles is frozen. The heat of him, his chest, his hips, so close but not actually touching other than his hands which feel scalding, even through the three layers of shirts he’s wearing.
Peter takes in a deep, deep breath and then steps back, hands leaving Stiles’ waist.
“Did you just scent-mark me or something?” Stiles asks, brain returning to work-mode.
“Or something,” Peter smirks. “I’m not the only one who’s hard to resist here.”
The flushed feeling intensifies. “The whole waiting thing is starting to feel really dumb. Any books that could help us skip over a month?” Because his birthday is in November, November.
Stiles is going to die from horniness. That’ll be inscribed on his tombstone under the words ‘beloved son’.
“No,” Peter snorts. “But we’re not just waiting because of laws, Stiles. What I’m offering isn’t exactly normal and I meant it when I said I don’t want you to regret any of this. Use this time to think it over, all of it. To see if you’re actually okay with it.”
“That sounds good and all, but we both know that regret isn’t something you can always predict. I don’t know if I’m okay with it, and I don’t think I will know unless I go for it.”
Peter tilts his head, “True. But I think taking some time to think is the right thing to do here.”
“Do we care about doing the right thing, though?” Stiles asks, whines, really.
Peter shakes his head and doesn’t reply, touches Stiles’ waist again and leans their foreheads together in a gesture that definitely doesn’t have the calming effect the man is probably going for.
“Didn’t I say you need to be less irresistible? Less, not more, goddammit,” Stiles pulls away huffily and slams the door on his way out.
Peter feels worked up, his skin feels tight like his wolf is pacing around under it, pushing it to its limits. He wants to run, he wants to fight, he wants sex.
He calls Chris.
“Please tell me you’re on your way home,” he says as soon as Chris picks up.
“Actually, I’m already here. Just started unpacking.”
“Good-”
“Allison’s here,” Chris says and Peter rolls his eyes.
“I have an apartment, you’re invited, now.”
“…Missed me?” Chris asks, sounding amused.
“Yes,” Peter admits through gritted teeth.
“You don’t sound too happy about it,” Chris laughs.
“Are you coming over or not?”
“I am, just give me a few minutes to unpack everything. Send me the address, I’ll be there.” Chris hangs up.
A part of him is worried that when he has sex with Chris, he’s going to be thinking about Stiles, that he’s going to compare and wonder, and that’s not fair to Chris. But his worry disappears as soon as he opens the door and pulls him in, their mouths clashing together hard, hands flying over chests and arms.
Stiles is gone from his mind, his senses are full of the man in front of him, who he finds just as irresistible, just as fascinating. The smell of his skin when Peter presses his face into his neck, the strength of his arms when Chris pulls him in tighter, hands squeezing his ass with such possessiveness, it makes Peter want to get on his hands and knees right there.
When Chris pulls back to take his shirt off, Peter asks, “I take it you missed me too?” Because if Peter’s admitting things like that, Chris better join in.
“Of course,” Chris admits easily, tugging at Peter’s shirt now. He obliges the nonverbal request by raising his arms and enjoys the way Chris stares at him, looking dazed. He lowers his head to Peter’s chest, pressing kisses into his skin, burning a trail downwards until he’s kneeling on the floor and looking up expectantly.
Peter unzips and takes himself out, watching Chris’ expression curiously, unsure of what the man wants right now.
But then Chris shows him, takes him in deep, just once, before pulling back and leading one of Peter’s hands into his hair.
“Fuck my mouth,” he says, voice hoarse and low. Peter shivers at the sound of it. He grips his hair tight, watches as Chris’ eyes flutter at the sensation.
“You sure?” He can’t help but ask, worried that the man is pushing himself too far too soon. But so far he looks fine, smells fine. Peter can tell from scenting the air that Chris is already slick in his own pants and it makes him ache with pure want.
Chris replies by wrapping his mouth around Peter and going as low as he can, staying there and waiting, strained.
Peter gives him what he wants and comes apart quick. Because having someone like Chris on his knees for him, having Chris ask him to be more forceful, to grip tighter, to push deeper, is one of the hottest things he’s ever experienced in his life. But throughout all of it, he remains attentive, making sure that the man is here, in this moment, with Peter.
After he comes, they still don’t make it to his bed, Peter following his earlier instinct and getting down onto his hands and knees right there on the floor. The force behind Chris’ thrusts causes Peter’s knees to ache as they slide against the hard wood but he barely notices it. He has a faint thought that he wishes he’d have bruises the next day, marks on his body that stand as proof that this happened, marks that were put there by Chris.
And when the man reaches his own heights, shaking and grabbing at Peter’s shoulders, his wolf continues its howling song of his, his, his.
Except Peter doesn’t know who is whose anymore.
On Friday, as he’s getting ready to go and pick up Cora, Stiles finds a black gift box on the passenger seat. It’s simple, doesn’t have a bow on it, but does look fancy.
It has a note attached to it.
See you soon.
Inside the box is a familiar crystal glass.
His mind numbs over with rage and he reacts without thinking, grabbing it and getting out of his Jeep to smash it to pieces on the sidewalk.
It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to fight off the panic attack, before he feels ready to drive.
He doesn’t tell anyone about it.
“So what have they told you about the eclipse?” He asks Scott at school.
His friend shrugs, “Just that I’ll feel like I’m human for a few hours. Which is you know, still normal for me. It’s really hard for them, though.”
For the first time Stiles thinks about how powerful Blake is and how little she seemingly cares about anyone. What if she doesn’t just hate the Alphas, what if she hates all werewolves? But she did make it seem like Peter was beneath her, wasn’t on her radar at all. Stiles hopes she’s still as disinterested in the Hales as before.
“You okay, Stiles?” Allison asks, eyes sharp.
He’s probably still pale, since he hasn’t been able to shake off the panic completely. It’s been mostly uneventful for a few weeks now, he’s gotten so engrossed into relationship drama and worrying about homework and trying to be a good friend, he’d let himself forget that Blake coming back meant Blake coming back.
And that note…
“Yeah, just… didn’t sleep well,” he lies.
“Anything to do with the Nemeton?” Lydia asks, suddenly alert.
“No, just… a bad night,” he shrugs.
Scott gives him a worried side-hug.
He doesn’t even fully understand himself right now, why he’s hiding this. Is he hoping that by not speaking about it, it’s not actually happening?
He’s reminded of not being able to speak about Blake before and that sure didn’t help.
The rest of the day he watches his friends and how they too are fully absorbed into high school life again, despite Victoria’s presence, despite Scott being a werewolf. There’s a level of normalcy they’ve achieved, that they worked hard for.
That’s why he’s hiding it. He doesn’t want to be the one to ruin that.
The note is probably just another stupid mind-game, anyway. Blake will do what she planned from the start and she’ll leave, because that’s it. That’s what she came here to do. She’ll just leave.
Right?
Peter cooked again. For Chris this time. If it wasn’t clear already that he’s in over his head with these two, cooking would’ve been the give-away. Because Peter hates doing it, hates having to clean up the mess afterwards. But he also knows he’s not half-bad at it.
So, he threw something simple together, potatoes and carrots and steak and salad, and he bought wine.
“I’m not a big fan of wine,” Chris says when he sees it.
“Well, you are tonight because that bottle was expensive,” Peter snaps at him and pours him a glass.
“Everything alright?”
“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?” He asks, sarcasm instinctual rather than pointed.
“You get like this when something’s bothering you,” Chris says calmly, sips his wine. “This is pretty good. Maybe I’m just not a big fan of cheap wine.”
“Get like what, pray tell?” Peter asks, his tone a warning.
Chris stares at him for a moment. Then he grins daringly.
“Snippy.”
He drags in a deep breath through his nose, “Want to try that again?”
Chris snorts, “Ornery? Mouthy?”
“Fine, I get it,” Peter snaps. Then realizes that he’s been snapping at Chris all evening and sighs, “You’re right, something’s bothering me.”
Chris starts eating, gestures for him to talk.
“Cora said that Stiles stank of panic today.”
Chris pauses his chewing, “Panic? Not just, normal high-school related anxiety?
“Panic. And he looked pale and off enough that even the non-werewolves noticed and asked about it. And then Stiles lied.”
Chris puts down his fork, waits.
“He blamed it on not sleeping well.”
“So, you’re worried?”
“Of course. But I don’t want to be pushy and call him about it. Cora said she didn’t tell the others about the lie.”
Chris continues eating for a bit, thinking.
“Did he tell you about the ring?”
“The one he’s suddenly wearing all the time? No, but I just assumed it was a gift or something,” Peter narrows his eyes, sensing that there’s a reason Chris brought it up.
“He got it from Morrell. At the lake house.”
Peter goes still.
“Deaton confirmed what she said about it,” Chris says quickly. “That it protects the wearer from curses.”
“Stiles went to Deaton first?” Peter asks, feeling a little… betrayed almost. He thought Stiles trusted him. “Or you?”
“He told me over the phone a few days ago.”
Peter looks away sullenly.
“He called me because he wants my help learning how to fight with a staff.”
“A staff?”
“He got it from Deaton, it’s made from rowan wood.”
Chris is kind of pissing him off now, calmly eating and drinking wine while Peter feels like the floor’s been pulled out from under him.
“He wants to learn how to fight,” Peter mutters to himself.
“He doesn’t feel safe. Can you blame him?” Chris looks at him.
“No,” Peter admits. “I couldn’t keep him safe before, why would he trust me to do so now?” He thinks about holding Stiles steady, holding him upright as he cuts into him, bleeding him. He pushes his chair back and starts pacing, feeling uneasy.
“I’m giving him his first lesson tomorrow. If he doesn’t look alright, I’ll ask and maybe he’ll tell me what’s going on.”
“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m combating against you for his affection?” Peter blurts out, instantly knows it’s the wrong thing to ask.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chris says gravely, standing up too. “You’ve been here for a month. I’ve been there for Stiles for a year.”
Peter stops pacing.
“I just realized you don’t know what I meant by that,” he says dryly.
Chris tilts his head, “What did you mean?”
“I offered Stiles the same thing I offered you,” he reveals.
Chris grows tense.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why, because of us?”
“No, because he’s a kid.”
Peter rolls his eyes at that, “A kid you’re also interested in.”
“But I wasn’t going to do anything about it, certainly not now.”
“Why not?” He asks sharply.
Chris shakes his head, “That’s not a question that needs an answer. He should get to have a normal life-“
“That train is gone, Chris. He’s the Nemeton’s, he’s my pack, normal is no longer in the cards for him. I don’t think it has ever been.”
“And you think adding more to the pile is going to help?”
Chris looks sincerely angry with him now.
“Just for a second, I want you to imagine dating someone normal. Someone who doesn’t know about this life, has no clue about what’s lurking in the dark. Someone you either have to keep secrets from or pull into this, knowing there’s no going back for them.”
“That’s how you’re justifying this?”
“That answer makes me think you didn’t even try to imagine it.”
“So, that’s what you offered him? Dating? Because that’s not what you offered me.”
“What do you think this is?” Peter glares at him, gesturing at their dinner.
For a second, Chris is caught off guard, glancing at the table, at the wine and then back at him.
“And you’re going to date both of us?”
Peter’s skin is crawling at this talk of dating, because that’s not it either. It’s not casual and it’s not dating and it’s not just sex – he’s confusing himself now.
“If you’re okay with it,” Peter says.
“And if I’m not?” Chris asks, wary.
“Then I don’t know… If you mean, who would I pick? I don’t know,” he admits. Before Chris can say anything else, he asks, “Aren’t you interested in him too?”
“Don’t,” Chris says, voice gravelly.
“Is it just the age difference or is there more to it?”
Chris just shakes his head.
“This is nothing like you and Victoria, you do realize that, right?”
Chris barks out a laugh, “Oh like the fact that I’m even older than she was?”
“That’s-“
“Just stop. If this is the discussion you want to have, then I’m leaving. So, decide.”
Peter cocks his head, surprised that he’s even given a choice here. He kind of thought he crushed any hope of sex tonight by revealing his offer.
“I don’t want you to leave,” is not as hard for him to admit out loud as he thought it might be.
“Then we’re no longer talking,” Chris says and there’s an order in there, his voice hard and direct. Peter shivers a little, when Chris comes up to kiss him, a part of him wanting to push, to take over and make Chris fall apart under him. But he’s still wary of being forceful when Chris hasn’t asked for it, so he lets the man take what he needs.
This time, they at least make it to the bed.
Chris is still kind of reeling from the night before when he opens the door to let Stiles into his home.
“Hey, been a while,” Stiles smiles easily, waving with his staff.
Cute, he thinks. Stop, he thinks.
“Want something to drink before we get to it?”
Stiles snorts, “No, I’m good. Let’s get to-” He does a few rapid movements with his staff, and hits a vase. “Training,” he finishes as they both stare as the vase wobbles dangerously before settling. Stiles sighs in relief.
“Yes. Downstairs,” Chris stresses meaningfully and reaches out to take the staff away from him. Stiles lets him, looking sheepish.
He vows to himself to not take advantage of this situation in any way.
An hour later, he’s fixing Stiles’ stance by pushing at his hips with his hands and his mind is in turmoil because he has Peter’s voice in his head, playing on a loop.
Why not? Why not? Why not?
When he gets out of here, Stiles is googling if one can die from crush-overload or desire-overload or whatever kind of overload is happening in his body right now because he feels out of control.
They’re in the basement where Chris had placed some mats out for them and they started off with Chris showing him some basic moves, where best to grip the staff for balance and force, how to stand and move with the momentum of his attacks. He also tested Stiles’ reflexes by having him block Chris’ attacks, the man starting very slowly but gradually speeding up until by the end Stiles was panic-blocking, eyes only taking in the bo staff flying towards him. Chris obviously got a few hits in eventually and then he stopped. He complimented Stiles, said he’s quicker than Chris expected him to be.
After that, they focused specifically on legwork because that’s Stiles’ biggest crutch. He can easily stumble on nothing.
And now, Chris is behind him, touching him, exactly like Stiles was afraid he would, the man’s hands firm and purposeful.
“Lean back more,” he’s saying and pulling at Stiles until he’s close to crouching on one leg. Stiles stands up and pulls away.
“That feels more like actual martial arts and less like self-defense,” he points out and blinks rapidly when he looks at Chris, because if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the man seems embarrassed.
“You’re right, but knowing the basics helps you improvise in a fight.”
Stiles nods, seeing the logic.
“Alright,” he says and pulls the staff under one arm, waving it around excitedly. “One more hour?”
“Sure,” Chris says, looking like he doesn’t mean it.
Stiles tries to not let that throw him off but it does and the next hour is him mostly failing his footwork, letting his staff fly out of his hands (Chris had to duck, for Christ’s sake), and practicing the same three moves over and over again until he feels comfortable doing them. Not as comfortable as he’d be swinging a bat at someone, but he thinks he’s getting there.
“Thanks for this,” he tells Chris, as they’re going back upstairs.
“No problem,” the man replies, still sounding off.
“Same time next week okay?” He asks when they get to the kitchen, catching the water bottle thrown at him.
“Yeah, that works.”
“Are you okay?” He blurts out, getting worried now.
Chris looks surprised. And then he laughs softly, “I was supposed to ask you that.”
“What, why?” Stiles frowns at him.
Chris hesitates and then he asks, “Have you told Peter about the ring?”
Stiles doesn’t really understand their conversation at all anymore.
“Uh, no,” he admits, fiddling with the ring.
“Why not?”
“Honestly? Just forgot… Things have been kind of…” He makes a face, wondering how to word this, “…intense between us, lately.”
“He told me about that.”
Stiles feels the blood leave his face as he looks at Chris with new understanding. The man looks uncomfortable now.
“Is that why you’re being weird? I don’t know how close you two are but, do you want me to back off or something?” He suddenly feels scared that he’s going to lose a friend, or two. Oh God, what if he loses them both? He never, for a second, considered that to be an option.
“Stiles, no,” Chris steps closer, back to looking sincere, “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just worried that Peter’s dragging you into something you’re not fully prepared for.”
“I mean… he is, too.” And Stiles is starting to get a little tired of the two of them acting like they know what he’s ready for. “And I’m taking it seriously, I know it’s going to be weird and my dad will freak and if we do PDA in public, we’ll get looks, but…” Stiles shrugs. “I want him.” Can’t something in his life just be that simple, for once?
Chris doesn’t look like he liked hearing that, but he does say, “Alright, it’s your decision. Just, if you ever feel like you’re in over your head, you can talk to me.”
Stiles narrows his eyes at him.
“Yeah. I can talk to Peter too, though.”
Chris looks away, “Of course.”
Stiles is starting to get the sense that the weirdness is not jealousy here. But he has no idea what else it could be.
“So, I’m going to go,” he shakes the water bottle.
“Stiles…” Chris seems to be struggling to find words, “Are you alright, otherwise?”
He blinks, once again completely confused.
“Yeah,” he says simply.
Chris studies him in a similar way to how Peter likes to study him, intensely. At the moment, Stiles doesn’t like it at all.
“Bye,” he lifts his staff and leaves.
There’s a knock on his door.
He gets up from the couch but pauses, because there was a knock on his door but he didn’t hear anyone coming here, can’t smell the person who knocked.
He has a hunch and his claws come out.
He opens the door and lets his mouth fall, baring his fangs at Blake.
“My, my, what big teeth you have,” she deadpans.
“What do you want?” Peter growls.
“I know I’m not your favorite person at the moment, so I come with a peace offering.”
Peter is tired of people fucking him over and then offering peace.
“Not interested,” he goes to slam the door.
“I’m offering you Ennis.”
He stops, intrigued despite himself.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever wanted to be the Alpha?” She asks, innocently, like she’s not picking at a decade-old wound.
Peter figures the best thing to do would be to slam the door shut and forget she ever came here.
He opens it further.
“I’m listening.”
Notes:
re-reading some of the first chapters, i found some small inconsistencies lol. things like chris' pov mentioning that allison was born in beacon hills and peter revealing through dialogue that she wasn't. small, not that important stuff. this happens when you're writing way too much and posting whenever you finish a chapter
i'll probably go back and fix these soon
but for now, if you noticed something like that and went ?? then the fact that appears later is always the correct one
Chapter 15: alpha
Notes:
cw: graphic violence, a spoilery detail in the end notes
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
After having spent some time back in his old apartment, Laura’s house feels distant. Peter wouldn’t want to frequent it at all if it weren’t for the overwhelming smell of pack and family permeating the air.
He’s good at reading people, of guessing what’s going on in their minds through what he can scent and deduce. But right now, Laura’s thoughts are evading him.
“You trust her?” She finally asks, sounding confused.
It’s Sunday and they’re sitting at the dining table with Deaton. Their emissary is also managing to hide his feelings from Peter and he isn’t certain if it’s authentic control over his emotions or if the man’s re-discovered his druidic bag of tricks.
“Of course I don’t,” Peter scoffs. “I’d like to kill her. I just have a feeling my claws would never make it to her throat. But it’s an opportunity worth discussing. Or so I thought,” he glances at Deaton, wonders if the man knows that Peter didn’t want him here, wanted this to be a private conversation with his Alpha. But Laura insisted.
“But this… this would divide our family.”
“Which is why I’m discussing this with you in the first place. I want to know if you’d be okay with it.”
Laura laughs and leans her head against a fist.
“I’m having a hard time seeing any positives here, uncle. You’d be stronger, but we as a whole would be weaker.”
“You could go back to New York,” Peter points out. “I know you had a serious relationship there, whatever happened to it?”
She grits her teeth, “I never told you about him.”
“I’m perceptive.”
“So you’d like me to leave?”
Peter sighs, realizing that she has got the wrong idea.
“I’m not trying to kick you out or take your place. I can be the lone Alpha, I already have Stiles.”
“Except this would be your territory.”
“And I can share it with family.”
Laura shakes her head, smiling.
“If I don’t do this, you’ll resent me.”
“I-”
“I remember you couldn’t look at me for a week after mom made her decision,” Laura quirks an eyebrow.
Peter cocks his head in acknowledgment. He’s not the only perceptive one, apparently.
“There will be other opportunities. This one has just fallen into our lap.”
“No,” Deaton speaks up. “It was put there by a very dangerous individual. And we do not know why.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Peter says. “And although I’m at a loss as to why she came to me, I don’t think her idea is to weaken us, because she doesn’t have to.”
“Laura, we now know she’s here and she still plans on going after Deucalion. I think it’s best if you stay hidden, away from whatever Blake is planning.”
Laura looks at Deaton. Looks at Peter. And from the softening of her expression, Peter knows what she’s decided.
“I’ll help you do this. We’ll figure out what’s next after.”
Peter nods gratefully and does his best to hide how triumphant he feels. A life-long dream, ever since his father chose Talia, re-awakened when Talia chose Laura and now, near his grasp at last - he’s going to become an Alpha.
Granted, they’ll have to survive the eclipse first.
So, Peter stops himself from celebrating early, because they still have a plan to put together.
Monday’s a completely normal school day except for the fact that they’re all getting nervous about the eclipse now. At some point in between classes, Cora pulls Stiles aside.
“Okay, I’ve been waiting for you to fess up but you haven’t so I’m just going to ask you, why have you been panicking so much?”
“Panicking?” Stiles shrugs, feels his heart betray him when he says, “I’m not panicking.” At Cora’s pointed look towards his chest, he groans. “How am I supposed to keep secrets in a town full of werewolves?”
“You’re not,” she says simply.
“How about private, then? I don’t want to talk about it,” Stiles tries, begging her to drop it with his eyes.
Cora frowns at him.
“I know you’re not talking to my uncle, either. Are you at least talking to someone about it?”
“Did you tell Peter I’m panicking?” He asks indignantly.
“Why does it matter?” Cora shrugs.
“Just stay out of my life!” He yells and goes for a dramatic turn, yelping when he comes face-to-face with Lydia.
Who looks pissed off.
“Stiles. What’s going on?”
He covers his face with his hands, “Nothing’s going on.”
“Stiles, please.”
He drops his hands to meet her worried gaze.
“I’ll talk to you guys after school, alright?”
“We can go to that diner I keep hearing about,” Cora decides and heads to class.
Stiles stares after her, silently fuming about how quickly he caved for them.
“Is it bad?” Lydia asks carefully.
“No,” he says quickly. “If it were bad, I would’ve said something. It’s… it’s just the eclipse and Blake coming back and just,” he palms his forehead and rubs at an itch there, “Stress.”
“Okay. Well,” she pokes at him until he locks eyes with her and then she mouths the words ‘You and me, need to talk. Just us.’
She then taps at her ear which Stiles realizes everyone has chosen as the universal ‘werewolves can hear’ signal.
He nods, showing her that he got it and he agrees.
After classes, Scott gets a text from Laura, “Says she wants me there for a pack meeting, wow. A pack meeting.” Scott repeats the word ‘pack’ to himself a couple of times.
“The last couple of weeks catching up to you?” Stiles pokes at his friend’s arm and damn, that arm feels significantly firmer than it did before. Stiles pouts at the unfairness of magical gains.
“Yeah, I guess,” Scott looks at him, dazed and then shakes himself out of it, “But I got to go, can you give me a ride?” He asks Allison who of course agrees, which leaves the diner trio on their own.
“Let’s go!” Cora quickly claims the passenger seat.
He kept the note.
As soon as he brings it out of his pocket to show Lydia and Cora, he realizes how odd that is. He crumples the paper a bit, a specific memory flashing in his mind’s eye - Blake smiling while he cried.
“Stiles?” Lydia brings him out of it and he lets the note fall onto the table. They’re at the same booth they were in when Peter came to town. A month ago. It’s only been a month. It’s already been a month. Both feel true.
“Found this in my car,” he says as Cora grabs it.
“See you soon, uh. Okay?” She looks at him questioningly.
“It’s from Blake.”
Lydia snatches the note from Cora’s hands and reads it over herself. “You think she’s going to call on you again?”
“I don’t know,” he says, while actually meaning yes. “She loves mind-games. Maybe this is just another one.”
Lydia smooths her thumb across the letters.
“It could be.” Her eyes snap to his. “Or she needs the Nemeton again.”
“Would love to know how I can,” Stiles makes an aggressive hacking motion in front of him, “cut ties with that thing.”
“You guys have no idea how your connection started in the first place?” Cora asks.
“No,” Stiles mutters. But he also thinks about Morrell. And really wishes his French teacher would come back to school already, so Stiles could corner her after class and get some friggin answers.
Cora sits upright suddenly and starts rummaging through her pockets. She pulls out her phone and answers a call, “Yeah? …I’m with Stiles and Lydia. …Oh, well how was I supposed to know that I was needed too? …Pack meeting or not, you only told Scott- …Fine, I’m on my way.” She hangs up. “Sorry, guys, got to run.”
“Need a ride?” Stiles offers, hopes she says no.
“Nah, our place is close and I’ll be faster on my own. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
Stiles and Lydia wait until she leaves and then continue waiting for a few minutes.
“Think it’s safe now?” Stiles asks her.
“I hope so,” Lydia turns on her seat so she’s facing him. “I’ve been having dreams again.”
Stiles blinks at her, “Oh. Okay.”
“You want me to lie to everyone?” Scott gapes in disbelief.
Peter is leaning against the wall, massaging his temples as Laura tries to calm the kid down.
“Not lie, just don’t tell anyone about tomorrow.”
“Except if they ask what I’m doing during the eclipse, I’ll have to lie.”
“No,” Peter sighs. “You’ll be here, staying with us, in case Ennis calls you,” he spreads his hands. “Technically, not a lie.”
“Why don’t you want them to know?” Scott sits down at the table.
“We don’t want them to worry,” Laura says, sitting down next to him.
“So, there is something to worry about,” Scott points out nervously.
“Of course there is,” Peter snaps. “We have the lunar eclipse, a time where werewolves lose all our strength, happening when our town is full of unnaturally powerful Alphas, hunters and a darach we know almost nothing about.”
Scott stares at the wall.
“Don’t overwhelm the kid,” Laura frowns at him.
“Everything I just said was information he already knew,” Peter rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t really think about it,” Scott breathes out.
“Well, get used to it. This is your world now.”
“Peter,” Laura sighs, throwing her head back.
“What, playing nice is not how I get things done.”
“You play nice for Stiles,” Laura quirks an eyebrow.
“And apparently for Mr. Argent,” Scott mutters to himself and then freezes when Peter’s glare lands on him. “I know nothing,” he yelps, holding his hands up.
“How about we go over the plan once more?” Peter drawls, taking his eyes away from Scott who slumps in relief.
“If Ennis calls, I go and you guys follow with Deaton. And then hopefully, you…” Scott hesitates, cringing. “Deal with him while I stay back or maybe even run home, depending on what Laura decides.”
“Exactly.”
“What if he doesn’t call me, though?”
“He will,” Peter says. Deucalion doesn’t want him to, and after the attack on the school, Peter figures that Ennis likes his little rebellions.
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll stay here with Derek,” Laura assures him. “And we will go looking for him by ourselves. Blake promised to reveal him.”
“And that,” Scott points a finger at her, ”That’s another thing. How am I supposed to look Stiles in the eye, knowing I’m working with her?”
“You’re not working with her,” Peter says, but understands where the kid’s coming from. He’s not completely sure how he’s going to look Stiles in the eye either.
“This feels messy,” Scott shakes his head, “Won’t this screw up the dynamic here?” He points between Laura and Peter.
Laura glances at him, smiles sadly, “We’ll deal with that later.” She then looks back at Scott. “But I hope you know that you can refuse to do any of this. I’m not going to make you, Scott. I’m not that kind of Alpha.”
Scott rubs at the back of his neck, quietly thinking it over.
“Ennis could be a real big problem for me in the future, right?”
“Yes,” Peter answers quickly.
“Then… it’s in my best interests to help.”
“Mom would have said no,” Laura says later that night, after they’ve talked it over with everyone. Derek and Cora both seemed confused, kept sending Peter hurt looks as if he’s somehow betraying them (Isn’t he? He brushes the thought out of his mind.) but follow Laura’s orders readily enough and Deaton once more tried to get them to reconsider.
The two of them are out taking a walk, Laura finally granting Peter what he wanted in the first place - a conversation with her alone.
“Probably,” he agrees.
“I should’ve said no too.”
“…Probably,” he repeats. “I admit, I thought I would have to talk you into it.”
Laura chuckles softly, “I’ve always… wanted your approval. When I was younger, you felt more like an older brother than an uncle. You even gave me advice on boys,” she side-eyes him.
“I remember.”
“And then things got dangerous. Gerard blinded Deucalion, who went kind of mad… and mom got scared and realized she had to make a decision.” Laura stops walking and grabs Peter’s arm to get him to stop too. “After that, you stopped giving me advice.”
“Maybe I just thought you were grown up and didn’t need me anymore,” Peter shrugs. But he smiles humorlessly, because he’s never thought about it before, but he was kind of obvious back then, wasn’t he? His anger at being overlooked or even worse, noticed, judged and found undeserving.
“I still want your approval. Even though, I’m starting to wonder if I should trust you at all.”
Peter studies her, sees her looking lost in a way he hasn’t before.
“Whatever happens, I’m not leaving you or our family.”
“Mom always called you an opportunist. She even…” Laura looks away, frowning.
“What?” He asks, but somehow sensing that he doesn’t actually want to hear what comes next.
“When Deucalion called for a pack, when everyone found out what he did… Mom was afraid you might join.”
Peter feels shaken to his core.
“She thought I would kill her?” He shakes his head, laughing darkly. “What did I do in my youth that was so bad?” Remembers Deucalion saying “I always figured, it’d be you”.
“I don’t know,” Laura stares at him. “Mom never told me how you got your eyes.”
Peter meets her gaze and doesn’t speak. Most of his kills were always on Talia’s orders or in her name. They showed his loyalty to her, to their family. That couldn’t possibly have been why she lost trust in him.
“Fine,” Laura sighs. “What I’m getting at is… I’m going to help you with this because I don’t want to lose you again. Like I did before.”
“You wouldn’t. Things are different now. I wouldn’t resent you.” Or he likes to think he wouldn’t. Likes to think he’s evolved further from the power-hungry young man that almost burned to death.
But there’s something about the idea of being an Alpha, the way Talia spoke of it, the Nemeton granting her the full-shift. He was jealous, it’s easy to admit. When they were drawn there, when he told her of what he’d read, about places of power, about rituals to bind and protect, he didn’t know just how much it would irk him later on.
He wants that now. Especially because Laura doesn’t want to bind herself to this land, doesn’t want anything to do with the Nemeton. This is his chance. He’s already given his blood to it, already has a pack-mate because of it. Becoming the Alpha of this territory, taking Talia’s place, it feels right, it feels like what he’s been searching for, what he came here for.
“Either way, we’ve made a plan. Somewhat.”
“You sure about bringing Cora and Derek?” He asks, a little worried.
“No, but them being near makes me stronger. With the way Blake wants to time this, we need every bit of strength we can get.”
“I’m supposed to be a surprise.”
“If Deaton manages to hide you. But we have to be prepared that he might not.”
“Couldn’t find an emissary who can actually do the job?” He sneers.
“This town is his home just like it’s ours. I know you don’t trust him but I do.”
Peter shrugs, wants to say ‘your funeral’ but doesn’t because with everything they’ve planned looming over them like an ill omen, it would feel like jinxing it.
Scott’s been acting weird all day. He can barely look at Stiles, gets scared whenever Allison speaks to him and just generally shies away from all conversation. When Stiles finally confronts him during lunch, Scott tries to explain.
“It’s tonight, the full moon, the eclipse, all of it, I feel weird, I feel really weird,” he rubs at his face tiredly.
Stiles accepts that explanation because it is Scott’s first full moon as a werewolf and Laura did warn them that mood swings and out-of-character behavior is common during the day before. He stops prying and lets him be.
Besides, he’s also preoccupied with Peter being very unhelpful.
“He says I can’t take any books out of his apartment,” he whispers to Lydia during their last class of the day.
“If they’re super valuable, it makes sense.”
“But he also doesn’t want me to bring anyone over there,” he whines softly.
“Then you’ll just have to try to find something on your own,” she hisses at him and gestures to leave her alone.
“But there’s so many books and I have no idea on where to start!”
“Anything to do with nexuses, ancient trees and werewolves, obviously.”
“But what about banshees?”
“Mr. Stilinski, something you want to share with the class?”
Stiles glares at Harris, wishes his dad had arrested him like he’d begged him to.
“Nope, sorry.”
Fortunately, Harris moves on, but whenever Stiles tries talking to Lydia again, she refuses to look at him, eyes on her notes.
When class is finally done, he grabs her elbow impatiently and continues, “Should I try to find connections between banshees and Nemetons?”
“Maybe?” Lydia pulls her arm away. “You could always ask Peter, he’d probably point you to the right books.”
Stiles makes a face and Lydia points at it.
“That, what’s going on with that? Since when do you not want to run to Peter at the first sign of something supernatural?”
That makes him pause.
“I… I don’t know?”
“What’s going on? Did he… do something?” Lydia whispers angrily.
“No! It’s not that, it’s just. It’s weird. It’s only been a month and I kind of trust him with my life and most of that trust is fake. And I like him, I really do, but now he’s sleeping with Chris and it’s weird all around, just super weird- And now I sound like Scott,” Stiles sighs and rubs at his eyes.
“But you know he’d help you. He likes you too,” Lydia frowns, trying to understand.
“I know. But this, thing, with the Nemeton. It started with me and you and no one else really understands and I want to get to the bottom of it on my own.”
“I don’t really get it but fine,” Lydia sighs. “Research at your place? We can try what we did before, googling and talking to mysterious maybe-crazy-people online?”
“That sounds good,” Stiles nods. “Have you remembered any other details from the dream?”
“No, just, three figures. Talia opposite me, a woman slightly turned away and a man right in front of me, all of them facing the stump.”
“Three figures, you recognized one and couldn’t really see the other two faces…”
“The woman… seemed familiar. But, no, didn’t recognize her.”
“Well, best get our researching caps on then.”
“And if we end up finding nothing, we’ll go to either Chris or Peter, alright?”
Hearing those names together brings back imaginary images that Stiles has tried really hard to scrub from his brain.
“Fine,” he agrees reluctantly.
The clock is ticking closer and closer towards sunset and Stiles is trying to distract himself, he really is, but in the end he calls Scott to check in because he’s worried to death. To death.
“Hey,” Scott manages to sound weird even on the phone.
“You good? How you doing? Are you at the pack house? Is everyone else there too? Is Peter?” Stiles fires off question after question, causing Lydia to lower her bestiary notes and give him a look.
“Um, yeah. I’m fine. Just off, a little. And everyone’s here, including Peter.”
Stiles thinks about Peter, thinks about the fact that his lips were on Peter’s lips, then thinks about Chris, then his brain gets back on the right topic.
“I was wondering if maybe me and Lydia should come there too?” He dodges the pillow she throws at him. “You know, like the sleepover we had before?”
“That’s not a good idea!” Scott squeaks immediately, making Stiles frown. “Everyone is on edge here, it’s not just the eclipse, it’s still a full moon, dude.” His voice lowers into a whisper, “I saw Cora break a chair earlier- Ow. And now she threw a book at me!” He ends with a shout.
“Yeeeaaah, whispering doesn’t really work as intended in that house,” Stiles snorts.
“But you get the point, right?”
“Yeah, fine,” Stiles sighs. “Call me if you need to vent or something, okay? Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure, and- Ugh. Peter says ‘sweet dreams’.” Scott makes Peter sound like a twelve-year-old girl.
“Say thanks, I guess. Wait, he can hear me. Bye.” He hangs up, doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way werewolves can just hear everything.
Lydia stares at his blushing face pointedly, actually points at it and then says, “You’re playing with fire.”
“What?”
“I’m talking about Peter.”
“Oh. Well, yeah. But I thought we’ve established that I like playing with fire,” he grins and gestures at his dumb self.
“What’s really going on there, anyway? With you, him and Chris?” Lydia narrows her eyes at him.
“What do you mean? Peter offered me fun and come November, I am diving head first into said fun, hoping I don’t get my heart broken, even though I probably will-”
“You really think that’s a good idea?”
“No,” Stiles scoffs. “But it’s an idea that will lead to sex with Peter, so. Define good?”
“And what about Chris?”
Stiles stares off to the side, wincing as he remembers their last conversation. “Chris is being a little weird about it.”
“Oh?” Lydia puts her notes aside, fully invested now.
“At first I thought he was jealous, you know, wants Peter to himself. Then I thought, oh it’s the age thing. But now, I don’t know.”
Lydia gives him a familiar look, the one that screams ‘are you stupid?’.
“Have you forgotten the fact that Chris likes you too?”
Stiles waves that thought away, “No, he’s clearly not interested.”
Lydia’s face drops into her hands dramatically.
“Oh my god,” she groans. “How did we get back to this?”
“To what!?”
“To me having to explain to you just how much Chris likes your jailbaity ass,” she hisses at him, with an anger that Stiles feels is undeserved.
“Well now he has access to a non-jailbaity, incredibly hot ass named Peter,” Stiles says.
“Do you not see where this might be leading?”
Stiles blinks at her, shrugs.
Lydia rolls her eyes, “How are we friends? You like both of them, both of them like you and each other.”
Hearing that said out loud makes Stiles’ brain freeze.
“There it is,” Lydia smirks. “I bet you’re imagining what it’d be like with both of them at the same time now, right?”
“Shut up,” Stiles whispers, scandalized because yes, yes he is.
“Have fun with that,” Lydia picks up her notes.
For the next hour, Stiles has a silent inner crisis.
It’s getting foggy. Like everything didn’t feel sinister enough.
“It’s already two, isn’t the full eclipse happening soon?” Scott asks, pacing, restless and occasionally flashing amber eyes and staring at his claws in fascination.
“There’s still time,” Laura says but she glances at Peter, obviously thinking the same thing he is. Blake’s preferred timing is getting tighter, making it more dangerous for their pack. Blake said that she wants to divide the Alpha pack before the full power of the eclipse takes over, so as soon as it starts, she can focus on taking out Deucalion and Kali.
But Peter and Laura hoped they’d take care of Ennis and get the hell back home before they lose their strength, because Victoria Argent is surely not letting an eclipse go to waste. It’s the perfect night for hunting, and although so far there’s been a tenuous peace since the hunters know where they live, work and go to school but haven’t come knocking, Peter has no doubt that if Victoria and her men come across the Hales out in the woods, they won’t hesitate to fire.
Derek enters, returning from his quick patrol.
“There’s definitely hunters in the Preserve.”
“We knew there would be,” Peter says.
“Deaton? Are you ready?” Laura asks the man, who is kneeling on the floor, eyes closed.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Deaton answers, clearly nervous.
“We should-”
A familiar roar echoes over the town, obnoxiously loud and reckless.
Scott gasps, falling to his knees, face transformed into a Beta shift.
“Is- Is that him?”
“Considering your reaction? Yes,” Peter glances outside but he can already tell that the roar came from further away.
“How did you know he’d do this?” Scott groans, draws his claws against the floor, leaving behind deep scratches.
“Because it’s an asshole thing to do,” Laura growls, eyes deep red from hearing another Alpha call out a claim for someone she considers hers in her own territory.
“And Ennis is an asshole,” Peter confirms and then goes to Scott, reaching down a hand. “Last chance. You look like you might be able to hold off against his call.”
“It hurts, though,” Scott whines through sharp teeth. “And he’s dangerous. He needs to be-” he growls deep in his chest, “-dealt with it.” He pants, flexes his jaw until his fangs recede and then accepts Peter’s help in getting up.
“Cora, Derek,” Laura looks at them seriously, “You’re only there to back me up with your presence. You are not to engage in any way, is that understood?”
“Yes,” Derek nods.
Cora doesn’t look happy about it but sighs, “Yeah, fine.”
Laura turns to Peter and holds out her arm, “Whatever happens, we’re still family.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but it’s clear in her eyes that she’s looking for reassurance.
“Always,” Peter promises her, grasping her arm.
“Now remember, stay close to me,” Deaton tells them. “I’m not strong enough to hide you unless I can see you.”
Laura nods, clasps Scott’s shoulder.
“Let’s go.”
Stiles wakes up to pain.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, clutching at his stomach.
“Stiles?” Lydia asks sleepily, turning over beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s her,” he moans, “I don’t want to go but I don’t know what’s going to happen if I don’t…”
“Then we’ll go together.”
He doesn’t have the energy to give her the full-force glare she deserves, so he pushes at her shoulder, “No.”
“I’m not letting you go alone.”
“She might kill you, Lydia.”
“She can try.”
Stiles laughs, because they both know that was stupidly arrogant of her.
“I’m serious, Stiles. I’m coming with you.”
“This is a bad idea,” he sighs, getting up. “Take the taser, at least.” He pulls on his hoodie and hides his pocketknife in it and then grabs his staff.
“That is one conspicuous weapon,” Lydia remarks dryly.
“Tell me about it,” he mutters, grunting and slumping against the wall when another painful tug makes his knees week. Lydia pulls his arm over her shoulders, taking half of his weight.
“Come on.”
Ennis is just standing in the middle of the woods, waiting. Arrogant, unafraid.
Peter can’t wait to sink his claws into him.
They let Scott go ahead alone, trusting that because of Deucalion’s interest in him, Ennis won’t hurt him. He just wants to assert dominance over his new Beta.
Once Scott is out of Deaton’s sight, the protection fades and Ennis can sense his presence.
“There you are,” he drawls. “You made me wait,” he snarls furiously. Peter hears Scott fall to his knees.
“Fuck you,” Scott gasps out.
Ennis snickers, “What backbone. Maybe I should break it.”
Peter glances at Laura and she nods at him. She signals Deaton to head to the left, to circle around Ennis with Peter.
“Go ahead,” Scott growls and Peter feels impressed despite himself, the boy’s fighting hard against the claim and showing a side of himself that Peter didn’t know existed. Inner strength, he realizes. Potential, he remembers Deucalion calling it.
“You don’t seem to understand what’s happening here,” he hears Ennis come closer to Scott, hears Scott’s gasp cut off and now he sounds like he’s being choked-
Laura moves in, gestures for Deaton to reveal her presence. He does so and him and Peter start walking.
“You’re mine now, boy,” Ennis is saying but then he releases Scott because he can suddenly sense others.
“Get your hands off of my Beta,” Laura emerges from the trees and roars as she reaches them.
Ennis takes a few steps back but cracks his neck into a shift and roars back. He scents the air and laughs.
“Three against one? I like those odds. Come out, Peter! I’ll happily break every bone in your body until you learn your new place!”
Peter fights against the urge to rush in. At least it seems like his clothes that Cora’s wearing are working. They tried to cover her in his scent as much as possible, hoping that Ennis would assume their youngest was left behind.
That way, Ennis thinks that his enemies are all in front of him, giving Peter the chance to catch him off guard.
“I can handle you myself,” Laura flexes her jaw and runs at him, claws coming out with the two swings she aims at his chest and neck. Ennis dodges both with a speed she can’t match.
“Oh go on, then. Show me what you can do,” Ennis laughs, keeps his arms to his sides as he keeps dodging every swipe, every lunge, every kick. Laura’s not getting him at all. Peter and Deaton are close to Ennis’ back, Peter slowed down by the other man who not only lacks inhuman speed but also has to concentrate on hiding him from the Alpha’s senses.
Ennis grows tired of the play-fighting. He catches one of Laura’s arms and breaks it swiftly, throwing her a few feet away from him.
“Deucalion doesn’t want any of you dead. But of course, I’m allowed to defend myself. So come on, little Hale. Give me a reason.”
Laura staggers to her feet, pulls at her arm until it goes back into the right position with a nauseating crack. Nauseating for Scott, apparently, who moans at the sound of it, “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?” He roars at Ennis and rushes in.
And that’s when things go wrong.
“This is a very familiar path,” Stiles mutters as they walk towards the direction he’s being pulled in.
“I mean, she needs the Nemeton to do the actual tugging, right?” Lydia whispers, holding his hand, her other hand gripping the taser.
“I guess, I never really thought to ask how the hell she does this… Since, you know, magic.”
“Hold on,” Lydia whips her head around. “Did you hear that?”
Stiles looks around at the darkness, the trees, the fog, because his life is an actual horror movie cliché, “No, what?” He whispers, panicking, because there could be a lot more out here than Blake.
“I don’t know, I thought I heard a sound. Like someone stepping on a branch.”
Stiles’ eyes fly around, trying to find any sign of movement.
“Well, then it’d be hunters, right? Because, you know, Blake hides herself and werewolves are like scary good at staying hidden from their prey-”
“Unless we want to be heard,” a low, masculine voice. A British accent. That last detail causes Stiles to make an outrageous ‘What?’ face as he looks over his shoulder at the unassuming older man, just casually standing in the middle of the woods at night, wearing sunglasses and holding a-
“Blind, blind, blind,” he pats at Lydia, knowing he should be using more words but he’s panicking.
She turns around and freezes because she’s smart and can also put two and two together.
“Deucalion, I assume?” She asks and Stiles is grateful that at least one of them can form full sentences right now.
“The very same,” he smiles. “And you are Lydia Martin, the banshee of Beacon Hills,” he gestures widely. “Or are you?” He hums thoughtfully.
“What do you want?” Her grip on his hand is close to painful now, but Stiles can’t blame her.
“I’ve been wanting to meet Stiles for a while now.”
“Me?” Stiles licks his lower lip nervously, stands at his full height, hopes he doesn’t look as scared as he feels. Which is pointless, he immediately realizes because the man in front of him can smell his fear.
“Your situation is an incredible one. Rare. It intrigues me.”
“What do you know about my situation?” Stiles asks, sounding angry but actually hoping for a villain monologue.
Deucalion, unlike Blake, seems to understand what’s expected of a villain.
“A child of the Nemeton, a gift given to it. I’ve been putting the pieces together for a while now, and I think my theory is right but of course I have no proof,” he shrugs.
“What does that mean? I’m a gift?” Stiles asks, frowning, not liking the sound of that at all.
“Around eighteen years ago, when Peter was still in high school and Talia was pregnant with Cora, they were pulled to the woods. Talia described it to me as a dream. They had no idea of the Nemeton’s existence and then suddenly, it was awake and calling for an Alpha.”
Stiles glances at Lydia and sees her staring back, wide-eyed. Are they actually about to get some answers?
“That always seemed odd to me, since places of power don’t just wake up on their own,” he tilts his head. “And then I learned about you.”
“How?” Lydia asks, pressing in closer to Stiles.
“I was there, the night you and Peter visited the Nemeton.”
Stiles tries to swallow down the dread building up inside him. Morrell must have been hiding him, and where else has Deucalion been without any of them knowing about it?
“I noted your youth and looked into your date of birth, which was months after Talia said they did their little ritual.”
Stiles frowns, shares a confused look with Lydia.
“You’ve lost me,” he admits.
“My theory is that your blood was sacrificed as a gift, while you were still in your mother’s womb. Which then, started its awakening.”
He takes a step back, pulling Lydia with him.
“No,” he shakes his head, because of course no. No way in hell did that happen.
“Stiles,” Lydia says softly, pityingly. And no, she can’t actually believe the crap he’s saying, Stiles looks at her incredulously.
“No!” He yells, at her, at him, at himself.
“Interesting theory,” another voice, coming from the darkness clouded over by fog. Stiles’ breathing goes shaky and he gives a nod at Lydia’s questioning glance.
Blake steps out from behind a tree, looking beautiful, powerful and deadly.
Deucalion looks unsettled for a second as his head snaps towards her, but he relaxes and turns to face her.
“Are you the one who’s been hiding Stiles from me?”
Stiles looks at Blake in surprise, because he didn’t know she was doing that.
“I don’t like sharing my toys,” she smirks, and any small mote of gratitude that Stiles might have felt is gone.
“Have we met before?” He asks, looking frustrated.
“Oh, that must annoy you. I smell familiar, but not. Sound familiar, but not. Whoever could I be?” She grins mockingly.
“Could you get on with it?” Stiles snaps at her, and then jumps a foot off the ground when a loud growl comes from behind them.
A wild-looking brunette, with burning red eyes, is right behind them, focused on Blake.
“Kali,” Lydia breathes out and Stiles accepts her bone-crushing grip without complaints, because this situation is not exactly ideal and if she needs a hand to break, Stiles will gladly sacrifice his.
They try to back away from all of this, but Kali is suddenly at their backs, a clawed hand around each of their throats, close to piercing. Stiles adjusts his grip on his staff, thinks of the best way to use it and not get his jugular ripped open while Deucalion and Blake continue their pointless stand-off.
“I’m in need of some leverage. So I’ll be taking Stiles with me,” Deucalion says calmly, pissing Stiles off.
“No, you’re not. Because you’re not going anywhere,” she glances up.
“Hoping the eclipse will help you? Don’t you know who I am?”
She rolls her eyes, “Oh yes, Alpha of Alphas, the Apex Predator, Demon Wolf. I know you, Duke.”
Kali’s grip on his throat loosens.
“It can’t be,” she whispers and Stiles takes advantage of her distraction, bringing his staff up over his shoulder, hoping to hit her face and fortunately managing to do just that. He hears a loud snarl, turns around to see Kali shaking as Lydia holds the taser to the hand around her neck. She pulls away from Kali as soon as she’s let go. Stiles doesn’t give her a moment to realize what just happened, immediately snapping one end of his staff against her face, watching in awe at the black bruise appearing on her cheek as she stumbles back with a whine.
Stiles hears Blake laughing.
“I didn’t expect this, but good. Keep her occupied.”
Wind grows strong, stronger, until Stiles’ eyes start stinging.
He’s afraid of Kali lunging for them, but she’s staring at the sight behind them in disbelief. Curiosity gets the best of him and he glances over his shoulder to see Deucalion fighting against the wind, trying to get to an unconcerned Blake.
As he’s fighting, he’s changing, transforming into a form more beast than man, more demon than wolf, skin going dark grey, the grooves in his face making him look monstrous.
“I don’t know who you are-” he’s roaring, gaining ground now and getting closer and closer to Blake.
“We should fix that,” she reaches up to the sky and out of nowhere, with a deafening crack, lightning hits Deucalion, the flash causing Stiles to close his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, the Alpha is on his knees, back to his human form, panting.
And in front of him stands the darach, in her full horrific glory. Monster versus monster.
Her true form must spark something because Deucalion looks up at her and says, “I hope you forgive me for not recognizing you. You see, I thought you were dead.”
And behind them, Kali whispers, “Julia.”
Scott gets thrown far, Laura jumps onto Ennis’ back and claws at his head. He tears into her legs in retaliation, the scent of blood thick in the air now. And then Derek’s there, trying to stab his claws into Ennis’ chest but the Alpha grabs him by the throat and throws him at Scott who was just getting up.
“Aren’t you going to help?” Deaton whispers furiously at Peter.
“If I don’t get the right moment, we’ll lose this chance,” he says, ignoring the glare he gets in return. Deaton’s not strong enough to hide him from sight, he can only make sure that Peter’s not heard, can’t be smelled. Which means, he needs Ennis to be facing away from him but Scott and Derek have messed it up.
Ennis pulls Laura off him and kicks her away. She quickly gets back up on her feet and tries to move back into position, to give Peter another shot.
But she’s limping, hurt and weak. Peter tells himself to wait. It’s all for nothing if he doesn’t wait.
Then, movement from the right, and a sinking feeling in his gut as Ennis turns towards the figure flying at him with a vicious grin, claws up and ready to catch him, because Ennis’ first instinct, his sense of smell, must tell him that it’s Peter charging at him, he thinks it’s Peter-
Cora lands right onto Ennis’ claws and the Alpha roars into her gasping face, disappointed and furious at being tricked. He pulls one hand away and swipes at her throat. As Cora falls back, Laura is moving and Peter is running at the same time, seeing his chance but also feeling enraged, feeling despair.
Laura roars, pulling Ennis’ attention towards her. Peter hears Deaton moving behind him, keeping them all in his sight as he reaches Ennis’ back and strikes with all of his strength, tearing his hand through skin, flesh and muscle. Ennis is holding Laura by her arms, fighting against her renewed strength and he howls long and loud as Peter keeps pushing until he finds his target. Ennis lunges to bite at Laura’s throat just as Peter pulls his hand back out, his fingers tight around Ennis’ heart. The Alpha slumps against Laura, causing her to stagger before she throws the body aside.
Peter stares at the heart in his hands in wonder, squeezes it and watches the blood flow. He feels a strength like nothing he’s ever felt before burn through him, a surge of something primal, something vicious.
“Cora, baby, no-”
He comes back to himself, drops the heart and turns to see everyone crowded around his niece.
Suddenly they all gasp in shock as a high-pitched scream, a wail pierces the night air, and continues for about ten seconds, leaving their heads and ears ringing from the volume of it.
Peter grows cold all over, because he’s heard that sound before.
A banshee just screamed.
Cora is dying.
Blake is toying with Deucalion, mocking him, throwing him around and showing him how little his strength means against her powers. Stiles is getting sick of it. He feels like she’s pushing her luck, because each time the Alpha gets up, he looks angrier and with that anger comes more strength, more speed. A couple of times he has now gotten close enough to her that she’s had to dodge, run.
She’s laughing while she does it but Stiles thinks the power’s gone to her head, that she’s underestimating him. He just hopes the eclipse kicks in soon.
And then Lydia screams.
Kali, who has just been silently watching the fight, looking conflicted, grabs her head in agony at the sound of it. Stiles sympathizes because even his head is ringing, he can’t imagine what the werewolves are feeling.
Blake looks surprised.
Deucalion is gripping at his chest.
It takes him a few seconds after Lydia gasps breathlessly to realize what that scream just meant.
“Who- Who did you scream for?” He asks, grabs her by the arms to help her stay upright when she staggers.
She looks up at him, dazed.
“Hale,” she whispers and then collapses. He catches her, sits down with her in his arms, shaken and breathing shallow enough to feel lightheaded.
“Finish this,” he yells at Blake, holding Lydia close. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Deucalion’s looking weaker.
Kali’s crying?
Blake looks up and smiles.
“It’s here,” she gestures upward. Then looks down at Deucalion. “Now you’re human. Now you know how I felt, how powerless, how hopeless-”
Stiles tunes her out, runs his fingers through Lydia’s hair, strokes her cheek, tries to steady his breathing, tries not to let the panic overwhelm him.
But it’s hard, because, did someone just die?
“-you have to do it immediately, Laura, the full eclipse is close, maybe a minute away,” Deaton is saying as Peter staggers over. Cora’s gasping, choking on her own blood, it’s flowing down the sides of her face, she’s covered in it. Ennis tore out her throat, a killing move.
“Alright, alright,” Laura chokes out in between sobs and grabs her little sister by her cheeks. Peter sees the dark veins appear and run along her arms.
“What are you doing?” He asks, faintly realizing that he already knows.
Deaton’s looking scared, Derek’s crying silently and Scott might pass out soon from pure shock.
“I’m saving her,” Laura tightens her grip, Cora’s gasps are getting shorter.
“I wouldn’t have suggested this unless…” Deaton stares at Peter’s bloody hand. “Your pack needs an Alpha. But now that you’re one, Laura can try to use her spark to save Cora’s life.”
Her spark. Talia’s spark. Their family’s-
“This might kill her too,” Peter points out.
“Not trying is not an option,” Laura growls out, her gasps starting to match Cora’s as she pushes herself to continue draining Cora’s pain long past it’s effect.
Peter looks up, sees that the eclipse is almost upon them, feels his newfound strength start to wane. He looks back down at Cora’s face, his niece who pulled him back into this family, who made him laugh, who annoyed him into caring again.
“Hurry,” he whispers, begging in his mind for this to not be the price for his greed.
As he loses his senses, Laura’s body goes tight with pain, with something else, and then she falls over onto her side, unconscious. Peter can’t hear her heartbeat. But he can’t hear anyone’s heartbeat right now.
He comes closer, to kneel behind her and to check her pulse. Deaton does the same to Cora.
“Laura’s still alive,” Peter breathes.
“Look,” Deaton says as he wipes at the blood on Cora’s neck. Her wound’s gone.
“It worked,” Derek gasps out and breaks into short, heart wrenching sobs.
Scott covers his face with his hands, his shoulders start to shake.
Peter cradles Laura close to him and hides his face in her hair, a few tears escaping his tightly shut eyes.
He was willing to risk everything to gain more power, to get stronger. And now, after what he just felt, he knows…
It wouldn’t have been worth it.
“You ruined everything,” Blake growls furiously, spit flying into Deucalion’s face as she holds him by the neck. He’s grabbing at her, he’s choking and he’s panicking. Stiles can see the werewolf still fighting, even under the eclipse, his eyes are flashing, his fangs are still there, he’s truly something a lot more than just an Alpha.
But she was stronger before, now she’s invincible.
“You made her tear down everything we built, made her throw me away like I meant nothing!” Her grip tightens. Her crazed eyes find Stiles’, “Have you ever seen a head torn from its body before? I have. Kali did that to my best friend,” her face is an unmoving piece of horror, but from her voice, Stiles thinks she’s smiling, “On his orders,” she turns back to Deucalion and she lets go of him.
Stiles blinks in surprise because he thought she was going to choke him to death but oh-
Blake grabs Deucalion, who is now barely conscious, by the hair and puts her other hand against his shoulder and she pulls-
Stiles gags violently as the Alpha’s skin is torn apart, her supernatural strength making it look like she’s tearing off the head of a toy bear, an easy, vicious rip and blood explodes out of Deucalion’s neck in a violent cascade of red.
She lets the body fall back and holds the head in her hands, staring down at it.
“How anticlimactic,” she says and throws it over her shoulder.
Now she looks at Kali.
Who is on her knees, frozen and pale.
“You said you loved me,” Blake says calmly, gliding closer.
“I did,” Kali closes her eyes, looking regretful.
“And yet you killed me,” she grabs Kali by the chin.
“I didn’t,” she gasps out. “I couldn’t!” She grabs at Blake’s wrist.
“If I hadn’t found the Nemeton, I would’ve bled out,” she gets Kali to stand up, to meet her eye-to-eye.
Stiles feels something akin to pity for Blake, after piecing together the story of her betrayal. And he now knows her connection to the tree, as well.
“Julia, please, I still love you-” Kali cuts off with a gasp as Blake stabs a familiar knife into her chest.
“There, that’s what it felt like. When you ruined me, when you left me.”
Kali staggers against Blake, who catches her, her unblinking eyes staring off into the distance.
“All these years of planning… for this. Disappointing doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she lets Kali’s body fall onto the ground, and turns to Stiles.
In a blink, his pretty English teacher is smiling at him, eyes overflowing with tears.
“Good thing I have something better to end the night on.”
Stiles glares at her, scared out of his mind.
“And what’s that?” He croaks out.
“A new beginning.”
Notes:
cw: violent decapitation
Chapter 16: pawn
Chapter Text
They hear voices, men shouting, laughing.
Derek grabs at Scott’s shoulder, shakes him to get him to focus.
“The hunters,” he breathes out and shuffles closer to pull Laura into his arms.
Peter looks around, tries to pinpoint where they’re coming from, where they’re going, but he can’t because his senses are all dulled, human.
“I can hide our tracks, the sounds we make, but if they see us…” Deaton cradles Cora close, stands up with her in his arms, obviously struggling with her weight but determined. “We have to get them out of here.”
Peter weighs the options in his mind, and nods. “Let me figure out what direction they’re moving in. I’ll intercept and distract them and give you time to run.”
“No, Peter, if you die-” Deaton looks scared.
“I know, I won’t die,” he promises. He pays attention to their surroundings until he thinks he can figure out the hunters’ path. “They’re getting closer, I think they’re coming over here. Go, start running towards the house and be careful. Derek, look for traps.”
The others move fast, quickly disappearing from sight. Peter feels uneasy at not hearing them, at not being able to tell how many men are walking towards him, what they’re armed with, what they’re saying.
As the hunters get close enough for him to make out three figures moving in the darkness, he hears a familiar voice.
“Put that away, we’re not using guns tonight,” Chris is saying to the other two.
Peter comes out of the shadows, holding his hands up.
“I’m unarmed- fuck,” he grunts as a crossbow bolt is shot into his shoulder. He staggers back at the pain and then gives up and lets himself fall on his back, fears they might shoot again if he stays up. “Well fuck you too,” he groans.
“Hold!” Chris barks at them. “What do you think you’re doing? There could be regular people out here too, we don’t shoot on sight! Besides, this isn’t the Alpha we’re looking for, he’s a member of the Hale pack.”
“A Hale?” Another voice asks. “Victoria said they’re fair game.” A Spanish accent.
“And what did Araya say?” A spark of recognition in Peter’s brain - Araya Calavera, a woman he knows not to mess with.
“…To listen to you,” the man mutters.
“Exactly, so go on. I’ll follow once I’ve made sure you haven’t killed one of my allies.”
The other two grumble something in Spanish and walk past him, staring down at Peter as they go.
“Nice to meet you,” Peter drawls at their glares, breathing through the pain. The bolt hit high, so nothing dangerous or life-threatening, just incredibly annoying considering his body won’t heal it yet.
“You okay?” And there’s Chris, fully decked out in his hunter gear, jacket zipped high. He crouches down next to Peter and looks over at the wound.
“Could be better,” Peter replies, sitting up with a grunt. One of Chris’ hands comes up to his neck, thumb stroking against his skin and Peter glances at the other’s worried expression in wonder. He can feel him. The eclipse has taken away his strength, his healing, dulled his senses, but his pack bonds are still there, faint but apparent. His pack bonds as an Alpha.
“What are you doing, anyway?” Chris sighs. “Me and Allison weren’t supposed to join in on the hunt but she pointed out that if one of you was stupid enough to be out here, we might be able to save your lives.”
“I resent that,” Peter scoffs, trying to hold his arm steady. “My entire pack is in the woods, so maybe you should join Tweedledum and Tweedledee to make sure they don’t shoot your daughter’s boyfriend.”
“Scott’s here too?” Chris sounds exasperated. “Why?”
“We went after Ennis. We killed him,” he keeps his eyes on the other’s face, analyzing his reaction.
“Was this just about revenge?” Chris frowns.
“No. Laura helped me kill Ennis,” he reveals.
For a moment, Chris doesn’t get the difference but then his eyes go wide and he looks at Peter with understanding. “So you’re…”
“The new Alpha of the Hale pack, yes.”
Chris didn’t expect that either, leaning back a little and processing.
“What about Laura?”
“A Beta now. Listen,” he looks towards where Calavera’s men went, notes that it’s in the direction of his pack and pushes himself up. “This can all be explained later. Cora and Laura are unconscious, Derek and Scott have no strength or senses and Deaton’s barely a druid right now. You have to make sure they’re not found.”
“You must have known hunters would be all over the Preserve during the eclipse,” Chris stands too, adjusts his grip on his crossbow. Peter wants the reassurance of his touch back, tells himself to get a grip.
“We did, we didn’t plan on being out this late. Where’s Victoria?”
“She and Allison are on the other side of town, they found an abandoned warehouse they think the Alphas are staying in so they’re waiting.”
“I don’t think any of them are making it home.”
“Did you see the others?”
Peter shakes his head, “But I’ve felt and seen how powerful Blake is. I’m confident that she got what she wanted.”
“So no more Alpha pack,” Chris muses.
“No more Deucalion,” Peter says and thinks ‘good riddance’. Just like the Hale fire, Deucalion’s act of slaughtering his own pack has been a stain on recent history. He’s already considering various ways he can use this to his advantage in gaining favor with neighboring packs again, in forging alliances. Unlike Laura, he’s not willing to just sit in a dark corner as the community points fingers, as they cast blame.
He’ll make sure that tonight ends up meaning something, a new beginning for this town, for their pack.
His pack.
Now’s not the time for this, but he’s still shaken up over this monumental night, so he allows himself a small comfort. He grabs Chris’ arm and pulls him closer, “Will you join my pack?”
Chris blinks, glances behind him at the hunters lingering near enough to still see them.
“Just like that?” He asks, corners of his mouth quirking up into a reluctant smile.
Peter shrugs, immediately regrets it as the pain has him closing eyes to compose himself.
“Honestly, the question’s a formality,” he admits, releasing Chris to put a hand to his chest. “With humans, pack bonds are different. It depends entirely on how the Alpha sees them, if they trust them. I can already feel you here.”
Chris glances down at the hand on Peter’s chest. From the softening of his expression, Peter doesn’t even need his sense of smell to know it’s affection the man is permeating the air with.
“Don’t get sappy,” he snaps at him, dropping his hand and stepping back.
Chris looks away, chuckling wryly.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “That sounded like a confession.”
Peter scowls, “Well, it wasn’t. Are you okay with being in my pack or not?”
“Sure,” Chris replies immediately.
Peter shakes his head in disbelief at how easy that was for him. He feels drawn, grabs Chris by the belt to pull him in.
“Why are you so good to me?” He mutters, his confusion sincere.
Chris is leaning his head back, eyes glancing to the side, towards Calavera’s men.
“Now’s not the time for this.”
“Are you afraid of them seeing you kiss a man or a werewolf?”
“Both,” Chris says firmly and pulls away. “Before I go, did you hear the scream too?”
“Yes, a banshee wail. I think it was for Cora. She got very close to dying,” Peter reminds himself to call Lydia soon, to check on her.
“But she’s okay?”
“Hopefully. Again, this can be explained later.”
“Alright, should you maybe come with us?” Chris gestures with his head towards the hunters.
“No, I want to go check something.”
“Now?” Chris looks up. “How much longer is this going to last, anyway?”
“Over an hour to go,” Peter grimaces as he accidentally flexes his shoulder. “Why aren’t you using wolfsbane?”
“I am. I gave them regular ones,” Chris shrugs. “Call me if you need help with that,” he points at the crossbow bolt and then walks away.
Peter watches him go, has a desperate need to follow, examines that need and discards it, because right now is not the time to get overwhelmed by how attached he’s gotten, how he has a new pack bond, just like that.
Thinking of bonds, he looks around and tries to determine which way he should go to get to the Nemeton, because he has only vague ideas of what Blake might do next, and a few of those ideas involve Stiles. He glares at the bolt sticking out of his shoulder, knows how much it’ll hurt if he pulls it out, not to mention having to deal with blood loss without having anything to wrap around the wound. So, he leaves it and starts walking, pulling out his phone.
Stiles doesn’t answer. Neither does Lydia.
Fortunately he can still feel Stiles, so he knows he’s alive.
He hopes he’s home sleeping and Peter’s worrying over nothing. But he also knows how this town works and starts walking faster.
“A new beginning.”
Stiles swallows down the lump in his throat.
“Okay, good luck with that. Bye.”
“Don’t play dumb,” Blake rolls her eyes and grabs Kali’s body by the arm and drags it behind her as she moves towards Deucalion’s headless form. “Go pick up the head and let’s go.”
“What? No,” Stiles pulls Lydia closer. “I’m not leaving her here,” he glances at the bloody ground, except… except the blood is gone. Blake is still covered in it, as are the bodies, but he can’t see a single drop on the-
His eyes fly to the streaks of blood left behind by Kali’s body as Blake drags it along and he sees the blood disappear, slowly, as if it’s being absorbed by the land.
And considering how close they are to the Nemeton, yeah, Stiles thinks to himself, it’s probably being absorbed by the land.
Great, more juice for the thing.
Blake grabs Deucalion by the arm as well and looks at Stiles, “Leave her or I’ll kill her,” she says casually.
Stiles has seen what she’s capable of, so he brushes the hair off of Lydia’s face and sets her gently on the ground.
He stands up and goes to find the head.
He’s been walking for around twenty minutes when his phone rings.
“We’re home safe,” Derek tells him and Peter sighs in relief. “Where are you?”
“I’m trying to get to the Nemeton.”
“Why? What if Blake’s there?”
“I have a feeling that she is and…” He growls and looks around, still not knowing if he’s going the right way. “I think it doesn’t want me there right now.”
“So come home.”
“Not yet. Get Scott to call Stiles, let me know if he picks up,” he orders and then hangs up.
He has this uneasy hunch that the tree is trying to protect him.
He continues walking.
Stiles would like a repeat of his one-time out-of-body experience and he’d like it now. He’s holding a head. Nausea is building, as well as a stress headache or maybe a fear headache, a panic headache? You can get a headache from pretty much anything, can’t you? Maybe it’s a combination of everything that’s wrong right now, an everything-headache.
“I’m dragging two bodies and I’m faster than you,” Blake snipes at him over her shoulder.
“Yeah, well, I’m human,” Stiles shoots back unconvincingly, tripping over his feet slightly and getting more blood on his pants as he has to adjust his grip on Deucalion. He’ll just refer to the head by it’s former name, try to not focus so much on the fact that he’s holding a body part.
Is a head a body part? Stiles glances down at the frozen face and hates himself for doing so, quickly looking away from it.
“Throw it here,” she tells him as she drags the bodies to the stump, dropping them right against it.
He does what he’s told and then watches in morbid fascination as thinner, familiar-looking roots crawl out of the ground and wind themselves around the bodies, pulling them in, pulling them under, until there’s nothing left.
“Beacon Hills’ very own body disposal system, okay then,” he whispers to himself.
“Cut your hand,” she hands him her knife, the knife that was in Kali just minutes ago. Unsanitary. He sees that her own hand is bleeding too.
“What are you going to do?” He tries getting answers.
“It hid itself from me earlier, but now I have its attention.” She comes to stand on the other side of the tree, opposite of Stiles. “On my blood, I swear,” she leans over and puts her bleeding palm onto the stump.
When Stiles doesn’t move, she glares at him.
“Do you want me to do the cutting? Fair warning, I’ve been called a butcher.”
He breathes in, wishes someone would come and help him, makes a shallow cut along his palm and drops the knife. He hesitates as he leans over to mirror her position.
“What are you going to do?” He repeats.
Blake tilts her head, “I’m going to give it what it wants.”
He makes an annoyed face at the super unhelpful non-answer and slaps his palm down.
Immediately, the roots that he’s starting to consider communion-roots in his head, burst out of the ground and wrap around them both. But as Blake’s eyes get covered, as she goes to apparently have a chat with it, Stiles’ eyes remain free and open.
Anxiety grips at his throat as he struggles, not liking how tightly he’s constricted under the weight of the roots. He never really noticed the sensation of being trapped before since his consciousness was elsewhere. A tiny part of him almost feels betrayed by the Nemeton, for being left behind.
Perhaps a minute goes by, with Stiles fighting against a panic attack the entire time, until finally the roots draw back and they’re both released. Blake looks like she’s deep in thought.
“Did you find out what it wants?”
She looks at him, and there’s something odd about her expression. Like she’s seeing him in a new light. She stands up and Stiles staggers to follow, swaying a little.
“I know what it wants. And finally, I understand your purpose,” she makes a pitying face at him. “You asked me why I tortured you?” She starts walking around the stump, Stiles starts backing away. “Because I couldn’t understand why, after everything I’ve done, everything I’ve sacrificed, the Nemeton was ignoring me. Why I needed you, a seemingly ignorant, unmagical human, to help me commune with it.” Stiles continues stepping backwards but of course his heel finds a rock and he slips, goes down hard. “I figured there must be something special about you, something I’m not seeing.”
He scrabbles backwards on his hands and heels but Blake reaches him and smacks him hard against his cheek.
“Fuck,” he gasps out, falling fully onto his back and grabbing at his face.
“Want to know the truth, Stiles?”
“Yeah,” he yells at her, because obviously he does. Fingers grab his throat, wrap around it perfectly and start applying pressure. Images of Deucalion getting choked, getting his head torn off flash in his mind’s eye and Stiles struggles against her hold, slams down at her wrists, punches at her shoulder. She’s crouching over him now, face intense, eyes dark.
“There’s nothing special about you,” she growls through her teeth, hands tightening their grip. Stiles can’t breathe. “You’re just a pawn. A means to an end. And now that I’m here? You’re optional.” She’s crushing his throat now, he feels like his head is going to explode, or his neck is going to break. He throws one last desperate punch, aiming half-heartedly at her nose. There’s a thud and her head snaps back, but her grip doesn’t falter and it’s what he expected, just like the last time he punched her. Then he sees the blood coming out of her nose.
There wasn’t any blood last time, she looked untouched.
Barely having any energy left to think, he follows his instincts and pulls out his pocketknife, flicks it open and stabs blindly at her stomach. Her grip instantly loosens and her face morphs into shock. Feeling overwhelmed, he pulls the knife back and stabs again, twisting it deep. She slams one hand onto his face and the other goes to his fingers around the knife, digging into them. Despite his best efforts, he loses his grip on the knife and she quickly pulls it out and tosses it aside.
She’s bleeding heavily now. Her illusion flickers and her true form appears, but she screams through her teeth and becomes Blake again, shaking her head.
“You’re weaker, aren’t you?” Stiles whispers, wincing at using his voice, as well as at hearing how wrecked it sounds. He pulls himself backwards, slowly, expecting her to attack him again. But she slumps back to sit on her heels, hands against her stomach. She looks shocked, terrified. “What’s the matter? Spent everything on flinging Duke around?” He tries to clear his throat, regrets it, crawls back further.
“Shut up,” she mutters, pulling back one of her hands to stare at her blood.
There’s the sound of movement, someone running through the woods. They both look towards the edge of the clearing and see Lydia emerge, holding Stiles’ staff.
“Get away from him!” She continues running towards Blake.
“Lydia, no-” Stiles tries warning her, but his voice gives out on him and he breaks off into a coughing fit, each cough making him feel like his throat’s collapsing in on itself.
Blake pushes herself up and walks towards Lydia, who swings the staff at her, wild and wide. Blake catches it easily and pulls it from her grasp. In retaliation, she swings it against Lydia’s cheek, the force of it causing her to twirl and lose her balance, landing on her hands and knees.
“I’m not this easy to defeat, Stiles,” Blake gasps out and starts staggering over to the Nemeton.
Lydia scrambles up and pulls the taser out of her coat pocket. She runs after Blake, who turns and holds up her hand, expecting another simple weapon. When her skin meets the taser, Lydia immediately activates it and Blake convulses and falls down, continues to shake on the ground.
Lydia stares down at the state of her, and then turns to run to Stiles.
“Oh my god, I thought she killed you,” she helps him sit up and hugs him tight.
He hugs her back, keeps his eyes on Blake over her shoulder.
“She tried to,” he rasps.
Lydia pulls back in shock and stares at his neck in horror. “Stiles,” she gasps out, crying.
“I’m okay,” he tells her, turning to meet her gaze. “I’m alive, nothing’s broken, I’m okay,” he repeats it as she hugs him again, sobbing against his shoulder.
He closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of her shampoo as he buries his face into her hair. He holds back sobs of his own, forces himself to breathe slow and deep.
When she pulls back, he glances over her shoulder and pushes her away.
“No,” he says, standing up.
Blake has crawled over to the Nemeton and has both of her hands on the stump.
Stiles sees her knife on the ground nearby and runs to grab it. But when he gets close enough to try to stab her in the back, a strong wind pushes against him, stopping him mid-motion. And the wind continues, pushing him back further. It gets stronger and stronger until he feels his feet rise up from the ground and he goes flying, flying-
He hits a tree, side-first, ribs exploding into pain as soon as he drops to the ground. The breath’s knocked out of him and he struggles to get it back in, gasping.
He hears Lydia yelling something, hears her shout in pain, he tries to look up. He can see Blake standing up straight and Lydia backing away from her, holding her face.
“Your choice. Come after me or go check on your friend.”
Blake’s turning away, leaving. Again.
“Where are you going?” Lydia asks, furious.
“To find her.” How enigmatic and unhelpful, exactly what Stiles has come to expect from her. Blake tells them nothing else and in just a few seconds, she’s gone.
Stiles sees Lydia turn towards him, he lets his eyes close, lets himself cry, because everything hurts and tonight was an actual nightmare come to life.
“Hold on, I’ll call the ambulance,” Lydia’s whispering.
“No,” his eyes snap open and he grabs the phone out of her hands.
“Stiles!” She hisses incredulously.
“Nothing’s broken. I think.” He winces as he pushes himself up, but he manages to do it, and nothing feels broken. Just very, very bruised.
“You’re hurt and you need help!”
“My dad can’t afford any more hospital bills,” he wants to yell but settles on whispering because his throat’s fucked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, people can help! Do you think Peter would turn you down if you asked?”
He stumbles and leans against a tree, grimacing.
“Just, let me sleep it off. If it’s really bad tomorrow, I’ll go.”
“You’re being so fucking stupid,” Lydia no longer looks terrified, she looks like she wants to hit him. “You could die in your sleep!”
He wants to say ‘guess I’ll die’ and laugh about it, but he thinks that’s just the shock getting to him and Lydia might actually explode with anger if he did, so he doesn’t.
“Please. Just, help me get home.”
She’s shaking her head, but is already pulling one of his arms around her shoulders.
“This is not what friends do. They don’t get thrown around and almost strangled to death and then refuse medical help, I’m so mad at you right now-”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles pulls her to a stop.
“You better have changed your mind,” Lydia glares up at him.
“No, get the staff, it’s valuable.”
He probably deserves the poke in the ribs she gives him. He hisses out in pain.
“If that hurt so bad, maybe there’s something broken?” She snaps at him as she grabs the staff.
“Just bruised, I promise,” he groans when she starts viciously pulling him along again, going at a speed he wasn’t prepared for.
“Am I going too fast? Maybe that’s a sign that you need to go to the hospital,” she stresses.
“Are you going to act like this the entire way home?”
“Can I call someone else? Chris? Peter?”
Stiles doesn’t answer right away and Lydia stops walking, looks up at him questioningly.
“Stiles,” she says softly. “Why don’t you want help?”
“It’s not that I don’t-” he huffs, feeling frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, I don’t… I just want to go home. I don’t want to talk about tonight, I don’t want questions, I just want it to be over. I just… I just want to go home, okay?”
“If you die because I didn’t put my foot down, you realize that you’ve traumatized me for life, right?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Well, as long as you said sorry,” she rolls her eyes at him and they continue walking.
The eclipse is almost over when Peter finally reaches his destination.
There’s no one there. He sits himself down onto the ground and waits.
His senses come back to him slowly. At first, it’s his hearing that sharpens, and he can suddenly tell that there are hunters about a mile south, talking about going back to ‘base’. Then his sense of smell, and he knows that Chris and his two pals are a couple miles north.
His pack bonds flare bright and strong in his chest, a weight to them like nothing he’s ever felt before.
His strength returns, except it’s more.
He pulls out the crossbow bolt and feels the wound heal in seconds.
He stands up and looks around, scenting the air. He expected to get nothing, since Blake hid herself so well before, but there’s a lingering stench, her stench, the very same Peter tried to follow from the school. And there, a familiar anxiety-ridden smell, Stiles.
And Lydia.
He pulls out his phone again and calls her.
She surprises him by picking up.
“It’s the middle of the night,” she whispers and he can hear her leaving a bed and then closing a door.
“Are you with Stiles?”
“Yes.”
“What happened tonight, Lydia? Besides you experiencing your first scream,” he tries to sound calm, steady. But the two of them were here, with a darach, and now he catches the faint scent of blood and he has to control the strength of his grip on his phone, because he’s in danger of crushing it.
“Blake pulled at him. We went. She killed Deucalion and Kali and then she tried to kill Stiles.”
“Tried?” His breathing quickens. He didn’t think she’d kill him. He thought she needed him.
“Stiles stabbed her. She got away in the end, said she’s going to ‘find her’. And that’s all I’m allowed to tell you,” she sighs.
“What does that mean?” He’s walking around, trying to find the source of the smell and there, the knife he used to cut Stiles’ arm, covered in various scents, not just Stiles’ blood but others too. But as he picks it up, he can tell there’s something else.
“He’s… being weird, which is understandable with everything that’s happened. I’m staying here to make sure he’ll actually wake up,” she sounds close to tears.
Peter finds Stiles’ knife, the one he used to bleed Kate. He guesses this is what Stiles used to stab Blake. He pockets it and processes Lydia’s words.
“Actually wake up?” He’s already moving away from the clearing, fully intent on going over there. “You’re both at Stiles’ house?”
“Yes. And, yes. He refused an ambulance and he didn’t want me to call you, but I’m so worried-”
“I’m on my way.”
Lydia looks like she’s been crying for a while when she opens the door. There’s also swelling and bruises forming on the right side of her face.
“I gather the Sheriff’s not home?” He asks, entering swiftly.
“At work, yeah,” she gestures at the stairs. “He’s in his room.”
He takes the steps two at a time and follows Stiles’ scent to the door that’s left ajar. He barely pays attention to the messiness of the room, the various books and papers on the table, the clothes on the floor, all of his senses focus on assessing the sleeping figure on the bed. He can hear that the heartbeat is strong, can smell the faint remains of washed-off blood. He sits down gently beside Stiles’ hip, the boy sleeping on his stomach.
Peter leans closer and lets power flow into his eyes so he can inspect every detail of Stiles’ face. He sees the swelling on his cheek, then the finger-shaped marks on his neck.
And then she tried to kill Stiles.
He underestimated her, he underestimated Stiles’ part in this, he has missed something, something crucial. He hasn’t fully delved into the mystery of Stiles’ bond to the Nemeton, he thought he had time, that he should focus on his pack and Argents first. He fees like he has let Stiles down and his chest aches with guilt. A member of his pack is hurt and he feels responsible.
“How does he seem?” Lydia whispers from the doorway.
He reaches out to brush Stiles’ hair back from his forehead, to place his hand there and drain some pain away, hopefully helping Stiles wake up without a headache. He notes the other’s expression softening further, feels their pack bond thrumming with life. While awake, Stiles doesn’t seem to want to confide in him anymore, but at least his subconscious still trusts Peter.
He pulls away and brushes past Lydia.
“This whole house stinks of panic, I need to go outside. It’s putting me on edge,” he flexes his jaw, fighting the urge to protect, to hunt. If he was still a Beta, he’d go after Blake, do whatever it takes to end her life, would call on old debts, would leave Laura. But he can’t now, his family is waiting for him at home, they need him to be here, to ground them all together.
Once he can breathe in the clear early morning air, he turns to Lydia.
“He doesn’t seem like he’s dying,” he confirms dryly. “But he is hurt.”
“No shit,” she snaps softly. “How the hell are we supposed to protect him from her when she can just… make him go to her whenever she wants?”
Peter doesn’t have an answer to that.
“You said Stiles stabbed her?”
“Yeah, she was bleeding all over the place. I tased her and I thought she was down, hoped she was dead. But she got up again and touched the stump which I guess healed her?” She grabs at her head, “Stiles said that she’s done it before, that’s how she knew about it in the first place. Kali left her for dead and the Nemeton saved her.”
“Kali left her for dead?” Peter cocks his head in surprise. “Julia?”
“That’s the name Kali said… Who is she?”
“Kali’s emissary.”
That answers one question at least, how a druid like her got on this dark path in the first place and why she hated Deucalion so much. She must have been building up her power all this time.
“And then she got away,” Lydia sighs, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”
“You couldn’t have helped,” she shrugs. “That’s the most terrifying thing about her, I don’t see how anyone can stop her.”
“Druids like to say that if the balance gets this twisted, the powerful bring about their own end.”
Lydia quirks an eyebrow, “That sounds like a fairy tale.”
“From everything I’ve heard and read, it has truth to it. Take Deucalion, even. If he hadn’t done what he did, hadn’t pulled Kali into it, Blake wouldn’t have killed him.”
“Except that took… how many years?”
“Around eight.”
“Blake better get her comeuppance faster than that,” Lydia shakes her head angrily. “What she did to him…” She pauses as his head snaps up towards the house. He hears Stiles groaning, pulling himself out of bed. “What?”
“He’s awake,” Peter says just as the window they’re standing under is opened and Stiles sticks his head out to glare at them.
“And he’s fine.”
“That word? Coming from you? Meaningless,” Lydia hisses up at him.
Peter doesn’t say anything, stares at Stiles’ face, which while looking haggard and pale is still as animated as it usually is. Peter suddenly wants him close, wants to feel him breathing against him.
“Did you call him?”
“He called me!”
“And so you invited him here?” Stiles squints down at her angrily.
“Yes! Because I’m not equipped to handle your various injuries, Stiles!”
“No one asked you to handle them!”
“Put yourself in my shoes for a second!”
They glare at one another in silence, while Peter forces down a chuckle. This is what drew him to these two in the first place, this resilience and stubbornness, the amusing bravado and refusal to back down. After the world continuously comes crashing down around them, they get up and keep moving, keep trying to get back to their normal. Their efforts, however fruitless, are still admirable.
Stiles then locks eyes with Peter and his annoyed expression fades.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Peter hears Lydia mutter ‘oh dear god’ under her breath dryly.
“How are you feeling?” Peter asks and tilts his head, making it clear that he’s listening.
Stiles grimaces at him, obviously getting the hint, “I feel like shit. Everything hurts. But I don’t think I need the hospital, okay? You can tell her that I’m not lying.”
Peter glances to his side at Lydia’s unimpressed face, “He’s not lying.”
“He’s also not a doctor.”
“Last time, I could feel that there was something really wrong and I wanted to go to the hospital. This time, it isn’t that. Everything sucks, but I think I’ll be fine.”
“Alright,” Peter says. “I believe you. But you’re staying home today.”
Stiles gapes at him.
“Excuse me-”
“He’s right, you’re not going to school, you’re not going anywhere. Your dad will take one look at you and agree with us,” Lydia crosses her arms over her chest and raises her chin, daring Stiles to argue.
Which he surprisingly doesn’t, slumping onto the windowsill.
“Fine,” he sighs and Peter thinks he’s relieved. He imagines that Stiles probably feels like sleeping the whole day away right now. “Hey, uh…” He taps his fingers against the window nervously. “Wait, I’m coming down.” He disappears from sight.
Peter quirks an eyebrow at Lydia who shrugs.
He can hear Stiles’ grunts and groans at various points throughout his journey downstairs, hates hearing him in pain, hates it even more when Stiles is outside, a warm-looking hoodie pulled over his T-shirt, and Peter can smell his lingering panic.
“Hey,” he says again, fiddling with the hoodie’s strings.
Peter notices Lydia palming her face.
He looks at Stiles and sees, feels, smells something lurking under the surface, something close to brimming over. He takes a guess and opens his arms.
“Come here.”
Stiles doesn’t hesitate, rushes into the embrace and hides his face against Peter’s neck, arms painfully tight around Peter’s chest, fingers clutching at the back of his jacket.
“You agree that not calling him was a stupid move?” Lydia asks snarkily.
“Shut up,” Stiles mutters and then Peter can smell tears. He brings one hand up to the back of Stiles’ head, strokes his fingers through the other’s hair, frowns as Stiles starts to tremble. “I was alone with her, again, and it scared the shit out of me.” Peter’s other hand curls into a fist around Stiles’ hoodie. “I kept hoping you’d show up, I don’t know why, I just…” Stiles sniffs loud and wet, rubs his eyes against Peter’s skin. “When we heard someone running, I thought it was you for a second but it was Lydia, and no offense to her, but that was a huge disappointment and I was certain we were both going to die.”
“Offense taken,” Lydia whispers through her own quiet sobs.
“I should’ve called, I know, I don’t…”
“We can talk about everything tomorrow after you’ve gotten some rest. Will you come over to my place?” Peter forces his voice to stay calm, soothing, to not show these two what he’s feeling. It’s harder than usual, being an Alpha apparently heightening everything, including his emotions.
“Yeah,” Stiles sniffs again and pulls back a little. “Okay. There’s…” He frowns and puts a hand onto his chest. “I feel you like I usually do, except it’s… more.”
Peter forgot that unlike other humans, Stiles can actually feel the bond.
“And there’s…” Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Wait, there’s others?”
“You’re a member of the Hale pack now,” Peter reveals.
“What? How?”
He decides to let his eyes glow red as a reply. Stiles takes a step back in surprise and Lydia gasps, hand going up to her mouth.
“Laura?” She whispers.
“Is alive. And no longer an Alpha. I killed Ennis.”
“Wh-” Stiles’ face goes through several different expressions, “What!?”
“We’ll talk about everything tomorrow. When you come over.”
“How am I supposed to sleep after you drop a bomb like that?” Stiles gestures frantically at Peter’s face, almost hitting him. “What does this mean? Wait, aren’t you like, my Alpha too, now? Oh my god, am I supposed to obey you or something?” He steps back further.
“No,” Peter scowls at him. “Hasn’t Scott told you what having an Alpha is like?”
“I mean… yeah…”
“Nothing’s changed between us,” he says.
Stiles relaxes at that, “Okay.” He moves closer, hesitates, says, “Before you go, uh… One more for the road?” And steps in to hug Peter close again, happily burying his face in his neck. Peter’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him tight. He’s enjoying the feel of Stiles’ tall, lean body against his more than he should right now. “You give good hugs,” Stiles mutters. “You’re like a furnace, except you know, a huggable one.”
“Should I go?” Lydia asks.
Stiles pulls back immediately, as if remembering that they have an audience.
“No, I’m done. I mean, I’m-” he flaps at Peter. “You can go. Not that you need my permission. Do I need your permission, oh Alpha?”
Peter blinks at him slowly, shaking his head.
“Just go to bed,” he tells him, but he smiles, showing his amusement.
“Fine,” Stiles sighs and gestures at Lydia to follow.
She gives him a sharp look before she goes, “If you hurt him…”
“I’m aware that there will be a line of people, ready to harm me in numerous ways.”
She sniffs haughtily, “And don’t you forget it.”
Peter stays there and listens until they’re back upstairs, but leaves once he hears them start talking softly, not wanting to eavesdrop.
“I’ll come over tomorrow morning with make up, help you hide these,” her fingers brush against Stiles’ neck and he draws back instinctually. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and sad. “Sorry.”
They’re sitting on his bed, backs against the wall.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, clears his throat.
“Are you going to tell him what Deucalion told us?”
Stiles doesn’t look at her, his foot starts tapping against the bed.
“Stiles, if what he said is true-”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, doesn’t want to think about it.
“Then your mother’s the reason you’re bonded to it.”
“She wouldn’t…” His voice gives up on him and he coughs a little, sitting up straighter. “She wouldn’t do this to me.” His breathing becomes shaky. “She loved me.” He can feel Lydia staring at him.
She curls in closer and rests the unharmed side of her face on his shoulder. She slides her hand over his and intertwines their fingers.
“Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing?”
“She never, not once, said anything about… the tree or rituals or magic. She-” Stiles shakes his head and stops talking. Lydia follows his lead and stays quiet too.
At some point they slide back under the blankets and he drifts off. He feels her get up and kiss him on the cheek before she leaves.
Later, he wakes up to his dad peeking in.
“Hey, kid, you taking a sick day?”
Stiles sits up and lets Noah take in the full picture.
“Kind of.”
“What the hell happened?” Noah breathes out, coming in to sit on the bed.
“My English teacher tried to kill me,” Stiles smirks.
“That’s not funny.”
“No, no it’s not.”
“Where is she?”
And Stiles can see the same thing in his dad that he saw in Lydia, in Peter. This desperate need to make sure something like this can never happen again, and the helpless realization that they can’t. His dad looks bone-tired, and it’s only been a month of this. And if Stiles was… given to the Nemeton then that means this will continue. There’s no severing this bond, at least not unless he manages to find out what started it and then maybe look for something to reverse it?
“Gone, again. For now.”
“How am I supposed to protect you from this?” Noah’s eyes blur with tears as he stares at Stiles’ neck.
“You’re not,” he shrugs and goes in for a hug. His dad grips him tight and pats him on the back, gentler than usual. “Did mom ever mention anything about the tree? About going to the Preserve?”
Noah pulls back, “No. Why?”
“I’m just trying to make sense of things.”
“Well, can I get you something? Food?”
“Yes, please.” He joins his dad downstairs, doesn’t tell him about the dark purple bruising along his side.
Cora is awake when he gets home, but Derek’s the one he sees first. His nephew looks awkward as he sidles up to him and bares his neck.
“There’s no need for that,” Peter says, and pulls Derek in for a hug, their bond settling.
Then his youngest niece is there, looking miserable.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, flinches a little when Peter takes a step towards her.
He pauses, “Do you think I’m angry at you?”
“I don’t know, I feel that you are angry…”
“That’s got nothing to do with you.” All of his fury is directed at Blake at the moment, but he realizes that his family needs him to be a source of comfort so he does his best to push it aside. “Come here,” he invites Cora in and hugs her close. “How’s Laura?” He can tell that she’s in her room and that Deaton’s there with her.
“Still hasn’t woken up,” Cora says.
Peter goes to check on her and sees Deaton sitting beside Laura’s bed, looking concerned.
“Is she going to be alright?”
“I don’t know. Using your spark for something like that, I’ve heard of it but I’ve never seen it done before.”
Peter feels weighed down by everything that they don’t know and sits down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall and settling in for an uncomfortable nap. He wants to be here when she wakes.
It’s close to evening, he napped, he ate and he's just decided to give up on his blood-stained clothes.
Scott, Allison and Lydia come in without knocking while he’s eating cereal in the kitchen. He stares at them for a second.
“Rude.”
Scott runs up to give him a huge hug and Allison joins in to make it this weird group-hug they’ve never done before. Stiles enjoys it, though, pats both of them on the back.
“I’m alive,” he says reassuringly.
“Lydia said you almost died,” Scott squeezes him tight.
“Be careful of that werewolf strength, buddy,” Stiles gasps.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“I brought them here because everyone needs to share stories about last night,” Lydia sits at the table.
“Right,” Stiles doesn’t feel like talking about it at all.
Luckily, Scott decides to go first.
“Cora almost died! And Laura saved her, and Peter ripped Ennis’ heart out, it was so gross-”
“I saw Deucalion’s head torn off, I win.”
“Not a competition,” Lydia interrupts.
“Let’s just sit down and start from the beginning,” Allison suggests.
“Okay, so,” Scott winces. “Peter and Laura made a plan and asked me not to tell you about it-”
“Not a great start,” Stiles shakes his head.
Lydia gives him a judgmental glare and he holds up his hands.
“Never mind, continue.”
“I can’t believe you actually managed to keep a secret,” Stiles gives his friend an impressed look.
“Me too, man. It was hard, though.”
“Maybe, from now on, no more secrets?” Lydia asks and raises her eyebrows at Stiles.
He didn’t tell them about his mother’s possible involvement with the Nemeton. And he still doesn’t feel like pulling on that thread so he looks away from her.
“Yeah, good idea,” he says awkwardly.
“There’s something else,” Allison says, glances at Lydia who sighs and nods in agreement.
Stiles braces himself because his friends all look wary.
“What?”
“Morrell was back at school today, teaching.”
Stiles leans back in his chair, thinking.
“Stiles?” Lydia asks carefully.
“Well, I’m definitely coming to school tomorrow.”
“To do what?” Scott asks, his tone matching Lydia’s.
“To get some fucking answers.”
Chapter 17: gift
Chapter Text
Chris thinks back to just a few months ago, when Allison was a regular student, planning for college and worrying if her relationship with her high school sweetheart would survive after graduation. Now she’s on a video call with Araya Calavera and Hayden Carver, making alliances behind her mother’s back.
Araya’s the one who started all of this, when Chris visited her in Mexico. Most of the hunting community in the surrounding areas are not happy with the way Gerard and Victoria have been handling things ever since the Hale fire. Both Araya and Hayden consider the fire a tragedy, mostly because of the children who died in it. But Araya personally also got along well with Peter’s grandfather, and was not pleased to hear of his passing.
Now that proof of Kate’s involvement is out there in the news, Araya and Hayden think a change in leadership should be the next step. Araya asked him about his daughter and he admitted that Allison has shown some interest in taking over. Araya was intrigued and asked for a meeting. She wanted Chris to bring Allison to her but he obviously wasn’t going to do that so he offered the video call as a substitute.
Hayden’s involvement came later, the Carvers being the most prominent hunting family in Canada, way up north. He’s a few years younger than Chris and eager for changes, believes in working with the supernatural community rather than against them. Araya isn’t keen on friendliness, is old-fashioned in the way that she sees most werewolves as beasts to be kept under watch, in case they turn feral and need to be put down. But she still has a code of honor, and she doesn’t go after creatures for no reason.
Allison was incredibly nervous at first when Chris approached her with this idea, but seems more at ease now.
“You don’t even know how to fake a death certificate?” Hayden asks, but is clearly joking, grinning wide and showing off his yellow teeth. A heavy smoker, Chris remembers.
“I know, right?” Allison snorts.
“What has your father been teaching you?” Araya asks solemnly, not joking at all. Or maybe she is, Chris can never tell with her.
“Nothing, apparently,” she smirks and glances at him out of the corner of her eye. They’re sitting side by side at the kitchen table, the laptop on the table in front of them so the camera captures them both. Araya is sitting alone in what looks like an office, her chair high-backed and antique-looking. Hayden looks like he’s at a bar, people playing pool behind him. Chris has heard of the supernaturally inclined establishment, knows it’s somewhere in the Okanagan Valley but has never been there himself.
“I’ve been teaching her how to survive,” Chris feels the need to defend himself.
“And you should’ve been teaching her how to lead… But then again, that’s not your area of expertise, is it?” Hayden chuckles and takes a swig of beer. There’s some yelling from his end and he looks to the side, freckled face growing grim. “Hey, knock it off!” He stands up and disappears from view. Another face, a stranger, quickly appears in his stead.
“The boss is busy and might call you back later,” the obviously inebriated young man says and then ends the call.
“That boy, not an ounce of professionalism,” Araya scoffs.
“We should probably finish for today, we have a lot more to discuss but there are still many unknowns,” Chris leans in.
“Like the arrival of your father.”
“I promise, I will let you know as soon as I find out.”
“I’d appreciate it. It was nice meeting you, Allison. You’re young and too idealistic but I believe you have what it takes. I look forward to seeing what you can accomplish.”
“Thank you,” Allison nods simply.
Chris thinks he can see some nervousness reappearing so he ends the call with a quick, “Keep in touch.”
Allison breathes out slowly, eyes wide.
“Well, that was an experience.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know? I never actually wanted this for you.”
“Yeah, I know,” she smiles at him gently. “But I can’t help but feel an obligation. I know what Kate did and I want to do my best to stop something like that from ever happening again.”
Chris shakes his head in wonder, “But you’re still young, and new to this. You’ve kind of jumped in head first.”
“I’ll learn as I go. Also, we should co-lead anyway.”
He pauses, because what he truly wants is to separate himself from everything the name Argent stands for. But he knows that Allison wants something different, wants to change things, to make their family stand for something good. And for her, he’ll do anything.
“We’ll think about it, there’s still a lot of time. We’re not going to take over in a day. This will be a process.”
“What about the actual company? Aren’t there shareholders?”
“All hunters, most of them will probably follow Araya’s lead. A few of them are loyal to Gerard, however. They’ve been working with him since before I was born.”
“And you mentioned that a lot of things happen… off the books.”
“We don’t have to continue that, at all. The legal sales make enough of a profit, Gerard just got greedy.”
“And mom likes big houses,” she looks around their kitchen. “And so do you?”
Chris chuckles wryly, “No, I just figured, this is what you were used to, so…”
“Okay, well. We can think about the house later. I’ll be going to college in a year and moving somewhere else, anyway.”
“And I can easily live in an apartment.”
“Maybe share one with Peter?”
He looks at her in surprise. She’s pursing her lips together, obviously holding back a smirk.
“I don’t think that’s happening,” he narrows his eyes at her.
“Why not? You seem… close.”
Chris sighs, “Could I see myself living with him? Maybe. But I don’t think he wants that.”
Allison grows serious, frowning.
“Why not?”
“He’s…” Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe it. Everything that Peter says goes against how he acts. He says he won’t make any promises, then cooks him dinner and calls it a date. He says this is just for fun but then asks Chris to be in his pack, looks at him like he’s a revelation when he easily agrees. Sometimes he feels like Peter is holding himself back, not just emotionally but physically as well, afraid to trip on any triggers, afraid to hurt him.
It’s hard to understand how he got here, but he can admit to himself at least that he’s head over heels for the man. Sex is probably a big part of it, something he’s never truly enjoyed this much before, as well as the easy intimacy of casual touches and kisses that scald him from head to toe. The trust that has built up between them this past month is also a factor. Peter invited him in to see him at his most vulnerable, when he couldn’t move. He’s revealed sides of himself that Chris wouldn’t have guessed existed when they first met.
So yeah, if this continues, Chris can see himself sharing his space with Peter. But he can also see that the man is going through a lot of changes, is still coming to grips with the loss of his family, cares about Stiles too, and is now the Alpha of his pack. He understands why Peter doesn’t want to make any promises. In this town, you never know what new horror or complication lurks around the corner.
“Well, your face said it all, I think,” Allison raises her eyebrows at him.
Chris glances at her, “What did it say?”
“That Peter’s a lot.”
“He is,” Chris snorts. “But putting aside how he feels… you’d be okay with me being in an actual relationship with him?”
Allison looks down at the table.
“You mean, because of Kate.”
“Yeah.”
“…Does it make us horrible people for trusting him, liking him, after what he did?”
Chris blinks in surprise, “I… I’m not the best judge of character, but I’d say no, it doesn’t.”
Allison draws her hand through her hair, looking uneasy.
“I do trust him, though. Cora talks about him sometimes, how much she likes having him around again. And Stiles…” She sighs heavily. “I don’t know when we’ll finally get to stop worrying about Stiles, but knowing that Peter’s there for him helps.”
“Worrying about Stiles?”
Allison looks at him weirdly, “Yeah… wait, did no one tell you what happened last night? I thought Peter might have.”
He sits up straight, alarmed.
“I know that the Alpha pack’s gone.”
“And Blake tried to kill Stiles. And got away, again.”
He wakes up to Cora poking his shoulder.
“She’s awake. Also, this seemed accurate.”
A phone is thrust under his nose, on the screen a familiar-looking man says “Well, well, well, how the turn tables…”
“Cora, what?” He frowns at it and she huffs, backing off.
“Never mind,” she says as she leaves the room.
“Hey, uncle.”
Peter rubs at his eyes and gets up to go sit on Laura’s bed, taking in the way she’s still lying down in the same position, looking exhausted but awake.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” he says sincerely, cradling her cheek.
“Yeah, me too,” she smirks. “Also, I think Cora’s thing was about this,” she burns amber eyes at him and he takes a sharp breath, instinctually letting his own glow Alpha red. “And the fact that I can’t really move yet, body feels super sluggish.”
“Ah,” he glances at the door, realizes that was meant to be a joke. “Ha ha, Cora.”
“What Stiles sees in you, I have no idea,” she mutters in the kitchen.
Peter rolls his eyes, blinks until they’re back to his human color.
“Well, this is weird. But… it’s kind of nice,” Laura smiles sadly.
“How so?”
“Do you know the first thing I thought when you woke up?”
Peter tilts his head curiously.
“Finally, we have an adult in the family again,” Laura snickers softly. “Never mind that I’m at the age you were when you burned.”
“Got tired of all the responsibility?” Peter asks, smirks to show he means that light-heartedly.
“Oh, you’ll get tired of it soon enough. You’re good at strategy and pack politics but keeping teenage werewolves in line? Maddening.”
“I’m right here, by the way,” Cora says, still in the kitchen.
“And I’m no longer a teenager,” Derek adds, also eavesdropping then.
“You still act like it,” Laura smirks.
Peter swears he can hear Derek’s scowl.
“I think I can handle them. Especially since my second already has so much experience with it,” Peter quirks an eyebrow at her.
“Not making me your enforcer?”
“I don’t need an enforcer.”
She studies him silently.
“I guess you’re right.”
“You can also come and go as you please. New York, your paramours, that restaurant you loved so much, you can have it back. You still have your apartment, even.”
“Yeah. I won’t lie and say I’m not going to spend a lot of time there but… right now? You need me, and I’ll be here until you get settled. You hide it well, but I can tell how on edge you are.”
“To be fair, I’m on edge because of recent events, not because I’m having trouble with the Alpha spark.”
Laura pulls herself up to a more sitting-adjacent position.
“Events other than this?”
Peter tells her about Blake, Stiles and how frustrated he feels because he’s unable to protect his pack from that woman.
“Oh yeah, Stiles,” she rubs at her chest. “I can feel him too now… and… there’s another bond?”
“Chris.”
“Of course, got to have all your boyfriends in the pack, after all,” Laura says dryly.
Peter doesn’t protest or defend himself, just says “Problem?”
She rolls her eyes, “No, I guess not. Chris is trustworthy and Stiles is enamored with you.”
Peter thinks back to how Stiles looked at him earlier, eyes soft and full of need. Enamored is a good word for it, but there’s also something in the way now. He doesn’t know if it’s distrust or perhaps just Stiles having a hard time dealing with everything, which wouldn’t be a surprise either. He remembers Lydia saying that Stiles is acting weird. How he didn’t want Lydia to call him, but then seemed happy that Peter had shown up.
Yeah, the kid’s definitely a little messed up right now.
“I’m so glad you approve,” he drawls at her and then tucks her in tight, ignoring her bemused glare. “Can I get you anything?”
Her answer makes him snort.
“Meat.”
It’s hours later, Cora and Derek went out for a grocery run, and the sun is setting when Laura manages to drag herself out of bed. She’s moving at a snail’s speed.
“God, everything’s moving.”
“That’s called feeling dizzy,” Peter points out.
She waves at him and keeps moving, from wall to wall, furniture to furniture, needing to lean up against or grip something to keep her balance.
“You could’ve just asked for help,” Peter says, but stays behind the kitchen island, staring at her.
“I need to get my bearings,” Laura mutters, resting for a bit against the dining table.
“I’ll start the coffee then, it’ll probably be ready by the time you get here.”
“Please.”
It does end up being ready by the time she precariously perches herself on a stool.
“Coffee, giver of life, I beg of thee- oh, what’s this…” she takes in the smaller coffee press and the slut-shaming cat mug placed in front of her. Then she starts laughing. “Oh, right. I’m a tiny little Beta,” her laugh slowly transforms into a half-sob. “Shit, it’s hitting me now.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t cry too much about it, I only meant it as a joke,” Peter says carefully, pulling out her usual huge mug and replacing the smaller with it. “I may like coffee, but you have a problem.”
“I just love the taste,” she wipes tears away from her eyes.
“Your coffee tastes like mud. And you don’t even put sugar in it,” Peter frowns at her in disapproval.
“I hate that you put sugar in yours,” Laura makes a gagging sound. “Disgusting.”
“We’re baaaaaack!” Cora calls out as they enter.
“Could literally hear you coming a mile away, but sure,” Peter drawls and prepares his coffee in the cat mug. He’s actually grown fond of it now. Although seeing the word ‘slut’ aimed at him makes him think of Chris. Thinking of Chris makes his skin tingle and flush with want. Now he’s suddenly all wound up. This whole Alpha business is certainly affecting his sex drive, which makes sense but also surprises him since no Alpha he’s known has ever mentioned it being a side-effect.
Maybe it’s just a side-effect of knowing sex with Chris is just a phone call away.
He clears his throat, and his head, and focuses back on his family. Priorities, and all that. Being a responsible Alpha, and all that. But Chris sure does give good head, always looks like he’s in heaven just from getting to suck Peter’s dick-
Laura’s shoulders are shaking with laughter and she’s staring at him, wide-eyed.
“It’s getting to you, huh?”
“So this is an Alpha thing?” He notices both Cora and Derek having paused in the living room, still holding their bags and scrunching up their noses with disgust.
“Could you think about baseball or something?” Cora asks.
“The first few weeks your instincts are pretty hardcore, so if you have someone in your life who you already want to claim… sexually… then yeah, it’s intense,” Laura giggle-snorts at Peter’s outraged expression.
“I don’t want to claim-”
“Sure you don’t,” she teases.
“Fuck,” he breathes out and looks down. “Let me think about baseball for a second, it might work since I find it incredibly dull.”
“But what about the uniforms,” Laura whispers wickedly.
Peter imagines Chris or Stiles wearing said uniform and his head snaps up to glare daggers at her.
“Please, for the love of god, shut up, Laura,” Derek joins in on the glaring.
“I want to put these away,” Cora lifts her bags. “So could you maybe get out of the kitchen? Your horniness smells vile.”
“Are you good for tonight?” He asks Laura, begs her to say yes.
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “These two can take care of me.”
“Nah, you’re no longer my Alpha,” Cora says as she moves past Peter to the fridge, grimacing along the way, “I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“Hey, I’m still your older sister and by the rules of sisterhood, you are my little minion and you’ll do as I say! Now giveth meat!”
Derek steps closer to drop a bag of burgers in front of her and she gasps in joy.
“I love you, lil’ bro!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he places the other bags down on the floor and escapes to his room.
“Well, then I’ll be going to my apartment,” Peter grabs his normal-sized travel mug and transfers his coffee.
“Going to make a booty call?” Laura asks, mouth already full of burger.
“None of your business,” Peter exits swiftly. But yes, yes he is.
Except Chris refuses.
“I’m making plans with Allison right now.”
Making plans. Peter puts that aside to think about later.
“You can wait until she’s asleep and come over then?”
“I have an early morning tomorrow.”
Peter pauses, standing in his living room, staring absentmindedly at his bookshelves.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No,” Chris is quick to assure him and he sounds sincere. “There’s just something I need to focus on right now. I’m sorry.”
“You know, our sexual encounters don’t have to turn into a marathon every time? We can try to do what normal people do, fifteen minutes, an orgasm each, and we go our separate ways.”
“Would that be enough for you?” Chris asks, sounding like he already knows the answer.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Peter admits, frowns at the ceiling. “I already couldn’t get enough of you before, now this Alpha business is amplifying everything.”
“I’m flattered,” Chris sounds like he’s smiling. Peter really likes that smile and wishes he could see it. God, now he’s getting sappy. That can’t possibly be an Alpha thing. Maybe it’s a pack thing since there’s a bond thrumming in his chest now, intensifying his feelings.
“Definitely no sex tonight?” He asks, already sulking.
“I’m sorry,” Chris laughs. “I’ll make it up to you some time this week.”
“You know what I’d like?” He hopes he’s not pushing it, when he says, “I’d like to fuck you.” They haven’t done that yet, he hasn’t dared to ask for it, because Chris was ambiguous about what exactly happened with Gerard’s “friends”, and Chris hasn’t offered it himself.
There’s a moment of silence and Peter regrets opening his impatient mouth, when-
“I’d like that. I think. I’ve never done it.”
Alright, so it’s inexperience that’s holding the man back. Inexperience, he can work with.
“We’ll take it slow. I will just stretch you out with my fingers at first, see if you even like it.”
Chris swallows audibly.
“Slow sounds good. Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“From the tone of your voice, I gather that we are not about to have phone sex.”
“Allison told me what Stiles went through last night.”
“Ah.” Way to put a damper on the mood. Peter’s wolf goes from lust to rage so fast, he feels like his brain’s been whiplashed.
“I’m thinking of getting him a gun. I’d ask his dad first, of course.”
Peter glares at nothing in disbelief.
“He was almost killed by a druid and your answer to that is a gun?”
“It might help him feel a bit safer.”
“Have you seen him stumble on air? Because I have. I don’t think a gun is the right idea. You should continue the staff-training or whatever you call it.”
“What I actually wanted to ask was, do you think Blake will come back?”
Peter thinks back on everything Lydia told him and says, “It’s very likely, yes. There’s a few things I haven’t told you… about Stiles’ communion, about the Nemeton’s… goal, I guess is the right word.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you the next time we have sex.”
Silence.
“Are you blackmailing me?” Chris sounds amused.
“Is it really blackmailing, when we both know you want it as badly as I do?” Peter asks, unashamed.
Chris lets out a tired-sounding laugh, “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know,” Peter says serenely and hangs up, because he’s always liked the idea of ‘keep them wanting for more’. Except, right now, it feels like he’s doing most of the wanting. He sighs, feeling disappointed as he goes to jerk off in the shower. It’s exactly as unsatisfying as he thought it would be.
Lydia hides his bruises well. The only thing she can’t hide is the swelling around his cheek, the same kind of swelling that’s on her own cheek as well.
“Hey, we match!” Stiles grinned when he noticed and received a glare in return.
School is just as strange as it has been for the past month, a place of normalcy and schedule and regular small-town life, while in his head, Stiles is thinking about blood rituals and his mom and ‘there’s nothing special about you’. There’s a dichotomy in his brain between the supernatural and the normal now and he wonders if this is what it’s like for hunters too, for Chris, for Victoria, or did they get used to it and it’s all the same big world now.
But throughout all of his classes, he doesn’t forget his mission for the day. During lunch, Allison, the only one of them who’s taking French this year, confirms that Morrell is at the school.
After English with Victoria, who seems… distracted, almost, Stiles quickly goes to Morrell’s last class of the day, waiting until everyone’s left the room before he goes in.
“I’ve been expecting you, thought I’d see you yesterday.”
She looks calm and friendly, just like always.
Stiles closes the door, makes sure they’re alone and then rounds on her, “You helped them kill two people and bite my friends, do you really think you can just come back and act like nothing’s changed!?”
She has the decency to stop smiling, at least.
“I regret that night. But there’s things you don’t know.”
“There’s a lot of things I don’t know, that’s why I’m here.”
“So ask your questions,” she leans against the table and clasps her hands in front of her hips, looking like she’s waiting for him to start a presentation.
Stiles hates her serene face and her comfortable posture.
“Why did you help Deucalion?”
“When I realized where his interests lay, I thought it’d be best to keep a closer eye on him.”
“And that meant helping Ennis kill people?”
She looks down, seemingly regretful, “When I found out about their plan to bite Scott and Lydia, I refused to help. Deucalion threatened to kill my brother.”
Stiles’ outrage simmers down a bit, since he knows what it’s like when someone a lot more powerful than you threatens the life of a loved one.
“Oh. That’s why you helped… But what was he interested in, then?”
“You, for one,” Morrell smiles gently. “I did my best to hide you, but last night, someone tore my protection from you.”
“You’re the one who hid me?” Stiles considers that, confused now. Blake said that she- Except she never said it, she just let Deucalion accuse her of keeping Stiles away from him. And if someone took his protection away… “I think Blake took it away, hoping that Deucalion would come find me. To get him closer to the Nemeton.”
“And his death became a meal,” she confirms sadly.
“So, I was right in thinking that it’s even more juiced up than before?” That’s horrifying.
“I would need to visit it, to know for sure, but I assume so.”
“So what else did Deucalion want?”
“The Nemeton, of course. To be it’s bonded Alpha, to reign over this territory. To become Talia’s replacement.”
“And I was needed for that?”
“When he tried to find it, he couldn’t. Not until the night he followed you and Peter. And when he tried to offer his blood, it refused. He thought you might be the key for whatever lock was holding him back.”
“And am I a key?” A gift, an arbitrator, a spokesperson, he’d very much like to go back to being just Stiles.
“No, Stiles,” Morrell smiles softly. “Deucalion just wasn’t the Alpha it’s searching for.”
“It wants a Hale Alpha… Peter.”
“Yes, as the first step.”
Stiles gets chills, “To what? The Alpha of Alphas? Do you know who that is?”
She tilts her head, smile disappearing.
“It has spoken to you?”
“Maybe,” he glares at her, willing her to just answer his questions.
“That’s troubling,” she murmurs.
“Do you know who that is?”
She stares at him calmly.
“There are some things I’d rather not tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust your allies.”
Stiles blinks at her, “My allies? Argents?”
“Peter Hale is a dangerous man, Stiles.”
That’s unexpected enough that he shakes his head a little.
“Peter’s the new Alpha, though.”
“Doesn’t change who he is. In fact, that makes him even more dangerous.”
“What’s so bad about him?”
“His fascination with the Nemeton, how naturally killing comes to him, are these not things to fear?”
Stiles hesitates, is reminded that there’s a huge chunk of Peter’s history, this town’s history, that he has no idea about.
“I trust him,” he declares and means it. He doesn’t know what’s happened before, but he likes the man he knows now, likes Cora, likes Laura, tolerates Derek. And they all care about Peter, who cares about them in return. Stiles trusts the Hales a lot more than he trusts the woman in front of him.
“And that’s your right. But I don’t,” Morrell shrugs.
“Fine. There’s something else… something that Deucalion said.”
She narrows her eyes at him and waits.
“His theory was that I was a gift to the Nemeton. That my mom… that my blood was given to it when my mom was pregnant with me.” Saying it out loud is painful because he doesn’t want to consider it, his mom giving him away like that. And then never telling him about it? Not helping him prepare for… whatever this is?
Morrell’s calm expression seems to have a crack in it finally. She looks mournful.
“Take a seat, Stiles. I’ll tell you why she did it.”
Stiles freezes, “She did it? She actually did this to me?” His mom, who always made him laugh, who gave him lectures on his “bad” behavior when dad was looking, but high-fived him when dad wasn’t there, who encouraged him to research everything, the only person who truly seemed to love how his brain works, the roads it takes sometimes, the woman he misses every day… she’s the reason that Stiles feels like he has no control over his life anymore, no real personhood left besides whatever the Nemeton is after that week?
He doesn’t know what to think, but feels like his heart’s breaking.
“Sit, please,” Morrell insists, looking worried.
Stiles drops his bag to the floor and himself to a random chair, watches as she pulls her chair over to sit opposite him.
“I met Claudia when I was a high school student here, back when she worked part-time as a guidance counselor.”
“I didn’t know she worked here,” Stiles mutters, wonders what else he doesn’t know.
“It was only for a few months, while the school was looking for someone permanent. Your mother was a great psychologist and she cared about this town and the kids, as far as I know, she helped out for free.”
It feels like Morrell’s trying to soften the blow, talking about his mom like that. But Stiles already knew she was great, and that she cared. That’s what he’s always known about her.
“Was she… magical in some way? Is that what bonded you two?”
“No, she wasn’t,” she pauses and her eyes go sad, Stiles thinks they’re welling up even. “What I’m about to tell you is very personal.”
“Okay,” Stiles frowns at her, sitting up a little.
“I had a miscarriage when I was a Junior here.”
He stills, opens his mouth, closes it, because what is he supposed to say to that? Oh, right, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s what I spoke to her about. And it took a few sessions, but eventually she opened up to me too, could see I needed someone who understood, because none of my friends did.”
Stiles’ brain has already made the connection, “My mom had a miscarriage?”
“Several,” Morrell confirms softly.
He never knew. Does his dad know? He stays silent, thinking, and she continues.
“I talked a bit about what I was learning from my brother, except I didn’t claim to be an actual druid of course,” she smiles wryly. “I described my magic as a combination of spiritual and naturalist beliefs, that I did things like meditate and use sage and herbs to stay in good health.”
“The only thing my mom believed in was science,” Stiles can’t help but interject, because surely this isn’t going where he thinks it’s going. Or maybe Claudia tried out the druid ways and then turned to science. This story’s about a woman who existed before he was born, he has no idea what she was like back then.
“You’re right. But when people get desperate…” She looks down, seems to be bracing herself. “She got pregnant with you, and she got scared.”
Stiles starts seeing the bigger picture now.
“She was afraid to lose me?”
“I suggested a rite of protection, described it as a way of asking the natural energies of the world to keep you safe from harm.”
“I can’t imagine my mom going along with that.”
“She didn’t believe in it,” Morrell shakes her head. “But she was willing to try anything.”
“And so…” Stiles takes a breath. “You took her to the tree?”
“I didn’t know where I was taking her, not really. Back then it just felt like a connection, a place where the land had influence, power.”
“And then what?”
“I prepared an actual rite. A mountain ash circle, specific herbs to ask for protection, and her blood to seal it. When I asked her to cut her hand, she hesitated, because she hadn’t expected it. But she did it.”
Stiles considers that, a simple protection ritual, a woman cutting her hand and asking for her baby to be safe. Safe.
“Something went wrong, didn’t it?”
Morrell nods, looks pained.
“Something in Claudia’s blood got its attention, called to it. The rite worked, in a way, but the Nemeton twisted it into a trade.”
Stiles rubs a hand over his face, feeling like he’s on the edge.
“What was the trade? I’d be born but I’d belong to it or something?”
“You became a gift. Both to Claudia, and to the Nemeton,” Morrell leans forward, her voice gentle when she says, “The protection is still ongoing, by the way. When was the last time you had a fracture, or a broken bone? When was the last time you were truly sick?”
Stiles thinks back to getting flung against a tree, thrown against a bookcase, punching his hand against the locker. Thinks back to all of the times that Scott got sick and he wasn’t supposed to visit but he snuck in anyway and never got any of the symptoms.
“But I’m still human,” he says, wanting confirmation.
“Yes, your body is just a little more resilient than mine, for example.”
“And did you ever tell her? Did my mom know that it went wrong?”
She shakes her head, “No. She never knew about this.”
“She didn’t know,” Stiles whispers to himself and takes a moment to hide his face, to hold back tears.
I’m sorry for doubting you, mom.
“She did it because she already loved you so much, and she just wanted to meet you,” Morrell says and Stiles starts crying.
He makes a face to stop himself and wipes the tears away from his cheeks. He now knows his mom’s part in this, and Morrell’s, but there’s something important they haven’t discussed yet.
“How do I un-gift myself?” Stiles asks aggressively. “How do I reverse this, turn it off, whatever, how do I make sure it can’t take complete control over me again?”
Morrell’s silence, her pitying expression, speak volumes.
“There’s nothing I can do?” That can’t be.
“The only way would be to destroy it.”
“Great, let’s do that! You mean what, like burn it?”
“It’s too powerful now,” she shakes her head. “It would sense your intent and hide itself from you.”
“Then we can just light the entire Preserve on fire, and yes I realize how horrible that sounds,” Stiles leans back, sighing.
“Even if you did, and even if the entire forest burnt to the ground around it, the Nemeton would protect itself and survive.”
“What am I supposed to do?” He glares at her, wants her to give him something, to give him hope.
“Wait,” she says.
“For what?”
“The powerful and the greedy bring about their own demise,” she tells him.
“Are you talking about the cautionary tale where a magical sacrifice-tree brings about the end of the entire surrounding village?”
“That’s one cautionary tale among many,” she smiles a little. “The village doesn’t always get destroyed.”
Stiles narrows his eyes at her, thinking.
“Are you working on stopping it? You said you care about the balance… That that's why you... Wait, what does Scott have to do with this?”
“It’s because of my foolish ignorance back then that the Nemeton woke up in the first place. I told you I feel responsible, this is why. But I also said that I’m improvising. Scott might end up having nothing to do with this.”
“Might…” He glares at her.
“There’s a lot you don’t know-”
“You could just tell me.”
“-and a lot you wouldn’t understand. We’re already moving towards something bigger.”
“And Peter’s the first step.”
“Yes.”
Stiles steeples his fingers and holds them against his face, feeling frustrated.
“You’re being really frustrating.”
Morrell looks amused.
“I’m sorry but I told you, I don’t trust Peter.”
“I can just not tell him?” Stiles says very unconvincingly.
“You’re his pack, he’ll find out whatever you try to hide. He’s good at that.”
That sends chills down his spine.
“I’m leaving soon, anyway,” she says while standing up.
“What?”
“I’m going back to Canada this week.”
“For like, a holiday?”
“No,” she smirks.
“But- Okay, do any of you teachers in this town actually care about our education?”
“You don’t even take French,” she points out while gathering her bag and jacket.
“I care about my fellow students?”
“I’m going to check on the Nemeton right now, would you care to join me and tell me everything that Blake did?”
Stiles stares at her with wide eyes, “I have really bad experiences with druids and the woods, so maybe not?”
“What do you think I’m going to do?” She frowns at him.
“I don’t know! Because I don’t know anything!”
“Alright, then this is goodbye.”
He watches her stride out of the classroom, taps his fingers against the table, grimaces at himself because of course he’s going to-
“Wait up!”
“It’s grown,” Morrell whispers, before they even get to the clearing.
“You can feel it already?” Stiles leans against his staff. Morrell made a curious face when she saw him grab it from the backseat of his car, like she recognized it, but didn’t comment on it.
“Its area of influence is bigger, it’s already here,” she crouches down and puts her palm against the ground.
“I think this is where Blake killed Deucalion and Kali,” Stiles realizes as he glances around. “And their blood just,” he makes a sucking sound.
“It’s definitely a lot more powerful now.” She continues walking.
“Okay, and what does that mean?” Stiles follows.
“Right now, it means more power for Peter.”
“And what does that mean, more power for a werewolf?”
“Stronger than your average Alpha, faster healing, not just for him but for his entire pack. Speed, senses, everything is heightened, amplified.”
“But that’s all good,” he points out. “The Hales care about keeping this town safe, keeping me safe.”
“It’s good as long as no one angers him, you mean.”
They reach the clearing and Morrell immediately heads towards the stump while Stiles hesitates. Being here, in daylight, is different, but also- that’s where she strangled him, that’s where she hit Lydia and that’s where she stood when she enjoyed seeing him lose his mind, when she said nothing and just kept on smiling-
“Stiles?” Morrell sounds concerned.
He clears his throat and walks over to her.
“This place is uh, kind of a huge source of trauma for me? So could we make this quick?”
“Of course,” she places her hand on the stump, frowns and stands back up.
“Please don’t ask me to spill any blood,” Stiles has had enough of that for a lifetime.
“I won’t,” she smiles reassuringly. “You said she drank from you in order to access the Nemeton’s power… I gather that it’s still in you. At least, whatever it had before.”
Stiles glances down at the stump, flashes back to the sequoia tree, back to Kate, back to Peter making a kill look easy, simple, satisfying.
“Everything it’s gained after Kate, is in the land?”
“Yes, that’s what Blake used to heal herself, to escape.”
“Okay, so, you’ve seen it, felt it or whatever, can we go?”
“I am sorry, Stiles,” Morrell gazes at him sadly. “For not being able to protect you from her. I cared about your mother, she helped me through a very difficult time in my life, and by letting you down I feel like I’ve let her down too.”
“I mean, I get it. She was super powerful, even Deucalion was just a plaything for her.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with the fact that when you needed help, no one came.”
He stares at her, “Are you trying to be my therapist?”
“Maybe one day I can be,” she smiles gently.
“When you’re back from Canada, you mean.”
“Maybe.”
“Now, come on, walk me back to my car because I’m freaking out.”
“Of course.”
As they’re walking back, she says, “I’m glad that you’re wearing the ring. I suggest you keep it on always.”
“It kind of clashes with my style, you got anything cooler, like a superhero ring or something?”
She gives him a long look as if assessing whether he’s serious.
“No,” she finally replies.
Stiles sighs and fiddles with it, “I’ll make do then.”
He feels better the second he’s in his Jeep and driving away from the Preserve. And then his brain goes over everything they talked about and gets caught up on the one thing to ruin his good mood.
There’s nothing he can do about his bond.
Well, he refuses to accept that.
He takes out his phone and texts Peter that he’s on his way to talk.
And to take another look at those books of his, because now he at least has some specific topics to try and research.
He’s not just going to roll over for the Nemeton.
Not now, not ever.
Chapter 18: distrustful
Chapter Text
“Thanks for meeting me,” Victoria says, picking at her croissant.
Chris glances around the café, recognizes four of the eight customers as hunters.
“You haven’t asked to meet face-to-face since you got here. I figured it was serious.”
“Was the public place really necessary, though?” She pushes the croissant aside. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Christopher. You forget that I’m not your father.”
He bares his teeth at her so casually brushing aside the comparison.
“You’re close enough.”
She looks down her nose at him, “Speaking of, that’s the reason I wanted to talk to you. This new attitude of yours, the way you’ve infected our daughter, the future of this family… Have you forgotten what Gerard is like? He’s a man of principles-”
“He’s psychotic.”
“-and I am worried about his reaction when he gets here,” she finishes with a glare.
“Now you’re worried?” He quirks an eyebrow at her in disbelief.
“If Allison speaks to him the way she spoke to me…” Victoria looks away and Chris grows still because she looks afraid.
“You think he’ll actually hurt her?” The way he hurt Kate.
It builds character, her voice says in his mind.
“No, I won’t let him. But you?” She stares him down in distaste. “He’ll want to punish you. But Allison adores you and that will further alienate her from me. You’ve created such a mess,” she sighs harshly and picks up her coffee to take a sip.
Chris looks away from her, can’t stand to see her judging him as if he’s the bad guy in the family, as if he’s the one who’s fucked everything up. Victoria has a habit of never taking any responsibility for the things that go wrong for her, there’s always someone else to blame, someone to hate.
“If you love her, you should listen to her,” he tries. For Allison, he tries.
Victoria puts down the coffee and leans forward, jaw trembling with rage.
“I will never… accept a werewolf… into my family.”
“If you make her choose between you and Scott or you and me… you have to know how that’ll end,” he frowns at her.
She sits back, regains her composure.
“Gerard has ideas on how to make her see the truth.”
Chris very much does not like the sound of that.
“I’m not letting him anywhere near my daughter.”
“You won’t have a choice, Christopher. When it comes to Gerard, neither of us does.”
He remembers a 26-year-old Victoria, a woman he admired at first for her strength and composure, so different from the girls he’d been dating, messing around with. And then years later he found out that admiration was strictly one-sided.
Victoria lost her parents when she was young, pulled herself back on her feet by sheer force of will, found Gerard and begged him to be her mentor, to help her kill that which killed her family. And after years of training, Gerard gave her her first assignment - getting pregnant with Chris’ child.
That first night they shared, he didn’t know about the background deals, the manipulation, and years after, when he found out, he already resented her. It’s taken him a while but now he sees her as a victim too.
It doesn’t mean he hates her any less.
“You promise you’ll protect her?” He asks her, willing to work with her on this one thing, on keeping Gerard’s sick ideas of parenting far away from his daughter.
“Of course,” she replies and he believes her.
“Do you know when he’s coming to town? He’s refusing my calls.”
“No, he’s been cryptic about that,” she purses her mouth in disapproval.
“But it’s got to be soon, right? They can’t keep Kate’s body forever.”
“No, it’s not right, this postponing. I’ll move the arrangements to Sunday, would that work? Then we can get it over with.”
He blinks at her callousness, knows that she and Kate weren’t exactly best friends but they at least got along.
“Won’t he be mad at you for doing this without his permission?”
“If he wants to be at the funeral, he’ll just have to get here by Sunday,” she shrugs, shoulders tense.
Chris wonders at this small rebellion, wonders if maybe it’s a thread worth pulling, if with time, Victoria would join Allison in removing Gerard from the business completely.
But he doubts it. Victoria may not worship the ground Gerard walks on like she used to, but she still hates werewolves with a passion and will never be supportive of Scott.
No, Araya’s plan is still the way to go here.
In the meantime, Chris just has to do his best in keeping Gerard’s ire and attention on him rather than Allison.
Stiles doesn’t let himself get distracted by Peter’s bare forearms, by Peter’s visible chest hair because the V is extra deep tonight or the fact that the man has shaved and looks kissable as fuck. He instead tells him in detail what Blake did, what happened to the bodies, how Deucalion died (Peter looks incredibly satisfied as Stiles forces himself to lay it all out in gory detail) and what Blake told him (he paraphrases there, doesn’t want to get into the whole “nothing special about you” part, because he still refuses to deal with how he feels about that). In return, Peter tells him what Stiles mostly already knows thanks to Scott and Allison.
To move on from all of it, he says, “Good talk, any books about druidic rites and rituals?”, trying to sound as casual as possible. Which of course makes Peter narrow his eyes in suspicion. But the man does grab him a couple of books and Stiles dives in.
He finds the rite of protection easily enough, but it sounds so innocent and nothing like what he’s actually dealing with, so it’s no help at all. He also finds a ritual where you can sacrifice your firstborn to gain power… which again, doesn’t fit his situation.
He’s trying to find a ritual that’s described as a trade, when he finally notices that Peter’s just silently staring at him. He looks up from the book in front of him, “What?”
Peter leans across the dining table and grabs one of Stiles’ hands.
“You’re hiding something from me,” he notes and gently pulls Stiles’ hand open so he can stroke his fingers along Stiles’ palm.
He shivers a little at the slightly ticklish sensation, and at the intensity of Peter’s strikingly blue eyes. For a second, he even gets lost in them. But then he realizes…
“Are you trying to seduce me into telling you?” He gapes at the man.
Peter’s mouth quirks up into a smirk.
“Maybe.”
Stiles pulls his hand back and picks up the book, slumping down in his seat to hide his face.
“I’m not that easy,” he says and nods to himself, feeling proud.
“If I could suck you off right now, I bet you would be.”
Stiles’ eyes go wide and he peeks over the book, gaze immediately flying to Peter’s mouth and wondering-
“But that was forward of me, I apologize,” Peter says innocently, laying a hand on his chest. “I would like it if you trusted me again, though.”
“I do trust you,” Stiles frowns, glances back at the pages in front of him, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the cover. He remembers Morrell telling him ‘He’ll find out whatever you try to hide. He’s good at that.’ And he kind of wants to challenge that, to see if he can keep this a secret, to see what the man will do. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Peter replies immediately.
“What did you actually do for Talia? Chris called you an enforcer.” He’s been wondering what that word actually means for werewolves, since there’s not a lot of info on specific ranks in the bestiary.
Peter tilts his head, and Stiles’ eyes, just for a second, betray him and flicker down. He keeps forgetting how thick and sturdy and strong Peter is until some movement or gesture makes him notice and then his brain just empties itself from everything that’s not he could hold me up while he-
“What does that word bring to mind for you?” Peter asks, with a smirk playing around the corners of his lips, eyes as attentive as ever, never missing a beat on Stiles’ sexual crisis.
“Uh, a guy who goes around threatening to break peoples’ kneecaps? …And then breaks peoples’ kneecaps?”
Peter makes an agreeing face, says, “Not that far off.”
Stiles lets the book drop.
“Dude, that makes you sound like a criminal.”
Peter holds up a hand, “Never been arrested or charged with anything.” When Stiles opens his mouth, simmering with what he tells himself is outrage, Peter scoffs and continues, “And don’t kid yourself. I can smell your interest, we both know that you like me because I seem dangerous.”
Stiles closes his mouth and glares, because yes, from the very first danger-danger moment, he’s been having a mental fear boner, but also - things have changed. Now he knows what actual danger is like, how it feels to get the life squeezed out of him, thinking he’s going to die-
“Stiles,” Peter draws him out of that line of thought, holds out a hand on the table. “I hope you know that I’m not dangerous to you.”
“I know,” he says but doesn’t accept the hand, holds his book back up. He blinks hard, several times, tries to get Blake’s face, faces out of his head. “You make me feel safe,” he tells Peter and also himself, keeps that thought going in his head that he’s with Peter, he’s safe, he’s with Peter, he’s safe-
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Peter sounds concerned.
“A lot,” he gasps out, squeezes his eyes shut once more and breathes in, breathes out, because he can breathe, there are no fingers around his throat, there’s no one strangling him.
“Can I do anything to help?” And Stiles appreciates that Peter asks, doesn’t just crowd him or touch him, he asks, he offers. Peter’s always so good at reading him, but also never pushes and that’s…
He settles, his mind full of Peter, everything else fading.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says, voice raspy. He clears his throat and lets the book fall again. Peter’s eyes are red. “You good?” He asks, pushing back from the table a little.
The man immediately closes his eyes, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Everything okay?”
“I can smell your panic. My instincts are telling me to find whatever’s causing it and rip it to shreds,” Peter drawls dryly, taps claws against the table.
“That would be my brain so please refrain from doing so?”
“I will.” He opens human-blue eyes and looks at Stiles, still concerned. “If there’s ever anything I can do? Even if it’s just another hug, you can always ask.”
Stiles smiles because he already guessed that before, when Peter was under his window and he just wanted the man to hold him so he’d have that taste of safety again. He never, not once, imagined that Peter would say no to him.
But it’s still nice to hear.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So whatever you’re hiding from me, you’re not doing it because you don’t trust me,” Peter murmurs thoughtfully, concern fading back into his regular shrewdness.
“I trust you, but I don’t know if I should,” Stiles turns back to his book, once again using it as a shield against that piercing stare.
“Because I used to be an enforcer?”
He shrugs, “Because I don’t know what you were like before.”
“Why does it matter what I was like before?” Peter seems annoyed now and Stiles tries to verbalize his thoughts better.
“I mean… everyone keeps calling you dangerous, and although yes, fine, I like that-” he hurries to add, when he sees the man opening his mouth, “I don’t know if you’re… you know, good for me,” he glances upwards as soon as he finishes, less than confident in his choice of words.
“I never claimed to be good for you, but I can be extremely good to you,” Peter drawls.
Stiles blinks, feels himself blush at the way Peter’s looking at him.
“I mean,” he stammers, fidgeting with random pages, “Despite everything that I just said, I am going to take you up on your offer, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.”
“Oh?” Peter goes very still and oh, Stiles kind of feels like prey all of a sudden.
“I mean, this is an opportunity. I made up my mind days ago.”
“Well, I wasn’t aware of that,” Peter relaxes a little, smiling.
“Now you are… It’s out there,” Stiles waves (flails) with one hand.
“Which doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind, at any point,” Peter leans in, serious.
“I know.”
“I mean it. Even if I’m inside you, if you want to stop, tell me and I will.”
Inside- inside-
Stiles glares at Peter for giving him all these images to fixate on, while looking as if this is a completely normal conversation to have with someone.
“What, are we about to have the safeword talk or something?”
Peter frowns but looks amused, “Do you want me to ignore you when you say ‘stop’ or ‘no’?”
“…No?” Stiles squints.
“Then we don’t need a safeword, Stiles.”
“I didn’t mean we’d actually-” he splutters and cuts himself off, grabbing the book and heading to the couch with it. “I’m done talking to you, go tempt someone else with your everything.”
“Maybe I should call Chris then?”
He spins around, mouth open in disbelief because isn’t that kind of mean? To remind Stiles of what he’s missing out on and that he’s basically not enough for the man. But when he sees Peter’s face, he has an epiphany that this is a test. Peter’s gauging his reaction.
So he takes a second to truly think about what he’d be comfortable with, what he wouldn’t like.
“Maybe… not when I’m here? And not in front of me?” What Stiles means is flaunting the relationship in general and he hopes that Peter understands him. Then has a spike of anxiety because who is he to tell Peter, what he can or can’t do in his own home?
“That’s a fair request,” Peter seems okay with it.
“Really?” He can’t help but ask because he’s wading through uncharted waters here, he’s never been in a relationship before, let alone with someone who has a relationship with someone else… Except, Peter probably wouldn’t like that word, would he? Relationship.
“If something makes you uncomfortable or upsets you in any way, tell me and we’ll work it out.”
Stiles crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously, “That simple?”
“That simple,” Peter assures him.
“I don’t feel like I have any right to tell you what you can do with Chris,” Stiles grimaces at himself.
“It’s not about telling me what I can do, just telling me your boundaries.”
“Except, I’m literally asking you to not,” he gestures vaguely, “in front of me.”
“What was that gesture supposed to mean?” Peter hides his smile behind his fingers. “You don’t want us to have sex in front of you?”
Stiles rolls his eyes, “Just don’t be… couple-y, I guess.”
Peter stands up and takes a few steps closer.
“What makes you think we’re couple-y in the first place?”
Stiles realizes he has no clue what the two men are like with each other.
“Uh…”
“But I get it,” Peter rescues him from that line of thought. “It’s a fair request, Stiles.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, and never stop sharing your thoughts with me,” Peter pokes his forehead gently.
Stiles leans back and rubs the spot Peter poked at, “Okay. So, another question.”
“Yes?” Peter looks intrigued.
“I know you said you don’t want anyone else here, but Lydia would love to see your collection. And maybe read something about banshees?”
Peter blinks, “How did we get from me and Chris to Lydia and books? Never mind, fine,” he waves at Stiles, turning away to walk towards the kitchen. “Since I’m the Alpha now, this place will probably cease to be any sort of safe haven. I have to be available for my pack at all times.”
“Okay, cool, can I call her over now?” He yells after him, then remembers that he doesn’t have to.
“Go for it, I’ll be in my office.”
“Nice place,” Lydia remarks, walking around the living room, giving everything a judgemental glance-over, even taking a quick peek into the kitchen through the open doorway. “But a lot smaller than I thought it’d be,” she squints at the couch.
“If you’re done judging, I found this for you,” Stiles holds out a journal.
“What is it?”
“I think it’s written by a werewolf, but I’m not completely sure. Whoever wrote it, this part should interest you,” he opens it up to the page he bookmarked.
Lydia takes it and reads out loud, “Today, a banshee screamed for me.”
She sits down on the couch and gets comfortable.
They both read for about an hour. When Lydia pulls out her phone and starts taking pictures of pages, Stiles wants to hit himself for not thinking of that himself. He follows her lead and whenever he finds something he thinks is worth remembering, he snaps a photo of it.
“So, here it again mentions that banshees are sometimes connected to a family…” Lydia breaks the silence. “We dismissed it before, but what if I’m only meant to scream for Hales?”
“I guess it would make sense,” Stiles taps at the page he’s on, reading something that he wants to share with her badly but…
He snaps his fingers to get her to look up, points at his ear and then towards Peter’s office. She nods and puts a finger on her lips to show she understands.
He slides the book over and taps at the legend he was reading about and then at the illustration next to it.
She instantly becomes more alert, eyes flying over the words. She then takes pictures of both the story and the illustration.
“Wanna leave now?” She mouths silently at him and he nods, starts putting the books away.
There’s a soft knock at the door.
Stiles spins around to stare at it and then shrugs at Lydia when she gives him a questioning look. They both turn towards the open doorway, expecting Peter to walk through, but no Peter and there’s another knock.
“Uh, there’s someone at the door,” Stiles says for Peter’s ears and then goes to open it.
“Heeeeeey,” he waves awkwardly, because Chris is here, at Peter’s apartment, looking very surprised to see him.
“Stiles,” he says, expressing that surprise with his voice too.
Well. Awkward.
“Wow, this is awkward,” Lydia points out, helpful as always.
Stiles slowly turns his face to glare at her over his shoulder. She lifts one shoulder nonchalantly.
“Lydia,” Chris seems to relax at seeing her. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We were researching, reading about banshees,” Stiles tilts his head towards Lydia.
“What are you doing here?” She asks wickedly.
“…To-”
“I’m sorry, I was in the middle of a conversation,” Peter says while walking in. Stiles takes in the too-innocent expression on the man’s face and wonders if this is another weird test, to see how they handle being in the same room together.
“I can go, if now is not a good time,” Chris says, still standing on the other side of the doorstep.
“Nonsense, get in,” Peter frowns at him, narrowing his eyes.
“We were just leaving anyway,” Lydia says, picking up her bag.
“Yeah,” Stiles clears his throat awkwardly, “You can… You’ll be… You-” he shakes his head at himself and grabs his bag and phone. Then his brain apparently snaps and he rounds on Chris, “No, you know what, this is awkward and it doesn’t have to be. So let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room, we both like Peter, he likes both of us-”
“And-” Lydia tries to interject but Stiles gives her the most venomous glare he can muster, head vibrating with the amount of ‘don’t you dare’ that he’s trying to send her way. She rolls her eyes, but shuts up.
Peter comes to stand next to him, “This is quite unnecessary, we’ll just get used to this in time.”
“It’s fine, Stiles,” Chris says, finally stepping into the apartment.
“Well, I at least have acknowledged the weirdness in hopes of overcoming it,” Stiles gestures at himself. “You do you, I guess,” he waves at Chris, who glances upwards, mouth quirking up.
“Oh, there will be doing,” Peter smirks wickedly.
Stiles gives him a sidelong glare.
The man steps closer and puts his hand up. At first, Stiles glances at Chris and thinks to back away because PDA in front of each other is weird, right? But when the hand slides against his head in a familiar manner, he realizes what Peter’s doing.
“Putting your Alpha stank on me?”
Peter glares at the wording, “Yes. Liberally,” he then uses both of his hands to rub against Stiles’ hair and cheeks and neck, making Stiles feel like a dog as he grumbles in protest but accepts the scent-marking. Peter turns to Lydia, “May I offer you protection as well?”
“Since I’m a Hale banshee, it would be the least you could do,” she sniffs and lets him slide his hand down the side of her face and neck, Peter cutting off the touch as soon as possible.
“We’re not certain of that yet,” he reminds her. “And you,” Peter points at Stiles. “I will find out what you’re hiding.”
He smirks challengingly, “Looking forward to seeing how you do that.”
Peter tilts his head as realization sparks in his eyes.
“Anyway, have… fun,” Stiles panics mid-sentence and brushes against Chris in his hurry to leave.
“There’s an obvious solution to all of this awkwardness, I can’t be the only one to see it,” he hears Lydia say before she joins him in the hallway. “What?” She blinks innocently at his disbelief.
“She’s right, you know,” Peter says as soon as the door’s closed. He watches as Chris closes his eyes.
“I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to talk about it.”
“About what?” He prods, theatrically tapping a finger against his chin.
“I came over to have sex, can we get on with it?”
Peter holds a hand to his chest.
“Be still my heart,” he drawls.
Chris hangs up his jacket and pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it at Peter’s face.
“You don’t want sappy, this is me not being sappy. Now come on,” he heads towards the bedroom, already unbuckling his belt.
Peter settles himself and focuses on everything he can glean from the air. An array of scents that leaves him frowning as he follows the other man. He has his work cut out for him today.
When they’ve driven a fair distance away from Peter’s apartment, Stiles parks on the side of the road and pulls out his phone. They’re both in his Jeep since apparently, Lydia got dropped off by Jackson. Stiles has so many questions about their relationship but also doesn’t want to think about Jackson at all, so he doesn’t ask.
“This fits, right?” He finds the photo of the text.
Lydia has already been looking at it since she got into the car.
“Morrell did say Peter’s just the beginning.”
“Yeah, wait,” Stiles looks up at her, “I didn’t tell you that!” He thinks over the past few hours, “Did I?”
Lydia glances at him, face tight with something Stiles isn’t used to seeing on her face… she looks… ashamed?
“Don’t get mad,” she starts with which makes his eyes grow wide in surprise. “But I asked Cora to listen to you and Morrell and tell me everything.”
Stiles stares at her, then turns to stare at the road, then down at his hands. He lifts one and mimes chucking something out of the window.
“Bye, bye, privacy, it was fun while it lasted but seems like there’s just no place for you in this town anymore,” Stiles waves sadly at nothing.
“If you’re done?” Lydia asks dryly, but to his amusement, leans into his shoulder and joins in on the sad waving. “Privacy and werewolves aren’t exactly a good match.”
“But Cora wasn’t planning to listen, was she?”
Lydia pulls back to her seat, “Again, try to put yourself in my shoes. My friend’s been dragged through the woods by a druid, and then he decides to go talk to another druid, the one who in fact helped a werewolf send him to the hospital, on his own, with no back-up.” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully.
“When you put it like that, I sound stupid, I get it,” Stiles winces. He should’ve had a tiny army of werewolves waiting outside of the classroom, should’ve asked Derek even. “But this was about my mom… It was personal.”
“I know,” she says softly. “And Cora knows too, she looked very uncomfortable and promised she won’t tell anyone, not even Peter.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, “Peter’s the Alpha, I’m pretty sure she’ll tell him eventually.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?” She studies him intently.
“I know you don’t understand why I’m keeping this a secret,” Stiles starts.
“Do you understand why?” Lydia interrupts.
“You heard what Morrell said about Peter!”
“I’m sorry, you trust her more?” Lydia tilts her head in disbelief.
“No! It’s,” Stiles flails in frustration, “It’s not about trust, just the whole ‘can’t keep any secrets from Peter’ thing is a little creepy, don’t you think?”
Lydia stares at him for a moment, then sits up straight.
“Are you challenging him to find out what you’re hiding?”
“Not much of a challenge now, is it? He can just ask Cora!” Stiles rubs his hand across his eyes.
“What weird little mating rituals you have,” Lydia slumps back, sighing.
Stiles points at her, “Hey, none of that. Also, stop hinting at polyamory, especially when Chris is in the room, please.”
“Why? Mark my words, that’s the destination of this ride you’re jumping on.”
“Because maybe Chris does like me, but maybe he doesn’t want that. Maybe he wants something normal!”
Lydia’s eyes narrow at him, “I’m sorry, you think Chris wants normal and that’s why he’s with Peter?”
Stiles waves away that question, mind already stuck on the fact that, “Am I going to ruin what they already have?”
“Oh my god,” Lydia hits her head against the backrest a couple of times. “I wish you guys weren’t waiting so you wouldn’t have all this time to second-guess everything.”
“I’m not second-guessing my decision to hop into bed with Peter, I’m just considering all the angles.”
Lydia turns her head towards him, “So you plan on sleeping with him while keeping secrets from him?”
“That’s weeks away, if he doesn’t know by then, he’s failed the challenge,” Stiles starts the car.
“And then what, he’s no longer attractive?”
He glances at Lydia’s smirk wryly, “No, I’ll tell him, is what I mean.”
She huffs in amusement and stares down at her phone.
“Peter obviously stands for stolen,” she jumps back onto their earlier topic.
“Yeah, which… I mean, that’s the easiest one to get, right? Anyone can steal another’s Alpha spark,” Stiles taps his fingers against the wheel, eyes on the road. “Why wouldn’t it want Laura instead, hers was inherited, which seems a lot rarer.”
“A meet of hounds, an assembly of packs, their sparks stolen, inherited and earned. Each Alpha represents one, a triumvirate worthy of a kingdom,” she reads aloud, then hums in thought. “What does earned mean? Maybe killing another Alpha means you’ve earned it and stolen is something else?”
“Peter used that word, stolen, when I asked about someone getting the spark by killing an Alpha, so I’m pretty sure that earned is the one we have no clue about.”
“Great, another mystery,” she sounds anything but thrilled.
“That illustration, though, of the three people standing around a tree. Our tree’s cut, but the imagery is the same as in your dream, yeah?”
Lydia swipes to another picture on her phone.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I saw, the positioning too, like… two people on opposite sides and then the third without an opposite? Why wouldn’t they stand in equal distance from each other, is there a meaning to the placement?”
“The letter at the bottom of the illustration is Uath, maybe it’s meant to be similar to that?”
“The Ogham alphabet,” Lydia murmurs, “But didn’t uath also mean something like horrible thing in Old Irish?” Stiles isn’t surprised by her knowing that since they’ve both googled druid stuff, often together even.
“Yeah, or fear.”
“So a triumvirate of Alphas is something to be in fear of.”
“I mean,” Stiles remembers the Alpha pack, “that tracks.”
“Stiles, I really think we should talk to Peter about this.”
He pulls up to his house and parks the car.
“I agree…”
“But you want to look into this on our own first, don’t you?”
Stiles smiles at her, “You know me so well.”
“Are you going to join any time soon?”
Chris is on his back in Peter’s bed, naked and distractingly spread out. He has one hand behind his head, another stroking his cock, and there is a predatory, instinctual part of Peter that wants to wave aside the other signals he’s picking up on and just take what’s being offered.
But apparently, the rest of him cares too much to do so.
He steps up to the bed and leans down to grab the man behind his knees and effortlessly pull him closer. There’s a sharp uptick of arousal in his scent and Peter almost forgets what he wants to ask, excited that Chris enjoyed that show of strength.
“I might, if you tell me what’s got you so stressed out? Or why I can faintly smell Victoria’s perfume?”
Chris lets his head fall onto the bed, releasing himself and refusing to meet Peter’s eyes.
“It’s nothing important.”
“So just spit it out?” He soothes his hands down the backs of Chris’ thighs, then slides them up and wraps his fingers around the hard length, the other hand grabbing onto a hip. He puts a knee on the bed to lean on as he strokes, fondles, unable to stop himself.
Chris spreads his thighs wider and shuffles down to give Peter a better angle.
“She wanted to talk about Allison, because she’s worried what Gerard might do when he finds out she’s on my side and not theirs.”
He pulls his hands away and shifts up to fully kneel on the bed, in between Chris’ legs.
“We’ll protect her,” is all he says, even though in his mind he’s thinking that at the first opportunity, when the reward outweighs the risk, he’s going to kill Gerard Argent.
“I know, it just got me worried. I know what kind of father he can be… I just hoped he’d be different as a grandfather, I guess,” Chris palms his face, rubs at his temple.
“You look like you could use a good distraction, something to relieve all that stress,” Peter strokes a hand over thigh, hip and stomach, watches as the abdominal muscles flex under his teasing touch, leans down to plant a kiss on them, opens his mouth to lick, to bite softly.
“It’s why I came here… didn’t expect to see Stiles.”
Peter pulls back an inch, “Now you want to talk about him?”
“No,” Chris’ eyes are dark with want and already the stench of stress and worry is being flooded over with desire. He reaches down to grab Peter by his chin, thumb sliding up to press down on his lower lip. “I want your mouth.”
He grins and then swipes his tongue against the thumb, pulling it into his mouth to suck on it, enjoying Chris’ sharp intake of breath at the sight. He pulls away to nose at the hair on Chris’ navel, follows the trail down and breathes in at the very base of him, the scent there almost causing his fangs to drop, his gums aching with restraint.
He mouths at the length, moving up slowly to wrap his lips around the head, to curl his tongue around it.
Chris threads his fingers into Peter’s hair, tries to take control but Peter grabs his hand and pulls it away, presses it down onto the bed.
He pulls back just enough that he can speak, lips brushing against Chris’ cock with every word.
“Oh, I’m going to take my time with you tonight. Unless you have any objections?” Just like with Stiles, he hopes that Chris understands the power he holds here, over Peter.
“Go ahead,” Chris says, voice low and broken with need. The sound of it causes Peter’s eyes to burn and Chris’ eyebrows go high in surprise. “That’s new,” he murmurs, his free hand reaching down to caress the skin under Peter’s Alpha red eye. “The colour suits you,” he smirks.
Peter flexes his jaw to hold back his shift, closes his eyes and focuses on tasting, savouring every inch of the man under him.
“If you want to try it, there’s lube in that drawer,” he says at one point, when Chris is getting sweaty and breathless, small pleading sounds escaping him every time Peter pulls away to nuzzle the base of him.
To his surprise, Chris doesn’t hesitate to grab the tube and flick it down, hitting Peter in the shoulder.
As he pushes in one finger, then two, he keeps his eyes on the man’s face, attentive to any change in the mood. But despite some obvious discomfort and surprise, Chris stays flushed with want and achingly hard.
“We don’t have to go any further tonight,” he offers, twisting and curling his fingers until he finds the right spot to put pressure against, making Chris moan, louder than Peter’s ever heard him.
“No, I can take it,” Chris says, grabs at Peter’s shoulder, his neck, writhing a little as Peter focuses on that spot mercilessly.
He frowns at the wording but continues, pushes in a third finger and observes the reaction.
A hiss of pain, a little more discomfort now.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter says, nips at a hipbone.
“I can handle a little pain, Peter,” Chris sounds annoyed. “I want you to fuck me,” he stresses, boldly.
Peter hears the truth in those words and sighs dramatically.
“Your wish is my command.” He pushes his fingers in deep, finds that spot again and leans up to kiss Chris with an open mouth, swallowing the desperate sounds he makes.
He keeps kissing him, sliding his tongue against his, into his mouth, as he coats himself in lube, pulling his fingers out and pushing in immediately, stilling as soon as the head’s in.
Chris tenses up, grunting in discomfort, one of his hands grabbing Peter by the nape of his neck, squeezing hard.
His fangs do come out then, unbidden.
“Sorry,” Chris pants out. “Give me a second.”
“Take all the time you need,” Peter growls out through his teeth, causing Chris to glance up at him in surprise.
“Would this loss of control be considered a compliment?”
He rests his head against Chris’, manages to regain control, “Always.”
“Should I get on my hands and knees for this?” Chris asks, still holding onto Peter tight.
“It might be more comfortable, but then I can’t do this,” he leans his whole body down, pushing in a little deeper in the process and covers Chris’ mouth with his, kissing him slow and deep.
He wraps one arm around the man’s neck, his other hand grabbing Chris’ thigh to push it up a bit, keeps kissing him as he starts moving.
Chris moans, low and vibrant, clutching at Peter’s back, his ass, pulling him in harder.
When it feels easier, when Chris sounds like he’s fully enjoying it and no longer uncomfortable, Peter lets himself push in with more force, to get deeper, to find the right angle. When Chris chokes out a surprised sound, frowning in wonder, that’s when Peter starts to give him what he wants, sliding out farther, thrusting in faster, similar to how Chris usually fucks him.
He presses his head into the crook of Chris’ neck, to drown himself in his scent but holds back on biting, doesn’t trust himself to keep his teeth human.
When he can scent that Chris is close, can hear him groaning in a familiar way, he slides a hand between them to stroke him fast and hard. Chris tenses up like a vice around him when he comes and the feel, the smell, the sound and sight of him makes Peter follow, grinding in as deep as he can get.
“Fuck,” Chris breathes out, wipes away sweat from his eyes.
Still inside him, Peter moves to give him a kiss, softer than before.
“I assume you liked it?” He asks, his smugness indicating he already knows the answer.
“Yeah,” Chris leans his head up to kiss him, “Fuck,” he repeats, trying to catch his breath.
Peter pulls out slowly, noting the way Chris winces at the odd first-time sensation.
“If you get it up again soon, you can fuck me next.”
Chris stares at him, looking completely fucked-out and satisfied.
“Give me a minute.”
Later that evening, after Lydia’s gone home, Stiles is chatting with a guy called Callum who he found online. He claims to be a druid and seems to know some things that go with what Stiles has found out from Chris, Deaton, the bestiary and Peter’s books, but there’s also been some weird disconnects, which causes him to doubt. A lot of the real stuff can also be found online, so Callum could just be an enthusiastic googler, like Stiles.
His phone rings, he picks it up quickly when he sees that it’s Scott.
“Hey, something wrong?”
A second of silence.
“Is that how we’re going to greet each other from now on?” Scott asks.
“I’m just always prepared for the worst,” Stiles says and gathers from the tone in the other’s voice that there isn’t anything wrong, at least, not at the moment.
“Anyway, I… I feel bad about something I did today…”
“Okay?” Stiles frowns at his laptop because Callum is now asking for a webcam session, which, red flag. Probably not a druid, or… Well, druids get horny too, right? A question he is definitely not asking any of the druids he knows.
“I had a good reason! But, it was still shitty of me…”
Stiles gapes because now Callum has sent a picture of his erect penis, and typed out the words ‘my dick’s pretty magical too’. And to be fair, it’s very nice-looking and thick and long-
“Stiles?”
“Hm?” He snaps his laptop closed.
“Are you listening?”
“I am now, I swear. Okay, so you did something bad, but for a good reason. I need more information here.”
“Okay, so… I eavesdropped on you and Morrell.”
Stiles’ head snaps forward in indignation, “What!?”
“I’m sorry! But I was worried! I don’t want you to get hurt again!”
He sighs and tells himself that he should’ve seen this coming.
“Okay then,” he says, shrugging.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes, I am mad.”
“Will you forgive me?”
“Ask me tomorrow,” Stiles glares at the wall.
“Okay,” Scott says meekly. And then, “But can I ask, are you planning on telling the others?”
Stiles rolls his eyes when he remembers that oh yeah, Scott hates keeping secrets. Maybe the guy should not listen in on private conversations, then!?
“Lydia and Cora know because they did the same thing you did,” he tells him.
“Oh… so Allison’s the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Oh my god, fine, we’ll come here after school tomorrow to talk about it.”
“Why not at the school?”
“Because Derek’s there, although considering you and Cora, maybe he already knows too!”
“Okay, okay,” Scott tries to soothe him. “But I mean… it was good information to have, right? Your mom didn’t mean to do it, she didn’t know that it went wrong.”
“Yeah,” Stiles frowns.
“Did you know about the… miscarriages?” Stiles can hear Scott grimacing as he asks.
“No. I want to ask my dad, but one doesn’t just drop a question like that into a casual conversation,” he sighs. Not to mention, the Sheriff’s hardly ever home anymore. Stiles is pretty sure there’s something going on with the murder investigation, but Noah’s being tight-lipped about it.
“If anyone can do it, it’s you,” Scott says sincerely.
“Ha-ha,” Stiles drawls.
“But okay, we’ll talk about it after school then. I’m sorry, again. I really was just looking out for you.”
“I know, man. You’re forgiven, of course you are.” He imagines if he had Scott’s powers, he’d probably be listening in on everything and not telling anyone about it.
He should appreciate how honest his friend is, really.
“Couldn’t even make it through the drive, huh?” Stiles asks the next day, while getting a hug from Allison.
Scott closes the front door and makes an adorable ‘oops’ face.
“Why didn’t you want us to know?” Allison asks, pulling back, looking so sincerely concerned that any lingering annoyance Stiles might have felt disappears.
“I don’t know, okay? It was between my mom and me,” he gestures vaguely, “You know what I mean.”
“I have no clue,” Cora says, brushing past him to raid the fridge. “Got anything to eat?”
“You have a professional chef at home, you can eat there,” Stiles grumbles at her.
He notices that Lydia’s trailed off into the hallway, looking at pictures on the walls. She’s staring at one in particular, with a four-year-old Stiles sitting on Claudia’s lap, giggling with his eyes closed because she’s tickling him.
“Hey,” he starts to ask when she meets his eyes and shakes her head, tapping on her ear. Stiles raises his eyebrows in a silent question.
Lydia glances at the picture, then at him. She looks conflicted.
Stiles watches as she pulls out her phone and opens the picture of the illustration. She taps on it, then pauses, then points at the picture on the wall. At Stiles’ mom.
He frowns, shakes his head in confusion.
“The familiar-looking woman,” she whispers and widens her eyes.
Stiles blinks at her in shock.
Because why would Lydia dream about a triumvirate of Alphas and have Claudia Stilinski standing next to Talia?
Chapter 19: awkward
Chapter Text
It’s about an hour later, Lydia and Stiles are alone in his room, trying to make sense of her dream.
“Callum says there are a few legends about Alpha sparks that were earned. Some people call those werewolves True Alphas.” Lydia types out a response on his laptop, sitting on Stiles’ bed, back against the wall.
“I can’t believe you’re talking to that guy,” Stiles is sitting beside his desk. He throws a baseball into the air and catches it, continues doing so, finding it soothing in a way.
“I think he’s the real deal.”
“Oh yeah? He said all Betas have amber eyes, we know that’s not true.”
“I mean, all Betas do have amber eyes. Blue ones are the exception,” Lydia points out.
“Whatever,” Stiles mutters. “Did you see the dick pic?”
“Very nice. Bad lighting, though. For some reason, guys can never get that right.”
“Are you pretending to be me or did you say you’re a friend?”
“Pretending to be you of course, spelling errors and all.”
Stiles catches his ball and turns to stick his tongue out at her.
“Immaturity and all,” she corrects dryly.
He throws the ball away into a corner, sighing.
“This just doesn’t make any sense,” he groans, covers his face with his hands. “Morrell said my mom wasn’t magical at all, that she didn’t believe even. Why would she be in a dream about three Alphas?”
“Okay, so,” Lydia closes the laptop and puts it aside. “Callum told me what he knows about prophetic dreams and banshees and some of it fits with what I read at Peter’s.”
He leans in, rests his elbows on his knees, “And?”
“It’s not exact. I’m kind of connected to this land now because of what I am and my imprint on the Hales, that’s another thing Callum told me by the way, that banshees can imprint on powerful bloodlines-”
“Like in Twilight?” Stiles gawks at her.
“No,” she snaps after a pause. “Not like in-” She holds up a hand and calms herself. “Anyway, it’s all connected to blood. The dream is like memories, impressions. I’m not actually seeing Talia and Claudia together at the Nemeton, I’m seeing their bloodlines.”
Stiles processes that.
“Oh, so. They’re like stand-ins?”
“Yes, Talia is Peter, obviously. The third man is all shadow-y and unclear because either the Nemeton doesn’t know who it could be or it hasn’t had a taste of its blood, at least that’s my theory,” she breathes out harshly. “We should talk to Peter about this, I’m sure he knows a lot more than Callum.”
“Who the hell is my mom a stand-in for, though? Me!? I’m not a werewolf!”
“What do you know about your mom’s side of the family?” Lydia raises her eyebrows.
“Not much…” Stiles tries to remember, squinting at nothing. “There was an aunt, I think? She was an only child, parents died when she was young… Her grandparents stayed in Poland…”
“What about the aunt?”
Stiles shrugs, “I don’t know, I never met her, I think she lives in Wisconsin or something.”
Lydia’s eyes go big, “Don’t you think that’s a thread worth following?”
“What, my great-aunt is a werewolf now? I don’t even know if she’s alive!”
“You should ask your dad.”
Stiles sighs and rubs at his eyes, “Yeah, I wanna ask him a bunch of things right now.”
“You guys haven’t had a chance to talk much recently, huh?”
“No, he barely sleeps. I’m pretty sure he got a couch moved into his office at work so he can take naps there.”
“It’s got to be tough… there was a murder… everybody’s demanding answers, a suspect, something.”
“Yeah,” Stiles lightly pulls at his hair in frustration, “And my dad has everyone working overtime and nothing to show for it.”
It’s early Saturday morning and Peter wakes up alone. His phone’s ringing.
He sees that the number’s unknown, so he answers with a terse, “What?”
“Is it true? Is Kate dead?”
He sits up, blinks sleep away.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Eileen. Answer the question.”
Peter’s surprised. Eileen’s the second-in-command for the only other Beacon County werewolf pack that he knows of. No one in the pack accepted his calls or responded to his texts, and ever since Laura told him that the Argents have been on a warpath, he thought maybe the pack’s moved or worse, dead.
“She is. I killed her myself.”
There’s a harsh sigh.
“Good. What about Gerard?”
“Coming to Beacon Hills soon… May I ask what this is about?”
“We want to come back home.”
Ah, so they moved.
“Where are you now?”
“…That doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t trust me?” Peter feels a little hurt.
“We don’t share that information with anyone, no offense meant.”
“Will you be moving back then?”
“No, not until Gerard’s dead.”
He frowns, “Are you waiting for him to die of old age?”
“You killed Kate, you can deal with him too.”
He remembers how amusing he used to find Eileen’s straightforwardness. She was forty-something back when he was in high school, and never failed to put an awkward stop to important conversations with her blunt demeanor. Now, that he’s the one trying to have a conversation with her, he realizes why Talia was always so aggravated.
“Help would be nice,” he drawls.
“It’s your mess to clean up.”
Laura told him about their community’s reaction to the fire. That still didn’t prepare him for the absolute conviction in her voice as she says that.
“You do realize that the Hales weren’t targeted because we had too much power? We were targeted because we’re in Beacon Hills, a land Gerard considers his home.”
“Be that as it may, the fire was only the beginning. Our pack used to be bigger than yours, full of humans and non-weres, but strong. Now, there’s only three of us left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Doesn’t excuse how you abandoned Laura, she told me no one wanted to speak to her.”
“We didn’t want the same kind of attention.”
“You got it anyway.”
“I don’t have to explain myself. Tell Laura that if Gerard’s dead, Michael might be interested in an alliance again.”
“I’m the Hale Alpha. Laura’s my Beta. And I’m only offering an alliance if there’s something in it for me.” He gets out of bed and goes to make himself some coffee.
“How did that happen?” Eileen sounds shocked.
“No offense, but I don’t share that information with people I don’t count as allies,” he hangs up. He then sees the text from Chris: Have an early training session with Allison, didn’t want to wake you. Training Stiles later too. TTYL?
He smirks at the question mark, for some reason finding it endearing.
“Son?”
Stiles looks up from the floor, surprised to see his dad home.
“Hey!” He glances guiltily around his dad’s bedroom, the pictures and documents spread out everywhere.
Noah looks pained, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure something out,” Stiles says, fiddling with his birth certificate.
Noah steps in to take a closer look at what Stiles has spread out, frowning when he realizes it’s all about Claudia. There wasn’t much to find, no journals or research notes, no diaries or scrapbooks, not a lot of pictures either, just a few photos of Claudia when she was around Stiles’ age.
“What’s this about?”
“I want to know more about mom’s side of the family,” he decides to lead with.
“I mean, sure, but why?”
Stiles stares at his dad’s concerned face and figures it’s best if he tells the man everything. It’s about Stiles’ mom, the woman that Noah loved and married. He’s literally the only one who he should definitely not hide this from.
“Mom’s the reason I’m bonded to the Nemeton.”
Noah looks confused at first but then pales, slowly lowering himself to sit on the bed.
“What did she do?”
“Did you know she had miscarriages?”
“Yes,” he sighs, his age suddenly apparent on his face. “She told me about them when she got pregnant with you, told me to not get my hopes up.”
“So they happened before you two got together?”
“With the man she was with before she moved here.”
Stiles has a thought, “What do you know about him?”
Noah scrunches up his face, “Nothing, why?”
“Okay, so…” He breathes in deep, “When mom was helping out at the school as a guidance counsellor, she met Morrell, our French teacher, former emissary for Deucalion, the woman who helped Ennis bit Scott. With me so far?” He asked, seeing his dad already looking a little lost.
“I think so.”
Noah’s expression doesn’t get any better after that.
“How’s it going, Hayden?” Chris answers his phone, while frying some chicken for the salad Allison’s preparing. She looks at him and listens, curious.
“Good, good, just got done talking to Doreen, she’s interested.”
Doreen’s one of the shareholders who they’re hoping will help them out, this is good news.
“Glad to hear it, anything else on your end?”
“Nah, but there’s a lot of buzz about Araya. She’s been talking to everyone. Things are starting to move fast, eh?”
Chris deems the chicken done and turns off the stove.
“She did tell me something about her age and wanting to get this done while she’s still breathing.”
“Ha, that woman will outlive us all.”
Chris smirks, silently agreeing.
“Your daughter, she really up for this? She’s sweet and all, but seems kind of unprepared.”
Chris glances at Allison, who’s still attentively listening.
“I’ll be there to help her every step of the way.”
Allison looks away, realizing he’s talking about her.
“Aww,” Hayden coos. “Well, I’ll be there too, this is for a brighter future after all.”
“Appreciate it. Talk to you soon.”
“Yeah,” Hayden hangs up first.
“Doubting me again?” Allison starts aggressively cutting up tomatoes.
“Can you blame them?” Is all that Chris replies with, instead of offering empty platitudes.
Allison’s cutting calms down, “Yeah, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
He puts an arm around her shoulders, pats her arm comfortingly.
“Get the salad done, I’m hungry,” he steals a piece of lettuce from the bowl, easily dodging her swipe.
“Are you training with Stiles later?”
“Yeah, he should be here in,” he glances at the time, “about an hour.”
“Maybe we’ll hang out later, Scott’s working today.”
“Sounds good.”
He tries to steal a tomato and almost loses a finger.
After Stiles has told Noah about everything—what Morrell told him, Lydia’s dream and what it might mean, the man looks like he could sleep for ten years.
“Dad?” He asks warily, because Noah has just been frowning at the floor for the past two minutes in silence.
Noah sighs heavily and stands with a tired grunt.
“There’s some more things in the closet,” he opens it and pushes aside his clothes, leaning down to pull out a couple of boxes. One has some old toys that Stiles remembers playing with and what looks like photo albums. The other has… journals and notebooks!
“Oh my god, are those mom’s?” Stiles asks, kneeling excitedly.
“They’re her research journals and notes from when she attended college. I’ve paged through some of them, just seems like psychology stuff to me, a few of them were more about neurology, I think.”
Stiles flips through a couple and it seems like his dad’s right. He finds sections on things like Parkinson’s and CBT and even a whole journal dedicated to ADHD, which makes him blink back a few tears.
“But here’s the thing I wanted to show you,” Noah pulls out one of the photo albums. It’s small and old-looking and when Noah opens it up, Stiles can see that some of the pictures are black and white. “It belonged to your grandmother. It has little notes on who’s who and dates and things. There’s a few pictures of Claudia and that aunt that you mentioned.”
Noah looks for a specific picture and then hands it to Stiles who stares down at it. The note at the bottom says, ‘Claudia, 5 years old, with Kalina’. A young woman is holding Claudia in her arms, pressing their cheeks together. They both look happy.
“Is Kalina my great-aunt?”
“Was. She died soon after your mother.”
Stiles looks up at his dad in shock, “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, I never told you because… we never met her and I didn’t want to tell you that another relative has died. It didn’t seem like a good time.”
“How did you find out anyway?”
“Kalina’s daughter called me, apparently Kalina left a message for Claudia in her will. When I told her that she was gone too, she told me to forget about it.”
“Her daughter? So… technically she’s a part of mom’s bloodline…”
Noah frowns at him, “What, do you honestly think this woman’s a werewolf or something?”
“I don’t know what to think… But stranger things have happened, dad.”
Noah sighs heavily and stands up, “Can’t argue with that.”
“Where you off to, you just got home?”
“To get something to eat. And then I’m going to sleep as long as I can, I’m going back for the night shift.”
“Again?” Stiles gets up to follow as Noah heads for the kitchen.
“Clark’s sick and everyone is exhausted.”
“What’s going on with the investigation anyway?”
Noah rounds on him, holding up his hand, “Honestly, Stiles, I don’t want to think about it right now. My brain needs time off.”
“Okay,” he holds his hands up. “No work talk, got it. Want a burger?”
“You’ll let me have a burger?”
“I got the veggie ones.”
“Of course you did. Fine.”
A few hours later he’s going through one of his mom’s journals, smiling softly because her way of taking notes was rather similar to the way Stiles takes notes now. She jumps from topic to topic, gets side-tracked, has stupid little jokes here and there, a few of them things he remembers her actually telling him, wonders if she wrote them down first and then later deemed them funny enough to share or vice-versa.
But he also feels like there’s a great big hole in his chest. He has lots of memories of his mom, but a lot of them were when she was already sick and no longer working or researching. The journal in his hands is like a window into the mind of a woman he didn’t actually get to know. He would’ve gotten to discover this side of her when he got older and could have more grown-up conversations with her that didn’t revolve around superheroes or his latest video game or whatever show they were watching. Getting to know his mom as an adult was stolen from him. He never got to joke about adult things with her, god, he’ll never know how she would have reacted to his current situation of falling for two men twice his age…
Suddenly the grief hits hard and he misses her in a way he hasn’t in a few years now, wishes he could see her, talk to her. He wants to call her so fucking bad.
He rubs at his eyes and grabs his phone, noticing he has unread texts but ignores them as he grabs his jacket and leaves the house.
He doesn’t actually believe in God or heaven or spirits or anything because his mom didn’t, his mom believed in science and research and being kind just because.
But now he knows that werewolves are real, that magic is real… Honestly, everything he’s seen feels like it’s all just one step away from ghosts being real too.
So he goes to his mom’s grave, sets down the pink orchids he grabbed from the mall along the way and stares at her simple yet elegant headstone.
He doesn’t really want to talk to the grave, that feels weird. But just in case, he wanted to signal her, wherever she may be, if she still is even, that he’s still thinking about her, still misses her.
Because there’s no one else at the cemetery and it’s getting late, the cars sound extra loud when they pull up next to Stiles’ Jeep, about a hundred yards away from where he’s standing. He looks over, surprised to see four black SUVs, all with tinted windows. Three people get out from one car and practically surround another. They look like bodyguards as they wait, hands inside their jackets as if prepared to pull out a gun. Stiles starts to think that maybe he should be getting out of here. Except, the guys who definitely have guns, are standing right next to his car.
Another man gets out, this one a lot older than the rest, hair gone white and balding at the top. He’s wearing an outfit similar to what Stiles has seen Chris wear, in fact all of the men are. And that’s the first clue.
The old man is holding a bouquet of white flowers as he starts walking towards Stiles, the cemetery gate’s clanging loud in the silence.
Stiles notes that the protection detail stays behind, but alert.
“Hello there,” the man tells him as he gets closer, a few lines of graves separating them. “I see we had the same idea tonight,” he lifts up his lilies.
His face is friendly, but his voice sends shivers down Stiles’ spine. It has a certain hair-raising quality to it that he doesn’t like.
“Uh, yeah. My mom,” he gestures at his own flowers. “Who’re you visiting?” Do people say visiting when they come here? Stiles has no clue.
“My wife,” the man smiles gently. “I can see the date from here, I’m sorry that you lost her so early. You must have been very young.”
Stiles glances at the headstone.
“I was ten.”
“My sympathies,” the man nods at him and continues onwards until he reaches a grave with one of the biggest headstones Stiles has ever seen. Stiles watches as he sets the bouquet down and then traces what Stiles assumes to be his wife’s name.
Just like Stiles, he doesn’t speak, just stands there for a moment and then walks back. He again, stops close to Stiles.
“Stilinski… Is that not the Sheriff here?”
Stiles forces himself to appear innocent and unsuspecting.
“Yeah, I’m his son.”
“Well, stay on your guard, Mr. Stilinski. There are monsters in the dark,” the man smiles and leaves.
That insane warning is obviously the second clue. Stiles waits, buzzing with nerves, as all of the men get back into their cars and drive off. When he can’t hear them anymore, he walks over to the grave with the white lilies. He’s pretty sure he’s already guessed who the man was but it doesn’t hurt to check.
He just stares at the name Eleanor Argent for a while, before pulling out his phone.
“I was getting worried,” is what Chris answers with, which makes Stiles frown in confusion.
“What, why?”
“…You were supposed to come over for another training session.”
The staff!
Stiles slaps his hand against his forehead, “Ah, fuck, I completely forgot.”
“I figured that. But when you didn’t answer my text, I wondered if something might’ve happened.”
“I’m sorry, uh, listen. I think I just met your dad? Did we know he’s arriving this weekend, or?”
A pause.
“Gerard? Where? Are you okay?” Chris sounds so intense that it causes Stiles to pause as well, eyes going wide. “Stiles?”
“Yeah! Yeah, at the cemetery. He got flowers for… for your mom,” it suddenly hits him whose grave he is standing in front of and feels like the breath’s been punched out of him.
“Why are you there?”
“Was… was visiting my mom.”
“Oh,” Chris’ voice softens. “Did he say anything?”
“From your surprise I assume you didn’t know he was coming today.”
“No, I didn’t. But I should’ve been ready, tomorrow’s Kate’s funeral after all.”
“Right. He saw my mom’s headstone and figured out that I’m the Sheriff’s son. Has Victoria told him anything about me?”
“I don’t know what Victoria’s told him,” Chris admits with a sigh.
“Well, other than that, he seemed like the friendly grandpa-sort. Except, you know, the four armed men who watched over us the whole time we were chatting.”
“You can still come over if you want,” Chris offers and oh boy, would Stiles like to see him right now. Or maybe Peter. Although both would be nice. But also, the thought of taking his magic staff to practice fighting techniques that he’d then use against supernatural creatures makes his head hurt. He misses the good old days, when weekends meant snacks, video games and going to the movies with friends.
“I… I really want to do something normal right now,” he says tiredly. “Maybe I’ll go hang out at the Clinic, I think Scott’s done with his shift soon.”
He listens to- He hears Chris just breathing for a few seconds, before the man says, “Allison’s here too, we don’t have to do any training. We could watch a movie or something.”
Stiles blinks in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I—hang on,” the sound of cupboards being shut, “I have some popcorn too. Is cheese-flavored okay?”
Stiles’ vision blurs as his eyes well up and he curses himself because this is the stupidest reaction to have over something as simple as watching a movie together.
He sniffs, when he says, “Sounds good. I’ll head on over.”
“You good to drive?” Chris asks, because Stiles’ tearful voice has obviously betrayed him.
“Yeah, it’s just a little crying, all good,” Stiles sniffs again and tries to regain whatever composure he usually has.
“Okay, well, if that little turns into a lot, call me. You shouldn’t drive like that.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, tears fading away as he thinks ‘god, he’s such a dad’ and then winces at himself.
“I will, see you,” he hangs up and hits his head with his phone. “Get a grip, man,” he whispers to himself.
As Chris pours the popcorn into two bowls and grabs sodas from the fridge, he thinks about Stiles alone in a cemetery with Gerard and his men and he wants to hit himself. He has no idea what Victoria’s told his father about all the goings-on here, but it was stupid of Chris to let her think there’s something going on between him and Stiles in the first place. Because if Gerard finds out, it’s sure to put a target on Stiles’ back.
He’s been so concerned about Allison’s safety, he forgot that Stiles already pissed off Victoria enough that she hit him.
He needs to talk to his father and gauge what he might know or have heard.
He grabs the popcorn and heads over to the living room, pausing when he hears Stiles’ gasp.
“Woah, that looks sick!”
“Right? Lydia’s already ordered it.”
Oh, the compound bow that Allison helped Lydia pick out. All of the kids seem to want to gear up now, and he can’t blame them.
He takes another step and pauses again when Stiles yelps.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to swipe!”
Allison’s laughing, “Sorry, I forgot to move it from this folder!”
“Why do you have a picture of Scott’s dick on your phone!?” Stiles sounds scandalized. Chris waits behind the corner, wary of this conversation.
“He sent it as a joke,” Allison giggles. “You should’ve seen him, he was so embarrassed! He instantly regretted it and asked me to delete it.”
“And… you didn’t?”
“I like having it,” Allison says dreamily.
“How are you so sweet and yet so terrifying at the same time?”
“It’s a gift. Also, I learned from the best, ain’t that right, dad?”
He sighs and rounds the corner to see her resting her chin on the back of the couch, smiling innocently. Stiles turns around too, eyes wide.
“How much did you hear?” Stiles asks.
“Enough to refuse the next time Allison wants to show me something on her phone. There are things a father shouldn’t see,” he says dryly and moves to put the popcorn onto the coffee table.
“Oh, you can stop judging me,” Allison huffs at him. “I imagine if Peter sent you a picture of his dick, you’d keep it too.”
Chris gives a quick glance towards Stiles, but can’t stop himself from smirking and saying, “No comment.” He sits down in the armchair closest to Stiles.
He’s surprised when he sees Stiles looking thoughtful instead of uncomfortable.
“I wonder if Peter’s the kind of guy to do that, though.”
“Hm, what do you think, dad?”
His daughter looks positively evil right now.
“Honestly? He’d be more likely to take a picture of my dick while I’m sleeping.”
Stiles makes a face but then snorts, “Actually, yeah, I can imagine him doing that.” He then gives Chris a sidelong look. “This isn’t weird, is it?”
Allison replies before he can even think of something to say, “You guys need to get comfortable with talking about it. If Scott and I had a third person involved somehow, I can’t imagine just… ignoring the subject or trying to avoid conversations like this.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Stiles nods, keeps nodding as he looks at Chris, obviously nervous. “Right?”
“I told you that if you needed to talk, I’m here for you.”
Stiles gives him a small smile, before looking down at the floor.
“I’m picking the movie!” Allison takes the chance to grab the remote.
Peter stands near the tree-line, listening. He’s had Derek discreetly tailing Victoria whenever possible and today he overheard a phone conversation between her and Gerard. That’s how they found out the man’s arriving in town tonight.
Thanks to Victoria, Derek also found out where Gerard is staying.
It’s a large two-story house on the outskirts of Beacon Hills, pretty much directly opposite of the new Hale house. It has a back garden and a spacious front patio, that currently has four hunters standing guard in it.
He sent Derek and Laura to do a full sweep of the surrounding area a few minutes ago and is now waiting for them to return.
“They’re pretty much ready for a full-on attack,” Laura says as she returns. Derek joins them soon after.
“A couple of hunters were out back, I heard them talking about heat sensors.”
Peter frowns, “Was anyone armed with anything automatic?”
“Most of them, they just also have rifles and handguns and shotguns and bears, oh my!” Laura says theatrically. At Peter’s unimpressed stare, she shrugs. “I did see bear traps, though.”
“It’d be difficult, but if we went in fast and used their guns against them, we could do it.”
Peter turns to Derek, remembers seeing him weak and bleeding. Glances at Laura, remembers holding her limp body close.
“Not worth the risk.”
Laura whistles under her breath, “Wow.”
“What?” He glares at her.
“Wow,” Derek repeats, also wide-eyed.
Peter growls at them both and turns to go.
After a few steps his niece jumps onto his back and wraps her arms around his neck so she can lean in to whisper, “We love you too, uncle.”
He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t throw her off, grips the back of her thighs and carries her home.
The movie finishes and Allison stretches, yawning. Which in turn, causes Stiles to yawn too.
“I’m going to go get ready for bed, this was fun!” She leans in to give him a quick hug before getting up and waving at Chris, “Night, dad.”
“Good night,” Chris says softly.
And that’s when the air feels heavy all of a sudden. The room’s dark, TV being their only light source, and now they’re alone and Stiles can see the shape of him but not his expression and there’s a surge of desire as he imagines going over there and straddling the man, or maybe sitting on his lap or maybe-
“You can stay the night, if you want.”
Stiles’ brain screeches to a stop. Is Chris offering… No, that doesn’t go with what he knows about the man at all.
“Uh, you mean, on the couch?” He asks just as a confirmation, not meaning for it to sound like he’s hoping for something else, but it definitely sounds like he’s hoping for something else.
“We have a guest room too, but the couch is comfortable and you’ll have the TV in case you get bored.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“I’ll go get some sheets and pillows, you’ll probably want clothes to sleep in too. The bathroom downstairs has extra toothbrushes.” Chris stands up and leaves the room.
Stiles has a sense of déjà vu as he goes to brush his teeth. Except this time he doesn’t get to share a bed, he thinks sadly. Oh god, Lydia’s really gotten to him, hasn’t she?
When he gets back to the living room, Chris is already there, covering the couch with a sheet. He sees the clothes waiting for him on the armchair so he grabs them, brushing by the man as he goes back to the bathroom to change. He thinks he sees Chris looking at him.
He feels awkward as fuck.
And flushed.
This is ridiculous.
He’s so nervous he doesn’t even realize until he’s changed that he’s wearing Chris’ clothes. They fit pretty well, he muses, if a little baggy in some places. Stiles half-expects to be alone when he gets back again but no, Chris is there, standing next to the couch, waiting.
“You all set?”
That low voice, in the dark, when they’re alone, is not fair.
He clears his throat, “Yep.” He steps closer so he can sit down and pull the folded blanket open, covering his lap. He then fiddles with it, looking up at Chris who is just… standing there. Like he doesn’t want to leave?
“Did you think about what Lydia said?” He whispers, can’t believe he’s doing this.
“When?” Chris asks, staying very still. The TV is still on, but Chris isn’t facing it so Stiles can’t read his expression at all. He realizes that the man can see Stiles a lot better.
“Yesterday… about the solution to this… awkwardness…” He swallows, hard.
“And what’s the solution, Stiles?” Chris sounds stern almost. But there’s some underlying thing in his voice that Stiles can’t place, but it gives him the shivers.
He takes a breath, braces himself, owns up to the fact that yeah, he is a dumbass, and soldiers on, “That you and I get together too.” There, it’s out there. He’s said it.
For a few seconds Chris doesn’t move or say anything, but then he’s stepping closer, legs close to Stiles’.
He blinks in shock when fingers catch his chin in a gentle grip, thumb close to his lower lip.
“And is that something you want?”
He wishes he could see what’s going on on the other’s face right now, but just from the tone, he imagines the intense, kind of scary, hunter-mode expression that he’s seen a few times now. And again, he shivers.
“Yeah,” he breathes out and pulls his lower lip in to wet it with his tongue, brushing against Chris’ thumb in the process. That was Stiles trying to flirt, and either it fails or it works too well, because Chris immediately pulls his hand back.
“Good night,” he says and swiftly leaves the room. Stiles listens to his steps as he goes upstairs, touches his chin in the same way Chris did and then scrubs at his face in frustration.
He wants to jerk off so bad now, but he can’t and he feels like his skin is on fire.
In his head, he counts down the days to November and feels anguish at how many there’s left.
He ends up watching some random-ass show for a few hours before sleep finally claims him.
It’s early morning and Allison is out for a run.
Chris, however, is standing in the living room, staring at Stiles’ sleeping figure and agonizing over the night before. The blanket’s wrapped up around his legs and his shirt has ridden up, leaving his lower back bare. He’s sleeping on his stomach and cradling a pillow against his face, eyelashes dark against his skin. Chris’ hands ache with the need to touch.
An alert on his phone tells him he’s got a text. He waits for a second to see if Stiles heard it but he doesn’t react. He moves to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for them all, reading his message as he goes.
Stiles is not at home, do you know where he is?
He sends Peter a short, He’s here.
And knows to make food for four, rather than three.
Only the bacon and coffee is done by the time Peter walks in.
“Good morning,” he says, comes closer to give Chris a quick kiss that leaves him a little reeling, thoughts still full of Stiles, but quickly filling up with memories of the nights he’s spent in Peter’s bed.
“Morning, food will be ready soon.”
“Mm, so good to me,” Peter mumbles and presses his face into Chris’ neck, nipping a little at the skin there. He then pulls back abruptly, eyes glowing red. Chris has noted that the instances where Peter loses some control over his shift have become more frequent after becoming an Alpha, and hopes it’s just a phase.
“Everything okay?”
Peter blinks and his eyes go back to blue.
“A very broad question. Considering that Gerard’s back, I’d say no,” Peter turns to steal a slice of bacon.
“How did you know?”
“I have Derek monitoring Victoria, from a safe distance,” he adds as soon as he sees Chris’ face.
“If she finds out about that…”
“If she ever lays one finger on him, I’ll rip her throat out,” Peter promises calmly and Chris believes him. “So you knew too? But you didn’t tell me…” Peter narrows his eyes, but doesn’t look actually angry, more like he knows there’s a reason for it and is curious.
“I found out last night, because Stiles met him at the cemetery.”
“He’s unharmed?” Peter asks, already stepping away.
“Yes, they just talked for a bit about who they were bringing flowers for.” He watches the man leave the room and sighs, taking the eggs off the heat so he can follow. When he gets to the living room, he walks around the couch and pauses, taking in the way Peter’s resting his arms on the backrest and gazing down at Stiles.
His eyes are red again.
“He looks so bitable, doesn’t he?” He murmurs.
“Peter,” he says warningly and the man glances up, smirking.
“Oh relax, I would never. Unless he asked nicely.”
Stiles suddenly smacks his lips loudly and turns over to press his face against the back of the couch.
“No, you’re dirty," is what Chris thinks he hears, but it’s muffled and slurred with sleep. From the amused expression on Peter’s face, he guesses he heard right.
Peter reaches down to brush his fingers against Stiles’ mess of a hair and Chris feels a pang of jealousy at the sight.
“Now who is that jealousy aimed at, I wonder?” Peter asks softly, not looking up.
Chris grits his teeth, frustrated.
“Hell if I know,” he admits and goes back to finish making breakfast.
Stiles feels fingers brush over his cheek as he’s waking up. He faintly remembers some really naughty stuff happening in his dream, so he blushes when he opens his eyes and sees Peter crouching next to the couch, smirking with an air of smugness that Stiles is ill-equipped to handle so soon after waking.
“Hi,” he mumbles and frowns. “Watching me sleep? Kinda creepy.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter says, not sounding sorry at all as his fingers move to brush over Stiles’ mouth and then his jaw. Stiles is reminded of Chris’ thumb under his lip and his entire body feels completely awake all of a sudden. “I know your secret.”
Stiles squints at him, still laying down.
“Oh yeah?”
“Your mother made the bond.”
He sighs, knew someone would blab.
“Who was it, Cora?”
“Cora knows?” Peter looks sincerely surprised.
“Yeah,” Stiles pushes himself up.
“That’s concerning.”
“What, why?”
“Because I asked her directly and she lied to me,” Peter raises his eyebrows and looks impressed.
“Damn,” Stiles mutters, Cora is that good at lying? And she lied to her uncle to keep his personal stuff hidden? He has a lot of admiration for that girl right now. “Okay, so who was it, then? Scott?”
“Derek.”
Stiles slumps in his sitting position, covering his eyes in exasperation.
“I knew he was listening too!”
“He was checking up on Cora and heard her telling Lydia what you and Morrell were talking about.”
“Great, well. Now you know,” he waves. And feels the need to add, “It was personal,” with a pout.
Peter cocks his head, “I can be very helpful when it comes to research, you know. I gather you’re trying to find a way to break it, despite what Morrell said?”
“I’m too stubborn to give up, I guess.”
“That’s good,” Peter grabs one of his hands, thumb stroking his palm and making Stiles bite his lower lip at how much he wants to lean in for a kiss right now. “We’re not giving up.”
He smiles a little, “Thanks.” He pulls back his hand so he can stand up, sniffing the air and finding deliciousness that gets his stomach growling. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth, are you joining for breakfast?”
“Would that be okay?”
“Sure!” I have no idea anymore.
When he’s ready to eat, Allison’s there, waiting for him in the hallway. She pulls him close and tries to speak covertly, “We should think of a signal.”
“A signal?” Stiles asks, not even trying to whisper because he’s perfectly aware of how much werewolves like to snoop around and eavesdrop.
“Like if things get too weird or uncomfortable for you, I can help you think of a way to get out of here.”
His head snaps forward in disbelief, “Allison, if I want to leave, I’ll just leave. No one’s keeping me here.”
She thinks about that and then looks sheepish, “Oh yeah, you’re right.”
“This ain’t a rom-com, no shenanigans necessary,” he tells her as she takes his arm. “Besides, subtlety ain’t my strong suit.”
Allison snorts, “True.”
And he’s perfectly fine with all of this, with the four of them having breakfast together like this is normal, and there are no weird dynamic issues to speak of. Except then he rounds the corner and sees Peter stirring his coffee, smirking as usual, and Chris standing behind him, leaning in over his shoulder to say something that makes Peter frown at him, but the frown looks playful almost, and there’s a hand… Chris’ hand is on Peter’s hip, and it looks like it belongs there.
Suddenly he doesn’t feel fine with this at all, feels like an outsider. Allison notices his hesitance and raises her eyebrows as a silent question.
“Uh, can I get my coffee to go, actually?” He says loud enough for Chris to hear clearly. The man immediately steps away from Peter.
“Of course, but I made food,” he says and Stiles blinks in shock because Chris looks and sounds awkward too. Stiles thought he was the only one who suffered from awkward-syndrome.
It has to be because of the way Stiles opened his big dumbass mouth last night. There’s attraction here and they both kind of knew it, but it was never said out loud, never made real. Stiles just yanked it out into the spotlight and pointed at it for good measure.
“On second thought, I have coffee at home,” he clears his throat and turns to go.
“Let me walk you out,” Peter says and smoothly follows, ignoring the glare Stiles shoots over his shoulder.
“Bye, Chris!” He yells out, wincing at how off he sounds.
“See you!” Chris yells back, also sounding off.
Allison just stares at his dad with wide eyes as if she doesn’t recognize him.
Outside, Stiles immediately heads for his Jeep, unlocks it and is about to get in when Peter puts his hand against the door and stops him from opening it.
“Did something happen last night?” He asks curiously.
Stiles turns to lean his back against the car, wets his lips nervously and decides what the hell, might as well be open about everything now.
“Yeah. I basically told him that I want him too.”
Peter straightens, looks pleasantly surprised. “Ah, that explains…” he glances at the house, “…a lot.”
“So, now I just want to crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment,” Stiles nods to himself.
“Aww,” Peter drawls, stepping closer to press up against him- Stiles draws in a sharp breath, hands going to the man’s hips and hesitating, because he doesn’t know if he should push him away or pull him in. “You confessed to your crush,” Peter teases.
“Shut up,” Stiles glares at him and decides to go for a push. Peter goes easily, smiling.
“Besides that, there’s something I wanted to tell you, nothing important but... I’ve read a little about protection rites,” Peter says and studies Stiles silently.
“Okay?” He pushes away from his car to stand up straight. “What is it?”
“If your protection’s still ongoing like Morrell said, there’s a reason for it,” Peter pauses again and then reaches up to cradle Stiles’ cheek. “It means she never stopped loving you.”
Peter can’t possibly know how many times his mom didn’t recognize him, was afraid of him, said awful things about him to his dad, to him. So he can’t know what those words actually mean for Stiles, but he also doesn’t look surprised when Stiles’ eyes well up with tears.
Because Stiles knew that, of course he knew that, despite everything that happened when she was sick, on her good days, she never failed to tell him how much she loved him and Stiles believed her wholeheartedly. But it’s nice to hear it, it’s nice to basically have magical proof of her love, still protecting him.
He nods, blinks away the tears.
“Thanks,” he says, and the word feels inadequate.
“Drive safe,” Peter tilts his head, eyes soft.
Stiles doesn’t head home straight away. He’s thinking about his mom, Chris, Peter, Morrell, and suddenly has a thought that makes him change destinations. It’s pretty early in the morning so he’s prepared to be ignored when he drives over to Deaton’s house and rings the doorbell.
Surprisingly, Deaton answers in like three seconds.
“Stiles,” he says, surprised. And then sighs, “Is this going to become a common occurrence?”
“Maybe leave the house more often and it won’t,” Stiles shrugs at him and hears a snort from further in. Deaton looks wary but opens the door fully so Stiles can see Morrell standing there.
“He has a point,” she says, voice full of mirth.
“Why are you here, Stiles?” Deaton asks, ignoring his sister.
“I was actually coming here to ask about her,” he points at Morrell. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I’m leaving in less than an hour,” she tells him.
“Okay, so. Was hoping to get your phone number.”
Morrell narrows her eyes at him, but smiles.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, questions? Help? You said you felt like you let my mom down, then make it up to her by helping me,” he raises his eyebrows emphatically.
She stares at him for a moment, looking as enigmatic as always but then rolls her eyes.
“Alright, give me your phone.”
He watches her enter her contact details, feeling happy that his idea to come here seems to have been a good one.
“This is only for emergencies or discussions about magic, okay?” She asks as she hands him his phone back.
“So I shouldn’t text you about my relationship woes?”
Morrell frowns at him, again looking as if she has no idea whether he’s serious or not.
“Please don’t,” she replies.
“Got it,” he nods.
As he leaves, he thinks about the amount of homework he has to do, then pulls out his phone.
Research sesh at my place?
When he arrives at home, Lydia’s texted back that she’s on her way.
They end up researching (and talking to Callum) for only a few hours until she finds out he hasn’t finished any of his homework yet and then forces him to do all of it while she watches.
He doesn’t tell her about his little moment with Chris because he doesn’t even want to think about it. And he also doesn’t want to give her a reason to say ‘I told you so’. Because in the dark, with Chris’ hand on his chin, with Chris asking him to say it, to put their tension into words, he realized that Lydia’s been right all along.
“Christopher, how nice to hear from you.”
Chris grits his teeth at hearing that voice. He’s been waiting for something all morning, a call, a visit, anything from his father to signal that he’s in town. He even tried calling Victoria and got ignored. Allison’s getting ready to go to the funeral and Chris didn’t want to have this conversation there, in front of her.
So he decided to make the first move.
“I hear you’re in town.”
“I’m home.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t visited.”
“Son, I gave up on you years ago,” Gerard drawls, insincere sadness coloring every word. “I know which side you stand on now.”
“Victoria told you?”
“She’s told me a lot of things… Including that there may yet be hope for young Allison.”
“Stay away from my daughter,” he grips his phone tight enough to hurt.
“Now why would I do that? I have a lot to teach her. I told Victoria to let you have custody without a fight because for a time there, I was worried about your life. The drinking, the recklessness, you seemed suicidal. So I gave you a reason to live.”
Chris wondered, now he knows. And yes, the drinking got bad for a while, and yes, getting custody of Allison after the divorce made him clean up his act, but to hear Gerard say it like that, like he’s the reason Chris is still alive…
It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“I’m under the protection of the Hale pack and so is she,” he decides to tell him, since Victoria has probably already shared what she knows about Chris and Peter, about Allison and Scott.
“I have no intention of hurting anyone,” Gerard says innocently. “But Allison’s in need of some tough love, and that happens to be my specialty. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
He stands there, holding his phone, until Allison comes down the stairs, looking miserable.
“I’m ready,” she says softly and then sees his face. “Dad?”
“Would you be okay with not attending the funeral?”
Her eyes go wide in surprise, “I mean… I don’t actually want to go, so yes?”
“Good, then you’re not going. But you’re not staying here alone, either. Is Scott home? I can drop you off there.”
“Sure, but, dad. What’s going on?”
“Just promise me you won’t go anywhere alone right now,” Chris grabs her by the shoulders.
“Okay,” she stutters out, looking scared.
Chris knows he probably looks scared too. He remembers his training, the lessons he got, how much of it was just beatings and torture and abuse, all in the name of preparing him. The thought of Allison going through the same thing leaves his chest aching with panic.
For the first time in his life, he lets himself think it, wish it.
Lets himself mean it.
He wants his father dead.
Chapter 20: teamplayer
Notes:
im overworked and exhausted most of the time now and it's just gonna get worse for a bit
basically, updates will be a bit scarcer, once a week is something that i'm going for but can't promise
my personal advice: forget about this fic for a few months and then see what i've managed to write
Chapter Text
The funeral’s quiet and quick and Chris tries to avoid everyone’s eyes. Victoria’s the only one who actually acknowledges his presence, comes up to him after the service to grip his arm as if in comfort, as if Chris needs comfort. He doesn’t say anything, refuses to look at her and she leaves him alone soon after.
Gerard is surrounded by men, a few older ones that Chris recognizes but most of them his own age or younger, one or two looking eager to reach for their guns, hands always inside their jackets as they scan the surrounding area. It’s clear that Gerard is perfectly aware of just how many enemies he’s made along the way, that he feels the need to be protected at all times. Victoria comes and leaves with Gerard, obviously having fallen in line like a good little soldier.
Like Chris and Kate used to be.
It is odd, to not mourn the person Kate was when she died, to instead mourn the baby sister he remembers from his childhood. It almost feels like more than one person’s gone, the person she could’ve potentially become and the person Gerard molded her into.
As they lower the coffin into the ground on the plot next to his mother’s grave, he finds himself staring at the empty space next to Eleanor’s headstone, knowing that it’s the spot Gerard picked out for himself. He imagines his family, the three of them, all lined up in a neat row here. And then finds himself thinking that no, Allison is his family now.
Gerard’s the enemy.
And the Hales are allies. Pack.
How much his life, his outlook has changed in such a short time.
He leaves as soon as the service is over. His father doesn’t try to speak to him at all.
Once everyone’s been updated about Gerard’s arrival and Chris’ reaction to it, Allison isn’t allowed to go anywhere alone. She hates it.
“Stop, Scott! I’m going to the girls’ bathroom,” she stresses at one point, pushing him back a little.
“Oh,” he frowns at her.
“Let’s go,” Lydia says calmly, grabbing Allison by the arm and ignoring her angry eye-roll.
“You’re not joining them?” Stiles asks Cora, who’s leaning against the lockers, looking bored out of her mind.
“If Gerard’s hired ninja hunters invade the school and kidnap Allison from the girls’ bathroom, I will hear it from here,” she glances at Scott. “So will you.”
“From your tone, I gather you think we’re overreacting,” Stiles drawls.
“Yep.”
“You didn’t see how worried Mr. Argent was,” Scott tells her earnestly.
“Please call him Chris, for me?” Stiles begs.
To his credit, Scott does try.
“Chris,” he sounds out and then grimaces. “Nah, it’s too weird.”
“Everything that’s going on with our lives right now, and that is too weird for you, my god,” Stiles exclaims, annoyed.
“I’m not saying that there’s no reason to be concerned,” Cora brings them back on topic. “Just that kidnapping her from school would be kind of a dumb move.”
“Kate coming back alone, without any protection, was a dumb move too,” Stiles points out. “These people are insane, you can’t expect logic from them.”
“Except Gerard has lived this long and the Hales aren’t his only enemies,” Cora argues.
“Point,” Stiles agrees begrudgingly.
“Oh hey, there’s Coach… I’m going to do it!”
Stiles blinks in surprise as Scott just walks off. “Do what? Oh!” He slaps Cora on her arm. “Tell me what Coach says.”
She looks after Scott curiously and tilts her head, eyes going unfocused.
Stiles watches as Scott tells Finstock something. The man’s reaction is hard to read.
“He’s asking Scott about his asthma,” Cora says. Then she snorts. “Scott told him he’s cured.”
Stiles winces, “Scott, buddy, there’s no cure for-”
“Coach bought it.”
“Never mind, then,” Stiles squints at Finstock, because the man looks… eager, now. He’s smiling. That’s never a good sign.
“Scott gets to try out today.”
“Today!?” Stiles gapes. “Coach must be desperate or something, holy shit.”
“Hey, Bilinski!”
His head snaps up because now Finstock is staring at him and snapping his fingers expectantly.
He points at himself, questioning.
“Get over here!”
He gives Cora’s raised eyebrows a shrug and walks over to the other two, Scott looking just as confused as he’s feeling.
“You know my name, Coach,” he can’t help but point out.
Finstock looks affronted.
“No I don’t,” he snaps back. “Now your friend, McCall here is going to try out for the team. I remember you two liked to do plays together, sometimes I even thought you had potential. And what I need right now, are team players, people who don’t hog the ball or have a hissy fit if another teammate scores.” Stiles has a hunch that Finstock’s talking about Jackson. “So if Scott makes first line, you’ll make first line too.” He points at Stiles.
At Stiles.
“What?” He looks at Scott who’s just as shocked. “I’m not interested in joining again!” He protests.
“Did I ask what you’re interested in?” Finstock mocks.
“No?”
“Then I don’t care! See you two on the field after school!” Coach pats them both on the shoulders heavily and walks away.
Stiles stares after him, eyes bugging out of his head because what the hell-
“I know you didn’t want to, but this could be so cool!”
Scott’s sweet brown eyes are begging him and goddammit, he’s not saying no when his best friend looks like that.
“Fine,” he sighs.
Not fine, not fine, not fine- he says in his head as he finishes his warm-up run. He hasn’t really been exercising at all outside of their P.E class. He’s out of breath, his mouth tastes coppery and he thinks he might get a cramp in his left leg. But before he can limp over to the bench, Coach is there with a whistle.
“Bilinski, that was terrible! Even Greenberg’s faster than that!” He points toward the lacrosse field. “McCall’s waiting, get over there!”
He jogs over to Scott and stops to rest his hands on his knees, panting. He weakly points a finger at his friend.
“I hate you, what the hell, there’s not a drop of sweat on you!” He glares at Scott’s dry as fuck shirt, meanwhile he feels like he’s just taken a dip in the swimming pool. He also notes how Scott’s breathing hasn’t changed either. At least the guy has the grace to look sheepish about it.
“I’m sorry?”
Stiles waves a hand dismissively.
“Whatever,” he straightens up and looks towards Coach who is coming over with two lacrosse sticks.
“Danny’s ready, McCall goes alone at first and we’ll go from there.”
“No gear?” Stiles pants at him, gesturing at his bare head. “Danny’s got gear.”
“Danny’s part of the team. This is an unofficial try-out,” Coach shrugs, then looks worried for a second. “Just, try not to get hurt!” He blows the whistle and points at Scott and then the goal.
“This school is begging for a lawsuit,” Stiles mutters and then pats Scott on the back. “Try to move like a human, alright?” He whispers soft enough that no one else would hear.
Scott nods, now looking nervous, as he walks off.
Ten minutes later, Scott has done three unnecessary flips, gotten eight goals and baffled everyone on the field. Luckily, no one’s reaction seems to be ‘hey, that’s a werewolf’ so Stiles considers this a win in their book.
Except Jackson’s there, near the bleachers, looking murderous.
He’s waiting for them, when they go to grab their bags from the edge of the field.
“Where you getting your juice, McCall?”
Stiles’ head snaps back at the question, but Scott just looks confused.
“…My mom does all the grocery-” he’s interrupted by Stiles slapping him on the arm. When he sees Stiles shaking his head at him, he just frowns, looking even more confused. “What?”
“How about you just back off, Jackson,” Stiles says, pulling his bag over his shoulder.
“And you, why the hell are you first line?” Jackson looks at him in disgust. Danny reaches them at that point, pulling off his helmet.
“Hey, take it easy, he could run circles around you.” Danny gets a look of outrage from his friend, but doesn’t seem all that phased by it.
Stiles stares at Danny in surprise because for one, he’d never expect the guy to defend him, and two, he’s surprised Danny even noticed what kind of a player Stiles was. Then he winces, because…
“Uh, that was before… I’m really out of shape.”
Danny does a whole head-to-toe scan that makes Stiles feel a little flushed.
“You look fine to me.”
“Do not flirt with Stilinski,” Jackson grits out.
Danny looks so done.
“What, because I’m gay, I’m automatically flirting with every guy I’m nice to?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jackson rolls his eyes. “More importantly, if you’re out of shape, why are you back on the team?”
“Hey, I didn’t even want it! Coach and Scott talked me into it, blame them!” He gestures at Scott, who is wearing a very guilty expression on his face.
“Coach is hoping that we’ll bring in more teamplay,” he says.
“Yeah, because apparently, someone has trouble sharing the friggin ball,” Stiles pointedly raises his eyebrows at Jackson.
“If we lose the next game because you can’t stop tripping over your own feet, I’m going to break your neck,” Jackson steps in closer, fuming.
“Shouldn’t you be nicer to me, since I’m friends with Lydia now?” Stiles asks, surprised to see this old bully side coming back. The two of them have bad history and half of it happened on the lacrosse field, with both of them often walking away with bruises that had nothing to do with the sport. But ever since Lydia started publicly spending time with him and Scott and Allison, Jackson’s backed off.
Or maybe he backed off because Stiles quit the team.
“She shouldn’t be friends with the likes of you in the first place,” Jackson grimaces, looks like he’d like to spit on him.
“Oh, you should go ahead and try telling her that,” Stiles laughs in disbelief.
“What, you think she’d choose you over me?”
“No, you dumbass, I think if you do something as stupid as asking her to choose in the first place, she’s going to dump you!”
Danny grabs Jackson by the arm just as Stiles thinks he’s actually about to get into a fight.
“He’s got a point, man, you really shouldn’t do that,” Danny says calmly, pulling Jackson further away from Stiles.
“Whatever,” Jackson shrugs away Danny’s hand and storms off.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Stiles asks Danny.
“I don’t know,” he answers, gazing after his friend. “He’s really been on edge lately, goes from zero to a hundred real fast. You shouldn’t poke at him, things might get ugly.”
“Are you… are you seriously blaming me for him being a douchebag to me?”
“No, just…” Danny gives him a wry look. “You have a habit of egging him on when he gets mad.”
“Fuck you too, Danny,” Stiles flips him off. Danny shakes his head and follows Jackson. “Can you believe him?” Stiles glances at Scott, looking for support. Doesn’t really get any. “What, you agree with him?”
Scott hurries to raise his hands, “No, it’s just… I get it, Jackson’s a dick. But sometimes, it wouldn’t end in a fight if you just… took the high road and walked away.”
“Unbelievable,” Stiles mutters and takes off towards his car.
It’s a few days and a few lacrosse practices later when Stiles, sore and aching, slumps over Peter’s kitchen island, head held up by his hand as he stares down at the words that barely make any sense.
“This guy’s handwriting sucks,” he mutters. “Are those m-s? Or r-s? Or… are those s-s? Jesus Christ!” He pulls the journal closer.
“Like I said, it’s mostly guesswork,” Peter tells him, while continuing to cook. Stiles glances up and despairs silently before resolutely staring down again.
Peter looks comfortable today. No tight jeans or V-necks, no, instead he’s wearing a plain black T-shirt that still manages to accentuate his pecs because that’s what happens when you have pecs like his, and dark grey sweatpants, which are the bane of Stiles’ existence currently. He remembers seeing girls rave about men wearing sweatpants on twitter, remembers just scrolling past, chuckling and thinking ‘people are so weird’ and now he has a hard time keeping his eyes above ass/groin level.
“There’s stuff about transference here,” Stiles focuses back on his task at hand. “I think. Or maybe it’s about Transformers. What year is this from again?”
“Definitely too early for Transformers,” Peter says dryly, turning off the stove and then checking on something in the oven. Stiles doesn’t really have any clue on what’s cooking because while Peter was preparing everything, he was busy ass-gazing. “By transference, I assume you mean transferring a bond?”
“Yeah, apparently it has theoretical logic behind it.”
“And would you be fine with making someone else go through what you went through?”
Stiles looks up to see Peter leaning onto the kitchen island, face close and serious.
“No,” he answers honestly. Then glances upwards as he has a thought. “Well, maybe Jackson.”
“Who?” Peter cocks his head.
“Lydia’s boyfriend. And an annoying pain in my ass. I have two new bruises today because of him,” Stiles sighs, shifting a little on the stool. One of those bruises is on his left butt-cheek because Jackson “accidentally” shot the ball at him. When it comes to aim, Jackson’s the best on the team, now sharing that spot with Scott, so Stiles is fairly sure that shot was no accident.
Peter quirks an eyebrow, “He hits you?”
“No, lacrosse,” Stiles waves away Peter’s concern. “We’ve always gotten on each other’s nerves, started way back in middle-grade.”
“Lacrosse?”
“Scott got back on the team and dragged me with him,” Stiles shrugs.
“You didn’t tell me,” Peter’s eyes narrow.
Stiles glares at him. “Oh, your little spy-boy didn’t tell you?”
Peter snorts and hides his smile behind a hand, “Please call my nephew that to his face.”
“I’m bruised enough, no thanks.”
“So, transference wouldn’t be a solution even if it did work,” Peter gets back on topic, pushing away from the countertop.
“I guess not,” Stiles sighs, closes the journal. “Unless we… I don’t know, find a really bad person to do it to?”
“To be honest, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t work for you anyway. The bond isn’t there just because of the ritual, the Nemeton latched on for a reason.”
“Ah yes, mystical bloodline woo-woo,” Stiles’ head falls back as he groans. “I’m tired of not knowing the whole story.”
“You said your mother has other relatives?”
“I knew about a great-aunt in Wisconsin, who is dead now. But her daughter might be alive. Is that something you can look into?” He looks at Peter warily. “Without threatening to break peoples’ legs?”
Peter smiles, charming as ever, sparking off a danger-vibe alert in Stiles’ brain.
“My leg-breaking days are over.”
“Really?” Stiles asks, in his head going press X to doubt.
“Only fingers now,” Peter shrugs and turns to get the roast out of the oven.
“Oh my god, that smells delicious,” Stiles gasps and forgets what they were talking about.
“This is really good, where did it come from?” Noah asks later that night, during dinner.
“Peter made it,” Stiles says and has a weird thought that maybe Peter can bribe his dad with food, with meat, to make him okay with whatever’s about to happen between him and Stiles, or him and Stiles and Chris or-
“That’s nice of him,” Noah says simply and then continues to eat.
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out and has yet another quiet inner crisis as he tries to play out that conversation in his head. It always ends with Noah wanting to shoot Peter.
It’s Friday, Lydia’s bow has arrived and she’s eager to get her first lesson from Allison. Scott and Stiles plan on tagging along and doing their own thing. Stiles wants to practice a little more with the staff and Scott is willing to try some play-fighting.
They’re at the Preserve, in a clearing far from that other clearing, and Stiles and Scott are both staring in awe as Allison shows Lydia her form and stance and keeps hitting the target she placed earlier directly in the bullseye.
“Seems easy enough,” Lydia says but Stiles can see through her confidence, can tell she’s afraid to fail at this. He watches as she holds up her own bow, arrow already nocked thanks to Allison’s help, draws and releases. It gets nowhere near the bullseye but it does hit the target. Stiles whoops madly.
“That’s a great start!” Allison’s dimples are out as she beams at her friend.
Lydia’s expression is all ‘I’m extremely happy with myself but I don’t want to show it’ as she holds back a smile.
During the next hour she never hits the bullseye and a few of her arrows go flying past the tree, but she grows more and more comfortable with the arrows, able to nock and draw them quicker than she did at the start.
Meanwhile, Stiles and Scott are learning the true power of Rowan wood. The few times that Stiles manages to whack the shit out of his friend, a large dark mark appears and Scott hisses in pain.
"It feels bone-deep," he gasps out the first time, shocked at the feeling.
"Oh shit, wanna stop?"
"No, keep going, you're getting faster and stumbling less," Scott encourages him and for an hour Stiles uses the few moves that Chris showed him and also a few improvisations to try and hit the slippery werewolf in front of him.
By the end, somehow, Stiles is the only one panting and covered in sweat.
"I hate all of you,” he says as they head back to their cars.
“I don’t get it,” Cora growls.
“You’re being impatient,” Peter puts his hands on her shoulders to stop her from getting up and bailing. “You tried once and failed. Try again.”
Cora sighs, “How did you know I needed help anyway?”
“Stiles told me.”
“Great… I don’t tell on him but he tells on me,” she grumbles.
Peter realizes some damage-control is needed. He steps to the side to lean back against the table.
“He just wanted to help. As do I. Why are you so worried about your math grades anyway?”
“I need it for college,” Cora says glumly, sitting back so she can show him her sullen expression.
“What do you want to study?” He asks, intrigued, because she’s never given a hint of what she’s interested in before.
“…Video game design,” she says, carefully, as if afraid of his reaction.
He takes a moment to consider that and then lifts a shoulder, “Alright, so let me help you.”
“You don’t think it’s dumb?” She frowns.
“Why would I?” He squints at her. “Even if you don’t end up making video games, learning how to program or code or 3D-model will open a lot of doors for you.”
Cora smiles, “Laura didn’t get it.”
“Laura’s a dumbass who was willing to work for pennies just because she loved being a chef so much,” Peter sighs. “Don’t listen to her. Also, she likes to play video games, doesn’t she?”
“Only the ones with cooking in it.”
“…I’m starting to worry about her.”
He’s helping his dad with the grocery shopping, and they’re arguing over which melons to get.
“Just get the tiny one,” Noah sighs wearily.
“No, dad, that’ll barely last us tonight, let me get the big boy,” he grabs the bigger watermelon and for some reason, after a week of focusing on other things, a week of hanging out with his friends and doing his homework, now his memory kicks in and he’s back in the woods, holding Deucalion’s head.
He looks down at the watermelon, it’s a watermelon because he’s at the store with his dad- but no, he sees Deucalion’s frozen stare and he yelps in horror.
“Son? Stiles?”
He comes back to himself and realizes he let the damn thing drop and there are people staring and he can’t breathe. His dad’s gripping him by the shoulders, looking worried.
“Stiles?”
“I’m okay,” he says but doesn’t sound it, hyperventilating.
“Kid, come on, breathe slower for me.”
He closes his eyes and he’s back in the woods, at night, following Blake, who’s dragging the corpses behind her-
He snaps his eyes open so he can stare at his dad, take in every wrinkle, as he forces himself to breathe in slow, breathe out slower.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“Don’t worry about it,” Noah says, expression tight with concern. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“What about the watermelon?” Stiles moves to grab it, but his dad pulls him away and starts walking towards the cash register, pushing the cart one-handed.
“We can survive without it tonight.”
It’s hard to sleep.
After everything that happened, things got crazy but then calmed down immediately. Gerard’s in town but hasn’t made a move. Victoria is actually a good teacher and Stiles can almost pretend he doesn’t know what a shitty mom she is, when he’s in her class. Peter’s the Alpha but seems settled and Chris is now fully on their side, Team Hale forever.
And throughout all of it, Stiles forgot.
He forgot that Blake is still out there, that she might return, probably will return. He forgot that he cut into Kate, he forgot that he saw people murdered right in front of him, the blood ruining his clothes—how the fuck could he forget? Or is this his brain trying to compartmentalize all this shit so he’d still act like a semi-functioning human being?
He’s been more busy panicking over his upcoming birthday and what it might mean for his sex life, and what his sex life might mean for his dad’s sanity.
And now, tonight, it all hit him at once and he can’t sleep.
The training session with Chris is quick and painful.
This time Chris has his own bo staff in hand and tests Stiles’ reflexes with it, even though Stiles complains as soon as he sees it (”How often is my enemy going to have a staff, let’s be real here, it’ll be claws or guns or fists- Ow, hey! I wasn’t ready!”).
There’s no touching, besides Chris occasionally giving him a hand to help him back up and even then the man lets go immediately, as if the touch stung him. It’s weird, and Chris himself is weirder than Stiles has ever seen him, barely saying anything besides corrections on his stance and form, not even offering Stiles a drink! And there’s also no lingering glances, no innuendos, no staring-
He’s starting to feel like a dumbass for ever saying such a stupid line like ‘That you and I get together too.’
But he’s sure he’s not remembering that night wrong. The heaviness of the air, the way he could almost feel how much Chris didn’t want to leave him.
So this must be the man’s way of showing Stiles that it’s not happening. At least, not yet.
And he’s not going to push, not the way Lydia would want him to, because he gets how big of a hurdle the age thing is, how different it is for Chris, because he’s a dad and he’s also friends with Stiles’ dad, it’s an entirely different situation to Peter.
He leaves Chris’ house sans drink, exhausted and frustrated and drives to Peter’s without a second thought.
The apartment’s starting to feel like a new second home to him, the living room and the smell of Peter and Peter’s cooking a source of comfort.
And at least with Peter, their current destination is clear, their feelings are out and somewhat reciprocated. It feels so easy and effortless to hang out with the man, the tension still there but almost fun now because he can imagine an end to it.
In his head he hears Tim Curry’s voice saying, I see you shiver with antici… -pation.
And well, he shivers.
Stiles is quieter than usual, a book open in front of him like every other evening he’s been in Peter’s apartment, but his eyes are unseeing, he’s obviously not reading.
Peter left his office and has been leaning against the kitchen doorway and studying him for a few minutes now and it doesn’t seem like Stiles has noticed his return, staring into space.
He watches as Stiles blinks heavily, blinks again, and then the third time his eyes stay shut and he leans his head back against the couch, letting the book rest fully on his lap as his hands fall. He waits until he hears steady breathing before moving in and picking him up. He pauses once, when he has Stiles in his arms, looks down at his face and waits to see if he wakes up. When he doesn’t, he takes him to his bed.
After setting Stiles down, Peter stands over him, eyes flying over the other’s relaxed face, the shape of his shoulders, the curve of his ass…
He’s been trying to keep himself from thinking about what he’d like to do with Stiles, to Stiles, to have Stiles do to him. Or at least, not in too much detail. But just like Laura said, there’s this… need, under his skin. Stiles feels like his, his senses tell him that Stiles wants to be his, but he isn’t, the scent isn’t right yet and Peter feels his eyes glow with power as his skin tightens with want.
He loves Stiles’ face when it’s animated, could spend hours just silently watching him as he talks, to him or someone else, emotions and thoughts clear with every expression, every reaction, his eyes saying more than his words ever could.
But he also likes seeing it like this, soft and vulnerable. Peaceful.
And there’s a part of him that wants to lean down, to nose his way to his neck and to bite down hard, to claim fully, with his fangs if not his scent.
When he recognizes that part, Peter leaves the room, puts distance between him and Stiles. And for the first time considers if despite what he’s told Stiles, he might actually be dangerous to him as well.
This is the second time he’s woken up in Peter’s bed, alone.
Stiles wonders what it would be like to wake up with Peter next to him, around him, under him, over him-
He pushes himself up before his mind can take him to boner-land, trudges over to the kitchen, checking his phone on the way.
A text from his dad, checking in. It’s still Saturday, but almost seven now, he remembers it being around four before falling asleep.
He quickly tells Noah where he is and that he’s fine.
He finds Peter in the living room, on the couch with his laptop.
“Hey, sorry for falling asleep,” he says, voice still rough so he clears his throat.
Peter looks up at him, considering.
“Did you not sleep well the night before?”
Stiles shuffles into the room to sit next to Peter on the couch but leaves ample room between them. He yawns a little and stretches out his legs, spreads them wide as he slouches.
“Not really.”
“Any particular reason?”
Peter’s not really… pushing, almost sounds careful with the way he’s phrasing things. Stiles appreciates it.
“Basically had a panic attack at the store with my dad and that kind of fucked with my head for the rest of the night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Peter sounds, looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t.
“I know you grew up in this but… what was it like going to high school, where most people have no clue what’s really going on in this town? How did you deal with that?” He’s been wondering about that, watching Cora and Derek navigate around ordinary people at school, watching as Scott has to hold back most of his strength, his speed, when he plays lacrosse.
Peter closes his laptop, rests his hands on it.
“It was difficult at times, especially because puberty is when a born werewolf shifts for the first time and learning control becomes a big part of growing up.”
“You mean the,” Stiles waves around his forehead, thinking about how Ennis’ face changed into something monstrous, beast-like, “Beta shift?”
“Yes. It’s not just the appearance, our senses are even more heightened in that state and our emotions gain greater control over our reactions. We become more instinctual.”
Stiles turns his head to see Peter better as the man stares across the room, deep in thought or perhaps remembering.
“But what about the knowing. Didn’t it… disconnect you from everyone else?”
“Honestly, I never cared about high school or the other students much. I just went there out of obligation to finish it so I could continue studying something else in college. I wanted to have a career path waiting for me if anything ever happened to the family money. I was already focused on taking my place as Talia’s enforcer then.”
“When you were in high school?” Stiles’ eyes narrow in thought. “Wait… how old were you when you… first killed someone?” He feels odd, like a soft out-of-body experience but not quite, as he asks the man he wants to sleep with a question about killing. During a casual conversation.
“Younger than you,” Peter answers easily, his head leaning towards Stiles as he meets his eyes.
“Why did you kill them?” Stiles decides to focus on, rather than how many others or did you enjoy it?
“It was a wendigo, encroaching on our territory and being sloppy about it. He was killing, eating people and not caring if he caught attention or not.”
“But why were you the one who took care of it?”
“Because everyone else wanted to banish him, just send him to do the same thing somewhere else,” Peter’s eyes go unfocused as he glares at nothing. “I was willing to get my hands dirty, so I did it.”
“And was that how you became Talia’s enforcer? Or…”
“That was the first step, yes. I told her I was going to do it and she doubted my resolve but also agreed with my decision, telling me in private that no one else should ever know. So no one ever did.”
“So, she used you.”
Peter shrugs, “Because I wanted to be of use.”
Stiles takes that in, considers the man before him and asks, “Nothing in it for you?”
Peter smiles at him, tilting his head.
“Oh, I rarely do anything if there’s nothing in it for me.”
“Opportunistic, egocentric narcissist,” Stiles muses. “Did I get that right?”
Peter’s mouth widens into a grin.
“Pretty much. Wondering why you like me?”
“No, I have a feeling that is pretty much why I like you,” he bites down on his bottom lip, gnaws at it. “Don’t know what that says about me, though.”
“Opportunistic, eager to be deflowered and impulsive teenager?”
Stiles grimaces, “Never use the word deflowered ever again, please.”
“I won’t,” Peter smirks. Then he grows serious, studying him. “I take it you’re having a tough time dealing with all of this and then having to go to school?”
“Nah, it’s more like…” Stiles looks away. “It’s so easy to go to school and just hang out with my friends and do homework. We still talk a lot about everything that’s going on, it’s hard not to, with Scott and Cora being werewolves, but… I just… sometimes forget, what happened.”
“And then yesterday…?” Peter prompts.
“I had what I think was a flashback, I guess. To Deucalion and Blake… And I remembered that she’s still out there.”
“I’ll-” Peter starts and Stiles can already guess what he’s about to say so he interrupts, shooting him a look.
“You can’t protect me from her.”
And Peter looks angry as he glances away and says, “I’ll find a way.”
Stiles stares at him, thinks back on all of their little moments, and slides over to press their shoulders together. Peter surprises him by lifting his arm so he can wrap it around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him even closer. He does things like this all the time with his friends, easy hugs and cuddles and touches but this… this is different. Peter’s touch never fails to leave him feeling like there’s a fire under his skin.
“You can, you know, if you want,” Stiles gestures at his neck, feeling flushed. He doesn’t know where this impulse came from, why he suddenly feels like torturing himself.
Peter’s smirk is devious and oh so close to Stiles’ face. But he gets what Stiles meant and doesn’t put him on the spot for being so awkward about it, just leans in to breathe deep, nose brushing against Stiles’ pulse. He moves his head up and presses a kiss on Stiles’ cheek, mouth dry but hot.
“You know, in a way, this could be considered foreplay for werewolves,” he says against Stiles’ skin.
“Uh, should we not do it then?” Stiles asks, heart going wild, most of the blood in his body on its way to his dick.
Peter slides a hand over Stiles’ thigh and grips it, squeezes. Stiles wants to moan at the sensation, to unzip himself and get this party started but they’re supposed to be waiting so he asks, “Peter?”
The man flinches and pulls back. Now, Stiles can see that his eyes have gone Alpha red, and those are definitely fangs peeking through Peter’s parted mouth. He looks wrecked and they haven’t done anything even.
…They haven’t done anything even.
Stiles gets a bit worried.
“You okay?” He asks and slides away, putting some distance between them.
Peter stays where he is, panting. He closes his eyes hard and shakes his head, as if to clear it. When he looks back at Stiles, his eyes are back to blue.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t in full control,” he frowns.
“I noticed, but it’s okay. I’m… flattered,” Stiles grins dopily.
“Having you around, wanting you and knowing you want me too, it’s…” Peter shakes his head again and looks away.
“Is this because you’re an Alpha now?”
“Yes, my instincts go haywire at times. Laura said that everything settles down after a while but it seems I’m not there yet.”
Stiles slides his foot over to nudge the man’s leg, “We have time, though. We’re not in a rush, remember?”
Peter glances at him and his expression softens, “That’s right.”
“But I should… probably go now,” Stiles claps his hands awkwardly and gets up.
“Remember to send me a list of names you want me to look up,” Peter reminds him of the bloodline-mystery that they’re trying to solve.
Stiles promises to do so and goes home, where he can jerk off in peace, going back to his fantasy of waking up, with Peter already over him, in him and it doesn’t take long to get himself to come.
“You’re ready to consider doing this my way, then?” Araya asks, sounding smug.
“Yes,” Chris says. “But Hayden said there’s been chatter about you approaching the shareholders… Gerard probably suspects something already. I don’t think he’ll keep your men here for long.”
“He’s already sending them back, just wanted their help in getting the house set up. But there’s still time.”
“It’s a risk.”
“This entire endeavor is a risk, but it’s worth it, no?”
He imagines Beacon Hills, Allison’s life, Peter’s life, free of these hunters, free of Gerard.
“Yeah.”
“Hey, dad! You down there?” Allison shouts down to the basement.
“Yeah!” Chris yells back, then looks up when she comes down.
“I hope you’re happy, I haven’t been able to go anywhere on my own this entire week,” she huffs, then pauses when she sees the guns on the table. “What are you doing?”
“Would you feel safer with a gun?” Chris asks, considering the selection before him. He’s currently leaning most towards the Glock.
“Honestly? No. I don’t like guns,” she frowns down at them. “Why?”
“I’m wondering if Stiles should have one… You and Lydia both have bows now, although… When you get caught off guard, a compound bow is not something you can pull out of your waistband…” Chris is deep in thought so it takes him a few moments to realize his daughter’s quiet and staring at him. “What?”
“I’ve seen Stiles stumble on air, almost fall when getting out of his car or into his car, walking into people, into furniture, into walls… Dad…” Allison shakes her head.
“That seems to be the general consensus, that he’s too clumsy,” Chris says dryly. “I’m not suggesting this as the main defense, but as a last resort. You too, should at least know how to use these, how to disarm them even. In case the worst happens, you won’t be unprepared.”
“You think granddad’s going to do something real bad, don’t you?”
Chris breathes in deeply.
“I stuck my head in the sand for so long, ignored all the signs of how bad it’s gotten, how bad he’s gotten. Everything that happened with Kate, it was… a wake up call.”
Allison nods, looks at him sadly.
“I get it… But I still don’t want to carry one around. I’ll take the lessons, though. I’m assuming you want to give them to Stiles too?” Her expression and tone is trying too hard to stay innocent so Chris can already tell what she’s thinking. He ignores her.
“Yes. But I need to ask Noah first, I wouldn’t do this behind his back.”
“That’s a good idea… to stay in Noah’s good graces,” she says and then presses her mouth together to hide a smile but her dimples betray her amusement.
“Stop,” Chris snaps.
She looks down sheepishly.
“Sorry. This entire thing with Stiles is weird but… I’m having too much fun teasing you, I guess.”
“There’s no thing with Stiles.”
She rolls her eyes at him, “Sure. I’m going up to do my English assignment, that my mom gave me, ugh.”
“There’s some kind of a delivery happening soon,” Derek tells them on Sunday at pack dinner (Laura insisted on calling it that). Scott’s not there because he’s barely pack anymore. Laura has urged Peter several times to re-do the ceremony, to enforce the bond but Peter’s been hesitant. There’s something about Scott… that rubs his Alpha instincts the wrong way. Laura obviously couldn’t feel it, so he doesn’t even bring it up with her. He is considering going to Deaton about it.
“Where? The school?” Laura asks, confused. Peter has a hunch and has already paused his eating, narrowing his eyes at his nephew.
Derek doesn’t meet his Alpha’s gaze when he says, “No, Gerard’s house.”
Cora makes a face that could only be described as eek.
“You’ve been going there?” Peter asks, calmer than he feels.
“I’ve been careful,” Derek looks at him imploringly. “I can hear better than any of you, I don’t have to get so close that I’d trigger the heat sensors and yes I know exactly where they start detecting, because I was listening when they were installing them. It’s about sixty feet from the house and I don’t have to be anywhere near it.”
“But why didn’t you tell me, or ask my permission?”
“Is that how we’re doing things now, I have to ask your permission?” Derek scowls.
“That’s how it’s always been,” Laura interjects, glaring. “I would’ve expected the same thing.”
“When you endanger yourself, you endanger the pack,” Peter says sternly.
“I was careful.”
“You were reckless. And an idiot. The idea of spying on them is a good one but you did it without telling us, without having back up. What if you had been captured? By the time we’d have come looking for you, you’d already be dead.”
Derek looks down, ashamed.
“From now on, if you go there again, call Laura. She’ll be further away but in earshot of you. That way, if something happens, you won’t be alone and we’ll know right away.”
“You want me to continue going there?” Derek sounds surprised.
“It’s a good idea. Just need to have an exit strategy. Never be that stupid again,” he puts power into those last words, eyes burning red.
Derek pales and bares his neck in submission.
“Okay,” Laura says, easily breaking the tension. “So what’s this about a delivery?”
“I don’t know the details yet, just that something’s being brought here in a big truck and they’re getting the basement ready for it.”
Peter takes that in.
“Tell me what else you find out. And stop going immediately if there’s even the slightest sense that they know you’re there,” he demands.
Derek nods, looks relieved almost.
“Basement’s good for machines… equipment… containment,” Cora muses.
“They already have more than enough guns,” Laura says dryly.
“Whatever it is… it’s definitely not good,” Peter says, but in his head he thinks Cora might be on the right track. He just can’t figure out what and why.
“I talked to Araya,” Hayden says warily. “Is assassination really the way you wanna go about this?”
“It’s what Araya wanted from the start. I just gave her the go-ahead. But honestly,” Chris sighs, “I know my father and I don’t think this is going to be the easy job Araya thinks it will be.”
“So, you’re okay with sending her men to their deaths?”
“I didn’t send anyone and this wasn’t my plan. And I did warn her.”
Hayden whistles, “Didn’t know you could be this cold.”
“You don’t really know me at all.”
“And yet here I am, backing you.”
“I appreciate it.”
Hayden laughs, “I mean, I have my doubts, but… at this point, I’d consider anyone a better option than Gerard or Victoria. Really don’t like those two.”
“I’d imagine their attitude towards werewolves would not go over well where you’re from.”
“Considering that half of my bar’s patrons are non-humans? Yeah, it wouldn’t.”
“I should really come up there some time, I’ve heard about your bar but never been.”
“You’re welcome here. But you’ll be even more welcome after this mess gets settled.”
Chris chuckles, takes the hint.
“If Araya’s plan fails, we’ll just have to go with plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Help the Hales get even.”
“You’re on your phone a lot these days,” Stiles says during a lunch break on Thursday.
Allison sighs, not lifting her eyes from the screen as she taps out a response to something.
“Yeah, I’m mostly talking to Hayden. He’s been telling me more about how he runs things over there, it’s so different from what my dad was taught or what my mom is telling me now.”
“You’re what, meeting with your mom?” Cora asks, looking suspicious.
“No...” Allison puts down her phone and meets Cora’s gaze. “Just a few conversations here and there, she wants me to become like her. Except that’s so not happening.”
She has started telling them what’s been going on in the side-lines, with the whole hunter business, and Stiles just can’t fathom it. Trying to take over an arms trade company and the most prominent hunting family in this region of the country while only being nineteen and just having learned about the supernatural a few months ago? He respects Allison a lot for trying this but he’s also worried that she’s getting way in over her head. Scott has told him that he feels the same but right now he’s just trying to be there for his girlfriend, to support her.
Lydia hasn’t really revealed her opinion on this yet, but Stiles has caught her sending concerned looks Allison’s way every now and then.
“Has she threatened you or anything?” Scott asks.
“No,” Allison shakes her head. “But she has… warned me.” She looks uncomfortable. “She said Gerard might use dad against me somehow… Told me to just… do what he says.”
“Ugh,” Cora makes a face. “Mom of the year.”
Allison smiles humorlessly, “Yeah.”
Stiles is suddenly a lot more worried for Chris than he’s been for Allison. Because there’s friction and a bad history there and Stiles saw some of it. Nothing much, nothing in detail, but some of the training he saw Chris go through, back when the Nemeton was showing him the past, was brutal and close to torture. He remembers one specific instance, when he felt Chris’ doubt, which made him go to Lydia, who made him go to Chris in the first place—being tied up and left there, told to get out of it without any assistance and Chris was there the whole day, without water, without anything. He was also at least a few years younger than Stiles is now.
Gerard might not outright hurt Allison, because of Victoria, because Allison’s still young. But Chris? Gerard has already hurt him before, has already crossed that line.
And even worse, what if somehow, Gerard finds out Chris’ part in Kate’s death. Right now, his number one suspect has to be Peter. There’s no reason to consider anyone else, Stiles or Chris or Noah. But what if-
“Stiles?”
“Huh?” He looks up and everyone’s staring at him. He realizes he was thinking so hard he stopped paying attention to the conversation.
Lydia looks unimpressed with him. “I asked if we’re still going to Peter’s after.”
“Oh, sure.” After the last time he went there alone, he’s had Lydia along as a chaperone. Peter stays mostly in his office, no longer cooks for him (his taste-buds cry in grief) and hasn’t scented him or scent-marked him or whatever that “foreplay” thing was. He knows it’s for the best, that Peter’s just trying to do the right thing, but by god, sometimes he’s feeling real horny and just kind of wants to say ‘fuck it’, get naked, go to Peter’s office, bare his neck and see what happens.
He can imagine what might happen.
Peter probably has a desk in that office that he can bend Stiles over.
Which, apparently, is a thing he wants now.
“Stiles,” Lydia sounds annoyed.
“Yep?” He asks, not acknowledging that he spaced out again.
“Do you have lacrosse practice?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Great,” Lydia mutters sarcastically.
“Would you stop stealing the ball from your teammates?” Stiles yells at Jackson after Coach signals that practice is over.
“You’re not my teammate, you’re nowhere near my league,” Jackson snarls, slams their helmets together.
“Fuck,” Stiles backs off, shaking his head.
“Hey, back off,” Scott’s there to push Jackson away. Jackson pushes him back. And then they’re tussling, grabbing at each other’s arms and pushing, feet sliding against the ground.
“Knock it off!” Coach is there, blowing aggressively into his whistle and coming in-between them.
Jackson staggers back and flips everyone off, walks off towards the showers.
“Everyone okay?” Coach shouts and when no one says otherwise he blows the whistle again. “Then what are you gawking at, hit the showers!”
“He’s such a fucking dick,” Stiles sighs angrily as he and Scott start walking.
“Also, really strong,” Scott says, sounding surprised. “I actually had to use a little of my reserves to hold him back.”
Stiles catches on, realizing that Scott doesn’t want to say words like werewolf strength or supernatural powers out in public, when they’re surrounded by teammates.
“Maybe we should be asking him where he gets his juice.”
“I’m beginning to think you guys don’t actually mean juice,” Scott squints at him.
“Oh my god, performance enhancing drugs, Scott.”
“Oh. Oh! He thought I was… Oh!”
“Yeah.”
“He’s such a dick,” Scott agrees with his earlier sentiment.
“Have you talked to Jackson about his anger issues?” Stiles asks Lydia after practice, before they head to their separate cars.
“He’s going through something,” she frowns, obviously not wanting to talk about him.
“We’ve been going through something, Lydia. And yet, here we are, not being huge assholes to our fellow students.”
“I’ll talk to him,” she sighs.
“That’s all I ask.”
It’s Friday and Chris figures if he wants to talk about the gun as an option on Saturday, he might as well ask for Noah’s permission now. He calls him, finds out he’s at work and promises to come over with lunch and a question. Noah sounds wary on the phone but agrees, asks him to bring him something with real meat in it.
After they’ve finished their burgers and Noah is sipping his soda, he gestures for Chris to go ahead.
“With Gerard back in town and everything that’s already happened, I’ve been thinking about getting Stiles a gun and a license.” He sees Noah still and quickly continues. “I haven’t talked to him about it yet, I’m pretty sure he might reject the offer-”
“Oh, he won’t,” Noah sighs and rubs at his temples. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. Also. A license?”
Chris glances down at the table between them, “It wouldn’t exactly be acquired through… legal means.”
“You do realize you’re talking to the Sheriff? At the Sheriff’s station?”
Chris meets his incredulous gaze, his own unwavering. “Considering what we’ve been through together, I didn’t think it mattered much.”
Noah frowns, “Are you going to hold that over me or something?”
“No,” Chris shakes his head and leans forward. “I would never, Noah. I just mean that… when it comes to our kids and their safety… the law isn’t always the first thing on our minds.”
Noah’s jaw tightens.
“Well, I hope you’ll respect my decision here. I’m saying no to the gun.”
Chris nods, the answer pretty much what he expected. “Fair enough. But how about a lesson. On how to use one. In case he ever finds himself in a situation where he has a gun and it’s his only line of defense.”
Noah leans back in his chair, contemplates.
“I’ve shown him how to take one apart, how to disarm it, how to take out the bullets… I’ve never let him shoot one.”
“I can take him and Allison to the shooting range. I want to teach her too. She also said no to actually owning a gun.”
“Smart girl,” Noah smiles a little. “Stiles would definitely say yes to your offer. Which is why, again, I hope you don’t ever actually offer. At least not while he lives under my roof.”
“I won’t ever mention this, I promise.”
“Good. I appreciate that. And…” Noah sighs, suddenly looking exhausted. “Him knowing how to shoot one wouldn’t be the worst thing. This past month has really shown me that… I can’t keep him safe anymore.”
Chris sympathizes. Because he’s aware that when Gerard’s finally ready to make his move… he’ll probably fail at keeping Allison safe too. He’s still going to try his damned hardest. But, he can guess at the methods his father might go for.
“I was thinking about taking them shooting tomorrow, actually. If you think-” he’s interrupted by Noah’s phone going off.
“Clark, this better not be you telling me you’re sick again,” Noah says after accepting the call. “What?” Noah frowns, looking baffled. “Jesus Christ… Is he okay?”
Chris sits up straight at that, worried.
“Shit. I assume you’re on your way here.” A long pause as Noah finally rolls his eyes and snaps, “Just spit it out, Clark.” A shorter pause and then, “What do you mean?”
Chris’ worry eases a little bit. If something serious had happened to Stiles, he thinks Noah’s demeanor would be a lot more panicked.
“I can’t believe I’m actually about to say this but… Thank you. And keep this between me and you.” Noah waits as Clark says something else that makes him raise his eyebrows in surprise. “Where’s the Jeep? …Alright, thank you again.”
“Everything okay?” Chris asks as soon as Noah hangs up.
“My son just got arrested,” The Sheriff covers his eyes with a hand.
“For what?” He’s immediately worried again.
“For getting into a fight and apparently sending a guy to the hospital,” Noah sighs heavily. “Apparently his car got trashed, Clark thinks that’s what the fight was about. That car was his mother’s.”
Chris feels an old ache in his chest flare up at those words, imagines how he’d feel if he still had something like that to cling on to, something of his mother’s.
Noah continues, “Clark offered to take Stiles home, to forget this ever happened. I owe her a huge favor now.”
“That was kind of her.”
“And foolish. She knows I’m a stickler for rules,” Noah grumbles, cleaning up the leftover trash on his desk.
“Except when it’s about your son.”
Noah pauses, before throwing everything into the bin next to his desk.
“Apparently.” He gets up and stretches his neck. “I need to go see how bad the damage to the Jeep is and if I need a towing service to get it out of there.”
“Want me to go check on Stiles?” He asks before his brain can catch up to him and regrets it immediately. Because like hell would Noah agree to that if he was aware of the way Chris has been looking at his kid, the images in his mind.
“Please. Get his side of the story and let me know if there’s something weird going on about this too, something…” He glances at the closed door. “…supernatural,” he whispers.
“I will,” Chris promises, gets up to leave as well.
“Also, if there wasn’t anything freaky going on and it was just a simple fight with a bully? He’s not going shooting tomorrow, because he’s grounded.” Noah looks like a stern parent at his wit’s end and Chris doesn’t even think to argue.
“Got it.”
Chapter 21: dangerous
Notes:
im yelling because this ch was supposed to be a whole week in the timeline but is only one day because chris decided he wants to play counselor again-
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Friday seems like a completely fine day at first and then things start to spiral.
It starts with a phone call.
He’s on his way to class when he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out curiously, signalling his friends to go on without him.
The number is unknown. With an area code that Stiles doesn’t recognize.
He thinks about not answering.
But of course he answers.
“Hello?” He asks carefully, going over to stand next to the lockers while people shuffle past him.
“Nice to hear you’re still alive.”
That voice makes him freeze in place.
“Funny, last time we saw each other, you were trying to kill me,” he grits out. “How the hell did you get my number?”
Blake laughs, “After everything you’ve seen me do, you think getting a phone number is what, impossible?”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m just calling to check in, how’s Beacon Hills?” Blake continues, ignoring him.
“Better without you,” he snarls. The hallway’s almost cleared out and he’ll be late soon. He wonders if any of his werewolf buddies are spying on this conversation right now.
“Well that hurts my feelings,” Blake says, sounding amused.
“What the hell do you want?”
“Like I said, checking in. You’re alive, that’s well and all but how’s Peter?”
He doesn’t answer, his brain trying to figure out what she’s fishing for.
“He’s still an Alpha, I hope?”
“What’s it to you?”
“General interest.”
“Ha, screw you.”
“I forgot how mouthy you are,” she says dryly. “Well, I’ve satisfied my curiosity. I’ll keep in touch-”
“Don’t.” Stiles hangs up and immediately blocks the number.
No one else is in the hallway anymore, he’s late to class and he’s wired all the way up, the sound of her voice having put him on edge. He impulsively decides to skip the rest of the day, texts his friends as he’s rushing out of the school that he needs to get out of there. He gets a lot of worried questions in return but doesn’t answer, focuses on driving away and breathing, focuses on lacrosse plays and homework plans, on the colleges he’s considering, on what the future might look like when he’s in Peter’s pack and sleeping with him. He tries to distract himself from the memories, from her stupid face and smile.
He pulls into a random coffee shop, decides he wants hot chocolate, or maybe a coffee.
And when he exits with his mocha latte, he freezes on the sidewalk because there are two guys standing next to his Jeep and one of them is holding a crowbar.
One of the guy turns when he hears him coming up and Stiles blinks in surprise at the familiar face, but doesn’t put the dots together until the guy grins meanly and holds up his hands to crack his knuckles. The knuckles have tattoos on them.
“You’re the dick from the party,” he points, his mind slowly catching up with the program.
“And you’re the guy who broke my nose.”
The guy’s friend slaps the crowbar against his palm a couple of times.
All in all, this feels very ‘we learned how to threaten people from kids movies’-esque.
“Okay,” Stiles nods at them, “Want to step away from my car?”
“Oh, this is your car?” Knuckle-tattoos asks in mocking innocence, holding a finger up to his chin and glancing at the Jeep in feigned surprise.
Stiles doesn’t say anything, body tense as he notices the crowbar-guy stepping closer.
“I remember telling you that you need to learn how to mind your own business,” Knuckles says and steps back, gesturing at his friend to go ahead. “Consider this your first lesson.”
“Don’t-” Stiles gawks as the guy swings the crowbar high and smashes it into his windshield. “I’ll fucking-” He starts to rush at him, but Knuckles is there to push him back, hard enough to cause him to spill coffee all over himself.
“Stay back and you won’t get the same treatment,” he says and nods over his shoulder for his friend to continue. The crowbar is smashed against the front, into the headlights, into the taillights, the windows, the roof. Stiles wants nothing more than to just tackle the guy to the ground and introduce his fists to the other’s face but he remembers hospital bills and his dad’s exhaustion and so he stands there, watches as his Jeep, his mom’s Jeep, gets trashed.
Finally the guy steps back, panting and looking gleeful.
“You done?” Stiles asks, vibrating with anger.
Knuckles shares a glance with his friend and then grins at him, “Sure. Hope you have a nice day.” He winks and the two start walking away. The street seems empty of life, a quiet part of town during a school/business day and Stiles has no witnesses to this crime. He didn’t even park close enough to the damn coffee shop so that the people working there could’ve seen this through the windows. He glances around, sees a car driving away further to his left, a few older people getting out of a small grocery store and some woman running with her dog, eyes down on the ground and earphones in.
Stiles looks at his car, hears Blake’s smug voice in his head, remembers the clearing and everything that happened in it and there’s a torrent of violence that swims through him, similar to how it felt before, when the Nemeton was in control. But right now his head feels empty of everything else except his own rage.
He opens the door, tries to avoid the broken glass as he leans in and grabs the taser from the glove compartment. He throws his coffee away and runs after the two, not stopping even when they do to look over their shoulders. He tackles crowbar-guy to the ground, takes a sloppy hit to his face as they fall and immediately presses the taser against his neck, activating it and holding it there, watching as the guy shakes under him.
“Hey, what the fuck!?” Knuckles grabs him by his hoodie and drags him away, throwing Stiles as hard as he can onto the road. Stiles pushes himself up and pulls out his pocketknife, the same one he stabbed Blake with, the knife that Peter returned, that Lydia bought. He flicks it open and he sees the guy’s eyes catch the motion and there’s fear clear on his face. Stiles doesn’t know what his own face looks like, he’s never felt this kind of rage before, this need for violence, for retribution. He knows this feeling’s got little to do with the person in front of him. But it’d be so nice to get even with someone.
A police siren goes off and a car pulls up behind him. Stiles turns around to see Clark, one of his dad’s deputies, a younger woman who he’s usually on good terms with.
“Drop the knife, Stiles!”
He sees the situation from her perspective and his anger ebbs, leaving him feeling… ashamed almost.
He drops the knife. When he turns around to let her cuff him, he sees that Knuckles is long gone, probably started running as soon as he heard the siren. But crowbar-guy is still laying on the ground, unconscious.
“I think that guy needs an ambulance,” he tells Clark, feeling numb.
He’s pretty sure they’re heading to the station and Stiles knows his dad’s going to flip.
“Sheriff, I have your son sitting in the back of my car.”
He looks up in surprise to see Clark on her phone.
“I just arrested him because I had to break up a fight. He used a taser on a guy, who is currently on his way to the hospital. And then he pulled a knife out on the other, who ran away when he saw me.”
Stiles leans back on the headrest, closing his eyes.
“Split lip, but no other injuries, I think. Hey, your teeth okay back there?”
“I’m good,” Stiles mutters and wants to laugh, because in what world is he good.
“He says his teeth are okay.”
He kind of wants to tell her she should be asking about head injuries, instead of being so concerned about his teeth but… what’s the point?
“Yes. But… Noah. This is an unofficial call to your personal phone… I just wanted to ask and I hope I don’t get yelled at for asking in the first place-” she’s cut off and Stiles opens his eyes, watches as Clark visibly braces herself before saying, “Would you like for me to take him home instead?”
He’s surprised. He knows Clark’s one of his dad’s favorites and he’s had some fun banter with her but this is a bit much, surely. Stiles thinks that Noah is going to chew her out for even suggesting such a thing.
“I’m saying… no one called the police, I was already there and saw the fight. I can just… forget I saw anything and take your son home, Sir.”
The gentle way she says that last line causes Stiles to doubt his former prediction. He’s aware of how worried his dad’s been, especially after the night he almost died. When he told Noah the specifics, about how he got Blake to stop strangling him, the man looked like he wanted to hold onto Stiles and never let go. It’s a look he’s only seen a few times, one of those times was during mom’s funeral.
“Of course. For what it’s worth, I think the guys trashed Stiles’ Jeep and that’s what the fight was about.”
Clark relaxes and Stiles knows his dad’s done something he never would’ve done before all this supernatural crap entered their lives—broken the rules, the law, for Stiles. He already did it during the ritual too… after that, this probably seems like nothing.
He hears Clark tell Noah about the Jeep’s whereabouts and then the call ends.
“You have a great dad, Stiles,” Clark says and Stiles remembers that her own parents are both dead.
“I know.”
“You should try to not cause him more stress, he’s already dealing with so much at work.”
Stiles’ eye twitches, a flash of anger returning.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
To her credit, she relents, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be annoying, I just worry about him.”
“Yeah,” Stiles’ voice cracks. “Me too.”
When she drops him off at home, Stiles goes inside and feels a familiar jittery anger bubbling up, the feeling that used to mean he was close to lashing out. He doesn’t want to do that anymore, thought he was done with all that. He remembers how out of breath he was because of a warm-up run and pulls off his hoodie and jeans, puts on a pair of running pants and digs out the shoes he used to run with and leaves the house, starts to jog without a destination, hoping to exhaust himself enough to make the anger fade.
The house is quiet when Chris gets there. He rings the doorbell, he knocks, he walks around it, only to realize that Stiles must not be home.
He tries calling him, nothing. Texts him, nothing. He’s worried but he has no idea where else to look so he decides to wait in his car, texting his daughter in the meantime to see if she knows anything.
All Allison knows is that Stiles suddenly left the school, told them he had to get out of there and has been ignoring their messages since.
Something must’ve happened.
He’s considering driving around to look for him or maybe calling Peter to see if he’s at the apartment when he hears someone panting, walking his way. He leans his head out of the open car window and sees Stiles, sweaty and tired, walking up to the house.
Chris gets out and Stiles freezes when he sees him.
“Uh, hey?”
“Your dad sent me to check up on you, he went to take care of your car.”
Stiles blinks, nods, “Oh. Okay.” He heads for the door.
Chris feels unsettled.
“What happened?” He follows a few steps behind him.
“An asshole I got into a fight with at Lydia’s party wanted payback,” Stiles says, sounding annoyed. He goes to the kitchen as Chris closes the door behind him.
“Your lip’s the only injury?” Chris asks, having noticed the swelling and dried blood. Stiles looks over his shoulder in surprise, standing in front of the open fridge. He reaches up to touch his lip and winces.
“Yeah, they just wanted to trash my car,” Stiles suddenly looks miserable. “It was my mom’s.”
“Can it be fixed?”
Stiles shrugs, “I don’t know, I didn’t stay to check the damage. I grabbed the taser and ran after them.”
Ran after them. Chris stills. So it wasn’t exactly self-defense.
“Stiles,” he says firmly and waits for him to meet his gaze. “Is everything alright?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Stiles snorts angrily. He finally grabs a water bottle and closes the fridge, turning around to face Chris properly. “You know that it isn’t. You know exactly what’s going on, that’s such a stupid question.” He takes a long swig.
Chris feels chastened.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, stepping in closer, but keeping the table between them. “I don’t know how to help you with this… The aftermath-”
“Aftermath?” Stiles glares at him. “Nothing’s over, as long as Blake is still out there, this shit is ongoing!”
Chris is stunned.
He’s been so busy with hunter business, with Allison’s training, with Peter, that he didn’t realize… of course Stiles wouldn’t be able to move on from someone trying to kill him when that someone is still alive and free and might come back at any time. And then he realizes that he’s expecting a not-yet eighteen-year-old to move on from almost getting strangled to death. This is what Chris was afraid of back when he asked for a divorce. This disconnect between him and others, because he has been taught to compartmentalize, put aside the trauma and do his job.
Stiles is just a kid who wants to have a normal life.
Chris’ chest aches deep, because there’s nothing he can do or say to ease Stiles’ worries.
“I’m sorry,” he says again and whatever Stiles sees on his face, it gets him to back down.
“It’s not your fault,” he says softly and sits down at the table, staring at it morosely.
Chris sits down opposite of him, crosses his arms over the table.
“I promised to help you. I feel like I haven’t done that at all lately.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow at him in disbelief.
“You did help. You did something incredibly difficult and illegal… And you’re the one I’ve talked to most about all this crap.” His head snaps back in realization. “I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you even, so there. Thank you for helping.”
Chris smiles softly, “But that promise wasn’t a one-time thing. It’s still going.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, fiddles with the bottle. “I didn’t ruin it?”
“What do you mean?”
Stiles wets his lower lip nervously, drawing Chris’ gaze there but he refuses to let himself linger.
“Last time I was at your house you didn’t offer me a drink,” Stiles shakes the water bottle meaningfully.
“I…” Chris is at a loss. “That… means something?”
Stiles smirks, shaking his head.
“I don’t know, it’s just… you always offer me a drink. And then you were so… distant. I-” Stiles pauses and then says the following very quickly in one breath, “I just hope that me opening my dumb mouth didn’t ruin what we had before, I like to think we were friends or something close to that, and even if nothing else ever happens, I hope we can still be that at least, cause I like having you in my life as more than just my friend’s dad or my dad’s friend or-,” he cuts himself off and rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, nervous.”
Chris imagines standing up and leaning over to kiss Stiles, imagines doing it firm but gentle, like how Peter kisses him when he can sense that Chris’ mind isn’t fully in the moment. Wonders how Stiles would react.
But this line of thinking’s dangerously distracting.
“No, Stiles. I’m sorry. I’m dealing… with all of this and I have moments when I don’t know how to deal with it. If I made you feel like you can’t come to me for help anymore… That was never my intention.”
Stiles’ chin is down so when he looks up, it’s through his lashes and Chris is once again struck by how much he likes just looking, noticing.
He’s here because Noah sent him to check up on his son.
He feels ashamed.
“I get why you wouldn’t want to and I’m not going to push… I just have to say this,” Stiles pauses and Chris braces himself, “It doesn’t have to be a big thing, you know? It could be just… fun, comfort, casual,” Stiles makes a face as he says that last word, obviously finding it inadequate.
“I don’t think I can do casual,” Chris reveals and feels the truth of it in his bones, his easy attachment to Peter proof enough. “I was married for over a decade but I’ve never actually had a real relationship and… I think that’s what I want,” he says and then frowns to himself because he really should’ve just changed the topic instead.
Stiles does that thing he does, when he’s caught off-guard—blinks rapidly, lips parted, and Chris’ eyes betray him once again and he just… stops fighting it. Stiles knows, everyone in their life except for Noah seems to know so what the hell, he’ll be as obvious as Peter, he’ll let his gaze linger.
“But you and Peter… I thought that was,” Stiles cringes again as he says, “casual?”
“Not for me. And not really for him either, not anymore.”
Stiles looks down at the table and Chris can tell that he said something wrong.
“And am I like, coming in between you or something?”
Chris racks his brain for a way to ease Stiles’ worries. He remembers Peter’s words.
“If anyone can understand how Peter feels about you, it’s me.”
Stiles’ eyes widen and Chris realizes what he just did. Stiles voiced his attraction but Chris hadn’t put his own to words, not like this.
And now it’s out there, harder to ignore. Not that it was easy to do so in the first place.
“But you don’t want to… deal with the age thing?” Stiles waves at himself, then continues fiddling with the bottle.
Chris sighs heavily, “I guess we’re actually having this conversation. The age thing is what’s holding me back, yes.”
“Because you think I’m too young and naïve?” Stiles raises his eyebrows, sounding unsure.
“Because when I was your age, I got taken advantage of by people a lot older than me,” Chris says and watches as Stiles’ eyes light up with understanding.
But just like Peter, Stiles surprises him by not asking for details, not asking who, when, why. Instead, Stiles sets his jaw stubbornly and says, “But you would never take advantage of me.”
Chris pauses for a moment, considers just changing the subject.
“I’d like to think I wouldn’t. But…” He looks down, frowning. Because that’s the thing, the big reason why even though his own daughter is saying he should try, see what happens, when Stiles himself has told him, in the dark, that he wants him, when Peter keeps tugging at that thread, keeps hinting and half-joking… Chris was raised by a man like Gerard and spent too many years living with a woman he hated, surrounded by a lifestyle he now wants nothing to do with and yet is diving back into, he doesn’t know if he’d be good for Stiles, can’t know for sure. And that scares him.
“Peter wouldn’t let you,” Stiles quips, smirking, obviously trying to get Chris out of whatever headspace he got himself into.
Chris smiles, “Maybe. If what you want is fun and comfort, then Peter’s your best bet. He’ll take good care of you, I know it.”
Stiles flushes a little, “I get the feeling you didn’t mean that in the dirty way my mind took it.”
“I kind of did,” Chris shrugs, nonchalant.
Stiles squints angrily but there’s a hint of playfulness there, “So, it’s fine for me to ask what he’s like in bed?” His boldness falters after asking the question, and he stammers, “I just mean, I get the sense he’d be kind of intense, you know?”
Chris takes a moment to think back on their conversation, unsure of how exactly they got to here. But he might as well ease Stiles’ concerns in this one thing, at least, “He can be. But he can also be sweet and patient.”
Stiles looks thoughtful.
“I guess I’ve seen that part of him… It’s the intense part I haven’t seen, well, I’ve gotten glimpses of it.”
Chris tilts his head back curiously, “Glimpses?”
“His… Alpha-ness takes over sometimes, have you noticed that?” Stiles scratches at the side of his head. “Last time I was with him alone, he got all red-eyes and fangs-down on me.”
Chris frowns in concern. He hasn’t been spending much time with Peter lately, distracted by everything going on, but he still remembers how Peter’s sharp teeth made an appearance with him too. He doesn’t exactly agree with Peter’s decision to start whatever he’s planning on starting with Stiles, and if the werewolf has trouble controlling himself, then there’s even more reason to be wary of this.
But Stiles has enough things to stress about right now, so Chris just shrugs and says, “It’s still new. Laura said that there’s an adjustment period. Going back to my first question, what happened? At school, I mean.” Stiles taps his fingers against the table and doesn’t answer right away so Chris clarifies, “Allison told me you just left.”
“Yeah…” He pulls out his phone, finds something and then slides it over to Chris. “Got a phone call from that number, I haven’t looked up the area code yet.”
Chris recognizes it.
“It’s the same one that Hayden’s number has…”
“The hunter-guy in Canada?” Stiles’ eyebrows fly up in surprise and he grabs his phone back, stares at the number thoughtfully. “So she’s in Canada… And Morrell went there too. What the hell is going on there?”
“She?” Chris asks, but can guess the answer.
“Blake,” Stiles sighs and puts his phone away. “She called me, just to check in,” he says mockingly.
“That’s what got you worked up?”
“Her voice, the fact that she has my number, the way she sounded, like trying to kill me is no big deal…” Stiles closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, “I hate her so fucking much.”
Chris can sympathize with that.
“I’ll tell Hayden about her and ask if there’s anything weird happening over there.”
“That’s a good idea,” Stiles nods. “Warn him. She has this tendency to murder people.”
Chris snorts, even though that isn’t funny at all and Stiles snorts too, covering his face with his hands and then laughing for real.
“Our lives are so fucked.”
If they weren’t, Chris doubts he’d ever even consider considering any kind of a relationship with Stiles. He probably would’ve still noticed Stiles at some point, realized that the kid’s growing up, looks and sounds like a young man now. Maybe he would’ve still appreciated his sense of humor, the flailing and amusing facial expressions. But the respect, the concern, the affection, that all came from spending time together, sharing something life-altering. He imagines saying all of this to Noah as an explanation for why he’s-
He cringes away from that thought.
Stiles drops one hand on the table, continues tapping away while leaning his cheek against the other. He stares at Chris, openly and without faltering, even when Chris locks eyes with him.
“It’s so strange,” he mutters. “With Peter, it’s different because he’s just Peter, you know? I met him before I became friends with Cora so the fact that he’s her uncle doesn’t seem that odd… But I was Allison’s friend first so a part of my brain sees you as her dad first and… the guy I’ve been crushing on for years second.”
Chris blinks at the freely given admission.
“Years?” For him, it’s been about a year since he first started noticing the beginnings of an attraction. And a few months since he realized he liked Stiles, that he was in trouble. “Before you came to me for help?”
“Yeah,” Stiles smiles wryly, still not breaking his stare. “That first time I got invited in and you asked me what kind of soda I liked? You scared the shit out of me, I felt like I was being sized up, like you were deciding if I was good enough to hang out with your daughter or not.”
Chris feels amused despite himself, “And that started your crush? Lydia did say you like people who intimidate you. I just didn’t realize I was one of them.”
“Are you kidding? You intimidated all of us. For like a month after they first had sex, Scott walked around looking over his shoulder because he was convinced you were coming after him.”
He snorts and scratches at his stubble, leans back against the chair.
“Why exactly is that a thing you like?”
Stiles looks down sheepishly.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It’s kind of obvious that my brain doesn’t like making good choices. And I’ve long since said goodbye to any self-preservation instincts I might’ve had.” He starts off joking but finishes solemnly.
“That why you went after the guys today?” He tries to get them back to the reason he came over in the first place.
Stiles bites down on his lower lip, looking miserable.
“I mean, I wanted to fight them right away, as soon as one of the guys swung at my car. But the other one, the guy whose nose I broke, he’s bigger and older than me and was watching, making sure I didn’t do anything stupid. So I waited. When they started to leave I could grab the taser and then… I just wanted to get even with someone.”
Chris wishes he could help with this, that anyone could help with this. But these feelings are things that Stiles has to deal with on his own. Stiles continues, before he can think of something to say.
“And I know that’s wrong, blowing up like that. I had my knife out at the end there, and if Clark hadn’t seen us, hadn’t stepped in…” Stiles swallows, looks troubled when he admits, “I don’t know what I would’ve done or how far I would’ve gone.”
Definitely not getting him a gun, Chris thinks to himself.
“And the anger, it was all you?”
Stiles looks up at him, “It was all me.”
This is worrying but also not exactly out of character or unexpected. Chris thinks about his own coping mechanisms as well as other hunters’, knows that people react to near-death situations and traumatic experiences in different ways. Chris turned to drink. Stiles doesn’t have an outlet for his anger, so blowing up like this is bound to happen again.
“You went running when you got home?”
“Yeah, was hoping to tire myself out, so I wouldn’t be so angry anymore.”
“And did it help?”
Stiles has to think about it for a second but then he nods, “Yeah, it did.”
“You could join Allison on her runs, if you want. She runs past this street as well.”
“This is miles away from your home,” Stiles’ eyes widen.
“She’s been running for years.”
“I used to run too but then,” Stiles gestures vaguely, “sweet sixteen happened.”
“It’s just a thought. Being angry right now is a perfectly natural response to everything you’ve been through. But you’re right, losing control like that is not good. You need to find a way to deal with it.”
Stiles nods thoughtfully.
“I’ll ask Scott too. He barely sweats during lacrosse practice anymore, the least he could do is keep me company while I suffer.”
“How’s that going, lacrosse?” He was surprised when Allison said Scott and Stiles got back on the team but also hopeful. The two have been through a lot and could use something fun, something normal.
“Okay, I guess… I’m not as good as I used to be and I was never really good in the first place. But Coach was right, Scott and I do work well together. I can help him score at least.”
“You have a game coming up, right? Allison mentioned it.”
“Yeah, next Friday, it’ll be my first time actually playing since I’ve never been first line before,” Stiles perks up a bit and then his eyes go wide with panic. “Oh shit, I’ll actually be playing.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Chris asks carefully.
“I guess,” Stiles says, but still looks panicked. “No yeah, it’s a good thing, a good thing,” he nods to himself. Keeps nodding. “It’ll be fine.”
Chris thinks of what to say next but then there’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.
Stiles glances out the window and back at Chris, “I imagine you also wouldn’t want to deal with the fallout with my dad if we… you know,” he does the universal mime for jerking off and then quickly stops, grimacing.
Chris smirks, hides it with his hand.
“Noah’s my friend. He trusts me to look out for his kid… He wouldn’t have sent me here if he knew-” he cuts himself off.
“If he knew what, exactly?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, daring him.
The silence is deafening as Chris’ gaze lowers to Stiles’ lips, to his neck. He thinks about the spot on Peter’s neck where he sunk his teeth into a couple of times, when he felt overwhelmed. He wonders if Stiles would let him, if he’d like it-
The door opens and Chris jumps a little, shame rushing through him fast.
“Stiles?” Noah yells and then steps into the kitchen. When he sees his son he quickly rushes to him, Stiles standing up to meet him. Noah puts a hand on his kid’s cheek, taking in the relatively small injury and sighs. “Kid,” he says softly and it’s enough to have Stiles’ eyes well up with tears.
“I’m sorry, I know I fucked up,” he whispers and Noah pulls him into a fierce hug.
Chris feels like he’s intruding. He stands up to go but before he can, Noah releases Stiles and turns to him.
“So?” He demands.
“No shooting tomorrow,” Chris replies, ignoring Stiles’ questioning look.
Noah sighs again, nods.
“Thanks for doing this. But I’d like to talk to my son alone now.”
“Of course.”
He gives Stiles a small smile and leaves.
Did that conversation really just happen? Did Chris seriously say If anyone can understand how Peter feels about you, it’s me? Stiles is kind of freaking out because Chris is handsome, older, reliable, trustworthy just- all the things and he seriously sat there, in Stiles’ kitchen and said those words. And then stared at Stiles’ mouth like he was imagining doing something very intense with it.
At this point, it’s starting to feel like he shouldn’t have to worry about Blake at all, because Chris and Peter are going to be the death of him.
“Stiles?”
He snaps out of his thoughts, blinks rapidly at his dad’s wary face.
“Yeah?”
“Have you heard a word I said?”
“Uh…”
Noah closes his eyes and shakes his head, disappointed.
“You need to tell me exactly what happened. You put a kid in the hospital!”
“A kid? The dude looked thirty!”
“Well, he’s twenty-four, so he’s very much a kid to me,” Noah drags a hand over his face. “He got released from the hospital already, woke up on the way there. He’s fine and he didn’t say anything about you or how he got hurt but Stiles… You’re turning eighteen soon, if something like this happens again…”
Stiles nods gravely, “Yeah, I know.”
“The Jeep’s at the garage now, they’re going to give us an estimate once they’ve had a chance to inspect it.”
More money down the drain… Stiles doesn’t even know if the last hospital bills are taken care of.
“Okay, thanks for taking care of it.”
“Now sit down and tell me every detail. And no matter what I hear, you’re grounded this weekend.”
Stiles doesn’t argue but he’s a little miffed about missing yet another staff-practice, he’s only had two with Chris so far.
“So, remember the guy I got into a fight with at Lydia’s party?”
“He the one you tased?”
“Nope, he got away. I have no idea who I tased.”
At Noah’s exhausted squint Stiles quickly hurries to explain the rest.
Later in the evening, Scott shows up and his dad comes with him when he goes to answer the door.
“He’s grounded,” Noah says as soon as the door’s open, before Scott or Stiles can say anything.
“Oh,” Scott deflates.
“What about running?” Stiles tries, having told his dad everything about his little out-of-control moment as well as what Chris suggested.
His dad narrows his eyes.
“I’ll run with you,” Scott offers immediately, not even knowing the full meaning behind Stiles’ question and he shoots his friend a grateful grin.
Noah opens his mouth to say something, sighs instead.
“Shit, just… Do whatever you want, you’re not grounded…” He starts walking away to the living room. “I have no clue how to handle this.”
Stiles can hear the defeat in his dad’s voice and it takes away any joy he might’ve had at the un-grounding.
Scott looks worried, “Want to go out and grab something to eat?”
“I… My Jeep’s trashed.”
“What?!” Scott looks around in surprise, only now noticing the absence of Stiles’ car. “What happened!?”
“Come on in and hear the tale of how Stiles lost all weapon-owning privileges!” He opens the door wide.
“Dad wanted to take the knife away too but I managed to talk him out of it.” Stiles emphasized how that one small weapon had saved him from getting the life choked out of him. After that, Noah backed down, looking lost.
That whole conversation, his dad looked lost and unsure, putting rules in place and saying what Stiles can and can’t do, trying to be the dad he’s always been with a whole new set of circumstances that he doesn’t know how to navigate around. And now the un-grounding. Stiles just feels guilty. He knows that he’s not at fault for the things that led him to today’s events, he didn’t give himself to the Nemeton, he didn’t ask Blake to come here, for Kate to be such a psychopathic murdering asshole of a person.
But Scott’s words have been ringing in his head all day, But sometimes, it wouldn’t end in a fight if you just… took the high road and walked away.
He doesn’t know if he’s the kind of guy who can just walk away from situations like that. Like Jackson bullying him for no reason (She shouldn’t be friends with the likes of you), like Victoria talking shit about Chris (I knew you were into some sick things, Christopher), Knuckles being a harassing asshole at the party (Following in daddy’s footsteps? Think you’re the law or something?), Blake trying to kill him (There’s nothing special about you)…
He’s always been erratic, his actions and words often unpredictable according to the way people have reacted to him. And he knows he has a short fuse, that much was proven by the numerous times he got into actual fistfights with Jackson when the guy started name-calling Scott too. He also remembers that even though Scott took those names to heart, looked sad or annoyed or irritated, he never got mad. That’s why Scott’s little wolf-out at the party shocked him so much, because Scott isn’t the one who gets angry, who gets into fights, that’s always been Stiles.
And now… he wonders if that makes him dangerous.
“I was surprised when your dad gave that to you,” Scott says.
“Yeah, me too. But it came with a whole lecture about how I’m only supposed to use it in supernatural situations.” Stiles got the taser right after Noah was introduced to werewolves by Peter wolfing out in his kitchen. Apparently Chris also suggested it, mentioned that electric shock works well against werewolves, better than normal bullets even.
“Which makes sense ‘cause…” Scott looks painfully worried when he continues, “You could’ve killed him.”
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out. He tries to remember what was going through his mind when he flicked open the knife, what he was planning to do with it but comes up blank because that’s how his head felt then, blank.
He doesn’t want to think about this anymore.
“What did I miss at school? Did you get my homework assignments- Ah,” he grins in thanks as Scott leans down to pull out some papers from his backpack. “This is why I keep you around.”
“Is it also why you keep Lydia around because she has the other half,” Scott says dryly.
“Why isn’t she here with you then?”
“She mentioned something about groveling at her feet for needlessly making her worry when you could’ve just sent a text. Also called you an asshole.”
“Well… that’s fair.”
It’s the middle of the night and he’s been tracking for hours. Any remnant of Stiles’ scent on this guy is faint, almost gone now but Peter’s good at this and persistent. The trail takes him to a seedy bar he’s never been in before, but knew the existence of. It’s on the outskirts of town, near Bo’s Diner. He settles himself into the shadows, hiding away from the streetlights, observing the people who enter and exit the building.
The young man almost escapes his notice, that’s how faint the scent is, covered by smoke, alcohol and sweat. Cora told him what he looks like and that coupled with Peter’s tracking is good enough for him to move in, making sure no one’s close enough to see or hear as he swiftly grabs the guy before he can get to his car (planning on driving while drunk apparently). His hand covers the other’s mouth, muffling his shouts as he drags him effortlessly back into the shadows cast by the building itself. He pushes the guy’s face up against the wall and puts his arm against the other’s upper back, keeping him trapped.
“What the fuck, man, you’ve got the wrong guy-” he starts whining.
“Stay away from the Stilinski kid from now on.”
“What? Are you his dad or something? The kid got what he deserved- Ah!” He yelps as Peter slides him up and holds him high, feet dangling in the air.
He wants to rip the guy apart, but things are tense enough in this town and another missing person or hell, a body even, would make things worse.
“Go near the Stilinskis again and I’ll tear your guts out, how does that sound?” He slides a hand under the guy’s shirt and presses sharp claws against his lower stomach, digging in just enough to break the skin with the very tips, enjoying how the other’s panic spikes.
“Shit, fuck, what the hell!?” The guy starts squirming against his hold. Peter stays firmly immobile.
“I said, how does that sound?” Peter growls low and deep, an inhuman rumbling from the back of his throat.
“I get it, I’ll stay away from him!”
“Good,” Peter says and drops him, already gone by the time the guy manages to stand up and look around in fear.
Chris is awake when he gets back to his house. This is the first time he was invited to stay over even though Allison is home. Apparently, she’s supportive of whatever this is, a small blessing and something Peter feels grateful to her for.
Chris, however, doesn’t look supportive. He’s sitting up in his bed, the lamp on his night table casting a soft light over the room. He’s still obviously naked but also obviously wary. Peter lets his eyes rest on the man’s form for a moment as he stops in the doorway, finding that he likes the sight and the knowledge of someone waiting for him. Especially if that someone is Chris. Even if it is for not-so-warmhearted reasons.
Chris doesn’t say anything when Peter comes in and starts undressing. He glances up at him several times to see Chris’ stare unwavering, considering.
Peter gets annoyed and sighs, flopping down onto the bed on his side, facing Chris as he says, “I didn’t kill him.”
Chris stays tense.
“Did you hurt him?”
Peter rolls his eyes and sits up, “Like he wouldn’t deserve it? But no, I just told him I would if he went after Stiles again.”
At that, the man relaxes, shoulders visibly losing tension.
“Alright,” he says and looks like he means it.
Peter blinks in surprise and slides closer, sliding a hand over a blanket-covered knee.
“No further questions, prosecutor?”
Chris snorts, “First you’re my therapist, now I’m a lawyer? Do you have some kind of niche roleplay interests?”
Peter hums thoughtfully and leans in for a kiss, mumbles “Maybe,” against Chris’ lips before capturing them fully, tongue moving in to part them so he can-
Chris pulls back.
“I think we should talk about what happened earlier.”
Peter glances upward, recalling earlier and wondering which part Chris is talking about, or if he means all of it.
When Chris told him about what happened, he quite literally lost control of his senses, his Alpha instincts crowding into his mind and then taking over. His packmate hurt, again, in his territory. He let out a roar, a tiny one all things considered, and then slammed a clawed hand into the wall. And then, as Chris tried to calm him down, sliding hands over shoulders, neck and hair, Peter finally did and let the man take him to bed, let him fuck Peter loose and pliant, until the overwhelming need to protect, to kill was taken over by how he felt about Chris, a bundle of emotions he still doesn’t want to inspect too deeply.
And then an hour after Chris fell asleep, he got up and went hunting.
“I said I’ll pay for the repairs,” he says, tilting his head.
Chris’ gaze feels heavy as the man studies him.
“Stiles said you’ve been losing control around him.”
Peter sighs and moves under the blankets to rest his back against the headboard.
“I told you about the instinct to claim.”
“But you didn’t tell me how it was affecting you with Stiles. Did you want to bite him?”
Peter can feel that heavy gaze as Chris moves to sit next to him, shoulder touching his.
“I didn’t bite him.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Sometimes I want to bite you too,” Peter reveals and turns his head to glance at Chris who looks unsurprised.
“How much of an issue is it?”
“I’m handling it.”
“When Stiles comes to you for sex, is it possible that you’ll lose control, that you’ll hurt him?”
Peter glares, actually offended at the accusation, never mind his own worries about the possibility. But he was able to pull back before, to step away and clear his head. He’d like to think that if he can sense that side of himself trying to take over again, he’ll put distance between him and the target of those instincts. He’s been battling for control ever since he woke up almost five months ago and he considers it a fight he’s not willing to lose.
“No.” He slides over an inch so they’re no longer touching. “If you’re so concerned with me hurting someone, why are you inviting me into your bed?”
“I can take it.”
Peter remembers hearing those words the first time he was on top and frowns, feeling betrayed.
“That’s not the answer I wanted,” he admits.
Chris sighs and looks away.
Peter is almost too afraid to ask, “Do you think I’d actually hurt you?”
“No,” Chris says immediately and Peter laughs darkly because the man’s heart says otherwise.
“Lie.”
“That’s not,” Chris pauses, looks like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I don’t think you’d physically hurt me. At least, not on purpose. You can’t blame me for taking this Alpha-instinct issue a lot more seriously than you seem to be.”
“You’re just concerned, I get it, now let’s get back to that first part, what does that mean?” Peter narrows his eyes at him.
“I’m emotionally invested in this, which I think is obvious.”
That makes Peter’s heart sing, which then makes him frown because he’s always hated that phrase and to now feel like it’s an apt description of the warmth in his chest is disconcerting.
“And you think I’m not?” Oh if Chris could peer into his mind right now, he’d get all the proof he’d need to think otherwise.
“The way you talk about us, I think you’re trying not to be.”
Okay, that’s a little more accurate than Peter would like. He looks up at the ceiling as he drawls, “I just don’t like labels.”
“It’s not about labels, it’s about commitment.”
Chris sounds serious, almost chastising. Peter has a hard time staying focused on the topic at hand and not on how attractive he finds the man when he gets like this. In his mind he remembers that firm voice saying things like, Finish what you started or I want your mouth.
“You want me to commit? Is this about Stiles, does it feel like I’m going to cheat?” Peter asks, sincerely wanting to understand what the exact problem is, to fix it.
Chris, to his credit, seems to really consider the question and his feelings about it before he answers, “No, it doesn’t feel like cheating.” And then he gets this far-away look in his eyes that makes Peter wonder what he and Stiles might have talked about today. Peter remembers the awkwardness during the morning after Stiles confessed his attraction. He thinks of the delicious embarrassment and desire he could smell on Stiles, how oddly proud he’d felt at him making the first move because Chris sure as hell wouldn’t. Remembers considering, not for the first time, what a beautiful trio they would make.
“So what are you asking of me? Just ask, Chris,” he tries to say it softly, to show his willingness to “commit”, whatever it means for the man.
“A promise,” Chris looks at him, endearingly nervous, and moves over to slide a hand over Peter’s cheek, thumb stroking against skin. “No one else but Stiles.”
Peter smiles in surprise.
“Well, that’s easy. I promise. No one else but you and Stiles,” he seals it with a kiss, hands grabbing at hips and thighs to maneuver their bodies so he’s straddling Chris who’s fully on his back, head resting on a pillow as Peter kisses him, wet and intense.
He pulls back when he’s hit with a thought.
“Wait, just minutes ago you were thinking that I had gone off and killed a man,” he reminds Chris who stares back up at him, raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘So?’. “And you know what I’d like to do to your father,” he says, sliding his hands along Chris’ sides, caressing his chest before moving upwards and resting his hands on either side of Chris’ neck, leaning down. “Still want to date me?” He tries to say the word without derision, half-succeeds.
Chris looks dead-serious when he says, “Yes.”
And if Peter wasn’t falling before, he’d definitely start to now.
He grins, feeling delightfully wicked as he rests fully against the body under him and grinds down to feel that spark of pleasure run up his spine as his cock starts to harden against Chris’ stomach.
While they slide against each other, offering lazy strokes every now and then, he does think of Stiles but only as an addition, not as a replacement. Chris isn’t ready and even though Stiles was bold enough to suggest it, Peter doesn’t consider him ready either.
But he has time.
And for this, he has patience.
Notes:
also, i hope me not replying to all the comments doesnt seem rude. am socially awkward as fuck and have stayed away from aaaalll forms of social media for like five years now and when i tried replying to everyone i started to feel like an insincere robot (thank you for reading, thank you for reading, thank you for reading) lol so i stopped
i do appreciate them, and often go back and read some really kind ones when i'm feeling down so thank you all and i swear i'm trying to get to november in the fic before actual november comes jfc
Chapter 22: pack
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Stiles is no fool, he knows if Lydia Martin expects groveling then she better get some groveling, so on Saturday morning, he shows up at her house with his old bike he managed to find in the basement (although finding the bike pump was a lot harder and caused him to almost give up on the whole idea), having ridden it to her favorite coffee shop, where he got her favorite coffee with the right amount of caramel pumps as well as her favorite pastry and then very slowly and carefully delivered it to her doorstep.
She takes all of this in with one look and then purses her lips.
“Acceptable, come in.”
Stiles punches the air victoriously, almost dropping everything. He quickly hands her the cup and bag before he enters.
“Got everything from Allison and Scott already, so I won’t bother you with questions,” she says while heading to the kitchen and Stiles wants to kiss her. Lydia’s the one person who knows how annoyed he gets at having to tell the same story over and over and over again. Not to mention his reluctance to talk about anything dealing with the Nemeton or Blake or his mom.
When they get to the counter and Lydia has deposited her gifts there she turns to give him a solid ten out of ten hug. He wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her head, enjoying the gesture.
“Never disappear like that without an explanation again, okay?”
He rubs her back in what he hopes is a soothing manner, “Okay.”
“Also, I couldn’t sleep last night so I did some of your homework,” she pulls back with a sigh and gestures at the stack of papers on the kitchen table. Stiles raises his eyebrows and goes over to take a look.
“You… did most of them. You even wrote me an essay,” he gapes at her in disbelief. Lydia’s never done something like this for him even when he’s begged. He takes in her tired eyes as she sits down and takes a seat next to her, leaning in. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” He expects something to do with the tree or the Alphas or maybe a new thing to worry about but she surprises him.
“Jackson and I got into this stupid fight,” she stares at her hand, drawing invisible lines on the table with her finger. Stiles takes a moment to observe, sees she’s just absentmindedly drawing a spiral and thinks nothing more of it. “He was whining about you being let back on the team and I told him he’s got to stop. He can’t be such an asshole to you anymore, you’re one of my best friends.”
Stiles refrains from saying, That’s what I said!
“And then he got mad, saying something about me choosing you over him which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Lydia follows this up with an epic eyeroll.
Okay, Stiles can’t refrain any longer, “That’s what I said!”
She gives him a confused look, “What?”
“Never mind, so what happened?”
“Nothing, he just left,” Lydia shrugs but Stiles can see that she’s feeling hurt over this.
He still doesn’t understand what she sees in him but here goes, “For what it’s worth, if he actually decides to listen to you, which I doubt he will because that would require the power of empathy… I’ll… try…” Damn, getting these words out is not easy, “to not be such an asshole to him too, but in my defense!” He adds quickly, seeing her start to look smug, “I was only ever an asshole in response to him being an asshole to me first. He’s basically been my bully for six years, I’m the victim!” He points at himself for emphasis.
“Honestly there are times where I think he’s just jealous of you.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I mean it,” she looks like she does too. “His relationship with his dad sucks just like mine with my dad. The Sheriff always seems like someone you can depend on.”
Wow, everyone’s just aching to remind Stiles how awesome his dad is, which in turn just makes him feel guiltier about causing him so much stress and worry.
“That’s no excuse for the shit he’s said and done. Not to mention, Lydia, I’m not the only one he’s an asshole to- Alright, I’m shutting up,” he backs off at her glare. This is nothing he hasn’t said before, if there’s one thing he and her can fight endlessly about, it’s Jackson.
“Well, the ball is in his court,” Lydia announces. “Let’s see if he cares enough about me to put stupid old rivalries aside.”
“I mean, it was never really a rivalry,” Stiles says seriously. “I have nothing against him except you know, his constant need to put down everyone around him, mocking me and my friends, shoving, punching, abusing our Coach’s shitty refereeing skills-”
“I get it,” Lydia drawls, giving him a deadpan stare. “You can stop listing things.”
“You sure? I have a few more,” Stiles quirks his eyebrows innocently.
She pushes him playfully. He grabs her hand and holds it, patting it comfortingly.
“You deserve better than him, someone who loves how smart you are and who can keep up with you and college is coming up anyway… Maybe you should think about getting a clean break.”
“I have been thinking about it,” Lydia says softly. “It’s just not that easy. You’ll see, once you’ve fallen head over heels for Peter and he does something you don’t like.”
“Why are you saying that like it’s a given?”
“Because of everything we’ve heard about the guy?” Lydia quirks an eyebrow.
“Yeah but… he’d never hurt me or anyone I care about.”
“And that makes it okay if he hurts someone else?” Lydia looks surprised and Stiles’ mind stutters to a halt because his first response is yes, but he quickly realizes that that’s not what normal people would say.
“I guess not,” he lies, trying to convince himself that it’s not a lie.
Lydia doesn’t seem to notice his inner conflict, taking her hand back to go grab her coffee, leaving Stiles to wonder if he’s always been this way and the circumstances just haven’t been right or if he’s changed. Is it the Nemeton? Is it the shit he’s been through? Or is this the real him, vindictive and callous Stiles, ready to jump into bed with a man who has admitted to having killed people, who has killed someone in front of him.
But Kate was different, wasn’t she? Stiles knows exactly what she did, exactly how she felt about it, the lack of any remorse… Kate deserved the pathetic end she got. So who’s to say that others didn’t deserve it too?
He’s afraid to bring this up with any of his friends. Lydia might be willing to talk it out, might even end up on his side if he argues long enough but Scott would not like it one bit.
Allison… he has to admit, he has no clue on how Allison would react because she seems to be cut from a very different set of cloth than her boyfriend, wanting to not just join the hunting business but take over her grandfather’s company too. Scott admitted he doesn’t really know how to feel about it yet, is just trying to be supportive but is very worried that Allison is jumping into something incredibly dangerous. Except Scott doesn’t really seem to understand that he is already involved in something incredibly dangerous. The guy’s a werewolf and he barely wants to acknowledge it. Sometimes Stiles is worried about him.
Then he remembers Cora, and figures that if he ever wants to talk to someone about the morality and ethics of murdering murderers, she’s a safe bet.
Chris could also be an interesting viewpoint considering that the man wants a serious relationship with Peter. And Chris is the one who warned Stiles in the first place about how dangerous the guy is!
“I can almost hear your brain whirring away right now,” Lydia’s dry voice cuts into his thoughts.
“Huh? What?” Stiles blinks rapidly at her.
“I asked if you wanted to share this with me,” she shakes the pastry bag.
“Oh, sure!”
About an hour later Allison calls. After a short conversation, Lydia hangs up and tells him to get his jacket.
“Where we going?”
“Shooting,” she replies brightly, getting her keys.
“Oh, but… I don’t know if I feel like watching you two be badass at archery right now, I don’t even have my staff with me.”
“We’re going to a shooting range.”
“Wait, you’re talking about guns!?”
Chris is teaching them the basics of unloading and dismantling handguns while also showing them how to shoot one. Allison and Lydia have an obvious distaste towards holding a gun, both of them lacking the quiet power they have when they’re practicing archery. Stiles, on the other hand, likes the feel of the gun in his hand, already knows how to grip and support it and also knows how to aim and when he shoots at the target down the range, the recoil barely bothers him. He doesn’t miss a single shot.
Chris’ sharp gaze also doesn’t miss a thing and when the girls are busy with shooting and reloading, Stiles sees the man sidle up closer to him out of the corner of his eye and pulls down his earmuffs, cringing at the noise. Chris tilts his head towards the other side of the range and Stiles follows, further away from Allison and Lydia.
“Your dad said he never taught you how to shoot,” Chris says, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.
“He didn’t,” Stiles shrugs and puts the gun down on a table.
“So who did?”
“I promised to never tell,” he smiles a little.
“One of the deputies?”
“Yeah,” he laughs, not surprised that Chris figured that out. “He no longer works there, he was older, close to retiring and he was worried when I showed up with a black eye a few times. He didn’t know much about self-defense so he taught me this.”
“When? How many times?”
“Just a couple, about four years ago now.” He never really talked to Deputy Miller much before the shooting lessons and they didn’t talk at all after. Stiles thinks the guy’s in a retirement home now but he’s not sure.
“And he did it without your dad’s permission?” Chris smirks. “A braver man than me.”
“You asked my dad?” Stiles doesn’t even know why he’s surprised. That seems exactly like the kind of thing Chris would do.
“I wanted to get you a gun for your birthday.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles gets excited. “What kind? Wait, no, what am I saying, my dad absolutely vetoed it,” he quickly deflates.
“He did. And honestly, after what you told me yesterday, I would’ve vetoed it myself.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, remembering his own words, I don’t know what I would’ve done or how far I would’ve gone. Of course that makes him seem too unstable to own a weapon. “Seem”, hah! Look at his brain trying to convince itself there’s nothing to actually worry about.
Chris seems to pick up on his darker mood.
“Like I said, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry.”
“Yeah… except anger can be dangerous.”
“If left unchecked.”
He nods and decides to change the subject, sending a glance over his shoulder towards the girls and seeing them huddled together over their guns, talking quietly while they reload. Lydia drops a bullet and looks incredibly annoyed at herself. Stiles is sure that’s the last bullet she’ll ever drop.
“So, speaking of dangerous,” he starts, turning back to Chris who looks wary. “Are you okay with the fact that Peter’s killed people and will probably kill again?”
Chris’ eyes widen. This might be the first time that Stiles has seen him this off guard.
“Is this something that’s been bothering you? Because if it is, you shouldn’t-”
“No,” Stiles waves away that concern, too annoyed at just the thought of another you should consider what you’re getting into speech. “It’s not that I’m bothered by what he’s done, it’s… it’s more like, I realized that I should be bothered. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Chris says. And he looks like he understands. “I was raised up with the belief that human law can’t help us when it comes to the supernatural. I was raised to accept that killing’s necessary and a part of this life.”
Stiles blinks at the way Chris said that, almost as if he was reciting something from memory.
“But…” Chris continues and his voice goes softer, sounding unsure. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. Or a good way to live.”
Stiles suddenly feels tired.
“I just want to have sex,” he bursts out, in a fierce whisper because like hell does he want Lydia to hear this conversation. “Preferably with someone I like and who I don’t have to lie to and guess what, Peter fits that to a T.”
“He’s not going to be the only one who fits. There’s a lot more people who are either supernatural or know about it outside of this town. You don’t have to settle-”
“You think being with Peter would be settling?” Stiles gapes at him with an angry squint for good measure. “I like him which means I like that he is the way he is… Even if that isn’t exactly right.”
Chris considers him, head tilted back.
“You’ve thought about this more than I figured you would.”
Stiles feels a little offended.
“What, you thought I was going to jump into bed with him just because he’s hot?”
Chris raises his eyebrows slightly, doesn’t even have to say anything.
“Okay, maybe I would’ve but that’s beside the point because there’s a lot more than just attraction going on here.”
“I gathered as much.”
Stiles sighs and goes to lean against the wall next to him, a few inches of space between their shoulders.
“What’s wrong with us that we think of claws and fangs and go ‘Yeah, that’s hot’?” Then he remembers who he's speaking to and glances at Chris from the corner of his eye. “Or is that just me?”
Chris is staring at him with an odd expression on his face that morphs into amusement before Stiles can figure it out.
“I wonder if Peter could sense this about you,” he muses, looking away to keep an eye on Allison and Lydia, who are dutifully shooting again. Stiles is missing out on what he’d usually consider fun, but this, hanging out and conversing with Chris, kind of beats anything else he could do in the range. It feels easy again, the way it did before. Like they’ve reached an understanding. They both want to do dirty things to each other but Chris feels uncomfortable about it and Stiles is not going to push. So now, they can be friends again. Easy.
“Oh, he definitely knows about my danger-kink.” He winces. “Nah, I decided I wasn’t going to call it a kink anymore, not after the eclipse.”
Chris looks back at him, concern tightening the corners of his eyes and he clasps Stiles’ shoulder, pulling him along.
“Come on, we have another hour left, you can give pointers to Lydia.”
“Ooh, promoting me to TA?” Stiles claps his hands and rubs them together excitedly.
Chris chuckles, “I’m not paying you.” His hand moves to the back of Stiles’ neck and squeezes.
A jolt of heat rushes through his body and he has to focus hard on maintaining the smile on his face.
Yeah… Easy.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?”
Jackson’s eyes twitch, both of them. He looks unhinged.
“I’ve been a dick to you. I’m sorry,” he says, sounding like the words are being forcefully dragged out of him, like he’s in physical pain.
Stiles has to bite down on his lip, hard, so he doesn’t cackle like a maniac. Lydia is standing behind Jackson, giving Stiles a warning glare.
This is the best Monday morning Stiles has ever had, surely. He covers his mouth with his hand and nods seriously.
“I accept your apology,” he says magnanimously and then spreads his hands as if offering a great gift. Jackson looks like he wants to put Stiles’ face through a wall.
“What about my apology?” Scott says, surprising everyone. His face says that he means it too, watching Jackson expectantly.
Jackson glances back at Lydia and whatever she sees on his face makes her roll her eyes.
“Just do it,” she says.
Jackson turns back to Scott and grinds out, “I’m sorry, McCall.”
Unlike Stiles, Scott immediately shrugs with an easy smile and says, “We’re good.”
Stiles side-eyes him for that.
“Okay, how about this, why didn’t you tell me about this one?” Stiles asks angrily, shoving an open book over the table towards Peter who glances at him in wry surprise. Lydia doesn’t look up from the journal she’s been reading for an hour now, comfortably laid back on the couch.
Peter slides the laptop slightly to the left and pulls the book closer. He glances up at Stiles warily.
“Did you read the last part?”
“Yeah, it undo-s everything. That’s what I want!”
“Except you might not have been born without the rite.”
That makes Lydia sit up and come over to read the text over Peter’s shoulder.
Stiles feels his hopes getting crushed yet again.
“What, it might unbirth me?”
“Or just kill you,” Peter says. “I’ve told you before, magic’s unpredictable. So much of it is up to intent and other incalculable things like the weather or the time of year.”
“The weather?” Stiles’ head snaps back in disbelief.
“This person did the ritual during a windless full moon,” Lydia reads.
“And if you do it during the day, perhaps when it’s raining, you might not get the same results,” Peter shrugs.
“Okay, how can anyone actually learn magic if that’s the case?”
“Through trial and error. Also, how much magic have you seen Morrell or Deaton actually do?”
Stiles thinks back and then grudgingly admits, “Not a whole lot.”
“Because druidic abilities are mostly about herbal components and intent. Rites, rituals and sacrifices are a lot more confusing and chaotic. Otherwise, everyone would be doing them,” Peter shrugs and turns back to his laptop.
Lydia has finished reading and is looking at Stiles with pity in her eyes.
“What about Blake?” He asks, even though he already knows what Peter’s about to say.
“Her magic came from blood, from sacrificial offerings to the land and by stealing power from others,” Peter says, without looking up from his screen. “It’s an option.”
Stiles blinks in surprise and glances at Lydia who is still half-behind the man, glaring at his profile.
“No, it isn’t,” she says pointedly.
Peter doesn’t even acknowledge her, starts tapping something on the keyboard.
Stiles agrees with Peter in his head, it’s an option.
“We were just in the library, where’s Derek?” Stiles asks Cora once he and Scott catch up to her after class.
“He quit.”
“Oh, why?” Scott asks, frowning. “I thought he liked the job.” And he would know more than Stiles because while he and Lydia have been hanging out with Peter, and Allison has been spending her free time video chatting with other hunters and doing research about the company she’s trying to take over, Scott’s been spending a lot of time with Derek and Cora.
“Didn’t your dad tell you?” Cora looks at Stiles curiously.
“What, tell me what?” He asks, a small amount of panic starting to creep up on him.
“Stop looking like someone died,” Cora grimaces at him. “Derek and Laura are going to work at the station. Laura’s going to become a Deputy and Derek’s doing something with office management, although he’ll be an officer too.”
“When did you guys decide this?” Scott asks, sounding betrayed.
Cora shrugs, seemingly bewildered by their reaction. “Laura told us last week and Peter said it’s a good idea. She’s been having lunch with the Sheriff and knows he needs the help.”
“Peter knows? Lunch with my dad!?” Stiles squints at her.
She glances back-and-forth between their faces and then sighs, “Would you two, for just a second, think real hard on how this actually affects your day-to-day life. Why did you need to know beforehand?”
Stiles opens his mouth several times to give her a scathing reply but comes up with nothing. He looks to Scott for help.
“It’s just weird that you wouldn’t share news like that, I mean, changing jobs is a big deal. And they’ll be working with Stiles’ dad!” Scott points out.
Cora rolls her eyes, “Life happens, people move on, Peter said you’ve been gung-ho about researching so he probably didn’t think to mention it, maybe even forgot, maybe thought your dad would tell you-” She turns around, apparently done with the conversation.
“No, she’s right, if there’s one person to be mad at, it’s my dad,” Stiles nods decisively.
“I don’t know if mad’s the right-”
“I’m mad at you,” Stiles tells Noah during Wednesday dinner.
The Sheriff just squints tiredly.
“Okay?”
“You didn’t tell me that Derek and Laura are going to be working for you!”
“It’s police business, it’s got nothing to do with you,” Noah shrugs.
“They’re my pack!”
“Then they should’ve told you,” Noah continues eating.
And he’s right, it’s really Peter he should be-
“Consider yourself the target of my ire now,” Stiles points his finger at Peter on Thursday. The man has just opened the door for them and now tilts his head in amused confusion.
“Ignore him, he’s being ridiculous,” Lydia says, pushing in past him.
Stiles gasps, “I’m being perfectly reasonable!”
“You need to run more,” Lydia replies, hinting back at the theory she shared with him during the drive over that his indignation at this small slight is coming from paranoia and he needs to calm the fuck down.
“May I ask what this is about?” Peter drawls and pulls Stiles further in by his arm so he can close the door.
Stiles quickly shakes off the other’s grip and goes to throw himself down onto the couch.
“Why was I not informed that Derek and Laura are going to be working with my dad?”
“But you are informed, obviously,” Peter smirks and comes to stand in front of him. Lydia is giving them suspicious looks from where she’s standing by the bookcase.
“Do we need to start a pack newsletter or something?” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, glaring up at him.
“What is this about?” Peter’s confusion hasn’t faded and he looks to Lydia for help.
“He can’t stand not knowing every little detail about what’s going on in this town because he doesn’t feel safe and he thinks information will fix that,” Lydia sends Stiles a pointed look, “which it won’t.”
Stiles presses his lips closed hard enough that they disappear from sight.
“Am I wrong?” Lydia asks, lifting her nose high in the air.
“Ugh, fine, I’m paranoid, congratulations, I’m out of here!” He’s half-way to the elevator when he realizes-
He storms back into the apartment.
“I just remembered that I don’t have my car so we shall forget this conversation ever happened and move on, okay? Okay!” He heads for the kitchen.
Peter’s close on his heels and grabs him by the waist before he can get to the fridge.
“Take a seat,” Peter pushes him towards the kitchen stools. Stiles slumps down on one and starts to turn around but the hands now move to his shoulders and keep him in place. And then start to knead.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks in a high-pitched voice, tensing up and then grunting in surprise when fingers press down on an ache-y muscle he didn't even notice was ache-y.
“Helping you relax,” Peter says simply and then presses one palm against the top of Stiles’ spine and pushes upward, finishing with a gentle squeeze around Stiles’ neck—and Stiles is beginning to think that might be a weak spot for him as he goes almost boneless, resting his elbows on the countertop and letting Peter do whatever he wants without any further protest.
He’s letting out tiny noises, unable to keep them in, as Peter’s strong and capable fingers go over every inch of his shoulders, his upper back, at one point even gently running through his hair to massage his scalp. And he’s completely forgotten that they’re not alone so he jumps in surprise when Lydia’s face appears in his peripheral vision.
“You know, that would feel a lot nicer if you took your top off.”
Peter chuckles softly while Stiles turns his head to squint at her in disbelief.
“Bad chaperone!” He points at her.
She shrugs, “Sex can be relaxing too.”
“Go away,” he snaps at her.
“Shall I leave you two alone?” She smiles innocently.
“No, just,” Stiles slaps at the hands on his shoulder and gets up from the stool, huffing at her in frustration. “Let’s just hit the books,” he goes back to the living room, not daring to look at Peter.
“Game night tomorrow.”
Stiles looks up from his homework to see his dad in the open doorway.
“Yeah, but you’re probably working, right?” He asks hopefully.
“Laura’s covering for me.”
“Wow, already?”
“She did the training and was ready for this job six years ago,” Noah shrugs and steps into the room. slides his hands into his front pockets. “It’s your first time on the field.”
Stiles nods, taps his pencil against his textbook.
“Nervous?”
Stiles sneers, “Me? Of course not.”
“Win or lose, I’m proud of you for getting back on the team. I was real worried when you just quit all of a sudden.”
“You know why I quit.”
“I do… which is why I’m glad you’re moving on or at least trying to.”
He didn’t tell his dad that the only reason Coach let him back in was because of Scott or that the only reason he agreed to it was because of Scott. And now with Noah smiling at him, all quiet pride and fondness, Stiles doesn’t want to bring it up.
“Listen, I actually came in here to give you this,” Noah steps closer to drop a piece of paper onto Stiles’ table.
“What is it?” Stiles grabs it and sees a phone number.
“It’s the number Kalina’s daughter called me from. I wrote it down back then, took me a while to find it.”
Stiles rubs his thumb over the paper, staring at it in wonder.
“I know you want to get to the bottom of this, and I get why…” Noah sighs, leaning against Stiles’ desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just worried,” he admits softly.
Stiles looks up at him in surprise, “Worried about this?” He holds up the number.
“I’m starting to realize how little I know about your mom’s life before she came to Beacon Hills,” Noah says, looking sad as he stares off into space. “Claudia didn’t want to talk about it much, told me about the miscarriages and that her boyfriend died in a tragic car accident, so I figured it was just a lot of grief that she didn’t want to dig up again. But now I have this feeling, a feeling that I don’t like at all…”
Stiles clenches his jaw at the way his dad looks right now, because it’s familiar, it’s what Noah always looks like lately—lost.
“I’m starting to think that maybe she hid something serious… something to do with you,” he glances down at Stiles who immediately shakes his head.
“No, Morrell said mom knew nothing about magic or any of it, remember?”
Noah closes his eyes, “I’m just scared of what you might find out if you-” he waves at the piece of paper.
“Dad, I have to follow this lead, you get that, right?”
“Of course I do,” Noah snaps impatiently. “But just promise me that you’ll be careful.”
“I am being careful. That’s why I asked Peter to do the investigating for me.”
“Peter does a lot for you, huh?” And it’s not exactly suspicion that Stiles hears in his dad’s voice but there's definitely wariness and he looks down at his homework nervously.
“We’re pack, we take care of each other,” he says simply and sounds convincing enough because it isn’t technically a lie. Not to mention, he’s sure that Peter would be helping him even if there wasn’t a shit-ton of sexual tension filling up any room they find themselves in.
“Well, I guess it is better if he’s the one making inquiries.” Noah pats Stiles on the shoulder twice. “I’m heading to bed and going in early, so I’ll see you after, at the game.”
“Right, the game,” Stiles nods and tries not to think about it.
“Is this our first official out-and-about date?” Peter asks when he realizes why there are several parents and grandparents giving them over-the-shoulder looks. Most of them just look gleeful at having something new to gossip about. He grabbed Chris’ hand while walking off the parking lot, because he felt like it and now he wonders if he should’ve considered the attention they would get.
Chris doesn’t seem put off by it at least, pulls him in closer and plants a quick kiss on his mouth, right in view of everyone. Peter’s already smirking when Chris pulls back and the smirk widens into a sneer when he sees a few of the parents tugging their younger children away, giving the two men accusing looks as if they’ve done something wrong.
“It is,” Chris says, sounding smug.
“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking something stupid like you’ve tamed the beast,” Peter drawls out the last words sarcastically.
Chris shoots him a look of genuine confusion, “I don’t want to tame you.”
Of course he would take banter and turn it into a sincere conversation, Peter sighs in his head.
He releases him to slide his hand into Chris’ back pocket instead, squeezing as much as the fabric allows.
“Of course you don’t, you like me wild,” Peter leers at him.
Chris’ eyebrows have risen high but again, he doesn’t protest, wraps his arm around Peter’s shoulders and that’s how they walk to the bleachers and meet Noah.
The way the man squints at them incredulously reminds Peter of Stiles, for the first time noticing the father-son resemblance.
“You’re, uh,” Noah clears his throat awkwardly, and then gestures and then looks like he’s begging for help with his eyes. Specifically begging Chris, who pulls away from Peter, as much as he can with Peter’s hand still firmly tucked away in his jeans.
“Together,” Chris supplies the word Noah is desperately looking for.
“Since when?” Noah asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s new,” Peter interjects, finally pulling his hand out since the angle is just uncomfortable now.
“Oh,” Noah nods. “Uh, that’s nice.”
Peter snorts quietly.
Chris pats the Sheriff on the shoulder and asks, “Where we sitting?”
“Oh, right,” Noah looks relieved at the subject change, “The kids are all over there, they saved us seats.” He points towards the bleachers he was heading for before he saw the couple. Because that’s what they are in everyone’s eyes now, Peter realizes. A tiny, smaller than he would’ve thought, part of him rebels at the idea.
“Let’s go,” Chris gestures for Noah to lead the way. “Everything okay?” He asks Peter quietly as they follow, pushing past people.
“I’m… adjusting,” he admits, glaring at some of the people who he can hear saying not-so-nice things about Chris.
“When was the last time you went on a date?”
“In high school.”
Chris pauses, sending him a quick smile.
“Same for me.”
“What a pair we make,” Peter drawls dryly.
“Hey, dad!” Allison waves at them and gestures at the empty space next to her. Noah goes on to sit next to Derek, clapping the young man on the shoulder as a greeting. Peter notes the softening in Derek’s expression at the touch. He’s slightly baffled at how much both Laura and Derek have grown to like the Sheriff in such a short time. But he knows there’s also some history there, Laura met Deputy Stilinski before the fire and Derek met him the night of, while he was waiting for his sisters at the station. Whatever Noah did or said, it left a lasting impression on them both, which means Laura and Derek are now pissed off at him for daring to go after the Sheriff’s son, which will probably cause a lot of tension.
And now Noah also knows that he and Chris are a couple. Which is going to complicate things further.
“Oh wow, Chris and Peter are out on a date, I think,” Scott says, staring over his shoulder.
“What?” Stiles yelps and turns around wildly, his eyes searching for familiar faces. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, watching as Peter whispers something into Chris’ ear which causes the other man to grin. And then Stiles’ brain screeches to a halt because Chris turns to give Peter a playful kiss on the mouth.
He turns back around on the bench, eyes wide but out of focus as his mind replays that moment over and over again, starts to invent other things to add onto it, like Peter’s hand squeezing down on a thigh like he did with Stiles or Chris pulling back with the intense stern-faced manner that usually gets Stiles all hot and bothered and Stiles actually starts to feel jealous which he shouldn’t since his birthday’s coming up and he’ll get to kiss Peter like that, will get to touch the man and that sends him on a whole other spiral, images attacking his senses at every angle—
“Stiles?” Scott’s voice is high, he sounds concerned. “You okay, buddy?”
“Yup,” Stiles shakes his head, focuses back on the game. The game. Good god, every person he cares about is here tonight to watch him flail around like a dumbass.
The desire fades as nerves take over again.
Half-way through the game he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. He hasn’t embarrassed himself because he’s never even gotten the ball, Scott and Jackson pretty much doing everything by themselves, scoring goals like madmen. Scott keeps doing flips and Stiles actually pulls him aside after the fourth one and tells him that normal humans would be pretty exhausted by now so maybe he should stop. Scott sheepishly agrees and from then on moves like a normal high school athlete and not a parkour enthusiast.
During halftime, the Coach is ecstatic and keeps shaking Jackson by the shoulders, yelling, “Now this is teamwork, Whittemore, keep it up!”
Even Stiles grudgingly admits that once Jackson realized his best chance at winning was to work with Scott and not against him, they’ve been an unstoppable team. He feels a little unneeded.
You’re optional— oh hell no, he’s not letting Blake’s voice back into his head right now.
The second half starts out very different. The other team is now swarming around Jackson and Scott, obviously having figured out that their two powerhouses are the reason they’re winning. Three players try to steal the ball from Jackson at the same time and one of them succeeds, immediately taking off in a run and gets a goal against Danny who after a very boring first half, is caught off guard.
He wakes up after that and catches quite a few shots before they can get into his goal but because their opponents are now relentless in their pursuit of the ball and in keeping Scott and Jackson away from it, almost interfering a few times (Stiles is pretty sure one of those times was an actual penalty-worthy interference, but the referee missed it), he does miss some. Enough to have the score even as the last quarter begins.
Coach calls for a time out when they have a minute left.
“Jesus Christ on a stick, what the hell happened? It’s like a totally different game now!”
“They’re focusing on me and McCall, we can’t do anything,” Jackson pants, looking furious.
Scott glances at Stiles, who knows that if his friend wasn’t worried about control so much, he’d probably break free easily.
“Well there’s a whole team standing in front of me, what are the rest of you doing?!”
“Trying to not get hit in the face with a stick,” Stiles says sincerely. He presses his mouth shut at the unhinged glare he receives from Finstock.
“You want to go back on the bench, Bilinski?”
“You dragged me back on the team, Coach!”
“I have an idea,” Scott says, staring at Stiles like he’s had an epiphany.
“What?” Coach barks, still glaring at Stiles.
“We get the ball to Stiles.”
“What?” Jackson barks, eerily resembling Finstock.
“Didn’t you notice? Stiles is the only one of us who’s always open!”
“That’s because I’m useless,” Stiles points out, squinting at his friend.
“No, you just have to run. And if you don’t think you can get the goal, me and Jackson will try to get free so you can pass to one of us!” Scott looks excited now. Stiles sighs, resigned because he’s weak against an excited Scott.
“Fine,” he says, nerves taking over once more as it hits him that the chance of winning now hinges on him not being a clumsy maniac.
“If you mess this up,” Jackson growls at him.
“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this,” Stiles puts his helmet back on to hide his panic.
“Scott’s doing pretty good,” Chris muses.
“No, he’s showing off,” Derek turns to snap at him.
“Now, now,” Peter nudges his nephew with his foot. “I remember a certain someone showing off whenever he was on a basketball court.”
“Things were different back then,” Derek mumbles grouchily.
“They were,” Allison says, leaning down to put a hand on Derek’s shoulder as she continues, “Now we know exactly who the hunters are and what they’re capable of. Scott’s control has gotten really good, admit it.”
Chris turns his head to look at Allison in surprise, because that sounded a little like a command. On his other side he can feel Peter’s shoulders shake a couple of times.
“Like father, like daughter,” Peter whispers and Chris turns back to raise an eyebrow as a question. “What, you’re going to pretend you haven’t used that tone with me?”
Chris’ mind is immediately taken back in time to Peter’s face hovering over his waist, mouth wet and open-
He has an urge to pull Peter up, take him back to the parking lot and tell him to suck him off right then and there. And he knows that Peter wouldn’t hesitate, would flash his pretty red eyes at him as he swallows him down to the base of his cock, Peter’s throat a tight heat around him-
Peter’s smirking at him, eyes half-lidded.
“Where did you go?” He asks softly enough that the only ones who will hear are the werewolves. Derek, at least, is busy talking to Allison. Chris is too distracted to even pretend to pay attention to the conversation anymore so he leans closer to Peter so he can whisper his answer into his ear.
“The parking lot.”
“Intriguing. And whatever happened at the parking lot?”
Not wanting to bother Cora at least, he just pulls back and reaches up to stroke his thumb across Peter’s lower lip, dragging it down a little.
“I see,” Peter says, voice heavy with meaning.
Maybe they should just go and-
“Coach called a time-out,” Allison notices, standing up.
“Probably to yell at the poor kids,” Noah says. He’s been silent for most of the game, his eyes staying on his son who hasn’t done much.
Chris hopes that Stiles is still having fun.
“Yep, he’s yelling at them,” Cora says, listening in.
Chris glances at Peter to see that familiar far-off look in his eyes which means he’s listening too.
“Now he’s arguing with Stiles,” Cora informs them all.
“What? Why?” Noah asks, sounding affronted.
“Oh, that’s an idea,” Peter says, narrowing his eyes.
“What is?” Allison asks, glancing at all of the werewolves, looking worried.
“They’re going to give the ball to Stiles, so he can score the winning goal,” Cora says.
“Oh no,” Noah sighs.
Jackson gets the ball and swings it at Stiles.
He catches it.
He stares at the ball in his net for a second, feels like the entire world around him stops and goes quiet.
“Run, you idiot!”
Jackson’s shout gets him to move almost automatically. His second of hesitation gave their opponents enough time to realize what’s going on, and they’re already running towards him. Scott manages to get in between him and a player trying to body check him and Jackson’s following on his other side. There’s a guy right ahead of him, waiting and bracing himself but Stiles thinks back to the footwork practice he’s been doing and manages to twirl just in time to catch the guy off guard and run past him.
Now his only obstacle is the goalie.
Stiles takes a second to glance around him as he runs, sees that neither Scott or Jackson has a shot so he takes it instead, aiming for a corner.
The ball goes in.
Stiles gapes at the sight, the referee ends the game and he’s suddenly tackled by someone. He takes a half-swing at the body on top of him before he realizes it’s Scott, his grin bright and obvious, even through the headgear.
“I knew you could do it!”
Stiles feels excitement funnel through him and he yells, no words, just happiness.
“Get up you two!” Coach orders and grabs them both into a group hug once they’re standing. “I knew I made the right decision bringing you two back in!”
Stiles is grinning so hard his cheeks are starting to hurt, he’s chuckling as Scott hugs him and jumps around at the same time, showing off his strength but neither of them caring. It’s only then that he can hear the cheering and he looks towards the bleachers and sees his dad, arms raised high, clapping and hollering, “That’s my son!”
Fuck, if that doesn’t make him want to cry.
He looks away so he doesn’t and that’s when he notices Jackson standing away from all of them, hugging Lydia, who found a seat as close to the field as possible, probably for this very reason. Stiles watches as she kisses him on the cheek and whispers something into his ear, hands rubbing his neck and his arm. He sees Jackson’s grip on his helmet tighten. He walks over.
“Hey, Jackson!”
Lydia gives him a wild-eyed look of warning but Stiles shrugs and waits for Jackson to acknowledge him.
When he finally pulls away from Lydia and looks at Stiles, he doesn’t seem angry like Stiles expected, just tired.
“What do you want?”
“To say thanks. We couldn’t have done this without you, man,” he steps closer so he can bump his fist against Jackson’s shoulder.
Lydia’s smiling a little but glancing at Jackson with concern.
“Of course not. This team’s nothing without me,” Jackson says but without his usual heat, without the arrogance.
Stiles frowns, wondering what’s going on in the other’s head when the team runs over and swarms them. Danny’s hugging Jackson close and pressing their heads together and that finally makes Jackson crack a smile as well.
“Beautiful teamwork and for your exceptional skill and brilliant suggestion, I’m making you Captain, McCall!”
The team grows quiet at Coach’s declaration.
“What?” Jackson snaps, jaw clenched hard.
“Co-Captains, Whittemore!” Finstock waves a hand at the furious teenager and then pulls a shocked Scott to stand next to Jackson, clasping them both on the shoulders and shaking them a little. “Co-Captains, now everybody cheer!” He turns to yell at the rest, confused by the silence.
Stiles cheers first and the rest awkwardly follow. Jackson’s glaring daggers at Scott, who looks happy but pale.
Lydia’s concern is even more obvious now.
“Stiles!”
All thoughts about what’s up with Jackson fade from his mind as he turns around and gets hugged tight by his dad.
“You did great, kiddo,” Noah says, patting him on the back.
He’ll probably never get tired of hearing his dad say something like that, with so much pride in his voice. Especially now, when it’s been a while since he last heard it.
He presses his face against his dad’s shoulder and grips him tighter, never wanting this moment to end.
Peter and his pack are still on the bleachers, all of the werewolves listening in on the celebrating and passing on what's being said. When Allison hears about the Co-Captaincy, she yells in excitement and quickly runs off to congratulate her boyfriend.
He’s listening in on Stiles and Noah, smiling at the way they keep patting each other on the back, not wanting to let go. For the first time he considers if him and Stiles will create a rift between son and dad, and he hopes not. Because it’s not enough to deter him from getting what he wants.
Chris’ phone rings and Peter’s attention is drawn back to the man sitting next to him.
The deep frown when Chris answers isn’t a good sign and neither is the voice that Peter can hear on the other end of the call.
“Yes?”
“Araya’s men are dead. Did you know what they were planning?” Victoria sounds angry, out of breath almost.
“No,” Chris says simply and Peter can hear the lie.
“I don’t believe you. Gerard’s angry now and he’s pushing up his timeline. You could’ve prevented this.”
“Prevented what, exactly? Pushing up means he was going to do it anyway, just later. I’m tired of looking around corners, wondering when he’s going to make his move.”
“You say that now,” Victoria laughs harshly. Peter thinks he can pick up a bit of panic there. “I don’t…” Victoria hesitates.
“It’s not too late to switch sides,” Chris tells her and ignores the pointed glare Peter sends his way because in Peter’s eyes, it very much is.
“He’d kill me so what’s the point?” Victoria says, sounding defeated.
“We can protect you.”
“We can, but we won’t,” Peter says, gets ignored again. He looks to the side and sees both Cora and Derek observing him and Chris closely. Derek’s brows are almost connected, he’s frowning so hard. Cora looks afraid.
“The Hales won’t protect me and you’re useless,” she says harshly. “I don’t even know why I called.”
“What is he planning? What’s he going to do about Allison?” Chris asks, frustration causing his voice to deepen, to get louder. A few of the people around them give Chris wary looks.
“He promised me that he won’t hurt her. But we both know that he can work around that promise.” She hangs up.
“God, I hate her,” Cora mutters, getting up and walking away. Derek follows.
“I need to get back home. I have to call Araya.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No, you’re welcome to come over later, though,” he leans in for a quick kiss.
“I’ll never say no to that offer,” Peter says and grabs him by the front of his jacket to pull him back into a real kiss, slips his tongue between Chris’ lips to make it wet and noisy. Chris moans a little at the back of his throat, causing Peter’s ever-present desire to push the man down and take his time enjoying the taste and feel of his skin to skyrocket.
“Excuse me, there are children here!” A young mother’s shrill voice interrupts them and Peter grunts as Chris stands, walking away after a quick wave.
He turns to find the owner of that voice and sees a blonde twenty-something glaring at him a few rows down. There’s a small child sitting next to her, mouth open in shock as she stares straight at Peter.
He ignores the mother and leans down to tell the child, “Your mom’s an asshole. Remember that word and repeat it often,” he gives her his best, most charming smile and is rewarded with childish glees.
“Mom’s an asshole!”
“Perfect.”
“How dare you-”
He doesn’t stay to hear her rant, gets up to follow Cora and Derek instead.
The diner is loud as half the team, their friends and family crowd in and take over the place. Stiles, Scott and Allison sit on one side of a booth while Peter, Derek and Cora sit on the other. Noah went to the Sheriff’s Station, to check up on how Laura’s doing. And apparently Chris went off to deal with a hunter emergency. Allison considered going too, but Peter assured her that her dad can handle this one on his own.
They eat their fries and burgers with gusto, Stiles and Scott especially feeling ravenous. They talk about the game, Cora complimenting Scott on his control (while Derek scowls in disbelief) and Allison in awe of the last minute of the game (”I didn’t know you could run that fast and that far without tripping, not once!” “I didn’t either!”) and Peter leans in to say that Stiles looks good in red, which Stiles at first tries to laugh off awkwardly but as he glances at the uncomfortable or smirking faces around the table, he realizes that everyone here already knows about their plans.
So he leans in too, their faces closer than they’ve been in a while, and says, “Noted. Maybe I’ll wear red next week.”
Peter’s expression grows intense, gaze flickering all over Stiles’ face.
“Ack, gross, please,” Cora gags.
“I concur,” Derek drawls, looking done.
Stiles leans back, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief at this whole situation, at the people he’s currently sharing a booth with. A pack, his pack. And their Alpha, who he’ll get to kiss with much enthusiasm next week, because next week is his birthday.
And he has a feeling that Peter Hale’s going to be the best birthday present he’s ever gotten.
On Saturday, Lydia comes over for another chatting session with Callum.
“He’s starting to ask a lot of details about you, specifically your age and appearance,” she says, while typing away. “I think he has a little crush.”
“You’re talking to him more than I am, so if he’s crushing on anyone, it’s you. Also, don’t tell him anything about me,” Stiles frowns at her over his textbook. He’s slouched back on his desk chair and she’s comfortably set up on his bed again, back against the wall.
“He thinks you’re a twenty-year-old college student, that’s all I’ve given him.”
“Okay, good.”
“Also, you have a nine-inch penis.”
“What!?” Stiles squawks, losing his grip on his book and fumbling to catch it.
“Just kidding,” she smirks, not looking up from the screen. “Speaking of penises.”
“Oh, that is not a good start,” Stiles puts his book aside, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Are you fully prepared to take one up the butt?” Her tone is matter-of-fact, completely at odds with the words coming out of her mouth.
“Oh my god, you did not just ask me that,” Stiles pushes his chair back until he hits his desk, wanting to get more distance between them. “Also, what is with you today? You’re not usually so… crude. That’s my thing.”
Lydia looks up in thought.
“I guess it is, isn’t it. Well, when it comes to sex, I’m the experienced one in this friendship, so I thought it was my duty to make sure you’re ready.”
“The internet has been a very reliable resource on all matters pertaining to sex, I assure you,” he chuckles awkwardly, holding his hands in the air in a please stop gesture.
Lydia seems unimpressed.
“Porn is never a good guide on how to have sex, Stiles.”
“I read too!” He protests loudly.
“What, Stony fanfiction?”
Stiles gasps dramatically, “How do you know about that, I haven’t told anyone-”
“You have some bookmarked on your browser. For a genius, you’re really dumb sometimes.”
“Genius? I’m not the genius here, you’re the genius!” Stiles desperately tries to change the subject.
“Pot, kettle, anyway,” Lydia continues, putting the laptop away. “Did you like my birthday present last year?”
Stiles’ eyes go so wide he’s afraid they’re going to pop out. He mouths a few words silently, before settling on, “You mean the-the-”
“The butt plug.”
“This conversation can’t be really happening.”
Lydia sighs, “It’s happening. Did you like it?”
“I never used it!”
“What?” Now she looks angry. Why does she look angry!?
“I hid it in the back of my closet!”
“Why!?”
“It was a funny joke gift but I was also mortified that my dad was going to find it!”
“Why would you think it’s a joke gift?” Lydia asks, looking baffled.
“Because who gives their friend a butt plug!?”
“A person who is trying to be supportive of their friend’s sexuality?”
That makes him pause, “That’s sweet, but wait, no, it’s still weird!”
“I’m a banshee, Stiles, my entire existence is weird. Now, have you experimented with fingers at least?”
Stiles sticks his fingers into his ears and closes his eyes, “No, nope, not having the anal sex talk with my former crush, Lydia Martin!” She stomps over to him and pulls his hands away.
“Who else are you going to talk to about this?”
“Wait, have you-” Stiles starts to squint at her questioningly but quickly snatches his hands away and shakes his head as he stands up, “No, don’t answer-”
“Yes, I have.”
“Ack!” Stiles scrubs his hands over his eyes, trying to push away the mental images, because those images have Jackson in them.
“And I didn’t like it, which is why I wanted to talk to you about this,” Lydia crosses her arms over her chest.
“I’m aware that not everybody likes it,” Stiles says slowly. “Also, pretty sure you don’t have a prostate,” he mutters and then feels himself blush.
“So you’ve tried it with fingers?”
“Yes, god, stop!” Stiles grabs her by the shoulders and locks eyes with her as he says, “I’ve done enough to be pretty sure about the fact that I will like whatever Peter wants to do to me, okay?”
“Whatever he wants to do?” Lydia asks, eyes going sharp.
“No, not in that way,” Stiles waves away her concern. “Even if I don’t like something, Peter will stop and we’ll do something else. There is absolutely no need for this mildly-traumatic conversation, Lydia!”
“Okay, fine,” she pouts a little. “I was just trying to help.”
“And I get that,” he nods at her. “But I’m good.”
As they settle back in, there’s a lingering awkwardness in the air and Stiles avoids Lydia’s eyes. He can’t help but glance towards his closet a couple of times because now he can’t get the idea out of his mind. He’d completely forgotten about the box he hid there a year ago, back then he was already losing interest in jerking off, let alone anything experimental.
But now he can’t help but think, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a go.
It’s Saturday evening and Peter is once again in the process of an act he finds annoying as hell—cooking.
Lydia is back in the living room, taking a nap. And Stiles is sitting on the other side of the kitchen island, pretending to read.
He can sense the other’s eyes on him, can scent the faint arousal that hints at what Stiles might be thinking about. If he didn’t have such a lovely, fulfilling night at Chris’, Stiles’ interest might frustrate him a little. But since he did, it only amuses.
But when he turns to grab the chopped up garlic, he catches Stiles’ eyes focusing on Peter’s crotch, a thoughtful frown on his face as he chews on the end of his pen.
He smirks, anticipating an interesting conversation as he pulls Stiles out of his thoughts by stepping closer and hiding his crotch from view.
“What’s on your mind?” He places his hands on the counter and cocks his head expectantly.
Stiles looks up at him and then surprises Peter by boldly saying, “You.”
“I see. Anything specific?” Peter glances down towards his waist pointedly.
Stiles clears his throat, “I’m just going to be obvious about this desperate topic change, have you managed to look into any of my mom’s relatives?”
Peter goes back to the stove, a little disappointed.
“Sadly, I have no news for you.”
“Oh.”
“I’m having trouble establishing new contacts since I used to do that by actually traveling around and meeting people.”
“New contacts?”
Peter adds the garlic and stirs.
“I’m not exactly getting along with my old ones.”
“How come?”
“They’re all pretentious dickheads who think my family is the cause of all of their problems.” When he glances over at Stiles, he catches the annoyed grimace.
“Seriously?”
“Laura insists that they’re all just grieving and afraid but I call bullshit.”
“I agree with you,” Stiles mutters and Peter gives him a small smile. “So, the names were no help, but what about a phone number?”
Peter takes the food off the heat so he can go over and focus fully on the conversation.
“A number that you haven’t called?” He asks, looking down at the paper that Stiles slides towards him.
“Dad’s… worried about what we might uncover or get ourselves into if we pull on this thread. And I guess, I’m getting worried too. Mom didn’t know, but what if there is something going on with her bloodline, my bloodline?”
“Then we’ll have a better understanding of the problem at hand and that might help us find a solution.”
Stiles looks up at him, unconvinced.
“Or what if we just dig up more horrible stuff to deal with?”
“Do you want me to call? Whose number is it, anyway?”
“Kalina’s daughter. Which makes her something like, my first cousin once removed, I guess.”
“Shall I?” Peter asks and pulls out his phone, waiting.
Stiles frowns, looking conflicted.
“Maybe… after my birthday?” He bites down on his lower lip, eyes down on the number.
Peter can take a pretty good guess as to what Stiles is thinking about right now. Most likely he wants to have something good, something nice, and not have it surrounded by anything Nemeton-related. And this phone call might be a dead end, or it might be a beginning.
“Alright,” he agrees easily and puts his phone away. He looks up as Lydia walks into the kitchen, yawning.
“Speaking of your birthday, how are we celebrating it?” She slumps over Stiles’ back, arms going around his shoulders in a loose hug.
“Since we have school the next day, I was thinking something not alcohol-related,” Stiles says and gives a very obvious look to Peter.
“You’re right in thinking that I won’t have sex with you if you’re drunk,” he says, smirking.
“If you did, I’d cut your balls off,” Lydia says sweetly.
“They’d grow back,” Peter shrugs at her.
“Really?” Stiles’ mouth falls open, always so gullible when it comes to the supernatural.
“No,” Peter grins. “Although, to be fair, I haven’t tried.”
“An experiment, I like it,” Lydia bats her eyelashes.
“No one’s cutting off anything,” Stiles pushes her arms away from him and stands up. “How about we hang out here after school? Get some cake, nothing fancy.”
“So you don’t have to go through the trouble of having to travel for your hook-up,” Lydia says dryly.
Stiles blushes but says, “Exactly. If that’s okay?” He looks at Peter hopefully.
And oh, Peter has a fear that he won’t be able to say no to him, ever.
“Tell me your favorite cake, I’ll have Laura bake it for you.”
“You doing okay?” Stiles asks Scott as they walk along a trail in the woods. He switches his grip on his staff to a more comfortable one.
“Yeah, Laura was right. It gets easier.” Scott rubs at his chest. “I can feel the moon coming, but it’s… good. Energy and power.”
“Full moon sex must be amazing, huh?” Stiles cackles as he dodges Scott’s purposefully-slow punch.
“Oh you have no idea,” Cora pipes up from behind them. “Or well. You might get an idea soon, I guess,” she winces. “Why did I go there?”
Stiles sticks his tongue out at her over his shoulder.
“Careful where you point that thing,” Peter says, walking beside Cora.
“Ugh,” Cora shudders at whatever image just passed through her mind.
“Seconded!” Derek yells from the front, where he’s leading the way with Laura.
“Would you stop randomly remembering how to use your words just to express your disgust at my future sex life?” Stiles yells back at him.
“It’s not yours I find disgusting, Stiles, it’s my uncle’s.”
Stiles feels slightly abashed.
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“Kids, get into formation, we’re here!”
They reach the clearing around the old Hale house. Stiles sees Chris waving with an unfairly handsome smile on his face, stubble-game strong. He’s standing off near the tree-line with Allison and Lydia, who are already diligently practicing, this time with crossbows.
Laura turns to all of them and deflates.
“I said get into formation, guys!”
“What formation?” Scott asks carefully, obviously afraid that he’s missed something. Derek and Cora are their usual annoyed selves. Sometimes Stiles wonders at the fact that they’re not twins, or that Cora actually mocks Derek for having a permanent scowl stuck on his face when Cora’s own face is permanently bored.
“Never mind,” Laura sighs. “Derek, you can do your thing with Scott. We’re going for a run,” she gestures at Cora. “Come on, sis. Show me what you got,” she taunts and starts running backwards.
Cora rolls her eyes but throws her jacket to the ground and makes sure her ponytail’s tight before she sets off in a mad sprint.
Derek and Scott go off to the side to do their usual control-drills, Scott still needing to learn how to be in full control around the full moon.
Peter stands next to Stiles and asks, “Want to beat me with a stick?”
Stiles stabs at the ground with his staff, sighing melodramatically.
“If I must. I’d rather beat you off.” He blinks innocently at Peter’s raised eyebrow.
“Sadly, that will have to wait. Show me what Mr. Argent has taught you,” he says, smirking.
Stiles proceeds to do just that, only getting two hits in during the whole hour, but not feeling too sad about it because his footwork’s a lot better, easier, and the staff doesn’t feel as awkward in his hands as it did before. Still not as comfortable as a baseball bat, but he’s getting there.
What he enjoys most about their little play-fight, is watching Peter move, with a lot more grace and speed than Scott, and his face never showing anything except single-minded focus. When Stiles hit Scott with the staff, his friend reacted, hissed or grunted or even whined a little. Peter does none of those things, the ugly black bruises the only sign that Stiles’ staff isn’t malfunctioning.
He later asks about that, “Didn’t it hurt?”
“It did,” Peter says and rubs at the side of his jaw, the place where Stiles’ second hit landed.
Peter’s calm composure towards a little pain should not be attractive, there is no reason-
Peter smiles, sharp and wicked and Stiles sighs a little, because yes, fine, he finds it attractive.
“You did good, but sometimes your form was the problem, rather than Peter’s speed,” Chris says, walking up and unaware of the dirty, dirty thoughts going on in Stiles’ head. “Want me show you what you did wrong?"
Stiles stares at the two men, glaring at Peter’s knowing smirk, and silently despairs.
“Sure.”
“Twelve-hundred!?”
Noah looks up from his dinner, “That’s what he said. Parts and labor.”
“There’s no way!”
“I’ll take care of it, kid.”
“Did they say when it’ll be ready?”
“Tomorrow, hopefully. I gave Tucker some extra cash so he’d work late today.”
“On a Sunday? How much did you give him?” Stiles thinks of hospital bills and the stress eats away at him.
“I’ve got it covered, Stiles. This is one thing you don’t have to worry about, okay?”
Stiles waits for his dad to leave for the night shift before he rushes outside to grab his bike and heads for the auto garage.
“This thing doesn't even have a catalytic converter! And yes, I know what a catalytic converter is,” he argues as he follows the mechanic around the garage. Tucker was not happy to see him and now looks even more annoyed.
“Do you know what a 'limited slip differential' is?”
“No…”
"Yeah, it's coming on more like fifteen-hundred,” Tucker says and smiles insincerely.
“I’ll remember this,” Stiles points at him angrily. “You’ve made an enemy today.”
“Oh no,” Tucker drawls sarcastically and walks back to the Jeep, which is up on a hydraulic lift. “If you want me to be done with this by tomorrow like your dad asked, you should stop bothering me.”
Stiles sighs harshly, disappointed at not being able to get the bill lowered like he foolishly hoped he would.
“Fine, I’ll just go home and seethe with impotent rage!”
“You do that,” Tucker says and turns his loud music back on, getting back to work.
On the way to the waiting room, he notices Jackson’s silver Porsche among the other few cars in the garage, waiting for repairs. Wonders if he’s getting overcharged too.
As he closes the door behind him and starts heading towards the exit, he pauses when he realizes his fingers are coated in a sticky substance. He goes back to the door and touches the handle again and yep, it’s covered in it. He sniffs at his fingers, grimacing in fear at what the substance might be but there’s no odor. He tries to turn the door handle again to go and ask Tucker what the hell he was just forced to touch but his fingers won’t curl.
Stiles lifts his hand and stares at it, all of his focus on trying to move his fingers, to make a fist. Nothing. He starts to panic.
He looks up and yelps because through the glass door, he can see a figure crawling down the side of his car, except the figure is definitely a creature, the tail an obvious giveaway.
He numbly pulls out his phone and speed-dials Peter.
“Are werelizards a thing?” He asks as soon as the call gets picked up.
“No,” Peter says.
“You sure? Because I’m looking at one,” Stiles argues as he takes in the very lizard-like being getting its scales all over Stiles’ Jeep. Do lizards shed? Stiles wonders.
“What exactly are you seeing, where are you?” Peter sounds worried now and good, he should be, because Stiles is definitely looking at a half-man, half-lizard, what else could it possibly be!?
“At the Armor Tire and Service Center, it’s got a tail, and scales, and has the noseless Voldemort thing going on,” Stiles adds the last part when the thing turns its head and looks in his direction. Stiles thinks his heart stops at the sight of its face.
“Get out of there, I’m on my way,” Peter says, voice sharp with panic. How nice that Stiles isn’t the only one who’s panicking.
“Wait,” Stiles’ eyes go wide as he sees the creature swoop down and silently do something to the back of Tucker’s neck. The mechanic falls to the floor and doesn’t move. “I think it’s going to kill Tucker!”
“Who? Stiles, get out-”
“No, oh my god,” Stiles presses his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, trying to use his good hand to open the door, because the creature just sliced through the hydraulic line and the Jeep is descending. But his good hand’s no longer good, just as useless as the other one and Stiles gasps as his entire body locks up and his legs stop holding him up. He falls on his stomach, face towards the door and his phone out of sight. Stiles closes his eyes, insides in violent turmoil at the sound of Tucker’s screams as he’s crushed to death.
“Call 911,” he manages to squeeze out, hoping that Peter can still hear him.
Notes:
will say now that matt is not a thing in this fic. there's enough storylines going on in the background without adding him to the mix OTL
Chapter 23: eighteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Peter once spent a full moon with another male werewolf from a visiting pack. It was a night of savagery, of not holding back, of biting and claws, drawing blood and letting the smell of it take over. Peter remembers it fondly.
There are drawbacks to being in a relationship with a human. For one, they’re so damn fragile. Peter sometimes stands in front of a mirror and inspects his forehead, fearing he’s got worry lines setting in deep. Stiles alone could cause them but with Chris’ deranged father in town, he has to deal with twice the concern.
Secondly, even on other nights, Chris tires out faster than him. Peter’s never left unsatisfied, no, but there’s always that lingering thought at the back of his mind, of what sex might be like if he bit down and turned him. And now, their first full moon together, and Peter can tell that after two hours of various positions, of two orgasms for Chris and four for Peter, Chris would rather sleep.
“Do you want me to stop?” He pauses, slides his hands down a sweaty back down to Chris’ ass, grasping a cheek in each hand and forcing himself to keep still.
“I think I need you to,” Chris pants, arms crossed under his head and face tucked into the crook of an elbow. “Starting to hurt,” he admits and Peter immediately pulls out, frowning when the man lets out a hiss.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed right away-”
Chris interrupts him, “I was fully enjoying myself up to this very point. I was just about to tell you.”
“Were you?” Peter asks, doubtful.
Chris turns around to settle down on his back, his expression bemused.
“You don’t think I would tell you if you’re hurting me?”
“I don’t know,” Peter answers honestly and leans over him to press their lips together, lingering for a moment—the overwhelming scent of them all mixed together, their sweat and come affecting him a lot more than he’d like to admit—before flopping over beside him.
“Well, that’s something we need to work on,” Chris says dryly and puts a hand behind his head, arm stretched out and muscles taut. Sex is obviously still very much on Peter’s mind. Chris notices as he glances down when Peter shifts. “Want me to help you with that?” He offers, voice soft and unfairly kind.
“No, I think I’ve had enough orgasms for tonight,” Peter pulls a blanket over his legs, trying to somewhat hide his raging hard-on but the blanket’s thinner than needed for that.
“Not according to your dick,” Chris literally points at it, causing Peter to shoot him a look of wry amusement.
“Unlike most men, I’m not ruled by it,” he proclaims.
“How progressive of you,” Chris smirks. And he looks gorgeous like that, teasing him while covered in bruises Peter’s mouth sucked into his skin.
His phone rings before he can fully consider the fact that it’s not even midnight and he’s yet to feel most of the full moon’s effect. He leans over to grab it from the nightstand, thinking to himself that he’ll probably need to go running with his family.
He smiles when he sees who’s calling and starts to greet him as soon as he answers but Stiles beats him to it.
“Are werelizards a thing?”
“No,” Peter answers immediately, smile turning into a frown. Chris sits up beside him.
“You sure? Because I’m looking at one.” Which is troubling. As is the fact that Stiles sounds a little off.
Peter gets out of bed and starts putting on his clothes one-handed.
“What exactly are you seeing, where are you?” He can hear himself sound as worried as he feels. He sees Chris get out of bed too.
“At the Armor Tire and Service Center, it’s got a tail, and scales, and has the noseless Voldemort thing going on.”
Scared, that’s what he sounds like. Afraid.
“Get out of there, I’m on my way,” Peter snaps, starting to panic now at the thought of Stiles somewhere alone during a full moon and with another creature. He grabs his jacket and exits the bedroom, can hear Chris yelling at him to wait as he follows.
“Wait,” Stiles says softly as Peter runs down the stairs. “I think it’s going to kill Tucker!”
Kill.
“Who?” He asks reflexively but quickly brushes that aside because he really doesn’t care right now, “Stiles, get out-”
“No, oh my god,” Stiles sounds scared for his life. Or for someone else’s life. Either way, Peter is close to a full shift from the knowledge that his packmate is in danger and out of his reach. He hears Stiles gasp and then the sound of the phone hitting the ground.
“Stiles?” He pauses at the door, listening intently, holding up a hand for Chris to stay quiet when the man catches up to him. He can now pick up the music and then the screams.
He rushes out of the door, running to his car while still holding the phone to his ear.
“Stiles, answer me!” He tries again.
“What’s going on?” Chris finally asks.
“Get in,” Peter snaps at him and starts the car..
And then, Stiles’ voice. Sounding far away and strained but alive.
“Call 911.”
Peter speeds off, tires squealing against the asphalt as he changes gears faster than recommended. Chris is holding on to the dashboard for dear life.
“Call the Sheriff, tell him his son is at the Armor Tire and Service Center and is asking for police but there might be a supernatural creature involved,” he tells Chris without taking his eyes off the road or putting his own phone down, desperately listening for any other sign of life from Stiles.
“Shit,” Chris mutters and pulls out his phone.
The lights are still on and the music is blaring when they pull in. Peter gets out and is already through the front door before Chris even has his seatbelt off. When he exits the car, he takes a look around, notes the lack of movement on the street and then heads in. Peter’s crouched over a figure in the waiting room. Chris takes a second to swallow down his fear when he recognizes the clothes.
“He’s paralyzed, I think. I’m taking him to my car,” Peter says firmly and pulls Stiles into his arms. As they pass him by, Chris can see that Stiles’ eyes are open and there are tears spilling out of them. Peter kicks the door open and they’re gone.
Chris steps closer to the entrance into the garage itself and looks through the glass door, sees the blood spread out on the floor.
He pulls out his phone to this time give an official 911 call, to report a dead body.
“The Jeep’s being impounded,” the Sheriff says.
Peter watches from a distance as Stiles stops fiddling with the foil blanket, looking up at his dad in horror.
“Seriously?”
“It’s evidence.”
“…Make sure they wash Tucker off before they return it, I guess,” Stiles grumbles and pulls the blanket closer around him.
“You okay to go home?” Noah asks, glancing towards Peter.
“Yeah, Peter can take me.”
“Okay, kid,” Noah says and clasps Stiles’ shoulder. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“What’s there to talk about, this is just a regular night in Beacon Hills, murder, mayhem and mystery, the triple m-s, m cubed-”
“I think the shock’s setting in now,” Noah says wryly and waves at Peter. “Also don’t use the first m-word so liberally when there are police officers around, alright?”
“You literally arrived with two werewolves, dad.”
“Just go.”
Peter walks closer to the ambulance, nodding at Noah as they pass by each other.
“Where’s Chris?” Stiles asks, the second thing he’s said to Peter after regaining full control over his mouth, the first being ‘Did you call 911?’. He got quiet after that, just staring at the garage and not really responding to his or Chris’ questions. They decided to let him be for a bit and Peter was grateful for the Sheriff’s arrival because that seemed to pull Stiles back into himself.
“In the car, talking to Deaton, he has an idea on what it might be.”
“Oh yeah?” Stiles pushes the blanket off his shoulders. “Come on, pack meeting. With Deaton. Now.”
Peter’s eyebrows quirk up at the demanding tone.
“Don’t you think that I should be the one who-”
“Well, big bad Alpha, are you going to tell me that you’re not calling a pack meeting after an unknown threat has emerged in your territory?”
Peter tilts his head, truly intrigued by the provoking tone. Before he can answer, Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“I know, I know. I was on edge before, how do you think I feel now?”
Peter steps closer to loosely wrap his fingers around Stiles’ wrist.
“No,” Stiles shakes him off. “Let me be mad. Anger’s easier to deal with than…” He pauses, glancing at the garage. “…panic. Anger keeps you moving at least.” He brushes by Peter and heads to his car.
How strange that Stiles has stumbled onto the lesson Peter remembers his own father teaching him. Instead of freezing in terror, find something to be angry about and move.
Pack meeting turns out to be a whoever’s-available meeting, since both Laura and Derek are helping Noah deal with this mess and Lydia’s not answering Stiles’ calls, probably sleeping or maybe doing god-knows-what with Jackson. Scott and Allison are on their way to the pack house and Cora is already there, waiting outside. She hugs him as soon as he’s out of the car.
“Laura called, fucking hell, are you okay? Can’t you go one month without seeing someone die?”
The question startles a chuckle out of him and he grips her tight, “I’m wondering the same thing, believe me.”
“Quite a year you’re having,” Deaton steps closer too, looking worried.
“Yeah, so, you and Chris need to share your idea. I want to know what the hell that was because according to Peter, werelizards aren’t a thing.”
“They’re not,” Deaton says as they all head inside. “Well, depends on your understanding of a werelizard.”
Stiles stares at him.
“Half-man, half-lizard?”
“Then,” Deaton tilts his head a bit, “kind of.”
“What?”
“Anybody want coffee?” Peter asks, already walking towards the kitchen.
“No, thanks, I’d like some information.”
“I’ll take some,” Deaton says, following Peter and leaving Stiles to glare after him, mouth indignantly open.
“Me too,” Chris says but stays with Stiles, placing a hand on his shoulder and locking eyes with him. “You sure you don’t want anything?”
Stiles holds back a sarcastic retort, knowing that everyone is just once again, concerned for his wellbeing and trying to care for him in their own little ways. Cora’s on his other side, holding onto his arm as if she doesn’t want to let him out of her sight.
“I’m sure,” Stiles stresses out slowly. “Can I get the name of the creature please?”
“A kanima,” Deaton says, sitting down onto a kitchen stool, turning his back to Peter, who is staring at the water kettle, waiting for it to boil.
“That’s incredibly rare,” Peter says, frowning.
“Okay, so, are kanimas born or?” Stiles walks to the dining table and takes a seat there, Cora following close behind because she’s still not letting go of his arm. He gives her a quick glance, “Do you think I’m about to run away or something?”
Cora’s look is as dry as they come, “You can’t blame me for wanting to stay by your side right now.”
“To be fair, the two times I’ve actually almost died happened when I was with you and Scott and when I was with Lydia. So, it’s not going somewhere all by myself that’s the issue here,” Stiles says and then turns to Deaton expectantly. “It’s this hellmouth of a town.”
“I’d say we’re quite far off from Sunnydale’s murder rates but I appreciate the reference.” Deaton turns to Peter, “I take mine with cream, I hope you have some?”
“I’m surprised you- wait, I asked you a question!” Stiles points at him accusingly.
“A kanima is a reptilian shapeshifter whose claws secrete a paralytic venom,” Chris takes over, sitting down opposite of Stiles. “And it is not born, it is the result of being bitten by a werecreature. Except the transformation goes wrong… mutates.”
“Sometimes the shape you take reflects the person you are,” Deaton says.
“So this kanima person’s a real snake in human form too?” Cora asks.
“More importantly,” Stiles looks towards Peter who is still innocently focused on making coffee. “Did you bite someone?”
At that, Peter finally turns around and faces them all.
“Of course not,” he narrows his eyes at Stiles. “I can barely handle the pack I’ve already got and newly bitten werewolves are a headache I’m not interested in managing.”
“What about Scott?”
“I didn’t bite Scott. Also, Laura and Derek are managing him, I couldn’t care less,” Peter shrugs and turns back around because the water’s finished boiling.
“Alpha of the year, everybody,” Stiles gestures grandly.
Cora snorts, finally letting go of him so she can slump onto the table, resting her cheek on her palm.
“So, how do we find out who it is?” Cora asks.
“Therein lies the problem,” Deaton says enigmatically and then breathes in deep as Peter pours hot water over freshly ground beans. “That smells very nice, is that dark roast?”
“Yes-”
“You’re killing me here,” Stiles interrupts Peter and ignores the annoyed look the man gives him.
“For a person to transform into a kanima in the first place, there has to be extreme issues with their sense of self-worth and their personal identity,” Deaton finally explains.
Stiles looks at Cora and sees her looking just as lost as he feels. Chris, however, is nodding along.
“How does that affect us finding out who it is?”
“The kanima doesn’t even know who it is,” Deaton explains.
Stiles’ head snaps forward in disbelief, “What?”
“Or to be more exact, the kanima knows and remembers everything the person does. But the person has no idea of the kanima’s existence.”
“There’s a reptile walking around, killing people, and it’s a person who has no idea they’re doing it?” Stiles tries to make sense of this.
“Exactly.”
“But wait, when does it transform? Is it just on the full moon?”
“And that’s the second problem,” Deaton sighs and then accepts the cup that Peter slides over to him. “Thank you,” he says and sips at it. “This is excellent, is this new? Laura hasn’t shared this with me before.”
“It’s her special stash that she likes to keep to herself,” Peter says with a smile before he sips at his own cup.
“Playing another I’m-the-Alpha-now mind-game?” Cora asks wryly.
Stiles can’t believe what he’s hearing. “People, stop talking about the coffee, focus on the thing that killed my mechanic before he got to finish fixing up my Jeep!”
“Oh yeah, the Jeep, wasn’t that-” Cora starts saying but stops for some reason after glancing at Peter. Stiles doesn’t even care about that weirdness and just raises his hands and glares at each of the adults. When it’s Chris’ turn, the man sighs and starts talking.
“Stiles is right, this is serious. Because of its lack of identity, a kanima usually seeks out a master, someone who would wield it as a weapon of vengeance which it sees as its sole purpose. If a master is found, the kanima then carries out that person’s bidding, whatever it is.”
“If there’s no master, the kanima only comes out during the full moon,” Deaton adds mid-sip.
Stiles thinks back on the full moons they’ve had and has a chilling epiphany.
“Last time it was the eclipse. Would it have transformed then?”
Deaton puts his cup down, thinking it over. “No, I don’t think so. The full eclipse happened during the time when a werecreature’s power is at its peak.”
“And before that…” Was Kate. But in between the two was the attack at the school.
He scrambles for his phone and quickly dials the number he personally asked for but has so far never used.
“Who are you calling?” Peter asks with sly curiosity, walking up to Chris and setting down a cup for him. He then casually places a hand on Chris’ shoulder and leans against his chair. Stiles watches all of this and almost admires how easy the closeness seems between the two. They haven’t been together for long but already have this energy around them, like a power couple, the internet-driven part of his brain decides.
“Morrell,” he says and Deaton’s head snaps toward him in surprise.
She finally answers.
“This is way too late for a social call, which you weren’t supposed to use this number for anyway, so this better be an emergency.” She sounds tired and grumpy.
“It is an emergency. We’ve got a kanima. I’m putting you on speaker,” Stiles says and does just that, putting the phone down onto the table.
“Wait, what? On speaker for who?”
“Hi, Marin,” Deaton says loudly, standing up to come closer to the phone.
“Alan,” she says, sounding relieved. “Anyone else?”
“My niece Cora, Chris Argent and me, the Alpha who now has to deal with the mess you left behind,” Peter says.
“Alright, you said there’s a kanima?”
“Yes, and the reason I’m calling you is because I remember you telling Ennis that he bit one more than he was supposed to,” Stiles pauses, feeling everyone’s eyes on him but staring down at his phone as he asks, “You weren’t talking about Lydia, were you? There was a third.” When he glances up, he can see shock in most of their faces. Especially Deaton’s.
“…Yes.”
“How could you not tell me?” Deaton asks, sounding angry, so unlike his usual calm tone that Stiles pushes his chair back a little in surprise.
“I went back to look for him and I couldn’t find anyone. I figured he must’ve rejected the bite, perhaps died in the hospital.” Stiles notes the use of ‘he’.
“You had no way of knowing for sure, no reason not to tell me!”
“I had other things on my mind,” Morrell says. “But I admit now, that I made a mistake.”
“You made several,” Peter corrects her. “I don’t think I’m exaggerating, when I say that the blood spilled tonight is on your hands.”
“The kanima killed someone?”
“Yes, my mechanic,” Stiles says. “But never mind that,” he adds, shrugging at Peter’s raised eyebrows. “You said you went to look for the body. Did Ennis tell you where he bit the guy?”
“Yes, he said it was on the lacrosse field. He was going after Lydia, and the guy got in his way.” Stiles’ brain stutters to a stop and then starts formulating a theory that leaves him feeling cold.
Lydia was meeting Jackson there.
Jackson’s been on edge, even according to his best friend.
Lydia keeps saying there’s something going on with him.
Scott had to use his supernatural strength to hold him back.
Jackson’s Porsche was at the garage.
Jackson wouldn’t know that he’s the kanima. He would have no idea what happened to him.
“Wouldn’t he remember getting bitten by a huge guy with red glowing eyes, though? Wouldn’t he make a big deal of it?” Stiles asks but can already imagine Jackson trying to brush it off, not wanting to sound crazy, or be looked at like a freak.
“People sometimes block out traumatic events or manage to make themselves believe that something else happened,” Deaton muses.
“Or he just doesn’t think anyone would believe him,” Morrell adds.
“The bite would’ve healed,” Deaton says. “And the person who transforms into a kanima wouldn’t get the same enhanced senses like a werewolf, which would be the obvious sign that something strange is going on. Their agility and strength would be improved, but again, nowhere near a werewolf’s.”
Stiles hates that everything seems to be fitting along well with his theory.
“Okay, so… how does one stop a kanima? Or merge it with the person or… basically, how do we save the poor guy who has no idea what his alter ego is doing?”
Deaton doesn’t answer, looks down with a pained frown on his face.
“…Most of the time, the best option is to just kill it,” Morrell says softly.
“But the guy’s innocent,” Cora interjects, straightening up in her seat, looking ready to argue.
“Am I the only person who sees the real threat here?” Peter asks, pulling away from Chris to walk back to the kitchen.
“Which is?” Chris asks with a quirked eyebrow, sliding to sit sideways in his chair so he can keep his eyes on Peter.
“The kanima wants a master. Someone who is looking for revenge. Anyone we think fits the bill?”
“You think Gerard would use the kanima instead of killing it?” Deaton asks, sounding doubtful.
“I don’t know. Chris, would he?” Peter turns to lock eyes with him.
Stiles watches as something passes between the two men, some kind of an understanding.
“He would,” Chris says finally, looking down.
“Does the venom work on other werecreatures too?” Stiles asks fearfully.
“It does,” Deaton says.
“A kanima can leave a werewolf completely helpless with just one tiny scratch,” Morrell adds.
Stiles takes in the way Peter’s staring into space, like he’s remembering something. He feels an urge to go up to him, to comfort in some way except he doesn’t know how.
So he just says, “Well, fuck.”
After Scott and Allison arrive, they get a quick summary and Scott reacts in a similar manner to Cora.
“Dude, you gotta stop running off alone. Call me. I’ll come, okay? In the middle of the night, early morning, doesn’t matter, just…” Scott frowns intensely. “I’m a werewolf, I’m stronger than you. Let me protect you.”
Stiles stares at him for a moment and then a grin takes over his face, “Aw, that’s so sweet, come here,” he pulls Scott in for a hug.
“I’m serious!” Scott cries out stubbornly but returns the hug with no hesitation, patting Stiles on the back.
“I’ll take that into consideration the next time my innate impulsiveness decides to take over.”
Scott just sighs.
Allison appears to be deep in thought and Stiles has a hunch that she’s on the same track as he is, since she and Lydia probably talk about Jackson a lot. If she is, she’s also keeping it quiet. Unless she plans on telling Chris, once they’re out of the Hales’ earshot. Which might not be a bad idea… except, Chris and Peter are now together, together and that might mean he’s not willing to keep secrets from him.
Except it isn’t really a secret until they figure out if Jackson actually is the kanima or not. The whole lacrosse field thing could just be a coincidence. Jackson himself might just be going through family issues or something, buckling under the pressure of senior year and applying to colleges. Stiles might be latching onto the first theory he could think of, he could be letting his bias against the guy affect his reasoning, he really-really does not want Jackson to be the kanima.
Because what if they do end up having to kill him?
He can’t imagine Lydia or Scott ever being okay with that.
And after, if he stays in Peter’s pack, they might hate him for it.
“A kanima… this complicates everything,” Araya mutters.
On the lower part of the screen, Hayden’s looking as serious as Chris has ever seen him.
“If Gerard gets his hands on that thing… Does he know?”
“I’m not telling any of the hunters in town,” Chris assures them.
“And I won’t tell my mom either,” Allison promises, sitting next to him in front of the laptop.
“Except you mentioned an informant at the Sheriff’s station,” Hayden reminds him. “How many people know about Stiles getting paralyzed?”
“Only Peter’s pack and the Sheriff.”
“Could a conversation have been overheard?”
“I don’t think so. Noah showed up with Laura and Derek first and afterwards the story was set up so that Tucker was already dead when Stiles got there.”
“You got lucky this time,” Araya says. “Next full moon, that thing transforms again and goes out hunting, either for a kill or a master. Not much time to find out who it is. Any leads?”
Chris looks at Allison but she’s resolutely staring at the screen.
“We have a few theories. Since it happened at the school and on the lacrosse field, it might be a student or a teacher or someone else who works there.”
“Or a wandering drunk,” Hayden says dryly.
“Always a possibility,” Chris rolls his eyes a little.
“I can’t stress this enough. If you find out who it is, kill it. I’ve dealt with a kanima before and it was one of the deadliest creatures I’ve ever come across and I’ve lived this life longer than any one of you. Forget about the person attached to it, their life was over the second they got bit.” Araya leans in closer to her camera, face severe.
“Is there no way to turn them back? Or to… un-mutate the transformation? They got bit by a werewolf, can’t we make them one somehow?” Allison asks, sounding sad. Chris frowns at her, feeling like his daughter is hiding something from him.
Araya scoffs, leaning back in her chair.
“Fairy tales and bullshit, most of it involves solving the person’s problems with identity or self-worth. How is that achieved? Some texts have said true love,” she chuckles darkly. “Before you get your hopes up, there’s no such thing.”
“Yeah, that does sound like bullshit,” Allison says gloomily.
“Figure out who it is and take care of it. Don’t make me come up there to do your job for you, Argent.” With that, Araya hangs up.
“Sheesh, always has to have the last word, huh?” Hayden asks, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.
“After the failed assassination attempt, she’s been a bit more… curt,” Chris tells him.
Hayden snorts.
“I see no change in her whatsoever. Anyway, I’m going to bed. But before I go, after you told me about that darach, I’ve been keeping a close eye on the news about dead bodies specifically, and also have my contacts looking out for anything weird. So far, no ritualistic killings, that I’m aware of.”
“She must be keeping a low profile then,” Chris muses.
“Or maybe she’s gone, there’s some areas with powerful magical energies way north from here. Nothing like a Nemeton, of course… Why would she come here?”
“You have a pretty big supernatural community there. Maybe she’s meeting someone?” Allison suggests and the idea has merit.
“Could be. We know that she went to find someone. Maybe she’s looking into leads just like we are,” Chris nods.
“Except our only lead is in Wisconsin, not in Canada,” Allison points out.
“I have a feeling that Blake knows a lot more than we do,” Chris sighs.
“Yeah, well, I’m out. Good night!” Hayden ends the video call.
“Want to tell me who you think it is?”
Allison looks surprised and a little bit scared.
“…Not if you’re going straight to Peter.”
That makes him pause and consider the reasoning behind her hesitation.
“You want to protect this person?”
“He’s done nothing to deserve this,” Allison’s eyes beg him.
“You know him well?”
“Someone from school,” she confirms.
“God damn it,” Chris closes his eyes, having foolishly hoped for at least an adult, maybe even a sketchy one. But no such luck in Beacon Hills, where Stiles and Lydia get dragged into planning a murder, Scott gets bitten, his entire life forever changed and Allison has to deal with their family legacy. This town and especially the high school seem like magnets for things like this.
And he’s starting to feel useless.
“I’m not saying who I think it is… I have an idea for next full moon, that might help us find out for sure-”
“That might be too late.”
“He’s done nothing to deserve this, dad,” she repeats slowly, frowning at him.
“I know,” he snaps and immediately calms himself down. “I know,” he repeats, softer. “But you have to realize, it might be one life for many. What if next full moon he goes after other kids? Until he finds himself a master, the kanima still considers itself a weapon of vengeance and uses the person’s grievances as motivation for its kills.”
“I get it,” Allison says, glaring at him. “But you have to let me try this my way first.”
“If Peter figures this out on his own, I’m not going to stand in his way,” Chris tells her. The look of hurt that passes over her face makes him almost regret his words, but he does mean them. Just like Araya, he can see the real danger for absolute carnage here, even without Gerard ever finding out about the kanima’s existence.
“Fine,” she mutters and stands up to walk away, leaving him alone in the kitchen, surrounded by silence.
He wishes that Peter had come back home with him.
“Will there be any trace of the venom in the body? What about on the door? That’s where Stiles got it from, right?”
Peter gives Laura a sidelong glance. She’s all keyed up, having visited her first official crime scene as an officer, a Deputy. She’s still in her work uniform, and her hand is on her belt, resting like it belongs there.
“No, the venom dissipates from surfaces a few hours after it’s secreted. And it dissolves in the body.”
“Convenient,” Laura quirks an eyebrow.
It’s almost one a.m. now and they’re in the woods, waiting for Derek to return.
“That’s one thing to be grateful for, at least,” Peter says dryly.
“Stiles looked pretty bummed out, I really wanted to give him a hug. But I feared that would’ve been unprofessional of me.”
Peter remembers the tears he wiped away from Stiles’ cheeks while he was still paralyzed.
“He may be nearing a breaking point.”
“And what would that look like for him?”
Let me be mad. Anger’s easier to deal with than…
“I’d rather not find out.”
They both go quiet when they hear and sense Derek walking back.
“No talk or mention of the garage or a new creature or anything. I’m pretty sure Gerard was sound asleep upstairs,” he says.
“Well, seems like we have one less thing to worry about.”
“And a dozen others left,” Laura yawns loudly. “I’m in need of either sleep or lots of coffee.”
“We should all get some sleep. Seems like November’s following the trend of monthly escalation,” Peter says and turns around, leading the way back home.
Stiles doesn’t sleep that night.
Every time he lets himself fully relax and go still, closes his eyes and feels the sleepiness cloud over, sinking deeper into the quiet, he panics. He sits up and moves, says something out loud, proves to his brain that he’s not paralyzed.
A few hours before he’s supposed to wake up anyway, he gives up and does some reading for school. When Lydia comes to pick him up, he can barely keep his eyes open.
“I need to talk to you about something,” Stiles tells Lydia as he catches up with her after school.
“Not you too,” she rolls her eyes.
“What?”
She looks around, grabs him by the arm and pulls him into a nearby bathroom. A girls’ bathroom.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be in here,” Stiles stammers, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the door, paranoid that someone’s going to walk in after them.
Lydia’s pushing the stall doors open one by one, all of them unoccupied. Satisfied, she turns around to give him a look of exasperation.
“I think I’d know if my boyfriend’s a lizardman.”
Stiles scratches the back of his head.
“Allison told you? Also, we’re going with werelizard.”
“Yes. And I thought the official name was a kanima?”
“Deaton literally didn’t give me a straight answer if kanima’s a werelizard or not. In my opinion, if a person gets bitten by a werecreature and they become a reptilian nightmare, I’d call that person a werelizard.”
“Whatever you’d call it, Jackson isn’t one.”
“Did Allison tell you about all of the signs pointing to him?”
“She did.”
“Okay,” Stiles drawls, squinting at her in frustration. “Don’t you think there’s a huge possibility that he-”
“I’ll stay with him the next full moon, me and Allison already decided that. And then after that I can tell all of you ‘I told you so’.”
“But if he is the kanima, then it’ll be too late by then. He’ll kill again.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Lydia tilts her head at him, eyes bright with anger. “Kill him first?”
“I don’t want to kill him, Lydia,” Stiles sighs, dragging a hand over his face.
“You’ve never liked him.”
“I hate him,” Stiles stresses out and steps closer to her. “But Lyds, that doesn’t mean I think he deserves to die. He has no idea this is happening to him, he has no control. Don’t you think I can empathize a little with that?”
“Why are you talking as if it is him?” Lydia looks away.
“You’re smarter than me. If Allison gave you all of the facts then you have to see that it all fits.”
When she looks back at him, her eyes are welling up.
“He’s adopted.”
“What?”
“His real parents died in a car crash and he hates his dad and keeps thinking about what his life might’ve been like if his real dad was still alive, what he might be like.”
“That sounds like someone who’d turn into a kanima if bitten by a werewolf,” Stiles points out.
“I know,” she groans frustratedly. “But we can’t kill Jackson, Stiles. That can’t be the outcome. I won’t accept it just like I won’t accept you being the Nemeton’s for the rest of your life. This is just-” she covers her face with her hands.
“We’ll figure something out,” Stiles pulls her in for a hug. “We just have to keep an eye on him in the meantime.”
“You can’t tell Peter.”
“I know,” he says. “I won’t.”
“They think it’s Jackson,” Cora tells Peter on the phone.
“Lydia’s boyfriend, yes?”
“Yeah… He’s an ass, but he doesn’t deserve to die,” she says carefully.
Peter rolls his eyes at everyone’s low opinion of him.
“There’s not much we can do but I guess… since he has Lydia, we can try the one option that’s mentioned the most often.”
“What is it?”
“Time to see if love really is magic or if it’s just the brain high on oxytocin.”
“A what?” Noah asks during Monday dinner.
“A kanima. A reptilian creature that has venom which can paralyze you, that’s what happened to me. It can also paralyze a werewolf, apparently, so we’re kind of fucked.”
Noah looks like he just aged ten years in five seconds.
“I’m starting to think we should move.”
Stiles snorts into his food. “Honestly, same.”
The night before Tuesday, Stiles sleeps fitfully, waking up often with the sudden feeling that there’s someone in the room with him. There never is.
One of those times, he sleepily googles paranoia and laughs quietly at what he reads. “…feeling like you are being threatened in some way, even if there is no evidence, or very little evidence, that you are.”
But he has been threatened, and hurt and now paralyzed. There are too many killers in the town that he lives in, more than he could count on one hand. His personal nightmare is vacationing somewhere in Canada, planning on coming back.
Graduation seems further away than ever, because he actually has to survive until then.
When Lydia comes to pick him up, he’s groggy and quiet.
“You doing okay?”
“Is anyone in this town?” He yawns so hard, his jaw hurts when he closes his mouth.
“We’re not doing that, we’re not going to wallow,” Lydia tells him. “Let’s focus on something nicer, like the fact that your birthday’s tomorrow.”
“Yay, I can have sex with Peter except I might not be awake to have sex with Peter because my mind is officially fucked,” Stiles says all this in monotone, leaning his forehead against cool glass.
“You’re going to tire yourself out during lacrosse practice, you’re going to go home and read something engaging, not boring, something you want to read. Eventually, the need for sleep should take over. I can also give you some sleeping pills just in case.”
“Where would you get those?”
“From my mom’s medicine cabinet.”
“Of course.”
“So? Are you going to brood or are you going to try?”
“You’re very invested in my sex life,” Stiles drawls and then yawns again.
“I’ve had to listen to you whine and pine, I’m not invested, I’m annoyed. You’re getting laid tomorrow, I swear it.” She pauses, glancing at him. “Only if you really want to, of course.”
“At this point, I will just have to see how tomorrow goes. Right now? Peter could be here, naked, and the best I could probably manage would be a sincere thumbs up. And my thumb would be the only thing up.”
“I’m getting you those pills.”
“Cool,” Stiles closes his eyes for the rest of the ride.
That evening, his dad asks about his plans for his birthday, worried about how much alcohol there will be involved. Stiles can tell that he surprises him when he says there’s going to be no intoxication and no party.
“It’s a school night,” he says innocently, as if that actually matters to him.
“Uh-uh,” Noah narrows his eyes, suspecting.
And it might be the lack of sleep, or his brain not grasping how bad of an idea it is, because in his mind there’s bigger fish to worry about than who the Sheriff’s son is going to hook up with, but either way, he gets the impulse to tell his dad what he’s planning, thinking that it might be better if Noah knows before rather than finding out about it later. At this very moment, Stiles’ tired mind sees this as him being a good son who doesn’t want to keep any more secrets from his dad.
Later, he’ll want to kick himself.
“Speaking of my birthday. I’ll be eighteen,” he says, poking at his food with his fork.
Noah puts his fork down, wipes his mouth with a napkin and waits, wary of what’s coming next.
“Which means, I can have sex with someone older than me and you’re not allowed to arrest them,” Stiles blurts out quickly and then looks up at his dad to see his reaction.
To his surprise, Noah does not look surprised.
“Is this about Derek?”
“What?” Stiles blinks in shock.
“I heard the rumor about you guys and I don’t know, he’s twenty-two and a Deputy, I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with this,” Noah says, wincing sympathetically as if he’s sorry to let Stiles down.
And Stiles wants to laugh because if that’s the reaction to twenty-two, then Oh boy.
But also, “What rumor?”
“That you started dating when he became the school librarian.”
“Oh…” Oh, Stiles realizes as he remembers pretending to be Derek’s boyfriend to get some girls to leave him alone. Those girls apparently didn’t keep that to themselves. “Uh, that’s not who I’m talking about.”
“What? Who then?” Noah frowns at him. “You mostly just hang out with your friends and the Hales… Oh no,” he sighs heavily. “Is it Laura?”
“No, and also I just realized that you had no reaction to me being into dudes.”
“You know I don’t care about that,” Noah looks at him like he’s offended. But then, “So it’s Laura? Stiles-”
“No, it’s not her either. Um, go up,” he points upwards helpfully.
“Up?”
“Age-wise.”
Noah goes completely still.
“Please tell me you’re not talking about Peter.”
“I can’t do that,” Stiles shrugs.
“Stiles,” his dad groans, covering his face with a hand. “Is this a repeat of your crush on Lydia? Of you being delusional and making a five-year plan, even though the person you’re after is already in a relationship?”
“First of all, I take offense at being called delusional. Secondly…” Stiles pauses, starting to realize what a can of worms he’s opened. “Peter and Chris aren’t exclusive. And Chris knows about our plans and is okay with it.”
Noah’s eye twitches.
“Your plans? Your plans as in he has approached you, talked to you about this? And Chris knows?” With every word, Noah’s voice gets louder, until Stiles is wincing at the volume.
“Dad-”
“A thirty-something man is not going to have sex with my son!”
“Okay, let’s break this down-”
“We’re not going to discuss this, there’s no way in hell-”
“Peter was in a coma for six years, those years do not count! So he’s really the same age as Laura-”
“That is not how that works-”
“How would you know? He’s also a werewolf, so unless he gets shot or decapitated or something, he’ll probably outlive me!”
“That’s not the point! You’re at completely different stages of your lives!”
“I’m not talking about marrying the guy, I’m just going to sleep with him!”
“What I don’t get is what he could possibly see in you?”
“Ouch,” Stiles’ head snaps back, feelings a little hurt.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Noah sighs. “I’d never look at Allison or Lydia that way, they’re kids. You’re a kid!”
“A kid who can vote starting from tomorrow.”
“Your brain’s not even-”
“Everyone knows that factoid, dad, and it’s a good fact to know but this situation is a little different from your everyday older-younger couple, don’t you think?”
“Do you know how many young girls I’ve talked to who ended up in abusive-”
“That’s got nothing to do with me! Peter’s my pack, dad. There’s a level of trust there that goes beyond anything I’d have with some other kid my age!”
“Fine, fine,” Noah holds up his hands and breathes in deep. “Explain it to me then. Is this just about the supernatural weirdness going on?”
“I mean that’s how it started, the bond between him and me,” Stiles calms down too, voice going softer. “But now I like him. And I’m very attracted to him. And he feels the same. So he offered-” he sees his dad’s face going red again and he quickly continues, “he offered an opportunity, like an experience, it’s not supposed to be something serious and he’s not expecting anything of me. The ball is entirely in my court, dad. And I can say no to anything at anytime and he’ll understand. Tell me that this doesn’t sound like a better deal than a lot of kids my age get. I know three guys who dropped out of high school because they got their girlfriends pregnant and had to get jobs! I’m not ignoring the age difference and neither is Peter! I just want to have fun, dad.”
Noah opens his mouth.
“And I dare you to tell me that sex is not fun,” Stiles points a finger at him accusingly.
“I am not okay with this,” he shakes his head tiredly.
“I’m not asking you to be. I just wanted there to be no secrets. And isn’t it better that I can talk to you about this stuff?”
Noah looks off to the side.
“I wish your mom was here. I don’t… I don’t know what to do with this,” he gets up and walks out of the house.
Stiles listens for car sounds but when none come, he realizes his dad is either standing there, in the quiet, or has gone for a walk.
He’s now nervous for a multitude of reasons and yet after he’s cleaned up dinner and brushed his teeth, all his brain needs is his head hitting the pillow, a blanket covering him from chin to toe and he finally falls into a deep sleep.
“I think this is the best cheesecake I’ve ever made,” Laura proclaims, turning the cake around and around, examining it from every angle, occasionally touching the tip of her finger to a strawberry, correcting the placement by just a hair.
“It smells so good,” Cora whines, staring at it with big eyes.
“Take one bite of it and feel my wrath,” Peter says, busy writing an email to the only contact of his who not only deigned to reply but also offered to help.
“You’re such a sap for Stiles,” Cora snorts. “But I can’t blame you, he is kind of awesome. Not so sold on Chris yet, though.”
Peter gives her a dry look.
“Trust me, Chris is ‘kind of awesome’ too.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Do you think I should also make sauce? I’ve got extra strawberries…”
“When are you going to sleep?” Cora raises her eyebrows.
“I can sleep after Stiles takes a bite of this and weeps at my feet in gratitude.”
“Setting yourself up for disappointment?” Peter asks, shaking his head.
“I’ll accept a wobbly lip, a whimper or a teary-eyed thank you.”
“As long as you’re being reasonable,” Peter rolls his eyes.
“Happy birthday, kid,” Noah says, holding out a familiar set of keys.
Stiles blinks in surprise, having completely forgotten about his birthday after a sleep that felt eerily like a coma. It was hard to drag himself out of bed but a shower woke him up a little better and now he’s downstairs, his dad’s made breakfast for them and there’s a little carrot cake muffin with a single candle stuck in it, already lit.
And his dad’s giving him the keys to his Jeep.
“It’s clean?” He asks, for one second remembering the sound of Tucker’s screams.
“Yes. And working better than ever. It’s got a new engine and new tires and doesn’t randomly leak anymore or overheat. Windshield’s also better, stronger.”
Stiles looks at the keys, looks at his dad.
“That sounds expensive.”
“It was. Way more than the sum I told you,” Noah gets tired of holding the keys and throws them. Stiles catches them reflexively.
“But- How can we afford-”
“Everybody chipped in,” Noah smiles a little. “Scott gave me some of the money he earned at the Clinic this summer. Allison and Chris gave a few hundred. Lydia gave another. And your pack…” The smile disappears. “Laura said that it’s pack money and that it’s meant for taking care of each other… which is why I agreed to it in the first place. But now I just see it as Peter buying you an expensive gift, since he paid half the total bill. And I don’t feel comfortable with it anymore.”
“Half…” Stiles stares at the keys, getting a little misty-eyed at his friends all supporting him like this. He looks up at his dad. “It’s not like that, whatever you’re thinking. He didn’t pay for this because he expects anything in return. And I don’t feel obligated to… thank him in some weird way. Come on, dad. You know me. I’m not going to do something unless I really want to do it.”
“Just…” Noah grabs him by the shoulder, frowning. “Be careful. And if you ever get scared or confused… you can come to me. I’m not in support of this, whatever it actually is, but… I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thanks, dad. I will.” Stiles tries to swallow down the lump in his throat.
“God,” Noah sighs and smiles, other hand coming up to cradle Stiles’ cheek. “Eighteen… You’ve grown up to be such a smart young man. Also kind of a smartass. Your mom would be proud.” He pulls Stiles in for a clap-on-the-back hug, but Stiles hesitates to return it.
“Even after-”
“Even after everything. She’d be proud. I know it.”
Stiles hugs Noah tight and holds back his tears. Unlike every birthday since his mom passed away, he doesn’t want to cry this year. He wants to feel good, happy.
Before they sat down for a birthday breakfast, Stiles texted Lydia that he got his car back. She sent back that she knows, along with a you’re welcome.
The Jeep does run better than it ever has, it doesn’t make weird loud noises anymore and changing gears doesn’t require a lot of effort like it used to.
While driving to school he remembers the day he got his license and his dad handed over the keys for the first time. Noah said that it was a tough car to take care of but Claudia always wanted to give it to Stiles on his sixteenth birthday so that’s what Noah did.
Now it’s gotten so much changed, upgraded, that it shouldn’t feel like the same car anymore- except, the interior is still the same, the paint, the leather, the smell… Yeah, it’s still his beloved Jeep. Stiles pets the wheel happily after he parks.
Scott, Allison and Lydia are waiting for him by the entrance.
“Happy birthday!” Scott rushes in for a hug that turns into a lift.
“Woah, Scott, woah!”
“Sorry,” Scott says, putting him back down. “Got a bit excited.”
“It’s okay, man,” Stiles chuckles.
“Happy birthday,” Allison comes up to give him a sweet kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, both of you. Dad told me about the Jeep. I can’t thank you enough, really.”
“And me?” Lydia quirks an eyebrow as she moves in for a hug. “Welcome to adulthood,” she says.
“Thank you,” he whispers and holds her close for a moment.
“Hey!” They hear Cora yell from behind and Stiles turns around just in time to clumsily catch her as she throws herself at him.
“Happy birthday! I’m calling dibs on a quarter of the cake Laura made,” she pulls away and helps Stiles regain his balance with a helpful hand around his arm.
“No calling dibs on someone else’s birthday cake,” Lydia glares at her.
“I had to try!”
“Homemade Manhattan cheesecake?” Stiles asks, drool already gathering in his mouth at the thought of such a treat.
“Yep! She also spent half the night making strawberry, raspberry and chocolate sauce. She’s bringing those separate so everyone can choose what they want to put on their piece.”
“Oh my god, she’s a goddess.”
“You better tell her that, she’s expecting you to cry from how delicious it is.”
“I’ll do my best fake cry.”
“I’ll be expecting an Oscar-worthy performance,” Cora says dryly.
“Come on, before cake, we have to survive classes,” Lydia points out and heads into the school.
“And lacrosse practice,” Scott reminds everyone.
“God, that too? This is going to take forever,” Cora sighs.
“Are you five?” Lydia snaps at her.
“No, I’m hungry.”
They start the locker-train, everyone getting their stuff one by one as the others wait.
“Is that like a were- uh,” Stiles coughs, “Hale thing? Needing more food?”
“Yeah, after turning, I’ve been eating a lot more. Mom’s been complaining actually, says I keep emptying the fridge just when she gets it re-stocked,” Scott tells them, looking sheepish.
“Which is why you should come to our house more often,” Cora says. “Laura will happily feed you.”
“I might have to. I think mom’s having trouble with some payments.”
“And yet you still paid for the Jeep? You shouldn’t have,” Stiles says, feeling bad.
“Nah, it was the perfect gift. Also, you need that car. The thought of you going out alone at night on a bicycle? In this town? Makes it seem like you have a death wish.”
“Nope,” Stiles pops the p, shaking his head. “I have a very alive wish right now, considering what I’ve got to look forward to tonight.” He rubs his hands together excitedly, grinning in what he’s sure is his best dopey manner.
“We’re not talking about that,” Cora stresses out in monotone.
“We’re not?” Stiles raises his eyebrows.
“I’m not.”
“Oh yeah, right, uncle. Got it, that’s fair,” Stiles holds up his hands in surrender.
“You’re changing after school, right?” Lydia asks, running her gaze all over Stiles’ clothing and pursing her mouth in judgement.
Stiles looks down at his layers, at his flannel. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Weren’t you supposed to wear red?” She reminds him with a smirk.
“You’re right,” Stiles gasps.
“This is… oddly fascinating,” Allison says, squinting at the two of them.
“Oh yeah, we’re talking about Cora’s uncle and your dad’s…” Stiles gestures at her for help and winces as he says, “…boyfriend? Is that the right word?”
“They don’t even know what the right word is,” Allison sighs. “Peter apparently hates labels and my dad has no idea what he’s doing. Have fun with those two,” she smiles insincerely and walks off to her first class.
“Oh, Stiles would love to have fun with those two,” Lydia mutters, putting her books away.
“Unnecessary,” he narrows his eyes as he points at her accusingly.
During lacrosse practice he can’t help but analyze every single movement that Jackson makes. Was that speed slightly supernatural or was it just the result of Jackson’s life-long athletic training. Did that goal happen because Jackson’s reflexes and strength are a little bit better or is it because the guy has thrown balls into net for years now.
There’s just no way to tell and it bugs the hell out of him. Allison, Lydia and Cora are all on the bleachers, waiting for them and occasionally Stiles looks their way, curious of what they’re up to. Over the course of the entire practice, he sees each of them staring at Jackson at least twice. Even Cora.
Which makes him suspect that another wolfy eavesdropping incident has occurred.
After he showers, he lets Lydia talk him into driving home first to change his clothes. She even comes in with him to tut disapprovingly at his entire closet. Finally, she pulls out a red T-shirt, that Stiles knows is a little tight around his shoulders and arms.
“This one. And no layers.”
“It’s chilly!”
“Wear a jacket.” She nods approvingly once he’s wearing the shirt. “Peter will want to eat you up.”
“…Creepy. Wait, was that a red riding hood reference?”
“Not everything has to be a reference. But yes.”
“This is starting to feel like a date,” he complains while pulling on a windbreaker he rarely uses since most of the time he just uses layers to keep himself warm.
“Starting to?” Lydia asks. “He’s making us dinner and ordered one of his Betas to make you your favorite cake and you plan to have sex with him later. If it’s not a date, it’s definitely date-adjacent.”
“It’s a hook-up,” Stiles corrects her as they walk down the stairs.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
When Peter opens the door for them, Stiles’ brain freezes and he says nothing, stands there with his mouth parted in surprise as Lydia pushes past him to enter the apartment.
It’s not that Peter looks different in any way, he always looks good, but it just hits him that he could technically step up and kiss him right now as a greeting, couldn’t he? Or is that a couple-y thing to do, is that only for Chris and Peter? Okay, Stiles is realizing that he is missing some key info on what his and Peter’s relationship is actually going to be like-
“Happy birthday?” Peter’s frowning at him, but also smiling. “You look good.”
Stiles swallows, clears his throat.
“Yeah, you too.”
“Are you coming in today or?” He gestures for Stiles to get in.
“Right,” Stiles walks in and takes off the jacket, hanging it up. He can hear everybody in the kitchen, Laura’s voice sounding the loudest. When he turns around to bring up the Jeep, he jumps a little because Peter is right there, eyes running over Stiles’ arms and shoulders.
“You wore this for me?” He tilts his head as he looks up, sly amusement clear on his face.
“Maybe, or maybe I like red too,” Stiles shrugs. “Not everything’s about you.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Peter smirks.
“No making out yet!” Comes Laura’s voice from the kitchen. “Food first!”
“We better…” Stiles points awkwardly and then walks away. Peter follows close behind.
“-and I’ve been putting salt in his coffee ever since!” Laura finishes her story with a flourish. They’re all sitting at the table now, Stiles on one end and Peter on the other.
“Which is pointless, because the man hardly notices,” Derek says, rolling his eyes.
“This is Haigh we’re talking about. Instead of salt, go for arsenic,” Stiles tells Laura who snorts.
“I’m not poisoning my co-worker. At least not at the station.”
“Even though he works for Gerard?” Allison asks before sucking her spoon into her mouth to lick it clean.
“Eh, he gives them information about stuff but he doesn’t really get why or what he’s doing,” Laura waves a hand.
“Which doesn’t make him less dangerous,” Derek grumbles. “Just stupid.”
“Do you hate Haigh too?” Stiles leans forward eagerly. “That’s another thing we have in common, man! We’re going to be best friends one day.”
“No.”
“By the way, my dad thought I was dating you.”
“What?” Derek looks shocked and even afraid.
“What?” Peter asks in a much drier tone.
“Yeah, remember when I pretended to be your boyfriend to get those girls off your back? Apparently they started rumors.”
“Is that why Clark’s been glaring at me?” Derek mutters.
“Wait, was your dad okay with you and Derek?” Scott asks, mouth full of food.
“Nope, which of course means that when I told him about me and Peter, he totally freaked out.”
Everyone stares at him in shock.
“You told your dad?” Lydia asks first.
Stiles shrugs, “What was I supposed to do?”
“Keep your sex life secret like every other teenager does?” She gives him a familiar ‘you numbnuts’ look.
“Well, I didn’t want to,” he shrugs. Then he peeks up at Peter and sees the man looking off into space.
“I have this great sense of foreboding,” Peter says. “I’m definitely getting shot again.”
“Eh, you’ll live.”
Peter glares, but the corners of his mouth quirk up and Stiles grins in response.
“Please, can I eat the rest?” Cora suddenly begs, staring at the final pieces of Laura’s amazing cheesecake.
“I mean, sure. It’s not like this is a once-in-a-lifetime cake, right, Laura?”
Laura gives Stiles a sidelong glance.
“I don’t know, your reaction to it was kind of lukewarm.”
“Wait, was I actually supposed to fake cry?” Stiles asks Cora, wide-eyed.
“Of course,” she scoffs, already pulling the cake closer to her so she can finish it.
“We’ll see if I ever forgive you,” Laura stands and starts collecting the dishes. “Come on, guys, let's leave the kids alone for a while. Adults do the cleaning today.”
“But I’m an adult too, now!” Stiles yells, his arms flying up excitedly.
“Sure you are,” Derek bonks him softly on the head as he passes by.
“Ow.”
It’s an hour later and the easy conversation is still going. Allison’s now sharing some cool stories about the supernatural bar that Hayden owns. Laura desperately wants to visit and even Derek’s looking intrigued, while Cora is practically napping on the couch, eyes closed and a satisfied smile on her face. Scott’s pretty much the same, sitting in front of Allison and leaning back against her legs, head resting on her knees and one of her hands gently stroking through his hair.
Stiles looks around at all of them, a bunch of cool, kind people who he’s lucky to be friends with and he smiles to himself. But the smile dims when he looks at the empty space next to Allison.
“I’m going to get some water,” he announces as he stands up. As he walks into the kitchen, he can sense that someone follows. He’s not even surprised when he turns around, after grabbing a bottle from the fridge, to see Peter leaning against the kitchen island, hands on the edge of the counter, arms slightly bent. He’s wearing a soft-looking grey henley shirt today and Stiles takes a moment, as he chugs down a gulp of water, to really appreciate the man’s frame.
“You alright?” Peter asks, his gaze assessing.
“Yeah.” Stiles puts the bottle aside and steps closer to Peter. “Just… feels like there’s someone missing you know? He’s pack too,” he says nervously.
“He is,” Peter agrees and then leans forward to grab Stiles by the hips and pull him even closer. “But he thought it’d be weird for you if he was here today.”
“Ah,” Stiles didn’t even consider the angle of Peter’s significant other (he’s just going to try out different terms until something sticks) hanging around while Stiles stares at Peter and imagines everything he wants to do that body. Probably would’ve thrown him off a bit. “Considerate of him.”
“He usually is,” Peter says and moves his fingers slightly under Stiles’ shirt, fingertips brushing against bare skin. Stiles has never been this aware of the skin around his midriff, feeling like the nerves there have suddenly come alive. “Have you thought about what you want to do today?”
“Oh yeah,” Stiles answers quickly, hands coming up to- He pauses, eyes flying over the shape of the man in front of him.
“Problem?”
“There’s lot of skin and muscle and I don’t know where to start,” Stiles admits.
Peter laughs softly and reaches up to brush his fingers against Stiles’ hovering ones, their palms slowly slotting together as he clasps Stiles’ hands in his own.
“Ooh, handholding,” Stiles murmurs and is amazed at how sensual this simple gesture now seems.
Peter’s head tilts in a way that tells Stiles he’s amused. He realizes he’s beginning to understand the man’s various types of head-tilts and feels a little overwhelmed. Luckily, he gets distracted by Peter leaning in to kiss him.
It’s soft and light at first but when Stiles presses into the kiss and lets out a high-pitched noise from the back of his throat, Peter breathes in sharply and the kiss becomes a source of heat, Peter’s mouth taking Stiles’ in surging movements, a tongue sliding over his lips and leaving them wet and slick and Stiles feels lost in the warmth that envelopes him, his dick growing hard and his hands finally figuring out what they want to do as he shakes them out of Peter’s hold so that he can slide them under the man’s shirt, dragging his palms upwards-
“That’s our cue to leave!” Laura announces from the living room. Stiles pulls back in shock, because he totally forgot that there’s other people in the world, let alone here, listening to them.
“Gross,” Scott says loudly. “I mean, love you bro, see you tomorrow!”
They listen to everyone leaving and Stiles feels hot with desire as Peter’s eyes remain locked onto his face, looking very intense and very attractive.
But then Peter turns around, pulling away from Stiles in the process.
Lydia’s there in the doorway.
“I’m keeping an eye on you, Hale,” she says, giving Peter a cold look.
“Why, I’m flattered, Ms. Martin. But you see…” Peter steps behind Stiles and wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m taken.” Stiles can hear the grin in his voice.
Lydia rolls her eyes, catches Stiles’ gaze and mouths ‘have fun’. Then she leaves, the last one to do so.
“Finally,” Peter breathes out and his voice sounds lower, almost a growl. It makes Stiles shiver.
“Kind of strange that my friends and your family just left knowing that we’re going to have sex…” Stiles muses and is then turned around and pushed back against the counter, their positions now reversed.
“I told you there’s no privacy in a werewolf pack. It’s not strange, it just is what it is,” Peter shrugs and then pauses. “So? What do you want to do?”
Stiles licks his lips and then pulls himself up onto the counter and tugs Peter closer.
“Back in Deaton’s kitchen, I wanted to kiss you so bad, just like this,” he leans forward and presses his mouth against Peter’s, enjoying how Peter quickly takes over, turning his clumsy attempt into a searing pressure, lips catching his, tongue sliding against his mouth, into his mouth, against his own tongue and he surges forward at the sensation, feeling like his tongue has a direct link to his dick. He slides forward desperately and grabs Peter by the hips to try and get some kind of friction.
Peter cradles Stiles’ face in his hands and pulls back, eyes glowing red.
“What do you want, Stiles?”
He can’t believe this is actually happening, it’s like a dream, except no, it’s real because the skin-on-skin, the firmness of Peter’s body, the heat of him, it’s all there and real and Stiles’ brain just kind of stops working. He leans back so he can reach down to his waistband, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Peter’s hands are helping then, pulling his pants off and throwing them away with a flourish.
Stiles is just thinking about touching and getting touched, is looking for a hand on his dick while maybe getting kissed like their life depends on it, so Peter shocks him when he bends over to press his face against Stiles’ boxer briefs, mouth finding and gently moving over the erection underneath.
“Oh my god, are you going to blow me?” He asks eagerly.
Peter shoots him a quick grin before tugging his briefs down just enough so he can tug Stiles’ dick free. And then there’s a mouth around the tip and Stiles’ whole body jerks at the feeling, at the sight, at his brain going holy fucking shit-
“Do you want it fast or slow?” Peter asks, then licks a long line from the tip to the base, nuzzling his nose against the curls there. Stiles’ broken brain sees that and decides to find it endearing.
“Fast, since I’m pretty sure I’m like a hair’s breadth from coming.”
Peter takes that direction to heart, starts bobbing quickly, going down further each time until the head of Stiles’ dick is hitting the back of his throat and the heat, the tightness, Peter’s tongue, the suction and just the knowledge that hey this is happening and it’s happening with a guy who’s hot like burning-
Stiles slumps back onto the kitchen island, his head hanging uncomfortably over the edge as his hips start moving, the angle and the position not right for him to actually accomplish anything other than squirming under the man.
“Fuuuuuck,” he drawls out and then yelps as the pooling warm pressure in him suddenly releases and he comes into Peter’s mouth without warning.
Peter sinks down until his nose is pressed against Stiles’ skin and he grasps the back of Peter’s head, the mind-numbing feeling of being enveloped like this while his dick is still pulsing causing him to groan out loud.
“Holy fucking fuck,” Stiles whispers, shivering a little when Peter pulls back.
He doesn’t get a moment to react to how awesome that just was because suddenly Peter’s climbing on top of him. Correction, he’s pulling Stiles so his head’s no longer off the edge and then he’s climbing on top, and then Stiles’ mouth is covered by Peter’s and they’re kissing, a desperate edge to Peter’s movements that wasn’t there before. Stiles can feel a hard shape rubbing against his groin and he reaches down between them to unbutton, unzip and then push down everything so he can pull out Peter’s dick and the thickness of it in his hand melts his brain.
He pulls away from Peter’s mouth so he can lean to the side, “Wait, let me see it.”
Peter huffs a short laugh, rests one hand beside Stiles’ head and reaches down with the other to slide it over himself, slowly but with pressure.
Stiles watches for a second then locks eyes with Peter, the red burning with an intensity that sends shivers down Stiles’ spine.
He grabs Peter by the back of his neck and pulls him down until their foreheads are pressed together and they’re breathing the same air. Peter’s hand starts moving faster.
“This is a werewolf thing isn’t it? You want to make me smell like you?”
Peter’s grin is sharp, thankfully his teeth are not.
“You should take your shirt off,” he tells Stiles, sounding mischievous.
With a lot of flailing and almost hitting Peter in the nose, Stiles manages to do so and then rests back, eagerly waiting.
“Go on then,” he taunts, grabbing at Peter’s thighs, for a second mesmerized by their firmness, wishing the jeans were fully gone so he could touch skin.
At first, Peter just hovers over him, gaze slowly dragging over Stiles’ face and then his torso, down to Stiles’ softening dick and then moving back up again, all the while moving his hand over himself in strong and sure strokes. Stiles has never thought of the act of jerking off as something incredibly sexy before, since it’s something he does when he’s just desperate to get off, but watching Peter do it while he stares at Stiles with a look of intense awe, is a revelation.
“Are you going to come on me?” Stiles whispers, a sudden boldness taking over him. Peter’s eyes snap to his and he bites down on his lower lip, meaning it as an invitation, which Peter gladly accepts, moving down with a sudden force, grinding himself against Stiles as he kisses him with mind-melting firmness. One of Peter’s hands grabs Stiles’ thigh and pulls it up, giving Stiles a sign of what he wants. He happily wraps his legs around Peter’s back, feet crossed over the man’s ass as Peter starts moving like Stiles imagines he would if they were actually fucking, slow and sensuous but also tight and hard, all the while devouring Stiles’ mouth, tongue claiming ownership of everything it slides over.
Stiles moves his lips away a bit so he can take a much needed deep breath. Without missing a beat, Peter’s mouth presses kisses against his chin, his jaw and he moves down to suck a bruise into his neck.
Stiles grabs at him, hands flying over Peter’s back and neck, feeling overwhelmed but loving every second of it, loving the thought of Peter acting this wildly because of him. It’s a huge ego boost and he’s slightly delirious from it.
“Come on me,” he pants out, one of his hands sliding into Peter’s hair to grab a chunk of it in a tight hold. “Cover me with it, come on,” he whispers and Peter growls, inhuman with its vibrations, terrifying and yet Stiles isn’t scared, in fact, the sound of it makes him start to get hard again.
Peter’s movements become faster, sharper and then he stills, jets of come hitting Stiles’ skin, the first one flying high enough to hit his collarbone.
“Fuck yes,” Stiles breathes out, letting his arms flop down onto the hard surface. He remembers what he’s laying on and lifts his head for a moment to look around. “This is sturdy as hell, didn’t even hear a crack.”
Peter lifts himself up slowly and looks down with human-blue eyes at his come painted all over Stiles’ skin. He touches it, smears it around. Stiles knows that when it dries it’s going to feel disgusting but for now, he enjoys the blown-away look on Peter’s face.
Finally, the man speaks.
“My bed’s sturdier,” he says, with a confident smirk.
“Then what are you waiting for? Take me to it,” Stiles hits him gently with a foot and Peter pulls back swiftly, taking Stiles with him and he understands the intent right away, sitting up to wrap his arms around Peter’s shoulders, tightening his legs around his waist as the man stands up.
“Some other time I want you to fuck me just like this,” he reveals, realizing that a bit of manhandling is definitely something he’s into.
“Making a list?” Peter grins and starts walking towards the bedroom.
“Already have one,” Stiles admits. “Getting a blow job was definitely on it.”
“Mm, and what’s next?” Instead of throwing him down onto the bed like Stiles expected he would, he turns and sits down with Stiles resting on his lap.
“Giving one,” he says eagerly and leans in for a kiss. He can’t believe he has someone he can kiss and touch like this now, he kind of understands Scott’s obsession with all things Allison a lot better, apologizes to his bro in his head for getting so annoyed with him when they were sixteen and Stiles had no clue that this is what it could feel like.
He pulls back and grabs a pillow from the bed, dropping it down onto the floor. As he kneels on it, grabbing at Peter’s thighs to steady himself, the position suddenly feels incredibly sensual, before he’s even gotten anywhere close to touching Peter’s dick.
He looks up and sees a familiar red staring back at him and it causes him to grin, feeling cocky.
He’s got a list and they’ve got all night and he doesn’t plan on stopping until he can’t move anymore.
Peter pulls his shirt over his head and throws it away, revealing a body that makes Stiles whimper in his head, because he wants to touch and knows that he can touch. His brain almost can’t deal with that fact. Peter then lifts up his hips so he can push his pants off too and Stiles helps him get them off his legs. Feeling curious and not liking the look of socks on an otherwise naked man, he pulls those off as well, Peter lifting his feet with a smirk. Stiles slides his hands over them but quickly moves onto the bones on his ankles, the muscles in his calves, stroking fingers over his knees and then grabbing onto those firm thighs again.
He takes a second to just stare, at everything but also specifically Peter’s thick, uncut dick, which is weirdly enough, causing him to drool in his mouth. He has a feeling that his oral fixation’s finally going to be good for something.
“Well? The list is waiting,” Peter drawls and leans back on his elbows, his body a long line of a wet dream that Stiles both desires and is envious of.
But the man’s right, the list is waiting.
He better get to it.
Notes:
we've hit 200k...
...i don't think i'm halfway done yet, maybe? it depends on how crazy i go with some of the stuff i've planned
why have i done this to myself
Chapter 24: desired
Notes:
a shorter update, mostly smut, decided to kind of leave it as its own thing before i go on with the plot
very much fully E-rated now, *nervous gulp*
Chapter Text
There, in Peter’s bedroom, on his knees, Stiles learns something new about himself. He really likes giving head.
Or maybe it’s specifically blowing Peter. The other’s thickness strains his jaw and because of his inexperience he can’t get further than halfway down, nowhere near Peter’s deepthroating skills. The fluids don’t exactly taste great but the skin is just that, skin, and Stiles loves feeling it in his mouth, against his tongue. The wet sounds, the slurping, it all just turns him on even more.
Peter’s breathing heavily, occasionally letting out these little mini-growls that aren’t as inhuman as the one in the kitchen was but still remind him of the power in the body that’s spread out before him. He’s having sex with a werewolf, what a crazy world he’s living in.
A few times Stiles has to pull away, to flex his jaw a little and use his hand instead while he rests. The last time he does this, he winces because there’s a painful twinge on the left side of his jaw that he can’t get rid of.
“That’s enough for now, or you’ll have a tough time chewing tomorrow,” Peter says, noticing his discomfort.
“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, disappointed. “Was fun while it lasted,” he pouts exaggeratedly while still stroking him. Peter snorts and holds out a hand.
“Come here.”
Stiles gets up on slightly shaky legs, knees hurting as he straightens them and accepts the offered hand, letting Peter pull him onto the bed. He covers half of Peter’s body with his and rests his head next to Peter’s.
“Hi,” he whispers, unable to hold back his grin.
Peter’s smile is soft before he leans in for a kiss.
“So, next item on the list,” Stiles says, pulling back. Peter quirks an eyebrow expectantly. “I hope you’ve got lots of lube because I’m an idiot and didn’t bring any.”
“I’ve got enough,” Peter promises.
“Cool, get in me.”
Peter stares at him for a second and then bursts out laughing.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding incredulous. But he’s sitting up and leaning over to the nightstand and opening a drawer and yes, Stiles raises his fist in victory as the man brandishes a full tube at him.
“Are you going to use that to get me ready or want me to do it?” Stiles asks, stroking himself a little.
Peter cocks his head, appraises him with his eyes.
“I’d like to see that,” he says and hands the tube over to Stiles.
“Oh- Okay,” Stiles stammers out, a little caught off guard because he thought for sure that Peter would take this over as well.
“If you want me to-”
“No, no,” Stiles uncaps the lube and gets his fingers nice and slick. “You want a show? I’ll give you a show,” he smirks cockily but his heart is probably betraying his nervousness because Peter’s gaze remains soft as his hands gently slide over Stiles’ legs. He bends one knee and reaches down as far as he can, slowly pushing one finger into himself. He wasn’t lying when Lydia asked about his experience with self-discovery down there, he’s fingered himself a lot, to the point that the first breach doesn’t feel that strange anymore. It’s usually the second finger that creates the burn that he likes. Peter’s thick as hell and Stiles is excited about getting to feel that inside him.
And yes, he also tried out the butt plug finally and cursed himself for leaving it in the box all this time because that thing pressed against his prostate in all the right ways.
“You do this a lot?” Peter asks, observant as usual.
“Didn’t do it for a while back when my mind wasn’t fully my own. But ever since you came into town…” Stiles grins cheekily and forces a second finger in, grunting at the feel of it. “Can never get the angle right, though. I’d love to know what it’s like when someone else does it,” he bites down on his lower lip and pulls his hand away, laying back and lifting his legs a little.
Peter covers him, leaning down for a sweet kiss that leaves Stiles’ mouth tingling. He then sits back and gets his fingers lubed up, grabs one of Stiles’ legs by the back of his knee, helping Stiles hold it high as he pushes in.
Stiles moans, high-pitched and surprised, because Peter’s finger immediately presses up at the right angle, rubbing against his sweet spot.
“More,” he demands eagerly.
Peter slips in a second finger, continues to gently rub, coating his insides with lube, occasionally squeezing more onto his fingers.
“Another,” Stiles says, very much enjoying having someone else do this.
Peter presses in with three fingers and Stiles gasps, grabbing at his legs to try and open himself up a little better, pulling them back against his chest as much as he can, considering he isn’t super flexible.
“Still good?” Peter asks, carefully watching him while he continues the come-hither motion.
“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, because there’s discomfort and a slight stinging sensation as he’s stretched, but he likes it. His dick’s rock hard and his heart’s pounding because this is amazing.
After a few minutes, Peter asks, “Want me to go for four before-”
“No, I’m ready,” Stiles says quickly and flails around with one of his arms, grabbing at a pillow to put behind his head so he can look at what Peter’s doing without straining his neck.
He licks his lips as he stares at Peter slicking himself up, the sound of it erotic as hell for him. Peter’s eyes are on Stiles’ face, expression smug. And why shouldn’t he be smug? He has Stiles spread out under him, drooling over him, desperate for his dick. The man has every right to feel like he’s the best thing ever, because at this moment, in Stiles’ eyes, he is.
Peter places the tip against Stiles and rubs.
“I have no patience for teasing right now,” Stiles tells Peter, kicking his shoulder.
Peter smirks but shifts up so his thighs are under Stiles’ and he pushes in.
God, the burn of it. It almost hurts so bad that it’s no longer good, but doesn’t quite get there, leaving Stiles breathless with the sensation of getting filled. He also sees Peter push up against him, the man’s muscles flexing so beautifully and he wants to touch and lick but now’s not the time for that. It’s time for feeling full and pressure and heat and-
He feels Peter’s balls rest against him and realizes the man’s finally all the way in.
He also looks like he’s in heaven, eyes closed and face slack with pleasure.
“You can move,” Stiles tells him, wanting to know what it feels like when that pressure is in motion.
“You’re a lot bossier than I imagined you,” Peter opens his eyes to glare down at him but they lack the heat of any real anger or annoyance.
“Sorry?” Stiles says, not sounding sorry at all.
Peter sighs, but he’s smiling as he pulls back almost all the way and then pushes in deep with a snap.
Stiles’ breath leaves him with a soft, “Fuck.”
“Keep going?” Peter asks, flexing his dick inside him, which makes Stiles let out a little ‘ah’ sound.
“Yeah, come on, just fuck me already,” Stiles grabs at his shoulders and pulls him down for a kiss, wrapping an arm around Peter’s neck, desperate to touch, to hold, to feel.
Hot breath hits his face as Peter laughs through his nose while kissing him and then the man repeats his earlier motion but this time keeps going after the snap, following it with another and another, and it feels amazing, deep and full and all up against his prostate but it’s also slow and it’s not building up the warmth, not getting him closer to the climax his body is begging for, so Stiles pulls his mouth to the side so he can say, “Faster, old man.”
“You’re really going to call me old while I’m inside you?” Peter asks and stops moving altogether, the devil.
“If you keep going at old-man-speed, then yeah,” Stiles snarks at him.
Peter sighs and then pushes himself up. He grabs Stiles by the hips and starts what Stiles would call pounding him into the mattress. It’s incredible. It’s again, almost painful, but not really, a slight discomfort coloring every sensation that leaves him wanting more, like when he sometimes presses down on a healing bruise and enjoys the dull echo of a lingering pain that’s already mostly gone.
“Harder,” he gasps out, grabbing at the pillow so he can throw it away because Peter’s thrusts are moving him up and down and the pillow’s no longer comfortable for his neck.
Peter doesn’t go harder and Stiles’ head snaps up indignantly.
“Come on, harder!”
Peter grins, eyes wild and with a blink they go red again.
“Ask me nicely.”
Stiles doesn’t even hesitate, because he can feel the heat building up now, he’s so close to a release, he’s sure of it, so he grabs at Peter’s arms and begs, “Please, please, do it harder, please.”
Peter’s movements slow down. But Stiles hesitates before protesting, because Peter’s face is strained. His eyes are closed and his breathing’s the heaviest that Stiles has heard it tonight. And then the tone of the breathing changes, going deeper. Peter flexes his jaw and Stiles sees his fangs come out slow, like he’s fighting against them.
“It’s okay, let it go, I like it when you look like this,” Stiles tells him softly, with the hope that he’ll get Peter moving again, but he’s not lying either. When Peter’s red eyes peek open, Stiles shivers, because the combination of those with the sharp teeth is a whole other level of hot. “Just don’t bite me,” he can’t help but add.
Peter chuckles, and that’s deeper too.
“Tell me if it gets too much,” he growls and Stiles nods desperately. Peter grabs his thighs and pushes his legs up, except-
“Ow-ow, I don’t bend that way, nope,” Stiles slaps at Peter’s hands. The man releases him immediately and kisses one knee as an apology. They settle for one leg thrown over Peter’s arm, the other around his waist and then the man begins to truly pound him. Stiles takes that designation away from the earlier paltry thrusting because this is what it’s supposed to be like. Peter’s unrelenting and keeps the same fast and sharp rhythm going the whole time and he’s fulfilling Stiles’ request by snapping in hard, bottoming out every time and it should feel vicious but there must be something wrong in his brain (which wouldn’t be the first time) because Stiles loves this and he loves Peter’s growls, the way he occasionally grimaces, baring his teeth further.
“Yes, yes, yes-” he starts yelping at some point, when he starts to get real close and he’s thinking about reaching down to stroke himself except he doesn’t want to let go of Peter and then his body surprises him. The pressure inside him that Peter’s building up with each hard snap of his hips explodes into a sudden release and his body seizes up with the pleasure of it. There’s milky fluid coming out of his dick and he’s making sounds he’s never made before.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that Peter’s grunting in a different way and his thrusts have turned into an off-rhythm grinding. Then he regains control over his body enough to feel Peter pulsing inside him and he pulls the man down for a sloppy kiss, feeling magnificent and grateful, high on his orgasm, high on life.
When he moves back, Peter’s eyes are blue and wide, blown away. He slowly pulls out of Stiles.
“Ah, okay, that’s less nice,” Stiles winces and then winces again when he stretches out his legs once Peter’s flopped over beside him. “Everything hurts now.” He turns his head to catch Peter’s concerned glance. “But so worth it,” Stiles grins at him, hopes that Peter can smell his happiness or whatever because he feels like he must be radiating it.
Peter’s smile is soft and stunning.
“You’re stunning,” Stiles says out loud because his filter (if he even has one) is just as dead as the rest of his brain.
“You’re gorgeous,” Peter replies and turns onto his side so he can nuzzle in against Stiles’ cheek.
“Sure,” Stiles snorts. And then narrows his eyes as he realizes, “My gorgeous face kind of hurts.”
Peter pulls his head back to take a look. “Stubble burn.”
“Damn, stings more than my ass does.”
“You might feel differently tomorrow,” Peter smirks.
“You destroyed me,” Stiles squints accusingly.
“You asked for it. No,” Peter looks upwards in mock-realization. “You begged.”
“I obviously don’t know what’s good for me,” Stiles snorts and closes his eyes. “I so need a shower. But my legs feel shaky.”
“Want me to carry you? We can shower together, there’s enough space.”
“Showering together will just end up with me suffering from more stubble burn…” Stiles opens one eye, sees Peter’s stupidly smug face and sighs. “But yes, I’d love that.”
Chris has no idea if this is the way to go about this, if maybe he should just leave it alone but he wants to try. So he rings the doorbell and waits.
Noah doesn’t look happy to see him.
“How did you know I was home?”
“Laura.”
“Right.” The Sheriff looks him up and down. “I’m tired and about to go to bed so…”
“Without dinner?” Chris brandishes the paper bag.
“I’m angry with you,” Noah sighs.
“I know. Peter texted me that Stiles told you.”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“I brought burgers.”
Noah’s eyes narrow at him.
“You think I’m that easy?” He goes to close the door but hesitates. Glances at the bag. “Bacon?”
“Of course.”
Noah sighs and steps aside to let him in.
Stiles begs so beautifully, but never loses his bratty charm. It affected him in a way Peter didn’t expect, tugging at his most beastly instincts to push him down, give him what he wants, give him more even, to clamp his teeth around that pale neck, to turn, to claim. Now that Peter’s had Stiles under him, covered him in his scent, he feels somewhat sated. But the beast within is still there, lurking in the background, and it’s concerning.
Chris feels loyal, dependable. Peter knows that the man’s made the decision to dedicate himself to this relationship they’ve started, to being fully Peter’s. It must soothe his wolf, since the desire to bite has never felt like a desperate urge, more like background noise.
But Stiles… He’s young and new to everything about this, to sex, to intimacy. He has plans on leaving this town, is very likely to find other people who will be happy to give him everything he so sweetly begs for. And that thought irks every instinct he has, whether it’s Alpha, pack or wolf.
“What’re you doing?” Stiles’ voice comes from the hallway, sounding sleepy.
Peter looks over his shoulder from where he’s leaning against the kitchen island he got so close to losing all sense of self on.
“Making tea.”
“Oh,” Stiles says softly and shuffles in closer. In the end, Stiles finished his shower alone because Peter couldn’t stop his hands from wandering and so he got kicked out for being too big of a distraction. Peter takes in the damp hair, the few droplets of water still sliding down his neck and collarbones. He’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that Peter loaned him and nothing else and his desire stirs.
“Would you prefer coffee?”
“Nah,” Stiles settles in to lean against him. “It’s close to midnight, should sleep soon probably. School night and all.”
“Can always skip.”
“Ooh, if Lydia could hear your right now,” Stiles smirks in a way that brightens his face with mischief.
“Lydia doesn’t scare me. Neither does your dad. His gun with wolfsbane bullets in it, though? I’d rather not be on the other end of that.”
Stiles rolls his eyes, “He’s not going to shoot you. I think.”
“Ah, such confidence,” Peter says wryly.
“He just doesn’t get it. But he doesn’t have to get it, at least not right away.”
That sounds like there’s a later for this, for what they have, and Peter’s stupidly attached heart skips a beat. He reaches up a hand to stroke Stiles’ cheek, fingers following the path the moles dotting Stiles’ face make, like a small constellation.
Stiles’ mouth is slightly parted, and he’s staring at Peter with an intensity that’s usually not there.
“Is this what it’s going to be like?” He asks softly and steps away to stand in front of Peter
For a second he fears that he’s done something wrong.
“What do you mean?”
“Just,” Stiles puts a hand on Peter’s sternum and then slowly slides it down, turning it so his knuckles brush against Peter’s abs. “Touching and being touched. Kissing without it leading to sex. Or is that couple-stuff, so it’s only for you and Chris?”
Peter blinks in surprise.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here, what do you think is happening between the three of us?”
Stiles looks away nervously, “I don’t know? You two are together and… I’m…” He grimaces as he looks up, “Your side piece?”
Peter snorts involuntarily.
“No, you’re not my side-anything.”
“Oh… so…”
“This is whatever you’re comfortable with it being. I want both you and Chris equally.”
“Oh.” Stiles’ eyes widen in understanding. “Wait, so we’d be a couple too?” He looks stunned like he never thought that was an option.
“We’re whatever you want us to be. I’m interested in whatever you give me, Stiles.”
“That doesn’t sound fair to you,” Stiles points out. “Or Chris? I think?” He scratches the side of his head. “So it would be like a polyamory, but a V?”
“For now,” Peter smirks.
Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Are you going to date both of us and then play matchmaker at the same time?”
“All of this would be so much easier if Chris just gave in,” Peter sighs and reaches out to wrap his arms around Stiles’ bare waist, pulling his body up against him.
“But that’s his choice to make and we shouldn’t push,” Stiles protests, but also happily leans in, within kissing distance now so Peter closes the final distance to press their mouths together, loving the soft sound that Stiles makes whenever Peter manages to surprise him with a kiss.
“The three of us could be amazing,” he says.
“The two of us are amazing too,” Stiles argues, but sounds unsure.
“We are,” Peter assures him and then holds the back of his head so he can kiss him deeper, firmer. That soft sound makes a reappearance.
“Okay, forget sleeping, I want you inside me again,” Stiles says easily, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t make Peter want to shift from pure lust.
“Aren’t you sore?”
“Yeah, but I think I can do it one more time. I might regret it later, but that’s tomorrow Stiles’ problem,” he grins cheekily.
“You could top instead,” Peter offers and the thought of Stiles fucking him with youthful eagerness has his cock growing hard fast.
Stiles looks like his world’s been turned upside down.
“That-That’s definitely going on the list,” he stammers. “But I really want you in me right now. It’s for science.”
“Science?” Peter frowns, amused.
“I want to see if it’s actually as good as I remember it being or if it was just a first experience thing.”
“Well, now I feel pressured.”
“As you should,” Stiles raises his eyebrows. “I expect a repeat performance every week.”
“Only once a week?” He cocks his head.
“Well,” Stiles begins stammering again, “I don’t know how we should to this, like with schedules or something? Who has you when- except, no, that makes you sound like a pet or a child or-”
“Calm down,” Peter chuckles. “You can always just call and ask me if I’m available. And we can have some plans made beforehand.”
“Okay, so, theoretically, what if I come over this Friday, maybe?” Stiles blinks at him rapidly.
“Sounds perfect,” Peter says and then kisses him.
“Okay,” Stiles mumbles against his mouth. “Back to my list.”
Peter pulls back, curiosity taking over. “What else is on it?”
“Do you have a desk in your office?”
The silence is awkward as Noah steadfastly eats his burger and fries while Chris just stares, trying to find the words to cast all of this in a better light. He can’t really think of anything.
“You only have until I finish this,” Noah says, mid-chew. “So, you better get talking.”
“It’s complicated,” he says, not knowing how else to start.
“Your thirty-something boyfriend is currently having sex with my son, who just yesterday was underage. And you’re apparently fine with it. Doesn’t sound that complicated to me,” Noah glares at him. “Just sounds wrong.”
“Peter’s a new Alpha, his instincts aren’t fully settled yet-”
“His instincts? To do what? He better not hurt my kid,” Noah points the burger at Chris threateningly. “I will kill him.”
It’s said with such chilling sureness that Chris believes him wholeheartedly. Especially, because he’d do the same for Allison.
“He’d never hurt him. He cares about him.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Noah squints at him.
How is he supposed to explain this without revealing why he’s actually okay with it? Chris is starting to regret coming here.
“It’s possible to care about two people equally, at the same time.”
“It’s not really the open relationship or whatever you two have that’s bothering me, you get that, right?”
“It’s the age difference.”
“The big age difference.”
“Peter was in a coma-”
“Now you sound like Stiles,” Noah sighs and drops the half-eaten burger and uses a napkin to wipe his fingers clean.
“At the end of the day, we just want our kids to be safe and happy, don’t we?”
“I wouldn’t call Stiles safe right now,” Noah mutters, then eats a fry.
“He’s entangled in this world because of reasons that have nothing to do with Peter. He can at least help him navigate all of this, can protect him, be there for him.”
“This isn’t the life we wanted for him,” Noah says after a pause. Chris can guess that he’s thinking about Claudia.
“It isn’t the life I wanted for Allison either. But they’re adults now and they get to make their own decisions.”
“Yeah,” Noah looks away. “There’s a part of me that thinks I’ve failed. That I should’ve shut this thing down, done whatever I had to, to keep Stiles away from him.”
“He would’ve hated you for it.”
“Probably.” Noah hesitates before he continues talking. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but… Since you’re okay with Peter being with my son… And you’re interested in men too… Have you looked at Stiles that way?”
There’s a clear warning in his tone. Chris should just lie. But…
“He’s… grown up a lot the past year-”
“Jesus,” Noah frowns at him. “How would you feel if I told you that about Allison?”
“Uncomfortable,” Chris admits easily. “But you’re also almost fifty.”
“How does that matter here?”
“You’re saying age matters and I’m agreeing with you.”
Noah shakes his head. “I don’t get this. At all. And I feel betrayed almost.”
“Betrayed?”
“I… It’s nothing like what happened before, when I lost Claudia. Nothing like that. But... I thought we were looking after the kids together. Ever since we dealt with Kate, I figured you and I were a team. Making sure they all get through high school alive and in one piece. And now… I feel alone again. Just like when she was gone and I realized I have all of this teenager crap with Stiles to deal with and that I have to do it all by myself. I’m alone.”
“You’re not.”
“Sure,” Noah throws his half-eaten food back into the bag. “You should go now, I’m tired.”
Chris’ heart hurts for him after that admission. But there’s nothing he can do or say here to make it better. He just has to hope that with time, maybe this will all work out.
He leaves his own burger behind as an extra peace offering.
His office isn’t much, it’s in the same darker shades as the rest of the apartment, with a desk and a chair and a few bookshelves and one cabinet. The desk itself is wide and high enough for Stiles to comfortably lean on his elbows, his back a little arched, pushing his ass out without meaning to.
Or maybe very much meaning to, Peter muses, as Stiles wiggles his hips from side-to-side.
“Are you going to call me Mr. Hale?”
“What?” Stiles looks over his shoulder with a frown.
“Is the desk part of some teacher-student fantasy?”
“Oh, oh god no,” Stiles gags theatrically. “When I think of teachers, I think of people like Harris, Victoria, Blake and Morrell.”
“Fair enough,” Peter says, eyebrows high. “So why is the desk on your list?” He lightly massages the mesmerizing back before him, hands softly pressing down against muscle as they slide over Stiles’ sides, his upper back, his spine and then his lower back.
“I don’t know, I imagined coming in here and seducing you and then this happened, you bending me over your desk. And I liked it. Also, this position kind of feels nice,” he says, wiggling his hips again.
“How did you seduce me?” Peter leans down, putting a little of his weight on him.
“By baring my throat,” Stiles says and there’s a blush spreading to the back of his neck. Peter kisses it.
“That might work,” he admits and noses down to the place where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder and begins sucking a bruise there, marking that place as his.
“Ah, are you a werewolf or a vampire? Wait, are vampires real?”
“As far as I know, not really,” Peter answers after he’s satisfied with the hickey. “There are creatures that feed on blood but no one’s immortal.”
“Right,” Stiles says and then peeks over his shoulder. “You’re going to get me ready or what?”
Peter pulls back to kneel on the floor.
“Wait, where did you- oh my fucking god-” Stiles jerks forward a little as Peter spreads his cheeks and licks, tongue immediately working itself inside. “Another thing crossed off the list,” he whispers to himself. Peter smiles and starts rimming him in earnest, occasionally sliding to the side to gently bite at his ass before moving back in.
“Please, please,” Stiles starts saying, voice almost a whine.
“What do you want, Stiles?” Peter asks, grabbing the tube he dropped to the floor earlier to slick up his fingers, pressing two in and gauging Stiles’ reaction.
“Fuck me,” Stiles breathes out, instinctively pulling away from the burn but his scent remains soaked in arousal so Peter starts moving his fingers fast, not aiming for his prostate on purpose, focusing on stretching and friction. It causes Stiles to start moving back to meet him in desperate motions that curve his back beautifully, the sight making Peter growl at the back of his throat.
“I better not go as hard as I did earlier,” he tells himself really, rather than Stiles.
“That’s okay, just… Fast please, I like it fast,” Stiles begs and the sound of it is so sweet that Peter stands up, quickly slicks himself up and pushes into that tight heat, slowly and carefully.
“You’ll get it fast, when I think you’re ready for it,” Peter says, leaning down to kiss Stiles’ shoulder, his neck.
All too soon, Stiles’ hips start moving back and forth, fucking himself on Peter’s cock on his own and Peter marvels at the sensation, the sight, the sounds that Stiles is making, never staying quiet for too long. He spreads his knees more and bends them a little so Stiles has a better angle and boy, does he take advantage of it.
Soon after that Peter grabs his hips to still him and then slides his hands lower, over his stomach, one moving up to his chest, to teasingly flick at a nipple as he starts thrusting, gentler than before but building up speed.
“Fuck yes,” Stiles sighs out and braces himself on the desk, hanging his head down and Peter wants to see Stiles’ profile, see his expression, so he lifts up, pulling Stiles with him until they’re basically both standing, Stiles leaning back against him with his back arched. Peter grabs his chin to turn his head so he can kiss him as his other hand moves to a hip to gain leverage for his movements. Stiles’ mouth is already open so licking in is no trouble at all and Stiles’ tongue meets him in a sloppily wet kiss that has him speeding up without noticing.
His fingers on Stiles’ chin slide lower, gently gripping him by the throat-
Stiles pulls away and reaches up to grab Peter’s hand from his neck. “Not that,” he pants and leans forward.
It takes a second for Peter to realize. To remember the finger-shaped bruises.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he wraps his arms around Stiles’ midriff, hugging him close, shame flowing through him.
“It’s fine,” Stiles says and Peter can tell from his scent that he means it. “I would’ve warned you but I didn’t even realize that’s a bad thing for me now,” he laughs humorlessly.
Peter presses his head against the side of Stiles’ face.
“I should’ve guessed.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles stresses. “I don’t want to think about that anymore. Please keep going, I was getting there. You’re getting me there,” he pleads and one of his hands reaches behind him to grab Peter’s hip, squeezing encouragingly.
Peter gives Stiles what he wants and fucks him fast. Even though he’s doing his best to hold back the power, the strength, the desk moves a little against the floor, Stiles’ thighs hit the edge hard enough that there might be bruises there tomorrow. The thought leaves him a little sick to his stomach, still in disbelief that he got so carried away he brought back a memory they both hate thinking about. But Stiles is fully immersed in pleasure and need again and the scent of it eases his guilt, riles up the part of him that loves this, loves it when Stiles’ soft moans and sighs turn into high-pitched yelps and then into a cut-off gasp as Stiles shivers and tenses around him, coming all over his desk, forever leaving his mark in Peter’s office.
He leans down to kiss him as he comes too, swallowing all the other sounds trying to escape that sweet mouth.
It’s early morning and Stiles has to wake up soon. Peter hasn’t really slept, he dozed for a bit but kept waking up whenever Stiles said something in his sleep, his brain taking a second to catch up and realize that the other isn’t awake and talking to him.
He’s enjoying having Stiles in his bed when they’re both sated and smelling of each other, the bed covered in a decadent mixture of their scents. Apparently he enjoys it so much that he’d rather stay awake and stare than try to sleep.
Stiles’ first alarm goes off.
“Mm, no,” Stiles whines, reaches out to silence it and pulls his blanket over his head.
“Want to have breakfast here or want to continue sleeping?” Peter asks, gently tugging he blanket back down.
Stiles opens one eye.
“Sleep. This bed is heaven.”
“Alright,” Peter leans in to peck him on the lips but when he begins to pull away he finds himself unable to move as Stiles wraps his arms and legs around him, snuggling in closer.
“Stay right here,” Stiles mumbles against Peter’s throat, already sounding close to falling back asleep.
“I’d rather make coffee. Don’t you want coffee when you wake up?”
Stiles groans.
“Ugh, fine,” he pushes away from him and turns around in a huff. “I’ll be up soon.”
Peter goes to prepare the coffee and after a moment of consideration, he also makes a few sandwiches that Stiles can grab to go if he wants. He hears Cora’s voice in his head saying “You’re such a sap for Stiles” as he pulls out the last piece of cake he specifically hid away last night with the intention of surprising Stiles with it today.
Fifteen minutes go by and he hears Stiles’ second alarm go off. Stiles grumbles as he grabs his phone and then stumbles out of bed, sluggishly dressing himself, yawning loudly every couple of seconds.
Then Stiles’ phone rings.
Peter looks up curiously.
“What?” Stiles snaps, voice low and rough.
Peter strains his hearing to catch who he’s talking to. Lydia’s voice reaches him.
“I’m just calling you to remind you that you have school today and you’re not allowed to play hooky so you can have more sex.”
“Yes, mom,” Stiles drawls as he walks along the hallway. He yawns as he reaches the kitchen and waves at Peter, walking closer.
“Does that mean you’re definitely coming to school?”
“Uh-uh,” Stiles says and then staggers up to Peter and kisses him loudly on the lips while still holding the phone by his mouth.
“…Have the decency to hang up before you do that, wow.”
“Okay,” Stiles mumbles, hangs up, tosses the phone onto the counter and then wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and kisses him deeper.
Peter holds him by the waist, feeling himself drowning in desire again.
“Playing hooky is sounding real good about now,” Stiles says against Peter’s mouth mid-kiss.
“Let’s not give your dad more reasons to shoot me, okay?” Peter pulls back even though every cell in his body is aching to press closer and to make Stiles orgasm again, so he can see, smell, hear, feel it.
“Fine,” Stiles sighs and then notices the sandwiches and the cake. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast to go if you want it. Coffee’s ready too.”
Stiles blinks at the food, then looks up at Peter.
“Thank you,” he says softly and Peter glances away, feeling uncomfortably exposed. “I should go, do you have a bag and a thermos, or something?”
Peter packs everything up and hands it all to Stiles who accepts it, looking like he’s coming to a realization.
“I’ll text you?”
“Not if I text you first,” Peter tries to joke, to lighten up this weird atmosphere they’ve created.
Stiles, thankfully, smiles. And then comes close for another kiss, this one so soft and sweet that Peter’s chest aches with emotion when Stiles pulls back.
“This was amazing. You’re amazing. See you,” he says and goes to grab his bag and leave.
Peter rubs at his chest, remembers how all of this started with the idea of it being casual fun.
“Damn.”
Chapter 25: fallen
Chapter Text
Chris is sitting in his kitchen, staring at his phone, wondering if it’s too soon to call or text, to ask how it went. Allison is almost ready to head out so Stiles should be too, unless he’s not going to school today, maybe he’s been lured back into bed instead. He knows personally how tempting a naked Peter can be, there’s been plenty of times where he’s been exhausted, thinking that he can’t possibly get hard again, and still Peter manages to tug at his desire in ways that leave him trembling.
He decides to send a text.
Can I come over? Is Stiles still there?
He rereads it four times before pressing send, hoping that it doesn’t sound jealous or possessive because he doesn’t feel either of those things. He sincerely just wants to know if everything went as planned. Not that he knows what was planned, exactly. Or that he wants to know-
Peter replies, I swear to god, the two of you are like peas in a pod, both so afraid of stepping on the other’s foot. He’s gone, it’s safe from the awkwardness of you having to deal with your feelings, come over.
Well, Peter sounds annoyed, which is a bad sign.
“This day officially sucks,” Allison announces as she enters the kitchen.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving for school?”
“I will…” she sits down opposite him, looking pale. “Mom called to warn me, asked me not to make a scene today.”
“And that means…?” Chris frowns.
“I don’t know how, but they did it. Granddad’s the principal. He’s going to be at school today.”
They knew this might be coming at some point, since high school principal was going to be Gerard’s placement in town all along, but Chris is surprised they went through with it, considering Peter and his pack are back in town and very interested in catching Gerard off guard, far away from his gun-infested home. This means that Gerard’s going to have scheduled movements, he’ll have a job he has to actually attend to keep up appearances. It’s something for Peter to track, to learn, to find weaknesses and then take advantage of them.
It sounds like an unnecessary risk. Unless it’s arrogance at play here, which is always a possibility with Chris’ father.
“He feels comfortable enough to follow the original plan,” Chris muses.
“Which can’t be good, right?” Allison asks, looking nervous.
“No. Keep your phone on you and charged at all times.”
“I already do that.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to tell Peter?”
“Yes.”
“This might give him the opportunity he’s looking for, right?” Allison looks conflicted.
“It might. Are you okay with that?”
“I don’t know…” She sighs and gets up. “I better go. I’ll text you if anything weird happens.”
Chris stares at Peter’s text for a minute and then heads out too.
Once he’s properly woken up, drunk his coffee, taken some bites out of his sandwiches and cake, Stiles feels buzzed with energy. Memories of last night have conquered his brain and he has to try and distract himself several times so he doesn’t pop a boner while sitting in a high school parking lot.
Allison finally pulls up next to Stiles’ Jeep. He waits for her and Scott to exit the car and then goes to his best friend, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“Scott, I owe you an apology.”
Scott glances nervously between him and Allison, who is staring at this with her eyebrows raised high.
“What for?”
“When you first had sex with Allison-”
“No, don’t-”
“-all you wanted to talk about was how amazing it was and how beautiful she is and-”
“-seriously, please-”
“-I was so annoyed with you because I didn’t get it, but now I get it, Scott! I could write sonnets about Peter’s dick-”
“Please don’t,” a new voice interrupts and Stiles turns his head to look away from Scott’s blushing face and sees Cora standing there, looking disgusted.
“My point is,” Stiles steps back, glances at Allison to see her trying to hide her smile. “I’m sorry,” he offers with a grand gesture.
“Apology accepted, are you done?” Scott asks, eyes wide.
“Yes. Except for this, I have a boyfriend! I think?” Stiles raises his arms in victory.
“So, you guys are dating now?” Scott asks, looking wary.
“I guess? Hey!” He sees Rosa, a girl he’s mostly only talked to at some of the parties he’s been to, and doesn’t know much about at all. “I’ve got a boyfriend!”
“Congratulations?” She looks at him like he’s a lunatic and walks on. Which might be a fair reaction, but Stiles chooses not to let that bother him.
“You guess?” Scott asks, still wary.
“Yeah, hey Danny!” Stiles shouts when he sees their goalkeeper walking by them on the sidewalk. “I’ve got a boyfriend!”
“I heard,” he says dryly. “I didn’t know you were gay, Stilinski.” He looks him over with a fair bit of interest that has Stiles straightening himself up even further, surprised.
“Well, bi really.”
“I see. Well, now you’re officially invited to the secret gay society that meets once a month at school.”
“What, really?”
“No,” he scoffs, grinning.
“Oh my god, when are you going to stop lying to me about stuff like that.”
“When you stop believing me,” Danny winks at him before walking off.
“I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Scott says matter-of-factly. “More importantly, do you or do you not have a boyfriend?”
“Maybe? I might? Anyway, classes await.”
“Stiles, what does that mean?”
“Classes, where we learn things, are starting soon and we, the diligent students, have to attend.”
“That’s not…” Scott gives up for now with a sigh and they all head inside.
The door’s unlocked so Chris decides to let himself in, since not only is Peter aware of his desire to come over, he would’ve been able to hear him arrive anyway.
“Peter?” He calls out when he sees that there’s no one in the living room.
“In here,” comes his voice from the kitchen.
He walks in to see Peter leaning against the counter next to the fridge, facing the doorway and staring at the two empty plates in front of him with a very odd expression on his face.
“Everything alright?” He asks warily.
“I’m not quite sure,” Peter says, increasing his worry. “I just got done talking to Morrell. Before that, I called Laura.”
Chris tilts his head back in surprise. “So, this isn’t about Stiles?”
“Hm?” Peter looks up finally, blinking himself out of his haze. “Oh, it is. But no, last night went fine, if that’s what you’re worried about. Stiles left happy and extremely satisfied.”
He steps closer, very unsure of where this conversation is going now, but still wanting to kiss the man hello. Peter accepts the kiss gladly and palms the back of Chris’ neck to press against him harder.
“Why did you call them?” He asks after he’s pulled back and licked his lips.
Peter’s not meeting his eyes, looking off to the side.
“I’m a little worried about my reaction to him. It’s… similar to you. A little possessive, with a hint of wanting to bite. But… more intense.”
That gives him pause. “You… want to bite me?”
“I thought that was obvious,” Peter’s eyes flick up to give him a look of dry disappointment.
“I…” He thinks back to Peter hovering over him, eyes red and teeth sharp, to Peter pulling himself away from Chris’ neck. “I guess it was.”
“But because of who you are and everything I can sense, I’m pretty sure you’re committed to this, to being with me. No matter how ill-advised that may be.”
Chris notes the self-deprecating tone with interest, used to Peter being overconfident, bordering on arrogance, not this. Whatever he talked to Morrell and Laura about or whatever he felt last night, must have been jarring enough to cause this change.
“I am,” he says simply. Being with Peter is everything that his marriage wasn’t. Exciting, passionate, comforting and most of all, easy. He finds it so easy to talk to him, to approach him, to ask for sex, for touch. It’s, surprisingly, everything that he needs right now, to get himself out of his head, to stop the worrying, the regret, the guilt.
“But Stiles is young. And his entire future is still in front of him.”
Chris thinks he’s starting to understand.
“Your wolf’s… jealous of future potential partners?”
“Something like that.” Peter cocks his head to the side, looking uneasy as he continues, “It’s more like… I don’t want him to leave.”
“That’s…” Chris steps back a little further. “Dangerous, coming from you.”
“I’m aware. I called Laura, and she was concerned. Said that her instincts never got to this stage, at least not to the point of having to fight for control.”
“Did you lose control last night?”
“A little,” Peter admits and then rolls his eyes at Chris’ obvious indignation. “Don’t worry, Stiles liked it. That helped actually, knowing he felt safe and turned on pulled me back.”
He remembers Stiles saying ‘What’s wrong with us that we think of claws and fangs and go ‘Yeah, that’s hot’?’ Remembers his own reaction when he looked down and saw Peter’s red eyes for the first time.
But he puts that aside, doesn’t linger because already his mind is trying to imagine how Stiles or Peter must have looked, how they’d look together, the image too tempting to consider.
“Peter, this can’t continue.”
“I’m afraid the damage is already done. I consider Stiles mine, the same way I consider you mine. And thanks to the Nemeton, my claiming instincts are going haywire.”
“Wait, the Nemeton?” Chris crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for Peter to explain all this.
“That’s why I called Morrell. She knows more about the damn tree than Deaton, that’s for sure. And she agreed with my hunch. It’s been fed fresh sacrifices just recently and my bond with it is strong, has always been. It now has the ability to affect me in ways I didn’t foresee.”
Chris thinks he finally recognizes the odd expression he hasn’t been able to read this whole time. It’s shame. He wants to laugh at himself for taking this long, considering how close of a relationship him and shame have.
“I just went over to Noah’s last night, to assure the man that you mean his son no harm. And now I feel like a liar,” he laughs a little, rubs at the space between his brows, trying to alleviate the pressure there.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” Peter jokes but his frown betrays his guilt.
Chris sighs, can see clearly that this is actually bothering Peter a lot, so he reaches out to hug the man closer to him. “Well, what are we going to do? Any way to keep your instincts in check? Make them easier to control?”
Peter’s far-off gaze sharpens and snaps to him in surprise.
“I tell you that I’m dangerous and this is your reaction?”
“What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure, but definitely not this.”
“I knew you were dangerous before you kissed me, before I approached you and started this. Now, I consider us a team. And this is a problem we’ll have to deal with together.”
“A team?” Peter quirks an eyebrow, but the corner of his mouth is twitching as if he’s fighting off a smile.
“Pack, if you like that term better.”
“No,” Peter narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Pack’s family. We’re a team.” He leans in for a soft, lingering kiss. As he leans back, he says, “There’s something I’d ask of you, then. And you’re not going to like it.”
“What?”
“When the time comes and Stiles leaves, to go to college or for whatever reason... Or when he finds someone else, probably someone who’s a little more age-appropriate… If you think I’m a danger to him, do whatever you have to, to stop me.”
Chills race down his spine but he swallows down his first instinct to protest, because he understands that if Peter’s going as far as to ask this of him, the man’s seriously worried.
“I will.”
“Thank you,” Peter says and then kisses him again, this time his hands moving over Chris’ body, tugging at his clothes, sliding under them. His fingers find Chris’ belt buckle to fiddle with, but he isn’t actually trying to undress him. Chris wonders if the man’s hesitating now because of everything they just talked about.
He steps back, separating their lips and pulling himself away from Peter’s wandering hands. He starts backing up into the hallway that leads to Peter’s bedroom.
“Stiles didn’t tire you out, I hope?”
Chris slides off his jacket and throws it off to the side. He then starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Peter’s watching him intently, his steps in time with Chris’, not getting any closer but not losing ground either.
“I don’t think there’s anyone who could tire me out,” he says cockily.
And having spent enough nights with him, Chris believes him.
His bed smells of him, Stiles and Chris now.
It isn’t until their scents all combine, until he’s resting against the headboard and watching Chris catch his breath, staring at the other’s body slick with sweat and streaks of come, that it fully hits him how much he actually wants this, both of them with him and with each other, all three of them a team.
And he’s aware that Stiles is very interested in the same thing, didn’t actually protest against the idea of Peter playing matchmaker.
He doesn’t want to push Chris, shouldn’t push him.
But maybe he can try luring instead.
“So, I have something to warn you guys about,” Allison tells them as they’re standing in front of Lydia’s locker, waiting for her to get ready for her classes.
“Warn?” Cora asks, eyes narrowing.
“There’s going to be an assembly-”
The PA kicks in and announces that instead of their first class, everyone’s expected at the auditorium for an assembly.
“Thanks for the warning?” Stiles asks, confused.
“I think she means to warn us what the assembly is about,” Lydia says, locking her locker and turning to lean against it.
“We have a new principal,” Allison says and then presses her lips tight together in a sad smile.
“Oh,” Lydia says, eyes growing wide.
“Oh?” Scott asks, not getting it.
Cora’s glancing at all of them, eyes gone so narrow, they might as well be closed at this point.
And Stiles is thinking, why Allison would look like that, why a new principal would be something to warn them about, how Allison would know about it beforehand-
“Oh my god, are you serious?”
Gerard Argent stands in front of the students and introduces himself.
Stiles and his friends keep exchanging glances of bewilderment as the man talks about the latest attacks and killings, assures everyone that the safety of everyone at the school is his first priority, that he’s taking measures, working with the police force, working with professional hunters, who will be patrolling the woods and the area around the school, trying to find the animal that’s been terrorizing this town.
He also says that he’s been trying to get the Sheriff department to instate an emergency curfew, but has so far been unsuccessful.
“But there’s no need to worry because if the Sheriff is willing to overlook your safety, I’m sure there are others willing to take that duty more seriously.”
He finds Stiles in the crowd of students and smiles right at him as he says that.
Scott’s head snaps towards him and he grabs Stiles' arm in concern.
Fear and anger are currently squaring off inside him.
He’d very much like to go back to this morning, back when he woke up next to Peter, who was warm and cuddly and kissed him and made him breakfast and obviously cared about him in ways that went a lot deeper than just sex. He wants back the bubble of post-amazing-sex happiness that’s now been rudely burst by the sharp reality of their lives—the Argent vs Hale rivalry is still going strong and everyone he cares about is still in danger.
“How the hell did they pull this off, anyway?” He leans over Scott to ask Allison.
“Threats and bribes, most likely,” she whispers to him.
“You planning on continuing that method once you’re the leader or whatever?” Stiles asks, a little sharper than he intended, because he’s feeling on edge. Scott shoots him a warning look.
Allison doesn’t seem bothered by the question, meets his gaze and says, “Only if I have to.”
Stiles’ eyes widen and he backs off, leaning back in his chair and giving Scott a raised eyebrow. His friend looks just as surprised.
“Shut up before he notices and decides to use this as a chance to assert his authority,” Lydia hisses at all of them.
Luckily, the assembly ends soon after and they get to their classes.
But then Scott and Stiles get summoned to the principal’s office.
“You two have made friends with the wrong people,” Gerard starts with as soon as they’ve all sat.
Victoria is there too, standing beside the man, looking as stern and unsmiling as ever.
“I don’t know if I agree with your definition of wrong,” Stiles says, ignoring Scott’s expression that’s clearly telling him to calm down. But he can’t. Because here in daylight, at his school, Gerard just looks like an old man. And Stiles’ fear of him has taken a backseat to his anger at the clear threat he just voiced in the auditorium towards Noah.
“How would you define it then?” Gerard asks, calmly leaning forwards and placing his clasped hands on the desk.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs exaggeratingly and glances at Scott with an expression of fake confusion. “People who think it’s okay to burn down a house with eleven people inside it? Yeah, that’s pretty wrong to me.” He blinks at Gerard innocently.
“I don’t condone my daughter’s actions-” Gerard begins to say.
“Do not try to tell me that you had no hand in it. That you weren’t proud,” Stiles scoffs at him.
“I don’t know what lies my son has told you-”
“What do you want from us?” Scott interrupts this time, looking confused and fed up.
“Yeah, why did you call us here?” Stiles asks, but then realizes, “Don’t tell me this is you trying to turn us against the Hales, because if so, it’s very low effort.”
“I’m not the man you all seem to think I am. I have no interest in hurting children.”
“And let me guess, if we don’t do as you say, you regrettably will have to hurt us,” Stiles rolls his eyes.
“This isn’t a game,” Gerard snarls, dropping the I’m just a well-mannered old man act for once. “The Hales are killers by nature-”
“There, that is why I would never work with you,” Stiles points at him, leaning forward. “By nature, you say. Meaning because they’re werewolves, right? And here you are, offering Scott a what, a deal or something? Leave the pack and be left out of this? Except we both know, there’s no such thing as a good werewolf in your eyes. You might not come for him now, but you’ll be coming for him next and I won’t fucking let you.”
Gerard studies him calmly. And then, without taking his eyes off of Stiles, he says, “You were right about him.”
“Not worth our time and effort,” Victoria answers.
“You could all just go,” Scott says softly, drawing everyone’s attention. “You had homes far away from here, you have your… hunting family or whatever, your company. Just leave this town to the Hales, it’s their home.”
“It’s my home,” Gerard drawls out in a way that chills Stiles to the bone. “You children have no idea of what they’ve done, what they’re capable of. But if I can’t make you see sense, then it’s out of my hands. At least I can say that I tried.” He gestures towards the door.
Stiles pauses at the door, looking over his shoulder.
“If you go after my dad, then you’ll see what I’m capable of.”
Gerard chuckles, “Get to class, kid.”
“Come on,” Scott pulls at his arm and then closes the door behind them. “Riling up Jackson is one thing, but this guy? Please don’t do that,” he begs, sounding scared.
“I’m not just riling him up, Scott. I mean it. If he goes after my dad, I’m going after him.”
Scott stares for a moment, and then much to Stiles’ surprise, he takes a deep breath and nods.
“If that happens, then count me in too.” He takes in Stiles’ face and continues, “Your dad’s done a lot for me. He’s family.”
“Thanks, man,” Stiles bumps him on the shoulder with his fist. “I promise I’ll do my best to not be my mouthy self when in the presence of murderers.”
“Can you not call them that?” Scott asks, wincing.
“Why? That’s what they are,” Cora answers from behind Stiles.
“Would you stop appearing out of nowhere?” He snaps at her as he turns around. “How did you even get here?”
She holds up a slip of paper, “Got permission to go to the bathroom when I heard you guys get called in.”
“I take it you eavesdropped again?”
“Because I’m concerned for your safety, yeah,” she glares at him daringly.
“Uh, thank you,” Stiles says quickly and gets a smile in return.
“We better get back,” Scott points out.
“Coming to school feels like walking into a warzone,” Stiles sighs.
“I don’t think he’d try anything in public,” Cora says. She’s looking towards the office door, gaze distant, obviously listening. “They know that we have ears here, and they want the people of this town to support them. That’s one of their biggest weaknesses, according to Peter and Laura—they care about public opinion.”
“But now everyone knows what Kate did,” Stiles frowns.
“Which is why they have to be extra careful,” Cora says, smirking.
“While we don’t,” Stiles smirks back.
“Well, we still don’t want everybody to know we’re w-” Scott hesitates, looking around nervously.
“True, but our attacks are always blamed on animals anyway.” Cora’s smirk turns vicious.
Scott doesn’t answer, looking uncomfortable.
But Stiles offers his fist for a bump that she gladly gives him.
Scott can try and play peacemaker all he wants but Stiles has always been and will continue to be Team Hale, and he’s ready to do anything to make sure the people he cares about are finally safe from this hunter-invasion.
Especially since the person that Gerard is probably gunning for the most is Peter, the guy that Stiles has definitely fallen for.
“What is he planning?” Peter mutters to himself after Chris tells him everything he knows.
“That’s my question too. This seems like arrogance.”
“Or bait,” Peter muses. “What’s to stop me from sneaking in there, while he’s in his office alone, because Victoria is in class, to cut his throat and then maul him for good measure, make it look like an animal attack?” He looks up when Chris doesn’t answer and sees the man watching him with a wary expression. “It’s just a thought.”
“I can’t imagine him not having any of his men around.”
“How is that explained to the parents of the kids? Oh these random out-of-towners with three guns each? No reason to worry,” he says dryly and refills his coffee. He holds up the pot questioningly. Chris holds out his mug and Peter refills that too.
“It could be explained as extra protection because of the animal attack. Victoria already told the public about inviting hunters here to help take care of the problem that the Sheriff is apparently ignoring.”
“That’s another thing, they wanted someone there too, didn’t they?”
Chris nods gravely. “Which means, they might try and get Noah fired.”
“Stiles is going to lose it.”
“I know. I’ll do what I can to help Noah, if that actually happens.”
“My question still stands. What’s to stop me?”
“Nothing. Except the unknown. Victoria and Gerard wouldn’t do this if they didn’t have some kind of a plan, some way to deal with an attack. It would be a risk, which is what I thought you were currently avoiding.”
“I am,” Peter assures him. “Just wanted your input. I agree, it’s not worth it.” He drinks his coffee, feeling frustrated. “Do you know who they think the kanima is?” He asks, curious if Allison’s told him.
“No, I would’ve said,” Chris frowns at him. “Do you know?”
“Jackson.”
Chris’ eyebrows quirk up an inch.
“Cora.”
“Ah. Well, now I understand why Allison was pretty vehement about not telling you, about trying to save him first.”
“Does everyone think I’m going to snatch Jackson on his way to school and leave his body in the woods for an unlucky jogger to find?” He rolls his eyes at Chris’ questioning stare. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. But I agree with your daughter, we should at least try to save him first. If it even is him.”
“You spend a lot of your time thinking about killing people?” Chris asks, tone oddly light for the subject matter.
“It’s something to do,” Peter shrugs, takes a sip of his coffee.
Chris surprises him with a short laugh.
“Better than actually going out and doing it, I guess.”
“But I am going to do it at some point, you do realize that?”
Chris’ amusement disappears and he sighs.
“Of course I do. Haven’t we had this conversation before? I was there when you killed Kate, I helped you do it. I know who you are, Peter.”
I know who you are.
Funny enough, Peter thinks that might actually be the case.
By lunch time, Gerard’s presence has become a ‘well, that happened’ and they’ve decided to move on. Lydia and Allison have specifically decided to move on to Stiles’ birthday night, shining the spotlight on him right there in the cafeteria.
“So, how was it, overall?” Lydia asks first, looking intrigued.
“Amazing,” Stiles starts gushing but is interrupted by Cora’s pointed, “No details, please.”
He gives her a jaunty salute, “I’ll keep it PG.”
“G would be better…”
“What was amazing about it?” Allison asks, to his surprise.
“Well, at some point, I’m pretty sure I saw God.”
Scott snorts into his food.
“Was the God’s name Peter?” Lydia asks evenly.
“Might’ve been,” Stiles nods, takes a moment to stuff his mouth full of fries.
“Was he, you know, nice? Gentle?” Allison asks, surprising him again. She’s blushing a little.
“Uh, he tried to be,” Stiles mumbles, blushing too.
“What does that mean?” Scott turns his head to frown at him.
Lydia’s already smirking, probably having figured it out.
“Just that… I don’t really like… slow or gentle,” he clears his throat, suddenly feeling like a fry’s lodged in there.
“Wow,” Allison looks as if she’s impressed.
Scott’s looking pale, “Did he hurt you?”
“What? No!” He quickly dismisses Scott’s concern but then squints and holds up a finger. “Well, my ass hurts.” And it does, walking and sitting’s been a not-so-delightful reminder of the night’s events. As is the twinge in his lower back, probably from all of the needy arching he did.
Cora gags quietly.
“You also have several hickeys,” Lydia points out.
“And your face is looking a little irritated,” Allison notices, leaning in. “That’s probably from Peter’s stubble, right? When Scott didn’t shave for a month, I got that too.”
“I kind of like it,” Stiles muses, rubbing at his jaw.
Lydia’s eyes narrow at him, “Maybe you have a pain kink.”
“Not everything has to be a kink,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “But, I don’t know, maybe. When the pain’s not connected to mortal peril, it can be… okay, I guess? It’s like, a sensory thing, I think.”
Lydia shrugs, “You’re right. And it can just be circumstantial and emotion-based too-”
“There you go again,” Cora raises her eyebrows.
“Hm?” Lydia glances at her.
“You two like to talk about everything like you’re writing a report on it.”
“We just like knowing things,” Stiles shrugs. “And not just knowing, but understanding too.”
“Anything new on Stiles’ situation?” Cora asks.
“You’re desperately trying to change the subject, aren’t you?” Lydia smirks.
“Yes. Please.”
“Nothing new,” Stiles sighs. “I have a phone number to try… I think I’ll ask Peter to call it on Friday.”
“Ooh, going for a sleepover again?” Allison smiles. “I’ll know that dad’s free then.”
Scott chokes on his food. “God, how is this not more awkward for you guys?” He wheezes.
Stiles shrugs at Allison who shrugs back.
“It’s only awkward if we make it awkward and there’s no point,” she tells Scott.
“Right. Is it okay if I feel a little awkward about it?”
“Of course,” she leans in to kiss him on the cheek.
“You have your process, we have ours,” Stiles pats him on the shoulder.
“So, how was it really?” Lydia asks him as he walks her to her car after school.
“It was… pretty mind-blowing,” Stiles admits, scuffs his shoe against the ground. “But weirdly enough, the… best part, besides the actual orgasms, I guess, was the morning after.”
She looks at him with a knowing expression, “Waking up next to him?”
“Yeah. And kissing him. And him making me breakfast. I…” He pauses when they reach her car and leans against the hood. “I think he really likes me,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.
Lydia’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise.
“Yes, everyone knows he likes you, Stiles.”
“No, I don’t just mean like, physically… I mean, like-like.”
“Are you twelve?”
“I’m serious!” He straightens and crosses his arms in a huff.
“So am I. It’s very obvious that he cares about you,” she looks at him like he’s an idiot.
“Oh. I mean, I knew he cared because I’m pack-”
“Yeah, no, he cares, because he cares-cares,” she smirks.
Stiles just breathes for a few seconds, watches as she unlocks her car and puts her stuff in.
“I care about him too,” he says.
Lydia pulls herself out of the car and smiles at him sadly.
“I know you do.”
“I’m probably going to get my heart broken, huh?”
She sighs.
“With the way he looks at you… maybe not.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says softly and then takes a few steps back. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Stiles,” she calls out and he looks over his shoulder. “Just enjoy it. Don’t ruin it by stressing about the future.”
He nods and gives her a grateful smile before walking off to his Jeep.
“You’re… okay?”
Stiles watches as his dad’s face goes through several different expressions. Noah very much looks like he wants know but also really doesn’t want to know anything.
“Yeah, it was great,” he says simply, sparing the man from any details. “Peter was great,” he adds, smirking at the small ‘ugh’ his dad lets out.
“And you’re…?”
“Dating.”
“And Peter and Chris…?”
“Are dating too.”
Noah abandons his food to cover his face with his hands.
“What the hell, kid?”
“This is hardly the strangest thing to happen this year,” Stiles shrugs, continues eating.
His dad doesn’t ask any more questions.
“The delivery was delayed. But now they’re expecting it next week.”
Peter nods approvingly.
“Good work.”
“What are the chances that Gerard’s perfectly aware of our eavesdropping and is telling us everything he wants us to know?” Cora asks, for once not enthusiastically digging into her dinner, but poking at it absentmindedly.
“What makes you think that?” Peter asks, although in his head, he’s already agreeing with her.
“The way he talks. When I heard him at school. It all sounds… practiced, guarded.”
He smiles a little. “Very astute of you.”
“Gerard’s been hunting our kind for longer than any of us has been alive,” Laura adds. “He knows exactly what our senses are capable of.”
Derek looks troubled, as if he hadn’t thought of this.
“It’s still good to get as much information as we can,” Peter says, mostly for Derek’s benefit.
“I was so close to him yesterday,” Cora says softly, still glaring at her food. “I could’ve done it.”
“No,” Laura tells her.
“You’re not doing anything,” Peter says sternly.
“You got to kill Kate,” her head snaps up, expression stubborn. “Why shouldn’t one of us get to kill him?”
“Because once you’ve taken a life, there’s no going back,” Derek says, surprising all of them.
Cora scoffs, but lets the matter rest for now, finally starting to eat.
After dinner, he’s on his way back to his apartment, with the hope that Chris might come over later, when his phone rings. The caller ID stuns him and he answers immediately.
“I gather my e-mail caught your interest?”
“For fuck’s sake, Peter, you should know better than to put information like that in writing!” Astrid yells at him.
“Are we afraid of supernatural hackers now?”
“It’s the age of technology, man, everything’s possible!”
After all of the silence from every contact he’s tried to get in touch with, hearing her chirpy voice fills him with a weird aching warmth. Many of the people who didn’t get back to him are probably dead or have changed their phone numbers or e-mails, but some of them had to have ignored him on purpose. And that stings.
When Astrid wrote back to him, saying she figured he was dead and was glad to be proven otherwise, he was grateful that there was at least one person he knows who hasn’t turned their back on his family.
“This number was not working when I last tried it.”
“I haven’t used it in ages, the phone was dead, hidden away in a drawer somewhere. I searched for it when I got your first e-mail.”
“Don’t need extra phones anymore?”
“Of course I do, I’m still consulting. But I just got newer, shinier ones.”
Astrid’s an actual bona fide witch. And has now been a supernatural consultant for a decade, starting when they met at college. According to her, witches are rare and since Peter has never met another, he believes her.
“Did you call for some other reason other than to chide me for not taking internet security seriously?”
“I mean, that would be reason enough, but yeah, everything you wrote to me is insane, you do get that, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“And you swear that it’s all true?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Fucking hell,” she breathes out slowly. “An actual Nemeton, fully fed and sentient, practically in your backyard?”
“Not quite the wording I used-”
“A darach plaguing your weakest pack member?”
“I wouldn’t say weakest-”
“And you killed Ennis and now you’re an Alpha? Peter, my man, your hometown sounds like it’s going to combust from all this supernatural activity soon.”
“Yes, which is why I’m calling for help. Specifically with the rite of protection gone wrong.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing to be done about that.”
Disappointment weighs heavy on him.
“Did you even try and look?”
“I didn’t need to. Once someone’s been gifted like that, it’s a done deal. Only way out is if the Nemeton dies.”
“Any ideas on how to bring that about?”
“Wouldn’t that mean a huge loss of power for your pack?” She asks, with a tone of surprise.
“The one who’s been gifted is my pack.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Any ideas?” He presses as he parks his car.
“I mean, some, but, mostly just vague theories and things that only have the smallest chance of working-”
“I’ll take anything at this point.”
“Well, okay,” Astrid sounds like she’s caught off guard. “I’ll write you some stuff and some things you can look up yourself.”
“I appreciate it.”
“My fee’s higher now, though.”
“Not a problem.”
“I know it’s Jackson,” Chris says suddenly during dinner. Allison looks up at him, eyes wide.
“How?”
“Peter found out. And he wants to help.” He takes a sip of his water, studying her.
“That’s what he said?” Allison raises an eyebrow.
“Yes. And I believe him.”
She sighs, “Okay.”
“You should go over to his apartment some time, see his collection. There’s a lot of stuff to learn from those books, and Peter himself is a good source too. Lydia’s been there a lot.”
“I know…” She pierces her fork through a slice of potato and then stills. “Is this you trying to get me to hang out with your boyfriend?” Her mouth is tugging up into a smirk.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Chris says dryly. “I know you’re interested in history, especially our history. Peter has a lot to read about hunters as well.”
“Honestly, I’ve just been busy and I consider that apartment your…” she blushes a little, “home away from home. And also, Stiles’ territory.”
“Stiles’ territory?” He asks, amused.
“Lydia said the flirting between him and Peter wasn’t exactly subtle.”
Chris snorts.
“Well, let’s make a day of it this weekend, then. Peter has an idea on what to do about Jackson.”
“Does it involve Lydia and true love’s kiss?” Allison narrows her eyes.
“Something like that,” he admits.
“Araya said that’s bullshit.”
“Araya would kill her own son if she caught him stealing from her, I’m not sure she fully understands what love is.”
“Alright,” she laughs a little. “Let’s go on Sunday, then.”
“Why not Saturday?”
“Because…” she gives him an odd look. “Stiles is going over on Friday, and I don’t know how long or if he, they, you-” she stammers, cuts herself off.
“Oh. Good to know,” he nods and drinks his water, suddenly feeling parched.
“Is that… weird?” She raises her eyebrows, her tone cautious.
Chris tilts his head, decides to answer honestly, “A little.” Because of course, learning that the man he is with is unavailable in the near future because his daughter’s friend is going over there for sex, can’t be anything but weird. Peter’s been very clear. He feels for Stiles what he feels for Chris, which is why Chris doesn’t feel threatened or jealous. He gets it. But yes, describing this whole dynamic between the three of them as weird is putting it lightly.
And his own feelings about Stiles have been pushed into the background because he doesn’t feel like dealing with them. Compartmentalization is good for more than just dealing with trauma or grief.
“Okay, so, Sunday?” Allison asks pointedly.
“Sunday,” he agrees.
Friday morning, Stiles arrives at school to see Scott and Allison already there, both wide-eyed with worry.
“What’s going on?” He asks as soon as he walks up to them.
“I can smell a lot of wolfsbane, like a lot,” Scott tells him, nose all scrunched up.
“And we got here a little early and saw Gerard go in with like a whole entourage of hunters,” Allison says, hugging herself, shoulders high and tense.
“So, he’s probably considering the fact that the Hales might just attack him here in public, huh?” It’s something Stiles considered as well, even texted Peter to ask.
It’s tempting. Very tempting. But I’m still looking for a less risky path—is what Peter sent back. Which, fair enough, Stiles gets that his mighty Alpha is just playing the role of a good pack leader, looking out for everyone involved. But he can’t help but wonder if they’re all erring on the side of caution just a little too much, and that Gerard is going to take advantage of this and make his move, do something completely horrible that could’ve been avoided by their pack being more proactive rather than reactive.
He of course texted all this to Peter last night as well.
Let me worry about this, focus on school. But you’re not wrong—was Peter’s reply. Which, frustrating. But also, that last sentence, Peter agreeing with his thought process, left him all settled and warm for like half an hour, until he realized how weird that feeling is, examined it a bit more and realized the warmth was very distinctly coming from the place in his chest that he imagines to be reserved for the pack bond that links him to Peter. And then he realized, thanks to having done a lot of reading about werewolves and pack dynamics and traditions, that Stiles was feeling happy because his Alpha had acknowledged his worth.
He didn’t know what to do with that so he decided to take Peter’s suggestion to heart and focused on schoolwork instead.
“But the wolfsbane must be coming from like, ammunition, right?” Scott asks, dragging Stiles back to the present. “And if so, then there’s a lot of it on schoolgrounds.”
“Which is kind of terrifying,” Allison murmurs.
Laura’s SUV arrives, Cora hopping out of it before it fully stops. They all hear Laura cursing as the tires squeal when she holds down the breaks.
“Hey,” Cora says, looking annoyed.
“I swear to god, Cora,” Laura’s snarls as she gets out of the car, slamming the door.
“Ignore her, she’s in a mood,” Cora rolls her eyes. Scott is looking at Laura in shock and Stiles understands why, they’ve never really seen her angry like this.
“You two,” she snaps, pointing at Scott and Stiles. Since she’s also wearing her Deputy uniform, her authoritative tone has even more of an impact on them. “Keep your eyes on Cora at all times. She’s being stupid.”
“I’m not,” Cora growls. “I’m not actually going to do it.”
“This is not something to joke about,” Laura says, her voice serious.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, getting a bit worried now.
“Cora thinks she’s going to be a hero and take down the villain all by herself,” Laura tells them.
“That’s not-” Cora sighs frustratedly, “I just want him dead already!”
“Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, keep your voices down!” Stiles hisses at them, glancing around at the students still milling around outside.
“I’m going to see him every day, be near him every day, who else is going to have this kind of an opportunity?” Cora whispers.
“Forget about it, Cora,” Laura growls.
“I told you already, I’m not actually going to just rush at him. I’m not stupid!”
“Okay,” Stiles says loudly. “We’ll keep an eye on her,” he promises Laura and steps closer to grab Cora’s hand, pulling her closer to him. “Let the experienced killers handle the actual killing, okay?” He asks, then frantically glances around again to make sure no one else heard him.
Cora snorts and leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Laura has raised her eyebrows with a wry expression on her face.
“I haven’t technically killed anyone,” she says evenly.
“Good, that’s good, keep it up,” Stiles gives her a thumbs up.
“I know you have every reason to hate him, and this is not me trying to advocate for his life, but let’s try to keep all of this as bloodless as possible, okay?” Allison breaks her silence.
Cora lifts her head to glare at her.
“While we try to be the good guys, he’s just taking the time to plan his next move, which might end up with me losing more of my family. I don’t care about how much blood we have to spill, I want him gone.”
Her voice is getting loud again, so Stiles actually dares to put his hand over her mouth, shushing her for good measure. Thankfully she doesn’t look angry when she stares at him, just annoyed.
“Kids,” Laura holds up her hands, sounding tired. “Go to school, do your homework, think about your futures and let the rest of us focus on keeping this town and our pack safe, alright?” She steps up to hug Cora close with one arm, planting a firm kiss in her hair. “I know that you’re frustrated, but please, don’t put yourself in danger.”
“I won’t,” Cora says begrudgingly, not pulling away from her sister’s embrace. At the same time she squeezes Stiles’ hand and he squeezes back, hopefully offering some more comfort.
He can’t imagine… For a moment he lets himself consider it, what it would be like if Gerard had Kate orchestrate the deaths of Stiles’ parents, and was now walking around, free as a bird, zero regrets… He’d be pretty pissed off too, just like Cora is right now. And he probably would be stupid, wouldn’t listen to Laura and would take matters into his own hands.
That thought makes him realize he better actually keep an eye on Cora, just in case.
“What, are you two dating now? Danny said you’ve got a boyfriend,” a snide voice interrupts them.
Stiles looks over his shoulder to see Lydia and Jackson. She’s giving him a warning look and Jackson’s ignoring it.
“It’s very telling that you think any kind of physical comfort or intimacy between two people must mean they’re banging. Real A-grade macho bullshit you’re spewing there, buddy,” Stiles glares at him.
Jackson opens his mouth but before he can voice whatever insult he’s thinking, Laura’s stepping up to him and holding out her hand.
“You must be Jackson, Lydia’s boyfriend, right? I’m Laura Hale, Cora’s sister. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She smiles politely.
“Uh,” Jackson pauses. But he shakes her hand and then scoffs, “Yeah, I can imagine that none of it was good."
“Well, that’s probably your own fault, huh?” Laura tilts her head, still wearing that ever-so-polite smile that Stiles is starting to think of as creepy. And also, she’s not letting go of his hand.
Jackson glances down at their hands and then visibly uses force to tug himself free.
“You know nothing about me, lady,” he sneers at her.
Lydia’s oddly quiet, watching all of this with interest brightening her eyes.
“You’re right. But I’d like to.” The smile fades away. “The kids sometimes hang out at my house. We’ve got lots of food, big TV, gaming consoles. You’re welcome to join Lydia any time.”
Jackson glances at Lydia, then at the rest of them. “Hang out with these freaks? You’re kidding me, right?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should try it, you might find out you fit in well with us.”
“You calling me a freak?” Jackson squints at her angrily.
“Okay,” Lydia steps in between them and holds up a hand towards Laura. “This isn’t helping,” she widens her eyes pointedly and then pulls Jackson away by his arm.
They can all hear him ask, “What the hell was that about?”
“Yeah, what the hell was that about?” Scott asks Laura, sounding very confused.
“We know you think he’s the kanima,” Laura shrugs.
“What?” Scott gasps.
“And Peter thinks we should try to bring him into the pack, give him a sense of self among the rest of us. He’s supposed to be a werewolf.”
“Wait,” Scott says and looks at all of them. Allison’s guilt is the most obvious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t say anything because I was worried that we’re going to have to kill him and you would so not be okay with that,” Stiles blurts out quickly.
Allison smiles sadly. “Yeah, that.”
“So, because I’m not as prepared to end lives, as the rest of you, I get left out? Awesome,” Scott rolls his eyes angrily and stomps off.
“Well, we’ve got some groveling to do today,” Stiles sighs, wraps an arm around Allison, his other hand still held by Cora, and starts leading them towards the school entrance.
“And classes to go to,” Laura drawls behind them.
“That too!” He yells back at her.
By lunch time, Scott is talking to them again, but not looking happy about it. Cora spends the entirety of their English class just glaring at Victoria. The woman actually seems unnerved by it. And they all see Gerard only once, when he walks past them in the hallway before their last class, two of his guards flanking him.
“He has no right to breathe,” Cora mutters, glaring after him.
Stiles catches her hand and squeezes it, managing to pull her out of her thoughts. She gives him a small smile as thanks.
“Mark my words, before the year is over, he’ll no longer be breathing.” He notices his other friends giving him sharp looks, but he keeps his gaze on Cora, who slowly comes alive as the thought settles in deep.
“Before the year is over,” she whispers and nods to herself.
So, Stiles has now had sex. Amazing sex. With an amazing man.
Going over for round two shouldn’t be making him this nervous, he thinks to himself. He’s now fully aware that Peter’s attracted to him, he knows just how much he affects him, how much Peter enjoys kissing him, touching him—he has all this information, data, if you will, so there is no reason whatsoever, for him to feel this goddamn nervous as he’s about to knock on Peter’s door. Because nervousness comes from fear, right? Fear of something going bad, wrong, of not getting the result you hope for, of failing, disappointment, whatever. Peter invited him, well, Stiles invited himself and Peter happily agreed. Sex is obviously going to happen, he can’t imagine Peter saying no, except people can change their minds, can’t they? What if-
The door opens.
“What are you panicking about now?” Peter asks, frowning and then leaning against the door in a very unfair manner, because he’s only wearing sweatpants, his chest, his abs, his strong shoulders all bare for Stiles’ eyes to feast upon and he does feast, so intensely that he actually forgets that the man ever spoke. “Stiles?” Peter’s smirking, smug and self-assured. Stiles hates him a little. Except, he really doesn’t. Pretty much the opposite.
“My brain’s trying to convince me that you probably don’t want to have sex with me anymore.”
Peter chuckles and then grabs Stiles by the arm to pull him in. He closes the door and presses Stiles up against it, crowding into his personal space in a way that has Stiles’ entire body screaming ‘hell yes’.
“We better shut up that brain of yours then,” Peter murmurs and then kisses him like he’s hungry and the taste of Stiles’ mouth is the sustenance he’s looking for.
His hands fly up to stroke Peter’s shoulders, then slide along his strong neck, up into his hair, curling his fingers around the strands and using it as leverage to kiss back harder, hungrier.
“Can we cross something else off my list?” He mumbles against Peter’s mouth.
The man pulls back an inch, pupils dark and his mouth all red and slick with spit. Stiles has to really hold himself back from just surging forward for another kiss.
“What do you want?” Peter asks, voice low and full of so many things, that Stiles’ body heats up at just the sound of it.
“Up against the wall,” he says and then bites his lower lip, drags his teeth down hard.
“That might not be all that comfortable for you.” Peter quirks an eyebrow.
“Doesn’t have to be the whole time, just… The beginning.”
“Without opening you up-”
“No, I’m-” Stiles stammers, blushes a little, “I’m prepared.”
Peter pulls back more and glances down, intrigued.
“How so? I can smell the lube…”
Too embarrassed to actually say the words, he instead pushes Peter back a step so he can turn around and tug down his pants. He hears Peter inhale sharply when he leans one arm against the door so he can arch his back and show off the flared end of the plug that’s sitting snug in his ass.
He feels Peter’s hands slide over his cheeks, one of them moving inward to rest his fingers around the flared end, to tug gently.
A moan escapes him at the slight stretch of his rim and then Peter’s tugging with more intent until the widest part of the plug is keeping him open. Stiles closes his eyes at the burn, but also smiles, because he really fucking loves it.
“Look at you,” Peter says, soft and reverent.
Stiles whines a little at the back of his throat when Peter starts moving the toy in and out.
He feels that lovely chest press up against his back as Peter hooks his chin over Stiles’ shoulder to whisper to him, “While this was a pleasant surprise, I hope you don’t think this is something you have to do. I loved opening you up, Stiles. With my fingers, with my tongue, all of it.”
Stiles curses Peter’s stupid mouth, for sounding so stupidly seductive and causing Stiles’ last working braincells to melt.
“It was an impulse thing,” he admits, laughing at himself. “I thought it’d be hot. But on the way here, I thought, what if you’ve changed your mind and then I felt ridiculous.”
“You’re not ridiculous,” Peter tells him, presses a kiss against his ear. “You’re perfect.”
Before Stiles can register his weird reaction to that (he feels like he’s about to cry, what the fuck), Peter pulls out the toy and pushes his fingers in instead.
“We still need more lube,” Peter says and Stiles agrees because he’s already starting to feel a bit too dry down there, so he pulls a tube out of the front pouch of his hoodie and waves it at Peter. “When you said you’re prepared, you really meant it,” Peter chuckles and grabs it.
When Peter pulls back to hopefully slick himself up, Stiles takes the chance to pull his hoodie and shirt off. He then toes off his shoes, steps on his socks to drag them off too and bends over to rid himself of his jeans, hitting his shoulder against the door when he inevitably loses his balance.
When he’s completely naked, he turns around and stares at Peter who is still wearing his sweatpants, is holding the tube of lube with the cap still on, and is observing Stiles with great interest.
“What are you waiting for?” He reaches out to poke Peter’s firm chest.
“Just admiring your enthusiasm,” Peter says, the corners of his mouth curling up in amusement.
“You’re hot and great at sex, my enthusiasm is perfectly reasonable,” Stiles huffs, crosses his arms over his naked chest, starting to feel ridiculous again.
“It’s cute,” Peter says and then evaporates every worry Stiles has ever had by sealing their mouths together, warm and strong and too good to be true, Stiles thinks.
“Get in me,” Stiles whispers, pleads, sliding his arms around Peter’s shoulders and hopping up, knowing that the werewolf will have no problem following with the program. True to his expectations, Peter catches him by his hips and holds him up easily as Stiles wraps his legs around him.
“Do you plan on saying that every time we have sex?” Peter asks, one hand reaching down to pull his dick out, their positions meaning that Stiles sadly can’t see it.
“Sorry, but any eloquence I might have escapes me when I know I’m about to get fucked into a blinding orgasm.”
Peter laughs, face all relaxed and soft with mirth. Stiles wishes he could take a picture.
“All this pressure to perform,” Peter drawls and then finally Stiles feels something against his ass. The longer they stay in this position, the more he realizes how right Peter was, this is not exactly comfortable. A bed would be nicer.
But then, Peter’s pushing in. And suddenly, gravity, the vulnerability of being held up like this and the angle all collide into an experience that leaves him shivering as Peter starts moving. After a moment of Peter adjusting his grip, Stiles finds his back up against the wall and relaxes his upper body, letting Peter take over full responsibility of keeping them both up.
A few minutes of steady thrusting later, Stiles realizes that Peter isn’t going to go as hard or fast as he likes unless he begs for it again.
“Come on, fuck me harder,” he whispers, panting with the exertion of keeping his legs up.
Peter’s eyes flash red and an embarrassingly short while later, Stiles’ spurts of come are hitting both of them as he grips the man’s shoulders weakly, blissfully fucked out and barely breathing. Peter lowers them both to the ground as he slowly kneels, so Stiles can relax his thighs. But the man stays inside him, because Peter hasn’t come yet.
“Want to take a break, or shall we move to the bed?”
Stiles is shivering a little, muscles all tense from his orgasm still. But the thought of more vitalizes him.
“Bed,” he gasps out and yelps when Peter gathers him up, stands and starts walking to the bedroom while still inside him. The sensation’s too much so he pats at Peter’s back. “Actually, changed my mind. A little break would be nice.”
Peter immediately pulls out and lets him down, steadying him when Stiles sways on his feet.
“Come on, you should drink some water,” Peter says, sliding a hand over Stiles’ forehead and cheek and that’s when Stiles realizes how sweaty he is.
“Ugh, yeah.” But instead of heading to the kitchen, he leans in for a kiss. “That was great, thank you.”
Peter’s expression is soft when he says, “Oh, it was no hardship, believe me. I think I should be thanking you.”
Stiles grins, feeling a little embarrassed and not fully understanding why. “Nah,” he says simply and goes to get his water.
Later, after several orgasms and one thorough shower, Stiles is wearing Peter’s clothes as they sit on his bed, the sheets clean and fresh because Peter changed them after Stiles’ insistence (”Look at the size of that wet spot, there’s no way I’m going to be sleeping on this!”)
“You ready?” Peter asks, holding his phone, thumb ready to press Call.
Stiles taps his fingers against his knees.
“I mean, the number might not even work.”
“Not what I asked.”
“Yeah, do it, yeah.”
Peter’s thumb hits the screen.
They both listen as the call registers.
“Still in use,” Stiles mutters to himself.
A few moments later, a voice answers.
“Yes?” They ask cautiously.
“Hi, my name is Peter Hale, and I’m looking for Kalina’s daughter.”
“You’re talking to her,” the voice says, still unfriendly.
“I’m calling on behalf of the Stilinskis. It’s about the message Kalina left for Claudia.”
“Wait… Hale. Of the Hale pack?”
The word pack chills Stiles to the bone. He looks up at Peter, who has grown very still.
“Yes.”
“Damn. Why isn’t Noah calling me?”
“I’m calling on behalf of Stiles. There’s been… issues in Beacon Hills recently, and we’re looking into Claudia’s family history.”
The voice lets out a sharp laugh.
“Family history, that’s great. Good luck with that.”
“Hey, uh,” Stiles speaks up, hesitates for a second when Peter’s gaze lands on him but the man holds the phone higher encouragingly, so he continues. “I’m Stiles. Claudia’s son.”
“Shit. Hi.” She sounds nervous now.
“I just want to know… are you… in a pack too?”
“No. My mother was.”
“My great-aunt was a werewolf?” Stiles whispers in shock.
“Yes. Listen, ever since my mom’s death, I’ve distanced myself from that life. I’m human, and I’ve got a family of my own. I’m not interested in this, okay?”
“But can you point us to someone else who could help us with this?” Peter asks quickly.
“I guess…” she sighs. “Babcia Milka is still alive, but she’s back in Poland. And she doesn’t have a phone. I can text you an address.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Peter says while Stiles slumps in disappointment, because who the hell is going to go to Poland for this? “We won’t bother you any longer, but I would like to ask what the message to Claudia was?”
“It was just three words, and before you ask, I don’t know what they mean or who my mom was talking about, okay?”
Peter raises an eyebrow, “Alright.”
“She is alive.”
“That’s it?” Stiles asks, mind racing.
“That’s it. Now, promise you’re not going to drag my family into this shit?”
“Promise,” he mumbles.
“Good. I’m sorry we never met, Stiles. But I never met Claudia, either. And well, if you’re hanging around the Hales, we have very different lives and I’d like to keep them separate. I’ll text you Milka’s location. Bye.”
She hangs up.
“Uh, that was… nothing. But also something.” Stiles laughs weakly. “She is alive. What are the odds that the she is the same she the Nemeton is looking for?”
“Pretty high,” Peter says, fiddling with his phone. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Morrell said that my mom knew nothing about this life. But what if she was wrong, what if mom just hid all of this from everyone and…” Stiles sighs and covers his face with his hands. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“Then don’t think. Not until we have more information.” Peter grasps his wrists gently, pulling his hands down. “Come on, let’s sleep. Or nap. We can have sex again when we wake up.”
Stiles laughs, “No way, you need to feed me before we do that again. I need energy, man, I’m a puny human who tires easily.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter smiles at him and pulls him close, presses his face against his.
This is so damn cozy and warm, the bed all clean and fresh, and Peter being so sweet and lovely—Stiles kisses him, how can he not?
“Come on, puny human. Time to rest up.”
Stiles snorts and climbs under the blankets. Despite the phone call and all these new things to wonder about, to stress over, the heavenly cloud-bed, Peter’s smell all around him and Peter himself cuddling him close, makes him sleepy very quickly and it doesn’t take long until his brain gives in and lets him fall asleep.
Chapter 26: trying
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His phone is buzzing on the nightstand.
Peter growls a little and pulls the lean figure in his arms closer. He nuzzles the back of a neck, breathing in the comforting scent of pack, of Stiles.
His brain wakes up in increments as he slowly remembers making Stiles come apart under his mouth in the middle of the night, the beautiful way his lithe body arched and tensed with his climax. Chris and Stiles are such different people, different lovers too, and yet they both feel like a perfect fit for him. Chris, with his low voice that’s made to give orders, still gets excited when Peter shows off his strength. And Stiles, who so readily tells him exactly what he wants and how he wants it, submits beautifully to him when his pleasure is at its highest, leaving the beast within satisfied and content.
His phone is still buzzing.
“Answer it,” Stiles mumbles, barely opening his mouth.
Peter breathes in deeply and turns around to stretch out his arm. He grabs his phone and answers the call as soon as he sees the name.
“Hm, nothing wrong, I hope?” He asks, voice rough, as he turns back towards the half-asleep figure next to him, sliding his legs against Stiles’.
“No, I was just wondering what your plans were for today?”
Chris sounds… cautious. Peter’s eyes clear a little as he blinks.
“I’m not sure. Why, you got any ideas?”
“Is that Chris?” Stiles asks sleepily, one of his hands already reaching over his shoulder for Peter’s phone.
“Ah, yes-” he stills in surprise as Stiles manages to snatch the device out of his hand and then presses it against his own ear.
“Hey, I know we kind of agreed on meeting up on Saturdays, but I don’t feel like training today.”
Peter pushes himself up onto his elbow so he can lean forward and take a look at Stiles’ face. He still has his eyes closed.
There’s an obvious pause on the other end of the line. And then Chris surprises him too.
“Feeling sore?” He asks, sounding amused.
“You have no idea- wait, you do. No training, is that okay?” Stiles blurts this out in one breath, still sounding relaxed and not smelling anxious or embarrassed, which causes Peter to believe that he probably doesn’t even fully realize what’s happening yet.
“No training,” Chris agrees. “Are you staying there the whole weekend? I was thinking of showing Allison Peter’s collection tomorrow, but we can do that some other time.”
Peter cocks his head curiously, at both the words and the tone. Chris is trying so hard to not make Stiles uncomfortable, it’s starting to seem like the man is pushing his own feelings to the side. He’s realized that Chris has a habit of considering his emotions to be something that can be ignored, that don’t have to be dealt with. Gerard’s upbringing and training have enforced this no doubt, as well as Victoria’s attitude towards their marriage.
Peter has no plans on letting that shit slide. But he’s also aware that working through an issue like this one is going to take time. Chris isn’t going to change this about himself overnight.
“No, I have homework and stuff and Lydia, and Scott, and Cora. Friends, who can’t live without me,” Stiles says, sounding a little bit more awake. He then snorts loudly. “Is showing Peter’s collection code for- wait, no, you said Allison, you wouldn’t-” Oh, Stiles is sounding very awake now. “Wait, I’m not in my bed,” he mutters and then to Peter’s amusement, reaches back to wave the phone at him.
Now he can scent embarrassment.
“Stiles?” Chris asks.
“Is currently unavailable as he realizes what just happened,” Peter tells him.
Chris sighs heavily, “Tell him this is fine, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up.
“Did I really just talk to Chris while in your bed, in your arms?” Stiles asks, sounding mortified.
Peter drops his phone back on the nightstand and pulls Stiles close.
“Yes. And it’s fine, Stiles.”
“But-”
“This is bound to happen again at some point.”
“Right,” Stiles whispers. He turns around and presses his nose against Peter’s cheek, eyes wide and gorgeous as they stare at him in wonder. “Good morning.”
“Mm, very good morning.” Peter inches forward to press their mouths together, catches Stiles’ lower lip between his and loves the soft sound Stiles makes before there are nimble hands wandering along his torso, stopping at various places to brush against muscles, to smooth warm palms against Peter’s skin.
Peter slides his own hand lower, palming Stiles’ hardening cock before wrapping his fingers around it in a loose hold.
“Is this how sex addiction starts?” Stiles mumbles against his lips, breathing quicker and hips nudging themselves against Peter, seeking friction.
He huffs out a short laugh.
“It’s only been a few days since the first time you had sex, I’m sure the novelty will wear off at some point,” Peter says dryly.
Stiles pulls back an inch so he can say, with complete earnestness, “I can’t imagine feeling this good and not finding it amazing.”
Peter stares at him for a moment, before admitting, “I can’t either.”
Stiles’ grin is bright and happy as he leans in for another kiss. Peter tightens his grip, starts stroking and has Stiles unravelling in his arms a few minutes later. The sight never fails to take his breath away.
The plan, is not much of a plan.
Peter and Laura have apparently decided to try and pull Jackson into the pack without telling the guy about the actual pack, in the hopes of tugging at the bite that sparked Jackson’s transformation in the first place—a werewolf bite.
Lydia and Stiles are both a little dismayed at the lack of specifics or ideas, just a general plan with no real direction or goal, other than to hopefully make Jackson less of an asshole.
Stiles also tried his best to let Peter know just how creepy it is that any conversation he might have at the school will most likely get back to the Alpha somehow. Tried being the keyword there, because he was ranting while Peter was making them breakfast (more like an early lunch, considering the lateness of the hour when they finally dragged themselves out of bed) and the smells of delicious food coupled with the smug, proud face on the man, caused Stiles to give up pretty quickly just so he could kiss that smirk-y expression away. So, he has a weakness for that face, this is known. He’s just a little ashamed of how little his brain needs to go from hey, I’m kind of mad at you to okay, back to kissing.
It’s only on his way home, that his brain really kicks in and starts taking in the full picture and realizes that if you take away the supernatural context, there’s a lot of red flags flying around concerning Peter and their relationship. But… the context exists, and context matters, right? And Stiles still has that feeling of absolute safety when he’s with Peter, even when the man’s all sharp teeth and glowing eyes, and that feeling is something that he treasures a lot after recent events. In his mind he throws away the red flags and replaces them with yellow. They’re not green, he’s not actually that dumb, he plans to very much be aware of any potentially creepy stuff that might emerge the more time he spends with Peter, but to him, right now, there’s no red either.
Not to mention, in some ways, all of the Hales are just being alert and overprotective because of the whole Argent situation. Things might settle down later, or maybe when-
Lydia’s words come back to him, Don’t ruin it by stressing about the future.
And that’s good advice. So, Stiles vows to himself that he’s just going to take it day by day for now, have fun with Peter, be there for his pack, and get through high school alive and in one piece. Unlike Tucker, who very much was not in one piece at the end—the thought comes out of nowhere and hits him in the chest with sudden nausea. But he forces the memory away. He hasn’t really let himself think about that night and he’s not going to do so now, not while driving.
He gets home and he pulls up their group text thread, seeing that everyone’s already agreed on giving the “plan” a test-drive that same evening, waiting for his response. Stiles makes a face to himself at the thought of spending any of his time with Jackson, of all people, but agrees to it too, knowing that if nothing works and they can’t get the kanima out of Jackson, the guy’s dead.
And for Lydia, that’s unacceptable.
For her sake, Stiles will try.
“When you said you’re going to buy me coffee, I thought you meant as a date,” Peter remarks, while standing very, very still. They’re standing in front of the coffee shop, and in front of them is Noah, whose hand is pointedly resting on his gun.
“Right. Me too. Except, obviously didn’t expect a date, just that it would be me and you,” Noah shoots a glare at Chris, who is calmly observing the stand-off.
“Gerard’s starting to follow through with whatever plan he has cooked up, which means that the two of you need to work together,” Chris crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you’re still angry, and you’ve got every right to be. But this is about keeping the town safe, keeping our kids safe.”
Noah snorts, “Our kids. Right,” He narrows his eyes at Peter.
“If you’re expecting an apology, you’ll be disappointed.” Peter tilts his head.
“No, I’m not expecting an apology,” Noah sighs, suddenly looking defeated. “Fine. Let’s get coffee.” He enters the coffee shop.
Peter quirks an eyebrow at Chris, who is looking rather smug, an expression he’s more used to seeing in the mirror than on Chris.
“You tricked me.”
“Technically, I tricked both of you.”
“I’m oddly proud,” Peter drawls evenly.
“And not mad?”
“Of course not. If you’d told me why were coming here, I wouldn’t have come. I’m very invested in keeping a lengthy distance between me and the Sheriff, mostly with the hope that he’d have trouble aiming.”
“He’s not going to shoot you,” Chris sighs with a short laugh, opening the door and gesturing for Peter to go in first. How chivalrous.
“Funny, the more I hear that, the less I believe it.”
“And those machine guns they have, do they have a separate permit for them? Because you need one in this state, and I could maybe charge them for possession and carrying,” Noah asks after Chris has told him in detail about what he knows of Gerard’s former plans, the ones he had been helping with. He could see some judgement in the Sheriff’s eyes when he relayed that part and the sting of shame was fast and familiar. Peter side-eyed him, no doubt catching the scent, but Chris ignored that look and focused on Noah.
“I’m afraid they do,” Chris says gravely. “Gerard’s always made sure that every gun we own is by the book, at least according to the documents.”
“How’d they manage that, those permits aren’t usually given to civilians?”
“Gerard has friends in high places. Including the DOJ.”
“Corruption in the government. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but…” Noah sighs heavily.
Peter finally speaks up then, “You won’t be able to arrest him by legal means. Either we play dirty and we try to frame him for something or we do it the easy way.”
Chris glances down to see Noah’s fingers clench around his cup.
The Sheriff glances up at the werewolf sitting opposite of him.
“I think I can guess what the easy way is for you… but what do you have in mind when you say frame him?”
“Drugs. I know a guy.” Peter smirks.
Noah’s mouth tightens into a hard line.
Chris closes his eyes, feeling an odd mix of disappointment and amusement. “It’s something to consider but… the easy way might be the best option.”
Noah’s gaze flicks back to him in shock.
“You’re really in support of… doing that?” He glances around as he hesitates, obviously not wanting to say the actual words in public.
“Of course he is,” Peter answers for him. “He knows what his father’s like better than we do, Sheriff.”
Chris can see that Noah wants to argue about this so he says, “He’s a man who has been evading the law for decades, Noah. He’s the reason my sister did what she did, he’s behind a lot of pain, a lot of death. He is not a good man.”
“Kate was different,” Noah whispers. “My son’s life was on the line then. And I’d do anything to keep him safe. But this… this is actual premeditated murder. It goes against everything I believe in, everything that I am.”
“We’re not asking you to participate this time,” Peter rolls his eyes. “Not even to turn a blind eye, because by the time I’m done with Gerard, all the evidence will point to another animal attack. Or, he’ll just…” Peter waves his hand dramatically, “disappear!”
“That is turning a blind eye,” Noah mutters, obviously annoyed.
“How? It’s not like you’d be able to do anything about it,” Peter leans forward, looking far too intimidating. Chris nudges Peter’s foot under the table as a warning.
“I could shoot you,” Noah points out with an angry smile.
Peter looks at Chris with an expression that screams ‘I told you so’.
“Do you want to ask Peter anything? And I mean anything. Now’s your chance,” Chris leans back in his chair, hoping that the Sheriff will take the bait.
“I haven’t agreed to answering anything, just so we’re clear,” Peter frowns at both of them.
Noah rubs his face tiredly before pinning Peter down with a heavy glare that has the werewolf straightening his back.
“I never thought I’d be asking someone this but… what exactly are your intentions with my son?”
“Intentions…” Peter chuckles. “What do you think they are?”
“Answer my question.”
Peter gives Chris another exasperated look before saying, “My intentions are to be there for him, in whatever manner he wants me to be. He’s pack, Sheriff. Even without the sex,” Peter says the word loud and proud and Noah flinches, “I would still want to care for him. But Stiles is the one in control here, believe me.”
Chris gathers that they’re not telling Stiles’ father about the fact that Peter often loses control while in the throes of passion (Peter’s words, not his) and has to hold himself back from giving Stiles the bite.
“And so if he finds someone his own age?”
“Then I’d let him go,” Peter says with a sincerity that is very convincing. Chris thinks it’s probably because that’s what Peter wants to believe, never mind that he can’t know for sure, not with the Nemeton’s influence to consider.
Noah doesn’t seem completely convinced.
“He may be eighteen, but he’s still a kid,” he says, the judgement clear on his face and in his tone.
Peter rolls his eyes, looking annoyed. “I don’t have a habit of chasing after men that much younger than me. In fact, Chris is my usual type,” he waves his hand at him and Chris’ eyes widen a little when Noah shoots him a glare, as if remembering that he exists and is a part of this dynamic too.
Also, type? Peter has a type?
“So what, Stiles is special?” Noah says with distaste, obviously thinking about other people who’ve used that word before in similar context.
“He is. Half of it is the bond that was forced upon us. It gave us trust, which made it easier to confide in each other, which led to other feelings that have nothing to do with the Nemeton. The other half is the fact that you’ve raised a good kid, who has now become an intriguing young man. If anything, my interest in Stiles should be taken as a compliment to your parenting skills,” Peter smiles winningly.
Chris feels like palming his face in disbelief but keeps his eyes on Noah’s hands.
“Should it?” Noah asks evenly, grits his teeth.
“Alright, I think we should get back on topic-” Chris tries, but Noah interrupts him by standing.
“No, I’ve had enough for today. I don’t like you,” he points at Peter. “And I’m very disappointed in you,” he points at Chris. “I’ll ask Gerard for the permits, just in case, see if there’s some kind of a legal thread I can pull.”
“I would advise against that,” Peter frowns, also standing.
“Noah, I told you that they want your job-”
“Yes, and they’re already coming for it, so what have I got to lose now?”
Chris stills. “Already coming for it?”
Noah’s smile is strained when he says, “Official complaints have been filed against me. An investigation has been requested.”
“Do you know who filed them?” Chris asks, but knows the answer.
“Victoria and Mrs. Hendricks.”
“Mother of the young man whose body was found in the woods?” Peter asks, glancing at Chris questioningly. Chris nods at him and then turns back to Noah, who has the appearance of a man close to giving up.
“I’ve met and talked to Mrs. Hendricks, that woman wouldn’t have done this without someone pushing for her to do so,” he tells Noah.
“I know. She walked up to me at the store the other day and apologized. Said that the funeral costs were too much and she got fired from her job and she was offered money if she did this. But she regrets it now. Told me to cuff her, that she’d confess.”
“But you wouldn’t take her in,” Chris says, feeling slightly awed of Noah’s moral compass.
“No, she’s grieving,” Noah grimaces sadly. “If it had been Stiles, I… I don’t know what I would’ve done…” He shakes his head, expression growing sterner. “So, you see, I might lose my job anyway, they’ve already made their move. I’ve got nothing left to lose by looking into this.”
“Except, they don’t just work through legal means, Noah,” Chris says gravely, hoping that the man will truly hear what he’s saying.
“I’ll be careful,” Noah nods at him before leaving the coffee shop.
“He’s aggravatingly noble,” Peter sighs, sitting back down to finish his drink.
“A good man.”
Peter makes a face.
“What, are good men not your type?” Chris tone gets sharp and he doesn’t even fully understand why.
Peter glances up at him in surprise.
“Did I offend in some way?”
“No,” Chris rolls his eyes at himself. “I don’t know.”
“Do I have to assure you that you’re special too?” Peter asks, mouth widening into a knowing smirk.
“No,” Chris insists, even though a small, or maybe a large part of him is saying yes.
“Because you are,” Peter continues, ignoring his protest, and slides his chair closer until his knees are touching Chris’ thigh, a simple and barely there point of contact and yet Chris’ entire body is hyper-focused on it. He now knows what it feels like to take Peter, to fuck him until he truly feels like he can’t anymore, as well as what it’s like to fall apart under him as he’s taken instead. And that knowledge follows him around every day, occasionally leaving him flushed and hard, aching.
Sometimes it’s easy to focus on the conversation, on what they’re dealing with, on Allison and their plans.
And sometimes he looks at Peter and wants to forget everything else, does forget everything else.
It’s heady and strange, like nothing he’s ever felt before.
And Peter can always tell when his mind’s straying.
“Where did you go this time?” He asks, smirk having softened into a look of desire that probably mirrors Chris’.
“Nowhere,” he answers honestly, meaningfully glancing down at their legs.
“Doesn’t take much, does it?” Peter asks wryly, reaching out a hand to grip Chris’ thigh, high enough that the closeness to Chris’ groin has his blood rushing south real fast.
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees, gaze landing on Peter’s smile.
“Want to drive a little, park by the side of the road and fuck my mouth?” Peter asks, tone easy and light as if they’re discussing dinner plans.
“And risk getting caught by the Sheriff who’d like to shoot you? Maybe we should just head back to your place instead,” Chris says evenly, standing up to give himself some space from Peter, before he actually gets fully hard at a coffee shop.
“So, you admit it now,” Peter quirks an eyebrow.
“That there’s a high chance Noah puts another bullet in you? Yes, fine, I admit it.”
“I detect a lack of sympathy for my plight,” Peter says dryly as he stands too.
Chris lowers his voice to a barely audible whisper, “You’re not doing yourself any favours by reminding Noah that you’re a killer who has criminal contacts, or by acting cocky around him.”
“I’m not acting cocky,” Peter complains. “I’m confident. There’s a difference.” He pulls on his jacket and follows Chris out of the building.
“Not from where I’m standing,” Chris mutters.
“No, for you, I am cocky,” Peter growls playfully and crowds in behind him as Chris is getting into his car, pushing his hips against Chris’ ass.
“We’re in public,” he protests as he feels a distinct shape being grinded against him.
“You kissed me at the game.”
“There’s a difference between kissing and humping,” Chris snorts and pushes them away from his car, easily dislodging Peter’s hold on him.
“Fine, we’ll be the boring couple who goes home to have sex,” Peter sighs and goes to get in from the passenger’s side.
The words, although obviously a joke, irk Chris enough that a few minutes later, he’s driving off the main road, down some path that’s surrounded by the forest, before pulling to a stop.
Peter’s looking too smug for his liking, so Chris gets out and walks around the car to his side, opens the door and unzips.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asks, voice low and quiet. He pulls his cock out and then places one arm on the door, watching as Peter turns to his side, plants his feet on the ground but remains in the car.
Peter studies him for a moment and that settles him for some reason, that look reminding him that he’s with a man who’s always paying attention to what Chris is actually feeling, who has a supernatural sense for these things.
Chris clears his throat and demands, “Suck.”
Peter’s slow smile is full of glee and devastatingly handsome. He leans forward, envelopes Chris into wet heat and has him desperately fucking into his mouth in seconds. Chris grips at the car, before giving in and gripping Peter’s hair and neck and pushing in even harder, faster, knowing that Peter can take it, hearing how much Peter enjoys it.
The sounds are what push him over the edge—Peter’s deep moans as well as the sound of Chris hitting the back of his throat—and he reaches back up to grip the top of his car, leaning down on it as his hips lose all rhythm, pumping erratically while he comes down Peter’s throat, the tight heat clenching down around him as Peter swallows.
While Chris regains his breath, Peter cleans him up, mouth and tongue diligently moving over every inch of his softening cock.
Then, while he’s still shivering a little, he’s pushed back a step as Peter stands.
“My turn,” Peter smirks at him and unbuckles his belt.
Chris’ mind goes quiet and he happily falls to his knees, not even caring if someone drives by and sees them like this, sees him. He forgets everything but the man in front of him and the thick cock on display. He eagerly leans in to gently suck Peter into full hardness before going down in earnest.
Peter’s grip in his hair is tight and yet oddly gentle, just how Chris likes it. And the way he fucks into Chris’ mouth is less desperate bucking and more controlled dismantling of any and every inhibition that Chris has ever had. He groans low when Peter’s movements get faster, grips the man’s hips and urging him to go for it, to stop holding himself back.
To Chris’ surprise, Peter pulls back at the last second and his come shoots onto Chris’ face instead.
Peter’s breathing heavily and staring down with red eyes, looking absolutely mesmerized.
Chris forgets to protest or express dismay at having come in his beard because the way Peter looks right now is stunning.
Peter crouches down and kisses him, hot and wet, tongue crowding into his mouth and sliding against Chris’, before moving an inch to the side and licking the side of Chris’ face, where most of his come landed.
Chris closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy this, Peter’s hot breath against his face, Peter’s hands cradling his jaw, angling his head this way and that as he kisses and licks away any trace of himself.
“Sorry for that,” Peter finally pants against his cheek. “Didn’t plan to, I swear.”
“It’s okay,” Chris says softly. “But next time, a little warning would be nice.”
Peter kisses him firmly in reply, a silent promise.
“I gotta say, I’m surprised you came,” Stiles says as he opens the door.
Jackson and Lydia are standing there, having just rung Laura’s doorbell. Jackson looks so unhappy at being here, it’s almost funny.
“Me too,” he grumbles. “Are you letting us in or what?” He gestures at the way Stiles is leaning in the doorway, blocking their entrance.
“Sure, if you promise to behave,” Stiles shrugs at him.
“Stiles-” Lydia starts, but Jackson interrupts her.
“I’m here to try and make nice, because Lydia asked me to. But it’s got to go both ways, I’m not going to behave if you’re not,” Jackson tilts his head back, looking down his nose at him.
Stiles glances at Lydia and sees her raising her eyebrows at him expectantly.
“Ugh, fine. Come on in.” He steps aside and lets them walk past him.
“Nice house,” Jackson remarks casually as he takes in the living room and open kitchen, the huge TV and the collection of consoles that to Stiles seems to be growing every time he visits. Cora apparently likes replaying older games and has managed to acquire several older machines, some of which, Stiles has never even heard of.
“I’m so glad you approve,” Cora drawls from her spot on the couch, fully focused on her game and not even bothering to play host.
“It’s cool that you came,” Scott offers from his place at the dining table, with Allison right next to him.
“Yeah, thanks for coming,” Allison smiles up at him.
And God, all of this is so awkward. Jackson obviously agrees with that, since he looks around in bewilderment at all of them before saying, “I don’t really understand what the big deal is all of a sudden that I hang out with you all, since it was perfectly fine that I didn’t before, but…” He gives Lydia a soft look that catches Stiles off guard, because he’s never seen that on Jackson’s face before. “Lydia actually asked me to this time so…”
“Wait, you’ve never asked him to hang out with us?” Stiles asks her, surprised.
“Of course not,” she scoffs and goes to put her bag on a chair. “He doesn’t like you and you guys don’t like him, why would I force it?”
“Exactly?” Jackson says as a question, now looking confused.
“I’m not expecting you to like each other, I’m expecting you to be civil. Whether you like it or not, Stiles and Scott are a huge part of my life and that’s not just going to stop after graduation. So, time to get used to this,” she gestures at all of them, and the silence that follows is awkward.
“Hold on, we’re the only ones you have a problem with?” Stiles asks indignantly.
Jackson looks at him like he’s an idiot.
“Duh. Allison and Cora are two of the coolest girls at school.”
Cora throws her controller away suddenly and stands up from the couch. “Alright,” she says as she comes over to put an arm around Jackson’s shoulders. “Now I can hang out with you.”
“Seriously?” Stiles says evenly.
Lydia’s beaming at Cora and, oh, Scott’s beaming too. Of course Scott didn’t take offense to being treated like a leper.
“So, what do you guys even do here?” Jackson asks carefully, giving Cora a wary glance.
“Play video games, snack, eat, drink, do homework, talk shit about you,” she grins at him.
Jackson takes it in stride, rolling his eyes. “What kind of games?”
“All and any co-op games I can find on the store, why?”
“Do you have the new FIFA?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles drawls. “How are you so boring?” He yelps when Lydia slaps his arm.
“What, do you play Fortnite or something? No, let me guess, World of Warcraft, you look like an RPG-nerd,” Jackson sneers.
“I play both and more, because they’re fun. Do you know fun? It’s something to have when you’re not being boring.”
“I’m not boring,” Jackson protests and the directness of it has Stiles thinking he might’ve hit a nerve. A few weeks ago, he would’ve dug in, poked at this, but a fight would be counterproductive to their goals tonight.
So he backs off.
“Whatever, Cora doesn’t have FIFA.”
“I can buy and install it now, it’ll just take a while,” she shrugs and releases Jackson to go back to the couch.
“Seriously?” Stiles asks her again.
“I can pay for it if you’re only buying it because of me,” Jackson offers and that gives Stiles pause, because that’s… that’s a nice thing to do. And Lydia didn’t even have to nudge him into suggesting it.
“No, it’s cool. It’s another co-op game to add to my collection, I've been so into indie games lately that I completely forgot that some of the big AAA titles have it too. Oh damn, doesn’t COD have couch co-op too? I completely forgot! We can play that, if you’d like?”
“Okay,” Jackson shrugs and catches the not-exactly-cheap controller that Cora throws at him.
“Well,” Stiles turns to Lydia. “Now what?”
She starts pulling out her books. “We do homework.”
“Fantastic.”
“I bring pizza!” Laura yells an hour later when she and Derek get home from work.
“Oh, so, now that you have a job, you’re too busy to feed us proper, healthy meals?” Stiles asks, while already opening up a box and taking a slice.
“Complain more and I’ll stop feeding you altogether,” she smiles at him.
“You’ve changed,” Stiles shakes his head mockingly.
“We all have,” she shrugs and comes closer to ruffle his hair, something that she’s never done before. He squints at her, finding it suspicious. His instincts are proven right when she leans in closer to whisper, “How’s it going?” as she nods over to the gaming area where Cora, Jackson and Scott are playing some kind of party game she found where they can beat each other up. Cora keeps winning and it keeps making Jackson focus harder and harder on the game, because he’s obviously not used to sucking at something. Scott just seems to be enjoying the funny ragdoll mechanics.
“Better than I expected,” he answers honestly.
Laura makes an impressed face and then goes to Lydia to probably ask the same thing.
Stiles is starting to wonder if it’s not Scott either, that he’s the only one that Jackson has a problem hanging out with. He’s been sitting at the table with Allison and Lydia the whole time, hasn’t spoken a word to Jackson, and everything’s going smoothly.
But this isn’t sustainable. At some point he’s going to open his mouth and say something that will annoy Jackson, who will snipe back, making Stiles go on the defensive, which for him is also offense at the same time, they’ll fight and it’ll be just like how it’s always been…
He doesn’t want to do it, but figures there’s no way around it, he has to talk to Jackson alone.
“I have to go home, or my dad will freak,” Jackson says finally, after a few hours of playing.
“Allison can drive me home,” Lydia says, glancing at her friend who nods in reply. She leans her head back to accept Jackson’s quick kiss, suddenly reminding Stiles of how he’d stare with seething hatred as the two made out against the lockers back when getting the girl was his only problem in life. How times have changed.
“Hey, I’ll come out with you for a sec,” Stiles says, standing up. And gets shocked looks from everyone. “What? I just want to talk, geez.”
Jackson’s eyes narrow and he seems to hold back his first instinctual reply, looks down at Lydia, before saying, “Fine. Five minutes.”
Stiles waves nonchalantly at his friends’ alarmed faces and follows him out the door.
“What do you want?” Jackson asks after he’s walked to his car and leant against the hood.
“To talk, like I said,” Stiles shrugs and slides his hands into his hoodie's pockets, realizing for the first time that they’re kind of heading into glove-wearing weather as he shivers a little.
“So talk,” Jackson snaps at him.
“You do realize that you have an attitude problem, right?”
“What?” Jackson pushes away from the car, shoulders tensing up.
“That’s why we’ve never gotten along. Because for some reason, even though you have the capability of being nice—I saw that inside tonight, when you were playing with Scott, who I thought you hated—you still choose to be a dick.”
“I have an attitude problem? What about you?”
“What about me?” Stiles squints at him angrily.
“Back in middle school, you were the reason we got into all those fights.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” Stiles whispers in disbelief. “Did I poke at your insecurities on purpose, did I want you to give me a reason to punch your face in? Yeah, yeah, I did. But did you even notice when I started doing it?”
“…In middle school?” Jackson raises his eyebrows, obviously not following along.
“We always sniped at each other, but I considered it light-hearted, even thought we were becoming friends, because I saw you acting the same way with Danny… And then you started bullying Scott, started bringing up the fact that his dad left, just stupid hurtful stuff that you had no right to fucking say. That’s when I started to pick fights with you. You fucking asshole.”
Jackson’s frowning, looking thoughtful.
“Scott never really reacted-”
“Because he’s a nice guy! You treated him like shit and he just took it, because he’s not the type to fight back. That doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt him.” Stiles is dragging up old memories now, which was not his plan when he came out here, and it’s making him angry. He’s full-on glaring at Jackson, finding the guy’s lack of self-awareness truly unbelievable. No wonder he turned into a fucking lizard.
“Did I cross a line with the dad stuff?” Jackson shrugs, shoulders still tense, like he’s ready for a fight. Stiles realizes his own are the same. “Yeah, I probably did. But I was a kid too, I was going through shit too-”
“Having a shitty relationship with your dad doesn’t excuse anything,” Stiles scoffs.
“What am I supposed to say then? I made a mistake and what, you’ll punish me forever for it?”
“Did you ever actually apologize?”
Jackson grimaces. “Oh, come on. I apologized to both of you-”
“No, you come on. Scott deserves a proper apology, not you forcing it through your teeth because your girlfriend has you by the balls-”
“Watch it-”
“Or what? I’ve broken your nose before, I’ll do it again, maybe this time it won’t heal so nicely-”
“I’d like to see you try-”
“No,” Stiles cuts them both off, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “This isn’t helping, this is pretty much the opposite of what I wanted this conversation to be.”
“Which was?”
“Telling you that for Lydia, I’m willing to try, but you need to understand, I’m sarcastic and bitchy sometimes, and you have got to stop taking it so personally.”
“She doesn’t expect us to be friends.”
“No, but wouldn’t it be better for her if we kind of were?”
Jackson considers that, looking away. “I guess.”
“You came here after all… so I’m guessing even though you treated her like shit too, you actually care about her.”
Jackson swallows hard, a flash of anger that he forces away by saying, “I do.”
“So, the shit that you’re dealing with at home or whatever, just know that, our little group of friends is a pretty good support group too. You don’t have to go through it alone. Although, maybe, you have Danny, so-”
“What do you know about my life?” Jackson looks back at him with a glare.
“Lydia told me a little-” Stiles puts his hands up with a flailing motion as Jackson’s expression turns thunderous, “Nothing personal or detailed, just the basic shitty dad and lots of pressure kind of deal!”
Jackson barks out a laugh, “The basic.”
“She keeps making excuses for how you act. Not just with me, but with her too.” When Jackson just keeps looking off to the side with a frown, Stiles continues, “She doesn’t deserve that.”
“Oh, and you know what she deserves?” Jackson scoffs. “Is that what this is? After all these years, are you still trying to get Lydia Martin to be your girl?”
“No,” Stiles says evenly. “I’m trying to be a good friend. I want her to be happy. And lately, you’re kind of standing in the way of that.”
Jackson’s eyes widen a little.
“So, what, you think she should dump me or something?”
“I mean, yeah,” Stiles’ head snaps back in disbelief, “Of course. But, she’s not going to, unless you give her a reason to.”
“Why did you come out here?” Jackson asks angrily.
“Oh my god,” Stiles drawls out loudly. “Why are you so goddamn prickly. I’m not attacking you, I’m trying to say I’ll be your friend if you just let me, you fucking idiot.”
“Fine, we’re friends, now leave me alone,” Jackson growls out and turns around to open the car door. Stiles steps up to grab his shoulder.
“Hey, that didn’t exactly sound con-” He shuts up mid-word and flinches back from Jackson, when the face that turns back to him is that of a monster. The scales, the sharp teeth and the reptilian eyes, the kanima hisses, just like how it did back in the garage-
“Hey, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Jackson asks.
Stiles blinks and the kanima’s gone, Jackson standing there instead, looking bewildered. Stiles has backed up a few feet and is clutching at his chest, his heart racing. He tries to calm his breathing. Tries to shake away the fear that just cascaded down his entire body, leaving him shivering from more than just the cold.
“Stiles?” Jackson asks, taking a step closer, sounding softer and actually worried.
“Look at that,” Stiles points at him, then holds his breath to try and stop the oncoming panic attack. As he releases the breath a few seconds later, he gestures between them. “Concerned for my wellbeing, that’s very friend-adjacent. We’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Jackson looks at him like he’s crazy and then rolls his eyes and turns to leave.
“See you at school!” Stiles calls after him and then staggers back into the house.
“Dude, what happened?” Scott is immediately there, catching him by the arms and helping him over to the couch.
“Just need to breathe or not breathe or whatever for a bit, just hang on,” Stiles mutters out and then focuses on every method he can think off to calm down. Weirdly enough, even though he can feel his heart and breathing settling down, his skin feels like there’s something crawling underneath it and he feels agitated. He’s calm but not calm. All of a sudden he thinks of Peter, Peter’s hand on his face, on his shoulder, Peter’s hand holding his, Peter-
“Hey,” Scott says softly, kneeling down in front of him.
“I’m good. It’s nothing, it’s stupid. My mind just gave me a flash of kanima-face out there, I overreacted.”
“Your mind or something else?” Lydia asks, sitting down next to him, hand going to his shoulder. And it’s soothing, but also not right. Not the right hand. Not the one he wants right now.
It takes him a few seconds to realize what she actually said.
“What, you mean…?”
“The Nemeton showed you Blake’s true face,” she reminds him.
“So, if this was the tree, then…”
“That means it’s definitely Jackson,” Allison says gravely, standing off to the side.
“Shit,” Scott sighs, looking down. Then he looks back up at Stiles, eyes wide with concern. “I never knew all that, you know.”
“Knew what?”
“That you started the fights because of me.”
Stiles squints at his friend’s stupidly guilty face. “Don’t do that, don’t think this is on you or something. He was an asshole to you and I reacted. Not to mention, he was an asshole to me too, so you know, I kind of wanted to fight him anyway. And after he started dating Lydia, I probably would’ve punched him even if he hadn’t bullied you.”
“How sweet,” Lydia says sarcastically.
“I’m the sweetest, thanks for noticing,” he blows her a kiss.
“You still smell a little off,” Cora says, speaking for the first time since he came back in. She’s studying him with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Yeah, I…” Stiles sighs with a laugh, “I think I’ll head off to Peter’s. I’m… I don’t know, fixated on him right now?”
Lydia’s gaze turns calculating at that.
“How so?”
“Is it because he’s your Alpha?” Scott asks, glancing at Cora. “When I first turned, Laura’s presence helped me calm down sometimes.”
“It’s probably the Alpha thing, yeah,” Cora agrees. “When we get really rattled, we kind of want the security that comes with being near them, even just seeing them helps. Knowing that they’re close. And your pack instincts have always been more werewolf than human.”
“Cool, so… I’m taking off-”
They hear a car pulling up and then a few seconds later, Laura and Derek are once again walking in with food, this time grocery bags full of what looks like fresh goods.
“Stiles, you better be hungry again, because I’m about to make the best healthy meal you’ve ever had in your life!”
Stiles stands up and starts edging toward the door. “That’s great, really, but uh, I’m actually-”
“You’re leaving?” Laura looks betrayed.
“I just… had a little panicky moment and kind of want to see Peter now-”
“Oh, I see how it is. I’m not the Alpha anymore, so my food’s not good enough, I know he feeds you!” Laura points angrily.
“Uh, yes. He does?” Stiles looks around for help. Cora’s rolling her eyes and Derek’s scowl is as unhelpful as ever.
“Fine, go. Not like I specifically went to the store because of you or anything,” Laura huffs, taking the bags to the kitchen.
“You… did?” Stiles asks, once again looking to Cora for help.
“Stop being a drama queen,” she drawls. “Stiles needs his Alpha’s presence, not food, okay?”
“Oh,” Laura says and then looks sheepish. “Sorry, go ahead. I didn’t mean to be weird.”
“You never mean to,” Derek says and easily dodges Laura’s swipe at him.
“Okay,” Stiles claps his hands and nods at his friends. “See you.”
When he gets into his car, his mind starts working overtime again and the idea of turning up at Peter’s door unannounced stresses him out, so he pulls out his phone and sends a text. If he doesn’t get a reply by the time he gets over there, he’ll just wait in the car for a while and if the answer is no, he’ll go home. No big deal.
His legs are so jittery that at some point he has to pull over by the side of the road to try and calm them down.
No big deal.
“Get dressed,” Chris tells Peter after he takes a look at his phone. He gets off the bed and starts putting on his clothes.
Peter stays where he is, dismayed at seeing the other’s bare skin covered again. Things were just about to get hot and heavy and Peter now feels extremely unsatisfied as he’s been eager to get Chris inside him all day.
“Why?” He drawls, not moving.
“Because Stiles is coming over,” Chris picks up Peter’s pants and throws them at him.
He catches them with one hand, frowning in confusion. “He usually tells me if he-” His phone vibrates. He turns to pick it up from the nightstand. “And he just told me,” he says, reading the text.
Coming over… if that’s okay?
“Allison texted you?” He guesses.
“Yes, said that Stiles needs to see you.”
“Did something happen?”
“I don’t know, she didn’t say. If it was serious, she would’ve called.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
Chris pauses while pulling his belt through the hoops, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because maybe Stiles needs comfort, or advice, and you’re good for that too. Also, you’ve got to stop avoiding each other. You were friends before I came to town, were you not?” Peter asks, while texting Stiles that it’s okay.
“We were…” Chris continues putting on his clothes. “But things are different now.”
“They don’t have to be.” Peter gets out of the bed and puts on his pants. “Come on, let’s make tea and wait for him. If he’s uncomfortable with you being here, I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Fine,” Chris says, obviously not happy about this.
Peter smiles a little as he walks off to the kitchen.
Stiles smells of fear and it makes his protective instincts rise up even before he opens the door.
“What happened?” He demands immediately, taking Stiles’ hand that's held up with the intention of knocking and pulls him in.
“Oh wow, that hits the spot,” Stiles replies with, confusing Peter until he notices the way Stiles is staring at their hands.
“Are you alright?” Peter asks and reaches up with his other hand to grab the back of Stiles’ neck, knowing that it’s a bit of a weak spot for him. Stiles’ eyes flutter closed and he steps closer to lean against Peter in an awkward almost-hug.
“Yeah, it’s nothing, I’m fine.”
“And you reek of fear because…?”
“Remember when I saw Blake’s true face? That happened with Jackson tonight. Just freaked me out a bit, caught me off guard.”
Peter frowns as he remembers that night at the garage, finding Stiles’ lifeless-looking body and the way he was crying while immobile.
“Laura said that you guys were all hanging out at her place tonight. How did it go?”
“Felt like a good start,” Stiles nods, backing up a step. He still looks a little too pale for Peter’s liking, but his scent is settling down and it eases Peter’s wolf down too. “But he’s still a dick with so many insecurity issues that he needs therapy not a pack, although I guess a pack would help.”
“Tea’s ready, if you want some,” Chris says as he walks to the doorway, finally showing his presence.
Stiles goes still like a deer in headlights. “Uh, hi. I didn’t know you’d- Hey,” he waves weakly.
Chris very obviously holds back a smile. Peter understands the impulse. Stiles can be endearingly adorable sometimes.
“Hey,” Chris says in reply and walks back into the kitchen.
Stiles turns his wide eyes on Peter. “You didn’t tell me he was here,” he whispers accusingly.
“Because I was afraid you might not come over and Allison said you need to see me.”
“Allison? What?”
“She texted Chris a warning.”
“Oh,” Stiles says, taking this all in. “So he’s here because…”
“Because we were about to spend the night together,” Peter confirms, rolling his eyes at the other’s hesitation. “Have sex and sleep in the same bed, scandalous.”
“Shit, should I go?” Stiles very predictably tries to already turn around towards the exit, when Peter grabs him by the waist and pulls him into a loose embrace.
“You’re both in my life, Stiles. This is not an either-or situation, not to mention, Chris cares about you too.”
“Right,” Stiles says, sounding unconvinced.
“Now, come on. Tea and conversation. All three of us.”
“Right,” Stiles repeats, looking nervous as Peter takes him by the hand and leads him toward the kitchen.
The two obviously don’t know how to act around each other anymore. Everything’s been laid out on the table, Stiles’ wants, Chris’ wants and Peter’s wants and yet here they are, doing this silly little dance because Chris doesn’t think he’s a good man. Oh, Peter caught onto that, of course he did, the shame Chris felt when he admitted to the Sheriff about his part in his family’s designs for this town, the deep respect that Chris obviously has for Noah, and how he finds himself lacking in comparison.
How he wanted, no, needed to hear that he’s special too after Peter admitted to having a type and Stiles being an outlier.
He can read Chris like a book sometimes.
And right now, he obviously wants to offer comfort the same way Peter did. His hands linger when he hands over Stiles’ cup, their fingers brushing against each other and Stiles’ gaze flicking down onto the table, embarrassed. Many times, as Stiles tells them with a little more detail about his night, Chris reaches out as if to pat Stiles on the shoulder or maybe put his palm on the back of his neck but then ends the movement with an awkward stretch. It’s honestly amusing to watch, despite the frustration that Peter feels with Chris’ lack of self-worth.
“And then I just had this weird feeling… I wasn’t afraid anymore and my friends were helping, but all I could think about was you,” Stiles looks up at him from where he’s sitting at the counter and Peter fights against the urge to touch, knowing that the other two wouldn’t be comfortable with any type of PDA around each other.
“Is that a pack thing?” Chris asks, standing next to Peter, opposite of Stiles.
“Most likely. Pack can help in general with feeling afraid and unsafe, but the Alpha, especially, is a calming presence then.”
And Stiles is glancing at Peter’s hands in a way that’s close to begging, which he recognizes because Peter now has intimate knowledge of what a begging Stiles looks like, and even though he can already predict Chris’ reaction, he steps around the counter to take Stiles’ hand in his—a simple, almost friendly gesture, that leaves Stiles calmer and more relaxed.
“I should head out,” Chris says.
So frustratingly predictable, the both of them.
Right after Peter thinks that, Stiles surprises them by reaching out as Chris walks past and grabbing the man’s hand. Chris immediately stills and looks down at the touch in shock.
“You don’t have to go… It’s not like… I don’t need sex or anything, we can just all be here, right?” Stiles stammers out, eyes down. “Please don’t go because of me.”
Peter watches Chris’ face like a hawk and can see in great detail the battle waging in his mind. This moment feels significant somehow, Stiles in between them, holding each of their hands, symbolic almost. Peter’s currently the piece that’s connecting the three, but this feels more right somehow, as if Stiles should be the connection instead. And in a way, he has been, hasn’t he? He’s the reason that Peter was willing to talk to Chris in the first place, to work with him. He never would’ve trusted an Argent if it hadn’t been for Stiles vouching for him. And vice-versa, since he’s been told of how Stiles shined the spotlight on Chris’ doubts about his family, how he relentlessly campaigned for Chris to join him on Team Hale.
For a moment, Peter thinks that Chris is going to give in as he takes a step closer to Stiles and reaches out with his other hand to grasp the back of his neck. Stiles lets out a little sigh and Peter can imagine the look on his face, how flushed it might be, as Chris’ eyes darken.
“I’m not leaving because of you, I promise,” Chris says, voice rough and laced with hidden meanings, some of which Peter can decode easily. Chris’ hand slides to Stiles’ shoulder, grips it tight for a moment, as if holding himself back from letting the touch stray, another impulse that Peter perfectly understands, because when Stiles says please, Peter wants to fulfil any wish that comes after that word.
Chris’ control is apparently better than Peter’s, however, because he manages to pull away. And leave.
Once the door’s closed and they’re alone, Stiles groans in frustration and leans back against Peter.
“Fuck.” He uses the hand still wrapped around his to pull Peter’s arm around his stomach. Peter follows the motion and wraps his other arm around Stiles’ chest, holding him tight.
“I don’t even have to play matchmaker, do I? I just need to shove you two into a locked room and he’ll give in eventually,” he says, chuckling softly.
He half-expects for Stiles to protest somehow, but no, he turns his head to look at Peter with a wondering expression as he says, “You think so?”
Peter takes in the redness on Stiles’ cheeks, the glazed look in his eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, you really want him, don’t you?” He asks, smirking deviously.
Stiles swallows hard, but doesn’t look away.
“Yeah, I do,” he admits, sounding defeated.
Peter leans in to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Want me to fuck you while you imagine it’s him inside you?” He whispers against Stiles’ cheek and can feel Stiles’ body shiver against him.
“You’d have to shut up for that to work,” Stiles says but reaches his free hand back to grab Peter by his hair, holding the man still while he turns his head for a proper kiss.
He takes Stiles to his bed and has him turn around, on his hands and knees, so he can’t see Peter. And then he stays silent the whole time, holding back his growls, any sound at all, holds back his claws too. More importantly, he fucks like Chris likes to fuck, when Peter has teased him too much, when Peter gets him to let go and give in. Just the way that Stiles always begs for it, hard and fast, harder and faster, until Stiles breaks down in shivers under him, reaches down to give his cock a few flimsy strokes before he’s coming apart, trembling so hard that Peter stops his movements and wraps himself around the body underneath, holding Stiles close.
“Fuck, Chris,” Stiles whispers with the lightest of moans and that somehow sends sharp spikes of pleasure down Peter’s spine, to the point where he pulls out of Stiles and manages to stroke himself to a quick climax.
“That was kind of weird, huh?” Stiles says a few minutes later when they’ve re-arranged themselves.
Peter kisses him until the faint hint of shame disappears from his scent. “The word you’re looking for is hot,” he mutters against Stiles’ lips.
“I guess weird doesn’t mean bad,” Stiles mumbles thoughtfully.
“No, it doesn’t,” Peter agrees and continues kissing him until Stiles is eagerly sliding closer and then straddling him, grinding down against him.
One perk that can be considered from having a younger partner is that their recuperation time is a lot closer to a werewolf’s.
“This time I want to see and hear you,” Stiles pulls back to say, staring down at Peter, hair all mussed up, face shiny from perspiration and lips red and wet. Peter doesn’t even have to try to get his eyes to glow with power, and the teeth come just as easily. Stiles eyes widen and his hips move faster, his breathing getting heavier.
Peter growls and grabs Stiles’ hips and helps him move, helps him keep up the pace. He lets his claws come out slow, spreading out his fingers first so they don’t pierce skin and then lightly rests them against Stiles’ waist, making the younger man shudder.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles whispers and reaches down to wrap his long fingers around them both, increasing the friction, getting them both closer to the edge.
Peter has a hunch and takes a risk, baring his teeth and snapping them up at Stiles, and he’s rewarded by Stiles yelping in surprise and then coming all over him.
Stiles laughs weakly as he slumps over him. He clumsily accepts Peter’s kiss but then pulls back and shuffles downwards on his knees until his face is lined up with Peter’s cock.
Peter props himself up on his elbows so he can see better, not wanting to miss the sight of Stiles’ mouth wrapped around the tip while his eyes are closed, eyelashes a dark contrast against his skin.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that, right?” Peter asks, reaching down to stroke his fingers against Stiles’ cheek.
Brown eyes blink up at him in surprise and those cheeks flush a pretty red, and Peter has a feeling that Stiles doesn’t wholly believe him or agree but he forgets to push the point when Stiles’ mouth moves lower, experimenting with his tongue.
But in his mind Peter vows to keep telling Stiles he’s gorgeous until he finally believes it.
Notes:
i'm alive! stress has been getting to me, which means i've desperately looked for a cozy game and stumbled upon disney's dreamlight valley, which has now taken up most of my free time. if any of you guys play video games, you know, once you're addicted to one, your free time just literally disappears and your other hobbies disappear with it lol
but! slightly less stressful times ahead, december especially is gonna be my big holiday from work month, and goddamnit, im going to finish this fic (probably not in 2022, ill be honest), because it just wont let my brain be free
even while i'm harvesting pumpkins, trying to become a millionaire in some universe at least, i'm still thinking about the stupid timeline of this stupid fic
thanks again for all the kudos and comments, appreciate you all a lot❤️
Chapter 27: insecure
Notes:
*stares intently at the timeline... then tears it into pieces and eats the remains*
idek anymore
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sunday afternoon Peter welcomes Chris and Allison into his home, offers them a light lunch and tells Allison to investigate his collection to her heart’s content. The lunch is fine, if a bit awkward, the conversation stilted and overly polite, consisting of topics like how’s school and how is Scott doing?
It isn’t until later, when he’s explaining to her the way he’s organized his shelves and Chris leaves the room to take a phone call that Allison seems uncomfortable. Which is understandable, her and Peter haven’t ever been alone together before, haven’t even had a real conversation, at least not one-on-one. It strikes him then, he’s basically meeting the daughter of his… partner.
The daughter who witnessed him killing her aunt.
Peter observes with interest as Allison goes to one of the bookcases and trails a finger over the spines. She hesitatingly glances his way a few times but doesn’t speak. The silence is heavy with something, but Peter can’t quite put a finger on what.
“You can ask me anything, Allison,” he tells her sincerely.
“Anything?” She asks, expression doubtful.
“I’m an open book.” Within reason.
She narrows her eyes at him.
“Okay. Are you and my dad officially a couple now?”
Peter should’ve expected this one, he’s disappointed in himself for being caught off guard.
“Define couple.”
“People who plan to stay together, move in together, share their lives with each other,” she says confidently, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Isn’t it a little soon to think about those things?” Peter raises his eyebrows.
“Not in the general sense… I’m just wondering if that’s something you’re interested in at all, with anyone?”
That’s a good angle. Peter smiles at her, impressed.
“I might be interested in that, eventually. But not with just anyone.”
“That…” She glares at him. “That literally tells me nothing.”
“Did you expect me to give you grand promises or romantic declarations?”
A pause, after which she sighs and turns back to the bookcase. “No, just… I know you care about Stiles… I don’t want my dad to be left behind.”
“That’s not what’s happening here.”
Allison gives him a look of consideration, before shrugging. “Okay. Do you have anything about my family history?”
“A little… What are you hoping to find?”
“Nothing, really, just curious.”
A curious mind is something that Peter can appreciate, since that’s literally why he started his collection in the first place. He hands her some translated journals from the 18th century, as well as a journal he himself wrote in about a decade ago, when he first started collecting tales about the legendary Argents and their long unbroken bloodline.
Allison gives him a nervous glance when he tells her what she’s holding.
“You researched my family?”
“Of course. Famous werewolf hunters that started the myth that silver kills werewolves… Why wouldn’t I research you? Also, Gerard was making moves back then that I did not like. Talia thought I was overreacting and well… I’m here and she isn’t.”
“I’m…” Allison looks down at the books in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Now, you’re the one Argent who does not owe me an apology, Allison.” Peter tilts his head curiously.
“I know. But… I’m trying to make it better, to make the world a safer place for you and your family.”
She’s not meeting his gaze, but he can tell, from every signal he’s picking up as well as her tone and body language—she’s sincere.
“It isn’t your responsibility.”
She looks up in surprise. “How can you say that? I’m an Argent.”
“It’s just a name,” Peter shrugs at her. “There’s no reason for you to hold yourself accountable for the actions of other people just because of your grandfather’s legacy. You don’t even have to be a hunter. Don’t have to be in this life. You and Scott can live normally, just like you would’ve before all this happened.”
Allison snorts, covers her smile with a hand. “I can’t believe you of all people are telling me this.”
“Why’s that?”
“You have every reason to want all of us dead-”
“Ah, but things have changed from when I first woke up… I do care about your father. Which, by association, means I care about you. Kind of.”
She laughs softly, “Kind of.”
“Have you truly considered what it’d be like to be with Scott, a werewolf, while living the hunter lifestyle? What about your dreams of college, what kind of career were you considering?”
“Of course I’ve thought about it a lot-”
“So, you understand what you would be giving up?” He interrupts her and she presses her mouth closed, looking annoyed. “Look at your parents as an example. What do they have in their lives outside of hunting? Chris is only now starting to live for himself and that’s because he stopped hunting.”
“This is starting to feel like a lecture. Did my dad put you up to this?”
“No. But I am saying all of this because I can tell how much he worries about you, about everything you’re planning with Hayden and Araya.”
“He’s a part of those plans,” she protests.
“How often do you talk to Hayden, one-on-one?”
She looks away, thinking.
“Did he tell you he’s worried?”
“I’m a werewolf, sweetheart, he doesn’t have to.”
Allison’s eyes narrow at the endearment he’s used once before, the night that Kate died.
“There are… options that I’ve been considering. That Hayden’s been recommending.”
“Does Chris know?”
“I haven’t discussed this with him yet, but maybe I should.”
“Options that would mean you staying out of the family business?”
“Not exactly. At least, not the actual hunting. But the company…”
“I was wondering how on Earth did you think you’d be able to pull that off.”
She glares a little, “Our first plan is still possible. But yes… taking over the company would be a legal nightmare. And I’m not exactly interested in owning shares… and I know dad would probably be okay with selling his… No, I should talk to him first about this,” she frowns at him, stepping back.
“I was just curious,” Peter holds his hands up. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the couch.
He goes to the kitchen and turns the kettle on, before turning around and quirking an eyebrow at Chris, who finished his phone call about a minute ago and has been leaning against the wall next to the open doorway, listening.
Chris’ expression is soft and grateful as he mouths ‘thank you’.
Peter smirks confidently and steps in close.
“Feel free to thank me later, when we’re alone,” he whispers against Chris’ mouth before capturing it with his.
Chris huffs out a chuckle, returning the kiss with warmth and a firmness that sends a jolt of desire down Peter’s spine.
“Is it safe to get a bottle of water?” Allison’s voice comes from the other side of the wall.
Chris pushes Peter away a bit and clears his throat. “Of course.”
Peter catches the amused glance Allison throws their way as she passes by.
He has a feeling they’ll actually get along just fine.
Trying to be Jackson’s friend is like pulling teeth, without anesthesia.
“Hey, when you getting your Porsche back?” He asks as they all congregate at the parking lot on Monday, Jackson, for the first time ever, joining their locker-by-locker routine.
“None of your business, Stilinski.”
During chemistry when Harris assigns them partners and puts Stiles and Jackson together, because he’s perfectly aware of their animosity towards each other, Stiles tries again.
“Just saying if it was impounded or something, I can ask my dad.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Makes sense, I guess. Your car was far enough to avoid getting splattered with all the blood. Mine was basically the murder weapon.”
“Stop talking,” Jackson scowls at him. The scowl itself is weak, a simple six out of ten, compared to the usual scowl he receives from Derek, so Stiles is not cowed in the slightest.
“What happened to it anyway?” He asks, sincerely curious, as he pours something into the vial in front of him. Jackson snatches the vial towards him.
“Stop, you’re ruining it.”
“You actually know what we’re supposed to do?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That wasn’t an attack on your intelligence or something, I just didn’t pay attention at all-”
“No fucking surprise there.”
“What-”
“Gentlemen,” Harris says, standing right in front of their desk, having moved up to them without Stiles noticing. “I’ll be kind enough to give you a warning, any more distracting arguments and I’ll be seeing you in detention.”
Jackson waits for Harris to get back to his desk before glaring at Stiles viciously and hissing, “Idiot.”
After school, during lacrosse practice, Jackson’s in top form and is making great plays left and right. At one point, Scott makes an excellent pass to him and Jackson scores a goal so fast and smooth that Danny remains in his guarding position for a few seconds after it happens, still waiting for the ball that’s already in the net.
“Holy crap, that was awesome!” Stiles punches Jackson in the shoulder. And gets a glare in return.
Stiles sends Scott a did you see that? look coupled with a gesture towards Jackson who’s already walking away from him.
Scott shrugs sympathetically.
The worst part is, the entire day, the only one Jackson’s this difficult with is Stiles. During lunch, Cora and Allison chat to him about video games, of all things. During lacrosse, Scott and Jackson are working as a team, making jokes and offering each other simple good job-s and yet Stiles gets the glares, the snapping, the defensiveness, and he doesn’t understand why.
But he’s had enough, so he decides to just stop pushing it. He’ll go back to treating Jackson like he doesn’t exist, his life was easier that way.
Peter doesn’t know for sure if this gesture will be appreciated, but he’s willing to risk it. He’s leaning against Stiles’ Jeep in the high school parking lot, catching a lot of attention from everyone who’s still milling about, although thankfully most of the students have already gone home.
Stiles and Scott are walking towards him together, lugging along their lacrosse gear and both stop for a second once they notice him.
They’re still far enough away that Peter can’t yet tell if Stiles’ surprise is good or bad, so he lifts his hand and waves with a smile.
“Hey,” Stiles says loudly, once he’s closer.
Scott’s wide-eyed stare speaks for itself.
Peter grabs Stiles by the hand to pull him even closer. “I thought I’d take you out for coffee or food, whatever you prefer.”
“Oh my god, is this actually happening?” Scott blurts out, but Peter doesn’t look away from Stiles’ face, letting his gaze rest on those pretty brown eyes of his.
“Like a date?” Stiles asks, one side of his mouth quirking up into a lopsided grin.
“Yes,” Peter answers simply.
“Oh god,” Scott continues to bemoan as Stiles shuffles even closer to Peter, barely any space left between them now. “Are you going to kiss? Here?” He glances around at the handful of kids that are already staring and whispering.
“I don’t know, Stiles, are we?” Peter says, quirking a brow at him.
Stiles’ eyes search his, then he shrugs.
“Dad knows, so… why the fuck not?”
He wraps his arms around Peter’s neck and pulls him into a kiss that’s a firm press of lips, perfectly alright for a high school setting, until Peter can’t resist anymore and licks into Stiles’ mouth, just barely stopping himself from grabbing anything below the waist.
As they kiss, his ears pick up some of the gossiping going on around them, dismissing most of it, as it’s just things like ‘Wait, is Stilinski gay?’ or ‘Who the hell is that guy with Stiles?’ or ‘He looks my dad’s age, what the fuck?’, and the last one stings, because again, Peter is thirty-four, he considers himself quite young still. He’d probably look even younger if he hadn’t been in that fire, since werewolves age slower than humans after they reach adulthood.
But one thing catches his attention and he focuses on it.
Two male voices.
“That is Stilinski’s boyfriend? That’s not a boy!”
“He’s hot.”
“No, he’s not, he’s like forty or something!”
Again, ouch.
A sigh. “Jackson. Don’t be a dick about this too.”
“I’m not, just… do you think Lydia knows? She can’t be okay with this, right?” Lydia. This is surely her Jackson. The kanima.
“Now you sound worried.”
“I’m not worried about Stilinski,” Jackson answers, sounding annoyed.
“So, is it jealousy?”
“…What?”
“You know-”
“You promised to never bring that up.”
“No, I didn’t. You got sober and told me to never bring it up but I never promised.”
An angry sigh.
And then Peter’s focus gets dragged back to himself when Stiles pulls back a little, looking at him knowingly.
“You were listening… What are they saying? Are they calling me a boytoy again?” Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Who is it, who keeps saying that?”
“All I heard was people not knowing you liked men and finding me hot,” he leers.
“Uh-uh, no mention of your age whatsoever?”
“None,” Peter shrugs innocently.
“Um, Stiles was supposed to give me a ride,” Scott pipes up again. Peter sighs through his nose and finally looks at him properly.
“That’s not a problem,” he says, while taking in the thinning pack bond between them. It’s close to disappearing. Laura has pressed the issue a few times, urged him to renew the bond and just like before, when he lets himself truly consider accepting Scott as his Beta, there’s something in the way.
Scott’s looking back at him right now with a confused expression, hand rubbing at his chest.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, pulling his arms away from Peter and taking a step back.
“Am I not pack anymore?” Scott asks, sounding scared.
“Almost,” Peter admits, watching him closely.
“Whoa, what?” Stiles exclaims.
“When the Alpha changed, our bonds all changed too. With my family, it’s easy, there’s no need for rituals or proof of submission. But with you…” Peter tilts his head, examining Scott. “If you think about joining my pack, the way you joined Laura’s… what do your instincts tell you?”
Scott frowns at him. “My instincts?”
“Just do it. Think about it. Imagine it.”
Stiles is nervously glancing around.
“I…” Scott rubs at his chest again. “I don’t want to,” he says and then looks surprised.
“What?” Stiles snaps before glaring at Peter. “But that will make him an Omega,” he whispers.
“Not the way you’ve read about from a hunter’s bestiary, I’m sure,” Peter says dryly. “It’s not strictly being an Omega that leaves one unstable, it’s the lack of pack interaction with other werewolves. Even if Scott doesn’t submit to me, he’ll always be pack-adjacent because of his ties to Laura, Derek and Cora and you.”
“So…” Stiles blinks at him, then looks at Scott. “It’s… fine?”
“It’s something to keep an eye on,” Peter tells the both of them.
Scott nods nervously. “Yeah. Okay. But why is it different with you?”
“I think the answer to a lot of our why questions has the same answer…” Peter sighs, looking off towards the woods, in a very specific direction. Stiles catches on immediately.
“Great, this town is slowly getting devoured by a deranged tree, that’s just great.”
“Not how I would put it,” Peter raises his eyebrows at him.
“I don’t mean literally,” Stiles protests. “Never mind, come on, I’ll take you home.” He gestures at Scott to get into the Jeep.
“Uh,” Scott starts with, making both Peter and Stiles pause. “I didn’t know that you’d be busy today… I kind of told my mom you’d… hang out at my house, for a few minutes at least.”
“What? Why?”
“She wants to talk to you.”
“…What about?” Stiles asks cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You… haven’t been around the house at all really in like over a year. She’s noticed.”
“You know why,” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m tired of having to lie and evade. Also, Allison.”
Peter hangs back and watches the conversation unfold, intrigued.
“Yeah, I know it was mainly because I spent a lot of my free time with her but… you used to come over just to see my mom.”
“That was before,” Stiles shrugs, exuding an erratic energy that has Peter studying him in concern.
“Exactly. I get it. I’m tired of lying too, Stiles. In fact… I got tired of it last night…” Scott pauses, looking guilty.
“What does that mean?” Stiles asks, sounding like he fears he knows the answer.
“I had another nightmare. And she came in and just asked if I wanted to talk about it. It would’ve been so easy to say no, but… I wanted to. So bad. So I did.”
Stiles is suddenly very still.
“You told her about Kate?”
“Yeah. Everything. Kate, Blake, the Nemeton, everything we left out earlier, everything we didn’t know back then. Just. All of it.”
“And she wants to talk to me.”
“Stiles,” Scott’s easily expressing the concern that Peter’s feeling. Stiles looks scared. “She’s not mad at you.”
Stiles barks out a laugh, “How is that possible? Of course she is.”
“She talked to your dad this morning, because I think she wanted to believe I was just barely awake and not making any sense. But now she knows everything and she wants to see you. She’s worried about you, just like everyone else.”
“Right,” Stiles covers his eyes with a hand, rubs at his forehead. “Fine. Let’s go. If it’s okay with you to wait in the car for a while there?” Stiles asks Peter, looking embarrassed.
“Of course it is.”
Stiles nods, “Thanks. Get in, then.”
Peter notices how Stiles’ hands shake a little as he shifts gears, how his fingers won’t just rest against the wheel, but keep a steady tapping. He doesn’t say anything about it because there’s nothing he could offer as comfort. He doesn’t know Scott’s mother enough to have any idea of her response to all of this. He can sense that she’s important to Stiles in some way, probably the same way that Noah is important to Scott, but he doesn’t know the specifics, the history here. So, he settles in to be a bystander. This is something that Stiles has to navigate on his own.
A part of him is still reeling from the fact that Peter showed up at his school, waiting to ask him out on a date, like a boyfriend would do. Another part is reeling from the kiss in front of everyone, in public. He doesn’t doubt that people did indeed find Peter hot, and they probably wondered what the hell’s a guy like that doing with Stiles Stilinski of all people. At times, like when they’re in the middle of sex or after sex, when Peter calls him gorgeous and looks like he means it, he wonders that too, has thought about making a ‘we need to get you some glasses’ quip but knows it would go unappreciated.
And then the largest part of him is freaking out over possibly losing the only mother figure he has left.
When Scott’s dad left, Stiles made the grand offer of sharing his dad. When Stiles’ mom died, Scott promised to share his mom. Now, of course, he thinks back to that and laughs at how ridiculous that was, thinking they had any control over their parents and could just gift them to each other like presents. Because it wasn’t up to them, it was up to Noah and Melissa, and they made it happen.
His dad promised Melissa that he’d help out however he could. That she only had to call him.
And after the funeral, Melissa showed up with food, something a lot better than the casseroles that half the town gave them, and told both Noah and Stiles that she’d be there for them. She said that Stiles and Scott are like brothers, which makes Melissa and Noah family too.
Stiles used to talk to Melissa a lot. Just like Scott said, he sometimes went over there not because he missed his friend, but because he wanted to see her. But then the sleepwalking happened and he stopped going, because she of course noticed that something was wrong. He was stumbling more than usual, slurring his words, and there was this one time when his exhaustion was at its worst and he just stopped speaking altogether. That one probably scared her the most. She’d touch his forehead, ask him about any possible symptoms, she’d get so worried, just like his dad, and Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say other than I’m fine. In the end, he decided it was better to just stay away.
And now she knows that her son got dragged into a murder ritual because of Stiles. That he started all this.
Sometimes, when he got Scott into trouble just because he was there while Stiles was doing something against the rules… there’d be this look in her eyes. This look of annoyed exhaustion, this look of ‘Of course it was you’.
He doesn’t want to see that again.
Not about this.
“Stiles?” Scott’s hesitating on the doorstep, because Stiles has been just standing there, in his yard, frozen, for like a minute now.
“Yeah,” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Yeah, let’s go in.”
This time, having actually listened to Stiles when he ranted at the Alpha about his lack of privacy, Peter decides not to eavesdrop and is scrolling through his emails on his phone, looking specifically at the ones that Astrid sent him, full of pdfs and photos of interest, all about stories and legends of children given as gifts to various things, not just Nemetons, but also sacred graveyards, ancient coves and crossroads, of all things. Apparently, according to Astrid, if a crossing of roads coincides with a crossing of ley lines, there’s enough power there to spark trouble if someone makes it an offering.
“Nature existed before any of us, and given enough magic, anything can become somewhat sentient. At least enough to want more, more power, more sacrifices. Greed’s universal, apparently,” is what Astrid wrote in one email.
He’s pondering over this and thinking about some other places he’s visited where he remembers feeling something in the air, in the land. Where he remembers feeling small. The catacombs in Paris were one notable example, and as he’s curiously wondering if that could also be used as a source of power by someone like Blake, his phone vibrates in his hand.
Derek’s calling him.
“Yes?”
“Trouble in the Preserve, near the town border, two werewolves and they’re being tracked by three of Gerard’s men.”
Peter’s brain stops for a second at the total shock of that sentence.
“Who?” He asks, already getting out of the Jeep. Sadly, his little outing with Stiles is going to have to wait.
“I don’t know, I haven’t-” Derek cuts off for a moment. When he continues, he’s whispering, “I’m following the hunters, I heard them talking, I haven’t seen the werewolves, but I’ve caught their scents.”
“Tell me where you are exactly.”
“I parked near the house and then I followed them north-west about a mile or so. They’re moving slowly, they’re confident they’ll catch up because they tagged one of them.”
“Alright, I’m on my way.”
He sends one last look towards the McCall residence, listens in for just a second-
“No, I’m not mad at you, Stiles. I’m mad at Noah, for keeping this from me, when it concerns my son too,” Melissa is saying, sounding aggravated.
Peter makes a note to himself to check in on Stiles later, before he runs off towards Derek’s location.
“Don’t be mad at him, he just… This whole thing’s crazy. How would you’ve started a conversation like that, it’s not easily explained.”
They’re sitting in the kitchen, just the two of them. Scott went upstairs to his room after giving his mom a quick hug which she clutched onto with surprising desperation. Her entire demeanor, her expression—it’s not what Stiles expected. She looks sad, and worried.
“There’s no excuse,” she shakes her head, dark curls tumbling loose and she brushes them away from her face. “He should’ve come to me immediately. I should’ve known, that night. The fact that he came to me after and lied straight to my face. Told me that the kids just wanted to have a fun night out because they were all worried about you, that you hadn’t been doing well, had problems sleeping, that I shouldn’t punish Scott too hard because he was just being a good friend-” Melissa stops, sounding choked up. She looks at him and Stiles is stricken by Deja vu, since that teary-eyed frown is the exact look she gave him at his mom’s funeral, when he didn’t answer anyone’s questions, when he refused to talk. “But I guess that last part was true, wasn’t it. Scott just wanted to help you… God. The things you kids have been through,” Melissa sighs heavily. “Nightmarish things.”
“Sometimes I wonder if… if maybe I hadn’t told Scott about any of this… maybe he’d be alright. Wouldn’t be a werewolf even. But then I remember who he’s dating,” Stiles finishes with a rueful chuckle.
Melissa makes a face, “Oh, don’t even get me started. This whole Argent thing is… the things Scott and Noah told me about them.” She shakes her head again. “They sound… cartoonishly evil. Like movie villains.”
“Yeah… except. They’re real. And here.”
“Noah’s worried that this whole thing’s going to end with a lot of dead people. What do you think?” She asks cautiously.
“Honestly? …Peter’s only waiting right now because his pack is still settling in and also out of respect for both Chris and Allison… I don’t think he has any intention of letting Victoria and Gerard leave here alive.”
“And the hunters?”
“Are crazy cultist-level killers, who believe that they’re the heroes in this story.”
Melissa’s the palest that Stiles has ever seen her.
“I can’t believe this is actually happening, this is just. Unreal.” She suddenly grabs his hand. “But listen, I also wanted to talk to you about something else. Noah told me what Claudia did.”
Stiles breathes in sharply. “Oh.”
“I… The fact that we’re now talking about a magical fertility… rite or whatever… is…” Melissa struggles to find the words and gives up, closing her eyes. “But if that’s the reason you’re here…” She looks at Stiles, eyes gentle and warm. “I’m glad she did it. Stiles.”
“Even though that started all of this?”
“I remember how afraid she was of losing you. How she tried to avoid any and all stress… She wanted nothing more than to finally get to hold you in her arms, and if that ritual is what got you here, if without it you would’ve…” She swallows. “I don’t even want to say it. I just wanted to make sure that you know, I’m so glad that you’re here.”
“Thanks,” Stiles chokes out, emotion caught in his throat. “I’m… glad you know everything now.”
“No more of this secrecy bullshit, alright?” She asks him with a glare. “I’m too overworked to try and figure out what’s actually going on on my own, you kids need to keep me in the loop. Noah promised me too.”
“Yeah, no more secrecy,” Stiles nods eagerly. “I promise.”
Peter and Derek circle around the hunters and run ahead, following the easy-to-track scent of blood until they reach an old half-rotten wooden shack. From within, they can both hear the whispering.
And Peter immediately recognizes the voices.
“Come out, Eileen,” he growls.
Silence, before a figure exits the shack and stomps down the broken steps. Eileen looks pretty much exactly how Peter remembers her, thin black hair pulled tight into a low ponytail, face wide and full of sharp angles, mouth thin and stern, nose long and hawkish and eyes a deep dark brown, narrow yet alert. Her build is stocky and muscular, yet she’s short, something that has always resulted in people underestimating her strength.
“Peter,” she says steadily.
“I presume that Michael’s the one who got shot,” he says, taking in her mud-covered and grass-stained clothes.
“Yes,” comes a male voice from inside, along with a grunt as a heavy-set fifty-something man stumbles out after Eileen.
“Sit,” Eileen turns to bark over her shoulder.
“We’re meeting with the Alpha of this territory… No time to sit just now,” Michael chuckles and forces himself to straighten, so he can look Peter in the eye.
The bullet went through the left side of his stomach. It must be painful.
Michael looks a lot different from the clean-shaven guy that Peter remembers. His thin black hair is now longer than Eileen’s and also pulled into a tight ponytail. Shades of grey are appearing there as well as in his beard. The brother-sister duo have never looked more like family than now.
“You’re trespassing,” Peter tells them flatly, not bothering with niceties. “And it’s a very bad time to trespass in Beacon Hills, as I’m sure you’ve discovered,” he gestures towards Michael’s wound.
“Understatement,” Michael huffs.
“We hoped that maybe Gerard’s been dealt with already,” Eileen says, glaring.
“Even if that were the case,” Peter says, diplomatically ignoring how once again she implied that Gerard was wholly his problem to deal with. “You wouldn’t be welcome here without a good explanation. Not to mention, it’s customary to call first and ask for permission to enter another pack’s territory, or have you forgotten?”
“We don’t have our phones,” Michael says, sounding contrite. “And we’re desperate. Peter. This is all that’s left of my pack.”
“What happened?” Derek speaks up, looking wary.
“Hunters, of course,” Eileen grunts out.
“We’ve been running from them for years,” Michael adds.
“You’re running from hunters and you decided to come here… the town that Gerard Argent is trying to turn into a hunter Mecca.” Peter quirks an eyebrow. Then turns quickly to look over his shoulder, hearing three figures moving through the underbrush.
“They’re closer. We should get out of here,” Derek warns them.
“No,” Eileen snaps. “We should take care of them. Why are you letting hunters roam in your woods, Peter?” She tilts her head mockingly. “Why aren’t their throats slashed yet?”
“There’s a lot more going on here that you know nothing about. And I won’t have trespassers judging me for inaction, when your pack also did nothing to stop Gerard’s rampage across the states. Or were you seriously waiting for me to wake up from my coma so I could eliminate your problem?”
“Now’s not the time for this,” Derek says.
“There’s three of us now. And three of them. We can ambush them.”
Peter is already tired of her. But she also makes an interesting point. This is an excellent opportunity to lessen Gerard’s manpower. But there’s one little problem. He glances at Derek, who is observing him cautiously.
“It’s your call,” his nephew shrugs. “But the bodies…”
“Yes. They can’t be found.”
“The lake’s near here, we passed it a while back,” Michael says. “And there’s stuff in that shed that we could use to sink the bodies. Rope too.”
Peter nods, glances at Derek one more time, taking in the other’s resolve to follow whatever order Peter gives him.
“Alright. Let’s figure out our positions, and quick. They’re almost here.”
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Scott tries to soothe him.
“I don’t even care right now, he left my Jeep here, unprotected, unlocked, someone could’ve stolen it!” Stiles yells while checking over every inch of his car.
“You don’t mean that,” Scott says, but sounds unsure.
“I just… He didn’t text me or anything, it’s… rude…” Stiles is trying his best to not sound as let down as he feels. Coming out of the house, all excited for his first proper date with Peter and then finding the car empty, with no message, no nothing, was like a punch to the hollow center of his chest. Familiar insecurities immediately started bubbling up, until protectiveness over his Jeep took over.
“I’m sure he had a good reason,” Scott says, still sounding unsure. Stiles is aware of how wary Scott still is of Peter, especially because of the nightmares, but also because he’s uncomfortable about the age difference, so he knows that Scott is just being a good friend, saying what he thinks Stiles wants to hear, what he thinks will make him calm down.
Stiles sighs, finally satisfied that his car’s still in the perfect condition that it was gifted back to him as, when his phone makes a little chirping sound. He quickly scrambles to pull it out of his pocket to see who texted him.
“It’s him,” he tells Scott. “Something came up, I’ll call you. Wait, that’s it?” Stiles stares at the screen in disbelief.
“At least you know he hasn’t been mauled by Alphas again,” Scott points out.
“…I didn’t even consider that possibility, thanks,” Stiles drawls evenly.
Scott shrugs at him, nonplussed.
Chris once warned him that hunters have evolved, that they’re smarter than ever before and more capable of taking down Alphas, or entire packs in one go.
But in the end, hunters are still human. And most humans, once they get a taste of power, often let it go to their heads. That must be why the three men who are tracking Michael and Eileen don’t use anything tactical, no flashbang-arrows, no mountain ash grenades, nothing, they just walk up towards the shack where the blood trail leads, guns in hand, eager for a fresh kill to brag about.
They obviously didn’t count on Peter’s pack coming to the rescue.
As the three men focus on the shack, once again making Peter rolls his eyes at the lack of tactics, since not one of them is guarding their backs, he and the others move in.
Peter grips his target’s chin from behind and quickly pulls it to the side, effortlessly snapping the man’s neck. Barely a sound escapes any of them as Eileen and Derek do the same thing to the others simultaneously.
A moment later, after the bodies have fallen to the ground, Michael stumbles out of the shack again. Eileen’s already emptying one of the guns.
“Come here, we need to get rid of that wolfsbane,” she orders her Alpha.
Peter leaves them to it and grabs Derek’s arm, pulling his nephew with him as he steps away.
Derek’s pale and frowning. But otherwise calm.
“You’ve killed before,” Peter notes. Derek’s gaze flicks up to him in surprise. “Please don’t say you think you killed our family, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”
“No,” Derek says softly, looking away. “There was a hunter in New York… Laura said he was probably checking up on us, making sure we were playing by the rules…”
“I’m guessing that’s not what he was doing,” Peter says, tilting his head. Laura’s never mentioned this.
“I started following him. And caught him trying to set up a trap for Cora.”
Peter grits his teeth. “So, you did what had to be done,” he says slowly, meaningfully. Derek’s eyes meet his, wide and unsure.
“I protected my pack…” he says, but like he’s doubting the words as they come out of his mouth.
Peter steps closer and places a hand on the nape of his neck, gripping tight. “You did what had to be done,” he repeats. An eerie recollection hits him, a memory of Talia saying the same thing after he killed the wendigo. “I’m proud of you,” he adds, again repeating Talia’s words from that night.
Derek’s jaw tightens and he nods.
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you,” Peter says, releasing him.
“I don’t enjoy it,” Derek says, glancing at the bodies. “But we have to get rid of them, all of them, one way or another.” He looks back to Peter, resolved. “I just want my home back.”
“Me too,” Peter nods at him.
“So why haven’t you reclaimed it?” Eileen’s voice interrupts their moment.
Peter turns to her angrily, “Because this town is dealing with a lot more shit than just the Argents. Are you done?”
Eileen raises her eyebrows mockingly but then replies, “Yeah, we’re done.”
“Thank you, Alpha Hale-”
“No need to thank me just yet,” Peter cuts in before Michael can finish the formality. “Get up and help us get rid of the bodies. And then I’ll be gracious enough to give you five minutes over coffee at our pack house.”
“Five minutes?” Eileen asks warily.
“To give me your best argument for why I shouldn’t just throw you out.”
Michael looks shocked. “Peter, we’re seeking sanctuary-”
“You can try to make me care later, right now, bodies,” he snaps his fingers at them and points at the hunters.
The siblings exchange an uneasy glance before grabbing a body each. Peter gestures for Derek to take care of the third while he goes to the shack in search of rope and something heavy enough to sink them all deep into the lake.
His phone buzzes. Stiles has texted him.
Scott said that Derek didn’t show up for their little werewolf playdate. What the hell’s going on?
Peter should’ve known better, his earlier text would obviously not deter Stiles from being stubbornly curious.
Everyone’s alive, but we have visitors. I’m dealing with it, I’ll tell you more later.
He puts his phone away and grabs a dusty large trash bag with a few holes in it and loads it up with everything useful that he can find. He then holds it over one shoulder, while holding the rope under his arm on the other side and exits the shack.
“Let’s go.”
Stiles can’t sleep.
He keeps impulsively reaching for his phone, to check his messages, hoping to see a new one from Peter, or maybe a missed call or something.
Visitors, is what he said. Last time they had visitors, Peter ended up with a crushed spine, Scott and Lydia got attacked and bitten, Stiles almost died…
Peter has to know what this would do to Stiles’ brain, how his mind would just come up with theories of what’s going on without stopping, because that’s what he’s like now, what he’s kind of always been like. If he wants to know something really bad, he can’t rest until he has exhausted all available options for gaining that knowledge.
But maybe Peter doesn’t know.
It hits him, as he’s laying in bed, morosely staring at his phone, that there’s a lot he hasn’t told Peter, most of the things the man knows he has guessed or learned from observation. Stiles has asked Peter questions about his life before the fire, questions he got kind of evasive answers to but at least they were actual answers. Peter doesn’t ask much, though. Doesn’t pry.
He remembers telling him that his mom got sick and died and got no follow-up questions.
Throughout all of this, Peter’s been careful to not be pushy and Stiles appreciates it but now he kind of wants the man to pry… to show interest in something other than his body. Stiles hides his face in his pillow at that thought. He’s overreacting again, he’s sure of it.
Fuck it, he’s going into answers, NOW mode. He calls Peter.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” is how the man answers. And damn it, if that doesn’t immediately dissipate all the frustration that’s been building up in him.
“It’s fine, just… I can’t sleep, man. Not unless I know what’s going on,” Stiles sighs, turning on his back.
“I planned to check in, time just got away from me.” Peter sounds sincerely apologetic at least.
“Who are the visitors?” Stiles gets straight to the point.
“The remaining two members of the Mato pack. They used to live in Beacon County. Before the fire.”
“In… in the county, so not in Beacon Hills?” He asks, while half of his brain is freaking out because more werewolves.
“No, this town is Hale territory.”
“But why are they here then?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out… Michael, the Alpha, got shot by one of Gerard’s men. He passed out a little while after Eileen, his sister, helped him clear out the wolfsbane from his system. We’re waiting for him to wake up because she won’t talk until he does.”
“He got shot?” Stiles sits up in his bed. “Wait, so Gerard knows there are more werewolves in town?”
“…He might not.”
“What does that mean?”
“Derek and I took care of the hunters following them. We hid the bodies in the lake.”
“You…” Stiles’ brain halts. “You killed them?”
“Yes. Three of them. One each, it was Eileen’s idea.”
“Oh,” he says softly, trying to figure out how he should react to this.
“I wish I was there so I could tell what you’re feeling,” Peter says, sounding cautious.
“I… I’m not sure even I know what I’m feeling right now.”
“Are you mad?”
“What? No, you… you saved their lives, right? It’s… a good thing, what you did,” he says, while cringing at how much it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself that that’s the case.
“Stiles,” Peter says seriously. “It wasn’t good. But it was an opportunity to start chipping away at Gerard’s manpower. Because that is what I’m going to do. There will be more deaths, a lot more.”
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says, because he does know. He has known. He just hasn’t… fully acknowledged it? He drags his fingers through his hair, tugging at it. Peter’s dangerous, Peter’s a killer. He wonders if he’s in over his head. He’s been so blinded by the sex and the attraction that the other stuff was just… always there but in the background, never in the forefront. “You hid the bodies, so… that’s good,” he mumbles, trying to look at this more logically, analytically. “Do you think Gerard’s going to report them missing?”
“Probably. Since it’s another way to undermine your dad.”
“Another way?” He asks, eyes narrowing into slits as he remembers Gerard’s not-so-subtle threat.
“He hasn’t told you?” Peter asks evasively.
“Told me what?”
The man sighs heavily, “Victoria and the mother of that guy that Blake killed both filed complaints against the Sheriff. Noah said there’s been talk of an investigation, but I don’t know if that’s actually happening yet.”
“Fuck,” Stiles mutters and presses a fist against his forehead. “They’re trying to get him fired.”
“Probably to put Haigh in his place, since he’s their inside man already.”
“Now there’s a guy you should take care of,” Stiles snorts, obviously not really meaning it.
“I would if you told me to.”
Stiles’ mouth drops open.
“You did not just casually offer to murder someone for me.”
“I did.”
Stiles laughs incredulously, “You’re unreal.”
“I’m very real. And very sorry about missing our date today. I wanted to do something easy and fun. Something normal. I hear you’ve been craving that recently.”
“Where did you hear that?” Stiles asks, confused. But even before Peter replies, he recalls the conversation he had with Chris while standing in front of his mother’s grave.
“Chris might’ve mentioned it,” Peter confirms his suspicion.
“Huh. Well. A date would be nice, but… no more bodies being found that my dad would have to deal with is nicer, I guess.”
“Practical, I like it. Are you the sort who also prefers practical presents?”
“…Are you seriously switching the topic to Christmas presents right now?” Stiles tries to sound serious, but he’s grinning.
“I told you I like to get my shopping done early. It’s already November, I’m behind.”
Stiles snorts loudly, “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unreal, unbelievable, anything else?”
“I don’t know, unhinged, unnerving, unseemly, uncouth-”
Peter laughs suddenly, causing Stiles to stop talking so he can hear it. It’s a nice laugh.
“I’m extremely well-mannered, how dare you?” Peter argues teasingly.
“On the surface, maybe,” Stiles mutters, smirking.
This phone call feels like a rollercoaster of emotions.
“God, I wish I didn’t have to deal with these two. I want to see you come again.”
Stiles flushes from head to toe, so suddenly that it leaves him a little light-headed.
“Yeah…” He clears his throat. Tries to think of something sexy to say. “I wish I was in your bed right now…” He gets side-tracked. “Hey, whatever mattress you’re using? Would love to get one of those for Christmas, just saying.”
“But if I buy one for you, how do I keep convincing you to stay the night?”
“I’d love to wake up next to you even if we were sleeping on the floor,” Stiles admits and then palms his face in disbelief at his lack of filter. That sounded so goddamn sappy. Peter’s talking about sex, is using his flirty voice, and Stiles is going I just like being in your arms, like the lovesick teenager that he is.
“…Same here.” Peter says, causing Stiles’ head to snap up in surprise. “I love to wake up before you so I can watch you sleep.”
“Creepy,” Stiles mumbles, while thinking sweet.
“Would you like to spend another Friday night with me?”
Stiles’ heart is slamming against his chest, it’s ridiculous how nervous he still gets right until the moment he’s in Peter’s arms, being kissed, touched, fucked—then his nerves disappear and he feels like he’s truly alive, fully in the moment and nowhere else.
“Yeah, I would. No coffee date before then?” He asks, suddenly feeling like Friday seems very far away.
“We’ll see what Michael says when he wakes up… And how Gerard reacts when his hunters don’t return from their patrol.”
“Shit. Right.” Stiles’ heart gets dragged back into reality and oddly enough, calms the fuck down. “I think I can sleep now,” he says, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Keep me posted?”
“I will. Sweet dreams.”
Stiles’ dreams end up being very sweet indeed.
Chris is getting ready for bed when Laura calls.
“I’m just about to-”
“Peter did something impulsive that might have repercussions on us all. So… we’re having a meeting about it.”
He stills while pulling back the covers, lets them fall back onto the bed as he straightens.
“Why isn’t he calling me?”
“He’s busy arguing with one of our guests. Just… Get over here.”
Chris has a lot of questions but she hangs up before he can voice any of them.
He sighs and gives his bed a forlorn look. He was really looking forward to an early night.
“-can you call this your territory when Argents walk on it freely?” Is the first thing that Chris hears when the door is opened for him. Laura stands there, looking exhausted.
“I just got off a ten hour shift and this greeted me when I got home. Now you get to suffer with me.”
“Who’s that?” The same voice asks tersely.
Chris steps in and takes in the scene. A man and a woman standing in the living room that look… familiar. The woman has her hands on her hips and is glaring at him, while the man looks more convivial. Both look to be in their late forties or maybe older, with tan skin, dark hair and eyes and similar facial features.
“Wait, I know you,” the woman growls out. “Isn’t that Gerard’s son?” She snaps at Peter, who is standing off to the side, annoyed half-lidded gaze directed towards the ceiling.
“Yes. And my pack,” he says evenly.
“You have an Argent in your pack?” She snarls. “We shouldn’t have come here, I warned you,” she turns to the man.
“Calm down, Eileen, please,” he says and that name sparks something in Chris’ brain.
“The Mato pack?” He asks, glancing at Laura, who nods tiredly. “I thought they were-” he cuts himself off.
“What? Dead?” Eileen glares daggers at him. “Close enough. Did your daddy brag about taking us down? Is that why you’re surprised to see us?”
Chris clears his throat, uneasy at the open hostility she’s regarding him with. “No. It’s what the rumors say. From both of our communities.”
“And why wouldn’t they?” Michael Mato chuckles humorlessly. “We’re all that’s left. Wouldn’t really call us a pack.”
“Back to what you just said,” Peter’s chin lowers as he turns to look at Eileen. “You didn’t want to come here? Then leave.”
“I was hoping for an alliance,” Michael says.
“An alliance with you has no benefits to me.”
“More werewolves to help with taking care of your Argent problem is not a benefit?” Eileen frowns deeply. “What, are you playing nice with them now or something? Marrying into the family?”
“You are exhausting. I remember when you used to sound like the voice of reason,” Peter sighs, stepping closer to them both. “But now you just sound hysterical.”
“What did you call me?” She growls softly.
“Peter.” Michael puts a hand on his sister’s shoulder, squeezing hard in warning. “We just need sanctuary until I figure out our next move. Please.”
Chris observes Peter’s exterior—calm, aloof, almost bored. But Peter’s exterior often doesn’t fully reflect what’s going on in his head. Chris wishes he had supernatural senses or something so he could read the man better. He is unsure what the right thing to do is here. More werewolves would have both positive and negative impacts on the town. But he also doesn’t like how Eileen’s talking to Peter, a complete lack of respect for the Alpha of the territory she’s standing on. It shows that something is wrong here, there’s a dynamic he doesn’t fully understand yet.
Movement from the hallway catches his attention and only then does he notice Derek and Cora standing there.
“We have no sanctuary to give,” Derek says, surprising Chris with his frankness.
“Exactly,” Peter drawls. “I’m not heartless, I’ll let you stay a couple of nights until you’ve regained your strength. But then I expect you to leave.”
“You were never supposed to be Alpha,” Eileen spits out suddenly. “Talia knew it too back then. You’re going to destroy what’s left of the Hale pack, mark my words.”
“That’s enough,” Laura shifts and snarls at her.
Chris hears more growls and sees both Derek and Cora in their Beta shifts, breathing heavily.
Peter’s demeanor hasn’t changed. “I suggest you stop talking if you wish to leave here alive.”
“You’d threaten one of our kind?” Michael frowns. “You know how few of us are left.”
“Spare me,” Peter sighs, rolling his eyes.
“You can have Peter’s room,” Derek says, the first one to calm down and shift back. “Come, I’ll show you where it is.”
“Your Alpha’s room?” Michael glances at Peter in shock.
“It used to be. I don’t live here.”
From Eileen’s clear disbelief, Chris gathers that it’s not common for the Alpha of a pack to live separately.
They watch as the two are led further down the hall by Derek and then Peter turns to Chris and nods towards the door, “Let’s go talk a bit further away.”
Laura opens the door and motions for them to go out first.
Once they’re out, Laura gets into her SUV and starts it.
“I guess we’re going for a drive?” Chris asks and gets no response. He sighs and gets into the back, Peter taking the passenger seat.
They drive for a few minutes and then Laura’s tired voice breaks the silence.
“Three of Gerard’s men were killed tonight.”
Chris’ eyes flick up. “They were after the Matos?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to pretend I did it for them,” Peter says, staring out of the window.
Laura groans and harshly turns into a gas station. She parks the car and then glares at her uncle. “Did you consider the repercussions?”
Peter waves his hand dismissively. “Gerard was going to make a move anyway. Maybe I wanted to show him that I’m not just going to sit back and wait.”
“Fuck,” Laura mutters angrily, leaning back against her headrest. “I know you’re right. I just… I don’t want you to treat Derek like an attack dog.”
“I haven’t done that,” Peter snaps, head swiveling in Laura’s direction.
Chris is starting to dislike the fact that he can’t properly see either of their expressions.
“You didn’t order him to kill someone today?” Laura scoffs.
“He offered.”
A silent glaring match ensues.
Chris clears his throat, “What about the bodies?”
“In the bottom of the lake,” Peter tells him.
“Alright.”
“You’re fine with this?” Laura turns around in her seat, sounding incredulous.
“Fine?” Chris laughs darkly. “No. But how else is this going to end? I’ve given them every chance to turn around and walk away from this. I’ve begged Victoria to think of Allison and make the right call. They’re not going to back down, Laura. It’s you or them.”
“I don’t care about Argent lives,” she growls. “It’s everyone else I’m concerned about. You changed, you left, how many of these hunters are men like you, who were brainwashed by their families and just haven’t found the courage to leave yet?”
It chills him to the bone that he has never thought of that before.
“Those men today were all very happy to kill two werewolves without any mercy or second-guessing,” Peter says. “They don’t deserve your concern.”
Laura stares off to the side, silent for a minute.
“Yeah, probably not,” she mutters.
“Are you really kicking them out?” Chris asks.
“Yes. Eileen’s more trouble than she’s worth. Michael’s old-fashioned. Both are annoying.”
Chris stares hard at the back of Peter’s head. “What if kicking them out means the end of the Mato pack?”
“Trying to make me feel bad for them?”
“Just trying to see how there’s no benefit in helping them. Didn’t you want your old glory back? Alliances, friends… wouldn’t the Matos be a good start?”
“Half our glory came from strong alliances.” But the tension in Peter’s shoulders eases up a bit as he sighs. “If things were different, maybe I would do it. But it’s just not worth it at this point. Having another Alpha around, while I’m still having trouble with control… it’s a recipe for disaster.”
Right. There’s still that problem too.
That also reminds him… “Does Stiles know about what happened tonight?”
“He does.”
He wants to ask more but Peter’s dismissiveness is getting to him, as is the fact that he’s tired.
“Take me back to my car, please. I need sleep.”
Once they’re back at the pack house and Laura has already rushed inside, Peter hesitates next to Chris’ car. And finally, he gets to see some hint of what’s going on beneath the mask of calm. Peter shuffles closer and grabs him by the hips, but he’s staring at Chris’ chest, not meeting his eyes. His mouth is tight, jaw tense, he looks on edge.
“Tell me honestly, do you think I fucked up tonight?”
Chris is floored by the fact that Peter’s looking to him for assurance. Mostly, the man’s come across as ‘this is who I am, take it or leave it’. This is the first time that Chris gets the sense that Peter’s afraid of his disapproval.
“No, I don’t think you did,” he says honestly and wraps his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him in. “I’m with you, Peter. For all of it.” He hopes he gets his meaning across.
The werewolf’s head tilts back and he smirks, gaze soft and grateful.
“That probably means you need therapy.” The tone is so gentle and sweet that it takes a second for the words to hit him.
Chris snorts in disbelief, “Are you offering again?”
“Considering the fact that I’m sleeping with you? Of course not,” Peter makes a face at him. “That would be against the code of ethics-” He hums when Chris interrupts him with a kiss.
“And you’re a man who cares a great deal about ethics,” Chris whispers against Peter’s mouth.
Peter grins and doesn’t answer, grabs Chris by the neck to kiss him deeper.
Notes:
did i notice that chris and peter had the 'you want to bite me?' conversation twice upon a random re-read? yes, yes i did
did i fix it? nah, i'm not interested in editing right now, feels like homework lolbut, one thing i did fix - i managed to name both an OC and chris' mom eileen in the same chapter... i've now changed chris' mom to eleanor. *thumbs up*
Chapter 28: off
Chapter Text
In the back of his mind, Stiles knows that this precarious sense of calm’s going to end. What Peter did last night, the situation with the kanima, Gerard fucking Argent looming over all of them, things are going to blow up, and soon. But it feels like his brain’s done with stress and anxiety because he wakes up feeling fine, ready to continue his one day at a time strategy.
He meets up with Lydia early at the school and while they wait for the rest of their friends, he tells her what he knows.
“He killed them?” Lydia asks quietly, stepping closer.
“Yeah,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Or well, he said ‘one each’, so technically, he killed one of them.”
“And you’re…” Lydia’s head turns to one side and she looks him up and down.
“I… I’m okay with it,” Stiles shrugs again. And he’s not lying. Not exactly. There’s this part of himself that feels disconnected. Like he knows how his dad would react, he can see how Lydia’s reacting… He knows that he should be reacting the same way. But he’s not. And he’s not going to fake it either.
“The person you’re falling for just murdered three random people and you’re-”
“They weren’t random people, Lydia.” He leans his head down closer to her, whispers fiercely, “They were the same kind of people like Kate, Gerard. They wanted to kill two people just for being werewolves-”
“You don’t know that,” Lydia insists, making Stiles pull his head back. “You knew nothing about these men and you know nothing about these werewolves. Are you forgetting that Chris is a hunter and that Ennis was a werewolf? Do not start thinking in black and white, you’re better than that.”
Stiles shakes his head, looking away from her. “The main thought in my head is still good riddance.”
“Oh yeah? What if they had families, children-”
“Don’t use imaginary children to get me to feel bad, you’re better than that.”
Lydia closes her mouth into a tight line, glaring at him.
“Fine. Forget that argument and let’s focus on this one; what if this is exactly what Gerard’s been waiting for?”
“What do you mean?” Stiles’ eyes narrow at her, but he’s already following her line of thought, getting an idea.
“He likes to play the hero, doesn’t he? They haven’t touched any of the Hales, even though they know where they live. But something like this? Gerard can now call for retaliation. Not just for his daughter, but for these innocent men.”
“Innocent, yeah right,” Stiles mutters but is left feeling cold from the realization that she might be right. “Fuck, he’s going to paint Peter as some kind of an unhinged serial killer, isn’t he?”
“Well, if the shoe fits,” Lydia says dryly.
Stiles squints at her in confusion. “Are you forgetting that you were very supportive of me jumping into bed with him about a week ago?”
“Because you deserve to have fun,” she huffs. “But this… This is getting crazy.”
“We always knew it would get crazy, though. We knew, Lyds.” And Peter feels like safe haven compared to everything else.
“Thinking about all this beforehand is… a lot different than experiencing it,” she sighs, hitching her bag up higher on her shoulder.
Stiles notices Allison’s car pulling up next to his.
“One day at a time. That’s how I’m planning on getting through this.”
“That may work for the supernatural drama in our lives but it is not the way you get into your top three colleges,” she tells him.
“Not this again,” Stiles groans.
Scott and Allison walk up to them, holding hands.
“Talking about colleges?” Scott asks, grimacing in sympathy, because he knows that Lydia’s been very invested in Stiles’ college choice, some would say too invested.
“Yes, because Stiles still hasn’t picked a major, let alone a school,” Lydia smiles aggressively.
“The future is very undecided right now, alright?” Stiles glares at her. “I’ll think about it next year, how about that?”
“You’re wasting your potential,” she snaps at him and starts heading towards the school.
“What, no Jackson?”
“He doesn’t want to do the locker-crawl, he’ll join us for lunch.”
Stiles is reminded of yesterday’s weirdness and damnit, he decides he’s going to try again.
He’s going to bug Jackson until he caves.
Cora catches up to them right before class. She looks like she’s still waking up.
“Hey, how’s the house guest situation going?” Stiles asks before she can even say hello. All of the others turn to look at her expectantly.
Her barely-awake gaze sharpens into a sleepy glare. “They’re annoying.”
“Uh,” Stiles glances around them and leans in closer to ask, “Like, dangerous annoying or?”
“What? No,” Cora scoffs. “Eileen’s arrogant and defensive, speaks before she thinks, if she ever actually thinks,” she mutters the last part mostly to herself but they all catch it. “And her Alpha, Michael, is a boring old guy who thinks werewolf traditions should be upheld no matter what. He’s still gobsmacked that Peter isn’t giving them sanctuary just because he asked.”
They all crowd closer in around her and Stiles hisses, “Maybe whisper when we’re talking about the w-word, huh?”
“Also,” Lydia quirks an eyebrow, “gobsmacked? What have you been reading?”
Cora’s eyes narrow at both of them, “I don’t know, Laura says it sometimes.”
“Laura likes British romance books,” Scott says suddenly, causing everyone to look at him silently. “What? Derek whines about it often,” he shrugs defensively.
“What’s happening over there?” Cora asks, head tilting to the side to stare around the group. They all turn as one and observe the back of the hall, near the teacher’s lounge and principal’s office, where a guy is standing on a ladder and is fiddling with something on the ceiling.
“Is that…?” Cora’s eyes widen. “I think they’re installing cameras.”
“What?” Lydia snaps. “They can’t just do that. Right?”
“They can,” Stiles says, frowning. “But what the hell is Gerard hoping to catch on camera? Definitely not a werewolf… I mean-” Stiles looks around nervously. “The w-word.”
“Smooth,” Cora snorts.
“I see no benefit either,” Lydia meets Stiles’ frown with her own. “So why?”
“Can we- I mean, class?” Scott asks, looking towards the classroom longingly.
“God, you’re seriously thinking about class right now?” Stiles asks him.
“Well, yeah. Unlike some people, I am planning on going to college ,” he stares at Stiles pointedly.
“Uncalled for,” he mutters but sighs. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Chris is sleepily leaning against his car, waiting for the gas pump to finish, when two SUVs pull into the gas station and block him in on either side.
He tiredly watches his father get out and just crosses his arms, doing his best to hide how intimidated he’s feeling. And not just intimidated, but also caught off guard. He knows this tactic, he’s used this tactic, on people he wanted to threaten. The fact that his father is now using it on him… there’s irony in here somewhere, he’s sure of it. But his mind is too sluggish to grasp it.
He wanted an early night the day before and he didn’t get it and then he made a huge mistake by accepting the invitation that Peter whispered into his mouth and followed him to his apartment and spent the night there. Of course that meant he hardly got any sleep at all, because Peter apparently can’t get enough of him and he doesn’t know how to say no… And he likes orgasms.
Now it’s noon and he’s out in public and Gerard always has the worst timing.
“Christopher. This is your last chance,” his father says, coming to stand next to him. Chris keeps his eyes averted.
“Don’t you think that all of us dancing around this, giving each other chance after chance after chance, means something?” He asks wryly.
“What do you think it means?” Gerard sounds amused and like he’s humoring him.
“That maybe we shouldn’t do this. That maybe none of us actually want to do this.”
“Of course I don’t want to, son,” Gerard says seriously. Chris almost looks at him, but stops himself with a slow blink. “But that doesn’t matter. You’ve drawn a line on the sand-”
That makes Chris push away from his car and stand up straight, glare at the man that raised him.
“I’ve drawn a line?”
“You’ve made me the villain in your story but we both know I gave you everything I had and more.”
Chris laughs incredulously, because what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?
“Everything you had didn’t amount to much, I guess,” he grins sharply.
“You’re in bed with the enemy, son-”
“Oh, God,” Chris drawls loudly. “Spare me,” he snaps, blinking in surprise when he realizes he sounds a lot like Peter.
“Last chance,” Gerard repeats.
“I thought you gave up on me,” Chris says, swallows down a lump in his throat that shouldn’t be there, because he gave up on his father the moment he threatened to hurt Allison.
“I did. But Victoria’s been fighting hard to get me to welcome you back.”
He frowns, because they’ve talked enough that Victoria should know exactly how this would go.
“She doesn’t like me, never has,” he points out to his father.
“I’m aware. Convincing her to marry you was not an easy feat,” he says easily, as if they’re not talking about the greatest manipulation of Chris’ life. “But she wants Allison.”
Chris smiles in disbelief, “You honestly think you still have a chance of gaslighting her into thinking you’re the good guy here? Newsflash, she goes to school with one of the Hales. Her boyfriend is in the Hale pack. She’s never going to be okay with whatever you’re planning.”
“Hm, but from what I’ve gathered… she’s never actually seen a werewolf, has she? What their true selves look like, what they’re capable of in that state… Allison has a lot to learn about everything you’ve hidden away, all of the darker parts of our world.”
Chris doesn’t say anything, because Gerard’s right. Allison knew about the Alpha pack, but she didn’t see the attack at the school. And Chris hasn’t shared his Omega story with her, because he knows it doesn’t paint him in the best light.
“But I gather you’re not accepting this last chance offer,” Gerard smiles, eyes narrowing. “Not that I expected you to… You’re stubborn like me. It’s a shame that we’re on opposite sides.”
“Last chance for you to manipulate me into being your little soldier again, you mean.”
Gerard sighs, shaking his head. “I know you don’t see it now but… I took care of you to the best of my abilities. A lot of the things I did, I did for you. Maybe one day, looking back, you’ll understand me a little better.”
“I doubt it,” Chris says immediately, mouth feeling dry.
His father chuckles humorlessly and turns to go, but looks over his shoulder one last time, “Oh, and I wanted you to give my thanks to Peter.”
“Why?” Chris feels dread washing over him.
“Apparently, the Miller boys didn’t check in last night. So, Tom is sending more men.”
Chills race down his spine. “The Millers?”
“Yes,” Gerard smirks wickedly. “Those men weren’t mine. They’ve been hunting the Matos for a year now and caught them a few towns over, followed them here… They alerted me to their presence and then… radio silence after they entered the Preserve.”
“The Millers are reckless idiots,” Chris says, in disbelief that Gerard’s happy about this development.
“Yes. But, sometimes their recklessness pays off. In any case, if they go after the Hales… it might make my job a lot easier.” Gerard shrugs and walks away from him.
“What about the town?” He shouts after him, growing a little desperate.
“Deaths are inevitable, no matter what happens,” Gerard shouts back, not turning around. “And if the Millers get overzealous, then… they’ll be punished for it.”
Chris watches his father drive away.
He suddenly feels like punching something.
Gerard just got himself a whole bunch of scapegoats.
Lydia catches up to Stiles right before lacrosse practice and pulls him into an empty classroom.
“Coach is going to make me run until I vomit if I’m late-”
“That’s lovely, I want to talk to you about something.”
Stiles squints at her, “We’re still within range of wolfy ears, who by the way,” he raises his voice a little, “should be minding their own business!”
“You sure told them,” Lydia drawls and pulls out a sleek red file holder. “Here,” she hands it to him.
He stares at it for a second.
“This color literally screams look at me, I’m something important. Couldn’t find anything a little more discreet?”
“I like red,” she widens her eyes aggressively.
“Fine.” He pulls out one sheet of paper. And looks at her in surprise when he realizes what it is. “You could’ve screenshotted these and sent them to me.” He looks back down at the printed out chat messages, from… Callum!?
“I know the way you maniacally print out every little thing, because you like to have physical imagery or evidence boards or whatever,” Lydia shrugs defensively.
Stiles takes a moment to turn his mouth down at her, “Aw,” he coos. She just rolls her eyes. He then holds up the paper, “Why are you talking to this guy again?”
“Because he has a lot of information to give and he doesn’t live here and knows nothing about us?” She raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “And because for some reason, we’re still keeping this a secret from Peter?”
“Oh yeah,” Stiles realizes he actually forgot.
“You’re an idiot,” she sighs when she realizes the same thing.
Lydia and I wanna talk to you about something. How about that coffee date + chaperone?
Peter pauses outside of the pack house as he reads the text, just about to go in. He listens to the pointed silence coming from inside, smells Laura’s anger and stress and Derek’s guilt, and quickly taps out a message.
Tell me when you’re free and where to meet, I’ll be there.
Any excuse not to spend a moment longer with the Matos than he has to.
When he enters the house, he immediately heads to the kitchen with the intention of making coffee but Laura’s already there, elbows on the counter, her big mug safely cradled in her hands and eyes glowing Beta amber when she looks up at him.
Okay. Still pissed.
“Took your sweet time,” she growls at him.
Peter sighs when he sees that the Mato siblings are in the living room area, staring at him. Michael’s on the sofa, lounging comfortably, while Eileen’s off to the side, leaning against the wall.
“Are you all packed?” Peter sends Eileen a charming smile.
She opens her mouth but Michael speaks first, “If you don’t give us sanctuary, they’ll just keep coming-”
“If I give you sanctuary, they’ll still keep coming,” Peter makes a face at Michael. “Make sense or stop talking, I have no patience for illogical arguments today.”
“How’s this for an argument,” Eileen says. “We’re stronger together.”
“I highly doubt helping you two makes me stronger,” Peter rolls his eyes.
“You? Not your pack?” Michael focuses on that, dark eyes narrowing at him.
“Aren’t those the same thing?” Peter drawls.
“No,” Michael says, and then glances meaningfully at his Beta. “You were right, we shouldn’t have come. Not after we learned who the new Hale Alpha is.”
“We’re just repeating ourselves at this point,” Peter sighs and looks at Laura. “Why am I here again?”
“Because they are your responsibility,” she bites out.
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Michael frowns.
“Fine,” Laura snaps and pushes herself up from the counter. “Go, get lost in the woods. Hell, get shot again. See if I care.” With that, she storms out of the house. Peter listens to her get into her Camaro and drive off.
“What did you say to her?” He turns to Eileen.
“What she needed to hear.” She straightens up when Peter takes a step closer. “She made a lot of mistakes after the fire.”
“She was grieving,” Peter rumbles, voice heavy from holding back his shift.
Michael stands, holding his hands out and forward, “We-”
Peter ignores him and continues, “In fact, I’m still grieving, because the first time I had the awareness to do so was six months ago when I woke up.”
“Of course we see the fire as a tragedy, Peter,” Michael tries to backtrack.
“If you say but, you’re not leaving my territory alive.”
“You’re actually insane,” Eileen scoffs.
“No. I’m angry.” Peter cocks his head at her. “And I haven’t had a proper outlet for my anger since I killed Kate, so… Would you like to volunteer?”
“We’re leaving. You offered us a couple nights but-”
“Consider that offer rescinded the moment you let your sister open her big dumb mouth.”
Eileen’s face morphs into her Beta shift as she roars at him.
“Eileen, stop!”
She squeezes her eyes shut and shifts back.
“For what it’s worth… I’m sorry, Peter,” Michael says, a deep frown showing his true age.
“For what it’s worth… Apology not accepted. Get out,” Peter gestures at the door.
He watches them leave, listens to them argue quietly as they walk off and then groans to himself because now he has to fucking follow them to make sure they actually leave instead of becoming an even bigger nuisance.
“Seriously?” Jackson asks angrily as Stiles sits next to him on the locker room bench.
“Wanna hang out after practice?”
“No.”
“We were both supposed to try, dude. I’m the only one trying here.”
“Because you’re incapable of taking a goddamn hint.”
“No, because I want this to work.”
Jackson heaves out a huge sigh. “Fine. Jesus. I’ll talk to you after lacrosse.”
“Awesome,” Stiles says sarcastically and waves at Danny, who is staring at them weirdly, as he leaves.
Chris is trying to get a hold of Peter. He’s sitting in his kitchen, staring at his phone and wondering what’s going on when it startles him with a call.
Peter doesn’t let him say hello.
“It’s really hard to discreetly follow a couple of werewolves when my phone is vibrating in my pocket. Just saying.”
Chris frowns down at the table, thinking for a few seconds. “The Matos?”
“Yes. I told them to leave. They said they’re leaving. I’m just making sure that’s actually what they do.”
“Okay.” He said that weird. Peter’s absolutely going to pick up on-
“Everything alright?” And yes, there is the honest concern that Peter’s so quick to show whenever Chris can’t manage to compose himself enough.
“I talked to Gerard. Or well… He and his men ambushed me so he could give me one last chance.” He finds himself making air quotes to an empty kitchen and chuckles to himself.
Chris thought about drinking when he got home, because nothing makes him crave a shot of whiskey more than having a conversation with his father. But someone, most likely Allison, has thrown away all of his hard liquor. He imagines she probably did it after Kate, when he got so wasted she had to help him get to his bed. That memory is shameful enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. So then he made a salad and a smoothie. Both of these are sitting on the table, untouched, judging him.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You don’t have to-”
“You don’t sound right. I bet you don’t smell right either. I’ll be there later.” Peter hangs up.
Chris finds himself smiling as he pulls the smoothie closer.
“Let’s get this over with,” Jackson sighs, right after Finstock blows the final whistle, alerting them that practice is over. Right after.
Stiles blinks at him, then at Scott, who shrugs and leaves. Danny gives them another weird look but also walks off the field with the rest of their teammates. Coach looks like he’s about to say something but Jackson raises his eyebrows at him and he then turns around to follow the others, muttering, “None of my business, I get it, geez.”
“I… I figured we’d you know. Go and sit down somewhere… Have coffee-”
“I’m not dating you, Stilinski,” Jackson scoffs at him.
“Friends have coffee together, you dingus.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Jackson asks, tone light and mocking.
Stiles gestures wildly with his lacrosse stick and helmet, trying to figure out how to approach any of the subjects he came up with when brainstorming for things to tell him, when they both hear a shout from the side of the field. Their heads turn as one to see Lydia waving and then holding out her hand as if to say ‘what the hell?’.
Stiles helplessly gestures at Jackson, who gives him a questioning look.
Lydia then taps at her wrist.
“Yeah, I know that time exists!” Stiles shouts.
She throws her head back in exasperation and then flips him off before walking off towards the parking lot.
Stiles is rolling his eyes when he turns back to Jackson, who is now looking very confused.
“Whenever I see you two hanging out at school… you always look like you’re arguing.”
“Every friendship is different,” Stiles says evenly. Then motions between them, “Case in point.”
Jackson crosses his arms.
Stiles sighs and drops his stick and helmet to the ground. “Alright, Lydia’s waiting so I’ll make this short. There’s one thing I wanted to tell you, advice I guess. You can take it or leave it-”
“Advice from you? I’ll leave it.”
Stiles squints at his smug smile and continues, “I don’t know how much Lydia told you about… how and why we became friends in the first place-”
“She said she finally found someone else who considers The Notebook a cinematic masterpiece.”
“What-” Stiles splutters, “No- That’s an outrageous lie!”
“It’s what she said,” Jackson shrugs.
“I only watched that movie because of Ryan Gosling!” Stiles takes a deep breath and stops himself from the beginnings of a rant. “No, never mind- the truth is that we had a secret. That we kept for two years.”
“What secret?” Jackson narrows his eyes at him.
“Not telling, that’s not the point here. Not talking to anyone about it was tough. We had each other but… some things are just too heavy of a load to share with only one person.”
“If this is going where I think it’s going-”
“We finally came clean to my dad, Scott, his mom, Allison, the Hales, we have… a nice little group of people who care about us and are there for us… And even though I have some regrets, getting to share the things I’m most worried or stressed about with everyone… it helps. The weight doesn’t disappear… but it’s easier to bear.”
Jackson’s glaring at him like Stiles is the most annoying person in the world. But he’s not insulting him so Stiles counts this as progress.
“Just… something to think about,” Stiles nods nervously and then picks up his gear and walks off the field. When he’s almost at the doors, he looks back over his shoulder and sees Jackson setting up balls for more goal-shooting practice. He hopes that means he hit a nerve. He doesn’t want Jackson to become the kanima again, doesn’t want Peter to kill him… Not just because Jackson wouldn’t deserve it but also because of the rift that would create between him and Lydia.
Him and Scott.
This has to work. Jackson has to become pack.
Or everything might fall apart.
When they get to the coffee shop, Peter’s already there. And as they near the table he’s chosen for them, he stands up and leans in to kiss Stiles on the cheek.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
Stiles’ eyes widen so hard his eyelids hurt for a second. Peter smells really nice, like he always does. And radiates comforting heat that feels wonderful against him since it’s really starting to get chilly outside. It makes Stiles want to slump right into Peter’s arms and just stay there for an hour.
“Jesus Christ,” Lydia mutters and brushes past them to sit next to the window.
When Peter pulls back, his expression’s guarded as he studies Stiles’ reaction.
“PDA’s actually on the menu, huh?” Stiles blurts out. They kissed at the school, but that almost felt like a statement in his mind. That was them cementing the fact that they’re doing this, despite what people might think. This, though, this felt like an actual couple thing.
“I enjoy the occasional public touch or kiss, yes. If that’s okay?” Peter tilts his head, lips quirking up.
“Yeah… yeah,” Stiles clears his throat and takes the seat next to Lydia. “Just… not used to it.”
“Something to work on,” Peter smirks.
“The reason we wanted to meet,” Lydia interrupts their moment loudly, “is because of this.” And she pulls out not just the chat messages, but also the pictures they took of the triumvirate illustration and the text describing it.
Peter’s face grows serious as he drags the papers closer, eyes flying over the words. “I’m listening.”
Chris is sitting in silence, still in his kitchen, when Allison comes home.
“Hey, dad, I’m going to hang out in the woods with Scott and Derek, if that’s alright?” She asks, rushing past and heading for the fridge, grabbing herself some snacks and water.
“Of course,” Chris says, in his head realizing once again how much things have changed. How much he has changed. Two years ago if his daughter had told him she was going into the woods with two werewolves… he would have loaded his gun.
“Everything okay?”
He looks up, sees her staring at him weirdly from the other side of the counter.
“Yeah,” he smiles. “Well, maybe not everything. Am I always this obvious?”
“No, not at all,” she says softly and walks over to take a seat opposite him. “Which is why you’re so… off right now. You look pale. And tired.”
“Oh, well, that’s because I didn’t get much sleep.”
Allison grimaces.
“Hey,” Chris points an accusing finger at her. “I had to get used to the idea of my daughter having sex, now it’s your turn. Your dad has a lot of sex… get over it.”
“Did you have to say a lot?”
“Who else am I supposed to brag to?” Chris smirks at her and is relieved when she loosens up and laughs.
“Want me to stay? Scott and Derek will be fine without me. Derek will probably be thrilled at my absence actually,” she adds the last part dryly.
“No, it’s fine. Peter said he’ll drop by later.”
“That’s nice,” she says with a small smile and stands. She goes to step away but hesitates and steps closer to him instead, leaning down to give him a hug.
He reaches up to pat her on the back gently, “What’s this for?”
“You don’t have to worry about me so much, dad. Worry more about you.”
Chris swallows hard, then laughs. “You obviously don’t know how dads work.” And neither does his own dad.
She pulls back so she can narrow her eyes at him.
“Well, try to focus on yourself every now and then, alright?”
“I’m fine,” Chris sighs.
“You’re really not.”
He blinks up at her in surprise.
“But you might be getting there… I’ll see you later, unless…” She starts backing away, grimacing. “Text me if you’re spending the night elsewhere, I guess.”
“I will,” Chris waves at her and watches her leave.
He checks his phone. No new messages.
So, he continues sitting.
Peter’s grandfather used to like telling stories during full moons when the kids, both human and werewolf, couldn’t go out running with the adults yet. Most were nothing but repurposed fairy tales, but a lot seemed improvised in the moment, as if his grandfather took their family’s supernatural origins and fairy tale logic, mixed it all together and sprinkled a lesson in morals on top.
A whole kingdom shared by three Alphas was one of those stories that Peter considered entirely fabricated on the spot one night. Except then he saw the triumvirate illustration in a book he bought once and realized there might be a legend or some actual folklore mixed in there. But now… here are messages retelling his grandfather’s story almost word for word.
“Who is Callum?” Peter asks, tapping at the paper in front of him.
“Some guy Stiles found on Grindr.”
Peter observes as Stiles’ head whips around so he can glare at Lydia’s profile.
“I found him on a forum when I was googling druid stuff, and I’ve never been on Grindr,” Stiles protests.
“Never? Well… limiting your options, then,” Lydia says, looking right at Peter, who quirks an eyebrow at her. Seems like her support for his relationship with Stiles is waning.
“What forum?” He cocks his head at Stiles, choosing to ignore Lydia entirely, guessing that’s the best way to annoy her.
“Uh, it has a dumb name,” Stiles mutters.
Peter has a hunch. “Witchydoodads?”
Stiles’ mouth falls open. “What, you know it?”
“It’s where I got the cookbook. Did this guy tell you what he is?”
“A druid,” Stiles says and shares a look of astonishment with Lydia. “Damn, he might be an actual druid?”
“He might. Or he might be something else and decided that druid sounds nicer.”
“Nicer,” Stiles repeats, sounding confused.
“There’s more out there than druids and werewolves, remember?”
“Yeah… shit…” Stiles frowns down at the papers. Peter wonders if he’s thinking about Blake.
“Have you told him any details about yourself? Where you live? The Nemeton?”
“We asked about places of power in a general sense,” Lydia says. “But no, we never told our names or our location.”
“Did you hide your IP address?”
A heavy silence. Lydia looks at Stiles.
“I didn’t… Did you?”
“Nope,” Stiles pops the p, then gnaws at his lower lip nervously.
“You should be more careful… This land is gaining power. And there are people out there who might want to use it.”
“People like Deucalion…” She gives Stiles a quick glance, her earlier attitude softening into concern. “And Blake.”
“Exactly,” Peter says.
“But we never told him anything about… sacrifices or the Hales… we focused more on the banshee connection.” Stiles gestures at Lydia, who nods.
“He’s been helping me a lot actually, with trying to understand my place here.”
“And that’s good,” Peter assures them. “But just be careful about what kind of details you share online.”
“Yeah, fine, but what about the three frickin Alphas?” Stiles says, pointing at the illustration.
“You said this theory started with a dream?” Peter asks Lydia, staring at the picture.
“No, dreams. Several.”
“And you saw three people standing around the tree… and then you found this page… Who did you see?” He looks up at them, sees Stiles look down while Lydia gives him another worried glance.
“Talia, someone who I couldn’t see very well and…” She pauses.
“My mom,” Stiles fills in, clears his throat.
“So, bloodlines,” Peter nods.
“That’s what we figured,” Lydia nods back.
“You have the stolen spark,” Stiles says, pointing at one of the figures around the tree. “That leaves inherited and earned. Opposite Talia was the unknown figure. And my mom was the third… And the Nemeton’s searching for an Alpha of Alphas…” He sighs heavily, looking frustrated. “Even if all of this is actually what’s happening… we still know jack shit.” He scrubs a hand over his face.
Peter eyes him, slightly concerned. “You said the dreams have been happening for a while. And these pages are from one of my books. Why didn’t you tell me right away?”
“Because…” Stiles visibly struggles to find words. “I kind of wanted to solve it on my own. Or well-”
“On our own,” Lydia corrects him dryly.
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s my bond. Lydia’s dreams. My mom. I just…”
“But you came to me now, because…?” Peter tilts his head and holds back a smirk as Stiles avoids looking at him.
“I trust you more, I guess,” he shrugs.
Lydia looks like she’s holding back something scathing.
“It’s also my bond. My family. My territory,” he calmly points out.
Stiles’ cheeks color a little, “Yeah, you’re right…”
“I wanted to tell you,” Lydia tells Peter.
Stiles side-eyes her.
Peter takes a moment to read the short description of the triumvirate again. A meet of hounds, an assembly of packs, their sparks stolen, inherited and earned. Each Alpha represents one, a triumvirate worthy of a kingdom. A kingdom.
“And this Callum person mentioned… Livonia?” He glances at the text to make sure.
“The kingdom that was formed after German crusaders conquered Latvia and Estonia… although it’s probably not considered a kingdom since it was ruled by bishops…” Lydia rests her chin on her hand, eyes flicking over the pages on the table.
“He’s actually suggesting that a triumvirate of Alphas not only existed but ruled over a territory conquered by crusaders in the 12th century…” Peter’s raising his eyebrows in disbelief but at the same time, he can’t find any other explanation for why this story, his grandfather’s story would be shared like this by a stranger… What if it’s a story based on some truth? But then why hasn’t it been written down anywhere? This one little page in one book has been the only thing he’s found about the existence of a trio of Alphas working together and sharing territory. Because it just doesn’t happen. Having Michael here, his second challenging him, was aggravating to say the least. Peter can’t imagine sharing his home with two other Alphas and their packs… But this is talking about a kingdom.
Wouldn’t that be the same as Beacon County or the state of California having multiple packs in it? Or like the little meetings and negotiations that Talia arranged, where Alphas tried to work together towards a common goal, a peaceful goal.
The triumvirate must be different because of the tree. A place of power that all of the Alphas are bonded to-
Deucalion said, Because this town is a legend in the making. I plan on being a part of it. Did the Nemeton call to him, show him what it wanted? If so… why hasn’t it shown Peter?
Does he fit into this plan or did everything change when Laura gave up her inherited spark while Peter stole Ennis’?
“What are you thinking?” Stiles asks, studying him.
“All of the questions I now have,” Peter sighs, leaning back in his chair.
“Yeah, welcome to the club,” Lydia sighs too and pulls the papers back to slide them back into her red folder… a color that Laura would appreciate. “Everything’s just a theory, we actually know nothing conclusive and the lack of historical documentation or a reliable source of information makes navigating the supernatural a fucking nightmare.”
“Should we go to Deaton?” Stiles asks Peter.
“I’ll do that sometime this week. I need to talk to him anyway.” Deucalion had Scott bitten and when asked why, answered with Potential. There’s a myth for werewolves about sparks that are earned. True Alphas aren’t born or made, they’re people who don’t look for power, who don’t want it, who then are apparently deemed worthy by… the universe? Peter’s always considered the True Alpha myth to be absolute crap, a made-up werewolf fairy tale to tell the kids about good little werewolves growing up to become extra special and strong. But maybe Deucalion believed in it and saw himself taking one step closer to forming a triumvirate.
…He also invited Peter to join him. Deucalion, Ennis and Kali all inherited the spark from their former Alphas. If Scott proved to live up to whatever potential Deucalion saw in him, they were missing the stolen.
Deucalion was really playing the long game, wasn’t he?
Stiles said that the Nemeton is looking for Alpha of Alphas. Deucalion would’ve fit the bill, but so would a True Alpha. Is it maybe casting a wider net, found something in Claudia’s bloodline that sparked its interest? But that doesn’t make sense, because whether someone becomes a True Alpha or not, if that’s even an actual thing, has nothing to do with one’s bloodline.
Peter rubs at his brow. He’s starting to get another stress headache.
“Welcome to the club,” Lydia repeats, dryer this time, as she points to his forehead. Peter raises his eyebrows at her. “Do painkillers work for you?”
“No.”
“Damn,” she makes a sympathetic face.
“So, we can conclude this meeting with… we know nothing, really.” Stiles looks disappointed.
“You’ve given me more things to look into, so I say good meeting,” Peter smiles at him.
“Do you have anyone besides Deaton to talk to?” Lydia asks.
“I do. A witch I went to college with. Astrid.”
“You-You went to college with a witch?” Stiles’ head snaps forward in disbelief.
Even Lydia straightens up with interest.
“The only witch I’ve ever met. She shared Witchydoodads with me, told me that it’s run by actual witches that she knows. But according to her, witches are rare. Most magic users are apparently druids, because it’s easier to find a connection to the land you’re standing on, to draw power from it than what witches do.”
“And what do witches do?” Lydia tilts her head inquisitively.
“I don’t actually know,” Peter admits with a shrug. “Astrid told me that it’s a well-guarded secret. Witches like the fact that people think of Hogwarts and The Craft and Charmed and the pentagram and sage and broomsticks and potions-” Peter runs out of breath and breaths in deep, “-because it’s all a cover. No one would look at Astrid and think she’s a witch.”
“So, how did you know she’s a witch?” Stiles frowns at him. “Also, I’m a little sad because The Craft was kind of cool.”
“She told me. After she told me she knows that I’m a werewolf.”
“Witches keep themselves hidden but she just told you?” Lydia asks skeptically.
“She needed help. A partner. She was breaking away from her Coven-”
“So Covens are a thing?” Stiles perks up.
“Yes,” Peter smirks at his enthusiasm. “But she wanted to do something different with her life. She’s great at computers, exceptionally skilled at hacking, and apparently a witch can easily find out things like what kind of a supernatural creature you are,” Peter gestures at himself, “so she wanted to become a supernatural consultant. In some cases, a PI.”
“A PI, who’s a witch and who finds herself a werewolf partner… that’s an urban fantasy romance book right there,” Lydia muses.
“I helped her get set up, mostly financially. Was also available as protection in case she got into trouble with someone particularly nasty or stubborn. In return, she worked for me for free. Until she claimed that the debt was paid and it was time I became a paying customer.”
“And she’s the only one who replied to you?” Stiles asks. “You said people were being dickheads about the fire.”
“She’s the only one, yes. Which is fine, since she happens to be my favorite anyway.” Speaking of favorites, Peter pulls out his phone and checks the time as well as what time he spoke to Chris last. Two hours ago. “I should probably get going.”
“Anything wrong?” Stiles asks.
“No,” Peter says, figuring he’s not going to talk about Chris’ issues with his father behind his back like this. Especially when he doesn’t know what actually happened today. “Chris is waiting for me,” he settles on saying. And then sees Stiles kind of deflate, obviously disappointed.
“Oh, of course.”
God, gods or universe, whatever’s out there, grant him patience to deal with his two lovers who are jealous of one another while at the same time jealous of Peter too. It’s ridiculous and he doesn’t have the willpower to not be snarky about it today, which means he really should leave, since neither of the two have done anything wrong, especially not Stiles, who has actually reached out to Chris and bravely shown his interest.
He gets up, ignores Lydia’s judgmental stare and leans down to kiss Stiles on the lips, surprised when a hand grabs the back of his neck as Stiles surges up to kiss back with vigor, turning a simple peck into a minute-long smacking of lips, with the occasional slip of tongue.
Peter pulls back when he hears Lydia clearing her throat. He cradles Stiles’ cheek and raises his eyebrows since there’s still a hand on his neck, keeping him from leaving.
“Now what was that about? Giving me a reminder?”
Stiles’ eyes lower and he looks embarrassed. “Uh-”
Peter leans in closer to whisper, “Because there’s no need. I think about your mouth a lot more than I should.” He caresses Stiles’ lower lip with his thumb, feather-light. But apparently his whisper wasn’t quiet enough because Lydia makes a gagging sound. Stiles finally releases him to shoot her a glare and Peter takes the chance to press a warm kiss to Stiles’ jaw, before stepping back.
“But I do need to go. Let’s talk tomorrow, maybe we can have that coffee date then.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Stiles blinks up at him, all flushed and well-kissed. Peter has to use a lot of willpower to walk away from him.
Before he exits the coffee shop, he hears Lydia say, “Don’t get too needy,” and frowns.
However, Chris is waiting, so he pushes that out of his mind for now.
“Needy? Seriously?” Stiles asks, annoyed.
“You were practically begging him not to go with your eyes.”
“I wasn’t… What’s up with you?” He frowns, taking in her appearance for the first time today. Her hair looks a bit greasy, she’s wearing makeup but not any lipstick or mascara and her outfit… is the same one she wore yesterday- “Is something going on?”
Lydia gives him this look that’s going to stay with him for a while as he tries to figure out what it means, what he’s missing. This look of hesitation, of doubt. And then she says, “I’m just tired.”
“Nightmares?”
“No. Not really,” she sighs and looks away.
“Jackson?”
She rolls her eyes angrily, “Not everything’s about Jackson.”
“Okay,” Stiles says cautiously.
“I’m dying to get out of this hellhole of a town,” she mutters.
“You can transfer schools, you know?”
“I’m not leaving you or Allison behind,” she glares at him and stands up, grabbing her bag. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I’ll deal.”
“Lydia,” he calls after her, catching the attention of the people working behind the counter. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
Lydia looks down at the ground, frowning.
“Is it…” He gives a glance at the people acting way too interested in a conversation they’re not a part of. “Something to do with the b-word?”
Lydia snorts, “I don’t know. I…” She shakes her head, looking defeated. “We’ve tried so hard to find answers but… everything’s an unknown and it’s tiresome. I’m tired,” she stresses. “See you tomorrow.”
Stiles turns to the window to watch her walk to her car.
Maybe this is her moment, her turn for a confusing breakdown like the one Stiles had the night of the attack at the school, or the night of the eclipse, or when he tased some random guy whose name he doesn’t even know—he cringes at the memories. Maybe she just needs some time to get out of the funk like he did… Or a furnace-slash-hug machine like Peter. Stiles hopes that Jackson gives good hugs, even though he can’t picture that happening ever.
He’ll just have to keep an eye on her.
There are no heartbeats.
And no cars outside.
Peter sighs, glaring at the empty house. He guesses he has no right to be annoyed right now since he’s the one who ambiguously said I’ll be there later and then didn’t update for over two hours… He pulls out his phone and calls Chris.
“Hey,” Chris says, still sounding off somehow. It’s bugging the hell out of him.
“You’re not at home,” Peter tells him as if this should be news to him too.
“Oh, right, you’re there?” Chris asks and when Peter focuses, he can hear noises in the background. Chatting, a baby wailing, a beeping that sounds like a barcode scanner-
“Are you at the store?” That would make sense.
“Yeah, yes,” Chris clears his throat.
Peter frowns, waiting.
“I mean, I’ll be right there, I’m sorry.”
“I’m the one who left you hanging,” Peter tells him warily, uncertain of how to react to that apology. “I’m the one who’s sorry here,” he says petulantly. That earns him a soft laugh, which relaxes him a bit.
“You’re right. And forgiven. I’m already getting into my car, see you soon.”
Peter stares at his phone for a second. Then at the door. At the window. He can easily break one of the locks and get in that way. But it’s probably more polite to wait outside. He sighs and sits down on the steps.
Stiles has lived through a lot. Werewolves, darachs, rituals and lady hunters pointing rifles at him, handsome older men wanting to kiss him, all very surprising, shocking things.
But the shock of his lifetime happens when he drives home from the coffee shop and finds Jackson sitting in front of the door, still in his lacrosse jersey, all tense and serious.
Stiles parks his car in the driveway and just stares, open-mouthed, until Jackson’s head snaps up with a glare so heated, it jolts Stiles out of it.
When he gets out of the car, stumbling a little, because he’s still shocked, Jackson opens up with, “Where the fuck were you?”
“Getting coffee…” Stiles says, pointing behind him vaguely, brain not working properly.
“With your sugar daddy?” Jackson grimaces.
Stiles grimaces along with him. “First of all, not a sugar daddy or a daddy of any kind, so please don’t ever, thank you. Secondly, Lydia was also there.” Then he realizes, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“So, Lydia knows about him,” Jackson frowns.
“Of course she does, she basically handed me to him on my 18th birthday- no, wait-” Stiles holds up his hands when Jackson’s eyes widen in alarm, “that sounds wrong, that was a joke!”
“Whatever,” he scoffs. “I’m here because you wanted me to talk… Although the more I waited, the more I felt like an idiot.”
Stiles takes one step closer. When Jackson just glances up at him expectantly, he continues moving and sits down next to him, leaving about a half a person’s worth of space between them.
“Not an idiot… Except, you know, thinking I’d be home waiting for you… Kind of an idiot move.”
“Didn’t think you had a life,” Jackson shrugs.
“Cool,” Stiles drawls. “So, what did you want to talk about? What troubles you? Lay it on me-”
“You’re making me regret this already.”
Stiles mimes zipping up his mouth.
Jackson sighs, visibly braces himself and then says, “I don’t think I like lacrosse.”
There’s a pregnant pause, while Stiles squints at him, processing this. When Jackson doesn’t continue and keeps giving him quick glances as if he’s expecting a reaction, Stiles asks, “Am I allowed to speak again?”
“Ugh, yes, you dumbass,” Jackson scowls harshly.
“So… stop playing lacrosse?”
“It’s not that easy for me,” Jackson glowers. “You quit the team and what… did your dad even care?”
“I mean, he was worried about why I quit, but no, not really,” Stiles admits and then immediately realizes where Jackson’s going with this. “Ah, your dad wants you to be an athlete or something?”
“Yes. I wore sport jerseys before I even knew the word sports.”
“Wow.”
“I was signed up for baseball, hockey, football, soccer, tennis-”
“Tennis?” Stiles’ head snaps back in disbelief. “Beacon Hills has a tennis court?”
“No,” Jackson looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Before middle school, I was driven all around the County for all these different things… Dad wanted me to find out what I’m best at.”
“Isn’t your dad like an attorney or something?”
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t he want you to get a job like that?”
Jackson shrugs, “He’s just always wanted me to go pro, I don’t know why, I never asked…”
“I mean… maybe you should.”
“He’s not exactly easy to talk to.”
Stiles blinks at him. “Does he… hurt you?”
Jackson shakes his head, “No. He doesn’t hit me or anything.”
“But let me guess… he’s mean?”
Jackson’s silence is telling.
“You get bullied at home so you bully at school? Wow, kind of a walking cliché.” He expects Jackson to blow up at that but the guy surprises him by laughing.
“Yeah, I’m a cliché alright… Team captain, went after the hottest girl at school, bullied the nerds… I’m a typical jock, I guess,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “Except for one thing. I actually like studying. Reading. I don’t have much time for it outside of homework, though.”
“You like reading?” Stiles gapes at him. “You’re blowing my mind right now.”
Jackson smirks, “It’s funny, because I always feel stupid. Next to Lydia, who by the way, pretended to be stupid in the beginning to make me feel better… which you knew, I’m sure.”
“Oh, I think everyone knew,” Stiles snorts.
“And my dad, who just…” The smirk fades and Jackson glares off into the distance.
“Does he call you stupid?”
“Every time I don’t get an A.”
“Well, that’s just dumb. I don’t get A-s all the time either.”
“That’s because you’re stupid,” Jackson says immediately, turning to give him a mean grin. Stiles decides to take it as banter.
“I’ll have you know that Lydia considers me a genius,” he says loftily.
“No one’s perfect,” Jackson continues grinning.
Stiles feels the corners of his mouth twitch and goddammit, he thinks he’s actually enjoying this now. He, Stiles Stilinski, is enjoying having a conversation with Jackson Whittemore.
The world’s ending.
“So,” Stiles says awkwardly. “Has your dad planned out your college years too?”
“Yep.” Jackson claps a couple of times, then interlocks his fingers and presses down on his knuckles. Stiles recognizes the move. Pressure, pain, those were his go-to, when his lack of sleep was driving him crazy.
“Have you thought about secretly trying to get a scholarship somewhere you actually want to go? A major you’re actually into? Because you’re moving out of here, you’ll be an adult, you don’t have to do what your dad tells you to do…”
“Lydia’s helped me look into some stuff, but the big problem is that I don’t know what I want. I’ve never gotten the chance to explore other hobbies or do something other than sports in my free time, it-”
“I’m sure there were ways you could’ve-”
“Now you sound like Lydia.”
“Well, she has this annoying habit of being right most of the time, something that’s rubbed off on me, I guess.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “She gets mad at me sometimes… for giving up so easily. That’s why I broke up with her last year… I got tired of feeling stupid.”
“But then you got back together and you tried to hide it,” Stiles reminds him.
“Dad said I did the right thing, that there’s time for girls in college-”
“You really need to stop listening to that guy,” Stiles scoffs.
“Yeah, because ignoring the guy who raised me and pays for everything I own, who controls not just my life but my mom’s, it’s so easy,” Jackson sighs.
“Your mom’s?”
“He bullies her too and she just smiles and takes it, like it’s normal. He can say anything he wants because he makes the money, and we just have to jump when he tells us to-” Jackson rubs a hand over his face. “This isn’t helping, I’m just getting mad.”
“I always thought you were proud of your dad. Proud of being rich, I mean, you really like to remind people your family has money.”
“For a while that just seemed obvious. Not to mention, where do you think I learned that behavior from?” Jackson laughs darkly. “My dad loves pointing out how much better he is than the other people in this town. How he’s a big fish in a small pond.”
“Ew,” Stiles squints.
“Yeah. When Lydia dumped me, I just… realized that I’ve messed up the one good thing I had. The one thing that was mine, you know? I started dating her because I was after the cliché, but I ended up loving her.”
“Okay, listen,” Stiles says, his brain finally back to its usual busy self. “You should really just go for it with the college thing. Or maybe, take a gap year! If your dad’s a total asshole and kicks you out then we’ll think of something, me and Lydia. You have nothing to fear here, I’m sure Danny will help out too.”
“Danny’s been calling me spineless for years now.”
“Always knew I liked that guy.” Stiles pokes at Jackson’s shoulder. “Do you feel lighter?”
Jackson frowns deeply before replying, “No, I feel really fucking embarrassed. This whole, being honest with you of all people thing is not working for me at all.”
“It’ll get easier with time and practice,” Stiles pats him on the back.
“God help me,” he mutters. “Give me a ride home.”
“What? Oh,” Stiles looks around. “You walked here?”
“Jogged.”
“Your car is still not fixed?” Stiles asks as they get up.
“The mechanic that was supposed to fix it is kind of dead, so…” Jackson slides into the passenger’s seat, not noticing how Stiles freezes.
Because yeah, the guy he just had a heart-to-heart with is the same guy who killed that mechanic. While Stiles was paralyzed.
He feels like screaming.
But he swallows it down and gets in.
Chris locks his car and slowly takes in the sight of Peter sitting on the stone steps in front of his house, legs spread and elbows resting on his thighs. For whatever reason, he really likes it.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he says, coming closer to stand before him.
Peter sighs before pushing himself up.
“That’s my line,” he says and then pulls Chris in by his jacket to kiss him. Chris hums low and soft and then puts his hands on Peter’s jaw to push him into an angle where Chris can comfortably kiss him back. The wet sounds their lips make quickly direct his brain towards other activities they can do with their mouths and he’s starting to get excited when Peter leans away from him. “You didn’t buy anything?”
Chris has a moment of dizziness as he’s dragged back to his earlier flash of shame.
“I… I put it back,” he says, stepping back from Peter.
The other man cocks his head curiously.
“You put what back?”
“The liquor,” Chris says, not meeting his gaze. He wasn’t really thinking or paying attention when he grabbed the bottles. He went to the store just to have something to do, had the plan of grabbing actual groceries, toilet paper, detergent, things of use… But when Peter called, he found himself standing in line, holding a basket that had just two bottles in it. Whiskey and vodka.
Peter’s staring at him, studying him. He breathes in deep and his eyes narrow.
Chris’ shame is probably leaving a stench. He sighs and reveals, “I used to have a problem with alcohol. But I got better.” Thanks to Allison-
No, thanks to his dad, who told Victoria to let him have custody-
But how can he be thankful for that when his reason for drinking was Gerard in the first place?
“What did he do?” Peter asks cautiously.
“Nothing, just, the same bullshit about joining him again. I guess…” He thinks back to that moment, his car blocked in and his father standing there, like nothing’s wrong. “…He made me feel cornered.”
“He’s made you feel like that before,” Peter guesses.
“Yeah,” Chris admits but doesn’t elaborate. Because he doesn’t want to think about those times. Especially not the day that Gerard found out about Chris and the brothers.
“Let’s go in,” Peter grabs him by the hand and pulls him up the steps.
Chris unlocks the door and leads them to the living room, having had enough of the kitchen for today. Peter surprises him by straddling him after he sits down. His hands fly up to Peter’s waist, then slide lower to his upper thighs, relaxing at the familiar feel of Peter’s warm, hard body against his.
“When I first came back here, I didn’t really know that much about you,” Peter says, hands coming up to Chris’ face, stroking his jaw, his brow, his mouth. Chris’ lips part and he relaxes even further, liking this, the touching, the way Peter’s gaze burns into him. “I killed Kate for my family, for Talia,” he says, his sister’s name jolting Chris out of his enjoyment. His mouth closes and tightens. Peter leans his forehead against Chris’. “I’ll kill him for you.”
His hands clench around Peter’s thighs and he blinks away tears. He doesn’t understand his reaction to those words, but something in him breaks and he grabs Peter’s head and kisses him hard, angry almost. Or maybe scared.
Because that’s how his father makes him feel, isn’t it? Cornered, yes. Because he’s scared. Terrified. Or he used to be, when he was younger, when his mom had just died and Gerard suddenly seemed like a stranger, a colder, more demanding version of the man he used to be.
And now, in his lap, kissing him back with just as much fervor, giving him exactly what he needs but doesn’t know how to ask for, is a man who is arguably a lot more dangerous than Gerard. A werewolf who, just a few months ago, had him feeling chilled from the cold sweat on his back. And now he makes Chris feel safe, seen, cared for.
He pulls his mouth back just an inch.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says quietly and closes his eyes in instant regret. He wants Peter to understand him, how he feels, but he doesn’t want to ruin it by going too fast. He feels Peter tensing up. “I don’t expect you to say it back,” he continues quickly. “You’re probably not there, you might never get there, I know… I don’t care. Just… warn me if you-”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Peter tells him and it makes Chris look at him in surprise.
He’s not saying it back but he’s giving Chris the next best thing.
“Promise?” He asks, smiling to show that he’s half-joking.
Peter doesn’t smile back, smooths his hands over Chris’ jaw, his neck.
“Promise.”
It sounds like he means it.
Chris pulls him back in and loses himself in this feeling of… He thinks it might be happiness.
Wednesday morning the Sheriff finds Stiles yawning loudly as he flips some eggs on the pan.
“Hey, kid, I just got a call from the station,” he says, already sounding tired as if he’s coming home from a long shift and isn’t about to start one.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, then yawns again. He was up late, chatting with Lydia about his talk with Jackson. She’s starting to become hopeful that maybe this whole slow integration into the pack might actually work, especially now that Jackson’s starting to get over the whole don’t want to hang out with Stilinski hurdle. And if the kanima’s whole deal is lack of identity then they just have to encourage Jackson to get the hell away from his dad and find out who he really wants to be.
“Whittemore’s there, demanding to talk to me.”
“Whittemore?” Stiles freezes.
“Yeah, Jackson’s dad.”
“What does he want? Something about a case?” He frowns, slides the eggs onto a plate.
“No… Jackson didn’t go home last night and he wants to report him missing.”
“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours,” Stiles points out automatically while his entire body goes numb.
“He thinks the rules don’t apply to him. But since this is a kid we’re talking about here, and since the last young man who went missing was found dead in the woods, I should start the search right away.” He then looks at Stiles gravely. “Now… do you know anything about this?”
“I drove him home last night,” Stiles says, gaze unfocused. Because what the hell, did Jackson just decide to go fuck it and ran away from home after Stiles encouraged him to go for it, forget his dad, do what he wants-
“You what?” Noah grabs Stiles’ shoulder. “What time did you see him last?”
“Uh, it was like seven maybe?”
“Whittemore says he got home around nine and that’s when he couldn’t find his son, Jesus, I think you might be the last person who saw him. If he doesn’t turn up and a report is filed, I’m going to need you to make a statement. To get a better timeline of when he actually went missing.”
“You should ask Lydia too, maybe she talked to him after,” Stiles tells him.
“That’s a good idea. I mean, I’m going to be asking everybody anyway. Maybe the neighbors saw him leave. Do you think he maybe just left?”
“It’s a possibility,” he says, while thinking no, because even while Jackson was mouthing off about his dad, he looked conflicted and unsure. Stiles can’t actually imagine him making such a big decision just because Stiles agreed with Lydia and Danny, that can’t be it… And Jackson’s the kanima, and this is Beacon Hills, the home of scary supernatural woo-woo and now he’s staring to freak out.
“I have to go, put my eggs in the fridge and I’ll have them later.”
“Sure, give me updates on this?”
“I will, see you.”
Stiles stares at the eggs for a minute and then puts the entire plate into the fridge. He’s lost his appetite.
Peter wakes up disoriented.
He instantly recognizes his own bed, the smells of his apartment-
The smell of blood, of dirt and grass-
He sits up, blinking his eyes open.
He went to bed at Chris’, didn’t he?
He made that confession that left Peter reeling, so unexpected, so soft and sincere-
He’s covered in blood. He looks down at himself. He’s on top of the covers, the duvet, he’s still wearing the clothes he wore when he went to Chris’, but no he took them off there because they had sex- made love, because Chris is in love with him- and he went to sleep beside Chris, he wasn’t here, he-
Peter stares at the dried thick layer of blood on his hands, the dirt under his nails, the grass stains, he’s been in the woods, he smells like the woods, but whose blood is it, who did he-
He doesn’t remember.
He gets up and looks down at the blood on the sheets.
He doesn’t know whose blood it is, who he-
Peter pats down his pockets and finds his phone, pulls it out and calls Chris.
“Hey, where did you go?” His voice is thick with sleep and still alive, still alive, so at least the blood isn’t his, it’s someone else’s but who-
“I don’t know.” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming… Or roaring… “I don’t know.”
Chapter 29: scared
Notes:
if this were a tv-show, this would be the first part of the two-episode season finale :')
if you'd like to enjoy the "first season finale" in full, then i advise waiting until i've posted ch30
sorry for scaring a lot of you with my last note, hope you all imagined the worst of the worst and so what actually happens won't seem that bad 👀
Chapter Text
Stiles feels like his throat’s buzzing from anxiety. He’s probably giving off all kinds of smells and signals to the werewolves but Cora and Scott don’t say anything, just give him some worried looks. They’ve all gathered up again at the parking lot and Stiles hasn’t said much, but he’s had days like this before, when he was too tired or stressed out so maybe his friends don’t want to bug him.
When he sees Lydia turning her head, obviously looking for someone, Stiles realizes he has to say it.
“Jackson’s probably not coming.” His voice sounds loud to him.
Lydia turns and makes an unimpressed face. “Why?”
“Did you talk to him last night?” He asks, delaying.
“You mean after you two talked? No.”
“You two talked?” Scott asks, looking excited.
“Why is he not coming?” Allison asks warily. Scott glances at her and seems to understand the vibe now, growing concerned.
“I drove him home. And his dad says he wasn’t there when he got home at nine.”
“His dad says?” Lydia frowns at him. “How do you know-”
“Because he’s at the station right now, talking to my dad. He wants people looking for his son. Who is missing.” There, he said it.
Lydia shakes her head. “He probably went to practice some more and snuck in late, he’s done that before.”
“And in the morning?”
“Maybe he’s here already,” she says, looking towards the lacrosse field. She starts walking.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Cora says quietly. But she follows Lydia.
“Do you think…?” Allison doesn’t finish the question, sounds scared.
“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs. He looks at his best friend, who obviously doesn’t know what to do or say. “Maybe we should ask Danny, just in case. I mean, my dad’s going to be asking everybody anyway, but…”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Scott nods along nervously. “While they check the field, let’s find Danny.”
Chris stares at the bloody sheets. He hears the shower get turned off and turns around right before a naked Peter walks into the bedroom, towelling his hair.
“Hey,” he says, frowning when he gets no reply.
Peter stands there, drying himself, gaze locked onto the bed.
“So,” Chris sighs. “Where do we start?”
“In the woods. Maybe I can catch a trail, my own scent, something.” Peter drops the towel onto the floor and walks to the dresser, pulling out clothes to wear. Chris gives himself a moment, one moment to appreciate the view.
“Shouldn’t we get help? Laura, at least?”
Peter pauses, shoulders tensing up.
Chris steps closer to him, reaches out but hesitates before touching bare skin. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Last night, whatever I did… I either had no control whatsoever, or I somehow lost my memory.”
And that sounds awful, of course it does. Chris has no idea how he could possibly comfort Peter right now. Empty platitudes are all he’s got. “Until we know what’s going on, maybe… the old bunker in the tunnels under the Hale house is still there. Maybe we can use that as…”
“My new sleeping quarters?” Peter asks dryly and turns around, finally meeting his eyes. He looks on edge, close to how he looked when he lost control of his anger and punched a hole into Chris’ wall.
“Just until we know-”
“It’s obvious, if you think about it. What else has dragged people out of their beds without them being aware of it? What else can use a bond to take someone over completely, the way it controlled Stiles?”
“The Nemeton, I know,” Chris nods, looking at the floor. It is the obvious answer, but it isn’t a good one. The Alpha of Beacon Hills not being in control of his body, of his mind, not having free will—it’s a terrifying thought. Especially if the tree is still looking for more blood, more sacrifices.
“This wasn’t the plan,” Peter says, turning back to his dresser. “It wasn’t supposed to be this far gone, this powerful, able to take over me. This…” He slams the drawer shut. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“You should call your contact,” Chris says, not remembering the name Peter told him.
“Astrid.”
“Yes. Tell her to go through every resource she has, there has to be something we can do here. You said that Stiles’ bond is different because he was given. But you weren’t given, Peter. You and Talia-”
“I’ll ask,” he interrupts and begins to put on his clothes.
“Tell her we’ll pay double, just… We can’t give up.”
“I’m not giving up,” Peter turns to make an incredulous face at him and Chris almost sighs in relief at the sight of it. It’s a spark of the Peter he knows. The Peter he loves. That word, still foreign, but ringing truer every time he thinks it.
“Good. But why don’t you want to call Laura?”
“I don’t know whose blood this is, Chris.” Peter pulls on a pair of jeans and then goes over to the bed, starts stripping it.
“Are you afraid that…?”
“I don’t know!” Peter’s claws rip through the sheets and he drops them, sighing. “Let’s just go on our own right now, alright?”
“Alright.”
“Lydia, no,” Stiles says, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. Their first class is about to start and she just started walking towards the principal’s office with a determined look on her face.
“I want to know if he has anything to do with this,” she grits out.
“What, you think he’s just going to tell you?”
“I’ll scream until his ears bleed, if he doesn’t.”
Stiles blinks at her in surprise. “Listen to yourself, you can’t control your scream and even if you could, you’re not going to do that at school in broad daylight!”
“Stop telling me what I can or can’t do!” Lydia pulls her arm away from his hand.
“What if he doesn’t have anything to do with it?” Stiles tries to reason. “How would he know about the kanima? You going in there and demanding answers, that’s going to let him know there’s something going on.”
Lydia presses her lips together in frustration, eyes flicking around.
“You’re right,” she admits in a small voice. She brushes past him and goes towards her first class of the day, Cora waiting for her by the door. Cora’s eyes meet Stiles’ for a moment of shared concern.
The vibrating anxiety and the heavy stress from his time with Blake is back with a vengeance.
This day feels like a turning point.
They walk through the Preserve in silence, with him occasionally telling Chris that he’s caught a scent and where it’s leading. His guess was right of course. There’s the faint lingering smell of blood on the ground even though the visible trail disappears once they start getting closer to the clearing. And three other scent trails, Peter’s and two other people. Once they step out of the trees and walk towards the Nemeton, the two scents disappear.
Peter crouches down in front of the tree stump and stares at the large roots that head deep into the ground. Stiles told him how Deucalion and Kali were dragged underneath. How their blood seemed to get sucked into the grass and dirt.
“I don’t know if I’m reading you right because I never know,” Chris’ voice jerks him out of his thoughts. Peter looks up at the man, raising his eyebrows. “You seem calmer. Do you know who you…?” Chris gestures awkwardly.
“Who I killed? Because yes, I killed them. And yes, I know.” Peter sighs, looks back at the tree and pushes himself up. “Michael and Eileen Mato.”
“You remember?”
“No. Still a huge blank after I fell asleep next to you. But our three scents lead here… until theirs disappear. I believe I fed them to the Nemeton.”
“Shit,” Chris says quietly. And Peter agrees. More blood means more power means a bigger influence over the land it’s on. Over him. “Call Astrid. Right now.”
That tone’s close to a command. Peter gives him a wry look.
“Seriously, I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’ve called her,” Chris tells him.
“I mean… that’s just more incentive for me to procrastinate.” Peter’s smile is wide and only half-fake, because even though the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal and he’s starting to consider the burn down the whole forest angle (which he knows won’t work), flirting with Chris is easily one of his favourite means of distraction.
And if Chris smiles or laughs in surprise at how obvious Peter’s being, like he does right now, all the better. He’s handsome when he’s serious, but his smile is gorgeous and Peter likes looking at gorgeous things. That thought reminds him of Stiles and how he’s felt dangerous around him before… Now…
Peter’s smile fades from his face and he pulls out his phone to call Astrid.
He doesn’t want to stay away from either of them.
He doesn’t even know if he can.
Astrid answers with a cheerful, “Beacon Hills still standing?”
“Barely. I need your help.”
“You sound serious and sincere, very unlike you. Alright, I’m listening.”
“Remember the Nemeton?”
“The one that you’re bonded to and a pack member was given to? Uh, yeah. I remember it.”
“I have no memory of last night. But apparently I killed two werewolves and gave their bodies to it.”
A moment of silence.
“Jesus, are you serious?” She sounds scared. “If it’s taking control of the supernatural now, it’s…”
“I think it’s always had a pull. Especially for Alphas. It pulled Talia to it. And Deucalion.”
“Yeah, that’s not normal by the way. If it was there would be a lot more stuff like this happening in the world, but there isn’t. A Nemeton controlling the Alpha that protects it? Just, no, there’s something seriously wrong there…”
“Want to come here and check it out for yourself?”
“I, uh…”
“I’ll pay you a lot of money, Astrid. In fact,” Peter takes a deep breath and glances at Chris who is listening attentively, “I’ve been thinking about offering you a position in my pack.”
“What?” She yelps, sounding a lot like Stiles.
Chris’ eyebrows have flown high in surprise.
“As an emissary or whatever.”
“Emissaries are druids, Peter, they care about the balance and shit, that’s literally the job of an emissary.”
“Then be my advisor. Whatever title you want, Astrid.”
“I’m… flattered, but also caught off guard. I haven’t talked to you in six years-”
“Try to remember that my life before the fire is very fresh in my mind,” Peter snaps at her and then sighs. “It’s just an offer. But coming here to see this thing for yourself, that’s proper consultant work and like I said, I’ll pay you whatever price you ask for.”
“Fuck. Here’s the thing. I kind of have a husband and a toddler, so I need to think about it, okay?”
“Kind of?” Peter asks dryly, while also feeling very surprised. The Astrid he knew in college hated romance with a passion, refused dates left and right and pronounced herself a full-on career woman. I’m going to die alone, she once said proudly.
“He’s an annoying pain in my ass, but I love him, so…”
“The husband or the toddler?”
“Both?”
“I can offer to buy you guys a house here. You don’t need jobs, you can fully commit yourselves to parenting,” Peter says, going for a new angle now.
“If you think I don’t want to work, you never knew me at all.”
“Well, the Astrid I knew would never have gotten married, so I thought maybe you’ve changed,” Peter replies snarkily.
“The house thing sounds nice, though. And I just know that when I tell Ben about this, he’s going to lose his fucking mind.”
“Why?”
“He’s obsessed with werewolves.”
“He’s human?”
“Yeah, but he knows what I do, obviously.”
“Can you get back on topic?” Chris asks loudly, pointing at the stump.
“Who’s that?” Astrid asks.
“My partner,” Peter replies and watches as Chris tilts his head back, expression unsure.
“Partner-in-crime? Partner at the firm? Are you a cop now? Ooooor…” Astrid stresses it out playfully.
“Partner as in I don’t like calling the thirty-seven-year-old man I’m in a relationship with my boyfriend,” Peter rolls his eyes.
Chris hides a smile behind a hand. Peter actually reaches out and grabs the mans’ wrist to reveal it. When Chris looks at him questioningly, he sighs, “I like seeing you smile.”
“Sap,” Chris smirks at him.
“You guys sound adorable. You should just marry him, that solves the boyfriend issue,” Astrid teases. “Or just put a ring on it and call him your fiancé forever. I tried that but Ben wanted a wedding,” she groans.
“If I had been awake, would I’ve been invited?”
“Absolutely, you would’ve been one of my bridesmaids. I’ve always wanted to see you in a dress.”
“Does Ben wear dresses for-”
“Back on topic, please,” Chris interrupts, palming his face with his free hand.
“Your boyfriend sounds stressed,” Astrid quips.
“My entire pack is stressed.”
“Right. Back to serious things… I just realized that I’ve really missed you,” she laughs, a little brokenly.
“That’s a good first step to moving here.”
“I live in Pennsylvania, it’s a pretty big move.”
“I’d pay for it.”
She sighs loudly. “That’s your solution to everything, is it?”
“Money’s the one thing I always have in abundance.”
“Now I remember how annoying you can be.”
Chris steps closer, looking frustrated. “Any ideas on what we could do about the Nemeton?” He says loudly towards the phone.
“He’s worried about you, aww.”
“Any ideas?” Peter repeats, ignoring her cooing and pulling Chris in further by the man’s belt. His eyes darken with desire but he’s still frowning.
“Well, I need more details about this whole thing. And I also need an hour, I’m not at home right now.”
“Alright, I’ll call you in an hour after I’ve figured out as much as I can.”
“Yeah. Peter, I… I’d help you with this for free, you know? I mean I’m not going to, because I like money. But if you didn’t have any, I’d still help.”
Peter smiles a little because the woman he remembers wouldn’t have said that to just anyone. He’s still special to her, then.
“I appreciate the sentiment.”
“No ideas?” Chris asks when Peter’s hung up.
“She needs more details. As do I… I just realized something.”
“What?”
“I need to check my car.”
“This is stupid, being here is stupid,” Lydia snaps suddenly while they’re on their way to another classroom.
“Hey,” Stiles tries to catch her wrist, to maybe pull her in for a hug but she steps back from him.
“Lydia, come on,” Allison says softly, coming in from the other side, reaching for her shoulders.
“Just, shut up, all of you!” She yells suddenly, causing half the corridor to look in their direction. Stiles is about to try for a hug again when she suddenly turns towards an empty space in front of some lockers and hisses, “Especially you!”
“Woah,” Cora mutters and then goes to stand in that space so she can meet Lydia’s eyes. “You okay? What was that about?”
Lydia draws back into herself, visibly regaining her composure, except her hands are clearly shaking. “I’m fine, I’m worried about my boyfriend, which is a normal thing to be when one’s boyfriend is missing.” She cocks her head, daring at anyone of them to argue.
“Yeah, and you just yelled at some lockers like a crazy person,” Cora points behind her, tactful as ever.
“Are you calling me crazy?” Lydia glares at her.
“I’m worried you’re losing it, yeah,” Cora says.
“Kids, class is starting,” Victoria stands by the door, staring at all of them.
Stiles watches with apprehension as Lydia slowly turns to the woman.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my boyfriend is missing-”
“The school has been told to alert his parents if there’s any sign of Jackson,” Victoria says, softly as if she’s assuring her.
“Mom…” Allison says quietly, frowning. “Can I talk to you?”
“After school. All of you, get in,” she gestures at the open doorway and waits.
Lydia’s shoulders slump in defeat and she rushes in first.
Stiles dares a glance at Victoria before he follows and is confused by what he sees.
She looks… sad.
“This is going to be a nightmare to clean,” Peter grumbles after he’s opened up the trunk of his car and taken in the blood-soaked interior.
“I know a guy who can get it reupholstered,” Chris says, taking a look over his shoulder and immediately stepping back. Once again, the thought of Peter getting turned into a brainless out-of-control killer is terrifying. The more proof he sees of what happened last night, the harder it is to brush his fear aside and focus on being helpful.
“Convenient.” Peter quirks an eyebrow at him.
Chris shrugs. “A lot of accidents can happen while… hunting.”
“Sure,” Peter smirks wryly.
“What made you think of the car in the first place?” Chris asks, having wondered that the whole way back to Peter’s building. The parking lot’s fairly empty, it always is. It’s not that large, either, clearly only meant for the one five-story building that Peter lives in, the surrounding buildings looking like abandoned factories or offices.
Come to think of it, Chris has never seen anyone else come in or out, park their car here, use the elevator or move in the hallways… He has never heard any sign of life either.
“Because I followed the Matos out of town last night. I couldn’t have dragged their bodies all the way, I must’ve used- What?” Peter’s turned around and seen Chris staring up at the building.
“Does anyone else live here?”
“…No,” Peter answers cagily, slamming the trunk shut.
“Why? How?” Chris asks.
“The building’s not exactly up to code.”
Chris blinks and then looks back at the old brick building that definitely looks like it has a lot of wear and tear.
“Have I been cheating death every time I use the elevator?” Is the first thing that comes to mind.
“No, I’ve had everything that I use fixed,” Peter glares at him. “Like I’d let you get into a broken elevator.”
“Isn’t this illegal?”
“Living in it isn’t… But renting the space out to me is.”
“So the owner…”
“Is getting paid handsomely.”
Chris closes his eyes in disbelief. “Why didn’t you just buy the building?”
“Because then I’d own the building,” Peter scoffs at him. When Chris just stares, he rolls his eyes and elaborates, “It’s considered an eyesore, a lot of people would like to buy it and tear it down, but Mrs. Greenberg doesn’t want that and is good at dodging everyone. I don’t feel like dealing with it. And I also don’t like the idea of having my name officially tied to a place. Another plus is never getting any physical mail.”
“You could just fix up the whole building. Your whole pack could live here,” Chris says, confused by this.
“The whole reason I got this place was so I could be away from prying ears,” Peter looks at him like he’s disappointed. “Being on different floors doesn’t mean much when one likes to have very loud sex.”
Chris sighs, realizing he should give up. But he has to ask, “So, Laura kept paying the owner while you were in a coma?”
“Apparently, Mrs. Greenberg presented Laura with a lease,” Peter grins. “While I was catatonic, the old lady learned how to fake legal documents.”
“Does Laura know she got scammed?”
“Wouldn’t call it a scam. But no, I haven’t told anyone about the specifics. You’re the first one to know,” Peter winks at him.
“I’m honored,” Chris drawls.
“You’re welcome,” Peter says, resting a hand over his heart. Chris shakes his head and laughs a little.
“Back to our earlier topic-”
“You really don’t seem to like distractions today,” Peter muses.
“Because I’m worried,” Chris says sincerely. Peter’s eyes flick away.
“The smart thing to do now would be to stay far away from me.”
“Good thing I’m not that smart,” Chris smirks.
Peter frowns and steps closer to grab him by the hips.
“Insult yourself again and we’re going to have a problem,” he says seriously.
“Oh, really?” Chris asks, eyes straying down to Peter’s mouth. Which spreads wide into a wicked smile.
“Really.”
“Wait,” Chris’ brain catches on and replays what Peter told him earlier. “You followed them out of town?”
Peter’s smile fades away as he sighs. “So much for me trying to change the subject.”
Chris pushes him back a little. “You saw them leave and followed them further?”
“Yes, they went to a motel a few miles from the town border, why are you…?” Peter’s gaze strays away from Chris’ face as he grows thoughtful.
“If they were outside of its territory,” Chris says. “Then how could it get you there?”
“Unless its territory is bigger than the town now,” Peter frowns.
“Or the more likely option, they came back.”
“Why are you making it sound like that’s a good thing?”
“Because what if this wasn’t just some random blood-hungry take-over, what if the Nemeton saw them coming back as a threat to you and it? That sounds better than it sending you after them for no reason, right?” Chris doesn’t know who he is trying to reassure here, himself or Peter.
“It does,” Peter says evenly. “But the underlying issue is still the same. I had no choice, no control and now I have no memory. I don’t even know if there’s any other evidence to take care of besides the car and my apartment. What if the fight started in an area with cameras? What if there were witnesses? I know nothing and the stress that causes is not ideal right now.” By the end of his little tirade, his voice has gone growly and he’s released Chris’ hips so he can flex his fingers.
“I think that’s the last detail you need to give to Astrid,” Chris tells him gently.
“Fine, I’m calling her,” Peter sighs and pulls out his phone. “But don’t expect some miracle solution. She said what’s happening here isn’t normal, is nothing she’s heard of before… Going onwards, everything’s going to be theories and trial and error.”
“If we keep looking, I’m sure we’ll find something. Someone.” He manages to put more conviction into his voice than he actually feels.
“Right,” Peter mutters, looking away, phone by his ear. And then he smiles and says to Astrid, “Being fashionably late is a lifestyle at this point. But I have a theory now of what might’ve happened, if you’re ready to hear it.”
Chris settles in to observe and wait.
And hope.
“Lydia?” Allison asks, trying to get her attention but fails because her friend’s busy glaring at the video camera installed at the end of the corridor.
Stiles turns around, closing his locker to see what’s going on.
“Hey,” he starts and then freezes in surprise when Lydia suddenly moves, rushing straight towards the principal’s office. “Oh no,” Stiles mumbles and quickly runs after her, arms in full panic-flail mode. “Lydia, stop!”
But no, she gets there and she’s in and then she’s barging past Victoria, who stands up from her desk, glaring in shock-
“Ms. Martin-”
Lydia ignores her and goes right for Gerard’s door.
Stiles is close enough to hear her even after she disappears from view.
“Are those security cameras recording audio?”
Stiles’ brain stutters at that question, and then he’s stumbling in after her, Victoria on his heels.
Gerard is sitting calmly behind his desk, looking amused.
“Ms. Martin, was it?” He glances behind them at Victoria, who probably nods because he then turns his steely gaze back onto Lydia and says, “No, they don’t.”
“And if the police were to check your recordings?”
Gerard’s eyes narrow. “What is this about, Ms. Martin?”
Lydia takes a step closer to the desk and Stiles edges in after her, nervously looking behind him at Victoria who looks right back with a stone-like expression, causing his insides to shiver.
“My boyfriend’s missing,” Lydia says loftily.
“Ah, right. I heard about our young Jackson, his dad’s causing quite a fuss over his disappearance.” Gerard glances at Victoria again, something… odd flickering over his expression, a shadow of a smile.
“Gerard,” Victoria says, warns.
The man’s thin lips quirk up into a smirk and he stands, coming around the desk to lean back against it. Lydia takes a step back in surprise and Stiles grabs her right arm from behind now that she’s closer to him. Her left hand comes up to grip his, silently telling him to not let go.
“Now, you and I both know what he is,” Gerard says and both Stiles and Lydia freeze as one. “Why would you still consider him your boyfriend?” He cocks his head, a mockingly worried expression on his face.
Stiles hears the door close behind them, glances over his shoulder to see Victoria standing in front of it.
“The two of you, smartest in your class, and yet… dumb enough to fall in love with monsters. Why is that?”
“Do you have him?” Lydia’s voice causes Stiles to turn back to her, concerned. He’s never heard her sound so cold before.
“No,” Gerard smiles. “He has me.”
She tries to charge at him but Stiles grabs her by the waist and holds her back, feels her shaking against him.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” she snaps at him, lightly tugging against Stiles’ hold.
“I’ve gotten away with a lot of things, my dear,” Gerard shakes his head at them. “This will be no different.” He motions at Victoria and Stiles turns around to see her open the door for them. Oh, good, because the moment that door was closed, he started to expect the worst.
They’re letting them go.
Gerard revealed that he knows about the kanima, that he took Jackson… and they’re letting them go.
Stiles frowns as he pulls Lydia towards the door. This overconfidence is eerily similar to how Blake acted too, not seeing Peter as a real threat. But Gerard’s human. An old man. Yes, he has a lot of guns and a lot of gunmen but… does he really think that one kanima is enough against the whole pack?
It can paralyze with just a scratch, but what if all of the Hales are going after it, surely, surely, there’s a big chance that Gerard loses everything here?
Lydia’s still shaking by the time Stiles manages to escort her back into the main hallway, where their friends are waiting.
“We heard everything,” Cora says, coming up to grab Lydia’s other arm. “I texted Peter. We should go to the pack house, wait for him there.”
“Go away,” Lydia growls.
Stiles and Cora both stop and let go of her, glance at each other nervously.
“You want us to-”
She rolls her eyes at Stiles, “No, not you.”
“Me?” Cora asks, sounding small.
“No,” Lydia sighs and then gestures at an empty space. “Them!” Then her eyes widen and she starts walking, refusing to look at any of them. “Never mind, let’s go.”
Allison sidles up to Stiles.
“That’s got to be a banshee thing, right?” She whispers.
Stiles stares at the lockers that Lydia has now raised her voice to twice. “Yeah.”
But why has she been hiding it?
The only definite way that Peter can make sure the Nemeton never controls him ever again, is to sever the bond completely. Peter sees too many negatives to actually consider this a viable option at the moment.
“What are the negatives?” Chris asks as they stand in Peter’s kitchen, holding his cup one-handed, his other hand tucked into his pocket. Peter makes a note of how Chris hasn’t taken off his jacket and how he seems to be enjoying the warmth of his drink. He himself rarely feels cold, but since he has human guests coming over pretty frequently, he should probably turn up the central heating.
“For one, it would weaken me and my pack greatly at a time when we can’t afford to be weak,” Peter says.
“That’s fair, but not being in control could also be considered as weak,” Chris points out and then sips calmly while Peter shoots him an unimpressed glare.
“Maybe. But then we also have to take into account that it apparently likes to use dead werewolves as a power source and if my pack’s no longer bonded to it, then we’re no longer its protectors, we’re food.”
Chris looks down, frowning.
“I didn’t consider that…”
“Also, Stiles.”
“What about him?”
“I’d basically be abandoning him… Right now I’m somewhat sharing the burden-”
“Do you think he’d find this comforting?” Chris asks sharply. “That you can be taken over as well?”
Peter knows he wouldn’t. He doesn’t bother answering Chris, just quietly finishes his coffee.
“It has to be an option to consider. Maybe we just… maybe we all have to get out of here,” Chris shakes his head at the thought.
“And leave this town to become some kind of an actual beacon for the supernatural? It may not seem like it but our presence here, my presence, is actually stabilizing it.”
“That what Astrid said?”
“Yes.”
“When’s she coming to check it out for herself?”
“She said soon, but also had no idea what time frame soon might mean.”
“Great,” Chris mutters and steps closer to grab Peter’s cup, to then rinse both that and his own in the sink.
Meanwhile, Peter gets a text. He reads it quickly and then pockets his phone.
“We’ve got another problem,” he says, while heading for the door.
“What is it?” Chris asks, hurriedly drying his hands before following.
“Gerard just admitted to Lydia that he took Jackson, who apparently went missing last night.”
“What?”
Peter pauses and looks over his shoulder, takes in the shock, the fear.
“He knows Jackson’s the kanima.”
“But how?” Chris seems pale. Peter takes a step closer, growing a bit worried.
“I don’t know and it’s not important. We have to go.”
“We need to go to Noah.”
“What?” Peter’s head snaps back in disbelief.
“Gerard kidnapped a kid-”
“Jackson might not be himself anymore, Chris. Not if the kanima’s found his master.”
Chris rubs at his brow, thinking.
Peter continues talking. “No guns can stop it. The cops will be useless against it. Noah would be in danger.”
“He’s in danger if he goes after my father without knowing what he’s getting into,” Chris argues. “And they can’t just… kill anyone that asks questions, it would bring the feds down here, drag too much attention on us all.”
“Not if he finds a way to spin it in his favor,” Peter remarks dryly. If Gerard’s lived this long, breaking laws left and right, using bribery and his arms trading to make friends in high places, then he can’t imagine him not having some kind of a plan here, a way to absolve himself of any suspicion.
“Shit, the Millers.” Chris palms his face tiredly.
“Who?”
“The hunters that you guys killed in the woods, they weren’t Gerard’s men, I forgot to tell you. They were Tom’s.”
“…Who?” Peter repeats evenly, shrugging. Because that name means nothing to him.
“A fairly new hunting family that got into it about four years ago when Tom Miller’s wife was bitten by an Alpha and didn’t survive. He’s got one daughter and five sons… well, now he might have two.”
Peter curls his fingers, frustration getting to him.
“So. More hunters.”
“Yes. Reckless ones. Tom recruits anyone willing to shoot a gun, a lot of his men have priors, some of them have done time.”
Peter thinks that over, tilts his head in understanding. “Scapegoats.”
“Exactly,” Chris nods.
“This is it then. The bloodbath you were hoping to avoid.” Peter cocks his head, wanting to sound considerate but knowing that bluntness is often the best tactic with him. Chris’ efforts have been futile from the start, Peter never saw any way all of this wouldn’t end with a lot of bloodshed and a lot of deaths. “My priority is going to be keeping my pack safe. Alive. Whatever means necessary.”
Chris’ face closes off. But his scent betrays him, alerting Peter to his anxiety, anger.
“I know.” He nods. “I get it.”
“Then let’s go.”
“To Noah. Please.”
Peter closes his eyes, feeling that it’s a mistake even before he says, “Fine. We’ll talk to Noah.”
The main issue is, how did Gerard find out? Lydia tells them at the pack house that she and Allison talked about Jackson being the kanima at school, after the cameras were installed. Her theory is that there were microphones installed as well, illegally, since CCTV cameras usually have either no or very shitty audio.
“That’s something we could go to the Sheriff about, right?” Scott asks, scratching the back of his head and looking lost.
“I don’t know,” Stiles says, his eyes meeting Allison’s who looks like she understands why he’s hesitating. His dad would absolutely go by the book here, would investigate, get all up in Gerard’s business and Stiles has a feeling that the hunter patriarch has no patience for people who get in his way. “And even if he did record audio, why?” Stiles diverts them from their plan to call his dad.
“For general information?” Allison offers, but sounds like she doubts it.
“It must mean he knew about the kanima,” Cora says. “He was looking for it.”
“How?” Stiles stresses, gesturing helplessly.
“Who else knows?” Lydia asks, looking up from her seat on the couch, right at Allison who is leaning against the wall.
Allison’s eyes widen and she pulls out her phone. “I’m going to call Hayden, give me a sec.” She heads to the hallway.
Stiles checks his own phone, doesn’t see any messages and frowns. “Has Peter replied to you, Cora?”
“He said he’ll meet us here,” Cora shrugs at him.
Stiles nods, but feels disappointed. This feels big. This entire day has felt like they’re all standing on the edge of a cliff and the longer they stand there, the higher the fall seems. Why didn’t Peter just rush over here, or call? Now doesn’t seem like the time for… whatever they’re doing. They, being him and Chris, because according to Allison, her dad went over to Peter’s in the morning.
And no, Stiles isn’t jealous, he’s mad at them not reacting enough to one of his classmates getting kidnapped. Because even if Jackson wasn’t the kanima, this should bring the cavalry, all of it.
But he might be overreacting, he tells himself. He knows that both Peter and Chris deal with a lot of stuff in the background…
Scott breathes in sharply and shares a wide-eyed look with Cora.
“What?” Stiles snaps, realizing they’re overhearing Allison’s conversation. “Share with the people who don't have superhearing,” he demands.
“Hayden’s brother answered the phone…” Scott says. “Hayden’s in the hospital, got shot a few days ago.”
“By his best friend,” Cora adds, looking pale.
“Who’s been working for Gerard all along.” Scott continues, and his head turns and all of their heads follow. Allison steps back into the room and staggers over to the couch.
“He knows about everything,” she whispers and buries her face in her hands.
Lydia looks at her, not in concern, but in anger.
“Why would he take him now, though?” Cora asks, before Lydia can say anything. Stiles glances at her and notices Cora’s wary gaze taking in Lydia’s expression. “He’s just Jackson…”
Allison sighs wetly and rubs at her eyes. “Araya said something about how to get the kanima to come out early.”
“How?” Stiles asks, fearing the answer.
“By endangering the host,” she says, looking at her friend beside her, who grows very still.
“They’re hurting him?”
“He might already not be Jackson anymore.”
“No,” Lydia shakes her head angrily and stands up. “We’re getting him out of there. You know where Gerard lives, right?” She asks Allison.
“Yes, but…”
“Stiles, you drive. Let’s go.”
“Lydia,” Stiles tries to dissuade her but she’s already at the door and not listening.
“I’ll go with or without you, your choice,” she snaps at all of them before heading out.
“Fuck,” Cora drawls and then stomps after Lydia.
“I guess we can do recon or something,” Scott says, looks like he’s feeling queasy.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees half-heartedly, checking his phone again.
Could really use an Alpha’s authority right about now.
Laura’s at the front desk when Chris and Peter walk into the Sheriff’s Station and raises her eyebrows mockingly.
“Here to report a crime? Turn yourself in?”
“Here to talk to the Sheriff,” Chris replies, leaning against the desk while Peter circles around and takes a look at who else is currently working. Derek’s stepping through one of the doors, giving him a questioning look. There’s another young woman sitting at one of the desks, on the phone, the call seems to be about some disturbance. And then there’s Haigh, already giving them obvious glances while tapping away on his phone.
“He’s in his office, is this about Jackson?” Laura asks, walking out to stand next to Peter, looking at him instead of Chris for a response.
He quirks a brow. “Of course. Who do you think has him?”
“What?” Laura frowns. “You don’t mean…”
Derek’s now sidled up to his sister. “I thought he didn’t know.”
The Sheriff opens the door to his office, takes in the four of them standing there, practically whispering and squints. “Has something happened?”
“Can we talk in your office?” Chris asks.
Noah shoots a wary look at both Haigh and the young woman, who are obviously listening in.
“Uh, yeah. Let’s make this quick, though. I’ve got half the town to question.”
“Not after we’re done telling you what we know,” Peter says and rolls his eyes at the disapproving look he gets from Chris.
“Don’t tell me that there’s another body in the woods,” Noah sighs as he closes the door behind them.
“Remember the kanima?” Peter asks, getting to the point.
“The thing that paralyzed my son? Yes, I remember.”
“It’s Jackson,” Chris tells him gravely.
Noah freezes for a second and then swipes a hand down his face. Peter’s nose is immediately bombarded with the scent of overstress.
“What do we do?” He asks, collecting himself, placing his hands on his hips.
“We get rid of Gerard Argent,” Peter says evenly.
“…I feel like I’m missing a couple of steps.”
Chris takes over and explains everything.
Everyone’s faces, except for Lydia’s, spell out the same exact feeling that Stiles has in his gut as he drives, following Allison’s instructions.
This is the stupidest thing they’ve ever done.
And if he wasn’t so worried about Lydia, about how she would react, he would turn the car around and take them back to the house, to wait for Peter, to call his dad—fuck he’s eighteen but right now he’s wishing for “actual” adults to show up and tell him what to do. Allison has been fiddling with her phone the entire ride, sitting beside him in the front and Stiles can tell, can just sense it, that she’s wishing the same thing. That she wants to call her dad.
So, when they’re getting close, driving on a curving road that’s surrounded by the woods from both sides, dark and ominous, and he suddenly hears sirens from behind him, his first feeling is relief. Because it’s a distraction, it’s a hindrance, it’s something telling him to stop. As he glances at his rearview mirror, everyone else turns around to stare.
And then the relief quickly turns to confusion, and dread. That’s his dad’s car.
“The Sheriff’s not alone,” Cora tells them, eyes wide.
Stiles pulls over and breaks hard enough that all of them jerk forward against their seatbelts.
“Wait, what?” He then turns in his seat to stare with everyone else as his dad, Chris, Peter and Derek all get out of the police cruiser.
“Anyone else feel like we’re in trouble?” Scott asks in a small voice.
And yeah, Stiles thinks, as he takes in his dad’s squinty what do you think you’re doing expression, he does.
The Sheriff is on edge.
And so is everyone in the Jeep.
The emotions, the frantic heartbeats, the exchanges of cautious glances and meaningful looks, all of it is pushing Peter’s wolf to the forefront. His instincts are a mess, his pack bonds are being strained by the high emotions everyone’s feeling.
He does his best to stay calm, he needs to stay calm. He sees Stiles sending him a few glances that indicate how much he’d like a touch, a hug, a sign of some affection. But he lingers in the background, letting the Sheriff take on the protective role. He focuses inward, on breathing, on keeping his eyes human.
“Are you out of your minds?” Noah asks once Stiles and Lydia have finished explaining why they’re heading towards Gerard’s house.
“We need to do something,” Lydia snaps at him. Snaps. At the Sheriff.
Peter studies her, studies all of them more closely. Beyond the worry for Jackson, there’s something else. Stiles and Allison keep side-eyeing Lydia as if she’s a ticking time bomb. Scott looks like he’s close to freaking out. Cora seems wary. Of Lydia.
Noah doesn’t catch any of this and predictably replies with, “You’re not going to do anything. I’m going to find him, okay? You, all of you,” he raises his voice and gestures at the teenagers, “need to go home.”
“Lydia, please. What did you think was going to happen when we got there?” Allison wraps an arm around her friend, hugs her close. Lydia’s eyes well up, but her mouth tightens with restraint.
“I know. I know,” she says softly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
Noah sighs and gently clasps Lydia’s shoulder. “Leave this to me, okay?”
She looks up at him, brow furrowing. “Okay.”
Stiles seems to sag with relief.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” Peter interrupts them. “I have a request.”
“What now?” Stiles blinks at him, waiting. He also seems a bit angry with him. Peter makes a mental note to check up on that later.
“Cora comes with me and Derek into the woods, where we’ll keep an eye on your dad. You take Chris instead.” He can see from the way Chris’ back straightens, the way he frowns, that the man doesn’t want to go. But Peter doesn’t want him anywhere near his father.
“Dad, I think that’s a good idea,” Allison says carefully.
“I…” Chris bares his teeth in a show of frustration before pressing his lips closed and breathing in deep. “Fine.” He doesn’t look back at Peter as he claps Noah on the back once and says, “Be careful and remember everything I’ve told you about him.”
“I will,” Noah promises, then he looks at Stiles. “And you, drive safe.”
“Yeah,” Stiles wets his lips nervously and gives Peter one last glance, saying, “Make sure nothing happens to my dad.” When Peter just nods in reply, he frowns and gets back into his car.
“Shouldn’t I come too?” Scott asks, sincerely offering.
“No. Go home,” Peter tells him, not bothering to explain how their thinning bond is grating on his nerves, how it tugs at his wolf, saying that there’s a non-pack werewolf in his territory. It’ll be easier to stay calm if Scott leaves, if he surrounds himself with his family.
Derek hasn’t said anything this whole time and Cora sidles up to him. She pokes at his arm, raising an eyebrow and he responds with an eyeroll and a shrug. Which apparently means something because Cora then nods as if agreeing and leans against her brother.
Those two and their nonverbal communication has always unnerved him a little.
They all watch the Jeep turn around and drive back the way they came.
“Well… you three joining me or?” Noah asks.
“We’ll go by foot from here and we’ll keep ourselves in hearing distance.”
“Hearing… so, should I say something in code if I need you to come closer?”
And the fact that he asks that at all shows how nervous Noah is, that he’s taking this seriously. Peter thinks it over.
Derek speaks up, “Say you need to call the station. If I hear that, we’ll move in.”
The Sheriff nods, keeps nodding, something Peter has seen Stiles do a few times, and it strikes home the fact that it’s Stiles’ father who he’s going to be backup for. Peter steels himself further. If Derek hears the code, he’ll have to be ready for anything.
In the back of his mind, the thought pops up uninvited.
He hopes they’re not facing the kanima tonight.
The car ride is tense and quiet, Stiles tapping away on his wheel, Allison worriedly checking her phone every minute. And Chris… Chris is livid, staring out of the window, jaw clenching every now and then.
When they reach their house, Chris leans forward to pat Stiles on the shoulder. “Thanks for the ride,” he says evenly and then gets out.
“We’ll keep each other posted, yeah?” Allison gives Lydia a quick hug and sits up to give Scott a kiss on the cheek.
Once it’s just the three of them, Scott and Stiles share a look.
He starts driving, but slowly.
“Hey, you want to tell us what’s going on with you?” Stiles asks and immediately gets hit in the arm. He mouths What!? at Scott, who gestures incredulously.
“What he means is… you know you can talk to us about anything, right?” Scott says softly, turning around in his seat so he can look at her.
Stiles glances into his mirror just in time to catch her rolling her eyes at them.
“I’m a banshee,” she says dryly. “That’s what’s going on.”
“So, you yelling at a bunch of lockers was because….?” Stiles gestures vaguely.
“I see dead people,” Lydia snaps. And then smiles grimly. “There.” She looks out the window, and doesn’t say anything the rest of the ride home.
Scott clearly wants to ask questions with the way he keeps opening and closing his mouth. And boy, does Stiles also have about a million of them.
But she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, so they don’t pry. At least, not yet. Not tonight.
Stiles is already mentally compiling a list of everything he wants to ask her, though.
He just has to wait for everything to calm down again.
If that ever happens.
According to Derek, Gerard doesn’t seem surprised to see the Sheriff at his doorstep.
“Haigh,” Peter points out, since the deputy was at the station and saw Noah leave with someone that Haigh was probably told to watch out for.
“Noah’s saying that he got an anonymous tip,” Derek says, gaze unfocused. “That someone saw Jackson getting into Gerard’s car last night.” Derek’s eyebrows rise up in surprise. “That’s a pretty obvious lie.”
“He’s gauging Gerard’s reaction to that,” Peter guesses.
“Gerard denied it… Noah’s asking to come in and have a look around… Gerard’s telling him to come back with a warrant…”
“Pretty standard interaction so far,” Peter muses and feels restless. His gums are aching. His wolf wants to run free, wants to bite, tear, claw. The restraint is causing his entire body to hurt.
“Noah’s asking about permits for all of their guns now…”
“Oh boy,” Cora says, tensing up.
“Gerard’s getting them… He’s not objecting to it.”
“That’s because their paperwork holds up. Chris warned him about that, how it’s not the way to catch him legally. Gerard knows guns, knows people who know guns. He can probably get any permit he wants.”
“Noah’s trying to make small-talk with someone…” Derek smiles faintly. “He sounds like Stiles.”
There’s a sound… No steps, no breathing, but like something moving against air… Peter looks around slowly, trying to make himself seem bored. He tunes out Derek and focuses on his surroundings.
A heartbeat. One single beat. Five seconds pass before he hears another.
But he can’t tell where it’s coming from.
“Start walking towards Laura’s house. Now.”
Derek blinks himself out of his focus and frowns. “What? Why? We’re supposed to-”
Cora draws their attention by gasping.
Peter’s claws come out as he sees her wide eyes, her frozen body. She starts falling and Derek moves to catch her.
“Derek, don’t-”
A movement, fast, behind Cora, a creature spinning around Derek and swiping at his neck. Cora falls to the ground and her brother follows.
Peter snarls, takes a moment to shake his head and shift, senses gaining a sharpness that helps him zero in on the kanima’s movements, because it’s still moving- Peter rushes after it, swiping his claws at a tail, right as the creature jumps up into a tree and disappears into the branches, the leaves. He can hear it better, can sense it, but it’s still quieter than anything else that Peter has ever come across.
He can tell that it’s jumping into another tree, that it’s going over him, he turns just as it lands, claws ready, but it lands with its arm already reaching out. And just as Peter draws blood, he feels a quick, simple incision into the back of his neck, right on top of his spine. The kanima hisses at him in pain, drawing back and holding a hand against the wound in his jugular. But it was too shallow, Peter didn’t get deep enough, it’s going to heal.
And meanwhile, he’s going to fall.
Paralyzed.
Stiles answers his phone so fast, he almost fumbles the swipe and declines instead.
“You’re okay?” He grabs his hair into a fist, pulling at it.
“I’m fine,” his dad says, sounding disappointed. “I couldn’t do anything. But I’m going to keep trying, alright? This is not the time for you kids to try and play heroes, I’m going to find the right angle to come at him with.”
“Are you coming home?” He purposefully doesn’t make any promises about staying out of it. By now, he knows himself and Lydia too well to do that.
“No, I’m going back to the station. I didn’t see Peter, by the way. I’m assuming he and the others went back to their house?”
“I… I don’t know, I’ll call and ask.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later, kid.”
“Yeah, see you.”
He quickly finds Peter’s number. Peter doesn’t pick up.
Stiles tells himself to not worry, the guy’s probably busy moving in on Gerard, making plans, talking to his family, being an Alpha…
He tells himself to wait for a bit before he goes and does something drastic. Something stupid.
He waits.
When he tells people that the loss of his family, of Talia, is still fresh in his mind, he’s not lying or exaggerating. He doesn’t remember much about the six years he was catatonic, it’s mostly a blur. But a blur of rage and fire, the two fighting under his skin, sometimes feeding off each other and growing too big for his mind to handle, so he’d fade, get lost, come back to the blur, rinse and repeat.
This time there’s no blur, there’s no getting lost. He’s here, he’s awake and he can barely wiggle his toes.
There’s only a few minutes of the three of them lying there on the forest ground, Cora half-screaming through her numb lips, Derek trying to communicate in actual words (What… do… we… do? Peter?). He doesn’t respond, because there’s nothing for him to say and because all of his focus goes into his body, the power of what he is, what he was born as, the borrowed power of the Nemeton, his pack bonds, shining bright and strong.
He is strong. He shouldn’t be held down like this for long.
So he focuses. He fights.
But minutes pass and figures arrive and one of those figures is Gerard.
“Well done, Jackson.” The smugness radiates so clearly that he doesn’t even have to see the other’s face to recognize it.
“This him?” Another voice that Peter doesn’t know, gravelly and loud. And then a face hovering above him, looking like it wants to spit on him. A middle-aged man with thick black hair and a full beard that has some grey in it, a strong hawkish nose and icy grey eyes. If the circumstances weren’t what they are, Peter might call that face handsome. But right now, he’ll just call it an enemy.
“Peter Hale, yes," Gerard answers from somewhere out of Peter's sight.
“Did you kill my boys, Peter?” The man asks, baring his teeth at him.
“Miller?” Peter pushes out through the numbness in his mouth, his tongue barely moving.
“Now that sounds like a confession,” he says and his shoulder moves, he’s grabbing something. The slide of a handgun getting racked. And then that handgun being pointed right at his head.
Peter can’t help it, his face is numb and yet his muscles still manage a smirk. It’s a reflex, he’s never been good at showing fear.
“No killing him just yet, Tom,” Gerard says, no longer smug.
“And why the fuck not?” The guy snaps, turning his head. “He’s helpless, he’s right here.”
“You’re in my home. So you’ll be playing by my rules.”
“What are you planning, old man?” Miller sighs, but puts the gun away.
“Get them to the basement,” Gerard orders the others.
Hands on him, without his permission—a flashback to the few moments during his coma when he was there, towards the end, close to waking up. When he was being washed, fed, clothed and undressed.
He manages to curl his fingers and his claws slide into his palms. The pain centres him. He keeps the claws in his flesh, keeps himself from healing the entire time they’re dragged, through the woods and into Gerard’s house.
After everything, every warning, every new fact he’s learned about Kate, his dad—he still manages to be surprised when it finally happens. When Victoria shows up at his doorstep with four men in tow.
The first punch catches him off guard but he quickly puts his arms up and manages to defend himself from the next one. But another pair of feet step closer and then there’s a fist flying into his gut, having him down on his knees in seconds, winded and feeling like he’s about to puke.
“What- Mom? Stop!” Allison, running down the stairs.
They’ve pushed him onto the ground, he’s on his elbows and quickly curls up into a ball, knowing what’s coming. Harsh, jabbing kicks at his sides, his back. He does his best to protect his stomach, but then he hears it.
“Who do you think you’re calling?” One of the men yells and rushes up the stairs, Allison’s scream and the sound of a body hitting the steps.
“Stop!” Victoria barks, but Chris is already reacting. He grabs onto one of the feet kicking him and pulls with all his strength, managing to put the guy on his back. The other two grab at him and he punches, he kicks, he reaches out for anything to grab, hair, jacket, maybe even a gun. Then a full-strength punch hits him in the side of his head and his body slumps, he goes half-numb, vision darkening.
“Why are you doing this?” He hears Allison sobbing.
“Do what I say and your dad will be fine,” Victoria responds, the coldest that Chris has ever heard her sound when talking to her daughter.
“No,” he gasps out, spits out blood. They’ve stopped hurting him, he can sense that they’re standing close by but he can’t find the strength to lift his head. He can’t see anything except the wall he’s facing. “They’re not going to kill me,” he gets out, grunting when that earns him a kick in the legs. “Don’t go anywhere with them, they’re not-” He’s grabbed by his shirt and pulled around. He reaches up a hand but not in time to stop the fist from hitting his face. The back of his head hits the ground with the force of the punch and everything blurs.
Sounds, people talking, he can’t make sense of it. Until suddenly he can again.
“-if this means you’ll never speak to me again, then fine. Fine.” Victoria no longer sounds cold, but desperate. Pleading. “If it means you’re safe, if it means you finally know what you’re running around with. That’s all I want, Allison. All I’ve ever wanted.”
“You’re fucking insane!” Allison shouts, crying.
There must have been a gesture, a signal of some sort, because suddenly he’s getting kicked again.
Allison immediately screams, “Stop! I’ll come with you, just stop!”
No, don’t- He wants to say but his mouth’s not forming the words.
“Good. Grab him.”
“What? No! He needs a hospital-”
“He’s coming with us to make sure you continue following my orders.”
“You can’t be serious,” Allison gasps out. “If you do this, I’m done. I no longer have a mother, do you hear me? You’re nothing to me!”
“Your eyes will be opened today. And then we’ll see.”
Chris fades out before he’s picked up off the floor.
Stiles spends an hour trying to distract himself by browsing the website that apparently is an actual hub of supernatural activity. He can barely make sense of the words he’s reading, his leg so jittery that at one point it starts hitting his desk, causing it to shake.
He texts with Laura, asking her if she’s gotten a word from Peter or the others. She hasn’t. She tells him that she’s going to the woods to pick up a trail. And Stiles feels like he’s sent her to her death.
Because that’s the worst scenario here, isn’t it? Kanima out in full force, taking down all of the werewolves, the hunters getting to do whatever they want-
He breathes out sharply and stands up, so close to just driving over there himself, when Scott calls him.
“Allison’s not picking up her phone!”
“…Apparently that’s an epidemic we’re having.”
“What?”
“Never mind, what do you want to do?”
“Go over there? Just… just to check, I’m probably overreacting-”
“No, I don’t think you are.”
And he’s right. He hates that he’s right.
The front door’s unlocked, lights are still on. Their cars are still here.
But there’s blood on the floor. And the subtle stink of wolfsbane that Scott associates with Gerard’s men, with hunters.
“So, they took them too?” Stiles looks around for any other clue, not understanding what the hell is going on anymore.
“Allison said they want to teach her a lesson,” Scott whispers, eyes fixated on the blood splatters.
“I don’t think that’s her blood,” Stiles says, rubs at his stinging eyes. “I think it’s Chris’.”
Scott doesn’t look comforted by the thought.
Stiles calls his dad.
“I’ll be home soon-”
“Dad, they took Chris and Allison too. I think Chris is hurt… Bad. There’s blood-”
“Woah, woah, Stiles. Back up. Where are you?”
“Chris’ place. Allison wasn’t answering her phone,” Stiles blinks away the wetness in his eyes. Breathes through his panic.
“Stay there, alright? Wait for me. Stiles, tell me that you’ll wait for me.”
Stiles looks at his best friend, who looks back pleadingly.
“You know I have to go, I can’t…” Scott shakes his head. “I have to go.”
“Got to go, dad,” Stiles says before hanging up. Scott’s eyes widen. “Come on, we have to think of a way to get you in there.” He rushes out, to his Jeep.
“Your dad’s going to be really mad,” Scott tells him as he gets into the car.
“What’s he going to do? Ground me? I’d love that, honestly. Would love to stay at home and do nothing but play video games right now.” Stiles starts the car.
“I can go alone.”
“Buddy, every other werewolf that went there tonight has gone radio silent. I’m not letting you go alone.”
Scott doesn’t argue and looks grateful.
“Should we call Lydia?”
“No,” Stiles says quickly. “She’s hanging on by a thread, no.”
“I’m scared,” Scott admits quietly.
“I know,” Stiles swallows hard. “Me too.”
Scared to death that even if he survives the night…
Someone else won’t.
Chapter 30: wolf
Notes:
cw: homophobic slur, threat of non-con, and well... violence
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Before they have to turn right to drive down the small lane that winds trough the forest and leads to Gerard’s house, Stiles parks the car by the side of the main road and tries to think.
“Okay, we need to get you in there. How?”
“I don’t know,” Scott shakes his head. “Derek told me about the house, they always have men at the front and there’s heat sensors at the back, I don’t…”
“Sensors?” Stiles drags his teeth over his bottom lip several times, not even noticing when he does it too hard. “So, front door, right?”
“You think I can get in the front door?” Scott asks, looking skeptical.
“Maybe with a distraction… Something at the back, if it draws them away-”
“You’re talking about you, aren’t you? You’d be the distraction. Stiles-”
“Don’t argue with me while I’m still trying to come up with a plan, it’s distracting!” Stiles holds up a hand to his friend’s face, ignoring the way Scott leans to the side to give him an incredulous look. “I’m the Sheriff’s son, that’s got to come with a bit of plot armor, right? They probably wouldn’t kill me just for showing up, yelling that I want to see Allison… Right?”
“That’s stupid,” Scott frowns at him. “And being the Sheriff’s son helps you only if the person holding the gun knows that.”
“Good point,” Stiles fiddles with his car keys, going over different scenarios in his head.
“Maybe we should wait for your dad,” Scott sighs, leaning his head into his hand.
“We have to move fast.” Stiles shakes his head, thinking about the blood, everything he knows about Chris and Gerard’s relationship, the warnings Victoria gave to Allison. “We have to get them out.”
“I don’t see how.”
“We’re going to have to rely on dumb luck and them underestimating us… I’ll distract them, and if you see a chance to get in the front door-”
“And then what? I’m in. How do I know where to go? What if the door is locked?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles drawls aggressively. “You’re a goddamn werewolf, Scott! Use your wolfy powers!”
“Oh, yeah,” Scott says uncertainly. “It’s just… I’ve trained so hard to not use them…”
“Unless you need to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, you mean?”
Scott rolls his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to-”
“You have to. It’s Allison, Scott. Allison.”
Scott’s expression hardens into something like determination. He locks eyes with Stiles and nods.
“I have to.”
The house itself is fairly large, fitting for a big family or apparently a dozen or so hunters. Stiles drives the Jeep close, but parks it a little ways away. He hopes that they heard him drive up, that they’re already focusing on his direction, while Scott runs around to sneak in from the other side. He slams the car door shut, loud on purpose, and then starts trekking through the woods, widely circling the low fence that surrounds the house, until he sees the back porch and the man who’s dozing off on the swing.
He waits a bit, because the sensors should’ve picked up his presence already and there- two guys come through the back exit, one of them angrily smacking the swinging guy on the back of his head.
“Wha-”
“There’s someone here, get the fuck up,” the smacker says, voice very low and rough.
Stiles gives a quick glance at his phone, sees Scott’s text—Two guys up front, if one of them leaves, I think I can handle it.
One would leave only if there was a commotion, something to check out. At least these guys don’t seem to use any kind of radio equipment.
The three hunters step off the back porch and scan the tree line.
Stiles pushes his pocketknife up his sleeve, hopes his hoodie will keep it safe there, but knowing he might lose it in a struggle… or if they frisk him.
He takes a deep breath and then steps out into the moonlight, holding his hands up in front of him. A shotgun and a rifle are immediately pointed his way. The third guy is the one with the rough voice and he just stares.
“I want to see Allison,” Stiles says, sounding a lot more confident than he feels.
The third guy bursts into dark laughter.
“Shoot him, what are you waiting for?” He gestures at the other two.
Stiles freezes, having known this might be one possible outcome but honestly… not really expecting it.
“But that’s…” The guy who was dozing adjusts his grip on the rifle. And Stiles faintly recognizes him as one of the goons he’s seen around Gerard.
“What?”
“The Stilinski kid,” the one who’s holding the shotgun answers, lowering his weapon.
The guy studies him and Stiles studies him back. Black full beard, black hair, long nose. Stiles thinks he’s never seen this guy, ever, because he would surely remember. The man seems like the kind of person that gets you to do a double-take, before you turn around and continue moving, hoping they didn’t notice you. Good looking, but intense. Very wrong kind of intense.
“So you’re Peter’s chew-toy?” He smirks meanly.
Stiles blinks rapidly. “I-”
“Except you don’t look it,” the man muses, frowning in mock-thought. He steps closer.
Stiles backs up instinctively, but the man lunges and grabs him by his hoodie. He’s pulled forward, his chin grasped tight, fingers digging in. He pushes Stiles’ head left and right. His hands come up to the man’s wrist, moving a bit slower than usual because he’s mindful of his knife, but he doesn’t dare do anything else, eyes flicking over the man’s shoulder at the other two guys, one of whom is still staring down his rifle.
“Doesn’t look like he’s been playing with you lately, huh?” A low chuckle.
“Who the fuck are you?” Stiles spits out, glaring fiercely. He squeezes his eyes shut when he’s shaken by his chin- no, by his jaw, the man’s hand large enough to encompass all of it. The other’s face is so close that he can see the lines around his eyes, the streaks of grey in his beard. Older than Chris, probably.
“You didn’t answer my question, boy. Are you Peter’s?” Is growled right into his face.
“Are you sure you’re not a werewolf?” Stiles snaps.
His jaw is released and before he can flex it in relief, the fingers envelop his neck.
Nope, nope, nope.
Panic hits him hard and this time he forgets the gun aimed at him and tries to hit the guy’s face while grabbing at the hand around his neck, pulling. His fist is caught. He succeeds in pulling the fingers away from his neck, but the man jerks out of Stiles’ grip and swiftly backhands him on the cheek with enough force to make him stumble back and fall on his ass.
“Tom, seriously, man,” the guy with the shotgun calls out. “Gerard told us to not mess with the humans.”
“He’s been taking it up the ass from a mutt,” Tom scoffs, looking over his shoulder at the other two. “In my eyes, he’s no longer one of us.”
“Oh no,” Stiles drawls sarcastically, physically shaking on the ground but not about to let that one go. “And here I’ve been dreaming about joining the Homophobes with Guns club all my life.”
Tom turns back to him and cocks his head curiously. It sends chills down his spine because in that moment, he resembles Peter. Except Peter’s curiosity always comes with warmth, with interest. Tom’s curiosity makes him feel like he’s an insect about to be dissected.
“Homophobe, huh?” He crouches down in front of Stiles, smiling. “One of my sons was gay. I had no problem with it.”
“Was?”
“Your Alpha killed him.”
Stiles grows still, his mind doing its best to catch up. “When?”
Tom quirks an eyebrow. “What, you don’t believe Peter could do such a thing?”
“No, he absolutely could, I’m just trying to figure out a timeline here.”
Tom chuckles, looking surprised.
“You don’t give a fuck at all about his victims?”
Shit. Stiles is beginning to realize that the situation he just stormed into is a lot worse than he thought. This guy, Tom whatever, is not one of Gerard’s lackeys. And if his sons were here and if he’s blaming Peter, then it’s got to be the three hunters the wolves took care of in the woods, the ones that are now in the bottom of the lake. Tom just lost family, Tom looks like he doesn’t give a shit about public opinion or the law. Stiles hadn’t expected him and now he doesn’t know how to talk himself out of this.
“Are you a killer too, boy?”
“Aren’t you?” He snaps back.
Tom’s grin is wide and manic.
“You’re a mouthy little shit, aren’t you?” He reaches out and grabs Stiles by his neck again, yanking him close.
He breathes, in and out, in and out, tries to ignore the pressure against his windpipe, the sudden light-headedness.
“Does your Alpha like that?” Tom asks, breath hitting Stiles’ cheek.
“Why do you care what Peter likes so much? Jealous?”
That earns him another jarring shake.
“I’m no fag,” the obviously very supportive and not at at all homophobic dad hisses at him.
“Lucky for me,” Stiles smirks.
The others seem to sense the oncoming violence because shotgun-guy calls out again, “We have to let him go!”
“What the hell are you guys yelling about?” Comes a voice from further away and Stiles’ head snaps to the side as much as it can. A hunter is coming around the corner of the house… from the front. At least he managed that much, he gave Scott a real chance.
“We’re not letting him go,” Tom says calmly over his shoulder. He then uses his hold around Stiles’ neck to pull him up to his feet. Stiles is blinking away visions of Blake on top of him, strangling him.
Stiles sees the new guy reach the other two and they start whispering, occasionally pointing at him or Tom. But then his attention is caught by the man whose fingers tighten and yank him so close, that if Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s about to get kissed.
“You want to know why I’m not letting you go?”
“Please,” Stiles gasps out. “Not enough villains do the evil monologue in real life, it’s kind of a lost artform.”
Tom smirks. “Victoria told me he cares about you. And Chris. You’ve got some kind of a sick trio going on-”
“Sick because you believe in monogamy or because it’s just too gay for you to handle?” Stiles says and then grasps the other’s forearm, shoulder, trying to breathe, not because he’s panicking but because Tom is actually choking him now.
“Peter murdered my children. I feel like you’re not acknowledging the gravity of that act,” Tom bares his teeth at him.
And he’s kind of right, Stiles admits to himself. His argument with Lydia comes back to him, how she tried to point out that those three hunters probably have people who are going to miss them, who are grieving now. And he shut his ears and went la-la-la, it had to be done, la-la-la.
“And Peter lost eleven family members in a fire,” he spits back at Tom, because that’s a fact that no one should ever forget. “One of them was a five-year-old. How about you acknowledge that?”
“My family had nothing to do with that fire,” Tom’s jaw clenches. “But I’ll happily start this one.”
“What?” Stiles gasps out, then breathes in deep when Tom releases him, actually taking his hand away and stepping back.
“His family, Chris and now you. Tied up and paralyzed in the old Hale house. While Peter has to sit outside and watch you all burn.”
That… Stiles shakes his head in disbelief.
“You realize how fucked that sounds, right?” He glances at the other three, who at the very least don’t look comfortable with this plan. “That’s evil. Evil,” he repeats the word, hoping they get the message.
Tom smiles at him. “I don’t care about that. I care about getting even.” He gestures at the others. “Tie him up.”
Stiles forces himself to stay calm, to not give up hope. Scott might have gotten in, he doesn’t know where Laura is and his dad is surely coming in with some kind of cavalry. He’s hoping for a SWAT team but he’s also realistic enough to know that reinforcements from the state police are their best hope right now.
And… they don’t frisk his arms. He presses the pocketknife against his back, the feel of it offering some comfort.
They also use a zip tie instead of actual rope.
Stiles and Lydia once got bored when they were sixteen and paranoid, ordered a bunch of different zip tie handcuffs from eBay and then looked at various instructional videos on how to get out of them. Only one ended up being a problem and they actually had to call his dad to help him, because Lydia didn’t dare to cut him out.
He hopes this zip tie is just some random cheap one these guys bought in bulk.
Because then he might just have the beginnings of an escape plan.
His vision’s… hazy. And sound keeps flowing in and out. During moments when he feels completely lucid, he figures he probably has a pretty bad concussion.
They’ve got him tied up, on a chair, in the basement. Except the basement seems… strange, it keeps going, one wall is gone and instead there’s a tunnel? Looks like the tunnel under the Hale house… which this tunnel might very well lead to.
He never actually followed the tunnel system to every entrance and exit, he had no idea it came all the way here.
“They messed you up pretty good,” a voice says. His dad’s voice.
Chris blinks to fight against the blurriness and looks up. Gerard’s standing there, looking him over.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He says, slurs. He fights to keep his eyes open.
“Once again, son, I don’t like seeing you like this,” Gerard sighs heavily.
“Didn’t stop you from messing me up yourself,” Chris chuckles, letting his head slump back down.
“Those were lessons.”
He cracks up laughing, but quickly stops because it hurts his ribs.
“But this is a lesson too,” Gerard continues. “For your daughter.”
“Kill me and she’ll kill you,” he says, watching as the ground swirls beneath his feet. “One big happy family,” he mumbles.
“Sir!” Comes a shout from upstairs.
“What is it?”
“Tom, he… he grabbed the Stilinski kid.”
Chris’ breathing fastens, he tries to focus. Did he hear that right? He hopes he didn’t.
“What do you mean, grabbed?” Gerard asks, clearly annoyed.
“The kid was lurking around, we told Tom to let him go but he wants to take him with us to the house.”
To the house? Chris wonders what that means.
“Bring him down here then,” Gerard sighs.
No, fuck, Stiles wasn’t supposed to get caught up in this. None of the kids were.
“Don’t you care about your image?” He asks, pushes his head back so he can see his father’s face.
Gerard raises his eyebrows.
“How are you going to get out of this?” Chris continues, frowning when Gerard just stays silent. “Do you even want to get out of this?”
“Ow, watch it, man!” Another voice. Stiles.
They enter his line of vision. Tom Miller holding Stiles by his arm and manhandling him towards another chair a few feet away from Chris.
Stiles’ cheek is red, like he’s been hit. And there’s redness around his neck too.
Suddenly, more than anything, he wants to put a bullet in Miller’s head.
As Stiles gets pushed onto the chair, he takes in his surroundings and freezes when his eyes meet Chris’.
“Jesus, what the fuck did you do to him?”
Chris looks bad, real bad. There’s blood under his nose, the side of his mouth, swollen cheek, swollen eye—he’s all beat up. But it’s the fact that his eyes aren’t focusing which causes Stiles’ chest to ache with worry.
“Why did you come here tonight, Stiles?” Gerard asks in his creepy-ass voice.
“He asked for Allison,” Tom replies for him. “But he probably came for someone else…” He grabs Stiles by the chin again and he struggles a bit, but because his hands are tied behind his back, he can’t do much except make it harder for Tom to hold him still. “How does it work between you three anyway?” He steps behind Stiles and presses his bearded cheek against his, facing Chris, who is doing his best to look up, to see what’s going on.
When he finally raises his head, his eyes spark with fury.
“Let him go,” he breathes out.
“Do you fuck him too?” Tom asks. Stiles pulls his head away but succeeds for only a moment before Tom presses their faces together again. “Does Peter share?”
“Fuck you,” Stiles grits out.
Tom’s reply is to bite his cheek. Hard.
“Ah!”
“Stop!” Chris’ gaze sharpens and he pulls against his ropes, the chair creaking underneath him.
When Tom pulls his teeth away, Stiles ignores the harsh stinging in his cheek and turns just enough so he can lock eyes with the man.
“Starting to think you’re actually interested.”
“Oh, if you keep mouthing off to me like that, I’ll shove my dick down your throat just to shut you up,” Tom whispers heatedly. “I bet you’d even enjoy that, huh?” He covers Stiles’ mouth with his hand and squeezes. Stiles’ eyes well up but he glares, stops the tears from falling. No time to break down, no time for fear, just have to get out of here somehow, have to stay alive. “I’ll enjoy it too, I think. I ain’t gay, but a mouth is a mouth.”
Stiles hears Chris groaning, more sounds from the chair. Maybe Chris will manage to actually break it. Although, he looks so out of it, Stiles can’t see him leading the way out of here. No, he’s got to do it, he’s got to save Chris, get him to the hospital.
“As charming as this is,” Gerard drawls, sounding disgusted. “You need to join the patrol.”
“And let you have all the fun?” Tom says, straightening up and releasing Stiles from his grasp.
He moves his jaw around, flexing it.
“There’s movement!” A shout from upstairs.
Gerard points towards it. “We’re still missing two wolves. Get to it.”
“Isn’t your pet lizard guarding the woods?” Tom frowns but starts heading for the stairs.
Stiles stills at the confirmation that Jackson is indeed the kanima again… and that they’re missing two, which means Laura is still out there and all the other Hales are captured, probably paralyzed. At least the plan that Tom told him about means that no one’s dead yet… hopefully.
“Do not underestimate Laura Hale,” Gerard warns him. “Jackson’s under orders to incapacitate any wolves he comes across. You’ll have to bring them here.”
“Fine. How much longer until your dumb test is done with?” Tom asks, pausing on the steps.
“Not long.”
Tom seems annoyed with the non-answer but leaves.
“You know my dad’s going to raze this place to the ground, right?” Stiles asks, confused by how calm Gerard seems.
“He can certainly try. Tom has no problems with gunning down law enforcement.”
The chills almost overtake him at the thought of his dad driving here, worried out of his mind, and immediately getting shot, killed. Would that be his fault, for being a dumbass who thought he could save his friends, for coming here tonight?
“Let him go,” Chris gasps out, now slumped over again, eyes hidden from view.
“No one’s leaving, son.” Gerard looks right at Stiles, smirks. “No one.”
“You know what he’s planning?”
“It’s my plan.”
Stiles shakes his head, “You’re sick.”
For some reason, Gerard laughs at that.
“You’re right,” he says and then continues laughing. But the laughter fades as he studies Stiles, eyes flying over his face. “You look so young. Doesn’t he?” He turns to Chris, who swallows audibly. “Does he even know the alphabet?”
“Sure I do. Starts with F, ends with U, right?”
A broken sound from Chris, close to a chuckle.
“He’s what, eighteen, nineteen? Pretty much the age you were, huh? Is that what this is about?”
Stiles is confused, even more so when Chris grunts out a “No,” that sounds pained.
“No? Alright,” Gerard looks back at Stiles. And then walks off to the side, comes back holding a coil of thin rope.
“What’s that for?” Stiles asks, straightening in the chair.
“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t tie you down?”
“Okay, but,” Stiles stammers, when Gerard starts wrapping him in. “Shouldn’t you take the handcuffs off first- Fuck-” His arms get stuck between him and the back of the chair as Gerard pulls the ropes tight around his chest. The position strains his wrist, his shoulders, his back, his fucking neck even. “That hurts,” he gasps.
“I think fire will hurt a lot more, don’t you?” Gerard asks conversationally and finishes tying him up. “Now, I hate to be a poor host, but I need to check on Allison.”
“What are you doing to her?”
Gerard pats him on the shoulder, gives one last long look at Chris and then walks off into the tunnel, without replying.
A goddamn tunnel. Another thing he didn’t anticipate.
“Chris?” Stiles says, hoping that the man hasn’t lost consciousness yet.
“Yeah?”
Oh thank god.
“I’m going to get you out of here, just hold on, okay?”
Another broken chuckle, but Chris’ head remains down.
“I… I should be telling you that.”
“Yeah, well, you can barely form sentences, so just, leave this one to me. I’ll be the damsel in distress next time, I promise.”
He doesn’t get a response and it urges him to struggle harder. Breaking a zip tie is a lot harder when he’s tied down like this but he doesn’t believe it’s impossible. He’s just going to have to push through and find the right angle.
He keeps his eyes on Chris’ slumped figure as he strains against the rope.
His worry makes it easier to ignore the pain.
Stiles is here, and he’s tied up like Chris is. Tom bit him, just bit down hard, like he was marking him, claiming him. If Peter had seen that…
He got mouthy with Chris’ father because of course he did, that’s on brand for him. Chris thinks he laughed, there was something funny…
Stiles is… here-
“Hey, hey, come on.”
Hands on him, holding his face up. He opens his eyes and Stiles is here, no longer tied up, the bite mark on his cheek red and angry-looking. If Peter sees that-
“Dude, please, don’t do this to me, I can’t carry you. I need you to stand, okay?”
Stand? But he’s-
No, there are no ropes around him anymore, and Stiles is holding him upright against the chair.
Stiles is here.
He looks at him again, takes in everything. That face that always got him distracted when he was trying to be serious, helpful. He leans his head against that face, he wants to sleep right here, just like this.
“Chris, please,” Stiles whispers and he sounds sad. Heartbroken. Why?
He doesn’t like it, has never liked it when Stiles sounds sad, or ashamed or defeated.
He forces himself up, his knees shaky but not giving out on him.
“Fuck yes, you’re doing good, come on. I checked upstairs just now and it sounded empty, so maybe I can get you out and to the car, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing-”
Stiles’ breathing is harsh and uneven, he’s babbling, he sounds like he’s panicking. Chris blinks hard, tries to clear out the haze that’s taken over his brain. Tries to think.
“The tunnel… goes to the old Hale house…”
“What? Oh, oh god, I think we have to follow it then. Peter might be… Fuck. But what if he’s down and can’t help us? You look awful, no offense.”
“Best chance. He’s our… best chance…”
“Yeah,” Stiles sighs and ducks under Chris’ arm, wrapping his own around his waist. “Come on, then. Before the Totally Not A Gay dude comes back.”
“The what now?” He leans against Stiles more than he should, but it’s so hard to move his feet, to keep himself from keeling over.
“That Tom guy, he gave off some weird vibes.”
“He’s not right in the head, no,” Chris agrees, finding that the talking is helping him stay conscious, fight the haze.
They’re now in the actual tunnel, empty of anyone or anything, at least the stretch of it that goes straight ahead. Chris squints and he can see it ends with a wall, so there must be a bend or a turn there.
But before they get there, they come across a wide bunker door.
“What’s in there?” Stiles asks and looks at Chris uncertainly. “Should I check?”
“I don’t know.”
And then, a noise that makes them both cringe a little.
“Was that… claws on metal?” Stiles’ face sparks with excitement and he pulls Chris over to the wall, leaning him against it. “You good?”
“Yeah, open it,” Chris pants out, resting his head against the bricks.
“Do I just… spin the wheel?” Stiles looks around the door, confused by what he sees but he then shrugs and grabs the wheel and tests it. He manages to get it spinning and then pulls. The door opens and a hand flops over the doorway. “Oh my god,” Stiles gasps.
Chris pushes himself away from the wall and staggers over to Stiles who quickly wraps an arm around him again.
There, in the bunker, are Derek and Cora, motionless on the ground. And right in front of the door is Peter, face down and hand reached out towards them. His fingers twitch.
“Turn me over,” Peter growls.
The rage has boiled, steamed up, dissipated. All he’s left with is hatred, frustration and discomfort.
“Turn. Me. Over,” he repeats when there’s no immediate movement.
“Just, hold on a sec,” Stiles tells him and he growls wordlessly in reply. He hears some shuffling around, someone sliding down to sit on the floor—he can smell it’s Chris and that he’s hurt, but there’s only so much anger a man can feel before numbness sets in.
But ‘lo and behold, he still manages to get even angrier when Stiles turns him over and he sees the bruising bite mark on his cheek.
“Who the fuck did that?” He rasps out, wanting to reach up and smooth it away, or to cover it with his own teeth.
“Tom. But that’s not important right now, we need to get Chris to the hospital, can you move?”
Peter closes his eyes, sighing. “What do you think?”
“I think I need you to give up the attitude and be helpful,” Stiles snaps down at him causing his eyes to open wide. That’s when he notices.
“Chris isn’t the only one that’s hurt… Are you bleeding?”
“I cut myself a couple of times while fighting a long and valiant battle against a rope, I’m fine. Chris isn’t. What do I do?”
Peter wants to look in Chris’ direction, wants to see how bad it is with his eyes but Stiles’ panic makes him think that might be a bad idea.
“You cut yourself with what, your knife?”
“Yeah.”
“Stab me.”
“What!?”
“It’ll start the healing process, which will help my system purge the venom quicker. Stab me.” When Stiles just looks conflicted, Peter scoffs. “Think of it as repayment for the time I bled you for Blake.”
“Wow,” Stiles frowns down at him. “I’ve been trying real hard to not think about her, thank you.”
That makes him finally notice the still-forming bruise around Stiles’ neck.
“Tom?” He growls.
“Stop fixating on him and fixate on getting Chris to the hospital,” Stiles grumbles as he pulls out his knife. He then swiftly, without hesitation, stabs down into Peter’s right shoulder.
He snarls upward, shifting unintentionally.
Stiles falls away from his sight, a sharp spike in the fear that’s permeating the air.
Peter growls low and long, chest vibrating with it.
“Take the knife out,” he says through gritted fangs.
Stiles does so, placing a hand on Peter’s chest for leverage and it takes him a lot of focus and energy but he manages to lift his own hand to his chest so he can rest his fingers against Stiles’.
He breathes raggedly and watches the face above him soften. Stiles grips his hand tight and holds it there, on his chest.
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Should I do the same to Derek and Cora?”
“Yes, do it. They might not heal as fast as me, but it’ll still help.”
“Right,” Stiles nods and stands.
Peter starts curling his fingers as he listens to the small hurt noises Derek and Cora let out when Stiles stabs them. He manages to make a fist. He manages to slide his arm up, prop himself up on an elbow. It’s slow-going, but the healing is rushing through him now and he can feel the effects of the venom clearing out more and more with each second.
Then he makes the mistake of looking at Chris. He’s sitting against the wall, legs stretched out before him and his head’s down, chin so low that Peter can’t see his face. He drags himself forward on his hands, his knees still not responding, and grabs Chris’ ankle as soon as he’s within reach.
“Chris?”
No response.
He’s breathing, but it’s not right, sharp and off-beat.
Peter manages to drag himself a bit further so he can lean his shoulder against the wall and lift his hand under Chris’ chin. When he finally sees the other’s unconscious and badly hurt face, an immense wave of fear washes over him, so fast that he goes numb right after.
“Can you open your eyes for me?” He whispers, sliding closer, holding Chris’ forehead against his, breathing him in, trying to find Chris’ unique scent underneath the blood, the pain. But no response.
“Can you walk?” Stiles asks, crouching down before them. “You need to get him out of here.”
“I’m getting you all out of here,” Peter says and then drags one leg up, bending the knee. Just the one, though. The other one’s slower to react for some reason.
“Allison’s still down here somewhere, I have to find her.”
Peter doesn’t let go of Chris, but turns to give Stiles an incredulous look.
“I’m not leaving you here, Stiles.”
“Not asking for your permission, dude,” Stiles shoots back and stands up. “But how the hell are you going to get all of them-”
Peter’s head snaps towards the open doorway, hearing movement, someone running down the stairs, running into the tunnel. A familiar scent reaches him. “I’ll have help,” he says, relaxing in relief.
“Oh thank god,” Laura gasps out as she skids to a stop next to the bunker and quickly walks in, grabbing Stiles for a quick hug. “Is everyone alive?”
“So far,” Stiles mumbles, patting her on the back. “You guys need to go, though, now. Peter can take Chris, you take the others.”
“What?” Laura pulls back and looks around at all of them. She’s out of breath and sweaty, which probably means she’s been running around at full speed for a while now. “Where’s Scott? I saw him get in, then I broke the sensors and led the hunters around the woods. Jackson also got way too close for comfort a couple of times, but I managed to outmaneuver him somehow.”
“The house is empty?” Peter asks, ever so slowly bending his other knee. Now he just has to get up.
The sound someone smacking their lips. “Thank fuck, my mouth moves like it’s supposed to again,” Cora groans loudly.
“Derek, how you doing?” Stiles asks, stepping over to the two of them to check.
“Better, thanks,” Derek grunts out.
“Yeah, I led them all the way to the Preserve and then came back at full-speed,” Laura replies to him and comes closer, going down on one knee and taking Chris’ face from his hand. “I got him, focus on getting up.” Her brow furrows in concern as her eyes fly over Chris’ injuries. “Shit, he’s in bad shape.”
Peter growls to calm himself as he puts his hands back against the wall and uses it for leverage. He gets his feet under him and then pushes upward and fuck, he hasn’t felt this weak since that night they went searching for Stiles and Blake at the clearing. He can feel how shaky his legs are, how his knees are desperate to give out on him. He reaches down and sticks his claws into his thighs.
More sounds of someone running, but not as quick on their feet as Laura and almost… stumbling. Peter and Laura both look towards the doorway warily.
“Someone else is coming,” Laura says and gently lets Chris’ chin fall back on his chest before standing. “Wait…”
And Peter catches the scent too, focuses back on getting his legs to work.
“Scott?” Stiles shouts in surprise and runs at his friend, enveloping him in a big hug. “Oh thank fuck, where the hell were you?”
“I got in!” Scott pants, squeezing Stiles back just as desperately. “But then I heard them bringing you in, and then they found the body outside, I hit that guy with a rock, I hope he’s alright, then they ran after someone and I thought that if it’s Laura, I should help her so she can help me-”
“I was drawing them away from the house on purpose,” Laura tells him.
“Oh,” Scott says, looking shaken. He then sways a little.
“Buddy, you okay?” Stiles asks, pulling back but keeping his hands on Scott’s shoulders to help him stay upright.
Meanwhile, Peter has managed to stand up straight, but is leaning heavily against the wall. Now he needs to walk.
“Jackson got me,” Scott says, causing all of them to freeze. “On my arm, he scratched me and then he ran away. I couldn’t move for so long, then I could crawl, then walk and as soon as I could run I came straight back here, because I didn’t know how much time has passed and you were here and-” Scott seems to finally notice Stiles’ face. “You’re hurt,” he frowns.
Peter makes a mental note of the fact that Scott fought off the paralysis a lot faster than him. It might have to do with the scratch’s location, but there might be other factors at play.
“Forget about me, we’ve got bigger problems,” Stiles says, gesturing at the unconscious figure slumped on the ground.
“Oh my god,” Scott gasps. Then he looks around and sees everyone else. “Are Derek and Cora…?”
“Fine, just bored,” Cora replies shakily.
“So bored,” Derek agrees, just as shaky.
“Time to go, then,” Laura says cheerily and goes to pull them up over her shoulders, standing under their combined weight with ease.
Peter takes one step, manages another. Good enough. He leans down to gather Chris in his arms, pulling him close to his chest. He stands with a lot less ease than Laura did, even staggering in the end. But at least he does it.
“Let’s go.”
“Drive straight to the hospital, okay?” Stiles says, taking out his keys and handing them to Laura. She accepts them, but gives Peter a questioning look.
“You’re not staying here alone,” Peter tells him.
“He won’t be alone,” Scott says, cowing a little under Peter’s glare but continuing, “I’m not leaving Allison here.”
“And neither am I.”
“God,” Laura sighs and steps closer to Stiles, jutting her hip out. “Just take my gun at least, if you know how to use one.”
“I do,” Stiles says quickly, looking surprised. He then pulls out Laura’s semi-automatic and checks the safety. “Thanks.”
“I’m going to need that back. And, do your best to not actually use it, since, you know, it’s registered to me.”
Stiles raises his eyebrows at her, “I’m not making any promises.”
“Stiles,” Peter says, adjusting his grip on Chris. “Don’t do anything stupid.” Every instinct in him is screaming at him that this is wrong, a member of his pack doesn’t get left behind. Stiles, who is his, doesn’t get left behind. But he can’t make Stiles’ decisions for him, that’s not what this is.
He receives a look of disbelief.
“A little too late for that,” he scoffs and then grabs Scott’s arm. “Come on, let’s go,” he says, already heading down the tunnel.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” Scott promises earnestly.
Laura clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “Whose idea was it to come here tonight?”
Scott clears his throat awkwardly and then waves, before following Stiles.
“Well, I’m very worried, how about you?” Laura asks him, walking out of the bunker and in the opposite direction of Scott and Stiles.
“I’m just going to focus on moving,” Peter grunts in reply, once again adjusting his grip.
Currently, the only one of them in dire need of help is Chris. So, priorities. Get Chris out first, then focus on Stiles.
Stiles feels like he’s done a very good job of sounding like he’s not freaking the fuck out, like he knows what he’s doing, like he’s not scared out of his mind. For a moment there, he thought Peter would drag him out of here by force, or well… order Laura to do it. But no, the man relented. And Stiles appreciates it, he does, except a small part of him had hoped that the choice would be taken away from him. So he could curse everyone else for being overprotective without the guilt of choosing to run away on his own.
“Can you hear anything that’s going on ahead?” Stiles whispers at Scott. They’ve been walking for a few minutes now, took one turn and ended up at a fork in the path. Scott’s pacing back and forth, visibly straining his ears, which looks more adorable than it should.
“I hear something… I don’t…” Scott gestures at the left path. “I think this way.”
“Hope you’re right,” Stiles says unhelpfully and they continue moving.
A few more minutes of walking before Scott suddenly stops.
“I think I hear…” His eyes widen. “Can you hear me?”
“What?” Stiles asks, caught off guard. But Scott signals him to be quiet, so he realizes that Scott isn’t talking to him. “Who are you-” Scott presses his hand on Stiles’ mouth before he can finish his question.
“If you can hear me, then please, try to calm down. My pack can help you, we’ll get you out of there, I promise.”
Stiles’ brain is going woah, woah, woah. Scott’s talking to another werewolf?
“I don’t think he’s listening,” Scott says sadly and then starts moving again. “I can hear them now, we’ve got to go faster.”
“What’s going on?”
“Allison’s stuck with another werewolf… I think they’ve gone feral.”
Stiles stumbles, fingers squeezing around the gun he’s holding. He breathes out deeply, puffing his cheeks, when he remembers the safety’s still on.
“This is the lesson they wanted to give her so bad?” He asks, rushing after Scott.
“Gerard’s there too, he’s telling her to kill it.” When he notices Stiles’ look, he adds, “His word, not mine.”
And then Stiles gets it. There’s information about Omegas and werewolves gone feral in the bestiary that Chris shared with them. Allison’s being shown what a werewolf can become, how they can’t be reasoned with…
Why they need to be hunted.
After everyone’s been placed into the Jeep, Laura turns to him and says, “I’ll take care of them, go back.”
“You sure?” Peter asks, while secretly feeling grateful.
“Yes. I’ll head straight to the hospital and I’ll text you when I’m there-”
“They took our phones,” Peter tells her.
“Oh, well… I’ll text Stiles. So, better go and make sure those idiots don’t get themselves killed.” With that, she gets in and speeds off into the night.
The silence that remains helps Peter explore his surroundings with his senses. The house was indeed empty, as was the road that Stiles’ car was parked at. But he can hear people now, coming closer, back to their base.
Three different groups, in one of them he can hear Victoria barking orders and he almost goes after her then and there but something else catches his attention.
“Tom, we’re supposed to patrol the-”
“I don’t fucking care what that old man wants any more, we’re going to start getting everyone to the house. I want that place lit up and Peter dead, so I can get the hell out of this shithole of a town.”
Tom.
With the bite mark fresh in his mind, he turns away from Victoria, away from the tunnels and heads into the woods, straight towards his prey.
“No, don’t hurt her! She won’t hurt you unless you attack her!” Scott yells suddenly, running off ahead of him and disappearing from sight.
Stiles pushes himself into a run too and then skids to a stop around the next corner because the tunnel stretches out into darkness, no more lighting. He’s starting to consider turning back and trying to find a flashlight, when he remembers his phone- But turns out he doesn’t need that either, because then he hears it. Growling, snarling.
It’s not coming from the darkness, it’s coming from his right. He walks ahead a bit and is surprised to see an open steel door, smaller than the bunker’s, leading into a side-hallway. He quickly runs in.
As the sounds get closer and he sees more light coming from the left, a gunshot rings out, loud enough to make him instinctively duck.
He thinks he already knows what he’s going to see when he rounds the corner and true enough, he’s not surprised to find Gerard aiming a gun at Scott, an open empty cage in the corner and a body on the ground, right in front of Allison, who’s holding a gun in her shaking hands, mouth open in shock.
“Well done, Allison,” Gerard says smugly.
Stiles’ fingers twitch around Laura’s gun and he’s just about to raise his hand, when he sees Allison move. She closes her trembling lips and aims the gun at her grandfather.
“Don’t be so dramatic, girl,” he drawls, but Stiles can see him side-eyeing her.
“Allison, don’t,” Scott says, which makes Stiles want to slap the back of his head because yes, Allison, do, shoot.
“You made me kill him,” she whispers.
“You killed a monster.”
“The only monster I see here is you,” she growls and her finger curls around the trigger.
“No,” Scott says, stepping in front of Gerard.
Stiles wants to scream at him.
“Allison, whatever you’re feeling right now, killing him will make it worse.”
“Scott,” Stiles says, drawing everyone’s attention. “Let her do this.”
She nods, gaining strength from Stiles’ support and adjusts her grip. “Step aside, Scott.”
Stiles notices that Gerard’s lowered his own weapon and is observing the two of them very closely.
“This will be something you’ll never get rid of,” Scott holds up his hands, taking a step closer to her. “Something you’ll never forget. It’ll haunt you-”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she grins tearfully. “I want him dead,” she says, pronouncing every word with care.
“This isn’t you,” Scott says softly.
“Yes, it is,” she argues. “This is what being an Argent is all about. I was born to be this. A killer.”
Stiles sees Gerard roll his eyes upward.
“No,” Scott shakes his head. “You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever known, Allison.”
“That’s not true,” she whispers.
“It is,” he insists and takes the final step, grabbing her hands but not doing anything else. Just holding the gun with her. “You’re so much better than him. In every way.”
She lets out a sob and drops her arms.
Stiles raises his gun at the same time Gerard does. He sucks in a breath and ducks just as Gerard shoots at him, the bullet hitting the wall next to where he was standing. Another deafening gunshot and as Stiles straightens up, he sees Gerard running around the corner, into another hallway. He starts running after him but pauses next to his friends. They’re on the ground, Allison cradling Scott close to her. Scott’s bleeding from his shoulder.
“Shit, wolfsbane?”
“I’ve got it, I can help him,” Allison says, nodding up at him. “Go.”
“No, no,” Scott groans, pushing away from her. “You’re not supposed to do anything stupid, Stiles.”
“Sorry, buddy, but you’re outnumbered,” Stiles pats his head and dodges the swipe at his legs, running off into the hallway.
It leads to a staircase that heads up and ends with another door that’s been left open. Fresh air hits his face and he realizes that Gerard ran outside.
He flicks the safety off and follows.
Tom is walking fast with two other men.
Peter doesn’t waste any time, he moves in fast and noisy, drawing their attention. He catches the first guy just as he’s about to pull out his weapon, rips his throat out and moves on, while he’s still falling. The second guy shoots, hits him in the thigh and he ignores it, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of his hand before slashing his claws across his jugular.
Tom is holding up a shotgun, giving him pause. That will hurt.
“How did you get out?” Tom asks, smiling with bravado that Peter can tell is fake because his heartbeat’s closer to a rabbit’s now.
“You underestimated my pack,” Peter smiles back, taking a slow step forward. Tom moves back, finger steady on the trigger.
“You talking about your little toy? Oh, wait,” he raises his eyebrows, eyes bright with fury, “I think I marked him as mine, didn’t I?”
Peter’s heard enough, he lunges-
“Puppy wants to play?” Tom growls through his teeth and shoots, right at Peter’s chest.
It’s pure, blinding pain. And the wolfsbane instantly weakens him. But he doesn’t care, his wolf wants to see this man’s insides, wants to hear him cry. Peter doesn’t stop lunging forward and rips the gun out of Tom’s hands.
The man looks awfully pale all of a sudden.
“No,” Peter says roughly, face shifting into the monster Tom and his ilk like to see him as. He’ll happily play the part of a monster tonight. He thrusts his hands into Tom’s sides, tearing deep gouges with his claws and lifting him off his feet.
Tom screams and it’s music to his ears.
“Puppy wants to see you bleed,” he growls and slashes his hands across the man’s torso. He lets Tom fall on his back and stands over him, watches as the man panics, as he pisses himself, as he finally bleeds out enough that his eyes dim and he stops breathing.
Peter’s covered in blood. He’s gotten revenge on one of them at least. But it’s not enough.
His wolf howls within, it’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s not-
In the back of his mind, he realizes he has to do something about the wolfsbane.
But then something new happens.
His vision flickers into red. The bullets in him are forced out, dropped onto the ground, and the wounds heal. Not just flesh, but inside too, he can feel the poison easing up, can feel himself regaining his strength. His claws grow, no, they change, his hands are changing their shape. The fangs in his mouth are spreading, moving forward, until he has a snout. Hair grows across his body and his arms and legs snap into different shapes until he falls onto all fours, and it feels right, it feels natural.
His wolf’s come out and it’s him, it’s always been him but now he’s out and he wants to run, he wants to tear-
He wants to hunt.
He looks around and his ears flick towards different sounds. Two groups remaining.
He takes off running, finds a group of six easily enough and makes fast work of them. As he’s dodging shots and arrows, protecting his eyes from flashbangs, baiting out the grenades and running far from the ashy air they leave behind, he’s looking at these men and women and wondering which of them did that to Chris, which of them hurt him, which of them took him. He ends up ripping off limbs, jumping onto some to sink his teeth into their throats, to viciously tear them apart. One of them shoots two others in the chaos. All of them screaming, so scared, so terrified of him. He’s almost drunk from it.
The noise they’re making helps him out in the end, since Victoria’s group runs barging in, her yelling demands to know what the hell is going on. And then they all see the big wolf amidst the bodies, some already dead, some still screaming, and the bloody dance begins again.
He’s so fast that nothing hits him, he’s so strong that as soon as he gets his teeth around someone, that’s it, they’re done for. They weren’t prepared for him, and this is their punishment. This land is his, no more hunters, no more second chances, no more fragile peace.
He leaves Victoria for last.
She’s out of bullets and on her ass, after getting hit with one of the bodies he purposefully threw at her. She’s shaking. Crying, even.
It’s delicious.
But it’s not enough.
Peter’s mind regains its human ability to appraise, to adjust. He tests out the shift, follows instinct, does what he would do if he was returning from a Beta shift instead and it works. He breathes heavily and smiles.
“Killing you would be a fitting end to your story,” he tells her, while stepping closer. She’s trying to crawl backwards, but is shaking too hard to accomplish much. “But I think I’ve figured out an even better one.” He throws himself upon her and ignores her feeble punches. He presses down on her neck to keep her still and lets his fangs fall. “One last chance, Victoria,” he chuckles. “But we both know that’s a mockery, don’t we? You’re not going to take it, no, you’ll take the coward’s way out.” He lunges down and bites deep into her shoulder.
“No!” She yells out weakly, grabbing at his back.
Peter pulls away and spits out her blood, finding that it tastes the most vile out of all the others he’s tasted tonight. He stands up and walks away.
“Please,” he hears her beg.
It causes him to grin in pure glee right before he shifts back into a wolf.
One more kill before the hunt’s finished.
Stiles is gaining on him, but while he is, he’s doing his best to ignore the shouting, the gunshots, the screams that echo around in the woods. He has no idea what he hell is going on, has Jackson gone rogue? Or did Gerard order him to clean up? Or is it something else, another feral that got free?
He doesn’t have time to figure it out, to consider the likelihood of him being the next one to fill the night air with his screams. He came out here because of Gerard and that’s what he’s focusing on. The old man’s dodging through trees, but he’s slowing down while Stiles has pure adrenaline and fear feeding him extra bursts of speed.
And then they reach a clearing and fuck it, Stiles is going to take the shot. He lifts his hands, aims, shoots. He doesn’t hit the man’s leg like he wanted, the shot goes wide and hits the ground in front of Gerard.
But the man does stop running, turning around to stare at him. Possibly glare, they’re too far apart for Stiles to make out his expression.
He lifts the gun again. He can do this, for Chris, for Allison, for Peter. Gerard’s not getting away with it, any of it.
He shoots, and right as he’s pulling the trigger, there’s a scaly figure rushing in front of Gerard and taking the bullet instead. The kanima’s shoulder jerks back, but he quickly rights himself and opens his mouth wide to screech across the clearing, before leaping forward into a full-on run at Stiles.
“Fuck,” Stiles stammers and goes to turn around but stumbles over his own feet and falls onto his back. He scrambles backward but the kanima’s fast and already so close-
A vicious howl from right behind him, the sound of it causing the kanima to skid to a stop and look up.
And then a huge black wolf jumps over Stiles and faces off the kanima.
He stares in awe at the sheer size of it. The awe quickly turns to terror when he sees how matted the fur is, from what looks like blood. A lot of blood.
This thing must be the reason for the screaming.
He’s shaking so hard that his teeth start chattering.
The wolf roars out loud and long at the kanima, who turns around and runs away.
Which, what? Stiles crawls backward a bit, his brain stuttering at what he just saw.
The roar sounded familiar, why did it-
The wolf turns around and looks right at him with burning red eyes.
“Peter?” Stiles asks, stunned.
The wolf steps closer and he moves back.
It stops and... cocks its head to the right.
"It's you, right?" He asks, eyes welling up. "Please tell me that's you. Shit-" He leans to the side to see Gerard disappearing into the tree-line across the clearing. "Go after him, you have to go after him," he stammers, still shaking, it's like he's freezing all of a sudden, he doesn't understand-
Oh no, the wolf's moving towards him again.
He drops the gun and holds up his hands, "Don't-" he breathes in sharply when the wolf's head is right there, less than a foot from him and then it's- it's-
It's resting its head against his, which is almost comical, since it's like three times bigger. But something about the gesture reaches him through his panic.
"It is you," he whispers, and something breaks inside. He starts crying. Panic-crying, the worst kind of crying, the kind that takes away your breath, makes your vision blurry and you feel like you're going to die. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to calm the fuck down.
Hands, human hands on him, cradling his face, sliding down his back, pulling him against a warm chest.
He blinks his eyes open and stares at Peter's bloody face, the brutality of his appearance clashing with the soft concern Stiles can see in his eyes.
"What did you do?" Stiles whispers, remembering the screams. He takes a breath and finds he can't, there's something heavy in his chest, blocking him.
"Shh, calm down," Peter says, smoothing Stiles' hair back from his forehead, brushing away his tears. "I need you to breathe, sweetheart, come on."
And that's not fair, calling him that while looking like-
"How many did you kill?" He asks fearfully.
"Not enough," Peter answers.
"Great answer," he squeezes out sarcastically, his lungs starting to hurt.
"You need to take deep breaths, please," Peter tells him and hugs him close, tucks Stiles' head under his chin. "Come on, I have you, you're safe."
Am I?
But that's silly, right? That was the appeal in the first place. Peter's dangerous, he's willing to take out the threat without hesitating, but he'd never hurt Stiles.
All of their little moments, the nights they spent together, it all comes back to him and leaves him feeling warmer. But he can still smell the blood.
He's breathing, at least, air going into his lungs like it's supposed to.
"Let's go, the cops are coming," Peter whispers to him, cradling the back of his head.
"Right."
"Is it alright if I carry you? We'll be faster that way."
"What about Scott and Allison?"
"If they're smart, they're running away too."
He nods numbly, "Right."
Peter lifts his head to look at his face. He seems worried still. Stiles doesn't understand why, he's breathing, isn't he?
"Come on," Peter says, huddling him close and lifting him up, just like he did with Chris. The coldness returns when he remembers what state the man was in.
"Did you kill Tom?" He asks as Peter starts running. He wraps his arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.
"I did."
"Good," he says and means it. "Victoria?"
"She's been dealt with."
That sounds different, but Stiles suddenly doesn't have the energy to ask any more questions.
He loses consciousness pretty soon after that.
Notes:
-takes out list of fav things
-mumbles, "full-shift werewolves, check"
Chapter 31: family
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The last time he hung around the hospital waiting room like this, he was a lot younger and not a big fan of coffee yet. Soda, chips and candy were his main sustenance back then, when his mom was still alive but fading fast and his dad didn’t have time to get groceries, to make food at home. Melissa offered to help of course, as did a bunch of other people in their neighborhood, but they all had lives and families of their own and Stiles didn’t go out of his way to ask, while Noah often just forgot. So, Stiles spent a lot of time emptying the waiting room vending machine.
Now, he’s decided to try out hospital coffee for the first time in his life.
It’s just as unsatisfying as he expected.
“Here.”
A travel mug is held out to him. He looks up in surprise.
Derek gestures awkwardly with the mug and Stiles jumps into motion, accepting it.
“Thanks,” he says and takes a sip. So much better than what he’s holding in his other hand so he puts that away and stands up to face Derek, who is staring at the floor. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you. Noah sent me to your house… I followed you here.”
Stiles scrunches up his face. “Followed me, as in sniffed me out?”
Derek shrugs. “How is he?”
“Bad,” Stiles sighs. “Allison’s talking to the doctor right now.”
Derek then steps closer to him to whisper, “The official story is that you were nowhere near the woods last night, Laura borrowed your Jeep because her car’s not working, she found Chris by the side of the road and brought him here, while notifying the Sheriff that something might be going on at Gerard’s place.”
Stiles blinks at him, “Uh, but-”
“Lucky for you, she managed to sniff out her gun before any of the others found it. She also got our phones back, so hopefully we won’t be linked to this. However, we can’t protect Allison and Chris. They’re going to be questioned.”
“Questioned?” Stiles is trying very hard to follow all this.
“Because fourteen people were found dead in the woods near Gerard’s house and now he’s missing.”
“Fourteen,” Stiles whispers to himself, familiar chills racing down his spine, screams echoing in his head.
“Do you…” Derek’s eyes flick to him, then away again. “Do you know if it was him? Did Peter…?”
“I think so,” Stiles says, hugging himself to fight the shivers. The way Peter looked like just a few hours ago…
“Have you talked to him?”
“No, he... I passed out and when I woke up I was at home, in my bed. I came here straight away.” And he has very much avoided thinking about what actually happened as well as what happens next. This whole thing is going to be a nightmare for his dad to deal with. Stiles fears that for him, it’s going to be a literal nightmare going forward.
Before Derek can ask any more questions, Allison returns, looking pale and tired.
“Hey,” Stiles greets her with a loose hug.
“He hasn’t woken up yet… the doctor said that’s not a good sign, but it also doesn’t mean the worst… Not yet, at least.”
“Allison, can I talk to you for a second?” Derek asks, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Um,” she glances at Stiles, quirking a brow. He shrugs, just as confused as she is. “Okay?”
Derek pulls her to the side and starts whispering something. Stiles takes a few steps back, not trying to listen in, but keeping his eyes on Allison the whole time. He sees her face go from pale to deathly white, all color seeming to fade away, even from her lips. She looks like she’s in shock.
She nods weakly at something he says and Derek turns to give Stiles a stern look before hurrying away.
Allison comes back and sits down next to him, eyes straight ahead. He quickly takes the seat next to her.
“What is it?”
“She shot herself.” She swallows and turns to meet his eyes. “My mom.”
Stiles’ lips part in surprise. “Why?”
“He bit her. He didn’t kill her but he bit her. So she killed herself.” Allison blinks away tears and a wave of weariness seems to wash over her entire body. “If my dad doesn’t make it… I’ll be on my own.”
Stiles doesn’t have any words that could possibly help in this situation. He grabs her hand and holds on tight.
“Whatever happens, this is going to suck so much for a long time. But you won’t be alone, I promise.”
She gives him a tiny smile and sniffs, wipes her nose with her free hand.
“I guess,” she says, obviously not finding much comfort in that thought.
In the midst of his hunt, so close to ending it, Stiles’ terror was like a slap to the face. It woke up all that was human in him, brought him out of his vision of red, cut through the overbearing rage that he’s been carrying with him for so long.
Peter feels ashamed.
He lost control again, and this time there’s no forgetting, it was all him. Except for the part about turning into an actual wolf. He fears that’s yet another boon from the Nemeton, maybe a thank you for its last feeding, maybe an apology. He doesn’t want to think about the intricacies of its possible meanings, of how far its sentience has actually evolved. He doesn’t want to consider all of the messy consequences of his actions last night.
So, after Stiles is tucked into his bed, Peter leaves and shifts fully into a wolf again, taking comfort in the escape it offers from complicated things like regret.
“What are you doing here? What the hell happened to your face?”
Stiles snaps up from his half-asleep slump, blinking up at his dad. Who looks furious.
“I-”
“I don’t even care. Go home and stay there, no visitors, no going out, am I understood?”
Stiles gapes at him in shock. “Dad, what-”
“I have-” Noah looks around the people sitting in the waiting room, the nurses milling about and steps closer, lowers his voice into a whisper, “I have broken so many rules for you and your friends. Laws. The least you could do is respect my authority as your father, just this once, just this goddamn once, Stiles.”
He steps back cautiously, shaken by how livid his dad sounds.
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees softly.
“Is Chris awake?” Noah glances towards the front desk.
“No, uh, no, he hasn’t woken up at all yet.” Stiles clasps his hands together and presses down hard.
“Shit,” he sighs and his anger seems to abate for a moment. “What have the doctors said?”
“They’re hopeful… that’s about it,” Stiles shrugs.
“Is Allison around? I need to talk to her.”
“Yeah, they let her stay by his side for now, you can go ask Melissa. But… Derek already told her about her mom.”
“He did?” Noah frowns.
“She’s kind of in shock, so, whatever questioning you guys need to do, maybe it can wait, you know?”
“Stiles,” Noah holds up a hand to quiet him. “Don’t interfere with police business.” He waits for Stiles to nod before continuing, “And whatever happens going forward is out of my hands. This is big, Stiles. It’ll hit the news, it’ll be talked about on national television. All of the unanswered questions, the wolfsbane in the bullets, the mountain ash grenades, the other abnormal hunting equipment, it’s…” Noah rubs at his temples.
“It’s a lot,” Stiles agrees. “But, I mean… it’s probably just going to go unsolved, right?”
Noah looks away, deep in thought. “Probably.” He glances back at him and raises his eyebrows.
“Right, right,” Stiles says quickly, throwing a couple of finger-guns at his dad. “Going home, I promise.”
“Good. I’ll see you after work.”
And he does plan to go home straight away, except wanting to check up on Scott before he does so, he decides to take a quick detour to Deaton’s office and the rest of the day kind of derails from there.
He lays on his side in the backyard for a few minutes, waiting.
Cora, obviously sensing his presence, opens the door very slowly, peering around it with narrowed eyes.
Peter lifts his head and without thinking about it, his tail starts thumping against the ground.
Cora stares for a moment.
“Peter?” She asks, sounding bewildered.
He rises to his feet and pads over to her.
“Uh, okay then,” she mutters as he pushes the door open further with his paw and snout, and steps aside to let him brush by.
He’s hungry, ravenous in fact, so he heads to the fridge and sits down in front of it.
“You… want me to get you something to eat?” Cora asks, following him.
He lets his tail speak for him, as it thumps speedily against the floor.
Cora just stares at him for a moment.
“Are you stuck or something? You look… gross.”
Peter sniffs and shakes his head, remembering the state of his fur.
“Was that… you’re not stuck?”
He woofs softly.
“Peter,” she says and kneels down in front of him.
She looks disappointed and Peter just doesn’t understand why she’s not getting him the food he’s requested.
“You’re choosing to stay like this? I don’t even-” She sighs heavily and grabs him by the sides of his face. He growls a little, upper lip drawing back to bare his teeth. “Your pack needs you right now. Chris is in the hospital, don’t you want to go see him?”
The name irks him, because it makes him feel complicated things he doesn’t want to feel right now. He pulls his head out of her hands and shuffles backward.
“I’m serious, we need our Alpha. Get your shit together, uncle,” she snaps at him.
He snarls, flashing his red eyes and she immediately responds by dropping her fangs and snarling right back.
“Get your own food.”
She storms out.
He’s left staring at the fridge, all alone in the pack house, an echo of Chris’ name flying around in his head.
Stiles pokes at Scott’s bare, unwounded shoulder.
“Wow, that’s an ability I’d like to have,” he mutters, then scrunches up his face as he thinks about everything else that Scott is dealing with, “Just this one, though, not interested in growing sideburns, don’t think I could pull those off.”
Scott shakes his head at him and puts his shirt back on, hopping off the exam table.
“I don’t think anyone can.”
“I don’t know, man, have you seen Cora’s? Wild, in the best way possible.” Stiles smirks and waggles his eyebrows.
“If you’re quite done,” Deaton sighs, coming back from the front desk. “Take a seat, Stiles.”
“What?” He spins around.
“That mark on your cheek needs to be looked at.”
“Oh,” he frowns, remembering. “I thought he didn’t draw blood.”
“There’s some redness that’s worrying, so let me clean it for you.”
He takes Scott’s earlier seat, ignoring his friend’s worried look.
While Deaton prods and wipes his cheek, Scott asks, “Can you give me a ride to the hospital? I don’t want Allison to be alone.”
“Sure-” He winces as the sting sets in, realizing that Tom’s teeth got deeper than he thought. He pushes that disturbing memory to the side and asks, “Do you know if she’s talked to Lydia yet?”
“She said Lydia isn’t answering her phone, probably still sleeping,” Scott shrugs.
Stiles frowns at the idea of the Hale banshee calmly sleeping the night away while the pack is in danger. He figures it’s a likely thing to happen since Lydia herself doesn’t feel all that attached to Peter or the rest of the werewolves, but something about this is nagging at him.
“Maybe we should check up on her, just in case.”
“Where’s Peter?” Deaton asks suddenly, sounding accusing.
“I don’t know,” Stiles says and looks down.
“He messed up last night,” Deaton remarks calmly as he steps back.
“I know,” Stiles sighs, glancing at Scott who looks confused. “Is it on the news already?”
“No, not yet. But the word’s out.”
“What are you guys talking about?”
Stiles stares at his friend for a second, then hops off the table and claps him on the back.
“I’ll tell you on the way to Lydia’s.”
The worry eats and eats and eats away at him until he’s got nothing else left besides it and hunger. So he shifts back, showers, steals some of Derek’s clothes, has a long and uncomfortable conversation with Laura on the phone, as they both share details of what they went through and what they know, and heads to the hospital, mentally preparing himself for whatever comes next.
Noah is there, in his Sheriff’s jacket, hands on his hips, talking to a very tense-looking Allison. When she spots him over Noah’s shoulder, her face surprisingly brightens, causing Peter to almost falter in his steps.
His surprise deepens when she brushes past the Sheriff to throw her arms around him. He hesitates for only a moment before hugging her close, feeling the shakiness in her limbs, smelling the grief.
“I don’t blame you for what you did,” she whispers to him. “I lost her the minute she let them do that to him.” He can hear the false bravado in her voice but can also sense the truth.
Peter finds himself at a loss for words. He looks up instead to see Noah’s face doing the opposite of brightening, the man is looking at Peter like he’s the scum of the earth.
“Things got out of hand last night,” he says loudly enough to reach Noah’s ears too.
“Gee, you think?” Noah snaps, sounding eerily close to Stiles in that moment.
Allison pulls back to eye them both, wary.
“Are you here to tell me how sorry you are?” Noah asks, daring him to use that word.
But Peter doesn’t feel sorry, at least not in the way the Sheriff is hinting at.
He breathes in deep and cocks his head, “I don’t regret my actions, if that’s what you mean. I do regret the mess. I’m usually a bit more…” He puts on his best charming smile, “…organized than that.”
“You should be in jail,” Noah mutters angrily.
“Alas, bars won’t hold me, Sheriff.”
“He saved Stiles last night, he saved all of us,” Allison steps up to stand in front of him, as if to shield him from Noah. A gesture he appreciates.
There’s conflict on Noah’s face.
“I know, but, it’s just…” he struggles to find the right words, ends up bailing on the argument, massages his temple instead.
“Do you know what those people in the woods planned to do last night?” Peter asks, gently brushing past Allison to get closer to Noah, so they can keep their voices down.
“To kill your pack, I get it-” Noah starts saying, looking exhausted, probably from all of the mental gymnastics he’s had to do today, from the breaking of all of his precious morals he holds so dear.
“To place everyone I care about in the house I lost everyone else in,” Peter says, stepping even closer until there’s only a few short inches separating them and enjoying the discomfort it causes Noah, “and to burn it down, all over again. While I’m forced to watch, from outside.” Of course he’s not going to share the fact that he didn’t know about this when he started his hunt, that Laura told him all about it less than an hour ago, that it makes him want to turn back time so he can do it all over again, but slower and even more vicious.
Noah’s jaw tightens, “It’s sickening, the kind of people they were, I know, but-”
“And Stiles wasn’t in their original plan, but they made room for him when they caught him sneaking outside,” Peter interrupts and smiles when Noah’s eyes widen. “It wasn’t just werewolves, Sheriff. Chris and Stiles had targets on their backs too.”
“Because of their association with you,” Noah glares at him. But he drops it quickly enough, obviously realizing how weak that argument is.
“Every single person there last night,” Allison says softly, moving in to stand at Noah’s side. “They were all willing to go through with it, they were all just…” she shakes her head, “so blinded by their hate and their fear… It’s horrible that it had to end this way but at least it’s over.”
“No,” Peter interjects before Noah can voice another argument. “It isn’t over until I get my claws around Gerard’s neck.”
“He might take the fall for all of this,” Noah frowns. “Maybe you should just let the humans handle this one.”
“If there’s an actual chance of him going to prison, he’ll want to run.” Peter narrows his eyes. “And I’m not letting that happen.”
Noah crosses his arms over his chest, thinking it over.
“Where’s everybody else?” Peter asks Allison, having expected to at least see Scott here with her.
“Scott was shot and the bullet went in deep, so I took him to Deaton’s. I think he’s with Stiles now, they went to check up on Lydia.”
“What?” Noah’s head snaps up.
“Uh,” Allison looks to Peter for help but he shrugs in confusion.
“My son was supposed to go home and stay there.” He sighs harshly and draws his hand over his mouth in frustration.
“She hasn’t responded to any of us since last night. We’re worried,” Allison tells him.
“It’s like seven in the morning, she could still be sleeping-”
“I don’t know if you remember but she did have a habit of sleepwalking into the woods at one point,” Peter points out.
“Also, she’d be awake because she’d be getting ready for school-” She stops, because she gets startled by Noah’s hands suddenly flying up.
“I completely forgot you guys have school today,” he says, looking panicked.
“To be fair, the VP is dead and the principal is the main suspect, I think the school administration… whatever’s left of it, isn’t so concerned about attendance today,” Peter muses and then raises his eyebrows at Noah’s angry squint.
“Not to mention,” Allison adds, frowning deeply at the Sheriff, “my dad’s in the hospital, Scott and Stiles both got hurt and almost died last night. You did notice his face, right?”
“Watch it, Allison,” Noah holds up a hand.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Stiles almost died yesterday, again, and here you are, worrying about things like school, just- Going forward, everything’s going to be messy, you just warned me of that. So, we have to keep our priorities straight. And my main one is my family, which includes my friends and the pack. What’s yours? Stiles? Or your job?”
Peter keeps his mouth shut on this one, curiously watching Noah’s reaction to this… attack on his personhood. Predictably, the man’s straightening his back, looking affronted.
“I’m doing my best to keep up some kind of a moral standing here, because the rest of you are all too eager to take matters into your own hands even when they don’t need to be.”
“None of us are eager,” Allison protests.
“Well,” Peter can’t help but smirk.
She gives him a dry look.
“Most of us aren’t eager,” she corrects, her voice even.
“Just,” Noah pauses and shakes his head. “Let me know when Chris wakes up,” he says and walks off.
Peter watches him go, not really caring about how the Sheriff might see him or his opinions on Peter’s actions last night, but hating the tension it’s obviously causing between him and Stiles. Although, he can still remember the scent of Stiles’ terror… maybe Stiles agrees with his father.
“Do you want to see him?”
He turns to see Allison smiling sadly.
“Yeah,” he says softly and lifts an arm in offering. He gets the sense that she’s in desperate need of comfort, of touch, and doesn’t actually care all that much where it comes from. Or maybe, in her eyes, his and Chris’ relationship has elevated him into some kind of a stand-in guardian. Not a role he’s ever really wanted to have, but for her, for Chris, he can make an exception.
She presses in close and wraps an arm around his waist, leading him down the hallway, towards a sight he finds himself unprepared for.
“He looks like shit,” he comments lightly, taking in the black and blue bruises, the swollen eye, the split lip. It’s not that much different from how he looked the last time he saw him, it’s just the setting, the smells, the noises, the lighting, it’s all amplifying the injuries, how hurt he looks.
And Chris doesn’t just look hurt, he looks vulnerable, fragile, in a way that Peter has always known he is but hasn’t been forced to face yet. Not until now, as he stares at the body in the hospital bed, the steady beeping of the machine that keeps a watch over Chris’ heart annoyingly loud in his ears and also not nearly enough, so he focuses and finds the real heartbeat underneath the beeps, his shoulders relaxing only when he can hear the strength in it.
Allison lets go of him and takes a seat on the chair next to the bed, her eyes on her dad. He can smell her fear and his brain is flooded with his own.
“I can see what’s going on with his face, but what about the rest of him?” He asks, crossing over to the other side of the bed and sitting down, next to Chris’ hip. He pulls his right knee up enough that he can comfortably turn and keep Allison in his line of sight.
“Heavy bruising all over. A fractured rib. The most worrying part is the concussion.”
Peter reaches out and ever so gently places his hand on Chris’ cheek, dragging out a little bit of pain as a test run. The heavy amount of it that hits him instantly is staggering. He pulls back and glances at Allison, who is watching him curiously.
“Guard the door while I help him out a little?”
Her eyes spark with understanding and she nods, going over to stand by the door and keep watch.
He puts his hand back and pulls, hoping that maybe lessening the pain will help Chris wake up..
Scott obviously doesn’t know how to process this.
“So he… But they… Fourteen? Holy shit… But-”
“All very good points,” Stiles interrupts his panicked muttering, parking his car next to Lydia’s house and staring at the empty driveway. “Let’s focus on the fact that Lydia’s car is gone.”
“It’s time for school, right?” Scott asks, rubbing at the back of his neck, still looking a little too panicky for Stiles’ tastes.
“If she’s up and she went to school, why didn’t she answer Allison? She wouldn’t ignore a message like that.”
“That’s true,” Scott frowns. “But her car’s gone…”
“She sleepdrove all the time, Scott,” he reminds his friend.
“Oh shit. You think?”
“Only one way to find out,” he sighs and starts the car.
After Peter’s taken as much pain as he dares, Allison gives him her seat so he can comfortably rest his back, feeling a little worn out.
That’s how Melissa finds him, when she comes by to check on Allison and Chris.
“You,” she whispers, alarmed, and quickly closes the door behind her.
“Me?” Peter quirks an eyebrow, confused by her reaction.
“Is it true what Noah said?”
Ah, now he’s less confused.
“Depends on what he said, doesn’t it?” He sneers.
“Allison, do you want me to call someone?” Melissa asks, putting herself in between them. Allison leans over on the bed, so she can raise her eyebrows at Peter.
“No, it’s fine, I don’t want him to leave.”
Allison’s earnest trust in him can’t last for long, so Peter just settles in to enjoy it while he can. He smiles up at Scott’s mom, feeling smug.
“You sure?” Melissa asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Yes. He saved my dad. Peter and Stiles got him out of there.”
That gives her pause. “But what he did last night… Allison, your mother-”
“I know,” Allison replies quickly and there, there’s the first crack, a sudden shiver, eyes wet and gaze far away. But she composes herself, so quickly in fact that by the time Melissa turns around to check on her, she’s back in her stern defender mode. “I know exactly what he did and I still want him here. Dad still wants him here.”
“You don’t know that,” Melissa says softly.
“Yes,” Allison insists and her eyes meet his. “I do.”
He gives her a grateful smile. He does appreciate her confidence in that fact, even though he already guessed the same. Since Peter promising to kill Chris’ father for him earned him a love confession and Victoria endangered her daughter, thus breaking her promise, Peter has a feeling that Chris isn’t going to be mad once he wakes up. No, knowing him, he’ll manage to somehow make all of this his fault and he’ll try to bury himself in his guilt.
“Alright, help me understand this,” Melissa sighs and sits down at the end of the bed. “Tell me what exactly happened last night. All I got from Scott was that everyone’s okay, was he there too?”
Allison’s eyes go glassy as she realizes how much the woman doesn’t yet know.
“I can tell my side first,” Peter offers.
“Please,” she says, breathing in with relief and turning a little so she can grab a hold of her dad’s hand, while he talks.
By the end of his retelling of their capture, their rescue and their escape, Melissa’s looking a little shell-shocked. She turns to look at Allison and Chris, teary-eyed.
“His own father had this done to him?”
“And my mom,” Allison tells her. “So, you see, it’s complicated. Because what Peter did last night… she deserved it,” she chokes up on the words, angry. “She deserved so much worse,” she says in a brittle voice.
Melissa pulls her into a hug and Allison finally breaks, quiet sobs racking her whole body.
“I told her,” she gasps out, “I told her I don’t have a mother anymore.” She laughs brokenly. “And now I actually don’t.”
Melissa gives him an accusing look but he doesn’t cower, he just quirks an eyebrow and she turns her gaze away.
As the woman comforts Allison, Peter watches Chris for any sign of waking, hoping that maybe the sound of his daughter’s grief will rouse him.
But no such luck.
“Well, that answers that, I guess,” Stiles says evenly as they pull up to the car that’s parked diagonally, blocking their passage. The door is open, the keys are still in.
“Shit,” Scott breathes out and they both quickly exit the Jeep and rush into the Preserve. “But didn’t she used to sleepwalk to the old Hale house? Should we look there first?”
“Can’t you sniff her out or something?” Stiles asks impatiently. “Use your wolfy nose, come on.”
Scott scrunches up his face in concentration. “I don’t know if I remember how she… Wait,” his face clears and his eyes widen in astonishment. “I think that’s her shampoo.”
“Great, what are you waiting for? Find Lydia, boy! Go on, boy!” He stops his enthusiastic shouting when Scott gives him an unimpressed stare. But he still gestures towards the trees anxiously.
“I think… this way,” Scott finally says and starts to move.
“Of course it’s the fucking Nemeton,” Stiles mutters to himself and follows.
“Do you trust Araya Calavera?” Allison asks suddenly, after Melissa has left to continue her shift and she and Peter have been sitting in silence for a few minutes.
“No,” Peter turns his head to narrow his eyes at her. “I don’t trust hunters.”
“I’m a hunter,” Allison points out.
“Not really,” he waves.
“I ki-… I shot a werewolf last night,” she says, struggling with the words.
“I know, Laura told me, she got rid of the body.” Peter sighs harshly. “We all owe Laura everything. Without her drawing the hunters and Jackson away from the house and then coming in to help carry people away, getting Chris to the hospital, and then going back and cleaning up the crime scene… everything could’ve been a lot worse.”
Allison’s sharp eyes tell him that she didn’t miss the way he quickly changed the subject. Her small smile tells him that she’s grateful.
“Yeah, she did a lot.”
“Why are you asking about Calavera?” Peter asks, guessing there’s a reason for such an odd question with odd timing as well.
Allison fidgets in her seat. “Because I talked to her about an hour ago…”
“And?” Peter prods.
“Gerard sold his shares to her. Apparently that deal was being worked on in the background, while she was… helping me and dad nudge Gerard out of the company.”
“That’s a very good reason to not trust her ever again,” Peter points out, while he processes this. “So… he basically sold his company, his legacy… He called one of the most reckless hunters in the country and asked him to join in on a very badly planned execution… Everything he’s done in the past twenty-four hours has an air of desperation to it. What I don’t get is why, why would he throw all caution to the wind now, when my inaction caused everything to bend in his favor? He had the upper hand and he wasted it…”
“I think he’s sick.”
Peter shifts around on the bed so he can see her without straining his neck. “Go on.”
“I have nothing concrete but… I saw him taking pills a couple of times. I know that’s not much to go on,” Allison grimaces lightly. “They could’ve been painkillers or something.”
“Sound theory,” Peter muses, staring upward in thought. “It would make sense, since he’s getting older and humans have a tendency to get sick.”
Allison snorts, “Yeah, we tend to do that.”
“If he’s sick… and fears he doesn’t have much time left…” Peter cocks his head in thought, going over everything he knows about Gerard, everything he’s heard. And then it hits him. “I don’t think he actually planned to kill your father.”
“What do you mean?” Allison asks, sounding dubious.
Peter looks down at Chris.
“I think he was meant to be leverage.”
They both freeze in place when they finally reach the clearing and see a figure on the stump. They then burst into action at the same time, running ahead, shouting, “Lydia!”
Because she isn’t moving.
Scott gets to her first and quickly rips off his hoodie, placing it on her nightgown-clad body. Stiles immediately pulls her hair away from her face.
“Lydia?” He asks, feeling short of breath.
“She’s alive, she’s breathing,” Scott says, grabbing one of Lydia’s hands and holding it tight. “She’s not in pain,” he adds.
“Hey, come on, wake up,” Stiles begs, cradling her face.
Surprisingly, she does. Her eyes flicker open slowly and she looks around in a daze.
“Where am I?” She whispers, and smacks her dry lips.
Stiles exchanges a quick worried look with Scott before he pulls her up and leans her against his chest. He can feel her tense up as she sees the answer to her question.
“Oh,” she says.
“What happened? What did you dream?” Stiles wraps Scott’s hoodie tighter around her as he asks this.
“I don’t…” She holds a hand to her head as if dizzy or in pain. “Just take me home, please.”
“Sure, of course,” Stiles says but hesitates, raising his eyebrows at Scott.
“Would you be up to seeing Allison soon?” Scott dares to ask.
Lydia turns her head towards him. “Why?” She then glances up at Stiles, her eyes clearer. She reaches up to brush her fingers against his aching cheek. “What happened?” She turns the question back on him.
“Chris is in the hospital,” he replies, brushing aside everything else for now.
Her mouth tightens in understanding. “I need clothes but then I can come with you.”
“Great,” Scott sighs in relief and then reaches out his arms to her. “Come on, I can carry you easily.”
Stiles lets go so she can move over to Scott who cradles her close and lifts her like she’s made of air. That kind of strength is another thing to be jealous of, Stiles thinks to himself. He still doesn’t want the sideburns, though.
As they walk and tell her a short summary of everything that happened after they all separated yesterday, he notices her dirty feet, the scratches on her legs, the dried blood.
It’s a good thing they’re going to the hospital.
“So, Araya is now the major shareholder?”
“Yeah.”
“Not sure how I feel about that…”
Allison looks a little guilty as she shrugs. “She did say that she has no issues with the Hale family, or this being your territory.”
“That was before I murdered fourteen people.”
She gives him a wide-eyed look and glances at the open door. “Don’t do that,” she hisses at him.
“Seriously, don’t do that,” says a voice from the hallway.
Peter stands up from the bed, causing Allison to ask, “What?”
Laura storms in as a reply, followed by Cora, the both of them looking determined.
“Derek tracked Gerard, we know exactly where he’s holed up right now.”
Allison stands too, crossing her arms, fingers digging into her skin. “Are you…”
“Yes,” Cora says, giving her a look of warning. “We’re going after him.”
Peter stares at his nieces and the hesitation must be clear on his face because Laura steps closer to say, “This is our best chance now and you know it. He’s going to want to get far away from Beacon Hills.”
If his theory about Gerard’s motivations is correct then maybe he actually doesn’t. But then again, he has no leverage to speak of, to help him force Peter into prolonging his life, into healing him.
So, this might in fact, be their best bet on ending the bloody saga of their two families once and for all.
“You’re right, let’s go,” he says and Laura and Cora walk off, expecting him to follow right away.
He plans to do just that but Allison’s hand on his arm stops him.
“Be careful, alright?” She quickly pulls her hand back as if afraid. “When my dad wakes up…” She pauses, looks uncertain. “I hope he’ll still have you.”
Just like her friends, she’s managed to impress him. With her boldness, her willingness to defend, her love for her father and her support for this odd little family, this pack that they’ve formed.
He holds out an arm and lets her come to him, hugging her close.
“He’ll always have me.”
A sharp intake of breath, her fingers curling into his shirt.
“You mean that?” She asks.
“I do.”
And he does. He hasn’t let himself fully acknowledge the promise he gave Chris when the man confessed his feelings, but his own feelings have become clearer than ever, his tether to Chris strong and impossible to ignore. He could feel it when he woke up confused and his first instinct was to call Chris and not his family. He felt it even more when they spent that entire day together, trying to find answers, to figure things out. And he felt it most in the bunker, when he called out Chris’ name and got no response, the way his heart dropped at the thought of never hearing that voice or seeing that steady, calm gaze on him ever again.
Peter doesn’t know if this is love, doesn’t really know what love is, but he does know that he cares, deeply. And he doesn’t want to leave, or be left behind.
Allison pulls back first, once again having composed herself very quickly. Her and Lydia seem to have magnificent skill in controlling their facial expressions, showing others only what they want to show. He can admire that, since he likes to consider himself hard to read as well.
“What are you going to do about Jackson?”
That’s something he hasn’t actually considered since in the grand list of things to care about, Jackson’s life is down at the very bottom for him.
“If there’s a chance to get him back, I’ll try,” is the best that he can promise.
Allison nods, “Call me when it’s done?”
“I will. Call me when he wakes up?”
“I will,” she parrots and smiles a little.
Laura quirks an eyebrow at him when he finally joins them at the exit.
“Things are getting serious then?” She asks, not even trying to hide her eavesdropping.
Peter sighs.
“I think they always were.”
After a short detour to Lydia’s house, they arrive back at the hospital, where Stiles remembers his promise to his dad. He follows the others carefully, peering around corners before rounding them, head swiveling around to make sure the Sheriff isn’t going to ambush him from behind.
Scott notices his odd behavior, gives him an odd look but doesn’t say anything about it.
Lydia beelines to Allison as soon as they catch a glimpse of her by the vending machine (it’s at this point that Stiles realizes he should’ve volunteered to bring stuff for her, like food). The girls hug it out hard, whispering to each other.
“Sorry we left you alone here,” Scott says, when he finally gets his own hug.
“I wasn’t alone, I was with Peter.”
Stiles steps closer in surprise.
“Peter’s here?”
“He just left with Laura and Cora, they’re going after Gerard.”
Stiles deflates. “Oh.”
“You’re really okay with that?” Scott asks, frowning.
Stiles tries to give him a back off gesture but his friend’s focused on Allison. He exchanges a knowing glance with Lydia, who also seems unimpressed.
“Scott,” Allison sighs and then gently touches his shoulder. “Are you all healed?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiles at her.
“Good, that means you can handle an argument. Come on,” she says and grabs his hand, pulling him along into Chris’ room. Scott looks back over his shoulder, eyes wide.
Stiles just shrugs at him, “You’re on your own, buddy!”
“He needs to get with the program if he wants to be with Allison,” Lydia remarks, stepping up to lean against him.
“Yeah,” he agrees and wraps an arm around her shoulders. He starts walking and steers her along. “Come on, let’s see if Melissa has some time to look you over.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“You were barefoot, you have no idea what you walked on last night! What if you stepped on a needle?”
“In the woods?” She rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t fight against the steering.
“Where else would our drug addicts go, it’s not like we have a lot of seedy places here.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Oddly, that sparks a memory for him. Peter’s voice against his ear, saying, You’re not ridiculous. You’re perfect. He wants to see him, to talk to him.
He spots Melissa walking along the hallway and holds up a hand to catch her attention. Her shoulders drop.
“What happened now?”
Stiles gestures at Lydia, “She took a stroll through the Preserve while barefoot.”
Melissa’s annoyance transforms into concern.
“Are you alright?” She asks Lydia and steps closer, eyes checking her over from head to toe.
“Just a few scratches, I’ll be fine,” Lydia insists, rolling her eyes again.
“It won’t hurt to just clean them or something? If you have a moment, I mean?” Stiles glances at Melissa.
“I’ll take a look, come on.”
Lydia glares at him before she follows her. “You’re being a real hypocrite, you know that, right?”
“Yup,” he pops the p at her as she leaves.
Stiles figures she’s talking about the night she desperately begged him to go to the hospital and he refused. That was also the night where Peter opened his arms and offered him one of the best hugs he’s ever gotten, outside of the ones from his parents of course.
He really, really wants to see him.
But apparently he’s busy.
That’s when he remembers Jackson, the way most of the pack was paralyzed and helpless because of one creature and anxiety hits him hard.
“He’s underground.”
Peter looks around at the trees and foliage. “And where’s the entrance?”
Derek points towards north. “It’s further away. The kanima’s guarding it, almost got me when I was trying to get closer.”
“But you got away?” Peter’s surprised.
“Only because it stopped chasing me.”
“Probably has orders to keep Gerard protected,” Laura says. “So we can’t do the distract and draw away tactic again.”
Peter nods in agreement and glances at Cora, who’s been oddly silent.
“You still mad at me?”
She keeps her gaze averted. “Yes.”
“Alright.”
“She said you can turn into a wolf now?” Derek asks, looking hopeful.
“Would like to see it,” Laura adds, poking him in the shoulder. “You’ll also be stronger in that form, right?”
“Yes. And yes.” He looks at their expectant faces. “Now?”
“Now’s as good a time as any. Our best bet is to go in with force and hopefully scare Jackson away or…” Laura pauses, “…take down the kanima.”
He shrugs and closes his eyes, flexes his shoulders, stretches his neck, tries to remember the feeling of instincts taking over, of bones and limbs snapping into place, of a hunger to hunt, to howl. And when he opens his eyes, he’s a wolf again.
He paws at the ground lightly, stretches his back, eases into this form.
“Wow,” he hears Laura whisper.
Derek crouches down in front of him and his hands hover near Peter’s head.
“Can I?”
Peter leans into the touch in reply and enjoys the petting that follows.
“You look like mom,” Derek says, sad and heartbroken.
Peter surges forward to lick at his cheek, and some of the sadness dissipates from the air.
“Let’s go,” Laura says, her tone a clear order. But she softens when he pads up to her and pats him on the head, even scratches behind his ear. His tail has a mind of its own and starts wagging.
“Wait,” Cora pleads and steps up between Laura and Peter, crouching down to pet him too.
But the petting’s just an excuse because as soon as she can see that his eyes are focused on her, she mouths words at him, words she doesn’t want the others to hear.
‘Let me kill him.’
Stiles offers to do a food run. The place that Lydia picks has about an hour of waiting before it’s ready for pick-up so he heads home in the meantime, figures he’ll take the chance to grab a quick shower.
His dad’s home, waiting for him. He looks disappointed.
“I know, okay?” Stiles says as soon as he sees him standing in front of the stairs, still in his Sheriff’s uniform, arms crossed and face stern. “But I’m literally just trying to be there for my friends right now, Allison needs us-”
“You made me a promise.”
Stiles winces at the dark tone, one he’s rarely heard from his dad, and even rarer has it been aimed at him.
“I know, and I meant it at the time. But then I remembered Scott, and then we discovered that Lydia wasn’t home, she sleepwalked again, dad, and they both needed a ride to the hospital and I was already there and now they’re hungry and I am personally familiar with all of the options in that vending machine, and they’re not great, almost zero nutritional value-”
“Son.”
Stiles presses his mouth closed and waits.
“I need to know if you’re planning to continue… seeing Peter.”
“What?” Stiles feels floored. In the back of his mind, he’s questioning his shock because he should’ve seen this coming. His dad and Peter didn’t mix well before, and now…
“Just, answer the question.” The anger’s faded, and now Noah just sounds tired.
“I am… I’m still going to be with him.”
“Stiles,” Noah looks at him head on. “I can’t agree with this.”
“What does that mean?” He squints at him.
“I can’t let you see him-”
“Let me? Dad, I’m eighteen.”
Noah sighs harshly. “And that means my rules are not to be respected anymore? You still live under my roof-”
“Okay, so I won’t.” Stiles snaps his mouth shut as soon as the words are out. He didn’t really mean to say it but now that he has… He storms past Noah, who’s gone quiet with shock. He runs upstairs and grabs a gym bag, quickly throwing in some of his favorite, most-worn clothes, runs to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush, but figures he can buy other stuff from the store. He’s going through everything quickly, not letting himself think about anything further than what else do I need, and soon he has his bag packed, his laptop and school things stuffed away into another bag. It’s taken him only a couple of minutes and now he pauses.
His dad hasn’t come upstairs.
He looks around his room.
He shakes his head, thinks to himself that this isn’t permanent, he’s not actually leaving, he’s just giving him and his dad some space, some time to figure things out.
When he goes back downstairs, his dad’s waiting by the door, eyes on the ground, jaw clenched.
“Are you going to him?”
Stiles sighs and pauses before him. “No, dad, I’m not going to move in with the guy I’ve barely started dating. I’m not an idiot.”
That relaxes some of the tension in the air.
“Where, then? Scott’s? Lydia’s?”
He wasn’t thinking about it before but right now an obvious choice jumps out at him.
“Maybe Allison’s… It’s a big house and she’s alone in it right now.”
At that, Noah looks up, brow furrowed.
“Please see this from my perspective… Remember that talk we had? How you’re not a killer, despite everything that’s happened?”
Stiles thinks back to Kate, to Blake, to the guys who trashed his car, to Gerard. To him holding the knife, cutting, stabbing, holding the gun, aiming it, wanting to shoot, to kill.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You’re not a killer but he is.”
Stiles just looks at him, doesn’t argue.
That seems to unsettle Noah a little, as if he was expecting Stiles to protest that claim.
“I’m worried about… how he’ll influence you.”
“The one thing that’s influenced my life the most recently is the Nemeton.”
“Son…” Noah steps closer and clasps his shoulders. “I want to protect you.”
“I don’t need to be protected from Peter, dad. Look at everything that’s already happened. You couldn’t protect me from the sleepwalking, from losing all control. Or from Ennis, or Blake, or last night.” Every word feels like a bullet as it leaves his mouth. His dad lets go of him and steps back, looking defeated.
“You’re right.”
Stiles can’t stand seeing his dad like this so he drops his bags and pulls the man in for a hug.
“I love you, dad. We’ll figure things out.”
Noah’s arms wrap around him tight and he pats Stiles on the back a couple of times, just like they always do.
“I’m glad you’re okay, son. I got so lost in everything else today, I forgot to say that. I’m so, so glad you’re okay.”
Stiles shuts his eyes and he pats him back.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Alright. You’re a good kid for being there for your friends.”
Stiles scrunches up his face to hold back the tears. “Yeah.” He doesn’t know what else to say so he pulls away and picks up his stuff, heads on out without looking back.
Some space is good, he insists in his mind as he drives away from his home. Everything’s been so fucked up since September and all he’s done is make things harder for his dad, to cause him so much worry and stress.
I have broken so many rules for you and your friends. Laws.
Just like him, Lydia, Scott and Allison, his dad needs to figure out where he fits in this strange new supernatural world of theirs, what he’s willing to do and how far he’ll go.
Stiles hopes that maybe some time alone will help with that.
But not too much time.
He already wants to go back home.
Allison sounds happy when she tells him he can stay with her.
“I’ve been dreading going back to the house, you’re doing me a favor, really.”
Scott points out that he would’ve happily slept over too but Allison blushes and says that would be different and she’s not sure if Melissa would be cool with it.
And Stiles can kind of see her point. It’s one thing to know your son is sneaking out and having sex with his girlfriend every now and then, and another to give permission to stay at her house, completely alone and unsupervised.
“I think I should stay there too for now… Maybe you’ll keep me from driving off in the night again.”
Allison and Stiles exchange a glance before agreeing with Lydia. She still hasn’t told them about her dream, or the dead people that she apparently sees and hears, doesn’t want to talk about any of it and Stiles is really starting to get worried now. Especially because he doesn’t understand her hesitancy at all.
They have about an hour left before they get kicked out of Chris’ room. Lydia’s gone off to her friend Mariah’s, to find out what happened at school and to get their homework. Scott’s doing the same at Danny’s.
Allison’s fallen asleep in her chair, head back in an uncomfortable angle.
Stiles is close to joining her, reading random Wikipedia articles on his phone and trying to keep his eyes open. He’s dragged one of the hallway chairs in here so he could sit on the other side of the bed and keep her company.
He’s wondering if he should just wake her up and suggest they go to her place to get some proper sleep, since they can’t stay here for long anyway, when there’s a low, guttural sound from the man in the bed.
His hands flail so hard that his phone goes flying out of his hand, but he doesn’t even notice, eyes fixed on Chris, who is slowly blinking as he stares at the ceiling. Blinking!
“Hey,” he says softly, not wanting to startle.
His head is pounding. His mouth is dry. Breathing hurts.
But he’s alive.
“Hey.”
Chris turns his head a little. The blurry figure by his bed takes a bit to focus into Stiles.
Stiles is also alive.
And since the bite mark on his cheek is still there, it can’t have been long.
He swallows and grimaces.
“You probably want water, right? Here.”
A straw is offered. He gratefully sips from it.
Once the inside of his mouth feels better, he licks his dry lips and says, “Everyone alive?” His voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. He clears his throat.
“Yeah,” Stiles looks up towards the other side of the bed and he turns to to see his daughter, unharmed and sleeping. Dark circles under her eyes, pale. “Well,” Stiles continues and Chris catches him making a face of regret. “I mean… everyone we care about, I guess?”
Chris remembers the bunker, seeing Peter, hearing Stiles help him and then nothing.
“Is Gerard dead?” He asks, fighting to keep his eyes open.
“Uh, no.”
That surprises him.
“Peter let him go?”
“Uh.”
Stiles looks like he’s at a loss for words.
“What happened after I passed out?”
“I should get the doctor,” Stiles says, standing up. “And also wake up Allison-”
“Don’t. She looks exhausted.”
“Yeah, no, she’ll kill me,” Stiles scoffs at him and even in his barely awake state he can sense the nervous energy Stiles is putting out. Something big definitely happened last night.
Stiles gently shakes her awake.
“Hey, look who’s up.”
And then Chris forgets his need to know what’s going on, his frustration at not getting any answers. Because his daughter’s eyes are on him and they’re filling with tears.
“Dad?” She whispers and leans in for a careful hug.
He embraces her as best he can.
“I’ll tell everyone he’s awake,” Stiles says and walks out of the room.
There’s so much he wants to say to him, besides the questions. He remembers Stiles getting him out of that damned chair, getting him to Peter. He wants to know more but he already knows enough to feel incredibly grateful.
“Mom’s dead. She…” Allison cries softly against his shoulder. “I was so afraid you were going to die too and I’d be all alone.”
Well. That answers one question.
Notes:
man i forgot how hard the holiday season hits me every year
spent a week interested in nothing but sleeping
feeling a bit better although the thought of going back to work soon... yuckeveryone's reactions to the last few chapters were really fun to read, thanks so much for sharing!
i guess if we're continuing the tv-show comparison (which is kind of apt, considering the wild pacing and length of this fic), we've now started "season two"
Chapter 32: relieved
Chapter Text
His senses are just as sharp as they were last night but thanks to his clearer head and calmer state of mind, it’s easier to focus, to think.
His pack seems to keep up with him easily, as if they can understand every turn of his head, every huff. Cora and Derek keep giving him surprised looks before following his directions, while Laura looks oddly proud.
Having his family around him, supporting him while he’s a wolf, changes everything. His first instinct isn’t to hunt, to get revenge, it’s to protect, keep them safe, lead them, guide them.
He finds the entrance to Gerard’s hideout easy enough. An incline deep in the forest, almost outside of his territory, that has a solid metal door set into it, surrounded by concrete. Rust covers the edges, it stinks of dust and mold. An old bunker, separate from the tunnels, it seems. Maybe one Gerard already knew about and brought supplies to, as a precaution.
He walks closer to it, and motions with his head to signal his pack that he wants them close. No stragglers allowed, not with a kanima on the loose.
And then he listens, ears perking up high, as he tries to catch that slow, slow heartbeat he’s heard once before.
A beat… behind the door.
“Damn,” Derek whispers.
“What?” Cora asks, glancing at their disappointed faces. Well, Peter’s not sure what his own face is doing and if it’s conveying his thoughts right now, but he does agree with Derek and Laura’s reaction.
“Out in the open would be better for us,” Laura explains. “Then we could surround it. But that entrance looks tight, which means we would be going in one by one, and he could easily ambush us. Remember, all he needs is one scratch.”
“I remember,” Cora mutters darkly.
“Should we try to lure it outside somehow?” Derek asks, eyes on Peter.
He shakes his head and steps up to the door, then looks back meaningfully.
“You want to go in first?” Laura looks skeptical. “And if he takes you out, then what? You’re the strongest of us.”
Peter remembers how invincible he felt the night before, how fast, how strong, nothing could catch him, no arrow, no bullet, no trap. The Nemeton’s clearly using him, has turned him into a puppet, but that also means protection. And right now, he’ll gladly accept it.
He snaps his teeth at Laura and motions at the door with his head, limbs tensing up and body lowering, ready to spring into a run.
“I better not regret this,” she mutters to herself and then grabs the handle, pulls at it with all her strength—the door opens easily and she almost loses her balance. “Well, this is definitely a trap.” Laura stares into the darkness ahead.
Peter can hear it. It’s hiding off to the right. Gerard’s downwards, further in.
He waits one more beat, senses his pack tensing up with him, getting ready.
He runs in.
He jumps to the left as soon as he can, dodging the first swipe, then circles around and pounces on his prey. But it’s ready for him, and as Peter’s teeth sink into the kanima’s shoulder, its claws sink into his sides. He lets out a whine despite himself, and his pack responds with fury.
Laura grabs the kanima from behind and Peter releases it, hanging painfully until Derek’s there to lift him off while Cora grabs the kanima’s wrists and folds its arms, holding them tight.
Derek places him down gently and runs his hands over his fur.
“He’s not fighting me,” Cora says, sounding confused.
Peter lifts his head, already feeling better, already healing. He gets back up and pads closer to stare up at the kanima’s face.
“Peter, you can still move?” Laura asks incredulously.
“Is the wolf form protecting you?” Derek mutters.
Peter doesn’t respond to them, focusing on the frozen stare on that scaly face, the yellow eyes stuck on him, fixated even.
Could it be this easy?
The kanima wants a master, but Jackson was turned by a werewolf bite. An Alpha is a kind of master, but that digs deep into the very essence of the kanima’s origin, and who, or what, Jackson was supposed to become.
Peter throws his head back and lets out a loud howl that mid-way transforms into an Alpha roar, causing shivers in all of his pack members, as they hear his call.
The kanima starts struggling, throwing his head around, hissing at all of them.
“Peter?” Laura yells cautiously, holding on tight.
Cora’s doing her best to keep its hands locked, so it can’t scratch at them.
Peter takes a deep breath and lets loose another roar, digging in deep into himself, into his land, his home. He hears Derek breathing loudly behind him. When he drops his head, he sees Laura and Cora both sweating, looking scared.
“Something’s happening,” Laura grunts out and then weakens enough that the kanima pushes out of their holds, falls down onto all fours and runs out of the bunker.
Peter rushes to the door but stops there, staring into the silent forest. Not the ideal outcome he was hoping for, but at least the kanima seems to be free from Gerard’s influence. He growls to himself and turns around, only to freeze at the sight that greets him.
Three black wolves of varying sizes, their eyes shining amber.
They feel connected in a way they’ve never been. Akin to reading each other’s minds, they can tell what one of them means with just a look, a sound, a motion. They move as one down the metal steps, into the walled off area that’s lit by a couple of lantern lamps.
Gerard is standing in the back, aiming a rifle at the stairs. But he falters as soon as he sees them, lowering the gun and staring in awe.
“Now, how did you pull this off?” He asks.
They all growl in unison, the sound of it reverberating in the small room, loud and threatening.
He can smell the man’s fear, but his expression is full of resignation.
He’s given up.
“This form fits you well, Peter. Shows what you’ve always been, just a dumb animal.”
Peter wants to strike, but senses Cora’s intention and goes to stand in front of Laura and Derek as his youngest niece lunges forward.
Laura protests with a whine, trying to go around him but he snaps his teeth at her in warning.
Cora asked for this chance and he’s going to give it to her.
Gerard’s still experienced enough of a hunter that he manages to step aside and shoot, but she’s faster now, just like all of them, and she dodges left, right, and then jumps up to bite into his arm, shaking her head as she rips in deep. Gerard’s struggling, tries to aim the rifle at her head one-handed, but she puts a stop to it by viciously snapping her teeth around the wound, causing him to howl and let go of the gun in shock.
Laura growls at Peter, showing her distaste at his decision.
Cora manages to pull Gerard down onto the ground and toys around with him a little, tugging at him, dragging him. But when she finally moves her teeth to his neck, she hesitates.
“Go on, then. Show me, show them all what you really are.” Gerard rests his head back on the floor, entire body limp, tears of pain sliding out of the corners of his eyes, but he’s wearing a cruel smile, one that mocks. “Make your uncle proud.” He chuckles darkly and it’s loud in the silence as the three of them stop their growling and stare at Cora who starts to shake.
Her form twists and melts, down into the shape of a human, until she’s kneeling next to Gerard, face distorted into a grimace, gritting her teeth and crying quietly.
“I can’t do it. Why the fuck can’t I do it?”
Quick as a flash, Laura’s shifted back too and rushes over to her sister, pulling her into her arms.
“You shouldn’t have to,” she whispers to Cora, holding her close.
“They took mom, they took her and I want to kill him, I do-”
“Mom would’ve wanted us to move on, Cora. She wouldn’t want this for you.”
Derek steps up to stand next to Peter, giving him a questioning look.
He nods forward and his nephew jogs ahead towards Gerard, casual until he reaches the man’s legs and strikes, clamping his teeth around an ankle with a vicious snarl.
Gerard jerks and moans, already bleeding heavily and too weak to fight back.
Derek drags him away from his sisters, towards the center of the room and then drops the ankle and sits on his haunches.
Peter’s curiosity wins over his need to end this so he shifts back and goes to stand next to Gerard. He crouches down and cocks his head at him, pokes the man’s forehead to get his attention.
When Gerard’s bleary stare meets his, he speaks.
“Is it true, then? After all this time, hunting my kind, eradicating us pack by pack… You were planning on manipulating me into biting you?”
Gerard’s mouth tugs down into a scowl.
“My job’s not done,” is his reply.
Peter rolls his eyes.
“Really? That’s your justification for throwing away your precious Code?”
“I don’t care about some silly Code,” Gerard spits at him. “I care about keeping people safe from beasts like you.”
“And again, your answer is to become a beast yourself?” He waits for a reply but Gerard just glares up at him, breathing heavily and barely conscious. “Your logic’s flawed, always has been. You’ve thrown away everything, sold your precious legacy, for nothing.”
“It was all meant to go to Kate. I wasn’t going to let my traitor of a son anywhere near it.”
“Why?” Cora interrupts them, shouting from where she’s being held by Laura. “Why did you hate my mom so bad? She did nothing wrong!”
“She killed my wife.”
A pause.
Peter grabs Gerard’s chin, fingers digging in deep. “No, she didn’t. Eleanor died in a car crash.”
“My wife wouldn’t veer off the road, not unless there was reason to.”
Peter scoffs at the mental gymnastics the other’s doing. “Talia liked Eleanor. If there was anyone she would’ve wanted dead in your family, it’s you.”
“Because of James,” Gerard says gravely.
He frowns, not understanding.
“Dad?” Laura speaks up. “I thought he was killed by a feral.”
“He was,” Peter confirms, staring down at Gerard, whose breathing’s growing weaker by the second. “I remember Talia being angry with you because you promised to take care of that feral and then for a whole week, you didn’t. Until our pack finally did it, losing two in the process.”
Gerard grins weakly. “She blamed me.”
“She did, but she would never-” It’s all clicking together in his head now and there’s rage bubbling up, drowning him from the inside out. He grabs Gerard by the neck and squeezes hard enough to cut off the man’s air supply. “My sister had her darker side. She was willing to let her much younger brother play the executioner, to go along with her games so that she could sit on her throne and seem guiltless and kind. But she was never vindictive,” he says harshly, leaning down closer, his eyes burning with power. “She wasn’t cruel. And losing James was the hardest thing she ever experienced and she would’ve never, never, wished that upon anyone else, not even her worst enemy.”
Gerard’s eyes are narrowed, he looks pitying, as if Peter is the one not getting it.
Seething with hatred, he picks the man’s head up and slams it against the ground.
“Your entire crusade against my family is based on your fucking imagination!”
He lifts up and slams Gerard down again, the man’s body following along with Peter’s movements like a ragdoll.
“You made her into a villain just so you’d have someone to blame and then you took your grief out on my entire family, do you even understand what you did? What she did!?”
Gerard’s gasping for air now, a part of his mind can tell that they’re his last breaths, a dying man’s last grasp at life.
“Finish it,” Laura croaks, sounding like she’s trying to hold back sobs.
He looks up in surprise, having forgotten his audience. He sees Cora and Laura holding each other, their shoulders shaking, tears streaming down their cheeks. He looks at Derek who is still a wolf but wide-eyed, trembling.
Peter looks down at Gerard, can see his eyes closing.
He lifts his hand up, flicks out his claws and slashes the man’s neck wide open, blood spraying onto his face.
He stands and watches as Gerard chokes once, twice, before his eyes glaze over and his head slumps to the side, no breaths left to take.
“It’s over,” Laura whispers soothingly at Cora. “It’s over.”
Derek shifts back and looks at Peter, pale and shocked but apparently still focused on the task at hand because he says, “We have to clean this up.”
“He’s right,” Laura confirms. “The police are going to be scouring all of the woods. It’s not just Gerard they’ll be looking for, but any evidence to what the hell went wrong last night.”
“Alright,” Peter agrees, staring down at the body. No longer his enemy, his prey, now just a body. “There’s probably still stuff left over at the house from when Stiles and Chris cleaned up my blood there.”
“I’ll go get it,” Derek nods, shoulders relaxing a little now that he has an assignment.
“Not alone,” Peter stops him. “There’s still a kanima out there, now without a master.”
“Maybe he’s turned back into Jackson?” Cora asks, slowly pushing herself up.
“That’s not something we can count on,” Peter tells her.
“I’ll go with Derek, I…” Cora glances down at Gerard and quickly looks away. “I don’t want to look at him anymore.”
“Of course,” Laura says softly, pushing hair away from her face and stroking her cheek. “Go on and when you come back, you can stay outside and keep watch, okay?”
Cora nods and follows her brother out of the bunker.
“What do we do with the body? He’s been attacked by an animal, so… should we leave him in the woods?” Laura sidles up closer to him. He can sense that she’s still angry with him, but willing to put that aside for now. She probably figures there’s plenty of time to berate him later.
“If Gerard stays missing, he would be an easy answer for the police when they try to pin this on someone.”
“So… what do we do?”
“Maybe take him out of town, far from our borders, and bury him somewhere?”
“I guess that’s fine,” Laura frowns. “But you used the lake before.”
“Considering last night, they might want to search the lake. If they find the hunters but no Gerard, then that can easily be pinned on him as well. Especially since some if not all of those hunters were related to Miller, who was found dead next to Gerard’s house.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she sighs. “I really don’t want to put him in either of my cars…”
Peter rolls his eyes upward as he remembers.
“I’ll call Derek and tell him to take mine. It’s still stained with blood, so no big difference now.”
“Why is it…?” Laura tilts her head at him.
And. Oh. He realizes that only Chris knows about the huge Nemeton development.
“Well. Remember when I said I was chasing the Matos out of town?”
Laura’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“Technically? I didn’t,” Peter points at her confidently.
She shakes her head in confusion. “What?”
“Hold on, I’ll call Derek first.” He pulls out his phone. As he dials his nephew’s number, he notices Laura staring down at herself in wonder. “What?”
“It’s just… I’m not naked.”
“So?”
“Mom was always naked after she shifted.”
“Turns out that was her being dramatic rather than out of necessity,” Peter says.
Laura smiles faintly. “Sounds like mom.” She pats around her clothes and finds her own phone. “Where did this go when I was shifted, though?”
“I’m not in the mood for metaphysical questions about the nature of magic.” That’s when Derek picks up and Peter gives him instructions to get his car and use that instead.
“But like,” Laura continues as soon as he’s hung up. “Could someone call it while I was a wolf? Or is it in a pocket dimension and out of reach?”
Peter stares at her. “Don’t you want to know why I killed the Matos?”
Laura sags in disbelief. “I thought you said you didn’t?”
“I mean, technically-”
“Oh my god, just tell me what you did.”
He does.
Laura is appropriately horrified.
“-and so we’d like to have you here for the weekend, to keep an eye on any after effects of the concussion, to make sure that fractured rib starts healing properly. But you’re free to go home tomorrow, if you feel up to it.”
Chris nods, glancing at Allison’s worried frown.
“Thanks, doc, I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.”
“Alright, I’ll give you one more hour, Allison, but then your dad needs some rest.”
“Yeah, of course.”
They wait a bit after the doctor has left before she turns to him and says, “That sounds good, right?”
“It does,” he assures her, catches her hand and holds it.
She squeezes his fingers.
“Well… an hour gives us time to talk about what happened.” She breathes in deeply. “I don’t know where to start, wow.”
“Where did Stiles go?” He very much wants to hear his side of the story as well.
“He went to get stuff for us, groceries, and he mentioned something about shampoo.”
Chris raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Oh,” Allison perks up. “I didn’t tell you, everyone’s staying with me tonight. Stiles offered first, Lydia said she’d join too and then Scott got permission from his mom, since we’re having a big sleepover rather than us, uh…” She blushes a little. “Alone together.”
Chris smiles, amused.
“That sounds great, I’m glad you won’t be alone.”
“Yeah… I was really grateful when Stiles suggested it… But it seems he needed a place to stay anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got into a fight with his dad… about Peter.”
Chris takes in her apprehension. “Because of last night?” He can connect some dots at least.
“Yeah,” Allison nods. “So… how much do you remember?”
“Stiles was dragged down there and somehow he got free and got me free too…” He frowns, trying to remember details, but it gets a little hazy after that. “Then we found the bunker the pack was in and Stiles stabbed Peter, I think? But then nothing.”
“Okay,” she says, puffs her cheeks and then sighs, thinking. “Well, while Stiles was caught, Scott and Laura were luring everyone out of the house. They then ran back and Laura got you all out of there while Scott and Stiles stayed to find me.”
He blinks in surprise, “Stiles stayed?”
Allison smiles a little. “Yeah, he was really stupid last night. Brave, but stupid.”
Chris chuckles and regrets it immediately, groaning as the jolt in his chest causes sharp pain to poke through the effects of the medications he’s on.
“After they got you to the car, Laura drove you here while Peter… went back.”
“For Stiles, I assume?”
“Kind of…”
“Just tell me, Allison. Victoria’s dead, I know that much.”
She flinches, but nods. “He went back, turned into a wolf, and killed everyone except Gerard and Jackson.”
Chris’ brain halts for a moment. “A wolf? Like Talia?” That’s a massive change, a boost in power for the whole pack, but especially for Peter. He wonders if that’s got anything to do with the latest “feeding”.
“Yes, that’s what Stiles told me.”
“And… everyone? I don’t even,” he starts counting in his head. “I don’t know how many people there actually were.”
“Fourteen dead.”
He turns his head to stare up at the ceiling, his blurry mind trying to put everything into context. “And the Sheriff knows it was Peter.”
“Considering the state of them all… and that Peter basically confessed when he came to see you, uh, yeah.”
“He came?” He asks, before he can hold it back, hating how vulnerable he just sounded.
“He did,” Allison says softly. “He stayed with me for a bit, we talked about stuff. But then…”
“Then?” He turns back to see her face.
“Laura and Cora came to get him. They all went after Gerard. To finish it.”
“I see.” He’s trying to figure out how to react to all of this. How he should react. He can’t find much sympathy in him for the people who died, not after they dragged his daughter into their world against her will. He definitely can’t find any grief for his ex-wife, not after she put Allison in danger, breaking her promise to him. He’s not mad at Peter for going to extremes, the man’s been holding himself back all this time. Chris has seen glimpses of the rage in him, the hatred. It was there when he killed Kate, when he first kissed Chris, when he punched a hole in his wall. Peter hates feeling powerless and this, all of this, was just the last straw.
The one thing he does feel is guilt, regret. He should’ve done more right from the beginning, maybe cashed in some favors, got more hunters to turn on his father, not just two heading families in different countries.
And then one feeling washes away all of it, and that’s relief. If the pack manages to get Gerard. Then it’ll really be over. Finally.
“Dad, I…”
He looks at his daughter with concern. She sounds like she’s close to tears again.
“What is it?”
“The test that Gerard had for me… he had a feral werewolf locked up down there. In a cage…” She squeezes her eyes shut. “He let it loose. On me. Gave me a gun and I…”
He can guess the rest. He squeezes the hand he’s still holding.
“I know. I had to kill a feral too.”
“You did?” She looks at him sadly.
“Yeah.” Chris sighs as he remembers that day. “We had a whole hunting party but dad gave everyone orders to not shoot until I got it first. I shot it- him in the head.”
“He was a person, still. I could tell, his eyes, there was… There was a person under there.” A tear escapes but she wipes it away and blinks away the rest.
“They’re all people, always.” It’s something his family never taught him, never acknowledged. It’s what he learned by himself, from his own experiences.
“After, I… I turned the gun on Gerard. I was going to shoot.”
Chris stays silent, lets her explain further.
“Scott stepped in front of the gun. Talked me out of it. And that’s how he got away, he shot Scott, took the chance and ran. Stiles went after him but the kanima ran in front of his shot. Peter saved Stiles, I got Scott out of there and…” she shrugs, “here we are.”
Stiles took the shot. Chris feels chilled at the realization of everything that these kids have been through, how much they’ve changed. His own daughter would’ve taken that shot, if Scott hadn’t been there. He has a lot of appreciation for Scott right now.
“I’m glad everyone’s alright,” he says.
“Yeah… Oh, shit,” she pulls her hand away and stands up all of a sudden.
“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, straining a little to try and sit up as he watches her take out her phone.
“I forgot to call Peter.”
“Oh,” he says and settles down, breathes shallowly to hopefully ease the ache in his side.
“Hey,” Allison starts brightly. “He’s awake! But visiting hours are over, so- Oh.” She glances at him nervously. “So, he…? Okay. Scott, Lydia and Stiles are staying with me tonight if you want to stop by later, for like… an update or something.” She paces a bit.
Chris is kind of stunned at how easily she’s talking to Peter right now. He would’ve expected last night to change things, to bring back the earlier tension that existed between them when Kate was still fresh in all of their minds.
“Okay,” she nods at something. “That sounds good, a pack night would be… awesome,” she laughs sadly.
She sounds like she’s talking to a friend, Chris realizes abruptly.
“I mean, I wouldn’t say no that to that,” she says. Then nods again. Then stills and gives Chris a wide-eyed look, her mouth twitching in amusement. “Sure, I can do that. But… don’t you want to hear him?” Whatever response she gets, leaves her blushing.
Chris rolls his eyes, because he can already imagine Peter saying something overtly flirtatious like, if I hear him now, I won’t be able to focus on the task at hand. Then he remembers what that task is and grows sombre.
“See you soon,” she finishes with and hangs up. “They did it. He’s gone. Jackson’s run off, though, so we’re not completely out of the woods just yet.”
Chris feels an odd numbness settle in. “He’s gone.”
“Yeah,” she says, her humor disappearing at whatever she sees on his face right now. “You okay?”
“I…” don’t know, is the first thing that comes to mind. But he settles on, “I will be.”
Allison sits down next to him on the bed and grabs his hand again.
“It’s just us now.”
He gently tightens his hand around hers.
“I guess so.”
“Before I forget.” She leans in and plants a careful kiss on his cheek.
“What was that for?” He asks, smiling.
“That was from Peter,” she smirks at him. “Although,” she clears her throat, “he specifically told me to tell you that he’ll be by when can to give you a proper one.”
Chris moves his lips around a little and winces.
“I don’t think my mouth can handle a proper one.”
She grimaces in sympathy. “Yeah, although,” she perks up. “Can’t he like, drain the pain while he kisses- no,” she stops suddenly, releasing his hand so he can hide her face, “I don’t want to imagine that, never mind.”
Chris laughs, but it gets cut short of course and ends with a groan.
“Don’t make me laugh right now, damn.”
“Sorry,” Allison whispers, patting his arm.
A knock on the door. They both turn their heads to see Stiles peeking in.
“Hey, you’re still here.”
“Yeah,” Allison says and then pauses. “Oh, did you not want me to be?”
Chris stares at the ceiling and tries to hide his amusement.
“That’s not- Never mind. Are we going to go?”
“Can I talk to you first?” He blurts out and watches as Stiles flounders with how to answer that.
“Of course he can,” Allison answers for him and stands up, completely ignoring the daggers that Stiles is glaring her way. “I’ll wait outside for a bit.”
She pushes him into the room, causing Stiles to flail as he turns to stare at Allison closing the door behind her.
“So,” Stiles drawls slowly, inching towards the chair and sitting down awkwardly, back straight and fingers tapping away at whatever’s in reach.
“Relax,” Chris tells him.
“Yeah, sure,” Stiles says and stays tense.
“I just want to thank you.”
“Oh.” Stiles’ eyes finally meet his as he blinks rapidly, caught off guard.
“What did you think I wanted?”
“To lecture me about putting myself in danger?” He grimaces. “But I guess, yeah, if I hadn’t… then maybe you wouldn’t be…” He sighs harshly and drags a hand over his face. “I don’t want to think about that.”
“How are your injuries? I remember Peter asking you if you were bleeding? Or did that not happen?”
Stiles pokes at his cheek, where Chris can see faint teeth marks. He remembers Peter’s vicious reaction to those. Remembers his own vicious reaction at hearing Tom threaten Stiles with… with the same thing that Chris experienced when he was nineteen. The thought of someone hurting Stiles like that, using him like that, it builds up an anger in him that he doesn’t know what to do with. He can’t even punch Tom anymore, like he wanted to. He should ask Peter how he did it, with Tom specifically, how he killed him. Maybe there’s some satisfaction to be had there.
“I was bleeding yeah,” Stiles says and then frowns to himself, lips parting in surprise. He quickly pushes back the sleeves of his hoodie and turns his arms around.
There are quite a few scars there, on both arms, in varying lengths and widths.
“They’re already healed,” Stiles says quietly.
Chris’ mind takes the leap easily, from Peter turning into a wolf, to Stiles’ resilient body healing his injuries faster than ever before. Stiles himself hasn’t told him everything he learned from Morrell, but he caught the gist of it from both Allison and Peter. It explained how quickly Stiles’ bruises seemed to fade and now, it explains this.
Nemeton’s spreading the power around, it seems.
“Have you talked to Peter?” He asks, not going to bring up the Matos, in case Stiles doesn’t know yet.
“No, I…” Stiles pushes his sleeves back down, still looking shaken. “I haven’t seen him since he carried me away last night.”
“Allison just talked to him, they got Gerard. And I think there’s a pack night being planned at my house.”
“Oh. Oh, shit,” Stiles mutters. “Are you… How are you?”
He can’t help but smile at how gently Stiles asks that, how clearly he doesn’t want to upset Chris.
“I’ll be fine,” he repeats his answer to Allison.
“Cool,” Stiles nods and then grimaces, seemingly at himself.
“Also, thank you for staying with Allison. I’m glad she has good friends to lean on right now.”
“Of course,” Stiles says. “We’ll be there for her, no matter what.”
“She also told me about your fight with your dad.”
Stiles throws his head back. “God, my friends gossip too much.”
“I can try to talk to him.”
“My dad?” Stiles’ head snaps back. “No, no need. It’s… we’re fine, we just need some space. He’s having a tough time aligning his job and morals with,” Stiles pauses. “With what’s going on right now, you know?”
“Alright,” he says. “He’ll probably want to talk to me at some point, right?”
“Yeah. Laura ran around all morning, cleaning things up, but I don’t know how thorough she actually managed to be, but… the official story is that she used my Jeep because her car’s broken and found you by the side of the road, near Gerard’s house. She got you here and then she called my dad to let him know there’s something going on.”
“And the reason I was beat up…”
Stiles shrugs, “Something for you to explain, I guess.”
“Right.”
“Maybe say that Gerard had a cult going on? And he wanted Allison to join, but you weren’t going to let that happen…”
“What kind of a cult?” Chris asks dubiously.
“I don’t know,” Stiles shakes his head. “Uh, why not go for the truth? Say they believed werewolves were real and that they were hunting them? You could even say that that’s why Kate burned down the Hale house.”
“You want me to tell the police that the Hales are werewolves.”
“That your family thought they were werewolves,” Stiles says pointedly and then taps his nose. “Huh? Pretty good, I think.”
“Except that would put the idea in their heads. And then all it would take is for one of the Hales to be seen with glowing eyes or heard growling and the rumors would start.”
“You think?” Stiles looks skeptical. “You’ve been living in this world for so long, I think you’ve forgotten how ridiculous the very idea of it would sound to most people.”
Chris waves his hand. “I guess, maybe.”
“But you are right that it creates a possibility of exposure. So, you should definitely ask Peter.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Stiles fiddles with his hands.
“I should go, right?”
“Stiles.”
“Yep?”
“Thank you, again. I mean it.” Chris holds up his hand.
Stiles stares at it for a moment, not understanding, but then bursts into movement and grabs it as he realizes what Chris is waiting for. He squeezes gently and meets Chris’ gaze head on.
“Any time, man,” he says awkwardly, patting their hands with his other one.
Cute. The thought rings in his head and this time he doesn’t push it aside. Lets himself smile. Stiles’ face seems to still as his eyes flick down to the smile then back up again. Chris lets his eyes do the same, to glace down at parted lips, right in time to see Stiles drag his tongue over the lower one. He looks back up and feels a sudden intense burst of jealousy towards Peter, at him knowing what it’s like to kiss Stiles, while he’s left wondering.
“Uh, hope you feel better soon,” Stiles says, patting their hands again. Then frowning to himself. “This feels so awkward,” he whispers with a pained expression.
“We’ll get better at it.”
“At this?” Stiles’ eyes widen and he lifts up their hands.
“At talking,” Chris replies and chuckles. Predictably groans right after.
“Oh, right,” Stiles clears his throat.
The door opens and Stiles whips around in the chair.
“The doctor said we should-” Allison pauses as she takes in them holding hands. “I can beg for five more minutes?” She smirks right at Chris.
“No, we should-” Stiles pulls away and rises up, gives a salute, “-you need your rest, so, have fun… resting…” He shakes his head and leaves the room.
“Did you break him?” Allison raises her eyebrows, looking bewildered.
“I didn’t do anything,” Chris scoffs.
“Oh, did he instigate the handholding?” She looks at him knowingly.
“I was thanking him for saving us.” Chris puts on his best poker face.
“Riiiiiight. Well, just so you know, he is kind of staying with us indefinitely for now, so. You’ll have plenty of time to thank him later.”
“Allison,” he sighs, suddenly exhausted.
She sighs right back, but comes closer to give him a careful hug.
“You’re too easy to tease when it comes to him,” she tells him before pulling back. “I wonder why?” She smirks.
Chris figures it’s time for some payback. “As the one who can’t handle her dad having an active sex life, you are eager to push me into thanking Stiles just two doors down from your own.”
Allison’s face freezes.
“Dad,” she whines, covering her eyes.
“Yes?” He asks evenly.
She sighs, but he can still see her mouth twitching in clear amusement.
“I’m okay with it in theory, in theory.”
“Ah, I see. So you don’t want to know what I’d actually want to do-”
“Don’t you dare,” she points a finger at him.
“Go home and get some rest,” he smiles at her, giving her an easy out.
She rolls her eyes, but smiles back. “Fine. Your phone’s right there beside you, I charged it and everything. Call me if you get bored?”
“I will,” he promises. “Love you, kid.”
“Love you too.” With a wave, she leaves the room.
The silence crowds him quick. As does the reality of his father’s death.
The numbness creeps back in.
“I can’t believe this,” Laura mutters to herself, holding her head.
Derek pauses in his scrubbing to glare at her. “Could you express your disbelief while helping us?”
“You seem to be taking all of this in stride,” she snaps at him.
“It’s done. They’re dead. There’s nothing we can do about it.” Derek shrugs at her and then continues to scrub the floor.
Peter, who is washing the walls, turns around to flash his eyes at his niece. “Don’t make me use the Alpha voice.”
“Wow, rude,” she frowns at him but finally grabs a mop and joins them.
“Hurry up, please, I want to leave this place,” Cora’s voice reaches them from the open door.
They all focus harder on cleaning after that.
“It really is a nice house,” Lydia comments as she leans back into the couch. “Maybe I should move in.”
“Hey,” Stiles protests as he walks into the living room, opening a can of soda. “I’m moving in.”
“Hm, I don’t know, seems like there’s plenty of room.”
Her innocent tone should’ve warned him, but he steps into the trap anyway.
“There’s only one guest bedroom.”
She smiles up at him wickedly. “Exactly.”
It takes him a second but when he figures out her meaning he groans and takes a seat in one of the armchairs. The same one, he realizes, where Chris sat, the night he got his first real hint at mutual interest between them. He blushes at the memory.
“Are you joking about Stiles and Mr. Argent again?” Scott asks from the other armchair, grimacing.
“Oh, I’m not joking,” Lydia replies easily.
Allison’s bundled up with a blanket on the other side of the couch, smirking.
“You’re horrible people,” Stiles mutters, drinking down half of the soda in one go.
“Thirsty?” Lydia quirks an eyebrow.
“Tired. But apparently we’re having a pack night, so…”
Allison speaks up. “Peter said it might take them a while. Maybe we should all take a nap?”
Scott’s already yawning. “Sounds good.”
“Bed arrangements are boy-girl, boy-girl, right?” Stiles asks, rubbing at his eyes and now regretting drinking the soda.
“Uh,” Scott answers.
“I mean,” Allison bites at his lower lip, giving Scott a shy glance.
Stiles rolls his eyes along with his whole head. “Guys, Melissa knows you’re boning. Chris knows you’re boning. We all know you’re boning. So… go bone!” He makes shooing motions with his hand.
Allison snorts but stands up and pulls Scott along.
Scott, the dumbass, gives Stiles a thumbs up as he leaves.
“Sexual frustration?” Lydia asks, her tone sharp.
Stiles side-eyes her, takes in the tightness around her eyes and mouth. “Worried about Jackson?” He throws back.
She presses her mouth into a line and looks away.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, you’re right. I’m worried.”
“Come on, let’s go sleep.” He stands and holds out a hand.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she tells him.
He takes in her pale face and tired eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay up. I’ve got my laptop.”
“Okay,” he says, feeling uneasy about leaving her to guard the fort alone, so to speak. But he can barely keep his eyes open so he heads to the guest bedroom, the only bedroom he’ll be sleeping in, he insists to himself.
The sheets are fresh, clean and the mattress, although not the magical cloud that is Peter’s bed, is still more comfortable and therefore probably more expensive than the one he has in his own room. Back home. With dad.
He hopes his dad had something nice to eat.
That’s the last thought he has before falling asleep.
His dreams are not nice.
The images that stay with him after are Deucalion’s head mixed in with the watermelons as he strolls along the supermarket, Peter inside him, above him, kissing him, and then choking him, while Stiles gasps out Not that, remember? Not that! until it’s no longer Peter, but Blake, and he’s inside her while she continues strangling him. He doesn’t remember how he gets from one situation to the next, just flashes, and the next image that remains clear in his head is Gerard aiming a gun at Chris, while Tom grabs him by the hair and forces him to kneel.
The fear seems to build up image after image, until right there, with Tom holding him in place with one hand while his other unbuckles his belt, he shoots up in bed, covered in cold sweat and feeling like he’s about to throw up.
Thanks brain, that was incredibly disturbing, he thinks to himself as he crawls out of bed. The nausea subsides as he takes a moment to stand there, in the quiet, instilling into his mind that it was all just a dream, just a dumb chaotic dream. Peter wouldn’t do that, he never had sex with Blake and Tom threatened to fuck his mouth but never got close to doing it. And now he’s dead. So there. It’s fine, it’s all fine, it’s fucking fine.
He pulls on a comfy threadbare T-shirt and heads to the kitchen, in search of water and maybe a light snack.
Lydia’s there, perched on top of a bar stool, her laptop on the counter. She’s drinking coffee.
“Hey,” she frowns at him. “You only slept for like two hours.”
“Nightmare,” he answers honestly and opens the fridge.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Now who’s being a hypocrite?” He asks as he slams the fridge shut, holding a carton of noodles and hoping that Allison won’t mind him eating it. Not exactly the light snack he was looking for, but better than nothing.
“Just offering,” she says, while turning back to her laptop and continuing to sip at her coffee.
Stiles sighs while getting a fork and leans back against the counter behind him.
“It was just… everything. Every time I manage to forget that Blake exists out there, my brain decides to remind me.” He stuffs his mouth full of food and chews for a bit, before saying, “And now Tom’s in my head too.”
“Tom?” Lydia asks curiously, staring at him over the back of her laptop. “Was he the guy who did that to your face? It’s looking a lot better by the way.”
Stiles figures with the rate the cuts on his arms healed, his face will be fine by tomorrow.
“Yeah. He also threatened to… do other things. Which he didn’t get to do. But apparently my mind decided to hang onto that.”
Lydia’s gaze is knowing. “Threats are enough sometimes.”
“Has anyone…?” He looks at her in shock.
“Not really. Just online, anonymously. So, not like what you went through, but… the words and the intent behind them, they stay with you for a while,” she smiles sadly and looks back at her screen.
“What are you up to, anyway? Homework?”
She taps her finger next to the touchpad for a bit, looking at him oddly.
“The reason I haven’t been telling you guys about my dreams is because… I don’t know how to explain what I see.”
“Oh?” Stiles places the carton aside, happily surprised that she’s addressing this.
“It’s not clear and obvious like it was with Talia or the three Alphas. It’s…” She sighs heavily. “Hazy and most of it is just flashes of emotion, sensation. I have nothing to look up, nothing to research. Just…” She shrugs. “Fear and pain.”
Stiles thinks it over, kind of sees where she’s coming from, except for one thing. “What about the whole seeing dead people thing?”
“That?” Her eyes narrow as she glares off to the side. “That just sounded insane.”
“We’ve dealt with a lot of insane stuff.”
“Yeah, but spirits? Ghosts? Imprints? Whatever I’m seeing?” She rolls her eyes, looking frustrated. “That’s on another level.”
“I guess,” Stiles relents, tilting his head.
“And I’ve been trying so hard to get back to normal, you know?” She frowns sadly. “But now… if I’m going to see dead people for the rest of my life, how the hell…” She huffs out a breath and shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m looking at symbolism in dreams even though I think it’s kind of bullshit. I don’t know what else to do.”
Stiles goes over to sit down next to her. “I get it.”
She leans her shoulder against his in thanks.
With Blake’s face still clear in his mind, he has a thought.
“Want something else to research?”
She gives him a sly look. “Always.”
“How about any deaths in the last year where the person has three fatal wounds?”
“Hit on the head, throat cut and strangulation by garrote?”
He smiles at her immediately following along.
“Yeah.”
“Wanting to see if she’s done it somewhere else?” She asks, already typing something into a search engine.
“Or if she’s still doing it.”
Lydia pauses. “Trying to find out where she is?”
“I have that number she called from… But I know she wouldn’t tell me anything useful.”
“You’re right, she wouldn’t. And considering what happened the last time you heard her voice, if you do plan on calling her, don’t do it alone?”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Now. Should I start with Canada then?”
“Yeah, go for it.” He goes back to grab the noodles.
He doesn’t really know what he would do with the information if they do find evidence of her continuing her rituals up there. But Lydia has a clearer goal right now and it seems to have brightened her up a little, and that’s reason enough to continue looking into it.
Chris dozed off at some point and is woken by a hand sliding into his. He opens his eyes.
“Hello, sleeping beauty,” a familiar flirty voice.
He turns his head to see a figure in the dark. Someone turned off the lights after he fell asleep, and it seems like it’s night time finally, so it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust. The figure becomes distinctly Peter-shaped and then he can make out a bit of the other’s face, where his eyes are, his mouth.
“If you think I’m a beauty now, wait ‘til you see me without these bruises.”
Peter hums thoughtfully and gentle fingers trace Chris’ cheekbone, his jaw. “I bet you’re breath-taking.”
Chris can’t help but snort, grunts right after because the medication’s wearing off.
Peter’s hand swiftly slides down, under the front of his hospital gown, as close to his ribs as he can and begins to draw out the pain. The effects are immediate and Chris’ body relaxes down into the bed.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“Any time,” Peter whispers, unknowingly repeating Stiles’ words from earlier. Two people so earnestly wanting to help him, to protect him. It’s beyond any luxury he ever thought he’d get to experience.
Peter lets go of his hand and reaches up to cradle the side of his head, thumb brushing against his cheek as he begins to draw pain from there as well.
Chris lets out a moan of relief as his building headache dissipates. He realizes he’s closed his eyes when there’s suddenly a gentle pressure against his lips, gone before he can kiss back. Peter rests his forehead against his and Chris stares up at him, heart so full it kind of aches.
“I’m glad you’re awake.”
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
Peter’s grin is sharp.
“I did it,” he whispers. “I ended it.”
And there, those words crack through the numbness and bring tears to his eyes. He swallows down a lump in his throat and says, “Thank you.”
Peter shakes his head gently against his and leans a bit to the side so he can press his nose against Chris’ hair.
Suddenly, Peter grows tense. And then he’s gone, crouching behind the bed and whispering, “Close your eyes.”
Chris does as he’s told and a minute later hears the door open a crack before it’s gently closed again.
“Night shift checking up on you,” Peter confirms his theory as he stands back up.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’m a werewolf,” Peter scoffs. “I can sneak in anywhere.” He leans down to kiss him gently on the cheek. “But I should go. I’m expected at your house.”
“You should also talk to Stiles. He said you haven’t since last night.”
Peter straightens and gives him a look he can’t decipher in the dark.
“I’ve been a bit busy,” he replies.
“Stiles is staying at my house.”
“I know, Allison told me.”
“Not just for tonight,” Chris elaborates.
“What do you mean?” He can see Peter cock his head curiously.
“He had a fight with his dad. Over you. So,” he smiles meaningfully. “I don’t think he’s leaving you, Peter.”
Peter’s quiet and that’s evidence enough that he might be onto something.
“He went through a lot last night,” Chris reminds him. “The shit that Tom did, what he said,” he has to take a breath to calm himself. “Take care of him, alright?”
“What he said?” Peter asks, voice dark.
“He… threatened to force himself on him. To-” He hesitates, sensing the anger building up with every word. “To use his mouth. He might’ve just been talking shit-”
“I should’ve taken my time with him,” Peter says evenly, but two sparks of Alpha red blink at Chris in the darkness.
“He’s dead, gone. So, focus on Stiles, alright?”
“I’ll focus on both of you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“…You do realize that means you’re not fine yet?”
“I mean, I am in a hospital bed, so yeah?”
Peter huffs out a laugh.
“Fine, rest and I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
One last brush of a hand against his cheek before Peter’s sneaking out, managing to open and close the door without making any sound.
Chris falls easily into a better, deeper sleep.
Laura once again proved herself to be irreplaceable when she offered to get rid of the corpse by herself. Cora and Derek were falling asleep on their feet and Peter apparently needed to “go check on your boyfriend, you’ve been dying to go ever since you got that call”.
Peter has a feeling that he needs to find Laura something a lot better than a cookbook for Christmas.
Now that he’s checked on Chris, felt invigorated by hearing his voice, he feels ready to check up on Stiles.
It’s later than he planned and instead of a whole pack, he only has himself to offer. Hopefully Allison is asleep, because it did sound like she was looking forward to having more people at her house.
He’s been putting off calling Stiles or texting or reaching out in any way. And Chris managed to figure out the reason for that. He remembers the way Noah looked at him, the way Stiles backed away from him. He wants to believe that Chris has the right idea, that Stiles wants to see him. But he can’t help but prepare himself for the worst as he walks up to the house.
He focuses and can pinpoint everyone’s whereabouts easy enough. Allison and Scott are sleeping soundly in her room. And Lydia and Stiles are in the kitchen, talking in rather loud voices.
As he walks towards the front door, he listens in.
“-we don’t even know if it’s her.”
“Give me a break, who else would go overboard with the whole three deaths thing?”
That sounds familiar.
“Many would? Lots of evil people out there and need I remind you that Blake isn’t the only Blake?” Peter pauses as he reaches to knock on the door. Why are they talking about her? “There are other druids out there, other darachs.”
“Don’t,” Stiles groans. “I don’t want to be reminded of that, thanks. One Blake is enough, is too much already, in fact.”
“I do agree that we should show this to everyone and that Allison should tell Hayden. But, you have to stop- Stiles, stop panicking!”
“I’m not!”
“You’re wringing your hands so hard I’m afraid you’re going to break a finger or something!”
“I don’t break that easy, remember?” Stiles scoffs, but sounds like he’s starting to calm down.
He’s heard enough. He raps his knuckles against the door, not wanting to use the doorbell in case it’ll wake up Allison.
He hears silence. And then Lydia asking, “Do you think it’s…?”
Then steps rushing towards the door, he can tell it’s Stiles, he braces himself.
The door flies open and he stares at the vision before him. Stiles looks exhausted, he’s pale, he has a faint bite mark on his cheek and his hair’s a mess. But he’s still stunning enough to make Peter, just for a couple of seconds, forget what he was about to say.
But Stiles is silent for long enough, blinking at him as if unsure he’s seeing right, that Peter remembers his line.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
That jolts Stiles out of his stupor and Peter lets out a soft oof as Stiles’ body smacks into his in a fierce hug, the fiercest he’s gotten from him.
“When Allison said you went after Gerard, I couldn’t help but think what if Jackson got you all again, and then she said that Jackson got away, so that fear just never left and-”
“Easy,” Peter slides his arms around Stiles, sliding one hand up to rest it on the nape of his neck, feels Stiles go almost boneless against him.
“I’ve been missing you all day.”
He practically melts at those words, realizing that Chris was right and he’s been worried for no reason.
He pushes Stiles back a little so he has a better angle to lean in and slot their mouths together, loving how Stiles breathes in sharply and then kisses him back with a fervor.
“Please don’t make out in front of the girl whose boyfriend is running around town as a murderous lizard.”
Peter can’t bring himself to stop right away, gives Stiles several more short kisses, each one causing Stiles to let out a pleased hum that’s like music to his ears, before he finally turns his head to see Lydia standing at the door, arms folded in front of her, looking annoyed.
“Good to see you, you had everyone worried for a bit.”
Her annoyed expression falters, his concern for her catching her off guard. “I’m good.”
“Except for the sexual frustration, you mean,” Stiles remarks and turns to walk back inside.
Peter watches in amusement as Lydia makes a face of disgust at him and Stiles makes one back, but with a lot more enthusiasm and a mocking undertone.
“Children,” he says, remembering his first day in Beacon Hills, and how the tensions were high as the three of them, along with Chris, talked about killing Kate Argent. How Stiles reacted to that word back then.
Lydia’s the one who reacts this time, while Stiles just rolls his eyes and walks further in, towards the kitchen.
“Don’t call the person you’re sleeping with a child, that’s wrong on so many levels.”
Peter furrows his brow, places a finger on his chin as he pretends to think about it. “You know, you’ve got a point.”
“Get in,” she snaps at him.
He follows her to where they’ve set up with two laptops, coffee and some take-away cartons.
“Now, want to tell me why you were talking about Blake?”
The two of them pause in their movements, glancing at each other.
“Why am I not surprised that someone was eavesdropping?” Stiles sighs.
“You were being loud,” Peter tells them.
“We were talking about this.” Lydia points to one of the laptops and he sits in front of it.
There’s a news article about a body found in Skaha Bluffs, a park in the Okanagan Valley. As he reads the details, he understands Stiles’ concerns.
“This is the area she called you from, isn’t it?”
“One small part of a much bigger area where she called from, yes,” Lydia corrects him.
“This kind of a coincidence isn’t one to ignore.”
Stiles gestures at him viciously, while staring at Lydia. “See? I’m right to panic!”
“That is not what I said.”
“We knew she was doing shady shit up there already,” Lydia sighs. “Why is this different?”
“Because there’s a face attached to it!”
Her mouth snaps shut at that. “Do you… do you feel like it’s your fault?”
Peter tilts his head and observes closely as Stiles stretches his neck, shrugs, scratches at his arms. He notes the scars there, the wounds that he smelled last night have already healed. The wolves aren’t the only gifts they’ve been given.
“I stabbed her,” Stiles says finally. “She was weak and she was bleeding… I should’ve just kept stabbing her. Until she stopped breathing.” He drags a hand over his face, then up into his hair, messing it up further.
“This is not your fault,” Lydia says in a don’t argue with me kind of tone.
“If it’s anyone's, it’s mine,” Peter offers.
“You never had as good of a chance to kill her as I did.” Stiles shakes his head at him.
“There’s no point to thinking about this, it’s just going to drive you insane,” Lydia tells him.
“And you’d know all about that, huh?”
Which is an odd thing to say and Peter notices how both of them freeze up after the words leave his mouth. Stiles immediately looks guilty.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” Lydia says, but looks hurt.
He’s missing something here.
“I’m just tired, you know how my mouth gets when I’m-”
"It’s fine. You should get some sleep.” She looks away.
Stiles looks at Peter. “Sorry, you came to update us on how it went, right?”
“That can wait until morning. Everyone’s exhausted after the last twenty-four hours.”
“Right. You’ll come over again?”
“Stiles.” Lydia’s rolling her eyes. “He can stay with you, it’s fine.”
“What? But-”
“I can sleep on the couch, it’s cozy. I’m okay with it.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow, but he says, “Okay, if you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
“You want to stay?” Stiles looks at him, eyes wide and beautiful, biting down on his lower lip in a very inviting way, while probably not meaning for it to come across as inviting at all. Just like many times before, Peter feels utterly charmed by him.
How could he possibly say no?
“Of course.”
“Just remember that there are other people in this house,” Lydia tells them.
“What- No- We’re not going to have sex!” Stiles splutters out and then turns to Peter, repeating “We’re not going to have sex,” but in a more apologetic way, wincing as he says it.
“Okay?” Peter quirks a brow at him.
“Because, Chris is hurt, and it just, it wouldn’t feel right.”
Peter notices Lydia hiding a smile behind her hand as she turns away from them and starts to make another pot of coffee.
“You don’t want to have sex because Chris is hurt?” Peter asks, for clarification.
Stiles lifts his shoulders high as he shrugs. “Yeah, it’d be weird.”
“You do realize Chris is going to be hurt for a while, he has a fractured rib.”
“Yeah, so?” Stiles squints at him. “What, you can’t handle a week of no sex?”
“Can you?” Peter cocks his head.
He hears Lydia snickering quietly.
“Yeah, I can,” Stiles says loudly, glaring at the back of her head.
“How noble,” she says dryly, but gives Stiles a warm look over her shoulder, taking the sting out of it.
He relaxes and rolls his eyes.
“Come on, let’s go sleep,” Stiles tells him and walks off.
“I’m always here for you if you want to talk about your dreams,” he tells Lydia as he gets up.
She looks at him sharply. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Maybe I can help.”
She seems to mull it over. “I’ll think about it.”
“You are planning to sleep at some point?” Peter asks while pointedly staring at the coffee she’s brewing.
“I’ll sleep when I want to,” she says, throwing her nose up.
“Fair enough.” He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and follows Stiles to the guest bedroom. It’s a little bit odd to spend the night in this house but not head for Chris’ room, Chris’ bed, Chris himself.
Instead, he walks into a space that currently smells of Stiles and no one else and finds it comforting.
Stiles is already in bed, so he slips into it and slides close, until every inch of his front is glued to Stiles’ back. He pulls him in by the waist and snuggles close.
“You’re not going to brush your teeth?”
“I don’t get cavities.”
“God, I hate you.”
Peter presses his smile into Stiles’ shoulder and waits until he can hear Stiles’ heart grow calmer, until his breathing deepens. When he’s sure that the other has fallen asleep, he lets his eyes close and he follows.
Peter wakes up to the sound of the door opening. He looks over his shoulder to see Lydia standing there, hands twisting her ponytail.
“I’m so tired. But I’m scared to sleep. I’m scared I’m going to sleepwalk again.”
He doesn’t need to hear more, he uses the arm he has wrapped around Stiles’ waist to move them both onto one side of the bed, leaving the other half free. He’s close to the very edge himself, but he’ll manage. Stiles, surprisingly enough, barely reacts to being dragged across the bed, shifting around a little to find the right spot on the new pillow under his head, before he settles down and starts snoring softly.
Lydia slides under the blanket and reaches out a hand towards Stiles. Peter lifts his head curiously and sees Stiles grasping hers almost instinctively.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome,” he replies and waits for about ten minutes as she shuffles about, finding a comfortable position, then waits a bit more until she starts to breathe deeper. Then he lets himself fall back asleep, knowing he’ll wake if she gets up. He’ll stop her from going back into the woods.
Chapter 33: grieving
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The next day brings chaos into the Argent residence.
Stiles wakes up to the sound of laughter, Laura’s laughter, to be specific. And as he slowly opens his eyes, he hears people moving on the stairs, talking, the sound of someone searching through cupboards. The smell of coffee hits his nose and he pushes himself up. He looks to his right side, where he remembers Peter sliding close, all warm and firm and nice, but that side of the bed is empty. He looks to his left and yelps, almost flailing out of bed.
Lydia groans at him, still sleeping.
Stiles stares into space as he goes over everything that he remembers about last night. Did Peter come over?
He turns around and pats at the empty spot, frowning when it feels cold. He leans down to sniff, wondering how ridiculous he looks right now.
“What are you doing?” An amused voice.
Pretty ridiculous, he assumes.
He turns around to see Lydia peering at him sleepily.
“Did Peter stay over?”
“Yeah,” Lydia frowns at him. “I asked him if I could sleep here and he made room for me.”
“Oh,” Stiles says. There’s a fullness in his chest at the thought of Peter taking care of Lydia like that. “Aw,” he lets out.
“He can be sweet when he wants to,” Lydia grumbles, as if that’s a bad thing.
“Changing your mind about him? Again?”
She huffs and turns over.
Stiles figures that’s the end of that conversation so he goes to the guest bathroom across the hall to brush his teeth and shower, wanting to start the day off right.
When he’s clean, wearing fresh clothes (realizing that he’s already running out of fresh clothes and is going to have to ask Allison how to operate the wondrous washing machine with fifty different buttons that she has), he leaves Lydia to her sleep, because she definitely needs it, and starts walking towards the kitchen.
And gets pulled back into the hallway by a firm arm around his waist.
His first instinct is to scream.
“Good morning,” Peter says and his next instinct is to turn around and catch that smirking mouth into a kiss.
It was so easy, easier than he thought, to just push aside the blood-covered apparition that had been on his mind since he saw wolf turn into man, the Peter that tore through people, that was brutally unmerciful. The Peter that’s now widening the rift between him and his dad.
Because last night, at the door, stood his Peter. And seeing him, alive and solid, immediately settled something in Stiles, gave him a sense of comfort he could cling to, made him feel safe. And with that feeling of safety, his massive crush reared up its head once more and completely took over his brain.
So now, when Peter kisses him back, sweet and gentle, his head is full of memories of just how amazing Peter can make him feel, how high on pleasure, how content.
Peter’s hands slide down slowly to grip him by the hips, turning them both around until Stiles is backed up against the wall, then pushing in close, mouth hot and insistent and Stiles completely forgets his stance on sex that he was so firm on last night, surging towards Peter with every inch of himself, wrapping his arms around the man’s head and letting Peter lick into his mouth like he owns it. Because in Stiles’ mind, he absolutely does.
The door next to them opens and Stiles stills, his moan turning into a surprised gasp as he realizes he’s been making sounds the entire time.
“So much for sleeping in,” Lydia says calmly, not even looking their way as she walks into the bathroom.
Stiles sags against the wall, letting his head thump back. “Oops.”
Peter’s face is a sight for sore eyes and Stiles’ hands move of their own accord, sliding down to smooth over cheeks, stubble, that unfairly sharp jaw.
He’s still amazed that he gets to have this.
Peter’s eyes are flicking up and down, seemingly taking in Stiles’ face the same way. He reaches up to brush his thumb against Stiles’ lower lip, tugging at it.
Stiles wants to fall down onto his knees then and there.
Lydia exits the bathroom while brushing her teeth.
“What happened to it’s weird while Chris is hurt?” She asks around the toothbrush.
Peter slowly turns his head, glowering at her.
“I still stand by that,” Stiles says, holding up a hand and pulling himself away from his very comfortable spot in between Peter and the wall. Because it does feel a little weird to have fun with Chris’… boyfriend, while Chris is in the hospital, never mind the fact that Chris’ boyfriend is also his boyfriend-
He needs breakfast.
Now that he isn’t so focused on Peter anymore, his ears continue to pick up the sounds of various people talking and moving around.
“Who else is here? I think I heard Laura?”
Peter comes to his side, sliding a deceptively casual hand over his waist. It feels like a tease, a tiny hint at what that hand could do to him, how it could hold him up, hold him down or even take control of Stiles’ hips while he grinds down on top of him.
Stiles feels embarrassed when he realizes just how horny Peter made him with one kiss.
He glances at Lydia and turns red. Her quirked eyebrow says it all.
“The pack. You’re the last ones to wake. Come on, we need to talk about Jackson.”
With that, Stiles finds out that hearing Jackson’s name works similarly to getting thrown under a cold shower.
At first glance, the kitchen looks lively, like it’s a normal morning, cheerful and loud. Then, as he observes the chaos around him, Stiles comes to realize that the loudness is mostly coming from Laura, Allison and Scott, and that it’s strained, insincere. Derek’s helping Laura with the food, but he’s quiet and odd. No scowl in sight, no furrow in his brow. He looks like he’s just going through the motions. Cora hasn’t said a thing either, hasn’t even looked at anyone. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, her face turned towards the window. Laura keeps sending worried glances her way.
“Well, I’m up,” Lydia announces as she finally joins them all. “What’s the plan?”
Everyone pauses in their movements. Stiles catches the hesitation on Laura’s face and quickly sits down on a stool, afraid that Lydia’s not going to like the answer to her question.
“We… don’t really have one,” Laura says and continues whisking what looks like pancake batter.
Lydia doesn’t seem all that surprised by this.
“Figures,” she mutters and comes over to sit beside him. “Coffee?” Allison rewards her with a latte, that has a heart drawn on it.
Both Stiles and Lydia stare at it in shock.
“Laura just taught me how to do that,” Allison tells them, smiling shyly.
“Cool,” Stiles nods at her.
“I concur. Cool,” Lydia nods too.
Allison does a weird little satisfied clap and then turns to apparently continue making latte art. A distraction tactic, for sure.
“How long have you been up?” Stiles squints at her.
“A while,” she shrugs. “Dad woke up early and called me, asked me to get him a few things. He doesn’t think he’s coming home today. I think he doesn’t want to be a bother because moving around hurts still…”
“That reminds me that we have to figure out what Chris is going to tell the police. Why he got beat up, I mean.”
Allison turns to give him a thoughtful look. “You’re right.”
“There’s a lot of things we have to figure out,” Peter says, finally joining the conversation.
“Why don’t you get us started?” Lydia smiles at him with narrowed eyes.
Peter seems unperturbed by the suggestion. “Gladly. For one, tracking Jackson is almost impossible. The kanima has no scent. The only way to know where it is without seeing it, is to listen for its extremely slow heartbeat. But he’s also fast. In between two beats, he could run out of range.”
“Also, we lost sight of him close to town borders,” Laura adds, while she puts a pan on high heat and drops a chunk of butter on it.
Stiles gapes for a moment. “You mean to tell me, he might not even be in Beacon Hills right now?”
“He might not,” Peter confirms, staring gloomily into his coffee before taking a sip.
“But why would he… it leave?” Lydia asks.
“Peter confused him somehow,” Laura says and gives her uncle a questioning look.
“My theory is that when I bit him, it sparked the body’s recollection of the first bite, the one that turned him. The kanima sensed that I’m an Alpha, and that there’s something in Jackson that wants to respond to my call. That accepts me as Master. But the body, the kanima’s host, as it were, recognized that Jackson was supposed to be a werewolf and that’s why it was affected by my bite. So… it’s confused. It got scared because it didn’t understand what its purpose was anymore. And it ran away.”
Stiles nods along with this explanation. “That makes sense… But… are we just waiting for a sighting then? And hoping that the kanima isn’t a murder-hobo anymore?”
“Wouldn’t it want to go back home?” Lydia asks, slowly stirring a spoon in her latte. “After the full moon, it took its host home…”
“We should keep an eye on his house,” Laura says, flipping the first pancake.
“And also check the outskirts of town,” Peter adds. “Maybe he’s staying away from people right now.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Stiles points out, not bothering to hide his concern.
“The venom doesn’t work when I’m a wolf,” Peter says evenly.
“What!? Seriously?” Stiles stares at him in awe. “Woah, dude.”
“Do you think it would still work on us?” Laura asks, causing both Stiles and Lydia to look at her oddly.
“It might not, but I’d rather not test it.”
“Wait,” Lydia speaks up. “Why wouldn’t it suddenly work on you?”
“Because they all shifted with me last night,” Peter says.
Stiles’ mouth drops right open, because what!?
“All of you can turn into wolves now?” He gapes and then looks at Derek, who’s been quietly dicing strawberries. “Dude, can you?”
Derek stills and looks up at him from under a frown. “Yeah?”
“That’s so awesome, wow.” He remembers that Scott’s there too, watching Allison draw hearts on their coffees and he asks him, “What about you?”
Scott glances at him in surprise, “What, turn into a wolf? No, man.”
“My guess is that it’s a family thing right now.” Peter shrugs.
“He says as if it’s no big deal,” Stiles mutters, widening his eyes in disbelief. “Cora, how awesome was it?” He turns around in his seat.
She looks over her shoulder and makes weirdly long eye contact with Derek before shrugging. “Pretty awesome, I guess.” She doesn’t sound like the Cora that Stiles knows and is used to.
He wants to ask what’s wrong but can also guess that ending Gerard’s life probably wasn’t as satisfying as she was hoping it would be. Maybe it’s disappointment making her subdued, maybe it’s something else. Either way, he’s not going to pry.
Scott breaks the awkward moment by yelping, “Oh shit!”
“What?” Stiles turns back to see his friend staring at his phone in horror.
“I forgot to call my mom, she just got a call from school. I didn’t tell her we were skipping cause I didn’t know…” He walks off, already putting the phone to his ear.
“… What day is it?” Stiles frowns to himself.
“Friday,” Lydia answers immediately.
“Cool, we’re just taking a long weekend then,” he shrugs, finding it very hard to care about school attendance right now.
“The school’s a mess anyway, this whole town is,” Lydia sighs. “My college application essay will be about how my desire to learn and better myself persevered despite my home town failing me at every turn.”
“That’s pretty good,” Laura makes an impressed face.
“Have you thought about graduating early?” Peter asks her, glancing at Stiles to show the question’s aimed at him too.
“I wasn’t really interested in getting more credits than I needed, so…” Stiles scratches at his cheek, feels smooth skin and blinks in surprise. “Oh hey, am I all healed?” He pokes at his face.
“Yes, the mark is gone,” Peter says, eyes intense.
“And I had plans to graduate early but then…” Lydia looks at Stiles out of the corner of her eye. “Stiles got worse, a lot worse, and I got scared of what was ahead… so, I planned for more free time.”
“Well, now I feel bad,” Stiles pouts a little.
She just shrugs at him.
“I think I’m all set for graduating early.” Allison turns around, sliding one of her lattes to Stiles, who gives her a quick finger-gun as thanks. “And I’m going to do it. Dad and I… we’ve got to figure out what’s next.”
A somber silence follows.
“So do we,” Laura says, giving Peter a look that Stiles can’t decipher as she plates the second pancake and turns off the heat.
“But Jackson first,” he reminds all of them, sees Lydia nod in agreement. “Hey, maybe we’ll get him back over the weekend and then we can get back to our normal school life rhythm come Monday,” he spreads his hands excitedly.
No one joins his enthusiasm, instead he receives a lot of dry looks and a few raised eyebrows. Derek doesn’t even glance his way, placing his strawberries on the pancakes.
He presses his mouth closed and lowers his hands. “No appreciation for me trying to stay positive? Cool, okay.”
Peter smiles and puts down his coffee, comes to give him a loose one-armed hug from behind. Stiles leans into it, the body heat that Peter radiates as calming as it is warm.
“I appreciate you,” he says and presses a kiss to his head.
“Gross,” Cora says loudly and that causes Stiles to grin, taking it as a sign that she’s still in there, that she’ll be okay.
“Speaking of appreciation, I’m heading out to see dad, it’s almost nine. Who’s coming with? Peter, I assume. Stiles?”
His fingers come up to grab Peter’s arm, almost reflexively, because he doesn’t want to be let go. But then he realizes that Allison is giving him an expectant look.
“Uh, no, I’m good?” He glances at Lydia. “Lydia and I can stay here, hold down the fort. We can keep an eye on news and social media, see if anyone’s talking about the biggest lizard they’ve ever seen in their life.”
“You also need to eat,” Laura reminds them and presents two large plates, one with bacon and eggs and the other with two, well-decorated pancakes. Stiles smothers a smile when he realizes Derek made smiley faces.
“That’s a good idea,” Peter says, his arm tightening as if he can sense Stiles’ desire to be held just a little longer. “Derek, Cora, if you’re up to it, you should check on Jackson’s house. Maybe stay there for a bit.”
Derek nods readily enough and Cora stands up.
“Okay,” she says and immediately walks off. That’s when Stiles figures out that everyone else has been up for a while, just like Allison, and that they’ve probably already eaten.
Derek gives Laura a hesitant look and she sighs heavily.
“Go on.” She waits for him to leave too before telling Peter, “You and I should check the woods around the border then. After going by the hospital.”
“Wait, you’ll be stalking around as wolves?” Stiles turns his head a little so he can raise his eyebrows at Peter. “If people see you, they’re going to fucking freak.”
“We’ll just make sure to stay away from people then,” Peter says easily, tilting his head. His eyes stray to Stiles’ cheek, the place that Tom sunk his teeth into and he leans in to press his lips there, slow and firm.
“It’s gone,” Stiles reassures him, not fully understanding what’s going through Peter’s mind right now, but making an educated guess. Werewolf. Kind of territorial. A mark. A bite, specifically. Must have tugged on some of Peter’s pack instincts to see it on his skin. “Like it was never there.”
Peter pulls back and smooths his thumb over the spot, fixated.
“Okay, mom agreed to not ground me just yet, but apparently I’m on thin ice,” Scott announces as he walks back in.
“Come on, we’re going to see dad.” Allison grabs a few bags from the floor and heads to the front door.
“Chris could use some kisses too, I’m sure,” Stiles says, pushing Peter back a bit.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Peter says, grabbing the hand that’s pushing at his chest and leaning in for a final kiss before following the others.
Stiles draws his teeth over his bottom lip, all worked up over nothing, as he turns around to see Lydia’s reaction.
To his surprise, she kind of looks sad.
“He really is sweet. What an asshole,” she sighs and grabs her laptop that she left on the counter last night, opening it up.
“We’ll get your asshole back too.” He grimaces. “You know what I meant.”
She shoots him a glare, but her twitching mouth ruins the intensity of it.
“Let’s see if anyone else has seen my asshole today.”
He grins and sets up his laptop beside hers, ready to submerge himself in local news.
“Where is my car? Did you take it back to my place?” Peter asks, when he sees that Laura’s SUV is waiting for them outside.
Derek and Cora are just now driving away in the Camaro, Derek sticking out his hand to give them a wave as they go. Scott and Allison are conversing in her car, he doesn’t know about what and doesn’t care to listen in.
“I had a friend drive me back to my place and then he took the car.” Laura gets into the driver’s seat.
“I don’t think I heard you right,” Peter says sweetly as he sits next to her.
“No, you did,” she says causally before starting the car.
“Laura,” he stresses.
“That car was soaked in the DNA of people you murdered,” Laura tells him, pulling away from the curb. “I have a friend who makes cars like that disappear.”
“I liked that car.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have put dead bodies in it.”
“I didn’t. At least not the first two.” He stares out the window gloomily. Buying new cars is so aggravating, the salespeople alone are annoying to deal with. “How the hell do you have a friend who makes cars with too much DNA in them disappear?”
“Friend is probably not the right word,” she says, giving him a cautious look. “His number was in one of mom’s phones, labelled clean-up.”
“Ah.”
“I haven’t used his services before but I have talked to him. I talked to everyone.”
“When you were asking for help,” Peter realizes.
“Yes. He was nice, but he told me that he also works for hunters, so he’s staying neutral. But he did help me a couple of times over the years, when I wanted information about Gerard’s movements or what he was up to, if he was coming back here.”
“He has an interesting idea of neutral. Or did he also tell Gerard information about you?”
“I had nothing to hide, remember? I used our real names and moved to a big city, got a job while Derek and Cora went to school, we were probably very easily traced.”
Peter thinks back to Derek’s story about the hunter he encountered back in New York. Laura doesn't even know how right she is.
“And you trust him?”
“Mom did. So, if she was willing to pay him to do a job, I assume he’s good at it.”
“I could’ve taken care of the car myself,” Peter says. “Next time, don’t do something like this without giving me a heads-up.”
“But if mom used him, then you probably knew him too, right? Bill Locklin?”
“I always cleaned up after myself. If Talia was taking care of it, I never knew the details.”
“Oh.” She thinks for a minute. “Fine, I’ll talk to you next time.”
“Good.”
It’s in the news and the headlines are big and terrifying.
Small town killing spree: fourteen dead in one night
A hunting party of fourteen found mauled to death in the woods
Beacon Hills’ wildlife strikes again
Small town in chaos as a wild animal continues its reign of terror
“Wow, some of them are trying to be poetic.”
“Not to mention, blaming it on one single animal,” Lydia adds, frowning at what she’s reading. “So far, I’ve found no mention of Victoria’s suicide.”
“Maybe they’re just going with the easier narrative? Rather than the… reality of hunters shooting each other, while they get their limbs torn off, before the last one ends her own life.” Stiles sits in silence for a second after finishing his sentence. “We live in nightmare central.”
“There’s also no mention of Gerard or that he’s missing…”
“Trying not to freak out the locals?”
“Except the locals would know that the bodies were found near the high school principal’s house… and that he hasn’t shown up for work…”
“I don’t know then… shitty journalism?”
Lydia snorts. “Or maybe the police aren’t revealing everything yet.”
“I haven’t found any statements from the police, have you?”
“No.”
Stiles hums, finding that odd.
Lydia continues, switching between tabs in her browser, “Also, so far, nothing on big lizard sightings.”
“Which is a good thing, right?”
“Unless the people who saw it can’t tweet about it because they’re dead.”
“…You’re just a big ball of sunshine today.”
“I try.”
The moment he sees Chris again, Peter realizes that Stiles’ fast healing has left him with unrealistic expectations. Chris looks no different, still bruised, still hurt. But at least he’s smiling.
“Hey,” he says softly as Allison comes in for a hug.
“I got the stuff you asked for.”
“Thank you.”
“My turn?” Peter smiles when Allison backs away.
Chris’ grin is positively dirty. “I think I can handle a real kiss today.”
“Oh, good,” Peter leans down, his hand steadying Chris by his jaw as he gently presses their lips together. When Chris doesn’t flinch from pain, he dares to prolong the kiss, even lick across his mouth. A hand comes up to grab a fistful of his shirt, keeping him in place as Chris parts his lips and invites him in with a curl of his tongue.
“Tell me when it’s safe to look, although, oh god, the sounds-”
Peter huffs out a laugh through his nose and Chris releases him.
“Sorry,” Chris says, not sounding sorry at all.
Still a little worked up from the needy way Stiles attacked his mouth earlier, Chris’ confident leer is just making things worse.
What does it say about their little group, that coupled with the stress of near-death experiences lurking around every corner, trauma and casual murder, there’s apparently an ailment of sexual frustration going around. With Scott and Allison being the exception of course. Peter’s keen nose could easily tell what they had been up to when they showered together that morning.
He can’t blame Allison for taking advantage of the opportunities she has, especially not after what she’s been through. Wanting to be close to someone, on any level, is a pretty standard coping mechanism for most things that are hard to bear.
The way Stiles grabbed at his arm, giving away his desire for Peter to stay. The way Chris looks at him, like he never wants to stop. The way Peter just can’t seem to get enough of either of them, ever.
Lydia reaching for Stiles in the dark. Laura wanting to hold her little sister, wanting to comfort. And Cora looking to Derek instead, because Derek understands her better, knows exactly when to back off, when his sister wants to be alone.
They’re all just doing their best to cope.
And Peter hopes, prays to whatever deity is listening, that they will manage to get Jackson back in one piece, and that they’ll get to rest. At least for a little bit.
He’s smart enough to know that the Nemeton’s not done with this town. Blake is not done.
Which means neither is anyone connected to it. Him, Stiles and Lydia all have something coming their way.
But as he stands there and watches Chris and Allison talk, poke fun at each other, their smiles real but fragile, because there’s so much pain still fresh and ongoing, he hopes. He begs.
Just a little more time.
Not finding much about the police investigation or any lizard or lizardperson sightings, they move on to other things, namely, Blake and Stiles’ family tree.
“Can’t seem to find anyone on Facebook by these names, at least no one that’s in Wisconsin,” Lydia says, paging through the old photo album that Stiles took with him when he was grabbing essential things, since he considers knowledge and evidence essential right now.
“Figures. What about Canada, since Blake’s there?”
She makes a thoughtful noise. “I guess it can’t hurt to check.” She opens the list she compiled. “What about you? Find anything?”
“Yeah, actually,” he says, having dealt with a continuing sinking feeling for the past fifteen minutes as he’s connecting the dots. “Several threefold deaths in the state of California, most of them in the last five years. Also, I asked Callum about it, because I saw him online.”
“Oh?” Lydia looks interested. “He must be happy to hear from you again. He was intrigued when I started talking to him under a different username, even more so when I told him I’m your friend… but he did ask about you a lot. Like if you’re okay and so on.”
“That’s kind of…” Stiles winces uncomfortably. With what he’s thinking right now, he doesn’t appreciate her theory whatsoever. “Weird, though, right? He knows nothing about me.”
“No details, but some of your personality comes through with the way you talk in text too. Some people like guys who ramble,” she tells him. “And you talk like a teenager. Some people find that attractive too.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a dig at me and Peter or not,” he squints at her.
“It wasn’t,” she smiles and he believes her. “Just reality.”
“Well… he’s been helpful again. Told me that while among druidic rituals threefold deaths are most often used in sets, symbolizing various things like virgins for purity, warriors for strength, single deaths near or at places with spiritual significance can be used for like a quick boost in power, mostly used by darachs to heal after they’ve been weakened.”
“That’s… oddly specific,” Lydia says.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, figures she’s lining up with his thought process now. “Remember how Peter told us that these forums can have dangerous people lurking around?”
Her eyes meet his. “Think we should stop talking to Callum?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
Lydia’s breathing is a little shallow. Stiles notices that his own is too.
“Fuck, we definitely didn’t tell him anything specific, right? That we’re actually dealing with a Nemeton?”
“I sure didn’t. Did you?”
“No, I just asked in a general way… But we did ask…”
“Yep,” he nods, staring at his screen. “We asked a lot about druids and places of power specifically.”
“And I kept asking about banshees. And we didn’t hide our location…”
“I’m really hoping we’re just being absurdly paranoid right now,” Stiles says and then closes the forum chatbox, logs out of it and vows to not return until he’s got a VPN and a new username.
“Me too.”
“Next time I have questions… I’ll text Morrell. See if she’ll actually keep her promise to help out.”
“I really don’t like her,” Lydia says snippily.
“That’s fair, but at least we know her.”
“Not really,” she narrows her eyes at him.
“…Again, fair,” he relents.
Both of their heads turn as they hear a car pull up to the house. Cora and Derek enter soon after.
“Hey, no luck?” Stiles shouts in greeting.
“No,” Cora says, but then pauses in mid-stride and looks at Lydia, “Sorry.”
The girls exchange sad little smiles, and then Cora continues towards her target, the fridge.
“Lunch break?” Stiles asks and then gasps in excitement as he sees the bags in Derek’s arms. “Burgers?”
“Yup,” Derek replies and puts the bags on the counter. “Have at it.”
“You’re a god among men,” Stiles tells him as he reaches forward to grab one.
As they all munch away, Stiles notices Cora staring into space a lot. And Derek glances her way often, sometimes nudging her out of her thoughts by asking her to get something from the fridge for him or by walking past her and patting her on the shoulder.
He tells himself not to pry and about half an hour later, when Derek’s cleaning up and Lydia has gone to take a shower, he’s rewarded for his patience.
“Can I talk to you?” Cora asks him, sounding tentative.
“Of course,” he answers and gets up.
“Can we go to your room?”
His room. He immediately thinks of his bed, his desk, the framed pictures of his mom, his dad. But no, Cora means the room he’s staying in.
“Yeah, sure.”
He closes the door and she takes a seat on the bed, looking as uncomfortable as he’s ever seen her.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay cause it’s obvious you’re not,” Stiles rambles, his eyes roaming around the room awkwardly before he finally makes the decision to sit next to her, hoping that he’s not crowding her or anything. “But whatever it is, I’m here-”
“You understood me,” Cora says, turning to fold one leg up on the bed so she can face him. He blinks at her in confusion but quickly mirrors her pose. “Back when I told everyone that I wanted him dead. That I wanted to kill him.”
“Oh…” Stiles is struck dumb as he realizes that Allison told him that Gerard’s dead. But not who actually did it. “Did you…?”
“No,” she frowns and looks down at her knee. “Laura said that you used her gun. Two shots. Were they for him?”
“I was trying to get Gerard, yeah. Might’ve had him if the kanima hadn’t jumped in.”
“Maybe it would’ve been easier with a gun,” she says quietly.
And oh, Stiles thinks he gets the reason behind her odd mood now. “You’re disappointed that you couldn’t do it?”
“Yeah, but it’s not just that.” Cora sighs and sags downwards, resting her head in her hand. “I thought… if I saw him bleeding. If I saw him dead. I thought I would feel better. But now it’s just… This is it? It’s done, we got the people who hurt our family and… this is it, this feeling I’m left with…”
“…Grief?”
She shakes her head. “Anger. I’m still so angry.” She takes a deep breath. “They’re gone but I… it doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make anything better. It feels so unfair.”
Stiles slowly reaches for her hand, grasps it tight when she doesn’t pull away.
“And now I’ll never know,” she sighs, straightening up to look him straight in the eye. “I won’t know if killing him would’ve made it better.”
“I don’t think it would’ve,” Stiles shakes his head at her, but she shrugs and grins sadly.
“But we’ll never know for sure.”
He uses his grip on her hand to pull her closer, hugging her with one arm when she leans in.
“It might get better. In time.”
“I’ve already had time. Six years, Stiles.”
He thinks of his mom. “Six years is nothing. Give it time.”
She curls up further and wraps her arms around him tight. Almost too tight, but he doesn’t complain. She doesn’t sob but he does hear a few wet sniffs. She’s crying and trying to hide it so he just continues holding her and doesn’t say anything.
It’s close to six in the evening when he and Laura give up for the day and return to town. She drives him to the hospital without him having to ask.
Allison and Scott are in the parking lot already when they arrive.
“Anything?” Scott asks, brow furrowed.
“No,” Laura shrugs.
“Fuck,” he sighs, his entire body deflating.
“Can you do me a favor?” Allison asks Peter, who is just about to head in. He quirks an eyebrow and waits. “Get him to check out tomorrow? He doesn’t need to be here and… I’d feel better if he was home.”
“Mm, you want me to use my wiles on him?”
She snorts and shakes her head. “If you think that would work, go for it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll be out here, far away from your wiles,” Laura says, giving him a disturbed look before getting back into the car.
Before he gets to Chris’ room, he comes across Melissa and Noah, who are speaking in hushed whispers. In agitated whispers. They both seem angry.
He’s intrigued.
“-you listening to yourself?”
“The parameters have changed, Noah. Everything has changed, and I want to be there for my son. Just try and tell me that you don’t want the same thing.”
“I just don’t know if I can,” Noah sighs through his nose, gritting his teeth. “If I can be there for him if Peter’s there also.”
“Sad to hear that,” he says loudly from the other end of the hallway, causing several people to flinch in surprise.
Both of their heads turn towards him in shock. Noah’s expression quickly becomes grim.
Peter smiles apologetically at the people he startled and walks closer.
“Stiles is feeling better today, in case that interests you,” he says, enjoying the way Noah bristles at that.
“Guys,” Melissa sighs, obviously in no mood for this. “You should be working together on this.” Noah gives her a look of betrayal and she glares right back. “You once told me you’d do anything for that kid of yours.” She pokes him in the chest. “So do it.” She walks off and Peter watches her go, feeling impressed. If he wasn’t taken, he’d definitely try to charm her into at least one date.
“Chris’ statement to the police is going to turn the spotlight on you,” Noah says, bringing Peter out of his momentary stupor.
“Why?”
“Because apparently Gerard Argent was leading a cult, where he believed that there were monsters living among humans. And the Hale fire happened because of that belief.”
“That sounds ridiculous,” Peter says dryly.
“It’s definitely a hard sell,” Noah agrees. “He also said that Gerard and Victoria were trying to drag Allison into their cult, to hunt with them… And he fought back and that’s why he was beat up. He said that at one point, he was almost unconscious so he didn’t know what was going on, but he started hearing screams. So he ran. And then Laura found him and he knows nothing after that.”
“The cult thing helps explain the equipment, I assume?”
Noah breathes through his teeth. “I don’t know, it sounds absurd.”
“Cults usually do.”
“Cults usually have a religion, a faith of some kind.”
“Exceptions exist.”
“You seem awfully calm about this, doesn’t it bother you?”
“That some people might look at my family and wonder what if?” Peter cocks his head. “Not really. Since we plan on being law-abiding citizens after all.”
“…Starting now, you mean,” Noah’s eyes narrow at him.
“Yes.”
“But it does give you a motive. To go after these hunters.”
Peter smiles. “And so I tore through them all, with my teeth?” He bares said teeth as his smile widens into a grin. “You’ll find no match to the murder weapon, I’m afraid. Not in this form.”
A spike of fear in the air. Peter figures that’s enough.
“If you need to bring me in for questioning at some point, I promise to be accommodating. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my partner’s waiting for me and visiting hours are almost over.”
“Your partner?” Noah’s head tilts back. “And what’s Stiles to you?”
“My other partner,” Peter answers evenly and brushes past him.
When he finally gets to Chris’ room, he closes the door behind him and asks, “A cult, really?”
Chris groans softly, “It was Stiles’ idea and when they came to talk to me, I didn’t have a better one. I refrained from calling you werewolves, though.”
Peter takes in the closed eyes, furrowed brow.
“Headache?”
“Big one.”
“Want me to help?”
“If you can.”
He sits down on the bed and leans in to place a hand against the side of his head, slides his fingers into Chris’ hair and starts drawing the pain away. It’s pulsating, has a beat of its own. Peter wishes he could erase all of it.
“You know, you should get checked out tomorrow morning, bright and early. We’ll come and pick you up, take you home, set you up in your own bed, with clean fresh sheets and a nice, warm body to cuddle next to.”
Chris’ mouth has twitched up into a smirk and he slowly opens his eyes, keeping them half-lidded.
“Allison talked to you.”
“She did, and she’s not wrong. We’d all feel better if you were home.”
“From what she told me, the place is pretty lively right now. And the doctor said these headaches might go on for a bit.”
Peter frowns down at him. “And so what, you think we're incapable of being quiet?”
“I don’t want to be a bother-”
“Then stop being stupid and go home to your daughter.”
Chris huffs out a laugh. “Fine.”
“Well… that was easy.”
“You’ll find that easy is exactly what I am when it comes to you.” The words are a bit slurred now, a side effect of Peter’s magic touch as well as his exhaustion, probably.
“Such sweet, dirty words from a man who’s the cause of a lot of pent up frustration for me right now.”
Chris grins, “I’m sure Stiles can help you out with that.”
“Stiles won’t, actually, not while you’re unable to have some fun yourself.”
Chris’ eyes snap wide open. “What?”
“He doesn’t feel comfortable having me all to himself, apparently.” Peter sighs loudly. “Which is ridiculous if you consider how jealous you both have been of each other.”
“That’s…” Chris blinks up at him, eyes a little unfocused. “Sweet of him.”
He has to stop drawing the pain, finds himself getting a bit woozy. He turns that same hand around to brush his knuckles along Chris’ face, doing his best to avoid the bruises.
Chris' eyes soften as he smiles. “You’re being sweet too. Really affectionate.”
Peter leans down so he can press his nose against Chris’ hair, which is unwashed and starting to get greasy, but still full of Chris’ own unique scent.
“I did almost lose you,” he whispers into his skin. “It made me realize how much I’d miss this.”
Chris’ hands come up to grip his wrist, the back of his neck.
“Haven’t lost me yet.”
Peter takes in one final breath and pulls back to glare at him. “Don’t say yet.”
Chris blinks slowly. “Sorry.”
He sighs and pulls back further, their hands sliding along skin, as if they’re afraid to stop touching each other.
“Did Allison fill you in?” He gets them back to a safer topic, figuring he’s going to get kicked out soon.
“Keeping an eye out for Jackson, Araya’s a major shareholder, your family’s being a little strange and Stiles is all healed.”
“That’s a pretty good summary. How do you feel about the company? Also, are you fired?”
“I don’t really feel anything… It’s…” Chris frowns, staring up at the ceiling as he gathers his thoughts. “I never cared about the company. Only when I thought that Allison cared.”
“But she doesn’t.”
“No… Araya hasn’t fired me but she’s given me a choice.”
“Oh?”
“Be promoted or get laid off with a very generous severance pay.”
“I’m guessing you’re leaning towards the latter.”
“Yeah… It’s just. The house. And Allison wants to go to college.” His blinking is becoming slower.
“That’s what you have me for,” Peter reminds him. “Your extremely wealthy lover.”
Chris snorts tiredly. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be dependent on you.”
“There are other jobs out there. I’d just help out in the meantime.”
“I guess.”
“Nothing has to or even should be decided right now, you’re barely awake.”
“You’re right.”
Chris’ breathing is already deepening.
Peter leans in to kiss his forehead. “I’ll come bright and early to take you home.”
“Okay.”
He gets to stay and watch him sleep for only about five minutes before a nurse comes in to tell him he should leave.
Just one more night.
Lydia’s still in her earlier position at the kitchen counter, immersed in whatever she’s reading on her screen. Allison is making dinner, Peter can smell chicken and grilled vegetables and fresh salad. He can hear Scott upstairs, talking on his phone. And then he’s surprised to sense Stiles and Cora sleeping in the guest bedroom. Together.
Stiles is apparently a very popular sleeping partner. Which is unexpected, considering his tendency to flail, talk nonsense in his sleep and snore.
“Anything on the web?” Laura asks Lydia as they walk over to her.
“Nope, nothing useful.”
“Where’s Derek?” Peter asks when he realizes the Camaro’s gone too.
“He went back to Jackson’s.”
“Alone?” Laura breathes in sharply and is already moving but Peter stops her with a hand on her arm.
“I’ll go. You’ve barely slept at all these last two days. The couch looks comfortable, take a nap.” Laura opens her mouth to argue. “Take a nap,” Peter repeats, flashing his eyes at her.
She pulls back, submitting in reflex before the effect wears off and she glares at him.
“Ugh, fine. But don’t do that.”
“I won’t if you’ll finally start treating me like the Alpha.”
Laura starts to talk but pauses, looks upwards as if remembering something and then very slowly her face scrunches up into a grimace. “Oh damn, I fell back into old habits, didn’t I?”
“Glad you finally recognize it. Now, sleep, and let me take care of the pack for tonight at least.”
“Fine, fine,” she sighs, hands him her keys and walks off.
“Do you know why Derek left alone?” He asks Lydia before he goes.
“He said something about Cora needing sleep.”
Peter sighs, realizing that all of his pack members are eager to look after everyone else and not themselves.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“We’ll leave some food for you,” Allison calls out as he leaves.
Derek is not at Jackson’s. He ends up having to call, like a worried parent, ready to reprimand him for disappearing without saying anything. But his anger is quick to fade once Derek tells him where he is.
As he walks up to the house, he thinks back to that first night. How worried he was to see it again, how empty he felt.
Now, his vendetta finished, his hunt complete, the sight of the Hale house leaves him with a deep, unforgiving ache. The people that wronged him are gone. But that just means he doesn’t have his rage to fall back on, to drown himself in. Now there’s just… anguish. Grief.
Derek’s sitting on the rotting steps, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
“Why did you come here?”
“To talk to her… I don’t know.”
Peter sits down next to him. Waits to see if he wants to say anything else.
“I was afraid to come back.” Derek looks up at the darkening sky. “I thought I was moving on in New York, I really did.”
“But?”
“I was just hiding. From my… From my guilt.”
Peter refrains from repeating that he doesn’t blame him. He gets that that’s not the point of this. “What did you tell her?”
Derek looks back down at his hands, then turns his head and locks eyes with him.
“That I hope she can rest now.”
Peter grits his teeth, flashing back to Talia in her last moments, her fury, her desperation.
“I hope so too.”
They sit there for a while.
Notes:
my friends: wanna play something?
me: no, i can't stop writing about fictional characters being sweet and supportive with each other as they try to overcome tons of trauma that i have forced upon them
my friends: what?
me: i mean, im busy-
Chapter 34: committed
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Stiles gets woken up in the middle of the night by the loud thump of his body meeting the hard surface of the floor
For a moment, he just stares into darkness, before scrambling up.
He stares at Cora’s outstretched legs on the bed.
“You asked me to stay here,” he hisses at her, outraged.
She pulls the blankets in tighter and turns her back to him.
His head falls back with his sigh.
When he sleepily stumbles into the kitchen, he pauses at the sight of Peter and Lydia drinking, what smells like cocoa together.
“Why are you guys awake?” He asks, rubbing at his eyes, then yawning as he scratches at his flank.
“Someone took my spot,” Lydia mutters darkly. “Both of them.”
Stiles goes back to peek into the living room, sees Laura sprawled out on the couch.
“Oh. What about Chris’ bed?”
“Derek took that one,” Peter answers. He looks tired. The line of his back as he's hunched over, the width of his shoulders, it calls to Stiles like a siren.
So he walks up and slumps onto him, resting his chin on Peter’s shoulder, an arm flying over it. Peter grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, making him smile.
Casual touching is just the best, he thinks.
With Scott, he kind of took it for granted, as his best friend just gave him hospitable smiles whenever Stiles got super grabby, patting away at whatever part of Scott he could reach. With Lydia, he started to notice how amazing it actually is, to have someone trust you so much that they lean on you or let you lean on them. Handholding became his favorite thing back when his crush was still faintly alive and Lydia was desperate for comfort. And as his feelings solidified into something more permanent, into this intense camaraderie, sharing their personal space with each other became the norm, both of them always ready to hold on, with no questions asked.
And now with Peter, it’s the same but more intense. Because Peter’s touch can comfort, can soothe, but can also light him up and melt his whole damn brain.
Fingers gently squeeze his, bringing him out of his head.
“What?” He asks, realizing someone asked something.
“Why are you up?” Peter asks him.
“Cora doesn’t like sharing a bed,” Stiles pouts.
Peter lifts his hand to kiss his knuckles.
If he wasn’t already barely standing, he would swoon.
“We’ve been talking,” Lydia says, glancing between them.
“Oh?” Stiles tilts his head so he can see her better, but keeps it next to Peter’s, soaking in all that firm heat. Half of his brain is distracted by how much he wants to climb on top and ride that heat. The other half tries to be a good friend and listen.
“About a way we could maybe get some answers. For both of us.”
He stands up, pulling his arm away and immediately feels cold.
“Answers about what? My family? Your dreams?”
She inclines her head. “Yes and yes.”
He slowly takes a seat on the stool next to Peter’s. Lydia stands up from her slouch across the counter, expression wary.
“So?” Stiles presses, when neither of them speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about Blake,” Lydia starts and Stiles is already tensing up. “How she couldn’t communicate with the Nemeton or understand what it wanted without your help.”
Stiles brushes his knuckles against the palm that got slammed against the stump. “And?”
He can tell that Peter’s staring at him, but he keeps his eyes on Lydia.
“I don’t understand my dreams, but it’s clearly trying to tell me something… I think I need your help.”
“You want to commune with it,” he realizes and squeezes his hands together.
“I know,” Lydia says softly, understanding and sad. “I know you don’t want to go there, don’t want to be anywhere near it. But it can’t hurt to try-”
“I will literally have to bleed, so you know, that often comes with the side-effect of hurting.”
She frowns at him. “Just think about it, please. Maybe you could do what Blake did and find out what it actually wants.”
Stiles draws his hands across his face, pulls at his mouth. He looks towards Peter, who’s studying him attentively.
“I’d come with,” Peter tells him. “I’d be there too.”
That does make the idea bit more bearable so Stiles sighs and says, “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” Lydia says and then comes around to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, it’s my turn.” And she rushes off towards the bedroom.
Stiles watches her go. “If Cora doesn’t kick her out too, I’ll be incredibly offended.”
“What should we do in the meantime?” Peter’s voice is laced with all kinds of suggestions that Stiles does his best to ignore.
“You look tired.”
“I’ll live.”
Stiles looks around the quiet kitchen before realizing that he doesn’t feel comfortable being awake in a house full of sleeping people.
“Should we do a stakeout?”
Peter cocks his head, not immediately following.
“Jackson’s house… keep an eye on it for a bit?”
Peter’s eyes narrow in disbelief. “You want to… You know what, sure,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.”
It seemed like a good idea at the time, driving off alone, sitting a few houses down from Jackson’s, with nothing to do except talk. That was the plan in Stiles’ mind. Talking.
Except they get there and he spends five minutes silently agonizing over the fact that they’re alone, in the dark, in a car, and all he wants to do is lean over, take out Peter’s dick and have some fun. With his mouth. Where he likes to put a lot of things. Including Peter’s dick.
It’s just the setting, the dark interior of the car, it’s thrilling for some reason. Maybe because they’re basically out in public, anyone could see Peter relaxing back in his seat, glimpse Stiles’ head as it bobs up and down or when he comes up for air. But it is night time, so there is very little chance of that happening, so it’s on the safe side of thrilling and that’s somehow worse, it feels like an invitation to go ahead, do it, no one will know.
He shifts in his seat for like the thirteenth time, starts tapping away against the window, leaning his head against it.
Finally, he dares to glance at Peter and he freezes.
Of course Peter’s staring at him with a stupid smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what’s going through his mind right now.
“I’m having an odd sense of Deja vu,” he says, glaring at him.
Peter hums thoughtfully. “Because of this ridiculous sex-ban that you’ve put in place?” He looks up as if realizing something. “Are you doing this as payback for me wanting to wait until your birthday?”
“What, no,” Stiles scoffs. “And it’s not a ban. It’s just…” he struggles to find words to explain a decision he made, that he barely understands himself. He thinks of Chris in that hospital bed, the way he looked when he first woke up. Then the words comes to him, “Fair.”
“Fair.” Peter snorts. “You know, Chris wouldn’t mind at all. Although he did consider you sweet for doing this.”
“You told him?” Stiles gapes at him.
“Of course,” Peter’s head snaps back with a frown. “Who else was I supposed to complain to?”
“You know what, let’s talk about something else.”
“Fine.”
“Like the last couple of days.”
Peter’s expression loses its humor. “If you have questions, fire away.”
“Not really questions, just…” Stiles ponders a bit. “Okay, a few questions. When you turned into a wolf… Did you… Lose control or something?” Did you mean to kill all of them? He thinks in his head.
A pause. Stiles looks over to see Peter staring ahead, face completely neutral and hard to read.
“Yes and no,” he shrugs. “It was all me, my rage, but… I wasn’t thinking.”
Stiles interprets that as Yes, I meant to kill them all but maybe not all at once and not that messy.
But he wants to be sure. “So… Any regrets?”
Peter narrows his eyes at him. “I don’t regret killing them. Just the way I did it.”
“Right,” Stiles nods and really tries to take that into his brain, see how he feels about it.
He decides to turn it around. As like a mental exercise. Puts himself into a different place that night. What if, he had a gun from the start. Or he knew that he was stronger and faster than any of the hunters in the house. And he knew that Chris was there, hurt. That his pack, Peter and his family were there, possibly already dead. That Allison was being forced to do some kind of a stupid test. And that Scott was in danger too.
If it seemed at all feasible, would he have cut through all of them, left bodies in his wake, to get to his friends, to get them to safety?
But no, they were already succeeding when Peter did it. That wasn’t protection. It was revenge.
Or maybe, it was protection, if he considers the fact that the hunters would’ve probably retaliated-
“You’re thinking with your whole face right now.”
He blinks himself out of his thoughts and looks to his left to see Peter with his chin in hand, holding back a smile.
“It’s amusing to watch,” the man adds. “But I feel like you’re overcomplicating things in your head. Let me make it simple. They threatened to hurt my family, then they hurt my family and they wanted to kill us all. For me, their deaths were the only acceptable outcome.”
Stiles tries to use that to untangle his whole thought process. Just like when he once put himself in Cora’s shoes, he now does the same with Peter. And it does seem simple, when the man puts it like that. He imagines if instead of everyone else… if Gerard had Stiles’ dad down there in the basement, and planned to kill him.
The anger that rises up in him catches him off guard for a second, it’s so quick and overbearing.
He would’ve wanted to kill anyone who stood in his way.
Stiles breathes out and locks eyes with him. “I get it.”
Peter’s eyes are a little wider now. “You seem to, yes.” He reaches out a hand and Stiles takes it, lets Peter lace their fingers together. “What an odd pair we make.”
Stiles smirks, but still feels caught off guard, especially as the anger fades because he realizes that it felt familiar. It’s that same feeling that took over the day he sent a guy into the hospital, when he lost control. It’s what he felt when he was watching Gerard run away, when he raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
Chris told him that anger’s dangerous if left unchecked.
Peter’s proof of that.
But…
A dangerous guy, Stiles. Someone who doesn’t hesitate to kill when he deems it necessary. That’s what Chris said the first time they talked about Peter.
His fascination with the Nemeton, how naturally killing comes to him, are these not things to fear? That was Morrell, when she was explaining why she wouldn’t share everything she knows.
I hope you know that I’m not dangerous to you. Peter, when he talked to him honestly about the kind of man he is, was, what he’s done for his pack.
“I like it,” he realizes. It takes a second for him to notice that he spoke out loud. He looks up at Peter, sees the question in his eyes and continues. “I like that you don’t hesitate. That you don’t stop to think… if it’s wrong or not. You see a threat and you take care of it. After… After everything… I need someone who does that.” He squeezes their fingers together, looks down at their hands. “But I’m not sure if it’s right to like it.”
“…Are you breaking up with me?” Peter asks, amusement coloring his voice but there’s also something else and Stiles thinks he catches a glimpse of it when he looks at his face. Apprehension.
“No,” he rushes to say. “Are you kidding me? Hell no. What I’m trying to get at is… that I guess I’ve had an epiphany…”
Peter cocks his head, looks intrigued.
“I realized that… I don’t care if it’s right or wrong to like you, all of you.” He winces a little at how that sounds. “I know what my dad thinks, that I shouldn’t see you anymore. I know Lydia’s on the fence. And I know that Scott’s uncomfortable with all of this, would prefer it if I walked away but… I don’t care,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to stop being with you. We’ve just barely started. We haven’t even had a date yet-” He gasps and perks up, looking around wildly. “Can this be our first date?”
“You…” Peter sighs, staring at him. Then he laughs. “You want our first date to be a stakeout?”
“We’re hanging out and talking,” he shrugs. “What’s the difference if we were in a café or something?”
Peter shakes his head, but says, “Alright, if you want this to be a date, then a date it is.”
“That’s got to stop, though,” Stiles says sternly, pointing at him.
“…I’m confused again.”
“The whole, this can be whatever you want it to be, thing. I want you to tell me what you want. Out of this. From me.”
Peter opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and hesitates, closing it without saying anything.
“I know I’m young and inexperienced,” Stiles tells him. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t commit.”
“I know it doesn’t,” Peter says carefully.
“So…” A thought hits him. “Unless you don’t want me to commit?”
“I told you I want you and Chris equally, did I not?”
“Yeah.”
“And Chris and I are partners. Together.”
“Yeah.”
Peter glares at him a little. “What I want should be obvious then.”
Stiles blinks, knows that Peter’s right and there’s a warmth in his belly as he thinks the word partners in his head. But still… “I want you to say it, though.”
Peter’s grin seems frustrated as he takes a moment to stare out front.
He yelps when the hand around his pulls him over. Peter leans in at the same time, catching Stiles’ chin with his other hand and now they’re within kissing distance. For a second Stiles thinks that’s where they’re headed but no, Peter just stares, thumb rubbing against skin.
Then, with one blink, his eyes are Alpha red and Stiles shivers.
“I want you to be mine,” he says, voice soft and gentle. “Sometimes it scares me just how much I want that. I’ve even thought about biting you.” Stiles’ eyes widen and Peter continues, “I wouldn’t, of course. Not unless you asked. But the urge is there.” He moves closer, until he can rest his head against Stiles’. “To claim.”
“That’s so hot,” his traitorous mouth whispers.
Peter pulls back and the red eyes are gone, as is the intense want that Stiles saw in them. The man looks annoyed.
“It shouldn’t be. It should scare you.”
Stiles laughs in disbelief, cackles really. “Come on, man, the entire conversation we just had proves that I’m kind of fucked up. And you’re kind of fucked up too. So…” He reaches up to grab the back of his head. “We should be fucked up together,” he says right against Peter’s mouth before covering it with his own.
Hot breath hits his face as Peter laughs through his nose before tilting his head to deepen the kiss, tongue immediately seeking entrance as if he can’t resist, as if he wants to taste Stiles, always.
Stiles is so on board for this, all of it, any of it, that he whimpers in protest when Peter pulls away.
“No sex, remember?” Peter says and shifts in his seat.
Stiles slumps against the side of the car, blows air out of his mouth, disappointed as hell. “You can’t handle a quick make-out session?”
Peter side-eyes him.
“I’m not wearing the right pants for that.”
He frowns in confusion, glances down and stares at the very obvious bulge straining against what look to be very tight jeans.
“That’s on you,” he mocks, but his eyes stay glued as his earlier fantasies come back in full force. He really does love putting his mouth around things. He licks his lips.
“I think we should go back,” Peter says dryly, already starting the car.
“What? But Jackson?”
“I can wake up Laura, she’s slept enough by now and I’ll come back with a better stakeout partner.”
“Well, that hurts my feelings,” Stiles huffs.
Peter easily grabs one Stiles’ hands while keeping his eyes on the road and lifts his knuckles to his lips. “It shouldn’t.” He then lowers their hands to his lap and for one ridiculous second, Stiles thinks about wrapping his fingers around that tempting bulge. But he realizes how much of a tease that would be, so he doesn’t.
But he thinks about it the entire drive.
Everything still hurts, even when laying down on a bed.
So of course, when he has to move from said bed, into a wheelchair and then later stand from it and fold himself up to sit in a car, it hurts a hell of a lot more.
Peter’s hovering, quiet but helpful, occasionally draining some pain, wearing his leather jacket to keep his arms hidden. He also looks like he could fall asleep on his feet.
Allison seems better, well-rested, but her worry has her frowning the whole way, face unsmiling.
Chris tries to keep his grunts and winces to a minimum, to hopefully give her less to worry about.
The drive is quick and quiet. Chris keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the music that’s softly playing. Twice, he feels a touch against his neck, the brush of knuckles as a sliver of pain is removed and he smiles.
His house is surprisingly quiet when they finally get there.
“Where is everybody?” He asks, moving up the front steps with extreme care.
“I sent the pack home,” Peter answers him, sliding a warm hand around his. “Lydia and Scott went to do something she called recon, but I have no idea of the specifics-”
“They went to find out what’s happening at the school, and if anyone’s seen the kanima,” Allison fills in, stepping ahead to open the door for him.
“Oh, okay,” he says, already feeling a pulsating pain start to spread from the back of his head. These headaches better fade fast or he’ll end up completely useless even when his rib’s healed. He leans against Peter, squeezing his hand hard.
“I don’t think you can make the stairs right now,” the man notes, easily keeping him up and moving.
“I don’t either.”
“I’ll take you to the guest bedroom, Allison, you should maybe grab some clean sheets for him.”
She runs up to do just that.
“I thought the guest bedroom was Stiles’ right now?” He asks, but doesn’t protest as they walk down the hallway.
“He’s currently bundled up on the couch. Last night, the sleeping arrangements got a bit messy.”
“I also thought I was promised a warm body to cuddle with,” he says as they reach the bedroom door, not adding that since Peter teased him with the option, it’s all he’s been able to think about.
“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” Peter promises, gently dragging him closer so he can nuzzle into his neck, causing Chris’ heart to speed up a bit.
God, Chris laughs at himself, he’s so gone for him. It’s like every touch, every gesture of affection, feels better than the last, which is impossible, because his heart should’ve burst from feeling too full by now.
“I got everything,” Allison pants as she rushes into the room, not even pausing to glance at them. She starts to strip the bed.
“Stand here and breathe,” Peter tells him, leaving him to lean against the wall as he goes to help her out.
Chris watches them working together and it hits him. This is his family now. There’s no one else.
“Victoria needs a funeral,” he realizes.
Allison stops what she’s doing and looks at him.
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“It needs to be done soon.”
“…I thought maybe just get her cremated and then… throw away the ashes,” she says and continues to change the pillow covers, her movements sharper, more agitated.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She stills, gives him a glare. “Yes, dad. I’m not interested in honoring her life in any way. No service, no funeral.” She turns to help Peter with the blankets.
Chris figures that out of the two of them, she should get to make this decision.
He thinks back to Kate’s funeral, how much he hated being there, hated the pretending, the lies.
Allison’s idea might be for the best.
“No funeral,” he says, agreeing. Neither of them reacts but he notices the tension in Allison easing up a bit.
She places clean sleeping clothes and his toothbrush and towel that she grabbed from upstairs on the dresser and then turns to him.
“Want me to make a snack before you take a pill?”
“I’m here, what does he need painkillers for?” Peter smiles confidently.
Chris shrugs at her, “I’ll be fine for now.”
“Okay,” she says but gives Peter a warning look. “Nothing strenuous allowed.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself from being too tempting.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves them alone.
Chris takes a deep breath and then releases it with a groan.
“Come on, let’s get to cuddling.”
He bites back a smile and lets Peter help him with his clothes.
The dream is back but different.
Kate passes him by with a shopping cart and as he takes a peek at what she’s buying, Deucalion’s eyes snap open, red and terrifying. Tom’s hand wrapped around his neck, while Blake whispers into his ear that there’s nothing special about him. Gerard holding a gun to Scott’s head and pulling the trigger.
“No!” He flails awake and flies off the couch, arm hitting the coffee table as he goes down.
“Stiles?” He hears Allison’s voice from the foyer.
He takes a moment to once again remind his brain that he was dreaming, it was a dream, there’s no need for this stupid fight or flight response, his body doesn’t have anything to be scared of right now.
“Fuck,” he breathes shakily, pushing himself off the floor.
“Are you okay?” Allison asks, already rushing towards him to help.
“Yeah, yeah, just… bad dream.”
She stares at him for a long moment, brow furrowed. Stiles examines her as she does so, takes in the hair swept up in a tight bun, the oversized hoodie thrown over a sports top.
“You going out for a run?”
“Yeah,” she tilts her head towards the door. “Want to join? Dad once mentioned something about you wanting to run more.”
“Yeah,” he rubs at his chest, the fear still lingering deep and making everything feel shaky, like he’s close to falling apart. “God, I’ve had so many plans on how to deal with all this shit and then I never followed through. I mean I wanted to learn self-defense at some point.”
“Right, with the staff. I can help you out while dad’s still healing?”
“You know how to use one?”
“I know how to fight against one.”
Stiles squints a bit, failing to see how that would help him but shrugs, “Cool, that’d be great. Let me grab a change of clothes- And after, you need to show me how that beast of a machine works.”
“It’s not that complicated.”
“It has like a hundred buttons!”
“And you really only need two,” she smirks.
“Then why would you…” Stiles makes a face.
“Grab your clothes, but try and be quiet. Dad’s sleeping in there.”
Stiles pauses, blinking at her. “What? Why?”
“He wasn’t feeling good, so we decided to skip the stairs today. Since he’d have to come down whenever he needed something from the kitchen.”
“That makes sense,” he nods and walks off, starting to tiptoe halfway to the door.
When he opens it, as quietly as he can manage, he’s struck dumb by the sight that greets him.
Peter’s already quirking a questioning eyebrow at him from his place on the bed, sitting up against the headboard with one hand holding a book, his other arm around Chris who is resting with his back against Peter’s chest. They look very much like a couple, they also look like they fit, like they make sense. For half a second Stiles feels something jealousy-adjacent, but it quickly fades, his and Peter’s last conversation having erased some lingering doubts in his mind, making him feel like this is where Stiles belongs too, and all he’s left with is this warm glow in his chest. He’s happy that Peter’s there for Chris. He kind of wishes that he could be too.
“I heard you yell and fall,” Peter says softly, eyes roaming over Stiles’ body as if looking for an injury.
“Then you also heard that it was just a dream,” Stiles whispers back and goes to rummage through his bag. “And that I’m going for a run.” He straightens up as a thought hits him. “Wow, conversation with you is kind of redundant since you just eavesdrop and know what’s going on with me at any given moment.”
“I don’t know everything since I don’t follow you around like a puppy.”
“Thank god for that,” Stiles throws back and steps over to the bed, his clothes in hand. “How’s he doing?” He stares at Chris’ slack face, the way his torso moves with his breaths. He looks a little better. A little.
“He’ll need a few weeks to heal. The headaches might stay a while longer, so we’ve got to keep an eye on that.” Peter slides his hand up and brushes his fingers through Chris’ hair.
Stiles notes how Peter said we. He might’ve just meant the entire pack. But he’s choosing to think of it as them, the two of them, keeping an eye on their third. Their relationship is still firmly V-shaped but… Stiles watches them, looks at the space next to them, where he could easily make himself fit. He wants.
Peter’s head cocks to the side. “Allison’s telling you to hurry up.”
“Oh, right,” he blinks himself out of his stupor. “I’ll see you later.”
The run is great, exhausts him enough to feel settled in his own skin again. They make a plan when they’re almost back at the house, to go and get some smoothies at the mall, as a tasty yet healthy treat for themselves. They shower, change clothes, Stiles creepily stares at Peter and Chris’ sleeping figures for a couple of minutes before Allison comes to physically drag him away from there, and they’re off.
They’re heading back to the car, smoothies in hand, when Stiles spots a familiar face. Scratch that. He stops at the curb.
Two familiar faces.
“What is it?” Allison comes back to stand by his shoulder, looking down the street to try and see what got his attention. “Oh. Do you… want to go say hi to your dad?” She asks carefully when she spots the Sheriff standing near the coffee shop with two other figures.
“Have you talked to Scott today?” Stiles asks, eyes still fixed on the three people talking to each other, his dad looking annoyed.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Does he know that his dad is back in town?”
“What?” Allison’s head snaps towards him. “No, he hasn’t said anything, wait, his dad?”
“That’s him,” Stiles points at taller man in a suit that his dad is talking to. The third person is a blonde woman with a severely grim expression and from what Stiles can see at this distance, she seems to be staying out of the conversation.
“Shit,” Allison whispers, eyes wide. “I know nothing about the guy, Scott doesn’t really want to talk about him.”
“Yeah, well, the guy’s a dick, that’s pretty much it.” As if hearing that, Rafael, while rolling his eyes, catches sight of him. The man stares for a moment and then lifts his hand in a wave which causes both Noah and the woman to look their way too. Noah immediately sighs and starts walking over.
“I guess I’m saying hi to my dad then,” Stiles tells her, eyes just as wide as hers now.
“Stiles, I’ve been hoping to get a call from you,” his dad says when they’re closer.
“You have?” Stiles frowns. At Noah’s impatient squint, he says, “Oh, sorry, I… We’ve-” He points his thumb at Allison who gets the hint and takes over.
“He’s been helping me at home and with dad.”
“How is Chris?” Noah asks.
“I would like to know as well,” Rafael interrupts, studying Allison with a raised eyebrow. “Are you Chris Argent's daughter then?”
“Yes, Allison Argent. And you are?” She holds out her hand.
“Special Agent McCall.” They exchange a firm handshake. “Me and my partner Agent Fetters have joined the ongoing murder investigation. And we would like to question your father, whenever he’s feeling better, of course.” He smiles charmingly.
Allison crosses her arms. “He’s already been questioned.”
“No, he was asked for a statement. While he was still in the hospital with a concussion. Our hope is that once he’s healed, he’ll start to make a little more sense.”
Stiles glances at his dad, can tell that Noah isn’t happy about this.
“I can tell him you want to talk to him,” she lifts her shoulders in a high shrug.
“Give him my number,” Rafael pulls out a card and hands it to her.
He’s been so busy anxiously observing the people actually speaking that it takes him a minute to notice. Agent Fetters is staring at him. When he catches her doing it, she looks away but there’s a slight furrow to her brow, as if she’s uncomfortable.
“I will, I guess…” She gives the card a glance-over, then surprises them all by asking, “Have you talked to Scott?”
Rafael looks surprised and sends Stiles an uneasy look, as if asking for an explanation.
Allison sees that and adds, “I’m his girlfriend.”
“Ah,” he brightens. “I knew he had one, I just didn’t know your name, I apologize. No, I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“Right,” she frowns at him.
“Well,” he steps back awkwardly. “We should get ourselves settled in at the motel. Have your father give me a call when he feels up to answering some questions. Good to see you, Stiles.” He motions with his head and Fetters follows, having said zero words the entire time. Stiles watches her go, feeling uneasy.
“Now what’s this I hear about you guys skipping school?”
Stiles turns to his dad’s exhausted face.
“We took a long weekend,” he shrugs at him, not even bothering to come up with an excuse.
“Kid,” Noah starts but Allison cuts in.
“We needed a few days to get our heads straight, Sheriff. And Jackson’s still missing. It’s a lot to deal with.”
Noah’s shoulders sag as he seemingly gives up.
“I know you’re right…”
“We should get back, but…” Stiles holds his smoothie out and Allison accepts it with a bemused look. He spreads his arms. “Hug?”
His dad looks at him like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, but in the end does lift up his own arms as well so that they can do their clap-on-the-back hug, making Stiles’ chest feel lighter than it has all day.
“We’ll go to school on Monday, stop worrying about my education so much.” He pulls back and smiles with forced cheer. “Worry about me actually surviving until graduation.”
“How is that supposed to help?” Noah glares at him.
Stiles lifts both of his hands. “Perspective?” His dad’s thunderous expression is starting to scare him so he quickly grabs his smoothie from Allison and makes his escape.
“See you around!”
“Call me!” Noah yells back.
Allison gets in, starts the car and turns to him. “Check up on Scott and Lydia, I think we should all meet up at the pack house.”
Stiles gives her a sharp salute and pulls out his phone.
“I think Jackson was at my house last night,” Lydia announces as soon as she walks in.
Everyone stares at her and then Stiles weakly points at Scott. “He was just telling us that Danny saw something snake-like and terrifying two nights ago.”
“He’s lurking around town,” Allison says, coming up to pull Lydia in and close the door behind her.
Lydia looks stunned. “My mom just heard a noise,” she whispers.
“Scott says Danny’s his best friend,” Laura says and waits for everyone to confirm that before continuing, “And Lydia’s his girlfriend. I think Peter did knock something loose in that reptilian brain of his. I think he’s looking for his pack.”
“Then… he’d go home, yeah?” Stiles asks. “Did we miss it?”
“Or…” Lydia says, frowning in thought. “Despite everything he does love his mom, a lot. But his dad…”
“Oh yeah,” Stiles realizes. “If he hates his dad enough…”
“The kanima would want to kill him,” Lydia finishes.
“So, maybe that’s it…” Laura says. “Jackson, the werewolf, is looking for his pack and the kanima is seeking vengeance, a purpose… they’re having a battle of wills right now.”
“He’s staying away, because he doesn’t know what to do when he gets there?” Scott asks, face scrunched up as if unsure.
“That might be it,” Laura nods to him. “Derek and Cora are there right now, so if that changes, we’ll know.”
“…Don’t you guys have jobs?” Stiles squints at her.
“We’re taking a long weekend.”
“…Is that what you told my dad?” He asks apprehensively.
“Yes, why?”
Stiles glances at Allison, who gives him a small smirk. “No reason.”
“Something else to consider, when keeping an eye out for Jackson, is that…” Allison pauses, looking at Scott. “FBI is here to investigate the murders, they want to talk to my dad.”
“Why is that something to consider?” Scott asks.
But Lydia is already way ahead, “Oh god, with the animal attacks and the murders, if enough people catch sight of the kanima, there’s going to be a hunt for that thing.”
“And we don’t know what the FBI actually knows,” Stiles points out. He points at Laura. “Have you guys ever heard of like a special FBI branch that deals with the supernatural?”
Her eyebrows fly high. “Men in Black is not a real thing, Stiles.”
“Not for aliens, but for werewolves?” He inclines his head. “Come on, you’re going to tell me that no one in the government or law enforcement know about werewolves? Smashing x to doubt.”
“Smashing what-” Laura holds up her hands. “No one knows! Mom always said that when it comes to our world’s existence, hunters have somewhat worked together with our kind to help cover things up. Not to mention the druids who are also very keen on keeping everything hidden.”
“But that means that there are people that know,” Allison tells her. “There are coroners, and police officers and journalists and criminals, all kinds of people, contacts, that have helped the hunters with clean-up.”
Laura takes a deep breath. “Yeah, there are people who know out there but an entire special force or branch or whatever, dedicated just for this? I don’t think so.”
“Fine, say that the feds have no idea what they’re dealing with here,” Stiles cuts in. “The kanima is still going to catch their attention if word of its sightings starts spreading around town.”
“We’ll add Lydia’s and Danny’s to our list of places to check,” Laura gestures widely. “But I don’t know how much that will help.”
“Maybe we should focus on his home,” Lydia says. “He went to mine and couldn’t find me there. He went to Danny’s and ran. I can’t see him ignoring his home forever.”
“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “He’ll go there at some point.”
“He just might be going there to kill his dad,” Stiles says quietly and everyone stares at him. He shrugs. “We should be prepared for one very hostile kanima, just saying.”
“You guys don’t need to be prepared for anything,” Laura scolds him. “Let the wolves handle it.”
“Wolves?” Stiles quirks a brow at her. “You can’t turn into wolves where people can see you. Which means the venom will probably work, right?”
“We’re not sure how it works,” Laura argues but then tilts her head in agreement. “But yeah, it might.”
“Another thing to consider,” Allison says loudly, looking nervous. “Is that one of the FBI agents is Scott’s dad.”
Complete silence.
Stiles watches as Scott’s face transforms from thoughtful and stressed to absolute shock.
“What?”
“Pack meeting concluded with everyone’s stress levels kicked up a notch but no change in our plans,” Peter tells him after finishing up his phone call with Laura.
“I’m still surprised you didn’t go,” Chris tells him around a mouthful of cereal. Peter offered to make him a proper meal, but he was honestly craving for a light snack and said so. When Peter saw the All-Bran selection in the cupboard, he gave him a disappointed glare, which Chris promptly ignored.
“I’m right where I need to be,” Peter says, looking through the stack of mail that Allison left on the counter.
“You’re going to get bored.”
Peter scoffs at him. “Of you?”
“Of not having anything to do here.”
“I’m taking care of you,” Peter points out, putting a hand on his chest.
“And I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine on my own. I can walk, I can handle opening the fridge-”
“But can you reach up in the shower to wash your hair?” Peter tilts his head, his smile positively dirty.
Chris smiles back despite himself, but also argues, “I can wash it one-handed.”
“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” Peter’s eyes narrow. “Are you tired of my presence already? That does not bode well for our future as a couple.”
Chris sighs and puts down his bowl. “I’m worried that you’re wasting time here when you should be out there looking for Jackson. You’re the only one who we know for sure is immune to the venom.”
“Only when I’m a wolf.”
“So be a wolf and keep to the woods.”
Peter taps a finger against an envelope that Chris easily recognizes as a bill. He still needs to figure out what he’s going to tell the company. And what he’s going to do after.
“I’ll wait until Allison and Stiles are back… Then I’ll go.”
“Good. You should also call Astrid.”
“Why is no one treating me like the Alpha of this pack?” Peter asks the otherwise empty kitchen.
“I’m not telling you, I’m reminding you.”
Peter rolls his eyes, already pulling out his phone. “Sure.”
“The whole Mato incident is not something to ignore-”
“You think I’m going to ignore the fact that something else had complete control over my body?” Peter glares at him and Chris immediately feels bad.
“Now that your pack can turn into wolves, I thought you might…”
“What, feel grateful? I wouldn’t go that far.” But Peter doesn’t meet his eyes as he says that.
“You’re still not willing to consider erasing your bond?”
Peter’s silence is telling.
“I’ll call her and ask her to come as soon as possible,” he says and walks off.
“What a fucking day,” Stiles groans as he stretches.
Allison locks the door and then starts pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “Come on, the day’s not over yet.”
“What?”
“I told you I’d help you out with your training, didn’t I? Come on.”
“But-”
She doesn’t stop to listen, is already heading downstairs.
Stiles looks down at his clean clothes that he was hoping to wear tomorrow as well.
“I’m seriously running out of clothes, man,” he whines as he follows her. “Also,” he says once he’s down there and can see her picking up a bo staff. “I don’t have my staff with me.”
“You left home and didn’t take your druidic weapon that can hurt supernatural creatures with you?” She gives him an unimpressed look.
“That thing never… felt like a proper weapon,” he shrugs. “I did better with a knife. Felt safer with a gun.”
Allison tilts her head, studying him. “Lydia said that staff worked well against Kali. And I saw it work well against Peter and Scott.”
“Yeah but… in that situation it’s only good for trying to get away. And a lot of our enemies aren’t deterred by mountain ash.”
She nods, expression stern, almost like a teacher. Her entire demeanor is making him feel odd, he doesn’t know what to expect.
They hear someone coming down the stairs and Stiles turns around to see Peter, slouched against the handrail.
“Letting you two know that I’m heading out. Going to search for Jackson.”
“Oh. Well,” Stiles stares, eyes roaming over all of him. “Be careful.”
“Always am.”
“Debatable.”
Peter grins. “I’m not the impulsive one.”
Stiles can’t argue with that so he just gives him the finger, causing the man to laugh before disappearing from view.
“Back to what we were talking about,” Allison says and he whips around.
“Right, the… staff?”
“We’re trying to find your weapon.”
“We are?”
“You said you did better with a knife,” Allison recalls and steps closer. And closer. Stiles thinks about backing away, but his curiosity has him standing still until her face is the closest that it’s ever been to his face and he feels slightly flushed, because she is very pretty and he is very easily distracted.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, hoping that she isn’t going to ask for details.
Suddenly her hand grabs his, “Make a fist.”
He does so, while very confused. Even more so when she drags his fist to her stomach and presses it close.
“A knife is a close quarters weapon. For it to be useful, you’ll have to get extremely close to your enemy. And you can’t hesitate.”
Ah. Stiles gets it now.
“Hesitation won’t be a problem with some people,” he tells her, thinking of Blake.
“But not everyone.” She quirks a brow.
“I mean, yeah?”
She finally steps back and he breathes a little easier. Allison’s being kind of intense and he doesn’t quite know how to respond to it.
“You said you feel safer with a gun.”
“I do. I mean, I did. Even though I didn’t do anything with it.”
“But you meant to. Just like I did.” Her eyes lower. “I was going to shoot him. Scott was so sure that I would regret it but… I don’t think I would’ve.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you would’ve either,” he tells her.
Her eyes snap to his and she looks surprised.
“I don’t think I’m the person Scott wants me to be.”
“Uh.” Oh hell, how did they get here and how is Stiles supposed to get them out?
“It’s mostly cause I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I ever did.”
That’s a little easier to deal with, so Stiles grasps onto it and says, “To be fair, most people would say that the time to figure out who you are is literally what your twenties are for. And we’re not even twenty yet.”
Allison’s dimples reappear, but her smile seems sad.
“I guess. But let’s get back to you-”
“We can talk if you want,” Stiles offers while at the same time begging her to turn him down because he doesn’t know how he’s going to look Scott in the eye if they discuss this further.
“It’s okay,” she says, looking like she understands his panic. “Back to you and guns. I’m sure you’ll agree with me that a gun makes killing a little too easy.”
Stiles tilts his head back, thinking it over. “I guess if you don’t have time to think about it, if you’re just reacting.”
“So, a knife is too close for comfort, a gun is too dangerous. How about a crossbow?”
Stiles makes a face as she crosses over to her little archery-related collection. “I’m not that good with a bow.”
“With a bow, but a crossbow’s easier to use.”
When she hands one over to him, his arms sag a little under the weight.
“Gun was lighter,” he complains. He gets a better grip on the thing, holds it up, pretending to aim. “I don’t know, this doesn’t feel right either.”
“Nothing’s going to feel right without having trained with it.”
“I guess…” He doesn’t mention the fact that the first time he held a gun, it felt comfortable in his hands. Like it fit.
“And if nothing else, it’s just one more thing in your repertoire, although…” She makes a thoughtful noise.
“What?”
“If you don’t plan on using the staff much, maybe you should return it?”
Stiles remembers Deaton calling the staff valuable and knows that Allison’s right.
“I guess.”
“But for now, I’ll show you how to load and aim this thing.”
Stiles blows air out of his mouth, glaring down at the contraption in his arms. If nothing else, he’ll have one more option for defense, should things ever get life-or-death serious again.
Which, knowing this town’s track record, they definitely will.
He wakes up in the dark, the night stillness loud in his ears. It takes him a few blinks to figure out that he was woken up by a noise, as the sound of someone closing a cupboard reaches him.
Stiles figures it’s just one of the many people who are staying at or frequently visiting this house, but there’s still a spark of fear within him and he pushes himself off the couch, grabs his hoodie off the armchair to cover the chill along his arms, before walking through the foyer, past the stairs and into the kitchen.
He stumbles to a stop, eyes squinting at the lights, adjusting to the brightness and then they widen when he sees Chris, in a casual slouch against the counter behind him, holding a bowl of cereal.
Not wearing a shirt.
The sight of Chris’ body makes him feel raw. He’s leaner than Peter. And hairier. But his muscles are sharp and pronounced with some soft edges here and there. Stiles’ skin is tingling as his eyes roam over the stretch of his limbs, the obvious strength in his arms, the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his sweats.
“Did I wake you?”
And his voice. Low and rough from sleep, the sound of it reverberating in his ears and Stiles’ sleepy brain is just going please, more, keep talking.
“Yeah, but it’s fine,” he manages to say, dragging his eyes up to see Chris paused in his eating, gaze steady on Stiles’ face. He flushes as he realizes he spent a minute ogling Chris while the man just watched. “Why are you up?” He steps a bit closer, thrusts his hands in his hoodie’s pockets, suddenly feeling warm all over but needing the comfort of being covered.
“Doctor told me I shouldn’t stay still for too long. Need to walk around, breathe, cough.” He continues eating.
“Do you want something more filling?” Stiles gestures with his head at the bowl the man’s holding.
“No,” Chris says and drinks the last of the milk before placing the bowl in the sink. “I don’t feel like eating much, this is the only thing I can stomach right now.”
“Okay,” he says and stands there awkwardly.
Chris scratches at his rough stubble, the sound awfully loud to Stiles, who zeroes in on the hand that’s doing it, the shape of his knuckles.
“Need to shave soon,” Chris mutters to himself.
Stiles shouldn’t give his input because it wasn’t asked, but his mouth moves before he can reconsider, “It suits you.”
Chris stills, before taking a step around the counter that separates them. Stiles is now close enough to see clearly where the bruises start and end, their shapes and colorings. Chris still looks very hurt and there’s a twinge in Stiles’ chest as he wishes he could share his faster healing with the man.
“You think so?” Chris asks and just stands there, arms at his sides, waiting for Stiles to answer.
This is the oddest exchange he’s ever had with him.
“Yeah, you’d look good with a beard,” Stiles stammers.
“Peter said he tries to keep himself cleanshaven because your skin’s sensitive.”
Chris’ tone is almost unfairly even, giving away nothing as Stiles squints at him.
“I mean, I can handle it just fine, but he’s not wrong…” He pauses and swallows. “That’s not something you have to worry about, though…”
Chris blinks a bit quicker and then finally, something cracks through his smooth expression. A rueful grin that makes Stiles inadvertently hold his breath, chest aching as he waits.
“You’re right.” Chris steps past Stiles’ frozen body. “Try to get some more sleep.” And he’s gone.
Stiles stands in the kitchen for a while, both disappointed and relieved, and just… wanting.
His decision to stay at Allison’s was completely innocent at the time, just hoping to help out and figuring that it’s a big house, there’s enough space. But suddenly, the space seems awfully small, like there’s barely any room to breathe, not with Chris so close, looking like that, sounding like that, what the fuck, what the fuck-
He definitely didn’t think this through.
Notes:
this fic is so self-indulgent, and im having fun
Chapter 35: tense
Chapter Text
Sunday passes by in a whirl of homework and training, Allison taking her role as his teacher a lot more serious than anyone else ever has, including his actual teachers. She also shows him how to work the washing machine, the dryer and the bath upstairs next to Chris’ room that has jets in it. Stiles has to use up all of his willpower, all of it, not to jerk off in there, because as he’s getting a nice soak and enjoying the light massage on his aching muscles (aching because Allison has taken it upon herself to also teach him hand-to-hand, which Stiles did not ask for and is absolutely terrible at), he can’t help but think about Chris in this bath, and if he has ever jerked off in this bath-
Chris himself hasn’t spoken much to him all day, walks around a lot (no longer shirtless) and says very little.
Peter’s been busy with the whole Jackson patrol, and that’s good, it is, except Stiles feels extremely horny all the time now. It’s like, having finally had sex, he knows exactly what he’s missing, his imagination using memory instead of fantasy to work him up and it leaves his spine arching, skin tingling and mind very distracted, which makes concentrating on homework even harder than it usually is.
Scott answers their texts around mid-afternoon, saying that he talked to his mom and they’re both upset about his dad coming back without notice, but neither of them has seen or talked to him yet.
Cora and Derek are cruising around town, keeping a lookout and according to her texts, he is also forcing her to do her homework and it’s super boring.
Lydia keeps sending Stiles emails with illegally downloaded textbooks, telling him that it’s time to step it up and get ready for college. He texts back that it’s not even Christmas yet and he still doesn’t know what major to pick. She writes him half an essay on how disappointed she is. Stiles isn’t even annoyed with her because he knows that all of this is coming from being too stressed out about Jackson and needing a distraction, an outlet.
He’s just happy that they’re in different houses right now so he can put his phone away and ignore the alerts.
The day ends with no news, no sightings and everyone dreading the start of another week.
The first thing that Stiles notices as he pulls into the high school parking lot, is his dad’s cruiser.
“Look, the agents are here too,” Allison points them out near the entrance, talking to… their old principal?
“I guess that guy got his job back?” Stiles squint towards them as he parks.
Immediately, there’s a sharp rap against his window. And of course it’s his dad.
“Hey,” he drawls, getting out of the Jeep. “What you doing here?”
Noah’s already narrowing his eyes at him. “Making sure you keep your promise.”
Stiles’ head snaps back and he laughs awkwardly, “I wouldn’t lie to you.” He thinks for a second and his smile fades. “Well, not intentionally.”
Noah pinches the bridge of his nose. “I also wanted to tell you to not mention to anyone that you were the last person to see Jackson before he disappeared.”
“What? What happened to me making a statement?”
“His dad’s on a warpath and he’s now trying to get McCall to join him. I don’t think they’ll see your statement as the helpful information we thought it would be.”
Allison comes around the car to join them. “You think they’d actually think Stiles had any part in that?”
“You have to consider everything,” Noah sighs and glances over his shoulder to see the agents still further away and distracted, before stepping closer and whispering, “There’s a lot we’ve kept quiet about, more recently the fact that Clark arrested you and then let you go as a favor to me. Then there’s also your involvement with Peter Hale, a suspicious individual in his own right. As well as you currently living in Chris Argent’s house, who is apparently Peter’s partner, and whose family is currently being investigated for a bunch of charges, murder just being the tip of the iceberg.”
Stiles’ brain halts for a second at all of the facts laid out like that.
“Holy shit.”
“Exactly,” Noah agrees. “We don’t want them to focus on you.”
“Definitely not,” Stiles squeezes out, nervous now.
“We won’t say anything,” Allison says. “The last any of us saw Jackson was at school, or lacrosse for you, right?” She looks at him.
“Yeah, for lacrosse…” Stiles hesitates. “But he did come over to our house, dad. Has anyone come out and said they saw him in our neighborhood?”
“No. Now, half the people of this town are not that focused on his disappearance anymore. A lot of people are thinking about leaving.”
“Leaving? As in, Beacon Hills?”
“Yeah,” Noah quirks a tired eyebrow at him. “We’ve got wild animal attacks, one of them happening at the school, kids going missing, one of them turning up brutally murdered and now fourteen people dead in the woods, their deaths a confusing mystery. People are scared, Stiles.”
“Right, well, when you list it all like that, I guess it’s bad.”
“And I can’t do anything to help them feel safer here,” Noah adds quietly, causing Stiles to go still. He wants to say something, to comfort his dad somehow, but there’s nothing, his mind’s a blank. His dad catches sight of McCall waving at him and he nods, raising his own hand in reply. “Got to get back to work.”
“You have to hang out with those two chuckleheads?”
“They’re retracing my steps and then… going further. They’re also looking into Blake, have reached the same dead end that I did, but that’s made them suspicious. So, at the very least, one good thing has come out of this. Blake’s caught their eye and they have a lot more resources at their disposal than I do.”
“But she’s in Canada, busy terrorizing from afar,” Stiles points out.
“And intends to come back, no?” Noah asks.
“Ah, yeah.”
“They’ll probably be keeping an eye out for her now. Her sudden arrival, her quick disappearance, the false identity. That’s a lot of red flags.”
“I guess that’s good, yeah,” Stiles says, folding his arms against himself. He feels a slight pressure against his side and glances over to see Allison, leaning in and looking concerned.
At that point, Lydia arrives with Scott.
Noah gives them all a curious look. “Mixing it up?”
Stiles looks at everyone and then his dad, “What do you mean?”
He rolls his eyes, “Never mind. I’ll see you later, kid. Or…” he pauses, looking pained. “Call me.”
“I will,” he says, wincing when he realizes that he still hasn’t, not once. The guilt settles into his stomach, ready to stay there for a good long while.
There’s an assembly early on in the day, where the returning principal asks all students to co-operate and be understanding as the school scrambles to find new educators. For at least until winter break, a lot of classes will follow the lesson plans left in place by the teachers who have left (or in Victoria’s case, died), and since there aren’t enough faculty left in the building to supervise every single class, the seniors specifically will have more free time at school to focus on self-improvement and college preparations.
Stiles and Lydia are bemused when on their first free period of the day they walk into the classroom to find all the tables covered in college pamphlets, brochures and the teacher’s desk has stacks of printed out admission details for several of the nearest colleges and universities.
Lydia looks at one of them and scoffs. “What a waste of fucking paper, we can find all this online.”
“I’m guessing if there’s no supervision, there’s no attendance check?” Stiles wonders, glancing around at the half-empty classroom. Most of the seniors have probably just bailed.
“This is depressing, let’s go to the library,” Lydia orders and walks back out.
The library is where Danny finds them about twenty minutes later, looking nervous and—Stiles squints in surprise—kind of pissed off.
“Can I talk to you two?”
Lydia tilts her head back, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “About what?”
“What do you think?” Danny snaps back at her.
Stiles is confused by this exchange, until he realizes that while he and Lydia know exactly what’s going on with Jackson, Danny doesn’t. He guesses there have been some tense conversations between the two.
“Can I sit?” He asks, pointing at the chair opposite Stiles.
“Uh, sure, man.” Stiles straightens up from his slouch, pulling his legs in to make room for him.
“He’s been missing for a while now and I keep waiting for him to call, to text, for any sign of life and I haven’t gotten it,” Danny says and that’s the first time that Stiles notices the dark circles under his eyes, how exhausted the guy looks. “Now this whole… Argent thing in the woods… Maybe he didn’t leave, maybe he was taken, but I just, I have to ask.” He stares right at Stiles. “What did you two talk about?”
“What? When?”
“After lacrosse, when we all left you out on the field. What did you say to him?”
Stiles glances at Lydia in a panic and sees her slowly leaning in, an understanding on her face that Stiles doesn’t share.
“Danny, that’s not what this is about.”
“Oh?” He glares at her, a look that Stiles has honestly never seen Danny give anyone.
Lydia shakes her head. “No, why would that make him run away?”
“Maybe because of how he reacted.” He tilts his head at Stiles.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It would if Stiles threatened to tell everyone, including Jackson’s dad-”
“Tell what?” Stiles demands them, completely lost.
“Stiles wouldn’t do that,” Lydia frowns as they both ignore him. “You’re grasping at straws-”
“Yes, I am, of course I am! Because I don’t want to think about my best friend out there,” he gestures widely, “in the woods, dead!” Danny breathes heavily for a moment, looks around to see almost everyone else in the library staring at him. He stands. “If it’s not that, then… I can’t imagine him just leaving and not telling me.” He walks away, looking dejected.
“Shit, I feel bad for him,” Stiles sighs, then turns to Lydia. “Want to tell me what that was about?”
“Not really.”
“…Lydia.”
She groans, glances around, says, “Not here.”
And drags him to his car.
Where she calmly lays it all out, starting in middle school, going over when she and Jackson first started dating and ending her tale with one drunken conversation between her, Jackson and Danny, a night full of revelations and confessions and where Danny and Lydia got a confirmation on something they’d been suspecting for a while.
“You can’t be serious,” is the first thing that Stiles gets out after a few minutes of silently listening and losing his mind. “You can’t- He… No,” He covers his face with his hands. “He can’t be that basic, no one can.”
“Basic?” Lydia quirks a brow at him.
“Are you not telling me that Jackson’s a high school bully, confused by his own sexuality and acting out because of his homophobic bully of a dad- How is that not basic?”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Way to take all of the nuance out of it.”
“This-” He starts shaking his head and keeps going. “No, no that can’t be, Jackson’s- No-”
“He’s into you. And he hates you for it.”
Lydia’s summary just makes him want to tear his hair out, especially with the nonchalant tone she presents it, as if this doesn’t change a thing, as if it doesn’t bend Stiles’ entire world view, his understanding of a guy he’s known since he was little.
“He was also mean to Scott!” Stiles points out desperately.
Lydia looks at him like he’s an idiot and oh no, he thinks he gets why.
“Please don’t say it-”
“He was jealous of Scott. Especially when you started defending him.”
“How are you so calm about this? Your boyfriend is into me!”
“Only physically,” she shrugs. “He has no interest in dating you.”
“Well, now I feel objectified!”
“Welcome to my everyday life.”
“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, grips his wheel to try and ground himself in reality, any kind of reality, because this ain’t it.
“It’s not a big deal, Stiles,” she tells him, now starting to sound annoyed. “That’s the whole argument that Danny and I have presented him every time he freaks out and thinks someone’s found out. You’re also not the only guy who he’s thought about in that way. There was this whole thing with Danny’s ex,” she widens her eyes and shakes her head, “now that was drama.”
“Wait, so… was he into me before he was into you?” He asks, thoughtlessly, regretting it immediately.
“Yes,” she confirms and fortunately doesn’t seem mad. “I was definitely meant to be the evidence to his heterosexual masculinity, his manliness, as it were.”
“And you… were okay with that?”
“I mean, I picked him because of his social standing.”
“…In middle school?”
“I’ve always had goals, Stiles.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright.”
“But then we realized that we fit. That we have some things in common. The sex was also great.”
He grimaces. “But why would Danny bring it up now?” He thinks back to what Danny said. “Oh… he thinks I found out and threatened to out him to his dad? Holy shit, does Danny think that badly of me?”
“Don’t take it personally. He’s just desperate.”
Stiles calms down a bit as the actual reality of their lives crashes down on him. “Right. Yeah, I get that.” He sighs, staring at the school. Then starts the car.
“What are you doing?” Lydia asks, alarmed.
“Is there any point to going back there today?” Stiles points at the building they just casually walked out of during class.
“Oh, I guess not,” she says, lips pursed tight.
“We’ll come back tomorrow, see if there’s any actual teaching going on.”
She pulls out her phone. “I’ll tell the others that we’re…” She glances at him, “What are we doing?”
“I don’t know… Since Laura and Derek are back at work, maybe we should hang out at Jackson’s. Just in case.”
“You think he’s going to show up in daylight?”
“He’s a lizard, Lydia. We have no idea if he cares about being seen.”
She doesn’t argue, so he turns the car around, heading towards their new destination.
Jackson’s house is where the agents find them.
Lydia’s listening to a podcast on her phone while keeping an eye out and Stiles is reading one of the textbooks she sent him, with his side of the window down so he can hear if anyone happens to scream Big fucking lizard, help, when there’s a rap of knuckles against the hood of his car, making Stiles jump and almost throw the book out the window. His jump startles Lydia who quickly pulls out her earbuds.
“What, you hear anything?”
“Could we have a word, Stiles?” Comes from outside and they share an uneasy glance.
“Sure, Raf,” Stiles calls out, using the nickname he once heard Melissa refer to him as. It pays off when he gets out of the car and sees the sour look on the man’s face. Agent Fetters looks uninterested.
“What are you two doing out here?” He asks, crossing his arms.
“Keeping an eye out for my boyfriend,” Lydia answers promptly, crossing her own.
“You’re upsetting his mother,” McCall tells them.
Lydia sags a little. “Mrs. Whittemore? But-”
“She told us just yesterday that she’s been seeing cars parking out on the street, near the house. She’s scared. And now I find you here.”
“Okay, and what’s the amazing conclusion you’ve drawn?” Stiles squints at him. He gives a quick glance at Fetters and catches a small smirk that is quickly hidden away with a frown.
He doesn’t bother to reply to that, tells them, “Just get out of here and stop bothering a grieving mother.”
“Grieving?” Lydia glares at him.
“The likelihood of Jackson showing up now? Slim to none. Leave the Whittemores alone.” With that, McCall turns to walk away.
Fetters goes to follow but Stiles asks her, “Do you ever talk? Or are you mute or deaf or something?” He gesticulates widely, mimes talking and then points at his ears.
Her icy grey eyes blink at him slowly before she says, in a surprisingly husky voice, “That’s a pretty insensitive way to ask someone.”
Stiles gestures at her. “Well, got my answer.”
With no change in her expression, she turns and follows her partner.
“She’s odd,” Lydia notes when they get back in the car.
“Agreed.” Stiles taps at the wheel for a bit. “Back to Allison’s?”
“Sure, why not?” Lydia says but Stiles can tell she’s upset.
“I guess we didn’t consider his mom at all, huh?”
“I’ve talked to her. She’s… still hopeful.”
“But the cars are freaking her out.”
“Yeah…”
“We’ll just tell the others to be less obvious about it.”
As he drives, Stiles thinks about the fact that while he hasn’t been missing Jackson at all, there are definitely those that do.
Then he remembers what he just learned about his own relationship with the guy and grimaces the entire way to Allison’s.
Tuesday’s pretty much the same, except that everyone decides to wait it out at the school and Stiles joins Scott at lacrosse practice, where Finstock just tells them to do whatever, because half the team is gone, one of their captains is missing, “We’re not gonna win any games, so what’s the point?”
“This is depressing,” Stiles repeats Lydia’s words as he and Scott run around the field.
“It really is,” Scott agrees. “The whole town’s like this, though. I had an evening shift at the Clinic last night and everyone’s just on edge.”
“Even the animals?”
“No, they were pretty chill.”
Stiles slaps the back of his hand against Scott’s chest. “Wait, even the cats?”
“Oh, no, they still hate me.” Scott looks very bummed out about it, so Stiles pats him on the shoulder. “Talked to my dad.”
Stiles stops running and tugs Scott back. “Yeah?”
Scott looks uncomfortable, scratching at his arm.
“He came by last night. Told me more about why he left…”
When nothing else is said, Stiles decides to not push and instead grabs him by the shoulders. “You don’t owe him anything, you know that, right?”
Scott’s mouth quirks up into a tiny grin. “That’s what mom said. I know.”
“Listen to her, she’s a smart lady,” Stiles points at him and they get back to jogging.
Chris moves back into his room, starts going out on walks, saying he needs some fresh air. Allison wants to hover real bad, but Stiles manages to distract her with how utterly useless he is in hand-to-hand.
He talks to his dad on the phone, gives him updates about school and how it’s like living with the Argents. Dad seems worried about the fact that Stiles and Allison are training with dangerous weapons without any kind of supervision, a fact that Stiles accidentally spilled mid-ramble, and promises to have a word with Chris about that.
Peter’s mostly gone the whole day. He tells Stiles in a text that he actually spent the night out in the woods, sleeping as a wolf. That it was one of the strangest yet calmest experiences of his life. Stiles texts back that one day, when the town isn’t collapsing in on itself, they’re going to go camping and Stiles is going to cuddle the wolf under the stars.
He receives a simple heart in response to that.
Tuesday night is when Stiles gets to move back into the guest bedroom and because his mind is full of Peter, when he closes his eyes, his brain takes him back to that first night, that first stretch and the shaking need that followed, making him beg for it harder and faster, words he’d never imagined himself saying while in bed with someone.
So he jerks off, as quiet as possible, feeling mortified when he finishes, scared that Chris or Allison heard him.
All in all, a slow start to the week.
And then Wednesday comes.
“Hey, my dad here?” He asks as he steps up to the front desk.
Laura looks up at him in surprise.
“School?”
“Two free periods.” He holds up two fingers to emphasize his point.
She sighs, waves at his dad’s office.
“He’s in there. But he’s annoyed and frustrated. We all are.” She looks back at the files in front of her.
“The feds have you going over everything?”
“Yep, and then some.”
“Can I-”
“Go on,” she waves again.
“Alrighty,” he salutes jauntily and walks to his dad’s office, opening the door and immediately walking in. “Hey, dad!” He watches as the Sheriff jumps up from his chair.
“Jesus, Stiles, knock, please!” He takes a few deep breaths and sits back down.
“When have I ever knocked?” Stiles frowns at him like that’s the silliest thing he’s ever heard and then puts his generous gift right on top of the files on Noah’s desk. “I brought you lunch.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” He squints up at him.
“Two free periods. In a row.” Stiles once again holds up his fingers to make sure his dad gets it.
Noah looks worried. “Is that going to affect you getting into college? Should we get you transferred or something? I heard some of the other parents are doing that-”
“No, dad, as long as I pass my tests, I’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure. “And trust me, I’m going to pass whatever tests I need to, Lydia’s making sure of that.”
Noah’s shoulders relax a little.
“Okay, if you’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Let’s just pray that if we get new teachers, none of them are druids.”
“Good god,” Noah grimaces. “You think it’s likely we’ll get more of those?”
“With the way my life is going, I’d say yeah.”
Noah finally looks into the bag.
“Veggie burger?”
“Yup,” Stiles says proudly as he sits down opposite his dad. He’s surprised to see a smile on his face. “You’re not going to whine?”
“Honestly, I got tired of bacon.”
“I’ve been gone for less than a week, how much bacon did you eat!?”
“…Enough to get tired of it.” Noah pulls out his burger with the look of someone who is meeting an old friend.
“You do realize nothing is stopping you from buying these things yourself, right?” Stiles frowns and reaches into the bag to grab his fries.
“It’s not the same,” Noah smiles. Then stops smiling. While staring at his burger.
Now it’s awkward.
“The distance has helped me think… And I know that you kids are busy playing house over there, with your… weapons and combat training,” Noah mutters the last part to himself. “But if you ever want to come back, you can.”
“With no… stipulations?” Stiles leans his chair back on two legs, see-sawing nervously.
“No stipulations,” Noah says. “You’re… with him. I get it.” He lowers his burger as he rests his hands on the desk. “I think.”
Stiles chews on his lower lip as he stares at him, taking in the discomfort, the obvious hesitation. “Not just yet. But I will. When things make more sense.”
Noah nods and finally starts eating.
Peter stops by and offers to make something hearty. Stiles immediately says yes because Peter’s cooking is delicious and Allison says yes because she’s tired of her dad rejecting her salads.
“He needs food and he keeps saying no, use your wiles on him again, please.”
After that statement she leaves the two of them alone in the kitchen and Peter immediately starts preparing—Stiles looks at the various stuff laid out on the counter—something that has chicken and sweet potatoes in it.
“Your wiles?” Stiles asks, because excuse me?
“They’ve proven to be very effective,” Peter answers while dropping butter on the pan. “It’s how I got him home early.”
Stiles puts his hands down on the counter and watches him, trying to imagine what Peter using his wiles would look like.
“No, but, what does that actually mean?”
Peter turns around and slides his hand over Stiles’, leans in close enough that Stiles can smell his breath, coffee and mint, which for a second makes him wonder if Peter’s also not eating enough, before his brain gets distracted by Peter’s blue eyes.
“Be a dear and get me the apples? I left them on the table.”
Stiles grabs the bag and when he slides it over the counter, he frowns at Peter’s satisfied smile.
“That’s not… I would’ve done that without the hand-touching,” he grumbles at him.
“I know you would’ve. Because it was me asking,” Peter winks at him before turning back to the stove.
“It’s apples, I grabbed apples. I would’ve done it for anyone.” He pauses. “For most people.”
“Wash and chop up the apples, would you?” Peter throws over his shoulder.
Stiles closes his eyes in defeat. “Fine.”
A little while later, Peter’s stirring in bacon as the final ingredient, while Stiles watches from his spot on the counter next to the stove. After he jumped onto it, Peter made a snide remark about there being plenty of chairs, which Stiles ignored because he was too busy thinking back to their moment in Deaton’s kitchen. And then their moment in Peter’s kitchen on his eighteenth.
“I think kitchen counters will forever be a horny trigger for me,” he reveals.
Peter pauses in his stirring to stare at him. “Sadly, I can’t help you with that. Per your own rules.”
“I didn’t make any rules,” Stiles protests.
“The sex-ban.”
“It’s not a ban-”
“Whatever it is, it’s not necessary,” Chris says from the doorway, making Stiles jump and almost hit his head against a cupboard. Peter’s non-reaction makes it clear he was well aware that the other man was joining them.
Stiles gives him the side-eye.
“I’m just trying to be fair,” he says.
He doesn’t get a reply because Chris walks in closer (again, completely covered with a button-down, and Stiles is beginning to question if he even actually saw him shirtless or if it was a very vivid dream) to peer at what Peter’s stirring.
“Smells good.”
“Mm, which means that you’ll actually eat it?” Peter turns to grab Chris by a hip, holding him in place while he presses his face into his neck.
Stiles stares. He stares harder when after a quick glance at Stiles, Chris reaches up to palm the back of Peter’s head, angling his chin away so Peter has easy access to all the neck he could possibly want.
“I will.”
Peter moves up slowly, obviously breathing Chris in, before he reaches his face and gives him a firm kiss on the mouth.
“Good.”
Stiles is completely frozen, jaw dropped, eyes wide. Because fuck, it’s hot to be the target of Peter’s attention when he gets like this, all werewolf-y and instinctual. But to see it from the side, and to see Chris responding to it… the part of his brain that deals with analyzing visual input is in full error-mode. Blue screen of death.
Peter’s gone back to stirring but now he suddenly smashes his spatula against the pan, slumping over the stove, looking annoyed.
“I need to stay away from this house,” he groans.
“What?” Stiles snaps out of it, wets his dry lips. “Why?”
“Because I’m surrounded by your scents and you, you,” he stabs the spatula towards Stiles who jumps off the counter and holds his hands up. “You smell like liquid desire and pure want.”
“I don’t mean to. I’m eighteen!”
Peter groans again, this time wordlessly and turns the stove off, dragging the pan aside. He swiftly moves to grab Stiles by his waist, stepping in behind him.
“No pressure, no expectations,” Peter whispers into his ear, fingers curling around Stiles’ shirt, tucking in underneath to brush against bare skin. Stiles’ hand goes up on its own accord, to grab a fistful of hair, body going taut with a rush of need. “But if being fair to Chris is the only reason you’re holding yourself back, then here he is. Look at him.”
Stiles’ eyes flick up and his lips part in surprise. Chris’ face is intense. Pupils dilated, mouth tight at the corners, jaw clenched.
“Tell us, Chris, tell us what’s fair,” Peter says and one of his hands slides all the way up to Stiles’ chest, dragging the shirt with it.
Peter nips at Stiles’ jaw, then goes lower to press open-mouthed kisses along his neck, sucking at the skin there.
“You shouldn’t hold back on my account,” Chris says, voice dark. “But Peter, this looks like pressure.”
Peter stills, breathing heavily against Stiles’ pulse.
“No,” Stiles mutters, using the hand he has twisted into Peter’s hair to keep the man in place while he turns just enough to be able to kiss him. “It’s fine, I know you would stop if I told you to,” he whispers into Peter’s mouth.
The hands on him go rough for one second, fingers digging into his skin, before Peter pulls away with a sharp gasp.
“Stiles, take a step back,” Chris says and Stiles gives him a genuine what the hell are you talking about look because he’s not going anywhere.
Instead, he wraps his arms around Peter’s chest from behind, reversing their earlier positions.
“It’s okay, I like you like this, remember?”
Peter leans back against him. “I warned you, about my desire to claim. It overwhelms me sometimes. I’m not proud of it.”
That sounds like a bigger issue than just Stiles being too much of a tease, but he brushes that aside for now and rests his head against Peter’s.
“And I still stand by my verdict. That’s hot.”
Peter chuckles.
Chris has crossed his arms and still looks wary, but says, “I meant it. Not on my account.”
“But-”
“It’s fine, Stiles. Wouldn’t you feel the same in my position?”
Peter steps away and Stiles lets him walk out of his arms.
“I guess. I was just trying to be fair,” he repeats.
“I appreciate it,” Chris tells him. “But there’s no need. This is not a competition and it doesn’t have to be about fairness. Peter doesn’t compare us-”
“Oh, I do,” Peter says, pulling out a plate.
“What?” Stiles asks.
“Of course I compare,” Peter scoffs while he scoops up a plateful of the dish he made. “You’re very different people, and intriguingly different lovers. I compare and,” he pauses while turning around to glance at each of them on either side of him. “I wonder.”
Stiles flushes once he realizes what Peter wonders about, the man’s gaze heavy-lidded and packed with meaning.
“Is that for me?” Chris asks, thrusting a hand out.
Peter grabs a fork and adds it to the plate before handing it over.
“I’ll eat it upstairs, you two can do whatever you want,” he says briskly and walks off with his meal.
They both watch him go and then Peter sighs, head falling back.
“I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Knowing that Chris is in too much pain to join in on the fun is a pretty effective mood-killer.”
Stiles gestures with his hands. “Exactly!”
Peter steps over to pull him into a loose hug. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”
“It was a very hot scene,” Stiles says, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck. “But maybe a little too pushy. We aren’t supposed to push him, you know?”
“He wants to. He just doesn’t think he’s good enough.”
Stiles pulls his head back a bit. “What? He doesn’t think he’s good enough?”
“Appropriate reaction,” Peter smirks at him. “And yes. There’s a lot you don’t actually know about him. It’s personal so I won’t get into it, but just know that his father fucked him up good.”
“So. You’re saying he’s fucked up?” Stiles’ mouth twitches.
Peter rolls his eyes. “We can be fucked up together, yes, I remember. But I hope you realize that when it comes to me and Chris, we’re on a whole other level.”
He hums in thought. “I mean. I’m young. I have time to catch up.”
Peter laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.
As Stiles pulls him into a kiss, soft and less heated this time, his brain processes the fact that if Peter’s telling the truth then the three of them being together-together is an actual, real possibility and not just a fantasy he’s cooked up in his head thanks to Lydia’s insinuations and Peter’s desires.
Several images fly through his head.
Peter breathes in sharply and leans away.
“That was a severe spike in arousal, what caused it?”
Stiles considers saying something sappy like you, which technically wouldn’t be a lie so shouldn’t register as such. But his impulsiveness takes over and makes him answer honestly.
“I thought of what it’d be like to be on my knees for both of you, letting you take turns.”
Peter’s face goes slack, an expression that Stiles hasn’t seen before. He thinks he caught the man off guard.
“I need to go for a run in the woods,” Peter says and steps back, ending their embrace.
“Okay,” Stiles sighs. “But… if Chris is really okay with it, then… you can just sneak into my bed and wake me up later, if you want?”
Peter’s breath is ragged as he comes back in, pulling at Stiles with rough, needy hands, their chests pressed tight together, mouth latching onto Stiles’ neck. He gasps but then goes limp, lets the man hold him up as he marks his skin.
When Peter takes a step back, he smooths his thumb against the darkening spot, breathing through his mouth.
“Do I look sufficiently claimed?” Stiles dares to ask, tilting his head to the side.
“You joke, but this is serious,” Peter says, the lack of humor on his face startling Stiles out of his grin. “We need to talk more about this, I need to tell you more about this. But…” He sighs and lets go of him. “Later.”
Stiles stands there awkwardly, watching him go, realizing that he’s missing something. And judging by Chris’ odd reaction earlier, he guesses the man knows what Stiles is missing.
He doesn’t like this feeling. Like he’s been left out.
Hours later, he’s still going over all of it in his mind, Peter’s rough touch, Chris’ wary warning, and most of all, the way the tension between all three of them seemed to fill up the space and make it harder to breathe. How much he wanted Chris to come closer, to enclose Stiles in between him and Peter. He wanted to feel their hands, their mouths, he feels greedy and flushed just thinking about it.
Luckily, Chris is hidden away upstairs, Allison went out to Scott’s for a late dinner and while Lydia is in the living room with him, she’s deeply immersed in some kind of a math textbook that made Stiles’ eyes glaze over when he glanced at the formula-heavy text within.
He can shift about in the armchair without anyone noticing, arousal heady and distracting as he absentmindedly flips through the fundamentals of forensic science.
It seems like a good book, though and Stiles makes a plan to pick it up again when he feels like he’ll be able to focus. Lydia also got him a book about criminal profiling, another book about the birth of American CSI and one about forensic psychology. She really took that flippant comment about his interest in criminology that he made back when they were sixteen very seriously. And to be fair, it’s still the only career path he can see for himself, he just can’t figure out the specific lane.
Especially now that the law seems… lacking, when it comes to the newly revealed world of supernatural entities and the humans that hunt them.
If he could just find out for sure if a special branch in the FBI exists, his decision would be a lot easier.
Lydia’s phone lighting up with a message sound catches both of their attentions.
She grabs it from the table and looks at it. Then says, “It’s Allison… Oh no.”
Stiles lowers his book. “What?”
“Scott’s dad just kind of barged in on dinner. Melissa didn’t know he was coming. He asked if he could stay and Scott agreed, and now it’s awkward as fuck.”
“Full on family dinner, huh?” Stiles winces.
She texts something back and they both go back to reading.
Another message.
Stiles doesn’t look up this time, just asks, “Is she just hiding away in the bathroom now?” He gets surprised by Lydia jumping up and running to the foyer.
“Get your coat, let’s go!”
“What, why?”
“Cora sent a group text, where’s your phone!?”
“Oh, it’s in my room,” Stiles stammers, finally standing up and throwing the book onto the couch. “Where are we going?”
“Grab your phone, she said he’s there!”
Stiles frowns as he runs to the bedroom to grab his stuff. When he gets back to the front door, he just stares at her for a second, keys in hand.
“I thought Derek’s at work?”
“He is, come on,” Lydia doesn’t wait, rushes to his car.
Stiles follows but at a slower pace, apprehensive about all this.
“So, Cora is at Jackson’s alone? Laura wouldn’t let her go alone…”
Lydia gives him a guilty look, waiting by the door for him to unlock the car.
“Did you ask Cora to go there?”
“Yes-”
“You…” He squints at her. “You climbed into bed with her and now you’ve asked her to do something very dangerous for you. Do you know that she has a crush on you?”
“Stiles… we can talk about this later. He’s there, now.”
He sighs and lets her get in.
“What exactly do you think we’re going to do when we get there?” He asks her as he starts the car. He glances up towards Chris’ room, relieved to see that the lights are off, so maybe the man’s sleeping and won’t see the text. Cora sent it to everyone.
“He’s been looking for me, Stiles! Me, Danny, his mom! He wants his pack, he needs to see me!”
He blinks at her desperation, taken aback by the ferocity of it.
“Just, one second,” he mutters, getting back out.
She quickly rolls down the window so she can stick her head out. “Where are you going!?”
“To get a friggin crossbow!”
“Crap, crap, crap,” Stiles starts muttering as soon as he gets a clear view of the street that Jackson’s house is on.
There’s a person down on the sidewalk, and another person hovering over them.
Stiles isn’t even fully parked yet when Lydia jumps out of the car.
“Mr. Gillian! Are you okay!?”
Stiles gestures helplessly at no one, glances at the crossbow on the backseat, then at the old man he doesn’t know that’s standing over Cora. What the fuck is he supposed to do? He gets out of the car when he sees Lydia waving at him frantically.
“Do you kids have a phone? I left mine inside, she needs an ambulance!”
“I’ve got her, we’ll handle it,” Stiles says, quickly crouching down to gather the obviously paralyzed Cora into his arms, grunting as he lifts her up. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got a lot of muscle. Okay, okay,” he groans and stands up with her, walking back to his car.
“Wait, what does that mean, who are you?”
“Mr. Gillian, she’s our friend. You remember me, right? Lydia?”
“Yeah, you I know,” the sixty-year-old points at her.
“Okay, so, what happened?”
“I found her like this when I was bringing my trash out.”
Stiles tries to put Cora into a comfortable position, brushes the hair out of her face. Her wide eyes meet his and he can see her lips twitching, struggling to form words.
“We got you, you’re good,” he tells her.
She manages to move her tongue enough that when she forces out a moan, it sounds a lot like “Run.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” he says and carefully pushes the door closed, patting the window in what he hopes is a comforting way before he walks back to Lydia.
“-do you mean what did this?” The old man is saying, giving both of them fearful looks now.
“I mean who, did you see who did this?”
“No, like I said, I found her like that- What now?”
Lydia and Stiles look over their shoulder to see what he’s reacting to. Another car has turned onto the street and slows as it drives towards them. A car that Stiles recognizes.
“Oh thank god.”
Both Derek and Laura exit the SUV swiftly, still in their uniforms.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to go back inside for your own safety,” Laura says, all calm and authoritative.
Derek goes to the Jeep to check in on Cora.
“What? What does that mean? What’s going on?” The guy’s very alarmed now.
“We’re following up on a disturbance call, we think the suspect may have come down this way. He might be armed, we currently don’t know for sure. So please, sir, go inside and let us make sure it’s safe.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, backing up towards his house, with his hands up. “But is the girl okay? She wasn’t moving or talking but her eyes were open.”
“We’ll take care of her.” Laura nods at him, watches until he closes the door behind him and then rounds on Stiles and Lydia. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m asking myself the same thing right now,” Stiles says and is then distracted by Lydia tugging at his arm. “What?”
“Look,” she hisses and points at Jackson’s house.
Two familiar yellow eyes glare at them from the shadows, right next to the steps that lead up to the front door.
“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out. When Lydia moves forward, he grabs her arm. “What are you doing?”
“He was looking for me, Stiles.” She looks at Laura. “Looking for his pack.”
“This is probably the best chance we get,” Laura says, not sounding happy about it. She grabs Stiles’ shoulder and gives Lydia a nod. “We’re right behind you.”
“Just… don’t get too close or you’ll scare him,” she whispers before turning around and walking forward.
“We’ll scare him, yeah, right,” Stiles laughs nervously. He feels Derek move in on his other side and Laura leads them to a slow crawl of a walk as they follow Lydia.
Stiles rakes a hand through his hair, then does it again, while Lydia gets closer and closer until she’s almost covered by shadows herself. His breathing’s getting shallow and fast, he’s terrified that the kanima won’t recognize anything, that the kanima isn’t here because Jackson wants to see his mom, but because he can sense the hatred his host feels for his father.
“The neighbor is still watching,” Derek says.
Stiles’ head snaps to his right and yep, curtains drawn back, Mr. Gillian is a witness to their slow approach.
“How the hell are you going to explain all this?” Stiles asks Laura.
“One problem at a time,” she says and her movement changes, her steps suddenly make no sound, shoulders tensing up.
Stiles glances to his side and sees Derek doing the same weird trying to be sneaky walk and he can’t help it, he chuckles. “You’re making it worse.”
Laura’s hand on his shoulder clamps down and he shuts up quick.
“Jackson?” Lydia calls out and to his horror, Stiles sees the two glowing yellow orbs move. They slither downwards, then to the side, getting closer to Lydia. “It’s me, remember? You wanted to see me, here I am.” Silence and no more movement. The three of them are now about ten feet away from Lydia and Stiles can see her trembling. “Danny misses you. I miss you. Your mom-” A low hiss of a sound as the kanima’s head tilts to the side. Lydia jumps but continues, “Your mom misses you too.”
Silence that feels like it lasts for a minute.
Stiles thinks he sees the kanima shift again-
“He’s standing up,” Derek whispers.
“Is he changing?” Stiles asks, hopeful for the first time this night.
“I think-” Laura gets cut off by the front door slamming wide open and Mr. Whittemore running down the steps.
“What the hell is going on here? Lydia? Deputies? What do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh no, no, no,” Stiles mutters as the he loses track of the eyes, can’t tell where the kanima is anymore. “Did he leave?”
“Well? I’m waiting for an explanation-”
Derek and Laura are already springing forward, having heard or sensed something that the Stiles couldn’t. But they don’t get to Jackson’s dad in time.
Stiles yelps out loud as he watches the kanima leap out of the shadows, landing right on top of the man. Mr. Whittemore just starts screaming in terror.
“What are you doing?” A new voice from the doorway and the kanima’s head snaps up with a screech.
“Get back inside, Mrs. Whittemore!” Lydia yells just as Laura reaches out to try and grab the kanima’s tail. But she’s too late as the creature launches itself off the man under him and dives into the house, taking down Jackson’s mother as he goes.
Derek and Laura run in, Lydia following right after and Stiles stands there for a moment, hands in his hair, tugging hard enough to be painful. He looks back at the neighbor's window but the man’s disappeared from it. He hears yells and things breaking. He looks around frantically to see if anyone else is reacting to all this loud noise but no one is coming outside at least. He imagines that the police have probably been called. He looks at Jackson’s dad, who is moaning in pain, trying to push himself up. He looks back at his car where his crossbow and Cora are.
What the fuck is he supposed to do here? He screams in his mind, does a little frustrated flail in real life before jumping over Mr. Whittemore, barely dodging the man’s hand as it tries to grab him and follows everyone else into the chaos.
A table knocked sideways, vase smashed to bits, shards of a mirror, and sounds of a struggle from somewhere further in.
He skids around the corner and sees a half-destroyed living room and Derek and Laura grappling the kanima. Mrs. Whittemore is bleeding but still standing, visibly shaking as she stares at them all.
“Please,” Lydia pleads, falling to her knees in front of the trashing creature.
“Lydia,” Stiles says warningly, stepping further into the room.
“Jackson, please, you’re in there, I know you are!”
“Wh-What did you just say?” Mrs. Whittemore gasps.
“I can’t-” Derek grits out and then the kanima shakes loose of his hold and swipes out, claws striking true.
Stiles starts to rush forward when he sees Derek falling, but Laura yells, “Stay away, all of you!” as she grabs the kanima from behind and holds on for dear life. The creature’s tail is swishing around, it’s screeching and using all of its strength to try and throw Laura off it.
“D-Did you say Jackson, did you call that thing Jackson?” Mrs. Whittemore yells, and clutches at her chest. “What is this, why are you doing this!?”
“It’s him, he’s alive, he’s just forgotten!” Lydia turns her head to yell at her. “Help me get him back!”
“Y-You’re insane,” Mrs. Whittemore stammers out, pale from shock. “Or I am.” She clutches her head.
“This isn’t looking good, Lyds!” Stiles yells out.
The kanima throws itself back and it and Laura fall against the curtains. She doesn’t let go, growling, eyes shining amber as she tightens her arms around his torso. It starts to bend its hands, twist its wrists as far as it can to try and reach Laura’s legs with its claws, but she notices and jumps away, letting go of him in the process. For a second, it seems like no one breathes. Then it lunges towards Lydia and Laura throws herself in its way, the two of them slamming against the fireplace, more things getting knocked over, broken. The kanima keeps striking out, trying to paralyze her, to get rid of her, but Laura’s dodging and blocking every swipe.
Until the creature uses its tail to trip her as she dodges backward from its claws. Laura loses her balance and it takes the opportunity, lashing out at her chest.
Stiles took the whole fight as a chance to get closer to Lydia and now he grabs her by the arm and starts pulling her away.
“We got to go, this isn’t working-”
“No, I’m not leaving,” she struggles against him.
Stiles watches in horror as Laura tries to get up, manages to get on her knees, before the venom kicks in and she falls down on her face.
The kanima turns to them.
Just as he plans to drag Lydia out of there, a roar overtakes the house, leaving every knick-knack still in place vibrating from the sound of it. A large wolf walks into the room and slowly sets itself to stand in front of Stiles and Lydia, feet spread wide and head lowered.
The kanima’s gone still, eyes locked onto the wolf.
Peter, at least Stiles hopes this is Peter, takes a step and growls so low that it raises the hairs on Stiles’ arms. It sounds like an order. Almost makes Stiles want to bare his neck, or his stomach or both.
Lydia pushes Stiles off her and he lets her go, but leaves his hands outstretched, ready to pull her back in at any second.
“Remember, Jackson. It started with a bite,” Lydia says as she steps up to stand beside Peter. “This is who you’re meant to be.” She reaches down and curls her fingers into Peter’s back, her entire hand hidden by the thick fur. “Your pack’s calling to you. Answer it.”
The kanima just stares, not moving.
“You keep calling it that, why do you keep calling it that!?” Mrs. Whittemore is now down on her knees, cradling her arm. She’s staring at the scaled creature with wide eyes, searching for something familiar. “Is it you? Jackson?”
At her calling it that, the kanima’s head snaps towards her. It moves.
Peter snarls but doesn’t attack, observes.
Lydia sits down on her knees, crying now. “Please, please,” she murmurs.
“Oh god, I can’t take this,” Jackson’s mother whispers, tears falling down freely. “Please, just come back to me.” She reaches out a hand and the kanima pauses, cocking its head curiously. It moves in, lowers itself down and hovers over the hand, eyes taking it in from every angle. “I want my baby back, please.” It pulls its head back as if showing displeasure. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the woman stammers. “I know I should’ve done better, I promise, I promise that I’ll do better, please, I just want another chance, Jackson, please-” She cuts off with a gasp as it lowers down and rests his head against her palm. “Oh god, what am I doing-”
“It’s working, keep going,” Lydia hisses and the woman gives her a look of pure panic.
“Uh, Jackson, honey? I’d love to see your face again.” She slows her breathing, swallows heavily. “Come on, baby. I want to see my son again.”
Stiles’ breath catches as they all watch the scales along the kanima’s body flicker, then rise, creating a domino-like effect on its body as they seemingly turn around and reveal soft human skin behind them. The ripple goes all over the limbs, the spine, the chest and finally the face and there, looking up at his mother, is Jackson.
“Oh my god,” Mrs. Whittemore squeaks out, holding her breath.
Jackson’s eyes fall shut and he slumps forward onto her lap. She immediately holds him close, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Is this real? Is this real?”
“It’s real,” Stiles says. Then, immediately, his brain kicks into overdrive. “Holy shit, the cops are probably on the way. And we’ve got paralyzed werewolves, nosy neighbors who probably saw everything, and- Whittemore!”
He turns and runs back to the foyer and stumbles to a stop at the open doorway because there, crouched over Jackson’s dad and holding the man’s head in her hands, is Agent Fetters.
“What are you doing?” He yelps because that does not look like someone checking over an injured individual. Her fingers are curled in tight around the head and her thumbs are at the temples and they’re… Stiles shuffles a step closer, not sure if he’s seeing right. It looks like she’s digging her nails into Mr. Whittemore’s skin. Stiles thinks he sees blood.
She doesn’t answer right away, which gives Peter and Lydia ample enough time to join him, reacting to his shout.
Peter’s growl returns.
Agent Fetters seems unbothered by the big ass wolf threatening to eat her right now. She pulls her hands away and there, Stiles can see the claws she pulls out of Mr. Whittemore’s head, and then he sees the claws shortening back into blunt nails.
“What the fuck are you?” He mumbles.
She stands up and wipes her bloody thumbs against her black slacks.
Her grey eyes flick over to him, then to Lydia, finally landing on Peter.
“I’m cleaning up your mess. Now let me in.”
Peter makes himself take up more space, growl getting louder.
“People are coming, Hale. People who are going to demand an explanation. I wiped the neighbor and this man but I need to see the mother too.”
“Wiped?” Stiles gapes at her. “Wait.” His earlier suspicion comes back to him. “Is Men in Black real?”
That gives her pause.
“No,” she says simply and stares at him for a moment, in a very judgmental way that Stiles doesn’t appreciate.
“What does wiped mean?” Lydia asks, also giving him a judgmental look.
“It was a fair question,” he hisses at her, offended that no one seems to agree with him.
“I erased their memory of tonight and replaced it with something mundane.”
Stiles looks down at Mr. Whittemore. “He’s hurt.”
“He slipped on some stairs.”
“And the screaming?” Lydia asks, brushing away lingering tears, regaining her composure.
“He slipped because he saw a big black dog and mistook it for a wolf. Now. Let me in.” She stares at Peter, unblinking.
“You should, uh, probably change back and get your family out of here,” Stiles whispers at Peter, poking him.
Peter, the wolf, seems to huff at this, shaking his head before his form starts to change, back legs stretching longer and pushing him to standing, until the fur melts away in a similar ripple to the kanima’s scales and he’s Peter, the man and terrifyingly angry. Stiles takes in the profile of that expression and gives Lydia a wide-eyed look, which she mirrors. They’ve never seen him quite like that.
“What are you?” Peter growls.
“Currently, not your enemy. Unless you try to stop me from doing my job.”
“This is your job?” Stiles asks, gesturing at the unconscious man she’s standing over.
Fetters doesn’t acknowledge him.
“Does this harm them?” Peter inclines his head towards her, daring her to lie.
“No. Not unless I erase too much. Which is not my goal here.”
“I think we have no choice but to trust her right now,” Lydia says and places a hand on Peter’s arm.
“Make one move I don’t like and I’m going for your throat,” he says slowly, enunciating every word.
Fetters doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile, just nothing on her face except determination as she steps up to the door.
Peter blocks her from entering for one more second, leaning in real close, menacing and tense. She stands still and meets his gaze without any flicker of unease or fear. Stiles is begrudgingly impressed. And also growing more and more concerned. The last time he saw someone completely fearless when standing up against Peter, it was Blake.
They follow Fetters into the living room, where she stands over Jackson and his mother, who apparently couldn’t take much more and passed out along with her son.
“You should do as Stiles says and get your pack out of here, Hale.”
His name from her mouth causes him to jolt and Peter wraps a hand around his wrist, steadying him.
Lydia steps over towards her. “I’m staying.”
Fetters glances at her and shrugs. “Probably for the best. It helps if I don’t veer too far from what actually happened. I’ll…” She glances around the room, frowning. “This level of destruction will be hard to explain. I’ll blame it on Jackson. He was angry at his parents, right?”
“How do you know that?” Lydia asks.
“Interviews with his friends, his best friend in particular was very forthcoming. I’ll go with that. He came back and got into an argument with his father, about his future, and he lashed out. You were here to help him reconcile with his mother. He threw things. She got hurt and fainted. Jackson passed out after.”
“That’s a weird-ass story to sell,” Stiles points out.
“The police have seen weirder.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing you’re describing,” Peter says, studying her intently.
“Memory alteration is a very rare gift, even among my kind,” she says and then kneels down.
“Again, what are you?” Stiles drawls out and receives no reply.
They watch as she cradles Mrs. Whittemore’s head and places her thumbs against her temples. Her nails elongate and slide in, smoothly cutting through skin.
“Are you going through bone?” Lydia asks, leaning in for a closer look.
Fetters doesn’t reply.
“She probably needs to concentrate,” Stiles says, tries to focus on something, a task, a plan. “Come on, Big Bad,” he tugs at the hand still latched onto him. “We got to move.”
Peter’s fingers tighten before they release him. “I can grab both of them. Go open the doors.”
“I think Stiles should stay too,” Lydia says, still watching Fetters like a hawk. “He drove me here, after all. And we both talked to Mr. Gillian, I don’t know how much she changed about that, if he saw us or not.”
Peter stands up with his niece over one shoulder, his nephew over the other and glares at the woman that could very well be a new threat yet to be unveiled. Stiles understands his distrust and protectiveness, but he also knows that Lydia’s right.
“Cora’s in my Jeep, the doors are unlocked so you can move her into the SUV. You should really get out of here, now.”
“I’ll drive them to the pack house but then I’ll run back and stay in earshot,” he tells them. “If you need me, scream.”
Stiles watches him go, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and fragile now that it’s just him and Lydia, two humans with no werewolf bodyguards in sight. Except… He pulls out his phone and checks if anyone replied to Cora’s text.
Allison did, several times.
What? Do you mean Jackson?
Guys? What’s going on?
Scott’s dad is still here and he’s asking all kinds of weird questions, I’m afraid to lead him back to you. Please let me know that you’re all okay!
Stiles quickly texts her that everyone’s fine and that Jackson might be Jackson again, and that he’ll see her back at her house. When he finishes, Fetters is pulling away from Mrs. Whittemore. She sways and falls on her ass.
“Does that take a lot out of you to do or something?” Lydia asks, circling around her and not offering any help.
“Energy,” Fetters gasps out and pushes herself back into a crouch, now pulling Jackson out of his mother’s grasp.
“What are you doing?” Lydia asks, alarmed.
“I’m checking what he is.”
Stiles walks over to stand next to Lydia. “You can tell if he’s back for good?”
“Yes.” She runs her fingers over Jackson’s face, then reaches down and picks up one of his hands, turns the palm up and traces it. “He’s a werewolf.” She unceremoniously drops the hand and stands up.
Stiles shakes his head in disbelief when she just heads towards the exit.
“Where are you going?”
“To knock on some doors,” she answers, not pausing in her steps.
Lydia is already kneeling next to Jackson, running her fingers through his hair, over his face, whispering words that Stiles can’t make out.
As sirens reach them from a distance, growing louder by the second, Stiles grabs his head and looks around the wrecked living room, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.
Chapter 36: useless
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Healing slowly, in pain, Chris has felt useless for the past week or so while everyone else scrambles about, hiding, searching, planning. Whenever he considers offering to go along with Peter, to pull out his hunting gear and have a nice long stroll in the woods, with a big guard wolf by his side, his headache flares up again, or he bends down too quickly, or he has to cough—pain bringing him back to the reality of being unable to assist, to be helpful in any way.
Allison makes food, keeps asking him how he is, if he needs anything. Peter, whenever he manages to come by, makes tastier food that actually cuts through his lack of appetite, the savory smell always bringing him to the kitchen. He misses having the man by his side when he sleeps, but he has only himself to blame for that, since he’s the one who told Peter to go out there and search harder.
Stiles is skittish, barely looks him in the eye, and when he does, there’s always a faint flush to his cheeks, eyes full of thoughts that Chris could guess at but doesn’t dare to. And when Chris sees him reacting to Peter’s touch, to his mouth, it’s eye-opening, to say the least. How Stiles looks and sounds so ready for it, for anything, just from a few kisses and hands on his bare skin. The way Stiles’ lips look after Peter pulls away from him, red and wet and so inviting. In fact, every single inch of Stiles looks like an invitation, to come in and join them. Peter’s meaningful glances don’t help either as he pulls Stiles’ shirt up, revealing stretches of skin that Chris hasn’t seen before, enthralling him enough to almost give in.
That’s the closest he’s ever gotten to agreeing with Peter’s Why not?
But then the scene takes a darker turn in his mind, Peter’s touch seems to demand, in a way that Chris loves, but Stiles is so young, he’s so eager, he seems so easy to take advantage of, just like Chris was when he was nineteen and Will found him alone and desperate, when he said Get on your knees, let’s see if you like it.
Peter and Chris are the responsible ones here or they should be, and he reminds Peter of that, relieved when the man pulls back.
Less relieved when Peter says, “I warned you, about my desire to claim.” And Stiles replies, “And I still stand by my verdict. That’s hot.” Because that means they’ve had a conversation about this and Chris doesn’t know the details of what was discussed. And Stiles’ reaction is again, so eager, youthful, easy to take advantage of. If he truly likes it when Peter gets like this, can’t see the harm in it, then things can so easily get out of hand, if Peter ever gets stuck in his head and acts on instinct, and Stiles just eggs him on, saying more.
He finds himself getting frustrated, not knowing what the right thing to do is anymore as he realizes he doesn’t actually understand what their relationship is like, since most of the time Peter lets Chris take, while Stiles just leans back and gives, gives, gives. It’s fine, I know you would stop if I told you to, is burned into Chris’ mind now.
“You’re very different people, and intriguingly different lovers. I compare and, I wonder.”
That’s enough to get him to back off, to walk away and hide in his room, his head full of images that make him wonder. Wonder if they’re the same images that Peter and Stiles have or if each one of them is imagining something different. If it’s ridiculous to humor this, to give in to this desire for an eighteen-year-old, to consider what a partnership with the two of them would look like.
He doesn’t want to be a part of something that Stiles will look back on and regret. He doesn’t want to be his Will. Peter thinks his fears are unfounded, that this is different.
Chris wonders if he can trust his own viewpoint or if it’s all too clouded by past experiences, if maybe… he should take a leap and trust Peter’s instead.
Noah and his deputies have a lot of questions that Stiles doesn’t know how to answer. Things like Where was he all this time? and Why did he faint? and Is he on drugs?
To that last one he says, “Probably?”
Lydia tried to help him but once Jackson was taken outside into an ambulance, she followed with an apologetic shrug. At some point Stiles managed to fire off a text to their entire group that Fetters has disappeared, his dad is there, all’s good and best to stay away. He sends another private one to Peter, telling him to stay with the pack, because he has no idea where Fetters went and what her deal is.
Peter replies with, Waiting at Laura’s, join when you can.
“Jackson did… all of this?” Deputy Clark asks as she looks around the living room, very confused and apprehensive.
“Yeah…” Stiles shrugs at her, “Uh, roid rage?”
She blinks at him as if unsure she heard that right.
He hears a deep sigh which he recognizes, so he isn’t surprised when his dad’s voice follows, “Seems like they don’t know anything, Clark. Go talk to Mr. Whittemore.”
“On it.”
A hand clasps his shoulder as they watch the deputy walk out of earshot.
“Family drama is going to be the explanation for all of this?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, dad, this wasn’t our idea.”
“Whose, then?”
“Agent Fetters.”
“She was here too!?”
Stiles moves out of his grasp, “Listen, things are confusing, I’ll tell you all about it later but for now I got to go.”
“No, Stiles, why was she here?”
“I don’t know, dad,” Stiles calls over his shoulder, shrugging helplessly. “I’m as fucking clueless as you are.” He leaves the house.
Outside there are a couple of cruisers and the ambulance surrounding his Jeep, making him throw his hands up in frustration. As he walks closer, he sees that Lydia is holding the hand of a very awake Jackson, as he climbs out of the ambulance. He hurries over.
“How much do you remember?” He blurts out when he gets close enough.
“Stiles,” Lydia says firmly, but he keeps his focus on Jackson, who looks… good? He looks completely fine, at least physically. He even has his trademark sneer in place as he stares down Stiles.
“What do you want, Stilinski?”
He glances at the paramedics and the cops milling about and steps closer, grabbing his elbow. He tries to show with his face that he’s not kidding around here.
“I mean, how much do you remember about this last week or so? Since you disappeared? We need to get our stories straight.” He glances at Lydia, a thought hitting him. “Oh my god, does he even know? What he is now?”
Jackson turns his arm around to grab Stiles in return, hand like a vice around his bicep. “What do you know about what I am?”
Stiles glares at that stupid sneer for a moment before looking at Lydia pleadingly.
“Jackson,” she says, nodding at Stiles and using the hand she’s still holding to pull Jackson’s attention back to her. “There’s a lot I need to tell you but you have to tell us first, how much do you remember?”
Jackson frowns at her. “I…” He lets go of Stiles. “I remember the wolf.” He grabs his shoulder. “The bite.” He stares at her intently. “I remember trying to find you. And others.” He pauses and looks over at his house. “I remember what she said. My mom.”
“That’s good,” Lydia says softly, pulling him closer to her. “That’s good.”
And it is, Stiles thinks to himself. If he remembers a wolf biting him, that makes it easier for them to explain the whole werewolf business. And if he doesn’t remember Gerard controlling him, the woods that night, all the better. Stiles is even kind of jealous of him.
He watches Jackson lean on Lydia a bit and feels like he’s intruding. That plus his need to go make sure that the rest of the pack are alright has him leaving all of the explaining to Lydia, while he goes to find Clark who is most likely to actually move her car if he asks nicely enough.
Peter sits in Laura’s living room, keeping an eye on his family as they heal, having gone through the process of stabbing a kitchen knife into each arm (after getting a bunch of towels to protect the couch due to Laura’s insistent grunts). He’s trying to remain calm, because he doesn’t want his pack to know just how unsettled he feels about this latest development—an unknown something in his territory that offered her help in the most condescending way, while revealing nothing about herself in return. Help that he couldn’t refuse.
Because how could he, with his family paralyzed and vulnerable, with the cops already suspicious about members of his pack, with this entire town getting closer and closer to discovering their secret? To himself, and only himself, he will admit that it’s his carelessness that’s caused the most trouble, pulled the most attention. But then there’s everything else that’s out of his hands, out of his control. And that—feeling powerless to stop certain individuals, to stop the cursed Nemeton—that makes him want to punch a wall again.
Another thing that lingers in his head as he waits, is that spike of Stiles’ fear as a strange woman with unexplained powers called out his name like she was familiar with it, familiar with him. Peter hopes that her familiarity comes from working closely with Stiles’ dad, with Scott’s dad, that she has heard that name a lot in conversation, and not because of any special interest in Stiles or the Nemeton. He already has Blake to contend with, he’s not looking for another enemy.
Cora starts flexing her jaw, opening her mouth far and wide.
“God, I hate that. Are we finally rid of the kanima for good?”
“Seems so,” Peter says and thinks, at least there’s that. Life in Beacon Hills should become simpler now, as his pack gets to focus on their individual lives, no more patrolling, being watchful all the time.
That is… If Fetters wasn’t lying about helping.
If she has some kind of ulterior motive…
He rubs at his temples, knowing that he has to prepare for the worst.
When he gets to Laura’s, the werewolves are still recovering, can speak and gesture normally but don’t have full control of their lower bodies yet. Peter greets him with an absentminded nuzzle, before walking off with his phone.
Stiles tries to answer everyone’s questions as best he can, considering how little he actually knows.
“If he’s a werewolf then we’ll have to teach him control,” Derek sighs from his spot on the couch. Cora’s sitting next to him, tired and quiet.
“Also, are we completely sure that Jackson’s parents don’t remember us being there and aren’t going to point fingers?” Laura asks, slowly staggering towards the kitchen.
“I mean, no?” Stiles drawls out, following a step behind, watching her attentively in case she needs his help. “We have no idea what Fetters actually did, how she did it, if it lasts forever or no.”
“Great,” Laura says, slumping onto a stool.
“If you’re all somewhat upright and moving, I’d like to head out,” Peter announces as he comes back.
“Head out where?” Stiles squints at him.
“Deaton’s, he’s agreed to meet with me,” he says while grabbing his leather jacket and pulling it on. A very noticeable zing of attraction rushes through him as he watches Peter pull and fiddle with his collar and sleeves. The man doesn’t look his way but his face does get extra smug. Stiles tries to curb his thoughts, afraid of polluting the air with his incredibly inappropriate horniness (his timing’s the fucking worst). He glances towards Cora and Derek and thankfully they both seem unaware of what’s going through his mind right now.
“Can I come too?” He asks, stepping towards Peter and the exit.
“Of course. If that’s alright with you, Laura?”
“Sure, we’re fine,” she croaks out, her head and chest now resting completely on top of the counter. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Come on then,” Peter smiles at him and gestures at the door with his head.
As they’re getting into the Camaro (Stiles takes a moment to shift around and run his hands over the seats), Peter adds, “We’re picking up Chris first.”
“Oh.” Stiles blinks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“No, but I’m sure he feels very frustrated right now. Especially because you didn’t wake him.”
“What? Of course I didn’t- Can you imagine if Chris was there tonight? He would’ve gotten hurt and he’s already hurt, he would’ve been double-hurt!”
Peter gives him a wry glance.
“My advice is, don’t say that to him. Not tonight.” He starts the car.
“This some kind of fragile male ego thing?” Stiles grumbles.
“Mm, more like, he wants to feel useful and being protected and cared for has a negative impact on his self-worth in the long run.”
Stiles takes that in, trying to follow along. “Wait, being cared for makes him think he’s not worth it?”
“That’s a simple way to put it, but kind of, yes.”
“Well, we’ll just continue caring until he stops being stupid.” Stiles shrugs, but in his head he’s coming to terms with what Peter’s been telling him all along. Chris’ hesitations aren’t just about the age difference, but a myriad of things that Stiles isn’t fully aware of. And yet… that doesn’t deter him from all this wanting that his brain’s got going on. If anything, it makes him want to get closer to Chris, to understand him better.
“Wisely put,” Peter smiles, while keeping his eyes on the road.
“I was afraid of this,” Deaton says when Stiles stops his recount of everything he saw Fetters do.
Peter let him explain the most of it, while he kept his entire focus on Deaton, his heart, his breathing, his scent. He could tell that Deaton recognized something in Stiles’ retelling, but he didn’t expect the man to actually admit it.
“You were afraid of an FBI agent coming to town and wiping peoples’ minds?” Stiles asks, words practically dripping with disbelief.
“I mean,” Deaton pauses, crossing his arms. “Kind of.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles stresses out before Peter can even voice his own irritation. “I hate it when you do this,” he continues, pointing at Deaton. “Elaborate, for the love of all that you find holy, whatever that actually is.”
Peter turns his head, in hopes of sharing an amused smile with Chris, but the man’s still quiet and sullen, just like he’s been since he found out that Stiles and Lydia didn’t go to him for help even though they were right there, in the same house as him. Peter’s smile fades and he turns his attention back to Deaton.
“I don’t know much,” Deaton starts with.
“When do you ever?” Peter can’t help pointing out.
Deaton gives him a look and continues, “I’ve had a theory forming ever since the year that James died.”
Peter straightens up from his slouch against the living room doorway, stepping in fully. Chris walks a little closer to him, crossing his arms.
Stiles glances his way from where he’s sitting on the couch, eyes wide. “Uh, James was Laura’s dad, right?”
“Yes,” Deaton says and sits forward in the armchair, placing his hands together and resting his chin against them. “That year was a wake-up call for Talia, in many ways.”
“I suggest you take great care in choosing you next words,” Peter warns him, not willing to to hear Deaton criticize his sister’s decisions, not again.
Deaton pauses but doesn’t look at him, stares ahead. “A feral werewolf tore through the outskirts of town and the families of the victims demanded some kind of action, a search, a hunt. Things were getting dire and we didn’t realize it at first but it became clear afterwards that while Talia waited for the hunters to act, the hunters were waiting for her to do the same. Neither side wanted to risk their own neck, so to speak.”
“I was starting my training back then,” Chris says, looking thoughtful. “I never really heard much about it, I just know that after James’ death, things became tense and my mother would often go and speak to Talia. In her words, she was keeping peace.”
“She was,” Peter confirms. “I wasn’t lying when I said that my family had a lot of respect for your mother. We liked her, even.” He remembers Gerard’s last words, that he hasn’t talked about the man’s beliefs or reasonings with Chris yet, doesn’t know if he even should, if there’s any point in digging up the past and trying to make sense of it.
“She only ever had good things to say about Talia.” Chris finally locks eyes with him and Peter can sense a shared grief.
“My theory,” Deaton interrupts their little moment, bringing the focus back to where they started, “began right before Talia ordered the hunt for the feral.”
“I asked her many times afterwards where her sudden resolve came from,” Peter muses. “She never gave me a clear answer.” At the time, he was young, around ten or eleven, so he was left out of any planning as well as the actual hunt. But he remembers the aftermath well. Talia’s slow descent into depression, before she met Nate and did her best to move on. Even as young as he was, Peter could tell that it wasn’t the same. Having Derek helped, a new child to tie their pack stronger together but her love for Nate was no match for her love for James and she never truly recovered from that loss.
“That’s because we were warned. Everything I’m about to tell you is my own speculation based on a few experiences and rumors. And before I continue, I’ll give you the same warning.” Deaton looks at Stiles, who has been quietly fiddling with a small smooth stone he grabbed from a whole bowl of them back in the entryway. “I know of one person, who shared my theory and devoted himself to finding out the truth. The last time we talked he said he was getting close, that he thinks he found one of them, is following them. And then he disappeared without a trace.” He turns his head to look up at Peter. “The warning that was given to me and Talia, was to keep all of this quiet and between ourselves or they would silence us for good.”
“That…” Stiles’ head leans forward as he blinks rapidly. “Sounds like or we’ll kill you.” He glances at both Chris and Peter, before frowning. “Also, they?”
“I’ve given you your warning,” Deaton says, still looking at Peter. “Do you still wish to pursue this?”
Fetters looked completely uninterested, almost bored when she saw Peter in his wolf form, trying to threaten, to be menacing. What Deaton has shared so far would fit well with that attitude. That it isn’t just her, it’s a they. And that they’re powerful enough to be feared.
But Peter has never liked the unknown. It’s why he started his collection in the first place. Too many stories from his grandfather that seemed fantastical and yet were claimed to be family lore or part of their ancestry as werewolves. Too many I don’t knows when Peter asked about other creatures, other shape-shifters, magic-users. Too much information out there that’s fake, make-believe and either created for entertainment purposes or out of ignorance and fear. He wanted to understand how their world actually works, what’s based on truth and what is pure myth, just stories.
And now he’s handed a mystery. But wanting to solve it would mean endangering others. People he cares about.
That gives him pause.
“Maybe Stiles should leave,” Chris says and immediately gets a look of betrayal from Stiles.
“What? No! I want to know! Like, is this a government agency thing? I keep asking about Men in Black, but I mean, why not, right? And is it just within the FBI or-”
“It’s not an agency, or a part of an agency,” Deaton interrupts him. He starts saying something else but stops, glancing around. “Are you all throwing caution to the wind?”
“I mean, you can’t know that much if you’re still here, right?” Stiles raises his eyebrows. “The other guy disappeared, because he was getting close. Or so you assume. So you’re not close, not yet.”
“I have a feeling they wouldn’t like me spreading around what I do know,” Deaton says.
“Stiles, are you sure?” Chris stresses, taking a step closer, protectiveness practically radiating from him, making Peter feel both amused and annoyed. How clearly he cares, and yet how much he still fights against it.
“Yeah,” Stiles widens his eyes. “I’m already dealing with a bunch of dangers, one more couldn’t hurt.”
“Famous last words,” Peter mutters, smirking at the glare he receives from Stiles. “I think we’d like to know at least as much as you do.” He gestures at Deaton. “The floor’s yours.”
“Alright,” Deaton sighs. “Back then, a reporter came into town. He talked to everyone, the police, the local journalists, the families. And they also talked to everyone else living near or in the woods, to ask for any sightings. And apparently, a few people pointed the finger towards the pack house.”
“I remember the reporter,” Peter frowns. “But he seemed like he was rolling his eyes at the ones who were afraid of something other than a simple animal running about.”
“From what it sounds like, Fetters and this reporter might have the same job,” Deaton says. “Which is to make sure the supernatural, our world, is never discovered by the public.”
“And he… warned you in some way?” Stiles squints, thinking.
“When he came to talk to me and Talia, after talking to everyone else… he admitted that he’s not interested in a story. He’s interested in covering one up. He told Talia to take care of the feral and to do it quick. He told us that if that werewolf is captured and taken away to be researched, the blame will fall on Talia’s feet as this is her territory and in his eyes she is failing in her duties as the Alpha.”
“Why would Talia take a threat from some random out-of-towner to heart?” Peter asks.
“Because he demonstrated his will over her. Over both of us.”
“His will?” Stiles asks, hands and face gone still as he listens attentively.
“He could hold Talia in place. As well as me. We were both paralyzed, completely vulnerable. And he did it with a gesture of his hand.”
“Holding an Alpha werewolf, without anything physical for her to fight against…” Peter clenches his teeth. “She must have gotten scared.”
“She did. Which is why she ordered the hunt the next day.”
“I never saw the reporter around after the night James died,” Peter realizes.
“He left without a word.”
“So, wait,” Stiles holds up a hand. “These people can stop you from moving, can wipe someone’s memory, and they’re just interested in keeping everything hidden? What the hell are they?”
“That is where my pure speculation comes in. It is based on some truths I learned as I went through my training as a Druid, and other things that just seemed to fit as I was trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask how that works, is there a Druid Hogwarts, do you have druidic conventions, are there like textbooks or guides-”
“Let’s not get side-tracked,” Chris intervenes before Stiles can get too worked up.
“Right,” Stiles presses his lips closed. “Bigger things to worry about.”
“So…” Deaton continues. “When it comes to people who can use magic, to work it as rituals or to guide it through components or to just change or control, there are two kinds. Druids and witches.”
“Just two?” Stiles interrupts again. “What about sorcerers, warlocks, wizards, mages-”
“This is not a game where you pick your class,” Peter reminds him.
“All of the things you just listed could be identified as witches,” Deaton says. “Unlike druids, who just have two specific paths, one who cares about the balance of nature and one who deserts it for their own gain, witches have a myriad of magical capabilities.”
“Witches keep themselves hidden,” Peter says, eyes narrowing. “I know one personally and she’s never told me where her powers come from or what they actually are.”
Deaton nods, “That is true. I’m surprised she told you she’s a witch in the first place. They hide behind peoples’ assumptions, mostly. But among the Druids, we know their source, because we study the nature of all magic. It is a part of our understanding of nature, of how magic can ebb and flow through not just the land itself, but also people.”
Stiles, quick as a whip, says, “They are their own source?” He sounds skeptical.
“In a way. It’s their bloodline.” He gestures at Peter. “There are creatures who are born not made. And creatures that give birth to more creatures, which gives us an understanding of a genetic inheritance, something in the blood that can be passed down. And most notably, it can skip generations and then reappear further down the line.”
Stiles looks around at them all, then voices Peter’s thoughts, “I’m lost now. That connects to witches how?”
“They are human, but also descendants of something supernatural, a creature. They are human, but they carry the potential within them. And with the right kind of guidance and training, they can tap into that potential and become something other, not just a human but not quite a creature. A witch. And because there are dozens of different creatures out there in the world, some of which have died out but still have descendants alive today, there are dozens of different witches, their magic colored by the power they’ve inherited.”
Peter processes this quietly.
“You’re saying, unless someone guides them, they’d never even know about it?” Chris asks, also deep in thought.
“Yes.”
“Uh, and I’m assuming, a werewolf ancestor or something would count as potential?” Stiles asks, raising a hand tentatively.
And oh, Peter realizes, staring at him. If their suspicions about his mother’s side of the family are right, then Stiles has werewolf in him. In his blood.
“It would,” Deaton confirms, looking Stiles over with suspicion growing in his eyes. “But our order doesn’t know the specifics of awakening that source of power, that is a secret well-guarded by witches themselves, and our two groups co-exist peacefully because of our acknowledgment of their need for secrecy. We don’t pry into their matters and they don’t pry into ours.”
Peter’s mind is taking a few steps ahead. “This reporter and Agent Fetters… you think they’re witches? Working for the same… organization?”
“I think it’s likely. They’re the ones who are dedicated to keeping everything hidden and separate, they’re the ones who exist in the shadows, unwilling to fully reveal their nature, even to other supernaturals.”
“Do you have any ideas on what their ancestry would be?” Stiles asks, eyes alight with curiosity.
“For the reporter, I considered an Alp.”
“The… sleep paralysis vampire?” Stiles squints incredulously.
“That is the lore. The human lore. An alp is in fact a shapeshifter, but it can hold its prey still with just its mind-”
“Not having to sit on the chest or anything?” Stiles asks.
“No,” Deaton sighs, looking a little irritated. “For Fetters… I’m thinking the Northern Devil Cat.”
Peter blinks in surprise.
“Wait,” Stiles orders, holding up both of his hands. “Just, wait a second. The Northern- You’re-” He struggles to speak. “Glawackus is a real thing!?”
“Again, not exactly what the human stories say it is, but yes.”
“Are all of the fearsome critters real!?” Stiles grabs his hair, looking stunned. “Is Bigfoot real?” He whispers.
“…No,” Deaton says, pained as he drags a hand over his face. “A few of the stories are based on real creature sightings, but only a few.”
“What else-”
“The Devil Cat could wipe peoples’ memory with its scream or its eyes…” Chris says. “I also wasn’t aware they were real.” Peter wasn’t either, but he refuses to admit that out loud.
“They haven’t been for decades. But Fetters can easily be a descendant. And the power to alter memory did come from its scream but to have more control over how it’s altered, the creature would use its claws instead.”
“That does fit,” Stiles mutters, still holding his head.
Peter’s hit with a thought. “I wonder if Deucalion knew about this theory of yours.”
Deaton seems to follow along, nodding. “I believe he did. When the Alphas first made their pack, they were reckless. Out of control. But very soon after the fire, they also disappeared. Some thought they went into hiding because of the hunters, but I refused to believe that. Gerard blinded Deucalion. And then the Hale tragedy happened. There was every reason for the Alphas to go after the Argents. Unless they got a warning too.”
That conversation after the attack at the school comes back to him. Specifically, Deucalion saying, You understand what it’s like, having power and losing it and then being willing to do whatever it takes to reclaim it, to go further, to make sure you never feel powerless ever again. At the time, Peter thought he was talking about his blindness, about being left for dead.
“I think you’re considering the same thing I did,” Deaton says. “That Deucalion was searching for power to make sure that nothing could stand between him and his vengeance, no matter how public it got.”
Peter tilts his head in agreement. “The night he lost his pack… it definitely had an effect on him.”
“Losing pack bonds is not something you recover easily from. Or so I’ve heard.” Deaton’s eyeing him warily.
He smiles insincerely, “It isn’t.”
“What I gather from all of this,” Chris speaks up, glancing at Peter, “is that Fetters likely doesn’t mean any harm and we have no reason to fear her presence here.”
“This is all just theory,” Deaton points out, shaking his head. “There’s no way to be sure of that.”
“Also, you know,” Stiles pipes up, nervously twisting his fingers. “If any one of us becomes a liability, then we might disappear. Or be silenced.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Peter tries to assure.
Stiles winces. “Yeah, we both know you can’t guarantee that, though.”
He grits his teeth together, angry because Stiles is right.
“Shit, I forgot, I was going to bring your staff back,” Stiles says suddenly, gesturing at Deaton.
“The stick?” Deaton turns his head. “Why? You’ve had no use for it?”
Peter steps closer, curious. “It helped against Kali, did it not?”
Stiles give him an incredulous look. “Please, if Kali hadn’t been so disturbed by Julia’s presence, she would’ve had no trouble taking that thing away from me. You know yourself that it hurts, but that’s about it.”
“I see,” Deaton says thoughtfully. “I guess, if you don’t plan on using it, I would indeed like it returned.”
“You mentioned something about it being valuable, right?”
“Well, I meant more along the lines of emotional value, but yes.”
Stiles’ eyes narrow at him. “Emotional value?”
“It’s been in my family for generations. It’s given to druids who have trouble connecting to the land, to have a focus, something to pull their magic forward.” Deaton pauses. “Marin used it when she was little.”
“It’s… used as a focus?” Stiles asks.
“Yes. I thought… When you told me that Marin gave you that ring, I considered if maybe you do have druidic inclinations, but are having trouble because you’ve never been taught. I thought the stick might help you find a connection.”
“Oh,” Stiles says softly. “It definitely didn’t do that. It never felt right or comfortable in my hands, even after some training.”
“We barely did any training,” Chris comments dryly.
Stiles flushes for some reason, making Peter quirk an eyebrow. If he didn’t know any better he’d guess some naughty shenanigans happened in that basement. But sadly, he does know better.
“I’ll try to bring it by at some point,” Stiles tells Deaton, who nods.
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Thanks for sharing all that, I guess,” Stiles says and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, should we go home?” He glances at Chris and then quickly looks down, a full-on blush covering his cheeks and neck now.
“Right, home,” Peter drawls because he can’t resist, drawing quick glares from both of his partners. He gestures for them to leave first and stays behind for a second, looking at Deaton. “Why did you share all that? I figured now that I’m the Alpha, you’d be unwilling to help.”
“I know you don’t think I’m capable of it but… I do feel guilt.” Deaton looks up at him and everything about him conveys his sincerity. “I feel guilty for abandoning you all in your time of need. For letting the grief overwhelm me… for pushing Laura away so I could start fresh, get distance.”
“Get distance? You didn’t even move,” Peter points out.
Deaton shrugs, “My livelihood is here.”
“Well… I hope you keep that guilt going in case we need to find out more,” Peter tells him, turning around to leave. He has zero interest in offering Deaton any comfort.
Outside, as they wait for Peter, Chris asks, “You okay?”
Stiles’ head snaps towards him in surprise. “Yeah.” He takes in the other’s grave expression.
“Tonight… why didn’t you take me with you?”
Stiles slowly gnaws on his lower lip, uncertain how to answer that. Chris’ gaze feels like a heavy weight.
Peter warned him not to say it but… He has no other answer to give that would sound any better.
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy, you’re healing,” Stiles says and immediately Chris’ face grows cold. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt, man,” Stiles hurries to explain, stepping closer.
Chris’ mouth quirks up into a sad little smile as he looks upward. “So it wasn’t because you think I’m useless?”
“What? No!” Stiles blinks, taken aback. “Do you?”
He never gets his answer as Peter joins them and Chris shuts down completely.
The ride “home” is awkward and silent.
He considers skipping school entirely when he wakes up the next morning, his brain exhausted from all of the thinking he did instead of sleeping, brain overflowing with theories and connections, trying to find links that he might’ve missed, trying to figure out if Blake knows his potential to be a witch.
And yeah, that is a thing too that he’s now considering. They don’t know for sure if there are born wolves on his mom’s side of the family, or if Kalina was just bitten and that’s why she joined a pack, but the possibility is there and with it, the possibility that he’s inherited the “gene” from his mom, who apparently had no idea of any of this. Or she did and she just hid all of it from Stiles’ dad, which is an option he doesn’t want to consider, not after seeing his dad’s face when he was unsure if following this thread was the right thing to do, when he said I’m starting to think that maybe she hid something serious… something to do with you.
After Peter dropped them off at Chris’ house, he suggested they keep the whole witch thing to themselves for now, at least as long as Fetters is still snooping around town. Stiles doesn’t like the idea of keeping this from his friends but he agreed to it, knowing that they have to take Deaton’s warning seriously.
Then, before leaving, he told Stiles that Astrid is coming to town this weekend and that he plans on confronting her about all of this. And then wants to take her to the Nemeton, hopefully with Stiles and Lydia there too, and then he wants to talk to Astrid about Stiles. That was a lot to process, so Stiles just ended up shrugging and saying okay to all of it, the stress only hitting him once his head hit the pillow.
So, a lot of thinking happened, at some point he fell asleep and got rudely woken up by his alarm.
And he considers skipping… But Thanksgiving’s soon, and then Winter Break, so he might as well try to squeeze as much education out of his half-deserted school as he can right now.
When he does finally get to school, joined by Allison, neither of them is surprised to see that Lydia and Jackson aren’t there. Danny’s absence is a bit of a surprise, but Allison points out that he’s probably feeling really hurt right now since Jackson ran away and let his best friend think the worst had happened.
Scott and Cora meet them at the parking lot and they do their locker-crawl, Stiles quietly going over everything that Fetters did and said.
“Do you think my dad knows?” Scott asks, looking alarmed.
“I don’t know,” Stiles replies, frowning. He glances at Allison. “You said he was asking weird questions, what were they about?”
“Just…” Allison shrugs awkwardly. “Really interested in my history with my grandfather and how much time Scott has spent with Chris.”
“Oh,” Stiles says. “That just sounds like he’s looking into your family.”
“Yeah, he seemed…” Allison accepts the invitation as Scott raises his arm and snuggles close. “Accusing.”
“I think Fetters is very much going solo on this, whatever this is,” Stiles tells them.
“I hope so,” Scott mutters right as they walk into their first class.
Throughout the day, Stiles doodles in his notebooks, making several messy-looking “evidence boards”, using a red pen as a stand-in for the string, just for fun. He does one for his mom and everything he knows and suspects about her family so far. He does one for Blake, her motivations as well as her connections to this town. He does one for the whole witch-thing, halfway through realizing that if he does have the potential to become one, what would that even look like, feel like? If witches inherit some of their ancestor’s powers, then he’d get something from a werewolf, right? He imagines it’s not shapeshifting fully, because Deaton described witches as something in between a human and a creature, not quite one or the other. So maybe strength? Speed? Quick reflexes? Better senses?
Oh my god, he thinks to himself. If this means he can get his revenge and start eavesdropping on everyone else’s private conversations, then hallelujah.
Out of boredom, he starts another little connection-thread for hunters. That’s what Allison peeks in on during their last class of the day.
“What’s that all about?”
“Just… organizing my brain. I like having it all in front of me, something physical to see, you know?”
“Oh,” she says, glances at the teacher who is deeply engrossed in his phone, and scoots closer. “Want me to help with that?”
“Sure. How’s Hayden by the way? You haven’t really mentioned him since he got shot.” He slides his notebook towards her.
“He’s recovering. We’ve talked a bit, but he’s… he’s mad. Things are really messy right now.”
Stiles watches as she starts adding lines and names, intersections and forking family trees and when he sees the name Miller, his heart jumps a bit, Tom’s sneer appearing in a quick flash and then gone.
“The ones you’ve crossed out are dead?”
“Yeah, all of his sons. But…” She taps at the last name that she’s left untouched.
“Oh,” Stiles says, dread filling up his chest.
Tom’s daughter is still out there somewhere.
He couldn’t protect his daughter.
He couldn’t help Peter, couldn’t take down his father, couldn’t get Stiles away from there, couldn’t-
It’s been a slow sinking feeling this past week. His stay in the hospital was full of pain, drugs and fleeting moments of endearment towards his visitors, he didn’t see the bigger picture then, how he’s been of little to no use lately. And as that sinking continues he almost drowns in it, almost lets himself be clouded by self-pity and frustration.
Allison pulls him out of it.
He notices how she continues her training by herself, how she coaches Stiles. After everything she’s been through, she’s still moving forward, still doing something.
Chris needs to do something too.
After Deaton’s reveal and Stiles’ pity, Chris’ resolve to drag himself out of this slump deepens and he starts off the next morning by making some calls.
He starts with Araya to tell her that he’s refusing the promotion. He hates that he ever even hesitated accepting her gracious severance offer, considering that this is what he’s wanted for a long time—complete separation from everything Argent. Dad’s gone, Victoria’s gone, their men left scrambling, and their business now someone else’s problem. In a way, Chris is free. It’s time he acts like it.
“I admit, that doesn’t surprise me,” she says.
“Was the promotion just a courtesy and you never actually intended for me to have the position?” Chris asks, curious.
“Both, neither,” she answers. “It doesn’t matter now, you’ve made up your mind. And I know you don’t care, but I’ll say it anyway. It’s in good hands.”
“I didn’t think you wanted this kind of publicity.”
“Oh, I don’t. I’m the head of this company behind the scenes. Doreen’s the name and face now.” The woman that Hayden talked to when the plan was to try and get control of Gerard’s company away from him and Victoria.
“You trust her?”
“We’ve known each other for decades. I trust that I have her loyalty, yes.”
“And when exactly did you start talking to my father about this?” He asks, voice going darker. He’s been wondering ever since he heard the words Gerard sold.
“I understand if you’re wary of me now, I would be too,” she says matter-of-factly. “He contacted me, he knew what we were trying to do and he made me a direct offer instead. It was a simpler way to get what I wanted.”
“Access to more guns?” Chris asks dryly.
“That and more.”
“I am wary. But our negotiations for how to proceed with the Hunter’s Code don’t have to end.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Your daughter seems to have quite a few ideas, by the way. Most of them far too optimistic and naïve, but there were some that even I could stomach.”
“You’ve been talking? Recently?”
“No, not after she found out I made a deal behind her back. But Hayden keeps in contact.”
“He’s doing better, I hope?”
“Yes. But he’s nervous about what’s happening in the states.”
“What do you mean?”
“Gerard and Victoria were the so-called leaders for a big group of people. They are now aimless, confused. And there’s a name being used as the new hunting family to follow, to stand behind.”
“Who?” He asks, but fears that he might already know.
“Miller. His followers back home are vocal, loud and rash. And his daughter’s the loudest, demanding revenge. You should call Anna Ray, I think you know her? She’s trying to keep things from escalating.”
Anna, a trusted contact of his, who he only started speaking to after his divorce. She heard about it and offered him advice and information. A forty-something single mother of two, who has been hunting since she was sixteen, she was a big help in getting him started with taking his own hunts, separately from his family. He still worked for Victoria, and followed along with his father’s plans, because back then he was unknowingly turning a blind eye to their true nature, but now… she might be a big help again in getting settled in this new role of his—no longer a follower or a soldier, but a guide, to Allison and possibly others, if Stiles and Lydia continue their interest in self-defense and lore.
”I’ll do that, thanks.”
“We may not always see eye to eye but I do respect you. Take care and keep your daughter safe.” She hangs up.
He calls Anna next and ends up with a list of names and towns, some of them people he can trust, some of them people to watch out for. They promise to keep in touch, specifically if Madeline Miller ever makes a move, or gets enough support to become a threat. After their conversation, Chris stands over his kitchen table, staring down at the list and feels his mind getting antsy.
He finds a map, and starts circling places with a marker, writing down the names and phone numbers on the edges, using shorthand when noting the more prominent hunters next to the towns they’re in.
He wants to figure out where the closest threat would be if Miller manages to make enough noise to gather a following. That will point out who of the trusted figures he should call first, when needing more info.
Chris ends up making calls all afternoon.
“Hanging out with the wolves, then?” Stiles asks Lydia, while watching Allison as she stretches. She’s expecting him to follow her movements after he finishes his call, but he feels the need to point out, “I’m not that bendy,” when she reaches down, legs together and straight, and places her entire palms on the floor. He can barely do fingertips, what the fuck?
“You? Stiff? As if,” Lydia drawls sarcastically in his ear. “But yes. Surprisingly, Scott’s the one to get through to him the most.”
“Oh? I’d think it would be Peter, since he gave him the second bite and all.” Allison bends her knees, leans back and falls into a flawless bridge. “Now you’re just showing off,” he grumbles and gets a confirmation when she turns her head to flash him a bright smile.
“Peter’s not here,” Lydia tells him, tone clearly illustrating her judgement.
“Did you call him?”
“I did, he told me that Jackson is not his problem anymore.”
Stiles grimaces. “He is a bit self-serving.”
“A bit.”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to talk him into it or something?”
“No, that would imply me having faith in your skills at manipulation.”
“I feel hurt by your lack of faith but at the same time, why would I want to be good at manipulating?”
“It is a very valuable skill to have.”
Allison does a handstand.
“That is not stretching,” Stiles snaps at her.
“Showing off, remember?” She grunts out and starts walking on her hands.
“Okay, I’ll leave you two to whatever it is you’re doing,” Lydia says, sounding amused.
“Torture, she’s about to torture me,” Stiles tells her. “If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, it’s because she’s broken every bone in my body in the hopes of making me more limber.”
“Being limber allows you to try some really fun positions.”
“…Is this you trying to motivate me?”
“Is it working?”
“…Yes,” he admits regretfully.
“Then trust in Allison and she’ll have you doing splits in no time.” She hangs up.
“You ready?” Allison asks, after she goes back to standing on her feet like a normal human being.
“I can’t do most of the things you just did,” Stiles complains. “I better get the basic, low-effort version. I’m not ready for advanced yoga yet.”
She laughs. “Trust me, you’ll feel better tomorrow morning if we stretch properly before training.”
“Not if I dislocate my shoulder.”
She pushes at him playfully. “Shut up and bend over. Go as far as you can.”
He sighs and does as she asks. “I regret moving here.”
“No, you don’t,” she chuckles and walks around him, checking his form. “Push your knees as straight as you can.”
He groans and follows her commands for the rest of the evening, ending the day achy and tired, but also accomplished, because hand-to-hand didn’t feel like a complete fumbling waste of time. He blocked and dodged a lot more than he usually does, and he managed to grapple her twice. She of course put him on his back, knocked him over, grappled him in many different ways, but he still feels like he won at the end of it. The proud smile and fist-bump she gives him makes him think he has every right to.
After doing some homework, texting with Peter to get some more details on when exactly Astrid is arriving and what the hell is actually expected of him, telling Lydia of Peter’s plan to visit the Nemeton with a witch in tow (she seems to think it’s a fantastic idea) and then doodling some more in what he’s now calling his it’s-all-connected notebook, he settles down for what he thinks will be a good night’s rest.
So, of course he has a nightmare.
This time there are no familiar faces, no mixing of situations and threats, or maybe there is but he just doesn’t remember.
When he shoots up in his bed, his mind is still full of pitch-black darkness, uneven ground under him, like running through the Preserve, and the sensation of being chased, of running away from something, except he doesn’t remember what or where he was trying to go.
His chest hurts as a wave of cold, sharp terror leaves him out of breath, his heart pounding so hard it’s all he can hear when he blinks his eyes open.
It feels like the beginnings of a panic attack, like it could take his body by storm and leave him washed up, drowned and broken on the shore.
He needs to re-center his mind, focus on something. But first, something to help with the dryness in his mouth.
As he stands in the kitchen, gulping down cold water, something catches his eye. A big map of the states, spread out on the kitchen table. He walks closer and runs his eyes over it, taking in the notes, the circles around towns, the shorthand that he doesn’t understand.
He sits down and tries to figure out what it means, panic attack slowly dissipating as his brain attaches itself to something solvable.
The town he’s currently looking into is having just as bad of a time as Beacon Hills, apparently. Bodies found torn apart, some parts missing, no suspects, no motive, no way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. He searches for random people on social media who live there, getting first-hand accounts of fear and confusion and anger. He makes a small pink circle around the town on the map, marking it as a high-level-threat. He would’ve gone for the red, but Chris has already used that for something.
The man hasn’t made a lot of significant marks, as far as Stiles can see, and they’re all still visible and clear because Stiles has kept his scribblings away from them, looking into the smaller towns in-between the circled areas, looking up local news and seeing if there’s anything iffy going on. He figures, if Chris wants his map back the way it was, Stiles can just get him a new one.
He dived into research-mode so hard that he has no idea what time it is when he hears someone walking down the stairs. A glance out the window shows no signs of a sunrise just yet.
“Stiles?” Chris’ voice comes from the hallway, probably reacting to the kitchen lights.
“Yep,” Stiles calls back softly, leaning back in his char.
Chris isn’t wearing a shirt again. Stiles’ mind immediately goes blank.
“What are you doing?” Chris asks, sounding tired as he drags a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes and then yawning wide and loud. Stiles yawns back as a reaction.
“I’m not completely sure. Looking up danger-vibes?”
“What?” Chris blinks at him, frowning. He steps closer to the table and Stiles wills his eyes to stay up, to not look down, to focus on- nope, he glances down, and he’s struck dumb by once again having Chris’ skin and the muscles hiding underneath so close, in touching range. His fingers twitch around his pen and he squeezes them, strengthening his grip.
“I, uh, don’t know what you were using this map for, exactly, but I thought that maybe it’s hunter business, so I just started looking up possible… hunts? Is that what you call them?” He rambles while pushing the map over so that Chris can take a better look.
The man sits down at the table and squints as he tries to read the various notes that Stiles has added.
“I was using it for hunter activity. Not supernatural.”
“Oh,” Stiles taps the end of his pen against the table nervously. “Did I mess it up?”
Chris’ eyes fly up. “No, this is useful too. And both of our notes are separately legible. It’s fine.”
“Okay,” he sighs in relief.
“What are you doing up? It’s almost four in the morning.”
Stiles makes a face at the time. “Huh, I don’t even know what time I woke up. I’ve… been having some weird dreams. They make it hard to fall back asleep afterwards.”
Chris looks sympathetic. “Nightmares?”
“Yeah, kind of. But what about you?”
“I’m not sure. Just woke up and felt thirsty… Which reminds me.” He stands up to go get some water.
Stiles uses the chance to let his gaze run over every inch of the man’s back. There’s bruises there too, which pull him out of his lust-addled musings. “Everything must hurt still, huh?” It’s only after he asks the question, when he sees that back tense up, that he remembers Chris’ reaction to Stiles pointing out his injuries.
“It does. But Peter helps.” Chris turns on the tap to fill his glass.
“He’s here?” Stiles turns around in his chair so he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder.
“He snuck in earlier.”
“How?” Stiles asks, glancing towards the front door. He remembers Allison locking it, for sure.
“I left the window open for him.”
“Oh.” Stiles feels dumb for not doing that himself—although, he’s on the first floor and knowing his luck, better not.
Chris turns around to lean against the counter as he drinks. Stiles’ gaze zeroes in on the man’s neck. Swallowing shouldn’t look this hot, he thinks to himself.
It takes about a minute before Stiles realizes that it’s quiet, Chris has put the glass down and he is still staring, eyes having strayed downwards now, lingering around the man’s hips and the waistband of his pants. Chris is staring back. And although his face is unreadable to him, Stiles feels encouraged by the silence and decides to go for it.
“Have you thought more about… us?”
Chris’ eyebrows quirk up. “No beating around the bush, huh?”
“I mean,” Stiles shrugs at him. “What’s the point? You either want me or you don’t.” He admires his own daring at phrasing it that way. Want. God, he wants.
Chris lets out a short laugh. “It’s that easy?”
“No,” Stiles scoffs. “I know the issue here.”
“I’m starting to think that maybe I should explain it a bit more,” Chris sighs and comes back to the table, sitting down.
“Does this have anything to do with what your dad said?”
Chris stills. “What?”
“Back when we were both tied up.” Stiles hesitates, realizing this is a super sensitive topic that he’s just bulldozing into. “He pointed out my age and said something about you being around the same age as me… And, I don’t know, it was weird.” Stiles frowns when Chris just stares down at the table. “I assumed it maybe had something to do with Victoria? You said you got taken advantage of by people older than you… Allison doesn’t tell us everything, of course, since it’s personal. But… it’s clear you guys didn’t exactly have a happy marriage.”
Chris’ mouth twitches, almost smiling. “Understatement. Allison doesn’t know everything, either. But she does know that… I didn’t choose that marriage.”
“Oh, damn,” Stiles mutters. He kind of thought that at least the beginning of that relationship had something, a love that maybe later faded as Chris’ doubts took over, or maybe Victoria lied or Gerard pressured. He never really considered the entirety of Chris’ marriage to be something that he never even wanted. That’s… awful.
“My dad wasn’t talking about that.”
Stiles pauses, watching as Chris seems to gather himself. He feels like he’s about to step on a landmine as he prods, “What was he talking about, then?”
“When I was nineteen,” Chris starts, voice firm, but then he stops and rubs at his brow, hiding his face. “Two of my dad’s friends coerced me into…” He waves his hand, obviously searching for the right words. “…Pleasuring them. Orally.” His face tightens up into a grimace.
“They forced you to suck them off?” Stiles blurts out, shocked.
Chris blinks at him, finally meeting his eyes again. “I mean… the first time was an offer. But his brother… He blackmailed me into it,” he stops talking, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“Of course you don’t,” Stiles says, leaning back against his chair. “I’m… Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?” Chris asks, sounding exasperated as he lets his hand fall to the table with a loud thump.
“I… I’ve been pushing for this, thinking that it’s just my age you’re worried about or how other people are going to look at you… I never even considered that there might be something more serious-”
“Stiles,” Chris interrupts firmly. “You haven’t been pushing, it’s fine. And that is what I’m worried about. Because of what happened to me. I know exactly how easy it is to… get caught up in something like this-”
“Okay, no,” Stiles holds out a hand in protest. “This situation is entirely different. How can you not see that? I’m pursuing you. I’m not married to someone else, questioning my sexuality, I’m not coerced or blackmailed or manipulated. Peter had plenty of chances to manipulate me into doing pretty much anything he wanted, but he didn’t and I know you wouldn’t either.” He sees Chris’ mouth open, probably ready with an argument and he hurries to continue, “And I may be a dumbass but I’m also smart enough to realize when something’s off. I’m young but I’m not stupid.” He crosses his arms and huffs. “I’ll say no when I mean it and I expect that no to be acknowledged. And I’ll of course do the same thing in return… boundaries are a thing and not everyone’s going to be comfortable with the same situations or-” He holds up both of his hands. “I’m getting off track here.”
“Approaching relationships with logic?” Chris asks wryly, but there’s a softness to his gaze that Stiles doesn’t know how to interpret because he hasn’t seen it before—except, he has, aimed at Peter. Fondness?
“Why not? If you think I don’t know that it can still get messy even with communication…” Stiles spreads his hands and shrugs. “I’m friends with Lydia, man. All we do is talk and we’re so complicated I never know how to explain our friendship to other people… Or myself.”
Chris stares at him in silence for a moment.
“Why on Earth do you want me?”
Stiles gapes for a second, because come the fuck on now. But Chris looks and sounds completely serious. As Stiles takes in the other’s full expression and body language, he thinks he picks up on some wariness. Discomfort. So he the thinks it through and tries to find the best way to describe his mess of an attachment.
“I just do. It’s…” He sighs, feeling frustrated. “You’re not useless,” he points out and frowns when Chris looks down. “You’re not, you’re just human. And you went through a lot. You were plenty useful back when I needed help. You were there for me and you pulled me out of a real dark place. I didn’t even realize how dark it’d gotten until you said that you’ll get me through this, no matter what. You gave me hope.”
Chris’ face has gone a bit slack with surprise. When Stiles pauses, he looks back up and locks eyes with him.
Stiles takes a deep breath, trying to focus on what he wants to say. “Also, I like the way you talk.”
“The way I talk?” Chris’ eyebrows fly up, caught off guard.
“Yeah, like…” Stiles leans his head from side-to-side, thinking about how to explain this. “Sometimes there’s this dark sense of humor that peeks through, but most of the time you’re pretty serious and grounded and… It’s nice. It’s different.” He starts tapping his pen against the table again, looking down at it. “I like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too.”
Stiles smiles, still staring at his pen. “Even though it’s pretty obvious I don’t think before I speak?”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least… not all of the time. But yes, even then.”
He flicks his eyes up and catches the man resting his cheek against his fist, staring at Stiles’ mouth. He realizes he’s been licking and sucking at his bottom lip, drawing attention to it.
“This definitely feels like flirting,” Stiles points out. “Does that mean…?”
That breaks the moment, Chris looking away and straightening up in his seat.
“You’re still hesitating,” Stiles says.
“I…” Chris frowns to himself. “I can’t make the first move, I just… I can’t.”
That does not sound like the rejection Stiles was waiting for and he freezes, mind processing what he just heard. Because that wasn’t a no, we shouldn’t. That seemed like no, you first.
Which… what!?
“We should try to get some more sleep. You’ve got your run with Allison before school, I don’t think she’ll let you skip.”
“You’ve raised your daughter to be a sadist,” he comments lightly, while his mind is still stuck on wait, wait, what?
“Do you feel like you could sleep? Or do you want Peter to join you, because I can send him over.”
Now his brain has a whole different wait, what to process.
“You… can send him over,” Stiles repeats, at a loss for words.
Chris smirks a little. “You wanted things to be fair. What’s more fair than him spending half the night in my bed and then half the night in yours?”
“Uh, I’d say that’s not fair to him, since he has to cut off his sleep,” Stiles says, but at the same time he wants to say hell yes, send him on down, because the thought of a cuddly werewolf-temperature Peter in his bed sounds like the best idea ever right now.
“He’s a light sleeper, he woke up the moment I got out of bed. Probably listened in on this whole conversation.”
“I did,” comes a new voice from the hallway before a figure silently steps under the kitchen lights, squinting and looking annoyed. Peter’s also shirtless. Stiles feels like throwing up his hands and yelling oh, come on! “And if you think I’m going to be bedhopping, think again. Yours is big enough for three and I can sleep in the middle. Let’s go.” With that, he resolutely turns around and walks off.
“Uh,” Stiles says, glancing at Chris. “I can stay downstairs if you-”
“It’s fine. He’s right about it being big enough,” Chris says while standing up. He still seems uncomfortable but also determined as he follows Peter out of the kitchen.
Stiles looks around the empty space for a second, unsure as to how his night suddenly became this.
He gets up and follows them both upstairs, into a bedroom he’s never been in. Chris is sliding in on the side nearest to the door. Peter’s laying on his back in the middle and pats the spot next to him, closer to the window.
“I guess we’re really doing this,” Stiles mutters, half to himself before closing the door and walking in.
When he sits down on the bed, Chris turns the lights off and for a moment it’s just darkness, the suddenness of it taking him back to his dream. But a sound pulls him away before the fear can creep back in. A wet smack of lips on lips, the slide of a tongue or tongues—the room feels extremely hot and just as he’s wondering wait, are we still going to sleep or is this where I’m supposed to make a move or, the sounds stop and there’s some shifting around the blankets before a familiar steady arm wraps around his waist and pulls him onto the bed.
“Try to sleep,” Peter whispers to him. And then, as Stiles gets settled, the arm a heavy weight on him that’s comforting, grounding, there's a hot mouth against his cheek, trailing soft kisses against his skin before reaching his ear to whisper, ever-so-quietly, “You did good.”
Stiles bites down on his lower lip hard, suddenly turned on like hell.
Peter presses his smile against Stiles’ cheek, letting him feel the shape of it before ducking down to nip at his jaw, his neck, pressing his nose there and breathing in deep.
It takes him a while to fall asleep.
Both of them in the same bed as him, on either side of him, their scents intermingling, arousal and nervousness and anxiety and desire, want, need, affection—it riles him up, makes him want to push, to slide his hands lower and touch Stiles while Chris listens, to make him moan and shiver.
But Chris’ exhaustion wins first and as the man’s breathing deepens, it tugs at Peter’s protectiveness, his affection. He holds himself back, stops teasing Stiles and lets him relax, waiting for him to fall asleep too before letting himself follow.
And there, surrounded by both of them, he has the best sleep he’s had in a very long time.
Notes:
work's brutal, im ded
Chapter 37: giddy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He wakes up early, takes a quick look around and notices Peter’s absence. He doesn’t dare to look Stiles’ way just yet so he gets up and heads to the bathroom instead. Standing under the bright lights, he squints at his reflection, frowning at the bruises, scratching at his beard. As he washes his face, brushes his teeth and pees, he feels a slight pounding beginning from the back of his skull, a thunderous pain that immediately starts spreading forward. Refreshed and somewhat awake, he quickly returns back into bed, hoping that staying horizontal will perhaps ease the headache.
Back under the blankets, he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, tries to relax his face, to ride the wave of pain and not get drowned by it.
Stiles shifts around and without thinking, Chris turns his head to look.
There’s soft, early morning light peeking in through the half-closed curtains and it washes over Stiles’ form. Chris’ attention is caught by the curve of his shoulder, his messy hair, his dark eyelashes and then his mouth that’s pursed into a slight pout. He’s almost on his stomach, face pressed deep into the pillow that was Peter’s last night, and he’s close enough to be very, very tempting.
Stiles breathes in sharply and his eyes blink open. They widen when they focus in on Chris’ face.
The silence feels loud in the room as they just stare at each other.
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, voice rougher than usual, as he hides his face behind his hands. He moves some of his fingers to take a one-eyed peek, before closing the gap again. “I’m staring at you like a creep.”
Chris grins, a fondness radiating from inside his chest that battles with the headache and almost wins. “I stared at you first.”
Stiles pulls his hands away and stares, more awake now, eyes bright and searching. “Yeah?”
A sudden tension in the air, the crackle of possibility making it slightly harder to breathe.
“Yeah,” Chris says and clears his throat.
Stiles lifts his head and slides his body closer, before settling down again, rubbing his cheek against the edge of the pillow, face so close that Chris could kiss him just by turning over onto his side.
“That wasn’t a no before, right?”
It takes him a second to realize what Stiles is talking about. “It wasn’t,” he admits.
Long fingers curl around his arm, gentle yet firm. Stiles’ eyes are flicking around, expression thoughtful.
“I think… I want you to make the first move, here, now.”
Chris swallows hard, frowning as excitement rushes through him. With it comes apprehension, the same kind that stopped him from leaning over the table to steal a kiss.
“I told you… I can’t-”
“Maybe I have the wrong idea,” Stiles cuts him off, sliding his head off the pillow and onto the sheets, close enough that Chris can feel the warmth of his breath against his face. His eyes are so brown, and so full of life, energy, they’re mesmerizing. “But… Have you ever gotten to make the first move?”
The question brings chills, as his mind races back to Victoria, to Will and Richard, and even to Peter, who stepped into his home and crushed their mouths together.
He specifically remembers standing in his kitchen, Peter’s presence a heady distraction, and thinking how he needs Peter to make the first move, because Chris has never done it, doesn’t know how to.
And here is Stiles, smiling warmly, tugging at his arm, the entire length of his body seeming to beg him to get closer, to test the waters, to just go for it.
Fuck.
Every inch of him is screaming to close the distance, but he wills himself to go slow. He turns fully to his side, brushing against Stiles’ front and resting their foreheads together. Stiles’ breath is now hitting his mouth, teasing him.
“Please,” Stiles whispers, his hand sliding over Chris’ arm, then dragging his knuckles over his chest, before grabbing at his shoulder, keeping him in place. “I want you to.”
The plea ignites him and the grip on his shoulder feels like a command, the combination of the two has him gasping for air just before closing that final inch and capturing soft lips with his.
Just from that first touch, Stiles moans at the back of his throat as his hand slides over Chris’ neck. His mouth opens easily, tongue eager to slide against Chris’ and the sensation has him grabbing at Stiles’ face, pressing closer.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles gasps against his lips and surges forward with his whole body, a firm hardness making contact with Chris’ hip. Stiles kisses him furiously while his hips start moving, creating friction and pressure and making Chris’ cock wake up through the pain.
The pain is now throbbing at the four corners of his head, a pulsing sensation every time his jaw moves as he kisses Stiles back and it’s building and building until he realizes he has to stop.
He pulls away and lays on his back, out of breath.
“Too much?” Stiles asks, staying where he is.
“No, just,” Chris groans in frustration. “Headache.”
“Oh, fuck,” Stiles says softly and then he’s moving in close and gently placing his hand on one side of Chris’ head, while resting his own against the other. His fingers travel upward and start gentle circling motions against Chris’ left temple and scalp. It feels nice. “Sorry.”
Chris wraps his hand around Stiles’ forearm, just holding on. He slowly, so as to not dislodge the fingers in his hair, turns his head against Stiles’, until he can see those eyes again. There’s a gorgeous flush to Stiles’ cheeks, his lips red and wet, his eyes wide and bright and Chris wishes he was healed, that his ribs didn’t hurt, that he didn’t have to deal with the headaches. There’s a strong urge to push Stiles onto his back and continue what the other started, but his arousal’s already wilting under the onslaught of pain.
“We’re doing this, huh?”
Stiles snorts, “Seems like it. I’m…” He sighs and nuzzles closer, nose against Chris’ cheek now. “I feel like I’m going to explode, from… giddiness or something. Kissing you felt amazing. Touching you…” He rubs his face against Chris’. He wonders if Stiles realizes how much he’s acting like Peter right now. “Amazing.”
Chris strokes his hand along Stiles’ skin, brushing the hair on his arm back and forth. “Yeah. Just wish I could give you more.”
Stiles pulls back to frown at him. “You don’t have to give me anything.”
“I just mean that, I wish I wasn’t hurt.” The fingers in his hair stop their light massage and Stiles slides his hand lower, to rub at Chris’ cheekbone, his jaw, his beard.
“I can wait, it’s no big deal.”
A knock on the door. Stiles freezes, eyes going wide.
Chris doesn’t get the chance to say anything before the door opens and Peter walks in, mouth spreading into a wide grin as he takes in their positions.
“Now this must be what vindication smells like.”
“God, I thought you were Allison,” Stiles sighs in relief and pulls away from Chris to slap a hand down onto his face.
“She’s waiting for you downstairs. Apparently you’re late.”
Stiles jerks upright and scrambles out of bed. “Shit, shit-” He gets his legs tangled up in the blankets and tumbles onto the ground. In a flash, before Chris can even begin to ask if he’s okay, he’s up and rushing away. “I’ll see you later, make some breakfast, Peter!”
“I’m not your personal chef!” Peter calls out after him.
“Do it for Chris!” Stiles’ run down the stairs is loud enough to reach them before Peter closes the door and sighs.
“I guess I’m making breakfast.”
Chris grins in amusement, “Aw, for me?”
Peter rolls his eyes. “First, let me draw some pain, you look like you’re close to throwing up.”
“It’s getting pretty bad, yeah.” He lets Peter pull him close, resting his head on the man’s lap while Peter sits against the headboard. Fingers slide around the nape of his neck and his forehead. Relief rushes through his body, tension easing up.
“Remember when Stiles came over, upset, and he asked you to stay but you left anyway?”
Chris turns his head to blink up at him, confused. Peter has an overly innocent expression on his face. “Yes?”
“He moaned out your name as I fucked him that night.”
The images that one line puts in his head. He reaches up to squeeze the thigh under his head. “You’re telling me this why?”
“Motivation. You have to take good care of yourself, go to your check-ups, do nothing strenuous. And not be mopey when we refuse to pull you into danger.” Peter leans over him to whisper, “You have no idea how badly he’s wanted this, wanted you. Just in case you’re holding onto any doubts still.”
He imagines sliding in between Stiles’ spread legs and pressing down, his traitorous brain taking it a step further and picturing Stiles’ mouth around the head of his cock, teasing him while his bright brown eyes peer up at him, eager and wanting just like they were a minute ago.
“I get it,” he says, knowing that his scent must be overwhelming Peter with just how much he gets it. “I’ll be careful.” He sighs. “And I won’t… mope.”
“Mm, good,” Peter purrs and draws a little more pain, enough to leave Chris sleepy and warm.
And his head full of all kinds of things the three of them can do once he’s feeling better again.
“One second, let me go to the bathroom and then change,” Stiles blurts out as he runs downstairs.
“Do I want to know what you were doing up there?” Allison asks, waiting by the door, already in her jogging outfit.
“Sleeping,” Stiles answers honestly and then shoots over his shoulder with a grin, “And kissing your dad!”
Absolute silence as he rushes to get himself ready. About five minutes later, he’s back at the foyer and Allison is looking wary.
“You’re going to be so annoying about this, aren’t you?”
Stiles grins at her as they leave the house, turns to walk backwards. “I’ve had to deal with you and Scott being all mushy and PDA-y for years now, you got to let me have some payback, right?”
“Except this is my dad,” she groans, stretching her quads and nodding at him to do the same.
“Yeah, and Scott is like my brother. I didn’t need to see a picture of his dick.”
“You grew up together and share locker rooms and bathrooms and-” Allison frowns at him, but she’s also smiling. “Hadn’t you already seen it?”
“When it was soft, Allison. Soft,” Stiles snaps at her. “I didn’t need to know that my buddy’s a grower.”
She snorts into laughter so hard she loses her balance.
“I’m going to be kissing your dad a lot, just saying. Take it as a warning.” That shuts her up quick.
A few minutes later, as they’re running, she asks, “So, you’re doing this. Being together, all three of you?”
“I guess?” He pants.
“While already living with one of them? That’s kind of fast.”
He slows down a little. “Well, I can always go back home. You’re right, it’s… too fast. I mean, dad was afraid that I was going to run off and live with Peter and I told him that I’m not stupid enough to move in with the guy I’ve barely just started dating and now…”
“Now you’ve moved in with the guy you’ve barely started dating.” Allison makes a thoughtful noise. “I’m not kicking you out or anything, just… something to think about.”
“Like I don’t already have enough,” Stiles mumbles and speeds up with her when she picks up the pace again.
The smell of bacon, eggs and coffee greets them when they get back and Stiles heads straight to the kitchen, throwing his arms up in the air victoriously.
“Such power I wield! I say it, you do it!”
Peter looks up from his phone, one hand holding a cup against his chest. He quirks an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. Stiles doesn’t let that bother him though, still riding on a fucking hell, Chris kissed me high, and rushes up to Peter to grab his face and plant a firm kiss on his mouth.
“Where’s Chris?” He asks after pulling back.
Peter’s expression has morphed into a sly fondness that Stiles is getting used to seeing aimed at him, as he says, “He fell back asleep.”
“Oh, good,” he says, while feeling a bit disappointed. He kind of hoped for some more kissing before heading to school but well, there’s always later.
Right after that thought goes through his brain, it hits him how insane his life is right now.
“Eat up, but leave some for him too. Since I did make it for Chris, after all,” Peter says wryly, lifting his cup to take a sip.
“You’re such a sap for him,” Stiles shrugs.
Peter snorts, some coffee dribbling out of his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.
“Apparently, I’m a sap for both of you.”
“Aw,” Stiles coos and steps closer again. He slides his arms around Peter’s waist and leans in, enjoying the way Peter’s eyelids lower, his gaze growing more heated. “I was thinking during the run…”
“Mm?” Peter puts the coffee down behind him and wraps his arms around Stiles, hands dangerously low on his back.
“Since we’ve both been kind of… excited lately, maybe we should spend tonight at your place. Where I can be as loud as you want me to be.” That was pretty bold of him. In his mind he pats himself on the back. Having two hot guys look at him the way that Peter’s looking at him right now is evidently a huge confidence booster.
“You should go running more often,” Peter drawls, a familiar smug smirk making a reappearance on his face. Stiles leans in to kiss it off him.
The hands on his back go down and grab his ass, pulling him in tighter.
“I still live here, you know!” Allison yells at them.
Stiles jumps away, wiping his mouth as he turns to see her grimacing at them.
“Sorry, I, uh, forgot.”
“…That I live here?”
“Yep.”
Allison rolls her eyes and walks past him to get some coffee.
“Just go shower, we’re leaving soon.”
“Right.”
“Stiles?” Peter calls out and he turns back around. “Let me know what time you wanna meet up. I could come to the school again.”
“You… what?”
Peter tilts his head, smirking at him. “We can make an evening of it, go on a date and everything.”
“Oh,” he smiles. “Yeah, I’ll text you.”
He walks off with a bounce to his step.
The school is a hive of gossip and rumors as Jackson makes his comeback.
Stiles does his best to keep a wide distance between the two of them, still barely having processed the fact that Jackson might be pulling his metaphorical pigtails and not ready to poke that bee nest. Lydia seems disappointed but also texts him that she gets it and hopes he gets why she’s choosing to sit with Jackson rather than him. Stiles does, of course. They’ve got a lot of shit to figure out, Jackson’s experience wasn’t exactly a fun thrill ride either and he needs help and support just like the rest of them.
Danny’s back too and he’s also distancing himself from Jackson, which means that for a few classes, he actually sits next to Stiles.
“Okay if I sit with you?” He asks politely the first time and after Stiles just gestures in welcome, he ends up walking over every class they share together with Jackson.
They don’t converse much, outside of the schoolwork and assignments they get, but it doesn’t feel awkward either. Danny just looks a bit sad, checking his phone a lot, and Stiles doesn’t pry. He instead continues his absentminded doodling, and Danny doesn’t pry either. It’s kind of nice, for one day to be a bit separated from the chaos that his friend-group has become.
He does catch up to Lydia during lunch to ask her what exactly is going on between Jackson and Danny, because of course he’s still curious.
“Jackson’s been avoiding Danny’s questions because he doesn’t know what to tell him and doesn’t want to make shit up,” she sighs. “He wants to tell the truth but Laura asked him not to, because our circle of people in the know is already too big in her opinion.”
Stiles thinks about the looming threat of some kind of a secret organization’s attention fixed onto their little town, observing to see if they fuck up and expose everything, and finds Laura’s suggestion reasonable. Then he remembers that no one else knows about that besides him, Peter, Chris and Deaton. Lydia and Jackson’s disgruntlement makes sense.
“Danny’s smart, though, and if we leave him in the dark, he might figure some part of it out himself,” Stiles says. “Just keep talking to Laura about it, she might cave.”
“Or you could talk to Peter,” she tilts her head at him.
“I’m not going to use my relationship-”
“Oh get off your high horse, what else are relationships for if not to get something out of it?”
Stiles claps his hands together and presses his fingers against his mouth, squinting hard. “I assume you’re ignoring companionship, trust and affection?”
“Those are like a bonus,” she shrugs.
“You worry me,” he says, pointing his clasped hands at her.
“I’m the most level-headed person here,” she scoffs.
“The person who risked her life for a douchebag like Jackson?”
She gives him a dry glare. “Fine, talk to him, don’t talk to him, it’s none of my business.”
“Exactly, thank you,” he spreads his hands.
After lunch he has two free periods again, so he heads off to get some burgers and then drives to the station.
Where Laura looks like she’s ready to kill someone.
“Everything okay?” He asks, leaning against her desk.
“I’m going to wring your dad’s neck,” she grumbles at him, moodily typing something on her keyboard.
“Woah,” Stiles protests.
“Laura!” His dad’s voice rings over the whole station and Stiles jumps at the volume of it.
“What now?” She sighs and heads on over to Noah’s office.
Stiles stares at the door after she closes it, taps his fingers around the take-away bags he’s holding. He jumps again when she exits suddenly.
“Make him stop,” she hisses at him as she walks past.
“Stop what?” He asks, but then Noah is at his door, squinting at him angrily.
“Stiles? What are you doing here?”
He holds up the food in reply. “Two free periods.”
“Again?” Noah sighs tiredly and gestures for him to enter. “I guess I should be happy you’re coming here.”
“You should… be…” Stiles pauses as he takes in the state of his dad’s desk. Open files everywhere, stacks of them on the floor.
“We’re going over all of our unsolved cases going back to just before the Hale fire.”
“Jesus, what? That’s a lot,” Stiles comments, trying to find a place to put the food and not having any success. His dad quickly pulls some of the files away and makes a tiny space for the bag.
“It is, but the feds asked for it. We’re looking for connections between the Argents, the Hales and the missing teachers.”
“The… missing teachers?”
“They can’t find Morrell either.”
“And she is now… a suspect or something?”
“It’s all just happening in a very short time period, so any connections could lead to an arrest, which is the ultimate goal here.” Noah sits down and continues reading a report.
“So, they’re still in town?”
“Yeah, Agent Fetters has been here most of the time, helping us go through all this. Which reminds me,” his head snaps up to stare at Stiles, who is still standing. “What the hell is she? Something dangerous?”
Oh, right. Stiles scrubs at his face and slumps down onto a chair.
“We don’t exactly know?” He shrugs, not even counting that as a lie since he’s still kind of lost on what a witch actually is. Not to mention that her being a witch is not concrete either. “She seems to just want to keep all of this werewolf-business on the downlow, though. Chris doesn’t think she’s dangerous, if we keep our heads down.”
Noah frowns. “Chris? What does Peter think?”
“I mean… that she’s a threat, of course,” he shrugs again, making a face at Noah’s raised eyebrows. “He’s an Alpha werewolf, dad, he’s overly possessive of his territory and doesn’t trust anyone who waltzes in here unannounced.”
“How is this my life?” Noah sighs and rests his face in his hands. “Some days I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Stiles says, while thinking about his morning, waking up next to Chris, that intense expression on the man’s face and the kiss, so short and yet so much.
“Burgers?” Noah perks up a bit, finally noticing the bag.
“Got you a bacon cheeseburger.”
His dad’s hand pauses as it reaches out towards his food. He squints at him. “Why?”
“What do you mean why?” Stiles squints back.
“Stiles.” His tone demands an explanation.
Stiles see-saws with his chair nervously. “We’re going for honesty in our household now, right?”
“Now? We were always supposed to be honest-” Noah draws back from the bag and holds up his hand, halting himself. “Also, our household?”
“Ignore the temporary living situation,” Stiles waves his hand dismissively.
“What do you want to be honest about?” Noah asks, crossing his arms on his desk, still squinting.
“I don’t want to be honest about it. I don’t think you want me to either. But I think… I should? Just so you don’t get… blindsided by something.”
“Does this have anything to do with Chris?” He asks, sighing wearily.
“H-How did you guess?”
“Because I’m not an idiot?” Noah shakes his head and yanks the bag towards him, gloomily taking out his burger. “I don’t know if I’ll enjoy this, knowing the motivation behind it.”
Stiles watches as he starts to eat and then his brain decides he has to blurt out, “We kissed.”
Noah pauses mid-chew. “I don’t need to know more. Seriously. I already want to kill him. No more.”
“Okay, okay,” Stiles relents. “…You’re not going to, right?”
Noah puts down his burger and swallows. “If he hurts you? I might.”
Stiles feels a rush of affection for his dad and says, “I appreciate that.”
Noah looks at him like he’s not making any sense and then shakes his head. “Why couldn’t you just find a boy your own age? Or maybe just a college guy? Why not Derek even?”
“I don’t know, why couldn’t I not be a sacrificial gift to a blood-crazy magic tree? Also, I’m not fluent in eyebrow and even if I was, Derek’s pretty straight.”
“…Fair.”
“Eat your burger.”
“I’m the dad,” Noah says firmly, pointing at himself.
Stiles just raises his eyebrows and waits for his dad to continue eating before grabbing his own burger.
When he wakes up a second time, he has this clear memory of what it felt like to have Stiles’ very distracting mouth pressed up against his own and for a moment he thinks it was a dream.
He realizes it wasn’t as soon as he gets downstairs and sees Peter’s face.
“Shit, I actually did it.” He rubs a hand over his eyes.
“You did,” Peter grins up at him from his place at the table. The map that both Stiles and Chris have now scribbled on is spread open in front of him. Chris notices the pencil in Peter’s hand.
“Does no one own their own map?” He asks, walking over to sit next to him.
“Well, this one seems to be what everyone’s making notes on. I started to feel left out.”
Chris drags it closer but can’t make out what Peter’s marked down. “What did you use it for?”
“The territories that I remember belonging to other packs. But my knowledge… has a six-year gap in it. I’ve been thinking about calling some of them, to spread the word that not only is Gerard dead but Deucalion too. I know he made a lot of enemies back then as well.”
Chris looks closer and can see thin pencil-drawn lines around some towns. A few of them go around his own circles of known hunter-heavy areas. He taps one of them. “This place is full of hunters now. I’m guessing the pack that was here either left or…”
“Laura did say they were hunting us to extinction,” Peter muses, a darker expression taking over.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.
“Let’s put aside that depressing topic and instead discuss how you’re going to react when you see Stiles next.”
“…How I’m… What?” Luckily, he’s saved from answering by his phone. “It’s Hayden, I got to take this.”
Peter rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Go on. Leave me to entertain myself, like always.”
He quirks a brow at him quickly as he stands, holding his phone to his ear. “Yes?” He turns around and takes a few steps away from the table, more out of habit, since he knows that Peter can hear both sides of the conversation if he feels like it.
“A lot of people have sent me flowers and get-well-soon-cards, but your name is on none of them. Should I be worried?” Hayden sounds as bright and brash as ever, leaving Chris feeling relieved. So far, he has nothing bad to say about the man, and just like Allison, he’s been worried about the aftermath of Hayden not only getting shot, but losing a trusted friend.
He chuckles. “I could’ve used some of those cards too. I’m sure Allison told you about my short hospital visit.”
“She did, she did. Concussion can be a bitch to deal with, add a broken rib on top of that and you’re in for a shitty time.”
“Getting shot in the chest isn’t exactly a picnic, either.”
“Won’t argue with that. Now, I called for a reason. Specifically, to beg for your help. Or Allison’s help. Or both.”
“What’s going on?” He frowns, looking over his shoulder at Peter, who of course has perked up with a curious look on his face.
“I guess I was a fool to think my bar was a safe haven. There have been a few deaths here. Creature deaths. Benign ones at that, one of them was a buddy of mine. They look like hunter kills. My men are saying it must be someone encroaching into our territory, maybe someone new who doesn’t know the rules. But after Terry…”
“You don’t know who to trust anymore,” Chris surmises.
“Exactly. Could use some of your knowledge about your father’s dealings, and all the families still active in the states. Maybe you’ll meet a familiar face here and can point it out, I don’t know, I’m grasping at straws here. I asked Anna first, but she’s busy with the Miller girl. You heard about that, by the way?”
“I did.” Chris shares a long look with Peter. “Are you asking me to come over there?”
“Yeah, or send Allison. But I figure you wouldn’t feel comfortable letting her come alone.”
“You’re right. Not to mention, I’m the one with the experience, not her.”
“Easy, I have no ulterior motives for her or anything. I like her and just wanted to show her my bar. She’s been very interested in more peaceful solutions with creatures, especially werewolves, so I figured she’d like to see what it can look like.”
“So you invite her to stay with you when you’re feeling unsafe in your own home?”
“…When you put it like that,” Hayden sighs. “Just you, maybe?”
“…I’ll talk to her about it-”
“And me, you’ll also talk to me,” Peter interjects, leaning forward in his seat.
“-And we’ll see. Maybe we’ll come together.”
“That’d be fantastic, I’d owe you forever, honestly.”
“Are you still keeping an eye out for that darach I told you about?”
“Yeah, there was one death that looked suspicious. I, uh, forgot to call you about that. In my defense, I was busy with you know, being betrayed and all that.”
“Send me the info.”
“Alright. But hey, thanks. For even considering it.”
“Sure. Talk to you soon.”
Peter’s looking annoyed. “You’re going to Canada? Please tell me this is not you running away from Stiles.”
Chris blinks at him for a moment. “That honestly never even crossed my mind. This is just what we do, what I’ve always done. Travel around, helping out my contacts, making new ones.”
“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighs, relenting. “It’s what I should do too, at some point. I’d come to Canada with you but…”
“Not with the Nemeton still acting up.”
“Exactly. I’m picking up Astrid from the airport tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully, she’ll have some answers.”
“I should talk to Anna some more, get a bead on what she thinks about Hayden’s crew.”
Peter hums thoughtfully and looks down at the map. “So, Miller’s daughter is becoming a problem?”
“She wants revenge.”
“Round and round it goes,” Peter mutters, finger slowly moving in a spiral.
“That’s one reason I’m hesitating,” Chris says, coming back over. He drags a chair closer to Peter, sitting down right in front of him, their knees next to each other. “What if we go away for a week and that’s when she decides to strike?”
Peter’s eyes study him as he cocks his head. “What about the fact that you’re still injured and need to rest?”
“We wouldn’t go right away,” Chris sighs. “I know my limits, Peter.”
“Do you?” Peter’s smile looks mean.
“Not this again,” he says, getting up and heading towards the fridge. He pauses when he sees a plate with a lid on it on the counter. Under the lid he finds scrambled eggs, bacon and neatly sliced tomatoes.
“It’s cold now,” Peter says softly, coming up behind to hug him around the waist. He rests his chin on Chris’ shoulder. “I don’t mean to nag. I just worry. You came so close to dying, Chris. Too close.”
“That’s kind of the nature of our lives, though.” He leans back a little.
“I’m hoping that one day it won’t be,” Peter murmurs, sounding almost wistful.
He turns around in Peter’s arms, reaching up to grab the back of his neck, squeezing a little. “That day’s far away, still.”
“Mm.” Peter leans in to kiss him, mouth slow and tantalizingly gentle. “Stiles is going to stay at my place tonight.”
Chris pulls back a little, laughing. “Sometimes talking to you feels like getting whiplashed.”
“You’ve given us a lot to be… excited about,” Peter continues, trailing kisses along Chris’ jaw, then down his neck. “And we don’t want to disturb you or Allison. He makes the most wonderful needy sounds when he gets lost in sensation, so focused on chasing what feels good.” Chris’ breathing is getting shallower and he gasps sharply as Peter’s hands slide down to grab his ass and pull him closer. He moves his hand to curl his fingers around Peter’s hair, tightening his grip into a yank when Peter presses their hips together.
“Careful, nothing strenuous, remember?” He smirks, doing his best to hide his arousal.
Peter pulls his head back and his face says it all—Chris’ scent betrays him.
“My apologies. Just giving you a preview.” His mouth spreads into a wide grin, smug as hell.
“Maybe I should run away to Canada,” he says dryly, a little frustrated by the teasing.
Peter tsk-tsks, crushing his body against Chris’, hands sliding upwards to brush his fingers under Chris’ shirt. He kisses him with tongue, hot and insistent. Chris responds in kind, aches in his body protesting but left ignored because he loves this, loves it when Peter’s attention feels determined, yet reverent at the same time.
“Whenever you do feel up to receiving a helping hand, just let me know,” Peter murmurs into his mouth. He turns his head a bit to press his lips against Chris’ cheek. “I can be gentle,” he says and Chris feels him smile.
“I know,” he says. He’s panting a little now and it hurts so he tries to calm his breathing. It helps when Peter takes a step back but leaves a hand to trail up and down along Chris’ less injured side, soothing.
“You good? Did I go too far?”
“I’d appreciate a little less teasing right now,” Chris admits. His honesty is rewarded with a kiss on his forehead.
“Noted.”
“Speaking of going too far… If Stiles is staying with you tonight. You should tell him. About what happened.”
Peter’s face darkens, but he nods. “You’re right. Before Astrid gets here.”
Chris can see that behind the cocky presentation, there’s a real worry lingering in Peter’s mind—of how Stiles is going to react. He pulls him back in for a kiss that’s less about stimulation and more for comfort.
He doesn’t know how else to help.
When he’s packing up his things for the day, Danny approaches him by his locker.
“Hey, you got a minute?”
Stiles stills, thinking about Peter waiting for him outside and wondering if his hearing reaches this far and if it does, would the noisiness cover this conversation? He locks his locker and throw his bag over a shoulder.
“I’m in a hurry, but I guess I can spare a minute. What’s up?”
“I’ve been wanting to say this all day… I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Stiles frowns, confused.
“For the way I talked to you in the library…” Danny palms the back of his neck nervously, looking away from Stiles. “I assume that Lydia must have explained what I meant.”
He glances around, doesn’t see Jackson anywhere, catches Cora obviously listening in from down the hall and gives her a subtle middle finger before stepping closer to Danny, so that he can lower his voice and still be heard.
“That Jackson’s not as resistant to my charms as he likes to pretend he is? Yeah, she explained.”
Danny looks up, quirking a brow at him. “Does Jackson know?”
“Of course not, why would I fuck up this amazing will they or won’t they kill each other dynamic we’ve got going on right now? Also, I’m trying to stay away from him, that way this never has to be addressed.”
Danny’s mouth twitches up into a smile.
“Not interested in using that to turn the tables on him?”
“It’s just too weird,” he grimaces exaggeratedly. “I just don’t want to deal with it at all. Let it stay unspoken.”
“Alright,” Danny says easily, smile brightening. “There’s something else. It’s my birthday next week and I’m inviting some people to a night out at Jungle on Friday.”
Stiles nods, “Sounds cool?”
“This is me inviting you too,” Danny chuckles.
“Oh!” He scratches the back of his head. “Uh…”
“Lydia’s coming too! Without Jackson,” Danny hurries to say. “And I also invited Scott and Allison. So, your whole gang will be there.”
Stiles catches Cora’s hand up in the air from where she’s standing by the doors.
“What about Cora?”
“I guess she can be your plus one,” Danny shrugs.
Cora’s hand transforms into a thumbs-up.
“Okay, I guess we’re in. Wait, am I supposed to bring a gift?”
“Nah, I just want more people. It’ll be more fun that way.”
“Sweet, is there like an entrance fee?”
“Of course. And bring extra cash because a friend of mine will be working the bar that night and he’ll get us drinks. We’ll have to tip extra well, though.”
“Sure, sure,” Stiles nods along, trying to remember how much of his savings he has left, since this summer he didn’t take any jobs. Probably enough for one night out. He hopes.
“If you really want, I guess you can bring your… boyfriend?” Danny winces and looks at him expectantly.
“Psh, no,” Stiles scoffs. “Not bringing Peter to a high-school clubbing night.”
“Not his scene?”
“Clubbing might be for all I know,” he shrugs, making a mental note to ask that at some point. “But hanging out with a bunch of high-school students? Nah-” he cuts himself off as soon as he realizes how weird that sounds without context because-
“He’s dating one, though,” Danny frowns at him, smile disappearing completely. Of course Danny picks up on the weird insinuation that Stiles just accidentally made.
“No, you see, he’s not interested in this-” he waves his hands around him, gesturing at the school, the lockers, the other students, “-side of me. We have something different going on, a… bond, that was formed… because of… circumstance…” He is just digging a hole for himself at this point. He stops talking and begs Danny with his eyes to just let this go.
“You are being careful with him, right?” Nope, not letting this go. “Dating someone that much older than you is… there’s a lot of risk involved. They can really hurt you.”
“Speaking from experience?” Stiles’ eyebrows fly high.
“No,” Danny rushes to deny. “But a friend of mine had a really bad experience with this older guy, so I know what the aftermath can look like. It can really fuck you up, for life even.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Peter’s good. I have a feeling that if he hurt me, he’d throw himself off a cliff.” And survive, he adds in his mind.
“Well,” Danny shrugs. “I hope you show up. With Cora.”
“We probably will, thanks a lot for inviting us,” Stiles grins at him brightly, giving him two thumbs-up, an extra special thank you.
As they both head towards the exit, Stiles notices that Cora’s gone. Just as he gets to think Oh no, he walks outside and spies her standing next to Peter by his Jeep.
“He does look good, though,” Danny says with a sigh and Stiles gives him a surprised glance. “You do too, by the way,” he says casually, as if that’s a normal thing for him to say to Stiles of all people.
“What?” He splutters, stumbling over his next step and having to windmill to keep his balance.
“When Lydia and I first found out about Jackson’s big secret, it was kind of a shock. That you of all people caught his attention.”
“Kind of hurtful,” Stiles mutters.
“But now… I don’t know. You have this confidence about you, and becoming friends with Lydia also made you more intense, less of a spaz.”
That was the Nemeton, Stiles would like to point out.
“I mean, you’re just continuing with the hurt, dude.”
Danny side-eyes him, smirking. “I think your older boyfriend’s probably doing you good too.”
Stiles just stares at him. “Thanks?”
“See you,” he waves and leaves Stiles to stand there, completely thrown by that whole exchange. He bursts into movement, when he catches both Peter and Cora looking his way.
Peter’s wearing dark jeans and his brown leather jacket, open at the front to reveal a disgustingly low black V-neck. Stiles hates himself a bit for wanting to swoon at the whole package.
“Well, well, look who’s popular today,” Peter drawls loudly and stands up straight.
“I know, right?” Stiles shakes his head, bewildered, and unlocks his car so he can throw his bag on the backseat. Then he happily throws his arms around Peter and gives him a kiss. Just for Cora’s sake, he’s extra loud with his lip smacks.
“Ugh,” she says predictably.
Stiles snorts against Peter’s mouth and then practically melts when the man cradles his face and adjusts the angle, while bringing the kiss down to a slower, teasing press of lips.
“That will never get old,” he whispers as they part.
“Even when he will?” Cora asks evenly.
Peter’s head snaps towards her with a frown. “Uncalled for.”
“What, your age?” She scoffs. “I’ll leave you to this gross mushy stuff, I guess. Thanks for getting me a party invite!” She salutes Stiles and then walks off.
“Going clubbing?” Peter asks and nuzzles against Stiles’ cheek.
“Probably, sounds like fun.”
“Does having a coffee date sound like fun?”
Stiles pulls away and punches upward victoriously. “Hell yeah, let’s go!”
Peter looks incredibly amused when he gets into the Jeep.
“Okay, I don’t think normal dating is for us,” Stiles says five minutes into their date.
Peter wraps his fingers around the rim of his cup as he cocks his head to the side.
“What makes you say that?”
Stiles looks around the half-empty coffee shop, the cute and cozy ambiance, the people milling about who he in his mind categorizes as normies.
“I’d rather hang out at your apartment and read your books and talk to you about what I’m reading,” he says as he realizes it.
Peter leans back in his chair, frowning contemplatively. “You don’t think we can hold a normal conversation.”
“I mean…” Stiles flounders, trying to figure out how to explain himself. “What’s normal? What am I supposed to ask you, how’s your job going? You don’t have one. Are you supposed to ask me about school? Yeah, half the teachers have left and the other half are overworked so they mostly just play movies, things are super.” He spreads his hands, giving Peter a come on now look.
“We can talk about anything you want,” Peter says but closes his eyes with a smile when Stiles scoffs at him. “How about… family. How are you and your dad doing?”
Stiles moves his head all around in a circle, while coming up with an answer. “Tense. But I think he’s at least coming to grips with everything that’s happened. Or he’s just given up on making sense of any of it.” He frowns to himself, remembering how tired his dad looks lately. Defeated. Frustrated.
“Now’s your turn to ask me about my family,” Peter says, lifting his cup to point a finger at him as he takes a sip.
“Uh…” Another heavy topic, he realizes as his mind rushes way back to the very beginning, to his first real introduction to the Hales. “I just remembered something that I haven’t thought of in like… a long time.”
“What is it?” Peter puts down his cup and links his fingers, leaning forward on his elbows, very obvious with his curiosity.
Stiles hesitates. “It’s kind of dark, I don’t know if it’s suitable for a coffee date.”
“Where have you learned all these rules for what’s suitable for which dates?” Peter squints at him, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“I don’t know,” Stiles leans his head back, shrugging. “Rom-coms?”
Peter rolls his eyes playfully. “You can ask anything. I don’t mind.”
“Fine,” Stiles sighs. “But I’ll get it if you can’t answer, since it’s not about you.”
“I’m intrigued now,” Peter murmurs, leaning even closer.
Stiles takes another look around and mirrors Peter’s position, their faces in possible kissing distance now, which distracts him for a few seconds, his eyes flicking down to catch a familiar smug smirk aimed at him.
“Remember when I told you that I felt what you felt that night? The night of the fire?”
Peter’s smugness practically melts off his face, as he grows more serious.
“I do. I remember feeling sorry you had to experience that.”
“Right,” Stiles mutters. “Well, it obviously wasn’t exactly what you felt. It was kind of muted. I was in your head but also… separated, you know?” He pauses and waits for Peter to nod before continuing. “Anyway, the Nemeton showed me all of you that night. I was Laura when she found out, when she tried to track Kate.” Peter breathes in deeply at the name, causing Stiles to pause again. He gets another small nod. “I was Cora at a party when everyone around her started talking about a fire in the woods. I was Derek at that same party. It’s Derek that I want to ask about.” He loses his nerve. “The more I’m thinking about it, the more I think I shouldn’t, it’s none of my business-”
“Just ask already,” Peter snaps at him, sounding impatient and on edge.
“He felt so guilty,” Stiles blurts out. “So fucking guilty. Was that… survivor’s guilt or something?”
Peter looks off to the side, thinking.
“…That’s personal, so I can’t answer.”
That’s an answer in itself.
“So it wasn’t survivor’s guilt,” Stiles says, mind racing.
Peter doesn’t say anything, just looks back at him with a quirked brow.
He’s trying to find something for Derek to be guilty about that night, tries to remember what else Derek felt besides the overwhelming grief, the loss of pack, of family. There was some kind of a realization. And… betrayal?
“Kate… was his teacher,” he recalls.
He doesn’t need to say any more as Peter’s mouth widens up into an angry smile.
“She got to him somehow, didn’t she? Got his trust?”
“Somehow,” Peter confirms and takes a big swig of his coffee.
It takes him a second.
“Oh, oh, ew, oh gross,” Stiles sticks his tongue out and gags.
Peter blinks at him in surprise. “You say gross and yet look at us. I’m older than she was,” he points out.
“What? Dude, no,” Stiles snaps back quickly. “I’m older than Derek was too. This is completely different.”
“I mean,” Peter lifts a shoulder. “I think so too. But there are people who would disagree.”
“For one,” Stiles holds up a finger. “The younger you are, the more one year matters. When I was fifteen-sixteen, I was such a dumbass-”
“I’ve heard your friends call you a dumbass multiple times this year,” Peter interjects smoothly, before taking another sip.
Stiles ignores him and continues, “I was convinced that Lydia was it for me and that I was perfect for her and she just couldn’t see it yet. I was morbidly curious about everything my dad was involved in, I stole case files, I looked at crime scene photos and I dreamed, dreamed, of seeing a crime scene in real life.” He pauses, breathing a little heavier. “I had no clue what seeing a dead body is actually like,” he mutters, voice cracking towards the end. He clears his throat.
Peter doesn’t speak, but his eyes say a lot. Stiles finds understanding there, an acknowledgement that helps him calm back down.
“And Kate was his teacher…” He gets back on topic. “She never cared about him in the first place. She manipulated and lied. You never did that to me-” He cuts himself off and squints at Peter. “I think.”
“Oh, I didn’t have to. You were very eager to get in my bed,” Peter says evenly with a smile.
“Shut up, you know what you look like,” Stiles grumbles at him.
“Comments like that are going to make me feel insecure,” Peter tells him, pouting a little.
“What.”
“That you’re only into me because of my looks,” Peter says, jutting his lower lip out even further. The overall expression is comical in its insincerity.
“That’s dumb,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at him.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter shrugs and then lifts his hands from the table so he can rest his chin on them, giving Stiles a coy look. “Why don’t you tell me in detail what you like about me? Besides the fact that I’m roguishly handsome and that I’d tear apart anyone who dared to hurt you.”
How is this his life? Stiles gapes at him for a moment. How is he the one who has to explain to his thirty-something partners why he’s interested in them, how is this not happening the other way around? If anyone has the right to feel insecure in this throuple, it’s him goddamnit, he’s the eighteen-year-old with no prior experience!
Also, Peter’s face makes it seem like this whole question is more for fun, to tease, but Stiles thinks it over and decides to give him an honest answer, just like he gave one to Chris.
“You’re smart, obviously,” he begins with. Peter’s eyes spark with interest as he realizes that Stiles isn’t going to avoid the question. “You’re less impulsive than I am. I feel like you’re more calculating, that you think before you act. When you’re not running around as a wolf at least. I guess I find that hot.”
“Flatterer,” Peter says, smiling again.
“Also, well… this could maybe fall under a blanket category of physical traits you have no control over… But I like your voice.”
“Oh, really?” The smile becomes very smirk-like. And suddenly the air feels heavy. Peter’s eyes more intense.
“Yeah, it’s not as low as Chris’ but- I don’t know why I’m bringing up Chris-” he fumbles.
“We both know why you’re bringing him up,” Peter teases. “But continue.”
“It’s just… nice to listen to, especially when you’re…” His breathing’s gone faster and he keeps looking down, at Peter’s mouth, his jaw, his neck, that fucking big space of free real estate his deep V reveals.
“Whispering dirty things into your ear?” Peter murmurs softly, no longer smiling, a darker look on his face that makes Stiles want to writhe in his chair.
“Yes, god, fuck, can we leave?” He whispers desperately.
“But we’re finally having a conversation,” Peter raises his eyebrows innocently.
“And it’s driving me insane,” Stiles hisses at him.
“I’m not following.” Peter’s grin says he understands exactly what Stiles means.
He leans over the table and glares daggers at him. “Can we go, so that you can bend me over your desk and fuck me like you mean it?”
“Well…” Peter licks his lips. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Notes:
all the comments were so fun to read, and re-read, and re-read again. thank you guys for the smiles!
/stares at the timeline that somehow just keeps growing
it'll be 84 years before i get to reveal what kalina's message to claudia actually meant, no one will even remember there was a message. ...will i remember?
/makes a note to remember
Chapter 38: hopeful
Notes:
first half is just drawn out, explicit smut, feel free to skip to the first line-break if you're not in the mood
my brain: should probably start on that plot-train, huh?
me: absolutely
my brain: but idk, write 4k words of steter smut for no goddamn reason instead
me: ...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They never make it to the desk.
Peter’s hands are roughly tugging at Stiles’ clothes, practically undressing him before they even reach the door. He can sense the man’s impatience and his own body responds in kind.
“Fuck yes, touch me,” he mutters between open-mouthed kisses, wanting to voice his enthusiasm for all of this. At some point, he’s wrapped his arms around Peter’s head and is almost climbing upwards, eager to get closer even though there’s already barely any air left between them. Everything feels amazing and yet none of it seems enough.
Somehow, Peter manages to unlock his door and they stumble in. Peter keeps nudging him until Stiles’ ass hits the back of the couch. His shirts are pulled off and thrown to the side. With his mouth and tongue, Peter leaves a scalding trail along Stiles’ bare torso as he moves down to kneel in front of him. Stiles’ jeans get yanked down but the waistband of his boxer shorts gets a gentler treatment, so Stiles’ dick can slap upwards, almost painfully hard at this point.
Peter noses at his curls, then drags his lips along the shaft, a wet heat that has Stiles’ hips surging forward. He’s been thinking about this for days, Peter’s mouth, Peter’s hands, Peter’s anything, and he’s so turned on so fast that already there’s a familiar spine-tingling warmth in his groin, ready to burst.
“This is going to be so embarrassingly fast,” he whines, letting out a guttural moan when Peter takes him in deep.
Peter pulls back to say, “When is it not?”
Stiles glares down at him, grabbing onto Peter’s hair as the man stares back, eyes full of mirth.
“Dick,” he mutters.
Peter quirks a brow and then in a very pointed fashion slaps Stiles’ dick against his face, looking so unfairly sexy that it makes Stiles want to throw a pillow at him.
“Keep going,” he begs, trying to nudge himself back towards that sinful mouth.
Peter stops teasing and picks up up a rapid pace, the back of his throat squeezing around Stiles again and again and again-
Barely a minute later, he shudders and bends over, cradling Peter as close as possible as he comes. Peter laps up whatever escapes his mouth and licks him clean, tongue firm against Stiles’ sensitive skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes out slowly, sagging onto Peter’s shoulders. Peter pushes him back so the man can stand up to kiss him. Stiles grimaces, tasting himself on his tongue. “Should I eat more pineapple?” He mumbles.
“…That’s probably a myth,” Peter smirks at him, face close enough that Stiles can count the lines in his crow’s feet.
“You’re so fucking good at that,” he mumbles between kisses.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” Peter grins.
“That a hint?” Stiles smirks, reaching down to rub his knuckles against Peter’s increasingly more noticeable bulge.
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Mind?” Stiles leans his head back to scoff at him. “Get naked and sit on the couch.”
Peter blinks before smiling deviously. “As you wish.”
The sight of a naked Peter spreading his thighs to make room for Stiles will never cease to be knee-weakeningly hot, muscles and hair and skin on display for Stiles’ eyes to feast upon as he rids himself of his own clothes before grabbing a throw pillow for his knees. Peter’s eyes look completely blown, the blue barely visible, his mouth red and used, his hair all mussed up from Stiles’ grabby hands. He’s getting hard again just from looking at him.
“Today is the day I get you down my throat,” he announces, excitedly rubbing his hands together before eagerly sliding them over Peter’s thighs, hips, abs.
“That’s not necessary,” Peter says, voice breathier than before. He groans softly as Stiles wraps his fingers around the base of him, angling him toward his mouth. Before he can do more than wet his lips, he’s stopped by Peter’s thumb. He sucks that in instead, his oral fixation taking over. There’s a spark of red in Peter’s eyes and he curls his tongue around the thumb, loving it when Peter gets like this, responsive to Stiles’ every move. “Just that mouth of yours around the very tip would be enough,” Peter whispers to him, then bites down on his lower lip as he watches.
He grabs Peter’s wrist to pull him away. “I still want to try.”
But he starts slow. Around the very tip, like Peter said. Mouthing at it, tonguing it, sucking it in and then gently moving back and forth, just on the glans. Peter’s breathing is loud, as are the slick sounds Stiles’ mouth makes. When Peter starts groaning, he starts taking in more each time he goes down, doing his best to stay relaxed, to force himself to swallow, to not gag. But as soon as the head touches the air just before his throat, he convulses and has to pull back to cough.
“That was enough,” Peter soothes, rubbing a hand over Stiles’ head. “You did good.”
The praise leaves him warm but he’s still disappointed. “I can try again,” he pants out.
“No, I have a better idea.”
He lifts his head and quirks a questioning brow.
“How about you just take what I’ll give you.” Peter slides both hands into Stiles’ hair and holds on. But that’s all he does as he waits for Stiles’ response.
“You want to fuck my mouth?” Stiles asks and the words send a thrill through him. His spine actually arches from a shiver.
“Only if you want me to,” Peter replies.
“Hell yeah, let’s do it,” he whispers, moving backwards a little. “You going to stand up for this?”
“The angle would be better,” Peter agrees and pushes himself up. Stiles leans his head back, taking in the entire length of him and shivers from want. Peter puts his hands back on Stiles’ head. “This is just for show, I’m not going to stop you from backing away.”
“I know,” Stiles says, trying not to sound as nervous as he feels. This is new territory again and although he knows that Peter doesn’t expect him to be a pro at this, he still wants to impress, to please.
He lets his mouth fall open, relaxes his jaw and sticks his tongue out. To his surprise, Peter moans.
“Just fucking look at you,” he mutters before taking a hold of himself so he can push in, focusing on just the tip again. He keeps his other hand in Stiles’ hair, holding him in place. Stiles’ eyes flutter closed at the position, the sensation, the firm strength he can feel against his scalp. It’s this weird juxtaposition of knowing how much Peter cares about his safety, how carefully he pays attention to Stiles’ scent for any hint of discomfort or pain, and yet right now, in this moment, feeling like his mouth is being used. And loving it.
He blinks when fingers touch his cheek.
“Hold my cock for me,” Peter tells him, the roughness of his voice making Stiles moan around his mouthful as he reaches up to wrap one hand around the lower half of Peter’s dick. “Now…” Peter presses in deeper finally, getting about half-way and then stopping. “Does this still feel somewhat comfortable?”
Stiles tries to hum, nodding as much as the hand in his hair lets him.
Peter’s fingers wrap around his and tug them close to his lips.
“Try to keep your hand there, don’t let me go in too deep. Pull back whenever you need to.”
Oh. Now he gets it, grasping Peter’s dick more firmly, then leaning his head back a little, so he can continue looking up at him. Peter’s breathing through his mouth now, lips parted in excitement. When he starts to jut his hips forward, it’s a little awkward at first, Stiles having to figure out how loose he should be so that Peter can move easily while still getting friction. A few times, his hand bumps against his mouth a little too hard and Peter immediately slows, waiting for Stiles to nod at him before picking up speed again.
A few minutes of this has him feeling hazy, from how turned on he is as well as how difficult it is to breathe properly while getting his mouth fucked like this. He lets his eyes fall closed again and reaches down to start jerking off, fast and hard, moaning desperately around Peter.
“Fuck,” Peter grunts out and his thrusts get a little more forceful, the hand in his hair tugging and leaving his scalp tingling, the sensation causing him to tense up and shoot his second load all over Peter’s floor. “Can I come on your face?” Peter asks, voice growly and shaking.
He moans weakly and Peter pulls out of his mouth.
“Do it, make me smell like I’m yours,” he croaks, grinning because he’s aware of how much those words affect him.
Peter tugs at the head of his dick so roughly, it looks painful. And then streaks of white fly out, Stiles quickly closing his eyes in reflex and feeling them hit his cheek, mouth and chin.
He looks up and watches as Peter’s chest heaves, the expression on his face nothing short of adoration.
“C’mere,” he says and helps Stiles stand up before falling back on the couch and tugging Stiles with him, until he’s straddling the man’s lap. “Thank you,” he whispers before claiming his mouth in a firm kiss. He then moves to the side and starts sucking at Stiles’ skin, slowly and methodically removing all traces of come.
“I mean, I had a great time too, you know. Sorry about your floor.”
“My floor’s improved with your scent on it,” Peter says as he palms Stiles’ ass.
“That’s such a weird-ass thing to say,” Stiles mutters, blushing. Peter’s fingers are squeezing, almost spreading his cheeks and it’s making him squirm, already getting turned on again and feeling a little lightheaded because of it.
“And you’re perfect,” Peter groans, leaning up to kiss him some more.
A few minutes of lazy kissing and Stiles is aroused enough to start grinding down.
“I want you in me so bad,” he whispers against Peter’s cheek. “Feel like preparing me for that?”
“Any way you want me to,” he replies quickly. “My tongue, fingers, or a toy. Anything you want, Stiles.”
“I want your mouth,” he says. “And then your fingers. No toys, just you.”
Peter’s groan sounds close to a growl as his fingers squeeze hard around handfuls of flesh, almost painful as he moves them around, pushing Stiles off balance so he falls back onto the couch, Peter moving in to loom over him. And then he’s kissed, deep and fast. Stiles whimpers at the onslaught of tongue and lips and teeth, his hips flexing upwards in search of pressure, friction. Peter has other ideas, hands sliding to the back of his knees to lift his lower body upwards.
“Tell me if it gets uncomfortable,” he tells Stiles as he pulls back, gently but firmly pushing Stiles’ knees towards his chest, his ass and lower back hanging in the air now. Training with Allison has to be working because a month ago this would’ve been a painful stretch for him.
“I will, just, oh my god, fucking go for it, please-”
Peter’s grin is wild as he angles him slightly further, putting more pressure onto Stiles’ chest and it does feel a little uncomfortable but not enough for him to mention it because this position means he can see the look on Peter’s face as he just dives down and covers Stiles’ rim with his mouth, tonguing it.
He makes a very unintelligible sound, because that looks positively dirty, indecent, and so fucking hot his eyes can barely stand it.
“Fuck, your mouth, Peter,” he whines when he feels the tongue slip in.
Peter closes his eyes and pulls his mouth to the side to press teeth against Stiles’ ass and making Stiles writhe below him in response. “Let me get the lube,” he mutters roughly, leaning back and over to the side to reach for his jeans.
Peter’s hands no longer on his legs, he stretches them out and down for a bit.
He makes an impressed face when the man pulls a tube out of his pockets.
“Now who’s prepared?” He smirks.
Peter swiftly slicks up his fingers and then leans down to kiss Stiles’ smirk away, one hand reaching down to rub a finger against him teasingly.
“You made a lasting impression,” Peter groans against his lips, kissing his way down to his jaw, then along his neck, pressing his tongue against Stiles’ pulse that’s probably very easy to spot right now even without supernatural senses. “Can’t get enough,” he huffs out right as he pushes the first finger in, making Stiles grab him by the shoulders.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “Come on, do it properly. The faster you get me ready, the faster you can get in me,” he emphasizes.
Peter chuckles at the familiar words, pulling back to smile at him. Stiles bites his lower lip, hard, because how the fuck does he have this, have someone like Peter, this much want and need, and then when Peter smiles at him like that, so much other stuff, other feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with?
“Want me to do it like this?” Peter asks, eyes studying him as he pushes in another finger, the stretch of it making Stiles wince a little. Peter angles for his prostate and rubs against it gently, leaning down to kiss him. “Or do you want me to suck you down while I finger you open?”
Stiles’ mouth falls open indignantly at that voice whispering that to him.
“You have such a dirty mouth,” he blinks rapidly, caught off guard.
Peter grins, “Considering where it’s been? Probably.”
And oh, Stiles didn’t even think about that. His eyes flick to the ceiling in his surprise. And now, at the fact that he can’t taste something immediately bad or gross on his lips, his tongue, he’s wondering what it’d be like to rim Peter and that image is surprisingly appealing, especially the thought of Peter’s strong well-shaped back stretched out before him, his ass pushed up, naked and bitable—oh, that’s why Peter keeps biting him down there-
“Stiles?”
He blinks himself out of his thoughts and realizes that Peter has slowly pushed in a third finger and Stiles barely even noticed, so caught up on daydreaming about other sexual activities with the man he’s already in the process of having sex with. His brain needs to chill.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m down for that,” he finally answers Peter’s question, thrusting downwards a little when Peter slowly moves in, moaning open-mouthed at the feeling.
“Good,” is all that Peter says before he shuffles backward so that he can put his mouth on Stiles’ once again incredibly turned on dick. And his balls. And his hips. And his inner thighs. There, Peter’s teeth make themselves known again as he gently presses them around soft flesh. Stiles bucks up, for some reason really liking how that feels. All the while Peter’s fingers are moving and spreading inside him, until Stiles gets impatient, his arousal at such high levels that he thinks a well-aimed breeze might make him come.
“Please, fuck me,” he begs, hips bucking up again. “I’m way past ready, man.”
Peter presses one last kiss on a darkening spot on Stiles’ hip that he sucked into appearance a few minutes ago before pulling away—completely away.
“Wha-” is all that Stiles gets out before he’s also pulled up and then his brain kicks back in again as Peter nudges him to face the back of the couch. “Oh,” he drawls out and then excitedly leans over to place his arms onto the backrest, moving around on his knees ‘til he feels comfortable and then spreads them even further just because he can imagine how that would look. When he finishes by pushing up his ass, he gets a punched-out sounding moan and does a mental cheer.
Hands reverently slide over his thighs, hips, sides. Kisses pressed into his shoulders, spine, the nape of his neck. And then thighs brushing against his as that lovely thick head that he spent a few minutes worshipping earlier is tapped against him, before it’s pushed in just a little bit, and then a little bit more.
Stiles breathes through the stretch and finds himself thrilled at getting to experience this again.
Peter’s almost frustratingly gentle at first, slow and methodical, obviously intending for Stiles to get relaxed and open before picking up the pace. He leans over him, covering his back fully and wraps an arm around Stiles’ neck, gripping him by the shoulder. His other hand he leans forward, against the back of the couch as he kisses and licks along Stiles’ face and neck, grinding into him.
“You know how I like it,” Stiles murmurs, frowning as he turns his head so he can glare at him, the fullness almost overwhelming him but still frustrated with the lack of friction.
“I also like hearing you say it,” Peter tells him, eyes taking on a mischievous glint. “You’re so pretty when you say please,” he leans in to whisper against his ear.
Stiles licks his lips and keeps glaring, not willing to give the man the upper hand right now by showing him just how goddamn sexy Stiles thinks he is. He pushes his hips back harshly, grunting as it forces Peter deeper. “I want it harder, faster, please,” he says evenly, raising an eyebrow.
Peter stares at him for a moment before laughing shortly. He steals a quick kiss before pulling out of Stiles’ sight. Hands on his shoulders press him forward, against the couch. They then slide downwards over the length of his back, before settling on his hips, fingers digging in. One hard snap of a thrust and Stiles’ annoyance at all the teasing crumbles immediately.
“Oh god yes, please,” he moans out, awfully sincere and pleading.
He hears Peter let out a shaky breath before the movement finally begins, the drag of Peter’s dick inside heating him up all over and leaving his vocal chords completely out of his control.
“Please, faster, I want it faster,” he mumbles out, knowing that he’s giving Peter exactly what he wants but not really understanding why he was trying not to earlier, since this whole thing is about giving each other what they want. Probably something to do with his habit of arguing just for the sake of arguing. God, he has issues.
“Why do I seem to keep losing your attention?” Peter asks, sounding bemused as he drags fingers through Stiles’ hair, leaving a nice tingle along his scalp.
“Because you’re not giving me what I want?” He asks and starts moving back and forth on his own, his barely-there abs already feeling the strain as he tries to keep it going. But he can’t get the angle right, like Peter can, and although it feels nice, the burn, the friction, there’s no pressure against his sweet spot and he gives up quick. “Come on, fuck me harder.” Peter’s stillness is a little unnerving so he pushes away from the couch and leans back against the man, turning his head to see his face.
Peter’s glowing red eyes and clenched jaw are answer enough. The sight causes a shiver to run through him and he throws an arm back around Peter’s neck as he says, “Fuck me like you’re claiming me.” It sounds ridiculous as it comes out of his mouth but the reaction on Peter’s face is instant, harsh ridges emerging under his skin, teeth elongating into fangs.
“You keep playing with fire, Stiles,” he says, voice deeper and almost reverberant.
Stiles blinks at him, knowing that he should be scared right now, seeing Peter like this, on edge and monstrous looking, should make him want to pull away, push the brakes and run. But as they’ve established before, their first night, their second, when Peter gets like this, Stiles gets even more turned on. He can’t fucking help it. And he’s done trying to rationalize it. Now he just wants to hop on the rollercoaster and enjoy the wild ride he knows he’s in for.
“I know you want to bite me,” he tells him and slides his fingers up into Peter’s hair, grabbing a chunk of it. Peter’s mouth falls open as Stiles tugs, baring his fangs at him. “But I also know you won’t.” He sees that Peter wants to protest and before he can say anything, Stiles continues, “Because if you do, you’ll lose me.” After everything, despite all of the talk about just having fun and this being whatever he wants it to be, Stiles feels pretty confident that that’s not something Peter would be alright with.
That truth hangs heavy in the air between them. Peter closes his eyes and his wolf draws back, face melting back into man.
“And we wouldn’t want that,” he whispers, before closing in for a soft kiss.
He cares, because he cares-cares. It’s annoying how often Lydia gets it right.
“No, we wouldn’t,” Stiles agrees, uses his hold on the back of Peter’s head to deepen the kiss and has a flash of being in Chris’ kitchen, this similar position, feeling Chris’ eyes on him—and fuck, Chris is willing to try now, and the thought of him being in the same room, watching, while Peter and Stiles are doing what they’re doing now, it’s mind-blowing and makes him grind back against Peter desperately, his moans muffled by the man’s mouth.
“Alright, I’ve teased you enough,” Peter says and Stiles feels an electric surge of excitement rush through him as he’s maneuvered into a new position, wholly onto the couch cushions now. Peter’s hands urge him to lower his shoulders and he catches on quickly enough, resting his head and upper torso down, while still kneeling, leaving his lower back arched and ass ready for the taking.
And finally, Peter actually takes it.
Now the thrusts leave his body vibrating after each one, like an aftershock from an impact. Peter’s hands slide all over him, as he ruts into him roughly, the harsh slaps of flesh on flesh ringing in Stiles’ ears as he moans mindlessly into the couch, mouth open and possibly drooling all over the very nice and expensive fabric. He definitely feels claimed, he thinks to himself, as Peter lowers a little, hands caging Stiles in as they rest on the couch next to his head. His movements become a little less wild, but still keeping the fast pace. Stiles grabs onto the wrist he can see before his face, then slides his head closer so he can press his mouth against it.
Peter groans, and this time it almost sounds helpless, before the man’s body seems to completely slump over his own, for a second making it hard to breathe before Peter alleviates some of the pressure by sliding an arm under Stiles’ upper torso and resting half his weight on that instead. Stiles moans in happy surprise when the skin against his lips moves and now there’s fingers pressing against his open mouth and he doesn’t hesitate to suck them in, swirling his tongue like he did around Peter’s dick.
Peter’s returned to grinding but Stiles doesn’t even mind, so focused on using his mouth now, enjoying the thought of having Peter inside him on both sides.
“God, the fucking sounds you make,” Peter whispers against the back of his head. “How you smell right now…” He pulls his hips back and then snaps them in, starting another relentless pace, this time harsher. It feels brutal, but good. So good that it leaves Stiles a moaning mess, mouth just staying open as Peter rests his fingers against his tongue. He’s starting to get close, the heat enveloping him from head to toe, overwhelming with its intensity.
And then Peter releases this ragged-sounding groan, like it’s dragged out of him painfully, and the honesty in that sound—how Peter feels just as overwhelmed as he does—leaves him a shaking mess as he comes. Peter pushes in deep as he comes too, mouth open and hot against the nape of Stiles’ neck as he pants wildly. His hips continue to twitch a little as Stiles trembles under him, his orgasm for the first time ever feeling like it’s coming in waves rather than one big tsunami of brain-numbing pleasure.
He tightens his grip on the other’s wrist and pulls the fingers out of his mouth so he can say, “Fuck. That was incredible.”
“Yes,” Peter groans, still inside him, still basically covering all of him.
“Is every time we have sex going to be the best time ever because I don’t think my body can handle it,” he rambles. “Like, I’m going to have a heart attack at some point, dude. Just, be less sexy next time or something.”
A low chuckle before a kiss is pressed against his ear.
“I don’t know, sexy is just my natural state.”
“I mean, no, smug is your natural state,” Stiles grumbles, while enjoying the kisses that follow. On his forehead, the corner of his eye, his cheekbone. Then Peter rests their heads together and Stiles strains his eyes to see him. Peter looks so relaxed and calm. It makes him want to grin and point, say I did that.
“Smug because I’m so sexy,” Peter mutters, making Stiles snort against his better judgement.
“Fine, fine,” he mumbles, eyes closing at feeling the heavy weight on top of him, the arm around him, the warm breath against his face. Inside and around Peter’s girth, he’s starting to feel a bit too sensitive, but it’s not uncomfortable yet so he lets Peter stay right where he is and enjoys this quiet moment of afterglow.
About an hour later, when they’ve showered and kissed and dressed themselves (Stiles borrowing some of Peter’s clothes again) and kissed some more, Stiles wants to go back to that quiet moment, because now Peter’s not looking smug, or turned on like hell or calm or adoring or any of the other expressions he’s seen today. No, Peter looks and sounds noncommittal as he says the words, “We need to talk,” and Stiles is immediately on high alert.
He doesn’t think this is a break-up talk, not after everything they’ve said and done to each other, no way. Which really only leaves the other thing they share in their lives, and that’s the supernatural shit. He remembers Peter saying that they need to have a talk about “this” when Stiles first decided to tease him about the whole claiming kink that the werewolf’s got going on, and relaxes a little because if it’s just that, then he has an idea on how to handle it.
“Alright, about the whole biting urge?” He guesses.
“That’s related to it,” Peter tells him as he hands over a cup of tea.
Stiles blows on it and then slurps loudly. When Peter just sits down on the opposite side of the table and stares down into his own cup, Stiles nudges him with his foot.
“Talking implies words being said out loud, dude.”
“The full-shift didn’t just come out of nowhere. There was a reason for it.”
Stiles feels a bit lost now.
“Uh, not what I expected but… go on?”
“The morning after Jackson was taken, I woke up bloody, with no clue how I got that way or how I arrived at where I was. Last thing I remembered was falling asleep next to Chris. Next thing I knew, I was in my apartment.”
The ever-familiar gnawing sense of dread is taking over his chest again.
“You…” Stiles puts down the cup. “You went somewhere during the night… but you don’t remember?” That sounds horrifyingly familiar.
Peter is still not meeting his eyes and Stiles hates that.
“Our working theory is that the Matos came back after I told them to leave. The Nemeton took this as a challenge to my claim on this land and… had me take care of it.”
Woah, woah, woah-
“Take care of it?” Stiles squeaks out, holding his hands up. “As in…”
“As in, it was their blood. And their scents led to the clearing. But no bodies.”
There’s a tremble in his hands, he presses them together to fight it, trying to not let panic win over right now, and to really listen to what Peter’s saying. To understand what the fuck is going on.
“So it took them. Like it took Kali and Deucalion?”
“That’s the likeliest story, yes.”
“Hold on,” Stiles shakes his head, squinting. “You said our theory. Who else knows?”
Finally, Peter’s gaze flicks up. He looks… almost remorseful.
“I called Chris when I woke up, for obvious reasons. He was the last person I remembered seeing and I had blood all over me.”
Stiles takes that in, sees the logic in it, but also… “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“We kind of had a lot going on. And then Chris became a priority,” Peter tilts his head, looking off to the side. “And then I kept pushing it off because… I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I got a taste of that when… when you saw me as a wolf. It was…” His expression turns steely. “Difficult to deal with.”
“So no one else knows besides Chris?”
“Well…” Peter sighs and then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. He meets Stiles’ eyes head-on, as he admits, “I also immediately told Astrid. Again, for obvious reasons. She needs to know what she’s getting into here. And then, after we killed Gerard, I told Laura.”
“And what did Astrid say?” Stiles asks, curious, hopeful.
“That this is all wrong.” Peter bows his head towards the table and his eyes are hidden from him again. “None of this should be happening.”
“Yeah,” Stiles laughs darkly and then pushes himself away from the table, standing up. “Fuck,” he breathes. “So it took control of you, all of you, complete-” he tries to breathe deeper. “It made you kill someone, just like it did to me.” He slides a hand into his hair, tugging at it. “Fucking hell, Peter.”
“You’re scared,” Peter notes, leaning back into his chair. His face has a dozen walls on it as he looks up at Stiles, hiding his reaction.
“Of course I’m fucking scared,” Stiles gapes at him incredulously. “You’re the biggest Bad in this town right now!” He thrusts both hands towards the man. “And now you’re telling me the Nemeton can use you like a personal food-delivery puppet? My god,” he groans out and covers his face, doing his best to keep it together.
This is the absolute worst case scenario, this is not good, this is not safe, not safe.
Peter stands up slowly. “I wouldn’t hurt you. And if we take your recent healing upgrade into consideration, then neither will it.”
Stiles quickly shakes his head, “No, it… it doesn’t actually care about me.”
Peter leans his head back, studying him intently. “And you know that because…?”
“Because Blake tried to kill me remember?” He frowns at him, frustrated. “Right beside the thing. After communing with it.” He hesitates, remembering that he never told Peter what Blake actually said while choking the life out of him. “…She found out that I was optional. Nothing special,” he mumbles, turning away from the table and taking a few steps towards the nearest bookshelf, eyes not really seeing the titles as he lets his gaze roam.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Peter says.
“Yeah, well,” he turns around to shrug angrily because apparently no matter how much they proclaim to trust each other, they still keep shit like this hidden. God, is this how relationships actually work? Or is he getting it all twisted? Everyone stood by him while he was the puppet, so it stands to reason that he should stand by Peter now too, doesn’t it? Or is this the part where he should just run?
He’s unable to work it out like this, with Peter staring at him, so he goes to grab his bag and clothes.
“I just need to think about this, okay? I’m not… I’m not storming out or something dramatic like that, I just need to think…”
“Of course,” Peter says, so reasonable that it gives Stiles pause.
As he zips up his bag, he looks at the man and he finally sees the clenched fists, the tight jaw. Peter almost looks afraid.
It makes something defiant in him perk up its head and say, “I’m coming back. To you, I mean.”
Peter’s eyes widen slightly before he nods, “I know.” It doesn’t sound like he believes him.
He rolls his eyes and leaves, figuring that he’ll just have to prove the man wrong.
But first, he needs to think and for that he could really use some help, preferably from someone smarter than him.
He calls Lydia.
Peter’s not sure what he expected.
Maybe for Stiles to react to this like he reacted to Peter’s claws and fangs, the way he so stubbornly claims to be fine with Peter’s darker side.
He grins angrily at the silence ringing in his apartment.
He should’ve known. The one thing in this town that still freaks Stiles out, that he doesn’t want to go near, to even think about, is the Nemeton. And now, by proxy, Peter.
Stiles might come back, but he shouldn’t.
Peter shouldn’t let him.
He looks towards the couch that still heavily smells like both of them, but especially of Stiles, his lingering satisfaction, happiness.
And he knows that he’s selfish enough to not give a damn about what they should do.
He wants Stiles with him and he’ll take whatever he can get.
After he’s done explaining everything that he just found out, Lydia looks shocked. And pale. And not at all helpful.
“What are you going to do?” She whispers and Stiles wants to tear his hair out.
“Was hoping you’d tell me,” he chuckles humorlessly and slumps down further in her chair.
“Stiles…” she says softly, crawling closer on the bed and kneeling on the end of it.
“I just,” he sighs. “I feel… young and stupid right now.” He frowns at the wall, taps his fingers on her desk. “This isn’t the first time where I feel like I’m nowhere near prepared to be with someone like Peter, but… it’s definitely the most intense.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be with him.”
He tilts his head to the side, locking eyes with her. Her face softens even before he says, “I don’t think leaving him is an option for me right now.”
“Because of how you feel? Or… because you’re afraid of how he or it might react?”
“A little of column A, a little of column B-”
“You know that’s not healthy, right?”
“Oh, because you’re an expert on healthy relationships?” He snaps back, fully expecting her to tell him to shut up in some way or another, but no. Her eyes lower and she looks… sad. “Lydia? Did something happen?”
“Jackson’s thinking of moving.”
“What?” Wow, this day is just full of him getting bombarded with the unexpected.
“His mom has relatives in London, and she wants to take him there. Far away from here.”
“Wait- London!?” Stiles swivels the chair towards her, getting closer. “But he’s a werewolf and he needs a pack!”
“Apparently he’s already talking to Laura about that,” Lydia smiles grimly. “She’s trying to find out who might be his best option over there.”
Stiles has never seen her look more unsure. “You think he’s really going to leave?”
She glances up at him, before her eyes dart away again. She shrugs.
“Shit,” he mumbles, dragging a hand through his hair. “Was kind of hoping for a happy ending for you two.”
“Really?” She asks dryly.
“Well… for you, I mean,” he waves a hand dismissively.
“Yeah, well,” she shrugs again. This quiet acceptance is making him feel uneasy. “Back to your thing, though. Mine is fairly normal, my high school sweetheart is moving far away, these things happen. But your thing,” she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. “Your thing’s nuts.”
He snorts at the short yet apt description.
“It’s nuts but… how did you feel after you saw me do the ritual?” He quirks a brow at her. “Did you treat me like a threat or did you consider me a victim?”
“That’s different,” she says, closing her eyes with a sigh. “Peter’s always been a threat. Do you remember how we met him? He had his claws around my neck.”
“Because we were trespassing,” he huffs. “No, but seriously. All of you told me that it wasn’t my fault. That I shouldn’t be blamed for Kate. Well,” he spreads his hands.
“And I’m not blaming him for this, but I’m worried about how this is going to affect you,” she stresses out, sliding her legs out from under her so she can lean over and grab his hand. “You’re terrified of that thing-”
“For obvious reasons.”
“-And now he’s even more connected to it than you are.”
“That’s just a guess-”
“And I’m pretty sure you’re still dreaming of a murder-free future, which… with Peter, I don’t know how likely that will be.”
Stiles laughs weakly, because holy shit, what a thing to hear. And holy shit, she might be right.
“I don’t mind it when I know it’s Peter doing Peter things,” he mutters, pulling away from her and standing up so he can pace around.
“You don’t mind?” Lydia asks incredulously.
“After all the shit we’ve been through?” Stiles rolls his eyes at her. “Yeah, I don’t.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
He stops and looks at her. “I took the shot. At Gerard. I missed at first, but I would’ve hit him with the second one if Jackson hadn’t gotten in my way.”
“That’s different,” she tilts her head with a frown.
“No, not really,” he shakes his head, shrugging. “I was furious and scared and I just wanted him gone. Which is pretty much what I think all of the Hales were feeling too. And Victoria and Tom and all the other guys there who were going to go along with the plan?” He steps closer to her. “I’m fine with them being dead, Lydia.”
She stares sadly. “I don’t know if I agree with that.”
“You don’t have to,” he tells her. “You don’t have to,” he repeats with a sigh.
“So… You seem to know what you want to do now.”
He realizes that she’s right. “Yeah. Because… I’m in way over my head, but so is Peter. And I want to be there for him.”
“Is he looking into it at least? How to cut himself off or get rid of it?”
“That’s why Astrid’s coming, remember? We’ll have a nice little communion tomorrow, all four of us.”
“Are you really ready for that? You’re shaking just thinking about it.”
Startled, he notices the shivers cascading over him. “I’ll be fine.” He winces at the clear disbelief on her face. “I know, I say that word a lot.”
“Stiles…” her voice cracks a little. “I want to help you but I don’t know how.”
“There is one thing you could do for me,” he says, sitting back down and grabbing one of her pens to fiddle with.
“What?” She asks warily.
“I like knowing what’s going on, remember? So…” He spreads his hands. “What’s the deal with you yelling at invisible dead people?”
Lydia stares at him for a long drawn out moment, before heaving a huge sigh.
“Fine.” She stands up and starts pacing, crossing her arms. “I don’t really know what’s real anymore, so I’ll just tell you everything, I guess.”
“I’m all ears.”
Chris tiredly flips through the stack of legal bullshit that his family’s lawyer, his dad’s lawyer sent him a few hours ago. Apparently, wills were found and to no one’s surprise, Gerard left him nothing. Some of his estate was divided between old hunting buddies, some of it went to his company’s shareholders, most of the money went to Victoria. Who, in her own will, left everything, everything to Allison.
He sighs when he finally comes upon the total estimate of Allison’s inheritance and puts down the papers so he can rub at his eyes. He’s up in his room, sitting on top of the covers, having planned on sleeping or at least taking a nap when the e-mail arrived. When he realized what the files were, he printed them out and made the mistake of taking them to bed with him, planning to just have a quick look-through.
He has no idea how his daughter’s going to react to this. It’s a lot of money, a couple of houses, one of them her old home in France that he knows she’s fond of… The money alone could put her through college for more than a decade even, if she wanted to get more than just a bachelor’s degree, but all of this comes from Victoria, the woman Allison doesn’t want to hold a funeral for.
He’s massaging the side of his head and brainstorming ideas on how to bring this up as well as how to convince Allison to use this money—because it would mean she’d be financially safe for years to come, something he’s been worrying about after quitting his job—when one of the windows is opened and Peter climbs in.
He blinks at the man as Peter straightens up, closes the window and then looks at him with a frown.
“What’s got you so tense?” Peter cocks his head.
Chris’ gaze darts to the curled fingers, the overly casual stance… “I could ask you the same thing.” Although he can take a guess.
Peter rolls his eyes with his entire head, before crawling onto the bed and settling down next to Chris.
“I told him,” is all he says as he leans forward to peek at the papers sitting on Chris’ lap.
“Didn’t go well?” He asks carefully.
“He’s scared of me,” Peter tells him before grabbing the whole stack and flipping through them. “Is this what I think it is?”
“…Maybe that’s a good thing,” he says hesitantly, wondering if he shouldn’t pull on that thread tonight since Peter seems on edge already. To his surprise, he gets nothing more than an acknowledging hum.
Peter flips through the entire stack, finally finding the number that gave Chris pause earlier and whistles, eyebrows flying high.
“Would you look at that… Allison’s a trust fund baby now.”
Chris lets out a short laugh, “Oh, she’ll hate that.”
Peter suddenly lets his hands fall down as he stares ahead. “The thought of him leaving me should be something I can easily handle, a passing wistfulness at missed opportunities or something, not… not this.”
“And by this you mean…?”
“I don’t know,” Peter mutters angrily. He rubs at his chest. “Whatever it is, it’s extremely unpleasant.”
Chris stares at his annoyed profile, feeling amused almost. Again, Peter shows confusion at his own ability to care. It shouldn’t be endearing. And yet Chris absolutely finds it endearing.
“For your comfort, I do have to point out that Stiles is pretty stubborn. He’s scared, we all are, but that doesn’t mean he’s scared of you.”
“No, he’s scared of it and these days there apparently isn’t that much of a distance between me and the Nemeton.”
“If anyone knows how awful that feels, it’s Stiles,” Chris reminds him.
“Exactly. He’s aware of just how little control I have right now.”
He sighs, realizing that he’s not going to get through to him. So he just reaches over and grabs the hand resting on Peter’s lap, intertwining their fingers.
Peter squeezes gently and then lifts their hands up. “I didn’t think I’d ever be this attached to someone outside of my family and now there’s two of you,” he mutters. He turns his head to glare at him mockingly.
Chris shakes his head a little and leans in for a kiss, keeps it soft and light. Just as he can sense Peter trying to change the angle, he draws back.
“I’m tired,” he says pointedly and grabs the papers to throw them onto the nightstand.
“I’m not,” Peter sighs. “But I’ll help you sleep.”
In the dark, under the covers, Peter crowds in behind him and gently places his palm on Chris’ side, drawing pain and leaving him blissfully fuzzy. He’s quick to fall asleep after that.
Chris spends the next morning with a moping werewolf, dodging distracting touches and kisses as he phones the lawyers, Anna, Hayden, trying to clear things up and get a better idea of what’s to come. Peter listens in on every word, barely letting Chris out of his sight, bringing him food and coffee and his meds and even making him a smoothie at one point.
“This is… exactly how I make it,” Chris says after tasting it. “How did you…” He glances up at Peter’s satisfied smirk and rolls his eyes. “Never mind.”
About an hour before noon, Peter sets off for the airport. About an hour after that, people start randomly arriving at his home.
First it’s Allison and Scott, after having a sleepover at his place. They’ve been having them for over a year now, ever since Scott earnestly promised him that “My mom won’t let us close the door, believe me, not that I would want to close the door if she did, or, not that I don’t want, no, I-”
Chris of course is under no illusions that there’s nothing happening during these sleepovers. He’s even talked to Melissa about it and she assured him they’re being safe at least (”There was a… big… package of condoms and there’s definitely some missing…” “I guess that’s… good.”)
“Hey, you all alone here?” She asks, stepping over to the kitchen table he’s sitting at and frowning at the map that’s now full of scribbles from three different people. “Is this in code or something?”
After he tells her what he knows about Peter and Stiles’ whereabouts, he also tells her about Hayden’s request. And then, glancing at Scott who is trying to look busy reading Stiles’ notes on the margins, he mentions the will.
She also throws Scott a wary glance and then nods at him. “I’d like to take a look.”
As he gets up to go and grab the papers, the doorbell rings.
He stares, mildly irritated as Laura, Derek and Cora make themselves at home, Laura immediately going to his fridge and criticizing the options she finds there.
“Why exactly are you all here?” He asks her, walking over to grab the sugar-free yoghurt she’s scrunching her nose at and put it back in the fridge, closing it pointedly.
“Peter told us to wait here. Apparently we’re paying a visit to the Nemeton today?” Laura tells him while inspecting his coffee maker.
Chris sighs and leaves her to it.
“Wait, we are?” Scott asks and Allison looks confused too.
He rubs at his temples, opens his mouth to respond when they hear yet another car drive up.
“That’s Stiles and Lydia,” Cora says while walking past him with his sugar-free yoghurt, god damnit-
“No, seriously, does Stiles know about this?” Scott presses on, looking worried.
“What’s with this gathering?” Stiles calls out as he and Lydia enter the house. “Something going on?”
“Everybody sit down,” Chris says loudly, feeling a headache starting to build. He starts heading towards the living room. “I’ll explain what I know and then Stiles can take over.”
“I can- What?” Stiles gives him a betrayed look as he follows.
Chris can’t help it, his eyes flick down once, just once, to Stiles’ mouth. They kissed. They started something. Jesus, he doesn’t know how to handle this. All of a sudden, he’s grateful for everyone else, their presence a buffer and a distraction.
“You guys okay?” Cora asks, frowning as she leans in towards Stiles and takes a theatrically big sniff.
“Oh my god, stop-”
“Sit down, now,” he orders, this time. Thankfully, everyone obeys. Well, everyone except for Stiles who remains frozen, eyes wide. Chris quirks an eyebrow at him and Stiles bursts into movement, throwing himself down onto the couch next to Scott.
Scott’s nose twitches and he gives his friend a look. “Gross, dude.”
“Shut up,” Stiles turns to tell him, sounding mortified.
“I’m only going to explain this once, so listen up,” he says, ignoring that little exchange.
Allison seems to take it all in stride, only looking worried when Chris reaches the part in the story where he and Peter realized that he was most likely used that night and turned into a puppet.
Stiles keeps his eyes on Scott, though, and can already see the indignance brimming underneath his buddy’s shocked face. Scott keeps glancing at Allison as if he’s waiting for her to react differently, or to say something. Then he starts looking at everyone else. When his eyes meet Stiles’, he recognizes the lack of surprise on his friend’s face, as well as Lydia’s and there it is—betrayal.
“-and that’s why Astrid’s coming here today and why we’re going to the woods. I’m assuming that Peter asked all of you along because he doesn’t fully trust himself around it anymore.”
“I mean, he shouldn’t,” Laura says pointedly.
“Also, don’t know how much help we’d be if he gets controlled again since he can control us,” Derek says, causing Cora to slap his chest with the back of her hand.
“Way to be positive, bro.”
“What about the Matos?” Scott pipes up, sounding frustrated.
“What about them?” Laura asks carefully.
“Has anyone been notified? Family, friends? They’re dead and no one seems to be reacting to that fact!”
“Scott,” Allison starts to say, frowning but Chris cuts in first.
“They were all that was left of their pack, Scott. Their family and friends? Already gone.”
“But surely there’s someone-”
“We’re not going to spread word about their deaths,” Laura interrupts sternly. “We don’t want that kind of attention.”
“Oh, of course, wouldn’t want someone getting murdered on your territory to be an inconvenience or something,” Scott says, standing up.
“Scott, please,” Allison says and he immediately deflates, sitting back down again.
“I just…” He looks around at everyone again. “You all seem so fine with it. I don’t understand how.”
“I’m not fine with it,” Stiles tells him. “I’m not. It’s just… we can’t do anything about it. The only thing we can do is try to figure out how to make sure that never happens again.”
Scott stares at him for a moment. “Do you think it can still… control you like that too? Like it did with Kate?” The name causes a slight ripple among those that were present at the ritual. Slight shifting around, expressions darkening. Stiles keeps his eyes on his friend.
“Probably. I was gifted to it, remember?”
“Shit, I didn’t…” Scott sighs and covers his face. Allison wraps an arm around him, sharing a nervous look with Stiles.
Out of everyone, he knew that Scott would have the most trouble with all this. His best friend’s good in a way few are, almost to a fault, not rising up to Jackson’s baits when they were kids, accepting that dumb and incredibly insincere apology without a problem… And now they’re no longer talking about high school bullies, it’s a lot heavier than that.
“I know, buddy,” Stiles says softly. “But there’s so much stuff going on, we just can’t let ourselves get distracted by this.”
“Distracted,” Scott laughs into his hands.
“He’s right, Scott. You did this with Kate, did you not? Focused on the problem at hand, moved on afterwards,” Chris says firmly.
“Yeah, but…” He lowers his hands and stares up at the man. “That was… I thought that was it, we just get through that and then… But now it’s been, there’s been too much, it’s all…” Scott struggles to find words and then gives up, bowing his head and staring at the floor.
Stiles glances around, sees Cora and Derek looking uncomfortable, Laura deep in thought, Lydia and Chris looking understanding. And Allison leans her chin on Scott’s shoulder, whispering something to him that makes him smile a little.
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” Lydia speaks up. “Trust me, I get where you’re coming from. But going around in circles, talking ourselves into a despair over everything that’s happened… that’s not going to help. It might do the opposite.”
Scott visibly steels himself up at that, before looking up with a nod. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for being human,” Laura tells him and he gives her a grateful smile.
“Now that that’s settled,” Chris says loudly, “what exactly is the plan once we get there?” He directs this question at Stiles with a raised eyebrow.
Stiles raises both of his back. “Uh, why do you assume there’s a plan?”
“What, we just… go there and see what Astrid feels or something?” Cora asks with a scoff.
“Pretty much,” Stiles shrugs, but glances at Lydia meaningfully.
“If we’re all going then there’s no point in hiding anything, I guess,” she sighs. “I want to commune with it.”
“What?” Scott asks slowly.
“Yep,” Stiles chirps. “Going to do the old cut up Stiles’ hand and use him as a magical telephone, it’s going to be great!” And he’s obviously so fine with it that his skin’s buzzing. Not anxious at all, nope. Didn’t have to let Lydia into the bathroom that morning when breathing got too hard and he thought he was going to pass out.
“Does Peter know about this?” Chris asks warily.
“We talked about it, yeah,” Stiles tells him and somewhere deep inside a part of him feels kind of satisfied at the fact that it isn’t just Chris and Peter who have secret extra knowledge of what’s going on. Stiles knows things that Chris doesn’t. As soon as that feeling rears its head, he feels stupid. Because from now on, they’re supposed to be a team and silly jealousy-related stuff like this is unhelpful to say the least. “He probably didn’t tell you because Lydia’s been a bit… secretive about this,” he says, hoping to ease any insecurities.
“Is this about the dreams?” Allison asks.
“What dreams?” Scott turns his head to frown at her. “Oh, wait… you sleepwalked again,” he gasps, head swiveling back around towards Lydia.
“Before, you dreamt of my mother,” Laura says, leaning forwards. “Is it her again, or?”
“No, it’s…” Lydia shakes her head and then breathes in deep. As she starts talking, she keeps her eyes on the floor. “It’s fire, but not the Hale fire. It took me a few times until I realized there was someone inside of it, a figure… and they were tied to a stake.”
“An execution?” Laura asks, sounding surprised.
“Maybe,” Lydia shrugs. “That’s all I’ve been able to tell. But it’s coming from the Nemeton, I know that much. And by talking to it, I hope to get answers to what it might mean.”
“But is it worth putting Stiles through that again?” Scott asks, looking worried. Stiles loves him a lot in that moment.
“Ultimately, that’s his decision and not mine,” Lydia says, giving Stiles a wary look.
“And I already said I’d do it, it’s fine.”
“I’m starting to become allergic to you saying fine.”
“I see no hives.”
She glares at him, he smirks back.
As they move on from that to planning out who goes in what car, Stiles draws out his phone and sends Lydia a text.
You sure about keeping the other thing quiet?
She rolls her eyes at him when the notification pings. She writes back, There’s no point. And I don’t feel like taking about it again.
He nods at her after he reads it, because that’s fair. Just going through it once was crazy enough. He still can’t fully comprehend that while he was hallucinating about Deucalion’s decapitated head, Lydia was getting visits from it. And that it talked.
That seeing a bloody Kate at the coffee shop hadn’t been a flashback, but just the first sighting of her.
That while dealing with everything else, Lydia was also basically dodging spiritual phone calls from very annoying and very evil dead people.
Deucalion, popping up every now and then to just be randomly demeaning. Kate, making an appearance whenever Lydia felt at her lowest, her weakest, ready to tear her down even further. It was her at the school, when Lydia exploded at a bunch of lockers. And Kali, a quiet and shocked shadow of her former self, occasionally just haunting the corners of whatever room Lydia was in.
As she told him all of this, it sounded like a nightmare, like a horror movie.
And then came the kicker. After the night where Peter apparently killed two werewolves, Lydia started seeing two more people, strangers to her. They looked like siblings, the woman being louder, confused and angry. And she liked to yell “Don’t trust Peter!”, while the man just looked around in silence, disappointed and sad.
The most obvious theory is that Lydia’s not just seeing any old dead people. She’s seeing everyone that the Nemeton has fed on, its sacrifices.
“But why?” Stiles asked after she wrapped it up.
“That’s what I’m hoping it will tell me,” she replied.
And since they don’t have any answers right now, it doesn’t seem like it’d be useful to explain all of this to the rest of the gang. “I don’t want them to look at me like I’m crazy,” Lydia said, when Stiles mentioned telling everyone else. So he agrees to go along with the silence for now. Maybe today, with the communion and everything, they’ll find out more.
Yet again, a car pulls up to the house.
Chris looks towards the front door with an amazed look on his face. “Can anyone even drive past my house anymore?” He walks over to open the door and take a look outside. “Sheriff!” He calls out, sounding surprised.
Stiles’ back snaps up straight. “What?”
Apparently Derek mentioned to his dad where he was going and why. His dad got worried, which is honestly a valid reaction at this point.
And since he has promised Melissa to keep her informed of any supernatural shenanigans, especially if it has something to do with their kids, he called her too.
Now it’s an awkward waiting game, as everyone makes small-talk about school, the state of the town, his dad’s hectic work schedule. Scott’s dad is even a topic at one point, but Melissa cuts that off pretty quick, obviously uncomfortable.
Chris leaves the room and Stiles watches him go, unable to help himself. There isn’t really any tension between them right now since the house is full of people, their families and friends, and Stiles’ brain is too busy freaking out over Lydia being literally haunted as well as just dealing with the general witches are real and he’s about to properly meet one anxiety, not to mention the thought of going back to that stupid clearing never fails to leave his chest feeling hollow—in summary, his brain is full up, no room left for daydreaming about handsome guys with strong hands and low voices and intense eyes and… Would you look at that, apparently his brain feels like multitasking.
“If one of you gets hurt, goes unconscious and you get sent to the hospital, what then?” Melissa is asking Laura, fully unleashing her curiosity on the Hales.
“Well, in an ideal world we have a pack member coming to get us out of that situation,” she replies.
“And realistically?”
Stiles tunes them out as he stares over the back of the couch he’s sitting on and sees Chris walking up the stairs, looking at his phone. An elbow nudges his side and he flinches, snaps his head towards Lydia who quirks her eyebrows at him questioningly.
“I’m just going to…” he vaguely points his thumb towards the direction Chris went and stands up.
“With your dad here?” She whispers back, smirking. “Bold of you.”
“Shut up, I’m just going to talk to him,” he hisses at her and walks away.
“Remember that I live here, Stiles!” Allison yells after him, causing him to freeze mid-step.
There’s a moment of confused silence and he quickly moves on.
“What was that about?” Melissa asks and Stiles hopes to god that no one explains.
When he gets upstairs, he hears Chris’ voice coming from his room, the door left ajar. He pauses before he enters, feeling immense disbelief at the fact that not only has he been in this room, but he spent the night there.
He pushes the door open just as he hears Chris saying, “-could’ve told me to expect company.”
The man looks up from his spot on the bed, nodding when Stiles hesitates to enter.
“Peter?” He mouths silently.
Chris nods again then leans his head back, looking upward. “Well, in the future, please notify me as soon as your plans change. At least when it concerns my house.”
Stiles chews on his bottom lip as he watches. Chris sounds stern and disapproving but there’s a softness in his expression, almost a smile. Whatever the man’s feeling, Stiles thinks he can relate. Peter definitely has a tendency to make him feel both exasperated and fond at the same time.
“Can I talk to him?” He mouths along with some miming, pointing at the phone and then at himself.
Chris looks surprised but then says, “Hold on,” and just hands the phone to him.
Stiles accepts the phone with some fumbling, not having expected Chris to just go with it.
“Hey,” he says quickly when he gets the phone to his ear.
A beat of silence.
“Stiles, everything alright?”
He grimaces at the weird tone. Cordial but distant.
“Yeah, just, have a question for you.” A theory that popped up into his head as soon as Chris shared that all the Hales would be joining them on their little outing.
“Shoot.”
“Did you invite your family to tag along because you think I want a line of people in between me and you?” He walks over to the window and can hear Chris get up from the bed.
“…Do you?”
“Oh my god,” he groans. “No, you idiot. Although, I take the idiot part back because in the end it’s a great idea after all, having everyone come with us. If we get any answers then everyone’s there already and there’s no more forgetting about who knows what. Pretty convenient.”
“Convenient,” Peter repeats dryly.
“Yep. So. See you soon. And the only reason I won’t be kissing you hello is because my dad’s going to be there, okay?”
“I see,” Peter says and Stiles’ lips quirk up because the man’s starting to sound like his amused self again.
“Wouldn’t want you to feel insecure now, would we?” Stiles mocks a bit.
“My fragile ego thanks you.”
He rolls his eyes while smiling and then turns to hand the phone back to Chris.
Chris is staring at him as he puts the phone to his ear and says, “Told you so.” And then he chuckles and ends the call. “He was convinced that you were scared of him now.”
“I’m scared in general,” Stiles shrugs. When Chris frowns, he hurries to say, “Which let’s face it, is the smart thing to be right now. Be honest, aren’t you scared? Of what might be coming next?”
Chris takes a moment to think about it and then looks down. “Of course I am.”
“Not in the same house as me, please,” his dad says from the doorway and Stiles jumps a little.
“What?” He yelps out and then glances at Chris, at his dad’s obvious discomfort, then back at Chris, who has crossed his arms and is looking defensive- “No, dad, dad, look at all this space,” he waves at the several feet between him and Chris, “not to mention, I’m wearing all my clothes!” His dad palms his face and sighs. “And do these lips look kissed to you because-”
“I get it, stop,” Noah says, holding his hand out. “Just, get back downstairs,” he snaps and gestures for Stiles to get out of the room.
He stops just outside the room when he notices his dad staying. “You first, dad.”
“I’m sorry?” Noah looks at him, taking a break from glaring at Chris.
“Go on. You first. I’m not leaving you guys up here alone, nuh-uh. In your dreams, old man.”
“Son-”
“In. Your. Dreams.” He widens his eyes meaningfully and waits for his dad to give up.
Which he does, with a huge sigh, shoulders slumping as he turns to head downstairs in front of him.
“Sorry,” he shrugs at Chris quickly before following, hating how awkward all of this must be for him.
Chris joins them quickly enough and tells everyone that they should start heading out.
“Peter and Astrid are meeting us there.”
“Oh, okay,” Stiles says, wringing his hands. Lydia’s quick to grab hold of one. He gives her a grateful smile. “Hope you get some answers tonight.”
“Hope I like them,” she replies.
“…I mean that’s just setting yourself up for disappointment.” He hears several sighs from around him and glances around. “What?”
“I know you’re right,” Lydia says, leaning against him as they walk over to his car. “I’m trying to be ready for anything.”
“Which is hard when we don’t really understand what’s possible anymore,” he whispers after they’ve buckled their seatbelts.
“Yeah… Thanks again, for doing this.”
He wraps his fingers around the steering wheel, watching everyone else get into their cars. “I mean… I probably should have done this before or wanted to do this before. Ask it directly, I mean.”
“But it terrifies you,” Lydia says softly.
“Yeah… And also, I don’t trust it, obviously. It might not talk to us at all, or it might and…”
“You think it would lie to us?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. It refused to talk to Blake at first.”
“And she didn’t get dreams from it,” she points out and well, fair enough, she definitely has a point there.
“What answer are you hoping to get?” He asks, looking over at her.
Her mouth tightens and she glances away. “That this is all temporary.”
The cars finally start moving and he follows. He steers them out onto the street in silence, not voicing the thought that’s probably going through both of their heads.
That she’s about to be very disappointed.
Notes:
personal note:
heeeey, didnt mean to disappear for over a month, sorry about that
got really sick, am only now recovering
after fever-brain, i had a bit of a hard time getting back into writing again, entire body was just in full couch-potato mode
so yeah, if this ch feels off or not as good, that's why, it was written in small chunks during this entire month of sickness and i hate everything about it
but the goal right now isnt perfection, its COMPLETION
i wanna finish this fic so i forced myself to post it just so i'd stop torturing myself with the re-reads and edits and move the fuck on lolbut hello to all the new readers, quite a lot of you appeared while i was gone
let's hope everything goes a bit smoother from here on out
Chapter 39: frightened
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
After six years of not being fully awake, aware, seeing Cora and Derek again was a shock. Laura was pretty much the same, if a bit more stern, more grown up. Cora was twelve the last time they talked and suddenly she’s almost eighteen and looking more like her big sister every day. And Derek, once sixteen and fully enjoying the popular jock life, now a chiseled young man, sticking his nose into books and shying away from everyone else.
He doesn’t know why exactly he wasn’t expecting to be surprised by Astrid’s appearance, but now he’s caught off guard as she walks towards him, pulling her luggage behind her. Her face hasn’t changed much besides some extra lines here and there, but her bleached blond hair is now her natural light brown and falling over her shoulders, her more comfortable and masculine clothing (she was forever stealing shirts and hoodies from him, she’s even the reason he started gravitating towards V-necks in college, since those she had no interest in—hello, trying to hide my cleavage, not invite even more eyes to it) has been replaced by a long skirt and a cardigan of all things. The skirt has flowers on it.
“God, your face just says it all, doesn’t it?” She sighs as she comes to a stop before him.
“I…” he pauses, taking in her sad frown as she looks down at herself. “You look good?”
“That a question?” Her head snaps up with a glare and then she leans in for a hug. “I see that your choice in clothes hasn’t changed a bit,” she grumbles, patting his leather jacket.
Peter hugs her back and says, “To be fair, I didn’t exactly have much time to evolve… the way you did.”
“Oh shut up,” she snorts and pulls back. “I know what I look like. I had a pretty big epiphany last night as I was packing up clothes. I looked at everything I own and suddenly remembered that I used to be cool. I don’t even know what happened to my jacket, it must have gone into the donate pile when we moved into our house.”
“People change?” He gestures awkwardly. “I still can’t believe you have a kid.”
“Some days, me neither,” she admits and then lets Peter grab her luggage. “Ooh, I’m getting actual special treatment here. Still trying to butter me up for your advisory position or whatever you’re planning on calling it?”
“Or maybe I’m trying to make you comfortable so you’ll be more open to answering all of the questions I have for you.”
She pauses at the doors and he tilts his head at her.
“What questions?” She asks warily. “Like a job interview?”
“No, more like I’ve learned a few things recently and am curious to hear your input.” Like is she in any way connected to this secretive organization that is apparently keeping tabs on his family.
“Uhuh,” she mutters, eyes narrowing.
“Let’s get in the car, it’s an hour-long drive to Beacon Hills, we have time to catch up before I throw you to the wolves.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” she rolls her eyes, following him out to the parking lot. “Way to make me feel comfortable with spending the next hour in a small enclosed space with you.”
“I promise that I will leave the doors unlocked, should you feel the need to make your escape from a moving vehicle. I can even slow down for you.”
“Not. Helping.”
The first time he met Astrid, he didn’t get her name.
It was a frat-house party, and one of the last he ever went to since a few weeks into his first term they were already starting to get stale. People get drunk, then they get loud, then sick, rinse and repeat.
But this night there was a stand-out encounter. A skinny boyish-looking woman with shoulder-length messy hair that looked almost painfully bleached bumped into him as he was refilling his plastic cup with beer. She started saying sorry but then looked at the beer, then back at him and then frowned.
“What are you wasting beer for?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You can’t even get drunk!”
“…Anyone can get drunk.” He cocked his head curiously, on edge now because her absolute certainty of his inability to get drunk would only make sense if she knew what he was.
“Right,” she agreed after a moment of heavy silence between them, coughing awkwardly. “No, yeah, you’re right, never mind.” She filled her cup and ran away.
Peter of course wasn’t just going to let that go, so he made a note to remember her scent and sought her out on Monday, finding her just as she came out of an Intro to Psychology class.
This time she was a little more put-together, her hair combed and pulled back into a harsh ponytail, some subtle makeup on her face to no doubt hide the exhaustion he could smell on her.
“You!” She yelped when she saw him straightening up from his slouch against the wall.
“Me,” he grinned easily and stepped closer.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” She sighed and started walking away from the rest of the students, gesturing with her head for him to follow.
“I’m not known to let things go, no.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re like,” she snorted and Peter’s eyes narrowed at the cryptic words. “I’m Astrid Lybeck.”
“Peter Hale… But I guess you know that already.”
“Sadly, I know a lot of things.”
That day, Peter’s eyes were opened to the reality of witches, as well as the mystery behind them. He never stopped poking Astrid with questions about her lineage, her family, about this Coven that she no longer wanted to be a part of, but she always dodged them, evaded or even just flat-out told him that he needs to stop prying for his own good.
And as to how she knew about him, apparently the Hales were not just a famous family among werewolf-related circles, but among witches too.
“We just know things,” she told him.
“What, like you can sense it or something? Don’t tell me you read my aura.”
“You’re a werewolf and I’m magic and aura-reading is where you pull out the disbelief?”
“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you want to do my Tarot reading.”
“One is sensing the unseen, which a werewolf should relate to, since you can sense chemosignals, something that has no basis in actual science by the way, and the other is telling the future. Obviously, there’s a difference.”
“Not a thing about me has basis in actual science.”
“Exactly! So, you shouldn’t expect my stuff to make sense either, right?”
“…I guess that’s fair.”
All in all, he was so enamored by this new world he’d been introduced to that he didn’t even mind that she was still so secretive, even when they became friends, even when he started helping her out with her work. There were things that she did share, little droplets of information about everything history has gotten wrong about her kind. She couldn’t tell him what a witch actually was, so she told him everything she wasn’t.
And then she introduced him to the forums, as well as pointing out which of the sellers back then were likely to have journals full of actual historical knowledge about their world.
Their friendship was odd, with an obvious imbalance to it, since she knew everything about him and his family and he knew almost nothing about hers. But it worked, and they had fun, they were a good match. So Peter finally let it go and never really held any resentment towards her for being so secretive about her past.
Until the day Deaton told them all about the witch who threatened his sister and made him see all this secrecy in a new light.
“Good god, this silence is killing me. It feels like someone died. Oh god, did someone die!?”
“You mean, besides the people I killed? No.” He keeps his eyes on the road.
“Oh, well, that’s all good then,” Astrid snaps sarcastically and then falls silent. “No, but seriously. We’ve been driving for five minutes already. And you’re being… weird.”
“How so?”
“You’re acting as if you don’t like me all of a sudden.”
“Well, I tend to dislike people who threaten my pack.” He glances her way quickly to gauge her reaction. Their eyes lock for half a second and she looks stunned.
“What? I’ve never done that.”
He smoothly switches lanes and drives up onto the highway, switching gears and speeding up. Then he says, “I need you to tell me about your Coven.”
“You know I can’t,” she tells him. “And before you say anything else, I need you to really hear me on this. I. Can’t.”
“A silence curse?”
He senses rather than sees her shrug.
“Can’t tell you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mutters, thinking. That implies a lot of things, and also sounds suspiciously close to how an organization like what Deaton described would act. Forced secrecy. Especially for those who leave.
“Why are you asking about them anyway?”
“Because there’s a witch in Beacon Hills right now, who helped us cover up a kanima attack.”
“…Okay, go back and start over.”
Her face becomes stone as Peter explains about Agent Fetters, Deaton’s story about the reporter, Deaton’s little lesson in where a witch’s power comes from. He commends her for her control as she gives him no reaction to make an assessment of. But unfortunately for her, he is a werewolf and he can read a lot more than just body language. The car's interior is flooded with the sharp sting of fear, the cloudy and overwhelming stink of anxiety. By the end of Peter’s little retelling, Astrid’s scent is reminding him of Stiles’.
“And your theory is that this group that’s working behind the scenes and my former Coven are one and the same?” She asks, voice calm and not betraying her real feelings at all. Again, commendable. But useless against Peter.
“Not a theory. I just had a thought and figured I’d ask. I’m guessing you can’t answer that question either?”
“Can’t,” she repeats and it eerily reminds him of Stiles repeating the words I’m fine while his eyes were screaming that there was something really wrong.
“Can you tell me if you’re still part of the Coven?”
“I’m not,” she sighs, sounding relieved. “Believe me, I want nothing to do with them.”
“Why? Oh wait,” he rolls his eyes. “You can’t.”
“I get why you’re mad now but you have to understand, I never hid these things from you because I wanted to.”
That settles down his building irritation somewhat. “Alright.” He can be reasonable and accept that if Astrid is restrained by magic then it’s a lot more serious than just regular secret-keeping.
“I can say that this Deaton guy shouldn’t have shared all that with you. If Fetters or the rest find out…” she pauses, grunting. “Okay, I can’t talk about the others.”
“I hope this curse doesn’t spread over to the Nemeton’s dealings at least, since that’s what I actually need help with.”
“Completely different jurisdictions,” she quips, smiling.
“Even though it’s starting to get power-crazy and doesn’t seem to be all that worried about hiding anymore?”
“…That does sound like something they- Like something I know nothing about,” Astrid sighs and massages her temples.
Peter glances at her. “You know we got rid of a silence curse with the help of a druid, maybe we-”
“No, a spell’s origin matters. That curse was probably druidic in nature in the first place. Mine is-” She clears her throat sharply. “Never mind.”
“The whole Coven put it on you, didn’t they?” He asks, making an educated guess.
She points a finger at him and it’s answer enough.
He decides to give up on this line of questioning for now.
“So, tell me about this husband of yours.”
“Are you really going to buy us a house?” She asks ten minutes later after regaling him with tales about Benjamin Hassi, a guy she met while visiting her grandparents over in Finland, who then followed her back to the states like a “lost puppy”. Sam, her three-year-old, apparently takes after her dad a lot and the two are thick as thieves in their ability to pull on her heartstrings until she gives in to whatever plan they’ve concocted for the day. It all sounds nauseatingly domestic and sweet.
Peter gets a flash of him cooking for Stiles, cooking for Chris, cooking for Stiles and Chris-
“If you want me to,” he answers her, fighting away the images. Providing for his pack is normal, it’s expected even.
“Ben’s from a really small town and he’s always wanted to raise his kid in one too. Me, however, I’m really going to miss Pittsburgh,” Astrid sighs.
“That sounds like you’ve decided on moving.”
“I mean, it sounds like you really need me.”
“And what if it means stepping on your old Coven’s toes?”
“We’ll deal with that if we ever get there.”
Peter can’t help but be a little suspicious now. “You know this area is dangerous, that I’m dangerous, and now I’ve told you that the people you desperately wanted to get away from all those years ago might also have a hand in what’s going on or at least seem interested in it… and you’re completely fine moving here with your family?”
“Okay, now it sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of this,” she says while turning to glare at the side of his head. “Take the win, Peter.”
“I am someone who will absolutely look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Is it hella dangerous? Yeah! But so is ignoring it. Sue me for not being able to just turn my back on you and leave you to deal with this shit alone, ignorant and blind.”
Peter stares at the road ahead angrily, speeding up a little. “I can’t believe you still say hella.” He receives a text then and pulls his phone out, smirking when he’s finished reading it.
My house is full of people, some of them were apparently invited by you. It’s loud.
He quickly starts tapping out a response.
“I can’t believe you’re texting while driving, remember that I’m a human mother,” Astrid hisses at him and grasps her seatbelt dramatically.
“Inhuman reflexes, you’re fine,” he mutters quickly.
I only thought of it on the way to the airport, didn’t think it’d be that much of a problem. Headache?
He receives a call a moment later.
“No, not a headache. And it isn’t that much of a problem. But still, could’ve told me to expect company.”
“You were expecting company anyway, I just added a bit to it.”
“Well, in the future, please notify me as soon as your plans change. At least when it concerns my house.”
Peter rolls his eyes to himself but mostly because he can’t believe that he actually feels chastised as if he’s done something wrong. Chris’ voice should really be considered illegal when it gets like this, all stern and disapproving. Or maybe not, since it never fails to spike up a low-simmer arousal in him.
“Noted, anything else?” He drawls.
“Hold on,” Chris says and then to his surprise he can hear the phone being handed to someone else.
And then he’s floored by Stiles’ soft, “Hey.”
He can feel Astrid’s eyes boring into the side of his head.
“Stiles, everything all right?”
“What the hell is a Stiles?” Astrid mutters.
“Yeah, just, have a question for you.”
Stiles doesn’t sound all that different from how they usually talk to each other. Peter’s already starting to realize he may have been a little overdramatic last night.
“Shoot.”
That realization is cemented when Stiles goes on to ask, “Did you invite your family to tag along because you think I want a line of people in between me and you?”
But he still cant help but need some confirmation here, “Do you?”
“Oh my god,” Stiles groans. “No, you idiot. Although, I take the idiot part back because in the end it’s a great idea after all, having everyone come with us. If we get any answers then everyone’s there already and there’s no more forgetting about who knows what. Pretty convenient.” He even sounds a little impressed. Peter’s mouth quirks up into a smile.
“Convenient,” Peter repeats dryly, because that wasn’t on his mind at all when he made the call to Laura.
“Yep. So. See you soon. And the only reason I won’t be kissing you hello is because my dad’s going to be there, okay?”
“I see.” His smile widens. If something like this won’t even make Stiles run the other way, then… that must mean something, right? He remembers that stakeout they had at Jackson’s house, where Stiles had his little epiphany and made it clear that he wants to actually commit, before dragging out Peter’s awfully sincere confession of wanting Stiles to be his. Yeah, this means something alright.
“Wouldn’t want you to feel insecure now, would we?” Stiles’ mocking interrupts his thoughts.
“My fragile ego thanks you.”
He then hears the phone moving again before his ears are blessed with Chris’ low drawl, “Told you so.”
“That you did,” he says. “I’m close to the town border, I’ll take Astrid straight to the Preserve, because apparently you’re feeling crowded over there.”
Chris just chuckles before hanging up on him.
He doesn’t even realize how hard he’s grinning as he puts his phone away until Astrid says, “I’ve never seen your face do that, what the fuck?”
Stiles stares around the trail’s parking lot, taking note of the lack of visitors on a sunny late-autumn Saturday.
“Our cars are the only ones here… man, people in this town need to hike more.”
“You don’t hike,” Lydia says pointedly as she joins him in front of the map.
“Hey, I dabble!”
“We waiting for Peter now?” Noah asks as he and Melissa walk over too.
“I guess,” Stiles shrugs at him and looks towards Chris who is doing something on his phone.
“Told him we’re here,” he tells them, pocketing his phone. “Shouldn’t take long.”
Noah nods and then looks around. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”
“I can’t believe it’s taken this long for me to finally get a look a the thing,” Melissa grumbles beside him.
“Speaking of the thing,” Noah says and grabs Stiles by the shoulder. “You sure about doing this?”
Lydia clears her throat and walks away, giving them a moment.
“Yeah,” Stiles scoffs, trying to look as confident as possible with his insides squirming around nervously. “We’re just going to try to like talk to it, no sacrifices today, easy-peasy.”
His dad’s hand tenses.
“You almost died there.”
“…Kind of trying not to focus on that part,” he laughs weakly and sends a couple of finger-guns Noah’s way. “How about we don’t talk about it, okay?”
“You never want to talk about it,” Noah says, frowning in concern.
And good lord, Melissa is standing right there, just as concerned. Chris, also, is lurking and obviously listening even if he is staring elsewhere.
“Yeah, and now’s not a good time to start, dad,” Stiles begs.
“Fine, fine,” he backs away, raising his hand off Stiles’ shoulder.
“How about you parents stay here and worry amongst yourselves, I’m going to hang out with the cool kids, alright?” He edges to the side, wanting to head on over to Allison’s car where the rest have gathered.
“Oh now you want to be with people your own age?” Noah grumbles and Stiles’ head snaps towards him in shock.
“Dad,” he hisses warningly, but at the same time feeling kind of impressed. That was a low blow, but also very accurate, well done all around. He can’t help but glance at Chris. Who doesn’t meet his eyes. “Be nice,” he insists, pointing at Noah, before jogging off to his friends.
“What was that about?” Melissa asks.
Chris dares to lock eyes with the Sheriff. The man is already staring at him, hard.
The silence drags on for a moment. Melissa has started to glance between them, her confusion growing.
“What is this tension, what is happening?”
“You want to explain or should I?” Noah asks, folding his arms over his chest and widening his stance.
Chris clears his suddenly-very-dry throat. “I’m in a relationship with Peter.”
Melissa gives Noah a disappointed look. “That’s what this is about? I expected better of you-”
“No,” Noah says simply, not taking his eyes off Chris.
“…Okay?” She raises her eyebrows at Chris, waiting.
“Peter and Stiles are dating too.”
It takes her a second.
“What!?”
“Oh, that’s not even the best part,” Noah says calmly. “Is it?”
“…I… might be dating Stiles too.”
“What the fuck, Chris?”
Melissa’s yell makes half of them jump and look over at the three in surprise.
“Oh dear,” Stiles mutters, immediately guessing what that’s about.
“Oh no,” Scott says, slowly turning his head to stare at his friend in horror. “She’s going to ask me if I knew.”
“Sorry, buddy,” Stiles winces.
He then sees Melissa step towards Chris, pointing at the man threateningly while his dad just watches, and that’s it, he’s had enough. He brushes past his friends, ignores Scott calling out his name and jogs back over there, stumbling to a stop right in front of Chris, facing Melissa who steps back in surprise.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, waving his arms about helplessly.
“Stiles,” she starts saying but he cuts her off.
“You defending my honor or something? Trying to protect me or whatever? Cut it out, I don’t need it, I don’t want it-”
“Stiles, this isn’t normal,” she grabs his flailing arms and looks at him all sincere and worried. He sighs, his outrage deflating. “Honey, I’m not about to stand by and let grown men take advantage-”
“Stop!” He brushes her off, slapping at her hands when she doesn’t take the hint. “Nothing about my life is normal anymore! Chris and Peter aren’t taking advantage of anything, they’re helping me!” He sends a quick glare at his dad too, who at least has the grace to look ashamed. “I’m eighteen, I get to make these decisions now.”
“But-”
“But nothing! You have no say in this, you’re not my mom!”
Her head snaps back, her face shocked like she’s been slapped.
“I may not be your mom, but I’m still a concerned parent,” she rasps out and her eyes flick over Stiles’ shoulder to glare at Chris.
Someone steps up next to him and he looks to see who it is.
“As Stiles’ friend and Chris’ daughter, I have the closest and most awkward viewpoint on all of this and trust me, you don’t have the right idea,” Allison says calmly, crossing her arms.
Melissa looks taken aback.
“Yeah, mom,” Scott steps up on his other side and immediately flinches at the heated glare she sends his way. “It’s weird as hell, believe me, but it’s not that bad.”
“How about from now on, everyone keeps their nose out of my dating life,” Stiles says loudly and flips his arm dismissively before turning around and grabbing Chris to pull him away from everyone else. He doesn’t dare look up at the man, just keeps walking until they’re back on the edge of the road, far enough that no one with human hearing can overhear them.
“Probably re-thinking that kiss, huh?” He asks, feeling nervous for a whole slew of other reasons now, as he lets go of Chris and stuffs his hands into his hoodie’s pocket, pressing his fingers together hard enough for them to twinge.
“Stiles,” Chris finally speaks up and Stiles’ eyes fly up almost in reflex. Chris doesn’t look angry or whatever else Stiles expected, but he is frowning. “I knew what I was getting into. But this isn’t going to be a one-time occurrence, people are going to keep reacting like this. Are you going to be okay with that? Because if not-”
“Hold on,” Stiles laughs a little. “This whole situation is them thinking you’re some manipulative teen-chaser, and you’re asking me if I’m going to be okay with it?”
“People are going to question your choice to do this with me. With us.”
“It’s annoying, but I don’t care. I don’t like them judging you, though,” he sighs, looking away to stare down the empty road. “Do you hear a car?” He thinks there’s a faint sound of a car engine getting closer, or it just could be his anxiety finally overloading his brain and making him hear things.
“Stiles,” Chris says seriously and steps closer. Stiles stares at him, surprised at the sudden closeness. And oh, there Stiles goes again, gawking, wanting to press up against that body and remind himself what it was like to kiss him. Pretty fucking amazing, if his memory serves him right. “If you ever, at any point, just don’t want to deal with this anymore…”
“What, the whole judgey-ness? Come on,” he scoffs and leans his head back. “I’m way too stubborn to let what other people think dictate what I should do. In fact, I’m more likely to do the opposite of what’s expected of me.”
Chris’ mouth quirks up into a smirk and that glint in his eyes is probably humor, but to Stiles it’s just a whole lot of wickedness as it makes him want to kiss him even more. He glances over his shoulder and yep, there’s his dad, hands on his hips as he stares over at them. He’s too far away for Stiles to make out his expression but he can easily fill in the disapproval.
But his dad will have to get over this at some point. And Stiles is sick of worrying about what Noah might do or say.
They’re close enough that he just has to take one step and he can lean in. Chris’ lips move to meet his, soft yet firm, and he breathes out a tiny sound that might've been a moan if he let it go on longer but keeps his mouth shut and steps back quickly before his body can make his brain forget just where he is and just who is currently watching. He wants to make a point, not give his dad a heart-attack.
Chris’ face is a wonder, the man full-on staring at Stiles’ mouth as if in a daze.
“There’s more where that came from,” he quips, lips tugging up into a half-grin.
“I’d call you a tease but I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose,” Chris muses, eyes still lowered.
Stiles’ entire face heats up as it registers in his brain that Chris, the Chris Argent, the man he’s been having a totally unadvised crush on for two years now, just called him a tease for giving him a quick kiss, implying that he wants a lot more from him.
Honestly, at this point, the only thing that’s holding him back is the fact that he loves and respects Allison and is not going to climb her dad like a tree while she’s in the vicinity.
The moment is interrupted by a car driving their way.
“Peter’s here,” Chris says, finally releasing Stiles from his heavy-lidded gaze.
They walk back towards everyone else as Peter slows and turns, parking himself next to Stiles’ Jeep.
He doesn’t let himself second-guess, is waiting by the door already when Peter gets out and ignoring the look of surprise on the man’s face, he reaches up to wrap his arms around Peter’s neck and bring him in for a hug. When hesitant hands grip his waist, he leans back a little so he can kiss him hello.
“Hi,” he says brightly as he steps back.
Peter’s looking around warily. “I thought we said no kissing since your dad’s here, and oh,” he lifts his hand in a casual wave, “there he is, glaring at me like usual.”
“That was the plan, but then he pissed me off,” Stiles tells him, shrugging. He blinks rapidly when another familiar warm body enters their space, watching with wide eyes as Chris grabs Peter by the back of his neck and leans in for a proper, very passionate kiss, that kind of leaves Stiles’ knees weak just from the sight of it.
“What the hell am I seeing?” He hears Melissa say from somewhere behind him.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” A new voice enters the fray, as a short woman climbs out of Peter’s car and comes around the front to stare at the three of them.
Stiles stares right back, because…
“You don’t look like a witch.”
The woman, who he assumes to be Astrid, clutches at her cardigan, looking defensive.
“What the fuck am I supposed to look like?”
“No, I didn’t mean-” he stammers.
Peter ends the kiss and turns around to wave his hand over Astrid’s outfit. “I told you that you wouldn’t be able to guess.”
“Hi, I’m Lydia,” Lydia smartly starts the introductions, stepping over to reach out a hand politely. Peter gives her a grateful nod.
Everyone else follows, throwing their names Astrid’s way, most of them just waving, only Lydia, Noah and Melissa offering a handshake.
“That’s a lot of names,” Astrid drawls slowly, her big green eyes growing bigger with each introduction. “And you must be the partner,” she points at Chris, who says his name and then she stares at Stiles. Then at Peter. Then at Peter’s hand still on Stiles’ waist. Then back at Stiles.
“Please tell me you’re in college.”
Stiles holds back a sigh. Here we go again.
“Stiles Stilinski, high school senior, what’s up?” He’s not even going to pretend to take their attitudes seriously anymore. He notices Peter quirking a brow at him.
“Oh my god,” Astrid stresses and puts her hands on her hips, turning her attention fully onto Peter.
“The heart wants what the heart wants-”
“Are you seriously using this moment to say that back to me?”
Peter rolls his eyes, drawing away from both Stiles and Chris. Stiles looks around to see everyone listening attentively, obviously curious about this newcomer to their group as well as her being seemingly comfortable enough with Peter to chastise him.
“If I remember correctly, you said those words after stealing my date.”
“I stole your one-night-stand, hardly the equivalent of dating someone half your age.”
“Less than half, and it was still a date.”
“Not by much, I’m sure. And you didn’t date, you said so yourself.”
“Well, I’m dating two people now, so I guess I have evolved after all.” Peter smiles winningly and Astrid huffs, apparently giving up.
Stiles’ eyes are flicking back and forth, fascinated. He exchanges glances with Chris, who looks just as interested.
“I didn’t know my uncle had any friends left,” Laura’s voice rings out as she walks closer, Derek and Cora following close behind.
Stiles doesn’t understand what she’s aiming at right away but Astrid’s response helps with that.
“Laura, I know you tried to contact me back when the fire had just happened, and I want you to know I’m sorry for ignoring you-”
“Oh, well, that’s all good then,” she scoffs sarcastically.
“-But I was scared, alright?” Astrid pushes on. “There was a lot more going on than just your feud with the Argents, my part of the world also had problems… Uh…” She starts glancing around at all of them. “Does everyone here know that I’m…”
“A witch?” Lydia asks and then shrugs. “Yep.”
Astrid gives Peter a come on now look, with the head-tilt and everything. “I thought we’d keep this in the pack.”
“Everyone here who is not in the pack is pack-adjacent enough for it to not matter,” Peter shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“I’m the town Sheriff,” Noah says and then points to Stiles. “And his dad.”
“I’m his mom,” Melissa points to Scott.
Astrid’s eyes flick to Allison. “And her?”
“My daughter,” Chris tells her.
“Chris and Allison Argent,” Peter emphasizes.
Astrid’s jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?”
“This is fascinating,” Lydia interrupts, “but I came here today with a clear goal in mind so could you interrogate Peter while we walk towards our destination? Thank you,” she says while turning around and heading off without waiting for a reply.
Stiles quickly jogs after her. Scott and Allison are soon by their sides too and when he glances over his shoulder, he sees Noah and Melissa directly behind them, the Hales following the parents and Peter getting flanked by Astrid and Chris.
“Anyone else feel like singing we’re off to see the wizard?” He asks his friends.
“Not really,” Lydia answers.
“Do you feel any pull towards it?” He asks her, looking up at the canopy when they go off the trail and walk into the trees.
“No, I usually don’t.”
“Yeah… It’s just sitting there… All quiet and innocent, soaking up the sunshine.” He pouts. “Dick.”
“We’re calling the tree names now?” His dad asks from behind him, sounding weary.
“It deserves a lot worse,” Stiles mutters.
He jumps a little when a hand grabs his arm but relaxes when he realizes it’s just Scott.
“Oh, I just realized that I forgot my knife,” he says, feeling like an idiot.
“I think the werewolves can help with that,” Lydia reminds him.
“Oh. Right.” A flash of Peter standing in front of him, gently pressing a blade against his skin. I will try to make this easier for you.
“I… also have a knife, if we need one,” his dad says, sounding like he regrets it as he’s saying it.
Stiles swallows hard, feels Lydia’s fingers slide into his hand and he grips them firmly in reply.
“Right,” he repeats, everything starting to feel a little fuzzy.
“-you used to be the most clever person I know, but hooking up with a hunter and a barely legal teenager is not clever at all, Peter!”
Astrid keeps up her whisper-yelling as they walk, both Chris and Peter letting her rant herself empty. Peter specifically is letting her do so because he can sense her anxiety, the way it’s building the closer they get.
Just like he can sense that the two most anxious ones are the pair leading all of them, Stiles and Lydia, reeking of full-blown terror at this point. If he had any other ideas on how to get some answers, he’d drag them out of these woods and far away from the source of their fear. But since he doesn’t, he just hopes that they come out of this unscathed.
“-jesus fuck-” Astrid gasps out, stumbling a little on the uneven ground and pulling up her skirt.
“You okay?” Chris asks, going over to her other side and offering her his arm.
“No, I’m not okay because this place is not okay,” she grits out, accepting his offer and grabbing onto him like a lifeline. “This place is all wrong,” she whispers ominously.
Peter turns his eyes back onto the figures ahead. “Welcome to Beacon Hills.”
“This is it?” Melissa asks after a prolonged moment of silence as everyone shuffles to spread out around the stump. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Well, don’t trust it,” Stiles tells her, eyes glued to the thing. Clean of blood, dry and cracked, old and deceptively inanimate, the longer he stares at it the more he’s filled with hatred towards it. A whimper makes him look up. Astrid’s opposite him, one of her hands holding onto her head, the other closed into a death-grip around Chris’ arm.
“Something’s not right,” she whispers, sounding like she’s in pain.
“How are we going to do this?” He asks her. “Are you going to join or?”
She breathes in deeply a couple of times, lowers her hand and meets his eyes. “The three of us should hold onto each other, to make sure we go in together.”
He nods and then lifts up his hand, staring down at it. He must’ve zoned out for a minute because suddenly Peter’s there, taking his hand and soothing a thumb over his palm.
“An Alpha’s claws aren’t usually enough to turn someone but I’d rather not risk it,” Peter tells him. He looks off to the side. “Laura?”
Then she’s the one holding his hand and her thumb’s sharp and long, because her claws are out, he realizes as he stares dumbly.
“We only need a little bit, right?” She asks, looking over her shoulder.
“Yes, we’re just trying to get its attention,” Astrid answers.
“Stiles?”
He looks up at Laura, sees the concern.
“I’m ready whenever,” he says, hating how shaky his voice sounds.
“We’ll be right here,” she whispers as her claw pricks into his skin, a tiny cut, but deep enough to draw blood.
He draws his hand back, curling his fingers.
“Okay, let’s go then.” He climbs onto the stump and sits down cross-legged. He holds out one hand towards Lydia and isn’t surprised when hers shakes as she squeezes him almost painfully. The other hand he holds out over the Nemeton and waits for Astrid to step up and take Lydia’s free hand before sliding fingers around Stiles’ wrist.
“I’ll try to lead us as much as I can,” she tells them both. “But I’m no druid.”
Stiles looks around, sees Scott hugging his mom, both of them looking scared now. He sees his dad, holding a fist up to his mouth, frowning so deeply it looks like it should hurt his face. Allison seems calm but Stiles can tell by the sharp line of her jaw, that she’s gritting her teeth and on edge. Cora, Derek and Laura are standing off to the side, all three of them keeping their eyes on their Alpha, alert and ready. And Peter is standing right in front of him, behind Astrid. Both he and Chris have masked their expressions well, but as Stiles locks eyes with them, there’s a familiar softness that he focuses on as he turns his palm downwards and presses it against the stump.
As always, it takes a nerve-racking moment. And then, to several gasps, roots burst out of the ground and wrap themselves around the three of them like tendrils. His eyes get covered and he’s thrust into darkness.
Until he blinks and he’s surrounded by white.
“And now what?” Melissa asks, tense and wide-eyed.
“We wait,” Peter answers her and starts pacing around the tree.
“For how long?” Noah steps closer to the stump and crouches down, staring at his son. “What if something goes wrong, how do we bring them back?”
Peter doesn’t answer because he has no answer to give.
“That looks like it hurts,” Noah sighs as he reaches out a hand, hovering over the root wrapped around Stiles’ eyes.
Peter’s eyes glance over the other two, knowing that Stiles at least will heal quickly from the bruises. Astrid and Lydia might not be so lucky. But the roots also don’t look as tight as they did the first time Stiles got dragged down.
“I did bring this.” Derek unzips his jacket and pulls out a small axe from the waistband of his jeans.
Everyone stares for a moment in silence.
“You could’ve just carried that in your hand,” Cora tells him.
“And you two call me dramatic,” Laura scoffs.
White as far as his eye can see, no distinction between up or down, the sky, the ground, he’s disoriented and scared. He takes a step back and bumps into something. He yells and whips around.
“Oh thank god,” Lydia gasps out and flies into him, hugging him fiercely.
“Good, we’re still together,” Astrid says and reaches out to them, keeping her hands on their arms. She looks around at all the emptiness. “Where are we?”
Witch.
They all jump at the crackling hiss of a voice that echoes all around them.
“It speaks!?” Astrid’s gone white as a sheet.
“Didn’t Peter tell you?” Stiles asks absentmindedly, trying to see if there’s any change happening like there was before, with the grass growing out of nowhere. He looks down, remembering how the tree just appeared suddenly, but no, just empty white that leaves him with vertigo.
“I figured the whole talking part was figurative, like it sends you images and shit,” Astrid blurts out and then flinches and pushes herself up against them when the hiss comes again.
Witch.
“Why do I get the sense that it doesn’t like witches?” Lydia asks quickly, voice high and panicked.
“I don’t-” Astrid finishes with a high-pitched scream as all three of them are flung apart, flying backwards.
There’s wind flowing against him, air whipping his face as he flies back and back, his arms and legs flapping uselessly in front of him. He’s yelling, louder than he ever remembers yelling before. His back hits something hard, his yell gets cut off as he loses his breath.
“Stiles?” Lydia’s voice, from somewhere next to him. He turns his head, strains his neck to see her. She’s right there. All of a sudden he can feel her, their arms tied together. He turns his head, Astrid’s there too. Three of them, tied together around something, a pole? He looks down, sees branches and twigs around his feet. Their feet. A stake, he realizes, not a pole.
He blinks and the white is gone, replaced with the forest at night, a familiar clearing, and unfamiliar faces all around, holding torches.
“Witch!” Someone yells.
“Oh dear,” Astrid says and starts struggling.
“What the fuck is happening?” Stiles starts struggling with her.
“We need to stay together!” Astrid yells back and Stiles can feel her fingers brushing against his own. He spreads out his hands and reaches out as much as he can. Lydia’s fingers clasp onto his, the vicious tremble in them causing his hand to shake.
Banshee.
That same ominous echo of a voice. And then Stiles’ fingers are grasping air.
“What-” He spins his head around and can’t see her anymore, can’t feel her. “Lydia!” He screams, pulling against the ropes as hard as he can, kicking at the wood all around him. There aren’t any people anymore, no torchlight, instead of white, it’s black, a dark night covering everything and he’s starting to feel like he’s suffocating.
Then he realizes he’s breathing in smoke. He looks down and stares in shock at the flames already licking his feet.
“Stiles, just, try to stay calm,” Astrid’s saying, but she’s not sounding calm at all so Stiles finds it hard to follow her advice.
My gift.
Stiles’ head snaps up at the words and his arms are free, he’s no longer tied, there’s no fire, there’s nothing but the forest under the night sky.
And then a woman, emerging from the shadows, feet bare, wearing a pale nightgown the likes of which he’s only seen in movies and shows. Dark waves framing her pale oval face, eyes big and frightening with their intensity.
That same crackling voice, dry and aged, emerges from her mouth, without the echo or reverberation.
“Mieczysław.”
Stiles blinks, realizes his entire body is shaking and he breathes, tries to focus. He’s got questions and maybe he’ll finally get some answers.
“I prefer Stiles,” he says, voice cracking pathetically. He clears his throat. “What should I call you? Nem? Nemmy? Nemetonia?”
“You mistake me for the tree,” she says, while still just standing there, eyes unblinking. If Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say she looks like a gh-
…She looks like a ghost.
“What are you then?”
“Where I burned, they planted a seed. Out of my ashes grew a tree. I was the spark that made it something more.”
“O-kay,” Stiles drawls shakily.
“I fell asleep. Sometimes opening an eye to the world. I witnessed my bloodline continuing, growing. Suffering.”
Stiles points at himself questioningly.
“We share no blood.”
It takes him only a second.
“Lydia?”
“No matter where we go, we’re surrounded by death. Governed by it. Drowned in it.”
“What do you want then?” He’s trying to follow along, but her stillness is rattling him, her mouth barely moving as she speaks as if in a trance.
“Power. Sacrifice. Blood. It’s what the tree hungers for, it’s what it needs. Like any living thing, it spreads itself and does whatever it can to survive, to remain.”
“And… you just follow the tree?”
“The more it grows, the more alive I feel. More present. I couldn’t speak to you before, only in short bursts. Shouts. I gave the dark druid images, I showed her what I’ve seen. But now…” She starts walking closer and Stiles tries to back away, but he can’t, every step backwards she seems to take two forwards until she’s close enough to reach him, to grab his arm.
Her touch burns like coldest ice.
“I can speak. I can be heard. Seen. Felt.”
“Wh-why a triumvirate? What’s the endgame here, just more and more? That’s not sustainable,” he grits out, yanking at her grip but he doesn’t have full control of his body anymore. In his mind, he’s struggling against her hold. But when he glances down he can see himself standing still, arm gently resting in her hand.
“Three powerful Alphas, one greatest of them all, and I’ll have enough to leave this place, this dreamscape.”
Stiles’ jaw drops. “You want to resurrect yourself?”
“Fool, there is no resurrecting. Death is final.”
“Then what!?”
“Given the means, even the dead can still walk.”
“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was attacking you before.”
Chris turns to Melissa, caught off guard at her approach.
“It’s alright. In your position, I might’ve done worse.”
“I still might,” Noah speaks up from his position next to Stiles. He’s kneeling by the stump now, eyes never leaving his son.
“I feel like I’ve missed something,” Peter says, narrowing his eyes at them all.
“Welcome to my life,” Melissa mutters, walking back over to Scott, who is now holding hands with Allison.
Chris gives his daughter a worried look-over. With each passing minute, she’s looking more and more unsettled. He goes to Peter, who stopped his pacing a few minutes ago.
“What do you think is going on in there?” He whispers, low enough that only the werewolves should hear him.
“That’s the scary part,” Peter replies, mouth twisting grimly. “I have no idea.”
“Lydia’s your descendant, but what am I? Just a gift?”
“A gift, my awakening. You ended my sleep.”
He feels like yelling at Morrell suddenly, makes a note to call her later and do just that.
“Talia gave me the first spark,” she continues. “Like lightning, it alighted my imagination, my thoughts.”
“Uh, let’s go back to me for a second. There’s this theory going around that something in my blood caught your interest. Maybe the fact that I’ve got the werewolf gene or something?”
“Your blood,” she repeats and for the first time there’s a shadow of emotion on her face. Stiles can’t tell if it’s wariness or uncertainty. “Yes, I thought you’d bring her. But the more I see, the less useful you seem.”
“Wow, shots fired,” Stiles whispers, glaring at her. “That why you talked to Blake? The… dark druid, I mean.”
“She will find her.”
“Want to tell me who her is?”
Her eyes move, flicking back and forth, reading him.
Stiles blinks in realization, “You’re hiding that from me on purpose. You think, what, I’ll stop her if I know?”
“I frighten you.”
“Lady, you’re dead! Of course I’m frightened!”
“You want to end my growth. End the blood.” She steps closer and looks up at him. “There will be more blood.”
“C-cool, alright, well, now that everything’s clear, are you going to let me leave?”
She stares, unblinking.
“I’m still a pawn or whatever, it’s not like you can’t stop me or something, right? You’ve got no reason to fear me,” he’s babbling, he knows he is, but he can’t stop. “Lydia too, what are you doing with her-”
Peter senses it first, the change in Astrid’s body, her coming back to herself, fear and shock overwhelming as her chest starts to move rapidly, gasping. He’s already next to her, arms out and ready as the roots pull back and away, leaving red marks behind. She immediately starts coughing, hard and loud, deep coughs from the chest that cause her to curl into herself. Peter gathers her up in his arms and pulls her away from the stump.
“Let me look at her,” Melissa orders and he sits down, supporting Astrid on his lap and letting the nurse check Astrid’s pulse, her eyes, all the while the witch is still coughing, the sound of it painful to his ears.
“What happened?” Noah demands, not moving from his spot but eyes begging Peter for some answers.
“Astrid, can you talk to us? Astrid?” He pleads, pulling her hair away from her face and cradling her face against his chest. Her fingers ding into his arm and wrist and with significant effort, she manages to stop coughing, resisting the urge about a dozen times before relaxing against him.
“B-Burned. Burned alive,” she gasps out, closing her eyes.
Peter’s instincts are wild. Someone he cares about is in his arms, trembling, hurt and in pain. And he has nothing to hunt, to retaliate against. He lets his eyes flick over to Stiles and Lydia, takes in their unnerving stillness, still wrapped up in roots, still down under. He can’t lose control right now, he just can’t. He focuses on his breathing. A hand grips his shoulder and he looks up at Chris’ sympathetic eyes and feels a little more grounded.
“Astrid?” Melissa tries, grabbing the woman by the cheeks and taking a better look at her eyes now that she’s stopped coughing. “I think she should go to the hospital.”
“Not yet,” Peter says, nodding at his two pack members meaningfully.
Melissa doesn’t look happy about it but nods back in understanding.
“She didn’t want to talk to me, only to them,” Astrid mumbles and he looks down at her in surprise.
“She?”
“The Nemeton’s not the problem, Peter.” She tilts her head back so she can meet his eyes with her own, a cold understanding shining through. “It’s the spirit that’s possessing it.”
The silence that follows that revelation is broken by a sharp gasp, coming from Stiles.
“Son?” Noah barks out, immediately standing up, groaning when his knees take a moment to fully unbend.
“Stiles?” Scott rushes to his other side, gripping Stiles by a hand and shoulder.
Roots release him and he’s breathing loudly, eyes open wide and looking around at all of them. His eyes fall on Astrid. “She okay?”
“She will be. Are you?” Peter demands, voice tight with worry. Stiles blinks at him a bit, looking surprised. There’s redness in his eyes, from tears or from holding them back, Peter isn’t sure and doesn’t care, either way it hurts him to see it.
“I think so? I just… had a chat. With… A ghost, I guess…” He laughs weakly and lets his dad hug him close, pats the man on the back gently. He squeezes Scott’s hand. “I’m okay.” He sees Lydia then and pushes away from Noah and Scott, crawling up to her. “Lydia’s not back yet?” He leans in close and sees the wetness under the root covering her eyes. “I think she’s crying!” He calls out, feeling like his chest’s about to burst from fear. “Lydia!?”
Allison’s there, smoothing a hand over Lydia’s hair, tears escaping her own eyes. “Lydia?”
And then the final roots slowly, ever-so-gently, slip away, disappearing back into the earth.
Lydia’s tears fall freely, she blinks them out like rain, her face limp from shock.
“Hey,” Stiles says softly, grabbing her hands in his.
Allison hugs her from the side.
“I saw my grandmother,” Lydia whispers and Stiles exchanges a confused glance with Allison.
“Now that everyone’s awake, let’s go,” Melissa interrupts. “I want to take a look at you two too, but Astrid’s breathing worries me. I don’t know if her lungs actually got damaged by this, but we better not take any chances.”
Cora walks up and leans her face in close until Lydia slowly looks over at her. “Is it okay if I carry you to the car?”
“Please,” she whispers, nodding.
Cora pulls her close and lifts her easily, carrying her in her arms as she starts walking.
Scott shakes Stiles by his arm. “Want a piggyback ride?”
At first, he wants to say that he’s fine, he can walk, but when he straightens his legs and stumbles off the tree, his knees feel weak and everything’s all shaky so he gestures at his friend.
“I definitely need a ride.” He happily slumps over Scott’s back when it’s presented to him, nuzzling into the other’s shoulder. “My hero.”
“Always, buddy.”
Stiles spies Allison giving them a teary-eyed smile, before Chris wraps an arm around her and they head off too. His dad steps up to walk beside them, placing a hand on Stiles’ back and keeping it there the whole way back to the parking lot.
Right behind them is Peter, with Astrid in his arms and Laura and Derek flanking him.
“Did you get some answers?” Astrid croaks out and Stiles looks back at her, eyes flicking up to Peter who tilts his head, signaling his own curiosity.
“Yeah,” he says, keeping his eyes locked onto Peter’s. “Nothing good.”
“She’s not going to stop,” Astrid adds.
He turns back around, holds onto Scott even tighter.
There will be more blood.
“No. She isn’t.”
Notes:
you guys were real nice to me last ch :') thanks so much for all the nice words, meant a lot ;u;
i think i'm all good now, heading back to work next weekfic-wise, haha, man, some things i've planned for from pretty much the beginning, but there's a lot that's changed throughout the course of writing all this. maybe towards the end, for fun, ill share the darker timeline that i ended up discarding cause this fic became my happy place and the og plan was just too dark and i didnt feel like diving into it.
Chapter 40: haunted
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Do you think they give out cards to collect stamps on or something?” Stiles asks, idly stirring his coffee. He put sugar in it this time in the hopes of making it taste better.
When no one answers him, he continues, “You know, visit more than three times a year and get a free lunch… Not that it would be reward-worthy… y’know what, never mind, bad idea,” he mumbles to himself and takes a sip and almost spits it back out again. Nope, not better.
“Derek and Cora are bringing us drinks,” Scott reminds him and gently takes the cup away from him.
“Right,” he nods and sighs. He spreads out his fingers, wiggles them and slumps further down in the chair. He lets his head flop to his right so he can see Lydia. “How you doing?”
“Same as the last time you asked just a minute ago.”
“It’s only been a minute?” He winces and lets his head flop to his other side. “Any news from Allison?”
Scott drags his finger over his phone screen, refreshing the messages again and again. “Nope.”
“Super.” At this point, it’s not even five o’clock yet and he feels like his worry-meter has been filled up for the day, so he can’t bring himself to be bothered with what’s going on with her and Chris right now. They texted that they had to go and to keep them posted while everyone was driving towards the hospital. Peter didn’t seem happy about it but right now Astrid’s condition is their main concern.
His dad also left, saying something about going to the station. Stiles wasn’t really paying any attention.
“Hey, she’s a lot better now,” Laura says as she walks over.
“Makes sense, the creepy vibes kind of dissipated the further we got from it,” Stiles muses and starts gently banging his head against the wall behind him. Scott quickly stops that with his hand.
“Quit that,” he whispers desperately.
“What’s up with you two?” Laura asks, glancing between Stiles and Lydia.
“Oh, you know, just…” Stiles gestures vaguely. “I feel kind of done. Right?” He looks towards Lydia and frowns when she just continues to stare ahead like she’s been doing this whole time.
“…You sure you left the creepy vibes behind?” Laura asks carefully. “’Cause it seems like you brought some with you.”
“I just talked to a dead lady and she’s been talking to dead people for months now so how about you give us a break?” Stiles snaps at her, all of a sudden angry and not understanding why.
Laura holds up her hands, eyes wide. “Easy, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just worried about you two.”
“I know,” he groans and drags a hand over his face. He can feel Scott hovering beside him, wanting to help and not knowing how.
“Mr. Stilinski.”
He lets his hand drop and leans his head back to see Agent Fetters standing there, in her suit, ponytail sharp and grey eyes sharper.
“What do you want?” He asks, straightening up in his seat.
“I’m here to see Lybeck.”
Laura takes a step, both putting herself between Stiles and the Agent as well as getting closer to her. “Pretty sure she goes by Hassi now.”
Fetters gives her a measured look.
“Where is she?”
“What do you want with her?”
“I’ll find her,” Fetters says and tries to pass by Laura but her arm’s grabbed and she’s pulled back towards the werewolf.
“I think you should wait here. I’m pretty sure my Alpha would like to have a word.”
“He would,” Peter says as he rounds the corner.
“You love to make an entrance, don’t you?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Do you sometimes wait behind doors or around corners, for just the exact moment where you can swoop in and make yourself look all cool?”
Peter gestures at Laura to let Fetters go and then quirks an eyebrow at Stiles. “Are you medicated?”
“Is panic considered a drug, because if so, I’m tripping balls,” he chuckles and closes his eyes.
“He’s been like this for a while,” Scott says warily. “And Lydia…”
“Lydia’s not present right now,” Stiles tells them and taps at his temple. The fact that Lydia doesn’t snap at him for that is just proving his point.
“I’ve been asked to give them a break,” Laura says.
Peter’s sigh feels heavy as it reaches his ears. He blinks his eyes open when hands frame his face.
“Maybe you two should let Scott take you home, huh?”
“Mm, I guess…” He reaches up to pull one of Peter’s hands down so he can glance at Lydia. “How about it, wanna come over-”
“I’m going to call my mom.”
“Oh.” He frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to be alone.” With that, Lydia stands up and walks away.
Stiles stares after her, floored, feeling abandoned almost. He looks to Scott for help.
“I’ll text Allison. Maybe after she’s done with whatever she’s doing, she can go and check up on her.”
“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, okay.” He locks eyes with Peter, who is studying him intently. “I’ll go back to Chris’. See you there?”
“Of course,” Peter promises and leans in to kiss him on the forehead. Stiles closes his eyes, letting the comfort of that simple gesture seep into his bones.
He lets Scott lead him out of the hospital in a daze, barely noticing the time going by as one minute he’s waving at Fetters who is looking very confused, and the next he’s waving at Scott, telling him that he’ll be fine on his own, he just needs to lay down, go on and check on your girlfriend or maybe your mom, Stiles is all good now, he’s great, he’s crawling into Chris’ bed and wrapping himself up in blankets like a burrito, fully clothed and still smelling of the forest. He falls asleep easily, too easily, and as soon as he’s deep enough, the dream comes back with a vengeance.
“I know it’s a Saturday and all, you two probably had plans, so I’ll try and make this quick.”
Chris stares at McCall over the desk between them and says nothing. He’s been in interrogation rooms before, questioned because of suspicious circumstances, shots fired, civilians scared, but never has there been a circumstance like the one he’s being questioned about now. Fourteen dead and he, to the FBI’s knowledge, was the last one to see these people alive. Last one to see his dad too, who is still missing.
He told Allison to not say a word and gives her another warning glance as McCall leans his elbows onto the desk and adopts a more comfortable position. At least there aren’t any crime scene photos being thrown at them.
“I learned something interesting yesterday.” He waits for a moment, eyes flicking between them. “Apparently Gerard Argent’s estate is already being handed out. Now, to my knowledge, the proper waiting time is seven years, not couple of weeks.”
Chris realizes this is a topic he should actually speak on. “My father had conditions prepared. He wasn’t fond of the idea of his company or property just sitting without an owner, or god forbid, going to someone he hadn’t approved of.”
“Someone like you? He left you out of his will, didn’t he?”
He cocks his head at the Agent. “How did you learn this, by the way?”
McCall just smiles. And then looks at Allison. “But you got everything.”
“If this is about motive, then I’m sorry to say that we had no reason to believe either of us would be getting anything.” He can sense Allison shifting around in her seat, tense. “Just like me and Gerard, my daughter didn’t have a close relationship with her mother.”
“Right. When’s the funeral?” McCall tilts his head, his tone implying he already knows the answer to that question.
“Not having one,” Chris says evenly.
“You have to admit, there’s the makings of a motive here.”
“Motive to kill my father and ex-wife? What about the others?”
“Collateral damage?” McCall shrugs.
“With what weapon?” Chris asks, voice gone low, as he leans forward across the desk.
“That’s still under investigation, but we have time.”
“There’s wealth in my family, but we weren’t exactly filthy rich. You honestly think that’s worth killing fourteen people—fifteen, if you include my father?”
“So cavalier as we discuss their deaths,” McCall muses, eyes glinting dangerously.
“We weren’t close, I’ve never hidden that,” he spreads his hands.
“Your daughter inherited a lot. And maybe you were desperate since you lost your job.”
“I lost my job after that night, and was in fact offered a promotion first, which I denied. There’s proof of that.” He leans back in his chair, not feeling nervous in the least since he’s well aware that without a weapon, McCall can imagine all of the motives he wants, he’ll never get an arrest warrant. A search warrant, maybe, and Chris will gladly welcome him to his home, let him search his guns, his weapons, his gear, knowing that he’ll find nothing pointing to him as the killer.
Because the real killer used fangs and claws.
“A promotion that you denied because you knew there was money incoming.”
He chuckles wryly. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“Before he disappeared, Gerard sold his shares. Maybe you didn’t like that, your father throwing away your legacy.”
“A legacy I want nothing to do with, since once again, I rejected the promotion. You know what,” he leans an arm on the desk and gives the other man a measuring once-over. “Let’s assume your ideas for a motive aren’t complete fabrication. How did I, with broken ribs and a severe concussion, kill fourteen people who were all heavily armed?”
“Those injuries could’ve been sustained during the fighting. And you could’ve gotten the jump on them, since they counted you as one of their own after all.”
Chris smiles, rolling his eyes. “I’d imagine my arrival at the hospital would not fit into your timeline, since you probably have pretty accurate times for all of their deaths.”
“You just seem to have an answer for every accusation I throw at you, almost as if you were prepared for them.” McCall’s trying to sound clever, but Chris can spy the strain around the man’s mouth. He’s annoyed.
“I’m responding to your accusations with facts. But I have to ask, you know so much about what my father did before he went missing, have you been keeping tabs on him?”
“The FBI has been investigating your entire family for years now,” McCall tells him. “Corruption, blackmail, extortion. It’s only lately that we’ve begun getting enough concrete intel to lead up to an arrest.”
“So maybe, he’s alive and just ran away.”
McCall narrows his eyes a little. “If he ran, then he probably won’t be alive for long anyway.” When Chris just stares back at him impassively, he continues. “Cancer, stage four. You didn’t know?”
That… honestly changes nothing, he thinks to himself.
“No, and I don’t care.” He pushes away from the table and stands. “Let’s go, Allison.” He gives her a nod and she stands too. He’s impressed with how composed she looks. He looks back at the Agent. “The next time you approach me, it better be with a warrant.” McCall stays seated and doesn’t look up, just huffs to himself. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t approach my daughter at all,” he adds, placing a hand on Allison’s shoulder when she steps up next to him.
At that, McCall stands up to his full height, taller than either of them and raises his eyebrows at Allison. “That might be hard since you’re dating my son. Maybe family dinners will become a regular thing again.”
“Considering what your son thinks of you? Unlikely,” she replies calmly.
Chris tightens his grip on her shoulder and leads her out of there, not liking the way the Agent glares at her as they go.
“You were doing so good until then,” he murmurs to her.
“I did amazing considering how many times I wanted to call him on his bullshit,” she snaps back and he hides a grin.
Noah is waiting for them at the front entrance, looking worried.
“You guys alright?”
“Fine, thanks,” he answers.
“Is he desperate or something?” Allison asks curiously. “He’s really grasping at straws.”
Noah coughs loudly and gestures at the door with his head. Chris leads them all outside.
“Desperate is right. They want someone to blame for all this.”
“And they’re not blaming Gerard because?” Chris asks.
“Because they want someone to arrest. They don’t want to have a dangerous murderer on the loose.”
“I don’t think anyone does,” Allison points out dryly. She then looks at her phone. “Hey, I’m going to go check on Lydia. Can I borrow the car?”
“Sure. Can you give me a lift home?” He asks Noah, who to his surprise agrees easily.
Once they’re on their way, he can’t help but ask, “Is this an olive branch?”
“If anyone needs to extend an olive branch, it’s the forty-year-old dating my son.”
Chris lets the awkward silence fester for a bit before saying, “I’m thirty-seven.” Almost thirty-eight, he continues in his head.
“Oh, how silly of me,” Noah says, bitingly sarcastic. “That’s completely different.”
He turns his head to look at the man as he drives. He sees the squint, the lips pressed together stubbornly.
“You two are a lot alike,” he says and then looks ahead, cursing at himself.
“Keep it in your pants, I’m straight.”
Chris snorts, quieting himself before it can turn into a real laugh.
“I’d like it a lot if he came back home. And stayed there until he graduates.”
“I agree with that idea,” he says, looking over at him.
Noah glances towards him and nods, seemingly satisfied with what he can read on Chris’ face. “Good.”
It was nice, sharing a bed with both of them, waking up next to Stiles, seeing those brown eyes flutter open, brighter and even prettier under the morning sun… A lot more than just nice, obviously. But actually living together and doing that every morning, he doesn’t know if he’s ready for something like that with Peter even, let alone Stiles. There’s so much for all of them to still learn about each other, so much to discover. He doesn’t want to rush things, to force anything. Especially since he and Stiles have barely started… whatever they started.
And especially since all three of them seem to be incredibly inexperienced when it comes to commitment. Or in his case, commitment that stems from desire to commit and not something he was threatened into.
“Looks like Stiles is here already,” Noah’s voice drags him out of his thoughts and he looks at his driveway and sees the Jeep. “Okay if I come in?”
“Always, Noah,” he says and makes it sound like a promise.
The man parks the car and then gives him a thoughtful nod.
“I’ll accept that olive branch.”
“Astrid Hassi is under my pack’s protection. So if you’d like to see her, I’d appreciate it if you tell me why first.”
Fetters keeps staring, arms crossed.
Laura nods jauntily, then looks at Peter. “Do you think she has trouble hearing or?”
“Perhaps she thinks I have a lack of patience. But I can wait.” He spreads his legs wider and stands still, blocking the way.
“What’s this?” Derek asks, coming up behind Fetters with Cora in tow, both of them holding a four-piece cupholder in one hand, eight drinks in total.
Fetters looks over her shoulder at them but calmly turns back to Peter. Her serene attitude is starting to piss him off a bit.
“Would you look at that, now you’re surrounded,” he points out to her.
Her eyes narrow and finally, she opens her narrow little mouth, “What’s with the hostility? Last time I checked, I helped you.”
“Are you a member of the Coven that Astrid left all those years ago?”
There’s barely a reaction on her face, but Peter can hear a slight uptick in her heartbeat that signals a nervousness.
“How much has she told you?”
Peter suppresses a smile. That question was answer enough.
“Nothing, because as I’m sure you know, she can’t. But it’s not that hard to put two and two together on our own.”
Another tense moment of silence before Fetters’ shoulders slump a little as she sighs.
“The druid. He talked, didn’t he? We left his tongue loose as a show of good faith. A mistake we won’t repeat.”
“Plenty of mistakes you’re still repeating. Our theories were just theories until you confirmed them.” Now he grins, as her expression slowly morphs into annoyed realization.
Although he’s mostly concentrating on reading the witch in front of him, he’s still keeping track of Astrid too and can tell that she’s heading over. He turns just before she rounds the corner, quirking an eyebrow at her expectantly.
She takes one look at Fetters and steps back away from sight.
“Astrid,” the Agent calls out.
Peter hears a soft Fuck, before Astrid rounds the corner once more and walks up to stand next to him.
“Sonja. Surprised to see you here.” Her voice trembles, cutting through the false bravado.
Fetters gives her an unimpressed look. “We need to talk in private.”
“About what?”
Silence.
Astrid blows air out of her mouth and then shrugs at Peter. “I’m going to go with her for a bit. Do you trust me enough to let me?”
That gives Peter pause as he realizes they have two very different views on why he’s standing guard over her.
“I’m worried about your safety,” he drawls. “Should I be worried about something else?”
“Oh,” her eyes widen. “No, I just… I thought you’d think I was conspiring against you or something.”
“Are you?”
“What? No!”
“How are you yelling at me when you’re the one who brought it up?”
“…Fair,” she relaxes. “I mean it though, I’m only going to talk to her in hopes of getting her off your back. I swear.”
“On your son’s life?”
Her eyes grow so big it looks painful. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” She whispers angrily.
“No.” He lifts his chin and waits.
“Fine. Oh my god. I swear on Sam’s life. You’re horrible.” She sniffs and walks past everyone, brushing shoulders with Fetters on the way.
The Agent is looking bored again as she gives Peter one last thousand-yard-stare, before following the other witch.
“Where are the others?” Cora breaks the lingering silence, raising the cupholders in her hand. “Who did I buy this stuff for?”
“I can drink them all, gimme,” Laura holds out her hand.
Cora glares at her. “I’m serious, where’s Lydia? Stiles?”
“They went home,” Peter tells her. “You should go and try to check up on Lydia, she was… unresponsive when she left.”
“Wait, she left alone?” Cora frowns, holding the drinks out to Laura who happily accepts them.
“Yes, she said she’d call her mom.” He shrugs. “She might just actually want to be alone, which is why it would be best if you did a little… reconnaissance, before ambushing her.” He considers telling her just how worryingly eerie Lydia was before she left, but he figures Cora’s already on alert and ready for trouble. No need to push her concern even further.
“Okay, and Stiles?”
“Scott drove him to Chris’, I’m meeting him there later. I’m sure Chris is going to go there soon too.” He got a short text from him just before Stiles left. Talking to FBI, not worried. Which quickly settled the lingering instinct to track the man down that reared its head after he saw his car veer left and drive away from him.
“But first we wait for Astrid to come back, right?” Laura asks, sniffing at the various drinks in her hand.
“This one’s the strongest,” Derek says, holding one out to her helpfully.
“Yes… Derek, go and track them for a bit, let’s see if they can hide their voices from your ears.”
Derek nods at him readily and puts the rest of the drinks down before leaving.
“I’ll go and spy on Lydia, I guess,” Cora sighs and leaves too.
“One of these is nauseatingly sweet,” Laura says, offering the offending drink to him.
Blake, walking around the classroom in high heels.
“What are you?”
“A pawn,” he replies, sitting in the middle, the chairs around him empty.
“Louder for the ones in the back,” she grins wide.
“A pawn,” he repeats, louder like she asked.
“Mischief,” a new voice, one that makes him freeze in disbelief.
He’s crying even before he looks up and sees her there, standing before the teacher’s desk, wearing a hospital gown.
He wants to say Mom? but he also wants to run and he stands up, colliding against hard edges and corners as he turns around, arms flailing-
His feet hit soft ground, not floor, then suddenly it’s uneven, he’s stumbling. He leans against a tree.
“My gift,” a hoarse whisper from behind him and he continues running.
He reaches the clearing, but there’s no Nemeton, no tree, no stump. It’s empty.
Shouts from behind him and he yelps, turning around, only to be pushed to the side by a crowd of people. Angry, frightened people. The air alight with murderous intent as they drag a woman to the stake-
“Our connection’s stronger than ever,” a whisper from his right and he turns to see that same woman looking straight at him. “Finally, someone will know my story.”
He’s forced to watch as they burn her alive, as she begs, calls out names, coughs and coughs, and at the very end she wails, loud and high enough to cause everyone there to cower in fear, covering their ears, trails of blood going down their necks as the banshee screams for her own death until falling completely silent, gone.
Stiles becomes aware that he’s dreaming.
“If it’s so important to you that someone knows… does that mean I get to live?”
“You’re my gift, Stiles.”
“Blake called me a pawn. And then she tried to kill me.” He looks back to his side but the woman’s not there any longer. He turns around and around. He’s back in the classroom.
“I told her the truth. But I wasn’t prepared for her malice,” the woman says, staring at the blackboard.
“Nothing special at all,” a whisper right into his ear before his neck is snatched and the breath strangled right out of him.
He gasps awake in Chris’ bed.
He’s still in the blanket-burrito, sweat covering every inch of his body. He can smell it, and as he rolls to unwrap himself, he scrunches his nose as he sniffs the sheets. Fuck, he needs to change those.
As he sits there, contemplating the rest of the room, staring at the dresser, the wardrobe, trying to figure out where he might find what he’s looking for, the dream rolls around in his head, hazy, alarming.
His regular nightmares were bad enough, now he’s got a dead lady walking around in them. Manipulating them, even.
Stiles numbly checks his phone for any new messages. Sees one from Lydia. Before he can open it, he hears the front door.
His dad calling his name.
Horrified concern washes over him as he watches Stiles jog down the stairs and pull Noah into a hug. From the tremble in Noah’s hands as the man clutches at his son’s back and head, he figures what he saw wasn’t just a trick of the light, Stiles really does look sick. His hair’s matted from sweat, a shiny sheen to his deathly pale skin, brown eyes dark and blazing, feverish-looking.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Noah gasps out.
“Bad dream,” Stiles mumbles, closing his eyes and pressing his face into his dad’s shoulder. Chris feels a little like an intruder in his own home.
“You look ill, son,” Noah tells him and pulls back, cradles Stiles’ face in his hands. “Like you have a fever.”
“Oh.” Stiles blinks sluggishly. “Whatever you do, do not take me back to the hospital.”
“Stiles-”
“Dad, they’re going to start thinking we’re drug addicts or something.”
Chris’ gut unwinds itself at hearing Stiles arguing. He can also see some of the tension in Noah’s shoulders easing away the more Stiles talks.
“Let’s go home then, huh? We’ll take your temperature, I’ll make you some soup.”
“Soup sounds nice,” Stiles says softly, lips quirking up.
“Where’s your stuff, I’ll grab it for you?”
Stiles gestures down the hallway, “I slept down there.”
Noah pats him on the shoulder. Before he leaves, though, he looks over his shoulder at Chris and nods at him. “I’ll give you a minute.”
His eyebrows fly up in surprise and he turns to see Stiles mirroring his expression.
Once Noah’s out of earshot, Stiles comes closer to whisper, “What’s that all about?”
“That’s him trying to be okay with this, I think,” Chris tells him and then frowns, reaching up to stroke a hand down Stiles’ cheek.
“I’m all gross, man,” Stiles leans away from the hand, grimacing. “Oh, also, your bed stinks now, I’m so sorry, I can go change the sheets right now, I just didn’t know where they were-”
He has to grab Stiles around his waist to stop him from going back upstairs.
“It’s fine, Stiles. I can do it.” He draws him even closer, until their noses are almost touching. “You don’t look good.”
“I’m flattered,” Stiles blinks at him, seeming a little more awake now and a lot more interested in their proximity. “You know, if I’m actually down with something, you’re breathing it all in.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“You’re still injured, doofus,” Stiles frowns. “You’re supposed to be taking care of yourself.”
“I’d rather take care of you,” he says, brushing his knuckles against the side of Stiles’ face and following the movement with his eyes.
“…That’s such a line,” Stiles whispers, eyes wide and red-rimmed.
Chris grins, as surprised at himself as Stiles seems to be. He ducks in to press a soft kiss on Stiles’ cheek before taking a step back.
“I’m glad you’re going back home, your dad has missed you.”
Stiles blinks rapidly, sways a little. “This conversation is jumping all over the place.” He thinks for a bit and then looks up at him trough his eyelashes, making Chris wonder if he’s even aware of what he looks like when he does that. “Are you going to miss me?”
“A little,” he admits, making Stiles smile. “But this will give us a chance to do this properly.”
“Yeah,” Stiles nods, lowering his eyes. “Dates and stuff.”
“And stuff.” He doesn’t mean for that to come across as innuendo but that’s exactly what happens. Stiles’ eyes shoot up to meet his and the tension’s palpable.
“If I wasn’t all gross and woozy, I’d be plastered all over you right now,” Stiles blurts out. Then winces. “That sounded sexier in my head.”
“And that’s my cue to interrupt,” Noah announces, coming back over, pulling Stiles’ bag over his shoulder. “Come on, kid.”
Feeling daring, worried, overwhelmed, he pulls Stiles in for a hug, cradling the back of his head.
“I’ll tell Peter,” he says.
“Thanks,” Stiles sniffles a little as he pulls away with a smile. He waves as he follows his dad out of the house.
Chris stands there for a minute, looking around. Oddly enough, he realizes, Stiles leaving feels more like a beginning rather than an ending.
“Can I have one of those?” Melissa asks, gesturing at the drinks.
“Sure,” Laura says, sniffing at each of them. “What are you in the mood for, soy milk latte, mocha, cocoa or what I think is a regular cappuccino?”
The nurse blinks wearily. “Uh, whatever has the most caffeine in it?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Laura smirks and hands her a drink.
Peter lets his head fall back, resting it against the wall. They’ve been waiting for about ten minutes now.
“Melissa? Didn’t you have the weekend off?” Another nurse walks over and gives them all a curious look.
“Yes, I, uh… I just needed to check something, I’ll be-”
“You’ve got to stop doing this,” the nurse whispers, quiet enough that Peter wouldn’t hear if he was human. He quirks an eyebrow at Laura, sees her giving the two an interested look too. “If Sheila finds out that you’re helping out your family or…” she gives Peter a wary glance-over “…friends again without the proper paperwork, she’s going to have a fit. Stop breaking the rules or you’re going to get yourself fired! I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” With that, the woman turns and walks off briskly.
Melissa looks a little embarrassed as she takes a sip of her drink.
“I guess you caught all that?”
“Are you trying to avoid bills?” Laura asks directly. Peter glares at her. “What?” She blinks. And yet I’m the tactless one, he thinks to himself.
“Not just that, although… very much that.” Melissa sighs. “The paperwork just, makes things move slower. Sometimes it’s hard to make someone sit and wait because forms need to be filled while I could already be helping them.”
“I get that,” Laura nods. “But if it’s about bills, Peter’s got us all covered.” She smiles at him cheerfully.
“I do?” He tilts his head.
“I’m not the Alpha anymore, my wallet’s closed,” she says while shrugging.
“Are you helping Stiles too then?”
Peter pushes away from the wall and stands up straight. “With hospital bills?”
“Yeah,” Melissa says carefully, looking at him weird. “But from that question, I assume not.”
“Do you think Noah would accept my help?”
“…Probably not. Not when you’re…” She scrunches up her face. “Mm, I just remembered. You’re dating my son’s best friend. And you’re my age. I…”
“Peter’s more my age than yours,” Laura protests. “Coma, remember?”
“And what’s Chris’ excuse?”
“Hard to resist that Stilinski charm,” Peter drawls. And then gives Melissa a wink. “As I’m sure you know.”
To her credit, she doesn’t blush or stammer, just draws up straight and gives him a watch yourself glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Laura says quickly and begs Peter to stop talking with her eyes.
The interest and attraction he’s sensed between Melissa and Noah is faint, familiar, like two long-time friends who know they maybe could be more but don’t want to risk ruining what they have. So he probably shouldn’t poke this, since it would create awkwardness for everyone involved and he’s actually trying to get these people to like him somewhat. He shrugs and sips at his coffee-monstrosity, the sweetness overbearing even for him.
Both he and Laura turn to stare down the hallway long before Derek appears with Astrid.
“Everything alright?” Peter asks as soon as she’s close enough to hear him.
She nods nervously, “Yeah. Well. Kind of. Sonja is… intimidating as ever.”
“Did you tell her about the Nemeton?”
“She knows about the Nemeton… But I didn’t tell her about the spirit. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Peter asks calmly while tensing up.
“I probably should tell her at some point, Peter. I don’t like my old Coven, but they could help.”
“Do they know a good Exorcist?” Laura asks evenly.
“A cleansing is one way to go about it, but it’s probably too late for that. It might’ve helped a couple of decades ago when the spirit was just a faint memory, lingering.”
All this talk of spirits… Peter feels a headache coming on, hating that once again they receive answers that just create more questions. Ghosts and all of that spiritual crap has forever been side-lined in his mind as hocus-pocus gibberish, along with auras and horoscopes and Tarot readings. He doesn’t like feeling like the floor’s been pulled out from under him and yet this year it keeps happening over and over again and he’s starting to forget what having a steady ground to stand on ever even felt like.
“What is it now?” Derek asks when no one else does.
“Kind of a reimagining of the person that died. Her emotions and motivations, which have been distorted by time and outside influence.”
“Is that a definition from a witch’s dictionary or something?” Laura asks after a moment of silence where they all just stare at Astrid.
“I know even among our world spirits are an oddity, with most people not really believing that they exist. But…” She shrugs helplessly. “Under the right, or well, wrong circumstances, shit like this can happen and now we have a really big problem on our hands.”
“Any ideas on how to fix it?” Peter asks, hiding how desperately he wants her to just say yes, of course she’s got a plan.
“I need to make some calls, write some e-mails… Want to show me where I’m sleeping?”
“Laura and Derek will take you in."
Astrid glances between them. “You guys don’t live together?”
“Our uncle needs his privacy,” Laura smiles wickedly.
“I guess that makes sense considering he has two boyfriends,” Astrid says, widening her eyes sarcastically.
“Jealousy’s not a good look on you,” Peter tells her, while checking his phone. A couple of new texts.
“Excuse you, Ben’s worth three boyfriends, three!”
Stiles went back home with his dad, but he looked sick. Feverish. From Chris.
I feel like shit, but I’m leaving the window unlocked in case you want to y’kno, be my personal heatpad or something. Oh and I’m back at home, like, my home, casa de Stilinski. From Stiles.
I’m giving her space, Allison’s here and they’re just hanging out in silence. But Lydia’s sick, got a high fever. From Cora.
Peter scrolls through all of them, faintly hearing Astrid bickering with his niece and nephew as they leave. He sighs and pockets his phone, mind racing with unpleasant theories. Both Stiles and Lydia falling ill just hours after communing with the Nemeton. With a spirit. He realizes that Melissa’s still there, slowly enjoying her drink.
“Something wrong?” She asks, looking like she’s expecting to be brushed off.
He considers her, remembers how protective and caring she was with Scott and his friends but also how much easier it was for her to accept Peter’s actions and presence than it was for Stiles’ dad. “The parameters have changed, Noah. Everything has changed, and I want to be there for my son.”
“Maybe. I think we might need to approach Fetters sooner rather than later.”
“You just seemed rather opposed to that idea about a minute ago.”
“I’m flexible like that,” he smirks and starts walking, smiling wider when he hears her hurrying after him.
I think I’m sick. You?
Stiles sees Lydia’s text much later, when night has fallen and he’s clean, fed and wrapped into another blanket-burrito, shivering because hello, fever.
Yeah, wtf, do you think its cause of the communion?
His head’s pounding so he took some medicine about an hour ago and it now feels like it’s starting to work and he tries to wait for Lydia’s response, but ends up falling asleep instead.
At least this time, even if there are dreams, he doesn’t remember them.
He wakes up with an arm around him. And a nice-looking face very close to his own.
Peter’s eyes open right after his.
“How you feeling?” He asks instantly.
Stiles blinks slowly. “Wow, give me a second, I’m still half-asleep.”
The room’s cast in early morning light, fortunately not too bright as his eyes squint and adjust to being awake. As he moves around under the blanket, the stink of sweat hits his nose and he winces.
“Shit, how can you bear to be in here with your wolfy nose?” Stiles drags a hand over his face and through his hair. He desperately needs a shower.
Peter’s hand joins his and pulls it towards his chest. That’s when Stiles notices that Peter’s not wearing a shirt.
“Does my dad know you’re in here?” He asks, eyebrows shooting high.
“Thanks to someone leaving the window open, the Sheriff’s currently unaware of my trespassing.” Peter smirks and tilts his head against the pillow, making Stiles snort. That looks ridiculous.
He wiggles his fingers against Peter’s chest, then hums and starts rubbing.
“Like what you feel?” Peter asks playfully.
“Mm.” Stiles’ eyes are focusing somewhere around Peter’s neck now. Or trying to focus. It’s hard for some reason. “You feel nice,” he says and then goes to blink but his eyes stay closed. Tired, he still feels so tired. “What time is it?”
“It’s early still, you can go back to sleep.”
“But I went to bed early,” he frowns. “I think I still don’t feel so good, actually,” he admits.
“I’m pretty sure you still have a fever.”
“What? Noooo,” he whines, eyes snapping open. “Wait, can you like, sniff me and tell if I’m sick?”
Peter rolls his eyes. “I can tell that you’re burning up by feeling your skin.”
“Oh. Shit.” He swallows and grunts at how dry his mouth feels. He realizes how thirsty he is. “I must’ve sweat a lot during the night… it’s weird that the fever’s still going.” He remembers the woman, the dream. Lydia’s text. He looks at Peter. “This isn’t a cold, is it?”
“No, I don’t think it is,” Peter says and reaches out a hand to brush the back of his fingers against Stiles’ chin. “I’m working on it.”
“Yeah?” He frowns, wondering what the hell that means exactly. “Wait, what about Lydia? She said she’s also-”
“I know. Just rest.”
He has a lot of questions. Or… he feels like he should have a lot of questions. But he’s tired and his eyes are heavy and his head aches so he closes his eyes and falls asleep quickly.
This time, the dream’s deceptively calm at first.
“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Noah says much later. It’s past noon and Stiles has been completely clocked out the whole time and also, still suffering under a fever.
“He won’t take much more of this, Noah,” Melissa says, replacing the washcloth on Stiles’ head. “We need to do something.”
“Yeah, like bringing them both to the hospital, what if they’re just sick. People falling ill at the same time is not that strange.”
Chris glances around the room at all of the other faces. Deaton and Fetters are each in their own corners, eyeing each other, wary yet calm. Peter and Astrid are both leaning against Stiles’ desk, arms crossed, Peter observing everything with a thoughtful frown while Astrid chews on her bottom lip, eyes on the ground.
Laura and Derek are waiting downstairs. Allison, Scott and Cora are keeping an eye on Lydia at her house.
It’s been a long morning full of ‘What!?’-s and convoluted explanations. Peter and Melissa apparently got straight to work last night after hearing both Stiles and Lydia had gotten a fever, talked to Deaton first about what he could do to help and when that seemed like it would have a very slim chance of succeeding, they approached Fetters and told her about the spirit fueling the Nemeton. According to Peter, the woman took it all in stride and offered to help immediately. Peter looked reluctantly grateful as he told this to Chris.
Now that the plan has been laid out, everyone’s tense, but most of all Noah, who can’t take his eyes off his son.
“We can sense her here, it’s not a regular illness,” Fetters speaks up.
The Sheriff points a finger at her, “You don’t get to talk, I don’t trust you. The fact that I’m supposed to let you put your… claws? Into my son’s head, it’s-” he lifts his shaking hands and runs them through his hair. “How is that the only option here?”
“Talons, specifically,” Fetters says, causing half the room to glare at her.
Chris sighs and steps in further from the doorway he’s been standing in.
“Noah, she did the same thing to Jackson’s parents and neighbors, and they’re all fine-”
“As far as we know,” Noah insists, turning to him with a look of ‘you too?’.
“We can try the cleansing first,” Deaton starts to say but Astrid interrupts him.
“That would waste precious time that these two might not have. We don’t know how much energy this will take, Sonja might need to rest before she can help Lydia.”
“How do we know she won’t take something else from him?” Deaton asks, staring right at Fetters who meets his intensity with ease.
“There’s nothing in that head that interests me, there’s no point to trying to remove the Coven’s existence since you all know about it now. I’d have to erase it from all of you…” She breaks their staring match to glance at Peter. “And that’s not happening.”
“Damn right it isn’t,” Peter mutters and stands up fully to step closer towards Noah. “I don’t like this any more than you, but this might be our only shot. Fetters knows that one wrong move and I end her life.” He turns to cock his head at her. “I’m sure my reputation of being a killer precedes me.”
“You’re something alright,” she frowns.
“Alright,” Noah sighs loudly. “Fine. Shit. Will it hurt him?”
“No,” she says softly. “And the wounds will heal quickly.”
“Fuck,” Noah breathes out. “Okay, okay, let’s do this.”
Much of the dream is just him and Lydia walking around town, the surroundings hazy and nonsensical. They talk about their college choices, a conversation they’ve had a few times over the years. They stop by a smoothie kiosk, his brain faintly registering it as something both new and strange and yet apparently familiar enough that when the guy behind the counter sees him, he asks, “Your usual?”
“I have a usual?” He mutters to himself and catches Lydia glancing at him oddly. “Uh, yeah.”
This is when his mind starts to slowly realize that he might be asleep, but the idea doesn’t solidify until he turns around and sees a tree-line, cutting off the street that he and Lydia just had a long walk on and among the trees he sees a familiar figure, still in her white dress, black hair loose.
“Shit.”
“What?” Lydia asks, then sips her drink through the straw. “Ugh, strawberry, really?” She turns around to look at what he’s staring at and stills. “Shit,” she echoes.
“Wait,” Stiles blinks in surprise. “You can see her too?”
She narrows her eyes at him. “…I’m the one who is dreaming, after all.”
“Uh, no, I am,” he argues and immediately feels ridiculous for arguing with his dream-Lydia. Except dream-Lydia sounds and feels very real when her eyes widen in realization.
“Do you think she might’ve connected our dreams somehow?”
“Wait, what?” He’s not following along right away but she gives him a moment to think about it and then he gets what she means. “We both got fevers…”
“I think she’s haunting us,” Lydia sighs and looks back over to the tree-line, except that it’s gone now. “Not doing a real good job of it either.”
Suddenly the ground moves under their feet and the scenery twirls into a mess of colors. He closes his eyes, dizzy at the fast changes and only opens them when he feels himself sitting down on something hard. His eyes snap open to find both him and Lydia sitting at a table, facing each other. The place is low-lit, everything’s made of wood. And there are others, people who sit next to them and also at the head of the table on each side, but they’re… fuzzy, blurry. Stiles can’t make out any faces.
Talking, a voice, a figure that seems to belong to a woman walks around the table and places something before the tall shadow sitting at one end. The voice is muffled, and the words are barely audible. The woman walks behind Lydia and reaches over to the smaller form next to her, a sharp yet light hit to the back of the child’s—at least Stiles thinks it’s a child—head and a hand pointing down to the plate full of food.
Stiles blinks and instead of the child, the spirit lady is sitting there, staring ahead.
“My mother was firm and quick to anger, but kind-hearted in the end.”
Lydia’s eyes find his as she mouths What the fuck? at him.
Stiles agrees with her.
“Uh, let me guess…” he clears his throat. “Your family was there when you… when they burned you alive?” He figures this is her showing them her story as she called it. But the blurriness… “What’s with the-” he waves a hand before his face. “Lack of faces.” A sharp kick at his toes and he straightens up in his chair, glaring at Lydia in surprise. What? he mouths at her. She looks like she’s trying to warn him.
“Do you not remember anymore?” She asks the woman next to her and quirks a meaningful eyebrow at him.
Oh. Sensitive topic, got it.
“I…” Spirit lady frowns. “I do, of course I do… They…” She looks around then, glancing at all of the people at the table. “Her eyes were…” Her expression shatters, a quiet fury making her jaw tremble.
“It’s okay if you don’t-” Stiles starts to say but yelps because the ground leaves and then comes back and now they’re once again in the forest, at night, surrounded by people holding torches and facing a woman being burned at the stake. He sighs because at this point this is no longer frightening, it’s starting to get old. “We get it, you were killed unjustly or whatever. Lots of people are,” he says and winces when Lydia slaps him firmly on his arm.
“I’d like to get out of here alive, you idiot,” she hisses.
“This is all I know,” the spirit tells them from behind them and they swing around, taking a step back. “The fire. The more awake I am… the hotter the flames.”
“Maybe it’d help if we… helped you move on?” Stiles tries. “So you could rest in peace?”
“I don’t want to move on, I want to live,” she growls, desperate. “I want to live!”
“But you told me there’s no coming back from the dead,” Stiles reminds her.
“I’ll take anything, anything. I want to have any kind of life I can get, it’s what I’m owed, it’s what I was supposed to have, they took it from me, it’s mine!” She’s stepped closer and closer and at the end she’s screeching and lunging towards them, for the first time looking truly like what Stiles thinks a spirit should look like, any color that was left faded into grey and a haunted look in her eyes.
Stiles and Lydia grab at each other and stumble backwards but the spirit is stopped by someone else, hands suddenly shooting out from behind her and grabbing her by the hair. No, by the head.
The dead lady’s eyes roll back, until only the whites remain and she falls to her knees, revealing Agent Fetters.
“Uh,” Stiles draws out, looking at Lydia for some answers. She shrugs helplessly.
“I have no idea what’s going on anymore.”
“I’m trying to get her out of your heads,” Fetters grits through her teeth. The spirit isn’t visibly fighting her, has stopped moving, but it looks like whatever the Agent is doing, it’s taking a lot out of her. Sweat’s pooling on her upper lip and forehead, she’s panting and occasionally wincing.
“Can we help somehow?” Lydia asks nervously.
“Just… try to wake up.”
“How? Pinch each other or something?” Stiles asks.
“Whatever works,” Fetters gasps.
“Sorry, Stiles,” Lydia says and he turns to her, about to ask what for when her hand strikes his cheek hard.
“Ow!” He sits up with a yelp. And then yells when he feels the claws inside his head. “What the fuck!?” He’s staring straight at Fetters, whose eyes are closed, brow furrowed. The claws pull out and her hands fall as she herself falls against him, causing him to slump back onto the bed.
The bed. He’s back in his room.
“Stiles?” His dad’s voice, heavy with panic.
“Yup, I’m here,” he quips, blowing Fetters’ hair out of his face. “Help?”
Fetters is pulled off and he slowly takes in everything, his sweaty body in his sleeping clothes, the people all around him—Chris and Astrid staying back, his dad hovering nearby and Peter holding Fetters up in his arms while Melissa checks her vitals. Peter’s eyes are on him however and Stiles is struck by how much relief he finds there. And how nice it feels to be worried over even though he would've preferred some other circumstances to have caused such intense care.
“I’m okay,” he says, enduring his dad’s rough hands on his face as the man checks him over. “I think,” he adds, when his brain catches up with everything that just happened. “Wait,” he says and pushes his dad away. “Where’s Lydia? She was there too, dreaming!”
Everyone exchanges weird glances. Stiles begins to worry.
“Is she still in there?”
“Probably,” Peter says and frowns down at the unconscious witch in his arms. “Sonja can only dig the spirit out from one person at a time. And now it looks like she needs to recuperate.”
“Her pulse is a bit too weak for my liking,” Melissa says.
“One night’s rest sounds about right,” Astrid speaks up, voice full of forced positivity. “Maybe the spirit will back off a bit and Lydia will get to rest too.”
“I don’t know…” Stiles says, thinking over everything that was said in the dream. “I don’t think she’s fully aware of what she’s doing.”
“Yeah,” Astrid sighs. “Considering that she’s not a fully realized consciousness, that sounds about right.”
He blinks and then looks around. No one else seems at all surprised or bothered by what Astrid just casually revealed.
“I’m sorry, I think I’ve missed something?”
“First, let’s get some food in you,” his dad says, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours.”
“Holy shit,” he whispers. His stomach of course chooses that moment to growl audibly. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Laura and Derek both look happy to see him moving about. He accepts the hugs, holding onto Derek long enough for the other man to say, “What are you doing?”
Stiles pats him on the back, still continuing the hug, even though Derek’s arms have long since fallen down and it’s all awkward now. “Enjoying this rare moment, man. I knew you wanted to be my friend.”
“Get off,” Derek mutters and pushes him away with enough strength to make Stiles stumble a little.
He grins at the familiar scowl. “Just accept your fate, we’re buds. Buddies. Amigos-”
“Son, shut up and eat, please,” Noah interrupts them, coming into the living room to steer Stiles out of it and towards the kitchen, where he finds a large plate covered in salad, chicken and fried eggs. His mouth starts salivating at the sight even before the smell hits him.
“Thanks, dad,” he hurries to say before sitting down and starting to devour his meal.
“Actually, Chris made that,” Noah says grumpily, turning to fill a glass with water.
“Oh,” he mutters with his mouth full. He glances around. “Where did everyone go?”
“Deaton disappeared a while ago, Chris and Melissa went to Lydia’s. Peter and Astrid went to take the Agent to his place, I think.”
“Right,” he says, his mood souring when he remembers that while he’s awake and filling his empty stomach, Lydia’s still sleeping and probably still suffering under a fever.
And the spirit did not look happy at whatever Fetters was doing to her.
“So, will you explain to me what exactly happened? What did Astrid and Fetters tell you all?”
Noah puts the glass next to his plate and takes a seat with a heavy sigh.
“I guess I have to. Uh…”
“What do you mean she’s not a typical ghost?”
“I don’t know, that’s what that Astrid said, I’m doing my best here!”
“What the hell’s a typical ghost!?”
“Apparently there isn’t one, actually.”
“Dad, what-”
After they’ve set Fetters up on his couch, Peter brings Astrid to his office. When his eyes fall on the desk, Stiles immediately springs to mind of course, how could he not? But instead of desire, the memory just elevates his concern. Things keep escalating, nothing seems to be under his control and it’s terrifying now that besides his family, he also has two people he’d like to consider his. Stiles feels his. And the last twenty-four hours were hell on his nerves, especially the last few, with Fetters rooted deep into Stiles’ head and looking weaker and weaker as time went on.
“This is nice,” Astrid comments softly, taking in the room in the dim light of his reading lamp. He sits down at his desk and watches as she steps over to his bookcase, the one where he keeps his newest finds. “I’m accepting your offer, by the way.”
He frowns. “After what just happened, I would’ve expected otherwise.”
“Yeah,” she laughs, slightly hysterical. “You’d think…” She wraps her arms around herself and turns to look at him. “This town… The Nemeton… I left the Coven but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the work they do.” When Peter raises his eyebrows questioningly, she gestures vaguely around her. “Keeping all of this a secret. But not just a secret. Safe, too.” She clears her throat. “I don’t think I can say more than that.”
Peter studies her, takes in her sincerity. “You’d be putting your family in harm’s way.”
Astrid looks away. “Yeah… But I was always afraid that this part of my life would come up one way or another. And to be fair, the ones most in danger here are still you and your pack. Stiles and Lydia, specifically. The spirit’s desperate for a connection, to feel things, but it’s hurting them both without realizing it.”
“I was thinking…” Peter sits up and pulls open a drawer. He takes out a flash drive and hands it out to her. She accepts it with a bemused look on her face. “We should probably start looking into what made the Nemeton, or… her latch onto Stiles in the first place.”
Astrid fidgets with the drive, staying silent and waiting for more.
“The Alpha of Alphas… A her, that the spirit sensed somehow when she got fed Claudia Stilinski’s blood.”
“Right…” Astrid mutters, eyes narrowing in thought. “So, you want me to…?”
“That drive has everything I’ve managed to find out about Claudia. As well as her Polish relatives. It’s not much, because I could only access that which is public. You, on the other hand,” Peter smirks meaningfully and Astrid lets out a chuckle.
“Ah, you want me to hack my way through some databases. Anything specific you’re looking for?”
“Medical records, anything you can find about her family back in Poland—especially about a babcia Milka, who apparently doesn’t have a phone, but her address is on that drive.”
“Alright, you got it, boss,” she salutes and it reminds him of Stiles. He realizes then that he’ll most likely be sneaking back into Stiles’ room tonight, his wolf restless under his skin, wanting to confirm that Stiles is alright. “But, uh, I’m going to need a ride back to Laura’s. My laptops are there.”
He doesn’t even question the plural. “Fine.”
As they quietly sneak through the apartment, Peter catches Astrid sending several concerned looks towards the figure sleeping soundly on the couch. He jots down a quick note to Fetters and leaves it on the table for her to see, telling her to stay put and eat whatever she wants. After he’s locked the door, he turns to Astrid and asks, “So what is the deal with you and her again?”
“What do you mean?” She stammers out and strides over to the elevator.
“Things seemed… tense between you two,” he says carefully.
They step into the elevator and Peter watches her reflection as she thinks of the right response.
“She used to be like a big sister to me,” she says quickly and then relaxes a bit. “I guess I can say that. She-” Her face scrunches up. “Can’t say that. Hm.”
“She didn’t approve of you leaving them?”
“No,” she laughs sadly. “None of them did. I just wanted to do something else, have a job of my own. But that meant… leaving all of them behind. Completely cut off.”
A thought sparks in his brain. “You have actual family in the Coven, don’t you?”
She makes an affirmative noise, but doesn’t say anything. Probably can’t say anything, Peter figures.
They reach the ground floor and the doors open.
“Thank you for staying,” he says quietly and she gives him a surprised look that softens into a sad smile.
“No problem.” And then, as they’re heading back to his car, “Just to be clear, I will have to go back home and actually pack and move and stuff, I’m not staying right now,” she tells him, sounding scared.
“I figured,” he rolls his eyes. “I know how moving works.”
“Do you, though?” She asks mockingly. “Rich people moving is a lot different, I imagine.”
“Well, now you’re rich too.”
She scoffs but then slows down, face dawning with realization. “Oh my god, I’m going to have so much money.”
“Ease up with the mental shopping list, let’s take things one day at a time, huh?” He smirks at her.
“Right, of course,” she shakes her head and gets in the car.
During all of the craziness, Chris completely forgot one important factor.
Lydia’s mom.
Seeing Melissa’s expression of horror at the situation that awaits them at the Martin household, he wasn’t the only one.
“You two better be here to get a hold of your kids, because this is unacceptable!”
Natalie Martin is sitting in her most comfortable-looking armchair, tied up.
“Scott, what is this?” Melissa asks, eyes wide.
“She wanted to take Lydia to the hospital,” Scott explains, his own eyes even wider.
Chris glances at his daughter, who is standing close to Natalie, looking a little embarrassed.
“We couldn’t let her do that,” Allison says.
Melissa sighs heavily and drags a hand over her face. “You could’ve called for help.”
“What other option was there?” Allison asks, crossing her arms. “Dad, back me up on this. Ms. Martin was getting hysterical-”
“My daughter is sick,” Natalie cries out, eyes on Melissa. “Please, she needs help, you of all people should understand this, why are you people not listening to me!?” She starts struggling in the chair.
“Ms. Martin, please stop,” Scott urges desperately. “You’re only going to hurt yourself!”
Chris realizes there’s no way out of this one. He steps further into the living room and crouches before Natalie, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. “We only want to help your daughter, I promise. There are things going on that you don’t understand-” For some reason, that makes her face crumble as she slumps against the ropes.
“Don’t tell me this is about the banshee thing, please,” she begs.
Chris opens his mouth but can’t think of a thing to say.
From behind him, he hears Melissa going, “Uh… You know?”
“Untie me,” Natalie demands.
Chris glances at his daughter, who shrugs helplessly and then at Scott. “Be ready, just in case,” he tells him and turns back to let Natalie out of the chair.
The woman rises calmly and then straightens her clothes, smooths her hair and juts her chin up. The family resemblance between her and Lydia is suddenly uncanny.
“Now. I’ll make some coffee and we can discuss this like civilized people,” she says, throwing a glare in Allison’s direction.
That answers whose idea it was to tie her up in the first place. Chris quirks an accusing eyebrow at his daughter who sends one right back at him. Which, fair enough, he probably would’ve done the same.
As they all join Natalie in the kitchen, Melissa asks the question on everyone’s mind.
“How long have you known?”
The answer, as it turns out, is that she hasn’t actually known anything at all.
“My mother told me stories when I was little,” Natalie tells them all when the coffee’s ready and everyone’s holding a cup, no one actually drinking it. “That’s all I thought they were, stories. Until she…” She looks down, fingers tight around her cup. “She grew unstable. Wasn’t making any sense anymore. Had sudden bursts of anger. We all figured it was dementia. Except… when I brought Lydia to visit, she would always be lucid. And she would tell Lydia the same stories, to the very last detail.”
“Stories about what?” Melissa prompts and Chris sits back a little, figuring that since these women have known each other longer, he’ll let Melissa handle this part.
“Women who wail as they dance with death,” she drawls out mockingly. “Humans who wear the skin of a wolf, or a coyote, or a jaguar. Earth as a source of beauty and power… She would craft these stories like fairy tales, dark but told so wonderfully that a child would be enraptured…” Natalie pauses, voice having grown pained. “I didn’t think much of them, of course. Until animal attacks started happening,” she says and takes her first sip of coffee.
Chris takes a leap, “How long have you known about the Hales?”
She glares at him, lifts her nose high. “I don’t know anything. But Talia Hale was not subtle. And the strangeness around that family… Around their guests. Dozens of strangers coming through so frequently, often bringing with them another bout of animal attacks.” She shrugs with one shoulder, smiling wryly. “Once you have those stories in your head, it’s easy to make the connection. But I thought it was stupid of me to even consider it.” She shakes her head. “My mother was ill. There are no banshees, no werewolves. Just stories to scare children with.” Her face grows even more serious. “And then the attack at the school happens. My daughter grows distant, starts talking to herself in her room. I come across eyes that seem to glow a few times, too quick for me to be sure. And then the woods. People maimed, ripped apart. Killed by an animal.” She glares at Chris. “So is it true? Is Lydia…?”
“She’s a banshee, yes,” Melissa answers instead, drawing Natalie’s ire her way. “I don’t know exactly what that means yet,” she mutters nervously.
“And what are you?” Natalie asks her and then glares at each of them in turn. “All of you?”
“All human,” Allison says and then glances towards Scott. “Except for…”
Scott raises a hand, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m a werewolf.”
Natalie’s chair scrapes across the floor as she backs away from him. “Are you the one who-”
“No!” Melissa cries out. “My son had nothing to do with that!”
Chris sees Scott starting to argue and discreetly hits his leg with his foot. Scott clamps his mouth shut, getting the hint.
“We can explain everything that’s happened, but right now we need you to understand that we’re on your side. On Lydia’s side,” Chris says, leaning forward.
“Why can’t she go to the hospital?” Natalie asks. “What kind of fever is this?”
Chris looks at everyone else and they all look back at him, seemingly just as clueless on how to explain the whole haunting situation.
“So…” Melissa starts, sounding incredibly unsure. “There’s this tree.”
“She’s being what?”
“Haunted, I guess. That’s what the witches said.”
“Witches,” Natalie repeats weakly, looking like she’s about to faint.
“And they’re going to help her, just like they helped Stiles,” Melissa tries to reassure.
“It’s all real…” Silence follows Natalie’s whisper as they let the woman come to terms with the newly uncovered world around her.
Human beings have an innate ability to adapt to changes around them, to get used to things, desensitized, hardened. That thought rings true to Stiles that night as he realizes that after he almost died, again, he’s handling it pretty well compared to his dad who won’t let him out of his sight, who keeps checking his temperature, who keeps grabbing his shoulder as if to make sure that Stiles is real.
His mind’s pretty quiet, lacking in theories or plans or ideas and he feels kind of numb as he tries to settle in for the night, staring at the ceiling in his dark room. He quickly gives up, though, not feeling tired in the least, and goes downstairs to watch TV, trying to keep himself from going insane with worry as he keeps checking his phone for any updates from Peter or Chris, about Fetters or Lydia.
Somewhere around midnight his dad joins him, looking exhausted.
“Hey, kid, can’t sleep?”
“Must be the mini-coma I was subjected to.”
“Right,” Noah sighs and glances at the TV, hands on his hips. “Want to go over to Lydia’s?”
That surprises him and he sits up eagerly. “Is that alright?”
“Yeah, Melissa texted me. They’re all still there. Nat, Lydia’s mom is apparently also in the know now,” Noah says, using air quotes.
“I’d like to see her.”
“Nat’s not letting anyone in her room right now, she and Melissa are sleeping in there.”
“Oh.”
“But we can still go over and stay together. You kids are a pretty tight-knit group, being alone right now might not be the best thing for you.”
He stares up at his dad in wonder. “Yeah, that sounds great.”
When they get there, they’re both surprised to see Chris opening the door for them.
“Sheriff,” Chris nods at Noah first and then looks at Stiles, giving him a quick glance-over before gesturing to the side with his head. “Allison and Scott are set up in the living room, you can join them. Natalie said to give you her bedroom, Noah.”
“And where are you sleeping?” His dad asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Stiles glares at him but the man ignores it.
“In the living room too, where my daughter and her boyfriend are also staying.” Chris raises his eyebrows as if to dare Noah to comment any further.
The Sheriff sighs and gives up, heading upstairs.
“Dude, how’re you feeling!?” Scott says as soon as he sees him and Stiles walks into the offered hug, feeling a little bit of his tension alleviating at the familiar pats on his back.
“Better! I’m hoping Lydia gets to join me soon, though.”
“She looks like she’s dying,” Allison says quietly from her place on one end of the couch.
Facing Stiles and not her, Scott grimaces.
“Well, she isn’t,” Stiles says firmly and although Allison doesn’t look convinced, she doesn’t argue, just curls up further against the armrest.
There’s a lot of moving around and quiet conversations well into the night, early morning even.
At around two, Stiles gets a call from Peter, the man sounding very put off by the fact that he’s in Stiles’ house and Stiles isn’t. Stiles tells him to get his butt back to Fetters, to keep an eye on that woman, both to make sure that she’s okay and that she’s not trying to run away.
“We need her as soon as she wakes up,” Stiles reminds him.
“I know. It’s just…” Peter sounds hesitant, frustrated. “I didn’t like watching you come so close to…”
Stiles softens and he also catches Scott giving him a full-hearted Aww! look from across the room. Stop eavesdropping, he mouths sharply and Scott’s aww-face becomes sheepish.
“I get it, I do. But right now getting Lydia to wake up is the priority, which means Fetters is a priority and you need to make sure she’s got everything she needs to recover.”
“Fine, but once everyone’s woken up, I’m reserving you for the following night. I need to be close to you to be able to calm the hell down,” Peter grumbles.
“Reserving me?” Stiles squeaks in protest, while feeling very warm inside, being wanted like this hitting him hard.
“Yes,” Peter insists. “Basically, I’m calling dibs.” That makes Stiles chuckle despite himself.
After a couple more minutes of Stiles relaying what he found out about the Natalie situation, he has a sudden urge to say love you just before they end the call, but he manages to suppress it. He does cover his face with a pillow in absolute embarrassment, though, catching the attention of his friends who both give him questioning looks when he finally comes back up for air.
“Oh, like you two didn’t act like idiots in love when you first started dating,” he snaps at them.
“In love, are we?” Allison asks with a smug smile.
“No, shut up,” Stiles says quickly.
“That’s big,” Scott says, eyes wide.
“I said shut up,” Stiles hisses, refusing to talk, even think about this right now.
At four, Scott is softly snoring in one armchair, Allison has dozed off on the couch, wrapped up in a soft-looking blanket and Stiles is on the other end, scrolling on his phone, googling about Beacon Hills’ history, trying to find anything about what the spirit showed him and Lydia. Because even though his brain’s not up to figuring anything out, to making connections, to sparking up some ideas, he still can’t let it go, not when there’s a chance he might find something they can use against her. If such a thing even exists.
He occasionally glances at the empty mattress on the floor, the blanket untouched because Chris has been in the kitchen this whole time with his dad, their quiet murmurings occasionally reaching his ears with random words like feds and McCall and Gerard. He figures they’re talking about Chris’ family and the case, so he leaves them to it.
At around four-thirty, his dad finally goes upstairs with the intent of catching some shut-eye. He comes in to ruffle a hand through Stiles’ hair, love and relief shining so clear on his face that it leaves a lump in Stiles’ throat.
Then there’s quiet.
Then Chris walks in.
Stiles is disappointed when the man barely glances his way and heads to his “bed” instead.
“You must be real tired too, huh?” He says awkwardly, wanting something here. An acknowledgment of the changes in their relationship, a clearer dynamic, or maybe just a look that says hey, I see you. A smile would be nice too. God, he feels like he’s pining.
It doesn’t help that when Chris gets tired, he somehow manages to look and sound even hotter, body all loose and relaxed, shoulders heavy, voice rough and low. It makes him want to push the man down onto that mattress and then go down on him, take care of him.
Is this a case of near-death horniness? Stiles wonders.
Chris stands over his makeshift bed, staring down at it.
“Tired? Yes. Able to sleep? Unlikely.”
Stiles looks at Allison’s sleeping form all curled up in the corner and slides a little closer to her.
“You can sit here, if you want,” he offers, swallowing hard when Chris’ head turns and in the dim light of just one little table lamp, Stiles finally gets his look. It twists him up inside, but in a good way. Anticipation and nerves, a heady cocktail that leaves him lightheaded.
He gets the sense that Chris’ knee-jerk reaction is to say no, but then the man tilts his head and Stiles feels scrutinized and in the end, Chris just comes over and sits down next to him, right next to him, their sides pressed up close.
And then Chris surprises him by raising one arm and resting it on the back of the couch, opening up his side even further. Stiles glances at the man’s face, sees a patient stare looking back at him and decides to take the movement as the invitation it seems to be. He cuddles closer and well that’s just weird to think in his head, that he’s all cozy and cuddly with Chris Argent, Allison’s dad, on the couch that Allison is currently sleeping on.
This is probably a huge friend faux pas.
Chris feels warm and firm and he dares to rest his head on Chris’ shoulder. The man’s sigh hits his hair and then there’s a hand sliding around his upper arm as Chris pulls him in tight.
For a second he plans on saying something, to break the silence, to make a joke, clear the heaviness in the air. But as Chris’ hand on his arm retains its firm grip, he senses the tension in the man’s body and realizes that his dad and Peter and Scott all reacted like this too, wanting to touch, to hold, to make sure he’s actually here.
He lets Chris have this moment. Because in all fairness, he’s enjoying the hell out of it.
He jumps a little when Chris speaks.
“Without Peter’s instigation, I would’ve never approached you. For this.”
He pulls back a little so that he can see the other’s face. Chris’ eyes are looking off to the side.
“I guessed as much,” he says when the man doesn’t continue right away.
“Because there is a line that I’m crossing here, I’m aware of it. Which is why I agree with your dad’s attitude towards me, towards this.”
Stiles scoffs. “My dad could trust me a little more, though.”
“You’ll understand his viewpoint a lot better in ten years,” Chris says wryly and lock eyes with him, all serious and sincere.
Stiles wants to kiss him so bad. The beard’s still growing, getting pretty full now, and he has a sudden mental image of rubbing his face up against it like a cat, while grinding down on his lap.
Surely, surely, this is near-death horniness.
“Peter’s a bit younger, a werewolf with a different mindset towards society’s expectations and not a father, so… it probably feels different with him,” Chris muses, hand sliding up from Stiles’ shoulder to settle on the nape of his neck, causing a small shiver to run down Stiles’ spine.
He tries very hard to focus on Chris’ words and not his touch, but it’s difficult.
“It does. With him it’s…” He pauses to actually think about it, remembering. “It feels fun. But also dangerous. And safe at the same time. It’s weird,” he chuckles uncomfortably at how little sense he’s making. But Chris smiles like he understands.
“That’s pretty much how I’d describe it too.”
“But with you,” Stiles says, licking his lips in a totally innocent my mouth is dry kind of way but he's also very happy with the immediate reaction he gets as Chris’ eyes flick down and seem to darken. “I’m a lot more nervous,” he admits. “But weirdly enough, more steady too.”
Chris’ other hand reaches out to brush against Stiles’ cheek and Stiles bites down on his lip, having to physically tense up his body to restrain himself from just climbing on top of the man.
We’re not alone here, he keeps reminding himself.
“I’m not sure what it is about you specifically that caught my eye,” Chris says, running his eyes all over Stiles’ face, searching. “Maybe you’re just the kind of guy I would’ve loved to have had a date with when I was your age. If I hadn’t been so confused and unsure.”
“And married,” he quips and immediately feels bad about it when a shadow washes over Chris’ expression.
“And that.” He lets his head fall back against the couch, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I am just like many others, chasing my youth.”
“Bullshit,” Stiles frowns, causing Chris to blink in surprise. “And even if you are, after all the shit you’ve been through? I wouldn’t mind helping you feel young again.”
Chris takes a deep breath. “Stiles-” he starts but Stiles’ self-control can only take so much and he finally leans in for that kiss he’s been thinking about the whole time he’s been at Lydia’s.
He expects Chris to pull back, to stop him or to just endure Stiles’ clumsy and horny attempt at comfort, but no, the man surges forward to meet him, to take over in fact, hands framing his face now, holding him in place as the beard scratches against his sensitive skin, Chris’ mouth strong and overwhelming.
Stiles realizes he isn’t the only one who’s been restraining himself.
He’s so far gone, a haze of desire having clouded his mind so hard that he’s actually getting up on his knees, about to climb onto Chris’ lap, to fulfil his earlier fantasy, when a pair of feet snake around his hips and yank him backwards. He yelps as he crashes down onto a figure below him, an arm wrapping around his neck and holding him in place.
“I’m not only in the same room, but also on the same piece of furniture,” Allison whispers angrily, arm tightening just enough to make Stiles snap to give her his full attention. “So, could you not?”
“Sorry,” Chris says quickly and stands up from the couch, looking a little shocked. “That got away from me a bit.”
Stiles pats at the arm around his neck, squirming against her. “Let me go.”
“Only if you swear to keep your lower half to yourself.”
“Cockblock,” Stiles complains and gasps when the arm tightens again. It’s not nearly enough to actually make him feel like he’s being choked, but it’s still pressure on the front of his neck and that involves unpleasant memories that he doesn’t want to remember right now.
“To you two?” Allison snorts. “Always.” She releases him but as he goes to sit up, she maneuvers him to be her little spoon on the couch. “Get over here, the sexual tension is so thick I feel like I’m gagging on it.”
He doesn’t remember ever hearing Allison talk like this, so he says, “You’ve been spending too much time with Lydia.” He glares up at Chris when he catches the man hiding a smile behind his hand.
“Yeah, and I’m better for it.” Allison’s voice changes. “We all are.” Thick with worry. Sad. Stiles slides over to sit up a little so he can stare down at her.
“She’ll be okay. She has to be.”
Allison sighs and throws an arm over her face, hiding it. “I just feel like we’ve all gotten too lucky so far. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, voice high with disbelief. “Lucky?”
“There’s been so much death,” Allison explains, “but our little group, our pack, we’ve survived. Somehow.”
“And we’ll keep surviving,” Stiles tells her firmly.
She quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t argue any further.
They hear someone coming down the stairs and stare towards the hallway. Stiles springs up in concern when he sees his dad.
“Something wrong?”
Noah holds up a hand. “No, son, calm down.”
“Oh, why are you not sleeping then?”
“Because my dad sense was tingling,” Noah says, completely serious.
“Your what now?” Stiles blinks. Noah turns to Chris with an accusing look and Stiles gets it with a groan. “Oh come on.”
“How about you go sleep upstairs and I’ll stay down here with the kids, none of whom I’m dating?”
Unlike Stiles, Chris doesn’t seem to be annoyed by this at all.
“Of course, Noah.” He practically runs away, obviously still a little ashamed at getting so carried away.
There’s a small sense of triumph within him at having such a strong effect on the man, again this feeling of being wanted leaving him warm inside. But also a whole lot of impatience, because he desperately wants Lydia to wake up, for everyone to just calm down and be safe so that he can have a nice night with his two partners, separate or together, he doesn’t even care as long as him and Chris get some more privacy again sooner rather than later. The man seems to be giving in to this, finally, just as eager to touch and kiss as Stiles is.
“Oh, son,” Noah sighs, sounding just absolutely done with everything and Stiles realizes he’s been staring after Chris with what is probably a pretty stupid and lovestruck look on his face (or maybe just horny, although he hopes his dad doesn’t know what Stiles’ horny face looks like).
“Get on the ‘Chris is amazing’ train already because we’re about to leave the station, dad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He squints at Stiles, looking alarmed.
“Oh my god, nothing, just, go to sleep. Please. You’re way too old to stay up the whole night.”
“You really want to insult my age considering that Chris is-”
“Sheriff, please, this argument is getting old,” Allison grumbles from where she’s already snuggled back under her blanket.
His dad has the grace to look embarrassed. “Right, sorry, Allison.” He gives Stiles a quick glare before going to get settled in for the night- well, for the morning now.
Stiles throws his arms up in frustration at all this confusing energy in the air and goes off to the kitchen with his phone.
He’s the only one awake at eight and therefore the first one to read the mass-text from Peter.
She’s awake and we’re heading over.
Notes:
things ive changed here - natalie not being as clueless as she is in the show, her mother being the banshee instead of her mother-in-law.
Chapter 41: lucky
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Peter observes the two women and the way they communicate with each other with great interest. There’s an obvious bond here, Fetters often shutting Astrid up with just a look or Astrid responding to Fetters with various faces that the woman seems to comprehend perfectly.
But the main reason he stays quiet, as they fill Fetters up with coffee and breakfast and head out to Lydia’s, is to hopefully hear something he’s not actually meant to. Sonja seems a lot more relaxed this morning, probably due to overexerting herself. Her walls are down and she’s easier to read than ever—the way she clearly cares about Astrid, how she seems to care about Lydia’s fate too, having immediately asked about the girl the second she woke up.
Peter’s starting to think she might actually be a possible ally, not someone to trust with his pack like he’s hoping Astrid will be, but someone to ask aid from every now and then at least.
“Have you called her yet?” Sonja asks while eating, not paying any attention to how Astrid fumbles with her cup and almost spills coffee on herself.
“Her?” She asks and glances at Peter warily. He stays quiet.
“Your mother,” Sonja frowns impatiently. “Who else would I mean?”
So that’s the family Astrid has in the Coven, Peter thinks to himself.
“Uh. No.” Astrid turns to put down her coffee so she can wrap her arms around herself. “Why would I?”
Sonja’s fork hits the plate with a clatter as she looks up at Astrid. “This is a serious mess here and she’s going to find out at some point. Also, you could use her help.”
“Yeah, no thank you,” Astrid scoffs. “She has a bad habit of making things worse.”
“Only when it comes to you two,” Sonja shrugs and continues eating.
Astrid grimaces but stays quiet.
Once they’re in his car, Sonja once again presses the issue.
“…You really need to call your mother. If you won’t, I will.”
“I mean, you’re going to anyway.”
“To tell her about the Nemeton? Yes. But I’m also going to tell her about you. And Stiles and Lydia.”
Peter speaks up finally, “Why does that sound like a threat?”
Sonja meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Astrid’s mother takes our job very seriously.”
“Too seriously, one might say,” Astrid grumbles.
“So what, my pack is a security threat?” Peter asks, a warning in his tone.
“No,” Sonja says simply. “Not yet.” She goes back to staring out the window.
It takes him quite a bit of effort to not accidentally damage the wheel in his hands.
They’re quiet the rest of the way and Astrid never stops sending him concerned looks.
Melissa’s the first one to stumble into the kitchen, barely awake.
“Hey, did you get the text? Wait, are you even in the group?” Stiles looks up at her, pausing in his scrolling.
“Got invited yesterday, I saw it. I’ll start making coffee for everyone,” Melissa says in one breath, pulling her wild hair out of her face and up into a messy bun as she walks to the counter behind him.
A loud snort and then a grating snore rings through the house.
They both look towards the living room.
“Does he always snore like that? Because that could indicate a more serious problem, you know?” Melissa asks, while her hands get busy.
“Nah, not always. Usually when he falls asleep in a bad position.”
“Still. Should get that checked.”
Her obvious concern for his dad makes him smile.
“I’ve been paranoid about so many things he doesn’t listen to me anymore about his health,” he complains.
“I’ll talk to him,” Melissa promises. “That man needs to take better care of himself.”
Stiles blinks in surprise at the surge of warmth in his chest. He could easily imagine his mom saying that same thing.
“Hey, do you think I could go up and see Lydia?” He asks.
“Not just yet, Nat is still dozing and she could use the rest.”
“Right,” he says, disappointed and turns back to his phone.
First one to enter the house, after waking most people up with the doorbell, is Cora.
When her eyes land on Stiles, she marches right on over and engulfs him into a very tight hug that leaves him literally breathless.
“Hey, where you been?” He wheezes out, patting her on the back.
“Dealing with another problem,” she answers, cryptic as fuck.
Before he can ask for some elaboration, Peter arrives with his witchy entourage and also immediately comes over to Stiles to press their temples together.
“How are you feeling?” The intense blue eyes and the hand clasping the back of his neck have him melting in reflex.
“A lot better, actually.”
“Good,” Peter says and presses a kiss against his cheek before pulling away and looking around. “Where’s my other other half?”
Stiles snorts in amusement but also flushes because other half is a pretty wild thing to say considering they’re at the early stages of a relationship, but then again, they aren’t a normal couple and their relationship has been “pretty wild” from the very beginning…
Aaaaand, Peter’s probably just joking.
“He got the upstairs bedroom.”
“And how did your night go?” Peter turns to ask Cora.
“Derek and Laura are keeping him busy still,” she answers and Stiles’ curiosity perks up again.
“Who?” He asks sharply, wanting to know what this problem is that she’s been dealing with all night.
“Oh, right,” Scott mutters around a yawn as he staggers out of the living room. “I forgot to tell you, Jackson was here last night.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he wanted to come in and things got kind of intense for a bit,” Scott says and then takes an obvious sniff and heads for the kitchen.
“Intense how?” Stiles asks, glancing at everyone else.
Allison appears then, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. “I had to bring out my crossbow.”
“…Wait, do you just bring that with you everywhere?”
She gives him a look of disbelief and he instantly gets it.
“Yep, dumb question, in this town? So… what happened?”
Cora holds up her hand, “I took him away to try and calm him down. He knows that something’s wrong with Lydia and it’s freaking his wolf out.”
“One of your pack is having control issues?” Fetters asks lightly, stepping closer. Still in her suit, she looks wildly out of place among everyone else.
Peter tenses up, Stiles can feel it happening since they’re still very close to each other. He leans his shoulder against Peter’s, hoping to offer…something, he’s not exactly sure what he’s going for here. Or what he’s even able to offer, really.
“Not one of my pack, but someone we’ve taken under our wing. We’re helping him until he joins the Corbyn pack in London.”
“That’s decided already?” Stiles asks, surprised at how fast the whole process has been.
Peter tilts his head, “Well, they’ve agreed to give him a chance, it’s not full pack-member status.”
“Jackson has to make a good first impression?” He snorts. “What’s the back-up plan when that doesn’t work out?”
“He’s on his own then,” Peter shrugs with an easy smile.
“Which will make him our problem,” Fetters interjects.
Cora looks at her warily. “Would you harm him just for being alone?”
“No,” she answers quickly. “But lone wolves don’t do well with control.” She looks around at everyone and then quirks an expectant eyebrow at Astrid who’s been awfully meek and silent this whole time. “Are we doing this or not?”
“Before I let you anywhere near my daughter,” says a voice from up the stairs as Natalie comes down, already dressed in fancy clothes and wearing her signature make-up. “You’ll tell me what to expect here.”
“Did they not do that?” Fetters gestures towards Stiles.
“They did, but since I’m assuming that you’re the one who is actually going inside Lydia’s head, I’m going to need to hear it again from you. In detail.”
“She’s getting closer to death by the minute,” Fetters says, sounding annoyed. “I’m already going out of my way to help you all with this, I can easily just leave. Your daughter’s wellbeing is not that important in the grand scheme of things.”
Stiles blinks, eyes wide in horror. Everyone’s silent.
“How… dare you?” Natalie seethes.
“Okay, calm down everyone,” Noah says quickly as he enters the fray, hair sticking up and shirt half-buttoned, holding his hands up placatingly as he brushes past Astrid and Fetters and looks up at Lydia’s mom. “Nat, trust me, at least. It worked for Stiles. Let her help your daughter.”
One last moment of hesitation before Natalie leans against the wall, gesturing upwards. “Come on then, Agent.”
Fetters takes one step and then suddenly turns to Peter. “If I pass out again, I better find myself waking up in a bed this time, Hale.”
“You’ll have mine,” Natalie promises quickly just as Peter’s opening his mouth to probably say something snarky in reply.
“Alright, let’s wake up your little banshee.”
It’s odd to watch Fetters settle herself over Lydia’s ghostly pale face and think that yesterday it was him the Agent clawed into. The actual claw part of it doesn’t even look that bad, at least not from his viewpoint from across the room.
Cora is pacing softly in one corner, looking completely wrecked with nerves, eyes never leaving Lydia.
Scott is cuddling a somber-looking Allison in the doorway.
Peter and Astrid are closer than everyone else, standing behind Fetters, ready to offer any assistance. Melissa is closer to Natalie, also ready to jump in and help out.
Chris offered to stay out of the cramped room, figuring his expertise wasn’t really needed and Stiles’ dad had to go to work.
Stiles is leaning his butt against Lydia’s vanity, craning his neck to see better.
Once Fetters is locked-in, so to speak, thumbs firmly against Lydia’s head and eyes closed, everyone tenses up and barely breathes.
“This might take a while,” Astrid reminds everyone nervously.
“Should we hover in shifts?” Stiles asks, eyes stuck on Fetters’ hands, noticing the slight tremble in them. He hopes she’s not too tired for this.
“God,” Cora groans in reply, sliding her fingers into her hair and clutching it, pacing with greater speed.
“Come here,” Peter orders gently and she goes without protest, letting her uncle wrap an arm around her and pull her close. She even hides her face in his neck, seeking comfort in a way that Stiles has never seen her do before.
He wonders if he should ask Cora how her crush is going.
About ten minutes go by and he’s fidgeting, looking around Lydia’s vanity, her desk, her drawers. His snooping gets him a few glares from Lydia’s mom, but no one tells him to stop so he just continues. He’s not really snooping anyway, he’s just absentmindedly brushing through things, barely taking in what he’s seeing.
And then the air in the room changes. His eyesight grows dim and he blinks hard before realizing that it’s not him, it’s the actual lighting.
It's like his brain swivels inside his head because all of a sudden it clicks and he understands what’s actually happening. He is watching magic being used by a witch. It’s hard to accept that context when in his mind that situation should have chanting or sigils or runes or hand-holding with your fellow witch or candles or-
It’s taken him a bit to fully accept everything they’ve learned about the so-called real witchcraft that has been so carefully hidden away. No spells, nothing flashy, just a person drawing power from within, from their body.
But now, as he glances out the window that should be letting sunlight into the room and sees nothing but shadows, the whole magic part is starting to dawn on him.
Woah, whispers a part of him that’s always secretly wished the paranormal or occult had some truth to it. Funny how werewolves seemed to be much easier to accept as part of his new reality than this, but then again, a woman carving a space into a banshee’s mind to try and eject a trespassing spirit sounds a lot more bat-shit than shapeshifting.
“This is different,” Peter says, frowning at Astrid, whose eyes have gone wide.
“What’s happening?” Natalie demands, sitting down on Lydia’s other side, hands hovering over Fetters. “What is she doing?”
“I don’t think this is Sonja,” Astrid says quietly, sounding scared.
Lydia’s voice startles them all.
“Get her out, get her out, get her out-” she starts murmuring, faster and faster.
Stiles immediately steps closer, “Lydia? Can you hear me?”
Her eyes snap open, and even in the sudden dimness, it’s clear that her pupils are covered in a haze of white.
“Get her out!” Her high-pitched scream makes the werewolves wince.
“Give me a second,” Fetters wheezes back, hands gone tense, tendons visible.
“But she’s awake!” Natalie yells in confusion but doesn’t dare to disturb the connection between the two just yet, glancing around at everyone else, looking for answers.
“Your daughter’s a lot more powerful than we thought,” Astrid says. “I think she managed to wake up before Sonja could remove the spirit fully.”
“It’s only been ten minutes, it took hours with Stiles,” Melissa says.
“That’s because Sonja didn’t know where to look. She probably found them right away this time.”
“I don’t care,” Lydia suddenly snaps out. “I don’t care about you, I don’t care, leave me the fuck alone!” She starts struggling against Fetters’ hold.
“Hold her still, I’m not done!” The Agent yells out, her eyes still closed, frown of concentration firmly in place.
Peter moves in before anyone else can react, pressing Lydia’s thrashing shoulders down against the bed, not having to strain at all to keep her still.
“Come on, Lydia, work with her, don’t fight her,” Peter whispers.
“I’m not, I’m not,” Lydia gasps out but she stops moving completely and shuts her eyes, squeezing them hard.
Silence reigns once again.
“How do we know if something’s gone wrong?” Natalie asks Astrid.
“I’ll feel it.”
Stiles squints at her since that sounded like a very obvious lie. No one calls her out on it, though.
A few more minutes go by and then Fetters gasps like a drowning woman, body bursting into full-blown shivers as she pulls away from Lydia and falls backwards, off the bed.
“F-fucking hell,” she stammers out, curling up on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest as the shivers continue to wreck her body.
Sunlight fills the room again.
Lydia’s waking is a lot less dramatic. Her eyes just open, the white sheen gone this time. She immediately turns her head to look at her mom.
“I’m okay.”
Peter backs off and lets Natalie hug her daughter.
Astrid kneels over Fetters, hands on the woman’s shoulder and hip.
“Can you move?”
“N-No…” comes the soft reply before the shivering stops and her breathing deepens.
“Passed out again,” Peter remarks with a sigh and crouches down to collect the witch into his arms. “I’ll take her to the bedroom.” He leaves the room and Astrid and Melissa hurry after him.
Stiles watches as Natalie cries quietly into Lydia’s shoulder, his friend’s eyes meeting his own.
“I’m okay,” she repeats, mouthing it this time, just for him.
He swallows down the huge lump forming in his throat and nods.
“Me too,” he mouths back.
She smiles weakly.
He hears a quiet sob and looks over his shoulder, surprised to see Allison with her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking. Scott’s kissing her forehead, rubbing a hand up and down her arm.
“Come on, Ally, go hug your best friend.”
She nods and wipes her nose with her sleeve.
Natalie pulls away and lets Allison take her place.
“Alright, you must be hungry,” she says, already starting to gain back her composure.
“Starving,” Lydia croaks, patting Allison on the back. “Can I talk to Stiles for a bit?”
Her mom gives him a disapproving glance but also says, “Of course.”
After the hug, Allison also ducks away, hiding her tears and looking embarrassed.
“Can I?” Cora asks, the last one to leave the room, hesitating.
Lydia pulls herself up into a sitting position and then opens her arms. Cora sinks into her, pressing her nose against Lydia’s neck and taking in deep breaths.
“Okay, okay, enough smelling. I must stink, you’re making me self-conscious.”
Cora pulls away and gives Lydia a serious look. “You smell like you’re alive.”
Stiles lets their gazes linger for a second and then interrupts the moment, “Ooookay, you done?” He gets a sharp glare from both of them and then Cora leaves the room too.
He sits down with his back against the headboard, just like Lydia and offers up his hand. Her fingers easily slide into his and she gives him a grateful squeeze.
It hits him then, how close they got to death, again.
December better be the most peaceful fucking month he’s ever had, holy shit.
“How was it after I was gone? What did she do?”
Lydia clears her throat, voice gone all raspy.
“Showed me her whole life, I guess. I was stuck in a vision after vision. But nothing made sense. No faces. No names.”
“Sounds boring,” he says casually.
“It was,” she mimics his tone. “Except for the, you know, sheer terror of thinking I might never get to wake up again.”
“Right. That.” He looks at her, takes in the dark circles under her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Have you slept since you woke up?”
“Uh, no.”
“Because you’re afraid to?”
“No, just haven’t been tired. I feel pretty good, actually,” he says, trying to reassure her.
“Really? Because I feel exhausted,” Lydia sighs, eyes half-closing. “But I don’t want to sleep,” she whispers.
“You can’t stay awake forever.”
She doesn’t like hearing that, mouth trembling a little.
“I promise you, we’re good now. Try to focus a little on how you’re actually feeling, besides the exhaustion. Don’t you feel a bit more… you?” He doesn’t know how to explain the way his center of gravity seems to have reasserted itself, how the whole night and morning, he’s felt more present and grounded than he has for a while now. He’s not sure but he thinks Fetters didn’t just remove the spirit’s ability to haunt him, but also some of her control over him.
It’s a nice idea at least and he’s going to hold onto it until he’s proven wrong.
“I feel…” she pauses, frowning. “I do feel more like me, I guess. Although that could just be the power of suggestion since you literally told me to feel like that.”
“You’re welcome,” he tells her brightly.
She huffs, rolling her eyes and resting her head on his shoulder. He leans his cheek on her hair and feels incredibly lucky.
Allison’s voice comes back to him, I just feel like we’ve all gotten too lucky so far. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Great, super, he needs to thank Allison for putting that thought into his head.
Seriously, he thinks to himself, December better be quiet. It’s Holiday season after all, surely the supernatural world respects the Holiday season?
It’s evening, Lydia’s been awake for the better part of the day and Chris still can’t believe he let himself get lost in Stiles’ mouth with his daughter right there, trying to sleep.
He tells Peter what happened because the man noticed how Chris is once again pulling away, avoiding everyone.
And Peter is, of course, amused.
“I know all about how irresistible he can be, there’s no shame in letting go once in a while.”
“I’d prefer to not let go when my daughter’s in the vicinity,” Chris says dryly, slicing into the zucchini he found. Melissa is still monitoring Agent Fetters, since the witch is currently basically comatose. Astrid appears to have no idea of what went wrong and why and is also still here, worried and nervous. Stiles and Allison haven’t left Lydia’s room, something that her mom only allowed after Lydia made a sharp comment about Natalie’s interest and overprotectiveness being too little too late. Cora and Scott left a while ago to get some groceries since Natalie exploded at one point and ordered everyone to make themselves useful. That’s why Chris is now in the kitchen, starting on some kind of a dinner, using whatever’s in the fridge and whatever the kids return with.
And Peter followed him, promising to help out but is in fact just being a huge distraction. A hand on his waist, a finger slipping under his belt and giving it a tug, a sturdy weight leaning against his side, warm breath hitting the side of his face.
His daughter’s still in the vicinity, he has to remind himself. And he’s a guest in someone else’s home.
“That’s all it is? Allison?” Peter asks, sounding like he wants Chris to think and answer honestly but still invading his space in a way that makes that very difficult to do.
He pauses with the knife and puts it down.
“I also don’t want to push,” he says, bringing up a subject they’ve touched upon before.
“Right,” Peter drawls out, obviously already bored by a familiar disagreement. But then he leans in to whisper something Chris doesn't expect, “You know, Stiles likes to get pushed a little.”
He frowns, looking at Peter from the corner of his eye, suspicious of the smirk he sees.
“What do you mean?” He asks, even though he thinks he should just end the conversation here.
“Physically, I mean,” Peter grins. “A little manhandling, being lifted, held down, my hand in his hair holding him in place as he-”
“That’s enough,” Chris barks out, voice slightly shaky. He pulls away from Peter, disturbed at how turned on he feels. At how easily those words brought images to his mind.
At how much he’d like to hold Stiles in place too.
“But whenever I do that,” Peter continues, tone a bit more urgent now, asking for Chris to listen to him. “It comes with talking, lots of it. Clear signs of yes or no. And of course I have the advantage of scent to make sure that Stiles is comfortable with everything.”
“Why are you telling me this right now?” Chris groans and drags a hand over his face.
“Because you seem to have forgotten what it was like, being eighteen, how much one body can want.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he protests quickly. “That’s the whole point.”
“Ah, yes. Because you got taken advantage of,” Peter says, but not cruelly. His face is soft and earnest for once, no deviousness to be found. “But we can offer him a safe way to explore all his wants, don’t you think?”
“You’re safe,” he laughs, “I don’t know how we got to this point, but I do feel like you’re safe for him…”
“But you’re not?” Peter asks, frowning.
“I don’t know what I am,” he sighs, frustrated because he knows that that’s not an answer to anything.
“Is this because you like to give orders some times?” Peter asks lightly, joking but also not. “Because I think that Stiles would also have no problem with that.”
“You think?” He asks, going with the lighter tone, not wanting to take a deeper look at why he doesn’t consider himself safe, why a big part of him is still so sure that giving into Stiles means hurting him in some way, a reason that goes far deeper than just the age difference. There is an obvious thread to pull here. What his family did, what he blindly followed, everything that his father beat into him, it’s not just gone because there’s no one left to yell at him for being such a disappointment to the Argent name, his father’s death didn’t make decades of abuse just disappear.
And his view on all of this is obviously distorted if he thinks the werewolf who has killed over a dozen people since he came back into town is the safer option. But there’s reasons for everything that Peter does. Maybe not good enough reasons for some people, but they’re still there. Chris going along with Gerard for so long, letting him so close to his daughter, there’s no reason he can think of to make it all make sense. To make him make sense.
“Chris?” Peter’s voice brings him out of his thoughts and he realizes he’s been staring into space.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” he says, wanting to be alone for a bit, to clear his head.
“Everything alright? I didn’t mean to drag up the past,” Peter says, stepping closer. Chris looks at him and is endeared by how regretful he seems.
“It’s fine, you said nothing wrong. I won’t be gone long,” he promises and walks away.
Half-way through his walk he remembers the state he left the kitchen in and groans to himself, hoping that Natalie won’t see it. But by the time he gets back, the kitchen’s clean and Peter’s already giving the meal some finishing touches.
He initiates this time, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist and pulling him in.
“Thanks,” he says, gesturing at the food.
Peter throws some last garnishes into the pot and then turns his head to meet him in a kiss.
Chris breaths deeply through it, hyper-focused on every point of contact between them.
“We are going to have to talk about your issues with yourself at some point, you know?” Peter tells him after the kiss.
“Have to?” Chris asks, a little annoyed.
“Fine, I think we should,” Peter corrects with an extra sharp eye-roll.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he argues, taking a step back.
“You care so much, Chris. In a lot of ways you’re way safer for everyone in this house than me,” Peter says and then yells, “Dinner’s ready!”
He doesn’t get the chance to react to what Peter just said because thundering footsteps come down the stairs and then Allison’s there, pausing in the kitchen doorway, flushed and teary-eyed.
“Save some for me? I need a run to clear my head,” she says and without waiting for a reply, exits the house.
Peter looks at him. “Like father, like daughter, huh?”
Chris is already moving, ready to follow her, worried about the state she was in, when there are more loud footsteps and then Stiles flies into him.
“Did she leave already? I’m going after her, don’t worry,” Stiles blurts out in one breath and pats him amicably on the shoulder.
As he walks away though, his body does a weird jerking move where he stops and flings himself around and then he’s back, hands on Chris’ cheeks and holding him still as Stiles kisses him firmly on the mouth.
“Need to keep reminding myself that I can actually do that now,” he breathes against Chris’ lips before surging forward once more and Chris loses any sense of right or wrong, his earlier dilemma completely vanished once again as his hands go to Stiles’ hips and grip him tight, already an idea rearing up in his head—what if he turned and pushed Stiles against the counter, lifted him on top of it, pressed in between those long legs and got as close as possible, what if Peter pulled Stiles back into a kiss of his own and kept him busy while Chris took his time down below.
He’s left silent and dumb when Stiles pulls back with an easy grin, saying, “Awesome!” and shakes his head in bewilderment before finally running after Allison.
A plate is pushed into his hands.
“You’re so worried about what kind of an effect you’ll have on him, how about what kind of an effect he’ll have on you?” Peter asks, pressing their shoulders together. “I, for one, think he’ll be good for you. And despite what you may think, you deserve good things, Chris.”
Chris licks his lips and looks down at the food, mind still stuck on that image of Stiles spread out between them.
“Also, breaking it off now will just crush him,” Peter adds casually.
His eyes flick up and there it is, Peter’s cocky smirk in a proud display.
“Manipulating me?” He asks while accepting the fork that Peter hands him.
“Always,” Peter replies, smirk softening into a teasing smile.
He can’t help it, he smiles back.
“I have so many issues with this,” comes Astrid’s voice from the doorway.
“And you can keep them to yourself,” Peter says easily and then gestures towards the stove. “Food’s ready, you’re welcome.”
“Wait, you cooked?” Astrid asks, carefully inching around them and then peeking into the pot.
“Why’s that a surprise?” Chris asks.
“Peter hates cooking,” Astrid says. “Or at least, he used to.”
“No, I still do,” Peter shrugs.
“But you’ve been cooking a lot,” Chris points out, feeling a little confused.
“Oh, you know, all those Alpha instincts, must provide and all that,” Peter rolls his eyes and nods at his plate. “Go on and eat.”
Chris stares at him for a moment. Peter narrows his eyes in return.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he says but holds his plate out to one side so he can pull Peter in and kiss him again.
“Dinner and a show, woo!” Astrid yells in the background.
He can feel Peter smiling into the kiss and he follows his lead, making the kiss wetter and louder until-
“Uh, guys? …Please stop, this is getting weird!”
Allison finally finds out about everything that Lydia has been through because of her ghostly visitations, all of the nightmares that turned out to be real and somehow, to Stiles’ confusion, this leads to her and Lydia having a fight.
“It feels like you don’t trust me!”
“It’s not about trust, it’s about the fact that you would never really understand, okay!? You have no idea what the hell I’ve been through!”
“My life’s been turned upside down too, and I’ve always talked to you about everything! Just, why wouldn’t you want me to be there for you?”
“You don’t get it.”
“Then help me get it?”
“You’ll never get it because you’re human!”
Stiles tries to calm things down but his, “I mean no one in our inner circle could be considered a normal human, you know?”
“He’s human and you told him!” Allison yells, pointing at him and the fight continues.
“He knows what it’s like to feel like you have no control anymore, like you’re going insane, because that’s how I feel most of the time,” here Lydia starts to cry. “Like I’m losing it.”
“Okay, guys,” Stiles tries again.
“And I feel out of the loop, left out,” Allison tells her, also starting to cry.
“This is really a non-issue,” he tries again.
“I was afraid you’d ask if I was sure,” Lydia whispers. “If I was sure that I wasn’t just seeing things, if it wasn’t just hallucinations or something. I didn’t even tell Stiles until recently, I didn’t tell anyone. That’s how afraid I was.”
“That to me sounds like you didn’t trust me. Like you didn’t think I’d care enough to really listen to what you were saying, or, I don’t know,” Allison sighs, rubbing at her eyes.
“What are you guys even fighting about anymore?” Stiles asks, laughing incredulously. “Lydia was going through something wild, I totally get why she didn’t want to tell us. Why are you so mad about this?”
Allison’s eyes widen a little as she stares at him and then at Lydia, who is still crying.
“I… I don’t know,” she says and seems to collect herself before announcing, “I need to run,” and leaving the room.
“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles asks the empty space she left behind.
“Go after her,” Lydia sighs, sniffling loudly.
“You sure?” He asks, still confused at how exactly this fight even happened.
“Go,” she insists and waves her hand at him.
So he does, on the way making the choice to grab a drive-by kiss that curls his toes and makes his brain hum, before running out into the street and looking around wildly, hoping to still see some sign of Allison.
Luckily, he spots a figure running away at a really high speed.
He looks down at his shoes.
“Goddamnit, Allison, these aren’t my running shoes,” he groans and then sprints after her.
Allison doesn’t want to stop running just yet so Stiles jogs after her, occasionally dropping behind to catch his breath. Obviously there’s no talking going on, just silence and Stiles’ loud panting.
Finally, she stops next to the place that sells her favorite smoothies and beckons him to follow her in.
He grimaces as he wipes off the sweat from his face with his shirt. He doesn’t really feel like hanging out at a public spot right now, but he doesn’t want to leave Allison alone here either so he takes a few deep breaths and enters. He spots Allison already sitting down in the back corner and heads on over.
“I didn’t even put deodorant on today, I might get kicked out like this.”
She gives him a small smile, also sweaty but seemingly unbothered by it.
Stiles sits down and settles in to wait, letting her bring the topic up if she wants to.
“Remember that night at Gerard’s house?” Allison asks, looking down at the table. “When I tried to… And Scott stopped me.”
“This isn’t you,” Scott says softly.
“Yes, it is,” she argues. “This is what being an Argent is all about. I was born to be this. A killer.”
“Yeah, of course.” He hesitates, leaning in to study her closer, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. “You don’t still think that, do you? That you’re just a killer?”
“I don’t know,” she frowns, still not meeting his eyes. “Look at my family, they were all literal villains. Even my dad at some point wasn’t exactly a good guy.”
“He wasn’t allowed to be,” Stiles points out quickly and she shrugs in reply. He sighs. “You’re breaking the mold, though. Or I guess your dad did, when he raised you differently.”
“Yeah, I guess…” She doesn’t sound convinced.
Stiles thinks back to the fight.
“You don’t think that Lydia thinks of you this way, do you?”
She takes a moment, and then says, “Just like there’s an understanding between you and her, I think there’s one between us too. We both wanted to kill Gerard that night. We would’ve done it too, if Scott hadn’t been there.”
“So what, you think that they don’t like the way we approach situations like that or something?”
“I know Scott doesn’t. And I think Lydia doesn’t either.”
“I’m fine with them being dead, Lydia.”
She stares sadly. “I don’t know if I agree with that.”
Stiles reaches out to grab her hand and shake it a little, finally getting her to look up.
“She probably doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t trust you or won’t be your friend anymore. We’re all different, I like to think that we balance each other out.”
Allison relaxes a little, giving him a small smile. “I guess that’s true.” She shakes his hand too. “Scott’s really feeling left out, though.”
“Yeah, I bet,” he sighs, remembering the betrayed look on his friend’s face when he found out about the Matos.
“These days, he’s closer to Derek than he is to you.”
“I’m sorry, Derek?” Stiles’ head snaps forward.
“Yeah, they talk a lot.”
“Derek doesn’t like talking,” he says, confused.
“Derek doesn’t like talking to you,” Allison corrects. “He talks to us just fine.”
“What?” He gasps, offended.
“You’re his uncle’s boyfriend, his Alpha’s boyfriend. And you’re younger than him. The dynamic is all off, Stiles,” she explains patiently.
And okay, Stiles can kind of understand why all he gets out of Derek are scowls and icy silences.
“I’m aware that me and Scott are in desperate need of some bro-time.”
“But how are you going to get that with your two suitors filling up all your free time?” Allison asks dryly, raising an eyebrow.
“Your dad’s my suitor now?”
She rolls her eyes.
“My dad’s real messed up, is what he is. You are aware of that, right?”
“I mean, Peter’s messed up too. Apparently that’s my type.”
She shakes her head at him, but she’s smiling so he figures she’s at least amused.
“Here’s two fresh smoothies for the lovely couple,” the young waitress says brightly as she places the drinks on the table and leaves with a wink.
Stiles and Allison blink at each other, then at their hands that are still clasped together on the table. She starts laughing first, snorting loudly and he quickly follows with a cackle. They receive a few odd stares but they don’t even care as they grab their drinks and leave, still holding hands.
Their good mood only lasts until they reach the street that Lydia’s house is on because there, in the dark, standing on the sidewalk and staring at the house like an absolute creep, is Jackson.
“Is she really sick?”
Jackson’s sincere concern catches him off guard. But not enough to stop him from saying what’s been on his mind since he heard about the plan to move.
“Now you care again?” Stiles scoffs, waving his hand at him. “Could you stop flip-flopping around? You told me you loved her!”
“I do!” Jackson stands up straighter, indignant.
“Then why the sudden move to London, huh?” He throws his chin out, challenging Jackson to make sense of that.
Allison is standing off to the side, eyes flicking back and forth like she’s observing a tennis match.
Jackson grows quiet, shoulders slumping back down.
“Because I’m scared of what I might do if I stay.”
Stiles opens his mouth to scoff again but pauses, “…What?”
“You’ve no idea what this feels like,” Jackson insists, glaring at him now. “This possessive urge to keep her and protect her, I’ve…” He chuckles helplessly. “I’ve always been a jealous guy, I’ll admit it, but now it’s much worse.” His voice goes heavy as he growls, “I want to rip your hand off every time it gets anywhere near her skin.”
Stiles instinctively takes a step back when Jackson’s eyes flash amber.
“Okay. Excessive.”
Allison thankfully steps up next to him, reminding him she’s there and he feels a bit better about his chances of taking on a young newbie werewolf.
Jackson squeezes his eyes shut and manages to sound human again when he continues, “I need to get away, but I didn’t mean this like a goodbye forever, just goodbye for now, while I get my shit together.”
Stiles rolls his head around his neck, already seeing the problem with this, “Did you tell her that?”
“No, he didn’t,” Allison replies for him.
“I don’t want her to think I’m expecting her to wait or something…”
Stiles has always known that Jackson was a dumbass, but come on. “Then tell her that too, it’s that simple!”
“But not right now,” Allison quickly adds. “She is sick and exhausted and her mom’s pretty stressed.”
Jackson slides his hands into his pockets, nodding, “Oh, okay. Maybe whenever she comes back to school.”
“Sounds good,” she says and turns to go, grabbing Stiles by the arm to pull him along with her, but he resists.
“Dude,” he says, waiting for Jackson to turn back and look at him. He’s thinking about Danny’s outburst at the library, how worried he was about his best friend, and says, “Just tell Danny. You’re going to regret not patching things up with him when you leave.”
Jackson’s the one caught off guard now. He frowns, “But Laura-”
“Just don’t mention Laura,” Stiles suggests with a wave of his hand. “Or the Hales at all. Say you got bitten by something in the dark and next thing you know, fangs and claws and anger issues.”
“I don’t know,” Allison says softly, obviously not liking this idea.
“I’ll think about it,” Jackson says and gives Stiles this odd look that he thinks might be gratitude.
Jackson Whittemore, listening to his ideas and actually taking them into consideration. A true sign of how much things have changed around here.
They exchange somewhat friendly nods as goodbye and go their separate ways.
“Laura’s not going to be happy you went behind her back like this,” Allison whispers as they walk.
“I mean, technically, Peter’s the Alpha, so I went behind his back.”
“And that’s better how?”
“Because I’m sleeping with him?” Stiles grimaces as the words come out of his mouth.
Allison rolls her eyes while laughing at him.
“Good luck with that.”
It’s later, Stiles and Allison aren’t back yet and Fetters is still unconscious. Peter can tell that Lydia’s mother is on the verge of an outburst, wanting everyone to get the hell out of her house and leave her daughter alone to rest. Chris has already left with Scott, Cora and Melissa, giving the woman some space. Peter stayed because he’s apparently the one responsible for Fetters’ safety.
But the thing that’s troubling him right now is the fact that Lydia is not resting. He heard her tell Stiles how tired she felt, asked Astrid about her thoughts on the different ways they woke up and she said that Lydia’s probably exhausted from fighting this whole time. Stiles was actually asleep for the most part, Fetters taking a while to find the spirit in his mind and him being unaware otherwise. Lydia, though, spent the next night in a mental battle of wills and it took a toll on her.
He is also aware that she’s scared.
He raps his knuckles against her door before opening it.
“Hey,” Lydia says, eyeing him uncertainly. She’s sitting up in her bed and by the looks of it, doing homework.
Peter quirks an eyebrow disapprovingly. “I’m pretty sure your mind needs rest right now.”
She doesn’t say anything in reply, just looks down at the textbook.
He’s got no patience for this so he gets straight to the point, walking in to grab the textbook out of her hands.
“What-” she starts saying but he cuts her off.
“Close your eyes, doze off. I’ll wake you up in half an hour to show you that you can be woken and then hopefully, you’ll get a good night’s rest.” He pushes her body easily to one side, fluffs up a few pillows for his back and sits down beside her.
She glares at him for a moment but it’s clearly taking up too much energy as her eyelids keep drooping.
“Fine,” she mumbles and slides down, settling into a more comfortable position.
He looks around her room as he waits for her breathing to deepen, taking note of the organized chaos all around him. He spies a familiar red folder underneath a few books on the table and remembers the conversation the three of them had the day they showed that to him. He should probably grab that and show it to Astrid, to get a second opinion if nothing else.
And even though he hates the idea, he probably does need to talk to Deaton about well, everything.
A muffled moan from the bedroom down the hall. He perks up and focuses his hearing.
“Sonja?” Astrid’s soft whisper.
“Mouth tastes like ass,” Fetters groans.
“Uh, do you want water or something?”
Peter listens to Astrid helping Fetters out, taking her to the bathroom, getting her some water and some food. Lydia’s long asleep by the time the witches start talking about something of interest.
“So, what the hell happened?”
“That girl comes from an old, old bloodline. She’s probably the most powerful person in this town.”
Peter frowns and glances down at Lydia’s pale face. He could easily take her in a fight.
“More powerful than an Alpha werewolf?” Astrid asks, sounding very unconvinced and Peter wants to say Exactly, thank you.
“More powerful, not stronger,” Fetters replies.
“What’s the difference?” Astrid once again voicing Peter’s question.
“Give her enough time and she’ll be untouchable. Endless potential.”
“That sounds like something to be monitored.” Astrid says the word in a mocking tone.
“Oh, we’ll definitely keep an eye on her. But to be fair, this entire town is now on our watchlist. A haunting of this scale? If this gets out of hand, way too much will be discovered by the humans and then there’ll be no going back.”
Peter’s curiosity about this Coven just keeps growing. How are they monitoring everything, how much do they know, how far back does the organization go, how have they not become widely known in supernatural circles? He’d ask Fetters directly, but has a feeling he’d just get ignored.
“How did it get this bad in the first place? I assume this spirit’s death is probably in the records, yeah?”
Records. Peter takes note of that word.
“A banshee of this caliber? Yeah, I assume so. But I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t the one assigned to this town, now was I?”
A heavy pause. Peter wonders about the phrase assigned to this town. Assigned to monitor it? It’s inhabitants? Because of his family, perhaps?
“So, what do we do?”
Fetters sighs. “We talk to our Elders and see what they decide.”
“This feels like one of those situations where drastic action needs to be taken.”
“Highly likely, yes.”
“You don’t think… Something like Roanoke would be really hard to pull off in these modern times, right?”
Peter’s mind catches onto Roanoke and freezes. The Lost Colony. They can’t possibly be implying that the Coven had something to do with that.
“I mean, yeah. And besides, that’s not something that would fit here anyway, Roanoke’s problem were the people, here it’s the land. The most drastic measure would probably be to burn it all to the ground.”
It seems like that is what they’re implying. And now, at the word burn, his fingers curl into fists.
“But a place of power can protect itself.”
“From a few who seek to harm it, yes. From a forest fire that’s moving at natural speed, yes. But if enough of us come here and drain the land before we start the fire, if we urge it to move fast, we could potentially turn it into ashes. And then the spirit would have nothing to tie it here.”
“But that might get out of control and…”
“Burn down the whole town? Yeah,” Fetters says, sounding a lot less concerned than Astrid. “But that’s why it’s a drastic measure and not the very first option. Say what you want about your mother but she’s fair.”
Astrid laughs loudly. “Fair!?”
Peter sits up straighter when there’s the bang of the front door downstairs. Stiles and Allison are back.
At that sound, Fetters seems to become more aware too.
“Wait, who else is still here?”
“Most have left.”
“What about the werewolves?”
“Oh. Uh… Peter’s here still.”
“You-” Fetters groans in disbelief.
Well, that’s all he’ll get out of them for now, Peter reckons. He turns to hover over Lydia, watching her sleep for another minute before reaching over and patting her on the cheek.
“Lydia,” he whispers harshly.
She takes a few more pats before waking up with a sharp inhale, frowning with a pained expression as she squints her eyes at him.
“What?” She snaps.
“You’re fine,” he tells her and gets out of her bed. He grabs the red folder. “I’m borrowing this.”
She manages to realize what just happened before he reaches the door and says, “Thank you,” to his back.
“Goodnight,” is all he says back, pulling the door closed behind him.
Astrid is peeking out from Natalie’s bedroom and she grimaces at the sight of him.
“You listened in, didn’t you?”
“Come on, I’ll take you guys back to my place. We’ll talk about this later,” he tells her, mind still stuck on the word burn. A sensitive subject for him, obviously. He turns away from her without another word, intent on leaving this house.
He finds Stiles and Allison hanging out in the kitchen, grabbing some food.
“Everything alright?” He asks, taking a subtle sniff of the air in the room and finding no anger or sadness, figuring whatever upset Allison has been somewhat dealt with.
“Yeah,” she confirms his hunch. “I kind of overreacted a little. Is Lydia still up?”
Stiles looks at him expectantly, slurping spaghetti in what should be an obnoxious manner but Peter’s enamored brain just manages to find it cute.
“She’s sleeping now. Pretty sure we should all head out. Fetters is awake too.”
“We’ll finish this and we’ll go,” Stiles says, mouth still full. “Really tasty by the way.”
“I’ll see you later then.”
“Later?” Stiles frowns.
“I reserved the night, remember?” Peter quirks an eyebrow and enjoys the way Stiles’ face changes colors. “Called dibs and everything.”
“Oh, right,” Stiles swallows and clears his throat. “But you know, dad will be home and…”
“No worries, I just want to sleep next to you.” He waits and is rewarded with Stiles looking at him like he hung the moon.
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine then. I’ll see you later.”
He goes outside to wait for the witches in his car and listens hard enough to hear Allison say, “Werewolves are kind of amazing at cuddling, aren’t they?” and Stiles reply with an enthusiastic, “Oh my god, yes!”
It distracts him enough from the word burn to make him smile.
“This is… far more elaborate than anything I’ve ever dealt with.” Fetters flips through the pages again to find the drawing that Lydia and Stiles had found in one of his books. Three people standing around a tree. She taps on the Ogham letter under it. “This just doesn’t fit.”
They’re in Peter’s office, him and her sitting on either side of his desk with Astrid standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. After hearing Fetters talk about possible solutions to their problem, Peter figured it’s in his best interest to share everything he knows, to give more context and to hopefully find a much better option.
“Why?” Astrid asks before he can.
“Because we’re dealing with a banshee. And this place of power? It’s more connected to her than the Earth. This, though,” she taps the letter again, “Uath. It’s Celtic and it’s what druids would use. Why would the spirit latch onto an idea like this? A triumvirate? That’s happened only a couple times as far as we know and it was always the work of a druid.”
“She connected to Stiles’ mother when she accidentally presented him as a gift, right?” Astrid glances at Peter and he nods. “So that was a ritual that’s usually done by druids, was there…?”
“Yes, Deaton’s younger sister helped Claudia with that.”
Fetters hums thoughtfully. “In one ritual, it connected to a druid and to a werewolf bloodline… So that’s how it got this whole idea, but, why?”
Peter pulls his phone out and opens his messages.
“Before we started talking just now I texted Stiles and asked him to send me everything he remembers the spirit telling him, anything that might be important. This stood out.” He takes a moment to find the right text since Stiles of course went overboard and with every line that he remembered her saying, he added a comment or a sarcastic remark. Peter doesn’t mind, he finds Stiles very entertaining when he goes off on tangents or gets caught up in a seemingly unimportant detail. He just wishes they could’ve had this conversation face-to-face, the flailing and wild gesturing would’ve likely been off the charts. “She said she wants to live again. Whatever that means, since she also said that dead things stay dead. The more power she gets the more real she feels, she could touch me in my dreams. And that’s what this whole thing is about, she’s desperate for power.” He finishes reading and waves at the women. “Theories?”
“Huh,” Fetters says. “So she got woken up by a blood offering and immediately latched onto whatever she could find in Claudia and this druid that helped her. And then you and Talia—two powerful werewolves—gave your blood and that probably fueled this idea even more.”
“Is it possible though?” Astrid asks, sounding a little freaked out. “Can she like, walk the Earth again or something?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never heard of something like this,” Fetters shrugs. “But if any spirit could pull this off, it makes sense that it’s a banshee.”
“Rituals woke it up. Any ritual to put it to sleep?” Peter asks, staring at her intently.
She doesn’t even acknowledge him, turns to Astrid as she stands. “I’m calling your mother. She’ll set up a team to send here.”
“A team?” He asks, also standing.
Fetters walks off, or well, staggers off, still exhausted.
Astrid puffs out her cheeks awkwardly. “Well. Sonja’s always been a bit rude, I’m sorry about that.”
Frustration churning up inside, he leans onto his desk and glares at her with his red eyes, a clear threat of violence she better take seriously.
“If anyone sets fire to any part of this town ever again, my claws will find their necks, one way or another.”
Her brows furrow in pity of all things. It just fuels his anger.
“I know, of course you don’t-”
“I don’t think you understand,” he cuts in and pushes away from the desk, walks around it slowly, enjoying the way she stumbles back a few steps. “It’s not just my home that’s on the line here. If they go through with this, I’ll dedicate my entire being into making sure you witches become just as endangered as my kind is.”
“Peter,” she sighs softly, a little afraid but still firmly meeting his gaze which reminds him of how much he respected her once, this petite weakling who often liked to start fights with people twice her size, even if she knew she’d already lost. Stupid but brave. “I know how this looks to you but remember that I left these people and this is exactly why! I’ll talk to my mom and I’ll do whatever I can, okay? And they do respect a pack’s territory so they might listen to you too. Nothing’s been decided.”
He growls a little, backing off and giving her space.
“My home feels tainted. This power,” he holds up his clawed hands, “doesn’t feel fully mine and I hate that feeling. Like I’m not the one in control here.”
“I can imagine,” she says, eyes far away.
He thinks about her forced secrecy, her estranged relationship with her mother, her desperate need to separate herself from the rest of her kind. He draws back his wolf and sits on the desk.
“Have I scared you off?”
She snorts weakly. “Nah. You’re all bark and no bite.” She scrunches up her face. “Well, I mean you used to be. Before the freaky possession issues.”
“I’m pretty sure that night in the woods it was all me,” he tilts his head, challenging her.
“Against the hunters?” She raises her eyebrows and scoffs. “That was a long time coming.”
Such an easy reply, validating his rage and accepting it as inevitable. His smile is sincere as he asks, “What kind of house would you like for your family?”
Astrid freezes in place.
“Oh, I do actually get to choose?”
“We’ll take a look tomorrow, how about it? I assume you’re going back for Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, my flight leaves on Wednesday. I’ve been afraid to bring it up.”
“Don’t be,” he insists and comes closer again, reaching out to hold her by her arms. “Never be afraid to talk to me about anything. Otherwise, this isn’t going to work.”
She relaxes at his gentle touch and nods, smiling. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Now, I’ll leave you two to it. Sleep wherever you want, there are clean sheets in the closet in my bedroom.”
She watches him walk away, blinking rapidly. “Wait, where you going?”
“I’ve got a reservation.”
“…That better not be a weird sex thing.”
Now that Lydia’s awake and Fetters is fine, Stiles’ mind doesn’t have an immediate problem to focus on and wanders back to everything that’s still a mystery. He hates that Blake is still out there, possibly killing more people, working her way towards the new beginning she mentioned the last time they saw each other. Several times just this evening alone, he’s picked up his phone and stared at the blocked number, thought about calling it to see if she’s still using it, to see if she’d possibly give him some answers.
Knowing her, she’d just use the call to fuck with him some more. He always puts the phone away and tells himself to stop going there, it’s useless.
He thinks a lot about his mother, staring at photos of her during dinner. His dad notices but doesn’t mention it. More and more he feels this distance growing between who he remembers and who she actually was. He hates this too, this feeling of betrayal almost. Because there’s still no proof that she ever lied to him or kept things from him. There’s no proof that she ever knew anything about the supernatural, Morrell herself said that Claudia didn’t believe, she was just desperate.
After everything he’s been through this year, he can understand that kind of desperation a lot better.
When he goes to his room after getting nice and clean, the stench of sweat hits him head on and he groans out loud.
“Ah, fuck.” The sheets haven’t been changed since he woke up. How could he even stay in this room last night without gagging? He starts to do it but pauses every now and then because his desk lamp and the darkness of night outside create shadows in his room, shadows that make him stare, just to make sure it’s not something else.
Lydia’s fear of sleeping is starting to infect him too, but not because he’s scared he might not wake up. He’s scared that his nightmares will just continue. That Blake will still be there. Tom even. Kate, Gerard, Ennis.
He sighs as he throws the finished blanket onto the bed, grabs his phone and checks for any new messages. Specifically, any from Peter. Having some company is starting to sound really good right about now.
None from Peter but one from Chris.
If you get more nightmares and need someone to talk to, feel free to call. My schedule’s all messed up anyway.
He stares at it, strokes his finger across the screen.
His dad and Melissa can think whatever the fuck they want but Stiles knows that this kind of support and attention is more than he could ever hope for. To him, Chris seems perfect. Messed up, but in a way that makes him more careful and considerate. Right now, after all the shittiness, he can’t imagine a better person to talk to if a nightmare should strike.
Well, except for the man currently swinging himself in through his open window.
“About time,” he says with a grin, tossing his phone aside.
In the low-lit room filled with shadows that Stiles doesn’t trust, Peter standing up and filling the space with his eye-catching presence and enigmatic pull settles his anxiety in a way not much else can.
The man pauses, tilts his head.
“Yeah, I know, I probably reek of fear or something, my mind’s been busy.”
Peter comes closer and kneels, puts his hands on Stiles’ thighs. Stiles loves the way the air feels heavier whenever the man’s this close, when it’s just the two of them and it’s otherwise silent. Nervous butterflies, for lack of a better descriptor, still burst into flight in his stomach at the sight of him or at hearing his voice or at the first touch, especially when he knows more touching might follow.
“You’re alright,” Peter tells him, voice low and soothing, hands rubbing back and forth.
“Debatable,” Stiles says but slides forward, spreading his legs wider. He puts his hands on Peter’s jaw, fingers reaching down to feel Peter’s pulse, the man's warm skin so inviting. Stiles leans in for a kiss and gets one that’s just the right amount of pressure, of tongue, Peter reading him like a book and giving him exactly what he’s in the mood for.
Seriously, his dad has no idea how lucky Stiles is.
“I’m glad I have this. You,” he says after pulling back but keeping their foreheads together, hoping that Peter remembers the moment he’s referring to.
A sharp inhale and a hungry kiss that Stiles will take as a sign that yes, the man recognized those words. He wraps his arms around Peter’s head and gives the kiss a little teeth, some bite, that has Peter’s hands digging into his thighs.
“I thought you didn’t want to wake up your dad,” he says as they’re taking a breath. Or well, Stiles is, panting and filled with want.
“Just keep my mouth busy,” he whispers. He reaches down to grab Peter’s hands and slide them higher and inwards. “And touch me, please.” He’s realized that Peter likes to hear him beg and goddamnit, he likes to do it, likes to put some extra breath and moan into it, just to see how Peter reacts to it.
His mouth is claimed in another demanding kiss and Peter’s hands get to work.
Peter ends up having to cover his mouth while he goes down on him, Stiles bucking up against his hold, pulling at his own hair as well as Peter’s. He manages to keep his sounds to a minimum but his body never stops talking, in constant movement, and it makes Peter a little more forceful, a little more grabby.
Stiles comes so hard his eyes roll back in his head a little.
And as soon as he feels like he can breathe normally again, he taps at Peter’s back to get him to stop mouthing at his neck and gestures for him to lie back.
He returns the favor and watches Peter’s face as much as he can, loving how his jaw relaxes suddenly when Stiles does something extra good, how Peter’s mouth falls open and his eyes clench shut, how his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in great big swallows.
He feasts with his eyes and he feasts with his mouth and Peter’s climax is no less intense than his was.
He feels boneless and achy and very accomplished when he slumps down half on top of Peter, head resting on the same pillow.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, completely sincere, because at that moment he’s so deliriously happy that Peter’s beside him. And then the wording hits him and he snorts. “I mean, for coming over.”
Peter turns his head and smoothly says, “My pleasure.”
He slaps the man lightly on his chest and then cuddles up closer to it.
“Wore me out real nice,” he mutters, closing his eyes.
His mind finally quiet, he sleeps.
No nightmares.
Peter’s eyes snap open as he senses a new presence.
Morning light has filled the room and makes it easy for the Sheriff to see who is in his son’s bed. The man doesn’t even blink, just stares upwards in a god help me manner before quietly walking off, leaving the door wide open.
At least they’re both covered with the blanket, the chilly air from the open window made Stiles start shivering some time around four, so Peter bundled them up.
He glances at Stiles’ relaxed features, fights back the urge to wake him up with a kiss and slides out of bed. He stands there for a moment, watching as Stiles furrows his brow and tries to follow the disappearing warmth with his body but finally settles onto Peter’s spot with a disappointed huff. He ruffles Stiles’ hair before dressing himself and following Noah down to the kitchen.
Now more than ever he feels the need to win the man over, to show him that he can be good for his son, to get some kind of approval. It’s yet another instinctual part of him fighting for dominance. Stiles has become more than just pack, he’s someone he wants by his side. And whoever is important to Stiles has inadvertently become important to him too. Even Scott, he laments to himself.
“Not interested in talking,” Noah tells him as soon as he sees him. He’s filling his coffee machine’s filter paper.
“I helped him sleep, Sheriff,” Peter says. Noah’s movements pause and he continues, “He probably didn’t want to say anything, but his mind took him to some dark places last night. He was scared.” He moves closer so he can lean against the fridge and see Noah’s face. “I helped him. I’ll always help him.”
Noah breathes in deeply and finishes up, turns the machine on. “Yeah I get that.”
Silence for a bit as they both look around awkwardly.
“May I make you something for breakfast?” Peter asks, uncomfortable with not knowing where he stands anymore.
Noah lets out a short incredulous laugh. “What is it with you two and food? Chris brings burgers and you keep cooking. I feel like I’m being bribed.”
“When did Chris bring you burgers?”
“The…” Noah grows tense again and Peter regrets asking. “Stiles’ birthday.”
“Ah.” While he was having the time of his life showing Stiles how much pleasure one body can contain, Chris was apparently trying to take Noah’s mind off it. Or perhaps trying to talk him up? And back then he was still jealous, uncertain where exactly he stood with Peter.
And apparently he’s the one who’d be bad for Stiles.
“Anyway,” Noah clears his throat and gestures at the fridge. “I like my eggs sunny side up and with some toast and whatever fake bacon we have there.”
“Fake bacon?”
“I’m supposed to cut back on meat.”
“Alright, I’ll get started.”
Noah looks at him oddly, then once again does the weird staring at the ceiling thing, only this time with his hands on his hips. Then he shakes his head and leaves the kitchen.
Peter’s almost finished with the eggs, adding some spring onion for garnish, when Stiles stumbles down the stairs, clumsily pulling on a hoodie, hair completely flat on one side and sticking out on the other. Peter meets his bleary gaze.
“Good morning,” he offers when no words are forthcoming. Stiles is slack-jawed, squinting at him.
“Did my dad leave already-”
“I’m waiting for my breakfast,” Noah says from behind Stiles, holding a newspaper.
Stiles’ head whips around, body following a second later. Then he stares between the two of them. “Uh, okay?”
“Coffee’s ready too,” Peter says, placing Noah’s plate onto the kitchen table and going back to the stove to continue making food for Stiles.
Noah grunts and grabs a cup, avoiding Peter’s space as much as possible and then sits down to eat.
“Son, you only have half an hour before you have to be at school.”
“Right… school,” Stiles mumbles, walking to the pot of coffee in a daze.
“Hungry?” Peter grins smugly, holding out another plate just for him.
Stiles pauses while pouring, looking at the eggs, then back at his dad.
“Is this really happening?”
Peter thinks he’s scenting the beginnings of anxiety and steps in to press a kiss against Stiles’ temple.
“Go on and eat, you’ll have to drop me off at my place before school.”
“Right,” Stiles says and gives him a distracted peck on the lips before joining his dad at the table.
Noah’s looking at Peter oddly again, this time Peter’s nose can suss out a little more of what the man’s feeling. Something akin to resignation.
Peter will consider that a win.
Everyone’s back at school and it’s kind of awkward. Jackson and Lydia are having hushed conversations off to the side, Cora and Scott promising her to keep their ears out of it, so Stiles has no clue if Jackson’s expressing himself properly. He’s starting to think the guy has a problem of saying all the right things to the wrong people.
Danny is hanging out with some of his other teammates, but keeps sending obvious sad glances at Jackson whenever his former friend enters the same room.
Stiles is still kind of reeling from the domesticity of his morning. His dad and Peter even ended up sharing the newspaper, exchanging sections like it was a morning ritual of some kind.
During lunch, Allison drops a bomb.
“So, this will be my last week.”
“What?” Scott’s the first to react.
“Graduating early?” Stiles asks, faintly remembering this being a topic at some point.
“Yeah, uh, it’s all set up. I was planning on staying on until Christmas break but we need to get to Canada soon, so…”
“You’re actually going?” Scott stares down at his food.
Allison gives him a worried glance but then looks at Stiles, shrugging in a what can you do? kind of way that has him raising his hands because, What? He is so not a part of this conversation.
“Dad told Hayden he’d go and I’m not letting him go alone. He’s still healing, remember?”
“Yeah, but…” Scott stabs his fork into his mashed potatoes. “Never mind.”
“Canada, huh,” Stiles says, mind already there, wondering.
Allison seems to catch onto what he’s thinking about. “We’re absolutely going to ask around about Blake.” Which is the exact opposite of what he’d like to hear.
“Ha, yeah, great idea, except what if she comes looking for you then?”
Allison frowns at him. “We’ll have other hunters and even a local pack to help us out.”
“Oh, just like I had?”
“He’s right,” Scott says, looking up at her.
She waves a hand at them. “I’m not dealing with this again. This is not up for debate.” She gets up and takes her tray with her, moving on over to Jackson and Lydia who quickly make room for her.
“Thoughts?” Stiles turns to Cora, who’s been the only one actually eating lunch this whole time.
“She has the right idea. Blake needs to be found and dealt with. There’s no harm in them just keeping an eye out for her.”
“As long as they run if they do see her,” Stiles grumbles, joining Scott in the stabbing his food game.
“So we’re kind of splitting up after Thanksgiving,” Scott realizes. “We should spend it all together then. Mom did mention something about wanting to cook for you and your dad. And Laura loves big pack dinners.”
“Can your mom handle my sister micromanaging everything in the kitchen?” Cora asks, slurping at her soda.
“Uh, maybe?” Scott casts Stiles an uncertain look. He shrugs back.
“Dude, the pack-adjacent people are growing in numbers, I have no idea how most of them interact with each other. I didn’t even know that Derek’s your new bestie.”
“What?” Scott sits up straighter, looking and sounding guilty as hell. “No, he’s not,” he says quickly.
“It’s fine,” Stiles assures him. “I get it, I haven’t exactly been available lately. And you’re a werewolf, he’s a werewolf, you’ve got the freaky doggy bond going on.”
“Doggy bond?” Cora asks, suddenly very attentive as she turns her whole body towards him.
“Not a fan of being compared to dogs, I’m guessing?” He gulps at her glare. “Even though they’re the best animals on the planet?”
“You know, in some packs, shit like that would get you de-limbed.”
“Fortunately enough, the Alpha of this particular pack likes me too much to do that.” He grins brightly.
“Yeah, I can smell exactly how much he likes you,” she grimaces.
Stiles decides to take it easy for a few days, not just for his sake but also for his dad’s. He tells Peter to stop sneaking in, tells Allison to stop texting him reminders about his training and asks Lydia to focus on her own schoolwork, thank you very much, he can handle his own just fine as long as everyone leaves him be.
His dad seems very weirded out by the sudden quiet and lack of late-night guests. He even says so Tuesday night during dinner.
“Everything okay with you and your friends?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just, wondering.” Noah drums a beat on the table, ignoring his food while Stiles inhales his. “And your… uh, And Peter and Chris?”
“Fine too, we’re all just busy with our own thing, dad.”
“What are they busy with when neither of them has a job?”
“What’s with the judging, if I was dating someone my own age, they wouldn’t have a job either.”
Noah sighs, immediately giving up. “I am curious though. What are they up to?”
“You can pick up a phone and call them, you know?” When his dad just glares, waiting, Stiles gives in. “Alright, well, Peter’s house-shopping with Astrid and Chris is making preparations to go to Canada.”
“Canada? What for?”
“I don’t know, ask Chris,” he dodges with an easy smile. When his dad sighs, he points a finger at him. “Hey, you had a nice morning with Peter, all civil and everything. And before all this, Chris was your favorite!”
“Eat your dinner,” Noah grumbles, focusing on his.
He is reminded of the party he got invited to on Wednesday, when Danny asks him if he’s still coming.
“I heard you and Lydia got sick at the same time or something, she said she’s still in, but I thought I’d check. I’d love to see you there.”
Danny’s being oddly charming and sweet, Stiles isn’t really used to this. He manages to stammer his way through a confirmation that for sure, yeah, he’ll be there, and he’ll bring Cora like he said he would.
He later asks everyone else if they’re actually doing this, going clubbing.
“I need a good night out,” Lydia says and okay, Stiles can understand that need.
“I used to go dancing all the time back in France, I’ve been missing it a little,” Allison says, surprising him.
“I’m pretty sure you’re all going to need a designated driver,” Scott points out.
“Danny said that although the club’s more popular with gay dudes, girls often come too, so… I’m hoping to get some.”
Stiles isn’t the only one who raises his eyebrows at Cora.
“What?” She rolls her eyes. “You all have made me feel very left out.”
“I guess that’s fair,” Stiles realizes.
“So, one big pack dinner and then one big night out before you guys leave for your trip!” Scott says with bright enthusiasm that’s obviously a little forced.
“Sounds good.” Allison’s smile seems strained.
Stiles hopes this little break is going to be good for his friends. Scott needs to realize that just like his life, Allison’s has also changed so much. Her plans for her future, completely altered. Her choice in college, probably also different now. And well, Allison needs to realize that Scott’s the good guy who is always going to try to find a better way. And even if that can be annoying, it’s not a bad quality whatsoever.
He worries about Chris, though. And he knows that Peter is worried too. The man is still covered in bruises. They’re no longer shades of purple and they’re smaller, but they’re still clearly visible.
But after he and Lydia went after the kanima on their own, Chris wondered if Stiles thought him useless. Maybe this trip, helping out a friend and being useful will be good for Chris too, a way to move past… everything.
He is daring to hope for a lot right now, but they all need brighter things to come.
With all these threats still looming over their heads there’s only so much a person can handle…
Before they break.
Notes:
first of all, got some super nice comments from people who dared to get into this wip even though it hadn't been updated in over a month, you brave souls, you. your sweet, respectful words and your hope that i was still working on this got me to push myself back into that -write a little every day- headspace.
now,
rambly thoughts:not going to lie, had to force myself a bit when writing this ch, we are currently in a very set-up-y place, where im worldbuilding a bit and slowly introducing stuff and it's a bit slow.
also wanted to say that although astrid and fetters are important OC's i am trying to NOT drown this fic in OC storylines. right now the whole witchy stuff is still slowly getting inserted into this fic's canon, so that's why they're important.
chris and allison are going to get some time on their own soon too, but at some point in the hopefully not too distant future, the main focus will be on stiles again. even though we've got a trio of POVs, i do consider stiles the main-main character.wondering if i should add the domestic fluff tag since well, there's already been quite a bit of that and there's just more coming.
continuing the tv-show season analogy, this and the next ch would be the mid-season finale.
hoping to update soon, hate having big breaks in writing cause then i feel rusty all over again
if all goes well the next chapter should have our trio alone in the same room again...
Chapter 42: happy
Notes:
this was supposed to have both the dinner and the club in it but i ended up writing 16k words of fluff, smut, family feels and domestic shit instead.
why do i have no chill when it comes to this fic's wordcount
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Wait, two of your youngest pack members almost died and now you’re planning a Thanksgiving dinner?” Fetters asks while stepping through the living room, running her fingers along the windows. There are some older spots where the color's cracked or stained that could use some freshening up and her fingers pause on those for some reason.
Peter tilts his head in the direction of the kitchen when he hears something fall onto the floor.
“Did you break something again?” He calls out, annoyed.
“No, all good!” Astrid yells back and since he can’t hear pieces being cleaned up, he figures she’s telling the truth. He turns back to Fetters.
“What else are we supposed to do? Everyone wants a distraction. And also, I’m not planning anything. Laura is." He's staying far away from anything to do with that dinner. He'll show up and he figures that's being gracious enough already.
“Your second in command?” She sits down onto the windowsill, looking around. “This place is good. She’d be an idiot not to take it.”
Peter agrees with her, the house is old but recently renovated, just needs some touching up here and there. It has a comforting air to it, walls and floors all in soft lighter colors that make it seem sunny and warm.
“We don’t really follow the traditional pack structure, but yes. If anyone’s my second, it’s her.”
“I guess an Alpha like yourself has no need for an Enforcer, huh?”
Those are pretty much the exact words that he told Laura but nonetheless he doesn’t like the way Fetters says them. As if she’s judging him.
“Quite.”
They’re interrupted by the realtor coming back inside, still holding her phone.
“I’m terribly sorry about that, so many calls, everyone’s moving these days,” she laughs awkwardly. “Hardly anyone’s moving in! So you’d be making my day with this sale.” She glances at both of them. “And where’s Mrs. Hassi?”
“Here, I’m here,” Astrid rushes back in, holding a dainty little cup in her hands. “I’m afraid I’ve chipped this thing.”
“Oh that’s no big deal at all! Everything that’s left here is yours if you want it. If you don’t, I’ll have it cleared out.”
“Oh!” Astrid looks at the cup in her hands. “No, I love all this stuff. It looks so old-fashioned and vintage.”
Peter’s boredom is hitting record high levels.
“Does that mean this is the one?” It’s the fourth house they’ve seen now, the first two didn’t have big backyards, which she desperately wanted for her kid, the third didn’t have a big kitchen but this one seems to have everything she’s looking for.
“Yeah,” Astrid blinks a little, looking stunned. “I just walked around with my phone and sent my husband some pictures, he’s really into this too, so… This is it.” She swallows hard, eyes wide.
“Pretty big move,” Fetters says. “You’ll be closer to your mother too.”
“Closer?” Peter asks.
“She lives in Sacramento,” Astrid answers and starts pacing. “But this is good, I want to help you out here and Ben knows everything and is being so supportive but I am kind of bringing my kid into what is colloquially being referred to as the Murder Town of California-”
“None of the deaths have been declared murders,” the realtor insists, obviously desperate to make this sell.
“Well that one guy found in the woods was,” Peter corrects her and she glares daggers at him.
“-and what if things don’t work out, then we’ll have to move again and I don’t know-”
“This house will be yours,” Peter interrupts quickly, realizing there’s been a misunderstanding. Astrid stops mid-stride and gapes at him. “I’m not buying a house and then letting you live in it, I’m buying you a house and then whatever you decide to do with it is your decision. If you ever want to leave the-” he glances at the very human and oblivious realtor, “…family, then you’re free to do so but you don’t have to move.”
“Dude,” Astrid breaths out, reminding him of Stiles all of a sudden. “I don’t remember ever being this good of a friend to you. There’s got to be a catch.”
“I’m…” Peter sighs, figuring he might as well be completely honest here. “Lacking in friends, so to speak. And my p- family could use more friends. Before we found out about… this town’s history,” he really wishes they were having this conversation in private, censoring himself is becoming annoying, “I had plans for Beacon Hills. I still do. Even though those plans might be futile in the end.”
“Doesn’t that just sound lovely?” The realtor says while looking a little bewildered by this conversation. “Shall I set it all up, Mrs. Hassi?” The way she’s mispronouncing that name even after Astrid corrected her earlier is really starting to grate on him.
Astrid takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Yeah, alright. Let’s do this.”
“Will you call your mother now?” Fetters asks, interrupting the moment.
“Jesus,” Astrid groans. “I’ll call her when I’m safely far away back in Pittsburgh, okay?”
Peter pulls out his phone and texts Laura the big news.
You better be sure about this, she replies and well…
He kind of isn’t. But it isn't like they've got a lot of options here and Astrid's visit has already rewarded him with a lot of new information that he wouldn't have discovered otherwise.
He just hopes that this is a step in the right direction, towards having control over himself and his territory, to getting his family back on its throne.
Chris is contemplating his open gun cabinet when he hears the front door. He turns around just in time to see Peter coming into the garage from inside the house. He allows himself a moment to stare, to enjoy the sight. Peter's body is beginning to become more of a distraction the more time he spends around it. Especially during this whole healing process where he can't just tell the man to get on his hands and knees and fuck him like they both want him to.
“Packing already?” Peter asks, waving at the rifles Chris has picked out and placed next to a duffel bag. He frowns, coming down the stairs and walking around Chris’ car to take a better look. “How exactly are you going to get this through security?”
“We’re thinking of a road-trip actually. Going by car.”
“And if bad luck strikes and your car gets searched at the border?”
“I have people who owe me favors. They can get me through.”
Peter quirks an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “It’ll take two days at least to get there then.”
“It’s worth it if I can bring my own gear.”
“You haven’t told me much about what you’re expecting when you get there.”
“That’s because I don’t know much. Friendly non-humans are getting killed and Hayden doesn’t trust the people around him. That’s about it.” Chris searches the other man’s face and thinks he spies some frustration. “Worried?”
“It sounds like you’ll be gone longer than I thought.” Peter turns and leans back against the table, stares straight ahead. “Scent is very important to us, you know this. Yours might disappear entirely if you stay away from here long enough.”
“Is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?” He teases.
“You’ve kept me sane.”
He stands up straighter, surprised that Peter’s not going along with the teasing. He also doesn’t know how to react to that. Sane? As opposed to what?
“We haven’t tested distance yet,” Peter continues. “I don’t know how I’m going to react.”
“You’ll have Stiles.”
“You two are not interchangeable.” Peter side-eyes him.
“So, what? I’m supposed to stay here forever?”
“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” he sighs and makes an annoyed face at Chris. “I’m just asking you to keep me informed, alright? If I don’t hear from you for more than a day,” here he shrugs, “I might just have to come up there and check on you in person.”
His first reaction is to tell Peter he doesn’t appreciate being coddled or micromanaged but of course that’s not what this is.
“I promise to call every day,” he offers.
“Morning and night?” Peter gives him a sly look that Chris grins ruefully at.
“Don’t push it.”
“With everything going on, I was looking forward to some stability, that’s all. Add the fact that you’re going closer to Blake? Well, restless is an understatement to how I’m feeling.”
“I get it. But I hope you’re not always going to be like this when I travel.”
“Don’t consider clinginess an attractive trait in a partner?”
“Not really, no,” Chris smirks and continues packing away his guns, double-checking that nothing is loaded.
“You and Allison are joining us all for Thanksgiving, right?”
He sighs, “You sure that’s a good idea? With the whole-” he gestures vaguely between them, “-awkwardness around us and Stiles?”
“If I can manage a family breakfast, you can manage a pack dinner.”
“I’m sorry, a breakfast?”
Peter’s mouth quirks up into a smug grin. “Ah, didn’t I tell you? Noah let me make him breakfast after I slept over one night.”
That… that’s a pretty big step all of a sudden. Chris wonders how differently Noah would’ve reacted if it was him in his son’s bed instead.
“You’re making that weird face again,” Peter mutters, leaning in.
“What weird face?”
“The depressing odd man out face.”
“I’m not even sure what means.”
“It means that you’re coming, end of discussion.” Peter claps him on the back and turns to go. “Bring pie, with a bunch of werewolves around you can never have too much pie!”
“Why exactly am I being dragged along everywhere now?” Fetters asks, eyes taking in Deaton’s front yard.
“Because you know the most out of all of us,” Peter points out, letting his disgruntlement with that fact ring out loud and clear.
“Also,” Astrid cuts in, “you weren’t actually invited. You’re literally just following me around.”
Fetters seems entirely unbothered by this accusation, focused on studying the plants.
Deaton finally opens the door.
“How may I help you?” He asks, giving Peter a wary glance.
“Lots of dangerous stuff here, right out in the open,” Fetters says as a greeting as she turns around to meet him. The last time they interacted, Stiles and Lydia were the focus and no real time was given to detailed introductions. “Druid Alan Deaton, the man who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.” She has no interest in beating around the bush, it seems.
Peter can sense that a wave of fear washes over Deaton, but the man doesn’t let it show on his face.
“Is gardening against your secret rules as well?”
Fetters surprises them all by chuckling loudly, throwing her head back. “No, you’re fine. But I have taken note of it and if yellow wolfsbane were to surface anywhere around Beacon Hills, well… I’ll know who to call.”
Deaton looks at Peter, “Why are you here?”
Fetters is apparently in a chatty mood and answers for him and honestly Peter doesn’t mind. When it comes to people he doesn’t trust, he always prefers to observe first before engaging.
“Pretty hardcore Celtic stuff going on here. Could use your expertise on the matter.” She slides her hands into the pockets of her black slacks and at that moment Peter can see her as the FBI Agent she is; inquisitive but the kind of person to easily go under the radar during most of an investigation only to surprise you out of nowhere with her insights and assertiveness.
“This to do with the Nemeton again? Scott told me that you expelled the spirit from their minds at least.”
Astrid holds out the folder. “Could we come in?”
Obviously reluctant, Deaton accepts the folder, opens the door further and steps aside. “If you must.”
Peter isn’t even remotely surprised when Deaton turns out to be of no use whatsoever.
“I’ve heard stories but…” the man stares at the drawing with a deep frown, “I always thought they were just that. Stories.”
“Based on true events,” Fetters remarks calmly, walking around Deaton’s living room and running her fingers over things just like she did back at Astrid’s new house. Peter’s eyes narrow as he watches. He wonders if that’s just a habit or if she’s checking for something. Or adding something.
“I can’t imagine this working. Alphas are territorial…”
“Except it’s talking about a kingdom,” Peter points out. “Beacon County was once shared by a couple of packs.”
“But you all had your own territory,” Deaton says. “This would mean that the entire kingdom would be the territory of each Alpha and their pack.”
Peter tilts his head at that thought. “I didn’t see it that way.”
“He’s right, that’s how it went,” Fetters says, eyes on some of the trinkets on the shelves. “Which is why it always ended badly.”
“How so?” Deaton asks.
“One Alpha ends up being more power-hungry than the rest. Infighting and death follows.”
“Earned, stolen, inherited,” Deaton mutters to himself. “You’re obviously stolen.”
“Obviously,” Peter drawls evenly.
“Earned…”
“Do you think stories about True Alphas are just stories too?”
Deaton gives him a wary glance. “No. My family comes from a long line of Emissary Druids, we’re more knowledgeable about werewolf lore than others. True Alphas do happen but they’re rare, and to my knowledge the last one was around a hundred years ago.”
“Give or take,” Fetters agrees, studying the man intently now.
“Ah,” Peter breathes out. “And how soon did you start thinking that Scott might have the potential to become one?”
A heavy silence. Deaton’s avoiding his gaze while the other two raise their eyebrows at him.
“Scott, as in Stiles’ friend?” Astrid asks, pushing away from the wall she’d been leaning against.
“What makes you think that?” Fetters asks.
Peter gestures at Deaton to answer this one.
“He has a strong heart. I can easily see him as a force for good.” He catches Peter’s eye-roll and glares at him. “He also adjusted very quickly, too quickly. He’s stronger than he should be without an Alpha of his own, he overcame the kamina poison quicker than even you who was boosted by the Nemeton, need I go on?”
“Hold on.” Fetters holds up a hand. “Scott is without an Alpha? As in, he’s not in the Hale pack?” She looks at Peter expectantly.
“He’s more pack adjacent. Submitting doesn’t seem to come easily to him.”
“And how is his control?”
“He found his anchor extremely quick and hasn’t had much of a problem since,” Deaton says.
“…Something to keep an eye on,” Fetters says, giving Astrid a meaningful look.
“Right,” she says, frowning. “But for him to actually become one, there would have to be an incident. Something that triggers the change.”
“Wonder if the spirit knows that too,” Fetters says.
Peter feels uneasy at the thought. Because what better way to trigger Scott’s slowly growing Alpha instincts than to put one of his oldest and dearest “pack-members” in danger?
Somewhere between Tuesday and Wednesday Stiles senses a subtle shift in the air. Tuesday everyone’s as fine as they can be, diving back into studying, their collective hope for a brighter and less deadly future still going strong, everyone pretty focused on their own schoolwork and family stuff. And then on Wednesday it’s like something’s happened again.
Because Stiles feels like he’s acquired familiar werewolf bodyguards.
Cora insists on sitting next to him in every class. In every class. In AP Chem Mr. Langley, one of their new substitute teachers who is mostly just there to keep watch while they study for exams, tries very hard to get Cora to leave, but since she refuses to even acknowledge his existence and Stiles says he’s fine and she’s not bothering him, he gives up and goes back to his crossword. He doesn’t even go to get the principal, probably because their former principal who came back after Gerard’s disappearance is now running himself ragged, sitting in on classes and doing his best to keep the school-day rhythm somewhat functional.
So Cora gets away with it but refuses to answer him when he asks what gives.
“You almost died, remember?” She snaps at one point. “Let me have this.”
Except that can’t be it or she’d also be spending time with Lydia.
And then it gets even more ridiculous when Derek comes to pick her up and obviously tails Stiles home.
At that point, Stiles calls Peter.
“Beta Two and Three have just finished the daily surveillance, do I even want to know what’s going on?” He asks as soon as he hears Peter breathing in.
“…I don’t know, do you?”
That makes him pause and actually consider it. These past two days have been good for him, mentally. It’s been nice to just jump back into what his life should’ve been and ignoring the inevitability of the Nemeton at some point fucking everything up again. Is it stupid to want to continue like this? To basically take a vacation from all the supernatural craziness and dive back into the mundane?
And how long can someone like him be able to stand not being in the know?
“Depends, how serious is it?” He asks carefully.
“Honestly? I might just be paranoid,” Peter sighs. He sounds… tired.
Stiles wonders if it’s because of the house-shopping. Peter seems like the kind of person who’d hate any kind of shopping. Except maybe clothes, Stiles thinks as he remembers the expensive brands he spied on the labels of Peter’s clothing.
He decides to just ask, “Everything okay? You sound tired.”
Peter laughs a little, low and warm, making Stiles press the phone closer to his ear, desperate to get that in surround sound.
“It’s Fetters. She’s exhausting to be around.”
“Got any info out of her?”
“Some. Everything’s still a big question mark, though.”
And just like that, the matter is dropped. It’s surprisingly easy to not demand details, his curiosity doesn’t rear its head, for once he doesn’t want to know everything.
He doesn’t know how to feel about this change in himself.
Later that evening, while Stiles is taking a video game break from studying, he gets a call from Scott. Apparently his mom’s freaking out and is asking for help.
When Stiles gets over to their house, he can see why.
Melissa is surrounded by bowls and cutting boards, the stove has several pots and pans on it, the oven is working as well. Stiles takes a moment as he pauses in the kitchen doorway, exchanging wide-eyed glances with Scott.
“You know the dinner’s tomorrow, right?”
Melissa stabs her large knife into an unpeeled apple, making Stiles flinch.
“Of course I know that. But unlike Laura, I don’t have an in with my boss and I can’t get off work whenever I want.”
“Ooh,” Stiles drawls and then breathes through his teeth sympathetically. “Morning shift, I hope?”
She sighs and brushes hair off her face. “Yeah, but that means I need to get most things ready today.”
“But…” Stiles hesitates because Scott is giving him a warning look. “Isn’t Laura cooking too?”
“Don’t-” Melissa snaps and then shuts her eyes, holding her hands up. “Apparently my way of doing things is not the right way so we decided to do it separately.”
“Like you divided the workload or?”
“Like we’re getting two dinners at once,” Scott explains, looking very unsure about it.
“And you and the Sheriff will be eating mine and telling everyone how delicious it is,” Melissa says firmly, pointing the knife at him.
Stiles gulps. “Uh, sure. So what did you need help with again?”
“I need you two to hit the stores and find me a turkey.”
“You… don’t have a turkey yet?” Stiles asks, voice losing volume with every word as Melissa stares at him silently. “Never mind, you got it. We’ll get right on that!” He grabs at Scott’s arm and pulls him out of the house.
“I’ve never seen your mom this intense about cooking,” Stiles says as they walk down the steps.
“Yeah, I don’t know why Laura’s gotten under her skin like this,” Scott whispers, looking back at the house. “I think it might have something to do with what she told me recently.”
“What?”
“That she feels like she’s been neglecting me, you know, working all the time. And now with the whole werewolf thing…”
“Huh.”
They divide the stores in town between the two of them and then realize they only have one car.
“I guess I could drop you off in one, drive to another and then pick you up when I’m done?” His phone rings before Scott can voice his thoughts on that idea. Stiles squints in suspicion when he sees the name on his screen.
He picks up and starts looking around.
“Are you listening right now?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Peter replies smugly and then there’s a screech of tires as Peter’s car turns onto the street with a sharp curve before coming to a stop in front of Scott’s house.
Scott and him both gawk as the driver’s side window is lowered and Peter’s grin appears.
Stiles points a finger at him. “If you say get in loser, I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“…Is that a reference to something?”
“Cora showed you Twilight but she didn’t show you Mean Girls? Wow.”
“Uh, anyway,” Scott interjects. “I’ll take your car then?”
Stiles sighs and hands over the keys.
“Got nothing better to do than stalk me?” He asks Peter as he gets in the car.
“Fetters is with McCall, Astrid’s doing research, Chris is hyper-focused on his trip.” Peter sends him a smirk as he changes gears. “I’m all yours tonight.”
“And this has got nothing to do with you suddenly thinking I need a werewolf bodyguard at all times?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know.”
Stiles thumps his head back against the headrest and lets out a frustrated groan. “You’re right. Apparently, I need a vacation from danger vibes.”
“If anything serious comes up or if we get some answers, I’ll tell you.”
“Good,” he nods.
They find the turkey in the second store they go to.
Peter tells Stiles to wait a second by their cart before disappearing into another aisle, apparently in need of some olive oil.
Stiles has a staring contest with the frozen poultry. He thinks the turkey wins.
There’s people milling about and he occasionally has to move the cart to not be in anyone’s way. During one such shuffle, he hears a sharp intake of breath from his right and turns to look.
A man’s staring at him, eyes wide with shock. No, not shock. Fear?
It takes Stiles a moment to place him. Not until his eyes flick down as the guy drops his bag of chips and he sees the knuckle tattoos.
The guy he punched. The guy who got a friend to trash Stiles’ car in retaliation. The guy who got away while Stiles was chasing after them.
He doesn’t even know what to say (maybe, is your friend okay, I kind of lost my mind for a second back there), but doesn’t get time to figure it out because now the guy’s stumbling backwards, nudging people out of his way rudely enough to get a couple of Hey!-s.
“Dude-” Stiles straightens up and holds out a hand in warning because the guy’s backing up into a pyramid display of canned corn, but he’s too late and down he goes, taking several dozen cans with him. People are gasping and staring now. Someone is asking, Is that guy drunk?
Knuckle-tattoo pushes himself off the ground, looking embarrassed. He seems to have gotten over some of the fear because he points at Stiles and snaps, “I never touched you!” And then he adjusts his leather jacket and walks away.
Stiles is still gaping at whatever the fuck just happened when Peter appears at his side. He watches Peter put the oil into their cart, notices the oddly satisfied smirk on his face.
He suddenly has a theory.
Stiles points at the ruined display. “Did you have something to do with that?”
Peter tilts his head back in a way that so unnecessarily shows off his neck in all its glory and he smiles.
“…Perhaps.”
Stiles thinks back to the night of Lydia’s birthday, what a creep the guy was being and how ready he was to start a fight. Thinks back to that day he got the call from Blake and how this guy was petty enough to go after him and break the law over one punch.
Thinks about Peter finding him, threatening him, making sure he doesn’t try it again.
He’s been quiet long enough that Peter’s smile has faded and his eyes have narrowed as he studies Stiles, trying to figure him out.
Stiles grabs him by his jacket and pulls him in for a kiss. Peter’s surprised breath hits his cheek and he smiles against the man’s mouth before pulling back.
“Thanks.”
People are pointing at them now and there’s definitely some whispering. Peter can probably hear everything but there’s no reaction on his face. His gaze is fully locked onto Stiles and he thinks he sees affection there.
He realizes he’s kind of grinning like a loon and stops, clears his throat.
“Let’s go.”
Peter ends up helping out with more than just grocery shopping as Melissa gives them all tasks to do in the kitchen, whether it’s prepping the vegetables, whisking the eggs or just making sure whatever’s on the stove doesn’t burn.
And at the end of it all, she pulls Stiles to the side to say, “Your boyfriend’s pretty handy in the kitchen,” in a very dry tone that makes it clear she’s still not exactly happy about this relationship but the comment alone makes it clear she’s trying.
The word boyfriend makes Stiles’ brain go all wonky, though, and he ends up staring at Peter’s frame while the man stands outside, waiting for him to say his goodbyes.
Scott of course notices where all of his attention’s going so he shoves him out the door with a half-grimace and a quick, “Have fun.”
They get in the car and Stiles starts to feel a little flushed as his eyes keep straying to Peter’s arms, hands, neck and jaw.
“Am I taking you home?” Peter asks calmly, eyes on the road.
Stiles does not want to spend the night alone tonight, he wants so badly to have Peter on top of him again, to feel his weight, his mouth.
“No,” he says simply and gets a dirty grin as a reward. But his want goes beyond just this one man, so he asks, “Should I text Chris and ask him to come over too?”
“I’d like nothing better,” Peter’s grin softens into a smile and Stiles scrambles to pull out his phone.
Come hang out at Peter’s. Please.
He considered joking or saying something incredibly dirty like I’m dying to suck you off, but it doesn’t feel right with Chris. At least not yet. The man responds best to sincerity, Stiles thinks. So he hopes his simple plea is enough.
The text has incredibly bad timing.
Chris quickly sends back, Maybe later. He hopes Stiles doesn’t see it as dismissive or indifferent, but he can’t bring himself to give much more thought to what Peter and Stiles might be doing and why they want him to join when he’s sitting in the passenger’s seat of Stiles’ dad’s cruiser.
“Everything alright?” Noah asks as he parks the car.
“Yeah,” he answers, not giving any more details. He gets an odd side-eye but Noah doesn’t push.
It’s pretty late in the evening and right before a national holiday to boot, so most places are already closed. But Bo’s Diner still has its lights on.
When they walk in, Chris’ eyes fly over the clientele, clocking only familiar faces. But instead of a familiar waitress, there’s a young black man with a shaved head slouched over the counter, wearing a cook’s apron. He looks up at them with listless eyes.
“Hey, Vernon,” Noah says, walking up to him. “What got you to come out of the kitchen?”
The young man named Vernon straightens up to his full height and Chris blinks in surprise. The guy’s big. Tall and hefty, a little soft but with a strength so obvious that most people wouldn’t dare to mess with him.
“Mary and Susan both quit,” he shrugs. “Short-staffed.”
“Well that doesn’t sound good,” Noah sighs and then takes out his wallet. He pulls out a twenty dollar bill and slaps it on the counter. “I’ll have whatever’s easiest for you to make. And you can keep what’s left as a tip.”
“Burger and fries is pretty easy, to be honest,” Vernon smirks and picks up the bill. “But just fries are of course easier and way cheaper.”
Noah laughs a little, “That’s fine. Make it to go just in case, I’m on the night shift and might have to leave suddenly.”
“You got it, Sheriff.” Vernon puts the money away and then eyes Chris warily. “And you? What’ll it be?”
“He’s absolutely paying for his own, by the way,” Noah says quickly and heads on over to the two people waiting for them at the furthest booth.
Chris holds up a hand, “Nothing for me.”
McCall and Fetters are both digging into their burgers when he sits down. Fetters, especially, seems ravenous.
McCall wipes his mouth with a napkin and tells him, “Thanks for coming.”
“Noah said this would be a more… off the books kind of interview, so… I got curious.”
The man puts his half-eaten burger back on the plate and wipes off his fingers one by one.
“Well, Noah has vouched for you. I still think you're shady because your entire family is shady but, right now… we’re desperate for any information you might have.”
“About what?” Chris asks, glancing at Fetters who seems uninterested in this conversation, her eyes firmly on the burger she’s taking huge bites out of and then chewing slowly, methodically almost.
“A man fitting your father’s description has been spotted in Arizona. We’re wondering if that’s him, is he heading to the border or is he going east? Any secret hideaways, estates that are not on his name but that he's used before, any info here would help us out a lot.”
Chris shares a look with Noah, who shrugs at him as if to say you’re on your own here.
“A man fitting Gerard’s description? There’s probably thousands of those in any given state.”
“It’s the only lead we’ve got right now. Well that and the lake.”
“The lake?” Noah asks, leaning in.
“I’ve tried to get a search going but no one’s really interested in giving me the right permits for it,” he grumbles, sitting back and staring at Chris. “So? Any reason you could think of why he’d run to Arizona?”
Chris glances at Fetters once more. This time, while still chewing, her eyes meet his. He gets the sense she’s trying to say, go on.
“He does have some friends there. And also some friends working at the border. I can give you names and whatever phone numbers I have, but those can easily be dated.”
McCall raises his eyebrows. “That’s more than I expected.”
He listens attentively as Chris explains about several family connections, takes his phone out at one point to take notes. Meanwhile Fetters finishes her food and Vernon brings Noah his fries.
“This was actually helpful,” McCall remarks, sounding surprised, as they finish their meeting.
“I have no interest in helping my father… I never really did.”
The man looks him up and down curiously. “Hell, maybe you actually mean that.”
“I’m certain he does,” Noah says, giving McCall a stern look as Chris glances at him in surprise.
“There are clear signs of Chris distancing himself from his father’s business that go back almost a decade,” Fetters says then sucks at her greasy fingertips before dabbing them with a napkin. Her half-lidded gaze that he doesn’t know how to read meets his. “I never considered you a potential suspect because I don’t ignore the evidence.”
McCall takes in a deep angry breath and Chris gets the sense that this is an old argument between them.
“I didn’t ignore anything, I was covering all my bases,” he says but then slides out of the booth with a wave of his hand. “Sonja apparently has something personal to talk to you all about, so I’ll go fill up our tank and get some food for the road.” He reaches out a hand across the table to Noah. “It was good to see you again.”
Noah lets out a sardonic little laugh and although he shakes McCall’s hand, he just says, “Right.”
McCall’s jaw clenches as he forces a smile on his face and then leaves without another word, not even glancing in Chris’ direction.
“Hitting the road already?” Noah asks the remaining Agent, still slowly eating his fries, dipping each one deep into the ketchup.
“Following wherever the leads take us,” she shrugs. Her eyes are still on Chris. He feels like he’s being taken apart and categorized in her head. “About my personal matter…”
“Something to do with that tree, I assume,” Noah sighs.
Chris just stares back.
Her mouth slowly widens into a grin at his silence. “A person very dear to me is moving here, into a town under your protection.” She points at Chris, “Yours, as the resident hunter.” Then at Noah, “And yours as the Sheriff.” She sits back, head held high. “Both of you are also involved with Peter’s pack. The pack that Astrid’s joining.”
Chris nods slowly. “And?”
“And,” she stresses. “That means if anything happens to her, you best be sure that I’ll investigate to find out just who was responsible, whether it was because of their actions or inaction.”
“That’s what this is?” Noah asks, sounding pissed off. “Lady, my son is caught up in a world of crazy and for some reason I don’t see whatever group you’re in storming here to help out. Aren’t you guys supposed to be concerned about exposure or something? What if that thing takes control again, turns this whole town into one big haunted house. What then?”
She cocks her head, measuring him with her eyes. “That was another thing I wanted to talk about.” She crosses her arms and looks between the two of them. “You two are parents. You’re invested in their safety. I trust you to ask for outside help, unlike Peter who will be overprotective of his territory and unwilling to invite just anyone in.” She pulls out two pieces of paper from her pocket. She slides one towards Noah. “That one’s for you.”
Chris glances over at it. It’s a phone number.
“What’s this for?” Noah asks cautiously.
“If things get bad again, you call that. And make sure the first thing you say is, Sonja Fetters gave me this number for emergencies. That will make sure they listen to you.”
Chris looks back at the number, now realizing how big of a gesture it is. A direct way to contact the actual Coven.
But Noah scoffs, shaking his head tiredly. “How am I supposed to know what constitutes as an emergency for you people?”
“Trust your gut,” Fetters shrugs. “This town has always been a bit of a hotspot, a red flag, if you will. If you tell them you’re also from Beacon Hills, they’ll be extra interested in whatever you have to say.”
“And what if I just want help getting my son out of this… thing with the Nemeton?”
“They already know about that and they’re considering all options,” Fetters tells him and Chris raises his brows in surprise.
“There are… options? Plural?” Noah frowns, clutching the paper tight in his fingers.
“Not many. And some more extreme than others.”
“Extreme,” he repeats, glaring at her.
“Yes. So take care with that phone number. Only call if it’s an emergency.”
Chris’ phone buzzes in his pocket with another text and he takes it out to see what it is.
He’s hit with immediate regret as the picture that Peter sent him fills his screen. He fumbles to lock his screen and put his phone face-down on the table, covers his face with a groan.
“Problem?” Noah asks curiously.
He decides to be somewhat honest, “Peter being persistent.”
“Well,” Fetters drawls, amused. “Don’t let us keep you.” She slides another paper over to him. “That is my personal phone. Astrid and Peter also have it, but I figured I’d give it to you too, just in case those dumbasses are too proud to call me for help.”
“Good call,” Chris says, taking the chance to immediately enter the number into his phone, his body buzzing from the knowledge that the picture he only got a quick glimpse of is just a few taps away.
“Alright, boys,” she smirks as she slides out of the booth. “I have to do my day job but I will be keeping an eye out for any new information I could help you with.”
“Should I give you my number?” Noah asks.
“Already have it,” she shrugs and walks off. Chris spies her leaving a bill on the counter for Vernon.
“Peter’s waiting for you, huh?” Noah’s tone is all forced levity as he pops another ketchup-drenched fry into his mouth.
The obvious thing to do is just to say yeah and to leave. But Chris’ mind goes back to that picture and he freezes in place.
Noah freezes too as the silence continues.
“Oh god,” he sighs, realizing who else is waiting. “Fine, I’ll take you back to your place, Jesus.” But when Chris moves to leave, Noah continues. “But just… take it easy with him. He’s… He doesn’t know it, but he’s in way over his head here with you two.”
“I know that,” Chris insists. When he gets an incredulous look from Noah, he repeats, “I know that. I’m not proud of… wanting this as much as I do. And I’m starting to feel…” He looks away, chest feeling tight with anxiety all of a sudden. “Like I’m not good enough for him.”
Noah’s sigh feels as heavy as the weight on Chris’ shoulders.
“Because of your family? Your history?”
His eyes flick back over to Noah, caught off guard by the fact that the Sheriff is even willing to entertain this topic with him.
“You don’t even know half the things we’ve done.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Noah says wearily and drops the last fry he’s holding. He wipes his fingers. “But I’ve known you for over two years now.” He slaps his hand down onto Chris’ shoulder, amicable. “I do believe you’re a good man. Even if I don’t think you always make the right choices.” Obviously meaning Stiles there. He lets the hand slide off and stares at the plate in front of him. “I don’t think you’re not good, I just don’t think you’re right for him.” The words don’t even hit Chris as hard as they should, they just resonate with everything else that he’s been feeling. “But that…” Noah chuckles wryly. “That is not for me to say, that’s for Stiles to discover on his own.”
“He makes everything a bit… lighter,” he says, not really understanding his need to reveal that. But he hopes that Noah gets what he means. That it’s not just about physical attraction or sex, it’s more than that. “And I fell head first into this thing with Peter, and because he and Stiles have a connection too, all of this has been fast and intense.”
“Yeah, and you’re almost forty. Imagine how intense it must be for my son.”
He cringes with a self-deprecating smile because didn’t that just hit him right where it matters.
“But,” Noah sighs. “I do understand you a little bit more. Apparently, Scott knows a lot about you from talking with Allison. And when Melissa freaked out, he told her some things. Which she then shared with me.”
Chris doesn’t know how to feel about that. “My life, shared through the grapevine?”
“Pretty much,” Noah chuckles ruefully. “I get that you didn’t have a lot of choices in your life. That even your marriage…”
Chris looks away from the pity he sees in the other man’s eyes. It shouldn’t sting but it does.
“And now, finally… according to Allison at least, you’re both kind of… free.” Noah clears his throat, also uncomfortable now. “Look, I get it. My son’s a dumbass, but he’s fun to talk to, fun to be around. You never really know where the conversation will go with him.” Now he’s smiling fondly. “I love that kid so much which means I will always want what’s best for him. Always.”
“I get that,” Chris says because he does, Allison on his mind.
“I don’t think you’re what’s best for him overall. Neither of you. But… just maybe you’re what’s best for right now. I can’t deny that my son’s happy whenever Peter’s around, not when I saw it with my own eyes.”
Chris’ mind stills, his anxiety gets replaced with shock. “Does that mean you’ll stop threatening to shoot either of us?”
Noah draws his head back with a scoff, a move that’s so very like Stiles. “Never.”
Once Noah’s driven him back to his house, he grabs a quick shower before sitting into his car and pulling up the picture.
Stiles is laid out on what Chris assumes to be Peter’s bed, chest bare and jeans unzipped, waistband pulled low enough to give a little hint of something further than just hair. The bones of his hips are on display because his stomach’s sucked in, possibly from excitement due to Peter’s hand resting on his ribcage, fingers splayed wide, possessive with its grip.
And he’s smiling, sparkling brown eyes dark with lust meet the camera boldly, his hair messy and mouth red and swollen. The more Chris stares, the more details he notices.
It’s insane to go ahead with this. But.
Stiles so close to him, begging him to kiss him, Please, I want you to.
Stiles kissing him in plain sight of everyone they care about, including his dad, and then grinning, There’s more where that came from.
Stiles, sick and tired but still looking at Chris like he’s exactly what he needs right now.
And that damn couch at Lydia’s house. How hungry for his attention Stiles seemed. And the words, I wouldn’t mind helping you feel young again, so easily given, like they didn’t make Chris’ entire body flame up from the inside out.
The fantasy he had back in the kitchen, with Stiles draped over the counters, spread out beneath him and Peter, all theirs to touch and kiss and hold.
And then all of a sudden, his mind goes back in time to seventeen-year-old Stiles pushing him up against the wall with his broken hand, saying everything that Chris was thinking in his head, bringing it all out to the light.
It was easier for you to stick your head in the sand so you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences. You let them get away with it. You need to pay for your part.
How oddly seen he’d felt. Understood, almost.
He stares at the hand spread over Stiles’ ribcage, the fingers digging into the flesh. The placement, the firmness, it screams mine. But Peter sent this picture to Chris as enticement. So instead, it screams ours.
Best for right now, Noah said.
That’s starting to seem more and more acceptable the longer he thinks, stares.
Finally, already half-hard, he starts his car and heads on over to Peter’s. He’s had enough of getting stuck in his head about this. And since he’s heading out of the country soon, way too soon, this is probably the last chance he’ll get in weeks to find out what it’d be like, the three of them together and specifically, him and Stiles.
Peter answers the door naked.
Chris lets his eyes stray down and linger.
“Took you long enough,” the werewolf smirks, eyes narrowed and knowing. He reaches out and grabs Chris by his belt to pull him in, throwing the door closed and then pushing Chris up against it, slotting his naked body tightly into Chris’. “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up,” Peter says before kissing him, hungry and overpowering. It makes Chris’ body surge up, the firm heat of him leaving him desperate for more; friction, movement, anything to take this further.
Peter’s breathing is quickening just like his and he doesn’t waste time, hands already pulling at his belt, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders and down to the floor along with his jacket in one move. He pulls back and frowns at the bruises, touching his side gently.
“Hm, maybe this wasn’t exactly the best idea, you’re still healing.”
Chris is touched by this concern, he truly is, the fact that Peter’s upstairs brain manages to come through at the sight of his lingering injuries, but he’s also incredibly turned on now and misses the feeling of someone else coaxing an orgasm out of him, so he says, “It’s fine. Just nothing too intense.”
Peter tilts his head to the side, slowly grinding his hips against Chris’ but keeping his upper body leaned back as he searches his face. His lips quirk up into a grin as he leers. “Look at you, all worked up. Was it the picture? Gorgeous, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he says honestly, not even bothering to deny it.
Peter’s eyes dart to the side for a second before his grin widens and he ducks close to kiss Chris’ jaw, then the underside of it, lingering there with his open mouth, tongue dragging along Chris’ skin, torturously sensuous with its movements. Chris grabs onto his neck and waist, bucking up against him. And then he hears bare feet and looks up just as Stiles walks into the living room, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. He’s just in his boxer briefs, looking soft and sleepy and stunning. Literally, Chris feels stunned at the sight.
“Where did you go-” he says and then blinks and stares, mouth falling open. “Oh. You- You came.”
He rests his head against the door and runs his eyes all over every inch of skin bared to him right now. Peter never stops, now moving his hips sinuously against his, Chris feeling muscles flex under his hand.
“The picture kind of gave me no choice,” he teases and watches as Stiles’ skin reddens in places.
“Seriously?” Stiles asks, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was so sure it was a stupid idea as soon as Peter sent it, I felt ridiculous. Especially when you didn’t reply.”
At that, Peter pulls back, eyes glowing red, probably overloading on Chris’ scent, and he gives him this tight-lipped look that Chris understands as fix this. He even pushes off, taking a few steps back and gestures with his head for Chris to go on, fix it.
Stiles looks away as Chris crosses the room, seeming truly embarrassed. And yeah, Chris wants to fix that.
“Any brain functions I may have had in that moment got shut down the second I saw it. That’s why I didn’t reply,” he says, trying to go for a teasing tone.
Stiles looks at him from the corner of his eye, hand lowering from his neck as he stands up straighter.
“So… I made you go dumb?” He smirks a little.
“Real dumb,” Chris agrees and is now close enough to touch so he does, hands tentatively going to Stiles’ waist. Bare sleep-warm skin. He can feel the slight shudder that goes through Stiles. He wants to feel more of that, to have Stiles shuddering under him, to feel Stiles shudder around his cock. But…
And Stiles’ eyes are drawn to the but too, as he reaches out to brush the back of his fingers against Chris’ side.
“You’re still hurt,” he says, voice low as if admonishing him.
Chris wants to scoff at the both of them, tempting him and then reminding him that he has to take it easy.
He steps closer, eyeing the way Stiles’ lips part in surprise when their chests meet.
“I can’t do everything just yet,” he says, “which is good. Because I wanted to take this slow anyway.” And Chris means that, he does, but Stiles licks his lower lip while blinking up at him and Chris forgets what they were even talking about, leaning in for a kiss that’s very different from any other they’ve shared so far. It’s close to the one they had in his bed, when the early morning sunlight was hitting Stiles in all the right angles, it’s warm and kind of desperate, but this time their mouths open quick and wide and Stiles’ tongue sliding against his own feels filthy enough to have shivers run down his spine as his cock hardens fully.
“Slow,” Stiles murmurs against his mouth, while his hands go to Chris’ zipper. “Right, slow’s good, slow’s super,” he moans a little as Chris slides his hands lower and grips on tight to the flesh of his ass, fingers digging in. “I want to take care of you, please?” He gasps out.
Chris leans back, ending the kiss. “Take care of me?” His first reaction is to say no, because what does that even mean? It makes him think of Peter cooking for him, cuddling him, helping him sleep. It was great when his pain was at its peak but he’s better now, and he’s in no mood for pity.
Stiles doesn’t look embarrassed at all anymore as he pushes Chris’ waistband lower so that he can slide his hand under it, gripping onto the base of his cock. Chris’ breath hitches at the touch, his eyes close by themselves.
“I want to make you come,” Stiles explains and the words crash into Chris’ brain in a way that has him twitching in Stiles’ hand. “Can I, please?” He asks, eyes intense on Chris’ face as he starts to move his hand, giving Chris exactly what he’s looking for right now, friction, skin on skin. “Let me take care of you,” Stiles whispers and Chris grabs him by the neck to pull him into a kiss, to devour that sweet mouth that made those simple words sound like the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard.
“When I was nineteen,” Chris starts, voice firm, but then he stops and rubs at his brow, hiding his face. “Two of my dad’s friends coerced me into…” He waves his hand, obviously searching for the right words. “…Pleasuring them. Orally.” His face tightens up into a grimace.
That moment, that knowledge, gives Stiles the strength to not drop to his knees in front of Chris as soon as the man sits down on the bed. He feels desperate from how much he wants to suck him off but he knows that there’s a danger of Chris taking his past assault and finding some correlation with the current situation. So it’s better to just not even go there. Not until Chris no longer questions Stiles’ desire to be with him.
As Chris undresses fully, Stiles tears his eyes away from the incredible sight of his wiry body; dusky hair and flexing muscles and soft flesh he hasn’t gotten to see before like the insides of Chris’ thighs—to quirk an eyebrow at Peter, who’s just been quietly lurking in the background.
“You just gonna watch?”
“Something wrong with that?” Peter grins and leans back against the dresser and then just takes a hold of his dick, slowly fondling himself.
Stiles’ brain is still playing catch up, in full disbelief that he’s here, with them, everyone naked and- wait, no, Stiles looks down at his briefs and quickly discards them. Now they’re all naked.
Chris hums, low and aroused. Stiles’ eyes dart up to see the man leaning back on the mattress, heavy-lidded gaze taking in Stiles’ erection with a look that makes Stiles think he might really like what he sees.
It encourages him to continue, helps him act more confident. Because he knows he needs to seem sure and in control or Chris might back out or even worse, get drawn back to the past. He might be overthinking it, but he can’t help it, anxiety rearing its ugly head while he looks down at the spread of Chris’ thighs.
“How did you want to do this?” Chris asks, his voice such a different timbre from Peter’s that it startles Stiles out of his spiraling thoughts.
“Go further up and get comfortable,” Stiles says, flapping his hand at him.
Chris scooches on up, stacks three pillows and settles down, comfortable but mostly upright, obviously wanting to see what’s next.
Nerves try their best to get control of him as Stiles stares at the body on offer, loving every inch that he sees and for some reason so stuck on being afraid of having it all taken away because of him fucking up somehow.
Peter’s front meets his back as arms wind around his waist and a kiss is pressed onto his neck.
“He looks ready to burst, sweetheart. Why don’t you two get started,” Peter says and then puts his mouth to Stiles’ ear to whisper, “I’ll go find some more lube.”
That’s right, Stiles remembers, they used up the last of it earlier. And lube sounds good for a handjob, of course, but the fact that Peter felt the need to be all secretive about it makes him think he means for Stiles to use it in some other way. And oh, doesn’t Chris look just lovely, sitting back, legs resting wide open, dick hard and long against his abs.
The thought of riding him has Stiles holding back a whimper, anxiety replaced with eagerness and Peter can probably tell because he chuckles, pressing another kiss against his cheek before leaving the room.
Chris looks after him curiously but doesn’t question it. He looks back at Stiles.
“If you’ve changed your mind-”
And well, that won’t do. Stiles immediately moves onto the bed, climbing onto Chris’ lower thighs and resting his hands on Chris’ chest as he leans in for a kiss, keeping it open-mouthed and wet, intent on wiping out any hesitancy in the man’s mind.
“No, just… you all naked like this,” Stiles says, straightening up and wrapping his hand around the base, smiling when Chris’ thighs tense under him. “Made me dumb.”
Chris chuckles, breathing a little shaky. His blue eyes have lost their usual sharpness, gone darker, out of focus. And Stiles isn’t even doing much yet.
He decides to take that as a compliment and it makes him bolder. He wraps another hand around the head and squeezes a little as he starts the up and down motion, going off by his knowledge about his own body, and is rewarded by a moan so low and loud it makes the hairs on his arms stand up.
He bites down on his lower lip and goes a little faster, but still focusing on squeezes and caresses rather than actual pulling. Chris’ hips start to move a little under him, turned on and restless.
“You feel good in my hands,” Stiles says, honestly just speaking his mind and realizing a second later how it pretty much sounds like he’s trying to do dirty talk.
“Yeah?” Chris asks, watching his face. His hands go down to Stiles’ lower thighs, he draws blunt nails against Stiles’ skin, making him shiver.
Peter interrupts the moment by coming back in and throwing a tube next to Stiles’ knee.
“Where’d you find more?” Stiles asks, letting go of Chris so he can get one of his hands a little slicker, to hopefully make it feel even better for Chris.
“Office,” Peter says, standing there and staring at them both.
“You have lube in your office?” Chris asks, sounding bemused.
“Not that strange, considering what Stiles likes to do in there.”
Not even remotely embarrassed about that, Stiles cackles a little, before he wraps his freshly lubed up hand around Chris’ length and starts to jack him off again, but still going slow.
Chris grunts and his upper body surges up a little at the new sensation. He tenses up and falls back down with a grimace.
“Shit,” he groans.
And that’s not pleasure Stiles hears. He pulls his hand back, worried.
Peter’s on the bed in a flash and pressing his hand onto Chris’ side, black veins appearing on his arm.
Oh, right. Fuck.
“I’m fine,” Chris grunts, annoyed. “I can handle a bit of discomfort.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t-” Stiles starts to back off. Chris’ hands shoot out to grab him by the wrists.
“If you want to stop then we’ll stop, but if I say that I’m fine and that I can handle it then I need you two to trust me enough to take my word for it.”
Peter leans away and Stiles can see Chris’ face again. And well, he looks pissed.
Feeling a little cowed, Stiles slides an open palm along Chris’ length, hopping to appease. The man does immediately relax under him, expression softening.
Stiles hums thoughtfully and considers him. “I’ve got an idea.” He pushes himself onto his knees and reaches up to pull at Chris’ pillows. “Take two of these away.” Chris lifts his head so Stiles can do just that. When he rests back he’s now fully laying down. “I think you just need to be held down a little,” he teases and leans forward to place both of his hands on Chris’ chest. He remembers the lube a second too late and almost loses his balance when one of his palms slips a little.
Chris’ eyes sparkle with laughter as he stares up at him.
“As much as I like the view from down here, how are you going to take care of me like this?”
And god, the way he says take care of me, full of innuendo and sex. Those words have forever been changed in his mind and he knows he started it, but he didn’t even plan for that to sound as filthy as it did.
“Well…” He drags out the word playfully and then looks over his shoulder, sees Peter already sitting on his knees behind him, smirking as usual, the smug fucker. Stiles slides his knees a little lower so his back’s arched and Peter has an easy access to his ass. “Go on.” He barely gets the words out before there’s already a finger entering him, another one quickly following suit. Because Peter knows that he’s still a little loose and relaxed because Peter was just in him about an hour ago.
Stiles moans and goes down to his elbows, resting his head next to Chris’, hoping he sounds enticing and not annoying since every sound he makes will now go directly into Chris’ ear.
He feels Chris lift his head a little, probably to see what the hell’s going on and then there’s a sharp intake of breath.
“We said slow, Stiles,” Chris says, hands gripping Stiles by his thighs.
“I’ll definitely be going slow, you’re longer than Peter is,” he quips and Chris’ hands tighten. Thanks to Peter he knows how much he loves hands gripping him tightly in his softest, most vulnerable places, so he’s not even surprised by his own reaction—dick bobbing excitedly in the air. Stiles is keeping their lower halves apart on purpose right now, not wanting either of them to come too soon.
“Are you really sure about this?” Chris asks.
A third finger, stretching him, opening him up. He feels wild from it all and impulsively sinks his teeth into Chris’ shoulder, for a second so overwhelmed that the wires in his brain get crossed and he feels more animal than human. When he comes back to he releases Chris’ flesh with a quick, “Sorry,” and is relieved to see no real harm done to the man’s skin.
“Didn’t mind it,” Chris mutters and he sounds gone too, a kind of growl to his voice that Stiles has never heard before. It makes him push himself up so he can look down at him as he starts to move back against Peter’s fingers, quite literally fucking himself on them.
“I want this so fucking bad and you’re going away for god knows how long-”
“Just a couple of weeks.”
“-and who knows when we’ll get the chance again. Come on, there are no downsides here,” Stiles pleads and is happy to see from Chris’ expression that the man’s obviously caving.
“Okay,” Chris sighs and then breathes in deep, hands sliding up to clutch at Stiles’ hips. “Okay.”
Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter, who is calmly and silently observing the two of them while fucking Stiles with his fingers and he almost looks bored except his eyes are red, giving away how much he’s enjoying this.
“Get him in me,” Stiles grins at him, using the familiar words on purpose.
Peter’s movements freeze for a second before the man chuckles and pulls out. A moment later Stiles can feel a blunt head being tapped against him, can feel Chris tensing up in expectation. Peter grabs him by the hip, his hand covering Chris’, and he pulls him back, holding Chris in place as Stiles sinks down.
His breath shudders out of him at the familiar burn, the stretch of it not painful at all, either because he’s getting used to it or because Chris just isn’t as thick as Peter is. But as he continues sinking, he whimpers as Chris’ dick just keeps going. He has to go up and down a few times, to get used to the burn before he tries to take it all in.
Chris’ hands feel hard like stone on his flesh, the man so tense it has to be uncomfortable for him, but when Stiles glances at his face, all he sees is slack-jawed pleasure.
“Stiles,” Chris squeezes out, voice higher than Stiles has ever heard it.
As a reply, he relaxes and rests down fully, taking Chris inside himself to the hilt. Chris groans, almost convulsing underneath him.
Stiles pushes down on his chest a little, “Easy.”
“You feel incredible,” Chris replies, looking down in wonder.
If things weren’t overwhelming enough, Peter crowds in behind him so he can reach out and place a hand on Chris’ side, draining his pain again.
Some of the tension in Chris’ body seeps away. He pants from the relief of it. Or maybe from the way Stiles keeps clenching around him.
“You’re so deep,” he says, in awe. Once again, it’s not until after he’s said the thing that he realizes how porn-worthy his words are. But honestly, some dirty talk is just spitting out straight-up facts. Chris is so deep that it almost aches, but not enough to scare him. Just enough to make it new and exciting and completely world-shattering.
Peter’s soft kisses along his neck and shoulders pull Stiles out of his head and he starts to move. Of all the things they’ve done, he’s never ridden Peter like this before, so it’s a bit awkward at first, it takes him a while to find the right angle, the right position. In the end he’s gathered his legs under him so he can crouch, helping him give a little bounce to his movements as well as sliding Chris right along his sweet spot, getting him closer and closer with each time he sinks down again.
His thighs are straining, starting to feel like they’re getting close to cramping when Chris finally comes. Until this moment, he’s been letting out these soft grunts almost every time Stiles’ skin smacks against his, every time he hits deep. His hands have been firmly in place on Stiles’ hips, one of them covered by Peter’s as the werewolf is still there, behind Stiles, encouraging him with soft touches and kisses.
But now he’s bucking up, hands going wild and grabbing Stiles’ thighs, then his knees, his ankles, just digging into whatever flesh he finds. He throws his head back and his moan sounds like it’s punched out of him as he tugs Stiles forward, until he’s on his knees again and hovering over him. Chris surges up to kiss him feverishly, arms coming around his waist to hold him in place as he thrusts up hard once, twice and then keeps his hips up, full-blown shivers taking over his body, whimpering into Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles has honestly never felt more powerful than right now, feeling and hearing Chris lose control like that.
Peter’s half out of his mind from… he doesn’t even know what. Lust? Love? Power?
Preparing Stiles for Chris, helping him find his rhythm, draining Chris’ pain so that the man can enjoy this more, he feels like an instigator for all this, which is where the power aspect comes in. But he didn’t say anything, really, just let the two get here on their own. Stiles including him, asking him to take part, that made his heart feel full, of all the things to feel during an encounter like this; he watched his two partners have desperate and incredibly hot sex and his mind got all sappy over it. So he imagines that would be where the love comes in, even if he’s not sure that’s what he feels.
And lust? Well… How the fuck could that not be a factor considering the show he just got.
He slides his hands along both of their sides, taking just a little bit more pain from Chris. He eases Stiles up from Chris’ softening length, ears picking up Stiles’ soft hiss of discomfort and decides to try something new. He pushes two of his fingers into Stiles, who whimpers endearingly but at the same time arches his back in a needy way that would make it clear if Peter couldn’t already tell that Stiles hasn’t come yet. That more than anything else shows exactly how focused Stiles was on making it feel great for Chris. He concentrates back on what his fingers are doing and starts to drain any pain Stiles might have there. He can feel the muscle relaxing around him, sees Stiles’ back lose its arch as Peter’s “magic touch” leaves him all soft and loose.
The sound of lips on lips, slow and wet.
“That was amazing,” Stiles whispers, so sweetly sincere.
“You were amazing,” Chris responds with.
If anything, this experience should give Stiles another very needed boost to his ego.
“But you haven’t come yet,” Chris notices.
“Lucky that there’s someone else here who could do something about that,” Stiles says, a little louder and more pointed.
“Talking about little old me?” Peter asks and doesn’t stop draining as he turns his fingers and goes deeper to softly nudge against Stiles’ prostate.
“Fuck yes,” Stiles whines and pushes himself back up on his hands, arching his back and moving his hips, so needy and desperate that Peter almost can’t take it.
Chris finally gets where this is going and asks, “You sure? You’re going to be sore as hell tomorrow.”
Stiles chuckles shakily, “I’m always sore after a night with Peter. And I like it.”
That shuts Chris right up.
Peter deems Stiles as ready as he’ll ever be and pulls back.
“Do you want to change it up a little?” He asks, meaning their positions.
Stiles surprises them both by leaning back over to kiss Chris and ask, “Would this be okay? You holding me and kissing me while Peter rails me until I go temporarily blind?”
“Rails,” Peter repeats with a chuckle.
Stiles huffs and shoots him a glare over his shoulder, “I don’t even mean to talk dirty,” then he grins impishly, “it just comes naturally to me, I guess.”
Chris laughs, sounding relaxed and happy, like he usually does after a nice orgasm. Hearing that, Peter smiles, feeling like this whole endeavor has been one big success. Except Stiles still needs his reward. And Peter’s very eager to give it to him.
He pulls Stiles’ hips a little closer and pushes himself in, going slow but without pausing.
Stiles moans while breathing in, shivering a little in Chris’ arms.
Chris slides his hands up and down Stiles’ back, then slides one into his hair and grips him there, guides him back to his mouth for a kiss.
The sight of all of this just urges Peter on and he doesn’t hesitate to start snapping his hips exactly how Stiles likes it, making him moan his soft little noises right into Chris’ mouth. At either Stiles’ sounds or the way his body’s jerking from Peter’s sharp movements or maybe both, Chris’ hands grow more possessive again, fingers splayed wide as he digs into Stiles’ spine or his side or even sliding down to pull at his ass cheeks, spreading him open for Peter.
All the while they never stop kissing, even when Stiles can do no more than just keep his open mouth in reach, Chris keeps kissing him, his upper lip, lower, sliding his tongue right in—Peter’s watching it all as he speeds up a little, keeping his thrusts shorter so Stiles gets more friction exactly where it matters and it pays off big time when without anyone’s hand going anywhere near Stiles’ cock, he starts bucking up between them, finally pulling his mouth away from Chris so that he can gasp for air as he pushes his hips back against Peter’s, throwing his arm behind him so he can grab Peter’s hip and keep him still.
Peter can’t see it but he can smell Stiles’ come dripping out of him as he grinds on him.
He slides an arm around Stiles’ chest, another around his waist and holds him close as he flexes his hips and moves his cock inside him. Stiles’ scent, so satisfied and overwhelmed, is irresistible and he buries his nose into his neck, laves his skin with his tongue, all the while still keeping the slow grind going because Stiles is still coming, so caught up in it now that he’s silent.
“Fuck, you’re unbelievable,” Chris breathes out, sounding completely stunned.
And maybe he finally gets it now. How they’re both incredibly lucky to have someone like Stiles so eager to be with them, to pay any attention to them whatsoever. To turn him away, to say no, would just be foolish.
Finally, Stiles starts to drag in deep breaths, body going still.
“Holy shit,” he laughs weakly. “I think that was the most intense one yet.”
Peter lets him go and Stiles slumps onto Chris, giving the man excited little kisses.
“I can’t believe that just happened, how did that manage to top any fantasy I ever had of the three of us?” He laughs again and then lets out a soft oof, when Peter moves inside him. “I don’t think I can take any more, though,” he says, sounding regretful.
“That’s alright,” he assures, stroking Stiles’ back as he pulls out. “I’m so close a breeze could do it.”
“I can blow on it?” Stiles throws him a cheeky grin.
“As fun as that sounds, I already have an idea. Mind making some room?”
Stiles blinks in confusion before he looks down at Chris, whose body he’s almost completely covering with his own and pushes off to lay beside him.
Chris looks just as blown away as he sounded. Peter doubts the man’s brain is anywhere near to fully functional.
But his eyes zero in on the specks of come on Chris’ stomach, and he starts stroking himself fast, focusing on his head and gripping it tight. Just like he guessed, it doesn’t take long at all as he lets his senses overtake him, their three intermingling scents hitting him so hard that he almost roars as he comes, mixing his own strongest scent with Stiles’ right there on Chris’ skin.
Chris watches, eyes crinkling in the corners with amusement, as Peter mixes it all together with his hand, creating a new scent that he considers his new favorite perfume. He’d like nothing better if Chris and Stiles always smelled of it. Of satisfaction and happiness, of Peter and each other.
“You so need to change your sheets again,” Stiles interrupts his little moment.
“And I so need a shower,” Chris says dryly, looking down at his stomach in dismay.
“Want to share one?” Stiles asks eagerly, wiggling his eyebrows.
Chris snorts but then glances at Peter.
“You two go on, I’ll deal with the sheets,” he smirks at them both.
He watches as neither of them can keep their hands off each other as they get off the bed, hears them kissing each other breathless before they even enter the bathroom. Yes, this was absolutely a success.
As he changes the sheets, though, he pauses when he picks up the dirty ones, about to throw them in the hamper.
The thought of Chris leaving now, when the three of them have finally achieved some peace together, it makes him irrationally angry. Because he wants to keep this, the wolf in him is roaring out mine and wants to keep this.
But holding his partners back is definitely not the way to keep this, he thinks ruefully.
Chris will come back, he tells the irrational part of his brain. And this will continue.
And the sheets will turn at some point, become rank.
But until they do… might as well leave them as they are.
Peter bunches them up under his nose and takes a deep breath, a sense of calm washing over him, his wolf specifically.
Yeah, he’ll wash them later.
The next day, Stiles is on cloud nine.
He’s half-certain that last night just didn’t happen and he dreamt it all.
Chris looking at him like he hung the moon, his touches so rough and aggressive in a way that Stiles didn’t expect but was incredibly turned on by. And Peter, calm and affectionate, especially afterward when they were all clean and cuddled up in fresh sheets, he kept touching Stiles’ face and pressing kisses into his skin, everywhere he could reach. Chris was behind him, fingers trailing over Stiles’ skin, and occasionally Chris’ and Peter’s hands would meet and intertwine fingers and Stiles is in absolute disbelief that something that stupidly romantic actually happened to him. For the first time, he truly felt like he was in this trio. That they are a trio now.
Sadly, he woke up alone, both Peter and Chris apparently having busy mornings ahead and leaving him to get his beauty sleep. At least they made him some breakfast before they left.
Scott drove over his car like Stiles asked him to, so he’s also not stuck there or forced to do the walk of shame (which wouldn’t even be of shame anyway, because he’s on fucking cloud nine!).
After he gets home, he realizes pretty early on in the day that he can’t focus on any reading or gaming. His dad’s sleeping after working the night shift, so Stiles stays downstairs, watching TV with the volume as low as possible while still keeping all of the dialogue audible.
Then Lydia arrives, looking incredibly done with everything.
“What’s up?” Stiles asks after he watches her rush by him and fling herself onto his couch face-first.
“My mom’s coming to the dinner,” she sighs.
“Oh. That’s the reason for all this…?” Stiles waves a hand over her. “Drama?”
She sits up in a huff and glares daggers at him. “She’s not exactly my favorite person right now.”
He could tell that by how terse Lydia was with Natalie after finding out her mother knew something suspiciously supernatural was going on since the beginning. And Stiles thinks he gets why.
“You hate that she kept this from you?”
She shakes her head, “No, it’s not that. Like I get why she didn’t just randomly bring it up, she didn’t even believe in it. But after I started acting crazy, that’s when she should’ve asked, shown interest, done something to make me not feel so alone anymore!”
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees quietly. “Not to be a dick or anything but can you whisper-yell about your mom, please? Dad’s sleeping.”
“Oh, sorry, sure,” she frowns, looking embarrassed.
“But I hear you,” he stresses and sits down next to her, pressing their shoulders together. “She absolutely should’ve been there for you.”
Lydia nods and they sit in silence for a moment, Stiles’ eyes straying back to the TV.
Then he feels Lydia’s stare and he glances at her, “What?”
“You’re kind of glowing,” Lydia squints at him.
“Glowing?” Stiles snorts. “What, do you think I’m pregnant or something?” A most dreadful thought occurs to him. “Wait, do you think magic could do that?” His face goes slack with horror.
Lydia is giving him the familiar you’re an idiot face. “No, I’m sure we would’ve heard about that by now.”
“God, I hope so.”
“Anyway, you have that afterglow going on.”
“Are you asking me if I had absolutely amazing off-the-charts sex? Because I did.”
She rolls her eyes with a smile, “Peter’s that good, huh?”
“Well… yes… but also it wasn’t just him last night.” He gives her a moment for the truth to dawn on her. Then grins, wide and proud as her eyes widen in shock.
“You actually did it, I’m impressed,” she says, lifting her chin with an air of importance.
“Does that mean you’ll stop with the weird jumps between being supportive and judging me for my choices?”
She twists her mouth in dismay, sighs.
“Fine, I’ll stop doing that. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you. You are, right? Happy?”
Stiles smiles under her scrutiny.
“Yeah. I am.”
And he truly means it.
All the families arrive separately to Laura’s house at around six pm. Stiles gets the honors of holding the two pies his dad felt the need to buy (”Dad, what, we’re having two dinners and you thought we needed more!?” “You can never have enough dessert. Trust me, kid.”) while his dad hugs both Laura and Melissa, thanking them for arranging everything. Scott’s obviously already there, having been in charge of transporting his mom’s cooking to Laura’s house. Lydia and Natalie aren’t far behind, arriving about a minute later. And the rest of the Hales are all milling about the living room, Cora and Derek playing something in split-screen co-op and Peter watching it all curiously from a nearby armchair.
When Stiles walks in, though, Peter gets up to give him a kiss hello. Stiles gives him a second smooch before the man can back away, grinning happily when Peter squeezes his waist.
“How about we keep the PDA at family gatherings to a minimum?” Noah grumbles while Melissa pointedly doesn’t look their way at all.
“That’s exactly what we’re doing, dad,” Stiles tells him. “Otherwise I’d be climbing my boyfriend like a tree.”
“Oh god.”
“He’s pretty strong, you know, can hold my weight-”
“Stop talking.”
Stiles shares a smirk with Peter at his dad’s distress.
He goes to put the pies in the fridge but then gawks at the full to bursting shelves in it.
“Dad, I think they have enough dessert.”
Even Noah, when he sees the amount of pie and cake and is that a strudel—admits that maybe his pies are unnecessary.
“Don’t worry about it, Sheriff,” Laura laughs at their shock. “All the food we end up not touching I’m driving over to the soup kitchen later tonight.”
“That’s nice of you,” Noah says and then looks at the pies still in Stiles’ hands. “Maybe we should take them back to our place and do the same later.”
Stiles throws his head back with a sigh but starts heading to the car all the same. His dad stops him at the door, giving him his keys.
“Oh, I’m doing it?”
“Of course, I’m starving,” Noah smiles and claps him on the shoulder, leaving Stiles to gawk after him.
“I’ll help you out-” Peter appears at his side to offer and suddenly his dad’s doing a 180 and walking out the door, grabbing the keys as he goes.
“Let’s go, Stiles.”
Stiles shows Peter his annoyance with a grimace and then leans in for another kiss.
“Be back soon.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m a man of principles, Stiles.”
“Say whatever you want, I’ll still be annoyed with you.”
“I just didn’t want my car or my home to be desecrated by that man!”
“Desecrated!? …Wait, was I desecrated?”
“I regret everything about this conversation, wipe that grin off your face.”
There’s a lot of noise going on when Chris and Allison arrive, fifteen minutes late. The video game on the TV, Laura barking orders at Peter (”No, not that silverware, the other one!” “Why the fuck do you have five sets of silverware?”), Melissa and Natalie drinking wine and laughing about something and Scott occasionally yelling from where he’s helping set up the dining table (”I don’t think all of the salads are going to fit, mom!”). It’s lively and warm and Chris is a little blown away by it.
“Boy am I glad we decided to not bring anything,” Allison whispers to him at the sight of the dining table, every inch of it covered in bowls and plates of meat and salads and sauces and mashed potatoes and boiled potatoes and baked potatoes…
“That’s a lot of potato,” Chris remarks dryly.
“Hey guys!” Laura shouts from the kitchen area and then flaps her hands towards the dining table. “Pick your seats, we’re eating as soon as the Stilinskis get back!”
Before Chris can even look at any of the chairs, there are hands on his hips leading him towards a specific one.
“I’m sitting at the head of the table and you and Stiles are sitting next to me,” Peter tells him. “Can’t imagine getting through this evening otherwise.”
Noah will most likely sit next to Stiles then, so he’ll be faced with both of them. Chris’ mind is attacked by images from last night, wildly fucking up into Stiles, not caring about the pain that spiked through his ribs with every sharp movement, Stiles’ face slack from pleasure as Peter’s fervent thrusts pushed him over the edge. The sounds, god, the sounds...
It’s going to be extremely hard for him to look Noah in the eye tonight.
He decides to stop taunting his dad with the PDA so he doesn’t kiss Peter when they get back and gives Chris just a shoulder pat as he walks by him. He doesn’t miss the way Chris’ eyes go dark and stay on him for a while. He also doesn’t miss the way his dad and Chris don’t even greet each other.
Well, awkwardness was bound to happen.
Laura’s there, staring at an empty stove as Stiles washes his hands. He pauses while drying because Laura seems off. Just staring. At the stove. That has nothing on it.
“Everything alright?”
Laura jumps at the sound of his voice, which is even more alarming.
“Oh, you’re back!” She grins.
Stiles can’t help but think her cheerful demeanor is forced. “Yeah. You okay?”
Her grin falters and she looks back at the stove. Stiles squints at it too, wondering if he’s missing something now. Is there a stain or something that she’s worried about cleaning?
“I’m good, I’m good,” she says, sounding… sad.
Stiles looks around helplessly, spies all the Hales looking their way, all three of them frowning but no one deciding to come and help him out. Which, fine, Stiles can figure something out here. What would be a pack thing to do when you want to offer some comfort? He remembers Cora snuggling up to Peter in Lydia’s bedroom. Him wanting Peter’s touch when he was close to an anxiety attack. So maybe…
He sidles up to Laura cautiously and wraps an arm around her shoulders, hugging her a little.
She blinks at him before giving him a measuring look.
“Tactile, huh? That’s a good quality to have in a human mascot.”
Stiles frowns at her. “…Human mascot?”
Very seriously, she reaches up to gently grab his chin as she says, “Our very own…” She leans in closer. “Squishy.” She squishes his face.
With his mouth squished open, he mumbles at her, “Okay, you’ve actually lost it.”
Laura releases his face and kisses his cheek.
“Thanks, I feel a bit better.”
But her smile doesn’t really reach her eyes.
Peter’s the one here who has known Laura the longest, who was there when in her early twenties she started showing off her cooking skills during the holidays, coming back home for every big pack reunion, loving her family and eager to show them just how much.
He imagines this is probably the first big holiday meal she’s made since the fire.
He explains as much when Chris asks what’s going on.
“Did you attend all these big holiday gatherings?” Chris asks, surprising him enough to draw his eyes away from Laura’s tense shoulders.
“God no. And whenever I did show up it was only long enough to make an appearance and catch the latest family gossip.”
Chris sits back in his chair, studying him. “Do you think about them? During days like this?”
“Of course I do.” Peter frowns as he stares ahead. “But you forget that I haven’t had many days like this.”
Chris’ hand creeps into his and he clutches it tight.
“You’re right, I did forget,” he admits, Peter’s nose picking up his shame.
Stiles and Noah finally take their seats too and everyone else follows, Melissa and Laura staying up to have a quiet conversation off to the side.
Stiles notices their hands but doesn’t comment on it, instead leaning in to ask, “What’s going on over there?”
Peter pays closer attention to Laura and Melissa for a moment, then turns back to Stiles.
“Laura’s apologizing for some reason. Apparently there was a misunderstanding?”
“Phew,” Stiles lets out and then slaps the back of his hand against his dad’s chest. “Dad, remember, green bowls and plates are ours.”
“Why are we cut off from Laura’s food again?” Noah asks, eyes on the perfectly roasted turkey.
“I don’t know, for Melissa’s honor? Just do it, man.”
The conversation doesn’t exactly flow since there’s a lot of tension going on, his dad doing his best to avoid talking to Peter or Chris, Natalie giving nervous glances towards Peter whenever he talks (which makes him wonder if someone’s spilled the beans and told her who was responsible for the big attack in the woods), Allison and Scott staying close but quiet (probably already missing each other, the lovesick idiots) and Lydia interrupting her mom’s attempts at speaking at every turn with some scathing remark or another.
But there’s no awkward silence either. Melissa, Laura and surprisingly Noah are the ones to lead most of the time, talking about everyone’s day jobs and how it’s like to have two of the Hales at the Sheriff’s station, how Melissa chooses to focus on the positives like Scott’s inability to get sick or him no longer having asthma, Laura’s crazy restaurant stories that make everyone chuckle, Melissa’s insane hospital stories that have people gawking in horror, Noah’s arrest stories that have a few of them, including Stiles, facepalming in disbelief at how stupid some people can be.
It’s actually really nice, like a big family gathering where no, everyone doesn’t get along super well but they’re all connected and they showed up and they’re all trying.
Stiles spies almost everyone occasionally smiling softly, enjoying the moment, even Lydia and Cora. Chris’ moment happens when Allison starts talking about their plans for the trip, the places she wants to stop by on the way and how excited she is to finally meet Hayden, because the guy’s starting to feel like a fun uncle at this point.
But Peter keeps on his mask of boredom, even though Stiles has an inkling that he’s enjoying this too. He has to, considering he’s an Alpha werewolf who is surrounded by his pack and everyone’s safe and relatively happy.
Except, he might be a little wrong on that account.
It’s an incredibly random moment; Scott’s talking about lacrosse of all things, how he misses it a little right now with their team still in disarray and Noah’s badmouthing Finstock, saying that the guy should still keep up with the training, even if they can’t compete, that he should include the girls too to get full teams for practice (which honestly isn’t a bad idea, Stiles thinks).
Laura’s shaky intake of breath is barely heard at first through the conversation and the clatter of silverware and the pass me the green beans, please. Stiles wouldn’t have noticed it either if Peter’s head hadn’t snapped up as quick as it did. Stiles follows the line of his eyes to the opposite end of the table and grows still at the sight of Laura’s trembling shoulders and her face hidden in her hands.
Melissa’s sitting right next to her so she reacts first.
“Laura, honey, what’s wrong?” She asks gently and puts a hand on her shoulder.
Laura straightens up quickly, breathing out slow, cheeks tear-streaked. She’s shaking a little as she tries to smile.
“I’m so embarrassed, I’m sorry, I’m fine,” she says but her face crumples and a sob escapes. “Shit, okay, I need a minute, sorry.” She stands up in a rush and walks off towards the hallway leading to the rest of the house. Stiles thinks she’s going to her bedroom but then they hear the sound of the sliding door open and close—she’s gone to the backyard.
An awkward moment of silence reigns over them as they all look around, not knowing what to do.
Peter’s sigh breaks it as he stands up and follows her.
He’s never been one for comforting words or feel-good speeches so he doesn’t even try.
He does the only thing he can do, offer his presence as her Alpha, and his touch. She’s sitting on the low steps, legs stretching forward, hugging herself as she cries. He wraps an arm around her shaking form, frowning at the irregularity of her breathing. She sounds like she’s close to an actual attack of some sort.
“I totally ruined the mood,” she says between sobs, voice tight with pain. He can smell her grief, she’s soaked in it tonight, more so than ever before.
“I mean, the mood was pretty lackluster to begin with,” he says.
She sniffs, wipes her nose and quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Wasn’t enjoying yourself at all, huh?”
“You know that these kinds of gatherings were never my thing.”
Laura nods, looking down at her knees.
“You never want to talk about them.”
Peter grits his teeth, uncomfortable already.
“Why should I want to?”
She scoffs wetly, wiping at her nose and face, tears finally stopping.
“To remember them? To not act like they didn’t exist?”
“You think I don’t remember them?” Peter asks, now starting to feel a little angry at her ignoring the obvious fact that he was the one out of all the remaining Hales, whose grief is the freshest, who has had the least amount of time to deal with the loss of his family, his sister.
“I don’t know,” she says, sounding small and young.
Peter takes his arm away, annoyed with her.
“I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, that doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”
“I know,” she sighs, sounding disappointed. Whether with herself or Peter, he can’t tell.
“Talking about them just makes me angry, Laura. No one seems to like me when I’m angry,” he tells her, staring ahead.
She huffs a laugh, brushing some more tears out of her eyes.
“I just miss my mom. Remember how she used to command a whole room full of werewolves to be quiet and say their thanks? How she carved the turkey and gave the first pieces to her kids, always?”
He feels like snarling at her, he remembers but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t enjoy feeling like his chest’s being ripped open all over again, thinking about Talia letting him escape the gatherings early because she knew him and understood him, his need to be alone at times, and how she’d usually follow up with a phone call or even an actual visit, bringing alcohol when he was older that was laced with the correct combination of herbs for them to achieve a drunken state but not be completely inebriated, he doesn’t want to think about that because then he also has to think about how he’ll never get to experience that ever again, because she’s gone, they’re all gone and they were taken by a madwoman who he’s already killed so he can’t even seek out release for this overflowing need for vengeance in him—
“Reminisce with Derek,” he snaps at her and stands up.
“Peter,” she tries to say something, pleading with him but his skin feels all wrong and his teeth feel too blunt, so he walks away from her.
“Going for a run,” he growls out low and reverberating just before he turns into a wolf.
“Peter left,” Derek says suddenly, causing Stiles to freeze while gathering up the dishes. They’d decided to switch on over to the dessert spread, since everyone was pretty full anyway and it’d give time for Laura to gather herself. Melissa and Chris are handling the coffee side of things while Scott and Cora are discussing what to bring to the table first (the fact that all of it can’t even fit at once is astounding to him) and him, Derek and Allison are cleaning up the table so they can set it all up again.
Natalie went outside to the front of the house for a smoke and his dad followed. Stiles needs to ask him later what that’s all about because he’s already worrying about Noah’s heart, he has no desire to start worrying about his lungs too.
Lydia’s also curious, peeking through the curtains to spy on them.
“Left? What do you mean left?” He asks, confused.
“Went for a run,” Derek shrugs and then puts the pile of plates he’s gathered back down with a sigh. “Laura pissed him off a little, but it’s not her fault. They’re just… different. Especially when it comes to this.”
Noah and Natalie come back inside then and Stiles squints at his dad’s red cheeks and smiling face, the man looks bashful and Natalie looks pleased.
Oh, he’s definitely going to interrogate the hell out of him later.
“This?” He asks, turning back to Derek.
“She still not back yet?” Noah comes over to the table, peering down the hallway. The blinds are pulled back from the door, so Laura’s hunched over form is easy to see. “Anything I can do?”
Derek gives a guarded look to both of them. “No. I think she just realized how much she’s missed this.” He waves over the table. “For so long it was just the three of us and me and Cora had no interest in celebrating holidays. This is the real big one she’s gotten to experience since…” His face tightens up with emotion, the sight of it tugs at Stiles’ heartstrings, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek so clearly upset. “Since we lost everyone.”
He exchanges a look of understanding with his dad. The Hales lost so much more than they could ever imagine, but the Stilinskis do know something about the experience of going through the holiday season after losing someone close to you, someone who was integral to making the holiday feel special and worth celebrating.
“Got any beers?” Noah asks, surprising Derek who blinks at him but then nods, gesturing at the fridge.
Stiles watches his dad grab two and uncap them before heading down the hall to the backyard.
He continues watching as Noah offers a beer down at her and for a split second Stiles can see Laura’s profile and her smile as she accepts. As he watches them talk he feels Derek sidle up next to him, also observing closely. As Noah wraps an arm around Laura’s shoulders and hugs her close, Stiles, with a lump in his throat, presses his own shoulder against Derek’s.
Not only does Derek let it happen but he even presses back.
It’s hours later and the dinner is over, dishes are washed and Laura’s gone out with the rest of the food, Noah joining her on her soup kitchen run with his pies.
Scott and Lydia have left with their moms, Derek’s gone off to work actually, handling the night shift alone tonight and Stiles and Cora are on the couch playing a video game, her head on his shoulder and his head resting against hers.
Allison left with Scott because she wants to spend the last few nights before their trip with him. Chris decided to stay and wait for Peter to return, even though he knows there’s a pretty big chance that Peter’s had enough and has gone back to his apartment for the night. He hopes he’ll get a text saying as much if that happens, though.
After the kitchen is as clean as he can make it, he goes outside to the backyard and sits down at Laura’s earlier spot.
November’s ending so the nights especially are getting chillier now. He has to start rubbing his fingers at one point to get them warmer.
All in all, he waits there for about half an hour before there’s a figure leaping over the fence and landing gracefully on his feet. A human figure.
Peter cocks his head at him.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Chris reaches out an arm.
“Could use some warming up.”
Peter doesn’t smirk, a clear sign that his headspace is a little off-kilter right now, but he does come over to sit next to him, letting Chris hold him close.
“What we talked about earlier…” he starts tentatively, pausing when he feels Peter tense up. “It’s easy sometimes, to forget how fresh everything must feel for you. Because you don’t show it.”
Peter’s mouth twists into a wry smile.
“I focus on other things. I don’t like to dwell.”
Chris sighs, “Sure. But sometimes you hide yourself behind masks.” That gets him some eye-contact, a measuring once-over. “I’ve learned to not take your feelings at face value because there’s usually a lot more hiding underneath.”
“Where’s this going?” Peter frowns at him.
“I don’t even know,” he chuckles at himself. There’s something that’s been on his mind since Laura broke down, since their history dawned on him all over again, but he doesn’t know how to approach it, how to ask. So he decides to just be blunt about it, “Sometimes I don’t understand how you can even bear to look at me.”
Peter’s frown clears. “You had nothing to do with the fire.”
Chris makes a disagreeing noise, starts to pull away a little but Peter stops him, grabs him by the waist to pin him in place.
“Want to know why I don’t mind looking at you?” He asks, a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth and that familiar expression makes Chris fall back into him. “Because I believe that if you had known about her plans beforehand, you would’ve stopped it.”
Chris’ mind hazes over for a second, a lot of doubt and disbelief rearing its head.
“You have that much faith in me?” He asks and how did he manage to take Peter’s grief and make it all about him again? He feels stupid for even trying to talk about this, to put his feelings into words, because words aren’t enough to untangle all the crossed wires in his brain.
Peter’s other hand cradles his head and presses their foreheads together.
“I’m starting to think I know you better than you know yourself,” he teases.
“At least someone does,” he mutters.
Peter kisses him and it’s grounding with its warmth.
“I trust you,” he whispers against Chris’ mouth and it has Chris shutting his eyes tight against a tide of emotion that he doesn’t know how to unpack. “Because you’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy. I’m not one for blind faith, Chris.”
He smiles ruefully and nods, “I know you’re not.”
“This better be the last time I have to reassure you of this,” Peter warns him as he rubs their noses together.
“Promise,” he says and is rewarded with another kiss, this one longer and more heated.
They break the kiss when the door is slid open, startling Chris out of the moment. But Peter’s lack of a reaction already tells him who it is before he sees Stiles sitting down on his knees behind Peter to wrap him up in a hug.
Peter takes hold of one of Stiles’ arms around his neck, letting the hug happen but Chris can see the tightness around his eyes, the wary expectation. He thinks Peter’s waiting for another line of questioning or some empty platitudes.
But the longer Stiles remains silent, just holding him, the more Peter relaxes until he’s closing his eyes and smiling again. He lifts Stiles’ hand to intertwine their fingers before bringing it up to his lips, pressing a kiss into his skin and at the same time taking in deep breaths. His other hand he wraps around Chris’ thigh and there they stay for several minutes, giving Peter what he seems to need the most right now, silent solace.
Notes:
as always, thanks for all the lovely words of support, they mean a lot, you've no idea ;u;
Chapter 43: drunk II
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Dare I ask about your plans for tonight?”
Stiles pauses while buttoning up the red shirt Lydia picked out for him. He looks over to where his dad’s leaning against the doorway, takes in Noah’s apprehensive grimace.
“Plans? Besides clubbing?” He’s honestly lost.
Noah sighs heavily.
“With the drinking.”
Oh.
Stiles blows air out slowly, looks down at his shirt as he finishes fiddling with it, then starts folding up his sleeves, wanting to leave his arms bare at least since the club’s surely going to be warm as fuck.
“I’ve drank alcohol before, dad,” he says, deciding to skip their usual around-the-bush talk about this subject.
“Last time you got drunk you got into a fight,” his dad replies, squinting at him judgingly.
“You keep forgetting that fight was about defending a girl’s honor,” Stiles frowns at him.
“Just-” Noah gives up and points in that I’m your dad and you’ll do as I say way he does sometimes. “Don’t go overboard. Pace yourself.”
“I’m too poor to go overboard, dad.”
His dad looks at him, considering something in his head, before looking up. “I’m going to regret this…” He pulls out his wallet and goes over to Stiles’ table and throws three twenty dollar bills on it.
“Dad-” Stiles starts gushing, or maybe protesting, he’s not even sure but Noah cuts in.
“Now you drink responsibly and this trust will continue. If things get out of hand I’m taking away your car privileges until graduation.”
“What?” He splutters. “How am I supposed to get to school?”
“Doesn’t Peter have a car?” Noah asks dryly and then just turns around with a wave and walks off. “See you later, kid.”
Stiles yells after him, “I was thinking of going to Peter’s after!”
“Don’t think that means I won’t find out if something happens tonight!” His dad yells back.
Stiles rolls his eyes and then goes to grab the money and add it to his wallet. Before he heads out to Scott’s, he texts his dad.
But thanks. We all need a good night out.
His dad responds with a dorky thumbs-up.
“What are you so worried about?” Stiles asks, watching in amazement as Scott keeps putting shirts up to his body while standing in front of his closet mirror, before discarding them aside, deeming every single one unacceptable. He hasn’t seen his friend this nervous about his outfit since he and Allison first started going out.
“This is the last night before they head out,” Scott says as if this is a perfectly acceptable reasoning.
“So?” Stiles nudges when nothing more is forthcoming.
“So,” Scott stresses, sounding annoyed as he throws yet another shirt over his shoulder. A pretty nice one too, a black button-up that Stiles thinks would make him look all grown up and mature. It would also leave his arms bare just like Stiles is leaving his and he has heard Lydia gush about men’s arms too many times to not be aware that it's a feature to show off for sure. And his full bisexual awakening made him realize that yeah, some men have arms that make him zero in on the definition and skin and hair and make his fingers go all tingly with the desire to touch. Peter and Chris have arms like that. “It means this is my last night to make an impression!” Scott finishes his thought, bringing Stiles back into the present, away from warm memories of those arms surrounding him, under him, over him, supporting, pressing down-
He shakes his head to get a grip and crouches down to pick up the shirt he was eyeing.
“I’m pretty sure you made a good enough impression two years ago considering she’s still dating you.”
“You’re not getting it,” Scott whines a little, digging deep into his closet. Stiles is pretty sure those are shirts from middle grade that are now being flown about the place. “I want her to miss me when she’s gone!”
Stiles throws his head back at his friend’s stupidity. “You think she won’t!? My guy, my dude, she’ll be thinking about you every single day, just like she did every time she left town before.”
“You don’t know that! We’ve…” Scott’s shoulders slump all of a sudden as he halts his maniacal searching. “We’ve been having some problems.”
Stiles steps closer so he can pat his friend on the back.
“Yeah, I know.”
“She told you?” He gives him a look of betrayal.
Stiles quickly holds up a hand to dissuade him. “No, not in the way you think. It’s just… she’s changed a lot this year. You both have. You’re a bit… different.”
Scott looks like that’s the absolute last thing he wanted to hear.
“You think so too? That’s what she said. That we’re too different.” He groans and brushes past Stiles to go sit on his bed. “I love her, man. And I do get it, where she’s coming from, where you’re coming from. I just wish you guys could see my point of view too.”
“We do, buddy,” Stiles says, sitting down next to him. “I think you’ve gotten this a little twisted. From what I can tell, I don’t think Allison doesn’t like the person you are or have become… she’s worried you won’t like who she’s becoming.”
Scott stares at the ground for a moment.
“I mean… Of course I’m worried about her. There’s this… darkness, sometimes. But I know her, I know she’s got a good heart still.”
“Well, maybe just let her discover that on her own.”
Stiles thinks that Scott’s worry might actually be justified since he’s gotten glimpses of that darkness too, has some of that darkness in him, but he says that in hopes of getting Scott to calm down and it works. His friend gives him a small smile and a nod.
Stiles thrusts his hand with the shirt at him.
“This one, trust me, you’ll look hot.”
Scott takes it and holds it up.
“I guess since you’re dating dudes I should take your advice on this. Even though your own styles is…” He trails off as he finally takes a good look at what Stiles is wearing. “Hey, that’s pretty nice actually.”
“…Lydia picked it out.”
Scott grins. “Makes sense.”
“Shut up, you can still trust me on this,” he gestures at the shirt. They both eye the wrinkles. “Maybe iron it, though.”
Since Scott is their designated sober driver for the evening, they decided to all meet up at his house before heading over to Jungle, where Danny and the rest of the people he’s invited will be waiting at the entrance at ten.
Allison and Lydia are already there, putting their make up on in Scott’s room, stereo blasting with some recent radio hits that have Stiles already bopping along and feeling ready to get some drinks and start moving, when Cora finally arrives.
Driven by Peter.
Stiles spies Peter’s car pulling in and runs out the door, excited at this pleasant surprise. It literally hasn’t been even twenty four hours since he last saw the man but at this point, his mind’s so full of Peter and Chris and Peter-and-Chris that he’d happily spend every hour with them if he could. Which is exactly something Scott said about Allison after their first date. That thought makes him pull the eagerness back a little, not wanting to seem like a lovesick idiot, because he's not. In love that is. To himself, Stiles admits he often is an idiot, though.
Peter’s all contrasts today, stubble a little thicker and darker, V-neck white but covered by a black leather jacket and he’s wearing light blue jeans that look purposefully faded and expensive. Stiles’ eyes glance over everything, going hot, hot, hot as he rushes over, barely responding to Cora’s Hey with a wave before he’s wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. He can feel the man smiling against his mouth.
“Ugh, I’ll wait inside,” Cora groans and goes into the house.
Hands on his waist, wide and firm. Stiles shivers happily.
Peter breaks the kiss, holding Stiles at arms’ length to look him over from head to toe.
“You look gorgeous,” Peter smirks when his eyes finally come back up again.
“Even more than usual?” Stiles grins happily, starting to get used to hearing that word.
“Love this color on you,” Peter mutters, brushing his fingers over the front of Stiles’ shirt.
“Lydia keeps putting me in red.”
“She’s got a good eye.”
For half a second Stiles considers making a my, what big teeth you have joke but decides against it, wanting to move on to the main reason he ran out so quick in the first place.
“You know…” Stiles tugs him closer again, hooking his wrists together behind Peter’s neck. The man comes willingly, smirk gaining extra levels of smug. “I told my dad I might not make it home tonight.”
Peter’s eyebrows rise up slightly.
“Oh?”
“Yup. So. Can I maybe come over later?” Now he’s playing all coy and he doesn’t really know why except it’s fun and it makes Peter’s grip tighten.
Soft lips press against his.
“Call me if you need a sober driver.”
Stiles’ grin perks up again at the eagerness he can sense from Peter. He remembers pretty clearly the effect he can have on the man, the red eyes, sharp teeth, the growls and the gripping, oh how Stiles has come to love feeling hands on him.
“Scott can drive me over. He can’t get drunk anyway.”
“Well, I’ll be ready in any case.”
“You don’t even know what time we’re finishing up.”
Peter brushes their noses together. “I’ll be ready,” he repeats.
A guy can really get used to this, Stiles thinks to himself as he dives back in for a few more kisses before he’s dragged back to his friend group and the night ahead of them.
There’s a line to get into the club.
Lydia drags them past all those people to a group gathering up front. Stiles recognizes quite a few faces, lacrosse teammates, some other classmates, some people that graduated last year, all in all more than a dozen people are there when Stiles and his friends arrive.
Danny spots Lydia and walks up to meet her, accepting her hug by holding her close and lifting her off her feet, causing her to screech a little. But it’s a happy screech so no one reacts.
“I’m so glad you made it!” Danny yells at all of them and beckons them closer. He’s swaying a little and his eyes seem out of focus. Stiles assumes there was probably a pre-party before the actual party that included some heavy pre-drinking. “You’re the last ones, come on, let’s go in!”
“But the line,” Scott says, pointing behind him.
“I know some people,” Danny smiles enigmatically.
And the bouncer… lets them all in. Without checking anyone’s ID, without putting a no drinks allowed mark of shame on any of their hands… Stiles exchanges gawks with Scott as they follow everyone in.
Also, Stiles realizes, Danny already had enough people for a full-blown party. He remembers Danny saying that he just wanted more people so it’d be fun but he doesn’t see how he needed to be invited since he’s never hung out with Danny before.
But whatever. He’s here, the music’s loud, there are people on the dancefloor although not enough to hide his awkwardly energetic moves if he were to join them so he’s absolutely going to wait for the crowd to get thicker before doing that. Or perhaps he just needs to wait for the alcohol to kick in, at that point he won’t care who sees him do what.
Danny starts them all off by yelling, “Shots!” as he leads his entourage (that’s large enough to grab almost everyone’s attention, eyes running over all of them, he even catches a few guys staring at his ass as he walks past) towards the bar.
The drinking commences.
Hours later, Stiles hasn’t paid a single cent for his drinks. Danny keeps getting rounds of shots for everyone and a few of the former Seniors have bought him some cocktails. Lydia tells him they’re into him and that they’re definitely hoping to get into his tight, tight pants tonight. But since the drinks just come with smiles and nothing else, Stiles waves that thought aside and instead takes Lydia dancing.
She’s been ingesting shots just as quickly as he has so they’re at pretty much the same level of inebriation. Which means while Stiles flings his arms up and about, stepping side to side to the music and occasionally daring to go for some generous body rolls, Lydia is pretty much doing the same, except with more hair whipping. Stiles is sure they look ridiculous, but neither of them cares and that’s the best kind of dancing you can do with a friend.
At one point, Lydia grabs onto his hands and hops closer.
“Stiles! We almost died!” She yells over the music.
He keeps bopping up and down, then starts swinging his hips side to side when the beat gets lower.
“But we didn’t!” He yells back and at her grin he realizes that was her point. “We’re still alive, baby!” He shouts as loud as his voice can manage before taking her hand and pushing her out into a spin and then spinning her back into him. She laughs, wild and carefree and he laughs back.
At some point, Danny joins them, Lydia in between him and Stiles. She starts grinding back into him making Stiles feel awkward. But he realizes pretty quickly that it must be their thing as Danny joins the grinding rhythm and they look like an actual synchronized couple rather than two drunk people revealing their horniness on the dancefloor. If the synchronization of it all wasn’t enough of a tell, the way they lean their heads together and laugh after the song transitions into another would make it clear that this was a party ritual for them. Because yeah, Stiles recalls, these two have been friends for a lot longer than Stiles and Lydia have been friends. All of a sudden, he feels little left out.
He does his best to grind up against the air in front of Lydia, because no way is he in his drunken state about to let his actual front parts go anywhere near the front parts of his former big crush. He may have moved on to bigger and better (and older and more handsome) things but attraction is attraction and he’s aware his dick has a mind of its own.
Lydia appreciates his efforts at least, smiling at him and grabbing his hips, playfully helping him along.
And that’s when things get a little bit more intense than he intended because Danny joins in with that, his hands going lower than Lydia’s. In fact, Danny’s fingers are resting very prominently on Stiles’ ass. And just like Lydia, Danny is pushing and pulling. Stiles is pretty sure one could say that Danny is grabbing his ass right now.
When his gaze flickers up in surprise, Danny’s eyes meet his over Lydia’s shoulder and they look blown. In a very, very drunken way. But also, very turned on way. And Stiles has noticed before that Danny’s pretty good-looking, of course he has but suddenly he’s on the level of attainable good-looking, which is a whole other category that messes with his brain, because look, arms and biceps that are flexing real hard right now, hands that are big and strong, reminding him of Peter’s actually-
Stiles looks back down at Lydia, hoping she can see the nope, nope, nope on his face. Luckily, she does and she manages to break the connection between him and Danny with one easy move, turning around and wrapping an arm around Danny’s neck, shouting something into his ear.
Stiles relaxes when that heavy-lidded gaze leaves him.
“More shots!” Danny shouts, Lydia echoes it and they head off to the bar.
A bit shaken by this turn of events (Is this why Danny invited him? To get into his tight, tight pants? He has been complimenting him a lot recently, fuck.), Stiles sets out to find the others.
Cora is deep in another girl’s neck when Stiles finds her, like really in there, nuzzling and scenting and sucking kisses into the girl’s skin and the girl? Well, she seems to be completely blown away by it, lounging back against the seat with her eyes closed and mouth open.
Impressed and shamefully turned on, Stiles leaves them to it.
Scott and Allison seem to be having fun talking as far away from the speakers as possible, at one of the corner tables.
Stiles slaps Scott’s shoulder in disapproval. “Dude, we came to dance!” He yells as he slumps down onto a chair.
“You came to dance,” Allison corrects him. “We’re your chaperones.”
“What?” Stiles gasps, blinking hard to re-focus his eyes. “I don’t need a chaperone!”
“Yeah, you do. Here, have some water,” Scott says, pushing a glass towards him.
“And to be fair, I’m Lydia’s chaperone,” Allison adds.
“And who’s Cora’s?” Stiles asks with a smirk, not expecting an actual answer.
“Pretty sure he is,” Scott says and points towards the bar where Derek is currently glowering at one of Danny’s friends who is trying to offer him a drink.
“Oh my god,” Stiles cries out and quickly pushes himself up and stumbles over there, knocking quite a few people off balance with his speed, crying out apologies without looking back. “Dude!” He shouts while landing on top of Derek’s extremely tensed up shoulders, giving him excited pats. Danny’s friend, a blonde hunk of a guy with pretty green eyes and a strong wide jaw, looks between the two of them in shock.
“Wait, was the rumor actually true?!” He shouts over the music, leaning in. “You and the librarian!?”
Stiles squints at him, realizes that oh this is Tommy’s older brother, Tommy being one of his former teammates. So this guy’s probably well aware of what the high school rumor mill’s got going on, which explains his knowledge of the very short amount of time where Stiles helped Derek seem less available to the student body.
“He’s dating my uncle!” Derek replies and Stiles splutters, because for some reason whenever someone else says anything about him being in a relationship, it feels a lot more real all of a sudden. Scary real, but also really fucking cool.
“Wait, that old dude!? I thought that was some kind of a misunderstanding!” Danny’s friend is looking real interested now.
“Yeah, but hey, I got to talk to my future step-nephew, if you don’t mind,” Stiles says, flapping his hand at him. He gets a disgruntled glare before the guy leaves but he doesn’t care, taking his spot in front of Derek. “I can’t believe you’re here, in a club, wearing your leather jacket and your scowl and looking like you’re suffering more with each second. Isn’t your hearing the best out of all of you!? Scott said he can tune the music out a little, focus on Allison’s heart or whatever, but what do you do? Also, you’re drinking something, just to blend in? Want to-”
“Stop, for the love of…” Derek crowds in real close to growl at him. “You need to ease up on the shots, Stiles.”
“You’re supposed to watch Cora, not me,” he pouts, unhappy that none of his questions are getting answers.
“I’m here to watch all of you. We just found out there’s a secret organization worried about exposure, remember? I’m making sure no one opens their dumb mouth or flashes their dumb eyes at anyone.”
“I feel like the mouth part was about me.”
“Go have fun. I’ll try to blend into the background.”
Stiles laughs at the uncomfortable frown on the other’s face.
“Dude, blend in? You? At this club? Oh man, you’re going to have to work on that scowl of yours because I’m pretty sure it’s giving off you'll be limping tomorrow vibe, not the leave me the fuck alone vibe you’re going for.”
Derek starts to look a little scared.
“Dude, just go sit close to Scott! Then maybe people will leave you alone, hanging out by yourself just makes it seem like you’re looking for someone to take home with you!”
Derek grimaces at that idea. He glances towards Scott and Allison, Scott of course raising his arm up in a happy little wave.
“See? They’ll be fine with it. Aren’t you two best buds now?”
He seems to catch onto something Stiles didn’t mean to reveal by the way he quirks an eyebrow at him. “Jealous?”
He’s talking to a werewolf, so he doesn’t bother lying.
“A little, maybe,” he shrugs. He pushes away from the bar. “But not enough to stand in the way of true wolfy bromance-”
“The mouth part was absolutely about you,” Derek cuts in quickly and Stiles flushes a little at how easily he forgot he’s shouting in a crowded place full of normies.
“Hey, that could easily sound like you guys are in a frat house or something, anyway,” he waves away Derek’s hands when he sways off to the side. “I’m good! Going to dance off some more alcohol, maybe, but first! Bladder! Empty it I must!”
“Do you always talk like Yoda when you’re drunk?” Derek smirks at him.
Stiles flaps a hand at his face dismissively and walks off in search of the bathroom.
Danny’s there, as well as a ton of other guys. The stalls have a short line but several urinals are free so Stiles rushes over to one of them. As he does his business, he glances over his shoulder at Danny who is staring into the sink, hands gripping the edge of the long counter. One of Danny’s friends, a guy who bought Stiles extra drinks exits a stall and goes to stand next to him to wash his hands.
“You okay, D?”
Stiles rolls his eyes at the nickname.
“Yeah, just got a little dizzy,” Danny shrugs, finally looking up with a small smile.
“Hey, Stilinski!” The guy turns to Stiles when he joins them to wash his hands as well. “Let me get you another drink,” the guy leers at him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Just like Tommy’s brother, this one ain’t bad looking either, brown wavy hair and cool grey eyes, high cheekbones and a strong aquiline nose. But that doesn’t mean Stiles welcomes the touch.
Danny side-eyes them and then nudges his friend with his shoulder. “I think he’s had enough.”
“I think he can speak for himself,” the guy gives Danny a oh come on look that sparks Stiles out of his momentary awkwardness.
“No, yeah, I’m taking a little break from the drinking. Don’t want to get sick,” he laughs weakly.
“Want to dance then?” He leans in closer, nose close to Stiles’ cheek and now he’s really starting to feel uncomfortable. Peter usually does this, when it’s not Peter it feels wrong, claustrophobic almost.
“I need to talk to Stiles, give us a minute,” Danny interrupts, finally straightening up.
“You didn’t call dibs,” the guy complains and oh, that’s it. Stiles pushes the guy away from him. With a little more force than he planned by the way the guy stumbles.
“On me? Dude, get the fuck out of here.”
He looks shocked and holds up his hands in surrender as he leaves the bathroom.
“Damn, you got claws,” Danny chuckles and then oddly enough grows very pale. “Claws…” He groans and heads out of the bathroom, Stiles close at his heels.
“Still dizzy?” He asks worriedly, watching as Danny walks up to the little settee out in the hallway and asks the girls there if he could get a seat. Fortunately they seem to notice that he isn’t doing so good and get out of the way, leaving the two of them alone.
It’s still incredibly loud here, but mostly due to the talking and laughing everyone else is doing as they move in and out of the bathrooms. The music is more muffled and that means Stiles doesn’t have to yell anymore as he sits next to Danny and claps him on the back.
“Need some water? I can get you some water-”
“No, it’s not… it’s not the alcohol,” Danny sighs and draws a hand over his face. He looks over at Stiles and there’s a change in his expression. Before Stiles can figure it out, a hand around his thigh makes him flinch before Danny leans closer. “You look really good today.”
“Uh, thanks,” he mumbles and then blinks wide-eyed as Danny’s face inches closer and closer. He starts leaning back at the same speed until Danny stops to raise his eyebrows at him. “Dude, what are you doing?” Stiles hisses at him. “You know I have a boyfriend.”
“Maybe I’m trying to steal you away,” Danny says with a crooked grin.
“I’m pretty committed to my current relationship, but thanks for the offer,” Stiles splutters out, brain sobering up more with each second that Danny’s hand is still on his thigh. He squeaks a little, pressing his legs closed when that hand slides inward, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his inner thigh.
“Give me a chance to change your mind,” Danny whispers and Stiles can hear that whisper because Danny’s mouth is right there, impossibly close.
“Are you seriously going to be one of those guys who doesn’t take no for an answer?” Stiles snaps. “I don’t wanna punch you on your birthday but I will if you don’t back the fuck off.”
That finally gets through to him. Danny pulls away, leaving some space between them as he rests his head against the wall behind him.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“The hell was that about?” Stiles asks, curious now that he’s been given room to breathe again.
“It’s nothing.”
“You’ve been acting strange all night, drinking way too much. Want to talk about it? Or… should I get Lydia?”
“No,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “Lydia and I have talked. It’s… Jackson. He told me some shit. Weird shit that I don’t know how to deal with.”
Oh.
Danny knows about werewolves. Or at least, about one werewolf.
Now Stiles has a dilemma. Should he just shrug and say okay and go back to dancing, letting Danny freak himself out or… He can try and help the guy out.
“So you know… what he is,” he says, vague on purpose in case he misunderstood. Take that, Derek, his big mouth is doing just fine.
Danny’s brow furrows and he turns his head to stare at him, face caught between furious and relived—an odd sight, truly.
“You know too!?”
Stiles glances around, sees that for the moment at least there’s no one hanging out anywhere near them. He holds up a hand and forms imaginary claws with it.
“The whole… animalistic side of him? Yup.”
Danny slouches forwards, stunned. “How do you know? Why do you know?”
Oh shit. Okay. He needs a plausible lie, fast.
“He flashed his eyes at me once, I wouldn’t stop bugging him about it,” he invents on the spot. There, that sounds plausible, right?
Danny groans, “That does sound like something he would do, the dumbass. Especially since you’re so good at riling him up.”
“I’m not…” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Never mind.”
“So this is really happening? Werewolves? How the fuck do you look so calm about it? Lydia also was just like, yep, he’s a wolf-beast-thing now!” Danny’s voice is getting a little louder and it makes Stiles look around again, making sure no one’s paying any attention.
“How much did he actually tell you?” He asks cautiously.
Danny gives him a weird look. “He got bit by some rabid dog and now his anger issues are worse. Why? What do you know?”
Seriously? Stiles screams at Jackson in his head. He knows that that’s pretty much the advice Stiles gave him but the guy could’ve surely added something more to that story.
“Not much more, was just wondering. You’re really freaking out about this.”
“Of course I am!” Danny hisses, eyes wild. “People have died, Stiles. Because of animal attacks. And now I find out that Jackson…” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Was it him? In the woods that night? Or at the school?”
“You… really need to talk to Jackson about this,” Stiles says warily, realizing how easy it is to come to all the wrong conclusions when Danny doesn’t have any of the right information.
“I tried! He just kept dodging everything! He said something about not consciously killing anyone, which—what the hell does that even mean? Did he lose control or something?”
Okay, Stiles was not prepared for this, he has made a mistake and this conversation has gotten very loud and very public and he needs it to stop, right now.
“Listen… there’s other shit going on. Jackson’s just… the tip of the iceberg.” He has Danny’s full attention now, the guy looking sober for the first time this night as his gaze becomes calculating. “I can’t tell you anything because none of it is my secret to tell. You’ll have to talk to Jackson. And Lydia.”
Danny throws his hands up in frustration.
“That means fucking nothing to me.”
“I get it, but just… I can’t. You know? And I think Jackson’s also worried about stepping on other peoples’ toes-”
“That just sounds like there’s more werewolves in this town,” Danny cuts in.
Stiles gapes for a moment, then does his best goldfish impression. “ I mean-”
“Oh my god, there are,” Danny catches on, eyes widening. And because Danny is smart, genius level smart, he also says, “The Hales have been really weird since they got back and you all hang out at their house and everything-”
“I urge you to stop,” Stiles begs.
“I suggest the same,” Derek’s voice comes from behind him and Stiles jumps off the settee.
Danny stares up at Derek, looking scared but also determined.
“So is it true?”
“You better come with me. Laura will want to speak to you.” Derek scowls at Stiles. “You and your big mouth.”
Stiles can’t even argue with that right now.
“Why should I go anywhere with you?” Danny asks, not getting up.
“Because as the pack whose territory you’re standing on, we have to make sure you’re not a threat.”
Stiles winces as he realizes what he dragged Danny into.
Danny looks bewildered.
“…Pack!?”
“Come on,” Derek sighs. “We won’t hurt you. But our secret needs to remain as such. So we need to talk to you.”
When Stiles sees Danny still hesitating, he adds, “You can trust them. Derek’s a softie, really, and Laura’s really nice.”
“And Peter’s your boyfriend,” Danny breathes out as he remembers, seeing Stiles with new eyes. “You’re dating a w-”
“Stop saying that word,” Derek growls.
Danny gulps and finally stands up.
“Okay…”
“I should come with,” Stiles says, feeling responsible for all of this.
“No,” Derek scowls. “Stay here with the others. You’ve done enough for now.”
“Sheesh, lay off, I get it, I fucked up.”
“Stiles didn’t do anything wrong,” Danny says, surprising him. “I was suspicious of you guys anyway, I would’ve figured it out sooner or later.”
Derek glances between them seriously. “I’ll let you say goodbye to your friends. I’ll be waiting at the exit.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry, man,” Stiles tells him, ashamed.
“No, don’t be. Thank you,” Danny says, sounding sincere. “I just want to know what the fuck’s been going on with my best friend. If this is how I get that, then seriously, thank you.”
Stiles nods and hangs back as Danny starts to head down the hallway.
“Oh, and Stiles?” He turns around and steps closer so Stiles can hear him better. “I am sorry for coming on that strong. Jackson pissed me off with his cryptic answers and I just wanted to piss him off too, I guess.”
He takes that in, decodes it in his head and then squints in disbelief.
“Wait, you were going to use me as a pawn to get to him? Wow, pretty devious of you. Also, you really think Jackson would’ve cared that much?” He scoffs.
Danny stares at him with an odd smile.
“You’ve no idea of the power you hold, huh?”
“…What?”
“You’re no longer the scrawny, clumsy kid that annoyed Lydia all the time.”
“Still clumsy and some people would say still annoying,” Stiles says, a bit overwhelmed with the attention he feels he’s getting from Danny right now. So maybe the move he tried to make wasn’t just about Jackson after all.
“Nah, not annoying. Just an acquired taste,” Danny smiles softly, making Stiles think that he’s definitely acquired a taste for him. He then looks away, sighing. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” With a heavy weight on his shoulders, he walks away, leaving Stiles behind alone, feeling very out of his depth and conflicted about the realization that he’s apparently attractive enough to have more than one guy chasing his tail all night.
He honestly shouldn’t be this shocked about this, like he knows he’s got some nice features and Lydia’s called him cute plenty of times and Peter and Chris obviously have good taste since they’re so into each other so when Peter calls him gorgeous, he should listen to the man and accept it as a given already.
Except he’s lived most of his teenage life on the sidelines, ignored by the prettiest girls and mocked by the guys he now realizes he was kind of attracted to. And he’s always been aware that he’s never been a guy’s guy, his body leaner, his face softer—oh my god, he yells in his head, is he a twink!? He rushes off to find Lydia.
She laughs at him for a whole ass minute before finally yelling, “Kind of! But also no, because you’re such a dude bro-” this she accompanies with a mockingly lower tone, “And you’re filling out pretty nicely, especially since you started learning how to fight!”
Stiles thinks about this for a second.
“So what am I!?”
She laughs again, even more incredulous, and pulls him closer to tell him, “You’re a complete babe!” Then continues dancing wildly.
Alright, he’s a babe. He can be a babe.
He joins her with his artful flailing.
A few more songs go by and then Cora is pulling Lydia in close to shout something into her ear.
Stiles’ movements slow down a little as he watches Lydia frown, still smiling and then gasping and then… turning to him angrily? She actually comes up to slap his chest, hard enough for it to sting.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that Derek took Danny!”
“Oh,” Stiles says and stops dancing. “Uh. I didn’t think it was a big deal?” Which, he now realizes is not quite right. Especially with the way she’s glaring at him.
“Cora’s taking me to them, I can’t believe you’d let him go alone!”
He’s not my friend—it’s on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back, lets her slap him on the arm before she’s running off.
Cora pauses before following, giving him a look.
“My judgement’s pretty impaired right now, huh?” Stiles asks, not bothering to shout since she can hear him just fine. Her face is giving him you think? Which, fair. “Right. Well. She drank a lot too so make sure she doesn’t try to actually fight Laura or something.” Cora gives him a nod before moving through dancing bodies and disappearing from sight.
Stiles looks at the strangers around him and sighs. He’s just about to search for Scott when his friend finds him.
“Hey, do you want to leave?”
Allison’s right behind him, looking worried.
“Uh…” He squints up at the ceiling, knees slowly starting to bop to the beat again when a song he knows kicks in. This does feel like a natural end to the night, his real drinking buddy is gone now, the actual birthday boy is gone too… But leaving means sobering up which means it’s tomorrow and Chris is leaving and it’s back to what’s next for the Nemeton’s forecast of horrors or what’s the deal with the witches or which colleges is he going to apply to, all questions equally frustrating to him right now in his drunken state.
Alcohol works wonders on his overactive brain, which is why he’s always liked it ever since he and Scott snuck out an old whiskey bottle they found at his house when they were thirteen. That night is both hazy as well as clear in his mind, him and Scott talking about everything, Stiles’ mom, Scott’s dad, and making a pinky swear to never leave each other, ever.
And right now, with plenty of alcohol warming him up from the inside, with the happy mushy feelings he has about Peter and Chris taking up a lot of his brain power, his friends all safe and alive, his dad starting to trust him more, he feels so goddamn good.
“Dance with me?” He asks Allison and Scott and he guesses he might sound a bit more pathetic than he’d intended when Scott’s face tightens in sympathy.
“Okay, buddy.”
Allison grabs both their hands with a grin and directs them into a semi-synchronized group dance.
About half an hour later, they’ve taken a few breaks, one for the bathroom, one for some water and Stiles can feel and see the lateness of the hour, or maybe even the earliness—it has to be getting close to four when the club’s going to close its doors because people are thinning out, leaving in groups.
Scott and Allison are dancing slowly (completely ignoring the actual rhythm that is thumping through the floor) on their own, heads together, talking. Stiles didn’t want to bother them so he agreed readily when one of the few girls in Danny’s entourage—a former Senior whose name he doesn’t know, asked him to keep her company.
There’s less people but still enough on the dancefloor that as they move around, there’s some jostling and shuffling until he can’t see his friends anymore.
And then, as one song transitions into another yet again, this one heavy on the bass and with a slower beat, definitely meant for more bodyrolls rather than jumping, Stiles realizes his dance partner has changed.
Instead of the pink-haired girl from before, there’s a man, tall and kind of gangly, with sharp bone structure but plump wide lips that are smirking at him as they move together side to side. The man’s eyes are hypnotizingly dark, especially as the lights dim and the smoke machines start working again, covering the dancefloor in a mysterious fog to go with the moody track. Black curls of hair, short on the sides, longer on top. And black brows thicker than Derek’s.
When the music changes, it hits him that they’ve just been staring at each other for at least three minutes and he steps back, faltering when a long arm winds around his waist.
What comes next is the only thing he’ll remember clearly about this encounter—a kiss, slow and languid, an exploration of his mouth that he just opens wide to because he’s drunk and when he’s drunk he’s extra touchy-feely and his friends are all busy and he’s alone and the guy has a really nice mouth that’s wide enough to encompass his, a tongue that’s oddly just as respectful as it is teasing.
The man’s lips are also a tease, barely brushing against his and that wakes him up from his hazy stupor. Because he finds he doesn’t like that. He loves Peter’s firm hunger, the confidence the werewolf has whenever they kiss, so sure of his skill in making Stiles lose his mind before any clothing’s been removed. And Chris, god there hasn’t been enough kisses with Chris but each one feels like a step in the right direction, with the man letting go of his control more and more until he’s taking whatever Stiles is willing to give to him (which is everything).
This kiss feels wrong, good as in it gets his skin tingling and his dick half-hard (the jeans truly feel tight, tight now) but his heartbeat has no jumps in it, the hairs on the back of his neck stay down, his body doesn’t feel like it’s metaphorically gone up in flames.
He pulls away with a frown, stumbling enough that the man has to catch him by his elbow.
“Sorry,” he mutters and then repeats it louder when he sees the guy bringing one ear closer to Stiles’ mouth. “I’m not single!”
The stranger doesn’t look surprised by this, just smiles ruefully.
He keeps a grip on Stiles’ elbow and leans in to put his lips against Stiles ear, “Sorry to hear that. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you all night.”
The man’s voice is stunning, a rich baritone. There’s an accent, faint but obvious. Stiles can’t place it.
“Uh, thanks,” he clumsily accepts the compliment. “I should get back to my friends.” He wants to leave now. He wants to see Peter.
“Of course,” the man says and lets him go. “Have a great night, Stiles.” Hearing his name brings chills to his skin but he shakes it off, confused by his reaction.
He nods and waves his hand awkwardly, pushing through a few groups until he finds Scott and Allison, still wrapped up together, now kissing.
“Sorry to break this up but I think I’m close to passing out,” he says around a yawn.
His friends pull apart and don’t look bothered at all, taking him by his hands and dragging him out of the club.
He feels eyes on him and glances back.
The stranger’s now leaning against the bar and his gaze is firmly fixed.
It dawns on Stiles that he never told the guy his name, that’s why it was so weird to hear it.
But then again, people have been yelling his name at him all night, maybe the guy just overheard?
As fresh air hits his face, he forgets all about the mystery man because in the parking lot, pushing away from the hood of his car, is Chris.
“What was the name of the Alpha again?” Peter asks before sipping his tea.
Chris looks up from the map between them, leans his elbows onto the table.
“Jean?”
“Jean Lewis?”
“No, apparently they’re named after the first Alpha from about twenty years ago, the first werewolf to settle down and start a pack there. Why do you ask?”
Peter holds his mug in front of his face, eyes trailing the path Chris has highlighted on the map, pausing over the detours here and there.
“I knew a Jean once, Jean Gaboury. I now remember that he was French Canadian actually.”
Chris looks interested. “I think that’s the name Hayden told me.”
“Ah.”
“Old friend?”
Peter shakes his head, for a split second considers keeping this to himself but there’s every chance that he was as memorable to Jean as Jean was to him and he doesn’t want Chris to get blindsided.
“One night stand,” he reveals, looking up at him.
Chris’ eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.” He taps a finger against the table, thinking. “Didn’t end badly, I hope? He probably already knows my connection to you since he’s been working with Hayden for so long.”
“Not badly,” Peter says. “We both knew what it would be when we decided to go for it. It was a full moon thing.” He drinks the last of his tea and puts the mug aside. “Almost… ten years ago now?”
There, the softest hint of jealousy. Peter fights back a smile.
“Want me to give him a message or something?”
“Hm, nothing beyond you being under my protection.” The sound of a familiar car catches his attention—no, two cars, one of them the Camaro—as they pull into his building’s parking lot. He stands up, curious.
“What?” Chris asks, staying seated.
“Pretty sure Laura’s here with someone.” He listens to car doors being slammed, whispered conversations he can’t make out, then the elevator starts working and pretty soon there are four pairs of feet walking up to his apartment. The door’s unlocked so he sits on the dining table, close to Chris and waits.
Laura doesn’t even knock, throws the door wide open and moves aside to let Jackson in with… a young guy that’s familiar but the name escapes him. He stinks of fear. Derek’s the last one to come in, closing the door.
“My privacy feels a little violated,” Peter says dryly at the complete lack of manners from his pack members.
Laura gives him a dark look that breaks through the humor.
“Oh, you’ve no idea.”
This Danny guy is smart. A lot of the things they explain to him don’t surprise him at all as he connects the dots before Laura even finishes a complete rundown of everything that’s been going on between the Argents and the Hales. They leave out the Matos and don’t mention witches at all. They don’t say anything about Kate’s death and Stiles’ part in it. But they explain all of the other deaths, Blake’s sacrifice, the Alpha pack’s attack on the school, their pack’s capture by Gerard and Peter’s subsequent vengeance spree in the woods. They don’t say anything about the spirit, the haunting or the control it can have over Peter or Stiles.
They let Jackson tell Danny about his experience as the kanima or how much he remembers about it which turns out to be nearly nothing.
Peter lets Laura deal with most of this while he takes the young man in, scents the air subtly, noting every tick of his heartbeat, every change in his emotions. There’s clear love and frustration towards Jackson. Terror aimed at Peter after he’s revealed to be the killer the entire town’s afraid of. But there’s also some relief, he can see it clear on his face. Peter guesses he’s happy to finally have answers.
“Thanks for telling me,” he finally says to Jackson. “I get why you hid everything now.”
Jackson’s expression screams the same thing his scent does. He cares about Danny too.
“Man, I’m glad Stiles talked to me tonight,” Danny sighs.
Peter pushes away from the table, crossing his arms. “Stiles talked to you?”
“He’s the reason Danny caught onto us being potential werewolves,” Derek tells him.
Peter frowns, not wanting to believe that Stiles would be that cavalier about his family’s secret.
Derek seems to guess his thoughts as he amends, “He was pretty wasted.”
“I was freaking out and he helped me. He didn’t tell me anything about you guys,” Danny says. “I just kind of put two and two together.”
“How wasted?” Peter asks, unable to stop the pang of worry. When he saw Stiles earlier tonight, dressed up and bright-eyed, a part of Peter wanted to bundle him up in his car and take him home, hide him away from the rest of the world that would appreciate the pretty sight just as much as he did. But he fought that urge and won, reminding himself that not only is this entire “throuple” thing new, Stiles is young and deserves to have carefree fun just like he did when he was Stiles’ age.
But he’s also very aware of the existence of non-supernatural kind of predators that might look at a clumsy fresh-faced young man and see prey. Especially if said young man is wasted.
Derek and Laura are both giving him surprised looks so his worry is probably permeating the air, or maybe their bonds. As their Alpha, if he feels something strong enough it’s easy for that emotion to seep through and affect them as well.
“Pretty wasted but Scott promised to stay by his side the entire time.”
“Except Scott is easily distracted by Allison,” Peter mutters and then looks at Chris, who is fighting to keep his eyes open. “Could you pick him up? I know you’re tired…”
“It is close to three am,” Chris says slowly. “But sure, I’ll get him. You’ve got me worried now too.” He leaves without another word. Danny watches him go curiously.
“Why is he picking Stiles up?” Danny mutters.
Peter is not about to explain any of his personal life to this guy.
He gives Laura a pointed look. “I think it’s about time we go over the threats.”
“Threats?” Danny frowns, glancing at Jackson who grits his teeth and says nothing.
“Well,” Laura drawls, pushing away from her spot by the wall and walks closer to the couch so she can crouch down before him. “We have to tell you in great detail what we’re going to do to you and your family if you ever decide to be stupid enough to tell our secret to anyone else.”
Danny’s fear spikes up again.
The street that Jungle is on is well-lit during the night, making it easy to scan the faces he sees. No one’s familiar to him and Stiles’ Jeep is still in the parking lot so Chris texts Allison to ask how much longer they’re going to be.
She quickly responds with, Checking.
He ends up waiting for at least ten minutes, nothing about the conversations happening around him catching his interest until four people exit the club, three guys and a girl. At first he ignores them but when he hears Stiles’ last name, he pays more attention as the group heads over to a car near his.
“Struck out with Stilinski too?” The girl asks a dark-haired guy, seemingly laughing at him.
“Only because Danny got all weird, do you think he’s into him?”
“I don’t know,” a blonde guy shrugs, pulling the driver’s door open and then leaning against the top. “Isn’t quiet and mysterious more Danny’s type?”
“Maybe he’s just looking for a rebound,” the girl says. The third guy has already gotten into the car, looking queasy.
“Whatever,” the dark-haired one huffs. “I would’ve had Stilinski on his knees for the rest of the night if it weren’t for his prissy attitude.”
Chris can’t help but glance over at those words, eyes tightening in anger.
The others at least have the decency to groan in disgust.
“Not cool, man,” the blonde guy snaps.
“What?” He asks, tone innocent but grin perfectly aware of what he said wrong.
“Get in, you loser,” the girl pushes him playfully and they settle in to drive off.
Seems like Stiles got quite a bit of attention tonight. Which makes sense, Chris sighs, considering how easily he himself has been struck dumb by Stiles’ face, eyes, mouth. And body—god, he thinks back to two nights ago when he got to be inside that body, the feeling close to what it’s like to fuck Peter but also so different and new.
Stiles is eighteen, discovering his sexual interests… Chris is older and only getting more so.
At some point, surely, Stiles is going to look around and realize all the opportunities and experiences the world’s got to offer. He’ll realize that he doesn’t need Chris or Peter to feel good, to have fun with-
A memory springs up, Stiles and him sitting in his kitchen, Stiles looking at him, earnest with his attention. The words, I like talking to you. How Stiles didn’t seem to notice just how much that meant to Chris, that there was more to his attraction than just Chris’ physicality.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by his daughter calling out, “Dad, hey!”
He looks up to see her exiting the club with a smile and a wave and behind her are Scott and Stiles, the latter visibly perking up when their eyes meet.
Oh boy. Stiles’ eyes are blown, mouth a little slack and slow as it spreads into a smile.
Derek was right, he’s wasted.
Chris pushes off his car quickly when Stiles stumbles close towards him, barely catching him in time as he just flings himself at Chris. Arms go quickly around his neck and sweat, alcohol and several different shades of cologne and perfume hit his nose, making him scrunch it up a little.
“Dude,” Stiles gushes excitedly. “Everybody wants a piece of me!”
“Oh god,” Scott groans somewhere behind Stiles. Chris thinks he hears his daughter muffle a chuckle.
“Oh yeah?” He asks, blinking in surprise when Stiles’ face gets even closer, the arms around his neck pulling him down to meet Stiles for a quick yet sloppy kiss.
“There was kissing but I stopped it because I only want to kiss you,” Stiles tells him, eyes wide as if he’s begging for Chris to believe him.
“I believe you,” he says, just in case. He’s caught off guard and tired. And there’s a weird churning in his gut that he thinks might be jealousy. But he’d never be mad at Stiles for having some fun with his friends, out at a club, drunk. At least not for kissing. And for anything else… he might just get mad at himself for daring to ever entertain the notion that Stiles would just be his and Peter’s forever.
“Just you,” Stiles breathes out, brushing their noses together. Chris’ back feels a little strained in this position but he holds onto Stiles’ hips and bears with it. “And well,” he chuckles. “The other guy.”
Chris smirks, wondering how Peter would react to that.
“The other guy is currently dealing with the whole Danny issue,” he tells Stiles conspiratorially.
“What?” Stiles seems to sober up a bit at that thought, finally loosening his grip around Chris’ neck.
He grunts in relief when he gets to stand up straight.
“But Derek said he was taking him to Laura!” Stiles complains, sounding weirdly petulant. Chris’ eyebrows go high and Stiles himself winces. “Wait, I just heard myself, that was way too whiny. I’m an adult, I swear.” As if trying to prove this he pulls back from Chris completely and stands on his own.
“Laura took him to Peter, since he’s the actual Alpha of the pack,” he says quietly, aware of the people still exiting and hanging out around them.
Stiles grimaces, “Aw shit. Is he mad at me?”
Chris notices movement and looks over Stiles’ shoulder to see both Scott and Allison shuffling closer, obviously curious.
“More mad at Jackson, I’m sure, for telling in the first place.”
“Except… you see…” Stiles palms his face. “That was my idea. To tell Danny.”
Chris takes that in, thinks back to Peter’s frustration at having his night intruded and the way he obviously didn’t care for Danny that much.
“Then he might get a little mad at you,” he says honestly.
Stiles’ shoulders slump down further with a sigh.
“I guess that’s fair.” Carefully, giving Chris every chance to back away or stop him, he cuddles up close again, this time wrapping his arms around Chris’ waist and leaning his forehead onto his shoulder. “I can handle that. I’ve been spoiled as fuck having guys as hot as you two so into me,” he mutters, low enough that he’s pretty sure at least Allison doesn’t hear it. Scott’s why am I here expression says enough. Stiles’ head snaps back so he can stare at Chris. “Wait, you are still into me, right? I haven’t embarrassed myself too much or anything?”
Chris brushes a hand through Stiles’ hair, fingers twitching a little at the wetness.
“Still into you,” he promises simply, hoping that’s enough since his daughter is there, hearing every word. “How drunk are you?” He asks when Stiles’ eyes close, his body leaning heavily against Chris in a very obvious I don’t feel like standing anymore way.
Stiles nuzzles in close, tucks his nose under Chris’ chin. “Not so drunk that we can’t have some fun tonight.” Stiles’ hands slide their way down to grab Chris by the ass.
He does his best to not react to it, on his face or in his pants.
“Get in, I’ll take you to Peter’s.”
Stiles pulls back with a frustrated groan but follows his instructions and tucks himself into the passenger’s seat, fighting a little with the seatbelt before managing to get it on right.
Chris braces himself and turns back to the other two.
Allison is looking as amused as ever at his predicament but Scott’s full-on glaring at him.
“He’s definitely way too drunk to have sex right now,” he whispers to Chris.
Chris is not about to be lectured by him of all people.
“Noted. How about my daughter?” He receives an annoyed stare from Allison.
Scott, predictable as always, loses all of his confidence and starts stammering, “I, uh, I mean-”
“I only had two shots at the start of the night, dad,” Allison says evenly, eyes shooting daggers. “I’m fine.”
“Alright,” he eases up. “You don’t need to worry about Stiles, Scott,” he assures him.
Scott looks behind Chris and smirks at whatever he sees.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He points and Chris turns around to see Stiles passed out against the car window, mouth wide open.
“Great.” He wonders how he got here. Oh yeah, Peter. He rubs at his eyes tiredly. He probably should’ve asked Derek to handle this. Or just trust Scott to go with the original plan in the first place. But Peter’s reaction to Stiles being drunk got to him too, he knows what men can be like when they’re drunk, how pushy, how carelessly aggressive.
Allison’s just outwardly laughing at him now.
“Make good choices, dad!” She shouts as she and Scott head to Stiles’ Jeep.
Well… Stiles has definitely managed to make him feel younger again, he thinks as he stands there, feeling chastised and warned off by his daughter and her boyfriend of all people.
He could sense Cora and Lydia’s arrival a while ago so he trails the others downstairs after everything’s cleared up, threats are made and Danny’s been accepted as a pack-adjacent figure. He’s curious as to why the girls didn’t come up.
Everyone pauses after they exit the building, taking in the sight of Cora and Lydia sitting on the curb, eating tacos.
“Got any spares?” Danny calls out to them, walking over.
Lydia thrusts the bag at him. “You okay?” She asks, mouth half-full. Still pretty drunk but beginning to sober up, Peter guesses.
“Terrified,” Danny replies dryly, looking into the bag. “But better, in a way.”
“It’s nice to know shit,” she says agreeingly and eats the last bite of her taco.
“I’m taking them home,” Derek says, also walking over. “Want a ride?” He reaches a hand down to Lydia who grasps it and lets him pull her up.
“Sure, thanks,” she says and then looks at Jackson, who’s been acting like a pathetic kicked puppy the entire time. Peter feels all the more justified in his reasons for not readily inviting the guy into his pack. “Sleepover? Both of you?”
As the three settle the details of that, Peter pulls out his phone and texts Lydia a list of all the topics he and Laura did not talk about. Don’t bring these up. Especially, and I can’t stress this enough, the witches.
On their way to the SUV, Lydia sees the text and looks up to roll her eyes at him.
I’m not an idiot. Is what she texts back after they drive off.
“Coming with me?” Laura gestures at Cora, who’s been diligently finishing up her food.
“Yeah.”
“What was this all about?” Peter asks her.
“Lydia wanted to storm in and protect Danny against the Big Bad Wolves. When we left the club we realized we didn’t have a ride. We started walking, we got hungry, by the time we got here she’d calmed down so we waited.” Cora sucks grease and sauce from her fingertips. “And I was so close to getting laid tonight,” she sighs heavily.
Laura snorts and pulls her sister up. “There will be other nights, come on.”
Peter decides to wait outside by himself, enjoying the early-early morning air on his face that always feels extra fresh and chilly. And it doesn’t take long until Chris’ car is pulling in, a figure slumped asleep in the passenger’s seat.
“Everything’s fine,” Chris says as soon as he opens his door.
Peter goes to the other side to see if Stiles feels like waking up or needs to be carried.
So many scents on him, is his first thought as he brushes the backs of his fingers against Stiles’ cheek.
Stiles smacks his lips a few times and then blinks, squinting up at him.
“Hey, home already?”
Peter’s heart jumps a little at the word.
“Yes. Did you have fun?”
Stiles smiles, beautifully relaxed. “Yeah, danced a lot. More than ever before. ‘S fun.”
“I’m sad I didn’t get to see that.”
“I’ll give you a private show sometime,” Stiles leers.
“Come on, can you walk?”
“I probably can but why do I have to?” He pouts exaggeratedly and Peter huffs out a laugh at this clear manipulation. He gathers him close and lifts him out of the car.
“Not a bridal carry!” Stiles complains.
Peter exchanges an amused glance with Chris who is hanging back, observing.
“What did you have in mind, then?”
Somehow with a lot of maneuvering and Peter holding him up, Stiles manages to wrap all four limbs around Peter and mold their fronts together.
“This,” Stiles grins and leans in for a kiss.
Peter doesn’t hide his disgust when he pulls his head back.
“You stink of other people and alcohol, you need a shower and some sleep.”
“But-”
“I’m serious.”
Stiles’ head falls back with his overdramatic sigh.
“Fine.”
When they’re back upstairs and Stiles is stumbling his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake, Peter shoos Chris away.
“Go get in bed already, you’re exhausted.”
“You sure?”
“I can handle him on my own, go.”
He stands before the open bathroom door, listening to Chris’ movements in the bedroom. Only when he hears the man slide under the covers with a satisfied sigh does he enter. Stiles slides the shower door open, water already running and pumps a fist in the air with excitement.
“Shower sex!”
“No,” Peter dissuades him quickly.
“Oh, come on,” Stiles tries the pout again.
“If you want to sleep in my bed tonight, scrub well.” He keeps his clothes on and leans his ass against the sink. “I’m only here to make sure you don’t brain yourself.”
“Mean,” Stiles sighs but closes the shower and does as Peter asks. Ten minutes later when he comes out dripping but deliciously clean, looking like a wet dream come to life, Peter allows himself a moment to nose at his neck, the underside of his jaw, getting his own clothes wet in the process.
“Better,” he breathes out and enjoys the way Stiles shivers in his arms.
“Please,” Stiles whispers, nudging his naked hips against Peter’s.
“Mm, no.”
“Drunk sex is supposed to be pretty awesome too,” Stiles huffs. “If I put it on the list, will I get it then?”
Peter presses his grin into Stiles’ skin, kissing a trail along one shoulder.
“Another night,” he promises.
“Okay,” Stiles finally relents.
Hands slide along Peter’s back, one of them grips the back of his neck.
“You’re kind of tense, everything alright? Is it because of Danny? Are you mad at me?”
He pushes Stiles away so that he can see his face.
“No, that guy would’ve figured some of this out on his own and it’s good we talked to him now before he did something stupid.”
“That’s what Lydia’s been trying to tell Laura for ages,” Stiles says. “So what is it?”
Peter sighs, rubs his hands up and down Stiles’ arms, noticing how quickly the other has cooled down after his shower.
“Not exactly excited about Chris leaving right now.”
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees and then softens Peter up inside instantly by just touching their foreheads together. “Same here.”
They take a moment as they stand there to share their worry and anxiety, not with words, but touches and it calms Peter down enough that even he manages to get a few hours of sleep with Chris in his arms, Stiles huddled up close against his back.
Chris’ alarm goes off at nine and wakes all of them up.
Stiles groans as he’s jostled by Chris getting out of bed.
He keeps his eyes closed with the hope of sleeping off this hangover.
A few minutes pass in silent agony.
He feels like roadkill. His mouth tastes like roadkill. There’s no way he’s going back to sleep without some minty freshness and lots of water and perhaps a painkiller.
With a plan in mind, he ever so slowly slides out from under the covers and then sits there for a minute, waiting for the room to calm the fuck down and stop spinning. He’s in no mood for a carousel ride.
He glances over his shoulder at Peter, who has pushed his head under a pillow, probably when the alarm went off. The blankets are low enough to show off a wide stretch of back that Stiles would usually be super excited to get his hands on but right now his priority is the state of his mouth so he valiantly gets up and feels himself grow about ten shades paler as his stomach twists and turns. No cold sweat just yet. Breathing out in relief, he slowly makes his way to the bathroom, towards the promise of an empty bladder and clean teeth.
By the time he finally gets to the kitchen, wearing the comfiest clothes he could find in Peter’s dresser, a fully dressed Chris has managed to make coffee and eggs and toast.
“Eat up, it might help with the hangover,” he says as he turns around with a plate, holding it out to Stiles who shuffles closer and takes it.
He can’t bring himself to eat it just yet. He puts it on the counter.
“I definitely drank too much. I regret everything,” he groans and covers his face with his hands, rubbing his temples. Strong, calloused fingers on the back of his head, putting pressure on the other two points. Stiles looks at Chris’ face so close to his own, worry lines clear on the man’s face as he tries to help.
“You’re so good,” he moans nonsensically and hugs him close. Now there are fingers brushing through his hair, massaging his scalp. If he was capable of purring he’d be going at it like a lawn mower. “I was so embarrassing yesterday,” he sighs. “Was it amusing at least?”
“Very,” Chris’ sleepy voice rumbles through his chest and Stiles wants to burrow deeper, keep the man’s arms around him forever. Or at least until he doesn’t feel like death itself.
“You’re leaving today,” he says sadly, lifting his head.
“I am,” Chris says, frowning a little as his eyes search Stiles’ face.
“When?”
“Allison’s expecting me back home in about an hour.”
“Okay,” he says, voice small. He doesn’t have much else to say to that.
“Stiles,” Chris says to get his attention.
He looks up, waiting.
“I’m glad we did this. Before the trip.” Chris’ eyes seem to say a lot more than just that. Whatever it is, the intensity of it gets Stiles’ heart to speed up.
“Yeah?”
Since he’s so focused on them, Stiles notices how Chris’ eyes seem to smile before his mouth does.
“Yeah.”
If anything can be learned about last night, it’s that Stiles can afford to be a little more confident.
He smirks at Chris mischievously, “Like me that much, huh?”
Chris takes it in stride, smirking right back.
“Guess so.”
Wanting more of a reaction than just that, Stiles pushes closer, leaving barely an inch between their lips.
“Gave you something to think about during those cold winter nights,” he whispers.
Chris ruins the moment by laughing but Stiles can’t be mad when he finds the man’s laugh so goddamn attractive.
“You did,” he says.
Peter’s voice cuts in, “Is this really how you two converse when I’m not in the room?” He sounds incredibly disappointed in them as he brushes past, beelining for the coffee and nothing else.
Stiles looks at Chris and smiles at the humor he sees in the man’s eyes.
He answers for the both of them, “Yeah.”
The actual goodbyes are a simple affair, Scott and Stiles and Peter the only ones there to give them a proper send-off.
Allison puts away her last bag into the trunk, everything else already packed and ready since yesterday and they’re good to go.
Allison and Scott share one last kiss so Stiles feels like he’s owed one too.
Chris’ hand cradling his jaw as the man lingers makes parting a lot harder. But at the very least he needs to make space for Peter, so he ends the kiss and steps back, watches as Peter keeps his kiss brief so he can stick his nose under Chris’ jaw, breathing him in.
Chris’ mouth goes tight with concern as he holds Peter close.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Peter doesn’t say anything, curls his hands into fists as he steps away.
“We’ll keep you updated,” Chris tells them and gets in the car.
Allison comes over to hug him too. Stiles holds her tight.
“Going to miss you too.”
“You better continue with your training.”
“Without you around to nag me?”
Allison pulls away with a playful glare. “I don’t nag. At least keep running?”
“I’ll try,” he shrugs.
“I’ll text you too,” Allison says to Peter who quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “I’ll keep him safe. Make sure he gets to heal.”
For the first time that morning, Peter smiles.
“Well, then I’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Stiles watches as they hug too, surprised at how much affection there seems to be between the two.
“Okay, see you sometime before Christmas, I’ll bring back presents,” she grins and with a few last waves from everyone, the car starts, pulls out and drives off.
Scott lets out a long sigh, sounding incredibly forlorn.
Usually Stiles would poke fun at him for that but he just follows the sigh with one of his own, because, “Same, bro.”
“He’ll be back,” Peter says, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “He’ll be back.”
Stiles glances at him and leans closer, hoping to comfort however he can.
The three of them stupidly stand there for a few more minutes, staring at nothing. As they do, there’s a niggling feeling at the back of his mind that disturbs him a little. He feels like they’re forgetting something. Something they were supposed to do? Or find out? Or…
But he doesn’t get far with that train of thought before it all fades and he forgets all about it.
He pats Scott on the arm and gets a soft smile in reply.
The next few weeks are going to suck but maybe it’ll be a good chance to spend some time with his best bro again.
Yeah, he decides. He’ll make sure Scott doesn’t have too much time on his own to wallow.
If nothing else, it’ll at least distract him too.
Notes:
a lot of this was just stiles being really hot
i will not apologizebut hey, enough with the loveydovey shit, time to get back to some plot and worldbuilding!
things have all been set up, i'm pretty excited to write what comes nextalso, i'm almost sure we're past the halfway point now
at least when it comes to the word count
i hope... jesus i hope so
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