Chapter Text
Only an idiot would make the same mistake twice. That’s what this man was. For sure! He had to be . . . an idiot, because there was no way a person with any kind of supernatural inclination could try the exact same approach twice and expect a different result the second time. Did he mention that it was the exact same thing? Like down to the chief ‘bad-guy’ and the kidnapping shtick?
The first time Stiles had let it go, with a warning yes, but nevertheless, he’d let it go. He’d said no, and that was all there was to it. Case closed! Finito! Заканчивать! Claro? . . . Or not, clearly . . . because here he was, again!
As he listened he clearly heard Allison’s voice, asking the witches what the hell they were doing and furthermore why, as scratching and snarling sounds grew louder, and Scott shouted an alarm to Derek to watch his feet. Then came the rattle of a chain and the snarling intensified. And that, gosh darn it, peaked Stiles’ curiosity. After 22 years he still couldn’t resist a puzzle.
The male witch said something about the pack’s Spark being dead, which reaaaaally got Scott going, because hello, Stiles is very much alive. He ran a hand over himself standing there in the dark outside the warehouse to verify. Yup, all parts (including the family jewels) intact – soooo very much alive. Thank you very much. Besides, he was no longer their Spark!
He considered his options, and bent to the first little plant his eyes saw with a number of leaves on it. Tapping each leaf in turn, I’ll do it, I won’t do it, I’ll do it, I . . . and so on, until all the leaves were accounted for. Shit, this meant he was going to have to save them wasn’t he? Oh Lord, Peter was going to be annoyed, again. But it was his own damn fault. So with a thought Stiles swung open the massive doors and strode in. Maybe he could do this like Denzel Washington in The Equalizer in 20 seconds. Yeah, that’d be hot. He glanced at his wrist. Damn, he wasn’t even wearing a watch. Well there went that idea.
The witch was standing in front of the pack. There was a feral omega chained to the floor that was currently very anxious to use Derek for kibble. Well that accounted for the noises. And beside Derek, Scott, Allison and Lydia were also chained to the floor. In the case of Lydia and Allison, with a few bruises to show for the trouble. A look at the bloody chaffing told Stiles there was wolfsbane in the chains. Made sense, actually. Maybe the witch wasn’t an idiot. Maybe he was just incompetent.
Then the man grinned at him, tossing a pointed thumb in his direction, as the other two witches watched him warily. The man then crossed his arms, still grinning and said bald-facedly, “I heard you were dead. We’ve been searching for you for almost a year. Where the hell have you been?”
And how the hell did any of that make sense? They thought he was dead but had been still searching for him since their last encounter? Ok, so opinion revised, definitely an idiot.
“Stiles?!” It was Scott’s hurt and bewildered voice, that with those puppy dog eyes could once upon a time get Stiles to do just about anything. But that was once upon a time. Those kinds of fairytales no longer existed.
Stiles ignored him and kept on walking into the room. “Well, Voila! Alive and well. And I believe last time we met I told you I wasn’t interested and I also believe last time I told you it wouldn’t be in your interest to go after people I knew again. I thought I was clear. I mean I was speaking English at the time, at least I think I was.” He glanced behind him before he remembered. “Dammit, he’s not here or I’d ask him. I’m sure it was English, but I apologise if I by chance lapsed into one of the other languages. Happens when I get upset or anxious or ‘overly emotional’,” he said using finger quotes. “At least that’s what my therapist says, but she’s a quack so who knows . . . but don’t tell her I said that.” He paused, blushed a little and rolled his eyes upward. “I digress.”
He glanced around the room, taking in everything. “Like I said, I thought we came to an understanding. To my recollection you nodded to indicate you understood last time, so everything that happens to you is your fault for lying.” Stiles had continued moving forward, long coat swaying, scarf wrapped around his neck to keep him warm – Beacon Hills at this time of year was murder on the skin – so Scott’s shout, when it came echoed and startled the three witches.
“Stiles, watch out!”
He was close enough for the snapping, snarling Omega to rush at him. He stared at the poor creature, which stopped its antics for a while to stare back. The power in the room amped up to a sizzle, and then the Omega was pulling, trying to get to him while whimpering pitifully. He walked up to the animal, laid a hand on its head and sighed. With a brush of his hand the animal’s chains fell off and he changed back into his human form.
“Sleep. I’ll make sure you’re ok.” And like if he was cat-nip for wolves, the omega rubbed against his hand, all but purring, and promptly rolled over asleep.
Still ignoring the pack, he returned cold, whiskey-coloured eyes to the main witch among the three. “I told you to leave me alone. To go away and not return. What part of that was code for imprison my friends and try to torture them?”
Now that shook Derek’s mind. Their being held hostage had something to do with Stiles? But that made no sense. He glanced at the youth with interested, even if annoyed, eyes. He’d no doubt gone and got himself in some kind of trouble again. After these past couple years had nothing changed?
“Our leader wants you in our coven, and what he wants he gets. He wants you, Red Wolf, and it’s only a matter of time,” the older woman who was farthest back in the room said.
“Don’t make us hurt your little friends. Come willingly and we’ll let them go.” One of the witches, a brown haired peaky looking, malnourished chit in too dark lipstick, sneered at him. That really was not a good colour for her with that pasty skin, Stiles thought absently. Didn’t she have friends? Or a mirror?
Stiles snorted. “That’s a bald-faced lie and you know it. But you’re welcome to try taking me.”
That’s all the invitation these three needed to charge at him. Ms. Pasty Skin and Bones reached him first and tried to use her wand to cast a spell. Which, what? Idiot! Would that not have been better done from way over there where she was? Seriously, even if he’d been considering joining a Coven, this one was filled with shits for brains.
To punish the stupidity, he grabbed the witches hand, wand and all and twisted. The snapping sound and the resulting scream was loud against the echoing walls of the warehouse, as her wand hit the cold floor. Allison cringed and Derek and Lydia flinched, as Scott’s jaw dropped. What the . . . what? Stiles?
Spinning her by the snapped hand, Stiles used the momentum to close-line the woman and the brittle sound of snapping bone was all the proof they needed that her neck was broken. Stiles dropped her where she stood, like the bag of trash she was. Such foolish waste of life.
Angered by her mates’ death the older woman began chanting furiously. Before she could even get half the spell done, the breath left her. She stood clutching her throat, gasping for breath, the sound as painful to hear as her death was to watch. She fell to the ground wriggling like a marionette with a clipped string. One last struggle and she ceased all movement. Dead.
The cocking of a weapon drew all eyes to the single man that remained. What the hell, did people still carry revolvers that needed cocking? How the hell old was that thing anyway? With any luck it would misfire so he could get out of here to his dad before you know who. He’d never hear the end of it otherwise.
“Last chance,” the witch said, an evil smile still on his face. Such bad B-movie acting. Stiles shook his head. Total lack of originality. Then he recalled how he’d wanted to be Denzel earlier and kill everyone in under 20 seconds. Oh well, a good action scene was a good action scene regardless, and copying was the sincerest form of flattery, or something like that.
“Stiles, just get out of here for God’s sake!” It was Derek’s plea, and he finally looked at the man with the bushy boisterous eyebrows, and raised one of his own.
“What is your final answer? Will you join us Red Wolf?” the witch interrupted.
“I’m not sure how many languages I can say no in. I mean all I know is no, and well, neit! Oh wait, there’s also nee, non, na, nein. Holy crap, that’s more than I thought I knew. Impressive! Of course, I also know how to write it in Spanish with all the correct punctuations . . .” he trailed off as the man screamed his annoyance and fired.
He wasn’t the only one screaming. So was the pack, but Stiles just stood there looking at the bullet, before simply shifting and allowing it to strike the window behind him. Glass rained down onto the floor. He looked back at the witch, who was shaking a burnt hand, having dropped the gun which suddenly overheated in his palm.
“Now, my kinder nature is saying to me, to send you away with a warning. But then see, I did that last time and you came back. Your mistake this time, other than kidnapping people I know, is that you struck Allison and Lydia, and see, that’s what I have to kill you for.”
The glass from the floor rose into the air and the witch’s eyes went wide. No doubt he was thinking of counter spells. Too bad none would help him. The glass let loose and there was only the spray of blood and a gurgling noise as the man fell to the ground.
“Well that was unexpected,” a voice said from behind him, and Stiles closed his eyes tight and winced before turning around. Peter stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his coat and eyebrows raised in mock question as he surveyed the scene before him. “I was wondering why you weren’t where you were supposed to be.” The censure in Peter’s voice as well as the amusement was clear.
“It’s all your damn fault. You were late.” Stiles frowned, warily.
Peter laughed as his eyebrows went up again and he walked into the warehouse, stepping over the unconscious omega and raising his coat so the tails didn’t brush his mangy, dirty skin. The hackles of every wolf in the room rose at the acknowledgement of the Alpha that had just stepped into their sphere. Scott growled.
Peter merely wrinkled his nose, ignoring McCall as he came to stop in front of Stiles. “You are the one who was supposed to meet me,” Peter glanced at his watch, “thirty-five minutes ago. So in fact, you’re late.” He glanced at the body bleeding out on the floor. “Oh, him again.”
Stiles shrugged and rolled his eyes, “And I got bored.”
“P-Peter?” the surprise in Derek’s voice came out almost as a squeak.
“Hello nephew . . .”
Derek could feel the curiosity of the other members of the pack as his uncle, his Alpha Uncle, responded. “I’d say good to see you, but circumstances being what they are, I wouldn’t want to seem insensitive,” he said softly with a raised brow at Derek, his expression saying it would definitely be addressed, some other time.
Stiles was always amazed that Hales could have entire conversations with just their eyebrows.
“Soooo. . .” Peter drawled, looking around at the still shackled McCall Pack members.
“So what? We’re going to set them free and then go meet dad for dinner, like we planned. I’ll tell him it was your fault for not keeping closer tabs on me and I couldn’t not do something about people in trouble,” Stiles responded as he glanced at Derek and the chains fell off.
“As long as you make it clear this time that I had nothing to do with the dead bodies. I was in the dog house for weeks after the last time,” Peter screwed up his nose as if he smelled something foul. Could be the omega.
Stiles turned slowly grinning and then Peter realised what he’d said. Shit, he winced, the little bastard was gonna milk this for all it was worth.
“You were in the ‘dog house’?! The dog house, really? You’re allowed to make wuff-wuff jokes but I can’t. You’re such an asshole, you know that? I’m going to be barking around the house every day for the foreseeable future. Just letting you know,” Stiles laughed. Peter loved Stiles’ laugh.
“Right, and I’m the asshole?” Peter shook his head. “Can we go now?”
“Stiles?” It was Scott, pleading voice, puppy dog eyes and looking for all the world like he was about to lose his best friend. Tough, because he did a long time ago, and Stiles had no desire to go back in time to change it, even if he could.
“What, McCall?”
The Beacon Hills Alpha looked like he was about to tear up at the use of his surname. “Can we talk?”
“No, we really can’t, and I’m late.” And Stiles turned, Peter on his heels not sparing a single one of them a glance. They didn’t deserve any more of his time. Derek was more than capable of freeing the others. But he bent to the omega, touched a finger to the fallen wolf’s head, watched as he frowned in his sleep, snuffled, before his face settled into a calm expression. Peter made a noise that Stiles knew he’d hear about later. “You won’t need to kill him. He’ll be on his way soon as he wakes up with no trouble to any of you. So leave him alone too.” The gaze he cast around dared anyone to challenge him on it.
Turning to Peter, he said, “Now we can go.”
“You had to touch him? You just had to touch him?” Peter sneered, nose twitching and face scrunched. Oh well, Stiles guessed later was actually now and Peter would say his bit. “You know you’re washing those hands before they come anywhere near me, right?”
“Really, not even if I . . .” whatever saucy comment Stiles had been making was swallowed up by the night.
++++++
Despite the earlier levity, the journey to the station was a silent one, Peter knowing perfectly well when to give him his space and when to force him to discuss and not bottle his feelings up. He’d gotten considerably better at it in the time they’ve been together, and because they discussed everything, they held no secrets from each other and Stiles was a lot more confident in expressing himself than when they’d first started. But when he needed his space, Peter gave it to him without rancour.
Soon enough they were pulling up outside the Sheriff’s office and Peter turned in the seat to look at him.
“Not yet,” was all Stiles said before climbing out of the car. The asshole had to rent the most impractical of vehicles, a Ferrari California, to drive to Beacon Hills. His dad would flip at the size of this thing. They’d probably have to end up taking dad’s jeep, because no way was his dad folding himself into this bug, despite the four seats. Sometimes he didn’t know why he put up with the guy. Stiles smiled because he knew that was an absolute, filthy lie. He knew exactly every single thing he loved about Peter Hale.
He walked into the station to a scream from Zerry at front desk. “Stiles! Oh my God! Look at you!” He swore that he could literally see the exclamation points after the woman’s every sentence and phrase, as she enveloped him in the biggest hug.
“Hi Z. How are you?”
“Good, sweetie! Your dad must be excited to have you back in town! You are back right?! Of course, you’re back!” she barely paused between question and statement, but her eyes shifted and widened when the door opened behind Stiles and he felt Peter’s warmth to his back.
Stiles just smiled. “I don’t think you two have met before. Deputy Zerry Ellis, this is my boyfriend, Peter Hale. Peter, meet Z. Peter grew up here in Beacon Hills.”
Stiles knew what was coming and wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t even sure the woman heard about Peter being an old Beacon Hills native. He barely held in the sigh as Peter turned on the charm, taking the woman’s hand and kissing her knuckles as Stiles rolled his eyes.
Zerry blushed and giggled. The sweet, intelligent and often practical woman actually giggled, reduced to twittering at Peter. Stiles exhaled and walked away to his dad’s office, greeting other officers as he went, then pausing to call over his shoulder – “Better not let dad catch you flirting with his staff!” to which he would swear he heard Peter scoff. The bastard!
“Hey son,” his father stood to embrace him in a tight hug. Then he stood back to just look at him. “You look good. Glad you got in safely. I could have driven down and picked you guys up from the airport, you know?” Looking behind him, brow furrowed, he queried, “Where’s Peter?”
“Flirting with your staff,” Stiles said cheekily.
Recognising what was surely afoot, the Sheriff only sighed, but Peter came quickly through the door, closing it behind him with a whispered rejoinder, “At least I’m not the one leaving three bodies in a warehouse downtown.”
“Snitch!” Stiles gasped.
“Love you too, baby.”
“Dammit, you two,” the Sheriff breathed. “You haven’t been in the country long enough for a body count.”
“You two?!” Peter asked in feigned innocence. “I didn’t lay a hand on anyone. By the time I got there they were dead already.”
John’s eyes narrowed on his kid. “What kind of clean up do I need to do, or do I need to place you under arrest this time?”
“They were witches trying to start something. I simply finished it.” All this was said as Stiles shot daggers from eyes trained on his boyfriend.
He’d had enough. The Sheriff gave another wary sigh and shoved Stiles toward the door, hoping Peter would follow after him. “I need details, but I think I’m going to need a drink for this one. Let me finish up here and I’ll meet you two out front.”
As the two left, bickering as usual, the Sheriff smiled despite the conversation that was likely to follow and the reason he’d invited the two back to town for a short while. He was glad Stiles had settled down and found someone that loved him, really loved him unconditionally. He’d been a shell of himself when John had forced him to leave three years and some months ago. He’d been crushed and convinced he didn’t even know who he was anymore. But, just as John knew he would, he’d found himself, and his inner strength, in large part due to the man that had just followed him out the door. John still didn’t know if Stiles would have come into his own so quickly hadn’t Peter been at his back pushing him, irritating him and motivating him all the way.
The two bickered and loved like he and Claudia did in the early days and up until she got sick. He smiled warmly as his heart gave a slight twinge. He was so proud of their boy. She would have been too. Suddenly he scowled. He just needed to get through dinner without wanting to strangle them both.
++++++
Stiles turned, yet again. Peter loosened his hold on the younger man until he settled across his chest again. Still he said nothing. When it came to Stiles sorting out his feelings, Peter could exhibit the patience of a saint. Yet another thing Stiles loved about him.
“You gonna see Derek?”
“I suppose I should, especially being a trespasser on another pack’s territory. It’s been more than a decade and I think we have a few things to settle between us after all this time.” Peter’s voice was a quiet rumble beneath Stiles’ cheek.
“He’s your family, Peter. You should. I don’t know if I can deal with the pack again though. I’ve been here less than 24 hours and I already feel less like myself than I’ve felt in a long time.”
“You’re not the same kid who left here three, four years ago, Stiles. A lot has happened in that time. You’ve grown, matured, you’re stronger both physically, mentally, and your spark has grown as well, considerably. Darling, you don’t owe them anything. You’ve got nothing to prove.” His hands ran in a smooth motion up and down Stiles’ back, helping to settle him more.
“Intellectually, I know that. I mean, a big part of me feels that, but then there’s that small part that won’t shut the fuck up and reminds me how much they hurt me and made me feel like I was less than, and being here brings all that back stronger than I would like.”
“Honey, you unshackled Derek with a thought; freed and comforted a feral omega with a brush of your hand and a few words; took out three witches before they even knew what happened. I’d say the McCall pack is very well aware what they lost. We may not be able to avoid them, being in their territory and all, but whether you ignore them, speak to them or become friends with them again, one thing’s for certain, they can’t deny it, you’re anything but weak or less than. You, my love, are awesome, and now they know it too.”
Stiles rose up, a hand solid against Peter’s chest and looked down at him. The moonlight coming through the bedroom window illuminated part of Peter’s left side, but a large part of him was still in shadows. Still Stiles just looked at him. A smile pulled at Peter’s mouth, as his nose picked up his lover’s increasing arousal. Somehow Peter always knew just what he needed.
Before long the two were tangled in each other, breathing each other in and out, moving as one. Peter’s steady chants of “Mine” and “My love”, were joined by Stiles’ “Always”. Afterward they lay against each other, skin warm, damp, both sated, and Stiles feeling he could breathe a little easier. “I love you, Peter.”
“I know, my love.” Peter’s lips brushed his temple. “I’m just glad your dad threw out that damn twin bed you kept telling me about and got a decent one in here.”
Stiles giggled, a manly sound of course, at the image of Peter folding his bulk into his childhood bed, which quickly turned into a mirth for both of them when Peter poked him in the side. Holding each other tight, they allowed sleep to come.