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I'm Only Heard During the Silence Between My Screams

Chapter Text

 

“GUYS!” Stiles screams. “We have to-“

“No Scott we can’t just let them go. We don’t get to always be the good guys. They’re going to kill us.”

“But if we kill them then we are no better than they are.”

“This isn’t about honor or what is right or wrong this is about survival. If we aren’t willing to kill them back we won’t SURVIVE.”

“There has to be another option, another angle, something else we can make them want other than to fight and kill an entire group of supernatural beings.”

“The sirens have already killed ten people. Last time we went to fight them they nearly killed Isaac and Stiles.”

“But they didn’t. We found a way out that time.”

“That doesn’t mean we will this time.”

“Guys! Hello?! Are either of you going to listen to-?”

“Yes it does, there is always a better option than murder.”

“I found a way to cancel out their singing…”

“Oh yeah and what is that Scott?”

“I have the answer guys. Literally right in this fucking book.”

“I don’t know, but we don’t have to do that. Not anymore.”

“It says right here that we can wrap lengths of Mistletoe around their necks and it’ll burn their throats enough to stop their singing. It isn’t even that hard. And, they won’t be able to take the tendrils off themselves so they’ll be unable to sing basically for the rest of their existence. If either of you felt like paying attention.”

“What is it with you and your moral rigidity? It’s the circle of life things are born and die all of the time. Between you and your aggressor sometimes only one can survive. Sometimes you have to be the hunter and not the prey. Playing touch football in the NFL doesn’t work.”

“We can’t be judge and jury Derek! We aren’t the supernatural police.”

“Yet for some reason you behave like we have to be the guardians of this entire town, but we don’t have the right to kill the threats that want to kill us? You’re being absurd. This is the same approach that got Erica and Boyd killed don’t you get that?”

“Are either of you going to listen to me?”

“I’m not letting any more of us die, but I’m not going to sanction murder.”

“Fine! I’m going to go out and see if I can find them so we can know where they are now and not kill them so they can keep luring the citizens of Beacon Hills to their deaths.” Derek walk out of his loft and slams the door shut with a yank.

“Stiles, can you just stay here and look for more answers. I just want you out of harm’s way. You can’t fight the same way we can and you’re the only one other than Lydia who’s gotten any good with these ancient texts. Please just stay out lf trouble and text me if you find anything.” Scott says and walks out after Derek.

“That’s what I was trying…” Stiles says as the shouting match continues and the opening of the elevator sound rings in his ears. “To tell you.” He sighs. “Yeah great thanks Stiles. You’re a life saver. Your totally knew how to stop them, and so fast too, wow you’re awesome. Oh what? You can block out the effect of their trance induction by putting a mountain ash paste infused piece of wax in each of your ears? How amazing!” He mumbles angrily putting down the book and taking pictures of it and closing it.

“God it’s like the only reason they haven’t beaten the sirens yet is because they’re too busy screaming at each other to hear anyone else. Not that this is new, I haven’t been able to get either of them to listen to my plans at all for the last few months and Scotts basically ignoring me because of Kira and Derek is dating Braeden. Isaac finally moved to France last week and there is a new baby wolf to deal with and he’s unhinged so whatever little. God, when did I end up so inaudible? Oh yeah, when no one could tell that the Nogitsune took over my body and they really didn’t care until I practically murdered everyone. And, after that Scott could barely look at me… More people listened to me when I was in Eichen.”

Stiles walks over the growing book case and puts the book back in its place. He goes into the guest room and picks his bag out of the corner of the room and starts the trek back home. Derek had picked them both up on the way from school because his jeep broke down in the parking lot. She needs a new alternator… and carburetor… and breaks. He sighs bleakly into the crisp night air. The walk is easier now than it was a few months ago. It’s only a mile and a half and there’s still some daylight. September just doesn’t feel the way it used to anymore, not now that it just means the added stress of keeping up with school in between running for his life and sanity. He puts in his headphones and lets himself just zone out, he clicks on autopilot letting his feet guide him back the way from the apartment. Right, left, right, left, right.

……

Eventually Stiles is at his front door; he pulls out his keys and unlocks it before walking in. His dad’s home tonight, surprisingly, with the rash of missing persons due to the sirens arrival he figured his father would be home late tonight. Again. At least the overtime help pay for the repairs for my jeep we might not otherwise be able to afford.

“Hey Stiles, how are you?”

He turns to his dad and blinks for a moment “Mm, fine I guess.” He replies and walks upstairs.

“Did you guys figure out how to solve the new problem?”

“Yeah,” Stiles grunts back and plops his books down pulls out a highlighter and starts reading his text book. AP Chemistry. At least Harris isn’t around to torture me all year this time.

Thirty minutes later he hears a ring at the doorbell and the sound of his father greeting Jeff, their pizza delivery guy from the organic pizza parlor 2 blocks away, he pays for the pizza and calls up to him “Hey Stiles, I got a pizza. I have to go into work tonight another girl was declared missing from when she disappeared yesterday. There’s paperwork I have to do. I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

“Okay.” Stiles says and walks down the stairs.

“I love you son.” The sheriff says, kisses his forehead, and walks out the door.

You too. Stiles grabs the three quarters of a pizza and heads back up to study some more.

At nine thirty he gets a text

Scotty: Hey, did you find anything out?

Stiles: …

*Picture sent*

Scotty: Thanks, talk to you tomorrow.

Stiles finishes his studying for the night and goes to bed.

……

 Stiles gets up the next morning no worse for wear than usual. Thank god I didn’t dream last night.

He showers, musses his hair a bit and throws on his boxer-briefs. He walks down the stairs and grabs some pop tarts plops them in the toaster and heads back upstairs. He pulls on an undershirt. Green today, I guess. Then he grabs his last clean pair of jeans, he pulls them on and grabs a flannel, unrolls the sleeves and sloughs it on whilst grabbing is pack from the floor and then making his way down the stairs.

Stiles grabs the pop tarts out of the toaster and brings them upstairs with him. He bites onto one to free his hand and gropes into his underwear drawer hoping he has one remaining pair of clean socks. He finds some dusty looking white ones from the back, Hanes he notes, and makes his way back down the stairs for the final time this morning.

He grabs a cup of coffee that he scheduled to brew the same time as every morning, put some cream and sugar in it and went to the couch to finish getting ready. He pulls on his socks and then his shoes before picking up the three-quarters empty pizza box he forgot he migrated downstairs and puts it in the fridge. He finishes his second pop tart and drinks his coffee and then picks up his bag and walks out the door, grabbing his keys on his way out so he can lock it.

It’s still cold from last night. Normally it’s a bit warmer by now. He looks at his phone’s weather app.

40F it reads.

Oh well. He puts in his music and begins his two mile jog. Normally he would wait around a bit and relax before school, but he can’t drive today so it’s off to the races he goes.

……

He gets to school and heads straight for his locker. Most people are already in class, and those who aren’t are already shuffling towards them before the second bell declares them late. He gets his books and then hurriedly shuffles to class. The seats are all full except the one in the back next to Greenburg so he takes a seat next to him, grunts as a good morning and does his best to ignore the lecture. It doesn’t really matter anyway, he already did the pre-calc homework through the next week in prep for all of the monster attacks he’s expecting to come up. Mid-September is when all the ghouls like to come out just to mess with people. Not that anyone misses the dead bodies anymore now that there are always so many missing live ones.

Some way through the class Mr. Burns starts asking questions not-so-randomly to the class. He generally asks people who are either paying attention or those who aren’t performing well as to force participation, but ever since he got back from Eichen none of the teachers ask him questions unless he raises his hand anymore. So he just sits and waits for the day to be over.

Until the start of fourth period things drone on pretty evenly and the only reason its different is because it his free period. He goes to the cafeteria grabs so human slop, shovels it down as fast as he can bear, and meanders down to the library.

For some reason they decided to combine the school library and the public library a ten years back “to give students easy access to greater pools of knowledge”, but Stiles realized it was a good thing some time ago because it meant he could hold up in there and study ancient languages so he could actually transcribe some of the more archaic tomes he’d need.

Ten minutes after his normal lunch period finally rolls around 0he receives a text from scott.

Scott: Where r you?

Stiles: *image sent*

It’s a picture of the latest book he’s using to research monsters and the one next to it that helps him understand what the words actually mean.

Then it’s back to his normal schedule. When he gets out of class for the day he trudges down to the auto parts store and gets the latest in the long list of parts he’s needed for the Jeep. He walks home, sits on the couch, and watches some t.v. before making dinner and going up to his room to study once more.

He’s gotten all teachers to give him advances of homework by convincing them he may need to have it done in case he has a mental breakdown again. They all bought it easily enough and caved on the condition that he share it with no one. He obliged.

The next few days follow in suit, he goes to class, eats, goes to the library, goes back to class, and then goes home. With the exception of fixing the Jeep on Wednesday and Scott asking him for help on Friday which his response to was just to email him his current file on druid brokered supernatural treaties which was pieced together from legends on werewolves and conversations with Deaton and so on, he didn’t do anything notable.

Saturday hits and he gets out of bed sluggishly. He makes some cereal and slumps into the couch. He eats and then plays some average racing game on the ps4 he got for his birthday. Sometime around 8pm Peter turns up, at the door for once, just to bug him.

“Hello, pouty mouth, why the long face?”

“Go away.” Stiles replies before slamming the door shut.

“Fine,” Peter calls through the new oaken door they just put in. “I’ll just leave this book here then, out in the cold autumn rain. What a shame the leather will be absolutely ruined.”

Stiles opens the door again snatches the book from Peter’s hands and slams it back shut.

“Ta ta, frowny freckles.”

When did it start raining? He thinks and looks out the window.

……

The next week is the same as the last except nothing during the school week breaks the monotony. With only a vague “I’m coming over on Saturday” from Scott on Monday and a surprising lack of missing people to mark the ending of the Sirens rampage in mundane replica of his life settles further into place.

Some time around 11 pm he gets a message.

Scott: Sorry I didn’t make it, got held up in a meeting between us and a roaming pack. Maybe next weekend. I’d say tomorrow, but I have important plans with Kira. See you in school.

He doesn’t even dignify it with an answer.

The next morning its sunny out. He only knows this because there’s so much damn light hitting his eyes that he woke up at 6 AM. He rolls around in bed for an hour before deciding he won’t be able to get back to sleep.

He gets up has some cereal and waffles to recover from the late night/early morning combo and changes into some jogging clothes and grabs some essentials. He’s decided to go for a run because his normal training regimen of running for his life hasn’t started up yet and he wants to stay in shape, kinda.

He heads out towards the preserve and just keeps going. For the first time in two weeks he actually feels okay. With the air cool in his lungs and road beneath him he feels at peace out here. I wonder if it’s because I’m closer to the Nematon out here.

Ever since the false death and possession he feels more at ease out in nature. Well, less like he’s trapped in his own skin anyway. But, today isn’t going to get better for him he stops and ponders it so he keeps going.

He’s on his seventh mile in when he finally stops to make his way home. He looks down at the smart watch he got the last time his grandparents sent in a box of presents, it came with a note about how they knew he liked that sort of thing and that books were heavy so they didn’t want to ship those.  

It says if he wants to finish the circuit it should only be five more miles.  So with that news he stops. He pulls out the food he packed and sat down. A few minutes in he hears rustling in the trees and bushes off to his left, but decides to pay no mind. When it returns for the second, third, fourth time he finally decides its worth paying attention to. Not that death scares him anymore. He puts his half eaten sandwich down and closes his bottle of water. He reaches into his bag grabs a handful of Mountain ash and tosses it up. With a huff he goes back to eating, hoping whatever pathetic creature it is that decides to lurk in the brightness of 11 A.M. will just leave him alone. He bites into his sandwich just in time for Peter to lurch into existence.

“It’s a little early for a picnic don’t you think?”

Stiles leaves his headphones in and does his best to ignore the intrusive presence he’s now faced with. Maybe if I take long enough eating he won’t want to stick around.

“Well, I would join you but I don’t have any food with me today. Would you be so kind as to share?” Peter says and reaches towards the bag. But when his hand is stopped by the barrier his nagging continues “Oh Stiles, I thought we got past this. I haven’t done anything too naughty in quite some time. And not to you certainly.”

A few more minutes pass by with Stiles silently eating without responding before Peter realizes he’s unlikely to get enough of a rise out of Stiles to get him to speak, today at least. “You know I quite like this new brooding silent rendition of you. It’ll make it so much more fun when I finally make you speak. I think I’ll miss your wit. Rude and sarcastic you are, but I didn’t think you’d ever be the one to just turn your cheek and take it. Goodbye, I’ll see you soon. Oh! And try not to get your face too dirty it wouldn’t suit someone so pale.”

A few minutes later Stiles gets up, packs up, and gets going again. During the notably slower one hour long distracted run he’s no longer in a clear head space. Stupid fucking werewolf. Why can’t he leave me alone? Who the fuck stalks people through the woods and tries to embarrass them?

When he finally gets home it feels pointless to even try to do anything besides sit on the couch ad veg out in front of the TV. So he sits down and flicks it on to some random daytime weekend TV which basically means something mind-numbingly awful.

He doesn’t hear from anyone else that day.

Chapter Text

When he finally wakes up, it’s an hour later than usual. Somehow he slept straight through his alarm. He sluggishly detangled the blankets that were wrapped around him and sits up. When he does stand its only take a step, slip on a rogue water bottle and slam his wrist on his bed frame on the way down. He yelps and groans. God fucking damn it.

He gets up and grabs some clothes with his uninjured hand and tosses them on the bed. He goes into the bathroom and flicks on the lights. He looks down at his wrist and flexes gently.

Yep, that’s probably a fracture.

He grabs some compression wrap, medical tape, and a brace from his growing stock of medical supplies and patches himself up. In a few minutes he’s dressed and ready to go. He grabs some increasingly blander pop tarts and is out the door.

When he gets to school no one even bats an eye at his wrist. Over the past few years injuries have become the unspoken norm of BHHS and so long as you’re not oozing, screaming, dying, or missing no one really worries anymore.

Yet again his day goes unaccompanied by any form of verbal communication. The school food is boring and hastily made. And, turning in page after page of early homework gets less satisfying when you already know your grade is going to be perfect and that it isn’t even at the middle of your priorities list.

Getting to the library is a blessing. Finally he silence is warranted. He stops feeling lonely when he’s in a place where being alone is of benefit. He goes to the back of the stacks in the Latin section and starts transliterating more pages of the book he got from Peter last week. So far there’s mostly been information on Druidic rituals and the Darach, but from what he peeked at towards the end there was a lot of information on shapeshifters, and herbs. The herbs section of the book is what he’s most excited for. The library books have some information on medicinal purposes, but it isn’t a specialized university library or anything so it’s completely lacking in herbs related to folk lore.

He’s gotten another ten pages done when a hand slides up his arm. Whatever trivial aching in his wrist there was is gone and there’s breath on his neck. He flails up from his seat and slams his head up into the face of the person behind him. “Ehhhugh,” Stiles grunts out gutturally.

“Ow. That was uncalled for. I took your pain and in response you try to break my nose. What the hell Stiles?”

His eyes squint slightly and he rubs the back of his head a few times for emphasis. He grabs the books shoves them in his bags and walks off.

“I hope you like it! I spent three days tracking that down for you!”

“No shouting in the library.” A woman says to Peter tartly and smacks him with a hard book from behind before wisping back into the stacks from whence she materialized.

His free period and lunch are now almost over anyway so he walks to class and sits in the hallway until his last few classes will start and he can get them over with before going home.

……

That night he’s on the computer when his dad comes home at around ten o’clock. He’s tired today, more so than usual so he’s just on the computer playing a recording of his sleep, trying to look for any signs of disturbances. They’re all sped up so it only takes a few hours. He does it once a week now. Checks for irregularities. His doctors said his recovery was astonishing, but that he needed to monitor his sleeping behavior in case any or a bunch of random things they’re worried about happening occur. It’s been weeks and none of them have happened, but “one can never be too careful.” He’s also taken to journaling out any sentiments, feelings, or behaviors he thinks may be noteworthy or out of his own norm. They want him to self-moderate. They think if he’s self-aware that they may be able to help him more if his symptoms and dementia come back. He knows they won’t but it gives him something to occupy his increasingly lengthy free time. His dad comes in and kisses him on the head. “Goodnight son, I love you, don’t stay up too late. I’m dead tired so I’ll probably still be asleep when you get up for school. Leave me a pot of coffee running.”

“Mhm,” he replies and continues his search for the non-existent signs of his dementia.

The sheriff closes the door on his way out and soon enough they’re both asleep.

……

The next day goes uninterrupted. And, so does the next. He doesn’t actually get bothered by anyone again until Friday.

He’s been feeling more and more cooped up since it’s had a weird temperature drop in this last week and hit an abnormal 20F so he decides to stop by the gym after school. He’s there for three hours. He does an hour and a half of running, then does abdominal exercises for 30 minutes and then swims.  

He knows he probably should do so much at one time, but his muscles don’t relax until he’s out of the pool and goes to shower. Ones he’s under the spray the remnants of all the nervous energy finally seep out from his skin and he droops a bit.

When he’s showering he hears a clicking, it starts and stops in a matter of moments.

It’s comes back when he walks out of the locker rooms towards the parking lot’s entrance. But once he’s at the doors it’s been gone for a while. When he gets outside he looks around, but like always no one’s there.

He gets in and drives home. When he gets there his dad’s car is exiting the drive way. He waves to him as they pass each other; Social interaction of the week… Check.

He goes inside, detours over to the laundry room and drops off his bag, then goes upstairs. Turns to see his room with the light already on. That was off this morning. When he gets to the door he can hear the clicking fading in through the wood again. What kind of sick fuck?

He opens the door and Peter’s at his desk reading through his notes on the druid’s book. “What the hell are you doing?! You’ve been following me all over the place. Stalking me. You keep snooping into what I’m doing. You drop by unannounced with gifts, and creepy caresses. You scare me half to death for no reason. Why the HELL do you care to come around all the time? Why can’t you just go away? I just want to be left alone! I don’t want you or anyone else to be around. Can’t you see that?” Stiles says and shoves him off the chair he’s in straight onto the floor.

Peter turns himself over and smiles. “You know Stiles. That’s the first thing you’ve said in two weeks. So tell me what made this so important. Why are you so offended that I keep hanging around you?”

Stiles goes to the shelf grabs a vial of wolfs bane and removes the cork. He dumps some into his hand and blows it at Peter. Let’s see how you like wolf’s bane mixed with mountain ash ass hole. My personal mixture guaranteed to kick out pests and burn like a bitch at the same time.

Peter groans and jumps for the open window. He clatters to the ground outside and takes off.

Stiles takes some of the sleeping medication he was prescribed for emergencies and drifts off still seething about the intrusion.

How would he know… that that… was t- the… first thing I’d said… in tw-

Chapter Text

His dreams are flooded with the memories of the events of the past few weeks, years even. Everything from the night he almost allowed himself to be bitten by Peter to the waking nightmare of the Nogitsune. Peter’s there. Always. Standing in the back, commenting but never giving the answer, floating in and out of the ghoulish scenes like a ghost. Sometimes he’s the only thing visible in the darkness, other times he’s the source of it. But unlike everyone and everything else that is drifting through him, Peter never quite leaves the story line. Running from, with, or to him; Peter’s always there.

The last stress dream is crazier than the rest. He’s running over tundra. At least it’s not a memory. Something’s behind him, spurring him forward. He can’t escape, but he isn’t afraid it will hurt him. Suddenly the tundra cuts off and he’s jumping off the ledge. But as he falls he feels himself falling to safety rather than the usual impending doom. Just before he hits the ground he transfigures and sprouts wings. He stops just before he should die and floats down. And there Peter is again, off on the other side of the cliff face he descended from. Peter just smirks and walks out of sight.

He wakes slowly on Monday, the dream for the third night in a row giving way to the dim state of reality he finds himself in once again. The red light of his clock strike him; 5:12. *Sigh* Better get up. Wouldn’t want to give myself a reason to be labeled depressed. “Oversleeping is a sign.”

He showers quickly, just enough to slip out of the drug induced grime left over from the previous night.

When he gets out he’s jittery. On his way to school he repeatedly finds himself tapping out a manic rhythm on his wheel. It was quiet yet he was still amped up.

When he got to school an hour early he went straight to the library to bang out a few more pages. But he can’t focus, can’t read the Latin texts for shit, and finds himself tapping his made useless pen on the table even faster than normal. Every so often he looks up from the useless book to check his surroundings. There’s nothing there every time, but he does it anyway. Just to see. Just to check if anyone is lurking in the stacks around him. Peter… he better not be here. Sadistic fuck. First he was stalking me in the day light, the night time, and now I can’t escape him even in my dreams. I can’t concentrate and it’s all his fault. If he would just leave me alone like everyone else I could get on with my studies and just make sure that we’re prepared for the next supernatural assault on Beacon Hills. But NOOOO, he just has to sit there smirking, stand right behind me and... And, fucking touch me. Who just caresses another person?

He’s brought back to reality by the loud ringing of the bell. He looks at the time and realizes he’s wasted all of his ample research time thinking about Peter. God Fuck.

He scrambles to shove everything back in his bag and rushes to get back across campus for first period.

When he passes through the threshold of his first period class the second bell rings, signaling his prompt arrival. He lets out a sigh and takes the seat that people have adjusted to the thought of being his in the back of the class. Even some of the guys in the school who would’ve been most likely to try to bully him in freshman year avoid him now. Now that he shows up at every single crime scene in Beacon Hills, has been known to have gotten off of murder charges due to having a few psychotic breaks and disorders they’re all afraid of him going off on them. And, now that he’s been seen beating the shit out of Scott, his best friend, on occasion they know no one is truly safe if they push him too far.

He relaxes, sort of, into his seat and shakes his foot rapidly throughout the first few periods. After he gets back from lunch and his wasted free period he decides to utilize his permanent, laminated pass to go to the nurse’s office and try to ignore the world even harder.

It doesn’t work. The whole time he’s in there the different aspects of himself that have been arguing with each other all day decide to participate in an all-out war amongst themselves to reason out the reasons behind Peter’s stalking.

They don’t figure anything out, other than how to induce a headache. When the final bell rings for the day he stumbles out of the office, picks up the supplies he thinks he’ll need for the rest of the day and heads home.

When he gets there he walks into the kitchen, goes to the medicine cabinet they started keeping there last year grabs some Tylenol, a glass of water, and proceeds to slip through each room and check for any unwanted presences. He finds none, so returns to his bedroom.

It’s just me. He takes the pills and settles down on his bed, moving his laptop over so he can lay down.  He logs on to his computer, and logs out of his current problems. He passes out on top of his covers around 10 p.m.

Chapter Text

He does it. Not because he wants to, or that it’s a good idea in any way. But he does it. So here he is, standing down wind of Peter Hale. He skipped school today, decided it’s better to know thine enemy. Ever since the whole nogitsune debacle he got a lot better at controlling his movements, remnants of the steady drone of the monster in his head suppressing his jittery disposition. He moves quietly through the downtown mall. Just watching, waiting.

Peter’s a spectacularly boring guy for someone who devotes so much time to being witty, and mysterious. He’s gone through two beauty stores, a health food store, the only alternative medicine store the citizens of Beacon Hills have been willing to support financially for the last 18 years, and the antique store. He didn’t buy anything so clearly he’s looking for something, but with the weird yet somehow uninteresting combination of stores he’s traveled through on the second level of the mall it is no clearer what it is, than why he’s looking for it in the first place.

He got a bit heated with the clerk in the antique store. Apparently they haven’t gotten whatever it was that was supposed to be shipped there in yet even though he’s been waiting on it for the last two and a half weeks. Seems like a boring thing to scream about in the mall loud enough for someone standing outside the store to hear.

After the hour long trip to JoAnn’s Fabric Stiles basically gives up on the thought that Peter is at all interesting. What kind of evil pretentious douche actually enters a crafts store let alone wanders around in it for over an hour. He stands up to leave and takes one step when a voice drifts in from behind him.

“Stiles, I’m over here.”

Stiles turns around and sure enough as promised Peter is standing a row of seats and two guard rails behind him. “What are you doing here instead of at school, though I must applaud you for your patience, I was wondering how long it would take you to stand up from behind that newspaper.”

You’re not my mom. And that most certainly is not going to make me address you.

“Next time you follow someone you may want to make sure they aren’t going into a store that has a door to the outside without following them in. Stalking is much less effective if you are bad at it. Also, it’s better not to stalk werewolves that know your heartbeat like their own. I memorized your awkward rhythm long ago, even with the slower more even pace of it that it has now that well… we both know why it changed.”

Why would you know my heartbeat? He grimaces slightly with a tinge of bewilderment.

”Yes I know, why would I a handsome, debonair, mysterious man like myself spend enough time to memorize the heartbeat of you; some ‘hyperactive, fidgety, lanky,’ sarcastic, young chap like yourself?” Peter says while walking towards him deliberately.

“Well, I will leave that to you.” Peter says brushing by him slowly, and turning afterwards. “For now I have some devious plans to carry out. If you’d like you can come with me instead of blatantly hanging out in the nearby shadows, or you can go to the last few hours of school you have left.”

Stiles hesitates for a few moments before falling in line with Peter’s footsteps. He doesn’t say anything just walks with him.

“How did you find me without your car? It isn’t warm out and this is across town from where you live.”

Stiles smiles, slightly. But, he says nothing, just shrugs and keeps walking. I installed a GPS tracker in your phone after the first time I got alone with it.

“You know Stiles everyone likes the strong, silent type. Even if they won’t dare admit it, but somehow I think this isn’t exactly what they meant.”

They get into Peter’s car and proceed to drive around town for the remainder of the afternoon doing errands. Peter talks from time to time, but Stiles never replies. He just kind of nods, shrugs, or tilts his head in some sort of vague response to every comment and statement made. A few times, when Peter is a particular asshole Stiles chuckles. Other than that it’s mostly a companionable silence.

After that they go back to Peter’s apartment. It’s not as large as one would think, but it isn’t small. Peter’s grand personality gives way to a stylish yet minimal homestead. Each room is stripped to the bare bones of an immaculate living space. Every counter is either granite or glass, and every seat is a dark blue leather.

The few rugs that are in the apartment are ornate in design, yet somehow don’t overwhelm the room. The light fixtures hang pristinely from the ceiling and the kitchen is both tall and wide looking out over the area of town with a full wall of windows laying a few feet away from it. It lacks any overhead cabinets or loose hanging appliance wires. And, every surface looks like it was polished this morning. Somehow, the steel racks which hold the various cooking ingredients somehow add to the complete look instead of looking monstrously tacky.

Peter is a lot less intimidating than he would’ve thought once in his own environment. After a few minutes of Peter tucking things away beneath the various counter top surfaces and hiding things away in his room he comes back into the living room to turn on the T.V.

It turns into a lot of Peter scoffing at horrible home decorating choices on some random T.V. station for several hours. Then, at around 8 p.m. Peter gets up and starts making dinner. “If you don’t want to eat here you should leave now.”

Stiles doesn’t. He ends up moaning and groaning happily for the next hour of helping Peter prepare the meal and then eating. After it’s over Stiles gets up and heads for the door. Peter watches him leave but says nothing despite the fact that he’s itching to. It’s just me.

Chapter Text

Stiles doesn’t see Peter again that week. He doesn’t go looking for him either, even if it is as easy as opening up his computer. Somehow in the last few days the dreams have gone away, and now that Peter has miraculously disappeared from his mind’s forefront, he’s made a lot of progress translating the book.

The book covers pretty much everything from what he can make out to be belladonna to mandrake. And, with the drawings of the plants already included in the book he might actually be able to memorize them all. So hopefully, with any luck, he’ll actually be able to make some nasty potions. It was pretty surprising when he found out that a lot of the potions can just be left in dry form. Apparently, most of the ingredients once ground are quite potent and can be of greater effect when they’re inhaled by the intended target.

Saturday morning he realizes they’re out of most of the breakfast food in the house. And, most of the rest of the food as well. He makes the last remaining half bowl of cheerios he bought for his dad at the beginning of the month and sits down to make a list: eggs, milk, cereal, s’mores pop tarts, spinach, rice, chicken… corn, potatoes, and celery. When he sees the list is over forty items long he realizes just how long it’s been since he bought groceries for the house. Well, I guess I can now use this as an excuse to buy some of the more uncommon ingredients I need to make an anti-supernatural arsenal. I’ll just grab some extra money this time and if it comes up, I’ll just tell him… Well it won’t come up.

He gets the first ten ingredients he wants to try out written down and heads off. The drive is quick, but everything in Beacon Hills feels nearby, well, it feels like everything is exactly fifteen minutes away. No matter the distance, traffic, or reliability of transport somehow it’s always a fifteen minute drive.

The people at the shop are pleasant, getting the herbs is simple enough. He discovers that they actually organized the store’s herb selection by alphabetical order along the walls. He smiles when they ring him up and gives a nod in reply to their wishes to see him again once the middle aged man and his thirteen year old daughter are done. He’s in and out of the mall in under twenty minutes. On his way back from the mall he stops through the organic food store for the majority of the food and then the local supermarket for his personal snacks. With just a few grunts of displeasure at being hit by carts, and a lot of periscoping around corners his clinical move through the aisles and retrieval of products is complete. And, now that just about everywhere has self-check-out in Beacon Hills it’s pretty easy to get in and out with minimal social interaction. The errand in whole takes about two and a half hours.

He carries things inside from the car somewhat hastily considering how many bags he actually has and gets to unpacking. After a few trips back and forth and a visit to the downstairs bathroom he’s ready to start shoving things into cabinets. In a flurry of opening and closing doors everything is soon put away and the only bags left are the two from the herb shop.

Upon entering his bedroom he sees a wooden chest on his bed. Stiles places his bags on his desk as he passes it and rounds to the far side of his bed where the chest lays. In front of it lays a card with his name etched into it in a meticulous, yet strangely delicate handwriting.

On the back it reads: In case you need to blow more than smoke in the eyes of your enemies.

When he opens the chest he sees it’s filled with glass containers. Other than the ten herbs he bought for himself, every single one of the herbs he as translated the names, descriptions, and uses of from those described in the book are in the chest. Additionally, there are several strains of wolfs bane and a jar of mountain ash. The wooden chest has a lot of room left in it. There are probably about 30 empty glass jars and containers placed in it already. Including the twenty or so herbs that are already it, and several types of wolfs bane that makes over fifty herbs worth of storage; not including the unoccupied space. He puts the herbs he bought into some of the jars and containers that were left unused and moves the chest into his closet. With a smile touching his lips he closes the door.

Chapter Text

You’ve got this, Stiles just do it. Just go in there and do it. It isn’t this hard. Just, just go in there and open the door and do it. Just turn the knob and walk in the apartment Stilinski.

Stiles tentatively puts his hand on the door knob and twists it open. He strides across the room rapidly, crossing to Peter as rapidly as he can without running. “Thank you.” He rumbles and gives Peter a hug.

The contact elicits a soft “Oh,” from Peter that is as much surprise as it is pleasure. “So are you going to resume your sassy personality, with biting wit?”

Stiles pulls away mournfully. He looks down at his hands, squints, and then looks back up into Peter’s eyes.

“I guess I’ll just have to be thoughtful more often then.”

Stiles smirks lightly and turns to sit on the couch in front of the T.V., he logs into Peter’s Netflix account, and selects Extreme Homes Collection.

“You know not that I hate the company, but I do not recall asking you to come over to my home and take control of my television, no matter how much I may or may not enjoy your selection.”

Stiles sticks a middle finger up in the air and begins the first episode. Soon enough some eccentric woman is on screen explaining the intricacies of the extravagant house she built in an aged antique European style.

By the time the Japanese glass house come on the screen Peter’s already joined him on the couch. They spend the day flicking in between that and America’s Worst Cooks. By the time dinner hits Stiles finds him next to Peter in the kitchen prepping dinner again. Peter is condescending during the whole event. However, Stiles manages to keep it together until Peter goes in on his ‘knife skills.’ “Shut up asshole, go die in a fire, again.” Stiles mutters in response.

“I’m wounded that I mean so little to you Stiles.”

When he checks the clock he sees it’s already one in the morning so he decides to drive home.

……

When he wakes up on Sunday morning he finds a note on the fridge. Stiles if you intend to stay out late text me next time. This town is not safe and you don’t have a good track record when it comes to staying out of trouble. I’m glad you got home safe. Tell Scott to try to get you home before midnight next time. Take out the trash and do your laundry, walking around in dirty clothes you pick up off your floor hoping they don’t smell bad is disgusting.

Stiles spends his Sunday off switching between doing the laundry, dishes, homework, and Call of Duty; he even makes himself a salad and a sandwich for lunch when he realizes he’s hungry around 2:30.

Once he’s either finished with or bored of his chosen activities he starts cleaning his room. He realized that his dad was right. His room is a mess. There are at least two of his home copies of text books flipped upside down on the floor. His markers are actually a fire hazard at this point as someone could easily break a hip from the fall they’d result in from any panic. This is disarray is augmented by tons of wrappers, discarded paper plates, dirty bowls, and empty pizza boxes.

When he’s finally done cleaning his room he has taken out over three bags worth of trash and made an extra trip downstairs just for dishes. Soon enough though, it’s back in order. Cleaning everything up made him feel better, slightly. It elicited that kind of “I did something productive that wasn’t single minded and for the benefit of others so they might judge my worth” kind of pride. The pride that comes with completing something completely self-serving and positive.

He writes a quick note to his dad before going to bed early. Dad, thanks for the advice. Have a nice night. Love you.

……

When he wakes up before school he doesn’t feel as much of the bone deep tired that set in when the nogitsune possessed him. It isn’t much considering, but at least he has one day of relative clarity.

When he gets to school he turns in all of the advance homework he’s been preparing over the last several weeks and picks up some more. Then he heads to first period. He pays attention in class today, mostly. There are still dry parts and one can only care so much about math that they find trivial and easy to understand. No one approaches him in a purposeful way, but Lydia does ambush him on his way to the cafeteria.

“Where have you been? And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Stiles freezes. This hasn’t happened in two and a half weeks. He sputters a bit in response before she cuts him off.

“Well no matter what it’s unacceptable. I’ve been stuck pretty much solo with moony eyes Scott McCall and ray of sunshine Kira Nakimura. All they do is ogle each other and say sappy stuff like ‘I missed you.’ ‘Oh I missed you too.’ It makes me sick. There’s no one who can even begin to match my intellect at that table anymore and appreciate my brilliance. Especially not that freshman with anger issues. He’s about as intelligent as a dull spade.”

Stiles blinks a few times still mostly stunned by the barrage of insults directed at the rest of the pack.

“Well, thank you for your resounding silence Stiles. Your words are profound as usual. Now come along; I need someone to listen to my latest mathematical theories and double check for any errors that I may have missed in my last two proof readings. She grabs Stiles and drags him towards one of the few study rooms on campus that generally remains unoccupied by anyone that isn’t Lydia. No one’s had the balls to intrude on her claimed spaces since she practically eviscerated a few of the freshmen for even entering the room.

She goes on to complain about the packs more recent issues and how he’s been absent. He remains mostly silent with just a few chuckles and hums of agreement. When the period is mostly over she dismisses him after he finds no errors. “Oh and Stiles, don’t you think it’s time you started calling me when you need help researching or just if you want to hang out? I’d love to give you a makeover,” she calls after him as he makes his way to the cafeteria, this time uninterrupted.

Chapter Text

Driving to Peter’s apartment afterschool he’s still smiling. Not a large wide smile, just the kind a person only shows when they feel important to another person. He knows that Lydia is too smart to actually need his help, but she wanted him there anyway. She complained about the same things that have been bothering him for a while. He feels like someone recognizes the problem is there even if they don’t know what it is in full. So he smiles just a bit, just for now, just because. And, for the first time in a while he feels someone in his friend group may actually care about him. So, for the first time in a while his limbs aren’t so heavy and he feels a bit less blunted.

He walks in and gestures to Peter as he takes off his coat, a quick jut of Peter’s jaw and an upward tilt of the head to signify the recognition of his newfound companion in the room.

He takes out his laptop and gets to work on some of the research required to figure out where to get some of the more elusive ingredients in the book.

 Twenty minutes and three page of notes on how to secure herbs later Peter comes over to sit down next to him with some popcorn and a glass of sprite. “Well, aren’t you in a mood today? Any reason for the noteworthy amount of activity you’re expressing today?”

Stiles just raises his eyebrows in a quick response in unison with a shrug of the shoulders. Then he grabs a handful of popcorn and snatches the sprite.

“I’m glad something went well today. Would you like to do something once you’re done with the fanatical typing and scribbling?”

Stiles smiles back at him around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’ll take that as a yes. We leave at 5.”

An hour and a half later they’re in Peter’s car on their way out of town. If Stiles were to ask anything he’d be incessantly asking where they’re going. But, from the look in Peter’s eye he can tell that even if he bothered to ask Peter, Peter wouldn’t give him any kind of answer anyway.

But after an hour and a half of driving Stiles is getting pretty antsy. They’re passing through San Jose and Peter hasn’t even mentioned stopping yet. He’s trying to keep still, but the anticipation is getting to him and he knows that Peter probably doesn’t want him to fidget in his seat as much as he’s apt to. But Peter hasn’t said anything about it yet, and he’s been yapping pretty much non-stop since they got in the car. When they pass through the opposite side he sighs. He said ‘do you want to do something’ not ‘do you want to be stuck in the car for ages?”

“Just hold on there sparky, we’ll be there in under thirty minutes.”

He sighs again and resumes studying his text hoping to get some useful information before Peter’s expedition comes to a long awaited close.

When they arrive in San Francisco Stiles is only moderately surprised. It is the largest city nearby that also happens to be worth visiting. They arrive in China Town pretty soon thereafter and Stiles is getting a bit excited, but when they arrive at a shop a few minutes later is when the actual surprise overtakes him. He sees the herbal remedies shop and bounds out of the car for the door. He gets inside and starts scanning the shelves picking out one bottle after another after another of herbs that he needs to complete spells. By the time Peter actually walks inside he has several bags in his hands of ingredients.

Forty five minutes later they walk out of the store with just over four-hundred dollars’ worth of assorted herbs and a borderline crying Stiles. They place all their bags in the back seat and Stiles grabs and holds onto Peter for just a bit. Peter leans in as well and whispers to him. He pulls away and gives Stiles a kiss on the forehead and moves to the driver’s side of the car.

They get in and shortly they’re stopping again. This time though they’re at a small dim sum restaurant on the border of China Town. Peter guides him in and orders dish after dish of assorted dumplings, buns, potstickers, and rice. Peter keeps ordering until Stiles’ eating slows to a near halt. Ten minutes after they finish, they’re back in the car with a few boxes of leftovers headed back for Beacon Hills.

They get back at eleven and Stiles looks at the clock. They put the leftovers in the fridge and Stiles sighs remorsefully before turning and heading for the door. He slides the door open, and takes a step out when he hears Peter’s voice fade in from the kitchen. “-you don’t have to keep leaving at night you know.” Stiles stops for a moment and looks back at Peter. He gives a down-glancing, half smile before turning left and heading for the elevator.

Chapter Text

When he wakes up on Tuesday he doesn’t feel as bogged down as he had for the past several weeks. It’s just a little bit lighter, a little bit brighter. He doesn’t take as long to get out of bed and his shower has returned from a lengthy 50 minutes back down to a more normal 25. His hair is a mess still, but it’s an approved mess. He pulls on a shirt and yanks some pants on before going downstairs and actually grabbing some food. His dad comes down half way through the cooking of pancakes and turkey bacon. He pulls up a seat and waits for the gift of food. When Stiles slides the plate over, he begins to comment. “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten the gift of your cooking. Any reason why?”

Stiles just shrugs and grunts a non-effectual sound intended to mean “not really.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Now if only you’d give me real bacon.”

“Dad,” Stiles bemoans, rolls his eyes, and punches the Sheriff’s shoulder.

After that they eat in relative silence before Stiles grabs his book bag and walks out to his car. His dad follows him to the door and tells him “I’ll be working a double tonight.  I’ll see you tomorrow night. Love you.” Stiles waves back at him before climbing in, starting up the Jeep, and backing out of the driveway.

Class is still boring and under-stimulating all day, but half way through lunch Lydia appears in the library seeking him out. She sits down and just talks to him. She helps him translate some of the Latin faster. Between the two of them they transpose about ten more pages before the end of the period and he has to go back to class.

Classes end and once again he’s off to Peter’s. When he gets there Peter is in his room scrolling through color pallets and furniture selections online. There’s a list of items on a paper he’s glancing at every so often that rests atop a manila folder marked Lucian Ray. “Are you just going to lurk there or are you going to greet me in some fashion?” Peter says and turns his head. “I can’t tell you’re here by scent anymore, but I can still hear your heart.”

Stiles just shrugs and crosses the room to sit on his bed next to him while he peers over at the screen.

“Okay then,” Peter says and returns to his internet catalogue scouring. Half an hour in and Peter’s still focused solely on the screen in front of him. Stiles puts in his headphones and lays down. Another fifteen minutes and he’s half asleep dozing on Peter’s bed. Peter can see the line relax off his face, the hair fall back slightly, and the rigid lines of his body lax just beneath the layers Stiles always wears.

He can’t focus anymore. Peter stands up and leaves the bedroom. He goes to the kitchen to start dinner. Stiles drifts out of his bed room a bit later once the scent of Chicken Parmesan and Alfredo start drifting into the bedroom. Stiles groans a bit as he walks in and yawns loudly.

“Welcome back.” Peter greets.

“Nngh.” Stiles groggily walks up to him and hugs him from behind. Stiles feels Peter’s back and chest stiffen momentarily before he relaxes. “Oh,” Peter lets out softly. A moment later Stiles goes and sits at the bar of the island and slumps over.

He pulls out his phone and glances at the screen. No new messages, and the only emails he has are the spam ones from online ads he accidentally clicked on while trying to navigate obscure websites. When it’s done Peter serves everything and they go over to the couch. Stiles puts on the 5th season of game of thrones. They eat while it plays out before them. Two episodes in and Stiles starts to lean his way across the furniture. At first he splays himself against the couch with his back to the arm, but by the third he’s got his legs up on Peter’s lap. Half way in and Peter’s giving him a foot massage. Stiles groans his way through the last half of the episode before retracting his feet. Fifteen minutes into the fourth episode and Stiles is sitting next to Peter on the couch, his legs tucked the direction that puts his feet opposite Peter and his knees lightly pressing against Peter’s thigh. Another half hour and Peter hauls his legs onto the chair, grabs Stiles and lays him against his chest.

Peter’s chest is warm and his breath rumbles lightly behind Stiles. The last thing he remembers is the speech Jon Snow makes about letting the wildlings in behind the wall.

Chapter Text

Stiles wakes up head tucked into Peter’s arm. He’s a bit shocked at first but decides not to ruin the moment by acting hastily. Peter hasn’t moved either of them from where they fell asleep last night. He’s still wrapped up in his limbs and he’s more comfortable than he would’ve thought not even a month ago. Peter’s chest is firm, reassuring in a way Stiles didn’t know he longed for. He can hear Peter’s heart beating, its beating a bit quicker than it should if he were truly asleep. Stiles decides to make nothing of it and goes back to snuggling into Peter. He wakes again an hour later and by then he’s going to be late for school if he doesn’t get up and out in the next ten minutes. He rushes to get his stuff from the bedroom and Peter gets up behind him and follows him. By the time he crosses to the side of the bed where his books are laying and pulls his bag to his shoulder Peter’s already standing somewhat cagey at the doorway with a sweatshirt in his outstretched hand.

“To you know, disguise the fact that you didn’t change between last night and today.”

Stiles walks by and grabs the sweater with a brief hug before running to the apartment’s entrance. He drops his bag to the ground. Pulls off his flannel and tosses it to the ground. He pulls the sweatshirt on and grabs his bag and heads to the elevator.

After Stiles is gone Peter starts cleaning the apartment. The glasses were left out, plates still on the table and the dishes he used to prepare everything had been left abandoned in the sink. He sighs at himself disparagingly and arranges everything back to the way that he normally likes it. He smooths out the throw blanket on the couch, and goes to take a shower. He stays in it until the water starts to cool off. He dries off and goes to start his work up for the day.

Fifteen minutes in and he can already tell he isn’t going to get anywhere. He doesn’t care. He’s distracted. All he can think about is Stiles roaming the halls smelling like him. He didn’t even shower before he left. Peter goes hot all over and can’t sit still. He tortures himself for an hour trying to focus on the task at hand when his body is so clearly focused on Stiles. He can’t calm down. He tries everything in the books to snap himself out of it, twice. He edges it out for over two hours before giving up.

At 11:30 he finally shifts and goes for a run. He’s at it all day. After he eviscerates his fourth rabbit the lack of satisfaction begins to seep in. After that Peter just roams the preserve for another hour.

He realizes that its late enough that Stiles should be out of school soon if he isn’t already, so he heads back. He showers the gore and lust off and by the time he gets out it’s almost four. He frowns at the clock in his living room when he walks out, dressed to an empty apartment. He goes back to his room and listens for the Jeep, but it’s not headed his way. He waits an hour. And Stiles still isn’t on his way over.

At five Peter picks up his phone and texts him:

Peter: Where are you? Are you okay?

Stiles: Yeah, I’m at my dad’s place. He’s home tonight. He wanted to see me. See you tomorrow.

Peter: I’ll see you then.

Peter ambles around his apartment making slight progress on this or that until seven o’clock. Then he pulls his laptop into the living room to put on some music to accompany himself while he prepares some food. When he finishes dinner he cleans up quickly and tries to get some of his ignored work done from his place on the couch. At 1 A.M. Peter rewatches the episode of Game of Thrones they watched last night. He falls asleep on the couch that night, curled into the throw blanket. he finds himself wearing Stiles' flannel the next morning though he doesn't remember putting in on the night before.

Chapter Text

Rushing to the door he almost forgets to change. Luckily he doesn’t. Peter shared something with him. He shrugs out of his flannel and pulls on the sweater. He pulls his shit back together and goes for school.

He feels almost like talking in first period today, almost. He goes to the teacher and drops off his homework again and picks up the next week’s assignments. “Thanks.” He says before leaving the room. By the next class he notices that he doesn’t actually hate being there anymore. When he raises his hand in Bio Mr. Schreiber has a shocked look on his face and calls on him. He answers about the difference between DNA and RNA and how they code for proteins. The entire time the class’s eyes were all on him. After he finishes, he resumes his resounding silence. Mr. Schreiber gives him a welcome “Thank you Stiles,” and goes back to grilling the class about the importance of proteins and enzymes in the cell.

When he gets to the library today Lydia is already there, waiting for him. “Word on the street is you actually have some on it today. Is it true?”

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs.

“Any particular reason why?”

“No”

“Okay then let’s get back to translating the last few chapters of this book you found. Where did you find it by the way?”

His face flushes slightly and he looks away. He doesn’t answer. Instead he buries his attention in the scribed Latin. It’s gotten easier since he first started. The words are more familiar and there are less ingredients and steps he needs a reference book or translator to understand. And, with Lydia’s help it’s been breezing by. She doesn’t quite let the subject drop, but she eases back. She knows he’s withholding a lot of information, but he can tell she doesn’t want to push him. He can see it in her eyes; the way she looks at him. She looks like an animal rescuer, or his dad when either are trying to protect someone/thing from harm. It’s that look his dad gets when he sees a woman on the run, or a kid afraid to tell the truth. He hates it, but at least she’s trying. At least she cares. So he deals with it. He doesn’t storm off, or yell. He just sits in wait and tries to ignore the pitying look in her eyes.

When they finish for the period she hands him her half of the work.

“Thanks.”

On her way out she turns around. “Stiles, nice sweater.”

He doesn’t look her in the eyes. But he does stop, momentarily, his packing. He smiles meekly for a moment before continuing.

The rest of the day passes with only mildly interesting things going on. His classmates don’t seem to understand the concepts as usual and the teachers hate it as usual.

The school day ends and he goes out to the Jeep. He gets in and turns the engine over. He pulls out of the parking lot and turns towards the freeway. Half way home he sees the turn off for downtown, towards the preserve. He slows down. He gets in the lane nearest the off ramp. He frowns and keeps going.

He makes it home and his dad greets him once he gets upstairs. “Hey Stiles, you have a good day at school?” His father’s groggy voice drifts in from down the hall.

“Yeah.” He replies and sets his stuff down. He changes his shirt quickly and then heads downstairs. He sits on the couch and turns on the T.V. He flicks through the channels as he listens to his dad rifle around upstairs until he’s ready to come down. He’s in sweats and a BHPD tee shirt.

“Anything going on I should know about? I haven’t heard anything from you or Scott recently.”

“Nope.” Stiles says not taking his eyes off the T.V.

“That’s good…” A few minutes pass by before the Sheriff says anything else. “Where is Scott? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Don’t know, with Kira probably.”

“Okay, so… What do you want for dinner? I’ll buy.”

Stiles turns to his dad and looks him straight in the eye. His only expression is a raised eyebrow and a tightening of his lips on the left side. “I’ll make something tonight.”

“Do we need any ingredients?”

“Nope.”

“Son, are you okay?”

“I’ve been worse.” He shrugs. Stiles settles on some Bones and settles in.

The Sheriff gripes at the show as usual and Stiles just watches silently, mentally predicting who the killer is in the lye bathtub case - for the fifth time.

When Castle comes on Stiles goes into the kitchen to decide what to make for Dinner. He grabs some onions and hamburger meat he defrosted yesterday morning out of the fridge. He flits through the spice cabinet and grabs the seasoning.  In about fifteen minutes he has the patties ready and back in the fridge. When he’s washed his hands and leaves the kitchen everyone still thinks Castle is crazy for suspecting his neighbor of murdering his girlfriend. When the episode finishes Stiles starts preparing the rest of the dinner. He pulls out the vegetable and whole grain buns. He gets everything ready and heats the stove. He simmers the veggies lightly in olive oil and toasts the buns. He browns the meat and waits for its internal temperature to be ready. He knows his dad likes his burgers medium-rare but he cooks it a bit longer anyway. When it’s all done he serves it and they go back to the couch.

“Burgers? Something has you in a generous mood.”

“We haven’t eaten together in a while.” Stiles defends.

“Well, thanks.”

They’re almost done eating when his phone lights up. He looks down and taps out a response quickly into his phone before putting it back down.

“That Scott? He came by the station saying he hasn’t seen you in weeks.”

“No.”

“Who was it?”

His phone lights up again and he glances at it briefly before responding. “Just a friend who’s helping me with supernatural research.”

“Okay, well. Drop him a line, he’s worried.”

Stiles looks at the screen and picks at the last of his vegetables. He looks back down and glares at them momentarily before resuming the resounding silence he’s been sporting since the Sirens.

The Sheriff hugs him and kisses his forehead as he gets up from the couch. “Well, I hope you sort it out soon.” He takes his plate over to the sink and clears it off before sitting back down. “How about we rent a movie? What’s that one you wanted to see again? Angry Alex?”

“Mad Max.”

“Ah yes, Mad Max.” He echoes and goes to the DVR on demand guide. The Sheriff puts it on and pops some popcorn, “Light butter, reduced sodium,” he mutters in the kitchen.

When the movie's done he goes back upstairs for a nap, and Stiles is left alone again for the night. He does some homework and then hits the sack.

Chapter Text

He wakes up early Thursday irritable. He doesn’t want to talk anymore. He goes downstairs grabs some food and water vacuums it all up and goes back upstairs. He couldn’t sleep last night. He goes for a run, hoping it would release some of the tension. It doesn’t. When he gets back he takes a half hour shower and sits in the tub underneath the spray for most of it. His alarm goes off signaling he needs to get out of the shower soon or he’ll be late. He doesn’t. He sits under the spray another few minutes and then gets out. He towels off roughly, and goes back to his room to dress. He pulls on whatever he has available. He looks in the mirror seeing his flattened hair and relatively acceptable garb and decides not to put any more effort in.  He grabs the sweater Peter gave him on his way out. He picks up his bag from where he left it last night after he was done trying. He rushes to the car and takes his leave in a slow, rumbling exit by way of Jeep.

He goes to class with the express intent of being invisible, but on his way to first period Scott’s standing outside the door. He realizes that Scott’s class is on the other side of the school, so he’ll have to walk towards his current location. He turns around and flees up the stairs. He walks around to the other side of the hall and waits for Scott to leave. Two minutes before the second bell rings Scott leaves with a sigh. When he does Stiles slinks into class and sits in the back.

He listens disinterestedly while his teacher blathers on unintelligibly on something he can’t decipher, or be bothered to care about. Class ends he puts on his headphones and takes the side exit that’s constantly locked from the outside. He gets to his class quickly and hides in the corner with his head in a book. He looks at his watch and waits for class to start up again. When it does he relaxes into his seat.

When lunch rolls around and he finally has to eat, he walks out to his car and drives to the diner. He remains there until the end of his free period and he has to get back to class. The rest of the day carries on with weird shuffles between classes to avoid his direct usual routes.

In last period he realizes Scott will probably wait by his car until he comes out to it.

Stiles: Peter could you pick me up behind the school near the lacrosse field today?

Peter: Yeah why?

Stiles: I’ll explain later.

Class ends and Stiles creeps his way through the school over to the parking lot by the lacrosse field. When he gets there Peter is idling his car as near to the door as legally possible. Stiles gets in and they abscond quietly.

“Scott’s looking for you,” Peter observes.

Stiles doesn’t respond, just gives a grimace and sinks further into the leather seat.

“You knew that… Which is why you asked me to pick you up.” Peter deduces.

They get almost all the way back to the apartment when Peter comments again. “You can’t avoid him forever. He knows where you live, what you smell like, your heartbeat, all of your contacts, and where your car is.”

“Didn’t seem to be a problem today.” Stiles deadpans.

“It will be eventually.”

Stiles sits and waits for the car to come to a stop quietly. They get out and Stiles falls in step next to Peter as they go up to his apartment. When they get upstairs he phone goes off.

Lydia: Where were you today?

Stiles: I went out to lunch.

Lydia: Anywhere in particular?

Stiles doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want her to probe him for information and he doesn’t want to talk to Scott, or anyone for that matter.

At five he gets a text message from his dad:

Dad: Will you be home soon?

Stiles: No, I’m busy researching.

Dad: Where?

Stiles: My friends place.

Dad: That isn’t a location.

Stiles: I’ll be home tonight.

He and Peter hang out all evening until Stiles decides he needs to go home. Peter drives him back to the school and they depart with a half hug in the car. Stiles leaves first. His car tuts home while Peter sits and watches him leave.

He gets home and goes straight to bed. He changes quickly and drops off.

The next day he goes to home depot and gets a lot of thin strips of mountain ash planks. He sets them discretely in a circle around the house. He buries them beneath the edges of the grass and installs a paneling of them inside the garage so no unwanted supernatural beings can enter. He hides them well and covers what he can’t hide easily with paneling and paint before going to school. He repeats the previous day’s antics in random ways to avoid being seen yet again. He’s saved from the problem of not having his car by the fact that lacrosse practice is today; coach makes them practice off season or on. He quit this year after recovering from Eichen and the hell the Nogitsune put him through; it ceased to matter to him anymore. He didn’t want anyone telling him what to do with his body ever again.

Chapter Text

Leaving the school he can tell something’s amiss. He drives quickly and watches outside his window for movement. There are no cars following him per say but he gets the feeling that he’s being tracked. He parks downtown and goes into the mall. He’s been hypervigilant ever since he was possessed and right now he could tell something was off. But, strolling through the shopping centers he couldn’t quite see if anyone was looking for him. He went into the Sephora and tried on several of the men’s colognes, but not because he wanted to, as a precaution. Then he left. He went into the Target and sprayed several types of Febreze and meandered around some more. He grabbed a Sprite on his way out and sped his way back to the Jeep.

No one was in the parking lot so he did what any paranoid person would do. He walked away. To be exact, he went back inside and he walked the long way around, through the building, out the other exit, and back around the sidewalk to the coffee shop across the street from the parking lot. A few minutes later a confused Isaac walks out of the mall. He sees him sniff the air and get even more confused. Stiles chuckles a bit from his seat and continues watching him. Eventually, Isaac goes back into the mall and Stiles hurries back to the Jeep. He gets in and turns the car over when he sees someone next to him turn over their car. In just another moment he’s speeding his way back to Peter’s place and parking his Jeep out of plain sight behind the apartment building. He gets up to the apartment at about 4:30.

“You reek.” Peter states from his place on the couch.

“I know, sorry. I was trying to get a Teenwolf off my trail.” He walks over and drops his bag on the floor.

“And how did that go?”

“Well.”

“Fantastic, now go take a shower and put on some clothes that don’t smell like “masculine” flowers.”

“Okay.” Stiles says and departs for the bathroom.

He grabs a towel from the linen closet. God Peter’s so pretentious, no one under the age of 65 should have a linen closet.

He walks into the bedroom and closes the door. He strips down, grabs some of the clothes he stores there in case of long research nights or emergencies, and goes into the bathroom. He locks the door and starts running the water. When it’s the right temperature he slinks in and let’s himself soak in the spray. A few minutes later he hears the door open and a few moments after it closes again. He scrubs himself with whatever sandalwood soap and luxury hair products Peter keeps in the shower. Stiles stands there for a few more minutes before climbing out and toweling dry.

He wipe the mirror off and looks at his reflection in it. He scowls for a moment and goes back to getting ready. He grabs his clothes and pulls them on. When he walks out to the bedroom his clothes have been removed. He makes sure none of his stuff has been left in the room and once he’s done Stiles walks back out to the living room and presents himself with a grand arm-flopping gesture. “Better?” he asks Peter.

Peter gets up and walks over to him. He ruffles his hair and pulls him into a hug. Peter drags his nose up the length of Stiles’ neck and grunts as he pulls away.

Peter pulls away with a smirk to a red faced Stiles. “Yep.”

Stiles punches him and goes to fling himself on the couch. He flicks the channel until he finds something he feels like watching and pulls out his books. He flips to the last section of the book Peter gave him and starts translating. Peter sits next to him and watches him work while the T.V. runs in the background.

“You know I don’t remember giving you the viewership rights to my T.V.”

“And what would you do without me here? Watch more shows about decorating that I already watch with you? Plot to overthrow some distant alpha? Harass Derek resident sourwolf? Bully children?”

“I’d find something to do.”

Peter splays out on the couch and tilts his head back on it.

Stiles works determinedly on his translating. But after a few minutes he finds his eyes glancing towards Peter. A few minutes later Peter Yawns loudly and stretches. He does so in a prolonged manner and Stiles’ attention is reflexively drawn to Peter’s arching back and hiked shirt.

Peter gets up soon after he walks in front of Stiles towards the kitchen. “Want anything?” He asks when he’s past the couch.

Stiles half huffs-half sighs and continues with his work. A few moments later Peter comes by with two glasses of water and turns the T.V. to a house flipping show and sits back down. They sit in silence Stiles flipping through pages and Peter observing him and the horror that is the current state of the house that’s being renovated.

Two hours and several pages later Stiles finishes translating the book. He collects all of his pages and puts them in his fold over binder.

“All done?”

“Yeah, I’ve successfully translated it all.”

“Which would you like to try first? Strength brew? Unquenchable fire? Wish spell? Premonition Spell? Love potion?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a love potion. And, if I did I wouldn’t be here.”

“Mmm, and how’s that?”

Stiles blushes and looks anywhere but Peter’s face. “I… I, uh… I’ve know you’re in love with me… well since you gave me the chest.”

“Stiles-“

“No, don’t. Don’t explain. I, I love you too.” Stiles says giving only glancing eye contact.

Peter grabs Stiles and pulls him onto his lap, then he strokes his face, and makes Stiles look at him. “I’m sorry it took you losing your voice for you to find mine.” Peter says and kisses him. Stiles moans a bit, but when Peter’s eyes open he sees Stiles’ tears.

“What’s wrong?” Peter says pulling away.

“It’s not you. I-” Stiles says and looks away. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have. It’s too soon.”

“No,” Stiles says softly. He kisses Peter. “I just figured I’d die before I got the chance to find this.”

“Stiles.”

“Stop.”

They kiss again for a moment, then Stiles stands up. He motions Peter to the edge of the couch and sits back down against him. They lay long ways on the couch, hand in hand with Peter stroking Stiles hand softly, and peppering light kisses on the back of Stiles’ head every-so-often until eight. They eat dinner and then Stiles decides to leave.

He smiles his entire way home. He smiles while he’s at home. And, he relaxes to sleep easily that night.

Chapter Text

He walks downstairs and starts preparing breakfast. He knows that whatever’s about to happen he shouldn’t face it on an empty stomach. He makes a batch of whole wheat pancakes, scrambled egg whites, and hash browns. He knows his dad is home so he doesn’t make any bacon or sausage. When he finishes and puts it on the table the Sheriff starts stirring. When he’s half done his dad wanders down the stairs. The Sheriff’s stomach grumbles and he eyes the food.

“Looks good Son.”

“Thanks.”

“So where’s the bacon?”

“There isn’t any.”

“I see.” The sheriff sits down and starts to eat. Stiles’ dad keeps eyeing him the entire meal. He obviously has something to say but he isn’t saying it. After fifteen minutes of the look Stiles cracks.

“What?” He yells, flailing his arms upwards.

“If you haven’t been hanging out with Scott this past month, where have you been going?”

Stiles sighs deeply.

“Stiles I think it’s fair for me to know where my teenaged son is, especially when he has a knack for getting in trouble and getting attacked by supernatural creatures.”

“Even if you did know where I was, how would it help?”

“What?”

“Either way I’m going to get in trouble, either way I’m going to be in danger. And no matter what, you’ll never like what you’ll hear! No-one ever does enough to actually pay attention to my input anymore anyway!” Stiles snips. “And why do you want to know now anyway? What motivates you to ask me now Dad? Is it just your concern or is there something else behind this recent insistent need to be kept in the loop?”

“Stiles stop!”

“What? What dad? How does this help!” Stiles stands up, grabs his keys, and moves for the door.

“Stiles!” the Sheriff bursts out of his seat and stops him from leaving. “Why are you doing this? What’s been going on? You never talk to me anymore. You promised me no more secrets.”

“Dad, I can’t tell you everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Understand what? How you feel? Why you feel like you can’t talk to me? Where you’ve been going and why? At this point any explanation would be better and easier to accept than what I’m getting right now.”

“What so you can sit in the office, blame yourself for what I’ve been going through? Let me leave.”

“Stiles, I didn’t raise you to run from your problems.”

“Yeah, you just taught me to bury myself and my emotions in alcohol and the case in front of me.” Stiles says and pushes his dad off the door.

“Stiles. Don’t, don’t leave. Not like this.”

“I’ll be back by Monday. I just need my space. This isn’t about you. I love you, but I can’t do this. And, I know you need me Dad. But, I need me more.” Stiles says and walks out to his car. He gets in the Jeep and drives away, crying.

Chapter Text

Stiles is still crying when he parks his car. And, he’s still crying when he gets all the way up the elevator. And he’s still crying when Peter picks him up and carries him into the apartment, peppering kisses on his face the entire way. It takes him another few minutes to stop after Peter lays them down on the couch and holds him. His face is still tear stained when he wakes up after a short nap. Peter’s still holding him, still peppering kisses into his neck.

“Peter-,” Stiles begins.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” Peter interjects.

“I just had a big fight with my dad.”

“Okay, not who I was expecting. But, fair enough. I can see it.”

“What?”

“Oh, I just figured you’d have a massive fight with Scott. But, I mean obviously your dad triggered your wrath first so tell me what happened.”

“My wrath?”

“I threatened your friends and you had me burned and sliced open at the jugular.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So continue, vent about what happened.”

“It’s just he doesn’t get me anymore. Not for a while. He’s never around anymore and I understand why, but honestly it still sucks. Especially now that Scott is off in La La Land with the pack and doesn’t seem to care about me. It was bad enough when he was with Alison, but now he’s an alpha and he is so concerned with Kira and he doesn’t care about me anymore. He’s too rigid. His standards are impossible and binding. Ever since the Nogitsune I’ve had this bone deep chill inside me that I can’t shake and he doesn’t even care. He takes me for granted and never listens to me and never makes time anymore. All I ever get is ‘I have plans with Kira’ or ‘Sorry, pack stuff came up.’ It used to be me and him against the world, but lately it has felt like it’s just me now. What’s worse is I don’t even knows who that is anymore. Being trapped inside my own mind changed me. I can feel it, I wake up and I know the world is different. I’m different. I can tell things about me that I know he doesn’t notice. My scent changed I think, he doesn’t know when I’m near him anymore. And, my heart beat is different now; it’s slower.”

“I like the changes.” Peter replies.

“What? Why?”

“Your scent used to be sweet and dewy with a twist of cinnamon. But now, it’s more of a honeysuckle and pine scent, with a dash of mint. It’s earthier. Smoother. Not nearly so clashing. It’s delectably freeing like the scent of the woods, with a refreshing tingle to leave one craving more. And, your heart is steadier less erratic. You’re calmer. It’s terrible that it happened the way it did, but I think it’ll be good for you in the future when you need to focus in the inevitable panic inducing situations you’ll be facing. And, that’s not all. Your gestures are clearer, pointed. Your body language makes more sense. At least for me it’s easier to understand. Instead of wildly flailing you flail in one general direction. Its much more graceful. Also, your body is quieter in general. It’s safer. You’re more likely to survive if you need to be sneaky. And, I want you to survive.”

“Peter… Thank you.” Stiles says and relaxes even more against Peter’s chest. His breath and heart beat syncing with Peters.

Chapter Text

As the day approaches the afternoon they settle into a comfortable silence. Stiles is reading one of the many books in Peter’s collection and Peter is reading over his shoulder. Peter runs his hands through Stiles’ hair and kisses him on the head every so often. When it finally hits noon Peter starts to stir. Stiles hears his stomach grumble and sits up from his position on Peter’s chest.

Peter stands and goes to the kitchen. He turns on the opens a cabinet makes some clanking sounds and then the sink turns on. Stiles hears the sounds of a gas stove lighting and the placement of the pot on it. When Peter returns a few moments later Stiles puts the book down.

“Stiles, may I kiss you?” He asks, sitting down on the left side of the couch.

“Yeah. Yes.” Stiles yelps back eagerly.

Peter leans in and grabs his lower back. He shifts them long ways over the couch and rests himself over Stiles. With his right hand he caresses Stiles’ neck. He grinds his hips down a bit and kisses him. Peter kisses him, and it takes his breath away. The whole thing is a hot mash of sucking on his lips, pulling, and letting go. Stiles’ body pushes itself harder against Peter’s arms, but there’s no give. He’s stuck right next to Peter. Hips grinding, lips being pulled, sucked, and soothed, his cheek and neck being caressed and held. He’s left gasping for air during the relentless assault. When Peter lets his head go and pushes closer as his head falls Stiles’ eyes flutter closed. He lets the sensations of Peter’s hand gliding over his chest and abs wash over him. His body curves and bucks in response to the strokes. He lets out a moan into Peter’s mouth. When Peter brushes his tongue over Stiles’ lips Stiles’ jaw drops open instantly. His tongue is hot and deliberate. It entwines and slips itself slowly over Stiles’ own. Peter locks his mouth over Stiles’ and sucks in softly as Stiles’ moans out. Stiles goes to breathe in, but his mouth finds no purchase on the air. A moment later, Peter exhales and the air floods back into Stiles’ body. But it’s heavier. Less refreshing, more intoxicating. He’s overwhelmed with everything and a groan sends the air back into Peter. When Peter sends it back Stiles’ head starts to rush. His body is over sensitive and everything collides making his body weak. Stiles exhales one last time and Peter takes it in before breaking their connection. Stiles gasps for air. His body misses the contact already.

Peter stands and makes his way back to the kitchen. He opens a cupboard and pulls out a box and sets it down. Then he moves to another and Stiles can hear the slide of a bag. Then he hears the sound of another pot being grabbed and put over the stove. Finally, he hears the fridge being opened. He’s still laying on the couch breathless. He hears the sounds of simmering water and some liquid being poured into a pot. Then a pan gets pulled out and some cutting happens. Shortly, the sound of searing meat makes its debut. Then pouring of what is most certainly some sort of pasta and quite a bit of stirring happens. When Peter comes back ten or so minutes later Stiles has just barely gotten a grip.

He looks up and sees a plate of Chicken Alfredo in front of his face. He groans and grabs it greedily. Stiles dives in and eats it ravenously while Peter eats at a more delayed pace. When Stiles finishes he immediately goes to the kitchen in search of seconds. He piles more onto his plate and comes back.

He places a quick kiss on Peter’s mouth. It tastes of parmesan, mozzarella, and garlic.

“Thank you.” Stiles whispers.

“It seemed like you could use some comfort food,” Peter replies.

They turn the T.V. on to some Worst Cooks in America, and laugh their way through an episode of incompetent people attempting to cook fish. Then they laugh through another, and another and soon enough it’s almost 4.

“Stiles, are you going to stay here tonight? Its fine with me I just want to know. Ever since we kissed yesterday I’ve been gripped with the need to hold you. I want, need, more of you. I want to kiss you until you can’t breathe and hold you until you forget what it’s like to feel lonely. I just need to know now so I don’t feel remiss when I bid you good night.”

Stiles leans over to Peter and kisses him. When he breaks he touches Peter’s cheek softly and whispers “Tonight, I’m not going anywhere further than your bedroom.”

“Sounds good.” Peter says and kisses him. He pulls Stiles onto his lap and slides his hand up Stiles’ back underneath his shirt. Stiles can feel sharp nails graze lightly down his back and Peter drags his hand downward. “I want to ravish you tonight with all I have to offer, all you’re ready for. I want to show you how much of a perfect combination we are; both a little unhinged, both needing companionship, both needing loyalty. I love you Stiles, and I want to make sure that you never forget it,” Peter whispers as he nips and sucks his way up and down Stiles’ neck.

“I love you too, Peter.”

Chapter Text

When the sun starts to set they go up to the roof of the apartment building. Peter brings a blanket up with them and they arrange the couch that sits underneath the cabana to face out towards the preserve.

“This is nice.” Stiles says when they get situated.

“It’s the first change I had them make when I moved in. I paid for it and had it installed of course. And I picked out the couch, it needed to match.”

“I thought it looked like it had your stylistic flare.”

“Well, the space was glaringly underutilized. I figured some nice seating, a table or two and a nice set of chairs would make the place more inviting.”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you critiquing my choice in furnishings? I’m wounded! Sweetheart, your callus words kill me.”

“Shut up goober.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Peter tuts out. He wraps his arms around Stiles from underneath and gives him a hard bear hug.

The sun inches down and they talk about things, Stiles’ school, Peter’s job, their pasts, their fears, and soon enough they just stop talking for a while.

The sun is almost down when Stiles breaks the silence. “What is it like to see what you see?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Like what does it look like when you have your wolf sight on? What can you detect? How far can you see? What is it like? The nogitsune had some weird abilities, but most of the memories are tarnished, faded, and a bit fuzzy, so I don’t really have any first hand memories of what enhanced senses are like. I just wanted to know what it is like.”

“Oh… Well, I guess it’s a bit different, hard to describe in full. But, it’s a lot easier to sere in the dark than I’d suppose it would be for humans. And, animals and living creatures are a lot easier to distinguish from their surroundings. Injuries are really easy to see because the way people adjust to them becomes more obvious. Mostly sight is the same, just better movement tracking. Why?”

“You just look out at the preserve like you can see something I can’t and it puts this look on your face like you’re in awe and you want to be there. But it’s kind of sad, because it also looks like you also don’t want anything to do with it.”   

“Well, I have a lot of memories there. Not all of them are good, and I lost a lot to those woods. But, it still feels like home, and a part of me will always feel like that. But, right now, I feel like I have a home here, with you.” Peter states bitter sweet, and kisses Stiles on the temple.

They don’t get up and go back downstairs until the sun finishes setting.

Chapter Text

When they return downstairs Peter clings to Stiles, his arms and body snuggling up to Stiles constantly. Stiles likes it, it’s a reassurance that Peter’s there for him. It’s a wordless statement that he has no intent to leave. Stiles eventually makes his way back to the bedroom and pulls away to go to the bathroom. He relieves himself, it felt like he hadn’t pissed all day. But, he can feel his nerves starting to set in. A strong unsettling current running whirlpools in his gut. He shakes it off, washes his hands and face quickly, and goes back out.

When he returns out there’s really nothing left to do. They ate before going up to the roof and its now well past eight. Peter is laying on the bed shirt off when he exits the bathroom. Stiles’ face flushes and he turns his eyes down when he snaps back to reality. He winces mentally.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I just realized how different our bodies are.”

“I don’t care that you’re not bulky and ripped Stiles, I know your sleek body is crafted differently and I find it delectable. Don’t worry. And, if this is about our ages I figured you didn’t mind.”

“It isn’t that.”

“What’s wrong then?” Peter asks and gets up. He slides his arms up Stiles’ forearms. “I doubt there could be anything seriously wrong with you.”

“I, well, my body isn’t like yours. The past few years, all the cuts, the attacks, bites, everything. I just my body is marred, scarred.”

“Stiles. I don’t care. If you can remember, when we first met. I wasn’t exactly the picture of perfect health you see before you today. I know what it’s like to be marked by your past.”

“The scars of what the nogitsune did to my body, all of the attacks, and the Wolf Lichen that held it back never faded, the Lichtenberg figures actually returned once it left my body.”

“Stiles. Stop. Let me show you how beautiful you are.”

“Beautiful is exactly what I’m not when I pull off my shirt. I was always a bit weird looking peppered with moles, but now I’m disfigured too.”

Peter grabs Stiles by the neck and kisses him hard. “Stiles, all I know is I love every intoxicating thing about you. And, no amount of discoloration or rough skin is going to change that. I knew you were a match for me when we met. That’s why I offered you the bite that night. Your attitude, intuition, intelligence, and protective instinct are all as present now as they were then.” Peter kisses him again, tongue slipping and darting past his lips and against his tongue. The next thing Stiles knows his shirt has been cut away in back.

“Peter!” Stiles gasps voice lower, thick, raspy, but still full of warning and pushes away slightly in indignation.

“I’ll give you a new one.” He says before resuming the kiss. Peter moves his way down to Stiles’ neck, grating his teeth lightly over Stiles’ pale skin. He sucks his way to the nape of Stiles’ neck and pushes the torn shirt off. He lifts Stiles and moves them to the nearest wall. He braces them and starts groping and sliding his hands up and down Stiles’ back. Peter slips his lips down to Stiles’ collar bone and Starts to suck. He worries at the skin and his teeth start to sharpen. He’s lost in Stiles’ scent. Peter breathes in heavy and bites down hard. Stiles chokes down a scream. When Peter’s teeth recede the endorphins catch up to him and he gets lost in it. Stiles’ head goes hot and a feverish need sets in. He unwraps his legs, bucks his body, and forces them off the wall. He gets his feet back on the ground and ushers Peter towards the bed.

He pushes him down and starts slowly sucking kisses onto Peter’s body. Peter moans and moves to Stiles’ lips and flitting touches. Stiles meets Peter’s lips with another kiss and slides his hand down Peter’s chest and back around to cup his ass.

Peter flips them over and pulls away. He takes in Stiles’ body. The pink scars litter his chest in small sections scattered around. Some slash marks and scars where bones had obviously been broken stand out amongst the mostly minor marks. He moves his head and kisses and sucks at the slash marks. He nips them lightly and bruises the skin around it down near Stiles’ hips. When He’s almost done he bites and breaks the skin again and Stiles is met with a new flash of hunger. Once Peter pulls away he’s unsteady, heated.

Stiles flips them back over and pushes Peter back down when he surge up trying to meet Stiles for a kiss. Stiles unbuttons Peter’s shorts and yanks them off. He gives Peter a quick kiss before trailing his way down Peter’s chest.  Stiles bites and sucks bruising kisses into Peter’s abdomen as he makes his way down to Peter’s hips. Stiles soon slips his way to Peter’s inner thighs and nips and pulls at the skin. Peter starts moaning loudly, his hips gyrate as he tries to keep still.  Hearing Peter’s reaction just makes the hunger Stiles is feeling grow. He starts to suck at the head of Peter’s cock through the tight trunks Peter is wearing. He licks, grazes his teeth up the shaft, and plays with it while he works Peter’s nipples with his fingers. Peter thrusts his hips upwards and run his hands through Stiles’ hair. Peter lets out a guttural moan and then breathily in an almost whisper says, “Stiles, please.”

Stiles smirks from his position between Peter’s legs and pushes him up towards the pillows. Peter puts a pillow beneath his neck and Stiles pulls back. He pulls off Peter’s trunks and looks down at the man underneath him.

Peter’s cock is leaking, fully erect. The foreskin pulled a bit uneven and the tip slick from spit and precum. Stiles grins devilishly and leans back down. He grasps it at the base and flicks his tongue over the head. Peter groans and Stiles can hear his head lift off and then slam back down onto the pillow. He slides his tongue underneath the foreskin and plays with the underside of the head.

Peter starts to groan and writhe after a few minutes of Stiles’ teasing. “You’ve got to stop that. How did you even learn to do that? I know you’re a virgin.”

“I watch a lot of amateur porn. Also, you learn a surprising amount about giving head when researching circumcision. Do you know that there’s an immense amount of nerve in the foreskin. Excellent for stimulation.”

“More-so now than ever,” Peter grits out and pulls at Stiles’ hair.

“Ow! I’m fragile you know. I’ve got the scars to prove it.” Stiles mock gripes.

“And just the knowledge of that makes you oh, so delectable.” Peter says and pulls Stiles into a kiss. He pulls Stiles’ pants off and flips them over. Peter takes his time making his way around Stiles’ body. He laves his tongue slowly over Stiles’ nipples first the left then the right. Sucking, pulling, and licking torturously over the flesh, for what feels like forever to Stiles, Peter services him until he’s squirming. Then suddenly lips are on Stiles’ ribs, and Peter’s sucking yet another bruise over one of his longer healed scars.   Stiles arches into it and he can feel Peter grin. Peter’s fingers graze their way up and down Stiles’ sides and down to his ass. He tugs off Stiles’ underwear and pulls at his ass cheeks firmly.

Peppering kisses down Stiles’ abdomen Peter comes to his cock and stops. “How about we move this to my shower?” he suggests.

Stiles just nods and grunts in a quick acquiescence and before he knows it he’s being hauled chest to chest into the bathroom and over to the shower. Peter pushes him against the tile wall of his stand in shower and turns on the showerhead. It burst in cold water for a moment and Stiles gasps. Another few moments and its running just under what can be described as scalding and Stiles reaches sideways and shifts it colder.

Peter grinds their hips together pressing Stiles into the wall. For just a moment the heat of the now humid air, the restriction caused by Peter’s body and the cold unyielding wall behind him are too much. Suddenly Stiles can’t move, can’t breathe, he freezes. A moment later he’s floundering to get Peter off of him and moving to sit down on the built in bench jutting from the wall.

“Stiles? Stiles, what’s wrong? Did I do something? Are you okay?” Peter urges at his knees. His hearing starts to fade back in and he realizes that Peter’s practically yelling at him. His hands are on his cheeks and his face looks scrunched and frightened.

After another few moments he gains enough of his bearings to respond. “Yeah I’m fine… I think.” He responds dazedly.

“What happened?” Peter inquires, voice taut.

“I think I was just claustrophobic for a moment there. I…” He says voice cracking. “I felt trapped.”

“Stiles, I-”

“No. No, it’s not your fault. I think I just have a trigger I didn’t know about. It must be new. All that time in my head really did a number on me. The entire place was blank and I couldn’t get out almost ever. It was more luck than planning when I did and I couldn’t stay out long. Sometimes it would just close in on me. The only things left for me were the chess board, the nogitsune, and the Nemeton, so it was pretty hard to just sit there. I thought I was going to go crazy. Now I guess I just need a bit more freedom, a bit more control.”

“Okay, so what can I do?”

“Just hold me,” Stiles says and pats the bench.

Peter sits and Stiles shifts to sit between his legs. Peter grabs some soap and starts to lather Stiles’ chest. He peers over from Stiles’ shoulder to make sure he’s getting everywhere and then slowly starts to move to cleaning Stiles’ back. He places kisses on his neck and glides his hands up Stiles’ arms.

Slowly Peter stands Stiles up and cleans the rest of his body. He cleans himself up, then he gets out of the shower. He grabs two of his large towels and returns. Peter turns off the shower and covers Stiles in one of them. He dries himself off and goes back out to the bedroom. A few minutes later Stiles comes out and Peter pulls the sheets open and lets him into bed.

Peter pulls Stiles in by the stomach and spoons him. He kisses the back of Stiles’ neck and caresses Stiles’ lower belly until they both pass out.

Chapter Text

When Stiles wakes he’s wrapped up in Peter’s arms with his face on Peter’s chest. There’s a hand on his ass and another slung across his shoulders. Peter’s mumbling in his sleep and though he isn’t hard yet, he’s definitely on his way there; sometime in the night Peter must have kicked off the sheets. Stiles decides not to disturb him and just lays there. He drifts in and out for the next twenty minutes or so until Peter grows fully erect and his eyes start to flutter open.

“Need to pee?”

“Yeah…” Peter rumbles and shifts so they can separate. Stiles rolls away and Peter gets up and exits to the bathroom. Stiles hears the sounds of Peter pissing in the bowl and the flush. He hears the running of the sink and then some muffled gargling sounds. A few moments later Peter comes back and slides back into bed.

“Did you just use mouthwash?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Then kiss me right now and prove it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Ha! I knew it! You did. That’s not fair. You can’t just do that. Now I have cock tinged morning breathe and you smell minty fresh.”

“Stiles, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Nope. I’m getting up and using mouthwash too.” Stiles says and rolls out of Peter’s grasp.

“Stiles, come back to bed. Even if you do use mouthwash my plan is to make your mouth smell like my cock again anyway.”

“You sure know how to sweet talk a lady don’t you?” Stiles replies and goes into the bathroom. Peter hears the cap be spun off and Stiles swish vigorously from his place resting on the bed. After a minute or two of this Peter’s patience starts to wear.

“Stiles? Are you really going to be like this? Come out here before I pick you up and bring you out here myself.”

Stiles spits out the mouthwash to reply, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” Peter says and gets off the bed.

He walks in, grabs Stiles by the ass and back, puts him over his shoulder. “Peter!” Stiles yells “Peter put me down!” Peter hauls him back into the bedroom. He flops him down on the bed and climbs over him. “What was it that you were saying?” Peter smirks and kisses him.

“Just that you’re an asshole.”

“Ah, but I am your asshole.”

“So it would seem.” Stiles lilts, brow raised, with just a hint of irritation and disapproval.

“Oh please sweet heart, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without me.” Peter says and starts sucking kisses into Stiles’ neck.

“I’d definitely have less bruises and puncture marks on my body.”

“It’s hard to have bruises when you’re dead Stiles, which you would be if I wasn’t around to save your sweet ass.”

“When have you ever saved me?”

“How about when I taught Scott the hapless alpha how to go into your mind without killing you? Or when I helped you figure out the weaknesses to all of the magical beast that have run rampant through this town since Scott’s ascendancy?”

“We could’ve don’t those things without you.”

“Maybe, but who would be saving you now? Who would search for your voice when it’s gone? Who would show you the fiercest loyalty you’ve ever experienced, loyalty so unwavering it even scares you for brief moments of time?”

Stiles peers into Peter’s eyes. All he can see is an earnest look from the man above him. “I must be in an institution hallucinating right now, because there’s no way I’m this lucky.” Stiles says and kisses Peter.

Chapter Text

By the time dinner rolls around Stiles still hasn’t realized that the only thing they’ve eaten today was each other. Peter spent over an hour eating him out before they even did anything else. Every time he tried to get himself off during that time Peter would chuckle and pull his hand away. He’d groan and oblige but writhing underneath Peter’s tongue had gotten frustrating when he realized it satisfied Peter’s ego far more than it did his own sex drive. Eventually Peter made his way around his body torturing him sexually until finally making his way to getting Stiles off. It had been nearly three hours before he finished the first time. Peter teased him for ages before finally allowing him to cum.

After that Peter had kicked it into overdrive. He teased his hole while stroking him until Peter finally put the condom on and fucked him in earnest. They went like four rounds or something before Stiles nearly passed out and needed to just lay down. The second and third round Peter let Stiles fuck him. It took a lot of begging the first time. But, during the third round Peter had been easier to convince because Stiles was kind of rough when fucking him the first time and they had basically done everything they could to get Stiles jammed up against his prostate almost indefinitely. Stiles was surprised to find Peter was actually a rather greedy bottom.  Peter would nip at his neck almost every time he would thrust and Stiles could feel the building wave of lust driving him forward every time Peter’s teeth had grated against his skin.

So, when Peter finished off the last time and laid Stiles down to rest it was a god send. What was even better was a few minutes later when Peter got up and got them ice water and chocolate strawberries.

Peter fed the strawberries to Stiles from his half-laying-half-sitting position at the head of the bed.

“Mmm, A guy could get used to this.” Stiles groaned.

“You’re right he could. But, he shouldn’t because it’s about to be my turn.” Peter said and took the strawberry from where he was holding it just in front of Stiles’ lips and ate it.

“Hey,” Stiles half whines, but he doesn’t really have the energy to fight him over it.

“So, what should I get us for dinner?”

“Cheeseburgers.” Stiles bursts out.

“Double cheeseburgers and curly fries it is then. I’ll be back in 20 minutes. Drink that water.” Peter says and grabs his keys.

“Yeah, no problem.” Stiles says and chugs the water.

A few minutes after Peter leaves Stiles musters up the energy to stumble to the shower. He turns it on and washes underneath the spray. He slides the soap over his skin and washes his hair quickly. A few minutes more and he’s waddling back into the bedroom. He goes into the closet and grabs one of Peter’s sweaters, he slips into it and takes one of Peter’s tighter looking trunks so that they’d fit and goes back to the bed before collapsing.

When Stiles hears the door open, he gropes for the water and chugs what’s left in the glass.

“I heard that.” Peter calls in from the living room “You’ll have to come sit out here. We are not eating in my bed.”

“But I’m exhausted,” Stiles whines. “I’m like 150 pounds and not a werewolf. You used up all my energy. I can’t support myself right now.”

“I guess I’ll just have to eat all of this unhealthy, greasy food and red meat all by myself then. Oh well,” Peter sighs. He pulls the food out of the bag and sets it all out on the table. When he finishes unwrapping the first burger he hears Stiles roll off the bed with a thunk. “Nngh.” Groans from the bedroom.

A few moments later he sees Stiles walk in, rubbing his head. He’s in a dark green knit sweater and tight underwear and Peter’s hunger compounds threefold. Peter turns his head away and takes a huge bite of his burger. By the time Stiles sits down it’s already half gone.

“You okay there? You’re scarfing that down like an actual wolf.” Stiles asks as he sits down

Peter finishes chewing the bite he’s on wipes his face and swallows. “That was truly the wittiest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Truly quite brilliant.”

“Yep.” Stiles replies, stuffs his face full of curly fries, and plops down on the chair nearest the food.

When they finally finish scarfing down their food, consisting of two burgers each and fries, with a milkshake for Stiles and just water for Peter; they go to lay down on the couch.

Peter flicks on Game of Thrones and they relax into each other. Stiles lays his head back and Peter kisses him on the head. Eventually the episode ends and Peter pauses it between episodes.

“Peter? What’s up? Why did you stop the show?”

“I just have something to ask you.”

“And?”

“Stiles? What are you going to do tomorrow? I’d love to spend the day with you again, but I do have a dead line, and you have to go to school.”

“I’ll go to class obviously.”

“Okay, but have you considered what you’ll do about Scott? You can’t keep avoiding him and your dad by staying here. They’ve been calling and texting all weekend. Turning your phone off doesn’t change anything.”

“I don’t know. I mean I love my dad, and now that I’m a bit calmer I may go home tonight. But…” Stiles sighs. “I have no idea what I’m going to do about Scott. I am so tired of the way he’s been treating me ever since you turned him.”

“Why don’t you just tell him?”

“Because, he’s my best friend. He has been since I was a kid. I don’t know how.”

“He hasn’t been a friend to you in a while. It seems to me he’s been taking you for granted and taking advantage of you.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Really? How has he treated you since you were possessed? Did he try to comfort you? Did he help you figure out who you were or try to convince you, you still mattered? Does he make you a priority of his?”

“He’s been busy.”

“Not busy enough to reassure you that you’re a valuable person in his life. You deserve better.”

“I-” Stiles says and closes his eyes and drops his head. “I know.”

“So tell him. Don’t be a Robb Stark. Demand loyalty, respect, and support. Make the decision that’s best for your health.”

“Peter… Can we just watch the next episode?”

“Okay love. Okay.” Peter says and hits the play button.

By the time the night is over so is the 5th season. And by the time we’ve faded to black on Jon Snow, Stiles has fallen asleep. He’d already seen it. Peter decides yet again to fall asleep with Stiles in his arms tucked into his chest.

Chapter Text

Waking up the next morning is one of the toughest things Stiles has ever had to do. His place resting on Peter is warm, comfortable, and surprisingly familiar. He feels safe, wanted even. He smiles and let’s darkness take him for a few more minutes. Eventually, he fades in again, slowly, but quicker than the first time. He can feel Peter’s heart beating behind him and the arm wrapped around his waist. Peter’s other arm has fallen off the couch; which is a fact Stiles’ only figures out after he’s rubbed his eyes enough for them to actually open. The air is cold, but the warmth radiating from beneath him makes him not want to move even more. He slowly turns over trying not to wake, but Peter’s eyes are open slightly and there’s a smile gracing his lips.

“Mm-morning.” Stiles greets with a crooked smile.

“Morning my sweet fox. How’re you?”

“M-Okay. You?”

“I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“Good.” Stiles says and punctuates it with a quick kiss.

They lay there for a few more minutes before Stiles gets up and starts to brew some of Peter’s coffee. He looks at it and sees the 45 dollar price tag on the bean’s bag and chuckles. He gets finished setting everything up and Peter arrives in the kitchen behind him. Stiles groans when Peter grinds their hips together and kisses his neck. His knees bend a bit and Peter flicks out his tongue, slipping it over the rim of Stiles’ ear. “What would you like for breakfast this morning pet?”

Stiles bites his lip and breathes in cautiously before answering. “Food.” Stiles states, which is followed by a nip to his earlobe. “And soon.” He punctuates.

“You’re no fun this morning.”

“We had plenty of fun yesterday.” Stiles says turns around and pushes Peter back.

“Oh,” Peter says and overdramatically he whips his head to the right and crumples. “How you wound me.” He says from his place on the ground.

“Get up asshole. I need to eat and it’s hard to get around the kitchen with you are encumbering me by taking up the whole floor with your body.” He says and kicks him in the chest lightly.

“Ow, oh, my heart it breaks for you.”

“Stop your damn whining, I know it’s just because you love the sound of your own voice.”

“You should hear me sing.”

“Whatever” Stiles says and just steps on Peter’s chest, eliciting a harsh “Oomph” from Peter’s mouth, to get to the cabinet that the cereal was in.

“No one ever wants to hear me sing,” Peter wheezes out.

“Nope.” Stiles says and gets a bowl from the cabinet. “Now get out of the way before I beam your head with the fridge door.”

“Maybe… If I – get a kiss… I’ll have the energy to get up.”

“How about if you get your ass out of the way and stand up I’ll kiss you.”

“Deal!” Peter says and jumps up. He grabs Stiles and pulls him in, kissing him soothingly, and trails his hands up Stiles’ back underneath his sweater.

“Peter. Food. Now.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter says hands grazing their way back down. He pulls away and Stiles opens the door to get the milk. He pours a bowl of captain crunch and sits down.

“So what do you have to do today?”

“I have to have one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my life, turn in bland homework, and try to get either home or here without being attacked by a new unknown threat.”

“Okay, well, the first two should be easy enough, and the last I can help with if you just dial my phone. So, it looks like you’ll be able to survive the day.”

“It would seem,” Stiles says with an unconvinced lilt.

“Great! That means all you have to do now is finish your food so we can shower together and get dressed before school.”

When Stiles finishes his cereal Peter grabs the bowl and puts it in the sink.

“Let’s go, let’s go! The sooner you get in the bathroom the longer we will have before you have to leave my arms.” Peter says and rounds the corners of the island to usher Stiles to the bedroom.

Stiles just gives a few oomphs, in the wake of Peter’s herding. Stiles turns around to face Peter once they get to the bathroom only to find himself met with a kiss and tickling fingers pulling the sweater he had put on, the previous night, up. Peter pulls it off and moves towards the shower, he turns it on and strips down. He checks the water heat and drags Stiles into the shower.

“Peter! Peter!” He yelps as he’s pulled through the water and on top of Peter’s lap. “I still have underwear on and now they’re soaked.”

“What do you care? They’re mine and they look hot on you.” Peter says and drags Stiles down into a dirty kiss. They break and Stiles stands up and backs up a bit. “Maybe we should actually get clean.”

“Why would we do that?” Peter says and gets down on his knees and starts mouthing his bulge.

Stiles moans and backs up to the wall. Peter follows and reaches a hand up to grope at Stiles’ ass and the other to stroke up his stomach. “Peter.” He gasps and Puts his hands into Peter’s hair.

As Peter keeps teasing Stiles begins to pump his hips to meet Peter’s head for longer. Peter pulls the trunks down in the back and plays with the waist band. “Peter!” Stiles yells a few moments into the teasing.

Peter pulls them off and starts to suck on the head of Stiles’ dick. He groans and flips them around. He pushes Peter back into the wall and fucks his dick into Peter’s mouth slowly. Stiles keeps pushing in and out while Peter flits his tongue over the tip. Quickly enough he fucks all the way in with Peter’s throat accommodating Stiles’ thick downward curving shaft. He pulls out quickly but starts increasing the time that he’s buried balls deep in Peter face. He eventually gets to the count of twelve before Peter needs him to pull out completely. He gasps shortly and stands up. He kisses Stiles and runs his hands down Stiles’ back. Stiles moans into his mouth and they grind together underneath the spray. Stiles grabs his hair and pulls it to the left. He bites down on Peter’s neck and sucks hard. Peter lets out a growling, moan and sinks slightly lower against the wall.

“Stiles.”

“St-Stiles.” Peter reiterates.

“STILES.” He says, his voice cracking part way through.

“Stiles!” He yells and pushes Stiles to the other side of the shower. When Stiles looks him in the eyes, he can see the cold, steel blue leaking into Peter’s eyes and the harsh lines of his descending canines.

“Peter?” He asks cautiously.

“Just… just give me a moment.” He says breathing heavily.

“What, is it?” Stiles searches.

“Just a minute okay? I’ll tell you later. Just. Just stay still and stay here with me.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. You’re the boss.”

A few moments later and Peter’s teeth are back to normal and his grip has loosened. Peter pulls him in close and hugs him firmly. He plants his teeth on the nape of Stiles’ neck and worries his teeth there.

Another minute or so and Peter lets go. They finish their shower together, just quick soaping of each other’s bodies and a rinse and they’re out.

Stiles gets ready for school slowly and watches Peter from the corner of his vision. Peter grabbed some sweats and a v neck and threw them on and walked out to the kitchen. Stiles heard pouring sounds and Peter sit down.

Stiles came out when he was finally dressed. He’d put on Peter’s skinniest dark wash jeans and a dark red v neck, it was the least obscene one he could find that didn’t look like it was a size too big for him,  which he covered with a black sweater and grabbed one of Peter’s few beanies to cover his head. It wasn’t his usual style; but, when he saw the look on Peter’s face when he walked out of the bedroom he blushed. “Do I look okay?”

Peter doesn’t respond for a few moments.

“Peter?”

“What?” He responds with a snap. “Oh! Yeah, you uh you look good, very good.”

“Thanks.” Stiles says, crosses the open space to the corner of the counter that Peter’s leaning over, and gives him a kiss. “I have to go.” He says and grabs his stuff from its place by the couch on his way out.

“Bye.” Peter says faintly as Stiles closes the apartment door.

When he’s greeted by the rush of early morning school goers Stiles doesn’t feel anything. None of the apprehension, cynical irritation, bewilderment at their ignorance, or even the anxiety he gets whenever he gets the feeling that he’s surrounded by people who have no idea what he’s experiencing that set in a few days into the possession. He walks into the school and wades through the people in a state of utter detachment and clinical observation. He notices the girls walking around the hall flipping their hair or twirling it for attention. He sees the few guys who actually look scared, like they know something is out there and they’re just afraid that they’ll be the next disappearance. He can tell by the way they shrink into the walls more than the rest of his peers. They look around sheepishly as they dart their ways through the halls. He notices the freshmen who actually think they have a handle on their new environment, and the seniors who think they’re immune, innocence and common sense left behind long ago. He sees them all and doesn’t care.

He wades through them, unfeeling, uncaring, and gets to his first class. And, her remains that way all the way through till lunch. When lunch comes he can feel the familiar lurch of an impending ambush coming. And, as Beacon Hills’ resident creature magnet he’s learned to trust the feeling.

When he turns the corner to the corridor that leads to the library it gets worse. He takes one look down the hallway and turns around. He can’t quite make out who the figure is at the end of the hall, because the fluorescent lights have been on the fritz for the last year- somehow. And, he would know, he’s made a complaint a month about it since forever ago.

He turns around only to be greeted by the vision of Liam and Isaac coming up the hallway behind him. He decides to make a 180 and attempt to leave the other direction only to see Ethan walking up to him. He sighs in resignation, closes his eyes, and makes his way down the hallway towards the body standing in front of the doors that couldn’t not be Scott.

When he makes it to the door he stops. Scott’s standing there waiting expectantly, and he has no words for him. He moves to pass him and Scott blocks him. He huffs and turns around.

“Stiles.” Scott says a mix of desperation and anger flooding through his voice.

Stiles stops in front of the body guards the pack alpha has decided to blockade him with and inhales sharply followed by a deep exhale.

“Stop running away Stiles.” He hears from directly behind him. He feels the hand coming before it actually touches him and grips the sweater he’s wearing at the cuff. “You can’t keep avoiding everyone. All it does is hurt us.” When the hand lands on his shoulder he springs into action; he turns on his heel and slams his fist into Scott’s face. Scott recoils and fall-scrambles into the hallway’s left wall.

“What the hell Stiles!” Isaac yells. “He didn’t even do anything to you. You’re the one who just decided to up and leave everyone and act like a total asshole.”

Stiles turns, dips his hand in his bag, and then jabs a mistletoe dart into Isaac’s chest. “Anyone else have any bullshit lies they’d like to tell themselves or me, for that matter?”

“You’re acting like a psycho rage monster Stiles. And that’s coming from me.” Liam says, but doesn’t move.

“Oh yeah? And what would you know about what I look like as a psycho rage monster? You’ve been in Scott’s pack for what all of three days?”

“Dude. Stiles. Can you cut it out? You’re gonna draw a lot of unnecessary attention.” Ethan says.

“Oh yeah, I’d hate to draw attention to me being cornered by three thugs and someone who was supposed to be my best friend!” He shouts.

“Stiles. What’s wrong with you? You are acting like I did something wrong. You’re the one who’s been disappearing. You’re the one who stopped talking to me. You’re the one who won’t respond to any of the texts or calls I sent you.” Scott says.

“Oh really? Because as of a few weeks ago the last message I had gotten from you was about how I wasn’t important enough to hang out with ore make time for. I guess now that you have your shiny new pack of killers, bad attitude freshmen, and best friend stealers you don’t need me anymore. Except to get information out of right? Not that you’d listen to my ideas when we’re in public. Because it would be so hard to actually accept any of my totally valid input as having value until you’re alone and need to scrape up the bottom of the barrel for the perfect solution to your morally self-righteous quest to violate people’s dignity in any way possible in order to avoid killing them. Like come on really Scott? You think I’m the problem? I’m not the one who violated a rape victim’s right to their body, I’m not the one who replaced a dying dude’s meds with fakes. I’m definitely not the guy who tricked some lady into healing the guy who tried to get her killed and got her left for dead. And, I’m definitely not the one who keeps all of his plans from his best friend just so he can play the hero at the eleventh hour. But, yeah now that my body was used as a tool for murder I’m the problem. I’m the one who should have a stain on my conscious and act like a black sheep. Keep telling yourself that I’m the one who is ruining our friendship Scott. It’s ‘my actions’ and withholdings that ruined our friendship right? I’m the problem! How the world decided you would be bitten and gave you the rank of ‘True Alpha’ I’ll never know. You’re pathetic and you see the world in black and white like a child. Grow the fuck up Scott! You’re the problem.” Stiles says, turns back to leave the hallway. No one stops him this time.

Chapter Text

Leaving school at the end of the day Stiles doesn’t know how he feels. Proud? Maybe. But, the anxiety of what was to come and over what happened robbed him of most of his satisfaction. He’s happy he finally address the fact that he’s been treated like shit, but wary that more problems are going to ensue as a result. He was actually worried through the entire last period that Scott would try to confront him again in the parking lot, or on the way there, but Scott doesn’t.

He drives to Peter’s house for the night with no intent of returning home to his dad. He shoots his dad a text. Just a simple, “I love you. I’m doing okay,” before shutting his phone off for the evening. He doesn’t need it anyway. His laptop has everything he’d need and Peter seems to be more than happy to lend him clothes between washes.

When he gets back Peter is gone. A note is left on the table nearest the couch.

 I had to go to work on something with a client. They’re being rather pushy and I needed to get it done today. I should be back around 6. See you tonight.

Stiles puts it down and rifles through the small pantry/closet for some snack food. He finds some tortilla chips in the back and takes them with him back to the couch. He sits down wraps himself in a blanket and grazes on them disinterestedly while watching Sandlot. He doesn’t really follow the story with any great interest, not that he has to, he’s seen it a billion times. When it ends a little after five he doesn’t really know what to do so he orders pizza, chicken Alfredo, and some dessert option they had “on special” from the nearest pizza joint and waits for it to get delivered.

The evening stretches on and the food arrives. He checks the clock Peter has on the wall, Stiles was kind of surprised it wasn’t a grandfather clock somehow, but it’s nice, a wire frame silver thing hanging from the wall with hundreds of swirls making tons of triskelions around the clock face. It’s seems like one of the few custom made pieces in the entire apartment and its surprisingly understated against the deep bluish-grey walls. He frowns at the clock that says 6:30 and digs into the tin filled with Alfredo. Ten minutes into big fish and he’s already eaten half of it. He puts it aside and digs into the cinnamon sticks. He eats absent mindedly while the opening scene starts. Yet again he’s mostly just watching the screen with no real devoted attention. When he finally does start shoving the first bite of pizza into his mouth the movie is presenting him with strange imagery and he’s just trying to care. He loves the movie on most nights, but he can’t bring himself to feel for the main character tonight. He turns off the movie and looks at the clock; 7:30 it reads evoking a frown from Stiles. He leaves the food and television where they are and wanders to the bedroom for a nap.

When the bed lurches Stiles wakes up, just enough to realize there’s a body. “Mngh, wah time’s it?”

“Nine.”

“Where were you?”

“My client was being an asshole. I nearly fired him.”

“You can’t fire a client.”

“That hasn’t stopped me in the past. Though luckily we finished all his stuff tonight and I’ll never have to see him again. I got the check and now I get to go back to pretending uptight snobs like him don’t exist.”

“Peter. You’re an uptight snob.”

 “I am not.”

“Yes you are. Your entire apartment looks like it is from a home and garden magazine.”

“I’ll have you know I picked out everything here. And, it’s all much more tasteful than those tacky off the shelf models floating around every home in the world. I hired a special furniture maker and picked out the fabrics for those couches myself. The leather is Italian. I searched for the right color paint for weeks.”

“That’s exactly why it looks so display model. Everything is too perfect.”

“If you insult my home one more time by saying it looks manufactured for mass replication-“

“You’ll what? Slap me?”

“I won’t slap you sweet heart. I’ll just show you how it feels to have blue balls for the rest of your miserable life.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Fine. Your home is lovely, original, and remarkably well designed.”

“Thank you. I have to go put away some pizza and after that I have some make up sex to get to.”

“Mmm. Sounds perfect.” Stiles says and gives Peter a quick kiss before he embarks for the living room. 

Chapter Text

When Stiles wakes up the next morning to rain and grey skies he’s surprisingly okay with it. Peter’s arm is wrapped snuggly around him and he can feel the breath pushing evenly from Peter’s lips on the back of his neck. He pushes back into Peter’s chest and drinks in the warmth like hot chocolate. Peter’s chest is hairier now than the first time they slept together. Peter had been completely hairless most of the time but it was starting to grow back in. he can feel the drag of new hairs on his back when he shifts. He chuckles to himself about the absurdity of what must be biweekly waxing appointments. Peter on a massage table or surgical bench having cooled wax ripped off his chest. The asshole probably doesn’t even yelp. It is still a funny image though; it’s almost contrary to the rugged look he’s been sporting with the five o’clock shadow and bulging muscles. However if there is one thing he knows Peter actually cares about its appearances. He makes a job out of it after all.

Peter grips him tighter in his sleep and dutifully snuggles his head closer to Stiles. He smiles; the feeling of being needed, no not needed, wanted makes him feel happy in a way he thought died off with his mother. His dad was great, he was. It’s just they always felt a little broken without her. Claudia wasn’t a ray of sunshine, she wasn’t a breath of fresh air in the summer. Claudia was a force of nature, the sheer force of her love could be felt even when she wasn’t in the room. He can tell how much better it had made his dad. He could see it in his eyes, the way he’s resigned to never finding that same happiness again. It makes it hard to look at his dad every now and again. That’s why he drinks when the job is hard Stiles thinks. Without his mom to pull him up by sheer strength of will, his dad was just another Sheriff out there trying to make sense of a world that’s collapsing at the edges.

A tear falls from Stiles’ eye. Just one. A dazed smile flits across his lips and he goes back to sleep. Just for a bit.

Chapter Text

Waking up and dressing himself in Peter’s smallest clothes is becoming more of a routine than a novelty now. He noticed yesterday that there seemed to be an item or two more in his size than he thought he’d seen last week. He could’ve just failed to notice them, but he has the sinking suspicion that didn’t. The clothes that seem newer don’t seem to smell quite like the musk, sandalwood, and Armani-esque scent that is generally infused into all of Peter’s clothes. They’re a bit more neutral. He decides to pick out something older a bit more worn that is soft. The plain shirt feels a bit loose on him, but seeing as it has obvious wear from where it stretches to Peter’s body he doesn’t really mind. He pulls on one of Peter’s heavier cardigans and slips into a pair of medium wash, lived in jeans that somehow manage to fit him. Stiles gets the hat he’s been stealing ever since he came over this weekend and leaves the bedroom for the chilly kitchen. He prepares some eggs, sausage, and toast and then goes to wake Peter up.

“I’m going to go back home today I think. I’ve been avoiding my dad too long and I think I need to talk to him now. I feel kind of bad about how I left it and though I’ve been telling him I’m fine I know he’s worried.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Peter says and takes a small, disinterested bite out of what’s left of his eggs. “Will you be back tonight?”

“I think I’m going to stay there unless it goes too far south. But, I think it will go okay.”

“Okay. I’ll just get some work done today then. Call me after you talk with him?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Stiles says and kisses Peter on the cheek.

“Well then I’ll see you again soon,” Peter says kisses his forehead and walks back into the bedroom.

Stiles hears the shower start, so he puts the plates in the sink, grabs his bag, and leaves.

When he gets to school there isn’t much happening. And, he doesn’t see anyone who’d bother him that morning. During lunch he grabs his food eats and retreats to the library. While he’s there Lydia comes up to him, gives him a hug, and then slaps him on the back of the head. “You should’ve told me. I’m sorry I didn’t realize.” She says kisses his forehead and leaves.

It’s more of the same when he gets through the rest of his classes that day. When he leaves Roscoe starts with a shudder and a groan. He turns for the highway and books it for home. When he arrives his dad is there. He’s sitting on the couch. His face looks shocked and he stands up quickly. He rushes over to Stiles and hugs him. “Never leave like that again you little shit.”

Stiles hugs him back and lets out a shuddering laugh. “Yeah okay.” When they finally let go of each other Stiles looks in his dad’s eyes seriously and speaks, for the first time in forever he feels like his voice is coming in clear. “Dad, I have a lot to tell you.”

“So long as it’s the truth I’ll do my best to listen.”

“Okay, well… where do I start?” Stiles begins with a sigh. He tells his dad about his time in Eichen during and after the possession. He continues on about the death of Allison and his experience of the situation and how it felt to be trapped and watching as your body does unspeakable things. He talked about how if he had physical control he would’ve been sobbing for a long period of time and how frustrated he was whenever people were tricked by the nogitsune. He told his dad about how different he felt and why he didn’t quite feel real in his own life anymore.

Then Stiles moved onto how Scott and the pack had basically been ignoring him except when they needed him to do research, and how he never had a real voice. It was almost as if he was trapped behind that mental wall again. And how eventually, he had just stopped talking and only the most complete anger could get him to speak. Then he told him who the only person who he felt actually sought out his voice was Peter. How he was basically getting stalked and harassed by the man into speaking. He talked about how Peter had given him the attention he needed to feel real again and actually want to exist in the world. Stiles told his dad about all the nights he spent studying herb books with the man and the gifts he’d gotten and how he found refuge with him when he felt like no one understood him. He told his dad about his reservations and feelings that had started to develop for Peter and that it had all just built slowly. He told his dad about the things they’d done together their travels, and dinners, and the gifts Peter had given him. He told his dad about how when Peter and he had first fallen asleep together he felt like he could actually breathe again. And he ended by telling his dad how he’d fallen for the man and that his understanding had given him the strength to stand up for himself.

Stiles ended the conversation by telling his dad about how he’d finally called Scott out on his shit and defended himself because of Peter. He told his dad about how he no longer felt he had to isolate. And, about how he no longer felt he had to accept less than what a person deserves. Then when he was done he said “I feel like I finally belong somewhere again. And I know you may not approve, but I’m technically an adult now and though I want your approval I’ll just have to disappoint you if you can’t accept my relationship.”

“Son, I’m sorry. I’m at a loss. I should’ve been here for you more. I remember when you were a kid and I felt like I always felt like I knew what was going on for you and what you needed. But now, your life is so complicated. You can’t be a kid anymore and as much as I hate that I understand why. If you say you love this man I’ll give him a chance, but he’s done some awful shit and I know you say he’s changed, but it’s going to take some effort on his part to convince me of that. But, if he’s good for you and you love him… I’ll have to trust him to make you happy. But, if he messes up, if he betrays you even once, there’s a wolf’s bane silver bullet with his name on it.” The sheriff says and gives his son another bear hug.

“Dad.” Stiles replies with a chuckle.

“I’m serious. If he ever steps out of line that’s it; I’ll put him down.”

“So you’ll try, for me?”

“Yeah, I’ll try. I love you punk.”

“I love you too dad.”

Chapter Text

Waking up in his own bed the next morning is wonderful. But, the lack of another body makes him feel weird after spending several days laying in Peter’s bed. He thinks about how it must’ve felt for his dad when his mom died, and how much worse it must’ve been because of the fact that he knew that he’d never feel her beside him again. He frowns his way to the bathroom. He frowns his way through his shower. And, then continues frowning his way all the way downstairs. When he gets down there his dad is awake for a change.

“What’s got you looking like you drank some sour milk? You just woke up.”

“It’s nothing. I just realized how hard it must’ve been for you after mom died… I’m sorry about what I said before I stormed off last weekend.”

“It’s okay,” He replied and gets up gesturing for a hug. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I’m sorry anyway.”

“Well, let’s just agree we both could’ve done better then.” He tells Stiles and kisses his forehead. “I love you, son. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I love you too dad.”

“You want to go to school today? Or would you rather hang out with me for my day off?”

“I want to stay home, but…”

“Yeah. I get it,” The Sheriff says. “I know you went to school despite the fact that you ran off. Thanks for being a good kid. Even if you can’t stay out of trouble to save your life.”

“Staying out of trouble has gotten lots of kids killed. I’m safer running into the thick of things at this point. At least that way whatever’s out there next will have the problem of fighting off supernatural creatures to get to me.”

“I hate that that makes any sense to me.”

When he finally arrives at school Lydia is at his locker, looking at him expectantly.

“Umm, hello?”

“So, when are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you??? What exactly?”

“Where the hell you’ve been going after school and running away to? I’d ask the Scoobies to trail you, but I know all of them are essentially useless. And, since I can’t do it myself unless you’re in danger of dying I guess I have to settle for prying it out of you. So spill.”

“Lyd, I don’t think I can. You’d probably scream at me, both as yourself and as a banshee when you decide to murder me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? I am not the crazy one of this group.”

“A-”

“That is not up for debate.” She declares and puts one finger up to silence him, shaking her head, and closing her eyes with a pinched expression.

“Well, you’re something.”

“Do not think that you can avoid this conversation with dull insults Stiles. I kissed you to snap you out of a panic attack once. You owe me. And, I thought we cared about each other enough to warrant the truth.”

“I do and I will... I promise. But, I think this isn’t the time. You’ll be mad all day and I don’t think I can deal with you yelling at me this early in the morning. Can we go out for a coffee or something after school? Just us. No one else can be there, or even know.”

Lydia gives a soured frown and huffs. “Fine. Today 3:45, at The Brew.”

“See you then.”

Stiles could feel the apprehension roll over him as he got in the car after school. He really didn’t want to go. It’s not that he’s ashamed, or that he feels he’s been doing anything wrong, because he hasn’t-obviously. However, he KNOWS just how much Lydia is going to hate it. And, he’s really hoping he does that thing where people get iced coffee even though it’s cold out, even if the temperature drop had worn off. And even though it has settled into a more reasonable 55 degrees Stiles knows what he’s going to get, hot chocolate. The Brew has some of the best in town, due partly to the fact that they drop two chunks of chocolate at the bottom at every cup, use a mix of heavy cream and milk, and top it with their signature heavy whipped cream. They put it on the menu as the Stilinski Deluxe back when he was only like four. He and his mom used to bring their own; eventually people started asking them for the chocolate too and it became very, very popular. He orders the drink and asks the barista to keep them coming, he has the feeling he’ll need the comfort soon enough.

When Lydia billows into the coffee shop Stiles braces himself. The hope that she won’t scream at him for what he’s about to say is basically non-existent. Her demeanor seems calm, but he can tell what her facial expression is; he’s seen it before when she was preparing to take down supernatural creatures with the pack. His stomach starts to churn and he sucks down another warm gulp of his drink to try to soothe himself.

“So, how are you?”

“Honestly?”

“No, I came here for lies.”

“Okay, then.”

“Stiles I came here for the truth. I’ll handle it as best I can. I just… I just need you to be up front with me. Can you do that?”

“Yeah…” he shudders. “Where could I even start?”

“How about with right now? The past week even? I know you held a lot of things in recently, just start wherever you can.”

“Well currently I’m afraid you’re going to scalp me for what I’m about to tell you.”

“Stiles. Don’t be an imbecile, it’s beneath you.” She gives him a calculating look, pinching her lips and tilting her head. A moment later she picks up his spoon grabs a bit of the whipped cream off the top, smiles and then waves her hand a bit. “I came here for answers not to shred you into a million pieces.”

Stiles finds himself chuckling. He can’t figure out why, but for a few moments he can’t stop.

When he calms down he sucks in one last breath before listing out the slew of emotions that lead him to where he is today. He maneuvers around where and with whom he’s been spending his time. He figures it would be best to save it for last, hopefully he can’t soften her reaction with some sympathy. He tells her about how he felt that no one cared about him. How he felt lost in his emotions and that everyone wrote him off. He talked about the ever increasing gap between him and Scott and how every time Scott “tried to make things better” by tailing, stalking or cornering him it only made him more frustrated. He told her about how it felt to know he was all twisted up inside; to know he was no longer who he once was just a few months ago. Stiles knew that Scott’s views on him had been changed and colored based upon acts he didn’t even willingly commit.

Stiles told her about feeling crazy, about losing time, finding himself in weird places, not knowing how or why he’d gotten to where he was. He told her about it happening in normal places, how the nogitsune robbed him of his time with them, and how they didn’t notice. Stiles tried to tell her about everything he didn’t even know how to express, and when he fell short she just grabbed his hand. She looked at him, eyes half searching, half glassy and said “I think I get it. I know how hard it can be to talk about. You can stop if you want. When I first started hearing the voices, and wandering to kill sites I thought I was losing it. Even worse was not knowing how or why I got to the places I ended up. But, the worst part was knowing nobody even noticed I was gone until I was completely lost. It made me feel small, insignificant, worthless; on top of thinking I was crazy.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to tell me today. Honestly I didn’t expect you to tell me as much as you did,” She says and stroked his hand with her thumb.

“No- I think you should know.”

“Okay, do you need a moment to collect yourself?”

“I think it’s just best to rip the band aid off.” Stiles says with a roll of the shoulders and head. He licks his lips and looks her in the eyes. “I’ve been… I got into a relationship with Peter.”

“I’m sorry… what?” She says a bit dazed.

“I know. I know how it sounds.” He clamors. “Just try to give me a moment to explain. Please.”

Lydia nods slowly, but doesn’t say anything.

“Okay. Thank you,” Stiles says. “Where do I even begin? I guess the beginning would be best wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she says, nearly whispers.

“Yeah. Good. Well…” Stiles begins. He tells her about the book in the rain, the picnic, and the library trips. He recounts the surprises, the gifts, and the trip to San Francisco. Stiles goes over all the things Peter did for him, the way he forced him to talk by being an asshole and never leaving him alone. Then he leads into his increasingly longer stays at Peter’s place, the times they just fell asleep together, and the way the sweater felt when he put it on for the first time. How it made him feel warm and wanted for the first time in a while, peter’s presence surrounding him reassuringly through the day. Finally he told her about how Peter made him feel like he actually had a connection with another person, one who understood what it felt like to do things when you weren’t in full control, someone who was an outsider. And, how comfortable it made him just to know he was accepted by him even when things were going so awfully with everyone else, especially his dad and Scott who had always been the people closest to him.

By the time he was doe going over everything he was on his third cup of hot chocolate and Lydia was on her second drink. She didn’t say anything the entire time further than yeah, hmm, or other nonchalant responses. It was probably about as good of a response as he could expect to get. A few minutes and several sips of their drinks later she finally speaks.

“Are you happy with him? And are you sure he isn’t taking advantage of you?”

“I am. And, for the second I don’t think he is. If I even show discomfort he backs off like immediately or tries to comfort me.”

“Then I’ll do my best to be okay with it. I still don’t like him, and I probably never will. But, give me some time okay? I’m not mad. I just need some time to process.”

“Sure.”

She kisses his hand and gets up. When the door closes again he finally feels like he can breathe. He takes down the remains of his drink pays the barista and leaves.

Chapter Text

When Stiles finally arrives at Peter’s place he can barely breathe. He needs him, to just hold him. He isn’t sure why, but it’s all he can think about. He needs the touch. And he loves his dad, but cuddling with him just isn’t the same.

In Peter’s arms he’s held tight, told he’s beautiful, and has kisses pressed to his temple. When Peter’s hands glide along his body it ignites his body. The tingling glimmers of sparks leave him nearly speechless, which given his predilection for snark can be a hard sentiment to draw from him.

He taps his foot rapidly on the elevator ride up to the apartment. When he gets inside the door and slides it closed he rushes to where Peter is sprawled on the couch and lands on his chest. He rolls upon impact and laughs. Peter’s breath rushes out of him and he chuckles.

“What was that you little shit? You haven’t ever been this…” Peter fades off. “Playful.” He finishes with a leery and suspecting sound ringing through.

“I’m just in a good mood is all, why?”

”Oh, is that so? And why would that be?”

“My dad and Lydia like weren’t totally shitty when I told them about us. I mean they weren’t like ecstatic or anything, but they said they’d do their best to accept it and like neither of them got all mad and yelled at me or anything. So I just feel like I’m flying high today. I feel like I’m Superman, rather than Robin – pre Nightwing.”

“Well, alright then. But sweetheart, Superman doesn’t get to sleep in Batman’s bed on a regular basis. So I think I like you as my Robin.”

“First of all. Fuck you, I’m Batman. Second of all, you’re obviously The Joker, you came back from the supposed dead multiple times and at one point were horribly scarred. It may not have been chemical or surgical, but close enough.”

“Oh yeah? Does that mean we have to fight each other for dominance for the rest of our lives?”

“Of course.” Stiles smiles down and grinds his hips into Peter’s and punctuates the movement with a kiss.

Chapter Text

Waking up the next morning he can hardly breathe. There’s an arm wrapped around him holding him in, keeping him from pulling away quickly. Where he is hits him, and he’s captivated. He’s elated, yet somehow he feels trapped beyond all belief. Stiles gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Caffeine, Caffeine should fix this. He starts the grinder and doesn’t worry about waking Peter, he could tell that his boyfriend? boyfriend. was only feigning sleep. Peter is generally awake before he is doing something weird like breathing in his scent from his neck or watching him sleep, but the instant Peter realizes that Stiles had finally woken up from the previous night he begins to act like he slept through the night. But, Stiles can tell that Peter has been awake recently, is awake. There’s a certain visual cue, the way his eyelids lay, how his brow scrunches, something. Stiles can’t quite put his finger on what it is, but he knows every time.

Stiles rolls his eyes at how loud the grinder is, how loud it always is. The apartment is well furnished, but still it’s done so tastefully and without clutter. In such an open space the sound finds room to grow, reverberate, echo back on him. The coffee is some rich, high end, Caribbean brand that Stiles knows is senselessly expensive. But it is just right for his high maintenance boyfriend. It tastes good, but he would be just as easily serviced for his morning fix with a cup or two of Folgers or Maxwell House. He’s never really cared, he just drank whatever his dad brought home. Being a Sherriff he needed the coffee too, there were never a shortage of long nights in their house. But, honestly, he can’t blame Peter. If it’s what he likes, why shouldn’t he buy it?

When the pot is done brewing Peter finally idles out of his room, clad a pair of low hanging pajama pants. Stiles pours two cups, hands Peter one, and then takes a sip from his. He sighs into it quietly relishing the moment that the drink hits his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment and relaxes into the counter.

Standing there in Peter’s kitchen is surreal. He almost questions whether or not he ever left Eichen. It sure is a hell of a lot more likely than the alternative, that he’s here and he’s in love with someone. Forget that, he can’t believe someone is in love with him, let alone Peter. He looks out the window for a moment imagining what would really be going on in the real world if he were delirious, would he still be in Eichen? Would his dad be visiting him right now desperately hoping that he would get better? Probably, but then again probably not. He is the Sherriff after all, and even he can’t put the world on hold for forever, not even for the little Mischief he cared so much for. A town could only go without a Sherriff for so long. Crime doesn’t stop on account of family crisis.  

Peter comes up and pulls him into a hug.

Stiles snaps back to reality, or the at least the one he currently perceives. “Where’d you go? What’s wrong little bird?”

“Hm? Oh nothing… Not really… I was just thinking, about how astounding it is that we are actually here right now.”

“Oh, and how’s that?”

“Mmhh-uuh.”

“Okay, well. I don’t find it that surprising. I knew I wanted you that night we first met. I knew that night in the hospital and it took everything I had not to claim you permanently that night in the parking garage.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter says and kisses him on the forehead. “Never question that little bird. I love you, and I always will.”

Stiles tucks himself further into Peter’s warm chest and whisper’s that he loves Peter too. It’s barely audible. It’s practically just a mouthing into the chest of the man who’s holding him; the man he loves.

After a few more minutes like this just holding each other chests pressed together, Stiles trying not to cry and Peter trying to keep his emotions just out of sight, they break apart.

“What’re you going to do today?”

“Got class, its Wednesday, you?”

“Not much I just have to finish up with a client or two before starting on a new project. Seriously some of these people have absolutely no taste its horrifying.”

“Okay.”

“Will I be seeing you tonight?”

“No I think I’m going to sleep at my dad’s place tonight,” Stiles says quietly. “I think he is going to be home tonight and I could use some time to myself.”

“Okay, well, I’m just a phone away if you need me.”

“Okay.”

Peter kisses him on the forehead before walking away to the bedroom to rifle through some things in his closet. He comes out a while later and slides in behind Stiles on the couch and hold’s him until Stiles decides to get up and leave for school.

“I love you,” He says as Stiles slides the door close.

“I love you too,” Stiles whispers as the door shuts with a clunk.

Chapter Text

It’s the second week of October already and he honestly has never wanted more for Halloween to come, not even when he was a kid was he this excited for the holiday. It was always his favorite for sure, but now that he has magic to try out he honestly couldn’t be more enraptured by the time of the year. Technically he should wait for the equinox or the solstice but the thing is Halloween has one thing no other holiday does, belief. If there are two things Stiles knows it’s that, one, magic is fueled by belief and that, two, at no other time of the year is the public more willing to suspend doubts in the unknown.  And, now that he is more in tune with nature it’s as if he can feel the magic amping up around him, getting new life as the holiday approaches. The plants themselves may be fading, but he can still feel the earth itself seething with anticipation.

            He picks up a cup of coffee on his way to class and hopes that the caffeine will help him focus. He has his meds in his bag and honestly he did take one already, but his mind is buzzing and won’t come in line so he is main lining caffeine hoping it will make up the difference and allow him to come back to earth.

            He shambles to class quickly, muting himself to keep his rambling internal in the hopes that it will keep the teachers from calling on him. For first period it works, but by second period he has already downed an energy drink from one of the vending machines on campus and while his mind has come into a unstable, yet holding focus his body couldn’t be more opposite. He shifts in his seat all hour trying his best not to make too much sound, but his fingers won’t stop tapping on the desk whenever he ceases to pay them direct attention, which is basically every other minute. He gets a couple glares from his teacher, but has enough sympathy grace left with her to keep himself from getting called out on it.

            By the time he gets to the end of his last class before lunch he is doing the best he can not to use magic. He is having a particularly hard time not rejuvenating one of the several nearly dead plants in his English class back to health, with some mild chanting under his breath. They just look so pathetic and he can’t stand to look at them. However, if he did do the ritual there is no real way to tell how well it would work, and if it worked too well, well everyone would notice, and he really didn’t need to be the cause of the next case of mass panic in the Beacon Hills High School.

            During lunch, he goes off campus to the nearest artisanal coffee shop and orders a chamomile tea. He orders two pastries for lunch and two extra bags for later. Before he leaves for class he has them refill the cup with hot water. He eventually goes on to spend his free period sipping tea made from hot water he stole from the History Teachers’ Faculty Lounge that no one has time to work in during the period; while studying erratically from several different text books.

            By the end of the day the tea is too diluted to water down anymore and he throws the cup away. Empty handed he leaves the school with ample time and nothing to do for once. That is until he sees Derek standing in the parking lot against his jeep. Just when I thought I was free of problems for a day. When he gets closer he can see the gash on Derek’s collar bone, barely visible against the red v-neck. But it was there, clear as day. He could see the rich, dark red oozing out slowly from the wound. It was crusting a bit already. Derek’s normal scowl was somehow more intimidating than usual. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes locked in a glare. If anything the injury just seemed to dial up Derek’s normal resting bitch face and simmering anger up to a resounding eleven. This would’ve scared him a few years back, but he is now worryingly accustomed to the sight.

            He walks by Derek and swings his car door open. He tosses his bag into the passenger side seat and stretches himself over his seat to get the medical kit he finally decided to put in the back seat this fall after the billionth inconvenient, life, limb, and tire endangering monster attack. He walks back to Derek and pulls out the antiseptic spray, and some gauze. He cleans the gash, after a moment he notices that the “gash” were gashes. The five of them swept left to right on the right side of his body downward with the line of his collar toward the sternum.

            “Thanks.”

            “Yeah.” Stiles replies.

            “It’s worse than it looks.”

            Stiles sours his lips and raises his eyebrows momentarily, but otherwise didn’t respond. He cleans the last of the wounds quickly and then grabs a few more gauze and the tape. He covers the wound as best he can and then pulls away.

            “Do you want to know what happened?”

            “Will I have to research information on whatever did it?”

            “No.”

            “Then no.” He puts away the roll of medical tape and closes his kit. He picks it up and walks back around to the driver’s side door. He tosses it in the back and turns the Jeep on.

            “Stiles, there has to be a better outlet for your frustration at Scott and the rest of the pack.”

            Stiles takes in a sharp breath, closes his eyes. His eyebrows raise instinctually, he closes the door, and he puts the car into reverse.

            “Stiles! Really? Are you so angry at us for whatever it is you’re mad about that you’re fucking my crazy, sociopathic uncle to get back at us?”

            “Yes.” Stiles says tartly and swings the jeep out of his parking spot, this smacks Derek with the end of his mirror. Then he drives away.

Chapter Text

            While he’s driving home his mind won’t shut up. He’s worried, he can’t stop connecting the interaction he had with Derek to the wounds on his chest. When he finally parks the jeep in the driveway he starts pacing the floor frustrated and tosses the backpack against the wall near the entrance. He calls Peter four times, each time a full drawn out set of rings on the line, each time no answer. He paces a bit more before lumbering up the stairs to his room. He pulls the door open, rushes in, slams the door, and turns towards the chest at the foot of his bed. But, he stops dumbstruck at the sight in front of him.

            “What? No hello?” Peter grits out; a bit of blood comes out of his mouth when he smiles. There is a swath of torn flesh running straight down the center of his chest and a bite mark on his neck. And, there’s a fading black eye and crusted blood bridging the space between his nose and upper lip.

            “Peter! What the hell happened?”

            “Nothing really just a family squabble with my broody, strangely protective nephew. It looks far worse than it actually is.”

            “Derek did this?”

            “It would seem,” He says and licks the blood from his lips.

            “I find it hard to believe he beat you in a fight.”

            “Well, he did have some help from the element of surprise.”

            “Then why is he mostly healed and you’re still like this.”

            “Well, I did recently enough come back from the dead. Not to mention after a certain age a man just doesn’t-“

            “Cut the shit, if you don’t stop lying I’m going to kill you again just to resurrect you and kill you for the third time.”

            “Well, when you put it that way,” Peter says voice lilting evenly even through the grumble his injuries is causing. “He may have had some assistance.”

            “Who?”

            “Do you really have to ask my dear?”

            “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m going to beat the shit out of them. Where is that bat I infused with mountain ash?”

            “Stiles. Please. Just, just come here.”

            “I-” Stiles says cutting off. He looks down at the fingernails he’s picking dirt out of for a moment before resuming eye contact. “Yeah, okay.” He finished and goes to embraces Peter and hold him up.

            He leads Peter to the bathroom and sits him down on the edge of the tub while he pulls his first aid kit out from beneath the sink. He’d invested in one freshman year after Scott was bitten and had to stock it regularly thereafter. He pulls out the disinfectant, gauze, medical tape, and anything else he can think of out of the box and gets to work. He stitches the gashes closed so that the muscle and skin would knit itself together faster, and covers the bite.

He goes to the chest in his room and takes out some of the healing salve he’s been working on and applies it to the split lip he discovered when he was cleaning Peter’s face, and the remaining areas around Peter’s wounds. Peter smiles the whole time. His eyes never leave Stiles’ face save for the times he’s distracted by the motions of his hands. When Stiles makes eye contact with him the heat in his face rises momentarily, he looks back to his ministrations and finishes with as little eye contact as possible. Unfortunately, that means he has to stare at Peter’s chest, which causes him to think about how he looks when he’s showering and how it feels to have his chest pressed into his back when he’s falling asleep. His breathing slows for a minute while he drifts off thinking and his finger strokes slow to a light gliding over Peter’s chest.

            “This stuff smells terrible.” Peter says with a laugh, interrupting Stiles’ day dreaming.

            “What?” Stiles says in a disorganized snap.

            “The salve you’re putting on me. It smells repugnant.”

“Yeah? Well tough, because I devised it to help speed the recovery from wounds inflicted by alpha’s and other high tier monsters. And, after all the calculations I made to devise it, you’re going to put up or shut up about it until there isn’t a ten-inch slice through your torso.” Stiles says while covering the wound with gauze and tape.

            “Yes Sir!” Peter affirms, straightening up and pulling his hand into a salute at his forehead. “Any other orders sir?”

            “Yeah, go lay down and relax it’s still going to take two to three hours for you to heal.”

            “Absolutely sir,” Peter chimes before pushing to his feet and ambling to the bed. “I see that you opted for the Deadpool method of keeping blood stains at a minimum.”

            “Yeah well, when you have the constant threat of bleeding out in the middle of the night or walking in on an unexpected macabre scene in your bedroom you learn rather quickly that white sheets aren’t the best option.”

            “Well, according to what I’m smelling that is not the only thing on these sheets.”

            “It’s probably just your piss, my guess is you like to mark your territory while I’m not around.” Stiles says jumping into the bed next to Peter, which elicits a groan from him.
           

            Peter tugs Stiles against his chest and sucks kisses into his neck softly and glides his teeth over the nape of Stiles’ neck. He pulls away momentarily to admire the pink lines drawn into Stiles’ neck before leaning back in and settling his body and head into the line of Stiles’ body. He draws in his scent and relaxes.

            “Peter…”

            “Hmm?”

            “I love you. You know that right?”

            “How could you not?”

            “I mean you know I really love you right? That I’m not just with you to get back at everyone else or something stupid like that.”

            “Yeah, I know… I can smell it on you. It’s the way you smell less anxious, less like your body is on overdrive trying to assess the situation and getting ready to run after you’re with me for a few minutes.”

            “Can I ask you something?”

            “Of course.”

            “The other day… in the shower? What happened?”

            “Oh, well uh… you see that’s a rather sensitive place for werewolves. There’s a pack dynamics to it. Often it has to do with mating in adults. More that when the more submissive partner starts to return the biting that they accept the mating. And, we don’t really change mates.”

            “Okay, and that means?”

            “Well, it was basically like asking me to bend you over and fuck you until I impregnated you. And, since you can’t get pregnant you definitely wouldn’t’ve been ready for how long I would’ve wanted to be inside you if I had lost control. Another moment or two and I would’ve… well you wouldn’t have made it to school that day.”

            “Oh… Ohhh yeah, I can see why you would hold back.”

            Peter can feel the warmth in Stiles’ neck and lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah.” He says with a sigh.

            “So Peter, what do we do next?”

            “Kill them all I suppose.”

            “Oh really? And how are you going to do that with injuries like that and no one to help you?”

            “No one? Not even you?”

            “I may be spiteful but I’m not murderous.”

            “Well, I’ll have to decide upon a new plan then.”

            “Give me at least one good idea and maybe I will help.”

            “Okay. I’ll devise the perfect solution for you then. But for now, I need a nap.”

            “Fine.” Stiles says and kisses Peter. “I’ll kiss you more when you wake.”

            “Please do.” Peter says pulling Stiles back in for one more before resting his head.

            Stiles starts to drift off  half an hour after Peter, tracing lines into Peter’s skin and watching his body knit back together strangely soothing him to sleep.

Chapter Text

          When Peter wakes up the next morning there is a faint scent of herbs left wafting in the air. He gets up goes to the bathroom. He clears off what is left of Stiles’ healing salve, finds Stiles’ best fitting clean sweatshirt and walks downstairs to the smell of eggs and bacon.

            “Mmmm, what’re you doing down here sunshine?”

            “I’m NOT your “sunshine”, and if you’re going to be Spending the night in my son’s bed you should really ask permission from me first. I don’t hesitate to shoot trespassers in my home.”

           “Noah, I didn’t realize you would be home.”

          “That’s Sheriff Stilinski to you. Take a seat.”

          “Okay.” Peter says before looking around the kitchen and making eye Contact with Stiles who is sitting rather still at the table with an uneaten plate of food in front of him, hands in his lap, knees turned in. He decides to take a seat to Stiles’ left and waits for ‘Sheriff Stilinski’ to come sit with them.

          Noah grabs his Coffee cup and joins them at the table. “Stiles what the hell are you doing letting him sleep over without my permission? I may be taking extra shifts at the station, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t rules. I don’t care who it is I told you that you can’t have people over without my permission, especially boyfriends.”

          “Dad, I know that, but he was attacked yesterday. He was injured and I let him stay here to protect him and let him heal. I promise nothing happened.”

          “By what?”

          . . . .

          “Stiles.”

          “Derek and the pack.”

          “And why exactly would they do that?”

          “They are mad at me Sheriff, they found at about our relationship and they’re less than understanding about it. They believe I’m manipulating him.”

          “And are you?”

          “Dad.”

          “Stiles, it’s okay. Your dad only wants to make sure that you’re not being preyed upon; it’s perfectly reasonable considering I don’t have the best track record. But to answer your question Sheriff, no I’m not. Of all the people outside his family I’m using him the least.”

          “And, how do you come by that conclusion?”

          “Easy, I care about him for more than just the time it takes for him to research and destroy the latest monster that assails our beloved little town.”

            “That’s hardly fair. They’re all busy between saving the town, trying to graduate, and practice.”

            “True, but Stiles – Sorry if I’m talking for you my dear- has been through everything they have if not more. He is at just as much risk as any of them, more considering he is often enough used as bait, but he is also the research team and is just as much a part of the rest of the school activities as the rest of them. Actually, he’s getting better marks, at least I’d presume; snooping is beneath me. And yet, he still has more “spare time” than the rest of them and this is all while at the same time learning how to create druidic potions on the side. So, the question is- to me at least- where does all their time go? And why on earth before now did they not care to ask Stiles to spend any of their time with them? I know where mine went, to him,” Peter says and takes Stiles’ hand, feels the heat exuding from his sweating palms, and squeezes it softly.

            “Son, just how much time have you been spending alone? For how long?”

            Stiles looks down and clamps down on Peter’s hand. “Not much time ever since Peter started harassing me when I shut down a while back, but basically ever since I went to Eichen things have been different. When the nogitsune took over he did terrible things and I don’t think Scott really understands that I’m not to blame for Allison’s death… even if he knows that it was just my body that ordered the kill. And then after that guy almost killed me and he only cared that he died accidentally when I was trying to escape him-“

            “I think the knowledge that I could cause someone’s death, that I could kill… even if I didn’t mean to. It broke us.”

            “Stiles! …” Noah pleaded. “Why- why didn’t you tell me son?”

            “How could I? How do you explain that?’ Stiles implores and looks at Peter. “He gets it dad. I mean he really gets it.”

            “And when did this conflict between you two and the rest of the pack start then?”

            “Honestly dad? I forget. They only started caring about talking to me when I forgot I was supposed to want to talk to them. They only started caring about what I said when I stopped saying anything. Funny thing is I think I’m more important to them now that I don’t need them, now that it wont cause them trouble to care about me, than I was when I needed them most. That’s what I tried to explain. He cared about me when I needed him to, and he still cares about me now. I, I love him daddy.”

           “Son…”

           “How is a father supposed to respond to something like that?” Noah says and comes to where Stiles is sitting kneels down and hugs him. “I love you son, so much. And I know your mother would be proud of the strong young man I see before me. It may be hard at first, and I may not understand now why or how you two work… but, if he means that much to you. If he’s done that much for you when they couldn’t… When I couldn’t. Then I guess I’ll just have to accept that he’s a part of your life now.”

          “Dad.”

          “Stiles, you mean the world to me and all I want is for you to be happy.” Noah says and kisses him on the forehead. “Peter, I’ll let it slide this time, but from now on… just tell me what to expect when I come home, because I do NOT want to walk in on anything.”

          Peter stifles a chuckle. “Of course, Sheriff.’

          “Well then, lets eat.”

Chapter Text

Fifteen minutes later an abrupt call rings out into the all, but silent dining room. With a swift motion Noah pulls his phone out of his pocket and answers. Some hushed chatter and a few terse responses and groans later and the Sherriff is clanking his silverware down onto his mostly eaten second helping.

            “Sorry, about this. It’s an emergency. Some idiot decided to knock over a jewelry store and the owner is having a meltdown. They’re yelling at the deputies that were dispatched. I have to go.” Noah says walking towards the door and grabbing all his gear. He unlocks the stand near the door and grabs his gun, slides it into his belt, and pulls his jacket off the hook before opening the door. “Stiles be good and get to class.”

            “Sure thing.”

            “Peter… just… just don’t do anything to defile my son. And please don’t distract him from getting good grades. He needs to leave this hell hole, so I can.”

            “Yes sir.” Peter replies earnestly.

            Stiles turns and gives him a surprised look.

            Noah closes the door roughly and in just another moment his car roars to life and flies out of the drive way and goes left past the window.

            “You… were surprisingly… respectful.”

            “While I’d love to be sarcastic in a moment like this; I feel that taunting your father with the fact that he can’t do anything about what we are doing legally isn’t the best idea. I love you and while I don’t much care for the authority of others being exercised over me, I’d prefer our relationship not get in the way of yours with your father.”

            “Peter, that is…” Stiles says softly. “So fucking sappy of you. You’re a total softy under all of that bull shit aren’t you.”

            Peter sighs. “Only for you” He says and leans in to kiss Stiles.

            When they break, Stiles gives a slight whine. “Well, I have to get ready for school,” Stiles says and gets up. He darts upstairs and Peter can her the clamor of him rifling through piles of stuff, opening his trunk, and various other drawers as he cleans up after breakfast. A few more minutes of muffled crashing and Stiles is rushing down the stairs. Peter is half way through loading the dishwasher when Stiles walks into the kitchen.

            “Hey, so I’ve got to get going here soon. If I’m lucky I can get to class before Scott’s late ass gets there and tries to harass me on my way to class so I can avoid kicking his ass until later in the day.”

            Peter just chuckles and pulls Stiles in. He gives Stiles a nip to the ear and then mouths his way down Stiles’ neck. His teeth grind a slow, hard line towards Stiles’ nape. He pulls away quickly and Stiles pounds his chest. “Be good my pup. Try not to get any blood on my jacket.”

            “As if anyone would notice another blood stain on this leather.”

            “Of course, they would. I take impeccable care of my things. And besides, I don’t want it reeking of Scott McCall.”

            “Okay asshole, I’ll behave as best I can,” Stiles says and pulls away. He walks out the door and calls out behind himself. “Make sure you lock the door on the way out. There’s an extra key in my nightstand, unless you want to go out the same way you came in.”

            Peter chuckles as the door slams shut. He finishes putting dishes in the washer and goes upstairs. He picks up a shirt that had been discarded on the ground and pulls it on. The fit is snug, but he doesn’t look for another. He pulls the sweatshirt back on and opens the nightstand to find the key. It’s the only thing in the drawer.

            He picks it up and shoves it into his bark brown corduroys. He walks downstairs and surveys the house before he locks the back door walking to the front. He pulls the key back out and palms it as he opens the door. Clicking the key into place he can feel the wind pick up ever so slightly to his right. The leaves rustle in the yard as he locks the door and lopes his way off into the autumn morning.

            ---

Sliding into his seat, Stiles can feel the tension exit from his body. His first breath alleviates some of the worry he felt on his way into school. When Scott doesn’t show up to try to talk to him he begins to believe the day won’t actually be terrible. There isn’t a whole lot to class these days. It feels more excruciating today than usual. Sometimes he can feel the time pass in the interval between his own heart beats. The questions of the other student’s barely register and when the classes give out homework or the random pop quiz he finds himself completing the questions without remembering how he got the answers by the end.

             When the last class slips through his fingers and nothing’s happened he begins to get suspicious. The eerie sense of lurking predators pervaded the entire day. Even when none of the pack occupied a class with him, he could feel big brother breathing down his neck. And, its not until he is on his way out to his car that he figures out exactly why this is; walking through the hallway he notices a distinct lack of everyone in the pack. Lydia who is usually easily visible by her locker abort now is noticeably missing. Kira and the supers are all absent as well. Stiles stops in the middle of the hall much to the chagrin of all three people immediately behind him. Turning around, he notices that none is anywhere to be seen:  not the evil wonder twins, not sir scarf, not baby teeth, no one.

Feeling his stomach sink, he readies himself for a huge pile of bull shit. He turns 90 degrees and heads for his locker. Preparing for the immediate future, he pulls out a set of bottles from where he stowed them far safety there; not that anything in the school hallway stays even remotely safe for that long. With his extra mini arsenal in tow, he resumes his walk out of the building.

Knowingly, he gets in his car and heads home. Halfway home he gets a text from Lydia saying, “Sorry, I tried to talk them out of this, but you know Scott. He insists that he ‘knows you’ll listen to him.’ When he told me what he did I was furious. I’ll be over soon if you need me. I just didn’t want it to seem like I supported this.” He just puts his phone down and readies himself. When he gets there, two cars are parked out on the street. He parks in the driveway and gets out of the car. When he does Scott and the rest of the pack disembark their awn vehicles. Kira, Scott, and Liam disembark from her father’s Car, and from the Charger emerge Derek, Ethan, Aiden, & Isaac.

A moment after they get out of their cars Lydia rolls up and parks next to him. Whiplashing her way out of her car she walks up to him. “So, what do you need from me?”  Stiles just shrugs and waits. The pack stalks over and looms behind Scott.

“Stiles!” he calls.

 Stiles turns around slowly, his heels dig into the cement of the driveway. Lydia watches as his face goes blank and cold as he prepares to deal with the misguided “ambush intervention” Scott threw together to sway Stiles into seeing Scott’s version of reason.

“Stiles! Please! You know he’s using you. It’s some deranged quest for power. You’re my best friend, my brother, why don’t you trust that I just want what’s best for you?”

“Isn’t that what you think of me? Because, areal best friend wouldn’t have abandoned me after I lost my mind and just figured that I’d be feeling back to normal once I wait possessed anymore. A real friend, a real brother, would’ve recognized just how mangled I was after having my entire life being stolen from me. He would’ve cared for and helped heal me, not just left me alone. He would’ve made sure I knew that he didn’t hold against me the actions of my body when I had no control over it. If you were my brother, my best friend, you wouldn’t have abandoned me except for when you needed my help. I didn’t do anything wrong Scott. You blame me for killing that kid even though not only was it an accident, but he was also trying to kill me. The way you glance at me and seemed to be wary of me after all that happened makes it clear that you blame me for Allison’s death. And now, you act like I’ve been stolen from you rather than left behind by you. That’s not even to mention that you still act like I’m crazy. And in the face of all the atrocities of those things I just mentioned; not only do you think that the sole person who did happen to go out of their way to ensure my mental health is a manipulative liar who doesn’t care about me, but you also believe that- if that were true I world be too stupid, too weak, or too crazy to realize it. You have this ridiculous combination victim-hero complex Scott, and you somehow can’t manage to understand that not everything is about you or even about power. Sometimes a person just believes another person is worthwhile; and yes, the person who is deemed valuable can even be me. So no, Scott, I don’t trust your judgement. And no, I don’t think you want what’s best for me, because all you can understand is what is best for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Did I say I was done? No, I didn’t. And the fact that you thought that coming here to talk at me and then not listening to what I said well enough to understand my rage just proves my point.”

“Stiles, we’re sorry.”

“We?” Stiles implores. “Who is we? You and your hapless children? You and your girlfriend you fear? You and the other alpha wannabe in town who left their loved one to stew in solitary insanity?” Stiles scoffs when Derek’s face twists in pain. “Don’t you get it Scott, I’m not mad at them, because they don’t matter to me. You are the one who did this to me. Don’t distribute the blame amongst your followers as well that’s the sign of an irresponsible leader.”

“You think I don’t feel guilty about what happened to you? That I don’t feel responsible?” Scott asks. “Of course I do, why do you think I spent so much time training? To protect you. “

“Instead of protecting people you should be trying to help them, to heal them. All you did was isolate me.”

“I thought you’d be safer if you were less involved.”

“As if you could handle anything without me. It was me who figured out how to beat all of our past enemies in the first place. You’re the one who constantly needs saving. You never do what’s necessary to protect us.”

“I beat Gerard. I defeated the alphas.”

“After I killed Jackson, after I kept you from killing yourself. That’s not even to mention the fact that Deucalion and the Darach did 90% of the work for you. And, don’t get high and mighty about rocking with the meds of a geriatric person with a terminal illness.”

“You act like I ever had a choice. You are the one who started our involvement in all this. If you hadn’t dragged me out into the woods that night I wouldn’t—”

“Have the power to protect yourself? Have been cured of your asthma? Have been able to get with Allison? Have been able to get with Kira? Have been relevant to anyone other than me? Yeah, I agree. Now get off my property until you can respect who I am. I’m done staying silent in the face of abuse.” Stiles turns around and walks towards his front door with Lydia not a step behind him.

“Stiles! Stop!” Scott shouts and leaps after him. When he lands he starts running toward him only to collide with a wall of ungiving resistance.

Stiles doesn’t even look back until he’s at the door. “You like my new locks? I doubt even oni could break them. Though you’re welcome to ask Kira to try.” Stiles says and slams the door shut behind him when both he and Lydia have gone inside.

Chapter Text

“He doesn’t get it! He won’t, get it.” Stiles says striding into the kitchen. He starts to fling open random cabinets and pulling out ingredients. Collecting stuff on the counter he begins to put together the basics of several recipes. He pulls bananas out of the freezer and puts them in a large bowl in the sink. He runs the water and steps back over to the counter space. Stiles then turns on the oven. Then he begins pouring eye-balled amounts of salt, sugar, honey, vanilla, flour, baking soda and baking powder into a large mixing bowl. He cuts over to the fridge and grabs an egg. Cracking it succinctly he begins the mixing process. 

 

“You know Lydia it’s just something he’ll never understand because he believes that everything is his righteous duty.” Stiles begins again throttling the bowl with the spoon. He adds some oil quickly while shaking his head. “It’s like he believes that he is the center point of the entire world; that the entire human race should be pitted against his ethical evaluation list. It’s not my fault that all these things happened. I didn’t choose to harm anyone. And, I didn’t want to. Yet, he still left me in the dust every time someone shinier and more Innocent showed up.” 

 

“I know Stiles. He’s wrong. And, he doesn’t get to tell you what or who to be. And he doesn’t get to tell you who to be with. I get where you’re coming from. No matter how fucked up it all was I remember how alluring Peter can be. Just the haunting of him was able to warp my mind. Not to say he’s doing that to you, our situations are obviously different. But I get it, he’s definitely charming. And it’s clear that he more than anyone will fight to the death for what he holds dear.”

 

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be under threat of death for caring for me.” Stiles says peeling the bananas. “Peter is good to me. He sought me out at my worst and gave me the time I needed to heal with his help. He made me feel like I was a person again.” He finishes as he plops the fourth one into the bowl. And picks up a fork to start beating them. 

 

“Yeah but not to agree with him, because I don’t. My guess is he feels that, that is how he inspired our loyalty despite the history the two of you (being you and Scott) have.” Lydia responds solemnly. “He probably fears that he did it to take advantage of you in your worst time mentally.” 

 

“But the problem is Peter hasn’t tried to make a move on anyone since acquiring my allegiance.” Stiles scorns. “In fact, he is the one who’s been aggressed upon.”

 

“While that’s true I don’t think Peter’s been an innocent party in his entire life. At least not wholly innocent.” 

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“That while what Scott and them did was entirely unacceptable that doesn’t mean that Peter lacked a hand in the situation. He almost certainly insulted Scott. And while that’s no justification for what was done we can’t ignore his blame in the situation.” 

 

“That’s just some bullshit straight white men in power try to impose on minorities to minimize the fact that they’re extorting and harassing everyone. It’s easy to talk about dignity and kindness when you’re not the party who has to justify everything you do to others. And the worst part is we buy into it.” Stiles says grinding his spoon harshly against the bowl. 

 

“That’s bizarrely apt for you.” 

 

“Thanks.” He says with a flick

 

“My point is you’re right and I shouldn’t have said that.” 

 

“Thank you, Lydia.” 

 

“So what are you going to do?” 

 

“For now I’m going to bake my emotions into submission while I try to decide what exactly they are.” Stiles says and pours all the ingredients into one bowl. 

 

“That’s called sublimation. It’s great if you weren’t going to consume a million calories as a trade off.” 

 

“Like I care.” Stiles retorts and opens up the cabinets for mini-muffin trays. “I’m going to make the most disgustingly yummy, semi-not really healthy snacks I can.” He then sprays the trays and goes back to blending together the ingredients.

 

“And your dad?” 

 

“He’ll relish in the relief from the stranglehold I’ve had on his cholesterol levels since I was 10.” Stiles finishes shortly and pours the batter into the trays. When done Stiles pops the trays into the oven and sets a timer for 12 minutes. “Time for something else, cookies perhaps? Lemon poppyseed? Oatmeal? Peanut butter?” 

 

“Stiles this isn’t going to help.” 

 

“Then what would you have me freaking do? Lydia!” Stiles shakes his hands and then slams them on the table.

 

“I’m not sure, but gifting yourself a huge amount of perishable pastries doesn’t seem like it’s going to actually order your brain, no matter how much secret math it requires.” 

 

“And when, exactly, did you become a genius in the field of suppressing emotions.” 

 

“When I was bitten by a rabid werewolf, left for dead, later to be found walking around naked in the woods; cursed to seek out and find every supernaturally murdered cadaver in Beacon Hills.” 

 

“Okay, fair.” 

 

“Yeah,” She breathes.

 

“So... I’m gonna make them anyway.” 

 

“Obviously. The only thing you like more than sweets is curly fries.” 

 

“Ouch, true, but ouch.” 

 

—-

 

“Stiles, how are you?” 

 

Stiles jumped and flung himself off the bed, Lydia had left hours ago and he hadn’t heard the door open over the sound of the show he was watching on his laptop. 

 

“Jesus, who exactly gave you permission to do that?” 

 

The sheriff peered in from around the edge of the door way. “That would be me. And since I own the house I outrank you.” 

 

Stiles’ face turns downwards with a scrunch. “I suppose.” 

 

“Look if he’s going to be popping into the house I may as well use him as the creepy jump scare causing freak that he is.” The Sherrie says and turns his head with an out stretched arm extending forward. “No offense.” 

 

“Little taken. What is my presence for if not for abject horror or pleasure.” 

 

“Tread lightly.” The sherif says, eyes focused, and then lumbers downstairs.  

 

“You okay?”

 

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just living life. You know hanging.” 

 

“So you didn’t make 4 different kinds of baked goods today?” 

 

“Oh that? I was just bored.”

 

“Lies.”

 

“Whatever. Did you stop by to harass me or was it for a better reason?”

 

“Oh, just to show I care. I am quite the giver. It’s all I do. Well, when allowed.” 

 

“I’m just not always ready.”

 

“It’s fine. There’s no shame to be had. It makes sense. I still tense up every time I’m near an open flame.”

 

“I feel stifled all the time. It’s almost impossible to settle in. No matter where I am I can feel something glaring at me. And when I’m surrounded-“

 

“Stiles, it’s okay. We’ll just try different things and see what works. There are lots of options for us.”

 

“I’m tired Peter, I don’t fit in my skin. I can feel myself roiling around in here and there’s no way out. Everywhere I turn, everything that used to seem right feels wrong, everyone I used to feel at home with no longer gives me peace of mind. I only have this one thing that feels right and everyone else hates or questions it and I can’t even give myself to it fully without feeling like I’m drowning in it. Around every turn there’s another empty playground that just fills me with loathing. Every time I talk it feels like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. It’s exhausting. The nogitsune took my most basic sense of self when it stole my body and nobody even noticed. When it first began I couldn’t read, couldn’t remember things like how I got places, what I was doing for entire chunks of time. I lost my grip on reality and it made me suffer through the death my mom experienced. Everyone just expected me to be okay afterwards. I had to consume poison to keep my body from murdering everyone I cared about and they still failed to realize just how much I lost. It stole my life and left me drifting. How can they not see that the only thing that anchored me was the you. The only one who found me in the haze was the one who taught them to pull me out of the lake and into the foggy night above. That beast covered all the stars in my sky and left only the faintest to navigate by.” 

 

“Stiles, I-“ 

 

“I know you, better than anyone else ever could, can relate. But I don’t know why I can’t understand it. I didn’t do anything, me. This me. I did nothing yet I still feel like they blame me. I didn’t quit holding on yet they slipped through my grasp. And now they want me back on their terms and I hate it. They can’t love only the pets of me that they want. The can’t have just the power I posses and not deal with who I’ve become and what that means to me. I’m not a chess piece to be moved independently of the rest of the board. And if i were like one I’d be most the knight atop a horse. Both pieces act in tandem, inseparable from one another. They can’t take me and leave you. I won’t allow it.”

 

“Stiles.” Peter chokes. He moves to the bed where Stiles is now just finally looking up from after having crumpled. “I’ll be here as long as you want me.” Peter whispers and lifts Stiles’ face by the chin to meet his lips. He presses their lips together softly and parts slowly with a sigh and presses his forehead to Stiles’. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too.” Stiles says with a thin line of tears caressing each side of his nose. 

Chapter Text

Falling asleep only leads Stiles into a series of ever more haunting visions. He sees himself older perhaps, his hair is longer in the mirror in front of him than he remembers it ever being before. His face is gaunt now, with a pale tinge to his skin and a set of arms on each side that are more frail looking than he’s used to. There’s blood trailing around the left side of his nose and a smudged photo in the lower corner of the mirror. He tries to grab it, but it just gets covered in the blood that coats his fingers. He turns around and walks into the adjacent room, to try to figure out what's happening, only to find himself looking out over a cliff. The space draws him in. There’s he hears a rushing gurgling sound below, but through the haze between the bottom and himself there’s no way to tell how far down it goes for sure. He can feel the strange mist twist a building dread further and further into him but there’s nothing he can do to leave the ridge. He tries to move backwards, but he’s a captive audience to the chasm. He’s just lost in it unable to move or crane his neck far enough to look away. He stares at it for an eternity before the mist shifts long enough to for him to see a massive mouth exploding toward him. The darkness consumes his vision and he feels himself fall into another nightmare when a jarring collision crushes the earth below him. This time he’s in the woods just outside Beacon Hills somewhere. There are noises in the dark, just beyond his sight. He can feel the specters swarming just beyond the trees which block his vision, they could be near or far but always out of reach. He runs. No matter what he does he can’t stop, the cracks and crashes get closer and closer yet the things in the dark never become visible. One moment there’s a breath on his neck the next it’s gone and there’s a shadow above. It never stops, the creatures must be taunting him; daring him to attempt an escape never to come. He turns at every opportunity looking for a clearer path. But he can’t find his way onto one, the bramble beneath his feet gets rougher with each turn despite his choices looking for the easier trails and eventually on the fifth, sixth, seventh he trips. His knees and forearms collide and scrape against the hard ground. He tries to get up and turn over but he feels roots strangling his arms and legs. He can feel vines ripping his clothes and forcing him into the ground. He twists his neck trying to get sight on what’s happening but they just cover his eyes. Moments pass as he feels his ribs crack under the pressure. Then he feels a huge spike ram itself through his spine. Pain rips through his body and he wakes.

“Huuuuuhhhh!” Stiles gasps starling up. His arms fling up with him and he feels himself hit something hard. He stumbles off the bed launching himself towards the bathroom. He slips and scrambles towards the tub he knows is just beyond the door. He makes it inside and flips on the lights before stumbling over to the bath. He turns the water on as hot as it can go and prays. He hears the water sputter on and he collapses next to it and crumples into a ball as he waits for it to heat up.

“Stiles!” He hears from down the hall. A door swings open and there’s suddenly four arms pulling him to his feet. He can barely even register what’s going on, but he can tell Peter’s face is red.

“Please let me stay here,” Stiles mumbles as he’s being held up.

“Stiles, What do you mean? No one’s going to make you leave here.”

“I can’t be there… I can’t be trapped there again.”

“Stiles, you’re safe. You’re home son.”

“Noah, I think we should get him in the shower.”

“But, he’s freaking out. He’s barely aware he’s awake and here.”

“That’s the reason why I think we should. Nothing breaks through the noise our bodies make like running water.”
“Okay, well I’ve got no better ideas.” He says and then hauls Stiles into the shower. Peter ends up soaked and they help Stiles’ back down to the ground. Noah carefully knee ups his way out of the tub and walks out of the room.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“No. Time… I need time.”

“Okay, I’ll be outside.”

Peter steps out and walks over to Noah.

“So what do you think?”

“I think he’s the only one in this ton who has a reasonable reaction to what happened to him. I know I still wake up often heat screeching through my skin and no way to deal with it.”

“What should we do?”

“Try not to hover.”

---

Stiles doesn’t come back to the world until he hears a knock on the bathroom door half an hour later.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open slowly at first. Peter peaks in and sees that Stiles had never even bothered to close the screen. He spots the clothes he had slept in on the ground. Peter goes over to the cabinet and pulls out a towel. He sidles over to the tub and turns off the water. He flings the towel open in full and waits for Stiles to stand. When Stiles does he wraps the towel around his shoulders and starts rubbing his back.

“I was being strangled. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like I was going to be stuck there forever having the life squeezed out of me without ever dying. I can’t take being trapped anymore.” Stiles says and takes hold of the towel to dry off.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Peter resumes when Stiles finishes.

“No, I just need you here. I need something to ground me, keep me here and present. I can’t feel alone anymore, I need someone who knows what it’s like to be trapped inside of themselves. I need you.”

“Why’re you so worried I’m leaving? Is there something I’ve failed to do to convince you that I’m not some drifter out for your immortal soul?”

“I confess my undying need for your support and you mock me? Classy.” Stiles says and pushes Peter onto the bed. He jumps in after him.    

“Oof what is this a pool? The only water displacement, that prevents my death right now, is that of the blood in my body.”

“Too bad, your death could’ve provided a perfect opportunity to try that resurrection ritual I’ve been studying in my spare time.” Stiles says into Peter’s shoulder.

“Ah yes, that’s what boyfriends are for sacrificing and necromantic experiments.”

“And blowjobs.”

“The three pillars of any relationship.”

“Of course.”

“Are there any other unholy rites you’d like to perform upon my body.” Peter inquires a lazy grin infecting his tone.

“Not today, another time perhaps. I just need some cuddles right now. Contact comfort or whatever.”
“Alright, but don’t come to me regretting that you never asked me to grant you power in the form of some sort of supernatural mimicry ceremony.”

“Oh, so those exist?”

“Some non-European traditions indicate yes. However, I’ve never seen it first hand; six years in an ICU will wreak havoc on your resume.”

“So will psych wards.”

“There’s something we can agree upon.”

“Are you okay?”

“You had an anxiety attack stemming from your dreams and you’re asking me how I am? You really don’t have any self-preservation instincts do you?”

“Not really, my entire life causes anxiety if I let it. I had to evolve past my disorder just to move through the day.”

“Oh and how does that work.”

“Shitty coping skills, candy, and a severe amount of out of body experiences. Oh! And unbridled rage release in sarcasm, threats, and poorly received jokes.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Quite, and you.”

“Cooling and moisturizing lotions.”

“What?”

“They reduce the amount of burning I feel from beneath my skin. The act of self-soothing and the lotions effects help to supplant the psychogenic pain. I still walk around feeling like I’ve had most of my sense of self lobotomized due to the loss of my pack, but I manage to a decent extent with limited to non-existent shame and guilt responses.”

“So, losing them annihilated your conscience.”

“My what?”

“Yeah okay I get it. Now hold me until I feel safe enough to pass out again.”

“Of course.” Peter response and shifts Stiles into a better sleeping position before covering them with a blanket once more.

Chapter Text

Never has a Friday appealed to him less. Slogging through a the last day of the week would normally bring hope, but today it means he will have to ward off the presence of a group of teenaged superheroes who have deemed themselves warriors of justice for trying to assault his boyfriend; now that they’ve decided he has value again. Being suddenly valuable is not a burden he ever felt that he’d loathe to experience. But it only evidences that his sacrifices were far more important than any of them would’ve ever acknowledged if he hadn’t withheld. That is the problem.

Sliding into his seat at the back of the room in math class he braces for a day in an immense amount of creeping and dodging. He cast spells this morning before leaving. He woke up an hour before his normal time just to set up. The books he’s been finding and been gifted have held a lot of practical use, more than he expected. The fact is there’s obviously a lot of supernaturally minded beings out there that want to avoid detection; so a lot of what’s out there is to be as undetectable physically as he’s used to being socially. The first one is a true odor neutralizer, it only lasts about twelve hours and required him to rub some questionable herbs into his arm pits and genitals, but there’s no a better place to begin with than this for avoidance of the wolf pack from Coolsville high. The next was a “Smothering Spell” which doesn’t represent the intentions of the spell properly to Stiles’ belief. The intention is to dampen the volume of any noise exiting an area around the body by binding the molecules of the air around the caster in a multilayered micro-web structure almost like the sound proofing in a music studio meant to prevent reverb.

Casting it, Stiles’ couldn’t help but laugh. Avoiding detection, wasn’t that how this whole thing had started. He was never detected in the first place and now he wishes more than anything that he could simply erase the lines that connected himself to the situation that he’s now in.

Lost love. New. It all condemns him.

He can’t be seen without being invisible and he cannot choose to be invisible lest he be seen.

He puts in head phones and gets to work on the chapter three ahead his teacher is instructing on in class. Arcane calculations for spell balancing has made this even easier, variables feel like nothing to him now. He’d ask for advanced calculus, probability classes, and algebra classes if they would actually offer anything worthwhile that wouldn’t detract from his time relaxing. The Æther calls and he can’t hear anything else. The rest of the class blurs out beyond the confines of the text book. At the end of class he hears the bell ring over the sound of some alt-pop punk sounding band streaming into his ears over pandora. He senses the words more than hears them and packs up to the sound of slamming books and sliding chairs.

He makes it to second period without interruption but only because no one else actually has a class around the pathway he takes upstairs and into the history classroom. He used to share it with Scott, but he got transferred into a new class due to his absence and he never asked for the old schedule back. He listens to Coach blather on about some rudimentary version of the baroque period. He’d understand the point of the words if they made more sense and weren’t obviously poorly summarized from the text. He ceases to listen twenty minutes in and reads about the era instead. History classes never tell you the parts that you need to know to inform your life anyway. Propaganda meant to downplay the sins of the victors.

Third period is the worst. He shares the classroom with one of the twins. Instead of sitting across the room as usual Ethan creeps in only a seat to his right. Eric who normally sits there is across the room after having been glared away before class started. “Hey, asshole we need to talk.” Ethan whispers. “What you did to Scott is not cool.” Stiles doesn’t respond.

He feels a hand push in to grab him while he’s reading some useless abridged version of The Crucible. The hand pushes into his space and as soon as it touches his clothes, it recoils. He hears the slight sizzle of burning skin as his body rebounds away to the left. He cracks a smirk and continues highlighting the packet as he shakes his head.

“What the hell!” Ethan grits out.

“Is something wrong,” Their teacher asks. “Or are you yelling profanity out during the middle of our class reading time for no reason?”  

“Um, no sorry… I got a paper cut.”

“Next time you feel like mishandling your assignments, perhaps you should use some of the vocabulary I’ve been trying to instill in you. Your grade could stand for the improvement of effort even if your non-mortal injury won’t.”

            The girls on the other side of the class giggle a bit, but everyone else is silent.

            Stiles heads to lunch early after turning in the assignment and subsequent quiz. The rest of the class won’t get it for another week, but he’s got time to burn and he thinks she believes that he’s teetering on the edge and attempting to avoid falling behind in the case of a relapse.

            Lunch passes and his free period is spent in the stacks: Philosophy section.

            He makes it to fifth period with slight trouble. Scott keeps rounding corners behind him only half a hallway back. He hears him calling out for several minutes, but Scott never catches up. Too many people to bound through to avoid being noticed.

            He slides into sixth period and narrowly avoids Kira. Of them all he’s the one he begrudges both most and least. She’s the most recent of devotees sent to corrupt his life. She couldn’t help it obviously, but her presence helped to sever most of what remnants survived the Allison debacle and consumed most of the time that could’ve helped to keep him connected to Scott once out of Eichen. She did nothing wrong, however she was the catalyst for the events which disintegrated his bonds into nothing. It’s hard to forgive someone who never did anything wrong.

            He listens distantly to the discussions going on in class and leaves without a word.

            Final period rolls in and out and he escapes out to his car. This time he isn’t so lucky.

            Sitting on his car is a pile of trouble clad in formerly floppy hair and a jacket that wishes it were leather.

           

Chapter Text

“Stiles.” Scott says. “We need to talk.”

            Stiles shrugs his shoulders and walks towards the Jeep.

            “I’m serious, I’m not getting off this hood until you hear me out.”

            Stiles throws his head to the left and huffs a breath out. He puts his key in the door and unlocks it.

            “Hey,” Scott says. “What happened? We used to be like brothers… I thought nothing could come between us. We used to have each-other’s backs on everything… Why don’t you care about me anymore?”

            At that Stiles slams the door shut without getting in. Before Scott even realizes what’s happening Stiles has already pulled out a sachet of wolf’s bane mixed with rose androgens and crushed amethyst and tossed it in his face. Stiles spits out a mix of corrupted Gaelic and Romani in another moment and Scott recoils backwards and rolls off the hood onto the ground. Scott cracks his head on the bumper and his mind fills with images:

            Bodies pile up time and time again in front of unwilling hands, hazy images that make him want to puke. Endless piles of books fade in and out of view. Illegible words and his hands having one to many fingers and then too few. Cold water flows over him and the immense pain of slipping into hypothermia before the relief of losing sensation. Suddenly he’s waking up over and over in new places for months on end unable to remember how he got anywhere. Then he’s trapped in a place with others far crazier than he himself. Everything is wrong and he can feel evil corrupting his body. He’s suddenly being tortured and then when it’s all over he’s alone. He’s falling. When he looks around there’s a body impaled behind him. Then he’s alone, always alone, and cold. Everyone’s passing around him, but they won’t look at him. They all avoid eye contact and give him a foot of space even when there really isn’t that much to give. Phones black for hours, then days. Teachers shake their heads as he passes by. The exhaustion pours over him and then everything fades away.

            ***

By the time the visuals end Stiles is gone. Everyone is crowded around him. He can’t give chase now, he wouldn’t even if he could. The pack yes, but also random onlookers that saw him go down.

“Scott, are you okay? You were out for five minutes.” He hears.

“People wanted to call the cops, but we told everyone you’d be fine.” A girl says.

“Yeah, I think I’m… okay.”

 

           

                       

Chapter Text

Stiles rushes into Peter’s loft still a little out of breath from the encounter. He’d ground the claws up weeks ago. Then he’d mixed them with mountain ash, peyote, wolfsbane, and a couple other rare herbs he definitely wasn’t supposed to have in his possession. But, when did the law ever stop him? When he got into the building he could already feel that Peter wouldn’t be there, but he didn’t want to go home. He knew that the pack could get in here if they tried hard enough, but they wouldn’t.

            He yanked open the door and turned around to lock it. As he did the feeling of a body swarming into space, but the impact never came. The feeling of contact that he needed on his way over remained absent. Once it was locked, he dropped his bag on the floor and went to the shower. He stripped down and pushed the water to its highest pressure setting and put the heat up. He sat on the floor beneath the spray for ages. The water temperature actually stays hot here. Peter must’ve paid to have a secondary water reservoir to ensure it worked properly and remained heated, if that was even possible. It was that or Peter was the only person on the planet who had access to hot water directly from the city for longer than an hour and a half.

            When he finally stands up his body is plaint and tired. He knew that the magic would take energy, but he didn’t think it’d cost this much. He stumbles to the towel rack and pulled one around his body. Peter has the largest towels Stiles has ever used. He runs his body with the smooth, excessively soft, white, microfibers across his body and the plush fibers whisk the water off his body. When he’s dry he drops it to the floor and then retreats to the bed. He wraps his body in the heat of the comforter.

            A bit before six Stiles hears the lock clunk open and the door slide. He hears a huff escape Peter’s mouth and a suitcase click onto the ground. The door sounds again and he hears the clack of shoes on the wood floor. Stiles stays still, but in another moment he hears shoes slough off, pants collapse on the floor, and feels Peter’s body climb into bed behind him and a bare chest push into his back.

            Stiles reflexives curls away before stretching out to fit against Peter. Peter slides an arm around his waist and helps pull them together. He places a kiss into the back of Stiles’ neck and waits a moment before speaking.

            “So, what happened that caused me to be greeted with one of my favorite things to come home to?”

            “I told him, well showed him.”

            “And?”

            “He fell off my jeep and got knocked out.”

            “After that?” Peter inquires with a series of several more kisses this time closer to Stiles’ ear.

            “I left.”

            “And how did you impress these images upon him?”

            “A mix of ground herbs, hallucinogens, aconite, and werewolf claws?”

            Peter’s right eyebrow raises and he sucks a kiss into the nape of Stiles’ neck. “And where, pray tell, did you find those?”

            “You guys really aren’t as good at keeping them attached to your hands as one might expect.”

            “So, what’s your next move then?”

            “Avoid them until this all goes away?”

            “I think you smashed that ship in the harbor with all the goods you just released into the bay.”

            “Yeah, well…”

            “I know.” Peter says and slides his arm up Stiles’ chest and holds him firmly.

            “How can someone so prickly, be so snuggly?”

            “Years of deprivation and a reduction in the sphere of people I care for.”

Stiles doesn’t respond. He wasn’t really asking anyway.

            He turns around a few minutes later. They don’t say anything so he just peers into Peter’s silent eyes reflecting back at him.

            “Why us?”

            “We’re broken the same way, but in different spaces. Never underestimate gravity when it comes to a pair of similarly etched boxes. Life may shove pieces together like a toddler, but every so often it finds a perfect match.”

            “Reese’s.”

            “Exactly.” Peter says, every sound both revelatory and perfunctory, and smirks.

            Stiles kisses him.

***

            Stiles wakes to Peter’s ass pushing against his crotch and a near painful boner on his part. Stiles groans and then rolls himself out of bed before going to the bathroom. He steals some underwear after washing and drying his hands. Then he ambles out to the kitchen. He pulls out some eggs, bacon, and other cooking supplies and gets to work. The stove top heats fast. The food is frying up in no time and then he starts up the coffee. He doesn’t have much left to do so he sits and waits. There’s no more to do once everything is finished and set out. He sits at the table and starts in on his food knowing Peter’s just playing coy. He can never stay asleep once the brew has started. A few minutes into his eating, Peter strolls into the kitchen still undressed, and pours himself coffee and comes to sit down and eat. As he passes Peter places a kiss on Stiles’ head.

            “So what’re the plans for today, little bird.”

            Stiles sits for a moment and cocks his head to the side. His jaw opens mid-agape and he puts down his fork. “I don’t know. I generally avoid emotional confrontations and direct resolution of my problems, so there’s not really a precedent for this.” He says, waving his hands about in a discord of circular motions. “I’m gonna start with eating, yeah…”

            “And after that?” Peter prods.

            “Mmm… Well, seeing as you’re goading me right now I may hold out on you. You know toying with a guys emotions isn’t cool. I told Danny this and its still the truth. Its very unattractive.”
            “You’re hardly so desperate as to be toyed with,” Peter inks. “If anyone’s got reason to be upset its me.” Peter splays his arms out. “I came home to you, naked, in my bed. And, what? I’m supposed to be calm while deprived? I mean, does it feel absolutely luxurious to have you against me while I fall asleep? Yes, but should I really be expected to show such restraint around such a delectable body? No, we both know the torture is nigh unbearable.” As he finishes his body leans further into Stiles’ space.

            Stiles twitches his eyebrows and looks Peter dead in the eyes. “I’m unimpressed.”

            “Oh my love. How you wound me,” Peter croons. “If only I weren’t burdened by self confidence.”

            “Narcissism is also an extremely unattractive feature.”

            “Self-esteem is the foundation for healthy relationships.”

            “Yours must be awful then.”

            Peter mock gasps before eating.

***

            They finish their meal with easy glances between them. Stiles finishes first and gets up to put the dishes in the washer. A few minutes later, he hears the fork cease its clanking on Peter’s plate; followed by the sliding of a chair. He’s greeted with Peter behind him at the sink near instantly. Peter rinses his plate and reaches around to place his dishes in the washer.

            Peter sidles into Stiles’ body and Stiles goes tense. Peter’s hands slide against his legs, stop, and back up to his hips. Stiles finds himself being twisted out of the make shift corner he was just in, to face the recessed living room.

            Peter cranes his head into Stiles’ neck and nuzzles him. Stubble razes Stiles’ jaw and his gaze brakes.

            “Where you belong.”

            “Why is it whenever we’re like this you’re always in back?” Stiles turns around.

            “Because, I’m the possessive one. I’m not going to let you go if avoidable…” Peter muses. “Also it’s a power thing, I suppose.”

            “And, if I want the power? I’m at the age where such an organization of power can really undermine my emotional development and future self-confidence.”

            “I think we should change that,” Stiles continues, pawing at the strings of the hoodie he’d shoved back on earlier that morning. “We should trade off you know? Compromise, a little trade goes a long way. You know… a trade, a tradey trade. A-“

            “Really? That’s your argument?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “Emotional health of our relationship? As if I’m not more than attentive to your needs? What if its one of my needs?”

            “Speaking of needs…” Stiles wobbles. “We haven’t you know, had sex, in a while.”

            “So you are horny. You leave my bed, my plush sheets, and blankets. You get dressed, and what? You get mad at me, a creature of habit for striding around my own home the way that I’m used to. You then call me a harlot, a tempter?” Peter sequesters.

            “Well! No! I mean, uh… It’s just a thought. Something to think on, or act on some time.”

            “You think you’re in the frame of mind to?”

            “I think so.”

            “Just a moment ago you were a deer in the headlights. As delightful and laborious as our first real time was, I think your encounter with our young Scott, yesterday, had a bigger effect on you than you’d like to let on.”

            “So what? That means that I can’t be interested?”

            “No it just means that I want to know you’ll be fine. That I’m not being used to cover your emotional disturbances; not that I’d mind.”

            “Peter!” Stiles stomps and pulls off his sweatshirt. “If you don’t start up on me right now I’m going to do something you’ll regret.”

            “I doubt there’s anything you can do that will make me feel shame or reticence.”

            Peter turns away and strides towards the bedroom.

            When he’s halfway there Stiles launches himself from the counter he’s resting against. Peter spins around and catches Stiles easily as he jumps at his chest. “Oof” he lets out with an amused smile tingeing his lips. “This tactic seems ineffective.”

            Stiles bites down on Peter’s neck hard.

            “Stiles!” Peter erupts.

Chapter Text

            Peter throws Stiles to the ground causing Stiles’ teeth to abrade Peter’s skin.

            “Stiles.” Peter grunts slamming his eyes shut and digging his claws into his palm. Stiles heart is beating rapidly and Peter can’t drown it out. Stiles gets up and is already preparing to tempt fate again. Stiles circles around Peter’s frozen body. Stiles is about to pounce on Peter again when Peter twists around eyes open revealing a cold steel blue. Stiles hesitates, claws and fangs reveal themselves from where they’re normally hidden beneath the surface; they’re incomplete, but all too revealing.

            “Don’t move.”

            Stiles moves. He pushes into Peter’s space. He slides into Peter left foot first. Peter rocks backwards and places a hand on Stiles’ chest.

           “Stop now. Please. You’re not ready.” His claws extend further from his tips and pierce Stiles’ hoodie, tangling in it as his hand scrunches. Peter can feel lines draw themselves into Stiles’ skin as Stiles leans further in. He tries to grip what control he can to restrain himself when he hears Stiles’ feathered breath. Stiles licks his lips and shuts his eyes to prevent them from lingering on them.  

            Stiles turns and he slips out of Peter’s grasp and shredding his hoodie. Stiles kisses Peter and he relaxes a moment later. When he does Stiles bites down hard on his lower lip.

            Peter gasps and his eyes flutter open. Peter pulls Stiles in deeper and then walks him back into the bedroom. When Stiles finally pulls back and opens his own eyes Peter’s staring at him eyes shining, canines sharp, and still.

            “If you take this any further you won’t be able to do perhaps anything else today, probably won’t want to do anything tomorrow, and there’ll be another long discussion about what happens as a result.”

            “You’ll take the pain away.” Stiles says and grinds into Peter and digs his fingers into Peter’s back.

            “It won’t help.” Peter grits out claws pressing into Stiles’ hips in turn. Stiles gasps as they dig in deeper. He can feel where the bruises will form, radiating from the puncture marks and Peter’s finger tips. The sounds is quiet, but its enough.

            Peter hauls Stiles up into his arms and presses him into his body. Peter holds Stiles with one arm and rips the hoodie off the rest of the way with the other. The act leaves another set of thin red lines down Stiles’ back.  

            “Hands up.” Peter says, eyes narrow.

            Stiles throws his arms up and feels his body lurch back as Peter pulls the ravaged cloth from his chest. Peter bites down on Stiles’ shoulder as soon as he pulls their chests back together.

            “Fuck!”

            Fire rips through his body. He can’t reorient himself until it settles into a warm heat coursing through his veins and muddling his mind. Every move of Peter’s hands overwhelms him. He can feel them like lightning striking his mind. Hs body writhes and twists from every scrape and following smoothing sensation that ebb and flow over his body. The sensations etch themselves into his mind. Distantly he realizes that he’ll have to cover himself until god knows when.

            The next time he finds himself able to do more than just react, he’s sitting atop Peter in the bed. He’s sitting on Peter’s bare lap when Peter bites him once again. Teeth pierce his skin once more on his hip this time and the heat begins flaring through his body once more. It spirals up his back to his spine and winds its way up to his head. This time it makes him feel weak and flustered and he scrambles for purchase trying to grip onto Peter’s back. When he finally manages to he digs his nails into Peter’s shoulders and slumps into Peter when the teeth finally release him.

            His face is hot as Peter lays back and then rolls them so he’s underneath. Peter kisses him and his daze only worsens. He moans into Peter’s mouth and is left slack jawed, in a full body flush when Peter pulls away. Next thing he registers is being flipped onto his chest. Then suddenly, his body is alone and aching for the killer comfort of Peter against him.

            He hears water running in the bathroom, but can’t bring himself to look up. Before he gains his bearings his hips are being wrenched upwards and pillows are being shoved beneath his lower abdomen. Then as suddenly as it started he’s alone again. The flow of the water distorts once, then twice and then a third time and he hears the sound of a rag scrubbing into itself.

            A few moments later the water shuts off and then a cold rag shatters his head space. He yanks himself away only for a palm to secure him to his spot on the bed.

            “Stay still.” He hears and then the hand’s gone.

            The rag drags brutally over his ass. He feels the normally comforting fabric like it’s sandpaper over his skin. It pulls away and then a moment later it’s replaced by another and then by a third after that, each as unwelcome as the first. Then he’s alone and his body is screaming out for Peter’s body. He wants to get up, but he holds himself down anyway.

            Then he feels the return of Peter’s legs as the bed dips to support his weight. Peter traces lines up the back of his legs over his ass and then spreads his hands over Stiles’ ass and grabs down to pull them apart. Peter’s weight bears down on Stiles as his face slides into Stiles ass and his tongue shoves its way against the other’s hole teasing its way into his hole. Stiles’ brain finally slots information together; and then it immediately grinds back to a halt as the sensations wash over him and flood his consciousness. Stiles can only manage meager gasps as tongue and teeth raze his skin. Nips and licks wind their way up his spine and back down into his inner thigh. His eyes begin to water as his body twitches and starts to fill itself with an overwhelming tingle. He struggles to get out of the way of Peter’s mouth, but he doesn’t ever get anywhere. Peter’s hands are bruising his thighs pressuring Stiles’ mind. The tears well up in his eyes and they spill over. Then everything stops.

            The next thing he knows Peter’s body has blanketed his own and is slotted bare against him. Then Peter rolls Stiles onto his side and wraps his arms into Stiles’ belly pressing them together.

            A feeling of comfort and safety wash over him as he’s being held. It cools and relaxes the sensations back down to tolerable.

            “This is how you feel to me always,” Peter whispers. “Just smelling you fills my mind. You’re the only thing I can think of when we’re touching.”

            He pushes back into Peter. He doesn’t respond, but nods when he’s recovered and then slides Peter’s hands back down his belly to his legs.

            Peter rocks his hips forwards into Stiles’ ass with a moan and then pulls away and rolls Stiles back onto his back. He positions himself atop his lover and kisses his way down to his hips. He travels down his thighs and then back up and inward. Stiles’ moans grow louder  and louder with each lick and suck. He can’t keep still beneath Peter’s mouth. He finds himself rubbing his hands up his face, gripping his hair, and pulling on it to stay in control.

            Then there’s Peter’s tongue as merciless between his legs as it always is. It laves up and down his cock, away, and back down to his hole. It flits around with purpose, but it never stays long enough to satisfy; it only stays long enough to call attention to whatever space it’s occupying and overwhelm him further.

            Soon he’s ready and Peter presses fingers to his lips before he can express his interest. Peter’s fingers slip in and Stiles flits his tongue around them. He sucks and laves over them hearing Peter’s resulting groan release itself into Stiles’ groin. Peter can feel his own precum dripping down the head of his cock as he readies himself to finger Stiles. He moves to kiss at Stiles’ thighs and then presses his now wet finger against Stiles’ hole. He prods at it and once it gives he slides it in pressing against the top of Stiles’ pelvic floor and flitting over his prostate.

            Stiles pushes against it. He groans with the difficulty of the first slide. His hands go to the headboard to support his campaign for more friction, more pressure, anything he can get. He hears Peter spit and feels when it hits his hole. Peter speeds up hand gradually and its not long before Peter’s adding another.

            Stiles is dripping and he can feel the liquid drip onto his lower abs. But, only a few moments later, Peter is licking his cock and abs and is leaving a quickly cooling line of water in his wake. The sensation makes him hiss, but it too quickly gets lost with the next motion of Peter’s hand and lips.

            Peter’s left hand wanders from it’s grasp on Stiles’ thigh and then there’s a pop of a cap off to the left. A moment later Stiles feels lube drizzling cool over his taint down to his hole. Peter speeds up considerably once it takes effect and adds a third finger as soon as he can. Stiles accommodates quickly and wants more. Soon enough a fourth finger slots its way in.

            Peter’s hand stops at the last knuckle when it’s on its way in and Stiles knows his limit’s been met. Every time the knuckles greet his hole he groans in protest.

            “You’re going to need this. If I don’t it’ll be worse.”

            Peter continues for what feels like eons. Stiles is overwhelmed with what he can only describe as Peter’s hand barreling into his prostate over and over. It drains his resources and patience. When Peter finally does withdraw Stiles hates himself for the amount of disgusting sounds the process has drawn from him and the fact that he misses it.

            Then he hears, more feels, Peter shifting to his knees. Then he’s lifted again and feels the return of pillows beneath his ass this time. Then Peter’s looking at him, eyes boring into him. It makes him seethe. His cock is unbearable, and he goes to stroke it, but Peter catches his hand. He whines out in frustration.

            “Not now. Patience love.” Peter then kisses him harshly. A rag returns from its place dropped to the floor and it wipes his ass yet again and then Peter disappears water runs and he comes back and lurches onto the bed once more.

            Peter’s hips line up and the cock greets his hole.

            “Was it bad?”

            “No. Just being careful.”

            Peter then thrusts in slowly breaking Stiles concentration and eliminating his insecurities. It feels like Peter’s cock is catching and it hurts worse than usual. It sinks in all the way and Stiles is grateful for the unusually full feeling, but he seizes a bit and grips Peter’s hips to keep him from moving. He holds on as firm as he can and begs. “Please.” He lets out head bowed, eyes closed.

            Peter stalls for a moment, but it ends as soon as he feels Stiles relax around himself. Peter hasn’t mated before and his whole body is feverish. His hips are unsteady and his movements lack the finesse he usually has.

            “Peter,” Stiles breathes out. “This is harder than normal.”

            “I know.”

            “Are you.”

            “Yes.”

            “Do werewolves really?”

            “Please don’t ask.”     

            “Like d-”

            Peter bites down on Stiles’ collar bone and thrusts in hard cutting him off.

            All he wants is to do is envelop and destroy Stiles. He’s pushing his control to the limits, and he can barely slow down. It’s the only thing born wolves are cursed with that bitten wolves aren’t. His hips are slamming into Stiles even with the swelling slowing everything down. His cock is doing everything it can to lubricate itself but it doesn’t help how overwhelming the drag of it is for them both.

            Every so often he regains enough composure to heed the strained gasps and grunts Stiles lets out whenever he pulls out too fast or snaps in too quickly or at the wrong angle. He loses track of everything: the time, the number of cuts and nicks he’s traced into his boy’s skin, the size and quantity of bruises he’s sucked into the pale surface.

            He feels himself lose control and expand fully. Stiles’ protests get louder with the increased strain. And Peter’s breath is more and more belabored with the effort. He sighs when he can’t escape the heat of Stiles’ body any longer. He resorts to rocking and shifting his body to draw gasps from Stiles.

            Stiles reaches up and pulls Peter into a desperate kiss. His muscles twitch as Peter pushes against him harder. Then Peter pulls away and gasps. He spills into Stiles and his body oscillates in aborted thrusts as the orgasm rocks through his body. Stiles finds himself blushing and laughing as Peter collapses back into him.

            When Peter finally recovers enough to mind Stiles again he’s equally mortified and emboldened by the condition of the body beneath his own. Stiles pale skin is marred further by haphazard arrangement of marks and lines snaking and peppering themselves across the surface.

            Suddenly Peter pulls his partner’s legs around his hips and then hauls Stiles up pressed to his chest once more. He carries Stiles to the shower and they’re half way there when he notices the quiet shakes and soft grunts emitting from Stiles. He nips at his neck and chuckles.

            Peter turns on the water and positions to sit on the bench and sits down gingerly. Stiles sags against him still shuddering. Peter strokes Stiles’ cock to bring his attention back around. He gasps and spasms. A few more strokes and Stiles is desperately to stay still as he’s riding the edge of an orgasm. His body is tingling everywhere and he’s short of breath. Each time he bucks forward his body scolds him for not keeping still with a pang. But, he can’t stop himself. His cock is sensitive as if it were rubbed raw despite how little it’s been touched.

            When he finally cums the orgasm is choppy and provides little relief. Each twitch of his cock releases another strand that gets caught between him and Peter only to get washed away by the water. Neither Peter nor his need relent. When it finally ends his hand juts down to Peter’s to still it. It barely helps. In this position, Stiles can feel Peter throughout his entire body. Every shift of their bodies is a jolt akin to a sprint down an uneven hill.

            Peter’s caresses send chills down his back and each kiss to his shoulders, neck, and collar bones send shocks down his spine. The effect has him squirming, moving, each way in turn punishes him further for being unable to remain still. They sit under the spray like this for a few minutes, Peter just rocks against him and the sensations are starting to get Stiles hard again.

Peter doesn’t say anything, but he can feel the shift in pressure. Peter pulls him into another kiss and a calm floods his body. The tension of desperation is finally gone, but the impulse for more remains.

However, the embarrassment that comes when Peter finally pulls out overwhelms him and Stiles rushes to the toilet. His body feels dirty, he wasn’t prepared and everything is coming out now.

“Fuck.” He grumbles with the discomfort of moving.

“You’ll get over it. I promise,” Peter says from his seat in the shower. “Get back in here once you’re done over there. I’m not done with you yet.”

“That wasn’t enough for you.”

“It wasn’t enough for you either. I need more and I intend to convince you to give it to me,” Peter says voice lilting towards the end. “When we’re done I’m going to order in, and after that I’m going to hold you in my arms until I pass out,” He declares nearly purring. “You’re welcome, by the way. From what I’ve read and heard growing up I let you off easy.”

“I’ll be unable to change in school for weeks.”

Peter smiles, “Not my problem.”

“My dad is going to kill you.”

“Best to wear clothes around him anyway.”

Chapter Text

Peter wakes to Stiles laying on his chest like a koala attached to a tree. He chuckles and taps Stiles on the back.

“Wuh,” Stiles lets out with a start and then he relaxes again quickly.

“Good morning,” Peter says and smiles. “Seeing as you’re likely now an invalid, I’m going to need you to get off me so I can make you food.”

“You get off,” Stiles mumbles.

“I know that may act as sustenance for you, but I will really need to eat something today so come on, off you go.” Peter says beginning to roll Stiles off himself when he shows he won’t move and acts like dead weight.

“Mmm, get back here. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

“You need a break. You were lucky to escape without any fissures or other similar displeasures. I think even your miraculous resiliency is at its limit sweetheart.” Peter rolls and stands up to a bone deep exhaustion.

He walks to the kitchen and pulls a chrome stand mixer out of the cabinets. Then he pulls out the pancake ingredients and sets the machine to work. After that he rifles around for to skillets one large one small and covers them in olive oil before cracking half a dozen eggs into a metal bowl. He pulls out bell peppers, spinach, cheese, onions, and ham. He begins cutting them up and then flicks on the burners.

He beats the eggs and pours half of them into the small skillet and then adds the first few toppings in. After that he pulls the finished pancake mix and rifles for a soft spatula to help pour the first two pancakes on. He rinses the spatula and uses it to pull p at the edges of the omelet. He adds the rest of the toppings and then retrieves cheese from the fridge. He pours it over the top and then flips the omelet. At the same time he flips the first two pancakes.  Once they’re ready, he rotates them and pours a third on. Then pulls them and the omelet off once they’re done. He plates them and repeats the process. After that he puts what’s left of the batter in the fridge covered by saran wrap.

He pulls out two wooden trays and silverware and platters the first meal while waiting for the first to be ready. He pours himself cranberry juice and milk for Stiles. He smothers one set of pancakes in butter, maple syrup, and whipped cream for Stiles. For his own he just puts on butter and strawberry preserves.

When it’s all ready he palms each tray like a server, each thing raised by fingertips bent for stability. He walks into the bedroom, shoos Stiles to his own side of the bed, and places the first in Stiles’ lap. Then he walks to the other side and sits down to eat.

“Why… do you have these?”

“It may surprise you to hear this, but I’ve bedded many people before you,” Peter says. “I prefer my better bed mates, men and women both, to want to come back.”

“Does it ever go on like…”

“Like yesterday? No. I’ve never taken a mate before.”

“So that was a-”

“A one time deal? Yes.” Sex will never really be the same. Every touch between us will be more intense from now on. It’ll be worse for you. You’re not used to the heightened sensation.”

“So does that mean its permanent? Like we are together forever, or whatever. Nobody else?”

“Not for me. But, while its possible for you, something tells me you won’t look elsewhere.”

“Why not?”

“There are no recorded incidents of human mates having extra-marital affairs. At least to my knowledge. There are dozens of cases known to my family they’re recorded down in the vault. Most of us try not to mate at all. However, the books can be very enlightening.” Peter finishes and takes his fork up to begin eating.

“You guys have ancient pornographic journals?”

Peter hums and smiles around his food.

“You guys perv on your own family.”

“Most of us don’t read those parts. I personally only read those parts out of the books of members of other packs. Trading mating journals was a common wedding practice between packs back in the day.”

“How far does the Hale pack go?”

“Our lineage dates to about 25 to 50 years after the first reported attacks by La Bete du Gevaudan. So about 215 years.”

“So you’re like werewolf royalty.”

“Hardly. As far as we know, there are no remaining descendants of the beast’s survivors.”

“So you’re French.”

“Another no. My family’s first werewolf wrote primarily in german. We assume that ancestry is our predominant one.”

“Why’d your family migrate to America?”

“Escaping hunters. It was easier to hide here in those days. New continent, reports were more scant. There was a lot of open land hidden away that they could roam without encountering anyone, even Native Americans were easy to evade.”

They finish the meal in relative silence and then Peter carries the trays away.

“So, never?”

“Not that I have on record. However, if you wanted I suppose; we could, involve another. Have you interest in having sex with a woman?”

“No! Yes! Not right now.” Stiles peters off.

“Alright, well, we don’t need to decide anything any time soon. Are you alright? I tried to warn you, you wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t explain.”

“You didn’t say you had a magic dick that would make it so I couldn’t change my mind. Ever.”

“Teeth.”

“What?”

“It’s the bite that holds the power. Also, can’t and won’t are two different things. It is possible for you to break it. The process is difficult though.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Not that I want to tell you how. I will if you ask, but to tell the truth-A thing I hate to do- and it may get in your head. It hurts me to think you’d want to.”
            “I mean, no, I don’t want to. I just. I’m scared.”

“I promise, I’ll never harm you if I can avoid it.”

“I know.” Stiles says with finality. He lays down and rests his back against Peter’s body and sighs with relief as the aches dissipate. He drifts off into a food coma with a hand on his chest that makes him feel warm.

“Stiles, I love you.” He hears, a whisper barely audible as he begins to doze.

Chapter Text

Peter wakes from his post breakfast nap to an empty bed. Stiles is gone. He can’t hear him anywhere in the apartment. Peter rummages around on his night stand looking for his phone to find himself still empty handed. He rolls to look on the ground and moves the pillows. Nothing.

He goes out to the living room and finds it on the coffee table. He pounds in his passcode and unlocks the his phone. He pulls open his text messages; there’s one name emboldened in the top of the phone. Stiles.

He clicks the name to see a slew of texts.

Sorry

Had to go.

Needed space.

Couldn’t breathe.

It’s a lot my fault

I’m really sorry.

At Dad’s

See you soon.

Peter paces around his room rereading the texts. He throws his phone onto the bed and gets dressed. He shoves the phone back in his pocket. He finds his keys, locks the door, and leaves.

***

Stiles goes on a run the moment he gets home. He can’t relax. Every move reminds him of the night before; what he chose. His whole body aches and any given move sends a pang of discomfort rippling through his limbs and core. His clothes chafe his raw skin, causing the healing cuts to sting. His sweat pants and sweater and now a darkened blue. They cling to his skin, cold and damp in the October air. He keeps going until he’s out of breath.

He stops and rests his hands on his knees and braces himself into the shoulder-high planter behind him. He pulls out his earbuds and looks around at the residential street he’s managed to blindly wander into. It’s empty, the trees utterly abandoned on their side of the sidewalks. The grass is crisp but faded. It’s been dry this year. He takes in a deep breath and tries to calm back down. He knew it wouldn’t help, but he had to try.

He stays long enough to recover and begins his trek back home. The neighbor hood he’s in now is at least 6 or 7 kilometers from his house.

When he gets home he jumps in the shower immediately and submits himself to the warm spray.

Stupid.

Why’d you leave?

Coward.

Avoidance One-Oh-One.

He shuts off the water and moves to hunch over the sink. He looks into the mirror and shuffles his hair around. Eventually, he throws his head back down. He gropes up to find the towel on the hook and pulls it down. It snags for a moment before collapsing down toward him. As it does it whips the glass soap dispenser off the sink and onto the floor. It shatters. The explosion sends glass and soap everywhere cutting up his ankles and covering them in burning liquid as the shrapnel continues on its path.

Stiles drops his towel as he attempts to avoid injury. He backs up and curses as he narrowly avoids slipping and falling. He steadies himself and then shifts backwards to the tub before slowly descending into a squat.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Noah asks and pounds on the door.

Stiles picks up the towel and slides it around to collect as many of the pieces as he can. “Yeah Dad! Just broke the soap dispenser. Sorry.”

“Okay, I’ll get the mop.”

“No, it’s fine I’ve got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Stiles looks back don and sighs. He soaks his towel several times in the tub to ensure he got enough of the glass caught before transitioning to paper towels. He cleans up the rest of the mess with several trips to the trash can he keeps in his bedroom and throws away the towel when he’s done. He then turns the tub faucet back on the fully clean off his feet. He scrubs the fresh cuts clean, dries them, and wraps them with gauze and antibiotics.

He goes back to his room putting on sweats, a t-shirt, a light knit sweater with a high collar, and socks. He goes downstairs and sees his dad sitting on the couch waiting for him.

“Just need more paper towels,” He says and shuffles off towards the pantry. He grabs them and runs back upstairs and puts them on the roller. He switches their direction several times and then settles on the over position and walks downstairs.

“Come sit.” Noah says and pats the couch.

“What’s, uh, what’s going on Dad? Daddy, Daddy-o?” He asks and lays against the arm rest.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You weren’t home last night, which I will let slide. But now, first thing I woke up to was you slamming the doors up and downstairs and then you leaving. Then you come home, you’re exhausted enough to need to shower and you end up breaking things that’ve been in the same place for years. You’re a gawky kid sure, but not like this. You haven’t been this unintentionally loud in years.”

“What! That doesn’t meant there’s a problem.”

“Stiles. We may not talk much anymore, but I’m still your father. And, that means I still know when you’re dodging questions.”

Stiles sits up. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just working through some, new, issues.”

“You gonna talk to me about them?”

“Do I have to?”

“I’d prefer it if you’re able to.”

“I’m not really sure you want to know.”

“Humor me.”

“Well, Scott. He and I don’t see eye to eye much anymore. And, I may have… forced him to see things from my point of view.”

“How?”

“I may, allegedly, have used some mild hallucinogens.”

“You drugged your best friend?”

“N-”

“How? No wait, I don’t want to know.” Noah says. He picks up his water and takes a long drink from it; the entire time he holds up his hand to keep Stiles from talking. “I don’t want to know how you did it or how you got the stuff. They weren’t illegal were they?”

“Nothing that’s a federally controlled substance.”

“Fine. That’ll have to be enough for me,” Noah says after a pause. “It helped?”

“Jury’s still out.”

“Do I want to know about what happened between you to?”

“No.”

“And you and him? Are you good?”

“Dad, can I ask you a question?”

“Will the question scar me for life?” Noah asks and puts down his glass.

“What was it like when you and mom first started dating?”

“I don’t know what to say Stiles.”

“Just tell me what it made you feel like.”

“Okay,” Noah says and clasps his hands together. “Well, uh… Your mother, Claudia, was quite the woman. She really put me through the wringer. No matter what I did I always felt like I was getting it wrong. I guess that was a good thing though. It kept me from taking her for granted. I was always twisted up inside about something. But, all I knew was that when I was around her, I felt full inside. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before; I didn’t need anyone else, but her. I felt. I knew I was important to her, and that no matter how stupid I was, I was enough. She chose me. I couldn’t ever really stay mad at her. Because, I couldn’t even think of asking her to do more for me than that.”

After Noah stops, he leans back and drinks more water. “Was that a good enough answer?”

“Yeah, um, okay. Thanks. That was really helpful.” Stiles says. He slaps the back of the couch and shifts to get up.

Noah puts a hand up to stop him. “Why?”

“I just wanted to know.”

“You’re lying. Again.”

“Sure am.” Stiles says and gets up.

“Is that all I’m gonna get?”

“Unless you’ve got something on me to get me to squeal.”

“Okay.” He says and lets Stiles go back upstairs.

Chapter Text

Monday

Stiles wakes up and grabs his phone. He looks at the near blank lock screen and opens it. When he gets to his text inbox he already knew what it’d show. No new messages.

His last text was from Peter. But, it was from before he went over the other night. He rolls over and screams into his pillow. Its another five minutes before he shuffles out of bed and sits up.

He grabs the edge and stares out the window.

He breaks his gaze and stands up. He gets up and walks into the bathroom; he turns on the water and waits a moment staring at his reflection before splashing his face. He washes away the fading salt white lines that ran down his cheeks from the night before. He rubs the water from his eyes and then goes to grab a towel. He turns on the shower.

He gets in when its warm, but its too hot after just another couple of moments, so he avoids the flow of water and turns it down a bit. He shifts back under the spray once it’s controlled and grabs the soap. He scores the bar of soap into his skin. When he gets down to his chest he winces. He keeps going, but rushes through most of his upper body and gets ready as fast as possible to cover it up once more.

By the time he’s in his first class he can’t sit still. He finds himself tapping his feet before he’s even really settled in. He gets yelled at to stop, so he switches to flicking his pen – sans tapping of course. His teacher’s frown doesn’t improve.

He gets through the rest of the day with Lydia’s appearance during free period being his only real social interaction thereafter.

She appears from the stacks only moments after the clack of her heels hit his ears.

“So, what’s going on?”

“Huh?”

“Well the pack is in a tizzy. So, I thought I’d come find out what about.”

“I… showed Scott was it was like to be me.”

“And?”

“He fell off my car.”

“What happened after that?”

“I left.”

“Okay, Well if that’s all; I guess it’s fine,” Lydia says. “Right? Or do you need to vent? Did it like negatively impact you? I know my abilities ruin my life and consistently throw me into a vat of emotional trauma. And, telling other people about it usually sucks, because no one can relate; but, I’m here. Not that you’d ever text me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I texted you at lunch. Check your phone.”

Stiles opens his phone.

Hey you okay? Isaac says you nearly murdered Scott.

“Yeah, well I didn’t. The idiot hit his head on my car on his way down. He couldn’t withstand the brunt of my experience.”

“Oh, so he’s, just a guy then.”

“Yeah.”

Lydia grabs the book in front of him and flips to the cover. “Rituals and Polytheistic Religions. What’re you looking into?”

“The origins of the werewolf curse. Primarily Celtic Druid and Germanic origins. Due to the whole, emissary thing,” Stiles explains. “Everyone keeps saying the form you take is dependent on the kind of person you are. But, none of the legends I know have anything to do with that. And none of the ones I’ve been searching through have any information on it. I figured if I knew how all of these things happened, I could like, reverse engineer monster’s weaknesses.”

“So, what? You can be a hunter?”

“More like a trapper.”

“Why?”

“Because, unfortunately, mountain ash, mistletoe, and wolfs bane don’t work on everything. And, it’d be nice to be prepared for once.”

“I’m sorry. What’s bringing this on? Not that you’re not capable, but forward thinking isn’t really your M.O.”

“Yeah, well. I’m tired of surprises.”

“There hasn’t been an attack in a while. What surprise has you studying archaic folklore?”

“Peter. It’s personal.”

“Remember, if he hurts you, I can like, scream at him or something.”

“No thanks, it’s just complicated.”

“Fine.” Lydia says and sits down across from him. “Where do I start?”

Stiles slides a book of French legends over to Lydia.

They finish out the period and Lydia plops the book onto his leftmost stack of books. “Walk me to class?”

***

He spends the next several days sitting by the phone while at home and quietly researching with Lydia during free period. When he gets home on Friday there’s a gift wrapped on his doorstep. He rifles through the ribboning to find the tag.

Just in case

-Peter

Stiles brings it upstairs and places it on his desk before opening it. When he does he discovers 10 vials and jars filled with ingredients and bundles of herbs. There’s a hearty chunk of pages tucked into the side.

He puts the lid back over it and puts his stuff away.

He pulls his phone out and spins it in his hand.

***

Peter’s phone lights up and vibrates on the glass table next to his latest project. Stiles.  He opens the message:

Normally, I’d keep ignoring my problems indefinitely, but that doesn’t seem like the right choice here. If you’re free; I’ll be over at 6.

Peter takes a few minutes to reply:

Perfect. When this client meeting ends, I’ll be available. I’ll pick up Chinese on the way home.

Peter ends the meeting 15 minutes early. The prospective project was inane, but serviceable: a large office lounge space in need of a modest budgeted decor and a drab matching color scheme. The woman wasn’t allowant of any real accent pieces. He dogged refusal was both surprising and not considering the horrid pink and lime green outfit she was wearing. The heinous outfit and her simultaneously shrill and stern voice made him compromise on the color scheme; on other days he wouldn’t have. It wasn’t much of a challenge, but it’d have to do.

He gave the woman a week to decide on the lounge’s one statement color wall and said he’d have his selection finished in two weeks thereafter including the installation and painting. If she didn’t like the arrangement, he could draw up more for an additional retainer once it was done.

He left the grey office building hurriedly. His feet drove him towards his car and he was out of the lot in naught, but a minute after exiting.

He calls the Chinese place a few blocks from his apartment with their order and tells them he’ll be there in 25. He looks at the clock 5:23.

When he gets out of the car he realizes how long the line is. There’s about 6 people in front of him in the takeout line and its another 12 foot tapping minutes before he gets his food and is able to leave.

Grub hub and Uber Eats.

He hustles inside and puts his portfolio away, before busying himself with setting out the food.

The jeep rattles into its traditional area of the lot and Stiles is on his way up not long after. There’s a tapping sound that accompanies a hurried heartbeat the entire ride up. Peter opens the door for Stiles before he can knock.

“Uh… Hi,” Stiles says and drops his fist to his side.

“Come in,” Peter replies and steps out of the doorway.

Stiles moves through the space quickly and goes to sit at the dinner table. Once he does he moves starts placing small portions onto his plate before putting his chopsticks back down and resting his hands in his lap. “So…”

“Yes?” Peter replies from across the table.

Stiles stares down at his plate. His eyes shift around a bit settling on the steaming piles of food in the center of the table. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hm?”

“All of it. I shouldn’t have done it. The leaving, mostly. But, any of it. I knew as soon as I left. But, I couldn’t come back.”

Peter places some beef lo mein onto his plate and studies Stiles’ face.

Stiles can feel Peter staring at him, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t dare make eye contact. He darts around slowly drifting upwards until he can see Peter’s chin angled directly at him. He averts again and again. Peter’s just watching and waiting.

“Peter. I’ve never been in something like this before. I feel like I’m drowning in you. I’m not ready for it. I don’t know how to be around you. Who to be. How to share space with you like this all the time.”

“Neither have I. For once, I don’t have any of the answers you may seek. I lost many years to the fire and many more to who I used to be; who I still am.”

“You haven’t?”

“Been in a serious relationship? No. Before the fire, I was young. I didn’t ever want to. I was wrapped up in myself and how to get where I wanted to go. I was my own greatest weapon in whatever ways I needed to be. And after, I wasn’t in the position. It’s only been a few years since I healed, and that woman stopped raping me in the hospital while I couldn’t control my body.”

“So, this… has all been much worse for you than I could’ve possibly thought.”

“I don’t have much anymore. Pack, family, friends, connections of any kind: they’re all gone. I’m more alone now than I was before I healed. When you’re silent, I’m deaf.”

“You thought I didn’t want you. God, I’m such an asshole.”

“I woke up alone. My world vanished before me all over again.” Peter says. He piles more fried rice and entrees onto his plate; then he pincers some beef and eats it.

“I could not be worse of a person right now. Okay, what do I do?”

“No.” Peter says. “The problem isn’t you. Its me. I changed in that fire. And when you’re not around, I’m not the man you deserve. I’d do anything to keep hold of your affection. Even risk giving you up.”

“That’s why there’s always another miracle delivery whenever I’m feeling down. You’re trying to buy me? Earn me?”

“No. Decidedly not,” Peter says once he finishes his bite. “I’m trying to release you from need. I want you to choose me freely, because you aren’t pressured by need. I want you to want me, because all your needs are attended to and you can decide I’m what’s best for you in your mind. Because, you want me. No restrictions on your choice. That’s why I gave you the ingredients. So that you can decide to keep me as your best choice, not your only choice.”

“You gave me them to encourage me to stay?”

“For your own reasons,” Peter says. “I know my flaws. The last time I coveted someone’s time, I lost my entire family in a cascade of poorly stacked dominoes.”

“Who’s time.”

“Derek’s. I crushed him in my hand to keep my best friend within my grasp. I thought I’d be able to make him dependent on me. Secrets can bond people together. He was the only one in my family who didn’t regard me with suspicion before the fire. I was losing him to a crush. I couldn’t handle it and my entire life has been in shambles ever since. Because I was worried I’d lose my best friend.”

“First, that’s a disturbingly toxic relationship pattern. Second, you’re being far more honest than normal, it’s kind of scary.”

“I don’t want to see you in a body bag.”

“I was in a body bag. If an evil soul sucking spirit couldn’t kill me; I doubt out next monster of the week can. I have that whole emissary thing going on for me now. I may as well be impervious to attacks.”

“Don’t be delusional. None of us are. The dead pool proved we are all vulnerable. This pack has proven that in every battle. Monsters, werewolves, alphas, chimeras, darachs: nothing can avoid destruction. At least, we can’t if we are involved, if it takes place in this town.”

“We only have to survive until the end of May.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving Beacon Hills. You can too.”

“Stiles.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with us. Maybe it will work out, maybe it won’t. But, I’m leaving. I can’t look around this town without feeling like I’m trapped, about to be abducted, or set to witness a murder or it’s body dump. I told my Dad months ago that I was applying to out of state colleges and law enforcement special programs for things like the CIA and FBI. I told him after I got out of Eichen and Allison died.

Maybe things would be better for us once we aren’t both living in the scars of our pasts and constant duress. I won’t give up on you. But, I will mess up like this again, probably. I need space now, more than I used to.”

“We’ll discuss this later. You can go now, if you want to.”

“I don’t want to. Go that is,” Stiles tilts his head up and then down and fidgets with his fingers. “I don’t want to leave you. I just want to leave here. I don’t feel safe. I haven’t been, not since the Nemeton and long before that even.”

“You’re running. That doesn’t seem like you.”

“I’ve been running for my life every day since sophomore year. I’ve barely survived these last 2. I’ll be lucky to survive this last one of the Beacon Hills Horror Movie Monster Reunion. All my friends were put on a dead pool. I was nearly killed from the inside out by an evil fox spirit brought into the world by my friend’s mom. If I stay; I’ll be dead by 20.”

“Point taken.” Peter says and gets up. He pours himself some water from the sink.

“I’m still surprised you don’t use a pitcher.”

“In Beacon Hills it’s tactically safer not to. What with evil magic women and the like dosing our residents with hallucinogens to get them to commit suicide. And so on.”

“Another reason to leave.”

Peter shuts off the faucet and returns to the table.

“So, what would you like to do tonight?”

“Other than apologize?” Stiles sighs. “Not much, I don’t really know what desires are. So, you know.”

“Mm.”

“I forgot what it was to want somewhere between all the running and fighting for my life etc.”

“Of course, it is so hard to recall what the desires of the flesh even are. All I have are biologically derived impulses myself: Hunt. Kill. Devour.”

“Exactly.”

“All my actions are based strictly on a needs and instinct only basis. It’s why hunters want me dead, of course. But I muddle through.” Peter says and continues eating.

***

When they finish dinner Peter clears the table and Stiles goes to turn on the TV.

Chapter Text

Stiles wakes up in bed the next morning, face pressed into Peter’s chest.

“Good morning, Little Bird.”

“Mmm… Morning.” Stiles says and settles into his spot resting on Peter.

“I own pillows.”

“This one is warm. And,” Stiles gropes around Peter’s chest. “Firm.”

“I can’t exactly do all the work when I’m trapped beneath you.”

“I’m the one who owes you the breakfast.”

“Guilt doesn’t become you. However, I’m not one to pass up a good deal. I’ll lounge here and you can prepare my apology meal. Pass me the laptop?”

“Ha ha.”

“Get. On your way.”

“Tired.” Stiles grumbles and grinds his face into Peter’s chest more.

“Not my problem. You said it yourself. You owe me.” Peter says and pokes Stiles in the ribs.

“Mean.”

“It’s all part of my ‘you’re in the dog house’ special.”

“And after all my soul bearing last night? I even apologized. I don’t do that for just anyone you know. I-“

“Shut up and go make breakfast,” Peter pushes Stiles off him. “Oh, I left some clothes out for you.” He gestures over to the nearly black dark-wood dresser. “You smell better in my clothes.”

Stiles rolls over and groans as he pulls himself off the bed. He goes to the dresser and shirks the last of yesterdays clothes to switch into the ones Peter’s laid out. He glances towards the bathroom as he pulls on the tight ruby briefs. He catches himself in the mirror and then averts his eyes instantly. He turns back to the rest of the clothes and scowls. He pulls at the fabric that’s now hugging his balls and shifts his weight before putting on the obscene black shorts Peter chose for him. “How do you even fit in any of these things?”

“Suggestively. Now the shirt.”

He pulls on the dark red tee and turns back to the mirror. He shrugs and pulls at the hem of the shorts. They only extend a few inches down his thighs and curve harshly leaving barely any room for motion if it weren’t for the significant stretch built into the fabric. He feels the shorts dipping along his crack and hugging his ass. He frowns.

“They look good on you.”

“They reek. I can barely focus. They just make me want to lay back in bed and smother you.”

“You’ll get used to it. Comes with the new mating bond. I wore them to the gym yesterday morning.”

“Even the underwear?”

“No, but I can next time.” Peter says and lolls his head back to the center of the pillows.

“You would like that wouldn’t you.”

“Perhaps,” He says with a grin.

“I can’t believe this. I’m supernaturally married to a complete and total degenerate.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs.

Stiles sighs and walks into the kitchen.

Eventually, Peter saddles up behind him and gives him a kiss to his lower neck. Stiles pulls away from the omelets he’s making and leans back into Peter.

“Smells good.” Peter says and nips at Stiles’ neck.

“It’s all the fresh food you keep around.”

“Everything in my life is fresh as can be.” Peter kisses Stiles up his cheek and to his lips.

“That doesn’t comfort me as much as I think it should.”

“I really don’t care.” He says and bites the nape of Stiles’ neck and pulls away.

“Ouch. Peter I’m cooking. What if I had burned myself? You cant bend me over a hot stove.”

“But you smell delicious and taste divine. I could devour you right here.”

“Save your appetite for breakfast, Predator.”

“Fine, but you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I think I do.”

“You really don’t. They say sex is at its worst when you’re mating for the first time.”

“I’m sure. Now make some coffee. I’m going to need it to keep up with your bullshit.”

“Deny me once, Deny me twice. Careful Ms. Bennet I may just release you from the burden of my affections.”

“You don’t have it in you.”

“Can’t and won’t are two different things.”

“They’re functionally the same, Peter.”

“But it’s the honesty of the intent that matters. It’s what defines us in all things.”

“Don’t tell me you, ‘The Alpha,’ have turned over a new leaf.”

“Perhaps, I’ve just dug a new trench. Nothing, is beneath me after-all. Self-preservation is the number one priority.”

Peter lets Stiles go and turns on the coffee machine. Then he goes to the bedroom and grabs his computer to do some work while he waits for breakfast.

***

When they finish with breakfast they migrate to the couch and turn on the TV.

“What should we do today?”

“I haven’t really put much thought into it. So long as you’re near me I’ll be suitably pleased.”

“Road trip with country music then?”

“That’s unacceptable in general. My standards will not be compromised.”

“They’re impeccable, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite discerning.”

“Perfect. A judgmental predator. Watch out deer, he may tell you your antlers would be lame on his mantle.”

“How about a picnic then?”

“Weird left turn, but I wouldn’t be opposed to some Yogi Bear and Boo Boo role playing action.”

“I shudder at your potential thought processes.”

“Everyone does.”

“Go clean up, we’ll leave when you’re ready.” Peter says shooing Stiles into the bathroom.

“Fine.”

Peter trades places with him once he’s done, he closes the door behind him. Stiles sits on the couch for a time and watches HGTV. When nearly a full episode has played through he goes into the bedroom after knocking. “Whats,” Stiles stops abruptly his nose answers for him. He turns around closes the door and goes and packs a cooler-lined wicker basket that he’d found in the closet outside the guest room when he first started raiding Peter’s home.

The water stops a few minutes later and he finishes preparing food while Peter gets dressed. Peter comes out in a dark grey scarf, thick deep blue knit sweater, and dark washed jeans. A weekend bag is hanging from his left hand and a leather jacket is hanging over his opposed forearm.

Peter pads to the coffee table and puts his stuff down before pulling on some boots. He collects everything as Stiles finishes. Stiles does the same once he’s done packing. Peter puts the weekender’s strap over his shoulder and leans against the wall near the entryway closet.

“Okay,” Stiles says as he stands up.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

Peter pulls another backpack out of the closet and then closes it. Stiles opens the door. “After you.”

***

When they pull into the clearing Stiles’s jaw drops. The expansive view of the small lake in the bottom of the valley is breath-taking. The view of the large two level cabin set against it with a dock leading into the lake is like something out of a dream.

The two and a half hour drive was brutal, making him squirm and whine for the last hour of it. He’d stopped talking half an hour ago when he’d realized that questions would get him nowhere. “We’ll be there soon” had been Peter’s only response for the last 45 minutes prior. Evergreens and White Alders had obscured the entire area on their way up.

“What is this?”

“Old family land, hidden away carefully. A refuge of sorts. It has its fair share of other uses.”

“Like?”

“Well, I renovated it a while back. It needed restoration after being shuttered for so long. After that, I started renting it out; through a pseudonym of course.”

“Of course.”

“However, in the past it has been used as a lovers’ retreat on occasion. Also, it is a good place to take a child on their first few full moons, for added security. Especially so, when you don’t know if they’re a werewolf yet.”

“How is this more secure? The eight plus adult werewolves weren’t enough?”

“Other than the twenty plus acres of land that no one else is going to be on so humans are safe? There’s always been a supply of low potency powdered wolf’s bane kept on the premises. Additionally, there’s a locked dungeon twenty-five yards into the woods from the house that hunters are unlikely to find let alone break into. It’s equipped with a rock shell covered foot thick steel door and several reinforced steel doors for the holding cells.”

“Of course there’s a dungeon.”

“I’ve re-purposed it as well.”

“I…”

“It’s part wine cellar now.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“So why isn’t it being rented now.”

“Late September to early November isn’t a very popular time of the year for vacations,” Peter says as he pulls the car to a stop in front of the cabin.

“That tracks,” Stiles says and gets out of the car. “So why’re we here?” He asks and then slams the door before moving to get stuff out of the trunk.

“It isn’t in Beacon Hills. Also this place has my second favorite view.” He says as he gets out and pulls the latch for the trunk open.

Stiles bends forward and grabs the basket out of the trunk. “And, what’s the first?”

“If you don’t know by now; I’m not going to tell you.”

“Okay, let’s have a snack.” Stiles says and shrugs his head towards the dock. When he gets to the end of the dock he places the squared basket down dead center. A few moments later Peter joins him.

“Move it.” Peter gestures and puts down a large checkered fleece blanket where the basket had just been. Then he hands Stiles a jacket and beanie. “Cover your ears.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Where your generation derives its obsession with ‘Daddies’ is a worrisome mystery.” Peter drops a bag on an unoccupied edge of the blanket.

“Childhood trauma.”

“Lucky me.”

“It would seem.” Stiles says and opens the basket.

They eat strawberries and turkey sandwiches on dinner rolls; then they make a break for the cabin.

“Thanks for the snack. Now, let’s sate ourselves.”

Peter unlocks the door and opens it. He outstretches an arm in welcome and Stiles slides into the building without any acknowledgement. He walks into the warm deep brown hues of the cabin and is taken with the deep red and light pinks adorning the space. Light fills the living room at the end of the hall through a wall of windows and sliding glass doors. There’s a doorway to a small office space tucked into the left of the entrance with a printer and caged computer beneath the desk. There’s a modem and a wireless router with a blinking light staring back at him. There’s a projector hanging from the ceiling pointing towards a wall with a door in its far left side corner.

Peter grabs him and kisses his face before walking down the hallway. “I’ve got to turn the water and water heater on downstairs. The pass code is on the side of the router. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Stiles replies and then wanders into the room. He puts the password into his phone and then wanders to the door and pulls it open. It leads into the kitchen. The kitchen is a crazy fusion of vintage rustic and industrial with two slate fridges and matching industrial appliances running along the left wall. In contrast there’s a large stylized epoxy-resin coated wood island in the center. There are medium red upholstered bar chairs on its right side and cabinets on each its far wall and to his immediate left.

He quickly finds that one of the fridges is, actually, a standing freezer. Its stocked full of frozen meats, juices, vegetables, and pre-made foods. Then he rifles through the cabinets to find that each is organized rigorously and are stocked full of herbs, spices, and base ingredients.

“I have a care taker who lives in the area on retainer. I warned them this morning before I showered.  There wasn’t much to replace. There was an employee retreat here a few weeks ago,” Peter says and leans against the entry opposite the fridge.

“Wow. How much do you charge?”

“I price it per function and person to an extent,” Peter explains. “For a function with a full house it is about three thousand dollars a weekend plus food/catering. The cabin can sleep about twenty people at a time. I give people a good deal that way they come back more often, especially companies.”

“Three grand plus food is cheap?”

“Three thousand divided by twenty is one-fifty a person for a full weekend. It’s the best deal you’ve ever heard of for how well I’ve curated the space. This place has four and three-quarters stars. My overhead is remarkably low because of the fact that I own the land and it is so far out that property taxes are negligible. I have a well for water and heat is cheaper due to the use of a back-up wood furnace and the fireplaces. The cleaning and cooking is contracted out and repairs are something I can do myself. They don’t happen often anyway; I buy quality products.”

“And all the rugs?”

“I treated all the upholstery with water and stain resistant coatings. The colors evoke a sense of intimacy in all the get-out-of-towners. The biggest investment was the sound-proofing in all the walls; which is a noted feature.”

 “How long have you been running this place?” Stiles asks and walks out into the living room.

“A year. I’ve had some time for projects when not needing to solve all of our problems.”

“You were half of our problems.”

“I had plenty of time then, didn’t I.” Peter says and follows Stiles into the living room. He pulls Stiles in for a kiss. “I love you.” He says and pulls off his sweater.  

“Oh, Right here?” Stiles says and tugs at his own clothes. “Okay, yeah.”

“Stiles. Shut up.”

*** AN 1 ***

“You know I didn’t need you try so hard with the foreplay. I was the one seducing you. I’m not a teen-aged girl on prom night. I can take it rough,” Peter says and rises off the bed.

“I like that stuff. I want you to want me more than anything else. I want it to feel good, you know.”

“Do you still want to go on a real picnic? Put your clothes back on We’ll go out.”

Peter walks out to the living room and picks up their clothes.

“Leaving me here in this bed is mean and hurtful. It really disregards my need for physical intimacy.”

Peter throws Stiles’s clothes at him. “Its too bad I’m a sociopath then isn’t it?”

***

When Stiles finally gets off the bed and put his clothes back on Peter is filling the basket in the kitchen shirtless. His pants are low on his hips.

“Really?”

“No time like the present,” Peter says. He grabs his shirt and sweater off the counter and finishes dressing.

“It’s already getting cold out.”

“Get an extra blanket. It’ll keep you warm. I can too, your choice.”

“Okay, but I’m taking this thing.” Stiles points to a huge, brown-hide, throw blanket. “It looks expensive.”

“Good choice. I made it when I was twelve. The bear its made from would agree with you.”

“You made it.”

“It was a good hunt.”

“You killed this with your bare hands?”

“I was focusing my energy.”

“You know I wish Scott had channeled his rage into upholstering and traditional pelt curation when he first shifted. It would’ve made those first few months a lot safer for me and the delicate constitution of my skin.”

“What difference does blood-red or a chilled flush really make to me? I’d tempting all the same. Let’s go eat.” He says and picks the basket up.

“Okay, I’m starving anyway.”

“I’d expect so.”

They walk back out to the lake and Peter sets up a fire. They eat next to the fire and lay out there for a while just talking. When they’re done eating Stiles lays against Peter as they watch the sun set behind the peaks of the mountains, cloaking them in an early nightfall.

When they get back inside Stiles is shivering. Peter lights the fireplace in their bedroom and they lay together watching the fire flicker. Stiles falls asleep to kisses on his head covered in blankets and Peter’s embrace.