Chapter Text
Peter looked through the papers Deucalion handed him carefully. They were forgeries- clever ones -but to a keen eye noticeably doctored. Deucalion hadn't tried to hide the fact that they were illegitimate. He disclosed upon handing them over that the serial number up top was invalid, the weight of the paper and texture of the lettering were off too.
An uninformed purchaser wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but he and Deucalion had done a number of unlawful business transactions together; mostly related to the 'acquisition' of dangerous, illegal, or restricted items. Deucalion was one of his best clients, though usually it was Peter who did the selling. He knew almost at a glance when documents were faked.
Deucalion leaned back in his chair and sipped casually from his mug of tea, a soft, friendly smile on his lips. He had the smile of a cult leader, enigmatic and trustworthy on the surface, power-hungry narcissism below. Peter thought he was full of shit.
"Why do you want to get rid of him?" Peter asked as he thumbed through the pages. The name on the front was smudged, near illegible save for the last name "Stillinsky" written in bold-faced letters at the top. Below was an the outdated picture of a pale-faced boy with doe eyes and dark moles.
"I just don't have the time to care for him anymore," Deuc said with a deceptive sigh. It was a lie, and they both knew it. Humans - especially the younger ones - ranged from five thousand to fifty thousand dollars, and Deuc's human been his prized pet for a number of years. Obtaining one legally took time, paperwork, and -unless you were especially lucky- numerous visits from the Argent Group, to 'ensure a safe environment.' Nobody in their right mind would just give one away.
"Stiles is an excellent pet, he just needs more stability," Deucalion continued, placing the mug back on the table.
"His name is 'Stiles Stillinsky'?" Peter asked with a raised brow. Underneath his smeared name was a date and place of birth, those were likely fake as well. Underneath that was the name of the corporation that supposedly bred him; it had been shut down years ago for a lack of proper permits.
"I like the name 'Stiles,' it's very expressive of his personality. A little on the short and repetitive side, but it suits him." Of course someone with the name 'Deucalion' would be fan of the name 'Stiles.' Peter withheld the eye-roll.
"His 'perfectly normal' personality?" Deucalions face dropped a little at his slip. He brought the mug up to his face in a blatant delaying tactic.
"We all have our quirks, Peter. He might have a tad more than others, but there's no need to fault him for it."
"Is he up to date on his vaccinations at least?" If he wasn't there was a twenty percent chance he'd be dead within the next ten years. 'Wolf Fever' as it was called, had wiped out ninety-eight percent of the human population. Those that survived the initial outbreak lived in small colonies run by the Argent Group with varying dependence on wolves for outside support, or were bred by private, werewolf-owned corporations like Stiles.
"The previous owners assured me he was. He's only gotten sick a handful of times, he's never-"
"Oh my gaaaawd," came a droning cry from the other side of the room. Both wolves turned their gaze toward the subject of their conversation. An older, slightly more disheveled looking version of the pale-faced boy from the photo was sitting on his sofa, a gray throw blanket wrapped around him. He kicked his legs out in an attempt to free himself from its confines. Unable to do so he fell limp with his head against the armrest, acceptant to spend the rest of his life in a cocoon.
"This blanket is amaaazing. I want one. I want twenty. Deeeeeeeuc!" Deucalions eye twitched. "I love this blanket. Buy me thirty," he whined. Deucalion did not respond to him, he kept his eyes on Peter.
"That isn't normal behavior for him, is it?" Deucalion grimaced. Stiles was quite obviously drugged.
"No. Usually he's very well behaved. He can be a little 'excitable' from time to time, but so long as he takes his medication he's perfectly fine." They resumed their previous topic of conversation, ignoring the drugged human.
"Look, I'll level with you," Deuc said in a quieter voice, unnecessary as they had chosen to meet in Peters home. "Stiles was given to me by a friend, who was given to her by a friend. We don't know where he came from, and even he doesn't know where he came from. Suffice it to say that if the Argents showed up asking for a history, I wouldn't be able to give them one."
"And do those 'friends' of yours have reason to avoid the Argents as well?" Peter asked knowingly. They shared the same social circle, he knew what kind of friends the other man liked to keep.
"They might," said Deuc with a small smile.
Peter sighed and tapped his pen against the table. He gave another glance over at the boy happily face-planted onto the sofa. He looked harmless, and his house was large enough for six people let alone two. If they grew to hate each other it wouldn't be difficult to keep separate.
"You said he didn't have any behavioral issues?" He was starting to warm up to the idea of keeping a pet. He'd been thinking of getting a cat for a while now, but the idea of cleaning up after another creature was off putting. A human, however, could take care of itself and Stiles was an adult. Plus, much as he hated to admit it wolves were social creatures, they needed a pack. He'd lived on his own for years and things could get a bit lonely. He wasn't about to go waltzing up his sisters doorstep for a quick chat either.
"Trouble sleeping now and then, but other than that he's a perfectly healthy teenager." Deuc smiled. "He' very self-sufficient." The words 'self-sufficient' appealed to Peter.
"I'll take him," He finally acquiesced, wondering if he'd made the right decision. At the very least it would drive his niece crazy knowing that he had something she'd been trying to get for years. Peter liked having things that other people wanted.
The process of getting Stiles moved into his new home took less than ten minutes. Stiles preoccupied himself with touching and feeling most anything he could get his hands on, while Deucalion gave Peter a box of his clothes and a dufflebag that looked to contain mostly books and a worn tablet. For someone who'd been on this earth for more then nineteen years he had surprisingly few possessions.
Deuc didn't bother sticking around to say goodbye. "That would just make things messy, don't you think?" Peter didn't really care. Once all the papers had been accounted for, and Deucalion departed, Peter turned his attention towards his new pet.
The human was quieter now, contentedly nestled into a mess of blanket and pillows he'd created. He starred at the wall blankly, lips in a slight part. Peter reached out to brush a few stray hairs from his face. He was a pretty human, at the very least. His pale skin contrasted nicely with his hazel eyes and dark brown hair. Even in the haze of sedatives they shone brightly and intelligently. The boy named 'Stiles' blinked and looked up at him.
"You're doped out of your mind, aren't you?" asked Peter, amused. More than a minute passed before Stiles realized he'd been asked a question.
"H-uh?" His speech drawled as he blinked to orient himself. Whatever Deuc had given him was strong. He was curious to find out why exactly Deucalion felt the need to drug him so strongly before delivering him. He did not buy the explanation of 'anxiety' and in Peters business he learned not to ask too many unnecessary questions. Besides, the answer would be revealed in time.
"Of course you are." Peter sighed. "The nice men give you some nice meds, Stiles?" Stiles had already forgotten about him. His face was back in the blanket, scenting it like a puppy would a new toy.
It took Peter a while to disentangle the nest Stiles had built around himself - Stiles whimpered and whined as he pulled the fleece away- but once he had he easily pulled the dazed human up onto his feet. He pushed the blanket back into Stiles hands who promptly forgot all protests once it had been returned to him.
"Let's get you into bed." He guided the intoxicated human towards a guest room he had set up, blanket trailing behind them.
Stiles hit the bed with all the elegance and grace of a dog having a seizure. He curled inward and rubbed his face against the sheets, holding the blanket close like a child with a stuffed animal.
"'Night," the boy mumbled, unaware that it was only late afternoon.
"Goodnight, Stiles." Peter observed him for a few moments. He had a feeling Stiles would make an interesting addition to his home.