oooh what about steter 10+16
Sorry this took so long! But fun fact: I was hit by four seperated devasting personal blows right after I received this prompt and then went into a huge depression spiral that involved dropping out of school and attempting suicide again so this is a Very Dark fic. And I don't mean the events just like the tone of the writing is dark and I'm so sorry for that. I'm feeling better now and I'm hoping the last half of this shows that.
So some content warning: mentions of Eichen house and torture and heavy angst
Stiles watched Peter from across the room. The older man walked as if there was an ache in his shoulders that would not let him stand tall. Stiles hated it. Peter had been a diminished version of himself since Stiles and Lydia had dragged him out of Eichen and told Scott to buzz off. Peter was pack, but just barely and it showed. Being an outcast wasn't new, the others didn't treat him nearly as badly as they had before sending him to Eichen, but something had changed in that hell hole.
Peter never looked weak or wounded, even when he was bleeding out in the Preserve after saving their asses once again. Peter wouldn't allow anyone to see him look vulnerable, but nevertheless Stiles saw. Peter's mental state was worse than it'd been since the fire and the only ones who noticed couldn't do anything to truly help. Except the spark, who had watched the man he'd been harboring a crush on for years be sent to his own personal nightmare and come out the other side worse for wear.
Stiles missed Peter's smirks. The fragile lift of the werewolf's lips these days was a pale imitation at the best of times. Stiles missed Peter's huffs of laughter. He hadn't been graced with the sound since the night before he'd been imprisoned. Most of, Stiles missed Peter's wit. He hadn't had the energy or want to verbally spar in the months since the rescue and Stiles missed their banter as if it'd been a physical part of him.
Learning ancient Sumarian would be easier if there was anyone who could teach it to him outside of the internet. He was honestly lucky to even find the spell that'd send him back through time for three days. This time around Stiles wouldn't let them go through with it. No matter what, Peter wasn't going to go through whatever torture he'd endured in that place. And when Stiles returned to the present he would return to the man he'd fallen in love with.
Peter sighed, a weariness in him he couldn't seem to shake. What would today bring? More quiet observation of the handsome human boy, that'd somehow became a man, and a spark, without anyone noticing? More rueful debates with himself on whether it was smarter to stay with the spark and banshee that'd rescued him or flee from the pack that had imprisoned him? Perhaps today would bring a spark of life Peter hadn't felt in months.
Speaking of Sparks, his was watching him again. Observing him the same way Peter had been watching the man.
"How are you today?" The soft way Lydia spoke to Peter made his teeth grind and his hackles rise.
He was not a wounded animal. He just didn't have anything to say these days, and even if he did there wouldn't be a point. No one listened. No one cared. So why should Peter waste his energy helping the people that imprisoned him to be tortured by that man for months? He shouldn't. Lydia had mostly tolerated him before he was sent to That Place, but now she practically treated him like a broken doll. He wasn't broken. It would take more than that to break him. That more than was currently watching their exchange with a frown, which alerted Peter that he'd been silent too long.
"I'm peachy keen, darling. And why are you gracing me with your presence this evening?" Even though he said the normal words his tone seemed to fall flat.
Lydia looked at him for a moment, her eyes scanning his face before she sighed, "When was the last time you ran under the full moon?"
The question struck him like a slap to the face. The past four full moons he'd been unable to get out of bed. It hadn't seemed worth making an effort to sit up, get out of bed, put on clothes, brush his teeth, put shoes on, and leave his apartment. Not to mention all the things he'd have to do to get him shifted and into the deep part of the preserve. Even so, he can't believe he had gone four months without running under the full moon, four months without feeling her rays on his skin. And those were just the ones he'd missed since escaping that place. Peter had never gone more than one moon without running with the other wolves, expect the six long years he was in a coma.
In a lot of ways Peter felt like he was back in that hospital bed. Alone. Abandoned. Unable to move on. Stuck in his head with his traumas.
He realized too much time had passed once again when she placed a petite hand on his.
"Seven months." The voice that left him didn't sound like his own as it rasped over two words.
"This month we're coming over." Stiles' voice startled him out of the quiet moment.
Peter looked up into Stiles' determined face and found all his complaints dying on his tongue. He nodded, unable to tell the spark 'No'.
The full moon was only three days away, maybe he'd feel up to running by then.
Lydia nodded as if they'd settled a business contract and stood up from the step below him, dusting off her skirt. With her departure Peter was left alone with Stiles, their eyes burning into each other's. Stiles looked as if he had something to say, yet said nothing as he scent marked Peter and left.
Stiles left Peter on the stairs, a heaviness settling in his chest as he heading out the giant metal door of the loft and down to his Jeep. He'd do it tonight. He was going to go back in time and save him.
Except, when Stiles finished chanting, animal blood covering his body and floor, nothing happened. He snatched his phone off the floor outside of the ash circle, uncaring of the blood he was smearing the screen with, and promptly threw it back down when he saw the same date as when he'd put it down.
Somehow, somewhere Stiles had screwed it up. Or perhaps the spell itself was a dud. He had no way of knowing because he certainly wasn't going to try it again. He'd put all of his intent into the spell, chanting words he was sure were correct. He had had to sacrifice a chicken and coat himself in it's blood, while sitting in the middle of an intricately designed ash circle. The most important part was that he had to focus on why he wanted his body to go back seven months. And that was Peter. A frankly, easy subject to focus his mind on. And maybe he'd gotten a little distracted thinking about kissing Peter, but oh well. No harm, no foul, right? Nothing had happened which wasn't ideal, but it wasn't the end of the world.
Stiles was still going to help the older man. No matter what.
Peter woke the next morning feeling oddly relaxed for the first time in, well, months. He felt energized in a way he couldn't quite place. That is, until he sat up and tried to step out of bed. His feet didn't land on the ground, causing him to fall out of bed instead of simply stepping out.
As he lay on the ground, irritated and confused, he looked at the small chubby hand in front of his face for a moment before jerking back and looking wildly around.
How had a child gotten into his room without him noticing? And why did it trip him?
And where had it gone now?
Questions were flying through Peter's head rapid fire, until they all came to a screeching halt as he realized that there was no one else in his home, that he in fact, was the child.
"What the fuck?" The words came out soft and much higher pitched than he thought they would, startling him again.
Peter only knew of two magic users in town, and this had the very distinct buffoonery of one of Stiles' magical accidents. He growled, the sound much less menacing with his prepubescent vocal chords, before ripping his phone off the charger and dialing Stiles.
It took three calls for the infuriating young man to answer, Peter's chubby little foot tapping a furious rhythm all the while.
"Peter? What the fuck, man? It's like six in the morning." Stiles' voice was deeper and rougher than usual, the sound alluring in a way his current body couldn't fully process.
"I'm aware of the time Stiles, but are you aware that I don't care if you were sleeping? It seems I have been caught up in a magical issue and it stinks of your kind of ridiculousness."
Stiles sounded more alert when he replied, "you sound so girly right now, even if you are being an asshole. Whatever happened couldn't have been me. My spell last night definitely didn't work."
Peter rolled his eyes, wishing he could growl at the man but not wanting to embarrass himself further.
"And what, pray tell, did you try to do last night?"
"With me now, dear boy? I don't know what the intended purpose of the spell was, but it seems my body has been reverted back to its adolescent self."
"Fuck, Peter. I'm so sorry. I'm coming over right now."
And with that Stiles hung up on Peter, presumably to quickly get dressed and come fix his mistake.
Though the situation was highly irritating, Peter had to admit there was a certain release that came with his altered state. His mind was no longer weighed down by the images of the torture done to his body every time he looked at himself. His body no longer slowly by the years it had endured, six of which he hadn't actually been living during.
By the time his doorbell rang he had made himself and Stiles coffee just how they both liked it and was reading a book. He hopped out of the chair and opened his door to the sight of his frantic pack mate.
For a moment neither said anything, Stiles just stared open mouthed down at Peter, his body going uncharacteristically still.
Peter slammed the door in his face and walked back to his hair. He was not going to be some freak show exhibit for Stiles to stare at, the man could figure out how to fix it on his own for all Peter cared.
The door opened and Stiles poked his head in looking sheepish, "I'm sorry. It was just a shock. I won't stare at you like that again. Can I come in?"
Peter sighed, closed his book, and waved the idiot in.
"So I think there was an issue with my translating or maybe my pronunciation because I was supposed to go back in time seven months ago, but it looks like your body reverted back to being seven years old." Stiles fiddled with the edged of his sleeve, eyes locked onto the floor as he spoke the last part, "The bad news I can't fix it, but the good news is, it'll only last three days."
Peter stared at him for a long moment, the man growing increasingly more uncomfortable as the silence stretched. He loved this person. God how his heart swelled, childish nerves alight inside him. And yet, he was also seething.
"Time travel, Stiles? Are you kidding me? How many times have I or Alan told you that even if you get every aspect perfect time travel spells have a tendency to go haywire? Give me the spell and tell me what you were trying to do, you foolish boy." Peter stuck his hand out angrily, his chubby palm a sour reminder.
Stiles only nodded and handed Peter a piece of paper where he had translated out the spell, and already Peter saw issues.
"The spell says it will time alter the focus of intent at will. What did you think it said?"
"It will alter time at will with a focus of intent." Stiles was frowning at the floor now.
"And the part you've written down here says seven years not months. And the verb use makes it seem less of "years ago" more of "years." Full-stop."
"I didn't know." Stiles mumbled.
Peter reached out and pulled the young man down into the large armchair, that would usually be too small for both of them.
"Stiles, look at me. Why didn't you come to me with this? You know I can read Ancient Sumarian. What were you trying to do?" Peter's voice was too childish to be soothing like he had wanted, but Stiles still relaxed.
"I was going to go back and stop them from sending you to that horrible place."
The words hung in the air between them, echoing in Peter's mind. Stiles had fought for him then and was going to go back and make sure he would never be sent there.
"Oh my sweet boy." Peter wrapped his small arms around Stiles as tears welled up in his eyes.
He would perhaps never be the man he was before his traumas, but with people like Stiles, and Lydia too, beside him he could heal better than he had ever though possible.
