(@purplepints You're so sweet~ I saw your message. <3 I managed to write a little drabble, but it's an angsty little thing.)
-----break-----
Stiles had a mind that made it easy to compartmentalize, made it easy to lock something away for a long time, lost in a maze of attention-grabbers and deadend thoughts. He didn't forget--he never forgot--but he could not think about it, not let it interfere with whatever he was currently hyper-focused on or enter into whatever derailment his mind was falling under. When your life so often hung in the balance over whatever you were focused on, it made it a little easier to not deviate. Well, that, and his medication.
Stiles had aged too soon. He'd barely been given a chance to mourn his mother before he was put in a position to take care of his own father. Then it was Scott, Derek, the rest of the pack, then eventually the whole damn town. He couldn't stop, couldn't rest, couldn't breathe until everyone was safe, all their enemies gone, everything finally--
Stiles stepped into his childhood room, his footsteps eerily loud in the quiet of his once home. He grabbed the empty box nearest to him and started packing with an oddly empty mind.
The clothes were first. Easy. Then his books, his figures, his posters. The miscellaneous knick-knacks from his desk, his shoes, his cords and gaming systems and research.
When he got to the box in the back of his closet, he paused, fingers twitching as he hesitated to touch it. His mind was a loud rush of white noise as he fought to keep the welling emotion down, the wall he'd managed through sheer willpower to keep up since the day his father had thrown a bottle at him and ranted about his eyes looking just like his mother's. Stiles shut his eyes, biting his lip until he tasted iron, trembling uncontrollably.
He fell to his knees, reaching out and cradling the small box close to his chest. It was a simple wooden box with a tiny combination lock, the type you might find on a cheap diary for children. It was barely large enough for a baseball and Stiles shivered as he heard it's precious contents shift within the box at his touch.
“I miss you,” he whispered, forehead touching the box. “I miss your laugh. Your voice. Your eyes. I miss your face.” He hiccuped, sniffling, and he pushed it all down, trying to control himself.
The biggest regret in the Stilinski house was never spoken of. It happened the night after they laid Claudia Stilinski in the ground, when the Sheriff, in a drunken rage, had burned every last picture of her he could find to try and stave off the pain.
Stiles’ fingers shook as he clicked the combination into the tiny lock.
11-23-69. His mom's birthday.
The lock came open with some coaxing and Stiles peeled open the lid.
Inside was a dried rose petal from his mom's wedding bouquet that Stiles had found in the attic before his dad had gotten rid of it, a necklace his mom had worn that was from her mother, and a post-it note his mom had written for one of his lunches in elementary that said ‘Be good today my little Mieczyslaw and we will go to the park this afternoon. Big kisses! XoXo -mom.’
Stiles closed the lid at one glance of the writing, feeling the words like a knife to his heart. He set it to the side, curling in on himself as he pressed his forehead to the floor and silently sobbed.
“Stiles?”
Stiles startled, mind emptying and pain pushed away as he reached for the blade he kept at his back. He shook his head at the reflex, processing the familiar voice, and only seconds later was Peter walking though his bedroom doorway.
“Sweetheart?” He murmured, instantly at Stiles’ side and worriedly looking for his hurt. Stiles knew he could smell it, knew it would hurt for Peter to scent such emotions from him. Stiles sniffled, wiping at his face and trying to smile.
“Just finishing up,” he tried to assure him, his voice croaking from emotion.
Peter's eyes landed on the box. Stiles stilled.
“Do you need some help?” He asked quietly, reaching out hesitantly to brush his fingers down Stiles’ arm. “Or would you rather I left?”
Stiles twisted his hand to intertwine his fingers with Peter's, looking back down at the box and tracing the seam with one finger.
“It's all I have left of her,” Stiles admitted. “All I could save before…” he sighed, dropping his head.
Peter frowned, squeezing Stiles' fingers.
“I...I can't even really remember her face,” Stiles admitted. “Not...not really. Not fully. And it hurts, to forget.”
“I can't tell you it ever gets easy,” Peter said quietly. They both knew how he still had nightmares of the fire, still sometimes broke down at the loss of his pack, still had full moons where all his wolf could do was howl and cry for pack members long lost. “But it does get easier.”
Stiles laughed wetly, quickly devolving into sobs which he buried into Peter's neck. Peter wrapped his arms around him and let him cry. Gods knew his boy needed to let everything go for once.
Stiles sniffled after a while, pulling away, and Peter gently wiped at his face with a handkerchief which made Stiles smile softly when he took it out.
“You're so posh,” he teased quietly, feeling just a little lighter.
Peter smiled back warmly. “Just because I carry a handkerchief doesn't mean I'm posh,” he refuted in a whisper.
Stiles giggled and Peter's heart swooned at the delicate and rare sound.
“I wish you could have met her,” Stiles said, looking at the box with a wistfulness that went beyond pain. “She would've given you hell, but she would've liked you too, I think.”
“I wish you could've met the others too,” he agreed. “They definitely would've loved you. Would've threatened me if I ever did anything to lose you. Probably would've chosen you over me if we'd ever broken up.”
Stiles laughed, pushing down the wetness that came, and grinned ruefully. “What a broken pair we make, hm?”
Peter brushed his thumb across Stiles’ wet cheek and he leaned forward to kiss him slowly. “I love you, darling,” he whispered.
Stiles leaned into the kiss, pressing their foreheads together when they broke apart, nose brushing along Peter's.
“I love you too, my wolf.”
Stiles pulled away after a long moment and silence, shoulders strong once more, and he didn't hesitate as he latched the lock once more of the box. He stood and gently set it into the nearest box, patting it twice.
Love you, mom, he thought. “Let's finish this later,” he said, taking Peter's hand and walking from the room.
It looks like you might be on a break? I hope everything's okay!
Thank you so much for your nice words!
I have taken a step back from fandom for a lot of reasons. I've got a lot of stressors going on in my personal and work lives which has left me a bit haggard and just all around without the time or energy to write anything. I hate just disappearing on everyone but for my own sake I've had to pull away. I hope with some time and peace once things get settled that I'll be able to get back to myself. It's been a painful last few months and right now I have to take care of myself.
I really do appreciate your thoughts though and I hope I haven't disappointed anyone too much. I really love this fandom and everyone in it! I hope to return once I can, I just can't make any promises or timelines right now.
Giveaway prize fic for @lucifersbouncingballs for my Blog's Birthday Bash! The request was for some Alpha Stiles and bad friend Scott, so I hope I hit the mark. Word count got a little over 6k. I'll be posting it on AO3 tonight!
-----break-----
“Has anyone seen Peter?” Stiles asked at the next Pack meeting, trying to play his concern off as his typical curiosity. It wasn’t like he and Peter had been trying to keep…whatever it was that was developing between them a secret, but most of the Pack was notoriously self-absorbed and hadn’t noticed yet. As it stood, Stiles was only sure that Lydia and Derek knew about it; Lydia because she put it together and warned Peter off hurting Stiles and Derek because he came back to the loft to find them snuggled on the couch looking through an old tome and he’d also warned Peter about hurting Stiles.
Why did they not think Stiles could hurt Peter? Stiles could totally hurt him. If he wanted. Which he didn’t, but that was beside the point.
“No?” Scott said, sounding confused, like he didn’t know why anyone would care to look for Peter.
“Cause, you know, he’s been missing for like, four days,” Stiles announced, trying not to get hysterical.
“And?” Isaac drawled.
“Yeah, he’s been gone for longer than that before,” Erica shrugged.
Yes, but he kept in contact with me during those times and now he won’t answer my texts or calls, Stiles thought venomously. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed at the implications of Stiles asking about him. Peter was well known to drop off the face of the earth at times, but with him currently courting the younger human, that fact that Stiles couldn’t contact him didn’t bode well.
“Have you tracked his phone?” Lydia asked, looking over at him with a quirked brow.
“Location is turned off. I’d need someone to hack into it and with Danny on that exchange program trip…” He sighed in frustration. “Guess I need to add another thing on my list of things to learn how to do.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Kira said optimistically, trying to brighten the mood. Scott instantly smiled dopily at her, like she’d answered all the world’s secrets.
“Yeah, don’t waste your time worrying about him,” Scott said, not even looking away from Kira.
“Do you think he’s up to something?” Allison asked, a bit quieter as the rest of the Pack started talking about something else.
“Not necessarily,” Stiles denied.
Allison stared at him for a moment before leaning even closer. “Do you think he’s in trouble?”
Stiles bit his lip, glancing over to Lydia to see her also looking at him with a bit of concern. Derek, too, when he looked over, was watching them.
“Maybe,” Stiles admitted. “He’s never not gotten in touch for this long.”
“I’ll check with my dad and see if there’s any hunters or other supernaturals in the area,” Allison assured him.
“I’ll run the perimeter tonight,” Derek said, walking around the back of the loveseat to lean next to Stiles’ head.
“I’ll go check his apartment,” Stiles said, sighing.
“Let me know if I can do anything,” Lydia offered, tucking her feet under Stiles’ thigh.
Stiles nodded.
…..
Stiles groaned, dazed from the blow that had come to the back of his head as he’d tried to enter Peter’s apartment. He was being roughly carried over someone’s shoulder and being upside-down meant he was quickly becoming nauseous.
“I didn’t think anyone would be looking for that Omega we caught?” a man was saying.
“Who cares? Maybe this was a boy toy that couldn’t forget a one-night stand. Does it matter?” That was the one carrying him, the deep voice vibrating the limbs holding Stiles. “Can’t have any loose ends calling attention to that damn dog’s disappearance too soon. We’ll just throw him in the pit, give the pets something to chew on before we move on. Haven’t fed them in a few days anyways. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”
Both men laughed loudly at that, ugly barking sounds that jarred Stiles’ body and made him groan in pain. The darkness of the hood over his head combined with everything else and he felt like he was about to be sick.
“Princess boy is waking up,” he heard said and the swaying movement of the gait of the man carrying him stopped. Stiles was flipped back over and dropped on the ground. He curled up tightly, moaning pathetically.
Stiles jerked away as the hood was suddenly pulled away from his eyes and he blinked through squinted eyes at the light above.
“Howdy!”
Stiles tried to get away from the large man standing over him, grin on his face as he grabbed Stiles’ ankle and jerked him back. Stiles yelped as he felt the joint pop before pain laced up his leg.
“Shit,” he wheezed, kicking at him with his other leg and fighting back a wave of nausea.
“Oh, boy. We got a fighter,” the man laughed, yanking Stiles back and into the air upside down, holding him by his ankle. Stiles flailed, wishing he had a better battle plan, wincing as the man shook him up and down and Stiles was pelted in the face by the change and miscellaneous items in his pockets. He reached for his phone as it fell but barely had a moment to process as it hit the ground before the other man crushed it under his boot.
“Maybe you’ll make it fun for them,” the man holding him grinned, before Stiles heard the sound of a heavy door opening.
“What—” he tried to ask, only to yell as he was flung into the darkness followed by the heavy slam of a door and a clunk of a lock falling into place. “Fuck,” he hissed, having landed on his ankle. He only had a second to be concerned about it though as a loud growling erupted around him. A loud, familiar growling.
Werewolves.
“Oh shit,” Stiles said, as eyes flared up in the darkness around him. Red, blue, blue, blue, blue. How many fucking wolves were down here? He scrambled backwards, knowing it was fruitless, knowing he had no way of fighting off one wolf, let alone a pack. The red eyes leapt at him first, sharp pain in his side registering as teeth, and he screamed as claws dug into his skin to hold him. Just as the wolf let go, more than likely to take another bite out of him, blue eyes came rushing forward, snarling viciously unlike anything Stiles had ever heard. He whimpered in pain, weakly moving away from the fighting wolves and trying to hold his seeping blood inside. A yelp followed by whimpers echoed within the darkness before everything grew quiet. Stiles couldn’t see the werewolves eyes anymore, didn’t know which one it was that came nosing closer, heavy wet breath panting in Stiles’ ear.
Stiles groaned. He didn’t have the energy to fight as the werewolf growled lowly against him, sniffing at his neck. At least a bite to the throat would kill him sooner than bleeding out would. The wolf licked at his skin and Stiles whimpered. The wolf echoed his whine, moving down Stiles’ body to nose and lick at his bleeding side.
A snuffling near his head led Stiles to look up, spotting the red eyes from before nearing. Blue eyes near his stomach flared and the wolf sniffing him growled, darker and hungrier than before, and Stiles felt the wolf crawling over his body protectively. The red eyes flashed and the Alpha growled before slinking back into the darkness.
Then Stiles slipped into unconsciousness.
…..
Stiles awoke to a low growling, opening his eyes to see a familiar wolf crouched over him.
“Peter?” he managed out, voice scratchy.
The wolf stopped growling, looking down to see Stiles awake and snuffling at his neck. Stiles frowned, hands reaching to pull the man down into a tight hug.
“You bastard, I thought you were dead,” he grumbled, nuzzling his face into Peter’s neck and stiffening as he realized just how…growly he sounded.
Memories of his situation flashed and Stiles grasped at his side, the skin smooth and wound-less.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Peter growled again, attention stolen, and Stiles looked up to see the Alpha watching them hungrily, stalking in half circles around them as Peter crouched over Stiles protectively.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, though neither wolf stopped growling. His brow furrowed. “What did they do to you?”
Stiles’ heart thumped, startled, as the Alpha lunged, Peter quick to meet them. They were a whirlwind of limbs and claws, slashing and biting at each other. Stiles growled as Peter’s blood dripped on the ground next to him, adrenaline rushing through his veins and pulling his newly made wolf to the forefront of his mind.
Protect. Pack. Protect. Kill. Enemy.
Stiles leapt onto the Alpha’s back as it fought Peter, digging his claws into the wolf’s sides and biting at its shoulder. The Alpha roared furiously, shaking and trying to dislodge Stiles as Peter slashed at its chest and stomach. Stiles gnawed on the skin of the Alpha’s shoulder, moving closer to its throat, blood covering him as his wolf howled.
Protect. Pack. Hunt. Kill. Enemy. Fight. Protect.
The Alpha howled, the sound loud and echoing around them. Other wolves crept close around them, but none intervened. The Alpha swiped at Peter wildly, knocking the other wolf to the side and forcing a pained whine from him. Stiles’ wolf saw bloodlust, claws curling into the Alpha’s skin as he tore his teeth into the skin of the Alpha’s throat and jerked his head back.
The Alpha spark overwhelmed him, his eyes burning red as he howled his victory. The other wolves whined in submission, accepting the change of leadership without a fight. Stiles followed his instinct to Peter, searching for wounds, growling and lapping at every cut and scratch he found.
Peter groaned, blue eyes flickering and he easily bore his throat as Stiles’ nosed at his chin. Stiles felt his own eyes burning, knew they were blaring red but he didn’t know how to fight it, the wolf under his skin close and aggressive. He was all instinct, just as feral as the rest of the wolves here seemed to be.
The scents were overwhelming with his wolf so close to the surface and he focused instead on Peter to try and ground himself, nose snuffling in the other wolf’s hair. Peter whined lowly in pain, instinctively submitting to his Alpha’s concern.
Stiles watched the other wolves with narrowed eyes as he curled around his wounded packmate, waiting for him to heal so they could find some way out of this mess.
…..
Stiles wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he was thrown into this pit with the other wolves, but distantly he was sure it’d been long enough to gain the others’ attention and they had to be looking for him. His wolf was still too strong though, the instinct to protect and fight too much, and Stiles found himself more growly than verbal at this point. It didn’t seem to matter much though because even after Peter healed he remained nonverbal also, mostly just growling and snuffling at Stiles. Scenting, that distant human part of him explained and Stiles’ wolf merely shrugged off the conscience thought and accepted the innate response to Pack, returning the instinct.
The other wolves were clearly Omegas, packless, without any scents shared among them. They snapped at each other, hungry and antsy, but they all steered clear of Stiles when he flared his Alpha red eyes and roared. Stiles had given almost full control to his wolf, needing the loss of humanity to get through this. He just had to keep them alive until the others got here. He trusted that they’d come.
He and Peter had walked the perimeter of their prison, looking for weaknesses. The floor and walls were all hard-packed dirt and rock and the door was heavy steel, sealed tightly from the outside. Stiles felt deep grooves into the walls around the hinges, scratches from desperate wolves in the past trying to get out the only way they could find.
His stomach ached for food but he did not let it waver him. He had to protect his Pack, had to find a way to safety for them, then he could worry about himself. Unfortunately it seemed the best course of action was to wait for now. He and Peter lied closed to the door, eyes trained on it as they took turns dozing, shoving the other awake whenever sounds outside alluded to a fight.
Stiles tensed, ready to pounce, and Peter stalked around to the other side. They coordinated seamlessly, hearing the scratch of the lock outside being removed.
Stiles leapt before the door was even open, but he hadn't factored in the blinding light of the sun and just how long he'd been in the darkness. He howled mindlessly, pawing at his face as he tried to stop the burning.
He could hear Peter roar, his eyes just as blind, but his nose worked and he stood protectively over Stiles as the young wolf tried to orient himself, much more used to the sensation of sudden shifts in his senses.
“Stiles?!” A familiar voice shrieked and Peter slashed at them as they neared.
No! Pack! Stiles thought, human mind waking in the midst of the chaos. Anchor. Think of dad. You don't want to hurt dad.
Stiles whined at the very thought, wolf lulled from its posturing, and Stiles blinked slowly, blazing red cooling as he came about himself.
“Stiles?”
“Allison?” He croaked, voice scratchy and parched. He rolled to his side, coughing, and looked up to see her and her dad standing, her bow trained on Peter who glared at her, her dad's gun trained on the cave opening at the other Omegas who were sniffing curiously and growling hungrily as they eyed them.
Instinct flared and Stiles flashed a fang at them with a sneer, eyes bright red as he roared. My Pack! Don't even think about it!
The Omegas whined, fear-scent wafting through the trees as they scattered. Stiles roared again, deep and echoing a warning as it followed them all. My territory! Don't return!
With the Omegas gone, now both Argents stared down the duo with their steely expressions. Stiles took a few breaths, thoughts of his dad working to coax the wolf back down into his veins.
“It's okay,” Stiles said, though he didn't know if he was trying to calm himself or Peter. He stood slowly, hand pressed to Peter's back, right between his shoulder blades, and the wolf snarled at the Argents even as he leaned into Stiles’ touch. A pang of protectiveness thrummed through him and Stiles had the distant realization that he was feeling a Pack bond and that protectiveness was Peter's. “It's fine,” he assured him, hand sliding even further up to curl around the back of Peter's neck. The wolf eased from his crouch at the touch, belonging and safety and importantprotectmineaffection almost overloading Stiles.
“Stiles, what happened?” Allison asked.
Stiles turned to her, not removing himself from Peter's side, glancing at the bloody bodies of the hunters around him, riddled with bullets and arrows. “A lot,” he summed as best he could, shrugging and flashing his red eyes at her. She tensed and Chris gripped his gun tighter. Peter tried to lower back into a defensive stance but Stiles tightened his hold on his neck and the beta flashed a fang in irritation but remained steady at his side.
“I think we have some things to straighten out.”
…..
“So these hunters were kidnapping Omegas to sell to other hunters as training wolves for beginning hunters to kill?” Stiles asked incredulously from the backseat.
Allison nodded from the front seat, turned around to face them both while Chris drove them back towards Beacon Hills.
“It took us almost two days to find you,” Chris explained. “They had given me notice that they were here as custom but it wasn't until Allison mentioned Peter was missing that I thought they might be doing something unsavory. They told me that were trying to head off a wendigo that one of their co-hunters was steering this way.”
Stiles shook his head, deafening the snarl of his wolf in his head. He was still on edge with the hunters so close, wolf ash clinging to their clothes and sending his nose buzzing, but he trusted Allison and Chris and he was also human so he'd just have to get over it. Peter was still nonverbal and had no problem vocalizing his distaste with a growl however. Stiles held his wrist tightly and squeezed when the wolf got too antsy, doing his best to project support and calmness through his bond with the Beta.
“Your dad was about to call a county-wide search party,” Allison said.
Stiles nodded. “Sounds about right,” he sighed. “Glad you got to me first. Those guys were crazy.” He glanced over at Peter. “Any idea what they may have given Creeperwolf over here to make him lose it?”
“It's not uncommon for hunters to use a strand of wolfsbane that makes wolf's turn more feral,” Chris said. “A wolf that's powered by instinct and doesn't have his human senses is easier to track and to hunt.”
Stiles growled lowly but tried to shake himself out of it.
“Your eyes are glowing again,” Allison pointed out.
“I'm trying,” Stiles said, tiredly. “I'm so hungry. There's no telling how Peter's not trying to snack on you two right now.”
“Peter's not doing anything because you're here and you're his Alpha,” Chris said. “You said we're not enemies so he won't attack. A true beta in a real Pack would starve himself if his Alpha asked. That's just how werewolf Pack bonds work.”
Stiles barely managed to bite back a cutting ‘And you would know, huh?’ It didn't seemed the time to be dragging up old wounds when this was still so fresh.
“Thank you for finding us,” Stiles settled on, managing to get it out once he'd bitten down his wolf. He understood now the sudden emotion shifts, everything was prickling at his nerves and he felt close to imploding with his sense overload.
“We'll stop at a drive-thru and get you both something to eat,” Chris promised him, sounding wearily. “Dr. Deaton might have a cure for Peter, I’ll call him while we’re on the way. If not, he’ll probably just have to wait for it to leave his system. Just try to rest and keep up the good work not losing control while I'm driving.”
Stiles snorted at the dark humor, shaking his head at his life but relented enough to lean against Peter and try to get a few minutes rest.
…..
They'd nearly given the McDonald's employees a heart attack when Chris pulled up and ordered thirty hamburgers, a load of fries, and multiple drinks to stave off their thirst. When they'd gotten their order, Stiles and Peter had attacked it like, well, like a pack of rabid wolves. Then they'd both rested more easy for the remainder of the trip, hunger no longer gnawing at their bones.
“Stiles!”
Stiles nearly melted into his father's embrace when they arrived, ignoring the flicker of irritation at Chris’ aborted movement to try and keep the Sheriff back, trying to say he wasn't safe. As if he'd ever hurt his dad.
His wolf grumbled lowly in agreement and Stiles found himself rubbing his cheek on his dad's shoulder almost aggressively. Mine, his wolf demanded.
“Uh, Stiles?” Scott called out hesitantly.
Stiles could feel it, the wolf perked on the edge of his senses as the other werewolves gathered closer. Pack? It wondered, wary.
Derek stepped into his space first, the former Alpha easily recognizing the spark in the other and deferring easily in his stance. Derek was a born Beta and had no issue submitting; he'd hated the responsibility and weight of the Alpha spark. He studied his uncle, searching for wounds, and Peter chuffed, eyes narrow with mistrust.
“Oh, Stiles,” Lydia said with concern, hand over her mouth.
Stiles’ eyes flared red and Scott's did in response. Stiles grit his teeth to keep his wolf in check, the Alpha in him instantly at arms at the challenge even if he logically knew it was only a reaction, not an actual threat. Scott wouldn't actually attack him.
...would he?
Scott looked unhappy either way, scowl setting his jaw stubbornly. “You turned,” he said, as if Stiles had had a choice in this. Stiles’ lip curled, a show of fang, and he shook his head, stepping out of his dad’s arms and maneuvering the man behind him. Mine, his protective aura said. My Pack.
Lydia looked between the two Alphas sadly before slowly moving to stand behind the Sheriff, sighing in disappointment but not seeming to be surprised. Allison and her dad stood to the side, but their mistrustful gaze weighed on Scott, weapons at the ready always, and their allegiance felt clear.
“You can't be an Alpha!” Scott demanded.
“I didn't ask to be,” Stiles said, attempting some level of control. His wolf was getting worked up though as Pack lines were drawn, puffing up in ready for a challenge, a fight, and if Scott didn't calm down Stiles didn't think he was going to be able to hold back its reins for long.
“You have to give up the spark,” Scott declared, brightening like he’d just thought of the answer. “You can just give it to me and then it won’t make you lose control.”
Stiles felt as if he’d been slapped. “What?” he managed to get out through the vicious snarl of anger in his head. “I’m not giving up my spark.”
Scott scowled. “I’m just trying to help you, dude. It’s too strong for you. This is the only way.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Stiles denied. “I’m no more out of control than you were.”
“But I’m better at it now. And I’m the Alpha. We don’t need another Alpha.” Scott had his puppy-dog eyes on now. “Come on, Stiles, you’re not really going to tear our Pack apart like this, are you?”
“Two Packs can exist within the same territory in the Alphas get along,” Chris offered quietly.
“But we don’t have two Packs, just two Alphas,” Scott denied. “Stiles doesn’t have a Pack. He’ll just end up going crazy, like Peter.”
The wolf in question growled lowly. Stiles didn’t try to stop him, hackles rising himself as his wolf lay quiet in his head. A quiet predator is a hunting predator, Stiles noted calmly, almost detached as his narrowed eyes made a quick study of Scott. He was standing aggressively even if he didn’t know it, pulled up to his full height and trying to intimidate. His jaw was set with stubbornness, irritation tickling at his eyes, and Stiles could make out the sound of him grinding his teeth minutely. Erica and Boyd looked unconcerned behind him, casual, open; Isaac looked affronted on Scott’s behalf, posturing up just as much as the Alpha himself. Kira seemed mostly just confused, clutching her katana to her chest by the scabbard instead of the hilt, but she stood at Scott’s side all the same, her loyalty made known.
Stiles didn’t have to stretch to put his head higher than Scott’s, his recent growth spurt making him taller than basically everyone in the know except Isaac whenever he made the effort to stand up straight. He was careful to keep his aura non-threatening even as he searched for hidden weaknesses that would make any fight that may break out as short as possible. He didn’t want to fight Scott, his best friend, his brother, but he also wasn’t about to give up this gift. Maybe he hadn’t planned on getting the bite, but it was far from the curse Scott made it out to be and he didn’t think it would be as hard to learn control for him either.
“Scott,” Stiles said, trying to go for as simple and matter-of-fact as he could, “I’m not giving up my spark. And I do have a Pack.”
Scott growled lowly, eyes flashing as he struggled with his shift, anger crossing his visage before he seemed to bite it back.
“I’m the Alpha!” he shouted.
Stiles fisted his hands, shifted claws digging into the skin of his palms as he fought against his wolf’s urgings to attack, to accept the challenge and to put this Alpha in his place, claim this territory as his as it was meant to be.
“It would seem I’ve interrupted something.”
They all shifted, the tension in the room making them jumpy, but Dr. Deaton walked in with the same placid smile and unperturbed manner as usual.
“Dr. Deaton,” Scott greeted him, instantly at ease as the man walked in. “Stiles is just being foolish, you didn’t interrupt anything important.”
Attack, his wolf demanded. Our territory. Our Pack. Challenge. Claim.
Stiles breathed slowly, his being thrumming with a rush of power, wolf close to the surface.
“I actually brought the medicine for Peter that Chris asked for,” Dr. Deaton said, revealing a capped syringe from his pocket. “This should end the effects of the wolfsbane poison the hunters dosed him with to make him feral.”
It was a sigh of relief to know that Peter would be given his right mind again. Stiles hated not being able to ask his thoughts on this, even if he could feel his emotions through the Pack bond. It was so much more satisfying to be able to talk to the older wolf, to snark and tease and continue their odd courtship dance that revolved around acceptance without judgment, incessant curiosity and nosiness, and a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Scott smiled. “That’s good. We should get that to him right away.”
It was like a cold chill down Stiles’ spine, like he’d been drenched in ice water. Scott’s smile was mischievous, his eyes bright with excitement, and when Dr. Deaton walked forward with his mysterious calm, Stiles roared.
Scott and the others behind him jumped back, surprised, but Scott was quick to shift and roar in return, claws held at the ready at his side as he moved to regain the ground he’d lost, pouncing at Stiles.
Stiles handed control to his wolf freely and instinct lead him to dodge, swiping at Scott’s leg and twisting to dig into his side. Scott howled, claws raking down Stiles’ back, and Stiles snapped his fangs, trying to bite into his shoulder, to tear and win and force a submission. Scott shoved him off of him and they circled each other, growling and angry.
“This is what I mean!” Scott shouted at him. “You have no control!”
“You will not hurt my Pack!” Stiles resounded, rolling with Scott’s leaping attack and dragging them both to the ground.
“I wasn’t hurting anyone!” Scott denied in their flurry of limbs, both clawing and kicking and trying to bite each other wildly.
“You hate Peter!” Stiles said, curling his claws into Scott’s flesh near his collar bone and gripping tight, slamming Scott down onto his back so hard his head cracked against the floor. “You were going to poison him even further if not kill him! Just like you did with Gerard!”
The accusation boomed through the room, echoing not only because of Stiles’ sheer volume but at the eerie silence that followed.
“Dr. Deaton,” the Sheriff spoke first, the only one brave enough to break the heavy silence his son had caused. “What’s in that syringe?”
Dr. Deaton smiled serenely. “It’s just a serum to flush out the poison,” he explained, holding up the syringe.
“May I see it?” the Sheriff asked. Dr. Deaton hesitated a flicker before handing it over, face never giving himself away.
Scott struggled under Stiles’ hold and Stiles snapped his fangs in his face, eyes blazing in his fury. His claws dug in deeper and Scott hissed, stopping his movement.
The Sheriff eyed him before looking to the syringe, twisting off the cap and pressing a few drops of the liquid inside into his palm.
Instantly the telling sharp scent of wolfsbane pierced every wolf’s nose in the room, the potency pungently acrid.
“Liar!” Stiles accused furiously, glaring back down at Scott. “You’re a filthy liar!”
Scott dug into Stiles’ chest, throwing him off and biting back a whimper as Stiles’ claws tore a chuck of his shoulder as he refused to just let go.
“Peter deserves to die! This is the perfect chance!” Scott shouted. “He’s been poisoning you against me for years now! But no more!” Scott shifted, turning quickly from angry to sympathetic, pitying. “Can’t you see I’m just doing what’s best for you? You’ll understand more when he’s gone and we take away your spark. It’s just too much for you to handle, bro.”
Stiles had never felt such unadulterated fury. His anger was fed by his wolf, compounded and multiplied, until all of it was just rushing through his veins with every pump of his heart. He was shaking in his rage, teeth gnashing as he imagined tearing into the other Alpha’s throat and ripping him to shreds for daring to threaten his Pack.
His mate, his wolf howled, the frenzied sound panging down sharply at his heart and twisting within his chest with the urge to do something. He needed to fight, to hurt, to protect, to kill—
“Son.”
Stiles bit his lip to the point of bleeding as his dad stepped in front of him, arm curling around his shoulder.
“Scott, you and your Pack need to leave.”
Scott shook his head, dumbfounded. “Sheriff, this is our—”
“This loft is mine,” Derek corrected him coldly. “And you’re not my Pack.” He glared at Scott evenly. “You’ve never been my Pack.”
Scott jerked back like he’d been struck before posturing up at Derek as if to attack him next. Stiles snarled, stepping forward and nearly knocking his father down as he glared at the other Alpha warningly.
“Now, Scott,” the Sheriff demanded, his tone the no-nonsense of someone used to dealing with hardened criminals. “Or I’ll be taking you in for trespassing after you’ve been asked to leave and I don’t want to have to make a call to Melissa to tell her her son is in my custody.”
Scott deflated with an angry glower, flashing his eyes and fangs at Stiles even as he steered the remaining members of his Pack outside the loft. Dr. Deaton was the first to slip out, aware of the narrowed red eyes of the newest turned wolf watching his every move, silently fuming.
“Breathe, son,” his dad ordered once the loft door had shut behind them. Stiles growled under his breath, still glaring at the door. “Stiles,” he said, forcing Stiles to look at him. “I don’t want to take my son in for murder either. Now calm yourself down. You know better than to act like this.”
Stiles slumped, wolf chastised, and he bit his bottom lip to hold in a low whine at the reprimand. He was starting to feel the pain of his wounds now but almost as soon as he had that thought he felt the skin start to stitch itself together. It was an odd feeling, itchy, and he fought back a squirm. “I know,” Stiles agreed, closing his eyes and taking in slow, even breaths, saturating his lungs in the scent of Pack and territory to soothe his frayed instincts. “I’m sorry, dad.”
The Sheriff gave a slow smile. “I’m proud of you, son,” he said, pulling Stiles close. “Brand new werewolf and still got your wits about you.”
“It is impressive,” Chris agreed.
“I didn’t see that coming,” Allison input sadly, looking towards the door with obvious disappointment in her eyes.
“I did,” Lydia said, clearly also unhappy with the situation but not surprised. “Scott’s been getting more and more wrapped into himself and his so-called morals. Perhaps I didn’t see Stiles becoming an Alpha werewolf, but I did see this blow-up happening eventually.” She looked over at Stiles with a weak smile. “I was always rooting for you, you know. You’ve always been more this Pack’s Alpha than anyone else.”
Stiles blinked. “Really? You think?” he asked.
“Definitely,” Derek agreed surprisingly, smirking, and Stiles could feel a Pack bond already alive between them, thrumming with approval and satisfaction. “You were basically a human Alpha this whole time.”
The others tensed as Peter moved close to Stiles, rumbling lowly, but Stiles felt his protectiveness through their bond and didn’t startle as the wolf curled his arms around Stiles’ waist from behind and rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ shoulder possessively.
“Stiles,” Peter murmured, voice growling and slurring, but it was still a word.
“You coming back to us, Creeperwolf?” Stiles asked, glancing at the man leaning on his shoulder and reaching up to rub his hand through his hair, scenting him in return.
“Some,” Peter managed, before snuffling against Stiles’ shoulder and blinking slowly like he was coming down from a high. Stiles noted that his pupils were wide, dilated beyond their normal range, and his eyelids were hooded with exhaustion.
“Go to bed,” he directed, “maybe it’ll be out of your system by tomorrow.”
Peter grunted, nuzzling against him one more time before shuffling his heavy feet up the circular stairs.
“This has turned into a mess, hasn't it?” Stiles spoke aloud, watching Peter disappear up the stairs.
“No more so than anything else with you kids,” Chris muttered, finally holstering his gun.
Allison laughed. “Come on, dad. We keep you young with our problems.”
Chris cracked a tired smile at that and the whole room seemed to slump in relief that the worst was over.
“You mind if I crash on the couch tonight?” Stiles asked Derek. “I don't want to leave without knowing for sure if Peter's going to be okay.”
“Since when have you asked permission to take your run of my loft?” Derek asked with a raised brow.
Stiles gave a sheepish grin. “Now?”
The Sheriff shook his head fondly. “If you're going to be okay, I'm going to head home for a couple hours of sleep before my shift. I'm glad you're home, son. Don't ever scare me like that again.” He swept Stiles into another tight hug which Stiles gladly returned, nosing into his dad's shoulder familiarly.
“I'll try not to,” he promised quietly.
His dad ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the longer strands.
“We'll walk out with you,” Chris said.
“I'm glad you're safe, Stiles,” Allison offered, giving him a quick hug.
“Me too,” Lydia said, pulling Stiles down by his shoulder to press a quick kiss on his cheek. “Next time don't go investigating on your own.”
Stiles smiled. “I promise,” he said. “I've got a Pack to worry about now, after all.”
“Exactly,” Lydia agreed, patting his cheek affectionately before she joined Allison, Chris, and the Sheriff out the door.
Derek seemed to hesitate after their leaving, but the Pack bond gave him away, and Stiles smiled tiredly as he walked over to hug the other wolf.
“I promise it'll be different this time,” he said, and the Beta whined as he leaned against his new Alpha. Derek accepted the scenting as a man thirsting in the desert accepted water. “We'll be a real Pack. I'll make sure of it.”
Derek nodded against his shoulder and Stiles ran a hand over the back of his neck. Derek seemed to melt into their Pack bond that Stiles could feel thrumming with hope and safety. He smiled, squeezing the back of his neck once more before pulling away.
“Let's get some sleep, Sourwolf. It's been a long day for all of us.”
…..
Stiles hummed as he started making a pot of coffee, the prickle of a Pack bond telling him someone was awake. He grinned to himself at Peter's attempted sneak attack, not even flinching when the man embraced him from behind.
“Better?” Stiles asked, watching the coffee drip down into the cup.
“Better,” Peter murmured, voice clear of any growl. He hummed and Stiles felt a warm, glowing affection pooling through their Pack bond. He leaned back against the older wolf easily.
“Not how I expected this courtship to end,” Peter noted casually, even if nothing through the bond read as casual.
“You mean you didn't foresee yourself being kidnapped by hunters, being poisoned to the point of being feral, and me rushing in to save you without a plan and becoming an Alpha werewolf?” Stiles shook his head teasingly. “And you call yourself a master schemer.”
Peter chuckled. “Perhaps I could turn in that title for something a little...different.”
Mate, his wolf called quietly. He felt an echo of the same feeling through their Pack bond. Stiles smiled.
“I think that can be arranged,” Stiles murmured, turning around to face the other wolf.
Peter gently pressed one hand to his cheek, fingers caressing the skin. He leaned forward until their noses brushed, breaths colliding. “May I kiss you?” He whispered.
Stiles breathed him in, eyes glowing a deep red as his wolf howled in his head.
Commission winnings for @freedominwriting of Void Stiles and wolfed out Peter, for therapeutic-steters-bbb. Thank you both for such a fantastic project. Remaining prizes will be shared by @therapeutic-steter soon!
Stiles looked up to see Peter handing him what looked like a flashdrive.
“You made me a flashdrive?” Stiles asked, grinning.
Peter glowered. “No, smart-ass. I made you what’s on the flashdrive. It’s the bestiary you provided the pack with a few weeks ago. I’ve made some notes and corrections for you to add.”
“Really? That’s awesome, dude. Thanks!” Stiles took the flashdrive, excited to get home and read the new firsthand info.
“I’d be willing to go over it with you. If you’d like,” Peter offered slyly.
Stiles eyed him, slow smirk creeping at Peter’s not-so-subtle attempt to spend time with him alone. “I might like that, zombiewolf,” he teased. "How about after you buy me dinner tonight?"
Peter laughed, sending Stiles a wink. "It's a date then, sweetheart."
Peter cupped Stiles’ face, murmuring sweet words to try and calm the distraught boy. Stiles hiccuped, leaning into the wolf but his cries didn’t stop.
“Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Peter asked, wiping the tears even as more replaced them. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“My dad,” Stiles managed, almost fully blubbering. “The hospital called. He was shot.”
Peter instantly swept him into his arms and rushed for his car. “Okay, we’re going to the hospital,” he declared. “Just calm down. Everything will be alright,” he promised, eyes steely as he pressed his lips against the top of Stiles’ head. He hoped he wouldn’t be made a liar.
Hearing Peter laugh--a genuine one, not the mocking chuckle he liked to let out when he was making fun of someone--was like the opening of the clouds after a storm, brightening the way. Stiles decided early on that he’d find more reasons to get the wolf to laugh, mentally making note of what brought out surprised bouts of humor and what put the wolf in a good mood.
“I really like your laugh,” Stiles murmured, almost offhand. He blushed when Peter glanced his way and he realized he’d said that out loud.
“Oh?” Peter asked, curling smirk and raised brow.
“Um. Yeah, I do,” Stiles admitted.
Peter’s smirk softened to something most genuine and he teasingly brushed Stiles’ heated cheeks, making the boy pull away embarrassed. Peter chuckled lightly and Stiles smiled; the sound was worth any embarrassment.
Hey, guys! In thanks of you all being so welcoming and amazing, I am hosting a giveaway to celebrating my blog turning one!
This giveaway runs from September 9th to September 28th (11:59 p.m. EST).
There will be three winners!!!!
One prize will be fic request by the winner created by myself. It will be a minimum of 5,000 words! You must be following me to win this prize!
Also, there are two absolutely amazing guest artists that have agreed to create prizes! The guest artists are:
@hd-hale
Harrison will be creating a Steter art commission by request of the winner! They’ve got a lot of crazy amazing art on their blog, so check them out!
And…
@squishysterek
SquishySterek can do some amazing Steter fanfic or edits for a winner to choose for a commission, or they have some physical creations too like jewelry and stitched thumb-hole sweaters! They’re truly awesome, make sure to check out their stuff on their blog or you can go to think link here!!!!
(Note: you must be able to give your address if you want a physical prize, so therefore the preference would be if you were over 18 or have parental permission. I can’t really police anyone on this, but honor system, guys. Be safe out there.)
You must reblog this post to be entered into the giveaway. A like will count as an additional entry. Only one reblog per person. As I mentioned, you’ll have to be following me to win the prompt fic prize by me.
All winners will be contacted by me within 48-hours of the giveaway ending and you will have to be comfortable providing your email if you win. All squicks and artist limitations will be discussed with the winners prior to the guest artists contacting you. Once the winners have decided on their requests for the prizes, we can work out the timeline for everything to be done and posted.
(If the winner does not respond within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen!)
I’m also doing other special things for this event if you’ll check out my blog. Beyond that, I hope everyone has fun and enjoys the Steter~
All likes and reblogs prior to this one will be counted as one entry each! A random generator will be picking the winners and I'll be contacting them on or before Monday. Winners will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. There will be an announcement once all prizes have been spoken for!
Peter was well known for his ask forgiveness, not permission attitude (and often, he didn’t even bother with asking for forgiveness). Still, even from the beginning, he’d had the sense not to use that method with Stiles. Stiles had always thrown off his plans, giving him an instinctual warning of threat even if he couldn’t wrap his head around why, and his wolf snarled and fought against the idea of forcing the human (if he could even be called that) to do something he didn’t want to do. Peter believed in his wolf, more so than anything else, so he was a bit more cautious when it came to Stiles.
“Do you want the Bite?” he’d asked, hearing the lie in Stiles’ answer but respecting it all the same.
“Would you like to have dinner?” he’d asked, shifting nervously under Stiles’ narrowed eyes and accepting his conditions that he got to choose the place and that Peter wouldn’t be ‘too creepy’.
“Can I kiss you?” Peter asked, breath shaky with both excitement and nerves. It’d been a long time since he’d felt like this, palms sweaty and heart pounding.
Stiles looked at him with those dazzling whiskey eyes and Peter thought that there was no way that look was human. Stiles was too brilliant, too astute, too all-around impressive to be considered something normal or mundane. And when he let a slow smile curve his lips, impish grin tainted with mischievousness, nodding his consent and leaning closer, Peter wondered just what he’d found himself enthralled with.
As Stiles pressed a slow kiss to his lips though, Peter found that he didn’t really care. He was Stiles’ now, regardless.
Hey, guys! In thanks of you all being so welcoming and amazing, I am hosting a giveaway to celebrating my blog turning one!
This giveaway runs from September 9th to September 28th (11:59 p.m. EST).
There will be three winners!!!!
One prize will be fic request by the winner created by myself. It will be a minimum of 5,000 words! You must be following me to win this prize!
Also, there are two absolutely amazing guest artists that have agreed to create prizes! The guest artists are:
@hd-hale
Harrison will be creating a Steter art commission by request of the winner! They’ve got a lot of crazy amazing art on their blog, so check them out!
And…
@squishysterek
SquishySterek can do some amazing Steter fanfic or edits for a winner to choose for a commission, or they have some physical creations too like jewelry and stitched thumb-hole sweaters! They’re truly awesome, make sure to check out their stuff on their blog or you can go to think link here!!!!
(Note: you must be able to give your address if you want a physical prize, so therefore the preference would be if you were over 18 or have parental permission. I can’t really police anyone on this, but honor system, guys. Be safe out there.)
You must reblog this post to be entered into the giveaway. A like will count as an additional entry. Only one reblog per person. As I mentioned, you’ll have to be following me to win the prompt fic prize by me.
All winners will be contacted by me within 48-hours of the giveaway ending and you will have to be comfortable providing your email if you win. All squicks and artist limitations will be discussed with the winners prior to the guest artists contacting you. Once the winners have decided on their requests for the prizes, we can work out the timeline for everything to be done and posted.
(If the winner does not respond within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen!)
I’m also doing other special things for this event if you’ll check out my blog. Beyond that, I hope everyone has fun and enjoys the Steter~
“This is such bullshit!” Stiles shouted angrily, throwing his phone on his bed to keep from crushing it in anger. He clutched at his hair and barely managed to keep from screaming, curling in on himself and growling under his breath.
Peter poked his head into the room hesitantly, brows furrowed in concern and eyes immediately scanning for danger. When he didn’t see anything, he focused back on Stiles.
“Stiles?” he asked, unsure what caused his boyfriend’s anger and if he would want to talk about it.
Stiles breathed heavily for a moment, deep even breaths. “I need a moment,” he muttered, fist clenching. “And I need you to keep me from committing murder.”
Peter was already nodding, moving further into the room and sitting on the bed, giving Stiles his space but also within reach if the other needed him.
Stiles let out another breath, slowly dropping his arms to his sides and staring down at the ground with a blank stare.
“The scholarship I won lost most of their funding,” Stiles finally spoke, voice void of emotion. “They’re only going to cover a quarter of my tuition. No more full ride like they promised.”
Peter’s eyes widened and he felt a protective rage welling up in himself too. Stiles had practically killed himself working to meet the parameters of that scholarship so he could make it to his dream school and his dad wouldn’t have to take on any additional debt. And with school starting in just two months...
“We’ll figure it out,” Peter assured him, reaching out and coaxing Stiles into his arms. He would make sure of it.
Hey, guys! In thanks of you all being so welcoming and amazing, I am hosting a giveaway to celebrating my blog turning one!
This giveaway runs from September 9th to September 28th (11:59 p.m. EST).
There will be three winners!!!!
One prize will be fic request by the winner created by myself. It will be a minimum of 5,000 words! You must be following me to win this prize!
Also, there are two absolutely amazing guest artists that have agreed to create prizes! The guest artists are:
@hd-hale
Harrison will be creating a Steter art commission by request of the winner! They’ve got a lot of crazy amazing art on their blog, so check them out!
And…
@squishysterek
SquishySterek can do some amazing Steter fanfic or edits for a winner to choose for a commission, or they have some physical creations too like jewelry and stitched thumb-hole sweaters! They’re truly awesome, make sure to check out their stuff on their blog or you can go to think link here!!!!
(Note: you must be able to give your address if you want a physical prize, so therefore the preference would be if you were over 18 or have parental permission. I can’t really police anyone on this, but honor system, guys. Be safe out there.)
You must reblog this post to be entered into the giveaway. A like will count as an additional entry. Only one reblog per person. As I mentioned, you’ll have to be following me to win the prompt fic prize by me.
All winners will be contacted by me within 48-hours of the giveaway ending and you will have to be comfortable providing your email if you win. All squicks and artist limitations will be discussed with the winners prior to the guest artists contacting you. Once the winners have decided on their requests for the prizes, we can work out the timeline for everything to be done and posted.
(If the winner does not respond within 48 hours, a new winner will be chosen!)
I’m also doing other special things for this event if you’ll check out my blog. Beyond that, I hope everyone has fun and enjoys the Steter~
Stiles glanced over at Peter with narrowed eyes. “There’s not a prank waiting for me in there, is there?” he asked suspiciously. Lately the pack had started a prank war despite them all being well out of high school (Stiles himself nearing twenty four) and Stiles had been the only one able to avoid being pranked. Truthfully, Peter was the only one he was worried about being able to get one over on him, but by virtue of them being boyfriends, Peter had better leave him out of his pursuit to be the top pranker.
“Of course not, sweetheart,” Peter assured him, smiling genuinely and taking Stiles’ hand to kiss the back of it softly. Stiles melted, always a sucker when it came to Peter being mushy even after them being together for almost five years now, and then he opened the door to the loft to walk in.
“What...” Stiles started, staring in surprise at the lights that were decorating the loft. Sure, they all had made efforts to make the loft look more homey through the years, but nothing like this. Stiles startled when he realized there was a trail of rose petals under his feet and he looked back at Peter with wide eyes. “What are you...”
“Shh,” Peter shushed him, taking his hand and leading him further into the loft. Stiles followed, eyes taking in the lights and roses and candles decorating the entire space. The area was scented like the forest--the work of the candles, no doubt. Peter led him to the middle of the space in front of the large window, a strategic area that had very obviously been left clear.
“Peter?” Stiles asked, looking to him unsurely.
Peter stopped in front of him and took his other hand as well, turning Stiles to face him and kissing his knuckles tenderly.
“Stiles,” he murmured.
Stiles remembered late night conversations, secrets, talks of the future. Emotions welled and he sniffled. “I swear this better not be a prank,” he warned, the threat mitigated by his watery smile.
“Never,” Peter vowed, breath against the skin of his palm before he slowly sunk to his knee.
“Stiles,” he started again, and Stiles bit his lip but couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from curving up in excitement. Peter felt himself grinning too and didn’t even try to contain himself. “Will you marry me?”
“Hell yes,” Stiles managed to get out before almost falling on top of Peter, embracing him tightly and making them both collapse on the ground as he tried to kiss the entirety of Peter’s face.
Peter stared in horror at the broken Star Wars figure, unable to believe his shit luck. Somehow, between Erica and Isaac’s roughhousing, they had pushed Peter into the shelf where Stiles had started putting things to make the loft more ‘homey’ and Peter had knocked over the Wookiee figurine by accident.
“Oooooooo,” Isaac said, smirking.
“Stiles is going to be soooo mad,” Erica joined in.
Peter growled at them, swiping at them with his claws and nearly giving chase as they scampered off.
“Stiles is going to be so mad about what?” Stiles asked, coming into the room.
Peter froze like a deer in headlights as Sitles focused on him, the boy easily able to spot the broken figure.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said immediately. “It was the idiot pups’ fault, I swear.”
Stiles seemed surprised before he started laughing, seemingly not upset. “Dude, no reason to be upset. I had kind of expected Derek to break that thing the moment I brought it in. And besides, it was an accident. That’s okay.” He stepped over to the linen closet, pulling a new box out with a new figure. He grinned. “I bought two.”
Stiles grinned. “It’s a surprise, dude. Come on. Please?”
Peter glanced around them, checking the empty loft for any traps, before very hesitantly holding his hands up and closing his eyes.
“Okay, just keep your eyes shut for second,” Stiles said voice moving about the room.
“I’m giving you ten seconds,” Peter said. As much as he may trust Stiles, he was still not comfortable with the vulnerability of having his eyes closed. His ears and nose strained to follow Sitles’ movements, trying to determine just what the boy was up to.
“Just. One. Second,” Stiles muttered, sounding like he was digging through something by the ruffling of cloth and a few heavy thunks. Books? Was he getting something out of his book-bag?
“Finally!” Stiles cheered, before Peter heard him getting closer. “Okay, this is fragile, so be easy, okay?” Stiles said, now standing close enough for Peter to feel his body-heat in front of him. Gently, Peter felt a piece of paper being placed in his hands. He frowned, opening his eyes to see an old-style photograph, the edges yellowing with age.
Peter’s eyes widened in realization, obviously recognizing the forms of his parents next to a young Talia, his older brother Maverick, his other sister Julianna, and a younger version of himself. Talia, the oldest, was about fifteen in the picture, himself being only three as the youngest of his mother’s children. It was taken at one of the town’s historical festivals; as a family of great importance to the community, the Hales had always made an appearance at such events.
“How did you get this?” Peter asked, scarcely confident enough to even curl his fingers against the photo. “I would’ve thought all the pictures burned in the fire.”
"I was looking through dad's old files for community stuff and saw it," Stiles explained. "Pictures are the one thing you can't replace. I thought you deserved to have something of them. If you could."
Peter smiled, although it was edged with melancholy. "Thank you," he murmured gratefully, not looking away from the picture. He hadn't seen his mother's face in years. He held it protectively, almost like a baby. Stiles couldn't have given him a better gift.
