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The thing Stiles hates most about college is being away from his best friends. Scott is relatively close, just a few hours between their two schools, but Derek is across the country at NYU. Because of this, the majority of their summer break so far has been spent hopping between their three houses or at the lake in the preserve.
Today they’re at Derek’s, playing video games while waiting for the rain to clear up so they can go to the lake to swim. The sun is just pushing its way through the clouds when there’s a loud knock on the door.
“Can someone get that?” Talia Hale calls out from the basement laundry room.
Derek sighs and pauses the game, getting up to answer the door. Stiles leans over to press a button on Derek’s controller, unpausing the game so he and Scott can obliterate Derek. There’s silence for a few moments, other than the sounds of Marvel vs. Capcom, then they hear Derek’s sharp inhale.
“Mom!” Derek shouts. Stiles and Scott turn around on the couch, looking to where Derek is staring out the front door, eyes wide. Derek takes a step back and is followed in by a man a few inches taller than him. He’s broad, with a thick neck, muscled arms, and Stiles knows from creeping on his dad’s files that his eyes are icy blue.
“Dude,” Stiles hisses, kicking Scott in the shin, as if they both aren’t watching. “That’s Peter Hale!”
“Peter?” Scott asks, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Peter,” Stiles hisses. “The one who killed those people like six years ago! God, he’s hot.” Stiles cranes his neck to get a better view of Peter’s face. Peter glances over their way with a smirk, winking at Stiles, before turning back to Derek.
“He’s a serial killer!” Scott hisses.
“...Think he takes requests?”
“Stiles!”
“I’m just saying! There’s this guy in my dorm…Plus, I think he’s more of a spree killer technically.”
There are footsteps coming up the stairs, then Talia walks through the living room.
“Derek, what’s the - oh god. You didn’t escape, did you?” Talia asks.
“And come here, the first place they’d look? Not likely,” Peter says with a snort. “No, I was released. Good behavior.”
“Not likely,” Talia says, parroting Peter’s words back to him. She sighs and steps forward, pulling him into a hug. “Why didn’t you call? We would have come and gotten you.”
Peter shrugs elegantly. “I wanted to enjoy my freedom alone for a bit,” he says. He looks over at where Stiles and Scott are still leaning over the back of the couch, watching shamelessly. “Are you going to introduce me?”
Derek shakes himself out of staring when he realizes he’s being addressed. “Uh, yeah. That’s Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinkski,” Derek says, pointing to each of them in turn.
“Ah, the famous best friends,” Peter says. “Stilinski…as in the sheriff?”
“Yep,” Stiles says. “Since he isn’t the one who arrested you, no hard feelings, right?” Technically true. Not for the murders anyway. Stiles’ dad had picked up Peter for suspicious activities more than a few times, but nothing was ever tied to him. Peter Shady Hale.
“Stiles!” Scott hisses, kneeing him in the side. Stiles sways but manages to keep himself from falling off the couch.
Talia pinches the bridge of her nose while Derek just looks constipated. Peter, though, is grinning. “Of course not. It’s the FBI I’m holding a grudge against,” he says, looking very pointedly at Scott.
“Scott hasn’t talked to his Agent Asshole of a dad in like five years if that helps at all,” Stiles says. Scott just groans a slides farther down into the couch.
“Don’t worry, I’m not in the habit of holding children responsible for the sins of their parents,” Peter says.
“Before Stiles can stick his foot in his mouth again,” Talia says, looking at him hard, “are you hungry? We have sandwich stuff. Joseph and Laura are out, I can have them pick up food from Antonio’s?
“That’d be lovely. I’ve been craving a good carbonara,” Peter says, following Talia out of the room.
Scott and Stiles look at Derek, who’s still standing by the door, looking stunned.
“Hey,” Stiles says slowly. “Uh, need a beer?”
“Yes,” Derek says immediately. “At least three.”
“We can do that,” Scott says, hopping up. “Bar or lake?”
“Lake. That way I can drown myself if I need to,” Derek says.
“A bit overdramatic, but sure,” Stiles says, walking to the kitchen to grab the cooler they’d already put together for the lake. “No promises on letting you drown.”
“Some friend you are,” Derek grumbles, but the corner of his lip twitches up.
They take Stiles’ Jeep the few miles deeper into the preserve. There are a few families already swimming, but it seems the rain earlier has kept out most others. They don’t end up swimming since they’re drinking and they don’t actually want to drown. Instead they sit on the dock, feet in the water as they drink their beers and munch on the Doritos Scott brought, watching a woman nearby throw a stick in the water for her dog to chase.
“I’m glad he’s back,” Derek says finally, when they’ve been sitting in silence (it’s been killing Stiles) for a half-hour. “It’s just...we were really close and it’s been six years. What if I don’t know how to be around him anymore?”
“You’ve talked,” Scott says. “It hasn’t been radio silence for six years.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says. “He’s still up-to-date on your life. He knows where you go to school, who your friends are. He knows about Braeden!”
“Yeah, you just have to get used to talking instead of writing,” Scott says.
Derek just nods. Stiles tilts his head to the side, looking at him closely.
“You’re not...you’re not scared of him, right?” Stiles asks. Derek looks up sharply. “I mean, he was a bit shady, but you know he’d never hurt you, right? He only killed Kate and Gerard because - “
“I know,” Derek says quickly, looking around to make sure no one is listening, as if anyone in Beacon Hills doesn’t remember the scandal of Peter Hale killing Derek’s “girlfriend” and her father. “I’m not scared of him. I’m just...I guess I’m still surprised he doesn’t hate me.”
Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that, but Scott doesn’t either, especially since Scott called Peter a serial killer less than two hours ago, so Stiles figures he’s the better option here. He pats Derek on the shoulder and says, “No one could hate you, dude. Especially with those cute little bunny teeth.”
“Oh fuck off,” Derek says, shoving Stiles hard enough that he almost falls into the lake. But he’s laughing, and that was the goal, so he supposes it’s a success.
The nice, clear sky starts looking a little cloudy after they’ve been at the lake for a couple of hours, and by the time they get back to the Jeep, the rain has already started again. Scott dashes from Stiles’ Jeep to his own car, but Stiles runs inside with Derek. He’d been planning on staying over that night so even though he’s sure those plans are off since the previously incarcerated uncle has reappeared, he still has to grab his stuff from Derek’s room.
Talia are Peter are in the living room when Stiles and Derek walk in, drinking wine and talking lightly. They look up when they step into the living room, and Stiles is about to say he’s getting out of their hair, but Talia stands before he can.
“Derek, can you help me with something, please?” she asks.
She doesn’t wait for an answer, just walks from the room, making it clear it isn’t a request. Derek frowns slightly, following her out. Stiles shifts his weight awkwardly, not sure if he should get his stuff from Derek’s room or wait. He really wants to wait, because he’s nosy as hell and Peter is seriously hot, but the right thing to do is probably leave. Peter makes that decision for him.
“My nephew sure does rave about you,” Peter says, looking at Stiles in interest. “I’m curious. Are the two of you...an item?”
Stiles thinks he deserves a damn medal for not asking if that would put him in mortal danger if he were.
“No, Derek is way too nice for me,” Stiles says. “We’d be appalled with each other after like a week.”
Peter laughs. “I suppose that’s true. Everything I’ve heard has made it clear you have a wicked tongue,” Peter says, a suggestive smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Look, Stiles can sling innuendo all day long, but his always come out sloppy, like he needs an exaggerated wink after he speaks. Not at all like Peter. Rude.
“Shockingly, you aren’t the first person to say that,” Stiles says.
“I can’t imagine why,” Peter says dryly.
Since Peter isn’t tell him to get lost, he takes a few steps into the living room and sits on the couch opposite Peter.
“If you need help, you know, getting started again,” Stiles says, then pauses, unsure quite how to phrase ‘if you need help getting your life started post-murder spree’. “I have a few, uh, shadier connections? Let’s be honest, you probably have a bucket more than I do, but I figure they might be outdated by now. Henry Rollins has definitely gone out of business since you’ve been...away.”
Peter’s eyebrows had risen slowly as Stiles spoke, a delighted sort of grin covering his face.
“Now, why would the son of the sheriff know the name of a man who makes counterfeit identifications?” Peter says.
“Because I’m the son of the sheriff, obviously,” Stiles says. “Do you think I just wasn’t going to get a fake ID in high school?”
Peter looks equally intrigued and elated. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him.
“Patricia Lawson?” Peter asks.
“Prison. In Arizona, I think,” Stiles says.
“Hm, too bad. Aaron Randall?” Peter asks.
“Dead,” Stiles says.
“Really? How?” Peter asks.
“Prostate cancer,” Stiles says. Peter looks at him like he’s trying to decide if he’s kidding. “Seriously. Even the runners of underground cage fighting rings need to go to their yearly prostate screenings.”
“Helen Green?” Peter asks.
Stiles smiles slightly. “Still running around, still hacking shit that can’t be traced back to her,” Stiles says. That’s how he’d gotten ahold of the blackmail photos of his shitty neighbor. Helen gives the best birthday gifts. “Still a thorn in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department’s side.”
Peter looks satisfied at that, but the intrigue as he scans Stiles’ face has only grown. Stiles isn’t sure what to do, not used to being under such scrutiny, not unless it’s from his dad, who stopped trying to understand what his son does years ago, or his professors, who are just trying to figure out how to get him to shut up. He tries not to squirm or preen. It’s ridiculous, honestly.
“So, good behavior, huh?” Stiles says when it becomes clear Peter isn’t going to change the subject.
Peter smirks. “Exemplary behavior,” he says.
“You do realize I have access to the station’s computer system, right?”
Peter's grin widens. “My prosecutor was found to have accepted bribes from some large Argent offshore accounts,” Peter says.
“Accounts that I’m sure you had no knowledge of and therefore couldn’t possibly have arranged a ‘bribe’ from,” Stiles says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peter says airily, not even bothering to pretend he’s offended at the suggestion.
Before Stiles can call bullshit, Talia and Derek are coming back, Derek looking between Stiles and Peter with some trepidation.
“Laura and Joseph will be here with dinner in a minute,” Talia says. “You’re welcome to stay, Stiles.”
“No, thanks anyway,” Stiles says, standing. “Don’t want to get in the way of the family reunion.” He’s lying. He’s dying to see how this goes, but he knows he probably shouldn’t say that.
“You’ll have to come by again soon,” Peter says, standing as well. “I’m sure there’s plenty more you can catch me up on.”
Derek groans, running his hand over his face. “I knew you’d get along, I knew it. This is worse than when Cora thought she had a crush on Scott for a week,” he says.
Stiles blushes, Talia whacks Derek with a throw pillow, but Peter just smiles wickedly, eyes intent on Stiles. He tells Stiles it was wonderful to finally meet him, then reaches out, shaking his hand slowly before smoothly stepping into his space.
“I don’t usually take requests, but for you I may be amenable,” Peter says, voice pitched lower than Talia and Derek could hear.
It shouldn’t send a thrill through Stiles, but, well. It does.