Chapter Text
For an embarrassingly long time, Stiles had no idea what was going on. In his defence, you wouldn’t usually expect the friendly neighbourhood psychopath to make advances on you.
Or maybe you usually did.
Depends on the psycho, probably, but Stiles definitely didn’t.
Anyway, when it started, it seemed pretty innocent, well, as innocent as an ex-alpha-serial-killer-undead-werewolf can get. It started with food. Now that he thought about it, that should have been alarming; offering digestible goods to teenage boys is the one sure way to get on their good side.
During pack meetings, for example, Peter would always somehow manage to save that one carton of Chinese food that he wanted. When they ordered pizza, there would always be one that was full of the toppings he loved. And even doughnuts - and that was a really low blow where Stiles was concerned - would appear mysteriously when he was raiding the Hale house’s renovated kitchen after a long night of running around chasing supernatural creatures in the woods.
But (seriously, no matter what Lydia says) it was really subtle. Peter was never present, not even close, and there were no indications that he was behind the phenomenon of Stiles suddenly being very well fed and content.
When he started to get suspicious in the end, was around the time Peter offered to help him in research. Nobody liked doing research. Okay, so Stiles actually did, but hell, he was good at it, and somebody had to do it, and... Well, alright, he was a complete nerd.
He was sitting in front of his computer, contemplating tearing his hair out (preferably one-by-one and with the help of tweezers) one night, when he got a text. It was from Peter, asking if he needed some help.
After Stiles managed to find his jaw that landed somewhere on the floor, because he had no idea the man even had his number, he shot back a careful ‘sure’. Finding anything even remotely useful about djinns that wasn’t connected to Disney or gay Supernatural fanfiction was proving impossible, so there was nothing he had to lose. Even if the fanfics were pretty damn hot.
A few moments later he got another text, containing a few words he couldn’t even begin to pronounce. He wanted to ask Peter what the actual fuck that was supposed to be, but since he already had google open, he just typed them in along with djinn and vois là! He suddenly found himself a small handful of occult blogs with a lot of bullshit but also that occasional grain of truth that would hopefully save their asses in the next few days.
After making sure that he saved everything he thought was even remotely reliable in a file (and bookmarking the pages for future reference), he couldn’t help texting Peter back; y am i doing this if u knew it already? He didn’t have to wait long for the reply: Just had a few keywords, you’re the one with the ‘google-fu’.
Well.
At the next pack meeting, after he revealed all his findings - and really, nobody was awed enough at his research skills, the ungrateful bunch - he found the older Hale lurking in his usual corner, and thanked him for the help in a very awkward, sweaty and slightly terrified manner. Peter didn’t seem to mind (especially the sweat, because he kept sniffing the air... which was just ugh) and gifted him with a smile that didn’t help with the whole ‘terrified’ thing, to be honest.
They got into a pattern after that; Peter would start sending him texts - mostly about research - and be a little more obvious about saving food for him, Stiles would start to feel a little bit less like puking-from-nerves whenever they were in the same room, and Derek began to have this really confused and/or conflicted look on his face.
Eventually Stiles got a copy of the Haler bestiary. Peter claimed that he needed to have a backup copy, because it was just a question of time when Derek would finally confuse his laptop with a hammer and proceed to use it in the renovations. Stiles had to agree; he had no idea how the alpha could be so clueless about technology, but it gave him a new appreciation for Peter. And the world was a strange, strange place when he considered him less of a caveman than Derek.
So, that’s how it started.
Things just... escalated from there.
And then, the anniversary of his mother’s death came around. It used to be dealt with him and Scott getting drunk somewhere, but Scott couldn’t make it. Even with his freaky healing powers, he was recovering from the attack of the baddy of the month.
That also meant that his father was at work cleaning up after the aforementioned baddy of the month, so he didn’t even have to get out of the house to get drunk.
Stiles was just lying on his bed, bottle of Jack on the night-table in comfortable reaching distance, thinking that this was kind of pathetic, when someone jumped through his window. It could have been the baddy of the month to be honest (and seriously, he should start dubbing that BOTM before he went insane from how repetitive his mind became), but he couldn’t bring himself to care. However, it was only Peter. Him coming by like this wasn’t exactly unprecedented by this point, though it wasn’t a regular thing either. Again, there were currently no fucks to give as far as Stiles was concerned.
“Nice of you to drop by,” Stiles said, flailing around a bit with his arms to encompass his room or the universe in general or something. “I would offer you a drink, but fuck if I will waste it on your werewolf metabolism.” And wow, that was way more lucid than he wanted to be right now.
He grabbed the bottle and swallowed another mouthful to remedy that, only spilling a little on his pillow. His room will probably reek of alcohol, but it wasn’t like his dad would check on him when he got back from work, he never did lately.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked with a frown, and in that moment the family resemblance between him and Derek was painfully obvious.
“What are you doing? Here, I mean, in my humble abode,” Stiles blurted, trying to sit up properly, because it was only polite when one had visitors. He didn’t exactly succeed.
“Scott asked me to check on you,”
And that was definitely a lie. Even though Stiles had no superpowers, he knew that Peter was still in Scott’s book of ‘people-who-I-would-really-not-ask-for-anything-especially-not-for-help’. He mustered up a pretty impressive glare after a few seconds of concentration and aimed it at the man. Stiles was the most surprised when it actually worked.
“Well, technically Scott asked Derek, who asked me to check on you.”
Okay, that made a lot more sense. Except for the part that he had no idea why Derek would send Peter of all people; there was still a lot of bad blood between them - quite literally.
Fucks to give? None.
“I’m getting drunk,” Stiles said finally, replying to the earlier question.
Peter rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed next to him. That probably should have been worrying, though Stiles couldn’t make himself care. But when the man got his hands on his whisky? So not on.
He made some noises of protest and grabby hands at the bottle - making a pretty good impression of an upturned turtle. Peter just held the Jack out of his reach, and smirked down at him in a very smug fashion. The fucker.
Stiles frowned. There was something seriously wrong with this situation, even though he was just drunk enough that he couldn’t really put his finger on it.
But he made an effort.
“So why are you here? I mean, really? Because... because you’re not the kind of guy who would just go babysit some pathetic loser with a severe case of mouth-diarrhea. And... and this night isn’t supposed to go like this. This is my night to wallow in the anti-Dead Sea of self pity, because you know, you’re not supposed to be able to sink in the Dead Sea, whereas my sea of self pity kind of does the opposite. Does that make it the Undead Sea of self pity? That would be fun, you know, with you being... well. Undead.”
He wasn’t even surprised that he didn’t get an answer. He have long ago realized that Peter, for some completely unfathomable and probably masochistic reason, actually liked listening to him. And that, right there was a weird thing to know about.
He looked up at the man from his half sitting-half lying position. And there it was. There was that glint in his eyes that meant that he was amused by whatever came out of Stiles’ mouth. That he would be totally content just to sit there and listen to him babble all night.
“Peter, why are you doing this?”
And there must have been something in his voice, that same something that tasted sour and itchy under his tongue. It was part curiosity and part dread, because Peter’s eyes lost that playful shine and actually looked at him.
“Do I need a reason?”
Stiles thought about this for a moment.
“I don’t know, man. I mean, you keep doing things. Things that make me feel like I should like you, even with the constant lurking and watching from the shadows that you have going on. And that’s weird. You... you killed people. You killed your own niece, for fuck’s sake! You hurt my friends, you hurt me. You fucking terrified me. I just... I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Peter considered him for a long moment, searching for something. Against the alcohol racing in his system, Stiles tried very hard to look like he deserved whatever explanation Peter had to offer. He must have done something right, because Peter heaved a put-upon sigh, and shimmied down the bed till they were lying beside each other, shoulders touching.
“You made a lot of research on werewolves, what do you know about mating?” Peter asked finally, making the hair stand up on Stiles’ arms.
“Dude! Dude, don’t tell me...”
“I didn’t tell you anything, I asked you a question. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
Okay, fair enough.
“Um... Well, I know mating is for life, and that it can happen between werewolf and werewolf or werewolf and human. Uh... It’s kind of like a pack bond? Just supposedly stronger and more specific; connecting two people on an emotional and - according to some sources - on a mental level,” he said, not feeling that drunk all of a sudden. He dug up everything he could for Scott and Allison’s sake, especially since Derek wasn’t exactly forthcoming on the topic. That was an awkward conversation...
“Correct,” Peter said, dragging him back to the present.
And then nothing.
“Sooo?” Because, seriously? Stiles wasn’t about to be brushed off now. He... he actually really wanted to like Peter, as twisted as that sounded. He was - against all the prejudice and hostility and suspicion he got from them - good for the pack. Derek obviously wasn’t exactly okay with his uncle, but anyone with eyes could see that he seemed somehow lighter, more balanced now that he had another seasoned wolf in his pack. And the pups learned a lot from him, even if no one wanted to admit it. Even Scott. And it didn’t hurt that he was nice to Stiles. Nicer than... than anyone had been to him recently, because everyone seemed to be preoccupied with being supernaturally awesome. Again, even Scott.
“Correct, but not the complete truth,” Peter continued finally, just when Stiles was about to jab him with his elbow. “Having a mate is like... like being on all the best kind of drugs and steroids, without any of the side-effects. The colors are brighter, the sounds, the smells, just... everything is sharper. You feel stronger, happier, invincible.”
And wow. Just from the tone of Peter’s voice Stiles started to feel dread collect in the pit of his stomach. Because that? That was Experience talking, with a capital ‘E’. He was waiting for something grandiose to happen, a secret to be shared, but instead the werewolf fished his phone out of his pocket; lighting up the screen with a few touches and scrolling through the menu with practised ease.
When he found what he was looking for he handled it over to Stiles without comment, and he was almost afraid to look to be honest. It was just a picture though, a picture taken in front of the Hale house, but not the burnt shell it was now. The house was white and perfect and just how he remembered it from when he was little and they went hiking with his parents into the woods.
Peter was in the picture. He was sitting on the porch with his arms around another man’s waist. He was Native American, with long, straight, black hair that had nearly blue highlights. They seemed... happy. Peter was smiling like he never seen him before. There was none of the cunning or the careful calculation in his eyes. The other man seemed just as carefree; his grin lit up his whole face, his teeth were white and slightly uneven, his cheekbones sharp. He was quite handsome.
Stiles had a hard time looking away from the screen, but when he did, he couldn't help a - very manly, thank you very much - yelp from escaping when he found Peter staring at him instead of the picture like he expected.
“The bestiary wasn’t the only thing on my laptop,” the man said as a way of explanation. “That’s Nathan.”
“Was... was he your...?” It was hard to speak suddenly from the nerves lodged in his throat. That wasn’t something Stiles was used to.
Peter turned his gaze to the ceiling before answering.
“He was my mate, yes. When the Argent bitch killed him, it was like... I can’t really explain. Having someone bonded to you is the strongest addiction you can imagine, and suddenly I was there alone and hurting and... without him. Like going cold-turkey on nicotine and alcohol and coke and heroin all at once. I think, that if I haven’t been catatonic that first few years, I would have... I would have followed him. There’s a reason werewolves mate for life. When a bond is broken, it’s like dying.”
Stiles had no idea what to say. He didn’t feel the least bit drunk now, the Jack was just a faraway buzz in his head. If he were still drunk maybe it would have made it easier to breach the sudden abyss between them. Peter’s hand was just a few inches from his own, but he didn’t dare take it. Stiles remembered all too well how he felt after his mother’s death. He didn’t want people’s pity or condolences because it just made it feel more real. Of course he didn’t really believe that pretending that everything was okay would make it so, but being treated differently just drove everything home.
It might have been a dick move, but he felt like if he didn’t change the subject he would suffocate.
“So um... Is that what you want with me? I mean, not that I’m not honored or something and seriously, who wouldn’t want to tap this,” he babbled, motioning to his body, “ but uh... I don’t think...”
Peter rolled his eyes heavenwards, and it was such a Peter thing to do that Stiles sighed in relief, the heaviness in the air lifting a fraction.
“No. That’s not why I’m telling you this, though not like the idea isn’t appealing...” he said, and Stiles felt the tip of his ears growing warm at the look he received. “I don’t even think I ever want to mate again like that. All I’m saying, is that a great part of me being slightly psychotic was due to the bond being abruptly severed.”
It was Stiles’ turn to practice his bitch face,
“And by ‘slightly psychotic’ you mean; going on a murder spree?” It was so easy, slipping into their almost usual banter, but he felt it deep inside that he couldn’t just leave it at that. If no one else, Laura Hale deserved more than that. And the nurse. And the security guy.
“Okay, so - oh my god, I can’t believe I’m saying this - that kind of explains Kate and the others who took part in the fire. But what about Laura? What about the innocents?”
“You mean the guard and Jennifer? I actually didn’t want to kill her, we had an agreement; she would help me become the alpha, and I would give her the bite. I tried, but after Derek smashed her head to the wall she was simply too weak to survive it. I wasn’t joking when I said that the bite could kill you. The guard, well, that was simple self defence, I know logically that he wouldn’t have been able to hurt me seriously, but I was wolfed out and he posed a threat.”
Stiles nodded to himself. Okay. Well, not really. It felt surreal; he was lying in his bed discussing murder motives with the person who actually committed said murders. Who was also lying in bed with him. What was his life. Seriously, what?
“And Laura? She was your family, your pack, right?” He was afraid of going too far, but Peter was being honest with him, and he needed to know this.
“Yes,” Peter rubbed his beard for a few seconds, staring at nothing. “she was. But killing her is not something I’m willing to talk about with you. He finished with finality, and it was a bit like being punched.
Because even when the others sometimes forgot about him, or brushed him off as ‘just a human’, Peter was always the one who made a point of including Stiles in every pack activity. He really couldn’t help the bitter thoughts stumbling out of his mouth.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is it the kind of crazy only the holy race of werewolves are allowed to hear? Is it a cultural difference thing? That’s why the measly little human isn’t allowed to know it? Or is it a pack thing?” Stiles sneered. Oops.
Well.
He seriously had no idea where all that came from.
Okay, so Lydia was hopelessly in love with Jackson, who wasn’t any less of an asshole since he turned wolf. (Just a more hairy asshole. Also, brain, what are you doing? Eeew.) And yes, Scott was busy with Allison and his new friendship with Isaac; Boyd and Erica might have been connected at the hip - and both of them turned pretty terrifying when they were forced apart - and okay, Derek at least stopped with throwing Stiles around, but that also meant that he didn’t pay him much attention if there was no immediate need of him.
So, yeah. Maybe he knew where that was coming from, but Peter... Peter wasn’t at fault in this.
“Oh my God... Uh... Can we just... forget what I said. I’m sorry, dude,” Stiles whined with his eyes squeezed shut. Because, holy fuck! The guy just bared that black and murder-heavy heart of his, and he was kind of ripping him a new one in return. And let’s be honest, death by Peter Hale was still high on his list of possible-ways-I-will-end-up-dying.
After a few seconds it became apparent that he wouldn’t have his throat torn open. By teeth. So he - very, very carefully - opened first one eye then the other. Peter had turned to his side, propping his head up on his elbow and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. It didn’t seem like the eyebrow-of-imminent-death, more like the yebrow-of-mild-annoyance-at-the-face-of-Stilinski.
“Are you finished?” he asked after a second of staring. Stiles nodded.
“If it were a werewolf thing, I would tell you, since you obviously know more about werewolves than most of the betas. If it were a pack thing, I would tell you, because as you very well know, you are just as much a part of this pack as Scott or myself,” Peter said. And even though Stiles did actually know all that - at least when he didn’t have half a bottle of Jack in his system - it was still... nice to hear it.
“It’s a Hale pack thing, and as much as I would like you to see that I’m not who I was before, it’s just between Derek and I. I owe it to him, and Laura, and my family. Is that acceptable for you?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course!” He was pretty sure he came across a little bit too enthusiastic with that, but hell. This was why he didn’t drink; he always managed to make an ass out of himself and/or insult someone.
“You know,” Peter commented, looking at him thoughtfully, “if you really feel that left out, you could always ask Derek for the bite. I know for a fact that he would be all too happy to give it to you.”
Stiles swallowed. He remembered the last time Peter asked him if he wanted to be a werewolf quite clearly, thank you very much.
Maybe it was the booze, or just, you know, time made the heart grow fonder or something like that... But the terror he felt back then has kind of faded, even when at the same time the sensation of Peter’s fingers circling his wrist - his breath ghosting over the thin skin with his blood pulsing frantically underneath - remained etched into his memory.
He shook his head. It had to be the alcohol; apparently it didn’t mix well with teenage hormones.
But if there was one thing he was still sure about, even surer, than he used to be actually, it was that he didn’t want to be a werewolf. Logically, after everything that happened in the last year, he should be gagging for the whole ‘faster, stronger, better’ thing, but he realized something along the way...
“I like being human,” he said finally, looking Peter straight in the eyes “Honestly, you are all whackjobs one way or the other and not just because of your merry ‘furry time of the month’ thing. All of the betas changed somehow. And anyway, what you have with the pack? A connection that is stronger than anything else? I already have that. I have my dad, we are all the other has, and if I became something else... it just wouldn’t be the same.”
Peter grinned at him, and for a second it was eerily similar to the one he saw in that picture. The man huffed out a half-laugh, and flopped back to the bed. Was it still called ‘flopping’ when it’s kind of elegant?
“Nathan was a human too. My brother offered him the bite after he became my mate, but he just shrugged and told everybody that he was just fine the way he was.”
“Oh...” Stiles knew that he should be wary of being compared to Peter’s ex-mate. He was, actually. “Are you sure you don’t want to, you know... mate me?”
“Stiles.”
“Okay, just checking.”
“And just for your information, wolves don’t need to be mated to have casual - or even long term - relationships.” Stiles could practically hear the grin in his voice.
“Oh.”
A few seconds later Peter leaned over him, making Stiles’ heart attempt to beat out of his chest, and turned off the bedside lamp. He could feel the bed dip as the man settled back beside him, and then an arm was thrown over his stomach. Not holding, not petting, just... there.
“Uh... Peter?”
“Go to sleep, Stiles.”
“Okay.” He swallowed and tried to calm his breathing. Because Peter Hale was in his bed. In his bed and snuggling with him. “You do realize you’re creepy, right?”
He didn’t get an answer.
Right.