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Peter got out the container with flour, ready to add that to the cake he was making. He carefully sifted the flour and started to add the spices. They were sharp-smelling to his 'wolf's nose but he knew the result in the cake would be good.
There was a rap at the door - shave-and-a-haircut. Peter was startled, not expecting anyone. He frowned. When was the last time he had seen anyone from the Pack? Huh. It has to have been a while.
The fluttering heartbeat was familiar. He opened the door.
"Stiles."
"Hey, CreeperWolf thought I'd check on you," Stiles said as he entered his apartment. Peter frowned. The apartment momentarily looked unfamiliar. He shook his head and ignored the feeling.
"I assume you've been off doing more important things than bothering me," Peter replied, shutting the door. Unsettled, he turned the lock.
"Nah," Stiles shrugged. "Right now, you're the most interesting thing happening."
"That is unfortunate," Peter replied.
"Smells good! What are you making?" Stiles asked as he looked around the kitchen.
"Spice cake," Peter admitted. "Something my mom used to make." Peter frowned. His mom wasn't into baking, why would he say that?
"Excellent!" Stiles said, settling uninvited into a chair by the breakfast bar. "I'll keep you company while you work."
"You don't have to do that," Peter replied. "You should... leave."
Stiles placed his hand over his heart. "I'm wounded! I just got here and you're throwing me out?" Stiles grinned.
"You..." Peter shook his head. "You shouldn't be here. I don't think."
"Probably not," Stiles nodded easily. "But I'm here and I'm staying."
"That's... dangerous?" Peter was confused. Why was making cake dangerous? But the thought evaporated as soon as it appeared. "You can stay until it's done, then."
"Excellent!" Stiles nodded with a smile. "Tell me what you're doing!"
Peter turned to see the ingredients for the spice cake spread out on the countertop. He thought he had started to work on it. Oh, well.
"It's a reasonably simple cake," Peter said as he reached for the container of milk. He poured milk into a measuring cup. "The original recipe calls for sour cream but I like to use soured milk. I've done it both ways and, when I don't have sour cream, it's easier than running out to the store."
"That's the sort of thing my mom taught me," Stiles agreed. "Do you use butter or shortening?"
"Shortening, definitely," Peter replied. "Butter is too rich for the cake."
"I'll have to get the recipe when you're done," Stiles said. "Go ahead. Keep going."
Peter worked on the cake and started with creaming the brown sugar and shortening. He reached for the flour and sifted the flour into a bowl. He added the spices, the bright spices teasing at his nose. His 'wolf wanted to sneeze.
The doorbell rang.
Peter went to the door and opened it to find Stiles standing in the hall.
"What's up?" Stiles said. "Figured I haven't seen you lurking around in a bit, so I figured I'd beard the dragon in his lair."
"It's not a lair, it's perfectly nice apartment," Peter countered.
Stiles wandered in without further invitation. "Are you baking? Didn't think you had it in you!"
"Do not sound so surprised," Peter replied as he closed and locked the door. "I'm perfectly capable of baking a cake."
"Dude! That's great!" Stiles smiled. "What are you making?"
"Spice cake," Peter replied. Wait. He frowned. Something wasn't right. "Don't call me dude!"
Stiles laughed. "That sounds like any Hale I know! Derek says it exactly like that."
Derek. Something about Derek tickled a memory. It was dark. Something large and dangerous was chasing Derek. Then it was gone.
"Then why are you not bothering him?" Peter asked as he followed Stiles to the kitchen.
"You're much more interesting," Stiles grinned. "And... there will be cake!"
"Maybe I won't share with you," Peter threatened as he got the eggs out of the refrigerator. They were easier to separate at room temperature.
"Oh, man! You're going to make me behave?" Stiles laughed as he settled into a chair at the breakfast bar. "Good luck with that!"
"It's that or I'll throw you out," Peter replied as he reached for the ingredients. He got the spices down from the cabinet. Maybe he should get some fresh nutmeg. But then he'd not get cake today since he didn't have it in the house. The tin would do but he'd put fresh nutmeg on his shopping list.
"You actually sift the flour?" Stiles asked.
"Just something I've always done," Peter replied. "Doesn't hurt to do it and it only takes a few minutes."
"I'll have to try that," Stiles nodded.
Peter reached for the cinnamon and the sharp scent hit his nose. He sneezed.
The doorbell rang.
Peter turned on the oven to pre-heat it and then went to answer the door.
"ZombieWolf!" Stiles said cheerfully. "What's shaking?"
"Nothing. Go away," Peter said.
"Nah! It's boring out there and figured you'd be more interesting than anything anywhere else," Stiles said as he evaded Peter and walking into the apartment. "Like what you've done with the place."
Peter looked around. Nothing looked different but, suddenly, it was wrong. That made no sense. He lived here for years. He blinked and the thought was gone.
"So what are you doing?" Stiles asked.
"I was making a cake," Peter admitted. He closed and locked the door.
"Cool! Anything I can do?" Stiles volunteered as he moved into the kitchen. He didn't sit down but came around the breakfast bar into Peter's working space.
"It's a pretty simple recipe," Peter shrugged. "Not sure what you can do."
"You cream the sugar and shortening and I'll add the spices to the flour," Stiles offered.
That was... not right. Something about spices...
"You remember the spices, don't you Peter?" Stiles coaxed.
"Classic spices... cinnamon, nutmeg.... and...." Peter lost the thought. What was he talking about? Why was Stiles so close to him?
"Come on, you can do it," Stiles said softly. He put a hand on Peter's shoulder, bringing him closer. "Tell me about the spices..."
"Cinnamon... Nutmeg..." Peter's thoughts stumbled over one another.
"One more..." Stiles was closer. Peter could feel the warmth of Stiles body next to his. Peter put his head on Stiles shoulder.
"Cinnamon... Nutmeg... and..." Peter took a deep breath, his nose in the crease between Stiles' neck and shoulder.
"...and..." Stiles whispered. Encouraged.
".... cloves!" Peter said, triumphantly.
"There you are!" Stiles said, holding Peter's hand.
"Wha..." Peter blinked and he realized his mouth was dry.
"Hold on," Stiles said. He used his free hand to hold a glass of lukewarm water at Peter's mouth and Peter drank readily.
"Better?" Stiles asked.
"Yes," Peter nodded. He lay back on... where the fuck was he? He looked around. Derek's loft? Derek hadn't lived in this loft in years -- he had moved into a house in a Preserve with Braeden. "What are we doing here?"
Stiles gave a small laugh. "It was the only place to go where no one would be likely to look for us." He looked at Peter. "What do you remember?"
Peter frowned. "Something... something big was chasing me and Derek. I... don't know what it was or what happened. Then I was... baking a cake?"
Stiles nodded. "That was a witch that had used a spell that caught you full force. It only skimmed Derek and that's how I was able to help you."
"You... were there... helping me bake the cake..." Peter said slowly.
"Man... you've been trying to bake that cake for four days now," Stiles replied. "Although I was only able to slip into your dreams in the last two days."
"Stiles! That's dangerous!" Peter protested.
"I wasn't going to leave you there," Stiles said firmly. "Derek had some dreams that he was able to break himself out of. Which is how I knew you were stuck in a dream and not just unconscious."
"Dream walking is dangerous," Peter protested. "You could have been trapped with me."
"Wasn't going to let that happen," Stiles said fiercely.
"I will suspect our True Alpha tried to forbid you from trying," Peter said.
Stiles nodded. "Scott and Deaton were calling Eichen House, ready to commit you there. So I, umm... distracted them and took off with you."
"Stiles. What did you do?" Peter asked patiently.
"Umm... set fire to the clinic?" Stiles admitted. "Just in the storeroom. Nothing important. More smoke than anything but they wouldn't know that right away."
Peter snorted. "That certainly would distract them."
"I figured that they'd check my dad's place and your apartment first, so this was the next best place to hide," Stiles admitted. "And Derek has it locked up securely, so there's no evidence we're even here."
"And Scott is bad enough of a 'wolf not to be able to hear our heartbeats up here," Peter added.
"Got it!" Stiles grinned.
Peter tried to sit up but fell back, exhausted.
"Hang on," Stiles said. "You've been out of it for four days. You need some food and to rest."
"I don't suppose there's anything to eat?" Peter asked, looking around the dusty and dimly lit loft.
"No, but Derek will bring us something," Stiles said, bringing out his phone.
Stiles! We were starting to get worried! Derek said, immediately answering the call.
"Yeah, but we're both good," Stiles replied. "Can you bring us some food and something to drink?"
Braeden has some food organized already, in anticipation of needing something to eat. We'll bring that, Derek replied. We'll be there shortly.
"Are Scott and Deaton still looking for us?" Stiles asked.
Yes, but now they think you've taken Peter out of town, Derek said.
"Hah! Good," Stiles laughed. "See you soon."
"Now that I'm aware, I could use a bathroom," Peter admitted as his bladder made itself known.
Stiles puffed a little as he stood.
"How did you get me up here?" Peter asked as Stiles helped him up. "You look exhausted, too."
"I got you out of Deaton's with a fireman's carry and a burst of adrenaline," Stiles admitted. "You're damned heavy." Stiles guided him to the bathroom, although Peter realized he was also helping Stiles. "Good thing the electricity is still on for the security system, so I used the elevator, once I got you inside."
"Are you okay?" Peter asked.
"Some food and rest is what I need, too," Stiles admitted.
Peter used the bathroom and waited as Stiles did the same. By the time they were done, Derek and Braeden were coming in with cooler bags in their hands.
"Oh, thank goodness," Stiles said.
"Sit," Braeden ordered. "You're just as exhausted as Peter."
Stiles didn't argue as he dropped next to Peter on the couch. Peter eagerly took the sandwiches they brought, heavy with fresh chicken and sharp cheese. He ate three in short order, noticing that Stiles ate two, albeit a tad slower.
Braeden handed him a bottle with lemonade. The sugar was welcome.
"Better?" Derek asked when Peter took a moment to breathe.
Peter nodded. But he kept an eye on Stiles. It would take a bit longer for the human to recover.
"Do you think we can go back to my apartment?" Peter asked. "If Scott and Deaton are out of town, they won't even think to come back to the apartment, since they already checked it once."
"Likely," Stiles nodded.
"Call your dad," Derek ordered. "Let him know you're okay."
"Oh, man!" Stiles groaned. "He's going to ground me for the rest of my life."
"As he should," Peter nodded. He watched as Stiles tap-danced through telling his father what had happened and assuring the Sheriff that he was all right.
"I'll be at Peter's," Stiles said firmly. "Scott and Deaton might come by the house and I don't want them to find us just as yet."
Peter could hear the reluctance from the Sheriff. "Yes, dinner on Sunday," Stiles promised. "We'll be there."
Peter looked at Stiles. "We?"
Stiles leaned against Peter. "Yes."
Peter considered for only a moment. "Okay."
The scent of happiness that flowed from Stiles was flavored with cloves. Oh. Well, that explained a lot.
Derek smirked at him.